Deuces

Lost Sock. Diaper Blowout! Peeing on daddy while he changes My diaper. And again. And again. Swaddled. Cuddled. Kissed to the point of aggravation. Another Lost Sock. Hungry. Hungry. HUNGRY! I said I'M HUNGRYYYYYYYYYYY!!! Wanting to be thisclosetomommyanddaddyatalltimes. Smile teases. Passing gas.  So what?  It's natural. Clutching fingers. Reaching. Funny faces. Eyes trying to focus. Looking around.... it's all so interesting.  Loving when daddy walks me around the house. Loving the smell of mommy. Breastmilk coma.... mouth wide open.... head tilted back.... eyes shut tight.... Oh Yeaaaaaah!

New Mom. New schedule. No schedule. On Her schedule. Sleepless nights. Lots of kisses. Staring at Her and waiting for that momentary smile to show itself. Waiting to see those dimples. Short showers. Interrupted phone calls. Praying to the Boppy Gods. Thanking God. And again. And again. Swaddling, Cuddling, Rocking, Patting. Feeding. Freaking out. Worrying. Loving. Smiling. A little crying. Laughing when She passes gas. Laughing, therefore, a LOT! Loving. Loving. Loving. Thanking God. And again. And again.

1. Did you know that in the history of baby-baking, there hasn't been a single incidence of a woman being pregnant forever?  I am currently challenging that fact.  I have the Guinness phone number on stand-by... 2. I am running out of clean stretchy pants. 3. I think I hear the elastic on said stretchy pants scream just a little every time I put them on.  Even elastic has its limits, I guess. 4. My patience and kindness on all things is wearing more and more thin with each day of this ever-lasting pregnancy.  Yesterday when my jammy bottoms were just too tight I demanded my husband's track pants to wear.  This might not have been an issue if he wasn't already wearing the track pants I wanted.  My baby and I couldn't wait for a response so we pulled down daddy's pants before he could object.  Alas, I found stock of more stretchy pants in the house. 5. You can lose your balance by just standing still.  "Top Heavy" has a whole new meaning for me. 6. Our

I've only dated one dude who owned a motorcycle, and that dude was cute Nicholas. I was in my early 20's and Nicholas had a beautiful smile.  Nicholas also had a big truck and that really, really really fast motorcycle. Now, you can take the girl out the 909, but you can't take the 909 out the girl.  What can I say, while I find most big truck drivers objectionable, I find a very rare few to be really intoxicating. Because let's be honest, the stigma that guys who drive big trucks are over-compensating for something in their persona didn't just come from nowhere .  We've all met the dudes that pull into a parking lot WAY too fast, leave their ridiculous swivel skid marks all over the road, wear those dark black sunglasses and WAY too much hair gel.  I mean, could you BE more of a douche? Whatever, I'm not judging, I'm just sayn'. But Nicholas drove one of those legit big trucks.  The kind that always has mud on the sides and has those big bars

... And the tears fall.... Here we go.... 5 minutes ago I was jamming to some Natasha Bedingfield and thoroughly enjoying my first post- Mother's Day celebration, trying to shake the sense of loss we faced this weekend... and then I suddenly felt the overwhelming sense of pain of missing sweet Lando... my eyes filled up and I couldn't keep from crying uncontrollably. On Saturday Lando left this world and is off chasing mice in Heaven. Last week our sweet Lando had quickly developed kidney and liver failure and was suffering.  It was the most heart-breaking thing to witness as our gentle giant lost all will to move, to eat, to drink or be pet... You're not supposed to have a favorite cat, but sweet Lando was Lloyd's favorite.  It was Lloyd that sat with me as we received our cat's prognosis from the Dr.   Lloyd watched as I cried and sat petting Lando for the last time, trying to comfort him in the moments before the vet-tech came in to ease his suffering.  We 3

I once dated a really good dancer. That wasn't his only strength. In truth, he was one of thee absolute best dudes I ever made out with.  He was super funny, smart and we clicked right away. But what struck me as odd was that, for the first time before and since, his good dancing skills didn't turn me off.  (For some reason, a man with too much swagger on the floor has always confused and frightened me a little.)  Oh, and I also don't like when they are so involved in their dancing that they forget you are on the floor with them.  Oh, and when they A. crowd you or B. use you as a prop.  Oh, and when they sing along to songs by female artists.  If you know all the lyrics to "I'm a Slave for You", that's both impressive and embarrassing. (I really did have strange deal-breakers with men...) So here was the first guy who I enjoyed dancing with that was actually a really good dancer.  He didn't crowd.  He didn't sweat profusely.  He didn't sin

In this final stretch of pregnancy I am blissful. I am at my most content, happiest and, ironically, most comfortable. My first trimester I was so incredibly ill and all of the teas and ginger-flavored everythings that were supposed to make me feel less nauseaus only left me feeling sick of yet another flavor. I don't think I can ever eat a ginger snap again.  Seriously. In my second trimester I started to feel slightly better.  While I didn't have specific cravings, per say, I had a VERY annoying aversion to sweets and I could taste the flavor of high fructose corn syrup.  It was sticky and thick and left my mouth with deep sadness.  I never knew that HFCS was in SO many things before then... Cereals?  Sodas?  Candies and condiments?  It's there, ya'll. I once loved ketchup more than the foods I lathered it on and now, I won't touch the stuff. As I started my third trimester I was sick once again with a horrible cold that turned into a chest infection

As of last Thursday's appointment our baby weighs 6 pounds, 13 ounces. About 3 weeks to go and we are more excited than ever.... Operation carseat installation has commenced.  I don't remember my nieces' and nephews' carseats being such a pain in the arse to install, but there we sat, Lloyd and I, reading the instructions with the useless photos.  On the carseat base, itself, there are tons of colorful stickers with "helpful" reminders and pointers on the installation process but somehow we ended up confused. Where does this clip go?  Is the seat at the right angle? Because it says if there's any "red" showing that the angle is either too high or too low.  Where's the doo-dad to change the angle?  And it says to be careful not to pinch your fingers in the doo-dad while re-angling (which means we will, ultimately, end up with pinched fingers). We spend so much time figuring out how to assemle our baby stuff, perhaps, sub-consciously thinki

Someone told me that if you worry about being a bad parent, then you won't be, because real-life "bad" parents probably aren't worrying about how they're doing. Well now that seems to make sense! But sometimes I worry, and sometimes Lloyd worries, but about Lloyd I'm not worried.... The night I knew for certain I need not worry about his parenting skills was a disaster. In the course of that evening everything seemed to be going wrong. I was having a bad case of the flu/cough/cold that wouldn't let up and I was on the couch, listless and immobilized. Lloyd cooked my dinner and brought it to me, all the while comforting me as I lay dying in front of the T.V. And just as Lloyd sat down beside me to rest after a long day's work and slaving over my hot plate, Bobby's sensitive stomache gave way and he vomited all over the carpet. He huffed about Bobby's accident, all while Bob Big Boy trotted away to fill his stomach back up despite