Finally ... and oh, crap

Well, I am finally in the third trimester. The first trimester flew by, as did most of the second, but for the last few weeks, I kept waiting for Baby Center to decree that I was officially in the third trimester, and well, it seemed like they were really milking that second trimester for all it was worth.

So, 12 weeks to go. Which brings me to the "oh, crap" part of the title. As in, "oh, crap, we still have a lot to do," "oh, crap, I'm sorry I picked that shade of blue for the nursery and now we have to repaint a room that looked fine the way it was," and "oh, crap, how did we forget to reserve a spot for Baby #2 at daycare?"

Obviously, there are far fewer baby products to buy this time around, but our house to do list is still quite impressive. I know we'll get there, but frankly, I'd just feel a heck of a lot better if the double stroller was already sitting in our basement, the new bottles and nipples were purchased and Mary Clare was ensconced in her new digs. So I just have to keep reminding myself that we have 12 weeks.

There go the ankles

So, I just glanced down at my ankles, and they're definitely cankles. Is it possible for your feet to look like they have goiters?

It could be the heels I wore yesterday and the fair amount of walking I did in them, but something tells me it's best if I don't bank on capris and dresses playing a role in my spring maternity wardrobe.

This is just depressing. So depressing that I can't even bring myself to take a picture of them for you. Mostly that has to do with the fact that I haven't had a pedicure in six months, but still.

Blackmail and you shall receive

It worked! It worked! These beauties showed up in my in box last night.

Never underestimate the power of a little guilt, my friends. 

I know, Aunt Debbie. I don't know why I'm not wearing a bow, either.

Brennan rocks the shamrocks (aka shin guards).

Full-blown soccer post to follow soon, I'm sure.

Snug

Speaking of clothes that are on the short side, I think it's time I bid adieu to the non-maternity T-shirts and cotton camisoles I had in heavy rotation this winter.

As I near the third trimester, I suspected our time together might be drawing to a close, but clearly, I wasn't ready to call it quits. Last Thursday, in an attempt to wear some St. Patrick's Day green, I pulled on a regular-sized, extra-long green Gap T-shirt. As I turned and tugged in front of the mirror, Chip looked at me and said, "Don't take this the wrong way, but I think you might be asking a lot from that shirt."

He was right. And funny. I hate it when he nails both of those.

Such a comment would have led most women to thank their regular shirts for their service through the first and second trimesters and pack them up for thinner days, but clearly, most women are not as lazy as I am. I mean, why would I go downstairs and dig through three tubs of appropriately sized maternity clothes when there are perfectly fine T-shirts hanging in my closet, just begging to be stretched beyond recognition?

Alas, the final nail in the coffin came this week. On Monday I strolled into the office lobby, only to discover that my shirt had ridden up as I waddled walked across the highway, and a good two-inch strip of the belly was now on display. All I can say is, thank heavens for scarves. And for security guards who politely look the other way. 

Kansasans do make cute kids

We haven't heard much from the Kansas cousins of late. Clearly, it's because they've spent the last month growing like weeds. All I can say is holy cheeks, Alexandra. It's good to see that she didn't let a bout with RSV get in the way of her growing. I can hardly wait to hear what the six month growth stats are on that girl.

And yes, it's sinfully late, but how cute is this St. Patrick's day picture? Behold, what you are seeing is not just a picture of two cute kiddos in St. Patrick's day finery, but two cute kiddos who actually have honest-to-goodness Irish blood running through their veins. You can tell it by the fact that they're wearing Kelly green and not teal like some German/Scandinavian/English phonies we know who shall remain nameless.


Now, if we all make nice comments and compliment her on her precious offspring, there's a good chance we may be able to cajole some sweet soccer pics and stories out of Sherri. Have at it, people. All it takes is a little begging, a little flattery and a whole lot of guilt. I know you won't let me down.

Sunday shortness

Mary Clare wore this dress to church yesterday. Cute, right?

Um, yeah. Cute and short. Like 70s era short. Like thank heavens she's two short.


Unfortunately, I didn't realize just how short the dress was until we arrived at church and I hoisted her on my hip, went to pull her dress over her bloomer and realized that the dress wasn't going to be covering anything anytime soon.

Oh, well, she's young. And therefore cannot be held accountable for her mother's attempts at getting one last wear out of a dress that clearly should have been packed up in December.

Feeling the Friday love

Okay, technically this picture was taken yesterday*, but hey, one of those weeks, right?

So here's to a great weekend, and here's hoping that the cute toddler cuddling up to her mama and the baby will distract you from the bags under my eyes. And how about that bump, right? That's 26 weeks of gestating, right there.  

*The Lindh family's attempt at wearing St. Patrick's green is just downright sad. I mean, lime green and teal? And Chip's tie was apple green at best. In our defense, there is not one drop of Irish blood coursing through our veins. Hell, Buddy is probably more Irish than us.

The many faces of Mary Clare

Lest you think we're not getting the full two-year-old experience with Mary Clare, here are a few photos from our recent jaunt up to Tower Grove Park. It wasn't until I was editing the photos that I realized I had captured a pretty nice range of expressions.  You'll notice that she has no problem bringing the sass.

This, of course, is only a sampling of Mary Clare's facial feats. Right now her best expression is The Catherine, named for the face my late Grandma Klostermann would make when shocked by a tidbit of news, be it salacious gossip or the price of milk in St. Louis. Needless to say, it is a family favorite. Just ask my sister, who, upon seeing it via a camera pic, said, "Holy #$%*, you just made me laugh out loud. I might have even snorted."

And she's not even the snorter in the family. Not that I'm naming names.

Oh, okay. It's me.

