So… here we are again. 37 weeks and counting. And counting. And counting…
And this time we’re re-launching “The Preggo Page” via WNCN Today in the hopes that it will trigger labor. Ok, so my bosses are hoping it will trigger ratings. The labor hopes? They’re all mine. And Jake’s. And probably Ford’s and Cal’s. Although they would likely change their tunes if they had anything close to a clue about how much their worlds are about to be rocked when this new kid makes his or her big appearance.
Getting this close to labor again made me think back to my first two pregnancies and what we were up to with them. With Cal it was pretty mild right about now. But this point at my pregnancy with Ford led to one of my all-time favorite memories at the OBGYN’s office with Jake. Not that it’s particularly hard to win that contest (“Oh but remember the time you peed in a cup and then they pricked your finger?! Good times!”), but this visit was one for the record books. I wrote about it in a post titled, “The Joy of Stirrups.” Read on and be thankful you’re not the one giving me an OB examination.
But it’s memories like those and all the other ones both captured here and floating around somewhere in our parentally-clouded memory banks that actually made us decide to do this again. And then it’s pictures like these from last week’s “Bring Your Child to Work Day” at WNCN that make us now wonder what the hell we were thinking.
“You Should Have Left Your Hooligans at Home Day” was more like it
Oh well… too late now. Here goes nothin…
Yeah…they’re going to kill us for this someday. Click here to view the card. Happy holidays!
Thank you for Cars.
Thank you for making car rides easier, play time lengthier and our house quieter.
We hate you.
You have made bed time the single-worst hour of our lives. The sheer number of times “Likeada Queen” and “Figment Missle” need to be played with, hugged, kissed, put to bed, thrown in the toy basket, and finally, staged as guards of the boys’ bedroom is staggering. We go through this process roughly 6-7 times a night. It’s exhausting and not cute. At all. And we are near a boiling point.
So, please, do us a favor and shut it down. No more movies, no more lunch pails, no more coloring books.
Please. We beg you.
So Page and I watch the Bachelor franchise. Yep, that’s right, I said it. I watch it.
We’ve dug this season, and we just made it around to watching the Emily finale tonight…and in addition to seeing Jef seal the deal (I called it after the first episode! OMG!!!), Page and I addressed the elephant in the room…
Little Ricki looks eerily like…Ford.
Yeah. See for yourself. Sorry, Emily.
Not to be that parent that posts that photo. But dang…we had to.
Awoke this morning to what can only be described as a cavalcade of urine-stained drawers. Last night will definitely not make the Fudgeman’s highlight reel of potty training success stories.
All told, he discarded his pants, his pull up, three pairs of underpants…and then he decided to double-down on the drawers he finally chose to wear.
Don’t hate the playa, hate his underpants.
I told Page I wanted Ford to pick out his own shoes. He picked these (and earlier, FYI, the outfit). Point, Page.
What happens to your house when three books and two kids run wild over your life? This.
Sooooo, yeeeeaaaahhh…I may have put the wrong shorts on the wrong kid this morning.
90 degrees and I pick a park attached to THE coolest pool in Raleigh. To which we do not have a membership. Perfect, because I was hoping to teach the boys about jealousy today anyway.