Relaxation

Do you hear that?
That's the silence that only occurs when you don't have a 72-pound dog beast sitting next to you licking his nether regions. Sweet, sweet silence.
Harley went to the vet yesterday to get his 2 year vaccines and stayed overnight to get neutered this morning. I'm to give them a call around noon to check in on him and he'll be rescue by Steve this evening once all the sedatives have worn off.  But right now, I'm just enjoying the decreased level of crazy in our house. Ahhhh.
We have great hopes that getting snipped will calm him down a good deal, or at least keep him from going bonkers when our neighbor's dog goes into heat.We shall see though. I do know that not being able to clean himself while the stitches heal is going to drive him mad. And I also know that seeing him with the "cone-of-shame" is going to provide us with hours of laughter and plenty of funny pictures.

In non-dog related news, I had a check-up on Tuesday. My mom tagged along to help wrangle Finn if needed. I really wanted him to hear the baby's heartbeat. And he did, but he was massively unimpressed with the whole ordeal. He was pretty angry that I was laying down on the exam table though, yelling "Mommy get up! Mommy get up right now!". Because heaven forbid Mommy lay down while Finn is awake. Sigh. All is well with the developing kraken as far as we can tell. Heartbeat is very strong and fast, much like Finn's. And I've started feeling bits of movement as well. It took a few times for me to be certain that movement was what I was feeling. I expected the first moves to be similar to Finn's: small, sweet swishes and flips. But this one has somehow already acquired the pointy jabs and pokes that Finn had past the 23 week mark. Clearly I have feisty one on my hands.
Last evening we had a meeting with our doula, Amy, which went stupendously well. She won Steve over, which was my only worry. I had asked him many times if he was okay with having a doula there, and if he would feel like he was having his toes stepped on in any way. He assured me that he would actually be relieved to have someone else there that had a better understanding of everything and who could be extra emotional/mental support. But I still worried. It's what I do. But he got along with Amy very well, and seems really excited to be able to kind of take a step back when it comes time to actually have this baby. He's decided his job is to keep my water filled, sneak me granola bars, and tell me I'm gorgeous even if I'm drenched in sweat and wearing ugly slipper socks. Good man.

Big ultrasound appointment on Monday, so hopefully I'll have exciting news to announce then. Hooray!

Bump Watch: Week 16

I've read dozens of times that with each successive pregnancy you "show" sooner and get larger. But I'm still shocked at how much more bump I have this time around. When I was 12 weeks pregnant with Finn I shot a photo set with Alissa Brunelli. I looked amazing. My stomach was teensy from 3 months of constant vomiting. My boobs looked cartoonishly disproportionate. My butt was darn near perfect from all the running I had been doing prior to discovering I was pregnant. I may have felt like death slightly warmed up, but damn if I didn't look awesome. This time though at 12 weeks, I was poking my belly, turning this way and that trying to discern whether it was a bump I was seeing or just a "food baby" from the extra large banana split I had just consumed in 2 bites. This week I ripped our house apart in a frantic search for a  bellaband that has apparently disappeared into thin air. The only thing keeping me out of ugly maternity pants at this point is the fact that my favorite jeans are cut much lower in the front than the back. Thank you, Levi 504's. And see that striped shirt. I have two of them. And I live in them. Chances are if you see me out and about, I'll be wearing one of them. I have other shirts that fit (that aren't empire waisted circus tent maternity tops), but I've developed some sort of dependence on these two Old Navy shirts. I really should have purchased more of them.

Right now I'm just looking forward to the big ultrasound appointment in a few weeks. I'm dying to know what exactly is in there. With Finn I had kind of a feeling that I was carrying a boy. But with this one, I have no clue. It could be a kraken or a walrus for all I know (I'm kind of hoping for a kraken). We went through a little debacle over the unisex name we've had picked out for two years, which lead to coming up with an entirely new boy's name. A boy's name we've been keeping from my mother, which is apparently killing her. I've promised to tell her once we find out if it's a boy or a girl, so I'm exciting for the appointment just to put an end to her constant digging for hints.

Itchy

We had quite the exciting night last night. And by "exciting" I mean "terrible, no good, very bad."

