Memories

When I was preggers with the Isaac, my mom gave me a book to record stuff about my pregnancy for posterity. Isaac found it for me the other day, and I read some of it back to him. He found it impossibly boring (where were the pictures?). I enjoyed the section "Crazy or Funny Things People Said To Me About Being Pregnant", under which I had written only one entry:

"Hey baby, why don't you come over here and beach yourself on me?"
- Dada -

U.B. says "Where's the Beef?"

Crazy Teething Toddler Monster got up at 5 this morning. I drug his sleepy butt into bed with me, where he curled up like a pillbug, fell fast asleep, and then peed out his diaper onto my freshly laundered sheets, all within 3 minutes. In all the ensuing cleaning muss, he woke up for good, and an Isaac who wakes up that early is a given to be cranky all the live-long day. By 7:30 he was dressed, fed, and pulling at the doorknob: "Outside? Outside??????" This says nothing of his mother, who was not dressed or fed or well-hydrated, but knows better than to argue with her cranky toddler. A blueberry eggo later, we were off to the park for some early morning toddler calisthenics.

Upon leaving the house, I felt fine, but I knew I should be drinking more water. I brought along a Nalgene bottle and chugged it all before we hit the playground. Despite this, as soon as I stepped out of the car, I felt a little dizzy, though not enough to risk the wrath of His Majesty by skipping out on the playground. We ran around for about an hour, when my drinking binge caught up to my bladder. Isaac, ever the team-player, wouldn't heed my desperate pleas to follow me so I could go pee, so I was forced to lug his 26-lb butt across a soccer field to one locked women's room, then across the playground to another locked women's room, and then across the street to (shudder) a port-a-potty. After this exertion, I was having major troubles standing up, so I stuffed Isaac back into his car seat and muffled his loud and writhing protests with a stick of string cheese. We were home by 9:45, and Sir Cranky fell asleep in the car on the ride home for what would be a 3-hour nap. I came home and consumed as many calories as possible before putting myself to bed, and I managed to get 2+ hours myself. A full tummy + more sleep should take care of my dizzy spell, right?

Wrong. I woke up worse than ever. Isaac and I ate a huge lunch...still no effect. I felt like I could faint. I laid down on the couch, started up a Wiggles marathon, and called Dada to come help me out. Picking up my nearby copy of What to Expect About Your Growing Belly Fruit, I looked up "dizziness". It told me, among other things, to look at its discussion of pregnancy-related anemia. Hrm, I think, remembering it was about this time in my pregnancy with Isaac that the OB told me I had lowish blood iron levels and needed to take an iron supplement. Dada took me to get some SlowFE, and 15 minutes after popping one pill I feel 10 million times better. I guess we need to up our dosage of Hamburger Helper.

...and knowing is half the battle

About a week ago I blogged about Isaac's recent reluctance to sleeping through the night. We figured the problem was an empty tummy, and we should just up the milk dosage and maybe even throw in a snack or two for good measure. The first night we tried this altered bedtime eating routine, Isaac did sleep through the night. Every night thereafter my insane child has awakened at least once in the middle of the night, and then also between 5 and 6 for good. When he wakes up, sometimes I give him more milk, but just as many times he seems perfectly happy just to snuggle against me in the rocking chair and fall back asleep in my arms with no nutritional input. "What is going on?" I ask, but figure "Who knows?" is probably the only answer I will get. Nevertheless, it usually seems when there is a sleep problem now with Isaac that there IS an underlying cause. He's been sick, so I chalked it up to that. He has also been pretty gassy, which What to Expect When You are Freaking Out About Your Toddler suggested could be related to after effects from his stomach bug. Teething is always a possibility, but I had been feeling around for his second molars and noticed nothing new.

In a seemingly unrelated development, I noticed over the past couple days that he developed a bump on his skull, right behind his left ear, that felt like a little swollen lymph node or something. The similar gland behind his right ear was also swollen, but not like the left one. I was a little concerned and showed Dada. Dada called Grandma O'Neal, and without a second thought she said, "He's teething." Well, like I said, I had been feeling around in his precious little mouth for those second molars, and nada. Again, I chalked it up to his recent cold(s).

This afternoon we went to a park and were having a blast swinging. Hanging around his old buddy Claudia taught him to love getting underdogs, and today he laughed hysterically as I held him over my head in his swing. So boisterous was his laugh that he flashed me many glimpses of his upper jaw. There, in plain view, was a big white pointy chomper sticking out where one would expect his left canine to come in, and a thinning white pointed-out gum where the right one should be.

Apparently I was grossly misinformed about tooth eruption patterns, and was feeling around in all the wrong places to notice that he is getting two ginormous teeth at the same time. But it pleases me to know that there IS a reason for him not sleeping, and somehow now knowing that reason makes the sleepless nights seem like they could have a blessed end.

Congrats, Dada

Dada and Isaac's honorary Uncle O'Mansky got their paper published this week in the illustrious journal, Geoarchaeology. If you should wish to further investigate what huge nerds they are, you can read their abstract here.

Congrats, Dada and O'Mansky! Only 50 gazillion more papers to go 'til tenure!

Gulp, gulp... U.B. says "drink some water"

When I was preggers with the Isaac, there was a point, around month 4-ish or 5-ish, where I started drinking more water than I thought it possible for a human to do and not be drowning. I had my 1 L Nalgene bottle next to my computer, and I would slog away at my keyboard and chug away at my bottle, stopping at least once an hour to either refill the ENTIRE BOTTLE or visit the ladies' room for the natural consequences. This was good for Isaac and his amniotic fluid needs and good for my poor back that I had to get up a stretch a lot. Cause dude was heavy. This was not good for the massive fluid gain that caused me to acquire a: 1) $10 "replacement" wedding ring when mine was cutting off my circulation, and 2) doctor's order to not wear socks from my 5th month on to avoid my "cankles" looking like the pinched ends of sausages.

As was to be expected, U.B. has told me in his/her indirect way that I really need to be drinking more fluids. I'm sure the cold isn't helping either, but the mouth, she is dry all the time. With U.B., unfortunately, hydrating is not so easy. If I want something to drink, I have to open the fridge to get at the Brita. No way am I drinking that sludge from our tap. It is ORANGE. No joke. Opening the fridge is a clear invitation to Isaac to rearrange the items on the shelves inside the door. "Cah-kee!" he says, pulling out cans of Dada's Coke. An insistent "uh-uh-uh" means "here, I found this bottle of Tabasco sauce, and I discovered the hard way that its lid doesn't belong in my mouth. Please put it up for me?" And then there is the yogurt stacking. And the canister of parmesan cheese and bottle of Real Lemon, both of which he knows need to be turned upside down to shake their contents out. Aside from the mess, which is no fun, can you imagine what this is doing to our electric bill? Oh, we got that the other day, and let's just say it was around TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS. The same bill in Seattle, for two month's worth of zapper-juice, would have been around $40.

Basically, here is how my fluid intake goes. Drink as much as possible before Dada leaves. Drink all of Isaac's leftovers during the day, noticing the delightful chewiness of the Nuby lid. Drink two glasses of water before our nap. Drink as much as possible when Dada gets home. Drink two or three glasses of water before bed. Get up to pee all night long.

