It's not nice to kick old ladies, and other ramblings

Ponybelle. Ugh.

(For those of you who hadn't heard the update -- or did I blog about it already? -- Tres is definitely a Ponybelle and not a Joe Bob. As I suspected all along, DH doesn't make Joe Bobs. Email me for the name, if you're curious!)

Somehow pregnancy -- starting at about the half-way point, which I'm a little past now -- morphs me into a 90-year-old woman. After sitting or lying down for any length of time, I can't simply rise to the upright position like a normal person. Oh, no. I get these wonderful twingy pinches in my lower back that cause me to hobble around, hunched at a 45-degree angle, for several moments while I work through the pain and hoist myself to standing.

Darn babies.

The hobbling was particularly bad last night -- so much so that DH couldn't help chuckling any time I stood up (rude, yes, but in his defense I really do look funny doing it) and Uno created the Oh! My Back Hurts game wherein she and Dos wandered around the living room hunched over, moaning faintly and rubbing their lower backs. Just like mama. How sweet.

Not to be left out, Ponybelle decided she should get in on the act: Nearly every time I had to get up to use the bathroom last night (which, as you know, for pregnant ladies is quite a lot) she'd kick me rather forcefully as I struggled to stand. When she gets here I'm going to have a little talk with Miss Ponybelle about why it's not nice to kick 90-year-old women. Especially pregnant ones.

In other news, I'm beginning to contemplate the new baby's room. This is the first time I've been able to do a real nursery nursery: The first time, we were in an apartment (Uno shared space with DH's "office" -- she may have felt cramped, but I like that she was surrounded by books from the very start); Dos had a place of her own, but we had no money to make it anything more than a crib in a square room; this time we have new furniture -- frivolous, I know, but I love it! -- and a budget for paint and accessories and an actual design plan. Um, if I could figure out what that plan should be.

Here's the room. The arrangement feels tight because of the bed, where Dos currently naps and which I insist on keeping for night-time feedings, and because of the placement of the vent. Kind of annoying, but oh well. I don't like the previous owners' paint choices, baby poop green on the bottom (apropos, sure, but still...) and white on the top. But I found a cute sheet set (see below) and hope to pull a couple of nice yellows out of that.



I've got it narrowed down to ~12 paint chips:



I'd like to play up the colors of the orangey-yellowy butterfly, with a darker yellow on the bottom half of the room and a lighter yellow on the top and ceiling. Keeping in mind that color never translates accurately from real life to the screen -- and more particularly that I think my monitor is wonky so these pics are probably a terrible representation -- anybody have any ideas for me? LOL.

If any of my design-savvy, DIY seesters or friends would like to come up and help me rearrange furniture for a better fit, choose colors, and/or help me paint the room (it's small; it won't take long!), you are more than welcome!

All right, and now for my final ramble: Father's Day. We had a lovely one yesterday; DH slept in while I made an actual breakfast (as opposed to our usual Pop-Tarts or off-brand toaster waffles), we gave DH our gifts after church, and for dinner I made him steak and potatoes and deviled eggs (as opposed to our usual hot dogs or frozen pizza or desperate leftovers).

I gave DH a few things for being the father of my children: A couple of framed photos for his office, and a new George Foreman grill that I found on sale (the one we've had since we got married is the small kind that only cooks one thing at a time; this one is more practical for a family). Pleasant gifts, sure, but nothing spectacular. The honor of spectacular present-giver actually goes to Uno, who found this trophy at Walmart and just HAD to have it for her dad -- at first, simply because it's a trophy and trophies are cool, but even more so after I read her what it said. It may be cheap and plastic and kitschy, but she thinks it's the most beautiful, unique, special thing in the whole wide world and obviously the only perfect present to give to her daddy. She'd been keeping it a secret for four whole days, and she looked about to burst as he pulled it out of the Happy Birthday gift bag (hey, we recycle). She's adorable. Her belief in the fabulousness of the $3 trophy (lol, can you believe it cost that much?) is what made it so. :-)


~RCH~