You know those moments when you can’t believe something so ridiculous is happening to you at that time? You know the ones. They make your face look like this:

I’ve gotten better at controlling my face in recent years. I think it was all the crazy I interviewed as a TV news reporter going on only a few hours of sleep. The crazy trained me to control my face.

Three things lately made me make this face.

1. I was rushing to get both children out of the car and into the double stroller for my workout class. If you recall, I’m really trying to properly utilize the SAHM time by making sure I’m exercising. Plus, I’m paying for it, so let’s get this booty poppin’. Anyway, I was unloading the copious amount of crap that I haul around on a daily basis when I opened the passenger side door. That’s when I heard it fall.

One of Henry’s fancy $9 bottles rolled out of the car and hit the pavement. I knew it would roll. It was like slow motion. It rolled and spun like the basketball at the end of an after school special where a young teen overcame adversity to make the winning shot for the team. It spun right into the damn sewer! Of course it had a personalized bottle band wrapped around it too. Lord forbid my kids have anything without their names on it. Charlotte was very concerned that bugs would get on his bottle, not knowing it was gone forever. I was just glad I still had milk in the pump bottles and not in the sewer bottle. I made the face.

2. I came downstairs one morning after Greyson had already been up with Charlotte. I knew we were short on groceries, but I figured he fed her. Oh, he fed her. I glanced at the plate and thought it was peanut butter and jelly on a hamburger bun. I cringed. Not an ideal breakfast, but I had not been to the store. I only had myself to blame. Turns out, I had him to blame. I asked Charlotte what she ate. “Ketchup sandwich!”

He fed her ketchup on a hamburger bun for breakfast when I knew good and well there were some eggs in the fridge.  I made the face.

3. After one of Charlotte’s extracurricular classes recently, a visiting grandparent was chatting with the instructor. This overzealous southern woman explained to the instructor that she was from a small town. She told the teacher how wonderful it is that children in our city have opportunities like this class. The kind teacher smiled and said that she was from a small town in Michigan and understood.

Let me add here that the grandmother is white and the teacher is black. I feel I need to say that to give a frame of reference for the turn the conversation then took.

The grandmother looked at the instructor and said, “I’m originally from Mississippi. You know, my daughter was born at Jefferson Davis Memorial Hospital.”

The face! The FACE! I could tell the gracious instructor was trying not to make it too. Why, oh why would this woman feel she needed to add the tidbit about the hospital named after the Confederate general?! I can only assume that is  what this woman came up with because she doesn’t see many black people. I guess that’s what she came up with instead of blurting “I’m white, you’re black!”

That face had a little more to it:

Please note that Jefferson Davis Memorial Hospital has been Natchez Regional Medical Center since 1993.

Happy week after Easter! Or as I affectionately call it, “Ham Sandwich and Egg Salad Week.” I love Easter. I always have. I should say I love it because it’s the holiest day in the Christian calendar. It’s the day we commemorate Christ rising from the dead on the third day…blah, blah, blah. Our salvation…yadda, yadda.

I really love it for the clothes and the food. Sorry, it’s true. Ya’ll be sure to say an extra prayer for my heathen soul. Oh yeah, we also got engaged on Easter Sunday. That’s another reason I love it. My parents got engaged on Easter Sunday too, which was way more adorable before their contentious divorce. I digress.

You get to eat chocolate in the morning before church. There are dresses with sashes and seersucker bow ties. The family smiles in front of the azalea bushes for pictures. The ham is salty and sweet. Put it between a biscuit? Only if it’s hot and buttered, baby! Then there’s the chocolate eggs. Oh, sweet Cadbury, those are some scrumptious eggs!

One day I want my kids on the lawn of the White House for the egg roll. Can’t you picture Michelle Obama and I chatting about J Crew dresses and exercise for chubby kids while Malia and Sasha help Charlotte and Henry with their eggs? I can. The White House egg roll is kind of a bucket list thing for me. That, and eating a meal prepared by Chef Gordon Ramsay. Don’t judge! It’s my bucket list. I digress.

Easter this year was so wonderful! My sister and brother-in-law brought my nephew to spend three days with us. We may or may not have taken pictures of the baby boys in matching bunny ears. Remind me to bust those pictures out for their prom dates. That emasculation may delay their attempts at a prom night sexual conquest. There I go, digressing from Easter again. Sorry, Jesus!

Something that made this year extra special was Charlotte and Henry’s Easter clothes. My mom saved a dress that my Grandma hand smocked for me and I wore Easter 1985. My sister and cousins had matching outfits. We couldn’t find the bonnet, because I would have made Charlotte wear it. Not for long, though. No one likes stuff tied under their chin. I’m the tallest kid in the green.

Charlotte wore the dress on Sunday.

Greyson’s mom saved an outfit he wore as a baby, likely in 1975.

