The Pregnant Waddle

Pre-Pregnancy Weight Just Around the Corner (It's Trying to Run and Hide)

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

’Tis the Season

This morning, on our way to my parents’ house, the Husbandlet and Ngaire and I drove by a decorated tree. The following conversation ensued.

Me: Did you see that tree?
Husbandlet: What tree?
Me: You really didn’t see it?
Him: I was watching the road.
Me: It was covered with Christmas stockings, with a Santa hat on top! How could you miss it? It was covered with red things.
Him: There are a lot of trees out there.
(pause)
Him: Oh look! There’s a tree covered with fairies hung by their little toes!
Me: Oh look! There’s a tree covered with aardvarks!
Him: That guy must be from Texas.
(pause)
Him: I guess Texas would be armadillos.

Why was Ngaire looking at us like we were crazy?

33 pounds down, 15-20 to go

Woot.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Pardon our dust

Please forgive the ads. It's a bit of an experiment on my part, and I'll take them down if they start to annoy me. As y'all know, I've been taking some time off from work, and our car Clive just died (on the anniversary of C[live] S[taples] Lewis' death, no less). I saw the ad thingy on Blogger and thought, "Huh! Ads! What a concept!" so I'm giving it a go. Click if it will delight your heart to do so; ignore the ads otherwise. Just remember that our next meal depends on you!

I'm totally kidding about that last part.

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

The Tuesday before Thanksgiving


Three years ago, I wrapped up a whirlwind day of graduate work and drove to my parents’ home an hour away through darkness and pouring rain. I had to stop for gas on the way, and my umbrella blew away, and I had to chase it. I was in a particular hurry to get home because I had promised to call a friend that night so we wouldn’t miss our weekly chat—usually on Wednesdays—due to Thanksgiving busyness.

Our weekly phone chats, by the way, had increased by an hour a week since October, so that the previous Wednesday had seen us attached at the ear for five. whole. hours.

That evening, I got home, shook off some raindrops, said hi to my folks, and headed to my bedroom with the phone. Our conversation that night is worthy of note for several reasons:

• It was of record shortness (less than an hour, I do believe).
• Both of us were rather at a loss for words (very unusual).
• We took that time, rather haltingly, to declare our love for each other, so that I emerged at the end of the conversation and told my mom, “Well, I have a boyfriend.” (Her response: “How?”)

I spent the Monday after Thanksgiving running frantically around my graduate offices, trying to figure out how I could wrap up my time there and get out to the East Coast in less than three years. The next day, I called my new co-ELDRR-er* and told him, “I could finish up my M.A. in June and move out after that, so we should pray that I can find a house and a job.”

He said, “Well, it would make a lot more sense if we just got married and you moved in with me.”

I am willing to bet that this qualifies us for one of the world’s shortest dating relationships pre-engagement (one week), though we didn’t make it official till January 2, 2003. This was, incidentally, the very first possible day that he could have gotten a ring on my finger; we were on opposite coasts until December 26 and then caught up in the festivities and travels surrounding his brother’s wedding until January 1. And the stupid jewelry stores weren’t open on New Year’s Day.

So here we are, three years after that fateful rainy day, married and the parents of a sweet little girl, productive members of society in our respective roles of teacher and grad student, but most importantly, not paying separate rents.

I love you, dearest Husbandlet.

* ELDRR = Exclusive Long-Distance Romantic Relationship, via our friend Dan, who was very disturbed that we would call it “dating” when we hadn’t been in the same state since the previous March.

Friday, November 18, 2005

And a picture


Here's the Harvest Festival shot that goes with this entry. In it you see both bangs and little blue ears.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

!!!!!

So, there’s a little song I sing to Ngaire almost every day. I learned it from my mother-in-law, and it’s one of those songs that teaches kidlets their animal noises. It goes,

I got me a rooster, my rooster pleased me,
I fed my rooster by the green willow tree,
My little rooster goes “Cock-a-doodle-doo
De-doodle-de-doodle-de-doodle-de-doo.”

I got me a [horse, cow, sheep, guinea pig, pterodactyl, you name it], my [same
animal] pleased me,
I fed my [animal] by the green willow tree,
My little [animal] goes [appropriate animal noise],
My little rooster goes “Cock-a-doodle-doo
De-doodle-de-doodle-de-doodle-de-doo.” (etc. ad infinitum)

Then you finish up with a rousing round of de-doodles and you’re home free. I usually sing, “I got me a baby … my little baby says, ‘Eh! Eh!’” and when I say I sing it every day, I mean every day, usually when changing diapers. It’s addictive (the song, not the diaper-changing).

Anyway.

Today, I was holding Ngaire on my lap, facing me, and I sang the first line of the song.

Me: I got me a baby, my baby pleased me.
(pause)
Ngaire: Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah aaaaaaaah.

If you count the “ahs,” you will realize that MY FOUR MONTH OLD DAUGHTER SANG THE NEXT LINE OF THE SONG. She wasn’t quite on pitch, but she had the right general idea.

The Husbandlet, who of course got an immediate phone call at work to hear the story, said, “Ngaire’s probably wondering, ‘Why is Mommy so excited?’”*

At which point I turned to the Squid and said, “Don’t worry, sweetie, I got this excited the first time your daddy sang on key too.”


