Big day for the Davis boys!

Today, we officially switched the boys from the small room (the nursery) to the bigger room (formerly the guest room).

You can't see from this picture their little bookcase and toybox, and just how roomy it is in there. But take my word for it, it is totally cute and really looks like a little boys' room, even with two cribs and a changing table in it.

Cary and Dean absolutely lurv their big boy room, especially all the newfound floor space to play with their blocks and cars -- but we shall see how they take to it in terms of actually sleeping in it tonight at bedtime.

Naptime for Cary was a total bust. I had to hold him, sniffling on my chest in our bedroom until he conked out and then transfer him to his crib -- which hasn't happened since early, early infancy. (Full disclosure: It was kinda nice, but don't tell him that.)

And then, more big things!!

After dinnertime, as Cary was walking around with his hair all over his head, looking like Kramer from Seinfeld, Lester decided enough was enough -- and cut my baby's hair!! For the first time EVER!

Cary before -- with a volcano of curls on his head:


Cary during -- and not even whimpering about the clippers!! Shocking!!


And just like that, my baby is a big boy, in a big boy room, and with no more baby curls!!

This has all been a bit much for me. I think I'll go to bed early.
Sigh.

Next big thing: Tackling Curve Ball's room! Sometime in January, perhaps?

Merry post-Christmas post!

Merry couple days after Christmas all!

I wanted to post this picture of the boys on Christmas Eve, but Lester and I stayed up late trying to figure out how to put songs on a (cheap and annoying) mp3 player I bought my 11-year-old nephew. It took us until almost 1:30 to get it all done, so by then I was too pooped to do anything but conk out.

So -- a few days late -- here are my cuties in their Sesame Street Christmas PJs and Santa hats, on their way to nestle all snug in their beds. All together now: "Awwwwww!"


On Christmas, the boys enjoyed opening the few presents we bought them, and especially loved the Elmo and Cookie Monster toys my Nana sent them from Boston. (Cary was a little afraid of Cookie's gruff voice, at first, but he's over it now.) The biggest hit of all the presents was "My Big Truck Book," which Cary would marry if he could. Well, and Elmo. Elmo can do no wrong in our house, apparently.





(Dean dancing to Elmo!)




We went to my Mom's in the afternoon, and stayed the night. The boys opened more presents, played with their cousins, ate a lot of sweet stuff (and I didn't fuss at anyone about it!) and stayed up way late. We left my parents' late Monday, so that made two nights in a row that the boys had really, really late nights.

So...the best Christmas present for Mommy and Daddy? Cary and Dean slept until 8:45 this morning and then took a THREE-hour nap in the afternoon. That's how wiped they were from all the Christmas revelry. It was great!

Speaking of great Christmas presents, Lester and I had agreed not to spend a lot of money on ourselves this year, because we don't need anything and it's the Year of Austerity (even though he snuck and bought me a beautiful bracelet and earrings! Cheater!), so we decided to spend the money we would have spent on gifts on "Hotel Get-Away Day."

What is Hotel Get-Away Day, you ask? Just the best thing ever!!

A few days before Christmas, when Michelle was still watching the boys, we left the house when she arrived, went and had a delicious, leisurely brunch and then checked into a Marriott, where we promptly took our own THREE-hour nap!! Then we ordered room service, watched some mindless television and just lazed around until it was time to go home and get our boys.

It was so unbelievably restorative and wonderful, I highly recommend it to all parents, especially those who have demanding, small children. I mean seriously, the king-sized bed with the fluffy pillows? The quiet? The people bringing you food and then taking the dirty dishes away? The snuggling? The NAP? It was the best Christmas present ever. We're talking now about doing it on a semi-regular basis. Merry Christmas in April? Why not?!

:-)

Bonus: Just because I have been sooo awful about taking pregnancy pics of myself this time around, I had Lester take a quick iPhone photo of my belly (and me) in the lobby of the hotel, next to this cool display of gingerbread houses made by some local school-children.

I look a make-up-less mess, yes, but remember, this is after sleeping for three blissful hours!! So who cares?

(There's Curve Ball in there! And today we're 31 weeks! Not too much longer now!)

Quick vacation update

I have officially been on vacation since Friday, so I'm not sitting at a computer long enough to post updates, but I wanted to take a few seconds to post two photos.

First...remember all my consternation about the Christmas tree? How I agonized about the hassle of keeping two active (read: hardheaded) little grabby-hand babies away from it, the ornaments and the lights? And how I eventually gave in and put up a small one, because I couldn't stand the thought of not having any tree for Christmas -- and because everyone said I should do it and it would be fine?

I present to you, Exhibit A:



Yes, 8 million time-outs later, the tiny tree terrorists finally won.
Sigh.
We did put the tree back up, and salvaged the ornaments we could, and since then (knock on wood) they've been fairly disinterested in it. So maybe they accomplished what they set out to do and now we can move on? Maybe? Let's hope so!


Also, remember my post about not having the Christmas spirit? And about how I needed to get the boys some Santa hats, perhaps?

TOTALLY helped!!

Santa's elves do it every time!!

(I don't know how much I'll be on the computer for the next two weeks, so...Merry Christmas to all, Happy Holidays, Happy New Year and many, many blessings!)

Outrage day

Yesterday was outrage day for me. Which contributed to (or maybe was helped along by) my lack of Christmas spirit.

First, a friend who is in my Unbalanced Mommies group sent out this article to the bunch of us, with the e-mail subject line: "an article to make u feel guilty about 'cry it out'."

I should have stopped at the headline, but nooo, I read the stupid article. And it was a bunch of bull****. There's one line, for instance, that says that a child who was forced to endure CIO "may spend a lifetime trying to fill the inner emptiness." Inner emptiness? Really??
Which, under normal circumstances would have been merely irritating, but likely forgettable. But this came from someone in my mommy-support-group!! WTF? Why would she send that out to us?
First of all, most of us are hitting the year-and-a-half, 2-year-mark with our kids. Why on Earth would we need to feel guilty about parenting practices from early infancy? Moreover, why on Earth should we feel guilty about ANYTHING we did or didn't do, or do or don't do, as parents? We're all trying our best here, winging it half the time, attempting to raise little people the best way we know how. There is NO room for guilt imposed on us by outsiders. None. We saddle ourselves with enough guilt and anxiety as it is!

Also, up until her e-mail, our support group has been just that: a support group. We encourage one another. We help one another. We do advise one another from time to time, but always with the caveat that none of us really knows what the hell we're doing. But we're all doing a good job! In our own ways. Some stay home, some work part-time, some full-time. Some do daycare; some have in-home sitters; some have relatives to help with the babies. Some of us breastfed, some of us did not. You get the picture. Regardless of our parenting choices, so far, I'd say all our kids are pretty damn awesome. And isn't that the true barometer?

Anyway, most importantly, in our Mommy group, the one thing we never, ever do is judge. Ever.
There's enough judgment in this world, especially where women are concerned. I choose to surround myself with people who would rather lift me up than tear me down. So I was HOT about that e-mail. HOT, do you hear me?

One Mommy-group friend told me she just ignored it. And another -- the woman who invited the rogue e-mailer into our group -- said she was also offended but was trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps she meant to send the article sarcastically? Like, "check out this bull****?" Perhaps. Who knows. So she said she would find out. And that meant I could not send the e-mailer a flaming response. So I just raged on the inside. Grrrrrrrrrr!

Then, later on in the afternoon, my sister dragged me into this "If I Were a Poor, Black Kid" madness -- which I had been trying to avoid.
I won't even go into the details of it; it's just such a rabbit hole of arrogance and racism and bad grammar.
But suffice it to say that the original commentary by Gene Marks and the online brouhaha that ensued made me think a lot about the fact that people like Marks are representative of the "ruling class" in this country (as evidenced by the fact that his commentary ran in Forbes, not some random blog). And so that means that these are the people who are setting policy in this country. These are the people who will be evaluating and legislating my own three Black kids (two of them Black males, just to add to the pile) some day.
My heart is sick thinking of the prejudice and ignorance and condescension and judgment they will face.
And how, in many cases, I will be powerless to protect them from it.

And so my outrage turned to sadness and worry. (Of course).

I went to bed last night without washing the dinner dishes or cleaning the kitchen or straightening the bedroom which had been torn to pieces by Cary and Dean earlier that morning. That's how wiped I was.

