Friday, April 17, 2015

Monthly Musings: April 2015

• Six words guaranteed to make Mama's blood pressure rise when coming from the mouth of her three year old: "Don't tell me what to do." #getsmeeverytime #threenager

• A month ago, I had a high BP scare at my prenatal appt. With my history of pre-eclampsia, there's a zero tolerance policy on anything that might signal vascular disease. I've overcome the threat so far with interventions of all kinds and things seem to be going really well. So, I tried to write about it. But what's come out so far is so raw, so full of ghosts, (not so) latent fear, and pain, that I can't bring myself to go deep enough to finish it. And I can't share it here. Not yet. Maybe I never will. 

• Rounding the bend into my 3rd trimester, I've developed a need for a regular infusion of chocolate milkshakes. I wonder if that has anything to do with me measuring 3 weeks ahead of my due date? Nah...coincidence, probably.

• The cliche that all men love showering their women with lingerie doesn't ring true around here. My man showers me with Cardinals gear. In the last month alone, The Artist has bought me 2 Cards' shirts (non-maternity, though I am politely termed, 'great with child,' and getting greater by the second), and a pair of earrings. That brings my Birds On A Bat gear total to 6, which seems like overkill, but the love behind it makes me blush. I've never been so full of team spirit. #CardinalNation

• I'm outnumbered around here, and have been for a long time. I know it, and I've mostly come to terms with it. I'll admit nursing a secret hope that Lady will help  balance the power after she's born. Be on my team. Or at least help me clean up the film of pee and peanut butter that's on all my stuff. But I've noticed lately that when The Artist talks to the ladybump, she goes nuts. Like, waaaay more nuts than when I talk to her. I'm starting to see my dreams of a ride-or-die sidekick turning to ashes. #teamdaddy #anotheronebitesthedust

• Today, I get my roots done and a trim. I've never been so excited about routine beauty maintenance before.  #thisisalmostforty #pregnantgrayhair

Thursday, April 9, 2015

When Mama Went Off the Deep End

It seems that I went through a paranoid phase when The Bud was three. I think he was winning...


Hey. This is The Bud, here. I hijacked my mama's computer to have a bit of a heart-to-heart with all the preschoolers out there. I can't read, yet, so I can't say for sure what she's been posting on this blog,  but I can hazard a guess that not all of it is...shall we say...complimentary to those of us in the 2.5 to 5 yr old set. It's time to fight back with the tools we have at our disposal.

Where my people at? Whaddup, playas??!

Why the gangsta lingo? And how am I able to type and spell, when I've just told you I can't read? Don't ask me questions you already know the answers to! I'm three. Why do I do anything? Because I can, that's why. And you'd better believe it. In fact, for the adults who may actually read this post, I pity you the mind f**k that'll have you trying to come to terms with the possibility that a three year old could actually hijack an adult's computer and write a blog post. Admit it: in some of your more paranoid moments (like after he figures out how to escape his bedroom in the middle of the night, after you've turned the doorknob around so that very thing would stop happening), you wouldn't put anything past the little bugger. Crazier things have happened.

But I digress. This post is to empower the powerless. We'll start with Tips To Avoid Bedtime:

1. Request that Mama read ALL the books to you before you can sleep. Every. Single. One.

2. Fake a stomach ache, requiring a parent to apply "tummy wotion" (rosemary essential oil--may as well be snake oil, for all its tummy soothing properties) to the skin over the offending organ.

3. Go pee, again, but not until you've announced your need to do so to both parents and gotten their buy in on the plan.

4. Ask for more dinner.

5. Ask for more drinks.

6. Ask for a snack, your missing blanket, or for help to find your favorite stuffed toy-which is only missing because you don't know (read: care) to look under your blanket for it. 

7. Ask to be tucked in. Again. You can't help it if Mama and Daddy have already fallen asleep. You need their help!

And if, by some fluke, your maligned parents are unmoved, and all these deflective techniques fail, fall asleep for a half hour, then fall out of bed and scream the house down. That'll do it. Ain't NObody gonna sleep for a while after that. 

I've given you my best stuff. Make me proud. And DO NOT tell them where you learned this stuff. Even if they offer you chocolate. 

Love, The Bud