January 28, 2013--Free-Thoughts and Tar & Feathering

I am, and always have been, a light sleeper.  I'm also a tosser and turner.  These two things are the bane of my husband's sleeping existence.  He likes to cuddle and fall asleep with limbs entwined and heads nestled on shoulders.  I have found this absolutely impossible to do.  I change positions at least five times a night before I actually fall asleep.  He falls asleep immediately and commences snoring.  Unless I am just exhausted to the point of death, it usually takes me anywhere from twenty minutes to half an hour to fall asleep, and I have to wear earplugs to drown out the grizzly bear-like sounds emanating from Chaz's throat.  And sometimes, this isn't enough.  There have been WAY too many times in our three years of marriage that one of us has ended up on the couch so that I can sleep.  Apparently, I should be able to teach myself to sleep better, but so far that has been a failed experiment.

Chaz gets up most mornings between five and five thirty to get ready for work and most mornings, I wake up  too.  I lay in bed and listen for the noises that indicate he's in the shower, in the kitchen gathering up his lunch,  getting the trash ready to take out, the jingle of keys, the clunk of the shutting door, the rev of the engine and the dimming hum that indicates he's on his way.  There is just no getting back to sleep for me until he's gone.

Hard as I try to just lay there and drift until I fall back asleep, I usually can't stop my mind from turning on and going into immediate overdrive.

This can lead to some interesting free-thought processes going through my head in the early pre-dawn mornings.  This morning started with the thought that I needed to be sure to call my OB this morning to double-check that the side effects I'm having are normal for the type of BC I'm on, which led to the number of friends right now who are pregnant/have just had babies.  This led to thinking about babies, about wanting more babies and how Daphnie's almost the age Aubrey was when I got pregnant for the second time, while on BC, I might add.  Don't worry, I'm not planning on getting pregnant again any time soon.  We'll give it another year or two.  But thinking about babies led to how Chaz really wants a boy.  Don't get me wrong, he couldn't be a prouder papa of his two beautiful girls, but he really wants a boy to carry on his name.  I think there is something hardwired in men's brains that equate creating a boy with verification of their manhood.  Look, I have a son, therefore I am a man!  It's all quite caveman-like.  

I'm just kidding!  Don't get your panties in a wad...

I always said that I wanted two boys, and a girl, in that order.  Now I'll be lucky if I get two girls, and then a boy.  The point I'm getting to, however, is that I'm incredibly comfortable with my girls.  I did originally want a boy first.  You know, that whole big brother watching over little sister and saving Daddy the trouble of beating up the boys thing--cuz girls don't get nearly as pissed at their brothers for messing with their love lives as they do their dads, at least in my experience.  But I got a girl...and then another girl.  And I love them so much.  I go a little crazy over getting to pick out the cutest clothes I can find for them and I get to be a total kid again when I go Christmas shopping for them--going gooey over Disney Princesses and horses and Barbies and all that fun stuff--drives Chaz absolutely nuts.

Headed to the checkout line after three hours...."Oh baby, look at this!!!!"  Cheesy, ridiculous ear-splitting grin on my face....

Anyway, I got to thinking about how I'd handle a boy if and when we have one.  And the answer is, I really don't know.  The most ridiculous thought regarding this that I had this morning (and trust me, my early morning thoughts tend to be a little ridiculous and odd, I'm guessing because I'm not fully awake and in control of my brain) was about changing this boy that may at some point come into my life.  I change my daughters and the hardware down there is perfectly familiar.  I know how to properly take care of them, because I know how to take care of myself.  But a boy...well, he has different hardware.  

Alright, alright, I know deep down in that logic part of me that changing a girl's diaper is no different than changing a boy's.  I get that.  But I got to thinking about Chaz having to change the girls--did he find it awkward at first?  Does he still?  Or am I just weird and ridiculous, which is entirely possible, I admit.  Who knows?  I sure can't explain my thought processes sometimes.

The good thing, I guess is that I love my girls to death.  They bring so much to my life.  Such as entertainment....

Like last night: Chaz had pulled out chicken for dinner, but it didn't quite thaw in time, and I had a craving for pancakes anyway.  So we had pancakes.  The way we eat pancakes is interesting, too.  We put peanut butter on the pancakes, then put maple syrup on top.  Don't hate (like I did).  Shut up and try it (like I did).  Then come talk to me.  It's delish.  As appetizing as it indeed is, it is a recipe for disaster when paired with a two-year-old.  

I had given Aubrey a pancake with peanut butter sans the maple syrup.  She ate all of that and was still hungry.  I still had part of a pancake stack left on my plate, peanut butter, syrup and all, and I was done, so I cut up what was left on my plate and handed it to Aubrey.  She, in all of  her two year old genius, abandoned the fork and proceeded to pull the pieces of the pancake stack apart with her fingers.  This led to her fingers getting covered in sticky maple syrup.  

Now, one thing I can say for my daughter is she does not like to be dirty.  Whenever she spills something on herself, her immediate response is to try and tear her clothing off and say "I wanna wash up!"  Which is repeated incessantly until the bath water is running.  So last night, realizing her hands were sticky and not liking the sensation, Aubrey decided to try and wipe her hands off.  On the floor.  Which is covered in dog hair.  Are you getting the picture?  She now comes up with sticky hands covered in dog hair and now she's starting to panic.  She looks up at me, wide-eyed, and begs me to take a bath.  I look at Chaz and ask him if it makes me a bad mom that I find it hilarious that my daughter is covered in dog hair because she didn't use her fork, like I told her too.  His response: "No, I'm glad you're entertained instead of mad.  But if you let her sit there like that, you will be."  So I get up and head into the bathroom to draw her a bath.

Now, like most people, I'm sure, we have a fuzzy bath mat in front of our tub.  Last night, there happened to be a few dried leaves (from the dog I'm sure) caught in the fibers of the bath mat.  So Aubrey, who has followed me into the bathroom, thinking that she might get better results with the bath mat than the carpet, leans down and wipes her filthy hands on the bath mat.  Now she's got a huge dried leaf stuck to her hand and when she can't get it off she is in full panic, tantrum mode.  

I about died.  I wish I'd taken a picture.  Instead, I took this one: 

Laying in our bed, after her bath, watching Aladdin before bed.

Daphnie, on the other hand, avoided any crises yesterday.  She spent most of the evening hanging out in the exersaucer we brought in from the garage, being her happy bubbly self.  

She's a fan.

Today the plan is to get the house ready for another physical therapy session and try to put a loose weekly schedule together--when to do what around the house, when to try and make it to the gym, etc.  Gotta start working on this discipline thing, and something's gotta hold me accountable for a little while.  

So here's to my husband, who puts up with my terrible sleeping habits.  Here's to my daughters, who are just awesome.  'Nuff said.  And here's to my "schedule"--getting my days and my life in order.  Here's to you, for either caring enough or being bored enough to read this.  You have my thanks. 

Until next time...