A Common Anomaly

Poop and puke ahead. Stop reading now if you are at all squeamish. You have been warned.

Last night Tristan started to get cranky and when he ran over to me and laid his head on my leg I could feel that he was a bit warm. He was just sick a couple of weeks ago so at first I couldn’t believe he was really sick again. He convinced me of the reality of his illness when he started to cry and then puked EVERYWHERE. He made sure to get a good puddle on the couch, splatter it on the floor, and, OF COURSE, give his teddy bear a good coating.

What ensued was madness.

I had just finished cooking a pot of cheesy jambalaya with kielbasa but I put a lid on it and rushed to get Tristan cleaned up. I tried to give him the nausea medication the doctor prescribed the last time I saw him but I could even smell how bad the stuff tasted and it only made Tristan throw up again. What the hell? What is the point of nausea medication that tastes so bad that you can’t even get it down? I got some Advil in him at least and once I got him in the bath he calmed down and even started to play with his bath toys and splash around in the water.

I was almost ready to get him out and turned around to get a towel and when I turned back he had done something that he’s only done once before, and then when he was only a couple of months old. He pooped in the tub. So many little pieces. I wont even describe to you the process of getting that mess cleaned up.

After I got Tristan out of the tub I found myself rushing around, cleaning up the carpet, pulling the covers off the couch cushions and gathering up pukey clothes and towels for the laundry, doing battle with the latest multi-colored mutant grasshopper, and trying to keep Tristan comfortable and relaxed until bedtime. It was nonstop. The one thing I didn’t get a chance to do was eat. It was only after I got Tristan settled in his bed with his freshly washed Teddy and cleaned up the kitchen a little that I finally got to sit my tired ass down and eat my dinner.

It got me thinking about how things will be when Remi is here. What if they both get sick at the same time? It’ll be the same madness of last night TIMES TWO. Even more frightening, what if all three of us are sick at the same time? I can just see it: I’m in migraine hell and scrambling around on shaky legs, trembling and gagging while attempting to soothe and care for two sick children, all the while cleaning up lots of puke and poop. We’ll get through it, of course, but it’ll still be hell. I imagine at some point I’ll break down and call someone for help.

I called Vanessa last night and told her my fear and asked her what I will do in that situation. She told me I’ll probably be doing some crying.

“But… But… But… WHAT WILL I DO?”

I guess it’s pointless to freak out over something that hasn’t happened yet. I’ll deal with Crazyland when I get there.

This morning was more calm than last night. I took Tristan’s temperature and then he took the thermometer and took his own temperature, and it wasn’t too high. Right now He’s snuggled on the couch with Eddy and some pillows, watching Sesame Street.

The mail came and I was delighted to find I had a package from Pediped.

Their shoes are “officially recognized by the American Podiatric Medical Association as contributing to better foot health”, and I’m fussy about things like that. Plus, they’re just really freakin’ cute. Unfortunately they run about fifty dollars a pair, which is way too much money for me to be spending on a pair of shoes right now even if they are incredibly stylish and well-made.

Then I checked the SALE page online. I found two adorable pairs of shoes that Tristan can wear this winter for $15 each! Seriously, this makes me all kinds of happy. I like being able to buy nice things for Tristan, so to find something I couldn’t otherwise buy at such a great price… HAPPY.

I should go take a nap. I don’t have a fever, but my stomach is starting to feel icky so I’m sure I’ve got whatever bug Tristan has. Pleh.

In about 3 months our lives will change forever. By “our” I mean Tristan and I, obviously.

Change. I know things will change, but how will things change? I can only imagine. When I was pregnant with Tristan I had all kinds of ideas about how my life would be different but the reality was so much more life-altering than anything I could have dreamed of.

When I thought of having another baby I imagined, with some relief, taking this intense and consuming mass of motherly love and dividing it neatly in two. Two pieces that are intense and consuming in their own way but much more manageable when separate. I’m starting to realize that will not be the case. Already I adore my little Remi, who is squirming away with much energy in my belly, and yet the love and worry and frustration I feel for Tristan has not calmed down at all. It has not divided in two. And then Remiel will come!

It’s mathematically frightening.

Of course, I’m only thinking of myself here, of all the extra worry and frustration I’ll feel, but what about Tristan? It’s been me and Tristan against the world, struggling and thriving and loving each other to bits and pieces. Will it break his heart to see me lavishing love and attention on someone else? Will there come a day when he accuses me of loving his brother more?

