Bitzy LOVES apples!

Well friends, it’s been a whole month since I got back together with my old beau, WW.

Our affairs have been intense in the past and the reunion tour I’m currently on is no exception.

You see, Weight Watchers is the perfect match for the likes of me.

What other diet program gives you the option of eating sugar all the live long day?  I love having that option, it keeps my sugar addiction intact.

Here’s the skinny.

In 4 weeks I’ve lost 11 pounds.

However, I feel like a cheater.

I get 20,490 points a day because I’m breastfeeding exclusively. I mean, that’s a lot of points. And since I value all things sugar over anything else, I’ve been eating a lot (like a lot, a lot) of sugar.

The secret to eating tons of junk food and still losing weight is simply staying within your points. It’s not brain surgery.

You see, WW tried to get all sneaky and change the points system so that you were forced to eat healthier.

Pu-lease WW. I ain’t no dummy.

Sugar always wins.

Always.

A life without Milky Way is no life at all.

So there you have it. WW is working yet again.

I am a life long believer in the powers of WW.

Today I tried on my “fat” jeans and they fit! Obviously, my goal is to fit into my “normal” size jeans and hopefully my “skinny” jeans (not to be confused with actual skinny jeans. Not my style folks, nope not at all) will eventually fit again soon enough.

So progress is certainly being made! More updates to come sooner than later.

Anyone else out there in cyberspace losing weight/wants to lose/loves sugar?

Anyone? Am I all alone in the world of WW?

Do tell!

As I have said before, I don’t really understand grammar. Sure, I have a basic understanding and I try to not sound like the total hillbilly that I actually am (thank you mountains of NC), but overall, I have more questions about grammar than I have answers.

Rather than taking responsibility for this shortcoming, I’ll blame it on public education. Blame is the American way after all. Darn public schools! It’s all your fault! (Truth be told I was probably combing my hair or drawing pictures of rainbows rather than actually learning whether I should use “I” or “me” or when to use that blasted apostrophe).

All this to say, my precious Bitzy has formed quite the vocabulary these days. The word “sponge” comes to mind. You say it and she’ll repeat it. It’s incredible!

So while I won’t become an English professor anytime soon, I may have a future in Toddler Translation.

You see, Bitzy’s words aren’t exactly clear.

So I am her self designated interpreter.  

Here are some examples:

“LADY, STOORY, BIRON, COW, MOO, PEAS, FANK YOU, WECOME, NICE, SHWEET.”

This is translated, “Today at the store, we bought a barn with a cow and bird. We gave it to the lady at checkout, she was nice and sweet. We said, please and thank you and she said, ‘You’re welcome.”

Another? “CHIDREN, TEENY, JEEZSES, SONG, PEAS.”

Translation: “Can we sing Jesus loves the little children please?”

More? This is fun, no? “MAMA, MILKY, COUCH, HELP, PEAS, TEENY, BOOK.”

Translation: “Can we sit on the couch with the baby, read a book and drink milk please?”

I know that I’ve said it before and I’m sure to say it again, but every single day is better than the last with these little people. It is shocking how much fun it is to be a mommy. I knew that I would love my babies, but I didn’t consider the absolute JOY they would bring.

These days my friends, just get sweeter and sweeter.

Or SHWEETER and SHWEETER as my Bitzy would say.

1. If this little dude inside of my belly will hold on I will deliver him in 16 days (not that I’m counting or anything).

2. 16 days, as in, 2 weeks. Holy Smokes.

3. This is good news and bad news, because of course, life ain’t always a bowl of cherries. Good news? I’ll have a swishy new bundle of love in my arms. Bad news? No more Banana Pudding Milkshakes from Chick-Fila. I’m told that all good things must come to an end. Such a bummer. I love them with a love that will never die.

4. It seems that April showers haven’t brought May flowers because it continues to rain every second of every day. I’m OVER IT. Ya hear me Lord? Please, pretty please with sugar on top no more rain until at least June.

5. Bitzy gets funnier every day. It’s true. As her speech improves her “funny factor” triples. The kid is funny…but then again, I’m a pretty easy laugh. So maybe it’s all in my head.

6. I hate when people say, “Trust Me.” Like at the end of the last sentence if I said, “she’s really funny, trust me.” I just find it insulting for some reason. Or if they say, “You wouldn’t understand.” That annoys me too. Maybe I would, how could you know?

7. It is possible that I’m a little moody in this large pregnant body.

8. Back to the milkshakes. How in the world do they combine nilla wafers, bananas and ice cream without making it all mushy and gross? Surely they don’t use fresh wafers and bananas? Or do they? I need answers people. Any experts on Banana Pudding Milkshakes out there in the blogosphere?

