Wednesday, December 29, 2010
I got sick.
It's happened before. When I hold Kole too much it hurts my back. Yesterday a woman came to photograph our home for a new listing. She was here for 40 minutes and I held Kole that whole time since we were going room to room. I can't hold him for any extended period of time. He's just too much weight. (Not in a bad way Koley-Flower. Mommy loves you. You're my man.) Last night my back hurt so bad it made me have to throw up. I was laying awake in bed. In pain. In between puke sessions. Listening to the stress-monger yell at me. I was going though all this in my head and trying to rationalize everything. I was mentally beating myself up. It's been a routine thing. I know. Sadist. It was 3:30 am. I still hadn't gone to sleep. I was still in crippling pain. I decided to take a shower. I was getting in the shower and said "Kole's going to be up in no time." My normal response would have been something like "You didn't get any sleep." or "You wasted all night staring at the clock and complaining about your back." or "You should have taken a shower hours ago. Maybe then you could have slept." I was deflated. Beaten down. Exhausted. And then.....*cue pillar of light* my self told myself, "So?" I quit moving. It was like someone else was talking. "So what if Kole's going to get up soon. You can still sleep for a bit. Just take naps with him tomorrow. Your back won't hurt as bad then." And you know what? I smiled. I don't know where that voice came from but I like her! And I've listened to her all day today! She can be a little sassy. Get a little out of hand. Get a little TOO relaxed if you know what I mean. Like today- I had eaten a couple cookies already and she told me it would be fine to eat a few more. She hasn't lead me wrong yet.
I'm feeling good.
I've got a great life. It's not picturesque. I don't have any cool projects going on right now. I don't have anything funny to talk about. I haven't been extremely or even average-ly creative recently. I weigh 167 pounds. I eat a ton of food. I'm tired a lot. Me and Ken disagree on things. I don't call my friends when I know I should. Kole wakes up and cries at night and during naps and sometimes just because he hasn't cried yet that day. It's not Pleasantville or Happy Town all day every day.
...but I always look back.
There's no such thing as changing the past. I don't even believe in regrets. No mistake is that bad. Nothing I've done is that unforgiving. Looking back at the past year I can't change anything... but given the opportunity I would give myself some advice or tell myself some things that would have eased..... life.
"Stand up for yourself. Stand up for yourself again. Stand up for yourself however many times it takes."
"You should say 'I'm sorry' to him."
"Go slow. No one is timing you."
"Just let it go."
"Lighten up on that eyeliner, babe."
"You should call yourself "babe" more. You love that."
"Buy bigger. Don't cut up your clothes to make them fit."
"Just let it go."
"You are that strong."
"Breathe. Relax. Cry. It's okay."
"You know you're doing the right thing. Quit looking for validation."
"Just let it go."
"You should tell your doctor where to go. Or where to stick it. Or something to get the message through to her."
"Forget all natural. You will succeed."
"Your son loves you. Never second guess that."
"Just let it go."
"No one is mad at you. Or judging you. Or criticizing you."
"You look perfect. Baby weight- schmaybe weight. Ken thinks your spectacular."
"Stand up for him. Stand up for him again. Stand up for him however many times it takes."
"You lived a good year in 2010. You were fair and honest. And you learned."
I'm so smart. And I'm kind to myself.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Ken makes them just as magical as when I was little.
It makes me excited for Kole.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Driving in reverse. Singing like Brad Paisley. Cooking anything I feel like. Hanging Kole upslidedown. Paying the bills without complaining. Shoveling snow super fast. Growing a beard (it takes like... a day.) Coming up with nicknames. Giving talks using only an outline. Mental Math. Texting. Summarizing books without giving away the ending, or the suspense. Mailing things. Cooking breakfast sausages. Trimming toenails (our entire family (of 3) has lovely toenails thanks to Ken.) Teaching without being preachy. Starting a fire. Casting a fly rod. Finding the best song on the radio. Picking out souvenirs. Visualizing. Doing electrical work. Popping zits. Memorizing things. Ordering the best thing on the menu. Listening without giving advice. Telling jokes. Cleaning the kitchen. Dancing. Microsoft Excel. Beating me at Phase 10. Beating me at Sequence. Beating me at Parcheesi. Saying "no" without actually using that word. Changing diapers... he's fast and thorough. Saving. Letting me know when I have something in my hair, on my face, or in my teeth. Writing in cards. Seeing something through to the end. Providing for us. Taking pictures. Completely relaxing. Drying off. Making decisions. Small talk.
Thinking of me.
Putting me first.
I've got a killer husband.
I definitely married up.
