The Barefoot Kitchen Witch

My Little Man

I called my sister at 7 this morning to see how Alex had fared last night - his first night away from home in his entire 22 months outside the womb.

Natalie, my niece, (aka "Nanee" to Alex) answered - Alex had a great time, she told me. He slept in her room, eventually in his playpen/makeshift crib, but took a long time to go to sleep - he was having too much fun with his cousins.

Next I talked to Calvin, my nephew, and he also informed me that he started out the night in that same tiny bedroom with Natalie and Alex - he slept down at the foot of Natalie's bed, but eventually he went to his own room just to get some sleep. He also told me that Alex didn't cry once the whole time.

Finally I talked to my sister - I could hear Alex's little voice in the background. And Mere reiterated what both kids had said - Alex had a great time and didn't shed a single tear.

WAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! HE DOESN'T NEED ME ANY MORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Just kidding, mostly. I'm glad he did well - I won't have to worry about him when we drop him there en route to the hospital.

Mere also told me that Natalie actually complained that Alex wouldn't let her go to sleep (Natalie is the night owl of the two kids) - and Alex was also awake around 5:30 this morning. He's had an exciting time. I got to Mere's house around 9 or so this morning and hung out with all of them outside...Alex and the kids playing with soccer balls and badminton rackets...or drawing on the sidewalk with chalk...or collecting rocks.

By late morning Alex finally crashed - he just stood in the front yard and burst into overtired and overstimulated tears. I loaded him into the car and he was asleep about five minutes into the ride home. He's still sleeping - I figure he needs a longer nap than usual.

I'm glad he's home. My little guy.

Trial Run

Tonight Alex will be sleeping at my sister's house.

His first time sleeping away from home, not in his own bed. He will probably sleep better than I will. Not that I worry about him in my sister's care - it's got nothing to do with that. I'm just so accustomed to him being here that it's going to be very strange while he's there.

We're doing this just so he has the experience of sleeping somewhere else before the baby arrives. There will be enough strangeness in his world once the baby shows up - I wanted him to at least have slept over at Meredith's one time before we drop him there on the way to the hospital next month.

So I've packed up his playpen - which he doesn't really use anymore - that will serve as his crib at my sister's house...his hich chair/booster seat thing...bibs, bowl, sippy cup...toothbrush and toothpaste...two sets of pajamas and two changes of clothes...some of his favorite books, some balls (of course) and once he wakes up from his nap I'll get his blanket and some stuffed animals.

(I just heard some sort of crash upstairs...and I'm trying to figure out what he might have done - from the confines of his crib - to make that sound...I don't hear him talking or crying or anything...hmmmmm.

Maybe it was the cat doing something destructive in a different room up there...)

Oh, and I'm about 3 1/2 weeks from my due date now...it's going faster and faster. My other project for this weekend is to get my stuff ready to go for the hospital trip. I have a list...in the other room...you'd think I'd remember most of it, since Alex is less than 2 years old, but I don't. I don't remember much of anything, to tell you the truth. I am half asleep on some level most of the time. I could nod off now, truly, if I stopped typing.

(I hear more noise from upstairs...I think he's flinging his stuffed animals from the crib. When he runs out of victims, he will summon me.)

Some friends at work threw a shower for me this past Tuesday. So much pink! And over-cautious me refuses to cut tags off of anything or wash them until the baby is born and it's definitely a girl. I hope it's a girl - the thought of traipsing all over the place to exchange all the pink stuff for blue doesn't appeal to me right now.

(Alex is saying "bye bye" to all the stuffed animals that he threw out of his crib. He sounds genuinely sorry for what he's done to them...)

I have thank you cards to write tomorrow...

I haven't been typing much - my hands can't take it. Even now, my left thumb is numb and the fingers on that hand are starting to tag along.

I'm in the bloated tick phase of pregnancy. Everything I wear is too tight or hot or itchy or pointy or something. (I know, would I like some cheese with this whine? Too bad...this is where I am right now.)

I sleep sitting up, propped up by 5 pillows arranged just so behind me...my hands and wrists cinched in by the wrist braces I wear to ward off the evil carpal tunnel torture that attacks at night. The braces don't work, really. I still wake up around 2 in the morning with my hands feeling hot and swollen and numb and tingling and on fire. Oh - and to ward off some of the swelling in my Flintstone feet, I have taken to stacking folded bath towels and propping my legs up on them...I get everything positioned just so - and promptly have to roll back out of bed because the baby is jumping on my bladder. Again. I go through this about 3 or 4 times a night.

