What a Little Turd

Rocco is doing great with wearing underwear—he only has the rare potty accident, like this morning when he climbed on top of Kevin and peed all over him—but he hasn’t mastered the poop yet.  At least once a day we’ll see him walking around in his undies with what looks like a tail tucked inside.  (The tail, as you might have guessed, is a neat little ball of human feces.)

Yesterday I went for a walk and sent Kevin to the store to buy some  HOLY CHEESESTEAKS WE’RE GOING TO HAVE A BABY IN  A MONTH necessities.  He came back with that…and also this:


Kevin told Rocco that all he has to do is poop on the toilet once—ONCE—and he can get this big, huge, obnoxious, gigantic train set.  It will go so nicely with our four other big, huge, obnoxious, gigantic train sets.

This comes two weeks after Christmas, after having filled up our biggest-size recycling can three times with toy boxes and toy packaging.  After a Christmas where our two kids got more presents collectively than me and my four siblings ever got at any one Christmas—from the looks of our house, even more presents than we got at all Christmases ever.

This comes after spending a week finding old toys and books to give to Goodwill so we have room for the new toys.  The house is still stuffed to the max with junk that barely gets played with, and plus we have to make more room for all the gear that comes with having a baby—bassinet, swing, toys, baby bathtub, play mat, high chair, etc. etc.

So.  I told myself maybe, maybe I would forgive my husband if his plan worked—if Rocco magically started pooping on the toilet and we all lived happily ever after the end. 

Rocco walked all over the house yesterday morning, hysterical because he wanted to go poop but didn’t have any poop to do, and then at 1PM he went to the bathroom and squeezed this out.


If one little chocolate chip of a poop earns one living room-sized train set, I don’t know what Kevin’s going to get him for his first full-blown toilet poop.

Probably all of Disneyland.

And for my next act…Rocco


1. Rocco, from back of minivan: Mom, whose car is this, Mom?*
Me: It’s my car.
Rocco: No, it not your car!  Daddy bought this car!

2.  On Christmas Day, someone asked if Rocco had any idea about the pending baby.  I decided to find out.

Me: Rocco, what’s in Mommy’s tummy?
Rocco (putting a hand on my stomach and listening intently for a few seconds):  NUTS!

(My BIL pointed out that he’s actually right.  Two nuts, to be precise.)

3.  Rocco is in an incredibly independent, combative stage lately.  He only wants to do things he suggests, and he wants to do them his way.  He’s gotten so used to us saying the wrong thing that last week when he woke up and I asked him what he wanted for breakfast, before I could even suggest anything, he answered, “Something else.”


Like they say…the days are long but the years are short.

Maternity Monday: Feeling lame

Today feels kind of lame.  Rocco is napping and Kevin went out with Vincenzo for awhile, so I’m just laying around snacking on heartburn meds and pretending that I like having the TV on.  I kind of have that going-back-to-work-after-a-break feel, even though I won’t be going anywhere tomorrow that I didn’t go today.

We’re about a month away from Baby and I think I’m feeling overwhelmed.  I’m supposed to have that nesting instinct, but instead I’ve got more of a nagging instinct.  I’d like my nest to be all fixed up but I don’t want to be the one fixing it.  I want to be the one lying on the couch, cuddling with a child or two while Someone Else (and I’m not going to name names or anything) paints the French doors, scours the nursery, rearranges the pantry, prunes the roses in the garden, and rubs my feet.

Holy crap–I am not making this up—as I was writing this, look what just showed up outside my window:


Roses: pruned.  Sweet.

Wait, little deer—where are you going?  They’re leaving!  Deer, come back!  What about the nursery?!  The pantry?  My foot rub?

Lame.  These feet ain’t gonna rub themselves, you know.