"You've got your looks..."

Hub-D and I can't stop laughing at this picture.

It sums up Chebbles so well.

"I'm Ariel, people. Get over it."

Gifted?

Is it just conceit to think that Chebbles is gifted?

I've been convinced that something *special* is going on in that child's head from the very beginning, especially when she said "I did it" at seven months old and had an imaginary friend before she was two.

But doesn't every parent think their kid is gifted? And aren't the experts changing the definitions to include more kids in this special bracket?

I just read this article on Babycenter, that suggests the signs that preschoolers are gifted.

And Chebbles hits about 75% of the qualifications dead on. But other things, she's just a regular kid.

She likes numbers. She knows her numbers. Today she sang a nice little song to the number five. But she's not CRAZY about numbers. And she's only minimally interested in reading. She can recognize the letters in her name, but even the Barbie Diamond Castle book doesn't inspire her to try her hand at putting letters together into words.

So she's not that kind of gifted. But her imagination is out of this world, her memory is superb for little details she learned more than a year ago, and her language skills are beyond anything I've seen in other kids.

Also, something struck me about the article, about feeling isolated from her peers. She just wants to look at books and play with her friend Z. at school. Now that Z. is out of town for a week, I thought she might make a few new friends. But she doesn't jive with them.

"The kids are too little in my class, Mama, I can't talk with them."

A few kids are younger, but most are older than The Chebs. Once she gets her reading and math in line, maybe she'll skip a grade like her old dad.

But is she gifted? Does meeting 75% of the qualifications count? Does she need special care in education? Or does she just need to learn to make friends?

Oh Cheb.

Gripes

Isn't Gigi gorgeous? That's part of why I can't account for why I'm so grumpy.

It might be one of those thousand-paper-cut situations.

The economy is in the pooper, so our bank account has done the same thing everyone else's has done in the last few weeks. Plus we get a snarky little bill from the State of California that we owe them $100 more dollars on top of everything else we've sent them. Where is the "Thank You" note we ought to get? Or I'd just settle for some reassurance that our tax money is well spent. Like prompt police service, or good public schools, or highways that don't make you think you have a flat tire. If I'd never visited any other states, I might not know to expect more from our tax dollars. But it seems that California is particularly moronic about spending. It's like some ne'er-do-well relative that keeps hitting you up for cash, but you know he's just going to spend it on beer.

The doctor's office had to reschedule my weekly ultrasound because the doctor had to perform emergency surgery on anothr patient. I have no grounds to protest this cancelling since, on February 26, my emergency C-section was the reason Dr. W had to cancel all of his afternoon appointments. But still, this was *the* appointment. I would like to know whether the baby is going to live or die. Even if we get good news, we'll have a lot of nail-biting to do between now and a potential due date -- but still, this is the make-or-break, are-we-planning-to-live-through-the-first-trimester appointment. And it's DELAYED.

Everyone else is a better mom than me these days, because I'm so tired and sick all of the time. (Please don't say that my being sick is a sign of a healthy pregnancy. For me, it's meaningless -- see: December 27, 2006.) I can barely push a stroller around the block without wanting to collapse in my neighbors' yards. So Gigi is getting little or no fresh air, and just a lot of bitching from the Mama department.

OK, I'm depressing myself. And I've got to get The Chebs down for a "nap" which will just entail her sitting up in bed singing like Ariel for the next hour at the top of her lungs. But at least I can lie down and read more of the juicy Richard Powers book, "The Echo Maker." It was one of you people that recommended it to me. And it's really GREAT. So that's one thing. Pat yourselves on the back for the book recommendation.

(And if you haven't read "The Thirteenth Tale" yet, I am inclined to force you.)

Cotton and thievery

It's time for my annual reminder to not to buy anything NEW on eBay. Remember when I discovered that I was unwittingly rewarding shoplifters?

I love eBay, passionately. I just found a real German dirndl with a holiday-appropriate print, complete with all of the pieces, in Chebbles' size, for $13. If I'd bought that dirndl in Germany, it would have set me back at least $60, and I wouldn't have found one as cute either.

And as part of my enviro-fanaticism of late, I have resolved not to buy new non-organic cotton. Cotton production just sucks. Cotton production uses 25% of the world's insecticides and 10% of the world's pesticides. And dude, all of those -cides run into folks' water supplies, and they end up killing progressively cuter things, including cuddly, big-eyed mammals (like bear cubs, and people).

