Genetics

Most would agree that Jacob is my doppelganger, so if it weren’t for his personality, I’d have some ‘splaining to do!

Countless times over the last 7 years:
Me: Do you even know what that(insert word/object here) is?
Josh: Yes!
Me: What is it?
Josh: silence. . .mumbles something indecipherable or rapidly changes the subject
Last Thursday:
Me: Jacob, can you say Thanksgiving?
Jacob: Yes!
Me: Go ahead, say “Happy Thanksgiving!”
Jacob: silence. . . .Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you. . .

30 Week Checkup: Heh heh, I said “fundal”

From now to the end, I’ll be posting some of my medical stats for my doctor visits. This is the type of information which will help me make the best decision about this birth (fully knowing that the final decision may be Keiki’s and not mine!), and maybe it will be helpful to some other women who are out there working on the same decision that I am.

Blood Pressure: 120/76
Fundal height: 33 cm
Weight: Wouldn’t you like to know?! Actually, no change from two weeks ago

The blood pressure is staying in the healthy range, and since high blood pressure is one of my C-Section predictors, it is helpful to know that my choice remains open.

The fundal height is basically the length of the uterus and gives us an idea of how big the baby is. So for today, Keiki is measuring at 33cm (length in cm should correlate to the number of weeks preggo), which is on the bigger end of things. This means that I’ll need an ultrasound in 6 weeks to measure the head and weight.

At 36 weeks with Jacob, his head was measuring 39 weeks and his weight was approximately 7 lbs, 4 oz., about the size of a healthy newborn. This is important information for me because if Keiki is the same size, than my VBAC viability goes down because right now I’m feeling pretty conservative and don’t want to risk having a similar birth experience that I had with Jacob.

Spam

Dear "Chris",

Thank you for the offer of a "tasty treat," but I don't take candy from strangers.

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Penance

When I was growing up in the Episcopal Church, the congregation spoke a general confession every Sunday from the Book of Common Prayer:

Most merciful God,
we confess that we have sinned against you
in thought, word, and deed,
by what we have done,
and by what we have left undone.
We have not loved you with our whole heart;
we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves.
We are truly sorry and we humbly repent.

I have to admit that this prayer never gave me much comfort. I secretly envied my Catholic friends, who had an opportunity to provide a list of their wrongdoings and get a specific punishment; I loved the concreteness of their ritual.

Now I am a grown up, and I attend a different kind of Church each week. This week, Stroller Strides was held on Thanksgiving, and I had not been in attendance since October 24. While there was no need for confession, my penance was as clear as any Hail Mary or Our Father: inability to move for three days.

Things that we never expect to say, until we became parents

"Boogers? Thank you."

Monkey Brain

Movies like Marley and Me should come with messages for pregnant women:

WARNING: may cause blubbering that might not be warranted by the sap in this movie.

Not that I would know; I'm just sayin'. . .sniff

Aftermath

Oh the food coma. . .

Grateful

Happy Thanksgiving! I am heading up to Josh’s brother’s home with Brussels sprouts, pecan pie and pumpkin muffins. Since my sister-in-law was in my shoes last year, she’s giving me a break this year on cooking and hostessing duties.

I have a lot to be grateful for. I have a sweetie-pie husband and a healthy, adorable 2 year old. I’m carrying a healthy baby, I can still lift my son and run after him, and I haven’t gotten any additional stretch marks (knocking wood as I type). I have a roof over my head. I have a job. I know where my next meal is coming from. Oh sure, I’ve got issues and problems; who doesn’t? But right now, I am grateful and happy with what I have.

We just got back from church (Stroller Strides), and soon the the eating will commence! The sad but good thing is that since I have a butternut squash in my belly already, there's not much room for food. This means that Thanksgiving will require a certain amount of strategery on my part to ensure that I have room for pecan pie, so I'll be project managing the crap out of this afternoon's eating. Hope you enjoy your holiday!

