34 months old

As we enter our final months of being a family of three, I am having a hard time focusing on the fact that my Taylor is almost three years old. Last week we passed her 34-month birthday. Two more months of the Twos... And I’ve gotta say, even with the Universe looming above, daring to spite me and my blessed life, that these Twos haven’t been at all terrible. They’ve been pretty darn fantastic. Yes, we’ve have our share of meltdowns and come aparts, but it’s hard to even focus on those rare moments when I’m surrounded daily by so much love and cuteness.

 

So this past month was wonderful, which I’m sure has a lot to do with me entering my third trimester with the bean, and having the epiphany that I need to savor every second of just looking after one child and focusing all of my attention on Princess Taylor. We’ve been having mother-daughter adventures daily, and I’ve recklessly abandoned certain routine household chores to sit and color with her for hours and smooch her face.
 
I’ve also finally started to work on some projects that I vowed to do years ago, and with the help of my fancy-shmancy new computer, I’ve been compiling DVD-projects of our first years as parents. And looking back on the thousands of images – Yes, THOUSANDS. Taylor pretty much had a camera in her face for the first years of her life. And we wonder why she’s such a diva, – Chris and I just shake our heads in disbelief that the squishy little peanut we brought home from the hospital three years ago is now the sassy, independent toddler Princess that she is. And we are also blown away by how FAST it went. Looking back at her first babbling, to her first crawling, to her first steps... It made us lament the fact that our precious girl is growing up so quickly, but it also made us super excited to soon have another newborn join our family.
 
Taylor is growing up at lightening speed, both in personality and body. Gone is the chunky little monkey, whose thunder thighs and round tummy I would squeeze on an hourly basis. She is leaning out and losing some of that sweet pudginess, and I can only hope that Baby Amys will have the same plump, Popeye-like arms that look like they have rubber-bands lining the midsections and joints. And while her limbs are sprouting, so has her hair. Which is especially noticeable because the only way to manage her wild mane is with headbands – No ponytails or clips for this Princess, ONLY headbands. So in an attempt to clean up the toddler-mullet, we went in for her second-ever haircut this past month. And she loved the whole process, especially staring at herself in the mirror, and I am happy that she has a new do that doesn’t resemble a Nick Nolte mugshot.
 

We also got a new pet, our fish Nemo, this month. And I’m happy to say that after nearly five days living in our house he’s still alive. Barely. Funny story about that – So, on day three of having Nemo I noticed that his bowl was super cloudy and dirty, and when I asked Chris what the proper upkeep of a Betta fish bowl entailed, he shook his head and answered, Honestly, I didn’t think it would be alive this long. THIS long? It’d been 48-hours... And what’s the point of attaching ourselves to a creature that has a shelf-life of less then a week?
 
So that day I did a little research on bettafish.com and went to the pet store to buy some more betta water, a net for transferring Nemo, some sort of solution to balance the chemicals in his bowl, a teeny-tiny fake plant and a different type of food. And because Taylor is Chris’s offspring and the most inquisitive toddler on the planet, each item I placed into our cart was soundtracked by, What’s THAT Mom? Why you getting THAT? Why we need to get THAT? Why, Mom, WHY? And when I told her that we had to get Nemo new food, she looked at me and said, But I feed Nemo my milky Mom. And I was all, Um. Excuse me? And she chirped back, Yep. I feed Nemo milky.
 
And after explaining to Taylor that fish don’t have the lactose-tolerance we humans do, and then rescuing Nemo from his dairy bath, we cleaned up our new family member’s bowl and now he’s swimming a little faster and happier in a milk-free, plant-adorned living space. Which is now also out of reach of Taylor and her sippy cups.
 
Ah. It’s always entertaining. And, like last month, our lives are constantly peppered with Taylor-questions. Most of which I try to answer truthfully and to the best of my ability – Mom, why the car stopped? Well, because the traffic light told me to. And some questions I defer to Chris – Mom, why is water wet? Um, you’ll have to ask Daddy that one. And some questions I just answer by slamming my head against a wall in attempts to divert her attention and numb my own pain – Mom, why can’t I go inside the TV and be with Strawberry Shortcake?
 

