EverAfterLand

Not The First Time Around This Block

I think some of you are beginning to wonder if I'm taking this whole baby thing seriously.

Last week I ran off to the wineries for a day.

This week I've run off for three days at the coast.

With less than three weeks left, shouldn't I be home nesting?  Or sleeping?  Or rereading all those books we read the first time around?

I am excited about this baby coming, I swear!

But I think we can all agree that it's never quite the same as it had been the first time around.

When it all seemed so exciting and new and magical.

And, after months of preparation and dreaming and shopping and building, the baby finally arrived and the reality hit you that most of the "magic" kept materializing itself in the kid's diaper.  That you are tasked with 24 hour disposal of said "magic," as well as wet nurse, soother, dresser, bather, laundress, and quality children's entertainer. 

Nowhere in there do you actually feel like a "mom" to this sweet little blob.  At least not yet.  It takes a few months before you feel like a little more in the eyes of your child than just "that nice lady who feeds me."

Oh, but when that baby smiles in your general direction and then, dare I say it, smiles AGAIN with some glimmer of recognition - that's magic!  And when the word "mama" comes out of those sweet little baby lips - not the first time, cause the first time was probably a fluke, more like the second or third time - well then you don't just FEEL like a mom, you ARE a mom. The little bundle of waste management has acknowledged YOU as its mother. What a moment!

I am looking forward to all the exhaustive work and payoff of having this, our second child.

But for right now, I'm going to enjoy these last few moments of peace. Of feeling like I have some semblance of control over the chaos of my day. And the ability to shower at regular intervals.

Because, folks, life as we know it is about to change forever.

And this time I know exactly how.

(But for those still concerned that I may go into labor far away from home, let me assure you, other than his foresight to " pack a sham wow in case your water breaks," Hubster has also brought along the "What to Expect When You're Expecting," a book with a whole section on how to give birth by yourself. What can I say, those Navy guys are trained to be prepared for ANYTHING!)

Daughter of the Year - The Water Girl

It melts my heart when the two-year-old takes the initiative and does some seemingly small and trivial thing because she wants to make mommy happy.

Like the other day.  We headed out front to blow some bubbles and make some sidewalk art.

We had taken a couple of water cups outside with us, cause you don't mess around with hydration when it's around a hundred degrees at 5:00 in the evening.

We bubbled.  We colored.  And after some time, while seated half-way down the front walk, making yet another Mickey Mouse out of a lopsided chalk circle, Miss Priss jumped up and ran over to the water cups.

She picked up her blue sippy cup.  And then, wonder of wonders, she picked up my green cup, too!

It made my heart swell with joy!  My thoroughly selfish, adorable little angel was bringing my water to me.  An action to benefit somebody outside of herself.  A little piece of humanity peeking out for just a moment.

"Aww, are you bringing mommy's water, too?  That's so NICE!.....

WAIT A MINUTE! Are you bringing my water so YOU can drink it???"

The guilty look on her face was enough of a confession, as she tried to twist her mouth away from my straw and play it off like she was angling for her own.

Oh well.  She's only two.  I suppose I can't give up on her yet.

Ever After Creativity Corner – The Twirl Girl

I have been crafting ever since I could pick up a popsicle stick and smear it with glue.

But I am truly a Jill of All Crafts. As evidenced by the Crafty Closet, a walk-in closet chock full of yarns, beads, threads, looms, glue, scissors, and other paraphernalia to keep my habit going.

Much to the horror of my husband.

The man is totally cool with the "better or worse." Would steadfastly stand by me through the "sickness and health." But I'm pretty sure he double-checked the fine print of our vows when he realized he'd be stuck, for the rest of his life, with the Crap-ty Closet.

Which goes to show you the vast depths of his love for me when I asked for a sewing machine for Christmas and he actually got me one!

(Is he acting as an enabler? I don't care; I've got my sewing machine!!!)

For all my needle pointing, knitting and crocheting, oddly enough, I had never learned how to sew. And being in this itty bitty town, it wasn't too easy to find a class. So I headed over to the keeper of all things knowledge, Amazon.com. I found a great book that had three projects you do in progression, each one a little tougher than the last, that would show me the ropes.

