Hewwo? Hewwo?

As Jon (who at least lives on the East Coast and is an hour ahead of us) can tell you, Harry is a huge fan of grabbing my phone, smashing some buttons with the flat of his hand, and saying Hewwo repeatedly to anyone who picks up.

Not sure who he's talking to here,

but I think it may have been an important work meeting because it seemed to make him really tired.

Too tired, in fact, for broccee, his favorite food.

Bath Mohawk-- Phew!

We were worried that Harry's hair was too thick for bubble styling, but no fear.



Also the car? Still rocking his world.

Snow Buffet

Ben and Harry played in the snow last weekend, and Ben certainly builds a way better snowman than I do. His has distinct body chunks instead of just one pointing mound of a body. Also, Ben lent his hat to Harry's new mo-mo because Harry will still stare out the living room window and tell the sad tale of his previous mo-mo whose hat blew away. He says "Mo-mo. Hat? Hmmmm. Way!" and flings out his arms as if to say "This hat could be anywhere. Why am I the only one who thinks we should look for it?" Also away? The cute wooden carrot-shaped nose, but Harry doesn't seem to care about that. I, however, am a little peeved.

This mo-mo comes with a much happier tale: "Mo-Mo hat! Dada!" And I have to say, "Wow, Harry, your daddy gave the snow man his hat. That's so nice." To which Harry will reply "Yep. Dada. Nice."

Also, it warmed up this week a little, and the snow man is a puddley mess. Note, don't encourage your toddler to look at his melty snowman because this might be traumatic.


Oh look! A snack on his boots! Handy.

Yep. He's eating the snow off of this sled. Yummy.

As you can see from this video, Harry spent most of his outside time tromping around and munching on snow. I wish I had video from his previous winter outings because this was the first time he could actually walk around without constantly biting it. Impressive. Next winter we'll break out the skis and the snowshoes. Unless we've moved to Arizona in protest.

I JUST FINISHED MY LAST CHAPTER!

That's right-- my crazy pregnant self just FINISHED MY DISSERTATION: Abortion and the 'Good Mother': The Rhetoric of the Planned Parenthood Federation of America, 1942-1973.

And as an added bonus, my last chapter finally talked about abortion, probably a good thing, considering the title.

I will post pictures of it next week when I slap on an intro and a conclusion.**

** Only partly joking. I feel like it's also my baby, so I probably will take a picture of it, and I want to see what it looks like all stacked up.

Pregnancy and Insanity

Huge.

I have recently gotten huge. So big that 3 people stopped me in the hall on the way to my last class (the one I almost sleep through and daydream during about how nice the couch will feel when I plop myself down on it as soon as I can haul my fat ass up the stairs when I get home) to tell me how big I am. Cool. That makes me feel great.



I am so big that Ben wanted to take all these pictures because when I got home (and changed into sweats-- I swear I didn't teach in them. I may have worn sweats to lecture on MOnday, but that's totally different), HE couldn't believe how big I've gotten.


Seriously, my coat doesn't zip anymore. It did on Monday, but did not on Tuesday.

And my belly button clearly thinks the baby is done cooking (which is not true-- he has weeks to go, people, but how can I get weeks bigger?)

And despite my smiling face, I am suddenly MISERABLE. By this time in my pregnancy with Harry, school was out; I had just finished defending my dissertation proposal and applying for a research fellowship. I was not feeling pressured to meet any deadlines, so I checked out a bunch of secondary sources from the library (books on abortion, birth control, and eugenic sterilization-- probably really confusing to watch my whale of a self read them-- I bet people wanted to say, "Lady, it's too late!") and spent every day either sprawled on my couch or lounging at the pool (in a surprisingly teeny bikini). Bitching about how uncomfortable I was. And reminding Ben to bring me a Monster Cookie Blizzard from Dairy Queen. (Sadly, Dairy Queen no longer makes the Monster Cookie Blizzard, which is a shame.)

But it wouldn't matter if they did because I am so nauseous that I couldn't eat it anyway. Yesterday, the only thing that I ate was MacDonalds (which the normal me doesn't even like anymore), and today, I've had garlic bread and ice cream (and Ben is actually out right now getting Oreo ice cream cones). I have the worst heartburn I have ever had; the round ligament pain is excruciating, and I am SO TIRED I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO because you would think that sleeping is an answer, but it's not because I am too big to get comfortable in bed and may have to start sleeping on the couch for back support and use of Tivo to help me kill the hours between 1 and 4 when I am awake, eating oyster crackers, and cussing at nothing in particular.

The only thing that makes my stomach feel better? Pepsi, which is so trashy for a pregnant lady. I feel very Britney and not just because I BACKED MY CAR INTO A PARKED GAS TRUCK (Harry's fine. I'm fine, The gas truck is fine. Not fine? My car, which is smashed. Also, I called the gas truck driver an asshole after I hit HIM because it took him so long to fill out all his paperwork. I was like, "Dude. I hit you. You were parked here. This is clearly my fault. Here's my insurance card. I've gotta go." He was all, "This has never happened to me in ten years of driving, so I have to follow procedure," and then I said, "Don't be such an asshole!" because I thought the 10 years thing was a bit snarky, actually. So Harry napped through the whole exchange, and then never again for the rest of the day, and that almost killed me).

