The state of this blog

I've watched many bloggers slow down their posting pace, popping in once every few months with an update and a vague expression of hoping to post more regularly. I've noticed that it often happens soon after the birth of a second or third child, which also naturally goes hand-in-hand with the aging of the oldest child. In most recent months, that's been me, too. I get it - life is busier, kids are becoming their own people, etc.

I've been thinking a lot about the direction and future of this blog and my life as a blogger, and many options and concerns have been rolling around in my head for the last few months. I've considered making it private, or starting a new blog, or just posting updates on the kids to this blog as a virtual scrapbook. The day I read this post by one of my favorite mommy bloggers, my heart sank with sympathy for what she was going through but also in complete shock that my mental battle was one that she was sharing in her farewell post. I don't have the large following that Kate has, and I certainly don't blog as regularly or about as many things that she writes about, but I totally got it, and it bothered me that I really didn't know what I wanted for the future of this blog.

The truth is, this blog was started simply (almost exactly six years ago) as a way for our family and friends to keep up on our rather dull lives. The majority of our loved ones lived far away, and I had spare time to keep up with the major events of our lives as an engaged couple and then as newlyweds. When I was pregnant with Elle, it served as a great way to track observations, developments and random thoughts about our impending roles as parents. When she was born, it was a central place for updates, anecdotes, photos and videos that not only could be shared but also preserved for all time. Today, most of the sharing of our lives is done through Instagram and Facebook in short bursts of easy to handle information or observations. Those social media outlets now serve as abbreviated, real-time blogs.

I absolutely love looking back at old blog posts and am thankful for the electronic journal of sorts that this blog has been. I've tried to continue the updates and highlights in the last two years, but while our life is not always exciting, it's hectic. It's hard to find the time to write, especially when I feel obligated to catch up on blogging about things like holidays, trips, etc. instead of writing about what I'm feeling or want to share. I feel guilty that Wesley's first year is so sporadically captured on this blog. I don't like feeling obligated or guilty about something that was once fun and enjoyable. Life is short, and I don't have spare moments or energy to spend beating myself up about how far behind in blogging I might be at any given point in time. It's amazing how priorities and interests can change, and while blogging was once a large part of my life, writing for public consumption is not something I am finding enjoyable any more.

Two other large issues are at play here, too: My kids are quickly getting older. Elle will be entering a VPK program in less than a month - her first taste of school. She's no longer the infant that said "Baby" as her first word or started walking at 15 months - two very blogworthy things to share that I'm glad to have preserved in this space. Her life is not mine to share with the internet at large, and let's face it - my kids are very much a large part of my life and therefore would be the subjects of (or at least mentioned in) the majority of my future blog posts. And while Wesley is not yet walking or talking, before I know it he'll be heading off to join the world in various ways, and the world doesn't need to know all of his business.

The other issue is that I've had a sizable amount of posts gathering dust in draft form that I don't feel comfortable sharing with the world wide web, either, because they're too honest or too emotional or just share too much about things going on in my life. Writing is therapeutic for me, and I feel that there are things I can't write freely about because I never know who might be reading my deepest thoughts or most superficial struggles, now or in the future. There are - have been, will be - certain details of our lives that don't need to be shared. In general, I'm not a super private person (Tim some might call me an oversharer), but there's a point where even I'm no longer comfortable being public about some of our struggles, goals, dreams, plans - and I've undoubtedly reached it. I hope to write in some corner of the internet for myself, for our family of four, but currently have no plans to expand beyond that. If I would open it up, it would likely be a much more controlled scenario, with access granted only to the friends and family for whom this blog was initially created.

I love the community and camaraderie I've found in the blogging world - so many bloggers and blog posts have offered ideas, empathy, cheer, encouragement and support in the last few years. I'm blessed to call some of them friends in real life and know that our bond transcends the blogosphere. As life has gotten busier, I've had less time to read blogs and even less opportunity to comment on the blogs of those that I still enjoy. I'm no longer interactive like I once was, and that was part blogging that I loved. I hope that I've been able to be a resource to some people and that my posts have occasionally been entertaining or thought-provoking or informational. I'm thankful for this space and the opportunity to share what have certainly been the most life-changing six years of my life.

I'm hoping to post a few past-due monthly updates for Wesley, a birthday party recap and a letter to Elle for her birthday in this space so I can keep them all in one place, but after that, the site will be quiet. I don't have definite plans yet to make it private, although that certainly might happen in the future.

Elle says the darnedest things ... (v. 7)

I have been collecting these for a while now ... last weekend, though, pretty much every other thing that Elle said was hilarious and quotable, and I found myself jotting down A LOT of funny stuff. I think we're definitely at an age where the conversations are going to be memorable and the insights priceless :)

Tim left to return to work after his dinner break.
E: "Where did Hon go?"

E: "The good news is Wesley is not crying. The bad news is you're not being helpful."

E: "Oh, you ruined my gravy!" (She meant graveyard. Doesn't everyone overturn chairs in their living room and pretend they're graves and yell at their mother when she tries to tidy up the "graveyard"?)

 
E: "Be patient."
Me: "Do you know what 'be patient' means?"
E: "What?"
Me: "It means you have to wait for something. Some people say the waiting is the hardest part. Do you agree?"
E: "I DO agree."

Stylin'.

I was battling a pretty awful cold. Tim came home for his dinner break and told me I looked thin and asked if I had been eating (I hadn't much because I had had no appetite, but not to the point of noticeable weight loss). Then the random compliments continued.
Tim: "Your face looks really clear, too."
Me: "Thanks, but my nose is just probably so red you don't notice any blemishes."
E: "Guys, STOP FIGHTING!"

Dr. Elle Belle: "You're going to be good as better!" (I guess "good as new" is overrated.)

E: "Mommy, I love your purple shirt. It looks pink."
Me: "It *is* pink."
E: "Oh."

E: "Why does Sidney have a tail?"
Me: "Because he's an animal, and some animals have tails."
E: "Do I have a tail?"
Me: "No."
E: "Why do I not have a tail?"
Me: "Because you're a little girl, not an animal."
E (turns her back to me): "But do I have a butt? Why do I have a butt?"
Me: "Hey, Elle, why don't we talk about Christmas?"

And sometimes, she rests.