And no - don't even tell me it's practice for after the baby comes. It's not the same at all. Not at all.

What else...oh, that's about it for now. Alex is awake and sounding cute - I need to waddle up the stairs and see what he's up to.

Notes From the Jungle

I had to sign off on another incident report today. No biting this time, but Alex was written up for pushing a girl and causing her to fall (outside, on the gravel in the play yard) and scrape some portion of her anatomy. She probably cried too. The wimp.

Just kidding about the wimp part.

According to the report, Alex was removed from the scene and seated at a table with a couple of toys so he could, apparently, realize that if he really is sick of sharing toys with these other kids at any time, he just has to injure one and he'll get a few toys or books all to himself. Gee, I bet that'll work real well.

After his "punishment," Alex apparently hugged the girl. And they went on with their little lives.

It was also noted that Alex has been pushing and shoving his friends this week (I feel like doing that almost every Monday, come to think of it...).

I read that little bit of information and I can hear the disappointment in the daycare voices...it almost throws me back to my own childhood, when I'd done something wrong and my mother was disappointed in me...that awful feeling of failure...I slouch just thinking about it.

Plus, you read that and it sounds like Alex is the ONLY child being aggressive and violent. But he isn't. Not two minutes after I read the report and signed it, I saw another kid go right up to Alex, matchbox car in hand, and shove Alex in the face, which knocked Alex onto the floor. Of course tears and sobs and runny nose and drool followed, but I wiped them away and waddled quickly across the room to pick up Alex. The daycare teacher person took off toward the attacker and made him sit down at a table and play with some toys and books. (Some other kids, jealous of his "punishment" tried to take the books for themselves. They were chastized. I don't get it.)

I bet that kid didn't get written up. It was the end of the day and I'm sure no one wanted to do the paperwork.

But you know, it made me feel better, in a weird way. Clearly, Alex is not the only little thug at play in the room. They are all little monsters at one time or another. One hits, they observe, they try it themselves. And I really don't think telling them to keep their hands on their own bodies (yes, overheard that today) is going to do much of anything. First of all, I doubt they're really paying attention, and second, do they really care? If the worst that happens is they have to sit at a table and endure toys, I really don't see how this will change their behavior. Perhaps I'm just uneducated.

Not that I have a solution. Not for that setting. Not with that many kids bouncing off the walls and each other. But I take comfort in the fact that Alex is not the evil child among the pure and innocent. They're all cute, and they're all (including the girls) little monsters at times. They have to be. It's the only way to survive.

But to balance that out...

I wanted to post this the day it happened, but in my current state of disorganization that didn't happen. But better late than never.....

Two Saturdays ago I was home with Alex, and Bill had gone down to my parents' houses (something old, something new) to help move more stuff from the old to the new. I stayed home with Alex, because he had a probable case of pink eye, and I didn't want my sister's kids catching it.

It was afternoon, and Alex had just gone down for his nap.

I was tired and - as I've been for much of this pregnancy - overly emotional. I also have been feeling, lately, really frumpy and dowdy and ugly and yucky. I do not have the "glow" of pregnancy this time. I had it last time. I found great humor in my ungainliness...in my swollen ankles (Fred Flintstone feet)...I accepted the carpal tunnel pain with some grace. Not this time. This time I feel ugly.

I caught a glimpse of my profile (okay, no, "caught a glimpse" is incorrect. I masochistically sought out the reflection of my profile in the bathroom mirror at work.) I was wearing this very pretty sage green maternity sweater my mother gave me for Christmas...only I think I should have stopped wearing it at the end of the 6th month. It no longer drapes nicely. It hugs. And at nearly 8 months, the only things you want hugging you are your husband or your adorable little son.

I observed the various rounded portions of my anatomy, swathed in acrylic cableknit stitching...and I later told someone that I looked like I was hiding all the easter eggs under the sweater. Some pretty damn big eggs under there, too.

I also decided I looked like a (green) mangled sausage...or a mutant balloon animal. Oddly enough, these things make me happy.

But anyway, back to Saturday. I was just wiped out. I've been tense and crabby and less than fun to be around. So much so that I come close to screaming insanely at my husband things like "You don't find me attractive any more!!!" (Well, gee, no, honey, I haven't really ever been attracted to raving lunatics.)

