A pat on the uterus

Today U.B. reached 37 weeks and is considered by anybody to be full-term. He could come along at any time in the next 4 weeks and be a fully-developed little person, with tons of body fat and Mama's antibodies and all. For this acheivement, I would like to thank him, but I would especially like to send a shout-out to my uterus, who managed to carry two fat baby boys to term with almost no complications or other stressful weirdness. Way to do your job, Girly Parts.

Not that there are any signs of his impending arrival, but I give U.B. official permission to show up, for two important reasons. First, after weeks of searching, today I found the Baby Bjorn, buried in a box in the basement. Now it's in his room, and if he's an 8-pounder when he comes along, he can start his Bjorn career right away. I'm really not sure how one is supposed to take care of a baby and a toddler without some sort of manner of affixing the baby to one's person, so at least that is taken care of.

Second, on Saturday Dada picked out the perfect name for U.B. I've even got Isaac calling my belly by this name, which he thinks is pretty cool. The funny thing is that this name was the first name we came up with for U.B., but we ditched it along the way for one reason or another. I know I've teased about having picked out a name before, but before when I resisted blogging it, I did tell people in real life. For some reason, whenever we have revealed potential names to anyone, it immediately sours us on the name for one reason or another. This time, with this perfect name, no one knows except Isaac. Not even Grandma Jane, who I must admit I had the most fun ever with on IM Saturday night as she guessed her brains out and I would just e-cackle and say that even if she guessed right I would still not tell her.

I will tell you that our previous pick, now discarded, was William. After about a week we decided that was a little too generic and courted Willem for awhile, and then decided that sounded like we were trying too hard for it not to be William. Our new name (not William or derivations thereof) follows all posted rules, and even its meaning is appropriate, and slightly hilarious, when one thinks about U.B.'s relationship to Isaac. After her guessing and my not telling her, Grandma Jane is convinced that we have picked a weirdo name, the boy equivalent to Gwyneth's Apple. I promise you, despite Dada's coworkers insistence that we name our child Gunnar Prometheus, or Oliver Neal (get it -- O. Neal O'Neal?), we stuck to our guns and refused to name our child something which would overtly scream for a playground butt-kicking. At this point I would go on and tease you about how I am withholding such juicy information, but really, no one has that much longer to wait.

Boys will be boys

A friend of mine recently admitted that, when she runs out of things to do at home with her 4- and 2-1/2-year olds, she plops them in the van and drives to construction sites. They just sit in the car and watch the big, manly machines go to town.

We say all the time how Isaac is seriously lucky to have two grandpas who play with big, manly machines every day (Grandpa O'Neal is a mechanic; Grandpa Ross sells lawnmowers, tractors, and light machinery). But too often we forget how much tool-y crap Dada has lying around. And the scary part is that most of it is for his job. In addition to his office, he has a lab space all his own, which he took us to see for the first time on Friday night. Given Isaac's reaction, Dada's new plan for helping out when U.B. is to take Isaac to his lab when I need a break from toddler-land. See, Isaac can help Dada push around his big equipment cart:



He can measure stuff:



And don't get him started on the orange traffic cones. Those things are apparently as attractive as cookies to toddler boys:



Amazing, isn't it, how naturally drawn boys seem to be to tools and machinery? Where could this possibly come from?

Single-mommin' it

Dada left early yesterday morning to traipse around Shenandoah National Park in Virginia this week and likely won't be back until Thursday, so it's just me and the boy and our head/chest cold here at La Casa O'Neal. Yesterday we had an easy day to start off the week, with storytime at the library in the morning, a 2-1/2 hour playdate with Ella after lunch, and a 2-1/2 hour nap. Nope, nothing too tough until bedtime, when it took me nearly 2 hours to get the boy to go to sleep. And that was with starting the "sleep" process with him climbing in his bed at 10:00. I mean, I know he's coughing up a lung every two seconds, but come ON. I had all these grandiose plans about blogging a ton last night until that happened; by the time he did go down I was barely conscious enough to make it through my TiVoed episode of 24 before it was time for me to hit the sack.

But I was very proud of myself at how little TV we watched yesterday -- less than an hour in the morning, an episode of Little Einsteins when he woke up from his nap, and then a Wiggles + Einsteins combo flanking his bathtime. This is all thanks to Dada, who let me sleep in two extra glorious hours on Sunday, giving me enough energy to carry over into the week. Well, for a day at least. We colored on paper, on our markerboard books, played with sticker books, did puzzles, read, listened to a lot of music, played with trains, and played a little on the computer. I think today we are long overdue for some hot PlayDoh action. Hopefully sleep will come more swiftly this evening -- he slept so poorly last night that it already looks like he's playing catch-up today, going down for an uncharacteristically early (10:30) nap.

I've mentioned that, the second time around, I deserve a boy who sleeps, yes?

A new era of luxury -- trains off the floor!

So far, all of Isaac's choo-choo adventures have occurred in the living room, on the living room rug. That is really the only place with enough space for tracks of significant entertainment levels to be built; it also conveniently doubles as being right in front of the TV so that the Head Track Engineer can get his Headline News on while he does his daddy duty. However, inspired by the exorbitant prices Dada has seen for Thomas tables and the recent acquisition of an ungodly number of power tools, Dada, with his own two hands (and said power tools), built Isaac a train table today:


It's not quite finished yet. The sides are all solid board, and I have been promised that they will be cut out and fashioned into "legs" to allow for storage underneath the table. Dada also has an itch to paint the sides of the table with red enamel, to match Isaac's new dresser. But as Dada is going out of town for four days starting Monday, he felt it necessary to deliver the highly useable, if unfinished product, for our entertainment while he's gone.

It's so very nice to have a handy Dada around. And did I mention he built the whole thing, and it is sturdy enough to jump on, for 15 bucks?

No beer-smelling microphones for this crowd

A shot of Isaac with his buddies Patrick (middle) and Nathaniel (outside) jamming at playgroup on Thursday:


We were trying to make our exit, but Isaac wanted to play the "pee-oh! pee-oh!" Could YOU say no to these guys?

Overheard

Isaac (to no one): Love you, Dada.
Mama: Jerk.
Dada: What are you calling my boy?
Mama: I called him a jerk. He said he loved you and you weren't even here.
Dada: Good man.
Mama: I sort of got an "I love you" today.
Dada: Oh yeah?
Mama: After his bath, when he was still naked and cold, he wanted me to hold him and not let go. It was really sweet. I said, "I love you, Isaac" and waited to see if he would say it back. He didn't, so I asked "Do you love me, buddy?" and he whispered "Yeah" in my ear and shook his head up and down, still engaged in snuggling, to make sure I knew. I almost cried.
Dada (grinning like the Cheshire Cat): Yeah, I've told lots of chicks I loved them so they would snuggle with me, too.

The hostess with the mostest

Dear internet,

Until very recently, I had been sipping the luxurious nectar of a 1 gigabit, unlimited bandwidth hosting service, provided completely for free for me as a student of the University of Washington. This week their tech department caught up with the registrars office and has cut me off. No more movies. No more banners. The hubs, completely unbeknownst to him, is currently hosting my banner, but he has a seriously limited amount of web space and will need it back very very soon for real-life things, like big ol' files and course websites and other things he gets paid to do.

Because I have been living la vida estudiante for my entire web existence, I know absolutely nothing about how to choose from the myriad web hosting services available. How much space will I need? How large of a bandwidth? How much will this all set me back? What I do know is that there are several lovely people who read this blog and are experts in this arena, or at least have a modicum of real-world experience. You there! I am begging for your advice. Help a poor girl who has been abandoned by the web, won't you?

36 weeks U.B. check-up (OR 1/5th of the way to babydom!)

