It’s Time.

Labor is happening.  Right now.

ha ha ha *sniffle*

Oh, dear.  I am WEEPING with laughter.

Check out this blog and the tantalizing cakes therein.  I think I’m going to have to look at the passive aggressive cakes for a third time and see if they make me cramp with giggles yet again…

(yes, they did.)

In other news: I actually did the sleep study last night. 

I feel incredibly mature.

I drove myself in the dark to a hospital about 45 minutes away, toted all of my bags (including breast pump) across the parking lot and into the sleep clinic, had nurses hook me up to all manner of diodes and sensors with tape and sticky goop, and slept in there all night.

So, we’ll see what comes of this.  The sleep doctor, whom I saw yesterday, said I looked absolutely nothing like a person who would have a snoring/apnea issue, based on my chin and neck and overall build, and that he was “intrigued” about my results.  It sort of made me feel like he was saying I was making it all up or something, but the issue is real, right Daddy J?

(Daddy J snickers and gives himself a personal high-five at making me describe a nonexistent problem and sleep overnight at a hospital for no reason.  Ha ha haaaa…)

No, I’m sure Daddy J isn’t yanking my chain.  I do snore, doctor, I do, even though you say you can judge the exact sleep issue or lack thereof in 9 out of 10 people.

I’m that tenth person!!

Ahem.

I think they call me to set up the appointment to review my results in a week or so.

Adoption news: There is no adoption news, other than the fact that any second I expect to get a call telling me to pack my bags.

Also: we got the cradle set up in our bedroom, complete with chi-chi organic mattress and velour sheets, people.  How excited am I about snuggling a baby into velour sheets: very.  I got some for the cradle and some for the crib, which is waiting patiently for assembly upstairs.

body fluids

So, I’d say my blood gets a C+.

I went back to the nurse practitioner and we went over my bloodwork and bone density scan, and it was pretty mediocre.

Bragging rights to Daddy J are floating away in the wind…  Buh-bye…

It was certainly a Good Thing that I went for the bloodwork.   My bad cholesterol (LDL) wasn’t fantastic, but is within the normal range.  My good cholesterol (HDL) was good, at 60.

She said that if I were an overweight middle aged man she’d say my cholesterol levels were GREAT, but seeing as I eat really well and am not overweight and am 36, they are kind of meh.  It must be my genes, and we’ll just have to watch it.  I guess my dad had high cholesterol; I know he had high blood pressure and hypertension.  She said that if I keep on keepin’ on with the way I’ve been eating and living, I’ll be fine with regards to cholesterol.

I’m not anemic and my white blood cells and electrolytes looked good, so three mini gold stars there.

And as far as the bone density goes, I have pre-osteoperosis. 

Bonus!! 

Like, if it were just a smidgeon worse on the graph-curve thing she showed me, it would be full-blown osteoperosis.    Cuh-razy.

We’re on it, though, she and I.  I’m going to start drinking 5 glasses of rice milk a day and taking Fossamax and walking three times a week for some weight-bearing exercise (who knew that the elliptical machine I’ve used over the past few years did nothing for my bones??!  WHO KNEW??!) and working out with dumb-bells twice a week.

Self: You had me up until the bit about the dumb-bells.  Who in the WORLD do you think you are kidding.  Puh-leeze.

Body:  Suck it up, Self, and get with the program.  We’re going to beef up these fragile bones.  HUP HUP HUP!!

In other Mama Jamz body news, the pumping is going quite well, I think.  I hit a speed bump a couple of weeks ago when, trying to follow the Ask Lenore protocol, I was pumping about every two-three hours.  The girls protested loudly, and it was pretty much a bummer for a couple of days. 

I took a longish  break of 12 hours or so, and have since been pumping every 3-5 hours.  It’s generally(ish) at 6:15, 10:00, 2:00, 6:00, and 9:30 lately, with negligible discomfort, and I’m getting about 1/2 ounce per session.

Milktastic, baby.  Totally pumptacular.

Yahhhh…

more baby steps

I had the basic layette all bought/given, washed with baby detergent and fabric softener, and folded and laid out on the play table.  Clearly, it was time to put it away in the dresser.

