Glass full

I got all hormone-emotional again this weekend. Friday night Matt told me his plans for the next morning, which didn't include me, and I was offended--even though he took Theo with him and I had the entire morning to myself, but you don't reason with hormones. On Saturday Jess gave me yet another fabulous haircut and all I could think about was Vicki Iovine: "A very pregnant woman who wants to cut her hair is not really looking for a new hairdo, she is looking for a new, nonpregnant, look, and I'm afraid that's too tall an order for a haircut. I know how simple and carefree a short, boyish bob can sound at about seven months, but pregnancy is not the time to try it out."

Then I was feeling pretty sorry for myself on Sunday because (a) third-trimester blues--it's not so golden anymore (b) Theo completely hated nursery on his first day; in fact he was suspended from nursery. (well, not really but he only lasted a few minutes.) The nursery thing was definitely not a surprise, but my self-pity expanded to Theo-pity and nursery-leader-pity and I actually broke down and cried spontaneously in the car on the way home from church. Then I spent the rest of the afternoon complaining of boredom.

Then, yesterday was a new day. I spent it with Theo: read some books, made some messes, played with some Legos, blew some bubbles, ran some errands, went to the library and the park. I was ashamed of myself for all the self-pity of the days before, and also of my tendency to complain about pregnancy. So today instead of complaining, I'm going to follow the pattern of the righteous and true mom-bloggers and be a little more positive. Plus I have not been very great about documenting Theo's life lately, so bear with me for a minute.

All of a sudden in the past month or two, Theo has become a bona-fide toddler. He has tantrums; he no longer fits in most of his 18-month clothes; he comes up with new words and skills every day. I've spent a lot of time with little children and observed the passing of these stages before, but it's pretty amazing to witness it in my own child. Today at the pool someone actually asked me, "How old is he, three? Four?" (How am I running into all of these people who have absolutely no knack for judging people by their size?)

For everything that frustrates me about him, there's something good. He wakes up the biggest grouch from his nap; but he takes nice long naps. (Those two things could be related.) He freaks out when he's left with other people; but if he's comfortable with someone, he's pretty great company. Sometimes he gets into things he shouldn't; but then he says, "Uh-oh!" (more like "ah-------ohhhh!") and it's so cute that I don't mind (much) cleaning it up.

He is a fiend for the pool, aka the "babboo." He loves to jump off the side--good thing we don't have a backyard pool--and to push off from the stairs or the ladder to me. He has finally learned to close his mouth underwater so he no longer comes up sputtering. He walks deliberately down to the third step, holding the railing, then says, "Eeee, go!" ("ready, go!") and plunges in. He keeps his eyes open and I can see him looking up at me through the water as he pushes off to me. When I finally grab him and pull him up, he claps for himself. Then a little push back to the stairs and we do it all over again.

His vocabulary is expanding daily--he still signs "thank you," "milk," "more," "apple," and "water," but has learned the words (or his own version thereof) for "banana," "pool," "bubbles," "eat," "hot," "shoes," "juice," "uh-oh," "go," "cracker," "cheese," "binky," "pizza," "no," and other random words that show up unexpectedly, like "mall." He folds his arms during prayers and attempts to help me get him dressed. He no longer flips out when you wipe his face or nose, a phenomenon I just recently noticed and very much appreciate. As of a few days ago he's started calling me "Mama" (in a high-pitched voice, like one of those old dolls with a string in the back) instead of "Mommy," which is quite funny since it's almost always been "Mommy." I'm pretty sure it stems from one of his favorite books, A Good Day by Kevin Henkes--the last line of which is "Mama! What a good day!"--since he also calls that book "Mama" (in a high-pitched voice).

He is obsessed with bubbles. Today I wished I had the camera handy as he made himself absolutely hysterical over chasing bubbles around the balcony. I have never seen him laugh so hard.

Matt and I have been talking about goals lately and one of mine is to look more on the bright side at this stage of my own life. Yesterday I was reading Musings and Misadventures, which I came across several months ago because she's a writer for ELIZA, and noted her post on the due date of her baby, who was born in February at 19 weeks' gestation and lived for less than a minute. Her regret, as expressed in letter form to her daughter, was that "I focused too much on the pain and complications and not enough on your little kicks and subtle growth; . . . I complained more about the intense nausea and fatigue instead of marveling at the miracle."

So, I am done being a downer, even sarcastically so (as my grandma says, "No one's ever 'just kidding' "). Please be patient with me when I fail at this. I'm so excited to meet the baby in just a few short months and to watch and participate as Theo gets used to yet another stage, which is going to last the rest of his life: big brother.