9. I will admit that this child in my belly has taken it easy on me and didn’t make me vomit for months (as his sister did) and hasn’t made me swell up like a balloon (ahem, as his sister did), and hasn’t made me totally and completely miserable for last 9 months (ahem, ahem, as his SISTER did), however, he is not totally innocent. Oh no. I am convinced that he is huge. And even if he’s not huge he is stronger than an ox. How do I know this? Well, because he has me in constant pain, that’s why. For those of you who are not currently preggers (and for those who are I’m sure that you can relate), it isn’t exactly comfortable to have a tiny person’s feet in your ribcage and then his head pounding your privates simultaneously. In fact, it’s quite painful.

10. Just one more question about the milkshakes…could I make them at home? Perhaps a low(er) fat version? I’m sure that my feeble attempts could never compare to the real deal, but a girl can hope, right?

I am not a dancer.

I know, I know, you’re shocked.

The good Lord has graciously given me many gifts, however, coordination/grace were not on the docket of blessings for me.

However, my beautiful girl can break it down.

Isn’t she the cutest thing EVER?!

She slays me…watch.

I mean, seriously?

How did I ever get so lucky?

I remember being around 4 years old in daycare and visiting the local library.

We would all sit down and listen intently to the librarian read books about adventures, princesses and fiery mystical animals.

I loved the library.

Still do actually.

It was so big, so cavernous, and a bit mysterious.

I remember even at the age of four feeling so proud to be visiting such a sophisticated place.

I felt all fancy and stuff.

Now, I want my Bitzy to love the library as well.

Since we’ve moved to the burbs we’ve frequented the library at least once a week. She reads books, plays with puzzles and basically runs around like a crazy person. It’s awesome.

So the other day I had this brilliant idea to try “Toddler Time” at 10:00am on Wednesday morning. I mean, she is a toddler after all. Right? Surely it would be a smashing success right?

Um, wrong.

Let me also add that group activities at 16 months old seems silly to even me.

Granted, if we’re all going to be honest with ourselves, while my sweetheart has a fairly structured naptime/bedtime routine, nothing else in her day is structured. We’re all pretty free spirited around these parts.

So, we ventured into Toddler Time (shockingly, 5 minutes late) we were greeted with (no kidding) 25 tiny humans looking at us like we’re aliens.

That’s right, 25. That means there were also 25 mommy’s as well.

So in a tiny room, which had the heat on entirely too high might I add, there were 50 people glaring at us…or so it seemed.

We squeeze into the circle and the librarian begins reading a story.

She was a fine reader and I’m sure she has some kind of librarian-ish degree on her wall, but my girl wasn’t having it.

Sure at home when all is quiet and there are no other tiny humans to be mesmerized by she’ll read 20 books at a time…but in a room filled with exciting new and tiny faces sitting still simply wasn’t an option.

Take in mind that all the other children were quietly sitting on their mommy’s lap listening intently.

I could feel her begin to squirm and I knew that our time was short.

My baby looks up at me like, “Mama, this is lame. I’m so outta here.”

You see, we also attend a music class on Thursday mornings where the littles sit on mommy’s lap for a song or two and then it’s a total free-for-all.  She can run around, dance, play instruments and basically have the time of her life.

I think she felt that “Toddler Time” wasn’t that sort of environment…

So, halfway through book number two she ventures into the middle of the circle looking to entertain someone…but no one was biting.

They were all actually listening! Those bratty little know it alls!

So, what does my child do when she’s bored with no hope of a song or dance anywhere in the future?

She lays on her back in the middle of the floor and cries for a brief moment to get my attention (which let’s face it, she already had), then pops up on her knees, points to me and says, “Ma!” Then points to the door, as if to say, “Let’s bust this joint Mama! These babies are LAME!”

So, I did what all structured, disciplined, awesome mommy’s wouldn’t do…I got our stuff and hightailed it outta Toddler Time…’cause it was LAME.

I was in total agreement.

So, we sat at table and did puzzles, talked about ladybugs and read some books.

It was perfectly perfect in every way.

Who needs group activities anyway?

1. The other day I ate 12 miniature peppermint patties in 1 minute. That’s right. There was no timer or contest, it was just me eating them ravenously. I don’t regret it. In fact, I’m kind of impressed with myself.

2. Also? I love Samoas guts. Like, really love ‘em. There is no limit to how many I could eat. While I have no record (yet), I love them with my whole heart. Thank you Girl Scouts, thank you.

3. Oh, and I love this too. That’s right. It’s my new bath tub! Every time I look at it, “Hello Lover” pops out of my mouth. Historically I’m not really into taking baths, I’m much more of a shower kind of girl…but with this beauty, times, they are a’changin’.

