Mr. Copycat

Dante is 2 weeks shy of being 4 yet you would think he was closer to being 14 instead. Why? Because he's started this *lovely* thing called being a copycat.

Remember when you were a copycat, mimicking everything your mom or dad said and driving them crazy?

Well welcome to my house. SO ANNOYING!!! I will say something like , "Dante please pick up your shoes and put them away" and boom, I hear in a little tiny voice, "Dante please pick up your shoes and put them away".

and the conversation goes as follows:

Me: Dante, stop copying and put them away please!

D: Dante, stop copying and put them away please!

Me: I mean it D!

D: I mean it D!

Me: Hi, my name is Dante and I am a baby and I am so tired that I am going to bed now!

D: Hi my name is Dante and I am a baby..............I'm not a baby, I'm a big boy!

Me: Well then, put your shoes away please.

D: Well then, put your shoes away please.

Me: I give up

D: I give up.



To which I promptly walk away and ignore him.

Driving me nutso I tell you!!!!

"The Time Has Come," the Walrus said, "to talk of many things"...

..."Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--Of cabbages--and kings--And why the sea is boiling hot--And whether pigs have wings." -with apologies to Lewis Carroll.

No, not really those things, but I seem to have neglected blogging for a bit despite the fact that I have loads of time on my hands to do so. (insert sarcasm here).

So where to begin? I think probably the most important factor going on these days is that I am approaching the end of my second, and final, pregnancy. I am currently 35 weeks and a couple of days with just about a month to go and let me tell you, I am ready. I know, I know, I waxed philosophic months ago about how "beautiful" pregnancy was and how sad it would be when all this would end, but I'm singing a brand new tune right now, and that tune is, "Get this fucking kid out of me before I perform my own Caesarian right here on the kitchen table". Not to say that I am hating every moment as there are those two minutes when I have some restful sleep that I actually forget I am pregnant, but let me tell you, I AM DONE. Finito. Kaput. Finished. Hasta La Vista and Sayonara.

For some reason, Mr. Bean, my womb tenant has decided to forego sharing my body and prefers rather to suck the very life force out of me. My thyroid, which already was on a limited work schedule before I got pregnant, has pretty much decided to go on permanent vacation and just "hang out and be a gland" instead of doing it's thyroid-ish things. Consequently, my Synthroid dosage is something astronomical and probably would have made Andre the Giant feel as though he was taking "too much". I blame Mr. Bean, who has also taken it upon himself to completely and utterly drain my heart and lungs of their functions so that my resting heart rate is 122 and I get out of breath just thinking about stuff. As a matter of fact, as I type this, I am sweating like Senator Larry Craig in a men's room. I went to the Emergency Room the other day because I literally could not get air into my lungs. Scariest feeling in the entire world. They hooked a monitor up to my belly to make sure that Mr. Bean was ok, and wouldn't you know it, he was just fiiiiiiinnne in there; moving around, kicking random organs, shoving my lungs and heart upward. The attending nurse said she had never seen such a "perfect monitor strip" and that I should be so happy the baby is so healthy. Sure I'm happy, but does he have to kill me in the process? I feel like Kuato from Total Recall!

Don't get me wrong, I'm not bitching that the kid is healthy and happy in my body, but if you ever hear me talking about getting pregnant again please 1)slap the shit out of me and 2) show me this blog.

What else is going on in the wonderful world of an Aging Goth Mom? My husband got "laid off" which in his line of work is more like, "you're fired but go collect unemployment". I mean, it couldn't have come at a better time, what with a new baby on the way. *barf*. But we're managing and he's been pounding the pavement and has some prospects. Apparently he was hired by a company and has undergone all the HR rigamarole (drug tests, paperwork, etc) but hasn't heard from them since. Which kind of sucks since he got another job offer today from Pep Boys, so...who knows? Unemployment is a joke, by the way. It's more like, "Here kid, go buy yourself a pack of gum, a nudie mag and some lube and go screw yourself". How anyone is expected to survive on unemployment is beyond me, let alone a family of (almost) four.

But enough bitching, since it seems that that is what I always seem to be doing. I do have something awesome to write about which has been a long time coming, but I just really have not had the time to sit down and write. Not that I do now, but I felt like I was neglecting my dear readers so appreciate the little I am giving you. I have to say that I have the most amazing friends in the entire Universe (and that includes any parallel Universes too, where The Borg have already taken over and Riker has a beard). They threw me the most incredible Baby Shower I have ever had or been to and I was so deeply humbled and flattered that I "mattered" to all these people, let alone women. Granted, my track record with female friends ain't so hot: either they are psycho, backstabbing whores or just plain whores who backstab, I have "issues" with trust and friendships and women in general. Well, no more I tell you. I have got the best women friends. I really do. And not to gush all sappy and cheesy, but they really are my support group. So, here's a shout out to my ladies who threw me such an awesome Baby Shower, complete with skull and crossbones cake and teddy bear wearing a spiked collar on the diaper cake. They know me and all my quirks and, it appears, that they actually like me. Which is a whole new bag of "wow" for this girl right here.

So that's about it. I'm pretty sure that the next blog will probably be either some venomous rant about politics, religion, or the two combined, but let's hope that it won't be and that the next blog will be pictures of Mr. Bean, in the outside world, safe and sound, ten fingers, ten toes, and content with not draining the life out of me anymore physically, but prepared to do it emotionally and financially for the rest of his life.

Oh, and I realize I haven't mentioned Dante, who is weeks shy of being 4 years old, in this blog because despite the infinite love I have for the kid, he is driving me incredibly crazy and he's got to realize that it ain't always about him!

Well, yea, it is.

Phasing out the "Woo-Woo".

Dante will be 4 in July and still uses a pacifier to go to sleep. He calls it a "woo-woo" because he also has a special pillow that he totes around called his "boo-boo". So the Team is called "boo-boo-woo-woo".

Lately (and I think it is a bit of regression due to the pregnancy) he has been "boo-boo-woo-woo"'ing anytime that we are not outside or out of the house at the park or doing errands. We come home, and boom, in it goes into his mouth. I've been a little lax in telling him that "woo-woo" is just for bedtime, so it has become a habit now that as soon as we walk in the door, the "boo-boo-woo-woo" come out and I've got a baby on my couch.

Well, this morning and from now on, "woo-woo" will now be hiding during the day. He has "boo-boo", the pillow but the "woo-woo" is going to be JUST FOR BEDTIME! He actually looks cute with just the "boo-boo". Reminds me of Linus from the Peanuts comics.

Hopefully, the hidden "woo-woo" will be forgotten in a few weeks or so and he won't look for it at bedtime. The "boo-boo", on the other hand, doesn't bother me at all since it once belonged to me and was known as my "poo-doo-doo" and I relinquished using it at 32 years old when Dante was born. (but sometimes when D isn't looking, I'll snuggle with it for a few minutes too).