News. ::Deep breath:: News.

So.  So so so.  It would seem that, once again, I have gotten myself all pregnant.  If you are a supremely observant person and have noticed that I have used the word "again", or you have read this blog for more than 3 weeks, or you are a member of my immediate family,  you will have come to the knowledge that this is not my FIRST pregnancy.  And you have some questions.  So here are your answers.

Third.

About 6 weeks.

Mid-November.

3 1/2 years, and 11 months, respectively.

18 1/2 months.

No, we were not.

3 or 4, but eventually.  Maybe in another year from now.

Math is hard.  I know it because I can see it in people's eyes when they slyly try to calculate when I am due, how old my son is, and what that spread looks like.  It's not a very big spread, I'm the first to admit to that.  It's the kind of spread that has me thinking oh holy hang gliders, I'm becoming one of those crazy people that pops out new offsprings every five minutes or so.  THEY SHOULD GET ME MY OWN SHOW ON TLC.  But I've seen other people do it, and none of them look like they want to kill themselves, so I'm feeling pretty confident.

Now we get to the fun part.  The How We Found Out About It part.

I was depressed.  Like, nobodylovesmeandmaybeIshouldjustgoDIE, weeping at the steering wheel on my way to the grocery store, kind of depression.  It seemed to come out of nowhere, and had grown over the span of 24 hours.  And all this, even though I'd slept (a good night's sleep is normally enough to quell my occasional crazies).  So I'm driving home with my tear-drenched groceries, and I get to thinking: The last time I felt so crazy-sad.  It was the last time I was pregnant.  So I went home, found an old test under the counter, and once again, saw a little bonus-line intent on changing my life.

I told husband.  We laughed maniacally for about 10 minutes, and husband drifted into the stage where you walk around the house flailing your arms, ranting about how you've become your parents and you don't want to drive a minivan and you're GETTING A FREAKING VASECTOMY RIGHT NOW THANKYOUVERYMUCH.  I calmly reminded him that maybe this wasn't the very best day to make that kind of decision, and he agreed, and put the knife down.

So no, we weren't trying, per se.  We were using protection, and my cycle has been a bit erratic, which the doctor said once meant that I probably wasn't ovulating, and I was told by THIS PERIOD APP that I was on a no-fertility day.  And so once we didn't use protection.  And now I am pregnant.  With my son, we tried for about 5 months.  But now, I am pregnant.

Side note:  That app will be getting a VERY strongly worded 3 star review from me later.  It wins points for being aesthetically pleasing and easy to use, but loses them because now I am pregnant.

We've decided to name this child Accidente Miller, because it's both descriptive and exotic.  Also, I think it works really well for a boy or a girl, so that's an added bonus.

That's all I've got for now, folks.  Hope all your accidents are this happy, and remember: absolutely ignore your smartphones.  They are trying to take over the world.

EDIT: Woops.  I forgot to add the link.  So now I added the link.

An argument for nature.

As my son has reached the monumental age of 10 months and 24 days (no gifts, please), today we decided to take his official 10-month-24-day pictures.  

Scrolling through pictures of my tiny man's "almost 1" pics got me thinking back to a few short years ago, when I did this same birthday party invite photo shoot for my daughter.  So I perused.  And then I saw something interesting.  The same front lawn, the same suburban house-backdrop (all the rage in photog circles, I ASSURE you), and, basically, the same half naked baby.  The same blue eyes, the same button nose, floppy ears, and chubby cheeks and... okay.  That much I expected.  I have, in fact, seen these babies' faces before.  But then as I kept looking, I noticed something... more.  Well, you'll see.

CONSUMER WARNING:  You probably only want to keep scrolling here if you have a bizarre interest in my children.  And let's be honest.  If you have a bizarre interest in my children, I would really, really, rather you not keep scrolling.

Just the same, if you're still here, journey with me:

They both like to stare suspiciously over their shoulders.

They're both plotting villainy against you, 

whilst remaining painfully adorable so you never see it coming.

 They believe that clothes are entirely overrated.

They both know their good side.  And aren't afraid to flaunt it.

And they both have lots... and lots... and lots of feelings.  And they would like you to know about it.

Despite the differences we notice (or totally fabricate) between these two, I'm suddenly not convinced that breeding is anything more than an intricate gender-bending cloning system invented by whatever Russia calls their version of NASA.  I'm pretty sure it's Sputnik.

Weigh in ADDENDUM

Okay. Okay. Okay.  Here we go.

This morning I weighed in at 140, like a stupid fat ugly JERK.  But I felt super bloated this morning, so early this afternoon, after doing yard work, running errands, and playing with the kids, I decided to weigh in again.  (And yes, I ate.  Don't think I starved my way to this because that is not the case.)

I weighed 138.  Point zero.

It was incredible.

So that's the weight I'm counting for today, I AM BACK IN THE 130'S BABY.  Take that, The Government.

Also, my daughter is currently pretend-buying her things from me.  And she's haggling.  And she's weirdly good at it.  I think I know who's buying our next family car!

Have a happy Thursday, folks, best day of the week!!