In stark contrast to my appointment of disappointments last week, this week everything was coming up roses for U.B. and myself. Thanks to my new pregnancy snacks of bacon and whole milk, I've gained 3 lbs in the last week. Complimentary to this news was that U.B.'s house now measures a healthy and respectable 35 cm, up from the normal but slightly worrisome 31 cm it was a week ago. My practitioner and I feel incredibly reassured knowing that my baby really is getting big and fat in there, and as I blog I am toasting our growth accomplishments with an embarrasingly large bag of M&Ms.

Other numbers...whereas my blood pressure was slightly elevated last week, this week it stayed about the same, at 132/70. U.B.'s heart rate was around 150 bpm. The blood is obviously flowing well in both of our bodies.

Today was Invasive Visit day, where I got to be internally roughed-up examined for the purpose of collecting some routine cultures in preparation for delivery. While she was down there, my N.P. took an incredibly painful look at how my cervix was doing. Turns out the cervix-monster is totally doing her part, and has already dilated 2 cm and effaced 50% of the way. The N.P. said this level of dilation doesn't really mean U.B. is in a hurry to get here at all, but that it is extremely encouraging that my cervix is starting to ripen on its own. Now it just needs to figure out how to "ripen" 8 more cm and then we have a baby, yes?

Cough cough, sneeze sneeze: off we go!

Isaac, along with the rest of us, has been battling a cold for the past week and a half. While this cold hit me exclusively as a sinus thing, a week ago Isaac developed this unique and disturbing phlegmy cough. At first it was just something that happened at night, which sucked because it would wake him up, but now it is pervasive throughout the day as well. He never ran a fever or anything, just had a snotty nose (which is nearly cleared up). Nevertheless, the fact that his cough is so gross and has lasted for so long -- coupled with the knowledge that his older cousin Nate, with whom he had interaction over Christmas break, is recently cured of pneumonia (!) -- drove me to take him to the pediatrician yesterday afternoon. I called this morning and they were able to schedule him in after his naptime.

While Isaac did not enjoy anything about his visit from the second he got in the exam room, I am so glad we went. I have naturally been worried about his picky eating, and the nurse weighed him with his clothes on on the baby scale. Unless his ear-shattering screams weigh something, I believe he has gained weight, as he is now up to 28 lbs 2 oz. That was good to know. Shortly thereafter (note: not 45 minutes!), Dr. Modi walked in the room and the screaming began again. However, his sweet and lovely doctor was so patient with him and tried all of her doctor tricks to get him to calm down. Not that any of them worked, but she did take her time to make sure through all this writhing and wailing that he would not be too freaked out AND she would get all the observations she needed. Her conclusion was that Isaac does not have an infection -- his lungs and ears (yay!) were clear, and thus his cough must be coming from snot dripping down the back of his throat. And then, on top of my being impressed with her incredible patience with my uncooperative child, she, like a conscientious doctor, told me she didn't want to give him antibiotics for his cold, but that I should call back if he spikes a fever or anything.

It is so wonderful to have a pediatrician that you just adore. We even talked a bit after she was done with Isaac about U.B.'s impending arrival, and while I had called her office earlier to make sure, she confirmed with me that she does take on newborns and that she or someone else from the practice would visit U.B. at the hospital, so now both of my kids will grow up under her excellent watch.

U.B. grows -- 35 w 6 d

Less than a calendar month to go now. I'm thinking, maybe, there's a baby in there. I don't recall swallowing a basketball.


For reference, here is the last belly pic I posted.

We are getting ready to go. We have the car seat unearthed. I dug out Isaac's old 0-3 month clothes from the basement and washed the new clothes we bought or received for U.B. A delightful coworker of Dada's even gave us a fresh package of Pampers for newborns. However, Dada still needs to put the crib back together (and buy a mattress for it). And then I suppose might U.B. need a name. Perhaps we should default to Isaac's suggestion of "Pickle"?

I love Dada

Today Isaac told Dada that he loved him, like this:

Dada: I love you, Isaac.
Isaac: I love Dada.

After I successfully picked Dada's molten body up off the floor, I tried the same thing but it didn't work for me. At least the idea is out on the table. I'll get mine soon enough.

Shamelessly soliciting last-minute travel advice

Dear Internet,

I have a question to pose to you. See, I have this baby coming in one month, give or take a few days. I also have this toddler who is going to need babysitting while I am in the hospital. While we have buddies, and back-up buddies, lined up to babysit in the interim, the current plan is that Isaac's Grandma and Grandpa Ross will be doing much of the babysitting when Dada needs to be at the hospital with me after the birth, but in an ideal world, also while I'm in labor.

Herein lies the biggest problem of living away from home. We live in Delaware. The Rosses live in Indianapolis. Now, finding fast flights from Indy to Philly (the closest airport to us) is extremely easy and cheap, should one know in advance the day one would like to travel. For example, if I knew that U.B. would arrive precisely on his due date, I would have my parents book a ticket online with Northwest to fly in the night before and they would fly nonstop from Indy to Philly for $150 a piece. No joke. But obviously U.B., like most babies, will come when he darn well pleases and such a date and time is shrouded in mystery, even to She to Whom He Is Covalently Attached.

We did a similar thing with them when Isaac was born, but we weren't in a terrible hurry for them to get here like perhaps we are now. Dada called them in the afternoon when I was 6 cm dilated, and they showed up to the hospital at 3:30 in the morning to scoop Isaac up in their arms. This response time was phenomenal, especially given that they were going from Indy to Seattle and had to change planes. But I secretly feel horrible about it. I never did ask them how much they paid for those tickets, because I think it might make me hurl.

Okay, so my question. What kinds of options do you think Grandma and Grandpa have before them when it comes to last-minute travel without making them take out a second mortgage? Could they, say, buy a ticket now for a date in the future and then change it when they need to travel for U.B.'s arrival? Or are there any websites or travel agents you could recommend for purchasing cheap cheap cheap last-minute tickets? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Our Saturday

After a luscious night's sleep, Isaac and I started today with some breakfast and Saturday morning "cartoons":



Later we took advantage of the gorgeous, if windy, near-60-degree weather to go for a walk outside. Somehow we always end up on the sand volleyball court behind the dorms:





Is his hair not the most stinking precious thing you have ever seen? Nod your heads silently in awe at my child's beautiful albino hair.

Isaac and I took a luxurious nap, ate a snack, and then headed out for some more outside time. We again hit the sand volleyball court, but this time we brought along some trains! SHHHHH don't tell Dada!

When the sun went down we made plans to meet up with our buddies at Starbucks.



Isaac and his friend Ella (who will soon be turning one)

Ella and her mom, Sarah

After Starbucks, we rented some movies, notably March of the Penguins for our Saturday family movie night. The movie was amazing, though a little slow for Isaac's taste, and while I liked it, I disliked how Morgan Freeman kept showing me dead baby penguins. That's just not cool.

The hospital tour

Last night I took a tour of the hospital where U.B. will be born. Note how I said "I" and not "we". We had babysitting all set up for Isaac and everything, and he had to go and start coughing like an 80-year-old smoker. Dada stayed home with him while I went to the hospital to take the tour by myself, with my fingers too swollen to wear my wedding ring so I could pass for a single mom.

It was actually hella lame, and, while I got to ask lots of questions and learned many things I wanted to know, Dada would have been bored out of his gourd so it was probably good he stayed home. To make sure I was adequately entertained without his presence, I picked up a huge Slurpee before I hit the hospital and spent the entire time sucking it down mercilessly in front of all these starving/thirsty heavily pregnant moms. That was fun. I am such a good planner.