I'm trying hard to do right by U.B., but stupid Discovery Health today didn't help with its "Birth Day" about pregnant ladies with a pathological amount of amniotic fluid. Whatever happened to my beloved "Maternity Ward" of yesteryear, with its coverage of normal ladies with normal pregnancies and healthy babies, swimming about in their perfectly normal amount of amniotic fluid?

MyDoom, the human version

Just when you thought it was safe to breathe again, suddenly Dada brings home this hellish monster of a cold. Poor fella can't make it through work without his Contac. Having contracted it now myself, I demanded an extra 45 minutes of sleep before he left for work, and, busy with Isaac, Dada forgot to take his precious medicine. He calls us up an hour or so later: "Woman! Bring me some Speed, and NOW!"

This one is pretty much the same as the last one, only worse because we were so excited about being done with the last one. Sneezing, snot, coughing, sinus headaches. This is seriously confusing me because:

1) We don't know anyone. We don't hang out with anyone (much).
2) Isaac doesn't go to the germ factoryday care anymore. There should be no terrible awful no-good very-bad colds. We see other little ones once a week, at playgroup, and then it's less of Isaac interacting with and really more of Isaac casually regarding the other kids and running in the other direction towards a ball/ride-on/stick of string cheese.
3) It would appear that Dada has brought this upon us. While Isaac and I do go to germ-infested places like the grocery store (GASP!) and even Dr. Suck's office, Dada barely leaves his office all day.
4) We left Seattle, AKA Germ Disseminating Center of the Country. I actually saw a map once of US, showing that, because most flights from Asia land first in Seattle or L.A., that these cities were major propagators of the most recent flu strains. One would think that Delaware -- as in "Or imagine being able to be magically whisked away to Delaware! Hi... I'm in Delaware.." -- would be more, ahem, immune to such things.

I was too haughty, germs. I thought I could escape you with my new hermit-like lifestyle, but now I see that you will always win. Especially when I can't take any cold medicine.

Who says you can't learn anything from TV?

Isaac and I do lots of things other than watch TV. We build block towers, read LOTS of books, color, play with play-doh, play in the sandbox, go for walks, go squirrel-spotting, etc etc. Our latest non-rainy-day activity is to go on marathon campus walks, like over an hour long. Here is Zombie Isaac staring at a fountain at the end of running all over the manicured campus wonderland:



However, we do watch our fair share of TV. Our goal every day is to limit his TV-watching to 2 hours or less a day, and most days we accomplish this. Days when he gets up reeeeeeal early? More won't kill him. Like his mama, he is bad at waking up, so we start the day slow with a lazy episode of The Wiggles, snuggling together on the couch. If mama is still relatively unconscious, we might watch two episodes. Somedays we'll watch Sesame Street in the middle of the day, but this doesn't hold his attention like the Wiggles, so I don't know if you can really count the full hour. Usually we watch zero TV the entire time Daddy is gone. Before bathtime we watch one more Wiggles. The boy (and his inner rock star) is psycho-crazy for the Wiggles, lemme tell ya. I feel guilty about the amount of TV we let him watch, but I comfort myself thinking that it's all pretty educational and stimulating for him one way or another. And most times (though I admit not always), one of us is there to watch it with him and interact with the show while it's going on.

We now have proof that he is not brain-dead because of it, and may even be picking up a few things. A few days ago I was hooked to Headline News to hear the latest about the Hurricane Rita situation. While sitting on the couch, Isaac found the Tivo remote and said "Wiggles?" as in "this news crap would bore anybody to tears; please let me watch my super-fun baby show." I said, "No, baby, we watched the Wiggles already this morning," and left the room for a couple of minutes to brush my teeth. Naturally Isaac messes with the Tivo remote, as he's seen us do so many times before. From the bathroom, I hear "click -- click -- click -- click" from Tivo. And then I hear the Wiggles theme song. My determined young man has navigated from live TV to a Tivoed episode of the Wiggles and then played it. Scary #1.

Here's Scary #2. Isaac has long been fascinated with Dada's tripod, which is sturdy and squat and not terribly baby-unfriendly. Tonight I was showing him how to turn the stage with the handle. Isaac turns handle towards him and brings his eye up to the handle's end, exactly as if he was looking into the eyepiece of a telescope:


Now, we actually do have a telescope, but have never used it or even brought it out of the closet since Isaac was born. Neither I nor Dada have ever made any objects into pretend telescopes. As far as I can tell, the only place he could have gotten this idea is from a bit on the Wiggles where Greg looks through a telescope up into the heavens, something he has maybe seen 3 times. Campus ju-ju + measured amounts of TV = one ultra-genius toddler?

"What's that?"; no rooting for Terrell Owens allowed

Isaac's very favorite book, given to him last Christmas by Great-Grandma and -Grandpa Peetz, is "Animals", which has more than a 100 different pictures of animals grouped together according to categories (i.e. "Farm Animals", "Colorful Animals", "Mini-Beasts"). There is almost no text to this book, so reading it consists of pointing to an animal, naming it, and making its sound. It is from this book that Isaac first caught on that "moo" = cow, "neigh" = horse, and "RRROAR!" = lion or other cat-like non-cat animal. Today we were reading it and he suddenly took an interest the animals I usually skip over, like Mr. Chameleon. At the chameleon, the elephant, the giraffe, Isaac would point and say, clear as day, "What's that?" He seemed to enjoy the elaborate detail I would then try to put into telling him what that exactly was, because he kept asking, with the starfish, the dolphin, the wolf...

This afternoon Dada and Isaac watched the Eagles game together while I napped. We are from Indianapolis and thus are rabid Colts fans, but Dada figured he should also pay a little attention to a "hometown" team, now that we are 45 minutes away from Philly. Being the Eagles, all the attention from the sportscasters and the writing on the screen focused on McNabb and his fabled receiver, Terrell Owens, known simply as "T.O." After being inundated with talk of this McNabb/T.O. combo, the report from Dada is that Isaac disappeared into his room, where he has a new chalkboard with magnetic letters on it. Completely alone, Isaac picks two letters from his set, only two, and brings them in to the living room to show Dada. Can you guess which two he might have picked? My genius monkey brought Dada a T and an O.

Music class

We signed Isaac up for a toddler-appropriate music class through the music department here at the university. How could we not, with his budding rock star/ukelelist/dance-machine talents? His class meets every Saturday morning for half-hour, and our first lesson was last week. His teacher's name is Miss Sandy, and the first lesson made it quite obvious that she had never raised, taken care of, or even been around a toddler for more than a half-hour previously. She opened the class with a big thank you to all of us for coming out "so early" on a Saturday morning, "on the day we're supposed to be sleeping in." This class is at 10:15, people. Isaac and by extension me had been up since 5:30. No. concept. of toddler behavior. The remainder of the first class showed further that she was just not in the know -- lots of activities where she would sing simple songs and implicitly insist that the toddlers sit on parents laps and clap their hands or whatever the whole time. Isaac was remarkably amenable to this, probably because it was so new and he was so exhausted. There were some fun things, like playing with instruments and holding hands and walking in a circle, but we really didn't get much participation out of Isaac, not even for family dance time. Dada suggested that Miss Sandy was trying to bore the fun out of music.

