A Letter to my Spirited Child

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Today you screamed for two hours because I wouldn't give you juice.

I try to be patient, I really do. I know deep in my heart that you don't hate me. That you aren't doing this out of spite. I understand that in toddlerland there is no such thing as moderation and the fact that you had already drank your juice quota for the day is irrelevant to you. I get that, in your head, the rules of possession state that apple juice in the fridge belongs to you and only you and that when you saw me pour a glass you saw that as stealing. Unfortunately after the first half an hour of screaming my nerves were shot and I was more short tempered than usual.

I cried.

Just a few tears of frustration. My body's natural release whenever I am stressed. I'm still puzzled by the fact that you continued screaming even after I broke down and finally gave you the juice. What's with that? I think at that point you had forgotten what it was you were crying about and were so worked up you were just crying for the sake of crying. Nice touch with the flopping onto the floor and kicking your feet by the way. Very dramatic. I might have been able to see the humor in it if you hadn't told me to f*** off when I picked you up. You remember? Right after you bit me?

I cried.

More tears of frustration. Some days it is so damn hard to not lose my temper. It takes every ounce of patience I possess to stop myself from yelling. It's not that it hurt when you bit me, certainly not as much as it hurt your sister when you bit her this morning, it's more that when I see you lashing out it makes me question my abilities as a parent. I should have been able to nip this whole biting thing in the bud a long time ago. I feel like I failed you. You can count to ten and sing "Twinkle Twinkle" in its entirety. How am I not able to get you to understand that biting hurts. As far as the language goes, well, you don't know what it means. You probably overheard me on the phone, dropping f-bombs while I chat to my friends. That my fault. I'm not punishing you for swearing. It's the biting. I couldn't just let it slide. That's why I put you in time out.

YOU cried.

I know you hate time outs. I wouldn't like them very much either. They weren't an option when I was growing up. I got a slap across the face when I misbehaved. Or a strap across the back of my legs. Neither was very effective but they sure gave me pause. Mostly I paused thinking about how much I hated my family. It never made me stop and think about what I had done wrong. Apparently I'm supposed to be biting you back. I don't quite get how this is supposed to discourage you from biting, especially since you model so many of your behaviors after me. This is why we do time outs. I gotta say though, the end result seems to be the same. Especially when you told me you hated me.

I cried again.

This time it was ugly crying. Body wracking sobs of pain. I don't know why. You don't even know what you were saying. You're two. What do you know about hate? Besides, of course, your hate for vegetables. I don't know where you picked that up from. TV? Do we need to be more careful of what we watch when you're around? When I am moaning about doing housework do I need to start spelling out my distaste for folding laundry? Especially when you grab a pile of your sisters neatly folded clothes and throw them over the railing.

I stopped crying.

I sat down with you on the couch. I got down to eye level with you and told you I was sad. You put your chubby arms around my neck and told me "Don't be sad Mummy". You went and grabbed your smelly blanket, the one you wont let me wash when you're awake. You climbed into my lap and put the blanket around us both. "Snuggle?" you asked tentatively, as if you were afraid of my answer. The smile that lights up your face when I say "Of course we can snuggle" is priceless. It is the look of a blind man seeing the sun for the very first time. We lay there on the couch, big spoon and little spoon, watching Dora the Explorer. I can smell the oatmeal and vanilla of your shampoo as I kiss the top of your head and breathe in deep. All is forgotten, all is right with the world. In ten perfect minutes we have erased hours of tension and frustration. In ten perfect minutes we reset the clock to zero. You reach your tiny hand out, grab my arm and pull it around you.

I cried.

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Parkerpalooza 2012

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This past May long weekend had a special significance for my family. We went on a group camping trip to honor a good buddy who passed away last year, Parker Summers. Parker was a special kind of guy, full of fun and laughter, who loved music and good times. His spirit lives on in all of those whose lives he touched. We honored him, and his parents Lori and Scotty, at Parkerpalooza 2012.

Parker Summers

It was a great weekend. There were about forty camps set up, not counting those who came for the day and ended up sleeping it off in their cars. Josh and Reina, Parker's brother and sister in law, drove up from the states. Mr. Zinga and myself borrowed his brothers tent trailer and stayed one night. Parker was on everyone's mind but in a good way. We shared stories and laughs and yeah, a few tears too but it was great. The whole point of the weekend was remembrance. Parker left a huge mark on our community and our family. We named our youngest daughter after him and his parents are her godparents. One local artisan presented Lori and Scotty with a carved stone inscribed with the word Parkerpalooza and a sun symbol. We all got a little choked up at that.

