I have been feeling a bit violent lately. Poor JJ.
Not that I actually do anything violent except try to throw up.
But I threaten it. Poor JJ.
All through Sunday School yesterday I threatened to punch him. He would look over at me and I had a beady little fist ready for his eyeball. I kept telling him I was going to punch him. He told me he was going to move away from me. I told him if he did I would punch him.
I think the violence is more of a frustration thing coming to a head. The thing that is in me that is making me be on bed rest is not getting better and not getting worse. What does that mean? Um. Laying in bed made it not get worse. Or better. Which makes me think that that was a waste of time? And I should have watched better movies or read better books. Or I should have just exercised because it probably would be the same.
Anyway, the update. The kid looks like Skeletor, but the ex-ray tech said it looks girly. Whatever. Skeletor looks girly with a bow and some lipstick. So does this guy I dated in high school. Ha.
Also, the doctor said I could start doing things again. So I went to Ikea and did a lap. And pulled weeds and looked at the ring of slime in my toilets. I am not doing that. The stink. Is repulsive. I should do it anyway.
And the thing is, if I loose this baby, I loose this baby. And that is the way it was supposed to be. But I have tried to do all I can. I have done what the mid-wives online say. I have done what my doctor says. I have done what I am supposed to have done. There is nothing more I can do and so I just have to put it in the Lords hands and let it be his will.
So being on bed rest gets old quick. In my time in bed I have started to notice that a lot of the court tv that is on in the afternoon is rerun and rerun and rerun. Today had a gem of the American language.
A couple was seeking divorce. The judge asked the opposing parties what they do to make money. The husband is a poet/aspiring play write. Meaning unemployed. The judge than asked the woman what she does to support her family of 10 children ages 9-19.
“I does hair.”
“You do hair?”
“Yes, I does.”
If I was a poet I would also seek a divorce from the hair stylist.
I was put on strict bed rest on Thursday. Like don’t get out of bed. Don’t go downstairs. Don’t walk more than the length of a block. Don’t stand for more than 30 minutes. I was told to basically sit still for a really long time.
Gentry’s pregnancy was not like this. It was kind of difficult. But nothing like this and I had had nothing to compare it to before that.
This pregnancy. Makes me question my strength as a person. I know you are all here to support and help me through this. But I used to run marathons. I used to swim for hours. I used to sweat so hard during workouts that there was a puddle around me. I used to be strong. It is hard to give up that part of me, even for a short amount of time.
I was reading my cousin Sarah’s blog today. She has a link to this video and the following quote:
“Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on: you knew that those jobs needed doing, and so you are not surprised. But presently, He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of — throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were going to be made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace.” -C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity
I was listening and reading the quote at the same time. I could feel myself running again. I could see it in my mind. I could feel the rhythm of it. I could feel the cool breeze of the evening whipping past me. So maybe I need this time to be humbled and tried. I hope things will be better than I could have imagined.
Gentry drew the kitty on the left today at church. She is a mommy cat and pregnant with a baby kitty.
I am pregnant. Due at the end of November. Gentry is very excited for a little sister (we don’t know what it is yet). But he will not love a little brother and he will not share his toys with him. He has also named her already, Minnie. We will see.
I am sick and sick and sick. I finally went to get the nausea medicine reserved for chemo patients and am feeling good enough to work out. But have been told by my doctor not to. I had a slight scare and was in the emergency room a few weeks ago. Me and baby are fine, but I have to take it easy. Which leads to one large behind. And a very antsy to do almost anything mommie.
So for now, I am pregnant with kittens and watching the incredible enlarging behind.
JJ has been taking Gentry to Young Mens with him, giving me a chance to relax and watch The Biggest Looser in peace. Ah, peace and quiet.
The young men and young women are preparing for a dance celebration performance for when the Oquirrh Temple opens. One of the other leaders brings his son as well and they run like crazies. That is what I like to hear, get some of that wrestling energy out.
Anyway, I guess they practiced outside last night and it was a COLD night. JJ found an old t-shirt in the car to help warm up Gentry and it was magically transformed in to a hero cape.
And now I am singing in my head, “We need a hero! Holdin’ out for a hero till the end of the night! He’s gotta be strong, and he’s gotta be fast, and he’s gotta be fresh from the fight!”
We gave up on bed wetting. By we, I mean I let JJ stop waking up every 3 hours to change the bedding. Seriously. It just got old and Gentry does not care. Gentry is back in night time diapers. Today when I went to get it off of him, he said, “Wait I want to get the rest of the pee out of me.”
O.
M.
G.
I am not touching that you little dirty pig. I made him take it off and put it downstairs in the kitchen garbage. To me, I am thinking, if you can put on your own diaper. You are possibly to old for them, but he is a stubborn little thing and will not stop peeing. Ever. Ever. Ever. And the stench of his pee kissed skin makes me want to vomit. I won’t indulge you. But he has to bath every morning to get rid of it.
Later today, we went to our garden plot so I could plant a few things. He had a friend there with him and they were making a lovely mud mess. Washing their hands in the water and then LICKING THE REST OF THE DIRT OFF HIS HANDS! I am not kidding. I mean, we are at a community garden filled with manure, and fertilizer and who knows what else. Gross. Throughout the course of this he got muddy feet and shoes and made me spray them off.
After the garden adventure, I changed his mud soaked clothing and we went to the library. On the way I turned around to witness, to my horror, Gentry with his big toe in his mouth.
I will leave it at that.
Than! At the library he needed a drink from the drinking fountain. I looked away for a second and when I looked back, he had his mouth attached to the water shooting thing. You know, the thing encrusted in minerals, slime, germs and pig flu.
How do I accept kisses from this kid? I keep telling him he is going to get scurvy or cancer or worse. He just does not care.
I need to go dry heave in the bathroom for a minute.