Then, this morning, Cary looked at Dean's pajamas and pointed to the fire truck. He said, "fraratruck!" and then, "Dean!"
I said, "Yes, Dean has a fire truck on his pajamas, baby! That's right!"
Then...he pointed to his own pajamas (he was wearing the same ones) and said, "Fraratruck. Dary!"

He knows he's CARY! He said it!

Then they both commenced to running around upstairs destroying things, all the while making fire truck sounds, "Woo-woo-woo!" and singing made-up, gibberish songs with their loveys on their heads. Dean pointed to a wedding picture of ours and sang, "Ma-Ma, Dah-dee! Ma-Ma, Dah-dee!," and did a little dance. He kissed me good-bye at the front door without me asking!
They both waved to me, happily, and said "Bye-bye, Ma-Ma!"

Inner emptiness my a**!

(I'm over it, really I am! I just had to get that last jab in.)

Paging my Christmas spirit. Christmas spirit to the register, please.

I am fresh out of original things to talk about, as the days have been mostly: Work, come home, marvel at the children and their awesomeness, fume at the children and their craziness, eat, check my blood sugars (still outta control), go to bed. Oh, also -- put children in time-out for removing all the ornaments they can reach off the Christmas tree and for insisting on sneakily dropping dinner on the floor (Dean). Oh, and clean up all the papers and miscellaneous items they throw around in our bedroom in the mornings while we're trying to get ready for work. Oh, and fret about whether we will ever get all the things done that need to get done in the two bedrooms upstairs to prepare for Curve Ball's arrival.

That's my life. And even though I put up decorations, went to my office holiday party, ordered gifts for my nieces and nephews and finished my end-of-the-year giving, I still don't feel especially Christmas-y. And when I look at all my blogfriends' blogs, I REALLY feel like I was in the bathroom or something when someone was handing out the Christmas spirit. (That's entirely possible, as much as I'm in the bathroom these days).

I'm sure it will come (I think). But to help it along, I thought I'd post a couple pictures of Christmases past, when my cup runneth over with Christmas spirit!

Me and Lester's very first Christmas together as a married couple. Picking out our first tree (Dec. 2007)!

The boys at our church Christmas pageant, Dec. 2010, enjoying the angels and wise men and singing townspeople. I remember thinking, "One day, these two little angels will be in the church Christmas pageant!!" And getting all teary-eyed.


Christmas Eve, 2010 -- such a warm, memory-filled night. Look how cute and small they were!


Perhaps I need to get the boys something Christmas-y to wear and take some cute photos of them this year. They don't have Christmas pajamas, or sweaters or Santa hats (darn K-Mart excursion gone wrong!) Maybe that's what's missing.

I'll try to work on that this weekend. Ho-ho-ho!

Rosemary's baby?

Apparently, I am carrying a demon child, because my body keeps trying to kill it.

First there was the bread truck incident.

Then, last night, I went to put a protesting Dean over the baby gate from the dining room into the living room, and leaned too hard -- I guess -- into the gate. The gate gave way; I dropped Dean on his head. The gate fell on top of him and then I fell HARD on my face, belly and knee.

Did I mention I have hardwood floors? Ugh. This is why ancient man invented carpet, I'm sure of it.

I have a sore-to-the-touch knot on my head and a tiny little bruise. I had a headache all night, and my nose is still sore.

Dean was fine, after getting over the fright of the fall and of having the mesh gate on top of him like a fishnet.

Curve Ball seems fine, too, despite my worrying all night about whether or not she was moving enough.

So, all's well that ends well, I guess. But seriously, what the heck?

My friend Rashod Ollison asked me if someone had "put roots on me."

I am inclined to believe it's either that or I am carrying Rosemary's baby, and my body is trying to save me the humiliation later on in life of having given birth to the spawn of Satan.

Or..maybe I'm just tired and off-balance and distracted, with fluctuating blood sugars that make me feel all loopy. And so, if that's the case, I should prepare myself for more clumsiness and haphazardness for at least the next 11 weeks.

I think I'll buy myself a helmet.

The amazing, incredible Davis boys

Over the last few days, my boys did such amazing things, I am certain they are destined for Fulbrights some day -- or to be mad geniuses who blow up the world. Whichever.

Dean:

1. I have to check my blood sugar four times a day. The boys love the beeping sound the meter makes when I insert a test strip. They always say, "BEEP!" when they see the meter. They think it's Mommy's cool beeping toy.
But this weekend, Dean found a collar stay that Lester uses for his business shirts. It is plastic and thin and, apparently, looks a little like a test strip. Because Dean took it, said, "Beep!" pushed it up against his little fat finger and said, "Stick!" and then --wait for it -- sucked his finger, the same way I do when I'm finished testing, to get rid of the tiny droplet of blood.
Isn't that amazing. Beep, stick, suck! Just like Mommy does! He is such a little observer. I think he has a future as a scientist/researcher/doctor-type. Or a Peeping Tom. Whichever.
Either way, what a reminder that 19-month-old babies are watching everything.

2. Dean also learned this weekend how to unlock the front door. And he learned how to turn the doorknobs on all our inside doors, so he can get out of rooms now. (Joy!) For some reason, he can't turn the front door knob, I think because of the shape of it. So that's a blessing; otherwise, he'd be unlocking the front door, turning the knob and running down the street. For now, he just opens the bedroom door or the bathroom door and scurries out of rooms, his face all bright with excitement. Little fugitive! How did he learn how to turn doorknobs? I guess by watching us do it.
Yet another reminder that 19-month-old babies are watching everything!!!

3. Dean really knows -- and uses -- Cary's name now. He calls him when he can't find him: "Deary? Deary?" And he tells on him when Cary's doing something wrong.
"Uh-oh," he said to me this morning! "UH-Ohhhh! Deary! Steps!"
Sure enough, Cary was climbing back up the stairs. Good to have another set of eyes around! Thanks, Dean!

Cary:

1. Cary said his first full sentence this weekend. I was eating soup in a mug, and he came up to me and said, "Mommy eat soup."
Mommy. Eat. Soup. A subject, a verb and an object. Hello -- not only a sentence, but technically, according to grammar rules, a complex one! I think my child will be poet laureate one day. Or just extremely chatty and a pain in the neck because he won't stop talking. Whichever.

2. While reading "Duck and Goose: How Are You Feeling?" Cary identified each feeling on each page (except for "Frustrated," which is a hard word and concept to explain to a baby) all by himself, without prompting!
He'd turn the page to "Patient" and say some word that vaguely sounds like "patient." Then he'd point to the plant and say, "plant." Then he'd say, "Grow!" Because in the picture, Duck and Goose are patiently waiting for a little plant to grow.
Then he'd turn to the "Selfish" page and say something that sounds very much like "selfish." And he'd point to the duck holding all the flowers and not sharing with his friends, and go "UNH!" as if he were angry at the duck.
At the "Sad" page, he pretends to cry. At the "Afraid" page, he whimpers. At the angry page, he growls and goes "UNH!" At the happy page, he says, "HAPPY!" and smiles. He says, "Proud!" at the "proud" page. And at the "Loving" page, he gives me a a hug. (OK, sometimes, the hug requires prompting.)
It is toooo cute. I love that he enjoys "reading" so much; but I especially love how dramatic this kid is. Seriously, why is he mad that the duck won't share his flowers? LOL. You tell 'em, Deary. Sharing is caring!
Lester asked me, "How does he know how to do that?" And I said, "I guess just from us reading it over and over and over and over."
Which just goes to show you that -- again -- 19-month-old babies are watching everything.

3. This morning, on my way out the door, I said my usual good-byes and grabbed my millions of bags (I'm such a bag lady, like my mother). Dean was in his highchair, waiting for breakfast, and Cary was evading capture as usual. So he saw me leaving and said, "Keesh!" (Which is "kiss," awwww! ) I said, "Oh, you want Mommy to give you a kiss?" And I was truly checking to make sure, because this is not the most affectionate kid we're talking about here. And he said, "Prr-pees." (Which is "pretty please.") So I leaned in to kiss him good-bye, and he puckered! And kissed me! And then went on his merry way.
I swear, I almost cried!

Aren't they amazing? Seriously. My two little crazies are crazy awesome.

Meanwhile, these " crazy awesome" boys spent half the weekend in time-out (not kidding) because they are unable to resist the siren call of the Christmas tree. Which I DID put up (a small one, anyway) along with a few decorations.

