Alive & Slobber-Coated

Isn't it crazy annoying when bloggers start a post with an apology for not posting? Like they automatically assume you EVEN NOTICED in the first place, and CARED in the second place, because they are self-absorbed egomaniacs who imagine that dozens of people are sitting at their computers terribly worried because they couldn't be bothered to sit down and grace the world with a few sparsely punctuated sentences? I know, right?

Anyway! I am very sorry for not posting there, for a few days. I went back up to Pennsylvania again, for about the millionth time, for a good old-fashioned terminal-illness-related family reunion with some of my siblings. Siblings I haven't seen in years. Like, before my children were born years. Family togetherness for the WIN. 

I kind of don't want to talk about it. I mean, it was fine. It was just strange and very...heavy with cancer. You know? I think I'll just post some pictures instead.

This is my brother's dog Jack. Jack is the dog for whom the phrase WHO'S A GOOD BOY? was invented. Because he is the best boy, yes he is, shnuffle shmoopy etc. Noah especially enjoyed riding him like a pony. 

I am not even slightly exaggerating. 

Jack is an incredibly patient Pillow Pet animal. Noah is now requesting that we get a "real dog." 

Ezra spent a lot of time in the closet playing peekaboo, but I think the poor little guy was mostly just trying to stay out of the Line Of Nonstop Doggy Kisses. The perils of life at tongue-level, unfortunately.

I took about 25 photos of the boys with their cousin. This is the closest I got to a "good one." There are six boy cousins/nephews/grandchildren in our family, and only one girl. (Who is now 22 years old and no longer amenable to pink frilly princess clothing or toys.) I cannot even tell you the amount of open, naked pressure my current fetus is under to break the streak. 

Speaking of that, my belly officially popped and rounded out during the car ride home from Pennsylvania on Sunday, which was not really comfy, what with my wardrobe choice of skinny jeans and all. I mean, I know that it's not the baby or anything...more like my intestines have been forced upward and outward to make room for things yet to come. Like limbs, I suppose. And another giant 95th percentile melon head. 

Anyway, I would have posted all of this yesterday, except there was Blogging-Excuse-You-Don't-Care-About number two, which is that I was supposed to have a big fancy sponsored post go up yesterday, but then...it didn't, for various Oh-My-God-There-Is-No-Way-Anybody-Cares-About-This reasons, and then I thought it would go up first thing this morning but I still haven't gotten the green light or the tracking codes or the logos or the pudding pops or whatever else it is I need. So I figured I'd rush in and post something else instead while I wait, thus pretty much guaran-goddamn-teeing that I will have to publish the other post FOURTEEN SECONDS after hitting publish on this one, because that is just how things like that work out.

(This scintillating look at the inner workings of corporate sponsored blogging is brought to you by the letter A, the number 4, and zombies.)

SCIENCE!

Overheard, in the back seat of the car this morning:

Ezra: Oh no, rain!

Noah: Not "oh no," Ezra! Rain is great! We need the rain! Without rain, there would be no flowers or trees or grass or pumpkins or bugs or dogs or cats or chickens or houses or buildings or bridges or roads or buses or cars or red lights or yellow lights or green lights or gas stations or restaurants or pizzas or candy or juice or soccer balls or airplanes or trains or cities or pyramids or spaceships or Star Wars or Leapsters or movies or bushes!

Me: Wow. That's a lot of things.

Noah: Without rain, you'd have NOTHING. You would not even have any. Hair. At. All. 

Ezra: Yay rain!

9 1/2 Weeks

(Yes, I do totally loathe myself for typing out that cliched and groan-worthy post title. But I'm leaving it because it's truuuuuue.)

I'm somewhere in the middle on my ninth week of pregnancy. If I look back to my writings from the previous go-rounds, I see that I was 1) in maternity clothes already, 2) insanely sick all the time, and 3) insanely obsessed with being pregnant ALLTHETIME LIKERIGHTNOW ANDNOW.

Huh. 

The bloating of the first couple weeks has passed so I'm back comfortably in my regular old jeans. I still wear belts and can tuck shirts in, if I feel like it. I guess technically going up a bra size would help, but they seem like they'd be sore no matter what cup size I mash them into so I haven't yet bothered.

I can count on one hand the number of times I've actually thrown up, rather than just feeling vaguely unsettled or heave-y. The two very worst days, symptoms-wise, were directly related to the prenatal vitamin my doctor prescribed. I stopped taking them, switched to a gentler OTC version and immediately felt better.  I'm still sensitive to smells but not to a run-to-the-bathroom extreme, and I've yet to encounter any major food aversions like before. (Chicken, for example, and I remain on good speaking terms, for the first pregnancy ever.)

My cravings are the same, though, like total clockwork: Chipotle burritos with hot salsa (though now I want carnitas instead of vegetarian), Paneer Mahkni and chocolate pudding. If I don't get them though...eh. I'll live. And more importantly, so will you. 

There isn't a room in our house that doesn't currently (and desperately) need new paint/furniture/flooring/cabinetry/redecorating/something and I'm sure this will start driving me crazy at some point, but right now...eh. I'll live. We all will. 

