- As far as I'm concerned, my parents haven't had sex in 27--no, make that 28--years.
- Same goes for my in-laws.
- All laws of physics dictate that now that this watermelon is inside me, it will have to come out.
- My swimsuit is being held together by threads and a prayer. I think I've stretched it beyond it's moment of elasticity.
- If I decide to embark on another pregnancy ever, it will have to be accompanied by a big-ticket item like a solo trip to the Caymen Islands or a Ferrari in the driveway.
- I bought my third 10 pound bag of crushed ice in a week yesterday at the gas station. This means that on average, I'm consuming the approximate weight of my three year old in ice--a week. By the time I give birth, I could potentially have crunched the equivalency of my own weight in ice. It's a good think it's only $1.75 a bag.
- A fireplace is being installed in our basement today, the cost of which surpasses everything we've done thus far down there.
- Church is going to be a lot less entertaining once they split the ward and all the drama creators will be reassigned to the other ward.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Things I'd Rather Not Think About
Monday, November 10, 2008
It's Official
Well, it's official. I can hardly fit behind the desk at school. This can only mean one thing. Someone replaced the old desks with smaller ones over the weekend. The upside is that they also rearranged the room so the walk to the doorway--and consequently, the bathroom--is shorter. That was nice of them to think of me when planning this arrangement. Clearly it was male administrators who decided that we could all use smaller desks and female administrators who rearranged the classroom.
I've also noticed that my teacher is visibly shaken by my attendance. We met in the doorway this morning. He was headed in and I was headed to the bathroom--again. It was quite evident that we both weren't going to fit through at the same time and he stuttered--stuttered!--"uh, uh, sorry." And then backed out to allow me passage. Unfortunately, he misgauged the size of my stomach and I still had to turn sideways to get by without brushing against him and contaminating him with my cooties.
I would imagine that the walk from his office to class every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday is filled with apprehension. He probably peers in and glances at the general area where I sit and sighs a big relief when he doesn't see me. Then, when I do waddle in, his calm demeanor is immediately replaced with a panic-stricken look. I'm most likely the butt of all the jokes in the teachers lounge.
"Have you seen the pregnant girl?" Someone might ask as they sit down with their lukewarm coffee.
"She looks like she's going to explode any minute now." Another one replies from across the room, standing watch over their hot pocket in the microwave.
"Is it possible for the belly to expand any further before actually exploding?" A grad student pipes in from the couch.
A shy, Dr. Suess character look-alike sitting in the corner glances up from the mathematic proof he's perfecting during his morning break: "She's in my class. I'm afraid I'm going to be the one delivering that baby. The other day, I actually watched her shirt move. I think I saw something the shape of a foot emerge from her stomach."
The top of my stomach has been protruding over the (old) desk for a couple of weeks now. The other week, baby was so excited about the Calculus Carnival--an event sponsored by the math department that I'm positive is the social highlight of the semester--the professor was droning on about. Nothing spells fun like C-A-L-C-U-L-U-S. Baby was doing flips, so excited about the prospect of integrating and differentiating, and you could see my shirt shift with her movements. I caught the teacher with his eyes widened in surprise. I would imagine it would be a little creepy to be lecturing and turning around to a classroom of people and watching somebody's belly doing dances. Maybe even catching an appendage trying to break through the abdominal cavity. I can't fault him for momentarily losing his concentration.
Part of me wants to take him aside and assure him that if I were going to go into labor and deliver the baby at school, I would most likely be able to walk the 20 feet to the door and waddle safely away from his ears before letting out the first blood curtling scream. He need not worry about being called upon to bring a child into the world. It's not like there isn't a hospital close by or anything.
But if I did reassure him of this, that would take all the entertaiment factor out of the class. A much larger fraction of my self enjoys watching him squirm.
And as we all know, the majority rules.
