Reserve a spot in the baby book

For today was Kylie’s first “pooping in the tub” event. And yes, it was an event.

It all makes sense now

I’ve heard from women who have more than one baby that with the second pregnancy, they gained more weight. Didn’t know what could have been the cause of that until Monday when my daughter decided to wake up at 4:30 am and scream her head off until I gave her breakfast and turned on Sesame Street. Everything was off that day – meals, naps, moods. I just prayed that I would survive without harming the dog (since you can’t take your stress out on the baby, right). And all I could think of was, 1) I really need a beer; and 2) I really need food – the greasy, gets lodged in your esophagus, gives you really bad gas kind of food. Since Jeff counts the beers in the fridge, I was left with option 2.

I think I’ve already gained 10 lbs and I’ve got over 30 weeks left until the little creature exits my womb and forms an alliance with the one I call Trouble.

A Tempting Proposition

A few days ago, an old friend from Iowa emailed Jeff with a very bizarre question. She brought up a conversation in which one of us talked about getting rid of our bothersome dog, aka, Carmen SanDiego. Now I have to assume that it was Jeff who said it, sarcastically of course. Well, our friend mentioned that she knew of a person that could give her a “good home” if we were still interested. We obviously had a good laugh over it (after I KNOW that each of us had a fleeting thought of our future days without cleaning up dog poop, never having to hear the sound of a dog licking herself to wake us up every morning).  But she’s a part of our family, not to be parted with on a whim.

And then this morning happened. A million different things had to be done in the next half hour, and that damn dog would just not go potty! It was cold outside, Kylie was unsupervised and probably eating her belly button lint, and Carmen was just sniffing around for whatever crumb of food may have floated onto our lawn from the McDonalds a half mile away. I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS. It just added to the list of my frustrations with her. I was this close to calling our friend and telling her that we changed our mind, that we would LOVE to give her to a “good home.”

After a few hours away from the dog and a little bit of “Me” time, I settled down and became a rational person again. She’s a good dog and Kylie just loves to play with her. So we can’t give her away. I am a bit nervous as I’m writing this because there’s a small chance that Carmen may miraculously obtain the gift of learning to read, scroll through this entry, and carry out some very messy and odorous form of revenge.

Mama’s Girl

Ever since Kylie came down with her terrible ear infection, she has become very clingy. Clingy in the good way? I don’t think that exists. If she is not in my arms, or at the very least by my side at all times, the house becomes a battleground. Me (trying to do housework) versus baby (trying to get her way). Getting down close to her level to ask her questions like, “Are you hungry? Do you want to nap? Are you angry about the irresponsible octuplets mother too?” gets me nothing except tribal yells. Sometimes I have to close my eyes and just think about sunshine and puppies to get me through the moment. In the end Kylie always wins, whether it’s picking her up or sitting down with her so she can burrow herself in my belly (not literally of course because with her sharp little nails and spitfire determination, I guarantee she would make it as least halfway there). Quoting Jeff, “it’s like she wants to absorb herself into you.”

Letting it all hang out

The last couple days, I have been feeling more inadequate as a parent than I normally do.  Blaming it on new baby hormones may be justified, but I think that’s just the easy excuse. I’m kind of hoping that every parent has these moments of insecurity, or maybe there’s a population of Super Parents out there who know it all – do it all – have it all, so they can’t relate. Whatever the case may be I feel like I’m going through a slump, unsure that what I do each day really prepares my child for her future. Do I talk to her enough, use the right vocabulary, point out enough things, challenge her, discipline her enough so that she knows her boundaries, but not raise too many boundaries so that she has enough room to explore.

I know my girl is smart as a whip, I do.  What it comes down to for me is, if Kylie doesn’t know her colors or shapes or letters by the ‘right’ age, or whatever activity that seems to have a timeline, then that’s a reflection of my parenting skills – my success or failure as a mom. I am with her all day every day, so the pressure is on. And even though I kiss her and squeeze her and laugh with her, is that enough? Because some days, it just doesn’t feel like it.

And Baby Makes Four?

There it is. I’m pregnant. And even though I know that my future involves lots of stretch marks, back pain, and almost certain sweating (hitting my third trimester in July), I feel that it is still much easier than taming the toddler that is currently in the next room refusing to nap.

I love pregnancy. I love feeling the hiccups in my belly and the weird, alien-like sensation when it moves its legs to stretch. I love resting my hands on my growing belly – a temporary arm rest. I feel more beautiful as a pregnant woman because I know what a miracle a baby is. If you don’t believe there’s a God, wait until you have a child. His existence will be hard to deny when that little baby grabs your fingers and curls up in the crook of your arm, all warm and soft and baby-smelling.

