When I am about a thousand pounds into the pregnancy that will bring us Kallan, I decide that we need to get her room ready for her.
I pick out the paint . . . a shiny bright Granny Smith apple green. If you are thinking that sounds just dreadful? Then you would be correct.
Mark tries to talk me out of this color, but I weep and bitch in the Home Depot paint display about how he doesn’t love me anymore as I throw paint samples into the air.
And so then there is Granny Smith apple green.
I am not allowed to actually paint the baby’s room myself because of this . . .
While painting the bathroom that links Maj’s room to the new baby’s room? I climb up on the ladder that I have squeezed into the very small toilet area. I am using a short-handled roller, and so I need to get right up against the ceiling in order to paint. There is just a small area of ceiling that I can’t reach, but instead of calling for help?
I choose instead to plant one foot on the back tank of the toilet.
I know.
So now here I am, one foot on the toilet tank and one foot on the ladder. Way too pregnant to be doing any of this. And there is a moment of triumph as I manage to swipe the roller over that last section of ceiling.
And then the world slips away.
It was seriously a slow-motion sort of moment . . . I can still remember trying to make deals with some invisible someone on the way down. OK, I am willing to have whatever bones need to be broken in order to teach me the lesson I need to learn about being so incredibly stupid. All of my arms and legs . . . break them. But please don’t let the baby get hurt.
Take a note so that you will not have to test this in your own life: If you fall from the ceiling onto a toilet? That shit is going to hurt.
I am covered in ugly bruises.
But the baby is fine.
And so Mark makes a new rule. He wants the rule to be:
Kris is not allowed to do any more stupid things while she is pregnant.
But then I point out that I never mean to do stupid things, they just end up being stupid. Most of my ideas are brilliant! How was I to know before the fact that a giantly pregnant woman should not stand on the back of a toilet?
So then there are several new rules:
Kris is not allowed to paint.
Kris is not allowed to climb ladders.
Kris is only allowed to sit (and not stand) on the toilet.
It is like he thinks I am an idiot.
So Mark and his dad paint the room.
Shiny Granny Smith apple green. It is like stepping into an apple-green vomitorium. I want to cry, except this color is my own stupid pregnant fault, so I do not.
I decorate the room (a tragic story for another day). It is still awful, and I whisper repeated apologies to my unborn baby. I feel as though I have failed in some monumental maternal way.
I am now 8 months pregnant, and I am not feeling as though I am up to the task of being Mommy to two little girls. Maj has just turned two, and she has not yet spoken a single fucking word. I am trying not to let it get to me, but inside? I am all freaked out. If I was a good Mom, wouldn’t she at least want to say my name?
What if I did something wrong during that first pregnancy and now my older daughter is never going to talk to me?
What if this new baby won’t talk to me either, because her room is so hideous?
I feel all judged, from inside and out.
And then? There is a smell.
Maj notices it first and comes to get me. Leads me down the hallway to her unborn sister’s room. Stands in the middle of the room and sniffs loudly. Points to her nose.
So I sniff. And what I smell?
Is death.
Something has died within one of the walls of unborn Kallan’s room.
Maj and I duct-tape the outlets in the room (the smell was coming through them). Open the window. We close the doors and put towels at the bottom to contain the smell.
And then I reassure Maj that Daddy will take care of this.
And when Mark gets home? I freak the fuck out.
We are having a baby in just a few weeks! Do you hear me? A baby is coming and she is going to want to be able to sleep in her room! How can this baby be born if her room smells like death? Her room is apple-green death! How is that not a bad omen? How? How? How? How? Oh my god, I cannot stand it! We suck so bad! We have dead animals in our nursery walls! Do NOT tell anyone. Promise you will not tell anyone! We are doomed! Oh my god, do you not see that this is a sign that we are doomed? This poor poor baby. She is doomed!
Sometimes? Because Maj never talks? She is able to sneak up on me all unbelievably quiet.
She was not supposed to hear about how we were doomed.
Sigh.
