Lesbians, dessert, babies and mastheads

Four wonderful things happened to me yesterday:

1. I got mistaken for a lesbian at the park. I took it as a compliment that I was raising my daughter in such a modern way that I could only be a same-sex partner parent. Obviously, the person didn't see the fruit snacks I was giving her. Lesbians hate fruit snacks.

2. Mr. Dub made me an amazing dessert, like right now - as I'm blogging it. (Welcome to the future, folks.) If I was a cool blogger, I would tell you how it was home-churned vanilla bean ice milk with tender cubes of fresh bananas and ripe strawberries served in a red vintage bowl. But I'm not. So I won't. (And it wasn't.)

3. I found a baby on the side of the road and brought it home to live with me. Or maybe that was just a dream. I'm really baby hungry. Did I mention there were baby bits on that ice milk? Mmm ... delicious.

4. Lyndsay (a friend of a friend) sent me this fabulous masthead. Don't you love it? I love it. Or, as Miss Dub has been saying lately, "I wuv it, wuv it." I do believe you can get one, too, right here. Or here. Or here. (Yes, it's all the same link, but have you linked yet?)

My other baby

I almost adopted a baby yesterday. Okay, almost is a bit of an exaggeration, but I made a valiant effort.

This experience shouldn't surprise those of you who know me well. As a teenager, I contacted the 20/20 producers to see if I was eligible to adopt children featured on a show about Romanian orphanages. (Short answer: No. Long answer: No way in h...) On my mission, I often daydreamed about packing a neglected child home in my suitcase along with my ridiculous assortment of local knick-knacks.

But this time, adopting actually made sense. I am old enough. I am married. I even have the baby gear. So when my friend told me about a baby girl whose mother had fled the hospital after giving birth, my heart broke. These stories always make me sad, but after Baby Zee, I'm extra protective of little ones.

I instantly assumed that this baby was meant for me - after all, we were expecting a baby girl next month, so we couldn't say it was bad timing. Mr. Dub, however, wasn't so sold on the idea. (Not that he's against adoption; he just thinks we should finish up our own baby-making before we consider it.) But I had to explore the possibility - I mean, wouldn't you?

Me: "Hi, this is weird, but I had a friend tell me about a baby born at your hospital the other day whose mother abandoned her. I can't stop thinking about her. I was just wondering if someone had come forward to take her."

Nurse: "Yep." (click.)

And like that, my baby girl was gone. I shouldn't be surprised; every time an infant is abandoned here, which is way too often, like 400 people ask to adopt it. But since I'm a bit dramatic, I actually felt a little sad. In those 12 hours I'd considered it, I'd made grand plans for our future together, which may have involved a pony and some apple picking.

To make me feel better, my friend assured me the baby had been ridiculously chunky - like, stop traffic chunky. And that didn't even help.

Maybe next time.

HTT - Labor Edition

I'm afraid my former sassyness has been replaced by a rare mellowness so I won't be too intense with today's Hot Topic.

As you know, I'm recovering from a C-section. And while I think my recovery has been fast and relatively painless compared to some (due in part to circumstances and my strange threshold for pain), it was MUCH worse than a traditional delivery - longer hospital stay, prolonged recovery, huge wound, pain.

Then again, I get epidurals with my labors so my deliveries are a cakewalk by comparison. Yes, I'm not a natural birth proponent, nor am I a hater. During this labor, I found myself enjoying contractions and contemplated doing it au natural but was forced to get an epidural because my odds of a C-section were high. And then I ended up receiving general anesthesia so it was all a waste of spine poking.

But when birthing Miss Dub, I planned on getting an epidural and ended up getting one early because the anesthesiologist wanted to head home, and I was already dilated to a 4. And while I certainly could have endured the mild contractions for a few more hours, I was pretty happy to go all numb. Not only did the medication and catheter allow me to get my first long stretch of sleep without traipsing to the loo, but it relaxed me and gave me the energy to push for three hours.

When it was all over, I was up for a shower, eating and gazing adoringly at Miss Dub. I felt totally rejuvenated, as opposed to natural child birthers who are generally exhausted. (At least based on the all the childbirth videos I've seen, which are not doing a great job at selling people on natural childbirth with all that hooting and hollering.)

