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Sweetie, I Love You, But. . . .

Saturday, September 24th, 2005

Why is it that you think you are above unloading the dishwasher? If you are watching the Boy while I go out for dinner with a friend, and you are in charge of the dinner and dishes implied therein, Why, oh, why??? is it that you will ignore the full, clean dishwasher full of dishes ready to be put away? Why would you bypass the unloading of the dishwasher step in favor of hand-washing the dirty dishes in the sink, then leaving them out to dry on a towel on the countertop?

How do you think it makes me feel to have a sink full of dirty dishes from breakfast (in addition to the knife and plate from your nightly peanut butter cracker snack – busted again!), plus mine and Rollie’s lunch dishes, along with a full dishwasher to unload, and the dishes on the countertop to put away? I might as well stay home and save myself some work.

Why, why, why??

Quadremesters

Friday, September 23rd, 2005

I had dinner with an old friend last night. (I will get to how long I have known him as part of my story further on.) We had cuban, he had beers, and i had two cokes and then had to pee the rest of the night.

He is a year older than i am (34, i guess?) and is still single and i thoroughly enjoy hearing about his bachelor lifestyle. He asks if I can keep a secret, and confides in me that he is dating a 25 year old. My reply: “Well, you are pretty immature, so that seems like a good age difference.” She called during the course of dinner and he asked if I would like to go with him after our dinner to meet the new girl and a friend of hers. I agreed.

We went to some trendy, overpriced bar in Buckhead, and I ordered a glass of wine (sweet, sweet nectar of the Gods!!!) and chatted until they arrived. I also enjoyed the experience of the nine-months pregnant woman sitting at the bar. Always entertaining. . . .

The girls arrived a few minutes later, and as they approach, the friend of the girlfriend exclaims, “Oh, you ARE pregnant! Good, you can answer something for us!”

“Okay,” I say.

“How many trimesters are there in a pregnancy?”

No, I am not kidding. I keep a straight face, and say, “There are three trimesters in a pregnancy.”

“I knew it!!,” she says triumphantly to the girlfriend.

The girlfriend ponders this for a moment and then a look of realization dawns on her face. She turns to me and says:

“So, it’s kind of like ‘quarters.’

Um, yeah. Kinda.

“So, how long have y’all known each other?” she says?

I turn to him: “Well, Ev, when did you move to the old neighborhood?”

“I was like, 12, so . . . 1982?” he replies.

“Oh, My God!!! I was born in 1980!”

Looks Like a Libra

Thursday, September 22nd, 2005

Unless I pop this baby out between now and midnight, looks like the little lady will be a Libra like her Daddy. Do I put much stock in Astrology? Well, no, but it is fun to think about anyway. Rollie could have been a Leo or a Virgo (he is a virgo). Todd is a Libra, while I am an Aquarius. It is interesting that three of us will be Air signs (Libra and Aquarius), but that Rollie will be the only Earth sign. What does that mean?

I have no idea. But i read about it online while i was waiting for the baby to come.

The Amazing Talking Rollie

Wednesday, September 21st, 2005


Rollie, I don’t know why i ever worried that you might have speech problems. You hit two years old in August and now you are wowing us with your conversational skills. You are so much fun to watch, as you try out the feel of different sounds on your tongue. It doesn’t matter what you are saying, just that you are constantly chattering now. When you are mad are upset, you deteriorate into some freakish language of your own, where the main words are those words you know best: You cry out from your bedroom with the “Mama, Dada, nilk, meow, meow, meow” as if the cats can save you from the dark. Todd and I lay in bed and shake with laughter at the creativity of your plaintive calls.

These days, you have learned that “Yes” and “no” are answers, and that “why” causes Mama to make an exasperated (and evidently funny) face. You have no idea what “Why” means, but it has become an important weapon in the “I’m not ready for my bath” arsenal.

Your knowledge of numbers and letters must have existed long before you could say them, because just in the last week, you can kind of count to ten (you still let us say “one” first, and then you say “two,” and if we point out the rest of the numbers in order to ten, you can do “three,” “pour,” “pive,” and “tix.’ You have trouble with seven, but you know “eight,” “nein,” (and yes, it sounds like German when you say it), and “ten.”

