Luppa Luppa Lo

This week I've felt a bit under the weather with what I assumed was just a cold. Then yesterday morning I woke up feeling absolutely horrible. I took my temperature and was shocked that it was 102 degrees. I cannot recall having that high of a fever in my entire adult life.

I stayed in bed all day yesterday, in a kind of feverish haze (although my brother was disappointed to hear that I did not hallucinate even once), and then at about 4:00 in the morning my fever broke. I woke up this morning with no fever, but I'm extremely weak. The nurse I spoke with at Urgent Care told me to stay away from people for 24 hours after my fever was gone (with no medication), so I'm still in bed, trying to regain my strength and praying that the fever will not return. I haven't seen my kids since yesterday morning!

For as miserable as I've been (if this is the swine flu, get your flu shot!), I can't help but be grateful for a wonderful husband who has taken such good care of Jonathan and Clara. They've baked cookies, gone on walks, gone to the park, done crafts... I've hardly heard any crying--and the kids have been calm as well! Jeremy has delivered all of my medications, kept me well hydrated, and forced me to eat a bit even when I didn't want to. He's definitely top shelf.

Here's my favorite craft project to come out of my illness:


It's a black and green pig (for the swine flu), and the speech bubble coming out of it says "Luppa Luppa Lo (Because Mommy will love it)." I guess Jeremy was trying to prompt Clara to have the pig say "Get well soon" or something, but she said that I would love it if the pig said "Luppa Luppa Lo." I totally do.

And on the back of the pig are two little orange hands--one of which is missing some digits. Sometimes little orange hands need their fingernails clipped.


I miss my family.

32 Weeks

I am keenly aware that I'm only about a week away from where I was when my water broke with Clara. I never really took a "late" pregnancy shot with her, so this is to remedy that, at least for my own memory. As an added bonus, this picture should prove conclusively to the doubters (Ericka) who don't think I look pregnant that there really is a baby in there.

We have a date!

Most of you know that I'll be having my third c-section with this baby, and a few days ago we got word from my OB's office that our surgery has been scheduled. What that means is that our sweet baby boy will make his grand entrance on September 10, 2008. Let the countdown begin! We are certainly excited about our new baby, and this makes the whole thing seem alarmingly real. Despite having done this twice before, nothing about me having babies has ended up being easy or normal (is it ever?) so I have a fair helping of nervousness mixed in with my excitement. Nevertheless, we think September 10th will be a grand birthday for our baby boy. Here's hoping he decides to stay put until then...

Making "Bownies" (rhymes with "cownies")

My sister Naomi sent Clara a mix for peanut/egg/dairy-free brownies, so I decided to throw caution to the wind and let Clara help me make them. She actually did not like the brownies (not much of a cake girl, I guess) but loved all the stirring and licking of the spoons (safe and fun to do when there are no eggs in the picture).

And for anyone who may be concerned about the fate of a pan of brownies more or less rejected on textural grounds by the girl for whom they were intended, please have no fear: Jeremy and I managed to polish off the lot.

Irresponsible Mothering Is an Art

The other morning I was blow drying my hair, and Clara was playing quietly around the corner. The quiet should have, perhaps, been my clue that she was up to no good, because pretty soon she came around the corner wielding a crochet hook in each hand, which she had somehow gotten out of a closed box (her resourcefulness is terrifying). Clearly, the fact that Clara had some uninterrupted playtime with two eye gougers is a mark of irresponsible mothering, but really it wouldn't seem nearly as bad had I not found her chewing on a dirty diaper two minutes before this picture was taken, or if I had not found her trying to lift the toilet lid two minutes after. The moral of the story: I should not dry my hair.