I had my third NST as well as another ultrasound to measure fluid levels. Everything is still normal as far as the baby is concerned. Not so normal is the worsening of the carpal tunnel, especially in my left hand.

Imagine running your finger tips over some low grit sandpaper. At first it probably doesn’t hurt, but if you keep doing it over and over again eventually you’re going to feel first irritation, and then pain. The first two fingers and thumb tingle non-stop; flexibility is severely limited and performing simple tasks is becoming more difficult because of how weak my hand is. I can’t even insert my left ear-plug using the left hand. YOU try doing that with the opposite hand and you’ll quickly discover it’s not as easy as you would think. Additional suckage? It’s not just when I sleep anymore. It’s all day. Yesterday I sat with an ice pack wrapped around my wrist and hand to see if I could bring some comfort. Unfortunately, it didn’t help in the slightest.

My concern now is that it won’t diminish after Murdock is born, and that the damage has become more or less permanent (OB stated that if it doesn’t go away, it’s not related to the pregnancy). If my hand has become less than useful now, I’m worried about caring for a newborn if the tunnel remains blocked after the delivery. Then I will have to try to figure out when to have surgery while caring for said newborn since I’d want to get it done before returning to work in September.

It’s all speculation of course, using the worst case scenario, but what I thought was going to be a simple inconvenience has now become potentially serious.

I tell myself frequently that caring for a newborn with one useful hand is better than not having a newborn at all, right? I give myself reality checks frequently. Don’t even ask how many times I’ve worried myself almost sick about a stillbirth, especially after extended periods of quiet from Murdock. I also worry if it’s possible for an unborn to suffer from shaken baby syndrome…

I would like to write more about those fears, but something inside me makes me wonder if I’m not just trying to stroke my own ego when I should be focusing instead on the continuing preparations of the birth of Murdock and on just how lucky I am to be at this moment, especially when I am noting yet another of my shoulda/woulda due dates (Wolf) for myself, but the dates of a couple of other bloggers still either waiting or who have decided to put the painful processes of treatment behind them.

Par for the survival guilt-trip, I guess. I can’t imagine that it’ll ever go completely away.


I read two posts this week about nose-picking. After reading Jess’s, who referenced a candybar called Crunchies, my memory was triggered recalling that we have a candy that conjures up images of knuckle-deep nasal cavity searching: Goobers.

Except I couldn’t remember that it was called Goobers. Instead I googled “candy Boogers”.

I shouldn’t have.

Not only do they make Boogers candy, but it is advertised as LOOKING and FEELING like snot. What? It doesn’t TASTE like it, too? What’s the point, then?

Maybe you’d rather have some of these:


What about these?

(Actually, these would be good for your work desk because you won’t have to worry about your fellow co-workers mooching your chocolate stash.)

However, if you want something healthy but craving something salty and crunchy, why not pick up a bag of these:

The other green meat! Entomologists everywhere love them! Enjoy your favorite friendly insect…. the cricket, in 3 delicious flavors: Bacon and Cheese, Salt & Vinegar, and Sour Cream & Onion.

Is it lunch time? I’ve got a sudden case of the munchies.


Thank You!

Mr. DD called me and said a package had been delivered to the house to “Baby Murdock”. It took him a while to figure out who the hell that was since we don’t actually refer to Murdock as Murdock in real life. It’s just usually an equal usage of “he” or “she”.

The package was from Summer at Worrier/Warrior who is just now teetering into her second trimester through donor egg, and I couldn’t be more pleased with her progress. Thank you, Summer, so much for the sterilizer. I learned the first time that cleaning bottles with brushes and dishwashers was a real pain in the ass.

Also, my friend Mel from Minnesota deserves a public thank you as well for loaning me her playmat, boppy and jumper-thingy. In just six short years jumpers have evolved from the door jam hangers to saucer-like contraptions that require nothing more than three square feet of space. Genius!

I would also like to thank Shanna at Shinny Laboo for the gender-neutral newborn items she sent me a few weeks ago. When the box showed up, its size belied how many tiny things can actually be stuffed inside and it seemed I’d never reach the bottom!

That concludes the “Thank You” portion of this post. Now onto the “Bad Night”:

Bad Night(s)

It seems as if I’ve been stuck in a nightmarish loop of “just three more weeks” for the past six. Groundhog Day for the Pregnant Woman, perhaps? And that’s just three more weeks before my c-section. It’s actually four until my due date. It didn’t help that while out and about doing an errand last night, an acquaintance I hadn’t seen for some time asked if we were having twins.

