All over but the shoutin'

Sweet lord, the end of NaBloPoMo is here. Finally.

I mean of course I love babbling on and on and on for 30 days on end. But even I get a little sick of myself after 30 straight days. I can't imagine being Josh. Three years of nothing but me? I shudder.

Anyway, a big thanks to all of you for sticking it out and reading. I was so excited to see all your comments and check out some new blogs as well.

So I would like to thank the baby Jesus, my family, my friends and my manager. Without all of them, this month would not have been possible.

I feel punchy. I just got back from traffic court and boy howdy, do I have a blog post out of that for Monday. How you like that? A cliffhanger!

The penultimate post!

Whoo hoo, only two more days left in NaBloPoMo! While it's a been a pleasure, I could use a break.

But instead of wimping out and posting something lame, I actually dug into my ideas folder and found a post by Zoot from a few months ago I had saved for this month.

Basically, it's a list of books.
Italicize books you have started but couldn’t finish.
Add an asterisk* to those you have read more than once.
Underline those on your To Be Read list.

So I am going to give this one a whirl. I omitted the on the "To Be Read" category because I can't really say any of these are on my list, but left the requirement in there in case anyone wanted to steal this idea for their own.

So here's my list. I think it's pretty respectable. Most of my reading taste runs toward new fiction, and I have been in a book club for five years now, so I don't read a lot of classics.

Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell
Crime and Punishment
Catch-22
One Hundred Years of Solitude
Wuthering Heights
The Silmarillion
Life of Pi: A Novel
The Name of the Rose
Don Quixote
Moby Dick
Ulysses
Madame Bovary
The Odyssey
Pride and Prejudice
Jane Eyre
A Tale of Two Cities
The Brothers Karamazov
Guns, Germs, and Steel: the Fates of Human Societies
War and Peace
Vanity Fair
The Time Traveler’s Wife
The Iliad
Emma
The Blind Assassin
The Kite Runner
Mrs. Dalloway
Great Expectations
American Gods
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
Atlas Shrugged
Reading Lolita in Tehran
Memoirs of a Geisha
Middlesex
Quicksilver
Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West
The Canterbury Tales
The Historian
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Love in the Time of Cholera
Brave New World
The Fountainhead
Foucault’s Pendulum
Middlemarch
Frankenstein
The Count of Monte Cristo
Dracula
A Clockwork Orange
Anansi Boys
The Once and Future King
The Grapes of Wrath
The Poisonwood Bible
1984
Angels & Demons
The Inferno
The Satanic Verses
Sense and Sensibility
The Picture of Dorian Gray
Mansfield Park
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
To the Lighthouse
Tess of the D’Urbervilles
Oliver Twist
Gulliver’s Travels
Les Misérables
The Corrections
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time
Dune
The Prince
The Sound and the Fury
Angela’s Ashes
The God of Small Things
A People’s History of the United States: 1492-Present
Cryptonomicon
Neverwhere
A Confederacy of Dunces
A Short History of Nearly Everything
Dubliners
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Beloved
Slaughterhouse-Five
The Scarlet Letter
Eats, Shoots & Leaves
The Mists of Avalon
Oryx and Crake
Collapse: How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed
Cloud Atlas
The Confusion
Lolita
Persuasion
Northanger Abbey
The Catcher in the Rye
On the Road
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
Freakonomics
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
The Aeneid
Watership Down
Gravity’s Rainbow
The Hobbit
In Cold Blood
White Teeth
Treasure Island
David Copperfield
The Three Musketeers

Seven minutes in heaven

My son made out with his first girl today. I am so proud. And it wasn't even at a grade-school dance.

We had a playdate with his little friend this afternoon and as they were leaving, I told Jack to say goodbye. So in addition to his regular waving, he ran across the room humming, "mmmmmmmmmm," which means he wants a kiss.

His little friend seemed game, so when he leaned in for a smoocher, she let him. He laid one on her, full-on on the lips.



Then she leaned in and gave him a huge hug.



My friend and I were dying of the cuteness and snapped some pictures. I feel like there should have been some cheesy REO Speedwagon song playing in the background, but alas, there was no time to set a mood. Although I could always have him send her a mix tape later.

I told Jack I think she might be a little fast for him, but since we are such good friends, I will reserve judgment. I also told him to be sure to keep his options open and play the field. He doesn't want to be tied down at such a young age.

I know you're out there

Since I have provided you, my faithful readers, with stunning and engaging content for the last 27 days, I feel it's time for you, the readers, to respond.

I missed out on the big National Delurking Day when I was in France, so I am declaring this Delurking Day on Snarkymommy!

I encourage you to leave a comment, one and all. Don't be shy. I know you're out there, I see my stats. So leave a comment and a link to your blog if you have one and I will return the favor.

Feel the love, people, feel it.

Cyber Monday

So I have been reading all this business about today being the biggest online shopping day of the year. In honor of that, I am pimping my business.

See those nice little links to the right? Click those. Buy stuff!

SnarkyBabies and SnarkyMommies -- for all your holiday gift-giving needs!

Too old, too fat

So the club was... ummmmm... interesting.

I present to you, photographic evidence before we left the house!



