What is it that makes Jack the neatest kid ever? Well, I'll tell you...it's the casual way he says "mom" when he wants my attention. It's hilarious. The way he tells everything goodbye - for example, he wanted to bring my tennis shoes with us somewhere and when I said to put them down, he said, "bye shoes". He tells me how the bunny goes "hop hop". He roars like a lion and flexes his muscles. He's a genius, I tell you! He is the best buddy to hang out with (sorry, friends). He will always give love, he is always excited to see me. I love walking in the door after work and hubby says, "Mom's home!" and Jack runs - full speed - yelling my name to run into my arms. These moments make my heart burst.

Lately he has taken to calling everyone "Daddy". I'm not sure if he's actually looking for Daddy or just thinks that I am extremely promiscuous and isn't exactly sure who Daddy is. He is obsessed with baseball (yay!) and will swing the bat, then run laps around the bases (our house). He makes a swishing noise when he swings. Today he hit a ball off of a tee and I thought hubby was going to burst into tears. Such a proud papa! Last weekend he learned all the boys' names from hubby's baseball team. Each morning as we are driving to the sitter's, he repeats them all. He'll throw in a "bakball" (basketball) when we pass the goal on Bret Street. A "bay-ball" as we pass the high school fields, a "bus" when he sees a big truck or camper. I am amazed at this little guy's knowledge and vocabulary. He heard "hot diggity dog!" on a Disney show the other day, and it's the new saying. He's so pleased with himself and can barely contain his smile when he says it. I love this little boy. I love, love, love him...having him is truly the best part of my life.

G'ma

My grandma is dying. I am so sad...it's not a sense of, oh, she's almost 93, of course she is going to die. It's a poor circulation/infection that is slowly draining the life out of her. Right now she is in a lot of pain, but she is still functioning "normally" and going on her daily business. But it's happening - faster than I want it to. I haven't talked about this very much..ok, actually the family and I have discussed it thoroughly because G'ma has some big decisions to make in the next several days. She can either let them take her leg (her other one was taken above the knee 5 years ago), or she can get sicker and sicker until it finally takes her. But I haven't really grasped what this will mean. I think I have been in denial because she still seems like G'ma. For me, it means losing the person who used to pretend to make my sister and I into sandwiches. The woman who opened up her glorious shoe closet and square dancing dress collection for sister and I to play hours upon hours of dress up. When I baked with her as a child, standing on my tiny step stool, she'd ask me to pour in the sugar and I'd say, "all of it?" and she'd answer "allofit!" She meticulously crafted a miniature dollhouse and hat shop with my Grandpa, two gifts that will be bestowed upon my niece. It almost feels like I'm also losing the last link to my beloved Grandpa. Isn't that weird? Every time I see a geranium, I will think of her...first when I was younger and watching her tend to her garden...later as a woman and how I finally had to begin planting them for her in the brick garden off of her front porch. The one that I used to jump over instead of taking the steps. And the tire swing...how many afternoons did I spend twirling and flying hanging from that big old tree? Those sweltering Kansas summer days, when I'd stop by and she'd say, "Go get a Coke from the garage", and she'd get out the Yahtzee or Tri-ominos for a cutthroat game at the kitchen table.

I can't imagine the thoughts going through her mind. Is she tired of being without Grandpa and ready to go plant flowers with him again? Is she just feeling the strain of her 92 years and ready to take a final rest? There are times when I believe this to be true. Then, there are times, when we're sitting at Sunday dinner and she's making some sassy remark and trying to get my Jack Jack to quit throwing food that I wonder if she really is ready. Maybe she's just relishing what could be her last few moments here. Time is truly precious and I know that I take it for granted more than I should. I know that whatever my G'ma might decide to do, I will understand and know that through this whole ordeal, she has been so brave and so strong - much more than I could ever be.

Sex and Cupcakes. Not at the same time.

So, a few weeks ago, I was making cupcakes for a friend's baby shower and Jack was "helping". He really enjoys cooking with me - I hold him in one arm and stir with the other and he usually gets to sample the goods. On this particular day, it was the mixer and he was loving a little smidge of batter here and there. My mom would probably say, "you'll get worms!" (I think that was really just a ploy to get us out of the kitchen so we'd get out of the goodies), but I figured a little couldn't hurt. A little for the cupcakes, a little for Jack, a little for me. SO. I went to answer the phone or something and before I knew it, there he was:
I can't remember why he's not wearing pants - probably another escapade into the dog dish. Oddly enough, I couldn't find the cupcake. I was expecting to find it stuck in the couch cushions or thrown down the stairs with the rest of the toys, but no. He threw it away. :) Either he was hiding the evidence or just wanted to be helpful. Probably the former.

So, anyway. Today. SATC. My sister is coming over early for cocktails and I can't wait. I have a sitter, hubby is out of town coaching - it's perfect. I'm even thinking of doing something really lame and going to Hobby Lobby over my lunch hour to find some hideous flower to make a giant pin out of - an homage to Carrie B., if you will. This is the biggest date I've had in ages!

P.S. This is another post that took me 3 weeks to publish. Oops.

Reunions

My last post took me two weeks to finish. I have been extraordinarily busy and a complete slacker on the blog. We just got through a long weekend...and I mean long. Jack was a sicky bear and threw up all night Saturday and still has been getting visits from our friend Rhea Perlman (you figure that one out, folks). I feel bad for the little lamb - he has been living on toast, crackers, water and a few other things his tummy can handle. He's in great spirits and acting normal, just has a sensitive belly right now. It's heartbreaking when he's sick. And all he wants is to be held, which I gladly do. I will admit, my gag reflexes kicked into high gear a few times - it was not pretty. But we made it.

So, a few things I am ridiculously excited about these days...first and foremost, NKOTB. I was in love, love, love with Joey McIntyre. I used to kiss his picture (framed picture, mind you) every day. I destroyed my walls with thumbtack holes and tape putting up hundreds of posters. I spent every penny (and most of my parents') on ridiculous memorabilia. I've been meaning to get into mom & dad's basement to find those old treasures. Anyway...a reunion! Yes!!! I heard their newest single on the radio the other day and immediately felt transported back in time to being a 12-year old girl. It was awesome. It made me truly happy. I have been devising a plan with a few girls to get to a show when they come our way. And I think just about any 30-year old woman can relate...I saw them all screaming on the Today show! I saw their concert when I was in the sixth grade and I cried - bawled - the entire time. I stood on a chair and convinced myself that Joey was pointing and singing right at me - and when I told the story to my sister and her friend, I cried again. Amazing.