We’re also on month two of her refusing to wear pants. And when I say she doesn’t want to put on pants, I mean she all out loses her mind when you even mention the word Pants. And if you hold them up and she can actually see them, the reaction is similar to Superman being confronted with kryptonite. Her body collapses to the ground and she starts sobbing, convulsing and screeching, But I no look like Princess in pants. And I’m sure that’s funny to you, because it’s not your kid. But not only is it frustrating for us, but it’s really starting to interfere with our daily lives. Because it’s really hard to play at the park when you’re wearing ruby slippers and a formal dress.
 
And last weekend Chris wanted Princess Taylor to accompany him while he ran errands, including a trip to the hardware store. And when he announced that she had to put on running shoes and pants to go, she curled her lip in defiance and announced, Then I no go, Dad. And we were like, Really? You’d rather stay home then put on pants? And she snotted back, I stay home and wear my dress. And when Chris tried to pull the whole, You’re doing it because I said so, I shot him down with my hormonal-pregnant self and said, Good luck, Buddy, because there’s no way you’re gonna get her to do anything that way. To which the lone male in our house threw his hands up in the air in desperation, and then pointed at my stomach and said, If THAT’S a girl, then I’m building an apartment over the garage and living there.
 
You see, Chris doesn’t have a sister. It was just him, his brother and his parents, and his mother realized she was outnumbered early on. So he’s never been fully comfortable in an estrogen-heavy situation. And now that Taylor is showing all signs of becoming the Girliest-Girl in all Girlville, it’s starting to sink in that his future is going to hold more Rapunzel then Rambo. And let me just say, he’s doing an amazing job introducing himself to all the new girlness in his life. He knows all the Disney Princesses by name, and the other day my heart melted as I watching him sitting cross-legged on Taylor’s bedroom floor at her insistence, brushing his daughter’s hair and helping her pick out a matching headband to her fancy dress. He’s getting it. And if this baby is another girl, I’m pretty sure he’ll survive. Well, at least until they become teenagers. Then we’ll just move both of them to an apartment above the garage.
 
And while the center of that fight was that Taylor wouldn’t put on pants, the real heart of our frustration was that she wasn’t letting us tell her what to do anymore. That she’s her own little person, and that she’s forming all of these opinions about things and won’t be persuaded away from what she wants. Gone are the days of us as parents being able to tell her exactly what we want her to eat, think and wear. And I’m fully aware that this whole no-pants-debacle is most likely a phase – PLEASE, Universe! – and that hopefully by the time Spring is in full swing we’ll be able to wear park-attire again, it’s not going to make anyone’s life easier by fighting her about it every single day. If in her own toddler-mind she has to wear a dress and tights every second of the day, then we’re just gonna have to wear dresses and tights. After nearly three years of motherhood, I’m getting better about being able to let go of some of the control. Taylor is Taylor. She’s not me and she’s not Chris. We love her for her wonderful, sweet, inquisitive, stubborn personality, and feel like the luckiest parents alive to be blessed with such an amazing daughter. 

Introducing Nemo Amys

Miss Taylor's Valentine's Day gift from her Daddy:

Our princess was pretty excited about her fish, and promptly named him Nemo. All night we kept asking her, Hey, Taylor. What's Nemo up to? And she'd look at him and say, Looks like he's taking a bath.

And this morning she jumped out of bed to feed him, and before we left for the gym, we had to make a special trip back inside the house to say Goodbye to Nemo. And once we got back in the car and on the road, she got worried because she thought Nemo's mom might be wondering where he is. And while I assured her that her new fish was super happy about his recent living situation, I tucked away her comment and might have to remember it if we ever find Nemo belly up at any point. Sorry, Honey. Nemo's mommy must have come and rescued him in the middle of the night.

30 weeks pregnant

This past week marked my 30th week of pregnancy with the bean. And according to the handy-dandy babycenter.com app I have on my phone, it says that Baby Amys is now nearly 16 inches long and weighs close to three pounds, and at my appointment last Tuesday, my giant belly was measuring right on the mark at 30-centimeters.

Wow. Look at that thing! Pretty amazing, huh? And I've still got another 10-centimeters to grow. Which is why I came pretty close to assaulting a fellow gym-goer who asked if I was due any day. Come on, People. There's a certain etiquette you're required to follow with giant, hormonal pregnant women. Learn it.

