Two Months Old!

First, sorry for a 2 month post at 2.5 months. It took me uploading a blog app on my phone to get pictures into this post. Here is what I wrote:

For my Mother's Day present, Samuel turned 2 months old.  My goodness, little guy, stop growing!

He is the sweetest, most awesome little baby.  He hardly cries.  The only times he cries are if he is hungry, wants his pacifier, or is tired.  He'll just play on his mat or sit in his chair and look around. It's so easy to forget he is there, especially with Matthew dominating the house.  Yesterday we had our 14 and 15 year old babysitters come over to watch Matthew while we went for our Saturday long run and this time I left Samuel with them, also.  Who leaves their 2 month old baby with a 14 year old? Well, he is just such a good baby they had no trouble. He didn't cry for the whole 2 hours. He just looked around and eventually fell asleep.

His latest trick is that he now smiles.  I am trying to see if he will cooperate and smile at the camera.  I had forgotten how sweet their little smiles are and how they make you feel like you're doing something right.

He continues to eat quite well and his sleeping has improved dramatically.  He sleeps through the night pretty much regularly.  For the record, however, I do not.  My milk supply is out of control and I wake up in the middle of the night to pump (I tell myself it's worth it to stock up our deep freeze).  If he sleeps past 7 in the morning (on Saturday and Sunday mornings he slept till about 8:30 or 9:00 after having gone to bed at 11....) I have to give in and just pump all my milk out--about 12 or 13 ounces.  Luckily, he'll take a bottle, though he only eats about half of what I pumped.  So, basically, I have enough milk to feed twins.  I am very grateful to have this "problem" and so I'm not really trying to cut back the supply (yet).  I'll give it several months like I did with Matthew before I attempt to reign it in.

Samuel went to the doctor for his 2 month check up.  Of course, he was upset greatly by getting shot 3 times, but other than that he says it wasn't so bad.  He weighs 11 pounds 3 oz (35%) and is 23 inches long (51%).  The doctor's office measured him at 20 inches when he was at the doctors office at 3 days old and not 22 inches like the hospital, so I'm not sure who is wrong. I suppose I should measure him myself to see.  He seems quite long to me.

It's amazing to me how different I can already tell my children are.  When I put Matthew on his tummy he would always push up and lift his head.  He rolled over for the first time on his 2 month birthday (this trend continued, he walked at 10 months and now throws a ball as well as his 4 year old cousin).  Samuel just sits there like a sack of potatoes and roots around for something to suck on.  He isn't too thrilled with picking his head up off the mat, though I know he can do it.  Matthew is quite the athlete, so maybe this means Samuel will be different.  Who knows. We are working on more tummy time to encourage him to use his neck.  He can hold it up pretty well when we're holding him, I guess he just doesn't love he mat.

And now for some pictures:

Mother's Day Musings

When I was interviewing for medical school, I was living in Atlanta.  I flew in to Ohio one day and drove to Toledo from Cincinnati for an interview.  My mom came with me to keep me company and for moral support on my interview.  On the way up, the night before my interview, my mom decided it was the appropriate time to inform me that she didn't think I should become a doctor.  It wasn't, of course, that my mom had a problem thinking I was intelligent enough or driven enough to do it, but she explained that she thought I would regret taking on such a time-intensive and demanding career when I had children.  "I know you," she told me.  She told me she knew how I loved passionately and how I had such a strong desire to have several children.  She said that she felt when I had them, it would tear me apart to work such long hours. Maybe I would feel like a bad mother. Maybe I would just regret missing out on things.  My mom stayed home with my sister and I until I went to preschool and kindergarten and then she began going back to work.  When I was in first grade she opened her day care center and for many years she had to work from 8-6....significantly less hours that I will have to work in residency.  But apparently my sister and I would call her when we got home from school and ask her when she was coming home.  It tore her up, she said. She thought I would feel the same thing when my own children cried when I left, or asked me to come home.  But, of course, I was only engaged at the time and had no children.  I was furious that my mother decided to tell me this (the night before my interview, nonetheless) and I yelled at her and defended my decision to become a doctor, and told her how very wrong she was.