It was, perhaps, good that I had some quiet time to myself.

I watched TV. I just sat there on the couch, remote in hand, and watched. I think I made myself some lunch, too, but basically I just sat.

I saw the last fifteen minutes of Splash on some movie channel - and cried buckets. "Tom Hanks gave up everything to follow Daryl Hannah into the ocean! He loved her so much!!!!" And so on...I didn't actually say any of this out loud, but I thought it.

Fortunately the movie that started right afterward was a nice, safe, action movie. Something called Murder at 1600, starring Wesley Snipes (D.C. Homicide Detective) and included in the cast Alan Alda, Ronnie Cox, Dennis Miller, and Diane Lane. Diane Lane was a secret service agent who ends up working with Wesley to figure out who was really behind the murder of a young woman (I can't remember what her job there was...) at the White House...

It was not the best movie I've ever seen. It was not the worst. The important thing was that I got to see almost the entire movie, from start to finish, uninterrupted.

Alex woke up at 3:00. The movie was scheduled to end at 3:30. And by that point, I had to see the end, just because I'd seen so much of it already.

So when I heard Alex talking to his stuffed animals and pointing to faces on his "family tree" and naming them (Mama...Daddy...JOE...Em!...Nanee...Papa), I ran (well, waddled swiftly) up the stairs at the next commercial, went through some more naming of family members with him, and brought him back downstairs (with juice). Phew!

The movie was back from commercial. Wesley Snipes and Diane Lane were in his car driving somewhere with very concerned looks on their faces. I didn't hear what they were talking about.

The only thing I heard was Alex's little voice. He pointed at the television, put his little index finger right on Diane Lane's face, and said "Mama!"

I cannot express how overjoyed I was at that moment.

Alex somehow thinks his frumpy, lumpy, sausage-like mother looks just like Diane Lane.

That is, I believe, the best compliment I have ever received in my entire life.

Thank you, Alex.

Opening Day

I think I pointed out in my last post that this coming Saturday is Opening Day of Trout Season here in the state of Rhode Island. It is my husband's Holy Day. (This is the day which the Lord, God hath made...we shall be glad and make sure we have purchased our fishing licenses for the year - with the trout stamp - well before 6:00 am on the morning of Opening Day)

Anyway, this is the post from last year. Alex is older, so I'm not sure if I'll have the opportunity to write this year as I did then.

So, here goes...

(from my old blog)

For those of you who weren't born into and didn't marry into the same religion as my husband, today is the most holy day of the year.

Today is the second Saturday in April...Opening Day of Trout Season in Rhode Island.

Last night my husband carefully and reverently loaded my car (his is having ignition problems) with the various articles necessary for today's activities: two fresh-water poles with 6-pound-test line, tackle box, smaller trout-specific tackle box, net, new spinner bait lures he bought last night, new cushions for the canoe while it is held aloft on top of my car on the journey to Mecca - I mean Carbunkle Pond...., rain gear for himself and his nephew, Joe (Joe's using my rain gear), straps to hold the canoe on the car, a blanket to put on top of the car but beneath the cushions and the canoe, a garbage bag for the day's catch, a stringer, the canoe motor and battery (Carbunkle is pretty big, and it's not a whole lot of fun paddling when there are 50,000 other pilgrims out there looking to catch the same 6 trout you're after)...a paddle, just in case...life jackets (required by law), current fishing licenses with trout stamps, gloves, and meal worms.

I think that's everything. I didn't convert when we got married, so I only have a small part in the Opening Day activities.

This morning we were all up by 4:30 am, except Alex, who is too young to participate...he will be baptized when he is old enough to fully grasp the seriousness of this day - it is not fishing for fun, like the pagans (Mommy) do. This morning's venture is a mission from the god of fishing. It is to be treated with the utmost respect and reverence. If it is cold and raining (like it is today), too bad. There will be no going home until the limit has been caught, until the clouds part and the angels sing, until nirvana is reached, until...well, something like that. But there's definitely no going home without fish.

While my husband and Joe put the last few things into the car, and put the canoe on top, I started the coffee and made them the traditional Opening Day breakfast. Fried egg on an english muffin. With melted cheese. And this year - slices of pepperoni that had been warmed in the pan while the eggs were cooking. This is my contribution to the day. I know, I know, some of you (Mom, Meredith) think I am nuts to bother getting up and feeding them if I'm not going anywhere myself...and it's probably true. But I do it anyway.

