For the Children

Why, hello there. Do you want to know what I’m doing right now? I’m glossing over the fact that it’s been roughly six months since my last blog.

*Gloss Gloss*

Okay, now that’s out of the way. How have you been? Me? Well, I had a baby. His name is Desmond, and he’s ridiculously cute. He’s just over three-months-old, and he’s sort of why I feel the need to start blogging again. His big sister Charlotte has two years worth of posts mostly dedicated to her, and it just didn’t seem right not to properly embarrass honor him in the same way.

See what I mean about the cute?

Also, since Des was born I have developed this paralyzing fear of my children growing up too fast. I was never really like that the first time around. I welcomed each new milestone with excitement without ever really looking back too often. I might let out a plaintive sigh as I packed away a favorite outfit that Charlotte’s chubby frame had outgrown, but I never really lamented that my baby was gone. I was has having way too much fun watching her grow. The difference, though, is that with Charlotte I assumed I would be having another baby. I would get to do all that baby stuff again. Now that we’re done (so very done) having babies, things are different. All of a sudden I’m collapsing in sobs because Des has outgrown his newborn onesies or while watching Charlotte’s lithe body running through the sprinklers, looking like a CHILD, with hardly a trace of my first baby left.

I will entertain the slightest possibility that hormones may have been involved in all that weeping. But, in any case, I have an intense need to remember everything about them the way they are now. And a month from now. And, so on. But, of course, that isn’t possible. Just like certain details of Charlotte’s infancy have faded from my mind, so will some of my favorite habits of my children disappear some day. I could cry just thinking about it. Instead, I will do my best to memorialize their childhoods here. So that I can always come back and be reminded of the way my sweet baby clasps his hands together while nursing. Or how my daughter’s silky hand feels when she sleepily strokes my arm.

No time like the present I say! Okay, I don’t really say that; I’m a huge procrastinator.

Charlotte,

It’s been a long time since I’ve written to you. And, we’ve had some big changes since my last letter. We lived with your grandparents for a while, and though it wasn’t easy for everyone involved, and you certainly didn’t always seem to appreciate so many adults in your face, you adjusted very well. In fact, considering I was pregnant with your little brother, AND we were getting ready to move again to our new house, I’d say you handled it amazingly well. Speaking of your brother, you were a tad skeptical at first. You spent most of my second trimester telling us that you didn’t want the baby to come out. And, who could blame you? You are a smart kid. You knew that your three-year streak of getting all the attention was ending. But, then, all of a sudden, you got on board in a big way. You started talking about how much you loved the baby, you proudly called yourself a big sister, and you even hugged my massive belly to “give the baby a hug.” We started getting hopeful that maybe this baby wouldn’t be as devastating to you as previously thought. But, everyone liked to remind us that it would probably be a different story once he was here, and I tried to prepare for that very real possibility. But, your daddy kept saying that you were constantly surprising us, and to not give up hope. And, sweetie, you exceeded all our expectations. You are a brilliant big sister. When I left for the hospital to deliver your brother, you cried. You didn’t want me to leave. So, when it was time for you to come visit, I made sure the baby was in the bassinet so that you wouldn’t get jealous and so my arms would be free to hug you. I imagined that you had missed me so much you would come flying into my arms. But, you came into that hospital room on a mission. You wanted to see your baby brother.

And from that moment on, you have been in love. You hug him, kiss him, talk to him, teach him things, share with him, and miss him when you’re apart. Sure, sometimes you cover your ears when he cries and suggest that maybe he could be left in another room while we play. But, other times you admonish me for leaving him playing happily on the floor while we sit at the table. You don’t like him to be alone, and you request I bring him to the table with us. And, there was the one time where he pulled your hair so hard it made you cry. That time you yelled at him to “go far away.” But, still other times you excuse his hair pulling and kicking by saying that he is pulling your hair “for play.” You’ve even gone so far as to place your hair in his hands so he can pull it. We do try to convince you that this isn’t necessary, but you are a strong-willed girl. I know there is a lifetime of fighting over toys, bickering, and hitting in your future, but that will never change the fact that you love your brother. And on those dark days, when I’m wondering why I deliberately gave birth to someone for you to fight with, I will try to remember you telling me that you love him “too much” and the time you leaned in close to his face and said softly, “Desmond, I will always protect you.” No, I am not making that up. See how awesome you are?