First, we went to dinner. Because the reservation was for 9 p.m. and the bitchy pregnant lady gets crabby eating that late, Josh and I had stopped for dinner with Jack at Panera earlier in the night.

And because we didn't want to get stuck splitting a dinner bill 10 ways when we ate a salad, we didn't order anything. Cheap? No. Money-saving? Definitely. We did end up ordering a dessert to share and Josh split a bottle of wine with two other people. So we dropped $40 in at the end of the meal and everyone was happy.

Since we were going out big, I decided to rock the fur coat for the evening. I swear to God, I am so pretentious. How can anyone be so vain and this pregnant?

Anyway.

So we headed to the club. I was told we were going to a cool club. Guest list and the whole shebang. But then the plans changed slightly, and we ended up going to a club that is literally across the street from Cabrini Green, one of the most famouse housing projects in all of Chicago.

As I contemplated whether or not I would give up my fur coat in an armed robbery, we headed to the door. As we roll up on it (how ya like that lingo?!) the group of people we are with start getting asked who they are there with and do they have ID and yada yada. I walk up and say, "Morgan? Hi! I'm Leah's friend, Amy. How are you?"

Turns out I knew one of the managers and she waved us right in. That's right. The pregnant one knew the doorperson and walked right in. I am so in demand.

So we walk into this club, and I look around say to Josh, "Don't you think there are an inordinate amount of fat chicks here?" Because seriously, there were a lot of women who should not have been wearing the outfits they were wearing. There's a difference between being overweight and being a fat chick and most of the difference involves wearing skin tight clothing.

Josh agreed and his friend basically said the same thing to us about 10 seconds later while we were standing near the bar. Which lasted about 10 more seconds before roughly 17 post-college-but-still-acting-like-they're-in-a-frat boys muscle their way past me, roughing the belly.

I headed for a seat, where the guy next to me proceeds to ask me, "So, you having fun?"

I do a double-take, like seriously, is he talking to me? I respond, "I am wildly out of place here."

He says, "That's because you're wearing a big wedding ring."

I say, "And not because I am PREGNANT?" as I point to the belly.

He is now dying laughing, says he didn't even notice and has to tell his buddy because this is hilarious. I'm sorry, this is just surreal. I am the oldest person in this bar by at least seven years and I am a mom and oh my God, I just felt so old.

Then Josh gets called up to the bar to do shots by his friend, Ed. (Ed, who specifically asked for a shoutout in the blog, so Ed, here you are.) When they are up there doing shots, one of the other guys, Vinny, says something about paying and Ed tells him, "I got this round buddy" and shoves some money in his pocket. They all do Patron shots and when Vinny walks back over, he sees Ed dropped a $5 bill in his pocket. For an $80 round of shots. Hilarity ensues.

I manage to hold on until 1:15 in the morning, an hour I am usually seeing as I get up to pee in the middle of the night, when I announce to my drunky husband that I am leaving. He, however, of the Drunky McDrunkersons, doesn't want to leave and apparently wants to do more shots with fat chicks. He does put me in a cab, though, so chivalry is clearly not dead.

I arrive home 10 minutes later, wake a sleeping babysitter (Grandma) and go upstairs after telling her she is so lucky because when Josh gets home, whenever that might be, she gets to get up and let him in since he does not have his key.

Which she does. At 3-freaking-30 a.m. He then proceeds to come upstairs to bed, where he announces, "There's a 50-50 chance I am going to puke." He didn't and was asleep within 30 seconds.

So that, my friends, was my big night out. I think I may never do it again. Especially when pregnant. There's just nothing sexy about a pregnant chick dancing on a table now is there?

In da club

I am 33 years old.

I am 31 weeks pregnant.

I am on my out the door to a club. Like with a doorman and velvet rope and VIP room.

WTF?

Mo guk

The title of this post is how Jack says "more milk." Which we have heard approximately 673 times a day this past week.

Normally, when we control Jack's diet, he gets 7 ounces of milk with each meal and maaaaybe a couple of ounces after his nap. But when the grandmas are around and he turns on his woe-is-me face and drags out a good "peeeeeeaaaaaassssseeeee," he gets as much as he wants.

Couple that with not eating much solid food -- because God forbid he should eat turkey, mashed potatoes and stuffing -- he has been having some issues with the diapers. Because he's drinking so much milk, he doesn't want to eat much real food. Because he's not eating much real food, all that liquid just sits in his stomach. And that's no good at all for the diaper situation. And because his mother is an idiot, there may have been a period of time on Wednesday where he had a really poopy diaper for more than a few minutes.

So he got a god-awful diaper rash that included bright red skin and blisters. I was almost in tears because it looked so painful, but he seemed fine with it. Of course I am thinking if anyone saw this they would totally think we hadn't changed him in days and would have Child Protective Services at our door faster than you can say Pampers.

Today it is looking a little better, but I am laying the smack down. No more milk between meals and he has to start eating some solid foods. We will defeat this scourge!

Pass the stuffing

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

I have to say, I am thankful for many things this year. My family, this pregnancy, my friends and most of all, maternity pants after a big turkey dinner.

Seriously, what better time to be pregnant than on the biggest eating holiday of the year? I had seconds and two desserts and I am feeling no guilt.

