Failure

It appears that in three years of almost non stop momming, I have totally for gotten how to do nothing. People, I failed. FAILED. Granted, I managed to maintain my sweatpants pledge in spirit if not to the letter. I did take them off to sleep and shower (I even showered!). At one point I got so bored I scrubbed. the. shower. I also did other cleaning-type stuff like laundry. And dusting. I made stuff. Not fun stuff like crafts but boring stuff like chicken stock and cookies. OK, cookies are fun but I was really just trying to alter a recipe to make the egg-free treats a little less dire so it was more science than baking.

I booked my plane ticket to my sister's wedding. Unfortunately, my doctor's office waited too long to get back to me and the ticket prices had gone up a whole bunch and I was only able to get mine for now. Bruce and Calder can wait for a bit I guess.

Suggestion Box

I know this weekend is supposed to be dedicated to doing nothing but I can't help shake the feeling that I ought to be doing something. Something crafty, I mean. I've had a sewing machine from this century for over a year now and I have yet to sew anything other than my pioneer dress and Calder's elephant costume with it. I feel that with new baby coming along I should get cracking on exciting projects like...

And that's where I get stuck. I have no idea what to do. I have been perusing the catalogs of most major patterns makers and have yet to find anything that sparks my interest. I am definitely going to side-step  the industrio-lovey complex by making Rusty's own blankies but I can't seem to find a pattern for what I want, a regular chenille blankie with a full satin back, rather than just a satin trim. I see no reason why this should be so hard to locate but it is. This, apparently, is why people can charge $25 for a used snugly on eBay when parents are desperate to replace a lost item. If I make it myself, I am no longer at their mercy.

I also want to make other stuff but have no idea what. I am reusing Calder's Lambs & Ivy nursery set since he has firmly moved on to the big boy bed and Spider-man so crib stuff is out. I have no idea where we are going to be living so window treatments for either kid are also not really an option. It's too early to start on Calder's Halloween costumes since he'll probably change his mind a dozen times between now and then. I could make something for myself, I guess, but I have never been that great at sewing real clothes.

So I need suggestions. I want to MAKE something. I have tons of extra fabric from projects past and love any reason to go poking around Jo-Ann for an afternoon. These suggestions shouldn't be limited to stuff that needs to be done this weekend of course, since a trip to the fabric store would interfere with my publicly stated commitment to these sweatpants. Fourteen hours and still going strong!

Garbo'd

I have been left alone. For two nights and three days, just me, the cats and the world's anal-gland-leakiest dog. Bruce had some games in Michigan this weekend and for whatever reason decided to take Calder with him. I, personally, was not going to argue.

In the absence of the ability to go out and drink with my friends like a normal person in my situation would, I have decided to do three things: Watch as many stupid musicals as I can get Netflix to provide me with, challenge myself to wear the same pair of sweatpants until Sunday and get as much sleep as possible. As long as the food holds out, I see no reason why this should be very difficult. I made sure that the only housework I verbally committed to was cleaning the fish tank. Not because I really want to do it but mostly because it's a pain in the ass to do with Calder around and I think my fish are getting depressed what with the not being able to see out of the tank and all.

For this evening though I am going to take it easy and limit my activities to those of the passive variety. Watching TV, letting the cats sit on me, deciding whether to order dinner or just make the instant pudding we've had in the cabinet for ages. Now if I could just find someone who would deliver me a cake.

24 Weeks

Yesterday was my 24 week doctor's appointment. Twenty. Four. Weeks. That's month six, bitches! Homestretch!

Everything is still normal. BP, normal; weight, normal; uterus, normal; groin, still hurts. Boring stuff, so instead I am going to wax poetic about why I love this OB practice. 

-For starters, I have already called a billion times with inane scheduling questions because I am apparently unable to keep track of this stuff. Even modern technology can't help me. I usually end up trying to decipher random notes on my phone or having the alarm ring at 8:30 at night telling me I am supposed to be at the office. Instead, I have resorted to monthly phone calls and a system of post-its and notebook scribblings.

