Thursday, January 29, 2009

And Now the Battle of the Hormones is Finally Tied

When I married a man that had five brothers I didn't ever expect to have a daughter.  I gave up frivolous notions of tea parties and things covered in pink tulle; I was just going to have to be happy with a house full 'O penises.  And then I got pregnant with Elsbeth.  

I was so confident that she was going to be a boy that I went as far as buying some little boy clothes and only making notations in the boy section of the name book I bought.  Then came the day when I went in for that enlightening ultrasound and discovered that mine would not be the only va jay jay  and set of bobbies in our house any more.  

I was so completely shocked that at first I was a little upset as was Jeremy when I told him.  At which point I yelled at his sperm for making that decision.  And then.  Then I allowed myself to explore the endless girly possibilities that having a daughter meant.  Stars began to fill my field of vision as did tiny toe headed girls in ballerina outfits begging me to paint their toe nails.

I immediately began stocking up on just about everything ever made in pink.  I even did eBay searches that were as simple as "vintage pink".  And you'd be amazed at some of the things you can find with a general search like that.  Granted you may be 1,000 pages in and your eyes may be bleeding before you find anything worthwhile.  I figured this was my one and only shot at a girl so I'd better make it good.  And just let me tell you, she is ALL girl.  There was no forcing it upon her like I had imagined.  This child loves shoes more than I used to and could spend the better part of Sesame Street twirling around in a tutu while singing a song about unicorns.
The man who at first was nervous about having a daughter because he frankly just wasn't used to little girls is now wrapped so tightly around her little finger that he might just snap from sheer bliss.

Now I'm on pregnancy number two, and if the way I feel and the way this baby moves is any indication of what sex it will be this one is the opposite of what it was with Elsbeth.  So, once again I prepared for a son.  I gave away my pink stroller for Pete's sake!  Why I do this to myself, I just don't know.  But on our visit to the ultrasound technician, I was surprised once again at the lack of wiener on the screen.  One thing this baby did do like her sister was to ever so graciously give us a nice shot at all her parts as if to declare, read it and weep boys, read it and weep.  Well, Ellie, I said, I guess we'll have to start saving for college AND weddings.  

But this time, as with last time, after the initial shock wears off, I'm thrilled as is Jeremy.  I have more fun with Elsbeth than I could have ever imagined and I can't comprehend how much more fun it will be with another one in the house.  I always wanted a sister and now my daughter will have that chance.  I just hope this one likes pink as much as her sister does.

I don't know much about ultrasound pictures, but if you can tell anything about what a person will look like by the picture, then this girl is going to look exactly like her sister.  Who knows?  To any parents who read this blog, what do you think?  Was the ultrasound picture good indicator of what your child looked like and if you have more than one child, did their pictures look alike?

Here is Elsbeth at 20 weeks:

Here is Baby Girl #2 at 22 weeks:

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Hello Blogosphere, Yes I still Exist

Now that the chaos of the holidays have passed (which involved numerous rounds of sordid and sundry viruses tearing through this house affecting people like the plague), and the thrill of the inauguration is over, and I have finally stopped travelling for my other top secret job; I have taken a moment of respite to share with you an observation I recently made.

As I mentioned before when we moved here we decided not to get cable for various reasons but we did decide to keep our Netflix account open.  Because to remove movies from my life would be tantamount to taking a pee on the constitution right in front of Thomas Jefferson.  Yes, I love them THAT much.  But not just any movies.  I am quite picky about my selection which is one of the reasons I love Nexflix.  I can find the most obscure and amazing low budget, independent film and pair it with a documentary about kids competing in a spelling bee, have some pizza and beer (ah, those were the days, beer....MMMMMM) and call it a night of magic.  Meanwhile, my Husband sits by suffering through most of my selection lamenting how everything I pick out is SOOOOO DEPRESSING and EVERYONE'S ALWAYS ON DRUGS, UGHHHHHHHH.  He would rather be sodomized with pruning shears than sit through another of my marathon indie sessions.  

Normally I humor him and put one of his picks in the queue every three films or so.  It's just that as much as he hates my selections, I hate his even more.  Granted, there are the rare exceptions that I'll enjoy, Band of Brothers comes to mind.  But otherwise I normally fall asleep to the sound of some big name star narrowly escaping an explosion of some grand scale in a stolen sports car with some hot damsel in distress hanging on for dear life.  Not my idea of titillating, but only fair right?

I've been away on business trips on and off for the better part of this month and so I have not been here to lord over the Netflix queue slipping Jeremy's selections discreetly to the bottom of the list.  I opened our account up this morning to see what we had coming and chocked on my own laughter because I realized that while I had been away he must have been having one hell of a time compiling his dream list of whatever the opposite of a "chick flick" is.  I will hand it to him though, about five down on the queue, there appear to be some selections that perhaps were chosen with me in mind.  Aww, who loves me?

Here is a sampling of his selection:
Harold and Kumar Escape From Guantanamo Bay (and he says MY movies involve people on drugs!)
Two Days in The Valley (I actually think I might like that one)
The Good the Bad and the Ugly
WAY too many episodes of Battlestar Galactica (I TOLD you he was Dwight Schrute)
And the list goes on.

Nevertheless, it's good to be home. I can put this planet of domestic bliss back on it's proper axis and get it back into orbit.  That all starts with the kitchen sink, and the pile of yuckiness that has been accumulating since my absence.