15 Weeks

My little Apple has grown to the size of an avocado this week. I don't think I'm going to dub the baby, Avocado. It just doesn't sounds "wholesome" and "sweet" like Apple, nor does it roll off the tongue easily.

It is widely known that pregnant women have super powers: super bitchy, super hair and nail growth, and a extremely sensitive nose. These powers are not necessarily benefits, but more of a curse such as a girlfriend of mine who was primping in the bathroom mirror as her husband came in to pee. She said she stopped and asked, "did you have Fruitloops for breakfast?" "Yeah." he replied with a blank look. It isn't the best novelty type of ability. I can only imagine later on, "can you guess what I had for lunch?"

I want to hit on the super smell. Boden is rewarded for good behavior at school with a Dum Dum sucker. The other day he received the butterscotch flavor. I'm not a huge fan and after I tell you this you may begin to think twice about it. This particular sucker smells like feet. Now, either you are saying ewe that's gross and I'm never going to eat that or you have just taken off your socks and are breathing in the butterscotchy aroma of your tootsies. Maybe you are doing both. This will now give men the excuse to say that their sticky feet smells like candy. No, there is just candy that smells like feet. Yuck.

15 Weeks

Did you know that in your 14th week the baby is the size of a lemon and then the baby becomes the size of an apple in your 15th week? Hmm, could this be where Gwyneth Paltrow conjured up her daughter's name in a hormone induced moment? "Awe, my little baby, Apple."

This brings me to another subject that just chaps my ass. Have you ever noticed that when a celebrity child is mentioned on the internet or in a magazine, the first AND middle name is printed? Why? Do you really think Britney is going to say, "Jayden James, bring mama her Marlboros." I'm pretty sure she just calls him by his first name. 

Officially, I have made it out of bitchymester, which is the first trimester of pregnancy. I do have my moments of low tolerance, but mostly I am feeling pretty good. Talking to one of my friends, they told me that is sounded like I just smoked a joint. This early phase of second trimester is tricky with the clothes. It is the "is she fat or pregnant" phase. 

The other question people ask is "what are you having?" My favorite response is, "a baby." I smile innocently when I say it and wait. I did this to a random customer in my former place of employment. He was a bit confused and I was extremely amused. I really wanted to walk away and leave him alone to figure out that I was just a sarcastic pregnant woman, but I thought better of it and laughed (at him). 

To answer the question, my husband and I agreed to wait to find out the sex of our first baby and we'll do the same with this one. Trust me it is extremely difficult to be mid sonogram and have the technician ask if I wanted to know the sex of the baby. ".......... (long pause) ah......... (I could keep it a secret from EVERYONE)............. no." Scouring the inner depths of my brain to devise a question to ask her that would shed light on what the sex of the baby is without her knowing what my motive was. "Do you advise pee pee teepees?" (No, I did not make that up and yes, that is what they are called. Google it.)

Laying out with Boden

It was such a beautiful day that I decided to slather on baby oil and layout with a book on a sheet a' la 1982 when it was okay to use baby oil and sheets are big enough to encompass any position. (Do not tell my mother.) 

This is my conversation highlight with Boden.

Boden audibly rips one.

Mommy: Boden, did you toot?

Boden: Ah, yeah. (pause) Where do toots come from?

Mommy: From your butt.

Boden: You know that's right, Mommy.

I have no idea where he get's it, but it is soooo amusing.

To pee or not to pee

Boden is potty training. He is lazy and not at all motivated by M&Ms, which are his reward for initiating the process and my reward for being his mother. 

This morning I woke him up, took off his sleeping diaper (or whatever it is that costs more money, but is supposed to be for night time, but not a diaper that looks and acts like a diaper), and proceeded to the bathroom.

I seriously wished I had a camera in hand to take a picture of him wearing his footie pajama's only he had his arms in and they were fully unzipped with the legs trailing behind him like a cape. Boden was not happy being forced to disrobe in the cool of the morning and forced to walk to the potty. He voiced his contempt.

We walked into the bathroom and about a foot short of the potty the fire hose let loose on my foot, the bathroom rug, and the bathroom floor with such a force that I screamed, so not the way I want to start my morning. Boden stood with a look that had a mix of relief (it was a lot of pee) and shock of his ability.

I deserve M&Ms.

Deal or No Deal

My son Boden is quite a character. He is now showing signs of potentially being a force to reckon with in his teenage years. He is perceptive, charismatic, and has a quick sense of humor.

Last night we got home from dinner and I was carrying him back to his bedroom to get his pj's on and he seemed very tired. This is our conversation:

ME: Boden are you tired? Do you want to go to bed?

BODEN: I'm tired. I want to go to Mommy's bed.

ME: WHAT?! Mommy's bed?

