Penned in the Wee Hours in my Head

These are days of nighttime feedings and diaper changes. Bottles and burpings. These are days of pounds and ounces and baby gurgles and tiny socks.

We are not sleeping.

Let's not try to make this something it's not.

This too shall pass.

Welcome Baby Hucksley!

He's here everyone! All 8 pounds 12 ounces of him! He's even taller than his older sister at 21.5 inches. He arrived on December 20th 2009 at 2:08am. I'm such a proud mom!

It was a long, long labor at 28.5 hours. I had been in prodormal labor for a while already so when I hit 40 weeks the doctors wanted to induce. (See previous post.) Being that I had pregnancy-induced hypertension and was 4 cms they said it wouldn't be a problem. But I really wanted to know what it was like to do it naturally with no drugs. I wanted to know how far I could trust my body. I now understand the famous answer some mountain climber quipped when asked why he climbed Mt. Everest. "Because it's there!" he said. It's a lot like that.

With Bombie the birth was medicated, induced. I asked for an epidural. I tore, got stitches, healing was much, much longer. So this time we were determined to stay home as long as possible. Well, we did. Right up until transition. Labor contractions began at 9:30pm on December 18th. I timed them and they were about 12 - 18 minutes apart. I couldn't sleep through them but I did doze between them and tried to relax. Labor had definitely begun. I thought, okay, tomorrow. Boy, was I wrong!

All through the next day, labor puttered in and out. I couldn't lay down and nap, I couldn't do much except watch TV, walk around a little and time contractions. Since it was Saturday, James was home and we sat and timed them. We were waiting for them to get to 5 minutes apart or less for an hour before getting to the hospital. I had had my "show" but my water was intact so there was no rush. Somewhere in the day I got on the treadmill and walked a bit to get things going again and then he took me to Target. I was in no mood to talk to anyone or interact, but walking with him was good. Every time a contraction came, I leaned into him. We puttered some more around the house, got Chinese to eat and I tried to ignore Bombie each time she wanted to be picked up. Felt bad about that, but I just couldn't.

What else did we do? Oh yeah, we sat through about two parts of The Lord of the Rings, tried different labor positions until I decided sitting on the edge of the couch seemed to be the most comfortable. Towards the evening I began to get more vocal and moaned / hummed. That's when we knew we were getting close. At about 9:30 that night I began to shake. We were getting really close. Still, I wanted to avoid pitocin, being strapped down, etc. and we were so, so close that we wanted to get a good pattern going before leaving. At around 10 things shifted into really high gear. Contractions were beginning to come at 4 - 5 minutes apart, hurt more and there was pressure like I was sitting on the baby's head. That's when we left. I believe it was something like 10:45pm.

The hospital was about a half hour away and I had about 4 - 5 contractions on the way there. As soon as they saw us come in, they knew we were staying. The triage doctor checked me and said I was at 8 cms. Then he says, Is your baby breech? I almost died. A quick ultrasound said no. I had been checking my cervix off and on all day, so I knew anyway but it was nice to let go of that last little bit of worry. They checked me into labor and delivery at about 11:30.

Contractions were now coming 4 minutes apart and lasting about a minute or more. I had the most indescribable urge to push. I zoomed from 8 to 9.5 cms in just a few minutes and when the midwife came at 12:45 I was ready to have him out already. She broke my water and he was born in about an hour from then. No tears, no stitches. That's the beauty of the human body. I love it.

I know, I'm beginning to sound like a natural labor nazi, but the difference between Sierra's birth and this one was so huge I can't even compare it. Yes, the contractions hurt, but besides that, recovery was so much faster. I was up and walking around 9 hours after giving birth, had the catheter removed, got no stitches and walked to the car 24 hours later. I felt strong and in control, I was able to push in the position I wanted and even though I kept saying "I can't, I can't" while pushing, when the urge to push came and I was in the middle of it, it was so primal and so strong, there was no way anything could have stopped the baby's birth. I'd say pushing was about 100 times more effective without an epidural. I could tell it used every muscle in my body because everything from my ribs to my gums were sore for a day after.

If I had to give birth again this is how I would do it. But I doubt I could have done it without my husband, James. I think I fell in love with him all over again that day. He was strong for me when I couldn't be and wanted to go to the hospital early. He was there for me to lean into, all 6 feet 4 inches of him and he was there cheering me on when I was pushing our son out.

I was the one who went through labor, but it was us - James and me - who birthed our son together. I couldn't have asked for anything more.

Not Yet!

Well, as it turns out, after telling all my friends that I was having the baby induced yesterday we decided against it. I'm still hoping I will go into labor on my own and if not we will induce him next week on Wednesday morning.

More than anything, I was irritated at how the hospital staff seemed to rush me into wanting to induce the baby yesterday. Hospitals here are notorious anyway for shoving their way in between a married couple so we are always on high alert when we're in there. It just bugs me how each time we go in they make every attempt to separate James and me and then ask me if I'm being beaten. Just another reason I hate the Nanny State of California. Any wonder my blood pressure shoots up in the hospital? Ha!

Anyway, so I told the nurse what I thought about their stupid "policy" yesterday and then was being monitored for hypertension. Obviously, the BP was high throughout. So they were concerned about pre-eclampsia. Here is the most precise information I have found on Wikipedia. Yesterday, they insisted I had it, even though I had only "trace protein" in my urine (from not having eaten all day - thanks for making me run around, hospitals!) and my blood tests were normal. I finally had to ask the doctor how much protein was in my blood and she said 20mg. Excuse me? Pre-eclampsia diagnosis needs 300mg!!!

But the doctor kept wanting to send me for an induction. "But you're 40 weeks, so there's no problem." She kept insisting that it was our call but there was nothing in her demeanor that made it seem like I had a choice after SHE had decided what was best for me. Ugh. If I have another baby, it will not be in California.

So that put me on high alert. But when they start talking about how I could have a stroke or the baby could die and/or we could both have neurological damage, it gets scary real quick. But what they don't mention is that C-sections have their own issues and complications. Heck, life can be a complication - there's no way to rule out all risks. I was feeling like a trapped animal, so we decided to schedule an induction for next week. That way the boy has until 41 weeks to get here, it's still before Christmas (so he won't feel like everyone is "partied out" when he gets older and it's his birthday) and I still have a shot at this going naturally.