So Mark heads down there to see what can be done.
I go down about an hour later, and this is what I see . . .
The room is covered in dust and dirt and debris.
Everywhere is the smell of death.
And the wall Mark has determined holds the death? It is riddled with investigatory holes. Like twenty of them.
Like wormholes in a Granny Smith apple.
“Babe,” says Mark, “This wall has got all sorts of electrical stuff running through it. The animal, whatever it is, could be caught anywhere. I can’t find it. The best plan is probably to just close the room off and wait. It’s got to be a small animal, probably a mouse. It can’t stink forever.”
I lie down on the floor. On my side. And weep. Maj comes over to pat my stomach and stare at me silently with her huge eyes.
Mark sinks apologetically to the floor beside me.
The almost-four of us, in that little room of vomity worm-hole-ridden green death.
Kallan loves this story.
“How long did it stink? That is awesome! Did I sleep in the stink? That is awesome! Remember how as soon as I could talk, I asked you to paint my room pink? Remember? I hated that green color! It was horrible! What were you thinking?”
Sigh.
Well, why did Mark let an animal get in the walls anyway? Men.
EXACTLY!
I was creating life!
All he had to do was keep the smell of rat death at bay. How fucking hard is that?
Thank god you were okay from that fall!!! Crazy! Mark should’ve just dressed you like a football player instead of giving you rules. Giggle. Rules, are meant to be broken besides, and as you mentioned — you usually don’t mean to do stupid things.
Out of curiosity (you probably posted about this at some point, so sorry for the repeat), what was Maj’s first word? And when as long as I am asking?
Maj would occasionally repeat a word back to us, but would not use them on her own.
The first word I remember her using independently? KAKU . . . which was both Kallan and Cookie.
She loved KAKU.
And that was not long after Kallan was born. So Maj was about 2 years and 3 months.
And guess what? I have not blogged about this before!
Ah see?? I subconsciously knew that and was giving you more words/ideas for blogging new posts!
Kaku is super cute!!! Aww, baby Maj.
Honestly? I have not written about Maj’s late-talker status because some small part of me feels responsible and guilty about it.
Even though Maj now has all the words she will ever need . . . there is still guilt.
Sigh.
Aw, no guilt. I know I don’t know Maj (obviously), but my guess — she was holding out, observing, and taking you all in until she had plenty to say. Now, she seems to say it all!!! No guilt — your daughters are amazing girls.
It took me a long time to speak too, and I had NO hair for years and years. Which is irrelevant , but funny. Now, you can’t shut me up and I have a whole separate universe on top of my head! D’oh.
You make me giggle, over-sharing woman trying to distract me from my guilt with images of baldness.
It’s working, too!
Snort!
You should see it now if you want the giggles. Something went horribly wrong about age 8. You know how you hear people say “Oooh you have some THICKY-THICK curly hair. I’m uber jealous.” Yeah, no. It’s a rather large froth of, well, curly-ish wanna be, big, bad 80s hair. But aqua-net, not needed here.
A foreign animal could just as easily crawl up in there and like with Kallan’s room, die and never be found. Gross.
Holy shit I am an over sharing woman! Stopping now…
But I looooooooove you!
Love back!
snort.
Ok, I’m not laughing at you. T is 2 yr 1 month and doesn’t say anything but baby babble. The other day, he finally said out. We were all stoked and everything, but he was suppose to be sleeping. It’s 11:40 at night. After a few out OUT OUT there was BABY OUT! (I call him baby non stop). He put two words together, words that for once made sense. Mike and I did a happy dance in the living room while our child demanded freedom from his wooden cage.
I think our kiddos are just soaking it all in and waiting until they feel that they have enough information to spill their greatness into the world.
Maj did not do baby babble. She was silent, except for grunting that was supposed to prompt us to figure out what this particular grunt meant.
She skipped a lot of steps. Or rather she seemed to do them silently in her head.
She is a unique little girl. Still.
And I remember that happy dance! That is an awesome dance.
