Molly 1; Carrots 0

Let it be known: you cannot force feed carrots to an unwilling preschooler who can puke on demand. Just for the record.

Priceless

Cost of corn on the cob at Kroger - 4 for $2

Cost of corn on the cob after being digested in about 7.2 seconds by stupid large dog who takes mostly-eaten ear of corn from cackling toddler who gleefully tosses food scraps to furry beggar -- FOUR HUNDRED FORTY SEVEN DOLLARS.

Did you know that dogs aren't supposed to consume entire ears of corn? Oh yes, the whole cob, like it was a dog Twinkie. I could have sensed that this was not the greatest idea ever; however, I was inside cleaning up from dinner and the rest of the family was outside on the patio. Dan even captured the corn-eating extravaganza in photos! Whoo hooo, FUN-NY!!!!

2 hours later, I, slightly concerned, pulled out my Google MD/veterinary license and checked into "dog eat corn cob" -- followed by 12938717865 results of people whose dogs needed emergency surgery for intestinal obstruction and a lot of vet pages that read "this is NOT GOOD. Do NOT let your dog eat a corn cob."

I called the vet this a.m. after panicking all night, hoping they would recommend some kind of doggie laxative or something to speed along the corn-pooping process. Their response -- "oh. That's NOT GOOD. We need to see him. Um, now would be great."

OK...so Grandma and both kids haul the dog in and meet me at the vet. Preliminary x-ray negative, although vet notes "with obstructions, it usually doesn't show on the x-ray."

8 hours later - Murphy has gone through barium testing to look for blockages. Apparently his corn-Hoovering did involve at least a little bit of mastication. He's currently crashed out on the floor looking drained and slightly green around the edges, but otherwise no worse for the wear.

So yes, most expensive damn corn on the face of the earth. Dan is now questioning why we didn't just wait to see if the dog exploded, as he basically received a $447 enema. Hey, so did our wallet!

Nice things - a fairy tale

Once upon a time there was a little girl who dreamed of growing up and living in an elegant home surrounded by nice things with a decor that hinted at Pottery Barn and Restoration Hardware with a touch of Crate and Barrel thrown in for fun. She got older and got married and people bought her all kinds of nice things as wedding gifts to fill her elegant home, which she had to admit was not shaping up quite as she had pictured, what with her marital first home being approximately the size of an elf's shoebox and already inhabited by her new husband whose style was a little less Pottery Barn and a little more Pots of Old Mac and Cheese on Stove meets Crates He Used in College Dorm Room to Prop Up Nintendo. She received lovely gifts like this Wilton Armetale Reggae silver bowl, retail price $70, which she envisioned using to entertain as she hosted festive parties attended by a colorful group of friends.

Then she had children, and realized that nice things are for single people.

This is how her $70 silver bowl is used today.

Clearly still being enjoyed by a colorful group of friends. The shoebox house has been traded in for yuppie 4BR digs, and the decor has deteriorated from Early Bachelor to Disorganized Newlyweds With Hope to Continuous Regurgitation of Toys and Sippy Cups. It's possible the Big Bad Wolf might try to huff and puff and blow down the house, but he'd probably break his neck tripping on the wiffle ball bat on the front step or the rock collection that HAS TO reside across the front door frame.

At least the mailman still brings the Pottery Barn catalog, and a girl can still dream. Right?

The end.

saying 10 Hail Marys and a prayer to the valium gods

We are about to embark on our first family vacation...road tripping to the Outer Banks of North Carolina for a week-long stay with my imaginary friends. Well, really they're my internet Mommy friends, and I've met all of them, but this will be the first time the husbands and kids will all be thrown together for a week of beach, booze and secretly praying that our kid is not "THAT kid" all week who gets you thrown out of tourist spots and overpriced restaurants.

I have agreed (have to justify all that therapy somehow) to let Dan do some of the driving, so I will be praying and pill popping and trying not to have a nervous breakdown on the side of the turnpike. If you never hear from me again, I either ran away permanently to a land of sand, surf and no small children or Dan threw me out the window at a truck stop.

Apparently the kid licks toadstools.

I swear to God I did not take illegal drugs while pregnant with this child.

Last night in the bathtub Molly told me, "Mommy, last night I was dreaming about TWELVE DOLPHINS jumping over BACTERIA!!! Bacteria is like GERMS, but it's so small you can't even SEE it. Unless you cough it out."





Uh....