I've also noticed that my teacher is visibly shaken by my attendance. We met in the doorway this morning. He was headed in and I was headed to the bathroom--again. It was quite evident that we both weren't going to fit through at the same time and he stuttered--stuttered!--"uh, uh, sorry." And then backed out to allow me passage. Unfortunately, he misgauged the size of my stomach and I still had to turn sideways to get by without brushing against him and contaminating him with my cooties.
I would imagine that the walk from his office to class every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday is filled with apprehension. He probably peers in and glances at the general area where I sit and sighs a big relief when he doesn't see me. Then, when I do waddle in, his calm demeanor is immediately replaced with a panic-stricken look. I'm most likely the butt of all the jokes in the teachers lounge.
"Have you seen the pregnant girl?" Someone might ask as they sit down with their lukewarm coffee.
"She looks like she's going to explode any minute now." Another one replies from across the room, standing watch over their hot pocket in the microwave.
"Is it possible for the belly to expand any further before actually exploding?" A grad student pipes in from the couch.
A shy, Dr. Suess character look-alike sitting in the corner glances up from the mathematic proof he's perfecting during his morning break: "She's in my class. I'm afraid I'm going to be the one delivering that baby. The other day, I actually watched her shirt move. I think I saw something the shape of a foot emerge from her stomach."
The top of my stomach has been protruding over the (old) desk for a couple of weeks now. The other week, baby was so excited about the Calculus Carnival--an event sponsored by the math department that I'm positive is the social highlight of the semester--the professor was droning on about. Nothing spells fun like C-A-L-C-U-L-U-S. Baby was doing flips, so excited about the prospect of integrating and differentiating, and you could see my shirt shift with her movements. I caught the teacher with his eyes widened in surprise. I would imagine it would be a little creepy to be lecturing and turning around to a classroom of people and watching somebody's belly doing dances. Maybe even catching an appendage trying to break through the abdominal cavity. I can't fault him for momentarily losing his concentration.
Part of me wants to take him aside and assure him that if I were going to go into labor and deliver the baby at school, I would most likely be able to walk the 20 feet to the door and waddle safely away from his ears before letting out the first blood curtling scream. He need not worry about being called upon to bring a child into the world. It's not like there isn't a hospital close by or anything.
But if I did reassure him of this, that would take all the entertaiment factor out of the class. A much larger fraction of my self enjoys watching him squirm.
And as we all know, the majority rules.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Listmania
I'm a list maker. I love to make lists. There are scraps of paper floating all around the house with to-do lists scribbled on them. My biggest problem, though, is that I'm not good at following through with the tasks on the lists. Sunday School is spent making lists on pieces of paper that I dig out of my church bag. Then, I stuff them back in only to find them a few weeks later when I'm searching for paper to write another list.
Right now, I have a master list of the things I need/want to get done before the baby comes. It's a full typed page long. Then each category is broken up onto it's own list so that I can concentrate on one area at a time. There are seven pages of these lists.
I feel good about myself when I can cross things off, like I'm actually getting things done. However, sometimes my lists include the mundane things like showering and eating breakfast. Things that should be on autopilot response. The flip side is that at the end of the day, if nothing's crossed off, I feel bad about my day. Surely, I didn't sit all day and stare at the wall. I must've done something. That's why I resorted to putting stuff on there like showering and eating breakfast. I read an article once about list making and the author said that by putting things on the list we were sure to do--shower, eat breakfast--and then crossing them off, we're more apt to complete other tasks on the list because of how we feel when we cross things off. Makes sense to me.
Right now, I can hardly manage more than one big task a day. I have good intentions. I want to mop the kitchen floor and vacuum the living room, but by the time I reclean the kitchen and pick up Josh's toys off the living room floor, I'm too tired to mop and vacuum. The cycle seems to repeat itself the next day, no matter how much I promise myself I'll do it first thing in the morning, before it can get messy again.
Same thing with the laundry. Ideally, I should be able to fold it and put it away as it's coming out of the dryer. It only takes five minutes. But one load on the couch strategically placed in our bedroom slowly multiplies into ten and before long, the task seems so overwhelming and it's much easier just to wear sweats everyday. (And that's about all that's fitting right now anyways).