Secondly - Sex and the City. Holyshitiamsoexcitedforthis! Seriously...I was fine with the finale - it ended as perfectly as I needed it to. I have been in anticipation of this movie since about January. I have avoided all spoilers I get tears when I see the trailers. My sister and I are ponying up on opening day and going. I'm totally wearing my stilettos. I am also totally ordering a gigantic trough of nachos so that when I am crying (simply because I am there and I love it), I can blame it on the spicy jalapeños. I wonder if it's too much to smuggle in a flask of Cosmopolitans? I won't push it...:)

Not enough hours...

So, I'm sitting here eating Hot & Spicy Cheez-its and speckled with paint. At work. The paint came at lunchtime (the Cheez-its are my lunch) as I was furiously trying to finish painting Jack's bathroom. 1 - because it's been a disaster for a month now, after the green/purple wallpaper pulling debauchery, spackling ridiculousness and finally the painting, and 2 - because I'm having a baby shower on Saturday for a friend and why wouldn't everyone go all the way downstairs to use the baby's bathroom? Yeah, I'm sure they will.

So, I've been frantic all week trying to get ready, which is ridiculous. I'm convinced that I need to get new blinds, which is just silly because the 1977 ones that the previous house owners left have been serving their purpose quite nicely. They are orange, brown, and off-white - in other words, a complete shade of shit. I think I may have actually found that in Jack's diaper once. Granted, it hasn't been my first priority - that was taking down the brown plaid wallpaper. And the teapot wallpaper. Oh, did I mention the pink/green nightmare combo? I love my house.

Anywho, I had to use my lunch hour today - which I hate to do. Generally, lunchtime is my time to do whatever. Whatever usually consists of a quick run so that I don't have to do it later on when I need to be spending time with Jack & hubby. I have such guilt about doing things after work - especially without Jack. I have this fear that he will love the babysitter more than me, which I know isn't true and won't ever be true, but the thought is there, sitting on the very back burner of my mind. I know he loves me because he says my name over and over! Mama, mama...he can be looking right at his dad/dog/toy/ and say, "Mama". Does this mean I look manly or like a? It might- somehow I doubt it, I just choose to think it means he loves me the most. :)

Growing, growing...

So, Jack is a total monkey. And ornery. One of his favorite things to do is get into the dogs' water dish. I will turn around and 10 seconds later his socks, pants, and shoes are soaked. The floor is soaked...and when I pull him out of it he just laughs hysterically. He also likes to throw cat litter. He throws everything over the stair railing, so if you aren't careful, you can seriously injure your foot on some toy shrapnel. At the end of the night, I have to pick up the pile that has built up at the bottom of the stairs. Another favorite is to pull every single grocery bag out of the cabinet and shake them at the cat. The nice thing is, he now doesn't mind putting them back.

He's not even 15 months and I can't believe the words he's saying. He will look at you, before he's about to do something he shouldn't, and wag his finger, saying, "no no no". He says the word baseball. He sees it on tv and says, "bay-ball". He starts to say it in a sing-song and he gets going too fast and then has to end with just ball. Some of the first words included the requisite, mama...now he says it over and over and I just melt. He said "woof-woof" for weeks on end. Pictures of dogs, bears, cows, anything...woof woof. "Dog" is another favorite. My dad worked with him endlessly one week and he now says "papa" like a champ. Grandma comes out "mee maw". He is mimicking everything, which means I really need to stop cussing.

Last week, he was at the babysitter's and she turned to make lunch...she heard him laughing and found him ON TOP of her kitchen table, pulling grapes out of her centerpiece. He has since graduated to climbing onto our chairs - which are unusually tall. He works and works at it and is so pleased with himself when he's done.

I wouldn't have him any other way...I love that at the end of the day I am exhausted from chasing him everywhere. My body is run ragged at the end of each short day (I say that because I feel like I can never log enough hours with him) and I collapse into bed where hubby and I can share a few words from the day and before I know it, he's snoring and I'm watching Golden Girls reruns.

To Make A Long Story Short...Ok, Long

I'm a mom! Yes, that's right...and how do I know this? Because dear lord, I actually used my spit to clean off my baby's face. Oh. My. God. I hated that when I was little and I immediately regretted it and vowed never to do it again. I'm so sorry Jack...mommy really does love you.

So, I've been thinking...should I chronicle every little detail or just begin to sum the last 12 months up? I'm going to try to sum, because catching up would take forever and I just don't have that kind of time when I'm so busy here at work.

I love being a mom. I sometimes remind myself that 8-10 years ago, I had no intentions of having a baby. Yes, I was young, but I really thought I'd be an atrocious mother. I guess we grow into those maternal feelings, because I love having that kid around. And I'll love having even more - just as soon as I can get this one to sleep through the night...

Anywho...the last year has been spectacular. I have functioned on less sleep than I ever dreamed possible. Who knew I could actually do this? Me, who loves, loves, loves nothing more than to curl up under the covers and get 40 winks. My child...not so much. He wants to be awake, wants to party, and doesn't want to miss anything. Sometimes I tell myself he just wants to be with me and that's why he wakes up...to have me scoop him out of the crib and hold him close until he can drift off again. He's down to waking up just once a night...and it only took 15 months! Of course, at my mom's the child will sleep all night and until 10 in the morning, but then again isn't that how it always works?

Teeth came at 5 months. Rolling over at 6, crawling at 7. Holy cow, the child is 8 months old and standing up...I am in trouble. I thought I'd bought myself at least 10-11 months of non-mobility, but Jack wasn't having it. The child is a go-getter! Nine months and he's off to the races...I remember Thanksgiving Day he took about 5 consecutive steps (after weeks of practice) and a week later he was chasing the dogs all over the house. We had just moved into a new house and he was determined to explore it all. I have friends with boys the same age and they were barely crawling - I saw the panic in their eyes, thinking their little bundle was behind the times - but what can I say? Jack's a child prodigy.

I have had my moments...sometimes I think I've become "that mother". I have been on the brink of insanity at some family functions; "give me my child!", I have wanted to scream. No, please do not give him Diet Coke (yes, this happened, OMG), yes, he's hungry, but no, he does not drink formula, and again, he is not getting his hair cut! Maybe not ever if you keep asking! I will let it grow down to his butt! Am I just a heinous b*tch? Some days I have felt like it, but for goodness sake, he's my baby, isn't he? I mean, he really is MY baby. I know that my husband has been pushed to the limits with me sometimes, but he doesn't fully understand my role or my feelings. Yes, Jack is his son, too, but it's different for me. I'm his mother...I carried him inside of me, next to my heart, for nine months (plus one week!). I nursed him for one year - which makes me feel exceptional - and well, it's just different. I am not a Nazi mother, I just know my son and what works for him. I know my frustration must show at times. I am working on my patience with these things, and I will keep trying to get better.

