13 Months

What do you say when your baby is 13 months and people ask how old she is? Do you say she's a year old? Or do you say 13 months? One year and a month? I used to hate it when I asked how old toddlers were and I would get their age in months and be forced to do the math. Oh your baby is 37 months?? So.....she's 3? Now I totally get it, there is a difference between one year and 13 months, but I still remember that annoyance. Is she a year old until shes 1 1/2? Maybe I should change my answer depending on my audience. For random dudes she's one, but for other moms she's 13 months. In my confusion I usually say both.

These are the things I think about. My guess is that Travis has never once had this thought. Probably because if anyone looks at her, talks to her, or asks us about her, he puts his head down and gets out of there as quickly as possible. Then he'll turn to me and mutter something along the lines of, "don't effing look at my daughter." He doesn't like feeling that she's on display, and apparently thinks everyone who looks at her wants to touch her and kidnap her. It's something we're working on, but I agree it is a little disconcerting when random middle aged men tell us she's beautiful. The other day when I showed him a set of summer pajamas I got for Trinity, he was upset because he thought the pajama shorts were "too short."  What?! So it might show some diaper. Doesn't mean our daughter's a hussy. I sense this will be an ongoing issue...forever.

Trinity pretends like she hates the attention, but I know she secretly revels in it. She'll act all shy when people come up and start talking to her, always refusing to wave or say hi. But when people just walk right past her or stand around ignoring her, that's when she'll be like HII! and smile and wave. Thrill of the chase I guess. Can't say I blame her.

The girl is never happier than when she is doing something forbidden. She can't even stifle her giggles. I want so bad to be mad and serious when she blatantly disobeys, but it's impossible not to laugh.

She knows my biggest pet peeve is her touching my laptop, but she just can't stop herself. I usually quickly remove her from the situation, but this is when I get the best smiles. How could you be mad at that? 


When the doctor asked if I had any concerns, I told her that Trinity's defiance concerns me. She does things more purposefully and with determination when she knows she shouldn't. What makes me really crazy is when I tell her not to throw her food on the floor, and she looks me straight in the eyes, holds my stare, and in slow motion stretches out her hand full of food and lets go one finger at a time. The doctor tells me not to look at it as defiance, that Trinity is not capable of behavior and thought that complex. Something about how children test their limits and want to find them, blah blah. I'm afraid I know exactly what she's capable of. Evil far beyond her years. She knows where her limits are, and nothing brings her more joy than tiptoeing right over that line drawn in the sand. 


I had an Omg I'm a Horrible Mom! incident a few weekends ago. Trinity and I drove up to Portland to meet a friend and check out the Saturday market. We brought Lamb because Lamb is her fave and she can't go anywhere without him. Well she enjoyed throwing Lamb over the side of the stroller several times throughout the day, and he was always rescued and returned safely. At the end of our afternoon, my wonderful friend gave Trinity some presents. Two hippos joined her in the stroller with Lamb. We then walked across the street, loaded up the car and jetted on home. That night, Lamb was not in the house with us. I checked the car. No Lamb. Stroller. No Lamb. Oh my god where's Lamb?!? Lamb is gone. Nowhere. I would've bought another, but of course I got it at Costco during Easter, and it's no longer available. For a while I would try to substitute Lamb with Duck or Bunny, but she would throw it back and me and say "Lamb!" Oh the guilt! Here we will remember the good ol' days with Lamb. RIP Lamb. You are missed.

No more swinging with Lamb

It wasn't me, it was Lamb. 

Things have been going so well for us lately, with Travis starting a new job and me catching on to how to do mine, our baby growing up and being so happy and healthy, that I can't help waiting for the other shoe to drop. Life can't go this smoothly for too long. I'm trying to enjoy it, but I feel a sense of impending doom.

Playing with the picture settings on my new phone. 

She's getting humongous!

