My 6 month pregnant wife decided to move to the other bed for the night at 2 am. She was afraid that she was going to bruise her legs too badly from when she kept slapping them against me. Not really, but she has been getting pretty miserable here in our "heat wave" in Flagstaff. (Topped off at 94 degrees today according to the neighbor.)

I was starting to thoroughly enjoy the empty bed, since my poor wife has been beginning the restless night ordeal. Those men that have survived it know what I am talkin about. The rest of you will find out sooner or later.

At about 5 am, I hear the soft crunch of the carpet from Emma. "Yes, the sun is up, but no hunny, you need to go to sleep some more."

So my rotund spouse was replaced with a sticky foot 2 year old. SWEET! (BTW when I asked Abbie how to spell rotund, without even telling her why, she responded with, "A-S-S-H-O-L-E" which is all wrong. Men without children, make a note of that. Pregnant women always think you are talking about their weight or their temporary shape. Well, this time she was right, but most of the time she is waaaay wrong.)

Now by saying sweet, I AM being sarcastic. Emma may only weigh 30 pounds, but she takes up about three times as much three dimensional space than a creature typically that weight. Like a knocked over box of matches, she is everywhere. The one key element besides lack of room on the otherwise spacious bed is that at least one part of her body MUST be touching you the entire time. I skootch over to the edge of the bed, and her tiny foot is right there in the middle of my back. If I lift her over to the other half of the bed, the small palm of her hand is right there on my shoulder. ANYwho, somehow I get to sleep for about an hour more, give or take a few twenty minutes.

I really think the true reason for my daughter's "outreach" program when sleeping in our bed is soley for keeping track of when I am physically up and getting out of it. (Ironic use of political organization verbose, don't ya think??). For no sooner am I sneaking off to the toilet, she is right there with me, chatting away already.

I wonder if she lays there in bed thinking of things to chat about, or if the entire process of chatting really is spontaneous. Either way she is a natural.

"Daddy really pees alot."
"Yes, hunny."
"Daddy really pees AAAAHHH-LOT!"
"Thanks for noticing babe."

We perform our morning ritual and get juice and coffee brewing. I sit down with her and we have our "time".

"For me birfday I get to be a big sister." she informs me, which is true since the baby is due exactly one week before Emma's 3rd Birthday.

That one sentence has gotten me thinking all day. She "gets to be a big sister". Said just like she "gets" her hand stamped after a good job at gymnastics, or at 7 she "gets" to watch Dora the Explorer. Pretty funny. I will keep the optimistic viewpoint that the new one and her will be the best of friends 98% of the time, and not create a tainted mindset that she will change this excitement once Scoobie arrives.

This same very day, after working all day, I come home and we decide that we are going to take a walk. Emma gets her shoes for the journey and brings them to me along with some socks. I place her on my lap and proceed to put the clothing items on her.
"Daddy lets me sit on his lap."
"Yes hunny."
"Mommy has a baby in her tummy"
"That's right"
"So she no help me put my shoes on"
"Wha?"
"Mommy have no lap now."

I have a million of these, if anyone cares to listen.
But for tonight, that is all.