It’s Simple… Apparently.


Hold on, I need a moment.

*heavy sigh*

Ok, so… I spent the last year thinking how lucky I was. What a fortunate parent I am. I have such a good kid, I thought. Man, I am getting away easy with my well-behaved little girl.

That’s out the window, I think.

Either Amelia is just having a bad day, or we are in the beginning stages of “Everything is worth melting down about or arguing” phase. Either way, at the end of the interactions, I’m still chuckling with a side of silent rage.

A conversation had about an hour ago:


I don’t care.

*I put her in the bath*

(45 seconds later)

Are you havin’ fun?

“Yeah, I’m havin’ fun. Cause I like bein’ in the bath…”

Yeah, I know.



A little bit before that, we were watching some Disney shorts on Netflix and they were talking about something to do with Mickey Mouse’s nose and it being turned up when he looked sideways and flat when he looked straight on…

When you turn to the side you have a big nose?

“No. When I turn around…. I have a big nose…”

“It’s simple.”

*continues eating chicken nugget…*


Just before that:

Amelia, Fletch is following you because he wants to have fun with you.

*Whining about something incomprehensible*

Amelia, stop whining and talk to me so I can understand you.

(Stops whining and speaks perfectly clear while staring right at me)

“I’m sad because I don’t want to have fun.”

Well then go in your room and sit down until you want to have fun and he’ll stop following you.


Go. You can come out when you want to have fun.

*weird floppy stomping to her room…silence*

-Upon an around the corner review, she immediately sat down in her room with a book and started reading to Fletch about animals… because he followed her to her room. (My dadsense predictions are growing strong)

She has hit the point of VERY, VERY (how do I make the font BIGGER?) VEERRY opinionated opinions.

That part, I must admit, I kinda really like.

My favorite new thing is this “it’s simple” response.

Do you want milk on your cereal?

“Yeah, you just pour it on. It’s simple”

I know you pour it on. But do you wa….. never mind.”

I feel like we are entering a quote-rich blog here real soon. She’s getting hilarious and somehow terribly frustrating at the same time. I’m pretty stoked overall. We’ll see how long that lasts.


Stay close, more coming soon///


Finally Fat…And Marie’s Hating it Until She’s ‘Actually’ Pregnant . . .


 So, we haven’t focused too much on the whole “physical pregnancy process” in the last few weeks. So, it’s time for an update.

   Marie has officially started showing. I’m thrilled, as I’m sure you can deduce. To her, the problem is currently “I just look fat.” Never in the 3.5 years we have thus far been together has she shown any inkling of care for what other people thought. There are moments when it would have come in handy, maybe just a little, but, still never cared, until now.

I just look fat.

But you aren’t fat. You are “with fetus”

Stop calling it that, it’s weird.

That’s WHAAT IT IIIS . . . Don’t get mad at me, get mad at science.

It’s a gross sounding word, and I don’t want to look fat.

You don’t look FAT. You look pregnant.

Maybe to you, that’s because you KNOW I’m pregnant.

Well, that’s a good thing. I’d be real mad if I thought you were just fat and it turned out you were 4.5 months pregnant and you hadn’t told me.

See, you would think I looked fat if you didn’t know I was pregnant. Other people don’t know I’m pregnant.

(Shoot, she has a valid point, think. . . . think. . . . redirect the conversation…) Your face and arms don’t look fat (score one for my cleverness) and since WHEN do you care what other people think?

Yeah. But still…. (As she stands in front of the mirror doing that sideways look thing you women do. . . )

   We have this conversation almost every day. Same. Exact. Conversation. I’ll tell her she looks beautifully pregnant, but the general response is “I don’t want to look beautifully pregnant. I want to look NORMAL pregnant.”

   To which I remind her that she does absolutely NOTHING normal. And I MEAN nothing. At all. It’s one of those things that you come to appreciate about a person as part of their personality, except with Marie it’s also one of those things that you come to appreciate as part of her honest and sincere one in a millionness.

   As for the ‘Wee-baby Sheamus,’ as I have started calling it… (this poor kid is going to have such a gender crisis if it turns out to be a girl…Also, that’s a reference to the cartoon Archer, which if you haven’t seen and you have any kind of appreciation for the concept of “adult humor” and any kind of appreciation for cartoons, you need to see this. It’s on Netflix.) we are days away from the 18th week; speaking of the gender.

   However, I am flying home in a week so we are waiting for the 12th of June when I get back to have the ultrasound to tell us if we need to start buying ‘monster truck/construction/dinosaur’ or ‘whatever is out there in girl stuff’ –themed things from this point on…. Yay technology.    

   Also, I am tired of calling my baby it. She hates the word fetus, but has no opinion on ‘it.’ Every time I say ‘it’ I immediately feel like a parent that knows nothing about their kid and is totally uninvolved in ‘its’ life. Dang it. Failing already. That’s one of the reasons for starting to call it ‘Wee-baby Sheamus,’ as it is better than the word ‘it.’

   Also, according to my trusty pregnancy app, in the 17th week the baby can hear. I have been having lots of fun with this. I will lean in towards Marie’s belly, say something at a mid-level volume and when she says “What?” I immediately respond with “I wasn’t talking to you. . . “

   In addition to the also, her coworkers now call her the Vessel, which I think is quite funny. She doesn’t, but has accepted it; until I started throwing it out every once in awhile at home… :)

Does the Vessel want to be refueled with Chicken or Spaghetti for dinner?

That’s NOT funny. . . . and spaghetti I guess…

 Well that’s all I’ve got for now. I’m looking forward to going home. I’m OH so sure that interaction with my Ma and family alike will result in blogging gold.


   In the back of my head I heard “What the HELL is that supposed to mean?” in my mother’s voice and tone as I wrote that… She then throws a ‘Oh, WHATever…” out in response to that and a “dammit, stop it” to the whatever; as she has a bad habit of stopping her reading to comment, then gets madder at each known outburst, it’s kinda like controllable Turret’s….  Love ya Ma.

 More coming soon, stay close and refresh your browser often….