Buddies

Our big (little) man

Beckett is four and a half months, and nearly every day he does something new and amazing. This is just such a fun age, and I forgot how quickly infants move from one stage to the next. I feel an incredible sense of sadness with each new milestone, because while I was able to focus on each and every moment with Kate, Beckett's baby-hood is just flying by and I want to take a moment, slow it down and enjoy every second.

And as our lives fly by, I've discovered little (re: no) time to blog about the family. So I want, no, I need to write this quick post so I can look back and remember some of the amazing things my little B has done in the first months of his life.

SLEEPING:
I don't know if I blogged about our sleep troubles, but Mr. Beckett was a tough nut to crack. The first few weeks of his life, he only slept while being held by Ben or I. This lead to some drastic (or shall I say, desperate) measures, brought on by sleep deprivation. We noticed that B only slept when being held or in the car, so to mimic the movement we let him sleep in his swing at night. We did this with Kate for a short while, but Beckett took to it like a champ at about two months and then we couldn't break him of it. He would sleep "through the night" which for me meant still waking up every two hours to feed him, but at least I was sleeping without sitting up and holding him, so it felt like a win! We started supplementing with a bottle of formula each evening after a nursing session to completely fill him up so he would sleep a little better, which worked for a time, but then he fell back into nursing every two hours.

Because of his poor sleeping habits, at four months we felt like it was time to switch to the crib. Plus, our little (BIG) boy was about to start falling out of the swing. We tried getting him to sleep in the crib several times and he fought us tooth and nail, always ending up back in the swing so we could all get some rest. Finally, we decided that he might just have to fuss a little to get used to the idea of not being in the swing. We sucked it up, put him down, he cried on and off for about half an hour and then slept LIKE A LOG, only waking twice all night to eat and going right back to sleep.

THANK YOU GOD.

Two weeks later, his two night feedings naturally weaned down to one night feeding, which makes me feel (FINALLY) like a totally rested woman. He never fusses at night in his crib and he can put himself right back to sleep if he wakes in the middle of the night. At bedtime, he never fusses more than five minutes now before settling himself down and all-in-all, we feel like we might have finally got our little sleeper on track. GO TEAM EDELBROCK.

OUR BIG BOY:
Beckett is a big kiddo. It may come from eating every half hour (okay, ever two hours but sometimes it seems like I'm living life with an infant on my chest) but the boy is already 16.5 pounds and packing it on. He is tall like his daddy (in the 75th percentile) and has hands and feet like a linebacker. B is already in 9 month clothing, mainly for the length and I don't think it will be long before even those are too small. We took some photos of Kate holding Beck and they are almost comical, he looks too big for her to be holding... she is only about ten pounds larger than him, even though she is two years older!

A LITTLE BIT OF CUTE:
And now the fun stuff. The little things that make B unique and adorable.

He refuses a pacifier (I've tried every brand) but comforts himself by sucking on the pointer and middle finger of his right hand. He just pops those two fingers in his mouth and sucks away. Sometimes he will try a full fist or the other hand, but it just isn't right... the kid knows what he likes.

His smile literally can light up a room. He started grinning so early in life, and hasn't stopped since. He can be sad, tired, hungry... it doesn't matter. The kid just loves to smile. And his laugh... OH LORDY. He is extremely ticklish and you can't help but get a chuckle out of him every time you give those fat little legs a squeeze.

He loves his bath, and pees in it nearly every time (boys -- gross!) He loves his daddy -- whenever he hears his voice he peers around the room until he sees him and then just stares at him intently. And OH BOY he loves his big sister. He watches her so intently, smiles when she is near him and grabs for her whenever she is close enough.

He hates tummy time. He may not crawl until later in life because Kate and I just can't stand to hear him  wail while on his tummy. He also learned to roll over from tummy to back (okay, it may have been an accident but its one he can repeat) and I assume that was out of a hatred for tummy time. But he can sit up almost unassisted, can pull himself to sitting when he is slightly reclined and is one strong little dude.

Ben and I keep feeling such awe that we can love two little beings as much as we love our two kiddos. And while life just keeps getting more, and more, AND MORE hectic, we are so thankful and blessed for this new addition to our family.

Happy New Year!

In the babyhood

Beckett turned three months old yesterday. I feel like his babyhood is slipping much too quickly through my fingers, and I wish I could push pause on our hectic lives. But since I haven't quite yet created that time machine that will let me do so (I'm waiting on a part from Radio Shack) I will just have to take joy in every moment as it whizzes by. 

When Kate turned three months, I put together a video of her finest moments that you can see here. And so, with a great heaping dose of sappiness, I've put together a similar video for Beckett's three month birthday. Please take a moment to feast your eyes on this visual assault of HOLY CUTE!

Happy three months on Earth baby Beckett. We are so glad you are here.

Do you mind?

Sorry Beckett, did we not mention the lack of privacy around these here parts?

The shirt says it all...

Twelve weeks of wonderful

Its been nearly twelve weeks since Beckett made his debut into the Edelbrock household, and there are no words. NO. WORDS. Simply no words to describe how amazing, stupendous, wonderful, neat and just plain satisfying having him in our lives has been (okay, there are a few words).

I know, I know, who IS this woman who can hardly stop herself from spewing rainbows and sunshine and baby happiness all over you? I hardly sound like my typical, overwhelmed and neurotic self. But let me assure you it hasn't been all puppies and hugs over here. It has also been exhausting, mortifying and sometimes slightly horrifying.

The good news is that with each and every moment of total bewilderment, I seem to be learning at least a little something. Sort of.

For example, I have learned that the "quiet" is a relative term. My definition of quiet is vastly different than Kate's. Additionally, my definition of "play by yourself" is, once again, worlds apart from Kate's understanding. So when I ask Kate to "Please play quietly in your room while I put Beckett down for a nap," she understands that I am asking her to lay in the hall in front of the closed nursery door and sing/talk to herself loudly and kick at the floor until I either get Beckett to sleep or scream at her to STOP TALKING FOR THE LOVE OF GOD (Settle down, I don't REALLY yell that at her. Not out loud anyways).

I've also learned that it is more expensive to have a newborn in the winter versus the summer. When Kate was little and she would do that adorable little thing where a baby empties their stomach all over you (in polite circles its called "spitting up." I call it "icky vomit from hell") I would just peel off the ruined t-shirt and burn it in a trash can in my back yard. Or wash it, whatever. But when Beckett tosses his unholy milk all over me, it is typically on some kind of dry-clean only sweater. Which sucks, because burning (or dry-cleaning) all my sweaters at a rate of 2-3 per day is going to get expensive.

And speaking of unholiness, my son craps like a 300 pound trucker.

What? There isn't more to that lesson to summarize, I seriously just learned that my son craps like a trucker. Today he pooped through a diaper, a onesie, three layers of a swaddling blanket and my jeans. Soooo, yeah. Score.

Finally, I have learned that there is very little that can compare to hearing your daughter tell her brother she loves him. It just melts your heart.

Even when you are wearing trucker poop.

Hobo chic

Potty mouth

It came to my attention a few weeks ago that when I am sleep deprived, I have the humor and vocabulary of an adolescent boy.

It all started when I was reading a new book to Kate. It is about a princess who outsmarts a dragon, and at the dragon's door she uses the knocker to announce her arrival. And for some unfathomable reason, when I got to the word "knocker" I laughed my ass off. Which then sent me into a shame spiral because, I mean, SERIOUSLY?

