That's why we can't have nice things

Well my friends, I'm sure you're all in your post-Christmas comas, but I thought I'd pop in with a quick story for you.

All of our Christmas decorations are down and put away; we're the 'day after Christmas decorations-removal' types around here.  Drew's birthday is New Year's Eve and I want a clear separation between the two holidays.  I'm sure as our kids get older, they'll push to leave the decorations up longer, but until then, we have the final say and we say that shit comes down the morning after Christmas, and that's where our story begins...

Actually, it starts a few weeks before Christmas.  No, it started in 2009.  Gah, my storytelling skills are rusty.  But yes, this story definitely started in 2009.

First, Drew looks so young!  

This was right after we moved into our first house in Texas.

Our dining room table was an amazing Craigslist find and we both loved it from the second we laid eyes on it.  We always got tons of compliments on it and I envisioned it being in our family till the end of time.

Then came Sofia.

The table is an antique Spanish door and the glass was inset into the top.  However, it wasn't a tight seal, and when we moved to Pennsylvania, the table was the central spot for all playtime activities as well as all meals.  It wasn't long before spilled milk under the glass was a frequent occurrence  and it was a gigantic pain in the ass to try and lift that piece of glass every. single. time to clean underneath it.  Never mind the crumbs that were constantly falling in the cracks and nearly impossible to get out and the smeared ketchup and tiny handprints that were always on the glass.  We would constantly call and text each other that "You're going to have to lift the glass AGAIN."  "I can't keep this stupid table clean!"  "I'm done with this table.  I'm serious."

In short, the table was gorgeous, unique, we loved it so much, but it was not at all kid-friendly and the thought of double the mess with another baby coming made my eye twitch.

Besides, when it comes to this face and a dining room table, 

there's really no contest.

The last straw happened a few weeks before Christmas when Sofia got hold of a flashlight - the big Mag Light I keep by my bed and decided she wanted to play drums on the table.  It's a miracle she didn't shatter the glass, and we ordered a new table the next day.

So we cleared it off, gave it one last wipe down and it's going to live with Drew's co-worker who already told me that I can come over and see it anytime I want. His kids are older and know how to act around glass tables and maybe we'll get there one day too. But for now, we need something a little more kid friendly.

The new table is round, solid wood and has a rustic look that 

won't look bad if it gets dinged.  

It looks small, but it's quite roomy and it's growing on me.

I still have to style it but I think I can make it work.

There's a lot of wood tones going on between the wine rack, chair legs, Sofia's tower, little art drawer thingie and floor but I think I can bring it together.

I won't lie though - it makes me want a white kitchen.

*as Drew passes out because spending money makes him faint*

Now let us turn to the living room, as our story continues....

Remember how I drove to Virginia for a sofa?

Ah, Harrison.  Those were the days.

Harrison came to live with us in September of 2012.  Once again, the small person of the house looked at Harrison, laughed and proceeded to let everyone know that this is her world and we're just in it.  Harrison has been vomited on, peed on, pooped on; he's had milk, water and juice spilled on him, crackers smooshed into him and he just wasn't ready.  They told us, but we didn't listen.  Velvet is NOT a kid-friendly fabric.  No matter how quick you are at blotting spills, velvet holds everything.  Once the fibers get wet, they're toast and they look terrible.

I'm sorry Harrison.  We just didn't know.

That giant shiny bit on the front right cushion is a big ol' water spill.

That one's water, not pee.

This time.

The sofa isn't even two years old.  It's still sturdy and we like the length and depth but there is hardly a spot on it that isn't stained.  These pictures don't do it justice - it's really bad.  We're debating moving this one down to the basement playroom and getting a new slipcovered sofa so I can at least wash out the bodily fluids, or shelling out the $$$ to have a custom slipcover made for this sofa.  The jury is still out on that one.

So let me be your PSA - Do not buy a velvet sofa if you have kids or dogs or plan on having them anytime soon.  Velvet is one of those fabrics that belongs that room of your house that no one goes in.  Unfortunately for us, our house is too tiny to have any space that's off limits so we're either sticking with our stained sofa as it is, or ponying up to get another, more indestructible one.

