A Taffy Chaser and Breast Pads

You know when you have that moment when you realize your life is nothing like you thought it would be. And you wonder to yourself- "Who am I and how in the world did I get here?"  And then you can't quite tell if you are seriously winning or seriously in need of a one way plane ticket.

This was one moment:

Me to Cory (while sitting in the passenger seat of the car with two pounds of saltwater taffy on my lap): "Do you want a piece of taffy?"

Cory: "Sure."

Me: "Here is a green one. It's a little sour, so I have a vanilla one here as a chaser."

It was then that I stopped and realized that I offered my spouse a "taffy chaser."  How did I get here? I used to be the girl who could beat anyone in a keg stand and now I'm in need of a chaser for my taffy.  I mean, I used to chase beer with cookies, so not much has changed, but really, taffy?  When did I get here?

Here is another:
The other night, I found myself and my four year old little nugget playing a game entitled, "How many breast pads can I fit in my pocket."  I think the title speaks for it's self.  But again, how did I get here? I mean, am I prepared for the birth of my child? Yes.  Am I #cool? Not so much. (Ya, Ya, I know. I can't really pull off the hashtag stuff.  Well, technically it's a pound sign, but whatever.)

On a side note, we are 30 days away from our due date, unless we are going with the word of my psychic who believes baby Rev will be born on January 16th.  And frankly, why wouldn't I believe the psychic?

Is It An Earthquake? Is The Floor Collapsing? No, It's...

So, I thought I would share this embarrassing pregnancy moment with you, because, well frankly, nothing really embarrasses me at this point. 

So last Friday, Chase randomly spent the night at his grandma’s house, and I am a hunting widow, so I thought: Hey, why don't I do something crazy. Like go shopping by myself. You know, like actually browse Walmart without having to dodge the toy aisle, having to run someone to the bathroom every few minutes or having my child beg and beg for something.  And sometimes Chase begs for toys too.  So I was stoked for this.  And no, I don’t feel that being this excited to venture on an independent trip to Walmart to pick out shampoo in peace is pathetic.  If you would have asked me five years ago, sure.  I would have thought this was extremely pathetic, especially on a Friday night.  But that was before I pushed an 8 and a half pound nugget out of my vagina. 

So here I am, pushing a shopping cart through Walmart when I feel a vibrating feeling.  I pulled out my phone from my back pocket, but it wasn’t ringing.  I didn’t think much of it, put my phone back in my pocket and moseyed along my journey. 

I took a few steps and I felt the vibrating sensation again.  Again, I took out my phone to check to see if there was a call. But nothing.  I continued to waddle along as I felt the same vibration continue.  Now, I was starting to get worried.  I looked around to see if anyone else was reacting to this vibrating feeling.  Was there an earthquake?  Was the floor going to cave in?  But no one around me seemed to be concerned, so along I trotted. 

Until, it happened again.  It was this time that I figured out what this vibrating feeling was…. It was (dun, dun, dun) my thighs rubbing together! (Gasp).  Now, don’t get me wrong, I have never been one to be concerned, whatsoever, about my weight (or anyone else’s weight) but I find it somewhat pathetic that I actually considered that there was an earthquake in Minnesota, in November, before I considered that my 40 pound weight gain could be effecting the way I walk, or waddle. 

So here I am with ten weeks left of my second, and last, pregnancy, ( Yeah, yeah, I know I said that last time.  But this time I really mean it.) without the ability to control when and where I urinate and without a thigh gap.  So I did the only thing I could think of doing…. I went through the Arby’s drive thru and feasted on a hearty roast beef sandwich and curly fries, with extra Arby's sauce, of course. 

Anywho, Happy Tuesday! 

Dad Farts, Lipstick

So the other night, Chase, Cory and I were snuggling in our bed before we tucked Chase into his own bed for the night.  Our baby started kicking and Chase put his hand on my stomach to feel the gigantic kicks.  Chase feels one kick, giggles and says, “Our baby likes to stay in there (meaning my stomach).”  He then continues, “I wanted to stay in your stomach for a long time too.  They had to suck me out.  It’s because I was so warm in there, and I know Dad farts out here.” 

Isn’t it funny how you think for one second that you are having a sentimental moment with your child and then in the next second they goes all adolescent on you?  