We weren't exactly looking forward to today's class, but we were going anyway because we have 12 weeks of this and it was NOT cheap. Luckily for us, today seemed to bring a new Miss Sandy to class. We had much less sitting this time, both because there was more walking and dancing and because Dada and I decided that if Miss Sandy was implying Isaac should sit and he wasn't having it, then dern it, we weren't making him, a sentiment shared this time by a mom of another rowdy little guy. It's not a big class and it's not in a big room, so he wasn't going anywhere. Having a well-rested Isaac also helped make it more entertaining for everyone. He spent a lot of his time after first breaking out of his shell running laps around the circle of sitting grownups. When that bored him, my darling showboat son went directly to the middle of our circle, by himself, and shook what his mama gave him, which Miss Sandy (among others) found hilarious. Toward the end he even caught on to some of the actions we were doing to the songs and made a big deal out of doing them himself, which few of the other toddlers did even though he is clearly much younger than everyone else. Now THAT's the rock star we know and love.

Milk and cookies: a sleep update

Last night before bed I gave Isaac a ginormous amount of milk and 3 small cookies. He slept from slightly before 9 straight through until 5:30 (yes, unfortunately that qualifies for a YAY!!!), at which time I pulled him in bed with us and he slept another hour. Hopefully this means that we have found the magic formula: bedtime snack = bedtime sleepy bliss. Tonight he got another big slug of milk and 1.5 not-homemade chocolate chip cookies -- let's hope for a repeat of no waking up in the middle of the night!

Editor's note, 9/24: "big slug of milk" and cookies did not work -- boy was up at 3:30. But this time, instead of incoherent, violent whining when I tried to put him back to bed, he repeatedly rammed his hands together, signing and hollering "MORE! MORE!" followed by "JOO!" (aka "juice" which also means milk) and making the sign we taught him for "drink". I was very grateful for this directness. Saves SO much time and worry. Tonight he got a full 8 oz of milk and some animal crackers...sleep, my pretty...

Opening up a dialogue

Dear Mama,

I'm having some sleeping issues right now. I see you are getting a little frustrated with me. Maybe that has something to do with it. Unfortunately, that's too bad. Have some cah-kee and get over yourself, woman. If I don't need sleep, why should you? You should really consult the instruction manual I came with to learn my secret of Sucking Energy from Thin Air. Clearly my way is superior. With less sleep, there are more hours in the day to wrestle and squirm:



To run in circles, over things, through things...


...on you, on cat-brother, in the yard, into the street!

You need to suck it up, mama, and get with the program. Sleep is for the weak. Anyway, isn't it worth it, to spend a few more hours a day basking in my adorableness?


Love,

Isaac

-----------
My dearest Isaac,

You are right; I need to get over myself and my pre-child notions of how much sleep I "deserve". I know you don't yet get that I am growing your brother or sister in my tummy, and that that in and of itself is enough to make me tired. None of that is your fault. I do need to quit getting so annoyed with you and your annoying sleeping habits. How much can you or I do to control them? No one will ever know.

It will all be okay, really, and I promise to be more understanding for the time being and even to try to help you figure out how to sleep better. Especially because I have in place a plan to exact my revenge on you, in 15 years when I show this picture of you wearing my underwear as a hat to your prom date.


Love always,

Mama

Putting the "mama" in "foxy mama"

I outgrew all my non-preggo jeans and pants as of yesterday. U.B. has decided it's time for my stomach to blow up. This morning I spent a Wiggles episode hand-stitching up a rip in the crotch of my only pair of Gap Maternity Jeans from Isaac's belly-tenure in an effort to have something to wear. Then, bless him, the UPS man arrived later that morning with $90 in new Gap Maternity paraphernalia, a desperate attempt in the form of a shopping spree on gap.com this weekend to help me feel a little less fat and frumpy. Oh, and that $90 = one pair of pants (not on sale) + 2 "fancy" t-shirts (on sale). The last time I spent $60 on a single pair of pants? When I bought the stupid maternity jeans two years ago. Is it worth it? You mean, to not wear sweat pants daily in public? Every single penny.


Please keep in mind that I am just barely 4 months pregnant. Oh man, am I in for some stretch marks this time.

4 + 4 = 8

About four weeks ago, Isaac started soaking through his (disposable) diaper in the middle of the night. Naturally this woke him up and he would scream until mom would change him and his sheets; afterward he would sleep until normal waking-time like nothing happened. Nevertheless, I was feening for those nights without interruption from Mr. Jr. Sleep Disorder, which had come to me at long last after 16 months of waiting. Our solution to this was quite simple. Each night before bed, Isaac slurps down an 8-oz bottle of milk while cuddling with Dada and watching the Wiggles. Cut the fluid in half, cut the pee in half, right? So about 3 weeks ago we cut him down to a full 4-oz bottle instead, and he never seemed to notice the difference.

For the first few nights, he cooperated perfectly and slept through the night. But it was not too many nights before the horrible wailing began, first at 2 or 3, and now at 1 or even midnight AND at 2 or 3. When I say horrible wailing, I mean all-out, knock-down, drag-out self-mutilating kind of nighttime tantrums, replete with thrashing. My first thoughts were that he must be teething again, or maybe even having growing pains. He does seem to be getting taller. Several nights I gave him some Tylenol, but in a first for him, he would try to push it away, syrupy cherry goodness and all. What seemed to work best was holding him in the rocking chair and rocking for about 20 minutes, but even that wasn't guaranteed to last the whole night through. Last week, with nothing really working for us, I tried giving him another 4-oz bottle of milk or juice when he would wake. After slurping down the bottle and then screaming for more when it was done, I could usually rock him back to sleep and it would stick, but I didn't really think much of it.

Anyway, this new, non-sleeping Isaac is zapping my sanity. Not only do I not get to sleep during the night, but then he is cranky all day long and takes bad naps because of it. And I am realizing more and more that, for me and U.B., 5 discontinuous hours of sleep during the night + 1 or 1.5 hours during the day is NOT cutting it. When Isaac got up at 6 this morning for good, after being up for over 1.5 hours last night, I cried. Me needee sleep too, dern it.

Isaac and I were snuggling watching the Wiggles tonight and they were doing some bit to demonstrate how sharp their minds were after they ate healthy food or something. "1 and 1 is 2!" one says. "2 and 2 is 4!" says another. "4 and 4 is 8!" says a third. Suddenly a light peered through the sleep-deprivation fog: 4-oz of milk is not enough as a bedtime snack. He falls asleep better after I give him another 4-oz in the night because he is starving to death. What a genius mommy he has. I think we will start instituting a bedtime snack -- you know, milk and cookies or the like, to make him even more of a little boy. Then he will sleep through the night.

DID YOU HEAR THAT, BOY???? THEN YOU WILL SLEEP THROUGH THE NIGHT!

Achoo update: diarrhea, cha-cha-cha

disclaimer: this post contains descriptive discussions of poop. The squeamish are advised to avert their eyes.
The sniffles continue for the little guy and myself. We are both sneezing, dripping machines. And today, because I know you really want to know, all that post-nasal drip travelled down south to cause some serious bowel explosions -- about 2 hours after mine, Isaac had his, the first time in his entire life that Super Pooper has had diarrhea. He seemed as though he could have cared less, but I felt so bad for him as he pooed his squirty farts standing up. And then I felt bad for me...ewwww, the clean-up, which involved seemingly half a box of wipes to contain the leakage and some Shout to the britches. Hopefully our sinuses and our poops will be back to normal soon.

Stupid insurance -- Day 2

After last night's bloggy breakdown, Dada and I said, 'nuff with that. Resolve this insurance hoo-hah TODAY, dern it.