As an aside, there was snow on the ground when we woke up this morning. We took Jack outside all bundled up and he didn't know what to make of it. He sort of shuffled around in the white stuff and looked confused. Which reminds me, I need to get him some boots.

Helliday travels

I have bitched about our holiday travels on many occasions, but any of you who missed it, I shall recap again today.

We live in Chicago. My family lives in Milwaukee. Josh's family lives in Peoria. Milwaukee and Peoria are separated by a 3:45 ride. Chicago is kind of in the middle, but not really, as it only takes us 90 minutes door to door to my parents' condo and about 2:45 to Josh's parents' house.

So we end up spending a good chunk of each and every holiday in the car. We can't not go to one if we go to the other and especially with the child, we just don't have the option of staying home.

The one-day holidays (Thanksgiving and Easter) we've arbitrarily made into two-day holidays in our families. We do Thanksgiving with my family on Wednesday and with Josh's family on Thursday. For Easter, we have started doing Josh's family on Saturday (and really, does a family that celebrates both Passover and Easter care that Jesus hasn't techinically risen and saved us by Saturday?) and my family on Sunday.

Christmas is split up thusly: we drive to Peoria on Christmas Eve morning and open presents with Josh's immediate family. Then we spend Christmas Eve evening with his extended family. Then we pile into the car and drive almost two-and-a-half hours to Chicago, where we spend the night and celebrate Christmas morning at our house just the three of us. Then we get in the car and drive to my parents' house, where we open presents and have dinner. Then we drive home again, where I collapse from sheer exhaustion and try to drink a bottle of wine by myself.

This year, we had the added fly in the ointment of a family wedding in Peoria the weekend before Thanksgiving. So this will be our driving log for the week:
Saturday: Amy and Josh drive to Peoria.
Sunday: Amy drives back to Chicago, Josh stays in Peoria to work in Bloomington.
Monday: Amy and Jack get ride to Milwaukee with Grandpa.
Tuesday: Josh drives back to Chicago.
Wednesday: Josh drives from Chicago to Milwaukee.
Thursday: Amy, Josh and Jack drive from Milwaukee to Peoria.
Saturday: Amy, Josh and Jack drive from Peoria to Chicago.
Monday: Josh drives to Bloomington.

Did I add that it's snowing today? And that I am doing all this car travel when I am 30 weeks pregnant? And that we're expected to do all this again in a few weeks when I am 35 weeks pregnant? Can you tell how much I love this?

Project managing my pregnancy

When it comes to labor and delivery, my mantra this time around has been, "I like to manage my births."

I am not a fan of surprises. I mean not when it comes to things like gifts or last-minute trips or something like that. But for major life events that could involve an embarassing episode of bodily fluids cascading onto the floor in a Starbucks, I like to be in control.

The added benefit of having an Incompetent Cervix is that it is, generally, not able to perform to the best of its ability. With Jack, I had my cerlcage removed at 36 weeks and immediately starting contracting and slowly dilating. I would just contract contract contract all the live-long day, but nothing in enough of a pattern to send me to the Labor and Delivery ward. By the time 38 weeks rolled around, I was dilated to 3 cm and was swollen and my blood pressure was a-rising and I was contracting and I think my OB was so sick of seeing my face that she induced.

So this time around, I have been walking around telling people I was having this baby on Jan. 22, but that my due date is Jan. 28. And they say "Oh yeah?" like "You are such a dumbass. No one can predict that." And then I lay the smack down on them that I am going to be induced and they're all, "Really? Your doctor will do that before your due date?" Of course that was before checking with my doctor, but she's cool and I figured she would let me.

At my appointment yesterday, I laid out my case. My due date just happens to be my birthday, which falls on a Monday. I am really not keen on the idea of sharing, but whatever. But my doctor is on call on Tuesdays, so I proposed we go with the Tuesday before my due date. With a husband who travels and a child at home and the incessant need to control every last detail, I like me a good induction.

My OB said as long as my cervix is favorable, and she laughed and added "And we all know how your cervix is," then we're good to go for Jan. 22. I am more nervous I won't make it that far after the cerclage is out, but I am optimistic.

We also decided my cerclage will be removed the first week of January, at the standard 36 weeks, and then the we're off to the races toward Jan. 22.

For those of you playing along at home, jan. 22 is NINE WEEKS from today. Holy shit. Nine weeks. Nine. Single-digits. I think I just threw up in my mouth. For at least three weeks, that means I will have two under 2. I need to lie down now.

So there we have it. An induction and a cerclage removal. It's starting to seem a little more real. Just in case this huge belly was not enough of an indicator.

Random stuff

So here's some random stuff from today...

* I am staying at my parents' house this week. When my mom and I came home from the store tonight, my dad was watching a "Little House on the Prairie" movie. Odd.

* Jack got his first pair of big-boy dress shoes today. Size 8. Seriously, he looks like he's 9 years old.

* I waited over an hour to see my OB today for a 5-minute appointment. That was good times. I ran out of reading material.

* The hour wait made me late getting home, preventing me from eating lunch. I also didn't have time to eat breakfast. So I ate a cereal bar at 3:30 p.m. I ate dinner at 8 p.m.

* Josh started running a fever today after being sick with this damn cold for a week. He got an antibiotic. I feel bad because he's not even at home sleeping in his own bed.

