The Will Wheaton Effect

I've been told I'm not posting enough. I'm sorry. To all three of you.

25 weeks pregnant. I'm feeling pregnant now. Mr. Adventure felt Sean Connery move the other night. He was pretty excited. I'm also fatter and feel taller. Does having boys make you taller?

My next appointment with the midwife is the glucose screen. She gave me the drink to take home with me and told me to drink it on my way in to the office and note the time I finish. I learned that the gestational diabetes screen can also indicate diabetes likeliness later on in life. The thing that sucks is, if you fail the one hour test, you have to do a three hour, fasting test. I think it's super rude to make a pregnant lady not eat for that long. I have a hard enough time not stabbing people when I'm well-fed and well-rested, so there's that.

My friend who was almost as pregnant as me last time around pointed out how both of our pregnancies dragged on last time, but this one seems to be going by super fast. And it's true. Shit's crazy. I have a meeting with the midwife in mid-June, we'll do another three weeks later (to get me on the schedule she wants for appointments) then I go to every other week, then every week, then baby.

I'm pretty excited I have another friend who is almost as pregnant as me this time around, too. (And three very friendly acquaintances, one of which is due with a boy the same day as me!). My friend is having a little girl and I'm working on arranging a marriage for Sean Connery (the baby, not the actor, obviously).

Also, Mr. Adventure wants me to write a letter to Vin Diesel, asking Vin Diesel to come out and play D&D with him and a few friends in exchange for naming Sean Connery Vin Diesel. But I haven't done it yet. Because doing things is hard. And I'm a notorious procrastinator. Which is why I really need a fancy job in a think tank or something. I want to get paid for ideas that other people carry out.

Chumbercules is 20 months old. He can count to chicken. And he can count up from fun. I went to a clothing swap for my local mom's group and scored him a gator vest. He calls it a dinosaur and roars when he wears it. he can say the words "I" and "Love" and "You," but when he puts them together, it comes out, "I luboo." I call it the Will Wheaton effect.

I had to get another ultrasound and brought Chumby with me. We are trying to prepare him as much as possible for the idea that he is going to have a little brother. We go to the library a lot and have a couple books. His favorite is Hello in There: A Big Sister's Book of Waiting. I change the end to "I'm finally a big brother!" Instead of sister. I think he likes it because it has little tabs that you unfold that reveal a growing baby. I need to get him a pop-up book or something soon. He'll totally love it.

We've also been going to the park a lot since the weather has been nice and he is getting so independent at play. He also tries to keep up with the big kids. (You know. The three year olds!) He's a quarter Viking, so he's huge, and I guess his language is super developed, so most people think he's older. I've learned to guess the ages of children based on whether they have a neck and how long that neck is. It's way easier than cutting off a leg and counting the rings. And more socially acceptable.

I've also become a bit of a yeller lately. And I hate it. So I've stopped and gone back to Janet Lansbury's RIE website and have been reading up on setting limits without yelling.  It's getting easier the more I practice. Like at the park yesterday, I told Chumby that he can't take a stick on the play equipment because it isn't safe, but that I would hold the stick for him while he played. He was very upset about it when I first took it away and I said, "I know it's frustrating to have things taken away from you, but I will hold it right here when you're ready for it." And he took two breaks from the toy to play with his stick. And I only had to take it away from him again one of those two times, repeating again how it isn't safe to bring it on the toy. The third time he gave it to me after I asked for it. Toddlers are little people. And, most of the time, people don't care about you solving the shitty and frustrating things that happen in their life, they just want to not  feel alone for a moment. They want acknowledgement that the situation or event is super shitty and that their feelings, no matter what those feelings are, are completely valid.

I also like I Think I Know Why You're Yelling, and I think I need to take more time for myself before I get to the burned-out, I-don't-give-a-fuck stage. I'm not as consistent with limits when I'm tired and cranky and hungry and not taking care of myself, and if you're out of control, I imagine it's extra scary for the tiny people in your life.