We finally wrapped up Molly's birthday hanukkah extravaganza this weekend, after drawing out her 4th birthday for three weeks. This weekend was her "kid party," aided by her patient if not a bit overwhelmed and slightly frightened godparents who don't have kids. We probably effectively set back any potential procreation plans a good year or two with the combination of weekend-long scream fest from Natalie the tri-molar screech monkey and concentrated attack of small humans laced with sugar and pizza. No injuries though, pretty good kid diplomacy all around, and minimal destruction of our house so I consider that a success.

Molly is gearing up for a future career in used car sales. EVERYTHING with that kid is freakin' negotiation. You can't just say "Molly, you need to finish your applesauce" without getting "Whoa whoa whoa WHOA, Mommy. Alright alright, how about THIS...I'll eat HALF of my applesauce AND two greenbeans and then I get some more french fries. Is that a DEAL??" I love the logistics of her bargaining.

Me: "Three more bites"
Molly: "No, ONE more bite"
Me: "THREE MORE BITES"
Molly: "Okayokayo-KAAAAY!! SIX MORE, and THAT'S IT. You GOT IT??"

She also apparently has been reading self help books when we're not looking. All of a sudden she's all concerned that her friend "is NOT giving me my PERSONAL SPACE, MOMMY!!!! I need some PRIVACY TIME ALONE, OKAY!???"

This weekend at her party she announced while on the potty that I should close the door, "because I need some PRIVACY to go poop mommy. ONLY MY FRIEND ANNIKA can be in here wif me." Apparently social pooping is exciting to 3 and 4 year olds. Who knew. She is also highly concerned about Murphy having "privacy time" when he has to poop outside. Yet I'd like to know what happens to privacy time when Mommy has to go potty? Because apparently there is a sign on the door only visible to people under 4 feet tall that says "PLEASE come on in!!! Mommy is lonely!! She would love to have a puppet show with you and watch the baby shred the contents of the trash can while trying to find 30 seconds in which she can use the restroom without assistance!!!!"

Handprint pictures, bodily functions and other mother's gifts

There are (many) days when I look in the mirror and cannot fathom that this person who used to go to class in a t-shirt and flannel, head out to the bar at 11 pm, sleep til noon and shave her legs on a regular basis is now at least 50 percent responsible for the continued survival of two actual human beings. ACK. It's absolutely wild to consider that Mother's Day applies to ME, and that I now have my own collection of laminated handprint artwork and amorphous things made out of spray painted pasta products.

Today's gifts included diarrhea (small human being #1), vomit - in the car, of course (small human being #2), waking up at 6:15 am (oh, so not amused, S.H.B #1).

Some other musings in honor of Mother's Day:

• Being a mom means that you have given up all expectations of going to the bathroom without an audience, albeit an audience that absolutely appreciates the end result ("WOW, Mommy, that's a LOT OF PEE!! DADDY!!! Come look at this!!!!")
• Being a mom of girls does not mean you are raising little ladies, at least not if Dan is their father. Imagine the pride I have when Dan not only subjects us to gaseous assaults - but Molly then chimes in "NICE one, Daddy!" and attempts to add her own punctuation. Tonight she spent 5 minutes making herself burp. Charming.
• I have excelled as a mommy in the acceptance and openness I've taught my children. Case in point from Molly: "Daddy, I LOVE you. Even if you are really stinky."
• Certain things are inevitable as a mom. You are going to get pooped, peed and thrown up on. Sometimes all at once. And you just deal. And you always have extra clothes. For everyone, even you.
• Dance recitals really suck when you are no longer the one dancing.
• At least for several more years, you will not get to blow out your own candles or open your own presents for ANYTHING. And "blowing out the candles" more specifically means "expelling spittle all over the cake surface, which has already been germ-breached by nasty kid fingers that were stuck in the icing about 30 seconds after being stuck up their own or their sibling's or the dog's nose"
• Whoever invented Purell should win the Noble prize in chemistry.
• It's OK to really, really REALLY HATE "Goodnight Moon." I mean, HATE IT.
• Cool moms let their 4 year old watch Star Wars instead of Sponge Bob and plant the seeds for a lifelong hatred of the Yankees.
• The anxiety and depression you may have experienced in college or your 20s is nothing compared to the brick wall that can fall and crush you while you're incubating a baby or when this needy, irrational being actually takes up residence in your life.
• You will never worry or panic about yourself to 1/1000th of the degree that you will about your children.

Happy Mother's Day to everyone who is a mom or just drives one crazy.

