Sunday, February 28, 2010

adios, abuelos

The-departure-that-shall-not-be-mentioned has happened. It shall not be mentioned because I'd rather not start up the waterworks again. There were enough tears this morning at 7am as I sat on the bottom step, baby in arms, back patting toddler at my side, crying my ever-loving eyes out as they drove on down the road. It was a similar scene to the one 17 months ago, when I sat on the same step with the same heart ache and same sad tears with a newborn Mister A in my arms as we watched the Super Shuttle pull away toward the airport with Grandma inside. But today, with J away (on his way home from a wedding in Dallas), a baby fussing to be fed, and a 17 month old growing more concerned with each tear I cried, the mourning period was a very short one. On the outside at least.

So much for that non-mention. ::choking sobs::

Anyway, we made the most of Grandma and Grandpa's last days here with fun activities that are already very special memories.

Grandma introduced A to Legos:

We took Miss V on her first trip to Zilker Park to walk the trail:

...and then to the playground, where Anderson played music:

...and flirted with girls:

...and ate rocks while looking hilariously mischievous.

So with that, we're on our own, just the four of us, sink or swim. If you don't hear from me for a week or two, assume I've been eaten alive by the babies. Send help.

To Binky Boy, my baby brother Michael: HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Welcome to your 20s. Can't wait to hear all about Dublin!

To Nicole and Chantry, who asked about the adorable pom-pom hat on Miss V: it belongs to the photographer. I emailed her to find out where she got it, and I'll let you know. Thanks for your sweet comments and encouragement!

Thursday, February 25, 2010

good, bad, ugly

Let's start with the good, shall we?

Brandy sent me the rest of the images from our session, and I absolutely loved what I saw. They're fun and bright and casual and oh-so-us. Much as I typically bemoan my unsightly long tootsies, the family foot pic just makes me swoon. All the more so because A's upside down. Hello, uncooperative toddlerhood.

There's more good. After a cozy snowy Monday, the sun came out over Austin and blessed us once again with more typical bright and mild winter days that remind me why I love our city so, so much. Anderbug and J and I visited a pre-school and have him enrolled starting this fall, which excites and saddens me all at once. The social interaction will be so good for him, the teachers and director strike me as loving and kind, and the break will be so good for me ... but of course, there's sadness that my tiny little man will be trekking off on adventures of his own two days a week, a little less dependent on mommy, a little closer to official big-boy-hood and college and moving away and not calling home often enough for my liking. However, it's still so good, and I'm so happy to have found a great program for him. More good : J brought home tulips for me, I fit into a few of my pre-pregnancy clothes (no, Sara, not my size 4 A&F pants, I'm talking stretchy elasticized items), and most good of all is that Vivi continues to be a total sweetheart baby. Content, happy, alert, cuddly, and just all around deliciously and girlishly adorable.


So now, let's move on to the bad. The clock is ticking toward Sunday, and that's very very bad. My parents leave Sunday. My mom has been a live-in nanny, cook, cleaner, and therapist (as needed). And they're leaving for a far away land, which leaves me here in babyland. Alone many hours a day, many days a week. With two children 17 months and under. Color me SCARED.


The ugly. Oh, how very ugly last night was. Ugggggly. It started around 5pm. Mom left for the airport to pick up dad (he had gone back up north for work). "Bah-ma" (A-speak for "Grandma") had barely clicked the front door closed and hell, my friends, hell broke LOOSE up in here. The Mister, in his high chair for dinner, started screaming. I sat beside him trying to coax some dinner into his mouth. Anything that hit his tray hit the floor. A repeat attempt to set cheese on his tray sent cheese flying at the wall. I got really brave (or dumb) and pushed a spoonful of toddler goulash toward his mouth. It didn't end up in his mouth. Most of it ended up in my lap, where his baby sister lay peacefully snoozing. Oh, fantastic, a goulash sprinkled infant. Dinner over, because once he sends food flying, he's done. I tried to clean the baby (and the floor and the table and the wall - also casualties of flying goulash) as A sat in his chair crying hysterically, big crocodile tears trailing down his face. The noise made Miss V cry, and the sight of BOTH of my babies crying and me with just one pair of arms and a decision to make as far as who needed soothing most urgently made me cry. So there we all sat, a'cryin' in the kitchen. I took a few deep breaths, pulled it together, left the goulash to stain the tile grout, and we trekked upstairs to tackle the bath and bed routine. This part went okay. Vivi loves her vibrating bouncy chair and was content to sit quietly while her brother bathed and we read books and at long last, he was put to bed. But the ugliness? Not over.

