So what if it doesn't make sense?

I'm at the point now where I just can't wait to have this baby. At the same time, I don't want this pregnancy to end. My husband says I'm completely off my rocker and perhaps medication would work (in his defense I was blubbering something about being out of Reese's peanut butter cups at the time and threatening to shave his eyebrows but still....). Yes, he's still breathing. For now.
And this led me to favorite past time:

The Pro/Con List.

Things I Will Not Miss About Pregnancy

1) Strangers touching my belly (Did you not hear me the first time I said that I bite? Well, you were warned).

2) Leg cramps (and foot cramps and not being able to walk without wincing)

3) The penguin waddle (yes, I do. Shut up)

4) How every time I laugh, sneeze, cough, or breath I end up peeing a little (and seriously? If that freaks you out, boy are you ever in for a surprise about some of the things that happen to you during pregnancy and birth).

5) Having to pee every 20 minutes.

6) Having to crawl to the bathroom because it's too painful and a little risky to actually stand up and let the baby put full-on pressure on my bladder.

7) Random contractions

8) The regular daily phone calls asking whether I've had the baby yet and why not

Things I Will Miss

1) Having an excuse for my random acts of insanity

2) having an excuse for this big belly and giant ass

3) having this baby all to myself

4) the movement (provided it's not a foot in my ribs or a fist in my bladder)

5) An excuse for my natural gracelessness

And probably a myriad of other little things for both lists that I'm suddenly blanking on.

But never mind my whining! I've been doing enough of that lately.
I promise that I will have a better post up later.

Role Models

It's pretty much inescapable. At some point throughout the course of any given day, my daughter ends up hearing the names 'Lindsey Lohan', "Britney Spears', 'Paris Hilton' or any one of the other "celebrities" that I am trying really hard to steer her away from.

So can I just say that when she heard the name 'Britney Spears' her first reaction was to ask me, "Is she the crazy one who shaved her head?", I felt some measure of relief?

Because if at 9 years old she can recognize that there is something not quite right there, maybe there is hope that I can keep steering her away from these "role models". Even better, use them as role models of how not to be.

So now instead of cringing every time the news comes on, I've been pointing out the things that they are getting recognized for and talking to her about it.

Now she's asking (not in so many words) for girls it would be ok to look up to.
I've already mentioned Mylie Cyrus (she loves Hannah Montana) and a few others who seem to have their heads on straight with the understanding that while they do have qualities to be admired, she still must follow her own path.

What I'd really like to give her is a role model outside of Hollywood. Someone she can look up to who gives back to their community in some way. We need a website for that.

Stalked By Phone

I hate my phone. In fact, I'm not answering it anymore unless I absolutely must. So go ahead, keep on calling me every day to see if I've had the baby yet. I'm not answering so you can't drive me crazy anymore!

Seriously? If you called yesterday and I didn't have the baby and you called today and I'm answering the phone.... do you really need to ask? Especially since I promised to call when this baby comes out?
Right.
So now you can sit there and keep pushing redial over and over again and keep leaving messages about how you're so sure I'm off having this kid Right! This! Very! Second! and I will sit here eating God's most perfect food (otherwise known as the corn dog) and imagining you losing your dialing finger.

Let's face it. This kid is not going to come out. I am going to have to go in after it. And you calling over and over again isn't going to help anything along. It's only going to make me want to come over and punch in the nose.

Carnage

When I was little, my grandma used to treat us with animal crackers. I loved those little red circus boxes. I'd line them up and make the animals perform. Those were the Best. Cookies. Ever.
So when I handed some to the kids I was fully expecting the same reaction.

Instead I had Bre asking me where the sprinkles were and what about chocolate chips? Didn't I know the true value of a good chocolate chip cookie? With sprinkles? What was I thinking?
But she ate them and agreed that they weren't the worst thing I had ever made her try.

David was quiet. He sat and stared at the animals and just.... stared.
I was sure that he would soon be off and running leaving behind a pile of animal crackers, untouched and unwanted. I went back to cleaning the kitchen and was soon thrilled with the little growls of a toddler and his imagination.
In a few minutes he ran off to play with his big sister and I went to see what became of the animals.
It was then that I came to fully understand that yes, I had a boy. Not a toddler, certainly not a baby. A boy.

Poor headless animal crackers.

General Whining

It started as every morning starts. A slight ache in my legs in feet. Normal. Something I had experienced in each of my previous pregnancies.
Then IT happened.
Spasms in both legs and into my feet that left me in tears and scared David (so he's not used to watching his mom roll on the floor hanging onto her legs, crying 'owowowowow' over and over again. What can I say?).
Several hours later and my legs and feet still hurt. All the nurse can tell me is to drink more water (I'm going to float away), take some Tylenol (riiiiiggghhhttt. Can't I just have my epidural now?) and rest (um. that's what I was doing before my legs exploded.)

I'm afraid to go to sleep now. I know what's going to happen. I know it's going to end up with me on the floor in tears.