I can only think it had something to do with how tired I was (and am). Also, since I'm still nursing, the word knockers seems pretty accurate for how heavy and awkward and just plain unsexy my boobs feel. KNOCKERS aren't something you dress up in lace and shimmy at your husband. KNOCKERS are stout things that you stuff in thick cotton bras and hide in a t-shirt that has baby drool and last night's dinner smeared across it.

I have knockers. And I found that to be freaking hilarious (because lets be honest, if you don't laugh, you might just have to cry about something like that).

A few days later I experienced another "I'm a ten year-old boy" vocabulary melt-down. This one came about thanks to a "I'm new to being the mom of a boy" moment. When something new, er, popped up, I decided to turn to my trusty friend, Google, for answers. I sat down with my computer and typed in "Why do baby boys..."

I couldn't finish the question. My brain was so tired, it had shorted. My entire vocabulary had just up and vanished. I just stared at the screen for a short while and then the only, and I mean ONLY word I could think of to describe what I was trying to research was this:

"Why do baby boys get BONERS" 

(head slap)

WHAT IN THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME? I may be irreverent, and silly and sometimes crude, but ladies (and any gentlemen who actually kept reading past the section about my hooters) if my brain were firing on all cylinders I would NEVER be stupid enough to do a Google search about BONERS. Let alone baby boners. I'm nearly positive that I've now been flagged on some FBI database, but what shocked me was that GOOGLE KNEW WHAT I WAS TALKING ABOUT. Without blinking an eye, Google provided me with results from various parenting forums about the medical reasons a baby gets an ERECTION (OHHHHH riiiiiiight. Erection. THAT is the word I was trying to think of.) 

But more shocking to me than Google's understanding of the terminology is the fact that of all the words in the world to describe what I was searching for, I chose to use the word boner. Which, I have to be honest, I think I've used, like, um, NEVER IN MY LIFE. Its just not in my vernacular. Honestly. But when existing on only a few hours sleep, apparently its the only word to surface through the haze. 

I'm so proud. 

And THAT, my friends, is why you might not be seeing me in public for awhile. My knockers and I have to get some rest before I'm allowed in polite company again.

The world according to Kate

While Kate knows the words "Please" and "Thank You" they aren't always a part of her vocabulary. We often need to remind her to use these words, and while sitting around the other day, Ben tried a new phrase to teach her how to ask politely for something:

Kate: "Daddy, I need water."

Ben: "What is the magic word?"

Kate (without hesitation): "Bippity Boppity Boo."

Me: (snicker)

Ben: "Ahhhh, yes. That is A magic word. But I'm asking about THE magic word.

Kate (puzzled silence): .........

Ben: "Please. The magic word is please."


Kate (more puzzled silence): ........


(Insert me shrugging at Ben while he looks bewildered about explaining how "please" is a magic word.)

Kate (looking at me like, DO YOU HEAR THIS GUY? IS HE CRAZY OR WHAT?): "Oooooookay."


Ben: (SIGH)


Me: (snicker)

Learning the wet way

Some of the best advice we have gotten about Beckett was from our pediatrician. Not one to waste time repeating things we already know, she skipped the first timers pointers except one: When diapering a boy, make sure you point his penis down.

In fact, she didn't just TELL us to do this, but gave us the general reasons... if a boy pees up, instead of hitting the absorbent part of the diaper, it goes up, out and around. This ends up soaking the kiddo, his back, and whatever (or whomever) is unlucky enough to be under him.

Now, this was unsolicited advice so I decided to take note. Because if the ONE thing your kid's doctor spends time telling you isn't about keeping them alive, but rather is meant solely to keep you from being covered in urine, I assume its fairly pertinent information.

Diaper penis down. Check.

So imagine my annoyance when late one night after Ben changes Beckett I find myself covered in some sort of liquid. Upon closer inspection... um, yep, that is pee. And NOT my own. I walk into the office where Ben is and told him that SHOCKER, our pediatrician wasn't lying about diapering your son. He looks up from his laptop and kind of squints at me and my wet pants. 

"Huh, she was serious about that?"

(Banging head against wall) THIS is what I'm working with people.

But at least he DOES diapers. And toilets. (He is reminding me of all this as he reads over my shoulder and threatens to quit, crowd source an "I hate Liz" campaign or worst of all, diaper up ALL THE TIME, resulting in lots more wet laps for me. Touché Ben, Touché).

I'd rather be sleeping

I'm trying very hard not to disappear from the blogosphere now that Beckett is here, but I have to admit, posting regularly is slightly difficult right now. This is mainly because it is very rare that BOTH my children are sleeping at the same time, and if by some off chance they are, then I'm rushing around the house, trying to be productive -- washing dishes, doing laundry, mopping and waxing the floor, planning a strategy for the implementation of world peace... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Yeah... I'm totally lying. If my kids are snoozing at the same time, you better believe I'm curled up in the fetal position right there next to them, trying to soak up some of the silence and stock piling a few hours of shut eye to prepare for the "dark time" (aka night, aka the time when I want to cry for several hours in a row b/c my son will not sleep, aka HOLY GOD WILL THIS INFANT EVER GET DAY AND NIGHT FIGURED THE FUCK OUT?!)

Ahem. Sorry. 

Anyways, with all that said, stories and information and general randomness keeps piling up over here, so I'm doing a quick round-up post to update everyone on life around the EdelSpot. It goes a little something like this:

1. Showering has become something akin to a religious experience for me. Seriously. My house is never, and I mean NEVER quiet any more. There is a baby crying, a toddler melting down, a dog barking or the television/radio blaring nearly every single moment of the day, and half the night. So when I shut my bathroom door, and turn on the blessed white noise of the shower, I very nearly weep with joy. I love opening the shower door and getting hit with the puff of steam I've let build up, I love that first moment when I step into the slightly scalding water, and I love (WITH A PASSION) the feeling of relief I get as all the dried milk, baby spit-up, finger paints, and random food items (sometimes smushed in my hair) gets washed away. For those 10-15 minutes I have a lovely feeling of being just a woman (and not a mommy), and it is delicious. Even though I know it will only last a few moments before I'm once again scraping peanut butter off my arm or wearing a t-shirt with an apple juice stain on it. And I'm okay with that. As long as I get my time in the shower.
2. It is official that second children get treated differently than first children. Haven't decided yet if that is a good or a bad thing for Beckett. On the good end of the spectrum, second children seem to be (at least in our household) worried over less, which probably will lead to a healthy and non-twitchy kiddo. On the bad end of things, I have about two photos of our little man and instead of stressing about whether things are clean, sterile and steam sanitized, I find myself using lukewarm water and a prayer (on a good day) or my very own spit to clean items from pump parts to pacis.  And once I let the dog lick something clean (I think it was Beckett's head).
3. Some things never change. See this post about my magical nipples. Apparently, they have not lost their ability for good since Kate was a baby, as they are working their witching ways with Beckett. GOOOOO BOOBS!
4. Speaking of boobs, Beckett weighs a hefty 7 lbs. 14 oz. now, which means mine have moved to udder status quite well, thank you very much. Today was our two-week check in, and Beckett's stats are 22.25 inches long (95% so we have a tall boy like his daddy), 7 lbs. 14 oz. (45% so slightly below average) and his head circumference is 35.8 inches (40%). Really, nothing too interesting here, but have to put in the pertinent info because as I've outlined before, baby books likely ain't gonna happen, so I'm just planning to tell my kids to Google their info when they ask some day.
5. I picked up a pamphlet about temper tantrums at the doctor's office today. The title of the piece is "Temper Tantrums: A Normal Part of Growing Up." I don't really plan on reading it, but the subtitle makes me feel good somehow, so I'm just going to hang it on my fridge and stare at it every time Kate blows a gasket because she can't find her Cinderella doll, or I won't let her have a second brownie, or global warming pisses her off.
6. I also learned at the doctor's office that I am not a terrible mother (well, actually that wasn't confirmed, but ONE of my fears was laid to rest). For the last several days, I've been thinking that Beckett always has a load in his diaper because he smells funny, but half the time he is clean. So last night I'm holding him and thinking how much I love him, and then I'm thinking how bad he smells. And wondering if it is normal that I think my child stinks instead of thinking he smells like happiness. And THEN I start to worry that maybe HE doesn't smell, that I am smelling ME, so then I get all paranoid about my hygiene AND I think I'm a bad mother because I STILL think my baby smells bad. Fast forward to the doctors office and I find out that his umbilical cord is getting ready to fall off, and that is why it smells bad. There is nothing wrong, it isn't infected and he isn't going to always be the stinky kid in class, but that just happens sometimes. Whew. Still, I can't wait until that damn thing falls off so I can snuggle my baby and NOT think about breathing through my mouth instead of my nose.

