The Name Game

When I was pregnant with Charles, we had no discussion on the subject of names. None. Zilch. Nada. The names we chose just were. This time around, we are going to re-use the girl name we had picked before, because we still love it and because the girl in our family wasn’t born. The baby girl Cook with that name did not exist, maybe still doesn’t exist because I could be carrying another boy. I have no qualms about re-using a name, though I know some people think it is unacceptable. I look at it like this: in our family, there is a baby girl waiting to be born. She already has a name. End of story.

But the boy name. Oh, ho ho. We do not yet have another boy name. We had ONE, before, and now we have to search for another.

Tony is very little help in this endeavor. The poor man has tax season looming large on his horizon and everything that comes after that might as well be a million years away. So, he claims he need not even think about names, not even consider names for our potential baby boy, until we hit May.

I, on the other hand, have been scouring name books for THE NAME. THE ONE. OUR BABY BOY. To that end, I occasionally suggest names to Tony, and the conversation goes like this:

Me: “What about Graham?”

Tony: “Nope.”

Me (incredulous): “Wait, you’re not even going to think about it for a second? Not even going to roll it around in your brain and pair it with potential middle names and our last name to see if it fits?!!”

Tony: “Nope.”

So, you can imagine my surprise when I suggested a name last night and he hesitated a moment before he said, “Hmm, maybe.”

But this isn’t a story about the one “maybe” we have on our list at the moment. This is the story about the next name I suggested.

Me: “What about Gregory?”

Tony: “Nope.”

Me: “Well, then, how about Gregorovich?”

Tony: chuckles (I was going to write “giggles,” but Tony doesn’t really giggle.)

Me: “We could call him ‘Vitch’ for short.

Tony: …

Me: “And when we teach him our names, we could say, ‘What’s my name, Vitch?’”

Me: “And if he’s about to do something bad, we could say, ‘Don’t make me come over there and smack you, Vitch!’”

Me: “And if we had twins, we could name the other Stefanovich and then we we saw them together, we could say, ‘What’s up, Vitches?!’”

Tony: uncontrollable laughter

With parents like these, I’m not sure our kids wants a name we pick. Any suggestions?

Can’t Hide It Anymore…

At 14 weeks and change, I am already looking the part of a pregnant lady… I think I am three weeks ahead of my last pregnancy in terms of growth.  Let’s hope it doesn’t keep on pace, hmm? 

 

On the other hand, I haven’t gained as much weight as I had with Charles at this point, likely because I have been so sick.  As a result, many of my pants from last time don’t fit.  And my old maternity clothes are all summer wear, so I have done some shopping of late.  My mom gifted me the sweater in the photo above.  She has great taste, doesn’t she?

 

And here’s the monkey, for your viewing pleasure:

Snack time involves the whole cupboard.  Also, this was in the evening.  He wore his pajamas the whole day, even at daycare.

Snow boots as big as his head.

I Give Up

I spent the weekend trying to sleep off nausea.  Which doesn’t work, if you wanted to know. 

 

I thought I was getting better, but I’m not.  I had a few good days and now I have had several bad days.  I missed Christmas dinner.  I might be one of the few pregnant women to NOT gain weight over the holidays.  I am tired and sick, and sick and tired.

 

Enough!  Today I will pick up my prescription for Reglan, a Class B drug that will, supposedly, help my stomach empty faster and help me to feel less nauseated all the damn time.  The doctor thinks I am on the extreme end of normal for morning (all day) sickness, but he wants to check my thyroid at my next blood draw (two or three weeks from now) just in case something is wonky there.  And if all goes well, I should start to feel better in a couple of weeks.  Because, though it is hyped to be a magical time of pregnancy, the second trimester can start off sucky and continue so until 18 weeks for some people.  That would be another month for me.  Another month of feeling like barf.

 

And I can’t do it, because it is officially tax season – hooray (not)!  I am now Charles’ primary caretaker and I need to be on my game.  So, Reglan, here I come!

 

What’s that?  A post about something fun and nice, like Christmas, would be welcome, you say?  Well, perhaps I’ll feel better tomorrow and less like complaining, hmm?  Because other than my issues, Christmas was wonderful.

