Our beautiful daughter has found a new phrase: "Top it."
She, no doubt, has heard me tell her to "stop it" maybe once or twice in her lifetime and has picked it up along the way. And she has taken quite a shine to expressing her dislikes to her daddy and me. For him, it's mostly when he's trying to brush her teeth at night ("top it" combined with head thrusting) and for me, it's when I try to wash her face in the morning ("top it" as she rubs oatmeal all over whatever I'm wearing).
She, no doubt, has heard me tell her to "stop it" maybe once or twice in her lifetime and has picked it up along the way. And she has taken quite a shine to expressing her dislikes to her daddy and me. For him, it's mostly when he's trying to brush her teeth at night ("top it" combined with head thrusting) and for me, it's when I try to wash her face in the morning ("top it" as she rubs oatmeal all over whatever I'm wearing).
She is also fascinated with all of the baby stuff accumulating in Mommy and Daddy's room. Last weekend, I got out all the little baby diapers (she let us know that they had "Eh-mo" on them) and the wipes and creams. I don't know why I didn't expect her to mess with them...I just didn't think about it. Well, it's a good thing the baby oil has a child proof lid because Scott saw our 18 month old grab the bottle, tip it up and make "glug, glug, glug...AHHHH" sounds like she was drinking it. Great...
So now, everything has relocated to the top of the tall dresser, along with the remote controls and cell phone charger, and his wallet and really anything else she gets her grubby mitts on. This poor little baby has no clue what she's in for.
So now, everything has relocated to the top of the tall dresser, along with the remote controls and cell phone charger, and his wallet and really anything else she gets her grubby mitts on. This poor little baby has no clue what she's in for.
Speaking of the poor little baby, I can only feel so bad for her, as she has filed for permanent residence in my uterus and found a nice kick-boxing class that she obviously LOVES! I have gone from uncomfortable to HOLY COW, I CAN BARELY WALK. Isn't the last month of pregnancy great?
People at the Y (yes, I still go to the Y...I think they have the paramedics on call when I walk in the door) call me "cute." I told them that if there was one adjective I could choose that I don't feel like, it would be "cute." We went back to the doctor today and were still at 3 cm - which is obviously where my children feel most comfortable - and he just smiled and patted my arm and told me there was "an end in site."
That helped a lot.
People at the Y (yes, I still go to the Y...I think they have the paramedics on call when I walk in the door) call me "cute." I told them that if there was one adjective I could choose that I don't feel like, it would be "cute." We went back to the doctor today and were still at 3 cm - which is obviously where my children feel most comfortable - and he just smiled and patted my arm and told me there was "an end in site."
That helped a lot.
The past week has been entertaining, as walking or sitting or standing have become more difficult. I am down to a few select pairs of clothes that fit over my butt and stomach at the same time - one being the very forgiving gray sweatpants I had to pry out of my best friend's fingers after her pregnancy. (Who knew there were gray sweatpants for every stage in life?! ha!)
So this morning was a typical morning for 38.5 weeks of pregnancy. I was trying to get ready to go to the doctor and get my 18 month old ready too. We get dressed without a hiccup and I thought I would throw a load of clothes in the wash. Lately, every time I do some sort of housework, Elizabeth pulls out all the pots and pans all over the floor.
So, as I begin loading up the clothes, here she goes. Frying pan, oven mitts, colander...wait, she needs the colander for her books so she hauls it into the living room. Minutes later, I hear her in her room, playing tea party (so cute).
So this morning was a typical morning for 38.5 weeks of pregnancy. I was trying to get ready to go to the doctor and get my 18 month old ready too. We get dressed without a hiccup and I thought I would throw a load of clothes in the wash. Lately, every time I do some sort of housework, Elizabeth pulls out all the pots and pans all over the floor.
So, as I begin loading up the clothes, here she goes. Frying pan, oven mitts, colander...wait, she needs the colander for her books so she hauls it into the living room. Minutes later, I hear her in her room, playing tea party (so cute).
So I think I have the perfect opportunity to feed the dogs (who get their food in the garage). Balancing two dog bowls and a full bowl of water in my hands, I make my way through the kitchen.
My 9-month waddle is definitely not made for balance and all three tumbled to the floor. Awesome. My last outfit that is clean and actually fit is now soaked, there is dog food and water all over the kitchen and all of my pots and pans. On top of the mess, I now hear the tell-tale run of my daughter coming down the hall.
I quickly grab a towel and start mopping up water and she enters the scene just as I get the last of the water up.
"Elizabeth, help mommy put the dog food in the bowls." (You play your games with 18 month olds and I will play mine...) So we start picking up kibble and she's actually really good at this game. I'm thinking, perfect! Until I see her also putting dog food in the tea cup she brought with her from the bedroom. No! That gets dumped in the dog bowls (screaming ensues - she obviously had that worked into her menu) and the tea cup and all of my pots and pans get tossed into the dish washer. (More screaming... "top it, mama...") I am still soaked so I throw my pink shirt with the stains on the front and gray sweat pants into the dryer and stand around in my underwear for the next 5 minutes as they get "presentable enough." Just to hear my doctor assure me that the "end is in site..." Ah, Dr. Riley, the adventure is just beginning, my friend.
My 9-month waddle is definitely not made for balance and all three tumbled to the floor. Awesome. My last outfit that is clean and actually fit is now soaked, there is dog food and water all over the kitchen and all of my pots and pans. On top of the mess, I now hear the tell-tale run of my daughter coming down the hall.
I quickly grab a towel and start mopping up water and she enters the scene just as I get the last of the water up.
"Elizabeth, help mommy put the dog food in the bowls." (You play your games with 18 month olds and I will play mine...) So we start picking up kibble and she's actually really good at this game. I'm thinking, perfect! Until I see her also putting dog food in the tea cup she brought with her from the bedroom. No! That gets dumped in the dog bowls (screaming ensues - she obviously had that worked into her menu) and the tea cup and all of my pots and pans get tossed into the dish washer. (More screaming... "top it, mama...") I am still soaked so I throw my pink shirt with the stains on the front and gray sweat pants into the dryer and stand around in my underwear for the next 5 minutes as they get "presentable enough." Just to hear my doctor assure me that the "end is in site..." Ah, Dr. Riley, the adventure is just beginning, my friend.
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