And me being me, I finished off the first project (a cute little pillow), ditched the book and headed straight for this Twirly Dress pattern I found at the fabric store.

It took a little while. And I'm proud to say, I only had to rip it out and redo it twice. But it is done!

Thankfully, it is a VERY forgiving pattern, and a lot of the mistakes are not readily visible.

But crooked seams or not, Miss Priss LOVES it! The important part works just fine – Priss can get a good twirl on with minimal effort.

Just like this…

 

Which reminds me, there's a secondary reason for this project.

The dress is also part of a new parenting technique I'm testing out...

Keep 'em dizzy to stay in constant control of any situation.

I'll report my findings at a later date.

PhotoStory Friday - Somewhere On The List Of "Top Ten Things NOT To Do In Your Ninth Month"

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

There's a lot of rules to this whole pregnancy thing.

(Way more than my mom had, but probably still less than Miss Priss is gonna have.)

For instance, when you're in your ninth month of pregnancy, 'they' generally like you stay close to home, in case the baby makes an early exit.

Definitely NOT drive with a busload of rowdy Naval officers and their spouses for two hours to the little town of Paso Robles on the California coast.

And when you're at almost 37 weeks, 'they' like to see you stay off your feet, to help keep the swelling down and such.

Certainly NOT stand around wineries all day long, only sitting on the bus to the next winery or when the occasional chair presented itself.

But when you've only got 3 1/2 weeks left till your due date, 'they' tell you one of the most important things to do is stay hydrated.

'They' just never specified with what....

That's right, mama got to evict the Pull Ups from her purse (still held onto the Ziploc full of Cheerios though - for emergency hunger reasons) and spend a whole day in ADULT company.

(Although I use the term "adult" loosely, considering there were efforts to lure one of the winery dogs onto the bus.  Luckily, though, everyone managed to keep their clothes on.)

And yes, that was me at In 'n Out Burger partaking in a cheeseburger with TWO sides of fries AND a chocolate shake.

Keeping the baby well-fed, just like 'they' want me to do.

I'm Not Gonna Blame The Baby For This One (But Really, It's All Her Fault)

This weekend is going to be THE blogging event of the year, BlogHer '09, a blogging conference specially tailored to bloggers like me.  There will be speakers and swag.  There will be parties and networking.  There will be lots of bloggers meeting lots of other bloggers who were previously only known online.

Connections will be made.

Friends will be found.

Debauchery will ensue.

And me and my boulder belly will be camped on the couch drowning our sorrows in french fries, cheese sticks and mountains of chocolate chip cookies.

Because, if you haven't been paying attention, this BlogHer has four weeks left in the countdown to Baby Bustout.

And Hubby has nixed my ingenious idea to forge a doctor's note telling the airline I have nothing more than a tumor and, therefore, have approval to fly.

He's SO unsupportive.

This is especially depressing because BlogHer is going down in Chicago, a scant three hours from my mom's house.  Which means I had already formulated a plan to fly Miss Priss with me to Iowa, dump drop her off with Mom for the weekend, and then party my ass off gain tons of blogging knowledge and make valuable connections - BEFORE I realized that the dates would put me in my ninth month and nobody would let me go.

Dammit.

But I think I found another way to at least do a smattering of marketing for the ol' blog, despite my inability to personally present myself.

A few months back, Brittany, a fellow blogger who I am massively obsessed with, all "Hand That Rocks The Cradle" style over at Barefoot Foodie mentioned in a post that she was looking for sponsors to help fund her trip to the convention.

Me, knowing a lucrative marketing opportunity when I see one, jumped at the offer.

Me: "I've got $5 I can spare.  What would that get me, sponsorship-wise?"

Brittany: No reply.

Me: "OK, OK, you drive a hard bargain!  I'll make it 10 big hot ones!  What can you do for me?"

Brittany: "Who the... (edited for 'R' rated content)....  I'll tell you what that gets you, your blog's name prominently displayed on my person.  Tell me if you want it to the left or right of my ass crack."

Score! I might be out of the ad game, but I have NOT lost my skills for negotiation!  And knowing Brittany's chances of de-robing during the weekend's festivities, my blog's name will be seen by at least half of the convention-goers!