29 Weeks: Horton Hears a Butternut Squash

Here in the Henig household, we’ve been getting into the Dr. Seuss canon. My favorite right now is Horton Hears a Who.

I won’t give a summary, because if you are not familiar with this one, you need to get yourself to a library or Amazon and read this gem, and I’m not going to let you off the hook with the abridged version. Then come back to my blog, because if you haven’t read about Horton, the rest of this post won’t make much sense.

I’m realizing this week that Keiki is kind of like the Whos of Whoville, and I’m kind of like Horton (yes, I went there and willingly compared myself to an elephant). The analogy ends with the rest of the world, because unlike the Kangaroo, and dozens of Wickersham brothers and Wickersham cousins, nobody doubts that I am pregnant.

Keiki started out as this little tiny speck of a poppy seed. As soon as I saw the positive test at 4 am in my bathroom, I protected that speck by cutting out Ritalin, coffee, wine, and sushi. I couldn’t see him/her, but “A person’s a person, no matter how small,” and that’s just what we Mamas do.

As Keiki grew, I was the only one who could communicate with him/her, mainly in the form of Keiki making me wildly ill and tired.

Those first few kicks felt like the chanting Whos:
We are here!
We are here!
We are here!
We are here!

Finally, Keiki’s kicks are big and thundering, movement stretching across my belly as he/she practices some fetal yoga. Much like the one final Yopp! from Jojo of Apartment 12J, Josh can feel what I’ve been for months. Unlike the doubting masses of the Jungle of Nool, Josh has always believed and been metaphorically shading Keiki with an umbrella all along. We hear you Keiki, and you are loved, no matter how small (or abstract).

Spam

Dear Phisherman,

Thanks for thinking of me, but I'm really not interested in meeting other Christian singles. You see, I'm married to a lovely Israeli-born Jew, and while I admit that my son looks like an ad for the Aryan Nation, I have no interest in trading in for a single Christian, despite your promise of pics and the fact that they are local.

You guys are really missing out here, because my Monkey Brain is all about the impulse click.

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

The Wrath of Grapes (Napa! Napa! Napa!)

As mentioned, we went up to Sonoma this weekend to celebrate a birthday with Josh's family.

Josh's dad was the one who noticed that all the tourist maps of the wineries were either for Napa County or Sonoma County, but never both. What's the deal? Though geographically side by side, they might as well be different countries.

Our waitress at lunch said that word on the street is that there is a long-standing rivalry between the two. Evidently Sonoma is the second sister (think Jan Brady) to the more famous and celebrated Napa; grapes from Napa can even get up to twice as much as Sonoma grapes.

This wondering about the Napa-Sonoma rivalry wove its way through the afternoon and evening, culminating in a Google search and live readings from the results, until someone finally said, "Jeez, it's not like the Arab-Israeli conflict!"

I couldn't stop thinking, what would that look like? Sonoma residents vintners walking into Robert Mondavi vineyards with a backpack of Sonoma grapes rigged to explode, tainting the precious Napa crops? Injecting the soil with chemicals? Drive by cheese and french baguette bombs? Oh the possibilities!

Spam

Dear Phisherman,

Sucker! If you really knew anything about me, it's that I'm a word freak. So when you send me grammatically indeciferable emails, I'm soooo not interested. "Make her in thousand and one way this night"?! What does that even mean?

Monkey Brain

We stayed at a Bed & Breakfast in Sonoma county last night, and they had a chicken coop near our room. It reminded Josh and me of our honeymoon in Kauai (less the toddler giving us the stink eye because we didn't want to get out of bed).

In Kauai, a hurricane in the early 90s destroyed some chicken coups, so now Kauai has free-roaming chickens and roosters like stray cats. The funny thing is that they are temporally challenged, so the roosters cock-a-doodle-doo at all hours. Like 2 am, or 10 am.

Anyhoo.