HA! T grunts too. And growls and meows. I think we have too many animals.
I upped and down on a ladder 8 months pregnant to paint blue and purple stars along the upper edges of the wall for the unknown gender baby that was coming.
Interestingly, everyone EXCEPT my husband thought this was a bad idea.
I am not actually married to that husband any longer.
(And no, I did not fall on a toilet. I mean, that would have been really strange to have a toilet in the baby’s room. We are not that weird. Except that we are that weird, we just wouldn’t manifest our weirdness by installing a toilet in a nursery. Not that you couldn’t make an argument that there’s a certain convenience factor there. For people who have like no boundaries.)
I am so glad that you and I are the sort who have our boundaries clearly in place.
Snort.
I did a similar thing last weekend, but Im not pregnant.
I had been bugging the dh to help me re-arrange the living room furniture. Because of the tv and heavier stuff I have to have him help.
FINALLY we are going to do it. I have it all planned out in my head.
I get it all the way I had imaged it. I HATE IT, and there is no way Im going to say anything. Oh no. Im going to sit here in my UN Feng Shui living room and silently kick myself in the ass. Over and over and over again.
Yes, once I have thrown a big fit about wanting something?
No matter how hideous it turns out to be?
I am not going to admit my mistake out loud. Not ever.
Blog stalker here… LOVE your blog by the way! This reminds me of when my sister’s hamster got into the wall. Long story short, it found a way under the bathroom cabinets. We eventually heard scratching near the stairs… one strategically cut hole and that lil’ fucker was outta there. Poor thing. Its death was worse though. Much more traumatizing to it and my sister. Imagine being 6 and thinking your hamster exploded… ew.
Thank you for the love!
An exploding pet hamster would have been way worse. Way worse.
I love doing things while I’m pregnant that I’m not supposed to do. And when I succeed, it’s like a big “HAH!” to my husband (and family) because they insist I’m incapable of doing it.
Like a month and a half ago, when I mowed the front lawn while my husband was at work and my mom was at a doctor’s appointment. It was about 90 degrees and our lawn hadn’t been mowed all season so the grass was super high. An hour later, it was done, but I had heat exhaustion, and was dehydrated. I also tore a round ligament on the right side of my uterus. I’ve since been put on mild to moderate bed rest per my OBGYN because he is the only one I’ll listen to when he says “you probably shouldn’t be doing that.” Me? I would have totally painted that bathroom. And when I fell, I would have cried. And then insisted on doing it again. Just to get that “HAH!” feeling.
But right now I can barely walk, so I’m very thankful that the painting is all done and there is no death smell in the nursery. I’m pretty sure I’d preform seppuku (google that if you don’t know what it is) once I popped the baby out. Because that’s how devastated I’d be.
I did google, and no you would not!
You would mom-up, just as I did, and march forward through the battlefield of motherhood. The smell of death heavy in the air.
I love the HAH moment. But falling off the toilet?
That hurt a lot.
Hello, universe signs! The universe was like, ‘hell no this color makes me want to stink like death. So, I do it.’
Yes, that’s what I thought.
The universe is not so subtle sometimes.
That is possibly the sweetest story ever. I love that Maj came and patted your belly. And also, I was a crazy person that painted our bathroom and stood on the toilet. Only I did not fall. But it sounds like something I’d do…
What was the smell?
We never figured out what the smell was. We patched the holes and repainted, removed all of Kallan’s baby stuff, and sealed off the room.
And by the time Kallan was born?
The smell was gone.
These are the stories that make your kids yours! I mean, all the perfect sweet amazing stories out there? Boring! Generic and utterly flat. This story, it’s real. Of course Kallan loves this story. It’s hers and hers alone!
I can’t help but think about how appropriate it is, too. I mean, everyone has this image that babies are sweet and wonderful and pleasantly scented. Babies are born out of blood and urine and poop and they’re covered in waxy cheesy glop. Bringing them into this world is traumatic! Your nursery was perfect prep for that kind of craziness.
As always, love your posts!