It's all about me today.

About Me

Because my delightful friend S. over at Mashed Bananas has tagged me to do this quiz, I will. First of all, not one to disappoint, secondly, I love these little surveys and can never seem to resist the temptation to do them. Especially while at work. So, today is a timeout from baby talk.

What was happening in my life 10 years ago:
Can I even remember back that far? Let's see...April of 1998...I was a 20-year old college sophomore who had just ended a hideously torturous relationship with a boyfriend of almost 4 years. At the time, it seemed like the world and was something I had been meaning to do for at least a year, I just didn't know how. I always wondered how I let things get that far. I had no idea what to major in except that somehow I thought that business was a good idea, which was probably the worst idea I'd ever had. I think accounting was on the agenda that semester and that was all it took for me to change my mind again. I had been living with a girl I knew from the dorms because my best friend (who went to Hays at the time) had bailed on transferring to KU and we just decided what the heck? She wasn't a bad roommate...she wasn't great. Although we were friends, it was mostly just a roommate situation. I was waiting tables at Carlos O'Kelly's and loving it. I met some great friends there - and had so much fun working. It never actually seemed like work...I was even planning to move in with two girls from there when my current lease was up. I was basically cruising along, making good money, enjoying classes and the occasional KU baseball game (quarter dog night - yesss!). Overall, I'm with Mashed Bananas...sophomore year wasn't one of my best...things were just about to get interesting...think it's any connection to the fact that my 21st was just a few months away?

What was happening in my life 5 years ago:
In spring of 2003, I had just returned back to Kansas from Sag Harbor, NY, where I had nannied for a year. I looked after two little girls, ages 1 & 3, and enjoyed most of it. I lived in a fantasy world where money was no object, moms didn't work and I still don't know what they did with all of their time when they had nannies taking care of their kids. I lived 5 minutes from the beautiful beaches of East Hampton, two hours from NYC, and 45 minutes from a fantastic outlet mall! I was back in Kansas with no idea what to do except start throwing my resume at anyone who would read it, and I was madly in love with my future husband (whom I'd reconnected with over Thanksgiving while home from NY), and was grateful to be back around people I loved, and start my own life. At times, I did miss NY and wondered if I was missing out by not staying there. I can now say that leaving there wasn't such a bad idea...after all, I have hubby and Jack now.

5 things on my to-do list today:

1. Finish peeling the hideous wallpaper off of Jack's bathroom wall. Get out of my life, purple and green ivy!
2. Work on getting ads placed for our next show.
3. Get a poster finished for the lobby
4. Start making invitations for a baby shower I'm having for my darling friend, Jess.
5. Go see G-ma in the hospital after work...gall bladder recovery. Bah.

5 snacks I enjoy:
1. Guacamole - or frankly just avocados. I'll eat them with a spoon.
2. Edemame - surprising since the other day I ate a whole bag and ended up with a belly ache.
3. Crackers - Wheat Thins, Cheez-Its, you name it.
4. Chips & Dip
5. Dark Chocolate

5 things I would do if I were a billionaire:
1. Quit my job and have more babies - and stay home with them!
2. Build a new house and purchase another one somewhere warm.
3. Pay off all debt - family members included.
4. Hire a personal trainer and chef. :)
5. Invest, invest, invest.
6. Donate a huge chunk to KU and any other worthy cause, go on a shopping spree on 5th Avenue, and travel like crazy!

5 bad habits:

1. I am ridiculously critical of myself. I compare myself to everyone. From my skin to my body, I am too hard on myself and hubby gets so cranky with me.
2. OMG, S., I am so with you on this one that I had to use it - I always interrupt. I am just like you and I get so excited that I can't wait to tell my story. I love to hear everyone's and don't mean to one-up, I just get in a hurry!
3. I am anal about things that I probably shouldn't be, but I like things the way I like them. It's my dad in me.
4. I read too many gossip magazines and web sites. I can't help it - seeing the ridiculousness of some celebrities makes me feel better about myself!
5. I have been procrastinating at work a lot lately. Oops.

5 places I've lived:
1. Gypsum, KS
2. Lawrence, KS
3. Sag Harbor, NY
4. Salina, KS
5. Does the Bahamas count? I lived there for 6 weeks when I nannied. A short lease, but a fabulous one!

5 jobs I've had:
1. Dillons carry-out girl.
2. Waitress
3. Marketing & Sales for a semi-pro basketball team
4. Mom
5. Marketing Director/Director of Operations (or Princess Fifi to my boss) at a community theatre

5 people that I'm "tagging," which means now THEY need to do this survery:
I think S. covered everyone I would have tagged, which probably means that I need to meet more people who have their own blogs!!

A New Life

The first few weeks of Jack's life were surprisingly easy. We would sit around watching him as he was sleeping, eating, taking in the sights of his new home outside my belly. I studied him for hours at a time. His little nose, huge blue eyes, and of course, what had now become a wild mess of hair resembling a rooster. His hair stood on end and was fantastic. Of course the in-laws wanted me to cut it and would smash it down when they saw him. Which pissed me off to no end. Cut my child's hair at a week old? A month? You must be joking. I was terrified that they would cut it when I wasn't looking. My mom said his hair was just like mine...when it dried it would stand straight up...I guess he inherited my cowlicks, too.

Jack was the most chilled out baby. He hardly ever cried (I know, all parents say that). He ate like a champ. I was concerned at first about our dogs and they were great. Well, actually, one of our dogs couldn't care less - if he couldn't pet and give love (or biscuits and chews) she wanted none of it. Our Dalmatian became a mother hen and protector. She would sit at my side as I held him, curious about this little being that had taken my affections.

I felt great...I lived in my sweats - because they were the only thing that fit. My belly was still bulging a bit - a giant Jell-o Jiggler. I decided that after about 5 days doing nothing but sitting in the house that it was time to get my butt moving. I decided to walk on the treadmill. I had no idea how much the birth had taken out of me until about 1o minutes into the walk, I was exhausted. Who knew? Some people thought I was crazy - and yes, some of it was vanity, but I needed my clothes to fit. I needed to start feelng like myself again and exercising helps me de-stress and re-energize. Walking it was. I didn't want to care what I looked like, but I did. It didn't help that 2 weeks after he was born, my neice asked me why my belly was still fat. Thank you for that, sweetie.