I think that is about it for now. The house is still slightly quiet (except for the a/c repairman who will leave before my children wake up if he knows what is good for him) so I'm going to take a moment to make sure the house is in order, do some ironing, maybe bake some banana bread.... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Beckett is already hosting important business meetings with his stuffed animals. That or they are planning a raging kegger. 

My babies.

Kate during her daily dress-up routine -- I have to admit she makes an adorable Cinderella. However, everything must be just right, including her makeup, gloves, shoes and purse or she has a temper tantrum. But its okay, its "A Normal Part of Growing Up." Whew.

Corruption by cartoon

We had a friend who told us once that his main goal in life was to keep his daughter off the pole (as in the stripper pole, for all you innocents out there). I think he was joking, but in my mind, that seems to be an admirable goal, though not my MAIN goal.

Honestly, I find it is pretty easy to joke about what you do and don't want to see your kids get mixed up in when their biggest choices revolve around wearing Elmo or Tinkerbell pajamas. But as I see all my friends posting photos of their kids heading off to school for the first time this week, I'm reminded about how quickly they truly do grow up.

And it scares the bejesus out of me.

Seriously. I sometimes find I'm barely equipped to mentally stay ahead of my two-year-old. And I think I'm going to be able to keep a TEENAGER in line some day?! Ha. Haha. Hahahahahahahaha. Yeah, I'm not too confident either. Because no matter how solid the foundation we provide or the safety measures we put in place (or the chastity belt we purchase), our kids are going to have outside influences that affect them no matter what.

I had my first experience with outside influences today and it gave me a flash of the future. And, DUUUUDE.

It started out innocently enough. Kate is currently in love with all things Disney princess. We play dolls. We play pretend. We watch movies. Yesterday, we put on makeup, dressed up in our best ball gowns and had a ball, complete with music and dancing (I was the handsome prince. Naturally).

Today, while playing pretend, Kate reached her hand down to me and said, "Do you trust me?" A million points if you can name that movie (points for what you ask? Haha, NOTHING! But I bet you feel like a winner if you knew the answer...) It is from Aladdin, and it happens twice in the movie. It is always said as Aladdin reaches down to help Jasmine onto his magic carpet. It is lovely, and romantic and sweet.

And, I thought it was pretty cute that Kate was re-creating a moment in one of the movies. So I reach up, told her I trusted her and she stepped over my lap onto the "carpet" -- and then cocked her head to the side, opened her mouth wide and leaned down to give me a smooch.

Did you get that? MY TWO-YEAR OLD DAUGHTER TRIED TO OPEN MOUTH KISS ME.

I tried to explain that we don't open mouth kiss people (ever. Until you are married, or at least able to insist he buy you a drink first) but I'm not sure if the message sunk in. Because that is how they kiss in the CARTOONS my daughter watches (insert head slap). I'm not kidding, check it out next time you are watching. There is no chaste pucker and peck kisses in Disney movies. These are princes and princesses IN LOVE. Which means OPEN MOUTH KISSING (and probably some under the shirt-over the bra action, but everyone gets married so fast in these things they don't really have time to get to second base in the story line). I was all worried about the violence in some of these cartoons (Lion King anyone?) but now I see there were tons of other influences at work that I just didn't pay attention to. So many things that seemed so innocent to me as a thirty year old woman, seem kind of seedy when your toddler (who doesn't know any better) tries to replicate it. Seriously, if she asks for a crop top like Jasmine, I'm sending her to a convent for pre-K.

I figure that just as long as an open-mouth kiss doesn't lead to the pole, we will be fine. But I will admit, the incident started to make me think about what it will be like 14 years from now, when I have to ground my daughter for sneaking out to neck with her senior boyfriend because she, like, "LOVES HIM MOM," and she just doesn't understand why I'm "RUINING HER LIFE" and she "HATES ME" (ouch).

Yeah. Did I mention the future scares the bejesus out of me? I'm going to go snuggle my toddler now and thank God I have THIS time with her. When all I have to worry about is some trampy princesses and dodging some slobbery kisses.

An early morning conversation

Lisa (friend and neighbor): Oh, I just love those little baby feet!

Ben: What is on his legs? Is that poop?

Me: Where? There? Gross, that could definitely be poop.

Lisa (Licking her finger and rubbing to see if it would come off): Hmmmm. Nope.

Ben: Could that be... marker? Is that marker?

Me: Huh, maybe. In fact, I think Kate was playing with a marker earlier. But the lid was on... Kate, did you write on Beckett with a marker?

Kate: (Nodding matter-of-factly) Uh-huh.

Me, Ben in tandem: (EYE ROLL)

Introducing Beckett Benjamin Edelbrock

Beckett Benjamin Edelbrock, born August 13, 2011 at 8:21 a.m. He was 20.5 inches long and 7 lbs. 9 oz. of pure, sweet, baby goodness. 

Daddy and Beckett in the delivery room. My two handsome men.

My little man and I the day we left the hospital. No, I'm not posting a photo of me from delivery day. Because every woman is allowed to be a LITTLE vain, and my puffy face and dead eyes from two days of no sleep did NOT display how wonderful and happy I felt to have our newest family member. Instead it looked like I'd just been jumped into the local gang (that means seriously beat up for all you folks who are not as street as I am. Word).

I wouldn't say I hate my lady parts...

...but, we are not on the best of terms right now.

I had my 39 week doctor's appointment today and man, talk about a downer. I went in and nothing, and I mean NOTHING is happening DOWN THERE. In my LADY BITS. Well, I mean, you know, my INTERNAL lady bits. My SPECIAL PLACE. Am I being too gentle in my description for you to get the point? Let me elaborate:

MY CERVIX IS NOT DILATING. MY UTERUS IS NOT DOING ANYTHING TO HELP MY BABY GET OUT MY HOO HOO. I AM GOING TO BE PREGNANT FOREVER.

