Crap I Say When I Am Pregnant

Like "Poop" My Dad Says, I think that Crap I Say When I Am Pregnant" could be just as funny.
Or Frightening.

For example, all said today:
"I don't know how I was sweet to her.  I'm not sweet to anyone anymore."

"I'd ask you to rub what hurts, but that would start a very different kind of special time."

and my personal favorite...

"The amount of curse words coming out of my mouth is in direct proportion to the amount of pain in my vagina."

See, while knocked up, the little filter that runs from my brain to my mouth shrinks right along with the brain.  All the blood is going down south, and can't be keeping my filter running at top speed, which I need at all times.

On top of the emotional roller coaster, I bet I make for one fantastic person to live with right now.  Really.  I must.   Interesting at the very least.

If I spout of more gems, I'll be sure to let you know.  I might just start a chain of CISWIAP (Crap I say when I am pregnant) posts.  Look for them.  They will probably be your favorites.

I Hate Baloons

I hate balloons. No. There was no quirky, slightly misleading title to this post. There is no interesting build up. The truth here is bad enough.

I am a mother who loathes balloons.

I do. I can't stand them. They make me cringe every time I see one, and I am not allergic to latex. So, the reaction is purely mental for me.

I have to say that my hatred probably stemmed from my own mother. As a child, like most children, I loved balloons. Every time we would get a balloon, though, my mom would tell us this horror story about a little boy who put a balloon up to his mouth and popped it. According to her, pieces went into his throat, and if I remember correctly, they couldn't get them all out, and he died before anyone could get him to the hospital. Now, I have no idea how true this story is, or when it happened, but I believe my mom really feared for us when she told us this story. So in turn, I now fear for my children, and think of this very story every time they have one.

The hatred is so deep seated, though, that they don't even have to have a balloon for me to get agitated. Just seeing one is enough to start my skin crawling.

I know that the moment someone beside them gets a balloon, or there is an opportunity for them to get a balloon, that we have to have that discussion about why they can't have one, and I have to come up with some terrible excuse. I feel like a bad mom because I won't let them have a simple little balloon, one of life's joys for a child. It isn't even that I am being a bad mom, but more a little nutty and overly concerned mom. It is just the way I am and I like to avoid the situation at all costs.

I try to be cool about things, and realize that kids will be kids, but seriously, I just can't quite get past all my fears when it comes to balloons. I know in my head that this is my issue, and that kids get balloons all the time without inhaling them. So, I am trying to work on that. I am trying to give them some time to play with them, and just not freak about them all the time. Maybe one day, I can even be excited with them when they get a balloon, or at least not want to handle them like I am a member of the bomb squad, taking care of a suspicious package. Maybe.

Oh my. What have I started?

My husband is currently deployed. We are making it work.

As I was doing laundry the other day, I came across one of his dirty shirts that had ended up in the clean pile. No idea how that happened. Well, actually, if I were to guess, I would say that the little one, in her zeal to "help" me, carried dirty clothes from the laundry room to the clean clothes I was folding on the couch.

Anyway, I smelled it, and it smells like my husband. Ohh. I love that smell, too.

So, I call the little one over, and tell her to smell the shirt. First of all, she doesn't know how to intake air and make the loud sniffing sound. So, she smells, then blows air our of her nose really hard, just to make the noise. Cute.

"Who does this smell like?"

"Daddy-go!!" As an aside, yes, she does actually call my husband Daddy-go. I think it is because anytime we were out shopping, my husband would wonder off, and I would have to ask over and over again, "Where did your Daddy go?". It just stuck that way.

So, she is very excited to smell Daddy.

I call the big one in, and have her smell. At first, she looks at me like I am crazy for telling her to sniff a shirt. Then, she does it, and yells "Daddy!!". They loved it.

Well, Ava took it a little further. She has decided that she needs to sniff everything coming and going. At first, she was sniffing all the clothes, the clean ones, of course, that have no scent besides detergent and fabric softener.

She grabs every one's clothes, names the owner, does the sniff, then blow out, and says "Ahhh".

For example, she grabbed one of Lilly's shirts.
"Lilly shirt." She said.
Sniff. Deep force full air blown out the nose for sound effect.
"Ahhhhh."

Again, cute. We go through momma clothes, Ava clothes, anything she could grab. I did, however, draw the line at my clean panties. That just isn't right.

From the clean clothes, she has started to sniff any clothing she could grabbed. She sniff and "ahhh"ed Lilly's dirty pajama top as soon as Lilly took it off yesterday.

Now, she is sniffing just plain old anything. This morning, it was the stairs. Yes. Our stairs. Which, by the way, I can't imagine smell good. I may vacuum them, but I haven't cleaned them since we moved in. Yuck.
"Stairs."
Sniff. Deep force full air blown out the nose for sound effect.
"Ahhhhh."

No really, she did. What can you do. As long as she isn't sniffing anything too harmful, we will mostly go with the flow, and try, very gently, to direct it's path to things that are better to sniff than others. I imagine this will pass soon. I mean, how long would someone be willing to sniff dirty stairs? That has to be a phase that they grow out of. At least I hope so. In the mean time, we will continue to keep all the school glue put safely away. = )