more photos...

pics of baby...more to come...thank you josh :)

he knows...

Two days ago, Ben threw his smoothie into the baby bassinet and clapped for himself. When I told him "No," he threw his blocks on the floor, screamed, and then kissed me on the mouth.

He sits in his old bouncy seat nearly every day, and he's been trying to climb into the bassinet, despite the consequence of a time out. When I read him his "I'm a Big Brother" book, he turns the pages quickly so the story is over, then hits the book so that it falls onto the floor. He still loves the alphabet book, except for the letter "B," which features a photograph of a baby. "B is for baby," I tell him. He turns the page.

Many people, people who must have forgotten what it was like or who had more mild-mannered children, tell me that Ben will love being a big brother, that he will share and coddle the new addition. These are the people who didn't tell me how painful breastfeeding is or how desperately tired I would be when I had Benjamin, people who only remember the good and who are in denial about the bad.

"No he won't," I want to tell them, but they look so hopeful and happy. I don't want to ruin it. So instead I say, "I hope so." And I do. I really do.

But I'm not counting on it.

to elliott

Hi Elliott,
This post is for you. I want to tell you a little bit about your older brother. Benjamin has already slept in your bassinet and bounced in your seat. He's the first kid, and I have a feeling he's going to find a way of constantly letting you know this. Which is why I haven't put up your swing yet. Because Benjamin will think it is for him. Because everything is for him.

No matter how many times I point at my stomach and say, look there's a baby in there, Benjamin just really doesn't seem to care. I want so badly for you two to be friends and get along. I know you will fight, but I want you to love each other and share things. This doesn't seem to happen often in families. It didn't happen in my family. But maybe I can make things better.

I don't think anyone would have children if they didn't think they could make things better. It's probably a foolish thing to try and do, but at least I'm not alone.

why i love redlands...

Where else do you get to see a Mormon missionary popping a wheelie on a bicycle as you drive home from the grocery store?

my sweet boys

sally's shower--look how good a hostess i am (as long as i have a knife)

benjamin in january--note the creepy, discount animals

the last six weeks

I'm so tired of being pregnant. I tripped and fell in Barnes and Noble this morning, and I'm pretty sure I broke my toe. I'm hugely fat. Everything hurts.

ben's teeth

We took Ben to the dentist this week. We already knew that two of his bottom teeth were fused together. However, we now know that although he is supposed to have four bottom teeth, he has three, two that are fused together and one really big tooth. This comes from my side of the family. Ben, you don't look like me. But you got my teeth. Hey, maybe you'll get my eyesight, too. You're very welcome.

dustbuster 15.6

That's right; 15.6 volts, baby. And those volts have changed my life. Is that sad?

stupid stupidhead

I went to target this morning for some cleaning supplies. Granted, I looked like I was crazy. I'm nearly 7 months pregnant, I had a camoflouge handkerchief on my head and I was wearing workout clothes. Benjamin also looked a little crazy. He has a rash on his mouth due to the weather, a runny nose, and he was clutching an elephant in one hand, a cup of water in the other. Okay, I'll give the stupid asshole at Target that much. So anyway, after buying the supplies, I drifted over to the home improvement section and saw giant wooden letters. They had B (the last one!). They had E. They had N. I've been trying to figure out how to make Ben's room special without overdoing it to the point of freaking him out, and thought that I could spell his name out in letters on his wall. Special, but not too special. Ben immediately ditched the elephant and the cup to clutch the oversized letters because he loves letters with all of his heart.

We pulled to the front of the store, and I got out my checkbook because I lost my debit card. As I was filling out the check, I remembered that my I.D. was in the car. "You need my I.D., don't you?" I asked the checker, an eighteen-year old douche bag.

"Depends," he muttered. He ran my check through the machine. The machine told him I was white trash, apparently. "I need your I.D." he stated.

I offered to leave everything with him, my checkbook, my purse, my keys, etc. if he would only let me take my son and the letters our to the parking lot. Didn't he know what happens if you take letters out of Benjamin's hands? Didn't he know?

"You've gotta leave the letters," he told me, completely unsympathetic. He handed me back my check with a smirk. "Just in case you don't come back." That little bastard.

Fuck, I thought. I tried to explain to Benjamin as I ripped the letters from his hands. He twisted and screamed with rage. The entire store turned and stared at me, this crazy white trash lady and her screaming snot-nosed little kid.

As I struggled to get Ben out to the car to get the I.D.

I could feel eyes on me from all directions and I felt huge and ridiculous and angry and I pulled a muscle in my side.

When I returned, I flicked the I.D. onto his cash register. I was a real bitch.

He didn't think it was real or something, and took it out of the clear plastic.

"Thanks," I muttered as he handed me the receipt.

"You're welcome," he icily returned.

I might've been pregnant and my son might have been screaming, but I have never wanted to punch a little teenybopper in the face so hard in my life.

When I got in the car, I started crying.

I want my check card back.