She was so not wrong.

I should have listened.  At least I could have been prepared for how I feel.

Now, that's not to say that I regret being in medical school, because I don't.  But I'll tell you, taking 30 hour call is against everything I stand for morally.  Not tucking my children into bed is wrong.  Not getting Matthew dressed in the morning (because I've been at work for 2 hours) is infuriating.  Matthew clinging to my leg is sad, but Matthew crying for his daddy to read him a story instead of me is heartbreaking.  The truth is, most of my 3rd year I have been miserable (though much can be rightly attributed to the fact that for all but this current rotation I have been pregnant).  When I'm sitting in the hospital doing nothing (the theme of 3rd year), I want to storm out and complain about how I could be with my kids.  And then there's the fact that I'm surrounded by stay at home moms. How is it that of my close friends with kids, like 3 of them work full time?  (Thanks Abs, Jenn, and Melinda for not making me feel like a total freak).  So then I stop and think, what if I just quit? Sure, I know the 30 hour call and endless wasted hours are just temporary and then in 4 or 5 years I will be a full grown doctor and I will work weekdays only, 40 hours a week.  I have put great angst into finding a specialty that I like that will also allow me to do that.  But is it worth it? Is my mother right? Will I regret these years? So I try to think about quitting, and my new awesome, perfect, life staying home with my kids.

Me neighbor is like the perfect picture of the perfect homemaker.  Her house is beautiful, her meals are all homemade, elaborate, and healthy (made only better when we share them...), her children are perfectly behaved.  I look at her and I think I want to be like that.  She is the best hostess and takes care of her family so well.  That should be me.  My husband would be much less overworked.  My house would be clean.  My food would be awesome.  My children would see me all day, every day.  We could go to the zoo. And the museum.  And I could make friends with other moms and get my kids together when them and be super concerned with getting them to nap at the same time every day.  Maybe I would even have flowers instead of weeds.  I could buy organic and use cloth diapers and make my own laundry detergent.  Best of all, I would be a gult-free mother.  No worrying about how to balance work with kids.  No stress over trying to choose a specialty that will allow me to make the evening soccer games.  

But the truth of the matter is, my kid eats off my floor.  Sometimes we let him eat off the floor in public places, if the tantrum that has been brought on by the dropped piece of food is too much for me to handle.  (No, my kid does not get sick a lot. In fact, he has not gotten sick in about a year.)  My floor, by the way, is never clean and never would be, even if I were stay at home mom.   I have the best of intentions when it comes to cooking these really elaborate meals but my kid is always running around like a little maniac and cooking those meals would be a near impossibility except for like once a week, when Tim was home to supervise the kids.  My child does not nap at the same time every day.  Some days on the weekend he doesn't nap till like 4 and I'm ok with that.  I will never have flowers instead of weeds unless I hire someone else to plant them because I have no ability to garden (my husband does the gardening but has no time because his wife is not a stay at home mom.  Funny how that works...)  I couldn't buy organic because if I weren't working, we couldn't afford it.  I might make my own laundry detergent but I would still have mounds of laundry baskets that sit in the house, full of clean clothes, for at least a week before they get put away.  And cloth diapers? Forget it, Jen Bowen, I am SO not scrubbing poop over the toilet.  One picture of you doing that, and I knew I so don't have what it takes.  You are one brave woman.   And, I'm pretty sure, that as a stay at home mom, when I took my kids to the doctor, I would envy the doctor.


So here we are again.  Back to being a doctor.  I just can't quit.  Not now, with one year (and 10 weeks) left. Not after all I've done.  Not with the goals I still have of working overseas, or working 30 hours a week as a doctor in an office and getting to help people AND see my children.  Not with the passion I have developed for medicine.  Not after all my husband has given up for me to achieve this.  I can't quit.  So maybe I should have listened to my mom and thought about this before I found myself in this situation. Because now I am wrestling with extreme doubt: Am I a bad mother? Am I a bad wife?

