When I first moved out, I moved into an apartment with hardwood floors and tiles. I bought a Swiffer. Everybody always says Swiffers are soooo amazing.

I hated my Swiffer. I used it because it was what I had. I didn't have a mop. But I was not a fan. We moved from that apartment to another apartment with lots of lineoleum. I continued to use the Swiffer, till one day I decided I'd had enough and traded it in for a real live grown up mop. I gave the Swiffer away.

Since our arrival in Okinawa I have not bought a mop. The only mops available readily are the cheapy junky ones from the base stores. I refuse to put myself through yet another one of those. So I've been using paper towels and 409 to spot clean the floors. I had a coupon for a Swiffer, so I thought I'd give it another try. I just put the thing together and attempted to clean the kitchen floor.

Swiffers still suck. I still can't stand them. I want to throw that piece of junk away. My kitchen floor still looks and feels like crap.

Thanks a lot.

Yesterday I had to wash B. This was not a happy time. Amaris screamed for about an hour solid after he "went into the bath" and begged me hysterically to get him out of the machine. By the time I wished I could take back putting him in there in the first place, it was too late, he was soaking wet and covered in laundry soap. I very seldom am able to wash him because of this reaction from her. Amaris' teddy bear is unmistakable. While I was pregnant with her, he stood out in a Babies R Us to me, and I just had to have him for her. He was plump and golden brown and soft and sweet. The perfect companion for any baby. My mom bought him without me mentioning it twice.

B and Amaris first met while she (at about 1 month old) was checking out her crib for the very first time. She didn't really notice him too much at first, she was more intrigued by all of the other sensory stuff in there with her - the bumper, the mobile... But he was there. And I'm sure he noticed her. For him, it was either love or panic at first sight. It was something.

I don't know when Amaris' utter infatuation with him began. I figure that at some point she started bringing him out of the crib with her in the morning and then at bedtime we'd return him to his "place". But at some point he became a daily necessity for her. She started out by calling him "Boo" - which was confusing to me because Boo is the cat. I thought she was in love with my Boo! And she was, but not as inseparably as she was with the bear. "Boo" evolved to "Beer" at some point. I had to sneak him away from her to "give him baths" and he started to look a little raggedy. This did not affect her love for him.

"Beer" has most recently changed to "B". Just B. I figure by now she knows him well enough that she can call him by a nickname. She's been dragging him around for over a year, nonstop. His hair has become nappy, his bow is not shiny anymore and it never sits straight. When sitting unsupported, his head slumps to one side. He is well-loved. She is typically carrying him around with her by the scruff of his neck or by one "arm". Very seldom does he appear golden brown, in fact he typically photographs gray these days, even after he's had a "bath". B's been through some times. Amaris won't leave the house without him most days. In fact, she won't do much of anything if B's not there. She won't eat if he's within view but not within reach, she won't sleep unless he's tucked in beside her, and she won't push her plastic shopping cart without him in the seat. Many times we've had to turn around and go back home at the beginning of a trip because we accidentally left him behind. On a very regular basis, I have a panic attack and convince myself that we are going to lose him somehow, that she'll take him into a store and set him down and we'll never see him again. As a mom, I think that is right up there with the fear that my daughter will somehow accidentally drown in the bathtub or figure out how to climb over the railing on the balcony. The thought of losing B, quite frankly, freaks me out.

I blame his gray hair on stress. I mean, the poor bear went from a quiet, comfortable existence in a crib to being someone's all-the-time BEST friend. He's moved with us 3 times over the course of a year, and he's been with Amaris many times at her best and always at her worst. During our last move, from Texas to Okinawa, Amaris threw up on him 3 times and we had to wash him three different times in three different washing machines over the course of about two and a half days. Amaris doesn't notice a difference in B. To her, he will probably always be golden brown and plump and perfect, with a shiny bow and stitched on eyes. I love that.

I have nothing suitable to wear for a Battalion Christmas Party. And I only found out about it yesterday, so I don't even have enough time to order myself something great online and wear it. It's on my birthday - December 12. As in, one week from today.

Thinking about that, Amaris doesn't have anything to wear either. We're going to really have to improvise.

This is just my newest thing to stress over, I guess. I'll make it through, I'm just going to have to pitch a fit and complain about it first, and then this weekend I'll have to conjure up some kind of a great plan.

I didn't feel like cooking dinner on my birthday anyways. Hmpf.

Last night, I experienced baby girl dropping. Just a little, but enough for me to notice. I distinctly remember that my belly was more "sticky-outy" towards the top a few days ago than it is today. Today it looks like Sierra Summit's "The Face" - steep and sloped! Plus as we were driving home from the commissary, I could feel her diverting herself to my pelvic area. She's still jabbing me periodically in the ribs, but only when I am sitting down and slouching. (Like now.) As I was sitting there feeling her readjusting, I realized I was 30 whole weeks along - 3/4 of the way there! - and that really, she could be born as soon as a month and a half from now. Which is way TOO soon and scares the crap out of me, but at any rate it's the truth. And it's good to come to terms with the truth.

