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May Day

In the Historic district of the town where we now live, there is a tradition of hanging May Day flower baskets on your front door or porch, which are judged by the local gardening club.   Judging aside, it’s a gorgeous tradition – how fun to walk through the streets of town when every door is adorned with bright bouquets?

Kenny wanted to participate with me, so we each made baskets, and hung them on the front corner of our house:

Kenny’s basket was a beach pail, decorated with Lightening McQueen stickers and colored pipe cleaners (and the scraps of my ribbons) and filled with herbs and grass from our back yard.   Mine was about a half and half combination of flowers from our garden (azaleas, cockles, lilies, mint stalks and some random purple weeds that were really quite pretty) and some bought from the garden club’s flower sale (tulips and snap dragons).  

We were pretty proud of our artistic endeavors and even hid in the window to watch when the judges stopped by our house.   Kenny was beyond ecstatic that he received a ribbon.  (I didn’t tell him that it was “just for participating” because he was in the kid’s category…  how could I think to  take away from his exuberant joy??)   I got a little “thank you for your entry” postcard on mine, but no ribbon, and Kenny shared my disappointment with an unusual level of empathy for a little guy his age.   The best part of it all was that he and I went out to breakfast together, then spent a half hour walking hand in hand on the streets surrounding ours to look at the entries together, just the two of us.   It redeemed the strife of the day before.

Mayday!

The second half of the day was way too busy… Kenny had a t-ball game, then we all went over to our old house, which we are maintaining as a rental property, to do some work.   After three hours, we were all exhausted, the boys were feeling ignored and Casey’s incisions were aching.     We got home just in time to shower so that Casey and I could go out for a date night – something that we’ve not done nearly enough in the past few months.   The boys’ favorite sitter arrived and they barely noticed that we left, and Casey and I walked the town, “detoxing” from the tough afternoon, before settling at an outdoor cafe with live music.   We had a fantastic time – we were admittedly new people by the time, dinner was through – both of us recharged and relaxed.   We even waited 45 minutes in line for ice cream cones by the docks (silly, yes, but boy was it good!!) before walking back home and going to bed.

That’s were the fun ended.   I woke up at 1 am with contractions so strong I was clawing at the sheets and sweating like I was running.   I tried to walk around, but found myself every 7 minutes or so clinging to the wall, scratching and moaning in pain.   Casey woke up to the sound of my sobs and gasps for breath.   He was ready to go to the hospital, but I decided to take a shower first.   After 30 minutes under the hot water, the contractions dulled enough that I could breathe again.   I crawled weakly back to bed and fell into a fitful sleep, waking up every 15 minutes or so until morning.

I decided to go to the hospital and get checked this morning, even though the contractions had nearly subsided.   Casey took the kids to the park.   When I got there, they hooked me up to the monitors to check both the baby and the contractions, and when the doctor came in, she looked at the tape and said, “Well, you’re definitely having legitimate contractions.   Let’s see how far along you are.”

Bitter, bitter disappointment ensued.   “Wow.   You’re completely closed!   I can’t believe it, but you haven’t even really started labor…”   She was entirely sympathetic, but I burst into tears as soon as she left.   How can I endure this much pain and have NOTHING to show for it???   The nurses were sympathetic, too, and told me to “hang in there” and “don’t hesitate to come back if they get worse.”   I have been in a pout ever since.   Get worse?   I was trying to eat the plaster off the walls, I was hurting so bad last night.   I’ve been in labor before, and I tell you, nothing I felt when I was in labor with Kenny hurt worse than what I went through last night.   So not fair.   If I can’t trust my own body, what can I trust???

Today was not one of my more triumphant days as a mother.   Bitterly magnifying the defeat is the fact that it should have been a day when I was a Hero.   But sometimes even the best player strikes out, right??

I got tickets to take the boys to “A Day Out With Thomas” at our local city railroad museum.   He was only in town for a few days, and I jumped at buying the tickets when they went on sale.   Kenny is starting to  outgrow Thomas a little, but Cooper is a fanatic, and I thought that it would be the perfect Last Hurrah before baby #3 comes our way.  