So that's why I've started to rely on eBay for clothing purchases that can't be accomplished with organic cotton. And thus, when it became clear that we would need a couple holiday dresses for The Chebs, I reported back to the auction site. (Our local Salvation Army store is picked-over, and the kids' consignment shops are open about 2 hours/day, so online is my best bet.)

But the people selling oddly cheap "New With Tags" clothing are still rampant on eBay. I've discovered that I can filter for just "used" clothing, but I'm astounded by the sheer amount of stolen clothing that is being sold on eBay. It's Shoplifter Central on there! And mind you, some people haven't even stolen the clothes yet -- they are basically offering their services -- if you want that 4T Children's Place dress, they'll get it for you! All you have to do is bid over a certain amount.

My theory has been that, like small electronics, children's clothes are easy to steal. And I don't subscribe to ANY of the rationalizations about "corporations are just out to gouge you anyway" and "they can just write off the shrinkage" -- no, it's bullshit. You're stealing from every single employee and customer of that organization, and it's narcissistic to assume that you have some unique right to do so.

Oh man, I sound hormonal here, don't I? Well anyway, my point is made. Non-organic cotton producers and eBay shoplifters -- I'm gonna GIT YOU.

On edge

I am constantly convinced that my (now re-discovered) pregnancy is on the brink of ending.

Any little cramp, or the sensation of discharge, or if I wake up feeling NOT very sick, or pretty much anything can indicate, in my mind, the end of the dream.

Next week, I have another ultrasound. Dr. W. has kindly told me that he'll consider the new baby (Baby D) likely to make it to term if we can make it to nine weeks, and that would be next week.

Last time it was ten weeks. I'm not sure what the difference is, but I'll take it.

This is a particularly nervewracking time because I lost our third pregnancy at 8.5 weeks, EXACTLY where we are now. And I didn't know it for a week and a half. And later, Hub-D told me that he thought I seemed less sick from about the time the embryo died. But I didn't feel that at all. Maybe I felt ever-so-slightly less sick, but I was still extremely ill. I wonder if it was the progesterone suppositories I was taking at the time, that masked the lack of symptoms I might have felt?

OH GOD just fast-forward me to next week.

Now I'm in Washington State, visiting our cousins. Gigi is having a BALL with them, and actually enjoys being manhandled and amused by a room full of cousins. And Chebbles? I haven't seen Chebbles since we arrived. She gets lost in the mass of blonde kids and I don't usually spot her again until we go back to Portland Airport, when she sorts herself back out of the crowd and into my care once again.

But being here means that I wasn't able to schedule an emergency ultrasound this morning, to get to the bottom of why I don't feel AS sick as I've been feeling. My fingers were itching to dial the doctor's number and try to sneak in an ultrasound before our flight, so I wouldn't stay up at night here, staring at the ceiling and thinking, "Oh great, now I'll actually miscarry and NO ONE WILL BELIEVE ME."

Our shocking news is finally public

MAN, I have been waiting for this moment, to tell you guys what the HELL is going on in my uterus.

I waited until I had proper medical data to explain everything, so it's now live on Health.com.

You're going to freak out.

Your mama can't dance

"When I grow up I want to be a ballerina, because how it makes me feel when I close my eyes," Chebbles sang as she danced around the family room yesterday with a lilac scarf in her fingers, letting it trail behind her.

Gigi and I watched the performance, utterly enchanted.

And last night I thought more about it. She does love to close her eyes when she is dancing, and just feel what her body is doing. She is an incredibly physical kid, with great balance and coordination.

Now I also feel like I need to expose her to as much dance as possible. Dance classes and dance performances. "Feed the beast," my friend C. says. She goes by this philosophy... whenever your kid shows a prediliction for something, just feed the beast.

But first I have to set aside my own feelings about dance. I wish I could dance. I was never coordinated enough to really "get" ballet. I couldn't follow the teacher with any level of skill and I just got confused. My legs wouldn't stretch in the ways they were supposed to stretch and after a few years of trying out dance classes as a kid, I just quit the whole thing.

Ballerinas seemed so beautiful. I would have liked to be one. But I just didn't have the base physical ability to do it. I also wonder if being left-handed kind of screwed up my ability to follow the teacher in some way. (I'm sure there are thousands of left-handed ballerinas, but let me sulk in peace...)