In honor of Mother's Day, I made a little photo book of Trinity's first year. Most of the pictures from her first few months are covered in other books and calendars, so this one mostly covers the last half of her first year.  I plan to give it to Trinity one day, but until then I'm giving it to my mom to hold on to. Take a peak! Kudos to Shutterfly for providing html to embed in blogs. 

Click here to view this photo book larger

Build your own high-quality photo books at Shutterfly.com.

1 Year

I think I'm in denial. It doesn't feel real that one year ago today all hell was raining down on my uterus and a baby was barreling toward the light at the end of the tunnel. Now she's stumbling around, making animal sounds, and pointing to her body parts, just like Travis after too many beers. Now I know FOR SURE that she's his.

I swear we don't practice this move at home.

Trinity had her one-year pictures, and they turned out beautifully. She survived about 18 costume changes in public and had a good attitude for several hours. A vast contrast to the last time we had her pictures taken, where she refused to smile and had diarrhea the whole time.

I would say she's a baby genius, except she has the word NO confused with TRY HARDER. I'm not sure how you teach a 1-year-old to listen. Her defiance both terrifies and amazes me.

But then she has these sweet moments when you forget that she looked you in the eye as she pushed every button on the laptop as fast she could right after you told her not to touch it. The force is strong in this one.

Like a retard, I planned her birthday party at a nice little park where we're going to barbecue and hang out. Good thing there's 5 inches of snow still left on the ground from this week's winter storm. I hope everyone bundles up. Maybe I should hand out those Little Hotties hand warmers as party favors. fml. Trinity, I blame this on you. Being four weeks early means it will be cold on your birthday. I also realized her birthday will usually be during Spring Break. At first I thought, what a fun excuse for family vacations. And then I thought, oh god, what a fun excuse to go to Cabo/Vegas/Lake Havasu, and other equally sinful places with friends. I'm not ready.

After today, I can no longer play the Last Year At This Time game, and recall where we were in the baby process. It makes me sad, but not sad enough to want another, because last year at this time I was pushing with all my might, and her head was ramming into my pelvic bone, over and over and over.

I miss my tiny little snuggly baby. Trinity won't sit still for a second and really isn't into the cuddles. She does however give amazing kisses.

One way to become popular in high school

She took her first real steps on St. Patrick's Day, and she's been taking more and more every day since. I think we can truthfully tell her that she was walking by her first birthday. 

Happy Birthday Baby Girl!! I wouldn't trade a second we've spent together for anything! Except maybe that time when you puked butternut squash into my mouth. I hope you always know how loved you are.

Birthday Blues

Ahhhh Trinity is about to turn 1! This makes me super sad. What happened to my sweet little baby? She got way too big, way too fast. And what on earth do you do for a 1-year-old's birthday party? It's not like she really has an interest in anything. She'll never remember what we do, and in fact, she might freak out a little by lots of people being loud and all up in her business. As of now she can't even walk! She's getting close though. I bet by her birthday she'll be there. She crawls at the speed of light, and gets into everything she's not supposed to. It's amazing she hasn't swallowed or choked on something horrible. It all goes into her mouth.

So inappropriate and amazing. I swear we really aren't that white trash.

She stands pretty well, and she loves to make the remote change the TV. I feel like she's a 30-year-old in a baby's body.

For now, the tentative birthday plan is to have a nice gathering at a park with a big covered area in case in rains. That way the kids can run around all nuts and play on the toys while the adults hang out. But seriously that would still suck if it rains. I'm too much of a control freak to just hope it doesn't rain. Dah! I have a feeling this is going to be an issue for the rest of her life. March is kind of a crappy time to have a birthday. Sorry kid. Maybe if you would have waited a few more weeks....No. There's no way I would have made it any longer. Her birthday is also the opening day of The Hunger Games movie, and I really want to go. Is that bad? I'm new to this. Do I make goody bags? A cake? cupcakes? It's not like she has other kid friends. Maybe we should skip the party thing altogether and we could just take her to the zoo or something (again, there's the rain issue). I give up.

