Carly's A'Comin'

No, you're right; I have not posted very recently. Or not recently at all. And I would feel guilty, were it not for this BEACH BALL stuck underneath my ribs, grinding itself against both my pelvis and my lungs simultaneously. This girl is already testing the fragile bond between mother and daughter by waking me up during the past two weeks nearly every night, just to knock on the proverbial front door of her little home and cause me to writhe in bed, stare balefully at the wall for the next two hours as I time my irregular contractions, and then fitfully drift back off to sleep. Good times. But she's healthy; that's what the doctor said today. And I'm believing him. Kane and I went to his office today for the last time before I give birth and listened to her heartbeat. The size of the uterus measures well, and she's active. The doctor is happy, Kane is fascinated by the sound of the heartbeat magnified through the doppler machine, and I am just relieved. Okay, and a little miffed, considering he also told me I'm not dilating at all. Which means the contractions I've been having are just for show. Which means I can only guess what type of personality this little girl is going to have. I have to say, though, that I was more relaxed today after hearing all that information - she's fine, she's doing well, she's likely going to come on time, and not early, which means no one has to panic and scramble and make alternative arrangements to help out with my son. And, it also means one more week with my son, before I spend three days away from him, something I can't even imagine right now. I am going to have a daughter. She's coming Monday at 8 a.m. A son and a daughter. I can't believe how lucky Phil and I are. I just hope everything goes okay. I'll let you know. Kane, meanwhile, continues to amaze me, astound me. What a child. I would gladly take a bullet for that kid. A hundred thousand. Let's see: Quick update - he's saying other words now, and loves pointing things out and trying the verbage. He'll even watch my lips carefully when I repeat a word for him over and over, then try to imitate me. The latest ones we've heard are: Yellow (sounds like "rerrow"), Buddha (Booba), cracker (crahck), crayon (crahn). He's also developing into quite the sly cookie; he knows when bedtime is coming, and tries to delay it by intviting me to spend time with him at the kitchen table. We will be watching a TiVo-ed Sesame Street or something similar, and he will know when the program's about to end, and he will slide down off the bed, where's he's been cuddling with me, walk down the hall, whimper a little, come back, wait for me to follow him, then he will open the cupboard and grab godlfish crackers and walk over to the small glass kitchen table we have off to the side. He will then proceed to climb onto one of the chairs, wait for me to seat myself, and dump out a few goldfish, like we were going to divvy up the goods and shoot the shite, or something. Then he chats with me and points to the baby girl doll we bought him (which is resting on the kitchen table) and try to feed her a cracker. I find the whole thing fascinating and endearing, and, had I more energy at the end of the day (I'm hoping that giving birth will relieve me of some fo that fatigue - I remember feeling so much better after giving birth to Kane, though I relaize takinng care of two is goinng to be waaaaay different), I would put up with it a lot longer, despite my knowing he is emplying a delay tactic. As it is, it only lasts about five minutes before I see him trying to test me, as in, climbing on top of the table, or trying to, and me repeatedly telling him no, and then making good on my promise of ending the little tea party by lifting him up and carrying him to bed. He then whines a little, grabs the blankie, and then cries for about a half-minute when I put him down to bed. Oh, the blankie, this is hilarious: Kane has a security blanket, a preternaturally soft blue chenille thing from Little Giraffe that's edged in white silk. He's had it since birth, though we only really started carting it around everywhere probably when he was nearly three months old and we took our first trip away, to Hawaii. I wanted him to have something that smelled like home, like him, and like mommy. Since then, that blanket has gone on everry trip mommy and Kane have taken which, frankly has been a lot, now that I think of it. The blanket's been to Hawaii, Oregon, Arizona, New Jersey, Minnesota, Napa, and on countless day trips. Knowing that, it's not hard to imagine how rank it gets, nor how it's fraying by this time (just a little at the edges of silk). Nor is it hard to imagine what a feat of organization it takes to finagle that damned blankie away from him at just the right time (for washing) so that it doesn't interfere with his naps or his bedtime. Or all the times in between that he just loves carting it around from room to room. He doesn't have to hold it all the time, but he likes knowing it's there for him to plop down upon it and snuggle for a second. I envy him, actually; the look on his face when he sees the blanket and remembers it's there and then rubs himself into it can't be expressed as anything less than baby ecstasy. So after the last botched attempt to wash and dry the blanket before he got tired and wanted to nap (or needed to nap, is more like it), I decided to go to the place where it all started, which was This Little Piggy on Fourth Street in Berkeley. Of course, I took Kane with me - sleep-deprived and all (I went Saturday after his botched nap, so he was super cranky and feeling under the weather with a cold, and therefore was in need of constant cuddling) and made it a pointed mission, meaning, I didn't spend more than five minutes in the store from start to finish. We went to the wall of Little Giraffe blankets, picked a perfect match for Number One (which he was already clutching), went up to the counter, and started to pay for Blanket Number Two. Unfortunately, Kane was no dummy, and was already clutching Two with the hand that wasn't already grasping at One. When the slaeslady took Two from him, he began crying a little, annd wouldn't stop until she gave it back to him. He grabbed both all the way home, then, when Phil came outside to greet us, he laughed, took the blankets from Kane, laid them both down on the carpet, and watched as our son went back and forth, pointing and shouting "blah!" (blanket) and rolling around on oceans of piled cotton like a dog in the dirt. He knows there's two blankets, and he wants them both in bed. We're so screwed.