Yesterday was a double-dose of pregnancy news. My regular doctor’s visit was first, followed by an evening visit for another ultrasound to confirm the gender.

I went to the doctor expecting to see a weight gain this month. I was sick at the beginning of the month, but since then my hunger has quadrupled and I find myself eating non-stop all day long. I have become the stereotype of the pregnant woman stuffing her face anytime she can. If there is food near me, chances are I’m eating it, unless it specifically belongs to someone else.

But when I stepped on the scale, I was greeted by a smaller number. I’m down a half pound from last month, for a total loss of three and a half pounds since my starting weight. My doctor and I discussed it, and she’s not worried, since the baby is still right on track for growth. I started this pregnancy 20 pounds heavier than when I started my pregnancy with Cordy, so I’ve got plenty of extra to feed the baby with. However, the doctor joked that I am one of the few who can help herself to seconds and have no guilt over food, as long as I’m not filling all of those extra calories with Krispy Kremes. (Well, there goes THAT plan.)

Then, we had the ultrasound in the evening. The place we went to is Ultrasona Columbus, a private ultrasound provider. We had one of these done with Cordy, too, just to double check the gender, since she didn’t cooperate during the doctor’s ultrasound. My doctor saw nothing wrong with it, and since Aaron had to miss the big ultrasound last month, this gave him a chance to see his second child. This provider also does a limited diagnostic review, too, and I wanted to check to see if my placenta had moved up from the previous low-lying position.

We brought Cordy along as well, although we worried she might freak out like she did at the last ultrasound. She hates any place that looks like a doctor’s office. But this place was wonderful. The waiting room looked like a living room, with sofas and plush carpet, and it was filled with toys. The ultrasound room also had a home-like feel to it: a large sofa, dim lights and pretty decor, and the “table” was actually a twin bed, with the sonography machine in the corner. There was a large plasma TV on the wall so everyone in the room could watch. Cordy didn’t get upset at all, and actually had a good time running around the room and playing with the toys.

The result was that we can now say for certain that baby #2 is a girl, as she wasn’t shy at all this time. She didn’t seem to mind the attention, and gave us some very cute pictures. She currently is folded in half, with her legs stretched out and her feet up by her face. With the “4D” ultrasound, you can see movement in 3D, and we were able to watch her yawn, play with her feet, and kick me. It’s amazing how far ultrasound technology has come in two years – the level of detail this time was simply stunning. I also now know my placenta has moved up, so it’s looking like I can still try for a VBAC.

Here are a few of the pictures from the session. If I knew how to capture video from a DVD, I’d show you the clip of her yawning, but that is currently beyond my technological knowledge. If you are lousy at seeing anything in an ultrasound picture, know that you’re looking at her face straight on, with her arm visible in the second picture, and her arm across her face with her index finger extended in the third.

Now we just need a name for our new baby girl.

There’s something that has been bothering me lately, and I feel the need to confess it to all of you. I didn’t think it was a problem, my husband didn’t think it was a problem, but others around us keep telling us it’s a problem. And after hearing it enough, it makes a person wonder what kind of parent they are to not be more aware of things like this, and be more vigilant about taking action to correct the problem.

Here goes: I have a two year old, nearly two and a half, actually, and she cannot use a spoon or fork.

I know – I’m an awful parent, right? OK, maybe not the earth-shattering confession you were expecting, but nonetheless still an issue that seems to be pointed out to us more and more each day.

Cordy has no interest in feeding herself with a spoon. None at all. She’s actually become quite good at feeding herself finger foods, like cut up triangles of sandwiches, pretzels and crackers, and anything that doesn’t require an eating utensil. But put a spoon in her hand, and she isn’t quite sure what to do with it. She may give it a few tries, but generally will whine and thrust the spoon at us until we take it and start feeding her.

I should add that she is not developmentally behind due to her own capabilities. I can blame it all on parental laziness. When she was much younger, right at the age of abandoning baby food for whatever we were having, she hated having a bath. The bath generally resulted in screaming, thrashing, struggling to get out, and all of us feeling traumatized afterwards. As a result, we did our best to make sure she remained as clean as possible.

