kept me up all night last night
False, but still painful.
I’ve finished my 37th week of pregnancy and Lucy is nice and big, which means this pregnancy is considered full term. My body is whispering: this baby is almost ready to come. I’m having a lot of false labor; it’s irregular, but getting progressively more painful. And I’m starting to have other symptoms that my due date is near – you know, the gross ones.
My scheduled c-section is about two weeks away. Dave is convinced that I’m going to go into labor early. My doctor says it’s unlikely. What do you think?
It’s another Buck The Monkey weekend. There’s chocolate peanut butter monkey love exploding all over the place here. So, I’ve got photos.
Check it out.
How would you feel if this showed up on your doorstep?
And then you opened it up and realized, “Holy Heck, those are Leslie’s Buckeyes!!!”
Would you totally love that? I sure hope so. If not, you can lie. I don’t mind.
I’ve got a stack of boxes to deliver in our neighborhood tomorrow because my husband has been promising my buckeyes to people all over this land. He spends them like they’re currency. “Hey, can I use your front end loader? I can’t pay you, but my wife will make you some awesome buckeyes!”
And I’ve got a box shipping out on Monday to one of my favorite bloggers in the whole wide world…one of the few people I love enough to send a bunch of my big balls. I hope she likes my balls. I haven’t told her they’re coming. It’s going to be a surprise! Well, not so much once she reads this…
Anyway! Here’s our latest Psychedelic Sock Monkey.
As I was photographing that monkey for my Etsy store, Julia asked, “When are you gonna be done making sock monkeys? When everyone in the world has one?”
My Mom and I looked at each other and said, “Yeah! Sock Monkey World Domination!”
So, that’s my new dream: Peace, Love and Sock Monkeys! It’d be pretty hard to fight with a sock monkey in your hand, right? Unless you use the sock monkey as a weapon, but then that’s just wrong.
Make monkey love, not war!
*lyric from Imagine by John Lennon
So, I’m “Mama” again.
About a year and a half ago, Julia officially began calling me “Mom.” I blogged about it. Back before I had readers. Or even knew how to center my photos.
Now, we’re back to “Mama.” I know this because she repeats it exactly six times before she’ll actually sputter out what she really wants to say.
“Mama! Mama! Mama! Mama! Mama! Mama! I want a popsicle!”
“Mama! Mama! Mama! Mama! Mama! Mama! Will you play with me?”
“Mama! Mama! Mama! Mama! Mama! Mama! What is that? Mama? What is that, Mama? Mama! I asked you WHAT.THAT.IS. Mama?!!”
Why is she doing this? I guess she wants to be sure I am aware that she is addressing me and not some other mama. Like the other mama she is threatening to replace me with.
Yeah, that’s right. Julia is ready to replace me with another mother.
Last night, after getting in trouble for the thirty-second time, she said, “I guess I’ll just have to get another mama since you’re mad at me all the time.”
You see, this is her new Julia vs. Mama war tactic. I revealed my weakness recently when she asked if she had to pick a new mom if I exploded. I let her know then that the idea of Julia having a new mom made me very upset. I told her that I was her one and only mom and that she would never have another one. And then I went on about how I carried her inside me and gave birth to her which made me her mommy in a way no one else could ever be, even if I did happen to explode, which I won’t. I may have even cried. (Oh, come on. You know I cried.) I thought she was expressing concern over losing me. Nah. Nope. She was just gathering intelligence to beat me down later.
So, last night she made the comment, again, about picking a new mommy. I took great pleasure in informing her that she is stuck with me. And that no matter where she goes or what she does or how much she hates it, I will always be her mommy. Even if I’m mad or sad or exploded. I am her mommy. FOREVER.
Ha ha! Take that, you three footer!
Then she says, “Well, you’re getting a new baby, so I thought I’d get a new mama.”
Ouch. Talk about shot through the heart and you’re to blame, Bon Jovi. Damn.
I told her that I wasn’t the only one getting a new baby; she was, too. I told her that no matter what, she will always be my first girl and that I’m going to love Lucy, but I will always love Julia in a special way and nothing could ever change that.
Then she said, “Mama! Mama! Mama! Mama! Mama! Mama! I want a popsicle!!!!”
*That was supposed to be from Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen. And it is meant to be sung.
This morning, Julila woke up and came stumbling to the table where I was working and said, “I had a dream last night.”
“What did you dream, Honey?”
“I dreamed that you sold all my Easter treats.”
“Well, that sounds like a bad dream.”
“Yeah. It wasn’t very nice.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“You should say sorry.”
“Well, it was a dream. I didn’t really sell your Easter treats.”
“You should still say you’re sorry.”
“Okay…well, I’m sorry I sold your Easter treats in your dream.”
“That’s okay. You won’t do it again.”
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