An Abridged Guide to Little Boys

Here is a handy guide for moms of boys denoting little boys’ complex thought process regarding hygiene and cleanliness.

Situation 1: Is peeing all over the bathroom acceptable?

Yes. The world is my toilet. Be happy I peed indoors AND in the same room as the toilet.

Situation 2: Should I eat my boogers?

Of course. Not eating them is wasteful. Unless you are using them as wall adornments.

Situation 3: After making number two, playing with a snake, or swimming in a ditch of runoff from a toxic waste plant should I wash my hands before sharing a bowl of popcorn with other humans?

…is this a trick question? I just don’t see the correlation…

Situation 4: If I find a french fry on the floor of the car and cannot remember the last time we had french fries, should I eat it?

Duh. That’s like finding $20 in your pocket.

Situation 5: How many days in a row should I wear the same filthy socks?

Either until I can no longer remember what color they were the day I started wearing them, or until my mom calls the exterminator because she is sure something died in my closet.

Situation 6: Should I wipe well after making number 2?

Who has that kind of time? Besides, isn’t that why we wear underwear?

Situation 7: If I grab two clean shirts out of my drawer and only wear one and drop the other one on the floor, should I fold it neatly and put it back in my drawer when my mom tells me to clean my room, or should it go in the dirty clothes hamper?

ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME??? Of course it needs to go in the dirty clothes hamper!!! What are we?? Animals??? Besides, if mom has time to write about this on her blog, then clearly we aren’t putting enough clean clothes in the laundry basket!!


Cellulitis; A Love Story

Yowsers. So much to share since last post.

We are moving. It’s just something we like to do when I am in my last trimester. I think it’s probably because I am so sweet and gentle and never complain. I am also very organized, but not demanding, and really make the experience special for everyone. Fun fact, this is the second time we have done this when my final weeks of pregnancy coincide with the hottest weeks of the year.  Again, we make these choices because of how well I manage my delicate state. Really, I am a joy to be around.

Let’s save all the moving talk for next time, k? This time I have greater adventures to extol:

Cellulitis; a Love Story

Sunrise bathes the sleeping couple in a rosy glow. The firefighter caresses the cheek of his sleeping bride, she awakes and sees his gentle gaze echoes his words, “You are so beautiful.” She snorts, recovers, grunts as she snuggles closer, murmuring, “I need to pee.” He helps her roll out of bed and she waddles to the bathroom. When she returns their bed has been taken over by the tiny humans.

This happy family goes about their Sunday in normal fashion, not realizing death has invaded their lives and will soon rear it’s ugly head.


After a morning spent with family and friends at church, they buckle down packing, loading up, and storing everything but the bare essentials of what a family of six needs to continue existing (p.s. it is a surprising amount of STUFF). After the kiddos are tucked in, the exhausted couple fall into bed

(I’m going to go ahead and shift point of view here because I don’t want to keep telling the story like this and since no one is paying me to try to write well, I can DO WHAT I WANT…oh yeah, hormones are still a go.)

As we were talking before going to sleep I noticed a dull pain happening in my mouth. Now, I run the whole gamut of crazy pregnancy related stuff and have had a similar sensation in my teeth before while pregnant. It is the same weird hormone that causes my hobbit feet to become SIZES larger. So I casually mentioned to the firefighter that I thought that was happening again. Because he keeps copious notes of all of my pregnancy symptoms past and present he knew exactly what I was referring to and was also very interested to know more about the magical journey of baby growing/he was falling asleep during my discourse.

Welp, I woke up around 2 am to go potty and was really surprised by how much pain my mouth was in. I took some tylenol and tried to sleep, but it was impossible. When we got up in the morning I did the super normal thing and started googling. I decided I had a pregnancy granuloma. It did not even occur to me that this could be related to anything but pregnancy. I called my Ob’s office and they snorted at my super rare diagnosis and told me to call the dentist.

I set up an appointment for that afternoon and got the kiddos and I ready for a meeting I had that morning.