Jack went with me everywhere. Those weeks of maternity leave, I kept Target in business. Do I need more onesies? Yes, of course - he has nothing boyish - it's all neutral! Do I need to purchase him that darling shirt in size 2T? He will most certainly need it one day. I also need to stop by the mall and pick up some new shoes - since those are the only things that fit me!

Jack fell asleep almost immediately in the car, something for which I was thankful for because if he cried and I couldn't help him, I cried. It broke my heart. He was my little pal and companion. Hubby would leave for work and Jack would settle in his little papasan chair so I could shower and get ready for the day. I carried him through the store in my priceless Baby Bjorn carrier. I wanted to be as close to him as I could. Good lord, I loved this child. I never could have known what he would mean to my life. He changed me. I couldn't be selfish - I didn't want to. As the days ticked by, anxiety about going back to work settled in. How in the world would I leave him?

Burp cloths became my other constant. The child could spit! If he ever actually kept down a full meal, I felt like I deserved some sort of medal. We tried every "remedy" we could think of before we realized that he wasn't the only child in the world with this issue. Sleeping angled up? Check. Holding upright for 30 minutes after eating? Check. Switching sides more often, extra burping. Whatever - none of it works. We learned to bring lots of bibs, extra clothes and burp cloths. He spit up on everyone, anytime. I couldn't even think of putting on anything decent until I knew he was finished. Forget the gorgeous bottles atop my dresser...the perfumes I cherished. Eau de baby barf was my new signature scent.

He was not a great sleeper. And we tried it all. I think we actually wanted him to get up so that we could hang out with him some more. The crib went untouched for at least 3 weeks - we wanted him with us. And he seemed to only want to sleep when he was nestled into our arms, curled up like a tiny little ball. We were truly wrapped around his miniature fingers.

I'm Still Here!

Well, here I am. After a 1 year hiatus, I have rejoined the land of the bloggers and decided to pen (type?) the beginning of my story as a mother. Folks, prepare to be awed and amazed!

First of all, my little baking lasagna decided to arrive on February 8, 2007. Due date was the 1st, but baby had other plans...I left work on Friday, February 2, with high hopes of delivering before the weekend was out. Nevermind that nothing - and I mean nothing - was going on inside my ginormous belly. The days passed...I walked on the treadmill as fast as I could, I ran errands all over town, I dilligently cleaned the house - even the basement - willing the baby to get the heck out! I wasn't uncomfortable, I was just so darn anxious to meet the little one that I could hardly contain myself.

On February 7, I began contractions and for the entire day, I grimaced through the pain of every five minutes contractions. I even made a trip to the hospital (I swear they told me to!) and was embarassingly sent home after an hour. So, I ate the spiciest salsa known to man and paced the house. I stretched out on my exercise ball. I drank chamomile tea. I took a bath, a shower...I watched my beloved Jayhawks play the hated KSU Wildcats in pain and could barely enjoy the victory. During the night, I'd sleep for 1-2 minutes at a time between contractions. I was exhausted. At 5 in the morning, I took another shower and hubby said, forget it, we're going. I've seen enough! Of course, I had to put make up on (don't tell me you wouldn't) and make sure the hair was somewhat in tact.

We settled in at about 6 in the morning and I had made it to a 3. At this point, I was still opting for no drugs (stupidly) and an hour or so later, I found myself agreeing to something to "take the edge off". Hmmm. Not so much...no edges touched, let alone taken off. I felt like a drunkard on spring break. Hideous. When I got to about a 5, the nurse simply stated, "You don't have to be a hero. Get the epidural." Consider it done. By this time I was so exhausted and needed a break from laboring through contractions for 24 + hours, I figured I'd done enough. The true work would begin later and I wanted to rest up. I remember being checked and the nurse saying baby's heartbeat would rise when she would tickle its head. I was getting so excited. The next few hours passed - I tried to sleep a little, chatted with the family and waited for the time to come. I slowed down, then progressed from 5-9 with pitocin and was told that by noon I'd be pushing. They weren't lying...at 12:15ish, I began and it was so hard. But easy. Can that be possible? Somehow, my body knew how to push, my head was going to explode...hubby said he thought my veins would burst. The doctor and family were exactly how I wanted them - everyone was relaxed, we all talked between pushes and baby got a little closer each time.

Now, I just want to remind you all (first time preggers, especially) to never, never look at your reflection in the tv hanging on the wall. You know what it looks like down there, ladies. I did - I peeked at the urging of the nurse (who the hell are you, lady?) and saw a bursting mess with a baby's head barely peeking through. Yes, yes, it sounds beautiful and wonderful, but it's not a sight for sore eyes by any means. The good news was that I actually could see the baby. It had tons of hair. A little moppet! Was it a girl? A boy? Who was this person that I had already begun to love enormously?

I pushed for about 45 minutes and at 1:03pm, the little one was born...a boy!!! Jack Everett, he would be named...Jack because we loved it, Everett after my beloved, wonderful Grandpa who'd passed away less than a year before (I'm crying just typing those words). I can't describe how I felt when he finally came out...love, relief, exhilaration, joy...so many emotions all tied up into this little wonder. He came in at 7lbs 2oz and 19.5 inches long. He hollered and my fabulous doctor and nurse laid him on my chest and I was in heaven. Nevermind that I was open legged on a table surrounded by my sister, mom, dad, and husband, or that we were both covered in gunk...it was the best moment of my life. He was perfect...a mop of delicious brown hair and dark blue eyes. We all cried at this amazing little person and I looked at my husband and loved him even more. I loved this baby. Baby love is incredible...it's instant and wonderful. There's nothing like it in this world. I felt like I had joined a secret club that only moms know about. Jason took him out into the hallway (I can't believe they let him do this!) and he lifted him in the air to a deliriously happy waiting room full of family members - who at several points during the labor had listened anxiously by the door. Did I mention that photos were being snapped and by some wondrous event, my lip gloss had stayed in tact the entire morning. So there I am, tears running down my face with this baby wrapped in my arms, with a delicious sheen of whatever flavor I threw on that morning. My vanity was still in tact and I managed to look decent. Any mother will tell you that it's paramount to look presentable because millions of pictures will be taken and no one wants to look like they actually did just give birth. Ha.