Monday, December 13, 2010
1. Parking and going right into the store.
3. Staying silent while grocery shopping.
4. Getting dressed. Everyday.
5. Knowing what I am doing.
6. Ken as my husband and not Kole's Dad.
7. Not being thirsty 24/7.
8. Being able to read a whole book in a week. Maybe 2.
9. Dry clothes... especially in the chest area.
10. Talking about things besides the baby.
THINGS I WOULDN'T TRADE FOR ANYTHING
1. Having Kolester as my sidekick everywhere I go.
2. Middle of the night snuggle sessions.
3. Narrating each grocery aisle to Koler being sure to include my favorite and least favorite items.
4. Switching from pajamas to sweats and counting that as "dressed."
5. How everyday brings something new I've never tried before.
6. Seeing Ken bond with Kole, even for just a couple days at a time.
7. My cool new metal water bottle. It keeps water SO cold.
8. Reading to Kole every morning and every night. And giving him my critique of his books.
9. Being able to give my baby all the nutrients he needs... straight from my body to his.
10. Talking exclusively about the baby.
Friday, December 10, 2010
A bit of what he said:
"26 out of every 100 people died in the first 3 years which worked out to about 1200 a month. Leave the facts to people who read fact books. Your statistics were erroneous. 26 people dying per month is not a staggering statistic. It's a paltry sum. Not even comparable. AND it cost 324 million dollars, quite a sum. Just don't toss around facts willy nilly like they don't mean anything. Thousands of people died to make that canal and you can't even honor them by getting the facts right."
I'm thinking I might have to change my handle. So he can't find me.
I am one who sticks with a good thing. If I like it I'm not changing. I don't even want to try something else. (Same policy applies at restaurant...get the Sticky Finger Salad at Winger's, Tampico Chicken at Garcia's, Pad Thai at the Thai House, The Henry's Fork at the SnakeBite, Chalupas at Taco Bell.... do you get the point? I never waver.) If it's working why look for something else, eh? But given the fact that I was marinating my chest I decided to use what was given to me. Big mistake.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Check out his blog... it would make his day.
Monday, December 6, 2010
No one is in the bathroom. I think maybe I'll climb over the top. I'm tall. But what if I am halfway over and someone comes in? They won't be able to use the bathroom because I'll be perched up there. I know I'll chicken out once I get up there. They'll have to call a store manager and what... bring in a ladder? Climbing over is out of the question. I try the lock again. Nothing. I only have one choice. Wiggle under. The bathroom did seem clean. I slid my purse under. Got down on my knees... then my belly... and escaped. It was. Worth sharing.
And I felt really adventurous after. Like I could escape from the jaws of Death.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Grown-up Christmas List
Do You Hear What I Hear?
Jingle Bells (the one that's just dogs... barking)
Mary Did You Know?
Anything sung by Josh Groban
Ever. Never. Ever never again.
But...please load up on The Grinch Song, Bells Will Be Ringing, Santa Baby (the non-Madonna one), and any song off of Neil Diamond or Barry Manilow's Christmas albums.
Monday, November 29, 2010
We stop at a truck stop and Ken hands me 5 one dollar bills. My instructions were to get a box of Hostess Old Fashioned Glazed Donuts. Why I had to go in and get them? Eh? Don't know. I go in and find them. There is an orange sticker on the box advertising 2/$5. Good deal. They only had one box left and I only had five dollars. No change for tax. I figure If it's two for five... one should be $2.50. Maybe $3.50 since the sticker signifies... a "special." Four bucks should be enough for the donuts. I'll get a lottery ticket too.
I go to the check-out and am greeted by a woman who has been smoking for way too much of her life.
"Is this it, honey?"
Can I say that I hate when people call me honey. Especially at retail places. They say it like I am too young to be shopping. Like I am going to take a bunch of crumpled up dollars out of my pocket and drop some change trying to put it all on the counter. I was so offended by her calling my "honey" I just nodded.
"Oookay... that's $6.84," the teller told me.
I looked down at my five dollars. Tried to do the math in my head. A box of donuts and a lotto ticket can't be $6.84.
"Are you sure that's right? Did you ring something up twice?"
"I didn't ring anything up wrong."
"Ok. I have to go get some more money." I explain as I back away from the counter... sheepishly.
I was called honey for a good reason I guess.
I head back to the car and ask Ken for more dollars. He had the same question I had Why is it so much money?
I got a couple more dollars and went back in to confront the teller. Have a mentioned my outfit? Furry blue socks, Crocs, Ken's gray sweatpants, a Utah Jazz t-shirt, and I was sans bra.
"Hi. I have more money. I just don't understand though. The donuts were two for five. So one at the most is probably what... $3.50? And the lotto tickets is a dollar with no tax. At the most I see this purchase being $4.50. How did you get $6.84?"
"I rang it up and the machine said $6.84."
"May I please see the screen?"
"I just don't see how this all adds up."
"If you have the money to pay for it, why does it matter?"
"Because I don't want to give you money for nothing."
"Rest assured honey I don't get any of this money."
