Those kicks remind and force me to think of so many different things. They remind me of the weekend and undeniable love and passion she was conceived in. They remind me of just how soon I will be able to hold my new daughter in my arms, singing and rocking her to sleep. They remind me of how I will soon have a new little smile and giggle in my life to warm my heart. They remind me that she is ok and I will once again get to experience the miracle of childbirth. They remind me of how many new memories I will get to make with her over the years. They remind me of how thankful and lucky I am.

Those crazy little kicks also force me to remember to really pay attention this time around. This will probably be my last pregnancy and I don't want to forget a thing. I really didn't pay as much attention to how I was feeling physically and emotionally during my first pregnancy. There were so many other things on my mind like…. "Is the baby healthy and doing alright? Do I have everything I need when the baby arrives? Is the babies room ready? How painful is this whole baby birthing business going to be?" I had more thoughts and fears of the unknown back then. Now, since everything is going so smoothly and my only concern is "How big can female human feet actually get during pregnancy?", I just have more time to really pay attention and not worry as much. It's a good feeling.

I also didn't think about how it could have been my one and only child and experience. I thought I'd have more but then 9/11 happened and put all other baby plans on the back burner. My first peanut was 5 months old and it was an extremely scary time here in NY when those planes hit. I really thought long and hard for awhile about if I actually wanted to bring another little soul into this screwy world of ours. I probably would of paid more attention to the little things if I thought it was going to be my only pregnancy at the time.

This pregnancy I am happily paying closer attention so I truly remember. I don't want to forget one kick, satisfying tummy rub, hiccup, itch, roll, ache, pain or craving. The relief of putting my "chubby" feet up at the end of the day. The content peace of being while sitting quietly. The sheer excitement I have from knowing I am going to be a Mommy again. This pure bliss at times that hits me which I have never felt at any other time in my life except during my pregnancies. I had actually forgotten about it from my first pregnancy until now. I don't want to ever forget about it again. All of it. This time, I will remember.

In he family way. Eating for two. Knocked up. There's a bun in the oven. The rabbit died. I'm up the duff. I threw a leg up. Yup, I'm on the nest expecting my second little monkey in January.

I was truly shocked by this news. Totally thrown for a loop actually since I honestly thought I was done with that part of my life. I didn't think at this point I'd be birthin' no babies! Extremely surprised, and happily so. It's a miracle I tell you. I was a little scared for a couple of reasons, but ultimately happy.

My first pregnancy had a couple of complications like gestational diabetes for example. So now, 6 years later, 6 years older, in the beginning I was very nerved up about the past complications and the new potential risks age has brought me. So far so good though! I'm still high risk but every test has come back normal and I feel great.

I had forgotten how emotionally I had this inner calm and happiness inside while pregnant. I laugh more and harder than I have at any other time in my life. A peaceful euphoric contentment I had never felt before my pregnancies. Experiencing this feeling of well being and delight again to me is truly a gift.

Last week I had a sonogram and knew that I would be given the option of finding out the sex of the baby. Since this pregnancy in a lot of ways physically feels completely different than my first, I was sure this baby would be sporting a penis since Peanut number one was a girl. So for months now Peanut and I have been referring to the baby as "he" and "little brother". I also knew that Peanut REALLY wanted a baby sister and I didn't want her to be very disappointed if the baby was penised, I figured it better if she started to get used to the little brother idea early on just incase.

When I sat Peanut down and told her I was expecting, her eyes bugged out and with a beautiful smile from ear to ear she stood up, threw her arms up to the heavens and yelled, "FINALLY!". She then proceeded to dance around the room like a mental patient on crack. That's my girl! She is very excited and can't wait for the babys big arrival.

When I went for my sonogram last week I decided it would be a neat experience for Peanut so brought her to the appointment with me. I had explained what a sonogram was to her, what to expect and that we would be able to find out if the baby was a sister or brother. She was totally fired up and counting down the days to the appointment.

The big day finally arrived. Since Peanut is a social butterfly/character and loves to yap it up I told her that she could sit or stand next to me, watch and ask ME questions, but really needed to let the sono tech do their job. As soon as we are called back into the office the tech sets up a chair for Peanut right next to her so she can see everything on the screen and what's going on. All I could think was that poor tech had no idea what she was getting herself into and I was going to be in there for an hour longer than I needed to.