But I respect the desire to labor sans epidural. I just hate that many natural childbirth advocates are so anti-epidural. I mean, have a little love, people! There is no superior way to bring a child into earth. It's a personal decision.

And, please, I know it's been said a hundred times, but do these same people get dental work without Novicaine or endure a splitting migraine without some Aleve? Yeah, so lets put all our black kettles away, if you know what I'm saying.

So, what are your thoughts on labor?

And how crazy are people who request C-sections?


* For some retro heat on L&D, go here.

Little Miss Sunshine

There are good days and bad days as the reality of our situation sets in. I know that our trial is nothing compared to the loss and pain some people have experienced, but I recognize that it's the hardest thing we've ever had to go through as family so I allow myself to be upset when I want to be. Sometimes I feel sad. Sometimes I feel mad. Sometimes I feel total peace, or even nothing. But mostly I wish it was all pretend. I wish for a miracle, even though I know I'm about 1,004,926th in line.


But mostly I just hang out with this little girl. I don't know how I would handle life if it wasn't for her. She's awfully fun and cute, in case you didn't know. She's all about small spaces these days and looks for any nook or corner to snuggle herself into, then quietly giggles as if it's all a private joke. She's also really good at animal sounds, drinking out of large cups and dancing like a maniac with or without music.

Oh, and she's great with hugs and kisses.

So despite the outcome, life is good.

So you know ...

Our baby isn't going to make it.

Sorry to shock you all, but I don't know how else to say it. After meeting with a doctor and undergoing amniocentesis, we've confirmed that I'm experiencing a partial molar pregnancy and that our baby girl has triploidy, a chromosomal defect that is lethal. As a result, she will be stillborn some time in the coming months or will live only a few hours after birth.

We're actually OK. There is nothing we did to make this happen, and we know there is nothing we can do to change the outcome. We firmly believe in God and that His will is always the best for us, even if it doesn't seem like it at the time. It's a hard prospect to face, but we know this baby is a part of our family forever no matter how long we get to experience her presence here on earth.

We appreciate all the prayers, support and kindness that you all have extended to our family and hope we'll continue to be recipients. We still want to hear about you, your lives and your children, whom I hope you'll give an extra hug. Healthy babies are a huge blessing, and we are so grateful to have one in our home already. And we have complete faith that we'll be having more in the near future.

I hope you don't mind if I chronicle our experience a bit on this blog in case we might help someone else in a similar situation. But also don't be offended if I resume my normal frivolous blog banter.

I'm just letting myself do and feel whatever comes naturally. And I think that's normal.

Black Magic

Did you hear? Katie Holmes said that being a mom is "magical."

And it really is. In fact, if someone were to ask me what I think about motherhood, I would have to say it is the most rewarding, amazing, fulfilling and beautiful thing I've ever done in my twenty-odd years on this earth. It's truly magical.

But, c'mon Katie, enough about how Suri is a natural artist and a beautiful woman. Let's talk about the other magical qualities that children have - like the ability to make us crazy? Case in point: Miss Dub, who has had a raging fever for the last four days, which led to a febrile seizure and ear infection yesterday. It's not that I don't feel bad for her; I've been worried constantly and my heart has ached to see her in such agony. But my ears have also ached to hear her incessant whining, not to mention ridiculous songs from unhealthy amounts of children's television. And my belly is sore from rocking her to sleep as she woke up every two hours each night. That's magical, alright. And I'm anxious to find a spell to reverse it.

And what about the ability to make you lose your sense of style? Just the other day I looked down to realize that I had a crusty piece of mac and cheese on my shirt. And while I did try to remove the largest chunk, I didn't even consider changing my top. I mean, that would mean more laundry for me, and my baby has already magically increased my weekly washing load.

What Katie also isn't telling you is that sometimes babies interest us in witchcraft, too. Sometimes even the best moms think, "Is there any possible way I could wish my child away for one day so I could get some (sleep/things done/sanity)?" Sometimes moms think, "I wish that I could stop thinking, 'Shut up!' or 'Grow up!' or 'Learn to freakin' talk already!'

But unfortunately, that sort of magic is beyond even a baby's miraculous capabilities. That sort of magic is too advanced for moms, though many still seek after it. (And end up in a bad relationship with a warlock.)

