Sunday, November 7, 2010
Trip to K-Mart (the K stands for Krazy)
In an effort to preserve my sanity, my saintly grandmother graciously watches Avery for one morning a week. Today was that morning. After I conveniently slept through my doctor’s appointment (relying on your toddler to wake you up before 8am never works, despite the fact that she normally wakes up at 7:30am every. single. morning.), I hurriedly drove Avery over to “Gamma’s house” for their weekly date.
Avery LOVES going to Gramma’s house, and couldn’t get me out of there any faster. I almost miss the days when she used to cry after I left; it’s been months since my departure has brought about a single tear. I quickly found myself with an empty carseat, a full tank of gas, and nowhere to go.
It’s like I’ve completely forgotten how not to be a mom. I didn’t want to go back to my empty house and sit around with my cats (I’m trying my best to convince Andrew I won’t end up on an episode of Animal Hoarders, which coincidentally is a terrific show). So I racked my brain to come up with an urgent errand to run that didn’t involve chasing a crazed toddler through Target. That’s when I remembered that Avery no longer wears pants. I don’t mean like she doesn’t wear pants because she insists on being naked all the time (which is also true), I mean she refuses to wear anything that’s not a dress. I have no idea where she got this behavior, because I haven’t worn a dress since my cousin’s wedding in April 2009, and I ended up losing that dress later that night (a story for another time).
The problem is, most of Avery’s dresses are sundresses, and it’s November. In Cleveland. It could literally start snowing at any minute (yes, I know I vowed to stop using the word “literally,” shut up).
Long story short, I spent the next hour in K-Mart searching for warm-looking tights. I didn’t find any. What I did find instead, is that K-Mart is a hub for all kinds of crazy. Just straight-up padded-walls, frontal-lobotomy crazy.
This is what I overheard in the linens aisle: “And you know me, my cleavage is always fling-flangin’ around anyway, so what’s the use?” I, predictably, turned around to see what lovely angel of a human being would yell that at a crowded store at 9 in the morning.
Since I know you’re all wondering, this lady’s cleavage was not the kind that anyone would want to see flingin’ or flangin’, outside of a circus. Let’s just say she has to lift them up in order to buckle her pants. Not that her pants had any sort of buckle, zipper, or drawstring. In fact, I think they were hospital pajamas. Which she probably still has from when she escaped from the mental institution in the 80s (The 80s also being the last time this person has bathed). What’s worse is that she shouted this not to a gal pal, but to her elderly, crippled mother, who was shuffling around in detached apathy. Meaning she probably hears similar proclamations about 87 times a day.
That’s when I realized that I’m no different than that mother, totally unalarmed by her daughter’s insanity. In fact, I’m not sure when Avery last bathed either. (We go in phases of loving the bath and hating the bath. This week, we hate the bath).
Let’s just hope that by the time Avery has cleavage, she won’t be yelling about it as I defeatedly follow her around K-Mart.
My Baby, The Prankster
I just got back from my 20 week ultrasound scan. (I'm five months today, woohoo!)
In addition to wanting to know that the baby is developing on target anatomically, we really wanted to get an idea of the baby's sex. This baby is darn prankster.
For 45 minutes, the baby would not open their legs to give us a peek. The tech could not tell for sure whether we're having a boy or girl but she's leaning more towards the baby being a girl because she couldn't detect any sign of a little nub peeking between the legs. But she stressed that she is really guessing based on what she saw, which isn't a lot.
I don't know if my doctor will order another scan but if she doesn't we will never know until birth. What a practical joker. All through the night he/she constantly kicks and turns and somersaults all over my stomach but when it comes time to give mommy a clue it stays still. Ugh!
Oh baby, you are just like your dad. All about the jokes. 
During your ultrasound did you have trouble finding out the sex of the baby?
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