36 Weeks, Not That Everyone Forced to Deal With Me Is Counting…

At this point in my pregnancy with T I’d been diagnosed with preeclampsia and was on bed rest. The plan had been to pack our apartment in Providence to get ready to move to Syracuse in two weeks and my mom was joining us to help Z because I was so useless. We didn’t anticipate me being quite as useless as I was. We didn’t anticipate needing to be in Syracuse full time for twice weekly doctor visits. I didn’t anticipate having to exclusively pee in a jug for 48 hours so my urine could be tested. That was flat out gross. So Z was stuck packing alone and Mom drove me to Syracuse so we could check into the glamorous Extended Stay America. I got into bed and didn’t get out much until we drove to the hospital so I could be induced 6 days before my due date because my blood pressure was getting rather worrisome.

Bed rest is not glamourous or in any way enjoyable. Even for a lazy person it is fucking boring to just sit in bed all day. You sort of nap on and off and can’t sleep well at night. You read, you surf the net, you watch a shit load of TV. My mom brought me my meals in bed. I felt like I was a kid. And I felt like a tremendous hinderance. But being on bed rest meant I wasn’t moving around during the last few weeks of pregnancy. And this time not only am I moving around, I’m caring for T. Whenever Z is around I take complete advantage. I rest a lot on the weekends. Yet I’m in a surprising amount of physical pain. Which is making my hormones go crazy and my anxiety heighten.

I remember my sister being in her last month with her most recent son. She told me she didn’t think she could do it any longer. She just hurt too much. In the evenings after work she couldn’t even take care of her older son. And I had no idea what she was talking about. Another example of those smart friends giving me good information I’m too thick to digest.

So to add to my list of gross pregnancy stuff: On your second pregnancy your body has already stretched out and this means more ligament pain, you might feel many more pre labor contractions (I felt none with T, when I over exert myself, i.e. go to the grocery store with T, they start and don’t stop until I put my feet up), when the baby moves around it can be unbelievably painful, if he moves around and you are constipated you feel like you might die from the pain, you might get lightheaded for no reason, your heart might race like crazy (I believe that has to do with all the extra blood, your body makes 50% more during pregnancy and it’s extra work to get that stuff pumping). The bottom line is I feel worse right now than I did the day I found out I had preeclampsia. At that point my hands, feet, and ankles were really swollen, but otherwise I felt pretty darn good.

Last night our friends invited us over for a cook out. They set me up in a super comfy chair with a huge  cup of ice water. And I started to feel worse and worse. I was short with T and Z, I wasn’t friendly at all. I was nauseous and I had a headache. At one point I realized I was so lightheaded that if I was standing I might have fainted for the first time in my life. We left pretty early and abruptly. And I’m so embarrassed by my behavior. What a drama queen. So the last gross pregnancy thing I’ll add is you might turn into a huge brat who is absolutely no fun to be around and who is pretty ashamed of herself the next morning.

We are cat sitting this weekend. Z knotted up this rope and had T pull it. T shouted, “Oh, man! That was awesome!” It was pretty hilarious. And it helped pull me out of one of the many weeping jags I’ve indulged in this weekend.  

 Little Man demonstrating his mad harmonica skills while skyping with my dad.

I’ve posted a shot of his bean covered face before, but it never fails to crack me up. 

A Message To Ladies Considering Pregnancy

And to my 4 male readers: You might feel better giving this one a pass. Amanda, was this what you were talking about? Or did I go to the too much place?

After my miscarriage last year I would like to say I’m honestly grateful for every single horror I’m going to lay out for you. Yup, I hate being pregnant. But I love being a mom. And I want this little critter who is ruining me from the inside out. I may not feel bonded to him yet, but that’s totally cool. It’s more like I feel a fierce curiosity about who he is and what he looks like. Will he be a mini T? Or will he look like Z? In my heart of hearts I want him to look like Z. We have one Cordano baby, I’d like to see what a little Leonard boy is like. Bottom line, to me this pregnancy awfulness is totally worth it. That said, I think it would be helpful if we talked frankly about it a bit more. Not the sanitized shit in the pregnancy books, but the real, gross, and surprising ways it affects your body.

Of course, all of this stuff might not happen to you. Your pregnancy grossness is going to be unique! I haven’t experienced many of the yucky things that some women deal with. And then there are those magic women who have great and easy pregnancies. This is not very gracious of me, but I hate their guts. The thing is, you know your body. You might not love it, but you know it. If you’ve waited as long as I have to get pregnant you’ve known it for a really long time. It is enormously disconcerting to have it rebel and turn into something you aren’t sure how to handle. The changes aren’t fun, they make you a stranger in your own body.

