Earlier in the day, I had mentioned that I needed to buy a bottle of wine. It was MNO (Moms' Night Out) at a friend's house and I had offered to bring a beverage. Fast forward a few hours.
Sitting at the pediatrician's office pharmacy waiting for a prescription, my son notices a vending machine.
"Mom, do you want to get something out of that machine?"
"No, honey. I am ok. Thanks though."
"But it has bottles in it. See the picture on the front?"
"Um, ok....?? What do you think Mommy needs?"
"You need to get a bottle of wine for yourself. I bet they have them in that machine. You don't want to forget!"
Multiple heads turn (many belonging to doctors and nurses -- the rest belonging to other parents).
Thank you, son, for making everyone in this room think I am the kind of mother who would buy wine out of a vending machine. (How amazing would it be to be though to able to buy wine out of a vending machine?!)
I had already purchased said wine earlier in the day without him knowing (apparently) so I thanked him for his concern but informed him that Mommy was all set.
Friday, September 20, 2013
"Mommies don't work."
Working moms vs. Stay at home moms... Aaah, this old debate again? Working moms get to shop at Ann Taylor and experience something called a "lunch hour"! SAHMs get their own acronym and don't have to iron! Ever!
As a SAHM, I also enjoy the generally happy faces of approval that society grants me. I notice this particularly at the pediatrician's office, when the nurse asks if my child attends daycare. I reply "no" and usually I am met with a sigh of relief. One nurse even snuck in an "oh, good." What, I wonder, do you say to working moms who reply "yes" to that question?!
Well mommies, here's a doozy for you. Tonight at the dinner table, the following conversation happened:
My 4-year old son told my 2-year old daughter: "When you grow up, you will be a mommy."
Her reply: "I want to be a lawyer like daddy."
My son then said, "Only boys can be lawyers."
Punch. In. The. Gut.
To add salt to the wound, my daughter followed up with, "Yeah. Mommies don't work."
Double punch. I wanted to crawl under the table into a ball. But I didn't. I saw an opportunity here to educate both of my children about mommies and daddies and work and careers and equality and... and... And I think they eventually tuned me out.
My kids do not know that I earned both my undergraduate and graduate degrees, worked for 7 years, and supported my husband and paid the rent through his law school. Their Mommy wears a ponytail every day, buys animal crackers for this week's play date, and picks up Daddy's dry cleaning.
I do try very hard to set a good example for all of my children, but particularly for my daughter as I am her female role model. I tell her that Mommy exercises to get stronger, in order foster positive body image. She cheers me on during my work outs, saying "You are getting stronger, Mommy!" I tell her that she and I have girl power that helps us be brave and strong and fight our fears. I read with her, and each of us gets our own books at the library -- including "big grown up books" for Mommy. I know these are all good examples for her to see. But at 2 years old, all she knows is a daddy who wears nice clothes and goes to work, sometimes on "airplane trips" to be a lawyer. And Mommy stays home with her, brings her to the grocery store, cooks dinner, cleans the house, does the laundry... you know the list.
And I have told her many times that she can be anything she wants to be. Of course I would love for her to be a mommy, a SAHM if she chooses. But I DEFINITELY want her to have a career, a passion, something for herself that sucks us dry financially for 4-10 years of schooling.
Hearing these words hurt. A lot. However, I have to remind myself that I may not show her a mommy who goes off to work every day in an office like Daddy does, but I do show her a mommy who does her best. Who works hard. Who sacrifices. Who misses working but treasures her time at home. Who made a choice. And who should probably wear comfy pants less often.
As a SAHM, I also enjoy the generally happy faces of approval that society grants me. I notice this particularly at the pediatrician's office, when the nurse asks if my child attends daycare. I reply "no" and usually I am met with a sigh of relief. One nurse even snuck in an "oh, good." What, I wonder, do you say to working moms who reply "yes" to that question?!
Well mommies, here's a doozy for you. Tonight at the dinner table, the following conversation happened:
My 4-year old son told my 2-year old daughter: "When you grow up, you will be a mommy."
Her reply: "I want to be a lawyer like daddy."
My son then said, "Only boys can be lawyers."
Punch. In. The. Gut.
To add salt to the wound, my daughter followed up with, "Yeah. Mommies don't work."
Double punch. I wanted to crawl under the table into a ball. But I didn't. I saw an opportunity here to educate both of my children about mommies and daddies and work and careers and equality and... and... And I think they eventually tuned me out.
