On the clock

Well, I find myself in totally unfamiliar territory. Today is my due date and there is not even really a hint of any labor going on. I thought that second babies were supposed to slip out all easy-peasy early?

Marlo was obliging enough to be born at 9:32 on the morning she was expected. Quite prompt, that one. Now her little sister is unwittingly - or worse, contrarily - positioning herself as the anti-Marlo.  The one with her own schedule and plan of action. This is not winning her any points in the favorite child sweepstakes, that's for sure.

I guess it's not the worst thing that could happen, getting an extra day or two. This afternoon I managed to make an extra dinner for later this week. I never quite got around to the whole batch-cooking-freezer-meals plan that I eyeballed in my eighth month, but I probably could have told you that was never going to happen even as I was saying I was going to do it and setting up the Pinterest board. That is just too far a stretch of organizational skills for me.

Hopefully the next time I see you I have a baby and raging out of control post-partum hormones.

Smug never pays

Remember yesterday, when I was all smug about solving my dog problem? Yeah, about that.

I knew there was something wrong the way that my husband wasn't getting out of the car. And then when he finally did get out of the car, he just paced around the driveway, still on the phone. And then I heard his mom's voice. My initial thought was that Rocco had been hit by a car, because my in-laws live on a fairly busy street and they had voiced that concern several times. But it turned out to be cancer. Apparently the poor dog is riddled with it. Something burst and they didn't expect him to make it through the night. My mother in law was apologizing to us, for some reason. They've had the dog for three weeks.

He did manage to make it through the night, and even was in full-body-wag mode when it was time to go home. The good news is that the SEVEN THOUSAND dollar surgery will not save him, and there is no expensive chemo option for us to politely and ashamedly decline. He's just going to be an old dog with cancer, until suddenly he's not anymore. My in-laws have graciously promised to provide hospice care for as long as it lasts.

Anyway, weird that I finally posted about this just yesterday as it was all going down. I went through a lot of emotions last night, mostly ones that can probably be blamed on being overly hormonal at the moment, worrying about the dog dying in cold metal veterinary cage wondering why I had abandoned him. But by the light of day, and considering that he is by all accounts acting like nothing happened, I am back to feeling like this is the best possible situation for everybody. Except I guess for my in-laws, who have to deal with the reality of my ticking time bomb cancer dog dying on them at any moment.

Except I'm pretty sure Oprah hates cats

Well, I solved my dog problem. We took him along when we went to visit my in-laws in New Hampshire last month and we left him there. Ta-da! No more dog and no blood on my hands. And believe me, it was coming to that. He had taken to peeing on my side of the bed at least once a week. I think it was some sort of territory/claiming me as "bitch" battle between him and one of the cats. There was no keeping him out of the bedroom. I tried locking the door and he just bloodied himself opening it. I tried locking him in the garage and he bloodied himself trying to open that door, too. We were coming home to a crime scene any time we left the house. It was really an untenable situation.

Everybody seems pretty happy about the new arrangement. Marlo has accepted as fact our story that Grammie and Grandpa were very lonely and Rocco stayed to keep them company. Grammie and Grandpa will benefit from having a dog around, and Rocco should be very happy being the sole focus of attention. Win-win-win situation, if you ask me. Of course, no sooner had we solved the dog problem than we developed a cat pee problem, so our house is not free from pet disaster. But free from dog problems, which quite frankly is good enough for me. I'm slowly beginning to accept the fact that I don't especially like dogs and am going to end up a crazy cat lady. One step closer to my true self.

Oprah would be so proud.

Various confessions

I did make the cupcakes and I did fill them, and they were fantastic. Then I made three dozen more cupcakes for Marlo's second birthday party of the week. These ones I did not fill.  Strange, but it turned out that three dozen was overkill for 10 children and their non-pregnant parent escorts. So now I have about six frozen unfrosted cupcakes, six frosted cupcakes in the fridge waiting to be eaten when the mood strikes me, and three unfrosted cupcakes sitting on the counter waiting to either become frozen or eaten cupcakes.

Oh, and did I also mention the strawberry roll cake, or the half of it that is left, also in the fridge?

My glucose test is a week from today.

Want to know two things about me that will make you feel like you are a better person than I am?

