Rachel Callahan

Hijacked.

September 13, 2010 Rachel Callahan I embarrass myself just for your amusement., It's Tough Being a Girl, Pregnancy: The Psychoses.

These days I often feel like I have been totally and completely hijacked.

It’s as if Noah is a miniature computer-programming genius (I picture him looking like a 15-inch-tall Riley from National Treasure) that has broken into my system controls, cracked my password, disabled my alarm system and security cameras, and scrambled all of my central commands.

Things I used to love, I hate.

Things I used to hate, I love.

Things I never did, I do.

Things I always did, I don’t.

My love of Chicken Salad has been solidly replaced with a NEED for Buffalo Sauce.

My usually efficient and energetic self has been replaced with the barely-functioning-nearly-comatose person that I mentioned in my last pregnancy log.

My typically unemotional self has been replaced with someone that might or might not cry with or without reason at any given moment, sending both my husband (who is not used to a crying wife) and my daughter (who, every time upon witnessing me cry, has to recount the one and only time she ever saw me cry prior to my pregnancy) into panicked-tailspins.

And, the snoring.

Pre-Natal-Ali cracked the snoring code also, although it took her a little longer to do it (she’s apparently not QUITE as geeky as Noah – which I find to be a VERY scary thought).

With Ali, by the time I was nine months pregnant, I was reportedly snoring so loudly that Chris had exhausted all of his strategies (including bouncing on the bed in an attempt to partially rouse me) and absolutely couldn’t sleep unless he had complete-100%-sound-blocking-earplugs in.

But here I am, six months pregnant (or claiming to be), and apparently snoring again.

I became aware of this fact the other morning from the following conversation with Chris…

“I think I might be snoring again – I woke myself up last night once or twice.”

“Oh yeah. You are DEFINITELY snoring again.”

“Really? I’m sorry. Is it bad?”

“Not bad enough for earplugs. Yet. ….

(guilty pause)

…but I have been trying to get you to quit snoring by cuddling with you in an attempt to get you to change positions.”

“I noticed you’d been cuddling with me more! But I just thought you were feeling especially endeared to me for carrying your child. I didn’t realize it was SELFISH cuddling.”

“It wasn’t selfish!!! You’re obviously having trouble breathing!! I’m just trying to help you BREATHE so that you can LIVE!!”

“Well I can’t help it if I have YOUR CHILD sleeping on my lungs.”

“Exactly! Your snoring is just a wonderful reminder of the beautiful act of service you’re doing for me by bearing me a son.”

“mmm hmm. Well at least you won’t have to cut off my head for making only girl-children.”

And so, if you’re trying to think of a baby present you can get for Chris, earplugs might be helpful. VERY soon. Because miniature Riley is proving himself to be quite adept at hijacking whatever system he pleases.

Now I’m off to find some more buffalo sauce. I wonder how it’d be on my Cheerios this morning…??

Across My Path as of Late.

September 10, 2010 Rachel Callahan I would NEVER take too many pictures. . ., Photographical Oddities, Weird Strange and True

Need a great Daycare? In Birmingham, we have only the best:

…I bet those kids take GREAT naps.

We were browsing through the baby section the other night and ran across belly mold kit – you know, so you can always remember exactly how gargantuan pregnancy makes you.

Although we didn’t buy it, we learned a few things from the packaging. Such as, apparently it takes a village to rub on said mold:

…I wonder if they drew straws to determine who got to do each…um…bump.

Pretty much everyone in the world (but me) chooses to quantify their family in little white stickers on the backs of their cars.

But the problem is, those stickers leave marks if something needs to be…changed. I’ve seen a few Daddies scratched off the backs of cars, but this removal(s) brought up SO many more questions than answers:

Disney’s licensing department has always made sure that every product possible in every store on the earth has been smeared with their branding. But apparently, one of them realized that they weren’t in grocery stores and had a panic attack:

…but it’s undeniable that they DO know what they’re doing – I had to take that photo as discreetly as possible so that Ali didn’t eye those grapes and beg me to buy them ALL in hopes that she, too, would turn into a Princess.

There’s something so inherently wrong with selling Margaritas at the drive-thru… AND with buying Margaritas from Taco Bell in the first place:

Feeling self-conscious about your abs lately? I certainly would be about mine, were it not for the fact that I have none.

