I always pay for my sleep

This morning the kitten and Isabel woke me up especially early.

Oh, I didn't tell you about the kitten.  Long story short:  Found an abandoned 4 week old kitten,  took it home because I couldn't bear to worry about it for the rest of my life.  Am trying to resist the urge to keep her and have someone come and take her to a new home.  I haven't really advertised her yet....

So Isabel wakes up and upon doing so, wakes the kitten up.  The kitten mews constantly until I get her some milk.  So when Isabel wakes up these days, it means I am well and truly up myself.  The usual routine is Isabel up, Kitten up, Kitten mews, I stumble out of bed, I make milk for kitten while Isabel dances around me asking what I want to play, Isabel and I play Isabel's new board game over and over while the kitten eats.

If I'm lucky, I'll make it to 9am before I drag myself back to bed, trying to think of a way to keep Isabel occupied while I attempt a bit more sleep.

This morning, though, I couldn't even make it to 8 o'clock.  7.30 came around and Isabel seemed content to sit and eat her breakfast while she watched tv and I slyly slipped out of the tv room and lay on my bed.  I literally passed out.

The next thing I was aware of was Isabel's excited voice piercing through my coma-like state of mind.  I looked at the clock.  It was 9 o'clock.  I couldn't believe it.... I got a good amount of sleep without Isabel interrupting.  Panic set in.  What had she been doing all that time?!

"Look Mummy!  My pyjamas have pockets!"

"Oh that's fun, how did you make your pockets?"

"I found some scissors!  I love my pockets!!"

GAH!  I HATE scissors.  Actually, I'm glad that she didn't cut the kitten up.

Fitting In

Dal and I were lucky enough to have an executive suite experience at a Diamondback's home game tonight.  The perks?.... no obnoxious fans sitting around us (they were all in the plebes seats); free quality food; air-conditioning; and the most important thing to an 8 month pregnant woman..... a private toilet.

But before I knew about our own "special" bathroom, I figured I would take advantage of the ladies toilets that we walked past as we entered the park.  I walked in and took the nearest stall to the door (no time to look for the "best" toilet - and don't say you don't know what I'm talking about... you know you  look for the best toilet).  Unfortunately the Chase Field architects didn't factor in eight month pregnant women coming to the game.  They crammed as many stalls into the available space as they could.

Have you ever seen an overly pregnant woman try to suck her gut in?  There's not much change in inches between "relaxed" and "sucked in".  The stall door scraped my belly as I tried to close it.  I was a little concerned that I wouldn't be able to get back out.  It didn't turn out as badly as I thought.  But you can imagine my relief when I found out I had my own private toilet.... with enough space for ten of me.

I'm thinking of getting Dal to take a photo of me tomorrow   -   the only one you'll get of me for this pregnancy.  I guess it's just not as exciting the second time around.  For pregnancy photos please see my Facebook albums of when I was pregnant with Isabel.

My kind of "Love Language"

Those people who invented the whole love language thing... I think they missed at least one language.  What makes my heart pitter patter is the dulcet sounds of this sentence spoken by the sweet love of my life:

"We should have takeout tonight".

Tick Tock

Isabel usually wakes up between 6am and 7am each morning.

I have told her that I wont play with her or do anything with her until 7am.  That is the earliest I can function and that seems to make sense to her.

Recently, though, she has not been happy to just watch tv or play on the computer while she waits.  She sits in between Dal and I and tries to wake me by chattering away or just breathing heavily in my face.

This morning wins the prize.  She draped herself over my body looking at my bedside table where the little alarm clock sits.   Right in my ear she rhythmically chimed over and over "TICK, TOCK, TICK, TOCK, TICK, TOCK."  Unfortunately we weren't even close to 7 o'clock.

Boys spit

Last night as we ate our ice cream, Isabel and I were having a little chat.

I said "You know, Isabel, that when you were smaller you didn't like ice cream.  You used to spit it out."

Of course she didn't believe me.  She had a bit of a chuckle and then proceeded to talk some nonsense about ice cream, boys, girls and spitting.

Finally I was able to interpret what she was trying to tell me.

"Wait, are you saying that you used to be a boy?"

"Yes.  And boys spit."

It all came together.  Apparently Isabel was a boy when she was younger.  I guess she deduced this by hearing me tell her that she used to spit stuff out.  But now she's older, she's turned into a girl and doesn't spit anymore.

I'm not sure how she came to this conclusion because I am constantly telling her to STOP SPITTING!

Sleep

I live for sleep.  I am certain I could sleep 20 hours in the day and still be tired after waking up.