Almost everything I learned about the hospital was entirely reassuring, and we seasoned birth vets got to laugh at the first-time dad who asked "So, how long does the delivery take? One hour? Two hours?" I'm surprised his wife didn't sock him in the arm. I got to talk at length with a couple expecting their third & fourth children in April (that's right, twins), and not only did she compliment me profusely on how tiny I was, but she also revealed that whereas her first labor was 20 hours, her second labor lasted five. Can you say "sweetness"?

I did learn one extremely depressing thing about this hospital: their postpartum rooms, with incredibly rare exceptions, are "semi-private." This means that, while I will labor and deliver in a swanky suite of my own, I will have a roomie, probably the entire time, while U.B. and I are recuperating there. A roomie whose screaming baby will likely be sleeping the exact hours when my screaming baby is not sleeping. Whoever's idea this was, they totally do NOT get a cookie for it.

I got home to this picture of my Jedi knight-in-training:

As Dada got ready for bed, Isaac lusted after his shirt and refused to take it off the entire night. Dada did yet another good job this week taking care of Isaac, as I was gone for nearly 2 hours and both of them were still alive when I came home.

They needed to be bigger anyway

When I was pregnant with Isaac, a near-constant concern of mine was that there was no way a decent-sized baby would be able to pass through my hips. For those who don't know me, my hips are extremely small and narrow. Think teenage-boy hips. My O.B. with Isaac shared my concerns, but noted that she thought Isaac would be small, like 6 or 6.5 lbs, and also suggested that, as in all other areas in life, with your hips it's what's inside that counts, as someone who appears to have narrow hips can actually have plenty of room in there to ferry a baby on through. Apparently this was me, since my 8-lb Isaac made it out into the world the old-fashioned way.

For the past month or so, my hip joints have been aching almost uncontrollably, as if they were being stretched apart on The Rack or something. On a lark, I measured them today to see if they really were getting wider. The tape doesn't lie. Six whole inches bigger my hips are than before I got pregnant with U.B. Perhaps he is going to be a big'un after all.

And right after my time-out post...

Today Isaac and I had a huge row. All this morning he would do things just to set me off. I would tell him not to throw his raisins on the floor, and then he would, or worse, he would get a mouthful and then spit them out all over the hardwood floor. I would tell him not to play with the blinds (which he could easily damage this way) for the millionth time, and then he would continue to bang on them, turning towards me and laughing. I would forbid him from getting on the back of the couch (from which he could fall and/or break the front window if he got rowdy enough), but he would hoist his little leg up there again and again and again and just laugh at me and my "stop or I shall be forced to say stop again" line of discipline.

After endless pleading, redirecting, and finally screaming (on my end), I took him into U.B.'s room to the time-out chair. I listed off his various offenses and told him he was in a time-out for a full minute. During this minute he found Dada's telescope within his reach and proceeded to giggle and entertain himself with it and the bubble wrap around it. As this does not meet my definition of punishment, I got a little angrier and grabbed both his arms and pinned him to the chair to try to finish the time-out. He clearly thought this tactic was my best idea for a game yet and adroitly giggled and squirmed his way out of my grip.

I just lost it and started crying. Seeing that he was completely safe where he was, I stormed out of the room and marched into my bedroom to do a little mommy-fussing on my own and calm down. And then, from U.B.'s room, I finally hear Isaac getting upset over his predicament. Because I left the room? Possibly. Because he was "stuck" in the chair? Oh, absolutely.

You see, because Isaac has been feeling bad, which I totally understand, he's been asking me to pick him up more than normal, especially to mount and dismount things that we both know he could conquer on his own. He insists I pick him up to get out of our bed, when he knows that he can turn around and drop feet first if he slides on his belly over the side. He will rarely get down off the couch by himself if I am around, for which there is no excuse whatsoever because this is something he has been doing by himself for a long time. Yesterday Dada was gone from before Isaac woke up until after Isaac went to bed, so I had a whole day of picking up a 27-lb toddler. Given also the fact that I am carrying ~33 lbs of extra weight with U.B., this equates to lugging around 60 extra pounds for a goodly portion of the day. I literally could not walk to bed last night until I lay on the couch with a hot pad on my back for an hour and a half. There was to be no more of this business today.

And so back to today. In the end, though my time-out was clearly ineffective, I found a more appropriate and more useful "punishment" for Isaac. I didn't stay gone from U.B.'s room for more than a few minutes, and Isaac cried the whole time. As soon as I got back, he lifted his arms up towards me, begging me to help him down off of his time-out chair, which is quite low-to-the-ground and from which I have seen him ascend and descend at will again and again in the past. I gently told him that, if he really wanted down, all he needed to do was turn around on his belly and slide off feet-first. More horrible wailing ensued. Unscathed, I sat down on the spare bed in that room, not four feet from him, and busied myself removing the price tags from U.B.'s new wardrobe. He didn't stop crying the whole time. Every two minutes or so I asked him if he'd like to get down; he would say yes, and I would gently suggest he do it himself and tell him how. Repeat horrible wailing. When I finished with U.B.'s tags, I went over to him and helped him get on his belly, wherein he then slid off the chair with ease, still sobbing. I gave him a big hug and told him he needs to do those things himself because my back hurts and I can't pick him up all the time. Then we held hands leaving the room and played with his sticker books together for a half-hour.

It's these kinds of things, really, that make me think having a younger brother will be excellent for him. He is such a capable little guy, but relies on me to do many things for him that I know he can do. When U.B. comes, he will be forced to do more for himself, simply because I won't be able to continue my enabling behavior. When he gets big, I hope he appreciates that his mom forced a little independence on him.

Time-out poll

Isaac has been at a stage for sometime where he clearly knows when he is doing things he's not supposed to. If he tries to do something we just told him not to do, he will first look slowly in our direction with a certain gleam in his eye, begging us to recognize that he is about to misbehave. If we don't intervene, he will try his hand at committing the crime over and over again.

So far we have found great success using a very stern voice from Dada. I have slightly less success in my disciplining techniques, which usually include some redirecting and an explanation about why we don't bang on the windows/eat the cat food/hang from the tub rail like it's a monkey bar. If my initial attempts don't work, I remove him from the situation or take the object he is continually putting in his mouth away. Any of these works wonderfully most of the time; none of these work well, or at all, if he is tired or cranky or hungry.

I have done a couple of time-outs with Isaac, the few times that he took a swing at me or cat-brother on purpose. I told him he was getting a time-out and why and for how long (usually a minute), sat him in a chair, and stood in front of him to block his escape, watching my watch with my angry-mom face on until the time was up. This policy seemed to work both times, but it feels lame and I wonder if there is a better way, especially since this procedure is not exactly portable should we have incidents in public that require a time-out.

So help a girl out. What would you do? For those of you who have practiced or do currently practice time-outs, especially with toddlers:

How exactly do you go about the time-out? What infractions necessitate a time-out? How long does it last? Where is it done? Have you ever given a time-out in public?

Finally, something interesting from my iVillage pregnancy calendar

Today's entry:

With one month to go, she weighs about six pounds and is fattening. Her full length from crown to feet is about 20 1/2 inches.

These numbers are averages, I'm sure, since Isaac was only 19 1/2" long when he was born (one day before his due date). But it's good to know that it's possible for his brother to be 6 lbs already. Get fat, little U.B. We like fat babies here.

What Isaac's been up to

I've been slacking on the blogging lately for several reasons. My pregnancy-induced insomnia is reaching new heights, which would normally give me more time to blog, but I keep convincing myself I should try to go to bed and give sleep a chance. The aforementioned Head Cold that Would Not Die is also stealing blog-time, because it means all I want to do is lie down (but not sleep! Dear God no, not that!) and blow my nose. And then there's TiVo conspiring against my blogging, having recorded for our viewing pleasure, all since Sunday, the crappy, crappy Colts game, of which we will not speak EVER AGAIN, the 4-hour season premiere of "24", a fresh "Gilmore Girls," two new "Scrubs" episodes, and this new "Love Monkey" show on CBS. Why blog when you can lay around and destroy your mind with such a beautiful bounty of TV?

