I’ve been fairly lucky to avoid the crazy, hormone-induced, emotional mood swings of pregnancy. Maybe it was from years of birth control pill use, or maybe my body is good at adjusting to the increase of hormones to the nth power. When pregnant with Cordy, a friend asked Aaron how he was dealing with the sudden food cravings, emotional outbursts and mood swings, and Aaron replied that I wasn’t the typical crazy pregnant woman, and really didn’t have any of those, so it was all good.

This pregnancy has been much the same, although every now and then an emotional outburst builds and builds, ever so slowly, from many different events affecting me over a short period, and then the floodgates open. Last night was one of those nights.

It started when Cordy chose not to nap yesterday. This always puts a little extra stress on me, because if she doesn’t nap, then I don’t nap. By evening, thanks to the lack of sleep, she was cranky. I also felt like a horrible mother after she was playing too close to the fireplace yesterday (it’s enclosed, and she was sitting about three feet away, which seemed to be far enough), and the heat gave her cheek a slight burn, resulting in one bright red cheek.

Then I read the news story that Izzy linked to in her recent post, knowing I shouldn’t read it because it would affect me, and after reading it I felt a heavy knot in my stomach. I pushed the haunting images I constructed to the dark corners of my mind, and tried to put it behind me. I was feeling a little emotional, but I figured it would go away as the evening went on.

After putting Cordy to bed, we settled in to watch some evening TV. Grey’s Anatomy featured the team responding to a major disaster, and of course, there was a traumatized little girl looking for her mother, and a mother who had lost her young son and didn’t know if he was safe. I tend to not get too involved in this show, and didn’t think it bothered me, even though it was secretly adding to the build up.

Finally, noticing that we had spent the evening in opposite corners of the living room, I walked over to the couch and asked Aaron if I could join him. He gave an annoyed sigh, said something about how it wasn’t easy to work on his computer with someone else sitting on the couch as well, shut the computer down and tossed it aside. It felt like an angry response, and at that moment I felt less important than whatever he was reading on the computer, and felt like I was intruding.

I sat down next to him, and then the tears started to flow. I tried to stifle the flow, but once the first drop escaped down my cheek, there was no stopping them. I was a sobbing mess. Aaron asked what was wrong, but I couldn’t give a straight answer. I was a little upset at his response when I wanted to sit with him, but it certainly wasn’t worth a full-out cry.

As we sat there in silence, watching TV, the other bad moments of the day started appearing in my head, and while I couldn’t fully explain it, I realized that my emotional outburst was a result of a day-long build up. Aaron wiped away the tears and wondered why I was so upset. Soon I was talking about the news story I read, about how I felt bad about Cordy burning her cheek, even about Anna Nicole Smith and her poor little girl left with no mother, and every other thing bothering me. Even though I couldn’t give a straight answer, he seemed to understand. I laughed and told him, “You should count yourself lucky – at least this is a rare occurrence, and I’m not nearly as hormonal as some pregnant women!”

I don’t mind being emotional – a good cry feels refreshing sometimes – but I could do without these sudden outbursts. I don’t like being ambushed by my emotions, finding myself suddenly crying at a minor issue, when it is likely that the real cause is several minor issues that have built up, or simply one small thing that happens to hit a particular nerve that day.

I’m one of those people who cries very easily, and I’ve spent a lot of effort over the years trying to keep it in control, to avoid those embarrassing situations of crying at the wrong time. Like in public. Or at work. So it bothers me when I have that unexpected loss of emotional control. Aaron has become used to me crying when we fight, or if Cordy completely overwhelms me, but I think last night even caught him off guard.

When you were pregnant (or if you currently are), were you more emotional than normal? Did you find yourself breaking down at unusual moments? Did TV commercials or news stories make you cry?

I forgot that Stefanie Wilder-Taylor was going to be on the Today Show this morning, but stumbled upon it while watching the news for weather, traffic, and closing updates. (In case you didn’t know, the sky dumped snow on us last night. Yay, winter!)

I was first reminded when they were sitting on the couch, discussing upcoming stories that hour, and they reminded viewers they would be revisiting the Cocktail Playdates story, after the uproar it caused last week. Apparently word reached them that people had some pretty strong opinions on the subject, including many bloggers who felt the segment was nothing more than an ambush on moms who think a glass of wine while hanging out with other moms is OK. (Do a Technorati search for Cocktail Playdates to see many of the blog posts, or just see Melissa’s list of blog posts here.)