That is why I need my morning naps.  As mentioned previously, Isabel likes to sit on my bed playing on my laptop while I have a nap.  This morning didn't go so well.  I gave her a muesli bar to eat while I napped.  I while later I heard her rustling in our bathroom.

"Mummy, where's the wipes?"
"What do you need wipes for, Isabel?"
"To wipe the bed."

Alarms bells start clanging in my head.  I look over to Dal's side of the bed and find what can only be chewed up and spat out chocolate chip muesli bar.

"Forget the wipes, I'm going back to sleep.  Get a towel and sit on it".

A while later I get a hand slapped right by my head.
"Time to wake up mummy"
"NO!  You kept waking me up.  Give me 20 more minutes"
"Mummy it's 7 o'clock.  Time to wake up."

In actual fact it is 10.30 in the morning.  I point that out to her.  That doesn't deter her.  Isabel grabs my bedside clock and winds the clock back to three.

"See.  7 o'clock.  Get up".

Doidy - At my sister's request

It IS a fairly dormant blog isn't it?

Back when Isabel was learning sounds that didn't mean anything she would repeat over and over "doi, doi, doi, doi".  My sisters thought it hilarious and began to call her Doidy.  I am certain that Isabel will have the same relationship with that nickname that I did with "Chark" (my dad's pet name for me).  A love/hate relationship.

My youngest sister told me today that it was time to hear a Doidy story.

There is plenty that happens each day and that little girl makes me laugh at least three or four times a day.  There are just as many times, if not more, that I can't imagine ever being obeyed by this cheeky little thing. I use the old counting to three trick, but most of the time I get to three and she is still doing what she shouldn't be doing.  It's only when I begin stalking over to her with a threatening stare that she moves her little butt.  I'm not sure what I'll do if I ever actually get to her.  I think she knows that and is only pandering to my silly counting and stalking.

Isabel loves to play games on my laptop.  My 7 month pregnant body appreciates this particularly when it starts to flag in the afternoons.  Isabel perches herself beside me on my bed with the laptop on her lap while I snooze.  She likes to copy my touch typing skills, but of course ends up with nonsense lines of letters.  I woke up the other afternoon in time to see this:

We did not find results for: kuumba made uhiuhhuihu. Try the suggestions below or type a new query above

I'm impressed she typed an actual word.  Poor Google couldn't even think of suggestions for her Google search.

Isabel likes to lick her feet.  She likes to lick my arms.  She also enjoys eating her shirts.  She knows every one of those things creeps me out, but she continues to do it.

I have taken some movies of Isabel that I intend to post here.  But I need to get some batteries for the camera .... now that I've typed that, I am certain I can just hook it up to the computer and recharge the battery.  I'll get back to you on that one.  Stay tuned.

I've been thinking lately of a few different posts that I could put up... so I feel like I'm getting some sort of blog mojo back.  But I'm not promising anything at the moment.  You'll only be disappointed.

Trunked

I'm finally able to do it!  I finally have stories to tell you the stupid things my child says.  And then you can tell me how NOT cute it is.  Then I'll argue until I'm blue in the face that it was in fact the cutest thing you could have ever seen.

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I prepared LQ for what was happening next as we drove home from a family get together.

"When we get home, it's books and bed time, LQ"

"No.... I watch daddy play racing Mario"

"No, LQ.  It is time for bed when we get home."

"No.... I watch daddy play racing Mario"

[repeat at least 5 times]

finally I change the pace -

"LQ!  You will be going to bed when we get home.  I'm the Mummy and I say so!"

"No!  I LQ and I play with daddy"

"LQ... Mummy trumps LQ.  Every time."

"No I trunk Mummy!"

Dal:  "I'll trunk your faces"  - End of conversation.


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We sit on the floor.  We are playing guess the shape with dinosaurs.  I pause for dramatics.  "hmmmm...."

LQ, the computer whiz, questions me.  "Are you loading?"


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A favourite game at the moment is "wake the baby".  LQ and I poke and prod my tummy in an effort to get Little Bob Jnr to move around.   LQ puts her mouth up to my tummy and yells "WAKE UP BABY!!"  I am thinking this may not be a good tradition to continue for much longer.

LQ is very aware of the baby and is very willing to talk about him to anyone who asks.  We asked her how the baby gets out of mummy's tummy.  She just shrugged.  We told her how he will come out and she laughed hysterically and said "No!  THAT is SILLY!"

Warning: May inhibit blogging

I love my antidepressants.  They have done wonders for me.

But like every drug, they do have some side effects.  The side effect that I've noticed the most is the lack of desire to blog.

There's been a few things happen in the past month that were worthy of blogging.  To be honest, "back in the day" I didn't really need anything to write about.  There were posts about LQ sitting in a box for heavens sakes.  But now even when big events like finding out the sex of my child happen, I can't seem to find the energy or desire to write about it.

