Jennifer’s

Back in June Isabella came down with a nasty something or other that left her eyes goopy and her nose runny.  Within a day Brian contracted the funk and a few days later I, too, was suffering.  A couple weeks later all seemed well in the Woolsey domicile…until the grossness once more made its rounds through all three of us.  And so it has gone off and on for the better part of seven months now. 

People, we are tired of congestion, sore throats, runny noses, headaches, fevers, body aches, and general malaise.  Just about the time we think we’ve all good and recovered someone’s eyes start watering or a throat starts to feel scratchy or ears start to tingle and there is a collective groan because we know that all too soon every last one of us will be sick AGAIN!

Isabella has been presenting with a 102 degree temp off and on for about two weeks now.  Sometimes it hits in the morning and other times she makes it through the day only to collapse into a fevery, sleepy pile on my lap. 

 We’ve spent a great deal of time lounging about the last few weeks in hopes of making a recovery.  She’s been diagnosed with croup and took a steroid for a few days, which only resulted in creating a major disdain for all things medicinal in a child who, up until this point, has always taken medicine like we were offering her candy.  The fever has been gone for just under a week now but the barking cough still persists.

It was rather sad to watch her battle through this latest round of ickiness.  She wanted so desperately to do normal toddler things, but she just couldn’t muster up the energy to follow through.  One morning she got up, took a sip of milk, and asked to be held.  She proceeded to sleep another two hours on me with the occasional brave attempt to sit up and stay awake. 

One of the days she seemed to be doing better she requested a park trip.  Knowing that we could use some fresh air and a break from the house I quickly threw her in the BOB and headed out.  Once we got to the park all she wanted was to be held…for about an hour before she would agree to head home.  This is totally out of character for Isabella; the park is her domain.  The girl lives for the swing and the freedom to run up and down hills and pick flowers.  For her to see all of that and still choose my lap means she was really hurting.

She has started to feel better this week, which I think is in large part due to the fact that her Grams took one look at her on iChat and booked the next flight out of IN!  Isabella has started eating and drinking better, which was becoming a real concern over the last two weeks, and has had the energy to actually play and be a toddler for the past two days.  

Do I dare say it?  She might be on the mend!

It seems a tad redundant to say it now, given that we contacted everyone who left a comment on the baby gender post, but we are having a boy!  I write that with trepidation and, even thought it is not PC to say, some disappointment, but the good news is that fear and disappointment lessens every day…except when I see cute adorable baby girl clothes, bedding, or two little sisters holding hands and then my heart aches anew.

I know that sounds cruel and heartless, but I have always envisioned myself with two little girls who would be the best of friends, two allies against the storm of teenage melo-drama and cattiness.  I know that a sister and brother can be close, but I don’t know that they can share the same type of bond that sisters can.

I know nothing of little boys other than what I see from friends’ boys.  They seem adorable, loving, and generally well behaved, but they also seem full of energy in a way a girl just isn’t; they seem messy and “destructive”, and well, very, very attached to their mothers.  I keep hearing the latter is the best part of having a son, but to my mind that seems the worst bit.  I don’t want a “Momma’s boy”; the whole things sort of creeps me out, to be frank.

It isn’t that I don’t want my son to love me or rely upon me, but I also don’t want to cultivate the sort of relationship where I begin calling him “my little man”…my skin crawls at that thought.  I don’t want to turn into the nightmare mother-in-law who begins caressing her son the minute she sees him.  And lest you think I am completely nuts, I’ve expressed these concerns to friends who have boys and they’ve all said they already do things in their relationship with their son that they never believed they would…heaven help me…or that he is like having another little boyfriend.  (Seriously just vomited in my mouth.)

I know my feelings are silly; I am fully confident that when I look into his little eyes on the day of his birth all of these anxieties will disappear and I will suddenly know how to be the mother of a son.  I am super excited for Brian to have a son because I know he will be an amazing dad to a boy and he will make up for all my deficiencies as a mother of a boy.

I also feel silly because for 21 weeks all I could think about was having another girl and the pink, princess, tea party existance we would all live that I never even gave two thoughts about the baby’s health.  One healthy, normal pregnancy and baby down, one more to go, right?

