A change in plans -- and a tinkle.

I had planned to write something about the deterioration of society in the last 100 years. But it might be a topic too complex for my little light-hearted Mommy Blog.

Meanwhile, this afternoon as Daddy sat, enjoying his geekTV, Monkey girl, (AKA Butterball) grabbed his hand and pulled him up off of the couch. She then drug him down the hallway and beat on the bathroom door. So, he opened the bathroom door. At about that point, I joined him to see what was going on. We're used to being summoned into the kitchen for a snack, or a drink. Sometimes she'll even demand to go go bed. Once or twice, she's gone to the bathroom and expected a bath (she leans over and beats on the inside of the tub). But this time, she patted the toilet.

So, thinking it was a fluke, I pulled off her diaper and put her on the toilet. She sat there a minute, holding onto the handles. Her eyes gleamed with pride at being such a big girl on the potty. And after a few seconds, she let it loose. The little girl, barely 13 months old, tinkled on the toilet. And then she clapped her hands with us as we praised her.

And then we gave her a cookie.

I'm not giving up on diapers, or even expecting it to amount to much. But could she really be thinking about potty training? She can't pull down her pants or say "potty." That has always been my rule about when to start potty training - -that it was useless if they weren't old enough to do most of it by themselves. But I guess if she's going to drag us to the bathroom when she needs to go, it's one less diaper to change. And it's a start. Although it's a start I'm not sure I'm ready for.

Weaning. Complete.

Butterball, also known as Monkey, Peanut, and Baby-girl is completely weaned. It's happy and sad all at the same time. I'm glad that I'm not tied down to her. I can go away for the evening and leave her with a babysitter without worries about how she'll get back to sleep without me being around. The other day, she had a hard time getting down for nap, and it had only been a few days since her last nurse. I figured I could try to soothe her if she wanted to. She didn't. She just wanted to be cuddled by Daddy.

This time around weaning was a lot easier than with Little Monster. I got her onto a schedule where she was nursing when she woke up, before her morning and afternoon naps, and then before bed. After a few weeks I took away the first nurse of the day, and eventually took away the nursing before nap time. Those were sort of by accident, as quite often she'd been skipping them anyway as we ran errands during the day. After a couple of weeks when she'd only been nursed at night, I had Daddy help out. He rocked her to sleep with a glass of milk for a few days and it was done.

Just like last time, I miss it occasionally. Weaning just seems like the beginning of the end. She's no longer an infant. She's a toddler. She is pretty good at telling us what she wants, and eats everything she can get her hands on.

I do however enjoy the fact that my body is mine again. I don't need to worry about what I eat, drink, put on my skin. It's nice. Now the question is -- what's new in Bras? I'm afraid I've been wearing the same nursing bras for far too long, and I'm ready to be done with them too.

Happy Birthday Butterball!!

My baby. My last, sweet, little baby girl is turning one today. Has it already been a year since I was so miserable with pregnancy, unable to move without pain, grateful for the contractions that meant that you were coming? Your birth was so overwhelming that for days, I mistakenly thought you were born on the 28th -- and your Daddy won't let me forget it. But it was so worth it. The past year has been amazing.

My fat little cherub has already blossomed into a bossy, sassy little "monkey" girl. No longer the butterball that she once was. I can't believe how fast the time has gone. She is almost completely weaned, now. Walking, talking a bit. She loves to torture her brother, but mostly they play wonderfully together. Chasing each other around the house, erupting into giggles and squeals. Bath time is her favorite. She comes running to the bathroom anytime she hears the tub going. She knows what she wants, and she can pretty much tell you what it is these days. She's persistent and stubborn. She definitely doesn't like to be told "no." She likes to pretend that she doesn't hear the word half the time. If she hears if often enough, she'll rebel by letting out a rebel war cry, going for the forbidden fun that she's so unfairly being denied.

Her hair is growing in, fine and wavy. She's got the longest lashes I've ever seen (on a girl), and blue-grey eyes. The best part of my day these days is going into her room in the morning, seeing her smiling face standing in her crib waiting for me to get her. Then, when I pick her up, she wraps her arms around my neck, squeezes as hard as she can and gets her fingers all tangled in my hair. Most of the time I don't even mind that she's wiping her snotty nose on my shoulder.

The scowls she gives everyone make me laugh. I don't think anyone escapes the furrowed brow and squinty-eyed once over when they meet her. If she recognizes you, she might skip the scowl, and instead point at you as if to say "HEY! I KNOW YOU! COME HERE AND DO MY BIDDING!" And if you're lucky, you'll get the "AAAAAAHH!!" grunt that actually means she expects you to do her bidding.