So for me, dance class was kind of a torture. I liked the outfits and the idea of dancing, but I hated that I was always the remedial student.

So now we have The Chebs. And she loves dancing. She loves the way it makes her feel when she closes her eyes.

And tonight, I'll be hauling The Jeege and Chebs over to the dance studio for another class, hastily feeding the baby in her portable high chair while Chebbles studies the teacher and plies with the best of them.

I sense this is just the beginning.

Oh, G!

This morning I was writing my latest Health.com entry (due to post on Thursday, will include more information about my uterus than you ever dreamed), and I asked Gigi, really nicely, if she would go find something else to do while Mama writes.

Something besides eating the cat food, I specified.

Ten minutes later I was chatting with a doctor on the phone about, you know, my uterus, trying to get all the information straight for Thursday's post, when suddenly I hear a cry for help coming from across the house.

Luckily, we were wrapping up the interview at that point, so I calmly hung up the phone with him and darted toward the sound.

And there was the Jeege, perched on top of the open dishwasher door, where she'd hoisted herself, then found herself stranded there, among the dirty breakfast spoons and bowls, unable to disembark from the dishwasher door.

I gotta admire her pluck. And she was following directions, entertaining herself without the benefit of food intended for pets.

Perhaps I can get her to actually load the dishwasher while I'm working on the Health.com blog entries next time. She could troll for food scraps and work on her manual dexterity at the same time.

In other news, she gladly wears sunglasses:

When swans attack

At the Schloss Nymphenburg in Munich, Gigi's toes prove too tempting to a seemingly "friendly" swan...

"I've changed my mind about Halloween," Chebbles said.

"I really want to be Ariel."

"You're going to be Belle, we already bought the dress."

"But Mama, I changed my mind."

Being a sucker for Halloween, and for my child and her mermaid obsession, I caved.

"I'm not going to spend any more money on this costume," I said.

"All I need is a tail, Mama," she said. "And I need my hair to be red."

Rather than having a "Manic Panic" moment, I opted for a cheap little wig, called the... Ariel wig. Am I the only person weirded out by the photo of the wig? Is it the fake lashes on the child?

I'm inclined to believe my weird feelings stem from how much the model is channeling Aileen Quinn. I mean, is it just me?

The Maerchenwald Abenteuer

I've been meaning to post videos from our Germany trip, and I think the Maerchenwald Day is an excellent place to start.

Hub-D, Chebbles and I got on the S-Bahn and rode it all the way to the end, whereupon we found another taxi with a booster seat built in (Huzzah, Deutschers!) and caught a ride to the Maerchenwald.

This means "Fairy Tale Forest" and it wildly exceeded all of our expectations for a Fairy Tale Forest. Dangerous self-starting wild boars you can RIDE? Check! American Indians portrayed in the most, uh, German way possible? Check! A tower containing Rapunzel, whose hair actually lowers if you yell up to her? CHECK!

We were most impressed by how dangerous everything was. There is no way in the world that a bunch of dopey Americans could ever be set loose in this park. Most of the rides were controlled by the patrons, with no attendant in sight. And the slides? THE SLIDES? They were so terrifying that Hub-D and I lost years of our lives going down them with Chebbles.

Was Chebbles afraid of anything in the park? Nope. She was even begging to get on the terrifying squirrel rollercoaster, and I had to inform her that she wouldn't be allowed until she was four. We briefly contemplated putting our 2-year-old on the rollercoaster, but Hub-D and I concluded that the safety rules were so incredibly LAX throughout the rest of the park that we should probably take their one rule seriously.

We'll start with a video of the wild boar ride. You would climb up a set of steps and hop on a boar, then push a button to tell the mechanism to send your boar into the forest. The boar would follow a bumpy track between the trees and you were supposed to just hang on to your swine for dear life.

Then the Slides of Horror... you fit your body into a wool blanket and just... go. Notice the boy sitting there watching Chebbles and me go down this unpopular, extreme Slide of Horror. That's what you call good old fashioned Schadenfreude, my friends.

This slide should have been no problem, but my shoes kind of stuck to the metal and, well, I'm not a "graceful" person. Watch in particular how Chebbles' face changes from one of shock at the beginning to one of joy. She loves a thrill!



Here you can see how Chebbles was truly enchanted with the strange storybook scenes littered throughout the park. Even the hollering German girl doesn't faze her as she gazes into the witch's glowing eyes.