You guys look like you're plotting against me already

I couldn’t possibly sum up everything that makes you Charlotte in one letter. I think the mantra you made for yourself is a good start, though: you like to say that you are “Strong and brave and smart and tough.” You are indeed all of those things, and more. You have a wild imagination. You like to make up the rules of your own games. You love to learn things. You love even more to teach us. Especially about dragons. You are a cat. Usually an evil cat named “Black Cat,” but sometimes you are a “regular cat.” And sometimes you are an ice dragon. You can fly. Just yesterday you were practicing different methods of flying. You have magic, and you can use your magic to turn people “into stuff.” You love water. The siren song of running sprinklers is too much for you to resist, and you will be drenched within a matter of minutes, usually in all your clothes. Your clothes are almost always seasonally inappropriate. Since it is summer, you want to wear long sleeves and sweatpants. You wear a Spiderman shirt very often, and while your dad and I would love to see such a beautiful girl wearing more flattering clothes, we think it’s pretty bad ass that you like superheroes. And I am proud of you every time you wear that shirt because one day a little girl made fun of you for wearing a “boy’s shirt.” You ran to me crying that day and asked to leave the playground. But, the very next day, you picked that shirt to wear all on your own. You are a wonder, Charlotte. You drive me absolutely bananas, but I love you. Just the way you are.

Desmond,

Hey, little buddy. You’ve been with us for three months now, and I’m starting to forget that you were ever not here. You were cute from the moment you were born, and I mean that sincerely. Not all babies are cute as newborns, including your sister (Sorry, Lotte!) but you were. I thought perhaps you were going to be my dream baby. The one that never cries and sleeps through the night at five weeks. Instead you got a mild case of colic, and I wanted to send you back every night around 6:00 P.M. for a month or so.You still don’t sleep well, but now that the incessant crying is a thing of the past, I think you’re pretty damn close to a dream baby. You smile constantly. You let people hold you. You sleep in the car almost every time. You’re pretty cool.

Sometimes I feel guilty that you don’t get the complete attention your sister got when she was a baby. We had nothing else to do besides read her books, talk to her, play with her, and just generally obsess over her. We do those things with you sometimes, but more often than not, you are getting schlepped around the house while we take your sister to the potty, brush her teeth, or play in her room. I worry that you aren’t getting the same stimulation. But, then I realize that while you may not get the same undivided attention she got, you get something pretty great. You get a big sister who loves you. Charlotte can make you smile instantly. You love to look at her, and you can’t help but grin whenever she talks to you. You actually get three people to dote on you, which hopefully makes up for the time you spend squawking at us from the floor mat when we don’t come pick you up as soon as you would like.

I went through a lot to have you, Buddy, and you more than made up for my troubles. You can keep spitting up on me and growing out of your clothes too quickly. I don’t mind. Just keep smiling and being chubby, and you’re alright in my book.

Love,

Mom

Oh, hi there!

So, this is awkward.

Yes, it has been nearly three months since my last blog, and honestly, I couldn't tell you why. I could blame the pregnancy, the nearly-three-year-old, or even the seasons of Breaking Bad I just HAD to watch as quickly as possible. But, the truth is, if I had wanted to blog I would have. I can't really explain my lack of enthusiasm for sharing my thoughts and my life on this blog these last few months. I've thought about it many times. I thought about blogging when I found out the baby I'm carrying is a boy. I thought about blogging about Charlotte's feelings on the baby, how she was struggling with it, but slowly seems to be coming to terms with her impending role as big sister. I thought about blogging lots of times, but when it came down to it, I just didn't feel like I had anything to say, even if I had lots to say.

I don't want to dwell on it, really. I don't even know why I'm blogging now, really. Maybe only because I'm not ready for this blog to die, even if I'm unsure of its future. Ambivalence is a tough obstacle to overcome, and I can't guarantee that this will turn back into a regular thing. But, here I go anyway, fumbling my way back into the whole "forming coherent sentences in a cohesive paragraph" game. It may not be pretty.