I hope not. My kids seem happy. They seem loved.  And I think they are developing just fine. Matthew knows all the letters of the alphabet, all the shapes (even the weird ones like octagon and trapezoid), all the colors.  Sure, sometimes he cries for his daddy, but I know he loves me.  He runs after me when I pick him up.  He laughs and smiles.  I think he's happy.  Samuel eats, sleeps, and poops, so we can't say much about him. I hope my husband is happy.  I think sometimes he gets a little exacerbated at all the housework he does and all the weekends or nights he's alone, but he hasn't blamed me yet.  I hope I'm a good wife to him.  I hope I'm a good mother.  I hope that when Matthew is older he doesn't look back and say I wasn't there.  I hope that by doing this hard work now, I will be able to have a job in the future where I can be happy and satisfied but also where I can find time and be with my kids and go the soccer games and take summer vacations.  I hope this works out the way I planned.  Above all, my kids must know I tried so hard to raise them and mother them well.

Feel loved, little Matthew.  Feel cherished, little Samuel.  If you do not,  I will have failed as a mother.  30 hour call or not, you must know I love you, that these years of crazy hours are temporary, that I agonized and agonized over my decisions, that I questioned them a thousand times, that I did everything your Mimi said I would and wondered if I should have listened to her.

Oh, how I wish I had felt content as a 40 hour a week aerospace engineer in Atlanta with an awesome boss, flexible hours, and no 30 hour call or night shift.

I really hate the night shift.  So does Matthew.

One Month Old

I can't believe Samuel is already one month old. Even more than that I can't believe I only have 2 weeks of maternity leave left. Not ok. What am I going to do when I can't watch tv while I nurse and sleep until 11 or noon when we've had a rough night?

Our little guy is growing well. A few days ago he weighed in at 8 lb 15 oz putting him in the 35 percentile for weight and 45 percentile for height. He's not very chubby yet but I am doing my best. He eats quite well and I have quite the overabundant milk supply. We already have tons of frozen, pumped milk in our deep freeze. We tried a bottle yesterday and it went well, paving the way for when I go back to work in 2 weeks a slave to the pump.

He sleeps pretty well at night in his crib but is not very consistent. Some nights he'll go 3 or 4 hours between feedings while others he'll last 5 or 6. Either way I can't complain too much, it could be so much worse.

And he is a good baby. He never cries unless he is hungry or wants to be held or wants his pacifier. When awake he is quite alert and attentive. He loves to play on his playmat and tolerates his older brother quite well.

Matthew is adjusting though the first few weeks he had a rough time. He has become way more attached to Tim and always says he wants "my daddy" because needing to feed the baby all the time has lessened the attention I can give him. It breaks my heart but I can't really fault Matthew for it. I constantly feel like I can't hold Matthew, play with Matthew or spend enough quality time with Matthew and it leaves me feeling like a terrible mother. I am hoping it gets better with time. I know some moms can nurse one one run around with another but I am not that talented yet. He loves Samuel and always asks to hold him and is (usually) good with him.

Samuel has enjoyed his first month on earth, I think, and I have definitely enjoyed the new addition to the family. It really doesn't get much better than this.

Here are some pictures from Easter when Samuel met his cousins Jonathan (3) and James (3 months). Also that day was Samuel's baptism. Our church doesn't do infant baptisms so we had Samuel baptized by my mom, who was ordained a few months ago, at her church. Samuel shared his special day with James. I think it was special that she my mom got to baptize her two newest grandsons. Thanks, mom!

And now we have two

On March 13th at 4:36 in the morning we welcomed Samuel Christopher Larson into our lives. We were delighted to meet him and we can tell he is already quite the fine little fellow. Samuel weighed 6 lbs 15 oz and was a very lengthy 22 inches. Since his birth he has been a fairly agreeable baby and has taken to nursing quite well. My sister has this theory that babies who are born in the middle of the night have their days and nights mixed up. This may be true, though we have only had one night with him. It was a little rougher than our first night with Matthew.

The birth was quite the experience. I had wanted a natural birth without any medication and I was hoping for a water birth. What I got was the hardest day of my life.