And we were very generous with Chebbles. Almost every time she said, "Let's do it again!" we did it again. But finally, the park was about to close, and we'd ridden every ride about 500 times, and I declare a new destination...




And finally, in case you're wondering whether Gigi was having any fun that day too, I'll include the video I took when we discovered the baby in the bathtub, having a whale of a time with Grandma when we returned.

In which I vilify my former OB...

Hey everyone, my latest Health.com post is up.

I discuss how I've been waiting for the pregnancy to pass, and how I've hoed this row before.

It's kind of cool how other people are chiming in to the Health.com blog -- and it's more of the "general public" than here, so we're getting naysayers and pro-lifers and a whole little crowd of people who don't feel like they have to be uplifting in their commentary. And it's kind of refreshing. Not that I don't relish being surrounding by my loving, blogging family, but it's kind of juicy to hear from completely new people who think in a different way.

And, in other news, Gigi likes it when her cousin pushes her in the bucket swing. A lot.

You deserve this

Chebbles! Gigi!


Thank you for all your continuing support everyone. The sweet comments, phone messages and bottles of wine. All helpful, immensely helpful. And PS: Chebbles! Gigi!

Oma

I can't sleep. It's 4:44am as I start to write this post and I've been up since 3:00am. I heard Gigi cry, but my delicious husband mixed up a bottle, went in to her room and soothed her back to sleep in his beefy arms. Lucky girl.

I'm sad about how helpless Oma feels right now. She's always been in control of her surroundings, worrying everything into the right place.

I don't think she minds the idea that she will die sometime soon. She's done. She's had a great life, two kids, loving husband waiting for her on "the other side." In particular, after she dies, she'd like to see her mom again, who died so far away from Oma, after World War II. Oma was in the United States with her little kids, and her mother withered away in Germany, uncared for in her last moments as her countrymen scuttled around just trying to survive after the war.

She didn't deserve that end, Oma feels. She just wants to see her mom. So while she's still living as much as she can, she's comfortable with the idea of wrapping up the whole scene.

It's really my problem. I don't want a world without Oma. She lived happily until the age of 59 before I came along. So she's just fine without me. But she's been there for every single transition in my life, and I just feel so absolutely loved when I'm with her. I don't want my single greatest fan to disappear off the face of the earth. But dude, she's ready.

Is there any benefit to bracing myself for to die? Or should I continue to live in denial about this, pretending she's immortal until the very last second?

There is just no way this isn't going to hurt like hell.

Home again

I'm home from Indiana, where it was marvelous to check up on Oma, and to smell her cookies in her apartment, and to ply her for more stories of Germany in the 20's and 30's.

She's 96, and almost totally blind now. And her equilibrium is now giving way, so she's dizzy, blind, has short-term memory problems and experiences joint pain throughout her body.

She sprained her ankle while I was there, which will seriously effect her freedom, at least for the short term. Or it might mean a much-dreaded shift into the "assisted living" portion of her retirement community.

But she still remembers every dress she wore as a teenager, she still remembers wearing out her shoes walking all over Berlin because they didn't have enough money for bus fares. She still remembers every detail of my own short life, and she lets me tell Gigi's birth story over and over again.

It was wonderful to travel without children, but ultimately, after a few days away from my babies, I start to wonder what my purpose is, other than grilling Oma about her wedding day and reading the obituaries in the Lafayette newspaper.

Health.com entry live -- How to help grieving moms...

Have you ever wondered how best to comfort a friend who has lost a baby? By "lost a baby" I think this could mean anything from a failed IVF to a stillbirth -- it's this strange grey area in which people flounder for the right words.

I hope my perspective on the issue helps some. And if you have some other advice on the issue, (even contrarian!) let me know.

I wish I'd known more about this when my friends lost babies in the past.

Thank you so much for reading my Health.com entries, guys. And let me know what else you'd like me to cover!

Taking Care of The Jeege

This is the second of a two-part series in which I abdicate responsibility for my little girls and head off to party with their great-grandmother in the Midwest. (I've been promised brownies and a trip to Red Lobster. AND Oma has promised not to wake me up to feed her in the middle of the night. So, like I said, party!)


How to Take Care of Gigi

Nights
She usually sleeps from 6:15am or 6:30pm until 6am with one night waking, somewhere between 11pm and 2am (She will take a whole nine-ounce bottle at this night waking, so be prepared with powder in a bottle before you go to bed, so you can just add warm water and go in to her.).

