A final answer to the question... Can I PLEASE have a beer?

The answer, despite all my insistent wheedling to the medical community, despite my researching GERMAN studies, despite how badly I need a beer, is no.

That's my latest Health.com post, and I think you guys will get a kick out of it. Particularly since I know how you feel about the champers, etc.

No, no wait, THIS car

Whoozyermama has alerted the general public (a.k.a. me) to the existence of this:



It's Paris Hilton's new car, and I'm TOTALLY going to borrow it, both for the trip TO the hospital as well as Leaf's ride home.

"Hi Paris, yeah it's me. Just checking to see if you've got the LATCH system. Can you make sure? I'll hold..."

I find it oddly encouraging that the super-rich of the world still have enough money to buy pink Bentleys. Not everyone is agonizing over every expense, having a heart attack over spending $10 on a long-sleeved maternity T-shirt and holding off paying a particularly terrifying credit card bill (thanks, 2001 Camry, and your freakin' struts).

So, speaking of STRUTS, that's what Leaf and I will be doing as Hub-D glides us home in this cotton candy colored beauty next June.

Woohoo!

I'm so pleased to announce that (come June, provided this pregnancy goes as planned) our house will be known as what Germans call a "Dreimaedelhaus."

What is that?

Well, for starters, it looks like this:



With a full stable of these:





And the new baby's bedroom will look something like this:


But really, let's not get too far ahead of ourselves here. There are more than FIVE MONTHS before my due date. There is no need to sit around and speculate about home furnishings. I think we should begin by focusing on the proper vehicle with which to bring home our latest addition.





I was thinking this:

And Hub-D would like to add that the horn on this vehicle plays "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun."

Wilkommen an das Dreimaedelhaus, Familien und Freunden!

Don't worry, this story has a happy ending, AND a poll!

Yesterday I was experiencing some strange leakage. My great doctor was off-duty (damn him!) and so I was faced with a normal doctor, who scared the living hell out of Hub-D and me, telling me that he was pessimistic about the continuation of the pregnancy and that I ought to check in to Labor & Delivery immediately.

He hypothesized that I was leaking amniotic fluid, and that the continuation of the leakage (it had gone on for about 15 hours) seemed to indicate that, well, the situation as he put it, was "very bad."

So, terrified out of our minds, we left our kids in the care of a neighbor and flew to the hospital. As I told the my story to the attending nurse (the leakage had started with one big burst, and had been a constant trickle ever since), she got a very long face and told me point blank that it also sounded to her like the end of the pregnancy.

They did a multitude of tests, checking for the presence of amniotic fluid everywhere, looking for "pooling fluid" near the cervix, and using every kind of litmus test and long Q-tip they could find. But... nothing. We don't know exactly what that means -- the two reigning hypotheses are that it WAS amniotic fluid, but the amniotic sac re-sealed, or that it was some other kind of discharge, caused by... something. Whatever. Mystery. Fetus is alive.

At the end of my drama-filled visit and the unexpected "everything is OK" diagnosis, the doctor ordered an ultrasound to ensure that the fetus had ample fluid in which to do its business.

When we checked into the ultrasound center on the first floor of the hospital, the technician started by apologizing that, because I hadn't had an ultrasound of this pregnancy with them before, they would have to do a FULL SCAN of the fetus.

I hopped up on the table in record speed. "Knock yourself out!" I said, "And tell us what the sex is!"

"You want to know?" she asked.

"HELL YEAH."

So do you guys want to know too? I'm happy to reveal, but first I gotta ask...

What sex is the baby?

Dude

Lady

Dude looks like a lady

Results

Dude

We had an AWESOME Christmas, although Santa totally brought the wrong kind of fin. Better luck next year, Santa Claus.

Chebbles and Gigi made out like bandits, and Hub-D bought Mama a half-day at the spa, complete with the promise of childcare during said spa visit.

If you saw my toenails right now, you'd know that this was kind of a self-serving present on Hub-D's part, but STILL, I was so excited when I opened that envelope that I had to go outside and scream and run around for awhile with joy. It is the kind of luxury that I would never buy for myself nowadays, these days of buying socks for Gigi used on eBay... but if Hub-D buys it for me, it's a completely sanctioned splurge. DUDE.

Now, pathetically, I have to have a pre-spa-visit trip to the local waxing shop. My legs, my friends. Let's just sum it up this way:

If you didn't love Colbert before...

You will now.

Merry Christmas!

Weeping with joy about friggin' Christmas

This has made me cry, repeatedly.

Why is Santa making me so EMOTIONAL this year??? Ridiculous. Second trimester hormones during the holidays... a lethal combination.

New post and letter to Santa

Oh my gosh, DUH, I forgot to tell you guys that I have a new post on Health.com, with details about my wrists. Go read it! I pecked it out very diligently with my little claws...

In other news, Chebbles wrote her letter to Santa:

"Dear Santa,

How are you? I've been sick for 20 years for candy. I've been sick for one year or two years or three years.

