Fork you

If you would have been at art class with us last week, you would have found me laughing while my son screamed "FUCK! FUCK!" at the top of his lungs. Of course, everyone knows that translates to "Fork! Fork!"

Because one time, a few weeks ago, we painted quills on a picture of a porcupine with forks. Hence, we should paint with forks every time. And if you can't pronounce fork, and the way you pronouce it sounds exactly like a highly objectionable word, well that makes you wildly popular at art class.

You would also have seen me laughing later that morning as he screamed C*O*C*K at the top of his lungs in the Costco parking lot. Of course, everyone knows that translates to Cart.

This is the part of 2 years old that I find so awesome. When else can you scream obscenities at the top of your lungs and make your mother laugh like a 12-year-old boy?

Perhaps this is why we didn't get in to preschool.

We're so over before we begin

Last month, I toured the preschool we were interested in having our preeeeeshussssss, gifted, funny, empathetic, well-behaved toddler attend next fall. I would have toured two schools, but the day before the original tours my water broke and I wasn't able to hobble on down there the day after I pushed kid No. 2 out, so I had to reschedule and only one school could accomodate me.

Anyway.

So I toured the school, with its wee tables and chairs and its water tables and its toddler-sized toilets and I came home weeping because I had found the perfect place to send my child to school. I wanted to volunteer on every committee. I wanted to bring snacks for everyone. I wanted to gossip with the other moms at dropoff and pickup.

However, (pregnant pause) as at all preschools in our area, there was a lottery to get in. There were 20 total spots and they gave automatic admission to siblings and legacies. They had already filled those spots when I toured, so they knew they only had 10 spots available for the lottery. They alternate boy/girl when they choose, to balance out the classrooms, so that made it harder. Add in that they said they have six applicants for each of the 20 spots (that are now down to 10) and I realized we were going to be shit out of luck.

I told Josh that if he found me lying on the sidewalk outside in a few weeks, it would be because I had thrown myself out the window because my child could not attend this perfect preschool. One of only two in our area that take kids at 2 1/2 and cost less than $8,000 for two hours two days per week. (For those locals wondering, we applied to two Co-ops, both in Lincoln Park. Both have the word "Park" in the name. You can make your assumptions, but I am not naming names.)

Last week, we found out Jack was waitlisted at our second choice. They sent a letter saying he was 13th on the list. They might as well have said "You have no chance in hell of getting in here, but thanks for your $30 'application fee' and we'll see you at the playground suckas." But I could still hold out hope for the Uberpreschool.

I knew this was the week they were announcing the picks. Every time I came home and there was a message on the machine, my heart would leap. I might or might not have picked up the phone a few times, just to check and make sure it was working. (What am in seventh grade, waiting for Chad S. to call? Yes, I am 13 years old.)

Today, my friend called to say they got their letter from the oh-so-coveted pretty pretty preschool. They were waitlisted. I knew then that we didn't get in, so I was at least hoping for a good spot on the list. You know, like No. 1.

I had to wait until I was able to dislodge a nursing baby from the boob to run out to the mailbox. And sure as shit, there was my letter. I ran in the house and ripped it open.

18. He was No. 18.

I fell to the ground in a little puddle, hugging my knees to my chest, chanting, "He's doomed! He's doomed! He'll never get into a good college now." OK maybe I just swore under my breath and then called my friend to give her our results. You can believe whichever you want.

Again, I see them thanking me for the $30 application fee. Perhaps the membership committee was able to use it to buy margaritas while they were running the lottery picks. I certainly hope they got the Cuervo Gold if that's the case.

So now I have NO hope of time to myself next year. Wait, I mean no hope of my child learning creative play and the benefits of sharing and how to paint at an easel. Not that I would have gotten time to myself with the small one at home. But I did have visions of taking her to her very own baby classes and spending some quality one-on-one time with her. Or at least surfing the Internet with only one kid hanging on my leg.

Jack the Ripper

I love to read. I am one of those people who keeps a stack of books by my bedside on the table and looks forward to starting a new one as soon as the current one is finished. I started a book club that is still going strong five years later and I can't imagine what it would be like to have to sit on an airplane without a good book.

