girlfiend

I have been meaning to write about this for almost a week now. Last Friday we took a little day trip out to Lancaster, Pa. We planned on stopping for dinner then driving back home, but after an unexpected private tour of the Strasburg Railroad we were running late. Boyfiend had a coupon for a free meal at the Hershey Farm Inn so we decided to call and see if they had a room for the night. They did not, but the place across the street, the Dutch Treat, which incidentally is run by Indians, not the Pennsylvania Dutch, did and had a pool too.

So we get to the Hershey Inn, put our names in for a table and got a buzzer thing so we can walk around while we wait. The Fiendling is hungry, tired and cranky so I take him into the gift shop to play with toys. In the meantime, Boyfiend takes the baby with him and run out to get some wine for later. (There’s a story in here about my outrage that the personalized keychains in the gift shop had neither of my children’s fairly common and correctly spelled names, but offered Kaylee, Mackenzie, hottie, I (heart) Zachary and #1 Flirt, but it’s not really of importance so I’ll just leave it at that.)

After about 15-20 minutes the buzzer goes off. I have to pry a toy train out of the Fiendling’s hands which makes him very angry. We get to our table and I hold the struggling child on my lap while I wait for the waitress. Boyfiend and the baby show up soon after and the Fiendling promptly loses his shit. We order French fries for him in the hopes that they’ll chill him out some and Boyfiend takes him outside to calm him down so the rest of the restaurant isn’t subjected to his tantrum, while I hold the pacifier firmly in the baby’s mouth, trying desperately to keep him from crying.

A woman at the table adjacent to ours comments about how I should cherish these times since they grow up so fast. I smile and in my head I tell her to fuck off. I order my meal and tell the waitress Boyfiend has a coupon for the Smorgasboard and she brings the fries right as Boyfiend brings the Fiendling back in. I offer him a fry, which of course he does not want. I meant to offer Boyfiend one since a lot of the time the best way to get him to eat something is to offer it to someone else, but somehow I mess up and take a bite of it myself. This leads him to start wailing all over again and once again Boyfiend has to bring him outside.

A boy at the table behind me asks, “Why is he crying mommy?” The woman at the table adjacent to ours again says something about how I should cherish these moments and I smile through my gritted teeth as I pick up the pacifier that the baby just spit onto the dirty floor. I blow the dirt off the pacifier, look around to make sure no one’s watching, and stick it back in his mouth just as he starts to whimper.

My food arrives and I start to eat one handed. The woman at the other table tries to make conversation. She’s eating with her husband and two teenage boys. They look out of place because they are Jewish and based on the “bible-opoly” board game in the gift shop, we’re clearly not in Jew country. She tells me all about how quickly kids grow up and how beautiful my boys are. She offers to hold the baby for me so I can eat. I politely decline. She starts tells her waiter a joke about a panda. He does not laugh.

Boyfiend comes back in with the Fiendling who notices that the younger boy has a shitload of toys in front of him including a number of Thomas trains. The woman, who I’m now convinced is crazy, makes her kid share them. Boyfiend is relieved that the Fiendling will be occupied and goes to get his food up at the Smorgasboard. The woman tells the waiter a joke about teenagers. He is a teenager and does not get it. She starts to explain it to him as he tries to tell her he has to go. The older son basically tells her to shut up so the waiter can get back to work. The waiter is relieved.

Boyfiend gets back and the woman tells us how they eat at this restaurant all the time. While the Fiendling plays with the teenager’s toys Boyfiend feeds him bits of French Fries. The woman talks about how she’s going back to work as a teacher part time. A lunch room teacher. She asks if we read bible stories to our children. I’m confused because I could have sworn that they were Jewish, but I have no interest in interacting with her so I keep my mouth shut. She keeps talking and talking and asking us questions that I don’t really respond to. She asks if we’re teaching our boys to follow the right path and if we’re teaching them how to be like Jesus. Boyfiend’s fielding the questions pretty well until she straight up asks if we believe that Jesus Christ is our Lord and Savior. Boyfiend says, “No actually, we’re Jewish.”