We'll see. Here was the caveat though. The nurse saw what I said she told me that the hospital was highly interventionist. She said she had PIH throughout both her pregnancies and her kids are just fine. She said she refused induction and an epidural for her second as well and he was healthy as can be. I think if hospitals really meant all the crap they spouted about respecting their patients and treating them well, their approach would be vastly different than just pushing people into unnecessary procedures. If you trust US hospitals with labor and delivery, do some research into the statistics. They're appalling. Appalling. And yet they have the nerve to get you to sign a waiver that says you are leaving against medical advice.

Which I did yesterday. We'll see how much more crap I have to tolerate before this baby is home.

Breathing Space

The past few weeks have been emotionally difficult. My dad has been over to visit and help with the arrival of the new baby and the baby seems to be taking his own sweet time coming. Perhaps because my dad is here and I'm having a hard time relaxing. My blood pressure has shot up and I would imagine oxytocin is in short supply in my system right now.

Now don't misunderstand. I don't mean to be ungrateful. I'm very grateful that my dad is here all the way from India to help, but it's been almost a decade since I left what used to be home and being around him 24 - 7 is kind of getting on my nerves. He's easy enough to get along with but he has some personality quirks that absolutely drive me crazy. Like he won't speak in English even though he can when James is around so I have to translate or my husband feels left out. Not to mention it's just rude. The cultural gap is hard to bridge. I can tell he's a little on edge when James is around and that irritates me too. I mean, jeez... we've been married for almost eight years now. Also, he calls me by my mom's name by mistake. A lot. AND he never leaves the house. Even for a walk. And we have the same conversations every single day. Ugh. "Sleep well?" "You're going to have coffee now?" "How are you feeling?" I want to scream "I'M PREGNANT, NOT AN INVALID. I'M NOT SICK!!!" Not to mention the house is usually quiet - we're quiet people - and any sound is magnified. So intimacy of any kind with James becomes uncomfortable. Not that I'm looking forward to any of it being 3 days away from my due date. But still... I wish I didn't have to worry about anything I said, much less did, with James.

Yes, a bit of a rant. But you see where I'm coming from now. Part of me is beginning to think it was a mistake to ask for help. It's been more than a month now and I can't wait for everything to be normal again. Really, I don't know how other families have house guests for this long.

The family dynamic sucks too. Bombie is getting pampered and our time-outs are not working as well, partially because he comes in and rescues her before we have a chance to give her a time-out. So she doesn't learn. He carries her around a lot, so she's getting dependent. You know, everyone said that the reason I didn't walk until much later is because I was an overweight child. I'm beginning to think being carried around had a lot to do with it. He won't let her fall, he worries all the time when she's climbing up and down, he keeps saying things like, "Walk, don't run..." Aaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!!!!

Well, three more weeks. That's it. I advanced his ticket and he's leaving on the 4th. We'll just deal with everything by ourselves later. Those were James' words of wisdom yesterday and I think he's right. If this was a permanent situation we'd have to lay down some strict rules. But chances are he's not going to see Bombie again for a long time so he can pamper her all he wants. She's only 16 months, so she won't remember much. And we can deal with the new family dynamic after the fourth of next month.

Until then I only have to stay sane and deliver this new baby. And never ever forget that the more security, the lesser the freedom. I have never known that in a more real manner than I do now.

So Much for To Be Continued...

Although my last post said it would be continued, it didn't happen. But today I've done some fun stuff that should be blogged about! Today I shopped like a true "tightwad!" If you don't know what that word refers to, you're probably not alone. But I have become a convert. And maybe if you read it, you will too - "The Tightwad Gazette" by Amy Dacyzyn. (I think I got that spelling right!) And today I bought 20 pounds of onions and 20 pounds of tomatoes!!! I came home beaming. They were the "loss leaders" in a few stores and I went around and bought only those! Now I'm getting ready to blanch them and freeze the tomatoes for pizza sauce! Every Friday is pizza night here. I'm so excited!

(I know, I know... I have a low entertainment threshold. LOL.)

Musings

Today I would like to learn the meaning of true reverence. Not just respect. Not the false kind of respect we bestow upon our parents because we have to in some cultures that insist we treat elders with respect. But reverence. True reverence that includes awe. Everywhere I look lately I see signs of aggravation, as if we were irritated not just with the people around us but ourselves. And so we find it necessary to anger them or get them to react in a way that mirrors what is inside us. And so on it goes.

This is of course not to say that I'm immune - that I have achieved Nirvana of some sort. In fact, it's just because I'm so irritable all the time that I've begun to examine what it is that makes me so angry.

Is hell really other people?

I want to learn to be quiet, to silently, peacefully live with my entire being. I want to ignore people that impinge on that peace. I want to forget that I can speak for just a little while, cease to think thoughts - this endless chatter in my head drives me crazy until I feel like there's nothing that's substantial going on inside it.

Maybe it's just that time of year when we turn inwards. Then again, maybe I should move to a quieter place.

Today I'm a Parent

Call it a mother’s intuition or call it panic, I am taking Bombie to Kaiser today. She’s had pretty bad diarrhea for almost a week now (going on five days today) and calling the advice nurse and speaking with the doctor on call has not helped. This morning her crib looked like a crime scene and in the middle of it was my precious baby. When I gave her a bath, she just sat in the tub listlessly, which is very unlike her. Later, at breakfast, her eyes stared vacantly at nothing. So this time when I called, I insisted I see the doctor. Today. If they didn’t have an appointment for me, I was going to take her to the emergency room. (But, thank God, they do. This afternoon. So we’re waiting for James to come home and then we’re both going in with her.)

This kind of assertiveness is rare for me. I’m one of those people who worries excessively about inconveniencing others. Especially people that I deem to be authority figures – experts of any kind: doctors, teachers, cops, professionals and so on. And I can’t help but see how true the phrase really is, how having a baby really does change everything.

Maybe even me.

The weekend has been enlightening and oddly inspiring. If I haven’t thanked you God for sending me such a wonderful man to call my husband, let me do it now. Thank you. James has been the model of a patient, caring and yet disciplinarian parent. Last week we had some issues with Bombie being difficult and we started time-outs. This weekend she has been sick. And James has – with remarkable precision and intuition – gauged when she needed love and when she needed discipline. I was so in awe all weekend as he ditched his dinner to hold her and sit on the swing outside to make her feel better. He changed her nasty, smelly diapers and he even encouraged me to go to the bookstore like I was planning and not feel like I had to be with Bombie at all times. He did laundry maybe four times because the diapers just weren’t holding the diarrhea. And I was right by his side, I’d like to believe, but I was so stunned at how good he was at being a father that I couldn’t think of much else. (We’re using disposables for this sick period; the cloth diapers were worse!)

