Girls Don't Fart!

"Girls don't fart!"  Danny told me this back when we first met... 7 years later, and he still insists that it's true!  I just agree with him... it must be true!  Except that somebody forgot to tell Gracie that... and they probably should, since she's a girl!

Danny is a boy... so he's allowed to fart.  And he takes advantage of that.  We have a rule now that he can't fart at the table, because he was getting way too much amusement out of the fact that it reverberates and doubles in sound when you hold on to the wooden chair really tight when you fart.  I also have a rule that there is no farting in bed.  He doesn't follow that one.  I have walked into the bedroom to wake him up in the morning and have been slapped in the face by a wall of stench.  Last week he woke me up out of a dead sleep and I had to leave the room, in the middle of the night, because the fumes were making me cough and cry.  By the way, if you want to hear a good Catholic girl curse... wake her up in the middle of the night with a smelly fart.  I was not impressed!  And that bastard slept through the whole thing, and laughed extra hard when I described the situation to him in the morning!

It amazes me how much Gracie is like her father!  Almost everything about her is Danny, through and through.  And the older she gets, the more I realize it.  She is no more like her father than when it comes to her bodily functions.  That girl can let one rip!!  Sometimes when Danny and she are sitting at the kitchen table waiting for supper to be served up, I will hear this God-awful roar come from their direction.  When I look over, they're both smiling and giggling a little.  I never know which one of them it is.  Of course, Gracie is at a disadvantage at this age, because Daddy immediately says "It was Gracie!"  And the sad thing is, at least half the time, he's probably telling the truth!

Last night, Danny was at work, and it was just the little girl and me in the house after supper.  I was doing dishes, and she was laying on her back on the floor, with her feet against the cupboards, reading her books (she's a nerd, all she does is read!).  She let out the loudest fart ever, and immediately looked at me (a little terrified I think) and said "Moooom? Moooooom?  What's that?"  I said "my heavens, little girl... that was an awfully big fart."  To which she replied, "Oooohh... poop! Poooooop!"  And then she smiled.   Nothing makes her happier than a good, loud fart!

When I was pregnant with Gracie, and I heard she was a girl, I imagined all sorts of things... pretty bows, tea parties, little pink dresses, dolls, cupcakes.  Never in a million years did I imagine she would be the mini-version of her flatulant father.  *sigh* Someday she'll learn though... girls don't fart!! :)

I Saw Big Foot!!

The weather last week was phenomenal, to say the least!  It reached 27 degrees on Thursday, and I loved every second of it!  Well, almost every second... I realized, very quickly, that being pregnant in the dead of winter is very different from being pregnant when it is 25+ degrees outside. 

When I left for work on Wednesday, it was such a beautiful day!  I was in the midst of planning a surprise baby shower for one of the lawyers at our firm, so I spent a good part of the day on my feet... shopping, decorating, etc., all on top of my normal work.  I was tired, but I'm getting used to that feeling.  It was around 3:00 when I realized I may have a little problem... you see, whenever I am at my desk, my shoes come off.  It's just the way I am.  I am a no-shoes type of person.  I hate them.  I don't wear them unless I am at work or out in public.  And I only wear two types... heels, or flip flops.  Since I was at work, it was heels. 

So there I was, sitting at my desk, working away, with my feet all naked.  Then one of my bosses called and asked to see me.  So I swing my legs around to where I keep my shoes to slip them on... except they didn't slip.  They didn't even budge.  I literally could not get my feet inside of my shoes.  It was then that I noticed the buzzing, warm feeling coming from my feet, and realized that my size 7 feet were no longer size 7.  Well, crap.  My boss happens to be the managing partner at the firm.  And he's very prim and proper.  I doubt he would appreciate a barefoot (and pregnant) assistant clomping into his office with a client there.  So I shoved my feet into my shoes, and managed to make my way there, look after the issues he was having with his computer, and get back to my desk without crying.  But then the shoes came back off.  There was no way my little tootsies were getting back into those shoes.