My kids do not know that I earned both my undergraduate and graduate degrees, worked for 7 years, and supported my husband and paid the rent through his law school. Their Mommy wears a ponytail every day, buys animal crackers for this week's play date, and picks up Daddy's dry cleaning.
I do try very hard to set a good example for all of my children, but particularly for my daughter as I am her female role model. I tell her that Mommy exercises to get stronger, in order foster positive body image. She cheers me on during my work outs, saying "You are getting stronger, Mommy!" I tell her that she and I have girl power that helps us be brave and strong and fight our fears. I read with her, and each of us gets our own books at the library -- including "big grown up books" for Mommy. I know these are all good examples for her to see. But at 2 years old, all she knows is a daddy who wears nice clothes and goes to work, sometimes on "airplane trips" to be a lawyer. And Mommy stays home with her, brings her to the grocery store, cooks dinner, cleans the house, does the laundry... you know the list.
And I have told her many times that she can be anything she wants to be. Of course I would love for her to be a mommy, a SAHM if she chooses. But I DEFINITELY want her to have a career, a passion, something for herself that sucks us dry financially for 4-10 years of schooling.
Hearing these words hurt. A lot. However, I have to remind myself that I may not show her a mommy who goes off to work every day in an office like Daddy does, but I do show her a mommy who does her best. Who works hard. Who sacrifices. Who misses working but treasures her time at home. Who made a choice. And who should probably wear comfy pants less often.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
The orange bird
I have 3 kids, and my 2-year old daughter is at the height (or what I pray is the height) of the terrible twos. She is irrational, emotional, defiant, and melts down over the most inane reasons. Over the course of today, there have been more tantrums than I can count, but here are a few highlights that culminate with the story of the orange bird.
Meltdown #1 this morning: Over her request to have a drink on the couch in a cup with no lid. Denied. This has never been allowed so I am not sure why she thought there was a chance. She is 2 years old.
Meltdown #2 later in the morning: One of the candles on her play cake is missing. No one knows where it is. This is the end of the world.
Meltdown #3 this afternoon: We are out of yellow popsicles. Also, the end of the world.
Meltdown #4 this evening: Mommy gave her the wrong Hello Kitty cup with dinner. Not the light pink Hello Kitty cup! The dark pink one!! Catastrophe!
Well you can imagine that bedtime could NOT come soon enough. The hubs had to work late so after this A+ day of parenting, Mommy was on her own at bedtime. Oldest kid: easy. 4 years old, totally gets that Mommy is on the brink of losing it, cooperates and pretty much puts himself to bed. Youngest kid is a 21 lb. 6-month old. Despite his size, he too is an easy kid these days -- especially compared to M.C. ("Middle Child" -- don't judge me). But by bedtime, the baby is tired and hungry.
Mommy desperately wants this day of horribleness to end and in order to do that, Miss Irrational needs me to meet her list of demands. They are as follows:
-Read story. One more. Just one more Mommy. NOOOO! One more!
-Water. More water. Just one more sip of water. MORE WATER!
-White bear. Not THAT white bear. The white bear with the pink ribbon!
Just when I think we are done, she then asks for orange bird. Orange bird is a 2-inch tall plastic bird. He is completely random and I have no idea where he came from. By this point in the night, my 6-month old is VERY tired and hungry and is clawing at my shirt trying desperately to find a nipple. I attempt to say, "No. You already have several friends in your bed. You can see orange bird in the morning." (Not only am I tired of giving in to her ridiculous demands, but also, I have NO IDEA where the frick orange bird is.) Obviously, this is received well.
"NOOOO! I NEED ORANGE BIRD!"
Carrying my ginormous tired and hungry baby downstairs, I begin the search for orange bird. After scouring the disaster that is my playroom, I miraculously find it. (In a pot, in her play kitchen. Obviously.) Okay! This is it! I go all the way back upstairs, carting hulk-baby on my hip, and enter her room.
"Look who I found!" I put orange bird next to her in the bed.
"No, I don't want it in my bed. Orange bird needs to sleep over there. On the shelf."
(In my head): "Are you f-ing kidding me?" And good night.
Meltdown #1 this morning: Over her request to have a drink on the couch in a cup with no lid. Denied. This has never been allowed so I am not sure why she thought there was a chance. She is 2 years old.
Meltdown #2 later in the morning: One of the candles on her play cake is missing. No one knows where it is. This is the end of the world.
Meltdown #3 this afternoon: We are out of yellow popsicles. Also, the end of the world.