* We now have a closet in our guest room, which is soon to be Jack's room in a few weeks. I can't even tell you how excited we are to have more storage space. Outside of the closet in our bedroom, we only had one other closet in the whole house.

* Earth's Best jarred baby food is 67 cents at the Target near my parents' house. We pay 89 cents at our Whole Foods in Chicago. I am outraged. And yes, I know the price of jarred food because my son still eats baby food vegetables. It drives me insane.

My Heroes

Josh and I have just finished watching season one of "Heroes."

OH MY GOD.

If you watch already, please do not say a word about season two, as we have them all Tivoed, waiting for us.

If you don't watch already, you need to Netflix this shit pronto.

I hated the first episode. I even told Josh I didn't want to watch it and he could watch it without me. But then I was sitting in the living room surfing while he was watching the next one and one of the characters pulled me in and I was hooked.

I can't even tell you how awesome this show is. It is AMAZING. I have never watched anything like it. I have heard ominous rumblings about season two not being as good, so we are nervous. We watched episode one, and so far, it seems great.

So there's my public service announcement for the day. Watch "Heroes" because it's unreal. The end.

The one where I say nothing

We're on our way to a wedding and I was all "omg I have to blog!" So here I am moblawging from my phone.

It's hard to type on the phone y'all!

I am pretty sure we're going to be late. The whole day has been a total cluster. Swim class, a contractor at the house, a quick breakfast out, a stop at the bakery, a shower but no time for makeup, a quick packing job, hand the Jackster over to Grandma for the night, dash off to book club and then get picked up late by Josh.

I am tired just reading that.

So here I sit, jeans and a sweater, no makeup, hair needs a flatiron and we're running about 30 minutes behind an already tight schedule.

I'm sure the bride won't mind if I walk in right behind her right?

Good gravy

A few days ago, I made Jack some turkey meatballs for dinner. And by made, I mean I took frozen turkey meatballs out of the freezer and microwaved them and then mixed them in gravy. A gravy I did actually make on the stove, albeit from a mix. An organic mix.

Anyway.

So I made the gravy and put the remainder of it in the fridge for use the next time Jack had turkey meatballs. I am smart like that.

For lunch that day, I had made a can of potato and leek soup, but only ate half of it. So I put that in the fridge too. How very economical of me.

Today, I decided to eat the rest of my soup with a panini that Josh made me for lunch. So I pulled the container out of the fridge and heated it up.

You see where this is going don't you?

After taking two spoonfuls of it, I said to myself, "Self, that is some mighty salty soup. And it's a little thinner than I remember it. And ... darker."

Yes, I had just eaten gravy. Straight up gravy. With a spoon. Two heaping spoonfuls.

I am not sure that this is a sign I am pregnant and forgetful, lazy or simply a bad keeper of leftovers.

Nails on the chalkboard

When I get a pedicure, which is about every six weeks or so, I usually like to go to an upscale nail salon chain, called Nailbar. It's a fun atmosphere with lounge music, the people don't talk to you (which I hate when I get my nails done because I just want to be by myself and read a magazine or a book) and you get a really good pedicure that takes about an hour.

I define that really good pedicure as one that includes a nice foot soak in a whirlpool, a good salt scrub and a decent-length foot and leg massage with lotion. For this, I pay $50 and drive about two miles.

But there is also a nail place right across the street from our house. This nail place gives you a soak in a whirlpool, a cursory rub of some lotion on your feet and you are out the door in less than 30 minutes. For this, I pay $15 and walk across the street.

You can all guess which place Josh prefers that I frequent. But damn it, it's just not nice. They have cut me TWICE. I have bled. It hurt. And yes, this can happen anywhere, but it has not happened to me at Nailbar.

So tonight I told Josh I was going to get a pedicure and he got a huge smile on his face and said, "Across the street right?" And I felt guilty so I sighed and said yes. So I trudged down there and was able to get a mani AND a pedi for $25 -- half the price of just the pedicure at Nailbar.

Yes, it was not the "experience" I was looking for. But my nails are done for the wedding we're going to this weekend and I did get to read a book and be by myself for an hour. But, I didn't really relax or enjoy it. And isn't that half the point of getting your nails done?

Garish at any size

I had to exchange some maternity clothes this weekend, which meant I had to actually shop for and try on maternity clothes. Which, holy hell, is there anything worse?

During my pregnancy with Jack, I shopped only a couple of times before I was relegated to the bed. There was really no need for a wardrobe outside of yoga pants and T-shirts, so the two pairs of jeans and handful of tops were fine for my doctor's appointments and for the end of the line, when I had about a month to go out and enjoy myself.

This pregnancy, I got a bunch of new T-shirts, two pairs of casual cargo pants and a couple sweaters from Old Navy. I added one more pair of jeans and a dressy dress and now I have a pretty respectable maternity wardrobe.

Oh let me sing you the praises of Old Navy maternity: inexpensive, trendy and did I say inexpensive? I got short-sleeved T-shirts for $5.99 that I wear allllll the time and while I abhor going all the way downtown or to the burbs to see their selections in person, it's been worth it. My Old Navy that is four blocks away, sadly, does not carry maternity. Boo hoo for me.

So outside of Old Navy and a couple higher-end boutiques in my neighborhood, I really don't venture too much into maternity sections. But twice now, once at Motherhood and this weekend at a department store, I have perused the racks.

Holy loud prints and tenty-styles batman. There is nothing out there that is not either a large-scale geometric print or hot pink and turquoise, sometimes at the same time. I am not really sure how that is supposed to make pregnant women feel attractive or even remotely sexy, but it sure doesn't do it for me.

I tend to fall into the "form-fitting black shirt and Seven maternity jeans" uniform during pregnancy. Hell, take out the adjective "maternity" in that sentence and it sums up my whole wardrobe when I am not pregnant as well. I detest baggy maternity shirts -- you know the ones, they look like tents and make you look 10 times bigger than you actually are -- and will not wear them.

Don't even get me started about buying maternity clothes in my second pregnancy to begin with. I feel so guilty, like I am wasting money. But ... wait for it ... we're not entirely 100 percent certain that two children will be the end of the road for us. I know! Crazy high-risk pregnant woman considering a third child. Film at 11. But for now, it's just an option. Let's move on, shall we?

So this weekend really scared me. I had about five racks to choose from and I think I found four things to try on. I came away with two: a cute black cardigan and a print shirt that is allllllmost form-fitting. But it shows off the cleavage, so it will do.

But could someone please tell the mass clothing manufactures out there: less is more when you are smuggling a basketball in your stomach. No need for people to see me coming three blocks away. Just give me some neutral colors in fitted styles and we'll all be happier in the end.

Yuck

Two days ago, Jack was getting into his little pushcar to go to the park. He likes to get in and then buckle himself into the strap and yell "Goooooooo" until we open the front door and take him out.

But two days ago, the normal sequence of events took a wayward turn when he buckled the fleshy part of thumb into the buckle. Which resulted in howling and crying and much hugging and assurances from Mommy and Daddy that all would be OK.

But then he was off to the park without a second thought and everyone moved on.

Then the next morning, he got up for breakfast with Daddy while Mommy was dying from the effects of the plague. He kept showing Josh a little blister on his thumb and saying, "Yuck" and trying to get it off. Josh had to explain that it didn't come off and that it wasn't yuck.

When I came down a few minutes later, he showed me his "owie" and tried wiping it off on his pajamas. Then later he kept taking me with him to the garbage and trying to the throw the "yuck" away. This would be where I got all teary-eyed, because, my god he is so cute.

Even today he kept looking at the blister and showing it to me. He is quite concerned about it.

So apparently every time he hits another child, I should hope he hits hard enough to leave a mark and then he will be so concerned about the bruise that he will never do it again. Good plan, huh?

Again with the plague

How many times can I get sick in one year? Seriously, this is so annoying.

I have the plague again. So does Jack. Between the two of us, we went through an entire box of Kleenex yesterday. Today, I started coughing. That was after the fun of last night when I couldn't breathe lying down, making sleep impossible. Oh and I think my ear hurt today, but I am trying to pretend that didn't happen.

But soldier on, I did. I still got up with Jack. I still went to music class with him. I still went to the park. I still made and served him a dinner that he chewed and spit out instead of ingesting.

I know it sounds like I am complaining. That's because I am. I am sick of being sick and not being able to take anything for it because I am either pregnant or breastfeeding. I am pretty sure that of the last three years, I have spent approximately 28 months in a state where I could not take any over-the-counter medication. I just want some damn Nyquil so I can fall into a drug-induced sleep. Is that too much to ask?

Whole Paininmyass

As I believe I have mentioned in the past, we live three blocks from a Whole Foods, Trader Joe's and Sunflower Market. I want for nothing when it comes to organic food and to have it in walking distance is ridiculously awesome.

But the whole "no lifting anything heavier than a gallon of milk" restriction with a cerclage makes my shopping a wee more difficult. If I can't fit it in the basket under the stroller, I can't buy it. Or I have to send Josh.

Today, we needed just about everything Jack eats in a week. I knew we needed milk for me and for Josh (yes, there are three of us in this house and we all drink different milks: whole, chocolate and skim) so there was no way I could carry it all.

Since I was going to look for a new pair of maternity pants at the Gap (Ha! Hahahaha that was a great time. I came home empty-handed.) I told Josh I would just take the car to Whole Foods on the way home.

Let me set the scene for you. We live three blocks from one of the busiest retail corridors of the city. Between now and Christmas, we generally try to take the car out as little as possible on the weekends because the traffic is so hellacious. Don't even get me started on the parking at Whole Foods, which shares a 200-spot parking lot with a Best Buy. They actually have valet parking at Whole Foods between Thanksgiving and New Year's. It's INSANE.

Of course, where am I on a Sunday afternoon, when there is no Bears game on to occupy people? At a grocery store. What an idiot I am.

So I pull into the back row of the parking lot and see an open spot, which someone is blinkering toward from the front of the spot, and a guy going to the car right next to it, which I blinker toward from behind. So two cars (on the same side of the row), two blinkers and two spots.

Of course, some asshat in a Jetta comes the opposite way down the row and turns into the empty spot. OH NO YOU DIDN'T. And seriously, people still drive Jettas?