So it should come as no surprise that I hope my kids are big readers too. Josh, well he's not so much into reading books. But he does read a lot online so that should count for something. But I am just suspicious of anyone who claims he would rather make shirts in his free time than read a book. I'm just sayin'.

Jack is very lucky in that he has a ridiculously large library of books. I would estimate he has about 50 books in two little bins downstairs and another 30 or so upstairs. The downstairs books are 99% board books and the ones upstairs are all nice paper-page books, hence the reason we don't leave them downstairs where he could wreck them willy nilly.

It's a good thing we decided to divvy them up that way early on, or he would have nothing left in the paper-page variety. You see my son, he is a book ripper.

This problem manifested itself early on. From the time he was about a year old, he would go to his little book corner and sit down in his little blue chair and take a paper-page book and start to look at it and then just tear a page. I would admonish him that we don't rip books, take it away and we would move on.

But this past summer he started to get a little stronger and a lot bolder. He ruined an entire set of the most adorable miniature farm animal board books by breaking the bindings and then ripping the pages apart. He moved on to other larger board books after that and now nothing is safe in this house.

I tell him every time that we don't rip books and then try to redirect him or show him a different more indestuctable book, but it's like he takes some perverse pleasure in breaking my heart by destroying books. I hear the telltale ripping sound from the kitchen and I know it's too late by that point to save it. He then looks at me and says, "Tape?" As if tape could fix this board-book debacle. He has also tried to ask me to "Tie?" it back together. No dice, defacer.

I thought this behavior was normal toddler stuff until we were at a playdate with our friends and she had paper-page books all over the place and I said, "Wait, how do you get her to not rip them?" and my friend looked at me like I was speaking in tongues.

He even ripped a board book from the library last month. You can't just hide that in the book drop. They notice these things. So I am sorry Lincoln Park Library and anyone who checks out "My First Book of Sushi" after us. I am not sure what happened to the page with "tekka maki" on it, but I think it might have met an untimely demise in my garbage can.

Best in show

Again with the pictures of my kids. I am shameless.



(Good God, Emmie's only 10 weeks old, how does she look so big already?)

Hoppy Easter!

For once, we spent a holiday in our own house and there was no driving of any kind involved! Josh's family came to our house for Easter brunch this year and my family isn't celebrating until two weeks from now because my sister went on vacation. So Jack looked for eggs and baskets and Emmie just watched from her swing. It was a delightful and laidback day. I even made quiche! From scratch! All-organic! I am awesome. And fat. But there was spinach in it, so that made it healthy right?

Anyway, I couldn't resist the picture. Jack made some ears and a tail in his art class and loves to wear them and Emmie is too little to stop me from doing these embarassing things yet.

All sewn up

The surgery was a success and Miss Emily is now the proud owner of two sewn-up hernias. Never one to do anything half-assed, I am glad to see her following in my footsteps and going for broke. The fact they explored the other side and found a hernia means we would have had to undergo another surgery at some point in the future, so it was great to get it out of the way now.

When the nurse called yesterday, she told me Emmie couldn't eat after 2 a.m. So we woke her up and fed her and she went right back to sleep until we woke her again at 5:45 a.m. to leave. We arrived at the hospital at 6 a.m., shockingly on time for us, and they got us settled into a nice little pre-op room.

Emmie was a little fussy, perhaps because she hadn't eaten in four hours and was really freaking hungry, but Josh got her to go back to sleep with the pacifier. That is, after she stared at the lights for a while. The lights, they are mesmerizing.


Unlike most, Emmie sees a bright white light BEFORE her surgery, not during it.

The surgeon came in to see us at 7:15 a.m., still in her coat and regular clothes, and said they would be ready to go in 15 minutes. Well then. I guess it's too late to take her and run down the hall, was my thought.

An anesthesiologist came in around 7:20 a.m. to chat with us about what they would be doing to our two-month-old to render her unconscious. She told us about the gas that would put her to sleep and then about inserting the IV and the breathing tube. And then she started talking about three different options for post-surgical pain relief and I was nodding my head and trying look knowledgeable about such things. Then she looked at me and said, "So which would you prefer?"