And through all this I’m learning something about love, an aspect of it that I hadn’t known before. As we each had dinner by ourselves so the other could hold and rock the baby, as we looked to each other for encouragement or so we didn’t lose the moment to frustration, I believe we learned something about love as duty. It is different. It’s entirely different, for instance, from the selfish love we felt when we were first married. It’s also entirely different from our usual romantic love, although it sure feeds directly into it. I guess you could say when I feel now raising our kids together is a mixture of admiration and pride in our little but growing family. And I can’t help but also feel humbled and grateful to have it and be a part of it.

Another Attempt at TV goes Awry

I absolutely do not mean to suggest here that I don't watch television - I have my Hulu and we watch a select few shows that I can tolerate that don't have obvious ideology associated with them. (Are there any left? Thank God!) For example, I enjoy a good dose of House, The Biggest Loser, Fringe and other select shows. But today I made the mistake of being adventurous and looking for "something else." Ha.

I came upon Eastwick.

It was a pilot for a new series on ABC. Boy oh boy... where do I start? It begins with a widow screaming at an old man (wearing a veteran-like uniform, nonetheless!) inquiring about if he's going to stop staring her breasts and buy something from her stall. I imagine it's some sort of a fair in a little New England village. The woman's daughter then enters the scene concerned about her mother and she's dismissed as "worrying too much" and told to "go rebel; chase after boys or something" while the Merry Widow's much younger boyfriend (who looks like he's her daughter's age, really!) enters the scene and plants a deep smack on her lips. "We're not doing anything wrong," he reaffirms.

The second of the three women is a brilliant writer who believes she will never get ahead at her job no matter how good she is because her boss is a chauvinist. Yeah, right. But even SHE owns a vibrator. Hint, hint. Just because she's clumsy doesn't mean she's not liberated. Yeah.

The third is perhaps the favorite of the feminist group: the poor little thing that "gives so much and does so much for everyone else" that she is left wishing "someone else would take care of [her] for a change." Oh, please. Are the screenwriters so out of lines that they're having to look at daytime talk shows for help now? Or are we just so brain-dead that we don't see this for the obvious crap it is?

I had to turn it off. And I wasn't any more than ten minutes into a pilot episode of a new series. I know, I know... it's based on a novel. But John Updike was too good of a writer to have come up with platitudes like these. The witches of Eastwick were man-less but nowhere in the novel do we find the obvious and overt hatred of men that came across loud and clear in the first ten minutes of this show. And why Witches of Eastwick and not Terrorist, a more relevant novel by the same author on all counts?

Television has gotten so out of whack with reality, the willing suspension of my disbelief is no longer something I can muster without serious brain surgery. I'd rather have my brain, thank you.

I Made Bombie Laugh!

Life without Television

When I was a teenager I always thought it would be a good idea not to have television in the house. Yes, I know, it's hard to believe that a teenager would come up with such an idea, but I did. It may have had something to do with the fact that my mom liked to watch those horrible soap operas on the hindi cable channels. If you've been saved from them, count your blessings. They're an endless diatribe (usually how life sucks for women) with many actors taking the role of one character when - you know - someone goes on maternity leave or dies. I hope I've made my distaste for them very clear.

So I thought it would be better to be without that drivel. Unfortunately when I moved here, television was just a fact of life. Until just recently when we've had to make some drastic financial decisions and let go of cable television. What a blessing it has been! It seems like I had always known in my heart that in some way television programs more than just the news and the shows, it programs your mind and if there are kids in the home it should be off. Well, I got my wish.

The results have been fantastic. I am calmer, less irritable, find more creative ways to entertain myself and - surprise, surprise - read a lot more. In fact, would you believe that in the past three weeks I have read more than six whole books cover to cover? Yup. That's right.

And then today I thought we'd watch a movie we borrowed from the library. What's a little harmless entertainment? So I picked out "About a Boy" with Hugh Grant. And the messages that came through shocked me. Now that I've not become deadened to the programming, the messages were loud and clear. The movie was all about fitting in. The bachelor and the kid in the movie all find ways to "be part of the crowd." The kid is laughed at in school because he's different and made fun of, so what does he do? Starts listening to rap music. Yuck. And oh yeah, buys new sneakers. The rich bachelor who's told his life makes no sense because he wants to live by himself and has no kids finds a way to get along and spend Christmas with other people. The point at which I turned it off was when the kid wants to give him lessons in "being a man."

Seriously, give me a break. And this is supposedly an innocent comedy. Now it's easy to say I'm thinking too much, but have you thought that maybe too many people are thinking too little? It's easy to be lulled into complacence in a dark theater, being told a nice colorful story, but no thank you. If that's what fitting in is, I'd rather not. I understand that by saying so I'm already not one of the crowd and that suits me just fine.

I'm glad we got rid of cable. Our family can do just fine without all that drivel.

Blubberface, That's Me

A few days ago a friend of mine who is pregnant for the first time and I were sharing pregnancy stories (of course, now that I'm in this a second time, I get to be the know-it-all!) and she mentioned that she was very emotional and cried at commercials. I laughed and said, Thank God, this time it's different.

And then we watched - of all things - Evan Almighty. Does anyone even know this movie? It's where this would-be senator who wants to change the world is visited by God and told to build an ark. OMG. I got all choked up each time there's a reference to the family spending more time together. I know.

So from now on, call me blubberface.

More on Homeschooling

I must have been more than a little peeved when I wrote the last blog post on why I'm seriously leaning toward homeschooling for our kids because I seem to have lost the ability to be articulate. It happens - especially when I feel strongly about something. Left brain, right brain and all that. So here's a more well thought out post to why I will be (most likely) homeschooling when it comes time.

First off, I should mention that I have a terminal degree in writing and English. What that means is that it is actually higher than a Masters but because they cannot give you a Doctorate in Writing, they call it an MFA which is a Master of Fine Arts. However, I do not think that having a degree or any other credential is necessary to teach your child. I have to give credit for a lot of my own education to my mother who had a simple Bachelor's Degree, something everyone has in India by the way. It's not as big a deal as it is here. So, even though I went to private school, the bulk of my really learning and imbibing took place because my stay-at-home mom ensured that I actually understood it. There was school work and then there was home work. She bought me books, sat down with me to teach me and took my learning very seriously. In fact, I owe my math and science grade in the 10th grade (that's the last level there for school, not the 8th) all to her tutoring. I believe if homeschooling had been a possibility when I was growing up, my parents would have probably taken it. English wasn't her strong point so maybe they thought it necessary I go to private school.

