I have The Black Plague, I think. At least, I'm pretty sure that's what's wrong with me. Gabe continues to be remarkable and funny and probably a genius, and Version 2.0 kicks and kicks and kicks (and she is STILL a girl, according to the ultrasound I had last Friday, woo hoo!), so that is all good news even if I am suffering from The Black Plague.
Please distract yourselves with this recent concert video while I go moan and cough and generally feel sorry for myself. (I would post some of the ultrasound photos as an additional distraction and also to give equal love to both children, but the only shots we got last Friday are of the baby's terrifying skull face, and I will spare you those scary images.)
Monday, September 28, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Halfway There!
20 weeks! 20 weeks! Oh my goodness, the time is flying by!
But before I get to that, I must tell you that Gabe is so awesome. This evening he was splashing around happily in his bathtub with a toy fish when he suddenly stood up and looked me straight in the eyes. (And that kid knows the rule that we only sit down on our bottom in the bathtub because it is dangerous to stand! Dangerous!) "You need to sit down, baby," I said.
"Hug!" he replied. "Hug!" And then he held out his arms and gave me a big, giant, wet bathtub hug. And then he cheerfully sat down and resumed playing with the toy fish. My heart practically cracked open with mushy toddler love.
About a half hour later it was bedtime, and as I laid him down in the corner of his crib where he likes it the best, he looked up at me and said, "Eye-of you," which of course means "I love you."
"I love you too, baby," I said, heart bursting all over again. "Good night."
"Night night," he replied, already half asleep.
Does it get any better than a toddler at sixteen months old? Don't even try to tell me that it does, because I don't believe you.
But back to our original subject...20 weeks! 20 weeks! I read that second pregnancies tend to go much more quickly, perhaps because most second-time mommies are too preoccupied with chasing around their already-born children to spend a whole lot of time stroking their pregnant bellies and contemplating the miracle of life within, etc.
But 20 weeks! Halfway! (And actually, I'm more than halfway if Dr. M wins our ongoing argument and convinces me to schedule the c-section for 39 weeks.) How did this happen? It seems like I just got that positive pregnancy test about five minutes ago, and yet somehow I am at the point where I feel the baby move every day. Plus they're starting to feel like real kicks rather than just tiny little taps and flutters. It's so great. (Although you know what's not great? Puking. Time to go away, morning sickness. No one wants you here, and you have seriously overstayed your welcome.)
I have my structural ultrasound with the perinatologist next Friday, and I am really looking forward to getting a peek at the little lamb chop. Although I still suspect she's really a boy. I'm actually glad we're getting a second opinion from this doctor, because as much as I love Susan, I still cannot bring myself to believe that we're having a girl. It's just too much, too exciting. Too much joy.
But before I get to that, I must tell you that Gabe is so awesome. This evening he was splashing around happily in his bathtub with a toy fish when he suddenly stood up and looked me straight in the eyes. (And that kid knows the rule that we only sit down on our bottom in the bathtub because it is dangerous to stand! Dangerous!) "You need to sit down, baby," I said.
"Hug!" he replied. "Hug!" And then he held out his arms and gave me a big, giant, wet bathtub hug. And then he cheerfully sat down and resumed playing with the toy fish. My heart practically cracked open with mushy toddler love.
About a half hour later it was bedtime, and as I laid him down in the corner of his crib where he likes it the best, he looked up at me and said, "Eye-of you," which of course means "I love you."
"I love you too, baby," I said, heart bursting all over again. "Good night."
"Night night," he replied, already half asleep.
Does it get any better than a toddler at sixteen months old? Don't even try to tell me that it does, because I don't believe you.
But back to our original subject...20 weeks! 20 weeks! I read that second pregnancies tend to go much more quickly, perhaps because most second-time mommies are too preoccupied with chasing around their already-born children to spend a whole lot of time stroking their pregnant bellies and contemplating the miracle of life within, etc.
But 20 weeks! Halfway! (And actually, I'm more than halfway if Dr. M wins our ongoing argument and convinces me to schedule the c-section for 39 weeks.) How did this happen? It seems like I just got that positive pregnancy test about five minutes ago, and yet somehow I am at the point where I feel the baby move every day. Plus they're starting to feel like real kicks rather than just tiny little taps and flutters. It's so great. (Although you know what's not great? Puking. Time to go away, morning sickness. No one wants you here, and you have seriously overstayed your welcome.)
I have my structural ultrasound with the perinatologist next Friday, and I am really looking forward to getting a peek at the little lamb chop. Although I still suspect she's really a boy. I'm actually glad we're getting a second opinion from this doctor, because as much as I love Susan, I still cannot bring myself to believe that we're having a girl. It's just too much, too exciting. Too much joy.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
An Ode to Three (Four) Day Weekends
Oh, what a great weekend we had. It was the kind of delicious, leisurely weekend that makes it almost physically painful to return to routine on Tuesday morning.
Last week I had to go away on a business trip, which, frankly, was horrible. I mean, the trip itself was fine, but three whole days without this?? Torture! Deprivation!
So to celebrate my return home, I worked from home on Friday and after getting some contracts done I just played and played and played with my fantastic son. We went to the park, we read dozens of books, we played tickle torture until we laughed so hard we could barely breathe. And then the real fun began!
