FB Status: Someone light a candle for me. I have to take both the kids to the OB today, and I’m still required to be some-what naked.

Thank God someone who was religious and/or believes lit that candle. I got to stay fully clothed!

Matt had a last minute trip to Harrisburg for meetings, so he had to cancel on watching the kids for my appointment. Lucky me! I got to take the kids to my appointment! Jealous?

OB days are always hectic mornings. First of all, it requires that I shower. I only shower at the butt crack of dawn for work. Typically, I shower during Luca’s morning nap. So dragging my sorry behind into the shower at some ungodly hour isn’t my idea of fun. Especially when what will follow is nakedness, probing and being weighed. (And men thought they had it rough with their once a year prostate check. Bah.)

I piled the kids into the car with some extra time to spare so we could stop at the post office. Claire had painted a really cool photo frame for her Great Grandparents and drew some pictures, too. Claire had nagged me long enough about sending it out, so I figured, since it’s next door to my doctor’s office, why not stop?

See, I have a rule about going to the OB. First of all, I get weighed. So I wear the lightest clothes possible. Next, if I have to get naked (and I want to be able to do it quickly,) so I don’t have to worry about being walked in on whilst fighting a pair of jeans, I wear sweatpants. I’m no Twiggy these days, yet I still don’t need maternity jeans. But fighting with my fresh-out-of-the-wash jeans just isn’t my idea of fun. Or flattering.

So here we are at the post office. Me in my ‘Sunday best’ and the kids dressed seemingly normal, when I notice that Luca doesn’t have shoes on. The saddest part about that? I couldn’t remember if he took them off in the car or if I ever even put them on him in the first place. What does Mr. Wiggles want to do? Run around. Barefoot. In the Post Office. *sigh* It’s not bad enough that I look like a bag lady, now my kid is shoeless. Without shoes. Barefoot. In a public building.

On to the OB. I had my appointment time written down somewhere. I swear. At one point. I remember seeing a 9. So my superb thinking kicks in: Get there at 9! That way you won’t be late.

Genius. That’s me. Sherry, the most awesomest secretary/nurse in the world, knows me better than I know myself. She came out with the pee cup in hand and said, “You’re early, but we’re slow. Come on back!”

Peeing in a cup with two kids present: a retrospective. NOT FUN.

“Ooooh! What you doing, Mama?”

“I’m peeing in a cup.”

“I want to pee in a cup!”

“No, not today.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t need to. You’re not here to see the doctor, Mama is.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s a baby in Mama’s belly.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted it there.”

“Oh.”

I turned around to find Luca wearing toilet paper like a beauty queen sash. When I went to tell him no, someone opened the bathroom door. I can’t remember if my pants were still around my ankles or not. Either way, free shows for everyone!

At the appointment, the we got to do my favorite thing of all time…hear the heartbeat.

Wooosh, wooosh, wooosh.

“Mama? What’s that sound?”

“It’s the baby’s heartbeat.”

“Oh! I LOVE that baby! She’s my favorite!” (Claire is insistent that this is a girl.)

And at that moment, I wanted to cry. Up until this moment, I had been only slightly petrified about being a Mom for the third time. I’ve heard so many stories…so many horror stories. And while I’m not one to listen, I couldn’t help but hear. I don’t believe this kid is going to be the bain of my existence. And for those women who tell me that having a third kid ends your life, well, they probably shouldn’t have had that kid in the first place. But that’s just my thoughts on that.

My baby. My baby in my belly. It has a heartbeat and I heard it. It’s real. It’s really real!

I’m a damn fine Mom. And I’m going to continue to be a damn fine Mom. I just have to remind myself that from time to time.

And it took a 12 week old fetus to tell me.

See, I can listen!

Advertisements

About Cassie

Two sisters from two misters. What could be more fun?

Posted on August 4, 2010, in Cassie and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 16 Comments.

  1. What an amazing story! You really are super mom! I love your explanation, “Because I want it there” and that they seemed to accept that.

    And I know I don’t have any kiddos, but I’ve heard that going from 1 to 2 is way harder than 2 to 3. You’ll do great!

    • Cassie or Carly

      Thanks, Girl! I know, I can only imagine that adding a 3rd kid into the mix is just simply that. Adding them in. I’m already in a friggin routine, you know?

  2. I am convinced that life is funnier (remember: tragedy + time = comedy) for pregnant women than for the rest of us. Keep the funny coming.

    No firsthand knowledge, of course, but friends have told me that 1 to 2 was much harder than 2 to 3. As you said, you have a routine and you’ll just add one to the mix. I think it may be a bit harder for the dads to keep up with than the moms.

    • Cassie or Carly

      You have no ideas the crazy stuff that happens to me when I’m pregnant. Especially when random people touch my stomach. Don’t you worry, I have a remedy for that…

  3. Is it wrong to duct tape kids down? Because that could have solved all your problems right there. I mean, it would just be temporary and all…

  4. I wouldn’t trade my third (or any of them) for anything in the world, but yes, the third one in our family threw us for a loop. But I’m not sure it’s just that we added a third – spacing plays a big part which also means my age was WAY different when each one was born. I tire a lot quicker now than I did when my oldest was born.
    That said, I have told you many times that you’re way better at being a mom than I am. You’re a natural and I believe you could have 6 or 10 kids and you’d be just as good.

    • Cassie or Carly

      Hey, hey, hey now. Let’s not get crazy. 3 is a fine number 🙂

    • Ditto that. I had number 8 at age 40 and the whole sleep-deprivation thing is throwing me for a loop! I just watched a tv special about older moms (in their 50’s 60’s and 70’s!!) and have no idea how THEY manage. And yes, this one is my LAST. Holy cow. LOL.

  5. My third was and is a gem. Somehow it was more difficult for me with the first two. By the time my third came along, he was such a good baby that I would put my ear to his face to make sure he was still breathing. OB visits are wretched but your story was great! Let’s not even talk about mammograms. I’m sure that some sadist (a man) invented those machines. Oh yeah, it had to be a sadistic man.

  6. Oh stop before my sides split. You make me laugh more than anyone I can think of!

  7. Sweetie, I’ve done the OB thing with 4 kids in tow. (A nurse watched them in an adjacent exam room while the dr did his thing to my naked self.) My third baby was the one I had the most problem wrapping my mind around. Two kids was okay, but for some reason THREE sounded like way too many. I was sure I didn’t have enough hands. How would I manage everything? How would we ever be seen in public again?

    LOL. I don’t know why. But it really wasn’t a big deal. When I was pregnant with #5 someone asked me how I was coping. I said “I’m still trying to get used to having THREE.” You’ll surprise yourself. It won’t be a big deal. I know because I had 5 under 5 at one point and life just was. The things I was doing made everyone around me stare with their mouths hanging open, but for me it was just life.

    You’ll be fine. You managed with the broken hip and birthing two other babies, waking up every time they cry, dropping everything every time they argue, and setting aside your wants every time they want to hug you. You go, Girl!!

  8. “Because I wanted it there.”

    Now THAT’S the slogan we need on the pro-choice signs!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: