Metal Meredith

My baby girl. She is the epitome of style, you know. And since she is such a little girly girl (insert outrageous laughter here), we went to Old Navy and bought her some tights yesterday so she can wear one of her two dresses to school without 1. freezing or 2. wearing pants under them.

I picked them out because she was so disinterested at the prospect of anything not having to do with a hat and mittens. We took them home and opened them this morning to put on.

“What are those?” she asked me when I took them out of the package. Phil, seeing my blank look at the need to explain tights said “They are like long socks.” I came back with “Really tight pants with socks attached!” She seemed to like both explanations and put them on without question. Then she told me they were really cool.

The one part of this I didn’t catch until we were downstairs eating breakfast was this, “Mom, I really love my new bagtights.”

Yep, Vivienne thinks her tights are called “bag tights”. We might have to take her to the Scottish Games this weekend and feed that girl some haggis!

This morning, Vivienne cried when Phil went to work. Big, sad tears rolled down her face as she quietly announced, “Daddy, I don’t want you to go to work. I want you to stay home and play with me.” Her eyes welled up and fat tears popped out of each eye and rolled down her cheek, one at a time. Oscar worthy, I tell you. Demi Moore has nothing on my child. Phil ended up leaving after we promised Vivienne we would take her to Panera for dinner when he got home. Vivienne loves her some Panera (which she calls “The Nera").

Every Saturday morning, Phil and Vivienne head up to Panera where she gets an “orange thing” (scone), dad gets a bear claw and mom gets a chocolate ‘sant (croissant). She gets a chocolate milk which she proudly clutches the entire ride home. About 15 minutes after they leave, she bounces into the house and says “Mom, we are back and I got you your ‘sant!” Then, she doesn’t shut up again until she falls asleep at night.

I love this relationship that Vivienne and Phil have, because it reminds me of my own Dad and the Saturday mornings that we would get up before everyone else, head out of Dunkin Donuts on Midlothian Tnpk and get a dozen donuts and on a good day, a box of munchkins. I would sit up front with Dad (in the days before child seats) holding the box of treats and watch his coffee cup perched right in the middle of the bench seat. How did that thing never spill? I would almost die waiting to get home to eat my donut, one I always got to choose myself.

On Sundays, I would wake up to the smell of bacon and hash browns. That was big breakfast day. Dad would be in the kitchen making some wonderfully disgusting greasy breakfast for the whole family. Since I became pregnant, Phil has found himself in charge of waffles or pancakes and sausage on Sunday mornings. I won’t go as far as saying that he likes to cook them, but I know he does enjoy eating them. Vivienne enjoys it too, as she is perched up on her stool stirring the pancake mix or watching Phil turn sausages on the griddle.

Hopefully, Phil enjoys all of his (albeit brief) rock star like attention. If patterns are to repeat, this phase will not last forever.

Can anyone believe it? It has been 6 damn months. I am the last person people would ever think to admit that a pregnancy is flying by, but it is. I am less sick than last time. I feel a bit better and although all of the annoying things from last time are still present (the gagging, oh god, the gagging), I am functioning better on a daily basis than I was with Vivienne. Of course, Phil would disagree solely based on how clean the house is not.

Tiny Boy Human is now kicking the crap out of my insides. Phil is even shocked at how strong the kicks are. I am just a bit terrified that they are this hard and he only weighs a pound and a half. What the heck will they feel like when he is 6 lbs?

Vivienne has started school and is loving it. She comes home every day with a new story or song or tale about something she did that day. Mostly, she just sings songs and makes up words. Last night, Phil and I were serenaded with a lovely song about how Vivienne and Mommy and Daddy cleaned up, ate dinner and went to the playground. Hooray!

We spent a good portion of this weekend cleaning up and clearing out, getting the baby’s room cleaned up and ready for paint. During this time, Phil went crazy on the floors downstairs, vacuuming, mopping and practically buffing on hands and knees. They look wonderful and the whole house shows it. However.....he did crack at one point.

We have always had quirky cats. I am not sure if we are just a magnet for cats with some unusual behavoirs, or if this blanket statement really encompasses all felines. With Kitcha, she would pull her water dish with her paw. At first, she would dip her paw in and feel where the water level was. Then, she would hook her paw over the side of the dish and pull it toward her. The dish would lurch forward, spilling the water all over the floor. Sometimes, once was enough. More often than not, we would wake up in the morning to find the water bowl anywhere from 6 inches to 6 feet from where it was the night before. Many times, it was moved into a totally different room than where it started, leaving a trail of cat water in its wake.

We tried many things to keep the water bowl in place, rubber bottom bowls, heavier dishes and even those rubber shelf liners, which worked for a good while. Finally, we bought a large bowl with a water reservior that made the dish almost too heavy to move.

Once Kitcha was gone, we enjoyed a few months of stationary water and food bowls. Then I had to go get these kittens. Much to our dismay, the female of the two, Liesl, is a water dish puller. We bought a plastic mat and watched in amazement as she pulled and yanked at it until it dislodged off and spilled all over the place.

My husband, being the competitive sort and with a wild look in his eyes, fastened two hook and eyes on the back of the water dish and affixed it permanently to the wall. He put it down, showed it to the cats and watched in glee as Liesl pulled and pulled but to no avail. He looked up, smiled and let out an evil laugh.

“I WIN!”, he shouts. Yes, dear. you won.

God help me, we are having a boy.

Before Vivienne came along I would have rejoiced at the thought of having a boy. I didn’t want to deal with all the baggage that comes with ovaries and estrogen. I certainly don’t want to deal with overactive hormones at 11 years old, obsessiveness with clothing and hair, the stomping of feet and slamming of doors that was all too prevalent on our home. Phil and I fell silent for a good 20 minutes when the ultrasound technician told us it was a girl back in 2003.

Of course, soon the idea grew on me and now I wouldn’t choose differently. However, girls are now what I know. The thought of dealing with ‘boy parts’ and the constant need to reassure themselves that their penises are still attached from the unbelievably early age of 2 months or some such nonsense, makes me a little faint. Phil, of course, beams with pride due to the size of the newly formed member that was pictured in the ultrasound.

So, I have attempted to pump myself up by looking at boy clothing to see if I can locate anything without bears or sports. Yesterday, I hit the jackpot.

Oh goodness gracious, how sweet is this? There is a whole line of rock inspired clothing with nice saying like “My Mom is a Rock Star”. *swoon* Needless to say, I emailed the proud soon-to-be grandmother of 2 and pointed these out. I am lucky enough to have an email in my inbox with a 5 day shipping notification that these are on the way. Hooray!

Do you think it is sad that it takes things like this to make me excited? I suppose the ultrasound made it all the more real while the clothes make it that much more fun.

While trying to find some older photos of myself, I ran across some videos of Vivienne from her very early months. I am sharing my favorite with you all. It is only 15 seconds long, but sweet and it makes me that much more ready to have a new baby.