Pimp My Baby's Ride

The second-time mother-to-be has a few advantages over her 1.0, oh so naïve counterpart. When it comes to getting ready for baby, she's savvy. She knows her stuff—what's worth spending her money on, and what's not.

Unfortunately, she's probably already given most of the "good stuff" away.

When I was expecting Jack six years ago, I researched zillions of car seats before settling on a navy blue gingham Graco Snugride infant carrier, complete with extra bases for the vehicles of my nearest and dearest relatives and strangers. All told, I laid out about $300 for the seat and accessories, but it was well worth it. Jack rode comfortably in that seat for a year, and when combined with a handy Snap N' Go it converted into a convenient stroller. I found it so indepensible that I happily passed it along to a friend when Jack outgrew it, knowing full well that by the time I had another baby car seats would be a thing of the past, replaced by flying space pods or something.

Flash forward five years. I'm expecting again, and now living in Missouri, where they inexplicably call these contraptions "pumpkin seats." And I need one.

Luckily for me, the sisterhood of traveling maternity pants is also in the business of loaning out baby gear. The nice lady from Deadlines and Naptimes came to my rescue AGAIN, loaning me her recently-vacated Snugride and a slew of extra bases. The seat was in great condition, with a perfectly nice, gender-neutral tan plaid design.

The only issue? It didn't match my car, or my diaper bag. And yes, I am just the sort of shallow, ridiculous woman who obsesses about these things. And I just bet you are the sort that obsesses about these things too.

A little social media research helped me uncover Graco's little-known secret: For under $50, you can order a brand new pad set and matching canopy for your older-model Snugride. Which means that if your newborn son is not yet man enough to rock his sister's hot pink hand-me-down, you don't necessarily have to pony up the cash for a whole new seat. Or if, like me, your seat is perfectly fine as it is but you just need EVERYTHING TO MATCH, you can simply order up a wardrobe change.

Check out my Snugride's before an after:

It all matches!

Wanna try it yourself? Here's all you need to do: Grab the model and serial number off your old Snugride and head over to Graco's Contact Us page. Submit an inquiry, and within a few days a nice lady like "Christina R." will get back to you with a list of fabric packages that match your model. From there, you just call Graco at 1-800-345-4109 and place your order. Hand over $48.95, and a few days later your spankin' new pad kit will arrive at your door.

Leaving you plenty of leftover cash to splurge on all those other baby essentials. You know, like custom-made crib bumpers, butt-wipe warmers and Noguchi nightlights.

10 Things to Do on Bedrest

Unlike the "strict" bedrest I was subjected to while pregnant with Jack, which had me lying on my side for nearly six weeks (excepting bathroom breaks and showers), my doctor currently has me on "modified" bedrest.

What does that mean? I wondered too, so at this week's appointment I asked for a little more clarification.

This week, she said, it will be defined as "one light errand permitted every other day." An "errand" might be a short trip to the grocery store, or an outing to dinner or a movie.

This I can work with.

Since my weekly appointment with her counts as an "errand," which by the way is SO not fair, that leaves me with up to THREE additional outings per week. Precious, precious outings.

It also leaves me with three to four days of resting at home. Avoiding unnecessary movement. Something this Type A, OCD Gemini has never been very good at. And yet, I must GET good at it, because the underlying threat of my doctor's orders is that next week? These three to four precious, precious outings could ALL BE TAKEN AWAY. And if you met her, you would know that she is not someone you mess with.

So with two full weeks of "rest" already under my belt, I'm proud to say I've discovered a number of ways to keep myself entertained within my confines. And that, my friends, is a lead-in to...A LIST!