To get to the root of the problem, first I called BlueCross BlueShield and spoke with a human. Previously I had just tried to enter our "member ID number", pulled seemingly out of a hat, through their telephone system to be told that it wasn't recognized. In direct contrast to the telephone experiences outlined in the previous post, the human I spoke with was not only cordial and helpful, but was able to make suggestions to help me more directly get answers. The real answer? We are NOT in their system, meaning the HR people didn't turn in our insurance application.

Then I finally remembered how long it took me to get my initial O.B. appointment for my Isaac check-ups and decided it was better to just go ahead and make one now, and let my insurance catch up with me later. I called two clinics that take the insurance we should eventually have, and, again to my surprise, both receptionists were exceedingly nice and helpful. At the clinic I finally chose because it had the earlier appointment, the receptionist said, without provocation, "Let me go ahead and schedule your second visit while we're on the phone now." "Bless you, woman," I said.

For the nail in the casket, Isaac and I went to the Univ of Delaware HR office this afternoon with our Fight Face on (because we watched the Gilmore Girls last night, oh yeah). We told the receptionist about our problem, and she was clearly disturbed that things weren't working as they should. She promptly fetched THE lady in charge of health insurance applications for the whole university. Again I put up my dukes to no avail -- this lady was flat-out embarrased. She promised she would call BCBS to resolve the issue immediately, and then call me back about it before the end of the day. She kept her word, and left us a message with a new, not fake BCBS Member ID number. We will have our honest-to-God insurance cards in seven days.

Is it not so awful that I was so seriously disappointed by Dr. Suck and his staff that my whole approach to each of these situations was to expect confrontation and combativeness? Finally, today I found people who understand that I am a paying customer (gasp!) whose concerns deserve to be acknowledged and met (double gasp!). Thank you, fabulous customer service reps with whom I met or chatted today, for not making me want to kill you.

Belated posting of U.B.'s first ultrasound

Hold your horses -- this is not a new one. This is a non-super picture taken during the ultrasound we insisted on having at our one and only O.B. appointment, when U.B. was 7 weeks old. You can see his or her enormous yolk sac (spiffy!), highlighted in red.

Achoo

Isaac and I have caught a sniffle, likely from Sara's oldest, Nathaniel, who started preschool last week. Isaac doesn't outwardly appear to be suffering unduly, but does have a constant, though minor, creek of snot dribbling from his nose. I have a stuffy nose, a sinus headache, and enough post-nasal drip to make me nauseous and make my throat hurt. Just in case he feels like I do, I gave him some preemptive Tylenol before bed tonight.

Yet another of those dinky little colds that a dose of Sudafed would completely clobber, but what do I get to take? Some Tylenol and those completely ineffective Luden's cough drops. Thanks a lot, U.B. At least the cold seems to help Junior Booger Maker take some decent naps. Maybe it would help, too, if I would get to bed before midnight tonight. Ah, the dilemma! Sleep vs. looking at E Online to learn about Britney's baby and Emmy red-carpet fashion...

Kill you, stupid insurance

As a grad student in Seattle, life was hard and full of poverty. My school, knowing this, took pity upon me and gave me a seriously restrictive health insurance plan with unbelievably fabulous coverage. When preggers with the Isaac, this made prenatal care and delivery so easy. I could only go to one place, the University's research hospital, for my care, and they paid 90% of everything. I went to I don't know how many prenatal checkups and had maybe 4 ultrasounds. They even covered my epidural and Isaac's circumcision. There were no choices and very few and miniscule bills. I think in the end it cost us about $600 in medical costs to have Isaac, from conception to birth.

It would appear, at least in the first half of this pregnancy, that U.B. is totally getting the short end of the stick in this regard. Before we left Seattle, aware that we were leaving for the insurance unknown for a bit, I forced a visit with my providers at 7 wks, wherein I was told my cervix looked very pregnant and wherein we saw U.B.'s heart beating on an ultrasound. Everything looked cool.

I haven't been to a prenatal visit since. On Michael's new insurance plan with stupid Blue Cross Blue Shield, to visit anyone other than your primary care provider and not have to pay for it entirely yourself, first we must visit the primary care provider and have him or her refer you to another, non-primary-care doctor. Meaning, despite the fact that I am obviously pregnant and NEED TO SEE A PERSON WHO SEES PREGNANT PEOPLE LIKE RIGHT NOW, first I had to visit this guy whose name we literally picked out of a hat (hereafter referred to as Dr. Suck) and who I would never in a million years use for my prenatal visits to get him to refer me to someone else. Confused yet? Frustrated along with me yet? Oh, it gets better.

Michael took a significant portion of his day last Monday to take the HR people here to the mat and get them to hook us up with insurance. This is after he has been here for over a month, uninsured. They told him that they would have to process his insurance application, but until then here are the ID numbers we would need to give to a doctor to get in right now and let us write them on this official-looking hot blue PostIt note!

I made an appointment over the phone to see Dr. Suck, despite the best efforts of his confrontational and sincerely unhelpful secretaries, who informed me that he will see no new patients without having transferred their medical records first. Huh?!? Well, it's a good thing I am a smarty and had my providers in Seattle print out all records pertinent to U.B.'s cooking stint so that I could have them in hand. Evidently those would do, but I still had to bring them in before I can be seen. I did later Monday, at which time I filled out an important-looking orange card with all my insurance information. "Do you have your card?" a different and nicer secretary asks. No, I say, we just got this insurance this morning. "Well, as long as you fill out your information on the orange card, that's all we need." I got an appointment to see Dr. Suck last Thursday.

Last Thursday I arrive at Dr. Suck's office, on time for my 3:15 appointment, with my 17-month-old in tow. The receptionists in unison berate me for not having an insurance card (surprise! things change so much with those things in three whole days!) and make me sign a form saying that I promise to pay my bill if my insurance doesn't pick it up. Then we waited FOR AN HOUR to get in to see Dr. Suck. Luckily for us, Dr. Suck is a family practitioner and has lots of toys in his waiting room. Isaac was a complete angel during the wait and entertained the fellow patients-to-be with his burgeoning vocabulary.

Once in the room, Dr. Suck immediately starts up with a pitch trying to sell me on his practice. His philosophy is that every patient will get their problem solved during their appointment, no matter how long it takes. "I usually run a little behind, as you may have noticed," he says. Apparently he is not aware that one of my most violent pet peeves is people who make me wait. I stifle my urge to choke him. Then, completely oblivious to the three other groups of patients still waiting in the front room, Dr. Suck wants to chat for a bit about Seattle, and he starts making a list for me of family-friendly places in our new neighborhood Isaac might enjoy visiting. After maybe 10 minutes in the room, we finally start talking about U.B., and he recommends three providers to me, but says I should pick whichever I want and turn in a referral form to his office(later I check the BCBS website and none of his providers are accepting new patients). He marks up a sheet and I am done. He has billed me $95 to give me advice about taking my son to the orchard where we already go. I take said sheet to the receptionists, and they tell me that if I could just get my insurance card to them by tomorrow morning then they wouldn't have to bill me directly for the visit. I reiterate, for about the fourth time, that I don't yet have insurance cards. They curtly inform me that, because of this unforgivable infraction, they will not even attempt to use the information I gave them and will be sending the bill straight to me.