This weekend we took care of a long-standing goal: getting Isaac a new dresser so we can shift his dresser/changing table combo into U.B.'s room. I had my heart set on this 8-drawer number from IKEA in white to match his bed, so we went up there on Sunday to take advantage of the sale they had going on this weekend. A note to anyone who lives within driving distance of IKEA: please, take your toddler there. The South Philly IKEA is set up with little play stations every so many feet, which actually makes it fun to shop with your toddler. FUN! Can you believe it? Here is Isaac frolicking in a "basket of blueberries" with another little dude (note the serious static going on with his precious little hairs!):

We ended up finding the very dresser I desired, but we instead opted to buy it in red because it was on sale for $40. Dada put it together and it has such a deliciously small footprint, but still holds all of Isaac's clothes. And Isaac loves pulling all of them out and showing them to me because he can open the drawers himself. Perhaps a mixed blessing, in the end.

Monday Isaac and Dada let me out of the house for an hour and a half to go to Starbucks with my friend Sarah and NO KIDS. It was so unbelievably delicious to talk to another grown-up who is not my husband. Words do not describe the happiness that was mine as we chatted like old biddies about our families and how much writing your dissertation sucks.

Actually, because of my date with Sarah, my cold, the contractions, my prenatal appointment, and Dada's curious school's policy of not convening for Spring Semester until February, Dada and Isaac have been spending an unusually large amount of time alone together. They play with trains a lot, play on the computer, and watch TV together. Isaac has fallen asleep in Dada's arms most nights in the past week as they watch some Dada TV. The best part is that Isaac's so cool with just hanging out with Dada. Dada said, when I was gone with Sarah, that Isaac asked "Where's Mama?" just once; Dada told him where I was and, instead of the expected fussing, Isaac shrugged his shoulders and went back to playing trains. I think this is an excellent sign for he and Dada getting lots of quality time together when U.B. comes, but perhaps not such a good sign for Dada being gone for 4 days next week as he leaves to do some field work in Shenandoah National Park. Jerk.

Isaac has started saying two new and cool things.
* "Read book": instead of my suggesting it, or him just bringing books to me, he goes over to his bookshelf, picks something out, says "read book" and either starts reading it himself or brings it over to me to read it to him. I've also tried to get him to read some of our more frequently-read books back to me, and while he can't yet recite most of the words, he will talk endlessly about the pictures he sees on the pages (which is also what we do when reading a book).
* "Love you, X": Dada and I have not yet been the recipients of this long-awaited phrase, but today I heard him tell his Percy train and his stuffed Mambo Bear that he loves them in this fashion. It's only a matter of time now...

U.B. visits the doctor, 35 weeks

Yesterday I went for another prenatal checkup, my first in 6 weeks because of our long holiday in Indiana. This time I saw my "regular" nurse practitioner, who sucks significantly less than Dr. Suck v. 2.0. However, she, like he, made me wait 45 minutes to see her this time. This does not bode well for me starting a weekly-checkup schedule next week.

I simply don't think I can stand for waiting that long every time I go to the doctor, especially when I am always on time. I mean, come ON, losers. I have a toddler who requires babysitting while I am there. Luckily for us, Dada has the most flexible job in the universe and can serve as my babysitter, but obviously he is taking time off of work to do this. You may think I could try to take Isaac along with me to these things, but trapping him in a room behind a closed door while I wait forever for the practitioner to show up is so not cool with him. Watching me lie down on a table with a doctor-person leaning over me? Also not cool with him. In fact, the least destructive thing he did the one time I did take him with me was to pull out little (unused) canisters of Pap smear tests from a drawer and stack them. That was a little gross for me.

But back to his little brother. Going into this visit, I have to admit I was a little worried on two fronts.
Problem 1: We have all been sick since Wednesday with the Head Cold that Would Not Die. This has only enhanced my pregnancy-induced insomnia, and now that Isaac is also full of snot, he is waking up at ungodly hours to make sure I get no sleep whatsoever. Dada, bless his heart, is stepping up to help with the noctural Isaac situation like a trooper, but his lack of sleep also helps no one. I discovered in October that, when I sleep 3 hours or less, I start to have lots of contractions. Because of my not sleeping with this cold, contractions started up on Friday night and went all through the night and the next day with 2 or 3, and sometimes 4, every hour until Saturday night. These were clearly not contractions that were doing anything; they were all low and in front and completely non-painful. But this doesn't make them any less freaky. We are very close to U.B.'s scheduled arrival date, but coming this early would still make him premature, with inherent problems for him now and later. Again, Dada was very helpful and forced me to nap and lay around on the couch a lot, and I think this has done the trick to helping them die down. They have not vanished, but perhaps this late in the game it is time for some cervix-ripening activities anyway.
My practitioner's answer: Not to worry about them. If they get too frequent, I need to rest more and drink more water to help them calm down, but contractions like these are largely to be expected now.

Problem 2: According to the mish-mash of home scales I have weighed myself on, I didn't appear to have gained any weight since I had last been to the doctor. This is despite Christmas cookies/pies/cakes, abnormal quantities of Steak-n-Shake milkshakes in Indiana, home-cooked dinners, and enough McDonald's on the road to turn my life into "Super Size Me". Dada says (and I agree) that I am certainly getting bigger, but I was seriously concerned that I might be hurting the baby with my lack of weight gain.
My practitioner's answer: I actually had gained 4 pounds, but she would have preferred I gain 6 over the 6 weeks since my last visit. However, U.B. measured on the small side of normal for the first time since October (coincidence?), with my fundal height clocking in at 31 cm when it should be closer to 35. She said, while I need to start packing on the bacon, overall my measurements were still within normal operating parameters and that she was encouraged by the fact that I had gained 32 pounds overall so far.

Other statistics: U.B.'s heartbeat was about 145 bpm. My blood pressure was elevated as compared to previous readings (perhaps due to our head cold?), but not out of the range of normal. I also learned that, should U.B. go over his due date, they will induce me when he is one week late, unlike most other facilities where they will wait two weeks. Thinking that U.B. is coming in February no matter what seems like the best news I've heard in a long time.

Why one has babies: a photoessay continued

Because what else are you going to do with that $90 Baby Bjorn?

Dada with 2-week-old Isaac, exiting a Mexican restaurant


Dada with 1-month-old Isaac, taking me out for Mother's Day brunch


Dada with 6-week-old Isaac at the U-District Street Fair (in a rare moment of not getting mercilessly checked out by the college honeys)


2-month-old Isaac strapped to Uncle Chriskey in front of the Fremont Troll


4-month-old Isaac with his Mama eating at the U-Village

From my iVillage pregnancy calendar

I went to check my personalized (oooh!) iVillage pregnancy calendar to hear the latest stats about how big U.B. is, that X or Y organs are done cooking, et cetera. Instead of interesting developmental biology, however, tonight I got these "reassuring" words:

"If you have other children, you may feel guilty about the sacrifices they will have to make to accommodate the new baby. No matter how many children you have, each new baby is a leap of faith that the sacrifices will be worth it."

A leap of faith. Great. Thanks. No longer is my unborn kid a bundle of joy, but the emotional equivalent of a lottery ticket.

Wise words from the next day:
"If you have other children, this can be a poignant time, because it is the last few weeks of being a family in the way that you're used to. It can seem hard to imagine that there will be enough of you to go around, and you may wonder if it will ever be possible for you to love a new baby as much."

