Plus one…

We are excited, yet full of trepidations. It seems to be always on our mind, and yet, we aren’t thinking about it as much as one would assume. We planned this, and we know that many people in the world do this – and handle it – and survive, and yet, we wonder how this will change things. We learned what the “new” normal means, and now we fear and welcome the “new new” normal.

We, my friends, are pregnant. Or I am pregnant, and Steve and the rest of the family have to deal with the repercussions of such pregnancy. Like the mood swings, and the twice-weekly cravings for traditional, in a pot with oil and butter, white popcorn. Like the readjustment to the new body, that I remember so well, and yet after 2 years of working hard to lose weight, get in shape and run after a growing toddler, is proving to be a hard adjustment. Like the desire the nest already and yet no energy or time in which to do so because after making dinner, bath, books, songs and bedtime, all we want to do is crawl into bed instead of knit things and make upcycled sweater monsters. (Doesn’t everyone need one of these?)

It sounds like I’m complaining. And I supposed this is an awkward way of announcing a pretty darn exciting thing. I’m not trying to complain, but rather to share the precipice on which we stand, peering over the edge, wondering what April 11 might bring. Or April 2. Or April 5 or 9. You know, ‘cause we don’t like to come on time around here.

Steve had a mid-morning doctor’s appointment last week and stayed home until he had to go. We sat on the front porch as Stella had her morning snack, watching her grab handfuls of cheese or raisins and run into the yard, yelling, chase me Scupper! Chase me! Lucky for her, with a handful of cheese, Scupper was happy to oblige. I turned to Steve, and both of us said at the same moment, Yep, she needs a sibling.

And then all of sudden, all was right with the world. The scariness of the unknown, the nagging worries of proper fetal development, the tenuous knowledge of the preciousness of fetal life as well as birth. It all seemed conquerable. It all seemed fine. Just fine.

Oh – and I’m totally making this shirt for Halloween this year.

What Daddies are for…

Background: Remember the Outkast song “Roses?”

The refrain is:

I know you'd like to thank your s--- don't stank
But lean a little bit closer
See that roses really smell like poo-oo-ooo

This was a running joke between Steve and I for years after we heard the song because *someone* like to sit in the bathroom for HOURS and read and someone else doesn’t understand how you can just sit in there and smell that!

Cut to:

Stella! Wow, that poopy really stinks. (as I’m changing her diaper). We really should be sitting on the potty, remember? “yes, my poopy stink. Daddy’s poopy no stink.” Of course Daddy’s poopy stinks!

“Nope. Daddy poopy smell roses!”

After I practically lose it at the changing table, I yell into the other room, “Steve! When did you teach her that?”

Cue impish grin and then choruses of “Daddy poopy roses!”

Stella, unplugged

Stella is pretty good about going into her room and entertaining herself. Sometimes, after we’ve taken Scup for a morning walk, painted or baked something, I think she just gets sick of the interaction and wants to do something on her own, so as I’m cleaning up, she’ll run off to her room, and then I realized 5 minutes have gone by and the house is strangely quiet. I’ll peek into her room, and she’s happily playing with her doll, her stuffed animals, cars, etc and enveloped in her own world.  I usually quietly sneak away, not wanting to disturb this wonderful moment (for her – and for me! Yeah 5 minutes of not having to be “on”.)

This morning, as I was running around getting dressed and brushing my hair, I suggested to Stella to put her doll down for a nap before she headed to school. So she did. I heard her in there, and I stuck my camera around the door jam to catch her unawares.

(A note: the book she is reading to the doll is a book about Daddy that comes home from work, finds the baby awake and takes care of the little baby while the rest of the family is asleep. They end up going downstairs and the daddy sings the baby a song about rocking in arms, keeping baby safe from harm – some of the words that Stella repeats here).

Substitute

Hi. My name is Holy Terror. I will be taking over your lovely daughter from time to time, without notice, and then suddenly leave as soon as I came.

Thank you.