We even started the day off great.   Casey stayed home for a bit this morning and we went for a walk to the corner coffee shop for croissants and bagels.   We sat by the docks and fed the ducks our crumbs, then headed home to get ready to meet Thomas.   But the crankiness set in even before we got in the car.   Cooper didn’t get enough sleep the night before and by our 10 am departure time, he was whining that he was hungry, and of course pooped on our way out the door.   At least, that’s what I thought I smelled.   After hurriedly changing his diaper as he stood in the doorway, I realized that it wasn’t his own poop I smelled,  but the Dudley poop that was all over the bottoms, and tops, of his shoes.   Ugh.   I was not able to mask my disgust as I yanked them off and threw them out the back door.   He was a little mollified and his whining ceased, at least for a few minutes.

As we walked into the museum, we got an immediate glimpse of Thomas before he left with a string of coaches.   “Thomas!!” squealed Cooper, and a huge grin broke out on his face.   “Hey, that’s not Annie and Clarabel!” shouted Kenny, and indeed, he was right.   Instead of the sleek wooden coaches we expected, he was tugging, in fact, dingy old retired MARC commuter trains.   Hm.   I thought about the extra dough I’d shelled out to ensure a ride on the train…

We walked into chaos, crowds of preschoolers and toddlers vying  for glimpses of displays and exhibits.   The lines were deep for the promised face painting and balloon animals.   We stood in line for nearly 20 minutes hoping for a character balloon, Cooper squirming and trying to get out of the stroller, when I gently asked Kenny if it was ok if we moved on to something else instead.   He was a great sport, as I know that he wanted some sort of souvenir from the day.   As we walked around it became apparent that though the event planners had organized activities both for Kenny and Cooper’s age groups, none of it was close to each other.   There were even moonbounces for both sizes of kids (and rigid signs and attendants to enforce them), but they were far enough apart that I couldn’t let Kenny get in one and go with Cooper to the other because I couldn’t see them both.   We settled for the concession stand and then sat in some seats to watch the end of a magic show for a few minutes before the train we were   booked on left.  

By the time we got on the train (even dingier inside than out), Cooper had had enough and was ready for a nap.   Kenny was excited, though and perked up and watched in rapture as we pulled out of the station.   The ride was 20 minutes.   10 minutes each way through a string of industrial buildings and housing projects.   I’m totally serious.   Kenny looked out the window and kept asking, “What are we passing?”     I wasn’t sure how to explain, but I couldn’t have anyway, because at that point Cooper started to wail.   Kenny and I tried to keep up a fun conversation, but it was tough.

When we pulled back into the station, I hesitantly told Kenny that we needed to leave soon.   He looked sorely disappointed, as was I.   I was mad at myself for not leaving Cooper with a babysitter.       Actually, Cooper would have had a great time if it was all about him; there were plently of things for his level that would have ensured a fum and memorable experience.   And Kenny would have had a fantastic time, if I’d been able to pay more attention to him and stand in lines with him and talk excitedly about all of it with him.   As it was, we were all frustrated as we walked back to the car.   Cooper fell asleep 9 seconds after being strapped in.   Kenny chatted with his gramma on my cell phone all the way home, talking about everything except Thomas.

Needless to say, the afternoon got rougher from there.   Kenny was tired and disappointed, Cooper was tired and needing to be entertained, and I was tired and in need of some rest.   For some reason, I was determined not to give into TV, though we would have been better off if I had.   Instead, Kenny asked if we could do an art project together, and I said yes, knowing that it would be hard to fend Cooper off the art supplies.   More frustration.   More tears.   From all of us.

Kenny had t-ball practice tonight after dinner and by the time he and Casey got home, he was a veritable puddle.   Casey was exhausted from a week of post-surgery travel.   I snuck downstairs and ate a giant piece of chocolate cake, standing in the kitchen, wishing for a glass of wine instead.   Oh, the agony of defeat.

Yesterday I was just about 90% sure that I was in labor.   At 10 am I started having contractions that felt like the worst period ever, and they were radiating through my back and down my legs.   I could barely walk or talk at all during them.   I tried all the things that I supposed to help you decide if it’s “really labor” like: drinking a ton of water; laying down for an hour on my left side; going for a walk; changing positions frequently… and on and on.   I would have gone to the hospital, except that Casey was out of town on a business trip and I spent the bulk of the evening playing out various logistic options in my head of how to handle things.  

So I decided to get the boys down to bed early and get all the necessities in order.   I did all the laundry, packed a hospital bag, washed my hair, shaved my legs and finally gave myself a manicure and pedicure.   Somewhere between the hot shower and the giant bowl of ice cream I ate while I painted my toenails, the contractions stopped.

