One Month Check-up

Last night, Caitlin and Brigid decided sleep was for the weak. Or, maybe they didn't decide sleep was for the weak, so much as they decided sleep WASN'T for our family. Because between the two of them, and their various wake-up schedules, I got maybe three hours of sleep during the entire night, including one incredibly refreshing stretch of TWO WHOLE HOURS straight, before Caitlin woke me up for the day, and her doctor appointment this morning.

And because I don't do well on little sleep, so I was already on edge when we got to the doctor's office.

So, when our pediatrician informed me that even though the rather large and squishy hematoma Caitlin has had on her skull since birth has finally shrunk enough that you can actually feel the bone beneath it, she still couldn't feel that bone where she should? And that she wanted us to go get an x-ray to determine if maybe Caitlin had a skull fracture? Or even something worse?

I may have started crying on her, immediately. And I may have called Steve in tears from the examination room, while waiting for them to set up our referral to the imaging center. And I may have taken to Twitter with my general hysteria.

And after we went and had the x-rays taken? While we were waiting for our pediatrician to call us back with the results?

I may have gone off to eat my feelings at Waffle House.

I apologize for nothing.
Waffle House notwithstanding, we got the call shortly after this that the x-rays were fine, that the radiologist had seen bone, all intact, that we had nothing to worry about.

Just once, I'd like to have one of these check-ups pass with no drama, because I don't know WHEN the last time was that we were able to go to the doctor without having to worry about SOMETHING when we left. Once again, I'm convinced these kids are trying to make me crazy.

It's a good thing they're both so cute, is all I'm saying...

Remember me?

Brigid the big sister has been having a little bit of trouble adjusting to the changes around the house since we brought baby Caitlin home. We've done our best to try to make this whole thing special for her, to remind her that she is still our favorite girl, and for the most part, I think she's handling it as well as could be expected.

Knowing I'd be home for most of December this year, I figured it would be the perfect year to introduce an Advent activity calendar into our list of Christmas traditions, just so Brigid would have a special 'big girl' activity to do each day. I tried to keep it simple, knowing that I'd also be trying to work the activities around the schedule and sleep-deprivation fog that comes with a newborn, so some of the activities are such exciting events as get a new set of Christmas stickers, but some of them required a little more effort.

Exhibit A: The candy cane hunt...
Do you know who isn't super observant? That would be my favorite little three-year old, who could literally stare directly at a candy cane hanging from a bush and still not have ANY idea that it was there.

We've also found two new Christmas books, opened an early Christmas present, made a few super easy Christmas treats involving ALL of the white chocolate in the world and those candy canes we found on the hunt. And we've walked the neighborhood to look at lights, as well as driven through the light display at a local university. And since Brigid was actually awake for those lights this year, I'd say we're a step ahead of where we were last year.

Seriously...Christmas with a three-year old? It's kind of the BEST THING EVER!!!

I can't wait to see her face on Christmas morning.

Baby's First Photo Shoot

We have this amazingly wonderful photographer that we've been to several times, for solo pictures of Brigid over the last few years, as well as family photos from last fall. And even though we already have more pictures in our house than space to display them, I'm going to try really, really hard to keep Caitlin out of the second child zone (you know...been there, done that, take pictures of yourself, kid, because I wore myself out with your big sister...). So, we scheduled a newborn photo session.

And while Brigid's session lasted something like four hours, and while she, in her naked, newborn photo shoot state, peed on me (and worse) five or six times, Caitlin's session was a breeze. Two and a half hours (and one pooped on moment each for Steve and I) later, I'm pretty sure we ended up with some of the cutest photos ever taken in the history of baby photography. Not that I'm biased, or anything...

(The actual photographer's pictures are on Facebook, and they look much better than this, I swear...this is just one I snapped with my phone in between scene changes...)

I've seen three of the pictures so far, and I want them all, which I think means I might be in trouble when our photographer gives us the other 10 or so proofs she's working through. I'm thinking a bigger house might not be out of the question at this point...

And then my heart exploded...

I think this, right here, is why people decide to have more than one kid.


Well, this, and that ridiculously awesome newborn smell, anyway...

Well, hello there...

On Thursday, 11/29, I went into work with a full day of meetings ahead of me. About mid-morning, I noticed that things were starting to feel a little...funny...with the false contractions I'd been having off and on for the last couple of months, so, around noon, I started tracking the contractions to see if maybe we had moved out of the false stage and into the actual contraction portion of the party.

Sometime, between 3:00 and 4:00PM, the contractions were moving along at a steady pace and starting to get a little painful, so I called Steve to let him know I'd be heading home early. Oh, and also that we'd most likely be heading to the hospital that night. Because, yeah...
By the time 6:30-ish rolled around, I was bent over the kitchen table, with a heating pad pressed to my lower back, trying to breathe through the pain. And you know what?

