<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885</id><updated>2011-12-01T00:01:03.265-08:00</updated><category term='sleep'/><category term='MIL'/><category term='childbirth'/><category term='internet'/><title type='text'>ConstanceTheNinth</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>61</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-8742948663252979192</id><published>2011-09-27T16:54:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-27T17:02:32.827-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Two Weeks</title><content type='html'>I am in such a countdown mode, I can't help it.  I can't help but wanting pregnancy to be over.  I hate it.  HOW I HATE IT.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Litany:  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;I have heartburn all the time.  &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I have the wickedest cold with the wickedest cough I've ever had.  &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I can take exactly NOTHING for it.  &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I went to the med check today just to be sure I didn't have pneumonia (I don't).  She said I had a 'bad' URI, except not an infection, just a virus.  I know it's better to not need antibiotics, but just like with my kids, I wish it were something fixable, just the same.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I couldn't see the doctor last week.  They are making us see everyone in the practice and every time I've seen a different doctor, I've had to wait in excess of like 30 minutes.  It burns my ASS to wait longer than the appointment is going to take.  So last time I left and I canceled my appointment this week, because it was with another doctor.  &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;But then I had high blood pressure - not super high, 142 over ... 78 or something but not great, certainly higher than it's been.  So I called to make an appointment to see my doctor and FIRST the girl said that she'd 'try to figure out who I could see' and THEN, when I said I wanted to see MY doctor, she said, all snooty, that I was supposed to see my doctor anyway, here at 38 weeks.  Whatever.  Now I'm going on Friday.  So I just ... hope the blood pressure isn't indicative of pre eclampsia or something?  Mmmmkay.  &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I am so tired.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;My back hurts.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I can't sleep.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;My husband keeps telling me how it's SO CLOSE and it's not.  &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I am a wussy.  I can't take chronic pain.  &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I know that if I weren't pregnant and I had such a cold, I'd just glug Nyquil straight from the bottle and sleep and sleep.  &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I can't wait to go to the hospital and meet this baby AND not be pregnant anymore.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I'm scared nursing is going to hurt since it's been so long since I've done it.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I'm scared the baby isn't going to be okay.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I'm scared it's going to be a boy and a) have to be circumcised and b) have autism.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I'm scared I can't do it.  Four kids.  FOUR KIDS.  ONE OF THEM IS KATHLEEN!  She crazy!  &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;My parents are leaving town to be snowbirds when this baby is five days old.  &lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div&gt;On the plus side:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;I can do this, I've done it before.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;If I had pre eclampsia, it would probably present with other symptoms, right?&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Who cares if this baby has autism?  We should probably cross that bridge when we come to it.  Ditto:  circumcision.  &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I know this cold will go away the second the baby is born.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Less than two weeks is less than two weeks, it is kind of soon.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;My parents drive me crazy anyway, who cares if they're not here.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;New baby!  New person!  &lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-8742948663252979192?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/8742948663252979192/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=8742948663252979192' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/8742948663252979192'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/8742948663252979192'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2011/09/two-weeks.html' title='Two Weeks'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-5442737652503783360</id><published>2011-08-14T17:07:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-08-14T17:07:35.693-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Here we are again</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; "&gt;I'm eight weeks away from having this baby and I truly feel like I am going to kill someone.  I feel like such an asshole, because I have relatively easy pregnancies.  It's not hard for me to get pregnant.  I am grateful for my husband and kids, I really am!  I know how lucky this makes me.  But - my God.  Everyone is conspiring, I feel, to drive me mad before I have this next baby.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;MY HUSBAND&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't know what I expect.  I know that I am unrealistic.  I just - I wish that he would work on being well-rested so that he could take over some of my duties AND not be so freaking TIRED about it.  Like, I had to work last night and I had to work late - it's only every four weeks that I have to close, and this is the last time I'll have to do it for a long time, since I'm only working two more weeks, but he didn't go to sleep until after 11:30.  So then I got home at 2:00 and slept until 7:00, I had worked for nine hours at the END of the day, and I was exhausted this morning when we all got up to get ready for church.  I went and laid down when the younger two took a nap and I fell asleep so hard it almost didn't feel good, you know how that is?  Like I was DROOLING, ugh.  Anyways, I finally woke up and I was super discombobulated, it was almost worse that I laid down at all, which I should have remembered.  Anyway, I get up and I'm trying to do stuff and he is, like, falling asleep in the chair.  I said, why don't you go up and lie down for a while and he's all 'no, no I couldn't possibly'. And I think, silently, YOU WOULDN'T HAVE TO IF YOU WOULD JUST GO TO BED AT A DECENT HOUR!  Through the week, he is always asleep by 10:30 at the latest.  So why stay up late because I have to stay up late?  The 'fairness' of marriage turns into a tit-for-tat so fast I don't even know how it happened.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Also I am still mad that he ruined by baby girl name.  Also I know I am being ridiculous.  I KNOW.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;MY SON&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I actually have no complaints about him - he has such hard, hard sensory issues and autism and despite that we have really made progress with toilet training.  It feels miraculous.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;MY DAUGHTERS&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ugh.  Stop dropping things on the floor!  STOP IT!  I am at the point where I make an 'unnnh!' sound every time I bend over and pick something up and I hate it, it makes me feel weak and babyish.  Unfortunately for me, these finks drop every single thing in the house on the floor.  Sometimes they put STICKERS on the floor, so I have to spend a LOT of time down there.  Sometimes I give up and sit on the floor and then one of them FLINGS themselves at me and I am stuck playing, which I don't want to do, but I JUST got down there and I can't muster the energy to get back up and get away.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;MY OB'S OFFICE&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh these rat bastards.  Every single time I have had a baby, and this is the fourth, they screw with me at the end.  With my first, I had to PEE into a HAT for 24 hours and keep it COLD so they could make sure I didn't have pre eclampsia.  Now here's the thing, I know it's no joke.  I know!  But my blood pressure was high, they said, and it totally wasn't.  It was like a few points higher than the week before, and since then I've had higher bp's than that and no one has said a word.  With my second, I had diabetes so I had to come in for non-stress tests once a week or something.  The last time, I was like 38 weeks, and they made me wait for an hour for this test, so I just said I had to leave.  I mean, I had another kid at home, the test can take a long time, if the baby is not 'cooperating', and I had just had it.  I swear to God, there was a point where I thought they were going to call security or something and MAKE me wait there.  I said, I'm leaving and I will be back when it's time to have this baby, you people are driving me crazy!, and I was, crazy, but it was their fault.  With my third, I mentioned (like a dumbass) to my OB that I hardly ever felt the baby move.  I had an anterior placenta, so this wasn't uncommon, but man, they whooshed me down to maternal fetal medicine and I had to get a bio physical profile and then take non-stress tests every two days or whatever the hell.  I went back for ANOTHER ultrasound and I waited ANOTHER hour and then I left.  I called the nurse and I said I can't sit around waiting for these dumbbells to see how my baby's doing, sorry!  I have two other kids, that are OUT of the WOMB who I have to go home to.  The nurse was like, um, when can you come back?  I said, how about never?  How about I just see you when the baby is going to be born, since she is due next week anyway?  She said, and I will never forget this, okay, but if you have any trouble this weekend, call the doctor.  Um.  Okay.  OK, you jerk, I will.  I will call my OB if I feel that I am having anything wrong with the baby!  GOD!  Who WOULDN'T?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So now this time, I called for my 30 week checkup appointment, since I have to start going every two weeks now.  The receptionist said "ok, it's time for you to see Dr. Whoever".  My OB's office is making you see everyone in the practice now, they didn't used to.  I am having a scheduled c-section so it's so stupid, but I am COMPLYING.  But I said, oh no, my OB wants me to see her this time, she told me.  This was, contrary to what the dumbass receptionist thought, the TRUTH.  So we went back and forth, I said that I was supposed to have an ultrasound too since I am measuring big (I always measure big because of poly hyrdrosis, but I'll also always taken an ultrasound) and finally she said the NURSE would have to call me BACK.  I said, you do whatever you need to, sister, because by then I was getting a little HOT.  These are the same JERKS who sent me ROUND and ROUND when I said that I was scheduling my glucola test early because my DOCTOR said TO.  I had to talk to 10 different people in order to take the test at 24 weeks instead of 28.  Who, I ask you, WHO would want to take that test?  They acted like I was asking for extra dessert or something. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyways, the nurse called back to schedule the appointment but of course I was out and now I have been trying to call back for a week but every time I call - and I mean every single time - I get a recording that says they are experiencing high call volume, that I have to wait, and then I have to leave a message.  Every time!  All day Friday I got this message.  So I finally left a message, saying that I needed to make an appointment and that I had seriously gotten SPRINGSTEEN tickets through TICKETMASTER more easily than I could make this damned appointment.  I haven't heard back, I'm sure they hate me, but I don't give a SHIT.  They are really going to hate me when I RAIL against them to my doctor.  I swear, I want to just not go back, I want to just show up for my c-section in 8 weeks and be all, hi, I've been SUPER busy, but I'm ready to have the baby.  But of course I can't because I'm scared and they know it.  How I hate them.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I guess that's it.  I hate my parents too and I hate myself for hating them when they are all so good to me.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I do not hate the new baby, I can't wait to meet him or her.  This is the MOVIEST baby I've ever had.  Kicking, and kicking and rolling and kicking, alll the time.  It's so exciting here at the end.  I just can't wait to see him.  Or her.  I know I'm insane because at this stage I can't even wait to start nursing and I really hate it, ha!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-5442737652503783360?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/5442737652503783360/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=5442737652503783360' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/5442737652503783360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/5442737652503783360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2011/08/here-we-are-again.html' title='Here we are again'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-6556417762522173832</id><published>2011-04-10T13:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-10T13:39:24.054-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Rough</title><content type='html'>Today my husband took the three kids out for the morning so I could have some time to myself.  He had to go to church first so I had to get up at the normal time and then get everybody ready and then they left.  I went to church and then to run some errands and then I went home and lay on the couch, trying to 'relax' and maybe to 'nap', although it didn't go well.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I feel a lot of pressure when gifts like this are given to me, to appreciate them in some immediate way, and I fail to appreciate them.  I mean, I was glad to have some time alone.  Usually I go to church and I'm fretting the whole time, worried that Joseph is having tantrums, that the girls are being difficult, basically that it's going like it goes for me whenever I am alone with the three of them.  But - it's hard to appreciate it and just be all better.  I feel really sad and hormonal and worried a lot of the time.  I don't sleep well, my hands keep falling asleep in the night and I always have to pee, blah blah blah first trimester woes, and then I wake up so SAD, like so dejected and depressed.  It takes me a while to shake off the night.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I hate Sundays, I want a break, I want things to be easier.  I have been bitching about the weather being so cold and today it's like 85.  What in the what?  85?  Where is spring?  It was like 40 for a high last week and now it's almost 90?  I KNOW I complained about winter, I KNOW it was hard to have an ice storm that lasted a month, but man.  I'm sorry!  Can it just not be summer right away?  I'm not even that pregnant and I'm already dreading the actual summer, sheesh.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is a real bitchfest, huh?  I don't mean it to be, I hate to sound so - to BE so unhappy.  But that's just how it is right now.  It is very difficult for me to not be sad when my son is so sad.  I know it will get better, I tell HIM all the time it will get better, but when?  WHEN?  I try to think of others, I try to think of the Japanese, about mothers in third world countries who have to really worry about their children.  I try to count my blessings but mostly I just want to lie on the couch and watch tv and feel sorry for myself.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Tomorrow I am going to exercise in the morning.  I am hoping that if I start to do something different in my life, maybe my life will be different?  We shall see.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In baby news, all is well.  I'm seeing the doctor for my monthly checkup this week, so that should be fun.  I still can't think of a name that I like.  Lucky for me I have plenty of time.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-6556417762522173832?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/6556417762522173832/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=6556417762522173832' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/6556417762522173832'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/6556417762522173832'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2011/04/rough.html' title='Rough'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-2736635704317198590</id><published>2011-03-01T06:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-03-01T06:42:00.730-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Eight Weeks</title><content type='html'>Eight weeks today.  I think.  I called my doctor's office yesterday and - what they do is, you call and make an appointment and then the nurse practitioner calls back and chats.  So I was talking to the np and I swear, I felt like I was in trouble!  I'm sure I was projecting, but she was all, "do you want to take the screening because you're (way) over 35?"  I said no and she said, "I didn't think you did but I have to check".  And - I'm sure she does have to check but ... oh I just felt like a jerk.  I feel like a jerk a large part of the time anymore.  A jerk that eats a LOT of oreos.  Anyway, I am going in Monday for an ultra sound and Thursday for my appointment with my doctor.  My doctor is great and I anticipate that I'm going to feel better once I see that ultra sound and talk to my doctor.  One could make the argument, I suppose, that I should just go ahead and feel better NOW, but I just can't roll like that.  I have to fret a little.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was watching Bethenny Ever After last night and it's when her baby is still pretty tiny and she and her husband go to his hometown, which is presented as this insanely small town, backwards, almost Ozarkian in it's small-townness.  What's funny is that my cousin lives there and I just think of it as a normal town, but I guess the comparison between NYC and there is supposed to be made and you're supposed to realize how GREAT NYC is and how hard everything else sucks.  And the thing is, to a certain extent I agree, I love NYC but it annoyed me last night.  ANYWAY.  She and her husband have to talk to his parents about them wanting to suck up all the time with the baby, and how maybe it's unrealistic to expect them to visit every weekend, and have every first holiday with them, etc.  Todd was sleeping next to me, and it probably wouldn't have mattered anyway, but I could RELATE.  I still get white hot mad when I think of my MIL assuming that Joseph could come and SLEEP OVER when he was an infant, a newborn!  I mean, he was my first baby!  I could no more imagine dropping him off at her house for the weekend than I could dropping him off at a church or hospital under Safe Haven laws.  In Bethenny's case, she has it a little harder because her in-laws lost their other son when he was very young, so B's husband is their only child and the baby is their only grandchild, etc.  But she is better than I am at handling it, and she says, UP FRONT and OUT LOUD, that they have to do things by themselves, as a family on their own.  It's uncomfortable but at least they're talking about it.  We would never talk about that with my in laws.  There could seriously be a big pile of shit in the middle of the dining room table at dinner and no one would ever mention it.  Freaks.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I wish I could tell people about the baby.  I have a terrible cold and of course I can't take anything and my Dad was saying the other night, "take some Nyquil!" and I was thinking, I'd LOVE to but I can't.  I can't take anything except worthless Tylenol.  But I can't tell them that, and I put "ultra sound" on the calendar for next week and then I thought, crap, my MIL will probably be up here this weekend, so I had to cross it out and just put the time instead.  I'm glad that Todd knows, and my sister, so  at least I can come clean with some people.  I guess we'll wait until 12 weeks, but that feels like a long time, particularly considering that my birthday is in a few weeks.  Also, I feel nuttier than usual and I would maybe get some sympathy or something if people knew I was PREGNANT and tired or PREGNANT and kooky.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As usual, I have no way to wrap this up.  Oh, I forgot!  We are having NAME issues.  I guess if you're going to have this many kids, at some point there will be some disagreement about names.  The name that I thought of for a girl is like #782 in 2009.  So, it's unusual, I suppose.  It's a saint's name, which I am very into, and she has a great story, very compelling and having to do with motherhood.  So I really like it.  Plus it's long, which I like, because my kids' last name is short and one syllable.  I thought Todd liked it too but the other night he started saying we should give her a 'normal' middle name, in case she ever wanted to go by that.  And I mean - HOW am I supposed to think that he likes that name?  When he calls another name 'normal'?  And here's the thing, the 'normal' name that he wants to use for the middle name is #763 in 2009!  Nineteen places different than my insanely crazy loony name!  So I think, it's not a 'normal' name that he's looking for for the middle name, it's ONE HE LIKES BETTER.  So why not just say that?  If he didn't like a name, I would not use it, I wouldn't.  There was a certain boy name that I always loved and thought I would use for my first boy, but my MIL wrinkled up her nose in such a way the first time that she said it that I knew I would never use it.  I couldn't see her wrinkle her nose that way for the rest of my kid's life!  And now that's how I feel about my perfect girl name, that her father has ruined it.  So now I am just hoping it's a boy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-2736635704317198590?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/2736635704317198590/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=2736635704317198590' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/2736635704317198590'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/2736635704317198590'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2011/03/eight-weeks.html' title='Eight Weeks'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-1388889030712232124</id><published>2011-02-22T10:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-22T10:13:42.838-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Six Weeks</title><content type='html'>So, I am six weeks pregnant today.  I think.  I suppose it's possible that I got pregnant before I think I did but probably it's not likely, so let's go with six weeks.  I think I mentioned that I lost like almost 30 pounds in the months preceding this event, and I swear to God, I would like to get in to the doctor and get weighed so someone will have a RECORD of this but I am eating for like 100 and I am afraid that I'm going to gain it all back before I get in to the doctor.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm afraid to go see her though.  I know they are going to do an ultrasound and last time I went for my first 'dating' ultrasound the tech said, with a sigh, 'let's see how many are in there' when she started.  It had never occurred to me that I might have TWINS but it scared the hell out of me then.  I have a friend who had three kids, thought she'd have a fourth and ended up having twins, and then boom!, five kids!  I'm not just scared of that, I'm scared in general.  I hope everything is okay with this baby.  I had a miscarriage between my first and second children and now until I get to ten weeks, which is when it happened, I am sort of nervous and disbelieving about the whole thing.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We haven't told anyone - well, I told my sister and a friend of mine who is in very similar circumstances to me.  Todd told a good friend of his, but we haven't told our parents.  I am so tired, though, and it's always a giveaway with me because I am a drinker, so I have just been lying low.  But can I lie low for like six more weeks?  My birthday is in four weeks, St. Patrick's Day, etc., people would wonder.  Also I feel like a lazybones, telling people how I couldn't do something because I was too tired, or that I went to bed at 9:00.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm also afraid that people are going to judge me.  I think *I* might judge me - I mean, I think I am.  I have three kids under five and one has autism and ... I'm afraid I am a mess, and that everyone knows it.  Sometimes I feel like I just wasn't built for this, that I am a bad mother and wife, that not everyone gets this crazy over this job.  I'm afraid I'm going to tell people that we are expecting our fourth and people are going to be shitty and I just can't take it.  I don't want the pregnancy besmirched by a shitty attitude, does that make sense?   I feel very positive about it, I'm very excited about this new member of the family and I hope everyone feels the same way.  People are ALWAYS going on and on to me about "are you having more kids?" and "you know, there are WAYS to prevent that!" and "do you have a television?  A hobby?"  So now I'm afraid that those same people are going to say things about how we could have PREVENTED this baby who actually exists now, and I just - I don't like the bad mojo involved.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But this is just one small part of it, at six weeks.  Mostly at six weeks, I am tired, emotional, forgetful, and excited.  We are thinking of baby names, well, just girl names, since we already have a boy name.  I am thinking of how I can stretch my stretchy clothes through a pregnancy, since I gave away all of my maternity clothes.  I am trying to drink enough water, eat some vegetables, and take my vitamin every night.  I'm having crazy-ass dreams, which I totally forgot about.  My breasts are gigantic and sore.  I have to pee all the time.  Crazy.  I forget, every time, everything that happens.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-1388889030712232124?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/1388889030712232124/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=1388889030712232124' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/1388889030712232124'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/1388889030712232124'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2011/02/six-weeks.html' title='Six Weeks'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-295381785618163295</id><published>2011-02-12T09:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-12T09:56:43.103-08:00</updated><title type='text'>News</title><content type='html'>I am pregnant again.  It is BLOWING my MIND.  I am not young, not anything but elderly, as far as babyhaving is concerned and I'm afraid at this stage, I might even be ADVANCED elderly.  Oy.  I am happy, as ever, every time I see that the test says positive, but man.  I am shocked!  From the looks of it, it would seem like my husband and I are having sex every spare minute but really?  It's not that often.  We did sort of take a chance last month, in that we had sex after I had my period but before I (thought I) ovulated.  I can only assume that this is what is supposed to happen.  I feel very optimistic for several reasons.  They are:&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1.  Babies!  Yay! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2.  Another person to meet, as my husband says.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3.  There are four in my family, and I like the sound of it.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4.  It is forcing me to quit some bad habits, wine, occasional cigarettes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5.  Time off when in the hospital.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6.  We have a bigger house now.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I'm worried for several reasons, too.  They are:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1.  I just started losing weight and feeling good about myself.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2.  I am so old. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3.  I keep thinking I will get back to my life someday, get a job someday, and this just postpones it for another two years or whatever.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4.  I'm worried, as usual, about the higher risk of birth defects, or autism, or whatever.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm trying to not worry about the worries, though.  I keep thinking, generally, in my life, I try to believe that I am right where I am supposed to be.  That I am ready for whatever happens.  So I am going to try to go with that now, when it seems more important than ever.  I'm trying but failing, story of my life.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-295381785618163295?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/295381785618163295/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=295381785618163295' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/295381785618163295'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/295381785618163295'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2011/02/news.html' title='News'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-5843869668600606202</id><published>2011-01-18T10:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-18T10:51:27.151-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Unhappiness</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; "&gt;Here is the thing about being unhappy in one facet of your life.  