Well, that’s what we are praying for and I am sure that is what we are going to get, but the tiniest of tiny seed of doubt was planted at our Level I ultrasound and I cannot help but tell myself that this is what I get for being so overly concerned about something so inconsequential as gender.

The little guy has an EIF, which is essentially a calcium deposit on his heart.  It generally amounts to nothing: there will be no further tests, no Level II ultrasounds, no restraints upon him later in life.  What an EIF is classified as is a normal variant that is considered a “soft marker” for Downs Syndrome.  That essentially means that an EIF can occur in babies with or without Downs.  Our baby lacks all the other markers for Downs, so it only increases the chances by about 1%…pretty good odds, but of course, that is not what your mind focuses on when they pull you out of the exam room and take you to a special, secluded office for a talk with the doctor.

Hearing that I was having a boy AND that he had a spot on his heart all within a ten minute span was a bit much to process all at once.  I’ve since done some research on EIF, no scary websites, and in all the cases where the baby only had the EIF and no other indicators the baby was perfectly healthy, which is essentially what the doctor told us back in January, but like I said my ability to process any good news at that point was a tad skewed.  I am confident that the little guy will be healthy and if not, well, we will cross that bridge and figure out that life.

It has taken a lot longer to get used to the idea of a boy.  Today, I can say I am in a much better place about the gender issue, but I couldn’t tell you that I am completely over mourning the second daughter we will never have.  I am sure readers with boys of their own think I am silly or are maybe even slightly offended that I could be so grievous about the issue.   Trust me, I know I am crazy, but that’s just how I feel.

I am gaining some peace, though, thanks to a conversation with a coworker and a shopping trip to Gymboree- seriously, the ridiculousness doesn’t end does it? 

The coworker mentioned that she’d been thinking about me and the struggle I was having coming to terms with having a son.  She said that Brian and I are excellent parents and have done such a good job with Isabella so far that we are exactly the kind of parents this world needs raising a boy.  Her point was that there is a real lack of good men and parents like us will help to raise a boy who will become a good man.

I don’t know that I really know all that much that is useful in raising a boy.  I do know, however, what qualities I value in the male figures in my life and those qualities are things I hope to instill in our son.  And while I still feel very under qualified to mother a boy, I know that Brian is more than capable of stepping in, filling the tub with water, and dumping the Waterdogs in so our son can know the thrill of a bathroom aquarium. 

I do know that between the two of us we are going to do our best to raise the type of son that someday some parents will be confident that when they give their blessing they are entrusting their daughter to a man deserving of their own princess.

Twenty-six weeks in, here are the ten things I cannot live without:

1.  Gap maternity skinny jeans:

2.  Gap maternity easy straight jeans:

3.  Gap leggings:

4.  Steve Madden booties: (these are not quite the pair I own, but close enough)

5.  Too Faced Natural Eye Shadow Collection:

6.  Asics Gel-3010:

7.  Palmer’s Lotion: no stretch marks yet, fingers crossed!

8.  Origins Make a Difference moisturizer: my face was coming off in layers before I started using this cream day and night!

9.  Origins Clean Energy: again, used to combat the dry, dry skin I have this time around!

10.  John Frieda Root Awakening Health Infusing Shampoo and Conditioner:

Dear Isabella:

I love your silly moments, of which there are many, your intelligence, which continues to amaze and frighten me, your utter domination of language, about which you receive numerous compliments and looks of astonishment from people when they find out how young you are, your love of music and Guitar Hero, and your passion for letters, their sounds, and words.

You have quite an unusual taste in music for one so little, Isabella.  Your loves range from Veggie Tales to Susan Boyle to KISS to Coldplay to Beatles to Raffi to nearly any song on Guitar Hero.  Your wide musical preferences collided, in true Glee form, in your own mashup of “Rock ‘n Roll All Night” and “Goodnight Irene.”  You even have your own rock ‘n roll hat that you don whenever you and Daddy play Guitar Hero.  I love watching you grab your microphone and listening to your sweet little voice sing or yell out, “I can’t hear you!”  You even like to tell me that you, “like to rock and roll all night”!