That's it. With no reassuring and NECESSARY Hallmark missives about how yes, it will actually be possible for me to love a new baby as much. This is supposed to be helpful how?

And then, my favorite, from the day after that:
"Don't forget to arrange care for any children or pets for the two to three days you'll be in the hospital."

Of course I need to hear this because I am so scatter-brained in my pregnant state that I have forgotten that my major duty as a mother is to not leave my 21-month-old at home by himself. Riiight. And what's with the "Children OR pets"? Because they're roughly equivalent, you know, and in the same category. Because a cat-sitter easily doubles for a toddler-sitter. Better yet -- cat-brother as a sitter for Isaac! You've all read Good Dog Carl, right?

Can't these people get a proofreader or something?

**Editor's note: You will really have to excuse me and my snarkery from here on out. According to Dada, I have turned into "one grumpy, pregnant ho."

Why one has babies: a photoessay

To see that certain look in your husband's eye -- that mix of heartaching love, wonder at the mysteriousness and greatness of the universe, and poop-his-pants-style fear:

Dada and 12-hour-old Isaac

To see that husband morph into an overglorified baby-holster (and suddenly become even more hot than ever before):

Dada with 2-week-old Isaac

And, of course, to place your baby in things he is way too small to belong in and take his picture:

2-month-old Isaac in a swing

Isaac's birth story, take 1

I started this blog when Isaac was four months old. Thus, unlike the blogs of certain other, smarter blog-mommies, I never got a chance to tell Isaac's birth story as it happened. Given my recent obsession with hospitals and the impending birth of U.B., I find myself reminiscing about Isaac's coming into the world. I am further inspired as Isaac and I look through his baby pictures, which I've heard is supposed to help him understand (as much as can be done) that he used to be a baby and to acquaint him with what babies look like and what babies do. Goodness, it feels like forever ago that I was staring at his squid-like skull being held aloft by the attending O.B. from the other end of a hospital bed. So, given that I will be able to blog about U.B.'s birth story for posterity in a few short weeks, it seems appropriate to me to do the same for his older brother. I will likely make this, also, into a serial novel, since I can only sit upright for so long now before U.B.'s feet begin again in their attempts to reshape my ribs into unholy shapes.

Isaac's Birth Story, Chapter 1: Mall-Walking and the Famous Latte Trip
Isaac's due date was Wednesday, April 7, 2004. Naturally, this meant I was clamoring for an April 4th baby so he could be born on 4/4/04. Doesn't get easier to remember than that, does it? I went in for what would be my last O.B. appointment on Friday (4/2/04), with my adorable and wonderful obstetrician Dr. Julie Lamb. We initially chose her entirely because of her name, because what could possibly go wrong when your doctor is someone with such a gentle and unoffensive name as Dr. Lamb? At this fateful appointment, Dr. Julie informed me that I was already 4 cm dilated, and she would have me admitted to the hospital except for the fact that I wasn't having any contractions. We agreed that she should strip my membranes (what fun!) to try to get things going, and she suggested that if I hadn't had a baby by my next appointment the following Friday she would schedule an induction.

Mike and I did our part to help Isaac along his way by mall-walking. All afternoon Saturday (4/3) we walked the length of one mall. Nothing happened. All afternoon Sunday (4/4) we walked the length of another mall. This time, at the end of one circuit, my back was in such searing pain that I was crying and needing help from Mike to get back to the car. I called the hospital when we got home, and they told me my pains and symptoms sounded like the beginning of back labor, where Isaac's gigantic cranium was pushing in an unfavorable way against by lower back- and pelvic bones. The nurses suggested I spend the rest of the day with my head on the floor and my butt in the air to try to tilt Isaac around. I did, and it helped. Still no obvious contractions.

At 5:00 the next morning (Monday, 4/5) I couldn't sleep and lay in bed tossing and thinking. Suddenly I felt something, like maybe my water had burst. I went in the bathroom to check, and it did seem like there had been an awful lot of fluid. But had I ever had a baby before? No. Was I sure my water had broken? No. After thinking about it for way too long, I called the hospital at 5:30 and told them I thought my water had broken. They told me to pack my bag, hurry up, and come on in. I woke up Mike, who wisely suggested instead that we take it easy and enjoy what would possibly be our last childless morning. We took showers. We packed leisurely. We even stopped at Tully's on the way to the hospital. We got there at about 7:30, lattes in hand.

Before they were going to admit me, the doctors had to be sure my water had broken because I still wasn't having any remotely regular contractions. The doctors at hand (not my O.B.) checked me and said I was 4 cm dilated. They were very impressed with this until I opened my big mouth and told them I had been that way since Friday. A senior resident and a brand-spankin' new family practice resident then whipped out several ultrasound machines in an attempt to measure the amount of water around the baby, with the logic being that if my water had actually broken there wouldn't be much. After a loooooong time of looking and several discussions among different residents, the senior resident decided that there really wasn't that much water around Isaac, that my water HAD broken, and that therefore I was staying in the hospital and they were hooking me up to some IV pitocin immediately to get the party started. They also guestimated for me, from the ultrasound, that Isaac would be pretty small, like 6 or 6 1/2 lbs. I called my coworkers and told them I wouldn't be coming in that day (or for the next 3 months). Mike and I got shown to my fancy L&D suite and turned on the Headline News, preparing ourselves for the wait.

The right things in the wrong order?

Isaac's sleep issues have been a constant subject of this blog; if you need catching up, let me sum it up for you: the boy still doesn't sleep through the night. The major problem with this is that, yes, we HAVE tried everything, but this "everything" was sprinkled over his entire lifetime, and what didn't work once may work now that he is older. This surely makes things even more frustrating than ever, since one can never rest on her "I tried that" laurels. The toddler, he likes to keep one on one's toes.

For many months now, we have tried a bit of a bedtime routine with Isaac, which goes like this.
7:30 -- a cup of warm milk; an episode of the Wiggles taken in in the comfort of an arm-crook.
8:00 -- a bath.
8:10 or 8:30 -- jammies and teeth-brushing.
8:45 or 9:00 -- quiet stories in his room.
9:15 or 9:30 -- in bed.
**a special note to all you mommies out there whose toddlers willingly go to bed at 7:30: I secretly hate you.

This routine began to go a bit awry when I told Dada it was time for him to take over bathing duties, as Dada immediately decided that the boy only needed a bath every other day. On non-bath days we would try to fill in the empty space where bath time should have been with another rowdy activity, like dancing and singing or wrestling or running around the house. Regardless of the presence or absence of a bath in a day, however, the boy would sleep through the night maybe once or twice a month.

This week I am trying something different. Monday night and Wednesday night the boy was bathed by myself or Dada, and I noticed that he is really starting to enjoy lingering in there. Bathtime is officially a half-hour long affair from which Isaac can only be dragged away kicking and screaming. On both nights, his bath came first, then milk and Wiggles. Monday night he slept through the night. Wednesday night he woke up at 1, but then quickly went back to sleep and stayed that way until 8. Tuesday night, when he did NOT have a bath, he was up from 1:00 to 3:00, until I dosed him up with some "Vitamin B" to knock him out.

Noting the correlation here (though admittedly the sample size is very small), I gave him another bath last night. Again, he slept through the night. Tonight he got another bath, and while I am tempting fate by blogging about this, perhaps we have finally found the right order of the right things (applied at the right time in his life) to help him stay safely away in dreamland in the middle of the night.

"Cookie" for monsters?