I’m so pleased that he’s taken one for the team and said “we’re” Jewish, instead of just saying that his wife is Jewish that it takes me a split second to register when the crazy woman blurts out, “You are? So are we! I never would have pegged you as Jewish, you don’t look Jewish.” I’m staring at her as she continues, “We’re Messianic Jews!”

She goes back to asking questions about if the Fiendling’s a good eater and offers to go up to the Smorgasboard to get him some cucumber because her kids loved cucumber. We learn that they lived in Overbrook Park before moving to Drexel Hill. At some point her husband and kids disappeared and she’s alone at her table still talking while the Fiendling plays with her teenage son’s toys.

We pay our bill, thank her for letting the Fiendling play, and head to the hotel. Boyfiend and the Fiendling go straight to the pool while I nurse the baby and leave Mix a message cursing him for being on vacation without a phone on the very night I need to tell him all about our meeting with the Messianic Jews.

We visited my mom at the shore for the first time this summer and things didn’t go too badly. Things actually went quite well- no fights, no failing to choke back my rage, no insanity. The Fiendling didn’t want to go to sleep so bedtime was a battle both nights we were there, but the baby is easy going and my mom didn’t make me crazy so everything worked out. I even fit into last summer’s bathing suit with only a small amount of muffin toppage. If this keeps up we may actually be able to enjoy the shore this summer.

Don’t worry though. I haven’t lost my mind entirely. I know that any more than two consecutive nights is asking for trouble. My mother is still crazy and I still cringe at most of what she says. Sadly I missed hearing this gem first hand. My mom told Boyfiend some story about her friend’s cooking. Her friend G, who I’ve known since I was born, loves to entertain but isn’t much of a cook. There’s always something strange about her recipes and things always taste better when others are helping out in the kitchen. My mom described eating some meatballs at G’s house to Boyfiend and said that they were really cocked up.

As he recounted this to me I needed some clarification. What exactly was the context of the phrase “cocked up?” Does cocked up mean that the meatballs were good or bad? What was cocked up about them? The answer is that the meatballs had cheese in the middle and that cocked up means that they were good. Boyfiend thoroughly grossed me out by explaining that perhaps the cheese oozed out of the middle, hence the word “cocked.” We giggled about it for a while. A long while.

A little later Boyfiend went into the kitchen and I asked him to get me some ice cream. With berries. And pretzels. I wasn’t sure if he heard the additional request so I followed him in. He turned around holding a large bowl of ice cream with strawberries, raspberries and pretzels and said, “Here, I really cocked it up for you. I cocked it up good.”

For the first time since the day I went into labor I stepped on a scale at my in-law’s house yesterday. Here are the stats.

Weight gained during pregnancy: 38 lbs
Weight lost since: 28 lbs
Pounds to go to pre-pregnancy weight: 10
Pounds to go to pre-pre-pregnancy weight: 18
Pounds to go to weight I’d be happy to settle for: 15

Not bad. Considering that I had 25 lbs to lose for months and months after the Fiendling was born and I actually wore a pair of pre-pregnancy size 2 pants with a waistband yesterday, I’m in pretty good shape. Now I just have to get back to the gym.

Still nameless (and nicknameless for the purposes of this site) my second baby boy was born last night, a full week ahead of his due date, at 10.30 pm after a long day of labor and 5 minutes of pushing. He is perfect. At birth he was 7 lbs 9 oz, and measured 20 inches long. He has dark eyes and a head of thick black hair. He looks nothing like his big brother but he’s every bit as handsome.

Now I’m going to eat lunch and take a nap while I still can.

I skipped an official two year update and I skipped a 25 month update. Now that we’re nearing 26 months I need to record a few things so I don’t forget.

He now plays imaginatively. Instead of just pushing trains up a hill, down a hill and through a tunnel (narrating the entire time, of course), he puts his trains in dangerous situations like “falling offa track” and has other trains save them.