So this morning I took Jacob over to the chicken coop to say high before breakfast. I'm not sure how he learned this, but Jacob walked up to the fence, held out his palm, and said, "I come in peace." Once I stopped laughing, I grabbed his little fingers before the chicken, who clearly did not speak Jacob, could nip off some toddler fingertips.

I can't really blame the chicken. Jacob is delicious; I've nibbled on his fingers myself from time to time.

The Big O

When I was in elementary school, I got hooked on General Hospital; this is what happens when you have a sister who is 9 years older than you. Most days, I would make it a point to be at home by 3 pm to watch the dramas of the doctors and residents of Port Charles.

In the spring and summer of 1986, ABC started running promos for a new show. A woman sat in a large wing-back chair, wearing a satin blouse that tied at the neck and told potential viewers about her upcoming show. My memory is fuzzy on the specifics, but her message went something like this, "Hi! My name is Oprah Winfrey, and starting this fall, I'll be hosting a daytime talk show. I sure hope you'll tune in."

Oh my Oprah, did we tune in. I've watched sporadically over the years(although recently I'll admit to a near daily habit), read the books and read O Magazine (thanks Mom!). I've learned about how to live in the moment, and more than I ever wanted to know about poop (thanks Dr Oz). I laughed, I cried (it was better than Cats!) and wept some more on Friday when the queen of talk herself got teary as she told us that she would be finishing her show in 2011. It's the end of an era.

I know, I know, she'll still be here, doing other things. But internet, do you know what this means? I only have 18 months to get to Chicago!

Pregnancy Tired

You know it's bad when I can't even muster the energy for a post-dinner Special Treat.

Spam

Dear Phisherman,

Unless there is something that I've been in complete denial about for 34 years, I'm pretty certain that I don't have a "trouser serpent" that needs to be "empowered." And I'm pretty sure that whatever "male vigor" that I have needs no "boost". Thanks all the same, though.

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Little Napoleon

For the most part, Jacob is a dream, happy and sweet. Lately however, he's had some moments when he puts the terrible in two.

Let's take tonight. Jacob's actually sitting in a chair, eating some dinner (whohoo!) and when I get up for a moment, Josh sits in my chair. Somehow this small act turns happy eating Jacob into Mr. Hyde.

"No Josh, no! Go ober dere! Go in the chicken! Go in the chicken and cry!"

Go in the kitchen and cry? Where does he come up with this stuff?

Monkey Brain

So I've been reading about how Martha Stewart is dissing Rachael Ray, and with all due respect to her empire (love Body & Soul, btw), Martha needs to get her stick out of her butt. She dismisses RR as an entertainer who doesn't teach, can't bake and repeats her recipes.

I have a special place in my heart for RR, who got me through some dark nights in late 2007. While my newborn slept, well, like a baby, I'd be up in the middle of the night, in pain and unable to sleep. As a result, I ended up with TWO sets of The Magic Bullet and a Food Network addiction.

RR taught me how to be a better cook. I learned how to salt the pasta cooking water, what the hell a roux and mirepoix are, and many basic cooking skills. I like that she tells me the same information over and over again because sometimes it takes a few tries for something to sink into this Monkey Brain of mine. I like that she tweaks recipes, which gives me license to be creative. She has a million recipes for Buffalo Chicken Insert Dish Here, and that's okay with me. If you like something, why not play around with it and find a new dish you like?

RR makes me feel like a good cook, and sometimes Martha sounds like a school marm and I feel a bit inadequate. Guess what Martha? Some people don't have time to garden and make marshmallows from scratch! But I still love you too, and I'm happy that such an arrogant asshole woman is successful; that's what I call feminist progress.

Craving

Everything I'm not supposed to have: seared tuna, Brie cheese, turkey that has not been heated to steaming. That's our little daredevil Keiki, wanting to risk listeria at every turn.

28 Weeks: This belly isn’t the only thing that’s growing around here

So this week, Keiki is the size of a Chinese cabbage. But don’t you think that Keiki should be a Napa cabbage? I mean, we like to keep our produce local in the Henig household. Just last Sunday, I rejected blueberries from Argentina, even though they are Jacob’s favorite. . .