We sought out the best foods that resulted in the least amount of mess. She was given free reign on anything that wasn’t in a liquid or semi-liquid form, but when it came to something needing a spoon or fork, I insisted on doing it for her. That way I could control the spoon, ensuring the food ended up in her mouth instead of her clothes, her hands, or worst of all, her hair. Even non-liquid foods, like pasta covered in sauce, were controlled by me to ensure there would be little mess.

I should have given her more control of the spoon, but it seemed so easy to just do it myself. Even after she developed a love of the bath (although it still devolves into screaming and thrashing when washing her hair), I continued the practice, for my own ease. We’ve never been a family that sits around a table eating dinner – Aaron and I usually have our dinners in the living room, and often we don’t eat at the same time. (We have such different tastes in food that we often make different meals.) So Cordy often sits on my lap, while I feed her pasta, yogurt, applesauce, etc.

And now we’re at the point where our two and a half year old toddler – nearly a preschooler – cannot use a spoon, and doesn’t want to. My mom, who watches Cordy once a week, has started gradually nagging me about this fact, more and more each week, leaving me feeling like a horrible parent who can’t even teach her daughter basic life skills, like using eating utensils. And other people in my non-virtual life have commented on it as well.

While it wouldn’t bother me so much to have one parenting flaw pointed out, it usually doesn’t stop there – she also has no interest in potty training, can’t drink from a straw or actually anything but a sippy cup, watches too much TV, and doesn’t understand how to clean up her toys (she’s very good at putting one or two in a box, but then takes them right back out again and throws them everywhere). It’s enough to make me want to hide under the bed for a week.

At yet at the same time, I know we’re doing something right. She has learned to say “thanks”, she rarely acts out against us (no hitting and no more biting), she’s well-behaved in restaurants, she obeys simple safety instructions, she’s smart and can count to 15, and she’s generally a very happy child. So what if she hasn’t mastered a few skills, right? She’s always been a little behind in physical development, and in the grand scheme of things, I highly doubt she’ll be going to kindergarten in diapers with a sippy and no idea how to use a spoon. But there is a good chance she won’t be ready for preschool at three years old.

Am I a bad mommy for neglecting to teach my toddler how to use a spoon? Are there other parents out there who have spoon challenged kids, or are all of your toddlers skilled in the use of the spoon, and possibly moving on to more challenging utensils like chopsticks? Do I just need to bite the bullet, cover my kitchen in vinyl drapes, and prepare for the mess as I force her to use a spoon?

Advice welcome.

Dear Crappy State Community College,

The snowstorm came in Sunday morning, and was over by Sunday early afternoon. Coming out of my class on Sunday the sidewalks were very, very icy. I slipped several times trying to walk to my car, but luckily I didn’t fall. I can understand not having the sidewalks cleared then. It was Sunday, and you probably didn’t have many staff available to clear the sidewalks and put down salt. Besides, there were only a few classes that day, so not that many students to inconvenience.

But Monday evening, things should be all clear, right? I mean, you had the remainder of Sunday, plus all of Monday to do a little clearing. And sure enough, the snow had been pushed aside. But you still didn’t bother to do anything about the ice. I would far rather trudge through slushy snow than walk on a thin layer of very slippery ice.

The parking lot? One big sheet of ice. The sidewalk? More ice. As I walked from my car to the testing center to take an exam, I couldn’t see the threat under my feet in the dark. I figured the pavement was only wet, just like the grocery store parking lot, just like my work’s sidewalk, and just like every other stretch of pavement I had walked today. And you can’t say I was wearing inappropriate footwear – I was wearing my trusty Land’s End mocs, with plenty of traction.

So I was surprised when I lost my footing and found myself flailing wildly for balance. Thankfully, I didn’t fall, although I’m still not sure what contortions I performed to manage that. After regaining my balance, I slowly continued walking to the sidewalk, losing my footing every few steps and slipping one way or the other.

Is a bag of salt so hard to obtain and spread? I know you’re one of the least expensive colleges in the state, but I would be happy to add the $6 to my tuition to help you pay for some rock salt to guarantee that when the weather turns foul, I can stay on my feet when walking on your sidewalks.

