Sweet

I woke up this morning with a stye.

First I was all "shit" but then I realized that this stye was placed stategically, and according to that Arnold Schwarzenegger movie (I just googled it, The Sixth Day) this means I've been cloned.

Which: Awe. Sum.

This will come in really handy today. Clone can help Bump with the move while I stay at Linda's with the tormentors. I can't tell you how excited I am about this development; clone will be useful every day, of course, but today especially.

Except, that lazy bitch hasn't shown up yet. I'm not sure what she's doing - maybe she's already at the rental house, helping Bump with the move. Bump doesn't realize I've been cloned, so he wouldn't call to tell me I'm there, right? He was probably just surprised when I showed up a few minutes after talking to him on the phone this morning.

Is it going to be weird when I see her for the first time? (Provided she actually shows up, and isn't out getting drunk with Aunt Bob - wait, that's totally what she's doing, isn't it? That filthy whore.)

I'll probably be surprised by how fat she is. Cloning adds 30 lbs., right?

My Children Look Alike

The boys, especially. Right now, it's easy to tell them apart because Nathan Jr is a baby and Lumpyhead isn't; but it occurs to me that when he's eighteen, Nathan Jr will have no problem whatsoever buying beer using Lumpyhead's ID.

Miss Sellaynie

Hey, did I tell you that we're moving on Friday? Well, we are. It's exciting.

Nana is here and Bump and I have been able to pack in earnest. If last night is any guide, "pack in earnest" for me means fill a few boxes and almost reach my stated goal for the evening, before getting totally distracted by old video of the kids and waste two hours staring at the computer.

(Also, the footage of Lula's first few moments on the earth really got Dot's motor running. "Baby! Baby! Must have another baby!" she screamed at me. I managed to shut her up by reminding her that Lumpyhead woke up at 5am squealing about a wolf trying to bite his hand and Nathan Jr woke up at 6am for his regular "FEED ME SEYMOUR" moment. Dot will soon realize that Measures have been taken, and unless this IUD goes and I-U-DOESN'T, she's not going to win this argument.) (But she still tries, bless her heart. Her crazy, hormone-fueled heart.)

I would estimate that we're about half-packed. Which means the following:
1) We have a lot of stuff out that we don't seem to be using.
2) At any given moment, something we really need is in a box somewhere.
3) Very soon we will reach that stage of packing where you throw everything you see into a box and label it "Miscellaneous."
4) Which is followed very closely by that stage of unpacking where something you desperately need is in one of those twenty-two boxes marked "Miscellaneous."
5) I'm sitting here at work, thinking about all the stuff I could be doing at home.

Like writing "MISC" on some boxes.

Kind of Like Those Drunken Party Photos that Prevent the Kids Today from Landing Jobs

It appears that my children drank all weekend.

Lumpyhead makes the unfortunate mistake of pairing beer with birthday cake at his cousin's party. Which I can say from experience always seems like a good idea, but never is.

Lula enjoys a mimosa with her Sunday brunch of danish and fruit.

And Nathan Jr wonders why the hell the other two are getting all the good stuff.

Mute Commute

Bump and I played softball last night, which I haven't done in years. It made me feel both young again and very, very old at the same time.

I didn't have sneakers - they're all packed away - so had to wear flip flops. A note to aspiring beer league softball players out there: running the bases in flip flops is not recommended. Especially when you're pretty slow with proper footwear.

My wardrobe fail was overshadowed by a teammate who didn't bring softball clothes and played in his khaki pants and blue button-down shirt. He was called "Khaki," "Business Casual" ("Bizness" for short), "Trousers," "Alpa Chino," and "Plain Front." I think his name was Karl, but I'm not actually sure. At one point he claimed to have worn his softball clothes to work, but changed into this outfit for the game. Then he hit a towering triple over the left fielder's head (who had come in, because com'on, the guy's wearing khakis). That's when the coach announced that everyone was wearing khakis next week.