It's very hard to separate it, for me anyway.  Our son Joseph has been having some major problems lately.  He has autism and he's been really struggling with communication and meltdowns.  His communication skills are non-existent, and he gets frustrated and has this mind-blowing tantrums.  It happens a lot when he first wakes up and - I mean, I know he is a little boy and I mostly feel for him, but the best comparison I can make is if I lived with someone who hit me.  Like I try to walk on eggshells and I try to make everything right for him, but I am always nervous and kind of waiting.  So anyways.  We are working through it, we are hoping that it gets better and trying to employ all these techniques.  I am also trying to keep him away from the little girls because I don't want him to inadvertently hit them.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So...it can suck.  And it can make me unhappy, even though I try not to be.  And when I'm unhappy in my *family*, in my *house*, I feel unhappy in my marriage.  But I am NOT unhappy in my marriage, I just feel like the unhappiness that we have is so pervasive that it invades everything.  It makes me feel super impatient with my other kids and also with my husband.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But what to do?  I don't feel depressed, necessarily.  I don't feel ... out of sorts - I mean a lot of it sucks right now, is all.  I don't think it will suck forever, we are taking steps to make it better, I just - I feel bad that I feel bad.  I feel bad that I am mad and I stomp around sometimes and say "My life SUCKS!" and "This sucks!" and, if I'm being honest, "I want to run away from here and never come back" and, to be completely honest and tell what a jerk I can be, "I wish I were dead and buried in the ground!".   I know.  I know it's not nice to say.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But you know what would help?  What would help is if my husband would say nice things to me.  It's so lame, I know, but like, I have often thought if he complimented my house keeping or child rearing or LIFE DEALING WITH as often as he talked about my ass, I'd be perfectly sated.  I would be happy to never hear another word about my stupid ass if I could just get some real-life compliments.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-5843869668600606202?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/5843869668600606202/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=5843869668600606202' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/5843869668600606202'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/5843869668600606202'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2011/01/unhappiness.html' title='Unhappiness'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-4648356380802193340</id><published>2010-05-13T07:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-13T07:52:04.338-07:00</updated><title type='text'>RANDOM</title><content type='html'>Lucy is going to be one this weekend.  ONE.  It has gone fast, even with her sleeping in our room.  I keep thinking she will soon be old enough to share a room with Kathleen, who is almost 2.5.  But it doesn't seem like anyone is ready.  Lucy just started sleeping all night and now I am afraid to mess it up.  She is a sweet thing, such a happy and nice baby. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am going to wean her here soon.  She has finally learned the finer points of the sippy cup, which is exciting.  She is not much of an eater, but we are working on it.  I'll take her next week for her one year checkup and hopefully she'll have gained.  She was only 16 pounds at her 9 month appointment.  I feel sad and also excited about weaning her. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kathleen is driving me mad.  I will be a SAHM for five years next year and I don't like it any better than when I started, although I recognize that there is no way I could do anything else.  I couldn't have these kids and work, I can barely get out the damned door to a PARK.  She is chatty and bossy and she wants to go out in the car every second of the day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joseph is doing well in school, and in general, but he had a period a few weeks ago where he was MISERABLE and so were we.  I fought with his school because they wanted me to GIVE him TYLENOL and to TAKE HIM TO THE DOCTOR and there was nothing wrong with him except that he was ... really unhappy?  Going through a rough period?  Having a lot of tantrums?  Having major sensory issues?  Jeez, I don't know.  That's why he is in a SPECIAL SCHOOL for KIDS WITH AUTISM, I felt like telling them.  Anyways, he is better now.  For now.  Whenever he has such tantrums and is so miserable and unable to communicate what is hurting him, I get veryclose to panicking.  I picture him bigger and older and kicking my ass, or hurting the girls.  It's terrifying.  But I am trying to be faithful, we are doing what we can, he is a sweet boy and I am hoping he remains so. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mother is driving me mad.  She thinks Kathleen watches too much tv.  She said that she - well, it's too weird.  Kathleen knows her letters and how to count to 10 and sometimes 20.  She knows every color that there is, and lots of animals.  She has an excellent memory and she is a good singer.  I think that's pretty good for 2.5, but I don't really know, because Joseph isn't a good comparison.  But my mom started saying how Kathleen "couldn't count" and "didn't know any letters" and "couldn't hold a conversation".  It was INSANE.  I told her that she had to leave, I told her I couldn't take it.  I am worried enough, I am always looking at the younger two, worried that they are going to be autistic, and I can't have her LYING just to make her case about the freaking TV, which is NOT really watched that much.  It's better now, too.  But man.  It's weird - she is the most overinvolved mother I know.  I'm more than 40 years old!  Leave me alone! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Todd is fine.  He is very good, actually.  I think we are, at long last, finally starting to communicate a little bit better.  It's hard, I don't recommend getting married and having a baby immediately.  It makes it very difficult to talk about anything but pregnancy and babies for the next several years.  We are trying to not only make it work, but to be happy and enjoy our life, and that is so much more challenging than I would think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am doing Weight Watchers.  It's been like five weeks and it's going very well, I'd say.  I really like that point system.  I'm also doing a fitness challenge with one of my mom's groups where we are working out for a certain amount of time per month and I like that too.  I've been sick the last two days, but other than that I've been doing something like six days a week and it's great.  It's great because a) I am getting activity points for WW so I can eat more and it's great because I am b) doing well in the challenge and also I can c) get away from all this for a short period of time and just think about me.  Well, me and whatever bitch is leading my exercise of choice.  Ha! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess that's it?  For now?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-4648356380802193340?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/4648356380802193340/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=4648356380802193340' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/4648356380802193340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/4648356380802193340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2010/05/random.html' title='RANDOM'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-7553218875237015688</id><published>2010-02-06T16:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-07T05:24:55.126-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Autism</title><content type='html'>Autism is so many things, to me.  It is a big pain in my ass, and I sometimes get so, so mad at it.  But then I think my baby boy has autism, and I love him and I even love his weirdness and quirkiness and ... well, downright ANNOYING behaviors and a lot of them are because he has autism.   So I love it?  Maybe? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll tell you what I don't think about autism.  I don't think it makes my son into some kind of unicorn or something, I don't think I should leave him just as he is.  Because as he is is kind of ... well, socially unacceptable.  Selfishly, I want him to talk more because I want to hear what he has to say.  I want him to say "NO!" to his sister when she is being a pain or taking something from him.  I want him to say "I love you" to me or to his father.  I would love to just have a conversation with him, ask him how his day went, something. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are so, so lucky that we live in a state that has an autism mandate.  If we didn't, I don't know what we'd do.  There is a therapist at the school that J goes to and her brother has autism.  He's like 27 or something and there was no mandate when he was growing up, and her father had to quit his job to stay at home with him and do ABA therapy.  He quit his job!  I can't imagine.  I mean, I am home anyway but there is no way I could do ABA with J, I am busy with those needy sisters of his.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Autism makes for strange bedfellows, or playgroup fellows anyway.  I know that sometimes people don't invite us to things because of J and I think it's bullshit.  BUT I understand it.  J isn't rough or anything, he never pushes or starts fights, and he really likes to be around people. He also likes to wave his hands in front of his face and make goat boy noises and I guess some people aren't comfortable with their kids being around someone like that.  Whatevs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I always start to follow Autism Moms on Twitter and then sometimes I have to stop.  I cannot worry about vaccines having caused my son's autism.  I don't think they did, and even if they did, (which they didn't, I am sure of it, he's been who he is from Day One), what good does it do me to worry about it now?  I have too much to do trying to advocate for my son, I don't have time to advocate for Jenny freaking McCarthy or her idiot boyfriend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Autism hasn't ruined my life, or my marriage, or my son's life, as some ads from Autism Speaks would want you to believe.  While it's true that we have challenges, more challenges than parents of typical kids, I swear to God, Kathleen is twice as challenging as Joseph right now.  And Todd and I are so, so dumb about it.  Joseph was so non-verbal at Kathleen's age that we are always like 'what is UP with all this talking?'  It's exciting and annoying and a little bit sad, to us.  Just like Parenthood!  Ha!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-7553218875237015688?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/7553218875237015688/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=7553218875237015688' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/7553218875237015688'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/7553218875237015688'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2010/02/autism.html' title='Autism'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-8514580588035515484</id><published>2010-01-16T16:11:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-16T16:23:35.032-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Random, some more</title><content type='html'>&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;My mother and I are fighting.  Ugh, it's the dumbest thing - I asked her if she would like to come and stay with me while Todd goes on a long weekend trip.   She is in her winter, snow bird home, and I said we'd fly her up here if she wanted to come.  I only did it because before she left after Christmas, she went on and On and ON about how much she'd miss me and the kids, and how she wished she could be in two places at once, etc., etc.  So she said sure, and then immediately started to say why she couldn't come.  She said she was going to drive - for two days to stay here for three days - which seemed screwy.   She told me everyone she's ever known has gotten sick after flying.  Finally, I emailed her and said FORGET IT, my sister would come and stay and help me out (there are really only a few times a day when it would help to have someone here, as Joseph is kind of stringent about his schedule).  She wrote back and told me that the UNDERWEAR bomber was the problem, had I not heard about him?  Sheesh. ANYWAY, I asked her WHY did you say you'd do it if you didn't want to and she told me that she likes to be helpful.  Um.  NOT helpful.  Anyways.  It's disappointing but I honestly feel like I'd rather know.  Mother OFF babysitting list.  :) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Kathleen turned two.  It feels like she should be 20 or 30 by now.  She is so unbelievably relentless.  I am hoping as she gets older it will get better, OR maybe I will lose my hearing and it will stop bothering me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Lucy is getting so big and sitting up and starting to do some pat a cake, which is fun.  I wish she babbled more.  She seems  quiet and of course I am nervous because of Joseph, I'm worried she'll have autism too and if she does I want to get started helping her.  This is crazy thinking, I'm aware.  She is only eight months old and she's pretty engaged and I'm sure she's fine but man.  I am up in the night a lot and I have lots of time to worry. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Joseph is ... oh, he is mostly noisy!  The noises that come out of that child!  Again, deafness seems not so bad to me right now.  I am taking one day at a time with Joseph.  He is so sweet and gorgeous and I feel my heart breaking every day when I look at him.  I know he'll be all right but ... again with the late night worry. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I am up in the night because that 8 month old baby is far, far, from sleeping all night.  She is up usually twice and ... it's wearing. I'm worn out. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;As soon as she is weaned, I am going to go away for the weekend, with an old friend of mine who also has three kids.  I can't wait and I am also worried.  I'm worried the kids will be mad, mostly Lucy, but I have never spent a night away from Kathleen either. Todd and I are planning on going away together in the summer, just for a weekend, so I hope they get used to us being gone separately first. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I talked to a friend of mine about Kathleen starting at a co-op preschool ... I guess next year?  When she is three?  I don't know when typical kids go to preschool. I love the idea of it.  I just don't know if I can wait a year. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Todd and I are fine.  He is so good in so many ways, mostly I try to ignore/subtly correct the ways that bug me.  Today, it's good so I'll take it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I have been working out a lot, I'm almost done with the couch to five K.  I am still as fat as butter though.  I just can't eat as little as I should.  I'm hungry.   And also?  I like ice cream when I'm nursing.  But I'm working on it.  I wish it were easier but it's NOT. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-8514580588035515484?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/8514580588035515484/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=8514580588035515484' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/8514580588035515484'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/8514580588035515484'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2010/01/random-some-more.html' title='Random, some more'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-3924173569249967574</id><published>2009-12-16T11:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-16T11:34:16.075-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What Have I Done?</title><content type='html'>Sometimes (largely when I am thinking of other people or looking at their damned blogs) I think OMG I did this all wrong!  I was too damned old to get married and start having kids.  I see these women who had babies after I did and they are as thin as reeds and I think what the hell?  I have been pretty good, diet wise, since August and pretty good, exercise wise since then but also have been running and I am not.  As thin.  As a reed.  Even a trunk-type reed.  Well, I think I'm over 40!  What do I expect?  I think that I am never supposed to eat sweets or anything bad and that just ... that sounds so hard!  I'm so tired, I gave up caffeine for the sleepless breastfeeder, I can never go out without getting a call that the baby is crying, etc., etc., all that and no cookies?  Ever?  It seems wrong.  It seems like if I was 15 years younger, it would all be much easier.  That and I wouldn't feel so close to death.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-3924173569249967574?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/3924173569249967574/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=3924173569249967574' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/3924173569249967574'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/3924173569249967574'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2009/12/what-have-i-done.html' title='What Have I Done?'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-6293880883480796099</id><published>2009-12-07T11:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-07T11:11:24.404-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Motherhood 101</title><content type='html'>I have a six month old, and I look at a lot of blogs of people who have babies my age.  I like the feeling of it, that we are all in it together or whatever.  Sometimes I don't know the person, it's like a friend of a friend or something.  This one blog that I go to?  It's so strange.  The mom had a picture of her older girl, who is like three, and her baby, who is a month younger than Lucy, and the baby appeared to be standing!  They were at a pumpkin patch or something outside and it looked like the two girls were standing there by a pumpkin.  Then I looked more closely and I could see the Dad was propping up the baby, holding her up in a standing position.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did I miss a meeting or a class or something?  Are we supposed to buy this bullshit?  It's like these wretches that are always talking about how their kids slept 'through the night' at whatever age.  Two weeks, six weeks, whatever.  My friend Cathryn always says her boys slept "through the night, from 7 til 7, and only got up twice to nurse".  What the what?  That is not sleeping all night!  That is sleeping and waking up to nurse!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lucy has been sick, she had a high fever all last week and I got up with her for like four nights in a row at midnight - for the day.  She's better now and I know that's all that matters, but man.  Todd was rubbing my shoulders last night and I started to cry, it felt so good.  I told him, through very dramatic tears, that I feel like I'll never be well rested again.  I'll never just wake up in the morning and ... feel normal.  You can set your watch by it, I have a six month old and I think the world is going to end.  I know she'll start sleeping soon, better, but man.  I am tired and grumpy in the meantime and I just can't take these bitches standing their babies up in pictures!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-6293880883480796099?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/6293880883480796099/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=6293880883480796099' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/6293880883480796099'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/6293880883480796099'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2009/12/motherhood-101.html' title='Motherhood 101'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-8029825105068297087</id><published>2009-11-23T07:26:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-23T08:04:08.487-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Litany</title><content type='html'>Oh do I have complaints!  Where better to take them?  I hope?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;My head hurts, and has for days.  I gave up caffeine, hoping it would help Lucy sleep better.  It might be and it might not but for right now my head hurts.  Also, she pulls the hell out of my hair and that makes it hurt, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I am tired.  I haven't slept for eight hours in ... well, it's been years.  But I haven't slept for six hours in a year or two and that's harder.  Last night I slept for five hours in a row for the first time in months.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I am in a crappy mood, and unable to appreciate my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Our furnace needed to be cleaned and when the guy came to do it, he found out that the exhaust pipe was broken (by some bad kid, no doubt) and spewing carbon monoxide everywhere.  I assume it had just happened, since we have a CO2 detector and it hadn't gone off yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Joseph continues to flourish in school, but I had a run in with the director of his school, who established a policy, through flu season (which she says is through February or March), where your child has to stay home for SEVEN days when they have a fever above 99.9.  It's really, really hard for J. to be off his schedule for that long, especially since he was sick for exactly one day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Kathleen wakes up so early that she is never going to just take one nap a day.  She's already up from her first nap and it's 10:30.  Lucy is down for her second nap, but crying, because she's so tired.  How does this happen?  How do I think so much about sleep and never get any? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I am not going to my MIL's for T-giving.  She's disappointed, even though I have said we're not going to travel an hour each way when one of us hates the car seat so much that she screams the entire time she's in it.  Also?  Don't have dinner at 12:30 if you want us to come.  That's at least two people's naptime. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I am always worried about money.  We're fine but we haven't even started to pay on J's school yet, the insurance company is delaying it so much that we haven't had to pay our $1K deductible yet.  We have no idea what we are going to have to pay, with copays, etc.  It's so weird to not be able to contribute at all.  I can't get Lucy to eat any food, she won't take a bottle, so I have to be here during her waking hours. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;Let's see, is that all?  That's probably pretty good, for a Monday.  I am actively trying to make my (our) life better, I am trying to get L to eat and sleep better, trying to push K to stay awake a little longer in the mornings so she can just take one nap a day, and trying to give it over where J and his school is concerned.  I'm trying not to worry so much about the future.  "I'm trying", I always tell the kids, but you are too".  Ha!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-8029825105068297087?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/8029825105068297087/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=8029825105068297087' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/8029825105068297087'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/8029825105068297087'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2009/11/litany.html' title='Litany'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-8426011373156764354</id><published>2009-10-27T05:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-27T06:02:09.358-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sleep'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='internet'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='MIL'/><title type='text'>SAHMing and Failure</title><content type='html'>I was just on the phone with my husband, telling him how I have been putting Lucy down for a morning nap for like six weeks now, and practically every single morning, she cries.  Sometimes only for two minutes but sometimes, longer.  I am willing to leave her up there for an hour (I suppose), because that's what my book says, but man.  My flesh is weak when it comes to that -  I hate to hear her cry.  And also - what the hell, Lucy?  Go to sleep!  Take a nap!  You're tired, it's been two hours since you've woken up, you're yawning and rubbing your eyes - go to sleep!  Sleep!  I'm sick of failing every day of my life in this job.  My husband said, well it's not your failure, but really?  It is.  If he went into work today and tomorrow and for the next six weeks and effed up the first thing he did every day, it would be considered a failure. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sometimes wish I wasn't so old when I started all this - marriage and family.  I worked for a long time, got a Masters degree, worked some more, etc., etc.  I have almost always had two jobs, because I like to work.  I like to make things work.  I like to polish silverware and iron, because I like the gratification of it.  I have all these expectations of how my day will go, and just ... it doesn't go like I think it's going to and it's depressing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the last few weeks, I have been really trying not to focus on me and how sorry I feel for myself.  It's been working, too.  But just when it's going okay and I am NOT losing my mind for once, I have a night where I am up three times with the baby and never really sleep.  I guess sleeplessness is my kryptonite?  That is beyond unfortunate for me, what with the three bad sleeping kids that I have.  Todd is always telling me that I can go take a nap, on the weekends.  "Do you want to go take a nap?" he says, like it's a possibility.  Like I won't hear the other three, or even just the baby. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At least my parents have gone to their winter home, so I don't have to hear them tell me every day how this is the best time of my life.  There's that. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day, I was reading a linked post about liars on the internet.  I was so excited to read it because I HATE liars on the internet.  But I was a teensy bit disappointed, because it was about real liars.  I was thinking more about the liars like D00ce is a liar.  Like how she says how AWESOME it is to get up at 6:00 in the morning, because her baby is so awesome!  It doesn't even feel like the morning!  Or something.  I didn't read it, but I bet it was in a draft somewhere, that D00ce's baby's shit doesn't stink, either.  I am so tired of reading blogs that talk about how awesome and amazing it is to ... not to have kids, or watch them grow, or even take care of them.  Because of course those things can be amazing.  But to not sleep, or to listen to them scream, or to get peed on, or whatever.  Those things are BY DEFINITION, NOT AMAZING.  Those things are a) exhasting, b) painful to the ears, and c) dirty.  Lord.  Those are the kind of liars I hate on the internet. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lastly, because it wouldn't be a post if I didn't say something about my MIL, this weekend she was here and she was all, "do you guys get to go out at ALL with your parents gone?"  Todd said yes, we had a babysitter last weekend and we also go out separately, too.  She went on and on about how BAD she would feel if we didn't get to GO OUT.  I said to Todd, after she left, what the hell is she getting at?  Is she rubbing it in that she won't babysit?  She's not a mean person, so it doesn't seem likely, but what the hell else?  Why would she ask and ask about if we are going out, say how important it is for us to get out, and then never offer to babysit?  I try to just ignore it, because otherwise, ugh, I don't know what I'd say.  Nothing nice.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-8426011373156764354?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/8426011373156764354/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=8426011373156764354' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/8426011373156764354'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/8426011373156764354'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2009/10/sahming-and-failure.html' title='SAHMing and Failure'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-7173632441289798016</id><published>2009-09-28T05:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-28T05:47:16.908-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How We are Doing</title><content type='html'>My husband ... drives me crazy.  And then I am driven crazier because I should not complain, he could not be nicer or more kind to me, to us.  But my God.  Because you are so nice and kind, does that mean you can leave the dirty diapers where you changed them?  Walk by things that are on the floor and need to be picked up?  STOMP around this house when everyone is sleeping?  Snore?  Does it?  Maybe. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My son ... is doing very well in his new school.  He is thriving, I daresay.  Sometimes I remember that he has autism and I get super, SUPER panicked and sad but it's rare.  Mostly he's just my boy, and we're doing what we need to do to get him where he needs to be.  I told my husband the other day, I don't care if he lives with us forever, but if he could be a little quieter, that would be great.  LORD he is noisy!  It's like bad yodeling, and it's constant.  Yesterday as I was driving him home from school, he bleated the whole time and I wanted to jump out of the moving car to get away from it.   