Will is entering a stage of sort of incomprehensible, ineffable cuteness. I just literally do not even know where to begin. This picture sums up quite a lot. He’s saying new words every day, random ones like “candle” and “steam” and I think he said his first two word sentence today. We’ve told him that we can’t play in our yard because the lady who lives in a small house behind ours lets her dog poop all over the yard and doesn’t clean it up. Today Will looked out the window at the yard and wistfully said, “Poo poo, ruff ruff.” (“Ruff ruff” being “dog”– he calls all animals by the sound they make, except for rabbits, which are “hop hop.”) So, basically, my child is a genius.
Anyway, I swore to myself I wouldn’t write a blog post to complain about the weather, but I just have to say that March in the north is worse than all of winter in the south combined. Every year I forget how terrible March is, how it’s still 10 degrees at night, still in the 30s every single day, and how April actually won’t be that much better.
We had one day a few weeks ago that was sunny and 50 degrees, and when I got together with a few mom friends this morning (at an indoor gym for little kids, because it’s 34 degrees and raining here), one of the moms and I were talking about how we both felt like we were a different person that day. She said wistfully, “I was a nice, happy person.” I was too, my friend, I was too. But most of these other days we are mean and sad because the weather here is soul-killing and horrible. I haven’t told John this yet, but if we live here another year I am moving back in with my parents (in Nashville) right after Christmas and staying until at least mid-April. (Is that ok, John? I hope it is because it sounds like I’m kidding, but I’m actually not.)
In other news, I ordered a pair of maternity panty hose a few days ago because I’m going to a wedding this weekend and that’s just one of the things you need. The package arrived and quite charmingly was written in French and English: maternity hose. Which in French, apparently, is “collants de grossesse.” I took just enough French to know that “grosse” is the French word for “fat.” So, basically, pregnancy in France is referred to as fatness. It’s an apt word, at least for me, because something really primal kicks in when I’m pregnant and no matter how much or how little I actually eat my body becomes INSANELY efficient as storing it all as massive amounts of fat. I’m not even going to talk about it. Except that I am hungry ALL THE TIME and I am still gaining more weight than I should be gaining. But whatever.
I guess I’m ok with being fat if it means growing a tiny human being in my uterus. Except I hate all women who are able to be pregnant and have skinny legs. Other than that I am just fine and not bitter at all. But if it weren’t for the grossesse and the miserable weather I think Will’s cuteness would actually kill me for joy, so I’ll take being fat and cold if it means getting to live this sweet life with John and my precious baby who says whole sentences about poo poo.