Now I remember why I was happy to stop doing these. They take forever to record and post. Here, for what it's worth, was my day. And then I cheerfully return to living my unexamined life.
12:19, 1:18, 3:22 a.m.: Get out of bed, pee, go back to bed. A bit of restless sleep, but not too bad.
6:00: HPR's alarm goes off.
6:21: HPR gets out of bed and goes downstairs.
6:31: Shmoo wakes up: "Mommy . . . Mommy . . ." He still waits in bed even though we have no restraints on his bed or his door. I get out of bed and look for my shorts. I go to the bathroom, put my hair up, and go in. I say good morning, turn off his window a/c unit, then knock over the bridge on his Thomas the Tank Engine track. Shmoo says "Fix it!" and gets out of bed. We work on putting it together and Shmoo pushes Thomas around on a victory lap, humming the Thomas theme song. He asks "Where's Sir Topham Hatt?" I say I think he's downstairs. "Get him." I say we can go downstairs together to get him. I get out the fish food and Shmooie says "I want to do it all by myself." He does. Then wants to wash his hands. We wash hands in the bathroom, then go downstairs. "Is Daddy downstairs?" "Is it morning?" "Did I grow?" then "I have to PEE!" I remove his diaper, he sits down and immediately: "I PEED!"
HPR helps Shmoo put a sticker on his potty chart. I dump out the potty in our half bath and rinse it out. Shmooie asks why I went back there. I told him that I flushed his pee down the toilet. He thinks about that.
6:50: Shmooie asks for juice and I ask if he wants apple or orange. He wants orange. I let him choose his glass and I get out a straw. "No I want the long one!" I tell him that he's using a whiny voice. He changes his tone, although a bit of panic remains. I tell him I can get a different straw for him, not to worry.
He sits down with his juice and HPR at the table. I ask what he'd like for breakfast and list a couple of options. He doesn't answer so I thaw some pancakes. He sees HPR's cereal and says "I want Shredded Spoonfuls." HPR gets up to get coffee for us and I bring a bowl over. "I want a green bowl!" Shmoo demands. "Well, this is bowl I have," I respond. [Enough with the ordering me around!] He shrugs it off without a fight and uses the bowl I brought. I drink coffee and OJ.
Shmooie finishes eating and goes over to the couch. "I want to read a book!" We read Seaman's Journal. He sees pawprints on the pages and says "A clue!" HPR goes upstairs to shower.
7:17: Shmoo: "I want to pee!" But he can't, so we move on.
7:24: I dress Shmooie and he sings "Itsy Bitsy Spider" to himself. He says "Miss Cynthia [one of his daycare teachers] sings it louder."
7:35: He wants to go out to the porch swing. I put his shoes and socks on while we're there. We read another book. On one of the pages is a nutcracker and Shmoo is very curious about how it works. I tell him that we have a nutcracker and some nuts and that I can show him. We go inside and he is intrigued. He does pretty well with the almonds all by himself. He samples the walnuts and says "mmm." We read more of the book.
7:45-7:55: HPR comes downstairs, we put Shmooie's lunchbox in his backpack, put his hat on, and they're out the door. I clear a bit of the morning debris, shower, and get ready for work.
8:38: Leave for work on my bike.
9:04: Arrive at work, check my work email, begin proofreading. I am the only person on the 3rd floor for most of the morning. The quiet is perfect.
9:40: I have my breakfast of Trader Darwin's whey protein mix in milk and some tea.
9:57-10:10: Polly has the hiccups.
10:19: On a bathroom break, I fix the continuously running toilet. Back to proofreading. I am tempted to change passive language into active, but that should have happened in copyediting. What is it with academics relying on passive language?
12:12 p.m.: I heat up my lunch, leftover green beans from the farm co-op and roasted tofu.
12:50: I call HPR to tell him that I forgot my cell phone at home, that he can reach me at my work phone. I get his voicemail. I was going to call our usual babysitter during the day to see if she'll be available this weekend, but her number is on my cell phone. I'll try later. I get back to work.
1:10: Polly is moving like crazy on my left side. I usually notice her movement more on my right.
1:40: I waddle across campus to my OB appointment.
1:50: Arrive at OB office. I weigh 159 pounds (~27 pounds gained) and my blood pressure is 110/70. All is normal and well. My belly is measuring just right: 32 centimeters from pubic bone to just under the middle of my ribs. Polly is head-down with her back on my right side. I ask whether she's likely to stay head-down from now on and the midwife says probably. I don't have many other questions, although I realized that I should know where the labor/delivery unit is and whether I need to preregister. I inquire. Eight weeks to go!
2:30: Appointment is over and I slowly make my way back to the office, stopping to buy sherbet at a convenience store. It is really hot and sticky out. I feel sorry for the people who operate the lunch trucks with grills. Most of them are sitting outside of their trucks with damp cloths pressed to their foreheads. I think about conversations a friend and I used to have about what would be the worst job to have in this kind of sticky heat. We agreed that it would be working at a rendering plant. But those lunch truck operators may be a close second.
3:01: Voice mail from HPR. He says his phone interview with this park went well. Zoicks. Continue work. My former boss stops by (the nice part about having an office near the copy machine) and tells me he thinks his new cat is knocked up. (She's an inside cat, so this must have happened just before they took her in.) Any locals want a kitten come fall?
