Looks like the new season of Sesame Street will have a little something for Woggie and a little something for Mommy.

God bless you, Elmo!

It’s ten o’clock at night and a certain Woggie just hopped into my lap after his fifth successful attempt at getting the mustard out of the fridge and running from HH squealing “No Daddy get me!”  It’s a common occurrance around here.  And, I’ll admit it’s pretty darn cute.  But at ten PM…. not so much.

Alas, that’s what you get when you let your Wog spend the night at his grandparents’, so you can attend your infant CPR class.

I feel I should insert here that if I told you I wasn’t going to Blawg-her because it conflicted with my infant CPR class, obviously I’m having horrible bouts of placenta brain… which has caused me to set up a little Google calendar for myself, much to HH’s delight.  He’s been trying to get me on board with the Google calendar since long before I gave up my Franklin Covey planner.  Oh, Franklin, how I miss thee!

Also, I should add… infant CPR class… informative, yet panic-inspiring.  I’m still a little worried about the grandma on the instructional video who was trying to revive her granddaughter by administering CPR.  I mean, I saw the paramedics come in and take over.  But the grandbaby?  Is she ok?  Should you really show pregnant mamas such as that?  

Oh, and I’m having the house tested for lead paint.  And radon.  And I’m going to ask my neighbors to quit smoking in their homes.  Not that we visit them.  Or even know them.  But can you really be too careful when it comes to second hand smoke?

Wow…way off the initial intent of this post.  Let’s catch up quickly.  Perhaps equations will do the trick:

Spend the night at grandparents’ house = Less than eight hours of Wog sleep
(”But he wasn’t sleepy”, my mama says.  No, Mama, he’s two.  He doesn’t tell you he’s sleepy.  You tell him he’s sleepy.)

Normal day staying at grandparents’ house while mommy’s at work = No nap
(Don’t get me started on this one!)

Less than eight hours of sleep + no nap = Falling asleep at 4:15 in the car on the way home and sleeping until 8:15
(Maybe I should’ve pulled out some of my newly acquired CPR/recussitation tricks!)

Four hour nap that ends at 8:15 = UP ALL NIGHT sneaking mustard out of the fridge, while squealing to be chased

Yep, that about covers it.

Sometime between the time I went to bed Thursday night and the time I woke up Friday morning, Bloggy Claus brought me a new blog ‘do to go with my new ‘do.

HH, you rule!

(Feel free to heap tons of bloggy design praise upon him in the comments!)

So, I didn’t give you any heads up that I might be doing this. Mainly, because I wasn’t sure if I’d chicken out. Isn’t “Don’t make any major changes to your hair” one of the cardinal rules of pregnancy?

Well, I broke it. Check me out.

(HH is quite the funny photog, obviously.)

Yeah, it’s all gone. And I LURVE it!

Here’s the before shot, taken at my shower last weekend:

You would not even believe what I paid either. The haircut plus one styling product cost just over half of what my fancy salon cut used to cost. HALF, PEOPLE!

Thanks to Daddy’s Girl for the tip! Girl, I owe you big time!

When HH and I did The Five Love Languages study many years ago, my “love language” by was far “Receiving Gifts”. I mean it was off the charts. I was almost embarrassed. It seemed to me like the most shallow of the five. So as we concluded the study, I was committed to not only speaking HH’s language better, but to also change mine.

I’d like to think that I’ve progressed. That I’m a little deeper than I was back then. But, then, I receive something like this in the mail.

My sweet, sweet bloggy friend sent this to me a couple of weeks ago. I was almost in tears when I realized how personal the gifts were. I mean, we’ve never even met in real life and she sent Li’l Bit her very first Sharpie. My own family doesn’t even know of my profound love for the Sharpie. I mean except HH, but only because a dozen or so practically fall out of “the drawer” in the kitchen (you know, “the drawer”… I’m sure you have one, too) when he opens it. And the little blanket says “bee-utiful”. Get it? Bee-utiful? I’m Bee. You’re a smart bunch!

Anyhoo, thanks so much to my sweet friend. Your thoughtfulness means so much!

Hi, I’m Bee. And I buy things because the packaging makes me happy.

Do those colors not scream “WASH YOUR SWEET YOUNG UNS’ CLOTHES IN THIS!” ?  And that font…doesn’t it look like neatly folded laundry?

Yes, folks, I am a marketer’s dream.

When I was pregnant with Woggie, there were two things I craved that I couldn’t have… sushi and margaritas.