I’d like to think that after some practice I’ll learn how divide my attention equally so that both my boys feel loved and special. I’d like to think that Tristan and Remi will love each other and stand up for each other and not feel too much of a need to compete for my attention.

I’d like to think… A lot of things. I’ll just have to wait and see what the reality looks like.

Ok, ok, so he’s not exactly a strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, but my boy is certainly flip flopping between rotten little rascal and precious sweetheart. I’ve been saying it to my family for many weeks now: The terrible twos come early.

It’s been more noticeable since Kostya has been here. His inconsistent parenting and total ignorance about methods of discipline and age-appropriate behaviors has only confused poor Tristan. Kostya still wants to treat Tristan like a baby, scooping him up and and carrying him around rather than respecting his space and giving him options. It’s not going over too well with this precocious little toddler.

The up side is that it has illustrated to me more clearly what is likely to work and what isn’t. It’s so much easier to stand on the outside and figure out what someone else could be doing better.

So far I’ve found the best way for dealing with his tantrums is Time Out, though probably not the time out most people are familiar with. It’s not about “You sit here and think about what you’ve done”, it’s more of a “Why don’t you just hang out in this nice quiet place with Eddy until you’re feeling more calm.”

And usually within a minute he calms down. Once he’s calmed down he comes around the corner, often with a big grin on his face, and goes about his business as if nothing happened. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not patting myself on the back just yet. You see, our Time Out system is great because it gives us both time to cool off, but it doesn’t prevent his tantrums. The boy is stubborn and seems to delight in pushing the limits. Testing them. In the recent past a simple “No.” could stop him in his tracks but now he just responds with a mischievous smirk that seems to say “Or what?”

Sometimes I find myself at my wits end but, to be honest, I don’t find this phase of childhood any more difficult than the ones that came before. It’s just difficult in a different way. In many ways it’s actually easier.

When I got up this morning my little angel, who had obviously been waiting for me, jumped off the couch where he had been sitting next to his father and ran to me, tackling me and kissing my legs. Pure bliss. Let’s see an infant do that! And once he gets a good handle on the english language I’m sure he’ll use his verbal skills to defy and infuriate me, but then he’ll also say things like “I love you Mommy!” and I’ll get to hear all the interesting thoughts that are running through his splendid little head. Seems like a fair trade to me. As always, I am stressed out, worried, and losing my patience, but I’m also enthralled, growing as a person, and absolutely ecstatic about being a mother.

Tristan’s got a lot to learn about the world, and I’ve still got a lot to learn about being a parent (there’s always room for improvement), so I guess we’ll have to try to be patient with each other.

Today my clever boy made up his own song. He was watching Sesame Street and since the letter of the day was ‘A’ they played a little song that included the bit: “Ah-ah-ah-ah Apple!”

Tristan started walking around saying “Ah ah ah abble!” until I thought I would pass out from cute overload. Then, about two hours later and quite out of the blue he started singing “Eh eh eh Eddy!”

The boy made a little song about his Eddy bear. I’m bursting with pride!

Kostya came on Thursday. Yep, you guessed it, I’m already ready for him to leave. I feel kind of bad for him. And then I don’t. They say that if you don’t have something nice to say then don’t say anything at all. Screw that. And anyway, I don’t say anything about him on this blog that I don’t say right to his face. You see, Kostya is one of those types who is constantly in need of a reality check. I”ll leave the babying to his clingy mother.

The fact is, I only feel bad about his situation because I think Tristan deserves better. I get that Kostya has had a rough time of it but, shit, so have I. The difference is that once I became a parent I stopped wallowing in the mess I had made and starting tidying things up. Ah well, as I’ve said before I’m not going to let it be my problem any more.

Last night my booger got sick. He was fussing over his dinner and when he started crying Kostya picked him up and tried to comfort him. About five seconds after I said “Oh, he looks like he’s about to puke.” poor Tristan threw up all over Kostya, himself, and the floor. I have to give Kostya credit for handling the screaming pukiness so well. He didn’t have a shirt on and vomit was completely coating his left shoulder and oozing down his back but he didn’t even acknowledge it. Don’t I paint a pretty picture?

I have a harder time dealing with ickiness like poop and vomit, especially when it’s in contact with my freakishly sensitive skin, though that kind of thing is pretty much par for the course now.

