The sweetest thing

I know my girl is the princess. I know people are concerned how she'll cope sharing her spotlight with her baby brother.

But my girl has incredible empathy.

She won't let me go down the stairs alone without holding her hand. She knows I don't do stairs well and she doesn't want me to "fall with that big fat baby belly".

She puts her feet up on the bed so I can tie her shoes each morning because she knows "it's hard for Mommy to bend over".

She asks me every night when I take my shoes off if she can rub my feet. The feather touch lasts about 15 seconds per foot, but it is the most blissful half minute of my day.

God I love this little girl.

I've reached my limit on bodily fluid cleanup, thank you

So two weeks ago we had the puke incident. Girlchild has not puked in more than 2 years. Who did the cleanup? That's right. The prego.

This Sunday am, nigh around 4am, small girl comes up to my face lying peacefully in my bed, enjoying my 1.5 hours of sleep I am allowed between bathroom breaks. "Mommy, can I sleep with you?" Fine. Crawl in, I'm not in the mood to fight. After twenty minutes of flailing and back kicking, I rolled out of bed and headed for her room. At least it will be quiet, and not many more steps to the toilet.

Yawning, half asleep and stumbling into the room, I pull back the covers and slide in.

NEVER in my life have I yelped louder than as I did at 4:20am this Sunday morning, as I slid into COLD WET URINE SOAKED SHEETS.

Girlchild neglected to tell me she needed to sleep with me because she'd wet her bed. Had enough concience to strip her soaked undies off so as not to tip us off in our bed, but without enough to let us know what'd happened.

Now I'm a firm believer in not making her feel bad or guilty. Accidents happen, and she has yet to have one since being potty trained more than a year ago. Left her sleeping in my bed. Peacefully, next to my comatose husband.

But I am also a firm believer in deserving to be royally pissed off that this task has been left to me at the asscrack of dawn. Stripping sheets, egg crate mattress pad, and seeing this soaking through into the actual mattress has me simultaneously revolted and pissed off. A trek down the stairs to start a load of wash, and one more trip up to her room to assess the damage...lights on all over the upstairs, and enough cursing that I bet I woke our neighbors. But did my husband blink an eye? Nope. Nada.

I went in and poked at him: "Wake up long enough to feel that child's clothing and see if she's wet laying in our bed."

"Huh?" ::blink blink:: "what's up?"

"Your child. She just wet the bed. Check her ass and see if she's wet in ours too."

Quick check...seems all bodily fluid was captured in the wadded up panties now spinning in the washing machine.

Around 6am, I crawled into the only horizontal plane I could find near a blanket, the fouton in the office. Crying, martyring myself at the foot of the motherhood cross, and simultaneously cursing every living being, especially that man down the hall who made me this pregnant and miserable, I fell asleep with the door shut.

About 7:55, I hear the knocking. "Mommy? What are you doing in there? I'm thirsty and am ready for breakfast. Can you come downstairs now? Daddy is sleeping, so I need you to do it."

Kill me. Kill me now.

The Funniest Thing I've Seen in a Long Time...

...was attached to my knee yesterday. It's usually a relatively shapely calf, attached to an ankle, attached to a foot with high arches and toes painted fuschia pink.

Yesterday it snowed. So I sucked it up and put my feet into my heeled ankle boots, which have not seen the light of day in months. Usually I'm in slides and mules to avoid the embarassing "bread dough rising" look of the top of my foot over the arches of normal shoes that appears by noon.

My boots came off at 8pm.

What was then attached to my knee looked startling like a Turkey Drumstick. Leetle foot, tiny pinched ankle, and a ginormously swollen calf. I felt like a Tex Avery cartoon...being viewed by a starving dog on a desert island: a big fat Butterball Turkey.

I haven't laughed out loud like that in ages.

7 (!) weeks to go

I can't believe if this child keeps growing at this rate that he will have room inside my torso in another two.

Head grinding into bladder? Check

Feet jabbing ribs? Check

Massive rolling and flopping back and forth to get comfy, in a small nod to mom's similar gyrations each night? Check

Peeing ever hour and a half all night long? Check

I am so happy to have this baby. He's a blessing, and emotionally, a dream. I shouldn't bitch and moan. Anyone who knows me and what we went through to get our daughter here safely would think I am a total rag for even eeping out a single complaint. Anyone hearing me complain like this would think me self centered and rude for even thinking that I am uncomfortable and wishing that the last seven weeks would fly.

Well, screw them. :P

Free Stuff rules (or, Working the Prego Angle)

Yesterday, I managed to save myself exactly $9.36. Just for being pregnant.