I gotta say I was a little nervous about taking the babies to such a busy event but everyone was great. There were tons of kids for CeeCee to play with, lots of spaces for her to run around and if all else failed, daddy took her for a scooter ride. She loved the music, ate her own body weight in junk food and slept like a log even though the temperature dipped below freezing. Camping with a spirited child takes a LOT of patience. I definitely underestimated just how hyper she was going to be, despite the warnings from friends who said I was "insane for taking two kids under two camping in the wilderness". I also hadn't factored in how much all that trash food was going to affect her, live and learn for next time. By Sunday she was a total gong show. It wasn't all bad though. Mr. Zinga pulled his weight in the parenting department so I didn't have to spend the WHOLE weekend chasing her around and luckily baby Parker is small enough that she wasn't much trouble at all. I was even able to have a cocktail or two.

Daddy, scooter ride. NOW!

Now I'm off to clean up the camping gear and get it ready for our next wilderness adventure. In the meantime here are some more pics of our trip. Hope you all had a great long weekend.

Cheers,
MamaZinga

Lori and Scotty

Josh and Patrice enjoying a cocktail

Waiting for SGAAG to perform

The vocal stylings of Alex, front woman for SGAAG

Josh and Reina, We'll forgive her for drinking Pabst beer since she was nice enough to let us use her pictures, lol.

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Birthday Party or Seventh Circle of Hell

Pin It Nothing brings out the worst in me like a kid's birthday party.

I don't get it, I must be abnormal. Kids parties are joyous occasions right? Balloons and cake and games...and crying...and fighting over toys...and someone puking in a corner...

Are we having fun yet?

Stab me in the eye with a plastic fork and get it over with.

Yesterday we went to an amazing party for a friends son. I love my friend and she really does throw a great party. It was a Batman theme and she had made capes and masks for all the kids, the cake was a fancy fondant Gotham City in miniature, even the lollipops had capes. The birthday boy had a special visit from The Dark Knight himself (his uncle in a rented suit, shh, it's our little secret). The weather was beautiful, the snacks were plentiful and the kids had a great time and behaved beautifully.

I'm the only freak that didn't thoroughly enjoy herself.

The timing might have had something to do with it. For the record, Sunday mornings are for sleeping. It is the one day of the week that I can snuggle in bed with my babies after having a leisurely (and well deserved after a week of night feedings) lie in. It's a day for eating pancakes, sipping coffee while I share the paper with my hubby and puttering around the house.

After our ironic pillow fight can you iron my chinos so I can grab a soy milk latte?

Instead my Sunday went a little something like this:

• Wake up at 8:30 instead of usual 10:00. (What is this, a weekday?) Pour a cup of much needed coffee.
• Hastily wrap present for the birthday boy, despite best intentions of wrapping it the night before. Rejoice in the fact that I am not wrapping it in the car on the way to the party, as I usually do.
• Plan getting ready down to the last minute "I'll get CeeCee showered while you change Parker's butt, then I'll bathe Parker while you get CeeCee dressed, then you can dress Parker while I get showered..."
• Realize that planning has taken too long and I now no longer have time to shower. Take slug of coffee only to realize that it is cold and has a Cheerio floating in it. (Thanks CeeCee)
• Abandon attempt at styling uncooperative hair and slap on a headband. Toy with the idea of makeup and then decide it isn't worth it.
  
• Pack kids into car and rush to arrive on time. Arrive late anyway. Realize that despite arriving late we are still one of the first families to show up.
• Make awkward small talk with other mothers, who I don't know, about their kids, who I also don't know.
• Accidentally knock my friends toddler face first onto the ground (It could happen to anybody people. He zigged, I zagged. It wasn't intentional. STOP STARING AT ME) Luckily kids are apparently made of rubber and the little tyke was none the worse for wear, although he kept his distance for the rest of the day. Can't blame him, I'm the mean lady that beats up little kids for fun
• Watch my child consume Cheetos, hot dogs, cape wearing lollipops and a large-ish slice of the Gotham City Police Dept. Mentally prepare for the sugar crash and/or tummy ache later.

What do you MEAN I can't have cake for supper!