I think it's bad and then I talk to my husband on the phone when he is with him and I think HOLY CRAP how can anyone I talk to on the phone hear me through that braying?  It sucks because I like to talk on the phone in the car, it's my only chance sometimes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My first daughter is driving me mad.  When Joseph was her age, he was nutty but he has autism and some of the things that he did can be explained by that.  But she is nutty too!  She is like a walking, climbing, RUNNING baby!  She has no sense at all and she is MAD all of the time, practically.  She wakes up way too early and is completely lunatic by 8:00 a.m.  It's so depressing, I don't want to put her down for a nap, she's closer to 2 than 1 and I would like her to just take one nap a day but I have to put her down, if only to not be with her. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My baby girl is ... getting older and better.  She is never fussy anymore unless she's tired.  She still likes to be held, mostly, but I am trying to just put her down in different places.  Our house is insane with the seats, exersaucer, baby gym, blankets, etc.  I can't ever put her in anything on the floor because then Kathleen can get to her so it's crazy looking around here.  She's sleeping okay, napping crappily, and being super cute to make up for all of it.  She is my favorite right now. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My parents are ... headed to their retirement village for the winter this week.  It is great to have them here because my mom babysits a lot but man.  They're crazy.  I always, always feel so set up by my mom.  Todd took the two older ones to his mom's this Saturday and my mom asked me specifically how Joseph had done in the car and I said 'man is he noisy!  I could hardly ever hear Todd, he was so noisy".  I could hear her IMMEDIATELY pooh pooh it.  She wants it to be that it's not so bad, that it's just like everyone else, but it's not.  He has autism and one of his stims is that he brays like an animal, really loudly.  It's NOT the same as a 'typical' four year old talking or asking questions, or even singing.  I'm ... well, not fine with it, but I'm accepting of it and I wish she would be.  I cannot stand it when people downplay what others are going through so that it makes THEM feel better.  Last week, my mom and dad were here and she asked me how I liked my haircut.  I said, oh it's fine, but it's too short, I have to dry it and straighten it or else I look like Ronald McDonald.  IMMEDIATELY the two of them were on me, "Oh, it looks FINE!  It's not CURLY!  It looks GREAT!"  I stuttered along - well, the thing is, it only looks like this because I had to spend so much time on it, when it was long, I could just put it up and ... you know what?  Never mind.  They are insane and probably just like everyone else's parents. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am.... afraid I'm not going to make it some days.  I've been not eating sweets during the week for several weeks now.  I have broken my ice cream addiction, I think.  I was working out well but I've stalled, since I had a cold last week and I don't sleep enough.  I'm too tired for mean old Jillian Michaels half the time.  Lucy is sleeping well but she is still up once in the night and that means I rarely get four hours in a row.  I'm tense enough and well rested enough that it takes me a while to fall back to sleep after I'm done feeding her and God forbid Todd is snoring, then I'm really screwed.  But it's better, it's better with Joseph in school, it's better that Lucy is getting older.  Nothing aboutg Kathleen is better, really, but she's only getting older and that in itself will be good.  I hope!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-7173632441289798016?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/7173632441289798016/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=7173632441289798016' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/7173632441289798016'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/7173632441289798016'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2009/09/how-we-are-doing.html' title='How We are Doing'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-7348384471365510518</id><published>2009-07-19T09:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-20T07:10:49.338-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Random</title><content type='html'>Some things I have been thinking about:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;weight loss.  Yawn.  I know.  I am always thinking about it.  I have been working out well the last few weeks (largely because it comforts Lucy to move around so I put her in the carrier and workout.  Then I've worked out AND I have a sleeping/non screaming baby).  I cannot seem to stop eating ice cream.  Because my life is so HARD, see?  That's why I have to eat the ice cream!  Waah!  I have recently made some sugar free snacks and am hoping I can start to do better on the feeling sorry for myself ice cream thing.  I have a lot of clothes in my old size and I want to wear them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Lucy.  Colicky!  Three kids, all fussy!  The hell?  I have also decided to stop worrying about WHY ME and just wait out the next four weeks or so.  I am better at dealing with them now, I try to concentrate on that.  She is gorgeous though and I feel sweet about her because I really think she will be my last.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;NFP.  We are going to try to not have more kids.  We have serious reasons for not wanting to - we have no room, Joseph's future is ... murky, I'm old, etc., etc.  I got a book on postpartum NFP so hopefully I'll be able to figure it out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Todd.  I think marriage is so weird.  I love him more than anything and appreciate him so much, especially when I think of who some of my friends are married to.  But my GOD do I get mad at him!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Sleep.  I haven't had any.  Twice I've had four hours in a row.  In nine weeks.  Ugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Help.  I have someone coming in this week for the next few weeks, until Joseph starts school.  I am going crazy alone, I hope it doesn't make me crazier to have someone here.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;My Mom.  I had to tell her that she can't come over here anymore to 'help' me if she is just going to question everything I do with my kids.  It went ... okay.  She is still tempted, I can tell, but it's better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Resentment.  I resent having to mother my kids AND my mother AND my husband.  &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;My MIL.  Asked Todd if them coming to visit added to our stress.   Ha ha ha!  He said everything adds to our stress, it's just LIKE that in a house with a newborn and also maybe she could give us a little more notice when she comes to visit.  She loves to call on Saturday and say "should I come up today or tomorrow?"  It's very annoying.  So he told her, and I told HIM, I would have added, maybe don't bring sodas from whatever fast food place you stopped on the way up without offering to get us some thing?  Or maybe EVER bring anything, even ONE TIME, to our house?  Or maybe HELP us, sometime?  Whatever, just some ideas I had.  You dope.  &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I guess that's it.  Lucy is coming up on 10 weeks and I am hopeful things calm the hell down. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-7348384471365510518?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/7348384471365510518/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=7348384471365510518' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/7348384471365510518'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/7348384471365510518'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2009/07/random.html' title='Random'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-7110086790755047986</id><published>2009-05-17T16:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-17T16:34:36.200-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Home</title><content type='html'>I'm home with my new girl, Lucy.  She is adorable.  ZOMG.  A-dorable.   We had a SCARE because her lungs were all FULL and she wasn't getting enough OXYGEN SATURATION or something but she is fine now, thank God.  She was in the nursery and out of my arms for the first 24 hours of her life, which was hard but I was happy that she was getting the care she needed and also it is the most rest I've gotten in years.  The nurses in the constant care nursery where she was were angels and amazing and also?  She was the biggest baby in there so Todd and I felt guilty and conspicuous. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But we came home today and despite some misunderstandings with my MIL about how many people we wanted greeting us when we came home, all is well.  It was the first time I was away from Kathleen and I've been away from Joseph but the older it gets the harder it gets because he doesn't understand, really, where I am or when I'm coming back so he just gets  sadder and sadder every time Todd comes home without me.  I had to not think about it too much in the hospital.  Of course, all is forgiven now and we are back to normal, practically - the new normal, that is.  I'm sure she's going to be up all night - she has slept SO much today, but what can you do?  Todd is home for a few weeks and I am going to try to enjoy it, or appreciate it, or something. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Despite not being with me for the first day, she is breastfeeding well and I am so grateful that I am almost enjoying it.  She is teeny, one pound lighter than the other two, which doesn't seem like much but it is.  She is also stirring so I better run but I wanted to record it.  We're home withTHREE kids now and ... I'm scared but also hopeful.  I have to get good at this sometime right?  Please?  :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-7110086790755047986?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/7110086790755047986/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=7110086790755047986' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/7110086790755047986'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/7110086790755047986'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2009/05/home.html' title='Home'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-1570898947491210250</id><published>2009-05-12T07:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-12T07:18:11.122-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Days Away</title><content type='html'>So we are days away from meeting our third baby.  Some observations about this pregnancy:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;I cannot get over how many people have asked me or Todd if we are having more kids.  Like, I'll run into someone that I haven't seen for a while and we'll be talking about them, or me, or catching up.  They might say "when are you due?" and I'll say "May" and they'll say "are you guys having more?"  It always takes me aback, - I mean - it always surprises me when people ask me, but ESPECIALLY when I am hugely pregnant!  I want to say, well we can't have sex for six weeks after, so not ... RIGHT away.  Sheesh.   Last night Todd went to pick up carryout for dinner (I can't cook when I am this large - ugh) and he mentioned to the bartender that once his super pregnant was up and about we'd have to come in to try this beer that they had.  Some other guy was at the bar, and asked Todd if this was our first and he said no, our third...under three.  The guy told Todd, "you need to get SNIPPED".  A stranger!  In a bar!  Are you EFFING kidding me?&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I feel bigger than ever this time, but my doctor says she thinks this will be my smallest baby yet.  We'll see.  I think maybe I just feel so big because I keep forgetting what the end is like.  You're at the END for such a short period of time, maybe it's just not what stays with me?  I keep losing weight, or staying the same, ever since I've been like 30 weeks or something.  This is from the diabetes diet, I guess, although this week I just don't feel like eating much. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Joseph and Kathleen are losing their damned minds - neither of them really understand what is happening, but both of them know something is up.  This will be my first time away from Kathleen overnight and it will be for THREE overnights!  I am nervous but trying not to project it on her.  My parents are staying here and then my MIL (and many, many others, I'm sure) are going to come up and stay one night. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I wish I could go one day early.  If I did, just my parents would have to stay and not my MIL.  I don't really mind her coming up and staying, of course, I mean, I appreciate it but I hate the thought of the big damned parade through my house while I'm not here.  I know I am a control freak and a weirdo. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;The other day I mentioned on FB that I was going to think about all the things I had to do this week and all these people commented that I should just LIE DOWN!  I was having a BABY, what else was there to do?  I have no idea what people think about my life but man.  I have to do the laundry, the diapers, change the sheets on the bed that my parents will be sleeping on, right?  These are things that won't keep.  People are crazy!&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;At first, when I first learned I was pregnant, I was so worried about this baby.  I was worried it would be a boy and if it was a boy he would be autistic, like Joseph.  I was worried that Joseph and Kathleen would be all freaked out when I stay away for three nights and then bring home some BABY.  Worry worry worry.  Now I am so eager to meet this baby, who I have seen more in ultrasound than any other baby (it seems like they all do 4D now), I don't care!  I don't care if he's a he or a she or has three arms!  I am so hopeful and optimistic and I just can't wait.  I know I'm really crazy, because I am even looking forward to breastfeeding, which I mostly hate.  I feel ... joyous?  Drunk with possibility?  It's a good feeling, even if it will be dashed - for now, I'm just living it.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-1570898947491210250?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/1570898947491210250/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=1570898947491210250' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/1570898947491210250'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/1570898947491210250'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2009/05/days-away.html' title='Days Away'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-1180528731790002448</id><published>2009-03-31T15:01:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-31T15:15:52.947-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mommie Dearest</title><content type='html'>Oh, my mother.  I could go on and on.  And I will!  :)  Our relationship has really shifted, as has everything else in my damned life, in the last five years since I got married and started having kids.  Also, our relationship has gotten kind of weird in the last two years or so, since she and my Dad started going to Florida for half of the year.  They are SO WEIRD about it.  They are almost 70, and maybe this happens to everyone's parents but man.  My Dad has always been a quiet person and my mom the gregarious one.  NOW, in Florida, my Dad is like this crazy ass golfer, who plays with strangers and goes for walks with his best friend, this guy he used to work with.  It's bizarre.  My mom is busy busy busy, too, she takes swim classes and plays mahjong and - ugh - it's endless.  She, like, never calls me, rather she emails me this BULLSHIT political claptrap and chicken soup for the soul and just - ugh - those cannot count as correspondence! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When she is in town, we talk quite a bit.  I will never EVER forget how she used to come over when Joseph was a baby and would scream for hours and hours and hours.  I would just call at like 11:00 at night or something and not even say anything and she'd say "Hello?  I'll be right there".  And she'd show up ten minutes later and take that baby and hold him and let me sleep.  One night she sat in a chair holding him from 11:30 til 5:00 the next morning, it was the most sleep I had gotten in months.  I will never forget it or be able to repay her for it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BUT she still drives me mad!  She has always been a kook, way too involved in my life, way too opinionated about everything, never having any respect for my decisions, etc.  But now that she is a Floridian, it seems like she doesn't care at all about me or what happens and it's so much harder to take than her being overinvolved.  I had no idea it would feel like this, but it's very hurtful. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When she is home, she watches the kids whenever I want, at least one night a week and it is beyond helpful.  BUT she is always late.  ALWAYS.  She used to come over to 'help' in the afternoons, and more than half the time, she'd fall asleep on the couch.  This is not helpful! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ugh.  Her mom died when she was young and my sister and I have discussed the fact that our mom seems to not know how to be a mom to adult daughters.  Also, she and my Dad seem to have this "we raised our kids, now we just want to bask in the sun and be left alone" attitude, which is FINE, I mean, I agree, they did work hard and they were excellent parents and I am glad they can enjoy their retirement but man.  I feel like I get the short end of the stick because I had kids later than my brothers. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also?  She leaves ridiculous messages on my voice mail, when she calls.  I call her all the time and her cell phone is turned off - because she is charging it.  I have told her endless times, she does NOT have to turn off her phone to charge it, but my Dad has told her that she has to (not that he knows anything) and so she does.  She'll leave it off all day or until I track her down on my Dad's phone or something.  Then she'll call me, at dinner time or bed time or some time when everyone in my world knows is not a good time to call and she'll leave just this on the message, in a VERY strident tone:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"TRYING TO REACH YOU AGAIN!  I GUESS I'LL TRY AGAIN LATER.  SIGH.  SIGH". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I think who would answer that message?  You can't even use a full sentence on your message?  STOP calling me at bedtime!  Grrr. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have had major issues about Joseph and the fact that he is autistic.  My mom is a sucker and wants to get in to all these REASONS that he could be autistic.  She thinks VACCINES are the cause and that JENNY MCCARTHY is a DOCTOR or something.  Ugh.  She sends me one million links from World Net Daily, with this NONSENSE about how (and I am not kidding) soy milk can make young boys gay.  I mean - really?  What am I supposed to do with that information?  Every link she sends takes me to some website that has like 100 fonts with blinking text and all this nonsense.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So.  Clearly I have major issues with my Mommy but she is coming back soon and I can't wait.  I always have high hopes that we won't argue about things, that it will all go well, and then it all falls apart about 20 minutes into every visit.  You could almost set your watch by it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-1180528731790002448?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/1180528731790002448/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=1180528731790002448' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/1180528731790002448'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/1180528731790002448'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2009/03/mommie-dearest.html' title='Mommie Dearest'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-2322763592438245182</id><published>2009-03-17T05:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-17T05:50:14.116-07:00</updated><title type='text'>On Husbands</title><content type='html'>God I am so mad lately at my husband.  Ninety five percent of the time, he is FINE, he is more than fine, he is PERFECT.  He is unselfish and patient, with both me and the kids, he does way more than his fair share around here, he is perfect.  But the things that make up the other five percent of him seem to make me the craziest when I am pregnant or crazy, or both.  Like now. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am having a hard time of it here lately, I admit it.  Last night he shut the door on my foot, which he is sort of likely to do - he is kind of unaware of the people around him and can be clumsy.  I didn't care, really, but then he didn't say one thing!  Not I'm sorry, or piss off, or get your big foot out of the way, NOTHING.  So I said hey, you shut the door on my foot and he said I'm sorry that I closed the door behind you.  Isn't that weird?  Not to just say "I'm sorry".  I'm sorry that I closed the door behind you?  What the hell is that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then this morning I am upset.  I slept badly, largely because of that effed up apology last night, and also because I can't sleep on my back, side, side, or belly, and I am grumpy this morning.  I am TRYING to get over it but I do not look forward to any day here lately - Kathleen is very grumpy and has to go down for her first, teensy, short nap by like 8:30, leaving me no time to do anything except get dressed, Joseph is crazier than ever, I'm tired and short tempered, etc.  I said how I was going to have to reschedule my next OB appointment, because of Todd's work schedule, I would have to take the kids with me and I just can't.  They are just not the kind of kids I can take to a doctor's appoitntment.  I don't have any babysitter options, it's the middle of the day, etc., etc.  Todd asked me if there was a way that I could make it for Friday of that week, because he was planning on taking that day off anyway. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now.  I asked him about this yesterday, I said that I made the appointment for a time that I couldn't go and I was concerned about it.  He told me that he was unable to leave work that day.  Did he mention that he PLANNED to take off a whole day that week?  No!  Why, I asked him, do you squirrel away information like that?  That is the week of Joseph's school break so I am already miserable about it, it would mean a lot to me if he could be home with me.  WHY wouldn't you tell me that?  He said he just thought of it.  I said you just now, just this morning, thought of it?  Well no, he said, he thought of it yesterday but then he forgot to tell me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How I hate people who think "I forgot" means that that automatically makes it okay, somehow.  To me, "I forgot" is just shorthand for "I don't care enough to tell you".  I forgot?  Do I forget to change the kids diapers?  To feed them?  To go get them when they are crying?  I FORGOT?  What does that mean? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then he got very UPSET.  He got sort of very sad and emotional.  I can't help but think on some level that this is manipulative.  He does it a lot - if I have a sore back, he has a sore back AND NECK.  If I get a cold, he gets a cold and a VERY SORE THROAT.  If I'm tired, he's EXHAUSTED.  GOD.  I can't believe that I am having my third baby here soon and also taking care of this 40 year old baby, too. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am hoping this is just pregnancy madness.  The bad thing about pregnancy madness, for me, is that it feels really real.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-2322763592438245182?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/2322763592438245182/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=2322763592438245182' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/2322763592438245182'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/2322763592438245182'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2009/03/on-husbands.html' title='On Husbands'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-4979847471957184170</id><published>2009-03-09T10:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-09T10:27:51.947-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hot Button Issues</title><content type='html'>Is this a theme?  C1 talked about her hot button issues and I commented but I thought I'd write about mine here, why not. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get very annoyed by many, many things, and I am trying to be better about it.  Last night I had to go to the drugstore because I needed soda and just ... crap and it was Sunday night and I figured the drugstore would be my best bet.  We live in the city so there is not a Target or good grocery store right nearby.  It was kind of horrible at the drugstore, it was packed and they didn't have a lot of the things I wanted.  I have the gestational diabetes again with this baby - or I should say I was very very borderline on the one hour test and I opted not to take the three hour - I don't see the point of going in and wasting three hours when I could just test at home and eat right and exercise.  The nurse at my ob's office seemed sort of shocked about this but seriously?  I do not have three hours and it's not like I'm going to be doing anything I shouldn't be doing anyway, eschewing dessert and white food and being sure to exercise a bit every day.  So anyway.  I wanted sugar free antacids and they had none.  I wanted diet and caffeine free soda and they had NONE.  NONE.  There were crazy people on line, talking and talking to me and carrying in food that they found on the street and running out of money, etc., etc. and I was just over it.  I was telling Todd about it when I got home and he said well, they're not going to change, so maybe you should, to be happier.  Which is good advice.  Annoying but good. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SO.  I'm trying not to get mad at people for things they can't control, or for things that *I* deem annoying but are not to everyone.  I know I can be a bitch and I'm tired and stressed out most of the time so I have to take myself with a grain of salt. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BUT I have had it with my MIL.  Yesterday she was going to come up and see the kids.  She had called the previous Saturday for Sunday and we already had plans.  So she asked if she could come over THIS Sunday and she called on Thursday to confirm.  I think it shocked her to the core that we could have made plans and she couldn't just swoop in like normal.  Anyway, she called Saturday night but didn't leave a message so Todd called her yesterday to be sure everything is okay and she wanted to know if she could bring our nephew, who was DYING to see the kids (ha ha, he never even looks at the kids, he just uses our computer or texts the whole time he's here and I don't blame him - he is 16).  Anyway, he had a friend with him so could he bring him too?  So Todd said no, this comes up EVERY TIME.  We have kind of a small house, it's a row house and it's like basically two rooms downstairs.  Joseph can be kind of strange with new people, including my MIL, who is new every time she comes.  WHY would I want to put him in a situation where he's uncomfortable?  Or, and this is probably an unfounded fear, but I don't know this teenage boy at all, what if he was to make fun of Joseph?  Or find it amusing how Joseph self-stims?  I just am not up to it.  Also, if you want to come and see the kids, COME AND SEE THE KIDS.  Every single time there is some sort of extra thing involved.  This is why I am never having my MIL stay over anymore - every time she does, like if we wanted to stay out overnight, or do something late, or something, she brings EVERYONE she knows, it feels like.   Last time her husband couldn't come because he was working on a Saturday, so he came up here at 7:30 Sunday morning.  SEVEN THIRTY.  No one seems to think it's weird but me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Todd definitely tells her that she can't bring strangers to the house but he doesn't like to.  Plus she knows it's me that's saying no, and yesterday she barely spoke to me.  Sigh.  I do not know what to do about it.  Todd doesn't like to say no to people, he says, as if - I mean, who does?  Who LIKES confrontation and making people unhappy?  Nobody.  I am just willing to do it for the greater good and he's not.   Anyway.  That is frustrating to me and, I think, at the core of my issue with people not recognizing that our life is different because Joseph has autism.  It's not BAD, I'm not JUDGING it, but I just want to call a freaking spade a spade and say we have to consider what is going to happen a little more than someone with a typical child. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God I am really babbling here so I'll stop.  Hot button indeed!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-4979847471957184170?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/4979847471957184170/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=4979847471957184170' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/4979847471957184170'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/4979847471957184170'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2009/03/hot-button-issues.html' title='Hot Button Issues'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-2352074717291994338</id><published>2009-02-27T05:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-27T05:57:12.878-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The internet</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Sheesh.  I am so mad at people on the internet all of a sudden.  