4. Also, I’m bigger than a barn. It’s true. I stood beside a barn today and practically swallowed it. It’s a real situation. My doctor assures me that I’m measuring “right on”…but I know he’s lying. If I’m having twins and he’s not telling me I’m gonna be real upset.

5. Speaking of twins, praise the Lord that no one has asked me (yet) if I’m growing two tiny humans in my womb. I think I may just burst into tears if they did. But we should get the tissues ready, because it’s inevitable. Some idiot will ask me and I’ll have to blush and say, “no, just the one” and then I will verbally abuse them in my head for the next 50 years of my life.

6. The other day I had a thought about what I was really good at. Ya know, like really good at…and NO LIE, three things popped into my head. 1.) Being a wife. 2.) Being a mommy and 3.) Being the best dang chubby bunny competitor on the planet. The fact that I am positive that I could beat anyone, anywhere, in a chubby bunny competition is a bit disturbing to even me. Do I need counseling?

7. I love my new house. LOVE IT.

8. Do all mamas think that their child is the cutest kid in the whole wide world? If not, I’m in trouble…my Bitzy just keeps getting cuter every day (even if she hates having her picture taken!).

9. I’m 31 weeks pregnant in case you’re counting. Not that I am or anything.

10. And finally, in an effort to covet things that I cannot afford I want to share this beautiful patio table with you, click here. Also, I want these chairs too (while we’re daydreaming of course).  I dare say that even if I were a bazillionaire I would feel weird about spending $900 on an outdoor table and $399 PER CHAIR, that my puppies could/would destroy. So since I’m NOT a bazillionaire I think I’m going with this patio furniture instead. Good and inexpensive, just the way I like it.

Love to all! Have a happy day!~

PS: Like my little stories? I would really appreciate it if you’d vote for me here and here.

As I have confessed before, I am no scientist. In fact, I am not ashamed to say that I stopped listening during science lessons in about the first grade.

No really.

I do not understand science and I think that I’m kind of allergic to it. It makes me all itchy.

Now, I must do some back tracking. Bear with me.

Growing up, my parents stressed the importance of academics. Good grades were not just encouraged, but expected.

So, I made good grades. I’m not convinced that I was especially smart, but somehow I figured out a way to be in all honors classes and I made good grades without too much anxiety.

The interesting part here is that English and History both came fairly easily to me. I could memorize facts quickly and ace tests with little problem.

The real issue came with my math and science classes…because well, you actually have to understand concepts and such in order to do well. I stopped listening in science in 1st grade. I made it to 4th grade in math, but then I was a goner.

Looking back I realize that I totally fell through the cracks. Most kids “fall” into classes that are too easy for them, nope not me. I, by some miracle, was placed in honors math and science classes when I should have been assigned a tutor to help me through remedial classes.

But, again, I slipped right through those cracks.

How did I cope with this you ask?

Studying a lot? Nah, I had too many other activities to focus on. Clearly studying was a horrible option. It didn’t fit into my social calendar people! I was busy!

Mainly, I declared that all of my teachers were my “coaches.” Therefore, I called them all “Coach” all the time. Also, I combed my hair a lot. And finally, I did a lot of whining. These, my friends, are a winning combination in school. Take notes friends, this is good stuff.

So, to recap, the secrets of success in middle school/high school are…

1. Call all of your teachers “Coach.”

2. Comb your hair constantly.

3. And finally, whine a lot to stress that you “just don’t get it.”

These three things my friends will ensure that your learning will be at a minimum and your grades will soar.

That is, unless you have a very, very, very old and crotchety teacher that has seen your game before.

That said, my junior year of high school I took honors Chemistry. I was nervous as all get out for this class.

The year before I took an honors/AP Biology class and it didn’t go very well (as you could imagine with my 1st grade credentials and all), so I came to class armed with a winning smile, my hairbrush and the most charmingly pitiful whining face I could muster.

I had heard a few nasty remarks about this teacher (aka: my chemistry coach), but sometimes I had a way of charming even the most miserable of educators.

NOTE: In this case, I was not only amazingly uncharming, but somewhat annoying I’m sure.

The whole class began on the wrong foot as I was sat beside a boy who seemed to draw my already flirty high school self into high gear. I was doomed.

Good thing I had my hair brush to save me.

Too bad that after combing my long blonde hair for a good 45 minutes straight on  the first day of class, he asked me to put the brush away. WHAT?  Clearly he did not understand that the hairbrush was the key to my sucess. Not only did it provide hours of entertainment, but it helped me to put things into perspective. I didn’t need Chemistry…but I did need shiny hair. He was ruining my life!

