Thank Heaven

One of my friends found out today that she's having a baby girl in March. I am so excited for her, I can hardly contain myself.

I unequivocally, unapologetically wanted a girl when I was pregnant with Grace. I also knew she was a girl from the minute the second line turned pink. No, before that. I knew that if I was pregnant, I was going to have a girl. Then I started carrying her like a basketball stuffed into my shirt, and I thought, eeep, this might be a boy! And the whole world told me I was surely having a boy. And, I mean, I wouldn't have been disappointed, but...ohhh, I wanted a girl.

And let me just tell you, it is every bit as awesome as I knew it would be. I know lots of people want boys because of that whole adolescence thing. And probably, if I'm blogging in fifteen years, I will be writing about how very, very stupid I was to sing the praises of little girls, in light of the surly, tempestuous changeling charging her way through the house. (I will also be listening to her say, "I seriously cannot believe you still BLOG, you are such a loser, why don't you get out your TiVo and your iPod while you're at it, GOD.")

But you know what? The teenage years are just a blip on the radar. We lived through colic, we can live through hormones and mom-hating.


And, in case you were wondering, no, this really doesn't help with the baby fever. At ALL.

Math is Hard!

I bought Grace a new toy this week, the vtech Learn and Discover Driver (I think that's what it's called. I'm too lazy to get up and look). I chose it very scientifically, by holding out a few different options and watching to see which one she seemed to like the most.

I guess I should've chosen another way, because I accidentally bought her a boy's toy! I guess little girls don't like to play with steering wheel toys, because when you push the police car button, it plays a siren and says, "slow down little fella!!"

Little. FELLA.

Look. I try not to overthink these things. Really. When people would tell us not to worry, that surely our next child would be a boy, it irritated me, but I thought, well, maybe they mean we'll have one of each (no, that's not what they meant, but whatever). But "fella"??? There's nothing remotely gender-neutral about that. They could've said kiddo. They could've said buddy. They didn't. They said fella. They assume only little boys will play with their stupidass toy.

Next chance I get, I promise I'm going back out to Target and getting her a more gender-appropriate toy, like a vacuum cleaner. I can't have Grace thinking she can do bold, nonconformist things like, you know, driving.

Mixed Emotions

I really, really did not want Chicago to get the Olympics, for a wide variety of reasons.

Sooo, I'm glad we won't be getting them. But? Eliminated in the FIRST ROUND?

I didn't want that. I don't want all those other cities thinking they're better than us. Because they're NOT.

So y'all can have your Olympics, but don't be jealous, cause Chicago is still awesomer than you, CityThatWinsThisBid.

Rosie Posie

She was a really nice kitty.


(also have to say that Stephen is a very nice boy. I mean, duh, but she was my cat and he took care of her, as I was freaking the fuck out and could not do it myself. The End.)

Sewer Cap of HATE

Picture it:

You had a baby three days ago. Said baby has slept for maybe five minutes since the minute she entered the world. I mean, roughly. Said baby is also kind of mean. I mean, I'm just being honest here.

It is December. In Chicago. There are 42 feet of snow on the ground, and it is colder than the summit of Mt. Everest (again, I mean, roughly).

You and your husband are taking your mean little baby to her first pediatrician visit. You walk your bleary-eyed, miserable self across the frozen tundra of the parking lot, when you encounter THIS:



It may not look like much, but the parking lot is dark (because there's covered parking there, not that you found a spot in that area, and anyway, the sun shines for all of three seconds each day in December, so it's dark to begin with), you can't really see it. And anyway, your feet are barely leaving the ground, because you're so tired you could vomit.

What will happen is, you'll catch your toe on the pure evil of that sewer cap, and you will stumble forward. Lunging. HARD.

Did I mention you had a baby three days earlier? Think of the stress that lunging puts on, well, your body, shall we say.

Oh. And by the way? All of this happens on your birthday.

Every single time I take Gracie back to the pediatrician, I stomp up and down on that sewer cap and tell it to go to hell. And if you know me at all, you know I'm not kidding.

Nine Months

What's longer, the nine months you're pregnant, or the first nine months of your baby's life? (TOTALLY the nine months of pregnancy. Except the first three months of G's life. Those were, um, special.)

I keep thinking nine months should be a bigger milestone, I guess because it's the same amount of time you spend pregnant? And up until today, it didn't really seem like it, but then we hit two big milestones.

The first one I miraculously caught on camera, because she happened to do it while we were already taking pictures. Look at this big girl!


This is especially surprising because Grace prefers to hold off on meeting milestones until juuuust before it becomes a red flag that she's not doing something.

The other milestone is not exactly voluntary on her part. I've kept up her habit of waking at 4am to snack and cuddle, because it used to mean she'd sleep til 6am. Ever since saturday, she has woken between 5:15 and 5:30. Hate that. With the heat of a thousand suns. But? If she's gonna wake up that early anyway, we are soooo done with that 4am feeding. Breaking that habit is gonna be a total bear, but if it's not getting mommy any more sleep than she'd get otherwise, then Gracie isn't getting any 4am visits from mommy. Because I'm mean like that.

Other than that, Gracie had her first dinner out, which was a great success, started feeding herself almost exclusively (and has such a good pincer grasp, she can grab stuff that I'm holding in a pincer grasp), and spent some time visiting my Loyola with my best friend from college and her son:



The part I'm sad about is her new status as a cart-rider. *sniff* She sure does love it, though:


(is there a new mom on earth who doesn't spend half her days at Target? Between all the stuff you need, and the times when you just want to get OUT OF THE HOUSE...)

It's been another great month. Can't wait to see what next month brings.

I Have A Question.

For all you moms of kids older than mine (and there aren't THAT many of you, but I know there are some who never comment and I'd really like it if you jumped in right now. You probably still won't. That's fine. whatever. sniff.).

The first time your precious, lovely child walked over to another child, or group of children, and attempted to join in the fun, and was thwarted, what on earth did you do? How did you handle it?

Because although that day is off in the distant future, the mere thought makes me want to vomit. Let's not even start talking about the first time another little girl is mean to her.

I work with a woman whose son doesn't go to the same preschool as most of the kids in the neighborhood, so when they go to the park, he's a bit of an outcast. Once, he actually walked back to her with his hands up and said, "Mommy, they won't let me play. Nobody wants to play with me?"

Could you die? I would DIE.

What on earth do you do???

Also, what kind of budding sociopath would look at this face and say, "Go away, I don't want to play with you!"?



(ok. no more gratuitous pictures, promise.)