– I think Owen got the message that he turns two in three weeks. (Wait, what? WHAT????) I wouldn’t say he’s been terrible, but he’s been…challenging. On one hand, he’s this amazing little kid who is speaking in some complete sentences (“Mommy, I want some oatmeal.”) and asking every morning if baby brother is coming today, but on the other hand, he’s this crazy short person running around my house crying for no reason except for the fact that his oatmeal is gone. Or, too warm. Or, something. I don’t really know. And I know I shouldn’t complain that he wants to read more and more and MORE books one after another, but if I have to read the Richard Scarry “Biggest and Best Storybook Ever – THREE BOOKS IN ONE! – ” one more time, I think I might lose my mind. (Truth? He’s on the couch with it right now shouting “MOMMY READ IT!!!!”, even though we JUST DID.)

Yesterday was one of THOSE days. Nothing could please him, he cried constantly, he took an early nap and had an interrupted night sleep. I’m going to go ahead and blame the eventual showing of his two-year molars on some of it (parent tip: always blame teeth. It will make you feel less like a giant failure and more like it’s out of your control), and the rest of the fact that well, people must call it the Terrible Two’s for a reason.

– A friend and I went to an open house at the hospital yesterday to see the new labor tub they installed. It wasn’t there when I had Owen, so I wanted to check it out before things got going. It’s beautiful! Centered in the spa-like room is a large Jacuzzi tub surrounded by soft lighting, an iPod dock and a pretty sink and toilet (as pretty as a toilet can be, I guess) behind a frosted glass partition. The room is nicer than any of our bathrooms. I’m really hoping it’s available when I arrive, because I’d love to try it out as another method of pain relief. It’s not a birthing tub, so I would have to get out at some point to have the baby, but I still think it’s a really nice option.

– Since my big whine-fest last week I’m happy to report that my foot is SO much better. Like a 2 out of 10 on the pain scale instead of an 8. The plantars wart of doom refuses to totally die, and probably won’t until my hormones regulate after birth, but at least it’s not exruciating any more. I bet you know more about my foot than you ever, EVER would want to.

– You guys. The phone alarm just went off and Owen started dancing to it, until he pushed the side button and it stopped. So naturally, HE BURST INTO TEARS. Yo, Two. Get a grip, will ya?