If she's taken a long third nap, then the bedtime could be as late as 7:15, but this is rare.

Lately she's been waking up at around 5:38am, completely awake, poop in her diaper, rarin' to take on the day. I hope this doesn't happen to you, these early wakings, because it's dreary, not even close to sunrise, trying to quietly entertain her somewhere in the house where she won't wake up anyone else with her squeals of joy. If you can, take her out for a walk if this happens.

A couple times lately, she's slept through the night. If this is the case, make sure she gets that nine-ounce bottle right when she wakes up. (Even before the poop is changed!)


Naps
Our ideal is a 9am nap, a 1pm nap, and then maybe a third nap around 4:30-5pm if her second nap was short. She usually runs a little early on the first two naps -- so if she seems tired, just give her a six-ounce bottle in her rocking chair, try to get out a burp (I'm only about 40% successful in getting a good burp out of her) and lay her down with her three "kitties" (pacifiers with cat stuffed animals attached) on her lambskin. Turn on the white noise machine, and the hit the orange button on her heater if it's chilly in her room. And you're done. She doesn't need to be asleep when you put her down. She'll go to sleep well on her own, cuddled up with her kitty. Try to remember to remove her barrette when you put her down too.

I don't advise singing or talking to her as you're putting her down. She can get pretty easily amused, and it will be harder for her to go to sleep.

And sometimes she'll cry a little when you leave the room. This is unusual -- when she's tired, she usually just calms right down and silently goes to sleep. But it's OK if she cries a little.


Food
She needs to drink at least 20 ounces of formula a day, which isn't usually a problem, since she'll guzzle that 9-ouncer in the middle of the night. The bottle before every nap also helps to relax her. She likes her bottles REALLY warm. I've also found, if you're mixing the formula in the bottle, it's helpful to stir it up with a fork before you shake it up, to break up the chunks.

For her daytime feedings, unless it's been a long time since her last bottle, she will drink a maximum of 6 ounces at a time. No need to prepare a big bottle for the daytime feedings, and don't fret if she only takes an ounce or two.

There are five components of her bottles -- the bottle itself, the two-piece anti-gas insert, then the collar and nipple.

In order to score the perfect temperature, I put about 1/3 of hot water in from the hot water dispenser in the sink, then 2/3 cold filtered water from the fridge dispenser. Then I add the formula. (Except for the middle-of-the-night feeding, for which I use a pre-prepared bottle, for goodness' sake)

She does need to have a solid meal four times a day. I usually space these out like this: 7:30am (breakfast), 11:30am (lunch), 3:30pm (big snack), 5:30pm (dinner).

She will eat almost anything. Just grind it up in the hand-grinder in the cabinet at the bottom left corner by the stove. Or you can grab a jar from the cabinet over the microwave. The only things she doesn't get yet are eggs or peanuts, just in case she's allergic. But she's already had incidental exposure to these things with no ill effects, so please don't worry if she gets a dash of peanut butter by accident. And I don't worry about things where egg is an ingredient. You are also not supposed to feed babies honey, so we don't, but I also don't think this is a big deal.

You can also just cut things up into tiny pieces for her to grab. She loves this. I mash up peas onto her tray, and she enjoys feeding herself. I also just give her any crusts left over from Chebbles' toast or anything we're eating, just little portions. You can also use the kitchen shears to good effect -- this is how I make little grape slivers for Gigi to enjoy, or cut up pasta into little bites.

Knock on wood, she's never choked, but if she does, just let her work through it, unless there is absolutely no sound coming from her throat. If there is no sound coming from her throat, call 911 immediately, then turn her onto your knee and whack her in a kind of Baby Heimlich. There is a good diagram here: http://www.health.harvard.edu/fhg/firstaid/heimlichInf.shtml. We were taught that it's better to call 911 the instant there is a sign of serious trouble, even if everything is quickly resolved. That way, in case there is still a problem in five minutes, you have EMT's working on it.


Rules for Sisters
Gigi is allowed to touch most everything she can reach in the house, except for the cat food, much to her disappointment. This means that if Chebbles doesn't want her sister to touch something, then she must put it up out of Gigi's reach.