-They never keep me waiting. For serious. This is some sort of miracle doctor office. The only visit I have waited for a significant period of time was between my last ultrasound and exam. That wasn't the doctor's fault though. That would be a Rusty issue. Rusty wouldn't let the nice lady take any necessary pictures of her so I was in there much longer than planned and missed my own appointment. Yesterday, even though my doctor had called out sick and I was going to be seeing the physicians' assistant, there was barely any wait at all. So short was the wait, in fact, that I had not taken two steps out of the bathroom after providing my pee sample when I was accosted by a nurse waiting outside the door and whisked away to an exam room for weight and BP checks. The PA came in about 3 minutes after that. All the patients must have called out sick too.

-They really know me. Or, at least they are really good at faking it. The accosting nurse remembered me from previous visits and even though I had never seen the PA before, she had taken the time to thoroughly read my chart and remember it. They are also really flattering. 

PA: {going to measure my gut with the tape} Oh my god, are these your normal pants?!

It's really nice when you don't have to constantly introduce yourself and your history and answer the same basic questions over and over again because that leaves more time for...

-Addressing my completely out of left field issues. Like the ones that are all up in my head - 

Me: Soooo, Calder has been sick and his face is all red.

PA: Fever? No? I see. Let's get you a parvo test anyways!

And the ones that are totally real but kind of crazy like the fact that I just recently found out my sister is getting married three weeks before my due date. In North Carolina. 

Totally longer than necessary parenthetical aside:

(Now, despite being engaged longer than I have been pregnant, I have been told this is totally not my sister's fault, it is the Navy's. It seems that her fiance is in imminent danger of being put on a boat somewhere as a commission? But that they don't know exactly when? Or where? I will not insult those who know anything of Naval operations (Hi, Suzanne!) by pretending I even understand what is going on here. What I do know is that a wedding that had been tentatively planned for August is now happening in late April because it is very difficult to get married when your future spouse is currently located somewhere in the South Pacific. Also, David's Bridal, your bridesmaid maternity options can bite me. Making it in jersey rather than chiffon does not a maternity dress make. Also also, having at least one actually pregnant woman modeling said maternity dresses on the website would help.)

Shockingly, the PA understood that these things happen and once we were both clear that I understood that even if the doctor said yes now, shit happens and I may end up missing out. Say if I develop complications like gestational diabetes or preeclampsia. Or if I stop in for my visit that week and they are like, "Hey, there's a baby hanging out of your uterus, you should probably go birth it now." The PA also told me that even though there are always dire warnings about pregnant ladies flying in their last months, a two hour flight to NC is probably more advisable than a 20 hour drive or train trip. I agree. Especially since the drive would most likely be closer to 24 hours what with all the pee stops I'd need to make. Once my doctor is well enough to report to work, the PA is going to check with her about the trip and then get back to with that info along with the results of my most likely totally unnecessary parvo test. Regardless, I am going to buy my plane tickets on Southwest. In the event that I can't go, I can just schedule myself a nice post-baby trip somewhere that I actually want to go to without paying any ridiculous "Your medical emergency is not my problem" fees.

And now, for some quite literal naval gazing.

Consider the belly button

You: Naval gazing being used literally on a blog? The word 'literal' being used correctly on the internet?

Internet: {explodes}

So this is where my baby bump is at. Those are a pair of my regular jeans. This photo was more difficult to take than you imagine but after a toddler accident with the only full-length mirror over a year ago, I am left with standing on a kiddie stool, trying to fit my whole stomach reflection into one panel of a tri-fold bathroom mirror. Let's discuss my belly button for a minute. My belly button is a deep and mysterious cavern that defies any uterine attempts at popping. I would apparently need to be carrying a full litter before my belly button would even consider peeking out even slightly. My belly button laughs in the face of your outie. If my belly button was any deeper, it would have it's own gravitational pull. My belly button knows the answer to the ultimate question. My belly button even knows what the ultimate question is. It's just not going to tell you.

Bolcano!

When Engineers Raise Kids

They buy books like 101 Great Science Experiments and build cranes with preschoolers. Duh. The nerdery is strong in my family.

I would feel bad for Calder, having such an extreme dork for a dad (one who is currently thumbing through My Big Science Book and How Science Works) but he seems to have inherited the dork genes. That what he gets for having two carriers as parents.