I started having contractions on Sunday afternoon and they picked up Sunday night. I didn't sleep that night because I was having regular contractions that were painful enough to keep me awake but not painful enough to send me to the hospital. I was so excited to be so close to the "end." Then Monday morning when I woke up the contractions had subsided in regularity and I was so frustrated. I was also exhausted since I hadn't slept the night before so I tried to sleep. Every time I feel asleep contractions began again and woke me up, and they got progressively more intense throughout the day but were very far apart. I called my midwife and she told me to maybe go in and have my cervix checked. I was going to go in without Tim but then I decided I wanted to go for a run instead. Yes, obsessive. I was hoping it would drive me into labor. So I ran 3 1/2 miles with Chester and felt fine the entire run. Shortly after getting home from the run I realized I was in labor. The contractions picked up immediately after the run and became a lot closer together. I showered, tried to eat, walked around, and called up our babysitters. Tim and I got into the hospital at about 10:00 on Monday night and I was 4 cm when we got there. After 1 hour at the hospital I was 5 cm so they admitted me and called in the midwife. Let the fun begin.

And thus began the hardest 6 hours of my life. I've heard people who have had natural births say it was the hardest thing they have ever done. This is most definitely not an exaggeration. To say that I became hysterical is really not an understatement. The pain was unbearable and I hadn't really prepared for the labor at all. It was like I woke up one day and thought, "I'll try to have a baby without any meds" and figured "no big deal." The regular breathing and focusing on something "outside of the contractions" quickly became, as things progressed, moaning and trying to make it through which later became groaning and praying to God to make the contraction end which then became screaming and saying, "I can't do this anymore" and then finally ended at screaming hysterically and yelling at the midwife to tell me exactly how much longer I was going to have to do this, pleading with her to make it stop, screaming that she needed to cut the baby out, and that she needed to vacuum suction the baby out (at this point she told me I knew too much).

I got in the bathtub and labored in there for probably 1-2 hours. I definitely was not focused on the time. My husband was by my side the entire time and at one point was literally the only one holding me up. After a while the midwife checked my cervix and said I still had some left and that the baby was in the posterior position (this makes labor more painful and also makes it harder for the baby to descend through the pelvis). She suggested I sit up and I'm pretty sure this is when I became unraveled. When I moved the contractions grew in intensity and then she had me go sit on the toilet (a common thing to help the baby descend) and that was pretty much the end of me mentally, when I had to get out of the tub and things picked up even more.

I felt intense pain and pressure but pushing wasn't really helping to move the baby (instead other things were moving...) so they brought me to the bed. They kept saying I wasn't pushing right, that I was screaming too much, and that I needed to push instead of scream. I have said this to several women when I was helping them deliver in my OB rotation. I had no idea what I was saying. This is so much easier said than done and it took probably 30 minutes for me to actually figure out how to do this (and even then I was only 50% successful). In between every contraction I pleaded with the midwife to tell me exactly where the baby was and exactly how much longer this was going to take and how many more pushes I needed. She told me the baby could be born at 4:30. This was at 4:00. 30 minutes seemed like the end of me. I tried to hang in there but I kept saying there was no way I could do this. Everyone told me I had no choice. I knew they were right and that is as powerless as I've ever felt; to be so desperate to stop something and the only way to stop it is to do the very thing I fully believe I cannot. The nurses who knew I was a runner kept telling me, "this is the 26th mile." Yeah, right. This was way harder than any 26th mile or 13th mile or any last mile of any race I've ever done.

But I did it. After 2 hours of pushing (longer than I had to push with Matthew) and only 6 minutes later than the midwife's prediction, Samuel Christopher Larson cried life's first cry.

I was so excited to be done with the labor (and I was shaking uncontrollably) that all I could say while holding my brand new baby was, "it's over. it's over. it's over." I don't even think I announced his name to my mom for like 10 minutes.

I think for 24 hours I suffered post traumatic stress syndrome from an unmedicated child birth. I am immensely glad I did it, both for the quick recovery and also for the sense of accomplishment I feel. We might have another one and if we do, I will probably be foolish enough to do it again. However, for the life of me, I can't tell you why. My birth with Matthew any my friend, epidural, was so much more pleasant but this one was so much more meaningful. And, if I may say so, slightly heroic.

And so, without further ado I introduce you to our little string bean.
Proof that I gave birth in a bathing suit

Matthew is obsessed with holding "Samool"
Praise God, from whom all blessings flow
Praise Him, all creatures here below
Praise Him above, ye heavenly hosts
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Amen.

To Russia with Apprehension

I don't watch TV. In fact, Tim and I don't even have cable. And I don't read the newspaper or visit cnn.com or any other news site. When Whitney Houston died, people on facebook told me. Jo Paterno would still be alive if I hadn't been facebook friends with Penn State fans. So anyway, to say I am not up to date on news is an understatement. Most of my news comes from what Tim tells me when we go running today and talk about anything to pass the time. So when I got an e-mail from our adoption agency saying:

We are aware of the recent news stories from Russia and the US press
stating that the Foreign Ministry has called for a suspension of international adoptions. There is a related story stating that some regions in Russia have unofficially stopped working on international adoptions.

I was suddenly a little concerned that I wasn't more of a news person. The first e-mail we got just freaked me out and didn't provide much information. The second e-mail we got also freaked me out but provided more information. Basically, here is what our adoption agency has found to be true, at the elementary level of my understanding.

In 2011 there was a "bilateral agreement" signed by Russia and the US that was meant to help facilitate international adoption of Russian children to the US. There is, I guess, legislation that is to be passed as a result of this agreement. However, for reasons unknown to me, it has yet to be passed. Russian elections are scheduled for March sometime and I suppose after that they are expecting that the new people in office will pass the necessary legislation pertaining to this document. It is my understanding that this is a positive thing for us and not a negative thing.

So, again, for reasons unknown to me, the Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs has called for a temporary termination of adoptions between the two countries until the State Duma (big boss man) can pass the legislation pertaining to the document. However, it is my understanding that none of this will happen until after things have settled after the new elections. BUT, all hope is not lost because apparently, the Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs does not actually have the authority to hault adoptions (go figure) and this authority only lies in the hands of the State Duma (big boss man) or Russian President (biggest boss man). Neither of them have called for any type of change to the current adoptions. BUT, is is possible that in unity with the ministry of foreign affairs, the regional courts may decide to participate in an unofficial suspension of adoptions to the US. I guess they can do this? Go figure.

So, we're not really sure where this leaves us for a number of reasons. First, we do not know if our region Vladivostok will choose to participate in an unofficial but apparently legal suspension. I am hesitant to check with our adoption agency about our specific region because we have so long to referral anyway. Which brings me to my next point: we are currently only 1 month in to our probable 6-9 month wait (which will actually become close to one year until everything is final), so with regards to legislation being passed or not passed or things being held or not held, we have a lot of time for that to happen. This, of course, freaks me out because I feel very vulnerable to anything that may happen.

Of course, my biggest fear is that we will not get our daughter. But I have no basis for this fear quite yet. But "assume the worst" can sometimes be my middle name. My second, and perhaps more reasonable fear, is that it will delay us getting our daughter. Or, the third option is, we will not be affected at all. Of course, we are hoping and praying for the latter.

They say international adoption is a tumultuous, emotional, and scary ride. They were not kidding. We have so much invested in this. My heart has already been given to our unknown daughter. As terrified as I am about what lies ahead, I am so emotionally invested in bringing this little girl home to us. She is already my child and my family and my heart will not be complete without her.

So we hang on for her and hope and pray that she will find her way to our home in a timely manner. And we hope and pray for all the other children who are waiting in orphanages in poor conditions to meet their forever families. We pray that the bureaucracy ruling over them will not delay their time until they are loved an included in a family.

Please join us in prayer not only for our adoption for for all others in process, that courts would not suspend adoptions and that things will continue normally prior to and through the elections next month.

The Curse of the Fat Face

Pregnancy is absurd. Ridiculous. Demoralizing. Admittedly, totally worth it, but absurd, ridiculous, and demoralizing nonetheless. First, I can do nothing cool. I couldn't join Tim for his business conference held at the indoor water park. Those water slides are a no, no for the pregnant woman. We can't go skiing on our anniversary (another no, no). Tim won't let me rent an ATV--too bumpy, he says. I can't go horsebackriding. Poor horse would die. Second, what I can do, others think I shouldn't. I go still run nearly every day. 3-5 miles. On the weekends I do my long run,-7 miles. "why don't you just take it easy?" my mom says. "Are you sure you can run all the way up to end?" Um, hello? Second pregnancy, here. Matthew was just fine. And I get looks from cars, and honks and comments, "is that a good idea?" Perhaps some of you wonder the same thing. And then third, to add insult to injury, there is the pregnancy itself. The complete exhaustion that makes me say to Tim, "sorry, we can't go to the 7:15 movie. We need an afternoon one." The nausea that made the surgery clerkship such a horrid experience. And then, finally, the weight gain. I mean, I haven't gained that much weight by pregnancy standards. But it's like suddenly, I'm a whale. Now, I understand the need to gain weight in pregnancy. But what I don't understand, really, is the need to gain weight in my thighs, my butt, my arms, my chest, and, mostly, my face. My face? Honestly?

So today I blog about the curse of the fat face because I know I am not alone. In fact, I have done research. I have seen all these pictures of friends on facebook who have had recently had a baby. Yes, they all suffer from the curse of the fat face. Is this really a necessary part of pregnancy? Is looking like my face has retained a gallon of water really life sustaining for my baby? I have a hard time believing that it is, but the percentage of pregnant women suffering from the curse of the fat face makes me think perhaps I'm missing something. I would like to provide you with some evidence. I wish I could post before and pregnant pictures of my friends, too, but that's probably a breach of ethics and some pregnant woman privacy code. Here is a wedding picture: taken approximately 2 weeks before little Matthew came to be:


Then here is a picture of the fat face, taken approximately 34-36 weeks later. Then, we can show the demise of the fat face. Here, Matthew was about 9 months old.

And, then, finally, we have the fat face again, at about 24 weeks pregnant with this one.
It's scary to think that right now I'm 31 weeks along and my face is even fatter. Probably. I haven't taken any recent pictures of myself for comparison. Perhaps I should. It's not just the face, either. I mean, study those pictures. Notice the conspicuous lack of a collar bone in the pregnancy pictures. And the distinct increase in upper arm and shoulder diameter in those same pictures. Again, I ask, is this a necessary part of pregnancy? The belly, now, I can understand. But the collar bone? The arms? And, of course, the FACE? Is this necessary?

Where is the complaint department? I would like to file one.

I ran into someone at school the other week, a secretary in the office. She saw me and knew I was pregnant even though my coat was zipped. The fat face probably gave it away. Anyway, she starts raving about being pregnant. How much she loved her two pregnancies. What a wonderful, "glowing" time it is. I just smiled and nodded. What drug did this woman take in her pregnancies, cause I want some. I know there are a few crazies out there who love the 9 month journey of having your body taken over by a tiny little person, but I am not one of them. The reward is great and that is the only reason I do it.

And so, in view of that reward, I waddle on with my thick arms and fat face, all the while dreaming of the time this summer when my body is my own and I once again can fit into that little, black dress.

Wait, I'm having a baby?!?

I'm having a baby. At least, that's what they tell me. Earlier last week, my midwife and I were chatting at my appointment and she asked me if I'd thought about what kind of birth I'd like to have in a mere 9 weeks. I just kind of stared at her. "The kind where he comes out, I guess" I replied. She knows I'm not serious, I have ideas and emotions and moral stances on childbirth. Yes, I'm one of those people. But really, those all apply to other people's births because I'm not having a baby. Or, am I?