I need shoes. Not just any shoes. I need BIG shoes. Big shoes for the sausages that used to be my feet. So I thought I'd waddle my slipper-clad butt into the nearest Payless Shoe Source for some ugly, big shoes. Two pairs, rung up at $24.38. I then see the big sign that says "this weekend only: spend $25, get $5 off your purchase." I sighed heavily and asked the cashier if she'd hold on a moment...I'll go get a pair of socks or something to make it more than $25. She took one look at my miserable face and my swollen belly (she couldn't see the feet or she'd really feel for me) and just waved it off: "oh, honey, don't worry about it. I'll give you the discount". Score!

So then I go over to Bath and Body Works to redeem a coupon I got in the mail. Get a free $14 body cream (read: good for stretchmarks) with any purchase. I'm trying to live within this one-income family budget thing for a few months before it's for real, so I am scouring the store for the cheapest thing I can buy to get the deal. Grab a $4 hand lotion and bring it to the counter.

"well, I'm being a tightwad, but I'll buy this, and use the coupon for this". The cashier gave me that familiar glance-over, asking "when is your baby due, honey?". When told "8 more weeks", the incredulous stare that inevitably follows, is accompanied by "oh, don't worry about buying anything". She put the free body cream in the bag and sent me on my merry way.

The "pro" column on perks of pregnancy isn't very long when compared to the "con" column. But I just got to add a few lines yesterday. :)

Update to the God discussion

No matter what they seem to understand at the time, the memory of the preschooler is still short term.

The night of the big discussion as reported in the previous entry, I asked Girlchild to tell daddy what she learned that day.

Me: Tell Daddy where we all came from before we were babies
GC: Australia!!!!!

Heh.

Theology 101 with Girlchild

Today is my grandpa's 82nd birthday. While he's hanging in there, he's not got another good 5 years left in him. He's just getting old, and it sucks. But I thought he'd get a kick out a call this morning, so on the way to school/work, Girlchild and I called him to sing Happy Birthday.

After we hung up, Girlchild asked me how many years Bampaw has been on this earth. I told her "82", and that elicited big eyes and a "wow, that's a long time". Then she asked "how many more years will he be on this earth?"

Shit.

I explained to her that he would probably live a few more years, and then he would just get too old, die and go live with God in Heaven. In Heaven, I explained, no one is sad, no one hurts, and everyone is just really happy to be hanging out with God again.

She was okay with that. But then a few moments later I hear "Mom? How long have YOU been on this Earth?"

Do we see where this is going?

I told her it would be thirty years in April, and while that was a long time, it was no where near old enough to be done living. I was able to escape it and ask how long she'd been living. Proudly she states "Three and a half years, but soon it will be four years".

I took it a step further and talked to her about how before she was born, she lived with God, too. But mommy and daddy prayed for a baby, and God picked *her* to become our little girl. We talked about Boychild, and how when we prayed again for another baby, he's what we got.

Girlchild was satisfied, and seemed really happy that since she got to hang with God not long ago, it would be an okay place for Bampaw to go, too.

I spent the rest of my morning wondering how such a faithless seeker could do so well talking up the Big Man to an almost four-year-old. Perhaps I have more faith than I allow myself credit for.

Oh well, Happy Birthday Bampaw. Let's hope I get to can this discussion for many many more years.

The most Boring Oscars Ever

Ho hum. Nothing of note this year. What a bummer. I think the best moment was in pre-show when Keisha got to meet Johnny Depp (what she said she was most looking forward to by attending the Oscars).

Here's my thoughts, for what they're worth:

Renee Zellweger. Bah. What a mediocre talent with an inflated ego. Can she ever speak extemporaneously without stammering, giggling and sounding 12? For God's sake woman, open your eyes and speak like an academy award winning actor, not Mary Kate/and or Ashley Olsen. My TV never heard such curses last night. My screen survived the pelting of snack food, but the damn Cheetos Dust is murder to get out of carpet.

Sean Penn. I have heard him described as "the abusive boyfriend of the Oscars". But he showed up, so I guess that means they have to give it to him. This year it came down to Fast Times vs. 21 Jump Street. Guess the academy prefers child molestation to effeminate pirates.

Tim Robbins. Called it. Good for him. And extra good for him for not using the podium to protest anything.

Charlize Theron. The Academy is a sucker for beautiful women who get ugly for their art. See Nicole Kidman as Virginia Woolf. Nevermind I was ready to fill her pockets with rocks and *push* her into the river...she wore a great prosthetic nose! Give that woman a statue!!

LOTR sweeping every single category it was nominated in. They deserved it, and how can you not be happy for hobbits? Peter Jackson, however...my Lord, nothing like dressing up for the freaking Oscars, there, bub.

And I have but one more comment and I'll leave well enough alone.

Diane Keaton. For God's sake, it's time for a new look. Annie Hall was more than 20 years ago. Give it a rest.