This baby is practicing the splits in my belly today. Please, please don't let it be a cheerleader. No offense. I can't do cheerleaders. I can do things like volleyball, baseball, softball, and football. Even basketball (though I stink and haven't played seriously since I was the point guard on the SES junior high championship team of 1992). Seriously, it feels like two rocks are poking out from my sides, and feels equally delightful. I think I just want to complain today. I'll gripe about the fact that I was awake from 3:15 - 5:30 or 6 this morning. I caught up on Hawkeye, Pierce, and the gang and several infomercials. When we decide to re-do our floors in wood, I'm set because there's an amazing tool called the Shark Steam Pocket complete with "next generation technology" and there's nothing like it! My belly is having alien moments nonstop now. It is bursting...and making me groan out loud from the startling power of its boxing technique. My belly is also lopsided. Baby tends to the right - I can look down and visibly see that my shirt is off kilter. I am decidedly ADD when it comes to work. I'll go and go and get so much done and then all I want to do is read gossip sites and look at the sale emails the evil Nordstrom/Steve Madden/Victoria's Secret send.

Jack is as silly as ever. He is fighting potty training (I am throwing in the towel for now), however he does tell me he has to go #2, which makes me laugh. Yesterday he lined up the firetrucks on the bathroom counter so they could watch him. Then they all had to go also. Except one, who "had an accident and needs to change his Pull Up". He doesn't understand that I am incapable of doing certain things with him these days and wants to roughhouse constantly. Jumping on my belly, playing "horsey back", running, tackling. I do what I can, but I am limited. He has convinced himself there is a bug flying around in my stomach, and I argued with him for two nights about no, there's no bug. It's just baby moving. I think he has finally relented. I told him I let the bug outside. He's getting to the age where things worry him and every night before bed we have to go through all of the noises...the dogs running, the cat, the air conditioner, bugs outside, daddy walking upstairs. The whole drill. Endless questions. It does test my patience at times and I feel guilty that sometimes I wind up tuning it out. Oops...it's just that my attention span at this point is probably even smaller than his. He is such a great kid, though. Telling us to be careful when we leave and his concern for everything around him. His kiss-blowing and belly love. I love him times ten bazillion.

My birthday is Friday...the big 32. I can say I'd rather be this age than 22 again. Or maybe just 22 knowing what I know now? Not really...life is happy and good. It will be a pretty low key weekend...except that the Jayhawks open up their football season and I am so excited about it I could wet my pants! I love this time of year. We head to the doc tomorrow morning to find out what's going on down south...I'm interested to know. I feel this baby is going to come in September vs. October, but who can say. I'll probably be pregnant until October 10 just to spite myself. It's every week after this - something that will surely make the time go quicker. I love these last few moments of anticipation and getting things in order. Oh, my niece just called and told me the baby must be birthed before October 5...band concert...I'll see what I can do about that.

The first Friday of high school football and I'm wondering where the heck time went? Sunday my g'ma turns 94 (wow!) and Tuesday = September. Yikes. In one week I'll be 32...and finished with week 36. Yowsa! Where did this pregnancy go? Seems I was just sneaking to the lab to take a pregnancy test to surprise hubby. Now I sit here, trying to find some sort of comfortable way to blog while trying to breathe and keep baby's rear end from bursting through my navel. Several highlights involving Jack and his antics:


Head butt (gently) to my belly. "Mom. I want to pop your belly."

Knock, knock, knock (on the belly) "Hello? Is anyone home?"

"Maddie," he says. "Get off of my peanuts!" In case you were wondering, peanuts = penis.

A second time using the rocks in the yard for an outhouse. I suppose at least it wasn't in his pants and I didn't have to clean it up. Yay!

And finally...Miss Maddie taken to get spayed. Veterinarian found my leggings (the pants I own five pairs of and love and wear for every single workout and consider my "uniform" outside of work) inside of her...belly. Yes. Makes me wonder what other treasures have passed through her stomach of steel. She is a dingbat, but I love her. She infuriates me at times, but how can I be mad at a dog who insists on laying in my lap like a baby? 60 pounds of monster puppy.


My belly has dropped - just a smidge. I do still have a minuscule belly button, but that is quickly going by the wayside. I'm thinking it's not actually going to "pop out", which is sort of a relief because I have a serious fear of outties and if I actually had one, I'd probably have to do something drastic with some type of tape. Baby's head is headed for the light at the end of the tunnel and I can sure tell. I swear there is a shot put in there. I still have no clue what I think it is and feel about as intuitive as Phoebe when she was pregnant on Friends. My sister, however has had a recurring and extraordinarily vivid dream about a dark-haired baby girl coming about three weeks ahead of schedule. Hmm. That would be in two weeks. As much as I'm ready to be finished, I think I'd like he/she to cook a little longer than that. Nice & crispy is fine with me.


Potty training is also...well, not really happening anymore. Jack is no longer interested and I can't stress about it - I have enough on my plate and the last thing I need is to worry about him going to the bathroom when we could be enjoying other things. I know he'll do it when he's ready. I am slightly disappointed because I had such high hopes for a firetruck-underwear-wearing toddler before baby got here, but it's seriously not happening. No amount of trucks, marshmallows, balloons, or bribes have gotten him away from the dark side. He clearly does not want to go the "big boy" way. Although he is embarrassed to wear diapers, so we do have that on our side I suppose.


Well, as I said, it's Friday night during school, which = me as a football widow. As in, I've lost my husband to refereeing for the next several weeks and will be dating Jack and catching up on whatever movies Red Box has to offer. Which really is fine - I think I need to keep things as low key as possible.


Time to stretch out and give this baby some room to start wiggling...the nighttime dance party has begun!