I'm sorry, what? I have to choose? No one told me there would be choosing! I didn't do any research! My God, I can't buy a potty training chair without reading the Amazon reviews and now they want me to choose a pain medication on their word? The choices, for those wondering, were IV meds, local shots at the site of the incisions or a caudal block. The block is kind of like an epidural, but the meds are inserted into a space below the spine and doesn't affect muscle strength, but causes one's legs to be somewhat jello-like.

Of course I look at Josh and he says he didn't know so I asked the anesthesiologist what she would do if it was her child and she said the caudal block without any hesitation. So caudal block it was! She might as well get used to the old needles in the back now, if she ever wants to give birth.

With that decision made, the nurse came and said they were ready and that she would just carry Emmie instead of rolling her in the little bed/crib. I kissed her sleeping head and watched them take my sweet little fragile baby girl out the door. I could see her little leg in her fuzzy jammies as they walked away and there were tears in my eyes as I wondered why I let these strangers put her to sleep and CUT OPEN HER BODY.

They shooed us to the waiting room where we were admonished "NO EATING! NO BEVERAGES! YOU CAN EAT ACROSS THE HALL." and we waited about five minutes before I was hungry. So I went downstairs and got a delightful egg and cheese croissant and a smoothie and brought them back to the food-approved area. My grief over the abandonmwent of my small child was apparently not so great as my need to stuff my face with greasy fare.

A mere 55 minutes after they took her away, the surgeon was standing in front of us telling us it was over and that Emmie did great and was fine and that they sewed up both sides. Two seconds after she walked out, they said we could go back to the recovery room.

When we walked in, she was wrapped in warm blankets on the bed and was barely awake. She looked at me through her slitty eyes and I kissed her and talked to her and she was so excited to see me that she fell asleep. But I was able to hold her right away and while she wasn't interested in nursing right then, she did eat about a half-hour after that. So with food in her belly, and not all over me or herself or the bed, they moved her to a post-op room.

She chilled there for a while, well chilled is the wrong word since she had a slight temperature, and ate again. With her temperature back down to normal after unwrapping her from the warm blankets, we were pronounced worthy of going home and sprung from that joint.

We were home at 10:15 a.m., and Emmie immediately pooped right through her diaper and onesie. So yep, she was feeling and acting like her normal self.

She's been sleeping most of the day, which they said to expect, and doesn't seem to be in any pain. So thankfully, this is behind us and we won't have to undergo anymore surgeries.


After the surgery, Emmie says hospital food is bad.

Busy couple of days

We've had a busy couple of days around here, but it's about to get even more stressful as Emmie is having her surgery tomorrow morning.

We met with the two surgeons on Tuesday and while we liked them both, decided ultimately to go with the woman doctor, who is the head of pediatric surgery at the Children's Hospital here. She was awesomely nice and knowledgable and was able to schedule us for Friday. So tomorrow it is.

We have to be there at 6 a.m. for the 7:30 a.m. procedure and she'll be away from us for about an hour. They said it will be about 20 minutes for the anesthesia and then 20 minutes to sew up each side. They do bith sides in girls right away because the possibility of having a hernia on the other side is pretty high and they don't want to have to perform another surgery in a few months if it pops up. They'll make a small incision on each side, just below the fatty crease in her lower abdomen and she likley won't even be able to see the scar when she's older.

I won't be able to feed her after 2 a.m., but she'll be able to eat as soon as she wakes up. They told us they will need to observe her for a few hours and then we'll be able to go home. They said she might be a little fussy for 12-24 hours and then after that, we probably won't even know she had surgery. You know, other than the vision of them carrying my little girl away from me that will be forever burned into my brain.

So wish us luck. I don't think we'll be live-blogging this medical event, but I will post an update when we're home. I know my post doesn't reflect it, but I really am feeling as positive as one can about a surgical procedure. I know she's in good hands and I know it will all be fine.

