"That's Not Food!"

Well, they were right- having your second baby is a million times easier than having your first.  Andy was born after over three hours of pushing.  Alex (Alexander Christopher Berger, Esquire- figured I'd just add Esquire to his name now so that he doesn't have to bother with actually EARNING the title*) was born after three pushes.  And Alex, despite my best attempts to keep my weight down and NOT bear another monstrous eight pounder, weighed even more than Andy- a solid eight pounds, eight ounces.  If I'd have foregone my induction and made it to forty weeks, I would have had a nine pounder.  And that could have gotten ugly. I have been on a roller coaster of emotions since last Thursday.  I don't even know where to start.  I will say that, yes, you fall in love with your second baby just as quickly and deeply as you did your first.  Even if you spend their first two days** in existence constantly calling them by your first born's name....

Here it is- the day before the baby is set to arrive. I was afraid I wasn't going to make it to tomorrow, and now I'm hoping I made the right decision by deciding to do this whole thing via elective induction.  What a modern luxury, getting to choose when your child will be born. Getting to make this decision based on a host of reasons other than medical necessity.  Getting to say, "I want my baby born on this day because it won't interrupt my schedule as much."  This is said with very little regard to the baby's schedule.  He may have had a whole day planned for tomorrow, a little hiccuping and kicking followed by an amniotic nap and an hour or so of brain development.  Perhaps tomorrow he was planning on developing that part of the brain that will allow him to understand algebra.  And now I'm screwing that up! This kid was induced, and now he's failing Algebra. Eh.  I still want to be induced, algebra be damned.  It's not like knowing ma...

Andy loves buses.  If he sees a bus of any sort- school bus, party bus, charter bus- he is quick to point at it and announce, happily, "Bus."  If he ever came across a double decker bus, he'd probably pass out from the sheer joy of such a sight.  And if he were to receive a bus pass for his birthday, he'd be the happiest two year old alive.  Chris and I are seriously contemplating such a purchase, and then dropping him off at the Pace stop with a bus schedule, a juice box, and strict instructions on how to transfer buses safely so that we can meet him at the mall sometime the following afternoon.  Can you say best birthday ever?? The day care has a bus for the big kids' field trips.  The bus is parked in the lot, and every morning and afternoon, Andy calls out "Bus!" in greeting when he first glimpses the bus and then "Bye bye Bus!" when we either enter the day care or drive out of the lot.  He waves at the bus, staring longingly at it, as lo...

As we approach baby day, I'd like to tie up a few loose ends.  Here are two things I blogged about accomplishing with Andy before the baby came along: Switching him to a big boy bed. Potty training. Fail on both items.  It's easy to talk big when you're a sprightly twenty-three weeks along and can still comfortably get around, bend down, see your feet, and wear shirts that couldn't accurately be described as "muu-muus."  Then, however, things take a turn, and not only does your body start to expand and become essentially useless as anything other than a baby vessel and incinerator for cookies, but you also start to quickly lose motivation.  Potty training?  Nope.  Switching to a big boy bed?  Nope.  Shaving your legs?  Not so much. I realized quickly that the potty training just wasn't going to happen.  Andy's at day care five days a week where they do not work on potty training until the kids hit the tw...

We had to buy another dresser for "the boys."  The only problem is that the new dresser, a larger, taller model, does not fit into the boys' bedroom with the crib, the twin bed, the baby dresser, and the reading chair and has been placed in the hall outside the bedroom, in a nook across from the bedroom right by the bathroom.  My blood pressure spikes every time I see this dresser.  It's not only that dressers clearly do not belong in hallways unless you're living in a crowded halfway house with a slew of recovering drug addicts- it's that putting the dresser out in the hall boldly announces that we have run out of room and given up any pretenses of attempting to keep things even relatively nice.  It's over.  The baby hasn't even been born yet, and already the house is too small.  I just hope we have enough room for all the wine and salami I intend on buying post-baby. I moved all of Andy's clothes out of the baby dresser and into the larger ...

"You know, the Humpty Dumpty rhyme never states that Humpty is an egg," Chris said on Saturday afternoon, thereby blowing my mind. We were watching Sesame Street with Andy, and when we watch Sesame Street, we tend to make comments such as, "Big Bird really has a great sense of humor" and "You know, this show is REALLY clever."  This is one small nugget of being a parent; Sesame Street becomes fascinating television- nay, fascinating ART- that works on so many different levels.  Other quick nuggets about being a parent: If you hear a crash from the front room followed by an "Oh no!," you're slow to investigate since the "Oh no!" indicates your child is still conscious, so you probably have time to finish your sandwich. At some point, you realize that it's easier to just take your kid to the goddamn park for thirty minutes rather than spend an hour and half explaining to a screaming child why you don't w...