Since I've dropped off the face of the Earth, you're probably all assuming I'm dead. Well, put away the champagne glasses, folks. I'm alive and kicking. It's just that every moment of my day is occupied by small, needy humans.
I cannot WAIT until Em naps reliably. Right now she alternates between comatose narcolepsy (at the most inconvenient times, of course) and FOOD FOOD GIVE ME FOOD NOW HOLD ME I NEED TO BE HELD AND YOU HAVE TO SHUSH IN MY EAR JUST RIGHT, WOMAN OR I WILL START ROOTING LIKE MAD AND GIVE MYSELF SHAKEN BABY SYNDROME. Not colicky or anything, just really hungry. And ALERT. Grace was so sleepy for, oh, a month. She was a much better nighttime sleeper by now. I'm pretty sure Emmy is going to be a little pistol. A fat little pistol. She gained two pounds and two inches in the first two weeks alone. And since Monday she's gained 8 ounces. No more tiny baby here. She's a bruiser.
Poor Grace has no idea what's coming in a few months when Em learns to walk. If she's leaning against my chest, she can already push herself to standing. And she can do mini pushups, too, if she's on a slight incline. I think maybe I have no idea what's coming in a few months. Early walker? Please no. Please please please no.
At her first appointment, they found a heart murmur. Our pediatrician reassured me that it was probably nothing, but she was going to schedule an electrocardiogram. I am an idiot and picked today, Friday, for that appointment. Which means I won't hear about results until Monday. I really, really don't think it's anything. Em is still bright red most of the time, she's alert, eating well, everything is good that wouldn't be if she had a real heart problem. (but still...)
When she first mentioned it, I was not stressing at all. In fact, all week I've been completely fine with it. It's barely crossed my mind. Then there was mild panic this morning. Hello, Crazy Hormone Surge! I was wondering when you would show up! I'm over it now, but I anticipate it returning at least once between now and Monday.
The Madison Children's Hospital is really nice. I mean, I want to stay there. Maybe they have a maternity ward. The sonographer was a guy in his 50's or so. He looked very stern and seemed a little standoffish, but then with Em he was so sweet and gentle. It warmed my hormone-addled little heart.
The Child gets better every day. She's almost back to normal. Very little whininess, and she's now walking quite well. Still shaky and prefers crawling, but I see her gradually coming to understand the benefits of having both hands free to bring me presents. At least thirty-six times a day, she'll walk up to me with some treasured object (a can, a shoe, a piece of carpet lint) and say, "Ah?" as she holds it out to me. And then when I take it she stares at me expectantly, probably waiting for me to eat it. I have consumed at least a thousand floor Cheerios in the last three months. And pretended to consume even more horrifying objects. Everything is food. Thankfully not the baby... yet.
Speaking of which, she is fantastic with Emmy. There's the occasional toddler over-zealous petting (bashing) and grabbing (yanking), but it's not malicious. Em is like a cat! Except she can't run away! She's most delighted by her fuzzy hair. I like holding Em's head up to her face and watching her dissolve into giggles.
We are buying a van. All my reservations over this vanished in the last week. James's coworker let him take it home, and that was the end for me. There is nothing like sweet, sweet freedom to do what I want during the day and to have a vehicle that makes it easy (well, as easy as it gets) to strap two children into their car seats. How did we do it so long with our little sedan? How did I heft a 30-pound toddler into the middle seat of such a tiny little car? While pregnant? I do not know.
Do not hate me for this, but I am now ten pounds lighter than I was before I found out I was pregnant with Em. This weight includes my giant nursing bazongas (sorry, Dad, if you're reading this), so I'm going to say I'm fifteen pounds lighter. And I'm a little irritated, to be honest. Nothing fits. My cute jeans are falling off me. I'm not yet small enough to be in pre-Grace clothing, and I still have the strange stomach pouch, so even my loose pre-Grace clothing just looks weird. Like I have a very sad little fanny pack under my clothing. A smashed, child-sized fanny pack.
Also, they do not make pants for people who have had abdominal surgery. I do not remember have so much trouble after Grace was born, but that might be because I had a whole lot more to lose and still fit into a lot of my comfortable maternity yoga pants. Everything has a seam in the wrong spot. Or it's so loose it chafes on the super sensitive skin that extends from my incision up to my belly button (my incision site is actually numb, so that's not even the problem). Or it's a wee bit too tight and has a button or zipper in the wrong spot. I have found one pair of pants that I can wear comfortably. And they are a terrible mixture of mint and lime green. Like if your 70-year-old grandma came to visit from Florida and accidentally spilled a mojito on her lap. Shut up. They were a dollar at Walmart, and I was desperate. And I have looked for other clothing. It just doesn't exist.
Note to self: Learn to sew. And develop a sense of fashion. And ambition. And a good business sense. I do those four things, and I could be rich!
Finally, thanks for the well-wishes and compliments on Emmy in the last couple entries. I, of course, know she's the most beautiful baby in the world, but it's still nice to hear that she's cute. However, is it wrong that I think Grace was a lot cuter? Em looks less like her every day; in fact, I think she's starting to look more like my side of the family. Apparently, James's side has all the really cute genes.