Dinosaurs in the Trees

The other night, C and I were pulling into the lake house for the weekend when she said, "Mommy, shhhhhh."

Me: (whispering) What is it?

C: It's a dinosaur.

Me: Wow! Where is it?

C: It's in the trees. Don't worry. It's hiding.

Her imagination is in full swing these days and I am loving it. She lives in a magical world where everything talks and everything is real. 

While I cooked dinner the other night, I overheard her playing in the living room and walked in to find her enacting a scene with finger puppets. She had a princess puppet upside down in a rhythm instrument saying "help me, help me!" Then, the knight (which she calls a "prince") said, "to the rescue!" and got her out. Then, they kissed. 

Sometimes, her imagination is too close to reality. Today, while playing in her baby pool on the deck, she said, "look, Mommy, a mouse!" I freaked out and ran over to see what she was talking about. I asked her where it was and she pointed in the pool and said, "right there. See? It's swimming."

She often reads books to her stuffed animals; her babies cry and need bottles; her trains get encouragement as they crest the mountain ("Great job! You did it!"). Everyone dances. Everything has feelings. Everyone has a name (thought most of them are Catherine). 

I get to live in a special world these days.

The Top of Your Head

It is past my bedtime. I am staring at a pile of dishes in the sink, at the leftovers from dinner on the stove, at the toys strewn across the living room rug, and ignoring them all completely as I stare at the top of your head. You are sleeping, or you were sleeping. And as I heard stirring over the monitor, I glanced at the camera to see you sit up in your bed, adjust your animals and your blanket, and settle back in, snuggling your blanket against your cheek, curling to your side the way I do. 

You will be soundly asleep again soon, and I am left with the image of those curls, the curls that are the perfect blend of your daddy's and mine, perfectly formed on the top of your head. 

I spend most of my day seeing you from this angle. It is the first thing I see when I wake each morning to the sound of running, and look down from my side of the bed to see you as you say, "good morning, Mommy." I pat your curls before helping you climb into our bed, as Daddy hits the snooze button one last time for morning snuggles before the day begins. 

I watch the top of your head intently as you walk downstairs, slowly, one step at a time, one hand on the rail, the other tightly grasping your blanket. I trail right behind you, but don't touch. "I do it myself" was heard loud and clear, but I'm always right behind you.

I pat your head while I make breakfast. You perform an intricate dance of weaving in between my legs as you say, "Mommy, I help you." I help you into your seat at the table and stand beside you, pouring milk over cereal, or syrup onto pancakes, or juice into your cup. 

I sip water and watch you eat. I can never eat this early, but breakfast has become my favorite part of the day. We talk about our plans for the day. I look at the mess of curls on top of your head and think of how much you are starting to look like me.

I sit beside you as we play. We stack blocks, we play with your princess castle, we feed your babies endless bottles of milk of juice. We play with your train table until it collapses. All the while, I see the those curls on the top of your head.

We get ready for whatever adventures the day may hold. Per your request, I brush your hair into a ponytail or pigtails or simply a bow. I spray leave-in conditioner until your hair is wet, manageable, and once again, am reminded of my childhood, sitting still while my parents attempted to detangle the mop of curls on my head. You sit still in my lap, usually waiting patiently for me to finish. When I am done, I pat the top of your head, the signal that jumping and dancing and running are allowed again.

We continue with our day, whether errands or the park or the zoo, and I continue to see the top of your head. I can pick out your head as you scale to the top of the slide or slip into a group of other kids. I know your head. I know your curls. I know you.

I snuggle you in my lap for a movie before bed and my chin rests perfectly on top of your head. We sit that way for a while, quiet, content, and I forget that you won't fit there forever.

It occurs to me that you are growing and I am suddenly very aware of your height, of the distance between the top of your head and the bottom of my chin. As my belly grows and you sit beside me for bedtime stories instead of in my lap, my chin still finds the top of your head. As you insist on reading "all by yourself," I still pull you in closer to me, rest my chin on those curls and listen intently as you recite books from memory.

You are growing. Our family is growing. I know you will do more by yourself and need me less and less. But, I hope that somehow, no matter how big you get, that you will still find comfort as you snuggle into my chest until I can rest my chin on the top of your head - a simple reminder that I'm right behind you and everything will be okay.

Vices, Anyone?

Perhaps is it because baby girl slept until 7:40 this morning, or maybe Husband somehow willed himself to stop snoring for one night, but I woke up rested for the first time in a loooooong time and I'm giving most of the credit to my old friend, the Snoogle Pillow. It seems that, because my body already knows the drill, everything is coming earlier this pregnancy, including loose ligaments. So, I climbed up in the attic to rescue my old friend and I'm never letting go.

Ligaments aside, the second trimester is here and has started to work its magic. No more morning all day sickness, no more narcoleptic tendencies, and my skin and hair are finally starting to get that pregnancy glow. I still can't eat sugar without feeling dizzy, but let's face it, keeping me away from the pastries at Edgar's is probably not the worst thing ever.

I do miss my coffee, not because I've banned it, but because this baby has. I am a lover of all things coffee. Give me espresso in any form and I am a happy girl. I've cut out caffeine again this time around (mostly), but,  I can't even stomach the decaf. 

No sugar. No coffee. No wine. I need a new vice. I'll be taking suggestions.

Perhaps shopping?

We find out the gender of this little peanut on Thursday and I could not be more excited. I am so impressed with people who wait until the birth to find out. I don't know how they do it. I'm excited to give this baby a name and, of course, to sew a monogram on all things possible.  

C thinks it's a brother, but she also thinks my ultrasound photo is a cat, so we'll see. Her friend Sara thinks it's a baby bunny, and because of her recent visit to the Cabbage Patch Nursery, has informed me that you just count to 5 and then the baby pops out! Toddlers are funny. Here's to hoping for no cats or bunnies!

In case you're wondering what pregnancy looks like the second time around (and I know you all are), here you go. 16 weeks with each: