I am having a hard time. Happily, things aren’t all hard at the same time—the Snerks is just amazingly fun, if really able to get into trouble now—he can open the garbage can, open our sliding doors, and managed yesterday to tip over a nearly-full cup of lukewarm coffee onto a pale carpet. Sure, that was my fault (I ran to the back of the house for something, literally ran, but it takes no time at all for him to accomplish these things), but as I cleaned the carpet, he kept trying to eat the cleaning agents and smiling at me. It is a very toddler time. He’s so playful and sweet, even when he is absolutely determined to pull dishes off the table/drive the cats to suicide/climb into the fireplace—he’s having a great time, and he wants us to have a great time with him. I am very grateful for the ball pit.
Still no work for the Mister, although he’s had a couple of interviews; we’re both discouraged, although I am trying to see each interview as a step closer to eventual work.
We had a Skype date with Cricket and Ruth today. It was awkward, although Cricket was very excited about the ball pit and asked his mom whether he can have one—he also called out to Joey, trying to get his attention and succeeding briefly. (Joey was otherwise occupied, trying to tangle himself up in my yarn.) Ruth is still planning on the three of them visiting at the end of April, although the amicable coparenting arrangement they had planned on is looking more challenging than they had at first thought it would be. I have already delicately mentioned that we have spare sleeping spaces in more than one room and will let it rest there until and unless they buy plane tickets.
That was Friday; it’s Monday now. Yesterday we went to Hollywood for the afternoon—my father gave the Mister and myself tickets to an NPR taping of an Oscar special, which was fun, and then we wandered around, looked at handprints in cement and ate some pizza. There really are good things going on, but I’m still quietly having a hard time. But it’s something I can live with. The pregnancy is emotionally harder than my last one, which I hadn’t really expected; there are days and days when it feels like a thing that I am doing to Joey. I talked to a mother who has two girls born fifteen months apart, and she talked about preparing her older daughter for the birth of the baby—she bought and cared for a baby doll, which is what I’ve heard advised for dog owners, funnily enough. I can’t imagine Joey being able to understand what’s about to happen, so while I’ve talked about it with him a couple of times, the only result that I can see is that he will now point to the picture on his container of wipes and say “Baby.”