Let's start with a small update: the baby is due in about two months. We are in escrow for a house that will close roughly two weeks after our son is born. At first, I was really bummed about the timing. I mean, who wants to move with a newborn? But, I have come to accept and even embrace the idea. Chris will only get a couple days off work at best, and it might be nice to not be alone with two kids right off the bat. And, as eager as I am to be in our own home with our new family, two weeks is really not that long to wait. Especially for a home that is so utterly perfect for us. A home that is worth the wait.

Meanwhile, I am trying my best to start "nesting" in the space we have. I'm cleaning up our room, clearing space for the baby's stuff, organizing what I have, and acquiring what I need. It feels good to finally be preparing for this little boy's arrival. For so much of this pregnancy, before I knew what our living situation would be when he came, I just couldn't bring myself to start any preparations. It made me sad not to be buying onesies and folding tiny socks, but it also made me feel guilty. At this time with my pregnancy with Charlotte, I was hanging little dresses in her freshly painted nursery, having maternity photos taken, and gluing one of those slightly creepy 3D ultrasound pictures into my thoroughly filled-out pregnancy journal. It felt unfair to this baby that I was just sitting around basically ignoring the fact that I'm pregnant, unless it was to complain about a particular pregnancy ailment.

But, I'm feeling inspired these days, and I even have this baby's very own creepy ultrasound scheduled for next week. Things are looking up. Especially now that Charlotte seems a little more positive about her little brother's arrival. She even kissed my stomach the other day and said she was giving the baby a kiss! And, today I showed her a onesie with a little monster on it and asked if she thought it would fit her. She said she thought it would fit the baby, then said, "I will give it to him." These are both HUGE developments from the kid who repeatedly told me she didn't want the baby to come out and who recently informed me the baby should not live with us in our new house. Of course, it goes back and forth. Yesterday she told me she was going to smack the baby with her butt. Today she told me she would give him a big hug. She even said she loved him. I'm still expecting a lot of BIG feelings as his arrival draws closer and especially after he's here, but I am very encouraged by these little victories.

Okay, that seems like enough for now. I ought to ease back into it, after all. Don't want to overdo it my first time out. Thanks for reading, if anyone still is at this point. So, I'll leave you with a recent picture of me and the big-sister-to-be.

Christmas Junkie

It in now officially December which means I can come out of the Christmas closet. See, while the rest of the country has been complaining about how the stores are ALREADY playing Christmas music, I have been humming along, my excitement for the holiday planted firmly in my chest. And, as the trees and garlands were hauled out of storage, dusted off, and put on display, my excitement began to grow. Now that it is socially acceptable to admit it, I am loving the hell out of being bombarded by Christmas.

I will admit that October is a bit early to begin the festivities. I don't like to think about a holiday nearly two months away while I'm still trying to get into the spirit of another. But, I will say that I have been listening to Christmas music since before Thanksgiving. As far as I'm concerned, Thanksgiving is just an extension of Christmas, anyway. It's nice that people tend to express the things they are grateful for during that time, but otherwise, it's just a day where we eat a big meal, and maybe some crazies plan their shopping strategy for the next day (or later that day, apparently. For shame, retail stores of America.) Be honest, you haven't thought about a pilgrim breaking bread with a Native American since you were in school. Thanksgiving is actually a bit of a bullshit holiday, but since there is pie and family involved, I'll take it.

Christmas has always been my favorite. I know it isn't cool to say that. It's cool to love Halloween, and believe me, I've tried. I mean, I like Halloween, but I've just never been very good at it. I never know what costume to wear, I never have anywhere to go, and as much as I try to drum up excitement for it, I usually find myself grudgingly dragged from the house when I'd be just as content to watch scary movies and hand out candy. It's better now that I have a kid. There's no pressure to have a wild night I hardly remember with some zombies and stumble home in my slutty devil costume at 4 A.M. I just put my kid in a cute costume, take her trick-or-treating, and snap lots of pictures. Then watch in horror as she becomes obsessed with candy. No big.

But, Christmas! Christmas has a whole "feeling" attached to it, and that starts about a month before. And in order to maintain the feeling, there is a list of Christmas traditions that need to be completed. There are Christmas movies to watch, cookies to bake, lights to see, eggnog to drink, and of course a tree to pick out and decorate. As kids, my sister and I were sticklers for the Christmas rules. My mom says our mantra was "But, it's tradition!" The tree was only to be decorated with the television off, with eggnog in hand, and with the Time Life Christmas collection on the turntable. We had favorite ornaments, and we took turns hanging them up, alternating each year. We nagged my dad to hang up the lights as soon as we knew we could get away with it. And, we made sure we were chauffeured around town to see all the Christmas lights, preferably with some hot chocolate in our demanding little hands.