I love it when she says "ooooOOOOOO" when she sees something she loves. Namely, bananas, or any kind of sweet treat that she's about to be spoiled with.

We are going to miss the baby that's turned into a toddler who is falling in love with ride-on toys, playing in the mud and wrestling like a big kid. We love you Butterball. Don't grow up too fast.

In case you were wondering...

I'm a little bit crazy. Sometimes more than others. I'm grateful on those days when I seem to be able to contain my sanity with supernatural powers, that I'm sure are only heaven sent.


This morning was one of those mornings. Note that it is only 9:11 AM as I start writing this. I know it's the same story heard around the country on any given morning, but really?


My day started at 6:07AM when Butterball began wailing from her crib. She was awake and wanted everyone to know it. She didn't need food, wasn't in dire need of a diaper change, but she was lonely and the toys in her crib just weren't cutting it. It is Tuesday. It is a day when I theoretically should be able to sleep until 7:00AM since Little Monster doesn't have preschool and I don't have any obligations outside of the house. I know you working moms are laughing at my idea of "early" wake up calls, but I don't like getting up before 6:30AM. Never have. Probably never will.


After listening to her wail for what seemed like forever, Not the Momma came out of the shower. The clock read 6:17 AM. He brought her to me, and I tried to nurse her, even though we're working on trying to wean. My hope was that she'd go to sleep and I'd get another 15 minutes of unconscious bliss. I was dozing off, hoping we were both on our way when she. bit. me. That ended that!


Up we got and I trapped her in the living room so she could wander around while I chopped up her morning banana and got her brother's breakfast ready. He wasn't up yet, but I knew he'd be up asking for his "Apple Whacks" soon.


I don't even think it was 7:00 when Little Monster got up and started making demands. "Turn da bathwoom WIGHT ON! PUH-WEEEEESE!"


Sigh

It's 7:20, the kids have been fed. Little Monster is dressed, and I still haven't used the bathroom this morning. (Note, that it's only because Little Monster doesn't have preschool today was he able to get up and be dressed without a fight. If It had been a preschool day, he'd still be sleeping.)


Such is life. I was looking forward to the nice day, the sun is shining. We are going to the park today. We ARE going to play outside today.


I grabbed a second to use the bathroom, since I hadn't done that yet. When I came back into the living room, where Butterball was safely trapped, this is what I found:

Sigh.

She found a stash of chocolate eggs that the Easter Bunny had forgotten about. Perfect. Now Butterball is topless, running amok while I clean chocolate off of books, the floor, the couch, and everything within reach of a 10 month old girl. A 10 month old girl can reach a LOT of things. And she does when she's covered in slobbery melted chocolate. Luckily she only sucked on the tin foil wrappers and didn't eat any. That I know of. Yet.

Half way through cleaning the carpet I heard the splash. I assumed it was Butterball in the dog dish.

Wrong!

She had 'stolen' her brother's juice -- OJ mixed with an acai berry blend, and dumped it on the floor. Have you ever seen acai berry juice? It's very sticky. And it stains everything it touches. The juice is dripping off of the table onto two chairs, the floor, and all over Butterball.

Sigh.

I finally got that mess cleaned up and got Butterball into the bathtub. I was grateful that her squats and grunts were for nothing. I looked at my phone. It was 8:21 AM.

I'm glad that I, somehow, was able to keep my composure this morning. I think it has something to do with the memory of the angel that existed the night before:

Many of my days are like this morning. Most of them, probably. Sometimes the messes are bigger or my composure goes out the window. If I do have a quiet morning I often find out later that I should have been paying more attention to something or someone. If there's any doubt left in your mind as to why I'm insane, and this post hasn't convinced you, Let me show you something:

And This:

You understand, now. Don't you? I knew you would.

A Typical Tuesday

Do you remember this? Probably not. Go ahead. Read it. See how horrible we are.

Fast forward to this morning.

It was a typical morning, a messy diaper change while the dog was outside. After letting the dog back in from outside, I gave Butterball her breakfast and lay semi-conscious on the couch while she ate, threw her juice cup onto the floor, and teased the dog with endless amounts of corn pops and banana waiting for Little Monster to wake up. As Little Monster came out of his room, groggy from sleep, I noticed it. Butterball's apple juice cup had leaked on the floor, directly under her high chair. I bent down and touched it, thinking it was odd that the puddle was pretty far away from the cup, which still had juice in it. The puddle was warm. It smelled of urine. Warm. Urine.

