Trying to make mommy friends is very often compared to dating– lots of hanging around, making discreet eye contact, sizing up the prospects…

Add to that scheduling conflicts around naps and mealtimes, geographic desirability, and toddler temperaments and I’d say that the mommy “dating pool” is far more brutal… and mostly out of our control.

Not only are you expected to bring your “A-Game”, you better hope your kid does too.

It doesn’t matter how charming and witty YOU are. One angry swipe of a sand shovel or blow-up over whose turn it is to play with the stupid “bubble mower” and you can pretty much kiss your chances of “same time, same place next week” buh-bye…

I’ve actually done pretty well meeting new people since we’ve moved here. I joined and have been relatively active in a great moms’ group. I’m in the book club and I volunteer to do things like organize activities for the annual summer picnic.

While it’s nice to run into a familiar face at the grocery store or get birthday party invitations, I’m still looking for the ONE.

Someone who I can call up at 4:30 in the afternoon and say, “My day’s been balls and I just ran out of dish soap. Do you want to walk around Wal-Mart with me? I’ll buy you a dooooo-nut!”…

Or better yet, “So my house is a wreck and my child is out of control, but this boxed wine won’t drink itself. Want to come over? No judgment!”

Someone who won’t recoil in horror if my son shoves her kid for taking a toy away, because next week, it will be the other way around. She’d simply say, “(Insert child’s name) probably had it coming”, which is funny because that’s exactly what I would say.

Of course, a little squabble like that doesn’t really matter since our kids will love one another 99 80 75% of the time.

So imagine my joy when I met “Jessica” and her family over the weekend.

We were waiting in line to ride the kiddie train at Oak Meadow Park when Scout and her son started a pointless shouting match that basically went…

“Yes!”

“No!”

“YES!”

“NO!”

I think the game was who could shout the loudest, but it soon escalated to who could kick the hardest…

She and her husband laughed out loud when Mr. D and I apologized for our kid being a total PUNK. I knew right away that these are fun people.

After exchanging some “boys will be boys” platitudes, we learned that they also just moved to the area and don’t really know a lot of people.

Cool. We’re people!

Our boys are the same age and they just had a baby.

Hey, we’re about to have a baby!

“Jessica” stays home with the kids (just like me!). We’re even in the same moms’ group. Different chapters, but still… and, best part, they live one block away from us.

Swoon!

You mean, we could actually have friends IN the neighborhood! Walking distance even!!!

Swoon! Swoon!

She and I made a play date to meet at the park. “Thursday. 11 am. Got it! See you then!”

Well, Thursday morning came. We showed up. They did not.

I was disappointed, but not entirely miffed about it. We didn’t exchange any info, so it’s not like she could have called and didn’t.

Besides, she seemed pretty frazzled by the whole “juggling two kids” routine. I’m merely days away from being right there with her. Anything could have happened between now and then… Right? Right?

——————————

Meanwhile at the park, a grandmother crossed the playground and stood over Scout and I as we played in the sand. Her young grandson followed after.

Once the little boy caught up with her, she started gesturing wildly and talking about us as if pointing out some horrible and ill behavior.

No, no. That’s not quite right. It was more like she was making an example of two caged monkeys flinging poo.

I wish I could tell you what we were doing that was worthy of such a fuss. Too bad she was speaking in… RUSSIAN.

I have no idea what she could have been squawking about. The only questionable behavior being displayed was the fact that I’m nine months pregnant and sitting in a pile of sand that I may… or may not… be able to get out of on my own.

Not wise, but hardly worth being made an example of…

——————————

Eventually, it was time for lunch, which I had packed in anticipation of a long, chatty play date. So much for that… Humph!

Scout told me he was hungry at the same time another mom nearby was calling her kids to lunch.

She and I had caught one another’s eye as I looked around for “Jessica”… keeping hope alive and all. She had a little girl about Scout’s age and an infant in tow.

She seemed nice too. She’d look over at us and smile. I’d smile back.

As I gathered our sand toys, I noticed that there were only two picnic tables at the park and one was already occupied. So, I approached her and asked if she wanted to share a table with us.