Which, after over three years, was still full of Wardie’s clothes.

~~~heart contracts painfully~~~

It made it easier to do when Daddy J and the boys were home; sounds of chatter and footsteps helped.  I had two fresh new boxes and a glass of cabernet and was determined to do it already.

Mama, he says, glancing over his shoulder from a game of tag on soft green grass, I really don’t care what you do with my clothes.  They’re Just Clothes.

But you wore them, sweetheart, up against your skin.  They are special to Mama.

I had some potpourri and coral mesh left over from a Christmas project, so I threw together four little sachets and tied them with ribbon.  Wondering if the rose potpourri would be okay, or if I should open up the fresh bag of lavender potpourri – would that be less girly?

Mama, the rose potpourri is just fine, he says, kindly.  Don’t worry.

But the little sachets help me.  I don’t want his clothes to get all musty.

That’s nice, Mama.

I go in, breathing slow and sure, like I’m wearing scuba gear.  Oh, the Winnie-the-Pooh outfit he wore at Disney World, that red long romper with stripes, his big boy underwear, his tie-dyed shirt…

Breathe in, breathe out.  Just do it.

I got all his stuff from the dresser put in boxes, except for socks that seemed like they’d fit Rainbow pretty soon.  I left a few things hanging in the closet because, well, it’s a big enough closet and I want them there: his fireman raincoat, his soft gray hoodie, the Hawaiian shirt he wore for Wal-mart pics, the blue plaid button down he wore for formal portraits.

The other things are boxed and sacheted and put on the top shelf of the closet in the nursery/Wardie’s room/Rainbow’s room, replaced by newborn onesies and gowns and rompers and impossibly tiny pants and socks.

Good job, Mama.  It’s a good room for Rainbow.

Oh, baby, I miss you.

Oh, baby, come soon.

~~~~~

trapeze act

Having walked through the deep and dim and prickly forest of anti-adoption views (a journey I took all on my own in the past couple of months via teh interwebs) I have emerged tempered and sure and thrilled to my core.

It’s hard to not second-guess yourself and feel doubt when reading very sad and emotional stories of painful adoptions and their repurcussions.  Maybe that’s a good thing: to thoroughly self-evaluate and know what you’re doing and why you’re doing it and come to the conclusion that it is in fact A Good Idea.

As I wrote in our profile so many months ago: We want to adopt a baby because we truly love children, and we know that we have room in our hearts and in our lives for another child.

It’s a spiritual leap: an intersection of souls.  Not that I expect all peaches and cream; there will be sour notes and bumps on the earthly plane, I assume, but on a higher level I believe our souls will always be digging it.  If this baby joins our family, we’ll link up and get entwined with another soul and it will be a beautiful thing.  A joyful, exhilarating thing.  A Learning Opportunity to end all, for us and for Rainbow and for his birthparents, as well.  And yes, I know they will probably have sadness and loss and  feelings of regret from time to time, but I have faith that they are intelligent, thoughtful people who making this choice for their own good reasons. 