But if you are, for only $69, you too can have a makeup kit that, I’m sure, would transform your abs AND your life:

…I wonder how I’d look with painted-on abs over my extraordinarily protruding pregnant belly?

A family that we go to church with owns the best septic cleaning company in town. They are so thorough, in fact, that when they get back to their headquarters with your septic system’s contents, they apparently separate it back out by it’s originally deposited form:

Now THAT’S service.

Am I Five or Am I Six?

September 9, 2010 Rachel Callahan "Deep" Thoughts by Rachel, Pregnancy: The Psychoses.

Obviously, I’m a scientific thinker.

And being such, nothing confounds me more than things that SHOULD be scientific actually being ridiculously confusing and conflicting.

…which means that all methods of pregnancy calculations drive me mad.

First of all, the whole count-from-two-weeks-BEFORE-you-conceive thing. It’s an amazing feat of nature that on the day you conceive, you’re already magically two weeks pregnant.

(If husbands pondered THAT deep thought more often, they might live a bit more ~~scared for their lives~~ cautiously.)

…but you won’t find us women complaining too much about that one because it really just means that there are two less weeks that we ACTUALLY have to be pregnant.

Second ridiculousity. 9 months? 40 weeks does not compute into 9 months, whether or not you add in those two magic weeks. Using a 30-day-a-month average, 40 weeks is actually 9.33 months – a number no pregnant woman EVER wants to see.

And my biggest peeve, the calculation of how many months pregnant one is at any given point. No one can quite agree on HOW you calculate this mysterious number. It would seem to me that if I’m due on December 27th, then four months before that, which would have been August 27th, I was five months pregnant, making me about 5.25 months pregnant now.

But there are many pregnancy resources, including my nifty-little-iPregnancy app, that assume (very illogically) that a “month” is four straight weeks, so therefore, at 24 weeks, I am actually SIX months pregnant:

And really, even though the logic is ridiculous to my analytical self, I’d LOVE to consider myself six months pregnant – because then at least when people look at my belly,
then look at me,
then look at my belly,
then look at me,
then look at my belly,
then ask how far along I am,
getting to jubilantly answer “six months and three days!” seems to justify my gargantuanly monstrous size a LOT better than mumbling ashamedly under my breath, “a little over 5 months.”

BUT. If I’m six months now (and I can’t help but do the rest of the math because I’m an accountant), then that means that I’ll be pregnant for TEN GRUELING MONTHS.

So there’s just no winning.

…But I think I’ll say I’m six months anyway. Just because it sounds less fat.

A Chronological Tale of Cubbietastrophes.

September 7, 2010 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Just My Luck, Kids: The Experience.

Our Church does the AWANA program – similar to Scouts, except you get your badges by memorizing bible verses. I went through the program as a kid and absolutely loved it, and so, of course, I’ve been hyping the utter amazingness of it to Ali.

Plus, my Mom has been the director of the Cubbies program (AWANAS for 3 and 4 year olds) for years, so Ali had the added excitement of looking forward to being in Gramamma’s class.

AND being the teacher’s pet, obviously.

But, because a three-year-old’s life mission is to love what you think they’ll hate and hate what you think they’ll love, the road to Cubbies has been a painful one.

(For me.)

My first clue of the revolt that was to come was the night that we picked up her books and vest. I needed her to try the vest on for sizing, but she rejected that idea with a ghastly horror equating only to being asked to let an alligator use her for a chew toy.

The next morning, it was time to start learning her first verse. Of course, the verse was greatly shortened with a dozen groups of ellipses, so it was all of seven words long. Plus, she’s memorized every single bit of (quite lengthy) dialogue on her Tinkerbell Leapster game and recites it every time she plays, so I know she’s capable of one ellipsis-filled bible versette.

Um, no.

Again, absolute and utter refusal to participate in any way.

And what do you do with that? “You’re being punished for refusing to memorize your bible verse?”

It’s as if kids have this amazing sixth sense of “Things That Mommy Would Feel Guilty Punishing Me For” and choose THOSE things to stonewall on. They never do the easy things, like, say, hitting their Mothers. Or throwing the cat (only I did that as a kid). They always wait patiently to rebel on the tricky ones, like refusing to learn the BIBLE.

Yeesh.

Finally, with the help of some bribery in the form of candy and a singalong version of the verse (accompaniment provided by my masterful music-writing skillz), we began to make progress. But it was slow…and tedious. And she refused to say it above a whisper.

