Saturday, March 20, 2010
Monday, March 15, 2010
A Comparison
When I was 30 weeks pregnant with my first child:
I got an email from BabyCenter each week, which told me exactly how big the baby was and which milestones it had reached. Matt and I read and imagined with wonder.
Now, 30 weeks pregnant with my third child:
I'm aware that the baby has all his limbs, because he's using them to beat me up from the inside, and I know that he's somewhere between the size of an apple and a basketball.
When I was 30 weeks pregnant with my first child:
We had a first and middle name selected, and a fair amount of baby items with the name already embroidered on them.
Now, 30 weeks pregnant with my third child:
We have a list of 14 names that is growing, not narrowing.
When I was 30 weeks pregnant with my first child:
The nursery was almost complete, with cute stuffed animals in the chair and the crib bedding washed and on display.
Now, 30 weeks pregnant with my third child:
We are 98% sure the crib is in the attic, and 90% sure it will get brought down before the baby arrives.
When I was 30 weeks pregnant with my first child:
I eagerly anticipated doctor's appointments, writing each one on my calendar as soon as they were made.
Now, 30 weeks pregnant with my third child:
I try to remember to call Matt after the appointments to let him know that there is indeed still a baby in there. I also try to remember all the appointments.
When I was 30 weeks pregnant with my first child:
I had a catalog of photos of myself at various stages of pregnancy.
Now, 30 weeks pregnant with my third child:
Not a single photo yet. Oops.
When I was 30 weeks pregnant with my first child:
I was eating everything in sight and sleeping every minute that I could.
Now, 30 weeks pregnant with my third child:
Well, some things never change.
I got an email from BabyCenter each week, which told me exactly how big the baby was and which milestones it had reached. Matt and I read and imagined with wonder.
Now, 30 weeks pregnant with my third child:
I'm aware that the baby has all his limbs, because he's using them to beat me up from the inside, and I know that he's somewhere between the size of an apple and a basketball.
When I was 30 weeks pregnant with my first child:
We had a first and middle name selected, and a fair amount of baby items with the name already embroidered on them.
Now, 30 weeks pregnant with my third child:
We have a list of 14 names that is growing, not narrowing.
When I was 30 weeks pregnant with my first child:
The nursery was almost complete, with cute stuffed animals in the chair and the crib bedding washed and on display.
Now, 30 weeks pregnant with my third child:
We are 98% sure the crib is in the attic, and 90% sure it will get brought down before the baby arrives.
When I was 30 weeks pregnant with my first child:
I eagerly anticipated doctor's appointments, writing each one on my calendar as soon as they were made.
Now, 30 weeks pregnant with my third child:
I try to remember to call Matt after the appointments to let him know that there is indeed still a baby in there. I also try to remember all the appointments.
When I was 30 weeks pregnant with my first child:
I had a catalog of photos of myself at various stages of pregnancy.
Now, 30 weeks pregnant with my third child:
Not a single photo yet. Oops.
When I was 30 weeks pregnant with my first child:
I was eating everything in sight and sleeping every minute that I could.
Now, 30 weeks pregnant with my third child:
Well, some things never change.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Baby Girl
Maybe it's the pregnancy. Okay, probably it's the pregnancy. I am very emotional and sentimental these days. NOT a good state to be in for your oldest child's birthday.
On Monday, Abby turned 7. Since toddlerhood, it's seemed that Abby has been straining against time, racing to get older faster than the days will let her. If she had it her way she would skip all the single digit years and move straight to 10 or 11. If I had it my way...well.
Abby loves all the trappings of girlhood--Hannah Montana, purses, makeup, boys, High School Musical, Jonas. But she also loves drawing and painting, playing on the monkey bars and wrestling with her daddy. Thank goodness pop culture hasn't completely taken over. Still, sometimes it seems like there's no "little girl" left in her.
And then.
Then we'll be doing something, like sitting at McDonald's for her birthday lunch, and her daddy will ask her what flavor McFlurry she wants as a birthday treat. She'll answer "In Em Ins", which will remind me that she still mispronounces M&Ms the same way she has since she was 2, and somehow I don't feel so rushed any more. Happy Birthday, Baby Girl.
Here's a picture of Matt, Abby and me at her first birthday party. I know, we were all babies then.
On Monday, Abby turned 7. Since toddlerhood, it's seemed that Abby has been straining against time, racing to get older faster than the days will let her. If she had it her way she would skip all the single digit years and move straight to 10 or 11. If I had it my way...well.