Now, I understand fully that I am pregnant. Not a day goes by where I don't think about how I am pregnant: what I can and can't eat and drink (we went to the most elaborate company party for Tim's work in DC this past weekend, and I've never been so sad to be pregnant as when I saw that open bar (all 5 of them)), how much more difficult it is for me to run now and how running 8 minute miles is merely a dream and how my new 10 minute mile pace makes me feel like a fat whale, how it takes me 5 minutes to turn over in bed, and when I look at myself in the mirror and call out, "where did my collar bone go? Why is my face so fat?" Plus, the every present movements of my little guy which make me smile and laugh and sometimes keep me awake. Oh yes, I know I'm pregnant. But having a baby? Let's not get carried away, people.

Because, you see, Tim and I are adopting a child. We can't possibly also be having a baby. We think and talk all the time about how our adopted daughter will come, when she will come, and what going to Russia will be like. Tim is such a planner, and I swear he has our entire trip mapped out. He must visit the site gotorussia.com regularly. The other day he informed me that the hotel we are staying in has high speed internet for when we need to talk with Dr. in the states about our referral. Good to know, since going to Russia is probably 7 or 8 months away. Over Christmas Tim was asked if he was taking time off for the holidays. "No," he replied, "I'm trying to save my vacation time for the adoption." "Oh, are you taking time off in March?" she asked, to which Tim replied, "What's happening in March?" My sister later relayed this story to me as if I'd be shocked and abhorred that my husband had forgotten about the birth of our second child. I was only shocked that when she mentioned March to me, I knew what was happening.

In our defense, I must say, it is hard not to be preoccupied with the adoption. Paper work out the wazoo and the ridiculous amount of money we have already seen leave our bank account (for which we have nothing to show, which is even the scarier part), and the million details like visas and medical school schedules and time off for Tim from work and trying to somehow do some fundraising so we can afford to feed our 3 children 2 years from now. This process is not for the faint of heart.

But in other ways, it just seems like it has made me totally forget our little guy. He is supposed to make his appearance in 9 weeks and he has no crib. Nor have I checked Craigslist recently for any new postings of "white crib." Last night I realized we need some kind of rocking chair or nursing chair in his room so I can feed him at 1 am (and 3 am and 6 am....) The only reason he has other furniture is because amazing quality free furniture was dropped off at our house in November. I had to do zero work to get it. But, I must also say, his sister also has furniture. Baby boy has no clothes, except what will be able to work from his big brother (they are off season. Darn!), and, most importantly, he has no name. His sister has a bed for when she is out of the crib (the white crib she will steal form her little brother when she comes home), and a few decorations for her room that I had my parents pick up for us in Russia last summer. The only reason she doesn't have clothes is because I have no idea what size she will be when we get her. Otherwise, every time I passed the girls clothes in the store, Tim would have to hold me back. And, most importantly, she has had a name for months that we use every time we talk of her.

Perhaps I should find a crib. And a chair. And get a few spring outfits that will fit. And maybe get a baby monitor and some bath toys that don't have mold growing inside them that gets shot out every time you squeeze the toy to make it shoot water. And maybe we should find a name. Maybe. But, like I said, let's not get carried away here, people.

I think some of this is normal for second time moms. After all, we already have a toddler we're chasing. I know Matthew, so I bought new bedding for him to give his current things to his brother. He says really funny things, so I tell stories about that on facebook instead of posting, "9 weeks to go!" I have noticed from my friends who have recently had second children that there is a conspicuous absence of belly pictures and countdowns during the second pregnancy. So maybe I can blame it all on that. And maybe it's cause he's a boy. No offense to my newest bundle, but baby boys are so 2009. I am not jumping to buy him clothes like I did for his big brother. And thus begins his long, long life of hand me downs (but boys don't care, right?). And when deciding whether I want to buy a crib bedding for him or his sister, it is really a no-brainer for me to save our crib bedding buying money for the day when I don't need to bypass polka dots and pastels.

But really all this has just left me feeling totally un-prepared for what happens 9 weeks from now. Not to mention I feel like the most unloving mother when I admit I have a preference for buying for the girl and not the boy. But mostly, having a baby seems too stressful to me. After all, I'm adopting a baby AND I'm pregnant. Can you believe that?