Phew!

When you grow up with a doctor for a dad you pick up a lot of weird medical knowledge that is not terribly useful and grossly incomplete. You'd probably think that would turn you into a hypochondriac, but in my case it's turned me into someone who feels fairly sure I can make a diagnosis with only limited information.

So yesterday I took a long walk during lunch. It was lovely to get the fresh air and the part where I stuck my feet in the lake was divine. But it was freakin' hot on the way back and I could feel a "glow" taking over my already-expanding body. And then I started to think I smelled like fruit.

That doesn't seem too bad, right? You sweat and it smells like fruit. Could be way worse.

Except in my annals of useless and incomplete information is this: if you find yourself smelling like fruit for no apparent reason you are probably an undiagnosed diabetic.

I spent all afternoon alternately sniffing my armpits and wondering if it was just gestational diabetes (which I've never had before) or something more permanent and infinitely more of a pain in the ass.

At bedtime I opened the drawer to get my toothpaste out and noticed that my new deodorant is scented Tropical Fruit.

So I guess it works.

I guess I really shouldn't complain.

Things I hate about summer:
- Working when I'd rather be at the beach
- Listening to my children fight as they re-acclimate to being together 24/7
- Mosquitos
- Yard work

Things I love about summer:
- Not having to get everyone out of the house by 7:40 am
- Sunsets
- Sunshine when I wake up in the morning
- Going to the beach after work
- Being able to walk to the beach over my lunch break
- Date night on the boat
- Campfires and s'mores with the neighbors
- the 4th of July
- my brother home from California for three weeks
- sun-kissed children in soggy suits with little wet otter heads and sand in their hair
- sweet corn and fantastic tomatoes
- farmer's markets
- neighborhood-wide garage sales
- no coats, no boots, no hats, no mittens
- the sound of the waves at night when I'm lying in bed

It all kinda outweighs the whining of the kids, which was really getting to me this morning. Now I have a little persepctive. And a lot of blessings.

BFFs really are.

Whenever I go on a trip I always have this little moment on the first night where I think I want to go home.

It doesn't matter if the trip is guaranteed to be fun, or if it's a place I've always wanted to visit or even if my entire family is with me. It's just that I have a little part of my brain that fears the unknown and, even if only for a moment, longs for the security and comfort of home and its routines. And I had this moment the first night in Las Vegas with my two BFFs.

We haven't been together in, literally, 20 years. During that time our lives have followed their own separate paths, spreading us out across the country and away from one another. The magic of the internet has brought us back together and we've been planning this trip to Las Vegas for at least six months. I have been giddy with excitement and antsy for the big weekend to get here, but yet I lay in my ultra-comfortable hotel room bed last Thursday night and there it was, that flash of thought flittering across my consciousness. I want to go home.

But the magic of BFFs is that they really are. My little fluttering thought lasted for barely a nanosecond, and then I was left marveling at how easily it all comes back. The late night chatting before falling asleep. The easy way of deciding what we want to do, where we want to go, what snacks we need to have. The absolute lack of judgment about our bodies, our wardrobes, our hair styles, our taste in food and our tolerance for movies based on juvenile, scatalogical humor. It was as if no time has passed, but instead has bonded us even deeper as we share the experiences of being wives and mothers, daughters to aging and ever more eccentric parents, and just plain friends having a great time together even if we're doing exactly nothing.

Same time next year, right ladies?

Whaddya mean there's no pasta?

We have these friends who are vegetarians and we've gone with them to a lot of banquet-style functions where you have to choose your meal ahead of time. Inevitably I find myself feeling a little jealous of their fettucine alfredo or delicious-looking ravioli while I am working my way through a somewhat taste-free piece of chicken or an overcooked steak. And why do they always put the steak on top of the potatoes, then cover it with sauce so that your potatoes look like they're covered in liquid rust?

These friends and their delicious vegetarian dinners came back to me several weeks ago when I had to choose my entree for an upcoming wedding. At the time I was still in the throes of ongoing nausea and feeling fairly meat-averse. So I picked the filet for Chad and I chose the vegetarian dinner, looking forward to a lovely plate of pasta on the big day.

Here's what I got: a mound of brick-like mashed potatoes in the center of the plate, surrounded by asparagus (hate it - gave it to Chad), broccoli (hate it more - gave it to Heidi), cauliflower (kind of blends in with the potatoes) and zucchini/squash (had potential).

It was a plate of side dishes.

No pasta.

