W is for Wii

The Wii has become a staple in our family.

The kids' grandmother stood in line, outside a Best Buy store, in the winter cold, at the break of dawn to acquire it for them one Christmas. (If she only knew how much we'd come to love it and rely on it.) The games started simply with Paper Mario and Wii Sports. The former for the kids, the latter, perfect for the whole family.

My husband and I used to bowl with the kids once in awhile. That was always fun. We later found ourselves sneaking in some rounds of bowling while the kids were at school.

Wii began to acquire many games over time as my husband and I scooped up used copies from Blockbuster for cheap.

When I was pregnant, I admit, I let the Wii system become the boys' babysitter. I had all-day sickness for three months and I was much more concerned about my survival than their eyes, brains, or future.

Once the baby came, I again allowed it to become their babysitter. "Shame on me!" I say with no conviction.

Anyway, the Wii has remained a vital part of our family. It even came on vacation with us to our little cabin, though I am glad to say the kids did not ask us to hook it up until 4 days into the vacation. Way to go boys! Then we all bowled and the kids went on to play the latest Super Mario game, which we hid in our suitcase to surprise them with.

Sometimes we're strict with time limits and days off, especially during school. But, honestly, this summer was kind of a free-for-all.

I have to say my favorite part of the Wii is hearing my 9-yr-old playing Lego Rock Band, belting out the likes of "We Will Rock You" or "Picture to Burn" from the loft upstairs. That is pure joy!

U is for Ultrasound

Who knows why I am writing about this, since I have no experience with it. Well, not "no" experience. I did have one ultrasound a long time ago. That's it. One in my entire life. I don't really remember much except that I hated the huge drink I had to have ahead of time, subsequently having to pee forever, while I waited for the technician to come and she never did, until she finally did and pee was welling up behind my eyes, and I waited longer than I can possibly make this sentence run on! -deep breathe-

I have been pregnant 6 times, and I've only had one ultrasound, which was 6 years before I ever became pregnant in the first place. I has a fluid-filled cyst that grew to the size of a grapefruit and was removed via laparoscopy.

All of my pregnancies have been handled by a midwife who allowed me to forgo all unnecessary ultrasounds. And since all of my last four pregnancies have been healthy, there was no need. (My two first pregnancies ended before an ultrasound was even thought of.)

I hear many, many mothers talk about the wonder of the ultrasound; the excitement, the sex-foretelling, the solidifying of reality. Oddly, or not, I have never felt like I missed out on anything. Not seeing a somewhat nondescript grainy image on a monochromatic screen might be amazing to some, but my babies and I were just fine without it.

Running Realism

I am a runner. I run. I didn't used to be. Specifically, I was not a runner until one fateful Christmas when my sister and I thought of the brilliant idea of running a 5k together. I bought new shoes (a month later) and I started to run.

It was a lot harder than I thought. I didn't really like it, but I had a goal... the 5k in June. My sister would be home for summer break and we would complete our first 5k race, side by side.

By May, I was able to run for 20 minutes straight as I pondered the positive home pregnancy test from that morning. Even thought I had doctor clearance, the baby soon took over my body and the 5k plan was "right out!"

Somehow I revived the goal and trained enough t0 complete my first 5k less than 5 months after the baby was born. I was by far the slowest runner at 39+ minutes (half way through the race, all runners were so far ahead of me, they were out of sight), but I never walked.

This year, carrying 15 less pounds and fully recovered from pregnancy, I was certain I would blast that slow time out of the water. Well, the race is tomorrow, and in the last 2 months, I've run, let's see, 1, 2, 3, 4... ya, that's it, four times. Three of which were in the last week. Now I just hope to run the whole thing. Who cares about the time?

Here's the weirdest part of the whole thing. I don't really like running very much. After the first 10 minutes, I don't like how I feel when I run. My right hip always hurts for days after and it causes sciatic pain to flare up on my left side. Plus, there's the toe pain and the headaches.

I'm not complaining. I don't have to run. I know that. I've just been trying to figure out why I do it. I think to me it has to do with pushing myself. Running represents me taking ownership of my body, my mind, my soul and pushing all aspects of me to be more capable than I thought possible, healthier than before, stronger and more determined.

Pushing through something unpleasant for all the positive effects is something very important to me these last few years, and especially now. So, I will keep running, certainly not because I like it, but because it is one of the most positive influences in my life these days.

I am a runner. I run.

Finally... We Have Our Girl.

I remember when I was pregnant with our third son. I was asked more frequently than I realized people had the guts to ask, "How many children are you going to have?" or "Trying for that girl, hey?" My husband and I had a pact to casually inform inquisitors that our magic number was eight. We never had a good retort for the girl comments though.

I thought I was done dealing with stranger opinions and intrusions. You see, we were DONE... DONE... having kids. We thought three boys was perfect for us. We knew what we were doing and we were on our way to the blissful post-children years, with plenty of healthy, young years of our own left.

Then a strange thing happened. One lovely spring morning last year, I took a home pregnancy test. Really, just to ease my mind about being slightly late. There was no stunned pause, or mouth agape when I saw the result, just a loud, confused, "What the hell?" And I really don't ever swear, not even mildly like that, so that was a very peculiar moment indeed.

Yes, peculiar. I am revisited even now by the confusion. Pregnant? What? So now what was I supposed to say when the comments and questions started rolling in? "Trying for that girl?" I wanted to shout, "Come on lady! I'm 7 months pregnant and I'm still trying to cope with the shock!!! I wasn't trying for anything!"

And now our beautiful baby girl is here. And the assumptions and inquisitions still abound. It seems everyone really needs to believe that we were just waiting and trying for our girl and only now we can be satisfied and fulfilled.

I believe we would be satisfied and fulfilled with or without our amazing little girl, but I really don't care what people think about it anymore. I am just smitten with my wonderful little, kind of big, family. Our girl is finally here.