Happy Birthday Kiddle!

Three years old today! It's hard to believe. (And, yes, I know I said that last year and will continue to say it every year of his life. As my mom still does about me!)

We had a birthday party for him at the house yesterday. I admit it was somewhat last minute, because eons ago I thought we might be moving before his birthday, so I had pretty much put party planning out of my head. I finally realized a few weeks before that it might be a good idea to do some celebrating, especially considering that the imminent arrival of a major life disruption is looming.

But, despite my procrastination, it all came together quite well. The theme was Old McDonald's Farm since he's still obsessed with animals. The kiddos wore cowboy hats, decorated farm-animal-shaped cookies (made from scratch by me, thankyouverymuch), sang a spirited version of "Old McDonald" complete with cow, horse, pig and duck visors, and, of course, had the staples of three-year-old birthday parties — pizza and cupcakes. I kept the guest list tiny — just LK, Jack, Mabel and Liam, plus Grandpa, Grandma and all the parents — mostly to keep the cookie decorating manageable. Kiddle had a fantastic time and really seems to be grasping the "birthday" concept.

Today has been pretty low-key. We spread out the gift opening by tying a helium balloon to a gift every couple of hours and sending him off to look for it. He got lots of puzzles, books, a giant John Deere tractor and wagon, a new backpack, a kid-size wheelbarrow and a BIKE. (Well, one of the pedal-less ones so he can learn to balance.)

So, it's been a pretty successful birthday weekend so far with still more to come: a celebration at preschool on Tuesday, then one last chance to blow out the candles with Mr. P's family at Easter dinner next weekend.

Happy birthday, my little one! I love you more than words can describe.

Three Years Ago Today: Kiddle's BIRTHday!

Wednesday. It's well after midnight and this kid is NOT coming out.

I'd been pushing since 9:00. He definitely had the cool 04/05/06 birthday at this point, but you know what would be even cooler? If he was born at 1:23 on 4/5/06. Something to aim for ... and miss, as we blew right past the time.

Finally, it was decision time. Keep going or c-section? We decided it was best just to get the kid out. He obviously wasn't going to cooperate, even after almost six hours of pushing. I was amazed at how quickly things moved once we made the decision. And at 3:24 am, Kiddle arrived into the world. All 8 1/2 pounds of him.

Happy birthday, little one!

Snow in April, just for your birthday.

And, finally, after 3 1/2 days of jaundice and low blood sugar for him, and hormonal crying jags and super swollen feet for me ... we were on our way home.

And those boxes of work stuff I shipped home to organize? They're still in my attic, untouched and, since no one came looking for the stuff, apparently unnecessary.

Three Years Ago Today: April 4th

Tuesday. The induction is underway.

We met Elizabeth at the hospital the night before. To keep the TMI level down, I'll just say the first step is a procedure to help get my pregnant parts ready to go. Fortunately it doesn't involve me doing anything; just hanging out and trying to get some sleep. Although I did start having some small contractions early in the morning, so after that, sleep was hard to come by.

I should take a moment here to say how wonderful it was working with my midwives — Barbara and Elizabeth. (An extra side note: Barbara is originally from OKC and attended Putnam City before West or North existed.) One of the main reasons I chose to go that route instead of an obstetrician was the personal care you receive throughout the labor process. And their relationship with the hospital staff came into play from the very beginning for me: I was not going to get along with my nurse. Mrs. Green.

Ah, Mrs. Green. If only I knew your first name. Old school, old school, old school. Our first clash was seconds after we walked into my room and she couldn't understand why I wanted to wear my own gown instead of a hospital gown. (Do you realize how long I could be here before I have this baby, Mrs. Green?) Then she whips out a needle to stick an IV in my arm and I had the NERVE to question her. (Barbara had specifically told me I didn't need an IV through this first stage. And once you have that IV your mobility is much more restricted.) Through gritted teeth, she agreed to hold off until Elizabeth arrived. And, of course, no IV was confirmed once she got there. Thankfully, Elizabeth was able to switch me to a different nurse. Thank you, sweet Elizabeth. I would have had a needle in my arm all night and my ass hanging out if I'd been with an OB instead of a midwife.

So other than some minor contractions, not much was happening. I was able to take a shower (no IV, thankyouverymuch) and have a bit of breakfast before the real induction started -- a pitocin drip around 10:00 that morning. But that pitocin is some powerful stuff. Over the course of the morning and early afternoon, my contractions were getting incredibly painful. I kept asking Elizabeth, "If I was laboring at home would you have sent me to the hospital yet?" And she kept answering, "No, not yet." Sweet Jesus!

My original plan had been to use the birthing center at the hospital — which means no epidural. Insanely, or perhaps ignorantly, enough I still wanted to see if I could make it through the birth drug-free. And I lasted a good long while. Even Elizabeth seemed impressed. But, I'll tell you, getting induced HURTS. Pitocin is some nasty stuff. And it got even worse after she manually broke my water. By 5:00 I couldn't take it anymore. We did one more check and found that I was still only dilated to 5cm. Bring on the drugs! NOW! And by 5:30 I was in heaven.

Epidurals are amazing. I still wish I could have avoided it, but I couldn't believe the difference. I went from incredible agony to bliss in moments. I even slept for a bit. And, around 9:00, Barbara had arrived to relieve Elizabeth, I was FINALLY dilated to 10cm, so we decided I could start pushing.

Mr. P and I had joked when we arrived at the hospital the night before that it was too bad I'd have the baby on April 4th, instead of April 5th ... it would be much cooler for his birthday to be 04-05-06.

Little did we know.

Three Years Ago Today: April 3rd

Monday. Felt much, much better after the stomach flu from hell over the weekend. And due back in the city once again for a non-stress test at the hospital.

When I got pregnant, I made the decision to work with my midwives and deliver in the city, even though I live in New Jersey. It made the most sense really, since I spent most of my time in town anyway and I was just as likely to go into labor at the office as at home. And if I was at home, without traffic we could easily make it to the hospital in half an hour. (Be sure to keep "without traffic" in mind as I continue.)

Potential preeclampsia was still a concern, but I'd held it together fairly well and there I was: two weeks to go. I left that morning for the hospital in plenty of time to account for the usual mid-morning traffic. Except it turned out to be an unusual day. TWO AND A HALF HOURS to get to the west side of Manhattan. TWO AND A HALF HOURS!! I was over an hour late to my appointment and so stressed out by the time I got there you could have popped me with a fork.

TRIP COUNT: 4

I finally get in for my ultrasound (looks good), my urine test (4+ ... that's really bad), but guess what? My blood pressure is up. IMAGINE THAT? I just spent two hours sitting in traffic on the West Side Highway. Then the doctor on call that day says to me, "Since your blood pressure is high, I think we'll just admit you now and induce you tonight."

Excuse me?

Can I go home first? Can I collect my husband first — who's in Connecticut for a meeting, by the way — so we don't end up with two cars in the city? Can I eat first? Can I pack a bag first? Can I take a shower first? AM I IN IMMINENT DANGER OF EXPLODING? If the answer is no, I'm NOT checking into the hospital at this exact moment.

I refused to do anything without talking to my midwife. And I should probably mention here that I'm sobbing hysterically and uncontrollably by this point. So I sob through a phone call to my midwives' office. And I sob through a phone call to Mr. P, scaring the bejeezus out of him. (Poor thing had literally just pulled into the parking lot for his meeting. Fortunately the guy he was meeting with happened to be a friend from college and was perfectly understanding when Mr. P said, "Hey. Just outside your door ... but I have to leave.")

As it turned out, one of my midwives was already at the hospital, so I stood outside the prenatal reception area waiting for her — still sobbing hysterically and uncontrollably. I can only imagine what all the other pregnant women were thinking. I tried to maintain my distance and cry as quietly as I could so I wouldn't scare anyone to death.

