Mild mutations

My son has weird toes. His . . . I don't know what you call it, the index toe? The little piggy next to the big piggy, on the other side of the middle piggy? Anyway, that toe is always stacked, kind of riding on top of the surrounding toes. Like it's an extra appendage he doesn't really need.

A vestigial toe, on its way to Darwinian obsolescence? Or genetic hiccup that will hinder his future ability to pirouette his way across the stage on So You Think You Can Dance, On Your Robotically Augmented Body?

I don't know, but the Weird Toe has nothing on the thumbs. Or "shums", as Riley calls them. The boy has double-jointed thumbs, meaning they can creepily bend at disturbing backwards angles, which JB crows over with proud papa glee. "Check that out!" he says, while I cover my eyes in horror because eerrrrgh, backwards shums.

How about your kids? Any oddball physical traits they have that you don't?

Mixed emotions

When I found out we're having a boy, I had the strangest feeling of sorrow mixed in with the anticipation and joy. I'm not sure how to describe it without making it sound like I was disappointed, or that a boy is second best. That's not how I feel, and obviously the most important revelation was that boy or girl, our baby is growing as expected and appears to be healthy and thriving.

It's just that I had been thinking of both possibilities, and it feels like saying goodbye to our girl baby—despite the fact that she was never there in the first place. We had a named picked out: Audrey. She was going to wear tights and little dresses over her bulky diaper-clad butt. Someday in the future, her father was going to act like a total dickhead to every single date she ever brought home. We had thought about her, our baby girl.

We felt something like this the first time, too, when we found out Riley's sex. Only back then, her name was Madeline.

It's not that we wanted a girl more than a boy, and I imagine that if this time we were having a girl, I'd feel an odd sense of mourning for our new little boy, Riley's brother and partner in crime, the boy that wasn't.

Did you experience anything similar when you found out the sex of your baby/babies?

Vienna sausage party

This morning I learned that the small creature housed in my belly—the one responsible for the fact that I currently have liverwurst in my refrigerator (so satisfyingly creamy! So meatishly salty! So mysterious in content!), the one who has lodged next to my bladder and seems to take great pleasure in bending it like Beckham on a regular basis—is . . . drumroll, please . . .

Approximately 11 ounces in weight. The other 10 pounds I've gained so far? Why, that's just extra credit. Somebody give me a GOLD STAR.

Also, it's a boy. We're having another BOY! Two little boys in my house, two brothers, oh gosh, oh shit, oh awesome, oh my crumbling sappy happy shortbread heart.

. . . jeez, I am totally going to be outnumbered, aren't I?

Children's programming

Out of nowhere, the nonstop tantrums have slowed to a far more manageable level and a ridiculously charming toddler has emerged, giggling and dancing his little feet and asking for a "Beeeeeeeg hug, Mommy!". His face is full of mischief and humor and I no longer wonder if I am catching a glimpse of the fires of Hades when I see his eyes sparkle.

He even ate dinner tonight. Actual food! Went in his mouth! And it wasn't just half a Cheez-it!

I know better than to make any assumptions about how long this will last before the pendulum swings the other way, but man, if only there was a "Save Current Behavior" function for toddlers. With some Amazon Recommended For You type options: if you liked that behavior, you might also like "Sleepy And Affectionate", or perhaps "Studiously Engaged in a Quiet Activity"?

Diaper fashion, new blog

When Riley grew out of those wonderful "Swaddlers" brand newborn diapers (so soft! And so capable of containing the things they're meant to contain!), I put him in "Cruisers", and while I have no complaints about the performance of that particular brand, I've always thought it was odd that they run so high on a kid's body—especially in the back. There's always a giant swath of diaper exposed above his rear end whenever his shirt rides up, it's like he's wearing a particularly constricting pair of Spanx in order to cram himself into that fancy Oscars outfit.

Since his daycare is starting to take all the kids to the potty throughout the day (yes! Please, for the love of god, train my child for me! This is one Hallmark moment I do not mind missing!), we sent him off to school in pull-ups today. And lo, I couldn't help but notice as he galloped out the door that about three-quarters of an inch of ASS is now showing. My son has plumber's crack, thanks to the strangely low-riding pull-ups.

Diapers: a Glamour Don't, apparently.

In other news, please come visit my shiny new blog over at Work It, Mom!—I'll be writing twice a week on a variety of things from product recommendations to general time-and-sanity-saving parenting hacks and tips, almost as if I know what the hell I'm talking about. Which, ha ha, I don't, but I am a big fan of sharing good buys and good ideas, so hopefully it will be marginally useful and/or entertaining. Bookmark that link and come say hi, okay?

For the record

I would just like to say that I am not a fan of children being two years old. Maybe I should clarify that to say that I am not a fan of MY child being two years old, I'm sure your two-year-old is perfectly charming, probably because you have him or her strapped down and muzzled in the basement where they can ride out this horrible, feral stage without driving the rest of us OUT OF OUR DAMN HEADS.