I lay down on the table and pulled my ever so attractive pregnancy jeans down to expose my baby bump. Peanut leaned towards the sono tech at that point and in a lowered voice told her, "Mommy has a chubby tummy." The tech laughed and I just thought "Heeeeeerrrrrreeee we go." I actually very much appreciate my Peanut for calling my tummy "chubby" and not fat or tremendous. The word chubby somehow softened the blow.

The tech first found and pointed out the heartbeat to us then started taking measurements of the baby. Peanut was fascinated and really didn't need to yap it up toooo much since the tech was explaining everything. I have to say, the tech was great with her. Then came the moment when the tech asked me if I wanted to know if it was a girl or a boy. I thought Peanuts head was going to explode when she answered the question for me with a booming, "YEEEEESSSSS!". I confirmed that we did indeed want to know.

The tech after about a minute of looking and making sure before she spoke, finally looked at Peanut with a warm smile on her face and said, "You're going to have a sister." I have never seen my daughter happier in her life. The excitement of Christmas mornings is NOTHING compared to this news. Peanut got up out of her chair and proceeded to dance around, yet again, like a mental patient on crack chanting, "It's a sister oooohhh yeeeeaaaah!" I actually didn't care much either way what the sex of the baby was but was indeed very excited for Peanut knowing how much she wanted a little sister.

Sorry this blog is sooooo long but I really didn't want to edit any of it out. I will probably be writing more about my experiences while "on the nest", and will most likely be asking for some advice along the way from other Mommy's and Daddy's. It's been awhile since my last pregnancy and also not sure how Peanut, who has been an only child for 6 years, is going to ultimately react as my due date gets closer and the baby arrives. Oh I'll have questions alright, so be ready! If you made it this far, thanks for sticking in there with me. J

My late summer into autumn thoughts this time around have turned to the question of, will there be more than just one or two people when I die who truly know me? Will anyone truly understand what was going through my melon when I go? Will anyone see past the clown, the mate, the soccer mom, the slave, the nursemaid, the Julie McCoy, the housewife? Will anyone see the artist, the lover, the philosopher, the frightened little girl, the poet, the bitch, the theologian, the dreamer, or even want to?

As I sat by myself this past weekend at a friends bbq lost in the smell of a burning camp fire, the slight chill in the late summer night and the beauty of the clear starlit sky, I was continuously asked, "What's wrong Kathy?" "Are you ok?" Why does there have to be something "wrong" if I want to close my eyes and get lost in my own thoughts and senses for a moment? I've been designated the life of the party, the entertainment without being asked or quite frankly even applying for the job.

Don't get me wrong, I do indeed love making my friends and family smile and laugh, but that just isn't all there is to me. If I'm not "on" there must be something "wrong". Have I hidden my true self so deeply within that no one will ever see through all the surface bull? I perhaps have done this by over the years burying my true self so far down that very few would want to take the time or energy to dig me out. Does everyone have this inner self that will never truly be known or as usual am I simply insane and over thinking things? Does anyone else even care to be known and if not, why do I?

I have to say the few that I do believe see my true self think most of what I perceive as my biggest imperfections are, well, perfect. Or atleast they make me feel that way. Those few have earned my comfort and trust so it's easier to let them into my "real". The more they know the more they want to see smell and taste. The harder they look the more I flash for them. God I'm such the exhabitionist!

I guess it all comes down to trust and acceptance. Part of me is subconsciously afraid to bring my real self out often to be judged, yet she is in there and wants to be known. I want all my colors to be seen. Not just the brightest most obvious before they all start to fade. I don't want to be raked up and lost in the pile of time with the rest of the withered leaves without someone knowing and understanding, simply me.

Happy Fall Y'all!

This past weekend my hair and I were in dire need of a cut and some highlight action. I have been growing my hair out for months now because I wanted to try something different. It recently got to the point though of being out of control and started to frighten small children when I walked down the street. I knew that enough was enough and the madness that is my hair-do had to come to an end. I proceeded to chose your establishment and employees to entrust the job that is my hair styling to. BIG MISTAKE!