I am TERRIBLE at breathing through the pain.
We got to the hospital around 7PM, and I was already 5cm dilated, which was a much better result than the first time I went into the hospital with Brigid, when they sent me home for not really being in advanced labor. I immediately asked for some kind of pain medication, because again...breathing just doesn't cut it for me. I am a wimp. And surprisingly proud of it. By the time they actually got me into a labor and delivery room around 9PM, I was 8cm dilated and begging for an epidural, since the initial pain medicine they'd slipped into my IV was starting to wear off already.

I am a BIG fan of the epidural. Big. Fan.

The final centimeter was a long time coming, and my water never did break on its own (since I managed to avoid pain-induced vomiting this time around), and we were even starting to wonder if the baby was going to make it on the 29th or hold off for a birthday on the 30th. But where I spent at least an hour pushing with Brigid, baby number two came in about six minutes flat. Second kids, man.

Of course, it probably also helped that this kid's head is measuring in the 8th percentile, instead of the 80th percentile, like some OTHER kids that I know. Not to mention any names or anything.
  
*coughBRIGIDcough*

And at 11:40PM, Caitlin Rose made her appearance, weighing 7lbs 11oz and measuring 20inches long. And she is absolutely perfect. The nurses were a little concerned with her ability to breathe when she first came out, because she seemed to have a lot of fluid in her. And they heard a murmur when listening to her heart, which put everyone on alert, given Brigid's heart history, and earned baby Caitlin her very own heart scan. Everything cleared up, though, and as of today, she's even regained enough of her birth weight to satisfy the doctors.

See? Perfect.
(Yes. We named the baby Caitlin in the end. Brigid got her way, after all. This surprises absolutely no one, does it?)

And then I bought her a pony...

Last night, Brigid wanted to listen to her Bambi book before bed. Personally, I was pulling for a reading of Belle's Christmas book, but Brigid is the boss, so, I put the CD in the CD player, handed her the book, then promptly watched her throw the book on the floor, giggling.

'That wasn't very nice, Bug. You know you're not supposed to throw things like that...'

'I'm sorry, mommy. I love you.'

Then she jumped up, threw her arms around my neck, and gave me the best hug, ever.

Point: Brigid.

I am such a sucker...

Week 38-ish Update

I hit the 38 week mark in this pregnancy last Friday. Brigid was born at 38 weeks and 3 days. In this pregnancy, that would have been yesterday.

Guess who is still not here, yet?

And it's not through any lack of trying on my part, I swear! My parents were in town last week for Thanksgiving, and we had amazing holiday weather here in Georgia. So, we walked Brigid to the playground on Wednesday afternoon. We walked the dogs and Brigid around the neighborhood on Thursday, to get them all out of Steve's way while he was cooking Thanksgiving dinner. We went to IKEA on Friday, then followed that up with ANOTHER walk around the neighborhood with Brigid because Steve seemed to have over-indulged in the holiday festivities a little bit, and needed some quiet time on the couch.

And to top it all off? Steve had not, in fact, over-indulged on anything, but instead had come down with Brigid's stomach virus from last weekend, and a short few hours later, I had followed suit.

That's right, I am not above using a little illness to kickstart my contractions, when they are taking their sweet time in starting.

Unfortunately, not even that seemed to get things moving, as I went into the doctor for my weekly check-up today, only to be told that there is no progression. At all. NOTHING IS HAPPENING. THIS BABY WILL STAY WITH ME FOREVER.

Not that I'm overreacting, or anything.

I did use the full day I spent in bed on Saturday recovering from the bug to plot out the last few items on my to-do list, so when Steve and I were both feeling moderately better on Sunday, we went out to get diapers and diaper paste and a coming home outfit for the kid we still haven't managed to name, yet. And I handwashed a bunch of toys I've been meaning to handwash. And I made a midnight order on Amazon on Sunday night when I realized that even with all of my last minute planning, I'd still forgotten that we needed liners for the diaper pail.

(PSA from me to you: Amazon Prime is ABSOLUTELY worth the subscription. Being able to order one item, with next day delivery, WITH FREE SHIPPING? Get it. Seriously.)

So. Everything is washed. All newborn paraphernalia has been reassembled for action. I have bottles and formula water (in case it comes to that, again) and diapers and wipes and, as of this evening, I will have diaper pail liners. I've packed a bag, for me and the baby. I don't have the infant carseat installed in the van, but I have it ready to be installed, and I think that's as far as I'm going to get until the kid gets here.

Which, at this point, might not be until January. Whatever. At least I'm prepared.

The Progression of a Stomach Virus

At bedtime on Friday night, Steve and I were informed by Brigid that she wanted to dance before bed.

So, we put in the Disney Princess CD we stole from my mother the last time we were in Indiana, and off she went. These are Brigid's ballet moves, by the way. You can't see her ballet shoes in this picture, but she has them on. She's also on her toes, with her arms above her head, spinning until she falls over. She's quite graceful, this child of mine...
Brigid went to sleep relatively easily (by her current standards, anyway), but she was up again at 1AM, asking for her daddy. Steve went in to try to calm her down, but she wasn't having any of that. She kept telling us her stomach hurt, her throat hurt, she wasn't tired, etc. She has a list of ailments, that kid, and she won't stop running through them until we give in to whatever it is she's asking for. None of those things on her list ever turn out to be anything more than an attempt to stall at bedtime, however, so we generally ignore her.