Here I am, two years later, again with two no no’s on my brain that I just can’t shake (and haven’t been able to shake for months)… nope, not sushi this time (thanks to some bad smoked salmon rolls early on).  This time it’s margaritas and beer.  (Remember, I said not to judge me)!

Imagine my delight the other day, when my Rachel Ray update arrived containing this recipe.

I’ve already placed my order for a cup pitcher gallon faucet of them after my delivery.

Oh my gosh, I cannot believe that July is here already.  Well, my thermometer has been reading “July” (or was that “Seventh Circle of Hell”– I forget) for many, many weeks now, but now my calendar says it as well!  Yikes!  That means Li’l Bit will be here next month.  Or I guess it could be this month.  There has been some high pressure downtown and a couple of strong contractions, but I can’t think about that.  So, let’s just focus on August.  That makes me panic enough.

I had my 34 week appointment today.  It was one of those beautiful early morning appointments during which I’d barely seated myself and got my book out of my purse when the nurse came and got me.  Heartbeat - strong.  Blood pressure -  good.  Weight - don’t know, I closed my eyes.  Doctor comes in.  Baby’s measuring just right - not too big, not too small.  She moving a lot?  That would be a big fat ohheckyes!  Good, let’s talk about the… oh, how in the world did you manage to gain so much weight since I saw you last?  Ummmmmm…. Starburst Jelly Beans?  Two baby showers in the last week?  Fat baby?

Turns out I gained six more pounds in the last two week.  I assured her that based on my previous weight in relation to what a normal 34 week baby weighs plus the enormous pressure accumulating in my nether regions, I must be carrying a 10 pounder in there.  She politely showed me the large framed medical degree on her wall that evidently proves that she knows more about baby growing than I do.  She was cool with the weight gain though, since I’ve only netted a 25 pound gain so far.  And I think that she sensed the fat girl tears that were about to spew forth from my fat girl eyes, so she assured me that I was showing some signs of swelling and that was probably the cause.  I so appreciated her attempt at consoling me that I didn’t have the heart to mention that my ankles always look like that.  I do so love her for trying, though!

You know what else I love her for?  She totally gets me.  She gets that I cannot make a decision on whether or not to attempt a VBAC with this baby.  She understands my concerns and my hesitations.  So we came up with a plan that I am REALLY happy with.  It’s pretty simple and since so many folks chimed in to help me sort out my thoughts on the subject, I thought you might be curious to know what I decided.

Basically, we scheduled a C section.  Based on my delivery experience with Woggie, there is a really good chance that my body will react similarly with this one.  Which means I’d have to be induced again and possibly labor all day only to still end up with a C section.  The section is scheduled very close to my due date so that we will be able to see if Li’l Bit’s going to make any moves to come on her own.  If she does, then we’ll let her “do her thang”, meaning if I go into labor on my own and it progresses like it should, we’ll VBAC.  And if we get to my C-section date and there’s still no action downtown, then “we’ll take that as a sign from God that the C-section is what we need to do.”  That last quote is from my doctor.  I love that she said that.  It was just what I needed to hear.

I feel really good about the plans.  I like the idea of having a date on the calendar so that bags can be packed, plans can be made for Woggie and HH can schedule his workload to accomodate the delivery and hospital stay.  I like that the date is the date I’d hoped to deliver on.  I like that there is still a little element of mystery as well.  Was that a contraction?  Is she coming early?  And I LOVE the feeling that God’s hand is in this and that it will happen on HIS timeline.  As it should.

Ok, now that I have your attention…

My little two year-old has become quite the little linguist.  I cannot believe how his vocabulary has expanded in just the last month.  I’ll admit, not all of this phrases can be deciphered by the common man, he’s putting thoughts together.  Just this morning he was able to communicate to me that he would not be needing the last few sips of his chocolate milk because he’d be eating at Grandaddy’s.  When asked what he’s be eating at Grandaddy’s (since he barely eats ANYthing ANYwhere), he replied that he’d be eating McDonald’s, where he’d have his own cup of Mountain Dew.  He also added that he liked “blue Coke” (which I have determined to mean Pepsi, since he’s also referred to “red Coke” on occasion).  And while nothing warms a mama’s heart like hearing that her child will be consuming fast food while partaking of his own cup sugary, caffeinated goodness, the fact that he was able to communicate all of that to me (sans most of the necessary verbs) just about melted me. 

