Highlights of Late

I've slacked on taking photos lately, so I don't have many pictures to post. And since I've sent Greta to daycare and I lie on the couch most of the day and sleep, I don't have super great stories to share. Here's what I do have.

Miss Greta. The soon-to-be big sister. Each day, she does something that surprises me. We've sent her to a daycare full-time while I've rested for the past two months. Daycare sucks because it's a cess pool of germs and she constantly has a runny nose. But day care rocks because she's learning so many things that I'd never even thought of teaching her.

She sings songs. And it's the cutest thing you've ever seen. I'm standing in the kitchen the other evening, and Greta just breaks out into, "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." She doesn't have the words down exactly, but she knows the tune. I sure hope she gets her daddy's talents in the singing department and not mine.

Greta calls Mimi (her grandma on Eric's side) Schatzi. And she calls her that because that's what Mimi calls Greta as a term of endearment. (Schatzi is a German phrase, meaning darling or sweetheart or treasure).

When Greta wants to be held, she says, "doo-doo, doo-doo." That means "hold you" as in "hold me." Other words in her version of vocabulary: bobby is strawberry; gog is dog; fee fee is love you. And some things she says clear as day. Like "no-no," which you just KNOW that is what she is saying because she's either shaking her head violently from side to side or she's waving her little pointer finger at you.

Greta is still addicted to her blankie, otherwise known as her KEE. We still have four of them, and I wash them ALL THE TIME. They get pretty grubby after all the toting around they get. She's recently started an obsession with her light-up sea horse, and oh-good-God some mornings it's a battle between her and her daddy. She wants to take it to daycare, and he insists on leaving it. The whining that ensues almost always wakes me up, but I don't mind. I always want to see her and give her kisses before she starts off her day and goes to "school."

Greta is in love with her daddy. Head over heels. They are buddies, it's adorable. She still comes to me for comforting, snuggling, boo-boo-kissing, but otherwise -- it's all Eric. He's more mobile than I, 8 month pregnant woman; and he likes to play and wrestle and have fun. And he teaches her the days of the week and other things like her first complete sentence, which was BUH-BYE, POO POO as she bid farewell to her poop flushing down the toliet.

Greta will point to my belly and say, "baby." And she'll kiss it. Freakin' adorable. I only worry that once I'm no longer pregnant and STILL have a pooch, that she'll still be calling that a baby. Hmmm. Maybe that'll be extra incentive to do some crunches and work on those flabby abs?

Favorite little memories of the week: Greta snuggling in bed with me one morning (which she RARELY does) and looking up at me and smiling big like GOOD MORNING, MAMA. Greta swinging and smiling HUGE as I watched her from our deck. The swing is attached to the bottom of the deck, so she'd swing under out and under and out; and each time she swung out from under the deck and saw me, she just giggled and grinned. Picking up Greta from daycare, it started pouring rain, and Greta was elated when she saw the rain. She was screaming, RAIN! WATER! RAIN! And it just made me happy that something so little made her so happy.

Ahhh... Other highlights of my week.... Wednesday marked the 34th week of my pregnancy, which was a HUGE date I'd marked on my calendar back when I was in my first trimester. I'd had Greta at 33 weeks, 6 days, and I really really really wanted to make it further with this pregnancy. And I have!!! My blood pressure was 120/76 at my last doctor appointment, and if things keep going the way they have been, I'm expected to have the baby on August 26 via c-section @ 38 weeks.

I'm obsessed with crab rangoon. Still. And now I am really craving crab legs. Not as in imitation crab meat, but as in the kind where you wear a plastic bib to protect your shirt from all the juices and hot butter. Oh, yum.

Eric. Husband who sleeps in the spare bedroom since I sleep like crap at night. (And because his snoring wakes me up). And he makes me breakfast many mornings, as well as dinner most evenings. And he rubs my feet and legs for me every night even though I know he's completely exhausted from work. We've gone to dinner two Saturday nights in a row, and I'm happy to know that we still love to chat with each other and enjoy each other's company.

But before you think I'm claiming to pretend that we're this perfect, happily married couple, let me assure you we're not. I'm cranky as heck when pregnant, and some days I think it's best that we keep our distance from another. He tries his best to get what I'm going through but some things he just won't. Like he doesn't quite get why I am TERRIFIED of another c-section, and he doesn't understand why I DVR the stupidest shows like Toddlers & Tiaras and So You Think You Can Dance. And while I completely appreciate his willingness to do the grocery shopping and other errands, he doesn't understand that I'd rather go to the grocery store myself to pick out my own bananas and strawberries and chicken salad just because that's what I like to do. He doesn't understand why I don't want to download his Pearl Jam CD onto my iTunes even though I explain to him that I'm putting RELAXING music on there for me to chill out and listen to when in the hospital. And he will never get why I get my nails done and feet pedicured when I rarely leave the house these days. I had overgrown French-manicured acrylic nails when I had Greta, and with this pregnancy, I'll admit that I have a minor obsession with keeping my nails filled and polished. He thinks it's absurd that I'd want to have my nails done "just for the doctors and nurses," and I must make sure I'm not drinking a beverage at that moment as to not instantaneously spit it all over him as in WTF. I try to explain that I get my nails done to make MYSELF feel better, that they make me feel pretty when I don't feel pretty in so many other ways. Ahhh. Some things he will never get but thank God he tries.

Like just now, he saw that I bought more guacamole from the grocery store, and he commented that he "sees that I like that guacamole, huh." And that's fine and it's cute that he notices what I like to eat, but then he insists on following it up with, "do you want to try it with a jalapeno from our garden?" And I'm all JALAPENOS were soooo TWO YEARS AGO. Ughhhh. (I ate jalapenos by the handful when I was pregnant with Greta).

He says I'm like a pregnant Napoleon Dynamite, with all my sighing of "gosh-es" and "ughhhhs." I think that's his nice way of saying YOU'RE PERSONALITY-LESS AND MEAN. Sadly, as I approach my ninth month of being cranky and tired and pregnant and anxious, I agree.