Of course, the good magic far outweighs the bad. Like, how you can actually find yourself grateful for the opportunity to snuggle with a sick baby at 3 a.m. Like, how you can find yourself changing a rancid diaper without the slightest disdain for the pooper. Like, how you can find yourself totally missing your child after being away for only a few hours.

That is magic.

But next time mention the poop part a little, Katie. It would make you seem a little less robotic.

HTT - Baby Edition

So there aren't many perks to my pregnancy issues, other than the chance to wear maternity clothes even sooner than usual. (And we all know how thrilling it is to strap on that ill-fitting elastic waistband for the first time, although it does make frequent bathroom breaks easier.)

One potential perk, however, is that I'll probably find out the gender of my unborn child sooner considering I'll be getting weekly glimpses at Baby Dub and his/her solar system of cysts. First, I think that just validates my earlier HTT decision to not pay $250 snaps to find out my baby's gender via blood test at six weeks. And it proves my other HTT decision to find out the gender pre-labor since it would be nearly impossible to avoid a glimpse at my unborn's privates over the course of 20+ weeks. And if something takes a lot of effort or extra work - "Don't tell me, nurse!" - I consider it unnatural.

So, yea for me, I guess.

Anyway, as if the baby gender issue hasn't been exhausted already, I do want to find out if any of you have ever wanted a specific gender. Like, really, really wanted a baby to be a boy or girl. 'Cause I really don't care myself, though I've already discussed how another girl would be an economical choice considering Miss Dub's extensive wardrobe. But I'd be thrilled to have a boy. And I'd be thrilled to have all girls - just not 10 of them. That's just stupid. Shoot, I'd even be thrilled to have all boys if that didn't mean I'd have to somehow figure out a way to travel back in time and swap out chromosomes.

I've just always figured that you get what you get. (And you don't throw a fit.)

But, then again, I only have one so far. So what do I know?

So let's be honest and hear what reasons some of you have for wanting one gender over another. And the perks to having all of the same or a variety.

And then let's guess what I'm having. 'Cause that's fun. And, let's face it, pregnancy is not.

Also good for road rash

Before I had Miss Dub, I took a class on caring for newborns and while most of it was totally useless or common sense - "Be sure to change her diaper when it smells!" - there were two things that I still remember:

First, is that you should never wipe your baby when they only pee, do #1, make a yellow fountain or whatever you want to call it. Urine has no bacteria and when it's just going to air dry or be absorbed into a fresh diaper, all the wiping does is promote diaper rash.

Second, the number one cause of diaper rash is diaper rash ointment. Apparently, people are very zealous in applying things like diaper rash cream and baby powder (totally unnecessary, rash or not) even when their baby doesn't have a rash. And, in my experience, even when a baby has a rash, exposing it to air or leaving it alone helps more than the fanciest cream.

Or so I thought until we went to Utah and Miss Dub contracted a wicked diaper rash that may or may not have been a flesh-eating virus. (I'm not drawing any correlation between Utah and rashes, but ...) It clearly needed to be medicated, but Desitin did nothing. Then my genius sister-in-law introduced me to Resinol, a cream intended for burns. It was amazing! It has the color and consistency of silly putty, but it totally cleared up her rash in a few days.

Only bummer is it's hard to locate. Mr. Dub went to four stores to no avail before my brother-in-law located it elsewhere. Unfortunately, this will be earning Mr. Dub brownie points for several years, but it was worth it. And he's really racking them up these days, as you can imagine.

Now, I must go make some brownies.

When a man loves a woman ...

Someone seriously needs to tell the Spears girls how babies are made.

*In other romantic news, I'm reviewing the HP Photosmart 626 Printer over here and it gets a little racy.

Our own Christmas miracle

We were supposed to be in Bethlehem Friday night. It's a long story that involves my ward's over-the-top activities that included a detailed recreation of a Bethlehem marketplace and me manning a jewelry booth.

But a few hours before the big event, I went to use the bathroom and ended up doubled over in pain with my pants half-down as I fell to the floor. I didn't know what was causing the pain, but I had the wherewithal to scream for Miss Dub to bring me my cell phone. Luckily, she is a bit like Lassie and brought it to me. I then dialed Mr. Dub and ordered him home ASAP.