Oh POO BURGERS, I just remembered I have work tomorrow.  Ah well, still a pretty good day.

This is not a drill.

My butt has gotten bigger.  I repeat, this is not a drill.

I can't be 100% sure, seeing as I haven't been keeping accurate and up to date measurements of my derrière, but I'm pretty sure it's grown.  Over the past couple weeks, I've had moments of catching sight of myself in the mirror while getting ready, which was accompanied by the screamed thought "BUBBLE BUTT! BUBBLE BUTT!"  

Now I'm a little conflicted.  Even though I'm not losing weight, I'm certainly not gaining.  And I'm not typically a "Bubble butted" person.  At least not since high school, when I played volleyball and was a cheerleader and did an insane amount of lunges.  Which got me thinking:  Is some of my exercise ACTUALLY WORKING?!?

Every morning, I do crunches.  I'm working up to 200 a day, 100 regular and 100 reverse.  Currently, I'm at 35 regular and 30 reverse, and when I'm done, I feel sore and exercised from my knees to my rib cage.  I didn't really consider whether this daily bit of exercise might effect my back size, I was really just hoping for a tighter stomach.  Also, it's distinctly possible I'm doing something wrong here.

It's weird to see a part of your body get bigger.  Every time I notice my growing booty, I scream a little on the inside.  And not the good kind of scream, the kind that is terrified of having a big butt.  But despite this terror, I'm theoretically pro this kind of change.  It's not a bigger belly, it's just a bigger butt.  And I'm not going to complain about any kind of thickness that adds to actual feminine "curviness".  

And shoot, I can't think of any songs that praise the attributes of tiny, flat butts, can you?

Weigh in, once again: 140.  :-P

This one is called: My Life is a Comedy of Errors. By, Me.

I know it's not a very Christian thing of me to say, but I dislike Sunday mornings.  My husband works early on Sunday mornings, so he's gone by 6am.  On Sunday mornings, I usually have about 60-90 minutes to get myself and both of our children fed, cleaned, and dressed, and into the car.  Which doesn't sound like a lot, but there's something unspoken about Sunday mornings that make it extra terrible.  The children, it would seem, can smell my fear.

This morning was an extra special Sunday morning to boot.  Not only did we have time change to contend with, but we were supposed to take a family picture for the church directory.  Which is terrifying, because not only do I have to get the kids fed and cleaned and dressed, but we're all supposed to look nice.  They only do these books every 5 or so years, and husband and I were not in the last one, so there was no choice.  We had to do it, and we had to look incredible.

So then it's time to get up.  8am, I decide we should leave between 9 and 9:30, and so we've got plenty of time.   We got enough sleep last night, we laid out the kids clothes and my clothes.  No hitches.  I had the morning mapped out to the minute, and we were absolutely golden.

So then it's time to get up.  Madelyn asks for toasts and some orange juice (her absolute favorite breakfast, the thing she eats 95% of mornings, and let me assure you this kid LOOOVES to eat), I got it ready and made some coffee, got myself dressed and came back to feed the boy.  But when I came back I learned that my daughter did not WANT to eat her toast.  She wanted to watch cartoons, and GIVE ME MORE JUICE NOW, MOMMY!!

Eventually (20 minutes later?) I got her to eat something (I don't need her cranky and hungry this morning), and tried to get her dressed.  First, she falls into a full-blown meltdown because I tried to put her in some bloomers and she did not WANT to wear the pretty panties, Mommy, she wanted the regular ones.  When I finally wrangle her into her dress, I find that the dress is ripped. Wonderful.  So now I get to choose whether I can quick-sew it, or I need to wrangle her back out and find something else that'll work for the picture.  At this point, mind you, it's after 9, I'm not yet wearing makeup, my hair is still half witch-frizzy, the boy is crying because I have stopped feeding him to attend to his sister and he'd like more oatmeal and attention, and neither child is dressed.

I decided to go for new clothes.  It seems the safest.  But dress clothes for girls are complicated because every choice has some consequence regarding shoes and accessories and WHAT THE HECK, WHY CAN I NOT FIND A SINGLE FREAKING PAIR OF HER CHURCH SOCKS?!?!  Instead I found some tights.  They're mangey looking, but they don't have any holes and the color isn't offensive so we go with it.  I put something on my daughter, a skirt, plain white top (because the white top with the black frilly stuff  has a bunch of stains and had to be ripped back off), and a crocheted shawl thingy.  Which she hates, apparently, and ripped at it like the Incredible Hulk screaming I DON'T WANT TO WEAR DIS MOMMY I DON'T WANT IT I DON'T!!  Now I don't like to give in to tantrums but it's 9:20 by now, and I'm desperate.  So I find her something to wear that is, apparently, less offensive to her 3 year old fashion sensibilities, and we're off.  My daughter runs out to the living room ahead of me. Uh oh, Mommy, Kaden made a mess.

