Money DOESN'T Buy Happiness?

But all that stands between me and being able to bring the next addition to our family unit into the world in a way that I feel is beneficial to all parties involved, is money. Our "insurance" covers 1,500 dollars of a 4,000 dollar midwife fee, leaving 2,500 dollars floating over our heads. Even with an offer from the midwife to take 700 dollars off in exchange for home cooked meals and cleaning her house twice a month until the birth, that's 1,800 dollars.

Part of me knows how easy it would be to just go to an Obstetrician with my tail between my legs and relent to the c-section they've insisted is "necessary". But, that would be a huge blow to me. It would mean never knowing whether or not I could have done it. The elusive "virginal" birth...as my sister accidentally called it. So frustrating when all that stands between you and having what you know you want and need to do, is 1,800 dollars. Money doesn't buy happiness, and I know that whether or not we come up with this money, this baby will be born...but to have to give up the choice? The choice of letting my body do what it was designed to do, what millions upon millions of other women have been doing for centuries. Kind of puts a dull tinge over things.

Time to have a yard sale I guess. Bake sale anyone? I think I saw a quarter between the couch cushions the other day...

Moving Is Our Favorite Hobby

That's why we do it every six months! Sure, we could keep going month to month, paying so much in rent that we can barely afford to eat...but Mama's getting HUNGRIER and HUUUUUUNGRIER, and I really would like to be able to afford new clothes! So, I don't mind moving away from paradise if it means having more income to play around with, and also being closer to family and friends. Ok...moving away from San Diego will be hard, but we aren't really enjoying all the things it has to offer because we don't have anyone except each other to enjoy them with. Any parent of a toddler knows it's nearly impossible to have fun when you don't have twenty extra sets of hands and eyes to follow them with.

It seems like this move is happening really fast. Probably because we have so much less stuff to pack up and move, and some of it hasn't had time (or space) to shift since we unpacked it last. Luckily it's been easy to get boxes from the grocery stores in the neighborhood.

Thankfully, it looks like Peytons MorMor will be able to fly all the way from NC to help with the move. I'll try to make it as easy as possible on her so that we will have time to show her the city we will miss so much! But I know having her here will take away a huge amount if stress that moving while pregnant brings...luckily it's not moving while 9 months pregnant and then a week after a c-section. Never doing THAT again!

Inception Meets Infection

Peyton has been mysteriously sick these past few days, and it has been hugely stressful for us (mostly the pregnant one. No doctor has been able to clearly and definitely diagnose her...which would be fine except for the fact that no diagnosis means NO CURE! 4 days into her battle royale with this imaginary mystery illness, she's feeling much better unless she is deprived of food or her motrin wears off. But this post is not about her illness...it's about what happens when you watch Inception, and then your baby won't sleep through the night.

First off, I loved the movie. It was just easy enough to follow, but still a challenge. The special effects were attractive...and Joseph Gordon Levitt is just lick able. And FYI, I don't care whether the top stops spinning in the end, nor do I care whether or not I live in the matrix.

However, this is NOT a movie you should watch when you are sleep deprived and/or pregnant. I already tend to dream in well thought out horror movies when pregnant, so this just turned me sideways and spanked me. There is no feeling quite like waking up to a screaming (for who knows what reason) baby and being really alarmed because your husband "missed the kick". I vaguely recall trying to figure out which level of the dream we were in and whether or not one of us had gotten stuck in limbo...none of this while I was asleep.

I used to think there was nothing worse than waking up to a screaming baby and being sleep deprived, then I got the pleasure of waking up to a screaming SICK baby and being sleep deprived. So much worse. But, THEN, I woke up to a screaming sick baby after watching Inception. THIS I believe to be the mother of all causes of sleep depravation...they were right when they said your brain works faster when you're dreaming, and it. is. exausting.

So Many Things To Say...

My sisters on-demand cable feature turned me onto this interesting show. Thankfully there were TONS of episodes available, all of which were very educational. It's on the Discovery Health Channel and called "I'm pregnant and...". Every episode finishes the sentence with something controversial such as addicted, in prison, HIV positive, etc. Riveting stuff, but my absolute favorite, in that it got me really thinking as well as really irritated, was I'm pregnant and homeless.

You can't paint an apartment like this...

The couple referred to in the title were married, living in a van down by the river (no joke) in North Carolina. They had a one year old baby and she was 9 months pregnant. I know the economy is bad (trust me, I know what it's like to be poor) and it's hard to find jobs, and that part isn't the part that got me a little peeved. It's two completely separate issues.

Firstly, she stated that the only reason she didn't take her baby and a half and go stay with her parents, was that they wouldn't also allow her husband to stay with them, because they didn't like him. Really? Romantic as that sounds, TAKE CARE OF YOUR BABIES! I verified this with my oh so sensible husband, and he said...yeah I'll be homeless you can stay with your parents. If the homeless husby doesn't have a pregnant wife to stress about taking care of, perhaps it would be easier for him to focus on finding work? Come to find out he has a felony on his record...there's the clincher.

Secondly, after 3 hours of panhandling, they made a little over 17 dollars (hey, if you make six dollars an hour, after taxes...that sounds about right), and thus began the discussion of how expensive food is and woe is us we can't cook food living in a van/tent. As a stay at home mom with a very limited grocery budget, don't get me started on what 17 dollars will buy you at the grocery store. You can't cook anything? Buy bologna, a 99 cent loaf of bread, and get free packets of mayo and mustard at a gas station. There, 2 dollars, and you can eat for quite a few days. Don't be squeamish about the bologna sitting out. That stuff has so many preservatives in it...it will live longer than you will.

