M&M&M's.

Our daughter's newest and likeliest obsession is peanut M&M's. I have NO idea where this came from. Each morning for the last week we have woken up, had a little chat, changed a diaper and walked to the living room, where the subject inevitably comes to light.

"Mommy, Eh-muh-ne-muh-ne-mahs." Being what feels like 48 weeks pregnant I should have an ample supply of these in the house, but I somehow have resisted stopping in the candy aisle of Vons for several weeks now. I tell that sad, sorry little disappointed girl that M&M's are not for breakfast, contrary to any tantrums (or, probably just a sweet little girl being nothing more than adorable) her dad might have caved into at the car wash the previous weekend. As that is never an acceptable answer, she goes to the other adult in the house and pleads her argument once again, hoping that he'll be at least conscious and able to understand her run-on sentence that can only be translated once she hits the word - Eh-muh-ne-muh-ne-muh. She's learned since her introduction to them that you really cannot hoard them away in your hand - the rule would ring true when her fist would unclench and have a blue-orange melt mark staring at her. Since then, she's mastered the art of popping two or even three in her cheeks to store and melt away until she's got room to chew. All the pleas in my arsenal cannot stop her from chipmunking multiple peanut M&M's. We've been taught to ration.

There's something that you have to understand. These are a staple in my parent's household. It's inevitable that if you go into the refrigerator in the bar to pull out a bottle of water, a soda, a beer, your hand will dump itself into the Costco-sized bag of peanut M&M's and grab enough to sustain you through that drink. There are also concessions for whether you're feelin' lucky, punk, because only the wiliest of sneaky people can get away with bringing those magical little pods within a thirty foot radius of a set of toddler's eyes. And most of the time there are at least four sets of eyes on "what is in your hand?" watch at their house. Grandchildren abound, those candies turn the average Joe into Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny and the favorite aunt in one fell swoop. It's like crack for two year olds and let's face it, pregnant thirty somethings as well. As the resident bad influence in the family, I am usually more than happy to oblige all four sets of blue eyes, and the one special set of hazel ones, with a few left over for myself.

My family will be coming to town here in about a week and a half. And if you think the XL Bag of these daddies aren't making their way into the house you're just wasting your time believing I'm a good, decent, health conscious person. The door to Willy Wonka's world got cracked open a while ago, and it'd be blasphemous NOT to have them here when my dad walked through the door. Let's just hope we can talk Allison out of making them her breakfast cereal.

Getting By.

In the last few weeks I've grown accustomed to getting through my day on a limited amount of sleep. Tonight's attempt rendered a solid two hours before waking up to achy, numb arms AND legs. Walking around the house helps, but as soon as I lay down to try and join the rest of the troops in slumber, the feeling - or lack thereof - shows up again. I do not recall this happening as frequently being pregnant the first time around. I remember waking up around three every morning and not being able to fall back asleep, which also happens a lot now a days. But that was from a racing mind, or a bladder that needed to empty itself three times. This is something new. And I'm going to go ahead and factor in age, the heat, my two plus hour cleaning spree today, and tending to and playing with a two year old all day.

I'm pretty sure I can also blame the fact that I slept entirely too well on Friday and Saturday night, and so, to make sure my mood is thoroughly grumpy tomorrow, well.... Three o'clock and all is well.

Eva is a particularly bouncy little womb-dweller these days. She seems to have no regard for time of day, and when the mood strikes her, she does what can only be compared to a break-dance hip hop Bollywood routine in utero. In about eighteen years I anticipate she'll be on the latest version of So You Think You Can Dance. I would like to think her rolling and kicking is an affirmation of love and adoration from my little girl to her mommy, and that somehow, even when I'm quietly thinking of her, she can feel my thoughts, and in her own way is giving me a love nudge. I just wish that her movements didn't sometimes have to result in settling herself on the nerves that control the feeling in my limbs.

I think that for the most part, in this very moment of sleeplessness, it's safe to say I'm reconsidering the idea of going through this once more. Had I remembered the discomfort and fatigue of the third trimester from the first time around better, Eva might not even have been a thought on my mind. I'll say right now that I know she's worth every waking moment I'm going through, and I know I'll live to see another day. Just imagining the first time being able to see her is enough to make my night fly by with relative ease. So I'll get by tonight, and hopefully my little family will be able to get by with me tomorrow. :)

Put That One In The Books

It's July. Thank God. I think I'm going to find it hard to look back on this last month with any sort of fondness at all. When there's a two year old in the house who can't seem to sleep, eat, or be happy, time stands still during the day, and runs out too quickly in the night. You calculate when the last dose of Tylenol was, and see if she'll be able to handle a bit more than usual cough medication, to get her a much needed long sleep. You wake up three times a night to a sobbing, weak voice calling for you to hold her, and the need to tend to your self, your sleep, your bladder, your illness, ceases. You go to work every day, riddled with guilt, pumped full of daytime medication, hoping you can make it through with enough energy for the go-round that awaits you at home. You pray to just be able to give her water without it coming back up, leaving her for even a moment becomes physically and emotionally impossible. You pick her tired limp body up and carry her to the bathroom, and sit in front of the toilet bowl, waiting for her body to lunge. Waiting for her pleading cries to make it stop. Waiting for your heart to break for her all over again.

Thank you July, for showing up right when you did. We promise to try and enjoy the rest of the summer as much as we can. We'll play in the water table, and pick vegetables from our garden when the sun goes down. We'll take early morning walks before it gets too hot on the weekends, and go look at pretty shiny classic cars on Saturdays, because for her, the cartoon ones are nothing compared to the real deal. We'll play in the sprinklers and eat ice cream and popsicles and watch Daddy barbecue hamburgers and hot dogs for dinner. And we'll sleep. We'll put Sleeping Beauty to shame.