Mandajuice

What a crock

Dave bought me a really swank crock pot for Christmas (which I asked for lest you worry about my receiving too many housewifey gifts) and now I have absolutely no idea what to do with it.  What do y'all cook in them?  I've perused allrecipes.com and still haven't found too much I'm dying to cook in it yet (aside from pot roast of course).  My original idea was that I'd use it to help me get dinner on the table after the baby comes when I know I'll have even less time.  But I should build my crock repertoire before then, no?

Alex has been doing fine since his head injury - aside from his normal two-year-old hijinks.  He loves all his new toys - particularly the tool set, doctor kit and giant excavator - and we've enjoyed hearing his commentary on all of it.  (Hammers "ham" and pliers "ply" - didn't you know?)  The only problem is that he's been so excited about all of it and making so many crunchy construction noises that he's almost completely lost his voice.  He sounds like he's been drinking bourbon and smoking reds for the last thirty years.  It's awful (and yet simultaneously hilarious).  If I could figure out a way to get him to talk less, trust me I would, but he seems determined to lose his voice entirely.

Tomorrow we're heading out for a much needed trip to the kids museum.  I finally feel like I've recovered from the exhaustion of Christmas enough to be up for it.  For a few days there I was so tired I thought I'd never be able to move again, not that that stopped me from running a bazillion and a half errands.  This pregnancy is killing me, I swear.  I'm exactly half way through now (twenty weeks) - but they calculate that for a normal woman - not someone from my family where babies always come late.  The sad thing is I don't remember feeling so pregnant with Alex until I was at least seven months along.  I can't believe I have FIVE whole months left to go.  FIVE MONTHS.  God help me.

I've flickr'd Christmas

I also wrote all about it, but apparently, for me at least, the two tasks are mutually exlcusive.

To summarize what I lost:

Christmas eve: AWESOME.

Christmas boy: HAPPY.

Christmas mommy: HAPPY AND CLEAN (I got a Dyson AND a Roomba and apparently my family is attempting to send me a message)

Christmas Daddy: Dude, I bought him a LAPTOP, but he still wouldn't let me take his picture.

Christmas Dinner: DELECTABLE.

Christmas Evening: DISASTER.
DON'T, I repeat, DON'T EVER BUY ONE OF THESE:

The Santa Snow Globe/Stocking Hanger from Target.  I thought it was cute, right?  That was, of course, before it became the PROJECTILE OF DOOM when Alex tried to get his stocking off the mantle right before bed last night and it SHATTERED ON HIS HEAD.  Literally.  He yanked on the sock, the snow globe flew off the mantle and landed half an inch from his eye.  Dave and I went into crisis mode and started dumping water on him in an attempt to get the glitter and/or glass shards out of his EYES.  Eventually we had to cut off his adorable Christmas jammies and bring him into the shower to get all the glass off without cutting him any further.  The poor kid kept saying "I need to go to the hospital!"  It broke our hearts, but alas, it did not ruin the Christmas spirit and we were spared any waiting at the emergency room.  The boy was fine:

The only plus side was that I got to try out my new Dyson at midnight on Christmas.  I swear if you're not careful, that thing will suck the carpet right up off its nail strips.

Have a holly jolly Christmas!

Last night I had the oven on for SIX straight hours

This should be my last crazy day before Christmas.  I'm hoping all I need to do tomorrow is clean the apartment (which is mercifully small) and then I can relax and enjoy my boys.  Finally. 

It's probably a good time to start backing up the photo files

What does it mean when your computer starts up its siren?  Seriously.  Last night while Dave was studying, the computer started to wail - almost like its internal fire alarm went off.   It stopped on its own, but we are TOTALLY baffled.  I'm pretty sure the old junk heap doesn't even have a sound card.

FINALLY!!

I'm cranky today.  Really. frickin'. cranky.  So instead of bitching about how I'm already exhausted and can't sleep and have all these irritating pregnancy symptoms which I get to enjoy for, like, FIVE more months, I'll share with you my latest triumph:

I BAKED SOME DAMN GOOD COOKIES.

Now, as you all know, the cookie gene seems to have completely skipped my generation.  I normally can't bake anything edible, much less actually good, so this is HUGE, people.  Dave's mom gave me her fancy Kitchen Aid mixer (circa 1966 or so, but still top of the line) and it seems to be helping.  I also bought that fancy Martha Stewart cookies magazine and tried BOTH of her chocolate chip cookie recipes.  This one is the winner.  Even Dave, my staunchest critic, ate handfuls. 