CeeCee is a Spirited Child, that means that she can be very intense most of the time. I was surprised to see that she wasn't bouncing off the walls. In fact she was very introverted and looked almost sad. I don't know if it was the change in her routine or the fact that she was surrounded by strangers but it took her forever to warm up. By the time she hit her stride it was, of course, time to pack up and go home. After a power nap in the car she was good as new. 

In the end it was worth it. The birthday boy got spoiled, his mom got a reputation as the best party planner ever, CeeCee kept down all her food and as for Mr. Zinga and myself we got the best present ever.

CeeCee as Batgirl

Our very own superhero:)

Photo Credits:

1 - Arvind Balaraman / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

2 -  photostock / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

3 -  arztsamui / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

4 - Me and Instagram:)

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Fun With Magnets - Magnet Board Tutorial

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Pinterest is going to be the death of me.
I'm actually not exaggerating...much.

Ways Pinterest could kill me:

• Mr. Zinga could get sick of coming home to an untidy house and strangle me.
• My cholesterol level rising from yummy food ideas could result in massive heart failure.
• Accidental decapitation with a Skil Saw while repurposing pallets.  

 I'm fine, really. It's not a problem. I can stop pinning anytime I want to...I just don't want to.


I fell in love with the idea of making a magnet board for CeeCee the first time I saw one, on Pinterest of course. There are magnet boards for organizing makeup, keeping craft supplies tidy and I even saw one that had what looked like an herb garden growing on it. Considering how many different shapes and sizes they come in I was surprised there weren't more options for kids. Kids love magnets, mine does anyway, but magnets can be kind of sketchy. I don't know whats scarier, the risk of them choking or the risk of them swallowing two and having them stick together in their tummy. I decided the only way I was going to be comfortable with CeeCee playing with magnets was if I made them myself. My problem is I am horrible at crafts. I always start with the best intentions but usually end up swearing, bleeding and/or scrolling endlessly through the pages of Regretsy, thinking "It could be worse, Helen Killer could be featuring my crap...I mean craft"

You should also know that April Winchell AKA Helen Killer is my hero. She is living, blogging proof that sarcasm DOES pay off in the end. Take that Mom!

Now on to the crafting:)

Crafty Goodness

You will need:

• Cookie sheet  You can buy new or repurpose an old one one. It's a good excuse to buy yourself new bakeware
• One can of metal adhering spray paint  Don't be afraid to get colorful, kids love bright colors
• Page of stickers Use whatever characters your kids are into, we chose Sesame Street
• Sticky Magnet Paper You can find this stuff at most dollar stores. Look in photo frame or craft section
• SOS pad For scratching up the surface of the cookie sheet 
  

.

Stickers on magnet sheet

 I started with the magnets, mainly because it rained the day I planned on making this and I wanted to get what I could done. First I took the backing off of the magnet sheet. Handle it carefully because this stuff is super tacky. Next I carefully arranged the stickers to maximize space. Between the glue on the magnet sheet and the glue on the stickers these puppies aren't budging once they're in place so make sure you have them lined up how you want them the first time

Choose simple shapes that are easy to cut out

                                                                                               Carefully cut around each sticker making sure there were no sharp edges. On a side note, if you are wondering where I got the stickers from, it was an activity/coloring book. CeeCee loves to color but stickers are wasted on her so I always tear them out before I give her the book.

Finished Magnets

I also want to point out that you are the best judge of your kids interests and abilities so choose stickers that are going to be engaging to them and also size appropriate for their development level. Obviously if you have THAT kid (you know, the one that has to go to the ER to have the beads removed from their nose on a weekly basis) you may need bigger stickers.








The cookie sheet proved a little more difficult to make. Here is a fairly accurate description of the process:

Step 1

• Wait for a calm, sunny day
• Scrub all the baked on gunk off of cookie sheet with the SOS pad and scratch the heck out of the non stick surface AND nail polish in the process.
• Thoroughly dry cookie sheet (I put mine in the oven on broil for a few minutes just to be sure)
• Take everything outside and get organized, lay down a garbage bag to prevent Watermelon Pink grass incident
• Lightly spray cookie sheet, remembering Dad's words of wisdom that twenty thin coats is better than one gloopy mess
• Realize in horror that paint is not adhering to cookie sheet and is beading up in an alarming manner.
• Allow it to dry and hope that the next coat sticks better, check back in half an hour 