Natalie has survived one whole year

Amazingly, the littlest monster has turned one year old, despite Molly's best efforts to suffocatingly love/squeeze/antagonize/push/"help"/run over the extremities of her little sister. I think at this time next year Molly will be in sad, sad shape when Natalie realizes she can, in fact, retaliate. Natalie is a bruiser, about as big as Molly was at 18 months (although then again, Natalie was twice her size at birth). She is about the happiest baby on the face of the earth, despite her penchant for waking up at 4 am to share her happiness with her very, very grumpy mommy. She has about an inch and a half of hair - again, Molly didn't hit that point til about 2. Despite 18 bins of perfectly re-usable girly clothes of every size under the sun, I am unable to stop buying more really, really cute and EXTREMELY necessary clothing items for Natalie and I have turned into one of those moms who swore they would never dress their kids alike (until they actually had two kids, and realized it's really damn fun and no one is old enough to argue with me. yet.)

Natalie is a lot more adventurous with food, and probably already eats more real-people food than her sister (which would be anything outside the realm of processed chicken nuggets, pepperoni, french fries, milk and Tostitos). I can actually hear Caitlin screaming all the way from Ann Arbor when she reads that list ;) No recognizable words yet (from the baby - Caitlin can talk just fine) and she still holds on to things to cruise around but is getting more confident with the drunken-stoner Frankenbaby lurch. Pretty soon she will be running into coffee tables all of her own volition, without any assistance from her helpful big sister.

Since I haven't updated since the Reagan administration, what else is new...Molly is almost 4 and the other day gave me a lecture about cleaning products when I gave her a wet paper towel to help me "clean" the back door.

"Um...Mommy?"

"Yes?"

"How about Clorox Disinfecting Wipes?"

Me: "..." (crickets)

Molly: "Clorox Disinfecting Wipes help kill germs!! And...they don't leave a streaky trail like some other cleaners. Clorox Disinfecting Wipes work great even on your shiny surfaces!"

Me: "WHERE, exactly, did you hear all this??"

Molly: "Oh, the TV told me."

I suppose she is prepping for a career as the announcer on the Price is Right.

Work is busy (not good busy), Dan's work is busy (good busy), school is busy, and the Tigers absolutely suck. That's life in a nutshell!

Darn you Kathy!

One of my most beloved mommy friends has started a blog, with a link here under her "favorites." I suppose this could act as incentive to update this blog more often than...well, never. Hey, who can blame me?? There's so much going on in life!! It's almost Opening Day AND it's the middle of the NCAA tournament!!!! I mean come on, what's a girl supposed to focus on???

Don't Quit Your Day Job.

Molly has been really into jokes lately, although her comedic timing leaves a bit to be desired. Here are two gems from this week:

Molly: "Hey mommy, what happened to the hippo who sat in the fireplace?"

Me: "What?"

Molly: "He BURNED HIS BUTT!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHHA!!!!!!"




Tonight in the bath tub:

Molly: "Mommy, what kind of DOG eats CASHEW NUTS?"

Me: (not realizing it's a joke) "well, I don't know...does Murphy?"

Molly: "A SWALLOW!!! Get it??!? Do you get it??! a SWALLOW!!!! HA HA AH AH AH AH AHAH AHA HA AH AH !!!!!"


I asked her if maybe she meant what kind of BIRD? And she said "NO, it's a DOG!" and I said "do you know why that joke is funny??" and she said "cause MOMMY, dogs don't EAT CASHEWS!!! HA HA HA AH AHA HA AH AHA HA AHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

One-sided conversation this morning

Molly just told me "Mommy, maybe next time we go to the store you could buy me a new rubber ball just like Maggie and the Ferocious Beast have! I want YELLOW - that's my FAVORITE color, just like the sun is yellow outside! rubber balls aren't FRAGILE - like a glass ball would be - you can bounce rubber balls but you have to be careful not to bounce them too close to the DOG POOP outside or you have to clean it off with a hose! ANd I will buy YOU a rubber ball that's got shiny red triangles on it!! and red circles! cuz red is my FAVORITE color for shiny triangles!! OK Mommy?? Can we go to the rubber ball store later??"

Random Mollyisms

The stuff that comes out of this child's mouth is incredible. Just a few random tidbits from the last few weeks that I want to save for posterity:

Murphy did one of his bark-at-a-speck-of-air routines the other day, near the front door, and Molly says very exasperatedly "Mommy, why does Murphy have to BARK? Why can't he just say 'pleeeease put me outside??'"