Terrorist Beeb.  I see an evil streak ahead.

So, I work now. Yay! Boo! Such a bittersweet feeling. I really really like my job so far. There's a lot of freedom to make my own hours or even work from home, which will eventually allow me more time with Beeb once I'm confident enough about knowing what I'm doing. There's something very satisfying in actually doing what you set out to do with your life, even if it isn't exactly what you had in mind. For me, it never is, since what I usually have in mind are illusions of grandeur (i.e., being paid to travel the Caribbean islands and write about it, while on the beach with an umbrella drink). I figure since I overpaid a state college for a piece of paper saying I'm qualified enough to coherently construct a sentence, I should actually get paid to construct said sentence. So far, so good.

It's tax time! I thought that would be more exciting than it really was. I had expectations all these years (always a mistake) that when you had a baby you got all this money because kids are money-sucking little parasites. Maybe it would make more of a dent if I had like three or more children, but the credit was basically invisible. I kept re-entering her information, hoping it would take effect, but lo and behold, it already had. Super sad. What did make a difference was entering all the medical expenses for her birth. I know they say your children are priceless, but I added it up and mine cost me just shy of $10,000. Out of pocket. That is absolutely ridiculous, especially since I had no medical interventions! And I have insurance!! Use protection kids.

Today is Valentine's Day, so I should give a shout out to my love: 
Trinity, you taught me the meaning of true, unconditional love, and even though you are only going to cost more as time goes on, you really are a priceless addition to our lives. Love You Beeb!

Sweet V-Day sweatsuit. Still waiting for hair!

Hehe just kidding. Travis, you are my love. The other night, we were being slugs on the couch watching the Grammy's, and Chris Brown was performing. You did something I didn't expect. You turned the channel in disgust and said you didn't want to watch someone who beats women. You added that even though you sometimes just want to....*clenches fists and teeth*....strangle me, you'd never actually do anything to hurt me. For some bizarre reason, I found this to be one of the most endearing things you've ever said. I'm pretty sure you're telling the truth, because I've tested your patience and it takes a lot of effort to even draw out a harsh word. I know I don't tell you enough, but thank you so much for all you do for me and our little party of three.

P.S.: I had to write this here because I forgot to buy a card, you never check your email, and you don't have Facebook. Also, I'm going to be so pissed if you buy me a million dollar bouquet of roses that I'm going to throw away next week. What I'd really like is a housekeeper. I don't even care if she cleans in the nude on your day off.

Love ya!

Bye Bye Baby

Cue the mommy guilt! If it had a theme song, it would be playing nonstop in my head for the next 48 hours. The good news: I got a job! The bad news: I have to go back to work. For the last two months, Trinity and I have been together almost every waking moment. I can officially say without a doubt that I am her most favorite person in the world (I know, barf). And I'm leaving her. For money. Ugh it sounds so horrible! I know it's what's best for the family and all that crap. I mean, what's the purpose of making her a baby genius if I can't pay for college? But I feel like I'm abandoning her. It's hard because she's progressing so fast right now and she's so much fun. In the last week or so she has started pulling herself up to stand (and fall). She's learning new words and can say "momma" and "dada" when cued. She has the wackiest sense of humor, but I feel I understand her better than I do most adults. In short, I'm having more fun than I ever thought possible. This time has gone by much too fast.