Anyway, Tristan had a little bit of a fever this morning but after I gave him some Advil it dropped back down and he suddenly started bouncing off walls. He climbed up into my lap while I was checking my email and cheerfully tapped away on the keypad. Then he grabbed one of my little earbuds and stuck it in his ear, looking at me expectantly when he heard no music. So, on came the music and we rocked out and browsed the internet together for a while. Since Kostya has been here Tristan has been hanging on me more which, I must admit, feels very satisfying. I know he’s just a little shy and is coming to me for reassurance, but it feels good because occasionally I need to be reassured too.

Kostya is very doting but I think Tristan appreciates, in his way, the stability and feeling of safety that comes with my more firm character. Although, I think my biggest flaw is that I need to relax more, be more laid back. I struggle with it often but, hey, this parenting stuff is a learning process.

Tristan’s fever keeps going up and down and he keeps going from zombie to rocket so I think I’ll be making him an appointment with his doctor tomorrow if his fever isn’t gone when he wakes up. BLAH, doctors…

Remiel is hyperactive. I don’t know if the little guy ever sleeps. It’s really amazing how much he kicks around in there! And I have to say, even if I had a hundred babies I would never get used to the sensation of a baby moving around inside me, although I definitely appreciate it more this time around. Every little kick reminds me that he is alive and well and, since this is more than likely my last pregnancy, I’m really cherishing these breathtaking moments.

The hormones keep sending my moods all over the place, but at some point every day I just crack a great big smile and say “I’m so happy I’m having a boy!”

Oh, WOW, this little boy is kicking my butt!

This morning there was a pee disaster. I smelled it before I even walked in the room to get my Booger out of bed and when I turned the corner I saw that he was curled up on top of his pillow with his arms wrapped tight around his “eddy” bear. I picked him up to assess the damage and uttered my favorite phrase “Why god, why?” when I saw that not only were his pajamas and sheets saturated in piss, but his pillow was wet as well. What the hell? Where did it all come from? I have no memory of him drinking two gallons of anything before he went to bed, so what gives?

Tristan doesn’t like to do anything before he’s had his breakfast so he wasn’t happy when I started peeling wet jammies off of him and wiping him down with a wet cloth. After breakfast, when he was feeling a little better about being awake, I gave him a bath and then I started on the laundry.

After everything was all cleaned up I realized that the smell of piss was still floating around in the air. I went nuts trying to figure out why until, to my horror, I realized the stink was coming from Tristan’s precious Eddy. I promptly confiscated poor Eddy and made a mad dash for the washer. I knew Tristan would be upset about losing Eddy for a while but I had no idea just how broken up he’d be. I gave him back-up bear, the same exact bear only it has panda coloring, but Tristan would not be consoled by this impostor. My eyes started to water as he followed me around crying for his lost friend.

“Eddy! Eeeeeeeeeh-deeeeeeeee! EDDY!”

I felt like such a jerk. The poor boy cried nonstop through the wash cycle, moaned and hiccuped his way through nap time, and finally ran, puffy eyed and sniffling, to be reunited with his Eddy the moment it came out of the dryer. It seems to me that he might be too attached to this stuffed bear.

What if we lost Eddy? How long would it take him to get over it?

How long will this attachment last? Until he loves the stuffing out of Eddy, transforming the once fluffy bear into a tattered brown rag? I don’t know. I guess I’ll find out.

Today, as on so many days, we walked to the grocery store. Tristan was especially well-behaved (considering his age) so when he picked up a little green truck at the checkout stand I went ahead and got it for him.

He’s always grabbing things near the register but I never buy any of that junk since I figure it’ll just get thrown in a corner along with a hundred other little toys. Today I couldn’t resist. He rolled it along the floor, up a display, and then proudly showed it to the lady behind us. He started to whine and cry when I took the truck so the cashier could scan it and for a moment I thought about putting it back, but I controlled this uptight adult impulse and got it anyway. It always amazes me when people seem to expect adult behavior from toddlers since you’re FAR more likely to get toddler behavior from adults, and I’d hate to be one of those.

As I carried him out the door I thought we’d give manners a try and told Tristan “Say thank you!” I urged him again and he looked from the truck to me and back again. I sighed and said “Can I at least get a kiss?” although I didn’t really expect much of a response since he’s stingy with his kisses.

Then, to my utter delight, he smiled and planted a big one on me, even making his charming “Mmm-mah!” sound.

Today was a very good day.

