Dear BellyBeeBo,

First, let me say congratulations!  It seems that you have found your hands! Hooray for hands!  They truly are amazing things and I am glad to feel you using yours to their fullest capability.  I hope they last you your entire lifetime and never get so much as a paper cut.  Hands are great.  They really are.  Wah-hoo for hands! Maybe you could use them to paint beautiful paintings, conduct an orchestra , or perform open heart surgery when you grow up.  The possibilities are endless.  Hands really are great. 

Secondly, might I just suggest that 3am is not the best time to use your new found hands.  Maybe you could wait until, say, 7am or so.  Or try 3pm.  That is always a good time.   Not that I do not wish to have you pounding on the inside of me in some sort of karate expert meets drummer for a band, but maybe at a slightly better hour would be better for the both of us.  It is especially awkward for me to have you both pounding with your hands and kicking with your feet at the same time.  Maybe you could pick one or the other.   Deal?   

In conclusion, please feel free to explore any limb on your sweet little body and share your findings with a Morse Code type language if you so wish. However, if you could just kindly save it up for a more decent hour it would be much appreciated.  In return, I promise not to complain about the seemingly endless bladder jumping events that keep you occupied all day. 

Love,

Mommy

p.s.  Salted peanuts? Really? That is what you have chosen as your favorite food?  I am afraid they might not help with the ankle swelling and stuck wedding ring.  Could I suggest you pick a different food? There is a great variety of choices. 

p.p.s.  Milky Ways and glasses of chocolate milk are not really "foods".  Although I do admire your tastes.

The Sarah Palin Baby Name Generator gave us the following names:

Me = Mangle Blue

Husband = Wrangler Tractor

Beebo = Pie Gallon

Strangely enough that was our second choice for Beebo.  A close third  was Twinkie Truckload. 

But now on to my stocking.  Or rather Beebo's stocking.  I had lost it for a few months after having placed it in a safe place.  I knew it would show up and I was rather glad that it appeared when it did because I now have renewed hope that it might be complete before Christmas. 

Yes, it really is that long. I was on a roll. Which leaves only myself to blame for what I think is going to be a slightly shortened foot on the count of not having enough yarn.  If I would only learn to actually follow the patterns.

I did try to follow the pattern when I got to the short row heel directions.  Having never knitted a heel I knew I should probably pay close attention.  It looked really nice in the picture that was sent along with the directions and I thought having a picture of what it should look like would help me if I got stuck. 

Unfortunately, I ended up with holes in strange places, a heel that was looking crooked, and too many stitches.

So I consulted with my team of experts and she suggested I rip it back to the last place where I knew I understood the pattern and try it again.  I, instead, ripped it out to the last place where I knew I understood the pattern and took the wimpy way out.  Which is to say I am doing an "after thought " heel now instead of the "short row" heel. 

I came to this decision when my panel of experts had no idea what the short row heel was and asked for the pattern to see what I was talking about.  Just to mock me, she knit the short row heel.  Probably in 2 minutes.

So I am left with very little yarn and a heel that I still have no idea how to start.  Silly experts.

But look at her pattern for Mama Jane slippers that look so totally wonderful!  She just, yah know, sat down and wrote out the pattern.  Probably over tea.  Can you believe it?  I love her.

 Please note I wear a size 8 or so.  I'm just saying. 

It would appear that my blog is going the way of my EpiLady. Seems like a good idea at first, but really, it gets boring having your leg hairs ripped out by the root. So it gets used less and less until, one day, you decide to sell it at a yard sale for $1.25 along with a set of Caruso Steam Curlers.

I have so many good ideas for posts.  Really, I do.  In my mind as I am snapping a picture or remembering a moment, I am witty and wise and the words flow from my finger tips in jolly little giggles of love.  But when I actually sit down with the post page open, I can't think of a thing to write.  How much do you really want to hear about my kid?  It really couldn't be all that exciting for anyone who didn't give birth to her...

But I also know that one day Beebo and BellyBeebo will grow up and leave me.  Leave me, leave their daddy.  Walk into this world that is crazy and scary.  I want to remember this time so badly.  I want to remember that there were days when I held Beebo extra close because I just couldn't put her down.  And I want to remember the days when I begged to go to the grocery store by myself.  Both types of days are beautiful.  And one day they will both be gone.  Right now, Beebo is important to me.  BellyBeebo is important to me.   Eventually, they will be important to the world. Or at least a small portion of it. They will grow to be sisters, friends, coworkers,  and maybe a wife or mommy or even grandma. They will matter to other people. They will matter, period. I want them to know that they were always important.  Even before they were born. 

So I need to get back into the swing of things.  I need to write it out even if, right now, no one much reads what I write. 

And to prove my point that life is important and trivial all at once I give to you the waffle post.

I love waffles.  This is my Beebo's Great Grammie Ell's recipe for waffles.  It is the recipe my mother used and the one I use when I want waffles that do not come out of a box. 

It occurred to me that this is a picture of a plate of waffles.  No warm, melted butter.  No thick maple syrup.  No orange juice on the side.  Whatever, just picture it in your head that way.  The recipe is really good.

Ingredients:

2 Egg Whites

1 1/2 cup milk

1/2 cup oil

1 3/4 cup flour

1 Tablespoon Baking Powder

1 Tablespoon White Sugar

1 Teaspoon salt

1 Toddler Who Needs a Nap (optional. Substitutions can include twins or preschoolers)

1 Apple (Perhaps optional based on availability)

1 Pill Bottle. (Empty preferred, but whatever.)

First place toddler who will not stop whining on counter top and instruct "Do not move".  Then reach for electric hand mixer and hope toddler does not fall off counter.  If toddler does fall off counter use this time to teach about gravity.