So tomorrow's list:
Wake up--Check
Take shower--Check
Take nap--Check
Buy more ice--Check
Perfect. I should be batting 100% tomorrow.
Right now, I have a master list of the things I need/want to get done before the baby comes. It's a full typed page long. Then each category is broken up onto it's own list so that I can concentrate on one area at a time. There are seven pages of these lists.
I feel good about myself when I can cross things off, like I'm actually getting things done. However, sometimes my lists include the mundane things like showering and eating breakfast. Things that should be on autopilot response. The flip side is that at the end of the day, if nothing's crossed off, I feel bad about my day. Surely, I didn't sit all day and stare at the wall. I must've done something. That's why I resorted to putting stuff on there like showering and eating breakfast. I read an article once about list making and the author said that by putting things on the list we were sure to do--shower, eat breakfast--and then crossing them off, we're more apt to complete other tasks on the list because of how we feel when we cross things off. Makes sense to me.
Right now, I can hardly manage more than one big task a day. I have good intentions. I want to mop the kitchen floor and vacuum the living room, but by the time I reclean the kitchen and pick up Josh's toys off the living room floor, I'm too tired to mop and vacuum. The cycle seems to repeat itself the next day, no matter how much I promise myself I'll do it first thing in the morning, before it can get messy again.
Same thing with the laundry. Ideally, I should be able to fold it and put it away as it's coming out of the dryer. It only takes five minutes. But one load on the couch strategically placed in our bedroom slowly multiplies into ten and before long, the task seems so overwhelming and it's much easier just to wear sweats everyday. (And that's about all that's fitting right now anyways).
So tomorrow's list:
Wake up--Check
Take shower--Check
Take nap--Check
Buy more ice--Check
Perfect. I should be batting 100% tomorrow.
Book Review Friday, 11/7/08
Book: North River
Author: Pete Hamill
Pages: 341
This was a book I normally wouldn't have picked up. I guess I have the Reader's Choice list for introducing me to a book I would've otherwise missed out on.
North River is set in New York at the height of the Great Depression. Dr. James Delaney is committed to helping his fellow citymates, despite their poverty, occupations, or illnesses.
Mourning the sudden disappearance of his wife, Molly, nearly 18 months ago, Dr. Delaney goes through each daymasking his pain behind that of his patients.
One snowy morning, he arrives home from an early house call to find his three year old grandson, the son of the only child Delaney had, sitting abandoned on the porch. A note attached to him says that Grace, the boy's mother, needs to find her husband in Spain and that she would hopefully return soon to fetch the boy.
Unable to turn the boy out to the cold, but equally unable to care for him on his own, Delaney hires a lady to come in and watch him, a recent immigrant from Sicily. Through the child and the woman, Delaney's own heart starts to thaw and he's able to let go of his past.
I found this book to be good and I'm glad I read it, even if the Reader's Choice finished at the end of October. It was interesting to get a little more perspective into the Great Depression that isn't written in textbook style.
New York depicted in the novel was exactly as I've always pictured New York to be in the 1930's, mobsters abounding, running the show. Little foreign cities nestled within the city limits that housed the recent influx of immigrants. Sidewalk cafes struggling to stay afloat. I couldn't have asked for a better description that fit my imagination so well.
The language was a little rough, though not nearly as rough as you'd imagine for the era and place. There was little reference to sex, although Dr. Delaney did treat many prostitutes with STD's that came into his clinic. All in all, it was pretty cleanly written and I was impressed with the author.
Author: Pete Hamill
Pages: 341
This was a book I normally wouldn't have picked up. I guess I have the Reader's Choice list for introducing me to a book I would've otherwise missed out on.
North River is set in New York at the height of the Great Depression. Dr. James Delaney is committed to helping his fellow citymates, despite their poverty, occupations, or illnesses.
Mourning the sudden disappearance of his wife, Molly, nearly 18 months ago, Dr. Delaney goes through each daymasking his pain behind that of his patients.