The pain mounted with every minute and I could see my face was beginning to swell. By  noon I could no longer emote and every movement I made reverberated painfully through my skull. Finally, it was time for my dentist’s appointment. X-rays showed one of my front teeth had died (what the what??) and that it had become infected. He prescribed antibiotics, some pain meds, and a root canal. I told him the pain was becoming too much and asked if I could get a shot of antibiotics to kickstart the healing. He confirmed with my Ob that I could go get a shot in my tush. So I left there thrilled to get a root canal and a shot in my butt, two things that are on my Top Ten List of Things I Never Ever Want To Do. That is how much pain I was in.

The hilarious Dr. who administered my hiney shot took one look at my face and asked if I had been doing one of those lip challenge things. Clearly he missed his calling. I would have told him he should have pursued stand-up, but talking hurt too much. I just thanked him, silently and duck-faced, for what I knew would heal me. Then I picked up my prescriptions, drove home and welcomed the pain killers and antibiotics into my body. Now I was ready for sleep and knew I would wake up feeling much better!

Only I never slept. The pain med hardly took the edge off and my face was continuing to swell. I was in so much pain I went to the freezer, grabbed a handful of ice and just stuck it on my face, the infection was so bad and my face was radiating such heat that the ice just kept melting. I could no longer lay down, because the pressure was too intense. I called the dentist’s office and left a message and was surprised when a few minutes later my dentist himself called to see what was going on. He told me to come in as soon as possible in the morning.

So I took the kiddos to Parent’s Day Out, thankful that the timing of whatever this was was at least happening while my kids were easily occupied for 6 hours. I went back to the dentist’s office, nearly unrecognizable from the swelling. I sat in the chair and he warned me there was no way what he was about to do would not hurt, but that I would absolutely feel relief from it. I was in no state to argue and the promise of relief was all I needed.

Then he called everyone who wasn’t a patient in his office to come watch what was about to happen. As the huddled masses gathered ‘round to watch my duck face explode I found a spot on the ceiling and made it my beacon of sanity. He sliced and squeezed and narrated the whole process as I pleaded with my ceiling spot to not let me pass out. Initially, I did feel intense relief and hope flooded my body and pain addled mind. I went to my inlaws house to take pain meds and try to rest. But the pain and pressure started flooding back. I tried ice again and it melted so fast. Tears of pain and hopelessness were pouring. After a few hours I called the dentist again. They told me to come back.

Here it starts to get fuzzy. I was in such intense pain, I can only describe it as agony. It took over my senses and focus. All I could do was register pain and the moment I was in. There was no moment before or after, only the conscious effort of existing in the present. I know I sat in the chair again. I know he looked at me again. I know everyone who looked at me and had seen the progression of my face’s metamorphosis, cringed. I think he cut again. I know I had a panic attack and was put on oxygen. I know the pressure of the mask was too much. My sweet dentist cared for me and ached that this infection was more than any office setting could treat. It was time to go to the hospital. He called my husband and let him know it was time. He called my Ob and she called ahead to the hospital to have me admitted immediately.

The firefighter met me at the dentist’s office and my sweet dentist hugged me and his staff just exuded such kindness and care and I tried to float without lumbering my pregnant body as gravity and all movement threatened to murder me with pain. I had to drive myself, because we have four kids. There was no other way. The firefighter led me in his truck, full of our kiddos, as I drove myself. He had to lead me because my brain literally could not work out how to get to the hospital.

I would say, of all the things in life that should signal adulthood to me, driving myself to the hospital was it. I’m a grown up.

When I got there I had to sit in the waiting area for what felt like hours, though I am sure it was much less. My face now resembled a character from Planet of the Apes. The swelling had disfigured me from my forehead to my jaw. People could not stop staring. And I could not move. Tears were just pouring as I prayed for my mind and soul to focus on the hope that soon I would be put on antibiotics and soon they would give me pain relief.