Me:  "It's a deal!  Just send me your address so I can mail you a check.  Oh, and if I include a glitter pen, could you use that to write it out?"

Which reminds me, I need to shoot Brittany another email because she never did send me that address.  I'm sure it was an oversight. 

On the plus side, it occurred to me today that I'll be, like, the ONLY blogger left in all the Blogiverse actually posting something besides 3 a.m. drunken bathroom pics and video clips of various positions for tequila shots.  Meaning I might see my stats go up just a smidge! 

Which is about the only thing that's going to make my frown turn upside down this weekend.  So ya'll better check out my blog a LOT.

Because I don't think anyone wants Miss Priss to witness Daddy pulling Mommy's pants-less, cheese stick induced comatose body, out from under a pile of various fast food wrappers and empty ice cream cartons, with an alarmingly undercooked chocolate chip cookie in one hand and half a bean burrito smeared across her forehead.

Disclaimer: Due to the fact that I might have sort of totally made up the above "conversation" with Brittany (not that it's something I regularly do, or at least I don't normally post them) you may want to read this post sooner than later.  Her lawyers have me on speed-dial and I will probably be asked to take this post down relatively quickly.

Hubby of the Year - Meanest Expectant Father EVER!

(Subtitled: What's The Point Of Having A Blog If You Can't Bitch About Your Spouse?)

Anybody remember the "Waffle Incident" from a couple weeks ago? 

The handful of you that follow my antics on Facebook and Twitter (Hi Aunt Lori!) as well as this blog may recall that weekend morning a fortnight ago (Haha!  I used antiquated speech!  I'm SO cool!) when I BEGGED Hubby for some waffles. 

"The Baby wants WAFFLES!" I informed him, batting my eyelashes and trying to look coy (which is next to impossible with a boulder attached to your front middle, but whatev.)

"We don't need to go out for that.  We can do pancakes here at the house," was his oh-so-heartless reply.

"Pancakes???  That is NOT the same as waffles, and The Baby was very specific about WAFFLES," I answered in dismay.

"Well, I'm making eggs and bacon, do you want some of that?"

I grudgingly agreed and had to suffer through a breakfast of eggs and bacon.  The poor Baby was NOT pleased.  And she kicked around until she was sure I was just as unhappy as she was.

Well, folks, I wish I could say that had been an isolated incident.  But I'm sorry to report, it's happened again.

It began with a phone call I made to Hubster's cell phone around 11:30 this morning.

"The Baby has to have McDonald's chicken sandwich and fries for lunch."

"What?  Who is this???"

"It's your baby's momma!  You took off with the carseat this morning, and The Baby is desperate for McD's."

"I'm on my way to lunch with the guys," was his retort.  And as if that wasn't insulting enough, adds, "There's leftovers in the fridge."

What???  LEFTOVERS!?!??  Does he think The Baby doesn't already KNOW that?  She ate the leftovers for dinner last night.  The Baby is very well aware of what leftovers are in the fridge!

"But...but...but..."

"I gotta go.  We're on our way to lunch right now."

I ask you, The People, is this any way for a supposedly "loving" husband to treat his nine month's pregnant wife?  The one who has to gain all the weight and push out the baby and spend months being a slave to HIS child.  I think the occasional Southern Style Chicken Sandwich is really a small price to pay for bringing HIS SPAWN into the WORLD.

This story would have had an absolutely tragic ending, if it were not for the fact that, while choking down said Leftovers, our friend Anna called and offered to pick me up some fries and sweet tea. 

Which is a good thing for Hubby, cause this post was going to be a LOT angrier before the fries showed up at my door.

Addendum:  OK, so MAYBE I asked Hubs if he could get home from work early today and MAYBE, spotting the complete exhaustion that had overtaken me, he MAYBE took that to heart and MAYBE, just MAYBE he really did make the extra effort to get home early so I could take a nap and Miss Priss wouldn't be TOTALLY neglected.  And MAYBE this post could have just as easily been entitled, "Wife of the Year: Why Do I Put Up With This Self-Possessed Walrus?" But until Hubs has his OWN blog, he'll have to settle for whatever post titles I come up with.

