Everyone -- okay, well, not EVERYONE, but enough people for it to feel that way -- keeps telling me how lucky I am to have the new baby to look forward to. How thankful I must be! What a wonderful thing! What timing, in the midst of so much sadness, to have something so purely joyful and happy to focus on. The problem is: I don't feel any of those stupid things. The oh-shit moment of general pre-baby non-readiness has morphed into full-on crazy anxiety about the reality of what's coming. Three children. Three! As in, the two I already have, plus ONE MORE. WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF MATH IS THAT. Obviously, I'm feeling a bit over-pummeled in general right now. I'm trying to grieve for my father, support my mother, adjust to an entirely new diagnosis for my son, juggle a full work load and the four-frillion mundane details of everyday life that we all have going on a regular basis, plus, you know, GESTATE. There are probably even more people than that phantom "everyone" I mentioned telling me to be gentle on myself, to cut myself some slack, that there is no right way to navigate losing... Read more →

I wish I knew what to say. I don't know if I have anything to say. Let's just...see where this goes. Things are moving quickly, in the downhill direction. He's in a hospital bed in the living room, unable to breathe unless he stays perfectly still and immobile, utterly wiped out from the fight of the past six months. There is talk of moving to morphine soon. Everyone is scrambling to visit, exchanging helpless text messages about how much this sucks and...and...yeah. How are you doing? I don't know. You? Same. Frowny emoticon. Word. I'm going up to see him on Friday, maybe even Thursday night. I don't know whether to go by myself or try to bring the boys one last time -- if this is, indeed, the one last time -- I don't know how to help, what to do, how to feel except bone-blisteringly, overwhelmingly sad. But it's a sad mixed with happy while I fold onesies and count kicks and kiss my children good-night, like an umbrella I keep forgetting to hold onto. Is it okay to change the subject? To talk about OB appointments and weight gain and belly shots? How is one supposed to... Read more →

'Emotional Etsy Rampage' is the Totally Name Of My New Emo Band

The first thing I did after getting the new-and-so-fucking-not-improved news on Friday was go on an Emotional Etsy Rampage, spilling out the contents of my PayPal account (and gnawing at the edges of Instant Bank Account Tranfers) in exchange for things for the new baby. Wall decals! A custom mobile! Upcycled vintage galvanized storage containers! Bibs! A necklace that I've had in my favorites list for a year but never bought and today is the day! That necklace is mine! Suck it, sadness! Suck on shiny things and die! I stopped only after Noah brought me the Xbox remote and a long, involved (and HIGHLY EMOTIONAL) story about a giant snake level on the Harry Potter Lego game and he couldn't finish the potion and Hermione is stuck in a corner and keeps getting blowed up by the snake and you need to help me, and I was briefly consumed with resentment that really? Really, Noah? This is the biggest challenge in your little life right now? This is the crisis that's reduced you to tears? A video-game snake? MADE OUT OF VIDEO-GAME LEGOS? Yes, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I Pain-Olympic'ed my own child. It was a really... Read more →

So I'm pretty sure I mentioned once or twice or fourteen frillion times that we signed up for a family membership at the YMCA, mostly so we would finally get off our butts and get the boys some swimming lessons. HOW'S THAT ALL GOING?, asks absolutely no one in the world. GREAT! LET ME TREAT YOU TO A PAINFULLY DETAILED RUNDOWN, responds boring, self-centered mommyblogger. Noah is doing well. I was nervous that we'd waited too long for swimming lessons, but now I'm glad we waited until he was past his fears of the water and a bit more coordinated with that whole vestibular system thing or whatever, because he LOVES swimming. He's much braver about getting water on his head and face and you know, not clinging to our necks in fight-or-flight terror. He can at least do a pretty decent dog-paddle on his own and do something vaguely approaching proper swimming form with a little assistance. Between swimming and karate, he's packed on a good two pounds of solid muscle in just two months. Ezra is...well, EZRA. In what I'm beginning to sense is going to be the theme of this child's life, he has already -- in... Read more →

Okay, okay, one last thing about the stupid belt test before I promise to shut up about it: Instructor: Okay guys, this is your first belt test, so it's okay if you're feeling a little nervous about it. Does anyone here feel a little scared? Amy: (to self) ME! MEEEE! MEEEEEEEOMG. Noah: (out loud, to entire room of students and parents) I'm not scared! I'm Harry Potter, and I'm brave! HEY LOOK WHAT I CAN DO THIS IS PRETTY COOL TOO RIGHT WHATEVER KARATE. Noah very generously gave Ezra his white belt to wear around the house, and even pieced his broken board back together so his brother could pretend to kick and punch it in half to his little jealous heart's content. (Ezra would probably like me to document that 1) he already has near-perfect form on his front kick and is working very hard on the round house, 2) he only ever, ever kicks cookbooks. Which totally deserve it, frankly.) *** My doctor's office called yesterday and left a message asking me to call them back, and I was seized with terror that oh shit, I probably failed my glucose test. Time for moar sugar drank partay! But... Read more →