You often break out into song or sing little tunes as you are busy playing.    I, too, am a lover of music so often I will join in or start up another song.  You used to be tolerant of this, but as you become more musically savvy I think my days as a songbird are numbered as evidenced by your remarks when I broke out into melody.  “Mommy, what’s that noise?”  After I said I was singing you told me to stop.  Clearly, your ear for music is far more developed than mine and the sound of my voice makes it bleed!

You are fascinated with knowing people’s full names and then love to assign those names to other people than to whom they belong.  You also love pretending to be someone else and then forcing the person your playing with to call you that name and take on a new name for themselves. Over the last few months Daddy has been called “Daddy Rae Woolsey”, “Prince Charming Keith Woolsey”, “Shrek”, “Marv”, “Tim”, “Sleeping Beauty”, “Sir”, “Mowgli”, and “Baloo”.  I have personally been called “Mommy Rae Woolsey”, every Disney princess under the sun, “Grandma”, “Rhi Rhi”, “Grams”, “Lola”, “Lotta”, and “Princess Fiona”.  For better or for worse you were introduced to Shrek while in Indiana and ever since then you have been fascinated with reenacting scenes from the film and calling us by the characters’ names.  It’s a little hard to keep up with your imagination sometimes, so we often call you the wrong name, which results in a very bossy, “No, call me…”.  The best was when Shrek (aka Daddy) called you Princess Fiona, you glared and demanded, “No, call me donkey!”

Speaking of imagination, they don’t really come much bigger than your’s.  You are just as content with no toys around as a room full of them because anything you can grab becomes a useful tool in your mind.  I recently bought a new pair of running shoes and as I was replacing the insoles your eye was caught by the factory insoles as they had a pretty pattern in bright vivid colors.  You immediately asked if you could have them and over the next few days they became everything from your beach shoes to skates to pencils that we had to cart around everywhere.

Somewhere along the line you’ve learned about ghosts and often come running up to me, grab my legs, and pronounce, “Mommy, I’m scared.  See that ghost?”  Of course, we tell you that ghosts aren’t real, and you know this, but for some reason you love to pretend to be scared.

You only have to see or hear something once and it is forever etched in your brain.  Thus, you are able to open any of your books, glance at the pictures and can give a near perfect reading of the book.  Many times our play involves acting out some scene from a Charlie and Lola book or a scene from Jungle Book, your absolute favorite movie.

Did I mention that you are quite the talker?  The things that come out of your mouth and the level of sophistication of your words and the thoughts behind your sentences is mind blowing sometimes.  You are extremely fascinated with stars, the moon, and the sun and where they go during the day or night.  On an evening walk you asked me if there was only one moon, so we got into a discussion about planets and moons.  You then paused, looked up at the sky and then at me and asked, “Is there only one Venus, Mommy?”  On another walk you stopped to admire a neighbor’s Halloween decorations and then commented on their landscaping, ‘There are literally thousands of rocks in their yard, Mommy.”

You have already figured out how to manipulate language in order to get what you want.  On the drive back from CO this past Thanksgiving we grabbed a cookie before returning to our hotel for the night.  We all had a little bite and then put the bag away for another time.  You kept begging for another taste, which was continually denied.  You then looked at us and said, “I just need to hold the bag.”  The look on your face was priceless; you honestly believed that if you were clever enough to think it we were surely dumb enough to buy it!

You’ve also become very fascinated with the concept of love and figuring out who loves whom.  You weren’t satisfied until you’d gone through every person you know and determined who they love: “Mommy loves Daddy and Izzy”, ‘Sir loves Grams”, “Grandma loves Tim”, etc.  And to that end you are becoming more expressive about your own affections.  You say adorable things like, “Daddy, I’m sure glad you’re my Daddy” or “Daddy, I sure love you” or “Oh baby, I like your eyes.  They are beautiful” or “Mommy, I sure like playing with you!” Keep it up kid; you might get that pony after all!

I love when we are playing and all of the sudden you’ll demand we sit Indian style and cross our arms.  You then look at me and say one of two things; either, “So…what should we do now” or “I’ve got a good idea, Mommy.” From there you usually try to boss me around into doing whatever you have decided is our next move.  Recently, this has involved proceeding to your big kid bed, climbing under the covers, and waiting while you go get presents for me to open.  This game is a tad difficult to play well as the presents are always imaginary ones, but my reactions have to be geared toward whatever gift you see in your mind.  More than once I’ve been chastised that I am not responding correctly or I’ve named the wrong gift!