Now, I will not tell you about the events that ensued "down there" because that would just be unladylike, and we all know that if anything, I am a lady. For the rest of the day, I think we were the McDonalds of the hospital...over 1 billion served. The line of visitors and well-wishers was endless...and although I was thrilled that we had so many loved ones, I just wanted to sit and stare at my swaddled little delight. He looked just like me. He really did! Our baby pictures are identical. And I have to say, that something inside of me was so pleased...I felt like he lived in me and I worked hard for him and to have a little mini-me was just the most darling thing. I wanted him to be all mine. I never wanted to let him out of my sight.

I skipped over the nursing part. I didn't mean to do that to all of you devoted readers...but within an hour of being born, I was nursing my baby for the first time. It was amazing. I didn't know how I would feel, but I immediately felt a bond with him that I cannot put into words. I loved that he needed me so much because I needed him more.. I loved that this was our private time. No one else could share these moments with him.

During the course of the night, we did allow Jack to go to the nursery...we were advised to get rest and relaxation over the night because we needed it. Poor hubby slept on a ridiculous reclining chair. I seem to recall being invaded by the nurses twice...taking blood and what the hell, did she really ask me if I had farted lately? What was that about? Did I mention that the shrew turned on the light for this nonsense? Did she not see the lamp next to the bed of steel I was laying on? Not that it mattered, I was so tired I could have slept outside on the sidewalk.

When I woke up in the morning and remembered that I was a mom and that my life was forever altered, I was so happy. It was real. He was here and I couldn't wait to get him home. But first I had to shower - possibly the most exquisite shower I have ever taken. I was timid and sore and moving pretty slowly, but things were good. The numbing spray was working! Going to the bathroom was a whole other experience...changing my "diaper" (oh lord), spraying the hot water all over myself (random, but delightful) and gently tending to my war wounds. Sounds bad, but it's not. It's not great, but it's worth it.

Jack's go-home outfit was huge! It was a newborn and it was hanging off his little body. What a peanut he was...he couldn't even muster up the energy to open his eyes during the picture. We carted him off with all of our equipment, bags, pillows, and the rest of the cargo and headed home where we'd begin our new lives as a family.

If I have a baby today, I'm naming it Punxsutawney.

Well, what in the hell. Yesterday was my due date, so where in the hell is my baby? You mean you don't actually have your baby on the due date? Crazy. So yes, yesterday was the day, but as expected, it came & went and here I sit at my office...2 hours and 51 minutes of hell left before the weekend and my official maternity leave beginning. I hope I have the baby this weekend...wouldn't that be great? Start off Monday with a bang!

God, I'm ready. I'm ready! Baby, can you hear me?!? Please come out. I can barely wipe when I go to the bathroom, for heaven's sake. I can't bend over. I can barely roll over - I need the strength of a bodybuilder to get out of bed. I got a fab-u-lous new pair of boots. I can't get them on. That definitely warranted a hissy fit. I have organized my desk over and over. Leaving notes for everyone at the end of each day - just in case. I pretty much secured my spot in the office for the entire week. Being that organized can only be an occupational hazard. I was destined to not have the baby any time prior to the due date. I'm having contractions, everyone keeps saying, this is it! Today's the day! Quit toying with me, people!

The good news is, there's light at the end of the tunnel. I know that baby is coming soon...I know I will spend several glorious days in nothing but sweats, getting to know my little darling, learning the ropes, bonding as a family with baby, hubby, and yes, the dogs. Let's get this party started, folks!

Time to Go

It's time. I can no longer have this baby in my belly. I'm sure there comes a point in every woman's pregnancy where she literally believes she will be with child forever. I'm there. I sit here at my desk, a baby smashed under my ribs (don't they EVER drop, for eff's sake?), 38 weeks and 1 day pregnant. 13 days until the estimated go-time. I was pleasantly surprised to know that Dr. Wonderful will not let me go past one week over this date. She is a savior. Here I was thinking I was going to be in misery until Valentine's Day. I don't know how I have progressed. Am I dilated? Effaced? It's hilarious that people I don't even know will ask me "is your cervix softening?". Someone actually asked me that at the hair salon last night. Seriously? Did you just ask me about my cervix? How's your vagina today, lady? And you have to be gracious because for some reason people are completely fascinated with pregnancy. Total strangers ask you questions without a second thought!

As I mentioned, I did make a trip to the hair salon last night. I made it as close to DD as possible, not knowing when I can get back into the joint to get it done again. Next week: pedicure. Is it wrong that I am going to actually do my toes before the pedicure just in case I go into labor? Don't think I won't do it. So now that I'm coiffed and toes will be looking delicious very soon, I can officially have this baby. Ha. In the spirit of all things baby, I purchased a darling polka-dotted nightgown for hospital wear. No sense in having my bum hanging out of a backless, paper gown. I also indulged in some darling new slipper socks to match. And yes, I've got my beloved Victoria's Secret (yes, there are still some things I can use from my beloved lingerie store) robe. Bags are packed and ready. Nursery is re-painted and decorated. Yes, I said repainted. What in God's name was I thinking the first time I did it? Everything at the office is in order. I have everything taken care of - which literally ensures that the baby will not come until the last possible moment. Oh, and I will not mention the fact that the gorgeous and ever-so-sexy nursing bras arrived in the mail yesterday. I tried on one of the tank tops I got, pulled down the hatch and saw my boob hanging out and laughed for an hour. Hideous.

I'm sure I'm forgetting something. There's something I haven't done - something major that I will need more than any other item in the house. Whatever it is, I'm sure I will figure it out...it will be 2:00 in the morning with stores closed and I will need it desperately, but it will happen. Let's all send telepathic messages to the little one this weekend and let him/her know that now is the time! Let's meet this little bambino!!! Have a great weekend...I'm out.

Hair Bands, High Heels, and Stretch Pants

In the words of the great 80's hair band, Europe, "It's the final countdown"! Approximately 3 weeks until my due date...21 days. 504 hours. 30,240 minutes. It's hard to believe a few short months ago I was blabbing about a safety pin holding my pants up and now my best friend has become elastic. I highly recommend the Old Navy yoga pant for anyone who might be expecting. Absolute gems! I do believe the crotch is about to blow out in one pair because I have worn them so much. So comfy, so cute (the pants, not a blown out crotch). An excellent investment for anyone with a bun in the oven. Or anyone who might be enjoying a personal glutton bowl and needs a little room to spare in their trousers. I love them!