This, too

Back in July, we were having a hard time getting Riley to fall asleep. Specifically, we were having a hard time listening to him spend several minutes screaming with full-body anger before falling asleep. I couldn't tell you exactly when that stopped, but it did—now we do our bedtime routine as usual, kiss him goodnight, close the door . . . and it's blissful silence until morning. He falls asleep without a peep. Sometimes if we look on the monitor we can see that he spends some time beforehand playing or sleepily waving his tentacles around in the air, but oh thank you god it's quiet.

In August, we had this problem where he became terrified of planes, to the point where he hated going in the backyard. That one has resolved itself over the last couple weeks or so. First he was scared of all planes going overhead no matter where he was, then he was okay with planes flying by unless he was specifically in our backyard, and now we're back to "PLANE! MAMA, PLANE! A BIIIIIIIIIIIG PLANE!".

In both cases we didn't come up with a solution, he just re-adjusted on his own. I don't know why. If I could figure out how his little cave-brain worked, I might be able to understand why we have the mothereffing Great Crayon Meltdown fifteen times a day ("GEEN CAYON! I WANT IT! NO! NO GEEN! NO GEEN! TOO FEAKY! BLUUUUUUUE CAYON!" etc etc etc).

I often forget that no matter what we're dealing with at the moment, no matter how much it feels like it will last forever and my child will be screaming about crayons during his graduation commencement, it always changes. There's always something new to deal with, mind you, and sometimes it sucks even more than whatever was sucking before, but nothing is ever static. The view is always different.

If parenthood has a mantra, I think it must be: THIS TOO SHALL PASS.

Moment of arrival

I'm amazed and more than a little terrified at how quickly this pregnancy seems to be flying along. I'll be 19 weeks this week, with the Big Gender-Revealing Ultrasound just around the corner. Since this is a planned C-section birth and they tend to schedule those a couple weeks before the due date, we are officially HALFWAY THERE.

(Heep.)

I was thinking ahead to this birth and remembering how it was with Riley: how sick and drugged I was on magnesium, how I was so foggy during the surgery I barely remember anything with any vivid sense of detail, how they kept me on that damned mag drip for a full 24 hours afterwards and I kept falling asleep in mid-sentence, even while holding my brand-new baby.

This time should be a little easier, if all goes as planned. If we avoid high blood pressure and other complications, it should be fairly straightforward, and I'll know what to expect. Like the fact that during surgery they tie you down like Jesus on the cross. And how indescribably awful it will feel to try and sit up later, like someone maybe forgot to sew your guts back together.

Oh, but also how it feels to hold your newborn, wrapped tight like a grousing little burrito in one of those teal-and-white blankets. Even though your body is scrambling to recover from being gutted like a fish, even though nurses keep showing up to ask if you've pooped yet (no? How about NOW?).

I guess it's true what the smartest people always say: it doesn't really matter how they get here, does it? It's all about the end result.

Okay, so here's something I've been wondering about: I've heard that during a C-section you can request that the drape be pulled back before they take out the baby, so you can see this part of the procedure (well, as much as you can while being strapped to the freaking table). I haven't actually verified this with my doctor yet, but in considering the possibility I find myself going back and forth because 1) that would be really amazing, to see my baby the moment he/she is born, and 2) um, that would also be really, really gory. I'm not very squeamish, but then again I've never seen my midsection transformed into a scene from Saving Private Ryan before.

What do you think? Fellow C-section moms, did you get a firsthand look at what was going on behind the curtain?

Parenthood Truth #2051693

For some reason this topic isn't covered in those What To Expect books, but I'm here to tell you that once your child is mobile, your house will never, ever look the same. You can clean it all you want, but its very molecular content has been permanently altered and there is NO RETURN. Gaze upon your living room's future, if you dare:

And that's on a good day. On a bad day you will have to shoo away seagulls, dingos, and circling buzzards as you stand knee-deep in Toddler Detritus, while a small child tugs your pantleg and wails "BALL? BALL? MAMA FIIIIIIIND IT?"

What we talk about when we talk about love

I was starting to write a blog post about Whiny, Inexplicable Tantrums and how they are Eating My Soul (like this morning, when Riley got it in his head that I should wear this random green shirt he found in my closet, and when I informed him that no, sorry honey but Mommy can't wedge her bulbous pregnant upper half into that shirt, he screamed over and over like a banshee and basically threw himself on the floor sobbing about how I should put on the green shirt, put on, put ONNNN, and oh my god, I wanted to blow him out the airlock), and I realized that wow, I sort of talk a lot about the negative side of parenthood here, don't I?

I hope it's understood just how much I love my son, and how I cannot imagine life without him. How he breathes light into all my dark corners, and makes every day a wondrously rich and sweet experience. Despite all the challenges, he is an immeasurable part of me. He is love, pure and simple.

It's just that I don't feel the need to say that all the time, because 1) it's far more cathartic to bitch about all the little things that suck, 2) lots of times I need your advice on the various things that are currently sucking, and 3) while I reserve the right to occasionally get shmoopy on you (see also: this entry, last sentence), I'm personally more of a Tarantino fan than, say, the Hallmark Channel, you know?

Parenthood rocks, but holy jesus on a Ritz, sometimes it really craps the bed, too. I'm glad I have people to talk to about all the stuff that makes this road a bumpy one. Thanks for being out there, and helping me (you have, so much), and reminding that no matter what I'm dealing with parenting-wise, I'm never alone.