Dear

Dear Amaya,

Even though you

scream like a banshee in time out

sleep 8 hours a night

announce in shrieks if you see a cockroach in your room at 5:30 am

tell me “NO!” and throw yourself on the floor if I tell you to go pee

insist that you need to poop once we get into the car and make me turn around

then put your hands in the toilet

and tell me you don’t know why you do that

or why you insist on chewing your hair, your shirt, and any random item

until all the above are completely sopping wet

I do love you.

And I’m trying to love you.

Maybe you could help me  out a little with that.

Just a thought.

Mayday

Amaya’s never been particularly good at following directions. Her independence usually overrides her desire to please. Despite a rebellious streak in high school, I generally followed the rules. I certainly mostly did what was expected of me, with a healthy amount of personal choice and preference (despite what my parents might say).

I can accept that Amaya is going to be a very different person than me. Most of the time I admire her independence, because it does make for strong qualities as well. I recently read something that said “you as the parent know your own child better than what others know from their observations.”

Here’s something we all observed.

Caption: Amaya rubbing her head after hitting herself in the face with poi balls during the preschool May Day performance.

The next part, which I didn’t take a picture of, was Amaya turning away from the audience and staring off into space while the rest of the performance finished without her.

She does look pretty cute. I’m expecting that this disdain of “going along with the program” will continue into the teenage years. So I’m preparing myself.

But I’m not prepared.

Summer

Would you hate me more if I

complained about this (I melted as I walked down to the office today)

or

bragged about this (I don’t understand why you don’t live here with us).

School ends on Thursday.

The mangoes are coming.

This baby better stay put for 2 more months so I can soak up every minute of it.

Wimp

When I got pregnant this time, I thought, “This time I won’t be paranoid, because I’ll know what to expect.”

Well, this one doesn’t know how to stay with the program. Everything has been different.

At 29 weeks I’m having, what I’m assuming, are crazy braxton hix that make me feel like my stomach is just going to squeeze itself so hard that the entire bubble will fold in on itself. Oh, and they hurt. Like, are painless contractions supposed to hurt?

This has been happening for about 4 weeks, and everything is fine with the baby, so I know I’m just paranoid. I keep telling myself to get through until the end of school, but we all know I’ll probably go two weeks over my due date anyway.

Mostly I just know I’m a total wimp when it comes to pain. I’ve been reading books on the Bradley method and the whole thing is just freaking me out. People say, “Oh, you forget the pain.”  But no. I don’t. Every dream I’ve had this week has been about labor.

Jake showed up after his swim today with the gnarliest blue bubble sting ever. It looked like the king of blue bubbles wrapped around his body about 30 times. I swear. He looked like a burn victim. At least half of his body was completely covered in huge, puffy lines of welts—torso, arms, face, hands, legs, feet. Thank goodness he doesn’t swim in the nude. He wouldn’t let me take a picture.

Looking at it was like watching a horror movie. So hard to look at. So hard to look away.

I asked him, “Does it hurt?”

“Mostly itchy.”

Sheesh. I can’t figure out if he has no nerve endings, or if I just have pain so rarely that I cringe at the first tinge.

Can you imagine if I was in labor and the doctor came in and asked, “Are you in pain?”

“Mostly itchy.”

Wouldn’t I just be the biggest bad a** around?

Sick

Apparently Campylobacter is going around Amaya’s preschool.

Apparently she woke up throwing up and with diarrhea, three separate times. (why does everything happen at night?) Luckily I had the foresight to buy new sheets for her bed this weekend, because we had to change everything 3 times last night. And give her a bath 3 times.

Apparently this is dangerous to my unborn baby.

Apparently this is the last week of school and I CAN’T MISS A DAY.

I need my mom. I seriously Kayaked her flight at $400 this morning.

The only thing I keep thinking other than “Oh my gosh what is that smell” is just wait. Pretty soon there will be two little sick-ees to deal with.

No wonder parents are crazy.