Christmas circa 1994

It was the best. Of course, we also wanted certain things for gifts. We wrote wish lists to Santa and had innumerable toy commercials for inspiration. We were excited Christmas eve to open our presents in the morning. But, the season was so much more to us than that, and it has continued to be ever since. Before I wax poetic about how completely magical Christmas is with my own kid, let me just say that I have never stopped doing my favorite Christmas activities in the many years between my childhood and my parenthood. I have never gone one year without a Christmas tree, I bake cookies with my grandma every year, and I have always gone on long drives looking for Christmas lights, only now I have a Starbucks holiday drink in my hand.

And now that I have a kid? The holiday just became exponentially more exciting. When she was a baby, she didn't add too much to the experience. I had her picture taken with Santa (Thankfully, she isn't and has never been afraid of him,) and we bought her one, small gift. The rest of our family, however, doubled her wardrobe and toy collection that year. Last year was better, She sort of understood the concept a bit, she enjoyed looking at lights, and she REALLY enjoyed opening presents.

Charlotte's first Christmas

I can already tell that this year is going to RULE. She "gets" Santa now. She asked me if she could go see Santa while we were in the mall one day, and I asked the adolescent elves if she could just say "Hi" since we weren't exactly picture ready. They had no sooner approved our request and Charlotte was running over to Santa and climbing into his lap. He asked her a few questions, one of them being what she wanted for Christmas. And, it was hilariously awkward because she didn't know how to answer that question. She might see something in a toy aisle and ask me for it, but unless she is looking right at it, she doesn't know that she wants it. So, she looked at him, her smile fading, and started muttering "Um, um..." when Santa jumped in with, "Maybe a baby doll?" He couldn't have known that she has no time for baby dolls, and that this might not be the best time to bring up babies, since Charlotte tells me almost daily that she doesn't want the baby in my tummy to come out. But, she must have been so relieved to be out of the hot seat because she cheerfully agreed that a baby doll would be most good. But, after we left, she looked up at me and said, "Mommy, I want a princess doll."

After a trip to the Disney store where she discovered the princess doll she would like is a "big Rapunzel doll. The soft one." we headed back to Santa for pictures a few days later. This time she was prepared. He asked, she answered. But, it turns out she is a little fuzzy on the Christmas timeline here, because as we walked away the poor child looked genuinely confused as she shrugged her little shoulders, threw up her hands, and asked "Where's my Rapunzel doll?" She seemed satisfied with having to wait until Christmas, but then again, I don't think she realizes how many more Rapunzel-free days are in her future. I may have jumped the gun a little this time. Charlotte with Santa circa now

So, it's been fun. Charlotte knows most of the words to "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," and we sing that together multiple times a day. She loves Christmas lights, so last night I took the first of what will become many detours on our way home to hunt for lights. She likes the white lights, but when she sees even the simplest strand of multicolored lights, she gasps, "Look, Mom! COLORS!" At a particularly ornate house, she wistfully sighed, "I wish I had a house like that." And it was so freaking cute, that I have now resolved to empty our bank account buying gaudy, light-up Christmas decorations for the lawn so that next year she will indeed have a house like that.

The one thing that I want to work on with our Christmas experience this year and all the years forward is to instill the spirit of generosity in her. I told her yesterday that we were going to buy a toy to give to a kid whose family can't afford to buy him or her any presents, and wouldn't that be nice? "No," was her response. Oh, I'm not worried about it. She's two and therefore necessarily self-centered and incapable of thinking of such broad topics. But, that won't stop me from talking about it with her and getting her involved this year and onward. Eventually, it will sink in, and I hope that giving to the less fortunate will be something she is excited to do each Christmas and throughout the rest of the year. Of course, to ensure that this happens, I have to start walking the walk. Admittedly, I am usually too busy stressing over Christmas presents and trying to cram in all of my Christmas activities to bother with any kind of altruism. But, I guess that's how kids have the ability to make you a better person. When you imagine the kind of person you want them to be, and you realize that YOU are not the kind of person you want them to be, you have to make some changes. So, starting this year, my family and I will participate in a food drive and a toy drive. And, in our future, I envision adding some volunteer work to that, as well.