Focus, Monkey Brain, focus!

So. Here we are, the third trimester. The hoooome stretch. The final act. The downhill slope. Should I keep going here, or have I made my point?

In 12 weeks or so, there’s going to be a person here. Did you HEAR ME INTERNET?? A real, live, crying, eating, burping, spewing, pooping person. Holy Bela Karolyi!! While this working through Jacob’s birth means that I am feeling a lot more, I’d like a smidge of denial back.

It’s funny because I started writing the above portion of this post on Monday, but after my OB appointment, I don’t feel as freaked out. Oh, I’m sure it will come back. My freshman year of college, I would have a moment every few months when I’d think, Holy Shit! I’m at HARVARD, completely freak out, and then it would pass. This is kind of like that. I know intellectually that caring for a newborn is a lot of work, but it’s not rocket science. Yes, there are potential sleep issues, reflux, breast-feeding, but I feel pretty confident about my basic baby care skills. The whole parenting two kids thing is a whole different animal, but I feel like I will be able to tend to Keiki and Jakey’s basic needs, even in a zombie state.

What makes me feel so good right now is that I feel surer that I will not repeat the same experience that I had with Jacob’s birth. That is not to say that there won’t be possible complications or even a similar outcome in terms of the facts of the birth. I may have another child in distress; I may have other complications or physical trauma. But the pain of Jacob’s birth is not just what happened, but my own reaction to it, my shutting down and letting everything happen to me because I was too scared to do anything else.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve felt a lot of emotional pain, I’ve cried a lot, and talked and written a lot about my experience with Jacob’s birth. And the weird thing is that it’s been amazing. It is scary to relive some of those moments from a couple of years ago, to bring myself to experience memories that I’d rather put in a box, tie up with string and label “I’m fine.” But those little boxes add up, weighing me down like a pair of cement shoes.

As I visit the memories of Jacob’s birth and aftermath, feelings come rushing in like the undertow of the Atlantic that I swam in as a kid. What I learned physically so long ago is what I’m trying to learn emotionally now: for the most part, if I can lean into the undertow, if I do not fight it, it will wash over me and bring me safely to shore.

And so I’m letting a lot wash through me, and it’s painful, but it hurts so good. It is the soreness after a good workout, the tired relaxation that follows any act of expression. It is growth.

Spam

Dear "Viagra&Cialis",

I do not want to "enter" ANYTHING "rock hard." Guess what? I'm a pregnant WOMAN you JACKNUTS!!!

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Indie Rock Snob - NOT!

When we watch SNL--Tivo of course, who stays up after 9 pm these days? Oh? Everyone but me? Well carry on then. . .--I always blip-blip through the musical guests. I love music, but something about watching it on TV makes me feel all antsy and Monkey Brain, so I just skip it.

Tonight, I sat through both sets of Taylor Swift.

My name is Caitlin, and I love Taylor Swift.

I'm sure that if there's a Hell for Indie Rock Snobs, it would be sitting with me watching Taylor Swift perform on infinite repeat.

Homework

On Monday, I had my 28 week check up. I’ll go every two weeks until 36 weeks, at which point I’ll go weekly for a “measure and listen,” which is usually a 5 min check to hear Keiki’s heartbeat and measure my belly, check weight and blood pressure. These appointments have been quick since everything is on track, but this week I had some homework to do as I try to make a decision about Keiki’s delivery.

On my last visit, I told my OB that I had been feeling down lately, and today, I started crying as I tried to express ambivalence over choosing VBAC or scheduled C-section. And here's why I like my OB and am glad that she will be delivering Keiki as well. She handed me a box of tissues and guided me through my written questions without a glance at her watch or telling me what I should do.

There are lots of pros and cons, and I'll be writing about them in the coming months, but basically, it’s still wait and see. To have a VBAC, a certain number of stars need to align, but the main ones are there, like the fact that both my hospital and OB perform VBACs.