Here is my abbreviated list of super disgusting stuff to keep in mind while considering pregnancy. I will try not to be too graphic. If any of you have specific questions feel free to email.

  • As you get super pregnant you start to sweat like a pig. Like. A. Pig. I use a prescription deodorant called drysol, OK, so I use drysol even when I’m not pregnant. I have a sweating problem. Yes, I am gross. Chronic diarrhea, excessive sweating, anxiety disorder. Can you believe that Z got so lucky? And please, don’t tell me how it is giving me cancer. You won’t change my mind about using it. Because seriously, the sweating is even worse than usual during pregnancy. And it certainly smells worse.
  • The foot sweat? In the second half of the pregnancy it’s bizarre. Since it’s summer the only shoes I wear are my flip flops. They will be tossed as soon as summer is over. When I am in public I’m sure that others can smell them. As I walk my feet actually slip around my shoes and I’m constantly scared I’m going to fall because of my own sweat puddles.
  • During the 3rd trimester you will feel about the least sexy you’ve ever felt. And yet, the amount of, um “discharge” will increase so alarmingly you will ask the doctor if there is something wrong with you. You will actually start to wear panty liners to save yourself from having to prewash your underwear. Because nothing makes you feel worse about your physical repulsiveness than prewashing underwear. Even though one of the few upsides of pregnancy is not dealing with your period and its accoutrement, even though you hate panty liners more than anything, you will use them every hour of every day. 
  • Clothing will feel disgusting, but being naked will feel disgusting as well. You won’t have anything to wear because you will feel so physically uncomfortable in anything.
  • If you are overweight in any way (or even if you’re not in some cases) your flab will rub together and you will get rashes. You’ll get them on your inner thighs, you’d get them between your boobs, you’ll get them under your boobs, you may even get them in your armpits. If you are pregnant in summer the rash between your boobs might be visible to others even if you aren’t wearing a very revealing shirt.
  • If you groom your lady bits in any way, well you won’t be able to anymore in the 3rd trimester, earlier if it’s not your first pregnancy. If it’s really important to you you’ll have to go to a professional. Otherwise, just cross your fingers when you put on a bathing suit if you’re pregnant in the summer. It’s not like you’re gonna be the one seeing it. 
  • Out of the blue you might develop subdermal cysts all over your body. One on your arm might even be visible to the naked eye. You will ask every medical professional you meet about them, they will all say they are normal. You will still lay awake at night feeling even more physically repulsive, but as a bonus you will also be sure you have cancer. 
  • You might not get stretch marks on your belly! Which rocks! But you might get them around the circumference of your upper thighs. Which sucks. 
  • You will constantly lube up your stomach to prevent the worst itching you’ve ever experienced in your life as your skin stretches. 
  • Your bowels will be in an uproar. This can mean diarrhea, or constipation, or both. But I have never talked to a heavily pregnant lady who hasn’t suffered in this department (I don’t know why, but we always talk about poop, even if we are strangers. Pregnancy totally makes you lose your inhibitions). I implore you, DO NOT FORCE IT. Anal fissures are one of the most painful things I’ve ever experienced. Yes, I got mine post partum. But they don’t just go away. After I’m done procreating for good there will have to be surgery. I have your best interests at heart, do not do this to yourself! 
  • You might pee yourself when you sneeze or cough hard in the first two trimesters. The good news is this might pass by the third trimester. The bad news is you will wake every two hours all night long having to pee worse than you have ever had to pee in your entire life. And you will literally limp to the bathroom because if you walk normally you will wet yourself. During the day out of nowhere it will feel like your unborn child is grasping your bladder with both hands and squeezing. And if you don’t get to the bathroom immediately there will be big wet problems.
  • If you are 3rd trimester pregnant in the summer don’t even try to put rings on. Don’t look closely at your hands and feet, they will belong to someone who weighs roughly 100lbs more than you and they will just make you sad. 
  • I will end on a high note. Your belly button might not become an outie, which will crush you because you might be obsessed with your belly button. But you might get to see the bottom of it. Which will be FUCKING AWESOME for you because your belly button is normally so deep it goes all the way to your spine. Um, or that might just be me. 
Let me reiterate, all this shit is worth it. I promise. Even the anal fissures. I’m not trying to freak you out, this is the stuff I’d have liked to known about before my first foray into the wilds of pregnancy. But remember, I love being a mom so much that I actually knew about all this shit before I got pregnant for the second time and I chose to do it anyway. That is how much motherhood rocks.
 We had to drop by Z’s work today and he was welding. His gear scared the crap out of T. First time ever T didn’t want to go to him.
 But he was cool once Z took the face shield off.