Even my doctor was all, "Girl, this is a second baby, what is going on here?" and I'm all, "I don't know, could this be punishment for watching porn that ONE TIME just because I was CURIOUS? Is that, like, a thing?? Porn punishment through never-ending pregnancy?!" (Apparently, no, that is not medically "a thing" so, you know, whew. Dodged that bullet)

I started to get kind of irrational upset, but then I remembered that during my last pregnancy, I wrote a post about how lazy my cervix was being. Which kind of made me feel better because I still had Kate on my due date, and if I remembered correctly, my body wasn't doing tons to eject her before I went into labor either. So I rushed on home, looked up my post and BAM. Felt horrible again because OMG that post was from SEVENTEEN DAYS before Kate was born. And, to make matters WORSE, I may have felt that not much was going on down there towards the end of my last pregnancy, but at least it was giving off a "we're going to have this baby sometime this year" vibe. Whereas today, my special place is all, "I COULD start working to get this baby out, but I am le tired. I'll take a nap and think about starting the whole process tomorrow. MAYBE. Yawn."

I'm about to take my special place out and beat it to death.

There's an app for that

I'm getting so close I can taste it. Oh, wait, nope, that is heart burn and indigestion I can taste, but still... the birth of baby E2 is extremely close. As in, less than TWO WEEKS AWAY. Plus or minus a few days because I have two different due dates.

My official, doctor identified due date is August 17. You know, the one based on the vague question of when my last period started or ended or whatever it is they ask when you come in. My REAL due date is August 14.

By "real" due date, I mean the one my iPhone app has identified. And yes, there is an iPhone app that is quite handy for getting knocked up and tracking your pregnancy (actually, there are several) and we have one. Actually, I blame the app on my husband, who likes anything techie and thought it would be funny to have one and see how well it worked back when we were thinking about having a second baby. Trust me, it worked so well I'm having my baby in the middle of the hottest summer on record, instead of having my baby in the middle of fall like I had hoped (apparently, when you use software based on proven science instead of just boinking a lot, you conceive quicker. WHO KNEW?)

So, no offense to my wonderful doctor, but I trust my iPhone app just a little bit more when it comes to knowing my due date. And, while I know due dates aren't exactly written in stone, Kate was born exactly on her due date, so heck if I'm not focusing on the 14th being the end-all-be-all of this pregnancy. So hurray for having a baby in ten days. TEN.

YOU HEAR THAT BABY BOY? GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE.

Woodland creatures

Kate has hit a new phase in the last two weeks. The "I had a nightmare and I can actually TELL YOU WHAT IS FREAKING ME OUT" phase. And don't judge me, but in a really odd and twisted way, this has been a great experience for me.

Hear me out.

Before, if Kate woke up crying hysterically you could generally assume she had a bad dream. But you couldn't say much to make her feel better, because it could have been something truly terrifying, like flesh-eating zombies or Charlie Sheen that were invading her dreams. You just didn't know so you rocked her and loved on her and hoped that she wasn't dreaming about Mommy having a melt-down or how I told her she couldn't have a cookie before bed (scarring!) or even global warming.

But last week, Kate woke up with a bad dream for the first time in a while, and as I rushed in to check on her (seriously, her wailing "MOMMMYYYYYY" in the middle of the night while sobbing is the ONLY thing that can make my 38 week preggo body hustle) she hid under her blanket and told me that she was afraid and to hide. I plopped myself next to her bed, dragged her into my lap and wiped her tears as I rocked her and asked what she was afraid of. She looks around wildly, not quite wholly awake and wails to "Run mommy, run, run, run from the..."

BUNNY.

I shit you not, Kate was having a "crying hysterically, snot running down the face, can hardly breathe" nightmare about a bunny rabbit. I rocked her and assured her no bunny was going to get her and she eventually calmed down enough to go back to sleep.

Flash forward to last night and Kate once again woke up screaming crying. This time she told me that the bunny was STEPPING on her. That a-hole. Ben and I rocked her and got her back to sleep and not an hour later she woke us up AGAIN, this time cowering in bed from a raccoon that was chasing her. After she stopped shaking and we wiped up all her tears, she was ready to go back to sleep, wholly trusting me when I promised that the bunny and the raccoon couldn't hurt her in her home, that she was safe here.

I went back to my room and lay awake listening to night noises for awhile and thinking about how blessed we are. How with all the terror in this world, I can be assured that the worst thing my daughter has in her life are some unruly woodland creatures. And I thank God that we have been fortunate enough to protect her from so much of the hurt, and pain and sadness that exist.

Except evil bunnies. And as my brother-in-law so wisely pointed out, "Evil bunnies are SCARY, man."

The mouth of babes

One of the best things about having a two and a half year old around the house is what comes out of her mouth. Not only is Kate's vocabulary getting more expansive each day, but she is beginning to really ask relevant questions, create coherent thoughts and just in general say things that make me laugh, cry or roll my eyes. Not to mention cringe, because lets be honest, toddlers are not equipped with a filter.

A few recent "Kate-isms" include gems such as:

1. In the restroom at the movie theater, said extremely loudly about someone in the ONLY OTHER STALL: "Mom, someone is over there, and they are POOPING"
2. Sitting in the car at the gas station after I told her that Daddy was going to get some gas: "Oh boy. Mommy, I LOVE gas"
3. What she screams as she flees back to me after running up to a large black woman in the aisle of a store: "HELP! Mommy, a MONSTER!!"
4. While playing pretend with two Minnie Mouse dolls in the back seat: "I'm sorry I scared you Minnie." "That is okay, you are my best friend."
5. Following my instructions for her to "Settle down you little hellion!" she says: "I'm not a hellion, I'm Kate Edelbrock."
6. After running up to me and grabbing me around my thighs, with her face about crotch level: "Ew mommy, stinky!" (I feel a need to explain here, but... sigh)
7. When I asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up: "A big sister."
8. On her way home from school one day: "I want jelly beans." I told her we didn't have any. "Miss Kristy (her teacher) has jelly beans. And chickens. I want to go to Miss Kristy's house. Jelly beans and chickens. OH BOY."
9. At the end of our week with family at the beach, we asked her what her Aunt's name was. When we told her (again) it was Aunt Annie, she walked up to her and said, "Hi, nice to meet you" and shook her hand.
10. When Kate was having a hard time going to sleep, Ben went in and checked on her: "Daddy, Dallas Texas is NOT safe."
11. When Ben farted (sorry honey) loudly on the sofa, she looks at him and says: "Daddy, you need to poopy?"

My little Sassy Diva

Yesterday, Kate and her friend Emme had their first spa day together. This included the first haircut for both as well as the first manicure. We ended up going to some place called Sweet and Sassy, which is a shop and salon for young girls that looks like a glitter fairy threw up on everything. Obviously Kate was beside herself as she ran around the salon, picking up (fake) miniature dogs stuffed in purses, rainbow lollipops and sparkly cosmetics shaped like jewelry. 

The experience was hilarious, over-the-top and so fun to watch as the girls got their day of beauty. You could see how grown-up Kate felt getting her hair and nails done and I felt really lucky to be able to give her such a special first. 

Kate had her very own (purple) salon chair for her haircut. She was still a little small though, so they put her in a kind of patent-leather sparkly booster. Smart, because it was functional while not losing the tackiness (I mean, AWESOMENESS) of the experience. 

And of course, a matching purple cape. Which said...

"Sassy Diva"

We didn't take much length off, rather just evened up all her baby wispy hair. In fact, it doesn't look all that much different. But I couldn't bring myself to have them chop off too much at first. Even though Kate has my hair and I know from years of torture that long hair is not in the cards for her.

Such a big girl. This smile melts my heart, I just love her so much. My little Sassy Diva.

