On punching, dictatorships, and stress

I think our decision to call Rex our 'Dominator-inator' miiiiiiight have backfired.
(Don't get the extra "inator"? Watch some Phineas & Ferb, or read about the Inator Inator, and come back.)

Lately, he has taken to punching any and all things resembling his father's face. Unfortunately for Steve, the only thing that resembles his face is, well, his face. He is starting to develop an abuse victim's persona.

"Me? I wouldn't hurt a fly... just a Dada."

I should preface all of this by saying that Rex only punches when he's really excited, or is being tickled... but I just don't think that matters to Steve, who seems to have been targeted by our youngster's two chubby fists. Why, then, can I not stop myself from tickling his chubtastic sides or running my fingers up his back like a spider while my Man Mate is holding him? Do I have some twisted desire to see him beat down by an 8 1/2 month-old? Or - and what I hope is much more likely - do I just enjoy hearing Rex's "uh-HYUCK"-like chuckles when I find a particularly tickle-prone spot?

Bruce, in timeless toddler tradition, has taken to giving direction. Lots of direction. Lots of direction followed by the stern threat of "... or I give you spank." Our decision to call him our 'Little Dictator' doesn't seem too far off, either.

"DO MY BIDDING!"

I don't know if other moms feel this way, but one of my biggest fears for our Little Dictator was that he would, instead, be more of a Little Punching Bag. He was never one of the wild, crazy, who-are-your-parents-and-why-are-they-letting-you-use-that-word-in-public? kids at the playground/mall play area, preferring instead to keep to himself and visibly flinch whenever someone ran too close to his personal space. The idea of someone picking on my Dookiedoo (ignore that - probably a source of mockery later) just makes my blood boil... but I just wasn't neurotic enough to fight his battles for him. I use past-tense because, now having TWO adorable little male loin-fruits, the desire to Hulk out and smash-bash any and every offending party has increased exponentially. Luckily for the little bullies on the playground/mall play areas, I have no desire to go to jail.

To wrap-up the post, I must give thanks for something that I realize I have taken for granted all my life:
A warm house.
Our brand-spanking-new gas furnace decided to crap out last Tuesday, leaving us with a frigid house and no idea what to do about it aside from drink homemade lemoncello (Mom and Dad), cry (Rex), meow (CatKirk and Butters), and ask to watch more 'Little Einsteins' (Bruce). Okay, I might have joined Rex on the crying front.
Turns out all that snow and rain the week before led to the spontaneous creation of Lake WhatTheHell in the crawlspace under our house, a lake that the sump pump wasn't prepared to deal with. The waters rose (to over a foot high) and flooded our furnace, and *POOF*! No more heat. Buh-bye warmth, hello layers.
After numerous emails, voicemails, text messages, and phone calls... and the passage of an entire week... we have heat once again, and no longer have to live in fear of one of the space heaters sparking and burning our house down while we're at work. It would just be too much to take right now.

SO, there you have it! A mini-update from your favorite mini-family. Until next time, be sure to floss and color inside the lines.

- Krystal

(Formal & Belated) Introduction of Chunkasaurus

Well, um, he's here!
(6 months, 2 weeks, and 4 days of being here, actually... but, hey, LIFE HAPPENS. Move on, people. Move on.)

I've gone back and forth on whether I should write out his full "labor story", but ultimately decided that, yes, it should be committed to (cyber)paper just like his big brother's (The Squish) was. Fair is fair... and, honestly, I don't want to emotionally scar one and not the other.