On a side note:

This is something I thought I would never say, but yet again, as a parent you can never say never (about anything):

“Chase, it’s time to brush your teeth and wash the lipstick off of your lips before bed.” 

Any who, Happy Halloween Folks!

Magnifying Glass and Random Strangers Cheering

You know when you have one of those moments that you just stop and think, “Huh, how did I get here?”  Well, last night, I had one of those moments.

Chase was sitting on the bathroom counter socializing with me while he brushed his teeth as he felt a drip of water fall onto his hand.  He asked, “Where did this come from?” I replied, “I think it came from your mouth.” Not satisfied with that answer, he perked his tiny little head up towards the ceiling and said, “Nope. I think the ceiling is leaking.”  

Right child, because that seems more logical than you speaking a mile a minute and foamy toothpaste spit landing on your hand.  But whatever, like most things, I’ll humor this too.

I watched as my tiny fellow, in dinosaur footsie pajamas, climbed down from the counter, grabbed the bathroom step stool and hurled it up onto the counter. He then pulled his tiny little body back up onto the counter and stood on the stool with his eyes on the ceiling.  He then reached his hand down to me and said, “magnifying glass.” As if he were a doctor asking for surgical tools to be handed to him during the middle of surgery.  

Without even thinking I ran to the living room, grabbed the magnifying glass, scurried into the bathroom and handed my tiny surgeon his tool.  It was when he was inspecting the ceiling for a phantom water leak, magnifying glass in hand, that I took a step back and thought, “Huh, how did we get here and how did I know where a magnifying glass was off the top of my head?” But continued on with the night.  Needless to say, Chase never found the leak and came to the conclusion that maybe he did, in fact, spit on himself.  Strange.

Another "How did I get here moment:" 

The other day Chase and I were at a park by our house.  The park has a black ledge going around the play area in hopes of keeping the tiny pebbles in the actual play area and not on the grass, or in a toddler’s nose.  Any who, while Chase was climbing on the jungle gym, of course, I took this opportunity to use the black ledge as a balance beam. Because what other grown adult wouldn’t?  The play area was quite large, so I knew this was a challenge, but I was up for it (And frankly, what else did I have to do?).  I started my balancing act slowly and cautiously but quickly grew confident and picked up the speed.  I was within two yards of the finish line and I felt my pregnant belly start leaning towards the left.  I quickly shifted my body to the right to correct it, fully equip with arms flailing but in this moment of panic I caught my fall.  While I was taking a second to collect myself to continue on my road to success, I hear a faint clapping in the distance and then I hear a voice yelling, “Yay! Nice save!” Apparently, I hadn’t noticed a family of five sitting on their front lawn in lawn chairs watching the circus that is my life.  And to this day, I can’t tell if I was embarrassed or proud.  Huh, I wonder where my child gets his quirky personality? I guess we will never know.     

Any who, speaking of random strangers cheering… (Who has two stories about random strangers cheering for you?  Apparently, I do.)

Well, when I was in college, my family and I were helping someone clean out a house before selling it when I hear a faint magical sound in the distance.  I looked at my dad and we both knew the sound. It was (dun-dun-dun) the Ice Cream Truck!  It sounded far away but I had a hankering for an ice cream sandwich and believed in myself, so off I scurried.  I ran and I ran and just when I didn’t think my Jello feeling legs could take me any further through the trailer court I was now running through, I got the inspiration I needed; a group of middle school aged boys.  They were gathered on the side of the street.  One of the boys yelled out, “Run, white girl, run.” And then they all began to chant this.  So naturally, at this point most people would have been too embarrassed to continue, but not me. My love for ice cream treats is real.  So, I kicked it up a notch and made it to the ice cream truck right before it was about to drive off, huffing and puffing, only to realize I didn’t have any cash on me (haha Just Kidding, that would have been so disappointing).  I bought my ice cream treat, turned around to head back and immediately thought, “Sh*t, now I still have to walk 5 blocks to get back and pass my cheering section again.” 

Any who, happy almost Friday! 

A Boob Explorer and Dreadful Urination

So you know how you teach your child to speak, and then you regret it, like daily?  Well, I regret teaching my child to speak. Like at all.

This past weekend we were camping with Cory’s family and Chase was playing outside with some of Cory’s aunts.  Mid-play, Chase walked up to one of Cory’s aunts and nonchalantly says, “You have nice boobs” and then struts away as if he throws out this compliment all of the time.  Everyone looked around semi-horrified and burst out laughing.  Chase looked at me, shrugged his little four-year-old shoulders and asked, “What?” As if this is something he thinks about all of the time.