He insisted on climbing onto the potty himself today. 

It was a very laborious process. 

Almost there… 

Finally settled with the book he picked out at the bookstore himself. Still no pooping on the potty, but he is very very interested. 

If You Didn’t Think I Was an Insecure Dork Before….

T and I had a pretty huge morning. We finally walked the 3 blocks to our public library and I got a card after living here for two years. We hung out in the kids section and read board books. Then we walked home a slightly longer way (T was following two older boys on bikes) and went by the pizza place he sometimes visits with his Dad. He pointed and asked for pizza, it was a few minutes before 11am. I figured they opened at 11, so I waddled across the street and T got the first slice of the day.

Totally normal stuff, and we were back at our front door in less than two hours. But man, was my mind racing the whole time. I kept thinking is this what normal feels like? This is the stuff that other moms do without thinking every single day. They surely don’t feel like they should get a gold star, but I was so proud of myself. And then, of course, I felt dumb for feeling proud over such a small thing. The negative feelings were close to the surface because of another hurt feeling situation. But this one was real, and it was aimed at someone I love. It’s not my place to discuss the details, the gist is someone I know was a complete and utter dickhead to one of the people I am closest to. It makes me feel so angry and impotent and vulnerable and just plain old sad.

So when the two boys that T followed out of the library showed up and started looking at books my mind was on overdrive thinking about all the social situations T was going to have to navigate during his life. He sweetly followed those boys around to every shelf they looked at. When one of them sat on the reading mat T sat right across from him, book in lap, copying the kid’s every move. When the boys left, T was crushed and ready to leave himself. Out front he saw them climbing on their bike and he called, “Bye guys!” I was proud of him for being so brave, but it also broke my heart to watch him seeking approval from two kids that didn’t even act like he existed.

Don’t get me wrong, those boys were perfectly pleasant and age appropriate and it was in no way their responsibility to play with my kid. What I was reacting to was thinking about my own longing to fit in when I was the perpetual new kid growing up, and how so many of my peers didn’t have the time of day for a new girl. Again, most of those kids weren’t cruel. They were being normal kids who already had friends, it wasn’t their job to coddle the new people. But I’ve never gotten over wanting people to like me no matter what. And not everyone is going to always like me, I often do very unlikable things.

Now, this is an embarrassing confession, but it’s also been bugging me all morning that overnight I lost two friends on FB. I have no idea who unfriended me, and I know I shouldn’t give a crap. I’m just as honest and uncomfortable on FB as I am here, I offend people all the time and am often unfriended. And yet…it makes me feel bruised. Pretty ridiculous. It also made me think about a friend request I sent out months ago to a childhood friend. The request hasn’t been accepted, and it hasn’t been denied. And I’ve thought about it on and off quite a bit. It was a kid I had a crush on, a sensitive and quiet kid, and I was aggressive in what I thought was a joking way with him. I vaguely remember him ending up in tears as we played several times, and suddenly it hit me that he probably felt like I was bullying him. I’ve written about bullying before, and my abhorrence of it, and suddenly I’m realizing I may be the bully remembered by a contemporary. I really liked this kid, and I feel terrible that he probably remembers me as the cause of hurt. I kind of want to send him a message in which I apologize, but I’ve already reached out. I’ve realized the kindest thing I can do is leave him the hell alone.

Someday T is going to be hurt and do the hurting over and over again. He is going to make his own mistakes and have his personal victories and I’m going to have to stand to the side and let it all happen so he can learn how to navigate his way through interpersonal relationships. I’ll always be there to step in if needed, and I’ll be there to listen. But he needs to get hurt and pick himself up and figure out how to deal with people himself. I hope he is more successful than I have been.

A hot date at the pizza parlor with my sweet boy. 

Much to my anxiety-ridden surprise, it was pretty fun. We’ll have to do it more often in the next few weeks before his brother joins us.
My serious guy at a cookout in our backyard this past weekend.