Aaaaand Calder just asked me for this.

Night Terror

On Tuesday night my sleep was interrupted, not by Calder, but by one of the most horrifying dreams I have ever had. I am not exaggerating here. Bruce has long become used to being woken up by me clutching his arm and shrieking "Spiiiiderssssss!" into his ear and then there was one whole summer that I slept awfully because of near constant zombie dreams but this one was the worst. This was a fling-the-cat-off-the-covers-parachute-game-style-and-snarfle-hysterically-into-Bruce's-neck-for-20-minutes horrible dream.

WARNING: Reading this may make you inexplicably sad for at least two days. Unless you have no heart, of course.

So it was a really simple dream. Calder and I were walking down the street on a nice day when we came to a train crossing. At first it was a generic train crossing  but it eventually became the L stop by closest to me which is at street level. As we approached the lights started flashing and the gates came down. I, ever fearful of being run over by trains at ground level, stopped about ten feet back but Calder bolted for the gates and ducked under then. I panicked and yelled at him to stop and then told him to just run to the other side. Calder got confused, ran out under the other gate but then started back towards me. The gates were all the way down and he was just pressed against the one closest to me, crying and reaching out but for some reason I couldn't go help him. There was nothing I could do, I was stuck where I was. I got the vague impression that I couldn't go to him because I was pushing a stroller and couldn't leave it behind to save him. Everyone else just stood around doing nothing as well. I remember a father next to me telling his older son "And that is why only stupid people get hit by trains." (totally my actual conscious popping through into my subconscious because, really, it's not that hard to NOT get hit by a train) Then the train rushed by and I woke up bawling. 

Horrible right? And I don't need some crazy new age dream book to tell me what THAT dream was about. It was clearly a manifestation to my sincere fears that Bruce and I will be utterly incapable of taking care of two children and that no will will be around to help us. I am talking about the total package: physically, emotionally and, the big one, financially. I alluded to it before but Bruce doesn't have what you would call a "real" job right now. The contract work he was doing for a doctor dried up and so he has been left with just his hockey stuff. Unfortunately, in a shitty economy, that last thing people want to pay for is expensive camps, clinics and lessons for their hockey playing children. The league fees alone can be in the thousands. There's just no household budget left for the extras. We freaked briefly last week and considered pulling Calder from day care to save some skrilla but that made me insanely sad. Sad for Calder, he'd have no friends to play with. Sad for Bruce, who is totally unequipped to hang with a three year old all day and even sad for day care for some reason. Eventually, we compromised on a part-time schedule. Calder will stay home two days a week and then continue to get some social development the other three. Until we are forced to eat cat food and sell all of his toys on eBay just to get the tuition of course.

The other big What the Hell Are We Doing Having Another Child? issue is our living situation. I mean, we really need to move. Sure, our current place is large enough to handle two kids. Sharing a room is no biggie and technically the office could be converted into a small, but perfectly baby-sized bedroom. The thing is, over the last 7 years I have gradually come to hate this place. On the surface it seems old, but nice enough but when you get down to it... crapville. This is a typical where should we live discussion. 

Bruce: So what kind of place do you want? 

Me: Somewhere with decent water pressure and that doesn't have all the outlets installed upside down.

So moving! Wahoo! BUT. Our lease expiration just happens to be the end of April, two weeks before my due date and April is also the month of my sister's recently announced wedding. Damn you, the Navy! It was supposed to have been August. Also, according to Bruce, the things I do want outside of code-compliant electric, like three bedrooms, some grass and a family room require us moving to the outer burbs. Wait, scratch that, the outer OUTER burbs. Like, Wisconsin. I just don't know if I am ready to go there yet. Literally. Having two kids in a social circle that is pretty much without any is isolating enough. Moving 45  minutes outside of the city is pretty much admitting I have given up on having friends. On the other hand, staying here means raising two kids in an apartment that is slowing crumbling around us, Oh, and that office/potential nursery? Based on the current floor slant, crooked windows and cracks in the walls, I am not even sure that room will be attached to the rest of the building in two years, much less function as a baby-appropriate bedroom.