4am, and A's up. He's crying harder than I've heard him cry in a long while. J goes in to his room to soothe and runs back out to alert me that poor Bug is burning up. Fantastic. Sure enough, after riling him up even MORE with a super fun prodding with the trusty butt thermometer, we find he's rocking a 102 fever. (Which I'm certain is a result of the teething he's doing, no matter how many times his pedi says teething does not equal fever, ever.) We no sooner got him calmed and hydrated and into cooler pajamas ... and you guessed it ... screaming from the other room. V wanted in on the pre-dawn action, apparently. Poopy pants and a bottle and that same bottle thrown right back up onto J, who had just crawled back into bed and wanted to cuddle his little girl and instead ended up soaked and smelling like sour milk. (Okay, and if I'm being honest, left me a smidge grateful he had been holding her when this happened. Ha.) Next thing I remember is waking with a jolt at 7:10am ... thirty short minutes before we're due at Miss V's 7:40am two-week pediatrician check up at the pedi's office 20 minutes away. Which we made it to by the grace of God (and by the efforts of three adults wrangling two small children while I dressed and threw a bag together and made a bottle and grabbed something caffeinated and dug my wallet out from under a pile of laundry in the wash room and found my cell phone which inexplicably had been stashed in a reusable grocery bag and dashed to the car and navigated rush hour traffic on I-35 holding back tears as Miss V cried in the back seat, ready for her bottle RIGHT THAT VERY SECOND and TOTALLY NOT AMUSED BY THIS OUTING AT ALL). And once at the office and seated in the exam room, when our kind pediatrician came into the room with a casual "hey, how are you doing?" .... the waterworks began. Mine, not Vivian's. (Ahhhh, post partum hormones, please leave now.) Thankfully, Dr. C is also a mom of two kids born less than two years apart and remembered well the early frantic days of dual motherhood, so she didn't call CPS and tell them she had a loon in her office, she just handed me a tissue and gave me a hug and promised me better days were ahead. Maybe not more sane days for a while at least, but days that didn't start with so much drama.


So there you have it. Good, bad, or ugly - even in the midst of so much chaos I never lose sight of how very fortunate we are to HAVE this chaos. It's all part of the experience, and when these days are gone (in the blink of an eye, I know full well), I'll miss them so.

Saturday, February 20, 2010

hello from babyland

Hello, neglected blog. Get in line behind the neglected emails, neglected UsWeekly, and neglected hair washing. As should be completely obvious to anyone with a brain, we're a little busy 'round these parts. And we've still got Grandma here helping with the daily ins and outs and toddler wrangling. I hyperventilate a little thinking about her leaving, as I have a feeling the word BUSY will be taking on a whole new meaning when I'm left solo with two little ones demanding my attention, three naughty pets doing their part to not help out, a husband putting in the required hours to feed and care for said little ones and furry ones and mama one, and a whole house in need of running. We're just going to pretend that whole "grandma leaving" thing is not happening for now. Denial is my friend.

Vivian's a week and one day old today, on what was her official due date. She's continuing her quest to hijack A's reigning title of "easiest baby ever". (I fully realize I may jinx myself by saying that.) She eats well, sleeps well, and other than the aforementioned distaste of undressing and diaper changing, she doesn't ever put up much of a fuss about anything. She's alert, though- if she thinks there's action going on she might be missing out on, she's all big blue eyes and curious little ears.

V's first week has been well documented by two very talented photogs. First, we had my friend Brandy of Brandy Leigh Photography come over. Brandy's breaking into the business and is as sweet and funny as she is talented. From what I've seen so far (see the sneak preview here), she really captured V's budding personality and will have no trouble getting her photography business of the ground with skills like that! Second, we had a fun, cozy session with Mary Stone, a photographer my mom hired to do photos as a wonderful surprise baby gift. We met with Mary yesterday morning and were totally blown away by the preview she showed us last night (there were tears, people, lots and lots of mascara ruining tears). Here are a few of the images that took my breath away:

peaceful V

my littles

this one just "gets" our A

three generations

miss bee, tolerating nudity momentarily for art's sake

and mister bug, suddenly all boy, no baby

Wednesday, February 17, 2010


Monday came, and it was time to head home from our hospital "vacation". We were ready. I was missing A and the screaming newbie who'd moved into the room next door overnight had us longing for our quiet bedroom at home. As much as I knew I'd miss my room service and ice machine (that hospital ice is scrumptious) I couldn't wait to show Vivian her new home and start getting into our new-normal routine.

Miss V slept all the way home, even as I pointed out the sights outside her window.

Downtown Austin didn't impress her much. Come on Vivi! You're a native Austinite, show some pride!

Big brother was napping when we got home, but we surprised him when he woke up by coming in to say hello. He seemed a little surprised that the "thing" from the hospital was in his room, and had to take a closer look to investigate.

He thought her giraffe hat was pretty neat ...

So he decided to try it on for size. Fail.

Daddy stepped in to help A take a closer look at baby sister.

And Mister decided to poke her in the mouth.

In the end, he offered up one of his trademark Anderbug nuzzles. A seal of approval, A's way of saying "okay ... let's keep her".

Things are great at home. V's a fantastic sleeper so far, it's actually me waking her at night to feed her. She's calm and cool except for when it's time for a diaper and clothing change, then she's outraged and kicks and screams and throws a big dramatic fit until she's once again properly clothed and wrapped in something warm. Cliche as it sounds, we're more in love with her every minute. A's doing well, 17 months old today! He's a little defiant at times (like this morning when HIS grandma tried to hold and feed the baby ... he was NOT impressed and let Grandma know it by yanking a handful of her hair), but overall he's his sweet and happy self and I'm so very proud of how well he's handling the changes.

So there you have it. We're home, we're good, we're not (yet) sleep deprived or overwhelmed. There's a happy sense of calm in our house and most certainly in my heart.

Monday, February 15, 2010

vivian's story

Sunday, February 14 ... Vivian is 60 hours old.

Since Miss V's snoozing peacefully in my lap and J left to go shower at home (where he can use a towel that's bigger than a postage stamp and not constructed of sandpaper), I wanted to take the time to write up my memories from Friday. This isn't so much "super entertaining blog material I think anyone would care about" as it is "I know I'll forget half of this within a week when sleep deprivation causes new mommy amnesia so I better write it down". And since it's my blog, I'll be boring and self indulgent if I want to. If you're not up for a novel, you can just scroll down, look at pictures and tell me how cute my kids (OMG! PLURAL!) are. Or go back to watching the Olympics. Whatever. Here goes ....

Friday, February 12, 2010.
The birth story of Vivian Jenae.

I was up every hour between midnight and our 4:00am alarm. I was relatively comfortable and not at all nervous, but just much too excited about the coming day to sleep soundly. Every time I woke I thought "please please please be 4:00 now", until finally, I looked at the clock and it was 3:57am. Good enough. I got up, woke J with a kiss on the cheek, and whispered into his ear "it's Bumblebee time!" We got ready, gathered our things, tip-toed down the stairs so not to wake A or the family, and were pulling out of the driveway just four minutes after our scheduled 4:40 departure time. It was so unlike the last morning we drove off to meet our baby (A's September birth morning was in the upper 80s before 8am, sun already baking hot as we walked into the hospital). This morning was cold and our breath hung in the darkness. I-35 was wet and eerily deserted as we drove through downtown, too anxious and excited to talk much, other than me telling J to drive a little faster and him telling me (politely) that I was welcome to drive if I'd like to. Point taken.

We finally made it to the hospital, so strange and quiet at 5:00 am, and went through the check-in process. Afterwards we were taken upstairs, then to the pre-operative area by our nurse. I was still feeling calm, but after about an hour of preparation, question answering, anesthesia discussing, and IV-getting, the nerves really kicked in. I wasn't nervous about anything in particular- just jittery. As the nurse anesthetist talked to me, that jittery feeling turned into feeling dizzy and that turned into feeling like I'd had one margarita too many and was going to pass out or throw up or shout something wildly inappropriate. I laid down for awhile and started to improve ... until we went to walk into the OR. I had to say goodbye to J in the hall (he'd be brought in with my doctor just prior to the surgery), and after we kissed goodbye in the hallway and I left him standing there in his white surgical 'bunny suit' ... I just kind of lost it. I've never had an anxiety attack before, but that's definitely what happened as I walked into that bright, freezing cold room full of strangers and was helped onto the surgical table. It was not a sensation I'd like to ever feel again, because I felt really out of control and alone and terrified in those minutes. I just kept repeating "I'm sorry, I'm so scared, I'm sorry". Everyone was so kind, reassuring me that it was okay to be nervous, but to focus on the very exciting fact that within a half hour, I'd meet my daughter. Dr. S came in at this point and wiped tears from my face while reassuring me that I was safe, I was cared for, my baby and I were both going to be fine and to just get excited now, because we'd come a long way to get to this point. I remember telling him I had to be okay, begging him- I had to be okay for Anderson, I needed to be Anderson's mommy, so please not to let anything happen to me because I love him so. In Dr. S's mellow, calming way, he got me breathing again and feeling ready to do this. J came in around this point, and we were ready to start. It all happened so quickly from there.