"Mommy, open your tummy," Jack tells me. He's sleepy...he wants me to pull up my shirt and then lay on my bare belly. Then he'll say, "Mommy, did you put lotion on your tummy?" He loves my belly and just told me yesterday, "Mommy, I want to get inside of your belly with baby." He lays against it constantly. "Mommy, let's watch cartoons and I can lay on your belly." He is growing up so fast and shooting things with his imaginary guns, playing with his trucks, tackling us during a game of football, then comes at me with the sweet baby comments to totally knock me out of whack. He is my sweet little bear who is grouchy in the morning like me and snores like his daddy at night. Just yesterday he crawled into bed with us and whined that he needed my body pillow because his legs hurt. Which is the same excuse I used for having it a few nights before. "Mommy's legs get sore at night sweetie, this pillow helps." Apparently he is pregnant also. He wants to come with me to exercise and rub lotion on my belly and then his own before bedtime. Just the other night we spent 10 minutes on this important task. Each morning he gets into his daddy's drawer to put on "shave" (deodorant). Over his shirt. Today he asked me to smell his armpits.

I love that little guy so much...I know I face the dilemma that all mothers do when they decide to bring a second little one into the world. I know I can love them both enough, I just don't want Jack to be mad at his momma. I know it's inevitable that he will be jealous and upset at first. But I still want him to know he's my first baby and that's a place no one will ever have in my heart. (Oh my God, am I seriously crying right now? I am.) Will he ever know just how much I love him? That for me, he hung the moon? I feel guilty these days doing things on my own, thinking I should spend as much time with him as possible before new baby comes. Then I think of how little time I will have alone in a few weeks and know that I need that time to myself. It's a never-ending cycle for mommas. I don't think dads share the same guilt and feelings. There's no way they could - and it's not bad - it's simply different for moms.

I just want to kiss and love Jack a zillion times a day. Hear his laugh echoing through my ears like last night when we read some silly penguin book that I never dreamed would make him laugh like it did. We read it three times in a row. I want him to call me "mama coyote" (or horsey, birdy, piggy, kitty, insert animal here) to his "baby coyote" forever. As with all mothers, I could go on and on, but instead I will post pics.

Driving to "practice"...

Wearing his favorite "Go Cubs Go" shirt
At the parade

So, I'm looking at nursing bras online. I had forgotten just how hideous (although needed) they were. I even found some that said "sexy nursing bras". Wow - really. Is there really anything sexy about unleashing the beast for a snack? Maternal, yes. Fantastic, loving, wonderful, yes. Sexy, no. And I'm sorry, but lace does not equal sexy. It equals itchy. Victoria's Secret it's not. And expensive to boot for something I will only need for about a year, but I guess if you do it, you gotta do it right.

Jack is getting funnier by the day and busy as ever. He never stops going, talking, running, or playing. And the kid loves to swim - he swims underwater! It's amazing to see - of course by the time swimming is over, his poor eyes are bloodshot because he can't manage to keep them closed and he's swallowed a gallon of pool water, but he loves it. And I, personally, have given up swimming. I simply do not want to look at myself in a bathing suit again, therefore I believe no one else does either. At least not until next summer. Maybe.

We had our 32 week appointment today! It's official - we are down to the two week appointments. I am measuring exactly at 32 weeks (and feel like it's 42) and baby's little heart is thumping away at 150-160. Not to mention the beating it's putting on my belly. Wow, the kid is a future Rockette or soccer star. Possibly a punter. Or boxer. I remember sleeping more with Jack and hardly ever feeling him at night. Not so much on this little devil. I wake up and it's "hello, mama!". I hope this is not foreshadowing. He/she seems to take very few breaks during the day.

All in all, I am getting extremely anxious to get this little one here. It could be a problem having so many things done - I am running out of ways to keep myself busy. Guess I will have to invent some new projects...

What's in a Name

This is my Friday evening...a walk with the boys and now I blog as Jack's trucks do a "touchdown dance" and I dodge the volleyball being thrown at me. Daddy is getting dinner. It's hot, I can't cook and have no desire to. I want everyone to do it all for me in these last few weeks. I want to sleep. I want hubby to actually take his eyes off of the TV on the rare occasion that I get a foot/back rub. "That's why you go have it done, I'm not good at it," he says. Yes, I'm sure that's it. I'm not sure I've ever been quite so tired. During the day, I work and work to get ahead, preparing for maternity leave. By the time I get home, I've got nothing, but I plug away. I know I'm not the first to feel this way, believe me. I'm just tired of being pregnant and wonder how I am going to make it two more months. I sit here, sweating under the heat of a laptop and the warm summer air, gazing at my belly and feeling the discomfort of having a four pound melon wedged under my ribs. I want to go up and down the stairs without being completely winded. It's not too much to ask, is it?

The good news is...hubby and I think we are settled on names. Maybe. Boy name is a lock. Girl name...different story. Just when I think we know, another name pops up. There is a name that keeps coming back to our conversations, so we'll see what happens. As for what I think I'm having, I have no clue. A couple of vague dreams, but nothing like I had with Jack. I dreamed I was knitting a pink mitten & hat set and then a later dream where I didn't actually have the baby but someone gave me a three-month old little girl. I was trying to figure out if it was possible to breastfeed her. I don't know what any of this means except that I am weird.

More good news is that I finally got to go to yoga again. It was one of the greatest things I've done since being pregnant. It felt great and I'm looking forward to continuing it through these next eight weeks. I needed something to mellow me out and to work my tired hips and mind. I truly, truly believe in the healing effects of yoga - mind, body, and spirit.

Well, a licking dog, a jumping Jack and a movie (can I possibly stay awake two more hours?) await. It's a typical Friday night and I have to say, I like it.