So I come from a background of knowing that it's no big deal teaching kids. Add to that the fact that California schools are pretty low on the national spectrum for grades and I don't think there's even a contest between another teacher and me. What is it that someone else can teach that I can't? I have a pretty high IQ (probably higher than most teachers, no offense, just reality) and know my kids better than anyone else in the world. I think they deserve the luxury of having their mother teach them instead of someone else for the same reason that we don't eat out often. No one knows my family's dietary needs and tastes better than me, so I don't trust anyone else to cook for us, well, not on a regular basis anyway. And for me to send my children away for six hours a day five days a week into the care of someone else who's going to teach them not just math and science but their own ideas (inadvertently) there would have to be a pretty high level of trust there. And trust and anything run by the government do not go hand in hand for our family.

Which brings me to another factor. Teachers are fond of saying that they don't teach the kids their ideology, but the fact is ideology doesn't need to be formally taught. It can be a wayward comment, a hint, a mention and the kids will pick it up. How do I know? Well, I may be 31 but it hasn't been that long since I was a child. Children are so impressionable that if you want to teach them the right thing, you have to be constantly on guard not just in what you say but how you act. And careful teachers are not! (Again, I have friends that are teachers and I'm sure they're fine but they're not going to teach my kids and I don't get to pick them, so I'm talking about the general group here.)

Since my husband works in a lot of schools (he's a fire alarm technician) I hear from him the almost institutionalized tearing down of boys that takes place on a regular basis in schools. Every other group it seems is protected except for the white male and it becomes a verbal free-for-all when it comes to insulting them. I'm sure the pendulum swung the other way at some point in time, but my kids are growing up today and today a real man and everything he represents is an endangered species. I want my son to be a man when he grows up and my daughter to be a real woman who respects a real man and they're not going to be that going to public schools where she'll think she's privileged and he won't get any respect to develop his personality. I mean, if playtime is seriously curtailed and no one keeps score any more on the playing field during a sport, where's the true spirit of competition? Where, in fact, is childhood? How are they ever going to learn about things like morality, right and wrong, winning, losing, the idea of failure, of doing the right thing? Forget nobility!

I suppose I am old-fashioned. I don't believe that everyone is equal and that "you can do anything you set your mind to do." And I don't want my kids growing up in la-la land because when they come out of la-la land they'll just be looking for another one. They may find it, of course, in the government handout world we currently inhabit but we'd like them not to. We'd like them to make it on their own, to think for themselves, be critical, have judgment, a well thought out opinion; we'd like them to admit when they're wrong and understand that everyone is not equal, that sometimes you cannot do or get everything you want, that life isn't fair but it's so worth being a real person. We'd like them to know that sometimes failures are necessary and there is such a thing as right and wrong, that nobility comes from doing the right thing even when it's so much easier to bend your morality and get by in a mediocre existence.

My husband takes his role as provider for the family very seriously and I intend taking my role as the mother of these kids just as seriously. Yes, I guess that makes us old fashioned and pretty conservative. I just see it as giving my kids the very best start in their lives that we can. The luxury of a stay-at-home mom who is also their teacher. What a privilege!

OMG! Cloth Diapers, now This?!?!?

I need to move to someplace more - oh, I don't know - red? Perhaps the Bible Belt would be more appropriate for me. Because even though I'm not Christian it's just occurred to me that I'm a cloth-diapering, family-centered, gun-ownership-approving, Dr-Laura-listening, keep-the-government-out kinda person. AND add to that list my latest craze: home-schooling.

That's right. I'll admit it: I'm Purva Brown and I'm a home schooler.

Okay, so I'm not sold on it just yet, but I'm heavily leaning in that direction. And the more I think about it, the stauncher I get.

Here's the thing: James and I are both very independent thinkers. We are almost always contrarian, sometimes just for the heck of it. That and loving being home are the two things that brought us together in the first place. We hate the idea of anything - correction, any ONE - else being involved in our lives. And we want our kids to be the same. We want them to have their own ideas, well thought out, not just adopted because someone told them so. (And I remember a major part of my teenage and childhood being heavily influenced. Now that I'm 30 plus, I believe I've come out of it, but who knows?!)

Also, from what I'm reading about education in California, I've come to believe it has serious flaws. Amongst them: 1. it doesn't value men being men (or boys being boys), 2. it has a serious lack of competition on the playground - kids aren't allowed to keep score, for God's sake! How horrible! 3. it is waaay to politically correct to where you're not allowed to speak your mind if it doesn't fit in, 4. i hate institutionalized ANYTHING and this is the height of it, 5. I can't recommend a better teacher than me for my kids!

So there. Feel free to hate me now.

Boy, oh Boy!

Yes, you guessed it right. It's a boy, which is just as well, because today I had the typical Mommy guilt moment. I opened a long-forgotten notebook to realize it was supposed to be - horror of horrors - the log book of my second pregnancy written for the child. Ha! I made one for Bombie but lost track of this one. Yeah, yeah, I feel guilty. But you know what, chances are he won't even care. I mean, it IS a boy. So there.

So maybe the old wives' tales are true. There is a lot of collective wisdom in old age after all. And true to the legend, I haven't gained an ounce of weight. (I've actually lost 6 pounds since I got pregnant.) And all my weight is in my stomach. I was showing at close to four months; with Bombie I didn't show until seven months! Also, unlike with Bombie when I was looking very haggard and tired, with this one, I'm glowing. Ah, thank God! I'm actually GLOWING!!! He also looks like a big football. I was telling James (sorry for the PG-13 joke in advance) that I have a little weeny inside me. LOL. All you neo-Freudians draw whatever conclusions you wish now!

That's it. I'm definitely done.

Unless of course just before I turn 35 I think I want another. Hmmm...

Today's the Day!

All right... it's here! The day I've been counting down to for about 20 weeks or so now. I'm finally halfway through the pregnancy and today I get to find out if the baby is a boy or girl. Of course, this is a secondary concern to be addressed after making sure the baby is healthy. (And I'm also secretly hoping the radiologist will say, "Twenty weeks? Heck no. You're more like 22 weeks, hon." Ah, the hopes and dreams of someone with a full bladder and uterus!)