I was innocently looking at pamie dot com and here's &lt;a href="http://tinyurl.com/atmm54"&gt;this old cow again: &lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://tinyurl.com/atmm54"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Now look - I really don't care what some allegedly funny lady in LA thinks about me as a stay at home mother.  BUT I do care about what some dumbbell thinks about ALL women who stay at home to take care of their kids instead of working outside the home and sending them to daycare (or "school" as some of my friends call it, the place where they send their six month old.  Whatever).  I mean, what did we go to school for?  Why do well in school?  GOD.  I have many things I would like to say to this asshole:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.)  I went to school and got a Bachelor's degree and then I worked for several years.  I also worked while I went to school.  THEN I got my Master's degree while working full time and then I worked for some more years.  THEN I got married, after having worked full time, post college, for like 14 years!  THEN I got pregnant and had a baby and my husband and I decided that the best CHOICE for our family would be for me to stay home and take care of the child(ren).  My husband, who also has a graduate degree, made about twice what I did, so he got to keep going to work.  I assume I'll work again.  I think I'll work as long as my friend James, who is a police officer and is going to retire after 25 years. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.)  I consider it to be a HUGE sacrifice to stay home with my kids.  It's not the kind of sacrifice where I tell them all day, every day, what kind of sacrifice I'm making, and how hard I'm working, and how AWESOME I am for doing it, but it's the kind of sacrifice where I feel like maybe someday it will be worth it for me to stay home with them.  I consider it the right thing to do, for my family. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3).  I always stayed home, and it's worked out well for me since I have a son with autism.  I have several friends, though, who worked at first and then because their kids were diagnosed with autism, they had to leave their job and start staying home with their kids because they weren't able to stay in the daycare that their parents had chosen for them.  Would you ask THEM why THEY went to school?  Why they BOTHERED to do well in school if all they were going to do is stay home?  You ASSHOLE? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.)  I wonder if this woman considers herself to be such a contributing member of society that she can talk to a whole bunch of women like they're idiots?  Is she a writer?  A comedy writer?  A writer of a sitcom?  She writes the funny words that actors say?  And this is some kind of major contribution to our world, one that should be compared favorably to raising children?  Taking care of other human beings? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.)  I truly feel like my education has helped me do better in my job, the job of staying at home with my children.  It has definitely helped me with my autistic son, although sometimes I wish I had gotten a degree in occupational therapy.  It's also helped me think about things in a different way - to realize that there are all kinds of people in the world, and not one thing is going to work for everyone.  I wonder what Niya's education has taught her - certainly not that. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, I was reading Sundry (again) and she talked about some woman that writes comics about attachment parenting?  Or something?  The woman was all mad about receiving formula samples in the mail and also about letting a baby cry it out.  There were lots of comments, mostly talking about how it's not really offensive to receive a sample in the mail.  But there was one about breastfeeding in public and why do some WOMEN have to be so OBVIOUS about it?  And I thought what the hell, commenter?  I always get scared about comments like that because my sweet Joseph was a really rough nurser and constantly swatting the blanket away and popping off and then rolling away from me so I sometimes had to decide between covering up well or catching the baby and I chose (obviously) to catch the baby.  So then I think when some asshole complains about women being so OBVIOUS about it are they talking about me?  Or someone like me?  Doesn't even matter who they're talking about?  Isn't the point of coming a long way (baby) that we don't have to explain this shit, constantly, time after fucking time?  Yes, I choose to stay home with my kids, yes, I breastfeed, yes I formula feed, yes, I work outside the home, yes my kid sometimes CRIES.  Are you kidding me?  Who are these people? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, on my other blog, some guy posted a super mean comment about how I was coddling Joseph because I didn't like the way he was roughly handled by some clerk at the playplace we went to.  He said that his two year old daughter could take getting a hand stamp, what was the problem with Precious that he couldnt' take it?  I mean - really?  I have to assume he just thought he was a 'normal' three year old, and didn't read that he was autistic but man.  Even if he did think that?  It seems kind of rough on a regular three year old to. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So.  Newsflash - people can be jerks. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-2352074717291994338?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/2352074717291994338/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=2352074717291994338' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/2352074717291994338'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/2352074717291994338'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2009/02/internet.html' title='The internet'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-1363021253084306649</id><published>2009-02-19T05:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-19T06:04:20.356-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Changing</title><content type='html'>I was reading on Sundry's blog about the question of parenting changing you.  Is there anything left of YOU, as a person, once you have kids?  I have been thinking about it a lot because I really think the answer is hell no, and hell yes, both. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone I know knows that I have not taken to motherhood well.  But I think it's just my expectations, as usual, that needed to be managed before I had kids.  I was just so surprised!  by everything! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still can't believe that my MIL thought that she was going to be in the room for the birth of my children.  I still can't believe that she thought NOTHING of pressing on my stomach whenever she saw me after she knew that I was pregnant, even when I was like 10 weeks! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't believe how one (former) friend went ON and ON about how WONDERFUL it was and how much SHE LOVED having an infant and it was so beautiful and great and amazing and her baby slept all night at 3 weeks and it was so awesomely awesome in response to me saying "he never sleeps and he screams all the time.  I don't know what to do". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't believe how tired I have been for almost four years. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't believe that I could get so mad at Todd for sleeping.  Or having to go to the bathroom.  Or having a job. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't believe how often I can cry. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't believe anyone thinks that because of the above, that I don't love my kids.  It makes me insane(r) when people say "it's all worth it".  I ESPECIALLY hate it when someone who is not the parent of the child says it.  God.  Of course I love them.  That's part of the problem!  Like - Joseph thinks nothing of whacking me in the face, and Kathleen thinks part of climbing up on me is to pinch my breasts or whatever she can grab onto in order to stand.  Then I'm being hit in the face!  And I think who the HELL is hitting me?  Why am I being attacked?  But I'm not being attacked, I'm being HELPFUL.  I'm being a MOTHER.  In order to be a mother, sometimes you have to get hit in the face or get pinched.  I am still wrestling with this one. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know two women that I think are bad mothers.  One is the mother of my niece and one is the mother of my friend's stepson.  By 'bad mother' I mean, like, bad.  Like - I don't mean they don't use cloth diapers and they take their kids to McDonald's, I mean, I think that they are not preparing their children for life, and I think sometimes they are actually putting their children in danger.  I have heard these women, on multiple occasions, say what GREAT mothers they are.  AWESOME mothers!  My friend who has the stepson and I talk about it - like WHO THE HELL sits around saying "I am an AWESOME mom!"  It is my anecdotal conclusion, therefore, that good mothers don't talk about what good mothers they are.  It's my only hope that I might be a good mother - or have the potential of being a good mother - someday.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whenever we take Joseph for an autism thing - like an IEP, or an evaluation or something, the teachers/professionals/whoever are always going ON and ON about how GREAT we are doing! "You're doing great mom!" they'll say to me, having met me 30 minutes before.  I think really?  You think I'm doing great?  It feels good and then I feel immediately like a phony.  I think if they really knew me, or if they could spend a day watching me mother this boy that I barely understand, or if they (GOD FORBID) knew what I was thinking, they would know that I'm not doing great and that I am barely getting by, some days.  So I wonder - are they just saying it?  Or do they usually deal with such yahoos that by comparison, Todd and I seem great? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last thing I'm thinking about whether or not you change or lose yourself or whatever when you're a parent is that sometimes people think they can comment on something like this because they are a parent.  They think they (and I include myself in this) have earned the right to have an opinion about other parent's lives because they have kids.  They scoff at people who DON'T have kids having an opinion about it.  But the thing is, you really can't judge anyone until you have been THEM with THEIR kids.  I know that sometimes people might see me on a rare jaunt to the grocery store with both kids.  The other day we had an emergency and had to go get some crackers for Joseph (he has a limited list of foods that he will eat).  There I was, all pregnant and crazed, with two kids in the cart, and I opened the box so that I could give Joseph some right there in the store.  Then I had to give Kathleen some, too, to keep things equal.  I KNOW that if I had seen me and didn't know anything, I would think 'look at that mother, coddling that giant boy, he must be really spoiled'.  And I would have been SO wrong - he is not spoiled, he's not!  He's autistic and he struggles with a lot of communication issues.  So if he says "cracker" to me, I like to be able to give him what he wants and reward him for speaking, so that maybe he'll do more of it.   But no one could know that in the grocery store.  So my conclusion THERE is that you can't judge anyone's parenting, ever, even if you are a parent.  Unless you are THEM with THEIR children, thoughts off!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-1363021253084306649?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/1363021253084306649/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=1363021253084306649' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/1363021253084306649'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/1363021253084306649'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2009/02/changing.html' title='Changing'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-628022022220116814</id><published>2009-02-03T13:30:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-03T13:35:31.219-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Some Days</title><content type='html'>Some days are really bad.  Some days, I told my husband before on the phone, I feel like it's a race to see what is going to happen first.  Will the weather get better?  So that we can go outside and maybe breathe some fresh air that doesn't freeze our lungs on contact?  Will I ever not have a cold again and maybe be able to breathe and/or sleep before I have this baby in May and am unable to sleep?  Or will I go crazy and end up in jail and hell because I've lost my mind and walked out on the kids or something? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some days I don't know what's going to happen first.  Some days Kathleen wakes up SO early and SO angry and then she doesn't nap.  Some days Joseph brays like an animal all day, he's super frantic and sad himself.  Some days as soon as I try to salvage the sleep day for Kathleen and put her up for her afternoon nap, Joseph stands at the bottom of the stairs (or worse, outside of her door) and brays and brays - wordless, senseless noise. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I pray and pray.  I pray that it gets better.  I pray that he will SHUT the F up for just an hour so she can get some rest.  And then I hear her crying.  Some days. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some days I think no one understands - no one understands what it's like to be a stay at home mother, just a normal one, let alone one like me, one who can't go anywhere because she can't control her kids, I can't chase the brayer and the tired one. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some days I feel really, REALLY pregnant.  I am finding that it is much harder to be six months pregnant with a one year old than with a two year old. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some days I feel 90 years old.  Some days I think I can't do it.  I hope tomorrow isn't one of those days.  I hope the weather gets better.  I hope and hope and hope.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-628022022220116814?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/628022022220116814/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=628022022220116814' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/628022022220116814'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/628022022220116814'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2009/02/some-days.html' title='Some Days'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-5028160894833011631</id><published>2009-01-15T05:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-15T05:25:53.085-08:00</updated><title type='text'>One Word Meme</title><content type='html'>Where is your cell phone? table&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your significant other? everything&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your hair? needy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your mother? um&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your father? advising&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your favorite thing? sleep&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your dream last night? forgotten&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your favorite drink? martini&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your dream/goal? thin&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What room are you in? kitchen&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your hobby? reading&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your fear? future&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where do you want to be in six years? finished&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where were you last night? home&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Something that you aren't? rested&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Muffins? yummy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wish list item? nanny&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last thing you did? I.T.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What are you wearing? maternity&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TV? necessity&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your pets? no&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friends? thankful&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your life? crazymaking&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your mood? dire&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Missing someone? me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Drinking? nope&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Smoking? nope&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your car? new&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Something you're not wearing? socks&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your favorite store? Target&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your favorite color? blue&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When is the last time you cried? already&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who will resend this? unknown&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where do you go to over and over? school&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Five people who email me regularly? friends&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My favorite place to eat? out&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Favorite place I'd like to be right now? hotel&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Four people I think will respond? unknown&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-5028160894833011631?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/5028160894833011631/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=5028160894833011631' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/5028160894833011631'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/5028160894833011631'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2009/01/one-word-meme.html' title='One Word Meme'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-4074584791813209547</id><published>2008-11-18T11:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-18T12:34:30.570-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Five Years Gone</title><content type='html'>The other night Todd and I were talking about time and I said that if a fairy godmother of some kind flew into my house tonight and said she could POOF make the next five years disappear - that I could wake up tomorrow and it would be five years later, I would do it in a heartbeat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Todd seemed kind of hurt.  He said he wouldn't want to be five years older tomorrow.  But I don't care, I am not taking it back.  If I could make the monitors be gone?  And if everyone was born and sleeping and ... maybe off to school, or closer to it?  I would do it.  If I could know what is going to happen with Joseph, and know if he is going to get 'better' and maybe go to a regular school?  I would take it, I would, I wish it could happen.  I'm so tired and I keep saying it and I'm so sick of myself!  Maybe in five years, I'd be thinner?  Happier?  Maybe not, though - that would be a drag!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What do you all think?  Am I crazy?  Would any of you take the five year deal?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-4074584791813209547?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/4074584791813209547/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=4074584791813209547' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/4074584791813209547'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/4074584791813209547'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/11/five-years-gone.html' title='Five Years Gone'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-6744140348127298036</id><published>2008-11-13T05:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-13T06:06:40.326-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Away</title><content type='html'>I was watching some show on Veteran's Day and they had all these military wives and mothers on and I was feeling like a big baby.  Some of these women had five and six kids and their husbands were gone to Iraq or Afghanistan!  I don't like it when Todd is home like FIVE minutes later than I expect him! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then I was reading one of the thousands of blogs I read a week and it seemed like several were talking about how these women's husbands were just ... going away.  Away to run a marathon, away to go hunting, away to just get away and I think there is no way I could stand that.  I don't mean to be all - bitchy?  mean?  one upping?  but I am no longer running in races, I am no longer going to the gym, for God's sake.  My life has changed dramatically since I've had these children and shouldn't his? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want my husband to enjoy his life,  I do.  I suppose I'm lucky because my husband doesn't want to go away on weekends to hunt or fish or run or whatever.  But if he did it would be a major issue.  I just feel like these years right now are about being home with these children.  I am home all the time with them and it's a handful, of course.  Todd told me the other day if I wanted to, I should go and do something this weekend.  Since Kathleen isn't nursing anymore, hardly, he said I could be gone all day!  I said thanks but if I had a whole day to myself I would want to sleep and where can I do that?  A bed showroom?  It simply isn't done!  :) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like a judgmental old biddy, getting mad on behalf of my friends and women who I don't even know about their husbands leaving them.  Maybe it's fine.  Maybe they think it's great.  I just can't imagine it.  But I'm trying.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-6744140348127298036?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/6744140348127298036/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=6744140348127298036' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/6744140348127298036'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/6744140348127298036'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/11/away.html' title='Away'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-8021570131598781686</id><published>2008-11-03T06:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-03T06:57:28.033-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dramatic</title><content type='html'>Can I say something without being overly dramatic?  I swear it's not a cry for help or anything.  It's just something that I've been thinking about lately. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am all wound up lately, of course, pregnant, tired, 10 month old still not sleeping, tired, son with autism and school driving me mad, etc., etc., tired, you know the drill.  It's always something right?  Lately I have been thinking I would have to kill myself to get out of this. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do not mean that I am thinking about suicide - the how and the where and the how, not at all!  I just - I'll be having a really shit day and Joseph is having a giant screaming tantrum and it's making Kathleen yell and then Joseph wants Kathleen to stop yelling so he tries to pop her in the mouth and I am sitting on the floor, and I think oh my God, how can I get out of this?  It's too much.  I'm too tired.  I can't do it for 18 years, I can't!  I think the only way to get away from these people would be to kill myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I feel better.  Because I don't want to die.  This, although it can really suck sometimes, is better than the alternative.  So maybe that's what people mean when they say about getting older, 'it's better than the alternative!'.  Maybe?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again, I am not trying to be dramatic.  It's just something that has been pervading my thoughts lately and I wanted to write it down here in a safe place.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-8021570131598781686?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/8021570131598781686/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=8021570131598781686' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/8021570131598781686'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/8021570131598781686'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/11/dramatic.html' title='Dramatic'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-9108671842786981222</id><published>2008-10-27T15:46:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-27T15:49:10.139-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Six Random Things</title><content type='html'>I stole this from Constance, but I can never, ever not steal a meme.  I just love the idea of it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  My sister and I have always written letters to each other during the day.  We started when we were both in high school and continued it when she went to college and I was still in high school, then when we were both in college, when we used to fax letters to each other before email, and now, of course, via email and IM. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.  I used to smoke but don't anymore.  But I still LOVE the idea of it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.  I can drive a stick shift but we do not have a stick shift car because my husband can't. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.  I get very paranoid that after I speak, my husband inwardly rolls his eyes and thinks "will she ever shut up?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.  I used to go to the gym almost every day, and sometimes I would just take two classes in a row because I was there anyway.  Now I can literally barely sweep the floor by the end of the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6.  My parents have been married (to one another) for 45 years but both my husband's parents have been married three times.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-9108671842786981222?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/9108671842786981222/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=9108671842786981222' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/9108671842786981222'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/9108671842786981222'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/10/six-random-things.html' title='Six Random Things'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-3715715382007545514</id><published>2008-10-12T09:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-12T09:59:33.330-07:00</updated><title type='text'>People...they're the worst</title><content type='html'>So I am on this autism listserv right?  There are sometimes messages about walks and fairs where you can get information on therapies, etc., but mostly there are frantic posts about chelation and diets and Jenny Mc  Carthy and it sort of freaks me out.  Since Joseph has been diagnosed with autism, I have gone right to the internets to find ... help and comfort and people in like situations, like every other thing in my life.  But I can't find anyone who just wants to talk about what their days are like.  I start to think maybe it's me, maybe I don't want Joseph to get better?  But the thing is, I do.  He is in preschool five days a week and although it's not the most aggressive program in the world, he is only three years old and he seems to be thriving.  He gets speech and occupational therapy there.  Then two afternoons a week, we all three (and a half, I guess, or a quarter) drive to another place so he can get more occupational and physical therapy too.  He has 'low muscle tone' in his core and when I heard that I was like "who doesn't?"  Ha!  ANYWAY.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am trying to balance accepting and loving Joseph for who he is with trying to change him and make him better.  I think a lot of things that make our lives crazy with Joseph are age, too.  He is super noisy during Kathleen's naps, he sometimes sits at the bottom of the stairs and yells, which is super annoying as she is a light sleeper.  But ... he's three.  I don't expect him to do everything I say.  I just try and distract him, to move him on to something else, preferably outside.  I tell him the baby is sleeping and he sometimes says "baaaaaby...sleeping", very seriously, like he gets it, and then screams wildly and wakes her up.  So...ugh, right?  But also ... three.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So.  My point, if I have one, is that the other night this woman posted this "very important breakthrough" news and it was about how mercury poisoning has been proven to cause autism.  So I was looking at the study and it seemed weird, it seemed to talk in circles and the main thing was that you could get a urine test from some lab in France for 100 dollars.  So I googled it and found an interesting post on this guy's blog - he's in England and his daughter has Asperger's - and he said a lot of stuff contradicting this study.  So I posted the link to the blog and said thanks for the link and here was a differing point of view.  Well.  This woman, who seems very nice, posted in like TWO SECONDS asking me all these questions about WHOSE blog it was and WHO did he think he was and THAT wasn't the test she was talking about and on and on, saying the blog author was probably a PLANT from BIG PHARM and DOCTORS.   So I posted back and linked to the about me section in the blog and said I didn't think he was and I was just, as I said, posting a different point of view and I thought that would be cool since SHE had posted one point of view.  Ugh.  Forget it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just wish I could have friends, like my regular friends that I have met since I had kids - and they could understand my situation a little bit.  