“Uh. Uh…. No. It’s… er, I mean, We’re okay… Uh… We need to wash our hands,” she stammered.

Umm… I guess what she really meant to say was “HELLS NO.”

A few minutes later, the people at the other table left and they ended up sitting right next to us, backs turned AWAY… of course.

——————————

So, stood up, shunned, and made a public spectacle… and all in one morning at the park.

How was your day?

From a recent conversation in the car…

Me: Sorry, Babe. I don’t make up the rules.

Scout: Yes, Mommy. You do make up the rules.

Me: Heh! Yeah, you’re right, I do… Ummm, still no.

I’ve felt much healthier with this pregnancy than my last. Of course, it helps that I don’t sit on my ass and stuff my face all day like I did when I worked in an office… contrary to what you may think SAHMs do all day. (smirk!)

Other than that one day when I cleared the freezer of every stinkin’ pint of Ben and Jerry’s AmeriCone Dream that my local Safeway offered, I’ve been able to resist most temptation.

(What? A. It has Stephen Colbert’s face on it and… B. Vanilla cream with fudge-covered waffle cone pieces and caramel… It’s wicked good.)

The last few days though… I don’t know if it’s Baby Girl packing on the pounds or if I’m subconsciously trying to get in every last bite of the all-you-can-eat buffet that is pregnancy, but I just can NOT get full.

Lately, I am hungry ALL. THE. TIME.

… and it’s an all-consuming crazed hunger that no amount of fruits and veggies, yogurts, or sensible well-balanced meals can seem to satiate.

So, very much like The Very Hungry Caterpillar, I’ve moved on to eating total crap.

Last week, I was at grocery store picking up a few things when I came face to face with a bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos that I just HAD to have.

(The very same Flaming Hot Cheetos that I always give my mom crap about eating… you know, from atop my locally-sourced, all-natural, organic high horse…)

I discreetly tossed it into the cart and made a beeline for the check-out counter, where I waited… and waited… and waited… getting more shaky and delirious with hunger by the second.

OMG… I couldn’t believe how SLOW the cashier lady was being! Taking the time to greet the people in front of me. Does she not SEE how pregnant I am? Ppfff!

When it was my turn, I kept trying to hand her my Safeway card (so, I could get my 50 cents off of the bag of Cheetos, of course), but she was chatting with the bagger and didn’t notice. I finally just snapped.

“Hey! Pay attention!” I barked.

It just wasn’t me. I swear. It was the BLIND CHEETOS RAGE!

Once in the parking lot, I actually considered forgoing the usual car seat battle with Scout just so I could get home and tear into those nummy, nummy Cheetos that much sooner.

After all, we were only a mile away from the house and it was neighborhood streets the whole way. Was safety reeeeeallly necessary?

(I’m only KIDDING. I buckled Scout into his car seat. I would never place my secret love-hate for processed cheese product before my very real love for my child. I, however, have absolutely no problems using processed FRUIT product, such as “My Little Pony Fruit Snacks”, to bribe my son to get into his car seat faster…)

(Why “My Little Pony”, you ask? They were out of the “Finding Nemo Snacks”, so he asked for the one with the “flying horseys” and who am I to discriminate against fruit snacks on the basis of color (pastel) or gender (girly)…)

I was in such a blur that I left I my wallet in the shopping cart (!!!). After twenty minutes of being home, there was a knock at my front door. A sweet, thoughtful girl had found my wallet and drove it all the way to my house to return it in person…

I just wanted to hug her…sticky orange fingers and all. Instead, I offered her a reward which she refused.

I was so floored and grateful that I didn’t even check to see if everything was still in it until well after she left. It was, which made me feel even crappier for being such a jerk to the check-out lady.

It’s nice to know that there are wonderful and decent people in the world. I’m just not going be one of them for a few more weeks.

“Mo-mmeeeeeeee! I have to go PO-TTEEEEEEEEEEE!”

These words rush through my house as urgent and unexpected as a grass fire, and with the same potential for disaster and devastation.

