So. Yeah. Pregnant.

Despite the fact that I posted the picture from my first trimester ultrasound, I'm actually just about 18 weeks pregnant, a fact that floored my husband just last week ("But-- that's-- almost halfway!"). For a slightly compulsive worrier like myself, I only really start to relax when I'm well into the mid-thirties, and by then it's time to start worrying about labour.

So far, there have been a few differences from the first time. Much more nausea and general grossness in the first trimester, enough to get a prescription for diclectin. This medication worked amazingly well for my nausea and even better as a sleep aid. It was able to knock me out, and I didn't feel too wrecked in the morning after taking just one (two is another story). I'm planning to get the refill on my prescription for that reason alone, although I'm told it's the active ingredient in Unisom, so that should work just as well.

I'm definitely in maternity clothes much earlier than last time. I'm sure this wasn't helped by the fact that all I could eat for several weeks were cheese bagels, fries, the occasional other starchy food and full-sugar coke. Add a week of Hallowe'en candy and I'm surprised you can't already roll me down the street. But I'm over the candy now. And I drank an old bottle of coke tonight and it was disgusting. So consistent healthy eating is the plan for now on.

I did have some bleeding around week 6, which I never had at all with Will. I went in for an ultrasound right away and after a few minutes of silence (there was no sound on the machine at all, so I couldn't even listen for that reassuring whoosh whoosh, and the technician was quiet) she turned the monitor to me and showed me the flickering heartbeat. Even though I've heard the heartbeat on the doppler and even started feeling little swimming movements, when I saw that tiny flicker, that was the best moment ever.

Will is quite excited to be a big sister, so far. She has also become insanely clingy and already doesn't want anything to do with anyone but me (a fun time for her dad, let me tell you). I guess it's good that she's exhibiting this behaviour with so much time left before the baby actually arrives. I can gradually move back and let her dad move in without it being a complete shock.

Of course, it's always a shock, right? And chaos. But I'm ready (gulp). And so happy.

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday: Big Announcement Edition

Without a doubt, that is my husband's nose on this kid's face. Along with the sweetest little kissy face in perhaps the most detailed 13 week ultrasound ever.

On preschool: duty parent edition

There are some positive things about being a duty parent at my daughter's preschool. Well, maybe just one. I do enjoy watching Will interact with the other kids in a group setting. Especially before she decides to treat me like her mother and just goes about playtime in her own way. She asks another child to play. She waits for a turn at the paint easel. Apparently yesterday she and two other kids pretended that all the animals on the farm were pooping, but I didn't get to witness that one.

Most of the time, though? Duty days suck.

1) The cleaning. Dear lord. I seem to always be the "drink parent" and am therefore responsible for the bathrooms (in addition to actually bringing the drink for snack time). I clean the bathrooms first thing in the morning. I supervise the bathroom break and handwashing. I clean the bathrooms again during circle time. (Remember that my child's preschool runs for exactly 2 and a half hours. That's a lot of cleaning.)

2) The boredom. I supervise kids playing outside. I supervise kids playing in the playroom. Today I supervised kids playing in the gym. YAWN.

3) The opening activity. If I have to hear the days of the week song again my head may explode. Or maybe it will happen when I hear, "What is the weather, the weather, the weather? What is the weather, the weather today?"

4) The moment when my daughter realizes that her mother is actually there, and tries to use this to her advantage. Today Will seemed to get bent out of shape when I was playing catch with a couple of other kids in the gym. Her shoulders slumped over and she went to sit against the wall. When she finally decided to join us, the teacher announced that it was time to clean up. On the way to put away her ball - and already in a fragile emotional state - she dropped it and another kid helpfully picked it up and put it in the bin. Will burst into tears and wouldn't leave my side for the remaining five (phew!) minutes of the day.

5) The teacher. But that's another post entirely.

Actually, the opportunity to watch this teacher in action is maybe the most important part of being a duty parent. I mean, she's fine. Not what I was hoping for, but fine. Still, it's good to be able to observe her and make assessments on a regular basis, otherwise I would be very uncomfortable with the situation.

What on earth will I do when Will starts Junior Kindergarten?

And we'll start off the month with the obligatory Hallowe'en post

I haven't been writing as much as I would like, so I have decided to participate in Nablopomo again this year. Of course, the month always starts off easy, with November 1st being the day after Hallowe'en and all.

This year, Will decided to be a fairy.

She predictably chose a costume in purple, but her favourite part by far was the make up. Especially those little sticker decals that my friends and I used to get before our ears were pierced, convinced they looked like real stud earrings. Will just used them for glamourous fairy accessories. (Luckily she forgot all about her magical wand, as I had put it away somewhere last week and have no idea where it is, even now.)

I also purchased fairy wings in the same colours for Will's feline siblings. Oliver was a good sport for a minute or two. (Or as long as I lovingly held him in a vice grip in my arms.)

Pasha, however, was less than impressed.

So much for thinking I could get a picture of the three fairies together. Heh.