One snowy morning, he arrives home from an early house call to find his three year old grandson, the son of the only child Delaney had, sitting abandoned on the porch. A note attached to him says that Grace, the boy's mother, needs to find her husband in Spain and that she would hopefully return soon to fetch the boy.
Unable to turn the boy out to the cold, but equally unable to care for him on his own, Delaney hires a lady to come in and watch him, a recent immigrant from Sicily. Through the child and the woman, Delaney's own heart starts to thaw and he's able to let go of his past.
I found this book to be good and I'm glad I read it, even if the Reader's Choice finished at the end of October. It was interesting to get a little more perspective into the Great Depression that isn't written in textbook style.
New York depicted in the novel was exactly as I've always pictured New York to be in the 1930's, mobsters abounding, running the show. Little foreign cities nestled within the city limits that housed the recent influx of immigrants. Sidewalk cafes struggling to stay afloat. I couldn't have asked for a better description that fit my imagination so well.
The language was a little rough, though not nearly as rough as you'd imagine for the era and place. There was little reference to sex, although Dr. Delaney did treat many prostitutes with STD's that came into his clinic. All in all, it was pretty cleanly written and I was impressed with the author.
Friday, November 7, 2008
That's Just Sad
Josh has four grandparents: Grandma, Ronnie, Other Grandma, and Papa. It's how he distinguishes them in his head. Grandma and Ronnie are my parents and Other Grandma and Papa are Wade's parents. The name Ronnie came from an incident where my mom was asking my dad to do something or to bring something to her and called him her pet name for him, Ronnie. Josh picked up on it immediately and ever since then, that's what grandpa's name is.
A little background on Ronnie. Not an overtly affectionate man, he tends to spend a lot of time in the back bedrooms when we're all over. I think he prefers the solitude and quiet. He holds newborns as though they're aliens and he's not quite sure if they'll bite or not. He's never really been the type to get down on the floor and play with the little kids. But you know that he loves each of his grandchildren, even if it's not always worn on his shirtsleeve. In any case, he'll play with Josh, listening to him ramble on and on about the different cars, but he's rarely there when we go over during the week. Josh knows he's at work because he'll announce it: Ronnie's at work. Just like Daddy and Papa. Seems like all the cool guys go to work. (He doesn't say the last part out loud, but it's what he's thinking).
So Wednesday night, some of the neighbor gals threw a baby shower for me. I had invited my mom to it and my dad was going to drive her out. During the day, I told Josh that Grandma and Ronnie were going to come out later and we needed to clean the house. He was so excited. He ran around, picking up his toys and asking--every 2 minutes--are they here yet? Are they here yet?
I left for the party before my parents arrived and so I'm not sure what exactly transpired. When I got home, Josh ran in, his face stained with tears.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Ronnie's my best friend and now he's gone." He replied, eyes brimming with fresh tears.
My parents hadn't stayed long, and much of the time Ronnie was here was spent in heated debate with Wade on politics and helping with the basement. Josh was so excited that Ronnie had come out to see him at "Joshie's house" but then he left, leaving a very sad boy behind.
I had no idea that that he was this attached to Ronnie. I thought that he'd be excited to see him because of the anticipation and that would quickly wear off and he'd be back playing with his cars.
So I explained to Josh that Ronnie had to go, but we'd go see him in a couple of days.
"Call him" was Josh's simple request. How do you say no to that? So I called and left a message. Something along the lines of there was a sad boy who didn't get to play with Ronnie over here and what happened?
My dad called back a few minutes later. Astonishing because rarely is it my dad who calls. It's always my mom. I put Josh on the phone and they talked for a few minutes and all was well again.
Fast forward to today. My mom was suppose to watch Josh while I went to class. It was a rough night last night. I didn't sleep well and everything ached this morning. I laid in bed debating on whether I really wanted to get up, shower, get Josh up and dressed, drop him off and go up to campus. I guess I must've dozed back off because the phone rang at 9:15. It was my mom.