Oh dear! What is up with the impending 2.5 year/30 month milestone? Are all kids like this? Please tell me they all go through this phase or I am going to wonder if my daughter has signs of being bi-polar. The tears! Oh the tears! The fake tears! The real tears! The throwing of items! The throwing down of the self! The anguish! The hatefulness!

and then the love. The “I love you Mommy” after 5 minutes of ranting and raving. I am not getting this at all. The biggest problem, I see, is that it’s making me go up and down with her (and my turnaround isn’t as fast as Stella’s).

Most of the time, she is a dear. We giggle together, we cook in the kitchen (smoothies after nap time is a current favorite), we take Scuppy for walks and run run run along the sidewalks towards the horses. But then we get home, 5 minutes past when we usually eat lunch and BAM! Psycho child.

At least we’ve figured out that most of the outbursts are related to when she has eaten (and of course, when she hasn’t) but sometimes we have no clue why the world dissolves in a cacophony of crying. Ah well. Maybe this is why this age was dubbed the “Terrible” twos – although I have word from playground moms that 3 was horrendous. Oh dear.

When you finally download your camera

You get photos from over 6 weeks ago – what a surprise!

The amazing purple smoothie. Made with dragon fruit (which really is neon pink).

The biggest dandelion EVER. (Stella calls them bo-lions. We have no clue why.)

Stella likes helping me cook, but she really likes helping me do the dishes, aka play in water.

We made a barn for Stella’s plastic horse. His name is Shasta. Funny… the neighbor’s horse is named Shasta too.

Making cake.

I couldn’t resist posting this, although I’m sure Steve would kill me. This is Steve getting ready to go into the attic to check out whether our wood rats were back (surprise! they were) or maybe it wasn’t rats and rather a large possum or skunk (it wasn’t). He figured he would be prepared if anything decided to jump at him… so he’s decked out in his full motorcycle leathers and his biking light. Awesome.

Finally, a bad parenting photo. We were prepping to go to San Diego a few weekends back, and planned to take off right at Stella’s nap time so she would nap in the car. We were a little late getting things together and Stella just got a little *too* tired. And yes, this is our kitchen mat in from of the stove.

Daddy’s Favorites

I mentioned to Steve last week about my list of Stella words (of which I forgot to include “libarbee = library”) and he wanted to offer his two favorite phrases.

“I dood it.” I do it. We hear this one A LOT. Steve has now started saying it too, especially when I offer to do the dishes, which he does every night without fail. “I dood it!” he’ll say, and I retort with, yah, but I give her a bath almost every night so for once, I’d like to give the dishes a bath and you give the toddler one!

“No touch a poopy.” This one is a bit more difficult to explain, but it practically makes us snort water out of our noses when we hear it. I think it must have started on the camping trip? I have no clue – either way, Stella seems to think that every sign, every written piece, envelope, mail, etc. that has large words/letters on it says “no touch a poopy.” Seriously, we have no idea where this came about. I can only think I must have interpreted a sign for he? But knowing me, I probably said that the sign read “Don’t touch the dog poopy” or “Don’t touch the bird poopy” or something ridiculous so she would stop whatever she was doing outside.

Oh dear. Let’s hope that when she DOES start to read, she learns a bit more phrases. Steve is really tempted to get bumper stickers that just say:

NO TOUCH A POOPY

Who wants one?

Overheard as of late

Stella sings in the morning if she has woken up in a good mood. It’s a nice way to judge how the morning is going to be. Singing? Good mood. Crying/whining “mommy?” plaintively? Not so good morning.

Overheard today: (singing)

“I not a baby anymore. I a big girl now” (repeat 3x) into:

“Mommy sleeping. my REAL Daddy sleeping in a big bed” (repeat 2x) into:

“Daddy the best in the world… daddy the best in the wooorrr-ld.” (I particularly liked the drawn out ending, like the ending to a real song.

*************

“Stella? Where are you going?”

“To the coffee shop. To get plastic lions.” Um ok.

********************

I work during Stella’s naps, and sometimes I let her talk in there to herself for a bit until she starts to get annoyed, usually because I am finishing up a project, a thought, etc. From her room, waking up from a nap an hour earlier than usual:

“Mommy? You done writing email?”