No scratching here

Today is St. Patrick's Day, and with me and the children being Irish, we're celebrating by wearing green and shamrocks. Josh, not so much with the Irish and since he left at the unGodly hour of 6:45 a.m., I couldn't tell you what he was wearing.


Hello, two children are impossible to corral at the same time

So I am wearing green. The kids are wearing shamrocks. Well, actually, Emmie was wearing shamrocks and then she pooped out the back of the onesie and I had to wash the outfit and dry it and dress her all over again just to get that picture. That is commitment people!

But there's another kind of commitment we're celebrating today. On this very day, seven years ago, I met Josh at a bar called Sheffields. I wouldn't call it love at first sight -- I refused to even give him my home phone number, instead proferring my business card. My sister even deleted his number out of my cell phone in the cab on the way home. But he e-mailed me a picture he took of us that night the next week. And I was all "Hey, that random guy from the bar e-mailed me. And he's cute!"

I was coming off a bad breakup where the guy's previous girlfriend DIED. As in I was the first girl he dated, two years later. How you like them apples? It was doomed. But clearly, it was not meant to be. And because things happen for reasons, I was crying in the bar bathroom over Dead Girlfriend Guy and came out only to bump into Josh. He had a glow-in-the-dark shamrock button and I wanted it so my sister told him he should give it to me. After one of my first questions to him was "So what do you do?" -- he still maintains that was a snotty question -- we chatted awhile and then he left. Without even saying goodbye.

Fast forward seven years. Here we are, happily married with two beautiful children. I still don't know what he does, and he still thinks I am snotty sometimes.

I'm not scratching any seven-year itch and I am so glad he is in my life. He works hard and travels, which while I bitch and moan about it all the time, allows me to stay at home with the kids. Our lifestyle is only possible because of all the hard work he does, and I know I don't say thank you to him enough.

He buys me flowers and drives out of his way in the cold to get me Dairy Queen mint oreo blizzards. He is a great father and always knows what's wrong with my computer and how to fix it. He does little things like showing me shortcuts in Photoshop and setting up a page just for all the blogs I read every day in Google. He rubs my back, sometimes even without me asking, and holds my hand when doctors are digging stitches out of my cervix. He plans our awesome vacations and finds the best deals on stuff and always, ALWAYS reminds me that you can get it cheaper online. He is caring, generous, funny, smart and oh-so-devastatingly handsome. Although his T-shirts do look a little small ... I wonder who put those in the dryer?

I am so thankful today that I had to wash the tears off my face in that bar. I look at my husband and my children and I know it all happened for a reason. The luck of the Irish was surely with me that St. Patrick's Day.

Emmie: Two months

Dear Emmie,

It's been two months since you joined our family, little girl, and I'm still amazed at how much you change each and every day.


Emmie, two months old

This last month you really woke up. You are so much more alert, looking around and smiling all the time. You first smiled at about five and half weeks, but then you were shy about showing off those two dimples for the next two weeks. But just in the last two weeks, you have started smiling and lighting up the room multiple times a day. You'd think Daddy and I had never seen a baby smile before with the way we react and stage photo shoots whenever you grace us with those gummy grins.

This past week you also realized you have a big brother. You react to the sound of his voice now and try to turn your head to where it is coming from. I laughed out loud today when he was babbling at naptime and you could hear his voice over the monitor and you kept moving your head like, "I hear him, but where the heck IS he?" But you smile at him and watch him run around and generally are quite interested in what he is doing. He's pretty interested in you now, too. He covers you with kisses and hugs, most of the time unbidden by your father or me. He loves you, but it's a kind of tough love, as he still gets in a whack on your head now and then.



We took you for your two-month doctor appointment last week and learned you are pretty much a giant. You measured a whopping 24.25 inches, which means you are taller than 95 percent of all the other 2-month-old girls out there. Of course you came in at the 25th percentile in weight at 9lbs 14 oz, so all your clothes that fit you in the legs fall right off your little hips. Somehow you still fit into some of your newborn clothes, so you don't look like a total dork with suspenders holding your pants up.

We also found out that you will probably need surgery to correct a hernia. I noticed a bump one night when I was changing your diaper and it came and went over a few days, so I took you in to the doctor. He recommended we see a pediatric surgeon, so we'll take care of that this week. They say it should be a routine procedure, but there's nothing routine about it for us or you.



Your sleeping has changed a little over the last month. You aren't sleeping as long in your overnight stretches (now it's more like four hours instead of six) but you have made some progress in sleeping in your bassinette. Now you can at least start the night there before I bring you in bed to feed you. Then you eat on and off every few hours until we get up for the day. It's not ideal, but it works and everyone gets a little more sleep that way. And we're all about the sleep in this house. Apparently, you are as well, because you're still sleeping most of the day. But then you decide it's time to be awake just about the time Mommy is thinking about hitting the sack. Your longest awake time is usually from 8-11:30 p.m. -- or later. That makes for a very tired Mommy when Daddy is out of town working. Hopefully this month we can work on adjusting that.

The breastfeeding is going great. You have improved your latch significantly and have mastered the art of eating while lying down. That makes Mommy very happy as now I can pretty much feed you and sleep, which makes those early-morning feedings a lot easier on everyone. Especially since they seem to happen at 3 a.m., 4 a.m., 6 a.m. and 7 a.m. every day. But you still find the boob to be soothing, since you fall asleep at every feeding. You would think it would make it easy to get you into a deep sleep, but usually it just means you take a short catnap and then you're awake again, raring to go.



You're also still rocking the mullet you have had since birth. There is a patch of hair on the back of your head that is much longer than anywhere on the rest of your head and Daddy recently remarked that is why you are a little fussy at night -- you want Mommy to shave your mullet off. The jury is still out on how it's going to look if the rest of your hair doesn't start growing soon, so the shaver might have to make an appearance sooner rather than later.

But I'm sure you won't care either way. You are still such a laidback baby. You get schlepped around on errands and to Jack's various classes and playdates and you are just so content to sleep in the stroller or your carseat. We took you on your first airplane ride this month, all the way to Phoenix for a nice family vacation. You slept the entire way there and back, and were great about all the moving around and strange environments.

You're like your Daddy that way -- you just go with the flow and don't let things get you upset. It's fitting you should have his temperment since just about everyone, including me, thinks you look just like him. I look at you sleeping with your fist next to your face (the position you favored even during most of your ultrasounds, ironically) and you look just like him. But when you smile, I don't know who you look like. I can't see past those dimples -- seriously, the dimples are just killer -- and your eyes light up and I can see the delight in your whole face. Between that smile and your still-blue eyes, I think you're going to have a long line of suitors at our door.



Emmie there are times where I look at you and the love overwhelms me. You are so small and depend on me for everything and I am trying hard to do a good job for you. Sometimes, in the middle of the night when I hear you waking up, I look over and see you lying next to me and I smile. There you are, looking at me as if to say, "Hi! Let's play!" And even at 3 in the morning, it's all worthwhile. All the needles in my back and months of restrictions and the labor and the sleepless nights -- I have a daughter. You made it all worthwhile. You have changed me forever, for the better.

Love,
Mommy

Now I am THAT Mommy

Today I took Jack and Emmie to the park, as I have several times recently. It's been so nice the last few days and we try to get them outside in the morning and the afternoon for the fresh air. Jack runs around like a maniac and Emmie is happy to sleep in the stroller or the sling. Win-win for everyone.

Until today.

Today, I was playing with Jack on the equipment, trying to make sure he didn't fall off the 5-foot-high rock wall (seriously, who builds these death traps?) when I noticed two moms peeking into my stroller.

How nice, I thought. They must be taking a look at the cute new baby.

Except then I noticed they were looking around. And asking nearby women something, only to have those women shake their heads nervously.

Then it finally hit me -- holy shit, that baby must be crying. And that baby would belong to ... me. Me, the Mommy 15 feet away who is ignoring it.

I rushed over to the stroller and as I got closer, I could hear her cries. Now she wasn't hysterical or anything, but she was certainly not pleased. And the two moms were shooting looks of death at me and I said, "Yes, she's mine. I thought I would hear her, but obviously not." I followed up with a lighthearted, "I'm the bad Mommy!" and a sickly smile and the one mom walked away and the other stared at me and said, "Well, we didn't know what to do."