If I had the answer to making dogs talk I would be a rich mommy.

Speaking of talking dogs, and cats, her new movie obsession is the very unfortunate Disney mess called "Oliver & Company," loosely and badly based, sort of, on the Oliver Twist story. It's set in New York City in the late 80s and stars a lot of people who probably wish they could erase this particular animated gem from their IMDB database. Anyway, I hadn't seen it in many years so I sat down to watch it with Molly the other night for the first time. The opening scene shows a very clear shot of the Twin Towers. I commented, more to Dan, "wow, that's sad." and Molly said "What's sad?" I said "those buildings aren't there anymore. They got knocked down by some very bad people." I didn't think she was paying much attention to me, being distracted by singing/dancing animals and all. Last night, though, she was watching this AGAIN for like the 4th time this week and she goes "Look, Mommy, there's those towers that fell down because the bad people were mean and knocked them over." Simple and deep at the same time.

We often still have to remind Molly to go potty, as she would rather playandplayandplayandplayand runaroundlikeamaniacfromthemomentshewakesuptilthemomentshefallsasleepmid-run. The other day I asked her for the 1000th time "Molly, do you need to go potty?" and she stops and looks at me and YELLS "NO I DO NOT HAVE TO GO POTTY!!! I WANT TO WAIT VERY PATIENTLY AND I WILL TELL YOU WHEN IT'S TIME!!!!!!!!!! I AM WAITING PATIENTLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

She also bellowed at us the other day "WOULD YOU BE QUIET MOMMY!!!! IT IS TOOOOOO LOUD AND I CAN'T HEEEEEEEAR THE TEEEEE VEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!" The irony is spectacular.

We are working hard to curb her use of unpleasant sayings -- like, we have had to stop calling the stupid dog "Hey, Stupid Dog"...and we have definitely had to watch our use of telling even Murphy to shut up. Dan explained to her that "shut up is something only DADDIES can say." Which is just freaking great, because if I slip and say it to the dog, she turns into Captain Stoolpigeon and YELLS to Dan "MOMMY SAID SHUT UP!!!" and then chastizes me with "MOMMY! Shutup is only DADDY's word." She reprimands the TV if she hears it on there too. "*tsk* We DON'T say SHUT UP!!!!!" Except for the four thousand times a day that she says it as she reminds us that we aren't allowed to say it.

We have totally been losing the battle to get her to bed before 10 pm lately. We made the mistake of pointing out fireflies and catching them with her, and now she does NOT buy that 9 pm is bedtime because, as she reminded me, "Mommy, I can still see BLUE SKY at 9 o clock. It's not even dark enough for FIREFLIES yet. It is NOT time for bed until I can see the FIREFLIES." Umm....well, I can't really argue with that. You CAN still see blue sky at 9 pm. Dammit. By this logic she will have to put herself to bed at 6:30 in January, right??

She has recently discovered that she LOVES balsamic vinegar after tasting some off of one of my salads. Not only does she regularly eat lettuce now, bathed in vinegar, she also asks "Mommy can I have some more vig-e-ner to put on my _______?" You name it - applesauce, chicken, green beans, bread...it all gets used now as a vehicle to transport the vig-e-ner into her mouth. Weird, weird kid. Doesn't eat mac and cheese or hotdogs or any meat on earth that is not breaded chicken in nugget form, but she will eat salad with balsamic vinegar.

One last one...this was an actual conversation we had last week while I was pushing her on her swingset. I did not prompt any of this with prior questions. I also didn't get a chance to get a word in edgewise for about 20 minutes.

Molly: "Mommy, remember when we were at Uncle Frank's house (the day before) and Ellie the cat threw up? Why she threw up? Remember when Murphy threw up in the fam-blee room and it was GROSS? And it was water, and dog food, and grass...and dogs don't EAT grass,right? because it makes them sick and then they throw up like this (makes gagging noise) and you have to clean it up wif paper towels and it's GROSS. Did Ellie the cat eat grass? She threw up like (insert another hairball nose) and it was GROSS. Are cats scared of firecracks? (fireworks - it was 4th of July week) Murphy is scared of them...dogs don't LIKE firecracks and fireworks because it hurts their ears and their ears are very SEN-SI-MA-TIVE Mommy. Murphy likes to HIDE during fireworks doesn't he? Like Marley does in 'Bad Dog Marley' when he finds a good hiding space during the thunderstorm! Dogs do NOT like thunderstorms either. Murphy hid in my closet last yesterday (who knows when, a week ago I think) when it was thundering and he was SCARED!!!!"

