I took the little primate to the library today while the big boys were at school. Thank goodness for M&Ms, or I don't know how we would have made it out of there with all of our books. We had to abruptly exit the kiddie area because Cooper was horrified that a little 3 year-old wanted to play trains with him and began gathering all of the trains and shoving them in his coat. The 3 year-old's caregiver started talking sharing, and I just could not deal, so I led him to the front desk with M&Ms doled out one at a time. He learned a new word and now says geen (green).
Luckily it is an extremely browse-able library and always has interesting displays of themed books. Today I saw a shelf of women's memoirs and scooped up 3 on the fly, one of which I tore through during nap (Kelle Hampton's Bloom) and another that I'll finish before bedtime (Anne Enright's Making Babies). Otherwise, I don't think there are enough M&Ms in the world to pacify Cooper long enough for me to find current fiction.
On Wednesday, he and I spent a pleasant morning trolling Target and Carters before we had to pick up Jack at school, and I made the mistake of bribing him into his carseat (he is getting so tall, but the rec is rear-facing until 2, and sometimes it's hard to wedge him in there) by telling him he'd get a treat at Starbucks. He was adorable with his tiny coffee cup of milk and kept saying "cheers" (another word!) so we could press our matching cups together. Then he took off the lid and dunked his coffee cake and horrified the cashier with his thick milk and cake stained coat. I was grateful for his happy chattiness throughout the store and didn't care about the mess. But now, he expects-- demands-- a treat at every outing.
I weight 10 pounds more than I have ever weighed in my life, and all of my maternity clothes are size small. I can only wear maternity dresses or regular dresses as tops over jeans, and some of them look like there's no way they could ever actually be dresses.
Ben made me swear I would not leave without a cervical check even though I told him that nothing is going on down there. And I was right. 1.5 cm and 20% effaced. I said "I've had 3 kids-- don't you think I am always about 1.5 cm dilated?" The doctor blushed.