I'm trying to decide if my fingers are swollen. I think it may be the heat just doing its normal thing. I don't have cankles and my toes seem un-sausage like. Although, I am on red alert for the slightest change in extremities. These are the things I worry about, so maybe Carly was directing her words at me. I'm not sure. It's just that I already feel so horrendously large that swelling would be a dagger in the heart.

So Jack. My sweet, darling Jack. He is the greatest. kid. ever. The other day he wanted a knuckle sandwich for lunch. He seriously asked for one and got upset when I tried to talk him out of it. "No mommy, I want a knuckle sandwich," he said. Waking up and going to bed is still the best. I know I always mention it, but I love it. He always wants me to "lay with him for a long time" He insists I lay on my back. Not on my side. He will ask me a zillion questions and my answer "mmhmm" is not sufficient. He says, "Mommy, don't say mmhmm," and wants me to answer "yes" or have a more detailed explanation. He is clearly the boss of this relationship. I love that he's a tough guy whose life revolves around baseball, football, and pretending to shoot things with the vacuum cleaner attachments, but his most important possession is "Baby", his blankie. A sippy cup of milk is not complete without his Baby to rub against his cheek. I think that's one of the things that amazes me most about Jack - and kids in general. Their habits and mannerisms. He always wants things the same and follows the same patterns. I guess we are all like that, it just seems unreal to be doing it at the age of two. The other night he woke me up around 12:30 and said, "I can't find Baby!". In my stupor, I found the thing wedged under a pillow. It seems Daddy never hears the wake up calls. I can't decide if I'm so in tuned to Jack that I wake up or if it's because moments of sound sleep are few & far between so I'm already half-up anyway. Or maybe if it's just that Daddy ignores them because he knows I'll get up??? I hope he doesn't think that I'll be doing double duty when new baby makes an entrance.

My new favorite thing? When he potties on the toilet, then he'll say, "Mommy, let's sit here and talk for a little bit." He never says it anywhere else except the bathroom. It's hilarious and I have no idea where it came from. And potty training is going ok. It's been about a month. We're getting there. I think. He has no problem telling us about pottying while we're in the car - I think he enjoys peeing outside on the side of the road. We did it three times within 15 minutes on the way home from Kansas City. He only peed once. He just wanted to go on a rock.

I love his curiosity about baby. He continually asks if it's done growing and wants to know how he can help. Can he feed it, he wonders? How about playing catch? he asks. He touches, loves, and talks to my belly. I thought he would be more interested in why my belly was getting so big, but it hasn't fazed him a bit. Unfortunately, I don't have those sentiments, but he really just wants baby to hurry and get here - something I do agree with!

It's taken me forever to post this blog - I didn't realize it had been three weeks since the last post. Oops. I have a lot more to say in the next several days (and weeks!) and pictures to post. Until then, hope this finds everyone well!

Ugh.

When the cat's away, the mice will play...boss is out this week. Actually, I've been super busy, super tired, and I'm ridiculously caught up, so blogging it is.

First let me start by saying that I am crazy tired. I can't sleep. My legs hurt. My hips hurt and last night apparently there were "ghostis" in Jack's bed, so that was a fun wake up call. I'm not sure where he's getting the ghost talk from or why he's even thinking about them. This is the second time he's been worried about ghosts. I woke up three more times to go to the bathroom. Probably sixteen more times to adjust the body pillow/heat oven. Such a cruel twist...needing sleep desperately, being completely unable to find comfort, realizing that somehow Mr. Sandman has gotten lost, yet carrying your sweet baby inside your belly and not wanting to feel total frustration. I do feel lucky, that like with Jack, this pregnancy has been amazingly uneventful and easy. I suffer the occasional outburst and I have gotten remarkably more anal (thanks, Dad, G'ma), especially about the way the house looks. What is my deal? But otherwise, I feel the same. Which leads me to believe I could be heading towards boy #2 and maintaining my crown as Queen of the castle on Hillcrest, but I also know that it can mean nothing and that a girl could take over my throne. Which brings me to my next point. I will never, ever, ever, I repeat, never, call my little girl Princess. I seriously hate that! Don't ask - maybe it comes from being a ridiculous tom boy as a child who wore her cousins' hand me down jerseys and basketball t-shirts (and kicked a lot of boys in the junk) and the fact that I was no princess. I looked like a boy. I rode a boy's bike, had a boy haircut, talked like a boy to myself in the mirror, wanted to pee like a boy (and tried on numerous occasions), and probably secretly wanted to be a boy. I'm glad I'm not...but I digress.

As of this very second, I have two months, 17 days, 9 hours, 19 minutes and 31 seconds left until my due date. Of course, I am well aware that I will probably go beyond that, but it's nice to have a goal. I'm not exactly sure why I torture myself with the Baby Due Date counter on my desktop, but I do. I hate the waiting game. I can't even enjoy my pregnancy - I'm looking forward to the baby too much. I'm too busy to enjoy it, except in those quiet moments when the boys are asleep and I can rest my hands on my belly and feel it acrobating around inside. I think those are some of my favorite moments of the day. The worst? When I'm worrying about being huge and the fact that I feel totally unrecognizable as myself. When I worry about stupid things I see on Discovery Health (I'm addicted to the pregnancy shows), and the dreaded stretch marks. I go back and forth with being amazed at my body and it's incredible abilities and the fact that I feel like the ugly duckling and completely out of sorts. My boobs are atrocious. At least I don't have cankles.