Today my feelings got hurt. When you are as ridiculously over-sensitive as I am it’s a pretty common occurrence. And often times what has been said was not meant in any way to be hurtful. I’m constantly worried people are mad at me, or worried I’ve offended people, or worried people don’t like me. It’s a big part of the self-loathing aspect of my anxiety problems. It consumes my thoughts, makes my throat burn, my stomach feel hollow, tears prick at my eyes. I mean it’s all so over the top it makes my eyes roll.

This afternoon when T got up from his nap I was still feeling pretty bruised and vulnerable. It got me thinking. Do you remember when you were a kid and something hurt your feelings? If you were anything like me you’d fantasize about being an adult because they had it all figured out. And for the first time I wondered how many times my mom nursed bruised feelings while caring for my sister and me while we were oblivious that something was hurting her.

T and I were sitting on the floor playing with his blocks. I’d ask him what a letter was and then I’d match it with a word, “C! C is for cookie!” or “G! G is for Grandma!” or “B! B is for Boy!” He brought me a block with the S facing up. He said, “S! S is for Mommy!” And my stupid hurt feelings evaporated. Replaced by how much I love this little person, how much joy he brings me, how lucky I am to spend every day with him.

When Z came home tonight I was telling him this story. And I added that I have a babysitter coming tomorrow for a few hours so I can run some errands. It’s getting harder for me to go to multiple places while lugging T around without those pesky contractions starting these days. I told Z I almost didn’t arrange the sitter. I feel like it’s a wasted day when she comes because I see so little of T. I told Z I missed T already even though he was right there with us. We only have four and a half weeks or so until we add another number to our crew. And then I started to cry. But as I explained to Z I wasn’t sad, I was just crazy and hormonal and grossly pregnant, and they were sort of happy tears. I’m lucky to love T and Z the way I love them. And that matters so much more than stupid hurt feelings.

Yesterday morning Z worked on the window seat for the 3rd floor in his shop before going to work. T isn’t a fan of loud noises, so he rocks the ear protection while Z runs the table saw.

Z made this while I was pregnant with T. If its flipped over it’s a rocking goat, and if put on its end it’s a high chair. But he was doing very important work at his desk on this fine morning.

One of the best parts of today was visiting our good friends for a bit. Baby Emily was born just over two weeks ago and T loves to hug her. 

In Which I Whine About Being 8 Months Pregnant

As I was making myself lunch today I started to sob and couldn’t stop. Z was so confused. Thankfully, he was also incredibly comforting. I’m frustrated and disapointed with myself. This morning we started loading books on the bookshelves in the 3rd floor because the reno is complete. Doesn’t seem like an overwhelming job, but we are book lovers and book collectors. So we’re talking about a shit load of books. The bending over to lift them was making me terribly lightheaded and then I started getting contractions. I was so pissed I couldn’t do a simple job without my pregnancy getting in the way. I was pissed Z had to lug the futon mattress and frame up the stairs by himself. I was pissed I need a nap in the middle of the day to make it to the end of the day. I was pissed I haven’t been a trooper about this heat, instead we’ve had the A/C on all week. I also might have been a smidge hormonal.

T and Z just left the house to go to a cook out at a neighbor’s place. For the first time in a while I couldn’t get it together to get out of the house to join them, and that is adding to me feeling pretty low. The heat has really kicked my ass this week. I’ve been working on keeping both me and T hydrated and in good health, but that has meant we have been house bound in the merciful air conditioning. Yesterday morning I had to go to the grocery store, and even that short trip before the heat of the day took hold was too much. I was having contractions in the check out line while praying I’d just make it home before anything freaky happened.

And I did make it home just fine. Z came home from work early (already planned) and then T went down for his nap, so I got to spend most of the afternoon sitting on the couch. We had a doc appointment late in the afternoon and my wonderful doc said the contractions were totally normal and not the kind that opened the cervix. He said I did the right thing by getting my feet up and that I’d have them for the remainder of the pregnancy when I exerted myself. Then he told me not to exert myself.

I’m a pretty lazy gal, so I can’t imagine what this stage of pregnancy is like for those Type As out there. It’s bad if even I’m frustrated that I can’t make it to the grocery store in a little heat without having contractions. I have shit to do! We need to get T’s new bedroom ready and his old room ready for New Guy! And I need to be doing stuff with T during the day! Poor guy is bored out of his skull from hanging out inside with me. I don’t even have enough energy to take him to the mall to run around and it’s too hot for both of us to take him to the park. He’s been acting like a little turd this week, and I absolutely don’t blame him. He needs more stimulation. He needs to see other kids.