He’s also taken to repeating things he hears.  This can be scary to some, but we can roll with it.  We aren’t ones to use profanity,and really there are very few things I say that I would mind Woggie repeating.  (Of course, after the discussion during our Sunday School lesson on George Carlin/freedom of speech, I realize that my child will probably be the one who never gets to have spend the night company because his mama let’s him say “butt”.)  Not to say that I don’t falter from time to time.  While I usually am one to be condescending to my fellow drivers by politely asking “sweet pea” or “honey” to kindly get out of my way while I honk my horn and ride his or her tailgate, the other day when I exclaimed “Moron!” after being cut off, Woggie quickly echoed “O-won!”  After which I vowed to stick with the likes of “sugar pie” and “dumplin’” when referring to my fellow driving compadres.  But mostly, his repetition has been rather cute.  Like when Mama happens to remember during bathtime that she forgot to pick up stamps at the grocery store and she hears “ahh, hoot!” echoed from the tub.

The most comical of his acquired phrases came on Father’s Day as we were on our way to get some ice cream.  We have to drive through one of Birmingham’s more affluent neighborhoods to get to most anywhere we need to go.  Since it was Sunday, many of it’s residents were out for a stroll.  I commented to HH on the lack of body fat on said residents.  The conversation went something like this:

HH:  ”That’s because they all have personal trainers.”
Bee:  “We should get ourselves a couple of those personal trainers.”
HH:  ”You’d probably get some hot dude to train you.”
Bee:  “Um, no!  I wouldn’t want a hot dude seeing me like this.”
[Insert awkward moment during which HH is processing that I must not consider him a hot dude since he is subject to seeing me in all my stretched out, pregnant glory on a daily basis.]
Woggie:  “Hot dude!  Hot dude!”

Of course, we all got a good chuckle out of this and filed it away in our “Cute Things Woggie Said One Time” file.  Only this one stuck.  At random times over the past few weeks, he would exclaim “Hot dude!”, but mostly it was when one of us would use the word “dude”, which we do with annoying regularity.  Just a few days later, as they are playing in the waiting room at the OB’s office, Woggie pats HH on the chest and squeals “Hot dude!  Daddy, hot dude!” 

Of course, even though he was proclaiming that his daddy was a hot dude rather loudly, HH only pretended to shush him. 

… But this one’s been bugging me all day.

Last night, after Woggie went to sleep, I happened to catch the last ten minutes or so of NBC’s The Baby Borrowers.  The show is hyped as birth control for television.  If I understand correctly, the premise of the show is that several teenage couples of diverse backgrounds choose to spend a few days living as adults, complete with employment, keeping up a home, and taking care of BABIES.  REAL LIFE BABIES.  To say I was uncomfortable while watching it would be an understatement.

I was horrified to the point of tears.

Now, in all fairness, let me make a couple of things clear.
1.  I only watched the last 10 minutes, which means I only saw two sets of teenagers caring for their infants.
2.  I’m pregnant.  Which for me, means I’m extremely sensitive and prone to tears.  And, I might overreact from time to time.

Now that we’ve established my short-comings in the way of objectivity, let me tell you what bothered me most about it.  Stop me if you’re unable to follow… there were these BABIES, who were SEPARATED FROM THEIR PARENTS while being cared for by TEENAGERS WHO WERE UNFAMILIAR TO THEM. 

The parents were shown viewing the teenagers and their interaction with the babies and in both of the cases that I watched, the parent made a visit to the house to kind of help the teenagers along.  The last mom was quite ticked off when she got there.  And rightfully so, since the teenagers were trying to get the baby to go to sleep for the night, having not given her a bath, changed her into bedtime clothes, or CHANGED HER DIAPER.    But since I didn’t see any grabbing by the ear or smacking on the head, nor did I hear any bleeping of profanity, I’m just going to put it out there and say that her reaction did not live up to my expectations. 

I’m not sure who I’m the most mad at… NBC for thinking that seeing babies cry when their needs are not being met is entertainment, the parents for subjecting their helpless infants to what I only observed as mistreatment, or the teenagers… well, for being teenagers.  Maybe I’m just a little miffed at the whole bunch.  But what do you expect from a hormonal mama who missed her nap?

It does appear that some folks a little more educated and maybe even more objective than I found fault with the show as well.  Check out this statement from Zero to Three:  National Center for Infants, Toddlers, and Families.

I’ll be stepping off the soap box now, so I can put it to some less emotional use.  Oh, what am I saying?  The size of that pile of laundry is enough to make anyone cry.