Ok.   Good.   Hubby out of town, here alone, no more labor.   But   bad.   Nearly 11 hours of consistent pain, and you mean I’m not really having his baby?!?     How unfair is that?   I sulked through the end of my sundae and went to bed.   Only to wake up at 1 with another round of contractions that lasted until 3.   Great.   Thanks.   This is really fun.

Today I was fine – just a few normal Braxton Hicks to contend with.   I took the boys to the park, then later on a long walk to the library and to our favorite ice cream shop.   But sitting on the bench with our cones in hand, the awful contractions started again and I wondered how I was going to manage the two block walk home.   Then, miracle of miracles, Casey sent me a text saying that he was coming home tonight instead of tomorrow.   Whew.

So now I sit on my couch and the contractions haven’t stopped, nor have they gotten worse or closer together or anything text-booky like that.   Casey looked at me and said, “You know, if you’re going to have the baby tonight, that would really work out well for me.   I mean, don’t take it the wrong way, but you either need to have it tonight or wait until the end of next week, if you’re not going to make it to the 14th…”   Fortunately for him, I do understand and I’m not offended… (I love you, honey!)

Seriously, though, my thinking at the moment is more along the lines of, “Ok, if I’m going to spend hours and hours in this kind of pain, shouldn’t I have something to show for it?”   I just want justice, that’s all.  

When I was pregnant with Kenny, I went to the hospital twice in “false labor.”   Is there anything more humiliating than being sent home, still in pain, and told, “You’ll know when it’s really labor…”   Talk about feeling like a chump.   With Cooper, I never went in before my scheduled section (which was two days before my due date), but I did have a night where I paced the floor for 8 hours, timing contractions and pretty sure I was going to have a home birth before they stopped uneventfully at sunrise.  

Who are all these people I read about who simply go into labor, go to the hospital and have a baby?   Why is my body so hell-bent on playing tricks on me?

Tell me your story.   I want to hear some good labor (or even better, false labor) stories from you readers out there.   No, “my doctor stripped my membranes at 38 weeks because he was going to Cancun and wanted me to deliver early”   or “I requested to be induced early because I really wanted my baby to be a Capricorn.”   I want to hear some good gory and triumphant stories.   As for me, I’m going to get my affairs in order.

Yes, Cooper’s hair still sticks straight up…

He’s had at least a dozen haircuts in his 22 months of life, and no matter the length, he always looks a little like he’s just stuck his pinkie into an electric socket.

Today Cooper and Kenny were wrestling… something that I, having no brothers, really don’t get, but Casey assures me that they will do this until one of them graduates high school and moves out.   At this stage, the wrestling usually ends with someone in tears – either Cooper has gotten squished or knocked into a piece of furniture, or Kenny has gotten a fist in the eyeball.   (Did I mention Cooper’s right hook?)   But today was one that I hope I don’t see again: Cooper had Kenny pinned to the ground (Kenny actually laid down and said, “Cooper, come get me!!”) and Kenny tried to throw him off by lifting his hips.   Instead of going to one side or the other, Cooper was pitched forward and his forehead came down with a sickening smack right against Kenny’s front teeth.  

I was literally on the floor next to them and the sound made me nauseous.   There was a moment of silence and then the pair of them starting wailing at full volume.   Ah… now here was the dilemma… which one do I pick up and hug first???   Fortunately, they fell on either side of me, and I scooped on in each arm and held them tight until they’d calmed down enough for me to inspect the damage.   Cooper stopped crying first, but his wound was the most visibly painful.   Kenny swore up and down that his teeth were swelling too much for him to close his mouth, but I couldn’t see a scratch on him.  

They soon moved on to other antics…

I’m still recovering.

Found camera.   Found cord.   Go Owlz!

… Now I just need to start taking some pictures!   We haven’t used the camera since January….

Ok, not quite a pound… I spent  nine hours today  sitting in a hospital waiting room where Casey faced the day with a gallbladder removal.   The surgery was a success and relatively uneventful, save for a little extra nausea on his part post-op.   Whew.   It’s like deja vu from April 2007 when I had my own gallbladderout.   Except that this time  I was  the one twiddling my thumbs and waiting for the pager to go off and someone to tell me that my sweetie is ok.

