PSA

I thought that we had made it clear to our families, four years ago, that plastic toys - especially talking, beeping, noisy ones - were verboten as gifts to our children.

Well evil found its way into our home tonight, wrapped in "happy birthday" paper. Let me introduce you to the "Diego Talking Rescue Pack" Look at the picture. Look at it hard. Memorize this. Do not, I repeat, do not, allow this into your home if the happiness and sanity of your children is important to you.
This evil disguised as a toy, will bring strife among your children. Obsession, jealousy, ranting, raging, screaming, crying, hitting, pushing, and hatred is sowed with this toy.

Two children ended up in tears, crying over this thing. Widget still whimpering "pack" as he went to sleep. Sproglette begging to just touch it one more time.

Maybe we are wrong. But this thing now resides in the trunk of our car, hidden away until we can figure out how to safely dispose of it. If we weren't in the middle of a deluge and it weren't hard plastic, we would have burned it in the backyard.

Beware. And be afraid. Be very afraid.

The Best and the Worst

Two years ago today, this little sweetheart entered the world. Not without putting mama through the wringer first though... I think he has made up for it by begin the sweetest, cuddliest, most even-tempered baby/child since.

With the Sproglette, I had a pretty zen labor - as zen as you can get after 66 hours. Booker's labor felt wrong. I just knew something was not right in there. I spent 7 hours in transition had a bumpy hellish emergency ambulance ride from my lovely birthing center to the hospital, cussed out a couple of nurses (for which I apologized profusely later) Being a nurse you would have thought I would have had at least the tiniest bit of self control - that is how far gone I was, how far removed I was from my inner core. I was lost in the pain but not a normal, this is getting you a baby pain. This was frantic inner scream that something was wrong, and the helplessness to move out of the way of the speeding train.

After my uterus shoved him out of me in a gush - so slippery and fast that my midwife flipped him up onto my belly in order not to drop him on the floor - I felt the most overwhelming feeling of relief that I would never have to do this again. As they whisked him to the baby docs to suction the meconium, I was just so relieved he was alive and out of me.

This is the labor that said to my partner and I , no more. We have replicated ourselves, three would be tempting the fates, three would be selfish, three would be too much.

I am so glad he is here, and he is worth it all. I did have to go through the worst of myself to get him, but he is the best of rewards.

Happy Birthday.

The Perfect Babysitter...

... does not exist. In fact, I am beginning to think that mostly imperfect is few and far between as well. Lots of interest in just afternoons, or once in awhile. I need a sitter 1-2 days a week, in my home, for the entire day. Heck, you would only have to take care of the little one in the morning - the big one goes to preschool until 12:30.

So the great search continues. I guess we have been lucky up until this point. Now we are struggling to find someone young, energetic and fun and most importantly, can work when we need them.

Really. Who wouldn't want to babysit for these angels? In fact, why aren't people paying us to let them have the honor?