Elizabeth, the voice of reason, arrived and said, "Yes, let's go ahead and get that baby out. But of course you can go home, sweetie. Dr. Rosen has the bedside manner of a brick. Find your husband, eat, take a shower, get yourself together and come back tonight around 6:00." Thank you, sweet Elizabeth. And fuck you, Dr. Rosen.

By that point, I had calmed down enough to drive home. And so I went. I met up with Mr. P, ate a cheeseburger, took a shower, shaved my legs, packed a bag and headed back into the city.

To have a baby. Oh Lord!

TRIP COUNT: 5

Our "police escort" back into the city. Or so we said, anyway, as we fell in behind a long caravan of Homeland Security cars heading into the Lincoln Tunnel.

Three Years Ago Today: April 1st

Saturday. Just over two weeks until my due date.

I got up that morning feeling like a truck had run over me. I had a splitting headache. I was nauseous. And my entire abdomen was cramping in wave after excruciating wave. Surely this couldn't be labor, could it? It just didn't feel right. Then Mr. P, who had been out all night at a job site, came home. Feeling the exact same way.

Aha! Stomach flu.

I knew I should touch base with my midwife. She was at the hospital with another client and wanted me to come in just to get checked out, so we headed into Manhattan. Along the way we stopped for some orange juice, because I hadn't eaten that day and I'd heard horror stories about being urged into giving birth early because of blood counts that could have been fixed with a little food. I started drinking the juice just after we came out of the Lincoln Tunnel and by the time we pulled up to the hospital at 58th & 10th, I was barfing into a plastic bag.

Definitely the stomach flu.

TRIP COUNT: 3

Up in the maternity triage, the baby and all my vitals checked out fine, thank goodness. So they simply hooked me up to an IV for a couple of hours to make sure I didn't get dehydrated. Boy, IVs can do wonders! I felt significantly better by the time we left there. We stocked up on Gatorade and ginger ale and spent the rest of the weekend recovering.

But don't forget about poor Mr. P. He was suffering, too, and had been awake all night. But since he wasn't pregnant ... no IV for you, sir! He spent the two hours feeling like total hell and trying to sleep on the cold, hard floor next to my bed in the tiny, tiny triage bay. The next day I was all perky and raring to go, while he still wanted to curl into a ball and die.

Moral of the story? It's simple. Don't get the stomach flu two weeks before your due date. And don't get the stomach flu two weeks before your wife's due date. Neither of us recommend it.

The Story of Thomas's Birth, or How Many Prenatal Trips Can I Take into Manhattan in One Week?

In honor of Thomas's upcoming birthday, and since childbirth is on my mind and bladder, I thought I'd write down all the thrilling, and not so thrilling, details of his birth. Especially before I forget the details or start confusing them with this next kid. TMI alert! I'll apologize now for any overshare in the next few posts.

I'd had a pretty easy pregnancy. No major issues, no major cravings or aversions, not very hormonal and still moving around well. Until I had five weeks to go; then I started to fall apart. I hadn't gained a lot of weight so far, maybe 10 or 12 pounds. Then I showed up for my 35 week appointment and had gained four pounds in two weeks. Yikes. Retaining water much? From that point on, swelling definitely became more of an issue. I also started showing protein in my urine. Those are two of the indicators for preeclampsia (a serious blood pressure condition during pregnancy), but since my blood pressure was still ok, I wasn't labelled as such. Absolutely something to keep a close eye on, and the only way to solve it is to deliver the baby. Not the best option when you're still four or five weeks out from your due date.

Because of these concerns, I'd started working from home that week. But on Thursday, I had my 37 week appointment, so I also went to the office for a while — really just to pack up and ship out all the piles and piles of papers I had everywhere, so I could get organized while hanging out at home the next couple of weeks. (Or so I thought. The boxes were delivered to me on Monday just as I was leaving to go be induced.) At my appointment, my protein level was higher than it had been, so we scheduled a non-stress test at the hospital for Monday, just to make sure the baby was doing ok.

TRIP COUNT: 1

By this time, the baby appeared to be rather large. And since I had a major fear of having a 10 pound baby, preeclampsia was looming and I was into my 38th week (and past the point of having a preemie), we all agreed it was best if I could get this kid out sooner, rather than later. I had decided to try some acupuncture. Two of my good friends had been successful with acupuncture when overdue; both went into labor within 24 hours. I certainly wasn't expecting those kind of results. After all it was still two weeks before my due date, but was hopeful it could help get things moving. My first appointment was on Friday, so I headed back into the city once again.

TRIP COUNT: 2

The birthday party circuit.

Three parties, three weekends in a row. Although I know I shouldn't even slightly sound like I'm complaining, because I do know it will just get worse. After all, he only has nine kids in his preschool class (including two sets of twins) and one of those parties is his own.

Last weekend was LK's party at Kidz Village. This week we had Mabel and Liam's at MyGym. Kiddle had a great time at both, but it was a bit of an eye-opening experience for me in light of a recent conversation I had with his preschool teachers about his development. They're a little worried about him because he has a hard time focusing in a group setting, so it was interesting to see him in action during the structured vs. unstructured sections of the parties.

Unstructured ... he's fantastic. He has a blast running around, climbing and chasing his friends. Structured ... not so much. At Kelly's party, Mr. P and I had to sit by the door of the party room to keep him from heading back to the play area and he could not be bothered to join the dance party. At Mabel and Liam's party, again, he had no interest in going along with the group songs and activities. Except, of course, when they sang "Old McDonald." He was all over that, but the second the song ended? Outta there!

Water Play

Here's what you find when you leave your almost-three-year-old alone in the upstairs bathroom. He had insisted "NO DOWNSTAIR" because he had to give his animals a bath. But I had things to do downstairs, so rather than lug his kicking, screaming, writhing little body down with me, I decided to leave him there. I am terribly proud of him, though, that he kept most of the water in the sink. I was fully expecting a river to be trickling down the stairs upon my return. (And, no, that hair dryer is NOT plugged in, thankyouverymuch.)

Sleep, sweet sleep.

Here it is ... Kiddle's first nap in weeks. Of course it's only because he fell asleep in the car while we were taking his babysitter home. At 4:30. He woke up for a brief moment when I carried him inside, but passed out again immediately on the couch. Great, just great.

"Kiddle? Cottage cheese? Cookie? COOKIE!"

"Kiddle ... Daddy's home! Look, he's eating a cookie!

"Oh Kiddle ... want to watch Ranch Hands from Outer Space? TASHA! ORANGE HOUSE! HORSE ON MY HEAD! SPACE! SPACE!"

Nothing broke through the coma. He eventually woke up about 6:00. Refreshed and raring to go. Great, just great.

***

Dropping his nap has thrown me for a bit of a loop. I really hoped he'd keep it at least through the summer, as I adapt to a two-kid household. But he's only napped a handful of times since Christmas. Ugh. I still enforce "quiet time" but it's impossible to force a two-year-old to sit on his bed and read books quietly. So quiet time has evolved into "video time" where we both lay down on my bed and watch a video. Well, he watches, while I attempt to nap in between bouts of "Mama, Mama, wake up, wake up!" and "Kiddle, stop jumping on the bed RIGHT NOW or I'll turn off the TV."

Unfortunately just because he won't sleep, it doesn't mean he doesn't need to sleep. He's exhausted in the afternoon and it's extremely dangerous to put him in the car after 4:00. And we simply can't go out to dinner anymore because he just isn't in a state to handle it. Our ideal schedule right now is dinner at 5:30, upstairs for a bath at 6:00, in bed by 7:00. This summer will be especially rough, I suspect, because he'll have to go home while all his little friends are still outside playing. I'm still hoping he'll realize naps are ok and revert back to them, but that hope is very, very dim.

