We went to the Museum of Life and Science on Saturday. Patrick has been there a few times. The first time we went was in June 2010. We rode the train with Mom & Aunt Chris -- Patrick's first train ride, and it was super hot, and Mom decided to buy a museum membership.

Patrick has been back a couples of times since then with Grandma and Grandpa. It seems like a pretty fun place for kids. I like the dinosaur trail.

"So, you're a herbivore, right?"

The grandparents took Patrick to the museum I guess around the end of June this year. They had tickets for the train -- sidebar: You have to buy tickets at the admissions desk when you first walk in and buy your museum tickets. You CANNOT buy tickets at the train. I guess once you've realized that it's no big deal but I think it's stupid. The train also is smallish, so it sells out rapidly. -- and were first in line for their scheduled departure. Patrick was all excited until he totally flipped out because the train was so loud. He refused to get on, much to the chagrin of Grandpa, who I got my cheap gene from and who was peeved to have wasted $9.

Nonetheless, James and I took Patrick to Tweetsie Railroad for the Fourth of July. We were a bit nervous given this bit of news about Patrick's reluctance to ride the train, but we figured there was enough other stuff to do that it would be okay even if he did not want to ride. Our fears were unfounded. He LOVED it. We rode it twice.

When we got home, my mom asked me how he'd done. I said he loved it. She said, "Patrick, will you ride the train at the museum with Grandma and Grandpa?" He said no. Back to Saturday. There were two trains with seats available. We asked Patrick if he wanted to ride. He said no. We asked if he was sure. He said no. We didn't buy tickets. As soon as we walked outside, Patrick said he wanted to see the train. My mom and I exchanged a glace. We asked him, again, if he wanted to ride. He said no, he just wanted to see it. True to his word, he did not want to ride it. He covered his ears. (It wasn't running at the time.) He said he wanted to watch it, but he had no interest in riding it. Then he said he wanted Grandma to take him to Tweetsie Railroad.

After the museum, we grabbed dinner at Parker & Otis in downtown Durham, which is right by the train station. You can see the tracks if you're sitting on the outside deck/eating area. Which we were not. We had just started eating when the train whistle blew. Patrick wanted to go outside and watch. Since he is spoiled rotten, Grandma took him out. As soon as they came back in, he wanted to go out again. We told him if he heard the whistle, we would take him back out. "I heard the whistle, Grandma," he said, immediately. When that didn't work, he moved on ... to Grandpa. Eventually he and Grandpa ended up outside while Mom and I were doing a bit of browsing around the store. "I hope he's okay," said my mom, "since I don't think there's going to be another train. And he's so excited." We were on our way out when we heard a whistle.

Patrick was indeed so excited. And he got to see a nice long freight train. And that is the perfect place to put in one of the pictures of Grandpa and Patrick watching the train but those pictures on not on my camera so just imagine that and think, "Aww."

[placeholder for image ... heh]

Posted by Molly at 12:06 AM EDT

Updated: Mon 09/05/2011 11:40 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | Permalink

Tonight, Patrick and I had the following conversation while I was putting him to bed:

P: Mommy, I want to go to the beacher on Saturday.
M: Yes, we're going to the beach in a few Saturdays, when the house is ready.
P: We'll play in the sand.
M: And the water.
P: No, it's yucky water and there's sharks in the water and they would bite me and hurt me.
M: Well, I don't think the sharks will get you. But we could dip our toes in.
P: No, Mommy. Not in the water. The sharks would hurt me.
M: Okay, Patrick. Well, there's a pool, too.
P: There's a big storm coming.
M: Yes, there's a big storm coming.
P: But not today.
M: No, not today. It's probably coming tomorrow.
P: [covers his ears]
M: It's okay, it's not storming now. If you wake up and it's storming, you can come get Mommy.
P: The storm will hit the beach house. Not Mommy. Not Patrick. Not Daddy. Not Grandpa. Not Grandma. Not Kevin.
M: Right. The big storm is at the beach.
P: Not today. Tomorrow.
M: Mm-hmm.
P: I want to to go to the beach on Saturday.

I realize this is probably not cute to anyone but me but I think it's adorable.

