Iris Music Thursday: The Beginning

Also Known As: Hey! Hey! Hey!

Are you sensing a pattern here? Iris likes repetitive sounds. I think it might be a baby thing, or perhaps a human thing, because I don't know a lot of folks who are opposed to repetitive sounds in the form of a good beat (except for myself when we're talking about minute eleven of some awful jam band's solo). Ahem. Let us recall the relative flexibility of the term "good."

Anyway, this song is Iris' first musical love. This song is the first song she ever sang along to, and this is the song which inspired her very first word ever: "Hey!" This is the song that we used to calm Iris down in moments of parental terror (so she's been crying for 40 minutes/is about to lose her sh*t in public/looks like she's about to cut someone - PLAY THE SONG). It was a lifesaver.

Please to enjoy Vampire Weekend's "A-Punk."

Smells Like Irrational Crying In Here

How about a State of the State address, if "state" (the latter) is like, the life of the Columbia Kelleys or something similarly vague? I knew you'd be down with that! Thanks for being so supportive of my generalities, oh bloggy buddies of mine.

Iris is on the potty train. She has shining moments of totally GETTING it, then slips back into rejecting the notion altogether, just hours later. I think in those moments she throws such a fit because the idea was likely recommended by one of her totally square and lame-oozing parents. We apparently do not ever have good ideas, and the appropriate response to any suggestion of ours is to throw an enormous fit. Like, enormous. Big old ugly tears and lying prostrate with woe, eventually winding down to a little wimpering and the declaration, "I crying, Daddy. I so sad." Juuuust in case you missed that giant floor show, let me tell ya, I'm sad.

Kyle is gleefully counting down the days remaining till summer break begins (24 with actual kids present - no idea how many total, but the kidless ones don't really count). Over the last four years he's mastered the Grimace and Ignore It face, so it will be nice to see him unclench a bit and just enjoy life. He's always so happy in the summertime. This will come in handy for him this particular summer as I get bigger and less pleasant to be around.

Speaking of being unpleasant (yay)! I have been gloating these last months about how much better I'm handling pregnancy this time around, how the hormones don't seem to be affecting me as much, and how generally awesome I feel. (obvious foreshadowing is obvious!)

Then last Friday someone at work was kind of a jerk to me, and then Saturday one of my "friends" was a mega huge cruel a-hole, then a gaggle of electric guitars woke up my kid from nap, then I couldn't seem to keep my eyes open for longer than 30 minutes at a time. Was this narcolepsy a result of the string of dumb encounters, or was it its very own entity, sent to push me over the edge? Don't know, don't really care I guess, but I did end up in the bathroom for about a half hour "pooping" (where pooping = crying into the hand towel), and I did briefly consider finding Iris to tell her that I had been crying, and that I was so sad. Okay, no I didn't. It probably would have scared her senseless and made her cry too, and that's just not nice.

FBK is the size of an avocado and as far as I know, is not crying. I mean he (he?) could be, but I'd like to think it's rather warm and comfy in there. He's busy growing toenails and contemplaing his cool squishy jumprope. He's likely also not very irrational. I'd like to think he lives a very frank and sensical existence.

So, two-thirds of the non-fetal members of the Columbia, MO faction of the Kelley family are currently prone to irrational crying jags. Do not be alarmed. I'm pretty sure that both are in phases which, while likely to get worse before anything else really happens, are temporary nonetheless.

Iris Music Thursday: LA! LA! LA! LA!

Welcome to the first episode of (insert you know, like, booming voice of importance here) "Iris Music Thursdays!"

There are quite a few songs that will make Iris stop everything and drop her booty. This is the most recent, but in the next few weeks I plan to go through all of them, then of course update with the newest as they become available. Your Thursdays will never be dull or awesome-less again!

For today's inaugural Iris Music Thursday Experience, we bring you The Aquabats! with "Pool Party." Please picture Iris bouncing around and shouting along very loudly to the refrain, "LA! LA! LA! LA!"