We’ve been transitioning from baths to showers of late.  This is really a result of your mother’s laziness as it is far easier to throw you in the shower, soap you down and rinse you off.  Two minutes and you are clean!  You love prancing around in the shower stall, but you are less a fan of me using the hand nozzle to rinse your hair.  As the water pours over your head you often yell out, “This is not good for me!”

Isabella, you are turning into quite the helper.  I cannot put a pot of water on the stove without you dragging a chair over and asking, ‘I can help too, Mommy.  Okay?”  You love to stir up ingredients or wash dishes.  If only the latter would last into your teen years!  When Daddy was disassembling your crib you were right there in his hip pocket helping and supervising the project.  Every time he’d carry a piece out of your room you would yell, “I’m right here, Daddy” as if to reassure him that if he needed your help you were just a yell away.

You had your first experiences with snow this winter.  Your first encounter was over Thanksgiving break in CO.  There was just enough snow for you to walk in, touch it, and taste it, which upon your initial, hesitant taste, “Snow tastes like…food.”

Based on your nonchalant attitude towards snow we figured it wasn’t your thing, but then came our Christmas vacation to IN and a lot of snow (at least by AZ standards) and you suddenly became a much bigger fan because you realized snow meant being pulled around in a sled, snow angels, and snowball fights with Sir!  All you could talk about after that second experience with snow, boots, and getting your coat on to go outside!

When you were born I couldn’t imagine loving you anymore than when your eyes first looked into mine; yet, here we are nearly two and half years later and I am completely amazed at how the love I feel for you now completely diminishes that first love.  You are my pride and joy, Isabella.

Love,

Mommy and Daddy

I don’t what your meal planning routine is like at your house, but here in the Woolsey household we have a fairly wide pendulum that swings between being very daring and trying a new recipe every night to sticking to the same basic meals week in and week out.  Brian and I both love to cook, but after a full day’s work, running errands, coaching for him, etc. sometimes cooking up another exciting meal is beyond us.  That doesn’t mean, however, that I am not constantly looking for easy to make meals that are cost efficient and tasty.

When Mom Central contacted me about participating in a blog tour for Rosarita Salsa I jumped on the chance.  We love salsa and I figured this would be a chance to try something new in the kitchen.  I was sent two of the three new salsas Rosarita’s created: Mild Salsa Mexicana (a mild Mexican salsa) and Medium Salsa Verde (a zesty, green salsa).  If you are a fan of spicier varieties of salsas don’t be dissuaded by the terms mild and medium as both my husband and I thought both salsas spicier than the normal mild and medium salsas sold in stores!

The other great thing about Rosarita’s new salsas is that while they are great for dipping they also work really well as a topper in Mexican dishes like tostadas, enchiladas, and tacos.  Part of the salsa package I was sent included two recipe suggestions for the salsas I was given to test.  One of the recipes was for Enchiladas Verdes (Green Enchiladas) using Rosarita’s Medium Salsa Verde.

Ingredients:

• Cooking spray
• 1 jar Rosarita Medium Salsa Verde, divided
• 3 cups shredded cooked chicken
• 1 cup shredded Monterey Jack cheese, divided
• 12 corn tortillas (I substituted four for corn tortillas)
  

Directions:

• Preheat oven to 375,  Spray 13 x 9 inch baking dish with cooking spray.  Spread 1/4 cup of the salsa over the bottom of dish; set aside.
• Combine chicken, 1/2 cup of the salsa and 1/2 cup of the cheese in a medium bowl; mix well.  Set aside.
• Spray both sides of each tortilla with cooking spray.  Heat one at a time in skillet over medium-high heat on both sides until slightly puffy and softened.
• Top each tortilla evenly with about 1/4 cup chicken mixture; roll up.  Place seam-side down in prepared baking dish.  Cover with the remaining salsa; sprinkle with remaining cheese.  Cover baking dish with aluminum foil.
• Bake 30 minutes or until cheese melts and sauce is bubbly.

Both Brian and I really liked this recipe and found that it was even tastier when reheated the next day.  The salsa verde added just the right amount of spice and flavor to the chicken and cheese!