We had him outside in the sprinkler for a little while this afternoon. As we were setting things up he walked part of the way down the driveway and saw the much older kids who live across the street were out. He started waving like crazy and shouted, “Hi Kids!” and it absolutely broke my heart and make me feel so guilty. He just wants to be around other people. And he will be tonight, which is terrific. And preschool is going to be great for him in the fall.

I just feel like I’m failing him in the socialization department. He gets to play with my one mom friend’s kids frequently. And he adores them. He also adores a couple we hang out with all the time, and they are wonderful about playing with him. And on Monday we are having two families over who have small kids for a BBQ. I could see us being friends with both the couples, it feels very much like a first date and I have my fingers crossed it’ll go well. But we don’t do play groups, I haven’t met a bunch of other moms, mostly because of my anxiety issues, and I absolutely don’t want the same for him. This winter when it’s snowing like crazy and I’ve got a baby to deal with I’m really worried about making sure T is getting what he needs as well. I feel like I’m doing a shitty job meeting his needs before the baby comes, how am I going to cope after?

Yes, I’m having a bratty pity party over here. The nachos from my favorite place are helping, though. So is the venting. And I’m guessing Z will suggest we watch a Harry Potter movie of my choice tonight. That’ll really help. I really married the right man.

One of my favorite parts of the day. His tiny bottom slays me.  
T’s new room. Needs a little work, huh? 

Playing in the sprinkler. 

This is only a tiny fraction of the books. But we are taking the time to do it right, separating by topic and alphabetizing. 

My Brain Needs More RAM, and Yet Another Question for Parents

The week-by-week pregnancy book that sits by our toilet has remained closed since I was somewhere in the mid 20 weeks of this pregnancy. I’ll be 35 weeks in two days. I’ve mentioned it before, when you’ve got a kid on the outside you just don’t have time to think much about the one on the inside. But I’m realizing there’s another thing going on. When you are a parent you only have enough room in your brain for the stage you kid is at today. I didn’t believe my friends when they told me I’d forget about hating pregnancy and my terrible delivery. But they were right. Turns out I’ve also forgotten what it is like to parent a newborn. I’m not talking about forgetting the lack of sleep and all that jazz, I’m talking about the nuts and bolts.

When my sister had her second in May she couldn’t figure out why his diapers kept leaking pee all over the place. She didn’t remember it happening with her first son. After a couple of days she called and told me she knew what the problem was, they weren’t changing his diaper enough. Seems simple enough, but when you have a toddler that is going through maybe 5 or 6 diapers a day that becomes your baseline (she was changing the baby more than 6 times a day, just not the upwards of 15 times it seems newborns need). Her reasoning seemed perfectly sound, I would have done the same exact thing. Over the last few months she’s called me time and time again with reminders of what it means to have a newborn. And I recently realized I haven’t remembered a single thing she’s told me on my own.

Let me start this story by saying my sweet little nephew is perfectly fine and healthy. A few weeks ago her whole family got sick. Her husband didn’t touch the baby and she wore a face mask while nursing him to try and protect him. But the little guy still caught it and spiked a fever which led to a middle of the night call to the pediatricians. The on-call doc told her she needed to take the baby in to the ER immediately. The good news was the doctors at the ER chose not to do a spinal tap because everyone in the house was ill, so it made sense that the little guy got it, they released him after some blood tests and his fever didn’t spike again. When she called me the next morning to let me know what happened it already seemed he was on the mend. As she was giving me the play by play she mentioned his fever was 100.8. I was flabbergasted. I couldn’t believe she had to take him to the ER for a temp so low. She gently reminded me that fever is really bad in babies under 3 months and that if it is higher than 100.5 the doctor needs to be called immediately.

I felt like such an idiot for forgetting something so very important. And I really worried about what my poor New Guy was in for. If I forget to change his diaper enough and he gets pee on his clothes it’s not a huge deal. But the big stuff? If I can’t remember the important stuff he’s in big trouble. My brain can barely keep up will everything it needs to remember to meet T’s needs, I’m really worried about caring for both little guys at one time. Thankfully I have my sister to remind me what to do, because judging from her experience (and she is a great mom along with being one of the most responsible people I know) it doesn’t all come rushing back. I need to dig out the book I got about the baby’s first year. Been meaning to do it since my nephew’s trip to the ER, and it still hasn’t happened. I feel pretty secure that I’ll be a more relaxed mom for my New Guy, and yes women have been having multiple children for a kabillion years and it all works out. But I still worry about being an attentive mom to both the boys. My head is full of almost-two-year-old information. How do I make room for newborn info without sacrificing space for T?