I gesture wildly, in effect communicating, "Get the hell out of there, that is so NOT your spot." He smirks and waves and the people in front, who actually have dibs on that spot, just get pissed and drive on. But I roll down the window.

"Dude, I was here first, and that is not even the spot I was taking. It's for that guy up there. That is so not your spot."

Smirky Driver says, "Calm down. There's two spots."

Me: "Right, and two people waiting. Neither of which was you. Move."

So he pulls out. And his girlfriend decides to get in on the act and inform me I should just "calm down" while gesticulating with her manicured hand. Smirky Driver rolls up his window and away they go.

So yes, I won the parking battle. And it felt damn good. Then, on the way back to my car after shopping, I nudged a Porsche with my cart by accident. I am not sure what kind of karmic message that is, but insert your own interpretation here.

You put your right arm in...

Guess who came to live at my house two weeks ago? Why it was Hokey Pokey Elmo!

Now if you know me, or at least knew me in my pre-child life, you would be familiar with the fact I detest the Hokey Pokey. It was outlawed at my wedding, naturally.( I can't even tell you how tacky I find that when done at weddings, which reminds me of the Dollar Dance, and it's equal horror in my mind, but that is another post.)

But Jack, he loves him some Elmo. And he now loves him some Hokey Pokey. And he can get us all to do it with him any time he wants now. I do respond to his commands, it is sad.

I present to you, my son in all his glory:

Jack wins by KO

Could his noggin be any harder?

This morning, after returning from my doctor appointment (more on that in a minute), I was sitting on the couch with Jack and Josh. Jack was talking on the phone to Grandma and kept trying to slide the keyboard out on the phone. Apparently he wanted to text her instead.

The problem with sliding the keyboard out is that he is able to activate the screen, which then enables him to hang the phone up. As Grandmas don't generally like to be hung up on, we try to discourage that little trick.

And know that by discourage, I mean "take the phone away" from his hot little hands. Which results in screaming and tears and tantrums the likes of which you have never experienced.

Today's little fit resulted in him throwing his head back with the force of an atom bomb. Into my eye socket. I saw stars -- literally. I ran from the room, clutching my head and sat down on the kitchen floor, where I actually shed tears.

That shit hurts!

Jack ran over and tried to pull my hands off my face, and then when I finally looked at him, telling him he hurt Mommy and that she was sad, he hit me and laughed. That's right kid, kick me when I'm down.

So now I have a knot on my eyebrow bone and a headache. Jack, of course, was rubbing the back of his head for like a milisecond and then was off to the next adventure.

After that we settled down and I showed him my "owies" from the doctor's office. My OB gives the pediatric flu shot to pregnant patients, since that is the thermerisol-free one, so adults get two shots: one in each arm muscle. I showed Jack my bandaids, but lamented that Mommy did not get an Elmo sticker for her bravery. He pulled my sleeve down and didn't want to look at it anymore. Great bedside manner on this kid.

But everything looked great at the doctor. She said my cervix is closed, but short, but no shorter than it was on Monday, so we're still calling it 1.5 cm. I am free to roam about the cabin, she just said to sit down or lie down if I start having contractions again.

And HA! I lost 3 pounds this month, which I didn't really, but it all balanced out. Last month I went in right after my hospital stay and all the IV fluids they had given me were apparently still floating around in there. They tried to tell me I gained 11 pounds that month, which I disputed vehemently. So losing 3 pounds this month really puts me at 8 pounds over two months, which is what I figured. So for those playing at home, I have gained a grand total of 21 pounds in seven months, which puts me on track to gain exactly what I did with Jack.

My twice-monthly appointments start now, continue for the next two months, and then right after Christmas, I go weekly. Which scares the living hell out of me because here is the progression: Thanksgiving is in two weeks; Christmas is a month after that; my stitch comes out the first week of January and then HOLY SHIT we're having another kid. See how quick that comes up? It's like boom, it's Christmas and we're having a baby.

Excuse me while I go hide under the bed now.

Work-at-home dad

Many moons ago, when I was first pregnant this summer, I might have mentioned that Josh was traveling for work four nights a week. Five hours away. I think I mentioned it probably more than a few times, as it was the worst thing that ever happened to me.

Perhaps that sounds a bit melodramatic. But I was so so so sick all the time and here I was with a toddler all by myself and the days stretched on endlessly as I swung from dibilitating nausea to extreme exhaustion.

I clearly remember days where I was convinced I would not make it to Jack's bedtime. My mom would come to help overnight one day a week, which oh my God, thank you baby jesus. But other than that? Shitty times.

Well the week after Labor Day, Josh called me very early in the morning. It was 7:45 a.m. and I had to get up to answer the phone and who the hell would call that early? It was Josh, telling me his role on the project was done. Effective the end of that week.

By the end of that week, he had already had his next project lined up, and it was set to start a few weeks after that. Since we were going on vacation at the end of September, it was perfect timing. He did a bunch of training from home and wasn't I excited to have my husband around so I could ask him to do things like scrub the floor and change diapers! And of course, Jack was thrilled Daddy could take him to the park before dinner every night.

Well the few weeks stretched into more than a few and while the new project is just awaiting contactual signatures, he remains here, working at home. Which has been more than convenient this week with my ass on the couch.