Maybe it's for luck ("Luck? We don't need luck, foolish woman! We have powerbait! We have spinners! We have meal worms! We don't need luck!")...or maybe it's because I like to fish too. Just not on opening day. I lack the faith and devotion that oozes from my husband's pores. I will want to go home and be warm.

So anyway, they should be arriving at Carbunkle Pond any moment now. (It is 5:48 at this moment.) It is a cold, wet morning. We had a lot of rain last night, and I think it's supposed to rain this morning on and off as well. But that's okay. Rain is not a bad thing when you're fishing for trout. Much better to have rain, or at least a dark, overcast sky, than bright sun. Bright sun will cast shadows on the water, and nothing makes a suspicious trout decide to stay right where he is than the shadowy shape of a canoe and two tall men with poles and a net directly above. So this morning's weather is a good thing. It will extend the prime fishing time by at least another hour, maybe two.

Opening day commences at 6:00 am. Sharp. Not a second before. And if you start a second after, you might as well reel in your worm and dauber, pack up your gear, and go home. There will not be a single square inch of water available after all the Opening Day veterans have cast.

Here's why. Imagine John Lennon and George Harrison come back to life for one weekend. And they get together with Paul and Ringo somewhere for a reunion concert. Tickets will go on sale at 6:00 am on the morning of the Monday preceding that weekend. In one place only. Imagine all the people (couldn't help that) traveling for miles and miles to camp out in front of the ticket window for at least a month, just to make sure they get a seat somewhere within a 5 mile radius of the concert. Anyone who ambles out on Monday morning at 6:00:01 with any hope of getting a ticket is obviously running a few CD's short of a boxed set. (Okay, forgive me for that, but I tried.)

So it's the same principle here. Many people camp out the night before Opening Day. For some, it's a family tradition. They bring their children, their tents, their marshmallows, Hershey bars and graham crackers, and have a fun night of cooking outside their tent, over an open pile of damp logs and cold, wet coals. Then they curl up in their sleeping bags, safely out of the elements inside their snug tents, and pray that the mud slides hold off until morning.

Before dawn, these campers, and the other, smarter people who have "roughed it" enough in their lives to appreciate the convenience of a warm, dry bed and a warm, dry car, all gather at the water's edge (or out on the water, in their canoes and other vessels) to bait hooks, test line, plan strategy, determine wind direction, sniff the air ("there be trout in them thar waters...") and wish they'd brought a second set of gloves because it's really, really cold right now.

Everyone waits. The wind dies, the birds hush, and the fishing faithful pray. And then - it is 6:00 am - and in one beautiful, sweeping motion, reminiscent of Radio City Rockettes kicking, or a Busby Berkley (sp?) musical extravaganza, poles already angled back, ready for that first, exhilirating cast, arc forward with a SNAP! Lines fly out across the water, bait and lures of every kind break the water's surface, and Opening Day, the most wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful day of the year, has begun.

And then the next minute you hear a lot of unholy words being muttered because most everyone on shore has had their line tangle with about 5 or 6 other lines. It's hard not to tangle when you are standing shoulder to shoulder to rib cage to hip bone to elbow with 50,000 other people, after all.

My husband chooses to avoid this delay in his quest by going out onto the water. And it's nice to sit out in a canoe, early in the morning, smelling the damp, earthy scent of mud and sludge that has been stirred up by a million other boats and sinkers and feet...it's nice to listen to the birds singing their morning songs (they are permitted to begin again after 6:02 am)...it's nice to be far, far away from phones and news broadcasts and the daily grind.

Of course, it may be nice, but it don't catch you no fish. So you don't just sit there. You survey the water. You choose your spot. You take a cast . Let the worm float, let it hover there, calling to the starving trout who, only weeks before, were splashing happily in their home ponds at the trout hatcheries. The trout who, just weeks ago, had 3 square meals a day and didn't even have to look for it. Sure, they had to share with all the other trout in their age and size group, but there was plenty of food, and it just came right to you. Then they were gathered up and trucked away to these new ponds. At first they were kind of cool - much bigger, less crowding...more nooks and crannies to explore, and all that...but...no free food any more. Now they have to work for it. And having been hatched and raised in domesticity, they are complete novices. Sure, instinct will take over, but it's just not the same. Not half as much fun as hearing the dinner bell ring and racing all your buddies to the edge of the hatchery pond and fighting for breakfast pellets.