I dreaded when it came time for her to say her verse to a teacher.

Finally, it was the night of the Cubbies Premier. Because when it rains it ALWAYS hurricanes, she HAD to have the nightmare of nightmares RIGHT as she woke up from her nap, which was RIGHT before we had to leave for Cubbies.

Tears. Gnashing of teeth. Not wanting of anything, including any and all bribery and ESPECIALLY anything to do with Cubbies.

(Just my luck, her nightmare was probably about Cubbie bear himself.)

Finally, I calmed her down enough so that I could hurriedly get ready and we’d only be marginally late…

Then it came time to put her vest on.

The Alligator-Chomper vest.

…which made her official “First Day of Cubbies” pictures JUST as I’d always imagined them:

(Of course her vest is ginormous on her because she wouldn’t let me try it on that first night, which really adds to the whole effect.)

So finally, the tears subside AGAIN, and we head to the car to hurry AS FAST AS POSSIBLE to Cubbies.

And the gas light comes on.

NOOOOOO…

After delaying our journey yet again at the gas station, I begin the Talk-Up Process.

“Cubbies will be so much fun!!! All your friends will be there, and Gramamma will be there, and you’ll play games and have story and say verses and have a snack and do an activity…”

Ali, always being the practical one, worriedly said, “But we won’t have TIME for all that!!!”

“Oh but you will. Cubbies is a magical place.”

“Will I be there FOREVER???”

“No, I promise to come back and get you.”

I deliver her, surprisingly happy (if not a little bit wary), into the arms of the unsuspecting-of-her-meltdown-over-Cubbies-issues teachers, who also happen to be my friends.

Or were about to be my former friends.

But I was right – Cubbies IS a magical place. She of course had a stellar time, actually SAID her verse (or my friends had mercy on me her and signed off on it anyway), and, on the way home, asked the question to brought peace to my heart…

“Can I sleep in my vest?”

Tales of Gating.

September 6, 2010 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Football and I have a Complicated Relationship, I would NEVER take too many pictures. . ., Kids: The Experience., Photographical Oddities

So after my last post about football, I’m sure that you all assume that our tailgating crew is among the top tier of the hierarchy of football-tailgating craziness.

But I present to you evidence that, although I will not deny our proper belonging in The Nutlawn, the nuttiest we are not.

WE DO NOT have flowy-tiered tablecloths worthy of wedding decor:

WE DO NOT have large vases of color-coordinated fresh flowers DELIVERED to our tailgating location:

WE DO NOT serve out of caterer’s chafing dishes:

WE DO NOT have a 10 foot custom outdoor television armoire:

WE (oh-so-thankfully) DO NOT have team-branded-and-decorated-with-ornamental-football portable peeing devices:

(Yes! For women too!! Because all women dream of being able to pee, outside, while balancing on a football-decorated-device, in front of 101,000 people passing by!!!)

And, much to Ali’s disappointment, WE DO NOT EVEN have a huge, inflatable Big Al:

And so, due to this great inconvenience, she had to spend her entire tailgating morning running back and forth from our spot to the closest spot that DID have a Big Al,

dancing with him,
jumping up and giving him fives,

requesting that I give her and her friend some space,
checking out his pedicure,
pouting when I said it was time to do something else, like, say, EAT,

and then begging me to be allowed to run BACK to Big Al.

The girl needs an elephant.

But unfortunately, the one she wants is a bit…unwieldy:

We came upon this camera-lens-filling behemoth at the student center…
And I’m pretty sure she wanted to take him home to be her newest stuffed-animal-for-sleeping with.

Because it was a 6pm game and we arrived at 9:30am (I was just happy that the sun was up), a nap was an absolute must for Ali.

Which is when our hard-fought-for tailgating location really pays off: we’re allowed to use the facilities, the huge living room with a big-screen tv, and the classrooms hidden in the back of the building.

Which make for great naptimes.

So we picked out a room that happened to have a nice couch for me to rest on while Ali slept, set up her little air mattress, barricaded us into the unfortunately-not-locking room, and set off to naptime:
Since I hadn’t thought ahead enough to make a sign for the door that said “SLEEPING CHILD INSIDE DO NOT OPEN THIS DOOR UNLESS YOU WANT YOUR LIFE IN PERIL BY HER PREGNANTLY SENSITIVE MOTHER”, I didn’t know if someone would try to break down our barricade or not.

