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Now I’m wondering whether the blow-up doll can somehow recycle into a baby toy.

I’ve been kind of swamped with our perky little business lately (holla, fellow suffering small business owners!), but I have managed to fit in some Very Important Baby Preparation Tasks (holla, 28 weeks!) in the past four days. To be precise, I have:

Gone to a bachelorette party. Nothing like a bachelorette party when you’re knocked up, I tell you.  I was tasked with bringing the old college blow-up doll (some people have scrapbooks, some have blow-up dolls with terrifying faces; judge not lest you be…well, you know). I also participated, minimally, in a champagne tasting, otherwise known as OHMYGOD THESE THREE BIG SIPS ARE THE BEST OF MY LIFE GOOD LUCK TO YOU FETUS

blow-up doll for bachelorette parties

Visited IKEA for Swedish meatballs baby furniture. For some reason, I was overtaken with the need to act out some semblance of real baby preparation early Sunday afternoon. So we piled into the car to go to IKEA, where I was promptly distracted by the signs.

“It seems to me that they just add -ka to the end of English words!” I announced as we passed a display of Beddingka and Textileska, realizing belatedly that I had thereby offended anyone of even questionable Swedish descent in hearing range.

Happily, I was able to drown my embarrassment in a lunch that turned out to be free because we purchased over $100 of baby furniture. I’ll be the first to admit that the changing table looks a little shifty, but at the same time that complimentary apple cake was delectable.

Started to go through Aura’s baby clothes. Although I really didn’t think we’d have a second child, I never gave away Aura’s outgrown clothes. Which means I now have approximately one trillion items of tiny clothing to sort into Donation, Consignment, Keep for Nostalgia’s Sake, and Unisex Enough for a Boy piles.

recycling baby clothes sentimental


Aura is helping, by which I mean she is insisting that every piece of infant girl clothing is also appropriate for her impending brother. If I hint that a particular item is “a little too pink” or has “perhaps too many flowers,” she reminds me that WE DON’T DO THE GIRL-BOY THING.  And I can’t exactly argue, yet it’s so much easier to practice this concept when your girl child is playing with trucks than when your future boy child is potentially wearing this, as lovingly chosen by his sister:

baby bathing suit

Disgusted a young, impressionable, and apparently blunt daughter. Aura walked into my bedroom as I was getting dressed this weekend. I turned from the closet to find her with her face buried in my comforter.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” I asked, pulling some socks from a drawer.

“It’s just…well, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but your breasts look really gross. I’m just going to close my eyes until you put a shirt on,” she muttered from under the blanket.

So, in sum: Milk pre-production going well. Turns out that I’ll be able to feed the second child while I TOTALLY AND BITTERLY NEGLECT THE FIRST ONE.


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