Except...she was up again fifteen minutes later. And then twenty minutes after that. Always with the fake crying, and the 'my belly hurts', and the not wanting to sleep. And I started getting mad, because COME ON, KID! YOU MAY NOT BE TIRED. BUT WE ARE.

Then, around 2AM, the crying changed to something more shrill. And real. And I walked in to find that she had thrown up all over herself and her bed. So...apparently her stomach DID hurt this time?

Mother of the year, right here, huh?

Brigid went into the bathtub so Steve could hose her down, I stripped the sheets and did my first of 3-4 loads of vomit laundry, and Brigid and I set up a sleep-over on the floor. Because, for me, cleaning the carpet seemed like a better idea than remaking the bed a hundred times.

And at 4AM, someone was feeling surprisingly chipper after having thrown up twice in the last two hours.
Apparently, Brigid's way of fighting the sickness was just to fight sleep. because, if you don't go to sleep, you can't wake yourself up by vomiting. I'd say this was a smart move, but no sleep for Brigid meant no sleep for me, and no. Just...no.

She was also afraid that I'd sneak out of the room once she fell asleep, and she wasn't too excited to see that happen, either.

(It didn't happen, by the way. I stayed in there all night with her. And apparently, this was a shockingly big deal to her, because every time someone asks her who she slept with when she was sick, she replies, 'Mommy! And I woke up with her, too!' I honestly don't know whether this is a positive or negative commentary on my parenting skills...)
She woke up for good around 7:15, so we moved the slumber party to the couch. And Peyton replaced me as the guardian.

And then Brigid threw up again, and I was tired of washing nightgowns, so we made her put real clothes on.
And by noon, the night before had finally caught up to us. Not pictured here? Me passed out on the other end of the couch. Steve sent a SUPER flattering shot to his family of me and Brigid both sleeping, in which my stomach is hanging out of my shirt just as much as hers is, but since this is MY blog? It's not getting posted. I'm sure Steve will send it to you if you want to mock me relentlessly, however.

And then, just like that, she woke up later that afternoon, 95% back to normal. And now I'm 10% convinced that she faked it all just to get me to sleep on the floor with her.

(Ok, I'm not convinced of that. It was a legitimate illness. I think. But she IS an evil super-genius, so I wouldn't put anything past her, really...)

Someone had a good time here...

When I walked into Brigid's room yesterday, this was what was waiting for me:
  That is NOT what things looked like when I left her room the night before, I can tell you that much. At least my three-year old has has the look of a drunken frat boy down pat, yes?

(A brief note to Future Brigid: What I left your room the night before this disaster occurred, and you told me you weren't tired, even though you could barely keep your eyes open? And I left you with some books to read until you got sleepy? And the next morning, you told me that you didn't read most of the books because you had been, in fact, already sleepy? And then you followed that up with, 'And I'm STILL sleepy, mommy...'? And then I made you get up and go to school, anyway, because I TOLD YOU TO GO TO BED BEFORE TEN O'CLOCK, YOU RAGING GOOFBALL?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

I hope you have as much fun taking your childhood trauma out on your own kids as I'm having taking mine out on you.

Hugs and Kisses,
Mommy)

Once again...

When Steve was a kid, his mother was constantly finding rocks and leaves and other various tidbits of stuff in his pockets. Stuff that he'd found outside, that he really loved, that he wanted to keep forever.

 

Steve was, is, and maybe always will be, a little bit of a hoarder.

Brigid brought this leaf home from school in her totebag last week, because 'I found it, and I liked it.'
And this concludes your weekly reminder that Brigid, is, in fact, one million percent Steve's child.
And also that I am screwed for the next few years.
Think happy, non-terror-toddler thoughts for us, ok? Thanks.

This kid...

This is the kid that sticks her tongue out at us and blows a raspberry every time we tell her to do something she doesn't want to do.

This is the kid that told me on Monday, when I was taking her upstairs for her nap, that she didn't like me very much, but that she'd like me more when she woke up.

This is the kid that was told she needed to eat her lunch first, but that she could take the cookies that came with her lunch home with her in the car, only to respond, 'I don't think that sounds like a very good idea.'

This is the kid whose main method of negotiation is to just repeat 'BUT I WANT IT!' over and over and over again, in the hopes that you will finally give her whatever toy/piece of candy/block of television time it is that she wants.
This is also the kid that told us, when I finally got home to her and Steve last night, 'I'm so happy everyone is home!'

And the one that has started to refer to 'her baby' (as she's been calling her soon-to-arrive baby sister) as Caitlin, because that is the name she likes the best.

And the one that, every once in awhile, will bust out with the sweetest 'I love you mommy (or daddy)' that you've ever heard, completely out of nowhere.