When Cory returned from 4-wheeling, I told him about the compliment Chase hurled at his aunt.  Without any hesitation Chase pipes in and adds, “What? I’m a boob explorer.” 

So Cory is quite proud that our son is a hunter; a cougar hunter that is.    

(Insert the look of desperation and shame on my face right about now.)

On a completely unrelated note:

So I am 20 weeks into my second pregnancy and boy do first and second pregnancies differ, for a number of reasons. Let me share with you, my top 4 reasons why these pregnancies are different.  (Because 5 would be too predictable and conformist.)

#1. Peeing.  The thought of peeing yourself during a sneeze, a laugh or jumping, sounds horrendous during your first pregnancy.  You wouldn’t be caught dead telling anyone you accidentally urinated on yourself and now, with a second pregnancy, you just learn to wear two pairs of underwear at once, because a little urine is unavoidable and frankly, saves you a restroom trip.  Anyone on my speed dial gets daily texts that read: "Yup, peed myself 3 minutes ago."  Count yourself lucky if you don't have my digits.

#2.  Your growing belly. During your first pregnancy, you wear maternity clothes way before you start showing, in the hopes that you may look pregnant and cute.  This time around, I had to start wearing maternity clothes by week 6.  Not so cute when you have gained 30 pounds in four months.

#3. The delivery.  During my first pregnancy, I was scared for myself during delivery.  The thought of an 8 ½ pound baby emerging itself from your lady parts seemed terrifying (and a little disturbing when it’s put like that). This pregnancy, I am scared for my sleepy self after delivery.  Heck, being in a hospital hooked up to pain medication sounds like a treat and the perfect napping scenario.  Why didn’t I take advantage of that the first time around? Silly, Jayme. I’ll know better this time.

#4. Age.  My goodness, when did I get so old?  During my first pregnancy I felt like I could run marathons.  Okay, well maybe not marathons but I could at least stay awake past 8 pm.  Now, by the end of the evening, I don’t even want to walk to my bedroom.  I understand that I was younger when I was pregnant with Chase.  But only 5 years younger, not five decades younger.  I often find myself panting after a trip to the fridge and showering seems like an unreachable goal.

Any who, this is the week we (hopefully) get to find out the gender of our second little nugget.  We have decided to take Chase with to the ultrasound in hopes of reminding him that I am not not, in fact, going to give birth to a puppy, or his snail that died a few weeks ago.

Happy Tuesday!

Chase isn't only a fan of lady parts, but also art projects. This was his project from today. 

After our long weekend at the cabin.  The boys needed a nap. Rough life, huh?

You Know It's Time To...

Things I have learned this week:

You know it's time to... shave your legs when your child uses your leg as a scratching post to itch his mosquito bites.  

You know it's time to... start making some serious life changes when your husband says he's going to take the treadmill out and my first thought was, "oh, you're going to sell it" instead of getting it out to actually exercise. 

You know it's time to... intervene when your husband is in charge of bath night and you find your child and husband outside with the garden hose. 

Just a typical "bath night" at the Revermanns.  

A Baby, A Puppy, And A Salami Sandwich

So now, our family and friends, the Facebook world, the woman cleaning the bathroom at Walmart, Chase’s dentist, and all of the other people Chase has randomly blurted it out too, know we are expecting a baby early next year.  To say Chase is excited is a complete understatement.  

It’s no secret that Chase has wanted a “baby of his own” for some time now.  He hasn’t been very discrete about it, especially when he wished for a baby before he blew out the candles at his fourth birthday party.  It was sweet, but pathetic, very pathetic.  When we found out we were expecting a few months ago, we were so delighted to tell Chase.  Here was our conversation:

Me: “Chase, we are finally getting a baby.”

Chase: “I’m so happy; I hope it comes out a puppy.”

Forehead smack.

Chase has also been pondering what we should name our new family member.  So far, after we vetoed Chasey Jr. (a number of times), Chase has decided that if we have a girl, her name will be Pretty Pretty and if we have a boy, his name will be Salami Sandwich. Hmm, I think, as for now, he is off the naming committee.

So, as it turns out, we were not one and done.  Maybe two and we’re through?  J