Sure enough, about halfway through her nap, I hear the doorknob turn.

I jump off the couch in seeming slow-motion as I hear the barricading chairs SCRRRAAAAAPE across the floor as the door is forced open with the strength of that massive Big Al Elephant.

I make it over to the door as it is forced 50% open, and see a middle-aged lady trying to come in.

I whisper hurriedly, “I have a child napping in here”, and start to close the door on her.

She pushes it open further and sticks her neck in the door.

I stare at her incredulously, wondering if she has COMPLETELY forgotten the sensitive nature of a child’s naptime.

She whispers way too loudly back to me, “I think it’s my grandchild in there.”

What I wanted to say was “Ma’am, you are not my mother nor are you my mother-in-law. I promise you that this is NOT your grandchild.”

But in order to continue my efforts to preserve our naptime-hanging-by-a-thread, I just said “It’s not”, and managed to shut the door despite her elephant-like strength.

And, miraculously enough, Ali slept through her entire fake-Grandmother ordeal.

After naptime, it was time to head into the stadium.

With which Ali’s attention span lasted all of about 5 minutes, and then the questioning began: “When are we going to go back out to the OTHER outside???? When are we going to go back where Big Al was????”

She was quite bored and underwhelmed with the men on the field, something I can’t deny feeling myself at times.

But I was convinced to entertain her until halftime – she’s never actually stayed until halftime, and so had no idea that THAT’S when the game actually gets interesting.

So we played with the camera…

Tore up our shakers and made rings and bracelets out of the remains, and anything else to distract until the TRUE show started.

And, as I thought, she was completely entranced:
…but I don’t think she’ll be the least bit sad that she’ll be blissfully playing at Gramamma’s during next week’s game.

Giveaway!! Animal Mastermind Towers

September 3, 2010 Rachel Callahan Giveaways and Contests, Homeschooling: Not just for the socially awkward anymore.

One of my favorite childhood games was Mastermind. Okay, adulthood too – Chris and I still love playing board games. I love the logic, the guessing, and the deductions. And, since it has already been established that Ali is a ~~geek~~ child after my own heart, when I saw that they had a children’s version out, I was so excited to try it with her!

Animal Mastermind Towers is packaged for ages 6 and up, but I like that it IS a bit over her head – she didn’t completely get it right away, but after a couple of games, she understood the concept and loved it.

The basic idea is that you put 4 to 6 animal tiles in your tower, hidden from your opponent. They know WHICH animals you have, but not which order they’re in. Then you take turns asking yes/no, above/below questions such as, “Is your elephant above your pig?”, then use your deductions to form a guess as to the order of their animals.

(Since Ali is younger, I loosened up the definition of acceptable questions and encouraged her to ask things like “Is your pig on the top?”)

(She, of course, tried to loosen the rules even more and asked questions like “Where IS your sheep??”)

Ali has really loved playing (and asks to play every spare moment we have), and has even beaten us a few times, which makes it even more fun for her!

I love how constructive this game is for her reasoning and logic skills, and that it’s stretching her to another level of thinking.

If you’d like to try out Animal Mastermind Towers with your kids, Pressman Toys has provided one copy for me to give away! Simply leave a comment on the post to be entered to win.

You can earn up to four extra entries if you:

Like Mastermind Board Games on Facebook.

Subscribe to OR Follow my blog.

Follow me on Twitter OR Facebook.

Tweet, blog, OR Facebook about this giveaway.

(be sure to leave separate comments for your extra entries.)

Best of luck! This giveaway is open until Monday, September 13th. The winner will be randomly selected and posted on my giveaway winners page on Tuesday, September 14th.

Disclosure: I received a review product for this giveaway from Pressman Toys that I will get to keep after this giveaway. I did not receive any other compensation for this giveaway, and my opinions are always my own.

They Listened, Alright.

September 2, 2010 Rachel Callahan Denim Drama, Don't Listen to my Fashion Advice, Just My Luck, Shopping: A Girl's Best Friend, This is TONGUE IN CHEEK People - Don't take me Seriously.

Disclaimer: This post discusses things that are ultimately of zero importance whatsoever, and I am well aware of this. I hereby pre-apologize for my daily dose of shallowness.

Ali has this habit…when she’s playing a game or sharing her snacks, she will ask me something along these lines:

“Which one do you want, Mommy? The red one or the blue one?”