He also offers us and his trains food, both real and pretend. The other night he was holding the empty camera case and offering us pretend cranberries. It took me a lot of effort to teach him how to pretend to eat play food rather than just putting fake food from the play places we visit in his mouth. His pretend eating involves bobbing his head up and down and saying “yum yum yum.” When he pretends his trains are eating they too bob up and down and say, “yum yum yum.”

As for toddler negativity there’s no shortage of it. He’s in full on assert independence mode and knows what he wants screaming no pretty regularly. He’s also in tune to our habits and knows that before we leave a place we usually have a snack and change his diaper. If he’s having fun, once I bust out the snack suggestion he gets quietly upset and will shake his head and say, “Uh  uh leave the _______. Stay. Play with _______.” Of course the quiet quickly turns to loud, but he usually doesn’t make too much of a scene once the food comes out and his public tantrums never last for more than a minute or two.

He continues to order us around, telling us to “stop talking!” or “stop singing!” He’s very specific about which particular bite of food he wants (that one bite!) or if we’re reading quickly enough (”mama turn the page!) When prompted he will change his tones and very sweetly add a “peese” to his angry dictatorial demands. He also apologizes when necessary.

He hits and bites- just me and Boyfiend so far- and knows it’s a bad habit. He doesn’t do it out of anger, it’s just a way to play or test boundaries or something. Sometimes he’ll raise his hands as though he’s going to hit me, look me straight in the eye mischievously, and lower his hands and gently stroke the side of my face instead. Such a punk.

Despite his unsavory behaviors he’s still pretty positive most of the time and quite polite. Parents often compliment me on how sweet he is. No dummy, when he has two or more trains or vehicles he’ll hand over the toy he’s least interested in to another kid before I make him share, making him look like he’s generous all by himself. And sometimes he is just generous by himself,  handing over something he likes for another kid to play with.

He’s mostly good about saying thank you unprompted and has begun saying “FANKS!” quite loudly when he gets something he’s asked for or is complimented. He does usually respond by saying, “I love you too, mama,” when I tell him I love him, but the “FANKS!” response is just as nice to hear.

The toddler memory is getting better and better. He often surprises me by remembering the names of kids we don’t usually see on the playground and calling them by name when he says hello or goodbye. He also remembers who has what toys. A few weeks ago my dad was babysitting and took the Fiendling to the playground. When they returned the Fiendling’s sunglasses were missing but he had two motorcycles he had not left the house with. I asked him whose motorcycles they were and he promptly responded that they were Spencer’s. We didn’t see Spencer for a few days but we kept the motorcycles handy and the Fiendling returned them when we saw him next.

Ask him where something is and he usually remembers where he stashed it. Ask where Murdoch the train is and he’ll respond, “Dada move the bed,” and sure enough, there’s Murdoch stuck between the bed and the wall. Ask where his fire engine pajamas are and he’ll say, “In da dryer. Mama doin’ laundry.”

He picks out his clothes in the morning and insists upon doing the following the things by himself: putting on his shoes, opening the front gate, opening the front door, picking out a diaper, getting into his car seat. He also likes to unlock the front door but I don’t play that game- Boyfiend does.

He likes to sing and sings to himself in the car and when he’s going to sleep. He remembers the words to dozens of songs and corrects me when I get them wrong or sing the verses out of order.

His sentence structure and ability to communicate amazes me. Not everyone can understand his speech but he’s able to hold actual conversations with people. Over dinner he tells his dad what we did that particular day, who he played with, what he played with, whether he napped or not and whether or not he had fun.

The Fiendling is just such a good kid. He’s sweet and likable and well-behaved for everyone but me and his dad. He plays well by himself and he plays well with others. Boyfiend and I often talk about how lucky we are to have him.