The plus side is that he's in bed by 7:30. And I have my evenings to myself. But, of course, my ideal is for him to take a two-hour nap and still be in bed by 7:00. Too much to ask, I suppose. But I'm really hoping this next kid is a sleeper. Is that too much to ask?

***

So here we are ... it's almost 9:30 and he's still awake. I've been up there, Mr. P's been up there, but he's still rustling around and fussing. He'll probably give it up soon, but it's going to be a long night and an early morning, I suspect.

Love those late afternoon snoozes. Grr.

No man's land.

It remains my futile goal to get Kiddle to bed by 7:00 (and that means by himself and asleep by 7:00). Last night wasn't too bad. Skipped his bath, as usual (man, he's one dirty kid by now), and had him down about 7:15. He, however, missed the memo that he needs to go to SLEEP at that time. He cried for a few minutes, but quickly gave up tears for rearranging the furniture. He spent a long time rocking in the big red chair in such a way that it was hitting both his closet door that doesn't latch closed AND the gate on the door, so it was like listening to a drum solo up there. BOOM-CLICK-RATTLE. BOOM-CLICK-RATTLE. But we continued to ignore him because usually he'll settle down and go to sleep soon enough.

The rocking eventually stopped and he moved on to counting with gusto and singing the ABCs, with a plainitive "MOM-MEEE" thrown in every now and then. Still, we ignored him.

Finally, at 8:15, he started getting upset, so I gave in and headed up to intervene ... and found him draped over the gate at the top of the stairs. He had used the rocking chair to bypass the gate on his door and was now trapped in the hall. And probably had been for a good half hour.

I thought his counting/singing seemed a little louder than ususal. Whoops.

School is cool.

If you've been following along for a while, you'll know that Kiddle has had some going-to-school issues. He's much, much, much improved but his common quip as we pull into the carpool line is "NO KOOL, NO KOOL," and sometimes there are still some tears as he walks away with his teacher.

Imagine my surprise today when when he was giggling to himself as we got in line, and when I trotted out my cheerleader-ish "Yay school!," he actually clapped and said, "YAY KOOL!!" as well. Shocker.

Think he'll have a meltdown next Tuesday?

Truck Timeout

Gorgeous day out today. It was so nice to spend the afternoon outdoors, playing in the backyard, racing around the park, and hanging out with our neighbors. Days like this renew my hope for spring.

One of Kiddle's favourite outdoor activities right now is racing his big dump truck up and down the front sidewalk. He's generally pretty good about listening to me when I tell him to stop and wait for me. But, as he's contractually obligated to as a toddler, sometimes he has to push the boundaries. Like today when he not only kept racing toward the busy-ish street at the end of our block, but went AROUND THE CORNER as I was yelling at him to stop. So I caught up with him, picked up the truck and marched him back to the house as he tried his damnedest to wrestle it away from me. MAH TRUH! MAH TRUH! MAH TRUH! Too bad, kiddo. Now it's Mommy's truck.

When we finally arrived at the backyard, I wedged the truck up in the dogwood tree for a timeout. You would have thought I cut off his right hand. The sobbing and dramatics went on for ages. All the way through lunch, in fact. TRUH IN TREE. TRUH IN TREE. HEP TRUH, MAMA. Yes, little one, the truck is in the tree because you didn't listen to Mommy.

But I have to say it was a remarkably effective weapon for the rest of the day. Anytime he was headed down the driveway and ignored me when I said to turn around, all I had to say was "Do you want me to put the truck back in the tree?" Immediate compliance!

Who's "Extra Little"?

I guess I should explain.

When Kiddle was an infant, I usually referred to him as Little Kid (much to Mr. P's annoyance because he thought it sounded like I didn't know Kiddle's name — until he started calling him Little Kid, too). Eventually Little Kid was shortened to just Little, which later evolved into Kiddle. We don't use those nicknames much anymore, but at one point we did become a bit concerned he might be Little for the rest of his life. I mean, who wants to be known as Little at 40?

Anyway, I've been struggling with what I should call this new kid in my musings here. And Extra Little seems fitting since he'll be my second, extra kiddo. So Extra Little it is ... at least until he shows up and something else seems to fit better.

Extra Little Update

With Kiddle in preschool two mornings a week, I finally had some kid-free "me" time. Or so I thought. Nope. Not lately anyway, because it seems all I do with my Tuesday and Thursday mornings is go for prenatal-related appointments. Last Thursday was a follow-up at the diabetes center. This Thursday is a regular visit to the OB. And today's thrilling appointment was for an ultrasound and a consult with the perinatalist. The ultrasound to check the size of the baby and the consult because apparently it isn't enough to have my OB and nutritionist following my gestational diabetes. I need to add more people to this kid's entourage.

But the report was good so I'll try to refrain from further complaint. Extra Little's estimated size is four pounds, four ounces, which is on target for 32 weeks. But it seems, however, they failed to mention that I'M HAVING A JACK-O-LANTERN instead of a baby:



Yikes! He must take after Mr. P's side of the family.

Two-Year-Olds Are Bizarre

Kiddle was asleep in the bed with me a few mornings ago. He started rustling around, waking up for the day, and suddenly said, full voice, "One, two, three, four, five, six, AAA, BEE, CEE, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, YYY, ZEEEEE!" Well, good morning to you too, little one. (And I won't even try to phonetically type his number pronunciation. Let's just say you can tell he's counting.)

***

He hasn't been a great eater for the last year, and has recently added the quirk of not wanting you to eat his food, even if he's absolutely not going to eat it.

Me: "Hmm, Kiddle, those carrots look yummy. I'm going to have a bite since you're not eating them."
Kiddle, trying to open my mouth: "MAH CARROT!! SPIH IH OW! SPIH IH OW!"
Me, showing him my empty mouth: "Sorry. All gone. Why don't you have a bite?"
Kiddle: "NOOOO! NO BIE!"

***

On Sunday, we were sitting at the table, eating dinner. Earlier in the day he had found Mr. P's bizarre dinosaur puppet. It's huge, scary looking, and something only a little boy (or a little boy in a man's body) would love. He thought it was fantastic and carried it around most of the day, even feeding it bites of his quesadilla at dinner. Mr. P and I were chatting, when I realized Kiddle was having a conversation with the dinosaur. Not unusual for most kids, but it's rare to hear him directly talking to his toys and understand what he's saying:

"OKAY DIE-SO, HODE MAH HAN." (Ok dinosaur, hold my hand.)

"HODE MAH HAN, WE GO KOSS DE STEE." (While we go across the street.)

Awww! Too cute! And it's even cuter to realize he does listen to me. Even when he's actively ignoring what I say.

Are you calling me fat?

Two more months to go and I definitely have moments when I feel as big as a house already ... mostly when I see my naked belly in the mirror. But I did feel a little better today when I picked Kiddle up from school.

His teacher saw me and said, "Wow, you're really popping out now." (Ok, so maybe it didn't start off so well.) "You've got four months left?"

"No, just two."

"Only two? Wow! You look really great!"

I'll take it where I can get it.

It's sing-along time!

We FINALLY got some video of Kiddle singing. If you want to call it singing, that is. Mangling might be a more apt description. He's expanded his repertoire a bit to include Itsy Bitsy Spider and possibly a couple of Jewish songs from preschool. I just don't have the ear to recognize those.

Here's his version of the ABCs:

And one verse of Old McDonald:

Dirty, long-haired hippie!

Yes, my son's hair is so freaking long, Ana had to use a clippie to cut it properly.

Night Night, Monster Mommy.