"Oh, I was just going to call you." I said. "It was a rough night last night. Josh is still asleep. I think I'm going to stay home today."
"Oh." She replied. "Dad stayed home from work this morning so he could play with Josh."
Now it was my turn to feel guilty.
"Well, I guess we could come in a little later. I won't be there before 10:30."
"It's okay. He has to be at work at 11:00."
Now I feel really bad. Apparently, he woke my mom up this morning and said that he decided he was going to take the morning off and play with Josh but that he had a meeting he had to go to at 11:00.
I should've listened to my gut feeling that I should just get up and go. Instead I fell victim to the warm bed and the peaceful slumber that it promised. It's a hard lesson to learn.
A little background on Ronnie. Not an overtly affectionate man, he tends to spend a lot of time in the back bedrooms when we're all over. I think he prefers the solitude and quiet. He holds newborns as though they're aliens and he's not quite sure if they'll bite or not. He's never really been the type to get down on the floor and play with the little kids. But you know that he loves each of his grandchildren, even if it's not always worn on his shirtsleeve. In any case, he'll play with Josh, listening to him ramble on and on about the different cars, but he's rarely there when we go over during the week. Josh knows he's at work because he'll announce it: Ronnie's at work. Just like Daddy and Papa. Seems like all the cool guys go to work. (He doesn't say the last part out loud, but it's what he's thinking).
So Wednesday night, some of the neighbor gals threw a baby shower for me. I had invited my mom to it and my dad was going to drive her out. During the day, I told Josh that Grandma and Ronnie were going to come out later and we needed to clean the house. He was so excited. He ran around, picking up his toys and asking--every 2 minutes--are they here yet? Are they here yet?
I left for the party before my parents arrived and so I'm not sure what exactly transpired. When I got home, Josh ran in, his face stained with tears.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Ronnie's my best friend and now he's gone." He replied, eyes brimming with fresh tears.
My parents hadn't stayed long, and much of the time Ronnie was here was spent in heated debate with Wade on politics and helping with the basement. Josh was so excited that Ronnie had come out to see him at "Joshie's house" but then he left, leaving a very sad boy behind.
I had no idea that that he was this attached to Ronnie. I thought that he'd be excited to see him because of the anticipation and that would quickly wear off and he'd be back playing with his cars.
So I explained to Josh that Ronnie had to go, but we'd go see him in a couple of days.
"Call him" was Josh's simple request. How do you say no to that? So I called and left a message. Something along the lines of there was a sad boy who didn't get to play with Ronnie over here and what happened?
My dad called back a few minutes later. Astonishing because rarely is it my dad who calls. It's always my mom. I put Josh on the phone and they talked for a few minutes and all was well again.
Fast forward to today. My mom was suppose to watch Josh while I went to class. It was a rough night last night. I didn't sleep well and everything ached this morning. I laid in bed debating on whether I really wanted to get up, shower, get Josh up and dressed, drop him off and go up to campus. I guess I must've dozed back off because the phone rang at 9:15. It was my mom.
"Oh, I was just going to call you." I said. "It was a rough night last night. Josh is still asleep. I think I'm going to stay home today."
"Oh." She replied. "Dad stayed home from work this morning so he could play with Josh."
Now it was my turn to feel guilty.
"Well, I guess we could come in a little later. I won't be there before 10:30."
"It's okay. He has to be at work at 11:00."
Now I feel really bad. Apparently, he woke my mom up this morning and said that he decided he was going to take the morning off and play with Josh but that he had a meeting he had to go to at 11:00.
I should've listened to my gut feeling that I should just get up and go. Instead I fell victim to the warm bed and the peaceful slumber that it promised. It's a hard lesson to learn.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Why I Voted The Way I Did
There are certain things to take into account when casting your vote. Like, who represents your values the most, who would make the best leader, and who everyone else at the Thanksgiving table is voting for.
(Hey, some reasons are more compelling than others, but they're all important to consider).
This year, it was a toss-up for me. I wanted to research each candidate. Decide for myself who I wanted representing me. And what it came down to was that I was going to have to pick the lesser of two evils. No surprise there.