OH NO HE DIDN'T!

Yes. He did. Our dog left a wet spot in the living room. Not only did he do it under the baby's high chair while waiting for her to drop breakfast on the floor for him, he did it while I was IN THE ROOM! How I missed it, I didn't know. It must have happened while they were talking about something fascinating on the news.

After a few words I'm not proud of, perhaps at a volume that I definitely I'm not proud of, the dog was in his kennel. Ugh. I cleaned up the puddle, still grumbling things that I hope the kids didn't hear.

Then, Butterball started signaling that she was all done with breakfast. She waved her hands about and proclaimed "aaa duuuuuh!!!!" (Can you believe she says ALL DONE?! I can't!) I pulled her out of her high chair and snuggled her... I hadn't snapped her onesie after the diaper change, so I lifted it up to blow raspberries on her belly and as I leaned in, cheeks puffed and ready, listening for the excited giggles of a ten month old baby girl, I noticed it. Something looked wrong. SHE WASN'T WEARING A DIAPER.

So, that puddle. That pee. That wasn't the dog's fault. It was mine.

Lessons learned this morning:

• A diaper change is not actually a diaper change unless the old diaper is replaced with a new one. Without the new diaper, it's just diaper removal.
• DIAPER REMOVAL is not recommended for children who are only 10 months old. You should definitely always complete the diaper change.
• Coffee timers should be set the night before to avoid repeats of the lessons above. Or worse.

The time flies!

I can't believe how quickly time is passing. **Warning! A maximum amount of cheesy content is below! Maybe it's the rain and gloom today? But seriously. Cheese Alert!**


I was reading some of my older entries about weaning Little Monster the other day, since, we are getting close to that time with Butterball. It seems that time changes your perception of things. I always thought that Little Monster slept through the night by about 7 months, but it turns out that he wasn't really. I thought I nursed him until a year, but really he was weaned by about 10 months. It must be something God does so that we'll continue to want more children even after enduring months of pain during pregnancy, hours and days of even more pain during delivery, and then months or maybe years of sleep deprivation along with massive amounts of horrid laundry, dishes, and constant cleaning just to keep up.

Butterball is no where near being weaned. She's still nursing four times per day, and then at least once at night. What's a mom to do? I don't enjoy getting up in the middle of the night to be a pacifier. However, I'm not sure I'm ready to give up nursing her. She's our last baby and there's something about that fact that keeps me wanting her to remain a baby.

She is, however doing everything in her power to remind me that babies grow up -- quickly. She's already begun walking. Just last night I caught her walking from the kitchen all the way down the hall to her brother's bedroom. This morning as my friends were leaving, she held her hand out to wave and said "buh buh" I'm not sure if she was calling my friends name or saying "bye bye" but either way. She also has begun letting out wails of MAAAAA MAAAAA in an utterly pathetic tone when I leave her in her bed for naps and she thinks she isn't tired yet.

This morning she nearly ripped my heart out when she cried for me. She's eating real foods now. She's mastered a sippy cup. And she has opinions. She's not afraid to share her opinions either. This week she's figured out that if she waves here hands just so, I'll ask her if she's all done, and take her out of the high chair. She giggles uncontrollably when her brother make silly sounds. You should see how she adores him. It's crazy.

Little Monster adores his preschool. Almost as much as I do. He's younger than most of the kids in his class since he joined mid-year, but he's doing pretty well as far as I know. He's come home with a few new habits, some good --like washing his hands without complaint. Just the other day he announced that March starts with M. And he's begun being an amazing helper at home. Just last night he set the table for dinner. On his own. Without any kind of prompting or direction. They must teach manners at this school of his. Either that or he was very hungry. He's grown into such a little boy, not nearly the baby that I knew only a little more than a year ago.

With all the bad in our world, I know I'm truly blessed to be a witness to these kids growing up. I hope that time will slow down just a bit though. I like what I'm seeing.

4 months

Our little Butterball turned 4 months old last week.

FOUR MONTHS OLD?

I go back and forth between "Has it already been four months?" and "How has it only been four months?" It feels like she's been part of our family forever.

Obviously, Little Monster likes her, so we plan on keeping her. And Not the Momma -- he's pretty smitten, so smitten, it's kind of gross. But don't tell him I told you. It would damage his macho pride.

She's only been here four months, but you wouldn't know it to look at her, she can hardly believe it herself!