This Independence Day, I am reminded not only of the things I should be (freedom, health, happiness, our country, you know the drill), but I am also reminded of the fact that it's summer, it's the Fourth, and holy crap, I'd love an ice cold beer. Does it seem like I mention this a lot? I'm not a lush or even remotely close (unless you count some long nights in college at Louise's West or Cadillac Ranch, but I don't think that counts). I love the little two pound punkin in my belly. I swear I am treating him/her amazingly well, except that I've had 1000 too many peanut M&Ms lately, but a beer. Heaven. I went to a KU alumni event last weekend and Boulevard Wheat was on tap. Open bar. "Why don't you give me a nice paper cut and pour lemon juice in it while you're at it?" to loosely quote the words of Miracle Max. Again, I'm not a drunk, I just sound like it today.

Jack is potty training. It's going fairly well, I think. I don't think I'm a parent who can knock it all out in one weekend like some apparently can. We're getting there. I think in a few weeks, we'll be good to go. Jack has already picked out big boy undies with "Cars" on them. We haven't opened them yet, but I think we're getting closer. Diapers have been eliminated. He gets it - mini marshmallows come with a successful trip to the potty and he is quick to remind me if I forget. So, he'll have dry pants but rotten teeth, I guess. He hasn't gotten great about telling us yet, but he will. I simply refuse to have two children in diapers.

Speaking of two children, tomorrow will mean exactly three months until my due date. Seems forever. Seems short. I'm ridiculously ready. I've never been so impatient. Mostly because I know what's coming. I can't wait. Some of it because I hate trying to figure out how to make myself look presentable every day. Everything is ugly. I need to feel like myself again in body and mind! I do have a long list of chores to finish before the bundle arrives, so I need to get on it, pronto. The day will be here before I know it and I'll wonder where the time went and why I didn't get any of it done.

Attached are some new pictures of Jack Jack...at a birthday party, and on Father's Day in the firetruck Uncle J brought to the festivities due to his untimely shift. The final picture is probably one of my favorite I've ever taken of him, so I'll leave you with that. What a handsome devil!

The heat index today is 110 degrees. Is this unusual? Quite the contrary...I should be used to it being a Kansas gal. But this summer, I feel as though everyone should feel sorry for me. I am going to hire my own personal cabana boy (hubby, that's you) to spray me with a fine mist as I lay on the couch drinking lemonade (only because I can't drink summer beer, which is what I really want), reading US Magazine and InStyle. Jack will miraculously potty train himself and the dogs will obediently nap on the floor all day and fetch me snacks as needed. Sounds reasonable to me.

Yesterday, as I'm getting ready for work, I kept hollering at Jack to please come downstairs because who knew what the child was getting into. He kept saying, "I'm playing with my tractor in the mud," which isn't far off because he pretends to do that frequently. It got quiet for a few minutes, so I went upstairs to find this:A teeny, tiny tractor blazing trails through the "mud"...or the entire contents of a salt shaker and a chair pushed up to the back of the counter. I finally wised up and put the salt & pepper in the cabinet. This isn't the first time, but it's never been quite this much. As I put the pillow back in the chair, salt poured onto the floor. Enter the vacuum.

We are working on potty training. I think he's ready, then I think he's not. He goes when he's there and has no problem. We just need to do it and dedicate some serious time to it. Hubby has been gone all week and it has only happened on & off this week. I think this weekend we are going to make a serious stab at it. I do not want two kiddos in diapers, but I suppose if it happens, so be it. Yesterday, he picked mini-marshmallows as his treat of choice for pottying on the big boy potty and this morning he told me he had to #2 and he did! Maybe it's the marshmallows? Here's hoping.

I believe a playground set has been erected inside of my belly. It's growing. Apparently, the other day, someone asked my hubby how far along I was. Upon hearing my due date, they said, "oh, no way she is going to make that due date!". Excuse me? That's just a nice way of saying that someone looks huge. Which I do not. I feel huge, but I know I am not. I can still wear my jeans with a rubber band, which I think is great. My maternity clothes are too big. I can still wear almost all of my dresses and shirts (buttoned ones being the major exception here, folks). I work out nearly every day and I'm measuring exactly where I should be. I want to punch that person. Besides, my due date is only three months & one week away. I'd say I'm far enough along to warrant a baby bump. I'm not even sure this particular girl has lost her "baby weight" from her freaking five year old so she should probably zip it. But I digress.

Well, I'm off to play with Jack Jack and his two cousins for the evening. I have a bunch of pictures to post and no time today. I'll get them up next week! Have a great weekend, all!

I've had it. I'm done. Not with the pregnancy (maybe a little), but with this week. I'm not sure if I spent too much time outside, worked out too hard, didn't sleep enough (ok, all of the above), but I am exhausted. I feel like it's my first trimester all over again - with more aches & pains. I'm that tired. Tonight is baseball all over again, which I may skip because I'm so pooped. Sorry, hubby. I'm not sure I can do it today. Even if I do have a huge bag of dill pickle sun seeds enticing me with their delightful seasonings.

As of tomorrow, baby #2 has spent 25 full weeks in my belly. The last few have been spent with a trapeze or balance beam because it's a full-on gym in there. It seems the time is flying, yet crawling. How does that happen? When I sit back and think about it, I realize, wow, only three months left! Then I think, holy shit, I have three months left. It's a bazillion degrees outside and we never seem to stop running long enough to rest. I need a break. A nap. For the love of everything delicious, I need a gigantic beer.