Jason spends his time comparing the various larger-car options (and seething at the jackass who sideswiped our in-perfect-condition trade-in car last week without leaving a note) and yesterday I caught him loading up an online shopping cart with some really cute maternity tops. (Two summer pregnancies have admittedly, left me pretty unprepared for this winter. Does anybody have a warm-yet-vaguely-stylish black maternity coat they'd be willing to sell, lease or lend? Something in a size small/four/ish? No? Eh. It's okay. I'll just...not button shit for awhile.) He asked if I felt like hitting the baby store yet -- I've always been in a huge rush to make that first exciting purchase, no matter how extraneous or unnecessary it really is -- and I was shocked at the force of my OH MY GOD NO IT'S TOO EARLY reaction. 

Sometimes the old crazy creeps back in -- something is wrong! I'm feeling too good! Good equals bad! Up is down and and wrong is right and meat is just too plain fucking delicious! -- but most of the time...I kind of forget. Which sounds awful.

I bumped into a friend a few days ago who gave me a big hug and a "Congratulations!" And I stood there for a second, blinking dumbly, before remembering. "Oh! Right! Yeah."

But it's not apathy. Or a lack of excitement. Not at all. More of a...familiarity with the process. It gets more "real" later, and no amount of obsessing or worrying or premature-wearing-of-elastic-waistbands will get me to that point any sooner. There will be -- knock on wood, fingers crossed --the quickening and the belly and the kicks and the big gender ultrasound, the name discussions and the washing and sorting of little clothes and then, oh my holy lord, there will be another baby, another newborn, another completely different little person who will be like no one else we've ever met. 

With all THAT happening in just a few months, well. Forget the nausea and the headaches and the sore boobs, what in the world am I supposed to do about this overwhelming pregnancy symptom known as IMPATIENCE?

Nerds on Parade

Halloween, take three:

Noah's struggles with Halloween and dressing up ebbed and flowed this year, with one costumed activity being a roaring success and the next causing a meltdown of epic proportions. It was like spinning the wheel in Sensory Roulette. So I had no idea how his classroom costume parade party would go on Friday. 

When I arrived with Ezra in tow (and in costume), Noah had steadfastly refused to put his costume on while his friends got dressed. But then another mother showed up with a tray of chocolate cupcakes.

"See those?" I fibbed. "Those are for kids who wear their costumes."

BAM. Obi-Wan Kenobi IN THE HOUSE. And on parade.

With his faithful sidekick Yoda, seen here shortly before losing a shoe in the parking lot at some point.

Other than some mid-parade WHERE ARE THE CUPCAKES ALREADY fatigue, he did great. 

Ezra did too, though he did tend to gravitate to some very non-canon props. 

And then: FEASTING.

Halloween, take four: 

Trick-or-treating. The main event. Noah not only agreed to wear his costume with absolutely zero protest, he even allowed me to put on the cheap-ass synthetic-fabric tunic and rubber belt portion of his Jedi outfit (over his regular clothes, obviously, because ITCHY). 

Get ready for his hit single I Will Do Anything For Candy (But I Draw The Line At The Polyester Pants).

Jason dressed as a prawn-armed Wikus Van De Merwe from District 9. He had a great official-looking MNU Alien Affairs badge too. It was awesome.

At first Ezra thought trick-or-treating consisted of grabbing candy from our bowl, piece by piece, and dropping it into his bucket...

...so there was some momentary distress when he realized there was actually quite a bit more to it than that. And also some tears when he learned he was not allowed to go INSIDE the houses after ringing the bell. Like OH MY GOD, these people keep BOWLS OF CHOCOLATE right next to the FRONT DOOR. Can you EVEN IMAGINE what they might have HIDDEN IN THE KITCHEN? WHAT THE HELL, YOU GUYS.

Checking out the loot between houses.

(LIghtsabers are actually safety LED glowsticks from Life+Gear, who sent me a truckload of them back when Noah's Star Wars fanaticism first dawned. Awesome for visibility at night AND because they were technically too short to cause damage to TV screens, precious Ming vases or each other's skulls. Shout-out! Woot!)

(And yes, fellow nerdlings, I know Obi-Wan Kenobi should have the blue one and Yoda should have green, and I swear that was the way they were dispensed back at the house but you KNOW whatever your younger brother has in his hand is immediately 500 times more awesome than what you have in YOUR hand, so there you go.) 

(This from the kid who, when I referred to him as simply "Obi-Wan" to another mother at school, testily corrected me because "I'm Obi-Wan KENOBI, Mooooommmmm.")

I was Jessica from True Blood. I'm crying blood because Jessica is always freaking crying. 

I ordered the Merlotte's shirt and apron before I found out I was pregnant, and I briefly thought I'd have to switch to Arlene, the OTHER True Blood redhead (who is currently pregnant with what may or may not be the demon fetus reincarnation of a serial killer), but it turns out I don't have the belly for it yet. So I got to traumatize small neighborhood children with bloody eyes and fangs instead.

Also, yes, I was really, really freaking cold. But I was even more committed.

We stayed out until the buckets got too heavy to carry and little legs got too tired to walk. Also we had to get everybody to bed so we could stay up late and watch that zombie show on AMC with the lights turned off and the sound turned up because I totally enjoy NOT EVER SLEEPING AGAIN.

And that was our Halloween. How was yours? 

LET'S GO MURDER A TRUCKER. AND THEN CRY ABOUT IT.