I am not much in the mood to write a blog today.
Yesterday I went to the doctor for a pelvic ultrasound, and saw with my own eyes that I have some sort of mass obscuring my left ovary. (Any woman reading this right now is wincing at the thought.) The ultrasound tech couldn't tell me what it was (not because she didn't know, but because she's not allowed to) and when I asked if it was a fibroid, she said no. So I get to wait until Monday to find out what the heck it is. Based on extensive googling, I'm pretty confident that it falls into the annoying-but-not-malignant category, but won't know for sure until I hear from the doctor.
Anyway, on to bigger and better things...
It seems that John has decided that he wants to use the potty, and has peed on it four times already today (with one accident). He's clearly got the hang of it now, because instead of sitting there wailing, he sits and pees as soon as his butt touches the potty chair. This makes me happier than you can imagine, because I have been knee (and sometimes thigh) deep in diapers for the last 4+ years and the end is finally in sight.
Lately I've been pondering when (or if) we should move John out of his crib and into a big boy bed. Sam was already sleeping in a double bed by this point, but he was also climbing out of his crib, and seemed pretty darn uncomfortable in it. John sleeps like, well, a baby, in his and has never attempted to climb out. I can't decide if I really want John to have all that freedom to get out of bed and run around in the mornings either. We have enough to deal with now that Sam can. This morning we were woken by the light in our bedroom turning on. Sam said, "I want to see where I'm going." Then he said, "This is heavy," as he drug my laptop up the stairs, plopped it on top of us in the bed and announced, "I want to watch trains on the 'puter." (The child is a train-video-on-youtube addict.) I admire his persistence, his independence, his self reliance, and his ability to get my laptop upstairs without killing it--but sometimes I wish I still controlled when (or if) he got out of bed. :-)
As I type this, Tom is with three of our four pets at the vet's. The dogs needed their shots, and Harley our 12 year old cat has been acting strange (and sick) for a while now. He's also our resident poop bandit--leaving little gifts for me to pick up all over the house. I hope he has a medical problem, because I'm at my wit's end with him. All of our pets are getting old (Harley is 12, Tuendi and Sammy will be 11 in January, and Dove is 9 or 10), just as we are. So it's hard to be too mad at them for how they cope with aging.
Such is life...