The second thing that I love is that I am still wearing my heels. And I'm not talking about kitten heels or anything puny here. I'm talking, I am still wearing my shit-kicking, fabulous heels that I spent a lot of money on so you bet your ass I'm wearing them heels! Yahoo for me! I personally don't feel that I would feel like my normal, delightful self if I wasn't. If I wore flats everyday, not only would I feel lost, but I would also be walking around the office looking like I had morphed into a tree trunk. High heels make everything better.

Last night was my final hurrah in pilates class until the little one comes. It got pretty comical towards the end. Did I have an exercise ball stashed away under my shirt? Nothing works the way it did pre-pregnancy or even the early rounds. Legs don't straighten, arm strength begins to wither...this all started around the fifth month. I was a hideous sight. I am assured by my teacher that everything will return to normal. Do you think she means my belly and lady bits as well? I plan on keeping up the walking and whatever else I can do, but I'm so ready to be able to run again and exercise normally!

Baby is getting uncomfortable in its little cocoon. I believe this because momma is extremely uncomfortable. Not so much kicking anymore as general pushing and shoving going on. My belly is constantly rippling and has little feet and hands sticking out everywhere. I'm convinced baby has taken to a spread-eagle position and gotten stuck. This is especially enjoyable at night because pillows no longer have an effect on my comfort. I encase myself in a pillow fort because this is what "they" all say to do. Well, eff them! It doesn't work. I wake up approximately every half hour to an hour. Not to mention, the dog has decided the body pillow is her favorite and gets as close to me as humanly possible in order to snuggle. Rolling over is like moving a 1000 lb boulder - it would be easier to do if I had a crane attached to the bed. At least when the baby is waking me up I will be mobile - in a stupor, but mobile.

Well, baby, you can come out anytime now. I know you won't, because in my life, a February 1 due date really means the 13th. I know you will come when you are ready, but it's ok to be an early bird. I'm ready to don my superhero cape and be your mommy.

I Can See the Light...

Is anyone even reading this anymore? I have no idea. I know my posts get fewer & farther between, but that's only because I rarely have the energy to be as witty as I once was. Only 5 weeks left in this little adventure and it can't come soon enough. I sit here at my desk completely uncomfortable. There is a small foot (butt? arm?) that has lodged itself into my side. It feels like a boulder when I touch it and it hurts. Yes, child, you are already hurting your mother. Sitting is the worst possible position for me, so guess what I do all day at work? I sit. At my desk. Feeling sorry for myself. What I want to do is lay down and have a siesta underneath my desk. Occasionally I will get up to stretch my body out and take a lap or two around the building - that way I can move the baby around and look like I'm actually working - two birds with one stone! And today I am sweating. I feel like running to the break room and climbing into the freezer.

So, back to the 5 weeks. Yes!!! Finally, there is light at the end of the tunnel. There are times when I feel I've been pregnant forever. I'm tired now. My body is creaking like a 100-year-old door. And I haven't even had it rough...this has been easy to what it could have been. Sure, I probably shouldn't complain, but I'm going to anyway. Momma is sick of maternity wear. Sick of subleasing her body! Momma wants to be able to put on her beautiful new boots without panting or finally giving up and having hubby do it for her. Yes, that's right, my name is Mary and my husband occasionally helps me put my boots on. I want my boobies to be of normal size again (yes, I can forget that for awhile with breastfeeding), I want to actually be able to see the lawn while I'm manicuring it - another task hubby may have to take over (extremely scary to think about). I'd like the occasional cocktail. I'd like to be able to enjoy Pilates or a jog without being completely worthless for the rest of the day. All superficial and selfish reasons, I admit. The main reason is simply that I am impatient and want to meet the little one and be a mom. Not to mention, I've got some darling outfits I can't wait to put on the little monkey!

I never thought I'd be tired of talking about being pregnant, but I am. Every time I see someone it's the same damn questions - even if I just saw them the day before. I know, it's mean, but I've never once claimed to be a sweetheart. I am impatient and pregnancy magnifies that trait 100%. Everyone is an expert and has their opinions. They all seem to know the sex of the baby. Did they see something I didn't during the sonogram? Were they in the room? Is it possible that x-ray vision does exist? I know it's only going to get worse! I'm more of a "I'll ask you when I want to know" person...but I understand, people are only trying to help. I've been doing my reading and I know I'm not alone in this, but I still feel like a meanie.

So, in a few days we hit up the doctor for the 36 week appointment and I'm told I will have the Group B Strep test. I did a little research and come to find out, I will be violated in places that are exit-only. What in the eff? But the exciting thing is (well, as exciting as a pelvic exam can be) is that I will get an idea of baby's location and how I am starting to progress. Well, this is what I assume - but I am occasionally wrong. Personally, I do not want to be weighed anymore - the scale is no longer my friend. I think the nurse can make an educated guess and leave it at that. She can even shave off a few pounds if she is so inclined. Let's skip over the peeing in a cup ordeal - I usually miss and go all over my hand. I can't see down there, so I'm basically shooting in the dark. And I love the sign that says to collect the "middle portion" of the urine. By the time I actually hit the cup, it's more of a trickle, so they're lucky if they get any of it.

Ah, pregnancy. Enjoyable, delightful and wonderful, but I'm ready for the next stage. I don't mean to scare anyone into thinking it's a miserable experience, but it's time for it to be over!

I hope you all had a delightful holiday - those of you who still read this, that is. Take care and have a happy new year! xoxo

Impatient Irma

6.5 weeks left and I'm so ready I can't stand it. I never thought I'd be that impatient, uncomfortable, whale of a lady who felt like they couldn't stand it another day. I feel like I've been pretty easygoing throughout this whole deal, but now, I can't take it. I want to own my body again and no longer sublease it to this little one. I want to meet it! I want to put all of the cute outfits on it and kiss & love on it. I want to change diapers! I'd rather have lack of sleep because my little on is hungry! Not because my hips hurt or I'm having an atrocious leg cramp or because I can't roll over without my pubic (yes, pubic) bone hurting.

I hate to complain. Actually, I sort of like it, because this is the only time in my life I will be able to complain without people thinking I'm a total pain in the ass. And it's happened to me overnight. Last week I was carefree and comfortable and this week, I just want it to be over. My back hurts because my boobs are 48lb bowling balls! I don't, however, have the dreaded lower back pain (hopefully it won't come later) and I attribute that solely to Pilates (it has been working!!). I need back rubs. I need sleep. I need to be carried everywhere. Anyone have a wheelbarrow hubby can haul me around in? I need a reclining wheelchair to put the feet up on at all times. I want the baby to drop its little bod down low so that momma can breathe! So my ribs don't feel like they are in my throat.