Me: "... " pretty much speechless.

That is my life, every hour that this child is awake (well, my life and my mom's and my mother in law's, who stay with the girls during the day and probably wish they had hearing aids that they could set to "Molly as background noise" instead of "Molly at full speed jet-engine decibels")

apparently there is a word limit?

Aurgh, I had more typed for the last post but Blogger just ate it.

Anyway, Natalie is cruising along just fine on her charts, weighing in at about 11.5 pounds and measuring about 23 inches. I have to laugh looking back at pictures of Molly from the same timeframe - about 10-12 weeks old - because the same outfits that Molly was literally swimming in now barely fit around Natalie's ample baby chub. Which isn't surprising, since the kid eats about 49 times a day. Apparently a maternal diet high in PopTarts and caffeine free diet coke does wonders for early childhood development. She came into the world at a nice 6 lbs 6 oz and a highly uncomfortable 20 inches - that is almost ONE THIRD of my height!!! That's like Dan birthing something over 2 feet long, which actually is greater than the size of grinder sandwich than even he can safely consume without causing organ damage.

My two goals for the coming months are to take lots of photos of Natalie (who is already getting shafted in the photo department) and to record Molly so that we can preserve the insanity that is this child's barely 3 year old vocabulary and speech for when she is 15 and hates our guts and is writing Avril Lavigne-esque songs and poems of horrid angst about what moronic parents she has and we need something to remind us not to sell her to the circus.

Stats

For someone who spent a considerable number of years working in professional sports, statistics were an intergral part of my daily existence. At one point I could tell you what batting average someone who just went 7-for-39 over a 15 game hitting streak would have or how to calculate slugging percentage- which was fascinating, considering that I can't even make change for a dollar. Upon entering parenthood, I learned that parents are obsessed with a whole new set of stats - those relating to your child's growth rate.

When Molly was born, she wasn't exactly "on the charts." If an average newborn these days is around 8 lbs, then Molly was "about 47 miles under the chart, living in a nuclear bunker." Her 3 lbs 1 oz of birth weight made her smaller than most packages of chicken I defrost in the microwave (not that I ever really tried to compare this, as she was really snarky about it the one time I tried to put her in there. ha ha.) She was 15 1/2 inches long at birth - which actually was pretty long for a 31 week baby, and REALLY DAMN LONG if you are the person harboring a 15 1/2 inch long alien being in your uterus and you yourself are only 62 inches long.

Anyhow, in her early weeks of life, I was a wee bit obsessed with how she was doing on the "growth charts" that doctors and more importantly evil competing mommies follow to see how incredibly bad of a parent you must be if your child is not as high up on the charts as the most recent Fergie tune. My child was about as high up on the charts as "American Idol Presents: Bucky Covington with Special Guests 2 Live Crew - the Remix Album!"

At her two month checkup, Molly was still not "on the charts" but she could at least see them without the aid of a highpowered telescope. By four months (when she actually should have only been two months old) she was in the 1-2% range for weight, I think, and the 5th percentile for height. I could breathe a bit - I mean heck, I'm only in the 5% range for height myself without heels on, right?

As I chronicled intermittently on this blog, Molly was always a squirrely eater and with every meal I fretted that if she didn't eat that ONE LAST CHICKEN NUGGET, she was surely going to plummet off the charts again and someone would call CPS on me because my child looked like a 2 foot tall Brazilian runway model with a chain smoking habit.

And then, she started to eat a bit better. And we discovered the joys of Pediasure, caloric nectar of the gods. And she began drinking milk like the Dairy Council of America was bankrolling her. And I begat a new little monster to fret over, and stopped worrying so much about miss Molly, as she sure seemed to be burning through her clothing sizes with frightening speed.

Last week she had her 3 year checkup at the doctor, and she was 32.5 pounds and 38.75 inches. For those keeping score at home, that's roughly the 65th percentile for weight and the 80TH PERCENTILE for height!! At some point in the last 3 years, her genes realized that she is, in fact, daddy's girl after all. I no longer have a toddler - I have a what looks like a 6 year old who is going to start getting scouted for the WNBA or women's arena football. She comes up well past my WAIST now. It is actually painful for me to lug her around, although I do it anyway because despite an abundance of nearby parks and climbing structures and gymnastics lessons, mommy is still the BEST jungle gym. And I have the bruises to prove it.