Next, I called my OB and told a nurse about the pain, which she told me could be standard uterine growth pains. To which I said, "Yeah, I've had those. But you know that scale of 1-10 for pain? Those are, like, a 2. This is a 10." She said that if the pain continued for more than a half hour to call back and they would probably send me to the hospital to get checked out.

After screaming in agony for a bit more, I realized I was upsetting Miss Dub more than myself. She was screaming, too, and trying to get me off the floor. I decided that my large rear could be causing extra anxiety for her, so I attempted to stand up and pull my pants up.

Then, the blood started to gush.

I knew what that meant. I screamed out, "No!" and said a little prayer for our unborn baby. I called the nurse back, but the office had closed and they had to page a doctor. As I waited, I contemplated what it all meant.

So many random thoughts filled my mind - "How long do we wait to try again?" "Was all this nausea for nothing?" "Could I have done something different?"

Long story somewhat shorter, Mr. Dub came home, the bleeding slowed and after FOUR pages, we got orders to head to the hospital. My dear friend came over to babysit Miss Dub, and we made the trek.

By the time we arrived at the hospital, I had made peace with the situation. Miscarriages are common, I told myself. Lots of people had endured and survived them. I had one healthy baby at home, which probably meant I could have more. I couldn't let this experience embitter me.

But a glimmer of hope came when the doctor did an exam and discovered my cervix was still closed. "It means the baby is still in there," she said, "but we don't know if it's alive or not."

So despite my apparent submission, I made one last prayerful plea as headed for an ultrasound. I thought of how we were missing a reenactment of Jesus' birth, but how the true meaning of his life was being manifested in my own.

"Please give us our own Christmas miracle," I pleaded. "Please have mercy on us. But if not, I'm thankful I know how my pain can be healed."

And in that moment, I knew what Christmas was truly about. I recognized that peace on earth begins in the hearts of men. And I felt it.

As the ultrasound began, the nurse found the profile of the baby. I felt agony knowing that I might be looking at the lifeless embryo of my unborn child. But just then, I saw it. A flicker. Again. Again. Again.

"The heartbeat is great," the nurse said. "The baby is fine."

Apparently, the pain was the result of passing blood clots. We still don't know what caused the bleeding, but it could be something very innocent or something more complicated. But whatever it is, it's an issue with me and not the baby.

We got our miracle.

But we never did make it to Bethlehem.

HTT - Y Edition

My mother has an obsession with numbers. For example, when she was visiting, she made me tell her the addresses of homes we were considering buying. When I mentioned them to her, she said, "Well, 29 isn't a great number, but 36 will work."

So imagine my thrill last year when I found out that the half-way mark in my pregnancy happened to be my birthday, which also happened to be the day that I was scheduled to have an ultrasound to determine the gender of Miss Dub, who was only Baby Dub at that point. But in a series of bizarre twists, I arrived at the doctor's office all a'flutter, only to have them give me a quick check-up and send me out the door. Before leaving, I skittishly inquired, "What about my ultrasound?" Turns out in Colorado you have to make a separate appointment to get an ultrasound, which no one informed me about. I blame the altitude.

Anyway, my insane excitement to find out my baby's gender coupled with the numerical significance of it being my birthday proved too much. I was DEVASTATED. Like, I threw myself a pity party that may or may not have involved a McDonald's bacon, egg and cheese biscuit and a little crying. But a few days later, I went to my (Colorado-mandated) appointment and in a few minutes, I knew my "it" was a "she." And my impatience seemed sort of silly. I mean, what difference did a few days make? After all, I already had boy and girl names picked out, and I was still a couple months away from decorating decisions.

So it was with some surprise/shock/interest that I spoke with a woman the other day who found out the gender of her baby at SEVEN weeks pregnant. SEVEN weeks. I mean, I'd still be double-checking pregnancy tests at that point, and she's already settled on a name. And I thought I was impatient!

Because there is a new blood test that claims to determine a baby's gender by identifying the presence (or lack thereof) of a Y-chromosome. I won't go into the accuracy of it all because I honestly don't know. (Also, because the Web site looks a bit like an infomercial, which is kind of sketchy when you're talking science.) Oh, and did I mention that the test costs $250 snaps?

