Isabella turns 21 months old today.

Never one who has been at a loss to express her needs and desires, over the past month I've noticed that Isabella has begun Talking.All.Day.Long. This is simultaneously cute and exhausting. I'm a person who requires and enjoys a great deal of quiet. She is evidently a person who does not.

Most of the talking involves her peppering me with questions all the live-long day. In addition to inquiring about the status of inanimate objects, which she started last month and still enjoys, my new favorite by far is, "Mommy, who DAT?".

She's also become a skilled negotiator. When I tell her that it's time to get out of the bath, or finish up her lunch, she'll look at me, hold up her index finger, and say, "Two minutes."

Isabella now says, "Bless you" after I sneeze, and she's also started saying the word "and," which seems minor and insignificant, but it's actually pretty cool to hear her say, for example, "Mommy and Daddy and Grammy" when I ask her who is in a particular photograph.

She's also discovered her inner Mariah, and will sing parts of her favorite songs from her Sesame Street CD ("Sunny Days!!!" and "That's Elmo's World!!"). She can also sing the ABC song with a few letters missing here and there, and she can count to 14.

Her demands to "Hold Something" of last month have been replaced by the more discriminating "Hold Something ELSE!" when I give her an object she's quite obviously not looking for

But my most favorite new development over the past month is that she's begun saying, "I love you" (which sounds more like "I wuv you"). In the past, she'd say it only when we've asked her to say it, and not on her own. Then, out of the blue, I noticed her saying it not to me, her mother, who gave her life, but to this ceramic bunny one of my relatives gave her last Easter. She would wrap it in a blanket, carry it around in her arms, and tell it she loves it, sometimes adding, "so much" at the end. She soon branched out to tell Elmo she loves him too. Then, she moved on to telling the cats she loved them. And then finally, about a week after she started saying it to every cup, book, and plastic ball in the house, she came over to my desk chair where I was working, leaned her back against my leg, and said, "I love you."

For all her forward progress this month, she's regressed in one area. She seems to have developed a strong attachment to her binky, which is odd, since she's only really ever had it for naps and bedtime. She asks for it a lot now during the day (I don't give it to her), and I can't figure out why she wants it so often now. Her pediatrician recommends trying to wean kids off binkies around age two, because she said they can start to experience dental problems if you don't, so I'm going to try and slowly start this process over the next few months.

I have to say, I am loving this age. She's developed into such a little person and she's really getting to be so much fun. I can hold actual conversations with her, she understands so much, and she can play by herself for a few minutes at a time, which allows me more time to sleep on the couch...I mean, meticulously chart her developmental milestones in her baby book.

Likes: Peeling the wrappers off crayons, sweeping, playing in her sandbox (thanks, Marie!)

In the last few weeks, I've had two experiences that have made me realize that the blogging world is a small world after all. (Cue the music.) You might think you're blogging in a vacuum, and that only your handful (or many handfuls) of readers are checking out your site, and that the billions of people who can access your blog via search engines are refraining from doing so because no one gives a damn what you have to say.

No so, my friends. Not so.

First, the editors of the Skaneateles Talk website emailed me and asked if they could profile my May 2006 visit there on their website. A few days later, this nice little piece appeared on the site. Thanks, Cary and Christine.

And then yesterday, I received an email from a producer at Fox's The Morning Show With Mike and Juliet. They had found my guest post on kiddie spas over at Melissa's (apparently, if you type "kiddie spas" into Google, my post is ranked #2), and asked me to fly down to New York City tonight, all expenses paid, and appear in a panel on the show tomorrow to discuss why I'm opposed to taking little kids to spas.

I turned them down for a litany of lame reasons, including too short notice, childcare issues, a prenatal appointment on Thursday, fear of flying while pregnant, the fact that most of my family doesn't know about this blog, which would probably be mentioned on national tv, lack of anything even in the neighborhood of appropriate tv attire, and a gigantic zit growing on my chin.

This was an awesome opportunity for me to establish myself as an "expert" on the topic of why mani-pedis and facials aren't for little kids. My appearance might have parlayed itself into landing my writing in major magazines.

And.I.Turned.It.Down.

Believe me, the self-flagellation is already in full swing over here.

So instead of flying to NYC today, the city I love more than any other place in the world, I will be drowning my sorrows in vanilla soft-serve:





Don't think for one second that I haven't spent the last 24 hours trying to figure out how to score two.

Breaking down into a puddle of tears and snot in front of my mother is not something I do often. The last time this occurred (the only time in recent memory) was when she was leaving after spending two weeks with me following Isabella's birth in 2006. I love my mom to bits, but I don't call her up and talk to her for hours, I do not share every detail of my life with her, and I do not cry when she leaves to head to her home about five hours north of mine following a visit. But cry I did as she was getting ready to leave me with my two-week-old baby, alone for the first time.

