Kate and I just got back from a trip to Kohl's, and we had the most disgusting experience I've had in recent memory while we were there. It was so unbelievably freakish that I knew I was going to have to come straight home and blog about it. Because that is how I view my life, in chunks of Blogable Material. But seriously, I really think this stuff could only happen to me. See this post if you don't believe me.

This morning I had to get out to run a few errands that ended up taking far less time than I had anticipated. Since we were out of the house and didn't need to be back for Kate's naptime for quite a while, I decided to swing by Kohl's to look for a new pair of sunglasses. I think I have blogged about this before, but I am murder on sunglasses. I only allow myself to buy ten-dollar pairs of them because in my possession they have a life expectancy of anywhere from 10 minutes to two months before I break them, lose them or they are destroyed by a certain individual in my home who likes to raid my purse and try out the lipstick and whatever else is of interest. (Dan. OK, not really. It's Kate.) I left my latest pair on the last airplane we took on our trip home from Hannah and Daniel's wedding, so now I'm back to the dreaded process of trying to find a pair that I can justify paying for but that also fit my admittedly very narrow standards for what makes an acceptable pair of sunglasses. Here are the standards: Solid black, medium frames (Those big square ones that are in fashion right now make me look like a bug), must sit well on top of my head since I wear them there as much as on my face, and, perhaps most importantly, must NOT be adorned with rhinestones, doodads or bling of any form. So basically all I want is a simple pair of black sunglasses. This should be easy to find, right? Wrong. Apparently when you buy cheap sunglasses, you are automatically assumed by the fashion industry to be 12 to 14 years old and therefore very interested in rhinestones. So it takes me weeks to replace sunglasses once I break them. I think I'm just going to go ahead and buy three pairs of the next ones I like and save myself the trouble for a while.

Today at Kohl's was no different. Some nice glasses and definitely great prices, but bling all over the place. I just don't do bling. So no luck, but since Kate was happy walking around the store and we didn't really have anywhere else to be, I decided we'd walk over to the children's section to check out their warm pajamas. When we got there, I found a really great pair of fleece pajamas marked down from $20 to $10, but they were hung up on this rack almost near the ceiling, so I had to go find an employee to help me get them down. When that was accomplished, we headed out of the department towards checkout, and that is when the disgusting incident started. (Dramatic music here.)

We stepped off the carpet onto the middle aisle which is tile flooring, and it's a good thing I was watching Kate, because all the sudden, her feet were flying out from under her! Apparently I have developed ninja mom reflexes, because before her head hit the floor, I had managed to get my hand under it, which was a good thing, because she would definitely have cracked the back of her skull pretty hard. It hurt my hand it hit so hard. She wasn't injured but was pretty freaked out by the fall, and in the immediate moment I was so adrenaline-whacked from moving that fast that it took me a moment to notice that the reason she had fallen was because the floor was covered in this ... unidentified liquid. Kate was screaming, and I was helping her up, but now part of my brain was busily trying to figure out what this stuff was and where it had come from. Whatever it was, it was all over the back of Kate's outfit, and now that I noticed that, I realized it was also on my hand because I caught her head before it hit ... and it was white. Then I made a really bad decision: I smelled it. And instantly I recognized the unmistakable smell of .... infant spit up. Puke. Vomit.

Now, I have a kid, and in her day, she definitely puked on me enough that I realize there are more offensive things than a little spit up. But there is a big difference between being spit up on by your own infant and slipping and falling in a giant puddle of someone else's kid's spit up. Someone else who has clearly chosen to leave the scene of their kid's liquid explosion. And so three things happened simultaneously that did NOT help the situation.

First, Kate, having recovered in the last five seconds from her trauma, looked up and realized that the display she had fallen in front of contained dozens of Disney Princess figurines. She immediately started jumping up and down in front of the display, trying to reach one and pull it down.

Second, my brain, which had just realized that both of us were covered in another person's bodily fluids, immediately and unhelpfully started screaming "SWINE FLU! TYPHOID! ROTAVIRUS!" and the name of every other communicable disease it knows.

Third, my stomach, which is pretty sensitive right now because of all the pregnancy hormones, totally revolted, and I was struck by this intense fit of gagging and dry heaving. This was not a quiet affair. I was bent over in the aisle of Kohl's, retching violently, while my kid jumped up and down like a chimpanzee in front of a display of Disney Princess dolls and Christmas music played over the sound system (IT IS NOVEMBER 3, PEOPLE! HAVE YOU NO DIGNITY?). This went on for several of the longest minutes of my life until I could get a grip on myself and start looking around for an employee to whom I could explain this unbelievable situation and request that they clean it up. You know, like the person whose KID DID IT should have done. The employee I found was as horrified as I was. I imagine part of her horror was fear that I was going to sue, but I wasn't interested in hanging around long enough to do that. I had enough on my hands, what with herding Kate away from the Disney Princess display.