At that point, Matt Lauer put Meredith Viera on the spot, asking her what her opinion was on the topic of drinking around kids. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone sputter that much while trying to craft a politically correct answer on live TV. She spit out something about it being hard to give a direct answer, with pros and cons on both sides, blah, blah, blah. At that point, I decided Cordy could do without the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse today, because I was curious to see how they would revisit the topic.

While I knew Stefanie would be on the show, I wasn’t expecting Dr. Janet there again. But like a bad song that just won’t get out of your head, there she was. (“we need to find healthier ways…healthier ways…”) With the first question asked, I started to cringe when Dr. Janet immediately began her discussion with “drinking to self-medicate”. Here we go again.

The truth is, she wasn’t as harsh this time. She finally got past the “we need to find healthier ways…” scratch in the record, although she still wouldn’t accept that moms could drink at playdates. The issue of dads drinking around their kids was artfully skirted by saying that these drinking moms were the primary caregivers. Oh! It all makes sense now! We’re the primary caregivers for our kids, so we can’t have a glass of wine, but if dad wants to knock back a few beers watching the game while we’re out at the grocery, it’s OK, because he’s not the primary caregiver. And while Dr. Janet didn’t make it very clear, it seemed like she was saying if two parents are at an event together, that primary caregiver (AKA Mom) better not be drinking.

Apparently if a mom signs on to be a stay at home mom (or maybe they’re saying all moms are the primary caregivers? I’m sure stay at home dads love hearing that.), she loses all ability to monitor her own actions, and a glass of wine will make her a danger to herself and her children. Last I checked, even after one glass of wine, I still knew how to dial 911.

(Though only Cordy could hear it, I applauded and cheered when Stefanie asked if we needed to have “designated parents”. Brilliant.)

So what did I learn this time? Sadly, little changed with this second segment. Stefanie did an excellent job defending her position, but I still felt like Dr. Janet and Meredith were talking at her, instead of responding to her points. Personally, I don’t think moms are scared of being called a bad parent. I think we’re sick of being told that anything we do could make us bad parents, as if we are incapable of making reasonable and sane parenting choices.

I also learned that it’s OK to have half a beer around your kids, with your husband present, and only at dinnertime. (What happened to the line about any amount of alcohol being bad? Is Dr. Janet softening her position?) But if you want your own beer, or you happen to be only with other moms? Well, you’re out of line, little lady.

Hearing someone say, “You’re all baby, and you look fabulous!”?

A foot massage by a hot, shirtless pool boy named Fernando?

Walking without feeling like my pelvis will split in two if I take one wrong step?

A glass of wine?

No, my friends. While all of those are nice, this is what true happiness looks like:

After a long (too long!) absence, they’re back. That yummy, frozen pudding-on-a-stick goodness is back.

While grocery shopping the other day, I caught a glimpse of them out of the corner of my eye, and before you could say Bill Cosby, they were in my cart. I don’t know how long pudding pops have been off the market, but it’s been long enough for several petitions to circulate, demanding their return, and for others to attempt to fill the void with homemade versions of this creamy treat.

I have already scarfed down a third of the box, and while the taste matches my memory of it, there are some differences. No worries – all three flavors are represented again: chocolate, vanilla, and that oh-so-daring chocolate-vanilla swirl. But like other childhood memories, looking at the pudding pop today, it just looks…smaller. I remember pudding pops that were tall, wider than they were thin, with that wonderful freezer-burn coat on the outside (seriously, the only product that tastes better the longer it’s been in the freezer).

Doing some research, I found it’s not just my failing memory. They are smaller now, about the size of a Good Humor popsicle, both shorter and lacking in width. The freezer burn ice coat, however, still remains.

They may not be exactly like the originals, but the taste and smell are close enough to keep me happy. And when you’re pregnant, with heightened senses of taste and smell, that’s a Good Thing.

Edit: Speaking of food – do you like granola bars? Check out my review of a new chewy granola bar at Mommy’s Must Haves.

Cordy is not a girly girl.

Oh sure, she wears dresses when I put them on her. Of course, she has no opinion on what she wants to wear, and doesn’t care how I dress her. She hates having her hair messed with, preferring the style achieved by rubbing her head all over the couch and a fleece blanket: frizzy and standing straight up. Headbands, ribbons, hairclips? Never.

She does appreciate beauty, but not where you’d expect. She will hold up her soccer ball and proclaim, “Itz booo-ti-full!” She has yet to apply the term “beautiful” to any person, or anything beyond balls, her fleece PJs, a sippy cup of milk, and her beloved stuffed puppy.

For Hanukkah, she was given a pretty pink plastic tea set. She hugged that box all night, and continued to hug it the next day, and the day after that. When we finally opened it and took out a cup for her to play with, she tossed the cup aside. No, it was the box she liked.