So what does this mean? I certainly means I am NEVER giving Dr. Suck my business ever ever ever again. I will use him to refer me, but then he is dropped like a hot potato. I could turn in my referral form and make an appointment with an O.B., but would they give me the same crap about insurance? I keep checking with BCBS, and, a week later, Michael is not even in their system. Thank you, worthless HR people. Was it all for nothing? As far as I can tell, poor U.B. will keep growing regardless of whether I go to the doctor...but I really would prefer to have SOMEbody official care that I need some prenatal visits, and soon.

Pickle O'Neal

We have tossed around a few ideas for U.B.'s real name. For some reason, girl names are coming easy to us; with Isaac, we never could think of a suitable girl name but came up with two great final choices (obviously we chose correctly). The other day, Michael and I were poring through our baby-name book from the days pre-Isaac and still came up with nothing fun. Adolf? Don't think so. Duke? Ummmmm, no. Thor? Not exactly.

Out of ideas, Michael turned to Isaac.

Dada: Isaac, what do you want to name the baby if it's a boy?
Isaac: Pickle!

Wonder where he gets that from?

Another first today for my boy -- his first argument with Mama concerning a trivial piece of information. Hmmm, he didn't learn that from watching us or anything.

We were playing with his set of ABC blocks, building towers and such. Each block has letters on two sides and pictures of objects that begin with those letters on another two sides. For example, the "M" block has a mouse and a moon on opposite sides. The "S" block has a sock and the sun on opposite sides.

To set the stage, first you must know that Isaac is currently obsessed with the moon, succeeding his obsession with squirrels. We have to read, repeatedly, every day, "Goodnight Moon", Sandra Boynton's "Going to Bed Book", Dr. Seuss's "The Foot Book," a nursery rhyme book sent by Grandma Ross that features "Hey Diddle Diddle" -- all because, at some point or another, they have a picture of the moon in them. Even previously shunned books which have even a hint of a moon on a single page are new faves. We can no longer make it through "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" because the moon is on the very first page.

Back to how our pointless argument started. Isaac finds the "S" block, with its picture of a similing, happy, circular sun. He holds it towards me.

Isaac: Is Moon!
Mama: No, buddy, that's the sun.
Isaac: (looking at picture of sun on block) No. Moon!
Mama: No, that's the sun.
Isaac: (shaking his head) No! Is Moon!
Mama: No, that's the sun. The sun comes out during the day and the moon is at night.
Isaac: (shaking his head violently) No! Is Moon!
Mama: (pulling out the "M" block and pointing at the picture of a smiling, but crescent, moon) THIS is the moon. You have the sun.
Isaac: (looks at picture of crescent moon, shakes head, thrusts picture of sun towards Mama) No! Is Moon!

Ten minutes this went on. Do you think if you blend the genes of two hard-headed people who love to argue that the offspring might be ten times as bad?

Bye-bye, moo

Our little talky-monster has been known to string two words together occasionally in the past, hinting that he is starting to get the hang of this whole Language thing. Starting yesterday he figured out that putting together "Bye-bye" + [noun] = extreme excitement from the parents and those surrounding. Today we gained "Bye-bye, Dada" and "Bye-bye, Mama". Yesterday at the park, I pointed out two doggies to him. As we wheeled past them in the stroller, he waves and says "Bye-bye, doggie." Last night at the grocery store, he notices that the carton of his milk on the conveyor belt has a picture of a cow on it; he points and says "Moo", because all animals except doggie and kitty are named according to their respective noises. As the checker puts the milk in a bag, he waves at the milk carton and says "Bye-bye, moo."

Dada's snuggle-monkey

An Isaac movie festival

Taking movies of Isaac is no longer easy. 9 times out of 10 when I whip out the camera at Isaac level, he has his hands all over the lens in less than 5 seconds. This is an example of him waiting a record amount of time to grab it, surely only because the distraction of Dada was there. I have tried I don't know how many times to catch him on "film" pointing at his various body parts as I name them. Wish me luck.

However, the movie gods seem to have smiled upon us this week. Last Saturday we bought Isaac his very own ukelele, at Wal-Mart of all places. How could we resist after his performance at the beach? After not letting go of it for a day, he came up with what is surely the greatest song ever. It consists of him strumming more or less in rhythm and singing "Mama Mama Mama Mama". Here is a movie of The Mama Song, followed by more guitar stylings by Isaac. Usually The Mama Song is longer, but apparently we were lucky to get the snippet at the beginning.

Today Isaac surprised me with a game at lunch. To preface: Dada is a coffee fiend, so Isaac learned how to say "coffee" pretty early. First it was "ca-ca", but now it is a more accurate "cah-kee". He gets such a parental response from saying "cah-kee" that now every beverage except juice is labeled "cah-kee". Back to today: After lugging around an unopened can of soda pre-lunch, he insisted it be brought to the table. There, he invented the fabulous game "Where's Coffee?", replete with hand gestures and everything. Could he be cuter? Doubt it.

Photography with toddlers... is it even possible?

We haven't had professional pictures taken of Isaac since Christmas, and I am thinking that makes him long overdue. Especially since he is currently mosquito-bite and bruise/scrape free on the parts that count.

We had our last pictures taken at the Target Portrait Studio in a northern Indianapolis suburb. I think we can do better this time. The Target pictures turned out okay, but the photographer clearly had little experience or patience with young'uns. She was much more interested in the appointment made by Ron Artest (of the Indianapolis Pacers) for a family portrait in a few hours (from Michael's corner as I am blogging: "What a cheap b***ard!").

To those with more experience in this corner than I: can you recommend a place that is good with squirmy toddlers kids and is reasonably priced? Jacaroo's World ranted on JC Penney's and raved on Sears. Your thoughts?

I was made to fuss at you, baby

Isaac has been getting pickier and pickier at eating dinner -- now it seems like all he eats is cheese, fruit, and pasta. And cookies. For dinner tonight, I tried to fix him some scrumptious chunky soup from a can, which used to be his fave. It was loudly rebuffed. Because Dada was in a particularly slap-happy mood at the dinner table, he was inspired to make up an appropriate song for Isaac:

I Was Made to Fuss at You
(sung to the tune of "I Was Made for Lovin' You" by Kiss)

Tonight...
I'm gonna throw food on the floor
And watch you pick it up
And tell you that I want more
Tonight...
I'm gonna smear food in my hair.
I'll ask you for an orange
When I really want a pear.

DO DO
I was made to fuss at you, mama
You were made for serving me.
I can't get enough to eat, mama,
But not this food you're bringin' me!

U.B. says "eat this"

U.B. says I need to eat more foods whose names end with "ato". Isaac and I have eaten English Muffin Pizzas for lunch 3 times in the last week because I can't seem to get enough tomato sauce. I described some crappy pizza we ate for lunch today as "the best ever" probably because the tomato sauce was so thick. Not one to be an avid consumer of tomatoes in unprocessed form, I found myself the other day picking up raw tomato chunks off of Dadas nachos and thinking they were the most delicious thing I had ever eaten. On the potato side of things. I can't leave the grocery store without a bag of Yukon Gold potato chips. I am 2/3 of the way through a bag as we speak. Monday I bought a 5-lb Costco bag of seasoned french fries and have eaten half of them. I also cooked baked potato-type items twice in the last week atop the fried potato consumption spike.

When I was preggers with the Isaac, my cravings were mainly for hamburgers and donuts, with an increase in M&M consumption towards the end. U.B. must be training in utero to be a poet, what with his/her rhyming food desires and all.