In short, HALP!

Seven Simple Rules for Raising my Potential Daughter

1. No pink shit. If it comes in a regular color scheme as well as some pink/purple/teal abomination, we're buying the regular color. This goes double for sports items. I once saw a pink softball (duh) glove and I almost barfed on the spot but it was the pink microscope in Toy R' Us made me want to set the store on fire.

2. There will be no Princess (tm forever, Disney) embargo but Mulan and Belle will be "encouraged" over Tinkerbell and Sleeping Beauty. The awesomesauce nature of Maleficent and Snow White's Evil Queen will also be pointed out.

3. Fruffles (as my sister informs me), head bands, and stick on bows will be kept to a minimum,. I don't care if you can tell if she's a boy or a girl, random supermarket lady. She's a baby, she doesn't even know what she is yet.

4. Sports, participation AND fandom, will be actively promoted as pastimes but art classes, ballet and other "girlie" activities will be considered acceptable if the child is so inclined. Given that she will be the offspring of me and Bruce, there a very small chance that she will be in any way inclined towards ballet as a long term option.

5. Accomplishments: Atheltic, artistic and academic will always be vlaued over physical attributes. But while it's better to be smart than pretty, I won't get mad at you for telling Rusty she's both. We also like, healthy self esteem around here.

6. Hairstyles will be determined by the limits of my skill and Rusty's pattience. If Calder is any indication, I have at least two years before I have to worry about this becomeing an issue. We tend to grow them bald in my family. After that, pixies, bobs and bowl cuts will be the likely order of the day.

7. On the matter of fashion dolls: I have made my love known for Peaches 'n' Cream Barbie here before and I certainly would not prevent my future daughter from enjoying herself in the same manner. While we like self esteem, we also like having fun. Nothing is more fun that glamming out a Barbie, chewing her feet and driving off in her bright yellow Camaro to a rendezvous at the local MickeyD's with He-Man. Bratz, on the other hand, will be given to Calder for immediate destruction.

Day of Rest

Today is one of those rare holidays where I  don't have to go into work but day care is still open. Now, I love my son very deeply but I could not have helped Bruce pack him up and out any faster. Today I am Greta Garbo, I just want to be alone. So what tired pregnant lady entertainments am I enjoying on this day of leisure? Plasticking windows, doing laundry and mopping floors. Naturally. I may even squeeze in time for a shower, writing a real post and some grocery shopping.

Hopefully I will feel refreshed  and content with my sense of accomplishment at the end of the day but what I really want to do right now is go outside and slap the jogger I can currently see from my windows and tell him that it's January in Chicago and to get the hell back inside for some cocoa. There is a reason god gave us treadmills, people.

Coiffeurs by Leah

A while back brought bought himself a set of clippers. He saw no point in paying some guy to cut what was left of his hair. Even though I am HORRIBLE with my own tresses, much less anyone else's*, I agreed to be the new barber seeing as how it would be difficult to screw these cuts up. Bruce has pretty much moved on from being able to wash his hair to more just washing his head.

Lately, Calder's mullet has gotten out of control. I'd be content to let him keep his hair as long as he wants it but he's not exactly the most cooperative person during shampoos. As such, after Bruce's buzz cut, I invited Calder to hop into the chair. Surprisingly, he agreed.

The before shot

Ready, set, bzzzzzz.

Snerk.

Calder's hair was too much for the clippers alone.

Who is this child?

Enjoying his reward.

Calder isn't exactly a charter member of the sitting still club so his new haircut is somewhat jacked. I plan on trying to pass it off as a fix of a self-jobbie if too many people comment on the fact that it is crooked, patchy and kind of goofy looking. Calder, at least, seems to like it. After gazing at his new do in the mirror for a bit he commented, "I a new boy now. I not Calder." So I asked this new boy what his name was. "Hoptimus.**" Hoptimus is currently enjoying his new book of truck puzzles and occasionally feeling up his head. I hope he doesn't wake up tomorrow and ask me to put it all back. There's nothing more than meets the eye left.