It doesn’t matter if I’m elbow deep in dinner prep or coasting down the 101, I have stop whatever I’m doing and get him to the nearest toilet…. like immediately, because there’s not such thing as “thinking ahead” in the world of a three-year-old.

Now means NOW!

I try not to sigh too loudly or roll my eyes or get aggravated as I hold him over some nasty rest stop toilet… even if I DID ask him twenty times before leaving the restaurant, “Do you have to go potty? What about now? Do you have to go potty now?”… because I truly am so very proud of him.

He’s been very good about telling me when he has to go and likewise, I’ve become a pro at detecting his “tells”- the frantic darting from object to object, the nervous chattering, and of course, “Mo-mmeeeeee…..”

Scout only has the odd accident these days and it’s definitely been a process getting to this point. Only few months ago, I thought potty training would be the death of me.

At one point, I looked into purchasing Huggies… as in the company. They weren’t looking to sell.

There was one day at the playground when Scout had utterly refused to go to the bathroom only to pee in the sandbox two minutes later.

As I walked him across the field and back to the car to change clothes, a couple of Mormon boys sidled up to us.

Short-sleeved button-downs, black ties, and Bibles…

It was busy day at the park, so I must have seemed like an easy mark once I singled myself out.

Clearly, they did not notice the clenched jaw, dark muttering, or cartoon steam rising from my head, which was all I could do to express my frustrations because you’re not supposed to yell at your kid when he has an accident (or FIVE… in one day).

What you’re supposed to say is, “Oh, it’s okay, Honey. We’ll try again”… but it’s NOT okay. Not at all.

I was NOT okay with the piles of laundry or scrubbing my sofa or mopping the floor.

I was NOT okay with my house smelling like a gerbil cage or people telling me “It’ll happen. Don’t worry”.

All I wanted to do was yell at my kid about the accidents!!!

Instead, I took it out on the total strangers who unluckily decided to approach me that day.

“Look! I know what you’re selling and I’ll convert right now, if you tell me what it will take to potty train my son. Do any of your Latter Day Saints have any teachings on THAT?”

… and with that, they offered to pray for me and ran away. Quickly.

I don’t know if they prayed for me or not, but Scout certainly improved on the potty training front and I found an effective way to chase off people trying to convert me.

My past techniques for both mostly involved holy water and hissing.

My friend, Stephenie, said it best…

The third trimester was especially designed by nature to make the pain of CHILD BIRTH actually seem like a desirable option.

I had plenty of things to blog about last week, but was in such a hormonal cluster that I hardly thought any of it was worth sharing. Let me give you the basic rundown…

Whah. I’m so pregnant. Whah. I have heartburn. Whah-whah. Whah! My MATERNITY clothes barely cover my gut. WHAH!

See. You really didn’t miss much.

I had another appointment with my doctor last Friday and, again, have absolutely nothing to report. In spite of the contractions that have been coming for weeks now, things are still HIGH and DRY over here.

Braxton-Hicks. You tease!

While there’s tremendous comfort in having a delivery date (THIS MONTH!!!) and knowing that my parents will be here to take care of Scout when it happens, there’s still that lingering “she-could-come-at-any-moment”… immediately followed by the “oh-crap-what-the-hell-am-going-to-do-when-THAT-happens”…

Did I mention that Scout was born a week early? Ack!  Scout was born a week early!!!

We’re so ill prepared.

I don’t even have a bag packed (very unlike me), much less one for Scout if or when I have to frantically leave him with my friend, Melissa, in the middle of the night.

Hmm, maybe I should let Melissa know about that…

Also, until this past weekend, Mr. D had NO IDEA where my hospital is located. I’ve only been there once or twice myself and never even thought to take a peek at “Labor and Delivery”.

So after Friday’s doctor appointment, we drove to the hospital for a quick visit.

At L&D, a friendly nurse was happy to show us the birthing rooms, NICU, and well baby nursery. She pointed out the ORs where I will be delivering and dutifully reviewed the hospital’s policies on rooming-in, privacy, and security. It was all very familiar.

At the end of our impromptu visit, I only had one very pressing question…

Do the rooms have Wi-Fi or should I bring an Ethernet cable?