30 Weeks

We were going to do a cute Valentine's post where Miss Boo held up her new Valentine's book that she got from Great-Grandma and Great-Grandpa, but Miss Boo apparently thought that if I was taking a picture of her and her book, that meant I was going to snatch it away from her. Thus she ran away with the book and wouldn't face the camera:

Today we are busily engaged in hiding all the remotes in the entryway table. (Is there a fancy word for "entryway table"?)


You pull out the drawer that has the baby-lock on it as far as it will go, and then shove and shove and shove until the remote fits in the little crack. Then you turn around---

--and dare your mother to figure out where the remotes went. Ha! No Oprah for you today, Mimi!

(I'm still Mimi sometimes rather than Mama. Daddy gets pronounced properly. Don't know why I'm Mimi.)

Today Boychild is 30 weeks along and we've got another midwife appointment to see how he's growing; he's been hitting his marks like a champ so far.

(I should mention in passing for those of you who tuned in late that Miss Boo and Boychild are not really named "Miss Boo" and "Boychild" and in fact I highly doubt I will ever call Boychild "Boychild" in real life, since he has a perfectly good name already, but I'm paranoid about creepy stranger people that might read my blog someday and find out my kids's names and come stalk them or something. So I made up clever aliases. But don't think I'm abusing my kids by calling them these names on the street. :) I just couldn't stand doing what a lot of blogs do and referring to them as "DD" for Dear Daughter and "DS" for Dear Son. It makes them sound like sizes or federal agencies.)

Anyway, it's sort of exciting because now we're in the every-two-weeks phase of midwife visits instead of the once-a-month phase, which means we're counting down. There's only ten weeks left. And helpfully, Boychild has turned lately so that his little rear end is clearly palpable just beneath my sternum, with a wandering foot here and there in my ribs, making him easier to measure. (It also makes me feel better about him not being breech; I've had an illogical worry in the back of my mind this pregnancy that he would be breech. Or transverse. Or something.)

I should stop now because Miss Boo is consistently trying to kick the poor dog off his bed, stand on his bed, and use it for leverage to reach the few magazines in the house I do not let her rip to pieces.

Happy Monday!

Breanna

P.S.

Why yes, I AM doing laundry again today, how did you guess?