I sighed and handed over the $7 only because I knew that was the only way to see my receipt and prove to this woman that I was getting ripped off.
She gave me my change and told me to have a nice day. No receipt.
"Can I have my receipt please?"
"The machine's out of paper honey."
One more honey to rub it in. Ugeeh.
I still can't believe it I paid six dollars and eighty-four cents for a box of glazed donuts and a lottery ticket. My math says that I paid five eighty-four for a box of donuts. Which is more than it would have been for 2 box of donuts! I was totally ripped off. Totally!
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
My house. My loved beautiful house. Nobody wants it. sigh I know the housing market is slow. I know the market is flooded with real estate. Pishaw. Yadda yadda. I get a newsletter every month from Ms. Shoulderpads that tells me how many houses she has sold. In that month. And it's always 6 or more. Our house has never made the list. Must have a homemade gym uniform. I don't think she should send that letter. I know that letter is supposed to instill hope into the eyes of home-sellers... but as for me... and my occasionally cynical attitude- I just think "So THIS is what you've been doing all month instead of selling my house!"
Plus there's all this hype with saying "I'm moving." You tell your family. And then your friends. And then your neighbors. And then your friends' family. And then strangers at the deli counter. And everyone is so sad and wishes you weren't leaving. But, here I am four months later... still here... and everyone is acting like I've already moved. No one wants to continue flourishing our relationship because to them I am gone already. Or ought to be gone already. And they've basically already said their goodbyes. In their hearts.
I'm the girl who cried moving. And cries because she isn't moving.
So, I bring it to my board. Which only consists of moi.
In Attendance: All (being one... being me)
I, Patricia L. Poulsen, hereby make a motion to remove Kenneth R. Poulsen from the blog http://www.kenandpatty.blogspot.com/
Motion was seconded by Patricia L. Poulsen (ruthless)
All in favor show by the appropriate sign.
Voting was unanimous to remove Ken.
Monday, November 22, 2010
I don't have the seasonal flu, or some bug zapping around. I've been seriously out of it. And by out of it I mean blacking out of it. It started two weekends ago. Ken came home but I just couldn't get the ball rolling. I was really dizzy. I tried taking a couple naps. Ken figured I was suffering from "severe fatigue." As if regular fatigue wasn't severe enough. During the week with him being gone... I ebbed and flowed. By Thursday I was not doing well and on Friday I could hardly pick up the babe. Ken came home and I told him i was dizzy still. He said I must be tired. I don't understand his logic. I've been tired before and have never experienced dizziness with it. I was considering checking into Dr. Plumb's facility with Lucille 2. This vertigo. I made it until Sunday night when I decided to break down and go seek professional help. I gave the doctor my list of ailments:
I keep blacking out.
I feel like I have to throw up all the time.
I am very weak.
My back hurts.
My stomach hurts.
I can't eat anything.
I'm taking a lot of Immodium (hint, hint)
I feel like I am having contractions.
"Do I have stomach cancer?" I was so sure of it. I was sure I had like diabetes or stomach cancer or an ulcer or hypoglycemia. I had never felt this sick before.
"It sounds like you're dehydrated."
"No. I drink lots of water since I am am nursing."
"How much is lots?"
"8 glasses a day."
"You're dehydrated. I'm going to hook you up to an IV."
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
He loved Ken laying on the floor
He loved stalking squirrels
He loved eating the ends of our bread
He did not love the mailman
Rusty loved walks
He loved getting to lay on the couch
He loved eating dryer sheets
He loved long weekends
He did not love getting brushed
Rusty loved walks
He loved eating ice cubes
He loved playing ball
He loved not wearing his collar
He did not love Henry the cat
Rusty loved walks
He loved paper towel rolls
He loved taking naps on the bed
He loved yard days
He did not love the squirt bottle
Rusty loved walks
He loved to run
He loved his green Nyla Bone
He loved riding in the car
He did not love being by himself
Rusty loved walks
Rusty loved being a Grand-dog
Rusty loved having guests over
Rusty loved Ken
Rusty loved me.
Monday, November 15, 2010
You were my Christmas present back in 2006. Do you remember that? That was the year me and Ken went on our cruise and moved into this house. Ken snuck out a few days before Christmas and brought you home on December 19th. Through all my happy sobbing I said, "Is he for us?" The answer was yes. Oh how I loved you. I would get up early and take you in the back yard in all that snow just to play with you.. And be with you. You'd sit on my lap in the easy chair covered in blankets while I read Harry Potter. You liked being under the blankets just like me.
You got really sick about a week after you came home. Remember? I took you to the vet and he said you wouldn't make it to the new year. I told him to try anything to get you better. It took about 24 hours for you to be back to your good old self. You were a Christmas miracle. You had a second loan out on life and we were going to live it up. We took walks every day. Remember the first time you saw another dog? He was so much bigger than you! You were just a pup and when he barked... you peed your pants. I laughed about that for a long time.
