T Minus WHAT?!

Donesville.

Okay, this is getting nuts.

By tomorrow morning at this time- if all goes according to plan- I will be holding the newest member of the mini Schoeny family.

Which blows my mind right outta my head and plops it onto the dining room table, which I have yet to stop dusting.

It's very strange to know precisely when your pregnancy will be done. And at the same time, you almost wish you'd go into labor (regardless of how wonky that would be) if only to break up the inevitable and breakneck locomotion towards surgery and a certain deadline. I love suspense. But I also hate it.

In some ways, I'm more excited about the birthing process this time around. With Nora, I was afraid. Of the c-section, of being a first time mother, of getting to the hospital itself, pretty much anything I had read on the interwebz...But at the same time, there was a kind of bliss in not knowing how hard the healing process would be or what to expect when.

But I had had no idea how euphoric that first moment holding her would be. Or how perfectly wonderful that first couch nap at home with Nora would be. So in that respect, I simply can't wait for this baby. AT ALL.

But then again, as someone who's had slightly more than the national average of surgeries (some minor and some not-so-much), I will never lose my apprehension at feeling like a human pincushion. Sure, I can deal with the post-op metal staples, but please don't make me watch while you put in an I.V. and draw blood. There are limits.

That said, after the last few nights of waking up with insane false contractions and an internal (child-sized? Debatable?) foot in my sternum, I would willingly jab the needle in my own arm. Especially if you include last night's sideshow of a full leg cramp that made me a) shriek in pain, b) wonder why someone was stabbing me into ribbons with scissors, and c) if contractions have ever been brought on by leg pain.

On a fun note, I had my first gender-related dream in recent memory. And it was a boy. Meaning...absolutely nothing. Because, if anyone remembers, I was certain that N.J. was a boy. Which I'm decently sure she is not.

In my dream, I was so thrilled to meet my kid and announce his birth that I promptly sent a mass text...to all of the past year's contractors. Like my mold guy and the plumbers, et. al. But it never sent. Leaving me to panic. (Great- one more thing to stress about.)

So, uh, this is the last day to lemme know your guesses for The Monkey's weight and gender! I've been receiving them via Facebook, text, and in person...overwhelmingly, people feel that the baby will be a girl and under 7lbs.

So I'm gonna go on record and say BOY, 7lbs, 13oz.

P.J. thinks it's a dude as well, but he's sticking with 7lbs, 10oz- which is very The Price Is Right of him.

My youngest sister is thinking Girl, 5lbs, 8oz. Because a) she was a preemie and a twin, and b) she has not, in recent memory, hefted a full term infant.

My Dad thinks it's a boy. My Mom, to counter that, is going with Girl. Even though she really thinks it's a boy. (Especially since she made gorgeous wooden letters for the baby's name- both gender options, in fact- but really likes how the boy name came out.)

So I'm curious what YOU think. Again, I can promise you nothing but my undying impressitude and bragging rights on a blog of medium publication. Oooh.

And I'll seeya Wednesday for a [blissfully] wordless post. And probably something exuberantly drugged on Thursday.

Plan accordingly.

Ice Cream, Anxiety, And Public(ish) Peeing.

Last night I had an illicit dream.

About ice cream.

Apparently, my subconscious wants a giant mug of ice cream with all of the add-ins, swirls, and goopy goodness. The best part? My older sister was in the grocer's freezer section with me (I never call it that, the grocer's freezer, by the way- I think that's commercial lingo finding its way into my vernacular) and SHE was the one who was all like- Diabetes? COME ON. You have less than a week. Have some cookies n' cream. (Which is totally weird, because she knows my favorite flavor is coconut. Or strawberry. Or something with mango.)

And you know what? I caved. It was great.

Also great is the apparent trend towards, fluffy, inconsequential "anxiety" dreams. I'd tell you the roundup of the past weeks' dreams and nightmares, but I guarantee you'd never want children ever ever ever because of the distinct possibility that these scenarios could occur OR for the very real chance that you'd have some of these dreams. I'm not sure which would be worse. (The scenarios for sure. Or maybe the dreams. THEY WERE SO REAL.)

