Wednesday, April 24, 2013


Ok, I know I haven't been posting much. I have no excuse except that I'm exhausted and every time I think of a funny post (while in the shower), by the time I get downstairs to the computer, I have completely forgotten what I was going to write about. I mean, I have had some HILARIOUS posts spoken out loud to myself in the shower. Posts that have me giggling... alone... in the shower... then, because it takes me 8 times longer to get dressed now (seriously, putting on pants while standing up is difficult!), said hilarious post leaves my brain before I can even get my extra-extra-large tank top over my gigantic stomach.

And other things have taken my attention.

They say bad things always happen in 3's. I don't know who "they" are, but it is quite evident that in this instance, it is a true statement.

And yes, I am once again talking about my wonderful experience of pregnancy.

Here are my 3's:

1) Baby has situs inversus; his internal organs are flipped around.

2) I now have PUPPPs (full-blown-scratching-and-itching-all-night-and-needing-antihistamines-to-survive).

3) I slipped on the stairs and broke my tailbone. It wasn't even one of those graceful slips where afterwards, anyone who saw, would laugh. No, it was one of those falls where if they played it on America's Funniest Home Videos, no one would laugh; instead, they would cringe and cry "Oooohhhh...." in empathy. And at 35 weeks pregnant, it probably wasn't the smartest thing in the world to do. Baby boy is moving lots and the only things bruised are my tail bone and my ego.


At the end of the day, none of these things are that bad to have. Our baby will be healthy, he will be strong, he will be ok. And my tail bone will heal over time. And the PUPPPs will be gone once he's born (knock on wood). So... when you look at the big scheme of things, it's not that bad.

But it's still not very fun.

But through all of this super-fun pregnancy stuff, I also get to listen to my language-ever-expanding daughter. And she is hilarious. I mean, full-blown hilarious. The kind of hilarious that makes you bust a gut... which, at this point in pregnancy, also makes me pee a little.

Example from today...

I have been sending my daughter 4 times a month to her buddy Keegan's house for a play date while I get work done. This is the joys of working from home - sometimes you just can't get any work done when your toddler is trying to grab the phone from you to say hi to whomever you're speaking with... which, during deadline week, is all advertisers. Some people don't appreciate a toddler screaming in the background "I say hi! I say hi!" then screaming "HI!!!" into the phone when she gets close enough. It's annoying. She also makes my nice "Hi there, just writing to ask if you're interested..." emails actually look like this:

"Hi there, just writing asdfjasdofwaer to ask if you're asdfwaerwaerhawer interested..."

Throw in an accidental attachment of Bubble Guppies and you've got yourself a bona fide toddler email. It's awesome.

So she gets sent to her buddy Keegan's 4 mornings a month so I can get work done (or, as this proves, get some blogging done). Today, she looks up at Michelle (Keegan's mom) and says:

"Mommy has a baby in her foot."

I'm not sure how that would work... or which I'd prefer (stomach or foot), but it's interesting none the less.

She also asks us how our days are going. "How's your day, Mommy? How's your day, Daddy?" And then we answer, "Really great, Aryn! How's your day?"

And the question gets asked 15 more times in 30 seconds. By the 10th repeat, you tend to answer with "A lot less awesome since you started asking this question on repeat." Poor kid.

I also took this magical time of being super pregnant and miserable to start my kid in gymnastics. "It'll be fun!" I said. "It'll be easy!" I said.

It is neither.

I had the disillusioned idea that she would be doing everything by herself. That she would have one-on-one help from an instructor. That all the kids would be her age and it would just be hilarious to watch.


She is in a class with some 5 year olds. Who are mean. And rough. And insane. And like to push her out of line. And don't like waiting for her. So, I have to be in there the entire time, helping her out and helping her with all of the gymnastic routines.

And at 9-months pregnant, that is not fun. I find that I am much more exhausted than she is by the time I get home. But it is adorable. And Aryn is learning how to stretch and follow instructions. So, ultimately, it's awesome that she's doing it. But what was I thinking? The class lasts 10 weeks. We are on Week 3. That means I will be attending with an infant by the end!

Yet another awful pregnancy symptom: not being able to use your brain.

I just remembered that I need to go pick said daughter up from the babysitters. 6 minute ago. I still have lots of work to do and I'm contemplating my 50th trip to the washroom in the last hour. That poor kid will be lucky to make it home, I suspect.

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Gettin' Close

I am sick of pregnancy brain. I had an entire hilarious post written in my head that I thought up in the shower, and POOF! It's gone. I have no idea what I was going to blog about. Most likely something hilarious, and making fun of my toddler no doubt, but do I remember what it was? No.

This post will, therefore, not be hilarious. Sorry.

We have 8 weeks to go. Aryn was 10 days early, so you can round that up to 3 weeks. Minus weekends, because Ryan does all the work on weekends so I can relax on the couch and sleep. And minus the beautiful, sunny, warm days because, who can complain about being pregnant when it's finally not snowing?! So REALLY, I have, like, 1 week to go. Yay!

I was originally going to post about the insanity of my 2.5-year old. How she's talking back, waking up at ungodly hours (5:23am, anyone?), screaming at me, yelling at me to "No talk, mommy!", and how bath time and bed time (and naps) have become an absolute fight.

Then, today, she woke up at 7am. She has been kind, and sweet, and holding my hand, and listening, and going for her nap easily, and going to bed easily, and if she does something wrong and I correct her, she comes and gives me the biggest, saddest hug and says "sowwy, mommy."

I am starting to wonder if she has multiple personalities.

Can I choose which personality to continue with? Because I choose this one!

I am fearful that anything can startle her back into her "old mean ways." Does that mean I'm scared of my toddler?

Hell, yes.

I tiptoe around her. She's happy - keep doing what you're doing. DO NOT STOP. If you stop, and she gets mad, be prepared for the Evil Eye from mama bear. Because you will receive it. I will be angry. I prefer my happy, smiling little girl over the Devil With Red Hair psycho child.

Example from Easter Sunday:

Me: "Aryn, let's go upstairs and bath!"
Aryn: "No bath, mommy."
Me: "Aryn, it's been a couple of days. We need to have a bath tonight otherwise you'll be stinky!"
Me: "Aryn, I will count to 3 and you'd better be on the stairs. 1... 2..."
Aryn: (just before the #3, comes up to the stairs, touches them, falls on the floor in a full out freak out with tears and kicking)
Me: (run upstairs and hide in bed, hoping she magically gets clean by herself)

Mind you, she was fed 14 pounds of chocolate from her uncles who thought it was hilarious how much chocolate this kid could shove in her mouth at one time. So she may have been on a bit of a sugar high and a tummy ache from so much chocolate and not a single bite of supper.

"Once a year!" everyone says. Yet it's not once a year. It's every week, since we now have gallons of chocolate Easter eggs hiding in our pantry, which, if not eaten by Aryn, has to be eaten by someone and that someone is most likely going to be me.

And her. She will scarf it down if I accidentally leave the pantry door open even a crack. She's smart. She's clever. She pushes her step stool up to whatever she wants and grabs it, then hides and eats it all. Then comes to me and asks me to wash her filthy hands.

Mind you, I am usually laying on the couch ignoring her when she does this so... it's 100% Ryan's fault. He should be home. All day. Watching her. While I sleep.

She is currently yelling at me to bring her her Woody doll that she left downstairs. I'm getting screamed at, "Mommy! My Woody! Bring him! Up! NOW!"

Me: "Aryn, I will bring Woody right up."


I am scared. Whoever pissed her off..... you suck.