So my original intention was to come here and tell you that I've reached the 30-week mark, hooray hooray. And then I wanted to tell you a sweet little anecdote about how William got to hear his baby brother's heartbeat at my OB appointment on Tuesday.
And it really was sweet, too. A slow, broad smile began to appear across William's face, making his cheeks look like apples, as he listened to the doppler's broadcast of the baby's heartbeat. He hadn't been exactly sure what to expect, but he knew this was a Big Deal.
Afterward, I asked him what he thought about that, and he said, "It was nice and a little weird." Why's that, I wanted to know. "Because babies make sounds like 'ga ga'," he explained. He also noted that the gel that my doctor used on my belly looked "just like our hand sanitizer!" Which, well, it did.
But anyway, like I said, I came here to tell that story. But then we had a little Incident this morning that really needs telling even more. I should title it something like "The Evil Genius Strikes Again." Argh. I'm still a little worked up over it, too.
Here's what happened. Last night, David and I wrapped gifts for each other and for his parents and brother. We stacked them way up on top of the (very tall) armoire in the corner of our bedroom, so William couldn't get to them. Heck, we could barely reach up there ourselves. This morning, after David left for work and while I was still asleep downstairs on the sofa (it has much better back support for awkward beached-whale pregnant ladies, what with all the pillows, and on nights when I cannot get comfortable, sometimes I migrate down there for a few hours), that's when William struck.
He took one of his little folding chairs from his table-and-chair set, dragged it up all 17 stairs, and carried it into our room. He moved everything out of the way from in front of the armoire (no small task). Then he found a box with a sturdy lid, stacked that on top of the chair. He climbed on top of all that and got down presents, which he then carried into his room. He shut the door and unwrapped all the gifts. None of which were for him.
I woke up and heard the feet running back and forth, and the bedroom door opening and shutting, and I went upstairs. I found what I just described to you and well, I think I went ballistic. I found a couple of David's presents strewn about, all of mine from David, one for Diane and something else. I yelled. A lot. I threatened permanent time out, I think. William ran out of his room, yelling back. There was a struggle on the stairs while I tried to drag William back to his room--for the record, it is harder to move an angry three-year-old when you're heavily pregnant than it is to move a dead body. (Er, not that I have actually ever moved a dead body. But you know what I mean.) Finally I managed to get him back into his room, slammed that door shut and marched downstairs to rewrap everything. William screamed and yelled from his exile. I fumed while I managed to get tape stuck all over the place, rather than in the right places. Grrrr.
(But hey, I am grateful for the Blu-ray copy of "The Princess Bride." Thanks, honey.)
So now, William's out of time out. He has apologized. I have confiscated the castle and all its accessories and placed them in time out. William has cleaned up the mess from the wrapping paper. He's back in his usual good spirits. I, however, am still feeling grumpy. What a way to start Christmas Eve, huh?
I called David, and he consoled me that one day, this will all be very, very funny. Hmph. All I know is that it's not even 9 a.m. and I feel like I've had a full day already.