Elle, talking about some hot chocolate I gave her in a heart-covered mug that Tim gave me years ago as part of a Valentine's Day gift: "I yove you for cocoa. I very yove cocoa. You gave it to me for Valentine's Day!"

E, talking about the story that I told her about the Valentine's Day mug: "Can you tell me that story again?"
Me: "Why?"
E: "Because I yove you!"

Elle had a cold and I was stroking her hair as she tried to go to sleep one night.
E: "Can you stop petting me? It's too tickly."

Listening to Wesley "talk" and explore the noises his mouth can make, I was reminiscing with Elle ...
Me: "Elle, do you know what your first word was?"
Elle: "What? My first word?"
Me: "Yes. Do you know what the first word you ever said was?"
Elle: "Ominous?"
Me: "Uh, no. 'Baby.'"

E: "Sorry Mommy. Is that for me to give you? I mean, do you forgive me?"

Having a tough night with the kids, including an Elle with a cold. She sums it up, though: "I yove Mommy. No one listens to her." 

E, after dropping a toy: "Ugh ... You've got to be kidding me!" (Another new one: "Oh man!")

 

It was "cold" in Florida, so as we were about to head out on some errands one evening I put on a large hoodie that I have permanently borrowed from Tim.

E: "You look like a hockey player." 

 

I told Elle about something that was going to happen tomorrow.

E: "Today?"

Me: "No, tomorrow."

E: "Is it Wednesday?"

Me: "Yes, Elle."

Elle: "Is tomorrow today?"

 

E: "Daddy, can you help put this foot thing on?"

Tim: "You mean shoe?" 

 

I grabbed some Bounty paper towels at the store because they were on sale. Elle told me I needed to get Sparkle (way to go, commercial with the memorable little pixie fairy). When we got home, I asked Elle to tell Tim about what paper towels I was supposed to get.
E: "Use Sparkle to clean big messes without your piggy bank."

 

E: "I have many toothpasteses."

 

Me, singing to the tune of "Won't You Be My Neighbor" at the grocery store: "Won't you be my baby?"

E, without missing a beat: "Won't you get a cookie?" 

Stripes are the new black.

On Groundhog's Day, we were having a random conversation. Elle was having trouble with the concept of time and wanted to know when Christmas was going to be. I was trying to explain that we had several other holidays and birthdays that would come before Christmas and she was frustrated.
E: "But we already HAD Thanksgiving!"

Me: "But those holidays and our birthdays happen every year, once a year. So you have a Valentine's Day, Halloween, Christmas and other holidays every year."

E: "And Hedgehog Day."

Elle had been watching TV in our bedroom while Tim worked in the living room and I put Wesley to bed. I peaked in to find her standing on the bed. When I took her from the bed and told her we don't stand or jump on the bed, she got very, very upset. I asked her what she'd been doing, and she said "But I was practicing flying!" In the words of Elle, "OH MAN."

Honestly.

It's been quiet on the blog, but that is quite the opposite of how things are going in my head and in life in general. There are a lot of things I want to write about and have considered making the blog open to invited readers only, just to make sure I'm not sharing my deep, personal thoughts with the world in general. However, since it's not like I have a lot of time to put all of those deep thoughts down, I'm not making any decisions yet. I really craved writing tonight, though, and decided blogging sounded much better than doing the dishes. You're welcome, reader(s?), for making that tough decision and instead sharing with you what things are honestly like in my head right now.

Adjusting to life with two kids is a
little bit INSANEchallenge. Add work and you've got a recipe for complete cray cray. I find myself exhausted, frustrated and overwhelmed much more than I'd like to admit (but I said I'd be honest, so there you go). I keep telling people that the math doesn't add up - you add one kid, the chaos should double. I feel like it has at the very least quadrupled, although I can't tell if that is normal or if it's primarily because we're single parenting 95% of the time. Either way, it's a lot more than I expected, and there are some days I'm not sure how I managed to get a thing done and I collapse on the couch until Tim comes home from work and we apparently have conversations that I actively participate in and can't recall the next morning.

Life lately looks a lot like this: Elle throws tantrum. I tell her that if she doesn't shape up, she's going straight to bed. Seeing as how it is just after 7 p.m. and nearly two hours before her normal 9 p.m. bedtime, I don't think she'll take kindly to that and figure she'll at least temporarily decide whatever she's fighting about isn't worth it. I'm wrong. She tells me fine. I tell her she'll have no bath toys or books or snack. She says that's OK, asking only if she still gets to wear pajamas. I couldn't back down, especially since she really seemed to want to go to bed, so I gave her a fast bath, jammied her and tucked her in. During the course of this abbreviated night-time routine, I did discuss with her why she was being punished, trying to make sure she understood I wasn't just doing this to vary our evening rituals or get some extra spare time to myself (oh wait - I need a minute to laugh about that). And maybe she was on to something - the girl who normally tosses and turns for an hour or more was passed out cold when I went in to her room eight minutes later to rescue the rogue cat who had been parked under her bed, not expecting her to retire for the evening so soon. So I hope that instead of "Worst Mom Ever" I could be viewed as a helpful "Assistant to Much-Needed Sleep" in this instance. (She also got revenge by leaving 2% of battery on the iPad, thus preventing me from playing Candy Crush. Well played, Elle. Well played.)

But things like that happen on a regular basis. There are fights - over sleep, noise, toys, etc. There are meltdowns (from Elle, Wesley and myself). There are also giggles (Wesley chimes in now, too!). And sighs of relief when things go smoothly. And frozen yogurt as a reward for pooping in the potty instead of continuing the tiny bit of potty training regression with yet another accident in the bed. And declarations of "You're amazing, Mommy!" that I just might ask Elle to repeat over and over just because it usually feels like I am anything but amazing.

There are also times when Elle tells me - and rightfully so, in proper context - to "Chill out, Mommy." Many times when I am so frustrated about things that aren't getting done or have to be changed or aren't going the way I feel they should that I could seriously just scream and cry. (And sometimes silently scream and definitely cry.) I understand that things change when you have a child. Things change again when you have more. But understanding and completely accepting are two entirely different things.