Remember going to obedience school? You were the class clown. They asked us to leave early every single week. Most people would be deterred by that. Not us. We were hungry for knowledge. You didn't make any good friends there. But we bonded. I stood up for you week after week. We made it through. And you can sit, stay, down, and eat treats like nobodies business.
You really like going to AmeriPet. The first time I took you there I cried when we dropped you off. I was so worried. Would you make friends? Would you behave yourself? Would they feed you the right amounts at the right times? Would you remember me when I came to get you? I was so excited to pick you up. You were Mr. Popularity. King of The Wild Bunch. A real ring leader. But best of all, you were really happy to see me. You pulled on the leash the kid was carrying so hard he had to run to keep up with you. You jumped right into my arms and smiled. You wagged your tail the whole way home and then you slept. For a full 24 hours. Remember that?
Remember the first night you didn't sleep in your kennel? I brought you down there like always and you just whined and whined and whined. I told Ken something was up. I went down and let you out. You came upstairs and laid right at the top of the steps. You decided you were a grown up who didn't need to sleep in a kennel. I decided to let you try it for a night. "One night." I said. You did great. I woke up and you were sleeping right outside my door. All sleepy but happy to see me. No kennel since then, huh? One night turned into four years. You are there every morning waiting for me to wake up.
When we found out I had a brain tumor you knew somehow. You were mellow that weekend. Calm. You would lay your head on my lap and listen to me cry. You didn't mind that we didn't go for any walks for a few days.
I have loved you and cared for you and stood up for you for four years. You have been my tender companion. You are a great dog. But, Russ, I have a new pup now. His name is Kole. And for some reason you don't really like him. I wish I knew why. I'm going to try to find a new home for you. Is that okay? Maybe then you can start going on walks again everyday. And maybe someone there will be able to snuggle up with you and read her books. I hope you always remember me. You are my first dog. I love you.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Monday, November 8, 2010
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
That once a year was today. Here's my beef with election day. I went to the school, I waited in line, and I voted. I am a dag gum American after all. I guess it's not the actual day of November 2nd that eats me it's all the before and all the after. For weeks, nay months (!), before signs are posted all over the community. People host parties where candidates comes and tell you how great they are. As the day draws closer there are radio ads with candidates promoting themselves and there are radio ads where they are putting the other guy down. I do my research. I read up on just about every one. There's all this buzzy hub bub.
Election day comes.
The winner is announced.
And you never hear from them again.
Unless they cheat on their wife.
I would like to see a bit more follow up. Some continual campaigning. A reminder radio ad here and there letting us know what a great job they are doing. Or heck, even a thank you would be nice. Not all this, "I knew we could do it" bologna. Is that so much to ask? Am I crossing a line here?
I really think I'm a good writer. I am entertaining, charming, witty, cynical, and myself. I think I am better than cJane and NieNie and she was on Oprah!
What does it take to get your name out there!
Come one my four readers! Spread the word!
Monday, November 1, 2010
Most Suspenseful Blog
I like a post that keeps me reading. That doesn't tell the whole story in the first sentence. That has a touch of foreshadowing. I little mystery. You know?
Least Updated Blog
I'll have to go through the blog logs to award this one. This is strictly mathematical. A prize for the slacker I suppose. A bloggie that goes out to someone who most likely would never receive one. Kind of like picking a chubby girl as your base runner just so she feels good about herself.
Most Thought-Out Commenter
It's not too late to get some brown nosing in here, folks.
A repeat from last year, I know I know. Here's the rocks- stone me.
Everyone has to start somewhere. This we know. What is often NOT discussed is every ones also has to end somewhere. This award is for a person who is really going places with their blog. Maybe they started out on the wrong side of the tracks- but they're heading up now.
Alrighty. Awards will be awarded at the awards ceremony at the end of December. Start campaigning!
"Ken, I'm right in the middle of Kole's bath. Can it wait?"
"Well, how long will it take you to finish?"
Not a good question to ask, Ken. Not a good question.
"Well, Ken, the bath will take about 5 more minutes. Then I'm going to read him a story. Then I'll put him down for the night. Soooo... 20 minutes? You might want to get your own socks if you are really cold."
"Ah. nah. I'll wait for you."
Isn't he just the sweetest? I get Kole down. It does take about 20 minutes to get through the whole routine. I go into our bedroom and Ken is in the bathroom now taking out his contacts. I'm changing and he says, "Will you get me that glass of water now?"
The following conversation ensued:
P: (having reached her limit) Can you get it yourself? I spend all day taking care of a helpless human being.
K: But I can help myself.
P: Great! That's what I like to hear! So, go get your own stinking glass of water.
K: I don't think you understand I can help myself.
P: Why do you think I don't understand that?
K: You wouldn't be helping a helpless human being you'd be helping a human who can help himself.
