I’m not sure what pose this is, but he seems to be obsessed with doing it lately.
He’s into a lot of trouble lately. A few shots of it uploaded on our photo site for those obsessed with his goofy face. You know, grandparent type folk.
I’m not sure what pose this is, but he seems to be obsessed with doing it lately.
He’s into a lot of trouble lately. A few shots of it uploaded on our photo site for those obsessed with his goofy face. You know, grandparent type folk.
This is the extra fun part of pregnancy where I want to complain non-stop. Technically I am 5 days overdue from my original due date, unless you are Aaron, and I still have one day to go. Or if you are my midwives and I still have 2 days. Or if you are an ultrasound from one million months ago, then I still have 7. But alas, I will refrain from anymore complaining for your sake, and will just let you know I still only have one child on the outside. And you can count on me to let you know when I have two.
Actually the real total is like Harmon: 29282903890 Mom: 1 or 2.
You know you have lost control when you wake up from your nap in your (king-sized) bed with your one-year-old and you are on about two inches of bed. It looks like this:
I swear he went to sleep in the middle, I don’t know how this happens.
Also you may have lost your mind when you taunt your belly like this:
“Come on Braxton Hicks, is that all you’ve got? Make it hurt!”
I’m sure I will be regretting that soon.
My family has a long standing tradition [of gluttony] at the Spaghetti Factory. Since the one in Downtown Seattle (maybe all of them?) has a nice big scale for you to weigh yourself on, it is customary to do so before dinner. And then again after dinner. The winner? Whoever gained the most during the meal.
Yesterday my mom suggested we play it Biggest Loser style, based on percentage instead of poundage. Me being real heavy said no way. Poundage it was.
I am proud to say that I gained 3.75 pounds during dinner, and won. Unfortunately this victory was clouded by the fact that I wanted to die from exploding. It’s never a good idea to overeat in such a horrifying fashion, especially if you are pregnant and your stomach is shoved up into the size of a walnut, and it’s Thanksgiving the next day. Even if your husband says it’s a warm-up, it’s still not a good idea.
[So I asked Aaron’s permission before writing this, just so you know. But he didn’t proofread, maybe he should have thought of that though.]
Aaron has a serious problem. When we first started dating he would on a rare occasion grow a crazy eyebrow hair. You know what I mean, the kind that old men get, that are all kinked and stick out insane-like. My former step-dad Todd calls them “Wizard Hairs” I assume because to be a wizard you have to have eyebrows made completely out of them.
Anyway, somewhere along the way I convinced Aaron to let me pull these out of his eyebrow when they would appear, thus restoring his youthful look. Because really, who wants crazy eyebrow hairs? No one.
And now my wonderful husband is continuing in his aging process. He grows them a lot more frequently and abundantly. He still removes them, or at least did until just recently. One day studying himself in the mirror he found several wizard hairs in his right eyebrow, but also noticed that the outer edge of his eyebrow was missing! He was pretty traumatized, but I made him feel better by telling him he could quit computers and become a full time wizard very soon. He conceded that being a wizard would probably be a good job, but still seemed a bit sad that his eyebrows were on their way to extinction/full on wizardry.
Just now I made him let me look at his eyebrow to make sure it was the right one, and he said: “It’s like I’ve got a comb over, but I don’t comb it.”
So let this be a lesson to all of you with wizard hair trying to grow in your eyebrows: don’t let your wife convince you to pull them out. Unless you are are thinking about getting eyebrow hairplugs. Then you can probably go ahead and pluck.
PS When you call your husband “Wizard” make sure to say it like they do on that stupid phone commercial where they summon the wizard from the side of the van. It makes him happy.
Recently one of my sweet cousins posted something on facebook about someone leaving her a mean note on her car. It made her sad, as it should when someone does something mean to you. And all her friends who commented said nice things to her, to make her feel better, and to point out how maybe the jerky person might have had something else going on to make them so mean.
This my dear friends weighed on my mind heavily. Not because I was sad for my sweet cousin, because she is so nice she probably did 17 nice things for other people and felt better pretty quick, but because it was likely someone like me that left the mean note.
I actually thought about her story more than I care to admit. I thought, wow, how many times have I wanted to leave a note like that! I mean I like to yell at other people while driving my car (with my windows rolled up of course) and write letters on my blog to people who are in my opinion most deserving of a chop. And then I thought, I should feel really really bad for being so mean.
But then it came to me. I feel almost zero remorse for being a jerk.
And then later, I still felt not bad about being a jerk. I wish I did, but really you wouldn’t like me half as much if I wasn’t. It’s all part of my charm, right?
I suppose all I’m really trying to say is I am glad there are sweet people like my cousin who balance the forces of people like me in the world. Heh.
P.S. Do you like the expression on my face that says ‘husband just take the picture before I kill you!’ I do.
Dear Cheesecake,
Stop being so dang good, I am plenty giant without you, and also my abdomen didn’t really have room for you anyway.
Oh so sad my giftcard is now empty,
Kelsey
———————————-
Dear Baby Niña,
If you are going to use your feet to push on my ribs, the least you could do is push off of them to get out, instead of moving them out of the way.
See you soon(?),
Mom
———————————-
Dear Aaron,
You just said you don’t think you like cheesecake. Stop eating it then!
I am a pig,
Kelsey
Two weeks ago (the day after Halloween) Harmon got his toy car taken away from him by a friend at Church. Cade is only 1 week older than Harmon, but he’s been walking for a while. He is also a pretty big kid. They’re about even on weight but Harmon has the edge on him for height.
I told Harmon he needed to learn how to walk so other kids can’t take advantage of him. Apparently he took the lesson to heart, because that same day after church he stood up on his own in the middle of the floor.
I shouted in excitement, scaring him and Kelsey. She came running in and calmed him down, and then we stood him up and he walked between us several times. Well, as soon as he figured it out, he started running and diving into our arms. It was just two or three steps, but it was something. Later that evening he showed both Kelsey’s parents (and their dogs) that he could still do it.
He’s been working on it every day, and he’s still wobbly, still prefers running to walking, and still has a dangerous disregard for his own safety.
Unfortunately, with his newfound mobility, he’s also learned to throw tantrums. When he wants down, he pitches a fit like a champion. This is all very new to us, since he’s been practically the perfect cherubic baby. (Of course he’s not a baby any more, having just turned 1 also.)
Today we went out to dinner at the Cheesecake Factory. Harmon, being his usually charming self, wooed the waitress, who brought him a plate of bread and banana slices. He liked the bread, but didn’t care for the bananas. That didn’t mean that he didn’t need two forks to get the bananas. (He’s recently started feeding himself with silverware too.) A fork and a spoon wasn’t good enough for him.
But he was okay for a while still. It was only when I took him out of the high chair that he really started to complain. It was time to roam, but dad (that’s me) wasn’t letting him.
Kelsey says he’s been throwing tantrums for a while now, but this is the first real one I’d seen. I’ve been remarking proudly about his “willfullness” since his birthday, but today is the first time I got to feel the brunt of it.
Earlier I’d taken him for a stroll (or two), and he finally wanted to get up. I carried him for a while, then set him on the handlebars (or whatever the part I’m supposed to be holding and pushing is called), then tried to sit him back down.
Tantrum part 1.
But I won that battle of wills. I strapped him in, heard him scream bloody murder, kick and flail, and give me a dirty look, but eventually, with some bank turns, I won him over and he was happy by the time we pulled into the driveway.
Did I mention how much he likes outside? The only samples I’d seen before were when he walks (or crawls) up to the door (usually pulling me along by the finger) and pounds on it. He loves cars, and jumping on the grass, and sitting on the fence, and pumpkins on the doorstep, and crows, and walnut shells on the driveway that the crows dropped and cracked, and rocks to pick up, and pine cones, and plants, and the cold, and dogs most of all. A dog outside is Harmon’s favorite thing in the world. Mix it up with jumping and a car, and you’d have his idea of heaven.
He also likes escalators. We already knew he loved stairs. He’s been going up and down them since long before he could walk. He has no regard for his safety, though mom is trying to teach him to go down stairs (and off the bed) feet first on his belly. Sometimes he does, if you’re watching.
After the Cheesecake Factory, we went to the mall to play at the play thing at the mall. There were too many older kids there. But we ran into Cade and his parents there. I, of course bragged that Harmon was walking and ready to take Cade on any time any place.
Then mom pointed out the escalators by the play area. She calls them “magic stairs”. So we went up and down them about 23 times. I didn’t let Harmon go on his own, so I held his hands. Finally I hit on the idea that Harmon had been suggesting all along. I let him go down the up escalator. Of course he didn’t make much progress. It was like a treadmill, and finally I could get some rest. Until people behind us wanted to get off.
Bug Kelsey to put up video of Harmon walking.
And then I am allowed to have my baby. Of course I won’t have it until like 5 weeks from tomorrow, but whatever. A girl can dream can’t she?
Remember this really useful diagram of how to sleep when pregnant? It doesn’t work this time. Sleeping is impossible, so if you are pregnant and wondering how, just give up. Or maybe if I made myself all new pillows. I think Aaron using the specialty pillows has really destroyed their fluffiness.
For all of those of you who were worried about my hair, be calmed, it is growing and looks not as awful. What I really mean is that you can’t tell (without close inspection) that it is uneven, and after a little time with a flat iron making the mushroom top a bit flatter and not as bowl-like it manages to just look ugly, instead of horrifying. Everyone I see in real life tells me they like it. I’m not sure if that means that I was so ugly-looking before that it couldn’t get any worse with a terrible haircut, or if they just really enjoy lying. Either way I enjoy knowing that I have brought many of you joy through the style of haircutting I am so fond of doing. (And let’s not forget to mention talented at doing!) I haven’t got so many hits on the blog ever. So, maybe as a special treat I will take a picture of the growth tomorrow. Yes, I think I shall. And one of my belly for good measure.
Aaron is blogging right now to top post me. But I will trump him tomorrow with photos.