Sometimes I am just not surprised at the things that happen. Like when I frantically tried to quietly but rapidly usher one of our cats off of Elle's play table as I heard the tell-tale sounds that precede kitty puke one morning as I was trying to hurry out the door. My actions were rewarded in that the cat didn't vomit on her toys or table. Instead, he tossed his cookies as he jumped off the table, producing a 3-foot line of puke in front of the couch that I had to clean up before work. I'm not surprised that I have such little time to blog. My nights after the kids go to bed consist of packing my lunch for the next day, preparing bottles for the next day, washing dishes and sometimes pumping. A new-found obsession with "The Voice" sneaks in there sometimes, and Thursday nights are pretty much made for crashing on the couch and watching "Scandal." I'm not surprised that finding time (and energy) to workout is much harder. I'm not surprised by many things that have come with parenthood (single or times two).

But some things still do surprise me, even though they shouldn't. I seem to expect too much, like the understanding of a toddler who is fresh out of the bath and needs to be put in to pajamas while brother screams like a banshee. You would think someone was tearing Wesley's leg off, and Elle prances around the room like we're leisurely preparing for bed. I try to be patient - really, I try - but the screaming gets to me quickly, and I just wanthertoputherunderwearonwithouthoppingfortheloveof ... deep breath. (Can you tell this happened tonight? Because twisting your foot sideways when I try to slide your pajama pants on is NOT HELPING THINGS, ELLE.)

Simple logic - surely that can't be too much to expect from an intelligent three year old, is it? Pauses for slew of comments chastising me for being silly and expecting so much from such a tiny person. Pauses again for comments telling me to enjoy this time (really, people? The blood-curdling screams, too?). Pauses again for comment or two relating to my tale(s) of woe.

I already know I expect too much of a three month old who doesn't really need to wake up 40 minutes after I put him down, sound asleep. My initial reaction is not pleasant, but I quickly remind myself that he's a dozen weeks old and these things are expected of humans so small and new. Although I know that only the screams of said three month old would wake me after 40 minutes of sleep (would, and have, and will), I guess he's still getting used to things and might be easily disturbed from a deep sleep.

Maybe it's because I expect so much of myself that I have these delusional and unrealistic expectations of other things in life. I'm trying to work on it - really, I am. I try to let go a little bit and take a step back, a deep breath, when I'm at the end of my rope. But I'm not perfect. I struggle to find a balance between the productivity that makes me happy and leaves me less jumpy and the peace that allows me to enjoy and take in the little moments and obstacles that make life an adventure. With the opposite schedules that Tim and I have and the fact that all of our family is 1,000 miles away (a fact that we would love to remedy), there are few opportunities to fulfill four key portions of my life: Time for self, time for family, time for Tim and time for friends. There never seems to be enough time in general. And not allowing for the delicate balance of these crucial segments of time is something that is simple to do. It's definitely a work in progress, with many changing factors at play, from serious things like nap schedules to health issues to budget constraints to less serious (depending on who you ask) things like the NFL schedule and the whims of a toddler.

The bottom line? I'm surviving - working on improving, working on accepting and working on the elusive balance. Now if you'll excuse me, there are bottles to prepare and a lunch to be packed.

Random observations and milestones

Oh, hi. Expect me to fall off the face of the blogosphere a lot for a while. I have plenty I want to blog about, but I'm not comfortable putting some of it on the blog, and time to blog is scarce these days anyway. I imagine it will become even more scarce when I return to work soon - I'm having a hard time keeping up with two kids+life in general already, so I'm really not sure how I'm going to handle everything plus work 40+ hours a week. Guess we'll see how that all goes ...

But now for some random and slightly delayed observations and news of note:

* After 2.5 years, we put the high chair away. I pretty much love everything about the high chair we've had - the Fisher Price Space Saver - and the tray was a convenient way to keep Elle's mess fairly contained. (She's seen at left at a much younger age, probably when she was making much bigger messes than she does today, but she's still not the neatest eater ...) With all of the other transitioning going on, I figured, on the eve of her birthday, that it might as well go away for the next six months or so.

So I dusted off the booster seat we bought last year for our trip to Ohio, and boom! We have more room because the chair isn't sticking out so far anymore, which makes me wish we had made the switch sooner. She loves eating with a placemat and her limbs not being trapped by the high chair tray (read: she keeps swinging her legs over the side and putting her feet on the table, both things that drive me insane).

* After three years plus four days, Elle got her first haircut! Tim has been begging me to cut it short for months, and I've refused - it's so much easier to style with a little bit of length, and with the heat and Elle's hereditary predisposition to sweating (sorry, Elle Belle!), it's good to have a ponytail as an option in Florida. But I had to admit that she woke up with an out of control rat's nest after every night and nap, and the ends were getting crazy dry and tangled.

A nasty nest of tangled hair.

I called my hair person and asked if she would mind giving Elle a trim - she's not big on cutting kids' hair, but she said it was no problem for us and said she'd love to do it. I would have trimmed it myself except I was worried that I would somehow kill the awesome natural waves/curls. Wendy trimmed just a little bit of Elle's hair, and it looks and feels a million times better. The length and curls are still there, and it definitely still tangles, but it feels so healthy and is definitely easier to tame now.

Post-haircut: Healthy and evened out.

* Although we could have hit her three year birthday with the claim that she was totally and completely potty trained, we wanted to wait before pulling the trigger on night-time underwear. For about a week or two before Wesley was born, Elle woke up dry. (She'd always spent the night in Pull Ups.) I worried that she'd regress once he arrived, so we didn't push her to sleep in underwear. But after he arrived and she continued to stay dry - and go 12-14 hours without needing to pee, AND increased her liquid intake before bed (she started asking for water every night before bed about two months ago) - we asked her a few days after her birthday if she thought sleeping in underwear might be a good idea.

She seemed to be disinterested in the whole idea but agreed and said she'd have no accidents at night and would call for us if she had to go to the bathroom. (The other awesome thing right now is that she has never gotten out of bed without permission - like, no reading books in the middle of the night or wandering around in the mornings ... she seems to think the bed is an island that she can't get off of unless we're there with her, and THAT'S AWESOME. I'll take it for as long as it lasts.) She's been in underwear at night for the last few weeks. She's only had two accidents, and one was when she was sick, so I don't think she really knew what was going on.