The next thing I remember clearly is our beautiful Vivian, making her arrival. With a whole lot of excited cheer on the other end of the curtain, she was pulled out to meet the world on this February morning. Up over the curtain she was lifted, all pink arms and pink legs flailing, bright pink scrunched face screaming and screaming. I was sobbing, of course, so relieved and in awe and so eager to have her brought to me, to kiss her face and feel her skin and take in the enchanting first few moments of her life, to show her my face and assure her that her mommy was right there, that I would keep her safe in this bright cold new place. I thought she looked so TINY! Everyone kept exclaiming about her size, how big she was and especially for an early gestational age, and I kept thinking "what? No! She's little!" They brought her to my face and it goes without saying - I was flooded, positively swallowed up by instantaneous life long love for this tiny little person. She looked nothing like what I'd expected, with the hair and the not humungous head. But at the same time, I looked into those deep blue eyes and recognized her soul as part of us, accepted her as a part of my heart let out, set free into the world, a mind of her own now. Our Bumblebee, the baby sister, the best happy surprise of our life, our Vivian.

Her first two and a half days have been cozy and calm, the three of us nestled into our hospital room, away from the hustle and bustle of outside world things that go on without us knowing or caring. Any doubt I had about loving another as much as the first ... so long gone. It's true, what they told me (talking to you, Cari and Sara and Sarah and Lisa and all my other mom-of-two friends)- your heart just expands, it doubles, there's room for both of my babies.

My recovery has been obnoxiously easy. I'd heard horror stories of c-section #2 being awful after an easy first c-section ... not at all the case for me. I remain an avowed lover of the c-sections. Sure, there's pain here and there, but I was up and walking by Friday afternoon, showered Saturday morning with hair done and makeup on, and it's been relatively smooth sailing since then. (Minus a milk of magnesia OD by a nurse overly eager to see me, um, function properly in the bathroom area. Do NOT OD on the milk of magnesia. I won't tell you what happens ... but trust me, you DON'T want too much of that stuff and particularly not within hours of bedtime. Yikes.)

Back to Bumblebee, the sweet Miss V - she's so different than her brother was. Girly. Her squeaks and squeals are so much more delicate than the sniffles and grunts I remember of her brother (when he made any noise at all, that is). Her screams are rare, but when undressed and left exposed to the cold air for more than the acceptable V standard of 2.2 seconds, her cries are frantic and high pitched and very "STOP WHAT YOU'RE DOING BECAUSE YOU'RE MAKING VIVI VERY ANGRY! DON'T ANGER MISS V!" We laugh because she sounds like a very mad kitten, her sweet faced adorability far outweighing the seriousness of her screeching.

Her brother's brief daily visits have gone well, but he'll likely not understand the permanence of this situation until she arrives home, infiltrates "his" space, wakes him with her cries. Here, when he visits the hospital, a HUNDRED things are more interesting than the little pink bundle atop mom's bed. Ice cubes, plastic spoons, closet doors, his own feet. This is okay, this is expected, that loving boy of mine will soon enough take notice and begin to love baby sister on his own terms. And it brings tears to my eyes to know what a gift she'll someday be to him (and him to her) as they share their lives ... blanket forts and secrets and rolled eyes across the dinner table when mom and dad are being dorks (again). My prayer is that they cherish one another as I cherish my brother and sister, as J cherishes his own baby sister.

It's so obvious by this point to say how amazingly blessed I am- but I AM and I think of it throughout each day- what spectacular blessings these babies are to us! How phenomenally lucky to have come so far from those long ago days of pain and longing. How fulfilled I feel, how surrounded by love, how in awe of the true world-altering miracle that happens in the middle of a hospital in the middle of a city as everyone else just marches along with everyday business.