It feels very isolating, because Joseph can be kind of a pain at playgroups, etc., (really I don't think any more than any other kid, they all have good and bad days) and I'm afraid that out old friends are not inviting us over because of that.  It might not even really be happening, but it's in my head.  Also, I have to go and get him every day kind of late morning so once Kathleen is done with her morning nap, we usually just go and get Joseph and then we can't do anything after lunch because Kathleen is napping again.  Hoo boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So.  Whine whine whine, I know.  But it just sometimes feels like I am banging my head against the wall and after a while I think boy this hurts!  And my head is bleeding!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-3715715382007545514?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/3715715382007545514/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=3715715382007545514' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/3715715382007545514'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/3715715382007545514'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/10/so-i-am-on-this-autism-listserv-right.html' title='People...they&apos;re the worst'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-5381302976656803408</id><published>2008-09-30T07:00:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-07T11:11:51.291-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>So I went to the new doctor's office and it wasn't too bad.  I mean, it was fine, it didn't take too long to get there, it was nice and clean, and it's across the street from the hospital where I'll be delivering.  I was only seeing the NP, and my appointment was for 11:15.  At 11:45, sitting in the room, having only accomplished filling out scads of paperwork and giving a clean catch urine sample (which actually was a hell of an accomplishment, since I had Kathleen with me and she is a PAIN), I called Todd and said that I hadn't been seen yet.  I guess 30 minutes isn't that long to wait?  Or something?  The NP came in as soon as I called Todd and she said how are you?  I said I'm fine but this is my first visit to this office and I'm trying to tell if it's going to be this long of a wait every time.  She looked surprised - and at her watch - and said I thought your appointment was at 11:30?  I thought I was doing pretty good!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh.  I'm sure she did think it was good that I 'only' waited for 15 minutes.  But I was holding Kathleen, trying to feed her Cheerios and keep her busy, she pushes against me the whole time I'm holding her, it's hard and waaaaah!  I know I'm whiny.  I just wish that we didn't just accept that doctors are going to run late, that we should feel so happy and grateful that they even BOTHER to see us that we should never say anything.  Ugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It ended up to be fine, she was very nice and I just got over myself.  She went through my history, decided I should have an ultrasound the next week because it's hard to believe that I got pregnant after just one period, I guess, also I was charting and know I got pregnant really late in my cycle.  Which I clearly know &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;nothing&lt;/span&gt; about, yet. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am always up for an ultrasound, so I went in last week for one.  The tech said that I should be 6 weeks 6 days but I was measuring 5 weeks 6 days, which actually makes sense, given the date of conception.  I mentioned that I was breastfeeding and the tech said "you have to stop!" kind of alarmed like that.  I said, blubbering already, what?  What?  WHY?  I said my daughter doesn't take a bottle.  She said, and I am not kidding, that breastfeeding causes the uterus to contract and "you don't want to lose the baby".   She also said "she'll eat when she gets hungry". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now.  This is not to offend any ultrasound techs out there but they are not, as far as I know, freaking doctors and should not really be dispensing medical advice like this, especially in this threatening manner.  When I was done with the tech (who said I have to come back for another ultrasound in two weeks because of my &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;advanced maternal age)&lt;/span&gt;, I asked the woman at the desk if I could have my doctor (whom I have not yet met) call me so I could talk about this breastfeeding thing.   The woman said I could speak to the nurse, which was fine by me, and I did.  The nurse said that sometimes it can be hard to keep up with the nutritional requirements of nursing and tending to a new baby at the same time, but there is a lot of controversy over whether or not it's bad for the new baby to breastfeed the old one. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I came home and we've tried to give Kathleen a bottle but she is UNinterested and frankly, so am I.  I'm having an ultrasound next week and then I'm seeing my doctor two weeks after that and I hope and pray everything's okay but what can I do?  I just don't want to starve Kathleen to force her to drink formula.  She has her nine month appointment this week and I'll talk to her doctor about it and maybe we can get her on a cup of milk at 11 months?  She's not great with a bottle, a sippy cup, or a real cup but she does the best with a real cup at this point.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't wait to hear what the doctor says about it.  If she says she thinks it's okay with me to keep breastfeeding I'm going to tell her that I think she should tell her fat mouth tech that, too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-5381302976656803408?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/5381302976656803408/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=5381302976656803408' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/5381302976656803408'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/5381302976656803408'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/09/so-i-went-to-new-doctors-office-and-it.html' title=''/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-5555156337860824706</id><published>2008-09-23T10:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-23T10:52:11.035-07:00</updated><title type='text'>New Doctors and Why I Hate All of Them</title><content type='html'>So I called a new doctor's office today.  I am only about six weeks pregnant but I figured I should.  I had a baby, then a miscarriage, then a baby, so I don't know if they will want to see me early like they did when I was pregnant with Kathleen but I figure I better check.  When I had the miscarriage, after Joseph, I was trying to go with a new doctor.  My first appointment was the day after I had the miscarriage and they were so awful - even though I said I suspected I had a miscarriage (and I wasn't entirely sure plus I was hopeful, which seems dumb now) they still made me go over the billing and the freaking delivery options.  Then I HATED the doctor and she made me wait like six weeks to have a D&amp;amp;C, it was really an awful experience and when I got pregnant with Kathleen, I ran back to my old doctor.  I'm sure I thought I could avoid having another miscarriage by just going back to where I had a healthy pregnancy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the thing is, I hate the hospital.  I hate the practice, I have to wait SOOOOO long for appointments and now, with Kathleen, this will be even harder.  I had several ultrasounds with Kathleen and I had to wait like an hour for each of them.  I am trying to avoid it.  Also I want to go to a nicer hospital - I don't need to go to the freaking Ritz or anything but I just want to go somewhere that's a little ... cheerier.  And where the rooms are a teensy bit bigger so I don't feel like when it's Todd and me and a teensy little baby that it's suffocating. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SO.  I looked on my insurance for a female doctor who delivers at this nice hospital which is not close to me, necessarily, but I figure if I don't have to wait an hour for every appointment, I'll be saving time.  I called today and the girl wasn't that nice.  I live in the midwest, even though I am not from here, and I am forever waiting for some of this hospitality I hear so much about.  The girl was kind of cold.  She said the doctor's nurse will call me back to schedule an appointment and I am hoping the nurse is nicer.  I mean, I don't expect anyone to say "Congratulations!  Pregnant!?  What a novel and amazing thing this is, here at the OB/GYN's office!" but, like, I said I needed an appointment and she said the doctor was scheduling for December.  I said oh, well I'm pregnant so I don't think that would work.  She said Oh, well that's different, if you're pregnant.  I said sorry I didn't mention it, I can barely get my head around it myself.  And she said nothing.  Which is awkward.  But whatever, I am just hoping the nurse is nicer and if she's not maybe the DOCTOR will be nicer. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Todd and I talked this morning about what we were nervous about.  I said I was nervous about the health of the baby.  I am nervous that I will have another autistic baby.  Or that I will have a Down's baby.  Or, you know, anything.  Todd said he's been nervous about where we'll PUT the baby!  I wish that was my worry.  Because I already know, I am going to put the baby in the closet.  We have a big walk in closet and a portable crib and I am going to get a nicer mattress for it and then put that baby in there.  Kathleen will only be 17 months old so she won't be ready for a bed, I don't think, so into the closet for our Number Three.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm also nervous that the doctor is going to really push these damned tests on me.  I don't like to get them - they're so slanted negative for someone my age, I just don't want to be put in a position where they want me to have an amnio.  I'd rather not, so I like to just skip it altogether and in the past I have had some opposition from well meaning doctors on this.  So I hope this doctor's not like this.  But who knows?  Can I be not too picky because of my advanced age?  I was actually afraid that the scheduling lady was going to say "sorry, you're too old" when I said my birth date.  I have a friend who could *not* find a doctor to take her because she was high risk.  I hope this isn't the case with me, I'll have to go right back to my first doctor and the waiting. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But we are getting so excited!  Baby Names!  And I kiss Kathleen's head and I think ohhhhh.  I'll have a whole nother head to kiss in just eight months.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-5555156337860824706?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/5555156337860824706/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=5555156337860824706' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/5555156337860824706'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/5555156337860824706'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/09/new-doctors-and-why-i-hate-all-of-them.html' title='New Doctors and Why I Hate All of Them'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-1033190532355621350</id><published>2008-09-21T16:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-21T16:39:03.142-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Holy Crap</title><content type='html'>I have never been so glad to have a secret apartment in my life. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am pregnant.  I cannot believe it.  We are Natural Family Planners but we are also Really Dumb.  I mean, I have only had one period since I had Kathleen, and so we started filling out my chart and taking my temperature and everything.  BUT it doesn't matter, really, when you're nursing - or when I'm nursing, anyway.  It was day 20 which seems late right?  But like a day or two after (and this is probably TMI but I just keep going over and over it in my mind) I thought 'hmmm, that seems like .. mucus.  Hmmm.  Should there be mucus?  At this late stage?'  Apparently not. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we are freaking out, I mean, we are happy, it is always a happy thing for us but WOW.  Joseph is autistic, Kathleen is 8 months old, we only have three bedrooms and there is no way Joseph can share one.  I mean, maybe he will be able to?  If he gets a little better?  For now, we are planning on getting a new car in the next 8 months, and setting up our portable crib in our walk in closet and moving the clothes there... somewhere.  Oh Lord, Lord, what the hell is going to happen to us? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BUT.  Even freaking out?  I feel so happy, in a way.  I smell Kathleen's head when I pick her up from a nap and I think oh wow, another one.  I could maybe do it again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am now praying that everything is okay.  I am high risk because I am FREAKING FORTY years old, I had GD with Kathleen, and I am crazy.  I am hoping to get a new doctor this time but will anyone even take me?  And old thing like myself?  Ooh I'm excited and nervous and scared.  Can I keep nursing for the next three months?  Kathleen will not take a bottle and she's not great with a cup, yet.  Does anyone know about nursing while pregnant?  Pregnant.  Pregnant. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Holy crap.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-1033190532355621350?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/1033190532355621350/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=1033190532355621350' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/1033190532355621350'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/1033190532355621350'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/09/holy-crap.html' title='Holy Crap'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-2278375135765893335</id><published>2008-09-10T11:13:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-10T11:14:20.716-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Yet Another Meme</title><content type='html'>I have a friend who is always posting these.  I am addicted. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. &lt;b&gt;My uncle once&lt;/b&gt; took me to One if by Land, Two if by Sea.  I always laugh because I see it advertised as such a romantic restaurant. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. &lt;b&gt;Never in my life&lt;/b&gt; have I been so tired.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. &lt;b&gt;When I was five&lt;/b&gt; I was really smart. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. &lt;b&gt;High school&lt;/b&gt; was fun, for me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. &lt;b&gt;I will never forget the day&lt;/b&gt; that Joseph was born.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. &lt;b&gt;Once I met&lt;/b&gt; Tanya Tucker. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. &lt;b&gt;There's this boy I know&lt;/b&gt; drives me insane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. &lt;b&gt;Once, at a bar&lt;/b&gt;, I almost got into a fight with some Jersey Hair Girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. &lt;b&gt;By noon, I've&lt;/b&gt; doubted my sanity for the one hundreth time that day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. &lt;b&gt;Last night&lt;/b&gt; I smoked three cigarettes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. &lt;b&gt;If only I had&lt;/b&gt; an entirely different life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. &lt;b&gt;Next time I go to church&lt;/b&gt; will be this Saturday. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. &lt;b&gt;What worries me most&lt;/b&gt; is how things are going to end up for my kids.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14. &lt;b&gt;When I turn my head left I see&lt;/b&gt; a highchair, a filing cabinet, and a window.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15. &lt;b&gt;When I turn my head right I see&lt;/b&gt; the fridge, vacuum, basically the whole kitchen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16. &lt;b&gt;You know I'm lying&lt;/b&gt; when I say I'm doing okay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17. &lt;b&gt;What I miss most about the Eighties is&lt;/b&gt; high school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18. &lt;b&gt;If I were a character in Shakespeare I'd be...&lt;/b&gt; crazy-ass Ophelia, probably.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19. &lt;b&gt;By this time next year I'd like to&lt;/b&gt; be thinner, happier, and saner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20. &lt;b&gt;A better name for me would be&lt;/b&gt; Complainy McWhinesalot&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21. &lt;b&gt;I have a hard time understanding&lt;/b&gt; my son, a lot of the time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22. &lt;b&gt;If I ever go back to school,&lt;/b&gt; I won't, but I'd like to have been a nurse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23. &lt;b&gt;You know I like you&lt;/b&gt; if I seem to like you.  I'm not too subtle. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;24. &lt;b&gt;If I ever won an award, the first person I would thank&lt;/b&gt; would be my husband.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25. &lt;b&gt;Take my advice&lt;/b&gt;, never worry about being pregnant.  Worry about that baby and prepare for that. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;26. &lt;b&gt;My ideal breakfast&lt;/b&gt; is a leisurely one, at one of two places I used to go with my husband before we had THE CHILDREN. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;27. &lt;b&gt;A song I love but do not&lt;/b&gt; &lt;b&gt;have is&lt;/b&gt;  ... a song I love?  I love Beautiful Day by U2&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;28. &lt;b&gt;If you visit my hometown, I suggest &lt;/b&gt;you go to the sweet, sweet Mall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;29. &lt;b&gt;Why won't people&lt;/b&gt; stop oversimplifying people in both political parties? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;30. &lt;b&gt;If you spend a night at my house&lt;/b&gt; you have to sleep in our livingroom.  But we did just get a new sleepover couch!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;31. &lt;b&gt;I'd stop my wedding for&lt;/b&gt; nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;32. &lt;b&gt;The world could do without&lt;/b&gt; Howard Stern.  IMO. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;33. &lt;b&gt;I'd rather lick the belly of a cockroach than&lt;/b&gt; diet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;34. &lt;b&gt;My favorite blondie&lt;/b&gt; is my sweet baby girl and boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;35. &lt;b&gt;Paper clips are&lt;/b&gt; used often in my house, to unlock the doors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;36. &lt;b&gt;If I do anything well it's&lt;/b&gt; be funny.  Talk. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;37.&lt;b&gt; I can't help but&lt;/b&gt; judge the hell out of myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;38. &lt;b&gt;I usually cry at&lt;/b&gt; intervals of five minutes, here lately.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;39. &lt;b&gt;My advice to my nephew/niece is:&lt;/b&gt;  try and do better in school, try and be a child when you are a child, try and listen to those who love you and want the best for you. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;40. &lt;b&gt;And by the way&lt;/b&gt;, I should get back to the boy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-2278375135765893335?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/2278375135765893335/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=2278375135765893335' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/2278375135765893335'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/2278375135765893335'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/09/yet-another-meme.html' title='Yet Another Meme'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-4344159847058328712</id><published>2008-09-09T07:12:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-09T07:22:29.014-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Oooh Barracuda</title><content type='html'>I was reading &lt;a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/09/08/us/politics/08baby.html?_r=2&amp;amp;hp=&amp;amp;oref=slogin&amp;amp;pagewanted=all&amp;amp;oref=slogin"&gt;this&lt;/a&gt; article and sighing so, so often.  I have no idea what I think about SPalin but man - the language and the tone of this article really pisses me off. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ms. Palin went to extraordinary lengths to ensure that his arrival would not compromise her work. She hid the pregnancy. She traveled to Texas a month before her due date to give an important speech, delivering it even though her amniotic fluid was leaking. Three days after giving birth, she returned to work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...pisses me off.  I am not governor of a state, but I am the emmeffing QUEEN of my household and I went to extraordinary lengths to ensure that my next baby's arrival wouldn't compromise my work.  When my son was one year old, I had a miscarriage - LORD it was a messed up miscarriage, involving a mid-day trip to the downtown (read nasty and scary) ER and copious amounts of bleeding, admittance to the hospital and discharge from the same hospital, without having a D&amp;amp;C, weekly blood tests (while carting around my one year old), throwing a birthday party for the baby, and finally, mercifully, a D&amp;amp;C six weeks after the miscarriage.  NOBODY questioned me about this.  Nobody said "are you sure you can go BACK TO WORK while you are having a miscarriage?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then when my son was 2.5, I had his sister.  Three days after SHE was born, you know where I was?  RIGHT BACK TO WORK.  I had a c-section on a Friday and Monday I came home and carried my 38 pound son up the stairs.  We were just figuring out that he was not just a late talker, but that he was autistic.  He couldn't come and visit me in the hospital because we couldn't figure out a way to tell him that at some point, he'd have to leave.  So when I came home, and he was so happy/freaked out to see me, and he needed me to pick him up and act like everything was normal, I did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He started getting therapy, here at the house, shortly after my husband returned to work.  It's hard, at first, the therapy.  It's like physical therapy, I guess, where they pull and push parts that don't want to be pulled or pushed, all for the greater good.  I would nurse the baby, rock the baby, change the baby, hold the sleeping baby, all while my son (and I) wept and fought against the therapy.  Again, NOBODY said to me - are you sure you should go back to work?  Are you sure you have time to nurse the baby?  Don't you think you should care for your SPECIAL NEEDS child? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is bullshit - it's sexism and anti-motherhood and rotten to the core, this reaction to SPalin.  I should correct myself and say there are, I'm sure, some people who just don't like her - they don't like her politics, or think that she's inexperienced, or that her daughter's troubles are her fault, or whatever.  And they might all be right.  Personally, I can't get over those NAMES.  But this article?  Is nothing but sexist and rotten and hating.  And I hate it right back.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-4344159847058328712?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/4344159847058328712/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=4344159847058328712' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/4344159847058328712'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/4344159847058328712'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/09/oooh-barracuda.html' title='Oooh Barracuda'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-7931285261927110217</id><published>2008-08-04T06:15:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-20T13:35:26.463-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sleep</title><content type='html'>I hate to talk (and think) so much about sleep but man, Kathleen is throwing me for a loop.  I am breaking out the Weisbluth because I am confounded.  She nurses at night as often as she nurses in the day, except for one long (?) stretch between, say, 6:00 and 11:00.  Five hours is as long as she goes, and she is almost seven months old and weighs like 18 pounds.  The rest of the night she nurses every three hours, and then gets up for the day at like 7:00.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, she used to take a bottle and now she has stopped.  I get sort of filled with dread when I think of breastfeeding for the next five months or so.  I am a bad breastfeeder, but it's just so surprising how much I ... well, I don't want to say I hate it but man, I do not love it.  I don't think it's a great bonding thing for me and mine, I just - I feel like it's a good way to get milk into them and I'm glad it works for me but beyond that, I am not feeling the love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joseph has been up in the night lately too.  I have read that kids with a_utism can have trouble sleeping and he sure does.  I mean, I have friends whose kids sleep like crap too and they're not a_utistic so who knows?  But the last several days he has been up *early*, like before 5:00 and then he is wretched - HORRIBLE - in the afternoon and I feel like I just want to run, run away and not come back.  He is in school and it's going well but I almost wish he was in the afternoon program there because at least then THEY could have him when he is freaking out every two seconds. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I am with the baby, nursing or whatever, and Joseph is pulling at my hands and asking for food that he can't have (I curse you, fruit rollups) and starting a tantrum and I think "no.  I can't do it again.  I can't protect the baby so that his flailing hands don't hit her and I can't listen to him scream anymore and I can't have him whacking me in the legs and I just - I can't.  I can't do this job anymore".  My husband calls and asks how it's going and I can't even talk, I can't say anything without crying.  He sighs and says he will be home as soon as he can.  I feel guilty and awful for being so bad at this job and so mad at Joseph for being so crazy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then?  Then dinner time comes and bedtime comes and we watch reality television or something or I read a book that I like or go for a long walk or work out or whatever and I feel better and I start it again the next day.  This is the craziest freaking job I have ever had in my life - I don't know how I am supposed to do it for 90 billion more years or whatever it will be until they get the hell out of my house. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do not love that John and Kate and their eight or whatever but yesterday I caught a little bit of one and she was saying over and over "I can get through this day, I can get through this day" and that's what I've been doing lately.  That and trying not to JUDGE my situation so much.  I would be kinder to a ... well to anyone than I am to myself, with the judging.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have no idea how to wrap this up, I started it weeks ago.  Um... things will get better?  Joseph will maybe start to do better in school and talk more and get less frustrated?  Kathleen will start to sleep better?  This too shall pass?  I would like to drink a bottle of wine tonight?  Hmmm.  Maybe that's it!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-7931285261927110217?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/7931285261927110217/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=7931285261927110217' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/7931285261927110217'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/7931285261927110217'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/08/sleep.html' title='Sleep'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-5205448794443010510</id><published>2008-07-28T12:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-28T12:33:53.212-07:00</updated><title type='text'>One Week Down</title><content type='html'>...thousands of weeks to go.  :)  But it didn't go that bad.  Yesterday I ate whatever I wanted, which wasn't too crazy.  I had some cookies that had been here, haunting me, and I had a hamburger on a bun and dessert(s).  But I also started working out yesterday.  I had not worked out all week, I was trying to just concentrate on the diet part of it and also?  I am SO TIRED.  This baby of mine will not SLEEP.  Now I think maybe she's getting teeth?  And is also, ahem, kind of jammed up?  So I am feeding her prunes and trying to give her some water and in general hoping for the best.  We thought maybe it was teeth so I gave her Ty Ty (as we refer to it around here) last night and the night before but now I think maybe it's just her stomach and the solids.  Ugh.  Babies are gross! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ANYWAY.  So I worked out again today and am not having bread and am not having sweets.  This naturally makes me have more greens and veg and just make better choices.  So far, so good.  I am dreaming of ice cream but I had some yesterday and it was just okay.  Do you know how that is?  When you give something up and then you have it and you think really?  I went all crazy over this?  I find this to be true with food, cigarettes, alcohol and bad boyfriends. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I am just hoping I can keep on doing it, keep on behaving food wise and working out.  And then, maybe someday this child of mine will sleep better and I will feel good and it will be a pay off. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ha - Todd is funny.  