Posted by Molly at 12:06 AM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | Permalink

To add to to my list of first world problems. This one is actually a small thing in actuality but emotionally, it really sucks and it makes me quite angry.

My insurance is pretty good. It's one of the "golden handcuffs" of my job. Cost me $250 to have Patrick. (If I manage to have another child before July 2012, it will cost $750 and who knows after that, so I'm rapidly losing goodwill for this insurance but whatever.) $20 for a regular office copay. Maternity coverage is such that you pay a $20 copay for your first visit to confirm pregnancy, then everything else is covered at 100% until you get to the hospital. So, yay. Last November, you'll recall, I got a positive pregnancy test, went to Ireland, then scheduled an appointment for Dec. 14, when I'd be about nine weeks pregnant. I went, paid my copay, and then expected that would be it until sometime in July.

My next appointment was delayed due to snow, and eventually came about on Jan. 20. I did NOT pay a copay, as I was on the maternity rider. Except, of course, as I found out at that appointment, I wasn't pregnant anymore. So for my two follow-up appointments over the next two weeks, I had to pay my copay. Which I thought was in poor taste, really, as it was still pregnancy-related, certainly, but I wasn't going to quibble about it. Anyway, eventually that all got sorted out and I went on my merry way.

In July, instead of getting a baby, I got a bill from my doctor's office. It seems that they had decided to adjust my insurance claims. The claims, which had been paid under the maternity coverage, were now re-coded to regular office visits. What this meant was that I would be expected to pay a copay for the Jan. 20 appointment. I think that's a really shitty thing to do to someone who's had a miscarriage, but I don't know who decided to re-code it, and I guess they all have to make their money somehow. So, not THAT big a deal. Except, in their recoding, the doctor's office screwed up and was trying now to charge me for two entire appointments, despite the fact that they had ALREADY BEEN PAID by my insurance company.

I called them up and very politely explained that I had an explanation of benefits from my insurance company that said they could only charge me $20, so I'd appreciate it if they stopped sending me bills for $451.00. The nice lady said, "Oh, I see what's happened, I'll fix it." I then expected to receive a bill for $20 this month. So last week, when I was already quite a fragile flower over Aunt Flo's unwanted arrival, I was not amused to find a bill for $283.00.

It seemed that the nice lady had only fixed one of the appointments. I cried. I am upset that I am not pregnant again yet and money issues ALWAYS upset me, and I do not want to be dealing with this STILL. 

I was all set to call them this morning but I checked my account balance online and they have two outstanding $20 copays. So I'm not sure what the issue is with the billing folks. I guess everything's set but they're still trying to charge me a $20 copay for my very first appointment which I ALREADY PAID. I don't think I feel like pursuing it, but it's ANNOYING.

I'll try to stop bitching soon. I actually want to write a post on religion. Ha. if that isn't something to look forward to, I don't know what is.

Posted by Molly at 11:43 AM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | Permalink

Last week was not one of my best.

Monday - I went to the bank, to deposit, among other things, a check for $1.11. A "partial refund" from our beach week payment because, in the time between paying our first installmant and second installment (I guess?) the sales tax rate that the rental company is allowed to charge us went from 5.75% to 4.75%. They sent a nice letter explaining that they had known this was going to happen, but you see they couldn't DO anything about it, and so they had to accept our whole entire payment but now! Now we get a refund! "This will cost more in gas to get to the bank than it's worth," I grumbled to James. Then, in the parking lot of the bank, I had a fender-bender. The cop said it was a no-fault thing, and the other driver spoke no English and had no driver's license (but not to worry, Other Driver, that's okay if you're on private property!), but no doubt my insurance company will find a way to raise my rates. I wasn't going to even report it, there's not that much damage, and on a Jeep, it makes it look authentic (heh) but apparently the other (UNLICENSED) driver wants my insurance to pay for the damage to her car. I mean, I don't know, if you don't have a license so you follow the law and don't drive, then you wouldn't be involved in fender benders. JUST SAYING. Now I have to deal with insurance and I really don't want to be bothered.