Beat egg whites with electric mixer until soft peaks form.  Set aside.

Give toddler empty pill bottle.  Toddler will through pill bottle because it is empty.  Give toddler apple.  Instruct "no throw!"

Combine all other ingredients (except egg whites, toddler, pill bottle, and apple) until batter is still a bit lumpy, but ingredients are incorporated.  Then gently fold in egg whites. 

Place about 1/2 cup of batter in to a preheated waffle iron.  If you do not have a waffle iron, you should buy one.

p.s. Don't get the baking powder confused with baking soda.  They are different.  I swear. 

The waffles will turn out really well.  The apple on the other hand...

There is the  "standing on the side table while pouring water down her pajamas" incident of August '08 of which no picture was taken because of my need to save the life of the climber. (Daddy had fallen asleep on the couch.)  And then the "give her a bag of Goldfish crackers while Daddy plays his video games because he was sure she would be responsible with them" incident of which I caught only a few pictures before needing to go grab the dustbuster:

And then there was this, Of which I have no idea of the "hows" much less of the "why's". Enjoy:  

BlowingBubbles from Beebo on Vimeo.

My teenage dream of being able  to blame everything on my parents is finally coming true.  The lack of a teenage social network,  my inability to play the violin with any amount of success, and the complete lack of any athletic ability can all be blamed on them.  Finally.

It seems as though my latest diagnosis at the perinatologist office has left me with proof that both of my parents are responsible for every single thing I have ever done wrong.  It is in my DNA.  And I got that from them.  It is all their fault.  Please do not question my logic.  Somewhere in there, there is a perfectly sound logical fallacy. 

The exact diagnosis reads:

Methylenetetrahydrofolate Reductase

Patient is positive for one copy of the C677T mutation and one copy of the A1298C mutation.  DNA testing of this individual is compound heterozygous for the C677T mutation and the A1298C mutation.  This result has been associated with an increased risk for hyperhomocysteinemia and vascular diseases.  There have been rare reports where the C677T and the A1298C mutations are on the same chromosome, however blah, blah, blah...

The importance of that last statement is where I would like to draw my conclusion.  Usually, and we will assume that I am in the "usual" category, the mutated genes came one from each parent. (as opposed to both genes from one parent) One parent gave me that crafty little C677T guy and the other parent is responsible for the A1298C fellow. 

Normally, one gene or the other has little to no effect on life as we know it.  But when your parents give you both genes it means that you will not only be at a very high risk for blood clots that can kill you for the rest of your life but also that you will have very miserable pregnancies. 

There is something about injecting a blood thinner into your system twice a day that is totally wrong.  It seems that the blood thinner does a nice job of thinning the blood and therefore leaving huge bruises behind after each injection on what should be your cute little pregnant belly.  And just to make sure that the clumsiness of pregnancy does not get overlooked, there are also massive bruises  and welts left behind by the simplest bumps and nudges of my daily routine. 

Is it the 12th already?  Wow, this post is a bit late. 

They only sell "safe and sane" fireworks in our town.  Which is really "boring and lame."  We thought about traveling to the nearest city fireworks display but we were not sure how Beebo would handle the loud noises or the crowd of people.  Plus, our neighbors invited us over for a "safe and sane" fireworks party and get together and we decided that was a better decision.  Our wonderful neighbors had a great party all set up including glow sticks for the little kids. 

They started the celebration with the loud BOOMing ones and warned us ahead of time that they might be scary.  But Husband decided to see how Beebo would do with the noise and carried her out to the yard.  After all, worst case scenario, we go home which is right next door. 

Well Beebo LOVED the fireworks.  She smiled and laughed at the loud ones and looked a bit disappointed when the quiet ones went off.  They were all pretty lame, mostly smoke and a bit of sparks.  But it was legal.  We were mighty happy to see a celebration of unknown origin in the sky.  Not sure they were so safe or sane, but they were super pretty and were the traditional "in the air" fireworks. 

Megan also met a new friend.  He was not so impressed with the fireworks.  But is cute as a button and I wanted to

suggest an arranged marriage but thought I might appear kinda bold.  But they did exchange glow sticks.  I think that is a start. 

The first person to tell me how to make this:

Will win a prize.   Maybe I will knit you something.  Or if you want a good prize, maybe I will send you something store bought.  Seriously.  I need this pizza.

It is peanut butter pizza.  I ate three slices at Goofy's Kitchen during our Disneyland stay in November.  I want it.  Now.  The crust is perfect and the peanut butter is warm but not gooey and there was just enough jelly to make it slightly sweet.  I have tried to find a recipe but am undecided as to which is really following the Goofy tradition.  Some say to cook the crust then spread the peanut butter over the warm crust.  Other recipes say to bake the peanut butter right with the crust (which seems icky).  Hmmm.  I knew I should have taken more pictures. 

 Don't make me beg, people.

Beebo loves the stairs.  We open up our new baby gate and allow her to climb them whenever her diaper needs changing because I am lazy and dont want to carry her she needs lots of exercise.  So on the day of the four worded sentence Husband was working on the poo bathroom and his work had drifted down the stairs in the form of pieces of plaster, wood hunks, screws, and a number of other things on which Beebo would love to chew.  So I carried her instead of letting her climb.  She was a bit mad and made a very mad grunt then said, "Go! Diaper! Up! Mama!"  Which I assure you was one sentence regardless of my punctuation. 

The other thing she learned to do this week:

Climb on to the couch.  With no help.  I don't mind the "climbing up" part so much as the "not knowing how to get down part".    She seems to take the "head first crash to the ground" approach.  Effective, but not so smart.

The problem with help is that sometimes it isn't.