My Monkey

I fell asleep last night watching the Cowboys play the Packers (Go Cowboys!). It's no surprise that I fell asleep on the couch.

With no recollection of the preceding events, I woke up sometime in the wee hours of the morning in my king sized bed wondering how in the heck I'd gotten there. I really don't remember. I mean, I assume I went back there willingly -- and not that I was complaining. My pillow top mattress outranks our hand-me-down couch any day of the week. I was just confused. So confused, in fact, that I woke up Andi and asked him how I'd gotten back there. In his sleep, he mumbled something to the effect of you walked. Thanks, smart ass.

What's even more puzzling is what I realized next. I felt something fluffy and soft in my arms. I pulled my hands from underneath my quilt only to realize that I was clutching Adrien's stuffed monkey. Oh my gosh. I'd been cuddling with my son's stuffed animal lovey thing. I feel very grown up right now. Very grown up and confused. I had been having a bad dream, so I guess that explains the cuddling -- but why the heck did I bring it to bed in the first place? And was I cuddling it on the couch too? These answers we'll never know. But it gives me something to chuckle over.

I went to the OB yesterday and got to see the baby's heart beat. That's wonderful -- it's something I never got to do last time. I got to hear it also...It was great. The doctor said everything looks good. But then again, it did last time too. So I'll just keep praying.

In addition to the teensy tiny baby, the doctor also found something else on the ultrasound. He said he saw a fibroid. He didn't explain anything about it other than that most people have them and when I asked if it would be a problem with the baby, he said no. Of course (big fat hypochondriac that I am), I rushed straight home and searched it on WebMd. Everything that I saw was either very alarming, or very mild. Some information said that most people never know they have them -- other parts of the article stated the only way to ensure a bothersome fibroid doesn't return is to have a hysterectomy. There is another procedure that could be done to remove it, but for some reason, you can only have that done if you don't plan on having any more children. So it looks like removing it equals no more children. Hm. Lovely. Obviously it's nothing too serious or my doctor would have had a talk with me about it. Instead the whole exchange consisted of "You've got a fibroid..." and then he was looking at other things like the baby's measurements, etc.

All of the information I read said that they're not cancerous...but of course (hypochondriac) I'm wondering what would happen if it really is a tumor and not a fibroid. I mean, he's never said anything about it being there before, and I had enough ultrasounds done about five and a half months ago that they should have found it if it was there before. The information also said that most fibroids are slow growing. But it looked kind of big to me. I mean, a good few inches in diameter possibly (I'm guessing here). So, if it wasn't there six months ago and it's already that size, how the heck do they figure it's "slow growing"? Hm. I'm not a doctor though, so who knows.

We're leaving later today to drive about five or six hours away for a business trip. Andi is going to be working tomorrow, and his company just so happens to be footing the bill for the hotel for us to stay in. So we'll be in a super nice hotel (five hours away) tonight and tomorrow night. Please, Lord, let Adrien be in good spirits for the car trip. Please. I'm still bummed that they don't have an indoor pool though. Oh well, at least I'll have Monkey.

Disproportionately Pregnant

We went to the mall today. It was time for the play group's monthly birthday party. Yay.

So we had play time for a while, and then I believe I was the first to head up to the food court to eat. Why? Because my 19 month old was having a melt down because he wanted to run out of the play area and into the photo booth to play with all the buttons. I generally oblige him, but today he was particularly interested in wrapping himself up in the curtain that covers the doorway. Funny at first. Then gross. My mind was swirling with all of the bodily fluids that could be lurking about. I mean, come on. It doesn't take a fiction writer to imagine what could possibly go on in one of those little boxes, let alone the filth that can (and does) accumulate on the fabric of that curtain. I'm sure it's never been washed. So, ick. Ugh. Gross. Barf. Gag. Pull the toddler out ASAP while kicking, screaming, and limp body-going occurs. I carted him back to the play area, where he commenced to a full blown tantrum (complete with real tears and red face) face down on the floor. Somehow I managed to calm him down enough to get him strapped into the stroller so we could go eat. Maybe it was the french fry bribe. Not sure. But at that moment, I'd use any bribe to distract him from his crying frenzy. Mean, mean, Mommy.

After eating some Chik-fil-a and a chocolate cupcake with a boat load of yellow icing (which covered Adrien completely), a friend and I walked around the mall for a little while. We both went in to the maternity store, where she went about trying on eight billion shirts, only to discover that they are all entirely too long. For some reason, all of the shirts seem to completely cover your butt. When the associate asked if she could help my friend, my friend shared her dilemma, only to have the associate respond with "Well, they're made to cover your belly." Well, yes, yes, they are. How observant Miss Associate. But explain to me why you need an extra foot of fabric in the back to cover something in the front. I went to school for fashion design and I still don't get the tailoring of it. But seriously, every single shirt in the place was like that. Why?