While at the pediatrician, Molly's doctor who has been seeing her since she was literally palm-size for Dan asked her some questions to test her language and comprehension skills. HA HA HA. As Dan pointed out, perhaps he should have asked them in Spanish if she wanted a real challenge.

Dr. S: "What's your name?
M: "Molly!"
Dr. S: "Do you know your whole name?
M: "My name is MOLLY. MOO. CAFFRIN. HEARSCH!" (At some point, we have GOT to stop calling her "Mollymoo," as she really does think that is part of her given name. Oops)

Dr S: "OK Molly, if you were hungry, tell me, what would you want?"
M: (thinking about it for about .00000001 seconds) "CHICKEN."

Dr S: "If you were cold, what would you want?"
Answer he was probably looking for "coat!" Answer he got: (thoughtful pause)..."I would want to ZIP UP MY JACKET."

Dr S: "And if you were tired, what would you do?"
M: "Lay down and take a nap!"

He asked her if she could put her shoes on by herself - velcro sandals, which she usually can do. She struggled with getting her heel to go in correctly, but the doc was pleased with what he saw. He started talking to me about something else, and a few seconds later Molly stomps her foot down, flings off her shoe and says "Well I'm TRYING TO but these shoes are NOT COOPERATING!!!"

One day last week a car drove past us and she said "Mommy why that car has no roof on it?" I said "that kind of car is called a convertible, honey. It doesn't have a roof! So if it rains, you would get wet. You only drive a convertible when it's sunny out." She says "and if it snows, you would get SNOWFLAKES ALL OVER your seats!!"

Now, anytime she sees a topless car she yells out "HEY!!! DERE'S ANOTHER CONVERTIBLE MOMMY!!" with perfect enuciation. "

Actually still alive

All of us are, that is. I don't know how - I am cursing EVERY person I've ever met with more than one child who didn't forewarn us that two children is NOT "just like one, only a little extra time needed to get out the door!" Oh my Lord, it is just like trying to get a herd of elephants to board a plane backwards while singing "Copacabana." IN-FREAKING-POSSIBLE!!!!

The baby is cute and all, but she would be a hell of a lot cuter if she learned to sleep for more than 3-4 hours at a stretch. So far she is very attached to her 3 am wakeup routine and I am getting very attached to the bags under my eyes that are now the size of a Louis Vuitton garment bag.

Molly just turned 3-going-on-14. I need to start chronicling some of her conversations and observations - I seriously wonder what she will be saying when she is, like, eight years old.

Example: My sister in law was involved in a car accident - no injuries, other than to the car - but told Molly about how someone "bumped" her car and that's why she was driving an unfamiliar loaner.

The next day, Molly was GRILLING me on the intricacies of the legal system - "Mommy, why that man bumped Aunt Kari's car? Was he not paying attention? Why not? What was he doing that he wasn't paying attention? Was he reading a book like that lady was that time we were at the green light and she didn't go and you honked your horn and said 'HEY, GO!!!!' Why a policeman came and yelled at that man who bumped Aunt Kari's car? Did he say 'sorry?' Mommy, if your car gets bumped a POLICEMAN comes and brings you a NEW CAR from the CAR STORE!!!!!!"

Seriously. Verbatim.

It is hard to discipline her because most of the time you just want to laugh. She is too smart to pull reverse psychology on...the other day I threatened to give her chicken nuggets (yes that is STILL the only meat product she will consume, save for pepperoni, which hardly counts as meat since you don't know what pig parts get squished and smashed to put in that particular delicacy) to her friend to eat if she wouldn't finish them. She goes "OK Mommy, Mairin can eat them. See? I'm doing a GREAT JOB sharing!!! Now can I have some more chips?"

Sigh.

Brilliant second-time parent observation #1

It is not recommended that you wash a disposable diaper in your washing machine. Especially with other laundry in there. The result is hundreds - no, thousands - of tiny gel pellets that stick to EVERYTHING. And your laundry smells Pampers-fresh all day.

By the way, we have a new baby. Natalie Elise was born as scheduled on April 5 via repeat maternal slice and dice, aka c-section. She weighed in at a whopping 6 lbs 6 oz - one ounce less than I weighed at full term, and she was born at 36 weeks!! She was more than double what Molly weighed at 31 weeks (3 lbs, 1 oz). I bounced back a lot faster this time than with Molly's c-section - probably the result of 6 weeks of couch arrest, I was ready to run laps the day after the delivery! Anything to finally be up and around.

