A rose is a rose is ...

Angus.

We do not yet know the sex of Spazzface 2.0, or, as my husband calls the life form that has now reached approximately the size of an avocado in my abdomen, "El Segundo."  But we are now referring to it as "Angus."

I had pointed out (quite rightly!) that although we still have our short list of favorite girls' names ready to go, we shot our metaphorical load with "Ian," because our short list for boys names was exactly that long.  Which means that SHOULD my unborn child happen to be a boy (and I'm told there's approximately a 50/50 chance for every fetus ever conceived), "Spazzface" is what we've got for his birth certificate so far.

Forgive me for thinking this is not a recipe for long term success.  I can just see the look on the face of every teacher he will ever have on the first day of school when he or she must say "Spazzface?" during roll call.

In the course of looking up boys' names, my husband became attached to "Angus."  It must be conceded that "Ian and Angus" does roll trippingly off the tongue, but unfortunately, when you say the word "Angus" to people, they immediately free associate and say, "BEEF!"

Which brings us to the reason we've nicknamed the fetus "Angus."  (I should point out we're aware that we run the risk of getting Ian so attached to that name that our only option for changing it is to actually have a girl.)  Most of you know I've been a vegetarian for 8 years or so.

That is, I WAS a vegetarian until I fell into the clutches of the werewolf in my belly.  I had a lot of trouble with specific foods upsetting my system (I'll spare you the details, they don't interest me either) from quite early in my pregnancy.  The net result was that everything I usually eat was making me sick.  Tragically, this included chocolate cake. So I put my plans to ride it out on a cake diet until the second trimester on hold.

When I caught myself salivating (literally) over the RAW stew beef being purchased by the woman in front of me at the grocery store, I knuckled under.  Please don't judge me, fellow veg folks- I was hungry.  And besides, I blame the baby.

I fully expected my experiment with the joys of (eating) the flesh to end in more illness after an 8 year hiatus, but the opposite was true.  Meat turned out to be pretty much the only thing on Earth that DIDN'T make me sick.  So Angus and I had leftover beef and barley stew for lunch yesterday and Crock Pot Coq au Vin for dinner, and we both enjoyed it very much.

(FYI, for those who are interested, I'm told the money in the betting pool is on "girl."  Mine is on, "don't care, I already saw five fingers and five toes on the ultrasound and I just know this baby is lovable in every way.")

PS- our risk for Open Neural Tube Defects has been assessed as less than 1:5,000. If you're wondering, that's GOOD.

Best Christmas Tree Ever

The kids decorated this at school today.  (Ian's first paper chain... I'm so proud!)  I want to keep it FOREVER.

The Whole Dog & Pony Show

First, let me open by saying that the little girl in the story you are about to read is FINE.  I saw her the following day and she was her happy, charming self and was NOT MAIMED. Things did get a little exciting there for a while, thanks to a rogue umbrella stroller. (If you've never shopped for a stroller of any kind, they are called that because they collapse down very small, making them incredibly convenient for things like Metro trips, when you will spend part of your day someplace you can't use your stroller, but are bound to need one at least once.)

Ian and Sophie at the Natural History Museum

After we spent an entire day downtown with the kiddos (Discovery Theater, Natural History Museum, Butterfly Exhibit, Carousel, and, finally, an in-depth tour of the restrooms in the Smithsonian Castle, thanks to my son's continuing aversion to public restrooms), we were at last on our way back to the Metro for the trip home.  The kids had been absolute angels all day.  That included walking nicely and holding hands with an adult throughout multiple situations, which meant that Sophie had spent little, if any, time in the umbrella stroller her mother brought for her.

The way home after a full day of DC attractions, however, is the ragged edge of tired for anyone, let alone a two-year-old, and her mother had wisely put her in the stroller for the short-for-an-adult but long-for-a-small-child walk back to the Metro, and proceeded to step off a curb with her.  No sooner did the stroller get into the street, than it collapsed with Sophie inside it, much to all of our dismay.  Her mother, like mothers the world over, thought quickly and pulled back on the handles, thus restoring the stroller and making it possible to get the little one out of the street.  Or so we thought.  This "fix" was met with hysterical wails that steadily increased in pitch from the occupant of the stroller.

Let me pause here for a moment to point out that, when you're a parent, the easy answer ("She's mad.") is never the right one, even if it turns out to be true in the end.  The worst case scenario is always with you.  You walk past a pair of lopping shears in a hardware store, and in your mind you don't see the tree branches impinging on your front walk, you see your small child deciding to see what happens when they DO THIS.  So, because the worst case scenario is where I live, I started yelling, "Her fingers!  Check her fingers!"  Sure enough, one of her fingers was caught in the hinge of the stroller. My friend spotted this and said, "Help.  I need help!"

So, next thing you know, instead of processing safely to the other side of the street, our entire party is standing in the street, just off the curb.  We consist of three adults, one who has achieved approximately the color of chalk and is wearing a sleeping infant, a small child in a stroller screaming to high Heaven, and a three year old who is playing jack-in-the box, popping off the curb every few seconds.