(Both start laughing)
P: Pretty sure I get it. Do you get what you are saying?
K: Yes. And I am presenting you with an opportunity to serve a fellow human being.
P: Oh that's rich.
I don't get his reasoning. Ever.
But I did get him his water.
Because I love him.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
I miss Kole being that small. This small.
Our days start with the morning feeding- and a reading out of the book I am reading, A Prayer for Owen Meany. It’s a John Irving. I like it. Don’t worry I skip the bad words. I do talk to him like he’s my age though. Yup. Me and Kole. Just a couple of 26 year olds hanging out. He’s only 3 months old but he’s got an incredible sense of vocabulary. He’s a bit of a Chatty Cathy really. After he’s done eating he cuts my reading off and tells me about his dream. For like 20 minutes. Just on and on. We play on the floor for a bit. Koley Canoli cuts the small talk and tries to roll over. After a half hour he’s pooped and begs to be put down for a nap. He naps, I shower. (Sometimes I nap.) He gets up and we start from the top. Except this time I read one of his books. The Cat in the Hat Comes Back, or The Digging-est Dog, or a segment from O, The Oprah Magazine. Okay, that last one is another one of mine- but my likes are his likes and vice versa. Our days play out on top of each other. We take a walk around 3 or 4. Come in for some hot chocolate. His day winds up at about 8:30. A final feeding, a relaxing lavender bath, full body pjs and the little boy is out for the night by 9. I tend to the house. And then read some more of Owen Meany. Do I feel guilty for reading secretly when Kole doesn’t know? Yeah, a little. I realize he’s not getting the full story- but I do try to fill in the any major plot changes for him the next morning. I don’t want the poor little guy left in the dark just because he can’t stay up as late as me. I hit the sack about 10:30 and we meet in the morning around 8 for another day in Paradise.
Now, when Ken comes home the roost is… up-roosted. Pretty much the only thing that stays the same is Kole wakes up. Ken does the diaper changing. Nice change for mama. Tough change for Kolester. Literally. Dad is a little rougher than mom. When I finally manage to pry Kole away from Ken and put him down for a nap it lasts like 30 minutes…. maybe 35… and Ken sneaks in there and wakes him up. Right under my nose! I’d be in the shower or reading out back and all the sudden Kole’s up. And Ken is wondering why the little baby is crying. Uh… he’s crying because he’s tired. Because he was asleep and you woke him up. Sort of like when I get woken up. I’m a crank. My baby inherited that. So- back to the day. There are no naps. We still take our walk to try to get the baby to go to sleep. Great idea, Dad. Ken thinks the faster you walk the higher your chances are that the baby will fall asleep. It really just makes me exhausted. Kole gets fussier and fussier and fussier as afternoon turns into evening. He fights hard until 8. At 8 I feed him one more time, give him his bath, and put him to bed. He’s out in under 3 minutes. The house is quiet. Ken and I snuggle on the couch.
After 20 minutes, Ken suggests waking up Kole to play with him.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
For these reasons I don't believe a nursing bra should be classified as a bra. It offers no support. It is basically like wearing a T-shirt that you can unfold. Lame-y. And is it just me or do you need the biggest boost of all after you bear a child? Sure you have a chest unlike any you've ever had but when you finally get the opportunity to dress up and go out- you put on your "bra" and it's Sag City! They hang down to your flabby belly button!
Now, I have given the old nursing bra a try. More than one. But yesterday was the last of it. Ken and I were taking Kole-son on a walk and Ken looks over and says, "You could put on a bra when we leave the house."
Yeah. I was wearing the trusty nursing bra. Apparently you can't tell.
Monday, September 20, 2010
I just get Kole down for a nap- after caving- and cuddling him to sleep. I scan the premises. Dirty dishes, dirty clothes, dirty diapers. Everywhere. I shrug. Nap time for everyone! Hip Hip Hooray!! Phone rings. It’s Ken. “Someone’s going to come look at the house at 4. You need to be out by 3:45.” I look at the clock. 3:00. I cry. I hang up with Ken and start cleaning up. Fast! Dishwasher done in record time. Grab the vacuum and do the couches and the carpets. Kole still sleeping. Windex the mirrors and coffee table. Brillo the stove. Done. Swiffer. Done. Sweep the steps. Did I roll up the hose after watering the grass? No. Roll up the hose. I grab a Hefty bag and grab all the garbages in the house. In my haste I forget about Kole’s sensitivity to cupboards slamming. I cringe. Kole cries. Maybe he’ll stop. Look at the clock. 3:35. 10 minutes. I better check downstairs. Ken’s bathroom is horrible! Run back upstairs. Grab the caddy, run downstairs, hold my breath, and scrub. 3:45. Kole is still crying and Rusty is barking. I imagine he is telling me the baby is crying. I get Rusty and load him in the back of the car. Yeah, I have to take him too. I go in to get Kole and lock him into his seat. Rusty is bouncing and barking as loud as he can. He thinks he is going somewhere fun. I’ll take you somewhere fun. It’s called the pound! We pull out at 3:52. Not bad.