Yesterday I got an offer in the mail to subscribe to a brand-new parenting magazine, Cookie, from the fabulous people who give us Jane. This magazine presented itself as an "upscale lifestyle parenting magazine" that will make it "a stylish and worldly, [sic] mom treat ... for busy but choosy women to explore the best new choices in everything". Basically a cross between Parenting, the Pottery Barn catalog, Vogue, and Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. While I was slightly off-put by the whole Nanny Diaries feel of the moms they were trying to appeal to, I was flatly appalled by their attempt to sell this mag to me (and I am not exaggerating in my paraphrasing here):

"Are you the kind of mom who
* will never allow your child to be seen in clothes with characters on them?
* refuses to cut food into little shapes?
* demands nothing but the best for yourself and your family?

Then Cookie is for you!"

So, this is a magazine for child-toting women who abhor childhood? I am certainly not a cutesy, girly mom who is ruled by her toddler (as much as he would like to think so), but who am I to not let my boy wear his very favorite Sesame Street T-shirt, bought from (gasp!) K-Mart no less? And who am I to argue with the fact that I can get my child to eat an entire grilled cheese sandwich by cutting it into stars and trees with my cookie cutters?

Bring it, U.B.

I've finally reached that simultaneously blessed and obnoxious point in my pregnancy. I am ready for U.B. to come.

Physically ready? Perhaps not -- Isaac is still not sleeping through the night; U.B.'s bed is in pieces and lacks a mattress; we are still not entirely sure what we are doing for the whole Isaac-sitting during labor; we have decided that our chosen name bites a big one and are back to square one with baby-no-name.

But all that doesn't matter, because I am fired up and emotionally ready to receive a new tiny boy, and then to stand on one leg and juggle two small boys at the same time once we get him home. There are several factors that have helped me to reach this point:

*I am big. And uncomfortable. U.B.'s very favorite position is with his feet pushing my right ribs outward. I can't sit upright for extended periods of time.
Because of the bigness/uncomfortableness, there is no sleeping for me at all now, what with the peeing and the tossing and turning and the original Boy O'Neal and his nocturnal habits. So really, what's one more factor to add to the not-sleeping mix?

*I broke down and spent almost all of my Christmas money on brand-new duds for U.B. Somehow I just could not make peace that this new boy of mine should have to live his life entirely in hand-me-downs from Isaac. Luckily for me, I had my shopping therapy at a Carter's store with Grandma Ross along, and she has apparently instituted a kind of baby-clothes-fund matching program. You know those employer matching programs or whathaveyou where you contribute X dollars and then the employer, out of the goodness of his/her/its heart, contributes another X dollars towards the same cause? Yeah, it's like that. So, in combination with the three-day wardrobe U.B. received from his Aunt Robin, he's got more onesies, more rompers, more pants, hats, socks. He deserves his own stuff every once in awhile, don't you think? And having brand-new baby clothes does makes having a brand-new baby seem ever so much more real.

*The name-that-was-not-to-be helped, too. Seeing that Dada and I could come together in that fashion, with our long and stringent name requirements, gives me hope that my second-born might have a name. Before he goes to college.

*Venting about the hospital where U.B. will be making his arrival also helped. Even better was the reaction of the lovely Carolyn, who emailed me with a personal testimonial from her sister-in-law, who had both of her babies at this same facility, helping me to know not only that this hospital really does deliver babies, but also that it doesn't double as a crackhouse.

*Isaac can't seem to get enough of taking care of his stuffed animals, or even cat-brother for that matter, and tries to feed them, diaper them, and even suggest that they go poop on his potty on a daily basis. Obviously this will translate well as I embark on my plan to mold him into my perfect little helper.

So. Six more weeks. Did you know his lungs are basically fully developed now? If he was born now, a few weeks premature, he has a greater than 99% chance of making it and being a completely normal and healthy dude. As much as I would like the right side of my ribcage to return to its normal shape, though, I encourage him to come out when he's ready, knowing that his mom is ready for him and whatever he's dishing out.

Living vicariously through his boy

Ever since Dada blew his Christmas Sears plastic on some fancy new pneumatic man-badges, he has been itching to build stuff. He built a mount for a dry erase board to put it over the unslightly and useless exterior fan in our kitchen. Did I tell you he installed Pergo flooring in my parents' dining room over Christmas vacation? Yeah, he needs stuff to do. With all our newly acquired trains and train accessories, an obvious next project for him would be to build a table, possibly with drawers or a similar storage solution, upon which Isaac can go to town with his Thomas obsession. I pointed out to Dada a nifty trundle-style table with drawers, advertised in a Thomas flyer that came with one of Isaac's trains, which would be awesome and space-saving. Dada suggested we go to Toys R Us tonight and let the boy play with their pre-assembled Thomas wonderland while we do some train-table recon.

Oh, that Dada. He is vicious and deliberate in his lies. We spent about two minutes looking at tables, and the rest of a solid half-hour with Dada intent on shopping for more trains and train sets. While I flatly insisted that Isaac only needed a Gordon, Dada pushed for Annie & Clarabel (who, by the way, were on sale for $5.40 for both!) and a construction-themed set with more track, three more trains, and two off-track vehicles. As we were leaving the store with our wallets $60 lighter, I suggested we could have used that money to AHEM buy a mattress upon which our unborn child will eventually need to sleep. Dada pointed out how much he and Isaac enjoy their boy time together building (Dada) and destroying (Isaac) various track configurations and racing trains around the living room floor. Like other daddies we've heard of, apparently this is a chance for Dada to live out a long-harbored train fantasy. Regardless, the train explosion was obscene enough at Christmas without our latest addition -- I'll have to take a picture soon (before we make any more of these trickster runs to Toys R Us) to show you the full extent of the addiction.

U.B.'s hospital birth

U.B. will be born here. It is less than 15 minutes from our house and our insurance will cover absolutely everything. Everyone I have talked to says it is a great place to have a baby, with fancy L&D suites with jacuzzis and practitioners who will follow even the most granola of requests.

Other than the above information, I have pretty much neglected to find out anything about more minute details regarding this hospital and its policies. Now, trying to be a good girl, I am going over the birth plan form they want me to fill out and once more I feel spoiled by my experience having Isaac at the UW Medical Center. A few troublesome, if not completely stupid and mystifying items discussed therein:

*My primary support person (i.e. Dada) is considered a visitor. Because they apparently don't have anywhere in my fancy room for him to sleep, they will boot his butt out of the hospital between the hours of 10 p.m. and 9 a.m. They don't make a distinction to say if he is allowed to stay during these hours while I'm in labor. Thankfully, Dada seconds my incredulous reaction to this; his response was something like "They'll be prying my cold, dead corpse from my wife and new baby to get me to leave."

*Because of their visiting hours where I am allegedly to be alone for goodly portions of the day, they say they will put U.B. in a nursery should I need to sleep or shower. Umm, I will be echoing Dada on this one. U.B. can sleep with me, in my hospital bed, just like Isaac did. And who needs showers?

*The birth plan suggests I will be staying in the hospital for two days following a normal, uncomplicated, non-C-section birth. And what, exactly, is my toddler to think about that? I was in the hospital for exactly 34 hours after I had Isaac, and that was plenty.

I'm thinking my next prenatal visit, next Tuesday, will be an ideal time to get a few of these issues straightened out with my practitioner. Or perhaps it may be time to switch hospitals, even this late in the game. Grrr.