I was taken to the high risk pregnancy part of the hospital, given morphine, and taken for x-rays. I never felt the morphine kick in. They started my two antibiotics and started me on a pain med cocktail every two hours. They monitored the baby and gave me medicine for sleep. The first night I slept about an hour. The second night, two hours. The first couple of days continued to be excruciating.  At one point my veins kept collapsing and I went two hours between courses of antibiotics and my face started swelling and getting hot again. So they changed up my antibiotics and even more strictly administered them.

You are probably tired of reading this tale of woe. Im kinda tired of remembering and writing it all out. I’ll finish this tale up later. I’m sorry. 🙂 My blog often becomes a journal for me and this is an experience I just have to get out of my consciousness. So after I finish this story I will move on to sharing the joy and less-puss-more-poop side of family craziness again. 🙂

And because y’all know I am a photo documenting spazz, here are some pics of this awful journey.  I regret that I do not have pictures from when my face was in full Planet of the Apes Mode because I was in so much freaking pain I couldn’t even…


So this here is a pic of me from that Sunday. I was trying on maternity dresses at Target. The only thing swollen was mah belly. Little did I know in a few hours, my face would try to murder me.

photo 1

Here is a pic from the Drs office Monday afternoon, right before getting a shot in my tushy. I am barely able to show emotion.

photo 2 photo 4

These pictures are from Monday evening, right before bed. My lips are not normally so luscious and I am not one to duck face.

photo 1 photo 2

These were taken in the wee hours of Tuesday morning. Um, something is definitely wrong here.

photo 3

This is Tuesday morning at my inlaws after the first incision and draining.

photo 4

This is a few hours later.

photo 4 photo 2

This is me at the hospital. I cannot move any part of my face. Idiots pay thousands of dollars to look this stupid. We are paying thousands of dollars to MAKE IT STOP!

photo 1

This is me. Weeping uncontrollably (though immovably) in my hospital room. I am all alone. I am in so much pain. I am pathetic. Notice the two tears that have fallen on my chest. Weep with me.

Week 12 of What to Expect When You Are Expecting, Again

Week 12
How you are feeling: Duh.

Your friend Scott has the audacity to say one of those obnoxious pregnancy comments. Scott, father of four. Saying the words. Scott is your friend. Scott is asking if you know how this happens.
You: “You know what, Scott? I have already heard that one about ten times TODAY. You people need to get some new material!”
Scott: “Um, we will when y’all do.”
And that reminds you why Scott is your friend. Because despite barfing your pent up pregnancy hormones on him, he is fluent in your love language: sarcasm. This exchange sticks with you as you continue interacting with people. You recognize we are each doing our best, connecting and sharing life as best we can, each unique in ability and thought. Sometimes we are clumsy and unkind, but mostly we just yearn to understand and be understood. You start to romanticize your thoughts about this new child you are carrying, you think bold beautiful thoughts about this innocents impact on the world…Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World” starts to play in your mind as you gaze upon your fellow humans and marvel at our frailty, our potential…
and then you see a guy ask your husband “Are all those kids yours?” and then HIGH FIVE your husband for his what? Virility? Momentary contribution to the miracle of life?
You know how many times you, baby grower, will get high-fived?
not once.
Let’s be the change. Let us scowl at the father of multiples and ask him the questions and start highfiving the crap out of our fellow moms!

Week 11 of What to Expect When You Are Expecting, Again

Week 11
How you are feeling: Well, still crappy. Headaches, all the puking, incontinence, walking farts, tender nips etc…
And then people want to talk to you. And they also want to share the very funny things they have heard on sitcoms and read on the internets of awesome things that they should say to a pregnant woman who is FOR REALS trying to not dry heave in their presence due to the amount of smells humans apply to their bodies.
I hear you, momma and I am totally with you. In fact, this week I have decided to write a cheat sheet for us so we have a prepared snarky or gentle response to other human’s super funny comments.

“Do y’all not have a TV?”
Snarky: “Yes. The kids were watching it.”
Mild: “We do. We just don’t have cable.”

“You do know how that happens, right?”
Snarky: “Have you ever seen my husband?”
“Yes. We are currently pursuing litigation with Jose Cuervo.”
Mild: “Yes.”