*My number one fear about having a girl. I cannot do hair. My mom did my ponytails until about 6th grade. I never learned how to braid properly. At best I can wield a straight iron. I am currently sporting a bob that requires exactly NO styling other than get wet, add anti-frizz, air dry.


**Hoptimus = Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots (Good guy Transformers). Calder likes to put H's in front of words that start with O. Hoptopus, Hoctagon, etc.

Mind Candy

To make up for that other long freakin' post, here are some random photos of Calder doing the things he does best: Being silly, charming and alarmingly smart.

Poor man's robot costume.

Awesome people in our neighborhood build awesome snow forts in the public park.

I could probably do a post consisting solely of pictures of Calder with random stuff on his head.

That is a real X-ray. Of Bruce's broken face.

Wuv, twoo, wuv.

Out of everything in that cabinet, he steals crackers.

 And finally, a pre-Friday film fest bonus. Calder sings his favorite song. By Usher.

Attitude Adjustment

Last week, I totally found my first grey hair. For this I am blaming Calder. Oh, I suppose there could be a chance that it's been there for a while and it's not a direct result of Calder's stank-ass attitude as of late. Perhaps I just didn't find it until I parted my unwashed hair on the opposite side in an attempt to make it look less... unwashed. That hair could be the result of my life consisting of many nights like the one last week, which involved getting a sliver in my butt while scooting along the floor to pick up toys and books, whacking the crap all out of my thigh on the wooden arm of the couch and being bitten and scratched by a child who abjectly refused to be returned to his bed at 2 a.m. But that part is for later. And, OK, the leg thing was from the night before but it still hurt like a bitch the next day because it was a bad one, the bruise is there even now.

That is not to say life with Calder has remained as heinous as it was a few weekends ago. I mean, if I have the time and energy to keep track of the ridiculous things he says I am probably not busy wishing it was still acceptable to threaten your kids with sending them to live with the gypsies. Calder is way to young for military school after all. So, yes, the last week and a half has been much better, Perhaps going back to the regimented days at school has helped but I'd like to think that some of the changes we implements at home also had a hand in his semi-miraculous attitude adjustment. For serious, almost no tantrums or dog biting since two Sundays ago. It's unreal. Today was a somewhat bad day, he had some hitting issues at school and was a general crank ball at home but no biting or real serious behavior issues.

A lot of the things Bruce and I did to make our lives (and Calder's I'm sure) more pleasant are things that should have been fairly obvious. I mean, even those non-parents among you are going to read this and be like, "Uh, duh?" For realisies. We are pretty slow on the parenting uptake around here. It's probably good that we get some of this crap sorted out once and for all before number two comes along. One ill-behaved mess of a kid is a fluke. Two is a parenting fail.

The first portion of Operation: Not Hate Our Own Child was to ban any and all access to TV or the computer for five days. Nothing, no Little Einsteins, no Dora, no Youtube videos of cats falling off of things. Nothing. After that he has had a limited viewing schedule that is restricted to truly age-appropriate shows/movies or boring stuff I want to watch on PBS about Pompeii. Most importantly, we are leaving the ban on TV in place for the hour before bedtime to help Calder get settled down. This has worked amazingly well. Granted, it's surely this effective due to the resulting forced one-on-one playtime we now have to have to eat up all that time. This Mommy-son playtime is wonderful but, man, sometimes I need to relax from my day of sitting in front of a screen by sitting on the couch in front of a much bigger screen. I am, however, getting really good at smashing monster trucks together in just the right was to please Calder.

The second change we have made is possible the No shit, Sherlock-est of them all. No really, we are so, so dumb for not having done this before. Bruce and I have relocated our family dinner time from the living room coffee table to the, get this, dining room table AND we finally purchased a booster seat for Calder so he doesn't have to knell just to reach his food. Ground breaking, I know. We have also stopped fighting with Calder about what he eats. That's not to say he gets whatever the hell he wants but more like, he gets what I make (I try to take his tastes into consideration) and if he eats it, super, he might get a dessert. If not, he gets a Flintstones vitamin and a vaguely rumbly feeling in his tummy. Works like a charm. We talked up the booster seat like it was a golden throne and then presented it with a great deal of fanfare. As a result, Calder loves it to the point of climbing in and willingly buckling himself in on request.

