Let the insanity begin.

I'm pregnant!

The excitement after trying for a year and a half is just too much to take. I'm going to have a tiny new chubbly baby...a whole new beautiful life...a glorious little bundle of joy! A little brother or sister...holy smokes, I'm gonna be a mom to 2.

Clearly I am out of my mind. If I'm not crazy now, I'm on my way there for sure. What was I thinking?

I'm going to be...outnumbered.

My mind jumps back and forth between these two extremes about ten times per hour. The crazy hunger brings the joy and anticipation of the new life within, then the lower back pain from hell kicks in and reminds me that I will be the minority in eight months. One mom, and two crazy children. My husband would make us equal, but since he works, I am left at a disadvantage. Ten hours a day, all alone with two kids who will surely duct tape me to the bed while they raid the kitchen for cookies and chocolate, tar and feather the cats with maple syrup and ketchup and a fluffy coating of bran flakes. They'll use hair gel and sharpie markers to create a masterpiece on the TV and computer screens. They'll stuff peanut butter sandwiches and bananas into the hole on the front of the subwoofer and shove cheese slices into the DVD tray. And then, like good little monsters, they will un-tape me just before their father returns from a long hard day at work, and act as if they are truly innocent, making it look as if I just sit at the computer chatting on CM all day, letting the children run wild like monsters.

Ok..so in reality I figure it can't be that bad, but what do I know? I'm just a mom of one. I keep hoping if I imagine the worst, I can be blissfully surprised when my children turn out to be mild mannered and sweet with only the occasional tantrum and mischievous act. I mean, it can't be that bad, can it?

Wait...don't answer that.

Dust Bunnies and Milk Chunks

I came back from checking the mail to discover Nate had found his stickers and stuck them all over the hardwoods. He'd also eaten goldfish crackers earlier. Well, he ate at least one cracker, the rest he pounded to smithereens with his trains, while shouting "Oh NOOOOOOO, run! Run, fishy, ruuuuuuun! Traaaaaaaaaaain!"...*SMOOSH*

So there were crumbs everywhere so the stickers were coated in goldfish dust and wouldn't stick to the floor. For once happy the floor was dirty with food crumbs, I got on my hands and knees, picking stickers off the floor, feeling lucky because he went through about 10 sheets, and even peeled the sticker borders off the backing, tore them to tiny shreds, and stuck those on the floor too. I figured while I was down there, I may as well pull all of the trains, cars, blocks and a long lost pacifier from beneath the desk. A few dust bunnies came out with it. I didn't realize Nate was standing behind me, wide-eyed over the discovery of his missing red 'yet' (his word for pacifier) and the red one is his absolute favorite. He gasped and yelled "Red Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaht!"

Before I could grab it, he snatched it from the pile of rubble and popped it into his mouth....grimaced...then pulled it right back out.

The culprit: Dirt.

Nate has this thing about lint, dirt, crumbs, and hair, especially hair. If any of those things get in his mouth, he will walk up to me, gagging and pathetic, and say "Haaaaa" (hair) then sticks his tongue out really far for me to remove the offending element. I generally keep his old infant washcloths handy for such removal, since they have no lint, and I have a bazillion of them. And I can't believe I'm sharing this, but in a pinch, I use the inside of my sleeve. I hate doing it, but there is a time issue. If he isn't assisted immediately he will most certainly puke. The removal of said elements will make him gag and cough right after but then he's fine.

This time, however, he was gagging much worse than usual. There must have been a whole dust bunny wrapped around that 'yet' because the poor kid was 'glurping' as he gagged. And you know a glurp means there's trouble on the way up. He was trying to say "Hair" but it went a little more like this:

"Haa...gag...glurp...Hhhh-HNGKCHHHH!...H--GAG...HGKKKK!" I remembered he'd just guzzled a full cup of milk... my kid was about to spew milk chunks at me!

No time to get up and rush him to the bathroom...I yelled "STICK IT OUT, MAN!!!!" and pulled my sleeve over my hand to swipe his tongue. But every time he'd stick it out, his gag reflex would kick in and he'd involuntarily pull it right back. AGHHHHH!!! I finally grabbed it with me free hand, and went for a quick swipe with the sleeve...

"GAGGGG....URRRP....GLHRRRRNGKHHHHH"

Oh NOOO! NoNoNoNoNoNooooo...

"BLGLKGKRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRP"

So there I sat, showered with sour, watery milk curds. Not a single drop on Nate. He gulped down some juice and handed me his red yet to clean...said "Sowwy, Ma." and poked his little lip out. Poor kid. If only his lazy mom would vacuum, these things wouldn't happen.

Now, Nate has a new ritual. He makes me inspect every pacifier before he will put it in his mouth. As for me, I hereby declare that Murphy's Law be from now on referred to as Mo's Law. Because Murphy's a wuss. Mo's Law could kick Murphy's Law's ass! Even if blindfolded, broke-footed, and sprayed with skunky cat pee, Mo's Law would win.

Unless Murphy is armed with cockroaches, then all bets are off. Cockroaches are like Mo's Kryptonite.