Barefoot and Pregnant in the Kitchen

Just for the record…

 

Mr. Charles was an absolute mother’s dream yesterday, which made life easier for Amelia since I went to work about 6am and didn’t get home until about 4pm.  Then we both crashed before 9pm from sheer exhaustion.

The Christmas Card I Would Have Made If I Hadn’t Been All Sick and Stuff

Because now it’s the 15th and it’s too late to put all these blurry-happy-Charles-in-a-Christmas Sweater-and-sweatpants-with-one-leg-up photos together in a sappy card, get them printed, stamped, addressed, and personalized.  I wanted to use this one, too, but in the Christmas card of my mind, it just didn’t fit, but since this is the internet and nothing will be sent this year, here you go:

Mommy’s socks!  He put them on himself!

Tidbits

I think, and I am totally tempting fate for putting this in writing, I think that I am feeling a little bit better.  Not “go out and celebrate with a hot fudge sundae” (ew, gross, I just gagged on my own thought) better, but a little bit better nonetheless.  Enough so that I had a whole evening on Saturday without lying down take a 20-minute catnap through a bout of nausea even once. 

 

I still feel pretty much the same blech as before during the day, except that my overall level of fatigue has tripled, at least.  I am so tired sometimes that my chest hurts.  But in the evening, I can mostly make it through life without wanting to die, which is a big improvement.  I’m thinking I won’t be asking the doctor for those drugs next week, after all.

 

********

 

We have begun potty training with Charles.  Right now we are taking it easy, being very excited and reading books, and I even checked out a couple of dvds from the library today.  Given that Charles rarely gets to watch any sort of television, he will likely be thrilled with those.  He hasn’t really gone on the potty, yet, but he seems to enjoy sitting there and saying “pee pee!” about a million times, so that’s good.  He also enjoys picking out an M&M from the jar each time he sits on the potty.  Bribery totally works. 

 

This is a pretty exciting step, and comes right on the heels of his “big boy” bed.  The bed itself we purchased on Craigslist, and is a taller captain’s bed with several drawers underneath (we added a railing for safety, no worries).  It is in the former guest room/office (the computer and desk are now downstairs in the basement with the new couch).  The futon is in Charles room, and he seems to like that just fine.  We considered, for a long time, having Charles and the new baby share a room, and I think that will ultimately happen.  However, given the fact that Charles was such a difficult baby and a horrible sleeper, I certainly can’t count on the new baby being any different, and I don’t want Charles to regress into not sleeping.

 

The mattress we have for Charles was my grandma Lorna’s, bless her soul.  She bought it shortly before doctors determined that she had cancer in her bones and she moved to a nursing home with a hospital bed.  So it was largely unused and is, quite honestly, nicer than my own mattress.  Having snuggled with Charles on it, I think I might look to upgrade my own sometime soon.

 

Charles has taken to the bed with minimal fuss and lots of enthusiasm.  He doesn’t get out on his own, and he really likes his Toy Story sheets.  Phew.  There’s a milestone crossed without pain.

 

*******

 

I was thinking today, as I took a break from Christmas music (I can’t stand The Eagles, and they were on the Christmas radio station, and commercials were on the other Christmas radio station), that there are few artists and songs from my adolescence that I still enjoy.  Take most of the 90s music, and while I loved it then, I can’t stand it now.  Tony does not share this viewpoint, so when he and Charles are in the car alone together, Charles gets a much different musical exposure than he does when I am there.

 

So anyway, one of the Seattle stations really has a hard-on for Bush.  Like, Sixteen Stone Bush.  And it drives me nuts.  I flip the station every time.  Which got me to thinking about the other bands I can no longer stand to listen to, like Stone Temple Pilots, Live, Pearl Jam…  And then I think of the music we listened to in early college, like my roommate who played Eminem and Limp Bizkit nearly constantly, and while it seemed normal to me then, I wouldn’t hesitate to change the radio station now if either of those artists came on.

 

The one exception seems to be Oasis.  I will always listen to an Oasis song on the radio, often singing loudly.  I’m not saying I dig up their albums and play them of my own volition, but I certainly still enjoy them.