The belly has feelings, too

You know your pregnant belly has a presence when:

• Three people in one week ask if you're positive you're not carrying twins.
• Two people in one week audibly gasp when you tell them you have another three months to go.
• A coworker stuffs layers of bubble wrap under her shirt and exclaims, "Look, I'm Debbie." 
• While sitting at your desk, the web page you're viewing starts shrinking before your eyes, because, unbenknownst to you, your belly hit the right combination of keys on the keyboard and made it zoom out. Stupid Mac and their stupid command key features.
• While parking your car one day, a passenger in the car parked next to you (whose face you cannot see), cracks the window and says, "You're a little close, aren't you?" and you ignore him, thinking, "No way, plenty of room." And as you proceed to squeeze out of the car, you lightly tap their rear door with your front door because you have underestimated the size of your belly. The passenger points this out to you, and instead of saying "Sorry!" or "your car is fine, really!" you just storm off, cursing under your breath about your girth and possibly disparaging the make and model of the car whose door you just dinged.

By the way, the first three items? They all happened in the same week. And mostly at work. So let's hear it for the sensitive coworkers of the world.

All grousing about unsolicited commentary and dinged car doors aside, I really am fine with the size of the belly, the weight gain to date and so and so forth. So don't you worry about me. I'm mostly just entertained by what people feel the need to say, and the side effects of smuggling two leaden sourdough loaves around in my shirt. And so you should be as well.

He knows the way to my heart

Two of these bad boys were waiting on the kitchen counter for me last night when I came home from work. Smooth dissolve formula. Berry flavor. 


Flowers, schmowers. Chip knows the way to a pregnant woman's heart. Keep her well stocked in the Tums of her choice. 


Love that man.

I is for iPad

Chip, sweet husband that he is, gave me an iPad as a combo birthday/Valentine's day gift. Smart husband that he is, Chip gave it to me before he went out of town for a week. I've got a thinker on my hands.

So I've had it less than a month, and the things that iPad and I have seen ... whoo-wee. 

• Nary a week after receiving it, Father Tom's Sunday sermon focused on how our technology obsession -- namely, the Internet -- is one of the biggest things coming between marriages and families. Chip pretty much jabbed my side or squeezed my knee the entire time Fr. Tom was speaking. The truth hurts more than you can imagine. Nevertheless, I did not appreciate it. Chip or Fr. Tom.
• And speaking of truths, I will admit to being obsessed with the Scrabble game. But the game and I have a love/hate relationship because it usually makes me feel really, really stupid.
• Finally, last week Apple announced that the iPad 2 will hit stores March 11. You know, just a little more than a month after I received my iPad. Killing me. I went through various phases of anger, regret and forays onto eBay to see how much I could get for the antiquated one sitting on my lap. But I eventually accepted my fate and am now at peace with my first-generation iPad.  

Despite the ups and downs of our first month together, I think the iPad and I are going to make it. Chip and I, well, that's another story. The hours-long Scrabble sessions are really starting to take their toll on the man.

Okay, so maybe I encourage the girliness

Last week I went on a may-jah shoe shopping binge. But it's cool, because they weren't for me -- they were for Mary Clare. As you can see, not being able to buy clothes for myself has forced me to get more creative with feeding my online shopping habit. And it's made me more generous with my shopping dollars. Mother of the year, right here.

I blame last week's episode on Piperlime. It started with a 20% off kids shoes email, and two pairs of Croc ballet flats and a pair of Stride Rite sandals later, I was raring to go. Certain that there must be other pre-season deals out there, I hit up a few other websites and had Mary Clare's entire spring and summer shoe wardrobe, including water shoes, coming our way within a matter of minutes. I was even able to track down the elusive navy sandal. Snaps.

Well, much to my delight and Chip's horror, the shoe storm hit last night. And Mary Clare loved it. No kidding. Buddy knocked Mary Clare down during his nightly "maybe they'll let me eat directly from the food container this time" feeding frenzy, which of course resulted in an avalanche of tears. So I scooped her up and asked if she wanted to open the boxes with her new shoes. Bam. No more tears.

She was so delighted by opening all of the boxes within boxes, that I finally wised up and got out the video camera toward the end. Be sure to check out her expression when Chip asks whose shoes those are.




And if you're like me and Mary Clare and can't get enough of the shoes, click here for one more video.

So while this is a cute and fairly inexpensive habit to feed at two, when 16 strikes and she busts out this video as proof of how I am the one who made her a shoe fiend, I will have no one to blame but myself.

But most likely I'll just blame Chip for not taking my credit card. He knows I can't be trusted.

Dancing and a new 'do

I think there is a whole lot of shaking going on in Mary Clare's new classroom, because the girl likes to dance. What is really interesting is to see what music of ours makes her want to shake her groove thing. Todd Rundgren's "I Saw the Light" usually leads to a lot of hopping, and she has a real fondness for Broken Bells' "The Ghost Inside" and tends to screech "mine, mine" when she hears it. And in case that's not an eclectic enough mix for you, when "Mo Money Mo Problems" came on the radio the other day in the car, there was a lot of head shaking and fist pumping coming from the backseat. What can I say, the girl likes her Biggie.

While we were getting dinner ready tonight I turned on some Vampire Weekend, and it seemed to go over well. So well, in fact, that Mary Clare broke - temporarily, mind you - from her tomatoes and let me do a short video.






Usually we only make it five seconds before she asks to see herself, so this is impressive. Have I mentioned that we have some vanity issues? No? Well, the new haircut isn't helping. The past two mornings we've found Mary Clare in front of our bedroom mirror, swinging her bob back and forth and smiling oh-so-coyly at her reflection.

And I thought not letting anyone call her princess would be our saving grace. Must be the hair bows.