and so is lola

The receptionist in the waiting room has a bowl of peanut m&ms sitting on the sign-in desk, free for the taking. I love me some peanut m&ms, but partaking from the bowl of unwrapped candy that is exposed to the same oxygen as Longmont Clinic, well I just don't feel great about that. I don't consider myself a germ freak since I'm a strong believer in the ten second rule (or 15 second, or 20 second, or 5 minute rule). I've never been a big produce washer, and I only do it now because I'm pregnant. I generally believe what doesn't kill you makes you stronger (drugs aside). But medical facilities freak me out. I mean urine samples are passed around like pokemon cards. Just not great conditions for m&m consumption. And yet I watched jealously as a nurse walked past the sign-in desk, grabbed two candy coated chocolate peanut delights, and popped them in her mouth. I bet she didn't even think twice. How brave.

sunshine superman

Why we can never have a pet duck:

It's dead.

Before we brought Ollie home from the breeder's, we brought him a toy duck that had been hanging out in our apartment so Ollie would grow accustomed to our smell. It has long since been his favorite toy. We can ask, "Where's your duck?" and he'll immediately find it and bring it to us. Ollie has destroyed many many toys. He's not satisfied until the plastic is shredded into 576 pieces all over the floor and all the insides are on the outside. But he always left the duck alone, showing it respect he hadn't shown any of his other belongings. Until yesterday. Yesterday he viciously ripped apart the feet, the wings, the head, and pulled the squeaker (the heart) out and ran around proudly squeaking what was once the life of his beloved friend. Let's all pray Ollie knows the difference between plush toys and infants.

Why my husband is thin:

Stephen's breakfast, left in the toaster.

Who just forgets to eat?! I remember watching Oprah and some healthcare professional asked a group of the morbidly obese "Are you eating to live, or living to eat?" I immediately answered, outloud, at the television "Living to eat!" Apparently that's not great. Whatever. Food is awesome. I read recipes for fun. While eating one meal, I'm planning my next meal. The highlight of any vacation, in my opinion, is the eating out. But Stephen? Stephen is barely eating to live. Food just isn't his thing. What a bleak world that must be.

pumped up kicks

I'm pretty obviously pregnant. No baggy sweater can hide the bump at this point, so people have started asking about it. Timidly they approach and enquire, "Are you expecting?". For a split second before I respond their faces flash with a look of sheer terror and I know that they're thinking "Oh no. What if she's not? Please say yes." And during that same split second I always think how hilarious it would be to say "No" and then provide no explanation. But like most hilarious things, it probably wouldn't be very nice.

Speaking of very nice, I want to thank you. All of you who read this blog. There aren't many of you, and yet you make me feel like this small piece of the internet matters in some small way. I love your comments. I'm flattered when you share links on facebook. I love receiving your emails. The world wide web can be such a mean place sometimes, and yet you've never made me feel anything but loved. It's hard to express appreciation with a blog. I don't konw if anyone ever checks back on comments, and I'm just not techno savvy enough to reach out to you. But I love you. Thanks for the suppoert.

law is pretty clear

GESTATION UPDATE

Baby Ivy is growing like a weed. Hahahahahaha. That joke will for sure never get old.
I think she's bored. I often feel her hit the same place repeatedly, like she's banging her head against the wall in frustration, or pounding her fist and yelling "Let me out!"

How am I? I'm huge. And maybe freaking out a little bit. Fine, a lot bit. I keep having I'm Going To Be The Worst Mother Ever realizations. Like yesterday I realized we don't own a thermometer. Or a first aid kit. Or even band-aids. And I never buy milk. Or snacks. Kids need snacks, right? I'm so not ready for this. Not to mention my fear of birthing. When I read the results of the pregnancy test, I had two thoughts: 1. BABY!!!! 2. Holy Flaming Robots, I'll have to give birth. I've tried not to think too much about it since then, but we're at T minus sixteen weeks, and it's a thought that's getting harder to ignore.

I do my best to calm my fears by nesting. Nesting like a mad woman. Seriously, If a mother robin and I had a nest off, I would totally win.

Here's the latest addition to Baby Room.

it tastes just like coca cola

Maybe you're still not convinced that a visit to the Walters would be an ideal vacation. I guess you don't trust me. But maybe you'll trust Amelia Largey, our most recent guest.

In a glowing review of her time spent here, Amelia said, "The local Safeway was surprisingly clean. The couch was very white. The air mattress was inflated, most of the time. The bathroom has a lock on the door. We ate."

We made sure to provide Amelia with all sorts of excitement. Ollie developed a severe crush and wouldn't go to sleep at night without giving her a kiss. Actually, he wouldn't go five minutes without trying to smother her with kisses. We got lost and drove half-way to Colorado Springs. We got lost driving to the mall. We ran out of the gas on the way to the airport, and she learned what it means to run and catch a flight. See? It's awesome here.

But the real highlight for me was our trip to the Denver Zoo. Two, childless grown women went to the zoo.

The resemblance between me and the mother hippo in this photo is uncanny.

We skipped the wussy hoofed animals and headed straight for Predator Ridge. There's nothing like being two feet away from a hungry male lion, or staring into the eyes of a discontent gorilla. It's such a thrill to be so close to a creature who could kill you in seconds. I love that thrill. That's why I own such a ferocious pet:



i bet you think that's pretty clever, don't you boy?

I'm trying to be more womanly. I'm also trying to be more frugal. The combination of the two led to yesterday's decision to wax my own eyebrows. I was suprisingly successful in removing stray eyebrow hairs. I was also successful in removing forehead. As in the skin. So today there is a rather unsightly red line over my right eye. It will probably fade, but if it doesn't it won't be the worst thing. In fact I think it might be advantageous in the future. In my later years I plan on turning crazy. Depending on my place of residence at that time, it's possible that I won't be the only cooky old bat in town, so a minor facial deformation will help set me apart. That way when the scared residents holding pitchforks speak in hushed tones of That Woman, they can modify and clarify by saying That Woman With The EyeBrow Waxing Scar, as to differentiate between That Woman With All The Cats or That Woman Who Thinks Corn Stalks Are People. Though I guess it is possible that I'll be all three of those women at once.

zoom zoom zoom

A neighbor boy who can't be more than five years old came zooming toward us on his bike. He stopped abruptly and asked, "Can I pet your dog?"
After a few seconds of being attacked with Ollie kisses, neighbor boy said,
"My dog has way worse breath because she eats our other dog's poop and her own poop."

So, I guess we've got that going for us.