Monday was the start of my diet and Monday night I said "I don' t look any thinner!" to him.  He said maybe it takes a while?  Then Tuesday morning I walked in the bedroom from Kathleen's room and he said "I think you look a little thinner this morning".  Sweet.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-5205448794443010510?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/5205448794443010510/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=5205448794443010510' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/5205448794443010510'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/5205448794443010510'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/07/one-week-down.html' title='One Week Down'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-7137338757307911818</id><published>2008-07-20T09:29:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-20T09:29:29.685-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Diet</title><content type='html'>Ugh.  I am starting a diet tomorrow.  It is a diet and not a lifestyle change, although it involves lifestyle changes.  I have these friends that are doing South/Beach and I thought maybe I would do that once I'm done nursing.  But then I was talking to Todd about it and he said maybe we could just stop eating so much sweets and carbs?  Because he is logical like that. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The thing is, I feel awful.  I feel kind of depressed and unmotivated.  I don't hardly have any clothes to wear.  The same exact thing that happened to me after I had Joseph is happening to me now.  After I had Joseph, I lost the weight that I gained while pregnant like right away.  So fast, like within weeks.  I attributed it to never eating, because I preferred to sleep rather than eat and I literally didn't have enough time to do both.  Now, after Kathleen, I lost all my weight right away and because I had had the GD while pregnant, I hadn't even gained any weight from like 28 weeks on so it all just went away.  But man did I start to eat after I had her!  Ice cream and bread and butter and ice cream and...wait for it...ice cream! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few months ago I started to work out again, every day.  But I couldn't fix the eating thing.  I would be good all day and then Todd would say how about a blizzard? and I'd say SURE.  I NEVER say no to ice cream.  ICE CREAM. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I am going to start.  Tomorrow I am starting to go easy on carbs.  I am not going to eat ice cream, except for possibly one day a week.  I haven't decided if I should do that or not.  I am not going to eat after 7:30.  I am (probably) not going to have any alcohol.  That last one isn't a big deal, I hardly ever drink anymore anyway, I'm so damned tired. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But man.  Could I just watch what I eat and feel better in like a week?  Could I not be so tired and crash-y from the sugar?  Because I really do get vicious and mad for no reason and I think it might be a sugar crash?  It FEELS like a crash.  I am going to try it and see how it goes, just try it for a week and see if I feel better.  And then maybe I could start to wear all my clothes again, too, as a bonus? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will keep you posted.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-7137338757307911818?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/7137338757307911818/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=7137338757307911818' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/7137338757307911818'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/7137338757307911818'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/07/diet.html' title='Diet'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-7569596977970065076</id><published>2008-07-14T08:55:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-14T16:00:02.526-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Another Meme</title><content type='html'>Things are crazy around here lately.  Joseph has started at his developmental preschool and it has gone better than we could have ever dreamed, so far.  Kathleen is six months old and isn't sleeping that great and I am so tired.  And I'm really tired of people telling me to give her formula, or cereal, or ground beef, or whatever the hell worked for them.  GOD.  So here's a meme I got tagged with, so as not to focus on the negative.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;"  &gt;Three Things......&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THAT SCARE ME: not knowing the future, sickness for my kids or my husband, gaining a lot of weight&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I LOVE:  these children of mine, my husband, my family&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I HATE: being tired, feeling out of control, idiots&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'M DOING RIGHT NOW: updating my blog, waiting for Cha/Cha queries, relaxing while K naps&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I CAN DO: calm my fretting children, walk or run good distances, remember everything anyone has ever said to me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I CAN'T DO: stop eating ice cream, think before I speak, sleep easily&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THAT ARE MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITE FOODS: ice cream, burgers, fries&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SHOWS I WATCHED WHEN I WAS A KID: Wonderama, Magic Garden, (these are dating me!), Happy Days&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-7569596977970065076?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/7569596977970065076/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=7569596977970065076' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/7569596977970065076'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/7569596977970065076'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/07/another-meme.html' title='Another Meme'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-1420038318507391199</id><published>2008-06-16T11:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-16T11:24:18.062-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Motherhood Meme</title><content type='html'>Taken from &lt;a href="http://80srule.blogspot.com"&gt;Melissa&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I would never:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hit my children.  I would want to sometimes, like when I'm hit in the face, but I would never act on it.  I would also never leave my children.  Again with the want, but never with the act. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I always:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Forget how little they are.  Sometimes when one or both of them are making me crazy, I picture them saying "help me, I'm just a little baby", because I forget.  I used to spend my whole days with adults that needed me (I worked in computers, in support) and I forget that these little people that I now spend my days with need me and CAN'T do anything else.  I also always cry.  I used to be a crier but I am so, so much worse now.  Today I hugged them both at the same time, which I've never done before, and I looked at both their faces and WAAH, started to cry. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I got an easy ride when it came to:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;their health.  I have two big, healthy children.  They have never had ear infections, never more than a cold or a little teensy stomach bug.  I also got an easy ride when it came to husbands because if I didn't have Todd's support I would be so, so hosed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The part I dislike most about parenting is:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dislike not knowing what to do a lot of the time.  I dislike sleep training.  I dislike shrieking.  I dislike being so tired all the time.  I dislike picking things up hundreds of time a day.  I dislike how weak I am most of the time. I dislike feeling like I never get any better at this job. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The part I love most about parenting is:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh I do love them so, I love that part.  I love bathing them and taking care of them.  I love that they are people that came out of me and they are going to grow up and be my son and daughter forever.  I love our family.  I love that I truly love my work, that has never happened to me before and it never will again, I bet. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;My terrible parenting secret is:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't keep many secrets, I bitch and moan a LOT.  I sometimes think of how happy I was before I had kids.  I'm ashamed of how mad and out of control I feel sometimes.  I hate to feel so weak and helpless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I would describe my approach to discipline as:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Hmm.  Well let me say this and I don't want to offend anyone.  I don't really respect my children.  I mean, I respect them as human beings and, actually, as children of God (to be all religious) but I don't respect a three year old's opinion on things.  And I really don't respect the five month old's opinion.  I want them to know that I am in charge, a dictator, but a benevolent one.  I love them and everything I do comes from that.   So if I want them to go to bed, or take a nap when they're tired, or not hit me or their friends, I come from a loving place with that.  I hope. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;My worst parenting habit:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God, I don't know.  Complaining.  Not realizing how great I have it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The one thing I am really proud of is:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That I have worked so well with Joseph.  He is a very, very challenging person to be around for five minutes, let alone three years.  He is my first and I knew nothing, I just thought that's maybe how all kids were.  He is a special needs person and I am not a special needs educator, but I have had to become one very quickly and I think I am doing okay.  I'm also proud that we didn't get all hung up on the label of 'special education' or 'autism' or whatever.  We just want to help him, however that help comes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I probably am too lenient when it comes to:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Food.  I can't have fights over food. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I hope my kids inherit my:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;husband's brains.  I am smart but he is smarter.  I hope they inherit my sense of humor, or rather the sense of humor that I used to have before I became such an old hag. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I hope my kids don’t inherit my:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;horrible lack of patience.  Struggles with weight.  Tendency to be mean. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I love that my kids are:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;so beautiful.  I feel like it goes a long way with me.  On days where everything is falling apart, I think at least they're so, so cute. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The thing I miss most about my pre-mom days is:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sleeping.  Being able to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.  Being able to think of the word for things whenever I wanted.  Putting me and my husband first.  Going out to dinner.  Staying up later and knowing I could sleep in.  Not feeling so much pressure all the time.  Not thinking about sleep all the time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Motherhood is:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not for the weak.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-1420038318507391199?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/1420038318507391199/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=1420038318507391199' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/1420038318507391199'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/1420038318507391199'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/06/motherhood-meme.html' title='Motherhood Meme'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-6181812478281395142</id><published>2008-06-09T10:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-09T10:37:43.784-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Three years and Five Months</title><content type='html'>This week my Joseph will turn three years old and my Kathleen will turn five months old.  It feels longer in both cases.  I have to say, I never understand when people tell me about how the time, it flies, and OMG you have to enjoy each second because the time will FLY!  FLY I tell you, FLY!  They will be 18 before you know it!  FLYING!  THE TIME!  Ahhhh!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will be married four years this summer and it feels like 20.  Joseph will be three and I feel like it's been ten years since I brought him home from the hospital.  I can barely remember bringing Kathleen home and I have been awake a LOT since then, it seems LONG.  Who are you people for whom it's flying by?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think your kids are older, maybe.  Or maybe you're happier?  Or maybe you're not home all the damned time?  Because my sweet Joseph is insane, I hardly ever take him and Kathleen out together during the day, like to the store or anything.  We go to playgroups and out in the backyard and that's it.  I have tried to take them for walks, or to the store but it can get very ugly if he has a tantrum and anything can set him off so I just stay here, where it's safe.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who said that the days are long but the years are short?  That is the best description I've heard of life with children.  At least the best so far - who knows, maybe in a few years I'll be telling strangers on the street with little kids "it goes so fast!  Enjoy each day!"  I hope not, but maybe.  Everything else I've ever thought wouldn't happen has happened, so it may as well. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, Joseph is starting at a developmental pre school soon.  He'll be gone two hours a day every day.  I have no idea how either of us will handle this.  OH, I hope it's good for him and for me.  And maybe Kathleen, who I don't get to pay much attention to.  I hope he gets some help and can make some strides communication-wise.  It's funny, I have thought for months that they were going to assess him as someone on the autism spectrum, but when they said it officially, and when I read it in the conference report, it made me so sad, all over again.  Like they said they observed him laughing at nothing and that was a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;sign&lt;/span&gt;!  And I have always just thought that was so cute - I mean, I guess it can still be cute but it's also a sign of him being autistic and now it's sort of scary to me, too.  I am choosing to be optimistic about it, though, and I hope that it helps him to be in a more structured environment.  It can't be good for any of us to be here, day after day, counting the minutes until bedtime.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kathleen is getting to be much more fun, as most five month olds do.  She has been kind enough to sleep for like eleven hours with only one wakeup the last three out of four nights, which goes a long way.  I told my sister today, though - at this point I can't even imagine that she'll ever sleep all night.  Even before she wakes up, I wake up, all milk-soaked and worried.  But then I go in and she's kicking her legs and says "ha!" which almost sounds like "hi!" to me and it's so nice, I don't even mind that it's four in the morning. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In even more other news, my husband is tired too, did you know that?  Did you know that sometimes he can't get back to sleep after I wake up and feed the baby?  In another room?  SILENTLY?  And sometimes he wakes up too early.  I say if you're tired and you're allowed to take Sominex or something and you choose not to?  You have to KEEP IT TO YOURSELF.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-6181812478281395142?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/6181812478281395142/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=6181812478281395142' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/6181812478281395142'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/6181812478281395142'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/06/three-years-and-five-months.html' title='Three years and Five Months'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-1209624796570503450</id><published>2008-05-18T16:29:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-18T16:35:06.346-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pregnancy and Why You Shouldn't Worry About It</title><content type='html'>I was reading &lt;a href="http://eastsidegirl.blogspot.com/2008/05/bippity-boppity-boo.html"&gt;this&lt;/a&gt; post today and thinking sheesh, lighten up already.   When I was pregnant the first time, I felt very much this way - I felt like all I could focus on was the pregnancy, I was so worried and involved with the pregnancy, the pregnancy, the pregnancy.  It was so stupid!  I used to actually say out loud that I never worried about the actual baby, I never thought past the delivery.  Then my son was born and was a colicky mess and I was completely ill prepared.  I was prepared, however, to deliver like 10 more kids.  But you just have the one delivery per baby and it takes however long it takes but the BABY?  Stays in your house!  Day after day!  And you should listen to people who have gone before you, and take what you can use of their advice.  It's hard - women who have kids already (and I am one of them) DO have lots of advice for women who are pregnant.  But I think maybe it's because we want to help, we want to be part of a Village right?  The one that it takes?  I hope so.  I can feel it when someone is trying to help me and when someone is trying to foist their beliefs on me.  I think mostly women are sticking together and helping one another through this crazy-ass journey that we are all on.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Very few&lt;/span&gt; women are involved in this Mommy War bullshit, as far as I'm concerned.  So lighten up, pregnant woman, and start asking moms who have gone before you what kind of freaking pillow they liked.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-1209624796570503450?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/1209624796570503450/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=1209624796570503450' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/1209624796570503450'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/1209624796570503450'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/05/pregnancy-and-why-you-shouldnt-worry.html' title='Pregnancy and Why You Shouldn&apos;t Worry About It'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-5588991600884004217</id><published>2008-05-16T12:16:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-16T12:23:31.488-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nine</title><content type='html'>I am stealing from a Constance (the thirteenth?) and going to say nine things about me.  It will have to be fast as Kathleen is napping her fifth nap of the day, they are short naps, taken often and they are driving me MAD.  But that's not one of the things about me, that's about her!  Let her get her own damned blog! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  I sometimes forget that I am married.  I don't mean that in a 'I slip off my wedding ring and go out' way, but in the way that I'm driving down the street and I think 'holy shit, I am married and have two kids!  How did that happen?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.  I am never, ever happy with my weight in the present.  Now, looking back, I realize I SHOULD have been happy five years ago, but I am a dumbbell who can't appreciate a hot body when I have one. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.  The only tattoo I'd ever get is permanent eyeliner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.  I used to smoke, but quit, but I'd like to go back and I think about it every day.  Not every day, maybe, but CLOSE to every day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.  I drive way too fast.  I think about it more now because of the precious cargo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6.  I love to drink martinis and beer and red wine and ... all of it, actually.  I miss it when I am pregnant and swear I'm going to drink when I'm done but then I'm nursing and so tired and I can never really drink up like I'd like.  Then at some point when I can go out and I'm not nursing and I'm not driving, I drink too much and feel horrible the next day.  HORRIBLE.  I am hoping to avoid that this time.  So far, so good, because I really really really don't ever want to be hungover anymore.  I'm too old.  Which brings me to my next thing...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7...I turned 40 this year.  I feel fine about it, what with 50 being the new 30 and all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8.  I used to read a book a week, when I was in NYC and commuting.  Sometimes two books a week and now I am lucky to get a book read in a month.  I hate that.  We also can rarely watch a movie in just one night. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9.  I have super long nails and fingers and big feet.  I used to think I had a big head, until I met my husband and learned what a big head was really like.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-5588991600884004217?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/5588991600884004217/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=5588991600884004217' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/5588991600884004217'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/5588991600884004217'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/05/nine.html' title='Nine'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-1144246288878305413</id><published>2008-05-14T08:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-14T08:40:14.460-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Work</title><content type='html'>I was talking with some (online) friends about what we think our work is, what we like about it, don't like, etc.  It occurred to me while I was writing that I consider my work to be my children and husband and our home that THIS is the problem with these unfortunately named 'Mommy Wars'.  I remember &lt;a href="http://sundrymourning.com/"&gt;Linda&lt;/a&gt; saying once that she was mad that someone had said that women who work outside the home are having someone else raise their kids, it raised a big discussion on her site.  I admitted that I have been guilty of saying that, or something like it, before I had kids.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once I had kids, I realized what should have been so obvious - it's so, so hard no matter how you do it.  You feel guilty and bad for choices you made no matter what those choices are.  I realize this now, but I guess I was too busy being an idiot who had no kids but felt she could pass judgment. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it has bugged me ever since, and now I realize why.  During our discussion the other day, some other women friends of mine who have children and work outside the home were saying what their work is - and they meant their jobs.  So I was thinking, their work is really their kids, too.  But if they are doing their jobs as work, and raising their kids as work, then what the hell am I doing?  Slacking?  God, it boggles my mind!  It makes me so crazy and these are just arguments I am having with myself! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, here is what I love about my work:  I love my children and my husband.  I love bathing and dressing and feeding my kids.  I love a job well done that has instant gratification, like folding laundry or putting the cloth diapers together.  I love to have people that I love depend on me to take care of them.  I love not having to get dressed nicely (or at all), I love being my own boss (and, let's face it, THE boss). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is what I hate:  I hate how tired I get, how little time I have to myself, how long the hours are, how sick with worry I get over my children, how dirty my clothes are at the end of the day, I hate to have to depend on my husband for second hand social interaction, I hate how I am somehow failing feminism by staying home, I hate that I am still paying on my student loan for my Masters and saying "goo goo ga ga" all day with it.  I hate how endless the days seem, and how hard it's going to be for me to ever get a job after these kids are in school. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the love outweighs the hate, because I truly LOVE my work, even if I don't love my job.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-1144246288878305413?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/1144246288878305413/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=1144246288878305413' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/1144246288878305413'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/1144246288878305413'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/05/work.html' title='Work'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-2494805873342581481</id><published>2008-04-14T08:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-15T08:07:05.787-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hey, Jealousy</title><content type='html'>So I was reading &lt;a href="http://www.sothefishsaid.com/2008/04/sometimes_2.html"&gt;this &lt;/a&gt;post of Beth's the other day and I got so, so jealous.  It has taken me a few days to process it.  When I read the beginning of it, like this part:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes, I think this really sucks. That all I do is change diapers and wipe up puke and do laundry and then more laundry since the hampers are full again as soon as I empty them. And sometimes I want to say, no, &lt;b&gt;you&lt;/b&gt; keep two children fed, clean, happy and entertained while stemming the endless tide of toys taking over ever inch of the floor and cooking dinner that at least half of the intended audience will refuse to eat while &lt;b&gt;I&lt;/b&gt; go get my nails done or out for drinks or whatever it is I've decided to do with no thought to the impact on &lt;b&gt;your&lt;/b&gt; life. Sometimes I get so fed up with being the default parent, so tired of being unable to even go to the bathroom, much less leave the house without making some level of arrangements for their care or well-being. Sometimes when the one kid spends the entire morning puking on my shirt and pants and the floor and the other kid spends the entire morning whining and telling me I may no longer use the pet name I have called her since birth, I can't help but see this as far more punishment than reward. Sometimes I want to quit, to let all the annoying and boring little bits of this life be someone else's problem, to not be the one who is somehow supposed to have all the answers when I don't even understand the questions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was like, hell, yeah, sister, sing it!.  I feel this way a lot - I try not to be, but I am deeply resentful that Todd just goes out to work every day.  He says he doesn't, but I picture him skipping down the sidewalk, happy to finally be gone from our insane asylum.  *I* want to quit too, I was thinking, when I read this.  I felt so not alone in the moment that I read that post. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well.  The first part of the post.  Because the second part went like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then sometimes, when I am rocking a warm, sleeping baby who I know will, with a minimum of prodding, soon be taking a totally reliable two-hour nap while listening to my daughter singing in her room; or when she says she wants to tell me a secret and whispers in my ear that she loves me very much or that I am pretty; or when I can't get the baby to nurse because all he wants to do is smile at me with rivulets of milk pouring out of his mouth and spilling over his chin; well sometimes I feel like this, right here, this is the best part. Sometimes I think these long, slow, hard days with these children are the happiest of my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So then I thought, oh.  Uh-oh, I thought.  My warm baby needs more than prodding, sometimes she needs to scream, loudly, in my ear for a while before she takes a nap and I don't think it's been two hours since she was like a week old.   She nurses so, so badly during the day, she is fussy the whole time and I can barely get her to nurse for 10 minutes.  On both sides!  I can't get help though, since she is gaining weight just fine and is in fact large and healthy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not only does my son not tell me that I'm pretty, he never sings in his room, never speaks to me at all, and I am afraid sometimes that he never will.  "I love you", I say to him.  "Can you say, 'I love you, Mommy?'"  I start to cry, a little.  "Can you say, 'I love you?'", I say, signing it too.  He never answers. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I think, well, okay, clearly these are not the happiest parts of my life.  Maybe the happiest parts are coming?  And maybe my happiness doesn't matter so much.  Maybe this is, like a friend of mine told me, really God's work, because it's completely selfless and sacrificial love.   Maybe.  But in the meantime, I am pea green with envy over here.