It’s time for the monthly blog exchange. Please welcome my fabulous partner this month, and be sure to go check out her blog, Binkytown!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

December up north is a warming from the outside in. We sink inward. Cheeks are rosy, blood vessels rush to the surface when wrapped beneath soft woolly scarves. Chapped hands tucked deep in pockets as we walk, faces down, the chin drawing closer to the chest, our bodies retract to keep out the cold. Taillights in front of you, the only thing you can see on a car covered in snow. Boots, size 7, too big for little feet sit patiently outside the door.

Inside the red light of the electric blanket blinks next to bedsides as couples sleep closer. Fires warm sitting rooms and backsides. The coils of the oven turn from black to orange to red in preparation for loaves of holiday bread. A tall glass of Pinot Noir swirls by it’s stem, warm and comfortable in it’s owners hands. It’s smooth and warm as it goes down.

Red stockings overflow on the mantle with trinkets and treats. Shiny bows and ribbons lay in a heap, waiting for their chance to make memories. Big red bows adorn the porch lights. Berries on the mistletoe and candy canes adorn entranceways. Sparkling lights adorn branches of trees, now bare, but admired for their stark beauty as they sway in the winter wind. Resiliency.

Lips kiss. Hearts beat, closer now than any other time of the year to the ones they love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Last week I was forced to venture out to the mall in search of moisturizer. My previous moisturizer was nearly gone, and, thanks to pregnancy, had lost its effectiveness anyway. My skin is normally sensitive and dry, so I sought out the help of my reliable Origins counter in Macy’s.

The young sales woman (maybe 18 or 19?) approached me as I was looking over the available choices. “Can I help you with something today?”

“Yes, I’m looking for a new moisturizer. My old one isn’t working well anymore.”

“OK, no problem! What’s your skin type? Oily? Dry?”

“Pregnant.”

The confused look on her face made it clear she had never been in my condition before. “Uh, pregnant?”

“Yes, pregnant. My skin is currently highly sensitive, oily at times, dry at other times, and generally unpredictable.”

She took a deep breath. “Wow, really?” I could see she still didn’t quite understand.

“Yep, it’s like condensing an entire adolescence into 9 months.”

“Ooooohh, OK.” There we go – I managed to find something she could relate it to.

I had clearly stumped the poor girl, so we decided to just look at the ingredients list on each moisturizer together to find the one least likely to make me break out in red patches. Knowing that any choice was a risk, she thought it best to send me home with some free samples to try out first before committing to any single product.

I’m encountering the same problem with shampoo, also. They don’t make shampoo for pregnant hair. I see shampoo for dry or damaged hair, oily hair, colored hair, etc., but nothing that is for “hair that is lifeless, oily at the roots but dry near the ends, and prone to change without warning”.

I’m still wondering when I’m supposed to get that “glow” of pregnancy. Right now my hair is flat and dull (but growing rapidly, just to make sure any cut loses its style in a week or less), my skin alternates between a snowstorm of dry flakes and erupting mountain-sized zits, and my waist has officially given notice and called it quits. I only hope my waist will once again forgive me and come back again after this baby is born.

A lot of this is very similar to my pregnancy with Cordy, only about a month ahead of schedule. Just like last time, I have yet to gain a pound with this pregnancy (still down a few from my starting weight, in fact), yet somehow my butt is twice as big. It’s clear the laws of physics don’t apply to pregnancy, for how can a body part expand to double its size without a single pound gained, and with no visible loss anywhere else? Are my fat cells filling with air? Surely there is no biological need for this, right?

Luckily, stretch pants are available, and for that I am thankful. Hell, Old Navy even shrinks their sizes so I can feel good wearing a L or an XL. I’ve never been into high fashion, so I feel no shame at all in wearing stretch pants every single day. And I now have stretch pants to fit nearly every occasion: shiny, smooth, and silky stretch pants for work, cotton stretch pants for everyday wear, and one old pair with a big hole in the thigh for wearing around the house. Pair them with a long tunic top for work, or a sweatshirt for home, and voila! Easy, comfortable maternity clothing.

Of course, with all of these changes to my body, people wonder why I don’t have any pictures of myself pregnant. I have two pictures total from being pregnant with Cordy, and they were taken at the same time, two weeks before my c-section. But this time, I’ve decided I’m going to take more pictures, at least to show off the pregnant belly growth. Just don’t hold it against me if I leave my face out of the picture, at least until I find a moisturizer that works.

(No, there’s no belly picture yet. Maybe in a week or two, once the belly starts to protrude more so I don’t look like I just have a beer gut.)

Cordelia is at that age now where we are never quite sure what to expect from day to day. Some days, or even only for a few moments, she acts as if she is still a baby. But then other times she surprises us with a new phrase, or a new action, that makes us realize just how quickly she’s growing into a little girl and no longer just a baby.

I used to think that language was a slow, gradual development, something that is slowly acquired and practiced, with small steps forward each day. Cordy would learn a new word here or there, or learn a new way to apply a word, but each step forward sometimes had a step back, or a period of rest before moving on to the next lesson to master.