So for all my so-called psychic abilities, I've had one - read O-N-E - dream about the gender and this was waaay back in the week I conceived. I dreamt that the two (Bombie and her sibling) looked like twins, except they were different genders. So we'll see if it's true!

Oh, I can barely wait!!!

The Switch

We survived our first evening with cloth diapers! Cheers! Frankly, sometimes I wonder what the big deal is (or was! Because I was part of the "I could never do THAT group.)

Like most people I know, using cloth diapers seems a little extreme. Ewww... you're going to wash poop? Well, actually when Bombie was really tiny and exclusively breastfed, I did wash poop off her clothes. So it's not THAT different.

Here's the new routine: I'm using the regular 3 ply prefold Gerber diapers which I bought from Amazon. I have now mastered the angel fold and use pins to fasten the sides. Someone said pins are actually easier than Snappies and I'm pretty sure my mother used pins. I still recall how they looked, so there's a little nostalgia there I'm indulging. Then, she gets vinyl pants (also Gerber, also from Amazon) to cover.

We have a bucket in the bathroom with baking soda and water in it. For diapers that are just wet, they get thrown in just like that. The poopy ones are a little more work. Poop goes into the toilet and then the diapers get swished around in the toilet (after flushing, of course!) and then rinsed in the sink. Then they go into the diaper pail. I intend washing them every other day. We have 24. I think they'll last.

So far, Bombie has noticed no difference. If anything, I love how dry she is and how unchafed her skin looks when she is being changed. Lately it seemed like she had a rash every other day. She gets that from her father - James cannot stand any humidity at all.

All in all, I think this is a good change. It's saving money for sure. Bombie's diapers were costing about $30 a month, even with generic brands. With the new baby, it would be much higher. I just can't justify $50 in diapers every month. Plus, she's only going to get bigger and the bigger sizes cost more. Oh, also they say air-drying diapers makes them last longer. And that fits perfectly in my budget and lifestyle.

So far, my experience has been great. I give cloth diapers two thumbs up!

Bombie can Stand!!!

... and she likes to show it off as well!

The Diaper Hunt Continues...

We've survived our first diarrhea. And by "we" I mean the collective family. Bombie has survived a rash, James has survived lifting her off her high chair dripping diaper and all (ewww... squinch up your nose, there you go!) and I have survived changing six diapers that smelled like a rat had died inside them in a day and using so much Desitin my hands had begun to get a permanent smell.

But she's fine now. It only lasted a day. A very, very long day.

Anyway, the reason I open with all this nasty information is that I'm switching to cloth diapers this month. I've had it with the disposables. She's had five rashes in an eleven month period and besides the idea of never having to buy diapers again is just so tempting. Especially with a second one on the way, I can't justify spending close to $50 a month on something that's going to get thrown away!

So I've been researching online and the options are just mind-boggling. And no, I'm not going to buy the $9 a diaper kind either. Just how does that SAVE any money? Nope. We're going the old-fashioned route. Pins and all. It was good enough for me as a baby and it should be good enough for Bombie.

Gee... suddenly, I sound very, very old.

What Blog is This?

I just made a few changes to the HTML heading of this blog and also instructed Google not to crawl it. OMG. It seems to be going against the grain of everything I've been trying to do since I first got into blogging, but I think it's better this way. That way this blog remains one of the last places on the internet I can remain "invisible" or "hidden" while still writing for the sheer joy of it. I'm leaving this blog out of the commercial space I write other blogs in. So there.

I feel better now...

Also, I'm not going to restrict myself to writing only about babies and diapers in the hope that someday my limited SEO will pan out and a small (but huge, so huge) piece of the four million inquiries of "babies" Google receives daily (!) will be directed to my website. Ho-hum. I'm doing that on my other blogs and frankly can't care less about starting another one.

So, if you're a reader, welcome. This is now my cozy space and best of all it's private. Yay!

Oh Baby Baby!

I recently went in for my three hour gestational diabetes testing. I know, I should have just skipped the one hour and gone for the longer one because I always fail the one hour. When both your parents are diabetic, you just expect it. Also when both your parents are diabetic, you also research everything you can about it and count every ounce of sugar and carbohydrates that enter your system. I mention all this before I enter into the tirade against the hospital.

Here were my numbers: fasting - 100 (5 points over); 1 hour - 169 (9 points over); 2 hours - 135 (5 points over); 3 hours - 97 (3 points under). if you ask me, those are pretty good numbers. I had an off day for fasting, but even non-diabetics are excused for one day of odd fasting numbers and where I went over was just by a few digits. No cause for alarm. And definitely not time for an intervention.

But I get a call the next day from the hospital saying I have gestational diabetes with someone reading me a script about what it means and that I am going to meet with a nutritionist and a nurse and have a blood meter ordered and this and that. Now I'm not a conspiracy theorist by a long shot, but I'm beginning to have some empathy for them. I said I have a blood meter and would use the same one. They said no, we're going to order you a new one and by the way there's a co-pay of $65. Hello? Am I the customer here or not? Are you really working in my best interest?

Also, they have a class I have to attend on Thursday afternoon. And so it goes. Besides the fact that they're going to employ a social worker to ask me if my husband beats me. (Because stress can cause gestational diabetes, get it?) I mean, seriously, this has gone far enough. You give them an inch and they want to take over your life.

By the time this was over, this gestational diabetes "help" I would get would end up costing me close to $250 (including co-pays, meters, babysitting, etc.) and a lot of heartache and stress for something I could do on my own!

So after a few minutes of handwringing and bitching on my part, James says, Why don't you call them and refuse? You are the customer. You can decline to meet with the dietician; you already know how to manage it on your own and did it very successfully the last time. Hmmm... never thought of that. I called back and declined. And the next day, they still call me and say, but we put in an order for lancets and test strips for you. Conspiracy theory, anyone? Hospitals are big business and the standards for supposedly good health and made higher and higher so you just can't get there without drugs.

I'm just sick of this whole game. I just want to have this baby already!

Frugal Living at its Finest!

I wrote about the recent crisis we're going through briefly on my other blog so I won't go into details here. Suffice it to say, my husband and I have had to both look deep within ourselves recently and our general relationship with money. I can safely say that Sunday May 31st 2009 was the worst day of my life. That was the day James and I had a serious discussion about what we were going to do to turn things around for us financially.