* Elle's been pretty funny about getting used to having Wesley around. She usually tunes out his crying unless a) really bad and/or b) interfering with what she's trying to do (watch TV, read, etc.) The other day she told me "I think he wants milk!" and asked me to stop him from being upset. She's also still very intrigued by his diapers (she always wants to see them and if they're poopy she goes "Oh, YUCK"). She's helped Tim give Wesley bottles, and she also has told me that Wesley needed to switch sides while breastfeeding. My favorite, though, is her fascination with the breast pump. I usually pump in the morning, and she tells me it sounds like "Fart. Fart. Fart. Fart." So she asks me if I'm farting yet. I've tried to explain what it is, but she's not quite interested in the "what" and understands enough of the "how" (milk comes out, goes in to a bottle, goes to Wesley). She had gotten in to trouble while eating, so she was trying to suck up to me as I got her down from the table. She said, "I yuv your milk, Mommy. It's so white, just like my shirt." Seriously, the kid looks for compliments everywhere if she thinks she's in the doghouse.

Elle says the darnedest things ... (v. 6)

Me: "You're driving me bananas!"
E: "You're driving me oranges!"

E: "Is this Daddy's toothpaste?"
Me: "Yes, but don't touch it. It's sticky."
E: "Lemme smell it. *sniffs* You're right - it is sticky."

E, playing doctor: "You're all done with your check up, Mommy."
Me: "Thanks, Dr. Elle Belle. Will I be OK?"
E: "Yes. ... Maybe."

Elle checks for my "heart beep." She also diagnosed Wesley with Spittyittotis.

We were talking about going to see fireworks at the beach for Independence Day. I wasn't sure if Elle would be scared or love them, so I was trying to prepare her for the possibility of us not going by telling her that the weather might not be good.
Me: "I wonder what the weather at the beach might be like. It might be windy, or sunny, or rainy, or too sandy."
E: "Or fireworky."

It's going to be a fun one today based on this convo with Elle about a balloon we got at the store yesterday:
E: "Why is my bayyoon not fyoating?"
Me: "Because it takes a special kind of air to blow it up called helium. They sell helium in a tank at the store, and we don't have a helium tank here."
E: "But why is my bayyoon not fyoating?"
Me: "Because we can't just blow it up like other balloons."
E: "Do they have fish at the store?"
Me: ... "Oh! No, not a fish tank, Elle. A different kind of tank with special air in it."

Me: "That's a pretty awesome breakfast."
E: "It IS pretty awesome."

Me: "Please don't argue with me. Do you remember what quarrel means?"
E: "What?"
Me: "To fight or argue."
E: "No!"

Me: "Elle, can I please fix your hair?"
E: "In a minute, honey."

E: "You're just the sweetest Mommy in the world, aren't you?"

E, for the millionth time: "How do monsters burp?"
Tim: "Why do you keep asking that question?"
E: "Because. It's just the way I am."

Wesley and I were putting Elle to bed, and he fell asleep while I read her a few books.
E: "I wanna hold him."
Me: "Why? He's asleep."
E: "But I deserve to!"

Practicing her tummy time.

E: "Mommy, do you see that sun on that stopbus?" (She meant 'bus stop.')

E, watching me itch my leg where I had some bug bites: "Stop scratching! You're going to make it worse."

E: "Daddy, do you know why you're wrong?"
Tim: "Why?
E: "Because you're singing the wrong song."
Tim: "No, I'm not."
E: "Yes, you aren't."

Tim: "Elle, why are you combing your hair with your spoon?"
E: "To make it pretty."

Still pregnant and a mish-mash of thoughts.

As of this evening, I am officially more pregnant than I have ever been. Which isn't a crazy statement to make - just an observation that with Elle, I was 39.5 weeks pregnant when I delivered. I am now 39.5 weeks pregnant and Wesley isn't showing signs of arriving any time soon.

I wish I could say that I was enjoying these final days of being pregnant, but to be honest, I am a planner, and I am impatient. I have been been on maternity leave for a week and am not happy that I am on leave sans newborn. I don't want to rush the boy, but I certainly thought he'd be out by now. Physically and mentally, I think it's good that I went on leave when I did. But now I'm thinking that each day I'm off without the baby means I'll have to go back to work when he is that much younger. Our induction is set for Monday, and I don't think I'll make it to then, but then again, I didn't think I'd still be pregnant now, either. At my appointment yesterday I showed signs of progress - baby's head is still high (as Elle's was until the end), but I'm dilated 2 cm and 20% effaced, making me favorable for the induction but also giving me some sense of hope that he might just come on his own sooner. With every round of painful contractions, I tell myself that maybe the pain now means a faster, easier time at delivery (if you don't agree, keep it to yourself because that's all that's getting me through these days).

Dr. S. made the comment that he had delivered someone "just like me" on the night before my appointment. I wanted to clarify, to ask if that meant she was fat, anxious, impatient, grew large babies or if it was her second child and she wasn't showing any sign of being dilated or effaced, but I figured I'd just leave his comment alone and not go there. He added that she was a week and a half overdue, and I told him that I was struggling to remind myself that I am not yet overdue. In fact, I am in a perfectly normal range for still being pregnant, and just because I assumed or expected anything different doesn't mean that I SHOULD have this baby any sooner. I'm still not super excited about being induced, but at the same time, I think for my mental well-being it might be for the best, and if it improves my chances of being able to deliver vaginally again then I'm OK with that, too.

I'm getting all sorts of comments about how I must be ready to pop. My favorite thing about these conversations is that after I confirm that yes, I am just about ready, people insist on engaging me in drawn out stories about their own experiences, whether it be personal or their wife's or daughter's or neighbor's or whatever. I'm 39.5 weeks pregnant, people, large, uncomfortable and often with a toddler. I don't feel like standing around making polite small talk. I'm sorry, but I have no patience, and even if I did, you wouldn't be getting any of it right now. We normally do our shopping for the week on Saturdays, but since I keep hoping that I might be in labor and not available to make dinner on any given day, I've basically shopped day by day this week. The grocery store employees love me.

Physically, I could be very much in worse shape. I'm working out a lot more now that I'm not working, and although I have some mega lower back pain, joint aches and swelling, I've been blessed with a pretty easy pregnancy. Not as easy as my first one, but not nearly as bad as it could be. My hands are very stiff now - I can't close my right hand in a fist in the morning any more, and gripping anything is either very painful or impossible. The same thing happened in my last few weeks of my first pregnancy. My hips are loose and I am getting weird muscle cramps in my upper thighs - things that aren't helped by my insistence to continue full speed ahead (and then some) on cleaning, running errands, etc.

