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...