And that brings us to last night.....

Like I said, we're the ones who take the Christmas stuff down as soon as possible.  Additionally, Sofia made out like a bandit and got lots of new toys so we needed to make room for all of them.

The old living room set-up, sort of.

The gray table on the right was next to the sofa but this was mid-rearranging.

This area was feeling cramped, so Drew suggested we move the wine rack

to the dining room now that we have the round table and we have more space.

I thought that was a great idea, so we cleared off the top, removed

the solid heavy marble top and leaned it against the sofa on the floor.

Anyone see where this is going?

I was in the kitchen and Drew was sliding the wine rack over to the dining room when we heard a dull *thunk*.

What you don't see is the small person of the house sitting on the sofa

with a dumbfounded look on her face, after having kicked over the marble top 
in just the right place to make it split.

What you also don't see is the small person's parents, stunned into silence, not moving.  I just stood there with my hand over my mouth, whispering "OhmyGodohmyGod."  Sofia picked right up on that and ran over to me with a confused look on her face and was like "What did I do Mom?  What did I do?"  I sat down with her on my lap and said "Oh honey, when you pushed the marble over it broke, but it was Mommy and Daddy's fault.  We shouldn't have leaned it against the sofa like that.  You're okay.  We'll know better for next time."

So, um.  Yeah.

However, it's not even that noticeable and with all the stuff on it, it's 

really not that big a deal.

The new living room set-up.

Basically, everything is up against the walls, leaving a giant space in the middle

so the small people of the house have less opportunity to destroy things.

Although, now our rug is too small for the space and we need a new one.

I'm thinking of moving this one into Sofia's room and putting the pink stripe in the nursery.

*As Drew's head explodes because I'm getting yet another rug.*

The center portion of the buffet now holds all of Sofia's 

games and toys that she got for Christmas.

The cords will be dealt with shortly.

And as much as I don't want to speak it into existence,

I fear for the fate of my mirrored buffet.

Her rocking horse was a Christmas present from Grandma and Grandpa so hopefully

it'll keep her occupied.  On that side of the room.

Where there are fewer things to break.

Because after all...

It's your world, Baby Girl.

We're just in it.

Over-thinking Santa

It started when I decided not to take Sofia to see Santa this year.  Our first year was innocent enough - Sofia was eight months old, I went with a friend and it was a pretty painless experience.  This year, we were here in Reading and our pathetic mall Santa doesn't even begin to compare to the one in Dallas - you know, where shopping is a city-wide sport and you know, everything's bigger in Texas.  Even Santa.

Additionally, I procrastinated so much that I didn't end up taking Sofia until Christmas Eve, and even our tiny pathetic mall was packed to the brim with people.  However, Sofia was an absolute champ, as always.  She hung out in her stroller, happy to people-watch.

I took this shot before we left the house.

I should have quit while I was ahead.

There was a line to see Santa, because of course there was, and still Sofia was fine.  Our turn came and I placed her in Santa's lap and stood off to the side, never going where she couldn't see me.  But my child is smarter than I am; she knew enough to recognize that sitting on a strange man's lap, dressed up or not, was nothing she wanted any part of.  She promptly lost her shit, and instead of snatching her off of Santa's lap like I should have, I hurried the photographer along and had her take the picture.

I regret this with every fiber of my being.

I hate that I did this to my baby.  I don't find anything cute about Screaming Santa pictures; I think they're terrible and I'm ashamed I have one.  I feel like I let my daughter down and I swore I would never do that to her again.  So, there will be no Santa this year and there won't be one until she asks for it.  But it got me thinking about this whole Santa thing and I'm not sure where he fits into our scheme of things.  