On the subject of the Alphabet, you don’t know it yet, but you know that letters have sounds associated with them, and when you see a letter, you will throw out every sound you can think of trying to get the right one. And if we say the sound for you, you mimic it right back to us.

And this morning, you and Daddy had the most interesting exchange: You had out your markers and were “dying” (your word, which can be a little disconcerting sometimes, for drawing). You handed a marker to Daddy and instructed him to “die.” He said, “what do you want me to draw?” and you proceeded to request the following: “E,” “nein,” “2,” “boof” (dog), “meow” (cat), and “ballball” (football). It was fascinating, just like everything about how your little mind is developing these days.

I love watching you gradually grow into a new person every day.

38 Plus Two

Tuesday, September 20th, 2005

Yep, I’m down to counting the days. Could be two or three more weeks. Could be tomorrow. The wa-a-a-iting is the hardest part.

Rollie had his first big-boy haircut today. We went to Stylin’ Kids. Not bad for a 17 dollar haircut – he was pretty good, even letting Marilyn, the stylist, shave the back of his neck. Usually, clippers are VERY SCARY. The only bad part was that they gave him a dumdum while giving him the haircut and he was eating it even though there was hair on it, which anyone who knows me knows is NOT good in my book.

Not much else going on. Just waiting to pop.

37 wks and Counting!

Monday, September 12th, 2005

I’m 37 weeks. i cannot believe it. This pg has gone so much faster than the first one did. i guess having a toddler to keep me company has done that. I don’t think it really sank in until i started thinking last night, “I could go into labor now and it would be okay.” I definitely feel differently than I did last time – more creaky, more pelvic shooting pains and pressure, more poops (I think baby is pretending my colon is the gas pedal of her personal car.) Did I mention acid reflux/indegestion? constant peeing? Tired feet? And now I feel ravenous, eat two bites, and then i’m full. And hungry an hour later. I feel like a mouse foraging for crumbs in the pantry.

rollie is wearing me out, on the go constantly, and definitely showing his 2 yr old independence: “Let’s lay down and change your diaper,” I say. “NOOOOOO,” he says, laughing and running off. I am already on the floor, and have to haul my whale of a body up and chase him down almost every time.

I think I am ready for his little sister to get here: The nursery is done, bags are packed, carseat is installed, Rollie caretakers are lined up for when I go into labor. Now all i need is to go into labor.

So, this time, I just plan to have an activity for every day – nothing too big (morning trips to the zoo or the park), I bought four books at the bookstore this past weekend, I can submerge myself into football and end of baseball seasons, and I even pulled out all my scrapbook stuff (I’m not even going to say how far behind I am with Rollie’s scrapbook). But i am still going to go crazy. I know it, even though I said i wouldn’t get my hopes up about going early, or even on time.

Death By Leech

Saturday, September 3rd, 2005

Being sucked dry by leeches isn't so bad.
You will be sucked dry by a leech. I’d stay away
from swimming holes, and stick to good old
cement. Even if it does hurt like hell when
your toe scrapes the bottom.

What horrible Edward Gorey Death will you die?
brought to you by Quizilla

Oh, NOOO. . . Twooo.

Sunday, August 28th, 2005





Okay, so you wouldn’t mean by this that you are as amazed as your Mama that it has been two whole years since I popped you out at 5:20 pm and my whole life changed. When you say, “Oh, No, Two!” it is an exclamation of surprise at seeing another of something; another airplane or truck or car or tree. It is especially humorous when you see another tree, and there are hundreds of them around. I love that you take the time to look at trees individually, that when we go out the front door to get to the car, you walk around to the side your carseat is on, but walk right past and go straight to the tree next to the garage. You say, “tree” as you walk up to it and touch its trunk and then i have to say about fifty times, “Rollie, let’s get in the car. We gotta go.”