No candidate really represented my values that well. I was a little skeptical of a man who had to renounce so many associations with questionable characters. And, he did come out and declare that an entire industry--an important one at that--would become bankrupt under his administration. And that those that actually pay federal income tax--yes, my little family of 3 1/2 is included in this--would be cut from 65% of the nation to only 55% of the nation. Yes, we'd still be part of the half that has to support the other half. It's part of the "spread the wealth" campaign. Heaven forbid that I actually keep the hard earned money I made. I should spread it around because not everyone had the same opportunities I had. Like taking out school loans and working my way through college. Or taking measures in preventing unwanted teenage pregnancies. Or being able to create a budget and deciding that we couldn't take out the amount they told us we could easily get for the "big" house because then we wouldn't be able to pay back our school loans and other obligations. Obligations we thought to be important because we had agreed to pay them back. Apparently, they're more of a suggestion than a reality. How were we suppose to know? Our parents working painstakingly hard to pay back their mortgages and loans. We just assumed the same was expected of us.
But I digress.
The point being, this is America. And you make your life how you will. And I can't be blamed for that, nor should I be paying for it. If you don't want to work, fine. If you can't control your zipper, fine. But, I shouldn't be the one paying for your lifestyle.
On the flip side of the fence, there was a candidate that could do nothing but point out the flaws of the opposition. Not a compelling campaign. I still don't know exactly what his platform was, though I'm fairly certain it wasn't socialism. He should've worked harder at distancing himself from the current administration. The election was lost way before it started.
When media outlets were cornering voters after they left the booth yesterday, two things were evident. First, you should avoid being captured on the spot by tv cameras. Rarely does anyone look intelligent in this situation. Think about it...when something bad happens in a neighborhood and the news cameras all swarm around the onlookers, does anyone look or say anything respectable? I remember when Hurricane Katrina happened and all those soundbites emerged from New Orleans. I was embarassed for what the world was seeing representing our country. If you had never met an American, you'd be hard pressed to see what the big deal was with the cross population shown during that disaster.
Second, the newly elected President of the United States was voted in because of skin color and that's just sad. While I thought it was great that we could finally look beyond the color of one's skin, apparently, we can't. And a lot of people voted for a man purely because of his skin color. To be fair, a lot of people didn't vote for him because of his skin color too and to those people, grow up!
But, I fully intend to support the next administration, even if I don't agree with him or his policies. I am an American after all, and I still think this is the greatest country to live in. I just hope I feel the same way in four years.
I knew going into the booth that I was voting for the loser. But, in order to moan about the next four years, I had to cast my ballot. And, it's the year to spend with the in-laws at Thanksgiving, so the choice sort of made itself.
Kidding.
Sort of.
(Hey, some reasons are more compelling than others, but they're all important to consider).
This year, it was a toss-up for me. I wanted to research each candidate. Decide for myself who I wanted representing me. And what it came down to was that I was going to have to pick the lesser of two evils. No surprise there.
No candidate really represented my values that well. I was a little skeptical of a man who had to renounce so many associations with questionable characters. And, he did come out and declare that an entire industry--an important one at that--would become bankrupt under his administration. And that those that actually pay federal income tax--yes, my little family of 3 1/2 is included in this--would be cut from 65% of the nation to only 55% of the nation. Yes, we'd still be part of the half that has to support the other half. It's part of the "spread the wealth" campaign. Heaven forbid that I actually keep the hard earned money I made. I should spread it around because not everyone had the same opportunities I had. Like taking out school loans and working my way through college. Or taking measures in preventing unwanted teenage pregnancies. Or being able to create a budget and deciding that we couldn't take out the amount they told us we could easily get for the "big" house because then we wouldn't be able to pay back our school loans and other obligations. Obligations we thought to be important because we had agreed to pay them back. Apparently, they're more of a suggestion than a reality. How were we suppose to know? Our parents working painstakingly hard to pay back their mortgages and loans. We just assumed the same was expected of us.