 

Does anyone else shun the old music they used to love like I do?  Do you have an artist to which you will always listen from back in the day?

Credit Where Credit is Due

It’s tough to be pregnant and care for a toddler.  Especially if that toddler is Charles.  My beautiful son is entering into a growth spurt and an energy spurt – not even joking, he runs around the island in our kitchen ten times before going to bed each night just because.  How could I possible keep up with that level of energy?  I just try to stay out of the way, most of the time.

 

As I mentioned in my last post, I am pretty under the weather by about 4 pm – the same time I pick up Charles from daycare.  We go home, we read stories and run around and I try (try) to make dinner.  I often do not succeed at dinner, but I can usually get chicken nuggets or macaroni n cheese in front of Charles before he melts down into a wailing pile of mush from malnutrition (he thinks). 

 

And then Tony comes home.  My hero.

 

Tony has been working 10- and 12-hour days, playing basketball early in the morning, and finishing up studying for the final in his master’s class.  AND THEN, he comes home to a completely ineffective wife/mother and a rambunctious son.  Tony has done nearly all the grocery shopping in the last month because I can’t even begin to tell you what going into a grocery store does to my senses.  He has done all the laundry.  He bathes Charles and puts him to bed every night.  He suffers through whatever kind of dinner he can throw together because I didn’t make any. 

 

And he hasn’t complained (at least to me).  Not once.

 

Am I married to the most wonderful man alive or what?

 

I go see the doctor to hear the little bun’s heartbeat on the 20th.  By that date, I will be 13 weeks pregnant and if I am still not feeling any better (and still begging God for relief every night as I do right now), I’m going to ask for something stronger.  Approved for pregnancy drugs, but stronger than the Unisom/B6 cocktail I take now to take the edge off (ha!) the nausea every day.  Because this can’t go on.  Literally.  Tax season is coming and it’s not fair to pull Tony’s emotions and mind home because I am incompetent when he needs to be focused on busy season.  I love him so much and I feel like such a jerk for checking out every night.  I would give a whole lot to be there and be productive.

The Things You Don’t Want to Know, but I’ll Tell You Anyway, Because That’s the Sort of Person I am, Also, I am Miserable, and Misery Loves Company.

Blech.  Pregnancy is hard, you guys.  I have been SO sick.  With Charles’ pregnancy, I was sick, but not debilitatingly so.  I seem to remember a lot of sleep, a few heave episodes, and an unhealthy consumption of cottage cheese.  This time, the cottage cheese is no friend of mine.

 

Nor is anything else, really.  I don’t want to eat a thing, but in order to keep the heavies at bay, I must.  But I can’t do cheese.  And I dislike sugary stuff, but not entirely, not like with Charles.  With Charles, I couldn’t look at a donut.  Now, I just don’t want one.  Much like I don’t want a banana, or a PBJ, or an apple, or some bacon, or a bowl of soup.  Do you see the problem?  Nothing sounds good, nothing tastes good.

 

But the lack of appetite would be a non-issue if it weren’t for the other changes in bodily function this pregnancy has wrought.  I do okay in the morning, mostly just a retch here and there as I choke down some cereal.  I vomited in the sink the other morning, loudly, and really scared Charles, I think, but I’m mostly okay.  The worst part about the mornings is the excess saliva.  *shudder*  That part’s not the worst part of the rest of the day, though, because other horrid symptoms take over by around 4pm.

 

In the afternoons, I am tired and just plain nauseated.  All the damn time.  What I want is to curl up in a ball and go to sleep, but there is a limit to how much sleep a pregnant lady with a hyperactive toddler can get.  The nausea, though.  The soul-crushing, crippling nausea.  It has, in recent weeks, made it impossible for me to care for my family.  As soon as Tony gets home in the evening, I go to bed.  The gas, the bloating, the pain… oh, my gosh, I just can’t even describe how awful it is. 

 

So!  We’re edging up on twelve weeks over here… Do you know what I want for Christmas?  I want to feel better.  With luck, I will.  After all, these symptoms are all just supposed to disappear by week thirteen, right?  Right?  Oh, Lord, it is going to be a looong, unhappy tax season if I stay sick.

A Pea in My Pod

Due 6-26-11