This weekend, Brady started showing symptoms of being sick. Within 24 hours, all four of the kids had fevers. Sunday morning, I woke up with one, too. We’ve been battling fevers and bad cold symptoms ever since.

The kids, I have to say, do a better job of carrying on with their daily lives than I do. I do as little as possible to help them survive, then I head back to bed. I’m pathetic, I know.

I thought we were all on the mend, but unfortunately Brady and Evan have had a second bought with fevers. They’re all being such troopers, though. And, I know I’ve said it before, but I do have the best husband in the world. I talked to him on the phone yesterday while he was at the airport and told him my fever was starting to climb again. His advice? “Get back under the covers and try to stay warm. I’ll be home soon.” He’s the best.

The strangest thing about having a really bad cold when you’re 8.5 months pregnant is that every cough and sneeze kills. My abdomen muscles hurt so bad. I’ve honestly been praying that I not have the baby until I’m better, which is a real switch since I would have paid someone to take it out of me for the last month.

OK, I’m done complaining now. Just wanted everyone to know where we’ve been. The good news is that I do feel better today. I’ve actually started a load of laundry and did some dishes already. Maybe I’ll have the baby tomorrow.

My poor Andy is so used to having his mother be pregnant. I often joke with Nate that my kids think it’s normal to see their Mommy with her head in the toilet, since morning sickness is very much a part of every pregnancy for me.

Earlier this week, we went with some friends of ours to one of our favorite restaurants for a belated Valentine’s Dinner. (Our kids went, too. So romantic.)

Andy was beside himself with anticipation all day. He did pause to think of someone other than himself long enough to offer me this priceless nugget:

“Mommy, the bathroom at the Essenhaus is upstairs if you need to throw up.”

Isn’t it great when your kids start looking out for you, too?

The last few nights, I’ve had more rounds of “false labor.” (I prefer to think of it as practice labor.) Not a big deal, really, unless you consider the fact that it has lasted more than eight hours a night. Seriously!

I know this is my sixth pregnancy. I know I should know the difference between Braxton Hicks contractions and the real, these-could-kill me kind. I thouhgt I did! But the last few nights, the contractions have been regular and very slowly increasing in intensity.

ALMOST enough to make me think “this could be real.” Not really hurting … just painful enough to make me think: “If this is real, maybe I should sit down for awhile and get some rest.”

Let me tell you, it doesn’t make for very productive evenings. My house isn’t exactly clean. The dishes aren’t exactly always caught up. And forget about the laundry.

I try to make up for it in the mornings, but I’m not quite there. Oh, well… If anyone has an excuse for a messy house, it’s the very pregnant mother of pre-schoolers, right? Especially if she’s in labor. Even if it’s false. Right? :D 

For about the past month, Connor wakes up before anyone else, gets all of his blankets and comes in and climbs in our bed. He’s not content until he’s right between Nate and me and covered with our blankets, too. Then he goes back to sleep.

The other day, after he’d already joined us for his morning “nuggo” (snuggle), Evan woke up so I went to feed her. When I went to climb back in bed, this is what I found:

I’m not sure if he was considering getting out of bed and fell asleep or if he just rolled over and got comfortable that way. Either way, Nate didn’t seem to mind. They both slept for another hour just like that.

One of my majors in college was English… so nothing warms my heart more than hearing my boys speak properly. We had a quick visit with Nate’s parents Friday and were on the long, two-hour drive home last night when Andy said, “Mommy, can we call Nana? The drive seems to go more quickly when I talk.”

I smiled at Nate and said, “Ah… I love it when he uses adverbs so nicely.”

Just then, Andy exclaimed to Nana on the phone, “Hey, Nana! I just seed a van just like yours!”

So much for my grammar genius.

Obviously, as this pregnancy nears its end, thoughts of labor and delivery are often at the forefront of my mind. Memories of our previous births mix with the anticipation of meeting Baby F.

