* I packed up Annabelle's preemie clothes and the smallest of her newborn clothes this week. I may have cried. What happened to my little ball of squish with the wrinkly face?! How can I get her back?
Sadie understands how I feel.
* I called the doctor to make Annabelle's four month appointment and very confidently told the receptionist that her name is Allison. When I realized and corrected myself VERY enthusiastically, all I heard on her end were crickets. It was very awkward.
* I hate calling the doctor for every little sniffle and cough the baby has. I'm really trying to promote the fact that I'm not a hypochondriac when it comes to my child's symptoms, thank you very much. And yet we've been to the doctor three times in the last five weeks. For some reason I assumed Christopher operated under the same policy. He does not. I found this out when he asked the doctor something about AB's poor leg circulation (which was a perfectly fine question) and followed it up with "We want to be sure we aren't putting her diaper on too tight." And just like that my ego shattered into a million pieces on the exam room floor. The part of me that has changed 12,416 diapers over the years shriveled up and died. This office will never again think I have things under control if they're concerned "we" don't know how to put diapers on properly.
* I recently started doing zumba again. Unfortunately nightly klondike bars do not a flat stomach make so I go to zumba and dance in the best way my white self can. At my old zumba I was the best white lady there. I was also the only white lady. This is a zumba toning class so everyone has two little (and I do mean little) 1.2lb weights that make noises when you shake them. I bring 2lb weights because if I can't be the best white lady there I want to be the heavy-weight champion of the class. I was really proud of holding that position for a whole week until I went to the class last night. I was doing my "warm up", aka swinging my arms around in random directions, when I saw myself in the mirror. I looked just like Michael Phelps swinging his arms around before a race and you know what I comment on every time I see him about to swim? How ridiculous he looks. You know who I'm not a fan of? Michael Phelps. I was humbled. All I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and eat 12 klondike bars.