Everyone tells me that this is just something they will have to learn, and that eventually -- with consistency -- they'll get it that the Christmas tree (and other decorations) are off limits. But we are a ways away from that day, people. A LONG ways away.

.

iPhone wouldn't let me upload the entire video, so you don't see Dean putting Mr. Snowman back in his spot near the kitchen door and then saying, "Bye-bye noman." And then Cary blowing Mr. Snowman a kiss! But you get the picture. Don't touch the Christmas decorations gets translated into "decapitate the snowman."

LOL!

There's always a silver lining

So the bad news is, today, I ran into a bread truck on my way to work.

I have no idea how it happened. Seriously. I was driving along in my lane, not on my phone, not listening to the radio, with my glasses on. It was sunny and clear. I was in city traffic, so not driving fast at all. Somehow, I just ran smack into the back step-gate of the truck. And the step-gate ripped through the car like it was made of soft butter.

The minivan is pretty much crushed to pieces in the front. It even blew the tire, and crushed the passenger side door, somehow.

So for most of the morning, we've been dealing with surly city police, our accusatory insurance company, damage appraisers and rental companies. Joy.

I have a feeling this is going to drag out for quite awhile -- and be quite expensive, even with our insurance. Sigh.

The good news is, I'm OK. And baby's OK. Lester came over to the accident site and handled the whole thing and didn't make me feel bad for driving into a bread truck, not even once. Praise God for him, for reals.

And if you're looking for the silver lining, here it is: The (very nice) bread truck driver felt so sorry for me and my big, pregnant self, he gave us two loaves of Nature's Own Double Fiber Wheat bread from the back of the truck. Which is the kind we actually buy in our house.

So -- our fiber needs are taken care of for the next two weeks.

Next time, I'll try to run into a money truck. :-)

28 week check-up

I went today for my 28-week check-up at the perinatologist (and a follow-up at the OB, too).

Here are the highlights (or the lowlights, as it were):

Curve Ball is showing signs of being in a "diabetic environment."
This is new. At my last check-up at 19 weeks, she was not.

What does that mean, exactly?

Well, for one thing, her little abdomen is measuring in the 97th percentile. That is pretty darn big.
By contrast, at 19 weeks, it was measuring in the 50th.

The big belly indicates that she is storing sugars and fats in her tummy, which is exactly what she is not supposed to be doing.

Also, she is 3. lbs. 6 oz. -- almost a full pound heavier than she should be (no wonder she packs such a wallop!)

This means that -- if she puts on half a pound a week, as babies can do during the third trimester -- I could be in danger of having a nearly-10-lb.-baby. Holy macaroni.

The doctors have stressed that there are many reasons why having a huge baby like that is not good for me.
1. I am 5 ft. tall, and a size 2. OK, a size 4.
2. Shoulder dystosia is a real concern at that size.
3. Therefore, dreams of an uneventful, vaginal birth (which I had with the boys) might be blown to smithereens.
4. Babies who are big because of being grown in a sugar-rich environment are not just cute and chubby normal babies. They are big in different ways: in the bellies, for one thing, and especially in the neck and cheeks and jawline. This can mean Curve Ball might get stuck trying to come down the birth canal and out of my body into the world. Very dangerous.
5. Again, vaginal birth = bye-bye.

In addition, Curve Ball is now at risk of having low-blood-sugar at birth (when they cut her from the placenta) and she is also officially at risk of developing diabetes as an adult.

To say that I am bummed would be severely under-selling all the sadness and anxiety I feel right now.

The good news is, I have been monitored since early on and will continue being monitored (now, even moreso) until she's born. My doctors assure me that all this monitoring means she should be just fine, in the end.

On the way back from my appointments, I put in the prescription for insulin, which I'm to take three times a day. I've already been taking it at bedtime (did I forget to mention that?) so I've got the needle-part down. But now I'll have to mix two kinds together (a fast-acting and a long-acting), so I do have a bit of adjusting to do to this new regimen.

But I'm totally prepared and willing to do it. I really do not care anymore about what I have to do. I will do whatever it takes, for however long I have to do it. Anything to help shrink Curve Ball's little Buddha belly, and get her to not be the size of a small turkey at birth.

I also have to go back to the OB every 2 weeks now instead of four, and at 32 weeks, I go back to the perinatologist for another growth scan and to start twice-weekly fetal monitoring. My boss is going to LOVE this!

On the bright side, everything else about her looked great today -- and the sonographer even broke the rules and gave me 3D photos of Curve Ball. I'm not a huge, huge fan of the strange-looking 3D photos, but we got them -- without asking -- for Cary and Dean. We put the pics in a frame, and those photos crack us up now because of how you can really see Cary in there and Dean in there, all smushed and water-logged, but still very much themselves.

So we begged the sonographer to give us pics of Curve Ball, even though they've changed the rules in that office about doing them, ever since too many crazy parents (not us, this time!) called in panics after getting their 3D pics home, thinking surely something must be wrong with this alien-skeletor-hole-in-head baby I'm carrying.

Truth be told, Curve Ball does look a little Twilight-zone-music-esque in the pics. And they're not as clear as C & D's were, because of the way she was lying.

But ... here she is, her first glamour-shot:


I have no idea who she looks like.

And, the last bit of bright-side news is: Regardless of whatever is going on in my sugar-soaked womb, little Curve Ball seems happy about it.

The sonographer and I both cracked up at this picture of her, which shows my little sweet treat looking just like she is in there just laughing her head off:


Awww. My sweet, happy little baby girl.

Now who wouldn't do anything in the world they had to do to make sure she stays that way? Certainly not me. I'm in hook, line, and sinker! Insulin -- here I come!!!

Baffling toddler questions - a quiz

1. Why is it that the boys repeatedly do all sorts of things Lester and I tell them (multiple times daily) not to do (like push buttons on the Blu-Ray player, play with our iPod and iPhones, pull out plugs, open drawers and cabinets, etc.) -- but when I put them in time-out and say "Now, you must sit still until Mommy says you can get up," they sit there and don't move until Mommy says they can?? If they know to sit still in time-out, they know to listen, right?

2. Why is it that the boys almost never fight over books, trucks or puzzles, but will try to kill each other over toothbrushes, the little cardboard hanger-cover-things that come on dry-cleaner's hangers, plastic baggie clips and other random, inexplicable things?

3. Why is it that Dean has started refusing food, especially at dinnertime -- even some of his favorite dishes -- but if I offer him cottage cheese and fruit, or yogurt, he will devour it and then say, "more pees!" while frantically making the sign for "more" as if he was STARVING?

4. Why is it that the boys and I had a perfectly lovely day on Sunday, hanging out and eating at restaurants and enjoying the day, but when Lester tried to do the same yesterday (he had a day off), he reported back that there were tears, tantrums and general craziness the entire time; and the day was a "disaster? Are toddlers bi-polar?

5. Why do they act like getting their diapers changed is an unnatural crime against humanity?

6. Why is Dean still missing his back teeth? ALL of them? How does he eat orange peels without back teeth? WHY does he eat orange peels?

7. Why do the boys pretend to talk on the phone to my sisters, but when they're actually with my sisters, they refuse to go to them?

8. When will Cary learn to turn books right-side-up? When will Cary learn -- for certain -- that he is, in fact, Cary?

9. When does the screaming and crying about everything end? When? When?! WHEN?!

10. How can the boys listen to "The Ants Go Marching" on repeat 100,000 times in a row and not want to throw themselves off the top of a tall building into burning lava?

Bonus: How is it possible that toddlers are the most inscrutable creatures on the face of the Earth -- and also the most adorable, hysterical and lovable?

Tuesday fun facts

-- Today Curve Ball is 28 weeks!
(How do you like that I started this post with her instead of her brothers?!)

Technically, she is only 26 weeks, but I am 28 weeks along carrying her. This is the official start of the third trimester, according to the pregnancy books. That means this is the final stretch. She should be here in 12 weeks or fewer. (Hopefully not too much fewer). I'm still freaked out, but also getting excited. A new little baby, with new baby toes and new baby smell! Awwww.

The books also say that Curve Ball could weigh as much as 2.5 lbs by now. I can believe it, as this little thing packs a powerful punch when she is moving around -- which is pretty much all the time. She is a party animal! I sometimes call her "Wild Thing," and like Max in the famous book, then I command her to "Be still!" But I must not have Max's special magic tricks, as she never complies.