In other news...Jack is a total ham. He cracks me up - he loves to talk animals, but yesterday when faced with a toad chasing him down, he was so terrified and I thought he would jump straight into Ma & Pa's pool to escape him. Speaking of swimming, he loves it. He jumps in over and over until his poor little eyes are bloodshot and he can barely catch his breath. Now he likes to push off from the edge and swim underwater to anyone within two feet who will catch him. He wears sweat bands around the house on his little wrists and desperately wants a pair of baseball cleats (which I can't find small enough). He longs to be in the dugout during hubby's games and as hubby coaches, he yells, "Daddy! Daddy! Come get me!". He picked out his new Chucks and decided this time he wanted black and white after weeks of thinking green was the way to go. He never wants to wear pj pants to bed anymore, instead, opting for whatever gigantic baseball t-shirt he can find. He loves to water flowers and ride poor Millie like a horse. Most of all, he loves mommy & daddy and is really starting to talk and love with baby, too. He includes baby in his goodbyes and good nights, and wants to touch my belly more often. He still likes laying on baby, which is becoming quite a difficult maneuver. I won't mention that every other thing out of his mouth is "dog poop".

Other than that, we are plugging away. This weekend will be a plethora of Father's Day celebrations that I am not prepared for. I wish you all a great one!

Jack is a big fan of "photography". Today I will be posting some of his recent work...as you can see, it took him a couple to realize that he needed to turn the camera around, so we got a few self-portraits. These magnificent photos were taken with a Nikon Coolpix digital camera after hubby's b-day party at the in-law's house.

I didn't post them all, I think you get the general idea. And yes, that's a lot of wallpaper.

I also have some new pictures of Jack. General shenanigans, nakedness, and randomness.
Pretty much a photo post today. I'm either sporting a cold or developing allergies, so the creative juices are not flowing unless you count the water, gatorade, and three empty travel/coffee mugs at my desk. Ok, the coffee mugs are old. I probably should take them home.

Jack

I was just looking at some pictures of Jack on my desk. In one, he is smiling toothlessly as he waits for Santa by the tree. In another, he is gazing at the camera, in one of his first balancing acts at the edge of the sofa. Then there's my personal favorite, a shot of him by the pool, wearing a bucket cap, probably 4 or 5 months old, looking exactly like a Teletubby. He's so stinking cute. Who would have thought he would grow up to call me "umpire" as often as he calls me mommy? The boy, who at the end of the day says he has too many tanquito bites and would like some moat (milk) ... just a 'lil bit, he bargains. Some of my favorite things about my little babe today:

1. He wants to sit on the counter (and get into everything) while I get ready for work.
2. He discovered a major love of capers the other night after picking them all out of my pasta and said they were like "sunflower seeds"
3. He enjoys brushing his teeth, but mostly just sucks on the toothbrush.
4. He tries to whistle, but it comes out as a high-pitched squeal.
5. He is an absolute daredevil but is terrified of spiders, which has forced me to face my fear because I have to dispose of them all in his presence.
6. He says "poop" a lot. I get after him, but it's really funny to hear him say it. Lots. Poop, poo poo, poopy.
7. Last night when trying to go to the bathroom on the "big boy potty", he said "Come out, pee!".
8. He loves to "dip" when we dance. Another trick we picked up last night.
9. He told the babysitter I like "bad boys". ????
10. He loves cooking with me, which I think is darling. I'm going to let him try his own recipes when he gets a little older.

Ah, Jack. I can't believe in four months he is going to be a big brother. Doesn't seem possible because he is still my baby and knows it. I think he will make an excellent brother - as long as he doesn't use the baby's head as a batting tee or a football.

I can't decide if I'm feeling extraordinarily full of ideas or just so caught up at work that I feel I should be blogging about my ridiculously interesting life. Yesterday we put the crib up (hubby did it, last time I helped, a divorce nearly ensued) and moved dressers around. And then I was not happy with the result, so they're getting moved again. Although, this time I don't think I can help quite as much because I could barely get out of bed today. Which is not unlike most days, but today was worse. I also went through some of Jack's newborn things, finding all of the neutrals so baby has a head start on his/her wardrobe. They are so tiny! Hard to believe just two short years ago, Jack was wearing the very same thing.

I don't remember feeling ridiculously bloaty/gassy last time around. You know the feeling - when you're with a new guy or on a first date, or in a presentation/meeting, and you hold the first one in and then it just snowballs until your belly feels like a rock and the minute you leave, the gas just blows out of you like a deflating tire. Only the air isn't coming out this time. I was actually in a meeting once where a guy just let them fly. First his belly was making high pitched noises (or maybe it was his ass), then he finally just let it fly and said, "excuse me" and kept going. I almost had to leave the room. I almost died. I wanted to die. It was a professional meeting! Or as professional as you can get in an office where the dress code is that there is no dress code. I could wear sweats to work. But I digress. Ugh. I began thinking of other frightening pregnancy scenarios, one of which included me swelling up like a giant Stay-Puft marshmallow man from the heat of the summer. I won't be able to wear my shoes. I'll be confined to flip flops and my toes will hang over the edges like giant sausages. I'll get rashes in between from the friction. My rings will have to be cut from my bulging, purple fingers. I will most definitely avoid all sunflower seed consumption at baseball games. Another included a giant, overnight growth spurt by baby in which I wake to find my entire stomach covered in gnarly, red stretch marks. As if my cat has suddenly sprouted claws and used my belly as a scratching post. There are any number of things that can make my imagination run wild - and I wonder where Jack gets it.

I will say, I have been disappointed that I haven't had any baby dreams yet. Last night I dreamt I was part of the Friends cast and we were saying our goodbyes before the final show aired. Not too long ago, I dreamt Nick Stokes and I were CSI partners who secretly loved each other. But no baby dreams. This could be a good thing considering my current mental state. Maybe they start later on in pregnancy. I can't remember.

I have Jack stories but I will save them for next time. I have a slew of pictures Jack took with the camera that I need to post also. Until then...