The other recipe I was provided with was for Spicy Chicken Tostadas using Rosarita’s Mild Salsa Mexicana.

Ingredients:

• 1 (16 oz) can Rosarita Traditional Refried Beans
• 12 tostada shells, heated according to package directions
• 3 cups shredded cooked chicken
• 4 cups thinly slied iceberg lettuce
• 1 jar Rosarita Mild Salsa Mexicana
• 1 cup crumbled queso fresco cheese
• Fresh avocado, peeled and sliced, optional

Directions:

• Place beans in medium microwave-safe bowl.  Cover; microwave on HIGH 3 minutes or until hot.
• Spread each tostada shell evenly with beans.  Top each with chicken, lettuce, salsa, and cheese.
• Serve with avocado slices, if desired.

I was pleasantly surprised by this recipe as I am not a fan of refried beans AT ALL!  The flavor of the salsa, chicken, cheese, and avocado blended nicely and did a great job of masking the taste of the beans.  This was a very quick and easy recipe and again, provided tasty leftovers for the next few days.

Overall, I highly recommend Rosarita’s new line of authentic Mexican salsas.  At $ 2.99-$3.29 for a 16.75 oz jar they are reasonably priced and do lend themselves very well to dipping and cooking!  The only downside to Rosarita’s new salsas is that they are only available in four cities- LA, Dallas, Phoenix, and Denver- at select Walmart and grocery stores.  If you live in one of Rosarita’s new markets you should definitely try out these new salsas!

“I wrote this review while participating in a blog campaign by Mom Central on behalf of Rosarita and received a sample to facilitate my candid review. Mom Central sent me a gift card to thank me for taking the time to participate.”

Today is the day of reckoning: at 3:30 this afternoon we will find out the baby’s gender.  I am one part excited and two parts nervous about the news.  It’s no secret I am a girl’s girl and have thoroughly enjoyed every. single. moment of raising a girl (thus far- get back to me when she turns thirteen!).  I know nothing of the world of trucks, toads, punches, broken limbs, and rumble tumble boys.  And, to be honest I really don’t want to.

Ultimately, I want what every parent wants: a healthy, intelligent, well-adjusted child.  Beyond that I am crossing my fingers and sending prayers heavenwards that we get all of that in another girl!

This time around we turned to the internets to see if we could do a little self-diagnosing and determine the baby’s sex ahead of time.  The Old Wives Tales to predict gender are vast, bizarre, and well,  just plain hokey, but nonetheless very, very entertaining and, as you will see from the results, fairly accurate.

Test 1:  Pick up a key.  I picked it up by the round part.  The baby will be a boy.

Test 2: Coughing, numbers, letters, and names.  I coughed while eating, chose the number 25 which corresponds to Y, and picked a girl’s name.  The baby will be a girl.

Test 3: Previous child’s first word. Isabella said Daddy first (punk).  The baby will be a boy.

Test 4: Mother-to-be’s age and year of conception. Both were odd (31 and 2009).  The baby will be a girl.

Test 5: Salts vs. Sweets. I don’t really have cravings during pregnancy (no vats of cookie dough or fries for me), but in general I prefer salty things to sweets.  The baby will be a boy.

Test 6:  Tree trunks vs. Trim and Fit. My legs are far more trim and fit (thanks to running and spinning and genetics) than to tree trunks.  The baby will be a girl.

Test 7: Crabby vs. Cordial. I don’t really have major mood swings, pregnant or otherwise.  I do think I was fairly crabby towards many students during my first trimester; it is hard to say if that was due to pregnancy or dealing with immature freshmen all day.  The baby will be a boy.

Test 8: Heel vs. Middle. Again, another test about cravings.  I don’t like the heels of bread, so I had to choose the middle.  The baby will be a girl.

Test 9: Dry vs. Chapped. My hands are ALWAYS dry (despite obsessively slathering them in every hand lotion known to man).  The baby will be a boy.

Test 10: Eating vs. Throwing Up.  I have not had so much as a hint of morning sickness through both pregnancies.  The baby will be a boy.

Test 11: Pregnant all over vs. Pregnant in the front. During my first pregnancy, and thus far with the second, you cannot tell I am pregnant from behind.  The baby will be a boy.

Test 12:  Ring test. The ring swung around in circles.  The baby will be a boy.