You understand Kallan perfectly! She loves this story because no one else has a story like it.
It is hers alone.
I love your interpretation of our nursery being perfect! I could have used those comforting words at the time.
Although Maj’s silent tummy pat? That was lovely.
I too made bad color choices while I was pregnant. Only not just in the baby’s room. We were living with the MIL while my husband was building our house (yes, he physically built our house. He’s handy like that).
I was 8 months pregnant when he took me to Home Depot to choose colors. Celery green for the living room, butter yellow for the kitchen, peach for the laundry room and a chocolate milk brown for the bedroom. They were hideous. And to top it off, I insisted on flat paint instead of a semi-gloss. The only smart move I made was painting the baby’s room eggshell and using a wallpaper border.
For four years I had completely fugly walls. I blame the pregnancy hormones.
One time?
I got all motivated and painted the guest bathroom at our old house. Without consulting Mark, I chose the colors and did the job, using a magazine picture I loved as my inspiration. It looked awesome.
And then Mark got home and pointed out that the chocolatey brown color I had chosen? Looked like shit.
Literally.
And that I had perhaps painted our bathroom the color of chocolate shit.
And then he giggled. A lot.
LOL I just finished painting C’s nursery (just over 8 months preggo here) and My hubby did not care that I was on a latter, Did not care that I had a 2 year old yelling at me the whole time, basically he was mad that the color was pink (again!). Not just pink, oh no, This is “Holy Cotton Candy Batman Pink”! My MIL also thinks its hideous but I love it. I apparently am a girly girl at heart who was raised by wolves. I think I sort of resent my camouflage bedroom as a child. *off to talk to my shrink with her twinkling shrinky eyes about that*
That “Holy Cotton Candy Batman Pink?”
That’s the color Kallan chose as soon as she was verbal enough to share her displeasure with the Granny Smith green.
Pink as pink can be.
And who paints a little girl’s room camouflage colors? That is seriously fucked up!
I don’t even know how you could stand the smell of paint preggers and all.
Poor Mark. Always having to keep you from trying to kill yourself via toilet. or painting rooms in neon colors. Thats love, lady!
Yes, the smell of paint was horrific.
But I was determined to make everything perfect for the new baby.
Sigh.
This? Is way better then my nesting story. Let’s just say I lost my shit over towels and Rob walked out. Not pretty. You can read it here: http://mylifeasmom1910.blogspot.com/2009/12/nesting-is-real-lol.html
And I bet just like Kallan knew how to use the potty but didn’t? Maj knew how to talk but didn’t. She wanted to save it all up for her sister, and to get revenge on you for the obvious neglect and abuse you have shown her ;)
I think you are correct . . . I have very stubborn children.
That is such a lovely character trait! Wonder where they got that?
Off to check your post.
The towels?
I have freaked out about things like that. It’s not pretty.
That is a GREAT story!
I enjoyed my Kris fix for the day.
Last year while I was pregnant I was always climbing on stuff. There is a whiteboard with a projector in the conference room of my office. I can’t remember why but I was the trying to change the light bulb on a chair with wheels… it wasn’t going good place. I didn’t fall but my boss came in and she was not happy with me.
I was to lazy to paint Dexter’s room but I was thinking an apple-green. Maybe it was for the best that I sat on my ass and ate ice cream while I was pregnant.
I have stood on that rolling chair!!!
What is wrong with us? Mark wants to know.
And yes . . . the ice cream would have been a better idea than painting. Even though I believe I mentioned that I gained about 1000 pounds during my pregnancy with Kallan, ice cream would have been the smarter move.
Now I want some ice cream.
It is way good for you.
I am not allowed to paint either. It’s not because I’m pregnant, nor have I ever been…it’s because I suck…and Colby got tired of fixing it.
And, be careful what you wish for (talking children) because eventually…they will never shut up. No guilt there!
I am an excellent painter! If I am not all unbalanced and pregnant? I am awesome!
And the talking children who never shut up? I have two of those . . . how did you not know that before now?