So, there you have it. I'm a giant nerd who loves Christmas. And, now if you will excuse me, there is some eggnog I need to pour into my coffee. Happy Holidays!

Because Cheetos Aren't Dinner

Tomorrow I will be sixteen weeks pregnant, and so far I haven't fully emerged from some of the more unpleasant first trimester symptoms. I still get nauseous in the evenings, and I still need naps most days due to the fatigue. These symptoms are annoying enough, but what is most distressing to me is that they have caused me to completely lose my cooking mojo.

I made a lasagna a few weeks ago, and some pork chops about a week later. And, that's pretty much it for the last three months. I've either been too tired to even fathom chopping and mixing, sauteing and baking, or I've been so nauseous, I can't face the smell of the food I need to prepare. Additionally, I have that stereotypical pregnant woman's relationship to junk food. Maybe it's all in my head, but more often than not, I have to choke down my vegetables in order to earn a spicy chicken sandwich or a metric ton of pork.

This is all a far cry from where I was a year ago. I spent my Saturdays poring over cookbooks, looking up recipes on the internet, hunting down unfamiliar ingredients at Whole Foods, and trying a new recipe at least once a week. Admittedly, my enthusiasm had tapered off a bit by this past summer, right before I got pregnant, but I was chugging along, continuing to provide nutritious meals for my family and still taking pleasure in trying out the occasional new recipe.

I am making a lot of excuses, but truth be told, I could be cooking a lot more than I do. I'm still adjusting to living with my in-laws and trying to figure out how to shop and cook in a two-family home, but I can't blame that learning curve forever. My energy level is not great, but it is a vast improvement over how I was feeling a month ago. And, my nausea and food aversions, while not gone, have abated enough that I can be around most food without gagging.

So, what's my problem? This might sound silly, or even crazy, but it's like I've completely forgotten how to cook. I used to be able to make up a dish based on the sundry ingredients I had lying around the house. Or, I had an idea of what I wanted to make, so I found a recipe. Or, I had the motivation to scour recipes until I found one I wanted to try. But, now? I got nuthin'. I wander around the grocery store aimlessly, buy some yogurt for Charlotte, then go home with nothing that will help me make a meal. I have damaged or misplaced the part of my brain that tells me what the hell to do with rosemary or a shallot.

Here's where you come in. A year ago, maybe? I told you all what ingredients I had in my kitchen and asked for recipes. It was a roaring success. For me, that is. You got nothing out of it, I expect. But, if you would be so kind as to give me some of your favorite recipes, or even just dishes (I can hunt down a recipe)you will be saving my family a lot of money in meals eaten out and sparing my husband from taking a can of soup to work with him for his dinner. I'd like to start out sort of easy, since I've regressed so much, and recipes for things that feed a whole family, like casseroles and stews would be great for our current situation. I also love anything I can throw in a crock pot in the morning and forget about for a few hours.

So, ready? Set? Go!

I promise to return the favor if necessary, just as soon as I get my kitchen legs back.

Second Trimester Limbo

Last Wednesday marked the first day of my second trimester. I knew I should be happy. And, I was. But, the arrival of that day didn't bring the relief I thought it might. Sure, the odds of a miscarriage are significantly lower than they were even a few weeks ago, but I just can't shake the feeling that something either has, or is about to go, terribly wrong.

My last doctor's appointment was exactly a week ago. I waited for that appointment for what seemed like a lifetime. I was in desperate need of some reassurance that the baby was still there, waving and wiggling like the time before. The appointment came and went, and I felt great. For like a day. But, the anxiety came creeping back, and soon enough I was ordering a Doppler to listen to the baby's heartbeat at home. We also used one when I was pregnant with Charlotte, and especially in those few weeks between the disappearance of morning sickness and the beginning of feeling flutters and kicks, it was very reassuring. It is scheduled to arrive Wednesday, and the wait is killing me.

The funny thing is, I still feel like crap. I still get horribly nauseous in the evenings and sometimes during the day. I am still fatigued as hell, and I still live in fear of anything even brushing up against my breasts, causing me to wince in pain. All the symptoms that I tolerated because they let my paranoid brain know I was still pregnant, are still here. But, they just aren't doing it for me anymore. I need more.