I walk in and the place is empty, except for some pale comatose waif sitting in the back corner thumbing through a five month old Cosmopolitan magazine. What I didn't really notice at first yet should of been the tip off sign for me to high tail it out of there was her hair. A big knotty multi-colored mess all pulled together in a giant scrunchie, balancing on top of her noggin. She stands up in what seemed like slow motion and asked if she could help me. I gulped then told the waif I was her 1pm appointment. She waved me yet again in slow motion over to her work station.

I told her I needed my hair washed cut and highlighted. She started cutting away without asking me what I specifically wanted done to cut my hair! I said "Wow! Wait! Don't you want to wash my hair first?" Through the slits that were her eyes she looked at me, smiled lazily and said, "Ohhh yeah, I forgot." She forgot something I had told her no more than 2 minutes before. Now I start to panic a bit. I knew I had to get my haircut and this doped up waif was my only hope on a Sunday afternoon!

She then proceeded to spray my hair with her water bottle then went back to cutting a bit. Now I'm thinking "Omg, was that her version of washing my hair?". I believe this is the point I started to experience my first ever panic attack. I decided to just let the wash go and told her how I wanted my hair cut. I basically didn't trust this disaster area of a hair stylist with anything more than a trim. I was desperate!

As your employee is trimming my hair she tells me of her escapades the night before. How she got home really late after a night of drinking with her friends. She was worried that she wouldn't be able to go to sleep so she stole one of her Mothers Ambien sleeping pills, took it, and ended up coming into work and opening up two hours late. That's why you didn't have any other customers btw. She said she opened up so late that people were probably there early, as they usually are, and left because they thought that your lovely establishment was closed for the day. Yup, I was the lucky one who had an appointment later in the afternoon.

So your little drugged up waif hairdresser finished trimming my hair and asked (I couldn't believe she remembered) what shade I wanted my highlights. I told her I decided against the highlights and would come back another day. I think she was as relieved as I was that the appointment was over. I wanted to run for the hills with what good hair I had left on my head and she, well she needed a nap.

Just wanted to let you know you lost about $150 today and you may want to think about investing in a cot so your goofy mildly retarded Ambien ridden employees can snooze it up between customers.

Hairs looking at you,

Kathy

This is my round 7 entry in THE LAST BLOGGER STANDING 2

"Dear Redd Inc."


Task - "Dear Redd Inc."
Write a letter to a company.

This is a repeat from last season cause it went well, but no re-enteries.
Can be a fake or real company.

No other rules.

DEADLINE: Monday, 3/26 at 9:00 pm PST

Have a great night everyone! :)

This was my lil' entry for round three of THE LAST BLOGGER STANDING 2

Check out the group to read some great entries!

Have a good day everyone!

When I have thought about all the different ways I may possibly kick the bucket in the past, never once had I ever considered stabbing. Car accident, because I'm a speed demon with a big dirty lead foot…maybe. Massive heart attack or internal bleeding after hours of hot monkey loving with a stranger in a public place…could happen. Being shot in the face for saying something a weeee bit obnoxious to the wrong drunken human…most probably. But stabbing? 

If you're going to die from a stab wound or better yet, shanked, it should be in some sort of brawl or rumble. Any dangerous situation defending your life will do. If you are not stabbed or shanked in some sleazy smoke filled bar, a shady alleyway, or defending your anal virginity in prison, I'm thinking you're a wussy. I was pretty confident a stab wound would never be the reason for my possible demise. I was wrong.

The day the Grim Reaper came knocking at my door started like any other. We were four days into the new year and while walking back up to my house, after putting my little Peanut on her school bus, the sparkle of the tinsel from my Christmas tree shining in my front bay window caught my eye. I knew today was the day the Christmas season had to officially come to an end.

When I got back into the house I was wearing my typical Mommy uniform. Jammie bottoms and an oversized sweatshirt I had thrown on to walk Peanut down to her bus stop. Yes I know, I'm a sexy little minx. (rolling eyes) I decided to get right to the chore of taking the Christmas tree down. It was a six foot pre-lit fake monstrosity that basically looked gang raped after my two cats had their way with it this holiday season. It was a couple of years old and truly on its last legs. I couldn't wait to take it down and pack it up.