Baby Sister

Lest you all worry that I'm in some kind of gender-induced depression, I can reassure you that all is fine - just totally busy with Christmas coming (and with my ass getting increasingly more difficult to get up off the couch) and with the lack of computer time.  I'm actually very much getting used to the idea of a girl.  I'm still scared, don't get me wrong, but not terrified.  The shopping has helped:

I'm having some issues with Mr. Pants.  He will. not. share.  As in throwing screaming hissy fits every time ANYONE touches one of his toys or basically even approaches anything he deems as his own.  It's a real pain in the ass.  We've been to a few playgroups at other people's houses, where he seems to do A LOT better (those other people are now laughing at me and rolling their eyes), but at our house, he's a total craphead.  We had his friend Evie over on Friday and I swore he was going to eat her alive.  Apparently I'd forgotten to feed him lunch at precisely twelve o'clock and that, it turned out, COMPLETELY changed his behavior.  We couldn't believe the difference a simple cheese sandwich made. 

My basic plan of attack is to invite as many people over as often as possible until he gets it into his "forehead" that sharing is a good thing.  "Hey friends! Want to come over to our house where your child will get beaten up and screamed at for two hours!?"  At least I always bake cookies!  I'm also trying to make sure he eats enough, gets plenty of sleep and has as much consistent discipline as I can muster.  The discipline is probably the hardest part of all of it, though.  I'm tired.  I know it's an aging theme here, but my normal parenting style is to give the child a command (sit down, come here, don't bang that on the wall, etc) and the very instant he disobeys, I get up off my ass and MAKE HIM.  But I'm just too damned tired to do that every time.  And he's not only two years old and CONSTANTLY testing my limits (I swear if I hear the word "no" another time, I may have to sell him on Ebay), but he's smart.  He knows I'm tired and he's taking advantage.  By the end of any given day my patience is about as padded as Calista Flockhart's ass.

On the other hand, his life hasn't been as much fun as usual.  He's basically been my little tag-along everywhere I need to go - which lately has been a lot of places.  We rarely find time for the park or for the children's museum and I fear a lot of his behavior is just excess energy with no place to go.  The rain (as much as I adore it - have I mentioned my new car has like TWENTY different win shield wiper speeds?!?) isn't helping things.  I'm really looking forward to selling the condo and then getting us on a much better schedule before the baby comes.

He has been super cute, though.  He pushes his Tonka Dump Truck around the house with his glow worm in the back and tells me "Shhhhh! Baby sister is sleeping!" or "Oh no!  Baby sister is CRYING!"  He even insists on sleeping with her at night.  How cute is that?!?

My daughter will never allow me to post photos like these

I've flickr'd:

GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS

Wow!  Thanks you guys.  Seriously.  I usually try to respond to all my comments individually, but right now I'm just not able to - so thank you.  Dave is studying for the Bar after work every night now so my screen time is down to whatever I can get while Alex watches Caillou (which is a bit dangerous - he just came in here wielding my pizza cutter!)  And DUDE, we've been Busy.  I finally sold my VW, and we're still working on the condo and trying to do Christmas and go to parties and I've baked enough cookies and/or fudge for about eight families at this point (and miraculously, in spite of the Krispy Kream right across the street, I've only gained four pounds so far!)

To answer some of your questions:  Dr. Webber was 95% sure that we're having a girl, a figure he uses for ALL girls, since it's difficult to see an actual vagina on an ultrasound at 18 weeks and he likes to leave some room for error.  We got a nice, clean look at her crotch and there were absolutely NO dangly bits, so I'm sure too.  It's a girl.  Fortunately, I have another five months to get used to the idea.  It occurs to me that THIS is the main reason why people avoid determining the gender until birth.  I would not be disappointed IN THE LEAST if I was holding my beautiful baby girl right now.  If I'd waited until she was born to see between her legs, it would've been the LEAST of my concerns, I probably would forget to even LOOK.

I think Mir said it best (thanks, Sweetie): "GIRLS! EEEEK! Hey, I AM ONE, I know we're impossible!"  Being a girl is HARD is all I'm saying.  I'm not sure I've figured it out for myself yet and now I've got to be the GIRL of all girls: my daughter's mother.  It's a daunting idea, but like all of us, I'll just do my best and hope it's enough.