For one thing, I don't agree with the idea of Santa shaming.  You know, You better be good or Santa won't bring you presents.  That doesn't sit well with me because that's not how I discipline Sofia in any other situation.  I don't want her to do the right thing because she's afraid she'll get caught or that if she does the right thing she'll get a reward.  I want her to do the right thing because it's the right thing to do.  In my opinion, raising a child to be afraid of getting caught is just raising a sneaky kid.  And raising a kid who expects a reward every time they do anything nice sends the wrong message too, because what motivation do they have to do the right thing if no one's looking and no one is going to give them a reward or gift for it?  I don't want Sofia to 'be good' or make good choices from either of those places and I don't like that message of Santa.  Never mind the whole 'he sees you when you're sleeping' thing.  That shit is just creepy.

In that same vein, I'm not doing the Elf on the Shelf thing either.  We got one as a gift last year and I halfheartedly participated, moving Finley from one spot to another each night and trying to get Sofia interested and excited about where he would be the next morning.  However, at 18 months old, she could have cared less and I sure as hell wasn't doing it for me.  This year, we brought him out, but Sofia doesn't understand that you can't touch him and pulled him down from his spot within a minute and was like "Finsley, you do yoga!" stretching his legs every which way and trying to take off his hat and gloves.

Plus, I am far too pregnant to be messing with nonsense like this.

These people know the elf doesn't clean up after itself, right?

Besides, this is more my speed.

source

You need to click that link and laugh your ass off at those elves.

Those elves are my people.

But let's not forget the Elf's original job:  To spy on you and report back to Santa.  Apparently, the job is so boring that the Elf has to get into trouble while you're asleep, hence the messes and inappropriate situations.  I get it, Elf.  You get bored, you get curious.  Happens to the best of us.  

I just can't get behind the whole 'spying on you and narc-ing to Santa just so you'll behave in Target' thing.  I don't roll that way as a parent, and I'll be damned if I let an elf or fat man in a red suit undermine my parenting.  *Kidding, but not really.

And let's not even talk about the whole other part of Christmas:  the Jesus part.  Me, I grew up in a super religious household.  My mom is old-school Mexican; they didn't even have a Christmas tree, they had a Nativity.  Gifts weren't exchanged until January at the Epiphany.  Christmas Eve was spent at midnight Mass and they were back in church Christmas morning.  There was no Santa or reindeer or any of that stuff.  My dad was adamantly against Christmas too, saying that gifts are fine but let's do it on another day, so as to concentrate on the real 'reason for the season.'  However, my brother and I wanted a tree and gifts on December 25, and that's what we got.  My parents begrudgingly 'did' Santa, but it was never a huge thing in our house and I went to midnight Mass on Christmas Eve until I was in my late 20s.  Honestly, *not* going feels kind of weird to me, but it also feels kind of fake.  I don't go to church any other time of the year, being that 'Christmas/Easter' churchgoer doesn't feel right either.  But that religious-ness is still in me; I don't think you can ever be 'un-Catholic.'  I remember the prayers and the songs and I probably will forever.

But as I got older, I wanted to learn more about all other religions and today, my Bible shares space on my bookshelf with The Bhagavad Gita, The Handbook of Living Religions, The Language of God, Bulfinch's Mythology, and The Uncensored Bible (hilarious read, btw.)  I'm contemplating reading Killing Jesus, but the excerpt on Amazon is kind of gross, so I'm not sure on that one.  Then you've got the whole theory about Jesus being born in the fall (or the spring,) not in December, that December 25 was a pagan festival date and the Christians piggy-backed so the pagans would accept Christianity, etc blah blah blah.  

My point is, religion in all its forms fascinates me and I'm not inclined to completely dismiss one in favor of another, which tends to be a problem in some organized religions.  There's this idea that their way is the only way, and you have to buy into that in order to be in the club.  Bottom line - as I get older, I get less and less sure about the whole religion thing.  And if I'm not sure, I don't think I'd be the best teacher for my daughter.  When the time comes, I'll share what I've learned and maybe we can continue to learn together.

Now I'm not a total grinch and Christmas is my absolute favorite time of the year.  There is a magic around the Christmas season that doesn't happen any other time.  Whole towns light up, people get nicer, they hold doors open for you, they smile more, and that whole 'peace and goodwill towards men' is a real thing.  

