"Who Stole the Cookie from the Cookie Jar? Who me? Yes, you? Couldn't be. Then who?" This little rhyme was one of my favorites on Girl Scout hayrides as a young girl... and now it comes full circle as I hear it on my toddler's cds that he plays and dances to with great joy. My guess is that a pregnant lady stole it. One hungry mama saw your cookie and she took it, so there. We just can't help ourselves.
Now our grocery store is very kid-friendly complete with grocery cart racecars for little guys and staff who always smile at the youngins even when they may be having a break-down in aisle 7. The deli counter ladies are usually so kind as to slice my toddler some cheese while we wait for our order. Until of course on the one tragic day, Tristan decided that he didn't like that exact cheese at that precise moment and he spit it out on the floor in front of the lady who sliced it for him for free. Oopps. Oddly enough, they haven't cut him anymore since then, so I am thinking that they, like Santa, have pictures of the bad girls and boys out back who don't get free cheese. Since Tristan was used to getting something from the deli counter, I started taking out a piece of turkey from what I purchased and letting him take small bites out of it. That worked for awhile... until we found the wonderland motherload of goodies: a free stash of cookies hidden from our eyes until recently.
The bakery has a little glass case that says "Free cookies for kids under 12- please take only one" that the store keeps stocked with, you guessed it, cookies! I started getting one for Tristan a few weeks ago and we haven't had a grocery store melt-down since. My new problem is that I want a cookie too and I am not under 12 by just a couple decades. Here's where my moral dilemna exists- I technically am carrying a kid inside of me who is indeed under 12 so do I qualify? I say yes, but it may be my stomach talking and not so much the rule book. Needless to say, I may have taken a cookie from the cookie jar my last two visits- one for my toddler and one for me- but the whole time I am doing it, I am afraid they are videotaping me and will come to escort me out of the store. Silly, I know, but I just can't help myself. It's not like I am raiding the bulk aisle like a wide-mouthed bass, but still, there is a measure of guilt involved.
Another situation where my husband made me feel a little "food guilty" involved an outing we took last weekend. We took Tristan to a church carnival event complete with horses and a bouncy house and magic shows. By the way, we quickly discovered that our boy would rather shriek in horror than get shoved into a bouncy house where all the other kids are happily flying about. Perhaps something about being placed through this little opening into a world he didn't understand was too much like the whole birthing experience. Yet, I digress.
So we're at the carnival with the family and we stopped to see this attraction that was aptly called a candy volcano. It was a pretty basic but nonetheless wicked awesome premise: a tent shaped like a volcano spews out candy from the top every 5 minutes or so while kids gather around to hunt and gather like they did in the Wild Wild West. Okay, well, slightly different than pioneer times but you get the idea. (And where the heck were these when I was a kid?) I knew it was designated more for kids than adults but that couldn't stop the craving to hoard and eat all the candy spewed about. I mean the candy was falling at my feet, I didn't want to step on it or anything. So, no, I did not knock over any kids and steal their candy in mid-air, but if a lime Tootsie Roll fell right by me, I had no problem picking it up. My husband found it hysterical- my speed and elasticity I was able to exhude while picking up the meager 4 pieces of candy I ended up with in the end- for someone 9 months pregnant who can't tie her own shoes. Apparently I am still fast on my feet. And just so you know, the one Gobbstopper I got for him and placed in his coat pocket, well, when he put it down on the counter at home several hours later-UNOPENED and UNATTENDED- yeah, it found a home in my belly. Ha! Serves you right for making fun of my adroitness and skillful use of my non-limber legs.
And a final note on my apparent focus on food in this last stretch of pregnancy was proven during the 4.6 earthquake we had on Tuesday night. Our house started shaking, the toddler started screaming, and what did I do before I grabbed my child and checked the house for obvious dangers? I put my Breyer's ice cream in the freezer first. Yes, that's right. Above children and pets, loved ones and valuables, I saved the ice cream first, no doubt securing my MOTY (mother-of-the-year) award yet again. Ruled by my stomach even in the face of a natural disaster. All I can say is if we have any aftershocks and I am nearby, I would guard your cookies, because I just can't promise I will behave.