Thursday - I got my period. We'd timed everything properly, during, say, the first week of August, and of course there was no particular reason this cycle should work, but there was no particular reason it shouldn't. I cried. Yet more announcements have been made on Facebook. People who have children that are more than a full year YOUNGER than Patrick have already HAD their second. I have two friends who are baking a third. I am TRYING not to be all "woe is me, pity party, boo hoo" but I had really HOPED to be pregnant by my original due date. Of course I hope everything goes smoothly for all my pregnant (and trying) friends, but you start to get these uncharitable jealous feelings. Why her and not me? Etc.

Undated - This is wholly my own doing, but I have Gained Weight. Not a significant amount, really. I had Lost Weight the first half of 2010. Last June, I was 10 pounds LESS than when I met James and about 25 pounds less than I weighed at our wedding. I was probably still 10 pounds over what I was when I was single and actually worked out regularly, but still. It was a Victory. I gained about five pounds over the winter; we went to Ireland and ate a lot, and I was briefly pregnant. In February, I vowed to lose those five pounds again, started doing Zumba, liked it, felt generally hopeful. HOWEVER. I have gained at least six pounds since then. I have been eating my feelings. Which are depressed, and cake and frosting and cookies and brownies all taste so good, when you're depressed. (Pity party!)

Undated, but dating probably to, say, April 2006 - My dad says the only thing worse than having to go to work is not having work to go to. He's right. 

At least there's Patrick. :)

Posted by Molly at 11:56 AM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | Permalink

We got a lot of blankets as gifts when I was pregnant with Patrick, and when he was born. Some crafty people we knew knitted/crocheted/sewed blankets, some other people bought some, and I found some that I liked and bought them. He doesn't have a shortage of blankets, in other words. When he was maybe a year old, I found one on the 75 percent off clearance shelf at Target. It was a Dwell Studio one, and it was super cute, blue on one side and brown on the other with little rockets appliqued on it. REALLY soft. It was probably MY favorite blanket, because it was $4 and did I mention SOFT. Patrick seemed to like it just fine, but blankets, to him, were sort of interchangeable. He never cared when I would throw one in the wash; he could just pick another one out of the linen closet.

But then, a few months ago, he started preferring a blankie (which he pronounces 'dinky' and it drives. me. nuts.), bringing it downstairs with him when he got up in the morning and asking for it when he went to bed. It was the rocket blanket and I was of course quite pleased that he liked my favorite blanket best too. (Heh.) We made sure to have the rocket ship blankie when we went out to the mountains over the 4th of July (not that it helped with bedtime), and I made sure to pack it it the suitcase a few weeks back when James and Patrick went up to New York to visit Patrick's cousins and assorted relatives.

They had a better weekend than me, but I'm not sure that's saying very much. They returned to North Carolina a day before me, and I got a call at the wedding dinner from a very harried James.

PATRICK'S BLANKET HAD BEEN LEFT BEHIND.

"I managed to calm him down," said James. "I told him you would bring it back when you got off the airplane. But don't worry, I'm sure he'll forget about it, and anyway he's sleeping now so the worst is over."

The next day, I got out of my car, happy to see my boys after my travel hell, and Patrick greeted me with: "MOMMY! Where's my blankie?"

Earlier this year, in a Zulily shopping spree, I had bought a couple of stroller blankets from the Life Is Good brand. I hope that I can use the girl one some day for a little girl, but if not, I figured it would be a good shower gift for somebody. And it was a good deal, and I can't resist a good deal, so I bought a gender neutral/leaning toward boy blanket too. Good thing, as I sidestepped Patrick's queries about his blankie by producing a new! blankie!

This ... sort of worked. Patrick liked his new blankie but he really wanted his other blankie. We told him it was on the airplane. "Way up in the sky?" he asked. He seemed to accept it. Bedtime was, well, no worse than usual. I checked Target for similar blankets; I thought maybe they would have the same one in a different style. No such luck. (BUT! I found some OTHER Dwell Studio blankets on the 75 percent clearance shelf so I picked them up. You know, for shower gifts. Someday. ...) I checked ebay. Success! Well, sort of. It turns out these things are popular (I guess?) because they are, by and large, EXPENSIVE. I found two listings for THE blankie. One was 16.99 (which I think was the original retail price). One was ... $77.98. WTF? For $77.98, it was going to be sorry, Patrick, but I figured I would try to get the 16.99 one. Someone had bid on it, but I guess they weren't too interested, because I got it for $17.49.