And even though the belly's right on the mark for where I'm supposed to be, I am definitely carrying this peanut different then I carried Miss Taylor, as nearly all of my maternity clothes I wore throughout her entire pregnancy stopped covering my belly about two weeks ago. It's borderline obscene. And thank goodness I don't have to worry about getting dressed to go to an office everyday, and I'm able to look super sporty in my yoga pants 24/7. People must think I'm the most active pregnant mom they've ever seen… And then they get a glimpse of my expanding fanny and thighs and start to guess the truth… That I've been sitting at home in my workout gear eating mass amounts of Fritos and Reece's Peanut Butter Cups.

And while I'm still trying to be good about breaking a sweat at least four times a week, I am totally giving into every single craving that passes through my growing body. Ham sandwiches from Jimmy Johns, Red beans and rice, Avocado burritos from Papas and Beer, ice cream sundaes with lots of peanuts, Special K bars, green grapes. I saw a slogan on a sign at some store that quoted, What's the point of counting calories when you're already fat? And I just nodded… Amen to that.

One particularly odd craving I have had for the past few weeks is for braunschweiger, which is a type of liverwurst. I'm sorry, but it's absolutely delicious. And even though it makes Chris dry-heave when he watches me eat it, I just can't get enough. And if you've never had it and are at all curious, this pregnant mama recommends it served straight up on a Ritz cracker. It's salty wonderfulness. Trust me.

So both the bean and I are growing at a noteworthy rate during this third trimester, and even though it's becoming a bit cramped in my belly, this baby is still super-duper active. And it's got a knack for feeling out all the neighboring internal organs next to my uterus and giving them a few roundhouses while I'm trying to sleep or relax. Ouch! So either Baby is already taking an interest in anatomy and going to become a future world-class surgeon, or I'm growing the next Chuck Norris in my womb.

And when it's not targeting my bladder and other inside bits, I enjoy watching this bean moving and grooving in my belly. Sometimes it looks like a tidal wave rolling across my stomach. And it particularly loves to party starting at seven at night and ending around midnight… Which I guess means I'm in for NO sleep once Baby makes it's arrival. Because if it's not sleeping inside my warm, quiet tummy, no way will it relax enough to snooze with a loud, toddler princess running around in plastic high-heeled shoes on the hardwood.

Chris and I have narrowed down our name list, and now we're just getting anxious to find out if it's a girl or a boy. I don't have any real convictions either way, but a lot of people have been telling us that they think it's a boy. But the other week when I was getting a much needed pedicure the Asian nail tech sized me up and said that it was a girl. So, there ya go.

And other then the first ten-weeks of heartburn, misery and morning sickness, this pregnancy has gone by pretty fast and has been relatively smooth sailing. Besides a few growing pains, I've been feeling really good and hope to keep that wonderfulness going for the next two months. I know I will reach a point soon where I'm just over being an enormous whale, but more then anything, I'm just so excited to formally introduce myself to this baby. And now that we're going to the doctor every two weeks, just being able to hear the heartbeat on such a regular basis makes my heart flutter with anticipation of being able to see it's face and snuggle it's warm, newborn body and kiss it's cheeks. Yes, Baby. Mama's gonna smooch those cheeks right off your face. Let's just call it payback for the swift kicks you've been delivering to my pancreas.

So you wanna know how potty training's going?

So a few weeks ago I was in the basement switching laundry from the washer to the dryer and Taylor started yelling at me from upstairs, MOM! Come up here! And it didn't sound urgent so I yelled up to her that I'd be right up and continued separating my delicates. Well, by the time I had gotten up to the main floor, she had opened the fridge, pulled out a clementine and half peeled it to eat. And when I told this story to my sister, she laughed and said, So, she can peel fruit but she can't figure out how to use the toilet?

And this made me stop and think. Yes, Taylor-tot's a smart girl - She can put together jigsaw puzzles, she can color within the lines, she can count to 15, she can distinguish what an octagon is, she can name every Disney Princess and, now, she's pretty darn close to preparing fruit salad. Why haven't we mastered the potty training yet?

And it's not like I'm not trying here. I'm asking her every ten minutes if she needs to use the potty. And we're doing pretty good with number-two… In fact, she does a good job of telling us when she needs to go poo-poo. And when those words come out of her mouth, it doesn't matter what we're doing or where we're at, the mood changes to one of total urgency and we sprint to the nearest bathroom to do the job. And after a successful deposit, she gets a prize.