5:10: HPR calls. He'll pick up da Shmoo from daycare and the guys will head home.
5:15: Someone is at the copier just outside my door. I wanted to do a scan before I leave. He finishes and I scan and go. As I unlock my bike, I wonder why the song "Holiday Road" is in my head. On the way home, I pick up the produce delivery from our CSA.
5:50: Home. I pull some weeds that have grown hip-high in our neighbor's sidewalk. Set out the trash and recycling. Lock up the bike, close the windows, and turn on the window a/c unit. Make some raspberry lemonade with seltzer and start dinner: tarator and BLTs.
~6:25: The guys get home. Shmoo sees the food processor and wants to make a "water tower" in the sink out of the plastic parts. HPR asks if he should put the corn on, then gets distracted by something, so I put water on to boil. HPR shucks the corn. Shmooie asks for watermelon, and we say we'll have it for dessert.
6:42: We eat. Shmoo's meal is mostly yogurt/garlic/cilantro/chive dip from Trader Joe's. He eventually abandons the crackers he's been dipping in it and just uses his finger as a scoop. I decide I don't care because he's grooving on something healthy. Then he amuses himself (and us) by putting a dollop on each index finger and saying "I'm going to clap!" (When he first said it, it sounded like "crap"!) He touches the dollops together. When we cross the line from eating to playing (no thanks to HPR on this, who at some point smears some yogurt dip on Shmooie's face to be silly), we pull the food away. I cut the watermelon and Shmooie is very enthusiastic about it.
7:13: I go up to start Shmooie's bath. Normally we bathe him every other day (and today would be a non-bath day), but between the yogurt dip mess and the watermelon that has soaked through his shirt (not to mention the insane heat and humidity), he's due. HPR and Shmoo come upstairs and are watching a Thomas video. I learn that there has been a potty success.
7:30: I turn off Thomas and announce bath time, much to Shmooie's chagrin. I ask Shmoo if he'd like to walk on the walls to the bath. (I carry him sideways and he puts one foot in front of the other. He then turns on the light switch with his toes.) He gets in the bath "all by myself" but then right away says "I have to pee!" I am skeptical, but fetch his potty. He gets out and pees right away. Another sticker earned.
8:05: I hand Shmooie his toothbrush. He does a cursory brush and I finish for him. For the front teeth, I say "say cheese!" He shakes his head. I ask "can the whale say cheese?" and Shmooie answers "No, the mammal is just swimming. It doesn't say 'cheese.'" Shmooie spots a suction-cup ball and asks "Is it a sea urchin?" [I think I've mentioned he's on a bit of a sea-life kick these days.] The whale and shark toys then ask for foam letters out of a bag. I ask which one. The whale chooses a "P" (I resisted the urge to say "here, take a P.") and the shark chooses an "S." Shmoo himself wants an "O" and a "0." I drain the tub. Shmooie gets out and again has to pee. Success! I put a bit of lotion on Shmoo, then his shirt and diaper. I clip his fingernails (he tries to do it himself a bit, but I caution him--it looks like he's going to clip skin, not nail). We go downstairs to put the 3 stickers he's earned onto his potty chart. HPR has cleaned up the dinner mess.
8:30: Back upstairs for "Goodnight [Shmooie]" (tune of "Goodnight Irene"). We read an excerpt from the Winnie the Pooh anthology. Shmooie demands pants and wants his blue flannel ones. We sing "Embraceable Shmoo." Kisses and I love yous.
8:45: I take out my contacts and HPR gets the cats inside. Over the monitor, we hear Ella Fitzgelephant crooning.
9:00: HPR is packing Shmooie's lunch. I start to help, but realize I am just hovering, so I get a glass of water and go to the computer to start this post. HPR starts a load of laundry. He calls out to ask if anything needs special care and I shout back I don't know. I would get up to check, but I feel too lazy.
9:15: HPR sits on the couch and we debrief about the day. He ran into an old college crush today. I make some comment about how I'll bet she regrets not hooking up with him when she had the chance. HPR says (in an amused and humble way): "I think she did think that." He then shares a conversation he had with a colleague about pregnant sex. Her baby daddy was too freaked out by her condition, so they went the whole 9 months without. HPR expressed his astonishment and how he felt sorry for the guy for missing out. ("What was he thinking?") I am equally incredulous. I then ask how the subject of pregnant sex came up. HPR waffles a bit, then admits that he had told this particular colleague about the run-in with his former crush and had joked "If I weren't married I'd probably be getting laid tonight . . . but then again, since my wife is pregnant, I'll probably get laid tonight anyway."
9:55: I get up to take the laundry out of the washing machine. HPR says "oh yeah, I knew there was a reason I was staying up." I sort the quick-drying items that we'll hang on various chairs and put the rest in the dryer. I feel guilty adding dryer steam to the humidity outside. Go back to the computer for a bit.
10:22: HPR gets a glass of water and announces he's going to bed. I write a little more of my day and go read Erin's Day in the Life post. Eeep, poor thing! I refill my water glass, shut off the computer, lights, and main floor a/c and go upstairs. I creep into Shmooie's room and kiss him while he sleeps. Get ready for bed.
10:48: HPR's prediction was right.
11:17: Sleep.
We went to the 
