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We had carrot cake for dessert this evening and after everyone had a slice and there was one remaining, Mr. T starting his subtle requests for more. I explained that everyone had had a slice except the baby, and so the last piece was for Mommy to eat so that the baby could have some too. He wasn’t too thrilled with my response, so I promised him that whenever he was pregnant I would make him a whole carrot cake to eat all by himself. Grandma asked him if that would ever happen and he gave the most sour expression you have ever seen! (I don’t think I make being pregnant look too enjoyable!) Then Grandma turned to Big J next and asked her if she would ever be pregnant, her response nearly made me choke: “Yes, of course! Only girls can be pregnant… the boys lay the eggs!”
Mr. Man and I have finally made a decision about our baby's name, and so I've been starting to call him by his name so that the kids would slowly catch on. They are not too thrilled with our choice... Big J favors Prince Eric, and Mr. T would love to have a brother named Luke Skywalker (or just Skywalker if I'd rather!). Tonight at dinner we were discussing the fact that regardless, his name is his name and we could call him other things like, "cutie pie" or "sweet baby" but he does have a real name too. Little E is quite adament that he's NOT what we named him, but IS R2D2! He even brought me a picture of the little robot to make it clear what he was saying. I think we may have some surprises on our hands when this little guy makes his presence more felt in our family! For now we just have some rather interesting dinner conversations!
When Little E poops in his underwear… “story of my life”.
When Big J falls off her bike and I can’t run to her but have to wait for her to come crawling to me, “story of my life”.
Mr. T had what I thought was the worst pink eye I’ve ever seen over the weekend with green goup just pouring out of his eye – and would kick and scream while I attempted to sit on him and put the dreaded eye drops in… “story of my life” – and even more so when it turned out he had a sinus infection and the drops had been futile.
Mr. Man was gone for the weekend for his brother’s graduation, came back to spend Monday with us and left early early Tuesday to work for several weeks up in Canada. We were more than well taken care of over the weekend (my favorite was when a friend dropped by and yelled out for an explanation as to why I wasn’t in my “chair” – I was peeing!) and thankfully my Mom arrived Tuesday evening, so it has been Grandma to the rescue since!
Yesterday evening was Mr. T’s recognition ceremony for preschool. We were all dressed up and ready on time and Grandma was driving so I was attempting to get out of the house and enjoy the evening with my leg up elsewhere. Literally minutes from the preschool, Little E started throwing up and throwing up and throwing up. Again, my response as I turned to my Mom, “story of my life”. Big J started bawling, feeling horrible for Little E and worried we wouldn’t be able to see Mr. T “graduate” now! However, Grandma came to the rescue and dropped us off, took Little E home to clean up and returned just as we exited to taxi us home. I was sorry she had to miss it, as it was such a wonderful night, but grateful nonetheless that the entire evening hadn’t been completely ruined for everyone.
Trying to clean up all the puke all over the car was another story… but we all survived and Little E woke up today just fine.
To give you an idea of what my leg feels like these days, I can only describe the constant ache as the worst period cramps of your life all the way down your leg to just below your ankle. Sometimes it’s worse; mostly at the end of the day. If I’m up it’ll feel like I have the biggest poop in the world to rid myself of- even though I don’t. In some ways it feels like I’m ready to push this baby out! This morning after taking a shower, I was throbbing and when one of the kids’ wet face cloths fell down into the tub I looked down because with how I was feeling I wouldn’t have been surprised to have seen that I had given birth to my baby. Strange feelings… it’s not normal! “Story of my life”!
Today one dear lady from our ward, who had taken a load of laundry off my hands this morning, called and immediately said, “You’re a type A personality aren’t you?” My speech slurred as the many jumbled thoughts in my head collided in an attempt to think up something cohesive and at least half-intelligent to reply (not very type A thinking, I’m assuming). I wanted to ask why? What in my laundry would make her think such a thing? Was there a sock missing now and she was assuming it was her fault? Did one of my many lists make it through a load and she was now finding it? Or had I already written her a thank you note and it had arrived before she had even cleaned my laundry? I said something like, “I used to be, but bed rest can change your personality quite a bit – why do you ask?” Apparently one of my boys’ pants had a tear and she thought I would probably want to stitch it up myself so that the thread matched completely, etc. etc…. and she listed a bunch of annoying habits that I assumed she labled me as having. Then she went on to explain how she would go about fixing the pants – as a non-type A personality. I told her that her way sounded great, but that since I was stuck in a stuck position I could easily stitch up the pants (though I would most likely leave them to deteriorate to a state of nothingness and then proceed to discard them). I also added, almost as an afterthought, that I don’t sew at all and so my “fixing” job would be much worse than the one she had described. “You don’t sew?!” my dear friend exclaimed, and suddenly I think I became human to her, or maybe less than. Regardless it was the break she needed and she simply said, “Well I’ll just stitch them through on the sewing machine real quick and bring them by in the morning. Have a nice night!” Strange.
Then there was the adorable girl who came to sweep and mop my floor the other week. While doing so she exclaimed such things as, “You must have really high standards”, “I don’t even remember the last time I mopped my floor” and “You must have had a stay-at-home Mom to think that this floor is dirty”… I really wish I could remember them all, but basically I started to feel badly for wanting my house to be a bit cleaner than the sticky-icky crumbly mess that I had to walk across in these increasingly-disgusting stockings to get to the bathroom 30 times a day.
In contrast, the quite older lady who came and SCRUBBED my kitchen, stated that she would just have to come back another day with some stronger cleaner and a much better scrub brush to finish cleaning my oven. OVEN? You mean I’m supposed to clean that periodically… not just when I move?
So it’s been interesting. Apparently I’m out of experience too, because today I had my very first PINK load of laundry. Saturday I stuck my back door mat (which is VERY red) in the washing machine. This morning I remembered it and, without looking, poored in some detergent and started the “small” load. Apparently, and I shouldn’t be surprised because this happens all the time, other items, very light colored items, had been added to the washing machine in the last couple of days… including some now unsalvageable khaki church pants and ta da – PINK LAUNDRY! Mr. Man took great delight in my mistake (mostly I think because none of HIS clothing were in there) and showed all the kids the PINK turnout, claiming that Mommy had found the secret button on the washing machine to turn everything pink. Big J LOVES all her new pink socks and shorts (and is thrilled I’ve FINALLY found that secret button), Little E thinks his pink undies (they are called undies, or even panties – now that they’re pink!) are a little strange, but on the whole we all had a good laugh. Mom is losing it, and there may be more than one reason why others need to take over the cleaning for a while!!!
So type A I am no longer. I’m now a definite type pink.
I've come to the conclusion that balance in life is only attained when one limits the extent and experiences of ones life. Maybe not. P...