I’ve been talking about how I need a break from my booger and I think I’ve almost got things arranged so that I can go see a movie with Carissa on Thursday. Woo! I don’t even care what movie. Maybe we’ll even stop at a restaurant and I”ll actually have a meal completely devoid of fussing, crying, and squealing. Whoa…

I can’t even.. I just… You know?

Yesterday I went to visit with my mother for a few hours since she really needs support with what she’s going through. Carissa picked up Tristan and off I went. It’s such a funny combination of relief and intense worry I feel when I’m away from him. I’m always so eager for a break from him but when I finally get it I’m missing him horribly within 10 minutes. When I got home I texted Carissa to let her know she could bring him back but apparently he had knocked out. I spent the hour after that doing absolutely nothing. Just waiting for him. And when he got home I felt an intense rush of happiness that stayed with me for the rest of the day.

It was nice having the chance to miss him a little, to appreciate all the beautiful mess and fuss he makes when he’s home. And it was absolute JOY to get him back. I could gush on and on, but I’ll stop now.

I talked to my father today and we started arguing, debating really but I get worked up sometimes, about some family drama. I just melted down and cried. I don’t allow myself to do that very often and I was a little surprised by all the frantic emotion that came pouring out of me. I’ve been keeping it together so well. I’m certainly stressed out, worried as hell about what I’m going to do, but I didn’t realize I was holding so much in while I was strutting about in my armor. Then I decided, what the hell, I damn well earned those tears.

OH! I am currently without TV.  Seriously. I have Dish Network and on Saturday I got an error message on my TV telling me the signal had been lost so I called customer support. They were useless and unable to fix the problem so they said they’d send a technician to my house (the soonest day being Tuesday, and keep in mind this was Saturday). Oh, and that’ll be 15 dollars, Miss.

???

It’s not like 15 bucks is a load of cash or anything, but I’m already paying monthly for their services and it boggles my customer-service-centered brain that I should have to pay 15 dollars more because their shit isn’t working. So now I’m torn between my principles and my love of TV. When I complained about the absurdity of it to the helpful lady on the other line she pointed out that Dish Network would generously replace whatever faulty equipment is causing the problem free of charge. Well, slap my ass and call me Judy! We’re SAVED!

The book I ordered on cultural anthropology came in the mail today. I guess I’ll be reading that instead of watching TV. Probably a more enriching way to spend my limited free time. But how will I distract Tristan while I’m trying to get chores done??? Perhaps he might find the topic of human diversity and responses to challenging globalization issues very interesting. Possibly.

Crap. I’ve only got 3 or 4 kid friendly DVD’s… I’ll have to borrow some from my sister.

I’ve been going back and forth in my head about what I would prefer the sex of the baby to be. I kept finding myself saying that I hope it’s a boy. But then I’d see cute pink baby shoes and frilly flower dresses and I’d hope for a girl. Mostly I thought about how cool it would be if Tristan had a little brother. But then again, it would be nice if I had a girl because then I’d have one of each.

I went for the ultrasound yesterday, and my father and sister Angel came with me. My father was loud and made inappropriate comments, and even talked on his cell a little, but I expect that kind of thing from him. The ultrasound technician, to my pleasure, mostly just ignored him. She did her thing, checking the heart, taking measurements, and then after a little chasing she told me what I already knew.

Family, friends, meet Remiel Sebastian Adams!

I KNEW IT!  I knew it. I’ve been calling the baby “he” in conversations. Usually you say you think you’re having a girl when you really want a boy, and vice versa, so as not to jinx yourself, but I knew. My dad, who has 4 grandsons already, really wanted it to be a girl. I think a lot of the family feels the same. They’ll just have to wait until Carissa gets knocked up because I’VE GOT MY BOYS!

I’m over the moon! Yeah, I’m sure I’ll still sigh whenever I see frilly pink baby clothes but I’m so deeply happy right now. I can’t wait to meet my little Remi. I wonder if he’ll have blue eyes like his father or dark eyes like Tristan. I can’t even begin to picture what he’ll look like. Tristan is simply gorgeous and I’m sure Remi will be a handsome little devil too.

Holy crap I’m excited!

I haven’t forgotten about the near break-in. After the ultrasound I went out and bought a rifle, which I will now have to learn to shoot. I’ll be taking other security measures, too. I have to say, I’m not sorry this happened. It has pushed me to consider safety by reminding me that shit happens, and now I’ll be far more prepared for any future incidents.

