Believe in the Flowers.

I believe that my dear friend Christy said it best, that in this wonderful season we whore ourselves out to get things we otherwise couldn't. I wouldn't go quite that far, but the statement is true enough to be applied here.

A week ago we were served with a notice stating that we had five days to pay off over $900 to our landlady; if we couldn't, our lease would be terminated. The thought of being homeless at Christmas with two little kids is absolutely terrifying, but we got our obligatory miracle and were able to pay off enough to satisfy them for now. It's a temporary fix, obviously, as we still do owe rent, but for now we aren't losing our house, and that's an improvement. I'm learning that life is very much about doing things one at a time and being patient, and I think I can be okay with that.

I also spent two very painful days off of my meds. For the record, I take 20mg a day of Lexapro, which is for depression and GAD (generalized anxiety disorder). I am one of many moms who are breastfeeding through antidepressants, and I would like to take this opportunity to remind all people that post-partum depression is very real, very painful, and needs to be treated, be it through medication or therapy or both. There is absolutely no shame in admitting that you need help, no matter what anyone else says. It's crucial that we keep reminding ourselves as mothers and women that we deserve to be happy and safe, too, and that part of maintaining that happiness and a sense of safety is admitting our need for assistance.

With that PSA over, let's move on. I can't say I'm a huge fan of the holiday season, as I've worked in retail for years now and have experienced the lowest points of humanity (think Black Friday). The crazies come out at this time of year, the people who otherwise hide in their padded cells all year. These are the people that will do anything they need to in order to save a couple of bucks, even if it means absolutely reaming an innocent employee or causing a massive amount of havoc. I have no idea how these people can sleep at night, knowing they've left an already-frazzled worker close to tears from dealing with said customer. The Christmas season proves, more than any other, that there are far too many psychotic soulless people out there. Remember that, next time you hassle an employee. They're human too!

For now, that's all. I'm posting from my phone, and it isn't comfortable or easy to type this much with your thumbs. I hope the holidays are finding all you relatively sane people happy, healthy, and in good cheer.

Things in this household have been nuts.

No, really, I am.

Assuming that I have any readers, of course; most have probably forgotten about or given up on me by now.

Baby #2, Alexavier Oliver Wendell, made his way into the world at 12:49 AM on July 23rd, 2009. He was 9 lbs, 2 oz and 20.5" long. He arrived sunny-side up, with his cord wrapped around his neck twice, and as purple as hell. He's doing fine now, although breastfeeding has been absolute hell, and the thrush problems I thought we had developed over a week ago have finally escalated to a point that I think health professionals will finally start listening to me and acknowledging that yes, I might have an idea of what I'm talking about, dammit. I've thus far had numerous useless suggestions and alternatives presented by both Alex's pediatrition and my OB's nurse, including the usage of nipple shells and the suggestion that I might simply be engorged and to pump first. Lo and behold, over a week later, his mouth is full of white gunk that won't wipe out. I'm desperate to discontinue the formula we've been supplimenting with, but I know that until this thrush problem has at least started to be dealt with, we will need to continue with it. We are fully moved into our new home, although we still can't afford it, and our old apartment has been completely demolished. It's strange to drive by the old place and see nothing but piles of bricks and stones and know that our living room once stood there, our back porch was once right there .. You get the point. It's disconcerting, as it was the first real place we'd had together where we were happy for any length of time, even if we were still broke and still typically screwed.

For now, I say goodbye - I'm on my mother's computer as we are not only without phones at our house but also without the Internet, and her poor laptop can't handle much anymore. I intend on trying to nominate her for Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. Wish me luck.

First, I promise that my absence hasn't been thanks to anything particularly interesting - certainly not thanks to the arrival of kid #2 (who seems to have decided that actually making his way into the world is far too strenuous of an activity to bother himself with; instead, he has signed a lease agreement with my uterus to remain there until preschool or thereabouts). At my last appointment, which was yesterday (I think?) my OB gleefully informed me during my first internal exam that I was 2 cm dilated, about 25% effaced, and that she was fairly sure she could feel his head (although he was "still high" and thus she couldn't be positive). I'd be lying if I said her joy wasn't lost on me - a mere two centimeters and a tiny amount of effacement, and a determination that she THOUGHT she could feel a head, was not particularly enough to keep me in a good mood. As of today, I am 39 weeks according to the due date given by my first ultrasound at about 24 weeks. My figuring (LMP dates) says July 16th, and the most recent ultrasound I had (a follow-up at 28 weeks because they couldn't get definitive pictures of his spine or brain thanks to bad positioning) said July 19th. So at the moment, I could be due right now, or be due the 12th of never and I'd never know any differently. Unfortunately, thanks to the kid's sheer size (I guestimated, at her behest, between 9 and 11 pounds; she giggled) she wants to start discussing induction possibilities at my next appointment next week, if I make it that long. I hope I don't, to be honest. It seems selfish, for sure, and I realize we still have a lot of things to complete at the house before it's livable and comfortable, but at the same time I'm starting to worry that my chances of an NCB are slipping away with every passing week. Here, a c-section is a guarantee of future surgeries for all children born to the unlucky mother, as the hospital has a strict ban on VBACs.

We have, however, moved. I won't get into the extreme details right now because to be honest, considering all of it still makes my head spin. Suffice to say that the majority of moving was completed in one night, with all of the big items - bed and desks included - making their way over in a single trip in a uHaul truck. It wasn't fun, and Colin worked his ass off.

When we have the internet back at our house, I'll update more - for now, know that we still have not had the new baby.

Namely, it is 5:30 AM AGAIN and for some reason I am up. I'd make some kind of sarcastic comment about the sunrise, but it has been raining for several hours on my end of things and as such the only thing that's visible is a bunch of nasty-looking gray that I'm assuming is supposed to be clouds. This irritation (DO NOT LIKE) has coupled itself with our leaky roof, meaning that now, instead of just having water running down our walls at the most inopportune times (like, say, when Colin has his computer plugged in and running), we also get this painfully obvious "drip" sound.

So a couple of days ago I started having some issues with swelling in my feet and ankles. This is incredibly normal for pregnancy, so I thought nothing of it. The next day I noticed that the swelling was capable of something called "pitting" - meaning that if I pushed a finger into my foot or ankle, I would leave a small indentation that remained for upwards of 30 seconds or so, or until I rubbed it out. Typically this is a sign to watch your sodium intake and monitor for further swelling elsewhere on your body (hands, face). By that night, I felt disgusting - a headache coupled with diarrhea and nausea that thankfully never turned into vomiting. I was exhausted and somewhat lightheaded, which led to me running to a local Hy-Vee to check my blood pressure (an unremarkable 130/62) - and at the behest of my husband and mother, the next morning I started making phone calls. It took the equivelant of several eons to finally get in touch with an overworked triage nurse who revealed to me, a couple of hours after the clinic I visit opened, that they were massively short-staffed. I was scheduled for an emergency appointment later that day with a doctor I had never seen or heard of, and told to keep my feet up and drink water until then.