My Peeps! I've missed you. I'm so sorry I've been neglectful of you the last couple of weeks. But, boy, do I have some stories for you, now! Or as they say around these parts, "y'all ain't gonna believe this shit..."
This week definitely started off with a bang, or should I say splash.
Though we've had summer temperatures here already, the neighborhood pool doesn't open until later this month. But Miss Chatterbox loves the water year round and sometimes I just need to get stuff done.
So, Ima let you in on a little secret. Sometimes, *coughdailycough* I fill up the tub, throw in her pool toys, put her in her bathing suit and let her "swim" until her heart's content. Is that weird? Sorta? Very? Alright, maybe it is, but there's only one of me and sometimes I just gotta get stuff done!
*disclaimer - she knows how to swim, without floaties, and we live in a 900 sq ft condo. Even if, I walk away for a moment, she won't drown and I can hear her (she has no volume control - the neighbors 5 condos down can hear her). I'd never, even for a second, risk my babies health for a few moments peace.
So what if she splashes, it's just water, right? Or so I thought. Leave it to Miss Chatterbox to turn it into the messiest activity we've ever done.
In the tub, I have a gallon jug, whose top has been cut off of, that I use to wash Miss Chatterbox's hair. She plays with it all the time, so I didn't think anything of it, when I heard the sound of pouring water hitting water. At that particular moment, I had The Bun, riding on my chest in the Moby wrap (since I can't get the Ergo around me anymore) and had my hands in the bread I was kneading. So I did not stop and check what she was doing. Yeah, I know, for those of you keeping track this is epic solo parenting fail #2309.
But seriously, I swear it wasn't but 2 seconds later, when I heard what sounded suspiciously like puddle jumping....
I waste no time hustling my floury ass towards the bathroom and as I turned the (carpeted) corner, my socks suddenly became sopping wet and Miss Chatterbox called out, "come jump in puddle wit me, Momma!"
I kid you not, there was at least 2 inches of water completely covering the bathroom floor and pushing out into the carpet at least 4 feet away from the bathroom in every direction.
Sigh. She is sooooo my child.
I managed to calmly explain that water needs to stay in the bathtub and why it needs to stay there. But, lately, Miss Chatterbox has been internalizing reprimands as "I'm bad" no matter how gently I do it. She's such a sensitive little soul.
So, I changed tactics. I figure if you can't beat them, join them, right? So, I sat there, in jeans, in the water with The Bun cackling happily and splashing around with her sister on the bathroom floor, while I plotted how the hell I'm gonna clean this up. By myself. Because, you know, Murphy's Law predetermined that it had to be a "b"shift day.
See rule #8.
Yep, that's how firewives roll. Because we're mother f*$#ing bad asses, yo, and don't you forget it!
That was just Sunday's excitement.
On Monday, we found out -drumroll please- that baby #3 is a GIRL! That's right, folks, we are now 3 for 3! The estrogen cup in the Horn Clan overfloweth! I was very, very surprised. I was so sure the little Jellybean was a boy! I would have be happy with either, but I'm not so secretly super pleased it was another girl. Because girls are da bomb diggity!
The Firefighter's totally cool with it too. Not that he has a choice, but I actually think he is happy about it. He said it keeps it simple and even. We already have girls stuff out the ying yang. And besides, he gets the best of both worlds. He gets the male camaraderie of his testosterone filled jobs (firefighting and his new power tool repair part time job) and them comes home to his adoring crowd of groupies who smother him with hugs and kisses and can't get enough of daddu. When (really more like -if- since he never gets sick of his little girls) he's had his fill of tutu's, tea parties, and tumbling, he goes out and hides in his diesel dually F-350 grunting all cave man like while playing with his power tools. It's all good in his hood.
The only problem, now, is what to name the baby? Why is this a problem, you ask, pretending to care about my ridiculously type A worries? Remember this post? I wayyyy overcomplicated things with my naming "rules" for my first two kids. I'm further complicating it this time by limiting myself to the letter "A" so Jellybean won't feel left out from her siblings. So far, not really a problem anywhere but in my crazy mind, right? But wait, the problem is that The Firefighter hates the name game. Which annoys me in the same way a bug bite as your ass would when your in a crowded room and can't scratch it. For starters, he won't even entertain any name discussion at all until the gender is determined. But even once that is known, he won't contribute any names he likes, won't look at name lists, yet vetoes every single name I suggest.
Grrr, Men. They just don't get it, sometimes.
So, have any good suggestions for girl names starting with A?