Abby loves all the trappings of girlhood--Hannah Montana, purses, makeup, boys, High School Musical, Jonas. But she also loves drawing and painting, playing on the monkey bars and wrestling with her daddy. Thank goodness pop culture hasn't completely taken over. Still, sometimes it seems like there's no "little girl" left in her.
And then.
Then we'll be doing something, like sitting at McDonald's for her birthday lunch, and her daddy will ask her what flavor McFlurry she wants as a birthday treat. She'll answer "In Em Ins", which will remind me that she still mispronounces M&Ms the same way she has since she was 2, and somehow I don't feel so rushed any more. Happy Birthday, Baby Girl.
Here's a picture of Matt, Abby and me at her first birthday party. I know, we were all babies then.
Friday, March 5, 2010
God Bless Fitted Sheets
In 3 days, my daughter turns 7. I don't want to talk about it. 6 was bad enough. So instead, I'm going to go to my happy place and talk about Las Vegas some more.
We stayed in the nicest place we've ever stayed on this trip--the Bellagio. It's smack in the middle of the strip and was the first hotel, when it was built in the 90s, to turn the corner from themed cheesiness to opulence. It worked for them. The place is magnificent.
There's also a fine art gallery, and a restaurant filled with Picasso originals, but those are for rich people so we don't go.
Our room was, as expected, lovely. There was a great bathtub, a switch panel by the bed to open and close the drapes and sheers automatically, and the best dang shower I have EVER been in. The water pressure is so good you can actually feel a breeze created by the velocity before you get in. They have turn down service, and you get tasty chocolates on your pillows. All the comforts that should be present in such a hotel and then some.
However.
They have followed a trend that I find very disturbing, but which seems to have become the norm now in hotels. This is probably my single greatest pet peeve about staying in a hotel. In what must be some sort of cost saving measure, hotels never use fitted sheets anymore, Bellagio included. I cannot tell you how much this bothers me.
I am completely OCD when it comes to my covers. I admit it. They have to be just right or I can't sleep. I have been known to get up out of bed and remake the covers just to I can get back in and rest. At the top of the list of importance is that I cannot be having sheets all bunched up at my feet. Blech. Well, when a bed is made with a flat sheet on bottom instead of a fitted, this is practically inevitable. Matt has finally resigned himself to listening to me grumble constantly about this if we're at a hotel. I can't say I was surprised that the Bellagio is no different, but I was holding out a little hope that a hotel that can supply me with endless designer shampoo and lotion could spring for a dang fitted sheet.
All in all, I thoroughly enjoyed our hotel and its amenities. And if ever I get to go again, I will bring an iPod to listen to my own music during the fountain show if need be. And I'll bring a fitted sheet.
*I didn't make all the facts in this post up--I found them on Wikipedia, which means they must be true.
We stayed in the nicest place we've ever stayed on this trip--the Bellagio. It's smack in the middle of the strip and was the first hotel, when it was built in the 90s, to turn the corner from themed cheesiness to opulence. It worked for them. The place is magnificent.
Every hotel in Vegas has a "thing"--something unique and grand to draw the tourists. For the Bellagio, it's the fountains. In front of the hotel is a massive 9 acre lake*. In the lake are approximately 1,200 fountain nozzles that present a choreographed show to music every half hour to 15 minutes. Some of the sprays go 24 stories high. If you want to see a brief clip, click here and select Video Tour. The music ranges from opera to classical to Sinatra to pop. It's incredible to watch. If you've ever seen Ocean's 11, this is where they all stand at the end.
Here's a view I found online from the top of the fake Eiffel Tower at the Paris Hotel across the street (no, I'm not kidding). This gives you an idea of how giant the fountain show is.
Matt and I made sure to catch the show a couple of times. The first show we saw started, and we both cracked up when we heard the music: Celine Dion's My Heart Will Go On. Really? Talk about cheesy. Still, the fountains were great, and as we left I said, "Well, at least if we see another one we know it can't be worse than that song choice!"
Well.
The next night we went out, and when the music started playing and we realized it was God Bless the USA we almost couldn't stand up we were laughing so hard. It's not that there's anything wrong with those songs--necessarily--it's just that we had hoped for something really fun or dramatic, and instead got sappy Americana. But whatever.
When you walk in the lobby, you're immediately captivated by this crazy, 2000 square foot hand blown glass sculpture hanging from the ceiling:
I LOVE this thing. Not sure why, but I can never take my eyes off it.
The other main attraction at the hotel, besides of course the casino, is the conservatory. It's a huge glass-ceilinged room with some of the most incredible flower and plan work I have ever seen. They change it out 5 times a year, but the workers are constantly working to replace old flowers with new ones, repair problems, etc. The only problem with this room is that everyone wants to stop in the middle of the walkway to take their picture, so you have to stop every 3 feet to avoid walking through someone's frame. Drives me batty, so I usually only walk through once.