EverAfter Creativity Corner - Closed Due To Illness

Apparently, I'm a total overachiever.

It's not enough for me to "just get sick" at eight/nine months pregnant. 

Oh no, no ordinary "flu" here!  If I'm gonna get sick, I'm gonna make it a doozy!  Something that'll really make everybody nervous.  A virus to end all viruses!

Oh, yeah, folks, after putting the business end of a cotton swab up my nose and twirling it around my brain, the tests came back and it's official -- I've got...

SWINE FLU!

I swear, I wasn't even trying.  I'm just this awesome at being on the cutting edge of all the latest trends.

Wait!  Stop!  Don't go!!!  I checked, and the doctor assured me that there is NO WAY you can catch this thing through your computer. 

But if you're really worried, go take a bath in some boiling water - after you're done reading this post.

Alright, the stats.  The nurse assured me this is a mild form (obviously, since, you know, I'm not dead or anything) that is really no worse than a regular flu.  I can attest, it's certainly no better, either.  I was already on the mend when we found out, so they've deemed me "not contagious."  We're just supposed to keep an eye out on Miss Priss and The Hubs and if either shows any sign of illness, take them in right away.

You can imagine the fun Hubster got to have informing all of his co-workers that his wife has Swine Flu and that, consequently, they've all probably been exposed to it, too. 

Good times, good times!  (On the plus side, though, definitely one tactic for getting out of the mandatory work party.)

And for those slightly concerned with how the baby is doing, I've been told there's nothing to worry about.  Sure, she may pop out with a cute little curly tail, but they can remove that after the fact.

But maybe I'd better cut some little holes in the backs of her pants, just in case.

So what's a girl in the throws of her own private pandemic supposed to do?

Stuck on the couch, the computer hurting my eyes, the perfect excuse to get out of housework, I was all set to get some crafty goodness done. 

"I'll catch up on a few projects," I thought.  "And then I'll get started on those ideas that have been floating around my head..."

And then I fell asleep.

When I woke up, I had a lucid moment of realization that any crafty thing I would attempt in this condition was going to wind up horribly and tragically deformed.

Also, I kept visualizing all my finished projects on pigs.  I really hope that goes away once I get better.

Which I'm starting to lose hope is EVER going to happen.

PhotoStory Friday - Magic of the Bebe Fairy

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

There were PROMISES made, I tell you!

Or, at the very least, Super Nanny made this look deceptively easy.

"Just tell the kids the Paci Fairy is coming for all their pacis to give to the new babies in the world,
and leave them a little gift.  They'll be thrilled!"

At 2 1/2, Miss Priss was a little overdue for the Bebe Fairy to make her visit (she had named her pacifiers "bebes" oh so long ago).  We're not totally derelict in our duties, we did manage to wean her off daytime bebe usage.

Now it was time to ditch the nighttime need as well.

We'd watched Super Nanny do this dozens of times.
We TOTALLY knew what we were doing!

Miss Priss gathered all her bebes and put them in the special Bebe Pot.



We placed the bebes where the Fairy would find them, along with a chocolate mini-cupcake.

Then we spent the next two hours listening to Priss wail, "BEBEEEEEE!  BEBEEEEE!!!" and, "I'm NOT a big girl!  I'm NOT a big girl!"

Funny, I don't remember that part on the TV show.

The last straw was the discovery that the dog had swiped the cupcake. 
Nice.


The next morning, Priss spied the Bebe Fairies offerings immediately.



And then quickly turned her attention to the Bebe Pot.



Anything left in there?



Damn, that Fairy did a very thorough job.


Miss Priss enjoyed the bounty the Bebe Fairy had left for her.

But it didn't stop her from balling her eyes out at naptime. 

Or the next bedtime.

Or lessen the demands for "BeBEEE!" as we tried to put on her jammies every night for weeks.


I think the next time Super Nanny gives advice that seems like a perfect fix,
we'll just shut off the TV.

To My Dearest, My Beloved, Neil Patrick Harris (Well, And I Guess His Boyfriend, Too),

You can imagine my glee when I saw your beautiful mug staring at me from the cover of Star Magazine as I was piling my groceries onto the counter last week.  Followed immediately by my complete surprise once I read the headline...