We have yet to see Cordy take much of an interest in stereotypical “girl” toys. Other moms have come to accept their fate with their girly girls, even embrace it, while I watch my daughter attempt to carry my giant exercise ball, which she lines up with her soccer ball and her beach ball, before making her plastic baby Jaguar (from Go, Diego, Go) jump from one to the next to save the Little People giraffe. I don’t necessarily want her to be a girly girl – her disinterest in Barbies and Bratz dolls is, frankly, a relief to me. But I keep mentally preparing myself for her to hit the well-known “Princess” stage of development, just so I’m ready for it and not overwhelmed by the wave of pink and glitter and an interest in shoes and crowns. (Mostly because I have no fashion sense when it comes to shoes, and would be at a loss to discuss fashion with her.)

This weekend, we took her to Toys ‘R Us to pick out a toy. She had a gift card from Christmas, and I wanted to use it before we forgot about it and it was lost to the bottom of my purse. So we put her in a cart, and wheeled her around the store like an empress, stopping to let her look at anything that she fancied. She rarely gets to do this, so it was a treat. We didn’t want to influence her one way or the other, so we tried to take her down every aisle that featured toys that were appropriate for her age.

She loved the fire truck she saw in the clearance aisle. But as is often the case for her, she knows she’s limited on what she can have, and will often hold onto a toy as if it is her most prized possession, only to later thrust it into our hands when she sees something more interesting. We can always tell what she really wants, when she refuses to let go, even to scan it at checkout.

The fire truck, however, didn’t even earn being pulled into the cart, and so we continued on. I did push her a little bit towards the Little People toys, just because I think they’re cute. I tried to point out the Little People farm, but she pushed it away as she reached out and grabbed the Little People dinosaur set. Aaron and I looked at each other a little surprised as she happily touched each figure, saying, “Dinosawr!” each time. Then she saw the Little People schoolbus, followed by the plane, and held each of them for awhile. We held up the Little People palace to see if she was interested in that, but she pushed it away, gave back the plane, and grabbed the dinosaurs again. We thought that might be the toy of the day.

Then she looked across the aisle and demanded to be pushed over to that wall of toys. It was the Elmo wall. (ugh) She carefully examined the choices, and then grabbed the Elmo guitar from the shelf. Musical instruments are a favorite for her, and we generally encourage them, but after hearing about 5 seconds of this monstrosity, Aaron and I decided she must be distracted with something else. Anything. Not only was it producing loud, tinny music, but the music was very slightly out of key – just enough to drive you insane. If 5 seconds gave us that response, think of what all day would do to us.

We quickly progressed down the aisle to the Backyardigans and Dora/Diego toys, and soon the evil Elmo guitar was no more. However, she still had yet to pick anything that she was really interested in. While Aaron took time to put toys back in the right spots, I ventured down the aisle of pink to see if Cordy might like anything there.

Short answer: nope. She looked on in boredom at the rows of dolls, accessories, dress-up clothes, and play strollers. I picked up a doll that looks like a newborn, showing it to her, but she turned her head in disgust, pushed it back at me and said with disdain, “Noooooo!” I held up a fairy costume, asking her if she wanted to dress like a fairy, and she once again turned her head away from the sparkly wings and gown. Nothing in the aisle of pink appealed to her. Even Dora, who was Princess Dora in that aisle, complete with castle, could not hold her interest.

We went back to the Little People, and she once again grabbed the dinosaurs. Figuring this was the closest thing to a real choice, the cart was turned towards the registers. But that’s when she saw the trains. Suddenly the dinosaurs were tossed to daddy, and she reached for Thomas and Friends as she said, “Wook! Twains! Oooh! Twaaaains!” She’s never seen a single episode of Thomas the Tank Engine, but the trains were too exciting to pass up. In a matter of minutes, she had a few train engines in the cart with her, plus a steam shovel, and was happily reciting the colors of each of them. Aaron grabbed a case to hold her trains in, too, knowing there was no way to transport these out of our house without them getting lost.

At this point, nothing else would make her happy, and so the trains were purchased. Of course, while in line, a woman noticed the trains in the cart, and asked Aaron if Cordy had a little brother. (Cordy was dressed in pink that day, so for once she wasn’t mistaken for a boy.) Aaron explained that no, Cordy likes trains, and that’s what she picked to buy with her gift card.

Of course she likes trains. She’s our non-girly girl. And that’s OK. Some day her XX chromosomes may go into overdrive and proclaim pink to be the new black, and Barbie to be the new Dora, and that’s OK too. For now, I’ll start reading up on the parts of a train, so I can play with her as she pushes her trains around on her tea set box.