There's also a fine art gallery, and a restaurant filled with Picasso originals, but those are for rich people so we don't go.
Our room was, as expected, lovely. There was a great bathtub, a switch panel by the bed to open and close the drapes and sheers automatically, and the best dang shower I have EVER been in. The water pressure is so good you can actually feel a breeze created by the velocity before you get in. They have turn down service, and you get tasty chocolates on your pillows. All the comforts that should be present in such a hotel and then some.
However.
They have followed a trend that I find very disturbing, but which seems to have become the norm now in hotels. This is probably my single greatest pet peeve about staying in a hotel. In what must be some sort of cost saving measure, hotels never use fitted sheets anymore, Bellagio included. I cannot tell you how much this bothers me.
I am completely OCD when it comes to my covers. I admit it. They have to be just right or I can't sleep. I have been known to get up out of bed and remake the covers just to I can get back in and rest. At the top of the list of importance is that I cannot be having sheets all bunched up at my feet. Blech. Well, when a bed is made with a flat sheet on bottom instead of a fitted, this is practically inevitable. Matt has finally resigned himself to listening to me grumble constantly about this if we're at a hotel. I can't say I was surprised that the Bellagio is no different, but I was holding out a little hope that a hotel that can supply me with endless designer shampoo and lotion could spring for a dang fitted sheet.
All in all, I thoroughly enjoyed our hotel and its amenities. And if ever I get to go again, I will bring an iPod to listen to my own music during the fountain show if need be. And I'll bring a fitted sheet.
*I didn't make all the facts in this post up--I found them on Wikipedia, which means they must be true.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Viva Las Vegas, babe!
We're back! We spent a glorious, relaxing 4 days in Las Vegas. Matt had to go to a conference during the day, so I divided my time between sleeping, reading, eating and shopping. My own little slice of heaven. Then at night we went to dinner, downtown Vegas (our favorite) and even to the movies--I highly recommend Valentine's Day.
While we were there, we did the math and figured out that it was Matt's 6th trip to LV, and my 8th. I know, ridiculous. What can I say? We love the place. There's something so fascinating about the hugeness of the buildings and the lengths at which companies go to get your attention. In Arkansas, a heated pool is considered a hot hotel commodity. In Vegas, you need a 40 acre lake that has a fountain show every 15 minutes, or a full-scale pirate battle with 50 actors and pyrotechnics. I love that grandmas with fanny packs walk next to showgirls, and guys at IT conferences eat lunch beside Elvis impersonators. Nothing and no one is out of place in Las Vegas.
Not too much out of the ordinary happened on this trip. We did witness 2 fairly amusing incidents, though:
- On the Dallas-Vegas plane, we sat in front of 3 60-something year old ladies who apparently travel together a lot. One was obviously the ringleader and yapped the whole time in a ridiculous Southern accent. They kept talking about all the trips she was planning for them--at one point she wondered aloud what kind of adapter she'd need for her blowdryer at their "London motel." At one point, one of the other ladies said, "Oh! If you ever plan a trip to China? I don't wanna go." The other lady immediately chimed in, "Me EITHER. Or Singapore?" First lady: "NO." For the next 5 minutes the two of them took turns naming places they WOULD NOT go, and the other would answer with a resounding "NO!" Apparently, anywhere in Asia's out, as well as Africa and Puerto Rico. Adventurers.
- On Tuesday night, Matt and I were standing in front of our hotel, waiting for the light to change so we could cross the street. We noticed a large group approaching, and as they got close it became clear that it was a large wedding party (again, a fairly normal thing to see in Vegas). The couple looked straight out of that New Jersey reality show. Once they got up to us, I realized that all was not well. The bride was BLAZIN mad. The groom had been walking a couple of paces behind her with his buddies, but when they stopped, he came up beside her and said in a booming, Joysey accent, "Ay! Babe! It waddn't my fawlt I was late! My ma needed ta tawlk ta me. What was I posed ta do? Huh?" I think if there had been anywhere in her dress where she could have hidden a weapon (and there was most certainly no such room) we'd have witnessed a murder then and there. I saw, in that moment, the realization in his eyes that he was not going to be able to laugh this one off. Matt and I guessed that within 10 minutes he'd be on his knees begging forgiveness while his friends writhed on the floor laughing. Great way to start a lifelong union.