A dilemma I have with maternity clothes is pants length. I'm a fairly tall person -- but not overly so. I'm only about 5'9'' or so. I have a problem with pants length even when I'm not pregnant, but I think for some reason, designers and companies must think you shrink a few inches when you conceive. I start out wearing a size "small" pants at the beginning of pregnancy. Since most maternity stores do not offer pants in numbered sizes, I get lumped in with the smalls -- even though I could generally use a medium, they all bag and sort of fall off. Somewhere along the lines, in getting lumped in as a small, I guess someone decided that since you're small in width, you're also small in length. So I get stuck with pants that fit my booty like no tomorrow -- but I'm floodin' up a storm down below. I'm not talking a little short. I'm talking a good five inches or so in some cases. It just really bothers me. I mean, just because I'm relatively thin, doesn't mean I'm short. And who decided that all thin people are short and that all tall people are heavier? It just makes zero sense.

So I guess all pregnant women are stuck with pants that are too short and shirts that are too long. I mean, we're pregnant -- not deformed.

A Lead covered Christmas

It's been more than a little while since I last posted. But last week was hectic. Thanksgiving and all.

The holiday was good for us. We went to Andi's parent's house and spent it with their family. His mom didn't make any gravy, so I didn't eat any turkey or dressing (have to have gravy!), but everything else was great. There were more desserts than I could shake a stick at, and I'm happy to report that my two pies were the prettiest there. Everyone loved them...and everyone loved the duck I brought. Yes, a duck. We do one every year -- they're more moist than turkey and they're smaller. I feel kinda bad cooking one, because I like ducks so much, but it tastes pretty dern good. Especially with the orange glaze I use.

I haven't really been up to much other than cooking. It seems like last week was one big blur of making pie crusts and baking. Now that that's all over, I guess the Christmas bug has bitten a little. I didn't go out on Black Friday (I mean, why?) -- but I never do. We did get a little shopping done last night. It's so great that Adrien's still young enough to be drug along for shopping excursions. We got him a few things from the Disney Store -- all Cars related, of course. Today I went to Target. I needed diapers and wipes, and I thought Target would be as good a place as any because hey - I can get a drink and a snack while shopping. Plus they have a great toy section, and I thought I could do some browsing while there. So I did. I ended up doing some buying too.

As I perused the aisles of the toy department, I noticed little fliers hanging everywhere that read things like "Such and Such Toy Recalled for Lead Hazard; Effective June 2007" and whatnot. It wasn't just one. There were many. Plastered all over the section where I was looking at goodies for Adrien. Before I'd noticed the first one, I was looking at some sort of Playskool toy train with animals and was thinking something like "That would be a great present..." when I happened to glance down and see one of the fliers. I mean, it wasn't saying the train had been recalled -- but it may as well have. I thought better of the train -- and every other plastic toy in the place -- after seeing it. They were everywhere. And what's more disturbing is that they're plastered all over the toddler toy section.

To make myself feel better, I ended up getting a few of these guys for Adrien while there. He absolutely adores these little toys. I know they say that they're for ages 3 and up, but who cares. I don't really see them choking on one. He seemed to have tons of fun making them walk around on the shopping cart. All of these little animals are made in Germany -- and so I (most likely naively) feel safer with them vs. a Made In China toy. I'm just utterly scared of toys. Grossed out, even.

But I don't want to not get him toys for Christmas. Christmas isn't Christmas without toys! I mean, we shouldn't have to worry about this kind of thing. And the fact that our government can't even do anything about it? Well that just scares the bejeebers out of me. It confuses me a little too. What's our nation coming to when the government can listen in to our private conversations and blame it on National Security, but still doesn't have the power to recall or strictly monitor lead levels in children's toys. I have to wonder what the bigger security problem is here? Our children being poisoned -- or your neighbor Mr. Wilson being viewed as a potential domestic terrorist because he has a knack for the NRA.

So, I guess for now, I'm sticking with my German-made toys. But is that enough? If the recalls are all voluntary by the toy makers, then what's to say there isn't lead in every single paint or plastic coated thing on the market? In my mind, these little fliers have stained this holiday season with a nice coating of lead...and it's hanging awfully heavy on my shoulders. Should I trust and buy that front loading dump truck anyway? Or should I follow my over protective urge and spring for that $78 hand carved non-toxic wooden dump truck on Etsy?

Bah humbug...

My binky.