It was pretty damn scary.

It was also however pretty damn liberating because in a single evening I realized what was most important to me. In the midst of a crisis, everything became crystal clear. In order of importance, I ranked our family, our (and our children's) futures and then even our dearest possessions. To support those, we came up with a pretty serious plan. No frivolous spending, no "splurges," no going shopping for entertainment. I promised to keep a tight budget in the home. He promised to do whatever he could do support us with his job. (He already does everything he can, so obviously the majority of this onus was on me!)

We talked about how he was never taught about handling money responsibly by his parents and I shared how when I was born my parents were doing so much better financially that I never had to bear the burden of hard times. My brother - born more than a decade before me - saw poverty first-hand. And he still lives extremely simply. I should learn that.

"Should" has now almost become "have." After the scare of losing one's future (retirement) and one's present (this lovely, lovely home) one begins to respect it a lot more. No longer do I complain about loading dishes in the dishwasher. No longer do I complain about mopping the floors and keeping the home clean. No longer do I complain about cooking dinner. I'm just grateful things are working out for us. And I'm beginning to realize that even though my parents didn't exactly sit me down and give me the tools for managing money, they showed me how to live frugally simply by living that way themselves. Sure, they splurged every once in a while on things that mattered to them, but their everyday lives were a lesson in living simply and within their means. (Which is why, at 69 my father saves money out of the interest he receives from his investments and retired at 65. He was able to send me to study in the US with his retirement money and can travel to see his kids across the globe any time he wants!)

So I've become a coupon cutter and an expert at making dinners from scratch. I search frugal tips on the internet and turn off lights when I leave the room. I hang-dry our clothes and thank God for all I have and all I am. Tomorrow, here we come! Who knew having a baby would make me this much better as a person?

Bombie crawls!!!

Of Babies, Heartbeats, and the Million Other Little Voices...

I'm pregnant. There, I said it. Now, that wasn't so hard, was it? Then will someone please tell me why it's taking me so long to tell my father and my brother about it? Hmmm.... tough one. Everyone else knows. Heck, I even announced it on Facebook. To people I haven't met in eons! Then why not my family?

But, more on the musings on my family later. Lay-ter! The good news is I'M F---ING PREGNANT!!! (And I have the pregnancy test and the HCG results to prove it!) Ha. Yay, my body loves me. It really, really loves me.

Of course, this didn't happen without drama. You want the whole story? Okay, you got it.

So anyhoo, here I am a week late and take a home pregnancy test. Nothing. Ridiculous. Then we bottle wine that weekend and I drink quite a bit of it. Later that night, I say, "I'm pukey. I think I might be pregnant." Day after that I'm bone-tired. I mean, tired enough to not want to go buy a Macbook. THAT'S tired! And I've been completely emotionally uncontrollable. Crying at commercials, etc. So not me.

Two days after I take another test. And there it is.

But I want confirmation. So I decide to wait until the OB confirms it. But somewhere in there between the waiting, I have spotted. Panicked calls. They call me in. And then horror of horrors - there's no heartbeat!!! UGH. I hate panicking. I especially hate panicking while they have an ultrasound thingy shoved up my hmm-hmm.

Then I get to take a blood test. HCG levels have doubled just fine, but the lab assistant there bruises me when she takes me blood. I mean literally. I have a purple bruise on my arm. (Should I sue? Is it worth any money, you think?)

Finally, last week there's a heartbeat. Apparently, it was just too freaking early the last time. I am supposedly just six weeks along. I thought I was 7.5 weeks! I really, really ovulated late. So all that baby-dancing didn't do anything, but when we quit trying and had sex just for the fun of it, poof! Baby. Ha, who thought the good old fashioned way would work?!?!

Here's hoping the rest of the pregnancy is mostly uneventful! I'm already motion-sick with all this drama. And oh yeah, did I mention I have to go in for another ultrasound just to check out this child's heartbeat again?

On the bright side, I'M PREGNANT!!! Important to remember that! YAY!!!

The Battle of Wills

Drumroll please! Here's Mommy on one side and Bombie on the other. Bombie screams in the crib and Mommy frets outside, paces the room and sets the timer for ten minutes. Bombie screams some more. Mommy frets some more, realizes it's only 2 minutes out of 10.

Bombie screams like she's hurt, like she's fallen out of the crib. Mommy goes in to check on her, picks her up and almost walks out with her. Then (thank God!) she remembers the battle and puts her back down. Bombie wails, thrashes, tries to get on her stomach. Her lower lip is quivering. She threatens to scream louder and louder. Mommy leaves the room, frets some more.

Two minutes later, silence. Bombie is asleep.

I WON!!! Well, at least for today.

Am I Pregnant?

Holy moley! Look how long it's been since I updated! I wish I could say I've been putting all my energy into baby-making, but no such luck. My time has been taken up taking care of more mundane tasks like working, writing and testing for my broker's license.

And when I'm not doing that, I'm wondering if I'm pregnant. That's right, peeps! It is officially now day 40 and Aunt Flo isn't here. (Or as she's lovingly called lately - Mother Nature. What's up with that?!!) Google was always my best friend and today has become my lifesaver. Not convinced? Just google "am I pregnant?" Apparently, a LOT of people are asking that question!

The two week wait sucks. Last Friday the pregnancy test was negative. If it's still negative next Friday, I will officially be perimenopausal! Wish me luck. Us hormonals need it!

These are the Days...

Anyone know that song "I'm on a Roll" by Over the Rhine? If you don't, you really should check it out. I'm completely addicted to it. Even now it's going through my head and I can't stop it. Argh.

Anyhoo, the reason I bring it up is that I was trying to decode the lyrics this morning with just one cup of coffee in my system. And this, my friends, is what I've missed doing with my husband for the longest time. (Just when I thought furloughs were great for making babies! Ha!)

So here we are toying with the iPod trying to get it to play a line that sounded like "we're shaking up shaponies, cause we haven't got a care." So this is what it went like:

Me: Shaponies? It's not shaponies!

Him: Shaponies. That's what she says.

Me: Nooooooo.

Him: What is it, then?

Me: I don't know. That's why I don't sing that song. I don't want to be ridiculed. (Laughing at him.)

Him: Google it.

Well, as it turns out, it's shaking up SHOW PONIES. Good God. He was right. Well, almost.