But it's number-one that has been the challenge for us when it comes to going in the potty, or even detecting that the urge is coming. But in the past weeks she has started announcing, Mom, I'm peeing. And she'll spread her legs and shimmy like a penguin to the nearest bathroom, where I'll set her on the potty and nothing will happen. Because she's already peed all through her pull-up. But I was starting to get encouraged just by her awareness of the fact that she understood she was peeing and the fact that she didn't like having it in her pants.

But this I'm-peeing song and dance started to get old real fast, especially because I'm almost seven-months pregnant and my sciatic nerve has been KILLING ME from constantly bending over to help her undress and lift her onto the potty. And so each time she made her announcement and cowboy-legged over to the nearest toilet, and each time we would go through the quick process of putting her on the stool only for her to say, I no have to go anymore, I would remind her over and over again, Honey. You need to tell Momma BEFORE you actually go pee-pee. And each time she would say, Okay… Now I get a prize?

And when re-telling our situation to other mom's, the resounding response has been, Just take those pull-ups away. Put her in big girl undies and she'll get it. Oh, that SOUNDS so easy. So we just take away the pull-ups and POOF! she's potty trained, huh? Why didn't we think of THAT?

So the following Sunday after church when we were home for the rest of the day and after we got her up from her nap I got out Taylor's super-fancy Sleepy Beauty underwear instead of her pull-up. And Miss T was pretty excited to put them on and parade around the house, showing us how beautiful she looked in her big girl undies. And, let me tell ya, that little booty in those little undies was about the cutest thing I'd ever seen. I basically spent the next few hours chasing her around the house, pinching her buns and tickling her belly.

And then she peed all over them. And the floor. And then had a melt-down over the whole mess. But I cleaned her up and put on a new pair, this time one's that had Cinderella decals all over the booty. And then we continued our big girl undies party for the rest of the day, with Chris and I asking her every 15 minutes if she had to go to the bathroom again.

And even with constantly asking her about her need to pee, she once again had another accident that night right before getting ready for bed. And then had another freak-out. And after cleaning her up once again, putting on her jammies and, ultimately because it was bedtime, sliding a pull-up on her, I reassured her that accidents happen, it was no big deal and that we would try to wear our big girl undies again in the morning. To which she crossed her arms, shook her head and said, No, Mommy. I wear diapers like the baby. And I responded by saying, But Taylor, you're the BIG SISTER. You wear BIG SISTER undies, and the baby will wear diapers. And she grabbed my face with both hands and said very clearly, No, Mommy. I the baby too. I wear diapers like the baby.

Uh-oh. And here's where I throw my hands up in the air and say, What am I supposed to do with that? Because the next day, true to her word, she reminded me that she wanted to wear diapers like the baby. And instead of a traumatizing episode of me laying my giant body on top of her to wrangle her into some big girl undies, I just put the pull-up on her. As I have continued to do every day since then, because she keeps reminding me that, I the baby too, Mommy.

But pull-up or not, we're still working on doing all the business on the potty. And she's improving. And there are days that we make it all day with the same pull-up on, and then there are days where we have to change it several times. So it's not like we've totally given up, but lately she is adamant that she wants NOTHING to do with big girl undies. And so I just put a pull-up on her, and remind myself that she'll get there eventually. Because how many grade-schoolers do you know that still wear diapers? Exactly.

So. In short to the before potty training inquiry - It's driving me crazy, but we're working on it. But in the meantime, here's a picture of the 24-piece puzzle my little genius put together all by herself.

Happy anniversary Asheville

Eight years ago this week, Chris and I packed all of our college-worn, earthly belongings into both of our cars and a UHaul trailer and moved from Iowa City to Asheville. We had no idea what to expect - We hadn't even seen the apartment we had already signed a year-lease on over the phone. We didn't know a single soul in Asheville, and the only thing we had waiting for us was Chris's job at the Country Club. We didn't even have cell phones, and I can remember clear-as-day, both Chris and I finding a pay phone outside of an Arby's on our side of town and calling each of our parents to let them know we arrived safely and that we'd call them in the next few days when we had a better grasp on the situation.

I look back at ourselves then and smile. We were engaged, broke and halfway across the country from every single friend and family member we knew. It was single handedly the best thing we ever did, the best decision we have ever made. Not only did we stumble across a city that holds more character, beauty and friendships then we could ever ask for, but I truly believe it has made us the rock-solid couple that we are today. Thank you, Asheville. We love you dearly.