A while back I lamented the fact that I suck at making chocolate chip cookies. I had no problem getting them to taste right, I just had trouble getting them to look right. My cookies were flat and misshapen, looking more like lace cookies than the chocolate chip cookies of my dreams. I tried just about every recipe, from the recipe on the bag of chocolate chips to the fancy schmancy recipe in my Williams-Sonoma cookbook. Eventually I gave up and found an Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Pecan Cookie recipe I stuck with for a while. Then, on a whim, I tried this recipe for Blue Chip Chocolate Chip Cookies. They came out perfectly. So I made them again. And again. I’ve made them at least half a dozen times since trying the recipe for the first time in February. I’ve left them in the oven too long, forgotten to toast the nuts, used too many or two few chocolate chips, salted butter when I’ve run out of unsalted, and dark brown instead of light brown sugar. I can not fuck these cookies up. They taste great and look great every time.

I wrote this a few days ago. With just 4 cookies left I had to make another batch today. I accidentally overcooked them again (I was straining chicken stock which is messy business) and they still turned out well. I showed remarkable restraint by only baking two trays instead of the usual four. I froze half of the batter knowing I’ll need some warm chocolate chip cookies after the baby is born and won’t want to go to the trouble of actually mixing it then.

Reprinted without permission from Smitten Kitchen who reprinted the recipe from the cookbook

Blue Chip Chocolate Chip Cookies

1/2 cup (100 grams) granulated sugar
1/2 cup (120 grams) firmly packed light brown sugar
8 tablespoons (1 stick) (115 grams) unsalted butter, cold, cut into 1/2-inch (1cm) pieces
1 large egg
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 1/4 cups (175 grams) all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon salt or 1/2 teaspoon flaky sea salt (Deb option)
1 1/2 cups (200 grams) semisweet chocolate chips
1 cup (130 grams) walnuts or pecans, toasted and chopped

Adjust the oven rack to the top third of the oven and preheat to 300F (150C). Line three baking sheets with parchment paper.

Beat the sugars and butters together until smooth. Mix in the egg, vanilla, and baking soda.

Stir together the flour and salt, then mix them into the batter. Mix in the chocolate chips and nuts.

Scoop the cookie dough into 2-tablespoon (5cm) balls and place 8 balls, spaced 4 inches (10cm) apart, on each of the baking sheets.

Bake for 18 minutes, or until pale golden brown. Remove from the oven and cool on a wire rack.

Store at room temperature in an airtight container for up to 3 days.

A week without a post and all you get is this meme swiped from Ladybug’s Picnic.

Where is your cell phone? My pocket
Your significant other? Across the room tying knots.
Your hair? Looks better when I blow it dry.
Your mother? Probably shopping online.
Your father? Most likely watching something on TV.
Your favorite thing? Sleeping, uninterrupted, through the night
Your dream last night? A sex dream about a guy from college. Weird.
Your favorite drink? I’d like a margarita please.

Your dream/goal? I’m sure that I had one at some point, but right now I’d like to sleep all night, every night for a week.

The room you’re in? Our 2^nd floor parlor.
Your ex? Which one?
Your fear? Something happening to my babies.
Where do you want to be in 6 years? Anywhere, as long as I’m well-rested.
Where were you last night? Watching In the Heat of the Night.

What you’re not? Comfortable.

Muffins? Not my favorite food, but I bake them anyway. I think zucchini muffins are next.
One of your wish list items? Have I mentioned I like sleeping?
Where you grew up? Philadelphia suburbs.

The last thing you did? Bake cookies. The second batch is in the oven.

What are you wearing? Linen maternity capris and a black maternity shirt with pink flowers. I look superhot.
Your TV? 32 inch flat screen. No cable. We’re living large.
Your pets? 3 cats- Howard, Isaac and Phyllis.
Your computer? Toshiba Satellite.
Your life? Good, except for the sleep thing.
Your mood? Tired.
Missing someone? Not really.
Your car? Toyota Corolla.
Something you’re not wearing? Socks.
Favorite store? Does the water ice stand a few blocks away count as a store?
Your summer? Will be spent at the shore if I can keep myself from killing my mother.
Like someone? Many people.
Your favorite color? Orange.
When is the last time you laughed? Earlier this evening.
Last time you cried? Two days ago while reading a magazine.
Who will repost this? Anyone who wants to.