My mom was at my house on Saturday, in town for my cousin's college graduation party. We shared with her the news of a situation going on that is going to make providing for two more babies quite a bit more financially taxing than we originally thought it would be.

As we told her, the tears started (and not the controlled and delicate kind). While I'm a pretty emotional person who often says exactly what she feels, I don't cry in front of others often. Worse yet, my breakdown happened not only in front of my mom, but in front of her husband too. Not a proud moment.

The tears were mostly related to our impending financial situation. Part of the problem is that the steady flow of work I've had since quitting my job last October is waning a bit (such is the freelance business), and the idea of having to provide for two babies at once terrifies me. I have been trying very hard not to think about it, which explains the absence of pregnancy-related posts here in awhile, because when I do, it becomes overwhelming. (And trust me, the guilt over not feeling excited yet is intense.) Most people build their families one child at a time. The second (or third, or fourth) child uses the assorted gear and clothing of the child that came before them. Additional purchases are needed along the way, sure. But most of the time, parents have most of the big items already. With having two at once, we are in need of an additional set of almost everything.

My maternity wardrobe is another concern. I have a lot of maternity dress clothes: pants and button-down shirts and a few skirts because when I was pregnant the first time around, I worked in an office until the day before Isabella was born. And now, I'm home. I don't have the need for these clothes, and yet they make up the majority of what I have. On top of this issue, 95% of my maternity clothes are in a size Small. I have a few Mediums thrown in there, bought for my last month or so of pregnancy. Now, I'll be lucky if what I have lasts me through my second trimester.

Because if Angelina Jolie, gorgeous and tall and rail-thin, looks like this at 6 months pregnant with twins

I imagine that I will look something like this in about three months:


And then there's the car situation, and whether or not three car seats can fit in the back of my paid-off Jetta (highly doubtful) or in the back of the hubs' Trailblazer (maybe. hopefully). Without question, we cannot afford another car payment right now.

But the tears were also for Isabella. Even thinking about her and what the arrival of two newborns is going to do to her life and my relationship with her makes me emotional. How can I possibly give her the time and attention and care and pretty cool life she has now when I have two more babies to care for? Yes, she'll be two when they're born, and hopefully willing and able to help me, but at times it almost seems cruel to bring another baby into a family, to overthrow the "queen," so-to-speak.

I know things will work out one way or the other. I may become my greatest fear (the family charity case) but we may not have any other choice.

Thanks for wading through this long and rambling post. I know things will get better. It's just hard for me to see that right now.

I live in a middle-to-upper-middle-class neighborhood. The yards are generally extremely well-kept, landscaped, and beautified with annuals and perennials of every hue each spring and summer. Even though most of the lawns are the size of postage stamps, many of my neighbors hire a service to do the mowing and upkeep for them.

Incidentally, this description doesn't describe my own yard. We lean more toward the middle class than the upper-middle class end of the equation. And this middle-class girl doesn't garden. At all. I am the proud owner of two black thumbs.

That said, we do our best to keep our lawn mowed, neat, and dandelion-free. We've never sprayed it with pesticides because Isabella plays on it all day long, and even before she was born, I had real issues with the environmental impact of spraying chemicals. So this means my own yard is not without the occasional weed. It is not one of the better-looking yards on my street.

And yet my lawn looks like it's taken care of by Martha Stewart's yard boy compared to this neighborhood eyesore, unfortunately located directly across the street from my house.



This neighbor's yard is the talk of the 'hood. The photo, taken from my front steps, doesn't even paint the full picture of just how overrun with weeds and shin-high grass this yard really is. Yesterday morning, as my aunt was leaving my house after a visit with Isabella, a woman approached her and asked if she knew if the house was for sale. Evidently she thought it was empty and that no one was home to take care of the yard. My aunt said she didn't live in my house, but that she had seen kids outside playing so she didn't think it was for sale. The woman then told her that she had knocked on the door to inquire if it was for sale and had peered in the windows. Apparently, there are cans and trash all over the floor of the house.

Part of me wants to extend sympathy toward this family. They have five children with another on the way. Perhaps they're overwhelmed. Perhaps a family member is sick (although I've seen both adults and all the kids playing in the yard, amongst the 7-foot tall weeds). Perhaps their lawn mower is broken.

But the other part of me is sick of seeing this disgusting lawn every single time I look out my front windows or play with Isabella on our front lawn. This part of me wants to tell them to mow their damn lawn, already.

What would you do? Would you call the town and report the neighbor? My town's code (yes, I looked it up) says that it "requires that all properties are kept free of accumulations of brush, shrubs, weeds, grass, stumps, roots, excessive and noxious growths, garbage, refuse and debris."