Conversations from last night (in bed):
Jack: Mommy, I'm sick.
Me: What's wrong?
Jack: My leg hurts. Right here.
Me: Want me to kiss it or rub it?
Jack: Yes. Rub it. Now this leg (pointing to other leg).
Me: Is that better? Are you ok now?
Jack: No. My arm hurts too. Rub this one. And this one.
Me: Feeling better now? What do you need?
Jack: I'm better. I'm not sick anymore.

Minutes later...

Jack: Mommy, I'm sick.
Me: Sweetie, are you ok? What's wrong?
Jack: My head hurts right here (pointing to forehead).
Me: Should I kiss it?
Jack: Yeah. (I kiss) I'm not sick anymore.

I love it.

Conversations from this morning:
Jack: Mommy, I saw two turtles. And two bucks.
Me: You did? Where?
Jack: I did! I saw 'em. Two bucks. I shot 'em in their beds. (Gasp)
Me: No, we don't do that, their mommies will be sad.
Jack: No, I did it.

With that, he crawled under the covers and went back to sleep on my belly.

Ack! My child is a cold blooded animal killer. This is why I hate hunting - I've got a two-year old kid talking about shooting things. It's waaaaaay too early in life for this. I know he hasn't exactly grasped the concept of death and shooting things is fun for a little boy, but this is too much. I am banning all hunting talk until he is much older. On the other hand, he's actually the sweetest. I know he doesn't realize what he's saying, he's simply talking about animals because he loves them (except spiders and the thought of possible dinosaurs at night). His imagination runs wild with stories to regale us with. He's a baseball player, he had coffee with an umpire, he went to baseball and football practice, there are deer everywhere, he refereed a game, and on and on. It's truly awesome to listen to him. And you have to listen, because he never stops to let you get a word in.

And the littlest G.....is growing! And moving like crazy. Just yesterday my belly completely changed shape in the blink of an eye. Last night while hubby snored and I was still on a high from Gilles on DWTS, I sat and felt baby moving for a good hour. Time is flying...can it really be week 21 already? I feel huge. Like a pot-bellied pig. I'm still wearing heels and I'm still running and teaching class, but I feel repulsive. In a few weeks when it's 100 degrees out and my belly is really gargantuan, I will be cursing the sun and praying for my own personal deep freeze to nap in. I can't wait.

Clothes...and a Few Other Things

My biggest battle today, besides dealing with the most annoying person in the world (who I will not name and I only wish you knew who you were because I truly detest you) has been keeping my zipper up. It's difficult when a rubber band is holding up your jeans. Thank goodness for a long shirt & scarf, I suppose. A scarf is my go-to these days. Seems I still find myself, at week 20, in the "fat stage" - between a baby bump and a Goodyear Radial. It makes a nice cover up until I am ready to unveil the bump at its finest. I purchased the "Bella Band" - some miracle device that is supposed to magically hold up your pants for all of the in-between phases - pre-maternity wear, too huge for maternity (scary), and the "fourth trimester" when your belly is a giant jelly roll and trying to find the right place on your body again. Let me say that the BB doesn't work well under fitted items. You can see a freaking line and it's ridiculous. When you sit, it rolls up (or down) and you're constantly adjusting. I have found it's only use is for running - great support. So, eventually, it will have the tinge of my sweaty labors. Yum.

The second thing that makes me not know if I want to giggle or retch is the fashion advice I have seen in some of my pregnancy books/websites. They all say, "When your clothes get uncomfortable or too small, borrow something from your husband's closet!" Oh. My. Effing. Crap. Who would do that in public? I mean wearing his sweats while you're lounging around the house with the latest copy of US Magazine in one hand and a bowl of ice cream in the other is one thing. Leaving the house in his oxford and dress pants is something else entirely. Hideous. Some items accidentally got purchased online today, so I hope hubby doesn't mind. I really need them. I swear. They just threw themselves into my shopping cart before I could stop them.

Baby is moving around a lot more these days, fluttering around in my flotation device. I am really excited for Jack to be able to feel and see it move. Laying on baby is getting increasingly harder for us, although I am willing to deal just to have him cuddle with me. I think it's the next best thing to having his baby blankie & a sippy cup of milk for him. It soothes him. He is finally sleeping through the night! Which is awesome because now that he's sleeping, I can't, and in a few months it simply won't be possible. Isn't it amazing how little sleep we can go on? What's even more amazing is that we don't seem to mind. Getting to bed is harder for Jack these days. He is ready to go, but insists that I stay, saying, "lay with me" until he is ready to say goodnight. Of course I oblige. We usually talk about animals, sing our songs - "Row Row Row Your Boat" is a new favorite - or talk about the baseball practice he says he goes to. These are conversations I wish I could record every single night because they are awesome. He also discusses whether or not the Cookie Monster/a spider is going to come and get him and last night he said, "Mommy, you don't have pants on! You're naked!". I wasn't and where the hell did he learn the word naked? These talks are better than the one in the grocery store recently. "Mommy, I no like you. I like Daddy." Ouch. Tears welling. Is that supposed to start this early? He was kissing me a few moments later so I can only assume that it was some other child being so hateful and pregnancy was causing me to hallucinate.

Well, it's 10:00 and I should be sleeping (yes, it's my bedtime). I'm stuck on the edge of the bed between a body pillow and a Yellow Lab. Hubby is snoring and no doubt Jack is too. The Royals are on (and winning!). Life is good.

Things to Do

Well, today marks day two of week 19. Can it really be almost halfway over? I feel like it just started, then on the other hand I feel like time couldn't possibly go any slower. After realizing over the weekend that I was extraordinarily behind on actually getting "baby stuff" done, I hustled on over to Lowe's for some QTA with myself and the paint swatches. So, the painting is done - during Jack's nap, of course. With help from Rex Walters the cat as he lounged in the baby chair. Next, bedding, moving furniture, cleaning closets, adding window treatments....it seemed so easy the the first round when I had loads of this thing called time. I admit, I do feel guilty for not getting things done sooner. In my defense, I have been predictably indecisive on bedding, so that's my excuse.