After the haircut, the woman doing her hair let Kate make a series of decisions to finish up her 'do. Kate got a little side pony-tail, glitter spray, strawberry scented spray and some stars "tattooed" on her cheeks with glitter dust. Faaaaancy.

Next the girls got to pick out their nail polish colors. Luckily, most of the REALLY tacky shades were a little higher than they could reach. 

Bright. But luckily Kate changed her mind 20 more times before settling on a color.

Emme and Kate first get (another) scented spray for their hands. Not sure what this was for, except to maybe gag the two pregnant Moms watching this whole process go down, but the girls seemed to like it.

Close-up of the stars on Kate's cheek. Too bad you can't see the rad glitter sprayed all over Kate's mane. By the time we were done, we were ready to hit a dance club. And yes, I was the victim of some accidental glittering as well. You couldn't avoid it in that place, it was on every surface of the salon!

What does a manicure for a two-year-old include? Well, a little filing, some glitter lotion on the hands, some heart-shaped confetti like stickers all over the arms, actual nail polish and then a shape (purple heart for Kate) painted on each thumb nail. Which lasted, oh, five seconds before Kate rubbed it off while admiring it.

All in all, it was a great morning. Two really happy (and sparkly) little girls, two proud and SUPER pregnant mommas.  What a fun day.

Kate and the bear

The other day, Kate and her Grandparents were playing her new favorite game, "Attack of the Bear," which starts with Kate hiding in her Dora tent, screaming, "Pops!! Be a BEAR!!" Pops then stands outside the tent, growling and batting it around, until Kate jumps out and runs to her Grammy screaming "SAVE ME!" and Grammy then "saves" Kate by holding her until Bear Pops turns back into normal Pops. Then she runs back into the tent and the cycle continues, until Grammy gets tired of playing and hands Kate a plastic golf club and tells her to defend herself by hitting the bear until he plays dead (or gets a concussion from a hard plastic stick to the head, whichever comes first).

A few days ago, Pops decided to mess with the system and actually CAUGHT Kate during her flight to safety. He was wrestling and tickling her and they had the following conversation:

Pops: I'm the BEAR and I'm going to EAT YOU UP!

Kate: NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Pops: Yum, I'm the BEAR, and I'm going to EAT YOU UP! I'm SO HUNGRY!

Kate: NO BEAR, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

Pops: Here I go, I'm going to EAT YOU UP!

Kate: No Bear, don't eat me!! I'm just TOO CUTE.

What can I say, except obviously we are teaching Kate the lessons she needs to live a long and fruitful life. Like the tried and true lesson that cute will save you from a horrible fate, including but not limited to being eaten by a bear in the woods.

It just makes good sense.

Why having a boy is awesome

Need I say more?

KAPOW!

Week 35

Well, its official. I'm pregnant. Yeah, I may have mentioned that once or twice in the last 35 weeks. But I think it is finally hitting home with me what that means. Mainly that I have to once again get something the size of a bowling ball out my hoo-ha. Which frankly, no matter how many women do it, just sounds impossible.

But impossible or not, this little dude is coming pretty soon and Ben, Kate and I are really stoked. Not just to meet our new addition, but also so mommy's hormones go back to normal and I can quit having mental breakdowns on a regular basis.

And yes, my family CAN tell I'm a little off. Yesterday after dinner, Ben gave Kate a chocolate mint. When she finished she asked for another one and we told her there weren't any more. She asked me specifically for MY mint, and I told her I didn't get one and that I was so sad about it. She considered that for a moment before she asked me, "You going to cry mommy?"

Ben snorted and told me he was fairly certain she was being sarcastic.

But beyond a return to mental and emotional normalcy, we are all getting anxious to greet our new family member. Kate asks me regularly to see her baby brother and seems at peace (finally) with someone else's stuff in "her" nursery. She kisses my tummy and knows that she will get to see E2 in a month. Ben and I sit in bed in the evenings when he is most active and watch my stomach roll as he does what I can only assume is some form of advanced baby calisthenics. And we dream about meeting him.

Only five more weeks. And then we'll be a family of four.

HOLY. SHIZZ.

A room fit for a clown

There is something about baby decor that just screams tacky to me. Don't get me wrong, it also screams "I'M SO FREAKING ADORABLE IT HURTS" but still, smiling animals, cars with faces, puffy alphabet letters... just not my style. Kate's bedding (at least in my eyes) was the perfect mix of modern patterns, vintage style and a few owls/birds tossed in for infant friendliness. Add on the amazing paintings my sister-in-law did to match and I loved her nursery. I loved it so much I bought the same pattern quilt for her twin-sized bed she DOESN'T EVEN OWN YET. Because I VERY rarely like something I've purchased two years after the fact. Usually it only takes me a week to become disgusted with a purchase, so when I was still giving it goo-goo eyes a full 730 days later, I KNEW it was the right pick.

With that kind of love for a first nursery, I knew finding the right bedding/style for E2 was going to be a bit more of a problem. Boy stuff is just HARD for some reason. I think its because while I want to avoid the really cutesy stuff out there, I also didn't really want to cover his bed in skull and cross-bones or focus on a sport. Because while my husband is a great basketball player, I have very little to offer in the sports department, so lets be honest. This kid has a 50/50 chance of sucking at organized sports but being KILLER at, say, reading and dripping sarcasm.

After much searching, I finally found a bedding I really liked. I mean, I didn't fall in love with it, but I really liked it. And then, then I got THE VISION. Something about the bedding reminded me of a circus, which I thought would make a really cool room. And on that day, an obsession was born.

Because as much as you think a circus SOUNDS like a kid thing, apparently it isn't. Finding circus decor for the room started to become a daily source of indigestion for me. There just isn't a lot of it out there. Enter my amazingly talented in-laws and a few random Amazon purchases and the room is (nearly) complete! There are still some knick-knacks, wall decals and miscellaneous items I need to pick up (circus piggy bank is on its way as we speak), but I'm kind of a procrastinator and the room likely won't be totally done until after I have the baby. And by then its too late to pat myself on the back for his nursery because I will be all sleep deprived and cranky.

Behold the amazing drapes my mother-in-law made for us. They are 3D big-top drapes, and they totally make the room. Because we left the walls neutral, we really needed some color to pop and these do a great job of bringing the whole theme together. The quote on the wall is a Dr. Seuss quote "A person's a person no matter how small."

This painting was done by my very talented sister-in-law. She has a craft blog that you should check out some time for great tutorials, ideas and art: www.lilybugdesigns.blogspot.com

The bedding is "Mod Dot" by Skip Hop. The sheet is a little boring so I'm also looking for a blue and a red sheet to add some more color to the room.

I used the Dr. Seuss book "Circus McGurkus" to create artwork for this wall over the changing table. It is hard to see, but I love the illustrations.

Just when it can't get worse, it gets better

Yesterday I was having a rough day. Not only was I coming down with a cold, but I had no energy and no patience. After ten plus days of 100+ degree weather, I was toast. All I wanted to do was lay in bed with the a/c turned down to "FREEZING", while reading some senseless romance novel and rubbing lotion on my ever-expanding belly. Instead, I found myself rolling around on the floor of our play room, reading a book about Elmo's first day of school for the 500th time and playing dolls while my two-year old literally used my aching, 35-week pregnant body as a jungle gym/barca lounger.

I finally needed a break and hauled myself into Kate's mini-chair (which I barely fit into). She followed me from across the room and handed me one of her dolls. "Say HI" she demanded for the millionth time. I burst into tears, tossed her doll across the room and sobbed "I don't WANT to say "hi" Kate. Please, please for the sake of mommy's sanity, please PLEASE play BY YOURSELF for just one tiny moment."