Once again, as in the Diaper of Doom incident, I didn't have so much as a baby wipe in my purse with which to clean us up, so I had to wait until we got out to the car before I could even take a shot at it. In retrospect, I kind of can't believe I actually went and got in line and paid for the pajamas. I think I was in shock. As soon as we got home, I put Kate in the bath tub and all our clothes in the wash. I may have to take another shower even though I had one this morning.

I haven't come to any really great conclusions about the meaning of this whole thing. But I'll tell you what I do know: The other night I was at Macy's and I found a pair of sunglasses that I really liked, but that were a little more expensive than I usually allow myself to buy. I have decided that tomorrow, I am going to walk (carefully, keeping my eyes on the floor) into Macy's, buy the sunglasses and not feel guilty about it. Assuming I don't have swine flu by then.

Kate's hair has been growing really fast in the last couple of months. Unfortunately, it hasn't been growing evenly at all and one side of it was getting really long. As in, it was starting to look like a one-sided mullet. Then because her hair is super-fine and our climate is super-dry, she was constantly developing this epic static-induced bedhead that lasted all day. Here is a picture of one of her particularly egregious hair days, in case you don't believe me:

So I determined that it was time for a haircut, and yesterday was the day. I really didn't go into this thinking of it as a milestone, or an event on which to spend any emotion. Her hair needs to be cut, so we'll get it cut was the end of my thinking on the matter. Until she was sitting in the chair and the stylist started taking hair off the back of her head. Suddenly it looked like so much hair ... so much soft, baby hair. And she looked so grown up without it. I started freaking out a little. I probably would have cried if I hadn't had to stay busy helping the stylist keep Kate still and facing in the right direction. It took me completely off guard that I got emotional about it. I blame the pregnancy, mostly because I don't want to think of myself as one of these overly-weepy moms who will cry every time my child outgrows a pair of socks. I'm going to try to rein it in before I get that bad.

Kate, meanwhile, was a total adult about it. She sat in the chair so still, and really did a pretty good job of following directions. The stylist did a really nice job, and while her hair is pretty short right now, it looks so much healthier and since it's all one length, now it can grow without looking so ... truck driver-y.

Since it turned out to be a big moment, I'm glad I remembered to bring my camera. Especially because it gave me something else to do to avoid crying. Here's a before shot of all the hair:

During:

And various after shots. I have a hard time getting her to stand still when she isn't strapped into something.

Kate seems pretty pleased with her new do. Or her Chik-Fil-A meal. It's hard to say.

A video and, before you watch, a brief explanation below so you know what you're seeing.

Since we returned from Hannah and Daniel's wedding, Kate has been obsessed with recreating it in various ways. The things she was most impressed with from the wedding were Hannah's white dress and, obviously, the dancing. So in order to relive the moment, she has started going into my closet, dragging out this old white silk camisole and demanding that I put it on her. I have become quite an expert at tying it behind her back so it doesn't fall down. This she pronounces to be her "wedding dress." Then she has to put on my black high heels. She's actually gotten really good at walking in them, and although they completely slow her down, they are an indispensable part of the outfit. Then we have to go to the kitchen, turn on Feist's song "1 2 3 4," and do "wedding dancing." I was telling Hannah about this the other day, and I realized it sounds like something I'm making up. But I'm not, and here is the video to prove it. On any given afternoon, if you came over here, this is very likely what you would find us doing. We're a very festive bunch.

My sister Hannah and my sister-in-law Kelly AND my Aunt Emily ganged up on me today on Facebook and told me I have to blog now. I wouldn't pay them any attention except that Kelly is carrying my nephew Clark, and since I want to be his favorite aunt ever when he makes his appearance in a couple of months, I had better be nice to his mama. So here is a random story for a Monday evening.

The other day, Kate and I went to Wal-Mart for some inconsequential item that I can no longer even remember, and during that shopping trip Kate discovered the magic of Christmas or, at the very least, the magic of Retail. The reason I can't remember what we were there to get is because I didn't really mean to go to Wal-Mart in the first place. Kate and I were headed home from visiting some friends, and all the sudden, from the back seat, she starts screaming about how she wants to go to the "Stooooooore! The stoooooooore!" Apparently, she was under the impression that we were going to The Store (Wal-Mart) and when I turned in the direction away from Wal-Mart she could not continue living. So we went to the store.