Last night I dreamt that I gave birth to baby girl, and everything was fine (she was definitely a she and they sent us home from the hospital immediately). I keep dreaming that I forget to take pictures at the hospital and wind up leaving with no photos of my baby in the loaner hospital receiving blankets and then I feel guilty. So that sucked. And then she slept all the way through the night, which scared the CRAP out of me, but when I went to check on her she was fine. I realized she hadn't ever eaten before, so decided to make her a bottle, and then a bunch of Mark's family members showed up. His brother brought me Boo and I cried and decided I'd smuggle her through the rest of our time in Okinawa. Apparently the constant criticism I get for not having the desire to nurse Amaris or this baby girl is getting into my head and is causing me to dream weird things about breastfeeding. I'm still not interested in it, but apparently all of the incessant brain warping is affecting my subconscious. I dreamt that baby girl ate 2 oz of formula and was getting sleepy but I'd gone into the other room with her and was determined to do breastmilk. Even though she didn't need it, what with the full newborn serving of formula successfully consumed and all. I nursed her and hated it, but felt like it was what I HAD to do in order to avoid further criticism. And that, honestly, pissed me off. What I do with my boobs is my business, darnit!


Anyways, Amaris and I had a busy day today, we got up early and drove to the clinic so that I could have my 28-week bloodwork done (yes, I know, I'm doing it late) and schedule my next OB visit... But of course I couldn't find my ID card, so had to do some shuffling and driving back to the apartment before I discovered it in my purse, just in the wrong spot. Then we played a while at the playground... Decided to go to story time at the library where I chatted with some other moms and felt like I was so cool and independent for a little while and Amaris got to play with the other kids. Had lunch (mac-n-cheese, carrot sticks and rectangle toast), then went to another appointment and checked the mail before we came home. Amaris was totally exhausted by then, so I laid her down on my bed with her blanket and her B and she fell asleep. The trick to naptime is getting her up in the morning earlier than I want to and keeping her busy! I could've had her down for a nap around 1:30 when her mood changed, but we were en route to our appointment and that took way longer than I thought it would. So we didn't get home till like 3, and by then she was infuriated and totally overexhausted. Poor baby.

All of that is enough to make me want to get another car. It's so nice to have the capability and independence to up and go and DO things. One of the other moms at story time was telling me about the preschool outside the gate and how they've got a full [English] curriculum and only charge $19/day for a once a week setup until 2PM or so. I think after the holidays I may look into enrolling her one day per week, just so she can get out of the house and socialize and interact with other kids guaranteed once a week. Maybe try for Tuesdays or something when I typically don't have anything else exciting going on. I know she'd love it and it would give me a little bit of a relax period (having a little time for housework and peace never hurt anybody!) And baby girl and I could walk to pick her up in the afternoon, which would get me out of the house and doing something active, too.

I'm going to run the idea past Mark this evening. I'm also going to suggest that he start leaving me the car on Thursdays, because I feel like I can get so much done when I just have the car once a week. And Thursdays are a good day, since the library does story time and such. I keep thinking if I can just motivate myself to do SOMETHING, I'll be able to motivate myself to do all the things I want to take care of. Like school. Which I should really quit dragging my feet on.

Or, rather, denial?

I swear I am not nesting. But I know that's what it looks like. Yesterday I did all the laundry (not that there was THAT much), the dishes, cleaned the kitchen, floors and counters, vacuumed the whole house and took down all of the garbage and sorted recyclables. That's a lot for me. Usually I am lucky to get one or two household tasks done in a day. Oh - AND I got Amaris to take a nap. Which was like a gift from above.

When I was pregnant with Amaris, I distinctly remember nesting. It was an odd sort of nesting. I cleaned and reorganized my kitchen pantry. It took me a good 2 hours. I even took pictures when I was done because I was so darned proud of my hard work. Looking at those pictures now I feel like it was really just an cleverly arranged MESS but whatever. I think maybe that is only because here I don't have as much stuff as I did when we lived in Camarillo. Which I blame on Sam's Club - I used to totally abuse that store. My pantry here is smaller and significantly less stocked. But I've already cleaned and reorganized it a couple of times in the past couple of weeks. I didn't feel like I was nesting then. I just felt like I was trying to maintain my sanity.

Last night, though, I was thoroughly exhausted when I laid down in bed. My bedroom was clean, I had witnessed Mark folding and putting away a shirt, Amaris was tucked in and [mostly] peaceful, and my kitchen wasn't a disaster. My floors were all vacuumed... It was a good feeling.

But did I really do that for me? I think I did. Not that there is any way to find out for sure at this point, but I can continue to insist that none of this was nesting, all of it was pure necessity. I'm pretty sure this is the same line of crap everyone gives when they are nesting. Which makes me feel like an idiot.