So now, a few first photos of Vivian Jenae's birth day:

Sunday, February 14, 2010

v's first valentine

Happy Valentine's Day, all! Vivian wanted to say hello and assure everyone we're all doing fine. Mama's recovering exceptionally well, Vivi's sleeping for nice long stretches, then eating and doing her best to gain back that birth weight. Daddy's surviving the lumpy hospital room couch and spending a whole lot of time doting on "his girls". Big brother A was here earlier to visit, and "helped" feed V a bottle. Through her forehead. She'll be a hardy girl, our Vivian.

Though in years past I was a declared non-fan of the Valentine's Day holiday, I'm hereby changing my tune. This day is pretty sweet with a most beautiful little blessing as our Valentine.

Happy Valentine's Day ... xoxo.

Friday, February 12, 2010

Thursday, February 11, 2010

38 weeks

38 weeks pregnant with Anderson:

And 16 3/4 months later ....

38 weeks pregnant, with Anderson:


Wednesday, February 10, 2010

48 hours

It's 7:33am. In exactly 48 hours, assuming all goes as planned and the notoriously behind-schedule Dr. S doesn't manage to get behind schedule by 7:30am, it will be Bumblebee time. That really, truly makes my head spin with emotions. Excitement, anxiety, relief, disbelief, fear, hope, giddiness, and an unbelievable amount of gratitude. It wasn't that long ago that I wondered if I'd ever have a baby. I was sick with doubt and grief and trepidation. So even now, in these last weeks, as I cried and complained about one painful pregnancy side effect or another, bemoaned the loss of my ankle bones and ability to fit into the last of my maternity wardrobe, as I tossed and turned and spent mid-night hours sitting at the kitchen table staring out into the yard as I waited for the heartburn to subside .... in the back of my head this voice was saying "Enjoy this. Cherish this. Remember how very fortunate you are to experience this."

So I lay here in bed this morning, listening to my boys in the bathroom. A's shouting and squealing as J does some silly thing to entertain him, and I feel so very blessed to have them both. Ridiculously blessed, in fact, when I realize that 48 short hours will turn three into four, bring THAT much more happiness and laughter into this house, give us a daughter who will teach us all sorts of new things about parenthood and patience and all things pink. Our Bumblebee, at last, will be here.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

bug's first haircut

This morning was spent prettying ourselves up to meet Miss Bee. Mama got a long overdue pedicure, and the Mister got his very first haircut. (J got nothing to pay for it all. I told him he's just too darn good looking already.)

The pedicure? Happy experience, even if the sweet little pedicure lady made me self conscious before I left by clucking her tongue and saying "next time we color brows! Brows too light! No good!" (Vanity dinged, I drove straight to Ulta, where I brought a brow highlighter and a new mascara for good measure.)

The haircut? A decidedly UNhappy experience. Anderbug was intrigued at first. There was a fire truck chair with a bell, an Elmo movie playing on the wall, and a variance in the no-candy-for-A ordinance when we handed him a sugary DumDum for distraction. So for a moment, he was cautious but content:

Then the scissor came out. Cautious contentment turned into "OMG! HELP! HEEEEEELP!!!! THIS STRANGE LADY IS TOUCHING ME WITH A SHARP THING AND WHOSE STUPID IDEA WAS THIS ANYWAY?!?!" (Daddy's idea, A. Really. Mama would never torture you like this just for the sake of beauty. Nope. Not your mama, never.)

(Okay, fine, it was all my idea. I'm sure yall are shocked.)

But see how worthy the 10 minutes of torture was? Though it pains me a bit to see the trim aged him a good half year, I happen to think he's even more handsome looking clean cut and all big brotherly.

Now, some rest and relaxation as I enjoy my last Sunday of "me and the boys".

Saturday, February 6, 2010


The days are seriously flying by. And every new day I get, all at once, a little MORE excited about meeting Miss Bee and a little MORE panicky/weepy/nostalgic about the end of Mister's days as my solo sidekick. We spent his last non-big-brother Saturday being very busy. The bank, the store, a very fun first birthday party for a very sweet little friend, a very short nap (*see paragraph 2), a very non-attention-holding Baby Einstein DVD (my lame attempt at extending my "feet up" time after said short nap) before I sucked it up and hauled him around the 'hood for a half hour in the wagon, blowing my cankles up to never before seen proportions but making the little man very, very happy. And really, what matters more than that?

