Consolidation

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Embrita Blogging

This just might lead to more regular updates....right?

Some fears...about boys.

I'm just going to vocalize this one a lot, because the more I talk about it the better I'll feel, right?

I was all set to have a girl. It's no secret. I understand girls. I know what to do with girls. Granted, a lot of my friends are boys. Always have been. I was a tomboy. So it's not like I won't know what to do at the park with my son.

But puberty. The teenage years...when you truly start to become who you're going to be. That's when things start to go all wonky.

There are things I'll be able to cope with, even if they're not my first choice:

Being a slacker stoner kid.
(Really, would I be the pot or the kettle there? Not that I was a stoner, but I certainly held tight to "slacker." I also own that hat.)

Football. I guess you really just want them to be happy, right? (This is Tony Romo, btw.)

Alex P. Keaton. If Steve has any say, you know he'll have the wardrobe at least.

There are things I'm going to try and (wink)indoctrinate:

Chris Sharma. We climb. It just the lifestyle. This is actually what makes me think Slacker Stoner Kid is likely...have you hung out with climbers lately?

J.J. Reddick. Duke Basketball is just a way of life here. College ball, really. So if he decides to go rogue and picks UConn or something I'll still love him. Promise. I'll even go to games.

Tony Hawk. Drool.

Andy Roddick. We suck at tennis so it isn't so much a way of life, but I really like it and if he shows interest I'll encourage it.

There are things Steve will try and (wink) indoctrinate:

Lance Armstrong.
If there were a chance for a Yellow Jersey, Steve might actually weep with joy. At the very least, at the rate he streams Time Trials and and races and shops for bikes...there's no avoiding exposure.

This is both of us. Steve will just be the role model of the man in the kitchen. We are foodies.

The Dandy Warhols...specifically Courtney Taylor-Taylor. I would be the indoctrinator...but Guitar Hero doesn't count as being musical. Even if I have unlocked Shirley Manson.

(I should add that I am in no way saying that the only way I'll love my son is if he's a pro...any of these things. Avid hobbyists enjoy life just as much...and I'd be willing to argue that sometimes they enjoy the sport/whatever more because there's less pressure. If he grows up to be an investment banker because he loves numbers then more power to him.)


And then there's this...




At which point we will tie him to a chair and give him an intervention.

Why? You ask? Because he's protesting?

No. Go First Amendment!

Because he's speaking his mind?

No. Again - first amendment. And really - any child of mine is going to be opinionated and will let you know.

It's because he needs a history lesson. And a civics lesson. And a lesson in...reality... (I'll give you a hint: all of those adjectives are mutually exclusive. So being all of those things would be a neat trick. And confusing.)

Willful ignorance will be met with an iron fist in our house. There can be dissent but you better do your research before you have t-shirts and signs made.



Of course...I'm doing all of this premature freaking out and the reality is that our son will turn out just like this:

Shameless

It's shameless, really. The motivation for today's post.

I'm entering AN ONLINE CONTEST. A BLOG contest. I *NEVER* do that.

Ok, I do, but I can count on one hand the other times that I have. Once. The Pioneer Woman was giving away the camera body I'm lusting after and saving up for...I couldn't resist.

And now - my favorite Daddy Blog (Pacing The Panic Room: source of the awesome Maternity Series) - the one I make Husband read and pass along to people who want a man's perspective on things - is giving away a whole stash of Fuzzibunz. That's right. I'm entering a contest to win cloth diapers.

Why? Because in January, when Sebastian arrives, we're going to need to cover his ass. And I've already registered for them - but winning an entire stash would allow me to remove them from my registry and my list of Things To Make Sure We Have Enough Of and relax because Bunny's ass will be covered.

It will also make me feel better for being almost 22 weeks along and still having All-Day Morning sickness.

So there we have it. A post purely for the hope of winning diapers.

And now back to our regularly scheduled narcissism.

Strawberry Lemonade

Apparently, along with cravings, nausea, fatigue, odd swelling, and forgetfulness - pregnancy also causes ADD.

I was Nesty before I got knocked up (shocking, I know. See the Embrita Blog for proof) and I keep waiting for some kind of over-drive nesting to kick in. I think what's happening instead is that I just can't focus long enough to finish a single project. I hope that goes away soon.

So halfway through my Hang-Shelves and Baby Proof to Office project (it will appear on the Embrita Blog if I get my act together and post it) I decided that Bunny needs strawberry lemonade. I hit the trusty Smitten Kitchen site and altered her Watermelon Lemonade Recipe.

It's really tasty. And Easy.