Today was the first day of leave that I really took it "easy," and it was largely because I way overdid it yesterday and had some mammoth pain last night. It was also due to the fact that I didn't fall asleep until 4:30 a.m. and took a long afternoon nap with Elle, which didn't leave much time for scrubbing doors, doing dishes or vacuuming cobwebs from every crevice in the house. And while I've been very productive during my leave, I'm still left feeling nauseous at times, dealing with a lack of appetite, digestive issues, and general soreness that comes with trying to take care of an active toddler (i.e. I have a hard time heaving myself around to chase after her, contorting myself to try to wash her hair in the bathtub, lifting her, etc.).

This past weekend would have been a perfect time for Wesley to be born, which is probably why he decided he didn't like that plan. Tim was off for three days, we had sitters lined up for each day, and I had a good feeling about each date. But alas, nothing. I find that whenever we have the perfect situation in place, I have no signs of labor, but if there are any wrinkles/obstacles/complications, I get all sorts of signs and contractions and wonder if NOW is the time.

We did take advantage of the newbornless time to spend some quality family time together, getting little outings in with Elle on each day that likely won't happen for a while after Wesley is born. I don't think I would have gone on some of these adventures solo, but with Tim there to help with Elle it made everything much more manageable (and reminded/scared me of the fact that we're going to be parenting not one but two children on opposite shifts, which means solo duty and little overall family time, which always makes me sad - so I'm not going to think about it right now).

Elle's new thing is to "tell" us secrets. Basically she just whispers gibberish or mouths words.

Baseball game on Saturday night!

To the park several times - solo with Mommy on Thursday morning,
then family outing on Sunday evening.

A new-to-us indoor bounce play area on Monday morning -
we went before a lot of older kids showed up, and Elle had a lot of fun.

Elle will be going to daycare part-time while I'm on leave, which adds up to about 11 hours a week. I think this will be good for her, to maintain some sense of her "normal," and for me and Wesley, to have a few hours a week for one-on-one time. Today was one of the days that Elle didn't go to daycare, so we headed to story time at the library, took a long afternoon nap and baked brownies together.

Mmmm, brownies.

I'm squeezing in every special memory-making moment together that I can before her little brother arrives, and some of the stuff that we've done (the trips to the park, the bounce house, story time, etc.) are things that Tim and/or I can continue doing with her after Wesley is here, to give her special one-on-one time with us.

I've also used my non-baby-occupied leave time to be productive - I have been getting stuff done around the condo, wrapping up some projects and resting. But now I'm getting stir crazy. And too large and tired to do much. And irritable. And anxious. Tim said he's mystified by how I can be anxious/worried/upset about so many things and keep them all straight. What can I say? A life time of practice. He's trying to assure me that worrying about things won't change what happens - how/when Wesley arrives, how Elle will react, how my body will respond, etc. But it doesn't keep me from thinking about it when it's 3:30 a.m. and I can't sleep, again. I'm an emotional mess - at night, when I've had some significantly painful yet highly inconsistent contractions, I think about how I might spend the next few nights in the hospital, away from Elle. I think about the possibility of a c-section. I try to think positively, regarding the contractions as progress in the end game of delivering this baby. I try to not wish away the last days of this pregnancy, but when I have a foot wedged in my rib cage or a dance party in my pelvis, it's not comforting. I get calls/texts asking if I've had the baby yet. I'll let you imagine my reaction to those inquiries. I feel like I've packed my hospital bag so long ago that I'll likely never need it. I worry that I won't remember what the "real deal" contractions will feel like. I worry that my baby will be 25 inches long and weigh 10 pounds.

I think having the experience of my pregnancy/delivery with Elle has allowed my mind to make assumptions, comparisons, even, as to what we should expect with this pregnancy. With Elle, EVERYTHING was unknown. I should have just continued operating like that instead of imagining how/when Wesley might arrive, but again, I am a planner, and this is how my mind works.

In the end, I know - I KNOW - it will all work out. I won't be pregnant forever. Elle won't hate us for turning her world upside down with a sibling. I'll sleep again (some day). Being this large and uncomfortable will one day be a distant memory. The next few weeks will go quickly as we all work to adjust to our new normal. I had similar frustrations/fears/unknowns when I was pregnant with Elle, and she arrived, we survived and we can't imagine life without her.

I'm just ready to start the next chapter - our life as a family of four.

Reading with Elle Belle

When I was in college, I took a children's literature class that was one of the most entertaining courses of my college career. I don't remember many of the books we read, but I do remember being introduced to a book called "Click, Clack, Moo: Cows That Type."

When I found out I was pregnant, it was a book that I knew I wanted for Baby's bookshelf (and somehow we ended up with two copies, which is a good thing since infant Elle had a page ripping problem).

It's an interesting book, and we've gone through stages where it was a regular in our bedtime reading rotation. Basically, the cows want electric blankets and use a typewriter to communicate with the farmer, the farmer thinks they are whiny and out of line, the cows go on strike, the hens go on strike, demands are made, the word "ultimatum" is introduced to infants and toddlers everywhere, and in the end the farmer has a mess on his hands, granting the cows and chickens electric blankets and dealing with some diva ducks who (spoiler alert!) hijack the typewriter and request a diving board. 

A few months ago, Elle and I were reciting parts of the book while I prepared dinner. And I discovered that the book may have caused need for clarifications to be made and enunciations to be practiced. 

The one note that the cows and hens present to the farmer says "Closed. No milk. No eggs."

Elle, who apparently has linked "legs" to the "eggs" in the story, told me that the farmer was out of luck in the limb department and should expect "No arms. No yegs."

Bath time theater

Around here, bath time is very entertaining. For a while, Elle was going through a stage where she wanted to take a shower every night - it made our night time routine quite efficient but was not nearly as fun as watching her play with her bath toys.

Elle has quite the bath toy arsenal - two little plastic princesses, numerous rubber duckies, toys and now foam letters and numbers that join her in the bath tub. Elle's dynamic personality comes through as she role plays with the toys, and it's one of the most fun parts of my day. I get to see interesting interpretations of her every day life and listen to performances that leave me giggling an hour later.

She pretends to be a manatee or acts out scenes between the bath toys, and she'd probably play in the tub all night if I let her. She watches me clean the bathroom, too - she's completely intrigued by the blue toilet bowl cleaner and begs me to "make the toilet blue" on a daily basis. The other night, upon watching me scrub the toilet, she exclaimed "Oh, how clever!"