Let me take this opportunity to publicly thank my husband for all he does. I know I don't tell him enough, but he is an awesome dad and husband. He's been lifting Jack and changing diapers and feeding some meals and taking park duty and playing legos like a champ. Of course, his expertise on all the parenting things I should be doing is appreciated (I am rolling my eyes so hard right now they might pop out of the back of my head) but he really is awesome.

So they are saying next week, he'll probably maybe perhaps be working away from home again. You'll never guess where! Bloomington! It's like deja vu and the last seven months have never happened and he's never left his project there. I'm still not jumping up and down about him traveling, but at least he's only two hours away instead of five and he can be here in a flash when needed.

But I sure will miss having him around all day. Who will make me paninis now?

Rest for the weary uterus

NaBloPoMo should really be called NaPoAboMyUteMo on snarkymommy.com because apparently I am just going to talk about my uterus every day.

Last night, after having a whopping three contractions in 20 minutes after leaving dinner, I broke down and called my OB. She was the one on call, so she personally returned my call and said she didn't think I needed to come in to Labor and Delivery since I was just seen on Monday. Hooray!

But she was slightly troubled by my three days of contractions and did say she wanted to see me on Friday and that I should "stay off my feet" until then. Which seemed pretty reasonable, considering when I stand up, I have a contraction. Or 20.

So I laid on the couch today. I slothfully drove the five blocks to Jack's play class and sat watching from the sidelines as Grandma chased him around. Then I came home and returned to the couch.

I am not calling it bedrest. I am just viewing it as lying around. Jack toddles over to play every few minutes. It's all very laid back.

So. Staying off my feet. Not contracting. BUT IT'S NOT BEDREST. No bed here. Carry on. Move along. Nothing to see here.

Contractual obligation

So hey, remember yesterday when I said I was still having contractions? And the day before that too? Yeah, still enjoying them today. It's like the gift that won't stop giving.

If I sit down or lie down, my uterus is at peace with the world. The second I stand up, I contract. Last night, I went on a date with Josh. Of course, my irritable uterus had to butt in and come along as well. God, it's such a third wheel.

We walked about four blocks to our dinner destination -- mmm Mexican food -- and then took the El downtown, walked another three blocks and sat down to see "American Gangster." Which was awesome. Go see it. Really.

I had about 20-25 contractions on the five hours we were gone. Most of them while I was walking in an upright fashion. (As opposed to walking on all fours? God sometimes I sound stupid. Moving on.)

I refused to call my doctor, however. I know these are just annoying Braxton Hicks and I know if I lie down and drink water, they will fade for a while. So ignoring my husband, who kept saying I should just CALL already, I laid down and drank water. Three contractions and 45 minutes later, I was asleep. I woke a few times during the night -- you guessed it, contracting -- and by this morning they were mostly gone.

Except when I stood up to make breakfast for Jack. Or walk over to the little reading corner to read a book to Jack. Or quickly moved to the kitchen as little arms threw toys and a cell phone into the sink.

This afternoon I have sat on my ass and only had about three total. two of which came when I was standing up. I am sensing a trend here. One I don't really want to see, so I am ignoring all the statistical data screaming "bedrest you fool, you clearly need bedrest" and also ignoring my mother, who is saying the same thing.

My 28-week update

Holy shit, I am in my third trimester. How did that happen?

I had an ultrasound this morning, which went just swimmingly. Baby2 weighs 2 lbs 10 oz and is measuring three days ahead. She's head down, low in the pelvis, which is contributing to all my nice Braxton Hicks contractions. And yes, they are continuing. Let's not speak of them.

Baby2 is looking great. My cerclage is looking great. Cervix is looking great, although down slightly from 2.0 cm below the stitch to about 1.5 cm. But my peri is not concerned at all and the ultrasound showed no signs of funneling, which is awesome.

Apparently, my incompetency is non-existent this pregnancy. Yay me.

We had discussed the possibility of my lifting restriction being lifted at 28 weeks, but my doctor said Jack and his 30 pounds of mass is a pretty significant weight to be placing on the wee stitch and I should hold off for at least a few more weeks.

I had previously dismissed the Granny Nannies from their duties, but now will have to reinstate them. I am also not allowed to resume my housework duties, so Josh will have to soldier on scrubbing the floors and vacuuming. Damn, I was really looking forward to that too.

I hate you daylight savings

Dear Daylight Savings Time,

I hate you.

It's not me, it's you. There is no way we can work this out. I'm so over you.

Sincerely,
Amy

**************************

I abhor this clock-switching business. Last spring, I was so smug. Ha! The clocks are springing ahead! My child will be fooled and will sleep until 8 a.m. and I will sleep the sleep of queens and the princess and the pea!

Oh but no. He woke up at the same damn time, not even acknowledging the fact the clocks had switched. I felt cheated. It was such a letdown.

Of course this time around, I knew it would be even worse since we were setting the clocks back an hour.

Last night we put the Jackster to bed at 8 p.m. That's a full hour later than normal. He had also taken a much later nap because of some problem falling asleep, so we were thinking maybe we beat the system.

You know what time I heard the crib soother this morning? That would be 5-it's-way-too-freaking-early a.m. I listened to babbling and singing a short bursts of silence until 7 a.m., when I finally dragged my ass out of bed and staggered into his room.