It's too late to change your mind

You don't get to arrive all round and heartburney at 40 weeks and go, "know what guys? I maybe was just kidding. I think that adoption is an excellent route for our family, and here let me just... wiggle this thing here, and toggle this doo-dad, and er....yep! Just magicked THAT reality into existence."

You don't sell your house, buy a new one, then settle in the new place and say, "I think I liked the old neighborhood better, let's just go ahead and move back now."

You don't name a brand new human, then try it on for size and decide a few months later that Bob-Ellen is really a much more appropriate name. I mean, hopefully nobody thinks that's ever an appropriate name, but that's not the point.

I am certainly not saying that I don't want to be pregnant right now. We want another child now and I love this baby. And so far (even with the 3-month hangover minus the fun drunky times the day before) this pregnancy has been much easier to deal with than the last. I guess I'm just feeling rather fatalistic these days. I just sort of got on this train and now I don't really know who is in charge, but it is most definitely not me. That's fine. It's a little scary, but perhaps it's best to identify the situation then just let it go. I'm going with the flow. I'm zen. I suck at zen, btw.

And we are thinking about selling/buying house these days. And we are struggling to come up with a name for this kid. And somehow I can't lay on my stomach anymore because there is a beefsteak tomato sized person in there, and he really doesn't like it when you lay on him.

I feel like suddenly one day I'll be in a new house that I don't think is very cute, next to crazy zealot right-wing neighbors, while Iris again completely ignores my warnings about loving small creatures too hard and squashes baby Englebert in a breath-stealing crunch. That is, she will do so after she decorates him with butt cream and explains the pitfalls of eating markers and peeing on the couch.

I can't have a baby named Englebert, people!

Things That Go Bump in The Ute

Well, that one thing that goes bump in the ute. That kid is down with the dancey dance time. If you watch the video in that lovely link up there, you will see the exact dance Lil' Ralphie was doing yesterday. Oh, by the way, I decided to start calling FBK Lil' Ralphie, what with all the attempts at making me barf s/he made. It was either that or Chuckie, and Kyle seemed to shudder with disgust a little more when that name came out. I enjoy this so very much.

Anyway, let's just say that Lil' Ralphie is going to have the jazziest of jazz hands. S/he was so flippy and wiggly that it took forever just to get a heart rate. I mean, we did get one - 162, I think - so all healthy and all that. Speaking of pronoun issues (I was - in my head), the crankiest ultrasonographer in the world told us yesterday that if she had to guess, she'd say Lil' Ralphie is a boy. I am only 13 weeks along at this point though, and it really is too soon to tell. From my vast and thorough google education, I have learned that the butt-shot technique of identifying the baby's sex is only accurate after 17 weeks or thereabouts. So when Capt. Crankypants did the butt-shot (for approximately four seconds) and then determined the sex to be male, she was in all probability completely making things up.

Apparently the sex of the baby can sort of be determined as early as 13 weeks (with 80% accuracy!) but only if you look at a side-shot and find the angle of the nub thingy. It's not nearly as precise, but it is definitely done by looking at a side-shot, NOT at butt-shot. I want a recount, Capt. Crankypants. I mean, we will get a recount, just not very soon. I have the morphology scan scheduled for Monday, April 25th. Approximately four weeks from now we will know, almost for sure, what flavor we're getting here.

These are the two photos our Fair Captain left us with. They are a little fuzzy and weirdly similar, but you know, don't poke an angry bear and all that. She had some extremely negative mojo going on, so I think Kyle and I telepathically agreed to just get the bare info and scoot as quickly as possible.

So, assuming we are having a boy, somebody tell me what to name this kid. We have about 20 possible girl names and like, two boy names that we're both kind of "meh" about. Help!

Facepalm, Headdesk, and other fun ways to admit defeat

Bedtime (Approx. 8pm - 9:30pm) (by which I mean the journey begins at 8pm, but you never really know how long it's going to take)

IRIS: "Pants, pants, pants! Iris pants have hearts. HEARTS! Yellow heart! Mommy, dis blue heart here. SHHHH baby! Baby babybayyyyybeeee babybabybabybabyba-beeeee! Iris sleep her bed, Mommy sleep HER bed! NOOOOOoooOoO! MOMMY! HELP PEEEEESE! Blanket. NO WANT BLANKET! Mommy. Iris need blanket. NO BLANKET MOMMY. Want blanket! No blanket! WHERE COVERS? No, pillow! Out, pillow! MOM! WHERE IRIS PILLOW?!?!??! I want my Daddeeeeeeeeeeeee."