What I'm trying to say, I guess, is that we won't be selling her to the gypsies any time soon.

(But also that I haven't COMPLETELY ruled out the prospect, because, seriously, if I have to have the conversation one more time about how YOU SHOULDN'T LIKE POOPING IN YOUR PANTS, YOU WEIRD LITTLE THING, I'd like to have my options open...)

Week 35-ish

As of this past Friday, I am officially five weeks out from my due date. FIVE WEEKS!

Or, you know...three weeks, if this kid follows the path set by her big sister. I mean, not that I'm putting any expectations out there for this, or anything, but I may or may not be planning to take up jogging and deep-knee lunges right at 37 weeks.
(Honestly, I've been lucky. This pregnancy has been a breeze, compared to what I know other people have had to endure. The odd round of indigestion and the constant punches that are being thrown from the inside aside, I've had things easy. But that doesn't mean I'm not looking forward to the day when I can bend over without grunting or get up from bed without rocking myself back and forth for momentum a few times before I can finally make it. That's going to be a bigger day for me than Christmas, my friends, and as much as I love Christmas...well, that's saying a lot.)

Halloween Do's and Don't's

Don't buy your child a costume with a wig. You will end up with reactions like this:
Do promise your child that if she stands up for 'just one minute, please just let me get one picture of you in your full costume, and seriously, would it kill you to smile for just a split second, for the love of all that is good, I will give you candy if you cooperate...', because it works:

Do go to your neighborhood Halloween party, eat your share of registration fee pizza (or, more than your fair share of registration fee pizza, Mr. 'Maybe Next Time Skip The Three Foot High Pile Of Pizza On A Plate, And Just Grab The Box, Already'), and take advantage of the free face painting.

DON'T engage the guy drinking out of a flask while waiting for his turn in the face painting line, who keeps asking you if you're going to get your baby belly painted while you're there.

Don't let your daughter pick her own Halloween candy out of the bucket when she's offered the choice, as she has an unnatural affinity for Dum Dums, and you will miss out on the fun-sized Snickers.

Do con your neighbors into offering your daughter a second piece of candy, after she chooses a Dum Dum as her first choice. Note: This is easier to do when you are pregnant and on good terms with your neighbors. Nobody is going to deny giving chocolate to the pregnant woman whose husband made you a pie.

Do enjoy the hell out of taking your kid trick-or-treating. Nothing is better than hearing her yell with delight as she comes back down the driveway, 'I got MORE candy!' or 'Mommy! They gave me TWO pieces of candy there!'. Or watching her try her trick-or-treat charms on an adult who is holding their own child's candy bucket, because adult + candy bucket = free candy for Brigid, even if that adult is standing in the middle of the street, apparently.

And finally (and completely related to that last one), DO have the 'don't take candy from strangers, except on Halloween' conversation with your daughter, because SOMEONE (named Brigid) got WAY too comfortable, WAY too quickly with holiday sanctioned begging, and now SOMEONE (named me) needs to make sure this isn't something that carries over into real life.

Happy Halloween, indeed...

You didn't tell me you were going to kill it...

For all that my daughter looks and acts like her father, it's nice to see that she has a little bit of me in her, too, from time to time...

Even if that 'me' that I'm seeing in her is her complete disgust in the pumpkin carving process. I'll take what I can get...

(And if you can tell me where I got today's post title from, you will earn extra special, best friend bonus points. And if you can't, then you OBVIOUSLY need to work on increasing your cultural exposure, because I am seriously disappointed in you.)

Send in the clowns (and zombies and superheroes and scary Flamenco dancers...)

So...my fall to-do list. I think it's starting to get the best of me, because, holy CATS am I exhausted.

Last weekend, the agenda included hitting up the Little Five Points Halloween parade, which I could have probably done without this year, because it's just a lot of people, crowded into the street, with kids throwing down for the opportunity to catch candy from floats.

Oh, and really long port-o-potty lines. Let's not forget those, of course.

But, we had to go, because Steve and Brigid LOVE this stupid parade. And there was some beer on tap there that Steve wanted to try. And Brigid (or her mother, as the case may be) is still disappointed about the lack of candy at the 4th of July parade we went to this summer. And we have this candy corn bag that's perfect for holding parade candy. And, yeah...we had to go.

I, in true pregnancy Grinch fashion, saw very little of the parade, because I am not kidding when I say people want to be IN the darn parade, to the point that even though we were in position an hour before the parade started, and even though there were barricades up to encourage people to stay on the sidewalks, Brigid and Steve were halfway across the street by the time the first floats came by, just so Brigid could be in front of all of the people crowding around us to see what was going on. And I was not ABOUT to get up from my chair, so, I saw the backs of a lot of people. Which is probably for the best, really, because there was an obnoxious little ten-ish year old boy who kept catching the candy and various other parade float giveaways that were thrown towards my three-year old daughter, and his mother was ENCOURAGING HIM TO GET IN THERE, and Steve is much more zen about that kind of stuff than I am, and no self-respecting 32-year old pregnant woman needs to get arrested for kicking a kid in the shins after he steals her daughter's candy, and so I sat.