I rode home with Bump from the game, because the whole point of softball for me is the beer. So on their way to a playdate this morning, Bump, Lumpyhead, Lula and Nathan Jr drove me into work. Instead of listening to NPR in a semi-hypnotic state, I came to work hearing Lula blather randomly about cats and the occasional dog, Lumpyhead point out airplanes and theorize what might live in the Potomac River, and Nathan Jr blat in opposition every time Bump mentioned that the baby needed a nap.

Even in DC traffic, it was a wonderful ride in; the drive home will be very lonely by comparison.

Clarification

Given Bump's reaction to my last post, I feel I should state firmly: I do not want any more children.

I thought I made that clear, but apparently I did not.

Maybe it was hard to gather that, what with the "crazy" and the "hearing voices" and the "WOW that was a long way to go for one stinking Raising Arizona quote."

I am done. We are done. Baby Shop (Shoppe?) closed.

But the point of the post was that even when you are done having babies - when you are COMPLETELY SURE you are done having babies - sometimes, you still want one.

Even when you know you don't.

Oh, and Dot is totally wrong about the cuddle thing.

Dotto Voce

Bump and I talked about having a third baby not long after Lula was born. Bump said he always thought he would have two children, but wasn't opposed to three. I imagined I would have three children, but was perfectly happy with the two we had. This discussion was really code for: Do we schedule your vasectomy today, or do you want to wait a little bit?

We decided to "wait and see what happened," meaning "let's not schedule that vasectomy right away." Two weeks later, we knew what had happened.

There would be no similar conversation after Nathan Jr was born. Bump was researching doctors to perform the snip when my doctor suggested a five-year IUD. We decided that route would be easier than The Big V, so I went ahead and had one installed. (My doctor's office called it an "insertion" - which hurt like a mutherfucker, by the way - but I think "insertion" sounds gross. It was installed.)

I will admit that "complete reversibility" was one of the selling points for me.

Let me be clear: WE ARE DONE HAVING BABIES. I can't imagine wrangling four children and putting them all through college. I can barely get my mind around doing that for three.

But there's that little voice - let's call her Dot - that says "you know, if we won the lottery, wouldn't it be wonderful to have one more?"

And then the rational part of my brain starts screaming YOU DO NOT WANT TO BE PREGNANT AGAIN!

I feel that my family is complete. We're all here.

But biology is a powerful force, and Dot knows it. "Why do you think we call her 'Mother Nature'?" Dot pointedly asks me. "How do you think humans got this far up on the evolutionary ladder, anyway? By thinking? No, you idiot, it was by breeding. You are programmed to keep rapid-firing babies out of your lady cannon, whether you want to or not. I'm in control here. I AM DOT. Why do you think it's called a period? Because of ME; I did that. BEHOLD MY POWER."

(Dot's kind of an asshole sometimes. Especially when she's been drinking.)

It is not lost on me that Lula was Nathan Jr's age when I became pregnant last time. Lumpyhead was only a few months older when we found out he was getting a sibling. Dot whispers, from the corner of my brain, "Wouldn't you love another squishy newborn?

I see the pictures of my babies at two weeks. At two months. At four months. Dot murmurs, "Let's do it again."

I am done. My quiver is full.

But Dottie says these-here are getting too big to cuddle.

Report from the Front Lines

Bump was still feeling poorly yesterday, so I took a sick day and gave him the day off. Funny thing about taking a sick day when you're not actually sick: it's a lot like a vacation day.

(Huh. Maybe I should have taken a vacation day. Is it kosher to take a sick day because your childcare provider is ill?)

We went to the playground in the morning; we swam in the pool in the afternoon. It was a lovely day.

At lunchtime, Lumpyhead informed me that this is eleven.
I agreed. Then he told me that this is twelve.
Instead of correcting him, I ran and got my camera.

Weekend

Bump started complaining about a sore throat on Friday night. On Saturday we dropped my parents off at the airport and attended a birthday party, and on Sunday I let Bump sleep late for lo, the Man Cold descended with great fury. [eyeroll]

He winced with every swallow [eyeroll] and slept fitfully [bigger eyeroll] and I explained that a Man Cold was "much worse than any normal cold" but Bump could tell I was making fun of him.