Then come the "Ifs." If I have a smaller baby that’s low and I’m dilating well. If I don’t go past my due date. If I don't develop high blood pressure. These are a lot of ifs, but I find it all somewhat calming. It’s like I can create a matrix (oh how my chaotic Monkey Brain loves her a good matrix!) for all this, a structure to help me make the best decision, both for right now, and when Keiki’s ready to come out. It’s empowering.

I think back at the Me who was in labor with Jacob, and I can see now how much anxiety was there, and I just shut down in some ways. Sometimes I wish that I could pick her up, like when Jacob is having a meltdown, and rock her and make her feel safe. This level of awareness makes me feel closer to accepting the choices that I made, closer to letting go of wanting the past to be any different.

Sometimes I question all this focus on the labor/delivery choice. Presumably, I’m only going to have one more child, so why all the fuss, all this work? But I know that Jacob’s birth brought up aspects of me with which I struggle, that will continue to show up in other ways and other parts of my life until I am willing to deal with them. Why now? Why not?

Baby Boom!

When I was pregnant with Jacob, many of my friends were still riding the “Getting Married” wave, and not quite ready to start popping out babies. My imagination spun to the future, to a world in which 18-year-old Jacob was introducing all my college friends’ tweeners to cursing, cigarettes and booze. This is what my Monkey Brain likes to do.

When we started thinking about Number Two this spring, I hoped that some of my friends would join the party. And then I found out my friend S was pregnant (due in December). And then I got pregnant (February). And then, the dominoes started to fall. My friends A, M, Rufus and Dr. L are due in April and May, and I hope the trend continues!

While we don’t live in the same city, and in some cases not even the same state, I feel glad to be going through this with some of my favorite ladies. So friends, I raise a glass of sparkling apple juice in your honor, and wish you healthy ultrasounds and a poop-free delivery!

XO Monkey Brain

Monkey Brain

Dear Rachael Ray,

I've been taking your advice and salting the water before putting in the pasta, since it's "the only chance to season the pasta," but I keep getting salt under my fingernails and it feels like I'm dragging my hands through sand. It's seriously hampering my cooking pleasure. You always seem so happy; do you have someone who comes during the commercial break to dig the salt out of your fingernails?

Sincerely,

Monkey Cook

The Recap

I think that in another life, Josh would be a sports announcer or reality competition host, because that man loves a recap like nobody's business. When we were dating, one of his favorite things to do was to provide a recap of our dates. Sometimes he couldn't even wait until the end of the night, so I'd get an in-progress recap.

And while the Shaws own most of Jacob's physical real estate, when it comes to personality, he's all Henig. When Josh returned with our take-out dinner this evening, Jacob ran up to him, hugged his legs, and burst out, "Take a bath! Wash hands!," making sure that Daddy got the full scoop on what he missed. Oh those Henig boys; two peas in a pod.

Take a seat!

So Jacob and I are hanging out tonight after work playing the ottoman game. Basically, he would climb over my legs (draped on said ottoman) and shimmy over the side of the ottoman until he fell into a heap on a floor. Toddlers are such cheap dates!

Anywhoo, at one point he wanted me to move my legs so he could have better ottoman access. Instead of saying "Move, Mama!", he says, "Stop it. Try this. Take a seat!", his voice rising each time knowing that it wasn't the right phrase. It was like watching C3PO having a meltdown.

Monkey Brain

Why am I such a sucker for tv/movies filmed in San Francisco? I watch Trauma every week, and it's just not very good (this coming from someone who lists Weekend at Bernie's as one of her favorite movies).

While part of me is saying, I'm never going to get back these 40 minutes, another part is saying, Oh look! Potrero Hill!

Monkey Brain

I'm watching tivo'd Rachael Ray Show with Suzanne Somers, and is it me, or does she kind of look like Janice from The Muppet Show? A quick Google image search tells me that I'm not the only one.

