Wha?

I totally forgot how STOOPID pregnancy makes you. Perhaps not everyone experiences this, or perhaps I am just so magnificently intelligent that....yeah, that's not it at all.

The good news is that it's not permanent: pregnancy hormones have been PROVEN to disrupt your normal neural pathways to make space for new parenting thought processes, and while I'm waiting for this child to arrive, my brain is pretty much devoid of anything I was supposed to remember, EVER. I just go to the grocery store every day now instead of once a week because it is physically impossible for me to get every item that I need in just one trip. I've also been to the library twice this week (and I still have an overdue book sitting here in front of me). I am complaining about all of this, because (on Earth day) I want you to know that one day, when we run out of fossil fuels, it will totally be all my fault. Because I forgot to stop driving places. You will find me in Milwaukee with a newborn because I forgot that I was pregnant and already had a home and family.

Also, what did you ask me again??

DNA doesn't lie...

I went to pick Jack up from school today and two (TWO) different parents stopped me to ask about his birthday party. This is weird because his birthday was in January, but also not weird because HE IS MY CHILD. I assured them that they had not missed their invitations, that his birthday was 4 months ago, and then continued on to his class, where his teacher asked me about his birthday party. "Jack is very imaginative," I explained.

In the car he told me how he is having a Thomas birthday, but girls get to have princess or fairy birthdays.

"You know that your birthday isn't until after Daddy's birthday, the beach, Mommy's birthday, Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas, right?" I asked.

"Oh yeah," he said. "But I'm getting ready. It's gonna be a big party. Can we listen to Poker Face?"

Our Frito-Lay Baybay

We dropped the Maldonados off at the airport this morning, and on our way home Jack and I were both dejected. And the car was almost too quiet. So we started talking, and that conversation inevitably turned to the baby.

"How do you know it's a girl baby Jack?" I asked.
"Because of Gob." (Said my son, the pee-wee prophet, which is amazing because he's been to church exactly twice in his life, both times for funerals. I don't know where his heavenly influence comes from...certainly not from DAN.) I didn't know how to reply to this, so I asked him what the baby's name was going to be.
"Cheeto." He announced.
"Tee-toe?" I asked (Jack does not always enunciate).
"NO, I said 'CHEETO.'"
"So we're having a girl baby, and her name is Cheeto?" I asked. "Did God tell you that too?"
"No, Daddy did."

Who's there?

Jack is becoming very...testosterone-y. He likes to punch, hit, wrestle, pinch, slap, bonk and slam every body part of his into every body part of mine. Including the more accessible (and sensitive!) ones. Today as I was helping him put on his shoes to go and play outside, he thumped his head against my head twice and said, "Knock-knock self-help!" WTF?

The other night, much to my father's delight, Jack slipped and grabbed at my shorts as he was falling and successfully pantsed me. Luckily I had on granny panties and all anyone got was a shot of ugly flowers. My father laughed so hard I thought that his head would pop off. My parents get SO much joy out of the torture that that their grandchild imposes on ME. Yeah, the hugs and buying presents are great, but seeing your kids experience the awkward, frustrating, embarrassing and disgusting parts of parenthood for themselves is apparently pure ecstasy. I feel bad that Dan's parents aren't getting a first-hand view of the hell that his son is putting him through--I know that it makes motherhood completely worth it for me!

Supreme Analogy

Everyone who knows me knows that I lurve analogies. LOVE THEM. So today I realized something that made my profound pregnancy discomfort much more tolerable. Being pregnant is like being very drunk: Sometimes you throw up. Sometimes you pass out. Sometimes you wake up with a headache THIS BIG. Sometimes you eat food that you normally would not eat. Sometimes you say mean things and slur your words, sometimes even completely forgetting things that you said altogether. Sometimes you embarrass your spouse/friends in public. Sometimes you blurt out inappropriate thoughts and hurt people's feelings. (Sometimes you laugh about this.) Sometimes you want to take your clothes off (and/or burp and fart) at unsuitable times and places. Sometimes you become intolerably maudlin and cry over asinine things (like Dancing With The Stars). Sometimes you fall down for no reason at all. Sometimes you have to pee a LOT. Sometimes you wake up and can't remember falling asleep.

The only holes in this theory are that being pregnant does not make people look better than they actually are (like beer goggles) and it does not make me plan ridiculous things with way too much enthusiasm.

OVERHEARD

Some of the most rewarding moments of parenthood come with eavesdropping.

Dan: "You need a vacuum cleaner for your face and body."

Jack: "NOOooooOOO! [in a patronizing tone] I need to go poop on the potty."

Crystal

Sometimes in a marriage there are small misunderstandings. Maybe sometimes is a little more like often. Or frequently. I mean at least on a weekly basis. And these "misunderstandings" can be described as one person talking a LOT and one person not really listening, and then later, the non-listener becomes enraged over a previously clearly-explained detail that was NOT LISTENED TO.

I bought Dan some of his favorite, newly available beer at the grocery store. This beer was previously only available West of the Mississippi, but for some random reason, we can now buy it at the Teeter. The World according to Dan is complete. I was specifically instructed to buy ALL of this beer and I dutifully did, all 5 large bottles, and one more in a similar bottle, but of a different variety...which I mentioned to Dan.

Later that night as he went to lovingly retrieve one of his very favorite beers, I could see storm-clouds on the horizon of the future that threatened a downpour of rage if he accidentally selected the not-favorite beer and opened it to discover it's hideous wheat flavor. So I reminded him (again) to check the labels because one of them was NOT his favorite beer. "I just want to you be clear..." I said, looking at him and laughing.

"I just want you to be clear..." he replied with a grin, "that I will kill you." (Clearly this statement is a blantant acknowledgment of his inability to listen to the words coming out of my mouth.)