Pregnancy is not agreeing with me this time around.  I haven’t been sick (at least not since Christmas).  I’ve been more tired, but nothing unbearable.

I’m just BIG.  And I hate it.

I almost wore a pink shirt for Easter.  And then I looked in the mirror and saw a giant Easter Egg where my reflection should have been.

I did not wear a pink shirt for Easter.

I took a “six months pregnant” picture today.  I’d post it to prove my point but I think there’s some reason I don’t post pictures of myself on this site… though I can’t quite remember what that reason is right now.  Anyway, I look at least 8 months along.  It’s discouraging.  I don’t think I’ll be taking a “nine months pregnant” picture this time around.

In a short time I will be going to HAWAII for my MIL’s birthday celebration.  And I cannot believe I am doing this voluntarily.   When I was pregnant with Button, my best friend got married.  Why do people always plan important events when I’m 7 months pregnant?

Oh trip, how I dread thee… let me count the ways:

• 8 hour plane ride there… with swollen uncomfortable pregnancy legs
• 8 hour plane ride there… with energetic 2-year old. Who maxes out at about 3 hours.  And refuses to sleep on planes.  And who can only survive those 3 hours when allowed to watch Dora on laptop.  And whose grumpy factor increases proportionate to how much TV she watches.
• Maternity swimsuit
• Maternity swimsuit
• Maternity swimsuit
• 8 hour plane ride back… more swollen uncomfortable pregnancy legs
• 8 hour plane ride back… same 2-year old

Somebody just shoot me now.

We attended my parents’ neighborhood Easter Egg hunt, as is our annual tradition.  This year, it was being sponsored by our (huge) church, so the attendance was at least double the usual (and it’s usually a fairly good turnout).  The egg hunt for Little Button’s age lasted approximately 10 seconds because the ratio of eggs to children was completely underestimated.  I’m told they actually had 1,000 more eggs to put out, but the HOA queen wouldn’t let them.  Button scored 1 egg during that hunt, and she only managed that one because a nice lady took one of her son’s eggs and laid it down in front of Button to pick up.  Thank you Nice Lady, whoever you are.

Fortunately, Button is still of the age where she doesn’t realize she didn’t get “enough” eggs.  We let Button jump in on the older kids’ hunt and she managed to find 3-4 more eggs, so she walked away with enough treasures to satisfy.  I did see some kids in tears over the lack of eggs to be found, and was glad we didn’t have to cross that bridge yet.

Her favorite part of the day was meeting the Easter Bunny.  She met him 3 or 4 times because she just couldn’t get enough.  She gave him hugs, high-fives, shook his hand (paw?) and posed for pictures in his lap.  Mr. Bunny is totally the Mac Daddy.

Oh yeah, pictures…

After the egg hunt was over, we walked back to Grandmommy and Grandpa’s house.  Ok, J and I walked - Button (as usual) ran.

When we finally caught up to her, she was sitting on G&G’s front yard, waiting patiently and playing with some of her “loot” from the egg hunt.

The day we moved to Texas in 2003, we had just driven 5 days from Seattle with our puppy, Japp. We were hanging out in my parents’ back yard when Japp slipped through the fence and took off for the wide open spaces of the golf course. It’s a breed thing - shiba inus are prone to run away and it’s virtually impossible to train them to do otherwise when given the opportunity. And shibas are fast. Ridiculously fast.

Unfortunately, Japp didn’t make it to the golf course haven. As he darted across the street, was hit by a speeding car. He died in J’s arms. And took a chunk of my heart with him. At the time we had no children and thought of that puppy as our baby. He went everywhere with us and J even took him to work every day.

At the encouragement of my uncle, we ended up getting another dog. We looked at other breeds but decided to get another shiba. We named him Hastings and have been overprotective to the point of paranoid when it comes to making sure he hasn’t had the opportunity to escape.

A couple of days ago, he did.

Little Button and I were exiting the front door for a walk and as we were getting her doll’s stroller through the door, Hastings leaped over the stroller and darted out. As I grabbed at him and he slipped through my hands, flashbacks of Japp hit - with the sudden realization that there was a good chance I would not see this dog alive again.

He took off down the street like a lightening bolt. Then he stopped at the end and changed directions, running past our house and down to the opposite end of the street. By the time I grabbed the leash he was nowhere to be seen.

I swear, if I ever get another dog - shiba or not, I’m going to look for one with a bad leg.

Not knowing what else to do, I started walking down the street with Button in tow, hoping we would at least see him and be able to track where he was going. And hoping that if he got hit by a car that Button wouldn’t see it.

And then he came back. I was looking in the direction he had taken off in, when I hear Button say “Hastings! There he is!”

And sure enough, here he comes trotting down some random side street. He had made a full loop around (told you shibas were fast) and apparently decided his three minute tour of the neighborhood was over. He came right up to us and let me put the leash on.

Which I did. And then I cried.

EDITOR’S NOTE: Did you notice this post has been mis-titled? That the word “prodigal” makes very little sense in conjunction with this story? Did you also know that my entire life I thought “prodigal” applied to someone who ran away and then came back? Yeah, that’s what I get from learning vocabulary from Bible stories.

It snowed here a few weeks ago.  Random.  One day it was 70 degrees, the next day it was snowing.  And then it went back to being warm again.  Texas weather in the Spring is so fickle.

And yes, here in Texas we take pictures of the snow because in this part of the world it’s marginally equivalent to earthquakes or aliens or Heidi Montag’s shot at a singing career.

We happened to have some friends in town from Seattle, which made the snow even more fun - the more the merrier, right?  And because it was FREAKING COLD outside and I didn’t have any warm maternity clothes but I didn’t have to go build the snowman because Scott volunteered.  Sweet.

I excel at lazy parenting.