(AKA glucose tolerance testing, TAKE TWO) 7:59 am. Stumble downstairs, open fridge, confront today's nemesis: EASYDEX 50 Oral Glucose Tolerance Beverage, Orange Flavor. Ooh, variety! 8:00 am. DRINK. 8:01 am. You know, the orange version isn't half bad. 8:02 am. It tastes exactly like the orange drink McDonald's used to serve at birthday parties. 8:03 am. Does McDonald's still sell that orange drink? 8:04 am. Does McDonald's still do birthday parties? 8:05 am. Because hell, I feel guilty enough copping to the occasional drive-thru order of chicken nuggets and chocolate milk, I can't imagine sending out invites to a McDonald's-themed birthday party, which in this neck of the yuppie/hippie woods might as well read COME PARTY WITH SATAN! CELEBRATE CHILDHOOD OBESITY WITH THE SILENT TEARS OF UNETHICALLY RAISED BEEF. ALSO, THERE'S DIABETES IN THE GOODIE BAGS. 8:06 am. Aw, the drink's all gone. It was kind of yummy. 8:10 am. And I feel still feel fine, actually. 8:11 am. Question: If I'm a yuppie and a hippie, would you call that yippie? Or a huppie? 8:20 am. Still feel fine. 8:21 am. Clearly, I have developed immunity to the glucose drink. 8:22 am. I EVEN FOUND MY SHOES IN THE... Read more →

The Red Drank Diaries

7:43 am. Ezra appears at the side of my bed, just at eye level. "MOMMY! WAKE UP!" 7:44 am. When I fail to WAKE UP in an adequately enthusiastic fashion, he beans me in the head with a small rubber SPÖKA nightlight. "MOMMY! KITTY SAY WAKE UP!" 7:45 am. I wake up. We bought two of those suckers at IKEA this weekend, and they make deceptively good weapons. 7:50 am. Both boys are in bed with me. Noah has brought along a ROTERA lantern that he's grown incredibly attached to and a blanket that is actually an Invibbability Cloak and is talking about Harry Potter, at least Harry Potter According To A Child Who Saw 20 Minutes Of The First Movie And Plays The LEGO Game Version On The Xbox And Thus Maybe Has Some Of His Facts Wrong. 7:55 am. We all hide under the Invibbability Cloak from Lord Baltimort. Or a bear, depending on which kid is currently steering the narrative. 7:59 am. My brain joins the rest of my body in WAKE UP VILLE and I remember the bottle of awful sugary bright red liquid sitting in the fridge that I'm supposed to spend the next five... Read more →

The theme song for weeks 25 and 26 of this pregnancy have been Lady Gaga's Poker Face, which I oh-so-super-cleverly renamed and reworked as Pizza Face: Can't clear my, can't clear my, No I can't clear up my pizza face. (I have zits like no one's business.) I am a regular goddamned Weird Al, right? I mean, I could be, once I figure out more lyrics than just those three lines. I sort-of came up with a verse about burritos and Indian food where I was able to swap "fart" for "heart" but then I stopped. Because of the DIGNITY. WHICH I TOTALLY STILL HAVE. I also do totally have gas. And a bladder that wakes me up at least two times a night. And a slutbitch of a sciatic nerve. After a breakneck buying spree attack of the baby shopping, I'm feeling much more prepared than I was even just a week ago. Realizing that you somehow own 14 designer swaddling blankets will do the trick, apparently. As does discovering an entire forgotten stash of baby gifts you bought for friends' newborns but never managed to wrap up and send, and since said newborns are now toddlers, said gifts... Read more →

Or, I Was In The Very Front Row At A Lady Gaga Concert While Six Months Pregnant And All I Got Were Some Crappy Camera Phone Photos My ticket said NO CAMERAS, in very big capital letters. So I did not bring a camera, lest the Imaginary Authority Figures decided to yell at me. They DID yell, kind of, but not about the camera thing. Jason bought me these tickets way, waaaaay back last summer for our anniversary, and included a upgrade to a special Little Monsters package, which meant we got to get in before anybody else and snag the primo floor real estate up front. At first, this did not seem to be much of an upgrade at all, since it ALSO meant my friend* and I got to start standing up a full FIVE FREAKING HOURS before Lady Gaga actually came on stage. Five hours. Of non-stop standing up, minus exactly two incredibly hurried pee breaks. Not exaggerating. I can't even spend five hours SITTING down before I feel wiped out enough to move to full-on LYING down. Our spesul sort-of VIP status meant nothing to the event staff, however, who screamed at us repeatedly that if... Read more →

It's a pregnancy rite of passage. At least for me, anyway. That moment when it actually, finally dawns on you that you are going to have a baby. Like, a baby. Is going to come out of your body, one way or another, and then that baby is going to stay here. With you. In your house. And life. And you will be expected to do things with and for that baby. Fuck you, figurative state, shit just got literal up in this bitch. I've had this moment strike me right around this same point, bolt-of-lightning style, every single time so far. You would think I would start noticing the general pattern of pregnancy = ACTUAL BABY, but I seem to be able to gloss over that little detail for most of the first two trimesters, and then suddenly: OHSHIT. A bunch of baby-related purchases arrived over the weekend, and I realized my system of shoving them all in a far corner of the nursery is no longer working, because there's now enough crap in that pile (including a sub-pile of older-brother handmedowns and outgrown jackets with no place to go) that you have to walk around it almost as... Read more →