We finished painting one of the rooms upstairs- the former storage room- and set it up. It’s the room without a radiator so it will be the new guest room since we have overnight guests so rarely they don’t need a heated room in the winter. Promptly after setting it up we filled it with crap from the other room. It looked really nice for about five minutes. Now it’s crammed with baby gear, lamps, and assorted boxes of shit we’re half-assedly trying to sell on craigslist. (Speaking of craigslist, anyone want to buy anything?)

We started painting the second room up there- the former guest room that will be the Fiendling’s new bedroom. It’s bigger than the room we painted first and I haven’t had uninterrupted time to work on it. I was able to get all of the primer edging that I needed a ladder for done yesterday, but I still have to prime the fronts and backs of three doors and the moulding before I can start rolling. My dad is coming over tomorrow for a couple of hours which should help, but I don’t think I’ll have enough done so I can prime the walls.

Once I do prime the walls there are at least two coats of paint (the Fiendling alternately requests “geen” and “ahnge.” I think I’m going to have to make the executive decision.) followed by two or three coats of trim paint on the doors or moulding. The trim and moulding was painted a hideous shade of colonial blue so it requires a great deal of effort. I’m exhausted just thinking about it.

We haven’t made quite enough progress for me to feel confident that we’ll be able to move him up there with plenty of time (at least a few weeks) to adjust before the baby is born. (Mrs. T., you are making things worse with your reminders that I could go early. No, I cannot. This baby will be born in mid to late May, no sooner, thank you very much.) Doodlebug took the Fiendling off of my hands a few times last week so I could get some painting done during the day which was awesome, but that was the guest room. Now Boyfiend’s attention has turned to his boat, which he hopes to get into the water this weekend. A weekend that will not be spent painting. He’s still working on the room a little bit, but I hate that we’re losing another entire fucking weekend.

It sucks that I can only really paint during nap time which means between setup and cleanup I’m only getting an hour of painting in a day. By the time the Fiendling’s in bed I’m just too tired and don’t want to risk waking him by moving around too much up there. And I’m starting to swell for real now. My hands and feet hurt from the swelling and even my size larger pregnancy sneakers hurt after a while. Right now I should be up there painting. I’ve rested long enough. Okay. I’m off.

Two questions that have come up in the comments:

Gina (and probably someone else, only I can’t remember who) asked if the Fiendling is prepared for the new baby. In a word, no. There is no question that he’s aware there’s a baby coming. He sees my huge belly and talks about the baby in it. He sees babies on the street and says things like, “Baby’s crying,” or “Baby’s sleeping.” He knows he’s going to be a big brother. But prepared? I don’t know how he could be. He’s so young that I don’t think he can really understand that a new, crying, nursing, attention-grabbing baby is going to be living in our house.

I don’t particularly like most of the new baby books aimed at older siblings. They all seem to stress the negative in order to prepare the other kid for the inevitable- crying, pooping, lots of presents for the baby, but none for the older sibling- and I don’t want the Fiendling to think it’s going to be bad from the beginning. We’ve gotten an Arthur book about a new baby from the library because he loves Arthur and a video with the same story from the book with two other new baby stories on it that he picked off of the library shelf the other day. He watches them and I make offhand comments like, “You’re going to have a new baby soon,” but I generally leave it at that.

As for the new baby’s sex, a question asked by many, we don’t know.  Boyfiend is a spoilsport who likes surprises and has dutifully attended each my ultrasounds with me, leaving me no room to find out on my own. Right now it is KILLING me that I don’t know, especially since Target now sells Dwell bedding.

In pregnancy/baby news:

After reading Pigs’ complaints about pregnancy this morning I feel like I should come clean and admit that since my last pregnancy related post I’ve gained a good 7 pounds and several inches. After measuring my belly at my last appointment my doctor said, “You’ve really gotten big, have you noticed?” Um. Yes. I am suddenly huge.