“Are y’all trying to be like that Duggar family?”
Snarky: “Absolutely. We base most of our important life decisions on imagined competition with the people on reality television. For instance, I am currently involved in a Kylie Jenner lip challenge. Vote for me at”
Mild: “Who?”

“Are y’all Mormon or Catholic?”
Snarky: “Oh I see. An assumption based on appearances. Let me try… hmm.. you are wearing too much cologne and your pants are far too tight and your combover has reached critical mass… I’m thinking you probably peaked in high school.”
Mild: “Human.”

“How many are in there??”
Snarky: “Don’t make me cut you.”
Mild: “One.”

“This is my first pregnancy and I feel so awful and tired. I guess it gets easier the more you have, huh?”
Snarky: “Absolutely. It’s pretty much like riding a bike, with a child dangling from each ankle and wrist, whilst your hemorrhoids send shock waves through your body with each bump, as your poor circulation turns your legs purple with a road map of spider veins and your varicose veins bulge, but you are wearing shorts anyway because as GOD IS MY WITNESS IF I HAVE TO LIVE IT THEN YOU CAN DEAL WITH SEEING IT. Oh, and I pee a little when I laugh, cough, sneeze, sing, cook, and I really can’t ride a bike without needing to pee.”
Mild: “The blessing at the end erases all the struggle from your mind.”

The following questions, when asked by a stranger, only warrant snark. These are impertinent questions and should always be handled with subtle sarcasm that will leave them thinking…or tweeting hateful things about you. Whatevs. We all grow in our own way.
Stranger: “Are y’all done???”
You: “Done what? Enjoying a fulfilling marriage and the occasional surprises of life? Gosh, I hope not!”

Stranger: “So, is one of you going to get fixed?”
You: “Clearly nothing is broken.”

Stranger: “OMG! I would hate to have that many kids!!!”
You: “Well, praise Him from whom all blessings flow that you don’t. Now, go call your mother and thank her for putting up with your crappy attitude.”

Week 10 of What to Expect When You Are Expecting, Again

Week 10
How you are feeling: Like a delicate flower. You know, the kind that wretches, wets itself, and breaks wind as it walks. Pretty pretty flower.
A fun change you are noticing this week is that you are no longer just the mild mannered momma who teaches Sunday school and shops at Costco. Nope. You have a secret and it is not the baby.
Mommy has a potty mouth.
Here you are, this matronly mother of multiples, carrying another precious baby and you find yourself using ALL THE WORDS. Your internal dialogue is peppered with vocabulary of the four letter variety. It’s not your fault. It is the combination of hormonal changes and dumb people boldly going forth with their words. For instance, when a stranger looks at your already swollen tummy and begins a conversation with you about how darling you look pregnant and then upon hearing you are only 10 weeks she says with an unflattering amount of shock, “You look like THAT and you are HOW FAR???”
Your inner hulk begins to turn green as your muscles flex themselves right out of your pastel maternity blouse and you snarl, “I am early enough that I have enough hormones coursing through my veins that I can crush you with my bare hands, but not so far that I am physically incapable of carrying it out.”
The mild mannered part of you instead responds with a delicate blush and a lilt of laughter saying, “This is my fifth baby.”
Make no mistake, that response is the lie. The truest expression of your feelings is the hulk out. Embrace it and then send me pictures of the aftermath.

The Day Everything Changed

I’d like to share a story with you and then I’d like to ask you to take another step.

I went to Trinity Christian School until high school. Then I begged my parents to let me go to public school. Reluctantly, they allowed their sheltered child to attend Coronado High School. It was a culture shock. I mean, I was pretty sheltered even for a Trinity student, but for Coronado…forget it. I was in a foreign land where everyone spoke a different language and I was utterly lost. I was used to uniforms and lots of talk about Jesus. In this new world I felt like everyone already knew who they were and dressed to reflect that knowledge, and “Jesus” was what people muttered when I got in their way. I cried more than once and hid in the bathroom often.