So, speaking of being half done - my belly. It's half beer belly, half too many rounds with chile con queso. Where is the cute, round bump? It's not even round. I'm not sure it's even a belly. I think I'm in the beginning stages of "Dunlap's Disease". I do not have a cute belly bump. Not at this stage in the game. It's sort of horrifying. The only good thing is that it still makes a nice spot for Jack to lay his head. And speaking of Jack...

I have to say, the kid is impressive. I mean, he just is! "Let's race!" he says, while we're driving. "Who?", I'll say. His reply - "That car right there!" He has realized that going to weddings is not fun (for a two year old) and a couple of weekends ago, right in the middle, he said, "Let's go home," in his best whiny bear voice. Off we went to enjoy the rest of the ceremony playing on the steps with the other belligerent children. The good news is that the reception gave him ample floor space for dancing, running, and taking inventory of the toddler gals. Until we left at the ripe old hour of 9:00. I'm not sure the party had even started. So, I was talking about how he's impressive and I haven't really gotten to that yet. Picture a boy, being pushed in his stroller past a cemetery and asking to see his Papa Everett - whom he's never met, just kissed a headstone and seen his mother talk to the ground when we go visit. Just picture a child, noticing a large bruise on his mother's leg as she uses the toilet. A very concerned child kisses said bruise and says, "There! All better!". Picture said child using toilet on his very own! And doing it every day more than once! Not always unattended, but at times. Potty training might be easier than I possibly imagined. Then again, I could be putting the cart before the horse because I have a strange fear that once baby comes, regression will come right along with it. He has already said, "Mommy, feed me," and makes me hold his sippy cup as he lays in my arms like a baby. But I also think he's going to be an amazing big brother. He is excellent with babies and will kiss and love on them. I do believe he knows his limits (unlike with poor B at the sitter's). We'll see how it goes when new baby is taking him away from "my mommy".

Meanwhile, I will make a list of the bazillion things that need to be done in our household before the big arrival. A list of chores, fix-its, meals I can stockpile (ok, I probably won't really do that. I did it with Jack and I think it all wound up freezing to death), and general things to hopefully make my life easier. I just realized I should probably start getting extra diapers at the store. I just realized we probably won't have time for any of this, but I will keep hoping that it can all miraculously be finished during nap time.

I don't really know what I'm doing. It's Friday (yay!) and I have no brain cells (thanks Tiny Gordon!). So yesterday was the big hoo-ha and sonogram! I was much more nervous this time - my brain was telling me cyclops and possible extra extremities and my heart was begging my brain to shut the hell up. Turns out, the little lasagna is baking along solidly and has everything in the right place. Apparently, I scan beautifully, which is a new one, but I'll take any compliment I can get, right? Lots of wiggling and worming, a wave (story on that later) and a thumbs up! Baby knows what momma likes to see. I have to say, I did feel teary, but mostly I think I just felt relief. I mean, could we possibly be lucky twice? So, story:

Jack and I discussed the heartbeat hearing & sonogram earlier in the morning. He was so excited to see pictures of "baby" (and cuddling partner), his face lit up. We wanted to bring him along, then weren't able to, unfortunately. "Hold me," he says as I crouch down beside him for a hug and I tell him I have pictures of baby. We go through the stack and as we come to the one where baby is waving, I tell him baby is saying, "Hi, big brother!". He laughs and says "Hiiiiiiii!", then kisses the picture. I cried and hugged him for about a year. It might have been the sweetest thing he has ever done in his short life.

This week (as I have been bored with my food choices), I have discovered a few of my favorites that had taken a backseat:

1. Hummus. I could eat it with a spoon.
2. Feta cheese (I think there's a Greek theme here).
3. Lemon Larabars - possibly the most excellent thing I have eaten in ages.

Some other things I am loving right now:
1. Forever 21...quite possibly the trashiest, most excellent. store. ever. I may be nuts, but they are tops for sundresses that are extremely reasonable and cute and wearable through the preggo months. I actually was accosted by a woman admiring my dress yesterday.
2. My nails. Wow. I gaze lovingly at them at least 20 times a day. Talons.
3. My friend Woof - she keeps me sane during the workday.
4. Dr. Pepper. I have to keep it to a minimum because I know the sugar isn't good (yes, they have caffeine free!), but that first swig is ridiculously good. Don't tell me to drink diet, it's just as bad and tastes nothing like the real thing. Seriously.

Ok, pics of the new little one and then I'm out to the Rock Chalk Ball with hubby & two of my most excellent friends, Sarah & Robert. Don't even get me started on the dress debacle.

Jack is now obsessed with hunting (another fun thing he gets to do with Daddy but never mommy, the tree-hugging vegetarian, right?). He goes around saying, "It's not deer season, it's turkey season." Nearly every day we go through the ranks of the turkeys; Tom, Jake, Hen. Then the deer; Buck, Doe, Fawn. Then he says, "Daddy's the buck," which usually comes out, "Daddy butt", so I'm looking classier all the time. To make matters worse, Daddy strolled in the garage this morning with four (!) limp turkeys and Jack was ecstatic. I secretly hope that one day he is appalled at the sight of his dead friends (ok, not so secretly) and realizes that he detests hunting. I don't need him to be a vegetarian, I just don't want him to shoot things. And I really, really hope people don't think I have stuffed carcasses on the walls. Totally embarrassing.

