Hap Haweee!

You guessed it, that's how Laura was shouting Happy Halloween all morning!  I thought it would be a better blog post title that "Teat!" which is how she was shouting trick or treat all morning.  On second though, maybe I'd get more hits if it was titled "teat"...

Months ago, like in August, my mom sent me an iPhone picture of a poodle costume she grabbed for Laura at TJMaxx for $20.  Nate and I weren't overly enamored of the costume choice, but it was better than nothing.  We saved the costume for later.


Two weeks ago, Nate looked up during a Dora marathon and said, "You know, Laura really ought to be Boots for Halloween, she loves him so much."  I put on my supermom cape, googled "Boots Halloween Costume," and began swimming through the links to hideous adult costumes, heavy on the boots.   And then I found a Boots the Monkey costume template on Nick Jr. website.  I was impressed that Nick Jr. was openly encouraging moms to make a costume, rather than buy something from them.

So I googled "lavendar sweat suit" and bought one on eBay.  I bought fabric.  I printed templates.  I sewed.   I sewed some more.  The result: pure supermom awesomeness!


We had gorgeous weather yesterday.  The kind that made me want to do a Halloween costume photoshoot.  I grabbed the Boots costume and the toddler.  And lost an epic battle of wills in which Laura spent most of the day running around without a shirt.  She wanted no part of wearing the lovingly hand-stitched Boots costume.  She did consent to run around like a pink poodle for half an hour.

I'm not sure which she'll wind up wearng tonight, as we wander the streets begging for candy.  I do know she'll be cute, no matter what!

Are your kids dressing for Halloween?  Share your photos with Sellabitmum and Four Plus an Angel!
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And I'm also linking up with Nicole at By Word of Mouth Musings for her Halloween link-up!  In honor of Laura's current favorite stuffed animal, Catty, I am naming the bat "Batty."  She'd like that very much.
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Boots

People. I made this.


Well, yeah, the kid. But also the awesome Boots the Monkey costume. I am so proud of myself right now. Proud of the costume, but also the cuteness wearing it!

This is For Real

Yesterday was a big day.  This whole "second baby" thing became pretty darn real.  Seriously.

For starters, we got to see #2 again.  Someone was very wiggly, making it difficult for the doctor to get a good measurement.  But someone is also growing right on track, measuring exactly 10 weeks.  Seeing the blob as a little wiggling, limb-flailing thing was pretty great.  Even if the ultrasound picture hardly shows a thing.  I had the 10 week blood draws and was sent on my way to muddle through the (hopefully) last few weeks of nausea before I start feeling like a human again.  I'll be back for my next weigh-in check-up the Monday following Turkey Day.  I have a lot to be thankful for this year.

I spent the rest of the day at work, trying not to puke.  But while working through the motion sickness that is sitting at my desk, I did make an appointment through Craig's List to check out a double stroller last night.  Which I bought.

I bought a freaking double stroller.  It doesn't get much more real than that.  I will have two babies under the age of three, vying for the preferred seating in the Sit & Stand Double stroller I just bought. 

Let's also note that this is the first time I have ever bought anything on Craig's List.  And having been through the jury selection process (not chosen, thank heavens) for the Craig's List Killer, I was more than a little nervous about meeting a stranger in a parking lot at dusk during a rain storm.  I am happy to say that Nate came through, met me there, and froze in the rain with me while we checked out Laura's sweet new ride.

We are going to have two children.  In less than a year, I'll be pushing my two children in a stroller.  This is for real.

I spoke my mind

I dropped Laura in the Infant/Toddler room Monday morning, for lack of knowing what else to do.  That's where she was when I picked her up.  I didn't have a chance to talk to the owner or director, so I left.  Quietly wondering what was going on.  Laura was still in the I/T room last night. 

"Is Laura actually moving to the 2's this week?  Because she only has one more daycare day left in the week."
"Honestly, I don't have a clue.  They haven't told us anything."

Fantastic.  The teachers don't even know which children to expect each morning.  This is really well organized.