In my personal Spiritual Book, it’s all about growth and experiences bringing us ever closer to Home, drinking in whatever sweetness you can get (and give) along the way: this is a Growth Experience for all of us.

~~~~~

I have this image of standing with my family and looking across the chasm.  I see this other person, through shifting winds and glinting sun, way far away on the other side.  Okay, I call out.  I’ll jump.  Do you want to jump?  The other figure nods and hollers YES. 

[Maybe he’ll change his mind at the last second, or maybe our hands will miss, but the leap and the joining and the mid-air dance in the clouds are irresistible and well worth the risk of falling down alone in the dust.]

Let’s do it then.  Ready?

READY.

One…

Two…

Three…

busyness

Which is a very good thing right now.  Otherwise, there would probably be an excessive amount of internet sad-adoption-story reading and possibly some obsessive hot gluing/decorating around here.

The charity ball I’m involved in is this weekend.  I verified last night that I can in fact get into my dress (eating might not be possible, but that’s okay) and today we assemble the baskets for the silent auction.  My main job is coming up – and I looove it and am very protective of my duties.  MY job is to come up with the corny names for and descriptions of the items in the baskets for the bid sheets, and then print the stickers and attach them to the sheets.

For example:

I Double Dog Dare You!  (two porcelain Staffordshire dogs – tee hee)

Take me Dancing, Darling (dance tickets with other stuff, maybe champagne flutes and champagne)

She’s So Beautiful in Emeralds… (emerald jewelry of some flavor)

I can’t wait!  Last year, I held in the corniness just a tad, but the ladies loved the verbal flair, so I’m going to crank it up this time.  The toughest part is finding a name that’s just AWESOME but too crude or risque and having to pass it by:

For All You Lushes Out There (the bottles of fancy wine)

Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down   (for the inevitable silk ties)

Make Her Pant for More  (for the dressy lady’s suit)

**sigh**

Later this weekend (Sunday, I guess) I take my turn cleaning the Fishmaster’s middle school room.  His school, which in some ways reminds me of  a homeschooling co-op, has nothing resembling a cafeteria or front office or janitorial staff.  The kids rotate cleaning chores every afternoon (vacuuming, wiping tables, wiping bathroom surfaces with disinfectant wipes, taking out trash) and then parents sign up for two week shifts where one week you deep clean and the next you sanitize all the cleaning rags.  I’m VERY PRO having the kids involved in cleaning their own classroom stuff – I think it encourages respect for their environment and tidiness in general – but I kind of wish I could discreetly hire someone to do my cleaning this weekend…

However!  As mentioned above, it will keep my busy on Sunday and my head away from fretting about the adoption.

Which!  is closer every day.

weekend activities

Daddy J’s thirty-eighth birthday is tomorrow, and we went with a group of friends to Morton’s in the Big City to celebrate.  It was awesome.  We shared a limo on the way up and back, passing around tequila shots, and made up mildly obscene limericks on the way home.

***AND I have a great pic from the restaurant that I an unable to scan for some reason.  Stupid technology.  Imagine a handsome Daddy J with a smiling and happy Mama Jamz, and you’ll get the general idea.

Today I met my mother and her husband for an afternoon of MOUNTAIN BIKING  with the boys.

I KNOW!  I KNOW!!  Not at all what I’d have expected for my Sunday, especially after an evening of celebration.

It’s all my mother’s doing.  After today, there can be no doubt in anyone’s mind that my mother is five times the badass that I am.  She was shrugging off the deep, treacherous downhills and the burn-inducing uphill climbs like they were a stroll in the park.

I was very brave, though, and only whined a little.

It turned out that the bouncy shock absorbers on the front of the bike I was using were locked, so that each little bump over root and rock had to get absorbed by my wimpy arms and shoulders, which makes a difference.  We established that issue halfway through, well after my arms, shoulders, and neck were loudly protesting.

Stepfather JC:  SO let’s take a look at the map here!  We’ve gone about 2.8 miles, and now we’ll take this incredibly long and twisty loop that will be another three times the length we’ve gone so far –

Mama Jamz: MY vote would be for actually taking a shorter route back to the car.

(vehement protests from Rockinrolla, who is LOVING this)

Mama Jamz: Like, actually I’d prefer the short-EST route back to the car.

***

Ahem.

I really didn’t protest too much, though.  It was incredibly beautiful and invigorating, for real.  Two deer bounded between the boys, which was awesome.  Many places in the woods were just fairy-tale surreal with their beauty.  I’m SO glad we went and I shared it with the boys.  And I would totally go again, as soon as I’ve recovered from this go-round.

We ended up going 5.8 miles or so through this terrain.  Might not sound like much, but my rear-end, back, and shoulders would beg to differ.

bloodletting

The scene: Mama Jamz is driving Rockinrolla to school because he missed the bus.

Mama Jamz: Uhhhhhh, I have to go get bloodwork done this morning.

Rockinrolla: What’s bloodwork?

Mama Jamz: When they take blood from you with a needle and test it for stuff, like high cholesterol.

Rockinrolla: It sounds like a horror movie: Bloodwork, the unrated version. This time, they won’t just be checking your cholesterol… mwah ha haaaaa…

~~~~~~~~~~

I realized yesterday, as the Fishmaster made me cry with laughter on the way home from his school, that one bonus about having kids is that you get to (hopefully) instill your sense of humor into them. Like, at least they’ll get your jokes, and, if you’re lucky, the same things will just crack you both up.

Lately, the Fishmaster and I have been amusing ourselves with this game on our drives home after his school.  It’s the Would you rather game, and you MUST pick one of the two options. For example:

Would you rather look like that freaky cat guy from the Ripley’s book OR have one of those huge brass plates in your lower lip for the rest of your life?

(I actually opted for cat guy…)

Would you rather drink room temperature milk with food particles floating in it OR a hot dog that’s been blended with jelly beans and hot sauce?

The possibilities are endless, really.

countdown

Just for chuckles, let’s see how many days are left until the due date… hmmm… looks like…

TWENTY FIVE DAYS UNTIL HE MIGHT BE HERE.

THAT’S JUST NOT VERY LONG, PEOPLE.

And we’re plugging on along here.

Sometimes I envy Daddy J for being busy all day at work and not having time to obsess and wory about the baby coming the way I do.

(and then I think – wait, he’s working all day in an office – never mind. I’ll just stay home and worry, thankyouverymuch.)

(thank you for working all day in an office, Daddy J.)

The nursery is coming along beautifully. It’s like a Barbie dream nursery, a jungly delight. I ordered a crib and changing table from overstock a couple of days ago.  Yes, I wasn’t going to get a changing table, but it’s awfully cute, and I think the moderne stuff will be cool in our house. These don’t have the evil HOV (or something) glue fumes, which I gather is important. Plus – matchy!  Also, look how cute the crib looks when you convert it to a daybed.