Does pregnancy sound horrendous to you yet? Well, it should. Just kidding, folks. If 6 or 7 weeks of being uncomfortable and exhausted is all I have to worry about, then I'm all good. I suppose I could have been violently ill, swollen and puffy, vericose-veined, hemorrhoids, constipated, and then some. Ok, I'm starting to feel a little better about things. Slightly. Mostly, I'm just feeling sorry for myself. I'd like the husband to try and do this! I politely tell him to shut his piehole when he complains of being tired or sore. He has no business talking about it until he's waddled through life with an extra person in his belly. He may never be able to talk about it again, frankly. I might not let him - I might not ever feel sorry for him again.

In any case...little Baby needs to hurry up. I know it will come when it comes...but I wouldn't complain if it were just a few days early. :) Love & hugs to you all!

Walky Talky Hawky

I feel as though since just yesterday afternoon, my belly has doubled in size. From the time I left work, exercised and got home, I must have expanded at least 27 inches. Is this possible? Can my belly really grow over a matter of 2 hours? Dear child, what are you doing to your mother? I've taken the liberty of giving myself the nickname "Foghorn Legorn". My belly, coupled with a bubble butt (which I had pre-pregnancy) has rendered me the spitting image of the annoying rooster.

So, we had a doctor's appointment on Monday and every time I get weighed, I vow to close my eyes, then wind up peeking anyway just to make myself miserable. By normal standards, it's not a bad weight gain. It's only my belly and overflowing mammaries, but still. Someone in my pilates class said she couldn't tell I was pregnant from the back and I think she might have been high. I feel that my hips and width has tripled. How in the hell am I going to slither into my pre-mom jeans once the baby is out? My doctor is not worried, so why am I in a constant state of panic? I worry about stretch marks. I'm thinking...just under 2 mos left so there's still time if they want to rear their ugly head. I have this horrible feeling that my stomach is going to burst outward with a rainbow array of red & purple. Therefore, not only do I use my Palmer's Cocoa Butter Stretch Mark Cream twice a day, I have also taken to using pure Vitamin E oil, as well as lathering up with some lotion at work when I use the restroom. Time consuming, but I figure I can't be too cautious. Does it even work? Could I be any more vain? Imagine if anyone at work could see me - dress up, tights down, shirt up, whatever - slathering lotion all over my oversized belly. Out of all of the things I stress about, this is it. You'd think it would be child deformities, brain damage, labor complications, but no. Well, that's not true, I have worried about all of those things, but I have the utmost confidence in sonograms and medical technology.

So, the coolest thing about pregnancy is feeling the baby move. It's so unreal to think of this little person rolling around inside of me. Still - after feeling it move all day for the last 2 months, I still can't believe it. I found out that the baby's head is down (good) and it's foot is what is lodging under my ribs. Only when I sit down & get all scrunched up. Sometimes talking to it will get a little nudge out of it, sometimes if I poke it, it will poke back. It's already communicating with me in its own little way. It's so amazing. AND...baby loves the Jayhawks just like Momma. I know this because every time I watch them the baby moves a lot, which in my book is a thumbs up for the beloved crimson & blue. Baby went to its first game the other night and I'm sure it will be one of many. I've decided that if I am giving birth on February 7th, there will be a tv installed so that the KU-KSU game can be turned on so baby can come into the world on a winning note. Yay! Rock chalk, my little baby Jayhawk! :)

Despite some of my rants and ravings, I have to say, things have been pretty uneventful. I can still jog and do pilates (although like an 83-year old woman) and only a couple little moments of Braxton Hicks. Things have been great and I've been extremely lucky during this pregnancy. Here's hoping things continue to go well...and a shout-out to Baby Landon, born yesterday at 11:39 in the morning (12 minutes of pushing...lucky momma!)! I'm out...

Santa Baby

Santa has made an early appearance in Kansas. When I watch my stomach, I feel like Santa Claus with his "bowlful of jelly" belly. And it sort of feels like jelly if I think about it - jiggling around like crazy when the little one decides to practice its acrobatics. My tummy moves this way & that...even my clothes move. It ripples. Sometimes it's so powerful I feel like the baby is going to jump right out of my skin. I actually dreamed it did - well, its hand, anyway. I dreamed it was moving so much and suddenly, a hand popped out of my stomach holding a tube of red lipstick. Does this mean its a girl? Or does it mean baby just knows that I really enjoy cosmetics? I can't wait to meet this little person who has been using my uterus as a punching bag! Hard to believe after all this kicking and such that a tiny, helpless person will emerge, completely dependent on me. I found out yesterday that hubby's birthweight was a whopping 8 lbs. 15 oz. Holy lord...let's hope baby is a little more like its mother...7-8...or is it 7-6? Not exactly a Petite Patty, but nine pounds coming out of me is more than I'd like to handle right now.

So speaking of the girl thing, I have felt, from the beginning, that baby is a girl. I don't know why. Of course, my intuition is probably all wrong and I honestly have no preference to having a boy or a girl. It's just something I feel. I have talked to a lot of mothers who say they knew from the beginning what they were having and they were always right. I wonder if I am? Guess I'll find out in about 9 weeks. Which, let me get to that. I am ready. Can I just tell you, I am 100% ready? I'm ready to meet baby, ready to get my figure back (with Dolly Parton proportions), ready to be a mom, ready to have a glass of wine! I'm ready people! I'm not scared or worried, I'm just anxious for it to get here.

I know this is a short post, but it has taken me days to complete this one. I will write more after the next doctor's appointment - next Monday!

Chug-A-Lug

So, today was another checkup and I got the honor of drinking a delightfully sugary orange drink in order to test my blood glucose levels. As I opened the bottle (please drink 30 minutes prior to appointments, ladies!), I wrinkled my nose at the thought of drinking cold, carroty-looking syrup. Will it taste like cough medicine? Will it be orange soda without the fizz? No! Much to my enjoyment, it was just like the delicious orange drink we would guzzle on the last day of elementary school with our bags of popcorn and our movies like "That Darn Cat" and the one about the field goal kicking donkey. I chugged it and promptly gave myself a bellyache. Back then, too - this time with no telltale orange mustache.