I was overwhelmed with happy, warm love this weekend. Seeing my babies in these outfits was so special. I joke around, but I really love Easter because of family, tradition, faith and renewal. I hope your Easter was happy. Let me know if you know how to get on the White House invite list.

It’s only been three years. I tried to jog my memory and remember all of the nitty gritty I had forgotten about postpartum life and having a newborn. Our son arrived a week and two days ago and there are some notable similarities and differences from Baby #1 to Baby #2.

Ouch!– I had to describe to my first-time pregnant friend what it was like physically after giving birth. I was honest. “It’s like a crime scene down there.” I felt bad. I thought she was going to cry. Well, she should know. I wish I had.

Once again, I am wrecked yo.  But, it healed up up quick last time. I was good as new. I fully expect the same this time. Fortunately, I was aware that it would take 10 minutes to go to the bathroom every time these first couple of weeks, so I was ready. Allow for bathroom time, new mothers! You’re welcome.

I’ve been thankful for Dermaplast and perineal ice packs. Greyson even made a run to the specialty pharmacy to get more of the cold pads for me. I figured out why they only give you so many at the hospital. They are $4.00 a piece! The thing is, I would have paid more. You ladies understand.

I remember some after pains or cramping when nursing after Baby #1 was born. Oh my God! This time?! Insane! It felt like contractions again. Seriously. It died down after a couple of days, but good Lord! That’s when the nurse and my mom informed me, “Oh yeah, it’s much worse with subsequent babies.” Good to know. Take note, second-timers.

The Hospital and Recorded Feedings– With Baby #1, Greyson and I hung on to the doctors and nurses’ every words. We dutifully filled out their feeding chart with time and duration of each nursing session. We kept track of each bit of meconium and consulted the lactation consultant a ridiculous four times. We both loved our nurses and thanked them a hundred times. We looked at each other and thought, “Oh my God! They’re letting us leave here with an infant. What the hell are they thinking?”

This time we didn’t write down jack. I humored one nurse, by making up some numbers. I could just tell her feeding times. I refused to write them down and continue this ritual for two weeks! With Baby #1 for two weeks I went insane recording every feeding and poop in a cute little notebook. I set the timer on the old iPhone 3GS and recorded each one. Really?! No. Not this time. Granted, I enjoyed the little notes I wrote at the end of each day about my newborn daughter’s early days, but I think it made me go a little crazy to keep those types of records. I think some Type A, detail oriented mothers would love that, but it caused me too much anxiety. Sorry. Let’s just feed the kid and move on with life. So far so good with  Baby #2. I’m just feeding him while checking Twitter on my iPhone 5 this time.

We were generally annoyed and really ready to get out of the hospital, frankly. I think every baby in the county decided to be born the same day as our son. The staff seemed busy and frazzled. Paying a higher copay than last time didn’t help our moods. We were just generally irritated by the end of our hospital stay. We enjoyed all our sweet visitors, but it was time to go!

Snip- We didn’t know if this baby was a boy or a girl, so when we saw his kibbles and bits, we had to make a decision. A circumcision decision. I wanted to make sure I understood the pros and cons of circumcision and types of circumcisions. There are different kinds. Who knew? We didn’t. Baby #1 was a girl. How would we know?

I did some research on my phone and had extensive Twitter DM conversations with some of my boy mom blogger friends. I won’t tell you what we decided because that would be discussing my son’s genitals on the Internet. Poor kid. It’s bad enough his shameless mother discusses hers.

Milk and Weight Gain– The dairy is open for business, ya’ll! This kid came out an eater. In the delivery room he was rooting around and ready to go. The milk came in faster this time. Thank God. Colostrum wasn’t cutting it. This baby wanted milk. He was born 8 lbs. 2 oz. and left the hospital 7 lbs. 13 oz. He stayed 7 lbs. 13 oz. at his two day appointment.

I am not making this up. In five days the child was up to 8 lbs. 10 oz.! The doctor had to look at the chart twice. She thought it was a typo. I’m proud of my boobs. Not gonna lie.

For the second time in my life the calendar has turned to November when I was supposed to have a baby in October. I’m not making this up. I wrote this three years ago TODAY. You’ll see. I didn’t publish it until later. This time I’m letting it out.

It’s back. The darkness. The up-and-down fury. All of it.

That old familiar madness.

You would think I would have been prepared this time. I worked through my due date, which is better than last time when I worked up until 2 days before my due date. This week we went to the doctor on the 30th. My due date. I was so happy. We had worked so hard to get through this last month. Work was handed off, we dutifully took bags and the car seat and left them at daycare, ready for Grandma. We had a plan. The doctor would likely schedule an induction for the next day, we’d be home by Saturday for Charlotte’s birthday. Not this time.

I’m a fool. Once again, I am a victim of my expectations. I am an eternal optimist who assumed, wrongly, that it would work out this time and I would be as lucky as my friends who have already had their babies. Nope. Instead I remain panicky, weepy and dissolving into sobs on my closet floor like a damned psycho.