Step 2

• Peel back edges of garbage bag that have blown onto surface of cookie sheet and are now adhering to beaded up paint
• Apply second coat of paint, a little thicker this time to cover up the garbage bag smear marks and paint beads. Use handy nearby solar lights to weigh down the garbage bag.
• Realize in horror that you have gotten overspray onto husbands solar lights. Death by Pinterest #4 - Husband beats you to death with a Watermelon Pink solar light
• Realize that second coat of paint isn't sticking either, open bottle of wine at 10 am.
• Apply sheet of lacy white tissue paper to tacky paint in effort to hide garbage bag smears, paint beads and bits of grass blown over from neighbors yard (thank you SO much for choosing right now to mow, CAN'T U SEE IZ CRAFTING)
• Decide that rather than making it look vintage, tissue paper has made it look worse. Attempt to remove tissue paper only to find that the paint has instantly dried in places and has formed some type of spray paint/tissue paper paper mache.

Step 3

• Use convenient garbage bag to dispose of  cookie sheet, tissue paper and solar lights
• Consume remaining wine.

Voila! You have now created your very own set of  fridge magnets.

Handcrafted fridge magnets FTW

I think Helen Killer would approve.

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CeeCee's Montessori-ish Bedroom

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“Children are human beings to whom respect is due, superior to us by reason of their innocence and of the greater possibilities of their future.” - Maria Montessori

Those words were written a long time ago by one of the world's most revolutionary children's educators, Dr. Maria Montessori. They still ring true today.

Maria Montessori - 1933

A few of her concepts jumped out at me:

• Allow the child to be independent and learn through exploration, play and practical work (purposeful activity). 
• Create a safe, clean, orderly AND stimulating environment for the child
• Do not try to "teach" the toddler. Instead allow the child to absorb knowledge from the environment around them

This barely scratches the surface of Dr. Montessori's teachings but it's a good place to start. It's not like you have to do EVERY little thing by the book. To be completely honest I plan on avoiding a few of her teaching strategies.


For example, I don't believe that infants and toddlers need to eat from glass bowls and drink from actual glasses (not plastic) in order to teach them Control of Error. I prefer to teach that lesson using spillage, not breakage, as a learning tool. Spilled milk isn't going to result in a trip to the ER for stitches. Besides teaching them to eat is supposed to be messy. That's part of the fun.

Breakfast IS the most important meal of the day mommy:)

Bedtime had always been a challenge. She hated her crib...hated it. I'm pretty sure she looks at it as baby jail. I get it. She spent the first year of her life in bed with Mommy and Daddy. A crib was a regression. We converted it into a toddler bed but still, the stigma was already there. She liked being snuggled to sleep (Who doesn't?) and that just wasn't possible in a toddler bed with a sixty pound weight limit. We had to do something. I had just delivered our youngest daughter and intended to bed-share again and the thought of have four people in one bed was giving me nightmares, counterproductive when you consider bed-sharing is meant to allow you MORE rest. We contemplated putting CeeCee on a mattress directly on the floor but I wanted to research it first.


Enter my old friend, the Internet.


Somewhere along the way I came across the term Montessori Toddler Room. Several images popped up in Google, some more pretentious looking than others. Looking at these rooms I couldn't help getting excited. I would have LOVED a room like this when I was a kid. We slowly started the process of redesigning CeeCee's room using Montessori concepts.

We wanted CeeCee to be independent in her movements and choices, at least in her own room. She sleeps on a twin mattress that sits directly on the floor. She is able to climb into bed, out of bed, read in bed and jump on the bed without any interference or help from me. Her toys are neatly organized and rotated frequently.

CeeCee's Bed

The lower shelves of her bookshelf are filled with age appropriate reading materials. She even has a little chalkboard attached to the wall so she can doodle and draw without having to ask me for help. 

A few articles of clothing are kept on a lower bar in her closet so she can choose her own outfit. Her garbage can has a pedal on the floor to open it and is short enough for her to put garbage in but tall enough to prevent her taking garbage out. On the floor sits a switch that controls the lamp in her room.

The lamp is tall enough to prevent her burning herself on the bulb, the garbage can prevents her from tipping the lamp

Naturally we spent much time childproofing. By chance all of our electrical outlets are situated above our foundation walls (basement suite) so sticking her finger in a light socket isn't a big concern. Her bed is only 8 inches off the ground, not high enough to hurt herself should she roll out in the night. Furniture is anchored and/or untippable. Her door is never closed, instead a baby gate keeps her in, preventing her from roaming the house in the night but allowing us to hear her easily.

Age appropriate books at the bottom, books for when she's older up out of harms way

So far the experiment has proven successful. CeeCee loves playing in her new room and bedtimes are, for the most part, getting easier. The only downsides are that I spent more than I had intended redecorating and that it now look like the Disney Princesses threw up in my daughters room (don't judge, she loves the "pwincesses"). I don't know how Maria Montessori would feel about it, seeing as how we kinda cherry picked the ideas we liked and discarded the ones we didn't. I like to think she would approve, once her eyes adjusted to all the pink. Oh well, CeeCee loves it and that's all that matters.

After all, it's HER world.

More pictures of CeeCee's room...

Toys are neatly organized and rotated often

Books for later and a few knick knacks

Books for now

Hopscotch anyone?

CeeCee's chalkboard. Gotta love the carpet, circa 1972:)

Floor plug for the lamp. It is basically an extension cord and available in any hardware store. Close up on the hideous carpet

Changing station. Foundation walls make a great holder for my cloth wipe setup.

Double rods in closet make it easy to put clothes at her level while keeping delicate clothes out of harms way

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My Kids Got Spirit (and I don't mean the cheerleading kind)

Pin It How many of you are familiar with the term "Spirited Child"?




How many of you are familiar with the term "Terrible Twos"?

Imagine the terrible twos on speed...that is the reality of having a spirited child. By definition a spirited child is "more". More demanding, more temperamental, more emotional, more stubborn...just more everything, including loving. There is a level of intensity there that is almost frightening to watch at times. While a "normal" child might throw a two minute tantrum over having to wear socks a "spirited" child might throw a two HOUR tantrum because the seam on the sock isn't lined up properly, or there's a piece of lint in the toe, or there's a fray in the elastic...I kept hearing the same well intentioned yet infuriating comments: "It's just the terrible twos" or "Suck it up, this is what kids do".

CeeCee is a spirited child. It took a while for me to understand this. I felt like a failure as a mother. I couldn't understand why I wanted to cry every day, why my stress level was so high and why none of my friends had similar stories about their kids. What was I doing wrong? I did all my "mommy" research while I was pregnant. I took notes. I was well on track to have the happiest, most well adjusted, best behaved kid on the block.

Almost two years later I was standing in the wreckage of my living room, surveying the damage from the F5 tornado that is my daughter and wondering where I had gone wrong. Then it hit me:

Maybe nothing was wrong.

Maybe this was normal for her.

Maybe this was what every day was going to be like for the rest of my life.

I indulged in a minor bout of anxiety. Ok, maybe "minor" isn't entirely accurate. I may or may not have been found cowering in a corner, with my fingers in my ears, rocking back and forth pleading "make it stop, make it stop". When hubby came home I handed him the kids and put my prodigious Google skills to good use, researching her behavior. Somewhere along the way I was invited to a Facebook group devoted to mothers of spirited kids and everything clicked into place. I learned a few techniques for handling her frustrations that actually worked (which I will be sharing along the way) and I started to look at things a little differently. Spirited kids often turn out to be highly successful adults because the traits that make us pull our hair out in clumps when they are toddlers help them to excel later in life. Persistence, perception, passion, determination, energy and intensity are all considered positive traits in the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. If that's the case my kid is going to rule the world one day. Possibly as an evil genius with a secret lair but hey, who am I to judge.

Maybe she'll invent seamless socks?







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Readers: An Endangered Species?

Pin It Do people read anymore?

I'm not talking about Facebook statuses, I mean actual books. A couple hundred pages of imagination wedged between two covers. Used to be if you took any kind of mass transit you would see a dozen or so people with their noses shoved in a book, killing time on their daily commute. Now everyone seems too busy playing Angry Birds to cart around a book. How is a book supposed to compete with The App Store and its 500,000 distractions? Some of them are reading. Kindle and Kobo both have apps for smartphones. It still feels strange to me. I have a Kobo and I have the app on my phone but when I read on either I feel like I'm cheating on the book.

Books aren't supposed to be slim tablets with buttons and touchscreens. Books are supposed to be broken in. Worn covers with dog eared pages. Maybe even a chocolate smudge here or there. The more creases in the spine the better (that much easier to hold one handed). Books are supposed to have that almost undefinable smell (I don't know what it is...dust maybe) that is reminiscent of school libraries and used bookstores.