I am certain that once the pregnancy, the new babyness and the need for anti-depressants have passed, there will come a time when I feel the need to write more than once a month.

But for now I hope you can ride on through this slump with me and meet me on the other side.  As an update to my life:

We found out we are having a boy.
I was lucky enough to have to do a driving exam to get my Arizona licence.  I passed with flying colours.
LQ has turned into a bandit.  She insists that all bandits are good.
I celebrated my 30th birthday.  In Tombstone.  Watching street shootout re-enactments.
LQ refers to her stuffed toys as "the guys" or "my guys".  "Put boots on the guys, mummy"

I hope your June is a good one.

Newsy news news news

I've made the title of this post sound like I've actually got exciting news to tell.  Not really.  Just a whole bunch of little things (maybe not even a whole bunch) to catch up on the three weeks I've not written anything.

First things first.  You can stop worrying about crazy Hel.  Crazy Hel went and got some drugs that turned her into "content with life" Hel.  My OB gave me a prescription for anti-depressants.  I sat on that prescription for three weeks, in the hopes that my good mood was here to stay.  As it turned out, it was not, so I filled that prescription and to cut a long story short, LQ is no longer at risk of being blamed for spots on the floor that don't actually exist, among other things.  Sure there are spots on the floor now, because "content with life" Hel is also "Don't Mop the Floors" Hel.  As a disclaimer:  I am completely aware of the risks of taking anti-depressants while pregnant, but as I have assured both Grandmothers of the fetus there was much reflection, praying and pondering on the matter and the pros outweighed the cons by a million miles.  The decision was not made lightly (although I speak light of the matter now).

Speaking of "don't mop the floors" Hel.  She comes in other varieties of "I don't do any housework" Hel.  Last night Dal tentatively brought up the possibility of having a cleaning day next Saturday.  I honestly thought he couldn't see the inch thick grunge that had built up behind the toilet.  Not to worry.  It will build up again after our spring clean.

"Creative" Hel has reared her wonderful head again, but "Procrastination" Hel keeps pushing her down. LQ just recently had her fourth birthday party.  I had wonderful, wonderful visions of many happy children being wowed by the awesomeness of LQ's Cowgirl party, but most of those visions never came to fruition.  I'm glad I had the foresight to order some party crap before it was too late.  It didn't turn out too badly.  I forgot to play some games I had organised to have and forgot to put out the "Wagon Wheels" (look it up yourself -Arnotts Wagon Wheels) that Mum had sent especially from Australia.  But because of my super drugs, I laughed about it instead of crying for three days and wondering if my child would be scarred for the rest of her life.

We find out in two weeks what the sex of the baby is.  Want to place bets?  The odds are good.

Well, I don't know about you, but I'm getting hungry.  It's time for "I don't make dinner" Hel to get to work.  I'm thinking of making mashed potatoes for LQ and calling it a night.

Meanwhile...

.... back in Hobart my brothers are inventing new dance techniques.  Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you "Rancing".

Cranky

My friend wrote to me after reading my last post.  She only reads my blog when she gets bored at work, so I know she truly does love me.

"I can see the crazy factor rising a little Helgs!"  End quote.  Yep... she calls me Helgs (a friend from almost ten years ago now) and yep, what she said kind of describes my life perfectly.  Dal will attest to that.  I am certain if he wasn't so nice he'd have disappeared some months ago now.

I am all sorts of crazy, but mostly I feel just cranky.  And so when I think that it is time I really should update my blog, all I can think of is cranky things to talk about.  For example I would really like to complain about birthdays or tell you of my eternal hatred for my hairdresser or vent about the seemingly lack of discipline that occurs in Primary every week (let me clarify - the Presidency is wonderful... it's the teachers that seem to be scared to tell their class to "shoosh!").  I really don't want to write all that stuff down because I don't want to seem stuck in the mire, although I am.  And I don't want to seem petty, although I am.  And worst of all, I don't want someone to be offended by my crankiness, although I'm sure my hormones have already offended more people in my life than I care to think about.

I skyped with my mum for over an hour yesterday... mostly complaining.  Then I made her cry.  I guess I just had too many stupid/petty problems for one person to handle.  Actually... she cried because she's got a husband who is just as much a nut job as me.  Thankfully he can't get pregnant... so we are all safe from that beast (hi Dad!).

I think, though, that if I did start writing all my thoughts, all that would end up happening is a full public meltdown a la Charlie Sheen style (maybe not so drastic, but it wouldn't be pretty).