We were toddling along in the pharmacy section when it happened. Kate looked down the giant aisle and saw that Wal-Mart, about ten seconds into the month of November, had transformed their Lawn and Garden section into a Christmas tree display area. I realized she had seen this because she stopped in the middle of the aisle and squealed "Ooooooh! Pretty tree!"

We spent the next half hour observing all the many ways that a fake tree can be made to look like ... something that is not even remotely a tree. There are silver trees, gold trees, and even pink and blue tinsel trees. Kate's favorite was a three-foot-tall hot pink aluminum tree that I know she would buy and set up in her bedroom year-round if she were allowed to do so. If it were up to her, we'd also have a tacky inflatable glowing Santa Clause on our roof. I had to drag her out of there, and I warned Dan that through the month of December, we're basically going to have to stick to the grocery side of Wal-Mart unless we want to take a detour to Tree Land.

But even though it wasn't what I had planned for the morning, a little part of me smiled. This will, I think, be the first Christmas that Kate really "gets." Last year she liked the tree and loved getting presents, but I think she just saw them as random unconnected events. This year, she's already dancing to Christmas music because of a CD I am using to learn seasonal choir music at church. She's noticing the decorations all over the place in stores, and she has loved going to a couple of rehearsals for a Christmas pageant at church, in which she and a lot of other two-year-olds are going to be angels. Adorable, hyperactive angels. The weekend after Thanksgiving when we drag out all our Christmas decorations, she's going to be beside herself, and I can't wait. As cheesy as it sound I'm really looking forward to seeing Christmas through her eyes. It's easy for me to see the month of December looming up on the calendar and start thinking about all the things I have to get done. But having a two-year-old around pretty much forces you to stop and soak up the moments, like roaming around the Christmas tree aisle at Wal-mart for fun. So bring on December and all the pretty trees.

As if I didn't already know how much Kate has changed since the last holiday season, last night I flipped through my pictures from the 2008 December Photo Project, and was shocked by how much she looks like a baby in those images from just a year ago.

We're going in on Wednesday for our first ultrasound for the new baby. Mostly, we're hoping to hear that the baby is healthy, but we're also looking forward to finding out the gender, assuming the baby cooperates. We've had only minimal conversations about names so far in this pregnancy, and we're waiting to find out if we've got a boy or a girl in there before we really get down to business on that issue. So we won't have a name to announce on Wednesday, but we will reveal the gender, and therefore it's time to place your bets. A few random pieces of information about this pregnancy that may help you make your decision or just serve to confuse you.

1. When I was pregnant with Kate, I was terribly sick for most of my first trimester. I will spare you the details, but let's just say it was unpleasant. This time around I certainly didn't feel great, and I had no energy for weeks, but I wasn't nearly as ill as I was with Kate. Depending on who you talk to, this can be something that is influenced partly by the baby's gender. Some books will swear that women who are carrying girls experience more morning sickness. On the other hand, some women say their pregnancy symptoms were different every time regardless of gender. So that may be totally worthless information, which is exactly what you usually get on this blog.

2. Everyone in my family thinks we're having a boy. This, however, may be a hallucination caused by the fact that we're currently all high on looking at late term ultrasound photos of Aaron and Kelly's son, Clark, sucking his thumb in the womb and sporting some chubby cheeks that can only be accounted for by strong Rice genes. What I'm saying is they're pretty wound up and they may not be the most reliable sources. But Kelly says she'd bet her life savings on a boy, so I may make some money on this deal.

3. Kate, on the other hand, refuses to hear talk that the baby is anything but a Baby Sister. I have no idea what she's basing that on, but when we say "Or maybe a Baby Brother?" she shakes her head and says "Baby Sis-ah."

4. For what it's worth, this baby is busy. I started feeling the baby move at around 14 weeks, which is much, much earlier than I felt Kate, and these days pretty much any time I sit down for a few minutes I notice the baby doing some little aerobic routine. Whoever we've got in there is active. I worry for my ribcage in the coming months.

5. Possibly because of my newfound second trimester enthusiasm for food and recreational cooking, maybe because it's my second pregnancy and therefore my abs have just lost the will to live, or possibly because of something unique about the baby, I'm also sporting a baby bump a lot earlier than I was with Kate. Just a month ago I was at Hannah and Daniel's wedding and didn't look very pregnant at all. That was around 13 weeks. Then, somewhere between 15 and 16 weeks, it was almost like there was an audible "POP" and suddenly, there was my stomach. This concerns me too, since I seem to recall being quite giant by the end of Kate's pregnancy. And we're nowhere near the end. So very far from the end. I try not to think about it.

