How to Get Your Dad to Stop Speaking to You Indefinitely: Announce you spent your birthday at the tattoo parlor getting your nose pierced.
How to Get Your Dad to Start Speaking to You Again: Announce you are carrying his 3rd grandchild.
I have some good news today! I AM HAVING ANOTHER BABY!!!!!But………. Its in October!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And I am only having 1 baby! Are you excited!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!I am! I love my family!Its a good family!
Its fun having new baby sisters and brothers!I hope its a boy because…
I DO NOT BARELY HAVE ANY BOYS IN MY FAMILY!!!
Stacia Sokol, Brenia Sokol, Mommy Sokol, and Daddy sokol.
It starts with next to no sleep because I decide my ear doesn’t hurt that bad anymore. No reason to take Tylenol PM 4 nights in a row. I wake up to a snotty, whiny baby. I get some medicine in her and we’re just settling down to nap cuddle when the phone rings. I get the poor baby dressed, buckle her up and make the trek to the Humane Society.
This where I retrieve my dog for the bargain price of $45—which includes the price of a mandatory microchip—and promptly lock my keys in the car. To my credit, I distinctly remember putting them in my purse. They had to have fallen out when I picked up the leash. This is no comfort while we wait 30 minutes in the lobby of one of the saddest places on earth, which sits right next to juvie. Spectacular view.
Fast-forward to this evening. I’m starting dinner and baby is apparently not sick enough to stay on the couch with a sleeping daddy. First she locks me in the garage when I go out to the freezer. Never fear, that’s why I keep a key out there. Then she picks today of all days to learn how to unlock and open the sliding glass door all by herself. So where’s my $45 dog?
I don’t know either.
At dinner last night, Rachael mentioned the large number of people who are pregnant right now. Between the two of us we mentioned no less than 10 people. So far, I can personally count two cousins, my best friend, my neighbor/friend, and at least two bloggers.
That’s a lot of baby showers. When I called to share my own big news my grandma thought I was going to tell her I was pregnant too. That, of course, would imply I was having sex.
Let’s play a counting game:
Number of Brownies in my Girl Scout troop: 24
Number of days “World Friendship Day” has appeared on our calendar: 171
Number of times I have reminded troop of said event: 5
Number of families who forgot anyway: 5
Number of hours I spent preparing for presentation: 4
Number of hours the girls spent learning about Zimbabwe: 1
Number of girls who remembered anything from our study: 1
Number of countries represented: 18
Number of girls who learned anything from the other 17 countries: 0
Number of hours event was supposed to last: 2.5
Number of hours event actually lasted: 3
Number of times I looked at the clock: 24396234
Number of Tylenol needed to surpress resulting headache: ??? (I’ll let you know when I get there!)
We’re learning to use the potty at Casa de Sokol. And by we, I mean her. What it is about toddlers that makes them have to strip completely to sit on the toilet? I could almost understand it this morning, as she was wearing feety pajamas. That pretty much has to come off altogether. What confused me was her insistence that the bracelet she insisted on donning only minutes before must come off in order for her bottom to attach itself to the potty.
Fast-forward a few minutes. No pee, but we must flush anyway. (By the way, honey, as this is a regular occurrence, you might want to prepare for an increase in our water bill!) Now it’s time to put on our diaper, but she’s a big girl now and big girls don’t lay down to get dressed. This would be much easier if we had moved onto pull-ups, but momma hit a big sale a few months ago and stocked on up size 5s. She’ll make due for another week or so.
As long as she’s already naked, might as well take the opportunity to get dressed:
Mommy: Time to get dressed, baby.
Brenia: No baby. Ben-a.
Mommy: Oh, sorry. Time to get dressed, Brenia.
Brenia: No, I ty.
Mommy: Fine. Here are your clothes.
Brenia: No. Dis one!
points to something else—anything else, just so long as I didn’t choose it.
Mommy: Okay, here.
Brenia: I ty!
Mommy: Yes, you try, baby.
Brenia: No! Ben-a.
Mommy: Okay, Brenia, you try.
Almost too-small shirt gets stuck on almost too-large head.
Brenia: Hope!
Mommy fits shirt over head, and proceeds to help with arms.
Brenia: No! I ty.
Shirt on. Next comes the pants.
Brenia: Hope!
Mommy sliding legs into pants.
Brenia: No! I ty.
Pants are successfully pulled up.
Mommy: Here’s your sweater, Brenia. (I’m a quick study!)
Brenia: I ty!
Mommy: Yes, of course.
Sweater successfully donned.
Brenia: Hope! Butt!
Mommy buttons sweater.
I haven’t tackled shoes and socks just yet, but imagine the scene above with lots of kicking. Lather, rinse, repeat daily until desired independence is reached.
Things I have found in the laundry this week:
- 3 new kids’ shirts stained beyond repair
- a Brownie Girl Scout SWAP pin
- a Daisy Girl Scout patch
- a whole pizza roll
- LEI jeans—a brand I have never worn—in a size I haven’t been for 10 years
I would know how old my Brenia is even if I didn’t know her birthday. Today, she opened the fridge and promptly fed the dog my lunch. Then after I fed her lunch, it was naptime. She hates naps.
She’s learned how to open doors now, so after I tuck her in, she’ll sneak up and open the door. I’m onto her games, though, so I was standing right there waiting for it. She just closed the door and cried. Clearly, she still needs those naps because I fell asleep right away.