Trees with lights are magical.

It is impossible to look at one and *not* feel your heart going all mushy.

I love trees and lights so much I have two of them.

This tree is even more awesome because Sofia picked out that star for the top.

And when else do you get to have an awesome snowman on your porch?

My girlfriend's father is a woodcarver and that is a solid piece of wood - 

how awesome is that?!

I know not everyone gets snow at Christmastime, but 

there is something so, dare I say, magical about eating the first snow

of the season.

Plus, I grew up in Kansas City, home of the Plaza lights.

Being there when they flip that switch is positively amazing.

Some of my best memories are of the lighting ceremonies.

I'll be the first to tell you there's magic at Christmastime, and I wholeheartedly celebrate that magic.  And at celebrations, you give gifts; I'm down with that.  We just don't go overboard because again, I'm not trying to raise a greedy child.  The day she whines about not getting enough gifts is the day we take a break from gift-receiving to refocus our priorities.  It's time to celebrate our family and our friends.  It's time to do nice things for other people, regardless of who's looking and whether or not you'll get recognition for it.  I mean, you should do it year-round but there's something about Christmas that just makes people more open and giving.  That's the magic of Christmas. 

That's the part I'm sure about.  And maybe I'm over-thinking the whole Santa thing, but I still think I might just take Sofia to the portrait studio to get pictures in her Christmas dress.

Oh yeah, and I totally say Merry Christmas - no Happy Holidays over here.  It doesn't sound right to my ears so I don't say it.  You know, just in case you were wondering.

*Obligatory disclaimer when you talk about touchy subjects:  All opinions expressed are my own.  I do not judge in any way whatsoever and whatever you do to celebrate the magic of Christmas, in whatever way you do it, whatever your motivation, is A-ok fine with me.  And even if it weren't, that's completely fine too.  I'm one little nobody on this Earth and what I think counts no more than the other seven billion people on this planet.*  

Pincushion

I've been a human pincushion this past week, my friends.  It hasn't been fun but it's almost over and I'm glad I did it; I never thought I'd say *that* about needles, but that's growth and change for ya!

I'm square in the third trimester and it's time once again for the glucose tolerance test. With Sofia's pregnancy, I was scared and didn't see *that much* harm in drinking the drink and having the blood draws.  It wasn't fun, the drink was disgusting but I did it.  However, this time I wanted to talk to my doctor about alternatives because now I have Sofia, the ansty toddler who would not do well hanging out in a waiting room for several hours twiddling her thumbs.  Sofia does not twiddle her thumbs, and the thought of dealing with that chaos or paying a babysitter to watch her was enough for me to wonder if there wasn't another way.  

Don't be fooled by the cute face.  I regularly do her hair by chasing her down the hall with her hair in my hands, and getting dressed is a wrestling match nearly every time.

She lets me dress her in cute stuff, but I can't get pictures of her to save my life.

iPad or not, there was no way I was going to be able to get her to sit still for that long and I didn't like the idea of paying a babysitter either.

Plus, there were the other, not-as-selfish reasons:

Is there a reason the drink has to be fluorescent orange?  Is there some health benefit to dyeing it?  Y'all already know how I feel about food coloring.

The average glucola contains 75 grams of sugar.  For comparison, the scrambled eggs and buttered toast I just had for breakfast contained a total of about five grams of sugar.

You're supposed to do it on an empty stomach and they tell you that the drink could make you dizzy, faint and in some cases, might make you vomit.  If that's what it does to the mother, what the hell is it doing to the baby?!

If I were at risk for gestational diabetes, wouldn't there be other signs?  Wouldn't you see it in my urine long before you got results from the drink?

If I don't regularly consume 75 grams of sugar in my real life, how accurate and helpful would test results be under such extreme conditions?  Wouldn't it be better to get results from my regular eating activity?  Wouldn't that be more helpful? 