Heidi and Chad shared their steaks with me. They were delicious.

The word is out.

So here I am, 36 years old, mother of two relatively self-sufficient children who are well beyond diapers and can easily speak in full sentences, and pregnant with number three. I think I might have lost my mind, but oddly I feel very at peace about it. Mostly, I think, because my hormones have taken over and are preventing me from dealing with the eventual reality of a full-time job and three kids.

11 weeks into this I am disappointed to discover (for the second time) how intensely focused all baby magazines, pregnancy books, blogs and web sites are on first-time mothers. There's all these dumb articles about how to divide up chores with your husband after the baby comes, what to expect at the hospital/during delivery, what your baby's first poop will look like. It makes me want to puke. But the upside is that I realize I've learned a thing or two over the last seven years of parenthood that no magazine article is ever going to tell me. As Oprah would say, these are the things I know for sure.

1. Sometime within the first month of having this baby I will want to kill Chad. I will hate him for his inability to cope with sleep loss, his half-assed cleaning up of the kitchen after dinner and his seeming refusal to notice when he should probably get up out of his chair and HELP somebody with something. This feeling of hatred in no way reflects his real and unrelentingly cheerful attitude, his absolute willingness to do homework, play basketball/t-ball/soccer/tea party, his innate ability to make even morning toothbrushing fun and his overall general willingness to do just about anything to keep things running smoothly.

2. There's no one way to skin a cat, I mean, take care of a baby. Every baby is different. So is every family. What worked with Grace absolutely did not work with Lauren and I'm sure I'll be figuring out something new yet again. But that's exactly what we'll do: Figure it out. And it will be fine.

3. I probably won't have this crushing wave of love that comes over me at the moment of delivery. Yes, of course I love this baby already. But the actual reality of love, that moment of WOW I would do anything for this child takes a few days, at least for me. That's okay. I'm not a weirdo.

4. This is the luckiest baby alive because he/she has a village of people who are excitedly awaiting his/her arrival and whose hearts are filled with love and gratitude for this gift in which they will share. That makes me a lucky mom too.

Maybe I DO know a thing or two....

Sometimes I have a moment with my kids where I feel like I really might know what I'm doing. I recognize this feeling because I have it at work quite a lot. But the difference between work and parenting is that work is somewhat more predictable in its behaviors and cycles than any kid I've ever met. Either way, I was feeling pretty good last night. My cases in point:

A) Lauren and the band-aid
Put a band-aid on Lauren and within 7 minutes she will pull it off. Like all kids, she loves band-aids, which means that as of today I am fresh out of them because she has used them all, and not necessarily for a legitimate injury.

Last night she fell in the driveway. Hard. Bloody knee, skinned elbow, doting big sister getting in the way of mama's comfort. At this point my band-aid inventory was already down to just 2. I cleaned and kissed the knee, convinced her that her elbow would be just fine, and asked Grace at least three times to PLEASE get out of the way while I am trying to wash this bloody knee in the kitchen sink while keeping Lauren's hands off the knife rack. Twenty minutes later Lauren was tucked into bed with her doggie and book and I was on the couch.

"Maaaameeee..... MAAAAMEEEE!"

I tried to ignore her, but I knew for a fact she had taken off her bandaid and was freaking out at her neosporin-greased and still semi-bloody knee. I also knew the band-aid would not stick again. And I only had one band-aid left in the entire freaking house. So instead of ignoring her, which is my usual MO post-bedtime, I got the band-aid and delivered it with a brief speech about how this was the last. one. in. the. house.

B) Grace and the....uh... bathroom

Right after the band-aid incident I was settling in for the thrilling conclusion of The Biggest Loser when I heard the other voice floating down the stairs, this one a little weepier, but not so freaked out.

"Mommmmm.... can you come heeeere?"

I looked at Chad. For reasons unknown to me, Grace is unable to poop by herself after 8 pm. Up I went again and sure enough, there she was on the potty. To give her a little break, she was having some tummy trouble. One children's chewable Pepto-Bismol (LOVE that stuff!) and a hug and kiss later she was back in bed, albeit a little puny looking.

Finally I made it back to the couch, feeling like a mother who really knows her children. Knows what they need and when. And how to deliver it.

At least I felt that way until this morning, when it occurred to me that maybe my children really are quite predictable. And I've just been really well trained.

Lucky me!

I'm not sure if you all are aware, but I was named Mother of the Year recently.

Thanks to Hannah, for a total crack-up and Happy Mother's Day to all of us!