Just in case you missed my subtle placement of the news in my last post, it would appear I am pregnant. Which means we beat our previous attempt record of 2 months.

The reality is still sinking in around here. We’re both excited, although I think Aaron’s a little disappointed that we hit the jackpot on the first try. After all, the real fun is in the trying, right? I never would have thought I’d get pregnant the first month.

And while excited, as this reality sets in, I find myself feeling a little overwhelmed at the thought of a second child. Two kids. Two separate beings, going in different directions, at different developmental stages. As an only child, I have no idea how people manage two children at once, but I’m going to find out. I don’t know which part will be harder – the beginning, where child #2 is largely immobile yet more high-needs, or later, when child #2 is walking and I have to try to keep two sets of hands out of trouble.

I was a little nervous when pregnant with Cordy, but I told myself that people have been having children for millions of years, and somehow most managed to raise a child without a crisis. Now I’m telling myself that same thing about having two children. There are several people I look to, both in real life and in the blog world, with more than one child, and I’m sure in the upcoming months I will be begging for advice.

So it looks like I’ll be due sometime around May 21, which means I get to miss out on being pregnant in the heat of summer this time! Woo-hoo!

On the to-do list now is to call my doctor to set up the first appt., and to stock up on ginger ale and crackers, just in case. When pregnant with Cordy, 6 weeks pregnant to the day, I was hit by a 24/7 nausea that didn’t go away until around week 12. (That day also happened to be the day we left for a vacation to the Disney resorts and Disney World. Sigh.)

While the thought of going through that nausea again is not pleasant, at least I can look forward to the 15 lb. weight loss that will accompany it.

Over the weekend I went shopping for a new pair of jeans. My jeans from last year were nearing the end of their lifespan, and besides, I think my butt has grown slightly over the summer.

I trekked to Lane Bryant, thankfully child-free so I could try on clothing in peace. The sales woman asked if I was looking for anything in particular, and I told her I needed jeans. In less than five minutes, I was loaded up with nearly every style of jeans available. Lane Bryant has just started carrying Seven7 jeans, and listening to the sales woman describe them, they sounded like heaven in blue denim. So I grabbed those as well.

In the dressing room, my ritual of self-shaming began. Pair after pair were slid, wiggles, and tugged on. Some were too tight in the hips, others too low of a waist-line, and still others felt too stiff. Regardless, all of them also suffered from the same problem that I always have: the waist was enormous and had a huge gap in the back. My body is simply shaped in such a way that clothing does not fit me correctly.

I know I’m hippy, but surely I can’t be the only one. Can they not make jeans that are cut to accommodate curvy women? Yes, I’ve tried the Gap’s and Old Navy’s “curvy” jeans also, and well, they’re still not curvy enough for me. Small waist + large hips = not one damn pair of jeans that will fit.

I tried on the Seven7 jeans last. The waist was once again too big, but not as big as the others. Otherwise, they felt like a second skin – not too tight anywhere, lightweight, and comfortable. Dreamy, even. Maybe with a belt they would be perfect.

After leaving the dressing room, I considered purchasing the jeans. And then I looked at the price tag.

$89.50

Let me repeat: $89.50.

No. freaking. way.

I debated whether I would be willing to spend that much money on a pair of jeans. The answer quickly became no. We’re trying to pay off debt, and this would not help the cause. Besides, we’re trying for another baby – if I got pregnant I’d outgrow them soon and waste all that money.

There were more reasons, too, and they all led to me putting the jeans back and leaving empty handed.

(Of course, I couldn’t leave the mall without stopping into Gymboree and spending money on Cordy’s fall wardrobe. Sigh. Cute baby clothing is my weakness.)

And it’s a good thing I left those jeans behind, too. Maybe now I should be looking at these jeans instead.

If you’ve ever looked at any of my photos on Flickr that were taken inside my house, you’d know that Cordelia is not suffering for a lack of toys. Many were gifts, some were impulse buys at the store, some were garage sale or consignment store finds. The living room is where most of the toys reside, and I think the toys are slowly taking over the room.

Walking through the living room, it’s hard to not step on a toy if Cordy has been in the room for more than 5 minutes. Her normal routine when coming downstairs is to dig through her toy bin and pull as much as possible out onto the floor. I guess she needs it all in plain sight for inventory or something.

The most dangerous are the Lego blocks and Peek a Blocks. Those things hurt like mad when you step on them. Little People are close behind that, and we have a lot of Little People and Little Animals cluttering the downstairs. Holding one in your hand, you’d think they were soft plastic, but if you step on one, the sole of your foot would disagree with that assessment.

The most offensive are the toys that make noise. These are usually the ones given to us by people who clearly hate us. Late at night, I’ll be picking up toys and putting them back, and one of the noisy toys is sure to scare the hell out of me by going off with no provocation.

Stuffed animals are the most harmless on the surface, but I’m convinced they’re like bunnies – if left alone, they reproduce at high speeds, so that soon every corner of the house is littered with them.

So, with this multitude of toys at her disposal, what is currently holding the mark of honor as Cordy’s favorite toy?