Meltdown #4 this evening: Mommy gave her the wrong Hello Kitty cup with dinner. Not the light pink Hello Kitty cup! The dark pink one!! Catastrophe!
Well you can imagine that bedtime could NOT come soon enough. The hubs had to work late so after this A+ day of parenting, Mommy was on her own at bedtime. Oldest kid: easy. 4 years old, totally gets that Mommy is on the brink of losing it, cooperates and pretty much puts himself to bed. Youngest kid is a 21 lb. 6-month old. Despite his size, he too is an easy kid these days -- especially compared to M.C. ("Middle Child" -- don't judge me). But by bedtime, the baby is tired and hungry.
Mommy desperately wants this day of horribleness to end and in order to do that, Miss Irrational needs me to meet her list of demands. They are as follows:
-Read story. One more. Just one more Mommy. NOOOO! One more!
-Water. More water. Just one more sip of water. MORE WATER!
-White bear. Not THAT white bear. The white bear with the pink ribbon!
Just when I think we are done, she then asks for orange bird. Orange bird is a 2-inch tall plastic bird. He is completely random and I have no idea where he came from. By this point in the night, my 6-month old is VERY tired and hungry and is clawing at my shirt trying desperately to find a nipple. I attempt to say, "No. You already have several friends in your bed. You can see orange bird in the morning." (Not only am I tired of giving in to her ridiculous demands, but also, I have NO IDEA where the frick orange bird is.) Obviously, this is received well.
"NOOOO! I NEED ORANGE BIRD!"
Carrying my ginormous tired and hungry baby downstairs, I begin the search for orange bird. After scouring the disaster that is my playroom, I miraculously find it. (In a pot, in her play kitchen. Obviously.) Okay! This is it! I go all the way back upstairs, carting hulk-baby on my hip, and enter her room.
"Look who I found!" I put orange bird next to her in the bed.
"No, I don't want it in my bed. Orange bird needs to sleep over there. On the shelf."
(In my head): "Are you f-ing kidding me?" And good night.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
The scariest spider ever
If you know me personally, you may know of my severe arachnophobia. An encounter with a spider = shaking, nausea, inability to concentrate on anything else, and likely nightmares for days. Especially the ginormous ones in the somewhat southern state in which I live. Upon moving into our house, I had signed up for pest control and pledged hundreds of dollars per year via my credit card before the 3rd box was unpacked.
Today while playing with the kids, I happened to glance into a vent in the floor and saw my worst fear. A huge hairy wolf spider just sitting there waiting to terrorize me. Fortunately, my 4 year old son is not afraid of any bugs and usually takes care of them for me. However, I did not want this thing in my kitchen so I would not let him take out the vent. I thought (prayed) it might be dead but to verify, I had him throw baseballs at the vent to see if it moved. This was exciting for him on multiple levels -- not only was he mommy's hero but he was allowed to throw a baseball! In the house?!
It did not move. Okay, must be dead. Now how to dispose of the carcass...
Pest control was already scheduled to come today to deal with the bees outside. (This would have been a much better story if they came out SOLELY to deal with the spider... You'll see why in a minute.) So after the technicican knocked down our nests and sprayed outside, I asked him to come inside, take out our vent, and dispose of the terrifying arachnid giving me an ulcer. So he put his paper shoe covers on and entered my living room. He lifted the vent while I stood 20 feet away in horror.
To my surprise, he said, "The spider must have gone back down the air duct."
What?! It was ALIVE?! I tiptoed closer to peer over his shoulder and saw it! It was right there in front of him!
"That right there! You don't see it?!"
He then proceeded to pick up the "spider", show it to me, and say, "Ma'am, this is a piece of lint."
Today while playing with the kids, I happened to glance into a vent in the floor and saw my worst fear. A huge hairy wolf spider just sitting there waiting to terrorize me. Fortunately, my 4 year old son is not afraid of any bugs and usually takes care of them for me. However, I did not want this thing in my kitchen so I would not let him take out the vent. I thought (prayed) it might be dead but to verify, I had him throw baseballs at the vent to see if it moved. This was exciting for him on multiple levels -- not only was he mommy's hero but he was allowed to throw a baseball! In the house?!
It did not move. Okay, must be dead. Now how to dispose of the carcass...