I've been doing a lot of ranting lately (more off-line than on, I suppose) about Kiddle's going-to-bed issues. Every single night I'm in a complete and total rage. At him for not listening to one single thing that comes out of my mouth (my god, HOW many zillion times could I possibly say "COME OVER HERE -- RIGHT NOW! -- AND PUT ON YOUR PAJAMAS"?) And at myself for turning into such a nasty, screaming monster every night.

Just to make me even crazier, he's completely oblivious to my anger. He's having a grand ol' time jumping naked on my bed. GRRR. Can't he see I'm about to lose it? That I'm THIS CLOSE to tossing him in his room for the night despite the fact he's only wearing a poopy diaper and one sock?

And I love the new step he's added to the process.

me: Do you want to rock with Mommy or Daddy tonight?
Kiddle: ROCK WIT MAMA.
We settle into the chair as Mr. P turns out the light and closes the door.
Kiddle, working up to a full standing-at-the-gate sob session: NO, NO! ROCK DE DA-YEE! ROCK DE DA-YEE! DA-YEE! DA-YEE!
A couple of times I've said, fine, Daddy will come rock with you. And we switch.
Kiddle: NO! MAMA, MAMA! ROCK WIT MAMA! ROCK MAMA!

So, I'm sure you can guess, we quickly learned not to honor that request.

***

Of course, last night he went to bed like an ANGEL.

Took a bath. Let me put on his diaper and pajamas without jumping on the bed at all. Looked at a book with me on my bed, then went into his room without protesting or running from room to room. Sat in his bed nicely while we read another book, then crawled into my lap to rock. When I said it was time to get back in his bed and for me to go, he got down on his own, got under the covers and didn't let out a single peep when I left the room. It was heaven.

WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH KIDDLE?

***

How can this sweet sleeping face send me into such a rage?

I take it back.

Spring is most definitely NOT in the air.

We got about six inches of snow yesterday and it was about 25 degrees this afternoon. BRRRR! (But I'm not really complaining because parts of Long Island received over a foot. New York City public schools closed for the first time in five -- yes, FIVE -- years.) March absolutely came in like a lion.

On the plus side, Kiddle discovered the joys of coasting downhill on a bike. If only there wasn't a relatively busy street at the end of our sidewalk. Gulp.

Spring is in the air.

Well, a little bit anyway.

I wish I could say it was a glorious day, but I can't. Overcast and a bit damp, in fact, but it was close to 50 and a nice day to stretch our legs at the park. We've been off and on over the winter when the weather has allowed, but today was the first day we actually encountered the usual group of kids.

Joseph, Juliana, Gwen, and LK were all there. And we met a couple of fresh-on-their-feet walkers who were too little to be noticed last summer. The kids had a fantastic time chasing each other all over the place and making woodchip cakes. Banana cake, chocolate cake, birthday cake, PAN-cakes (they thought that one was hysterical). So many flavors.

This park has become my lifeline to burn some energy out of my busy little kid. The winter has been long, long, long and I can't wait to get back to our nightly park outings. I think I was giddier than the kids today!

Daddy Love: The Movie.

DA-YEE!!

It's seems we're (finally) entering a daddy phase. After, I don't know, two years of a mommy phase? Two years of Kiddle trying to close the door on Daddy when he comes home from work, sobbing at the top of the stairs if Daddy dares to put him to bed solo, and hysterically wailing when Daddy enters his room instead of Mommy.*

Now, he cries when Daddy leaves in the morning, is thrilled when he gets home in the evening and doesn't utter a peep when Daddy takes him up to bed alone. And on nights that we're both getting him ready for bed, his answer to the question, "Do you want to rock with Mommy or Daddy?" is just as often DA-YEE as it is MAMA.

I wouldn't say it's all about Daddy just yet. But we're getting there. Thank god.

Let's hope it hangs on through the birth of this next kid.

* Disclaimer: extreme examples; not everyday occurrences.

KiddleTV

Yes, he's eating blueberries while watching himself eat blueberries.

He loves to watch video of himself. (Future reality star perhaps?) WASH KIDDLE? WASH KIDDLE? as he's tapping on the screen. CAM-RA? And if that doesn't work, WASH DA-YEE?

During the latest episode of KiddleTV, he ran to the fridge and got out the carton of blueberries when he saw himself eating berries on-screen. Art imitating life? Life imitating art? Who knows.

My Little Helper

Three of my favourite of-the-moment Kiddle obsessions:

1) He is my printer assistant. No matter where he is or what he's doing, he must -- MUST -- drop everything as soon as he hears my printer start up just so he can hand me the pages as they come out. I've had to reprint things simply to avoid the meltdown.

2) He is my bathroom attendant. Flushing is his job and his job alone. Heaven forbid I pee and flush the toilet myself. But his belated dash into the bathroom combined with a look of indignant reproach is worth it. At least until I have to bodily remove him from the bathroom and lock the door from the outside.

3) He is my elevator operator. The only reason trips to the grocery store are somewhat reasonable is that we park in the garage under the store and take the elevator up. But never forget -- Kiddle must be the one to push the buttons. To the point that he refused to get on the elevator recently because Mr. P pushed the Up button. The nerve of that guy.

And just how pregnant am I?

Good question.

My mom asked me a while back how many weeks I was. No clue. And of course she said, "You would have known exactly how many weeks you were with Kiddle." Well, duh, mom. It was my first pregnancy and I had it written down on a calendar right in front of me at my desk. Be thankful this is my second pregnancy and I'm not asking you to cancel your trip to Florida that covers my due date.

So how many weeks am I? I know I was 20 weeks on Christmas day, so that means I'm ... hang on ... 28 weeks. Twelve to go.

Yikes. That seems really soon and really far away.

TMI Alert: OB Update

I survived yesterday's three-hour glucose test without passing out or falling asleep. When I took the test while pregnant with Kiddle, desperate for a quick hit of protein, I stopped by McDonald's (perhaps that makes my quest protein-like?) on the way back to the subway to get a double cheeseburger. And, of course, it was one of those times it takes at least 10 minutes to get your food. I was about to collapse into a pile of goo as I clung to the counter, willing them to put that burger in my hands. How hard is it to make a double cheeseburger? I did learn a lesson from that experience and took a peanut butter sandwich with me for yesterday's test.

I also found out that my sugar level wasn't sky high -- 144, and the cut-off is 140. So that was good news and an indication that I might make it through this test without being labeled as diabetic.

The frustrating part of the visit was that the protein level in my urine sample was too high. Way too high. No need to panic yet, but it definitely worries me because that was one of the problems I had while pregnant with Kiddle -- but much later in the pregnancy. Protein in your urine is one of the indicators of preeclampsia. But it must accompany high blood pressure, which I don't have. Yet. The only solution for preeclampsia is to deliver the baby. Not a big deal if you're past 37 weeks, but I've got quite a ways to go before delivery is an option.

However -- hopefully the protein is a sign of something else. Like an asymptomatic UTI. So the doctor is sending off more urine for analysis and took more blood to run some other tests. And I have to do a 24-hour urine collection test this weekend. (So don't drink out of the big red jug in the fridge please!)

And, to top it all off, I have a sinus infection. Very annoying; haven't had one in years and years. I started a round of antibiotics last night, so I'm just waiting for that to kick in and get rid of the pain and pressure on the left side of my face. The good news is that if I do have a UTI, the antibiotics will take care of that too.

Which reminds me ... I'm two hours late taking my pill. Gotta go!

Edited to add: I also found out that I was already exposed to fifth disease at some point, so I'm immune. Whew! One less thing to worry about.

Luck of the Irish? Or the dumbest thing ever?

Am I insane for wanting to get my almost three-year-old this toy? Does it seem less crazy if I add that he's at least 51% Irish?

10 steps to bed.