I am right on track these days...and a weight gain I can deal with - 3 lbs. And remember the snarky nurse? The snot who informed me that she had not gained a single pound? Well, well, well. She has gained considerably in the last 4 weeks. I have to say, my charred, black heart was pleased. I know, it's hateful and wrong, but she made me feel dirty and slovenly the last time! She herself admitted she was having difficulties with her expanding waistline. I did feel her sorrow, but was secretly glad the bad karma had caught up with her. Of course, this probably means that Baby will be a Cyclops or that I will develop the worst stretch marks known to man.
Keep in mind (I'm talking to you, God of Pregnancy), I am not being a wench, I'm just reporting the news as I see fit.

As I have previously reported, Baby is quite a gymnast. I have also decided I might have a contestant for World's Strongest Man/Woman on my hands. A little fist (or foot or head, I suppose) has managed to find a cozy little spot just under my ribs and push as hard as it can. Meanwhile, the rest of its body is kicking in my lower belly. Perhaps it has its arms & legs spread-eagled in order to touch all corners of it's little house at once. I think I can do the same thing in my house, too. Baby is moving constantly. My belly is an indoor jungle gym. When I sit and watch it, it looks like little invisible people are bouncing on top of it...up, down, up, down. Sometimes I even catch it through my clothes! I still have a hard time wrapping my brain around the entire thing.

And another happy note...my first baby shower was Saturday. The lovely ladies from work held a little something for me and I was, shall I say, "showered" with delightful gifts and love. Not to mention an amaretto cheesecake that was to die for. I came home & hubby & I spread everything out on the floor to take another look. Tonight: the crib. Let's see if our marriage can withstand the construction. I'll keep you posted.

Ding Ding! Round Three!

As I head into the final third of this pregnancy, there are a few thoughts that come to mind. Each day over my lunch hour, I watch The Baby Story, hoping for some indication or insight as to what my future holds in 3 months as I slip my feet into the stirrups and bring Baby into the world. So, from my channel 43 observations, here's my request list for the DJ:

First of all, I don't want cheerleaders in the delivery room. I see these overzealous family members and hospital employees who go insane and continuously yell "Push push push push push! You can do it! Let's go! Give me a good one!" No, people! I know I am usually loud and obnoxious, but I think I will prefer quiet support...and I don't mean the Scientology version of birth as in, everyone has to be quiet so the baby will not be soiled by Earthlings kind of way. But a laid back, non-panicked way so that everyone (including momma) is relaxed and non-urgent. Let's hope no panicking is necessary.

Secondly, if I make any screamy, squealy, stuck pig kind of noises, I want someone to slap me. Yes, I know it's hard and painful and stressful, but when I hear these noises, I immediately become embarassed for the women making them and wonder why they would want this televised. Not that I will be on tv. At least I hope not. I'm fine with grunting and heavy breathing, but please don't let me screech like a wounded animal. I hope that an epidural will eliminate these possible embarassments.

Thirdly, I'm not sure how I feel about close relatives seeing my "lady garden". I know my doctor can look at it because I don't think she would recognize me if she weren't. I know my husband has seen it before, so I suppose that's ok, too. I worry that he will become slightly nauseated at this bulging, bursting sight that in no way resembles what he is familiar with. My sister and mom, well, that's ok, too. I very much enjoyed being a part of my sister's labor & delivery, but didn't necessarily "look" - except for an unfortunate peeking as the episiotomy was taking place, which scarred me for years. My mom can watch for obvious reasons, however I expect I will be needing her moral support "up top" if you know what I mean. Then there's my dad...whom I absolutely want with me, but am nervous about him actually seeing my below bits. Someone please tell me that I will not be embarassed when it is all over. As for the in-laws...I love ya, but please wait outside. I definitely don't need you seeing that much of me.

And finally, please don't be alarmed if I am pedicuring my feet often in those days leading up to the birth. Or, better yet, having someone else do it since I know I won't be able to see my feet, let alone reach them. I am extremely anal about my feet and to have anyone in close proximity to them without proper grooming would just be plain bad etiquitte. I also have a feeling I will be requesting some lip gloss and a dusting of powder before (or just after) the birth. I am not photogenic and have not been blessed with the skin of say, my friend Shandi, so frankly, I will need help. I know people will want to snap photos, so I kindly request waiting until I am somewhat presentable. This is the Contrary Mary talking - so please listen!

These are my wishes...so now if anyone is still interested in being present at this exciting and blessed event, I'll see you in 3 months. Or less. Maybe. Not.

Dream Weaver

Well, my first official scary dream happened last night. Ok, so the dream where I: 1. Gave birth in my grandma's kitchen; 2. It was already about 6 mos. old; 3. The baby had a cat's head when I went to feed it. A freaking cat's head! That dream was pretty scary. But last night, I was really terrified. I dreamed that my baby was gone...actually that it died in the womb and I woke up in total fear and panic. I grabbed my tum tum and begged baby to move so I knew it was there. I held it for dear life and thought, oh God, what am I going to do? I suppose I realized it was a dream, or maybe I was just exhausted, but I fell back asleep. The dream is still spooking me this morning.

Pregnancy dreams are quite interesting, I'll say. I have always been a very vivid dreamer and sometimes I have trouble deciphering what is real and what's not when I wake up. Even well into the next day I sometimes can't remember if things happened or if I dreamed them. I have also found a correlation between eating chicken for dinner and dreaming like a psych ward wacko. Crazy, eh? Well...my dreams now are no exception. In addition to my "porno dreams", which have unfortunately stopped (crap), I dream about the baby. Imagine that! The baby is always about the size of a 6-8 month old at birth. Let's see...there was the one where I didn't even remember giving birth, left the baby at the hospital, then went to get it, couldn't find the hospital, then had no car seat to take it home in. By the time we got it straightened out, the baby I took home wasn't even mine and I had a mother not speaking to me because apparently I had been hateful while pushing the little bambino out. I dreamed hubby gave birth to a bouncing baby girl! The rest of my dreams have all been about a boy. I read somewhere that subconsciously that means I want a boy more than a girl. I don't think that's true. Hubby, however, I think might be leaning on a girl a little. He heard some song about a man & his baby girl, got a little weepy and now wants to have a "Daddy's Girl". How darling!

Oh, and get this! Baby is already minding its mother. The other night I was commenting that baby never kicks on the left - just the right and down low. Upon saying this, I promptly got a swift kick to the left side that I won't soon forget. Baby also gets fired up with mama while she's cursing and hollering as the Jayhawks are blowing a lead in the fourth quarter of a football game. Let's see how Baby reacts when it sees the real thing this weekend!

Hope you all are having a delightful week and are ready for Halloween! This is one of my favorite times of the year. Just think - next October we'll be dressing up our little 8 month old monkey!