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-2494805873342581481?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/2494805873342581481/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=2494805873342581481' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/2494805873342581481'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/2494805873342581481'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/04/hey-jealousy.html' title='Hey, Jealousy'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-9136048882698226598</id><published>2008-04-08T08:17:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-08T16:47:31.308-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Gossip</title><content type='html'>Cause that's what it's for right?  This site?  To talk about other people with my neighbors?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have three sisters in law, on Todd's side.  I have one sister in law on my side.  They are all nuts.  Is this true or just me?  I don't know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Todd's sister Lynn has begun a lesbian affair.  When we met, she was married to her high school sweetheart - and by that I mean that she got married at like 16 when she was pregnant with her first child.  She had her second at like 18 and is now younger than I am and her kids are almost out of the house!  She got divorced and her new boyfriend moved in seconds later.  Then they broke up because he had gotten fired but didn't tell her and also told her he was still paying the rent.  She found out about the lies when she got kicked out of her house.  THEN they got back together, then they broke up again.  Then this girl started showing up, like, everywhere.  I figured she was a lesbian but Todd's stepfather said they were just friends.  My inlaws were planning a trip to take our niece and nephew on for our nephew's graduation from high school, then all of a sudden my SIL was going AND her 'friend' was too.  STILL no one was talking about how they were a couple.  But then last weekend, my MIL told Todd that it was 'official'.  It is so funny - I mean, Lynn would be the last person that I would have guessed would have an affair with a woman.  I really do not think she is a lesbian - I mean, I have lesbian friends and I just ... I think she's not so much as a lesbian, as she is someone who wants to be in a relationship with this woman.  But we'll see.  I don't know what she's told her kids, if anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My other SIL, Todd's sister Leigh, is having a baby in July.  When I met her, she was getting ready to have 'the surgery', as I've noticed some people call it.  So she had a gastric bypass and lost a LOT of weight and then sort of went nuts with the drinking and the partying and the 'dating'.  It's so heavy, I think - she never dated, ever in her life until she was like 30 something.  So it was weird and we talked about it, that she was drinking a lot and sleeping with a lot of people.  It wasn't where she wanted to be, she wanted to be in a relationship.  And now she's got one.  He came to Joseph's birthday party with his two kids and Leigh, last summer.  Then he didn't go anywhere because he was on house arrest.  Then she got pregnant.  Then he got off house arrest and got a job, because before that, he was just living with Leigh and she was working two jobs.  Ugh.  I haven't heard from her since Joseph's birthday party last year, when she came to the party but didn't even bring a card for Joseph.  I hate to be That Mom, but man - he's just a little kid!  Thankfully, he's so little that he doesn't know from presents, so I am trying to take that attitude.  It's hard though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My other SIL is divorced and has three kids.  She dates a lot and is a bodybuilder.  She came to Joseph's birthday party two years ago all painted in tan paint before a shower.  She asked for something to eat and took chicken from the can.  This is weird right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Todd's family, no one ever says anything.  His sisters could come and poop on the table during Christmas dinner and NO ONE would say a WORD.  In my (superior, natch) family, we talk about things.  It is so weird to me that no one ever talks about anything and no one ever introduces anyone to anyone.   I was never introduced to Lynn's boyfriend and they were together for a few years!  It's crazy, and it's taking some getting used to. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And in the meantime, I can only tell you guys.  So don't rat me out, okay?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-9136048882698226598?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/9136048882698226598/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=9136048882698226598' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/9136048882698226598'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/9136048882698226598'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/04/gossip.html' title='Gossip'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-1832872088779479239</id><published>2008-04-01T08:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-01T08:35:26.439-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hey!</title><content type='html'>Hey!  You!  Listen closely because I am not going to say it again - GO TO THE BATHROOM AT WORK!  Do NOT walk in the door at 5:00 (I know 5:00 is really early and I do appreciate you leaving early to get home to us) and tell me that you have to go to the bathroom.   *I* haven't gone to the bathroom all day - and if I did, I did so with a baby on my lap. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey!  When the baby is fussy and crying, and you take her from me to 'help', do NOT sit down!  You have to rock her and walk with her, you have to pat her bottom and put the pacifier back in at just the right time.  I haven't sat down except for the toilet that one time ALL DAY.  You are NOT a construction worker!  You are a professional!  You sit down ALL DAY.  Don't sit down as soon as you take the baby, to 'help'. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey!  If you get up in the night to go to that damned bathroom again, do NOT shake the bed so hard that it wakes me up.  I JUST got back to sleep after feeding that baby. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey!  Do not bring home candy bars from the grocery store because they were on sale!  I am dieting!  Ditto on the blizzards from DQ! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey!  When your mom calls at 9:00 on a Sunday morning and says they were thinking of coming over in an hour or so, MENTION that it might be nice to hear from them, say, the day before.  To get some notice. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey!  Stop yawning!  WHY are you so tired?  You go to sleep at 10:00 and sleep, uninterrupted, until 6:30.  Stop it! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey!  I really do love and appreciate you - I KNOW you are better than a lot of husbands and fathers out there.   So just BEHAVE and I won't have to post any more notices like this. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love,&lt;br /&gt;Your Wife&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-1832872088779479239?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/1832872088779479239/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=1832872088779479239' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/1832872088779479239'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/1832872088779479239'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/04/hey.html' title='Hey!'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-2833444190972957369</id><published>2008-03-26T18:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-26T18:19:43.146-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Better?</title><content type='html'>Thanks for your nice comments on my last, crazed entry.  I am still crazed and in fact was totally nutters today but now?  Now everyone's in bed, I'm going to watch and see who got kicked of AI, and tomorrow is another day.   Tomorrow is Thursday, a day on which I have TWO things to do, and even though one of them is the hateful, hateful speech therapy, I love to have something to do and I love to have people come to my house, even if it is the hateful speech therapist, who thinks Joseph should be strapped down so he can 'focus' on his speech therapy.  I have NO taste!  Come on over, Jack the Ripper!  Coffee's on! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The weather is getting better, I can see the light at the end of the winter.  My mom is coming home in a few weeks and she can help me, or at least be trusted to babysit so I can go out to dinner.  Or go have a drink.  Or something.  My MIL didn't come up last weekend because gas prices are so high.  Sigh. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My latest bitch?  Because I know you all are DYING to hear?  Is that Kathleen isn't nursing well.  She pops off and screams and then I pump and get four or five ounces and then she takes the bottle like it's all she was waiting for.  This scares me, I don't know that I can pump and feed her bottles.  Also I'm afraid my supply is going to get all weird.  WHY do I have these weird kids?  Or maybe everyone feels this way? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So things are better, kind of.  I am sleeping more which of course helps a lot.  I have started to use cloth diapers, which I have always wanted to do and it makes me feel very accomplished.  I am not eating well, even though I swore I was going to after my birthday.  Today I ate all the ears off Joseph's easter bunny.  He isn't interested, so it's not like I snatched it away from him but still - they were big ears!  Todd said he never likes that cheap bunny chocolate and I said, I don't like it either!  That is not the point!  I ate it standing over the sink and had potato chips in between bites.  The chocolate, and it's quality was never the point. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am going to bed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-2833444190972957369?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/2833444190972957369/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=2833444190972957369' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/2833444190972957369'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/2833444190972957369'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/03/better.html' title='Better?'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-669423529395049894</id><published>2008-03-11T13:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-11T13:27:48.695-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm thinking of quitting my job</title><content type='html'>I called my husband before, one of those crazy phone calls?  He's told me about a guy that used to work in his office who had a crazy wife, who would call and make up crazy stories in order for him to come home.  That's who I feel like when I call him at work and tell him that I'm quitting but I can't help it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I was folding laundry down by the dryer and Joseph crawled in the dryer.  And I thought maybe if he breaks the dryer door, maybe THEN someone will listen to me.  We have had a lot of people through here doing evaluations on Joseph so he can start his therapy and we tell them all the same thing - that we want to put him in a preschool but we are afraid no one would take him, because he's so crazy.  And I thought then why do *I* have to watch him?  With also an infant to take care of?  I'm not qualified!  I'm all alone here and crazy and trying to breastfeed one and make sure the other one stays out of the dryer, the exersaucer, the road, off the top of the tv, on and on. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I try and think, wait.  Wait three months and see how he does in therapy.  Kathleen will get older and won't have to be breastfed every two minutes, she won't have to be carried around or scream, just wait.  And then I think, I can't make it three days, let alone three months.  We start O.T. on Thursday afternoon and maybe it will go well.  I'm frustrated because his other two therapists, who are supposed to start after tomorrow, haven't called me, or returned my call, or my email.  I hate to start on the wrong foot but man, this is the way to do it - don't return my call if you really want me to think you're an idiot. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then - after three months - if it's no better and I can't do it, I'm going to look into some kind of daycare/preschool option.  I hate to do it to Kathleen, but then I think oh well, maybe she'd be better off in daycare.  They don't get much more screwed up than Joseph and I have been home with him all this time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like such a failure, though.  I am constantly amazed at how BAD I am at this job.  If it were any other job, and I worked for me, I would have fired myself years ago.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-669423529395049894?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/669423529395049894/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=669423529395049894' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/669423529395049894'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/669423529395049894'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/03/im-thinking-of-quitting-my-job.html' title='I&apos;m thinking of quitting my job'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-5946265868358944190</id><published>2008-03-04T06:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-05T07:02:58.024-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Business of Being Born</title><content type='html'>There's this new movie (I think it's new) coming out - &lt;a href="http://www.thebusinessofbeingborn.com/"&gt;The Business of Being Born&lt;/a&gt;.   So far the trailer has made me cry while changing Kathleen's diaper and apologizing for birthing her wrong. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The thing is - I really was interested in having a midwife and going to a birthing center.  My husband was not so into it.  He used to say, "Sure, why go to a hospital where they have millions of dollars of equipment and where the doctors have had years and years of education when we could go to a birthing center where someone has taken a six week course".  He was kidding and exaggerating, of course, but I took his point.  I was of advanced maternal age and I honestly don't know if I could have gotten anyone to take me on as a patient - they act like you're poison or something. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I got a doula and it ended up to be such a bad experience.  She was with another patient for a long time and my husband and I just ended up going to the hospital.  We had no idea what was going on, it seemed like my contractions were so close together and so intense (I'm sure it was nerves contributing to that feeling) we just went to the hospital.  This was a *mistake* as the rotten resident doctor immediately starting saying that I couldn't have ice chips, I needed to have a fetal monitor on at all times, etc., etc.  Then Joseph never did descend after like 24 hours and they said they had to do a c-section.  Did they?  I don't know.  But man, that baby's heart rate starts going down and I do whatever they say.  I wish that the doula had come to my house when I called her so that I could have labored at home for a while and been comfortable and drunk some damned water if I wanted and walked around or bounced on my ball or rocked in my rocking chair.  Then maybe I wouldn't have had Pitocin and the epidural and maybe he would have come down.  But maybe not.  He has a remarkably large head and even with Kathleen, the doctor had to use suction on her gigantic noggin and that was for a scheduled c-section! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I feel bad.  I wish I were 10 years younger when I had my kids and they couldn't hold my age against me.  I wish I were 10 years younger now because I distinctly recall needing less sleep when I was almost 30.  I wish I wish I wish. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But do all doctors do unnecessary c-sections on patients because they only take 20 minutes?  I talked to my doctor about Joseph's delivery and he said see?  Women say they want 'natural labor' but no one wants 'natural' labor.  Unmedicated labor, maybe, but not natural.  I said I thought of that - I thought what if I went to a birthing center, or tried to have Joseph at home and then he didn't descend and his heart rate dipped?  What if it was 100 years ago?  My doctor said he probably would have died and maybe you would have died too.  I can't really type that without crying.  The thought of the baby dying because I wanted to have the kind of birth experience that *I* wanted to have is too much for me to think about.  But maybe it was just a scare tactic? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know - I hate to be a sucker to the medical community, but aren't we all, really?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-5946265868358944190?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/5946265868358944190/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=5946265868358944190' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/5946265868358944190'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/5946265868358944190'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/03/business-of-being-born.html' title='The Business of Being Born'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-7993613474977423504</id><published>2008-03-03T05:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-03T05:54:51.179-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Damn You, GSA</title><content type='html'>My GOD have I eaten a lot of GS cookies this year.  Todd brought home a million boxes from his office and I have been just eating and eating them.  It's too bad, because if I had a brain in my head, I would eat well while I'm breastfeeding and in this stage of postpartumness.  I lost the weight I gained with Kathleen, and then some.  My clothes fit better than they did when I got pregnant.  So clearly I'm in a good place to drop weight but do I eat well?  NOOO.  I do work out, a little bit, because Kathleen likes to do aerobics when she's fussy.  I hold her for it and she's my 11 pound weight.  But still - too many Cookies, Corduroy, to quote one of our favorite books. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is such a rotten vicious cycle.  If I ate better and exercised more, I'd feel better and less tired.  But I'm so tired and feel so bad most days, I don't want to eat better and I'm too tired to exercise. Ugh. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will be FORTY this month.  FORTY!  That's how it feels, capitalized.  I am planning to start a new regimen when I turn it.  I'm going to try to eat like I ate when I had the gestational diabetes.  After all, I did very well when I was pregnant - I didn't eat sugar, I ate a lot more vegetables, etc., because it was good for the baby.  If I ate that way now, it would be good for ME, which would ultimately be good for both my children too right?  I have a hard time making that connection. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was talking to my SIL this weekend, she was saying what easy labors and births she had.  She was TWENTY years younger than I was, I pointed out.  Isn't that crazy?  She is younger than I am and her oldest will graduate from high school this year (mine will turn three) and her youngest has started her first part time job (mine was born).  I wouldn't have wanted to be as young as she is, but I wish I were a little bit younger. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Todd just left for work.  I am hosting a playgroup here today, I like these girls that are coming over, they are my people.  I have another playgroup and while I like the women that are in it, they are not my people.  This is my poor playgroup, we all live in town, our houses are pretty small, some of us have part time jobs.  My other playgroup, they all live in the suburbs in these giant houses, some of their husbands are doctors, their kids are in preschool more often, etc.  The only think I really envy them is their attached garages. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went to my MIL's this weekend.  She is perfectly nice, as I've said (defensively) several times, but LORD are they country.  Her husband drives me batty.  This weekend he was holding Joseph up over his head and bonking his head on the ceiling.  WTF?  I know it wasn't hurting Joseph, he seemed to barely notice, but if it was my Dad doing it (which it wouldn't be), I'd say cut it out.  They want to be called Mammaw and Pappaw.  I really don't like it but what can you do?  Well, what I did was try to ignore it, at first.  I never say it and I would usually say to Joseph "go give this to your Grandmother" or something.  But it HURT her FEELINGS so I had to stop.  I still hate it, though. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have no plans for this week, really.  Playgroup today, playgroup Thursday.  It is going to be warm today and it was warm yesterday, but tomorrow is going to be back in the 20's and maybe snow.  I feel like this winter will never end, but it has to right?  It will be spring on the calendar in just a few weeks and maybe that will be true. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What a random post - I wanted to get something down while I had the time but it seems like a bunch of claptrap!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-7993613474977423504?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/7993613474977423504/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=7993613474977423504' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/7993613474977423504'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/7993613474977423504'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/03/damn-you-gsa.html' title='Damn You, GSA'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-8556390239706182620</id><published>2008-02-29T10:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-29T10:51:56.534-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Things I Used to Think</title><content type='html'>I used to think that breastfed babies didn't get colic. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I used to think that Joseph wasn't autistic, because he wasn't a good baby and I thought autistic children weren't bad babies. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I used to think that I would never have to worry as much about my kids once they were born. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I used to think I worked hard, at my old job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I used to think I had been tired, that I knew what it was like. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I used to think I knew about conflicting emotions. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BUT:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joseph was breastfed and the colickiest person ever known to man. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was a rough newborn, and I think he is autistic. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I worry so much about him that it is making me sick.  Everything takes so long - we had his first evaluation like a month ago and now we have to wait two more weeks to start therapy because of paperwork and nonsense.  It feels like it makes this winter even longer. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have never worked so hard at a job in my life as I have being a SAHM.  By the end of the day, I am worn down to a nub, I've been crying at least once during the day, my breasts are sore from nursing a lot, my back is sore from rocking the baby, and I am deeply ashamed of myself for saying and thinking horrible things about my two year old. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love these children, of course.  I love Joseph.  But I get so mad and dejected and horrified and angry in one day, I just can't believe it.  Todd comes home and I just want to RUN out the door.  Not just some days, not just on 'bad' days, but every day.  I love them all but I want to leave them, too. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I used to be so stupid.  I don't feel smart now, just older.  Like WAY older.  Like OLDE.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-8556390239706182620?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/8556390239706182620/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=8556390239706182620' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/8556390239706182620'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/8556390239706182620'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/02/things-i-used-to-think.html' title='Things I Used to Think'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-2340705448015396559</id><published>2008-02-23T14:45:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-23T14:51:46.177-08:00</updated><title type='text'>We're going out tonight</title><content type='html'>Is that crazy?  We're taking Kathleen and getting a babysitter for Joseph.  Unless it's one of his grandmother's, we only get babysitters to watch Joseph after he's in bed.  He's too crazy with the separation anxiety otherwise.  He's too much of a handful for the teenagers we employ to put to bed.  But it's my friend William's birthday and we are going to just meet him and his wife at a restaurant/bar where I used to work and have a drink and then go home.  Kathleen isn't going to bed until 10:00 so I figure why not.  I hope I don't regret it but I might.  I usually do.  But I am so sick of being in this damned house!  I'm all antsy and nervous for our meeting about Joseph on Wednesday and Todd goes back to work full time this week so I'd like to go out and celebrate. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was reading Melissa's entry on being a martyr of a mom and that is me, totally.  I am so jealous of women that go back to work, women that just seem to still live their lives after they have kids.  I don't want to be someone whose children encompass them entirely but the way that Joseph is and the fact that Kathleen is pretty new - I don't know how else to be.  I have tried to take him to the nursery at the Y, and tried to take him to the nursery at my mom's meetings, but it's always a no go, and I am sick of the people who work there taking him to me after 15 minutes or whatever.  So I stay in, I only go out when Todd can stay with the kids, and I get madder and madder about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God, I hope we can get somewhere with this therapy for Joseph.  I would love to be able to talk to him a little bit better and be understood.  If I could just say "I'm going out but I'll be back" and have him understand me!  It's like a dream at this point. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow is Kathleen's baptism and I already made the food and will bake it up tomorrow.  I cleaned the house today so hopefully it won't be too tension filled tomorrow.  Ugh, wish me luck.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-2340705448015396559?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/2340705448015396559/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=2340705448015396559' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/2340705448015396559'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/2340705448015396559'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/02/were-going-out-tonight.html' title='We&apos;re going out tonight'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-5548957155490088511</id><published>2008-02-16T11:26:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-17T08:30:12.314-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Repitition</title><content type='html'>My friend Sue told me that it's like Groundhog Day when you have a newborn and she was right. I never know what day it is and who cares anyway.  Things are getting better, I guess - she's five weeks now so we are getting ... somewhere.  We're all getting older, I guess, anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My new topic is Joseph.  This week we had our early intervention people come to evaluate him and they think he needs speech, developmental and occupational therapy.  He doesn't talk enough, he doesn't communicate hardly at all.  We have a meeting scheduled in ten days to talk about how he's doing and what we should do to help him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It scares me because I worry that he's autistic and then I think big deal.  He's pretty smart, I think, he knows a lot of words and concepts.  He is pretty affectionate and is very rambunctious and loves to run and play and climb things.  We had to move the tv in the livingroom to the floor because he was climbing on it and standing on it!  Insane!  But he's him and I wouldn't want him to be any different. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mother, however, is driving me *insane* on the subject.  She is a crazy person anyways, loves politics, Rush Limbaugh, loves to argue and point her finger at you when she's talking, you know the type I'm sure.  Her new thing is that Joseph has autism and she read Jenny McCarty's book on how HER kid has autism and she just changed his diet and poof! he's better and Joseph watches too much tv and maybe that gave him autism but really it's probably the immunizations and there will not be enough money in the WORLD to settle the lawsuits that will come if they ever prove that immunizations and autism are related and God will not be mocked by using aborted fetuses in immunizations and blah blah blah I'm going to kill myself if she keeps sending me emails about this bullshit, which is what I told her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The thing is - we are seeking therapy and help for Joseph.  I want him to be happy and live in the world and get along and ... just be him, you know?  So he seems to be having some trouble with this and we're getting him help.  