You will give Ashley coal because she's been naughty and screaming. Whoever be's naughty or nice? I've been nice. I've been to Disneyland, and I say, "No no, Gigi, don't go in the cat food."

I want a fin, a towel, a fin that goes under your legs, a purse and jewelry. And I want Play-Doh and a Mickey calendar and a giraffe. I want a net. I want a lot of things. Spider. Giraffes.

Thank you from Chebbles. Lessons were from Nancy."


WHO IS NANCY? And suddenly with the Mickey calendar? After I busted my hump for the fin?

Poor Ashley with the coal.

My kids

Introducing Leaf...

Chebbles is pretty excited about old Leaf (whom she named, of course). It's pretty amazing how much this new baby already looks like... its sisters.

I'm so in love with my kids today. Gigi's cut her first top tooth, and now she says "water" in addition to 100 words we can't yet understand. She also TOOK A STEP. She fell down after that step, of course, but, it was a step!

And Chebs, oh Chebbles, oh McPie, so bright, so funny, standing up at her class holiday concert today singing her little heart out while I stood at the back of the room crying with joy.

Leaf, you'll be in good company. I'm glad that when I saw you on that 12-week ultrasound, you were practicing your jaw muscles, you're going to need them. For talking, and probably, for biting.

Cabin Fever

There is something about being inside the house for so many days on end that is making me kind of get "Beautiful Mind"-ish.

I was scratching out a few Christmas cards yesterday (I can use some fingers from my left hand to accomplish this) and I started to see "patterns" in the spreadsheet of addresses. Is it a coincidence that my aunt in Chicago and some friends in Pittsburgh, who are alphabetically right next to each other, have ALMOST the same street number for their house? And did you SEE that three people, all in an alphabetical ROW, all have the same zip code? What are the odds?

Then, continuing my endeavor to watch every original Law & Order before the new baby is born, I watched Disc 4 of Season 4 last night, where something VERY BIZARRE happened.

OK, I have watched a lot of "Guiding Light," as I had a succession of babysitters who all watched that soap opera. The role of Ed's wife, Maureen, was replaced sometime in the 1980's -- her part was just suddenly taken over by another actress who I never liked as much, who had a distracting mole in the middle of her forehead.

WELL. Last night, I watch the episode, "Breeders," and THERE is old mole-head, the replacement Maureen, acting as an adoptive mother. Then the episode directly thereafter, "Censure," features the actress who played the ORIGINAL MAUREEN.

Excuse me, I have to head out to the shed and paste up some eerie newspaper clippings.

Conception conspiracy

I just won this expensive beanbag chair from Diaper Swappers' holiday raffle.

This "lovesac" seems like a cozier way to cuddle up with Hub-D when we're watching movies, cozier than our sectional couch which simply affords one person a potential footrub.

So, just in case we accidentally conceive again, after Baby Leaf (Chebbles' name for the new baby) is born, I think we all know who is at fault: The self-serving people of Diaper Swappers, who are clearly conspiring to keep romance alive in the Mama household. BECAUSE they want me to keep using cloth diapers. Maniacs.

* Gigi can now say "banana" in addition to her litany of other words we have yet to translate. But we've gotten two "banana"'s out of her while indicating the fruit.

* Chebbles overcame her mortifying fear of Santa to sit on his lap and ask him for "Ariel" yesterday. WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? Ariel doll? Ariel herself? Santa might be somewhat puzzled.

* New splints on my hands afford me use of a few additional fingers. Right hand still decaying but it's hard to change a diaper with two splints, so I'm blithely marching around without the second splint most of the day.

* Hired a new nanny today, against all of my wishes to the contrary. I'm going to need help when my mom leaves because my hands are minimally useful to us right now. So Nanny C. is scheduled to start Monday. I don't like the idea of someone else doing the work for my kids. That's my job! I'm being outsourced due to mechanical malfunction.

Am I the only one who feels impervious after getting a flu shot? Go ahead! Sneeze on me. Hahaha, stupid germs.

Did you know it's a *different shot* for pregnant ladies?

Got an appointment with my OB's own "hand guy" today. I can't wait. I just hope he doesn't remove my cozy cast, which I've grown to love as it protects me from the feral children who live in my house. Right hand continues to deteriorate. Hoping for the best.

Thanks for all your supportive words, gang.

Dr. W. said this is not pregnancy-related AND I could have surgery before the baby comes if that is indicated. Fascinating that, after 12 weeks, going under the knife is not a problem.

Heard heartbeat again today. Really the most beautiful sound.

My right hand is starting to "go" now too. Nuts! I've put a preemptory brace on it.

Now I'm in a cast. More info later but it is wildly inconvenient to have my left arm completely immobilized.

And if you are K-Z on my Christmas card list, don't hold your breath. I'm left-handed so I can't write either.

And the pregnancy dreams? Insane. Let's just say I put the first syllable in hormones.

Off to attempt a shower with a garbage bag around my arm.

What the HECK? My wrist is getting worse and worse. I couldn't sleep, the pain was so horrible last night. When Hub-D wakes up, we are going to the emergency room.