She's trying to sit up. She is this --> <-- close to doing it all by herself for more than a few seconds.She's already stealing my soda.
Look at the cupie Hair-do. Or is it a mohawk? She certainly can't be making rebellious statements already can she?

I guess she can. She was done having her picture taken. Poor kid.

She's doomed to a life of cameras in her face and photos on the internet. Just more fodder for her therapist later.

Oh, Brother.

Little Monster has positively got to be the best big brother in the entire world.

This morning I tried to catch up on some missed sleep. It didn't work entirely too well, but I don't miss the zzz's. I got to witness the sweetest thing ever.

Hi butterball. me wight here. Mommy, she waffing at me. Butterball. me hold yours hand. one two fwee four five. fwee four five turtles on yours jammas. tickle tickle, butterball. hee hee hee, you tickle me! ha ha.. You got mine shirt! ha ha!! (butterball giggles) Butterball waffing mommy! Butterball, you sweet. I wuv you. I wuv you too. Wook butterball. here yours wegs. you wook at yours body? at yours belly? ha ha. wook at yours turtles jammies. me here butterball. hi! hi! yours brudder wight here. You want pway wif baby toys? Me share wif you. Me got you. me got you. (gives her a hug) i wuv you too butterball.

For about thirty minutes, Little Monster, without prompting, played cooed and laughed with his sister. It was some of the best non-sleep I've ever gotten.

Why God? We had a Deal!!

Remember that line from Friends when Joey turned 30? I'm having that conversation right now. We had a deal. I would get Babies. And I thought they would stay that way -- at least for a little while. Longer than they have. I didn't know they would only stay babies for a heartbeat. Time is going so fast.

My three month old baby girl (who is working on a good mad -- notice the red eyebrows?):

...is now rolling over, nearly sitting up for a few seconds on her own, (we place her there, and she maintains), AND today.... Today she pulled the handle on her little buzzy chair so it would sing Old McDonald. Three times. On purpose.

Isn't she supposed to be only eating, sleeping, pooping and crying at this point? Maybe a giggle every once in a while? I mean, she's not supposed to be putting her foot to my mouth so I'll blow raspberries on it. She's not supposed to be playing with toys like her friend Stretch the Giraffe, and a Crackly book. Is she? I certainly don't remember Little Monster doing all of these things this early! But then, I could be jaded and just hoping my baby will stay a baby a bit longer. I guess I'll just have to savor the noozles on my shoulder, the sweet smell of her breath and the sweetest sound of her baby giggle. Because, I'm afraid all too soon she'll be driving away to college.

How can you say no...

to this face??

We can't. We're in trouble. Big Trouble.

Poop. Poop. Poop.

Have you ever potty trained a boy who refused to poop? The other day Little Monster told me that he had a lid on his butt and that was why the poop wouldn't come out. After a few hours of whining, crying and yelling, James finally listened to me and took the "lid" off and threw it away so he could sit on his frog potty and get his poop out. I have to give it to the kid. He's smart. He knows that if he goes a little bit, he'll get his M&M for using the potty. Then he'll wait a few more minutes and go a little more to get another M&M. But the poop, the poop is killing me.

This being a mother of a potty-training pre-schooler and an infant, it is hard. Probably, no definitely the hardest job I've ever had. My days of making Blizzards and shooting whipped cream at my friends, or playing with my preschool class, or working on ID Card templates, heck even listening to people yell at me because they were too stupid to know the difference between the power button on their monitor and their computer were easier. What did I do with all of those free Saturday afternoons when I wasn't cleaning poop off of walls, toilets, trash cans, floors, and carpets? I don't know, but I'm sure it was time wasted. Well, maybe not. My apartment was usually generally clean. By "generally clean" I mean it didn't look like a toy tornado came tearing through the place dropping stuff off as it went.

Life was definitely easier when I wasn't trying to potty train a child. That in and of itself is hard enough, without trying to keep an infant happy. Butterball is a generally happy baby, but it seems that the second Little Monster does something that requires my full attention, she has a fit and won't stop until I'm holding her. And nursing her. Have you ever tried to nurse an infant while cleaning poop off of every surface of your home? It isn't fun.

But then there are days like yesterday. When there was no whining, no accidents. Days when my child behaved as though he were an angel who knew how to use a potty (even if it is shaped like a frog, sitting in my living room and requires being cleaned after each use). Days when my little girl is all smiles and coos and giggles. And suddenly cleaning up all of that poop isn't such a bad deal. After all, even if the job requires biohazard removal, at least I get to come to work in my pajamas.