About that "very short nap" part? Here's a tip, moms: remove ALL noise making books from your child's room. Or run them over with your car, your choice. A's got one where the last page features flies that light up and buzz when you open that page. A whole lot of fun during waking hours, NOT so fun when it decides to randomly go off over and over AND OVER AGAIN 45 minutes into a much-needed nap. Game. Over. I nearly wept.

Here's the Mister, just being all kinds of adorable in his new "skinny jeans" and making me all kinds of emotional about how my teeny tiny baby boy turned into a DUDE. (Okay, a dude with chubby-wubby toddler feet ... but still ... oh-so-dude-ish.)

seriously? is he 1.5 or 15?

'boys blowin' up our phones, phones'

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

where's your foot?

There's no better job than this mommy job. Some days are long and restless, some days try my patience and test my sanity, some days I daydream about putting on fancy clothes and driving away to a fancy office where nobody smears boogers on my pants and I don't say things like "no, no, kitties don't belong in the dishwasher".

But most days? I couldn't imagine doing anything other than this, couldn't imagine missing a silly game of 'where's your foot' for anything in the world. There's nothing that could possibly bring me more joy than these little perks of the job- chubby little feet and pure happy laughs.

I feel so fortunate. Unshowered, unfancy, underpaid .... but oh, so fortunate to do this job.

Monday, February 1, 2010

january showers

April showers, we all know, bring May flowers. Yesterday, we learned that January showers bring ... meltdowns of monumental proportions.

Late yesterday morning, the three of us were slumming around in pajamas, as per our long awaited "slumming it Sunday" plans. I was working on e-filing our taxes, the boys were making a whole bunch of noise for the sake of noisemaking because they're boys. J decided to shower. A threw a fit because ... well, because that's what toddlers with lingering colds DO. I suggested that J take A with him into the shower. J looked at me like I'd suggested he run down the street with my underpants on his head. When I explained that the steamy shower might be helpful for A's stuffy nose, and reminded him how much the little guy likes water, he headed off to the bathroom with A on his heels. For 15 minutes or so, I had peace and quiet to keep working on taxes read blogs and stalk people on Facebook because taxes are boring.

Then, the shower shut off. Screaming started. And continued. Aaaaaaand continued. I stared at the ceiling for a few minutes with a pillow muffling the noise, and finally decided it was worth my while to investigate, even if getting off the couch was a 10 minute exercise in awkwardness. I waddled in and was relieved to see that nobody was injured, A was just very upset about the end of shower time. He laid there on the bathroom rug, red faced and kicking at the air. He continued to scream and cry until we finally decided the child needed a nap, usual nap time be damned.

So he slept, and we expected him to wake up with a fresh perspective (meaning, we expected he'd forget about the shower). No. He woke up STILL obsessed with this shower thing. He'd walk to our bathroom door, bang on it, and wait there expectantly, turn and come back to us with his arm pointed toward the bathroom and a very serious look on his face, grunting all sorts of serious grunts. This went on Finally, we just let him into our bathroom, and he contentedly played on the shower floor for over a half an hour. Forget the three billion dollars in toys he has spread from one end of this house to the other that keep him entertained for thirty seconds if we're lucky, he just wanted a shower squeegee, a rubber ducky, and a couple of plastic cups.
You're an odd duck, Mister. But you sure are a cute odd duck.

So as I sat here downloading photos, I watched the time tick from 11:59pm to 12:00am. A quick glance at my iCal made my heart skip a little ... it's FEBRUARY! RIGHT NOW! February is Bumblebee month! How did THAT happen? Slow as these past few weeks have seemed to go by, it doesn't seem like all that long ago we were taking pictures of Anderbug in his 'big brother' tee shirt and terrorizing him with balloons. And now, we're very, very close to Bumblebee Day. And as much as I know I'll miss the little thumps I'm feeling right now as she wiggles and stretches in my belly, I'm oh-so-ready to have her here in the outside world.

ps: wondering why I'm awake (and blogging) after midnight? I'm sure you can guess. That buffalo chicken pizza that tasted so, so good around 6pm made the heartburn fairy VERY ANGRY five hours later at bedtime. I slept less than an hour and woke up too uncomfortable to even consider more sleep for now. TV watching makes noise, Kindle reading requires light, so it's just me and my trusty MacBook (and the snoring Georgie-cat) wasting the night away.

11 days, 11 days, 11 days .......