Come on now. I was 15 FEET away from the stroller. I could see it the entire time. In fact, that's how I knew they were looking in the stroller in the first place. I guess I didn't anticipate the sound would not carry in my direction. Well, that and the fact I didn't think she would wake up and cry.

So I came home to tell my caring, sensitive-to-my feelings husband what happened. I started to get a little upset when I was telling him what happened and how shitty I felt. Only to have him reply, "What were you thinking? You should NEVER leave her alone in the stroller. I would never have done that."

Wow, apparently superparent extraordinaire has 50 hands and eyes in the back of his head and supersonic hearing, rendering him much more capable than I of supervising our children at the park.

This after he announced he would do his own wash earlier this week because he was annoyed I was putting his T-shirts in the dryer. You can add laundry to the list of things in which he excels.

So please hold your applause when they announce the winner of the 2008 Bad Mommy Award. I will have a speech all ready, but I am sure they will cue the music and cut me off. It will have something to do with the best of intentions and the pavement on the road to hell.

Happy anniversary to me!

Longtime readers will remember it was last year, on this very lucky 13th day of March, that I was released from my duties in the professional realm. My God, it's been a great year!

We started our own business and built it up to the point we have more than replaced my salary. Yes, you read that right. And I salute my former job with a big middle finger on that one. I have gone forth and prospered and it is fabulous.

Going Krazee

I should not be left home alone when there are home improvement projects to be done. Case in point, I superglued my entire left hand to itself this afternoon.

Because I was still on one-child duty today, I figured I would get some more things done around the house. Thanks to the four shots Emmie received yesterday, she slept most of the day. When I say most of the day, I mean she took a four-hour nap and then was up for 30 minutes and then took a three-hour nap. Brilliant!

During the first nap, I was up and down the stairs a million times and kept trying to make sure the gate didn't slam behind me. A few months ago, Josh had put a little piece of felt on the inside of the gate so it wouldn't make noise when we inevitably let it slam behind us 1,500 times a day. It fell off, oh, forever ago, and today I remembered where it was and decided to get the Krazee glue out.

The Krazee glue, in our house, is kept on the windowsill in the kitchen. Doesn't everyone keep it there? So I grabbed it and stopped at the top of the stairs to put a little glue on the teeny-tiny piece if felt. Except it wouldn't come out. It wasn't clogged, I could see the glue, so I just pushed a little harder.

There was a brief moment when the glue EXPLODED onto the felt and all over my hand when I almost laughed. But then I realized OHMYGODMYFINGERSAREBONDEDTOGETHER. I was right next to the bathroom, so I ran to the sink and managed to stop hyperventilating and calmed down enough in that two seconds to remember that nail polish remover unbonds skin stuck together with superglue! All that random knowledge stored in my head finally went to some good use.

But I don't wear nail polish. So why would I have nail polish remover? But thank you baby jesus, Josh's mom does wear nail polish and she bought a bottle of nail polish remover once and kept it at our house and because I have a photographic memory of the contents of every single thing in this house in my head, I reached for the far cabinet on the right. Bingo.

Of course there was glue on my right hand by now as well, not just as much, and thankfully my fingers did not stick to the cabinet pull. I frantically unscrewed the top and literally poured half the bottle on my left hand.

That did indeed unstick my fingers from one another, but instantly rendered all that glue dry on my hand. So now instead of them being stuck together, they were covered in dry white glue. Which I spent the next hour soaking and scraping from my poor chapped little fingers.

The nail on my ring finger is still coated in dried glue, but I have managed to remove the offending substance from the pads of all the affected fingers. I am quite sure I removed the pattern of my fingerprints with it, so if you hear anything about a bank robbery involving a lack of prints, it wasn't me.

Baby it's cold outside

We've returned to the Windy City and I think Emmie is wondering why the hell she's in a snowsuit again and why that cold breeze is slapping her in the face. Granted, it could be much worse. It was in the mid-40s today and quite pleasant. But still. There were coats worn for the first time in five days.