We had decided it was time for Adrien to give up the binky. I don't mind him having it. I mind the looks people give Adrien. I mind the people who are playing with him and take it out of his mouth and say "You don't need that" to him. I mind all of that. He doesn't need it all of the time. Bedtimes are just easier with it in, and sometimes, he likes to take it while watching telly or playing...but generally that's just when he's crabby. Like now. He's got three canines cutting at once. Crabby. Who wouldn't be?

But nevertheless, Andi and I had about decided it was time. Last week sometime, there were about two days in a row where Adrien didn't even want it when asked if he wanted it. Needless to say, naptimes and bedtimes were rough. He generally goes to sleep relatively peacefully. He falls asleep in the middle of playing, for the most part, or settles in to watch some telly and conks out. But not without the binky. Without the binky, he'd lay down and fall asleep in a furious fit, thrashing about and whining the entire time. I wanted the binky back. He did not, apparently.

I gave him a few days. He wanted it again.

Yesterday, Adrien was hitting and pinching me. I suppose Andi was trying to teach him not to do those things, and seeing as it was around naptime and Adrien had his binky, Andi took it away as a punishment. Adrien didn't understand why Andi was taking his binky. I mean, his attention span is so short. He understands when you scold him and say "we don't hit" (not that it means he won't do it again, he just understands that what he was doing at that moment was wrong). Adrien does not, however, put two and two together when a binky is taken away for doing wrong. He doesn't get it.

So Andi took the binky and Adrien started to cry...hysterically. I had words with Andi over it and he insisted that Adrien doesn't need it any more -- that he's a big boy. He refuted the fact that he'd taken it as punishment. He did take it away as punishment. Andi looked at me like I was crazy when I tried to explain that Adrien didn't understand that the binky was taken as punishment. I mean, what does a binky have to do with hitting or pinching? Nothing. Especially not to a 18 month old. And anyway, who decides to suddenly make Adrien a "big boy" when he was already upset for being scolded about hitting and pinching?

I know at this point I'm getting hard to follow. But try to picture the scene.

Adrien hits and pinches me repeatedly...thinking it's great fun. Andi has enough, as Adrien is not listening to me when I ask him to stop. Andi says something in a rather firm tone to Adrien to the effect of We don't hit and pinch. Adrien gets upset from the firmness (to be expected). Andi then takes his binky mid-cry because in Andi's eyes, Adrien is just crying because he wants to hit.

We all know this is how our husband's mind works.

Andi puts the binky away, out of Adrien's reach. He's crying hysterically, pointing. His feelings were very hurt by it. I had my words with Andi, and as I'm on Adrien's side with this, I get the binky back, give it to Adrien, and cuddle him.

At this point I was near tears and very angry at Andi. Why was I angry at Andi? I told him. I told him it was stupid to take the binky away as punishment...and that he didn't understand why it was taken, blah blah blah. And in the midst, I really did start crying. I was crying because I want Adrien to have it. It's the last little thing that ties him to babyhood. He's growing up so fast. He walked early. He's so independent. I just want the one thing that still makes him a baby. I want him to have his freaking binky...and I don't give a damn what other people think. It's cute for kids to suck their thumbs (not to me), but it's not okay for binkies? I mean, he won't be four and still have it. I will take it eventually. But he still needs it now. I guess I need it now. And it ticks me off when people take it from him. I feel like they're taking something from me: my baby.

So, I have to ask myself, is it his binky -- or mine?

Exclusivity kills.

I know, I haven't posted for the past two days. I'm a bad NaBloPoMo'er. Like so many things, it sounded like a good idea at the time, but turned out not to be so grand after all. Since starting this month, I feel like my writing is slipping. It's forced, not flowing. Instead of blogging when I have a point to make, I'd blog because I had to...and fish for things. Forced.

So anyway, good luck to all of you who are going to finish up the month with a post every day (or more for some people). But I'm choosing quality over quantity.

So I just got on to rant a little bit. About my play group. There's nothing wrong with anyone in particular (although I'm sure I could find something with someone), just the whole thing as a whole. When the group first started it was relatively small and everyone knew each other. Everyone got along for the most part. It was kind of like a little play group family. There was no drama, and we had play dates that everyone attended on a regular basis. We had play dates at most of the same places and rotated through our favorites. Tuesday was for the mall, we had pot lucks once a month, etc. Now our group has grown to be enormous. There are 59 members. Most of whom I've probably never said more than a few words to, let alone know their children's names. I guarantee that I've only actually seen about two-thirds of them in person. What happened to our group being so familiar? Now it's just big, corporate and sterile.