I have to be mad at someone about this and I choose my doctor, who somehow failed to predict this turn of events. My wrist is so swollen and painful now, I can't do anything. Good thing I'm already wearing elastic pants as buttons are out of the question.

We're wondering if there might be a broken bone in there somehow. It's excruciating.

Thank God my mom is here to take care of the kids.

There is no better way to describe it other than my wrist blew up yesterday. It totally gave up and had the worst, sudden onset of DeQuervain's disease yet.

Today I went to see Dr B., my orthopedic dude, and he's not going to give me any more cortisone shots. EVER. Apparently, it's been discoloring my skin (Michael Jackson-ish) and removing the fat pockets from my wrist skin, so he's cutting me off.

So the bottom line is I can't type. This is being pecked out as I manage the new, super-ugly brace on my left hand, which doesn't really stop my wrist from hurting like hell.

But all this said, today, with all this pain and frustration, I have never been happier in my life. Despite my tough pregnancy, despite my kids' ear infections, despite the economy.

I'm doing precisely what I was put on earth to do, which is raise marvelous kids with my handsome husband. So my wrist wasn't designed to hold giant babies all day long for years on end... someday all my babies will be walking, running, and heading off to college.

And on that day, I can take off this brace.

Brace yourself

My latest Health.com post gets fairly scatological. But I hope you find it a nice laughter break!

Also, I'm planning a post about famous women who have had miscarriages. I have a few in mind, but let me know if you know of any! Misery loves company, particularly if it's famous.

Shoe Fairy Panic

Somehow the mythos of the Shoe Fairy got started here in our house. I order bunches of used kids' shoes from eBay ($5.00 for 6-7 pairs of shoes? sold!), then while Chebbles is sleeping, I fill the hallway with her new shoes. (While serruptitiously removing all of the undesirable, outgrown shoes from her collection... heh heh)

The other day, Chebbles mentioned that it had been SOME TIME since the Shoe Fairy had made an appearance. Since she has grown another size (she's a 9.5 EW, for the record... not a dainty-footed princess), I agreed that perhaps it was time for the Shoe Fairy to appear again.

BUT, I told her, the Shoe Fairy was NOT going to come unless she stopped hitting her head for 10 days. She had picked up this bizarre habit from one of her cousins -- when she would get frustrated or mad, she'd just hold her hand out in front of her and bang her own head with her hand over and over again. It has become her single most annoying behavior, and disciplining the head-hitting only added to her upset feelings. Holding the hand down only filled her with animal rage.

So, I thought I found the perfect solution. It always works with her -- just bring the behavior to her attention and give her a juicy incentive to quit it -- and it disappears. It worked with the night wakings and loads of other annoying behaviors.

Unfortunately for me, this one little comment, "The Shoe Fairy will come if you don't hit your head for 10 days!" completely stopped the behavior. She reached her hand out as though to hit her head just once, and I reminded her of the rule, and she stopped dead. It was over. The head-hitting phenomenon has come to a close.

And now I'm totally screwed. I thought it would take her at least a month to stop hitting her head, and she'd slowly accumulate her 10 days, giving me plenty of time to find another $5 lot of shoes.

But now I'm up against a hard deadline here, folks. She has her eyes on the prize, and I'm trolling eBay like a madwoman. There is ONE LOT of size 9.5 shoes currently on auction, and I put in a high maximum bid and I'm crossing my fingers. I don't know how high I'm going to have to go, but I need some Shoe Fairy magic, man.

Worse comes to worst, I've decided, I'll go to Target or Payless and buy some new 9.5 EW shoes for her on Day 10. But she's started getting particular. "I hope the Shoe Fairy brings me PINK FLIP-FLOPS!" or "Maybe she'll give me BALLET SLIPPERS!"

Yeah, I hope she does. Yeesh.

Hey Hey We're OK

The whole Mama household has been ensconced in our own dramas since Thursday. Chebbles got a wicked ear infection, so she was whisked by a heroic Hub-D to the pediatric emergency clinic and dosed with a big fat vat of bubblegum flavored amoxycillin.

Then Gigi pulled the same trick, but with BOTH ears, and Hub-D took her to the clinic the next day. They were more hesitant to bomb her nine-month-old body with antibiotics, so we're going to try to wait it out and hope for the best.

And me? I have been vomiting constantly, and yet I feel starved most of the time. The vomiting is so severe. I threw up everything I ate last night. And here is the grand injustice of the whole situation: I'm 14 weeks pregnant! The baby is the size of a LEMON! What the hell am I doing still being so sick?

Accompanying this new super-vomiting adventure is a massive dose of second trimester hormones being pumped into my bloodstream. I have pimples, and a huge crush on my husband, and I pretty much hate everybody else. EXCEPT people who bring me food.

So if you think I've started to hate you, here is a hint: set someting edible on the porch and back away slowly. And maybe you won't get the wrath of the vomitous. Maybe you'll hear grateful chomping noises as you stealthily make your way down the block.

I am even kind of hungry thinking of Chebbles' antiobiotic. Now that's just wrong.