Kate looked at me with VERY little pity for a moment, then wandered across the room to find where I had thrown her doll while I continued to boo-hoo. And in a case of perfect timing, Ben came home while I was still pulling myself together, so he got the full tattle-tale report from Kate who indignantly told him I threw her doll and cried. I gave her the stink eye, but apparently she is impervious to its power because I swear she just smirked at me over her dad's shoulder and repeated "and then SHE CRIED daddy!"

Ben decided I needed to get out of the house so we packed up and headed to the mall to run some errands. He promised to be in charge of Kate and let me just wander around, leaking hormones and hopefully de-stressing. We walked into the mall and I mentioned, "By the way, keep an eye out for the closest bathroom everywhere we go. You want to be able to book it if she has to go."

I don't know if that comment jinxed my poor husband, or if this was all destiny, but not five minutes after I sat on a bench to do a little zen people watching, I saw Ben RUN out of a toy store with Kate in his arms. He ran down a hallway that I knew to be a dead end and then came running back out with panic on his face. I decided to take pity. "Bathroom?" I called. He nodded and I trailed him shouting directions to the closest toilet. He disappeared in the men's room as I came huffing around the corner. I sat outside and waited to see if he needed any help.

Five minutes later, I heard Kate giggling and saying "OHHHH BUBBLES." Another minute or two and Ben popped his head out of the bathroom to ask if we had any extra clothes. I had to tell him no, I had been a little too mental when we left the house to be my normal, prepared self. He popped back into the bathroom and then came out carrying Kate with paper towels wrapped around her bottom.

"Can you tell she is naked under there?" he asked me.

Not to get into too many details, but apparently Kate had some bowel troubles and Ben had to throw away her panties and wash out her pants. Which meant he had to carry her through the mall half-naked. With me trailing them, alternating between laughing out loud and then giggling to myself the whole way. Because, when it happened to me, yeah, it was pretty traumatic. But to see my daughter poop on my husband? That is some funny stuff right there.

We get to the car and use every wipe, sanitizing gel and napkin we can find to ensure both Kate and Ben are squeaky clean. And thanks to an extra set of Kate clothes in the car, we are able to head back into the mall to finish up our errands. The only real issue is the leftover poop stains on my husband's long-sleeve work shirt. He rinsed and rolled up the sleeve to hide the offensive stain, but wasn't sure if it was enough.

Ben: "Can you tell I've got crap on my sleeve?"

Me: "No, but you are wearing an undershirt, why don't you just take your button-up off?"

Pause.

Ben: "Gross, no. I'm wearing a V-neck"

Pause.

Me: "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA"

Have I mentioned how much I love my husband?

The poop grenade

I want to talk about poop for a moment.

Yes, you read right. Poop. Because I've decided poop is worse than a grenade. Specifically, a grenade of horror that can come out of your sweet, potty training toddler at any moment. And, not only can it go off IN YOUR HAND, you never really know when it is coming. You just know it IS coming, so you better prepare yourself and hope you are fast enough to make it to a bathroom before... KABOOM!

Last week I wrote about our first (mis)adventures with potty training. It started out pretty rough but with some tips from commenters (HOLLA K. Elizabeth!) we nixed the pull-ups (too absorbent for Kate to notice when she was going potty) to panties (Yeah... feel that running down your leg little one? That is pee pee and it is GROSS) and she quickly began to realize the feeling of needing to go potty. We were going gang busters and I was patting myself on the back for potty training in, like, THREE DAYS (am I a bad ass or what?) when the poop grenade went off and blew me straight off my high horse. 

We spent most of the first week of training at the house. That allowed for quick access to a toilet and quick access to our sticker chart (REWARDS! FOR NOT PEEING ON YOURSELF! YAY!) but by the end of the week, I was going stir crazy so we headed to Target for a quick shopping excursion. 

We took care of "business" and I figured we had about an hour to get through the store before we'd have to worry about any potty-related activities. We cruised through the dollar section, checked out a few books and were making our way through clothing to hit groceries when disaster struck. And by disaster, I mean poop.

Kate randomly ran to hide behind a three-way mirror on our way through clothing and as I rounded the corner to get her I saw her face scrunched up in her "Leave me alone I'm working on something here!!" face. "ARE YOU POOPING??" I stupidly asked her. She shook her head no and grunted as she pushed something fierce and I saw my life flash before my eyes. Kaboom.

I grabbed her up and ran off down the aisle, dodging carts and innocent shoppers, all while chanting, "Hold on, we are almost to the bathroom, hold on and you can go like a big girl, hold on FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING HOLY!"

Yeah. There was nothing holy about what waited for me in her panties when we got to the bathroom. We bundled into a small little stall and I squatted down as much as a seven month pregnant woman can and checked out the damage. My hopes of a few little nuggets I could toss into the toilet were erased by the man-sized poop grenade that my daughter had innocently set off in my face. I set to work trying to minimize the damage, while my daughter tried to do everything in her power to make me cry. 

I asked her why she didn't tell me she had to go. She just repeated, "I'm so sorry mommy" over and over while I bit my tongue to keep from telling her she had a shitty (haha) way of showing me she was sorry. I told her it was okay as I tried to scrape poop off her backside with the THINNEST TOILET TISSUE ON THE PLANET (thanks for that Target). But, while I was busy reminding her not to touch anything, she was busy reaching around to see what I was doing and she got poop on her hand. 

"So, so yucky" she said as she WIPED HER HAND ON HER SHIRT before I could even react. I may or may not have said some curse words in front of my sweet innocent at that moment, but the REAL low-point for me was when, after repeating 200 times "Mommy said DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING" as she grabbed for the toilet seat, her panties, my face, and the tissue dispenser, I saw her start to put her fingers in her mouth (a comfort issue because mommy was being so nutzo I'm sure). In a panic, I popped her little naked hiney and shrieked "I SAID DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING AND DO NOT PUT YOUR FINGERS IN YOUR MOUTH." I mean, I'm sorry, but poop fingers in the mouth can't be good for ANYONE and I just reacted.

Since I never have touched the child in any kind of frustration before, this little tap on the bottom sent her  STRAIGHT over the edge. That and mommy's yelling and crazy eyes. She stood perfectly still for a good five minutes wailing while I got her panties washed out in the sink, got our hands (and legs, shirt, etc.) as clean as possible and basically patted myself on the back for so traumatizing my daughter she would NEVER go poop in public ever, ever again. Like, running home from work when you are 30 so you can take a dooce type trauma. Yay for me, Mommy of the Year!

We got home and mommy apologized for being a whack job and we snuggled and all was forgiven. Although I was still positive that she would never, ever poop in public again.

So imagine my complete surprise, joy and overall HELL TO THE YEAH when Kate ran off the playground yesterday to do the toddler "I gotta go" dance for me. I picked her up and ran (waddled quickly) to the nearest bathroom where I swear a chorus of angels SANG for her as she pooped in the big girl potty. I gave her a hug and a high five and nearly cried tears of joy because despite my parenting failures Kate is a sweet, smart and well-adjusted kiddo. Who can drop a poop grenade in the potty. 

And I must say, that is pretty freaking awesome.

