THOUGHT

There is no stronger indicator of pregnancy (screw you HGC) than crying while watching American Idol. And not over the bad singing.

Man, I Feel Like A Woman!

I've come to a startling conclusion today: There is no one in the world who can make you feel more girly than a 3-year old boy. When I fantasized about my life as a parent, the fantasies always included at least one boy. I was convinced (prior to Jack) that boys are more fun; mostly because I'm not a girly girl. I like video games, playing sports, being outside, fixing things, burping, drinking beer and being competitive--and the biggest thing of all--farts make me laugh. A lot. So I figured that I would feel most at home in in a house of boys.

Well, my house of testosterone came crashing down on me today when Jack proceeded to scream from across the room, "CHOCOLATE PUNCH!" and then run at me full-speed and sock me in the shoulder. HARD. I had to explain: Girl's don't like to be punched. EVER. And as I realized how sexually biased that sounded (sorry Laila Ali!) it really hit me--I am girly! The tendencies in myself that I just assumed were smart (putting my clothes away, always smelling nice, not wrestling 24/7, not picking my nose, not screaming in the house or throwing things in a rage) were really my more feminine traits...I had just, until now, mistaken them for plain old intelligence. I underestimated my innate femininity because I don't wear makeup everyday or always wear "cute" clothes...but that isn't all that makes up a female. Durh. And how ironic that it took several punches to the shoulder and body to make me feel like a natural woman.

Bathroom vs. Gender (or: People Who Know How To Use A Bathroom vs. Men)

It has long been my contention, and the contention of any woman anywhere for that matter, that males and females have very different ways of using the bathroom. And I don't mean the obvious difference, durh. Having lived with a man my entire life (with a brief, and awesome respite for 3 out of 4 years in college plus 1 year post-college with female roommate), I am well versed in their weird bathroom habits. They lock themselves in there and create inhuman smells FOR HOURS. I hate it, and I will never, ever understand it.

[You may wonder why I am suddenly talking about bathrooms--well I spend two people's worth of time in there, and now that I am pregnant again, I'm doing the job of 2.5. And at least one of those is a male, so imagine how much time I have to think about all of this while I am wasting years of my life in the can.]

Anyway...for a man, Jack is remarkably expeditious in the bathroom...when he has to poop. I strongly admire this rare quality. He likes to read something (who doesn't?) but he gets right down to business. HOWEVER, my chief complaint is that when he has to pee he can find any number of things to dilly-dally over, and then can even make the actual act of peeing into an adventure. Do I pee in the center of the bowl? How far can I swivel my hips before I pee on the rim? How many small squirts will it take to empty my bladder? Can I pee in a circle? What does the pee look like coming out of me? Can I pee on my own face?

This ritual is tortuously drawn-out...many times per day. Perhaps with our less sophisticated equipment, women aren't as prone to pee-related fantasies, but I still find this behavior ridiculously inefficient. It's doubly annoying because he still wants me around to supervise even though he's capable of going on his own--don't get me started on how this male quality persists into adulthood. I think that he has a secret goal of trying to make me jealous of his pee-prowess. To that I say, "Whatever dude, I can grow people!"

Eureka!

Jack has recently taken to saying, "Good idea!" whenever I suggest something. He is a verbally encouraging child. He loves to provide positive feedback as I help him with day-to-day tasks--often after wiping him after a poop he will twist around to tell me, "Good job Mommy!" I have to say that I do appreciate his unflagging (so far) enthusiasm for all of my hard work. Now if he would only have a talk with his Dad...

We are heading to Colorado this week for a much needed family vacation and a long-awaited visit with some of our favorite friends, AND some skiing. I am alternately excited (for me, I am a great skier) and nervous (for Dan, he is a beginner), and seriously worried (for Jack, who will be taking his first lessons EVER). It should be a great trip, and probably will provide some great fodder for this blog. Jack will be visiting his first and best friend, Gary, who is older by one month. I am eagerly awaiting their interaction (they haven't seen each other in 9 months, which is like 15 years in toddler-time). I will be sure to take lots of pictures, and hopefully our family will return to North Carolina rested, happy and in one piece (and not sick).

On a Roll

Tonight for dinner Jack insisted on eating a plain hot dog roll. Now, I am quite snobby about rolls and strongly prefer potato rolls. These are also Jack's favorites. I was going to make him a sandwich on the roll, but he insisted, "just plain." While he chewed a large bite, he was idly rolling the bun back and forth on his plate. "Hey!!" he exclaimed, "it works!" I thought that it was so funny that he assumed that the name was indicative of the purpose of the object.

Hits From Your Mom

I'm sure that you have seen the mop commercials on TV where a woman ditches her old sponge mop for a newfangled, cleaner-squirting one. The old sponge mop invariably shows up sneaking behind a delivery man or peeking stalkerishly in a window and they play that Hall & Oats song. You know the one. Jack loooooves this commercial. He loves to sing "Baby come back!" and does it at every appropriate moment. If the dog hops down off of the couch, Jack will yell it. If his shoe falls off while he's running, he will yell it. Sometimes he just sings it over and over while he runs around in circles.

This brings back fond memories of my first favorite song, "Gloria" by Laura Branigan. My Mom would blast the radio for me everytime it came on. I never knew all (or even many) of the lyrics, but yelling "Gloria!" over and over was so much fun...and that awesome synthesizer! One line is "I think they've got the alias that you've been livin' under" and I thought that it was (this was during the height of E.T.'s popularity) "I think they got to Elliot! Can you hear the thunder?!"

Perhaps the reason that kids latch on to particular songs is because they recognize something famliar sounding in the lyrics. They're learning so much and trying so hard to be good listeners, they really do make terrific music critics. I mean, who hasn't continued to sing, "BABY COME BACK!" even after that commercial is over?

Doctor J

I woke up with a cold this morning. Again. I have a terminally sick nose. After watching me use 4 tissues in a row, Jack looked at me with an assessing gaze. "You need a doctor," he proclaimed.

[Aside: Jack turned 3 last week and had his 3-year exam at the doctor's. Since then he has been very clinical.]

He retrieved his doctor's case from the playroom and trotted out to the couch where I was sitting. He dug through his various tools and finally selected the ones he needed. He listened to my ears and asked me to spit in a cup (no joke--and no, I didn't do it). After tapping my knees, giving me a peremptory shot, and making a quick phone call on his pager, he packed his stethoscope and thermometer away. "Well?" I asked him.

"You sick," he told me.

"What is it?" I asked him.

"Foot Stench," he announced and left the room. I guess I am too stinky, even for him.