Butterball's Birth Story.

Why yes. We're still here. And I guess it's time I tell you how Butterball came to be. No, I'm not going to tell you how she was conceived. I'm pretty sure you already know that.

My pregnancy with Butterball was pretty uncomfortable. Way uncomfortable, in fact. I'd even go as far as to say I was miserable. I was happy to be miserable, though. The 20 weeks of terrible morning sickness was followed by about 3 weeks of glorious honeymoon 2nd trimester. But the third trimester stuff started a lot earlier than with my first pregnancy. I couldn't move, roll over in bed or walk without pain. Eating was hard to do, sleeping nearly impossible, and I spent about half my life in the bathroom trying to go, but only dripping. I spent months at night praying that the baby would come out as SOON as she was healthy enough. I also spent weeks telling Little Monster to tell his baby sister to come out. Every time I asked him his answer was "Mommy, Butterball say No!"

I'd been having regular braxton hicks contractions at night for several days, a couple of weeks perhaps. Once it was even enough to call the people who were going to watch Little Monster to forewarn them that they may be getting a middle of the night call. For nights I would get excited, go to bed to get some sleep, and wake up pregnant without contractions.

Thursday I woke up feeling pretty crummy. Everything made me want to either scream, or cry. A couple of times the crying won out. I called Not the Momma at work, hoping he was on his way home several times, but couldn't get a hold of him. I thought I was getting the flu, and hoped that he could come home and take care of Little Monster while I napped and tried to get over whatever was going on. While Not the Momma was swimming for the Navy to ensure that he is fit, I was begging Little Monster to tell his sister to come out. His answer, which has never changed became "Mommy, Butterball say in a little bit." I still didn't think much of it at that point. I figured he was repeating what we'd been telling him for months -- that "in a little bit" he'd be a big brother.

As the day wore on, I felt worse and worse. Not the Momma had a softball game, and wanted to go. I didn't think it was a great idea, because I was worried that this "malaise" was really early labor, but at the same time, I didn't want to keep him home for nothing. So, he went to his softball game I put Little Monster to bed. As I was putting him to bed, I asked him to tell his sister to come out. This time his answer was "Mommy, Butterball say yes." I still didn't think much of it. I wasn't having contractions that were regular or painful.

Fast forward one hour. Contractions seemed pretty real, and they were five to seven minutes apart. Not the Momma came home, and I told him that this could be the real thing. He ran around the house grabbing things as I showered. We told our friends that they could very well be getting a two year old in the middle of the night. Then we went to bed. I very well expected to wake up in the middle of the night needing to time contractions and head to the hospital, but that didn't happen. I woke up twice with contractions, but they weren't regular. I was sure it was going to be another false alarm night. However, I got up in the morning, and the contractions picked up again. By 9:00 we had the kid in the car and were headed in to the hospital.

We got to the hospital around 9:30, we were admitted by 10:00, and at 10:30, they ordered an ultrasound to check the size of the baby. Because I was so uncomfortable, and because Little Monster was so big, they were a bit worried that this baby was going to be very large as well. Shortly after, the ultrasound tech arrived. Let me tell you, dealing with the pain from contractions while laying flat on your back -- not an ideal situation. She estimated that the baby was 10 lb 13 oz. Knowing that the numbers could be off by 20% in either direction, I was NOT prepared to have a natural birth. It was 11:30. The C-Section was scheduled for 12:30, and then the whirlwind began. People came in to do blood work, IV's were connected. Release forms needed to be re-signed since my doctor was out of town. By 12:30, I was being wheeled into the OR.

Anesthesia didn't go like expected. The spinal they wanted to do wouldn't take, I could feel all kinds of craziness in my left leg. It had a lot to do with the way the baby was laying and messing up my spine. So, an epidural it was, which was fine. at 1:28, she was born. 9 lb 7 oz, and two weeks early. Unfortunately, she'd taken a big suck of fluid before they pulled her out, and she couldn't cry enough to get the fluid out. She cried and her color was good, but when she quit, she'd turn blue. So, they put her in the nursery under an Oxygen hood for a few hours. It was awful being separated from her for so long.
It was a bit scary knowing that my baby wasn't breathing room air normally, and I was terrified about the whole C-section experience. Recovery has been easier than I expected, but definitely harder than after a natural birth. Women who opt for a C-Section to avoid labor are nuts. But then, that's just my opinion. There are plenty of reasons to have them, but they are SO much harder to recover from, and WAY more painful.