10 THINGS TO DO ON BEDREST

1. Research and plan for those precious, precious outings every other day.
2. Delegate all tasks not worthy of a precious, precious outing to your husband or mother. E.g., "We need stamps" or "I need Starbucks."
3. Observe things around the house that need to be added to your husband's "honey-do" list. When in hearing distance, mutter things like, "Hmmm....our ceiling sure could use a fresh coat of paint" and "Wow, those leaves really need raking" and "SOMEONE needs to let the dog out."
4. Catch up on your blog reading, only to become convinced that you urgently need to make pelmet boxes like Cara's for the nursery. Attempt to explain to husband what a pelmet box is and watch him look at you like he doesn't know you.
5. Bake and frost and entire Devil's Food cake. Then sit down and methodically EAT IT ALL.
6. Watch dust collect on the bedside lamp. Wonder where it comes from.
7. Record episodes of Oprah. Discover with disappointment that Oprah is really boring. Delete Delete Delete.
8. Add adorable baby items to your online baby registry, even though you don't have any showers coming up. Then buy them for yourself, shipped individually, so that you'll have visits from the UPS man to look forward to. Assure yourself that's not pathetic.
9. Teach Jack how to diaper a teddy bear. This will come in handy later.
10. Stare at the empty crib and wonder how long it will be until there is a baby in it.

Mummy's Mommy

I don't know why, but my sweet little boy has developed quite a flair for the macabre.

Gone are the days of fuzzy puppies and brave super heroes. This year, he wanted to be an axe-wielding, bloodied psycho killer.

With some parental guidance ("No, you may NOT wear a prosthetic neck wound, and that's final"), he eventually settled on something equally scary, but a lot less disturbing.

Meet Mommy's Little Mummy:

(I have to say, should this whole communications/social media gig fall through, I think I may have a future as a Hollywood makeup artist.)

And now, a lazy mother's belated Halloween recap, in pictures:

As is our tradition, Jack helped Ben carve this year's mommy-designed pumpkin.

Even little Frankie got in the spirit, wearing her costume for all of three minutes before attempting to gnaw it off. (She has a lot in common with the squirrels).

This year Jack was a lot more interested in going out to GET candy than he was in staying home to hand it out. See how skillfully he puts his hand out?

However, after reviewing his loot, I've realized that next year I need to coach him to shy away from the suckers and skittles and GO STRAIGHT FOR THE CHOCOLATE. I mean, seriously, the kid did not score a SINGLE Reece's Peanut Butter Cup. COME ON!

All in all, a very happy Halloween had by all.

But seriously...please send chocolate.

They’re Baaa-aack

Last October, I blogged about the steroid-fueled squirrels infesting my neighborhood and gang-raping our pumpkins in the streets, leaving scores of young preschoolers devastated and confused.

They’re baaa-aack.

Because I managed to purchase a car two inches too long to allow me to close my garage door (IDIOT), I am in the habit of leaving my stroller out on the front porch. Risky, I suppose, given that St. Louis is said to be one of the country’s most crime-ridden cities, but mine is a pretty sleepy, Norman Rockwell sort of neighborhood. Plus, there are Bugaboos and Bobs on other porches that are surely more tempting loot than my little Maclaren.

Unless, apparently, you’re a squirrel. A deviant, mutant squirrel.

This morning I awoke to find this-crime scene on my doorstep.

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

(I swear, I even head them LAUGHING at me.)

THIS. MEANS. WAR.

Can anyone tell me where I can get a hold of some grade-A squirrel poison?

Or at least recommend a good replacement stroller?

Sidelined

Well, crap.

Everything was going just fine until Friday. After a LOOONG work week, I was taking a well-deserved day off to run a few errands (Container Store...WHEE!) and straighten up the house (a.k.a. apply OCD organizational structures to all closets in the house) when something very strange happened.

Something that landed me in the hospital.

Caution: Objects may appear jollier about being in a hospital gown
than they actually are.

I still don't know for sure what it was, but it was...BIZARRE. Basically, I was standing in my bedroom, folding some clothes when suddenly the room started to go dark and shadowy and I noticed blind spots in my vision (as in, I looked down at my bare foot and couldn't see any toes. And I HAVE all my toes!) I sat down and took my blood pressure, and though the vision issues made it hard to read, I was pretty sure that bottom number read 98. I decided I'd better call my doctor.