Lazy

I'm at the point now where time is dragging and I'm starting to believe that all my worry of ending up in premature labor has turned to absolute conviction that I am going to have to reach up there and yank this kid out myself. I'm still contracting but I've managed to convince myself that it doesn't mean anything. Because I'm still here, still pregnant by some good fortune.

I am running out of things that I can do with the kids and it's wearing on all of us.

Out of desperation, I took them to Build-A-Bear to make a present for their sibling. (see above photos as I am too lazy to move them around right now).

We go to the library every week. We skipped the playground this week because I was afraid I would melt into the wood chips and instead spent as much time as possible in front of the air conditioning. They've played in the sandbox and on our swing set and we've done crafts and baked endless cookies and gone here, there and everywhere that is free.

And I am humbled by the fact that there is still about 8 weeks left before school starts.

********

I've been neglectful (surprise!) of my e-mail lately so this is late but I wanted to thank Dee for the giraffe shirt ideas! I love a lot of them and am trying to convince David that he only needs one, not 6.

Since you are all so good at finding things.....

David is fascinated by outer space. Planets, stars, moons, the sun. He knows what meteorites are and knows which planet is Earth. I blame Joe and the habit of watching that one Universe program on the History channel.

The problem is, he wants a book. And I haven't been able to find one with ample pictures and simple explanations. Something suitable for a not-quite-pre-schooler.

Any takers?

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Taking a Risk

The 10th (today for most of you) marks my 2 year blogging anniversary and I can honestly say that I don't know what the hell I've had to talk about for two years. I can't even believe that I'm still posting because I have a habit of saying 'Oh yeah, that sounds like fun!' and then promptly forgetting about it. Kind of like that time I thought I'd change this blog up and then I just.... forgot.
In that two years I've posted lots of pictures. Mostly of the kids, a few of Joe and the dogs, but never of myself. I haven't had a picture of myself that I liked in some time now.
But these.... well.... they're not so bad if you don't mind the double chin or the freaky little mole in my belly button.

My Least Favorite Holiday

So we had this great idea that we'd watch the fireworks with the kids because, yes! Our kids, they love things that go Kaboom! and are not at all scared in anyway by loud noises and fire! Yee-haw!
We're out of our fucking minds.

Let's just start with the fact that where we live, it's just expected that all you have to do to see fireworks for the 4th (2nd, 3rd, 5th and 6th too) is step out your front door because everyone and their brother went to Boom City and spent a paycheck to have the best display and see who could blow up their arm first. What? Your neighbors don't spend every fourth of July trying to blow up more body parts then the guy next to him?
Well.
Aren't you special.

Ours do.
Often at 2 am.
Right outside my fucking window (I'm sorry I'm so cranky. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that the little bit of sleep I'm able to get each night is now being interrupted by the assholes behind us and their need to set our house on fire. Or you know, maybe a little about that).

So, fourth of July. Joe had bought a little box of not so noisy but oooh pretty colors! fireworks and we sat outside to watch him light them up and catch a glimpse at the neighbors spoils.
At first it was fine.
Bre hid behind the van and yelled out that she could see them much better from inside the house thank you very much until we finally convinced her that should any spark even glance in her general direction, Joe would throw himself on it to save her. She then sat in a chair in the driveway and cowered a bit. Yes. Just like last year only with fewer tears.
David was.... unsure at first. He sat in my lap and seemed ok. Even vaguely interested in the pretty pretty colors.
Then our neighbors set off one that was Really. Really. Loud.

"AHHHHHHH!!!!!"

After I pried his fingers from my eyes and calmed him down, he settled back into my lap and pressed his head as far into my chest as he could.

"Cober my ears! Cober my ears!"

And this is why I have no pictures of our fourth of July celebration as I spent the rest of the brief time he was willing to tolerate this with my hands over his ears and trying to interest him in the pretty pretty colors.

He simply looked at me and I'm fairly certain that if his vocabulary allowed he would've informed me that this whole fireworks business fucking sucked and I was nucking futs if I thought for one instant that he was going to actually enjoy this shit. And shove it for good measure.

After 3 roman candles, David was crawling up my head and ripping out my hair begging to be taken back in the house.

So I did.

Joe convinced Bre to stay outside with him if only because it meant that she got to stay up later. Later he told me that she actually held a sparkler for a whole 5 seconds and didn't scream.
And that is progress people.
David came in and went to sleep. I think it may have just been to much. Our dogs were happily sedated (Auggie couldn't even get off the floor) and I was..... jealous. I would love to be sedated right now. Perhaps then I wouldn't mind that our neighbors behind us and the ones across the street are attempting to blow each other up and my house stands in the middle of this fun little battle.

Happy Fucking 4th.

When In Doubt, Ask The Internets!

I've been working on some new wall art for baby Gollum's room. I decided to go with my favorite classic children's books. The problem is, some of them aren't really what I want and I'm running out of ideas. I think I need one or two more pictures and then I'm set.

So far I have:

Yeah. I don't know how to move those pictures down to here. It's one of the things that pisses me off about blogger. But, you get the idea.