I must be delusional as I thought most of my hugeness was originating out of my ankles. Want proof?

I have sharpei legs!! AAAiiieeeeeee!

Sleeping is still a much dreaded ordeal. I’ve become such a hormonal and whiny, crabby mess that when I wake by the fourth time each night, usually at 3:00 a.m., I’m literally in tears from the pain in my wrists and exhaustion. I never thought I would be such a blubbering mess at this point. At the same time, I wonder where I get the energy to answer the question, “How are you feeling?” with “Great!” when obviously, I’m not.

The Other Stuff

I did finally get someone scheduled to clean the  house. They will come for the first time July 11th. I went to that website to get my gift certificate for the service only to find that the GC is no longer available. You snooze, you lose.

Obviously nothing new to see here, move along. More interesting is the new reality show, The Baby Borrowers. I don’t know what is more insane: teenagers hoping to show they are ready to start a family now; or couples handing over their baby to clueless teenagers (of which there are one or two girls I’d love to slap across the face with a poop-filled diaper, especially the one who got so frustrated trying to feed the baby she ground out, “Fine, you can starve!” I’m looking at you, Alicea.).

If you’re not into picking up ONE. MORE. REALITY. SHOW! then I would also like to recommend that you stop and see Jessie over at Life As I Knew It Has Changed, who had a D&C as a follow-up to a biopsy that came back as pre-cancerous. A little stroking never did anyone harm, and she especially likes it…you dirty, dirty girl, you.


I just don’t get PETA. I try to remain empathetic to these people and appreciate how difficult society treats them, but sometimes their focus is out of whack, aka – they’re a little overzealous.

People for the Ethical  Treatment of Animals.

So how is sending marksmen to shoot pest-carrying (and highly overpopulated) pigeons not ethical? It’s not like the powers-that-be of Wimbledon were letting the tennis players beat the proverbial shit out of them with rackets or capturing them to be stuffed down one of the ball shooters to then be fired out over the property.

Marksmen. Hired gun-slingers. It’s a good thing they didn’t call on me with my pellet gun and questionable shooting skills. It took me shooting a bat the size of a field mouse three times with a BB before I killed it. Shhh. Don’t tell. Not like anyone can do anything about it since I wasn’t necessarily discharging a firearm within city limits. OK, yes I was, but I was also inside my house.

Instead of PETA getting all up into the grill of Wimbledon’s administration, why not brainstorm a solution to the problem? Sure they were all fine with the specially trained hawks, but that makes PETA a bit prejudiced for not getting upset about those hawks being treated as nothing more than arial body guards without compensation than they were about a bunch of nasty, shit-dropping pigeons.

I can’t think of one positive purpose pigeons serve and I can assure you that pigeons are not good eatin’. Who would have thunk considering that they are about the same size as dove, which can be quite tasty.


I frequently get asked if XBoy is excited about his impending initiation into siblinghood. I always respond with, “I guess….” I mean it’s not as if he’s asking me every time he sees me when the baby’s going to be here, or has he completely ignored me for the past couple of months.

I’ll first admit I am very glad we waited until we did to tell him. 18 weeks was neither too soon nor too late. At six years old, he grasps more of the concept than I expected plus he does not dwell persistently on the baby (like I do). He will sit with me during shows like “Delivery Me” and compare me to those women. I use those shows more to educate him on how the baby is going to look and especially those with c-sections. It’s funny then, that when he does talk about the day the baby is ready that I’m “going to be in a lot of pain. It’s going to hurt a lot, isn’t it?” Yep, thanks for the reminder, XBoy. I suppose it serves me right considering his recent painful medical experiences.

However, for every 100 positive moments and comments (like how he wants the baby in his room or how he’s going to teach the baby to talk and walk), there are one or two moments that remind me that bringing home a new sibling is never a smooth transition for anyone in the family.

Several weeks ago, XBoy and I were arguing in the car. A typical, “I want this!” versus “You aren’t getting that!” exchange (oh, how I envy you ladies who fret over your baby’s or toddler’s tantrums, because I’m telling you now, you’ll be praying for those days in a few years). The back and forth went on until XBoy pulled out all stops and said something to me that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end and veer into the first driveway to have it out with him face-to-face.