We found out last Thursday and the very next day I was rummaging through boxes still unopened from the move. Where is that book? The one that tells me about pregnancy and stuff? Because really, I have NO IDEA what to do next. Seriously. Luckily I found it only to realize that being pregnant is going to ruin my, “irish coffee in the sauna right after my tanning appointment” Saturdays.

I might as well be a mass murderer

Kylie has been testing me lately. Not the good kind where I earn passing grades or get smiley face stickers or shout out an answer for money. No, she’s been doing it in the toddler way. All I can say is, that damn nightlight. She pulls it off the wall and proceeds to graze her drool-covered fingers over the exposed socket, all the while looking at me. “No, Kylie.” I pull her hand away and maintain eye contact the whole time just so she knows that I’m serious (I’m the Alpha female after all). Laugh laugh laugh. Let’s do it again! She gets tired of peas, she loses interest in playing with the dog, and tv bores her after awhile. But watching Mama get pissed off – that will NEVER get old.

So after pulling her hand away five times within the span of 20 seconds, I felt I needed to up the ante. The next time she grabbed her nightlight to pull it off the wall, I smacked her hand hard enough so that it would sting. And her wail began instantly – “Mama, WHYYY??? That HUURRRTTT!!!!!! I’m just a 16 month old baby!!!!!” I felt wretched. Like I wasn’t even a human, but a cold unfeeling robot with the amazing ability to give birth and consume a quart of ice cream on my own (maybe even at the same time). Am I the kind of parent that new age parents glare at? Was I supposed to put her in the corner with a special hat for 5 minutes to let her think about her actions? I would have sought the advice of Dr. Phil, but my guess was he was talking to heavyset women who are trying to get their bearded husbands to stop having affairs with their cousins (but we’re only second cousins, they say…)

While I’ve learned that motherhood brings wider hips, irritability, exuberant joy, hundreds of pounds of diapers, proud smiles, and high pitched screaming/talking, after today’s lesson, I now know it comes with a heaping side of guilt.

Look at that darling baby – she’s implicating me already with that tiny pointer finger.

Happy Birthday Grandpa!

There was a time when Kylie was not quite certain that she liked Grandpa Ken. It was when she was still really young and we lived in Des Moines, so she rarely saw him. During our visits back home, they would lock eyes, her mouth would quiver a little bit, and Grandpa knew he already lost the battle (but not the war). So he would go downstairs, slightly defeated, and wait. And after a half hour or so, she would forget exactly why she didn’t trust him in the first place. Now is a different story. Kylie and Grandpa nap together (who really knows which one falls asleep first); Grandpa makes up games for them to play together; and Kylie’s arms stretch up SO high when she sees him -  pick me up pick me up pick me up.

I wasn’t able to get the birthday card out in time so that he would get it on his birthday (Translated = Laziness) but I think this will make him smile. Kind of ironic because it’s a video of the two of them watching a video. Kylie likes to watch the videos that I post of her, and Grandpa knows how to use the computer. A beautiful friendship.   Oh  — and after hearing my whiny voice on this video, I will never speak again while recording anything.

Note: this video was recorded August 24th, 2008. Yeah, I know, she’s growing up fast.

Inauguration Day Festivities

Today’s event was one that my children and future bloodline will learn about in their history classes. They’ll read the text on paper, see the videos, but I am almost sure they will never feel the great importance of it. Set aside his platform, his party, his beliefs for just a moment and take in the fact that A BLACK MAN IS PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES. Symbolically and historically, this is an incredible event. I’m not black, but I am a daughter of immigrants. Let me tell you, I never thought it would happen in my lifetime knowing how prejudices are invisible even to those who hold them.

So on this occasion, I felt that Kylie should be able to watch it even if she couldn’t understand what was happening. No objections arose – cracker, sippy cup, a horse to sit on, and a free half hour of staring at the TV? Might as well have put her in a room full of stray dogs, she was that happy. She just stared, but she also knew when to clap, my smart girl. She was especially mesmerized by Aretha Franklin’s noticeably festive bow (she loves bows).

The day was going well until her slightly devious side broke loose and decided to attack me, right at my jugular if the WebMD pictures are accurate. I look like I was cast as “Dork #2″ in a B-Horror movie. How can such adorable little fingernails inflict such pain? A question for God when I meet Him I’m sure. I put her down for a nap to punish her, but also to keep her on her normal schedule.

(Just look at the wound, please try to not look at my face)

Can it get any better?

Warm sun. Falling snow. Family breakfast. Temperatures above zero. Sledding. Cold noses. Snow in your socks. Hot pot of coffee. Napping baby. Dreaming about different house renovation ideas.  Wearing pajamas past noon.

My perfect day.