I’m tired. I’m not tired like “wow, didn’t sleep well last night” tired. Oh no, pregnancy makes you tired like “I’m sorry I think I took too much Nyquil and I may be unconscious for the next month”. And as a stay at home mom this kind of fatigue leads to several inevitabilities.

1.) I don’t know what my children are playing with during the day. Perhaps it is sharp knives, perhaps it is my makeup, perhaps their experimenting with what can be flushed down the toilet. I don’t know because the only thing I can see is a 6 foot radius around the couch.

2.) Their dietary habits have devolved into the following options; Waffles, Macaroni & Cheese, Grilled cheese sandwiches or whatever Daddy knows how to make (which is basically cereal). I’m sure all my nutritional smart friends are churning at the thought of what my children are eating. However, my sister-in-law was kind enough to share with me that she used to just sprinkle goldfish crackers on the floor and let her daughter eat on those all day while she was pregnant with her second.

3.) The dishes aren’t being washed. We are now in a “wash-as-need” mode.

4.) Mommy ain’t happy. Unless of course you think it is fun to live with a person who ends every sentence with a disgruntled sigh, a rolling of the eyes or a loud verbal “ugh”. You might find it nice to live with a person who is irritated by your sheer existence and the idea that you are breathing near her and the sound of your breathing is making her want to throw up.

5.) Oh and that “pregnancy glow” that everybody tells you about? That’s acne. Yeah, they don’t tell you that when you have visions of this inspiring experience of carrying your child. You aren’t going to “glow” you are going to look like you entered puberty for the second time.

6.) And the tears. The tears come at everything and anything. I’m on the brink of tears at all times of the day and night. I’m tired – I cry. I’m sick – I cry. The new Visa Olympic commercials come on – I cry. My kids tell me they love me – I cry. David says he’ll be a “little late” – I cry. You get the idea.

And yet David turned to me this weekend and said “I’m going to be far more patient and understanding with you this time because I know this is all normal and in a couple more weeks you are going to feel much better”. I cried.

Raising girls and boys are amazingly different and I’m lucky to have the opportunity to experience this. For example, Lucy slept through the night at 8 weeks old. We sat down, we discussed the importance of a schedule and that mommy really needed at least 6 hours of sleep. Lucy reflected on this issue, agreed with the idea that she would be better served by a rested mother and instantly started sleeping through the night. This is raising a girl, or perhaps it is because she is the eldest. Max, on the other hand, had no regard for my lack of sleep. As a matter of fact he thought it was rather selfish of me to even request such a silly thing when it was obvious that he was both hungry and had no desire to be alone in the middle of the night. This is Max, flagrant disregard for rules, social conventions and a zest for life that can only best be displayed by his painting escapades documented in the previous post. And I wouldn’t want them any other way. Lucy reminds Max of the rules and Max shows Lucy that sometimes it’s fun to draw outside of the lines.

And yet, something has been missing. Somebody is not here. Its like when you sit down at the dinner table and the empty chair is a reminder of an absent person. David and I have an empty chair in our house.

So, about two months ago I peed on the stick of pregnancy fate and it came up positive. Yes Internet, I have returned to the serving counter of babies and said “Yes Sir, may I please have another?” I’m scared. I’m excited. I’m scared. It’s funny how with your first baby you are scared of child-birth. With your second baby you are too ignorant to be scared, but by your third you’re scared of that first year of life. That first year that is marked by not sleeping, a baby that seems to cry for no reason, and carrying enough supplies with you no matter where you go to exist on a small deserted island for at least a month. And at 38 that seems like a really daunting obstacle. And I knew all that when I decided to stop taking the pill. That is the power of being a mother. As women we voluntarily jump into 9 months of feeling terrible, followed by a year of not sleeping and a life-time commitment of worry and devotion. We can’t help ourselves, it’s like a crack addiction.

So Internet, if my posting is late it is because I’m busy trying not to throw-up. If my posts are angry it is because I have enough hormones in me to kill a horse. Welcome to, “Pregnancy: Operation B3”

I so wanted to collapse into the fetal position and go into a full panic attack when I checked in on the kids painting. I remained relatively calm and ran a bath.