It's exhausting, all this stress and worry. I sometimes sit very still, willing myself to be able to feel some fluttering from within. I check the progress of the Doppler using my tracking number about twenty times a day, even though I signed up for alerts to be sent to my phone. Incidentally, it went NOWHERE all day yesterday, and I am very displeased. I count down the days until my next appointment. I analyze my symptoms and check on Twitter if anyone thinks I am hurting my baby by sleeping on my stomach, even though I already asked my doctor, and she assured me I was fine until twenty weeks. I obsess.

I hope this will get better when I'm further along, but I know myself, and I know that I will probably find something to worry about until the baby is here. And then I'll worry about different stuff.

In the meantime, I will do my best to get through this second trimester limbo.

The Princess Prerogative

Last week was Halloween,and this year my mom was able to resume her tradition of making Charlotte's costume. Last year my mom got married the month of Halloween, and we all begged her to not try and sew a costume whilst planning a wedding and commuting to her teaching jobs at three different colleges. She grudgingly acquiesced, and instead bought a little fairy princess dress for Charlotte.

As a kid, I knew summer was coming to an end when my mom took my sister and me to the fabric store to pour over Halloween costume pattern books so we could choose a costume. It was exciting seeing our costumes come together, and they were always expertly crafted. My mom is an incredible seamstress. She even made my wedding dress! During my early school years I went through the Disney repertoire, choosing such costumes as Tinkerbell, Cinderella, and Aurora. Later I branched out into other arenas, but I remember my princess and fairy costumes fondly.

See, I LOVE Disney. I love Disneyland, Disney movies, and Disney...well, anything! It is something that connects me to my childhood in a huge way. And, when I found out I was having a little girl, I couldn't wait to share the Disney princess experience with her. I know that this makes me the opposite of progressive and enlightened in the eyes of many, but I really don't care. I have wonderful memories of playing "The Little Mermaid" with my sister any time we were in a pool. I loved my Ariel pencil box and my Belle nightgown. I played dress-up for hours. I imagined fairy tale weddings. And, I swear to god, one day my sister and I put on dresses and fancy hairbands and went outside to sing to some birds, convinced that they would come perch on our shoulders if we just looked beautiful and sang prettily enough. My sister may deny this, but I assure you, it happened.


But you know what? We also drove a tractor at my grandparents' house. We played war games in the desert next to our house with the neighbor boys. We went on archaeological digs in our backyard. We may have played with Barbies (not something I'm dying for Charlotte to find out about, but that's just my personal preference) but we were never limited by them. We were raised to do well in school because we would need our education to make our way in this world. We were taught to respect ourselves. I'm proud of the women my sister and I turned out to be. And, I see no reason why I can't share a part of my childhood with my daughter, a part that we both happen to enjoy together, without fear of pigeonholing her or taking away her power as an individual.

I can teach my daughter that it's okay to twirl around in her nightgown and ask "Do I look so pwetty?" as long as she knows that that won't be enough or all that is expected of her. I do tell Charlotte that she is pretty. I tell her she's beautiful. But, whenever she asks me why I love her or why I wanted her to be my daughter (the "Why?" stage can bite me, by the way) I tell her it's because she is smart and funny and nice. And, we encourage all her interests. Truth be told, she is way more interested in bunnies and cats than she is in princesses. She loves to wear her dragon costume and growl at everyone who passes by. She loves to help her daddy fix stuff around the house. Sure, it'd be great if she saw Mommy fixing stuff around the house, too, but that is unfortunately not my strong suit.

Happily, some of the modern princesses offer a more balanced and stronger role model for little girls. Tiana from "The Princess and the Frog" is fiercely independent, clever, and hardworking. Rapunzel from "Tangled" is admittedly, naive, but also brave and struggling to find her independence. That doesn't mean I will shield Charlotte from the older princesses, like Snow White, who is just AWFUL. Seriously, that chick is useless. But, we can enjoy those movies with a little supplemental education. Long story short, I don't expect Charlotte to spend too much time waiting around for her prince to come, baking pies and sweeping floors to kill time until he rides up on his horse.