Bodily functions -- two firsts

1) Ever since we got back home, Isaac has been a pill. He's been whiny, clingy, and sleeping quite badly. He wants to be carried everywhere, all the time. He's eaten almost nothing. We figure several ominous fronts are converging on his poor system at once: i) exhaustion from traveling, ii) the arrival of some back molars, and iii) a stomach bug floating around Indianapolis most of the time we were home (he did have a one-day fever thing on New Year's Eve that made that holiday extremely lame for Dada and I). Saturday night was the most horrible of horribles. He woke up at 1 or 1:30 and didn't go back to sleep until almost 5:30. Lucky for me, Dada has decided to step up with the nocturnal Isaac duties due to the upcoming arrival who will clearly be requiring my attention at night, and so we switched off, each doing our best. At 3:30 I wondered if he might be hungry and offered him another sippy of milk, which he gratefully slurped down. 15 minutes later as I continued with my repertoire of sleep-coaxing tricks, he sat bolt upright in his bed and spewed a gigantic wall of milk from his mouth, all over his and my jammies and his bedspread. This was the first time he had ever thrown up, and he was momentarily stunned by the experience. He quickly recovered, and adopted an "I told you so" kind of look about him. Dada suggested I pull him into bed with me for a movie marathon until one of us passed out. Watching Thomas reruns eventually did the trick. And no more puking ever since.

2) I have been extremely hestitant to push the potty-training business on Isaac. My number one reason? Every time you ask him if he is pooping, as he is purple-faced and grunting in a corner, he will tell you most matter-of-factly "No." And then when he is done with this "non-pooping" business, he is just as happy to sit around in his mushy filth as not, playing as though nothing really did happen. Today I heard him grunting quite obviously in the other room, begging the question: "Isaac, are you going poop?" and, to my surprise, the answer was "Yeah." When he was done: "Can I change your diaper?" "[running full speed with a full dipe in the opposite direction]NO NO NO NO NO NO NO." One out of two is definitely a start.

A sigh of relief comes from He Who Must Not Be Named

As previously discussed, we have had the most awful time coming up with a name for U.B. Dada and I have so many rules.

1) (Me) No dorky author names. No dorky names period. The degree of dorkiness of any given name is to be decided by me, and said ruling is final.
2) (Me) No reusing Isaac's names. Reuse of any of Dada's names must be relegated only to a middle name.
3) (Dada) Absolutely no names that end in an "ee" sound, such as Bailey or Toby.
4) (Dada) No first names that start with B, to avoid the odious initials "B.O."
5) (Dada) No names that could possibly be converted into heinous nicknames.
6) (Me/Dada -- and this is the worst one) No names that belong to other people we know or have known, except certain ancestors.
7) (Me) The chosen name must not sound ridiculous when yelled in tandem with "Isaac" (thus Abraham, for example, is out of the question).

After Isaac went to bed one night in Indy, Dada and I sat with Aunt Jean to gaze at her gigantic Catholic family tree in hopes of finding a name that didn't sound hideous and met most of our rules. And the insane part? We found one. That we both like. And so far, we have both liked it for almost a week now. I think this means U.B. will actually have a name.

So what is it, you ask? You'd like to know, you say? Ha! Too bad. I insist you live in suspense for another month and a half. Hopefully not more. Gawd, please don't let it be more.

21 months

Yesterday Isaac turned 21 months old. Aside from racking up some serious mileage in the car seat, what has he been up to in the past month?

*Eating. Pickier and pickier. He won't eat cheese anymore. He still will only eat meat if it comes in hot dog or meatball form. He is losing his appetite for applesauce and graham crackers. But all trends toward eating disorders are quickly solved with pizza. The child will eat anything without hesitation, be it meat, vegetable, or fungus, if it appears on a slice of pizza. Cold pizza is even better.

*The moving vehicle obsession. As you have rightly guessed, Thomas was an enormous hit this Christmas. He now goes to bed most every night with between one and three trains. But it doesn't stop there. Thanks to books, road work along our way home, and having a Dadaw who's a mechanic and a Pawpaw who sells tractors, he also knows and can effortlessly tell you the difference between a car, a truck, a bus, a tractor, a backhoe, a crane, a loader, a bulldozer, and a train. To name a few.

*Sentences. Lots and LOTS of sentences. At least 60% of the words in these sentences cannot be understood by anyone without a toddler translating device, but hanging out with him helps one to understand the end of the sentence, which is apparently the most important. His sentences usually take this form:
Suhbluashdgulboushdfh STAR!
Hekokjbklskodkjlskdjl TRAINS!
Buhnsdkobokslkcasoiek BACKHOE!
But, simultaneously, he is also putting together the most astounding phrases. Some of these have recently emerged from conversations with inanimate objects. Two days ago he was playing with his Little Einsteins DVD case when I told him we needed to leave to pick up Dada from work. His immediate response was, naturally, to inform the Einsteins. "Okay, Einsteins!" he said, "Let's go get Dada!" He also does this frequently with his new Bear (of Big Blue House fame). His perception of things, and subsequent vocalization of that perception, is at once strange, amazing, and unbelievably hilarious. One night at Meemaw and Paw-Paw's we were heating up some milk for his bedtime dose in a coffee cup in the microwave. In a household such as ours where so much coffee is consumed, he has come to associate coffee cups with coffee, and started screaming at Meemaw and I when he saw the coffee cup going in the microwave. "Milky milky milky!" he fussed. Meemaw and I patiently told him that, in fact, we were heating up his milky in the coffee cup, and Meemaw lifted him to eye-level with the microwave so he could see. You could see a huge wave of realization passing over him and he exuberantly exclaimed, "Is no cah-kee; is MILKY!"

*Colors. Two weeks ago he discovered how to clearly and confidently name the color of almost anything upon request. It started with the Wiggles colors -- red, blue, yellow (yeh-yoh!), and purple -- but thanks to Percy he also knows green; thanks to Pawpaw, who sells Kubota tractors, he knows orange; thanks to my pants, he knows brown; thanks to his cat-brother, he knows black. Temporarily this week we had a setback where he refused to say the color of an object, but would instead call it the Wiggle of corresponding color. For example:
Me: What color is James, Isaac?
Isaac: Murray!
Me: What color is that bee, Isaac?
Isaac: Greg!

I think he is pretty clueless on the upcoming-baby front, but there are many signs that he will make a great big brother. All the time I try to tell him that my belly is so huge because it houses a young person in it, but of course this is a little much for him at this point. Both grandmas got him a "I'm going to be a big brother!" kind of book for Christmas, which he finds extremely interesting. As aforementioned, he greatly enjoys talking to his stuffed animals and, more promisingly, taking care of them, showing great concern that they are all without diapers. Perhaps most fun for me recently was to watch him play with a baby doll this Christmas at Grandma O'Neal's. He would try to diaper it, feed it milk from a bottle, and even take it in the bathtub with him and wash its hair. If his brother came today, I don't delude myself into thinking it would be completely fun for him from the get-go, but once he gets over the initial shock I think will make a fantastic Big Helper for Mommy.

Christmas in the City of "Beautiful Homes, Churches, Schools and Parks"

The day after Christmas, Dada, Isaac, Uncle Chriskey, and I left for Jackson, Missouri, where Isaac's great-grandparents and my extended family all live. Isaac is exceptionally lucky in that he has a full set of great-grandparents on his mother's side who have seen him and are among the blog-faithful, and, while we don't make it to southeast Missouri as frequently as we would like, we hoped to make up for that a bit by driving the extra 6 hours from Indy to visit them for a belated Christmas get-together.