The kids experiment with creative expression from Beth Morley on Vimeo.

Memorial Day was spent at the family lake house this past weekend. The focus of going to the lake house, of course, is the lake. I’m not one for swimming in a lake. Did you know that there is DIRT on the bottom? and FISH swim in there? and BUGS? All of which are things that you don’t find in a pool and somehow lessen the swimming experience for me.

Visiting the lake house almost always follows the same pattern. We spend the first day trying to get the whole family swimming in the lake and somebody ends up crying through almost all of it. This time it was Max. He would have NOTHING to do with the water, which provided me with the perfect excuse not to swim. Lucy LOVED swimming the first day and by bed time she was lamenting the fact that we wouldn’t let her swim any more until tomorrow. On the second day, the sun rose on a different Lucy who was TERRIFIED of the water because it was DIRTY!! That didn’t mean she didn’t want to wear her bathing suit all day, because she did. She just didn’t want to actually do any bathing in it.

Lake house weekends almost always include a large home improvement project. This weekend was no different. The “Man-Folk” were required to fix the boat dock which had fallen into the lake. I wish I could properly describe the visual of 4 WHITE urban professionals trying to fix the dock in the lake. I can’t, so instead I will just refer you to the video.

Fixing the Dock, Memorial Day 2008 from David Morley on Vimeo.

The most important things about lake house weekends though are spending time with family. From the time I was a little girl I wanted a big family and I am so blessed to have married into one. The time we spend laughing, playing, eating and talking are priceless. David refers to the lake house as his “church” and in many ways it is a sanctuary of love and togetherness.

A special thank you to my mother for buying the children a set of musical instruments for Christmas and a separate thank you to my mother-in-law for the drum.

Why parents are insane from Beth Morley on Vimeo.

This is childhood. Childhood is exploring, examining, learning and a lot of times getting hurt in the process. Lucy has worn her bumps and bruises like a champ and they are a badge of honor. She is enjoying her childhood and if she wasn’t her knees wouldn’t be looking like that. Too many times as parents we are so worried about helmets, and safety, and being cautious that we suck the fun right out of everything. Are we protecting or sheltering? Are we allowing our kids to enjoy their life or preventing them from having one? Are we allowing them to explore and experience or are we making them scared of taking risks? Lucy earned each of those bruises honestly by running too fast, going too high and pushing her limits. I couldn’t be more proud.

In an effort to clarify why I am the way I am I’d like to share a phone conversation I had with my mother last night at the mall.

Mom: Where are you?
Me: Were at the mall in the little play area.
Mom: oh
Lucy (off phone): Mommy look! I caught some sharks!
Me (playing along): Wow, they are huge! Good job babe!
Mom: Oh My God the kids have a shark?
Me: Mom, we’re at the mall. Of course not. They are pretending
Mom: Well, how was I supposed to know?
Lucy (off phone): Okay mommy, we’re jumping back into the pool
Mom: they are swimming?
Me: Let me get this straight, we’re at the mall and you think the kids are swimming and catching sharks? What kind of mall do you think we are at?
Mom: oh, well I didn’t know.
Me: oy!

I’ve wanted to make a french toast casserole for a long time now and so finally I gave it a shot. This isn’t an “official” recipe as much as it is a combination of several recipes that I tossed together to make my own. The measurements are estimates really.

6 eggs
1 c milk
1 c half & half
1 Tbsp sugar
1 Tbsp cinnamon
1 Tbsp nutmeg
1 French bread loaf (I used the long skinny kind but you can use the thicker shorter kind too – mine was SUPER stale and almost rock-like in nature, which probably helped)

combine all ingredients EXCEPT the bread in a large bowl and beat with whisk until well blended. lightly grease the bottom of a 9×13 (or large casserole dish). Cut the bread into 1 inch slices and lay flat on the bottom of the dish. They MUST be in a single layer. Pour egg mixture over bread, cover and let sit over night. (if your bread is fresh or still very soft you can probably just let it sit for a couple of hours). Heat oven to 400 degrees. Uncover casserole and let it bake for 20 minutes. And then enjoy the deliciousness that is french toast casserole.

I would think a nice praline topping would go well with this, or perhaps a raspberry sauce, but you know top as you see fit.