Trinity's First Snow! 1/15/12

I'm thankful she'll be left in the competent hands of my mother, who is excited to take care of her and loves her almost as much as I do. Hopefully she doesn't die in the death trap that is my parents' house. All day she'll have to navigate their sunken living rooms and two different treacherous fireplaces surrounded by rocks and bricks. Last time I was there we realized she can fit through the spaces between the banisters on the second floor. I've got a good feeling about this.... :/

During this time with her, I did a total mom thing. I made a tutu. Trinity has her 1-year-old pictures coming up pretty soon and I thought it would be cute if she had a tutu. There are a ton of mommys online who make them and are trying to sell them for ridiculous prices. I'm the least craftiest person in the world, but I figured since you can make them without a sewing machine, I would give it a shot. I had to swallow my anxiety and get over my fear of Jo-Ann Fabrics so I could buy some tulle. I wandered around aimlessly for a while, but then realized that I wouldn't even know what tulle would look like if I was standing in front of it, so I broke down and asked. There was a wall of tulle. One shelf each of shiny, dull, and sparkly. Which one did I choose? Ummmm sparkly of course. Did I look at the price? No. Because really, how much can tulle cost? So I choose three different colors and ask for five yards of each. 15 yards. As the lady is cutting the first five yards, another employee comes over and remarks that the sparkly tulle is sooo cute...if only it weren't so expensive. Wait, what? hold on!! How much is the tulle? Oh, $6 a yard? So, 6 x 15 = .... $90... NINETY DOLLARS!!! STOP! I know it's my responsibility, but you'd think the cutting lady would ask me if I really wanted $90 worth of tulle. Because no one wants $90 worth of tulle. So I take the sparkly, diamond-encrusted tulle and put it back on the shelf and then decide I will settle for the shiny tulle instead. Well, as I'm looking through the shiny tulle, the ENTIRE shelf of sparkly tulle falls out into the aisle. One by one. Like a slow clap. As if I'm not embarrassed enough by the exchange I just had with the employees. So after looking around to see if there are any witnesses (of course there are), I start picking up the fallen tulle and restocking it on the shelf. When I'm done, I'm completely covered in glitter. When I blink, I can see it on my eyelashes. The universe knows I don't belong in fabric stores and is punishing me for even trying. It takes forever but I decide on four colors and get three yards of each. It still ends up being $20-ish dollars, but I just want to get the hell out of there. As I leave the parking lot, I realize that the prices online really aren't that ridiculous and I should have just ordered one. But no, my little girl is going to have the best damn homemade tutu you've ever seen! I even bought glitter spray so it would be sparkly. Suck it, Universe! After what seemed like years of cutting strips of tulle, putting color combinations together, tying and retying those strips on the elastic band, my tutu is finished. I somehow ended up making it way too big and poofy for a 1-year-old. The thing fits me. But she's going to wear it for these pictures, and she's going to love it!!



Poor kid. You can run but you can't hide.

 While I've been on 24-hour mommy duty, Travis has gotten a reprieve.  It's rare that she wakes up in the night, but when she's teething it becomes a common occurrence. Travis has been able to sleep blissfully through all of these midnight screamings. He's gone for long stretches of time without changing a poopy diaper. I've tried to get him back into the groove of things this week, because starting next week, it's a 50/50 partnership once more. While he's been not changing poopy diapers, she's been getting stronger and more mobile. She tries her hardest to roll off the changing table, and/or sit up while she's being changed. She can somehow barrel roll while you're hanging onto both of her ankles. It can get dangerous and messy if you're not careful. The other night I decide it's Trav's turn to change a diaper that's sure to be a doozy. Soon enough, I hear screams and shrieks of terror, and they're not coming from the baby. After the cries of help I venture in to see what has happened, and I find this:


Daddy is out of practice.

My poor baby. Apparently, Trinity grabbed the poop diaper and wiped the shit all over herself while (gasp!) not holding completely still for him to wipe. Poop was everywhere so Trav had to extract her from the changing table and still try to clean her. If you look, you can see that they're making the same face. His is one of determination, and I think hers is just pure satisfaction with herself. Cracks me up every time! Look at that head! It's now in the 95th percentile. My little lollipop.

I'm sure going to miss her.

Baby's 1st Christmas

Was ridic! We went to three Christmases, she wore two poofy, glittery, uncomfortable dresses, sat on a strange, fat man's lap for a photo opp, and now we have countless toys and nowhere to put them. I'm in the market for some sort of storage ottoman that can double as a toy box and still look respectable in my living room.