Everyone I mentioned this too was skeptical. He would know, they said.

"I never had a security blanket," said my brother, smugly.
"But what about [your stuffed elephants] Brownie and [back-ups/replacements] Pinky and Purplish?" I asked.
"I HATED Pinky and Purplish," spat my brother, who clearly was creative with names in his youth.  

I thought I might be able to get away with it. Since it had only been a favorite for a month or so, it hadn't had time to get worn out in any specific spots. It also washes well. The new blanket arrived on a Saturday morning. We opened it up.

"MY BLANKIE!" yelled Patrick, reaching for it.

(We told him the people on the airplane found it and mailed it to him.)

He hasn't let it out of his reach since. :)

Posted by Molly at 10:26 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | Permalink

Preface: I got there and back, safely, so Yay and all that. If this really is the worst travel weekend ever, I'll take it. But it still sucked.

I was headed to Des Moines. For Sarah's (and Harold's but you know) wedding. As I was waiting and waiting until the last minute to book my tickets to see if the price would drop (it did not), I asked Sarah repeatedly why she couldn't have a destination wedding, to some place someone would actually WANT to go. Ultimately I pricelined a trip and got it $100 cheaper than the going rate, on Delta through Atlanta on the way and Detroit on the way back. My layover in ATL was just 35 minutes, and I was a bit concerned about that, busiest airport and all, lots of terminals. My brother reassured me that I'd be fine, that the volume delays happened once you hit ATL, not before. He took me to the airport (since James had jetted off to Rochester earlier that morning -- a story for another day) and, since he has security clearance, we had lunch together and he delivered me to my gate. We boarded the plane on time, taxied away from the gate, and then the fun began.

We were sitting on the runway (or probably not the official runway, I don't know how these things work, the feeder? whatever) and at first nothing was amiss, even at RDU sometimes there are lines to leave, but then the minutes started creeping by. Eventually the pilot announced that there had been a medical issue, but it was resolved now, and we were back in line for takeoff. And we moved about five feet. Then the pilot announced that there was a thunderstorm just outside Atlanta, so the FAA had issued a groundstop. "We're going to take you back to a gate, but we're just going to park there until we get an update in 45 minutes. No one's getting off." Yaaay. I texted Kevin. He replied that flight tracker was showing we were halfway to Atlanta. No such luck. He checked my connecting flight and luckily it was also delayed. Still hope! The pilot came back on and said that there was still no update, and they were going to let people get off the plane if they wanted BUT STAY IN THE GATE AREA. Some people had already determined they were going to miss their connection, so they got off to rebook or whatever. About five minutes after they let people off the plane, when it was starting to get quite uncomfortably hot just sitting there, the pilot announced that the groundstop had been lifted and we were going to leave momentarily, so everyone had to get back on. We left Raleigh about an hour late.

We touched down in Atlanta about 4 pm -- 25 minutes after my flight to Des Moines was supposed to leave originally. Kevin was on hand to text me, however, and let me know that it was now delayed until 5 pm "so you should be fine." But ALAS. We had landed but were now sitting on the runway going nowhere AGAIN. After a while, the pilot announced: "Folks, I'm sorry for the delay but someone on a plane up ahead of us got up to use the bathroom when they weren't supposed to." Seriously? SERIOUSLY? Finally we started moving. About 4:20 we rolled up to our gate.

It was closed.

"As you may have noticed, there's lightning in the area," said our helpful pilot. "But the whole airport is experiencing this, so you may still be able to make your connections." My brother opined: "They never close the ramp for US when it storms."

Another 15 minutes elapsed. Finally the ramp opened and we de-planed. We were told to try to make our connecting flights. We had landed at B3. My connection to DSM, Kevin had informed me, was leaving from, I believe, C27. Of course this was a whole terminal away, AT THE OTHER END OF THE TERMINAL. I should mention, here, that I had worked in the morning, and I wanted to look decent when I arrived in DSM, so I was wearing a skirt and platform heels.