After a full semester of my antics (and terrible grades) I pulled out my big guns and had the “I want to understand, but I just can’t” conversation in his office. This convo was my fall back. It was the way to ensure an “A” in all of my classes.

His response, “If you spent less time worrying about your hair and boys maybe you could focus and actually learn something.”

Ouch. How rude! He was plotting against me!

Needless to say, I had to actually study for the last few tests in order to make a lousy B- in this terrible class. My so-called charm was completely lost on this teacher. But don’t worry, I didn’t give up my system…How do you think I graduated college?

PS: Like my little stories? I would really appreciate it if you’d vote for me here and here.

In all of my dreams of being a mama, never one time did I imagine not breastfeeding my babies. Breastfeeding, for me, was a top priority. A, “I’ll do whatever it takes to make it work” priority. A, “I’ll take the bleeding, cracking, aching, overflowing, pumping” kind of priority. A “I’ll be up 2,3,4,5 times a night for months and months to feed my baby” kind of priority.

That probably sounds dramatic (shocker), but honestly, one of my great desires of being a mother was to nurse my babies for as long as possible.

Granted, I was never interested in my 7 year old unbuttoning my shirt and asking for milk from my “ta-ta” but then again, I never thought about the weaning process of nursing, just the nursing itself.

Truth be told, I’m not exactly what you’d call a “long term planner.” I’m more of a live in the moment kinda gal.

So, when we got the BFP (big fat positive) and I had to give Zach CPR, my first fear was that I would have to stop breastfeeding.  Not, “wow, I’m going to have 2 children under 2″ or ” how are we going to fit another tiny human into this house” or “no more sushi or me” or “how did this happen again?” Nope, my one and only obsessive thought was that I didn’t want to stop nursing my Bitzy.

So I began looking for loopholes/solutions/way to nurse my sweetheart as long as possible.

Dr. Google and I spent a whole lotta time together that night and there was many differing opinions.

Some doctors say to stop nursing immediately, some say, 8 weeks, some 12 weeks, some 15, some 20 and some say that continuing through pregnancy and then tandem nursing is just fine (tandem nursing is means that both the toddler and the newborn are literally sucking the life out of you at once) is fine too.

As you see, there are varied opinions.

So, after getting the BFP on Friday night, the following Monday morning I called my OB and asked his opinion, and he said 20 weeks was the maximum due to concerns about calcium deficiencies (in me, not the baby).  Then, I called my lactation consultant and she told me the same thing.

Not what I wanted to hear.

I wanted something more like, “No worries! Your sweetheart will just naturally wean herself around 39.9999 weeks right before your baby boy comes and she will sit on your lap and watch as your nurse your brand new bundle of love.”

Nope. They so didn’t say that.

Thing is, when I was 4 weeks pregnant, 20 weeks seemed so far away that it didn’t matter. Then, 15 weeks came and went and I started down the barrel of 20 weeks and I began getting a little nervous.

Um, make that a lot nervous.

And now, we’re at 24 weeks and I’m still nursing and am absolutely nowhere near ready to stop and even if I were I have no clue how to.

Turns out, that a “side effect” of pregnancy when nursing is that your milk supply lessens significantly. In my case, I went from feeding 6 ounces every 3 hours (7am, 10am, 1pm, 4 pm and 7pm) to now I’m lucky if I get 1 ounce every 4 hours.

One would think that my Bitzy would realize the difference and want to nurse less, right? But oh no. Apparently the milk was only a bonus for her. She just wants to be close to me, and let’s face it, I want to be close to her right back.

That’s why stopping is so tricky. It’s not like I can drop a feeding. I mean, there is no milk involved here people. None.

She wants to nurse and snuggle in the morning when she wakes up, when she goes down for naps (twice a day), at bedtime and then anytime that she falls down, feels sad, insecure, happy, hyper, full of joy…I mean you get it. The child wants to nurse 24/7.

And…I let her.

It’s true.

I love it. I cannot lie.

I realize that in a few short months I’ll have an extremely tiny human attached to my breast and who will actually be drinking milk rather than just using me as a human pacifier and that I should probably have some sort of action plan for stopping…but I just want to enjoy our last few months together.

Is that wrong?

Do I have a problem?

Wait, don’t answer that.

Anyone have any brilliant advice?

Be gentle.

I make it no secret that I love television.

Clearly, I love my drama shows. Love them. They are all my personal friends and I refuse to believe that it’s all pretend.

(Yes, I am referring to Meredith and Derrick. Thanks for asking).

