"Foppees" and the end of May

Elias has discovered blueberries. He calls them foppees. I don't know why. He also has started calling most things foppees. It's been a little confusing, especially when he's crying for "foppees," and I have no idea what he's asking for. Phew.

Anyway, he and his mother have been eating their weight in foppees and enjoying every minute of it.

Highlight of the weekend: sitting on the rug in Elias' room with he and Jeremy, eating foppees. E feeding them to his daddy, and his daddy reciprocating. I wish I had had my camera, but I'm hoping the sweet image burned into my mind stays with me for a very long time. It was a perfect, perfect ten minutes, in an otherwise pretty great day hanging out together at the Farmer's market and preparing for little brother.

Little brother, indeed. I'm 39 weeks today, and we are expecting this little guy to come very soon. He'll be named Josiah, and I have a feeling (and have had for awhile), that he's just going to slip right on into the family. And why wouldn't he? We have a spot waiting just for him.

There comes a time...

...in every pregnant women's gestation, when she walks into the bathroom to look for her leggings and comfy shirt (that she wore to bed last night and are less than clean but has to put on again right this minute because her "skinny" maternity jeans are driving. her. crazy), and doesn't see them, but does see the toilet and thinks, "Why not? If not now, then in 5 minutes."

That's where I am, now. Searching for something, anything, soft that fits under or over this crazy, swollen belly of mine, making thrice hourly trips to the bathroom.

36 weeks. And a day. But who's counting?

Have you ever?

Have you ever baked granola in the afternoon?


I've made it in the morning, when I wished it would hurry up and finish cooking because I was hungry and ready to scarf it down.

And I've made it in the evening, yawning away the ten minute intervals between stirs, wishing that I had finished this particular chore earlier that day.

The afternoon is the best, I think. It has the same sort of yummy guilt about it that a nap after lunch does. Everyone else is slaving away at a desk, and here I am, stirring a pan full of crispy, golden, cinnamon-scented oats.

I use this recipe from David Leibovitz, who in turn got it from Nigella Lawson. I've also used this one from Orangette, a crispy granola dotted with dark chocolate chunks (it sounds too decadent, but trust me, it's just decadent enough). Both are lovely, but the first makes two (two!) pounds worth, which is even lovelier.

Getting it in.

I'm feeling a bit emotional today. It suddenly hit me that this is the last time it's just Elias and I during the day. Soon-- in about a month-- there will be a baby taking up most of my time. Jeremy is taking 3 weeks off of work to stay home with us, which is wonderful. So there is a lot of family time coming up. And that's good. After that, there will be brother-time. And that will be so good too.

But this is the last moments of our time together, just E and me. Making and eating lunch. Taking a walk. Watching Elmo and reading books. I'm trying to soak it up the best I can.

Why can't we fully appreciate the time when we do have it? Why is the threat of its departure the only thing that makes it dear? It feels like such a waste, but then again, I don't know if its possible or even good to fully live every moment, knowing that it's passing. Seems to me like it would be the most constant heartache.

Lots of cuddles today. Lots of taking time away from the I-need-to-do's and focusing on my still-my-one-and-only-baby boy.

The second saturday

Last week we went to the St. Louis zoo to celebrate our first Saturday being done with the house. It was a disaster. The kind of disaster that's funny later, but, oh my goodness, in the midst of it, it was not funny. It was ridiculous.

But this post is not about last weekend. I can write about that later. This post is about this weekend, which started last night, I guess, when Jeremy got home for work, we, as a family, all spent time together. Relaxed together. Ran errands together. It was awesome.

We went and looked at baby stuff, household stuff, toy stuff. This morning we went to the Farmer's Market, where everything is blooming and fresh and bustling. We had breakfast at the local Co-op together and people- and dog-watched. Jeremy and E went to the park to get tired and sweaty while I went to the grocery store by myself (a treat in itself). We even went to a yard sale and got a very used but dirt-cheap double stroller. (You know, because another little boy is coming very soon!)

And it isn't even noon yet. And yes, it's hot outside, and there is still time for arguments and melt-downs and plenty of things to do. But it's our weekend, not the house's. We all get to be home, together. And someday this will totally be taken for granted. But not today.

"finished"

The house has been deemed "finished" by the bank. Our appraisal is back from the appraiser (good news there-- the value went up), and we're getting ready to sign yet another set of papers.

It's hard to believe that it's really over (and why would it not be? This has been our life for three years!), and Jeremy and I aren't really celebrating big. It's been too hard to celebrate, almost. Imagine you're a kid on the playground, and a big bully comes up to you and punches you in the face and you fall to the ground. A teacher sees it and hauls him or her to the principal's office. I mean, you're happy that the bully got caught. You've been redeemed, sort of. But, dang, your face is visibly bruised. Your butt is bruised where you fell. Everyone saw your embarrassment. So you aren't really happy. Just sort of relieved it's over. And hoping that you and everyone else can just move on.

I know that this lack of joy won't last forever. We're planning a big party for everyone who was involved in working on the house for later in the summer. It's an amazing amount of people. There will be lots of food, and showing off the finished product, and it will be lots of fun :-) But right now we're working on healing up from the bruises, and the embarrassment. The lack of rest. The consistent, constant presence of anxiety. Social lives that were permanently put on hold. The lack of purpose for our lives without having to put work on the house first.

But yes, it's really over. The recuperation begins. And for that, I am so grateful.

sleepless

I titled this post "sleepless" and then realized that roughly a month from now I will remember what sleepless really is. Sleepless right now means tossing and turning from pregnancy discomfort, waking before it's time, and having to use the bathroom at least every two hours. Sleepless when the baby comes means, "Oh my gosh I'm going to die from lack of sleep." It means that I won't be able to worry about my own comfort in my lack of sleep, but that I'll have to take care of an infant--not to mention a very present toddler!-- a mewling, wriggling, uncomfortable, incredibly awake infant, in my lack of sleep. It will mean nursing, and eating, and drinking, and reading with no adherence to normal, functioning, blessedly human hours.

That is what sleepless really means. Lord, have mercy.