We had Finn in bed early. Relaxed, played some Yatzee (which I won, for once), and had a delightful evening leading up to grown-up bedtime. Because of the heat Steve and I were already sleeping restlessly, when Harley came bounding back the hallway. And then he ran full speed back to the living room. Repeat this several times, with some pausing to shake in between. We assumed the obvious, he had to pee, so Steve let him outside for a few minutes and then brought him back in. We'd just settled back down, when Harley started the whole routine over again. He positively would not calm down. Determined to have a few hours of sleep, Steve contained Harley in his crate. Just as we drifted off to sleep, he did his pitiful whining. So back out of the cage he came, only to repeat the running of the hallway again. At this point, I start thinking maybe he's pulling a Lassie-esque "Timmy's in the well!". So I jump out of bed to prod the completely dead-to-the-world toddler awake, just to make sure he's okay. All was well, and after Finn gave me the stink eye for waking him up we all went back to bed. Harley continued his running. We tried to ignore  it, thinking that giving him attention for it would just encourage him more. This lasted until he bounded into our room and slammed his entire front half into the bed. We stuck him outside on the run, hoping he would wear himself out and fall asleep on the porch. Thirty minutes later he was crying his head off and was brought back inside and put in the crate. Either he was so exhausted that he gave up or we were so tired that we passed out without noticing any more antics. I'm not sure.

So, we wake up this morning and start to get ready to leave. As I'm in the bathroom, Steve yells "Ashley! Get out here!" I lazily wander to the living room, assuming this has something to do with SportsCenter. Nope. Harley's neck was scratched raw to the point that it looked like someone had tried to slit his throat. I fetched a cold washcloth and cleaned him up as best as I could. We both thought his harness had irritated him and he had scratched at it profusely. Then as I cleaned further down, I saw huge red welts on his chest. And behind his front legs. And on his front legs. All over his belly. Covering his doggy junk. Ugh. I honestly had no idea dogs could get poison ivy. Somehow Steve did know this though.  I just know our furkid looks miserable. We've been giving him children's benedryl to help with the itch, but he still looks mighty pitiful. I gave him a nice long scrub this afternoon to get any remaining residue off of him, which hopefully keeps us from getting it and keeps it from spreading on him anymore.

A few pictures of his itchiness:

Front leg

Neck (these are the sores he had scratched open last night)

More of the neck bumps

Even on the paws

And the worst. His belly. I feel so bad for him.

Picture-y pictures

A few pictures from this summer:

Finn makes this face. A lot. Usually in conjunction with his favorite phrase "Whatchoo want?"

We had to start buying mini-marshmallows because he likes to cram two or three big ones in his mouth at a time. It'd be one thing if I could get him to say Pudgy Bunny, but nothin' doin'.

We took an impromptu trip to the zoo with Nana. Really impromptu. We were supposed to just be going to the park.

And I've been watching this gorgeous little ginger, my friend Bethany's son, this past month. Finn can't quite decide if they're friends or archenemies. He's always very excited when he wakes up, exclaiming "Harper's comin'! Harper be here soon!"  But once Harper is actually here, things can go either way. Some days they get along fabulously, and others I have to keep them separated in different rooms. They're both pretty scrappy fighters.

I'm having a baby, my baby and me.

Well, I've put this off long enough I suppose. Here it goes.

I'm currently 13 weeks pregnant.

Some of you might recall that Finn's birth was, let's just say, a less than ideal delivery. You may have heard it straight from me. You may have read it here or elsewhere. It left me with some serious emotional scars, and no matter how much I want to remember the day my little man was born as a happy one, I can't.  So, it's no surprise that when we started thinking about having a second child, I wanted to plan for a completely different scenario. And when I discovered I was pregnant and had the appointment to confirm the pregnancy, you can imagine my horror when the following transpired:

Nurse:  So, are you planning on having a scheduled c-section or on having a vaginal birth?

Me: Well, my son was born via emergency c-section but I've been planning on a VBAC for this one.

Nurse: Oh, that's not going to happen.

Me: (Now in tears) Excuse me?

Nurse: Well, I don't know who you're planning on seeing, but the doctor that works with our office absolutely will not let you attempt that. And I'm certain that the doctors that deliver at Butler won't let you either. They'd be crazy to. There's just too much risk.

Me:  (sobbing) Are you kidding me?!

Nurse: Was the problem that you were tired afterwards? Because with scheduled surgery you won't be tired.

Me: (jaw on the floor) Of course I was tired! I just had a freaking baby! Being tired was NOT the problem!

I exited shortly thereafter completely unsure of what to do. I was hysterical. I was furious. And I couldn't even call my mom to vent because we hadn't told anyone yet.  Adding to the frustration was having to deal with sorting out insurance and figuring out which doctor's office I could actually use. Butler County is insanely complicated with this and it took 4 weeks to get coverage and book an appointment.  And this appointment was just to fill out an hour and half of paperwork and to have some initial bloodwork done. Luckily, the nurse I had at the maternal services office was an angel. She took weeks of fretting and anxiety off of my mind by informing me that the nurse at family planning was full of bullshit. That their office would actually encourage me to attempt the VBAC, not tell me I was crazy and book the operating room for the day I hit 38 weeks.  Of course, more sobbing ensued (I'm an emotional pregnant lady). And I somehow managed to restrain myself from hugging Jan-the-best-nurse-in-the-world.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm fully aware that babies have their own plan. That no matter how much I "plan" for his or her birth, things can quickly change.  But, I also know that Finn's birth taught me to be more assertive with voicing my needs and wants regarding my medical care during labor. To not get mowed over by medical staff and pushy, jagoff doctors. I'm also looking forward to having the support of  Amy, a doula that I met though Finn's playgroup. I think having her there will also be a huge help to Steve who I think was very overwhelmed last time by my mom and the staff.  I remember looking over at him and seeing him with this startled, blank look on his face a lot. Luckily, he came to his senses when we were in the OR together and was leaps and bounds ahead of me in the sanity department by then.

So, here's hoping that this time around, things go a little better.

Hiker's high

Over Memorial Day weekend Steve and I dropped Finn off with Pap and went on a mini-date to McConnell's Mill. Somehow in the nearly four years we've been together I'd failed to take him to our biggest local tourist spot. Clearly this had to be fixed. We had an excellent time, hiked more than we planned, and vowed to do it again. I haven't been hiking in years, and I got such a buzz from just our short little hike that day. It felt so amazing.
So this past Sunday we went back again, with our friend Jeb in tow, to hike the entire 7 mile Slippery Rock Gorge trail. The previous time we'd hiked a bit of the Hell's Hollow portion at one end and the Kildoo Pass loop that hooks onto the other end, so we had no idea what was in store for us in between. This is what was what we found:

We interrupted a lanky blue heron's breakfast.

We pondered whether or not this was the spot a hiker died last month.

The boys decided to investigate. (and finding bits of crime scene tape on the way up did not deter their climbing)

Finally at the top and deciding that, yes, indeed someone died here.

After 3 miles we stopped for lunch and to clean ourselves of the layer of mud encrusting us from the knees down.

And I looked sweaty and happy.

I wish I had pictures from the last half of the hike. I really do. But that trail kicked my ass so much that my hands would not have functioned properly. Which is a pity, because we had great fun pretending we were on  a Goonies-style adventure (with all the mud, ravines and waterfalls it wasn't hard). And we took a most excellent side trip into Hell's Basin for some wading and splashing. It all ended at Hell's Hollow Falls where I could have happily spent the rest of the day, splashing in the cold knee-deep water (which worked wonders towards numbing my feet.) 

Definitely a trip to be repeated.

Update: Part the second.

So we returned safely from our Canadian adventures to a garden that desperately needed some planting. Steve had tilled it up before we left, but that's about as far as we had gotten. I planted a mesclun mix near the back door for easy salad pickins and those shot right up:

But the actual garden needed a bit more work. We expanded on last years plot and threw in some new crops as well. Our lovely raised beds now include: Bibb lettuce, Bright Lights swiss chard (which is gorgeous), Deep Purple and Nantes carrots, Amish Paste, Jet Star, Summer Taste, Big Boy , Sun Gold 100 and Brandywine tomatoes, Sweet Chocolate and Wisconsin Bay Sweet peppers, Cyclops (because how could we refuse a pepper called Cyclops), Hungarian Wax, and Tequila Sunrise hot peppers, some jalapenos, Walla Walla and some random red sweet onions, cucumbers, sugar snap peas, green beans, one zucchini (that will still produce more squash than any family can eat) and four rows of corn. Plus a separate bed of nasturtium, dill, parsley, and cilantro.

I should note that the plant pictures are now a month old and oh, how they've grown. The corn which was just starting to sprout in the above picture is now nearly knee high. And the swiss chard is now lovely and crunchy. Seeing the bright shoots of color in a salad is fantastic.

And what has our darling son been up to? Funny you should ask.

He's helped in the garden and met some new friends.

He's been really excited about bathing.

He attempted to hone his hockey skills. (He has none yet.)

He did his best to look innocent.

He finally got his new bed/fort. Sleeping is much improved for everyone.

He fell in love with the park.

And he's spent a lot of time not wearing pants.