I Love Ultrasounds

You know what I love? If you’ve been reading this blog any length of time you probably know quite a few things I love. Brownies, margaritas, babies, writing, my family, my life.

You wanna know what else I love? I love getting ultrasounds when I’m pregnant, especially when the ultrasound lets me know what flavor of baby I’m having soon. Lucky for me, I had just such an ultrasound this morning.

Tiny Baby was uncooperative at first, keeping those little knees clamped firmly together most of the time, but then…BAM! Tiny Baby moved into position to reveal…GIRL PARTS!

We’re having a girl! We’re having a girl! We’re having a giiiiiiiiiiiirl!!!

Oh, I am so excited I could burst into a million flaming pieces. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have some shopping to do…

Heart-Pounding Thrills

Every parent knows what a loud thump from upstairs usually means: A child has plummeted out of bed. If the thump is accompanied by a cry, it’s certain: You have a jumper.

I was sitting downstairs working on a blog post yesterday when I heard the tell-tale sound of my toddler free-falling out of his crib, a plunge of maybe four feet. You have never seen a pregnant woman run so fast as I did to get upstairs to make sure he was alright.

To my amazement, he was fine, just a little shaken up. I calmed him down and out him back in bed, hoping he’d be too scared to do it again.

No dice.

Ten minutes later, THUMP. More crying, more soothing. I parked myself in front of the video monitor and fretted. And Googled “toddler falling out of crib”. And asked my fellow Internet mamas for advice.

At the conclusion of my research, I concluded that it was time for Aidan to make the big switch to a twin bed. He’s almost too tall for his crib mattress anyway, so I figured we might as well move to a larger bed.

Convinced I’d never be able to sleep knowing he was liable to fall out of his crib again, I rushed out the door and went on a whirlwind shopping spree.

Twin bed…check! Thomas the Train sheets and comforter…check! Safety rails for the bed…Check!

It took Wes and I the whole evening to get everything washed, assembled, and put together, but by Aidan’s bedtime his new room was ready. He was a bit hesitant, but when it came time to sleep he seemed to fall asleep just like any other night.

So…Mission accomplished? We’ll see. It’s possible the rejection of his new bed will come tonight, or tomorrow, or the day after.

The real question is how long it’ll take me to be able to sleep again without waking up every few minutes to check that Aidan’s safe and not lying on the floor with a broken arm.

Sigh. Parenthood: Thrill, spills, and a whole lot of not sleeping.

Mischief Mustered

So right about the time I finished writing my sad, sad post yesterday about how I was going to chuck a piece of cold toast at Wes for Valentine’s Day and call it good, I started getting really excited about it. My imagination went wild, imagining myself getting up early to make him homemade pain au chocolate or strawberry mascarpone blintzes.

My imagination was writing checks my recovering little body can’t cash.

Still, I managed to muster up a bunch of enthusiasm after all. I helped Aidan draw his very first Valentine for his Daddy, I wrote a long, heartfelt card for Wes, and wrapped the sumptuous gifts I bought for him last week.

And then this morning I made his favorite muffins, which we served with eggs and bacon. Wes has a happy belly and a homemade Valentine from his son, and tonight we shall feast on steak and exchange the petit cadeaus we purchased.

It turns out Valentine’s isn’t toast after all!

A very, very happy Valentine’s Day to all of you! I hope you are immersed in chocolate, love, and all of life’s best things :)

Valentine’s Toast

I was never overly bothered by cold and flu season until I had a child. I caught a cold once a year maybe, and otherwise spent the dreaded time blissfully unaware that there are approximately one point five kajillion different plagues and diseases running rampant during the winter months.

My goodness, it’s like my toddler is some kind of pestilence magnet. He spent most of the last two months of last year sick with one cold or another, and then thankfully took January off from being miserable. It’s possible he realized that if he didn’t stop, his parents would make good on their threat of selling him to the gypsies.

The streak couldn’t last. Friday brought with it sore throats for the three of us, and Friday night brought with it…misery.

I spiked a fever right before bed, but am apparently dense because I didn’t recognize it for what it was for an hour or so. I just huddled in bed shivering, holding my freezing hands to my scalding face, watching Wes ping pong in and out of bed as he attended to Aidan’s demands.

My fever topped out at 100.4 degrees and finally broke at 3:30 am, after which I was finally able to sleep. To say I woke up on Saturday tired, sore, and miserable is an understatement.

Thank goodness my husband is exceptional is almost every way. We limped through that day as best we could, with Wes taking care of Aidan as I alternated between trying to choke down food and make up for lost sleep.

Sunday was a little better but more of the same. And now here we are. It’s Monday and I lament the weekend that could have been. A weekend not filled with Kleenex, sneezing, and cough drops.

It’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow, and I’m having trouble mustering enthusiasm. I’m never more grateful for my husband than after we’ve been through a battle together, but I’m never more tired than when I’m sick, pregnant, and sleep deprived.

Still, my husband deserves the best. A Valentine’s Day bowl of cereal for breakfast just isn’t going to cut the mustard.

Maybe a Valentine’s Day slice of toast?

Likely Not Worth Reading

I have absolutely nothing to say. Nothing at all. I normally write something about the Super Bowl after the fact, but this year I’ve got nothing. Probably because I spent most of the game at home with a sleeping toddler.

Also, by the time I actually got to where I could watch the game, it was mostly over and I spent my time chasing my awake toddler so Wes could enjoy the game. As a result? I have nothing to say about either the game or the commercials.

I do, however, know that the Giants won. Woo?

I wish I had more to say. It’s not like I never go anywhere or do anything. I just don’t know if any of it is interesting enough to write about. The weather’s been unseasonably nice lately, so Aidan and I spent a lot of time outside earlier this week. Thrilling, no?

In related news, I’ve taken two tumbles this week. My center of balance has shifted or something and I am seriously a giant, clumsy mess. Thankfully both falls were on soft surfaces but still, it’s no good for a girl’s self esteem of she can’t seem to keep on her feet.

See? Things are happening over here at Casa de Mitchell, but very little of it is worth blogging about. It’s all quite boring. Aren’t you glad I wrote a post about how boring I am?