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...)

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...)

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...

First Day of School

We took Brigid to preschool for the first time this morning.

We walked into the classroom, she held onto my purse straps for 30 seconds, Steve asked her if she wanted to go play with the toys...

...and off she went. We barely got good-bye hugs out of her before she became too busy to deal with us anymore.

And just like that, she's too cool for her parents, now. It was a good (almost) three year run we had there with her, I guess.
Kids, man.

(Seriously, I am glad there was no drama in the preschool process...she went in, she loved it, we left her there for three hours. It was much less painful than I thought it would be. Of course, that didn't stop me from weeping to Steve as we got back to the car about how 'Brigid didn't know we were leaving! In ten minutes, she's going to look for us and realize we're gone and OH MY BABY!! She's going to be so upset!'

To which Steve replied, 'Honey? She knew we were leaving. She's just OK with it.'

Oh, fine. Whatever. She had fun. My ego is bruised. Everyone is happy. THE END.)

Many Faces

Brigid had a dentist appointment on Monday morning, and she was a total superstar, with only one minor breakdown when the hygienist rubbed the flouride stuff all over her teeth.

And really, if you've tasted that fake bubble gum flavored crap, you really don't blame her for that small crying jag, do you?

Anyway...what better way to celebrate a teeth cleaning than by undoing all of that hard work in the dentist's office with a trip for gummi bear topped ice cream?

I still taste that flouride. I sure wish my mom would do something to make this all go away...

GUMMI BEARS!!!! ON ICE CREAM!!! Score.

Gee, mom! You're totally the best.

I am the luckiest girl in the whole wide world. With the best mom, ever.

Wait? WHAT? I have to SHARE this ice cream with you? That's total BS, mom.

Total. BS.

Love

This kid, right here?

When I look at her, my heart is so full of love that it hurts.

I really am a lucky, lucky lady.

Baby's First Haircut

We took Brigid to get her hair cut this weekend, and although I had my brief moments of 'what happened to my baby?!?!?!' hysterics, I really didn't need to worry.

Because we went from this....

To this...
To this...
And let's be honest...that? Doesn't really count as a haircut at all, does it?

Lunch Date

When we hear that Jen and Elizabeth are killing time in our part of town while waiting for the exterminator to finish up at their house? Well, we offer to meet up with them for a two-hour lunch trip to Chick-Fil-A, complete with playground time and free ice cream.

Because, hello? Playground time and free ice cream?

It usually leads to this.


And I am a really, really, REALLY big fan of this.

4th of July: The Fun Parts

So, remember yesterday, when I mentioned the no-candy-at-the-4th-of-July-parade thing? Well, I'm still not over it. But!

There were some fun parts, too. 

Brigid really loved this balloon, until she kept dragging it along the ground, and it popped. Then she got very quiet, and very shy, and told us to stop talking to her. She was either really pissed about the situation, or really embarrassed. It's hard to tell with her, really...


This might have been taken after we bribed her with the Smarties we 'found' on the ground. I'm not sure she was super smiley before that moment. What can I say? She inherited her mother's sweet tooth.

There was no candy, but there were flags. Lots and lots and lots of flags. We're set on lawn decorations for the next five years worth of patriotic holidays, I think.

So, we've got that going for us, which is nice...