Love letter to a hater

Okay, so social media is a forum for over-sharing. And when you over-share, you open yourself up to all kinds of feedback. Positive, negative and just plain wacky and weird. I totally get it, and because I've often found myself talking about things like bodily fluids, fearing the penis and digging cookies out of the trash, I  really kind of deserve a good tongue lashing every now and again for being WILDLY inappropriate.

However, once in a while a comment just really needles me. You know, the kind that in your mind is so unfair, so undeserved, you just sit stunned for a second and then feel desperate to respond because you KNOW you have been wronged and if you just had an opportunity to provide a rebuttal everyone would see things your way?

Yeah. I had one of those comments today (sorry, not on the blog but another fabulous form of social media so you'll just have to use your imagination instead of finding actual comment). It was a comment to a totally innocuous question that came off as extremely judgmental. Maybe it was made in jest, but LORD HELP ME there wasn't a smiley face or any other emoticon that might indicate a little levity, so I was fairly ready to plant my fist in someones face after reading it.

I wrote several theoretical comebacks. Some had smileys, some were a little more pointed, and one version was just, "EAT ME" but I erased all of them. I just tried to keep telling myself that by engaging said person in some sort of verbal scuffle, I was giving what they said, and their hateful thoughts, too much importance. 

But hours later it is still eating at me. However meaningless this comment was, something about it made me feel LESS. Feel SMALL. Hours later, I'm still chewing on it, so this is what I want to say:

Don't judge me. Don't judge my lifestyle, my family, how we spend our time or how we spend our money. You have no right.


I'm proud of my family. I'm proud of our life, our home, our love and our respect for one another. I'm proud of how we've chosen to prioritize our time, energy and money to create this life. I'm proud of what we've accomplished, what we've built here. And I'm thankful. I'm thankful for it all. 


I'm not perfect. I'm not the perfect wife. I'm not the perfect mother. I'm me, but I'm doing a damn good job of being me, and that is the best thing I can do for my husband and for my children. 


So don't you dare judge me. You have no right.

Oh, and P.S.

EAT ME.

Life's a beach

Last week, Kate, Ben and I joined his family and my parents for a week at Navarre Beach, Florida. What a wonderful week! Kate and her cousins were so joyful to be together and at the ocean, I had plenty of time to relax and let my poor tired body rest, and we all enjoyed each other so much.

I have a million photographs of the vacation, but the ones I want to share were taken by my brother-in-law, Chris Strange. We spent one evening down at the beach with the kiddos, trying to get some cute shots but instead it became an evening of tag, splash in the ocean and hide-and-go-seek. 

I will always remember that evening; their laughs and giggles as they ran from each other, fell face first in the sand and made mud pies. We are blessed with such an amazing family and I will always be thankful for the moments we have together, hopefully moments that Kate will remember as she grows into an adult.

Potty training is for the dogs

In my adult life, I've potty trained two dogs. And, yeah, I know parenting a human isn't quite the same thing as dogs but I have seen some VERY similar parallels (SPIT THAT OUT. DON'T LICK THAT. GET DOWN.) so I had hoped my successful canine track record might translate to a toddler.

It didn't.

I know, shocking, right?

Kate has had a potty in her bathroom for the last six months or so. She goes on it every night before bed, and sometimes during the day if she thinks of it, or if mommy is trying to go to the bathroom (HELLO CHILD, GOODBYE PRIVACY). So I'm all, "Kate is TOTALLY ready for potty training" and the universe is all, "HAHAHAHA, LAUGHING MY ASS OFF!"

We decided to get started on this little project yesterday. In preparation, we purchased some pull-ups, some big-girl panties and I made... wait for it... this little jewel of craftiness (don't be jealous, I'll TOTALLY make you one of these for your birthday, what color glitter do you like?):

If you can't read it, it says "Kate's Potty" which was supposed to be "Kate's Potty Chart" but I ran out of room and didn't have the time, patience or give-a-damn to create a second sticker/glitter chart. Especially because Kate CAN'T READ.

The whole idea was that every time Kate went on the potty, she would get stickers for everything she did right (i.e. wiping, flushing, washing hands). I read this strategy online, and even got the template for the chart, so NO, I didn't make this shit up. Which means, it should totally work, right?

Sigh.

It started out fine. She went potty first thing in the morning and we put on a "big girl diaper" (pull-up). But a toddler in training is like a ticking time bomb, so I found myself asking her every ten minutes if she had to go potty, and I swear, at some point she started rolling her eyes. After her first little accident where she TOLD me she didn't have to go, but went in her pull-up anyways, I decided to up the ante... I offered her CANDY if she would go on the potty. So about every five minutes she was running to the potty seat and STRAINING to get a little water to come out, followed by sticking her adorable (but greedy) little hand into my face for her promised candy. Like, NOW. Okaaaay, so that backfired a little, but at least she didn't pee on my sofa again.

Today I woke up refreshed and ready to tackle the potty again. But, VERY quickly I realized another full day at home chained to a potty was not going to go well. For me. Because I was tired of playing pretend with Kate's dolls, especially since they had such a limited vocabulary (we covered breakfast, lunch, dinner, clothes, hair, favorite playgrounds, the Easter Bunny and bubbles. And that is where Kate and her doll ran out of topics so we would start all over. About 500 times. And frankly, I can only talk about eggs, slides and hot dogs so many times in one hour).

I decided to take Kate out to the playground to burn some energy and get away from those devil dolls. Once there, she immediately pooped and then peed in two different "big girl diapers" while never giving any indication that she needed to go to the potty. Back at the house she has been good again, going on the potty when asked to, but since I filched on the whole candy promise (due to her overzealous candy-related urination), she STILL isn't indicating when her bladder might be full.

So tell me, oh wise women (and men) how does this all work? Do I need to become a mind (er, bladder) reader? Keep on beating my head against the wall for a few more days to see if she comes around? Or take my favorite action, pretend this all never happened, call this a failed experiment and chalk it up to... MAYBE she LIKES going in her diaper and I should just leave her the hell alone? You know, at least until high school?

I can't help but feel she is mocking me and my "potty chart" in this picture. But then again, she is all hopped up on candy so she could just be a little over-excited.

Just snip the tip

I really thought that having already had a baby, there wasn't a lot that could surprise me this go around. Except the whole "He is a boy and has boy parts" thing, which I mentioned scares me just a little. Because I am a girl. With girl parts. So, you know, the penis is a slightly foreign thing to me (Yes you jokers, I HAVE seen one thank you very much. But I haven't spent too much time pondering exactly what its like to have one ATTACHED TO MY BODY. Well, not really, although I have really questioned the whole "where does it go when you run" thing. I mean, isn't that uncomfortable? Doesn't it slow you down, kind of get in the way? Aaaaaaand, moving on).

Anyways, what I'm learning is that there is OH SO MUCH to be considered when it comes to little boy penis' (Penises? Peni?) In fact, the infant penis is a hot bed of debate these days. I'm talking about the dreaded C (that is circumcision for you lay people out there). I mean, go to any parenting forum or web site and search for a discussion about circumcision and you will find an eye-full of extremely passionate and angry citizens sticking up for their viewpoint.

• IF YOU DO IT YOUR BABY BOY WILL HATE YOU LATER (he will likely hate us when he is a teenager anyway). 
• IF YOU DON'T DO IT YOUR BABY BOY WILL CONTRACT AN STD OR PENILE CANCER WHEN HE IS OLDER (if he gets penile cancer, that would suck. If he gets an STD, I will kill him). 

