I got my belly henna-ed at Father's Day beer festival yesterday. It should darken a bit more tomorrow, but I'm too excited to share it. It's the closest thing I'll likely ever have to a tattoo. I'm feeling big, getting up and down is harder, and I'm not sleeping very well. Jeff is going to have to take over the laundry next week. I washed a bunch of baby stuff tonight and could barely reach the back of the washer to get it all moved to the dryer. Luckily, Ryan is more into helping lately and enjoys moving the laundry along with me!
Some of Ryan's latest sayings:
"When I was a little boy...."
"Don't talk to me" (used to avoid direct questioning, such as did you poop in your diaper?)
"I don't want to"
"Don't talk at the table" (I think this is a morph of don't talk with food in your mouth, but am not sure)
We're still on yesterweek for things in the past, and he thinks that all the days of the week are Tuesday for some reason. I started talking to him about time on his digital clock, like that 8 is his bedtime, and 8 is when he can get up in the morning. Tonight he was jumping on the couch and reading the thermostat clock and told me it was 9 o'clock (at about 7), so something with that must be sticking-at least he was looking at a clock.
Ryan told me last night that his baby was kicking in his tummy, so I put my ear up to it like he does to mine. He said, "did you hear it?"
He has really taken to his doll, also named Nugget, and shushes him and pats his back. They
sleep together, and Nugget rides in his lap in the carseat.
Ryan hit the Terrible Twos last week. Getting dressed in the morning is a challenge, everything needs to be his idea, and he never likes the clothes I have picked out. Even today, as we were going to see Toy Story 3 for Father's Day, he fought us on leaving-even though he knew we would see a movie and have popcorn! Some days you just can't reason with The Dictator.