As much fun as we had, we are so glad to be home. It was great to see the kids again, and I'm sure our parents were VERY glad to see us take them back. I'd love to go back again soon, but my schedule's a little full for a while with having a baby and all. I guess Vegas will have to keep being fabulous without me.
While we were there, we did the math and figured out that it was Matt's 6th trip to LV, and my 8th. I know, ridiculous. What can I say? We love the place. There's something so fascinating about the hugeness of the buildings and the lengths at which companies go to get your attention. In Arkansas, a heated pool is considered a hot hotel commodity. In Vegas, you need a 40 acre lake that has a fountain show every 15 minutes, or a full-scale pirate battle with 50 actors and pyrotechnics. I love that grandmas with fanny packs walk next to showgirls, and guys at IT conferences eat lunch beside Elvis impersonators. Nothing and no one is out of place in Las Vegas.
Not too much out of the ordinary happened on this trip. We did witness 2 fairly amusing incidents, though:
- On the Dallas-Vegas plane, we sat in front of 3 60-something year old ladies who apparently travel together a lot. One was obviously the ringleader and yapped the whole time in a ridiculous Southern accent. They kept talking about all the trips she was planning for them--at one point she wondered aloud what kind of adapter she'd need for her blowdryer at their "London motel." At one point, one of the other ladies said, "Oh! If you ever plan a trip to China? I don't wanna go." The other lady immediately chimed in, "Me EITHER. Or Singapore?" First lady: "NO." For the next 5 minutes the two of them took turns naming places they WOULD NOT go, and the other would answer with a resounding "NO!" Apparently, anywhere in Asia's out, as well as Africa and Puerto Rico. Adventurers.
- On Tuesday night, Matt and I were standing in front of our hotel, waiting for the light to change so we could cross the street. We noticed a large group approaching, and as they got close it became clear that it was a large wedding party (again, a fairly normal thing to see in Vegas). The couple looked straight out of that New Jersey reality show. Once they got up to us, I realized that all was not well. The bride was BLAZIN mad. The groom had been walking a couple of paces behind her with his buddies, but when they stopped, he came up beside her and said in a booming, Joysey accent, "Ay! Babe! It waddn't my fawlt I was late! My ma needed ta tawlk ta me. What was I posed ta do? Huh?" I think if there had been anywhere in her dress where she could have hidden a weapon (and there was most certainly no such room) we'd have witnessed a murder then and there. I saw, in that moment, the realization in his eyes that he was not going to be able to laugh this one off. Matt and I guessed that within 10 minutes he'd be on his knees begging forgiveness while his friends writhed on the floor laughing. Great way to start a lifelong union.
As much fun as we had, we are so glad to be home. It was great to see the kids again, and I'm sure our parents were VERY glad to see us take them back. I'd love to go back again soon, but my schedule's a little full for a while with having a baby and all. I guess Vegas will have to keep being fabulous without me.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Beds are overrated
When Ethan was in his crib as a baby and toddler, he was the easiest kid to put to bed EVER. We changed his clothes, loved on him, plopped him in his bed and walked out the door. He didn't fuss, didn't play--just went right to sleep. We had had a rather difficult transition to a big bed with Abby, so I was a little apprehensive about moving him. Turns out there was no need for apprehension. Dread would have been more appropriate.
My longtime readers will recall our struggles with getting E to stay in bed. I posted about it frequently, including here, Two years later, and we're still going strong with the struggle. We've settled into an impasse of sorts, in which we leave his door open but put a baby gate up so that all he can do is stand at it and whine. We go on about our evening--works for us.
Anyway, even though he's contained Ethan is determined to prove his independence in some way. He's chosen to refuse to use his bed. Every night we tuck him in to his comfortable bed. We cover him with blankets. Every night before we go to bed, we check on him, and he has pulled all his blankets off the bed, dragged out any number of toys, and finally fallen asleep somewhere in his floor. He's not particular on this point--any old piece of floor will do. A couple of weeks ago I started taking a picture from the doorway after he settled every night. Below are the results:
He was really active on this night before he finally caved. Note the mess.
He loves to sleep with his ankles crossed like this. Can't be good for circulation.
It's like he was on his way to whine at the gate and just couldn't make it all the way. Note that he's turned his socks backwards.
On this night I looked for him for a good while before I realized that he was, of all places, in his bed! He must have not felt well.
The good news is that once he's asleep, we can pretty much do whatever we want and he won't wake up. So we go in and scoop him up and move him to his bed, where I think he stays the rest of the night. I only hope he grows out of this habit, or someday his poor wife will really get tired of stepping over him to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Bless her heart, though, that will probably be the least of her worries.