Some of my earliest and happiest memories involve me reading, either to myself or to my daughter. I remember being three or four and getting sent a big box of books from my mom, who was living in London at they time. These weren't baby books either, try Roald Dahl and Rudyard Kipling. I felt like I had won the lottery. Hubby was never much of a reader until he met me, it just wasn't a big part of his family growing up. Even now there are probably only a half a dozen books in his parents house. I can't imagine that. I have two giant bookshelves in my living room and both are double stacked PLUS another medium sized bookshelf in our bedroom AND a ladder bookcase in CeeCees room full of children's books I have been collecting for her. When we moved into this house last year I unpacked fifteen large boxes of books. Hubby suggested selling a bunch at our next yard sale, he might as well have suggested selling the children. I am deeply attached to all of my books. Most women want a house with a walk in closet...I want a house with a library and floor to ceiling shelves on every wall, you know, the kind that has ladders on tracks that slide from one end to the other so you can reach the top shelves easily.

Of all the things I hope CeeCee gets from me, my love of books is right up near the top. We read together all the time. When she is having one of her spirited days (which is pretty much every day), reading seems to center her and makes her temper a little more manageable. Redirecting her away from her frustration and temper seems to be the best way to handle it and there is nothing more distracting than a colorful book. Her language skills are also developing nicely which can only help. I think most of her frustration comes from not being able to express herself and also from a little boredom. Books are the cure for both of those issues. Yes, I hope she is a reader when she grows up.

Of course by then E-books, tablets and smartphones will be obsolete. I wonder how everyone will play Angry Birds then? Pin It

Begin at the beginning

Pin It Where to begin?

I could open with a joke but my sense of humor is slightly askew and definitely off color...perhaps that's best saved for later, when you know me better.

No, I think it would be best to begin at the beginning...the beginning of my life as a mother to a spirited toddler and a peaceful infant.

Flashback to November 2009. It was an average Thursday night in the Zinga house. Hubby was contentedly playing video games in the living room while I flaked out in the bedroom with a good book, a good dog and a movie in the background, Gone With the Wind for perhaps the thousandth time (book AND movie in tandem, I know...I'm a weirdo).

I hadn't been feeling well and was trying to catch up on some rest. I had abandoned the book in favor of the movie and had just gotten to the scene where Scarlett tells Rhett she is expecting their second child when it hit me.

(The following is a fairly accurate transcript of what went through my head at the time)

...Naw, I can't be. He has a chronic illness. His swimmers must be fried from decades of medication. 
...Plus we always use birth control...well, pull and pray but still, that's got to count for something. 
...No, I must be imagining the symptoms. 
...My boobs probably hurt because my bra is too tight. Wait a sec, why is my bra so tight?
...I just started a new job, no way I'm pregnant, we did celebrate pretty hard when I GOT the new job though.
...How long ago was that? Five weeks? Six? See, I can't be pregnant I had my period on...when was my last period?
...Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!!!

I raced to the bathroom, praying that I still had a test left over from that time I convinced myself I was pregnant, only to find out it was gas. There it was in the medicine cabinet, hiding innocently behind the Pepto Bismol. My nerves were flayed raw by the time I managed, with shaking hands, to remove the wrapper and pee on that ridiculous stick. Two minutes felt like an eternity as I watched my entire life flash before my eyes. I cut my eyes to the side, unable to look at the thing full on. I felt relief wash over me as I realized that there was no plus sign in the window, just one faint pink line in each window. Surely that meant I was not pregnant. I allowed myself a minute of desperate hopefulness before digging the instructions out of the box. Relief was slowly replaced by numbness as I realized I was about to become a mother.

I stumbled out into the living room to confront Hubby with the news:
   Me: "Jeff, I'm pregnant."
   Jeff: "Are you sure?" (his eyes never leave the game)
   Me: "Yes I'm sure, I just pee'd on a stick and it came up positive."
   Jeff: "Go pee on another one."

He wasn't trying to be a dick, he just wanted to be sure. I of course, being incredibly hormonal and frightened out of my wits took it to mean that he was pissed. I started envisioning my life as a single mother.  The next morning I called my doctor and he was able to get us in right away. He confirmed that we were, in fact, pregnant. I glanced over at Hubby. I saw a look of joy mingled with fear in his eyes and I knew then and there that no matter what happened we were in this together. Pin It