According to my Ultimate Guide to Faux Infant Cannibalism, Sean Connery is the size of cauliflower, acorn squash and a recorder this week. So, make some Cauliflower Rice Stuffed Acorn Squash and play this song on the recorder while it's in the oven!

Happy adventuring!

Rutabagas, skeletons, helmets and safety

Dear Internet;

Hi.  I have something really important to tell you.  This exists.  For realz, yo.  It was brought to my attention by an old friend who is almost as pregnant as I am.  So, I can get a helmet for my kid, put him on a leash (with those ridiculous yet adorable animal backpack leash things) and I don't know... I guess put knee pads on him when he starts crawling? 

When I was setting up my registry at Amazon, I asked Mr. Adventure if we need those little mitt things that keep babies from clawing their faces.  His response about mitts for babies was nearly as passionate as his anti-onesie rant.  He said that if the kid claws his face enough, he will learn not to do it and he doesn't want a 14 year old who doesn't understand that fingernails are sharp that says, "I wonder what would happen if I stick this in my eye?" and then jabs himself in the eye with his fingernail because he did not learn at an early age that that is a terrible idea.  Hilariously exaggerated, but I understood his point.  It seems like parents in the U.S. super shelter their kids. 

I have four brothers and was raised by a single mom, so my childhood was akin to Lord of the Flies.  If one of us didn't end up in the emergency room at least once a month, we felt we weren't doing our duty as children.  Though, it was one of my younger brothers who seemed to end up there the most often.  Like the time he thought it would be a good idea to swallow a penny.  (I think he was old enough to know better.  But I was about 12 when I shoved the end of a carrot in my ear and couldn't get it out.  At least I was embarrassed enough about what a stupid idea it was to blame it on one of my younger brothers when asked what happened).

I remember when I fist moved to Central America, I was riding the city bus to work (I had been there maybe three days) and I saw this kid who looked to be about six years old, sitting on the curb of a busy street, peeling a mango with a machete that was approximately half his body length.  I found this shocking, to put it mildly.  But, after constant exposure to this sort of thing, I started thinking: why not give a six year old a knife?  I mean, if they learn how to handle things responsibly from an early age, the chances are they are less likely to accidentally cut off their arm when they are a teenager, right? 

I've been reading a lot about free range parenting, too.  Because, really, people are raising children to be self-sufficient, right?  I was doing my own laundry at six and getting myself into trouble even before then.  All on my own.

I am 25 weeks pregnant now.  The internet tells me that McCloud is about the size of a rutabaga.  Whereas I very much enjoy saying and typing the word "rutabaga," I have no idea what a rutabaga looks like.  Or how big it is.  However, when I quickly googled "Rutabaga Recipes" just now, I came across a recipe for mashed rutabaga, and I find that hilarious.  So, if you want to make mashed rutabaga, here is the link.

We had to get another ultrasound last week because the ultrasound tech couldn't get a good picture of the heart at my twenty week appointment.  People keep telling me about how their ultrasound techs were wrong about the gender, and I told my tech that.  She got pretty offended and showed me again that McCloud is definitely a boy.  I feel kind of dirty now for looking.  But I hear that is not the last time I will see his penis, so I better get used to it.  My midwife later told me that she has never known the ultrasound tech to be wrong about a baby's gender.

The ultrasound tech also pointed out to me that McCloud was yawning.  She seemed far more excited about it than I was.  I mean, at 24 weeks, the baby still has translucent skin and you can see all his bones, so he looked like this tiny, creepy skeleton with a see through skin orb around him yawning.  I mean.. oh!  Yay!  The baby is yawning!  Of course he's yawning.  It's probably boring as shit in there.

I still haven't received the size up I requested for my graduation gown to encompass my giant, growing belly for this Saturday.  I'm thinking if I don't get it in time, I will just cut a belly hole in my current gown and have a fetus in a graduation cap painted on my belly.  Umbilical cord included, of course.

Not really, but that would be hilarious.

That is all.