"Excuse me, Owner?  Is Laura moving to the 2's this week or not.  I haven't received any information, and I am pretty upset.  If she's moving, fine, just tell me what to do and what to expect."
"...didn't I call you this weekend?"
"No.  You did not.  Please tell me what on earth is going on."
"We reconfigured the room on Friday with the State.  They've decided it's a big enough area to keep Laura and her BFF till January when they both turn two.  She won't be moving afterall."

Pause to reflect on implications.  I'm still livid.  As a parent, I should have been better prepared for the move to the 2's to begin with.  I should have been informed by the state, as well as by the daycare as to the fate of my child.  When she was no longer moving, I should have been informed of that as well.  I deserve to be informed. 

I told all of this to the owner.  I stuck up for myself and my daughter.  I feel pretty good about this.  Last week I called the doctor and got my daughter on meds, this week I am mother, hear me roar.  Next week, I think I'll solve the budget crisis.

(On the other hand?  The new I/T configuration is really fabulous.  I wish it had been set up like that the whole time.  At least #2 will be able to enjoy it!)

Daycare Woes... Again

Just as I was preparing to go back to work in April of 2010, I was horrified to hear that the State had rezoned the daycare I had lovingly picked out, and they could no longer take Laura.  I almost threw up.

A few weeks ago, I was chatting with the owner of Laura's daycare about something random when she brought up some "changes" the center was making to keep the State happy.  Basically, Laura was moving into the two-year-old class a little early, because the State decided that this (brand-new) center could only support 12 infants, not the original 18 they were zoned for.  I took the news in stride and moved on with my day.

I was all non-chalant and fine, until this morning.  This morning, I dropped Laura in the infant room.  Only, it wasn't the infant room I know and remember.  This place is completely reorganized.  It looks completely different.  There was a note in Laura's cubby telling "the parents," not me specifically, that some of the infants are moving into the two's room this week.

I am not prepared for this.  Mentally or physically.   The center has given so little information about this change.  I don't know what I'm supposed to pack for Laura's lunch.  I don't even know what sort of sheet to pack for the cot she'll be on for naps instead of her safe crib.

I was fine a few weeks ago about this move, because I figured the center would prepare us - children and adults - for the move.  I figured it was still a few months off.  I figured I'd know where to drop my child every morning.  I figured I could trust the people watching my daughter to keep me informed. 

So now what?  I just keep up a facade that I'm cool with all this?  I pretend that I'm not livid that they'll still charge the infant rate, even though my daughter won't have as many teachers or as much attention?  I keep my feelings of worry and insecurity to myself as I toss my daughter into a playroom of much larger children?  What am I supposed to do?

Logic

It's 6:30 in the morning.  Nate has just woken me from a deep, cozy, I-love-bed, alarm-ignoring slumber.  He's angling for something special.  His mistake was telling me the time.

His logic:  It's 6:30 in the morning, you're already late, let's enjoy a few minutes together.

My logic:  If I get up right now, I can still catch the train!!!

Guess whose logic won.

Do You Write Thank-You's?

When I was little, like really little, my grandmother would get on my case about writing thank you notes.  I was five or six, so it's not like I could offer any notes of literary genius, but I was still forced to write them for every gift I received.  Particularly from that grandmother.  She told me that people who write thank you notes receive more presents.  She also told me that she used to send presents to one little girl, but stopped when she never received any thanks for her thoughtfulness.

No more presents?  Pass the notecards, please!  At the time I was purely motivated by the thought of presents.  What child isn't?  But through the rudimentary exercise of writing notes to my grandmother (and others), I began to learn the power of the thank you note.

A good thank you note goes a long way.  My sister-in-law writes a fantastic thank you.  I hear her grandmother (stricter than mine) would actually return notes that weren't up to her standards - with corrections marked in red pen.  My SIL would have to write the note over as many times as her grandmother mailed it back with corrections.  While my SIL and I don't always see eye to eye, I know I can always expect a lovely note from her.  Her notes warm my heart.