Big sister Molly has been utterly fascinated with the whole process. She knows all about the "big ouchie on Mommy's tummy - they have to CUT her to get baby Natalie out!!!" and she is willing to tell you ALLLLL about the "milk from Mommy's BOOBS!" She helps us give bottles of breastmilk; helps hand us wipes and diapers during changes; and has appointed herself captain of the Pacifier Patrol, following us all over the house going "does she want her pacifier NOW??? How about NOWWWW? is she AWAKE??? Awwww, I think she wants her PINK pacifier not the GREEN one!!!!"

So far Molly has not impaled the baby, although she does like to pat her on the head and check that the soft spot is still there -- so if Natalie grows up to front an all-girl Megadeth cover band or do something equally inane like go to Michigan or Michigan State, that will explain it all.

If anyone is still reading...

...it is 1:20 am on Wed morning so technically "today" I am 34 weeks and 6 days...8 more days to go!! Frightening that we are in the single digits. It was 81 degrees here today, so I bedrested much of the day on a lawn chair and have a fantastic sunburn to show for it! It's at least an improvement over my gray-mask-of-death look that I've been sporting for quite some time.

Nothing new to report. If you ever have the chance to watch the movie "Bee Season," please flee rapidly in the opposite direction. Horrible.

Also, do not eat Wendy's at 11 pm and expect that you aren't going to get heartburn or reflux. Oops. My mom reminded me that Wendy's at 11 pm was EXACTLY what I ate the night before my water broke with Molly at 4 am the next morning. I'll let you know if we make it to safety tomorrow following the consumption of Combo #1, ketchup only on the burger, medium sized fries and large Pepsi.

Day 26.

My almost 3 year old has chicken pox.

Why me.

I am not at risk, I had it THOROUGHLY when I was in the 3rd grade. But it's just one more level of adventure.

Baby ETA: 14 days from tomorrow!!!!

Day 23. Ish.

My length of time on couch arrest has now surpassed the number of days remaining!!! We are at T-minus...18 days until scheduled delivery! I am 33 weeks and 3 days pregnant. I know this really excites me more than anyone and that you will all be happy when I am done counting numbers and days and minutes and seconds.

I have been very busy...watching enough televised basketball to rot the eyeballs off the most hardened couch potato. Luckily (or unluckily I guess for them) I have two other friends who are also bed-confined this week so we have been exchanging multiple daily emails about missed 3 pointers and bad calls and commiserating about the garbled status of our once-proud brackets. YES I AM AWARE that Notre Dame got knocked out in the first round by a school who sounds like a Dickens character with a lisp (where the hell is Winthrop?!?). On the plus side our hockey team beat stooopid Michigan for the CCHA title this weekend and we are ranked #1 in the country. So....nyah. Our WOMEN are still hanging in there in THEIR NCAA tournament.

18 days til delivery also means 15 DAYS UNTIL TIGERS OPENING DAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Right now I have wheelchair accessible tickets and have been cleared by my doctor to attend the game provided I sit my butt in a wheelchair and some poor schmuck schleps me around. (that schmuck will be my dad, who is rolling his eyes at my devotion). Pregnant on Opening Day really sucks, as this is the second time I have been in that position and unable to drink beer. Plbllblblbblblb. I guess a big preggo in a wheelchair with a 97 oz Budweiser in one hand would look pretty bad. Sigh.

I finally had some in-person entertainment as an also-pregnant friend came over for a few hours to hang out and watch horrible chick movies. She chose "Stick It," a gymnastics flick that makes "Mean Girls" look like Academy Awards fodder. It was so bad it was actually enjoyable in its pure and utter hideosity. She also provided cookies, chips and bean dip so Dan was THRILLED to see me stuffing my face.

We had a slight incident last night in which my lovely husband graciously agreed to trim my pterodactyl-esque toe nails lest I sever his leg arteries in my sleep...he was SO meticulous about the process, but perhaps was leaning in a bit too closely - he ended up ricocheting a piece of toenail right into his eye. It took until this afternoon to get it out. THAT would have been a fun one to explain in the ER.

Day 17. Or 18. Or somethingteen.