Not that I was without my own fair share of entertainment, though, as the drunk woman who kept leaning on my back throughout the parade finally asked to borrow our extra chair because her 'arthritic knee' was acting up, then proceeded to jump up and down and dance in my personal space, trying to engage me in various incoherent conversations, before Brigid had FINALLY decided she'd had enough of the parade, and we packed up and headed out about three quarters of the way through the big event.
Next up is Boo at the Zoo, where I expect people to be MUCH more civilized. Or, at the very least, much less drunk. I think my odds are pretty good, here...

Babyland General

This past Sunday, after a Saturday of pumpkin picking and in an attempt to keep her from remembering she should be asking for her daddy who wasn't due home until Monday, I took Brigid to Babyland General Hospital, otherwise known as the birthplace of the Cabbage Patch Kids.

Y'all...that is one CREEPY place.

I mean, Brigid loved it, of course, because it's one big room full of toys (all of which are for sale, shockingly enough), and she even got to see the birth of a CBK from the cabbage patch itself PLUS have it named after her because my sister-in-law is a quick thinker and was able to yell out Brigid's name first during the whole naming process.

But still...creepy. That place is just creepy.

And I TOTALLY think you should go, if you ever find yourself with some free time in North Georgia, because it's still kind of awesome to relive your childhood for a few minutes, creepy or not.

And did I mention that Brigid LOVED it?

 

(Side note: Brigid had her 3-year old check-up on Monday, and I am officially unable to use her height to keep her off of rides that I don't think she'd enjoy, but that Steve seems determined to put her on. She's 37.5" and 32.2lbs. This officially makes her more than half my height, too. So, we've got that going for us, which is nice...)

Eight Years Ago...

Eight years ago, we were a couple of silly twenty-four year olds, spending the weekend in South Bend, Indiana, who got up at 6AM for an 11AM wedding, spent the early afternoon at our lunchtime reception, hit up a couple of hotel hospitality suites where our parents were hosting family members in the evening, THEN went to a bar with all of our friends who'd made the trip from various parts of the country until 2AM.

Now, we're a couple of exhausted thirty-two year old parents who consider it a moral victory if we're not asleep on the couch at 9PM on a Friday night.

 

Honestly? I think I like us better this way. Most of the time, anyway...

 

Happy anniversary, Steve! I love you, and I can't wait to see how early we're falling asleep in the next eight years!

 

(Oh, and don't forget...in two more years I'm dragging you to Vegas to renew our vows. Start working on that sleep thing now...)

Saturday at the Patch

I love fall. I love football and cooler weather and pumpkin flavored EVERYTHING. I love the changing leaves and the scent of the air and every fall activity that has ever existed. I love the start of the holiday season.

And I am beyond determined that Brigid will love all of these things, too.

Of course, birthing her in October was a stroke of genius on my part, obviously, because who doesn't love their birthday month?

But beyond that, we pack our weekends full of fun activities, starting around the end of September, just to increase that whole 'FALL IS AWESOME!!!' brainwashing thing I have going on around here. And on the schedule for this weekend?

The pumpkin patch!!!

The pumpkin patch, where Brigid picked out $40 worth of pumpkins, and I couldn't say no to a single one of them, because I liked them all, too.

The pumpkin patch, where Brigid demanded something, which, in Brigid speak, means something sweet to eat, and I responded by buying a small loaf of pumpkin bread, a fried apple pie, and a pumpkin muffin, because, again, when it comes to the pumpkin stuff, 'no' doesn't seem to be an option for me.
The pumpkin patch, where I'd love to spend the rest of my fall, if we could get that worked out. Now, who do I talk to about making this happen?

Go Irish!

As is to be expected in a household where both parents went to Notre Dame, the brainwashing has started early in these parts...

For those of you that aren't quite as familiar with the Notre Dame Victory March as Brigid is (or, you know, quite as familiar with Brigid's unique dialect as Steve and I are), the subtitles:

Cheer, cheer for old Notre Dame

Wake up the echoes, cheering her name

Send a volley cheer on high

Shake down the thunder from the sky

What though the odds be great or small

Old Notre Dame will win overall

While her loyal sons are marching

Onward to victory.

GO IRISH!!

Three Years

When I wrote, last year, about Brigid turning two, I was told that I would just absolutely love the year ahead of me, because two was really an amazing age.

And wouldn't you know it? It was, and I did.

I went from being concerned that Brigid would NEVER EVER IN HER ENTIRE LIFE WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?!?!?! learn to talk, to wondering just what I needed to do to make her stop talking for one minute. Just one, that's all I need.

I still haven't figured it out, so if you have the answers, please, help a lady out, ok? Also, do you know the answer to the question why? Because I don't, anymore, and it's really something I need to learn.

