The Diggingest Dog

Max the dog does everything with a sense of purpose. He walks everywhere like he's on a mission, he monitors the backyard like he's protecting us from the doves and squirrels, and he hunts. Hunts for moles and mice as if he's not sure when or where his next meal is coming. Even though he is fed twice a day like clock work.

Here is an example of Max on a hunt:


Usually these hunting excursions happen on walks or hikes or jaunts to the dog park. And usually he isn't successful. But sometimes he is, and it's always surprising and slightly disturbing when he pops his head up out of a hole that he has dug with a live beast in his mouth. One time he even caught a baby shark. But that is another story for another day.

Things were unusually quiet around our house this morning. The normal routine is Max wakes up and demands to be let out sometime between 5:30 and 5:45. This is to patrol the backyard to make sure the doves and squirrels are not planning some sort of coup. Then, he comes back inside sometime between 6:00 and 6:30 to make sure that we are getting up.

So, I get up at 6:30 to make coffee without a prompt from Dog. As I do so, I realize there is no Max lying beside the bed. No Max resting on his cozy chair. No Max to be found. Actually, I think to myself, I haven't heard Max bark at the doves and squirrels for quite some time. And then I look outside. His head buried in the ground, dirt flying, much like the above picture.

Noticing that the plant he's digging around is starting to fall victim to Max's one track mind of "Must. Get. Beast." I coerce him inside with the promise of food - hoping to distract him enough that he'll forget that he's on a mission to capture the beast beneath the surface. All is well and good, except that I forgot to close all doors to the outside world. He escaped back outside to complete his mission.

The plant used to look like this:


Now it looks like this:


Max didn't capture the beast, and now we have to buy a new plant. But at least he's happy.

Offically 3rd Trimester

This past weekend I "officially" became a 3rd trimester mom-to-be. I can't begin to describe how thrilled this makes me. While it's true that I haven't had a difficult pregnancy (yet... knock on wood), there is a lot of fear and uncertainty that comes with the excitement and anticipation of pregnancy. So with each milestone, I breathe a sigh of relief.

But for all of the fear and uncertainty, I love being pregnant. I adore it every second of every day. True, there are some inconveniences associated with being knocked up: I can't drink alcohol, I am forced to side sleeping, I have heartburn, etc., but these are all incredibly minor things that I am more than happy to "suffer" through for all the joys that come with being pregnant. And I truly do not mind that I'm getting fatter with each passing second. I am approaching whale status and couldn't care less.

I am sure that I will look back on this next statement sometime over the next three months and cringe, laugh or tell myself I was a naive fool, but I really wouldn't mind being pregnant forever. That is how much I love being pregnant.

Funny story: This past Saturday, I stopped by Safeway to buy a 6-pack of O'Douls. Fake beer. I am a mid-30s, married, 6+ months pregnant lady, and it was 90 degrees outside. I get to the check out line and am asked for my ID. "You do realize this is non-alcoholic beer," I say. "I don't care, the computer is asking for your ID," she says. Um, okay, as I happily hand over my driver's license. I was clearly born long before this young thang, and she immediately realized it the second she looked at my birth date. "Uh, thank you, Mrs. P. Have a good day," she says sheepishly as she hands me back my ID. And I happily float/waddle/sloth my way out of the store.

But I suppose it's a bit of a compliment to be mistaken for Juno when you're in your mid-30s, married, 6+ months pregnant and it's 90 degrees outside. I haven't been carded in about 5 years, and let me tell you that I looked about 10 years younger then than I do now.

The Friday Five

My (current) five favorite baby things. Bet you can't guess I like the color green:
(and my apologies in advance for the kindergarten quality of the photos. We're upgrading the digital in two weeks)


the rocking chair (really? who knew)


turtle booties


mod circle stroller blanket


a teeny weeny little outfit


itty bitty socks

The excitement of things to come...

It should come as no surprise to me that I am starting to find myself in massive nesting mode, in anticipation of the arrival of Baby P. And it should come as no surprise to me that I'm loving every minute of it, given that I've wanted nothing more than to be a mom for longer than I can remember. But somehow, I'm a little surprised.

The latest fixation I've had in my full-on nesting mode is to locate and purchase a rocking chair for the nursery. Some people say it's a gigantic waste of money, others tell me it's a lifesaver and I will often find myself sleeping many a night (I mean, hour or so between feedings) in that chair. I choose to side with those who tell me it's a necessity. I mean, hello. This is an opportunity to buy something after all.

So off we trot to our favorite "hidden" furniture store to buy a massive dresser and massive armoire for our bedroom, that will hopefully fit all of the clothes and miscellany that currently reside in the closet of what is soon to be baby monkey's room. And, of course, we have rocking chair on the list of items to search for and hopefully purchase. I, of course, have already decided that the rockers at Pottery Barn and Land of Nod are "it" for me, but the husband half of this union is not altogether too happy with the respective price tags of said chairs.