Day 18 I think. I really felt like crap today, which is convenient because I already LOOK like crap so it's nice to be consistent. Went on my biweekly field trip to the doctor today - incredibly uneventful. Measuring right on schedule, gained back one of the three or so pounds I lost (how, I have no idea. We are having food wars in this house - me against everyone else. I AM NOT HUNGRY and eating and then laying down for 23 hours makes me SICK. I digress). We are slated to welcome this little monster 3 weeks from Thursday. Repeat after me - YIKES.

As I mentioned, Dan is still on a mission to have me gain at least a pound a DAY at this point. He forced me to eat a double Wendy's burger tonight, finish ALL my fries AND eat most of a Frosty (minus the portion that Molly used to paint on her placemat with, using a french fry as her brush of choice and then concerned about why I wouldn't eat her soggy french fry of pollution when she was done. BLEGH!!!). Too bad Tums don't have calories - I eat about 10 a day. If you have never experienced the joy of heartburn or acid reflux, chug some jagermeister or goldschlager FAST for the burning sensation in your chest, then stand on your head to make some of it come back up, then belch uncontrollably for an hour, then choke, then gag up your food JUST prior to the point of puking yet where you can still taste the nastiness in your mouth...then repeat all day long. IT'S AWESOME.

I have been diligently working on my NCAA tourney research tonight. I did 5 brackets on espn.com, two in my "friend pool" at $10 each, and will do one at cnnsi.com as well. I have to pick ND to win it all in at least one pool (albeit one I am not putting my own money behind. I'm not that dumb).

Note to fiction fans, if you have the chance to read "A Private Hotel for Gentle Ladies," save your brain cells for something more deserving like American Idol or anything on MTV. Wow, it SUCKED. And that is as high-brow of a literary assessment as it deserves.

Tales....day...oh, hell, I don't even know.

I think it's day 12. More importantly, today marks 32 WEEKS of pregnancy, so from here on out, every day is the most pregnant I have ever been in my life ;) And probably the heaviest. DEFINITELY the roundest. I look like someone seriously stuck a beach ball on my body but I don't see a lot of other weight spots (like, four chins or fat armpits) so I guess that's good. Then again, would any of my friends actually say "WOW!!! You are just getting huge ALL AROUND!!!" They probably do. Just not to my face. Or I might sit on them. And they would die. ;)

I have finished 2 books since yesterday afternoon - man I love chick lit, when I can read without worrying about having an exam on something or writing a 35 page paper. Yesterday - read "Confessions of a Shopaholic" by Sophie Kinsella (thanks Wendy!!) - very cute, AND educational - I had to have Dan look up the British pounds to US Dollar conversion rate before I really understood what the heck was going on. Today I read "The Secret Life of Bees" by Sue Monk Kidd (thanks grandma!). Good stuff. Depressing. But good.

Now any remaining brain cells I may have had are slowly seeping out of my facial pores watching "American Idol" - thank GOD they got rid of the talentless Jersey bimbo. Sorry if that offends any Jersey readers. Or bimbo readers.

Watched ND beat Syracuse in the 1st round of the Big East tournament today - my male friends (and Cara) are positively oozing with jealousy that I can watch literally a thousand straight hours of pre-NCAA tourney coverage, conference championships, bracketology specials, bubble specials, bubble bursting specials, in-depth investigations into what hair products the greasy coaches use and whether any of them can be linked to heart attack; and EVERY. SINGLE. NCAA. TOURNEY. GAME. ON. TV!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! However, I will still lose all the money I gamble on tourney pools. Why should this year be any different?

Tales...day 9

I think it's day 9. I pretty much judge what day it is by what is on primetime TV so for most of the daylight hours when the same shows are on, I have no idea what day it is whatsoever.

So far I have watched a lot of movies. North Country with Charlize Theron - highly recommended if you are in a great mood and want to become suicidally depressed. Yikes. But good flick. Blow stuff up space movies - Star Wars (twice, part way through each time), Armageddon (how inaccurate can we be with NASA procedures? Let me count the ways). What else...Chicken Little (or as Molly calls it "the little chicken movie"); Mad Hot Ballroom; part of Sense and Sensibility; part of CB4 (IDDDDDDDIOTIC Chris Rock movie from years ago); Memoirs of a Geisha (no I didn't read the book); In Her Shoes; the Birdcage (one of the single funniest movies EVER made) ...I think that's it. I have Walk the Line, Flightplan, Clueless and a few others "in queue" for other days.

Other than that - I sleep. A lot. At weird times. Dan is so hyper about me gaining weight that he now won't get me refills of my water or juice unless I agree to eat something too. Nice.

God, I am even boring myself with this post.