I had a friend tell me that when his wife went in to have their baby earlier this year a woman stood in the OB’s office and continued to scream until they agreed to admit her. She refused to go another week. I totally understand. I don’t judge her. Keep it up girl. Have that baby. Good for you. Get what you need from your medical professionals.

I know. I’ve heard it all. “You have to let nature take it’s course!” “Your baby is not ready.” “You have to let your body do what it needs to do.” “Another week isn’t that bad.” “You’re only two days past your due date!”

Shut the hell up. All of you. You have no idea the hormonal exhaustion of this. You think I don’t know all of that?!

My favorite thing I heard this week was, “You know, in Europe they don’t even consider induction until after 42 weeks.  Over there they have great methods of helping with natural childbirth.” Well, great! When I decide to move to Sweden and have a litter of little ex-pats born naturally in artisian Swedish pools, I’ll keep that in mind. Oh! Just to remind you, most European women have a year of paid maternity leave. I’m a working American mother and do not have that luxury. I chose a modern OB/GYN practice for a reason. This is about time. Time with my baby and money for my family.

Granted, I have been very blessed with great employers offering benefits far better than some other women get. I understand this. I’m very appreciative. But, the time I will actually get home with my newborn is very fleeting.

Wednesday the doctor informed me that a push in obstetrics is to not induce unless medically necessary. Okay, was anyone going to tell me that? I have done everything I was supposed to. Last week at 39 weeks the doctor said, “Okay, well, if you’re still pregnant next week, we’ll talk induction.” Great. I assumed that meant I’d be scheduled for the next day. She knew that is what we did last time. I lost my shit about 40 weeks and they agreed to induce me at 40 weeks 5 days. That alone, was maddening.  Waiting until 41 weeks, ridiculous. Two additional days is a lifetime. I know that’s crazy, but it is. Trust me.

People then say, “But, being induced can mean complications for your baby and a very hard labor!” Bull shit. Pitocin is a miracle drug and a blessing. Three years ago this week they started that stuff and I had my baby in about 4 hours and 35 minutes. I only pushed for the 35 minutes. Minimal tearing. Done. Easy. It was far preferable to another week of sobbing and counting vacation hours.

Due dates are the biggest crock of shit in the world. Obstetrics and meteorology are the two professions where you can predict what’s going to happen, be wrong most of the time  and still keep your job. News flash! The rest of the working world is on tight deadlines and demand accuracy. This was all fine 100 years ago. It is unacceptable in 2013. Maybe obstetrics should consider giving a “due range” instead of a “due date” if not for employers, but for the mental health of mothers.

I busted my ass this month to make it happen, to get it all done on time. I did. Now, I sit here like a damned fool with a laid out maternity leave plan and a packed bag that remains by the door. And for what?!

I asked to be checked today and the doctor explained it’s part of the hospital’s “Quality Matters” initiative not to induce until 41 weeks unless medically necessary to lower their c-section rate. Oh, you mean the c-section rate that I IN NO WAY CONTRIBUTED TO WITH MY SAFE, MEDICALLY INDUCED VAGINAL DELIVERY!? Yep, that one.

I was home yesterday and again today because I feel like crap and I can’t bring myself to show this crazy to the awesome people I work with. I’ll figure out over the weekend whether I’ll go back into the office.

This is the nitty-gritty stuff no one tells you about before you have a baby. If this psychotic rant helps another mother, maybe it will be worth it. I was praying wouldn’t be an issue this go-around. I was wrong. Oh, so wrong.

I’m here, once again relying on obstetrics and meteorology to decide my fate. There is a storm/low pressure system coming in that I can only hope will induce labor. I heard it might. But again, I’m a hormonal fool and clearly know nothing. I feel very sorry for my family and friends because I’m so awful. If I were them, I wouldn’t call or text me. Sorry. I’m just crazy.  I’d be seriously afraid of me and my madness right now. That old familiar 40 week madness.

This morning Greyson was quizzing Charlotte on her Sesame Street stuffed animals.  He would ask, “Which Sesame Street friend is orange?” She would reply, “Ernie!”  He would ask, “Who has a beak?” “Who lives in a trashcan?” and so on.

He asked “Who has a friend named Blogg?” For the uninformed, Abby Cadabby has a segment called Abby’s Flying Fairy School with a character named Blogg.

Charlotte said, “Mama! Mama has a friend named blog!” We stared at her in amazement. Somehow my 2 1/2 year-old is aware of my little online diary of our lives.

Sadly, it has been neglected in recent weeks and I’ve been posting less. This is mostly because I’ve just been insanely busy working. When I’m not working I’m enjoying myself  and not writing as much. Granted, my Twitter  and Instagram are extensions of this space and always hopping! You can find me there or on my Facebook page. I promise to be a better friend to my friend blog. We’ll be in touch soon! Promise.

Image from muppet.wikia.com and copyright of Sesame Workshop. (Blogg is the purple guy in the center.)