I'm trying to pry the hinge off the finger.  (That worked about as well as you are probably thinking it did.)  My husband is looking for the release catch.  I'm not sure what my friend was doing other than seriously looking like she might faint and trying to explain to my husband how to collapse the stroller and free her kid, because I am too busy trying to simultaneously break a piece off the evil stroller and keep my kid from wandering into the street to pay attention to that part of the action.

That last is because my three year old, the afore-mentioned Jack-in-the-box, keeps coming into the street with us, saying, "I want to tell Sophie it will be all right."  Every time he did, I picked him up and put him back on the curb, then started prying at the hinge again.  We must have looked like a bizarre riff on the Seven Dwarves- Panicky, Clueless, Futile, Pained, Sleepy, and Hoppy.  Too bad the seventh dwarf, Sensible, skipped the trip that day.  (As I say that, I think, "Yes! One more person playing Clown Circus in the street with us is JUST what we needed- they could have directed the car traffic to go around us.")

After what seemed like eternity to the adults, and probably seemed even longer to Sophie, we got her free from the stroller.  My husband charged up the steps of the Castle, heedless of other pedestrians in his way, in search of ice.  I picked up Sophie and held her sobbing form long enough for her mother to pass the baby over to me so she could comfort her daughter.  Sophie promptly responded to all efforts at first aid for her swollen little digit exactly as any sensible person would.  She screamed, "NO! DON'T TOUCH IT! IT HURTS!" until we promised to leave her finger alone.  When she'd calmed down enough for us to move her (never enough to administer first aid), we all started toward the Metro.  Sophie, of course, was NOT getting back in that stroller, so her mother carried her.

Sophie took this opportunity to close this hideous chapter of her life by falling asleep.  As all sleeping children do, she got heavier the longer she slept, prompting a slow slide down her mother's torso until my husband took her and carried her the rest of the way home.

So this story has two morals.  ONE: Go burn your umbrella stroller.  TWO: A man who will carry a sleeping, injured child with a dirty diaper from the Capitol Mall to Northern Virginia is one of the good guys, for sure.  Don't leave home without him.

PS:  Please read what Consumer Reports has to say about umbrella strollers.

Wow! Butterflies!

Here is a photo of Ian screaming in terror as he attempts to flee the butterfly exhibit at the Smithsonian. Sorry it's blurry, but he was moving pretty fast and I only got one take.  

It probably makes me a bad mother, but I laugh hysterically every time I look at this picture.  I'm not even sure why this hits me in my tickle spot, but it may have something to do with the fact that once we got outside, he ran directly to the window that looks into the pavilion and stood with his nose pressed up against it.

I also loved when one landed on him, and, while I was busy appreciating the wonder and beauty of this special creature, my son was screaming, "GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF GET IT OFF GET IT OFF!"

Good thing this exhibit is free on Tuesdays, because I'd be surprised if we used two full minutes of our allotted 15 minute time slot.

Friendship Firehouse

What could be better than a visit to a historical firehouse with a friend? Well, how about following that up with a trip to the candy store? We enjoyed the Friendship Firehouse and then we went to The Sugar Cube, where we enjoyed free samples, the holiday atmosphere, and the old-fashioned pleasure of choosing and scooping out candy to purchase.  Santa should stop by- it seems right up his alley.

friends

Old MacDonald Had Some Sand...

Old MacDonald had some sand, E-I-E-I-O.
Old MacDonald had more sand, E-I-E-I-O.
With a moo moo here and a moo moo there, Old MacDonald had some sand. E-I-E-I-O.
With a dust dust here Old MacDonald had some sand. E-I-E-I-O.
With some more dirt there, E-I-E-I-O.

The fight for Zero

One in eight babies is born too soon.  Fortunately, Ian was not one of them- he was born at 41.1 weeks gestation.  (For those who don't know, that means NINE days past his due date.  Waiting for Christmas as a kid now looks like a piece of cake in retrospect.  We are talking about the LONGEST NINE DAYS OF MY LIFE.  And thank God for every minute of them, because they clearly did him only good.) With a little luck and as much medical care as we can possibly get, Baby 2.0 (Michael has begun referring to this unborn child as "El Segundo," but I still prefer my standby, Spazzface 2.0.) will also be full term and robustly healthy.

I plan to have a healthy pregnancy, so you'll see me out there this spring, Marching for every baby with my curly-top kiddo and my hippopotamus belly in tow.  Because this matters.  I think about the 1 in 8 of my kids' age mates who were or will be born prematurely.  Some of them won't make it.  The others will be my children's friends.  They'll go to the same schools, play on the same playgrounds, and have all the same advantages- except one.  Some of them will struggle all their lives with the effects of being born early.

Doesn't every child deserve the chance to be born full term and healthy?  Please visit the March of Dimes and see what you can do to help.