In the meantime, my belly grew overnight. I'm still feeling like the spare tire/muffin top gal and not really the pregnant-looking, radiant, gorgeous mama-to-be (right), but it's getting better. I have actually really looked forward to "popping" this time and despite the fact that I still have issues with the body changes (hello cantaloupes with dinner plate nipples), it's been a little easier to accept this time. Part of that could be the fact that I have some super sun dresses for this fair-weather pregnancy instead of the atrocities I was wearing with Jack. Business attire is not for pregnancy. No matter what you see or hear, it all looks like shit. I considered some of the old maternity wear and decided the only thing acceptable was the yoga pants, which as I mentioned in my earlier pregnancy, I have pretty much blown out the crotch from extensive wear, so I'm thinking it's all staying in the storage bin.

Tomorrow's the sonogram and dreaded weigh-in. I think I should just stop looking. I think my pants still fit - although there are a few pairs I've been avoiding so I can also avoid the shame that comes along with the possibility of not being able to button/having the jelly roll drooping over the top. I'm still religiously using my cocoa butter like with Jack and here's hoping my psychological belief that it works will come into play this time as well. I can't believe I'm actually excited about wearing a bathing suit, but the realization that I don't have to suck in for the first time in 17 years might actually bring tears to my eyes.

I'll keep you all posted on the sonogram and hopefully will be able to put up pictures. Happy Hump Day!

It seems there is a never-ending supply of mischief going on at the baby sitter's house...just yesterday she told me how Jack found her son's "secret" stash of candy in the closet (after climbing out of bed during his nap) and proceeded to slather himself with some sort of red lollipop (through the wrapper). Then he told her not to tell him "no, you can't have that". Ah. Just last week, after his nap, he unloaded all of her poor son's clothing out of his dresser. I'm thinking she is going to have to invest in a padlock for the child's bedroom. I wonder if she just throws her hands up in exasperation each day...or if she simply laughs and chalks it up to toddler-hood. She is amazingly patient and the stories never cease to amaze me.

I think I may have found my way back onto Jack's good side. I also could have been overreacting, which is totally weird. Although yesterday he did tell me he wanted to stay at the baby sitter's house and not go with me. I almost cried, but I realized he was probably still thinking about the candy. I overheard him asking for me when he got in trouble (score one for mom!) with dad and he loves to "lay on baby" with me and sing silly songs or watch cartoons. At night, he wants me to lay endlessly in bed with him, singing "Old MacDonald" - the new favorite - and cuddle on top of my belly. I will be so sad when it's too big to lay on. Yesterday as I dropped him off, he kissed me and said "BYE!" and then "BYE, BABY!". I wonder how I could possibly love another baby like I love him? I know I will, but I do believe it's different with a firstborn. Not better, just different.

This time around, hubby and I have decided to keep our baby names a secret. No one is going to know. People might think they know and that's fine...let them guess! I think I got cranky a little last time when people were showing obvious disdain for the names we had chosen. You know, as if I were asking them to change their own or name all of their pets and children the same. I have sworn hubby to secrecy and he has promised a zillion times not to tell. Not that there's anything to tell right now, we have not settled on a thing. It's only week 15, so I guess we have a little time.

A few new pictures...Jack in his dad's baseball cap, and touching my 14 week belly!

I'm trying to decide today if I simply have a case of pregnancy sensitiveness or actual brokenheartedness. For the first time today, my son made me cry, and not in a good way. First, he was being a turd when trying to get dressed, and I got after him and it was the immediate, "I want daddy!" and requisite crying. This is what I deal with now. He no longer wants me, just daddy. Ok, I get the occasional love, but it's almost always daddy. It seems like Daddy gets to do all of the fun things. Jack and I just wind up going to the grocery store together while Daddy takes him out to search for animals (that Daddy is only going to shoot later...boo) while I am teaching class and to baseball games that take place before I get home from work. I wind up having to do the things that we have to do with him...not what we want. Granted, I play football and baseball and tickle him silly, but it's not the same. Today, I'd had it. I finished dressing him and stomped down the stairs and slammed the door without a goodbye. Then I silently cried while I finished blow drying. And I want to cry again. I wasn't prepared for it to happen this soon. It's horrendous and I can't believe my two year old son is already breaking my heart...I thought at the very least it would happen when he brought home a girl in a too short miniskirt, way too much makeup, entirely too much cleavage, and I sent her packing with orders to come back when she looked less like a hooker and more like a 16-year old. But two. Two. Two!

Hubby, Jack & I spent last weekend caring for my grandma who has had numerous TIAs (mini-strokes, you could say), and a couple of actual strokes. Physically, she is fine, but her short term memory is gone and again, I was almost brought to tears by her inability to remember what to put on first when getting dressed. She is terrified of being left alone because she knows that she won't remember things like getting to the bathroom or even whose home she is in. Of course, there are moments of the old Grandma as she laughs at Jack's play-by-play during his imaginary baseball game and throwing a plastic egg so that it ricochets off of the table and nails me in the forehead. But minutes later she will lapse back into a state of almost catatonic-ness and old grandma is long gone. G'ma M loves to play cards (and cheat!) and conquer the crosswords each day. She adores costume jewelry has all of the dangly earrings, cocktail rings, and bracelets that make dress-up complete. She makes ham & beans that no one could resist and taught us all how to make potato salad. My sassy little grandma...now frustrated and struggling at her forgetfulness and inability to do any of those treasured tasks any longer. It was not an easy weekend...not because it was hard to take care of her, any one of us would do it again, but because she is simply no longer herself and those moments where her spunky personality and scratchy voice shine are few and far between. I think most of all it's just sad.

Well, happy Hump Day has turned into crappy hump day, apparently...I promise to blog on happier thoughts soon.