NEIL PATRICK HARRIS LOOKING FOR A SURROGATE!

Well, Neil, I have been smitten with you for YEARS.  Your boyish smile.  Your hottie hotness.  Your wacky sense of humor.  Mmmmmm.

Fortunately for my husband, you already have a boyfriend, the handsome (but not as funny or hot or charming as you, not that I ever met him or knew his name before) David Burtka.  I thought that would be the end of you and me.  I'd just have to settle for our weekly "dates," where I'd watch your shenanigans on How I Met Your Mother, and you would continue to ignore my existence.

Until now.

You can call off the search, my beloved Neil (oh, and your boyfriend, too), because I will be your Surrogate Mama!

This would really bring all my talents together - birthing babies and drooling over YOU!
 
I assure you, I grow 'em smart and EXTRA cute (at least I'm one for one, you can check out the rest of my blog for proof of that!)  I don't drink, smoke, or do drugs (well, except for this Robitussin with Codeine that I'm taking right now at night, but if it was YOUR baby, I would happily cough up my lungs, totally drug free, if that's what you want.)  I take all my prenatal vitamins and I even throw in some Omega-3s, which, I'm sure you know, makes babies even smarter.

And the best part of this arrangement?  I don't want money!  Not one single dime!!!  I just want the joy and honor of having a baby for YOU (and that other guy, of course).

All I ask is that we exchange Christmas cards every year. 

Well, and birthdays and Valentine's Days, too.  And maybe you could come over for a barbecue in the summer.  And perhaps we'll come celebrate Thanksgivings with you, only every other year, of course.  And speaking of birthdays, I'm sure you'd want to invite us over to your baby's birthday parties, since, you know, I would have given him/her life and all.  And if you could come over once in a while and regale us with your extraordinary magician's abilities, that would be really cool, too!

Well, there's a few other items on my list, but we can hammer all that out later.

(I've got two words for you.  Sleep.Over.  Just something to think about before we negotiate the contract.)

The important thing is, get ready to be a Daddy!  Cause your Baby Mama is right here!

Now, if you're in a time crunch, and you'd really like to have your baby sooner than later, I am happy to inform you that I've got a bun in the oven RIGHT NOW.  A little girl that will be making her appearance in the next five weeks.  You (and what's his face) can have this baby now, with almost no waiting, and we'll just make another one for ourselves later. 

(I haven't exactly run that one by my husband, but I'm pretty sure he'll be totally on board!)

So, my Very Handsome Neil, are you as excited about this arrangement as I am???

I will be anxiously awaiting your email.  Or you can just twitter me, if that's easier. 

With all my undying love, 
Covering you in Kisses,
Seeing you in my dreams tonight,
Sincerely,

Jen@Happily-Ever-After-Land

To find some more ridiculousness, head over to Open Letter Day with Jenni Jiggety!

Parents of the Year - A Twista! A Twista!

Hubs and I never claimed we were the ULTIMATE in parenting.

But I'm pretty sure that "GOOD" parents,
upon the discovery of their two-year-old in bed like this...



do NOT run off to get the camera BEFORE ensuring the child
has NOT smothered herself.

And I'm absolutely CERTAIN that even half-way DECENT parents
(with the oxygen availability for said two-year-old still in question)
would NOT start giggling about the
resemblance of the sleeping tot to
the Wicked Witch of the East
right after she'd been crushed by Dorothy's house.

(Oh, come on, with those striped pants?  Don't act like you weren't thinking it, too!)

But eventually, after squelching our chuckles and carefully putting the camera away,
even totally SELF-INVOLVED parents, such as ourselves,
FINALLY took a peek over the pillow
to check that our dear Miss Priss was still breathing.



Which, thankfully, she was.

And after much reorganization, the lovely Miss Priss was no longer reenacting
The Wizard of Oz,
but rather looked more like a normal two-year-old who sleeps
on TOP of pillows and UNDER the covers.

(Should I start being concerned about "what goes around comes around?"  Cause I can only imagine how this kid's gonna treat us in our old age.  And we will have totally deserved it!)