I will be back at the hospital again at exactly the same time three weeks from today for my c-section.   How’s that for funny?   Everyone I’ve run into here this morning has asked me, “So, are you having this baby today?” and let me tell you how silly I feel saying, “not quite yet!” knowing that I still have three whole weeks to go.   I’m short and small-boned, so yes, I look like I swallowed an enormous  beach ball.   And I also look like I should definitely be giving birth any minute… Not to mention that for some reason the ol’ Braxton Hicks Bombers started at 8 am and haven’t stopped all day.   If they weren’t so darn irregular, I’d entertain the idea of an early birth.   But I don’t think today is my lucky day…

My parents had the boys for the morning, and it was like Disney Land for them… a two-hour jaunt to the city playground, slices from the local pizzeria at the docks for lunch and non-stop playtime into the afternoon.   For some reason, though, a mere two hours after my parents left, they both turned into supreme Grumpy Pants.   It was probably just me… I’ve been up since 4:30 after all and I’m not nearly as fun as Grammie and Grampy, apparently.   Not to mention that I’ve been trying to keep the noise down for Casey (which totally backfired, of course) and keep tabs on him, as he’s still pretty groggy.

On the slate tomorrow: Find the cord that will let me download the  trizillion pictures I’ve taken on my iPhone onto this computer so that I can post some here and get some printed out!     And Kenny has his 2nd T-Ball game at 9 in the morning.     Casey will still be in bed, but we will carry on.   Kenny is a little nervous, as Coach Daddy will not be there, but he’s excited nonetheless.   If still a little confused of what he’s supposed to be  doing at first base, when their are no outs in Junior T-Ball.

Mondays are never the easiest day of the week.   There’s always too much to do, and everyone is always bummed to see the weekend come to an end.   Kenny and Cooper seem to consistently get what I call “The Monday Boo-Hoos” the moment they realize that Casey is actually going to work.   Couple that with the occasional Mondays that he travels, and we have Boo-Hoo City.

Today was no exception, and when I was feeding Kenny lunch before pre-school and he said that he was too tired to eat, I brushed him off and sassed back, “Well, if you’re too tired to eat, you’re too tired to go to school and you’re definitely too tired to go to Kaitie’s birthday party tonight!’   He sniffled and choked down his grilled cheese and said, “Ok, I’ll be fine…” and thus we left the house.

Since we had an extra 15 minutes, we stopped to purchase a gift for said party and just before I was ready to hit the checkout line, Kenny whispered, “Mama?   I have to poop.”   “You’re kidding me,” I said, less than kindly, “Are you really sure?”   His little mouth started to quiver and I herded him and Cooper to the not-remotely-clean restroom in the store.   When he finished, we had barely a second to spare to get him to school on time.   I was so hurried to get him in his classroom, I kissed the top of his head and said, “See you at 3!” and hustled out the door with Cooper, to try and get him home for a much-needed nap.

Two and a half hours later we returned to pick him up, and there was Casey at the door to surprise him.   Cooper ran into his arms in the hallway, but Kenny didn’t even react when we entered the classroom.   “I’m really, really tired,” he mumbled and big tears started to fill his eyes.   I felt his forehead and there was no mistaking a fever.   Ten minutes later we were in the pediatrician’s office with a diagnosis of Strep and a prescription.   We kissed Casey goodbye, and the poor little guy cried all the way home, he was so achy and feverish and sad that Casey wouldn’t be there for bedtime tonight.

We parked the car at home and I strapped them both in the double stroller to walk down to the pharmacy.   One of the coolest things about living in town?   I can walk to everything.   One of the uncool things?   I have to walk, as there  is often no parking near where I need to go.   By the time we got the Rx,  Kenny was pale and the next thing I knew, he started to projectile vomit all over himself as we walked down Main Street.   He was mortified, and started to sob as he looked down at his clothes and the stroller.     We managed to get home and I stripped him down in the driveway and carried him upstairs to wash him up and get him some clean clothes.  

I directed Kenny and Cooper into my room, where I promised that they could watch a movie in my bed while we ate dinner.   I’d just washed my linens, and they sat watching me in the floor as I made the bed.   Just as we were getting settled onto fresh-out-of-the-dryer clean sheets, Dudley came tearing in and jumped on the bed and wiped his ass on the white top sheet, soiling it with a horrific streak.   I screamed at Dudley in disgust, hauling him off the bed and slapping his backside.   In his  surprise and confusion, he ran into the guest room and jumped on the bed, then into Kenny and Cooper’s room and did the same.   I charged after him with a hormone and stress-induced howl that scared him enough that he finally tore downstairs and hid behind the couch.  