Now, I'm not one to judge (except when I do, which is 99.9 percent of that time, which is more accurate than a pregnancy test) ... but I think the whole concept is a little strange. I mean, it's one thing if the blood test was available in your doctor's office, in which case, "Yes, please!" But to pay that much money to find out the gender of your baby before you even need maternity underoos just seems a little unnecessary.

In this woman's case, she is building a home and hoped to find out the gender to help in the planning and painting phase so, touché. But for the ordinary woman with an ordinary pregnancy, I say - wait! (But only until 20 weeks for me, people; I don't have the patience of Job!)

I know lots of you love to wait until your babies are born to examine their respective parts, but what about those of you who like to find out sooner - Would you ever do this?

I want to say I wouldn't, but I can be very impatient, especially on my birthday.

HTT - Baby Boy Edition

There are several reasons I'm glad that my Miss Dub is a girl. (And, no, I'm not sexist, it's just that I think all mothers are partial to whatever gender they get first. Now, get back in the kitchen, Mr. Dub!)

First, I loOove little girl clothes. So much so that I'm seriously hoping our next one is another girl so that I can call Miss Dub's extensive wardrobe an investment. Little boy stuff is improving, but can you beat a pink dress, matching cardigan and Mary Janes?

Second, I am a girl. I have girl parts. I do not know how to care for boy parts. Changing a boy diaper makes me a little nervous because I'm a little unsure of the proper wiping method for something I don't have myself.

Which brings me to our Hot Topic: Circumcision.

I'm not going to go into details here, people. Even though I am generally inappropriate, upfront and in-ya-face, I don't really want to give a lecture on foreskin. I think you all get the gist. In essence: To snip or not to snip?

I kind of always assumed we would if we have a boy, since our families did with their sons and since it seems to be a cultural norm among Americans - 60 percent opt for it, and that figure is even higher in the demographics we belong to.

But it's not medically necessary, though there are some benefits, like less likelihood of developing a urinary tracts infection and making said parts easier to clean. But the risk of a UTI for any male, circumcised or not, is less than one percent, and cleaning under the hood works just as well. So the perks are minimal.

Plus, it's kind of a painful experience, not to mention a pricey one. Lots of insurance companies don't cover the procedure any more, and most doctors don't encourage it, at least around here.

So I can't say what I'll ultimately decide if I ever produce male offspring. (And I hope I do, though did I mention how great little girls are?)

But what are your thoughts?

If you have boys, are they circumcised? How did you make that decision?

If you don't, how cute are little girl's clothes?

Like, totally, huh?

HTT - Potty Edition

Miss Dub is now TEN months old. Ten months, people! I'll be dropping her off at the mall with friends in no time. And she'll be telling me I'm unfair before I can blink. I mean, adolescence is at her doorstep.

So you'd think I'd be all over potty training - well-versed in all the various toilet techniques and associated parenting philosophies, but I'm not. I haven't thought about it for a moment. Even a little.

First, changing diapers doesn't bother me that much. I mean, I'd rather not unwrap a stinky surprise several times a day, but I'm not disgusted by it either. Everybody poops; Miss Dub just doesn't know how to dispose of hers, which is fine by me. She also doesn't know how to make cupcakes, but I'm in no rush to show her the Kitchenaid.

In fact, I have no idea what's the right age for potty training. I imagine it's somewhere around 2 years old, though you'll have to school me on the specifics. And I imagine that it's a Hot Topic because all child-rearing issues can get moms steamy under the collar. (And why is that? Do we really think our methods are superior, or do we just feel better by justifying our behavior?)

I recently read this article, which confirmed that potty training is, indeed, an interesting issue. And reminded me that there are some freaky people out there. People who not only eschew diapers from birth, but let their children relieve themselves in SINKS at PUBLIC restrooms. And then they wonder why other people look at them strangely.

And while the idea of a potty-trained newborn sounds appealing, I can't help but notice the irony. These people are so averse to wiping excrement that they don't diaper their babies, but they are happy to expose others to it - in a vestibule designed to remove germs nonetheless.

I just don't get it. Why can't babies just be babies? What's the rush? Diapers aren't meant to be enjoyable, just necessary. I don't feel like I have any less bowel control because my mom waited to potty train me ... so I fail to see the advantage.

But what do you think?