So, when my mom offered to make Charlotte's costume this year, we gave her a few choices (though I don't remember what they were,) and in the end she chose her favorite princess, Belle. I kind of love that Belle is her favorite. I guess as a Lit major, I have to appreciate a book lover in a princess. We had a few bumps in the road, such as when she informed us that she would rather be Aurora or that she would like to just wear her dragon costume for Halloween. But, I explained to her that because her grandmother was working really hard on her dress, there was just no alternative. In the end, she loved it. She twirled and practiced her curtsy, and I was in heaven. She also rocked her light-up Belle shoes until her feet started to hurt, and then we changed her into her tennis shoes, which was maybe even more adorable.

Mid twirl

Mid curtsy


Who knows what she will choose next year? Maybe another princess, maybe not. We will, of course, follow her lead and let her choose whatever she wants. But, in case she goes an entirely different direction, I'm just glad I got my princess fix this year. It was definitely everything I hoped for.

A Bit of Random

I'm sitting down with the time and (enough) energy to blog, but I'm sort of blocked for topics. So, as is usually the case when this happens, you get some random thoughts. Too bad this never happens on a Tuesday so I can participate in the Random Tuesday meme.

I took my niece to the movies for her birthday last week, and we saw a trailer for Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. I was delighted to see how many of my favorite actors are featured in the film. And, by "favorite actors" I mean "actors on whom I have enormous crushes." I mean, come on. What cliché of a woman doesn't have a crush on Colin Firth?


Not featured in this picture is the dreamy Irish Ciarán Hinds, whom I fell in love with when I saw the adorable "Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day." Seriously, if you haven't seen it, do yourself a favor. Lee Pace of "Pushing Daisies" fame ain't too bad on the eyes, either.


Oh, what the hell? Here's Mr. Hinds in all his glory. He's hot, right? He played Rochester, y'all. What's not to love?

So, here I am, sitting in the theater, getting all worked up about this movie and all the great actors in it. Gary Oldman! Ralph Fiennes! I keep seeing one after the other, and I'm already making a mental note to see this movie. when suddenly it dawns on me: these guys are all REALLY old. Okay, I need to be careful. They're only in their fifties. But, you know, so are my parents. So, it's a little weird. I also think they were aged for the film, or at least made to look more haggard than they normally do. In any case, god help me, it's still working for me. But, then again, this is very typical of me. I married someone six years my senior, I always tried to hang out with my mom and her friends instead of the other kids, and I developed a HUGE obsession with Emma Thompson at the tender age of eleven. What? You were preoccupied with middle-aged British actresses when you were in middle school, weren't you? I thought so.

Changing gears now: I have mentioned that I graduated to maternity clothes a little early this pregnancy. I've heard this is normal for a second pregnancy, so even though it bums me out that I'm ALREADY wearing the pants I will have to wear for the next six months, I wasn't too upset about it. That was until this morning when I happened to see a picture of me about six months pregnant with Charlotte. I was PU-FFY. My face looked like it had been gently inflated with helium. And that was with over three months to spare! So now I'm worried that if I'm bigger than I was at this point, I'm just going to keep getting bigger and bigger until I start getting the "You must be due any day now!" when I'm only five months along, or worse, the "Are you sure there's only one in there?" I'm a little concerned about this because given my already fragile emotional state, I might have to hurt someone if any of these scenarios arise.

I was on the phone with my mom expressing my concern that I'm going to be a cow by the time this pregnancy is over, when Charlotte, overhearing me, asked, "You're going to be a cow for Halloween, Mommy?" I'm pretty sure she's going to be genuinely disappointed when I don't show up as a Guernsey on Monday night.

What else? Oh, I got my eyebrows waxed the other day, and it got me thinking about how I was sitting in a different chair having a different woman try to make casual conversation with me in limited English as she rips tiny hairs out of my face, just a mere few hours before my water broke during my pregnancy with Charlotte. The woman motioned to my enormous belly and asked when I was due. "Today!" I brightly replied. You should have seen the look of sheer horror that swept over her face. It was like she thought that not only was I currently in labor, but I also made a horrible mistake and expected HER to deliver my baby in the waxing chair. Hilarious.

Okay, that's all for now. Maybe next time I'll tell you about how Charlotte tried to convince me that saying "no" to her would make me sick. But, then again, maybe I'll be too busy having an anxiety attack about how my child gets exponentially smarter than me every day. It's pretty terrifying.