I mean, water is free (drink it out of the tap, really people, it's more regulated than bottled water), and fruits and vegetables can be very cheap and sustaining. The point is, if people knew how much money WE were surviving on, more than surviving even, their mouths would DROP TO THE FLOOR. Maybe I'm just not eating enough. Probably because my number one priority is stuffing food in that babies mouth. And mom, if we ever became homeless, Mitch could come stay with you guys too right?

Just a Realization

If people are going to follow this blog that means I have to write things in it...no more repeats of the Twitter incident! How about a story about mom brain to put all you night owls down for beddy bye?

Once upon a this afternoon, this afternoon being Wednesday, February two, twenty-ten (aka groundhog day. And congrats Phil on a wise and thoughtful decision, you rodenty rascal you!), I had some errands to run. I forgot how stupid pregnancy makes me, and today was the beginning of it kicking in. I'll simplify this part...

-I left my sunglasses at old navy. The cheap pair I keep around so I don't have to lose the ray bans.
-I lost my phone in Peytons carseat without remembering having it back there.
-I left the frozen yogurt store, after buying two frozen yogurts and a drink, without my drink.

To make matters worse, I don't LOOK pregnant.

So, for the next 5 or so months I get to live in this pregnant brain. A brain in which the jokes don't ever trigger a correct response, I will cry at the end of every episode of every tv show, every movie, and every commercial we watch, things that are not jokes will make me laugh hysterically, and even the simplest tasks will prove impossible (especially if I forget what that task is in the middle of performing it).

Every good story has to have a twist right? Here's this one. Now, on top of remembering to put my shoes on and grab my keys before locking myself out of the apartment (twice locked out and counting), I am responsible for the well-being of a one year old. God willing, I don't accidentally lock her in the apartment with the keys...cause Lord KNOW she will be eating herself some of that forbidden cat food if I can't pull her away from it.

The end.

There's a hole in my pocket, dear Liza, dear Liza...

Once upon a time, there was a girl, and she got knocked up. Whoops! Time to buy things! Nine months (and hundreds and hundreds of dollars in baby clothes and toys and furniture) later, helllllllloooooooooo Peyton! And thus it was proclaimed that she was the cutest baby in all the land (sorry other mamas!).

Fast forward one year. Another whoops! Time to buy things! But wait...we already bought all that stuff...and Princess Peyto Pants is still using most of it! Whatsoever shall I overspend on? Pedicures! Oh no, you have to shave your legs to get those (NO massage, no matter how great will convince me that it's not embarrassing to have stubbly legs uncovered in public). How about clothes???!!! Every girls dream right? "ooh now that I'm preggo I get to wear all sorts of cute clothes to show off my bump*!" Oh, wrong again, pregnant brain equals no shirt or dress is appealing, appropriate for the weather, going to fit, you name it. So where does this leave us, fetus and self?

Open mouth, insert food.




*pudgy uterus holder

Things CAN look towards the up-side!

So today we started doing our taxes, and realized that, as a result of being poor and struggling ALL year, we get a big bonus from our grand old government come tax season. Time to pay off those creditors that have been nagging us for the past six months. Time to start actually opening the bills when they come and answering the 800 numbers when they call!

Also with a move possibly in the works, this time up north to be nearer to family, I have something to look forward to. Not that I don't love paying 850 a month for an apartment that barely fits our THINGS, let alone 3 people (one more in the works) and two cats. I really do love it in San Diego, but the reality is, we could use a lot more space and Peyton needs to grow up with a support system of people that love her. And I can't think of two people who could possibly want to spoil that baby more than her Auntie Em and Uncle Scotty.

On a lighter note. Why did that man drill holes in our kitchen wall yesterday and no one was going to bother to come over and apologize or even FIX it? Hey, now we can watch what our single, 30 something, hairy scary man neighbor is doing in his apartment whenever we want. Things are looking up!

New Year 2011

I think Peyton is more fun at parties than I am! She always wants to say hi to everyone and see everything that's going on. Even if that means big sloppy pit bull kisses! She had a hard time getting to sleep at Miss Tasman's house with all the music and hooting and hollering!

It was fun to watch everyone else get crunk while I stuffed my face with goat cheese and baguette. And even more fun to show off new years baby Peyton. Spent the magical midnight moment at Emily and Scott's with Tim and all the kitties. It's pretty much time to watch even more jersey shore while I drift off to sleep. I have a sister and brother and law who are going to be very hungover in the morning...how fun for me and Peyton!

Telling the World

Maybe it's time to start telling people I'm pregnant. Really though, the only reason to tell would be to allow myself to complain about coccyx pain or how much weight I don't want to gain. No one really cares about that but me. Plus, I don't feel like enduring congratulations or other happy sentiments. Not because I'm unhappy, but because until I meet this little baby, I don't know exactly what to be happy for.

I already did the whole buy the baby crap, tell everyone who's listening, get all the attention thing. I just want to spend the next several months taking care of myself, enjoying Peyton as an only child, living our life and figuring out where in the heck we are going to put a second baby.

Maybe if we tell more of our friends, their excitement for us will transfer to me. Or irritate me. Ask me later.