Santa has been evicted, and someone else is about to get notice, too.

Normally, we get Christmas decorations down about a week or so after the New Year, allowing trees to stay up with a Super Bowl deadline.  We're jolly people and all that crap.

This year, within 48 hours of Santa's departure, all of his baubles were gone, too.

I'm dead serious when I state that the husband and I haven't had Christmas trees down before February in, oh, the near decade we've been together.  They're just so pretty and twinkly...and time consuming and depressing to take down!  So the Big Game has become our end-point, if only because we really needed to give ourselves one.

But shit's about to get real here.  Christmas Day also happened to coincide with gestation week #37.  Yup, a holiday baby.  I'd ask what we were thinking, but honestly, we weren't when we were just trying to get and stay pregnant, dammit!

Timing wasn't a consideration.  And in true V-family fashion, this kid ruined Christmas.

My nesting kicked in 3rd trimester, which in my case means cooking and Excel spreadsheets. Lots of baking and to-do lists as long as I am tall (which, in my defense, isn't THAT tall...).  Unfortunately, my husband's nesting instincts didn't kick in until, oh, December 15th.  So all hell broke loose when he finally realized, um, we're about to have a demanding, smelly, albeit adorable new person shacking up with us.

Shopping barely got done because hauling my massive self around Pittsburgh has become exhausting.  (Dear Amazon.  THANK YOU.)  I couldn't have cared less if the inside decorations were put up as long as the outside was festive enough to compete with the neighbors (we lucked out in that, of the two closest, one was having roof construction and the other had a death in the family...so standards were lower than usual).  The stupid shelf elf wound up doing a lot of boring stuff, if he remembered to move at all.  And both real trees kept falling down.  That was fun.  But we had 85+ dozen cookies to share with friends and family eat all by ourselves!  I have my priorities perfectly straight.

Anyway.  Christmas fell way down the list.  We pulled it off enough to not scar the kids with memories of "The Darkest Holiday Season," but the two of us were completely over it by 12/26.  Probably before that, but we're great actors.

And now we wait.  Because everyone forgets how miserable these last few weeks are, between the anticipation and the planning and the uncertainty of when the little one is going to grace us with its presence.  But Mama has had it, and so has her bladder.  I've never in my life looked forward to February, but this just might be the year that Christmas was cut short AND the ugliest month of the year was celebrated.

Isaac is 3

My husband is a cuddler.  I am not.  I actually kind of hate cuddling.  I don't like being touched and, perhaps, there's a sensory disorder there waiting to be diagnosed because touching for more than about the length of a short hug makes my skin crawl.  I do not spoon in bed.  I have trouble snuggling on the sofa watching a romantic movie.  Chris settles for my foot touching his leg as we sleep and the occasional head on his shoulder.  Avery's like me in this sense, if a bit less pathological about it, happily settling for a hug when she feels like it and a smooch if she gets a scrape.

Isaac needs held.  He has since he was born.  "Cry it out" was never an option, as he would rather have made himself sick crying than get tired to fall asleep.  Worse, after one go of that, I felt awful about it and never tried it again.  I found various baby slings and harnesses and he was attached to either Chris or I until he decided it was fun to walk.  But even then he checks in, by crawling on our laps, giving a hug and kiss, then merrily getting back on his way.

His need for physical affection is probably equal to my natural disdain for it.  And yet, since he's mine and I made him and he's perfect, I magically got over my discomfort.  He could sit with me for hours (and has) and sleep on my arm as it falls asleep when I need to be doing a million other things; some long-hidden gene activates and I am content.

Isaac means "he will laugh."  It's amazing to me how the name we picked months before he was born fits him so perfectly.  He's such a wonderful, happy little boy.  I'm happy just to see his smiling face, never mind what is going on in my life that he couldn't possibly understand.  He is silly without really trying, yet knows exactly how to make others laugh when he wants to be the center of attention.

Isaac is my baby.  Yes, he's actually my youngest, but even when he grows up, even if he becomes a big brother someday, even if I had 10 more kids and he actually wound up being one of my oldest children, he would still be my baby.

Happy birthday, little man.

Important Events

Things have been jumpin' on the old homestead!

First, and most importantly, Shamrock Shakes are back at McDonald's!  Minty-vanilla goodness in January?  Seems a tad early, but this little addict will not be complaining about that.

Heavenly and disgusting, all in one....similar to a McRib in that way.

Hubby got a new job and is making the switch.  The pay is better, the insurance cost is worse.  The hours are better, the benefits are weak.  The job security has improved, but the company is MUCH smaller than where he is now, so I'm not sure if it's really any different.  He'll work from home 95% of the time, so he won't have two hours of commuting each day and he'll be able to help with the kids' school pickups/dropoffs, which give me a little bit more flexibility.  I'm trying to be a supportive wife, and I'm happy that he's happy, but I'm worried and don't do well with change and I'm more than a little bitter that he can find another job while he has one already and I can't even find a suitable part-time position.  He'll also be making occasional trips to LA.  We'll be testing those old mommy skills without Daddy as a buffer, now won't we?

Also, we had another two funerals that I should have attended.  During my TWW.  I'm just way too superstitious over this (I know, it's dumb...can't help it).  That takes us up to 5 funerals in 3 months and a total of 3 miscarriages after attending funerals pregnant.  The plan was to pretend I was sick so I didn't have to go, then we ALL actually got sick.  Karma's a bitch.

I signed Avery up for Kindergarten and am freaking the freak out.  Not at all ready for my baby girl to be starting "real" school.  Dude, I remember Kindergarten.  But I know she's ready and excited.  Her pre-K teacher really takes K-readiness seriously and told us at her conference that Ave's one of the few kids she's actually recommending as ready to make the move.  I just wish she didn't have her father's outgoing personality (total sarcasm; did you catch it?).  The kid doesn't talk until she is 100% comfortable with the people around her.  She just absorbs information.  And that, apparently, is what Daddy did, too.  You know, the guy that easily could have been the kid with the public, newsworthy freak-out at school and left after his Junior year because  he hated everyone and everything there?  So cross your fingers for an awesome teacher that pulls this little girl out of her shell.  Because, honest-to-god, if I don't actually tell her she MUST talk to people, she won't.  Sigh.

Hmm, what else?  The weather has been fantastic.  I love warm post-Christmas winters, except for all the mud.  High of 54 on the last day of January?  I'll take it!

Oh, yeah.  There's this, too!

You didn't think I'd put this first, did you?  So far, everything looks good.  The first positive was on 11 DPO (I couldn't wait any longer) and each subsequent test got darker.  I refused to call my doctor's office until I was late, so that was a long, rough weekend.  My blood test was unbelievably easy (I'm finding that phlebotomist and keeping her), and my HCG number was 443 at 14 DPO, which is slightly higher than average, but still within normal ranges.  I'll go back tomorrow to make sure my doubling time is appropriate. So all is as it should be for the time being.  I refuse to complain about nausea and aches and pains because I know those are better than the alternative I've been dealing with.

I'm certainly being kept on my toes this month!  If only I could get a nap in somewhere.