“I want the blue one.”

“Okay. You can have the red one.”

Every time, I follow that up with, “Then WHY did you ask??”

And she never answers.

It’s just the way she rolls.

And, apparently, my “fashion” blog posts are having the same effect on the world.

(errr, not that the world ever asked or even wanted my opinion, but … anyway.)

You see, I love The Children’s Place – it’s always been my favorite place to get Ali’s clothes. ESPECIALLY for the Fall. Since it stays at least 90 degrees around here well into September (except a few GLORIOUSLY fall-like days last week of cool 70 and 80 degree weather), by the time they’re clearancing out their first line of fall stuff, there hasn’t even been the first chill in the Alabama air.

And so, every September, I have this blissful shopping experience of buying most of Ali’s winter wardrobe all at once, and for over 80% off.

A true Ecstasy of Shopping Enjoyment.

A couple days ago, I received the email saying that they had everything marked way down (some to $5), and an extra 15% off the sale price. I dug around and found my latest coupon (another 15% off) and spent all morning basking in the shopping euphoria that was to come.

But then I got there, and realized that they had apparently read all of my fashion posts from last year….and had styled their entire Fall Wardrobe exactly according to the guidelines of every style I had mocked.

Every shirt was plaid…

And the … (it’s really hard to choke this phrase out) CHILDREN’S JEGGINGS were in horrifying abundance.

They even blessed the world with Jeggings in the size of 0-3 Months – because who doesn’t want to bring their newborn home from the hospital wearing the biggest fashion catastrophe of the decade???

Now I WILL be a big girl and be the first to admit that these styles would all look MUCH better on a kid than me, but I still couldn’t warm up to the idea of dressing Ali as a walking example of everything I’ve mocked for the entire year.

I mean, if I’m going to do that, I might as well go ahead and find her a great pair of Mom Jeans, size 4T, while I’m at it.

So I sadly walked out empty-handed and coupon-unused. Because the one thing that they DID have that I wanted ever-so-desperately was, of course, totally sold out in Ali’s size:

BUT I wanted it badly enough that I managed to track the LAST size 4 in the world down at another Birmingham location.

Not only will it be PERFECT for football games (with a pair of crimson leggings), but it totally reminded me of my favorite creation from my favorite Project Runway designer ever, Seth Aaron:

…At least she’ll be dressed on for ~~the runway~~ football on Saturday, but as for the rest of the year, she may be destined to “not have a thing to wear”. And my dreams of that Shopping Euphoria Experience…gone. All gone.

(sigh)

Time to go break into my Caffeine Rollover Piggy Bank instead.

Caffeination Liberation

September 1, 2010 Rachel Callahan "Deep" Thoughts by Rachel, Actually Possibly Informational, Pregnancy: The Psychoses.

“1-2 caffeinated drinks a day.”

It’s the mantra that is told to every pregnant lady, over and over and over and over, filled with guilt and threatening menace should you cross the line.

Of course, I’ve always taken that to mean “1-2 Giant 44 Ounce Caffeine Bombs a day”, so that way I never feel guilty if I “accidentally” have three regular-sized caffeinated drinks a day.

AND restaurant refills TOTALLY don’t count. They just make up for all the ice in the cup.

PLUS, I always assume that they tell you about half as much as is REALLY safe, just to make sure they can never be sued.

PLUS, I figure I have a TON of rollover caffeine from those first 13 weeks where I could hardly drink anything.

Right?

“100-200 milligrams of caffeine a day.”

That’s the other figure you see everywhere. As if THAT means anything – it’s not like “Caffeine” is listed on those FDA required nutrition-per-serving charts or anything. So I just ignore that part.

Until Sunday.

My little brother was randomly reading (out loud) from the back of his coke can (a fun hobby of his)… “34 milligrams of caffeine.”

“Wait… how many??”

“34.”

“34?!?!?! That’s IT??? Lemme see!!!”

I look:

Sure enough, there it is. Right on the side of the can. Has that always been there??

I immediately start doing the math…34 milligrams into 200….that’s 5.88 cans of coke a day – not 1-2!!! Acceptable and free from guilt!!! And that’s BEFORE I add in the free refills and double it for don’t-sue-me-doctor-figures!!!

THEY’VE BEEN LYING TO US ALL!!!!