No one wants to think about these things, but they should. I’ve got my family to protect and there’s no knight in shining armor to do it for me.

I’d like to end on a cheerful note, though. I’M HAVING A BOY!

My Baby

My baby isn’t a baby anymore. I’ve known that for a while now. He’s getting big, amassing information, developing preferences, and surprising me daily.

I’m thrilled. I’m not one of those mothers who laments that her baby is growing up. People have tried to tell me that one day I’ll look back and miss the little baby that he was. What a bunch of boloney.

Maybe I feel the way I do because Tristan was a particularly difficult baby. Maybe it’s that babies, as miraculous and precious as they are, intimidate me with their unknowable natures and their bewildering means of communication. Or maybe it’s that I’m constantly suffering from an acute awareness of the whole point of parenthood; raising children into good, stable adults.

I am no longer a slave to my emotions, as I was in my youth. I find that with each year that passes I become more logical, more systematic in my thinking. Instead of getting stuck in the moment I find myself, more often than not, following a thread of actions and circumstances and intentions to the most logical conclusion.

It doesn’t mean that I’ve been untouched by his journey through babyhood, though. I’ve been fascinated by Tristan’s development and I cherish every moment with him. He’ll always be my baby. My first, at that!

That’s just the way my mind works. Bah, you’d think by now I’d have given up trying to figure out what is “normal”…

I find myself turning inward a lot these days, focusing my attention on the Herculean antics occurring in my burgeoning belly. I saw the doctor yesterday. Guess what? Friday is the big day. The ultrasound. The doctor was originally going to wait until 20 weeks for the ultrasound but the size of my uterus and my concern that there might be more than one baby in there (Oh, the kicking!) inspired him to schedule it for Friday. Will it be a boy or a girl? Or a boy and a girl? Will they even be able to tell? I hate anticipation…

Is it Friday yet? Yeah yeah, I know. Patience.

How about now?

Today is a special day. One year ago today I got on a plane with my son and left the fuss and chaos of New York City for the slow nothings of Crapstink, Arkansas. You can read about my decision to move here, and my thoughts right after the move here.

My sister Vanessa had flown out to NYC early so that she could spend a day in the city and then travel back with me. I had insisted on someone flying with me, since I was a nervous wreck and I knew I couldn’t handle Tristan alone on an airplane. As it turned out we spent more than an hour just sitting on a runway and Vanessa, with patience that awed me, managed my cranky little son.

Kostya had been in charge of calling for a car, so of course when the driver showed up I spotted immediately that he was Russian. The whole drive to the airport he kept turning around to ramble at Kostya in Russian. He talked about Tristan a little, and talked to him, his voice going all high pitched. Vanessa kept giving me that look of hers, raised eyebrows and all, the one that says “Uh HUH.”

At the airport Kostya clung to Tristan and I stood nearby, chomping at the bit. The nerve it took for me to do what I was doing was propelling me forward and I admit that I didn’t have the patience for drawn out goodbyes.

Yeah, it took nerve. The moment I graduated from high school I hightailed it out of Arkansas and swore I’d never go back, so I felt defeated moving back here. And I was scared out of my mind. I had talked to my father and Vanessa and made them swear they’d help me out with Tristan if I moved back because I just didn’t know how I’d do it alone.

Then and Now

I lived out of a suitcase for a while. I slowly acquired the little conveniences I needed for Tristan. I say conveniences because after losing or leaving behind nearly all my earthly possessions more than once I’ve learned that one actually needs very little to survive. As long as Tristan had what he needed (and wanted, which was very little) I felt secure.

I stayed with Vanessa and then moved in with my sister Carissa and her boyfriend since they had a spare room. A teeny tiny one, but I could finally have my own space. For a while I struggled just to get through each day. Tristan was incredibly cranky and I was really sick from the gallbladder problems so I spent every moment I could curled up with a pillow on the couch, drowsy as hell from the nausea medication. I was used to having Kostya around to help with Tristan when I was too sick to get up. My weight dropped down to a sickening 88 pounds. More than once I thought about going back to New York, which would mean moving back in with Kostya. I needed help.

The gallbladder surgery was a nightmare. No one seemed to care (in fact Carissa referred to it as my “stupid surgery” whenever she got stuck with Tristan duty) and I was absolutely terrified. I know it’s not a major surgery or anything but being put under, feeling yourself slip away like that, is just plain scary. I needed someone. Family, a friend, anyone. Doesn’t matter, I guess. I survived!