It's become something of a exclusive club, too. And whether some of the members would like to believe it or not, a little cliquish. Of course it's cliquish. It's going to be cliquish. There's no way you can have that many different women together and not have cliques. That would impossible. I just think -- as an organizer -- there should be more done to squash down the festering of the cliques. Don't get me wrong, I do not like everyone, nor do I want to be friends with every single mommy in the group.

The way our group is set up now -- as far as play date scheduling goes -- is that it is broken up into minuscule play dates that cater to every single members need. You've got Sue's Crafty day here, and oh since not everyone came come to that (only five people are allowed to attend), let's schedule a bounce house play date at the same time, and then on top of it let's throw in a baby play date for those with children younger than 18 months. All on the same day. All at the same time.

You get half of the members RSVP'ing yes half of the time. So then there's 25 people split between three different play dates. On. One. Day. Of course, only five can attend's Sue's Crafty play date, so her best friends are the ones who make sure and RSVP first. [Clique #1] That leaves little room for others who may want to get to know Sue, or just to do a craft. It also leaves little room for those with children under the age of 2 who would not be able to craft at all because of the age of their wee one. Okay, well then it would make sense to attend one of the other play dates, right? So you look hopefully toward Plan B...which is the bounce houses. Well that one is discounted automatically: 1) if your child is not old enough to bounce, 2) if your child is old enough, but still not hearty or feisty enough to withstand being bounced on by 20 four year olds, or 3) you're already over budget from the 8 other play dates attended this past month and you really don't want to spring the $6 to allow your kid to bounce around and get a black eye. Okay, so then Plan C would be logical, right? Well, sure...except for the fact that the baby play date is for just that -- babies. If your kid is under 18 months old, or just plain more advanced than the others attending, you're flat out screwed for the day. Plan's A, B, and C were derailed because your kid doesn't fit into any of the age groups...or your RSVP finger is too slow for the 5 person limit.

You've got yourself one boring Thursday. Brace for lots of cartoons and "please don't climb that!" screaming.

Multiply the scenario written above by at least two times per week and you've got yourself a sneak peek into the play group I help organize.

The exclusivity started out harmless enough. Everyone knows that play groups are geared toward older children and toddlers...generally age 2 and above. You get people who join with babies, and feel like they can't participate fully because their kid just lays there, drools, and poops. So, what do you do? As a good group organizer you plan a few play dates per month (which started as just one per month) just for babies. These are generally at someone's home and the space is limited to 6-8 mommies. It really was great while it lasted, but for about 6 months or so, Adrien was the only walker attending these events. He'd run circles around (and over sometimes) the other babies there. Finally, when he turned 18 months, we called these little play dates quits.

I thought it wouldn't be so bad, really. I'd known for a while that Adrien was quite bored at those little get togethers. I'd let it go on so long because I enjoyed getting to see my friends at those events. But alas it was time to say good bye. But since we've stopped going to those play dates, there's been little we can participate in and fully enjoy. We aren't old enough to participate in the home preschool our group does. We can't go to the bounce houses. The mall is getting tiring because Adrien now runs out of the exit to the play area constantly and we spend the whole time with me chasing him around the mall instead of watching him play. When we do have pot lucks, I'm able to attend -- but only assuming I've RSVP'd in time to make the number attending cut off (which lately doesn't happen).

I have nothing. I have not been to one single play date this week. Not one. I was planning to go to one this past Tuesday, but Andi took that morning off and since it was his birthday, I stayed home. It was a clothing swap anyway, and the only other ones attending all have girls, boys that are younger than Adrien, or they themselves wear clothing not compatible with the size I wear. There was no point in going anyway. I had nothing to swap and no one to trade with. There was a play date today, but it was a Tea Party for girls only. Sure they said they'd let boys in (who can really discriminate), but it really is for girls. On top of it, there was a 10 person maximum that was filled long ago. Originally there was also supposed to be a baby play date today. At a person's home who happens to be a good friend of mine. But could I attend? No. We're too old. It was rescheduled anyway.

The solution was to fill the age void with toddler play dates -- like the baby play dates. We put one on the calendar and thus far, I'm the only one to RSVP "yes" other than the hostess (who will, of course, be there). On top of it, the hostess of that play date is the girl who stole all of my cheese. Maybe I'll just go to steal hers. I knew that would happen though. I'd thought of the toddler play dates long ago, but figured there wouldn't be any response. And there wasn't. There are no kids left in the group that are Adrien's age...so we have nowhere to go. Nothing to do.

It's sad, really. I feel very left out. No one else understands, really. The other organizers all have their little niche to fit into. I guess They'll understand soon enough when their kids grow into another age group. But by then the other kids in that bracket will have grown too. I guess Adrien and are just left to ourselves. There are no other 18 month olds, or compatible levels, for us to socialize with.