Then I remembered that Lumpyhead's preschool teacher had strep recently, so this morning I stayed home from work and Bump went to the doctor to confirm that indeed, he had strep. The diagnosis also explains those few days late last week when Lumpyhead was feverish and just laid on the couch, whimpering, while we administered dose after dose of tylenol. Hey! Turns out he wasn't just being an asshole. Now it all makes sense!

Not long after Bump returned home this morning, Nathan Jr catapulted himself off the changing table. I had one hand on him, but it turns out one hand is not enough to keep a ten-month-old baby with a goal from flopping onto the hardwood floor.

I was a mess. Nathan Jr cried briefly, but recovered quickly. He was grinning from ear to ear after a little bottle. (Lesson: Give him a drink! He'll be fine!) I realized later that the incident didn't even warrant tears from him. Still: gah. Scooping up a child that has just fallen from a few feet up is a horrible, horrible thing. But he's fine.

By the time I left for work, Bump had reclaimed his rightful place at the top of the Family Pity Hierarchy.

So, how long will it take for me to start exhibiting symptoms of strep? And how long after that will I be forced to apologize profusely for making light of Bump's suffering, because, OHMIGOD, I'll want to die?

Adjustments

We hadn't moved Nathan Jr's crib from the newborn height, because:
1) I like it high. I'm short, so it's much more convenient to have the crib at the highest setting. I can place the baby down gently, rather than dropping him from 3" above the mattress.
2) We're moving soon. In like, weeks. We will have to take the crib apart and reassemble it then, and we planned to put the mattress at a different level at the new house. (We're not lazy, see. We're efficient.)

But we knew that Mobile Baby was not long for the current crib setting. Bump and I both worried Nathan Jr would catapult himself onto the floor. (Not worried enough to do something about it, of course, but more like a nagging concern that would make us yelp "I knew he was going to do that!" right after he face-planted out of his crib.) A couple of days ago, Bump found Nathan Jr trying to climb the curtains above his crib, so the crib mattress was immediately reset to the lowest possible setting.

And EVERY. TIME. I walk into the room where Nathan Jr is sleeping, it looks to me like he has fallen into a hole.

I Went to the Kennedy Center and It Was Awesome

Bump and I were planning to play softball on Monday night, but then Jessica gave me tickets to Turandot.

Yeah.

I KNOW.

(First Up tickets, then the opera. I'm totally making out with Jessica the next time I see her. Seriously. Tongue, the whole works. There may even be some breast cuppage.)

I don't have a point to this post, other than to brag about how amazing my Monday night was and to thank Jessica. I also would like to remind my other friends that Jessica has come through in a big way lately, and the rest of you should feel some pressure to step it up.

Mazel Tov

Or something.

The Tooth Will Set You Free

Hey, remember when I was all "OMG, my daughter has fangs"? Well, her teeth came in fine except for a little gap between the two front teeth (see the first photo of the last magnadoodle post). I stopped worrying about the gap she will eventually use to spit lemonade across the table when the dentist told me Lumpyhead's teeth were going to be a problem.

I thought Lumpyhead's teeth were fine.

But the dentist said something like "Yeah, they're perfectly spaced now, but his adult teeth are bigger than his baby teeth and when they come in there won't be room for all of them. He's going to need braces someday."

Lumpyhead's first dental visit was wholly unpleasant. We went to a pediatric dentist, but the practice didn't seem geared for children. There were two toys in the waiting room, along with a small television getting fuzzy reception of the local PBS station. I held Lumpyhead on my lap in a reclining chair and pinned his arms while he howled during the checkup and cleaning. It was quick, but it sucked. Sucked mightily.

Was I rightly traumatized by our first visit, or do I need to quit my bellyaching? I mean on the one hand, it was the dentist, and the dentist always kind of sucks, even under the best of conditions. This dentist was blessedly fast. On the other hand, I DON'T WANT TO HAVE TO PHYSICALLY RESTRAIN MY CHILD WHILE HE SCREAMS, OH MY GOD.

Tell me about your dentist visits. Do they suck, too?

In the meantime, check it out:
(Yes, this is mean.)

That's Bump's thumb on left, my hand on the right, and the baby's meaty paw in the foreground, trying to bat away those horrid annoying giant hands. And that thing right under my fingernail? That would be a fang.