So yeah, ice cream.

And yesterday was my very last prenatal visit for at least a couple of years- or so- ballpark- and I can't say I wasn't stoked to know this. My favorite moment came early on in the appointment when I had to do the mandatory 'pee in the cup' thing. (Nurse: The patient is here, Doctor. Doctor: Excellent, have her pee in a cup. Nurse: Why? Doctor: Oh, just to make sure she still can. Aim is a funny, funny thing.) And Nora always comes into the bathroom with me- because we are best friends. (Except my best friend hates the sound of the power hand dryer- HATES- which sometimes forces me to wipe my hands on wadded-up and quickly disintegrating toilet paper, which has the dual hilarious function of allowing other people to wonder if I've washed my hands at ALL since they haven't heard the dryer...which I HAVE, thankyouverymuch.)

Except yesterday, Nora was really interested in the whole peeing process and [loudly] announced- Mommy goes potty in the cup!

And then the kicker- Oh MOMMY, you DID it!!!

She was so proud of me. (Frankly, I was too.) But the real joy came when I walked back through the office and past all of the hysterically laughing nurses.

We celebrated (the end of the pregnancy, not the peeing) by getting a pumpkin "cupcake" and going to the Disney store to play/get a present for the baby/hoard all of the Donald Ducks.

It's a very old and respected ritual.

Apple Pie Is For Sharing.

...As long as that means "Keep the fork coming."

Date Night Month Meets Tired Parents And Toddler

I shall not be moved.

Remember waaay back in the Fall of '09, pre-Nora Junebug Jane, to be exact? We deemed that frantic and aggressively fun time Date Night Month. It was great. It was fulfilling. And- as it turns out- it was a completely unnecessary step for which to greet a new baby. In retrospect, we probably should have saved those pennies for things like diapers, wipes, and boxes of Franzia. (Having a baby is stressful.)

Past helpful knowledge totally disregarded, I've been attempting to repeat the same activities (sorta) with Nora and Peej this month. I call it Oh My God, Let's Do Something Fun With Nora While We Still Have [A Little] Energy Left And She Can Recall SOME Happiness From Her Early Years.

We have largely failed with this. Namely because we are already zonked. Sorry, N.J.

This weekend was an attempt to rectify at least a little bit of this situation.

The Lincoln Square Apple Festival was going on, as was a promotion for a ton of area museums through the Smithsonian (P.J. misses nothing on the internets), so obviously we decided this was a perfect opportunity to take our toddler to the Planetarium. All in the same morning. In addition, the weather alternated between torrential downpour, blazing heat, and frigid winds. So, regardless of the current weather, I had inappropriately dressed/prepared my family/myself. It felt good.

Despite all of this, the day was fabulous. Nora was really stoked to find that her neighbor/bestie Emily was at the fest with her folks. Also that there was a booth with vintage toys for kids to play with. And apple pie slices as big as a smallish child. (Darn you, diabetes! I could have done some damage at this place.) Duck confit was also available, obviously, as well as gargantuan bags of the bestest apples in the Midwest. (I have a serious apple problem lately. Which is only a "problem" if I don't pair them with some carbs. I am such a bore lately.)

We set out to the Adler Planetarium about an hour later than intended, which had the obviously terrific result of a tired kiddo and two Determined Parents. And because I adore my husband, I will not mention the hilarious carnival ride called Rotary Parking And/Or Jockeying With Inept/Aged/Outta Town Drivers. (Think Peej is all laid back charm? Try either taking away his chocolate malt or messing with his driving mojo. He becomes The Hulk in corduroys.)

Onto the museum. Things Nora Liked: Lights, Stars, Running Amok. Things Nora Did NOT Like: Taking Turns, Being Carried, Not Being Able To Touch The Sun.

We'll try again later.

The rest of the weekend was a lovely amalgamation of naps, snacks, Sunday comics on the couch, stellar music in the speakers, and really, really good dinners. Nora had some Emily playtime yesterday afternoon while her folks had a day date (Brilliant! DAY dates!) and everyone went to bed [relatively] early with the appropriate reading material.

We. Are. Hell. Raisers.

(But rested ones. So there's that.)