So Opening Day is actually kind of a cruel joke for the trout. After a couple weeks of trying to figure out if bug larva tastes as good as a pellet, (tastes a bit better, actually - not as crunchy, but there's a small pop when you bite it and the filling is smoothe and creamy.), suddenly, one morning, tons and tons of FREE FOOD falls into the pond. Hooray! The punishment is over! And the fish race each other again, laughing with giddy relief, toward the banquet.

And then sharp things pierce their cheeks and they are dragged to the surface of the water. Something dips into the water and next they are trapped in a tangle of what seems like a thousand ropes. The net lifts them out of the water and into the boat, where the hooks are removed from their tender mouths. And then they are either thrown back to go through this again (not likely), or they are put on a stringer. The humane fishermen will bleed them right away, so they die quickly. Ripping the gills out is a quick and effective means to this end. The less humane will put the fish in a bucket and let them flop around until they die. People have seen my husband rip the gills out and think that is cruel (or cool, depending on the age and gender of the observer). But he is not a cruel man. He does it so the fish will die fast and suffering is minimal.

And yes, this is necessary. These fish will not survive the year in these ponds anyway. The majority of the ponds are relatively shallow, and the water will get much too warm in the summer. Most of the ponds that are stocked are generally stocked twice a year - early spring and then again in the fall. Most of the trout have been caught before summer or winter hit.

So anyway, back to fishing.

Some years are good, others, not so good. Last year was a great year. Bill went with his friend and beer-brewing partner, John. Rather than sleep over, as Joe did this year, John slept in his own bed and promised to be at our house by 5:00 in the morning. Ha. He was late. And that is a BIG no-no on opening day. Actually, it is a bad idea any time you are going fishing first thing in the morning with my husband. But there's a reason. Very often the best fishing is done before the sun comes up. The fish can't see sun-backed images hovering menacingly above them. They think the things plopping on the top of the water are really little bugs or larvae. So the less sun, the better the fishing is. Unless you've been cursed by the fish gods, but that's different. You're doomed no matter what. Anyway, my point is, you want to catch fish, you get to our house on time. ESPECIALLY on Opening Day. Tardiness is a mortal sin.

And John was late. The car was ready, the canoe was strapped on top, coffee was made, and Bill had had his breakfast. The clock ticked. "If he's not here in five minutes I'm leaving." Okay. Okay. Maybe he'll be here. Pace, pace, pace, pace, back and forth, coffee in hand, one eye on the clock, the other squinting in fury. Finally, we hear a car pull in. John has arrived. He is late, but he will live. Bill has prepared coffee for John ("F*** him, he can drink it the way I make it!"). I offer to fix John breakfast. Bill takes the cold english muffin from my hand, thrusts it at John. "Here. You can eat that." And off they go.

Despite the ugliness of the start to their day, they caught 10 trout between them. The limit is 6 per person. They stopped at 10 because there was really no need for 12 fish. My husband is not greedy. He just wants to catch his limit. That's all.

There have been not-so-good years, and even an ugly year (my first experience as an Opening Day widow) when my husband, my brother-in-law, my father, and my cousin all went together, 2 canoes between them, and were gone a long, long time. They arrived home around 3:30 in the afternoon, if I remember right. With 2 fish. That's it. Not 2 fish each. Just 2 fish. My cousin, Steve, caught at least one of them. Either my dad caught the other one, or Steve caught both and my dad had one on but lost it...something like that. Anyway. Steve doesn't even really like to fish. He went along because he's a nice guy and a team player and this way there were 4 of them so they could use the 2 canoes in various combinations. Bill, the mighty fisherman, who has been doing this since he was an embryo, caught nothing. Little girls were reeling in monster trout on their Snoopy poles and he caught nothing. Not even a bite. It was not pretty. No. It was an ugly, ugly day. We don't talk about it.

So who knows what today will bring. Bill has vowed, as he does every year, not to come home without fish. Without at least one fish. And I hope he is successful. Partly because I like trout. Partly because I want him to be happy. Partly because I don't want him to be miserable for the rest of the day/evening/weekend.

And partly because I want to take a picture of him and Alex and Joe with a stringer of fish. Alex has a really cute tiny little fishing vest, and that combined with a green plaid shirt and jeans and a goofy hat will be just adorable. So what if he didn't catch any of the fish. Some day he will.