The week leading up to Hallowe'en was crazy busy, but fun. Will's preschool had a costume day, we went to two special craft classes and did some spooky holiday baking. Will insisted on wearing her old tiger costume (from two years ago!) to a couple of the events, as her best friend's tiger from the same year still fits. Will can get hers on, but it was lucky the make-up was enough to convince her to stick with the fairy for trick-or-treating.

Other than the inevitable post-candy bedtime meltdown, I'd say three-and-a-half is a great age for enjoying the spookiest celebration of the year.

In the house of sick, nobody sleeps. And things keep breaking.

I got back from San Francisco two weeks ago. (I had a lovely time. Thanks for asking.)

There was a reprieve of four days and then the sick set in. I was the first one felled. Killer sore throat I tried to ignore until I found myself, nauseous and dizzy, sitting under a tree at a local outdoor craft fair. Then I slept for 3 hours before eating a few bites of Thanksgiving dinner. The next day was a bit better, but by Monday I was only the least ill person in a house full of sickies, and it was terrible.

Will has gotten the worst of it. She was a mess for three days, then seemed to rally for a morning before getting worse again. She's missed two weeks worth of preschool and all activities and playdates since she can't get through a morning without a desperate coughing fit. The coughing fits strike in the night too. Every night, for the past 8 nights, accompanied by pitiful commentary: "Oh dear. What can I do? When will I stop coughing?" And now I can't stop coughing either.

In the midst of the sick we got our new toilet installed, and an attempt was made to install our new front door lock. (We've been without the use of the front door for an entire month now. I know.) Turns out the lock we ordered doesn't quite fit - although not as badly as the installer originally thought - but he at least fixed the door so we can open it from the inside for Hallowe'en.

To top that off the oven stopped working. Then started again. Then stopped. Then when I called the Sears repair service (it's a Kenmore wall oven that was put in with the "new" kitchen 20 years ago) and fiddled with the oven while trying to explain the problem, it started working again. I just hope it's either fine or some kind of a fuse, because at first glance it doesn't appear that they make wall ovens that small anymore.

Here's hoping nothing else breaks and these coughs finally resolve, or I may well lose my mind.

Last night

Bath time went well. As usual, I played the role of the "salon girl" giving Will her special treatments. A conditioning shampoo, body scrub, blow dry.

There was a minor struggle over brushing her hair, and the stories weren't quite finished by 8:30, my goal on these new school nights. But she was yawning, and seemed quite content with her little pile of books when I went downstairs a few minutes later.

An hour after that, when she appeared at the top of the stairs, crying that she needed me, I thought she had been asleep and had woken up suddenly. Then I got upstairs.

"My lipstick is broken and it's everywhere. My one lipstick is broken."

I could smell the orange on her hands but didn't see the chapstick anywhere. "Where is your lipstick?"

"In Mommy and Daddy's closet. I'll show you."

"Have you been in our closet this whole time?"

She took me to the closet and retrieved the broken chapstick. I sent her to the garbage with it before I exploded. There were open markers and colouring marks all over the carpet. Matchbox cars and puzzle pieces beside them on the floor. On the middle of our bed was a pile of discarded bandaid wrappings.

Then I looked more closely at my daughter: marker was coloured all over her legs and feet and arms and face. Each leg was then covered with four or five princess bandaids, with another one on each forearm. There was chapstick and mucus in her hair.

I could not believe she had gotten out of bed (not an unusual occurrence in and of itself) and had gone into our room to play. When there was preschool in the morning! When she knew that wasn't the right thing to do! And she already wasn't feeling too well!

I told her all of this (in a loud, stern voice) while I scrubbed her limbs and pulled off the bandaids, crumpling them up to throw away. It was the destruction of the bandaids that made her hysterical. I could hear myself saying things like "NOT. ACCEPTABLE." as I continued to scrub and search desperately for a brush for the mess of her hair.

Things finally calmed down and she apologized, then got worked up again because "everyone says sorry!" and she wanted me to "say sorry for yelling at me," all the while looking up at me with giant pitiful tears running down her face. So I did apologize for the yelling, but told her that I was not sorry for the things I said because what she had done was NOT. ACCEPTABLE. and we rehashed it again until she said, "I understand." (Although it took her some time to agree to not do it again because she was "too sad to say that." Right, kid.)

Despite the drama, she got up for preschool and is there at this very moment while I enjoy my coffee in peace. Until I have to go and get her in half an hour. Two hours alone was not nearly enough time to recuperate.

Look who's a preschooler!

She picked out her new striped sweater dress and two pony tails.

She had her owl backpack and her indoor shoes.

Of course, it helped that her mom was duty parent for the day, and got to hang out and help for the entire morning. The new teacher is fine. Not spectacular, but fine. It's going to be a good experience, learning to follow a specific routine and having to jostle for time at the play stations. And I'm happy with our decision to register for two days a week. That's just the right amount of time for my little preschooler.