Pest control was already scheduled to come today to deal with the bees outside. (This would have been a much better story if they came out SOLELY to deal with the spider... You'll see why in a minute.) So after the technicican knocked down our nests and sprayed outside, I asked him to come inside, take out our vent, and dispose of the terrifying arachnid giving me an ulcer. So he put his paper shoe covers on and entered my living room. He lifted the vent while I stood 20 feet away in horror.
To my surprise, he said, "The spider must have gone back down the air duct."
What?! It was ALIVE?! I tiptoed closer to peer over his shoulder and saw it! It was right there in front of him!
"That right there! You don't see it?!"
He then proceeded to pick up the "spider", show it to me, and say, "Ma'am, this is a piece of lint."
Sunday, July 7, 2013
A familiar road
I began writing this blog when my eldest son was 2 and my daughter was an infant. I was adjusting to life with 2 kids as well as learning how to potty-train a toddler. Thus, many (most) of my posts were pee / poop related. There were just. so. many. stories to tell.
Well that little infant is a full blown 2-year old now in the throws of potty-training herself. (By the way, we DID finally get our son potty-trained. It only took a measly 15 months start to finish.) And we have a new infant in the house -- a 19 lb. 4-month old who loves to be held. A lot.
I don't have as much time to blog as I used to so there are a lot of new potty-training stories that will unfortunately have to be omitted. But this latest one is a real winner so I made myself find time to sit down and write.
My uterus is officially retiring so we are beginning the baby purge as our little (enormous) guy grows out of things and therefore held a baby stuff garage sale. I was outside manning the tables and money; the big kids were playing nicely inside. Not fighting, miraculously. I was thrilled. It was a nice break being outside in the fresh air without them pantsing me, fighting over the last red popsicle, or bringing me bugs. However, after not having any child visitors for a curious amount of time, I popped inside to check on them. They were both laying on the playroom floor -- one on the computer, the other on the LeapPad. I immediately noticed a large circular stain on my daughter's bottom (as she was laying on her stomach). She looked up and said, "I peed." Um, no. The stain was brown. Oh shit. Yes, pun intended.
I whisked her to the bathroom as quickly as possible. It was as a bad as I had prayed it wouldn't be. Worse.
Underwear: garbage.
Shorts: garbage.
After cleaning her up, as well as the floor and well, pretty much the entire bathroom, I headed back to the playroom to check on the status of the carpet in there. Walking through the kitchen, I slipped and almost fell on my butt. What...is....that??!! Yep, some diarrhea poop had fallen out of her clothes onto my kitchen floor, and yep, I just slipped in it.
Flip-flops: garbage.
Well that little infant is a full blown 2-year old now in the throws of potty-training herself. (By the way, we DID finally get our son potty-trained. It only took a measly 15 months start to finish.) And we have a new infant in the house -- a 19 lb. 4-month old who loves to be held. A lot.
I don't have as much time to blog as I used to so there are a lot of new potty-training stories that will unfortunately have to be omitted. But this latest one is a real winner so I made myself find time to sit down and write.
My uterus is officially retiring so we are beginning the baby purge as our little (enormous) guy grows out of things and therefore held a baby stuff garage sale. I was outside manning the tables and money; the big kids were playing nicely inside. Not fighting, miraculously. I was thrilled. It was a nice break being outside in the fresh air without them pantsing me, fighting over the last red popsicle, or bringing me bugs. However, after not having any child visitors for a curious amount of time, I popped inside to check on them. They were both laying on the playroom floor -- one on the computer, the other on the LeapPad. I immediately noticed a large circular stain on my daughter's bottom (as she was laying on her stomach). She looked up and said, "I peed." Um, no. The stain was brown. Oh shit. Yes, pun intended.
I whisked her to the bathroom as quickly as possible. It was as a bad as I had prayed it wouldn't be. Worse.
Underwear: garbage.
Shorts: garbage.
After cleaning her up, as well as the floor and well, pretty much the entire bathroom, I headed back to the playroom to check on the status of the carpet in there. Walking through the kitchen, I slipped and almost fell on my butt. What...is....that??!! Yep, some diarrhea poop had fallen out of her clothes onto my kitchen floor, and yep, I just slipped in it.
Flip-flops: garbage.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
B.K. vs. A.K.
One of the best and truest quotes I have heard lately is "I was a really great parent before I had kids."
I was very quick to pass naive judgment in my energetic carefree kid-less 20s.
"I will NEVER have a toddler running around in public with a pacifier in his mouth."
"I will NOT have a kid who only eats 4 things."
"Our kids will NOT play video games."
