Not Nesting! Getting Shit Ready For When The Kid Comes

I'm headed to the doctor in a few hours. Maybe, when he's feeling up my cervix he'll say I'm good to go. Maybe my water will break on his face. At this point, either option is equally appealing.

Yesterday Serge started hanging up stuff in KID B’s room. A painting, a map, but not the letters spelling out his name because my mom is coming to watch Violet while my cervix gets molested by my doctor and we aren’t even telling her the name until the little dude gets here.

Okay, okay. I will tell you one of the top five names we decided NOT to name him.

It's what I'm babbling about today. And you can check out the results of Serge's hard work. But it's not nesting, he says! It's just getting shit ready for when The Kid comes.

More Before Eight Than Most Folks Do All Day

Yesterday was my first day of maternity leave.  I took a week off in advance of my due date because I wanted to sit around on the couch and watch Teen Mom and I Used To Be Fat get ready for the baby. 

So I'm all pumped up to spend some quality time with Violet.  I have her bathed and dressed by nine and sit her in front of a DVD in her bedroom so I can shower.  Yes, I lock her in her room with a DVD but it's the only way I can get a shower in.  Besides, it's not like I set her up to watch porn.  It's just Showgirls.  What?  It's a cult hit!  And Elizabeth Berkley was also in Saved By The Bell which is totally kid appropriate. 

I've got her watching the DVD and I'm just about to head in to my bathroom with the baby monitor when I notice the kitchen counters need a quick swiping.  Damn Serge and all his coffee making in the morning.  What in God's name does he do there?  There's sugar all over the damn place, coffee splattered across the counter.  It's like he asks Violet to freshen up his cup or something.

So I'm wiping the counters and I hear a thud followed by silence.  I'm to the point where I don't investigate every single thud.  Violet has been known to lie in bed and kick at her walls for, well, for kicks.  But there's something ominous about this particular thud.  I pause and cock my ear toward her bedroom and then I hear the cry.  Parents know the cry.  The There-Is-Something-Very-Wrong cry.

I run into the bedroom and she's just standing there, not crying anymore.  Then she turns toward me and I realize she seems to be in shock and is taking that big breath before the real crying begins.  As she does that blood starts dripping out of her mouth.   A lot of blood.  Like, movie blood.  It's start splattering her little pink shirt in horrifically bright drops.

I fucking freak, y'all.  Fuh-reak.

She's never been hurt before.  Sure she bumped her head in the night and got kind of a black eye.  And yes, she's faceplanted a time or two... but nothing serious.  For a few seconds we both stand there staring at each other, eyes wide, mouths gaping, both of us about to launch into hardcore crying fits. 

She beats me to the punch and begins wailing.   No, screaming.

I get a hold of myself and swoop her up and run for a towel.  I hold it over her mouth and jitterbug around the room like a crazed monkey, not really knowing what to do next.  I mean, I need to assess the damage, I know I need to assess the damage but Oh My God what if she's knocked a tooth out?  What if she's bitten off her tongue? 

All this races through my brain for what feels like a ridiculously extended period of time but is really, maybe ten seconds or so.  I pull the bloody towel away from her mouth, fully expecting to see little chiclet teeth come away with it, but everything appears to be okay.  Aside from a rapidly ballooning lip. 

Further investigation reveals that she likely bit down on her bottom lip really hard.  It's got a couple teeth prints in it and it's already the size of Texas. 

I did what any good parent would do, I turn on cartoons to distract her from the injury.  Then I slip an ice cube in a towel and let her suck on it while I hold her and bawl.  She's fine, I'm bawling and yelling at myself.  Stupid me... Trying to shower.  Big dumb mom, leaving her in her room with a chair that of course she's going to stand on. 

Finally, I get over myself and call Serge who is unusually calm about the whole thing considering he's the one who taped foam around the fireplace "just in case."

Later, while holding Violet, a violent coughing fit strikes.  Like, you know when you aren't even eating anything, you just, like, swallow your spit wrong or something?  It's one of those.  So I'm holding my injured baby and start coughing but every time I cough, pee comes out because I have another seven pound child relaxing on my bladder.  I sit Violet on the couch, all while cough/peeing and hobble down the hall for the bathroom:

COUGH/PEE!  COUGH-COUGH-COUGH/PEE-PEE-PEE.  COUGH/PEE!  COUGH-PEE/COUGH-PEE/COUGH-PEE.

So there's that.  Pissed myself and let my kid chew through her lip and nearly bite off her tongue an hour after waking.  I do more before eight than most folks do all day.  Helluva first day of maternity leave...  helluva day.

Isn't He Romantic?

Hope your day was as, uh, romantic as mine!

The Kid: He Has A Name

We have named our son.

Serge woke up Saturday and said he was now certain of KID B’s name. His choice surprised me a bit. It was the dark horse to the top two we’d really been going back and forth over. But I’d always said that if Serge was sure about the name then I’d go with it because, really, I like them all.

Did you tell everyone your baby's name before it was born or did it feel like you were jinxing things? It's what I'm babbling about today.

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