Uncomfortable Dress #1

Uncomfortable Dress #2

So terrifying. Probably the last time this happens. Plus he was not legit. Santa does not dress like Punky Brewster!

One of her faves.

I also had a pretty incredible Christmas. This blog is being brought to you by my brand new laptop! Our other one was such a piece that you couldn't use it for anything unless you had more than two hours and a never-ending supply of patience. Most of the time it incited such rage that my vocabulary was reduced to nothing but expletives for the next hour. Trinity gave Travis and me a Kinect for Christmas so we can be a little less fat and lazy. This is a perfect gift for us because we are SUPER coordinated. The dancing game doesn't even know what to do when we hit the screen; it's so taken aback by our outstanding sense of rhythm.

The day after Christmas, the beeb and I headed up to Washington again to visit some family and friends. It's rough making that trip all by yourself, although I think I managed a little bit better than the last time. I of course still had to pee about halfway through the drive, and again my precious was sleeping so peacefully in the backseat. Since everyone gave me so much shit about leaving her in the car for less than a minute last time (high horse, anyone?) I woke her ass up and drug her into the bathroom with me, where I had to hold her while I peed. Have you ever tried to hover while holding 20 extra pounds in your arms? It's not an easy task. And then I had to complete the rest with one hand. It took forever, and then she was wide awake the rest of the way. It really made so much more sense to leave her be, but whatever, I'm all for doing the right thing. We had an amazing trip, and aside from no sleep because my little manipulator learned quickly that I didn't want her to cry at night and keep the others awake, I would deem it highly successful.

A nightmare of mine occured the day before New Year's Eve. The plan was to drop Travis off at work and then spend the rest of the day at my parents'. We would leave Trinity there that night and then go off to the coast to celebrate New Year's. I packed everything she would need for a few days and made a big batch of baby food. We left around 5:30 in the morning, and at about 6 I realized that I forgot the formula. She was going to need it as soon as I got to my parents', and I had nothing. There was only one thing I could do. I had to stop at Walmart. It wouldn't have been so bad except I was in my pajamas, complete with a robe. Trinity was also in her pjs, and it was pouring down rain. I couldn't go in with my robe, so I put on my nice wool pea coat, which complimented the outfit beautifully. I woke up my poor baby and whisked her through the rain inside Walmart, where thankfully there were other people casually shopping in their pjs. Sweet. The cashier didn't even bat an eye at the trainwreck that was happening right before her. Lesson learned. I'll never forget the formula again. Luckily she can start drinking normal milk soon. I should have bought stock in Enfamil.

Did I mention she crawls now? She looks like a soldier slithering away from an explosion, but it's mobility nonetheless.



I will cut you, M'er F'er



The Difference Between Mom and Dad: Christmas Edition

Growing up, we all knew that when a present said it was from Mom and Dad, it was really from Mom and she was nice enough to write Dad's name on it. Even now, if Dad actually makes an effort to get something, then the present just says from Dad, and it's usually something practical, like jumper cables or tire chains. This never really bothered me, except now I'm Mom. Even before that, when I was just Auntie, it was the same. For all of the kids' birthdays and Christmases, I am the one figuring out what they like, what size they wear, and then I go shopping, buy and wrap the presents. But you know what the card says? "Love Auntie Katie and Uncle Travis." Hey kids: Uncle Travis didn't do shit! Why does he get to take credit? For some reason, it bothers me more now that we have our own little one to shop for. Last night I was wrapping presents and writing on them, "Love Mommy and Daddy." Damnit! Daddy didn't do shit! I'm sure my mother was tempted to write that on several presents, but never did. I do it because I don't want her to grow up thinking Daddy doesn't care, because he does, just not in the thoughtful, buy you presents kinda way. Usually he waits until the last possible minute and then buys something pretty random, or if he can't find anything, jewelry. I have come to accept and even love this, and luckily we had a girl so he can get by with just buying more jewelry, but it still drives me nuts! One time I was too busy at work to buy our nephew a birthday gift, so I asked him to pick something up at the store before the party. I think he went to that random dollar section in Target, you know the cluster of stuff that's always right up front? He came back with an inflatable toy where the bottom is filled with sand so when you punch it, it pops back up, and a small rubber shark. WTF?! Then for wrapping I think he stapled a paper bag around them. It was horrible. I guess it's partly my fault, because I could torture us both by insisting we go out shopping together, but I'm pretty sure shopping with me steals small bits of his soul. I get distracted easily and have to touch everything. And every time I go shopping with him, I feel like it's time for Final Jeopardy. The theme song plays so loud in my head that I end up just grabbing something so we can both be put out of our misery. Don't even get me started on the Christmas cards. Or the wedding invitations. I'm still pissed!