One time I took the gang over to Tautphaus Park. Kole was sleeping. I was throwing the ball for Rusty-muggins. Kole woke up and started crying. It was time for him to eat. We couldn’t go back to the house yet. I couldn’t nurse him in the car… not with Rusty. I looked around and saw my salvation. A dugout. I guess that’s enough privacy. I tied Rusty up and grabbed a blanket to cover myself. A new low. I was nursing my baby in a dirty dugout. With my crazy dog trying to gnaw through his leash. I felt… homeless. With a stroller instead of a shopping cart.
Man, I need this house to sell.
And now, it’s the same with Kole. All we ever say is how cute we think he is. How big of a poop he took and how buttery it smelled. We talk about how he slept and for how long. What he is wearing and what he’ll wear next. Blah blah blah blah blah.
I look at this picture and see him saying: "Can't you losers talk about anything else?"
What did we talk about before Kole?
And before Rusty??
Joseph B. Wirthlin
I can kinda see it.
I think he looks like this guy:
Are you seeing it? Are you seeing it?
Even though he has yet to take on the physical traits of either Ken or me- he most definitely has inherited our family's personality traits.
Kole has a very discerning scowl. He gets that from the Poulsen side. From his Grandpa on the Poulsen side. Bob wears a scowl to think, read, eat, basically live. It’s not mean. It’s just a concerned look. It’s been passed down from generation to generation.
Kole also has a keen sense of being mocked. He gets that from the Bradley side. From his Grandpa on the Bradley side. George will not be mocked. Kole will not be mocked. If you make fun of Kole for crying or fussing or use too much baby talk- he gets quite upset.
Kole can fall asleep anywhere. He gets that from the Bradley side. From his Aunt Jules. I remember Julie being little (and a big girl) and falling asleep all the time. In the car, on the couch, on anyone’s bed. I don’t think she’s ever seen the end to any movie. She always falls asleep. Kole is the same way. If he is comfortable, he’ll close his eyes and sleep. If he is in his stroller, on the couch, on his Boppy, outside, wherever. He can zonk out.
Kole is a snuggler. That he gets from me and Ken. Proudly. He loves to nuzzle in. If that's all he gets from my own genes... That's fine by me.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Babies cry, right? We all know this. We all agree with this.
If you are a woman you know that a baby will cry for a multitude of reasons. The baby can be hungry. Or sleepy. The baby can need burped, can have a stomach ache, maybe the baby is bored and wants bounced. The baby can need a diaper change. The baby can need to sit up or lie down. The baby crying is step one in communicating with the baby.
If you are a man and you hear a baby cry.... The baby is hungry.
I can't count the number of times I've been taking a shower or watering my flowers or doing my hair and Ken will come in with a screaming Kole- "He's hungry." I inform Ken that I just fed him 20 minutes ago. "Well he's been crying so I think he is hungry."
Crying= Break is over.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Our room overlooks the pool. Yesterday a woman brought a newspaper out to poolside, laid down, and fell asleep within 5 minutes. Most likely because she chose to read the newspaper instead of some entertaining smutty magazine. I don't think she intended to fall asleep. When she woke up scorched three hours later she seemed pretty ruffled. And red. She was the pool's only visitor.
Until me and my sister and our babies suited up. Greta jumped right in-started splashing and kicking and laughing. Her mom had to keep a pretty tight grip on her. Kole wannied out and wanted to sleep instead. I had him in his stroller and we must have wheeled 20 laps around that pool. Still wide awake. I caved and nursed him to sleep. Poolside. Right where everyone else in their rooms watching people at the pool could see me. Yes, I'm that mom. It worked. I parked him and his stroller in the shade and had a lil' me time. With Jules. It felt fresh.
I could live here. Literally, here. At the hotel.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
That saying has always bothered me. I feel like you should be able to stabilize your life.
A baby changes everything.
It'll be a nice change.
The seasons are changing.
Time for a diaper change.
I change my mind.
I need change for a ten.
I'll change into jeans.
Your voice changed.
I was getting a second MRI at this time last year. They told me I couldn't have kids. Boy did THEY have another thing coming! Over the last year I produced life. There is a human here- that wasn't here before. I can't believe what the female body is capable of. The cycle it goes through. The love. The growth. The pain. The love.
And the pain again...
Sometimes I don't feel like Kole is mine. He is someone else's baby and I am simply tending to him. I would like that feeling to change.
Sometimes I get so nervous about leaving the house with Kole I get physically sick. I would like that feeling to change.
Sometimes I feel like Kole will look directly at each person in the room and smile. but we won't look at me. I would like that feeling to change.
On the other hand.
