Friday, 23 November 2012

Why 3-year-olds should be in charge of naming babies

The budding comedian of the house started giggling this morning during breakfast. 

"I have a silly name for the baby," he said.

"For a boy or for a girl?" I asked.

"For a boy."

"Ok," I said.  "Let's hear it."  Pubert is still a front-runner, of course, but I'm always open to suggestions.

Now, note that lately, toilet humour has been number one (hey-o) -  most of his attempts at humour end in "in the toilet", followed by maniacal laughter.  Such as "Knock knock/Who's there/Pepper/Pepper who/Pepper in the toilet".  And so forth.  Good times.

But today, it was a pleasant surprise.  We laughed and laughed and laughed.

A new possibility for the Punchy's name, should it be a boy, is...


drum roll...


Ungerness Toonamint.*

Now, if that's not a funny name, I don't know what is.**

* spelled phonetically, of course.

**  "Hey!  Joey Jo-Jo!" - anyone?  anyone?  Ok, fine.

Thursday, 22 November 2012

And still, I embiggen

Seriously, seriously, SERIOUSLY???

Thirty.  Nine.  Weeks.

Another doc's appt, another doc's appointment booked for next week.  Sigh.

Every day, I make sure that something else that has been appropriately "nested" is pointed out to the belly, as in, "Look, Punchy!  Here's your car seat!  You can come out now."  Or, "Hey, Punchy!  Your diapers are all folded and put away, and your bed is made.  Time to come out."  Or, "Oh, Punchy?  I washed and dried all of your toys, so they're clean and ready for you to play with." 

Today's effort was a bit smaller:  "Hey, Punchy, I did my nails."  Just in case that was what was holding it back. 

I've been considering, lately, that some people just aren't comfortable with this whole Miracle of Life business.  Like me, for example.  Here I am, on my third baby, and am still creeped out horrified disgusted ... no wait, that's all how I actually feel, so I'm taking back my strikethroughs:  I own that I am creeped out, horrified and disgusted by this process.  Still.  Yes, it's amazing.  Yes, it's incredible.  But there is YET ANOTHER little being inside of me who has not only grown bones, but fingernails and toenails, too.  Shudder.  It's just not natural.  Not to mention the weird, yucky side effects, which don't need to be discussed. Bleah.

Ok, fine, since you insist.  Below, a recently-rediscovered effort at explaining about what pregnancy does to your body, drafted when I was the host organism to Huffalump the First, who became Vaughn.  I regret that I never finished it, as the third trimester is really the "best" part, but don't have a scanner at my desk anymore.

Yes, of course my resume says "sweet powerpoint skillz".*

And yes, I am available to present to 7th-9th graders.  I figure that the whole truth would reduce teenage pregnancy by a lot.

*However, my transferring-powerpoint-to-video-file skillz aren't as good, apparently.  Apologies.

Friday, 9 November 2012

And in THIS corner...

...weighing in at 122 lbs, measuring 36-38-36, is an angry mess.

37 weeks, and no baby. 

I'm chugging raspberry leaf tea by the potful, doing lots of walking (though a mad dash across the street for the bus almost dislocated my pelvis)...and my grandmother will be happy to know that I even tried castor oil the other day.  I am pleased to report that it worked (wow, did it ever), but it didn't bring on labour.  :P

So, one could imagine that my mood is less than stellar right now (although, TMI warning, my colon is clean as a whistle!).

This morning's post is brought to you by a whopping dose of Righteous Indignation.  And it carries a Very Large Pregnancy Card.

I just got back from the grocery store, where I needed to pick up some diapers (Ailsa's still in them at night, and the let's-try-to-overnight-in-cloth-diapers, which was attempted last night, resulted in a change of diaper and pj's at 11 pm, and a very stinky set of bedding this morning.  Back to (environmentally-conscious) disposables for now) and some evaporated milk (let them eat fudge!)*.  I pulled into a middling-full parking lot to see a woman pulling into one of the stork parking spots, clearly marked as "reserved for expectant and new mothers". 

"Nice car," I thought, as she got out of her fancy Mercedes, wearing a black fur coat.  But she wasn't holding a baby.  And, not to judge, but she didn't look any less than her late 40s. 

