NOTICE OF EVICTION.

Borrowed (and bastardized..) from one of the girls over at the BabyFit.com message boards.

THIS NOTICE is to inform my unborn child that he has 14 days (give or take a few) to pack his things and remove them from the premises of my womb. As the landlord, I take full responsibility for helping him to adjust to his new surroundings once he has vacated the womb. He will be loved and cherished as a member of this family; however, he (tenant) shall be held liable for any and all damages incurred to the womb during the last 9 months of kicking, rolling, punching, and otherwise abusing the internal organs of my body. Additionally, he shall be liable for any additional damages incurred during the move-out process. I (the landlord) reserve the right to remind him (the tenant) of all the pain he caused me during pregnancy and undoubtedly will cause during labor. This right is reserved for the first 18 years of his life and may be recalled to use at anytime deemed necessary. Additionally, he (the tenant) will share liability with his male parent (the co-signer), who may also be held culpable for the aforementioned occupancy and any damages, especially at Christmas, Birthdays, Anniversaries, or any other time fine jewelry and Spa gift certificates may be under negotitation.
Dated: Thursday, 22 September, 2005

Today Jack started pretending to be a dog. He gets down on all fours, pants, says "ruf ruf" and licks anyone with the misfortune to get close enough. It's really quite adorable, but I'm flummoxed as to why the child combines this with hopping about like a frog. I mean this literally.... he HOPS like he's playing leap frog, and says "ruf ruf". What kind of freaky mutant dogs has the kid been watching??!! Someone remind me to record this in his baby book. I can't wait to torture his future girlfriends with these kind of stories....

Next Tuesday we will schedule a tentative date for induction, since it looks like our new baby boy will be the same size as his older brother. (that's 10 pounds for anyone who has been living under a rock for the last 2 years and has been spared hearing all about my harrowing adventures in previous childbirth...) I keep holding on to the slim hope that my body will magically go into labor on its own, but that would be breaking with family tradition to a degree possibly more shocking than my morning cup of coffee.

SO, I am killing time any way I can think of, which includes an all night Scrapbooking party a week from tomorrow.... and hopefully I can get all of Jack's first year photos down in his book before the new kid gets here and I am swamped in a whole new set of pictures... I don't know that I was cut out for this whole scrapbooking craze... but at least it means I get cool pens and stickers. (Have I mentioned I have the *tiniest* addiction to office supplies, especially anything brightly colored that allows me to doodle things like stars and flowers??) Yet another reason I need therapy.

As if I needed further proof of mental instability -- so apparently distraught was I over the fact that I don't have any better idea than I did a week ago of when this child will make his appearance, I spent Tuesday night crying uncontrollably for about 30 minutes. Hormones make you do funny things. Oh, and then I dyed my hair a radioactive shade of red. We're talking fire engine, Little Mermaid, no-possibility-that-&*#@- is-natural Red. My son is going to enter the world wondering why it hurts his eyes to look directly AT Mommy's hair. The funny thing is... I don't think it bothers me - not really. After all, Jack hardly seemed to notice the change - and as I'm about to become the mother of TWO, this is probably my last chance for open rebellion against the preconceived notions people have about stay-at-home-Moms. Shoot, I may even get a pair of combat boots. Just cuz, ya know... hormones make you do funny things.