1) Aim for a 7:00 bedtime ... but always start the process a half hour too late. (Remember, people, he stopped napping. 7:00 is not ridiculously early.)

2) Wrestle Kiddle into a fresh diaper, pull-up (yes, we're layering) and pajamas while he's madly jumping on my bed and hiding under the covers. "HIDEY, Mama! HIDEY!"

3) Dose of Zyrtec, then teeth brushing.

4) Read one or two books. Much to my annoyance, this means toddler look-and-find books. He will not listen to anything story-based right now.

5) Rock in his big red chair for 10 minutes or so while listening to U2 or Led Zeppelin lullaby CD.

6) Tell him it's time to get into bed. He then pushes me backwards to try to keep me in the chair: "Nooo, no bed. Rock, Mama! ROCK!"

7) Rock for two more minutes, then insist he get into bed. Cover him with a blanket, give him a kiss, say "I love you," and hightail it out of the room as quickly as possible before he can untangle himself from the blanket and catch up with me.

8) Dash down the stairs as he flings open his door, rattles the gate, sobbing "MAMA! MAMA! MAMA!"

9) Listen to the wailing until he decides he may as well shut up and go to sleep. Hopefully only two to five minutes.

10) When I head up to bed several hours later, check to see if he's asleep at his door or if he actually made it back to his bed.

I just don't get the racing-after-me step in this process. Why waste a perfectly good sense of sleepiness when he knows I'm not coming back? I do know why though. He wants to be rocked to sleep or for me to sit there while he goes to sleep. No way, bud. I've spent too, too many hours walking, jiggling, snuggling, and rocking you to sleep in the last three years. I'm done. Time to man up and go to sleep on your own. I know you can do it. I've seen you do it. So just do it.

I failed ...

... my one-hour glucose test. Ugh.

I didn't pass it when pregnant with Kiddle either. That time I got through the long version ok, but I wouldn't be terribly surprised if I end up on the gestational diabetes route this time. Annoying, but at least it would force me to clean up my diet. I've been on a serious sugar binge the last month or so.

So it's the three-hour, multiple-blood-samples version for me this Friday (which, by the way, is the first of my every-two-weeks appointments). Good thing the phlebotomist at my OB's office rocks!

Two Cool Things

At last, Kiddle is tall enough to completely reach the pedals on his tricycle. Now he's just got to grasp the concept of steering.

***


We FINALLY have an indoor playspace near us.* And it's fantastic. The best part for Kiddle at this age is the huge jungle gym. We went this morning and he spent most of our visit climbing and sliding. It also has a bunch of imagination playrooms: a workshop, grocery store, 50s diner, beauty shop, ballet studio, and more. Kiddle's pretend play skills haven't really kicked in yet (and I'm not sure he has that gene considering he's a product of me and Mr. P), so those rooms aren't particularly interesting to him yet. Unless, of course, spinning in a circle with a grocery cart and gazing at himself on the live video feed in the High School Musical room is what you'd call "interested." But that will just give us more to explore as he gets older.

* Hello, we live in the Northeast! It's cold here! You'd think there would be a ton of places like this around us, but no. All the ones that are somewhat appropriate for a two-year-old are at least 45 minutes away. I'm always so jealous when I go to Oklahoma because it seems like there's so many more options. So I'm thrilled to have somewhere new and clean and fun.

I plead the fifth.

Kiddle might have fifth disease.

His preschool teacher brought it up today when I picked him up. She became concerned because his cheeks got really red at one point today (major symptom), she heard that a kid in another class has it, and she knows I'm pregnant.

I just don't remember this being around when I was a kid (and neither does my mom), but what do I know? So here's what I learned today:

• Also called "slapped cheek" disease because they get bright red cheeks.
• Can develop a rash on the rest of the body too.
• Usually starts as what seems like a mild cold: runny nose, low-grade fever.
• Only contagious during the "cold" period. When the rash shows up, they're no longer contagious.
• Once you've had it, you're immune to it.

Kiddle had a fresh runny nose start almost two weeks ago. He might have had a slight fever one morning, but I never could get a good thermometer read and one round of Motrin knocked it out, if it was really there at all. He definitely had some serious red cheeks and redness around the mouth starting last Monday, but he always has rosy cheeks so I didn't really think much of it. I just thought they were extra chapped from all the snot he was smearing all over his face. No rash on his body (that I noticed anyway, but that's a whole other bad-mom post). So at this point it's really impossible to tell if he's had it since his symptoms aren't blatant, unless we did blood work ... and I'm not going down that path! For an extra dash of irony, we were at the pediatrician last Monday (the first day of his red cheeks) for other reasons, and apparently it didn't cross her mind either.

But here's the kicker. You DON'T want to get it if you're pregnant. If you transmit it to your baby, especially during the first half of your pregnancy, it can cause serious anemia and be fatal for the baby. Yikes! But, there's about a 50% chance I'm already immune to it and, since I'm at six months, it's less of a worry for the baby. My OB did have me come in today for blood work, just to see what's going on. They can tell if I'm already immune or if I've been recently exposed, so I'll just have to wait for the test to come back.

Oh, the joys of childhood illnesses! I do wish I had a good picture of his neon cheeks last week. You would all be horrified. In hindsight, maybe I should have been too.

Chariots of Fire: The Toddler Years

I think I broke my kid today.

He had a playdate at our house with a preschool friend. When her mom dropped her off, I said we would just walk Mia home later because it was such a beautiful day out.

Mia doesn't live too far from us; basically just up the street a few blocks. Kiddle and Mia ended up running the entire way there. I must have said "on your mark, get set, go!" one hundred times along the way. Normally I'd take the stroller, as a backup, but didn't this time since I had both kids. Several times I mentioned to Kiddle he could walk, but his reply was always, "NO ... I RUNNING!" Alrighty then.

On the way back he was so wiped out, I wasn't sure he was going to make it home without passing out in someone's yard. Of course, he kept saying, "I KIY YOU," which translates to "I'll carry you," which means YOU carry ME.

Only on the downhills, babe. I'm six months pregnant and you weigh 30 pounds.

I did carry him for a bit and I really did think he had gone to sleep. He was so still and so snuggled into my neck. Until we passed a cat, and I heard him mutter, "LOOK, KIY CAT." Down you go, bud.

When we got home he was a complete blithering idiot. Every single interaction we had was filled with sobbing hysterics.

"Want to watch Zoboomafoo while I get lunch ready?"
"NOOO .... PINGU. PINGU!"
"No Pingu right now. If you don't want to watch Zoboomafoo, then let's have some cottage cheese."
"NO CODGE CHEESE! ZABOO. ZABOO!"
He watches TV for a bit, has a complete meltdown when I sit him at the table, until he digs into his cottage cheese with gusto. (I should probably point out that feeding him cottage cheese is not a punishment ... rather, it's the mainstay of his diet.)
"All done? Ok, time to go upstairs to rest."
"NOOO! NO UPSTAIRS! NO NA! NO RES! MO CODGE CHEESE! PINGU! NO NA!!!"
This diatribe continues as I carry his kicking, writhing body up the stairs to my room and attempt to change his diaper.
"NO DIPEY! NO DIPEY! DOWNSTAIRS! NO NA!"

Ten minutes later, he's sound asleep in my bed and takes a two hour nap for the first time in weeks. I had the hardest time not laughing at him because he was just so fried. I'm not sure that I've ever seen him that tired in the middle of the day.

Oh, and I finally checked the distance my two-year-old ran/walked/stumbled: one mile round trip. Turns out Mia's house isn't quite as close as I thought. Whoops!

He won't talk, but he can spell.

Perhaps Kiddle misses his Ahdah (my dad)?

Pacifier No More

Kiddle seems to have weathered the end of his pacifier shockingly well.