Blah blah blah.
Well, who has two thumbs and is guilty of letting her kids do all of the above? THIS MOMMY!
I recently stopped in at our local gymnastics facility to sign my daughter up for classes. There was a mother there watching her daughter practice while also trying to keep her other children entertained in the waiting area. She had brought a slew of books, toys, snacks, etc. to keep them occupied. She had 4 kids total (=3 "watching" sister in gymnastics). One of her kids looked to be between 1 1/2 and 2 and had a pacifier in his mouth. I realized while talking to this adorable little guy how much I had changed.
Old me -- B.K. (Before Kids) would have thought: "Oh my goodness. Get that thing out of his mouth so he can talk. Ridiculous. I will NEVER do that."
A.K. (After Kids): "Soldier on, Sister. Soldier on."
Sunday, May 5, 2013
1st child vs. 3rd child
It is not that we loved our first child more than the others. In fact, I feel a greater attachment to child #3 as a baby than I did to #1, likely due to the fact that I know what I am doing this time and am not terrified or overwhelmed to the point of tears. Also, I know how cool the future will be -- the other two have grown into such amazing humans that on my worst day with #3, I still find joy in imagining what he will become at 2, 3, and 4 years old.
However, life for this little guy is drastically different from the baby days of #1. There are quite a few major changes in our parenting as we have progressed from #1 to #3.
Feeding: every time I nursed #1 (at least for the first couple of months) I had to sit at my nursing station. I had a specific chair, a glass of water, multiple burp cloths, and of course my trusty Boppy. It was all essential for a successful feeding. Child #3 is usually fed on the Boppy, but gone are the glasses of water and I am usually scrambling for a burp cloth, or I just let him puke right onto my shirt. Also, many times he is NOT nursed on the Boppy, but rather, is fed on the floor of the playroom, at the kitchen table mid-Lego project, or in the car in the midst of multiple errands. Also, I kept a detailed chart of #1's feedings for weeks -- which side, how long, etc. When my pediatrician asked how often and for how long #3 eats, I had no idea. Um.... when he's hungry? Um.... until he's full?
Age: When asked how old child #1 was, I had very detailed answers at the ready: "4 weeks and 2 days." How old is child #3? "Ummm.... 2 months? Ish? When is his birthday.... oh the 25th! Whenever the 25th is, he will turn 3 months."
Music exposure: Child #1 was only exposed to either children's CDs or classical music in the car to stimulate brain development. If Mommy is out and about with only #3, the poor kid gets to rock out to Pit Bull.
Diapers: Child #1 wore the most expensive Pampers Mommy could find, since she whole heartedly believed they held in the poop better. #3 gets the biggest box of Kirkland diapers Costco sells.
Clothing: Child #1 had his clothes changed multiple times per day. Mommy had time to care about him wearing all of his cute clothes at least once. She also was willing to deal with jean overalls, Nikes and other completely impractical clothing items for infants. Child #3 does not wear overalls, shoes, or really anything except onesies and one-piece pj outfits. And he does not get changed unless he needs a bath or pukes or poops all over his clothes. This means that yes, he may wear the same outfit all day, all night, and into the next day. If it does not smell, it does not come off.
Naps: Life revolved around child #1's "nap schedule" even at 2 months old. Stay at a friend's house past 8 pm?! I need to get home to put him to bed! Meet up for coffee at 10 am? Cannot do it. Child #3 is dragged all over town every day, bringing his brother to and from school, running errands, going to play dates, and you better believe Mommy would not think twice about meeting a friend for drinks and letting him sleep in her lap while she has a glass of wine in her hand. "Schedule" for him = sleep when you can sleep, kid. If that means your morning nap is on the living room floor at a play date, or in your car seat at the park, you might as well take it because that is as good as it is going to get.
Laundry: Child #1's clothes were all washed separately in Dreft. Child #3's clothes are thrown in with his siblings', Mom's and Dad's and it all gets washed in Costco brand detergent.
Bedroom: #1's room was all set up weeks before his arrival. Crib set up, complete with fancy $200 bed set (matching sheets, bumper, curtains, wall hangings, and diaper hanging thing we never used). #3 is over 2 months old. He is sleeping in his own room. The crib is set up and the walls are painted. And that is about it. There is no matching bed set. He is getting hand-me-down sheets. The curtain has not been hung up and the walls are bare of any decoration.