Full disclosure, I have not gotten very far on the list of things to do to prepare for her room. I have ordered a few things for the boys' new room (bookcase, storage unit, toybox) which will help us move their stuff out of her room, so I can start decorating for her. I also have a bassinet for Curve Ball - which I got from a yard sale - but no crib yet.

Lester and I both have a little time off coming up this month, so hopefully, we will knock this out then. I really don't want it to be February -- and I"m 9 months pregnant, still trying to get two kids' rooms together.

P.S. Curve Ball still has no name, but we have a strong contender! I'll keep you posted.

-- Dean has started saying Cary's name a bit. Finally! It sounds like "Dairy" or "Deary," actually.
And sometimes Cary will say it too. But I'd say 75 percent of the time, Dean calls Cary "Dean," and 85 percent of the time, Cary calls himself "Dean."
I was very happy yesterday, though, when Cary pointed to Dean in his highchair and said, "Deannn," (He really emphasizes the "n" now) and then pointed to himself and said, quietly, "Deary?"
I think we might be turning a corner!

Dean also is becoming more and more interested in helping to put on and take off his clothes. The same way I often find Cary sitting quietly somewhere with a book is the same way I'll now find Dean sitting quietly somewhere with a pair of pants or pajamas he's pulled out of the hamper, trying to put them on his feet or arms (with no luck). It's very cute. He takes clothes off of "Piggy" - a little stuffed pig with a vest - and then tries so hard to put them back on. (So cute!) He helps pull his pants off when it's bathtime. He thinks he can put his own socks and shoes on and cries when he can't do it. (Awwww.)
Cary has no interest in helping with anything, mind you. He's perfectly happy for Mom and Dad to do everything for him.

Dean is also taking his climbing game to new levels, literally. One day last weekend, I found him on top of the dining room table! Yikes. He climbs all over everything, and he and Cary push furniture around (on our wood floors!) so much, climbing all over everything, that Lester and I had to buy a new baby gate (18 months in to having babies) to stop the C&D Wrecking Crew from destroying the entire house every single day.

-- Cary is stringing more and more words together. Last night, he spied a stray grape that rolled into a corner, and said "Dir-tee brepp." (Dirty grape!) He also says , "No touch tuh-ree-vee!" which means, "Don't touch the TV." And the other day he slipped and bumped his chin on the nightstand in our bedroom, and as I was comforting him, I asked him "What happened, baby?" and he said, through tears, "Mouf. Babel." (Mouth. Table.) (Awwww!) And this morning, on his way down the stairs with Dean and Lester, he called my name, "Muh-muh?! Muh-muh!" until I came to the top of the stairs to see what he wanted. "Yes?" I said. And he waved at me and said, "Buh-bye, Muh-muh." (Double awww!)

This is a kid who has a lot of thoughts; I can tell. He expresses real emotion when he's "reading" books. When Corduroy the Bear falls off the bed, he says, "Ho, nooo!" When the barber is giving the baby a haircut in Dr. Seuss' ABC, Cary whimpers (he hates the clippers Lester uses to give Dean his haircuts). And in "Duck and Goose: How Are You Feeling?" he pretends to cry when we get to the "Sad" page, and he backs away from the book, saying "Dock! (dark)" at the "Scared" page. His favorite page is "Happy!" I love that!

I can't wait until he's able to express himself even more. I imagine having really fun conversations with him.

All in all, everyone is well and happy and our house is full of entertainment! Who needs cable when you've got twin toddlers and a baby on the way!

High-low weekending

When I was the fashion writer for The Sun (don't ask), I frequently wrote about the trend of high-low dressing. In a really oversimplified way of describing it, high-low dressing involved pairing one really high-end item -- such as a $200 pair of jeans, or a designer handbag or a pair of Manolo Blahniks -- with a cute top from Banana Republic and some costume jewelry from Target. Something like that.

Anyway, it was all the rage then. It made high-fashion more accessible, as you didn't have to be dressed in head-to-toe couture, and as a bonus, even the celebs were doing it!

I say all that to tell you that this weekend was high-low weekend for the Davises.

I took the boys to hear the Baltimore Philharmonia Orchestra, who played a beautiful selection of Christmas music and old favorites, such as songs from My Fair Lady and The Sound of Music.
It was awesome! I left singing "I Could've Danced All Night...." all night long.

The music was really beautiful and I loved that the boys got to see real musicians and real instruments, and hear something other than "The Ants Go Marching" 25,000 times a day.
Cary was a little unnerved by the really loud crescendos, and Dean kept wandering up to little old ladies with white hair and then would run off, shaking his head "No!" when they smiled at him and tried to have conversation. But other than that, it was very nice. And very high-end!
I mean, hello, there were cellos involved.

Afterwards, I figured my two boys had had enough culture for one day, so we decided to go grab an early dinner -- at IHOP! Holla!!
The boys had chicken tenders and fruit and French fries. I had pot roast and mashed potatoes and corn. Then we shared one scoop of vanilla ice cream -- which really means I got maybe two bites, since they devoured it.

The boys behaved marvelously (Praise the Lord!) and I couldn't help but get a twinge of sadness/regret that we are really just getting to the point where I can do things that other Moms of singletons have long been able to do, just as I'm about to blow the whole thing up with a new baby. I don't see how I will be able to have fun dates with my boys, with a newborn in tow, unless Lester is there too. And as much as I love my husband and family togetherness and all that jazz, it was really nice yesterday to go out and about and spend time with Cary and Dean all by myself. Oh well. I'm sure it will all work out eventually.

Anyway, the IHOP was in a shopping plaza that had a K-Mart in it. I hadn't seen the inside of a K-Mart since....sheesh...I don't even know when. But I thought I might be able to find cheap slippers for them to toddle around the house in, and also Santa hats, on the cheap. So after IHOP, we went to K-Mart!

Talk about "low-end." LOL.

I did find slippers -- cute little dinosaur slippers -- for $6 and I thought I found Santa hats, but when we got home, I realized my children's heads are now toddler-sized, not baby-sized, so I have two Santa hats for Curve Ball for next year. But none for her big brothers this year. Back to the drawing board for them I suppose. And in keeping with my low-end-retail-shopping-spree, I will first try to find them at ...The Dollar Store!

Davis Family Year of Austerity is in full effect!!

P.S. Weirdness of the day: TWO people (one at the concert and one at the K-Mart) thought Cary was a girl. A girl!! Please take a look at this picture of my two crazies (taken at IHOP- holla!) and tell me where on Earth Cary Glenn Davis looks like a girl?! In this picture, maybe he looks like a refugee (seriously, what is going on with his hair? It might be time for a haircut, no?) but certainly not a girl! People are seriously baffling.

Is parenting harder today than it was for our parents?

I was listening to an afternoon call-in radio program about parenting today.

http://www.wypr.org/stationprogram/midday-dan-rodricks

The premise was that there's a new trend in parenting toward complaining about it in public. The show referenced books like "Go the F--- to Sleep," and new TV shows like, "I Hate My Teenaged Daughter." It also talked about all the Mommy blogs where mothers admit to not liking their kids from time to time and to not enjoying all aspects of parenting or to missing parts of their old lives.

"Is parenting today harder than it was in previous generations?" the radio host asked. "Or are today's parents just whiners?"

That made me think a little bit.

This holiday, I snapped at my Mom -- during a particularly cranky stretch of the Cary and Dean show -- that when Curve Ball is born, by golly, people are going to have to come visit US! All this traveling an hour up and an hour back, skipping naps, dragging babies around?? Not fair! If people want to see us, they will need to come see us! Waaaah-waaaah! And WAAAAH!

And my Mom said, without looking up from whatever it was she was doing, "We took you kids everywhere when you were little -- all five of you. And it was no problem."

I'm sure I had a brilliant retort. But now I'm wondering if what Dan Rodricks asked on his show is true? Am I a whiner? Or is my mother having a bit of grandparent-earned revisionist history?

She had to have SOME problems carting five kids around, first in a Toyota hatchback, and then, finally -- when economic times improved -- a big burgundy Ford Aerostar with license plates that read, "4RFAMLY." Right?

I didn't even take my two to the grocery store until just a couple weeks ago! Am I a whiner and a wimp??

She and my Dad also say that me and my siblings NEVER had fall-out-on-the-floor screamfests while out in public. Never. Unh-unh.

"You all KNEW BETTER," Mom says.