Another way we've gotten past the food battles was by using what Nanny Jo calls the Involvement Technique, i.e. getting him involved in the process/letting him think he's helping. I wasn't kidding about that Supernanny book though I couldn't actually bring myself to read it on the L. I don't need all those extra people judging me. I get enough of that already. Allowing Calder to feel like he is partially responsible for his own dinner, even if it's just standing him on a chair in front of the stove while I do stuff, seems to have made him more interested in his meals. plus, we can then throw a heap load of positive reinforcement about the food in his direction which at least gets him to try at least a tiny bite of whatever he has had a hand in making.

So yeah, Nanny Jo. We have also instituted her discipline techniques as well. These are basically what I have championed all along. Clearly defined rules, warnings, calm implementation of punishment (time outs and go to your rooms) and no rationalizing or bribery. After all this time Bruce is finally going along with this strategy (maybe not so much the bribery part) because it is no longer just something I read on the Internet. THIS advice, is from a Book. Not that he has read the book yet but why break his streak now? What to Expect When You're Expecting and Canada's Baby Care Guide nod knowingly.  I am just happy that he is finally being patient enough to take the time and actually listen to my suggestions about how discipline should be done and give them an honest shot rather than keeping cool through one tough time out and then resorting back to yelling and stomping and threatening. Not that he's a bad dad or anything, it's just that he can be very coach-like, even at home. Coaching works great for thirteen year olds. Three? Not so much.

Nanny Jo, in general, does not disappoint, exceeeeeept when it comes to bed time. Calmly guiding your child back to bed with minimal eye contact and conversation works great as long as your kid isn't screaming bloody murder and forcing you to chase him around the kitchen island Benny Hill style. And then once captured, thrashes and gnashes and claws at your body. Not only are we still having issues getting Calder to go to bed at night, we are having problems keeping him there. Partially, it's our own fault. Both Bruce and I are too sleep hungry to really WANT to get out of bed at 1 a.m. to go through the "It's time to stay in bed routine" for an hour or more. We are lazy and thus usually let him crawl in with us and we all pass back out until I wake up two hours later with no covers, a foot in my face and a cat clawing at my inner thigh to escape his blanket prison. As such, we have said no more. Actually, I said, "We can't afford a bigger bed and I am only going to get larger. As it is there is not enough room in here for two people, two cats and an extremely large dog. You are going to help me teach him to stay in his own bed at night, got it?" So we are taking turns being on Calder watch. I think tonight will be mine. He slept through the whole night last night for the first time in a good long while so we will see what the witching hour brings tonight. Of course a full night's sleep didn't keep him from being crabby all day today so I am not sure what the point of losing all this sleep really is.

Whatever, I guess. We will just keep plugging on. Hopefully all of this work will result in us having a well-manner child that can be brought out in public. It certainly is making our home life a great deal more pleasant. Especially since he usually responds to the positive reinforcement with a compliment in kind. I could get used to being told that my hair looks pretty or that I smell nice. It's is much, much better than what he was saying two weeks ago.

Daddy's Little Girl

Lately Bruce... does not have much to do during the day, to put it nicely. He likes to spend this time doing stuff like planning out hockey practices, clinics and camps for school breaks, napping and shopping. Mostly thrift shopping, which is why Calder now has enough books to rival the New York Public Library's children's section.

Earlier this week, however, Bruce had an eye doctor appointment that took him down to Michigan Ave, the premier shopping area in Chicago. Of course he had to make a few stops. And what did he get? A cute little girl top, some baby jeans and two dresses. Not just dresses. Not even super adorbs sun dresses. Two FANCY-ASS party dresses. I was like, really? Where is this future child of ours going that requires taffeta as part of the dress code. Or a sparkly cardigan with a faux-crystal button? In all fairness he also bought Calder a suit jacket for all those formal attire-only day care events.

And it's not just clothes, Bruce has already started buying Rusty her own toys and books as well. As if we don't have enough of that stuff already. I guess I was right when I suspected that Bruce was hoping for a girl. He is going to be one of those ridiculous pushover Dads, I can tell already. The minute he comes in the door with a pink hockey stick, though, I am going to break it over his head.