I am amazed every day at how much you have changed from the little alien blob that we brought home from the hospital on that muggy, rainbow-showered day. Just this week, you have started sleeping in a big boy bed, complete with very big boy cowboy sheets. We made a huge production out of the sheets, studying every different object on them. You haven’t learned the words for all of the objects yet (you keep calling the Conestoga wagon a “choo choo”), but i know you will. I spent many months of this year worrying about your speech development – you haven’t started talking as quickly or as much as a lot of the other kids your age, but I know it is not that you aren’t paying attention to everything going on around you, and suddenly, just in the last month, your speech has snowballed. Your favorite words are “choo choo,” “nilk [milk],” “cheese,” “peas” (for both please and peas), “meow” for cat, and “boof” [woof] for dog. You must constantly name everything now, the things that you know and the things that you don’t know; for those, you look questioningly at me or your Daddy, waiting for us to name things. Sometimes it is like I am hearing words for the first time again, as I imagine how they sound to you or wonder what you think when I correct you for calling a plate a bowl, or for calling plants and shrubs “trees.” It is like you see all the similarities in things that are functionally for somewhat the same purpose, but you also take the time to look at every separate object you come across. It sounds cliched, but I really do see the world anew through your eyes, something new every day.

In the past year, you learned to walk, you teethed most of your first 12 teeth, and you learned to crawl up and down steps. This is the year that you started regularly calling me “mama.” This is the year that we found out that you would be a big brother, the year that you will become a big brother, and the year that I have spent wondering how I can ever love another child as much as I adore you. You are my everything and with the experience of two year’s motherhood under my belt, I can say that each year is only going to get better and make me more and more proud of you. Happy Second Birthday, Little Man.

Billy Idol is Sneering at ME. . . .

Friday, August 26th, 2005

I may be acutely sensitive to the ironies of motherhood right now; I just finished reading Tom Perotta’s Little Children, and am now working on Having It, and Eating It (average ChickLit a la Bridget Jones’ Diary, but in what i think of as a more well-defined sub-genre of “Suburban Motherhood Tales of Woe”). But, it really doesn’t get much more ironic than cleaning the shit out of your house the day before your son’s second birthday party, fat as a cow at 8+ months pregnant, thinking to yourself how cliched you must look as you push the vacuum back and forth, and then frustratedly jerking the corner of your Pottery Barn seagrass rug out of the vacuum to find your old Billy Idol Rebel Yell record (yep, vinyl, circa 1983) swept under the rug.

Mama, Eeeeeeeeze

Thursday, August 25th, 2005

There is no more heartbreaking sound than that of your child, wailing his heart out for you to come save him from having to go to bed alone. I am sitting here at the computer, as it is Todd’s turn to put Rollie down. I am guessing that Todd is sitting outside Rollie’s room, in the hallway, where Rollie can see him, but not paying Rollie any attention, a la The SuperNanny, but there is no way for me to know, since that would require calling up the stairs (obviously not an option), or actually climbing up there and peeking around the staircase corner. This would not work because there is the fear of being seen, and boy, then the jig would be up.

The crying started at 8:24 pm. It starts out not too distressed, but the plaintive, tear-stained yells of “Mamamamamamamamamamamaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.. . mamamamamaaaaaaaaaaaa” soon begin to wax into a more panic-stricken, “Mama, eeeeze [“please,” in Rollie’s language], eeze, eeeeeeeeze, Mama, eeeze.” There is a point where it is as if his sadness turns to disbelief and despair, the “Mama eezes” morphing into an irate “No, no, no, NO mama, NO, noooooooooo,” and then they drift back to the more sorrowful, “Mamammmammamamammamamamaaaaa. . . . ,” which starts to trail off into sobbing and then quiet, more and more regularly, and all the while, I can hear the snot running out of his nose, and I know the tear-stained face he is wearing. It is the tear-stained face I am wearing.

It is 8:57 pm, and the crying has subsided into silence, the tears are drying on my face and my own snot has been wiped on the hem of my nightgown, but that little voice has come down and ripped out my heart. Night Night, Angel.

I better go eat some Godiva.