I also love a good comedy…although I must admit that it seems that the 30 minute family sitcom is few and far between. I have 3 comedy’s that I watch and 3 dramas that I watch every week.

(Hello Michael Scott).

While I love these shows, I’ve gotta be honest, Say Yes to the Dress on TLC is my most favorite show.

Too much? I think not.

Apparently I’m obsessed with wedding dresses.

Totally and completely obsessed.

Granted, I love, love, love all things weddings, so it’s not completely odd, but I’m normally more into the wedding details, rather than the obvious things…like the dress.

Thanks to this show, I simply must have a renewal ceremony of our vows every 10 years.

Do you think that would be overdoing it?

Nah.

After I drool over the beautiful wedding dresses I cry over A Baby Story.

When I say cry, I mean cry. Like big ugly crying that ends with black mascara running down my cheeks. It kills me every time.

My latest love? Actually, love is strong. It’s more like a train wreck that I am glued to and can’t look away. You guessed it, Toddlers and Tiaras. I’m torn between calling Child Protective Services and laughing hysterically at these completely ridiculous people. My favorite line so far you ask? That’s easy. “My goal in life is to have my daughter become Miss America.”

Really? Really? Really?

Is she being paid? There is no way that that is her life’s goal.

Also? Said child is 15 months old.

Now remember that My Bitzy is 14 months old. Just thinking about doing the things to my baby that this crazy mama is doing to her baby makes me cringe. For one thing, Bitzy would have none of it. Things like baby fake nails, blow drying and curling hair, and duct taping a dress to her tiny little body wouldn’t exactly fly with my girl. Bitzy has no tolerance for getting her clothes changed, much less any of the above activities.  Again, CPS anyone?

Also? She actually said, “I just don’t know how my girl will react if she doesn’t win. She loves to win.” I hate to break it to this insane mama, but if you’re kid is 15 months old I’m not quite convinced that she’ll be heartbroken if she doesn’t win the crown. Give the child some goldfish crackers and some milk and she’ll survive.

Then there’s My Strange Addiction.

Oh my.

“I’m addicted to wearing fur suits.”

“I’m addicted to pulling out my hair.”

“I’m addicted to eating couch cushions.”

“I’m addicted to eating toilet paper.”

“I’m addicted to eating laundry detergent.”

Need I say more?

Well, maybe that my strange addiction is watching crazy shows on TLC.

There, I said it.

TLC is awesome. Way awesome.

I mean, seriously? Could she be any cuter?

In the land of mommyville I have been noticing a trend.

A very disturbing trend indeed.

This trend?

Rushing.

We rush to and fro, from work to playdates to lunches to playgrounds to music class to church and here and there and everywhere.

Not only do we rush our days, but it seems we rush our experiences. We rush solid food, toddler beds, haircuts, potty training…everything is more efficient, faster and supposedly more advanced.

After the baby stage we rush to school, then homework. We let our kids play 3 sports at a time and we rush from practice to practice, then we rush home to tuck them in bed.

Then we rush to study, to learn, to memorize. We push academics and threaten how hard college with be if ill-prepared.

And then? Just like that, they’re gone and the house is all quiet. Too quiet.

OK, I know, I know. My sweetheart is only 14 months old and I’m already dreading an empty house in 16.5 years.

Anyway, back to my point.

And we worry. We can’t sleep because of worry. Too much food or not enough? Too much play and not enough instruction? Was that a tantrum or just whining? Is she developing properly? Enough words? Enough love? Enough, enough, enough?

Oh, you don’t do this? Is it just me?

Well, as I’ve said many times, I will wave my crazy flag proudly and admit my shortcomings.

I am not superwife.

I am not supermom.

And I am definitely not superwoman.

I am just a girl, looking at a boy and asking him to love her.

Oh wait, that was from Notting Hill wasn’t it?

(While I may think I look and act like Julia Roberts, let’s face it, I do not).

I digress.

Back to rushing.

The point of all this? I guess I’m struggling with this whole toddlerhood thing. My sweetheart just turned 14 months and while she’s running around like a chicken with her head cut off, she’s still certainly a baby. It’s this weird space in time where sometimes she acts like a little girl and others like a tiny baby. And ya know what? I don’t mind it one bit.

I am in NO hurry for her to grow up.

I read so many blogs and articles about parents who are potty training and toddler bed training at only 12-15 months old. I mean, I’m no expert, but isn’t that a little early?  Bitzy is still nursing for goodness sake and I still rock her to sleep for every nap and bedtime. We’ve very recently been semi-successful with bedtime and nap training (but that’s a whole ‘nother Oprah), and I can’t seem to take her bottle away since she’ll actually drink out of it whereas she just plays with the sippy. Ya see, when your child barely eats, sleeps or drinks, you take what you can get.