In the picture online it did not have
little Christmasy pictures embedded in it.
I'm trying to breathe through it.

What do you make of Baby's First Christmas anyway? I flip-flop between going all out and doing nothing. She has no idea what's going on, so it seems rude to buy her toys and then make her wait a month to play with them. She's going to be more interested in the wrapping paper anyway. But I did the obligatory first ornament and got her a pretty pink stocking with her name on it. A family friend pointed out that we only have one baby, so there would be no confusion as to whose stocking the pink one was. She has a damn good point, but alas, reason lost and Trinity's stocking will FOR SURE never be confused with anyone elses.

To give Travis some credit, he doesn't get off scott free during all these Christmas shananigans. I look forward to picking out a tree every year, but I understand it must kind of suck for him. We can't just do something easy like pick up a tree from his work, oh no. We are riding that damn tractor in the freezing cold out to the north 40 so we can trod around in the mud and take turns picking out trees that the other one is inevitably going to hate until we are so frozen and mad that in a fit of rage he just starts sawing one down. It's tradition! But this year we have an 8-month-old with us, and we have to make it snappy because we don't want our indecision to leave her with frostbite. It is also more dangerous because she is strapped to the front of me in the Baby Bjorn and I can't see where I'm walking so I trip over countless stumps and we almost eat shit several times. Luckily it doesn't take long before we find an acceptable tree. While he gets down in the mud to saw it down, I panic and run off looking for a better one. I have a committment problem. Then after he's sweating and breathing hard from all the sawing, he has to hoist it up over his shoulder and walk it back to where the tractor will pick us up. I'm having a blast! But I realize that without him this trip would be impossible. Not only would it be a physical impossibility, I would flat-out refuse because the actual manual labor involved seems like the most unfun thing ever. Plus I hate getting dirty.

Do work son! I take this same picture every year to fuel the rage.



Due to a lack of pictures of the 3 of us, this may or may not be on our Christmas card. Act surprised.

So we bring it back home where he informs me that this year, he refuses to decorate the tree. Apparently it's something he's NEVER enjoyed. I don't know if that means he's never enjoyed it in his whole life, or just the years he's spent with me. I'm thankful for this, because his ornament hanging gives me anxiety. It has no rhyme or reason, and I usually end up redoing it when he isn't looking anyway. So I let him off the hook with the decorating, but I ask him to bring me home some peppermint candy ornaments from work, because that is the planned theme for the tree this year. Knowing his shopping skills, I ask that he send me a picture of the ornaments before he buys them, just to make sure they are up to par. I receive no picture. He comes home with these:

Not only are they NOT peppermint candies, they're not even ornaments!! It's a small string of candy cane lights that plays obnoxious carols. His defense is that candy canes are made of peppermint candy, so he thought it would be ok. WHAT?!? What can you even say to that? Nothing. So I rallied. I found a bunch of glittery snowflakes that I've never used in the ornament box and created a snowflake tree. I figure I only have a few years left of respectable trees before little T creates beautiful, tacky treasures to adorn the branches with, so I'm gonna enjoy it while it lasts.