I took a computer class that year and my assigned seat was next to a pretty blond girl with big blue eyes. “Of course,” I thought, taking my seat “I get to sit next to a model and she’ll probably hate me too.”

I was wrong.

Her name was Leah and she could be rough around the edges, but she was always nice to me. She talked to me and laughed at my jokes. She was a good listener and shared some of her story with me . She invited me to lunch with her friends a few times. She was just one of those honest-to-goodness sweet people.

One day I finished my work in that class early and decided to use my “free internet” time to look up lyrics to a song I really liked but couldn’t quite catch all the lyrics. Now this was in the Year of Our Lord Nineteen Hundred and Ninety Eight so internet access in the classroom was an emerging thing and while firewalls were in place they were rudimentary at best and A LOT of kids knew how to get around it and even considered it a game to pull up inappropriate material when the teacher wasn’t looking. Thus, we were all monitored very closely and if someone was caught looking up something they shouldn’t they were immediately sent to the principal’s office and the punishment was severe. Nbd for me. I wasn’t really the rebellious type and besides, sex and violence were not on my radar.

So, back to looking on the Yahoo for that song… yeah, i’m not sure Google was even around yet…

I typed: “One+Week”

Too many potential results.


Still too many results.


…ugh… Finally, I turned to Leah and asked her if she knew the band’s name…?  She did! “Sweet! Thanks!”

I typed it in: “Barenaked+Ladies” A red stop sign filled my screen and my search was sent to the teacher. My search for BARENAKED LADIES. Oh sweet baby Jesus.

This teacher did not like me and was grinning like a maniac as she approached my seat saying, “Well, Amber, I did not expect YOU to be the one looking for pictures of naked women in my class!” The most obnoxious guy in my graduating class was also sitting next to me and he started laughing and saying some pretty disgusting things to me and calling me names. I froze. I was used to being mostly invisible, and now everyone was looking at me, seeing me for the first time, and suddenly the girl who had never kissed a boy, been on a date, or held a hand was developing quite the reputation.

Leah told the creep off in very descriptive language, then told Professor Umbridge (not really the teacher’s name, but a shout out to my fellow HP nerds and a very appropriate reference) to look at my search history, which clearly showed my intentions. Then Leah joked about how ridiculously prude and sheltered I was and how I probably had no idea what they were all even talking about.

And that was the reputation that stuck. I am forever grateful that I survived high school relatively unscathed, and I fully recognize it is in no small part due to a pretty girl standing up for this nerdy girl at a time in our lives when it was always easier to laugh with everyone, than to stand up for someone.

This story has gotten a lot of mileage, (especially from my mom, who literally thinks it is the most hilarious story of all time), but I betcha Leah never thought twice about it. Never knew the impact of her words, of her choice, in that moment. I’ll not know if she remembered, at least not this side of heaven, because Leah died suddenly and unexpectedly a week ago. As lives do after high school we drifted apart, though we caught up briefly on Facebook. I do know that she was a mommy who loved her three kiddos deeply and I know that she was married and was happy.

Her family is grieving now and also tasked with paying the unexpected costs of a love lost too soon. I wish I had shared with her how thankful I am, even today, that she was bold and kind. But I am honored to share one small story of many stories that made her who she was.

If you would like to join me in going a step further, sharing a story or a donation for her family, here is the link:

Week 9 of What to Expect When You Are Expecting, Again

Week 9

How you are feeling: Awful.

This week your baby is no longer considered an “embryo” and is now referred to as a “fetus”. It is important to note that such terminology will mean nothing to your children who refer to the baby as “the reason mom is puking again” or “why mom looks so fat” and this little gem “her belly looks really really gross! Go see!!”

Ah, children.

Speaking of children, perhaps you have had an ultrasound and are sick of wearing blankets and carrying around empty boxes in an effort to hide your pregnancy from those you are closest with, so you look at the cherubic faces of your children and think, “Oh, we should get them matching t-shirts and photograph the most darling pregnancy announcement of all time!!”

You had this thought because pregnancy brain has already set in and you are now a dummy.