I spent the rest of the day barefoot, drove home that way, and didn't put shoes on my feet again until the next day.  And the next day, it was flip flops!   I spent the weekend in my one pair of casual shoes (flats), and I haven't had to put heels back on yet.  I'm hoping with the snow forecasted for tomorrow that I will have no issues with swollen toes and heels wont be an issue.  But I may have to figure something out before the warm weather hits us permanently.  My personal vote would be flip flops from now until July... but since I love my heels just as much as my flip flops, I think I may  need to invest in a different pair... perhaps a pair with a little more give.  Or maybe just a bigger size...

A picture of baby... from the inside out!

Today was our 3d ultrasound in Halifax.  Our appointment was at 11:00, but I made Danny get up and be ready to leave by 8:15.  Not because I was so excited I couldn't wait any longer, but because in the 2+ years we've been travelling to Halifax for various appointments, there has YET to be a trip that it wasn't either raining torrentially, or snow storming in some fashion or another.  We have been late because of construction, accidents, bridge closures, and bad weather.  Being late is a pet peeve of mine... I was brought up being taught "if you aren't 10 minutes early, you're late."  And I fully, 100% agree with that.  Even now that we have Gracie, we are rarely late.  We just leave 15 minutes earlier than our usual earliness to make up for those things that may occur.  Like a last minute diaper change, or an "oops, I forgot the __________, turn around so I can grab it."  So... there was no way I was going to be late today.  Lucky for me, the weather cooperated for the whole drive.  And we arrived at the appointment with 45 minutes to spare! :)   Good thing there's a starbucks on the main floor!

Please, feast your eyes on our adorable little... haha, still not telling!!  Right now, he-she is mosly skin and bones (although much chubbier than Gracie was at this point, Lord help me), but by the next visit (in 6 weeks time) he-she will be fattened right up and looking more baby-like!

And just for comparison, here's one of Gracie at the same time, 23 weeks...

It's hard to believe the due date is just around the corner... it's kinda scary to think that in a matter of months, we'll have 2 little babies, instead of just 1!  Gracie is quite excited though... at least she's excited about my belly.  I think she loves the fact that it sticks out, because she loves to touch it and kiss it... I doubt she has any idea what's inside there, and she'd probably do the same thing to Danny if he had a few more beers under his shirt.  I don't know what she'll think when we bring home a real baby... but I think she'll her love new brother or sister very much... most of the time! :)

So I'm not so tough...

Danny, that wonderful husband of mine, has been following this blog.  The first time he read it, he said "I like it... make sure you only say nice things about me."  Last night he said, "I like it... but you act so tough.  That's not the way you really are."  He thinks I should tell people the truth about myself.  So I guess it's time to come clean...

For those who really know me, this wont be a big surprise... I'm not as tough as I act.  To everyday people, I'm a take-charge kind of person.  I stand up for myself and others, I'm outspoken, and am usually the leader-type.  My career and extra-curricular activities have me making decisions all day, and I'm forever running around, organizing things, returning phone calls, checking in, checking up, and so on.

When Danny and I are out together, everybody assumes I'm the pants-wearing wife.  Not because I'm bossy to him (I hope), but because he's a little... quiet.  I think it's more that people assume that Danny is shy, and quiet, and doesn't haven't much to say (which isn't true, by the way... see my second entry, where his pants come off).  So it leaves me with the other role.  And it's not as if I'm really lying... that is who I am... on the outside. 

But at home, it's a different story.  I can be very quiet, sensitive, alright I'll say it... emotional.  Not in a screaming, throwing objects sort of way (usually), but more of an "I'll cry if you get mad at me and please don't ask me to make any decisions" sort of way.   I'm very sensitive... usually to a fault, and 100% worse when I'm pregnant.  I don't have strong opinions about many things at home, and am usually so worn out from making decisions and being a take-charge person in my "outside" life that something as simple as asking me what I want to eat can be an hours-long decision making process.  I'd rather leave that stuff up to Danny to decide. 