Can this possibly be true? Five kids and not ONE public tantrum? Parenting was a piece of cake in the 70s and 80s? But now it's so hard I have to read books and start a blog and whine, whine whine about it???

If I'm honest, when I look back on some of my blog posts, they do seem to have a strong whiny streak. Yes, there's a lot of joy and a lot of pride and a lot of truth-telling (which I'm proud of) but when does truth-telling cross over into Whinyville?

I read an NYT article a while back about a guy making waves by telling people to "have more children." His theory is that raising kids is easier than we make it out to be, if only we were to relax a little bit, have fun with the kids, pick our battles, quit worrying so much about the latest studies and theories, or sugary cereals, or TV watching or pre-school picking. Kids are a big responsibility, he agreed, but they're not supposed to equal so much work and stress. We adults bring that all on ourselves.

"Do you think your grandmother sat on the floor for 5 hours a day playing with your Mom?" he asked, in one of his books (I'm paraphrasing) "No. She had things to do and she did them, and she didn't worry about whether your Mom would be scarred for life or not say 20 words by age 15.2 months or get into the right college or any of those things. And guess what? Your Mom turned out fine."

So why DO we (and by "we," I mean "I") stress out so much about stuff?

Why does it bother me that my kids are cranky and unhappy because they missed their naps? Why can't I just say, "Oh, they're fine. It's just a missed nap, fer crying out loud."
Why do I read so many damn books?
Why don't my kids "know better" than to scream when they want something?
WHY IS THIS SO HARD?
Or is it??

Is all the stressing out taking away somehow from the enjoyment I should be having in child-rearing?

I mean, I enjoy it plenty. I really, really do. (No kidding! I love being Cary and Dean's Mommy.) But could I be enjoying it more if I could zen out some?

This has definitely given me something to think about.

(But...I won't think TOO much because that would be dangerously close to worrying about it, and that would just be getting me nowhere! LOL!)

I'll let you know if I come up with something profound.

Compromising Christmas

Holiday dilemma:

I grew up in a household that had HUGE Christmases.
-Big, live tree, decorated within an inch of its life.
-Gazillions of presents big and small for all five of us siblings, plus cousins, nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, Grands, and friends of the family.
-Lots of decorations all around the house. It was kinda insane.
-Christmas cards sent to a hundred thousand people - and received from twice that many.
-Christmas music blaring in the house and in the car.
-Christmas dinners; Christmas cookies. Christmas fudge. Christmas weight gain.

But Lester grew up in a household where his mother -- a single woman who worked 6 days a week, sometimes 7 -- could afford just one big gift for her only child and one small gift. And that was during good years. There was plenty of warmth in his house because the two of them were best friends, and there was no shortage of love. But glitter and tinsel and fudge and credit card debt and singing Christmas cards? No. Not by a longshot.

I LOVED my Christmases growing up and can still vividly feel the warmth and emotion and excitement the holiday brought. But I can also see how there was way too much of an emphasis on demanding and getting lots of gifts, giving lots of gifts to others, and spending way too much money. And when I see the ritual repeated nowadays with my siblings' kids, I can really see just how ungrateful it makes them. They open one thing, toss it to the side and dive in to the pile for something else. When they run out of things to open, they pout. They count who has "the most" gifts and have temper tantrums if they feel slighted in any way. They trash their toys and leave a mess for the adults to clean up. By the day after Christmas, they're over the entire thing.

Meanwhile, Lester didn't exactly LOVE his super-sparse Christmases, but he definitely feels like he was much more appreciative of what his Mom was able to do each year, and is a more grateful and less materially-needy person now. (Except for shoes. That man loves shoes.) He's witnessed the carnage that occurs on Christmas Day with my siblings' kids and his takeaway is that he didn't miss much growing up, if that's the way it was for us.

So...now that we have our own kids, how do we combine the best parts of both our memories of and lessons-learned from Christmas?

This is a tough one.

Neither one of us wants to raise ungrateful, spoiled-brat, gimme-gimme, little "Me!-Me!-Me!" kids. But we differ on how to make sure we don't do that.

Lester wants us to go the one-big-gift, one-small-gift route. I appreciate the sentiment, but it still seems awfully austere to me. (Yes, I know this is the Davis Family Year of Austerity. But it's Christmas, good grief.)

I have 6 or 7 developmental toys I want to get the boys and some things to decorate and populate their new, bigger room. But I realize that it is silly to buy 18-month-olds a bunch of stuff to open on Christmas. So I don't know what to do. I'm really torn. I WANT them to have those toys and things for their new room. I DON'T want to start a tradition of three kids getting a glut of crap on Christmas.

This year, we're already eschewing the live tree ( a major part of Christmas to me) -- only because we have no confidence that the two rascals who live in our house won't pull all the ornaments off and try to climb up the tree, or splash in the water in the tree base, or yank on the light-strings, or tear open the presents that are there for other family members. In other words, just be general pains-in-the-neck the entire time the tree is up.

We're putting up a smallish, artificial, pre-lighted tree that is usually for decorating the back end of the house. This way, we can put it up on something where they can't reach it and still have at least something of a tree to speak of. But it's an artificial tree. It's small. It's not the same. (Waaaah!)

We're not sending Christmas cards. We're only buying gifts for children this year. I'll try to decorate the house some, but floor decorations are out this year (see our issue with putting up a live tree) so I'm limited there, too.

We certainly aren't going to Christmas Eve services with Cary and Dean anytime soon. At least not until they stop turning into the Grinch Jr. and Ebenezer Scrooge in miniature when they're overly tired.

So even CHURCH is getting left out of this Christmas. Bah humbug.

I'm feeling a little blue about all the minimalism, or maybe just a little underwhelmed.

I'm hoping that this is just a temporary, toned-down way of celebrating Christmas, until our boys are a bit older and we're finished with the Year (or Years) of Austerity. And I know that in some ways, things will pick up when those two things happen, especially when it comes to decorating and baking cookies and going to Tree of Lights festivals and watching "A Charlie Brown Christmas" together as a family and all that stuff that is so much a part of the holiday.

But I'm not sure where we'll end up even then when it comes to merging our very different ideas about the gift-giving part of our holiday traditions.

We're usually good about coming to a meeting of the minds about things. Let's pray this issue will be no different.

Big happiness in the little things

We had five full days off for the Thanksgiving break (including the weekend) and it was great to be able to spend so much time together, hanging in and hanging out. We played games and read books and ate meals together and it was lovely. (Why do we have to work again? Blah.)

So I am very,very, very thankful for honest-to-goodness quality time with my husband and babies. (Thank you, Lord.)

I am also very thankful that my brother Rashad is still alive to celebrate Thanksgiving (and Christmas and many holidays to come) with us. (Yessss, Lord! Thank you!)

Other things I am thankful for:

Cary and Dean's inaugural trip to the grocery store!

Yes, it took us 18-months to get these boys out to experience the magical world of the grocery store. It was always too hard with two infants, and then when they were new, unsure walkers, it wasn't any easier. Now that they're much more confident walkers, eliminating the need for a stroller and a cart, Lester felt like he could handle a trip to the store with them. In his report back he said the trip was..."fine." Not a ringing endorsement, but certainly not a total mess.
He said the babies sat in the car above for all of 10 minutes, and then they were done. They wanted to run around or be in the cart. They screamed because they saw cheese. They screamed because they saw milk. To keep them from totally losing it, Lester had to give them stolen contraband (string cheese -- which he did pay for, eventually.)
Note to Davis parents: Next time feed boys before going to grocery store and/or bring snacks.

I am also grateful for this video (shortened) of my boys, my Dad, my brother and my husband raking the leaves at my parents' house.
Things to note:
1. My brother!! Operating a leaf-blower!!! Alive! Well! Dressed like a homeless person! But here, with us, participating in family events just like old times! Praises and honor and glory to God!!
2. Dean "helping" put leaves in a trash bag.
3. Cary "raking" the leaves with a stick, and totally getting in my Dad's way.
4. Family togetherness that is worth more than anything.



(To keep this blog honest, I was going to add a section about all the things I'm NOT thankful for. Mostly family annoyances and growing pains-type-stuff. But you know what? I think I'll just leave this the way it is.)

Date day!

Since it is a holiday week, Lester and I took the day off to have date day!

Guess what was the first thing we did on our day off from work and babies?

We got our flu shots!! Yessss! We are so HAWT! lol...

(Seriously, folks, the flu is nothing to play with. If you haven't gotten yours yet, get it soon. There's some nasty stuff going around already this year!)