Isaac's first car crash

**editors note -- this post was revised 9/12 to include, um, Isaac in it**
Yesterday afternoon Dada suggested we go drive by a house allllmost in our poor-house price range, you know, just for kicks. We piled the family in the car, with me behind the wheel, and headed off. Not one mile down the road, two old biddies decided to gently careen their hunk of junk Honda into our beloved Jeep. I was just minding my own business, driving straight towards a red stop light in the left lane; in the right lane, Biddy Driver took "red stop light" to mean "change lanes without signalling and make sure you place the nose of your car into that lovely green Jeep's side". Don't worry, no one was hurt in either car. We couldn't have been going 5 miles per hour. With the red light firmly in place, Dada got out and screamed at the ladies, whose car was now straddling two lanes. With nowhere convenient to pull over on a shoulderless, crowded road, we drove a little ways to a park with a nice big parking lot, where we all got out. And then the fun REALLY began.

We exchanged information and all that official crap, and then, to the biddies' extreme horror, I whipped out my digital camera and started taking pictures of the damage. This newfangled tek-know-low-gie would surely be the death of them and their insurance policies, they were clearly wondering. Meanwhile, Isaac and Dada had great fun galavanting all around the park, picking up sweetgum balls and trying to spot squirrels.

Here is what Biddy Driver did to our beautiful Jeep (yes, it's minor, but the ugly scratch...):



Here is what Biddy Driver did to her 10-year-old Honda:



After everything was taken care of, I wrote down my version of the story (from hereafter known as THE TRUTH), and asked Biddy Driver for hers. It changed about 3 times in the scope of 10 minutes. First she was trying to merge, because she was in a merge lane (she wasn't); second, she was in the left lane behind us going straight the whole time and had no idea how this could have happened; last, she was in the right lane and our Jeep had been swerving to get into her lane. Now, I would swear on my toddler's and unborn baby's lives that my story is exactly what happened. I know for a fact that I was minding my own business and staying in the confines of my designated lane when Biddy Driver took it upon herself to make our cars touch each other. However, each time when I tried to call her on her changing story -- "You just said you were 'merging', ma'am" -- the biddies in unison would loudly protest "Oh, no no no I didn't say THAT." The damage was pretty minor to our car, but her car will evidently require some work, and to protect ourselves, I called the cops to make an accident report. I was pleased that, when the cop finally did come, my story was completely matter-of-fact (I was here, I did this, they ran into me), while Biddy Driver's was all over the place with lots of "I think"s thrown in for good measure (I think I was here, then I think this happened, and then we just must've done this). Because we had to depart from the scene of the accident, we had no witnesses, and because it's Biddy Driver's word against mine, it will be no-fault. We do need to take care of the scratch on our car, with it being relatively new, which makes this suck; on the other hand, this is great because in no way, despite her best efforts, can we be liable for what she'll have to get done to her POS.

I was willing to chalk it all up to Biddy Driver just not paying attention, and then misremembering what had happened, until my bulldog husband with his special hearing skillz revealed a more sinister side to the story. When Biddy Driver suggested that she may have been "merging", Biddy Passenger pulled her aside and told her to shut up and not say that. Later, when pressed by Attorney-in-Training Michael, Biddy Driver said by "merging" she meant "our cars colliding, you know, coming together." As opposed to what all other people with drivers' licenses mean when they talk about merging in a traffic situation. In trying to lighten the situation with the biddies, I asked them where they were from and they in turn asked me where in Washington we had moved from. When I said Seattle, Biddy Driver put on a knowing smirk and said, to my face, "People are very different out there." Clearly meaning that I, being "from" there, am different, meaning never ever like her and therefore in the wrong. Michael also caught Biddy Passenger suggesting to Biddy Driver that "that's what you get when somebody's driving like a tourist" behind my back. You know, because I'm "from" Seattle and we don't have roads there. And of course these biddies didn't want a police report: "You can just Bond-O that scratch right out", Biddy Passenger says. You know, because we want some stinkin' Bond-O on our newish, beautifully maintained Jeep.

While I tried to write this off as another chapter in the Stuff Happens book, this was all very depressing for Michael, who was witness to comments suggesting that these ladies were not just confused about what happened, but KNEW they were lying. I haven't been in an accident since I was 17, and then I got into three. All of them were my fault; in none were there witnesses. Did I try to weasel my way out of them? Of course not. I stuck around for police reports without complaining and fully admitted my guilt upon request, because, dern it, it was the truth. When you damage someone's property, you fess up and do the right thing and help them as much as you can. Evidently these old biddies just wanted to flex their dishonest muscles yesterday because they knew they could get away with it. And unfortunately, they did.

17 months old

Dear Isaac,

A few days ago you turned 17 months old. You have a strong, emerging personality now. You are a big goofball, and you love to make us laugh, and me laughing makes you start laughing even if you don't know why. You still love music and love to dance. Now that I am home with you, we sing songs all the time and when I am done singing a song you clap for me and scream "YAY!" really loud. I am openly flattered. You are pretty good at doing the hand signs for "Itsy Bitsy Spider" along with me, and can do all of "Pat-a-Cake" as I sing. For the first time today you also sang a song for me -- it sounded like you were singing your ABCs.

Suddenly you are a little finicky about your hands and feet getting dirty. While you dive into your cottage cheese or applesauce with your fingers, after a few minutes you look at them and then whine at me until I wipe them off. If you step in something that gets in your sandals, like sand or water, you won't walk in them anymore and say "Yucky! Yucky!" until I pick you up or take them off. It would appear that you think life is best without shoes anyway. That's the Seattle hippie coming out in you, we think.

You like helping me with chores. When I'm vacuuming, you always hang out in the same room, never averting your gaze, and occasionally reminding me that, indeed, that is the "vacuum". Dada bought you a pint-sized push broom to go with your pint-sized mop, and while you prefer to use the mop more as a ninja weapon, you appear to be the only one who likes sweeping in the house. I am more than happy to let you go to town with your push broom. You really like doing the laundry with me, especially helping (un)fold clothes. You like to decorate the living room with the towels and my underwear. Usually it takes a few days for me to find everything that needs to be put away, but you are so entertained I am certainly not stopping you.

Your words are pouring forth, and you are starting to make clear, intelligible statements. Your favorite verb is "see", which originated from our peekaboo game, "I See You". As soon as you learned to say "I see you", it was clear you understood what that meant, and now you say "See Wiggles" or "See Squirrel". You have so many words now that when you do start to get frustrated and upset, Dada and I can ask you to "use your words", and sometimes you will calm down enough to tell, or at least show, us what's wrong.

Right now, your favorite word is "No". You have two flavors of "No", though: there is a screaming "no", when you really mean NO, and there is an extended, quieter "noooooH", with a lift on the end, when you are just making conversation. For example, a dialogue between us today:

Mom: Did you just wake up from your nap?
Isaac (in crib): Nooooo.

Dada and I take this to mean that perhaps we are a little too liberal with OUR "no"s, and we will try to work on that.

You and I have had our tiffs recently, as you try to make it clear to me that you will be doing whatever you wish, and I try to show you that being civilized and not kicking people or throwing sand or dumping cat-brother's food on the floor can be fun. I grit my teeth and tell myself that this isn't just you being a butthead, and that it is programmed into your toddler brain to be this way for now. Eventually you will cave to my will, mwoo-hahahaha, but for now we struggle. Usually you win.

