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...)