Scroll through to find out EXACTLY what it will look like:

“Y’all. Seriously? ANOTHER ONE???”

This guy.
So. Much. Joy.
“Look into my sad baby eyes. I hope my tears haunt your dreams, forever.”
“…soooo…I think we’re done here.”
Oh for the love…why are we still documenting this?
If you don’t look to hard at the girl’s tear-filled eyes, it’s almost…
Next year’s Christmas card?
We’re not finished till I say we are finished.
Ok. We’re finished.
Note: though evidence would suggest otherwise, no child was tortured in anyway other than being told there would be a new baby.

Week 8 of What to Expect When You Are Expecting, Again

Week 8

How you are feeling: Like death, which is remarkable considering you are carrying a life.         The thought of food makes you barf, and so does the absence of food. Your family trembles with fear every time you announce, “dinner is ready!” Their fear is understandable because food created by you is either:

1)  the product of when you thought you would get creative and throw together some of the weird things that have sounded vaguely appealing (olives and ketchup, anyone?)


2)  you started throwing up about 2 minutes before the oven timer went off and when you threw up you also peed a little, so by the time you cleaned up and changed underwear**  the meatloaf had become a blackened brick of inedible crunch. ** you no longer use the word “panties”.  Pretty, dainty things are the reason you are going through this again.

Your family will do their best to take in enough nourishment to survive during this time, but you should help by making sure you have plenty of peanut butter and spoons on hand.

This week you find you are drooling even when you are awake, not because anything sounds yummy (no seriously, get that AWAY FROM ME.) but because you literally do not have the energy to swallow the extra saliva you are producing. In addition to spit, your body’s blood volume has increased 40-50% which can cause mind numbing headaches. If you find yourself drooling and forgetting your other children’s names, take heart! You are a sloppy mess, but your lil raspberry sized human is flourishing!

This week you may also be experiencing the oft entertaining phenomenon of the “walking farts”. This is a rarely discussed though common occurrence whereby a pregnant female biped will experience bouts of pressure relief with each footfall during her routine  course of hunting and gathering (trips to Target). This is an innocuous form of pressure relief and should never be confused with the toxic flatulence of male bipeds of advanced age. One way to easily distinguish between the two gaseous forms is observing the visage of the offender: is the human blushing with obvious embarrassment and wearing yoga pants? Or is the perpetrator grinning like a maniac and bald with a great deal of hair growing from nostrils and ears?

It is important in these moments that you do not lose your mind and start apologizing to the strangers on the aisle. You have kids! Maybe one or two of them are still wearing diapers…blame it on them. Trust me, your children will never remember that you did this and they are not verbal enough to deny it. This is why you had babies.

Let’s see, week 8 also means your family and friends are pointedly conversing exclusively with your belly wondering when you are going to acknowledge that you are either pregnant or that you have just completely given up on getting in shape and are hitting the bottle and the cupcakes pretty hard. Strangers are touching your doughy belly and asking you when you are due.

So, Same Time Next Week?

The firefighter and I volunteered to teach Sunday School to our four year old and his class this year. I think we have done a pretty good job. Tried to come up with activities that fit the lesson and really bonded with these kiddos.


Maybe we have become too comfortable.

The firefighter and our boy, Connor, got to class before I finished dropping off our other kiddos and when I walked in Connor was complaining to his daddy about a splinter in his foot. As Connor peeled off his sock to show the firefighter, I left the class to rifle through the church’s first aid kit and found some tweezers and alcohol swabs and took them to the firefighter. The firefighter and a couple of four year old’s were looking at our son’s foot with mild curiosity. We still had a few minutes before our class officially started so I told the firefighter that I needed to go grab the supplies we needed for our activity and I would be back in a few minutes.

As I walked out the door I also vaguely mentioned that I had seen something about getting splinters out with baking soda, just in case it was going to be an involved process, we could just get it out later. Then I left my big, strong, firefighter husband and our sweet little class as I went downstairs for supplies, waddled off to the bathroom, and chatted for a moment with a friend.