When have you or do you plan to potty train your youngins?

What's your strategy?

And on a scale of 1-10, how are disgusted are you by a mom who lets her baby use a sink as a bidet?

'Cause it's pretty much a 10 for me.

Americans!

I recently alluded to the fact that we've become friends with a German family.

I don’t mean that to sound stereotypical, but their ethnicity is essential to my point. Not so much their German-ity, but their European-ness. Because while certain cultural groups – those who love to eat finger foods for example – can actually make me feel somewhat proper (with my preference for flatware and such), other cultural groups (i.e. Europeans) can make me feel like I was raised in a barn. And not a converted barn featured in Architectural Digest; a literal barn filled with dirty, untamed animals.

Yesterday, for example, Mrs. Deutsch had Miss Dub and me over for some girl talk/play-time for our babies. It was really fun. She lives in a town that has total Midwest charm, and we hung out at a park by a scenic lake that had me feeling like Mark Twain. You know, if he was a woman, a mother and preferred lakes to rivers. (Currents frighten me!)

But when we went to go to the park, she asked, “Where are Miss Dub’s shoes?” Well, to be honest, while Miss Dub owns a large collection of shoewear, she prefers to go au naturel. And since she’s not walking yet, I usually let her. But I was a little embarrassed to admit that so I pretended like I’d just forgotten and borrowed the pair she kindly lent me.

Then she asked, “Has Miss Dub had her fresh air for the day?” Again, I had to admit that she hadn’t. But what I didn’t admit was that our daily excursions outside have little to do with Miss Dub’s health and more to do with my sanity. And that sometimes – though rarely in nice weather – the extent of fresh air she gets is going from the car to Target.

But what really made me wonder about my upbringing was when we ate lunch, which was a fresh zucchini/bell pepper pasta she’d made for the babies. Which didn’t really make me feel bad because most people are better cooks than I am, and I’ve long made peace with my unorganic tendencies.

“Does Miss Dub prefer a fork or a spoon?” Mrs. Deutsch asked.

Well, um, she prefers her index finger and thumb, and I prefer to feed her with a spoon so … “Spoon,” I said.

“That’s nice,” she said, “Miss Deutsch always wants to use a fork.”

Now, Miss Deutsch is 13-months-old so she has 5 developmental months on my lil’ Miss, but I was still shocked to watch her gracefully stab a few pieces of pasta and zucchini onto her fork, blow away some of the heat and put it carefully in her mouth. Then, she would stop for a few glugs of juice from her cup … a regular, handle-less, sippy-spout-less cup!

Meanwhile, Miss Dub and I were making a scene as I tried to get the pasta onto the spoon and into her mouth. Because at home I would have probably thrown a few pieces of pasta and zucchini (skip the bell peppers) onto her trough, er, highchair and let her go at them with her fingers. Some would make it into her mouth; most would end up on the floor or in her hair.

And getting her to drink from a regular cup was almost comical. While Miss Dub had surprisingly mastered the concept of holding and sipping from it, she would then tilt it all the way back and let the juice gush down her chin. Then, for her final trick, she would pour a little onto the floor for good measure.

Mrs. Deutsch thought it was funny, which was a relief. Miss Deutsch looked embarrassed for Miss Dub.

I was just surprised. Had I grossly underestimated the ability of a baby? Is it normal for a 13-month-old to eat her food with such grace that Emily Post would marvel?

After much thought, I realized that it isn’t normal for a 13-month-old American baby to do such things. We expect them to be babies. Mrs. Deutsch on the other hand told me that she lets her kids be unruly until they turn 1, at which point she enforces adult etiquette. And it works!

But we don’t even try. Shoot, we’re not even that well-mannered ourselves. We’re loud, and we’re laid back. We’re improper, and we're irreverent. We’re (often) totally oblivious to the rest of the world, its concerns and its customs. (But I’ll save that for a future HTT.)

And we love sippy cups. Because they’re easy. And Americans love easy. And maybe that’s OK?

But remind me to bring shoes next time.

p.s. My blog is having template issues. Bear with me.

HTT - Gender edition

There are a lot of Hot Topics that you don’t know about until you become a mom, but some start before baby is even born.

Like, finding out the gender of your unborn child.