See also: Headdesk, Facepalm

Then other nights she climbs in bed, closes her eyes, and pops off to sleep in seconds. You just never know what kind of day it's going to be. Yay. Since I'm breeding the next soul sucker at the moment, I'm pretty tired most days. I would really love it if I could go to sleep at 8pm like the elder demon child should be doing. I would also really love it if being overly tired didn't trigger barfy feelings. Totally would love it if threatening to barf on the child actually did anything. Not that I would of course, I just really like throwing out gutless threats under pressure.

I just find this whole nighttime sleep situation so odd. At naptime, that kid is out, no questions asked. She might need a little coaxing but there is never this full tilt war waged. Worst case scenario at naptime is extended back-patting till she drifts off. At night she won't even flip onto her stomach so that you can rub her back, all the while cursing and threatening plagues because you won't rub her back. Suggestions to turn over so that compliance might be had are met with resolute shrieks of disapproval. And then! She screams for so long that she loses her voice! Sort of. It just gets scratchy and kind of old-mannish.

Anyway, the point is that it's just a crazy situation that I do not know how to control. It's not even like we leave her in there alone, you know? I'm either right next to her crib, trying to figure out how to get her to CALM. THE. EFF. DOWN. or I'm just like 10 feet away in my own room, hoping that the constant chattering will eventually lead to sleep. Usually it leads to all of her bedding landing in a pile beside her bed and subsequent and immediate demands for its safe return. Repeat. Ultimately, she has to wear herself out with the stream of consciousness monologue, then the screaming section of the evening, culminating in me forcing her to lay her head on her pillow and sort of burrito wrapping her in the blanket (on her STOMACH. So I can pat her damn BACK.) at which point she usually passes out.

THEN, I go to my bed, all wound up and suddenly thinking about everything I've ever done wrong, everything everyone has ever done wrong to ME, and how much I am a total failure at everything, I am probably short and fat and less cute than and not as smart as I thought, etc. I stay so incredibly wound up that I end up sitting awake reading till like 10:30, only attempting sleep when Kyle finally turns off the light. Then I fidget and roll around and just generally prevent Kyle from being able to sleep, and my back hurts and my nose is stuffy and I still usually kind of want to barf.

I really don't hate myself, and I don't really think those things. But I swear that child could solve global peace issues if she'd just sleep, you know?

10 weeks

I had a regular check-up yesterday which was largely uneventful. I believe no news is good news in this situation. So far I haven't gotten the splotchy swollen ankles of doom, I have had morning sickness, but I haven't turned insanely hormonal yet. The hormonal thing happened really early last time around, so this is a particularly nice bonus.

I've had that cold that everyone else in the country has for the last two weeks now. Iris' version of it finally morphed to ear infections (surprise.) so she and her amoxicillin are sitting pretty. I have been home from work for two days now, vengefully side-eyeing the NyQuil like it personally made me this way. I originally thought I was just developing pregnancy rhinitis again, but I think that my current congestion is still a result of the cold. I will most definitely have a big ugly hormonal moment if I'm wrong. Because I'm sure crying about it will help the stuffy nose... oh well. At least I'm prepared or something.

I'm kind of showing, kind of not. Mom says it's my weak abdominal muscles not supporting my uterus as well as they did last time since they've already been stretched out by Iris. So it's not showing, it's just lazy muscles. To this I say, is this not the definition of "showing?" My uterus is poking out from behind my muscles! SHOWING! I think my excellent debate skills won this round, thank you and booya.

Iris has been sort of potty training lately. She'll go if you ask her to, and she'll tell you right after she poops in her diaper, but I don't think our various and constant reminders have really sunk in that she should alert us before the event occurs. So close, yet so, so far away.

I wear my sunglasses at night so I can pee on the potty - A modern fairy tale