And now, I am going to fix myself some breakfast and warm up my coffee again. Alex is awake. Time to start our day.

Yikes...

It's been a while...again. I just don't always find/make/get/give myself the time to type. I'm less than 6 weeks away from my due date...I'm tired...my feet and lower legs are puffy and swollen by the end of the day (I'm a real looker, ti tell you)...I've got carpal tunnel flaring up in both hands...I don't sleep well because of the hands and the heartburn/acid reflux and my general shape...and I work and I have a toddler and a husband - and so this blog is kind of lower on my daily list of things to do... But - here I am. Alex has not bitten anyone lately - at least not since that time I mentioned last week or the week before (I've lost track). In fact, he has a friend. His first friend. It's another little boy in the room - I think he's also the bite victim - and they've been together since the infant room...and they play together all day, according to the teachers/caring individuals who run the middler toddler class. It's so cute....my little boy, not even two yet, has a friend. Um...well, if it would stop raining for a minute or two, I'd go outside and clear the remaining leaves off the flower beds in front of my house...but it's just too wet and I'm not that dedicated a gardener, apparently. And all the seedlings we started a few weeks ago are doing well, and so are the early peas that Bill planted a month ago. We were a bit worried because we had a sudden spell of snow and cold, but the peas just waited it out and are now coming up nicely. My little not-yet-born child is very, very active. I don't think she sleeps. I say "she" because the ultrasound tech said "she" - and yet there is that cautious part of me that refuses to buy any girl stuff just in case...though other people have been doing it. My sister...my sister-in-law. They each have a daughter (after having had a son each as well), and the two daughters are 8 (almost 9) and 17 (almost 18), so it's been a while on both sides since there were any tiny girl things purchased. I am distracted at work. I don't feel like focusing on anything, which is unfortunate, as we are gearing up for our busy season...I just kind of do the best I can mentally and try not to sneak online too much to look at the news or other peoples' blogs or the babycenter.com website. I'm management...I'm supposed to set a good example. I just got back from my parents' house. The new house. It's getting there...it's not the same, but it's getting there. They are still unpacking, still trying to figure out where to put things in this house with its smaller kitchen and no built-in china closet...it's funny - the living room and the den/tv room/computer room have the comfortable furniture, but we still congregate in the kitchen....chairs dragged in from the dining room (which as yet has not been dined in because everything glass or dish related is in a holding pattern in that room - on shelves, on the table, etc, until my parents find new homes for everything. So we were gathered around the little table in the little kitchen - Mom, Meredith, Dad, me...occasionally my sister's kids and Alex would come in too...mostly for food.... Next Saturday - a week from today, is Opening Day of Trout Season. I did a post on my old blog about that and will probably bring it over to this site at some point. It is my hisband's High Holy Day and nothing but nothing ever interferes with it. I believe this year he will go with his nephew, Joe, who should be returning from Iraq mid-week for about a month or so until he goes back over again. There are two showers planned for me this month. I've been told about them both, mostly because it's easier to do it that way than try to trick me somehow. Not that the attempt wasn't made....the only time anyone at work ever asks me which town my husband teaches in is when a shower is being planned. First the wedding, then the first baby...and then I was asked again two weeks ago, and I knew. They needed to contact Bill to let him know so he could (for some reason) volunteer to pick up Alex at daycare that day and meanwhile there would be some reason that I was going somewhere else that day after work...so since he also teaches several nights a week at a local college, I figured I'd be helpful and provide that schedule as well. They decided to just tell me. And then this morning my mother asked what I was doing (interruption - this baby is a violent, pushy little person and there's some hard portion of her anatomy shoving its way through my skin, practically, as I type this...) where was I? Oh, yeah, Mom asked what I was doing one Sunday later this month - she and Mere decided it would be easier to tell me about that too. Plus - it's the second baby, it's not as crucial as the first, it's not like I don't have any baby things at all...I have plenty left from two years ago. Mostly I'll need really little diapers, I think. And of course, both showers will be festivals of pink and ruffly things.... I'm mostly going for the food. :) Speaking of food - I haven't had lunch yet. I'm starving. My fingers are starting to go numb. Not sure when I'll be writing again, but I'm doing my best at the moment! Maybe after the baby's born...at least work won't be interfering with it!