Senses of a Woman

Pregnancy is a weird thing. Tons of random symptoms aside from the obvious gestating creature are involved, many of which I have railed against before. But my favorite and perhaps the most rando of all is the increased sense of smell. It really messes with you. When you are in the nauseous stage, it makes everything seem that much barfier but after that is just becomes a really strange extra.

The other day at work I was suddenly overcome by the smell of citrus. I spent a whole minute staring at the bottle of orange juice that I had finished a half hour before and which was still sitting on my desk. I was so confused, why all of a sudden was this OJ projecting its smell at me even though it was empty? Was it trying to communicate with me? Eventually, I got fed up with the overwhelming odor and went to take it to the recycling bin in the office kitchen where it would hopefully no longer bother me. On my way I realized that it wasn't my juice making the smell but instead it was someone peeling an orange FIVE ROWS AWAY.

Really now, what the hell is the purpose of this kind of extra sensory perception? Is there some sort of scientific explanation? Sure, I could look it up but I am lazy (see: keeping garbage at my desk for 30 minutes). If there is a a science-based reason, I bet the answer is the same as every other pregnancy symptom explanation: Hormones, it's a helluva drug. OR, maybe it is more like a biological carryover from the days when we all lived in caves and had to routinely fight with much larger creatures in order to eat/not get eaten. Preggos, not being quite so agile as their other pre-verbal compatriots developed the heightened sense of smell to detect predators much sooner than the other members of the cave clan, giving them a better shot at successfully bearing that offspring which was currently slowing them down. So like, if old homo erectus was just chillin' around the rock pile and saw all of the female fatties suddenly booking it, he knew he better hie himself hither lest there be a smilodon on his ass in a minute.

I think I like this possible explanation the best so  that's what I am going with. For example, I'll use it whenever anyone asks me why the hell I am complaining about how the outside smells like a combination of garlic and grease trap residue. Previous answer: Hormones, WTF is up with that? Just know this, if I find out you are the one burning popcorn in the office kitchen every afternoon, I have a floor plan and will find you and fill you desk drawers with fish parts. I shouldn't be the only one to suffer.

More Calderisms

This soda tastes like pop! (We really need to move)

Calder: COME WIPE MY BUTT!

Me: Excuse me?

Calder: COME WIPE MY BUTT! Please?

Grils are mean. They bite.

Calder: I no say the F-word. You not say it. Only Daddy say the F-word.

Me: Oh? When does Daddy say the F-word?

Calder: I nunno.

Me: When he's driving the car?

Calder: In the car Daddy say 'doosh!'

My butt farted. Excuse my butt.

Brand New 'Tude

I don't know if it's the baby coming or the fact that he hasn't been at day care much and thus is sick of our faces or if he's just had some sort of personality transplant but, damn, Calder has been unpleasant lately. He's rung in the new year with almost two full days of tantrums. Any "no", "stop that", or "quit licking the dog" is met with screaming and throwing things. These fits seem to go on FOREVER. Calder has mastered the art of a well-placed " I don't like you", "You mean at me" and "I go live with new family." It's certainly enough to make one doubt one's abilities as a parent. I honestly thought your children weren't supposed to start hating you until at least age 12? At this point it's actually easier to just leave him in his room and let him come out only to pee and eat. Going out in public is just right out of the question though we have foolishly tried to do it both days. 

Calder's unhappiness is, in turn, making everyone else unhappy, including the dog who would just like to stop getting licked. The general air around here is not good for anyone and I am sure the pregnancy hormones have something to do with it, but I have certainly burst into tears enough in the last two days. Is it possible to have postpartum depression three years after the fact? The stress is that bad. And me, with no alcohol. Currently, I am getting through it with an assortment of cookies given to us by our lovely neighbors and fantasizing about which big box store I could leave Calder in with the smallest chance of being arrested. Fortunately, day care reopens tomorrow and I go back to working a full five days a week. I don't think I have ever looked forward to being there so much. I guess that Supernanny book Bruce snagged at the thrift store is going to be my new commute reading for the next few weeks.