I guess I just don’t see the big deal. Is it? Am I missing something? What’s up with all the stress and rushing?

Who cares if my child isn’t potty trained ’til she’s 2? Is that a bad thing?

Also? I refuse to put her in a toddler bed until she’s ready. If that means 2 or 3 then that’s OK.

What’s the freaking rush people?

I just don’t get it.

I want to enjoy every single minute and not rush anything. I only get 18 years of her at home under our roof, why rush? I just wanna soak her in and memorize her every smile, laugh and tumble.

Maybe I’ll baby her too long, but I figure that we spend a whole lot more time being grown-ups than tiny humans, so let’s drag it all out, shall we?

It’s a marathon, right? Why sprint?

Thoughts? Love? Advice?

I’m not gonna lie, I love a good sale.

Couple that good sale with a coupon and I’m in it to win it.

That said, I do not do the crazy Black Friday shopping. I’m not a lunatic couponer. Just your normal, every day love-a-good-deal kinda gal.

This all brings me to a little story that happened only yesterday.

My Bitzy and me were innocently braving the mall. The mall and me have not been on good terms for many years. I’m not sure exactly when my hatred of the mall began, although I can say that my introduction to the world wide web paralleled with the timing of my hatred. Just sayin’.

Mall Transgression #1: It all started as we were driving the dreaded mall traffic.

(Let me be the first to admit that I am far from a perfect driver. FAR. But, now that I’m a mother of 2 I really try to be careful). As we were getting ready to turn into the mall, the car in the left lane right beside us decides it would be a great occasion to turn right and almost hit my car. Awesome. Luckily I slammed on my brakes and they screeched as well as my horn blaring so loud it was in her temples, the kooky lady got the memo and didn’t hit my car.

Mall Transgression #2: As I am pushing a jogging stroller into the tiny door of Sears since there wasn’t another parking space in Greater Louisville, there was a woman (I’m gonna say she was around 60ish), who was only a few steps in front of me. She was alone carrying nothing (just FYI). So as I’m practically running into the tiny little doors this woman slips into the doors and they basically slam in my face.

Granted, I realize that just because it’s freezing outside and I have a 13 month old baby in a stroller and I’m almost 20 weeks pregnant I don’t deserve to have doors opened for me. I get that. But most likely she had had small children at one point and she must know that hauling babyfest 2010 into a busy mall isn’t exactly Disney World. Right? Can I get a witness?

Mall Transgression #3: This what put the nails in the malls coffin.  Bitzy and me were in store #2 (Old Navy), which was our last stop before heading home and out of the dreaded mall. When we were in line to check out when my darling child decided that she wanted to throw her toy under the little “buy me now” trinkets wall next to the check out. At this point there is a gal in front of me checking out so I went digging under the pile of junk in the aisle to find my sweethearts toy. When I came up for air the lady in front of me was gone so I began inching toward the register. Before I could blink, a lady flew around me and got in front of me without even speaking. It was so bizarre that I could barely blink. Then when she completed her transaction she looked at me and said, “Thanks”.

I mean, really? Need I say more about how much I hate the mall.

I think I’ll stick with Target.

Got any great mall stories for me? Tell on!

Did you know that you can get a 1/4 caffeinated beverage? You totally can at your local Starbucks. So, since being preggers if I’m extra tired in the morning I do a little drive- by and get a (tighten your seat belts, it’s intense), a “Tall, Quarter Caff, Non-fat, No whip Peppermint Mocha with no chocolate shaving. Please.”  Isn’t that fabulous?!  The rub? This morning I’m innocently drinking it and I begin to feel nauseated and dizzy, very much like a felt with my Bitzy for the first 20 weeks of pregnancy.  If we could all say a little prayer together that this weird sicky feeling was a fluke that would be wonderful. It’s the most wonderful time of the year and peppermint mocha’s are very much a part of that!

I suppose this isn’t a confession, but still, it’s news. My laptop bag of many years tragically ripped last week and I had to get a new one. Check this beauty out…I love it! The brand is Kailo Chic if you’re in the market for a new bag.

You’re never gonna believe this in a billion years. The past few weeks I have truly outdone myself with the candy consumption. I have truly been impressed with my resilience and fortitude in putting some serious candy away. Not to mention all the other junk. Cheeseburgers, pizza, ya know, crap. It’s like I was in a prison with Weight Watchers and now I am wild animal out of my cage searching for all the Partially Hydrogenated Oil I can find. And boy have I found it. But then on Saturday something happened, all I wanted was salad and fruit. It was like my little baby said, “OK Mama, you’ve had your hay day, now feed some something green.”  So I have. I have eaten better than ever the past few days and I’m feeling much better. Sometimes you’ve just gotta have a junk food binge. Right? Can I get a witness?