We are incredibly surprised that you know your name, can say it, and can even recognize and name yourself when you see your picture as my desktop background. This is mainly because we rarely call you Isaac, but instead make up terribly cute nicknames for you that seem to change by the month. My current favorite is Munchkin or Munchie-Munchkin, often shortened to just Munchie. We interchangeably use certain classics that have been around for a bit: Big Guy, Monkey, Buddy, Punkin, My Angel, Baby. When appropriate, you are also Fussy Buddy, Fussy Gus, Guster, Buster, Monster, or Baby Monster. One day we'll get our act together and learn your name.

Every day it amazes your Dada and I how much we love you, and how we could never ever do without you. Being home with you is the greatest thing that I have ever done, and I love being able to go for our explorer-walks together every day. Dada is ferociously jealous of me and has a hard time staying at work all day, knowing that a 5-minute-walk would bring him home to you. Every day we think about all the great things we'll teach you or do with you in the next day or week, and we realize the best part is just watching you to see your reaction to life. You are the coolest, Big Guy, and getting cooler every single day.

Love you,

Mommy

Toddler info sheet

Sara told us about this website, which has information, by month, about your baby's or toddler's development and skills, and, most fun, what it feels like to be, for example, a 17-month-old. Each page also has suggestions for age-appropriate games and, in Isaac's case, discipline! Yay! The 17-month-old page was evidently written entirely about Isaac, since it describes him to a tee. I guess I am not supposed to have mommy meltdowns in front of my child (shocker!), but instead should give myself a few minutes to calm down before bursting into tears and screaming in front of my toddler. The real test: Do you think I will remember to do it the "right" way the next time he does his naughty-monkey thing for his pregnant, hormonal mommy? Hrmmmmmmm?

Thursday blah blah

This morning was playgroup for 1.5 hours, followed by an intense cardio workout at a nearby park, led by master fitness instructor Isaac. Evidently our new extended sleep schedule means he has enough energy to literally run a jogging trail. Sara and her two boys were there, too, and I finally snapped a picture of her -- here she is with her 7-month-old, Patrick:



The rest of the day was, unfortunately, downhill from there. Isaac only napped for 1.5 hours, meaning I couldn't conquer all of Mt. Dish-more and do all my dinner prep while he was down. Then Dada called and suggested we meet up to try to open a bank account at a bank on campus, which turned out to be a HELLACIOUS long walk in the 86-degree heat, only to have an enormous long line that Isaac wouldn't let us stand around in. On the way home, fitness instructor Isaac was practicing his scissor-kick for Dada, and managed to kick Dada in the face, bruising his cheek and bending his glasses almost beyond wear. Isaac and I came home and had a great time together until it was time to change his diaper, when he decided it was time to show U.B. his scissor-kick and started some crazy kung fu moves on my belly, despite my insistent yelling, then time-outs, then screaming, then whatever. This led to another mommy-meltdown ala the cat food incident of not-so-long ago. Eventually Dada came home to our weekly Fish Night dinner which totally did not turn out -- given my extreme inexperience, it is amazing that this was the first inedible dish I have cooked in my stint as O'Neal household chef.

The night was rescued by Dada, who hung my Sky Chair from a tree in our backyard, where I could sit and be cradled and watch my boys play in the sandbox in utter peace and physical relaxation. Dadas are so good for stuff like that.

U.B. grows -- 16 w 2 d

QUITE a difference two weeks makes, eh? And look at those voluptuous bosoms! Where did those come from?

Nighttime practice sessions

I've read the first aid section of What to Expect the Toddler Years. I took a first aid/CPR course, like, 4 years ago. Maybe I'm due for a refresher, but it's better than nothing. But evidently my brain thinks I need more practice for a potential Isaac life-and-death situation, and it decided that this practice should occur while I'm trying to sleep.

When I was pregnant with Isaac, I had weird dreams, more often than not bad dreams. U.B. is just giving me nightmares, organized neatly into nightly themes, with multiple dreams revolving around the same deadly-scenario genre. It seems that every third night brings a new scary session, all involving Isaac in deadly accidental situations.

Last week, Isaac was choking -- luckily I don't remember that all too well now. Two nights ago, Isaac was drowning. In the first dream, I had decided to use the "wet pail" storage method for my dirty cloth diapers, meaning they soak in a small vat of liquid to help them get clean before wash day. Though this vat had a lid that was sealed, Isaac managed to open it up and topple himself, headfirst, inside, such that he was drowning in cleaning fluid and baby poo -- all while I had turned to do something else for 5 minutes. In the second dream, we were along the Wilmington Riverfront we visited last weekend, and somehow Isaac's chunky frame managed to slip through a small gap in the fence along the sidewalk, and he dropped about 15 feet into the swift-moving waters of the Christina River.

In no dream does he actually die; rather, each scene has me rushing to action in one way or another. In the first, I pull him out and quickly put him on his side to see if he can drain some crap out of his lungs; when that doesn't work, I call 911 and start CPR. In the second, I throw my cell phone at a bystander and tell them to call 911 before I jump in the river after him, my shoddy swimming skillz be damned. As soon as I make my move, the dreams end, and I wake up, first horrified that my baby was drowning, then, realizing I am definitely not going back to sleep, wondering if that was really the right thing to do and trying to come up with a game plan, should such stupefyingly horrible things occur. In the wake of Katrina, I learned that our local Red Cross offers first aid and emergency training courses. Perhaps that should be written onto the family calendar, and soon.

An actual conversation that took place at the O'Neal household last night

Dad: Gawd, I'm so tired.
Mom: Dada, I have a problem.
Dad: What's that?
Mom: I'm starting to wonder what we're going to do when U.B. comes along.
Dad: Yeah, me too. (not skipping a beat) I just watched a Discovery Channel show on feral babies. You know, babies raised by wolves throughout history.
Mom: Did TiVo pick that out for you?
Dad: Yeah.
Mom: TiVo loves us.

Caught being good

After our cat-food battles, today my handsome devil decided to use his powers for good instead of evil and help me feed the cat. Luckily, this was captured on e-film for your enjoyment.

We had a dinner invitation today from Michael's coworker and his wife, my friend Sara. It was both yummy and fun, and Isaac had a blast. Though we did have a taste (pun intended) of things to come when I held Sara's 7-month-old for a bit -- did Isaac ever get jealous!

They give out learners' permits early here

Here is Isaac, cruising in his Cozy Coupe, scoping out the campus honeys:





Today we saw Ryan off to New Jersey with his buddies, but not before we took another trip around campus and tried out a bagel place on the main strip for lunch. Later, the O'Neal family went for our weekly excursion to the mall and nearby places -- in this case, it was a dedicated trip to Old Navy, because I can't fit in my jeans any more. Lordy, did we rake up on their Labor Day Sale. I got some pants, Dada got some business-casual shirts, and Isaac got some new jammies to replace the heavily stained ones his dumb Mom keeps letting him eat breakfast in. After that, the usual. You know, squirrel-chasing, slurpee runs, some Tivoed Wiggles. We also are trying something out -- given Isaac's almost-consistent late rising now, we started our evening routine a little early and put him down at 9:00 instead of 9:30, giving us adults a whole extra half-hour of time to ourselves. Whatever will we do with such riches?