You get the idea. Like any good debate, there are people on both sides of the fence, trying to scream the loudest. And I, in all my sensitivity, am like, "Dude. They aren't attractive no matter how you dress 'em up, just matters if they work, right? So what is all the fuss??" To which my husband sputtered a little, then muttered something under his breath and finally chose not to engage me in a discussion that would surely just annoy him and amuse me.

I'm not going to get into what side of the fence I'm on here. I could tell you what we've decided, but poor little baby E2 doesn't need a classmate to find post this some day and share with the WHOLE WORLD whether his parents decided to snip the tip or not. Besides, since according to Ben our son will be a world class athlete, his many teammates will already know whats going on down there (don't lie guys, I truly don't believe you change and shower in a locker room and NEVER check what the other guy is packing, if for no other reason but simply for comparison's sake).

So why did I even bring this up? Well, I guess what I'm sharing with you all is that I am realizing how much even a second-time parent has to learn. I'm sure this isn't going to be the last surprise after all. I'm sure babies are supposed to sleep differently, eat differently and poop differently (no? oh, good, pooping is the same these days? WHEW!) than when Kate was an infant. Which is kind of exciting and scary all at the same time. "Cause we all know how poised, elegant and classy I can be when faced with a parenting challenge. So baby E2, I'm ready for you. Penis and all.

BRING IT.

Next time, I'll do better

Parenting is rife with opportunities for failure. I often experience these moments of messiness with a "I can do better next time!" type of attitude. No, no that is not how I respond. Not really. In real life, I often respond by cussing like a sailor, stomping around and waving my arms like a pissy pants and topping off my melt down by drinking. Like, an entire bottle of wine (PRE-pregnancy folks, simmer down now). Oh, and sometimes I laugh after I'm done yelling, crying and drinking. Laugh at the absurdity of it all, because frankly if you can't wear a mixture of baby poop and vomit on your brand new white pants without chuckling a little, you probably never should have become a parent in the first place.

However, sometimes you have those little "oopsies" that you can't quite find a chuckle out of. You know, the mess-ups that make your heart tighten up for a moment because even though it turned out okay, it truly could have turned out really NOT OKAY. That happened to me this morning.

To start the story, I have to back up a month ago or so to the Great Edelbrock Sick-Pocalypse of 2011. This featured the three of us passing around every cold and sinus infection known to man so that at least one of us were ill for a consecutive six weeks. It was pretty miserable. So drugs (over-the-counter, totally legal mind you) drugs were flying around like candy. At the same time, I realized that Kate DID think pills looked a lot like candy, which isn't surprising considering their size and shape. So I became vigilante about getting all our medicine in one container, far away from a certain child's sticky fingers.

At the same time, my husband was just trying to stay awake/alert enough to bring home the bacon. So he stuck pills in his pants pockets, his coat pockets, up his nose (kidding, sort of) or any place he might get a quick fix when needed. I "reminded" (ie nagged) him to keep medicine out of the reach of Kate on a fairly regular basis. Still, one day Kate was pretending to "drive" his car, and I looked down and saw a small pharmacy in the cup holder. In frustration, I picked up all the pills and shoved them in the change pocket of my wallet before Kate could notice the "candy" in daddy's car.

Fast forward to this morning. I have not opened the change purse in my wallet since that day (not joking, I never use real cash anymore so I never have change to put in it). So imagine my SHOCK and FREAKING SURPRISE when I came back from putting laundry in the drier to see Kate sitting on the sofa, playing with my wallet and surrounded by pills. HOLYSONOFABSUCKHELLDAMN!!!!!!

In my sheer panic, I simply yelled at my daughter. Soooooo, mom of the year there. She dropped my wallet (in what I can only assume was a "what IS your problem lady??" reaction) and I swooped down on the pills and demanded she tell me if she ate any of them. She told me, in a small voice and with VERY wide eyes, "No mommy..." Yeah, I would say "No" too if I had a crazy lady virtually attacking me. "Tell me the truth!" I said. "YOU CAN"T HANDLE THE TRUTH!" she yelled back.

Haha, no she didn't. Sorry, basically she kept telling me she didn't eat any of the pills, medicine, candy, whatever I called it, she assured me none of them had not passed her lips.

Not to call my daughter a liar or anything, but I chose to go ahead and pretend she HAD eaten at least one and called poison control. The lady on the other end quizzed me about the number of pills originally in my wallet (if I knew that, I would likely know if she had EATEN ANY, right??) what kind they were, etc. I ended up repeating "I don't know" a bunch of times and telling her repeatedly about the pills in the cup holder so she would know I don't just leave drugs LAYING AROUND FOR MY DAUGHTER TO NOSH ON. That I was PROTECTING HER when I put those in my wallet. Damn it.

We finally got to a point where she told me that unless Kate hoovered 10 pills in the literally two minutes I was gone, she was going to be fine. To watch her for drowsiness or upset tummy. Since I knew there weren't THAT many pills in my wallet, I felt much better. And after a morning at the park, I pretty much figured she hadn't eaten a single pill. But seriously, for a good 15 minutes there, it was really touch and go.

Boring story? Kind of. It didn't end with an ambulance ride, a huge medical bill or anything else that would create a truly good episode of Grey's Anatomy. But it really terrified me. Because often I forget how fragile it all is, how lucky we are to be entrusted with these little disasters. How we sometimes act as the only barrier between our loved ones and certain disaster (injury or death) on a regular basis. So this time, instead of my normal cursing and stomping, I really did think, "Next time I'll do better" and MAN. I can't stress how much I mean it.

Fishing for compliments

I've recently been reminded why fishing for compliments, especially with one's spouse, can be a bad idea. This happened after meeting a couple in our neighborhood who were also having a kiddo in August. They were out walking (exercising). We were (obviously) NOT exercising, but instead watching our daughter spin in circles in the front yard and taking bets on whether she would puke when she was done, or just fall down.

Ben: I need to start walking with you. We should make that a "thing" like last time you were pregnant. You know, walking, you getting exercise.

Oh, yeah, chasing a two-year old isn't exercise at all. Good thing I have you to help me "work out" 

Me: Yeah, it would be good for me to get out and walk more.

Ben: Man, that is crazy she is due the same day as you.

I'm due seven days later, but whatever, this seems close enough so I'll give him the point.

Me: Yep, that is pretty crazy.

Still focusing on the "you need to work out" thing and feeling slightly insulted/insecure in my belly-ness. I'll let him redeem himself here.

Me: Do you think she looked better than me?

LOADED QUESTION. Do. Not. Get. This. Wrong.

Ben: No

Good man.

Ben: I mean, she was smaller than you.

Wait. WHAT?


Ben: I mean, she had a smaller frame.

As in, I'm NORMALLY fatter than exercise lady, so I can't help being fatter in pregnancy??


Ben: And this is her first kid.

So, since I'm already a mom its OKAY that I'm fatter?

Ben: Plus, she was wearing work out clothes, you know, tighter fitting, instead of a big flowing dress.

But I'm not wearing a dress! I'm wearing pretty tight fitting jeans. I don't understand what is happening here? Where is my compliment? Where is my "You look fantastic honey" or "You are the most beautiful pregnant person I've ever seen." WHERE IS IT?!


Me: But... (insert bewildered and wild stare here) I'm not even WEARING a big flowing dress...

Ben: Yeah, but you know what I mean.


What?! What do you MEAN?? No I don't know WHAT YOU MEAN.


Me: Um...


Alternating between crying inside and imagining my fist in his face. Must. Seem. Non-Hormonal...


Me: Sooooooo, what's for dessert?