I know all of the jokes about the Terrible Twos, but honestly, I didn't experience that, at all. Yes, she can be trying when she won't stop asking why we're doing something over and over (and over and over and over and over) again. Yes, she needs to learn that 'I want to watch my tv, RIGHT NOW' is maybe not the best way to get mommy and daddy to agree to letting her watch ANOTHER episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse or Doc McStuffins instead of the football game that we're trying to watch instead. Yes, I'd appreciate it if she'd stop chucking hairbrushes at my head every night, when it comes time to brush her hair after her bath.

 

And yes, I really, REALLY wish that she'd stop crying for her daddy every single time I tell her she needs to do something that she doesn't want to do.

But I also wouldn't give up those moments of unsolicited 'I love you, mom-mom' declarations, or having her offer up a hug and kiss for no reason, or hearing her tell me, 'You have on a pretty dress/skirt/necklace/bracelet today, mommy' when I see her in the mornings or after work. Because those are the moments when I want to buy her all of the ponies in the world for being the most perfectly amazing daughter in the entire world.

 

I can't tell you how many times this past year, Steve or I would look at Brigid after a dinner out, a shopping trip, a visit to see friends, or a parade/zoo/festival type of day trip, just to tell her, 'you know what, B? you're kind of the best kid there ever was.'

 

Because she is.

And now, she's three. And things are about to get REAL crazy around our house, as Brigid has to transition from being the center of our whole world to sharing that spotlight just a bit with a new little sister. And, I think she is going to be an amazing big sister, when the time comes, because she's already told people that when the baby comes, I'm going to be around to help her take care of it.

 

I know things are going to get...interesting...for awhile, as we all try to figure out how things work in our lives with two kids around instead of one, but I honestly can't WAIT to see what new wrinkle in Brigid's personality emerges over the next year. I love watching her grow and change into the person that she is meant to be, and every time I think that I can't possibly love her any more than I do at one particular moment, I find out that I'm wrong.

 

I don't know how much bigger my heart can be expected to grow, how much more love it can hold, but I know Brigid is going to continue pushing that limit every day of her life.

She is stubborn. She is so full of attitude already that I don't even want to THINK about what might be in store for me ten years down the road. She doesn't listen to ANYTHING that Steve and I ask her to do, EVER.

 

If I tell her to clean up her mess? 'No, YOU do it."

 

She is smarter than she has any right to be at three years old, and she is already figuring out how to play Steve and I perfectly to get her way.

 

She's already kissed her first boy, for crying out loud!!

 

But...

 

She's also the sweetest kid in the world. She gets so excited over the smallest things, up to and including the time I glued the top of an acorn back to the nut after she was upset that it fell apart. She is funny. She's a performer. If she gets a laugh out of you when she does something, she's going to keep doing it. She has the Notre Dame fight song memorized, and she WILL sing it on command.

 

She is my favorite person in the whole entire world.

 

Happy birthday, Bug! I love you with all of my heart...

Week 31 Update

When I went in for my monthly check-up last week, my doctor informed me that my growth had not, as she had hoped, evened out at all, and just like when I was measuring 30 weeks at 26 weeks, I was, at that time, measuring 34 weeks at 30 weeks.

Considering my doctor was trying to 'naturally encourage' labor at 37 weeks with Brigid, just because I was measuring a week ahead of schedule, my FOUR WEEKS AHEAD OF SCHEDULE belly has her a tad concerned about what, exactly, is going on inside of me right now. Especially because I am actually weighing less with this kid than I did with Brigid, so we can't exactly blame this growth spurt on my love of chocolate milk shakes.

(Well, that's what I'm telling myself these days, anyway. Completely related, have you tried the caramel apple Milky Ways? Because they are nothing short of amazing, I swear...)

So, I've officially earned myself a previously unscheduled ultrasound visit (I KNEW when the doctor told me after my last ultrasound that they wouldn't need to see me again unless something odd came up, he was jinxing me...that ass) (just kidding, he wasn't an ass...but I still stand by my jinx claim), which is scheduled for Tuesday. Then, I'm back at my regular doctor on Thursday, because we've entered that every-two-week-check-up portion of the pregnancy, and THEN I should have a better idea of what to expect.

And, I'm not going to lie, I'm kind of expecting a 14 pound baby at this point, because if I'm measuring four weeks ahead of schedule, belly-wise, I'd think any normal sized baby would have plenty of room to stretch out and relax in her spacious home. This kid, however? Well, this kid has (for the last 24-hours straight, mind you) very painfully lodged some very hard body part directly under my ribs, and it is not comfortable, at all. In fact, I wouldn't be entirely surprised if this turns into a Kristen-Stewart-in-Twilight kind of birth at this point, because...burrowing. I swear to all that is good, this kid is burrowing her way out of my stomach as we speak.

I can't wait to see how many hits I get when we post THAT video online...

Raising Her Right

It appears that while I was off enjoying a little girls' night out in August (in the form of a Jason Mraz concert, of course, because when I party at five-months pregnant, I party hard...), my husband was introducing my daughter to the finer forms of Southern dining.

