Dear other families on the hayride,

I would like to apologize for my son's nearly bowling your kids over on the way to the pumpkin patch. He likes pumpkins.

I'd also like to apologize for the fact that he immediately lost interest in the pumpkins in favor of the rocks, though I'd like to note that he is a collector of rocks (acorns, leaves, etc.) and not a thrower of rocks at others.

And also for the way he ruined several photographs by barrelling through the scene just as you were about to hit the button.

And further for making the rest of you sit on the tractor cart and wait until we 1. grabbed the pumpkins we wanted and 2. corralled our child, realizing that even though you had the time to swing a hayride in the middle of a Monday, you of course were in a big hurry to get to the next item on your busy schedules.

And also for making some of you scoot over to allow us to sit down for the ride back, as you appeared to have mistaken the tractor for a subway and us for straphangers. So very sorry especially that I had some desire to sit down while toting around an infant.

But mostly I'd like to apologize to the preteen in the sweatshirt and shaggy hair who slumped in one corner of the cart, his entire look saying "I can't believe my mom still drags me on this thing every year," because little does he realize that in 20 or so years he'll be right back here doing the same dorky Halloween thing with his kid, and he should enjoy his utter coolness while he can.

Mean thought at the OB's office

Is it so wrong, after months of sitting on hold, sitting and waiting in the office, waiting for callbacks from the nurses that never came, waiting to make an appointment and then finding out the computers were down, waiting to get HR paperwork filled out only to find that the staff lost it, and waiting for test results that were given to me via an automated voicemail system no matter how serious the results were, that while sitting and waiting -- once again -- to be seen at the six-week follow-up visit, kiddette started to wail and I had the fleeting desire to hand her a mike, kick back and let everyone else be annoyed for a change?

The Type A child vs. the happy sleeper

Truly it is amazing how very opposite these two kids are.

Firstborn kiddo was ready to go from minute 1. Full of energy. Always loud (to the point of scaring other children). Always alert. Always into everything. A favorite running joke at home: DH comes out of the bedroom, watches his son for a few minutes and says, "What did you feed him?" "Crystal meth," I say.

Eventually, of course, kiddo will start saying that himself and all the other parents will run away when they see us coming.

Now there's new little kiddette, who never met a nap she didn't like. Sometimes the exertion of napping tires her out so much she has to take a nap afterward. Other favorite running joke: Whenever she bothers to ascend into wakefulness, one of us will say to the other, "Look! She has eyes!"

It got to the point, in the hospital, where I made a lactation consultant come to the room and consult because I wasn't sure she was getting enough to eat. I'm thinking now she is, since the little pink newborn outfits fit her now, but I still wake her myself for feedings half the time.

Kiddo never missed a feeding. And four of his favorite words are "breakfast," "lunch," "dinner" and "snack."

Also, kiddette is noisy. She makes more odd sounds in her sleep than an 80-year-old lifetime smoker with a snoring problem. It's like she's making a loud and forceful argument about something or other (health care? the national deficit? who knows). Although occasionally it's just gas.

I think I can pretty well call their teenage years: Kiddo will bust through the door after practice for whatever five sports he'll be playing, eat everything in the fridge and run outside to do laps around the county. Kiddette will stroll in, cellphone attached to ear (and by then I assume we really will be able to attach cellphones to ears), assure us she's not hungry -- again -- and head upstairs, continuing the seven simultaneous conversations she's having while also texting five other people with the second cellphone permanently attached to her hand. And then she'll sleep for 10 hours.

Truly, she's making me nostalgic for my college years, when I'd come home at the end of the semester and sleep for a whole day or so. But that was after a semester of more or less not sleeping.

Which, come to think of it, is more or less what I'm doing now. Minus the beer and 8 a.m. lecture hall classes.

Oh, who am I kidding, peach schnapps and iced tea. I never drank beer in college.

Dear FDA,

I feel you must investigate the use of Americone Dream as a possible labor and delivery aid.

During my previous pregnancy, I ate some of the ice cream a week before my due date and promptly went into labor. During this pregnancy, I went into labor spontaneously but it progressed so slowly that I resorted to eating the ice cream -- at which point the pace quickened noticeably and my daughter was born a few hours later.

Pregnant women should be notified, especially, not to eat the ice cream before their 37th week. Please see what you can do to expedite this.

Sincerely,

A bemused Colbert fan

There is Colbert ice cream in my freezer and I am afraid to eat it

Let me explain. Last time around, that delightful caramely concoction known as Americone Dream had just hit the market and we looked everywhere for it, because I am a huge Stephen Colbert fan. Also a huge Jon Stewart fan, but he doesn't have his own ice cream.