Unfortunately, my shrieks also terrified the boys, and when I turned to see them, Kenny was crying and Cooper was wailing at the sight of their usually-nice Mommy in a rage.   I dropped down to their level and took them both in my arms, crying now myself.   “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, and I held them both for a long time.   I was so ashamed.   I was still boiling-mad at Dudley, but I was even more sorry that my little guys witnessed me lose it so terribly.   After we all calmed down, I stripped the bed (again) and spread out a picnic blanket over the mattress.   We turned on the movie and snuggled in with our now cold pizza.   Cooper squished so close to me I though he might be somewhat absorbed by osmosis at some point.   And Kenny kept close enough that I could rub his head the whole time.

As I put them to bed, I thought about  how much I loved them and how horrible I felt  that I’d scared them by  yelling  at our stupid dog.   The  good news is that since Kenny’s contagious, we  can truly take a “sick day” tomorrow and do nothing but play all day together, just the three of us.    How can there be any Boo-Hoos over that?   Now if only someone could invent  a toilet  paper for dogs…

Last night Casey looked at me and my giant almost 36-week0sized belly and said, “You know, even if you don’t want to, you should try to blog a little, at least in these last few weeks of pregnancy.   You don’t want to lose these memories…”

And he’s right.

First, there is really no reason that I stopped blogging.   I guess I just got wicked busy, and after days turned into weeks, it was a relief not to add the days’ extractions onto the computer before falling exhausted into bed.     I decided not to feel guilty about it (even though I was missing out on the “baby book” aspect of some of Cooper’s most charming times of   life) and to be honest, kind-of even forgot about it, except when my mother asked me continually if I was ever going to blog again.  

I did appreciate all the kind emails checking up on me and encouraging me.   And there were many nights that I almost started to write something down from the day, but it seemed so odd to just jump back in after my extended absence.   And so much has happened!

We moved to the Historic District of our local city.     From isolated, expansive waterfront to in-town life, we are still getting used to the joys and pains.   Joys, like seeing friends daily, family walks and trips to the coffee shops and ice cream parlors that dot our bricked sidewalks, half the time  as before spent driving in the car, and all the energy that small-town life has to offer.   Pains, like Dudley’s lack of a dog door or big yard to run in, and his psychotic barking at every single person who walks by our house all day long… though we just got this anti-bark device that’s working pretty well…   The boys miss their giant bedroom and big yard with the swingset, but they’ve come to love our long walks around town and the city playground.   And our house has this awesome glassed-in front porch that overlooks the street which we turned into a playroom.   Talk about never feeling lonely!

Kenny has started his first sport: Junior T-Ball.   It’s a riot to watch and he is loving every moment of it.   Cooper is, too, and is totally convinced that he’s a member of the team, even though he can’t figure out why we never let him on the field.   Casey is the coach of Kenny’s team, and we had his first game this weekend.   It was a tie, of course, as it turns out that in Junior T-Ball, everyone gets a single on any hit, and there are no outs.   Kenny was mighty disappointed by this second fact, as he was playing first base, and got three players out.   At one point, he turned to the opposing coach, who was at first base to cheer his runners, and said, “If I get the ball and get to the base first, the runner is supposed to be out!”   The coach had the decency to look uncomfortable and mumble, “Uh huh.”   We explained to Kenny that T-Ball is a little different that baseball, which he knows the rules of already, and he looked at us like we were crazy.   Oh well… at least he has fun wrestling with his equally-adorable teammates in the dugout…

Cooper talks like a three-year-old.   I am totally not exaggerating.   Everyone who is around him is amazed by what comes out of his mouth.   “What you doin’ there, Dada?” “You like a bite ‘a my apple, Mama?”   “Lay down next to me, please!”   “We making samwiches for lunch!”   “Der’s ‘Tarbucks, Mama!   You wanna coffee?     I wanna choc-late milk!   An’ a muffin!”   “Can I have a juice, please?”   “Mama!   Kenny has it!   He has my ball! You get it ‘a him an’ give it to me!!”   The kid is only 21 months and we can carry on a conversation.     And he can throw a ball!   Really hard, as in, if he gets his hands on a baseball, it’s best to duck.   He’s 30 pounds, too, and his 2-T tee-shirts barely cover his belly button.   And his hair still sticks up.   I should post some pictures…