In the past week, however, it’s as if she has grown months all at once. Her language abilities have exploded, and she’s now asking us questions in full sentences, and showing a new grasp for vocabulary that we have never seen before. I don’t know if she was simply gathering her knowledge over weeks, processing that information, and then all at once figured out the secrets to communication, but in just one week we have reached a point where we can expect her to understand us, and even expect her to respond as well.

This morning, I went into her room to free her from her crib (she’s always awake before me), and she looked up at me and said “Hi, mommy! Itza beeeuuwwtiful day!” I was a bit stunned by this articulate greeting.

As we walked past Aaron, with a towel wrapped around him, she looked at him and said, “Daddy, baff?” Aaron laughed and replied, “Yes, daddy had a bath.” He then told me that when he brought her home last night, he had noticed that she was talking a lot more in comprehendible sentences. When they got home last night, she immediately asked him for a drink, letting him know she was thirsty.

And then, as I changed her diaper this morning, she reached over and played with her pirate ship, then looked right at me and said, “Hey mommy, are you a piwate?”

I know these little progressions certainly aren’t astounding for a child this age, but having it all come at once amazes me. It’s like she’s been holding out on us for a long time, or perhaps the laws of language and communication suddenly made sense to her.

Toddlerhood really is a long bridge between infancy and childhood, and we’re now at the point on the bridge where the land of childhood is coming into view, and the world of infancy is fading into the mist. She’s doing more for herself now, and expressing her wishes and dislikes with more than whining and crying.

Just this morning she pulled her pants up on her own while getting dressed, something she’s never been interested in trying before. In fact, she now is forming opinions about clothing, too. Where before she let us put anything on her, she now wants a hand in choosing what she wears, starting with which jacket she wears. Each morning she will only put on the jacket she wants for the day. If we try to convince her to put the green one on, she will push it away and walk to the coat stand, saying, “No, purple! Purple!” if she wants to wear the purple jacket. No amount of reasoning will work at this point.

Of course, reasoning will have to come later, as she nears the end of toddlerhood and steps off that bridge into childhood (and even then, reasoning is still a process). Until that time, we will simply have to pick our battles, and she will continue to toss off her hat in sunny weather, and then wear nothing but her hat while in the house.

Thanksgiving was quite busy for us. On the day itself, we drove an hour south to visit with my mom’s family, and then we drove 30 min. north of home (an hour and 30 min. total) to visit my father’s side of the family. We had a full meal at the first stop, and then just dessert at the second stop.

While at my father’s, we found out my cousin and his wife were in town with their daughter, so we stopped by my aunt’s to visit with them, too. We started the day at 9:30am and didn’t get back home until roughly 7pm.

Cordy was a trooper most of the day. She napped in the car between families, and even ate a little food for everyone. When visiting with my cousin, she didn’t even mind that the much smaller 16 month old was trying to bully her. It’s a good thing Cordy isn’t a bully – she’s big enough that she could do some damage to another kid.

As usual, after mingling with relatives, all of whom came from different areas and brought not only good food to eat, but also the exotic viruses from their particular region, at least one of us was destined to become sick. It seems to happen every year. And yet people wonder why I can’t stand kissing relatives and dislike them kissing my child.

Cordy started us out on Friday night, by having 4 messy diapers within a 12 hour period. She’s normally an every-other-day kind of girl, so we knew something was up. And worse, these messy diapers seemed to be full of flesh-eating acid, because each one caused more and more redness on her bottom until she had a massive, raw diaper rash.

At first we worried it might be a reaction to something she ate at Thanksgiving. We’ve been suspecting lately that she might be allergic to cinnamon. I know, weird allergy, right? But every time she eats anything with cinnamon, she usually has a bad diaper rash a day or two later. And at Thanksgiving she had her fill of pumpkin pie and cookies, all laced with cinnamon.

But then Saturday night, at the height of her diaper pain (the rash was so bad we had to give her Motrin to help her deal with the pain – the poor kid couldn’t sit down), I started to feel ill. Dinner was tough to stomach, and I was feeling really tired and worn out. Then Sunday the stomach bug hit me full on. I think I’m mostly back to normal today.

Today Cordy seems better. Her rash is starting to scab and hopefully heal, and she’s smiling again. I must remember to call this week and get us both in for our flu shots before the next family gathering. Who knows what nasty bugs a relative will bring with them to Christmas?

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Be sure to check out Mommy’s Must Haves today for information on Land’s End’s baby photo contest. You could win a $250 gift certificate to Land’s End!

I’m convinced that to work a kiosk in the mall on Black Friday, you need only have a pulse and the ability to speak. Speaking well, with forethought, is not required.

The scene today as I walked by a kiosk, pushing Cordy in her stroller:

Saleswoman: Ma’am, do you straighten your hair? Could we give you a demonstration of our new hair straightener?

Me: No, I don’t straighten my hair. It’s naturally straight. (trying to walk past)

Salewoman: (looking down at Cordy) Oh. Uh, what about your daughter? Could we show you how it can straighten her hair?

Me: Are you effin’ kidding me?!?! She’s two! (walking off immediately)

Yeah, right, I want to straighten my toddler’s hair. Just as much as I want to perm it, as some people think I do. The kid won’t even let me comb her hair without thrashing around and screaming. I can just imagine her sitting still to have a hot styling appliance applied to her hair. We won’t even go into the issue that she’s too young to deal with beauty issues like that.

Idiots.