050404

I inadvertently discovered an interrogation technique that I plan to use on Angelina (and, of course #2).

Doug came to me out of the blue and said "Is there something you want to tell me?" with an odd look on his face. At this point thoughts began flying through my head like lightning through a very muddy swamp. What had he discovered? What did he know that I didn't? Not that I'm confessing, mind you, but there is a technique for surreptitiously spending money where you make the actual check out to Nordstrom, but write "Safeway" in the check register. Couldn't be that, so I hedged.

"I think you already know I'm pregnant."
"Noooooo. I think you need to tell me something." He said again.

Again the lightning dragged its sorry butt through the muddy swamp of my brain. Not that I'm confessing, mind you, but there is the technique for concealing a minor fender bender by waiting for the perfect moment when you're both approaching your car in a parking lot then gasping theatrically and, with equally theatrical outrage pointing out that someone must have scraped your car while you were shopping. I actually learned that technique at work, and thank goodness the statute of limitations has expired. Couldn't be that... The swamp had consumed my thought process and Doug must have noticed that I was pitifully wracking my brain so he again asked "Something you need to tell me?"

"Uh," I hedged again "Now that Brad Pitt's single again, you're hanging by a string?"

I guess he didn't want me to smart ass further down that particular line of inquiry, so, with an amused but exasperated look on his face he prompted "The phone?"

Light bulbs suddenly flickered with all their feeble 60 watts in my brain as I recalled "OH! Your Dad called while you were in the shower!" He must have been letting the water warm up to have heard it, then checked the calls log.

On the other hand, I was pleased to realize that I had overcome my childhood tendency to be a compulsive confessor. I'm hoping it's a genetically dominant trait and that Angelina has this too. I must have been 8 or 9 when my younger cousin got her hands on a book of matches. Always the instigator, Debbie suggested we start a campfire in the hopes of making some s'mores. About 6 or 7 of us went out on my grandfather's back 40 near the creek (yes, I grew up in the country) and began gathering the ingredients necessary, wood chips, little twigs. Some adult, who must have had kids of his own, saw the huddle and heard his Up-To-No-Good-Radar go off. He hollered at us over the fence "What're you kids doing!?!" We all popped up, took one look at the guy and scattered like cockroaches that had seen the light. Flight is a defacto admission of some sort of guilt, but the guy couldn't possibly chase down 7 kids, all going in different directions.

This just happened to be the same day our boarder collie got peppered with buckshot in the hindquarters -- like I said, I grew up in the country. That evening I heard my mom ask my dad whether or not they should call the cops and I burst out into tears and wails and spontaneous confessions "We just wanted s'mores and it was Debbie's idea and we didn't really start a fire PLEASE DON'T HAVE ME ARRESTED!!!!!" Both mom and dad looked at their wailing daughter, thoroughly confused but they realized that there must be an issue here and with very little prompting got the rest of the story out of me. Only AFTER they got the full confession did they tell me they were going to report that our dog got shot. I swear when I left the room I heard them chuckle.

So with her genetic contributions and with Doug and I both having had interview and interrogation training, I'm thinking AJ doesn't stand a chance. Here's hoping

Do you ever look for talents in your kids? Aptitudes that indicate a possible future career? I know it's way too early but I can't help wondering. For example, she doesn't call me when she wakes up from her nap anymore. I hear rustling on the baby monitor, then I hear the sound of her laughter as she bounces up and down. Eventually she's having so much fun that she wants to share it and calls for Mommy. Every day when I get in there, she's thrown everything -- yes EVERYTHING -- out of her crib. That's the rustling I hear first. I'm wondering if this means she'll be a future rock star trashing hotel rooms. Hmmm.

Or worse yet, once she's done joyously bouncing, she runs from one end of the crib to the other and I SWEAR she looks like those silly wrestlers careening around the wrestling ring. I'm wondering if I throw another kid in there, will she pick him up and do the flying helicopter? Or maybe they'll do the super figure four leg lock. I have no idea, but for right now she's the cutest little giggling wrestler I've ever seen. Then I'm thinking the acorn doesn't fall far from the tree. The other day when we were leaving the house Doug grabbed Angelina and hollered "LET'S GET READY TO RUMBLLLLLLLLLLE" We'll leave the career choices for later, like when she's three.

One of the sacrifices of Motherhood -- I've given up wearing lipstick, as lately I've been having to kiss a lot of boo boos. I'm thinking of using Neosporin as lipgloss. Now that's motherly multi-tasking!

I've been talking about pregnancy with a lot of my buddies. Was interested to hear one gal say that her husband isn't all that disappointed that they can't get pregnant again as she was fairly well psychotic when she was pregnant. I had to think how lucky Doug is as I'm perceiving myself as fairly even keeled. I mentioned this to him -- big mistake.

This morning I was in the kitchen. Angelina was eating blueberry bread and I was giving Doug a haircut. Made me think of what a lovely scene of domestic bliss we were enjoying. Then Doug hauled out the vacuum cleaner and diligently vacuumed up the hair clippings. That would have been fine, except then he left it on, clapping his hand over the nozzle repeatedly so that it would make a different sound. I'm not sure if this was amusing Angelina -- his intent -- but it was annoying the hell out of me. I barked at my dear husband, as all loving wives do. Something on the order of "WILL YOU SHUT THAT DAMN THING OFF!" With the vacuum still on, he said, "Uh huh, you're not hormonal at all, and don't swear in front of my child." I know of NO woman who likes to be accused of being hormonal, even if it's true.

After a few moments of steaming, I decided I needed to make a point. Unfortunately the point I made was proving my hormonal status, of course that didn't occur to me until later. I took a pot and a spoon, and went to the bathroom where he had just lathered up for shaving. He didn't see me coming. I then began banging the spoon against the pot right behind his head. You can imagine that his reaction was to be seriously irritated and I got a spray of water and shaving cream flicked in my face for my troubles. In his shock, he said "What the HELL has gotten into you?!?!" I then said, in a voice that sounded a little smug even to me, "OH! So obnoxious sounds irritate you too? You MUST be HORMONAL! And don't swear in front of my child!" I wonder if there are support groups for men trying to survive their wife's pregnancy with any level of sanity.

We'll survive, we'll just be a little more twisted than before.

Evelyn Copyright 2005, Evelyn James. All rights reserved