27 Weeks: The debate goes on

As I begin the last week of my second trimester (Keiki the Cauliflower!), I'm thinking more and more about the whole scheduled C-section vs. Vaginal Birth After Cesaerean (VBAC) debate that rages on in my mind.

At this time, there is no medical or logistical reason why I can't have a VBAC. This may change if I have another big head baby at 8 months, my Obstetrician (OB) may dictate a C-section, but for now, it's my decision. This is hard for me, because I kind of want someone else to tell me what to do.

Whatever I decide, I have some work to do in accepting the circumstances of Jacob's birth. While it might have been helpful for me to deal with this BEFORE GETTING PREGNANT AGAIN, I tend to work well under a deadline, and so this is just the way it's going to be.

I remember the feeling of relief when Jacob came out safely. When my OB said, "Oh yeah, there was no way that he was coming out any other way," I felt like we made the right decision to go forward with the C-Section instead of waiting a few more hours, putting him in more potential danger in an effort to keep to the birth plan (no c-sections unless it's an emergency).

I also remember feeling scared and alone, flat on my back, body still open, nauseated from the anesthesia. I couldn't stop shaking, and while I wanted to pull my arms in close, I wasn't allowed to remove them from the crucifix position that I was in. The fever began almost immediately, and I passed in and out of consciousness in the recovery room while the nurses tried to lower my temperature. I felt woozy and out of it, from no sleep, from 25 hours of labor, from 12 hours of medical interventions.

In the days and weeks that followed, I Monday Morning Quarterbacked myself to death, questioning every choice that I had made throughout my labor, and feeling like the C-section was my fault and representative of some sort of personal defect. And then I stopped thinking about it and life painted over the trauma of those couple of months. As the weeks roll by, I'm determined to chip away that paint and let out whatever feelings may come so that I can let go of the fears and anxiety that I have about childbirth, and truly move forward.

At the end of the day, I don't really have a strong preference to do VBAC or C-section. Right now, the only Birth Plan that's been written for Keiki is to get that little cauliflower out in the safest way possible (for both of us). I think that the next item on the list is to figure out what is going to help me make a decision that feels good for me. Part of that is making peace with September (failed induction)- November (removal of retained placenta) 2007.

But it's not all empty tissue boxes and sadness. When I dress Jacob, it is a constant wrestling match between Jacob's head and any top that doesn't have snaps at the neck. Many times, I curse the toddler t-shirt makers who make cute clothes that squeeze my little pumpkin head going on, and pull his face back like he's had a freaky face-lift when coming off. Today, I thought to myself, How could I have ever expected that head to make it through my hoo hoo? Let the healing begin.

Surf's Up!

Whooo boy, are we in trouble.

On Monday morning before they left for the day, Josh was getting ready and Jacob was banging away on the laptop.

Our computer was up and downloading the season finale of Mad Men (have you seen it? A.Maz.Ing.) and Josh hears Jacob call out, "Dosh, Surf's Up!" Although the way Jacob says it comes out like, "Suhhff's Up. " Turns out I gave birth to Tony Soprano.

Annnywhoo.

So Jacob figured out how to get Surf's Up to start playing on the computer. Did he do it on purpose? Was it a fluke? Was it live, or Memorex?

Jacob needs to slow down on this whole learning how to do things stuff; we are so not prepared. Is there an equivalent of a plastic outlet cover for computers?

New Windows

Today we replaced our old, ugly and drafty aluminum windows with new, energy efficient ones that will lower our heating bills and increase our curb appeal. This is the type of thing that makes me feel like a real “grown-up.”

While marriage and parenting make me feel pretty grown-up, home ownership is just a different animal. There was a time in my life that I couldn’t really do the basic functions of the over 18 set. When my peers were doing things like paying their credit card bills, attending classes, finding summer jobs, I was tanking my credit and hiding under the covers of anxiety and depression. Over the last 10 years or so, I’ve slowly taken on the various tasks of growing up, and each new milestone kind of makes me feel like Jacob when he first figured out a Melissa & Doug puzzle, hands raised in the air with a big grin: “I did it!”