So instead of documenting my mental decline, I thought I'd finally share with you the story of how Dal and I met.  I think I've given you bits and pieces here and there, but never the full story.  I think this is a good idea because so many of the famous bloggers have already done it and I am all about riding a fad until it's been flogged to death.  Also, my newest follower suggested something similar while commenting on one of my old posts.

I'm just hoping that it doesn't end up being the crankiest love story ever told.

Mottled Monday

Just a few bits and pieces.

For three days straight now, I have asked LQ what she wants for lunch.  For three straight days she has had a clear idea of what she wants.  For three straight days I have given her EXACTLY what she has requested.  For three straight days she has seen what I had for lunch and proceeded to whine that THAT is what she really wanted.  It's enough to drive me INSANE!

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Friday was a rough day.  It was the end of a long week of LQ being sick and the truck not starting - in other words I was stuck at home ALL week aside from the time I tried to walk in 90 degree temperatures to my mother-in-law's home (that's another story).  I was desperate.  Back to Friday.  I'm not above saying I had a meltdown.   The truck actually started, got me all excited and then quit working.  I felt my chest constricting, I couldn't breathe properly, my mind got muddled and I started pacing the kitchen.  I sent a message to Dal about feeling trapped.  He called me up and I immediately collapsed into a sobbing mess.  LQ thought I was sad because she had eaten frosting with two spoons without my knowledge that morning.  Poor kid.  A nap was in order.  It wasn't until MUCH later in the day I ventured outside again.  There on my doorstep, poorly hidden under the doormat, was a package.  For me.  From a friend who knows.

Opening any package is fun for me.  It breaks up the day.  But this package was filled with amazing goodness and a whole heap of love.  I took this picture after I had already eaten half the block of chocolate and LQ had taken a packet of double coated Tim Tams into her room.

A thank you just doesn't seem enough for the lifesaving properties that this package had.  I actually cried when I pulled the drinks out of the box.

I have been gorging on chocolate the entire weekend.  SO much better than drugs!

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Dal and I have been spending our weekends looking at real estate recently and we've just put offers on a few homes.  One lender owned and the other a short sale, so don't expect anymore information for quite some time, but that's some exciting news from our grownup lives.  On a related note:  Can I just tell you how cranky it makes me feel when I walk into a home someone has said that is recently renovated and it is glaringly obvious that they've done everything cheaply and poorly.  Why bother doing it at all?  Poorly renovated homes just means more work for the next sap who wants to renovate.  Can you tell I've been scarred by my recent renovation project?

Entitled: An Obsession

Hello my friends.  First I want to thank you for the love you gave me on my "Mostly" post.  Since getting it out on my blog and talking to my Obstetrician, I have been feeling a lot better.  But that's a different post.

This one is about my dearest LQ.

I'm not sure I could love this girl any more than I do.  I am certain she has reached her cuteness peak.  Everything she does has me giggling to myself or laughing out loud.  She shakes her little booty at me, she shimmies across the floor.  She sings constantly to me, Dal or herself.  She says things like "Daddy, you sick!  Take a nap!" and "mmmm b'donalds (McDonalds), deyishous!".  She is good a fake laughing when we are laughing at something she does and most importantly of all when I'm cranky or just generally not in a good mood she will say "Happy face Mummy!  Show me your happy face".  Let me tell you about that happy face.  Not once have I ever said that to her.... that's all LQ.

There's one thing that hasn't changed as LQ has grown into the beautiful little girl that she is.  Her love for puzzles.  It started well before she turned two and her love has not waned.  To show you how much she loves puzzles, I took a picture of all the puzzles that she owns and as a comparison you can see in one of the pictures her small drawer filled with her dress up costumes.  There's no contest... that girl could do puzzles all day if I'd sit with her.

Entitled: A Love Letter

The 30 minutes before you arrive home is always the longest part of the day.

I hear your noisy truck (we need to get that fixed) come around the corner and pull in to the driveway.

I stand up a little straighter.

In the few minutes that it takes for you to get to the door (the bin needs to be taken out) I am frozen.  I am unsure as to what to do with myself while I wait.

The sucking and whooshing sound that the opening of the door makes will forever make my heart beat a little faster, help my body relax and inject just that bit more energy that I've been craving all day.

That door opening is a sign for LQ, too.  Her little body leaps from whatever position she is in.  She flies to the door.  "DADDY"!

Her excitement is just a snippet of how I feel about your homecoming, but I play it cool.

LQ gets cuddles and I get the same sort of kiss I got from you when we were dating.

I know you love me.

I hope that you know how much I love you.  I hope that the waiting dinner shows that I love you.  I hope that the made bed shows that I love you.  I hope that my face shows how much I love you.

I  hope my entire life shows that I love you beyond any words on a silly blog post could ever convey and how much I love having you all to myself each evening (usually).