Here are some of my favorite recent interactions and performances:

She arranged the rainbow herself.

"Yook at the yetters!"

"Princess is going to go pee pee in her potty. There you go, Princess. Oh! She needs a diaper change. You have a poopy diaper, Princess. Sit riggghhhhttt here. I'm going to get you a diaper wipe."

"This is Dr. Palacio, and this is Dr. Dagigio. They're going to give a check up."

"Mommy, this is Hank, and this is Duck. Can you say 'Hi Duck! Hi Hank!'?"

"The princesses have to go to school. They're going to hold hands. They give each other a fist bump."

And tonight, I realized that she's very much picking up on the few doctor's appointments that she's attended with me, as she insisted on taking the blood pressure of various bath toys, even mimicking the pumping of the blood pressure cuff.

Elle says the darnedest things ... (v. 5)

E: "Mommy, why are you making me mad?"

E: "Mommy, Sydney is a girl."
Me: "Yes, your cousin is a girl."
E: "I have a kitty named Sidney."
Me: "Yes, and he's a boy. You know how we call him Sidney Boy?"
E, pauses: "Mommy, Sidney not a boy. He's a kitty."
Me: "Yes, but he's a boy kitty."
E, talking about our other cat: "Mario is a boy."

E, frustrated that I had left her in another room and told her to stay there: "But Mommy, you're not being my best friend."

Me: "You're soggy!"
E: "Where's the sog?"

Explaining her painting:
"But Mommy, you have to try something new."

E: "Who's my favorite little brother?"
Me: "Who, Elle?"
E: "Wesley?"

E, sing-songy and dancing around the kitchen: "I've got a new cousin! I've got a new cousin!"

E: "I'm Elle Belle the Great Magitician! Where's my magic cape?"

E, asking about Wesley: "Why doesn't he know anyting? ... Why is he scared of everyting?

While playing an imaginary game on our complex's tennis courts:
"I'm the best winner!"

"Look at what I just did - is that cool, dude?"

We spent some time at a friend's house, and Elle was obsessed with the toys my friend's cat had. I told her we had some at home (although the cats normally aren't big on playing with toys, so they aren't usually out). Elle was entranced and couldn't wait to share with the kitties: "Sidney, look at dese! They're special for ya."

"It's an emergency - we have to go to Pizza Hunt."

E pretends to take a photo of Tim with an old cell phone: "Oh, that's great!"

Me: "Elle, your belly is huge."
E: "Yeah, it's bigger than I thought it was."

Tim gave Elle a Cadbury egg and told her it was a chocolate egg filled with cream.
E: "If I eat this, then I'll be a queen?"

The concept of a braid is seriously confusing her ... she keeps saying "is that my brain?" Or "did you put my brain in?"

E: "What's in your belly? Is it Weswey?"
Me: "Yup - he's getting big and strong, and then he'll come out to meet us."
E: "I so excited!"

E, after patiently watching the Belmont Stakes with Tim and I: "That was a very fun race — can we watch Sprout now?"

Me, asking if Elle wanted to spend time with one of her favorite babysitters: "Elle, do you want Ashley to come play with you tomorrow?"
E: "Yeah! ... Where are you guys going to go?"

E: "Are you done arguing with me?"

I poured water over Elle's head in the bath to rinse out her shampoo, and apparently she was not in the mood for it.
E, sputtering: "This ... is ... ridiculous!"

E: "Stop coffeeing me!" and "Mommy, I'm coffeeing you!" (It's COPY-ing, sweetie ...)

Elle: A Teenage toddler

At two months shy of her third birthday (!), Elle is a complex little person. She's definitely figuring out who she is and where she stands in the world, and it's fascinating to watch her develop, learn and explore. Boundaries are questioned, buttons are pushed and emotions flow like a river, but I love watching how she picks up on things, makes connections and asserts herself.

Elle is never short on attitude (no idea where she gets it). But lately she's been dishing out the 'tude at times when it just cracks us up and showing her strong-willed, dynamic personality in new ways.

Some examples:

Tim was telling Elle about some construction work that is being done a few blocks from our house. They drive by it at least once a day, so he asked Elle "What do you think they're digging?" Elle replied with a bored "I don't know. Maybe we can talk about it later?"

Elle was trying to climb some rolls of wrapping paper in our bedroom. I kept asking her to stop and told her it wasn't safe. She kept telling me they were a ladder. Finally, Tim called from the other room: "Elle, what are you doing?" Elle responded with the highly accurate "Making Mommy mad."

We've also been served with an impatient and/or excited "What are we waiting for?" Like if I tell her we're going to have a special treat later that day, she replies with a breathless "What are we waiting for?"

Love this little monkey.

And to show that she's not only got teenage attitude but also some manipulation up her sleeve, she very innocently and casually suggested "Hey guys, let's have some more" a few weeks ago when we gave her a piece of chocolate after dinner. The careful and hopeful delivery had Tim and I busting up, and now she knows that she'll get a laugh out of us any time she says it :)

I also feel like we've got a mini-teenager on our hands in other ways. She is obsessed with hair bows. She is opinionated on what shoes she wears and makes observations on who or what her outfits match. She's obsessed with Taylor Swift's "Trouble" and Katy Perry's "E.T." (Side note: There is nothing cuter than hearing her sing along to these songs. There is nothing less cute than hearing her beg and whine to hear the songs.) She loves having her nails painted or seeing the nail polish on other people's fingers.

We've reached a cool age where Elle likes to act things out, from her bath toys to her stuffed animals to discussions she initiates with the cats. Last night, she played doctor for a while, saying "I have a diagnosis" and naming some of her princesses after various doctors (some real, like her pediatrician, others imaginary). Then she quietly said "I yuv you, yittle princess," and I melted.

She says "Yeah" like she's Little John - I have no idea where it comes from, but this is what it sounds like most times:

We love how she always says "ya," too: "I'm gonna take a picture of ya." "I'm gonna kiss ya." "I wanna hug ya." 

She knows when she's being good and cute and knows when she's misbehaved or disappointed us. She frequently asks "Are you happy?" when she knows that we're decidedly NOT happy with the way she's acting. I feel like we've had the "terrible twos" pretty easy until now, and for the last quarter of the year she's going to try real hard to "catch up" (this will likely turn in to an entire post on the banshee-like tantrums that she has recently started throwing).