I am writing all this down to remind myself not to think about going for 3 under 3 and to let you all know what poor Ben deals with every waking moment of his life (because I call him at work. A lot. To say things like, "I can't believe you bought generic laundry detergent. Don't you care about this marriage?" and "I just hit a gas truck with my car, and it's your fault. I need you to get over here right away," and "Can you bring me the largest container of Tums you can find?" To this last question, he responded, "Do you want me to get a Sam's Club membership?" and that's how I know he's my soul mate).

Grandma and Grandpa and Grandma and Grandpa

Harry's Grandparents all converged upon us last weekend, and we had a blast. Ben and I made a chili that didn't make anyone sick and some turtle brownies that made me a little sick because I ate so damn many of them. Harry and McLovin got a million presents, and Harry ran back and forth between his grandpas asking "Grandpa? Grandpa?" I don't think he's ever realized that he knows 2 different men who go by the same name.

Also? Grandparents sure do act like idiots if it makes their grandchild laugh, huh? Some highlights:




Harry was a huge help in putting this car together, as you might imagine.



He had the best time ever eating lunch at his new card table, a CVS find from his Grandpa Gary. (Also a huge hit? His CVS golf clubs, and I say hit because that's what he does with them. Hits. And not balls.)


Here he is coloring before the excitement of the day began


And, randomly, a picture sans pants.

He had been waking up consistently at 5:30 every freaking morning, but last Saturday,we brought him in our bed at 5, (a day when we needed to wake up early and frantically vacuum) and he slept until 8. And he's been sleeping until 6 or 7 everyday since, thank god. In his own bed.

Sunday morning, we went to the WORST BRUNCH BUFFET EVER with my parents, and yes, I was a huge asshole about how bad it was. Everyone else liked it just fine. Or they are more polite than I am.


This guy over Ben's shoulder was the grossest host ever-- he had boogers; he picked his ear as he led us to our table, and his long, dirty fingernails worked as excellent rakes to get all the flakes out of his hair. Delish.

"Hi, I'm Harrison Benjamin, and this is Clifford, my big red dog."

That title is probably only funny to the parents of toddlers who love Clifford. Because the show starts (as do all the books-- books-- we read lots of books-- it's not all TV for us-- books, books, books) with Clifford's BFF saying, "Hi, I'm Emily Elizabeth, and this is Clifford, my big red dog."

Anywho, Harry has loved Clifford from the moment we first exposed him to the wonderful (quasi commercial-free) world of PBS Kids. I'm not sure why, but Harry has always been attracted to the big red dog. Before he could really say a lot of words, he called Clifford "Woof Woof," and this is still the name he uses most often. He calls other dogs by their names (like Harry the dog of such classics as "Harry the Dirty Dog" and "Harry and the Lady Next Door." On side note, we buy Harry almost every book we can find with the name Harry in it-- is this confusing him, do you think? The other day, we got a book at the library called "Imagine Harry" about a kid whose imaginary friend is named Harry, and at the end of the book, he realizes he doesn't need an imaginary friend, and Harry disappears forever. Do you think this freaked Harry out? )

Yesterday, Clifford was at our Barnes and Noble for a special costume character story time. Of course we went (and the person inside the Clifford suit looked warm. Really warm). We tried to tell Harry for a couple of days that he was going to see Clifford at B&N, but he just thought there'd be a TV there, and he didn't seem too excited. He was stoked to see some stuffed Cliffords on a table in the story area (and yeah, we bought one because we're suckers), and he obligingly looked through the Clifford books they story lady got out.

But oh my god. When Clifford shambled through the employees only doors, I thought Harry was going to crap his pants. (Which, now that I think about it, is a phrase that is more dramatic when used to describe surprise in someone who doesn't routinely crap his pants, huh?)

At first, he just looked back at us like "Are you seeing this? What the hell did you slip in my yogurt this morning?"

Then he hung back in awe while the bigger kids mauled poor Clifford

I walked up there with him, and he touched Clifford's paw with one careful finger. Then he said "Itch."

And he pretty much just stood there like a zombie while the story lady read two Clifford books. Ben was getting all blotchy because he wanted Harry to sit down and quit blocking kids' views, but I was practically crying with happiness because Harry was so blissed out by the whole experience.


Since we were the rude assholes who didn't make our kid get down in front, other parents let their kids approach Clifford, too, and Ben felt way better.


I love this video (and Josephine is so not into Clifford because she really loves Sponge Bob and no other), but it doesn't quite capture how adorable Harry was. Once he warmed up a bit, he kept running back to us and saying "Mommy! Daddy! Woof Woof!" while gesticulating wildly at Clifford. He grabbed his sippie and waved it in Clifford's face, saying, "Bup, Bup!" He made sure Clifford saw his friend ("Woof, Woof? Jean-Jean") and his dad ("Woof, Woof? Daddy") in a very Oprah-Uma way.

Then he got bored and announced that he would like some Choo choo, where he joined an army of toddler boys walking in slow open-mouthed circles around the train table saying Mine! Choo choo! Mine! (He also picked out a huge pile of stuff he wanted and put it on the floor by us, telling us "Home.")


When it was time to leave, he acted just like the little girl Trixie in Mo Willems' "Knuffle Bunny" and "went boneless."

He recovered use of his limbs by the time we got home, and the first thing he did was offer Clifford a ride in his car. True love.