Because I am an idiot and realized a half-hour before lunchtime today that I needed to make a Whole Foods run, his nap was an hour later than normal, but with the time change it was really two hours later and oh my holy hell, all this thinking about what time it is and what time it would have been yesterday makes my head hurt.

Also, it is making me have Braxton Hicks contractions. Well, not entirely true. It's not all the thinking, it's the lack of water I would imagine. So I shall go lie down now and drink some water and think about how great it will be in a week when everyone forgets what time it could be and instead just thinks about what time it actually is.

Why yes, he's fluent

Today Josh and I attended a preschool informational fair.

Oh my sweet lord. Our child is not even 2 years old, and there were were, standing in line with our e-tickets and IDENTIFICATION. Yes, you had to show ID to get in. One person per e-ticket. One e-ticket per account member. Do not even think about sneaking in any contraband parents who are not members of the super-secret society of parents that sponsor the fair.

Note of disclosure, I resisted joining this society, because it costs $40 per year and hot damn, I was not paying anyone $40 per year to read message boards and set up play dates. Except then I heard they had a preschool fair every fall and all the cool parents were going and I of course wanted to be like the cool kids, so about five seconds later, they had my AmEx number and I had an e-ticket in my hot little hand.

They told us we had a one-hour slot. There would be more than 1,000 parents attending, they told us via e-mail, so we were to be on time. I am not sure what they planned to do once the clock struck 1 p.m. -- beat us all about the head with pamphlets and herd us out of the fieldhouse? But I was too scared to find out.

So at the appointed noon hour (OK, we were 15 minutes late, but for God's sake, we had to drive all the way north in traffic and it was Saturday and have you SEEN Lincoln Park traffic on the weekends?) we arrived and waited in line to speak with all the nice preschool representatives.

While we were waiting, there was a booth about learning Chinese. Our child, that is, not us. DVDs and books and pictures of multi-ethnic children grinning from ear to ear decorated the booth. I snorted, because, well the notion of teaching Jack Chinese when he refuses to even say two-syllable words in English seemed just ridiculous.

So the woman asks would we like our child to learn Chinese and Josh responds, "No thanks, he mastered that last month. This month we've moved on to Portugese."

Road trip! With a child!

Today we are embarking on a four-hour, one-night trip to see our friends in Bloomington, IN. With an almost-two-year-old ball of energy.

I am not sure yet if this is a good idea. I will let you know in, oh, about four hours.

This is the longest we have ever spent in the car with him. Sure, we've taken him on an eight-hour plane ride and a three-hour train ride, but that was with other people. This is just the three of us.

We're taking snacks and milk and toys and books. I think we have Elmo on the computer for cases of extreme emergency.

What constitutes an Elmo Emergency, I am not sure. But I will know it when I see it, that's for sure.

I also have some grave reservations because our friends are the proud new parents of a seven-week old boy. And we all know how Jack likes him some target practice.

In his defense, I should say he has not hit any babies in quite some time. Just this week we had a playdate with a friend and her three-month-old little girl and he was quite fine with it.

I am actually glad he'll get some practice hanging out with a wee baby. Maybe the shock to his system won't be quite as profound come January.

Yeah, right.

Happy Halloween

Nemo collected an absurd amount of candy for a child who does not eat candy. But he was so cute, who could resist?




There were even two houses on our route, right around the corner, that were giving out full-size candy bars! Full-size! A neighbor told us that after we were done for the night, there were even some houses giving out beer and wine to the grownup trick or treaters. I love Lincoln Park. Mansions, Bugaboo strollers, $17,000-a-year preschools, Starbucks every two blocks and full-size candy bars and beer on Halloween. I am never moving.

Notice in the second picture, the kid behind me IS AS TALL AS ME. And he was trick or treating. I really think that's a bit much.

But not as much as the kid who marched up next to us at a house around the corner and held out his school backpack. The homeowner said he wanted to know where his costume was, because he was not giving candy to kids without costumes. The kid, without missing a beat, replied, "I am a black gangster." He was dressed in black sweats and pretty much looked like he probably did at school all day. I would say he was about 13 years old.

He did get his candy, incidentally.

But that was not the best part of Halloween 2007. Oh ho know.

We left with Jack about 4:30 p.m. But I didn't want to not leave any candy for the kids who stopped by while we are gone. So being Dorothy from Kansas, I assumed that leaving a bowl of candy out on the porch with a note saying "Please take one!" would be sufficient. Plus, I reasoned, if people took more than one, then they clearly needed that candy more than someone else. So I left two bags worth of candy in the bowl and off we went. I have lived in this city for nine years, I didn't grow up on farm either. I grew up in a fairly big city. You would think I would know better.

Please let me note, we live on a busy street. Lots of foot traffic.

We come home an hour later, and not only is all the candy gone, BUT SO IS THE BOWL. Now come on, that's just shitty. Who steals the bowl? Like no one noticed a kid carrying a heaping bowl of candy down a busy street in broad daylight? And for god's sake, where was this kid's parent?

So yeah, Happy freaking Halloween. I hope that kid's teeth rot from all the Snickers and Skittles in there.