Test 13: Clumsy vs. Graceful.  I don’t know if I would ever be described as graceful, but I’m not exactly falling all over myself, so I went with graceful.  The baby will be a girl.

Test 14: Heartbeat. Isabella’s heart rate was always in the 140’s.  So far Baby Woolsey #2’s heartbeat has been 145.  The baby will be a girl.

Test 15:  Interest Amongst the Toddler Set. The boys at Isabella’s school love to talk to me and vie for my attention whenever I arrive to pick her up.  The baby will be a girl.

Test 16:  Ask your current child. Isabella says we are going to have a baby sister and then we are going to have a treat.  The baby will be a girl.

The results: 16 very scientific tests later it’s a virtual tie.  Eight tests say the baby will be a boy and eight tests say the baby will be a girl. 16 tests later we know what we knew when we started: we have a 50/50 chance of having a boy or girl!

Your challenge: In the comment section tell us your prediction for Baby Woolsey’s gender.  We will contact you with the joyous news  in the order in which you comment!

It’s no secret:  I am not that great in social situations.  As a rather shy person, I much prefer the anonymity of large crowds in which I know not a single soul over a small crowd in which I know not a single soul.  The fewer the numbers the more chance of actually having to talk to someone beyond the formalities of polite society.  I’m just not good coming up with idle chatter and so spend the entire time in a small crowd searching for some kind of hole in which to crawl.

I have no trouble going shopping, out to eat, or to a movie by myself, but ask me to attend a party or meet up with a small group in which I know no one or only a few people and suddenly I become very, very uncomfortable and generally do anything I can think of to avoid such situations.

Brian and I have been together for six years now, so this personality quirk should be more than apparent to him, especially when you consider that he, too, is less than comfortable in social situations.  Thus, you can imagine my surprise when he announced that our next door neighbor stopped him to extend an invite to me to come over later that night for a “Girls’ Night”  and he told her I would probably be interested. (Bare in mind that we have lived in our house for three years and in those 36+ months I have maybe seen this particular neighbor about five times and have said “hello” to her about three times.  I don’t know her name nor would I recognize her if I saw her out of the context of her front yard.) 

At the time I was about ten weeks pregnant and suffering a horrid sinus thing, so I wasn’t apt to go for a “Girls’ Night” even if my BFF called let alone haul myself over to a virtual stranger’s home to subject myself to an evening of  prolonged awkwardness.  After berating Brian for saying I would be interested I put the whole thing out of mind and settled in for a night of hanging out on the couch reading to Isabella. 

Brian had to leave for a bit, but when he returned he mentioned the party again and asked if I was going to go.  Given that I was in the same spot I was in when he left, wearing my jammies, and hocking up snot I thought the answer obvious, but he would not let it go.  He suggested that he would at least go over and let our neighbor know I wasn’t coming.  Listen, I may be socially inept, but even I know it strange if a 32-year-old woman sent her husband over as some sort of courier. Instead, I sighed deeply a few times (just so he’d know how out out I was by the whole thing), donned some flip flops, and walked over to the house. 

I rang the doorbell, but of course was greeted from yelling inside to just come on in.  Our neighbors’ house is such that upon entering the front door you are immediately deposited in a long hallway that empties directly into the living room, which is where the majority of the guests were located.  Those that did not have a direct line of vision peered around to see the new arrival.  So there I am, facing a sea of unknown faces thinking to myself is one of these ladies my neighbor and I’m just not recognizing her and why did I have to choose the track pants that make me look about ten .lbs heavier?  I decided to hide out in the dark hallway and call my neighbor’s name, which I learned mere seconds before heading over to extend my apologies for not being able to stay.

At the sound of her name, the neighbor came around the corner and gave me a great big hug as if we were the best of pals.  Perhaps this would have put any other person at ease, but for me it just added to the uncomfortable feeling washing over me.  I dove right into explaining how appreciative I was for the invite, but that I was not going to be able to stay due to a long work week and a nagging illness.  I think I said something about not wanting to get other people and their kids sick.  She looked crestfallen as she said, “But there aren’t any kids here, so don’t worry.”  I replied that I meant that I was fairly contagious and so would fear spreading germs that would continue to be spread to other households.