Well, we found a chair we loved (and, to the husband's credit, for a lesser price than PBK or Land of Nod). But even better, we found a fabric that was perfect for us. You see, we tend toward very bland (er, neutral), simple pieces of furniture in our home, so one would think that we would be the first people to stand in line for a beige-colored, twill-covered rocker. But, this is not one of those times. The fabric we liked was green (!) with a pattern (!). Alas, the rocker we liked did not come stocked in that fabric. The nice people at our favorite "hidden" furniture store were going to see if it could be done: that rocker in that fabric.

Bless them. They succeeded. And then I got the price... well over $1,000. Gulp. Double gulp. Apparently the fabric we liked was a "premium" fabric, which means "premium" price tag. And the rocker is, therefore, immediately stricken from the list options. "No way, Jose" the husband said. Poor, sad me. I had convinced myself that this was the rocker of my dreams. I imagined myself sitting in it, rocking my newborn to a peaceful night (I mean hour) of sleep.

But I can be quite determined when I want to be, so off I went on a multi-hour, multi-day search into the vast and varied world of the Internet for a rocker in that fabric that would come in on, or under, budget.

Bless the Internet. I found it. Well, not the chair, but a pretty darned comfortable looking chair, and I could order it in the fabric. At no additional fee for "premium" fabric. And at a place that offered free shipping. (And anyone who has shopped online for furniture will tell you, shipping costs are not what one would consider to be cheap.) So I placed my order. I received confirmation of my order. I am told my chair will arrive in "approximately 6-8 weeks" from date of order. That was last Tuesday.

Yesterday (Wednesday. One week and less than one day after placing my order), I receive a phone call from a delivery guy telling me that he's going to be at my house in 20 minutes with my chair. I can not even begin to tell you how excited (and stunned) I was to receive this phone call. I mean, I'm not expecting the thing until mid-May! Not that I'm complaining at the speed or efficiency of the company from which I ordered my chair. No way. Never.

So my chair is perfect, if not ever so slightly on the "minty" green side of things. But it's perfect nontheless. Comfortable, quiet and safely waiting in what will be baby monkey's room in about 13 weeks:


And here is a close-up of the fabric:


So, I am happy once again.

The End.

Chug a Lug, Pooh Bear

One of the important tasks I have assigned myself is to drink the recommended daily amount of water for humans. So, 64 oz (or 8, 8oz glasses) a day. For pregnant women, it is recommend (by "them") that we drink upwards of 12 glasses a day for optimum health of mom and baby. That is 96 oz or 3 full liters for those of you who are as math challenged as I am.

I think that is a lot of water, but people who have gone before me in childbirth and baby rearing say that's nothing compared to the amount of fluid one has to consume when breastfeeding. I tend to imagine a water buffalo when I think about the amount of water I will be attempting to drink in a few months. Although I'm not exactly sure what a water buffalo is, other than Chevy Chase made reference to one in a scene from every guy's top 10 movie, Fletch.

So, as part of my aforementioned commitment to guzzling water, I made a pledge to my Nalgene bottle that we would become better acquainted since I really needed to step up my intake from a paltry 32-40 oz. I have had my Nalgene bottle for more than 4 years and have used it heavily as a source of fluid intake. It has been a great thing, you see, because it holds a full liter of water in its pretty blue vessel. And that is something that a lazy water drinker needs: a whole lotta water staring you in the face with no excuse not to drink. Not only that, but the Nalgene bottle is a fabulous thing for the environment: I am not contributing 5 single-use bottles to the recycling bin (and possibly trash heaps) every day. The amount of waste these single-use bottles create and the negative impact they have on our planet is too disturbing for me to think about.

I have been doing so well with my water drinking mission, consuming 3 Nalgene bottles full of water a day (and I won't go into the details of what goes in, must come out...). All until yesterday when I was watching the Today show while eating my breakfast and they did a segment about how horrible it is for people, especially women of child bearing age, especially women who are already pregnant, to drink from these bottles. What?!

Apparently, consuming things from plastics that have a 7 in the triangle can leach harmful toxins into your system which can cause brain damage in unborn babies. Especially if the bottles are old, and you regularly run them through he dishwasher, because the high heat of the dishwasher does some very bad thing to the chemical composition. Well, hello, I drink from the dang vessel every day. I would hope that I am washing it in the dishwasher regularly.

Now, I'm no scientist and I admit to not doing a ton of research into the actual amount one would have to consume from said tainted Nalgene bottle, but I do know that I am 6 months pregnant and am heavily into mother hen nesting mode and even the remote possibility that I could be causing harm to my precious baby (when I'm trying to do the right thing by my precious baby, mind you) is just too unthinkable for this irrational mother to be.

I have immediately ceased my water drinking ways from my trusty old blue vessel and have had to resort to plain ol' glass from which to drink water. Not a bad thing, but it only holds 12oz of water. That equals 8 trips to the Brita every day, and I've already told you I'm a lazy water drinker. So I have come up with a brilliant solution, which is set to arrive at my doorstep in approximately 10 days:


Do you hear the angels singing? Hallelujah for Sigg! Not only will I continue to do right by Mother Earth but also by my baby's developing brain! And the best part is that it is still blue and still holds a full liter of water. Hooray for me!