And of course, I turned to my friend, Dr. Rixa Freeze (still the most awesome name ever,) and read what she had to say on the matter.  Rather, what Michel Odent had to say, but you know what I mean.  It resonated with me and I went to my doctor, armed with my questions and research, prepared to fight to keep from having to drink the glucola.

Now, some might say What's the big deal?  Drink the drink, draw the blood, get on with your life.  And that's true; it's a pain and an inconvenience but it's not the end of the world.  And there are tons of pregnant women out there who do just that and to them I say rock the hell on.  For me, this is the path I chose and pregnancy anxiety is a very real thing that I've been struggling with since the first trimester.  I didn't want to add stress over whether or not I had GD to everything else I already worry about.

So I walked into my doctor's office and said "I'd like to talk about alternatives to the glucola."  In my mind, I bowed up, ready to fire my questions and spout off numbers.

Then my doctor smiled and said "Sure!  If you don't want to drink the drink, we can test your sugar another way!"

That was it.  No fight, no pushback, no making me feel stupid.  All I had to do was ask, and I didn't really even do that.  

That's how I found myself sitting across from the nurse, 

learning how to use a glucometer.

The alternative to drinking the glucola is to test your blood sugar four times a day for a week.  That's 28 finger sticks.  For a needle-phobe like me, you'd think I'd have run screaming for the hills, but at this point what does it matter?  I'm injecting myself twice a day as it is and the peace of mind that I would get from definitively knowing I don't have GD is worth it.

Getting started.

I'm on my last day and I'm so glad that it's over.  They wanted me to call them and read off a weeks worth of numbers to them when I was done, but again I had to raise some questions.  Wouldn't it be more helpful to have context over just hearing a number?  If I give you a high number but you don't know that I'd had ice cream as my snack, wouldn't that be cause for false alarm?  So I'm going to scan and email my chart, so they know exactly what they're looking at and why.  

This week of tracking what I eat has been super informative and I'm really glad I did it, because simply having to be accountable for what I eat has already raised my awareness.  I'm not trying to lose weight, but if I were, I would definitely keep a food log - having to look back at what you ate that day is very eye-opening and I know that I made better choices because I knew someone was going to be looking at my chart.  Plus, it's fascinating to see my body react to brownies versus scrambled eggs because I'm a nerd like that.  My numbers have fallen within the acceptable range so I'm near positive I don't have GD, although I definitely am not eating enough.  On Sunday, I didn't eat 'lunch' until 4:30 in the afternoon and it was three egg rolls and a bottle of iced tea in the grocery store while I did my shopping.  That was no bueno and my sugar reflected that;  I have to get better about eating and drinking a ton more water because I'm not doing that either.  Although in my defense, the first time around, I sat at a desk for eight hours a day and didn't have to do much more than snack and drink water.  This time, I'm chasing an active toddler who is more concerned with running and playing and jumping and spinning than Mommy's eating habits.

This was at a friend's birthday party and she and her 

BFF Gracie were having a grand ol' time.

There you have it; if you're pregnant or think you will be in the future, you don't have to drink the glucola if you don't want to.  It's a shame that they don't offer you the choices without you having to speak up and ask for it, but there's a lot of things in this world that could stand to change.  I know I wrote a similar post around this time when I was pregnant with Sofia, but it bears repeating:  Speak up for yourself.  Ask questions.  Be your own advocate.  Get educated.  Do your research.  Doctors and nurses are regular people too; they're not mind-readers and even though they've gone to school longer than we have to learn their craft, that doesn't make them superheroes.  They don't know your heart and mind; have conversations with them.  Let them know where you're coming from and what your desires are for yours and your baby's care.  Nine times out of ten they will listen and work with you within the best of their abilities, all you have to do is ask.

And lastly, from me to you:  You're a badass.  You're stronger than you think.  Whatever your challenge, if you're still standing, then you have the strength to face it.  I know there was a time when I would pass out from the mere thought of a needle and here I am, volunteering to stick my finger four times a day.  If I can overcome, so can you.

Here's to the third trimester!