At Church

Those of you who know me well, know that we Lippoldts go to "church" every Sunday morning, which "church" is Panera. It's a little family ritual, we have breakfast, we do our errands . . . Zoe eats more than BJ and I, and we now have a 2-year-old who can and will order an egg souffle. At any rate, this morning at "church," we had the following exchange:

B: Someday, somebody else will be mowing the lawn [knowing glance to Zoe].
K: Mmm-hmm.
Z: Yeah - Papa Don!

Later, BJ and I were discussing the possibility of going to Sears to get a tune-up kit for the lawn mower.

B: Okay, Zoe - time to go! We've got to go to Sears this morning.
Z: No, Daddy. Home Depot.

As a wise person once said, "Kids say the darndest things."

MacGyver time

Whenever Shrek the Third came out, Zoe got a talking Shrek with her Happy Meal. At the time, she was afraid of it (even though she likes the movies). She's recently come to love Shrek, burping and all, so much so that his battery has died. Being a Happy Meal toy, it was not intended for it to be opened up. Did that stop BJ? Nah. He just unscrewed, and cracked the thing open (Shrek's arms and legs went flying) and got to the battery - three little watch batteries. Which, of course, we don't have. So he disconnected the whole thing, found some electrical tape, and rigged it up to a standard AA battery (he was going on about some science rule about volts and amps). And now, Shrek - armless, legless, backless Shrek - talks again!

Cleaning House

We've just cleaned our house. Top to bottom, even dusting the blinds. Everything's put away, everything shines, it smells good . . . and we did it all in one day. I need a nap.

See, we've recently (by our estimates) reached the 20% mark on our mortgage. That means we can get rid of PMI - hooray! But, per our mortgage contract, PMI isn't automatically removed once we reach 20%. It's automatically removed at a specified date, based on us making the minimium monthly payments. That's nearly 3 years off. UNLESS, we petition to have it removed and get some sort of appraisal stating we truly have paid off 20% of the home's value. BJ opted for a BPO. And, of course, he scheduled it for as soon as possible so we can get this done before our next mortgage payment. I love my husband.

His comment? "Now it's too clean!"

Where's the magic?

Captain Obvious here: being pregnant the second time is way different. When I catch a moment to stop and think about it, I almost feel guilty for the difference. But it can't be helped. For one thing, every change or event is a little "been there, done that." We know what to expect, I know how it feels (generally) . . . very little mystery (although I'm anxious to see this little one for the first time).

But, more than anything, I just don't have time to immerse myself in the pregnancy experience. When I was pregnant with Zoe, I could spend a whole day just focused on my body, thinking about the baby, reading websites, daydreaming . . . Yeah. Not exactly overwhelmed with free time at the moment. Work is crazy hectic, I have a rambunctious 2-year-old, meals to fix, a house to care for . . . did I mention a rambunctious 2-year-old?

And, I'm exhausted. That's not a change, but with Zoe I wasn't working for most of my first trimester. I could take a nap in the middle of the day. I could lounge around watching television. Even when I was working, I had no one to worry about but myself (and sometimes BJ). Now I go-go-go from the moment I get up until Zoe goes to bed, at which point I promptly pass out on the sofa. Lately, I even given up the pretense that I'm going to get something done in the evening and just go to bed myself once Zoe's down.

All this to say, it's different. "Duh", I guess. I'm so excited to be pregnant again and can't wait to meet our new little one, but let's just hurry it up, okay?

"Need Brains"

You know how sometimes you don't know if your toddler is just saying "yes" or really understands you? This morning I asked Zoe if she wanted to eat peanut butter toast for breakfast. She said, "Yes!" BJ thought he'd test her:
B: Zoe, do you want to eat Mommy's brain?
Z: Yes!
K: You want to eat my brain?
Z: Yes. Because I love you.

Six Weeks

Today the smell of coffee made me queasy.

I am still not really used to how you count pregnancies. I feel like I just found out yesterday that I was pregnant (really, almost) and here I am six weeks along. Sometime last week I started having some sort of acid reflux no matter what I ate. And just low-grade indigestion. Burping on an empty stomach, difficulty swallowing my food, and the wonderful it’s-been-too-long-since-I-ate nausea. That last one I remember from Zoë. I’ve tried to plan ahead for it, but sometimes working (or caring for a 2-year-old) distracts one from snacking.

But today? Today Anne was standing in my office doorway talking to me, drinking a cup of coffee. And I couldn’t focus on her words because I couldn’t ignore the smell of that coffee. And I don’t like the smell of coffee on a good day. It was gross. Yeah. I’m pregnant.

"Daddy? Daddy?"

Having your nearly-two-year old transition to her big girl room and big girl bed when she has the beginnings of an ear infection is probably not the best idea. Zoe is such a good sleeper and (bless it) fabulous at soothing herself back to sleep. But, it doesn't seem like she sleeps all that well or self-soothes all that well when she's feeling yucky and doesn't know where she is. It was a long night.

After we put her down, she was okay until BJ came to bed. From that point on, she was up every 20 minutes or so pleading ever so pitifully for us. I don't think I mentioned my window blinds gaffe, but it plays a role here. See, I trimmed the cords for the blinds in Zoe's room to minimize the choking hazard and keep them out of her pulling reach. Only, I didn't notice that one set of blinds wasn't fully lowered before I trimmed the cords. So, they won't close all the way (easily rectifiable once I get some cord). Anyway, back to that night. BJ thought Zoe would be fine with the window part-way open. I wasn't so sure and placed my back-up plan nearby. Just in case.

About 12:30 and I'd had enough. The light from the streetlamp in front of our house was shining on the wall right above Zoe's bed. That would bug me, and I'm not a sicky 23-month-old. So there I am, duct-taping a towel to the bottom of her blinds, in the near-dark, trying not to wake her. But, after that, she slept for 2 hours. Hooray!

After that, though, it was crank ever half hour or so. By 3:00 I was already toast, I knew BJ had to get up to work in a few hours, so I just curled up on the floor next to her. Oh, the ache in my hip! I am starting to feel a little age creep on to me.

Once we "woke up for the day", Zoe was chipper for all of an hour. And then it was total meltdown. She wouldn't eat. She didn't want to drink. Or play. Or even watch TV. She actually asked me to "Go take a nap in big girl room." It was 8:00 am. She normally naps at noon. Oh boy.

We go back upstairs, she curls up on her luxury crib mattress, I curl up on the floor, and we both fall asleep. For an hour. When I experience a massive dream twitch and stir us both (my hand was on her back). Thank goodness, she rolled over and went back to sleep. I crept out and slunk into my own bed for another hour.

This is what we got when she next woke up:


It's been a week and all is well. At first, she wouldn't even leave the mattress when she woke up. She'd stand on it, like she did when she was in her crib, and call to us. Now, she opens the door, leans over the gate, and coos, "Daddy? Momma? Daddy?" Really sweet. She absolutely loves her new room and gives nary a backward glance at the nursery.

Baby's growin' up!