At that point I should have taken a bow and made for the exit, but I found myself opening my mouth and saying, “How’s it going?  Looks like you’re having fun.”  How in the world I would know if they were having fun is beyond me because all I’d done since arriving was avoid looking at anyone for fear of having to talk to someone else I didn’t know.  She then said, “Yeah; hold on a second…” and ran to grab something.

It occurred to me, then, that this “Girls’ Night” was really just some guise to get people to come over for some kind of jewelry, candle,  kitchenware party and was relieved I was not staying.  If there’s anything I hate more than going to some social function where I know few people, it’s a social function that is tied to the obligatory feeling of having to order something so the hostess can get enough sales to get some free crap.

When she returned she handed me two catalogs and before glancing down I said, “Oh, I’ll look through these and let you know if I want anything”.  I then glanced down and it is a wonder my eyes did not fall out of my head for this wasn’t something as innocent as overpriced measuring spoons or handbags; it was a Passion Party.  As I tried to recover a guest yelled out, “Stay.  We’ve got drinks, too.  What’s better than sex and alcohol?”  My mind still reeling, all I could think to say was, “I’m ten weeks pregnant, so no drinking for me and well, I guess the sex has already happened.”  I really don’t remember what transpired after that, but it felt like another ten years before I made my escape.

I sprinted back home and when I busted through the door Brian said his suspicions about the party’s true nature were confirmed.  Of course he claims nowthat it only occurred to him that this was a sex toy party after I left to give my regrets.  I still think he suspected all along and sent me over there just to see how I would handle myself.

There couldn’t have been a worse person to invite to such a fete.  If I don’t like discussing bodily functions, then I sure as heck don’t want to talk about the nature of my sex life with other people, let alone complete strangers.  When I told this story to a good friend she, of course, was laughing at my misfortune but said that if she had to make a list of 1, oo0 people to invite to a Passion Party I would never, ever make the list. 

Call me a prude, but when I glanced through the “literature” I couldn’t believe the products being sold for home use.  I figured on a little lube, maybe edible panties, and a few marital aids (Please, someone explain those to спални комплектиBri.  How does she, of all people, not know?), but oh no, this was full on pornesque.  I felt like the catalogues needed to be burned and that I needed to wash out my eyes.  I still break out into a sweat when I think about the awful nature of that party and the awakwardness of the night and how that awakwardness returns everytime I see my neighbor’s house.  I am forever scarred.

What awkward social moments have you experienced of late or what awakward social moments has your significant other put you in?

So, this little corner of my life has been neglected of late.  It’s quite odd, really.  I have plenty of things to write about: Isabella continues to amaze us each and every waking moment with her humor, intelligence, and sweetness, there’s work to rant about, there’s the awkward social moment my husband got me into, there’s the new baby/second pregnancy thing, and of course, all the lovely, lovely fashions I mourn I will not be able to wear in the upcoming months.  And yet, even with a two hour prep in the middle of the work day, I find myself using that time for what it was intended so as not to linger after school or to drag anything home.

1) My school schedule is cake this year, have I mentioned that here?  I teach a Fashion Design class, a Life Facs class (common sense life skills that apparently most parents no longer feel essential to teach their children so the state does in hopes that all those bottom feeders will at least know how to sign those welfare checks), and honors English.  My fashion class is not really even work to me; I enjoy planning, teaching, and grading the student work.  Life Facs is such a joke that I generally leave the grading to my TA and the planning is done by another teacher who has taught the class several times.  She passes along what she’s doing the following week, I copy it, give it a glance, and then just b.s. my way through the lessons.  English is something I’ve taught since day one, honors now for eight years, so I could never plan and be just fine.  So far, the most I’ve had to do at home is read a couple chapters or go over my teaching notes for a class! 

You would think this would make me enjoy my job more.  And I suppose I have to admit it is far less stessful than years past, but it doesn’t mean that I enjoy shaping shapeless minds and dealing with parents who must overcompensate for everything any more than I have the last decade. 

2)  I am 3 1/2 months pregnant.  I never experienced morning sickness or crippling exhaustion.  The worse I’ve suffered, so far, is a nagging cold/sinus funk that never leaves.   It has presented itself in coughs, runny nose, sore throat, and gunky eyes but this is all preferable to hacking up at that mere thought of food.