Here’s another quick question for the parents out there: What do your kids call adults who are family friends? Z and I are having a disagrement over how to handle this issue. He grew up calling adults by their first names. I grew up calling them Mr./Mrs. Last Name. Now, I do have major authority issues. I’m 34 years old and I still can’t refer to those family friends as anything other than Mr. and Mrs. And I don’t want that for T. I proposed that he refer to adults as Mr./Ms. First Name as a compromise. I just feel like kids should show some respect to adults. Am I being hopelessly old fashioned? Z is against anything but first names and the last thing I suggested was asking the adult what they preferred and going with that. What do you guys do? My endgame is not teaching him to blindly respect all adults, rather I’d like him to approach adults with respect as a starting point. He can draw his own conclusions from there as he matures. I’m just not sure how to make that plan a reality.

Things got suspiciously quiet in the living room this morning as I made my coffee. I poked my head around the corner to see this. He’s clearly very focused on learning how to build a house. 

I put one thing on the registry for T’s shower that was completely for Z and me. The wood and velcro food is cool to begin with, but a sushi set? Pure awesome. T is now old enough to play with it and he adores it as well (Thank you again, Stacey and Steven!) This morning he said to me, “Boy play sushi! Boy knife!” and I taught him how to cut through the velcro. 

He can’t get enough of it.

Family Hand-Me-Downs

Z and I started our make-room-for-baby 3rd floor reno by going through all the crap we’d dumped up there over the last almost two years. This is the first house we’ve lived in together, we’ve been apartment folks up till now, so it’s the first time we’ve had extra room for storage. Both sets of parents sent up a bunch of stuff they’d been saving for us for years. Included in my shipment was a ton of toys from my childhood. Sadly, much of it was covered in mold and had to be tossed (farewell sweet My Little Ponies). But I was able to salvage a bunch of cool toys I’d forgotten about. Like the extensive Tupperware set that matched a full size one we used growing up. And the Fisher Price School Days Desk. And my Pound Puppy and Cabbage Patch Kid. And maybe most excitingly, the group of homemade Cabbage Patch Kids sewn by the mother of our favorite childhood babysitter.

Watching T play with these things that meant so much to me as a kid has been surprisingly gratifying. Being we moved so much I can’t share physical locations from my youth with him. My parents are on their 7th home since I last lived with them. It’s very different when we visit Z’s folks. We stay in the room he occupied in high school. They moved into their home more than 30 years ago. There are memories around every corner and I’m glad that T will be able to match the stories of his dad to the home we often visit. 
This morning I was in the kitchen when I heard T climb upstairs. It sounded like he was playing in his bedroom, but the other bedroom doors were open and I didn’t love the idea of him being alone up there unsupervised for long. So I dragged my huge pregnant butt up the stairs. It seemed suspiciously quiet on the second floor so I hurried to his room and found this:
My grandparents had that blue chair reupholstered for me when I was a baby. It had belonged to my mother when she was a girl. And now it is T’s. We hope to have it reupholstered for him sometime soon using leftover fabric from a chair we had recovered that belonged to Z’s great grandfather. I love seeing him sitting in it. My family is pretty far flung (although thankfully the days of me being the only one that actually lives in USA are over) so it’s one of the most tangible ways for me to feel his connection to our history.

The homemade Cabbage Patch Kid has become a special favorite of T’s. This isn’t the first time we’ve found him holding the baby while sitting in the blue chair. Yesterday when T was hugging him I asked what the baby was named (We’ve been using our New Guy’s name freely around the house to let T get used to it. One of the millions of things I swore I’d never do before I became a parent. Thought it was bad luck and just not right to give an unborn babe a name. God, I was a judgmental idiot.). And he called the doll by his brother-to-be’s name. I’m not gonna lie, there were tears in my eyes. Then again, I’m an over-sentimental pregnant fool. There are sort of always tears in my eyes these days.

I can’t wait to take a picture of T holding his new brother in that chair. Um, at that point I promise I’ll tidy the room a bit. And the doll? When my sister and I played with him more than 25 years ago we called him Tommy.