It took forever but DH finally tracked it down and brought me some. We ate it that night, about a week before my due date, and while we were watching the Report I went into labor.

Coincidence? I think not!

Every person I tell that story to says I should write the show about it, but I was afraid to on account of Colbert probably would put it on the show. (Although that isn't stopping me from blogging about it so there you go.) Now here we are again, at week 37, and there is a pint of Americone in the freezer that has been sitting there for weeks because I am not touching it until I am ready for this kid to be born. Just imagine if it happens again? I think I would need to petition the FDA to regulate this stuff.

And unrelatedly I'm kvetching because the FakeNews Hour has been on another three-week vacation and I hate when they do that. C'mon, you work four days a week! So glad they're back tomorrow.

I guess we're doing something right

Because the kid eats salad and won't eat mozzarella sticks. How did that happen? Does that not go against every rule of kid-dom? Shouldn't he be refusing to touch anything that isn't fried, breaded or smothered in Velveeta?

We had salad with dinner tonight and I figured, what the heck, I'll give him a little and see what he does. So I put some romaine, radishes and mushrooms on his plate. He wouldn't go near the mushrooms (they're getting mushy, I don't blame him) but devoured the rest. And then asked for more. "More sa'ad." "More ra'ish." Repeatedly. I was feeding him off my salad. Just surreal.

He also eats broccoli, peas, carrots, sauteed spinach (at least when we order it from the local pizza joint he does) and the occasional tomato. And every fruit known to man except for citrus, I think because an orange looks like a ball and he gets upset when you peel it.

I'm not complaining in the slightest. I think it's terrific. I just don't get how we did it. All you ever hear about is kids refusing to go within 50 feet of anything healthy. All you ever see on kids menus is chicken fingers, grilled cheese, hot dogs and mini burgers. The bar has been set so low it's basically a limbo pole.

Do we have an abnormally healthy eater? Or do lots of kids eat this way and no one bothers correcting the stereotype (or complaining about kids menus)? Hard to tell.

Of course he may decide in a year that he hates radishes and loves mozzarella sticks. And I fully expect him to live off cold pizza and Wendy's in college, because I did. (Favorite breakfast freshman year: granola bars dipped in Fluff. So. Gross.) But for now, it's looking good.

Apart from the fact that he already loves pizza, macaroni and cheese, ice cream and cake. Hey, we're not total killjoys.

I mean, it's just one finger, right? There's nine more.

So if I'd been thinking about it, I would've clued in when my favorite peep-toe heels got tight. Or when all the other shoes got tight and I had to buy a larger pair of sandals with arch support to do something about the foot aches. Or, I dunno, when I remembered that this was the third trimester and that swelling was normal.

But nooo. Why remember to take the rings off? That would take brains and I am obviously fresh out.

Not even when my hand started to ache a couple days ago did I figure it out. Until I looked down at my hand and realized what was on it. Oh no, I thought, because the rings suddenly seemed carved into my finger and in no way coming off without the assistance of a blowtorch.

Honestly, like I hadn't been through this drill before. I was way more on the ball with the first pregnancy, what with the reading and the classes and interviewing a dozen doulas (this time? two) and constantly pestering the OB's office with questions. Also way more neurotic about every little thing (might have been all the reading and the classes and etc.). But this time I've been so laid-back about the whole thing it's like I only remember I'm pregnant when I catch a glimpse in the mirror and think, Man, when did I swallow the bowling ball?

Really, really didn't want to cut the rings off. The wedding ring especially, since it has a pretty Greek key pattern and is engraved on the inside.

"Cut the rings off," said the OB. Thanks, that was helpful. Although he did suggest soap.

The Interweb proved more interesting reading. Lots of sites say Windex. (What I want to know is, does that advice predate or postdate "My Big Fat Greek Wedding"?) Others say shampoo/conditioner or vegetable oil. Several suggested this method: Slip dental floss under the ring, then wind the other end all the way up the finger. Start unwinding it from the bottom and it should push the ring up and off, assuming your finger doesn't fall off first. I found this intriguing and also scary.

We used a combo of Seventh Generation spray cleaner -- hey, we don't have Windex -- and Vaseline, along with icing down/elevating the finger beforehand. It was a two-night process, since the finger swelled up in the process of yanking the engagement ring off and I figured we should give it some recovery time in between. But they're off and staying off, and I expect the circular indentation in my finger should go away in a couple days. Yay.

So it's back to the unwed-mother look for me. I suppose I could stick the rings on a chain and loop them around my neck, but boy, that's a little high school. If I were going to do that, I might as well haul out a class ring and stick it on for good measure. And wear DH's varsity jacket, assuming he had one.

Ah well, at least nothing had to get cut off -- the rings or my circulation.