As was the trip from Delaware to Indianapolis, so was the trip to Missouri -- completely painless and full of naps, Little Einsteins, stickers, and book-reading. Here is the toddler, busy with the booklet that comes with his Little Einsteins DVD:



Our first stop was at Great-Grandma and -Grandpa Ross's (Grandpa Ross's mom and dad). Here is the proud Pawpaw showing off his grandbaby:



And here is the grandbaby's mama, growing large enough to accrete small planets to her belly (this is at 31 weeks and 6 days):



Looking on, a boisterous part of the family whoops it up on the couches with Dada -- Pawpaw's sister Cindy, her hubs Billy, and kids Ross and Lucy:



After gorging on dinner accompanied by delicious, handmade "butt rolls" prepared by Great-Grandma Ross (and two pieces of homemade cherry pie for the pregnant lady), we were opening presents again. Off the top of my head I recall that Isaac got two nifty and interactive books, a track suit, some money, and this really neat LeapFrog Fridge Phonics set that we are playing with a lot now that we are home. Dada helped him open the latest haul:



The next day we headed over to Great-Grandma and -Grandpa Peetz's house (Isaac's Grandma Ross's mom and dad -- confused yet? Let's refer to Grandma Ross as "Meemaw" to keep it clear) for a huge country breakfast, lovingly prepared by Meemaw. Here is Isaac shoving grapes in his pie-hole after eschewing the sausage links:



...which was probably a good thing, since all the wrasslin' done by he and Uncle Chriskey would have surely resulted in some serious upchucking:



After breakfast we headed down to the basement to open gifts. First, though, Isaac had to show off some of his new Thomas collection (the entirety of which had accompanied us to Jackson) to the adoring crowd:



And then the haul began. Here, Isaac got (again, off the top of my head) candy, Spiderman house slippers, a groovy dump truck with a rubber handle on top that he is currently using to transport his trains from place to place, Christmas ornaments for next year's tree, and, the crown jewel of the Peetz Christmas, his very first big wheel:



We spent that night in Jackson and then we were headed back home to complete our whirlwind Great-Grandparent visits, and to spend the rest of our Christmas vacation in Indianapolis. It was so nice to see the family we don't get to see so often. Hopefully we'll get a chance to get back to Missouri this year before Christmas rolls around again.

editor's note: all pictures provided by Isaac's Meemaw, except for the adorable picture of Pawpaw and Isaac, provided by my great-aunt Carolyn -- thanks, ladies!

Christmas at the O'Neals

And at another household, on another side of Indianapolis...

First things first. Each year, we have a Christmas Eve tradition. Mike and I (and now Isaac) are joined by the annual visitor, Matt (Mike's buddy from college and the best man at our wedding), and Dadaw O'Neal at Skyline Chili for some rotgut grub. This year was Isaac's first bite -- he ate a hot dog:



Back at the casa de O'Neal, Isaac enjoyed many pasttimes while awaiting his present onslaught. He found much entertainment in shelving Mamaw's potatoes:



Or wrasslin' on the floor with Dadaw:



Or watching some bedtime Wiggles with Dadaw (here, a rare moment where Dadaw wasn't being used as a pillow):



We opened presents at the O'Neals on Christmas afternoon, with Aunt Robin, Uncle Joe, and cousins Nate, Emily, and Sarah in attendance. As always, Mamaw provided quite a spread for our constant snacking pleasure, which was enjoyed by all except poor Emily, recovering from a tonsilectomy:



Onto the presents. After a lengthy search, Dadaw finally found the clothing item he most desired for Isaac -- a bomber jacket. Isaac was totally impressed, as you can see from the "Ooooo" being mouthed in the picture:



With so many other presents being handed out at first, Isaac got stuck in a clothes rut and decided to lavish his attention on Sarah's new Furby:



Shortly thereafter came some awesome toys -- a Little People dump truck, an Aquadoodle, a fabulous Melissa and Doug sandwich-making play-food kit, and a lift-the-flap puzzle -- all of which continue to be big hits.


You can see Isaac playing with his dump truck in the background, though you may have to shield your eyes from Sarah's blinding smile as she opened her makeup kit (which also intrigued Isaac after awhile):



After all presents were opened, Isaac was shooed upstairs so his REAL present could be assembled, and the Thomas madness continued. You may have guessed that this one was made a huge impression on our young man:

Matt shot a movie of Isaac on his train which I make available to any who wants it, but it is 32MB and thus only for the very, very Isaac-faithful or potential ride-on Thomas buyers (though it is still extremely cute to see the boy waving and saying "Bye-Bye Mama!" as he rides around and around in a circle).

Dada got more Sears gift card lovin' with which to spoil himself; I got lots of BEAUTIFUL maternity clothes (and some fat cash to blow on myself), and U.B. even got a three-day wardrobe from Aunt Robin and Uncle Joe. Too bad Christmas only comes once a year, eh? And we're not even done yet. It's onto Missouri after this.

editor's note: thanks to Matt for all Christmas pictures and the gigantic movie!

We're baaa-ack

We made it home from Indianapolis yesterday in one fell, twelve-hour swoop. Both to and from, Isaac was an angel, due mostly to the constant droning of the Wiggles or the Little Einsteins from our spankin' new portable DVD player. Dada, who initially had his doubts about the necessity of forking over the $200 we ended up spending on player + FM broadcaster + back-of-seat sling, recanted all such misgivings about 20 minutes into the trip as Isaac sat peacefully in his car seat. I'm sure we've subtracted a significant number of IQ points from our young man with all that TV-watching, but I think we've also saved Dada and I from going gray early. Dada and I actually got to talk to each other uninterrupted for most of the drive, almost like a date. Can you even imagine?

Christmas vacation was nice. Of course it was hectic, and we probably put 3000 miles on the car with all the driving around we did, but it was wonderful to see everyone and for them to get some face-time with Isaac. It was also nice to have a few extra pairs of eyes and arms to watch the young one so I could do my share of laying on the couch, and so Dada and I could go out to not just one but TWO dinners all by ourselves. We met up with old buddies and showed them our little buddy. We made an additional drive to Missouri to see Isaac's great-grandparents. In total, we had FOUR Christmases, of which the photoblog diarrhea will begin shortly and in chronological order. Because Isaac has adopted a 10:30 bedtime temporarily, I will not be posting all Christmas pictures tonight, but perhaps over the next few nights, like a serial novel. All the better to generate suspense. Did he get 50 gazillion Thomas the Trains, or was he naughty and got only coal? Soon, soon you will know all.

We had initially planned to stay away until late next week, but we were brought back early by a suddenly scheduled and highly necessary meeting of Dada's. In truth, I think we're all glad to be back in our little shanty, sleeping in our own beds. We even got together with some buds tonight for pizza. Now, if we could just figure out where all this new stuff is supposed to go...

Christmas at the Ross estate

We did our present-opening on Christmas Eve night at Grandma and Grandpa Ross's house, with Aunt Jean and Uncle Chris (pronounced "Chris-key") in attendance. We had spent that day playing hard at the O'Neal's house, which meant Isaac fell asleep in the car on the way there. Here he is, snoozing on his favorite pillow-person:


This was actually kind of nice, as it meant we could do grown-up Christmas first and be rowdy about it, and then let it be the all-Isaac show as he unearthed items from his present-mountain piece by piece. Everybody got what they wanted. Dada got an obscene amount of Sears gift cards to blow on tools for his man-bench. I got my every domestic wish fulfilled -- a dustbuster, a waffle iron, and a food processor were all waiting for me under the tree. Uncle Chriskey got money to support his tube-amp habit:


And Aunt Jean and Uncle Chris-key got matching Bob Sanders jerseys:



Just as Jean and I were opening our last presents, Isaac woke up. Aunt Jean began the present cascade with an avalanche of the most awesome pop-up books in the history of mankind:



And then we moved on to opening the stuffed Treelo and Bear (of Big Blue House fame) Uncle Chriskey bought for him, which Isaac hand-picked for himself at the Disney Store:



At some point in the pile we hit the Thomas jackpot. Grandma and Grandpa went hunting online to find him his very favorite train, Boco (you can almost hear him through the picture screaming "IT'S BOCO!"), which joined a larger collection of trains and props before the night was through.





Isaac also got a Kubota tractor (from Grandpa who sells them), snowsuit, pajamas, more books, DVDs, puzzles...at some point in the evening I'm sure I started screaming about how all this would never fit in our house. And this was before we even hit the O'Neal Christmas blowout. Stay tuned.