After getting stuck with needles, we went to a new Thai place that opened recently in midtown Baltimore. Can you say all kinds of AWESOME?

Then we went to a cute coffee shop, ordered holiday drinks and banana bread, and sat in a corner and just talked. It was really nice -- like way back when we were dating, and there was no end to the conversation topics we could come up with, despite the fact that our coffee had long gone cold, and our butts were sore from the wooden chairs.

Thankfully, we looked up from our chat-fest in time to see that we had 10 minutes to get to our movie -- The Descendants -- so we boogied on over and watched a real, full-fledged, grown-up movie (which is pretty good, actually, if you're thinking about seeing it). Just me and my sweetie pie, sharing a buttered popcorn. Heaven.

Delicious lunch. Coffee shop lounging. A cozy matinee. I'd say all in all, we had a truly wonderful, super great date day.

Note: To reprimand us for going out and having fun without them, the boys were NUTS when we got home, crying and whining like professionals, refusing their dinner, and generally acting the fool. I was excited to see them while we were driving home from the movie, but we put those crazies to bed before 7; that's how bad it was.

Lester said no good date goes unpunished.

But I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

What's in a name?

Lester and I STILL don't have a name for our baby.

I am 26 weeks today, and I know we have plenty of time, but it just seems so weird because by this time in my last pregnancy, we knew who both babies were and called them by name. (In the house that is. We kept their names a secret from the world until they were born).

Cary's name came from Lester's mom-- who died when he was just 19. Carrie (his mom) was the only parent Lester had, and she was his very best friend. They were seriously inseparable; even after he went away to college, they talked on the phone just about every day. She died of a heart attack, alone in her house, on Lester's birthday weekend before he could get home from school to go spend the weekend with her. :-(
I never got to meet his Mom, but I could tell from the stories he told me, and from Lester's amazing character and capacity for love, that she was a truly, wonderful woman. Even before we got married, we said if we ever had a baby boy, we'd name him Cary, after her.

So Cary got to be Cary -- as a result of being Baby A -- and all we had to do was come up with a name for Baby B.

Over the course of a week or so, we tossed out a few options, and vetoed most of them. (Funny: Both of us liked the name Grant for a boy, but you can't name one baby "Cary" and then name his brother "Grant." I mean, come on.)

But pretty much right after the gender scan, when we knew we were having two boys, we settled fairly quickly on Dean. I thought it sounded smart. Lester agreed and said it had the added benefit of sounding strong. So Dean it was. Just like that. (And we were right on the money with that one. Dean is SO Dean...)

Later on, after they were born, many people told us that the names sounded "Old Hollywood" to them, but we honestly hadn't thought of that when we named the boys. But now, when people ask us how to spell their names, we always say, "Cary, like Cary Grant. And Dean, like James Dean (or Dean Martin)."

Anyway, so now here we are with a girl child growing inside me. We did have a list of potential girl names picked out for Baby B when we didn't know what his/her gender was. But for various reasons, none of them work anymore. (We don't want to name this baby a family name, for one thing, because Cary has a family name, but Dean doesn't. No need to perpetuate the "middle child syndrome.")

We have tried to think of elegant-sounding "Old Hollywood" names, since we inadvertently started a theme here with the boys' names. But the only ones I like -- Ava, Grace and Lana -- won't work either. There are too many Avas these days (it's on all the most popular baby names lists, in the top 10, no matter which one you check); Lester doesn't like the name Grace; and my sister's youngest girl is named Alahna, but we just call her Lahna, for the most part.

And we've pretty much settled on short, one- or two-syllable names, so that eliminates hundreds and hundreds of perfectly good names out there.

Sooo...we're stuck.

To be truthful, we have agreed on three names, off and on, throughout this pregnancy. But then I always decide I don't like them anymore -- and I honestly can't tell you why. We'll just start calling her by the name we think we've decided on and then one day, it rings hollow in my ears.
"That's not her name anymore," I'll declare, pulling the covers back to get into bed at night. And Lester will look at me, sigh, and groan.

Yesterday, as I was doing the dishes, looking at her sonogram picture on the refrigerator, I just flat out asked her, "What is your name, child?!?"

And just like a girl, she is being coy. She won't tell me.

I'm hopeful that at some point -- soon -- she will. Until then...Curve Ball it is.

Emerging independence

In the mornings, the boys hang out upstairs with us while we get ready for work. They usually do a fairly good job of destroying the upstairs, but there's not much we can do, as we have to get ready and the boys are too young to play downstairs by themselves while we get dressed.

Or are they?

This morning, Cary decided that he was going to go downstairs, by himself. I was unaware that he had ventured to the first floor because Dean was still around distracting me by handing me stray bobby pins he found lying around, and pulling on Lester's phone chargers.
Then I heard the melodic sounds of "Old MacDonald" coming from downstairs.
"Where's Cary?" I yelled to Lester, who was in the next room.
"Downstairs," he said, nonchalantly.

My first reaction was to go get him, but then I thought about it. The baby gates are up. We've pretty much made sure the first floor is kid-friendly. What's the harm? He wanted to play with his toys, and we were taking too long getting ready, so he took matters into his own hands.
I decided to let him be.

A few minutes later, I noticed that it was awfully quiet down there. No B-I-N-G-O. No annoying Cookie Monster "C-is-for cookie," toy going off incessantly. Just quiet.

I leaned over the banister and yelled: "CARE-EEE?"

"Hmmm?" he said.

"What are you doing?"

To which, my 18-month-old child actually replied, "Reee!"

I stepped down a few steps, in order to peek between the stairway slats. And sure enough, there he was, sitting on the playmat, books strewn all around, "reading" his "Beep Beep" book.

And when he was finished, he simply crawled back up the steps and began taking things from Dean, causing the normal weekday morning commotion.

As much as people always say, "It's so great you have twins; they can entertain one another!" I have to say that -- surprisingly -- I liked it so much better this morning when at least one of my boys discovered he could entertain himself. By himself.

Skipping meals and popping pills

It appears the sleep regression in our house is something that will wax and wane.

For about the last week or so, the boys have been blissfully sleeping through the night (cue the angels singing). The only person waking up a million times at night is their baby-resting-on-her-bladder Mommy. (cue the heavy sighing).

I knew a week of STTN meant that we had had too much of a good thing, so I wasn't surprised when Dean woke up last night around 1:30, crying, needing a hug, his Lovey and some more hugs. And then I wasn't surprised when Cary then woke up, too, saying "Ma-ma! Up, pees!"

No, I was not surprised. But as this would not be my life if there weren't some drama involved, of course I had to worry about something.

Two things had happened earlier in the night that have never happened before in our house:

1) Dean refused to eat even one bite of his dinner. Instead, he decided it was better to get remanded to time-out -- twice -- for throwing food on the floor or across the dining room table. Nothing I could do would make this child eat. The pediatrician had just told us a few days earlier that we should not allow Dean to continue with dinnertime if he insists on quarterbacking his meals. "Two times," Dr. Bodnar says. "And then dinner's done." He said if he was hungry, he'd eat and not throw. And the fact is that kids his age eat so much during the day (with snacks and all) that by the time they reach dinner, they're often not all that hungry. And that's OK, he assured me.

But is it? IS IT?

Because when Dean woke up last night, all I could think of was: "This child is starving!! He needs to eat! What should I do? What should I DO??"

2) While Lester was getting Dean undressed for his bath, Cary somehow, somewhere unEarthed an old pill that was hidden God-knows-where in our bedroom. I think, from the size and shape of it, that it is one of the old diabetes-related pills I was taking pre-pregnancy, and that it must've fallen at some point and I forgot about it. Whatever it was, Cary found it and of course, ate it.
Thank God the pill-makers purposefully make pills bitter, because Lester spied Cary's (actually quite-hysterical) screwed-up, sour face and immediately removed the pill from his mouth. So he only sucked it a little bit, as opposed to gulping the thing down whole.
Helpful-Poison-Control-Man assured me over the phone that this particular medicine was fairly benign, even in small children, and besides, 'it sounds like he only sucked off the coating anyway." So, he summed up, no need to worry. Cary should be just fine.

Will he? WILL HE??

Because when Cary woke up last night, all I could think of was, "This child has been poisoned!! He needs his stomach pumped! What should I do? What should I DO??"