My longtime readers will recall our struggles with getting E to stay in bed. I posted about it frequently, including here, Two years later, and we're still going strong with the struggle. We've settled into an impasse of sorts, in which we leave his door open but put a baby gate up so that all he can do is stand at it and whine. We go on about our evening--works for us.
Anyway, even though he's contained Ethan is determined to prove his independence in some way. He's chosen to refuse to use his bed. Every night we tuck him in to his comfortable bed. We cover him with blankets. Every night before we go to bed, we check on him, and he has pulled all his blankets off the bed, dragged out any number of toys, and finally fallen asleep somewhere in his floor. He's not particular on this point--any old piece of floor will do. A couple of weeks ago I started taking a picture from the doorway after he settled every night. Below are the results:
He was really active on this night before he finally caved. Note the mess.
He loves to sleep with his ankles crossed like this. Can't be good for circulation.
It's like he was on his way to whine at the gate and just couldn't make it all the way. Note that he's turned his socks backwards.
On this night I looked for him for a good while before I realized that he was, of all places, in his bed! He must have not felt well.
The good news is that once he's asleep, we can pretty much do whatever we want and he won't wake up. So we go in and scoop him up and move him to his bed, where I think he stays the rest of the night. I only hope he grows out of this habit, or someday his poor wife will really get tired of stepping over him to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Bless her heart, though, that will probably be the least of her worries.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Walk this way
Tonight I was sitting at the dining room table and Matt was at the computer. He turned around and we were talking to each other--we could see each other but had the kitchen and about 20 feet between us for those of you who haven't seen our house. It was about 9:30 and the kids had been asleep for over an hour, thank you Lord. All of a sudden, Abby walked right past Matt and into our bedroom , holding her pillow. She's a serious sleepwalker.
She's sleepwalked regularly since she was 3 or 4 years old. It doesn't happen often, maybe only once a month or so, and only when she's really tired. She's always been a very deep sleeper. I can go in her room, turn the lights on, and put laundry away at night and she never moves a muscle. So far the sleepwalking has been pretty unexciting. It usually involves her coming into the living room and wandering around until we guide her back to bed. We're pretty sure it always happens early, before we go to sleep, but I guess for all we know there are nights that she gets up and roams the house for hours.
It's really amusing to us, and it frequently results in some humorous situations. More than once I've seen her come out to the living room and then head back to her room. By the time I get in there, she's gone into her closet and is repeatedly walking into her shelves. I just turn her around and point her to her bed. Once she came out, walked to the side of the chair Matt was sitting in, bent over to put her head in his lap and fell fast asleep standing up. A lot of times she needs to go to the bathroom while she's up, so we take her but she falls asleep on the toilet so we have to hold her up and take care of all the mechanics for her. Super fun.
Abby never remembers sleepwalking the next day, and I think she suspects that we are making the entire thing up. Thankfully she's never tried to get out of our house or do anything dangerous (again, as far as we know--I suppose she could be going out to rave parties at 3AM and we'd have no clue).
Ethan does not sleepwalk (yet)(that we know of), but he has his own very strange nighttime ritual. I shall write about it tomorrow--and this story comes with visual aids. Ohhh, yeah.
She's sleepwalked regularly since she was 3 or 4 years old. It doesn't happen often, maybe only once a month or so, and only when she's really tired. She's always been a very deep sleeper. I can go in her room, turn the lights on, and put laundry away at night and she never moves a muscle. So far the sleepwalking has been pretty unexciting. It usually involves her coming into the living room and wandering around until we guide her back to bed. We're pretty sure it always happens early, before we go to sleep, but I guess for all we know there are nights that she gets up and roams the house for hours.
It's really amusing to us, and it frequently results in some humorous situations. More than once I've seen her come out to the living room and then head back to her room. By the time I get in there, she's gone into her closet and is repeatedly walking into her shelves. I just turn her around and point her to her bed. Once she came out, walked to the side of the chair Matt was sitting in, bent over to put her head in his lap and fell fast asleep standing up. A lot of times she needs to go to the bathroom while she's up, so we take her but she falls asleep on the toilet so we have to hold her up and take care of all the mechanics for her. Super fun.
Abby never remembers sleepwalking the next day, and I think she suspects that we are making the entire thing up. Thankfully she's never tried to get out of our house or do anything dangerous (again, as far as we know--I suppose she could be going out to rave parties at 3AM and we'd have no clue).
Ethan does not sleepwalk (yet)(that we know of), but he has his own very strange nighttime ritual. I shall write about it tomorrow--and this story comes with visual aids. Ohhh, yeah.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)