Campus tour

Michael, Ryan, Isaac, and I went on a little campus walk today, wherein touristy Ryan took an abundance of pictures of the beautiful University of Delaware campus. All the buildings are built from red brick, but instead of being ugly and oppressive like certain other university campuses, the consistent Georgian architecture used by the campus designers, along with beautiful green spaces, make U Del a breath of fresh air. Here are some buildings, both along the street and surrounded by green stuff:





Much of the campus is old, old, old, and the school itself as an entity dates back to the 18th century and, in its original incarnation, was responsible for educating a few signers of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. Here's a sign from a building that abuts the campus:



The buildings are often built right next to each other, but instead of leaving tiny, scary little alleyways between them, the architects instead designed these adorable archways that make the corridors seem infinitely more fun:



These were taken of buildings along "The Mall" or "The Green", a large, wide strip of green space flanked on all sides by enormous and stately buildings.







Marble doors on The Mall:



Isaac jogs The Mall:



Isaac and Mom in the grass on The Mall:

Continuing the touristy theme

In my newfound SAHM role as Cruise Director Julie, I came up with the idea to entertain our crew by visiting the newly refurbished Wilmington Riverfront, about 20 minutes away:


We had a lovely dinner, shopped (tax-free!) at an outlet mall, and strolled along the riverfront. Isaac enjoyed climbing on the rug piles at the LL Bean outlet, and telling us all about the "WATER!!!!!" flowing by.

Double the cuteness

Isaac and I went to the orchard again Friday and one of the goats just had babies! It was all I could do to keep myself from asking if we could take one with us. We make a loooooot of garbage that could help these guys grow up big and strong!

Katrina relief

We have talked about donating to the Red Cross to help with hurricane relief. I heard on Headline News last night -- over $200 million dollars donated, already. It really steps up your faith in humanity. But it also makes me feel like we could possibly help in better, more efficient ways. What good will money do to the people down there, where you can't even buy stuff? What they really need is food, water, shelter, stuff, volunteers. To help more effectively and efficiently, I think a route like what Erin has found would be much better.

U.B. moves

Last night, sitting on the couch eating leftover spaghetti and watching Groundhog Day, I felt U.B. moving. He/she was turning over. Then this morning as we were walking around, I felt a tiny internal nudge from an arm/leg/knee/elbow on the left side of my belly.

It's almost 16 weeks now, so this is a little early, but I know that what I am feeling is baby movement. It's not something you easily forget, especially after the previous inhabitant was such a rabble-rouser in there. I felt Isaac move, for sure, at 20 weeks, when out of the blue he kicked me, hard, in the belly button. I'm sure we'll be getting lots of that in the near future, but for now I'll take this nice, subtle stuff.

BBQ bellyaching

As aforementioned, we went to Michael's departmental BBQ last night, with all the other faculty members and grad students. It was supposed to be my chance to meet Michael's coworkers for the first time and extend a gracious hand towards the grad students to get them to work for the hubs! If they so desired.

Instead, I met maybe 5 new people and spent 2.5 hours trying to keep my baby away from near-deadly baby hazards, such as two charcoal grills not really set apart from anything; an old and senile dog's mouth; an enormous patch of poison ivy; and seriously steep concrete steps. With all of this, literally, I got to eat half a hamburger. It's a good thing Isaac ate, and I ate a little, before we came.

The worst of all was trying to keep him away from the Cheesy Poofs -- evidently I am raising a baby Cartman. Somebody had set out a bag of Cheesy Poofs in an enormous tin, open for the picking, and Isaac would take one bite, wave his around, and then try to shove the rest in my mouth, in my friend Sara's mouth (who is used to it from her 4-year-old and 7-month-old), or back into the tin with the other, unused Cheesy Poofs. And since we are now into raging toddlerdom, simply telling him to stop is like blowing into the wind, while trying to remove him from the situation results in fist-throwing, screaming, back-arching...the whole ugly scene that we are quickly becoming all-to-familiar with. Though I really could have used some more help from Michael with this scenario, he needed to help Ryan's career by showing him off to the faculty and throwing him into a pack of grad students, and then to help his own career by showing he could let his hair down with the faculty and grad students. Nevertheless, I am thinking somewhere in this that I am owed a night off some night next week, since I looked after the boy the entire day (save a total of maybe 20 minutes at the party) by myself, including all meals, bathtime, and bedtime, AND procured items from an orchard and grocery store to bring to the potluck. AND packed the car with 5 pounds of grapes, a 12-lb watermelon, cold drinks for the non-drinkers (Isaac, Ryan, and myself), and a 25-lb toddler. Is it a wonder I'm tired today?

Of course it wasn't all gloom and doom at the party. I got to meet the two faculty members Michael is always hanging out with, and Michael said afterwards that everybody thought I was just a lovely person. I also got to wear my hottie-girl pregnant outfit, a pretty skirt and a tight black tank top that makes U.B.'s house look like a genuine bump and not a beer gut. Toward the end, I coaxed Isaac away from the Chamber of Toddler Horrors that was the patio and into the lovely large lawn to run his little legs off with Sara's boy, which was much less stressful. And at the very end, these two fabulous grad student boys started tossing around a Nerf football, and they let Isaac play, too. The people I did get to talk to were really great and fun and down-to-earth, especially the football players. There was this one female grad student I met who decided that our only topic of conversation should be about how kids freak her out. Do I look like someone who can relate to that?

I guess all-in-all I should have expected as much. When was the last time I went to a party where I actually got to talk at length to adults?

Thursday babble

Today was one of those days where a lot of stuff was going on, but the day still seemed slow, probably because Isaac wasn't in the most fantastic of moods. I let him watch a little too much TV, and that always makes me feel like a big slacker, even though we went to playgroup for 2 hours, I made English muffin pizzas for lunch, and spaghetti and meatballs, as well as homemade bread, from scratch for dinner. And did all the dishes. Well, maybe I'm just tired, too.

We have company in town until Sunday -- Michael's friend and field assistant, Ryan, from Seattle. He flew out to the East Coast to visit some campuses, including U of Delaware, to check out Masters' programs. He's crashing with us, and he's lots of fun, a really easy-going guy and beloved by both Isaac and Moses. But there is SO MUCH geo-blahblah going on at my house it is nuts.

Tomorrow we (all of us, including houseguests but minus cat-brother) are going to a Geography Department potluck at another professor's house. It will be the first time I will have met most of the faculty and staff, and I am excited about that. Michael has taught Isaac to shake hands in anticipation of him meeting these professors. Hopefully there will be opportunity for pictures to share with the blog.

Perhaps something else contributing to the blah-ness of today is that I feel like crizap. Yesterday I had such a bad headache, I had to take some Tylenol. Yesterday and today, I've been pretty nauseous, to the point where I gag on breakfast. I hope it's just a cold, and not a sign of things to come with U.B., since we're supposed to be past that (though I know Erin had some major puke-issues when carrying Ben).

Speaking of, I think I may be feeling some faint U.B. movement. He/She and his/her cave-like dwelling are big enough combined now that it's uncomfortable for Isaac lean back against my stomach when he's sitting on my lap. The internet says that, today, he/she is as "big as a small gerbil" (however big that is). Dada's insurance for us should get processed next week, and then we can start working our way into getting the anticipated anatomy scan ultrasound, and find out U.B.'s gender, if he/she will let us.