(Ah, pictures have become as scarce as blog-posts.   I haven’t seen our camera since the move and though I am constantly snapping shots on my iPhone, I haven’t managed to download any yet, so they are pretty useless…)

Oh yeah, and I’m almost 36 weeks pregnant.   I have a c-section scheduled for May14th… not soon enough, though with all I still need to do to get ready, I’d better get crackin’.   I have been having very consistent Braxton Hicks contractions since I was 18 weeks, and I told my OB that I’ve gotten so used to them that I’ll have no idea if I actually go into labor.   They are not the friendly BH contractions, either… they are the double-you-over, make you gasp for breath and start timing kind.   There have been four separate occasions now where they lasted more than two hours, at regular intervals, and I was convinced that I was going to have to go to the hospital.   Each time, though, just as I was reaching for the phone, they disappeared.   Today was another bad stretch, and I actually spent about 5 hours in bed this afternoon.   I’ve started to hope that I do really have this baby early.   I’m not sure I can take another 4 weeks of this!

Ok… that’s long enough for now.   Do I even still have any readers out there?   it doesn’t matter… this documentary is for me and the kids, anyway.   No guarantees that I’ll be able to write much regularly, though I do hope that I can, at least through this mystery-baby’s birth.   It is a precious time.

Kenny and I had some much-needed time together today during Cooper’s naptime.   We were assembling a robot out of this cool little motorized construction set he has, and he was pouring over the directions (which are in picture format – no words).   He scrutinized them for a moment, then looked up and said, “Mama.   It says here that, if you want to, you can take a break and have a little snack!”

“It does?” I said, very seriously.

“Yep.   And then it says if you have to poop, you can take a break and do that, too!”

So that’s what he did.

Yesterday we hit the 7th day since Dudley began treatment for his sarcoptic mange.   (Just typing that gives me the heebie jeebies.)   So I officially lifted the “vacuum the entire house every day and wash every article of clothing in hot water as soon as it’s been worn”  command that we’ve been living through.   I also let Dudley come upstairs for the first time in a week last night, and oh my, was he a happy dog.   He’s still being a hyena, but what can you expect when you put a high-energy dog on two weeks of prednisone??

In spite of my release from vacuum-prison, this week has been wickedly busy, as we expected it would be.     Not only is there Christmas shopping to finish, wrapping to do and parties popping up, but we’re begining to start thinking about preparing for this move (which happens in a mere 3 weeks!).     I look in my closets and think of the kind friends who have offered to help us shuttle boxes, and I wonder, oh how am I even going to get all this stuff into boxes and then find it again?   So I happily slip back into denial and pretend that I really don’t need to get started yet.

I am also directing our church Christmas choir… something that’s been cookin’ since August.   We picked some very challenging songs and our performance day is this Sunday.   A choir is not something our church regularly has, and this has been a wonderful experience.   We managed to pull together 40 people and at our last “official” rehearsal on Monday, they were sounding quite fantastic!   I got a little teary-eyed looking out at all of them singing with such concentration and joy.   We have a rehearsal with our church’s band tomorrow night, then a dress rehearsal on Sunday, and then our big Christmas service is upon us.   Casey has been a part of the choir with me, and it’s been so much fun to do together.   Even though it’s meant that every Monday night our kids are up until 10!   Kenny is already sad, though, that choir is ending, as he made some sweet little friends in choir child-care.   Cooper is probably infinitely grateful to see it end, though he lacks the understanding of the future tense to absorb it, and the vocabulary to express it.

It will be my first opportunity to conduct in quite a while (the last being when I was in college, 13 years ago!!), so I am a little nervous.   Flapping your arms around wears you out, let me tell you.   And then there is the fear that I’m going to mess up, but frankly, most of them are pretty glued to their music, so they may or may not notice.   ha ha… I’m just kidding.

I am tired, though.   I feel like suddenly 11:30 has become an early bedtime and it’s just not enough when the Rooster known as Cooper starts crowing a little after 6.   I already feel like I spend half the day trying to catch up while I’m playing with them, but then there is so much more to do at night when the little guys are in bed.   Thank goodness I’m in the second trimester.   Isn’t that the one where you have all the energy?   I thought so, but you could have fooled me some days.   Somebody give me some caffeine!   Oh yeah, that’s gone the way of sushi and wine and all things good and psychosomaticly beneficial…