Also, if Gigi gets something of her sister's, and Chebbles wants it back, she can't just rip it from her hands. She needs to offer her an alternative toy

Chebbles is very gentle with Gigi, and unless Gigi is really crying, I usually let them sort everything out on their own.


Entertaining the baby
Gigi self-entertains a great deal, but benefits from new environments. Lately I've been putting her in overalls (to save her little knees) and letting her go crazy on the lawn. She tears up the grass and puts some of it in her mouth and tastes the fallen leaves and crawls around looking for adventure. We don't use any chemicals on our lawn, so this is OK.

And she is very ticklish, and loves being tickled. We can get her going pretty hard if we tickle her chest with our noses!



Diapers
She needs to be changed more often than you think, due to her "stealth poops" -- poops that don't really stink, but give her a rash if they're left against her skin for too long.

So you have a choice with diapering. I have a stash of Size 3 disposable diapers which you can use on her while you're caring for her. The drawback for her is that she gets worse diaper rashes with disposables.

Or you can bravely try the Bumgenius 3.0 cloth diapers. They are really easy, honestly. There is a stack of them within arm's reach of the changing table (in the closet) and you just put them on like disposable diapers, using the Velcro tabs to attach them in the front. Just make sure the liner is straight inside the diaper before you put it on. That's it! No pins or rubber pants or anything to fool around with.

And when she is done with a cloth diaper, there are two routes it can take. If it's just saturated with pee, take out the liner and put both pieces into the "Cloth Diapers" Diaper Genie (the one without the liner) in her bedroom. If it's got poop in it, take it to the toilet and dump the poop into the toilet (it's OK if not all of it falls off into the toilet), then take out the liner and put it in the colorful zipped "Wet Bag" on top of the dryer.

If you VERY bravely decide to wash a load of cloth diapers, just be sure to use All or the Charley's Soap, not the Dreft, which takes away the liner's absorptive quality. You pile the diapers and liners into the washer, wash them once in cold water, then once in hot water with an extra rinse, then pop them in the dryer on "warm" (or hang them on the line) and you're done.

If you are extremely courageous, you could also use the cloth wipes, which are stacked near the diapers. I spray her bottom with California Baby spray (sitting on the changing table) then I use the cloth wipes to clean up extra poop. Just push the used cloth wipes into the Diaper Genie with the other cloth diapers and you're done! You've saved the environment!


Emergencies
Emergency numbers are on the left side of the fridge. And I'm terrible at keeping my cell phone within audible distance of me, so always try Daddy's phone first.

Belly recorder

In last night's dream I am more than 40 weeks pregnant while I sit in a college classroom.

Then I realize it's time to have the baby and I excuse myself noisily from the classroom. Everyone knows why I'm leaving and there is a murmur of excitement.

During my C-section, they remove a placenta and an old fashioned tape recorder from my body.

There is a terrible few minutes of confusion where I believe that they also removed an infant girl from my body, and I think I see her, and I'm laughing because her hair is long like Gigi's. I call my mother over to take a look at this beautiful new girl, then I realize I am mistaken, and it's just the tape recorder.

It's a kid's tape recorder.

I never got a chance to hit "play" on the recorder.

Maintaining The Cheb

Hub-D's parents are taking care of Chebbles and Gigi while I go to visit Oma this coming week. It's a long-planned trip and I'm looking forward to "sleeping in" past 5:30am a few mornings, but I figured I'd write a few things down so they won't have to reinvent the Chebbles Wheel while they're here...

All About Chebbles' routine...

Mornings
Unless there is a matter of gross ugency, we do not go into her until 7:00am. If she hears ANY sign of life in the hallway before that time, she might get excited and call out. If you can stealthily sneak away, that's best. But if your presence is undeniable, and it's after 6:00am, then what the heck, just go into her.

She doesn't leave her bedroom unless you go in to get her. I don't know why. I'm not going to ask any questions. She's perfectly capable of leaving her bed and her room on her own, but she won't. It's awesome.

Your first priority when she wakes up is getting some breakfast in her. You'll notice that if you delay this process by even ten minutes, you will PAY in tantrums. Her world becomes increasingly bleak unless her blood sugar rises upon waking. If you need a quick jolt to her system, she's always game for some juice, or better yet, some of her daddy's fruited probiotic drinks in the fridge.