His doctor, who I love, says that he is a good smart boy and I should just keep talking to him but I want to take advantage of this program while I can (they only do it til they're 3) and it's (practically) free.  I want to be able to talk to him more and I want him to talk to me, and I know it will happen some day but I am ready.  I'm bored and lonely, home with two children that rarely speak to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And if he's autistic, then fine.  We'll do what we can to help him navigate the world.  But I just want to know what I can do.  It makes me cry and cry to think about people who have children that are ill and can't do anything about it.  These children drive me insane on a daily basis but when I think about anything happening to them, I just ... it's too much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are having Kathleen baptized a week from Sunday.  It's going to be a quiet affair, as my parents are still out of town.  My in laws are coming and my brother's family and my sister.  So I will have to whip up a small party.  Todd invited my inlaws, which I know seems normal but my parents aren't coming so I was hoping for a no-parents day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, I made a blueberry cobbler today, from the Pioneer Woman's site.  I was looking at her recipe for lasagna and I couldn't believe the comments!  People are freaking crazy!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-5548957155490088511?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/5548957155490088511/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=5548957155490088511' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/5548957155490088511'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/5548957155490088511'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/02/repitition.html' title='Repitition'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-1012924902530909321</id><published>2008-02-02T09:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-04T10:30:30.883-08:00</updated><title type='text'>February!</title><content type='html'>I'm glad it's February.   Kathleen was 3 weeks old yesterday, and as I told her, only 49 weeks til her first birthday!  Three weeks and 17 years until she's 18!  It's true, I spend my life wishing it all away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You all have no idea how much it helps me to hear that you all sleep in chairs too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kathleen is definitely fussy.  This terrifies me because Joseph was colicky, for no physical reason, until he was 16 weeks old, which was a hell of a long time.  I really hoped and prayed that we wouldn't have a colicky baby this time but I think we got one.  And I don't know if I'm up to it again.  I'm almost 40, as I told Kathleen this morning.  I feel old and tired and scared of the next several weeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight I had mashed potatoes and bread and butter for dinner.  I kind of thought maybe Todd would go get us something.  I have literally held that baby all day.  ALL DAY.  So at 6:15 I said "what do you want to do for dinner?" and he said "I don't really feel like anything, do you?".  Sigh.  No.  No I guess not.  Nursing doesn't make me hungry or thirsty, I don't have to eat or drink or go to the bathroom, ever.  I was just checking.  So then he offered to go and get anything and came up with all sorts of good-sounding ideas but I am nothing if not a freaking grudge holder so I said NO.  It's FINE, I said.  I'll have LEFTOVER MASHED POTATOES.  FINE.  I showed him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No nap for Joseph today so at least he'll go to bed soon and then I can too maybe.  For a while, and then it's off to the chair with me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sister said she was going to come over tonight after church and have dinner and even though I somewhat dread people coming over, I was looking forward to seeing someone.  But then she called and said she wasn't coming.  I was unreasonably unhappy about it, as I said, I don't really want anyone to come over but ... I sort of do, too. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, now it's Monday, I have been writing this for days!  Today is a not bad day, Kathleen slept okay last night although she will not lie down in her bassinet after her first sleep.  Oh well.  It will come, I guess.  I have been thinking about breastfeeding a lot, since it seems like that's all I do.  I keep meaning to pump and get some bottles together for when we (hopefully) can start giving her bottles but I just don't want to pump!  I know it's only like ten minutes but I just hate it and since there's no instant gratification involved with it, since we don't give her bottles yet, I just think eff it.  But I'm going to be sorry when I have no backup milk and can't go anywhere here soon. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But on breastfeeding - I sort of hate it, especially in the beginning.  Her head is so floppy I have to hold her head and I also have to hold my ginormous breast and then since I have no hands left I have to lie her down on a pillow, and it just seems like such a pain!  She almost always falls asleep and then I have to feel guilty about tickling her foot or something to get her to wake up and nurse.  They're always so rough on them in the hospital, I think, those lactation consultant people?  "Wake up!" she yelled at Kathleen, and sort of whacked her foot.  My first reaction was to whack the LC in the head - I mean, she was like 3 days old!  Anyway, I do it but I don't love it.  I love that it's good for them and I love that it's pretty simple, especially in the night.  But I don't love the gigantic breasts, or the nursing bra that I wear 23 hours and 45 minutes a day, and the fact that it's only me that can feed her right now.  I don't love that I'm not a good public nurser, I'm so jealous of women that seem so good at it.  I hate that I feel like I have ONE MORE THING to not be too good at, motherhood wise. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway.  Todd's been holding her for a while and I should go switch it up.  I'm so glad it's February, that she'll be one month old this month.  Soon.  And then she'll be five and then eighteen!  ;)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-1012924902530909321?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/1012924902530909321/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=1012924902530909321' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/1012924902530909321'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/1012924902530909321'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/02/february.html' title='February!'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-5438578862977395059</id><published>2008-01-28T07:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-10-09T16:21:30.175-07:00</updated><title type='text'>And then I nursed her again...zzzzzzzz</title><content type='html'>So it was just the weekend and Todd said to me on Saturday, "it's like every other day!"  I didn't say anything but ... right!  Welcome to my world, buddy, I wanted to say.  It is worse with a newborn around though - it is so strange to be up in the night again.  I have seen "Music &amp;amp; Lyrics" like a million times, now.  I also have started to really like Craig Ferguson on the Late Late Show.  Then the next morning, I can barely remember being up.  I saw Tony Shaloub on the SAG awards last night and I thought "he's a Green Bay Packers fan".  But then I thought how the hell do I know that?  I saw him on the Late Late show, in a nursing fugue.  What a weird thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend Emily came over this week, she has a baby 5 weeks older than Kathleen.  I said, how is it natural to nurse this baby every two hours?  How do women around the globe do it? And she said they sleep with their babies, is how.  I know that is the answer for a lot of women but I can't do it.  I'm so tired, I don't trust myself and I don't feel like I have any kind of 'mommy instinct' to stop me from rolling my big ass over onto that little baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am hopefully going to hear this week from our early intervention thingy place.  Joseph is 2.5 and still a terrible, terrible communicator.  He knows a million words and numbers, letters, animals, colors, etc., but he is loathe to ever string two words together.  It's so hard and frustrating to try and explain things to him, or to know what's on his mind, and it's only gotten worse since we brought Kathleen home.  So they only do this testing until they're three and I figure I'll take advantage of it now, especially as Todd is still home.  I am scared, though.  I read this Late Talking Child book and the doctor that wrote it is kind of against early intervention.  I have to try and make something work though.  I don't think I can potty train a kid that won't talk to me, or acknowledge me in any way, and he is getting so big!  He is a giant, especially compared to that new baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So that's what's up with me.  I'm waiting for January to be over, waiting for Kathleen to be six weeks old, waiting to sleep a little better, waiting, waiting, waiting.  It goes so fast! people say to me and I think when?  When does it go fast?  It feels slow, it feels like I'm walking through Jello.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-5438578862977395059?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/5438578862977395059/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=5438578862977395059' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/5438578862977395059'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/5438578862977395059'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/01/and-then-i-nursed-her-againzzzzzzzz.html' title='And then I nursed her again...zzzzzzzz'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-3077631697691230564</id><published>2008-01-21T08:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-21T08:39:07.556-08:00</updated><title type='text'>TIRED</title><content type='html'>Sisters, I are tired.  I remember a post from Dooce - here I'll link it - well I can't find it and the point is that it's hard to be so tired when you have a newborn but you have to suck it up and just ... embrace it, kind of.  Last night we went upstairs around 8:00 and watched The Amazing Race, then put Kathleen down and she slept from like 9:00 to 11:30 in her bassinet.  This is always the best sleep of the night.  Then Todd went to the guest room and I fed the baby.  Then I tried to lay her down about 10 times and she never would go to sleep.  So I finally got up and got her and sat in the chair with her and she slept and I nodded off now and again.  This went on until 4:00 and then Todd came in and said "you should have come to get me!" and I think "why?"  Why should I come to get you, so I can sleep for 45 minutes and then you can bring her to me and say she needs to eat?  Eh.  It doesn't seem worth it.  I'd rather have him sleep and then be okay in the day so I can take a nap if I need to. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend M came over last night and I told her that no matter how bad it's gotten with Joseph - if he's had a bad day, not napped, etc., I at least know it will be over by 7:00 - he'll go to bed and go to sleep and not come out of his room until 7:00 the next morning.  But now - even if he goes to bed early (and he does since he is not napping anymore) the second part of my day - the night part of my day - is just beginning.  It is so weird, it used to feel endless when Joseph was a baby but now it's like a whole new level.  How in the hell do people do this with twins?  HOW? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom told me going from one to two kids was the hardest and she had four.  I can understand that. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My MIL is coming over today - she called yesterday.  Sigh.  My friend C wanted to come over, my friend L was going to come over and my friend R is coming over to drop off dinner and visit.  The f?  We have been home for a week and nobody - NOBODY - came to see us, except my sister.  Now in one day 10 people want to come.  It feels so hard - I am lonely and want to see people, but I don't want to have to clean my house for them to come over.  And I only want the exact right people to come over (read - not my MIL and the whole Hee Haw Gang, including our niece, who is "dying to see the baby!" but I am telling you will freaking text message the WHOLE time she is here and never even look at that freaking baby) and I want them to stay the exact right amount of time.  I want help but I don't want to ask for it.  I want Todd and everyone else to just KNOW what I want and stop asking me!  He is a sweet man, and said to me this morning (after a slight breakdown of mine) "even if it sounds silly, just ask me, ask me to do anything and I'll do it".  I said "can you breastfeed that baby?"  NO.  Damn it, NO. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I feel crazy and tired and am eating like a crazed lunatic.  I made cookies the other day and then ate a LOT of them.  Thank God they're gone.  I was unreasonably mad today when I realized the Pop Tarts were gone.  I forget how hungry and thirsty you get, breastfeeding. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kathleen is sleeping and has been for ... oh an hour or so now.  She was so fussy before, and I was shhhing her and patting her and rocking her and doing knee bends and thinking "I will lose my effing mind if I have to do this for four months like I did with Joseph".  I would hear "shhhh" in my sleep, I would say it upon waking!  My boobs are so sore but I have to hold her straight across them to rock her just like she likes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And over all of this, all these crazy tired thoughts, I think "you ungrateful bitch, you wanted a healthy baby and that's what you got.  You have two beautiful children and a wonderful husband who is home for six weeks, WHAT are you complaining about?"  And then I answer, "Everything".  Oy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-3077631697691230564?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/3077631697691230564/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=3077631697691230564' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/3077631697691230564'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/3077631697691230564'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/01/tired.html' title='TIRED'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-6435229456385571105</id><published>2008-01-17T05:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-18T05:22:20.582-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Drugs</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://constancethesecond.blogspot.com/2008/01/pills-of-calm.html"&gt;This&lt;/a&gt; post of Constance's is interesting to me, especially of late.  My husband was just saying to me yesterday that he has these impending feelings of doom.  I said "since we married?" and he said, not getting it, NO, since we had these kids!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's awful to be home with a newborn, I think.  It's easier with my second but with my first, man, I just thought every day was going to be his last.  I have a cousin who lost a baby to SIDS many years ago and it's impossible for me not to think of that like several times a day.  When I was first home with Joseph, I went to the library and got some books - I figured I would read a little bit and take my mind off the fact that my baby never stopped screaming.  He was about 8 weeks old.  So I got a Jennifer Weiner book, I had read &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;In Her Shoes&lt;/span&gt;, I think, and I thought it would be nice light reading about a girl with a boy problem.  That book title up there should be underlined, I know!  I can't find the underline and it was threatening to make me cry so I just italicized.  ANYWAY.  I got this book called &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Little Earthquakes&lt;/span&gt; and I started to read it and I should have known right away that it was going to be trouble.  There's a girl in it that is leaving her husband and she is carrying her Vera Bradley diaper bag out of habit and there is no baby in the picture.  It turns out that her baby died when he was 10 weeks old (I am starting to lose it here, Good LORD) while she was out getting a manicure and pedicure.  It was the first time she had left him and he died.  She is really upset about his fingernails - they were really long because he was a fussy baby and she could never do it while he slept or anything, and he was always waving them around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So.  I had a crazily fussy baby at the time and everyone was always trying to get me to go get my freaking nails done.  So that I could "relax".  Also he had the longest nails ever because we could never get him to unjam his hands out of tight fists.  So I read that book in about 30 minutes and then I had a breakdown when my husband got home from work because I just knew that this bad baby was going to be taken away from me.  And I was so worried that people would think that I didn't care about him because he had such long nails, plus I was always complaining about him because I just knew regular babies couldn't be like that.   This book was very upsetting to me, I couldn't stop telling people about it and when I told people I couldn't stop crying.  Like CRYING.  Ugly crying, as Oprah might say. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes people would say to me, "do you think you should see someone?" and I would say WHEN?  WHEN AM I SUPPOSED TO LEAVE THE HOUSE AND TAKE TIME AWAY AND SEE SOMEONE?  TO TALK ABOUT MY FEELINGS?  I'd say it like that, too.  The thing is, I felt strongly that I wasn't depressed, I felt tired.  And hopeless.  But I wasn't sleeping and my baby never stopped screaming.  Which was depressing!  So I never knew if I should have seen someone, or taken something.  I never did, my son got better at around four months, I read a million books and decided to do something about the sleeping issue and it got better, for real, by about ... well, if I'm going to be honest maybe nine months but still.  It got better. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I am home with a one week old and my breasts are *killing* me.  I have these big giant children (9.2 and 9.6 pounds) with these teensy mouths and oh! the first two weeks!  Are!  Killing!  Me!  But I'm sleeping better than I did when I was home with Joseph and we've done it before and my husband is a GIGANTIC help but I am still so scared, sometimes (mostly late at night when I get the SANEST thoughts) that she will be colicky too, that she's not gaining enough weight, that I won't be able to continue breastfeeding, on and on and on.  Parenthood sucks, Todd said last night, and he's right.  Sometimes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://constancethesecond.blogspot.com/2008/01/pills-of-calm.html"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-6435229456385571105?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/6435229456385571105/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=6435229456385571105' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/6435229456385571105'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/6435229456385571105'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/01/drugs.html' title='Drugs'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-7677179161877047439</id><published>2008-01-16T07:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-16T07:19:13.158-08:00</updated><title type='text'>We're Home, Mammy...</title><content type='html'>...we're home.  We actually got home on Monday and yesterday had our First Day After Our First Night and BOY was it a long one.  Last night we actually laid the baby down which makes a big difference in the amount of sleep we all get. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So it's a girl.  Kathleen (not her real name), she is just fine.  She sleeps a lot and it freaks me out because Joseph never slept.  She is gorgeous and nurses like crazy, which is good for my supply but ohboyohboy does it hurt these first few days.  Her mouth is so small!  HOW am I supposed to have her OPEN SO WIDE?  I was watching the Newborn Channel in the hospital and they showed these babies nursing and they were opening their mouths wide but they were like three months old!  I'm just glad it's going well, I'm trying to focus on that.  But when she first latches on I have to repeat to myself, in my head, over and over and so fast:  do not squoosh her head in, do not squoosh her head in. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It all went well while we were gone.  My MIL and her husband stayed here and I think everything was fine.  We didn't have Joseph come to the hospital which I think was a good idea.  We only had my parents and in laws and Todd came home to sleep.  I can't ever believe it, that it's over.  I feel like I have been pregnant for so long and now here she is and I just can't get over it.  I'm glad I have the apartment building to live in and hang in, though, more than ever.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-7677179161877047439?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/7677179161877047439/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=7677179161877047439' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/7677179161877047439'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/7677179161877047439'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/01/were-home-mammy.html' title='We&apos;re Home, Mammy...'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-3272140332259835</id><published>2008-01-11T03:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-11T03:13:16.647-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Na na na na na na na na</title><content type='html'>Today is your birthday!  Today is my little baby's birthday.  It just ... until that baby is born it's so hard for me to believe it.  When I was pregnant with Joseph I never could picture him.  I thought so, so much about the pregnancy, and worried SO much about the pregnancy that I never thought about the actual caring and feeding of the baby.  Then he when he was born and he was so bad (I know - I know it's wrong to call your baby bad and I am a terrible mother and person but trust me - he was BAD), I couldn't stop thinking about it.  I have been trying to balance it out more this time, worry an appropriate amount about the pregnancy, but today it's all kerflooey. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's early - Todd woke me up so I could eat.  I have to eat by 6:00 and now, not again, until God knows when.  Maybe tomorrow?  I had leftover lasagna, a roll, a pop tart and a go-tart.  And milk.  And now I'm finished eating. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My surgery is at 2:00, which BLOWS.  It's also on a Friday which BLOWS.  Joseph was born on a Friday, too, so I like that, but I hate staying in the hospital on the weekend.  I mean no offense to anyone that works in a hospital on the weekend, but in my last experience it seemed that the meanest nurses ever work on the weekend.  But my doctor's OR day is Friday, so here I am. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well.  I am terrified but plucky.  I am going to think positively that everything will be okay.  I was talking to a friend of mine yesterday who just had a baby, and she had a LOT of complications and so she had a lot of amnios, and so she knew her baby's sex really early on, and knew when her lungs were ready, etc.  I have never even had the triple screen, I kind of don't believe in them for me, except ... today?  Today I believe in it all, I wish I had a freaking crystal ball and could just SEE the baby and know everything is okay.  Through maybe ... 2036?  2050? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ha - I was just thinking about high stress things.  Like the list of the high stressors?  Getting married, starting a new job, moving?  I was thinking with this new blog, I'm having a baby, which is just like starting a new job, AND moving into my new pink apartment building.  I'm still so glad to be here!  I feel SO GREAT that I am going to be able to have somewhere to talk about all these people and not have to watch every freaking word.  When I was so miserable with Joseph, in the early days, I would type out all this stuff like "Why does this MFer never stop crying?  What have I done?  WHY did Todd and I think it was a good idea to have a baby?  Our lives are over!  I hate this!" and then I would actual post a picture that said "Joseph had a rough night!  I hope he naps today!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK.  So Happy Birthday to Kathleen or Thomas, whoever you are.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-3272140332259835?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/3272140332259835/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=3272140332259835' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/3272140332259835'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/3272140332259835'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/01/na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na.html' title='Na na na na na na na na'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1272659089773447885.post-3849847623151341559</id><published>2008-01-10T10:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-10T11:03:27.553-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='childbirth'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='MIL'/><title type='text'>Here We Go</title><content type='html'>I feel like singing "I'm Henry the Eighth, I am" except I'm Constance.  The Ninth.  I have two other blogs, both for my children.   One is for my 2.5 year old boy, Joseph, and one is for my next baby, who I am having tomorrow, Kathleen or Thomas.  Those are Not Their Real Names, natch.  I have never had any success having a secret blog, but I am really really glad to have one.  I created the second baby's blog and told my husband and he *immediately* told my MIL which really pissed me off.  God, that woman can run with anything!  She was checking it every second and sort of passively/aggressively asking why I hadn't updated it, which is the same thing she does with my son's blog and which makes me want to smack her and then my husband for telling her.  I feel like the second I married her son, she has been trying to suck all the lifeblood out of me.  I don't think she does it on purpose but here's some examples:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;She wanted to come to the - she ASSUMED she was coming to the delivery room when I had my first child. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;We didn't tell her when we went to the hospital because my husband, Todd, was afraid that she'd be really upset.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;When Todd called her to say that it was a boy!  And he was healthy!  And hurray!  She said "what do you mean?  She HAD the baby?!"  That was her first reaction.  Me me me.  Ugh. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I called my new baby's blog something cute like Second Baby and now she only calls my unborn baby Second Baby.  She went to a make a bear place and made a bear with her voice recorded on it saying "Hello, Second Baby!". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;She is coming up to my house tomorrow to 'help' with Joseph while Todd and I go to the hospital to have the new baby.  She is bringing her husband.  When Todd told her that my parents were going to stay up North (they winter in a Southern state) through the baby's Birth Day, the first thing she said was "Do I still get to come up and stay with Joseph?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;Maybe this doesn't seem so bad to you all?  Maybe I am a bitch?  I am definitely a bitch, FO SHO, but I do think she's a pain.  Todd had to call her this weekend to say that my mom was going to come in the morning and she could just come up later, after Joseph goes down for his nap.  I think it will be better and more normal for him if it's my mom, plus it's MY mom, MY surgery, MY possibly dying on the table, I just want MY mom here, is that so wrong?  Waah! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know.  I know I'm whiny.  But it's just - I feel like we in my (more normal, superior) family are the ones sucking it up here all the time.  My parents live really close - what would be the problem with them coming over for one of the nights?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't really care as much as I did, say last week.  I am in some kind of a fog now, you know, like right before you have the baby?  Some kind of an earth mother groove where I think I will do anything to just have a healthy baby tomorrow.   I will mention this 9,999,999 times going forward but my first baby was, to put it lightly, colicky and fussy and cried for the first four months of his life.  I swear to God, I have some kind of post traumatic stress disorder from it, it was horrible.  So I am praying this time, not just for healthy, but happy.  But today?  Today I say just healthy.  Please, please.  And please don't let me die on the table.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1272659089773447885-3849847623151341559?l=constancetheninth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/feeds/3849847623151341559/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1272659089773447885&amp;postID=3849847623151341559' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/3849847623151341559'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1272659089773447885/posts/default/3849847623151341559'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://constancetheninth.blogspot.com/2008/01/here-we-go.html' title='Here We Go'/><author><name>ConstanceTheNinth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05951231090526007126</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry></feed>