BODEN: That's the deal. (Pointing his finger for effect.)

ME: That's the deal? I don't deal with two-year-olds. I make the deals.

BODEN: I get to go to Mommy's bed and I get one show. That's the deal. One show in Mommy's bed.

ME: Who taught you how to deal?

There is good and bad to this. The good is that in his adult life he will be a good business man. The bad is he is going to be hell on wheels and I'm going to go prematurely gray.

My grandfather used to tell me that 95% of the world is bullshit and 5% is knowing how to spread it. If your spreader is broke, then your in trouble. Boden seems to be exercising his spreader just fine.

Another Poop Story

I decided that Boden's room needed to incorporate all his toys including the 5'x3' train table my father made him for Christmas that has been in my living room along with a bazillion other toys that junk up the living room. 

Making room in Boden's bedroom would involve moving his bed. While I was moving LIGHT WEIGHT furniture (for those who think this pregnant girl is doing heavy lifting, I most certainly am not) Boden is in the living room watching tv. I thought Boden was watching tv, but he wasn't in his recliner (yes, he has a mini recliner that most people are jealous of) and the back door was wide open. This wouldn't be a big deal if we had a fenced in yard made out of impervious metal and childproof locks, but we have 5 1/2 acres and lots of trees.  

I look at Shelby my yellow lab and scream, "GO FIND HIM YOU STUPID EFFING DOG!" I have no idea why I think she would all of a sudden turn into Lassie. She is just dumbly looking at me like, "stop screaming and throw something or take me to swim."

Seconds later, which felt like and hour later, I hear his little voice calling, "mommy." 

"Don't you ever go outside without mommy! Do you understand? I thought I lost you!"

"You lost me. I don't go outside without mommy."

I reach around him and I feel his heart, which is pounding a million miles a minute, and his back that feels oddly wet. I turn him around and... sigh, shit. Really, shit is everywhere: up his back and down his legs. 

I have mentioned in previous posts that my child has had problems with constipation since he was 5 months old. The kind where you become a midwife and help birth out the massive, solid log that is causing this baby pain, thus creating a fear anxiety of pooping. We should only be so happy that this bowel movement was... easier to get out.

I pick him up and head for... I have no idea where to go. At this point, the terror has turned into Do I take him inside and get poop inside my house? That would be a whole lot of disinfecting.

I strip him down, gag at the pungent smell, and head for the water hose. 

WHAT?! Don't judge! It was 85 degrees outside and he loved it. 

A two-year-old running around naked in the water hose is a happy boy. A mommy who doesn't have to clean shit in her house is a happy mommy.

Don't worry he had a warm bath afterward.

Kitchen Nuggets

Unfortunately, this is going to be a bit of a rant. To me, if the kitchen is dirty then the whole house is dirty. It is one of those things that make me feel better is having my kitchen clean.

Many people secure the "if I cook then you clean" deal. That is only fair if the other person is doing their end on the cleaning. My husband and I have a differing of opinions when it comes to standards of cleanliness and functionality of the dishwasher. However bitchy this sounds, I am truly grateful for the help cleaning. 

This is a list of things that a husband, boyfriend, or friend can do to help out in the kitchen.

1. Unless we invest in the Maytag dishwasher with built-in disposal, then you must first rinse the dishes before loading it. I know dishwasher are supposed to clean and the extra scraping and rinsing is a pain, but I really hate to run the dishes through again, because of food residue. 

2. There are starving kids all over the world, so wrap it up for left overs.

3. Maybe dishwashers should come with a how to load class. I don't care if the job of the dishwasher is supposed to clean the dishes. It does matter if you chuck everything in there and it can't spray the dish. Not only does it matter how you load to ensure getting all the dishes clean, but it is equally important to maximize your load.

4. The hand washed dishes after being cleaned have homes and it isn't on top of the stove.

5. Part of cleaning the kitchen is also wiping down the counters. When coffee, sugar, wine, breadcrumbs, and God knows what else is spilled on the counter do the courtesy of wiping that crap off.

6. While you are wiping the counters hit the kitchen table too.

7. Dirty sinks are disgusting. Clean that out too.

8. If the dishwasher is empty and you use a dirty dish the best thing to do is to go ahead and store that dirty spoon in the dishwasher and not at the bottom of the sink. Make sure that you aren't putting in dirty with clean dishes too.

9. If there are things that must go into the garbage can, then be mindful of actually making sure the trash gets into the bag and doesn't nasty up the parts that aren't sent to the dump like clumps of leftovers sticking to the lid of the trash can. This only means going and cleaning the can, so it doesn't get funkier.

10. Whatever wife cooks it is good to eat period. Do not hesitate to try to secure a babysitter and take her out every once and a while on a one-on-one date. It could open the door to sex later on.