Why this topic is on my unpregnant mind I don’t know, but it may have something to do with a few friends who recently discovered they are having girls in November. (Seriously, are there seasonal patterns to gender? Because Miss Dub was the fifth girl in two months to be born into our church congregation last fall.)

It also might have to do with the fact that a sleeptastic Miss Dub is making me baby hungry. That and I’ve recently taken to looking at her newborn photos, which I highly advise against unless you want to throw your birth control out the window and/or sob for how fast your little one has grown.

But I digress. What’s new?

When I was pregnant with Miss Dub, it didn’t even cross my mind to keep her gender a secret until she was born. I mean, why wouldn’t I want to know? Why wouldn’t I want to prepare for a boy or girl as needed? Why wouldn’t I want to break up my daily vomiting sprees with a little information so I could say, “She is making me throw up insane amounts,” instead of, “It is giving me an aversion to Asian cuisine.”

So when people first started to ask me if I was going to find out our baby’s gender, I innocently responded, “Yes,” only to have some stranger unleash a can of beat down on me for being so weak.

The most common reason to not find out, apparently, is that it gives you something to look forward to in labor. I don’t get this one. I mean, it’s not like you can avoid labor no matter how much you aren’t looking forward to it. And isn’t seeing your baby a pretty good motivator to push through it? (Pun sadly intended.)

Plus there are other good reasons to find out – it helps you prepare not only physically for baby but mentally, as well. Because I was totally convinced I was having a boy until we found out Miss Dub was a little girl. Though I was initially shocked – and others have certainly been disappointed, which I don’t get – I felt like she’d always been my little girl by the time she was born. And shopping for cute dresses didn’t suck.

However, I do respect your decision to not find out. I admire you. I can’t even wait for the popcorn to finish popping most nights, and we all know I can’t wait for paint to dry. So the idea that your doctor knows a really important secret for five months that you don’t would be too much for me.

And I do understand not finding out when you have children of both genders. That way, you have all the appropriate clothing and gear to meet his or her needs. But, honestly, I would still be too curious to wait. And I don’t think that makes me weak. And I don’t think it’s cheating.

But what about you?

Did you find out the gender of your unborn child(ren)? Do you plan to next time?

And for our adoptive moms, would you consider requesting a specific sex for your child, or is that cheating?

We sooo need to be schooled in these things.

HTT - Plastic Edition

There are a lot of people who probably shouldn’t read today’s Hot Topic.

My father is one. My brother is another, as well as any and all ecclesiastical leaders. Same goes for the remaining three male readers, as well as any female ones who are more reserved than I am. (And let’s face it; most bread boxes have more discretion than I do.)

Oh, and anyone who hasn’t ever wanted to visualize me naked.

So I invited all of the above to link here today instead, where my sister-in-law has her own heated issue to resolve. And while it mentions pee and poop in the first paragraph, it goes on to such honorable topics as honesty, integrity and minivans.

Nowhere does it mention boobs.

This Hot Topic, however, does.

Because there is a long list of things that I never understood until I became a mother. Like how all my pregnant friends would complain about being fat when I thought they should be marveling at the miracle of their burgeoning body. Then I got pregnant and didn’t feel beautiful or natural – I felt like a tub of lard all day. (You don’t think it had anything to do with the tub of lard I was consuming daily, do you?)

So I wasn’t very sympathetic when my friends used to complain that a post-baby body is nothing like a pre-baby physique. I figured the extra rolls had more to do with busy lives filled with fast food runs and playgroups in lieu of macrobiotic diets and workouts.

Then, I had Miss Dub. And I lost all 50 pounds I gained plus 40 more. Yet, I swear my muffin top has never been so bounteous thanks to the large basketball I carried under my skin for so many months. And while I could do 689 crunches a day I keep forgetting and/or sitting on my lazy hind instead. So my saggy stretch marks just hang there.

And then there’s my chest.

I’d been warned. I’d heard my nursing friends complain that breastfeeding destroyed their cleavage, but I didn’t really listen. They’re paranoid, I reasoned; they’re just getting older. But this time they weren’t exaggerating at all. It is a true phenomenon, and it’s truly disturbing.

To maintain some decency, let me explain it to you using an agricultural equation:

Pumpkins + Nursing = Eggplants

(This is the part where you may or may not choose to visualize me naked. I encourage the latter.)