The room the Christmas tree from hell was in faces the east. In the morning on a clear sunny day it heats up pretty fast in there. About half way through taking the decorations off the tree, I began to feel a little steamy in my sweatshirt so I peeled it off my sweaty body. Now I'm standing there in my bra and jammie bottoms taking the decorations down when I notice out of the corner of my eye my two cats stroll in the room. I knew they must be pissed because I was taking THEIR tree down.

About ten minutes later while taking down the tinsel it happened. My two crazed cats, that are apparently riddled with severe mental problems, hurled themselves like two furry lightning bolts under my feet scaring and tripping me. Since they both did this at the same time I'm thinking it was a well planned out attack. I ended up tripping sideways into the tree. When I first fell into it I knew I was poked by one of the branches and it smarted a bit. I didn't think it was that bad though. I was pretty sure my dignity suffered the worst injuries during this accident. Yet again….I was wrong.

I stood up and that's when the sharp pain hit. A wave of nausea overtook me. I then felt my own warm blood trickling all the way down my side drenching the top of my jammie bottoms. While my cats are sitting there pointing and laughing at me, I make my way to the bathroom. I wet a towel and try to wipe up the blood and see exactly where it is coming from. Right under the bottom of my bra on my side was this inch long gash in my skin that just wouldn't stop bleeding. This is when I started to panic a little. I called my Poolboy who rushed home and took me to my Dr (who is closer then the hospital) who then directed me to go to the ER.

That's correct people…I was stabbed by my own Christmas tree. Shanked by the holiday spirit. I honestly didn't realize how bad it was until Poolboy walked in and I saw his eyes bug out and usual calm demeanor frazzle up a bit. I would like you all now to imagine having to tell this story, the tale of how I got stabbed while wearing just a bra, by my own Christmas tree to two different physicians assistants and three doctors. The expressions on their faces were priceless. How do you survive the most embarrassing stabbing in human history? Stitches, plenty of pain medicine and a huge comforter to hide your wounds and whatever remaining dignity you may have under. This all just really made me wonder…..What other countless humiliations could my life possibly have in store for me? I just can't wait! 

Have a great day everyone!

I HOPE God smiles brightly from time to time when he looks in on me.

I HOPE to live long enough to embrace and hear my grandchildren's laughter.

I HOPE to continue down this path I truly feel was my destiny to gleefully walk until my end.

I HOPE I never again have to witness the slow cruel death of a loved one being eaten away by cancer or any other horrific disease.

I HOPE I never hear these words in my lifetime, "Mom, I've decided I' m going to be the bestest stripper this world has ever seen!".

I HOPE for peace on so many different levels.

I HOPE I'm on Santa's nice list this year.

I HOPE you feel my love within my laughter.

I HOPE you can't sprain a clitoris.

I HOPE, even if I'm not meant to know it while here, that I change the world, even if only in a minute way, for the better.

I HOPE Giuliani runs.

I HOPE God has a sense of humor.

I HOPE you have the patience and true strength of faith I believe you possess to wait for me.

I HOPE Britney Spears doesn't breed again.

I HOPE to one day be the World Poker Champion and get a pretty bracelet.

I HOPE with all my good and bad you love me just the way I am.

I HOPE cyber-sex isn't a sin.

I HOPE I never settle for less than I truly deserve.

I HOPE the fire of my spirit and passion never dies down and need some stoking to get going again.

I HOPE I can describe the beaches of Hawaii from first hand experience one day.

I HOPE I am/was a good teacher.

I HOPE you're still reading this and not totally bored out of your mind.  ;)

I HOPE I finish doing all my holiday cards and get them out by Friday.

I HOPE I get to live out most of my deepest dreams and fantasies.

I HOPE when you stop by and read my goofy ramblings I can take you away, if only for a few minutes, from all your worries and make you smile.

This blog was inspired by 2Mara's  "Draw". The word drawn was Hope. Go check it out if you want to read some really great blogs that blow mine away.

Have a great week everyone!