He took her to Waffle House, to be exact.

And this weekend, when we were looking for something to do for dinner on Saturday night? She requested waffles. Because, apparently, Waffle House is now her favorite restaurant.
  But...they gave her a hat. So, I guess if it comes down to waffles and a hat, it would be my favorite restaurant, too?

I really think she does this on purpose...

This morning, while Steve was in the shower:
Me: What do you want for breakfast, Bug? How about some peanut butter toast?

Brigid: No, I already had cereal.

Me: When? Today?

B: No.

Me: Ok, then. How about an egg?

B: No. I want some of that. (As she points to a bag of candy on the kitchen table...)

Me: You want some Smarties?

B: Yes.

Me: But you can't have Smarties for breakfast.

B: Why?

Me: Because you can't have candy for breakfast.

B: Why?

Me: Because those are the rules of candy.

B: I want Smarties!

Me: No.

B: (collapsing in a sobbing mess on the couch) I WANT MY DADDY!!!

Me: Daddy will tell you no, too, kiddo.

B: NO HE WON'T!!

Ten minutes later:
Steve: How about some breakfast?

Brigid: I want Smarties.

Steve: You can't have candy for breakfast. How about an egg?

Brigid: OK!

Me: (bangs my head on the wall in protest against the ridiculousness of the toddler mind...)

Letdown

Poor Brigid. Last year, Steve and I went all in on her birthday theme of Nightmare Before Christmas, with awesome invitations, an elaborate cake, more-than-was-actually-needed food (including a hot dog bar, with NBC themed food cards), and an entire set of plush NBC characters to sit around the kitchen.

This year, all of her little friends have incredibly recently born siblings, her ballet theme request has been less than easy for me to follow through on, and everybody will be lucky to get an email from me, with the party information included.
With no exaggeration on my part, I feel pretty confident in saying that she's getting this...
...and some pink and white balloons. And that's about it.

And you know what? She won't even care. She'll have sugar to eat and presents to unwrap, and she will be perfectly fine with just these two things to keep her happy.

So, why am I all upset about my lack of creativity/preparation this year, again?

Fresh Start

After all of the drama of last week, I think our family needed something fun to kind of reset the mindset around the house. And what better way to do that than to eat a LOT of apple pie?

I mean, uh, go apple picking?

(THEN eat a lot of apple pie. And apple fritters. And drink apple cider.)
I don't think we're entirely all back to normal, yet (at least, I kind of HOPE we're not all back to normal, yet, because if Brigid's new normal is asking for daddy nonstop when daddy is not available, and crying when she realizes that she can't see him, then I foresee A LOT of stress in my future...), but I think we're getting closer.

And, if not?

Well, then at least I have pie.

(And vanilla ice cream and caramel sauce, of course. Stress requires the big guns, after all...)

Week 29 Update

Hey! I'm still pregnant! And I'm still ridiculously uncomfortable! And I'm still generating gasps and giggles from people who haven't seen me pregnant before and don't know to expect that I will be extremely large when this whole process is over.

And don't remember that they report to me and that I am responsible for their annual reviews, OBVIOUSLY.

(Moral of the story? Don't laugh at your largely pregnant boss, mkay? Pregnancy hormones are not your friend.)

And do you know who else needs to watch herself around me right now? That almost three-year old living in my house and keeping me awake all night with her fevers and croup and no sleeping and steroid fueled rages against the injustices of being handed milk that SHE ASKED FOR 30 SECONDS EARLIER.

Oh, I'm sorry. Have I not mentioned this new development?

Brigid had a fever last weekend, which I did mention. But right about the time that fever broke, and we thought things would be getting back to normal, she developed a cough. And she coughed herself physically ill one night during bedtime. Then she woke up, and nearly coughed herself sick again that night. THEN she woke at 6AM, struggling to breathe through all of that coughing. And that, right there? It freaked me the hell out.

(Also, it should be noted, she'd woken me up at 4:45AM the day before, then didn't go to sleep that previous night, and woke me up again at 1:30. And I'm pregnant. Pregnant and sleep-deprived people are not rational people. So, please do not judge me when I admit that I thought she had whooping cough. Because...I did.)

Steve had to be in Charlotte that day, so he left around 7AM. I had Brigid to the doctor at 8:45AM, and she displayed absolutely no symptoms of having anything wrong with her (because kids are sneaky like that) until the doctor pulled out the tongue depressor, at which point I had to physically restrain my daughter while she started coughing and wheezing again.

And the doctor, without hesitation, diagnosed croup. And put my kid on a small amount of steroids to reduce the airway inflammation so she could breathe. And warned me that the medicine might make my kid just a little more irritable than normal.

And here is where I tell you that that night? When Steve wouldn't be home from Charlotte until close to 10PM?