These were critical minutes, I would soon discover.

I walked in to find our son laying on the table, his leg across his daddy’s lap, squawking. My husband was trying to wrangle this child, who is dramatic at the best of times, but at this moment he was feral with terror. It seemed he was overreacting again… until I saw the knife.



My husband and I like to be prepared. For me, preparation looks like a ready supply of snacks and water bottles in the car, just in case. I also have an emergency supply of bubbles, crayons, and coloring books. I have a totally pimped out changing station in the back, a collapsable wagon, and a picnic blanket cuz you never know. The firefighter is prepared with things like parachute cord, a flashlight, and a knife on his belt clip. He’s like Bear Grylls, minus the accent. He uses his knife all the time, to the point that he doesn’t even consider the fact that most people do not interact multiple times a day with a knife. We have almost been detained at airports because it’s just part of his daily life. Kind of like the average human’s pants. Except it’s a knife.

The fluorescent church lighting glinted off the knife’s blade as the firefighter looked at our child’s foot with the focus of a surgeon, seeing only the splinter and not the wide eyes of the three 4 year old’s who were watching the scene unfold.

When I ran in and hollered at him to stop, he just looked at me like I was acting like a crazy person. Yes, the man pinning our child down whilst holding a knife in front of a bunch of small children felt my raised voice was irrational behavior.

“Babe, it’s just right there. I’ve pretty much got it.”

“Dude. You are holding a knife. This is not normal to these kids. Look!”

I pointed to one of the small observers who was self soothing by repeatedly smoothing his hands through his hair, as he waited to see what would happen next.

“Huh…Oh. Connor, put your shoe back on. We’ll just get it out later.”

This made for a nice transition to our lesson. Jesus showing love by washing the disciples’ feet.

Week 7 of What to Expect When You Are Expecting, Again

Week 7

How you are feeling:

According to “While your baby is the size of a blueberry, your breasts probably look more like melons” this week. Oh absolutely.

Shut up,! You don’t know me. Or my life. Or post-nursing-multiple-babies pregnancy boobies. Melons… Ha! More like melon balls flopping awkwardly around in tube socks.

Whoops. Sorry, reader, I made this about me. This is about you/us. So, if your jugs look like they belong in a Swimsuit Edition whilst pregnant, go away. My bad. What I mean to say is, “how nice for you.”

This week you (and your breasts) may be examined by your doctor’s nurse practitioner who will comment upon looking at your breasts, “Isn’t it just a miracle that you can feed a baby with those things?” Upon reflection, she will insist that she was merely making a blanket statement that has nothing to do with what is happening under your shirt in particular. It is important that you understand she is lying to you. It actually is a dang miracle. Praise.

To sum up, your bewbs hurt and are probably in various stages of inflation and also deflation.

Tit is what tit is.

Let’s see…oh yes, barfing. You are definitely doing that. A lot. You have now been barfing for one week. You are still in the loud wretching phase, but by next week you should have perfected the ability to hork quietly and with grace and poise. Until you get to that point you are gagging, spitting, splattering, and coughing, then rushing to flush and clean up before one of your kiddos sees what you have done, cuz you haven’t lived till you have cleaned up vomit from a puke-train of sympathetic vomiters (your children).

Do not despair, you do have options: you may, of course, call your doctor to get a prescription called in, buuuuut when you read the list of possible side effects, you may decide death by vomiting is preferable to “hysteria, excessive sweating, mental or mood changes, yellowing of the skin etc…” Because who doesn’t love being a sweaty, hysterical, yellow ball of cray cray?

Or, you could go the natural route. Make sure you keep your electrolytes balanced. EmergenC is a great supplement for those needs. Drink plenty of water. Try to eat a little something every couple of hours. Make sure your pants are roomy in the belly area. Peppermint, lemon and ginger are all natural remedies.

But mostly complaining loudly and often is universally recognized as the best home remedy. By being super contentious and unpleasant, all the people and their smells are sure to stay far from you. No one wants to poke a momma bear.

Ain’t nobody got time or sick leave for that.