I am, however, suffering from extreme jealousy.  Why you ask?  For a very, very silly reason.  I am ready to train for another marathon, but obviously my body is preparing itself for an endurance event of another sort.  I have several friends who are in the midst of training and while I really hope all goes well, I cannot help but wish I was joining them.  Which is just crazy because hello: new life in May and the rest of my life to train for a marathon.

3)  A few weeks ago I received an email from Gap with regards to their maternity line.  It emphasized that their current line was designed with pregnant women in mind: the need for casual comfort.  I looked at the clothes and immediately got fired up.  For the record, I do think Gap has some great, comfortable maternity wear; I may or may not have dropped a few dollars on some stuff during the recent Friends and Family event.  However, what I was taken back by was that fact that Gap, like most maternity lines, assumes that comfort means t-shirts, cotton pants, which are glorified sweat pants, and a general lack of uniqueness or styling.

It’s no secret that I love clothes, perhaps to a fault and somewhat vainly.  I love feminine detailing, ruffles, unique design/construction, and pieces that aren’t just run of the mill, picked this up at Old Navy.  Being pregnant throws that part of my personality for a loop.  Right now all is good because I can still wear my normal clothes with the exception of a few shirts or dresses that are more tailored.  However, the end draws nigh, I know, and then I will be stuck with the shapeless maternity wear that every store, that I can afford anyway, calls fashionable…Oh, J.Crew, why don’t you do maternity wear?  I feel like you and Jenna could get this right.

Where is the materntiy version of this:

or this:

4) Two weekends ago we moved Isabella’s big kid bed into her room, which means currently her bedroom is more of a storage area and less of a bedroom.  To give you a little perspective: her crib is shoved against one wall, the big kid bed (a twin with a trundle) is in the middle of the room- we’ve pulled the trundle out so it is between the bed and the crib in the event the little monkey rolls over a little too much-, and her changing table/dresser and the big kid dresser (a tall, five drawer beast) are against the other wall.

Isabella is beyond thrilled about the bed.  When we settle in for the night she says, “Do you see my big kid bed?  It’s so pretty; I like it so much.”  The most thrilling part, however, is that now she can just get up as she pleases.  This is partly our fault because we had been doing naps in the big kid bed to get her used to sleeping in there and had never really talked about not getting up when you awake because a two hour nap is acceptable.  However, she now assumes that this means it is okay to climb out of bed, pad down the hallway, stand by my side of the bed, holding Gloria (a stuffed hippo), and announce, “Hi, Charlie!”  (I am Charlie; she is Lola from the hit series Charlie and Lola.)  The good news is that even though she has somehow managed to climb out of the bed (in a super dark room), walk down the hallway, and awake me from a deep slumber she is, in fact, still sleepy herself.  I just scoop her up, whisper in her ear that I love her, but it isn’t okay to get out of bed in the middle of the night, tuck her back in, and within a few minutes she is out again.

We are going on eight nights in the big kid bed.  So far she has slept a couple of nights all the way through without suddenly appearing by my side of the bed, a couple nights it has happened once, and a couple nights it has happened twice.  Is this a learning curve?  I can remember getting up in the middle of the night to awaken my parents or to crawl into bed with them, but in my mind, anyway, that was generally associated with an illness or fright.  Isabella is simply getting up because she can.

I’ve heard of people locking their kids in at night or putting a baby gate across the door to prevent the kid from exiting if they get up.  I don’t know that I’ve reached that state yet.  Right now it’s no big deal to pick her up, tuck her in, and go back to sleep; however, I don’t want to create a monster and I do want her to learn to stay in bed.

Any suggestions?

Sorry for the not so great quality:  I took this photo of a photo in a shadowy room.

Timeline: Nine weeks two days; due date around May 25th, 2010!

Weight gain: 0 lbs (so far), but seriously my boobs are reaching disgusting stage…sorry if that’s too much info!

How I’m feeling: TIRED, TIRED, TIRED!  No throwing up or feelings of such, though, so I’ll take tired any day! 

Exercise: Still running and weight training.  I will probably switch to spinning only in a few months!

Baby names:  (as suggested by Isabella)  Becca or Isabella (for both a boy or a girl!)