As I was racing past the giant TV screens of arrivals and departures, I noticed that my flight was boarding. Things appeared to be going my way -- I made the inter-terminal train, and a nice guy helped me get my bag up the giant escalator. As I got to the mid-point of Terminal C, however, I noticed that the departures board was now showing my flight CLOSED. I thought it was a bit odd that they hadn't, you know, paged me or something, since they knew I was at the airport, on their own stupid Delta flight from RDU. Nonetheless, I continued to my gate. I arrived at 4:54. The plane was still there. (Kevin told me later it didn't actually push back from the gate until 5:08.) I went to the next gate, where there was actually a gate agent.

"Did the flight to Des Moines already leave?" I, Captain Obvious, asked. Sweat trickled down my back.

"Yep, it's gone," said the surly gate agent. She did however take my boarding pass and look me up in the computer. Things did not improve. "You need to go to customer service," she said. "They had re-booked you through Minneapolis, but that flight left at 4:48."

DELTA IS STUPID.

Before making my way to customer service, I got my flip flops out of my bag. At least I was prepared. And I no longer cared about looking cute. At customer service, the supremely bored customer service agent explained that they hadn't held the plane for me (or the three other passengers that were trying to make the same connection) because they'd re-booked me (us) without having bothered to, I don't know, MENTION THAT FACT. The customer service agent made some calls. "I can get you on a flight to Memphis, connecting to Des Moines. But they're overbooked, so I don't know if you'll make it on, and there's weather in Memphis." Why, YES, that sounds like a good plan. Also, MEMPHIS IS STUPID. There was a direct flight to Des Moines leaving at 9. It would get me in only an hour later than the connection through Memphis. I asked if she could put me on it. She did.

I got dinner. I finished my book that was supposed to last me the whole trip, and that I had just started on the flight from RDU. The airport was FULL of people who were dealing with their own hellish travel delays. There was nowhere to sit. We'd had a gate assigned to our flight since about 6pm, back in Terminal B, but the previous flight leaving from that gate (to Tallahassee) was delayed. So around 8:30 they announced a gate change. To Terminal A. All of us who had been sitting there for HOURS raced to Terminal A since we were supposed to be boarding at this point. We got to the gate. And that's when they put up the "delayed" sign on the board at the gate.

Luckily (?) we were only delayed about a half-hour at that point and made it to Des Moines at 10:50 local time. I think Sarah should have just eloped. But the wedding (ceremony) was nice.

On the way back, I got up at 4:45am. I had just gone to bed at 1:45ish. My flight was supposed to leave at 6:28, and was on time when I checked in at 5:30. (Imagine my surprise that there was a LINE at security in DES MOINES at the CRACK OF DAWN.) When I got to my gate (one of eight in the whole airport), I noticed that the flight was still showing "on time" but suddenly "on time" was 7:10 am.

"Mechanical issues," announced the gate agent, rebooking me on United to Chicago at 8:05 and then American from Chicago to RDU. Mechanical issues, at least, get you a meal voucher ($6) and since they were booking me on a different airline, I got a voucher for future travel ($50)(that'll go far...). I went over to the United gate. I stopped for a mocha and a muffin, which made me like Delta a bit more. About 7:15 a gate agent arrived over there, and promptly switched the "delayed" sign on.

"Weather in Chicago," he said. "It'll be about an hour. You'll definitely miss your connection to RDU, and then the next flight out isn't until 10pm. You might want to go back to Delta and see if they can help you."

I trotted back over to Delta. The sign was now showing an "on-time" departure of 8:15. There was still a massive line. I called customer care. She booked me on the next flight to Detroit (my original connection) leaving at 10:05am, then a flight to RDU at 2. I still had to go up to the gate to get my boarding passes printed, since they don't have kiosks at DSM. At the gate, one agent said to the other, "Just put her back on the original flight, it's going to go soon." They did that. I went to buy James and Patrick some cow tipping t-shirts and settled in at the gate. Just in time for the next announcement: "Well, folks, they're telling us it's a minor mechanical issue, it'll take about 10 minutes to fix. ... But that's what they've been saying all morning. So we'll change the departure time to 9 and try for that." (Still showing "on-time.")

At 9, an automated announcement came over the loudspeaker. It informed us that our flight had been delayed. THANKS, DELTA. I went BACK up to the gate, and asked if I could get a seat on the 10:05, as people were arriving for that and it was all set to go. (I would never have thought to do this, but I heard the gate agent doing it for people.) She gave me the last seat on the 10:05 and assured me that I would be on whichever flight left first.