I really considered filling Dean's stomach, and emptying Cary's (somehow), but then Lester got up, went in the room with the crying babies, said something I couldn't hear because I was too busy thinking of what I would tell CPS when they came asking me why my one child was sucking on diabetes medicine and why my other child was starving to death, and then came back in the room and said, "Go back to sleep. They're fine."

About 10 more minutes of really half-hearted crying later, they were both knocked out again -- this time until 7:15 this morning.

And they've been fine since.

The moral of this story is....I have no idea. But I am certain I will have more such stories to tell in the future. Stay tuned.

No, no, no!! No blessings!!

We've entered the early stages of the "No's".

Call me crazy (because I know this will only get worse) but right now, it's kinda cute.

This morning, Dean woke up in a totally contrary mood. He was fine, mood-wise, as long as you didn't try to kiss him, touch him, or ask him to do something.

I said, "Let's change your diaper, baby." He said, "NO!"

He said he wanted milk; when I gave him milk, he shook his head and said, No!"

When Lester came to say good-bye to him on his way to work, Dean refused to allow a kiss or a hug. "NO!" he said, twisting his body in the chair.

When I was leaving, I tried asking him sweetly if he would give Mommy a kiss good-bye. And of course he said, "No."

And then he sneezed - twice. So I said, "God bless you, baby."

And what do you think Dean said?

"No!"

18-month check-up

Cary and Dean went for their 18-month check-up yesterday, and here are the details:

Cary weighs 22 lbs., 8 oz. and is 32.5 inches tall.
Dean weighs 26 lbs., 2 oz. and is 33.5 inches tall.

It is still very interesting to me how much heavier Dean is than Cary, especially because (Dean's love of snacks notwithstanding) the two of them eat about the same amount of food. Neither is a very picky eater or eats like a bird. So it's clear that the two of them are just composed differently fundamentally, and also, likely, have very different metabolisms.
It'll be interesting to see how that plays out over the years.

Dr. Bodnar was VERY impressed with my boys' language skills. He said, with surprise, "How many words do they have?" And, then, when Dean asked for a tongue depressor by saying "Stick, pees," he asked if they were putting more words together, so I listed some of the phrases I could remember: "All done." "No more." "Bye-bye, truck." "More, please." "Bye-Bye, Da-Da." And Dr. Bodnar said, "They're putting that many words together already?"
I couldn't help but smile.
My boys' talkativeness is gratifying because I was so determined that they would NOT fall into the "preemies, twins, boys" trifecta of late-language-development that I had heard so much about. So we read, and read, and read, and read, and read, and read some more. And we talk, and talk, and talk, and talk! Oh, the talking! Frankly, it's exhausting (just being honest), but it is clearly paying some dividends, so far. So I will gladly talk/read myself hoarse.

Dr. Bodnar was no more help in the sleep-regression department than my blogfriends have been, but he did let me know that we were doing the right thing by continuing to reinforce their self-soothing skills, instead of acquiescing. Even if it means no one is really getting any sleep, for now, anyway, he assures me it's better in the long run, and that the boys will eventually get back to normalcy. (whatever that is)

As far as the nighttime bottle is concerned...well, I decided to come clean and tell our doctor that I had been too wimpy to let it go. I was honest about it -- it's just way too easy right now to get them to fall asleep at night, no crying, no fussing, no whining, no protesting. In fact, they clamor for their bottle and bedtime, and once they get 'em, they are quiet as church mice. It is ONE predictable thing we can depend on, and when you're dealing with crazy twin toddler terrorists, it is hard to give up that one thing. Does anyone feel me on this one?

To his credit, he did not make me feel like the WWM (world's worst mom). And he said that, of course, what we do as parents with the bottle is up to us. In the scheme of things, is it the worst thing we can do? No. But he did leave me with this scary little tidbit: If we try to stop the bottle now, it'll likely take about 10 days or so of bad nights to break the habit. If we wait until they're 2, it'll take twice as long.

20 nights of screaming? Lord have mercy. Nothing about that sounds appealing. Of course, I don't intend to wait until they're 2 to stop it, but then again, Lester and I don't really have an endgame planned. I suppose we need to get one.

One other thing that Dr. Bodnar reassured me about was this:

I have been secretly worried that Dean's tantrums and clinginess and crying and defiance and anger issues meant that he was emotionally marred in some way. I thought to myself, "Cary is so much more affable; what can we do to help Dean be more agreeable?"

Dr. Bodnar spent 45 minutes in the room with the boys before saying that, in his professional opinion, DEAN is the more typically-behaving baby, and CARY is the one who is atypical! Wha-what? Really?

He said for their age, Dean acting like one big raw nerve is pretty much what he's supposed to be doing right now, and Cary just la-la-la-ing through the day (for the most part) is just a lucky boon for us. This made me feel so much better, because I always think everyone else's toddlers seem so compliant and well-behaved and agreeable and cute and normal. I'm so glad to find out that my non-compliant, sometimes-well-behaved, occasionally-agreeable, almost always cute Deaniekins is also normal! Whew! I totally slept better last night.

On the flip side, Dr. Bodnar also jokingly said that it was good that Dean was slightly less talkative than Cary because (pointing to Cary, who was running his mouth a mile a minute) "you couldn't possibly have two of those!"

Imagine the thought!

At the end of the appointment, Dr. Bodnar declared my boys, "quite frankly, amazing," and I have to say, I couldn't agree more!

(Note: I don't have to bring them back to see the doctor for 6 months. SIX months! Wow. But we will see Dr. Bodnar again in February when Curve Ball is born, because he'll come to the hospital to examine her while I'm recovering. Curve Ball will get to meet Dr. Bodnar! Awwwww. Sooo sweet! I hope he'll think she's amazing, too!)

Happy 18-months Cary and Dean!!

Today, Cary and Dean turn 18 months old!

Hooray!

Halfway to 2; a year-and-a-half on this Earth. I can't believe it.

And they are so incredibly cute and funny and gratifying at this age (in addition to being maddening and frustrating and insane, but I've blogged about that enough -- for now).

This morning, Dean climbed into the laundry basket and sat there, as content as a bug in a rug. It was too cute. Cary, on the other hand, was none-too-pleased with this apparent "misbehavior" and stood over the basket, yelling "OT! OT!" at Dean, which is his way of saying, "Out! Out!"

They walked around the upstairs, pretending coat hangers were lawnmowers (of course). Cary cracked up at Dean "mowing" over a pile of books. Dean hugged Cary for too long, apparently, after hitting him in the head with the hanger, prompting Cary to tell him, "All done!" They somehow found their old bathrobes and begged to put them on -- Dean saying, "Hep, peees. Hep." (Help, please! Help!) Dean tried to put on Lester's flip-flops, and looked so cute with his entire foot hanging off the side of Lester's size 12s. Cary asked me 50 times if there was a "trrruck" "ah-sye." Not until I held him up to the window did he believe me that there was, in fact, NOT a truck outside. Dean showed off his He-Man tendencies by picking up the stainless steel ice bucket we've been using as a toy container and carrying it around, and then picking up the laundry basket -- with laundry in it -- and bringing it into our room. Cary sat on the floor and flipped through books, asking me about the "bay-uh" in Corduroy, and the duck floating in Alexander's bathtub in Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day. (He's obsessed with that duck!)

I could barely get ready for work, I was so engrossed in their adorable activity, and in all the little mini-conversations they were having with me, Lester and one another. Seriously, I wish I had a camera in my house running all the time to capture their exceptional intelligence and hilarity! I LOVED it.

When I look back on their first days on this Earth, their tinyness and sleepiness and relative mute-ness, it is amazing -- truly -- just how far they've come in 18 months. They're little people, now, walking and talking, fighting and hugging. They laugh at things the other one does; they hear the ducks "rapping" on the Aflac commercial and come barreling around the corner, nearly falling in the process, to see them. ("Ducks! dee-bee! Ducks!!")

They are wonderful, miraculous, beautiful little beings who bring so much joy and happiness to our lives. And every milestone is a blessing I thank God for.

Happy 18-months Cary and Dean Davis! We love you!!

(P.S. Did I take a picture of these grown-up babies to mark the occasion, you ask? Of course I did not. I will try to do that after work. Let's hope they cooperate.)

The irony of having a light-sleeping baby

By now, I have griped enough about Cary's inability to sleep past 6:30 in the mornings (6:30 is a good day!) and his newfound love of waking up at night, like a newborn, despite months of sleeping through the night blissfully.

