I have to go into the OB’s office every week now for a non-stress test. This morning the doctor saw a “decel” of the baby’s heart, so just to be safe, I had to go to St. Vincent’s to be hooked up for an extended non-stress test.
The baby turned out to be fine. The machine was even picking up my early contractions. They better just be Braxton-Hicks; I’ve got seven weeks to go.
That was my entire morning. I managed to stay sane for the whole afternoon with the kids. Cole is so frightened of thunderstorms; he just lay against my body for a half-an-hour during the loud booms.
Speaking of loud booms, Genny did not like it when I said it was time for bed. She freaked out in all her glory.
Screaming. Crying. Throwing books. And her piece de resistance—kicking her mother a few times.
I tried ignoring it. Reasoning with her. Sending her to her room. But nothing worked and she refused to listen to anything I said.
Finally, after holding her door closed while she screamed hysterically, she stopped. I could hear her taking out her dress-up drawer. I managed to get the now freaked-out Cole to bed.
As I came out of his room, she came into the hallway and apologized. She got no books. But I lay down with her.
I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I’ve read books; I’ve followed my instincts; I’ve been understanding; I’ve been stern.
I always end up back here. Trying to figure this whole parenting thing out.
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