Everything changed after the surgery. The very day I got home from the hospital was when Tristan started walking. The control and independence he gained when he started walking made him a much happier little guy, and with the help of the surgery I was feeling much better myself. I still struggled a little with the complete loss of freedom that came with being his sole caretaker, but I began to really enjoy each day with my son. I wasn’t just trying to get through the daily routine anymore.

When I moved out of Carissa’s house and into my own I really settled comfortably into my life as a single mother, but being Tristan’s sole caretaker is still difficult for me at times since I really don’t have any time at all for myself. I’d love to just go to a movie or out to eat sometime but it’s hard getting one person to watch Tristan and another to go out with me. I quickly realized that I can’t and don’t want to ask my family for help very often. I usually reserve those calls for help for when I’m feeling really ill, but most of the time I just try to deal on my own. As for an actual vacation? I’m thinking it’ll be many long years before I get a chance for one of those.

Sometimes I wish Tristan could spend some time with my sisters or my dad so that I could spend time with myself, but I totally get that they’re all busy and wrapped up in their own lives. Sometimes I wonder if it would be worth having Kostya around to help out, to carry some of the weight, but then I come to my senses.

Things definitely aren’t ideal right now, but if I’ve learned anything it’s that things are always changing. Tristan has infused my life with this light, this magic, and things will keep getting better.

One year ago today I swept my son up in my arms and we went out on our own. It’s hard. It’s so fucking hard to do this alone. I tense up and my heart throbs as I write those words. I’m weeping. I can’t possibly express enough how difficult it is. Or how absolutely amazing it is.

Motherhood has saved my life.

I think I might have to get rid of Mina. I’ve had her for years and she’s traveled with me all over the country. I never thought I’d leave her behind, but then again I never thought I’d be a mother either.

Starting when I moved to Arkansas she began to develop behavior issues. She was skittish and weird and stopped using her litter box. When I moved into my own place the issues stopped and everything was like the old days. Until recently. I doubt she understands I’m pregnant but I’m sure she knows something is up. She’s been acting weird again and then, a couple days ago, I found cat crap by my computer desk. I was infuriated. It’s unacceptable.

It would only be a matter of time before Tristan came to me clutching a cat turd in his hand. And the urine smell? Fuck no. I wont live like this. I love this cat, but my son rolls around on these floors.

I wont miss the fleas (my skin reacts terribly to the bites), or the cat hair on my kitchen counters, but I know that when she’s gone there’s a hundred little things that I will miss. I feel guilty as hell. My stomach is burning. If I thought there was any way for her to be happy as a part of this family… She’s just not adjusting to the new reality. She’s set in her ways. The reality is I’m not going to have time for her like before and the health and happiness of my children will always come first.

I don’t know… I’m so disappointed. Heartbroken. When I give her away it will have to be to someone who I’m sure will spoil her, so it may take a while to find someone. There’s not exactly an abundance of responsible and loving pet owners in this town, but hopefully I’ll find someone.

Fire with Fire

I can’t stop
scratching at this
little flea bite of a man

I draw blood
my own of course
before finally going for the antiseptic

but he persistently hovers and
vomits up my own words
covered in nonsensical slime

sometimes
I think I might outrun him
and I sprint madly forward

but after 10 miles
I look down and see that he is
tethered to my foot

then
absently even
I kick

I was walking to the store today with my pooper when the lady across the street, sitting on her porch and enjoying what looked like a bowl of cereal, saw us and offered to give us a ride. I assured her that we like the walk and she insisted that I tell her if I ever need anything. Now that’s the South I can respect. I mentioned that I’m pregnant and the usual questions were asked and answered, and then I blurted out “I hope it’s another boy!”

It just flew out of my mouth. Another boy… We’ll see.

My Booger fell down on the way home and scraped his knee. I cleaned it when we got home and put a bandaid on it. I wonder if the bandaid will still be there when I get him up from his nap…

Oh, and as for the Bug Situation, I have yet another picture to really drive home my point:

My sister sent me this picture today. My response was something like “That isn’t a bug, it’s a freaking cartoon character!”  A couple nights ago I had some crazy hard-shelled flying nightmare pelting my ceiling with this awful thock thock sound. I put dents in the ceiling going after it with the broom. *shudder* In the end, after a long hard battle full of girly squealing, I was victorious.

I WILL TRIUMPH! Meh…