That was the night when Brigid decided around 5:30PM that she NEEDED TO SEE HER DADDY RIGHT THEN AND HER MOTHER WAS THE WORST OF ALL EVIL AND GET AWAY FROM ME YOU PSYCHO WOMAN HOW DARE YOU ASK ME WHAT KIND OF SNACK I WANT WHEN I ASK FOR A SNACK READ MY MIND AND BRING IT TO ME RIGHT NOW.

At one point, I called Steve, and without saying anything, held out the phone so he could properly hear Brigid screaming for him at the top of her lungs. He mentioned he might decide to stay overnight somewhere between Charlotte and Atlanta, after that call. Not that I would have blamed him...

I also took a small, thirty second video of my dear, sweet girl rolling around on the bathroom floor after her bath, screaming baby obscenities at me because I had the audacity to get her out of the bathtub when the bath was over, so he would have an even better idea of how awesome our evening had been. Because I am a giver like that. And you'd better believe I would post that here in a heartbeat...

...except that she was nekkid as a jay-bird in that video. And I do have some lines that I don't cross.

But it was pleasant.

Finally, last night, Brigid was asleep by 8PM. Today, Brigid woke up at a normal time. And she seemed fine. And she went to preschool, where she cried for Steve when he left her, until they gave her a toy to play with, and she moved on. She didn't drop her night-night the entire time, except when she ate lunch. But she stayed for the full four hours. And she was just one slight cough among the sea of disgusting kid-germs that is her preschool class right now, according to the teachers.

So...I can't wait to do this all again next week, I guess.

And my youth wept...

I have a confession to make...

My husband and I? We are officially minivan people.

I don't know how it happened, or when I became my mother, but there you have it. I own a minivan.

(Side note: There is nothing wrong with being my mother, I swear, because she is exceptionally awesome, and I love her very much, but it's still a very jarring moment when you realize that you are officially the adult in your own life, and apparently, getting a job, buying a house, and having a kid didn't do that for me. It was the freaking minivan that pushed me over the edge. I am a slow learner, it seems.)

The saddest part about all of this? The minivan might be the coolest car Steve and I will ever own. It has navigation and a back-up camera and an air-conditioned snackbox and an entertainment system and voice controlled EVERYTHING and more buttons than a spaceship. And I love every inch of it.

And I'm jealous that it's Steve's car to drive for the next few months, because we traded in his car to get it.

See, my mother-in-law (who will be watching Brigid and child-to-be-named-later three days a week) has the same small, two-door car that won't accomodate two car seats as I do, so Steve and I will apparently be a three car family, come next spring. I have my car to drive to work, we will look into getting a smaller car for Steve to drive to work in early 2013, and then we will have the minivan that stays with whoever is responsible for the kids on any given day. It all makes my head hurt, really, but the bottom line is what it is...

I own a minivan. And I couldn't be happier about it.

(Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go console my 22-year old self while she does shots of vodka and weeps about what an old lady she's become...)

Baby's First Fireworks

We were supposed to have fireworks for our town's birthday about a month ago, but it got called due to rain. So, when we had our 'Taste Of' festival this weekend, they decided to do the fireworks then, instead. And Brigid LOVED them...
For about the first minute and a half, anyway, then she got bored and wanted to spend the rest of the time running up and down the sidewalk instead of watching the sky.

But that minute and a half was TOTALLY worth it...

The Little Sneak

On Monday, Brigid went to preschool, and she was fine.

On Wednesday, Brigid went to preschool, and my mother-in-law was called, an hour and a half into a four hour session, to come pick her up because she was crying and complaining about being tired.

Today, Brigid went to preschool, with her night-night in her bag for emergency consolation, if things got bad again. Steve told her it would be in her bag, and it should stay in her bag unless she ABSOLUTELY needed it.

According to Brigid's teacher, Brigid spent all day asking for daddy while carrying her night-night around with her, although she was still participating in class, and the teachers weren't concerned about her behavior. And then, as the parents started arriving for pick-up, she put her night-night away, so Steve wouldn't see that it had been out. Her teacher said she is an excellent actress.

This is gateway behavior for putting on make-up and slutty clothes in the high school bathroom, isn't it?

Week 28 Update

I don't remember having too many problems when I was pregnant with Brigid, and when she came out, she was just as laid-back and easy (or as laid-back and easy as a baby can be) out in the world as she was when I was carrying her.

Which is what has me terrified of the kid I'm carrying this time around. There is more movement, which I am, in my infinite pregnancy logic, taking to mean that this second child will not sleep for more than 30 minutes at a time. And I don't know if it's the fact that I know what kind of awesomeness waiting for me now, when I didn't before, but this pregnancy seems to be twice as long as the first one. And since I already HAVE Brigid at home, there is much less time for sitting on the couch and relaxing, and between that and the increased responsibilities at work now, I. AM. TIRED.

And then.

THEN this kid decided to give me indigestion so terrible last night, I really thought I was going to be sick. Which meant that even when I should have and could have been sleeping, I was not actually doing anything of the sort.

I mean, I know that we're not supposed to play favorites with our kids, or anything, so I'm not...

 

(But Brigid is totally winning right now...)