Which was the 10:05 flight, at 10:05. The 6:28 flight was still delayed, and I have no idea if/when they took off. The rest of my trip was uneventful. Haaaaa.

Posted by Molly at 5:00 PM EDT

Updated: Fri 08/05/2011 11:05 AM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | Permalink

I say "thingy" a lot. Patrick has started saying "thingy." It amuses me. He also asks me to plug things out (rather than unplug), and when he's looking for something, he says, "[Object/Person], WHERE ARE YOU?" I think that one's cute.

+++

Patrick has always been a pretty good sleeper, at least after about the first three months, which I think I may have blocked out. I know at four months he was only waking up once, which counts as winning in my book. Anyway, this makes it difficult when he has stretches of not sleeping as well. This week, he has been waking up every morning at 3 a.m. He goes back to sleep after a while but once got up for good at 5:45 and today (SATURDAY) he was ready to go at 7. Prior to this week, he would regularly sleep until 8:30, when I sometimes had to wake him up. So I'm hopeful this is just a phase.

This morning, at 3, when he woke up (I headed toward his room and found him sitting with his blankie three stairs from the top, whimpering), he wanted to go to the kitchen and get some juice. I put him down by the door so he could look out the window at the moon, since I'd tried unsuccessfully to convince him yesterday that it was still nighttime when the moon was out (heh). This time, he said: "Mommy, LOOK! The moon is out! It's bright! It's not behind the trees! It's pretty. I like it. ... Can we go in the living room and turn on the TV and watch the monkey?"

Full disclosure: I have given in to that one before, but I didn't this time. He got his juice and went back to sleep.

+++

Patrick is not so much potty trained these days as he is housebroken. He likes to relieve himself on the deck. It's better than his pants, but it's not exactly ideal. And yes, I know it's totally our fault for telling him if he was playing outside and didn't want to come in, he could go peepee outside. Still, it's better than going in his pants. Hopefully he'll make the transition to the potty when it gets cold outside...

+++

I had a dentist appointment on Wednesday. For those of you who don't know me, I have an actual phobia about the dentist. I know nobody (or at least most people) particularly likes going to the dentist, but there have been years when I have avoided it because I have this irrational fear about it. Anyway I've been going to this same dentist for about four years now (...sporadically) so I guess it's as close as I going to get to a dentist I like. I had an appointment in January, which I had postponed from November, as we were in Ireland at the time. You may recall that in January, I (thought I) was (still) pregnant. My OB had said it was fine to go to the dentist. In fact, they encouraged it, because babies leech calcium and such from teeth. So off I went. My dentist freaked.

"Well, they might tell them in medical school that it's okay, but they tell us in dental school it's not okay to see patients in the first or third trimester," the hygienist said. Now, I have heard you're not supposed to get work done, but it was just a cleaning. I had the okay from the OB. My dentist asked if I could get something faxed over; I did. They still wouldn't clean my teeth. It was supremely frustrating because I'd actually kept this appointment, which is a big deal to me, and then they were going to make me come back. In a week. Because in a week it would be okay. So, fine, whatever, I rescheduled.

And then I ended up in the ER the day before my rescheduled appointment. I suppose technically I was out of the hospital by the time my appointment rolled around but yeah ... no way was I going there. They were very understanding. I was further annoyed (irrationally) about the postponement because the baby, it turns out, had already died, so they could have cleaned my damn teeth after all.

Posted by Molly at 8:30 AM EDT

Updated: Fri 03/10/2023 11:48 AM EST

Share This Post

Post Comment | Permalink

Is Evil, Basically.

