The holidays will do that to you. So will pregnancy. And relentless gray skies. BUT! I'm back! Try being pregnant and far, far away and not writing on your blog for several long weeks. People PANIC. Not to worry, folks -- all is well with li'l Peanut (who is actually more melonesque these days) and myself. Pretty darned tootin' hard to believe we've hit the eight-weeks-left mark. AYE YAY YAY CARAMBA! How can this be? It's all so strange to think about, that we will have a smiling, cooing sack of love in precisely sixty-six days. Ridic! We'll see how punctual the little tyke is. As my dear father-in-law likes to say:
EARLY IS ON TIME.
ON TIME IS LATE.
LATE IS UNACCEPTABLE.
Curiously, I was absent the day we covered that lesson, so I'm still trying to learn it every single day. I sure hope Peanut gets his dad's genes in that respect.
Speaking of his dad, this guy has bought an extended pass on the Daddy Train. Dude's excited! We've been getting things ready the past couple of weeks, repurposing our laundry area into Diaper Headquarters. Shelves that once held beach towels and rags are now brimming with binkies, bottles, wipes, bleach-free diapers, burp cloths, footie pj's, and one nutty stuffed turtle that plays "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" when you yank his neck. (Thanks for everything, Barbara!)
We bought a big waterproof foam pad for the countertop where all of the, um, "procedures" will take place. As I lovingly draped it with a soft cloth, I was reminded that Don has -- proudly so -- never changed a diaper, so I started piecing together in my head a gently worded offer for a brief training session, preceded by the request that he NOT roll his eyes even once in response to my question. It was tough, but (I think) he managed to keep his eyes fairly steady, and he thanked me for my kind offer but that he was quite confident that he could figure it out just fine.
And early the next morning when I woke up, this is what I found on the changing pad:
We may just have a wee refresher anyway.