But I digress.
The point being, this is America. And you make your life how you will. And I can't be blamed for that, nor should I be paying for it. If you don't want to work, fine. If you can't control your zipper, fine. But, I shouldn't be the one paying for your lifestyle.
On the flip side of the fence, there was a candidate that could do nothing but point out the flaws of the opposition. Not a compelling campaign. I still don't know exactly what his platform was, though I'm fairly certain it wasn't socialism. He should've worked harder at distancing himself from the current administration. The election was lost way before it started.
When media outlets were cornering voters after they left the booth yesterday, two things were evident. First, you should avoid being captured on the spot by tv cameras. Rarely does anyone look intelligent in this situation. Think about it...when something bad happens in a neighborhood and the news cameras all swarm around the onlookers, does anyone look or say anything respectable? I remember when Hurricane Katrina happened and all those soundbites emerged from New Orleans. I was embarassed for what the world was seeing representing our country. If you had never met an American, you'd be hard pressed to see what the big deal was with the cross population shown during that disaster.
Second, the newly elected President of the United States was voted in because of skin color and that's just sad. While I thought it was great that we could finally look beyond the color of one's skin, apparently, we can't. And a lot of people voted for a man purely because of his skin color. To be fair, a lot of people didn't vote for him because of his skin color too and to those people, grow up!
But, I fully intend to support the next administration, even if I don't agree with him or his policies. I am an American after all, and I still think this is the greatest country to live in. I just hope I feel the same way in four years.
I knew going into the booth that I was voting for the loser. But, in order to moan about the next four years, I had to cast my ballot. And, it's the year to spend with the in-laws at Thanksgiving, so the choice sort of made itself.
Kidding.
Sort of.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Six Weeks and Counting
I'm down to six weeks--hopefully. Six weeks before embarking on a whole new stage of life. Life with multiple children. I'm feeling a bit torn. Like, I clearly remember how hard the first month was. And though I have the added benefit of knowing there's life after that first month, it's very much like having a cavity filled. It has to be done. You've been there before. You know it won't kill you. But, it's still not any more pleasant the 2nd, 3rd or 11th time.
There's still a lot I want to get done before baby #2 arrives. I want to fix her room up a little bit. When we fixed the nursery up for Josh, we purposefully chose a gender neutral theme. Jungle animals. But I'd like to add some girly stuff to make it a little more girly. You know, so it's not like she's just a prettier version of Josh. With the blue car seat and the boy clothes masked over with bows, maybe some butterflies in the room or pretty flowers will convince her that we find her to be unique and special. In any case, I'm not as motivated as I was with Josh. Josh's room was all ready to go 2 months before he arrived. And we did a major overhaul, complete with paint and everything.
Christmas shopping is another task on the list that needs to be done soon. And I don't like to Christmas shop, so it's hard to get motivated to do that one. But my mom is constantly reminding me to do it. I'm reminded to do it, especially when the radio stations started playing Christmas songs on November 1. I just don't want to.
Six weeks seems like such a long ways off, but I know it will be here before I know it. I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.
There's still a lot I want to get done before baby #2 arrives. I want to fix her room up a little bit. When we fixed the nursery up for Josh, we purposefully chose a gender neutral theme. Jungle animals. But I'd like to add some girly stuff to make it a little more girly. You know, so it's not like she's just a prettier version of Josh. With the blue car seat and the boy clothes masked over with bows, maybe some butterflies in the room or pretty flowers will convince her that we find her to be unique and special. In any case, I'm not as motivated as I was with Josh. Josh's room was all ready to go 2 months before he arrived. And we did a major overhaul, complete with paint and everything.
Christmas shopping is another task on the list that needs to be done soon. And I don't like to Christmas shop, so it's hard to get motivated to do that one. But my mom is constantly reminding me to do it. I'm reminded to do it, especially when the radio stations started playing Christmas songs on November 1. I just don't want to.
Six weeks seems like such a long ways off, but I know it will be here before I know it. I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.
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