Baby Making

Who thought making a second baby wouldn't be fun! It's no secret now that my husband and I are working on conceiving a second baby. We're working on a schedule of what they call "baby-dancing" every 48 hours and with one baby it isn't easy. However, so far it hasn't worked, so this month we're working in earnest. The way we worked at it to make Bombie.

I know it all sees insane right now (and even a little funny at times) - but hopefully it will all work out in the end. At this point, I don't care if it's a boy or girl. Although I have saved all of Bombie's clothes!

Wish us luck! :)

The Baby Who Is!

My name is Purva Brown and I'm a babyholic. Call it baby-brain, call it what you will. But I've suddenly developed a penchant for all things baby. And not in an insane, third trimester of pregnancy way, but in a sticks around until you die kinda way.

This motherhood thing has changed me in unmentionable ways. I have begun watching Jon and Kate Plus Eight. Yes, kill me. Kill me now.

I have also begun deriving deep meanings from Bombie's actions. I don't see how it would be any different. As perhaps all mothers know, when the being who could barely move its neck whom you brought back from the hospital begins to crawl, your world shifts somewhat. You begin to lose some of your complacence about life. Your life.

Suddenly, this seven and a half pounder has turned eighteen pounds and now demands things to play with and eat. She's no longer content just lying around in wait for the next feeding. She's got opinions you will hear. Even if they're just sounds. And in some cases, she'll scream something that sounds like "IS!" at the top her voice.

Yes, she is! And don't you forget it. Don't get complacent. She is.

Carnival of Baby Humor is Here...

...and we have only one winner. Go ahead, check it out!

This is one of the funniest posts I've read in a while.

Crisis Averted!

So it wasn't a major crisis. Perhaps I just needed to talk to friends and figure it out for myself.

Yes, I still want another baby. And I plan on working as soon as they're both older.

Apparently, you can do with two kids what you can do with one.

I woke up today feeling silly for freaking out earlier. My mind is clear again. And it wants another baby!

Thank God for girlfriends!

Wishy Washy Wistfulness

Thankfully, yesterday's post didn't send my friends running for the hills. There were no frantic telephone calls telling me I've been disowned from my family. I am a little bummed, though. And irritated that this question even entered my psyche. And was entertained. Everything I have ever done in my life has been based on great faith that no wrong can happen. And now suddenly I'm concerned about toppling the apple cart.

Guess I'm getting old.

The Husband brought up the fact that two kids might actually be less work than one, since you could put them in a room and give them a few toys and they could entertain themselves. (Okay, okay, for a little while, at least. A very little while.)

And in five years, they go to school anyway. Then I have all day to pursue my career. Can you tell I'm thinking while writing this? I am. And I'm still no closer to an answer.

You know what the problem is? I don't know of any successful moms with two kids. I haven't heard of any moms who are glad to be where they are professionally when their kids are in school. Are there any? Because I'd love to know. I'd love to be part of that small minority. I just have to find it first.

Maybe Mommy Doesn't Want Another Baby?!?!

Okay, so I might just be insane.

But this thought it beginning to cross my mind: are two babies necessarily better than one?

Because I'm realizing or maybe just remembering other things I want to do with my life besides just raise kids. Like travel. Like run a business.

Hmmm...

Thoughts, anyone?

Thinking about this sucks and talking about it sucks even more. I brought it up to Hubby Dearest this evening and we reached no conclusion. Sure, having another baby would ensure that the kids could play together. But what about the rest? Babysitting? Mom's Day Out? Every Single Day?

Suddenly, I don't know. I guess you could say I have cold feet.

Of course, if I AM pregnant, that baby is going to have all the love in the world. But... what if I'm not?

I have no idea what to think.

Maybe I'll have clarity soon. (I hope!)

Happy Half Birthday, Bombie!

Dear Bombie,

You are six months old today. What a day to turn half a year - Valentine's Day! While you were still kicking around inside me last year, your Dad and I celebrated our last non-children Valentine's Day. We were both a little concerned about becoming parents, wondering who this new being was going to be and how she would change our lives.

And now, one year later, I think we were silly to worry. You have brought so much joy to our lives that I think Valentine's Day is the perfect half birthday for you. Because before you were born, we only experienced half the love we do now that we have you.

So don't grow up too fast. Because we want to hold on to these years as long as we possibly can. My baby. My little bombie.

Love,
Mommy.

Melodrama Mommy

Well, it happened tonight.

Bombie said her first word. It's with a great sigh that I have to report: Dr. Laura is right. In spite of being taught "Ma-ma" by Mom AND DAD, the child decides to say "Da-Da." Just like that. Just before dinner. For whoever will listen.

Da-da.

I have the fear of God going through me. Just like the time she smiled. For exactly the same reason. And the same thought I had at the time: "OMG. You're freaking really here!!!" You're a real person. Holy crap!

She's here, folks. My daughter. Forgive my brain that refuses to wrap around the idea. She's got an opinion.

Da-Da.

Yeah, you heard it. And I'll defend it in court.

Da-da!!!

Letter to Bombie's Teeth

Dear Teeth,

Are you EVER going to come in? My graceful angel-baby here has all but become a gremlin. Unfortunately, she's a gremlin I'm having to hold in my arms while she proceeds to let her fury flow noisily into my ears. That ringing I'm beginning to hear? Turns out there is no background music the city of Pollock Pines plays for our amusement. My husband talks of going deaf at work. Glad he's not going to be alone in that!

But really, come on, teeth! Painful as the term "teeth cutting in" is, I had no idea it was so bad. Not a minute ago, I heard the neighbor who constantly works on his car (yes, one of those!) use one of his power tools to send sparks up in the air. I wouldn't normally think twice about it. Except this time, I got up to check on the baby because I thought it was her screaming. So, she sounds like a power tool now! What else is on the agenda here?

She's eating my fingers and her own every chance she gets, screams bloody murder in the car AND won't let me put her down. Typing with one hand is getting pryetty hrard!!!

Just make your appearance already. Before I kill the dog for barking at strangers while she naps. Which is kind of sad, since that's his sole purpose for existing.

Sincerely,
Mommy.

Carnival of Baby Humor is Here!

We received lots of entries - some so so serious! Hello, people? It's BABY HUMOR. If you don't get it, and soon, I'm going to shut this carnival down.

Okay, now that I'm done ranting, here are the top three.

First place goes to Shen-Li for Don't Underestimate your Toddler. And don't tell them you're going to work when you're going to play!