1.    I am dreading having to breastfeed this new baby
2.    I want to get rid of my 13 year old dog.

There! Enjoy judging me.

browser history: sugar detox

I've reached the non-stop sugar craving portion of my pregnancy, the one I distinctly remember from last time. It's right on time - roughly a month before I have to take the blood glucose test. I remember the last time being scared to death I was going to fail the test because I had basically taken to eating my meals from a hummingbird feeder.

Last weekend I baked my grandmother's devils food cake, which is made extra-devily with the addition of Crisco based frosting. It sounds disgusting but it's the best thing possible. The other best part? You use regular sugar, so you have just the teensy-est sugar crunch to every bite. We ate the whole thing in under a week.

For my encore, Sunday morning I decided to make the lemon icebox pie from the cover of the most recent Cook's Country magazine. THAT is one delicious pie. It is Tuesday morning and we have a quarter of it left. A quarter! I gave a quarter to my sister, but other than that it's been all me. Now I'm trying to decide if I make another lemon pie when this one is finished, or if I branch out to try another type of pie. The only requirement is that it includes whipped cream and a graham cracker crust.

 I've actually been experiencing a little right upper quadrant pain since last night, so maybe I blew out my gallbladder? It's entirely possible. I can honestly say I wouldn't be surprised. My diet has been very butterliscious lately.

Marlo's birthday is next Monday, and she has requested that I make cupcakes out of my grandmother's cake recipe. That is all well and good, but the success of the cake depends on cutting the layers in half and having a healthy dose of frosting throughout. This is antithetical to cupcakery. Am I going to have to try and fill them, like they are Hostess cupcakes? I think the answer is a resounding yes. This is going to be intense.

Marsha, marsha, marsha

It's a girl! Another sweet baby girl. I can continue life without confronting my phobia of baby penises.

I had actually gotten myself psyched up enough to be ready for blue frosting that I had a tinge of disappointment. I had found a place where I could be excited for a boy and all the "different" that would bring. People with boys seem to like them okay, most of the time.

There are already those who tell me I can try for a boy the next time. The next time! Who suggests such a thing to a woman who is only halfway done with a pregnancy? Who is only a few weeks removed from misery on either end? Crazy people, that's who. My own husband even. I like how this baby is getting skipped over already, is not even the middle child yet but is getting treated like it. She's not even done growing toenails and we've moved on to her hypothetical baby brother. I haven't ruled it out, yet. I'm getting too old for our current childbearing pace, however, and would have to work the turnaround a little quicker next time. We'll see. I know plenty of people who declared they were going to have a million kids and then got themselves spayed and neutered after the second one was born.

I took some pictures of the big cupcake biting-into, but the light was bad and the pink didn't really show up and I haven't upgraded to Mountain Lion so my iPhoto is all screwy, etc. My super-sweet girlfriend responded to the picture I sent with the text "looks like a big pink gash," so there's a visual for you at least.

At least they're not cake pops

I've really enjoyed Beyonce-ing this pregnancy. It is much more fun to up and show up with a baby bump than to make a grand announcement and try to smile all demurely like the Virgin Mary or something. I guess, minus side, people tend to feel like they are inconsequential and get all hurt insides-feeling about it. I guess maybe it is my small act of rebellion against the culture of over-sharing in which I normally am an active participant. And whatever, I act like I kept quiet but I didn't, really. I still made the facebook announcement. But I sure as shit did not do so with the cutesy picture of me and a jar of spaghetti sauce. Prego has always been my least favorite word, anyways. 

Let's see, what else, how else can I try to offend people who possess a genuine interest in my life. I have my big 20 week ultrasound tomorrow. We're having the gender written down and I'm having cupcakes (YEAH, I SAID CUPCAKES, LAYNE) made with the appropriate pink or blue filling. That way we can be surprised together as a family at Mo's birthday dinner tomorrow evening. He didn't want the responsibility of having an appropriate reaction cutting into a cake, so we decided to let everyone focus on their own little cake. I'm excited yet terrified it's going to be blue. But then. At least blue means I get a whole bunch of new stuff. Because what is the point of having babies besides getting stuff, right? 

Speaking of gender, I have noticed an outcropping of people who feel the need to say, "we will be finding out the SEX of the baby. We will find out his or her gender when he or she identifies as one or the other." I want to make jerk-off hand motions at these people. And sometimes do.