I murdered 4 crawdads (or crickets, whatever) yesterday and I feel absolutely no remorse. I do not understand why they continue coming into our house. I mean, it’s winter. Don’t animals die or hibernate or something in the winter? Ah, so freaking annoying. As long as they come, I will continue to murder. Be warned crawdads, be warned.

The other night, around 10:00 or so, Zach and I were watching something lame on TV and I got struck by Magical Christmas Lightening. It’s true. In a flash, Christmas spirit flooded my body and I just HAD to decorate right then. You know the feeling? When you just cannot live another minute without the twinkle of white lights sparkling in your home?  So, of course I sit up and say “We’ve gotta decorate for Christmas! It’s almost Thanksgiving!” Here’s the rest of our “chat.”

Zach: “Forget it, it’s too late. Can you relax for once?”

Me: “Never. We’ve gotta decorate. I will totally explode if we don’t decorate right now.”

Zach: “We don’t have a tree and won’t for weeks, let’s just wait.”

Me: “If you don’t help me, I’ll get up in the middle of the night and do it myself.”

Zach: “You wouldn’t.”

Me. “I would buddy. I so would.”

Zach: “Fine, I’ll get it all out for you, but then, you’re on your own.”

Me: “Except for hanging the garlands, right? You’re so good at hanging garlands (are you picking up my game here ladies?).

Zach: “Fine. Garlands and that’s it. Sometimes you drive me crazy.”

Me: “You mean, in charming, fabulous way?”

Zach: “Um, yeah, something like that.”

And then, we began the Christmas decorating of 2010. And it looks fabulous, if I do say so myself.

In other news, my sweet Bitzy has really stepped her “pretend play” lately. Love doesn’t describe how much I love playing pretend. We play tea party, nap-time (we put all of our babies and stuffed animals under a blanket and kiss them all) and then we play kitchen. I had no idea that the awesomeness of pretend would come so early. At only 13 months (today!) she’s a regular imagination station. Best.Time.Ever.

Daisy and Lily have been on “vacation” at their grandparents house. They’ve been home for 2 days straight and haven’t driven me crazy (yet). It’s a record. Maybe we’re all on the road to recovery.

Do you have any confessions for me? Do tell my peeps.

Apparently my house has been invaded by the crying monsters.

Normally, we’re more of a “tear here, tear there” kinda family.

Sure, I cry at almost every single episode of Grey’s Anatomy and OMGoodness, last week’s Private Practice had me wailing uncontrollably. But that’s a whole other Oprah.

While I’m not sick with this little person growing like a weed inside of me (thank you Jesus), I am, how you say, an emotional basket case. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that the Country Music Awards had me bawling my eyes out through the entire performance.

With every award given came a fresh wave of tears. Even in non-pregnancy when people achieve their dreams I just lose it. The Olympics for example: read it here. I just lose my mind with the weight of someone desiring something so much and working hard for it and then they are recognized…it’s making me tear up now. I can’t handle it.

So as you can imagine, when the person receiving the award cries, I’m a serious goner (queue Brad Paisley, I needed a ventilator).

Then, there’s my beautiful girl who for the past 3 days has taken a one hour afternoon nap in her crib, by herself! Then, this morning she slept for an hour by herself, in her crib, and I was so excited that were taking so many strides forward, how amazing she is, how adaptable she is…did I mention she was sleeping in her crib, by herself? Cause she totally was.

But now, rather than sleeping, she’s screaming, crying, gnashing teeth,…basically freaking out. Why, you ask?

How am I supposed to know???

For the past hour she has walking around her crib (yes, she’s walking, it’s the cutest thing ever), babbling, screaming Mama, rubbing her lovies together. Occasionally she’ll let our a loud cry just to let me know that she’s still in there.

She’s been doing this routine for 51 minutes so far (not that I’m counting of course).

Is it possible that my crazy preggo hormones have transferred to her perfect little lungs?

I’m no expert, put I’m pretty sure that that isn’t possible.

And let’s face it, in 9 minutes I’m going to get her out of her personal hell of the crib and take her in my arms and cuddle and nurse  as she drifts off to dreamland as I venture there myself.

That’s right.  Don’t judge me.

Thank goodness Zach isn’t crying about anything…yet.

If I keep up my crazy crying he’s bound to shed a few tears himself as he begs me to get it together…

I’ll keep you posted.