This:

A plastic cup.

All other toys are dead to her now, including Blue. But the plastic cup must go everywhere with her. Even to bed.

This is more weird than the time she stacked Diet Coke cans like blocks.

Just as the generation before us all had a story of where they were when President John F. Kennedy was killed, our generation will all be able to tell where they were and what they were doing when the attacks of September 11, 2001 happened.

I still remember it fairly well, although Aaron disagrees on the details. When the first plane hit, I was blissfully unaware. I was a graduate student at Miami University at the time, in my 8am Costume Design class. The class let out early (around 8:45am), so I decided to walk across the street to the dining hall for a snack while waiting for Aaron to meet up with me.

The dining hall had a big screen TV, and it was probably showing the usual talk shows or other brainless TV. I usually never paid attention. The radio was also on, and the volume had been turned up, while the TV had closed captioning on. There was some talk on the radio about a plane hitting one of the World Trade Center towers. They thought it was a small, two-seater plane, possibly pilot error – details were still just coming in. I was only half-paying attention, because it didn’t seem like that big of a deal.

Then the reports came in about the second, large plane hitting the other tower, and the full weight of the situation started to dawn on everyone. Someone switched the TV over to CNN. The news was now reporting it as a terrorist attack, and they didn’t know if more were coming. Students were now beginning to gather around the TV, and I was now watching it myself. Then the radio news reported that there was an explosion at the Pentagon, and the mood of the students only darkened deeper. While I could hear some students chatting with their friends or making jokes at first, now the room had grown quiet.

Aaron and I walked home after that news, and the scene while walking home was something I will never forget. Miami is a campus that restricts cars, so students are generally walking everywhere. Now, generally you’ll see that nearly every student is happily gabbing away on a cell phone, because no one can take the time to actually say hi to anyone. This day, however, those we passed who were talking on cell phones were crying and trying to find out if their families and friends were OK. (Note: Miami has, for some reason, a high number of students from NY.) Those who weren’t on cell phones were walking with their heads down, some wiping tears from their faces.

The rest of the day, I was parked in front of the TV. I was in shock about what was happening. I watched the towers fall on live TV, and watched people diving out the windows to their deaths, but it just didn’t seem real to me. I didn’t know anyone who worked or lived anywhere near the WTC or the Pentagon, so there was no personal element to the tragedy. My general concern for life kept me watching and hoping that as many survivors could be found as possible.

I also remember feeling so glad that I lived in middle-of-nowhere, OH. Because even if more attacks were coming, I could be fairly certain that the small town of Oxford was safe. I figured a terrorist probably couldn’t even find Ohio on a map. I feel a little guilty for such a selfish thought, but in moments like these, you think of protecting your family and friends and yourself.

That is my memory of the day. Anyone else care to share theirs?

Part One:

While shopping today with Aaron and Cordy, a saleswoman stopped me as Cordy ran by and said this:

– Look at those curls! I have to know – are those curls all natural?

My inside voice responded:

– No, we enjoy using a hot curling iron on our toddler every day.

– No, she sleeps in curlers and a face mask every single night.

– It’s the latest trend – perms for toddlers!

– No, she’s wearing a wig so she can be just like Suri Cruise.

– Are you that stupid to ask if my not-quite-yet 2 yr. old’s curls are natural?

My outside voice, however, simply said:

– Yes, those are her curls.

Part Two:

Later in the evening, I realized I needed to buy pregnancy tests to be ready for testing this weekend if my period doesn’t show. So I ran out for a quick trip to Kroger (it’s a grocery store) to pick a pack of pregnancy tests and some bagels.

I wandered Kroger for 10 minutes, trying to figure out where the pregnancy tests were hiding. They weren’t in the spot I remembered them in by the pharmacy. Nor could I find the contraceptives (they usually go together – find one and you’ll find the other).

Turns out, this Kroger is no longer selling condoms and pregnancy tests on the shelves. They’ve been moved to behind the pharmacy counter, along with all those other controlled substances, like prescription drugs and Sudafed. And since it was past 9pm, the pharmacy was closed and locked up, giving me no access to the pregnancy tests. I don’t know if this is becoming standard at other Krogers, but needless to say, I was pissed off. (Oh, and for the record – the yeast infection treatments, also generally found near contraceptives and pregnancy tests, were still out in easy reach.)

What possible reason do you need to keep contraceptives and pregnancy tests behind the counter? Are they being abused? Are people using these to make meth also? Last I checked, you don’t need a prescription for condoms or pregnancy tests. Besides, isn’t after-hours the one time when people should have access to condoms?

Can you imagine some poor couple running into the store late at night, after a nice dinner and on their way home, to grab some condoms, only to find out that they’ll need to come back between the hours of 10am and 8pm in order to purchase them? And if they should decide to risk it and go without the condoms, they’ll also have to come back during working hours to find out if she might be pregnant.

So because of this inconvenience, I was forced to drive over to Wal-Mart instead. And it was redneck white-trash night at Wal-Mart (wait…that’s every night), so it was packed.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.