Thank you to the snot-nosed kid with the barking seal cough whose mother took him to Baby & Me time at the library. I love it that you licked and drooled on all the puppets and shared your sickness with Tristan. And even moreso, I love it that Tristan designated all his sloppy kisses thereafter to Grammie, Dada, and myself so now we cannot breathe. That's especially wonderful since I am trying to just make it through these last 2 weeks of pregnancy alive and now we all have a cold to persevere through. Oh what character we shall develop!
Tristan bundling up to feel better during his cold
Thank you to all the amazing people who say kind words of encouragement to The Pregnant Lady. I super duper appreciate the co-worker of my hubby's complimenting the fact that I look great- like NOT EVEN PREGNANT from the back except that I walk like a duck. I very much fancy being compared to creatures with webbed feet as it makes me feel so special and unique. And why is that guy still single when he oozes so much sensitivity? What a catch. (And, might I add, if you're going to negatively comment on someone's pregnancy weight, make sure you are not twice their size and non-pregnant first... cause it is really ironic to be told how big you are by someone already much bigger. Just sayin'.) And to the many complete strangers who walk up to me and tell me I look huge and that I must be having the baby any day now, well, yes, that is usually how it works. It's always kind of fun and sinister to act surprised and say "What Baby?" then watch people turn red and shrivel up just a tad. Too bad I am beyond that joke working at this point.
Thanks to all these random contractions that about knock me off my feet at irregular intervals. I think it's really cool that I had to stop working already due to the intensity of the contractions making me not able to perform my job safely. Now I can sit on my hiney and wait... and wait... and wait until maybe I burst with excitement or simply my water breaking. And with all this time off, and all these wonderful beach vacations I am taking (in my mind) boy am I just savoring these moments. I didn't even get to partake in the fall ritual of leaf raking while the rest of my family slaved away... even the toddler worked up a sweat.
Thank you to the baby inside of me who wiggles and jiggles and wouldn't even consider letting me catch more than an hour of sleep at a time. I mean, what would I do with a 3 hour stretch of sleep at a time? Now that's just silly. And even if he wasn't jitterbugging inside, I'd still have to get up every hour as to avoid becoming the Land of 1000 Lakes. I'll just have to catch up on my sleep when the baby comes... that should be a cinch.
Thanks to the extra 5 billion pounds I've added to make my BMI (body mass index) one confusing figure. I am just thrilled to have topped the untoppable on the Scale of Doom, and with a couple weeks still to go I could earn some sort of prize. Is it even possible to have a 50 pound baby? He could go straight from the womb to the big boy carseat and maybe I could get in one of those National Enquirer news articles about the world's fattest babies on the cover. That would spectacularly cover our family's 5 minutes of fame.
Thank you to my husband, the ice cream supplier, who helps me to give into my cravings. I suppose, though, that if he offered me celery instead of sweets I may actually try to bite him, so maybe it's good that he just scoops me what I want. I have to say though, that when we were splitting a Wendy's Frosty at home the other day and I had a little plastic spoon and he got out a serving spoon for himself, it did make me a little ballistic. But I still love him forever and always.
Tristan getting his first bite of Frosty
And a final shout-out thank you to my little toddler man, who has discovered how to be naughty while he's just out of Mom's physical reach and he knows it. He calculates how fast he has to be to escape my attempt to change his diaper, the exact shrill decibel he has to scream for me to get him out of his crib, and just how much food to smear all over to get us all to wine about how we took so much time preparing all those yummies for him to just waste them. I love my Little Man and he's about to get a tiny little sobbing present of a brother to thank him for all he's done for the family. Guess it's sort of a circle of thanks.