I guess I spoke too soon since my fingers have swelled out of my rings and I’ve purposely avoided looking at my feet for fear that they are next. I’ve grown out of two maternity swimsuits and waddle into water aerobics with my tankini bottom rolled down and my belly poking out of the teeny-tiny top that once came to the tops of my thighs. My belly has also busted out of most of my shirts. I look super hot with my maternity underwear hanging out of the tops of my too small sweatpants. I think I scare the little girls on the swim team who see me change into my bathing suit in the gym locker room.

My eating habits are atrocious. For lunch yesterday I ate potato chips, applesauce and chocolate covered pretzels. Most days this week I’ve eaten a tofu dog with American cheese and ketchup around 3 pm. I figure I need the protein and since it only takes 30 seconds to microwave I don’t mind taking the time to eat “healthy.” In a moment of weakness I busted open the Fiendling’s bag of Easter candy last night and ate close to a dozen mini Twix bars.

The good news:

I’m still sleeping. After a rough patch where I was up half a dozen times a night I’m sleeping through again mostly, only getting up to pee once or twice. The nights the Fiendling also sleeps through the night rule.

Contractions have slowed down. I’m still uncomfortable, but at least I’m not contracting several times an hour.

We’ve actually started preparing for this child. While the Fiendling naps I’ve been priming and painting one of the rooms upstairs. Today I’ll have to forgo painting as we’re out of rollers and the house desperately needs to be vacuumed, but the one room should be done by Sunday and we’ll be able to start on the other room next week. We’re still not sure who’s going where- if we’ll move the Fiendling upstairs or if the baby will go upstairs, but we hopefully have time to figure that out. I was reticent to move the Fiendling. He’s such a shitty sleeper I’m afraid to disrupt his already tenuous sleep patterns. But then again he’s such a shitty sleeper that it doesn’t really matter if he’s upstairs or downstairs. He’ll still take two hours to go to sleep and wake up randomly throughout the night demanding to be carried. Maybe he’ll sleep better up there because it’s slightly quieter. The next question is which room to use for a child and which room to use as a guest room. I feel like if we’re going to move the Fiendling we should just move his stuff in there before we show to him so it looks exciting, shiny and new.

The bad news:

Boyfiend still can’t really see out of his injured eye

We still don’t have a car and car shopping sucks. We are the lamest, most sensible people in the world and have spreadsheets comparing Kelley Blue Book values to Edmonds values, retail pricing, private party pricing and trade in pricing. I spend way too much time at fueleconomy.gov and even though we don’t believe in buying depreciable assets (like new cars) we’ve discussed buying a Prius because we’re nasty little do-gooders and do more city-type stop and go driving than highway driving.

I’m driving my in-law’s Kia. I hate it. The brakes squeal and the back windshield is way too small so visibility sucks. It’s awkward to drive and especially uncomfortable for a very pregnant woman. I am grateful to have a car to drive for the time being since the Fiendling still only naps in the car, but I really miss my ugly little teal Corolla. (We are considering buying ANOTHER Corolla. Because I need a third one. One from this decade so I have three decades of Corolla ownership under my belt. And besides, nothing says lame and sensible like a super fuel-efficient Corolla)

My house is really, really dirty and I just don’t feel like cleaning it.

I have to cancel my haircut this week because I can’t justify spending $50 on a haircut when we have to buy a fucking car.

The DVD remote broke rendering our DVD player almost useless since it won’t work with any universal remotes and we can’t access any menu functions on DVDs. Unfortunately we can still watch Thomas movies 7000 times in a row.

My neighbor, thinking he was being nice, gave the Fiendling a Thomas “yearbook” which is essentially a catalog of all of the different trains and accessories available for purchase. This yearbook has become the Fiendling’s favorite book which we must “read” to him several times a day. It takes close to half an hour to get through the fucking thing and that’s if I manage to skip pages without him noticing. Bedtime is even more unbearable than usual.