Journals, albums, and picture frames: I kept a detailed pregnancy journal for #1 and all of his ultrasound pictures are in an album, which we brought to a family picnic while pregnant. We forced all of our family members to swoon over those alien-like ultrasound pictures that really show nothing of what the child will look like. We also spent hundreds of dollars on a 4-D ultrasound (did not even know there was a 4th "D") and framed the color photo. It is still on my dresser. #3's ultrasound pics are.... somewhere in this house. There was no pregnancy journal. There was no money spent on any D ultrasound -- only the freebies from insurance!
Don't worry kid -- we love you to pieces. You are going to be a better kid this way -- less high maintenance and more understanding that sometimes things around here are... well, mediocre at best.
However, life for this little guy is drastically different from the baby days of #1. There are quite a few major changes in our parenting as we have progressed from #1 to #3.
Feeding: every time I nursed #1 (at least for the first couple of months) I had to sit at my nursing station. I had a specific chair, a glass of water, multiple burp cloths, and of course my trusty Boppy. It was all essential for a successful feeding. Child #3 is usually fed on the Boppy, but gone are the glasses of water and I am usually scrambling for a burp cloth, or I just let him puke right onto my shirt. Also, many times he is NOT nursed on the Boppy, but rather, is fed on the floor of the playroom, at the kitchen table mid-Lego project, or in the car in the midst of multiple errands. Also, I kept a detailed chart of #1's feedings for weeks -- which side, how long, etc. When my pediatrician asked how often and for how long #3 eats, I had no idea. Um.... when he's hungry? Um.... until he's full?
Age: When asked how old child #1 was, I had very detailed answers at the ready: "4 weeks and 2 days." How old is child #3? "Ummm.... 2 months? Ish? When is his birthday.... oh the 25th! Whenever the 25th is, he will turn 3 months."
Music exposure: Child #1 was only exposed to either children's CDs or classical music in the car to stimulate brain development. If Mommy is out and about with only #3, the poor kid gets to rock out to Pit Bull.
Diapers: Child #1 wore the most expensive Pampers Mommy could find, since she whole heartedly believed they held in the poop better. #3 gets the biggest box of Kirkland diapers Costco sells.
Clothing: Child #1 had his clothes changed multiple times per day. Mommy had time to care about him wearing all of his cute clothes at least once. She also was willing to deal with jean overalls, Nikes and other completely impractical clothing items for infants. Child #3 does not wear overalls, shoes, or really anything except onesies and one-piece pj outfits. And he does not get changed unless he needs a bath or pukes or poops all over his clothes. This means that yes, he may wear the same outfit all day, all night, and into the next day. If it does not smell, it does not come off.
Naps: Life revolved around child #1's "nap schedule" even at 2 months old. Stay at a friend's house past 8 pm?! I need to get home to put him to bed! Meet up for coffee at 10 am? Cannot do it. Child #3 is dragged all over town every day, bringing his brother to and from school, running errands, going to play dates, and you better believe Mommy would not think twice about meeting a friend for drinks and letting him sleep in her lap while she has a glass of wine in her hand. "Schedule" for him = sleep when you can sleep, kid. If that means your morning nap is on the living room floor at a play date, or in your car seat at the park, you might as well take it because that is as good as it is going to get.
Laundry: Child #1's clothes were all washed separately in Dreft. Child #3's clothes are thrown in with his siblings', Mom's and Dad's and it all gets washed in Costco brand detergent.
Bedroom: #1's room was all set up weeks before his arrival. Crib set up, complete with fancy $200 bed set (matching sheets, bumper, curtains, wall hangings, and diaper hanging thing we never used). #3 is over 2 months old. He is sleeping in his own room. The crib is set up and the walls are painted. And that is about it. There is no matching bed set. He is getting hand-me-down sheets. The curtain has not been hung up and the walls are bare of any decoration.
Journals, albums, and picture frames: I kept a detailed pregnancy journal for #1 and all of his ultrasound pictures are in an album, which we brought to a family picnic while pregnant. We forced all of our family members to swoon over those alien-like ultrasound pictures that really show nothing of what the child will look like. We also spent hundreds of dollars on a 4-D ultrasound (did not even know there was a 4th "D") and framed the color photo. It is still on my dresser. #3's ultrasound pics are.... somewhere in this house. There was no pregnancy journal. There was no money spent on any D ultrasound -- only the freebies from insurance!
Don't worry kid -- we love you to pieces. You are going to be a better kid this way -- less high maintenance and more understanding that sometimes things around here are... well, mediocre at best.
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