Ramblings of Late

These little ladies.  Some days the cuteness factor is truly more than I can handle.  So often it’s easier to talk about the frustrations and struggles of mothering.  What a disservice to the cuteness.  You know your kids are just as skilled as mine at saying ridiculously funny things, random acts of sweetness you didn’t think possible, and simply reaching new levels of cuteness.  Have I used the word cuteness enough for you?  All of this is to say, since my brain seems to be functioning at about 50% this morning what I have to offer is a rambling list of the cuteness of my children (and I definitely encourage you to make your own or share some of the best ones in the comments) with the distinct possibility of some of my own crazy thoughts thrown in the mix.  Are you ready?  That’s what I thought.

After I whacked my shin getting out of the car, I hear a little Molé voice from the backseat say, “You ok?”  So simple, but such a relief to know that they are beginning to at least notice some of my daily plight as I crash into things, trip around, and basically tumble about with this pregnant body.

When being told about the baby after the ultrasound, BQ’s first question was, “Will it have a penis?”

After requesting sandwich bags from the kitchen, the girls proceeded to pack their lunches with plastic food from their kitchen, and then went to their room with their doctor bag to help take care of people who were sick.  Can you tell these girls love their Daddy who packs his lunch in a sandwich bag and leaves in the morning to help people who are sick?  Love it.

“At home call” is basically about as much fun as having a colicky newborn.  I don’t know how The Doc does it.  Every other night, and then three nights in a row every other weekend, The Doc is at the mercy of that little plastic device.  If you have forgotten everyone’s favorite toy in the 90’s it’s called a pager.  From patient questions, to patient transfers between hospitals, he is expected to do all and know all at ALL hours of the night.  Can you imagine if you had to do something other than change a diaper and feed your baby on that amount of sleep?  I could barely tell you my name let alone help you decide if your symptoms meant that your cancer had in fact returned or whether or not you needed to get to an ER (ED)  immediately.  He is amazing and I am grateful that his patients are blessed with someone on the other end of the phone as compassionate and caring as him- especially at 2 a.m.

BQ told me yesterday, “Mommy, the baby is going to be my husband.”  She was a bit disappointed when I told her she can’t marry anyone in our family.

The visual of little Molé’s flip flops on the wrong feet, underwear put on backwards creating a relentless wedgie, and other wardrobe malfunctions are a daily occurance and ridiculously hilarious.

Little girls with painted toenails are super cute.

After taking a bite of her fast food chicken nugget, BQ declared, “Mommy, this tastes really bad.”  Rest assured, if we had Chick-fil-A here she would have been satisfied and going back for more I’m sure.  At any rate, she is totally right and I was so proud.  Let’s face it, no amount of ketchup can cover up that amount of nasty.

BQ said yesterday out of the blue, “Mommy, I really, really like Molé.”  Me too little lady, me too.

Even the third time around, when I would think my body is so used to being stretched to the max it wouldn’t be a problem, I still have those days where my belly feels like it might explode.  So full, pushing all limits of nature, and yet with 16 weeks to go.  Yikes.

My girls really like being home and I am learning what a gift it is to have two little homebodies in a city that isn’t all sunny days and backyard bbqs.

The girls are obsessed with the baby.  Constantly asking, “When will the baby come out,” and kissing my belly (or in Molé’s case accidentally grabbing my boobs as she has not quite figured out the geography of where the baby is exactly).  So, so sweet.

Being charged $150 for a “routine” STD test at your new doctor’s office is NOT cool.  (and believe me, whether by a change in the doctor’s coding/pleading/threats/or tears I will get that charge covered!)  That’s right, with ALL the extra time on my hands I’ve somehow managed to necessitate that sort of screening.

I now understand why some people spend $800 dollars on a double stroller, seeing as how the ones that seem expensive at $200 (and believe me that is a lot of money) might as well be made with the wheels immobilized once the combined weight of the children riding along reaches 50 pounds plus.  I am not a machine.

Our apartment ceilings are like those of an office.  That’s right, big rectangular flourescent lights and the foam-esque squares with the metal bars in between.  I may drool over the thought of a single family home or somewhere with regular ceilings but at the end of the day, office ceilings and all, I can’t imagine a place that would feel much more like home.  This cave rocks.

I had forgotten how hard it is to sleep when pregnant.  Each night I try a new pillow placement technique with the hope that it will somehow do the trick.  So far, no luck.

Having a four year old is great in that when she gets sick, she can actually tell you where it hurts.  “Mommy, it hurts when I talk,” and now I know to add honey to all beverages and to not expect much of an appetite.  This information can then be applied to her two year old sister when they share colds (even though I must admit the two year old is quite the tough little lady).  The thought of being able to actually provide the appropriate care for my kids when they are sick is pretty darn cool and definitely beats wondering is it the ears/throat/head/back/stomach/toenails all night long while a child cries.

I am not one of those glamorous women who only gets pregnant in the belly.  My thighs, booty, and chins also enjoy getting in on the action.  And to be perfectly honest, it’s alright by me.

Well, since I’ve rambled on for a bit and nap time is almost over, I think I’ll go indulge in a little ice cream.  Happy ramblings to you!


One thought on “Ramblings of Late

  1. My 2 1/2 year old said to me the other day, “I’m growing up, Mama! I’m growing up right now!”

    A few days before that, she leaned into the front seat of the car and, with great sincerity, asked me, “Do you want me to drive the car, Mama?”

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