His last silicone pacifier was tattered to the point that it annoyed him. (He kept manipulating my hands to squeeze the ends together, telling me it's BOKEN and to FIH-IH.) So I trimmed off the jagged parts. Then it really bothered him. But not as much as the alternate choice of a fully-formed latex pacifier.

He pushed on through his annoyance for several days, just so he had something in his mouth while falling asleep. But the last few nights he hasn't even asked for it. It's sitting, rather forlornly, on the ledge in his room. Of course, it's probably helped that he's had a massive cold the last 10 days and can't really breathe through his nose. But I'll take whatever advantage I can get in this process.

.

***

I'm finding that Kiddle is remarkably more adaptable than I anticipate with lots of things. I don't read a lot of child development info because it usually makes me feel like a worse mom than I already do, but it seems like most of what I do read emphasizes helping ease them through whatever transition they happen to be in -- giving up a pacifier, moving to a big kid bed, potty training. (And, lord knows, I am not self-sacrificing enough to do much of the advice. Sleep in a sleeping bag next to their bed ... as if.)

Yet he seems rather unfazed by most things. (Although the worst transition of his short little life, for me anyway, was when we finally let him cry-it-out just before he was a year old. Two weeks of complete and utter hell. And he still doesn't really sleep through the night.) I thought giving up his pacifier would be traumatic and heartbreaking, but he's getting through it just fine. Although I'm sure the first time I don't worry and stress over the approach to a new phase in his life all hell will break loose.

Or will it?

Happy Birthday to Me!

My favourite way to spend my birthday ... a relaxing, yummy dinner with my funny, beautiful friends. Extra birthday bonus? A certain two-year-old at home with Uncle Matty and Aunt Erin. (And if only I could have left the in vitro one behind as well. I miss alcohol! And rare tuna!)

Thanks to Belinda, Denny, Brian and Chrissy for sharing an evening with me. And thanks to Mr. P for putting it all together. You're the best!

All I want for my birthday ...

... is a damn pizza.

It's been a rather dull, bordering-on-the-depressing birthday day. OB appointment with a glucose test. Planned to go home and do some yoga before picking up Kiddle at school. But his teacher called while I was waiting to have my blood drawn and basically said he was disgustingly snotty, please come get him. Scratch the yoga.

Mr. P had to drive to Connecticut today, but thought he'd be home by 6:00. I called to check on his progress at 5:40 and learned he was up by Woodbury Commons -- a solid hour from here, longer during the evening rush. And he still has to go by the office. Scratch dinner and him putting the kid to bed.

I perked up a bit when I decided to order myself a stuffed-crust pepperoni pizza from Pizza Hut. Something I love, but rarely get because Mr. P has the typical New Yorker's disdain for chain pizza places. But then I found out they can't deliver right now. Scratch the pizza.

So I'll have to settle for a few spoonfuls of chocolate frosting right out of the jar. Yum.

***

Before you think this is the saddest birthday ever, there is some celebrating in the works. Dinner in the city tomorrow. Somewhere, with some people is all I know. I do know it's not somewhere horribly fancy because I'd hate to have to think beyond my mom clothes when I get dressed to go. (And confirmed by a friend (thank you Belinda!), because I can't totally trust Mr. P's assessment of appropriate attire.) And on Sunday, Mr. P is taking me to "The Importance of Being Earnest" at a local theater (that I haven't been to since before I moved to New York). AND he arranged all the necessary babysitting for Kiddle.

So it will be a great birthday weekend. BirthDAY, however, a bit blah.

"I kill you."

I've been hoping I could get this on video ... and we finally caught it tonight. Kiddle often tells me he's going to tickle me. But it sounds like he is saying he's going to kill me. Tickle? Kill? Slight difference, I suppose.



Next video goal: he finally has two songs in his repertoire (What can I say? The chance of any musical ability in this family is somewhere between slim and none). Old MacDonald and Wheels on the Bus. He completely butchers both of them, but it's adorable. Hopefully I can capture a session before his skills improve.

The Final 100 Days.

Of this pregnancy. Or, hopefully, the Final 90 Days if I get my wish of May 4th instead of May 14th.

And sometime in the last week I've crossed the line from mostly-forgetting-that-I'm-pregnant over to always-knowing-that-I'm-pregnant. And that could have something to do with the fact that I think I've finally gained some weight. (Not for lack of trying.) I've got a doctor's appointment on Thursday (glucose test ... yuck) and I think it might be a bit scary. The couple of pounds I'd gained were lost during the Great Barf-Off of 2009, but that was probably a bit of a false loss. All I know is I'm avoiding the scale until then.

I've got major urge to buy new baby things, too. I keep reminding myself that Kiddle had WAY TOO MUCH STUFF, but it's hard. A big goal for this week is to get out the 0-3 and 3-6 month stuff and go through it, so I can either nip this urge in the bud or give myself permission to get a few things. (Although I've already given in a bit. Don't tell anyone.)

I hate winter.

Kiddle is going to turn into a TV. Any minute now, I swear.

This winter sucks. Last year was all about finding fun indoor things to do. This winter we've been stuck in the house way too much because he's pretty much been sick since the day we got back from the holidays in Oklahoma. If he can't go to school, he probably shouldn't go play at the mall, right?

The latest thing? He started with a fresh, disgusting cold on Friday that morphed into the croup last night. He's had an almost-constant cough since the beginning of December, but this was the first time it's been in his chest. Poor thing was miserable. It's so hard to watch because there's just not much you can do for them at the age of two.

So it's the two of us. In the house. All day. And Lord knows I'm not the patient, arts-and-crafts type of mom. To top it all off, for some unknown reason all the Pingu episodes disappeared off OnDemand this weekend. I might have to kill myself. Godspeed, O Pingu DVD I ordered on Amazon this weekend. Godspeed.

Kiddle peed on the potty!

Yay Kiddle!

His friend LK, who is very proud of her big girl underwear, was over for a playdate this afternoon. Her potty training is going well, but she's still in the stage that you need to put her on the potty every half hour or so. This, of course, meant Kiddle had to sit on the potty too.

Now, sitting on the potty is nothing new. He loves to do it so he can flush the toilet. But today was the first time he's actually produced some pee while sitting there. Way to go! Hopefully it was a bit of a light bulb moment ... but I'm not holding my breath. We're still a lonnnggg way from potty training.

More Pingu?

No! No more Pingu!

It was a very odd day. Usually Kiddle is trying to prevent me from doing whatever I need to get done. ("Mama, mama! Sit, sit, sit!") Today was the opposite. I was trying to lure him into a variety of wholesome, non-televised activities -- crayons, cars, animals in his barn -- while he was demanding more episodes of Pingu. And by demanding, I mean sobbing hysterically every time I said, no, no more Pingu.

Of course, we're watching it through On Demand so there are only five episodes available. At 15 minutes a pop. And we watched every single one of them, more than once.

Thankfully, Mr. P was home this afternoon and took him off my hands for a couple of hours. And he's got preschool in the morning, so we just might survive another day.

Meep meep!

No more pacifier?

So I had this plan.

Throw away his pacifiers as they disintegrate, until they're all gone. Then no more pacifier. Simple, right?

Now that the moment is almost here I find myself waffling. He's always been an intensely oral kid -- he came out of the womb with his hands in his mouth -- and I went the pacifier route to avoid thumb sucking. He loves his pacifier and would still have it 24/7 if I let him. But, he's been quite cooperative about only using it for sleeping and even willingly leaves it in his room when we go downstairs in the morning.

I'm feeling conflicted though about taking it away from him so close to the baby's arrival. Is it better just to let him keep it until we've all adjusted to the new kid? Assuming the baby takes a pacifier, will Kiddle be intensely jealous and try to yank it out of the baby's mouth? Or will it be even worse to try to eliminate it a few months after the baby is around? ARGH! I'm not sure what to do.