Lemons, juiced
(I only used 6 of these)

+

Strawberries, pulverized (in handy chopper)

+
Simple Syrup. I didn't take a picture of it because it looks like dirty water in a measuring cup. (Lazy girls simple syrup: put 1/2 c sugar in pyrex. Add 1/2c boiling water. Stir until dissolved. Let cool. Add to pitcher.)

+

Water to taste

=

Strawberry Lemonade.

Enjoy!

V-day.

Also known as: the halfway point. It was Saturday. I spent the day (me and my low blood pressure) on the couch.

Friday, this happened:

If you turn your head to the side and squint, you can see a face in the right blob. What you can't see (because I'm certain that Bunny would kill me in future for posting the goods on the interweb where nothing really ever gets deleted) is that Bunny is a BOY.

So I spent most of the weekend saying things to Husband like "your son is using my bladder as a punching bag." It makes it more real.

I said the other day to Husband that I wasn't getting a lot of unsolicited advice. I was half-wrong. It's still not obvious to strangers that I'm knocked up, so they don't really say anything. But the people who DO know us? Totally different story.

I feel like making a list of the "oh that'll change when the baby gets here" shit that I'm hearing from people who should know better than to say things like that to me.

* Our car. It's "too small" and of course we're going to need another one so that Husband can go to work and I can go to Dr. appointments. This is Husband's preferred (most days) way to travel:

This is our car:



Yes, it's compact, but we don't need more space than that. We're only having TWO KIDS. And I DON'T WORK.

Will circumstances change that we eventually need a new car? Maybe. But we'd prefer not to have two car payments. (None of this stops Husband from browsing the new cars online, though. He is still male.)

* Elimination Communication. Why do people assume that this means I'm going to let Bunny crawl around without a diaper on and I'll just be following with a mop? Seriously. Think about that for a second. Would ANYONE do that? No. Because it's disgusting and unsanitary and unrealistic. What actually happens is closer to the system for house-training a dog. Except the "dog" in this situation can't walk yet and wears DIAPERS.

Oh - and Cloth Diapers. Forget that they're totally cute Fuzzibunz and BumGenius that we'll be giving a go..."They don't rinse themselves" I heard this morning. You're right, they don't. They also don't blow out as much, have almost no instance of giving diaper rash, don't collect in landfulls (I misspelled that on purpose), and don't wind up costing $3k over the diaper-wearing life of the child. So I have to rinse the poop into the toilet? Bummer. And an extra load of laundry? NOT THAT. Seriously, people. We only have one planet. And Bunny's heiny is one I want to take care of. I could go on and on. But we have a compost pile in the back yard - so clearly I'm not the person for whom the argument "I don't care about the landfills, I'd rather tie it up in a plastic bag and toss it than wash it" WON'T WORK. Clue in, please.

* Pumping and bottle feeding. Will my boobs be a buffet? Yes. But every now and again, Bunny is going to have to get food "to go" and let Daddy feed him. With a boob-shaped bottle. (If he takes it.) I get it from self-labeled "Breast-feeding Nazi's" and the people who think that Breast Milk is for peasants and advocate formula-only feeding. My boobs. My decision. The only other person who will have a say is still cooking, so BACK OFF.

* Montessori/Reggio Emilia. The things I hear. I could flood your inbox with information advocating both of these approaches. You have already raised children, you have already chosen your method, you have don't not a bit of research regarding my plans. You know not of what you speak. My children will not be undisciplined heathens. (Ok, technically they might be heathens, but our education approach has NOTHING to do with that.) They will not die some horrible not-sleeping-in-a-crib-related death. The lack of molded plastic eyesores in our home will not scar them for life. My decision to limit television and the tv-inspired crap that tends to invade the homes of children reared on Disney Princesses will NOT make them social outcasts. And even if it did...is that really the social group we're going to feel like we need to fit in with anyway? No. It's not our lifestyle, it's not going to be Bunny's lifestyle.

* Polly and Kipper. They are part of our family. I am not allergic. Husband is, but not to the extent that he used to be. I will not "prepare myself" to have to get rid of the cats because you're paranoid.

* Circumcision. Is this your penis? Is this your son's penis? Did we ask you for your advice? If the answer to any of these questions is, yes, then I will gladly listen to what you have to say. Otherwise...please stay out of my doctor's office. Thank you.

* Vaccinations. Please see above. Only substitute the word "body" for the word "penis."

Apparently, V-day isn't just the midway point, it also stands for Venty Blog Day. Clearly there were some things I needed to get off my chest.

I'll leave you with a cute:

Polly so very much loves her new bed.