The PrequelOn Monday, May 23rd, I reported to my OB's office for the mind-numbing procedure known as the "non-stress test" (NST), which I had been partaking in twice a week for the previous four weeks. Upon checking in, the receptionist promptly congratulated me on my impending c-section!
... I wasn't going to... have... a... huh?!
Thinking that it's what my OB wanted/recommended (giving the CRAPTASTICAL way the pregnancy was progressing), I went ahead and scheduled it for that next Saturday, May 28th and started telling friends and family about the development.
That Wednesday, the 25th, I went to Valley Medical for an amniocentesis to determine whether Little Dude's lungs were mature enough to handle the Anti-Womb Zone. My OB was there, thankfully, but gave me the weirdest look as she walked into the room; I figured I had spilt coffee down the front of my shirt (again) or something along those lines, and shrugged it off. The procedure went well, save for the whole sticking-a-huge-effing-needle-into-my-uterus-through-my-side part... or when Mini-Man reached out and grabbed the needle. He GRABBED the needle. HEGRABBEDTHENEEDLE. I tell you, folks, sometimes you just don't want to see what's happening on the ultrasound. Suffice it to say, we all yelped.
Afterwards, my OB walked me to the maternity ward to make sure Chunker and I didn't have a bad reaction to the procedure. On the way, she dropped this little bombshell: "Um... I didn't say to have you scheduled for a c-section. I said "induction" - they must not have heard me correctly." Kind of explained the funny look, huh?

The Show
After waiting at home all day, Man-Mate and I reported to Valley Medical's Birth Center around 7:30 p.m. on Friday, May 27th to begin the induction. The nurses tried a couple of different options before we switched to a pitocin drip early Saturday morning... and that definitely got things started. By about 12:00 p.m., we had turned the drip up a few notches, and I was ready to get an epidural.
**Moment of silence for the wonder that is modern medicine, and Dr. John Bonica - inventer of this particular slice of heaven.**
When the anesthesiologist showed up to start the epidural, The Husband and I joked with him about the doctor who gave me the epidural I had with The Squish; how the meter is only made for women 5'10'' and under, and how he gave me too much medication so that my blood pressure dropped down to something low enough to have a nurse rush in with a crash cart (not needed - a shot of epinephrine was enough to bring me back to Happyville). Yeah, well, turns out it was THE SAME DOC. I would never have known, if it wasn't for The Husband telling me after he left the room.
When the nurse checked me around 1:00, I was 7cm and about 90%... so we figured it was time to call Man-Mate's mom and have her come down for the birth. Well... an hour later, I'm feeling awholelotofpressuredownthere and convinced that a baby (or a small rhinocerous) was going to come flying out any second, and Mom wasn't there yet, as she was taking care of The Squish. Man-Mate went to get a nurse (WHERE WAS SHE??) and, sure enough, the nurse delivered the age-old advice of "Don't push... just hold it in..." before she (wisely) fled the room to find the doctor.
Right as the doctor was suiting up and nurses were adjusting the bed, Mom came in carrying The Squish! I didn't have the time - or the care - to worry about whether seeing his brother emerge from his mother's nether-regions was something that would haunt him into perpetuity... but The Husband took Bubba and kept him up near my head, and having Mom at my side enabled me to focus and not let fly with a string of especially creative curses. With only a couple of pushes, our new little guy was born.

The After Party
Ugh.
Okay, so he was an amazingly cute newborn; no funky-shaped head, bright blue eyes, and pink all over, but I. Was. DONE. Bubba asked to cuddle with me, so I got to spend the first few minutes of Baby 2.0's life with both boys snuggled next to me, and I tell you this: I have discovered what Heaven will be like. It was amazing.
Mom spent the night with me so that Man-Mate could get some rest, and we all went home the next day.

So, how's that?

Life with our little Chunkasaurus has been amazing. The Squish loves him, and acts as if he has been in our family as long as The Squish himself... and even our cats have accepted him, bless their furry little hearts. So far, his favorite things in life are watching his brother (do anything - seriously), farting, attempting to clap, watching someone else clap, holding their hands while they clap (sensing a pattern?), snuggling, taking baths, chewing on his fingers/other people's fingers/burp rags/anything he can reach, and farting some more.

... he's perfect.



"Uh-HYUCK!"