I asked on my local moms' message board and of course got the wide range of answers I expected. Do it now. Don't do it now. Go cold turkey. Cut a little more off the pacifier each day until he doesn't want it anymore. Give them to the pacifier fairy for new babies. Focus on what a big boy he is now. Let him do a build-a-bear to replace the pacifier. The problem is I don't think he'll fall for the pacifier fairy, he isn't particularly interested in being a big boy, and he's never been that attached to any one thing for any length of time -- except his pacifier.

So I guess I have to trust my instincts (!!) and stick with the original plan. He's on his last silicone pacifier -- already completely shredded -- and I have one latex pacifier as a backup. He hates the latex, so I'll offer him that one after the silicone one is done and perhaps he'll just stop using it.

It won't be too traumatic, right?

Gulp.

It's REALLY all over now ...

He climbed over the gate to his room last night during our hour-and-a-half screaming, sobbing mama-please-rock-me-to-sleep battle. If I can't at least contain him when needed? Lord help me.

Edited to add: I finally realized he was not climbing over the gate, thank goodness. It's one of the tension-mounted gates and the bottom had come loose, which affected how the locking mechanism worked, which meant he could work the gate open. Easy to fix so now he's back to being trapped.

Do green bean fries at TGIFriday's count as a vegetable?

It's been almost exactly one year since Kiddle willingly ate a vegetable. Seriously.

He used to eat mixed vegetables by the handful, but that all came to an end during a visit to my parents last February. He projectile vomited his last meal (in the middle of the night, in the middle of my bed) which was -- you guessed it -- mixed veggies. And that was the last time he touched anything green. (Although I suppose I can't really blame the stomach virus entirely. It certainly didn't dampen his enthusiasm for blueberries -- the other half of that lovely nocturnal concoction.)

In all honesty, I'm a completely lazy cook, and I get really annoyed when I make (ok, assemble or warm up) something that doesn't get eaten. So I haven't particularly forced the issue. Yay multi-vitamins!

Imagine my surprise last night when I finally guilted myself into making some veggies for him ... and he willingly ate two spoonfuls! It's a new day!

I hope.

Can't we just start at three months?

So I had lunch in the city yesterday with one of my old co-workers who is now a SAHM with a five-month old little boy. He's at that great age where he's totally connected to the world around him -- but isn't mobile yet. He's just too, too adorable and reminded me once more that I'm dreading having a newborn again.

Now, don't get me wrong; I'm thrilled about this new kid. But I've never been a big newborn fan. I know some people say they're so cuddly and sweet and that they luuuvvv fresh, new little babies. But I mostly just see a gelatinous blob with no personality.

They're so much better when they hit three or four months, have a little structure to their bodies and can truly interact with you.

It's also a bit overwhelming to think about all the new baby paraphernalia and extreme dependence. As Kiddle has matured from a baby to a toddler and soon into a preschooler, I enjoy him more every day. And we've moved past so many things. Things that I'm about to revisit ... diaper bags, and heavy infant carriers, and strollers, and spit up, and super frequent feedings, and unfathomable crying.

Another thing I'm curious about is to see how quickly I bond with the new baby. With Kiddle, it took two months. Same for Mr. P. Until then we thought he was really cool and wanted to keep him, but neither of us were madly in love with him for a while. ("The first second I saw him, my heart exploded and I was instantly in love." Um, no.) We each had a similar experience with Kiddle at about two months where he smiled and locked eyes with us for what seemed like eons. That was the moment I fell completely in love. (Apparently it still gets me a little teary. Awww!) But I sense with the new baby it might be a little easier to make that connection sooner.

This time we already know just how much we can love a little peanut.

"Oh no. The bridge is out. I fix it!"

Yes, two complete, understandable (at least by me) sentences in a row. Yee haw! So it seems we're making a bit of progress on the language front. Finally. I swear this kid is never going to talk (... although if I hear "Mama, Mama, sit sit sit!" one more time ... argh!). I know, I know, he'll definitely talk one day and I'll wish for his silent days.

***

I did have a good touch-base convo with his speech therapist this week though. One thing we've never done -- because no one thinks it's truly a concern -- is have his hearing checked. I mean, I know he can hear just fine, but he still has such a mush mouth, it's gotten me thinking that maybe he's not hearing the same things we are. And his therapist said, yes, go ahead and get it checked, but she doesn't see any indications that we'll find anything wrong there. She still thinks he is just simply delayed in his speech. So that's a bit of good news, I suppose.

However ... at this point I don't really see the therapy really doing much good. And that's simply because Mr. Independent has yet to see the point of doing what his therapist wants to do. He'd rather just play with the toys and chat a bit. Great. Glad he's happy to be there. But it's a really expensive hour of playtime. Ronnie said that's fairly typical of his age -- after all, he's only two -- and hopefully one day soon he'll grasp what we're trying to accomplish there.

Aside from the fact that he does not have a people-pleaser bone in his body, I think a big part of his slow progress is that he's not that frustrated yet. He gets along just fine in the world and there have only been a few times he's gotten really mad at me for not understanding what he wants. (The full day of "I-AN, I-AN, I-AN!!" comes to mind. Several hours later ... Me: "Oh, you want to watch the Mystery Island episode of Word World?" Kiddle, with a big grin of relief: "I-AN!")

***

Another adorable interaction we often have:

Kiddle, on all fours, crawling about the room: "Moo. Moo. Moo!"
Me: "Oh, you must be a cow today."
Kiddle: "No, Mama. I a Kiddle!"

Hee hee.

This is either ...

A. a brilliant way for Kiddle to burn off some stuck-in-the-house-because-it's-20-degrees-outside energy

B. I'm treating my kid like a hamster.

You decide.

Okay!

It seems like I've mostly been noting the anomalies about Kiddle lately, so I wanted to make sure I recognize some of our favourite things that happen on a daily basis. Most of them revolve around funny conversations we have -- his speech has improved, but is still not very understandable.

He used to tug on my hand and say a mangled combination of "go" and "come." And I'd always say "Go where?" So now he tugs on me and says, "Go where, Mama."

He loves to bump into me on purpose and say, "Sorry!"

When you ask him to do something, he says, "Okay, I try it!"

And our favourite ... Kiddle: "Cookie." Me: "You want a cookie?" (trying to clarify what he just said.) Kiddle: "Okay!"

What a great manipulator.

Damn kid locked me out of the house today.

In the freezing rain. Without a coat. Without a cell phone.

As I was unloading groceries from the car, he managed to lock the screen door. And no matter how many times I said, "turn the white knob, turn the white knob, turn the white knob ...," he couldn't figure out how to open the door.

Thank God that after living in this house for almost five years, I finally gave my neighbor a set of keys -- two weeks ago, believe it or not.

Well, goodnight then.

Tonight Kiddle PUT HIMSELF TO BED.

Well, not really. I'm sure he thinks he's just taking a nap. But little does he know ... he's in for the night. He's developed a habit of going upstairs to hang out in his room with his pacifier whenever he needs a little break. So tonight around 6:00, instead of eating dinner, I heard him head up the stairs. Fine with me. Chill out all you need, kid.

But about 15 minutes later I realized it was eerily quiet up there. I went up to check on him and found him passed out on his bed -- lights on, pants off. I gave him a dose of Zyrtec, put some pants on him, added a blanket and turned out the light.

So it's 6:30 and my kid's asleep. Woo hoo! Although I know I'll be paying for it when he wakes up after his "nap" in two hours or, alternatively, at 4:00 in the morning. Either way, I'll take it.

It's official.

I'm a complete and total mess.

Stomach virus, pregnancy-related congestion that's turning thick and tasty, and now ... Fat Man Ear.