Rayn's birthday adventure

After making our way back up to Asheville after our long weekend in Birmingham, Taylor and I were thrilled to join our friends, Beth and Ryan, and help them celebrate their daughter, Rayn's, big third birthday this past Sunday afternoon. It was a Dora the Explorer themed party, and Miss Rayn's parents put together a fantastic gig that received lots of squeals and giggles from the girls, and quite a few groans from us parents that have to throw their own three year old birthday parties later this year. Way to set the bar, guys.

The party started across the street from Rayn's house, and each girl received a map to help navigate them to the celebration.

First they had to climb to the top of the highest mountain.

Then they had to sing a song to the Grumpy Old Troll to get over the bridge. And the whole time this scavenger hunt is going on, Ryan had the Dora songs playing through the window. Nice touch, guys.

Then they had to go through the rainbow river - Which was a hallway filled with different colored balloons. Such a good idea!

And then they reached the big bash, which was complete with party favors and cupcakes.

There was also a Dora pinata that the girls were able to destroy and reap the coveted candy reward.

Taylor's first taste of Smarties. She scavenged up a bag to take home and they have made fantastic potty-training rewards.

Yep, it was a pretty fantastic party. And with Taylor's big day a mere two months away, I'm going to start planning our big bash now. Her actual birthday falls on Master's Sunday, not to mention I'm going to be 38 weeks pregnant and we could possibly have sold our house and be living somewhere else by then. Any suggestions?

The greatest family on earth

So I had mentioned last month that Chris and I are currently house hunting in order to find a place that can hold our growing family. And since we've been in our current house for seven years, there's been some natural wear-and-tear to the place. And in order to make it tip-top in preparation of putting it on the market, we decided that we needed to spruce the joint up a bit, paint some walls and replace the upstairs and basement carpet. And because I'm in no shape to be breathing fumes or moving furniture, and because Chris wanted to avoid having Taylor following him around during the big project constantly peppering him with, Why you doing THAT Dad? What you doing Dad? What's that for Dad? Where's that go Dad? Chris packed up the Caddy and sent Miss T and me to my sister's house in Birmingham for a long weekend to soak up some family time and basically stay out of his way.

It was a fantastic visit, in that I was there long enough that I truly felt like I was able to spend some quality time with almost all of my Blackwell family members. And Taylor very much enjoyed being spoiled by her Beeba, Dirky, Great Granddaddy and the Graffeo gang. She was in heaven. And it most likely had something to do with the outrageous amounts of cupcakes she was fed during the weekend. Okay, so I also ate an unhealthy amount of sugar. But being as big as I am right now, what's the point of counting calories, right? And I'm directing that comment to Grandddady, Libba, Dirk and their food-calculator apps they were constantly using on their phones. Life is too short to take the time to figure out how many calories a slice of pizza has in it. Food is good. Enough said.

One big highlight of the trip was that Libba, Dirk and I were able to take Princess T to see the circus for the first time. And not just any old circus, The Ringling Brothers Circus - aka The Greatest Show on Earth - was in town, and our hosts treated us to tickets. I had grown up going to see the Shrine Circus in Sioux City, and was thrilled to be able to share the wonders of the Big Top with my daughter. And she was amazed. And so were we.

Oh, and remember the drama I told you about when I took Taylor to see Princesses on Ice and she threw a fit because I wouldn't buy her a $13 snow cone? Well, you can officially call me a sucker now.

I did however draw the line and refused to buy her one of those spinning, glow-in-the-dark, rinky-dink toys that catch everyone's eye. Because they cost $25. Seriously? But luckily she was too jazzed about the clown cup her snow cone came in, and totally forgot about the other over-priced crap they were selling.

And after reading Water for Elephants a few months ago, I was particularly looking forward to seeing the elephants perform. And watching them charge into the arena in all of their giantess and splendor pretty much took my breath away. However, by that point my little peanut was too pooped to watch, and she took a catnap while I enjoyed the rest of the show.

The rest of our weekend was spent outside in the sunshine and in front of Libba's lens as much as possible. I hate even bringing up the weather while a third of the country is being hammered with the blizzard of the century, but being able to run around in seventy-degree wonderfulness has definitely given me a case of spring fever. Here's a fabulous picture of my growing bump that my super-talented sis took.

And after making record time back home on Sunday, we rolled into the driveway and had Chris show us around our shiny, re-carpeted and re-painted house. Only a few more improvements to make before we put it on the market, and thus begins another adventure for the Famous Amys ever-growing family. Wish us luck!