Things I have been noticing lately:
Anyone with two or more kids.
I am not immune to morning sickness like I hoped I would be. I am also not immune to the cliché. My pregnancy cravings have been unpredictable and very real. Sunday it was these certain oat bran muffins from my childhood, today it was this white wine capellini with lemon, some days it’s Trader Joe’s Pumpernickel Pretzels.
Danielle picked up Jeanine Donofrio’s Love and Lemons cookbook in a tiny bookstore that hosted our lunch stop in Mammoth on the way to Tahoe. She continued to read the book aloud for the next hour of the drive. While at first I wished I had headphones, I ended up aspiring to be Jeanine. I don’t own the book yet, but the Lemony White Wine Capellini got to my tastebuds immediately. It’s also kind of a good go-to if you like the taste of wine, but can’t necessarily drink it.
Scott has been home sick a few days this week. He has been an extra child whose nap I have proudly coordinated with my actual child’s. I am so excited to see where he is and what he’s doing when Sprout and I come home, however uneventful it has typically been. I long all day for the presence of him when he’s at work. His essence is so quiet and so big, like a windmill in the desert creating energy for thousands. I am also grateful for the fact that he has been here to witness my days, as monotonous as they may appear to him too. It’s simply nice knowing he has seen what goes into getting out the door to swimming class with Sprout; the tiny canvas bags I purchased with his Amazon account meticulously packed with an extra diaper, a sweater, a quick dry towel and size extra-extra small goggles all placed thoughtfully inside a bigger bag (only to be dismantled in minutes upon our arrival at the pool). He witnesses Sprout having a meltdown over me trying to get her to sit on the potty before her nap. The crumbs, dropped and swept over and over again. The ant traps set most likely in vain, the laundry folded poorly, but clean nevertheless. I guess it’s just nice knowing he saw all this considering he could easily come home to a whining toddler, an empty Brita filter and a shrunken wool sweater just out of the dryer and feel like not a whole lot has happened around here in a day. Not that he ever would assume that. Maybe it’s more what I see when I don’t notice anyone else looking.
We found out we are having a girl! Perhaps this should have been headlining news like it might have been elsewhere. I’ve loved this baby since before she was here and I’ll love her forever. That’s the easiest and perhaps only thing to really know about our second child. This predestined love is why the fact of her gender is nestled here in the middle of this essay rather than in bold at the top of it. I am, however, expecting to answer the inevitable question of: Do you wish you’d have a boy? And the answer to that is: yes I do. Scott gets this question more than I do, which I find both irritating and understandable. He’s a boy, so he is likely to want someone with the same reproductive organs to help him clean the rain gutters and field ground balls, right? Truthfully, I think I would like to have a boy more than Scott.
I was walking Sprout home from the park yesterday afternoon, gazing through the windows and across the patios of the various shaped houses on the best street in our neighborhood both critically and wishfully, imagining how I, myself, would remodel and paint them. When we passed one I have been inside before, a fantasy popped into my mind. I knew this house had a pool unusually located right by the front door. Pools are a challenge to relocate, my expertise goes this far, so in my mental remodel it would stay put. I pictured opening the front door on a school morning, hands full of someone’s backpack and someone’s lunch and my own spilling water bottle and tangled car keys, ushering kids eagerly towards the car. Then, inevitably because of the location, a mischievous child would push another into the pool and soon they are all in. I am wet and agitated and tired, but instead of unleashing it on the kids, I declare this a pool day and call their principal to excuse them from class.
It’s here in this fantasyland that I realize a boy is the one who started it all, as they do according to the most common stereotypes. It’s here that I realize I picture having a boy someday too and I don’t feel like I have to apologize to my beautiful Skipper girl or my living, breathing heart Sprout Wild when I say that. My love for them is never in question, never wavering, never anything but everywhere. But my answer to the question: do you want to have a boy? is simply yes.
But of all of this, to me, the craziest fantasy is that I get to have these two girls.
+p.s. as stated in a secret part of instagram, I am looking for potty training advice if you’ve got it!