For me, it goes something like this:

1DPO: Well, I bet that didn't work. Another month, wasted.
2DPO: [checks due date calculator, just in case]
3-4DPO: Ho hum.
5DPO: Is that an implantation dip? [googles implantation dip; it's inconclusive]
6DPO: [while bored at work, peruses twoweekwait.com, retroactively assigns symptoms to the past 5 days]
7DPO: Well, I HAVE been really emotional lately. And if vivid dreams are a sign of pregnancy, then maybe...
8DPO: It's too early to test. If I test now it will be negative. But then that could be a false negative, because it's too early to test.
9DPO: I think my boobs are sore.
10DPO: It's probably still too early to test. I could drop by the dollar store and get a cheapie one. Then it won't be expensive or anything.
11DPO: [goes to dollar store. finds ONE ovulation predictor stick and NO pregnancy tests]
12DPO: Well, either my period is about to start or else I'm pregnant.
13DPO: Spotting...that could go either way.
14DPO: [AF arrives]

Currently 5DPO. (I think. BBT: a post for another day.) Emotional. Sigh.

Posted by Molly at 8:56 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | Permalink

Patrick is two and a half today. People keep telling me I need to provide him a sibling. This is what I get for not telling people I was pregnant last year. It turns out I tend to agree with these people, but I am really starting to get tired of hearing it. If it had gone as (I) planned, Patrick would be a big brother in one month's time. Of course, he's perfectly happy to still be an only, and as James pointed out, I wouldn't want to be pregnant in this heat. Which is true, but I'd rather be pregnant in this heat than not. ANYWAY.

Patrick is about the same as he was the last time I tried to post an update, ha. He's getting taller, I think. I don't really notice but people who don't see him every day seem to think he is longer and leaner so I'll take their word for it. He still can fit into 18-24 month stuff easily and yesterday he was wearing 12-18 month pants. He has an ADORABLE outfit that I love, sized 2T, and it just swims on him.

Patrick is wearing big boy undies (almost) full-time now. He's a smart kid, and he figured that he could just go in his pull-ups, so he did. Thus, no more pull-ups. This unfortunately means way more laundry but on the other hand, no more diapers to buy. I wouldn't be doing this yet (probably) except he seems to be 95% potty trained at daycare. His teacher told me this morning that while they were outside on the playground last week, Patrick decided he had to go, so he ... went. On the playground. This is my/our fault. If he's outside, I tell him to drop his pants and go. I figure if he's able to identify the urge, that counts for me. Plus, his 4-year-old buddy next door goes in the woods. Sorry about that, Patrick, hope you didn't get into too much trouble at daycare.

Speaking of daycare. Patrick HATES it. Or, he hates getting dropped off. I THINK he's okay once he's gotten used to it. But he asks me every day if he can stay home with me and says he doesn't want to go to daycare. Since I know exactly how he feels, it is becoming increasingly harder to go to work. We have a routine in the mornings: Patrick gets up and asks immediately for "monkey snacks" and his lawn mower. He usually gets his monkey (fruit) snacks while he watches the monkey. (Curious George. PBS.) He now knows that we have episodes of CG and Dinosaur Train on DVR so once the monkey is all done, he asks for Dinosaur Train. We usually have to put that off until the evening, because I'm already so late as it is. (At the end of the Dinosaur Train theme song, the dinosaur on the wide load car roars. Patrick covers his ears in preparation halfway through the song. Every time. It's cute.) Then he has toast or "waffle toast" (what I cleverly called Eggos to get him to try one -- it worked) and then we get dressed (with much wailing and gnashing of teeth) and then we make my coffee and we go.

Patrick made me coffee last night in the bathtub. He poured it from one container to the other and then he gave us both a cup, but he cautioned me that it was hot, and then he took a sip anyway and yelped that he burned his tongue. Then he made me take a sip. I'm not quite sure what to make of this child. Ha.

Patrick continues to like sweet things. Not so much vegetables, except tomatoes. Wait, do those count as a vegetable? I mean, technically it's a fruit but it's not sweet. I think for my purposes that counts. He'll usually eat bananas, and he loves blueberries. He shares my fondness for frosting. Whenever I make cupcakes, he licks all the frosting off and comes back for more.

We still have to read the "Easter book" followed by the "Santa book" every single night. Then I have to go to sleep with him. He makes me stay off his side of the bed. While I do miss my free time, I have to admit I like it when he falls asleep next to me. Or on me. There's not much better than a sleeping toddler on your chest. :)

Posted by Molly at 4:28 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | Permalink

I was putting Patrick to bed tonight and told him I loved him, and he said, "I love you, Mommy." It was the cutest thing EVER.

Posted by Molly at 10:32 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | Permalink