Because, while I generally disapprove of frivolous lawsuits, if this pregnant woman falls on the ice because you can’t bother to take care of your college campus, and anything happens to me or my child, I will sue your asses.

Sincerely,
An angry student

******************

Dear Mail-order Prescription Refill Company,

I get only ONE friggin’ incorrect password attempt before you lock my account? And because of this, now I must fill out an online page that includes my membership number, the ID # of my last prescription filled, questions about my family, and an entire life’s history, just to prove who I am. With all of that information required, I may never regain access to my account.

I keep several passwords in use, and had I been given one more try, I probably could have figured out which one was the correct one. Three tries is the norm for most high-security web sites.

Seriously, WTF?

Sincerely,
Someone who wants her refill

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To my pregnancy hormones,

Did you miss the memo about how you are supposed to behave? When going through the review of all of the effects you have on my body, did you somehow skip the entire section about benefits and instead focus only on the negative effects you have control over?

Oh sure, you clearly demonstrate that you can do parts of your job. I’ve got my fill of swollen ankles, food cravings, heightened sense of smell, and the ever-popular slowed digestion. But I do remember reading in several places that you have the power to provide some perks to this whole pregnancy gig, too, like a heightened mood, greater sex drive, and let’s not forget those erotic dreams featuring hunky movie stars, dreamy TV stars, or just your run-of-the-mill, shirtless fantasy men.

Instead, my nights are filled with rolling from side to side every hour when my hip falls asleep, and very vivid nightmares about being chased, being murdered, or having someone kidnap or hurt Cordy. My mood is certainly not one that could be described as “glowing”, probably due to my restless, nightmare-filled nights. And my sex drive? Let’s not even go down that unpleasant avenue of discussion, for that is one area where by cutting me off, you’ve denied my husband as well, resulting in two disgruntled parents.

If you expect us to give you another chance, you’re clearly mistaken. We are 99% sure we won’t need your services after this pregnancy, and I’m glad, because you clearly wield your power without any thought to your host. As soon as this child is born, I hope to never see you and your screwed up hormonal changes again.

Sincerely,
The person in this body

(Note: My apologies to Bloglines readers for the ginormous pictures you’re about to see. They resize better in Blogger when they’re in the original size, rather than scaling them down first in Flickr, then in Blogger’s format.)

Yesterday morning, I got up at 6am and peeked out the window to see if the snow that was forecasted had begun. Nothing. So I went back to bed for a little bit.

Then, I woke up around 9:30am, looked outside, and was greeted with a winter wonderland of snow. Everything had a thick white blanket of snow on it, and the snow was still coming down heavy.

Seeing that this was the first significant snow of the season, I would have enjoyed spending the day taking Cordy out to play in the snow. But Sunday is when I must go to class for my Microbiology lab. So, while I spent the afternoon knee-deep in live bacteria (fun, eh?), Aaron and Cordy spent the afternoon ankle-deep in snow.

At least Aaron took pictures so I could see how the afternoon went:

I’m usually the one behind the camera, so I was impressed with some of the pictures Aaron took, especially that last one with the glint of the freezing rain on her hair and coat. (I’m not saying he’s a bad photographer – he just doesn’t get as much practice as I do. And I’m certainly no professional!) Of course, there were some not so good shots as well, but hey, no one’s perfect.

I’m glad they got the chance to have some daddy-daughter fun time. It makes it all the more special to come home and see both of them happy and exhausted from playing together.

While talking with a workshop participant last weekend about our kids.

Him: So Cordy will have to get used to not being carried as much when the new baby gets here.

Me: Well, Cordy’s big for her age. She’s getting tough for me to carry already.

Him: Really? How big is she?

Me: I’m not exactly sure at the moment, but she’s not yet two and a half, and she’s over 36″ tall and weighs at least 34 pounds.

Him: Wow! She is a big girl! My eight year old only weighs 45 pounds.

Me: Yeah, well, give her a few more years and she’ll be a real contender for the NFL draft. We’re thinking linebacker.