What sucks even more ass is that all of my friends that I used to see are all too busy with play dates in their own kid's age groups. These are all things I can not attend because of stupid limitations and restrictions. I mean, whatever happened to the days where we all did the same thing all the time. There was one play date scheduled on a particular day and if you couldn't go, you just couldn't go. There was a time when we didn't split it up by age...or by how many people would fit at someone's home.

It's just exclusive now. And I'm excluded.

No time for nappin'

It's 11:30 and I just put Adrien down for a nap. You know, some days he just wakes up needing one. He'll be so cranky sometimes, that I just want to close my eyes and hide until he falls over in the sleeping position. Today is one of those days. Yesterday was too.

I'm so stinking sleepy today. So. Tired. Can't. Go. On.

Alas, I have to.

Today is Andi's birthday and I've got to bake him a three layer red velvet cake (Paula Deen, y'all), and prepare dinner: a menu of roasted pork tenderloin, garlic sauteed asparagus and salt-crusted baked potatoes. Yum. I can not wait to eat. I seriously love food. Love it. Know what else I love? Food Network on my 42" TV. Love it. Paula Deen is life size and Bobby Flay's quesadillas are bigger than Adrien. Holy foodie nirvana, Batman...I think I'm in love.

So anyway, I really just wanna go plop down on the couch and finish watching Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations (Indonesia), but I can't. I've gotta pick myself up off of this stinkin' computer and go bake a cake. The cake better be good, too. I think I might cry if it sucks. Baking is not necessarily my forte -- it's not say I suck at it, I don't. I just don't do as much of it as I do actual cooking. Oh well, at least I know there'll be a good dinner at the end of the rainbow. Mmmmmm, asparagus.

I think I'm about to drool.

Birthday cakes and Boutique Clothing

First of all, I'd like to thank the lot of you who sent congrats and positive encouragement my way. I'm very excited! I'm not even late for my period yet though, and somewhere in my mind I keep thinking the test was botched somehow. Or, there weren't really two lines there, we were all imagining it. Part of the reason I posted the picture was for reassurance that it was, in fact, present. Not just a little wishful thinking.

Already I'm trying to calm myself and look for the sensible outlook on the whole thing: Don't be too excited yet...no reason for celebration until you're a good 15 weeks. But that's no good. I've heard of lost babies and shattered dreams at all points in pregnancy, and damn it, if I've got joy, I'm going to feel it. I don't want to repress all of the happy things I feel. That would do not good. No, alas, I am excited and I am going to act that way. I refuse to let past events nullify feelings I would otherwise be obliged to indulge. So for now my mind is spinning with possibilities -- already dreaming of the name, gender, and all the comfortable maternity pants. But wait, I haven't taken any other test yet. So, for now, I'm still waiting to feel superbly excited. I'd be lying, though, if I said I wasn't just a tad bit overwhelmed with joy.

My email inbox is currently holding two e-vite invitations to some sort of children's boutique party/trunk show thing. I got the first invite. I really did. I just chose not to respond. Trite little jumpers and smocking with quaint embroideries is just not now I choose to spend my Saturday. Nor is it the way in which I want to dress my children. I mean, goodness...what century is it now? And how would one of those balloon-bottomed onesie type coverall outfits fit in with Adrien's little checked Vans? Not at all. So, I did get the first email. I forgot about it, really. It was of no interest. Then, today, I got a reminder from the hostess. She says E-vite is telling her I never got the invitation. Oh how unlucky of me. So she sent me a text version instead. I still don't want to go. Not too much luck having a turn out. Hope you can attend, her email reads. Damn that. She just had to do that. So I guess I will go nosh with her for a bit at her little trunk show. I can never say no, and she pulled the guilt trip card and all of that jazz. Plus, she ordered $80 worth of Pampered Chef in order to give me hostess credit. Hmph. I refuse to buy anything smocked though. Refuse.

Yesterday we had some friends come over in an early celebration of Andi's birthday. I made buffalo wings, jalapeno poppers (that will burn your mouth off), and some stuffed mushrooms. The food was so incredible. I ate all day long. Of course, I also cooked all day long. But it was so worth it! I really enjoy cooking for others. We all watched yesterday's Nascar race on Andi's brand new 42" flat panel, wide screened, high definition TV. Yes, that's right: he text messaged me Friday and announced that We should buy a TV. So we did. He insists that covers his birthday for five years. Ya right. Tomorrow is the actual day itself and I'm planning to make him a yummy dinner and bake him a great cake.

Yummmm....cake. I hope it turns out as good as his mom's.