Her breakfast needs to be fairly hearty. I usually do a carb (toast, waffle, cereal), and a protein (egg, sausage, yogurt), plus some fruit, even if it's just diluted juice. And, as with all of her meals, she may not leave the table unless she asks to be excused.


Potty
She doesn't wear a diaper at all, not even a Pull-Up at night. She just doesn't need to pee all that often, and hasn't had an accident in weeks (knock on wood). She will go to the bathroom on her own, but sometimes she wants some help getting her underpants back on. She resists washing her hands, and I have to proctor that part of the process with some regularity. If it really isn't going to happen, I just stalk her with a wet washcloth and clean those mitts myself.

You need to insist that she go to the potty before naptime and before bedtime. If this is met with resistance, just get a tempting book and perch on the edge of the bathtub, and let her know that only kids who are sitting on the potty get to hear "Cinderella," and you should have her on that potty in no times.


Lunch and Dinner
I serve these at about 12:30pm and 6pm. She must eat three bites of each food being served (three bites of rice, three bites of burger, etc.) before she may be excused. Rarely, she finds a meal to be unpalatable, and in those instances I do cook something else for her. It's just so unusual that I take her at her word that she truly can't eat something. (Most recently ginger salmon... but other salmon is OK)


Nap
She should always try to take a nap, lying down sometime between 1pm and 1:30pm. Close both the blinds and the curtains, at least five minutes of a story (use the timer, or the reading will be interminable), leave her with a sippy cup of water and Mimi, and just walk out.

If she falls asleep, she'll sleep for 2-3 hours. If she sleeps past 4:30pm, in which case I just open her door and walk away, and she usually wakes up shortly.

Sometimes she just can't take a nap. I require that she stay in her bed for at least an hour, even if she's reading. But after an hour, it's pretty clear that no nap will happen. This means that she must have an early bedtime, which she's almost always amenable to. Her bedtime can be as early as 6:00pm if there is no nap. It's essential that she not stay up past 7pm if she doesn't nap during the day.



Bedtime
Bedtime hits anytime between 6-8pm.

She just needs to brush her teeth and pee before going to bed. Sometimes she embarks on a particularly long poop at this time too. You can truncate the long time on the potty by just leaving her alone in the bathroom when she "has to poop." Sometimes she says she has to poop just to get another story read to her on the potty, but if she really has to go, she doesn't mind being alone in there.


She only gets water in her sippy cup, and she likes the sippy cup to be on her headboard while she's sleeping. I think she only rarely drinks it.

Rarely, she will cry when you leave the room. You can re-enter her room just once in order to ascertain that there isn't some matter of urgency, but I'd recommend not going in at all, or else the curtain calls will continue throughout the night.



Night wakings
We are working to cure her of the night wakings, and she's almost there. If you hear her cry in the middle of the night, try not to respond to it. Sometimes she "loses Mimi" who is inevitably right next to her when you go in to look for him. In general, it's best to ignore the night wakings, but the crying is going on and on, you could go in, just don't be friendly. Be brusque and businesslike, attend to the matter at hand and then leave her again.



Exercise
Chebbles needs maximum exercise. She's a physical kid, and she won't be happy, won't eat well or sleep well if she doesn't get a chance to run around at a park or climb around with her friends at least a couple hours a day. You can take her on a bicycle ride around the block, which she LOVES, or a walk, or a hike, a jump in the trampoline, or just run around the backyard on some pretext.

Day 6, yeah, no

I had a ridiculous moment at The Jungle today (for the unitiated, it's like Chuck. E. Cheese but with a terrifying monkey instead of a mouse) when I thought our deceased zygote was going to make an appearance at the birthday party we were attending.

But no, nothing, no real bleeding. It's still in there. And I still look pregnant and that BUGS THE HELL OUT OF ME. I don't look hugely pregnant or anything, but I look merrily four months along, I would say. Because it's all still in there, and I don't know much about the reproductive system, but I would guess that my uterus is STILL BUILDING LINING in there.

Note to uterus: Let it go, man. Just let it go. It's like Matt Damon in "Good Will Hunting," just clinging to its lining, hysterically building up a placenta for an embryo that isn't going to use it. "It's NOT YOUR FAULT, uterus."

As we wait for the Big Bleeding to begin, I think that Hub-D is, like me, harboring this ridiculous and futile hope that it might still make it after all. Then the pregnancy would be TWIN BOYS who would go on to win two HEISMAN TROPHIES!

I'm driving myself nuts.