So, after finding a farther-away spot of my own (non-stork), I waddled briskly into the store, on the lookout for a fancy black fur coat. 

Aha!  There she was, in the produce section.  I was careful to assess her physique (her coat was now open) and noted her admirably flat belly (and nice hair and nails, I suppose, if you're into that sort of thing.  Snif.) before approaching and saying, pleasantly, "Excuse me, but I noticed you parked in a spot reserved for expectant mothers."

She turned to size me up (half her height, and 3 times her girth) and said, "I made sure that there was one available." 

Erm, the other one was full too.

I continued, a slight bit more icily, "They're reserved for a reason."  I indicated my offensively large midsection.

And she said, "It's not the law."  AND WALKED AWAY.

Possible retorts included, "Neither is me punching you in the face," but I think that is against the law, in retrospect, so it was a good thing that I just called after her, politely (I swear), "Have a nice day!"

I fumed throughout the rest of my 2-item shopping, and waddled back out to my car.  Hers was still there.  Hmmm, I thought.  Retribution time.  I mentally sorted through my inventory.  Keys?   Too much, and also a felony.  Lipstick?  No, I really like that lipstick.**  Aha!  Pen and paper!

I tore the top portion of my receipt, and just wrote "Karma", then drew a little flower beside it.  I tucked it under her wiper blade, and left.  I feel better.  I was tempted to hang low, and wait for her to come out and find it, but darn it, I wanted fudge more.

*  Ok, "me".  Let me eat fudge.

** I used to have a hot pink lipstick in my pocket for that sort of thing.  When I lived in Sandy Hill and Chinatown, people would block my driveway all the time, and many people returned to their cars to find "Thanks for blocking my driveway!"  cheerily written on their driver's side window, with a nice smiley face beside it.

Monday, 5 November 2012

Halloweenies 2012

Another Halloween has come and gone, and it was fantastic.  (Of course it was!  It's Halloween!)

The kids were very specific in their costume choices this year.  Ailsa, who fits perfectly into V's awesome lion costume from last year, insisted on being a punkin.  I was trying to plant the seeds from February onwards, but her mind was made up.  Punkin or nuffin.  Well.

And Vaughn's vision was to be, well, a killer whale.  Hmmm.

Ha ha ha!  Good luck, Grandma!  I said, and Mom set to work making these kids look as awesomely ridiculous as they did.  She did a great job, as usual.

Trying on the costumes for the first time, admiring their reflections. 

Rear view.  You can see V's dorsal fin and tail. 

This was taken at playgroup.  They had face painting, and V wanted to wear my "ears" anyway, so, "Why not?" I thought.

Ah.  This is "why not". 
How fun was it to explain, repeatedly, that although it looked like I intentionally dressed my son up as a victim of a killer whale attack, it really was innocent.  Gah.
I washed his face before we went trick-or-treating.

Pumpkins, clockwise from top left:  Ailsa's design, Vaughn's design (I was the consultant and knife-wielder), and my let's-just-get-this-over-with design.  The fourth pumpkin was a ghost (again, quick and effective), and the fifth was handed as an empty pumpkin shell to Amanda for her decorating! 

Devil or Buddha?  And here I am, large as a barge and in charge, as they say.  Later that night, I had half changed into my pjs, but thought I should get at least one photo of the belly at 36 weeks.  Am "starting" to get disgruntled that, 7 weeks after my end being at the receiving end of steroid shots and a prescription for bed rest, the baby has not yet escaped its uterine prison.  I am officially allowed to have it this evening (Mom and Dad will be back in town), however.

Can't wait for next year!  Hopefully the next 'lump will be as much of a h'weenie as the rest of us!

Saturday, 3 November 2012

Quck snapshot from early summer

These were taken in early summer, before the insane heat and long drought (note that my lovely lawn was still lush and green, not light yellow and sad-looking).  You can click on them to enlarge.

There is only one possible caption required for these photos.

Wait for it...

"Man, these Hufflings sure are intense!"


(Note:  if you need this explained, please contact me in person so I can remove you from my address book)