Or would you ignore it and hope the weeds don't grow across the street and entangle your daughter like the Venus Fly Trap in Little Shop of Horrors?

**Update**

A few things I should clarify about this neighbor. His yard is a perpetual problem. They moved in last year and while they had hired a service to care for the lawn then, they came infrequently. So this isn't a one-shot deal. I have a feeling that when and if he does mow his lawn, it probably won't happen again for months.

Last night around 5pm, the skies parted, the angels sang, and the dude trotted out to mow his lawn. He began mowing the lawn between the street and the sidewalk first when I would have started on the front lawn itself, but whatever. I was just happy he was doing it. Until the mower began breaking down every five minutes. Why, you ask? Because the 8-foot tall weeds were getting stuck in the blades. He dragged this out for another 20 minutes or so, stopping and starting every few minutes. And then he gave up. The grass between the street and the sidewalk is mowed, and that's it. As a friend told me, a herd of goats might be a more appropriate solution to the problem at this point.

As a fairly new parent (yes, I still consider myself a neophyte, despite the fact that my baby is turning two in just three short months), the best advice I've received hasn't come from my daughter's pediatrician or the child behavior specialists writing for the popular parenting magazines or even from the cashier at Target.

It's come from my friends, both blogfriends and "real life" friends, who are in the parenting trenches with me every single day, and who know from experience what it's like to experience the joys and the heartache of raising kids.

Over the past year, I've had the true pleasure of developing a friendship with Melissa Garrett. Some of you read her blog already and know all about her current project. But in case you don't, she's started a parenting website called Root and Sprout. Here's a brief summary of its mission:

"Here at Root & Sprout, we believe the connection between parent and child is what's most important, and it's a relationship that grows through mutual love and respect. With gentle, hands-on parenting, we can give our children the necessary roots to help them sprout."

To help her project succeed, Melissa is currently seeking article submissions. You do not have to be a professional writer to subject an article; in fact, most of her current contributors aren't. You simply need to possess a willingness to share your tips and tricks from the trenches- the fail-safe solution you used to get your colicky baby to sleep through the night, how your family works to protect the environment, or even your annual Father's Day tradition.

Yours truly has an article on making homemade baby food appearing in the June 1st issue.

You can read more about the mission of Root and Sprout as well as the submission guidelines here.

Melissa has just announced that anyone who submits an article for a future installment will be eligible to win $25, either as cold, hard cash transferred to your Pay Pal account or in the form of a Barnes and Noble or Borders gift card.

To enhance the upcoming installments of Root and Sprout, Melissa would love to have an article highlighting tips for living frugally. She's also in need of a review of a product, book, CD, DVD, or just about anything else you can imagine. (Speaking of which, I just read a great book review that could be turned into an article for submission. Hint. Hint.) Do you have any tips for healthy living or advice about exercising? You could easily turn these into an article for Root and Sprout too.

Each of you has something unique and valuable to share with the growing Root and Sprout readership. Why not try your hand at writing an article?

One of my favorite places to take Isabella (and one of her favorites too) is the Strong National Museum of Play. The museum is the second-largest children's museum in the country (the Children's Museum of Indianapolis is the largest) and is a short 5-minute drive from my house.

So attending this celebration, and seeing the faces of the couples who know exactly what a true miracle of science it is to have their children was important to me. I'd guess there were over 100 people in attendance. The kids ranged in age from newborn to about 13 or so. There were a lot of twins and triplets.

It was great to talk to the doctors, nurses, embryologists, and other staff outside of the clinical setting. And throughout the evening, I kept thinking how incredible it was for these brilliant minds to literally watch their life's work running around beside them. What a rush it must be for them to see the lives they helped create. In a lab. With technology so new, it wasn't around when they were born.

It was the perfect beginning to my Mother's Day weekend. And in watching the utter joy and excitement on Isabella's face as she explored the museum, running from one interactive exhibit to another, side-by-side with the other babies, toddlers, preschoolers, school kids, tweens, and teens IVF brought into existence, it made me realize what an incredible gift it is to be her mother.

IVF doesn't make every infertile woman a mother. Its success rate is about 40-45% in my clinic, which means the majority of women who invest a mighty sum of money and who put themselves through the physical and emotional rigors of what it entails don't get the prize as a result of the struggle. I was one of the lucky ones. It's worked twice for me.

Last night helped me reconnect with what it's easy to forget when I'm up to my knees in toddler tantrums and power struggles: that on Mother's Day and every day, having the chance to be a mom is the greatest gift I could ever receive.

Happy Mother's Day to all the moms out there. For those still waiting for their chance, I hope your journey ends very, very soon.