And I hear it gets worse once you wean your babies, which has me contemplating pumping well into my 60s.

The whole point of this sordid tale is that I finally understand breast augmentation. I mean, I already understood it for those rare people who are genetically given the teeniest cup size. But I didn’t get why so many nice, normal, church-going women wanted to get a little work done in that region. Were they vain? Were they depressed? Were they crazy? Had they never heard of a Wonder bra?

But now I think I might give surgery a second thought in a few years.

(Then again, I’d rather spend the money on clothes, and I’m not great with anesthesia, but I’ll certainly complain about the deterioration of my décolletage until I die. Of course, I just enjoy complaining.)

This whole issue has me rethinking plastic surgery in general. Before, I just couldn't understand it except for reconstruction purposes.

But a tummy tuck isn’t sounding half-bad these days. Same goes for whatever you call it when they snip and sew the excess skin on your legs and arms after losing a lot of weight. And after years of sun worship, I’m pretty sure Oil of Olay isn’t going to help me as much as a face lift would.

I’m still anti-Botox, which isn’t even plastic surgery so much as a syringe Tupperware party. And I do not get any plastic surgery intended to make you look better when you already look fabulous. In that case, you should really work on your self esteem before you get more work done.

As I mentioned, I’m probably too cheap and too chicken to ever go through with any of these procedures. But some of you out there may have more guts, which could equal more cleavage for you. And I’ll be jealous because I've got a problem with envy.

But what do you think?

Have you ever considered plastic surgery … or actually had it? (This is where the anonymous sign-in might come in handy.)

Is it wrong?

Is it is sooo right?

And is the boob thing true or what?

HTT - Baby-makin' edition

With a face like this, who wouldn't want more?

I’m sooo baby hungry right now.

But let me clarify, I was sooo baby hungry when I was 12 and daydreaming of odd scenarios where a baby would land on my doorstep, and I would raise it as my own.

I was sooo baby hungry about two days after birthing Miss Dub.

I was sooo baby hungry last month.

The fact is, I’ve got a big baby appetite, but is my stomach big enough for them all?

Family planning – it’s a HOT TOPIC because there are lots and lots of opinions on this matter.

Most Mormons, me included, don’t really believe in family planning to the extent that inspiration trumps all plans. If a feeling overtakes you to bring another child into your home, you do it even if you planned to wait. And if a feeling tells you to wait a while, you do it even if you planned to try for another.

But sometimes – let’s be honest, most times – there are no burning feelings. Over time, it just feels right to give it another go. Or your aversion to burgeoning bumps and cankles begins to ease. Your fear of two sets of diapers, two carseats and two cranky babies begins to lessen.

It still seems crazy, but not insane.

And when I really, really think long and hard about having another one right now – which would put them a whoppin’ 18 months apart – it still seems a little insane. So we’re waiting.

If I was really into family planning, I would take into consideration the following: We only have two bedrooms. Miss Dub is still a terrible sleeper. I just lost all this weight and would gain some of it back. I just bought a new wardrobe and would have to shelve it in favor of elastic-banded pants. I’m easily stressed and babies are stressful. I get zits when I’m first pregnant - and I hate zits.

But really those things don’t matter.

What does matter, however, is my sanity. And I think that is a huge factor when planning a family, and when receiving inspiration. I don’t think we’re ever asked to do something that is bad for us. I don’t think we’re ever asked to do something we can’t handle. I do think we’re pushed and tested at times, but I don’t think you need three kids under the age of 3 to feel stretched as a mother.

So people who don’t believe in any planning/prevention boggle my mind. Maybe they’re just constantly prepared for another mouth to feed, another derriere to diaper, another year without sleep, another college education to pay. Or maybe some of them think they’ll get extra credit celestial points for being open for baby bizness all the time, which may be true but may also be haughty depending on the situation.

So how did you “plan” your family? And did all go according to schedule?

And, inspiration aside, what do you think is the ideal spacing between children?

What are the pros and cons of having kids close together or farther apart?

And did you know that I have a “sister” who is due any moment with her fifth child? And that she’s planned them for the most part? And that she’s still totally sane and in control of the chaos?

Yeah, she’s my hero.

Maybe I should have another one …