I see the irony in talking about respectable trees when my topper is absolutely ridiculous. But it makes me so happy!

So, while Mommy and Daddy are two very different people, we are actually two infuriating halves to a whole. Or maybe we're just the only two people who could put up with each other's quirks. Either way, working off of our strengths and weaknesses, we somehow manage to get shit done. In the end that's what's important. Oh, and our baby girl is a beautiful, happy little weirdo.

SAHM

Stay-at-home mom. I've never considered being one. Until now. Although I might complain about it, I actually like working. I like my job. Or, I guess I should say, liked my job. Since late in 2008, I've been working one year on, one year off, one year on, at the same place, which coincides with Oregon's legislative cycles and the compilation that follows. This is a pretty sweet gig. The problem is that my year on is up, and while I hoped that I would stay on for a few months longer, the fact that Oregon manages her money like a meth addict in a dark alley has made that impossible. It's also unclear whether returning next year will be a possibility. So, here I am, about to start my new, full-time job as a mommy. I am both very excited and somewhat terrified. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing I love more than spending time with my little one, but I have some fears:



She's so doomed

1. If I screw up at work, odds are someone down the road will correct my mistake and never tell me about it, or I'll get a "friendly reminder" e-mail about the correct way to do something. But now, when I screw up at work, I'll be screwing up MY KID! I'd rather my mom (her current daily caretaker) have this kind of responsibility, because then there's someone to blame.

2. I'm afraid the attachment will turn into something unhealthy when we become each other's whole world. What if it becomes stifling for both of us, to the point where we have to get away from each other in order to breathe?

3. While it's true even now, I don't want her to know without a doubt that I live for her. That's a lot of pressure (and power) to bestow on someone so small.

4. When she becomes my job, I'm afraid I'll think of her as work. When I spend time with her now, it's a joy and a privilege and a treat because we don't get to spend all day together, so I treasure the time we have. What if I take all this time for granted, now that we have so much of it?

5. I'm a horrible housewife. I really dislike cleaning all day, and I'm not that efficient at it. In the middle of putting clothes away, I'll decide to clean out my drawers for donations, and then I'll get tired or interrupted and the result will be an eruption of clothes strewn all over the floor, a way bigger mess than when I started.

6. The dynamic between Travis and me changes when the house becomes my job. He also becomes my job. And no one wants to work for their husband. When I work outside the home, we're on a more level playing field. When it comes to chores, laundry, baby duty, money, cooking, we are pretty equal contributors, but when I don't....ugh I shudder at the memories of my last year off. A sort of de-evolution takes place, and caveman status is resumed. He suddenly forgets how to make his lunch, that his socks go in the laundry basket and not the living room floor, and that his plate goes in the dishwasher after eating. This was somewhat tolerable when I had nothing else to do all day, but now there's a baby, and the excuse, "...But I work," will no longer carry any weight. Shit could get real here pretty soon. Stay tuned...

There are a lot of things I'm looking forward to, like being the one she depends on for help, seeing her first steps, hearing her first words, working out on a normal schedule again (the gym nursery for an hour or two won't kill her, right?), and of course, shaping her into the baby genius I know she can be! I will have more opportunities to perfect my diapering techniques, which I feel are already advanced. Not to toot my own horn, but I'm pretty sure I could not only wrestle a gator into submission, I could also clothe and diaper it at an award-winning speed. She's a wily one, my girl, and never stops moving, not even during a poop-filled emergency change.

Speaking of the word "poop," she finds it hilarious. This bewilders me, because I'm not one to talk of fecal matters. It makes me uncomfortable. But of course, since it makes her laugh, I find myself constantly saying "poop," singing it really, in all different tones. This is shameful and undignified, but when I'm awash in her giggles, I no longer care. The things we do for love.