I know it's of love but I like it this way to. Is it stuck in your head now?

Monday was a tippy top high. I had my first ultrasound and saw my little sea monkey. It's as cute and sweet as a sea monkey can be, what with the flippers and the bulbous head and all. I was going to scan in the pictures and insert them here but seem to have misplaced them. Heart rate was 172 and we measured in one day smaller than my estimated due date. All was fantastic! I had to go alone because we needed someone to watch the other kiddies and that left the hubs. I came home and napped on the couch while my heathens played in the playroom and the hubs did whatever the hubs does. The rest of the day passed relatively well. Tuesday was a lowest of lows. The hubs was letting me grab a few more minutes of sleep before pulling me out of my slumber to start the day. The phone rang and the hubs grabbed it. He walks into the bedroom and I can tell he's pissed. He tells me it's Nurse M from the ob's office and she refuses to talk to him. I take the phone and Nurse M apologizes for not talking to him but you know, the whole HIPA thing. She then goes on to tell a very groggy Fiesty that they received the results of the ultrasound and on the advisement of the dr on call she had to call me asap. She called to inform me that the sea monkey appears to have a significant nuchal thickening. Basically, in lay mens terms, the fatty tissue at the back of the neck is thicker than normal and it's a marker for Down Syndrome and Trisomy 18. She offers me the opportunity to consent to further testing and at that moment I declined and she reassured me that if I changed my mind that would be fine but we had to act quickly. I hang up with her and call the hubs up and try to tell him what I have just been told. He is totally like "whatever" and I am totally like "what". Whoa, channeling my inner valley girl there. So we head out the door. I drop him off at work and then break down completely. I had a small (huge) crying jag in the car. I turned up the kiddie cd so the kids wouldn't hear me and then I just bawled. I pulled myself together and the heathens and I went on about our morning. Once we got home I broke down again. The thing is, I am not worried so much about having a special needs baby as I am about doing the tests. Hubs and I have always said no to those tests. We have always felt that whatever happens, happens. I didn't want the one phone call to make me change my mind on something we, as a couple, had decided. Over the rest of the afternoon I struggled and cried and called a level headed (okay, not so much really but she did help) friend who let me know it was okay to feel that way. In the end, I decided to go ahead and go through with the tests. It won't sway us into termination but it will give us time to prepare. I was told Tuesday that the motto for motherhood is the same as the boy scouts...Always be prepared.
So we are doing the tests. They are scheduled for this upcoming Wednesday morning. It's just a detailed, thorough ultrasound and some blood work. It's just a screening but considering the original ultrasound was just a normal typical scan and they picked up on it, we might as well start somewhere, right? So screening now, in the event that is shows anything then we will proceed with the bigger tests.
I know the odds of a special needs baby are slim...I know this in my head. My heart, on the other hand, sees and over feels everything. The more I look around the more I see those odds getting wider and wider. 2 special needs children in the last 2 generations in the hubs family, while the odds show a great risk in women over 35, over 80% of all downs babies are born to women in the 18-35 range....the list continues but I won't subject you to that.
We know we will love the sea monkey as much as we do the other two. We will survive and succeed. We will and I know it but I can't help but be just a bit scared. Please be scared with me.

Okay peoples, that's enough for now. I must go do some laundry, that is unless you want to come do it for me?!?!

Princess MooMoo, as we are apt to call her, has skinsitive feet.  This child has a love! love! for shoes but she can't seem to wear any of them.  They all give her blisters.  Big nasty, painful blisters.  So this weekend, the heathens went to spend some time with their grandparents and as they were leaving, Moo insisted on wearing her Dora knock off crocs.  I said okay and put her sneakers in the overnight bag and actually remembered to tell the grandmother they were there.  I also told her if Moo was going to be doing any major running around to put them on her.  The hard plastic nubbin in the croc knockoffs likes to rub right in the middle of her instep.  Well, someone wasn't paying attention and didn't put proper shoes on the girl.  They were out at a fun fest kind of thing and the kids were running and having a great time, Bubba even learned how to polka!  After a few hours of this, Moo started crying and screaming about her feet.  Nana and Pa realized that the child had a blister on her foot the size of Nebraska and hit the local pharmacy to get blister bambaids, bandaids to you and me - bambaids to Moo.  Well, sometime in the rest of the weekend she sliced her little toe, I think it would be when they were letting her run around bare footed in the front yard... so fast forward to today.  She starts crying, sobbing really, and holding her foot.  I take a look at it, say "oh my bob, she's sliced her toe off" and hang up the phone.  I start cleaning her toe and realize it's not fresh and she must have just hit it on something to reopen it.  I get her all squared away and happy with neosporin and a bambaid and send her on her happy way.  Daddy does bath time and then we start getting them ready for bed.  I re-bandage her foot.  Oh happiness in the form of a Dora bambaid!!  The kids decided they wanted to wear their footie jammies from last winter and I wasn't about to argue, even though they are a size to small and look like they are going to cut the kids in half.  So all is well...kids go to bed.  Around 11 pm I hear Moo crying to I run into the room and she tells me her foot hurts and I need to kiss it.  Daddy joins me and we decide that the jammies are so tight they are putting pressure on the little toe.  While my daughter is half awake but mostly sleeping, we grab the scissors and cut the feet off the jammies.  She crawls back in bed and , sigh, back to sleep she goes.  20 minutes later she gets up to go potty.  Daddy takes this one because I was in bed (but I can hear everything) and he figured she would need help with the jammies and the pull up.  She goes potty and as Daddy is holding the jammies she is stepping into them.  She about folds in half, I swear her head touched the floor, she realizes her footies aren't there.  She looks back up at Daddy and asks "Where'd da feet go?"  Daddy says, "Mommy and I cut them off because they were hurting your feet, remember?"  She mutters yeah and then heads to her bed.  As she's walking the edges of the legs are tickling her and she's trying to pull them down.  They are severely uneven and she's OCD.  So Daddy apologizes about the unevenness of them and she says "It's okay Daddy." and crawls into bed.  Once she's in bed she looks at her feet and lets out a geeky Huhuhuh kind of laugh and says "You cut off my feet" and goes right back to sleep.

After I typed it all out, I reread the whole blurb and realize you had to be there for the true laugh but I ain't erasing it.  Hope you got a small chuckle out of it.
Oh and "Where'd da feet go?"