Last night, I made a pan of peanut M&M tollhouse cookie bars, in the full expectation that I will be the only person in the household to eat them.

Then I got things off to a rousing start by eating two.

* * *

Ngaire woke up from her nap last Wednesday flushed and covered with a wrinkly rash. Turns out she had hives from … something. We were supposed to keep her off eggs, totally blew that (ever thought about how many foods contain eggs?), but haven’t had another such reaction. We’ll try her on peanut butter again in a few days. The only other thing I can think is that I had sprayed carpet freshener in their room, so maybe she was having a reaction to that …

Put this one under the heading of “Just When You Think You’ve Got This Parenting Thing Under Control.”

* * *

Ngaire has a new nickname for Liam: “Bud Squb.” Or sometimes “Buddy Squbby.” She is also partial to “Liam Squiam.” She can also sing most of “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.”

* * *

During the course of this post-writing, Liam has switched from putting blocks in the kitchen trash (thanks for the clean-up help!) to climbing on kitchen chairs to access stuff on the table. Ack. He is also not above (as it were) climbing on the actual table to reach desired objects.

I’m not much of a political science person, and what strikes me as a clear and honest view of our nation’s current situation tends to scare me. This book didn’t help any. Go out and read it immediately; Bacevich provides an unsparing historical view of precedents and supposedly exceptional events that laid the foundation for any and all crises we are experiencing. He doesn’t go easy on anybody, really, from members of both political parties (past, present and hopeful) to the individual American citizen. I don’t know if I agree with everything Bacevich has to say, but his perspective is an important one to consider.

Song of the day (to the tune of “Barbara Allen”)

’Twas in the merry month of October
When all the leaves were fallin’,
Sweet William in his high chair sat
A-squawkin’ and a-callin’:

“Oh, get me down, please get me down.
I’ve finished all my breakfast
And now I’m working on the crumbs,
But I really want to run fast.”

* * *

Yesterday morning, as I got Liam down from his high chair after breakfast, I told him, “Today the garbage trucks will come!” He perked up and said, “Garbage trucks!”

Slightly later, I was upstairs with Ngaire sorting baby clothes, and Liam disappeared. This was unusual, as generally he wants to be where the action is. I went looking for him, and found him sitting on the windowsill in the living room, face pressed against the glass. He sat there, quietly waiting, for around half an hour, until the garbage trucks arrived. He watched them out of sight before sliding down from his perch and going about his business.

* * *

Yesterday evening, the Husbandlet said, “Shall I take Ngaire for a W-A-L-K?”

Ngaire said immediately, “I want to go for a walk!”

I asked, “Ngaire, what does W-A-L-K mean?”

She answered, “But I just want to go to the P-A-R-K.”

I have suspected that she is reading a little for awhile … we passed an ice cream store (which we have never patronized) which had a big “Ice Cream” sign but no picture of the aforementioned treat, and Ngaire said, “That is where we get the ice cream in the cone.” Whenever she watches the VeggieTales movie Jonah, she reads the title when it comes on the screen. Recently, she started reciting “Hey Diddle Diddle” out of the blue, which confused me until I saw a book with that title peeking out of the bookshelf.

* * *

In the interests of equal time, the one Ctenophore story I’ve got is about the 10-week ultrasound, where the little one got a load of the probe and started swimming so fast in the opposite direction—and was so generally wiggly—that the doctor had a tough time getting a measurement. Those of you who are acquainted with my husband will not find this quality at all surprising in the fruit of his loins.

I’m still mildly queasy a lot of the time, but I’m definitely past the what-was-I-thinking-I-never-want-to-be-pregnant-again stage. I’m one of those lurking women—I’ve met a few more, but we always identify ourselves rather tentatively—who find pregnancy kind of meh, but love giving birth … indeed, it’s always the morning sickness, rather than labor, that I have to forget before being willing to conceive again. Or the weight gain, or the leg cramps, or the pelvic pain, or the ridiculous swelling, or … yeah. Pregnancy.

But … the babies! The cute, squishy babies!

* * *

Speaking of which (I guess), the Husbandlet did indeed return. And there was much rejoicing. Now he’s busily working on job applications for next year, many of which options are way cool. His current post-doc ends in October 2009, but we’ll probably be out of here sooner than that, since most places that would hire him would want him in August. Once again, let me be grateful that we didn’t go for another July baby. Because the only thing more fun than moving is moving with a two-week old.

The other day, Ngaire and Liam were tootling about the living room, and as Ngaire tootled, she narrated her activities. Thus, I overheard (and eventually intervened in, and managed not to laugh about until later) the following commentary.

“I am picking up the book!”

“I am running around the room!”

“I am hitting Liam!”

Despite the horrific violence, those two are actually developing a fun relationship. Yesterday, they managed to wreak havoc on their naptime because Ngaire kept climbing into Liam’s crib with him, whereupon they would both laugh maniacally. Ngaire now has specific funny noises she makes just to make Liam laugh, and they have a game where Ngaire says, “Beat!” and pushes Liam’s stomach to make him fall over. He loves this. She’s actually very gentle, and is careful to push him so he falls away from furniture and walls and other potential injurizing factors. He’s starting to show some interest in trying to reciprocate the beatings. For his part, Liam’s morning routine now includes smacking kisses all over Ngaire’s face.

Speaking of which, I asked Liam if he could say “I love you,” and he responded by puckering up and making a kissing noise.

He actually can say quite a lot, including “All done bottle” and “Night-night,” and I swear that he essayed “Daddy went to work” one morning after I said it.

Speaking of which again (how do you like dem transitions?), the Husbandlet is still far, far away (he’ll be back on Tuesday), and I am still nauseated, but less so, because

(drumroll transition this time)

I am almost done with the first trimester of the Ctenophore’s existence, e.t.a. May 2009. For those of you frantically counting backwards, yes, we managed to conceive two weeks after the miscarriage, a situation that, let me tell you, is guaranteed to get you chewed out by lots of nurses. But we are excited and an early ultrasound showed a happy little heartbeat (just one heart), and yay! Ctenophore is pronounced “TEEN-oh-for,” by the way.

The Husbandlet asked over the phone the other night if he was doing a good job as a husband. My response? “Well, aside from continually impregnating me and then immediately leaving for Florida for weeks on end, you’re doing just great!” We really will have to work on that particular habit of his, though.

Dear World,

Must you kick my tushie so? A Husbandlet off for TWO WEEKS of field work, a daughter who Would Prefer Not To poop in the potty, and a son who must now be totally barred from the kitchen since he has discovered the location of the butter dish. And an upset tummy (mine). Please take these circumstances under consideration when planning my next few months.

Love,
Jordana

Dear World,

It’s amazing how phrases from Bear in the Big Blue House can be so completely applicable to everyday life! Why, just today I found several opportunities to work my new commentary on how Grandma and Grandpa get bills in the mail into conversation. In other news, it’s been raining a lot here, and I am particularly delighted with all the mud I find around me. Liam is turning out to be an interesting little fellow … if I push him over and say “Beat!” he giggles wildly and inspires me to do it again. I may possibly be reading a bit here and there, but let’s keep Mommy guessing on that one, OK?

Love,
Ngaire

Dear World,

Trucks! Tractors! Street sweepers! Lawn mowers! Can you hold so much joy, world? It all makes me so, so happy! Also, I love my sister! She is amazing! She pushes me over! I must fall upon her with kisses!

Love!
Liam