Whether I feel it now or not he is mine.
He is developing and growing into his own unique self.
He loves me.
He needs me.
And I wouldn't change that for anything.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Yesterday I read the whole book. Cover to cover. Even the reviews. It's a simple routine. Eat, Play, Sleep. I thought- we can handle that.
EAT: Kole loves to eat. He is a bit of a glutton. Eats as much as he can as fast as he can. So eating for half an hour would be a change for my little dragon. But I thought- I can at least keep him there for a half an hour. I did- and sure enough he slowed down. And spreads it out. He eats for 25 minutes. Hey, no one's perfect right?
PLAY: After the Kolester eats he gets to play for half an hour. I tried taking him to the playground- but he didn't grasp the idea of the see saw or the swings OR the slides! So we pretty much just lay on the ground and stare at the lights. Sometimes we lay on our bellies and stare at the carpet. I know, fun, right?
SLEEP: I then put Koley Oley down for a nap. For at least an hour and a half. When I read the book I was really doubtful- "Yeah right. There is no way that he'll play for half hour and then go to sleep. No stinking way." Boy was I wrong. I put him in his crib ready to deal with hoots and hollers and shrieks. I was only met with a smile, a sigh, and closed eyes. He was totally exhausted! I couldn't believe it!
Lather, rinse, repeat.
It's that easy.
And my head has finally stopped spinning. He hasn't cried at all during the day. A little at night. Everyone needs extra snuggling at night. Kole comes from very snuggly parents.
Is this what it feels like to be a mom? One in control?
I'm loving it.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
The c-section wasn’t what I thought it would be. Where does that come from anyway? It was really trippy. I remember a vertical blue wall that made me seriously carsick. I remember Ken in scrubs (hat included) looking like a total stud. I remember screaming for them not to start because I could still feel it. The numbing doctor kept saying, “No you can’t babe. They already started.” He kept calling me “babe.” I liked it! It felt like I was getting punched in the stomach over and over. By like 5 people. I thought I would just lay there and then in a few minutes the baby would be there in my arms. Uh.. No. It took probably a half and hour. A half hour of being punched in the stomach after 18 hours of labor. Ouch. Ken didn’t want to watch. I know I talked a lot but I’m not sure what I said. Dr. Huggins said, “Okay he’s almost here....” and then there was a huge gasp through the whole room. A huge gasp and the happiest cry I ever heard. “That’s the biggest baby I’ve ever seen!” The doctors seemed to say in unison. He was crying really happy. Not a sad cry- a cry of relief. I was crying. I looked at Ken... he was a little teary... and just nodded. There was a lot of noise. I was really surprised there was so much racket going on. I heard “11 pounds!” somewhere in the background. I looked back at Ken. “Good job, hun.” Then it was over. Well... the baby was gone. Ken was gone. And I stayed strapped to the table. The doctor who kept calling me babe told me to close my eyes and relax.
“I’m going to die if I close my eyes.”
“You won’t die. We won’t let you die.”
“I’ll die anyway.”
I closed my eyes.... on accident. But lived.
I started pushing in 10 second intervals. I was feeling really good about it. It was work- but it’s nothing I couldn’t do for 45 minutes. My nurse was fantastic. Smiley and encouraging. “Let’s do another 10. And go.” Pushpushpushpushpushpushpushpush. After half hour my nurse started to change. She didn’t seem as excited. She’d say things like, “He’s really cozy in there.” and “Keep your bottom on the table.” I didn’t know my bottom was off the table. When we reached the hour mark I was a little discouraged. I was told to take a break. I was told nicely and all but I really got the impression that she didn’t think I was pushing with all my might. She left to get a second opinion and I told Ken that when she came back I was going to push like hell and that little baby would shoot out of me like a football. I pushed like hell. But nothing happened. Around 9 I thought I was going to die. We were trying all kinds of things. Tug of war. Side pushing. Squatting. One leg up and one down. Extra high stirrups. Extra low stirrups. At this point I became delusional. I really don’t remember a lot of what went on and what I said. I remember someone threatened to turn my epidural down so I could feel enough to push. Didn’t happen. I also remember telling Ken that I could say whatever I wanted and that if anyone needed to calm down it was him. He later told me that when I had to push I would be really really mean and start yelling at everyone to smile and be encouraging and don’t they know I AM pushing. And then on the breaks I would be their #1 cheerleader. Telling the nurses what a great job they did on that push. I had about 7 nurses by this time. They just kept coming in and checking me. Giving their advice. At 9:30 I was screaming for Dr. Huggins. One of the nurses said she would call her. I swear 5 seconds later she was right in front of me. I cried with relief. Ken said I called her my fairy godmother and told her she was the most beautiful woman alive. Oh boy. What a whack I was.
I pushed a few more times. Dr. Huggins asked if I wanted to use the vacuum. I just wanted him out. We tried the vacuum twice to no avail. She couldn’t get it to stick to his head. She asked if I would be okay with a c-section.