On the way to church yesterday morning, I realized something. I’ve been pregnant for forever. Not really, but it seems that way. Just for fun, here are the stats:

• 75 — number of months Nate and I have been married 
• 62 — number of months I’ve been breastfeeding one or more babies 
• 1-3 — number of babies who’ve been in diapers living in our house over the past 5+ years (we’re about to be up to three in Huggies at once again) 
• 45 — number of months I’ve been pregnant
• 43 — number of months I’ve been complaining about pregnancy-related symptoms ;D
• 3 — number of home waterbirths we’ve had
• 29 — number of days Evan spent in the NICU after being born 9 weeks early
• 8 — number of days I spent in the hospital around Evan’s birth, first for preterm labor, then for pre-eclampsia, then post-partum
• 3.5 — number of weeks until Baby F is due
• x — variable denoting the actual number of days until Baby F’s arrival

I told you all before about how we have baseball fever in our house. It starts about mid-October and last until Spring Training begins at Hohokam park in Mesa, Arizona.

This year has been no exception. In fact, it’s worse than usual because of the much-awaited T-ball sign-ups.

Connor was supposed to be getting ready for a bath the other day. Instead, I found him in this condition:

He might be missing a few pieces of his uniform, but at least he’s got the batting gloves, eh?

Our friend Carrie turned four last week and she had a big hangar party to celebrate. (For those of you not in the aviation world, that’s a big party inside the hangar — like a huge garage for planes and helicopters). Carrie’s dad owns one of the helicopter flight schools where Nate teaches and she loves our “babies.” That’s what she calls Connor and Evan, but I think it often includes Andy and Brady, too.

We were invited to her big bash, and though there was more than 100 people there to celebrate with this special little girl, she still had to take the time to hold Evan. She’s such a sweety. I told her I’d post a photo of her and Evan so Nate could show it to her. Here it is:

(Notice the super stylish tights and shoes, Aunt Heather!)

Here are my crazy kids enjoying the moon bounce:
(Click on them to make them bigger … Nana.)

Andy

Brady

Connor (Yes, he’s wet from the duck pond game.)

Evan (Yes, she’s wet because she’s teething and drools like a fiend.)

My sweet Bo (Connor) posed for this photo last week. Notice he’s puckered up and ready to kiss me with sucker-sweet lips. What a sweetheart.

The excitement around our house is palpable. I’m not kidding. I’ve never seen a four-year-old and a five-year-old so giddy about something — not even birthday presents.

We’re signing up for baseball next week!

It took us about a month to track down the exact date and time for T-ball sign-ups. It seems as though they send home paperwork for this sort of stuff through the public schools, but they aren’t old enough! Silly, huh? Furthermore, our town has two kinds of summer baseball leagues: Little League and Babe Ruth / Cal Ripken. Adding to the confusion is the fact that just this year, they’re starting a brand new “Junior T-ball” league for just four-year-olds. They’ll expect less of these kids and they’ll play fewer games. (Andy will play “regular” T-ball for five and six-year-olds.)

We seriously made about a dozen phone calls trying to be sure we didn’t miss sign-ups. Poor Andy has been waiting for summer since he turned five in December. Brady was expecting to have to wait until he turned five to get to play, so he’s beside himself. They’re going nuts anticipating the fact that they will get “a hat AND a shirt WITH a number on the back!” (Andy’s league gets pants, too.)

We just got all of this information (along with the list of identification items needed to sign your kid up, which is about like obtaining a license from the DMV) last night, so the boys will be full of questions until Wednesday night. So far I’ve heard:

• “How many games do I get to play?”
• “Will our coach give me lessons?”
• “We’re on different teams?”
• “Can I be on the Cubs?”
• “Will I be on the Rockies or the Reds? I don’t want to be on the White Sox?”
• “Can you play baseball when you’re six, too? Seven? Eight?”
• “When will Connor get to play?”
• “Will you come to my games, Mommy?”
• “Can I yell really loud when you’re up to bat?” (OK, that one was from me to them.)

As you can tell, we’re all really excited. I’m sure I’m overlooking the thought that I’ll be trying to wrangle / entertain a two-year-old, a one-year-old and a small infant during each of these games and practices…. But since I literally grew up at the Little League diamonds in my hometown, I’m sure I’ll figure out a way to survive. I hope.