On Saturday we took him to the first home football game of the season! He loved tailgating with GrandBob, Uncle Ross and Auntie Katie, loved eating junk food, LOVED the marching band. Every time the band played - even for just ten seconds in between plays - he would turn his face up to me and cry, "More! More!" He made it through the entire first half without complaint, and we would have stayed even longer had it not been so hot. I think Gabe was actually a little sad to leave the stadium, he enjoyed the experience so much. The whole day made me happy.
And on Sunday things got even better still. My parents belong to a charitable organization that puts on a very elaborate equestrian competition each year, with all of the money benefiting Childrens Hospital. If Gabe loved the marching band on Saturday, then he had fits of ecstasy over the horses at the competition on Sunday. "Neigh! Neigh!" he shouted over and over again, his finger pointing, his head whipping right and left as quickly as possible to make sure he got a glimpse of every single horse. He even got to pet two beautiful horses (including one who was the great-grandson of Secretariat!) and he and GrandBob got to ride on a tractor. When you are sixteen months old, I am not sure life gets any better than this. He finally fell asleep in my arms in a heap of absolute exhaustion around 2:30 p.m., and we managed to get him into the car and all the way back home before he woke up from his nap. And when he did wake up, he was MAD. "Neigh! Gammy! Bob!" he demanded, angry to be at home and away from the horse show. "Neigh! Gammy! Bob!"
On Monday, we celebrated Labor Day with a barbecue at Matt's parents' house, and Gabe got to go swimming in the pool with Cousin Parker. He was also allowed to eat vast quantities of Earth's Best Vanilla Cookies (affectionately known in our house as "ELMO COOKIES YAY!") and Pirate's Booty, and I am sad to report that's pretty much all he ate all weekend. Apparently when we deviate from his routine with too many fun activities, he refuses to eat any food containing any semblance of nutritional value. This stresses me out to no end but so far does not seem to have an adverse affect on the child. Although I am debating taking him back to the baby store near us where they have a weigh station so that I can weigh him and make sure he hasn't actually dropped any pounds in the past couple of weeks. Wow, I have gotten paranoid in my old age.
So in sum, GREAT WEEKEND. I think this is best captured by Gabe's reaction when it was time to take him to daycare this morning (and he is loving the Toddler room, by the way). As we reached his classroom I opened the door and began waiving to all of his friends, saying good morning. I looked back and he was still standing in the doorway. He caught my eye, raised his eyebrows, and shook his head no. He was not interested in going to school. It took a blueberry muffin and two turns on the slide to warm him up to the idea.
So for all of you who had a rough day back at work, rest assured that even toddlers get the end-of-long-weekend blues.
Last week I had to go away on a business trip, which, frankly, was horrible. I mean, the trip itself was fine, but three whole days without this?? Torture! Deprivation!
So to celebrate my return home, I worked from home on Friday and after getting some contracts done I just played and played and played with my fantastic son. We went to the park, we read dozens of books, we played tickle torture until we laughed so hard we could barely breathe. And then the real fun began!On Saturday we took him to the first home football game of the season! He loved tailgating with GrandBob, Uncle Ross and Auntie Katie, loved eating junk food, LOVED the marching band. Every time the band played - even for just ten seconds in between plays - he would turn his face up to me and cry, "More! More!" He made it through the entire first half without complaint, and we would have stayed even longer had it not been so hot. I think Gabe was actually a little sad to leave the stadium, he enjoyed the experience so much. The whole day made me happy.
And on Sunday things got even better still. My parents belong to a charitable organization that puts on a very elaborate equestrian competition each year, with all of the money benefiting Childrens Hospital. If Gabe loved the marching band on Saturday, then he had fits of ecstasy over the horses at the competition on Sunday. "Neigh! Neigh!" he shouted over and over again, his finger pointing, his head whipping right and left as quickly as possible to make sure he got a glimpse of every single horse. He even got to pet two beautiful horses (including one who was the great-grandson of Secretariat!) and he and GrandBob got to ride on a tractor. When you are sixteen months old, I am not sure life gets any better than this. He finally fell asleep in my arms in a heap of absolute exhaustion around 2:30 p.m., and we managed to get him into the car and all the way back home before he woke up from his nap. And when he did wake up, he was MAD. "Neigh! Gammy! Bob!" he demanded, angry to be at home and away from the horse show. "Neigh! Gammy! Bob!"
On Monday, we celebrated Labor Day with a barbecue at Matt's parents' house, and Gabe got to go swimming in the pool with Cousin Parker. He was also allowed to eat vast quantities of Earth's Best Vanilla Cookies (affectionately known in our house as "ELMO COOKIES YAY!") and Pirate's Booty, and I am sad to report that's pretty much all he ate all weekend. Apparently when we deviate from his routine with too many fun activities, he refuses to eat any food containing any semblance of nutritional value. This stresses me out to no end but so far does not seem to have an adverse affect on the child. Although I am debating taking him back to the baby store near us where they have a weigh station so that I can weigh him and make sure he hasn't actually dropped any pounds in the past couple of weeks. Wow, I have gotten paranoid in my old age.
So in sum, GREAT WEEKEND. I think this is best captured by Gabe's reaction when it was time to take him to daycare this morning (and he is loving the Toddler room, by the way). As we reached his classroom I opened the door and began waiving to all of his friends, saying good morning. I looked back and he was still standing in the doorway. He caught my eye, raised his eyebrows, and shook his head no. He was not interested in going to school. It took a blueberry muffin and two turns on the slide to warm him up to the idea.
So for all of you who had a rough day back at work, rest assured that even toddlers get the end-of-long-weekend blues.
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