This is what I look like at roughly 18 weeks. I have no idea what I'm looking at in this photo. It is remarkably difficult to take a decent self portrait that incorporates your stomach, even if you do use a mirror. Don't laugh.

While we're excited to find out the gender, I also always feel a little nervous going into the whole ultrasound thing, so please pray that we get a good report on our new little family member's health, since that's the really important thing. I'll post the results on Wednesday once we've notified all the grandparents and aunts and uncles. Now go forth and vote.

Today, we have stayed home and cooked good food. We had plans to go to the home of friends for Thanksgiving dinner, but Kate got sick quite suddenly yesterday and although we were reassured at urgent care yesterday evening that she doesn't have anything serious like the flu, she does have a nasty little viral bug featuring a sore throat and fever. Our friends, the Pods, have graciously agreed to do a very unconventional food-swap with us wherein at the appointed hour, Dan will arrive at their house bearing half the cornbread dressing, green beans, sweet tea and salad I've prepared and bring home with him the turkey, sweet potatoes, dessert and rolls that Judi slaved over for us.

I'm sorry our plans were canceled, but since we'll be home and drowning in fantastic food, I'm going to get out our good china and set the table with candles and crystal. (OK, no crystal for Kate.) We're going to sit down and bow our heads and thank God for Kate and six and a half years of marriage, and especially this Thanksgiving, for this:

Our son! I'll grant you it's a little hard to tell, but that's his face. Yesterday morning we had our ultrasound and we have a healthy little boy to meet in April! We are ecstatic, my family is gloating mightily in their correct prediction, the Wachdorf side is celebrating the fact that the family name will live on, and even Kate seems to have adjusted herself to the news, referring frequently and happily to her "Baby budda."

Since this is our second time around, I thought the ultrasound might be a bit less dramatic an event, but I was wrong. There's really no way to see that sight without being excited about it. We told the technician right up front that we wanted to know the gender, and it wasn't 10 seconds after the screen lit up with on image of our baby before she told us it's a boy. My first reaction was to laugh. My next thought was "What am I going to do with a boy? I don't know how to have a boy!" But if I have learned anything from two years of parenting, it is that you learn what you need as you go. So I'm going to try not to worry about it too much, although if what the parents of boys tell me is true, I am going to be seeing a LOT more of the inside of that urgent care waiting room and possibly the ER once this little guy is up and running around.

I'm excited for Kate to have a brother, and here is one reason why: My dad and brothers are in West Texas right now, somewhere near Canadian, TX, which, as I understand, is where you end up if you drive through Oklahoma City, cross the state line into Texas, take a right and then fall off the end of the earth. OK, maybe it's not that rural, but it is true that they don't have great cell phone reception while they're there. So when we found out the news, I just assumed I'd have to wait until they were headed back to Mississippi to tell them. Instead, Wednesday night, I got a call from Aaron. He'd managed to find a cell tower so he could check in with his wife Kelly, who told him he should call me if he wanted to hear what we're having. This is what I love about my brothers: When I told Aaron the news, and a few minutes later told Ryan, they both hooped and hollered like it was the greatest information they had ever heard in their lives. It isn't that it wasn't awesome when my sisters reacted much the same way. It was. Still, you expect that from girls. My brothers are manly men. They are Marines. They drive trucks and hunt deer. And as I've learned in the last couple of years, they love babies, or at least they love my babies. I've loved seeing that side of them, and it makes me look forward to seeing them become dads themselves, which will happen for Aaron in January. I love having brothers. Even if I did give them a hard time when we were kids.

So now we know that we're going to have a son, and Kate is going to have a brother. My parents and Dan's will have a new grandson, and our brothers and sisters have a new nephew. Today we are thankful for that, and I know we will be thankful for this child every year from now on.

"The Lord has done this and it is marvelous in our eyes." - Psalm 118:23

This last shot is of the baby's feet. He wouldn't let us see his face a lot, but he was really proud of his feet. And also his, umm, business, of which we have some VERY convincing photos. I'm not going to post those, but let's just say we have no concerns that we'll be surprised with a girl come April. Nope.

The December Photo Project starts tomorrow, and I'm really excited. I should have plugged this earlier, but if any of you enjoyed doing this last year as much as I did, I hope you'll head over to my friend Rebecca's blog, sign yourself up and grab your camera!