I wouldn't know what Jack wore today, however, since I was only mothering the wee one. Emmie had her two-month doctor appointment so instead of having Grandma come here, Jack went to Peoria for the night.

After we slept until 10:30 a.m. -- hey, I follow her schedule and she likes to sleep in -- we lolled around and then got ready and went out to run some errands and see the doctor. The visit was lovely, thanks for asking. Emmie was not such a fan, however, since she got four needles in her little baby thighs and some nasty-tasting liquid to protect her from various diseases. She measured at a whopping 24.25 inches (95th percentile) and 9lbs 14oz (25th percentile). My skinny giant!

After grabbing some lunch, I cleaned the house, did 148 loads of laundry and then even cleaned the carpets. Since I had a portable infant and not a toddler who must sleep in his crib, I was able to pop over to a friend's house for sushi.

I told my mom that you have to have two children before you can appreciate how easy an infant really is. You put them down, and they stay there. They sleep like 16 hours a day. There's no throwing of themselves on the floor and crying. You can stick them in their carseat and they go to sleep and you can take them places. It's awesome!

Since Jack won't be home until tomorrow night, there will be more spring cleaning at our house and some one-on-one play time for Mommy and Emmie. I feel like I almost never actually play with her since Jack needs so much attention. Most of the time Emmie gets stuck in the swing while I play Legos or color with Jack. So it will be a nice change if pace.

Now if only I can remember how to play without props like Legos or a basketball hoop. Or perhaps we should get the hoop out for her, since she's likely going to end up playing basketball.

That's a cactus

I totally forgot to tell y'all that we were going on vacation! To Phoenix. With the childrens. And the whole fam.

So here we are in Scottsdale where it's nice and sunny and warm. Ha ha to all you suckas in the cold climates. It's nice to go without a jacket and Jack was really confused this morning and kept trying to pull his short sleeves down on his arms.

Emmie is a trooper and slept the whole time at the airport and on the plane. Jack didn't nap. And was awake for 12 hours. But didn't throw any tantrums and was super well-behaved. Despite the two-hour delay at O'hare while we waited for a pilot coming from Dallas. Who never came. So they got a new one after all the waiting. Do you like these sentence fragments?

But that's neither here nor there. We arrived and we're going to see some baseball and soak up some sunshine. The kids will get to swim, but lord knows nobody wants to see my postpartum ass in a swimsuit so I think I will watch from the side.

By the way, there is nothing more depressing than shopping for warm-weather clothes at seven weeks postpartum. UGH.

She hasn't even been lifting

This weekend, I noticed Emmie had a hard lump on the right side of her upper groin area, closer to her abdomen. I showed it to Josh and he agreed it was definitely a lump. But then the next morning, it was gone.

Yesterday I noticed it again, but then it was gone in the middle of the night. But then it was there this morning, so I called for a sick visit appointment at the pediatrician and they got us in tonight.

He said she has an inguinal hernia and referred us to a pediatric surgeon for a consult. Our doctor said she will need surgery; it's the only way to repair an inguinal hernia. If we let it go, it could get worse and she could get the tissue that is protruding into it caught and it might not go back up and it would require emergency surgery.

I thought hernias only afflict weightlifters, so I had been restricting her to two sets of reps with very light weights. Maybe it was the squats that did it? I knew I should have spotted her.

I am not freaked out, just more bummed and feeling bad she will have to go through having anesthesia and not eating before the surgery and all the blah blah blah that goes with it. Not to mention the fact they are going to CUT MY BABY OPEN. Granted, it would be laproscopic, but that's not the point.

Anyone have any experience with this? I have been Googling and "they" say it's kind of common in boys, pretty rare in girls, and usually there is some family history (none that we know of) or other urological problems (God I hope not).

Let a smile be your umbrella

Emmie gave me a few shy smiles two weeks ago, and has been randomly grinning once or twice a day since then. But she's tricky and apparently doesn't want any evidence of her cuteness on film.

But I outsmarted her tonight. After a bath and with a full belly, she granted me the privilege of catching it on camera. Without further ado, the smile at almost seven weeks old.