So now, my caffeine rollover bank is refilled and ready to enjoy my Fountain Coke with a Side of Starbucks and a piece of Chocolate Cheesecake…

…just as soon as today’s weigh-in at the doctor is over.

Portraits of Filth and Bliss.

August 31, 2010 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Anal Retentivity to a Fault, I would NEVER take too many pictures. . ., Kids: The Experience., Quirky quirky quirkiness

Abby.

Zechariah.

Nathaniel.

Their cosmetics were provided by chalk, water, and dirt.

Some of the artistry was self-applied,

Some was sneak-attacked…

And some was applied by the traditional (and quite massaging) method of boulder.

Back-Art was also provided.

And what was my child doing during this amazing bout of pure funness??

Staying as clean as possible, of course.

And a little horrified.

Dirt-angst. It’s a crippling disease.

To See or Not To See?

August 30, 2010 Rachel Callahan Boy Child = Bizarre., Just My Luck, Pregnancy: The Psychoses., Survey Says. . .

Chris ran into the room excitedly yesterday… “Look what I found!!!”

“What?”

“The heartbeat monitor we used with Ali!! We need to try it with Noah!”

“You DO remember that thing never worked with Ali, right? We never heard anything but gurgles.”

“I know…but maybe it will be different with him!!”

(Reminder: Chris is nesting. I am not.)

So, being the nice wife that I was, humored him.

“Sure. We’ll try it.”

He turned it on, nothing.

He opened it up, and it had a 9 volt battery… “It’s dead – I’ll find another one.”

“Did you stick it on your tongue??”

“Of course not!”

(You see, we have this long running thing that I grew up in a family that stuck the two live ends of 9-volt batteries on their tongues to see if they were still good. Chris had never heard of such, and is horrified (and obviously scared) by the thought. So, of course, I like to bring up my bravery in such matters any chance I get.)

“Well it might be good then! You need to stick it on your tongue and see.”

“It’s dead! See? You do it!”

“I’m pregnant!! I probably shouldn’t be licking four-year-old batteries!!”

”But it’s dead!”

I couldn’t back down from my Reputation of Bravery, so I licked the battery.

“Whoa!! That is NOT dead!!!”

(He puts it back in and turns it on..and it works.)

“Well how about that…I must have hit the wrong button.”

I grumble something under my breath about him putting our son at jeopardy with battery licking…

He sticks the monitor on my stomach…he moves it around…he moves it again…and again.

“Nothing. Here – you do it – maybe you’ll have better luck.”

“I’m telling you…it doesn’t work.”

Five minutes later, I add “Amazing Heartbeat Finding Skills” to my already Brave Reputation.

“I found the heartbeat!!!”

He ran in to listen, and it thrilled him to his nesting soul.

~~~~

But, despite his excitement about HEARING Noah, we’re both decisivity challenged about SEEING him again.

We can’t decide whether we want to get a 3-D sonogram or not, and we have to decide soon if we want to get on the schedule in time.

And so, since neither of us can make a decision and Chris left it up to me and I’m really not feeling like making any more decisions right now (maybe the battery fried that part of my brain), I’m taking input.

Here’s our Pro/Con list:

Pros:

It’s a fun experience, and Ali would probably really enjoy seeing her baby brother so up close and personal.
If we end up having a third kid one day and therefore Noah becomes a middle child, I know by experience that he will be QUITE offended if Ali got a 3D sonogram and HE didn’t.
(Then again, he’s a boy. Maybe boy-middle-children are different.)
It gives us something to look forward to in the long stretch of Eternally Boring Doctor Visits from here until 36 weeks.
The pictures you get from them are quite adorable, and you really can see an amazing amount of facial features. Here’s a comparison of Ali’s:

Cons:

It costs money. And we’ve already spent well over Noah’s allotted monthly allowance through the year 2015 on his room (and all the toilet paper).
I’ve already had 5 sonograms with him, and some people claim that repeated sonograms aren’t necessarily healthy for babies, although I’m not necessarily convinced on that point.
(And besides, they can’t be too much worse than licking a battery.)
The thought of taking Ali to another long wait, sonogram, long wait, long appointment, long wait gives me a major case of the heeby-jeebies.
It might be fun to not have any hints as to what he’ll look like till he comes out…but probably not.

So there you go, blog-world.

To see or not to see?

And yes, either way, I promise not to lick any more batteries.