But for as opinionated and stubborn as she is, she's also extremely sweet and adorable. She accidentally kicked me in the face the other night as I put her socks on, and she quickly said "I'm sorry, Mommy. Aren't you glad I didn't kick Wesyey?" She's protective of me and her little brother, "guarding" us from another kid at daycare by throwing her arms around my belly and saying defensively "My mommy! My Wesyey!"

I took her with me to my 32-week appointment - she'd been to the pediatrician the week before, and I wanted her to see me interacting with a doctor in a positive way and wanted her to be involved with Wesley's nearing arrival. My appointments aren't normally scheduled at a time that are convenient for her to go with me, but we lucked out on this one. I figured seeing the doctor and watching him check me and Wesley might help her understand a little bit about what's going on. She told me she was going to protect me (since I had to "protect" her during her appointment the week before), and she was great. She told everyone who came near her that she didn't need a check up and followed it with "I have a little brother named Wesyey."

When the doctor came in to listen to the heart beat and check my measurements, though, Elle got a bit argumentative and bossy. She had a photo album with family snapshots in it but when the doctor called it a photo album she insisted they were pictures and not photos ... then when he measured my stomach she said "Hey! I can't see!" and later tried to tell him her heart was in her stomach (let's hope she doesn't plan on becoming a doctor).

She also started calling Wesley "yittle fella" last night:. As soon as I started filming, she wanted to see the camera and was uber distracted, but you can still get a basic idea of how cute it was from the shaky clip :)

 
This age? It's exhausting, trying and bipolar. But it's also hilarious, fun and rewarding.

I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

I needed to post this before I forgot it happened or convinced myself it was a pregnancy-related hallucination.

About three weeks ago, Tim told me that he couldn't find his wedding ring. He often takes it off when he works out, but it wasn't in any of the usual places he keeps it. He's also lost a few pounds in the last few months, and he said that it had been slipping around a lot lately. He was worried it had slipped off completely without him noticing. I was upset but held out hope that he'd find it.

Our rings on our wedding day.

A few nights later, he told me he'd thought a lot about it and thought maybe it had slipped off while he was doing laundry. Yes, he was pretty sure it must have come off and slipped down the side of the washer or dryer.

This would have been awesome news except the way our washer and dryer are set up would require three grown men and/or an act of God to get them to move or lifted in order to check for the ring. They're wedged in to a utility closet in our condo and are side-by-side with about two inches of total wiggle room. Given that I am nearly six months pregnant and also not three grown men to help him, I wasn't sure when we'd be able to search for the ring.

I had pretty much resigned myself to having a husband without a wedding ring for a while or having to go buy a new one at our jeweler. Neither of these options thrilled me, but there wasn't much I could do about it.

Last night, I didn't feel well - I was having weird stomach pain and was exhausted, so I crashed on the couch and slept fitfully. I woke up several times, including when Tim came home from work at 2 a.m. He got some food to eat and settled in to watch some TV. I continued to doze and drifted in and out of consciousness.

I remember becoming much more alert when I heard a "HON. Guess what I just found?" and realized he was talking to me. I mumbled a "What?" and opened one eye to look at him.

He'd found his wedding ring. In the middle of the night. While eating a post-work snack.

Where did he find it?

In a bag of pretzels.

IN A BAG OF FREAKING SOURDOUGH PRETZELS.

This is remarkable on several levels, most notable to me the level where he usually does not finish a box/bag of food and we end up with crumbs of chips/cereal/etc. that would go untouched for months if I let them. Apparently we had hit a level of sourdough pretzel desperation that prompted him to eat to the bottom of the (several week-old?) bag and discover the ring that had been gathering salt and pretzel dust for quite some time. The fact that the bag wasn't thrown away without a second thought is nearly as astounding as the fact that the ring was found there. I still can't believe it.

As I texted my sister and a close friend this morning to tell them the lost ring had been located, I continued to wonder if I had dreamed it or if he had actually found the ring in a bag of pretzels. I then remembered heading to bed at 3 a.m. and hearing him mutter something about how weird it felt to be wearing his ring again. I may or may not have kicked him at that point.

This story will live forever on the blog, but I also will not let him forget it any time soon. He had to take one of our cats to the vet today for a follow up check on an ear infection. The (rather large) cat carrier he'd used to take Sid to the vet last week had been in our (rather small) living room all week (we usually keep them on our lanai but knew the appointment was coming up, and Elle has taking to "playing vet" and stuffing plush animals in to the carriers, so we let it stay inside between appointments).

I came home today to find our other cat carrier in the living room. I called him to ask why he'd gotten the other carrier out, and he said he hadn't been able to find the one he'd used last week, so he grabbed the other one from the lanai.

I looked at the two cat carriers that monopolized the floor space in our living room as I asked with a smile: "Really? You couldn't find it? ... Did you check in the pretzel bag first?"

Yup. Never going to let this one go. But I sure am glad Tim has his wedding ring back - he's mine, folks. Allllllll mine.

Elle says the darnedest things ... (v. 4)

Tim: "Elle, it's a touchdown!"
E, eating dessert: "I'm busy."

E: "Where's Daddy going?"
Me: "He's going for a run, like a chump."
E: "I want to run like a chump too!"

E: "I yike diamonds." (We were coloring and she was asking me to draw shapes, but still ... I think we're in trouble.)

Me: "Elle, who is your best mommy?"
E: "Daddy."

E: "You're a good friend to me, Mommy."

E, frequently, in a sweet voice: "I loooovvveeee you, Mommy. CanIplaywiththeiPad?"

E, addressing her various bath toy ducks: "There, there ... it's all right, Elle Belle's got you."

I gave Elle a thumbs up for peeing in the potty. She said "Thumbs up!" I repeated, "Thumbs up, peeing in the potty!" E: "I not peeing in the potty. I'm Elle Belle."

Me: "I love you."
Elle: "I love you too, but you have to listen to me."

E: "I want my blankie."
Me: "Did you know I had a blankie when I was little? It was green."
E: "Green?"
Me: "Yes, with flowers."
E: "With flowers?"
Me: "Yup."
E: "But now you're a mama?" 


Minutes after talking about how we needed to replace a burnt out light bulb:
Me: "Elle, what should we have for dinner tonight? Tacos?"
E: "Yes, light bulbs." 