And then there are bad thank you's.  Like this one:

Ok, I know that weddings require the bride and groom to write a lot of thank you notes.  Hundreds of them.  But those hundreds of guests traveled to your wedding, spending hundreds of dollars on hotel rooms and wedding gifts to celebrate Y-O-U.  The least you can do is offer three minutes of your time to write a quick note.  I was able to write 268 thank you notes in the three weeks following my return from our honeymoon.

I was horrified when I opened this "thank you note" from Nate's first cousin.  His wedding was in mid-July.  We received this unsigned, machine-printed note in October.  The bride and groom couldn't take the time to even sign their names, much less specifically thank us for the expensive gift we gave them? 

Let's see if I send them any baby gifts when the time comes.  My grandmother was right: I'll stop sending gifts if I don't get a good thank you.  Do you send thank yous?  You should.

Can you find me?

Is my new, fancy Wordpress site showing up in your Google reader?  No?  Try clicking "stop following," then re-add me through Google Friends Connect from the new site!

Talking to Doctors

I'm not a total bumbling idiot most of the time.  I usually feel pretty confident that I know what I'm talking about.  I'm a smart, educated person.

Until I walk into a doctor's office.

It's like all knowledge, any motherly instinct, any hunches or theories turn to absolute mush.  The doctor looks over my kid, says she's fine (when I know she's not), and sends us on our way.  Meanwhile, there is green goop dripping from my daughter's eyes, which the doctor waves off with a flick of her hand.  It's fine, she says, just draining.

I knew I should have asked for drops.  Just fine, sure.  But also hideous to look at.  And next to impossible for Laura to keep her eyes open.  Toddlers should be able to blink and see things, right?

So why didn't I ask?  Why didn't I advocate for my daughter?  Why do I put so much faith into the flippant words of a busy doctor?  Why haven't I called the doctor this morning to push for a prescription?  I think it's time to pick up the phone.

Home Sick

This pot brought to you by the makers of Dora and Chloroseptic.

Laura's home sick today. Not with hand foot mouth disease, like I feared, but with a cold gone rogue. She has a really painful sore on her tongue. A combo of biting her tongue in a fall and a mean virus. So she's a slobbery, biting mess. Makes putting ambesol on the sore very dangerous for my fingers.

After the third bite and tear fest, I remembered Chloroseptic. It says three and up, but my fingers couldn't take any more bites. Oh, sweet spray of relief! We are much happier. Though still slobbery.

I have to admit, as awful as goopy, boogery, slobbery Laura is today, I really needed a day home. We had a great weekend, but it left me exhausted. I'm really struggling to find foods that both sound appealing and don't leave me feeling really sick. I don't remember my first tri with Laura being this hard. I really need to find some friendly foods, and fast.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Photos!

I feel way too sick to actually write anything of substance today.  Stupid morning sickness.  Which, by the way, I don't remember being nearly this bad the last time around.  I was always queasy with Laura, but I never once had to make a dash for a trashcan or toilet.  I still haven't actually puked, but it's been real close this morning.  Too close.  So with all those gory details, here are some cute pictures.  Enjoy!

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Have a Fly Day

The kool jazz kat ringing me up at the cafeteria just wished me a "Fly Day."  At first, I thought I heard him say have a nice day or something normal, but no.  My ears were just confused.

Have a fly day.

That's freaking awesome!  The words of a sixty-year-old man in a chefs smock (hat jauntily tilted back) just used some really fly language.  To me, the prissy girl buying a bagel and a ginger ale.  Those words by themselves are enough to make this gray, rainy day pretty damn fly.

Things that are also fly?  I was viciously verbally attacked by a coworker yesterday in front of the entire staff, and I didn't get upset.  I mean, it's not cool that this bitch I work with was so totally uncalled for.  Not at all.  But it's really cool that I found a way to completely brush it off.

I've never liked Kate.  She's never liked me.  We sit in cubes next to each other, but it's ok because we don't often have to actually work together.  We can ignore each other just fine.  Yesterday, though a bit early, I announced in a rarely-held all staff meeting that I am pregnant.  My coworkers burst into applause - unexpected but totally welcome.  As the applause died down, Kate pipes up, "Is that why you've been so grumpy lately?"