::Sigh::  I was not amused, but neither was I surprised.  He'd been screaming non-stop most of the morning as he didn't have my full and undivided attention, and the last couple of minutes he'd gotten, well, quiet.  I come into the living room to find that little man has used his brand new crawling skills to get over to the ottoman where I had placed my morning coffee and has knocked it onto the carpet.  But not JUST onto the carpet, onto his sister's nice, white church shoes.  Which was, of course, fair pay back for the fact that I was not giving him 100% of my attention that morning.

So now I've got 1 and 1/2 kids still un-dressed, and I'm cleaning the carpet and rinsing and drying a church shoe, and both kids are screaming and I look like the freaking plot of a Lifetime movie.  And it's 9:30.  And my husband calls.  Hey babe just wondering if you were heNOW IS NOT A GOOD A TIME FOR ME THANKS. Oh... okay.

I got them dressed.  I hid in my bathroom for about 90 seconds so I could "get ready".  I put some spray gunk on the carpet and left some paper towels on it and hoped that I didn't poisoned the cat.  I cried a little.  The children screamed at me.  But of course, when my daughter noticed I was a little, shall we say, stressed, she sought to console me. Oh Mommy, I'm just so sorry that Kaden is being so naughty.  She screwed up her little blue eyes in concern, sighed, and shook her head, because it's just such a shame that her brother is such a bad little boy.

We made it to church.  We took the picture.  I can't even imagine how terrifying and/or ridiculous we looked in it, but we took. the dang. picture.  And later, when my daughter climbed over the pew so that she could sit with another family, and then started digging through a stranger's purse looking for candy, well, I was pretty easy going about the whole thing.  Because we'd all survived the morning.  We'd made it to church.  Everyone was dressed and fed.  And we took the dang picture.

Diet fail. Or Diet FREAKING MEGA WIN!

Tonight I had a trip to the salon.  And by "trip to the salon", I mean that I went to my bathroom and trimmed and dyed my own hair, and then I painted my toenails.  They are pink and it is pretty.  Also, while waiting for my hair to be done, I scrubbed out our shower, which is GREAT because if you go to a real salon, they try and charge you bunches of money and they NEVER clean your shower.  Jerks.  No For You.

So my hair is black again, which is not what I think, it's what the package says.  As of yet I do not know what I think, because my hair is wet.  I will tell you tomorrow.  I just rubbed my head though, and it feels like a super sexy color so I'm hopeful.

Now on to my Diet WinFailThingy.  Last Saturday I woke up to a cheery 139.8 pounds and I felt like a king.  But I did not eat like a king.  I have been being Diet Awesome for almost 2 straight weeks.  Or maybe just a week and a half, but still.  For a bunch of sequential days,  I've been doing great.  But this week, for some painfully confusing reason, I've been gaining weight.  Like, a pound a day kind of weight.  This morning I ended up at a portly 142.8, and I wanted to punch stuff.  Which would have hurt that stuff extra, since now I'm super duper fat.

So you can see how weak my will was when I cruised up to McDonald's today and had my first fast food lunch in a month and a half.  I ordered a diet coke and two regular hamburgers, and I ate those things.  And someone accidentally gave me a bonus medium fry which I did not pay for, but I did eat, because you shouldn't be a waster.

It was delicious.  Every single dang bite was delicious.  Until 20 minutes later when I was driving to my next client with a giant brick in my stomach and a giant shame in my heart.  It was bad.  I tried to make emotional amends with myself by promising I would not be eating anything else for the day.  Pinky swears.

But then I got home, and I weighed in during my salon-sperience, and apparently tonight I weigh 141.4.  I have a few possible explanations:

1) My body was in a 10 day long state of panic because I was dieting, and it wasn't until I gave it some delicious Mc Heartattack that it realized we were okay and could lose a couple of pounds.

2) Guilt has an amazingly strong fat-burning property that I had been, as of yet, totally unawares.

Or:

3) All those fat people with their lawsuits and what not are crazy wrong.  McDonald's is AWESOME for you and will make you look super hot and skinny.

You heard it here first, folks.

WHY?!?!

I gained weight.  Since yesterday.  Two freaking whole pounds since yesterday.  Why, you may ask?  Well I certainly asked.  The best I can come up with is over-indulgence in Mango.

Can you get diabetes from too much fruit?  I should look into that.  

I've been on what I'm going to call the Eden Diet the past couple of weeks.  Part of this is because of my son's medical issues, and the fact that the only foods we're allowed to give him are actual laxatives.  And because I'm too lazy make actual lunches for my work days, so instead I throw a bunch of fruit in a bag and snack on that throughout the day.

It's probably too much sugar, blah blah blah.

Yesterday I decided I AM IN FREAKING LOVE WITH MANGO, and I ate one and 1/4 mangos and so today I gained 2 pounds.  And I'm getting the impression that mangos are the potato chips of nature.

So today: 142.  Net weight loss for the Month of February: Big Fat Goose Egg.  Bubkiss. 

::Sigh::  

When I was looking for an internet picture to appropriately express my emotions, I found this instead.  It made me feel sad for the clouds, who we continue to humiliate with our crazed pee pee dancing.

Think of the sad, shamed clouds, folks.