I betcha you’re never gonna guess what that little blob is??? It’s my little baby silly! Can you believe that there’s a blob in my belly?

I can’t either.

With my Bitzy I was sick, as in barfing my brains out from 4 weeks-20 weeks. It wasn’t pretty people. In addition to being a human puke faucet (sorry for the visual, just keeping it real), I was exhausted 24 hours a day. I came home from work every day and collapsed on the couch and slept only to wake up to eat dinner (and the subsequent barfing) and then back to sleep again.  And also, I spotted from 5 weeks-9 weeks, making this kooky mama a real life basket case.

Not my favorite period of time in my life.

This time around, if I hadn’t seen that little blob swimming around on the ultrasound screen twice now I wouldn’t believe it. This pregnancy has been a dream. No sickness, no spotting, hardly any tiredness, I mean, if pregnancy was always this easy I’d have 20 kids.

But here’s the bad news. No symptoms = my crazy flag flying more wildly than usual…and as you know, that means that I’m way crazy. Like Jerry Springer style.

Let’s take a few weeks ago for example. I had a terrible, awful, no good, very bad dream about my baby (never to be repeated), so I woke up convinced that something was wrong.  Let me also add, that I have had several other complete meltdowns after bad dreams that never came true.

For example, one night when Zach and I were dating, I dreamed that we were at a bar and a guy was hitting on me and Zach didn’t protect me or stick up for me. I was furious in the dream and when I woke up I was still irate. I called him and told him about the dream and his “it’s only a dream” response wasn’t exactly what I was looking for. I wanted his heartfelt apologies for not being there for me in my dream and promises of protection in the future.

Imagine my disappointment!

So I did what any normal person would do, I was enraged and convinced myself that he hated my guts and would never love me.

Duh.

Shockingly Zach was not amused at my antics and he got mad right back at me. Needless to say, we had a terrible fight about my dream and his unsatisfactory response.

So, after my bad baby dream, I called the doctor and explained to the gal on the phone that I simply had to have an ultrasound (I left out the part about the dream- I’m not totally insane).  She asked why and I told her how different this pregnancy has been and how there is just no way that everything is OK when I feel so good.

Let me also interject that I’m 99% sure that I’m “red flagged” on their call system because I call so frequently. My number calls in and an alarm goes off…which I’m totally fine with, by the way. No shame people, no shame.

After I stated my case about how I simply must see the doctor, she said that she “would send a note back to the doctor and let him decide”…which is fine with me. My precious doctor knows that I’m a complete koo-koo hypochondriac, so I knew that he would have mercy on me.

And alas, he did. I got an appointment for that very afternoon. Score!

When I arrived at the office I waited for what seemed like forever and was finally called back. It was then that they told me that the doctor said to go ahead and give me an ultrasound and then he would see me in his office.

Yikes.

His office? It sounded cryptic.

Not shockingly my nervousness went up a notch or two.

Finally it was time for the ultrasound. My heart was pounding as she turned up the volume for me to hear the sweetest sound on earth, the familiar clip-clop of my sweetie’s heartbeat.  Then, that little blob gifted me with a little dance up and down just to let me know that he/she was just fine.

Life lesson? Sometimes being nuts is totally worth it. You should try it.

Afterwards the ultrasound tech led me back to my doctors personal office.

I patiently waited and when he walked in, that precious man gave me a hug and said, “Feel better now?”

He knows me well.

Then he sat down with the ultrasound pictures and pointed to the circle surrounding my little blob.  Then he said, “See this Molly? This is your uterus. It’s beautiful. Women would die for your uterus.”

Umm…OK. Good to know. I thought I wanted a perfect body, but a good uterus will do just fine thankyouverymuch.

Then he went on point out the umbilical cord, heart rate and other details of the scan and said that everything looked “great” and that I had absolutely nothing to worry about.  Then, he voiced magical words to my worried heart, “After 2 great ultrasounds your chance of miscarriage is less than 1%. Stop worrying and enjoy it! Only 20% of women do not have morning sickness, be thankful.”

Then he hugged me again and sent me on my way. I would like to think that he didn’t shake his head and roll his eyes as I left, but I wouldn’t blame him if he did.

But you, my friends know me. I’m crazy and I can’t help it!…maybe my “perfect” uterus is to blame. I mean, you gotta have a trade somewhere. Crazy head for a perfect uterus?

So blob baby is still doing great at 11 weeks pregnant.

How do I know? Well, duh, because I’m the proud owner of my very own Doppler.

That’s right. Every night that little blob baby and I have a chat as I listen to his/her heartbeat. It’s lovely really.

Ha! I always surprise you with my level of crazy don’t I?

Gotta keep you guessing!