(I haven’t actually ordered the conversion kit yet. I haven’t fully accepted the fact that they charge 125 bucks for what appears to be a thin piece of white acrylic, and that I can’t find it for forty bucks somewhere. But I’ll probably get over it and order it before it disappears.)

Still need to get the mattress.  I started to shop for those, and was kind of floored at how expensive they are. Gah. I like the fume-free notion, but it’s certainly warring with Frugal Self’s ideas of what a crib mattress should cost.

I bought fun font white letters that spell out Rainbow’s name from Hobby Lobby and am going to paint them with a sun and rays, so they can be hung over the butterflies that are over his crib and light up the room and OH OH OH THE CUTENESS.

interior conversation the eleventy-fourth

The background: Daddy J has been to a real, live general practitioner of his own a couple of times, and has had big ol’ thorough checkups. He recently got his happy report on cholesterol and such, so, go Daddy J.

I, on the other hand, have never had a doctor of my own since I was a kid. An OB/GYN, sure, but other needs go to the urgent care center. (Bad, bad, Mama Jamz.) I agree, though, that a general practioner who knows you and your body is a great thing to have, and he was kind enough to give me a nudge by actually making my appointment for me with a nice doctor who actually takes our insurance. (Applause for Daddy J.)

I didn’t realize, though, until this morning, that I seem to have developed some Doctor-Phobic Issues over the last few years.

Go figure.

Self: All righty then! This’ll be GREAT! We can brag to Daddy J about how low our cholesterol is after a year of mostly-veganism, and won’t it be fun to get a gold star for being so healthy! Whee!

Body: I KNOW you don’t think I’m going to a frickin’ doctor. We BOTH know what doctors do: NOTHING GOOD. Ain’t happening.

Self: (chuckling in a condescending manner) Now, now, Body. It’ll be fine. And it will be good to know if you’re actually anemic, and that’s why you have zero pep, or if it’s just the lack of exercise and milky hormones  and adoption anxiety doing it to you. Also, both Grandma MJ AND her mother have osteoperosis, and you don’t want to develop that, do you?

Body: Talk all you want, Missy. I ain’t going.

Self: I beg to differ. Daddy J made the appointment, and we’re going out to lunch after. Yes indeed we are going.

Body: (rolling eyes in terror, like a horse being led into a barn full of screaming bottle rockets and hissing snakes)  OH NO WE AIN’T!!  How ’bout some GI distress, bee-yotch!!  How’s that strike you?  I can do this ALL DAY!!!

Self: You know, that’s just childish. Also kind of a bonus: it’ll make me weigh less on the evil doctor scales. Have at it, you brat.  Then we’re GOING.

~~~~~~~

Anyhoo, after the morning drama, it was a very good visit. It was a nurse practitioner that I saw, and she was very thorough with the questioning and the vital signs and such.

I’ve already had the bone density exam (not such a big deal at all, but it was kind of creepy feeling the tingly energy coursing through my abodomen as they did it. I kind of feel microwaved.  It can’t be good for you.)  In a couple of days, I’ll go back for my fasting blood work (whee! skipping breakfast AND bloodletting!!) and I think we’re going to do a sleep study at the hospital before Rainbow comes.

Which sounds terribly dramatic, but the nurse practitioner made it sound like no biggie. I described my nightly snoring, and Daddy J having to wake me and ask me to turn over all the time, and my occasional waking myself with a big gasping snort, and she said it kind of sounded like apnea. Which is a Bad Thing that can lead to many bad things, including fatigue. (ba da bing!)

She said the treatments might include removing my tonsils or adenoids, or sleeping with some Darth Vader thing on my head that forces oxygen into my body. (Self and Body are in agreement about the forced air device: Nuh-uh. They’d rather be sleepy.) I asked if we could just go ahead and remove my adenoids (which she said are enlarged) and she said that, since that’s a surgery, it requires an actual “Medical Reason” and not just a desire to have them out in order for insurance to pay for it.  I bet they’re the culprit, though, since I often feel like something is “falling back” in the back of my throat as I fall asleep, and then the snoring commences.  Also, the surgery is outpatient and she said recovery is quick, which sounds kind of less traumatic than a supervised sleepover in the hospital IMHO…

What an adventure!  I can hardly wait: sleeping alone in a hospital bed with stuff hooked up to me while  people listen to my snoring!

However: it might end up with better nights’ sleep for both me and Daddy J, and more daytime pep, so is totally worth it.

(Where’s my Big Girl Gold Star?)