And what, pray tell, is Fat Man Ear, you say?

Well, this is my normal right ear and cheek:


And this is what my left ear and cheek looked like this morning when I woke up:


Attractive, isn't it? I also have hives on the palms of my hands. The cause? Mr. P and I split a can of chicken noodle soup last night for dinner. Trying to be nice to our troubled tummies, you know. And canned soup often contains MSG. I've got a history of reactions to too much MSG -- for instance, overdosing on flavored chips or Chex Mix -- but half a can of soup? Ridiculous. It's actually happened one other time during this pregnancy, so I can only assume I'm super sensitive to it right now. Again, ridiculous.

I'm off to take an antihistamine.

Happy Freaking New Year (or, the Great Barf-Off of 2009)

I knew he wasn't right.

He hadn't eaten for two days. He had a really bad night last night. Sobbing for Mama, crying out intermittently, clinging to me like I was his last hope. But ... no concrete evidence that would have allowed me to cancel our flight this morning. No fever, no vomiting, no diarrhea. Nada.

Until five minutes after we took off and he started throwing up.

Freshly digested milk.

On a tiny regional jet.

Joy.

Yep, he alternated barfing and sleeping for the entire three-hour flight. We were both covered in puke. And then I started sobbing uncontrollably when I realized I'd left all his DVDs at my parents' house (love those pregnancy hormones!). I felt bad for the people around us, but not as bad as I felt for Kiddle. He was miserable, poor thing. And I felt like such a loser of a mom for knowing something wasn't right and still getting on the plane.

But also perversely pleased that at least I wasn't going to have to get my couch and rugs cleaned again. Small blessings, right?

A bad influence already

Cooper introduces Kiddle to the comedic stylings of Tom & Jerry:

Merry Christmas!

Happy Holidays from Oklahoma!

We arrived late last night after an already busy week of celebrating.

Monday: Mr. P's family came over for dinner and to exchange gifts. Kiddle doesn't yet grasp the concept of Christmas, but he certainly got into the idea of opening presents.

Tuesday: Kiddle's Hanukkah party at preschool. Shockingly he actually tried a potato latke, even though he was mostly interested in sucking the applesauce off it.


Wednesday morning: Santa came a day early to our house. Kiddle came down the stairs and saw all his gifts laid out: "Wow. Wow. Wow." Too cute. He also thought getting gifts out of his stocking was pretty cool. One item was a tiny Slinky in a box. He pulled it out and said, "Oooh, a box. A box." It's the simple things at that age, isn't it?


Wednesday afternoon: I finally packed and we headed out to brave the crowds at Newark airport. And it was a total disaster, as expected. We totally thought we were in the clear for our 3:00 flight -- unlike everyone else in the terminal, snicker, snicker -- until they announced at 2:15 that our plane hadn't yet left Halifax. Um, you didn't know that a little earlier? We finally got out of there sometime after 7:00. Six hours in an ultra-crowded airport with a two-year-old? So much Christmas cheer.

Needless to say we were thrilled to finally get here. We had our traditional white-trash Christmas morning breakfast of monkey bread, bacon wraps and sausage balls -- yum! And Kiddle and Cooper opened one million more presents. It's hard to say, but I think his favourite gift might just be his Cars Mack truck/race car launcher. Pretty cool.

And introducing ...

... the newest, extra-little kiddle.

19 weeks and 4 days. Right on target, size-wise. And has all his fingers, toes and body parts. We couldn't have asked for a better report.

And that's right ... I said HIS. Kiddle's getting a baby brother. I'll admit there's a tiny twinge of oh-I-won't-ever-have-a-girl-itis, but mostly I'm somewhat relieved.

And my favourite part of this ultrasound? I had to schedule my appointment on a day the doctor would be there, because I'm of "advanced maternal age." Lovely.

What are you doing? Are you PEEING?

Remember how fascinated with the Christmas tree I said Kiddle was? Apparently he felt the need to mark his territory.

Snow, Part II

Ok, here's the first real snow of the year. And what better time to get your tricycle out?

I feel like such a responsible parent for finally getting him some real snow boots. No more snow-filled, frozen-toed rainboots for him! Now I've just got to work on some waterproof pants, I think.

Oh Christmas Tree ...

Finally got the tree up today. I seriously thought about doing it Thanksgiving weekend, so of course here we are on December 19th. It turned out to be the perfect day to do it though. We we're absolutely slammed by a snow storm this morning. I went to the mall just as it was starting to snow and when I came out 45 minutes later there were already several inches on the ground. It took an hour and a half to make the 10 minute drive home. Crazy! So we took Kiddle's babysitter home early and snugged in for the afternoon to get the tree up.

Kiddle was fascinated by the whole process and did a great job hanging ornaments. The battle this year isn't going to be over taking ornaments off and on; it's about turning the lights off and on. I see a zillion time-outs in his near future.

Boy or girl? Yes!

Next Monday is my full anatomy ultrasound, and hopefully we'll be able to find out the sex of this new kiddo. Although I'm not certain "we" will find out because I'm not sure if Mr. P wants to know.* But I definitely do ... I'm too much of a planner to let it be a surprise.

My sister asked me the other day if I had a feeling one way or the other. If I base it on comparing the two pregnancies, I'd say boy. This pregnancy is exactly like my first one so far, but I'm also smart enough to know that doesn't mean squat. (We were so convinced my friend Chrissy was having a girl the second time that I went out and bought her girl clothes. Nope. An even bigger boy than the first one.) But I find myself mentally referring to the baby as "her" -- and with Kiddle it was always "him."

I guess I don't really have any strong preferences one way or the other. Before Kiddle I only saw myself having girls, but now I find myself waffling.

GIRL PROS: much cuter clothes, the relationship with a girl is just totally different than with a boy, my parents would have a granddaughter instead of only grandsons.

GIRL CONS: the teenage years, it seems scarier to raise a girl in this day and age than it does a boy, and, oh God, will I have to play house and dress-up and dolls?

BOY PROS: I already have all the clothes, I'm used to boys now, Kiddle will have a brother -- and I so appreciate that I have a sister.

BOY CONS: I won't ever have a daughter. Or the cute clothes that go with her.

Of course, the baby has to actually cooperate at the ultrasound. Kiddle was all legs splayed, check me out, look at my boy stuff. So no doubt there. We'll see if this one is as open or plays it a little coy.

* Funny story actually. With Kiddle, Mr. P wasn't sure if he wanted to know so we decided he would leave the room during that portion of the ultrasound. Now, we never really thought we'd make it four more months without him finding out, but that it would be fun to see how long we could go.

As it turns out -- four days.

Mr. P's sister got married that weekend and during dinner one of his relatives asked me if we had decided on a name. "Oh yes," I replied, "it's (insert obvious boy name here)," with so much certainty that I couldn't even cover by adding "if it's a boy and Blah Blah if it's a girl." The table got deathly quiet as everyone realized what I had done. And Mr. P got the biggest smile on his face. More from glee that I had busted myself so quickly, I think, than from happiness that it was a boy. And I promptly burst into tears.

Now, as a pregnant chick, I wasn't particularly hormonal. I didn't cry every day, or over tiny things, like some of my friends have. But if I got started crying, I simply couldn't stop. Mr. P finally had to lead me by the hand, blindly blubbering, out of the reception. And it took a good 20 minutes for me to stop sobbing. In the end though I was glad he found out from me, rather than from one of the 8 trillion people who already knew. I would have missed seeing the look on his face if someone else had slipped up. But, damn that glass of wine at dinner! Four days? That's all it took?

First snow of the year

Well, the first one that (kind of) amounted to anything anyway. And, if you believe the weather forecasters, it sounds like we're in for it later this week.