It's irritating, no doubt, but what's interesting is how it starts to become something you get used to.

So this morning, I woke up at 6:17, and immediately strained to see if I heard him in the room, whimpering. I did not. Great, I said to myself, I can sleep a few extra minutes! I dozed off, I think, or at least lapsed into semi-sleep.

At 6:33, I sat up in bed again, straining to see if I heard him. Instead, I heard silence.

Hmm, I wondered. Is he OK?

Then I thought back to a little earlier that morning, around 3:30 a.m., when Dean woke up crying for Puppy. I lumbered into the boys' room, found Puppy, and Dean fell back on his pillow, sighed, and was probably asleep before I left the room. I remember thinking at the time that it was strange that Cary wasn't awake, as he didn't get the nickname Prince Lightsleeper for nothing. I peeked in Cary's crib, but decided at the last second not to touch him, for fear of waking a sleeping bear. (A Cary-bear, but a bear nonetheless.)

So this morning, at 6:33, my mind raced back to 3:30 a.m. When I peeked in on Cary, was he breathing?? Could I even really see him in the dark?? Why didn't he wake up when Dean did? Why didn't I reach in his crib to pull his little blanket up, and feel his body move?

I lay there, as the morning light was starting to pour in through the slats of the blinds in our bedroom, and watched the clock.

6:34. 6:35. 6:36.

What is going on in there?? Why isn't that baby awake?????

My mind began to play tricks on me. I thought awful things that I will not repeat here, because they're just too awful to even think about, much less put out into the blogosphere.

I stared at Lester's peacefully sleeping back. Should I wake him up? Something must be wrong! I gave a quick, silent prayer. I breathed in and out, slowly. I tried to think of other things, like what I was going to wear to work, and if my dentist appointment was at 4 or 4:30 this afternoon.
I shifted in the bed and hugged my baby bump.

Finally, at 6:43, I heard him -- my baby!! -- making a crying noise that is normally hysterical to me, because it is his "fake" crying noise, the one he does when he sees a baby in a book: "Waah, waah," he was saying, without much heart, I might add. "Waah, waah."

I bounded out of bed, ran to his room and scooped him up and kissed him! Little sleepy stinker!

Never have I been so glad to hear his cry, fake or otherwise.

I think it is so funny that I can't sleep when my child is constantly waking up ... and I can't sleep when he doesn't wake up!

Oh, the ironies, the agonies, the pure, unmatched joys of being a Mom.

Tuesday fun facts

Fun things about Cary:

His 4-year-old cousin Russy came over two weekends ago. Cary and Dean pushed him around on the push-toy they call a "lawnmower" (of course) and Russy chased them around the house. They loved every minute of it. Since then, Cary must ask for Russy 25 times a day.
"Ruh-ee?" he asks, looking quizzical. "Ruh-ee?!"
Sometimes he says, "Ruh-ee. Mah-mow-uh." Which I know is his way of saying, "Hey. It was really cool when Russy came over and we pushed him around on that push-toy we call a lawnmower. Can we do that again soon?"
Today my other sister's eldest son turned 11. We called him this morning to say Happy Birthday. Cary for some reason thought we were talking to Russy.
When we told him it who it really was, Cary got mad, threw his book with a soulful "UNH!" and then yelled, "RUH-EEEEEEE!" He pouted for a full minute after that.
Cracked us up.

Also, when Dean asked for Michelle (Meee-Meee?!) the other night, Cary said to him "Ohm," meaning Michelle's at home. Isn't that great? My kids can talk to each other and answer each other's questions. That is so awesome as this means I will one day not need to repeat myself 100,000 times a day, answering questions they already know the answers to. Yay!

Fun things about Dean:

This kid has decided he wants every frikkin' thing he sees, especially if it's in the kitchen because he assumes that it must be something good to eat.
He stands at the gate, making the "gimme" gesture with his hands and saying something that sounds like, "Goom-BEE!" or some longer multi-syllable variation of Goom-BEE. Over and over and over. In a whiny voice. That escalates. And eventually gets accompanied with tears and screeching.
So when he did this about an onion I was cutting up -- despite me telling him repeatedly that he didn't actually want an onion, Lester said, "Let him try it and see that he doesn't want it." I sorta thought that was cruel, but then again , it would stop the goom-BEEing and screeching.
So I gave him a little piece of onion. And waited for the face.
Do you know Dean Davis ATE that onion?
Is he the Grinch? Good grief. My child really, really, really likes to eat!
(Note: He did not, however, ask for seconds. Thus stopping the goom-BEEing. Hooray!)

Fun thing about Curve Ball:

Curve Ball is 24 weeks as of today. Well, technically I guess she's only 22 weeks. But I am 24 weeks along carrying her.
To mark the occasion, she has given me a lovely case of some kind of gastro-grossness, which had me doubled over in pain, popping Tums like they were going out of style. Also, I spent 25 minutes on the floor of my office conference room yesterday because I was feeling just that crappy (pun not really intended, but since it works...why not).
The nurses at my doctor's office were flummoxed as to what to do to help me as the traditional BRAT diet is bad, bad, bad for a diabetic, and so is avoiding eating for a day or so and just drinking liquids.
Eventually, they told me to just take Maalox and Zantac. It took a while last night, but the combination seemed to work somewhat. I feel better this morning, but I have NO idea what to eat for lunch.
Oh, also, the nurse said recent bloodwork shows I am low on iron.
So I have to take iron now, too.

That means I take 4 Glyburide pills a day, plus one iron pill, plus one (or two) Zantac, plus a multi-vitamin (not to mention Maalox, as needed):


Add my sugar, tummy and iron troubles to the fact that my two boys have hit the terrible 18-months (night-wakings, defiance, general craziness beyond belief) and is it any wonder I took a picture of this picture in my doctor's office and immediately sent it to my husband:


:-)

Using my blog to force myself to be accountable

Blogging has many perks.
I get to vent. I formulate my thoughts.
I'm recording events/photos/memories for posterity's sake.
I get advice, support and encouragement from friends, new and old.
And now, I'm adding "accountability" to the list of good things about blogging.

Lester and I share Google docs about all kinds of things: our budget, invites to activities, letters we're co-editing, possible names for Curve Ball, etc.
We've had a doc listing the things we need to do to get ready for our daughter's arrival for weeks now, and neither of us has made one attempt to do anything about any item on the list. We're pathetic.
I keep reminding Lester that soon -- and very soon -- I will be too pregnant to be of any help to him whatsoever in this department (save ordering things online, which I can do VERY well), so if he wants my help, we need to get on it. Then I figured maybe if I get on it, he'll follow suit.
Problem is, I never get on it.

So...I decided to post our entire doc here, so that is now in the public domain. My hope is that by putting it out there for all the world to see, I will feel more compelled to act.

Yes, I'm using you blogosphere. No shame in my game.

So here's the list. My goal is to have this all done by early January, since Curve Ball is due Feb. 28! (Yikes!!)


Things to Do Before the New Baby Comes

1. Organize and streamline basement storage area to prepare for guest room stuff coming to live there

2. Move guest room furniture and racks of shoes to basement storage area

3. Paint guest room

4. Move boys’ cribs and furniture into guest room
Little table and chairs possibilities:

http://www.amazon.com/s?ie=UTF8&rh=n%3A165793011%2Ck%3Atoddler%20table%20chair%20sets&page=1

5. Paint boys’ room (now the new baby’s room)

6. Buy furniture/decor for new baby’s room

Possibilities:
http://www.amazon.com/RoomMates-RMK1439SLM-Scroll-Stick-MegaPack/dp/B003NGTNFG/ref=sr_1_1?s=baby-products&ie=UTF8&qid=1318860787&sr=1-1

http://www.babysupermall.com/main/products/kli/kli5024bed4.html

http://www.nurserydepot.com/cribbedding/productdetails.asp?id=1-10001834-10001836-148224-4-2&id2=602-0-0-0-0&


7. Move furniture into new baby’s room

Baby Stuff We Will Need

1. Single stroller
2. Triple stroller
3. Crib
4. Booster seat
5. Playmat
6. Clothes
7. Diapers
8. Crib mattress pad and sheets, comforter etc. (bedding)

Also will need ONE additional convertible carseat (for one of the boys) -- hopefully donated!


So there it is...the list of things to do before Curve Ball arrives.

And we can add to that list: SETTLE ON A NAME FOR CURVE BALL!!! Gracious, we're pathetic.