"Personal" conversations

I miss my office (but not the work). I am back to prairie dogging, aka cube you know what. As such, any personal conversations can be heard by all your co-workers. Luckily, they do have a small conference room for you to use to make those phone calls you really don't want to hear, eg the call to your gynecologist to schedule your yearly lube and boob aka pap smear or whatever it is you guys have done.

Unfortunately, not all phone calls can be taken in the conference room. This included a phone call from B.

5 PM: Cell phone vibrates

B: What time are you heading out?
Me: I'm actually shutting down right now.
Conversation ensues while I am cleaning my desk and walking to the kitchen to clean my coffee cup out. He mentions that he has steaks thawing for dinner, is on his way to play raquetball, and would I start the baked potatoes when I get home.

No problem. I also tell him Sunday's plans are canceled and basically tell him I'll talk to him when I get home. The conversation lingers. I'm back to my cube and I can't take it anymore.

I blurt out, "Baby, I'm going to have to let you go because I really have to go to the bathroom and I don't want to take you in there with me."

The two co-workers that were left sitting around me for the day busted out laughing at my expense. Sorry you had to hear that guys, but hey, when ya gotta go, you gotta go--especially when you are pregnant.

Loving two

This was posted on a message board that I frequent, and I couldn't read it all the way through without getting misty-eyed. The only change has been to change the 2 year old to 3 year old, which is my & M's case.

Loving Two

I walk along holding your 3-year-old hand,
basking in the glow of our magical relationship.
Suddenly I feel a kick from within,
as if to remind me that our time alone is limited.
And I wonder: How could I ever love another child as I love you?
Then he is born, and I watch you.

I watch the pain you feel at having to share me
as you've never shared me before.
I hear you telling me in your own way,
"Please love only me."
And I hear myself telling you in mine,
"I can't," knowing, in fact, that I never can again.
You cry. I cry with you.

I almost see our new baby as an intruder
on the precious relationship we once shared.
A relationship we can never quite have again.
But then, barely noticing,
I find myself attached to that new being,
and feeling almost guilty.
I'm afraid to let you see me enjoying him -- as though I am betraying you.
But then I notice your resentment change,
first to curiosity,
then to protectiveness,
finally to genuine affection.
More days pass,
and we are settling into a new routine.

The memory of days with just the two of us is fading fast.
But something else is replacing those wonderful times we shared, just we two.
There are new times -- only now, we are three.
I watch the love between you grow,
the way you look at each other, touch each other.
I watch how he adores you -- as I have for so long.
I see how excited you are by each of his new accomplishments.
And I begin to realize that I haven't taken something from you,
I've given something to you.

I notice that I am no longer afraid to share my love openly with both of you.
I find that my love for each of you is as different as you are, but equally strong.
And my question is finally answered, to my amazement.
Yes, I can love another child as much as I love you -- only differently.
And although I realize that you may have to share my time,
I now know you'll never share my love.
There's enough of that for both of you -- you each have your own supply.
I love you -- both. And I thank you both for blessing my life.


Author Unknown

Taggin'

Last weekend, I bought a stretchy shirt in a size larger than what I would normally wear. I did this because (1) it will stretch and allow for room when I get bigger (still not really showing with this pregnancy), and (2) since M was a winter baby, I really don't have any summer maternity shirts and I needed a summer shirt that would accomodate my belly as the pregnancy progressed. I wore the shirt last weekend with no problems. Of course it has been washed and has shrunk a little (no big issue there because it was large last weekend).

I wore the shirt today to work, because it's one that can be casual or dressy depending on pants, etc. Well now the blasted tag is doing the I wanna pop out thing. I'll tuck it in and then someone points out it is sticking out. I guess if that is the least of my worries today then I'm doing good, but it's sure driving me nuts. It has been an ongiong battle already this morning and the day isn't nearly half over yet.


Of course, now I'm thinking, I wonder why I even wore this shirt today.

TGIF and is it five yet?

Bad mommy

As parents, we are supposed to be the adults in the situation, but there are times when we are just pushed to our limit and even we don't act like the adults we are supposed to be. I am guilty of stooping to that level this morning. M was just in a mood and was doing everything he could to push my buttons. By the time I had dropped him off at my mother's and after his temper tantrum there, I lost it. I quickly kissed him good-bye, sent him over to my mother who was sitting outside, and slammed the car door and left.

Now that I am here at work and have had time to calm down a little, I feel so guilty. The guilt is just overwhelming. I know we all do this as parents at times, but it doesn't make it any easier to swallow the humble pie, does it? So, if you are reading this. go hug your kid for me and let your child know that you love him or her. Saying you are sorry and telling your child over the phone that you love him just isn't the same as doing it in person.

I'm changing my name

Yes, you read that right. I'm changing my name because M is on a "Momma" kick tonight.

Scene: M is lying on the floor next to the computer chair going back and forth between saying "Aieee Aiieee Aiee" (Think Ozzy Osbourne's Crazy Train here which B just download to his cell phone for use as his new ringtone) and burying himself under his Snoopy blanket and repeating "Momma...momma...momma...momma."

This is in spite of my asking him what he needs and his laughing at me.

I think I'm off for Tylenol and hopefully pleasant dreams.

Anyone want to assist with a new name?