But there are some things that make me feel less horrible. While I firmly enter the anger/depression stage of grief, anything that takes the edge off is welcome.

* First, last week is over. Hub-D and I call it our "Shit-Ass Week." I think we've earned the right to swear about it. So anyway, Shit-Ass Week has come to a close.

* Hub-D has a college friend who had FIVE, count 'em, FIVE unexplained miscarriages after the birth of her second child. You'd think that would depress the hell out of me, but now she's pregnant and close to term with their third child. Looking at his little body in the ultrasound gives me hope.

* Other people have shared similar stories with me, which I love hearing. I'm sure there are other people who have stories like, "And then I had 100 miscarriages and never held a baby. The End." But people are holding back with those tales for right now. Thank Christ.

* I have really, really good friends who are caring for me in every way you can imagine. Body, soul, liver... really, everything. When Marz showed up with a bottle of wine and her own interesting story that was totally unrelated to my miscarriage, a little technicolor flickered at the corners of my black-and-white view of life.

* Also, I'm so glad I told everyone I was pregnant for the 10 days that I thought I was. Because everyone has taken the ride with me, and we all have sledded down the hill of sadness together. Otherwise, I'd be at the bottom of this snowy hill, yelling up to you all, "Hey, guess how I got down here!?"

* And I got an e-mail from an insightful woman who had three disastrous miscarriages of her own, and she hit the nail on the head when she said how IRRITATING it is when people tell you to appreciate the children you have. You might notice that no one who has actually has experienced miscarriage or fetal loss ever says that.

OK, that said, Chebbles and Gigi do lift me up. They give me a reason to get out of bed, when I just want to lie there and argue with my dead zygote. They give me a reason to stay active, they give me toys to clean up, and they make Hub-D and me laugh like crazy. Gigi and Hub-D have developed their own game where Hub-D hides behind the sofa and pops his head up at random intervals.

Gigi laughs so hard that the whole family loses their minds. Her bottom teeth stick out and she throws back her head of hair and laughs like a maniac when Hub-D's head pops up. And it IS funny.

So there is that.

Zygote-watch, Day 5.

I mean, seriously. I got nothing.

But what are my alternatives, other than sitting around and waiting for it to decide to leave?

I haven't wanted to see blood this badly since I was overdue with my big babies.

And here we are, just twiddling our thumbs, waiting for the onslaught.

So I'm off to Trader Joe's to buy some creme fraiche and Gruyere with Gigi. I'm planning to make a complicated scalloped potatoes dish from the organic produce our CSA dropped off on Wednesday.

Because what else am I supposed to do?

Fish and guests...

I called Dr. W. yesterday afternoon and told him: It won't leave. Although I had a quick spate of bleeding the day we discovered the miscarriage, it stopped just as suddenly. It's like the quickest period you ever had. So basically, it's still... there.

It's disconcerting because I want it to go, so we can move on past this pregnancy and work on a new one, one that might actually transform into a real baby.

Because I've had "abbreviated" pregnancies before, I can tell you that there should be a lot more gore occurring right now. And yet...

Dr. W. said, "You're probably just getting a reprieve."

"Isn't there anything we can do pharmaceutically?" I asked.

"Those solutions are really uncomfortable. And I wouldn't admit you for a D&C for a pregnancy that ended this early."

"So... we wait and see?"

"It should pass," he reassured me.

And yet! Here we are! It's Thursday, and it's just still in there. Why is my body holding onto this failure?

And of course I started fantasizing that maybe it was all a big, funny trick and I am really still pregnant.

But the fact that all of my symptoms have completely stopped is Hint #1 that I'm wrong about that.

And Hint #2 would be the ultrasound that showed the little zygote that couldn't.

I just want to be done.


PS: I'm also currently not open for miscarriage advice of any kind from anyone but Dr. W. Unless it's "get drunk with me" or "I'm so damn sorry" I really don't want to hear it right now. I can't listen to the nutritional diatribes, herbal solutions or "what worked for me" stuff. It's not helpful. If you can't help yourself, then say something like, "I had an idea for you, just let me know if you'd like to hear it," instead of launching into a bunch of reasons why this miscarriage was my fault.

Health.com Post Now Live

I was looking forward to announcing my pregnancy on Health.com. How aggravating that instead, I'm announcing our third miscarriage today.

But onward and upward, yes?

So says The Jeege.