Elle was watching the iPad and was apparently way more distracted than I realized.
Me: "Elle, are you hungry?"
E, without looking up: "I love you, too, Mommy." 

Tim threw a small pillow to Elle and told her to catch it. 
E, completely missing the pillow: "Can you catch it to me?" 
Me: "Elle, Wesley can catch better than you."
E: "Yes, he can teach me how to learn!"

Me: "Elle, what are you doing?"
E: "Just being crazy."

Overheard from the toddler in the bathtub: "I'm going to tell my duck all about my secret fart."

E: "Mommy, can you walk on your pitty toes?" (I made her say it like five times before I told her it is "tippy toes," but I like her version better.)

Random ramblings of the 2013 variety

* I feel like I've reached one of those "you know you're adult when ..." milestones. I woke up this morning in the middle of a dream where Tim and I were sitting at the bank talking to someone about a mortgage, and I was busy trying to figure out how much longer we could stay because we had to get home in time for the sitter to leave. Sigh.

* Heard in the house this weekend: Elle telling Tim "Daddy, I don't understand what you're talking about" and "Daddy, get. off. the. couch."

* I'm starting to cook more again, and I used the slow cooker for both meals this weekend. If you use a slow cooker and don't the Reynolds Slow Cooker Liners, you're working too hard to clean out your slow cooker. They. Are. Amazing. I've been using them for at least a year now and am in love.

* I asked my Facebook friends for some book suggestions, and I'm totally engulfed in "Divergent." I started it late Saturday night and by the end of Sunday I was already more than halfway through. I don't have a ton of time to read with the toddler around, so my progress says a lot about how the book sucked me in.

* I had a bad experience with my DHA pill last week. I know it's important to take, but I'm also not a fan of things coming back up, so it was hard for me to take it without feeling ill. I found a gummy prenatal + DHA/folic acid supplement, though, at Target, and so far, it is a miracle worker for me. I get the stuff I need without the gagging I hate, and the baby wins, too.

* Speaking of the baby, I'm super excited about one of the gifts Tim gave me for Christmas - I asked for another copy of The Belly Book to chronicle this pregnancy. I know it's likely that I will not be able to capture every moment of Baby Bean's life like I have Elle's. But I'd like to not start off on the wrong foot. It's been easy for me to keep up with the book since I do my weekly updates on the blog, and I like being able to compare the two pregnancies.

* I'm also digging the same prenatal Pilates DVD that I blogged about last pregnancy. I love that it has 10-minute sessions that I can do alone or combine in whatever way I choose - I'm a fan of the flexibility, core and buns/thighs segments. They almost always make my aches and pains feel better and definitely helped my back as my pregnancy with Elle progressed. When I'm not up for cardio but want to feel like I've done something, it's nice to stretch and move for 20 minutes or so. The postnatal segment kicks my butt, too - a day or two of doing those ab exercises and I already started to feel toned. A-mah-zing.

* Today, I read with (more) interest (than I'd like to admit) that Kate Middleton's due date has been confirmed(!). She's due in July (ooooh, just like me!). An actual day hasn't been announced, but I've been intrigued by the royal pregnancy since my sister pointed out that Kate and I were probably around the same gestation when Kate when hospitalized last month. I was sick, but not as sick as the Duchess of Cambridge. I thought it would be cool if Kate and I had the same due date (or heck, deliver on the same day!) since we already share a connection, what with her deciding to get married on my 30th birthday and all.

Elle says the darnedest things ... (v. 3)

Tim, singing to Vanilla Ice: "Stop - collaborate and listen."
Elle: "No."

Tim, starting to sing to Vanilla Ice again: "Stop ..."
Elle, channeling her inner MC Hammer: "Daddy Time."

Anytime I say "Stop - collaborate and listen," Elle says "Daddy says dat."

Elle takes off sunglasses and hands them to Tim. "I want to go to the park with my eyes OPEN."

"If you're happy and you know it shout hooray, hooray! If you're happy and you know it shout ... my feet hurt."

Elle can now wink, although
it's a pretty intense process.

I clear my throat.
E: "Mommy's sick!"
Me: "Elle, sometimes people cough even when they're not sick. You cough, right?"
E: *coughs*
Me: "Are you sick?"
E: "Yes."
Me: "What do you have?"
E: "The hiccups."

Apparently explaining who I was to the cashier at Target: "This is my friend, Mom."

"Bubble bath, bubble bath, give me something good to eat."

I was putting Elle's shoes on and football was on the TV.
E: "What's dat?"
Me: "That's the Packers. See that guy? That's Aaron Rogers. He's a baby. He goes 'whhhaaaahhhh.'"
E: "He wants his mommy."

E: "I want to wake up Daddy!"
Me: "Do it nicely."
E, yelling in Tim's face: "BOOOOOOOO!"

E: "Is that my candy?"
Me: "Yes, those were Skittles, but no, you cannot have any right now."
E, as if coming up with a brilliant idea for the first time: "Skittles?"

One can never overaccessorize?

I took E to Sears for a special portrait event with a "Rebel Rider" theme. I wanted to get photos of her taken with a mini-motorcyle to give to my dad for Christmas because he has a motorcycle. They had quite a spread, including removable tattoos and a leather jacket/bandana/sunglasses ensemble. I put a flower tattoo on Elle's upper arm, and for the next few days, she'd periodically look at it and ask what it was. I told her it was hibiscus. When I took the tattoo off a few nights later, she grabbed her arm and said "Where's my biscuit?!"

E: "I'm two. ... What's yours?"

Me: "You mean, how old is Mommy?"

E: "You're 28."

Nice, kid.

E, talking to herself about Mario: "He got down. He was NOT listening to Mama."

E, calling to me as I walked ahead of her: "Wait! I have to listen to you!"

E, finding a plastic pig she hadn't played with in a while: "It's my pig! His name is Babe. He loves to run and do the hokey dokey." 

E: "Mommy, can you sing 'Reindeer Nose?'"(aka Rudolph)

Elle had been sick with a bad cold but asked for a treat for dessert:
E: "Ice cream?"
Me: "I don't think that's a good idea for your tummy."
E: "But it's a good idea for my mouth! ... Daddy, can I have ice cream?"
Tim: "No, Elle, that's not a good idea."
E: "It's not a good idea for my tummy, but it's a very good idea for my mouth."