I'm already finding the silver lining: I'll never have to stop calling Alex my "favorite boy" or my "best boy", a habit I picked up early on and have been unable to quit.  I'll just have a favorite boy AND a favorite girl.  ALSO!  There will be fewer fights over the ever-sensitive topic of sharing toys, NONE over clothes and they'll still play together - I know I played well with my brother Dan (almost the same age difference as Alex will have with his sister) until he started puberty (then I was a smelly girl). 

I did attempt some frilly shopping yesterday afternoon.  Although, seriously (I promise to only say that word eleventy billion more times today), WHAT IS WITH THE BUTTERFLIES!?  Or the bunnies or ponies or KITTENS!?  BARF-O-RAMA.  I wanted to buy a few cute onesies and was so nauseated by the CHEESE that I wanted to throw up a little.  Don't get me wrong, some of them are ADORABLE, but a lot of them: not so much.  I did find one cute pants outfit, so that's a good start I guess.  I also found a dust ruffle and some sheets for the crib.  Can't have the girly sleeping on anything BLUE now can we?

Alex is perfectly happy (and adorable if I may say so myself):  "I'm having a sister.  She not have a wang!"  We went out for smiley face pancakes after the appointment and after I'd given the waitress my order, he chimed in, "I want pancakes.  With butter and ketchup!"  Fortunately, he was fine with the whipped cream and cherries.  Then, right before bed last night, he wanted me to think up a story for him (preferred over any book) and he asked me, "Mom.  You got a story in your forehead?" And I was laughing, so I turned it back on him, "Do you?" and he said the cutest thing in the most no-duh way: "No.  I not got a story in my forehead.  BE-CUUUUUUZ, I'm just a little boy!"  Apparently when I've been referring to my mind or my thinker, I've been touching the ol' forehead every time and now that's where the stories are generated.  My poor daughter is DOOMED - how can she be any cuter than THAT?

Wish me luck

So.  I've been freaking out about the baby for a few weeks now.  Not because I haven't felt the baby move much yet (still early) or that something might be wrong or that the AFP screen might show something scary.  I'm actually pretty confident the baby is healthy - why else would I be so exhausted and cranky (and FAT)?

What I'm really worried about is that it might be a girl. 

And I know that it's silly and someday, no matter what we have, I'll look back and think how stupid I was to be worried, but I still am.  I want another boy.  I've always seen myself with a houseful of rowdy, hungry, salty boys.  Girls scare me.  I feel like I've wasted enough of my own life fighting the weight-sex-beauty-self-image battle that the idea of watching a daughter grow up scares the crap out of me.  There is something divinely simple about a mother-son relationship.  I have no expectations of him other than goodness and love.  And I know having a girl would be infinitely more complicated. 

I also badly want a third child - an idea Dave strongly opposes.  We agreed before marrying that we both wanted two children and it was me who changed her mind, not him.  But somehow I think if we have two boys, the idea of a third child is somehow more palatable to him - that my chances of having another baby go up from zero to maybe 25%, depending on what else I throw into the bribe (a boat?  a BMW?)  But if we have a girl this time, the idea of one boy and potentially TWO girls freaks Dave out and would be immediately vetoed.  I would have to make peace with having only two children, an idea that freaks me out FAR FAR more than the idea of raising a girl. 

The strange thing is that when I found out I was pregnant with Alex, I immediately knew he was a boy.  I had zero trepidation before the ultrasound.  I was already so confident in the existence of his penis that I wouldn't have believed the doctor had he tried to tell me otherwise.  My reasoning (which I fully admit is completely inane) was that up until that point in my life, I had always managed to get what I wanted.  And I wanted a boy.  It was that simple.  Alex was too much of a surprise - too unplanned and unexpected to be anything other than a perfect happy accident.

This time neither Dave or I has had the strong boy inclination we had with Alex.  We've both frankly been so scared shitless about the prospect of it being a girl that we've practically guaranteed ourselves a girl.  Fortunately, Alex could care less - after all, Caillou has a little sister.  We've been hyping up the next doctor's appointment and he seems genuinely interested in tagging along.  I'll ask him "What is Dr. Webber going to show us?" and he'll answer "If the baby has a wang or not." 

And so this morning we all went to the good doctor and now that I've had some time to ponder the news myself, I can tell you what we saw - a squirmy (even though I still can't feel it) 18 week old munchkin - all ten fingers, all ten toes and not the slightest inkling of a wang.  We're definitely having a girl.  And so now, in an effort to cheer myself up (and I promise I'm really only sad that this is probably my last pregnancy), I'm going to Target to buy my daughter her first frilly pink dress.