My favorite Shutterfly Card

I'm currently in love with this Thank You Card from Shutterfly.  I really enjoy Shutterfly's personalized stationery options- they're very high quality, easy to produce, and reasonably priced, even compared with non-personalized cards.

Hands down, however, my favorite way to use these cards is to send them to my dear godmother, whom I love very much.  Sadly, she has Alzheimer's disease and can't always put the pieces together on exactly who she's looking at in a photo, and this is so frustrating for her.  She knows it's someone she loves, and she knows they're important, but, for instance, a snapshot of my beautiful son isn't enough context for her to figure out what she's looking at.

Shutterfly's beautiful card designs allow me to create a layout that shows my whole family in one place, with all our names, so she knows exactly who we are.  And I can customize each card to the occasion to make it even more special.  And when I'm done, Shutterfly will mail it directly to her.  This deal is hard to beat- in the same amount of time it would take you to send a "virtual" card, and for not much  more money, you can send the real deal directly to someone you love to brighten their day.  My godmother LOVES to get mail, and I think this year for Christmas, instead of a gift she'll use up, throw away, and forget about, I'm going to send her 25 days of my family, using Shutterfly's amazing cards.

Do you want to get started on your own card?  Just visit http://www.shutterfly.com/cards-stationery/5x7-folded-greeting-cards and you'll find everything you need.  Planning to pick YOUR favorite Shutterfly card? Let them know!

Posh Pinstripes 5x7 folded card

Unique party invitations and announcements by Shutterfly.

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Practicing those Big Brother Skills

Ian: What is Thomas doing, Mommy?
Mommy: He's playing, honey.
Ian: Can I help? Thomas, do you know how to do it? You take this off...wait. You are just a baby. You knock it over.

Lost in Translation

Ian and Sophie

Ages ago we told Ian the story of his birth and have repeated it many times.  Recently, however, it has come to our attention that something got a little lost in translation.  Ian was born, for anyone who does not know, via emergency C-section.  Our first clue that we had explained this procedure poorly came recently when he asked if they had cut mommy's neck to get him out.  Of course I explained that babies grow in their mother's bellies, and showed him my scar so he'd understand that no, he did not come out of Mommy's neck.  He seemed to understand and accept this information quite well.

That is, until we showed him the pictures of Spazzface 2.0 and we started talking about The Baby in Mommy's Belly.  His first question was, "Is it MY baby, Mommy?"  He was promptly told that, "yes, sweetie, it's your baby, Mommy's baby, and Daddy's baby.  This is OUR baby and it will live here with us. " (So far this has, thankfully, put paid to his efforts to convince us to adopt our friend's infants.)

Predictably, his next question was, "Can they get it out of yours belly, Mommy?"  And, naturally, we explained that yes, we will get the baby out when the baby is ready, but it's still very tiny and we'll have to wait a LONG TIME before that happens.  "And then they will cut off yours head and get my baby out, Mommy.  Let's get my baby out of there!"

I, to be perfectly honest, was laughing too hard to talk, but Daddy, for some reason, took a dim view of this talk of cutting off my head.  Michael immediately and emphatically replied, "NO! We are NEVER cutting off your mother's head.  NEVER."  So that's settled.  (Also, we've told Ian he MAY NOT watch them get the baby out of Mommy's tummy.)

Now, there's a Pizza Dude.

Notice that we did not skimp on the flour.

And in other news...

We got some VERY good news today.  Spazzface 2.0's risk of Downs is assessed at 1/1900, and of Trisomy at 1/7400.

If you weren't aware, those are VERY low considering my ADVANCED MATERNAL AGE.  (The cutoff for that, if you're wondering, is now 35.  That's right, ladies, you are officially old at 35 now.  Or at least, your gametes are.)

Cold And Blustery

It was our first truly cold & blustery day of the year. Mister went with me while I performed my civic duty, and on our walk home (my polling place is less than a quarter of a mile away- seemed silly to drive when I'd be nearly home before I found a parking spot) he started telling me he was cold and wanted to go inside... guess the park wasn't such a good plan, after all. Fortunately, the local Soft Play Room had open play time that morning, so we headed right over. As you can see, Mister managed to dredge up a little enthusiasm for the day after all.

He's also been talking about voting ever since.  Grandma Gray would be proud.  She used to call me every year to make sure I voted.  No worries, Grandma.  I did.

Merry Christmas

Yeah, okay, we're early. Normally I wouldn't post my holiday card here for you until December. (Don't think you're getting out of that annual tradition.) But it so happened I had made one of these today, and right now you can get a $25 credit from Shutterfly for sharing your project on your blog. Just go make one, click on "embed or share your project," and follow the instructions!

Peppermint Bliss Christmas Card

Make a statement with custom Christmas cards at Shutterfly.

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Spazzface 2.0

We are pleased to announce that Ian will be a big brother this spring. Spazzface 2.0 is due on 5/13/2011.

See the 8 week ultrasound here.