For some, things like home improvement may seem like a simple thing. For a Monkey Brain it can be somewhat excruciating to corral the millions of different directions that a MB wants to go. The non-MB may look at it like this:

1. Research contractors
2. Obtain bids
3. Review and select bid
4. Schedule installation
5. Have windows installed
6. Pay contractor
7. Claim tax credit

Here’s the typical Monkey Brain version:
1. Research contractors
(Go to Yelp.com and proceed to get distracted by shiny objects such as restaurant reviews, other home improvement projects, oh, let me check out Ikea’s curtain selection. . .)
2. Obtain Bids
(Receive bid, add to mail “pile” for review, ignore mail pile until it starts to fall over like a tower of Jenga, review and sort mail pile, return bid to mail pile. Repeat until husband says something to the effect of “Don’t we need that tax credit in 2009?”)
3. Review and select bid
4. Schedule Installation
5. Pay Contractor
6. Claim tax credit

Items 3-5 are pretty much driven by the contractor, and item 6 is the responsibility of my financial advisor/husband, so once 1&2 were done, it was easy peasy.

And while in my professional life I can project manage the shit out of anything, much of that energy is saved for work so my Monkey Brain freak flag can fly when I’m at home. But when you add other people (husband, kids) and stuff (mortgage, car payments, home maintenance) to the mix, there’s not much room for Monkey Brain.

It’s a simple thing, but a task that I never thought I’d be able to complete, what with all the follow through and methodical planning involved. But I did it. It took longer than the average Josephine, but I did it all the same.

Caitlin: 1, Monkey Brain: 0.

26 Weeks: English Cucumber who plays for Manchester United

Dear Keiki, my little English Cucumber,

Please stop kicking my cervix. Your big brother waited until the last few weeks before doing this, so I think you are taking the whole second child thing of trying to catch up a little too seriously.

I mean it, kid. It makes me feel like any second your little foot, fully booted up in a soccer cleat, is going to poke through, and that would be a VERY bad scene and grounds for a red card and some serious time outs.

Love,

Mama

25 Months

Dear Jacob,

I can't believe that you are 25 months! Your development is pretty amazing to watch, and I'm glad that I'm starting to document this now so my Monkey Brain doesn't forget.

On Saturday, Daddy & I took you Trick or Treating with your closest thing to a bff, Tyler from across the street. I didn't think a 2 year old would be into the whole thing, but you picked it up quickly and were happily babbling "Trick or treating, trick or treating" while we made the rounds of a few houses. You were nice and polite with your "Thank yous" and fascinated by candy.

Speaking of tricks and candy, you are now starting to articulate your opinions pretty well. When on Sunday I was eating your Jujubes, you asked for some candy.

I said, "Oh, you won't like it, it's chewy," you responded, "I yike chewy!" And just last week, you were sitting on the couch reading your dinosaur book, and I tried to get you to come with me on some errands, you refused:
"No want to, wan read dinosaur book."
"You can read the dinosaur book in the car."
"Wanna read on the couch."

This is very troubling, young man. I was pretty sure that I could trick you into doing things that are good for you for a few more years, and you are already speaking your own mind. I am both excited and proud of your independence and confidence, and scared because this means that I have to get better at parenting you, not tricking you. Sigh.

Love,

Mama

Parenting is a contact sport

Today, I've been head butted, kicked in the face, belly, and shins, and had my nose picked without my consent. And that was just during pre-night night cuddle time. I kept thinking about what a friend once said in reference to a mom of boys, "She had three boys, and always kind of looked like she had been hit in the head with a frying pan."

This is the first time in this pregnancy that I've had a twinge of regret about not knowing the sex. I mean, if I knew we were having another boy, I would have time to order some custom-made body armor.