XBoy knew he had overstepped that boundary. It’s no different than when a couple gets into such a heated exchange that eventually someone says, “You’re terrible in bed!” or “I wish I’d never had met you!” Those are words vomited out in helpless fury. A last chance to wound when in all likelihood the words aren’t even close to the truth. I won’t share what he said to me, but even now that all has been forgiven, they are certainly not forgotten.

More recently we were going ’round and ’round about something else and he stomped off in a huff to escape to our bedroom. I happen to look over my shoulder and saw him pick up the scissors that were used to open the box of my just delivered playard and head to where it was set up, scissors extended to the fabric. I let out a shout and he jumped a mile. I called him over at which time he dropped the scissors and skulked out.

“What were you going to do with those scissors?!”

“Nothing! I was just going to lift the edge of the fabric with them.”

This led to a rather deep but brief talk (children this age have the attention span of a teenager, or even possibly a henpecked husband and talk too much and it all starts to sound like “blah, blah, blah” to them) about how we all will face some difficult changes when the baby comes, but that he will never have to worry about me loving him less, I will just have twice as much love to give.

Later when I told Mr. DD, he asked me if I ever question my parenting abilities.

Every damn moment of the day.

XBoy initiated us painlessly into parenting. He was an easy baby. He’s been nothing less than typical now that he’s six. We worry about how we are doing just because neither of us has something to compare to. But it just takes observing another parent and their similarly aged child to know that XBoy’s flightiness, belligerence, goofiness and streak of independence is completely par for the course.

That’s why I also know his rare displays of antagonism to the baby are normal ways for an only child of six-plus years to act out his jealousy, an emotion he’s never had to experience before when it came to his own Mom and Dad. Not only is the emotion raw and new to him, but he somehow has to deal with something that actually doesn’t even exist yet. The baby’s physical manifestation is currently nothing more than my changing shape, a bassinet and some baby clothes…basically a ghost or a mirage.<

Ultimately I know that XBoy will meet and exceed our expectations as the big brother. As I told my husband as we discussed our concerns, XBoy has a good heart. A good soul. During the many moments I freak myself out (jeezusbabiesarereallyfuckingsmall!), I do feel some sense of calm when I am reminded by the little things like XBoy picking up things for me when I drop them or bringing me his less favored baby blankets and extra lovies to give to the baby, that will remind me that we did this once completely clueless, we can certainly do it again.


Unless you’ve been keeping weird, stalkerish track over the past three years, you wouldn’t know today was our 11th Anniversary. Mr. DD and I knew, but neither of us woke up, cuddled and cooed, and rubbed noses before whispering “Happy Anniversary, Dawrrrling”. It’s another day in the times and lives of the DD Family.

Below is a picture of my Mom and Dad walking me up the aisle. Why yes, that is a Catholic church. My, how could you tell?!


Look how pious we are, kneeling in front of Father as he blesses our marriage. He was nicknamed Father Bing because he seriously could belt out a song like few others could. Today he is in a loving relationship with his male partner in New York City (last I heard). We were not surprised, nor disappointed in his choice to leave the church.

Mr. DD and I snuck in silly string and gave everyone else bubbles. My sisters conspired against us and gave the guests silly string, too. 

What can I really add to the picture below that isn’t already quite clear? 

This was from our first dance. The photographer really lit up the area, but trust me, it was more romantic in real-life (notice Mr. DD’s hair? Yes, that is a pony-tail. You can see it in the image of us kneeling, too. He cut it off sometime before XBoy was born). Since Mr. DD and I were “older” when we married (I was just weeks from turning 30), we basically took care of everything ourselves. I bought the gown directly from a wholesaler for a paltry $400. I made the veil, my gloves, and the decorations, and we opted out of a honeymoon. There are times I wish we could do it again and really go all out, but I would miss the silly string.

It’s kind of ironic that during the required premarital classes, one of the hot topics that Father and I were concerned about was Mr. DD’s rather serious outlook on having children. He watched his two brothers raise children who are a bit…odd. He didn’t want to be party to that pattern.

Now? He can’t imagine his life without XBoy. And while he took a while to come around to accepting that a second child would never come easily and without a lot of tears, arguments, invasive procedures, medical tests and financing, he has always been my quiet shadow of strength through it all.

If only he could have learned to not be such a freaking slob after all this time, he’d be perfect!!