* Don’t worry, he was duly impressed. I made sure of it.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Vignette

The scene: A soccer field at dusk.
The dramatis personae: A bunch of graduate students, Mommy, Daddy, Grandma, Grandpa, and Ngaire.
The action: The graduate students, Daddy, and Mommy are running madly around the field chasing a Frisbee.
The cute part: Ngaire, sitting on Grandma’s lap, follows the action closely, regaling us with piercing squawks.
The point of all this setup: It was SO CUTE. But … does this mean my baby will grow up to be a cheerleader?

Do I dare to eat a peach?

Ngaire will be four months old on Friday, and while we’re not planning to start her on solid foods for another two months at least, she’s starting to show a lot of interest in our food, head swiveling to watch us eat, grabbing at our plates, etc. The Husbandlet has been known to give her tiny tastes of whatever we’re eating, with mixed results: she tried to wipe the curry out of her mouth and has been generally ambivalent about everything else. Until, last week … the Peach Pie.

Husbandlet put a little bit of the filling in her mouth.

She smacked her lips, thoughtful and slightly suspicious.

Her expression cleared.

She looked approving, then eager.



She LUNGED at Husbandlet’s plate. Only our quick intervention prevented her from devouring pie and plate messily, or at the very least, scattering sticky peaches all over my mom’s couch.

Other stuff the Squid can do

She can get on her hands and knees and hike her little tushie in the air. She hasn’t figured out the whole forward-motion thing yet, but she can rotate in a circle through incremental side-scooching.

She can grab her toes.

She can lie in bed in the mornings and babble while we’re getting ready for the day.

She can sit for a few microseconds before falling over. When she falls, she puts out a hand to catch herself.

She can grab things so well that she’s beginning to do so rather insouciantly. “Ho-hum, I think I’ll just grab my amoeba toy while glancing in a completely different direction, and then maybe later I will find the cure for cancer.”

She can express so much interest in the ExerSaucer in the nursery at our friends’ parents’ church that Grandma goes out and buys one for her.

She can bat.

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

We are so weird


One more thing: This morning, the Husbandlet and I got into an argument.

About bungalows.

This is a bungalow. I like this style of house very much; in fact, one of the great thrills of my college experience was getting to live in a bungalow during my senior year. But ... was I able to describe the characteristics of a bungalow to my husband? Was he able to understand my descriptives ("It's low! It has shingles!")? I think not.

However, you will all be relieved to know that our marriage has somehow survived. And I am posting this picture on my blog so that you, my gentle readers, will never face a similar conflict. Because you will Understand the Bungalow!

iMom and the Bluebeary

So, um. I have a confession to make. While all the rest of the mommy-blogging world was out dressing up their little ones in adorable little costumes for Halloween? I completely forgot about Halloween. We took Ngaire to the Harvest Festival at our church, and having unsuccessfully searched for an infant costume at a thrift store the day before (the nerve of that thrift store, not having an infant costume!), I somewhat desperately packed the Squid into the only semi-costumely thing she owns, namely a small blue fleece jacket with a bear embroidered on the lapel. It also features two tiny bear ears on the top of the hood. Ngaire was a Bluebeary! All commence "awww"ing (or gagging, as the case may be).

All goes well here. I'm even starting to get my memory-retention ability back ... or at least I thought I was, until I went with Sarah to her prenatal appointment today, and mentioned to the doctor that I was starting to get my mind back, and he said, "That'll never happen completely." Gee, thanks.

Ngaire has grown quite a bit. She is now in her 3-6 months clothes. She can sit for a few moments with very little balancing from us, and she can support her weight on her legs for longer periods of time. She can grab and pull things (like her colorful plastic amoeba-shaped-rings toy or Mommy's hair) into her mouth. She’s quite communicative, and will talk and coo back at us, or look at us significantly while making one of her signal noices (“uh-OO” = “I’m getting frustrated,” “kack” = “I’m hungry,” “OO-gah” meaning anything from “hello” to “I’m still frustrated” to “I’m sleepy” to “Why are you swaddling me again?” depending on the tone). She has developed a bald patch above her left ear, but the rest of her hair is getting thicker and longer. She really sleeps completely through the night now, from about 10:00 p.m. until about 5:30 a.m.; at 5:30 she usually wants a tiny snack, but she doesn’t really wake up completely until we get her up around 6:30, and she’ll sleep even longer as long as she gets fed periodically. She laughs!

Today, she was in quite the mood, laughing and squawking and playing. Sarah and I took her into the library at the Husbandlet's college, and she practically fell out of the Bjorn, she was craning around so much to see the sights. She barely napped at all, and I feared for this evening, but she conked out around 5 p.m. and has basically been asleep ever since (it is now 8:30) ... she only woke up briefly to ravage a few ounces of milk.

In other news, the Husbandlet is taking over the world, in the form of Civilizations III. He can, fortunately, take over the world while holding an infant on his left arm, so the Wife of the World Conqueror is still managing to get a shower occasionally.

Apparently

I am a Vermeer. Who knew?

VG
"You have the Vermeer girl look. A Vermeer girl
appealed mostly to the old masters of the Dutch
school, who painted pictures of everyday life
as they knew it. With her fine, fair skin, she
suited a light, natural, dewy make-up. The
Vermeer Girl loved homely things, such as
homemade soaps and candles. The following
artists would have liked to paint you; Pieter
de Hooch and Jan Vermeer."


'Pretty As A Picture' - Which Artist Would Paint You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Thanks to Jordana for the quiz site. Weirdly, I think I do look just a tad like the Girl.