I was stunned.  Grumpy?  I've been grumpy?  I wasn't even here last week!  I was about to feel all hurt and wounded for my happy news being so completely squashed by the evil hand of Kate.

And then I realized that then entire staff heard her callous and mean words.  She could not have looked like a bigger, meaner idiot.  I spent the rest of the day reveling in her sheer stupidity.  I call that a pretty fly day.

Preggo Eats: Chicken Parm

I had this hankering for chicken parm last night.  I don't usually use the word "hankering," but that's seriously what this was.  I needed chicken parm.  Only... I could not bear the thought of touching, preparing, or cooking raw chicken.  That's a preggo brain for you.

But I went to the grocery store to get a few things, and to look for some non-raw-chicken way of making chicken parm for dinner.  I debated using a large number of frozen chicken tenders.  I debated ordering some chicken parm, already cooked, from a take-out place near the house.  I searched the Stouffers section high and low for a plastic dish of cooked chicken parm.

And then I walked past the deli section, where I saw a huge platter of cooked breaded chicken cutlets, just waiting for me.  For $3.49 a pop.  Here's the debate in my preggo brain:

"Wow, that's kinda expensive for chicken.  I think I'll pass."
"I WANT CHICKEN PARM!  I WANT CHICKEN PARM!"
"But for $3.49?  I could make that myself for half the cost."
"Raw chicken is ewwy gross!  I could make that, but I'd have to TOUCH raw chicken!"
"Oh wow, I am so right.  $3.49 is a freaking bargain!"

That's how I went home with four chicken cutlets, a jar of tomato sauce, a package of sliced provolone cheese, and a loaf of garlic bread.  The chicken parm? Was freaking delicious.

Unfounded Fears

Nate is almost always right.  It's often annoying, but in this case very welcome.



Despite all my fears from last week, we had a wonderful first OB appointment this morning.  Baby Two is measuring 7 weeks, 4 days, with an estimated due date of May 24, 2012 - my grandmather's 84th birthday!  One baby, not twins, with a strong heartbeat.  All of my fears completely unfounded. 

So now let's move on to some other fears.  Like how to fit two children in our current house.  And possibly share a bedroom.

What if...

What if nothing shows on the ultrasound Monday morning.

What if there's no heartbeat.

What if we aren't pregnant.

Would we try again? Even though a pregnancy just getting started this fall wouldn't fit in our plans for the next two years?

But what if it's two babies? Twins, sharing my body? Two heartbeats?

When I went for my 8 week appointment with Laura, I just assumed I'd see one little blob, beating back at me on the screen. When my mom asked if the doctor was certain it was only one baby, I was shocked: I just assumed it would only be one.

This time, I have this nagging feeling about my 8 week appointment. Maybe there won't be a baby. Maybe there will be two! I am so excited for this appointment, for this chance to peek inside my womb. But I am nervous, too. Monday, please come fast.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

I Moved!

If you are wondering where I have been, come find me at http://mrsmidatlantic.com/!  I made the switch.  I'm a WP girl now.  Everything is the same on your end, even if I'm still working out the differences on the back end.  Hope to see you soon!

Meet Me in St. Louis

Wondering where I've been, dear readers?  The hubby and I skipped town!  We left the baby with the grandparents and hopped the next flight to St. Louis!  

Wondering why St. Louis?  For a work conference, of course!  Not for me.  My line of work *has* conferences, but my employer can't afford to send anyone.  Nope, this conference was for Nate.  Which means it was corporate.  Which means it's a fun fest for the spouses!

I don't have any pictures yet, but we had a lot of fun.  A lot.  I got to see much of the city.  I made friends with a few other spouses in our office.  Nate got some great ideas to apply to his work.  It was a great week.

Except for the morning sickness.  We have complete nausea, all the time over here, people.  It isn't pretty.  And woe be the person that keeps me from being fed.  I become a cranky, whiney, neauseous mess.  Speaking of which... It's time for lunch.