A few things I learned: Morphine does nothing for me except make me sleepy. I still felt every stitch of pain. After surgery, get up the first time they offer it -- it gets easier after that. There's no need to be a martyr or a superhero -- take the pain drugs.

The doctor seemed to be a little bit concerned that we opted for the C-Section unnecessarily since she was smaller than Little Monster was. I don't have one ounce of regret about the decision we made. The chance that she was going to be the full 20% smaller was too low for me to be comfortable doing anything else.

A month and 6 days later, we're healthy, happy, and I'm feeling a million times better than I expected I would. And this, this isn't some Anne Geddes baby, this is my baby girl, happy healthy and now 11 lbs 2 oz, and 3 inches longer than she was at birth.



We're blessed to have this new member of our family. I feel even more blessed that this morning, without prompting, Little Monster said: "Mommy, that Butterball? I love her."

June. What a month.

There has been lots of craziness for our family this month.

Shortcake will forever be known as Butterball. Or Little Ladybug. Either one. Little Monster still insists upon calling her butterball. Unless, of course, I actually call her butterball -- then he corrects me with her name.

Our home in Virginia has found new tenants, although it did take several thousand dollars in carpet and paint to get us to that point, I'm happy that it will have a family to take care of it for us until we can come back and fix it up.

Kleenex, our female dog, is no longer ours. It was a very sad and depressing few days for me. She wasn't handling the new addition to our family well at all and began shredding things. She shredded quite a few things, and had a few other behavior incidents before Not the Momma decided she probably would do better with a different family. I was sad, but happy she was possibly going to a family with older kids and a more stable, permanent home. Luckily, we are in California, land of the no-kill shelters, right? So, we dropped her off at the SPCA. The man at the front took her back for a behavior test, which she passed with flying colors. He assured us that she was cute and that she would be adopted quickly. There was even a family that was oohing at her as we were dropping her off. Two hours later, we got a call that she wasn't doing so well. The stress of being in the kennel was making her go nuts. She was growling, snapping, snarling and her hair was going up at the sight of everyone. They wanted to put her to sleep, or we had to pick her up. It was a very difficult decision, but we decided, after talking to their behavior specialist, that it was better for everyone if we signed the euthanasia paperwork. We told Little Monster initially that we gave Kleenex to another family, thinking she'd be adopted... But when we stopped by the SPCA later, he somehow knew (without getting out of the car and seeing anything) that we were at a "dog farm" and Kleenex was there. And was Daddy picking up Kleenex? He has done pretty well without Kleenex, and our other dog still seems content. I wish that stupid dog had been smart enough to look cute at everyone and be friendly so that she could have found a new home, but things don't always work out the way you want. I am not so happy with how everything turned out, being as Kleenex was really one of my children, but it was the best decision for our family. Being a grown up sucks sometimes.

We have had lots of visitors and guests here to help out since the birth. My mom and sister came out, which was a pleasant and unexpected surprise. Then, Not the Momma's parents came out to help. It was nice to not have to worry about cleaning or doing dishes, or dinner. My PWOC sisters brought us meals for five nights -- and did they ever bring us meals! We could have eaten for weeks with the amount of food we received. It is amazing to realize how many friends you actually have. Sometimes (this time especially) it's humbling. I think I need to be a better friend for the rest of our tour here.

We've even gotten our family photos taken. A photographer in our neighborhood was good enough to take them for us, and I think they turned out wonderfully.

The day Butterball was born, we were supposed to have found out where we'll be stationed next (after our short tour in Rhode Island). After having everything postponed three times, we finally found out that our new duty station will be in San Diego. I'm not CRAZY about the fact that San Diego is in California. But that's about the only problem I have. I'm excited to be somewhere warm. Not the Momma's job won't be the greatest, and it wasn't our first pick, but it isn't the worst job he could have. And once again, we'll be somewhere warm. Warmer than Washington, more temperate than Norfolk, and though we'll still have June Gloom to worry about, when I am missing winter, I'll just drag the kids to visit family.

Tomorrow Butterball has her 1 month appointment for a weight check. Hopefully that turns out well, and I can kiss June goodbye. We can hope that July and August and the months after will bring a bit less stress (of the unexpected variety, at least) with them. In the next few weeks I have some funny stories to share about how Little Monster is reacting to the new addition, and I'll post the entire birth story. Wait, have I done that already? Who knows. You can read it again.