Second place goes to Dana for her Simple Horror - this one made my skin crawl and not in th least thanks to the picture she has so aptly chosen. I had to scroll down to read the entry so those eyes weren't staring at me. Creepy!

And third prize goes to Middle Man aka David Jones who asks Where is the Volume Control? Thanks to people like David, some of the rest of us get to enjoy a few (quiet) candlelight dates!

Enjoy!

Grace in Ordinary Things

The morning sun is shining on her (still) (almost) bald head.

Her thumb is in her mouth.

Her tummy feels so tight. So tiny and yet so full.

She is looking at the cat. And smiling.

And then she bursts out laughing with glee. Until she falls over on the couch.

I pick her up.

She's still laughing.

The Grass is not Greener

The reading bug has got me lately. Along with the cold bug. Which means I've been reading an insane amount of books. As soon as Bombie is asleep at seven, my husband heads off to the computer (yes, he's one of those thirty-somethings who like video games - hey, to each his own!) and I curl up in bed with a book. Feels like home. Mmmm.

But I digress. Along with some great books ("Dry" by Augusten Burroughs), some guilty pleasures (the entire "Twilight" saga by Stephanie Meyer that Borders keeps insisting is young adult, not bestseller or adult fiction), I'm also reading "Revolutionary Road" by Richard Yates. Sometimes you don't notice books until Hollywood makes movies out of them. Shameful, I know.

Anyway, so far RR is the most infuriating book I've read. Yates gets like that. He seems to be so good at characters who, quite simply, miss the point. The book was irritating me so much in fact that I was whining about it to my husband. No, I didn't stop reading it, though. I have about 100 pages to go. And while I was telling him about the family in the book, he said, "That's like us."

Oh my gosh. It was about a half hour of my telling him how that is so not like us because I would so never be that ungrateful for my life that he said he was kidding. Really, how is that funny?

The grass is really not greener on the other side. I've got home made blueberry ice cream waiting in the freezer, a beautiful baby waking up from a nice, long nap to eat her banana dinner, the kind of husband I can tell to scratch my an itchy spot on my back I can't reach, and a home in the pines where we can see the clouds come in. How much greener can the grass be? Wait. Don't tell me. I don't care.

I think I'll live on my little patch of grass for a long, long time. Body, mind and soul.

Hands and Other Fun Things

These days, Bombie is really into her hands. Fingers, mostly. She loves sticking them in her mouth and biting on them. She also grasps at everything - even if it is not grasp-able. Like the couch pillows, the bed, the cats. She is reaching for her milk bottle too! So, hands here we come! Oh yeah, she has left me a few scratches on my face as well. Maybe it's her own way of saying, C'mon Mommy, cut my nails already. Here. I'll just poke your eye out. That'll be a good reminder. That should work.

Other things Bombie likes so far:

Mommy. (Sniffle.)
Daddy. (Sniffle, sniffle.)
Waking up in the morning.
Diaper changes.
Looking in the mirror.
Applesauce.
Oatmeal.
Squash.
Carrots.
Peas.
"Greenie" - the monster from Monsters, Inc. (His real name is Mike. But come on, reeeallllly?)
"Singing" with the music on.
Watching Daddy and Mommy eat.
Female vocals.
"New Soul" by Yael Naim (her current favorite.)
Watching the dog and the cats.
Her pink blanket.
Formula. Especially in her crib.
Kisses.
Hugs.
Bouncing on Daddy's knee.

There will be more, I'm sure. I'll update this list often.

Letter to Winter

Dear Winter,

Whither art thou? Okay, sorry for opening with those words. They just seem to fit in with the idea of snow. Whither, Wither, Winter...get it? Sorry. I’ll stop it. (Silencing inner nerd.)

But seriously, where are you? Have you forsaken us this year after scaring the crap out of us last year and making us spend whatever money (and time) we didn’t have getting a generator for our newly bought house?

I mean, it’s bad enough that I’m having to dress down my post baby (read: post-Christmas) body, today I was even guilted into spring cleaning! I know, I know. It’s only January. There are still piles of pellets for our stove in our living room!

And all this after giving us every idea of being around during Christmas. So that the cookies went down easy, especially after the brandy and the honey and the pizza and the... well... you get the idea. After all, we were going to be snowed in for a while. I went into hibernation mode!

You know what I think, winter? I think this is your idea of a joke. I think you’re doing this to piss me off. I think you and my husband are in cahoots. He even went out and bought a fishing license for me. A freaking fishing license. In January! Nice try. I’m not buying it. No way am I going to clean the house, open the windows and let the sun shine in.

Oh wait, I already did that. Never mind. You win. Just show up for a while longer, please. Just until I lose the last ten pounds. Or until I get pregnant. So I won’t have to.

Thanks,
Purva.

Something about Having a Baby...

...makes me feel like an expert. And thanks to the Google gods, I can be. But seriously, how hard is cooking, really, when you get down to it? I can't believe I was afraid of it for so long. And now, I'm a goddess in the kitchen, artfully dropping words like "saute" and "stir-fry." Even "garnish" and - do I dare? - "fold?"

It all works pretty well lately, though. I've been making Bombie's food at home. So far she's eaten peas, carrots, apples, bananas, squash, cauliflower, potatoes, and sweet potatoes. Good baby food I can make. Breastmilk? Not so much. So far, I've learned to cook Italian, Indian, Mexican and American. And for the caveat, I'm going to try my hand at homemade ice cream.

Go, mommy!

Babies! Babies! I Want Babies!

Seriously, this commercial makes my uterus ache for a baby. I know, I know, it sounds gross but there's no other way to put it. Ignore the image I just painted and see the commercial.

Carnival of Baby Humor is Here!

Drumroll, please! With many apologies for it being late, here it is.

First place goes to John Duke for his entry of Baby Metrics. He writes a very cute blog about raising daughters over at 2 and a half. Check it out!

Second place goes to Katie Farmington over at Tales from Mom's Couch for her experience with breastfeeding. Although I didn't have as much trouble with it as she did, I did stop after just a month... congrats to Katie for staying with it as long as she did. And not sleeping?!?! The week my baby decided she wanted to breastfeed all night was the week she got on formula! Thanks, Nestle!

We have no third place winner this time. Even with a dozen entries. C'mon people! This is a carnival of baby humor. Some of you got the baby in there and some others got the humor. Now put the two together. Let's see what you've got!

I'm scheduling the next one for Jan 31st. Don't let me down.