Then things got REALLY weird. I was sitting there poised to dial my trusty iPhone, but I felt so confused. Who was my doctor? What was the name of her practice? My brain couldn't quite work out it. So I started sort of dumbly scrolling through my contacts again and again, looking for something but unable to stay focused on what it was. Oh yeah! My doctor! Who's my doctor? I must've done that for five minutes before I decided I'd be easier to just go find my doctor's card in my purse and get the number the old-fashioned way.

That's when I noticed I was having trouble walking. And when I suddenly thought, with a bit of alarm, "um...am I having a stroke?"

One hospital stay, many lab tests and a few days later, my doctor says it was more likely a "TIA," or transient ischemic attack. Apparently that's a non-damaging stroke-like episode, and a warning sign that a real stroke may be imminent, especially if you happen to have a blood clotting disorder like moi.

(Sorry, you shouldn't have to go to med school to read this blog. But don't you feel SMARTER? More informed?)

As of this morning, my doctor has ordered that I cease working immediately and spend the next eight weeks until my induction date lying about my house on a cocktail of blood thinners, baby aspirin and zen-like thoughts. And because I am a skilled negotiator, I have talked her into a compromise that involves me continuing to work part-time, but FROM HOME, with promises to take my meds, not do anything STRESSFUL and dutifully report for weekly nonstress tests (where it sounds like they'll be testing my zen levels, but they'll actually just be monitoring the baby's movement. If there was a nonstress test for me I'd need it to be multiple choice).

Why campaign to keep working when I could sit on my butt at home? Because 1) I have been on extended bedrest before, and 2) it made me sad and CRAZY, and 3) I enjoy receiving paychecks and 4) I suppose I inherited my father's Rambo-like work ethic.

So that's that. I made it 29 weeks before hospitalization. That's five weeks less than last time, which is a little disappointing. I believed I could do better.

And as for Rerun (who we're now calling Max), he's blissfully unaware, last seen curled up in a ball and sucking his toes.

Making me wish I was a better hostess.

Occasion

Me, to my husband: So.....Did you forget something?

Husband: Um....I don't know. Did I?

Me: Isn't there something you want to say to me?

Husband: Ummmm....

Me: Don't you know what day it is?

Husband: ?????

Me: I think you forgot to wish me "Happy Boss's Day."

Husband: Silence.

Me: There's still time to get me flowers.

Husband: More silence


Well, at least I thought it was funny.

(And true.)

Since You Asked

Somewhere around the end of the second trimester of pregnancy, there is one question that you get asked, oh, about eight to ten times each day.

Believe it or not, it's not "Who DID that to you?" or "Are you SURE it's not twins?"

It's this: "How are you feeling?"

The answer, FYI, is usually "HUNGRY," although it may also be a combination of any one of the following:

"Big."

"Exhausted."

"Swollen."

"Uncomfortable."

"Constipated."

"I'm sorry, were you talking to me? I can't actually see you past these enormous, colostrom-seeping breasts."

Despite all of the above, on most days I can answer quite honestly that I'm feeling pretty great. Rerun is now "viable" and, from what I can tell, appears to be preparing for his big audition with Cirque du Soleil. And though I'm only four weeks away from the point when I was hospitalized with preeclampsia last time, right now my blood pressure, while on the rise, still remains safely below the "red zone." Last week I passed the glucose test for gestational diabetes with flying colors and my CBC and thyroid numbers were solid. My OB proclaimed my 20-pound weight gain "just fine," a welcome change from the "tsk tsk's" I got the last time around. And as for the Lovenox, these days I'm self-injecting with the expertise of a hardcore trainspotter.

Meanwhile, the weather is turning colder. I'm planting mums and Jack is trying on his Halloween costume. Thanksgiving and Christmas decorations are already in stores, and the seasonal gift catalogs are crowding my mailbox. All signs are pointing to the fact that the holidays are upon us at last.

After what felt like an endless summer, my December due date is finally, FINALLY showing signs of drawing near.

How am I feeling?

I'm feeling...READY.