We have this round and round discussion all the time.  "Danny, I'm hungry."  "What do you want?"  "I don't know, you decide for me."  "But Sammy, you're the one who's hungry."  "But I don't know what I want."  "Well just tell me, and I'll get it for you."  "I don't knooooooooow!!  Just forget it."  And then, 20 minutes later... "Danny, I'm hungry."  Re-reading that conversation kind of makes me laugh, nothing like being a pain in the ass! :)  But at the time that it's going on, all I'm really thinking is "Oh my lord, I'm so hungry, I wish Danny would just bring me some food... anything, anything at all... except if I don't like it, or am not really in the mood for it."  Okay... so maybe that private conversation is a little unreasonable too!

So I think you can see a little why Danny would say, "that's not who you really are."  Most people see my "outside" self.  Danny sees me as the woman who, after Gracie is in bed, just wants to snuggle on the couch and let someone else take care of her.  Someone who, when she's pregnant (and only then, I swear), will cry when Danny gets frustrated at her because she really doesn't mean to be annoying and sensitive, it's just the way she is.  Danny, god love him, usually laughs at me when I burst into horomone tears, gives me a hug, and tells me he's not really mad at me... but seriously what do I want to eat.

I actually kind of like having the two different me's.  I think most people have two different versions of themselves... it doesn't make one you less real than the other, it's just your "outside" and "inside" you.  Not many people get to see the "real" me, as Danny puts it, and I think it's what keeps us together and going strong.  Not everybody should get to see every part of you.  You save the weak, vulnerable, not-so-tough, side for the ones who matter most... the one who will take care of you, and love you even when you're crying because somebody drank the last of the milk and that's what I really, really want right now.  Not that that has ever happened.  I swear.

I do... just not the way you wish!

Last night while I was going through my endless of supplies of scrapbooking and card making materials, I came across our wedding planning book.  We got married in the Catholic church, and we were given a book full of readings and psalms that we had to choose from.  At the time, I thought Danny might not be on board with choosing all the readings and pieces and parts that make up a Catholic wedding... but after reading through a few of the choices, Danny discovered he liked the Bible more than he realized. 

Here was Danny's #1 choice for one of our readings:

A wife's charm delights her husband, and her skill puts flesh on his bones. 

A silent wife is a gift from the Lord, and nothing is so precious as her self-discipline. 

A modest wife adds charm to charm, and no scales can weigh the value of her chastity. 

 Like the sun rising in the heights of the Lord, so is the beauty of a good wife in her well-ordered home.

Yeah, I vetoed that choice pretty quickly.  Here was another one of our options:

Wives, accept the authority of your husbands, so that, even if some of them do not object the word, they may be won over without a word by their wives' conduct, when they see purity and reverence in your lives.

Do not adorn yourselves outwardly by braiding your hair, and by wearing gold ornaments or fine clothing; rather, let your adornment be the inner self with the lasting beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is very precious in God's sight.

Husbands, in the same way, show consideration for your wives in your life together, paying honour to the woman as the weaker sex, since they too are also heirs of the gracious gift of life...

Yup, I didn't go for that one either!  Of course, there are a couple more that are just as old-fashioned as these ones.  And I think Danny was excited to think that maybe, just maybe, marriage could be like these readings.  I would be silent, self-disciplined, run a well-ordered home, accept the authority of my husband, have a quiet spirit, and most important, be the weaker sex. 

Altogether now... BAHAHAHAHA!!!  Oh poor Danny... what he got instead, was me!  Loud, feisty, the complete opposite of well-ordered... although I have to admit, he may win the weaker sex one... I can rarely open my own jar of pickles! :)

And in case you were wondering... we chose a more traditional reading.  One that actually reflects our views on life and love...

Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude.  It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth.  It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never ends.