“Just get him out.”
Sob. Sob. Sob.
It was 4 in the morning and I was up walking around the room trying not to think about my stomach being ripped apart by contractions. Ken woke up and turned the light on. “The baby is coming today,” he said while putting on his glasses.
“I doubt it. This happens every night.”
2 hours later we were walking around the basement fighting contractions (by playing the alphabet game) that were coming every 6 minutes. I love that Ken thought to play a game. What a fun train of thought. You see, during my pregnancy I was thinking I was really brave and incredibly strong. I wanted to go “all natural.” I wanted to do most of the laboring at home and then go to the hospital to push the baby out. I thought that would be “fun.” I lasted until about 10:15 in the morning. At that point, after 6 hours and 15 minutes of contractions, I realized that Yeah. Ken is right. The baby is coming today. Contractions were 4 or 5 minutes a part lasting at least a minute and making impossible to think logically, stand up straight, and not throw up. When I started shaking uncontrollably and puking Ken said it was time to go to the hospital. I agreed. I kept saying to Ken, “Don’t speed. Don’t speed. I don’t want to get pulled over. Don’t speed.” In my head I was thinking, “Remember everything. This is your birth story. How cool is this?!” Ken apparently didn’t pay attention on our tour and I was too distracted by contractions to read any signs so- it took us a while to find labor and delivery. We got there and my sweet sweet nurse whom I will always love- and whose name I will never remember- asked me if I wanted any pain medications. I looked at Ken he was calling my mom and dad and his mom and dad to tell them we were at the hospital. “I don’t think so. We’re going to try this naturally.” She thought that was “nice.” She checked me and I was at a 7. 10 minutes later I got an epidural. She knew. Now, I know. Get the stinking epidural. Don’t be brave. I was brave for 7 hours. It’s overrated. Once the epidural sunk in and I was loving life I told Ken, “This is kind of fun!” A nurse came in and broke my water. She wheeled in a table with all the delivery tools on it and assured me the baby was on his way. Uh, duh. That’s why we are here. Ken and I were so excited. We figured- baby by 1 at the latest- all our family would come that afternoon- what a great and fun day.
1 o’clock came and went.
2 o’clock came and went.
3,4,5, and 6 o’clock came and went.
I was hurting. Even though I received an epidural there was a spot on the lower left side of my back that didn’t go numb. It was about the size of a ping pong ball. I felt a minute part of every contraction. Plus. Even if you can’t feel it your body is still working.
At 6:15 the nurse asked if I was ready to push. I felt really tired already. But, being asked that question brought a new energy.
Baby gets a bath every night before bed. They say having a routine really helps the baby go to sleep. They don’t mention it really helps mom keep her marbles. Since Kole has started bath time he has screamed through it. I was chalking it up to the first time I put him in there he went under. It was an accident. He’s got a little tub that goes in the sink and I had it full and was soaping him up and he got mighty slippery and went under. No harm done. He was pretty scared- but survived! Cut me some slack. I’m new at this. I figured he had lost bath-time trust in me and that’s why he screamed all the time. Krissy came over this week and spent the night and when I was getting Kole’s bath ready I was telling her how much he hates having a bath. Being an experienced mom, she thought this was fishy. After feeling the bath water she informed me that he screamed because I was basically dipping him in lava. The water was way too hot for a baby. I thought it felt great. She did up a new bath and wouldn’t you know it Kole loves bath time. I can’t ever get him to get out. He insists on staying in until he’s pruned.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
To this adage I wish to add my own:
Sleep when the baby sleeps.
Cry when the baby cries.
I had heard of the Baby Blues. However, before bearing a child never understood why someone would be sad about a perfect, beautiful, sweet smelling (when clean and changed) baby. As it turns out you’re not sad about your baby at all. Sure looking at the baby can trigger the tears but so can looking at the jar of jam you took out to put on your toast.
Last week Ken came home from work and he offered to go get some ice cream. I cried. For like 20 minutes. A few days ago I went with the baby and sat outside around 9ish when it had cooled off a bit. I noticed some yard tools that had been left out from before the baby was born. I lost it. Cried and cried and cried. Another time I had just bathed, fed, diapered, and cuddled Kole. His little lip started shivering. I started to sing a song from 7 Brides for 7 Brothers. Kole kept his composure and I lost mine. What am I crying about though? How are all of these linked? Why won’t it stop?
The phone will ring and I see who is calling and I immediately get a lump in my throat. I want to talk. I do. I want to share what is happening. You are my friend. But I can’t. I’m too much of a crybaby.
It’s really hard convincing Ken (or anyone) that I am happy and love the baby when I am saying it all through sobs.
Send in the clowns. It feels like we’ll be here for a while.
On second thought- don't. I can't handle any visitors.