There's a hot debate raging on my BabyCenter birth board right now, and I'm curious to hear what all of you think:

Do you think second baby showers are terrific or terrifically tacky?

(***After reading several of your comments, I absolutely agree with the idea of celebrating the arrival of subsequent children with "Meet And Greets," or pampering the mom-to-be (because heck, we need some spoiling!) with a get-together... I realized -- thanks to your comments -- that it is the demand for PRESENTS and the (as Kori said) greediness that I really object to! I also like the idea of registering at Babies R Us to get that 10% off coupon -- I'd forgotten about that!***)

I have to admit, my views on this topic are colored by my family -- specifically my grandmother and great aunts. When I was pregnant with G, they went all out to throw me a huge shower in my hometown.

My pregnancy just happened to coincide with a second cousin's third pregnancy. Even though it was her third, this pregnancy was special for many reasons. For one thing, it was her first child in almost a decade. Second, it was her first boy. And third, it was the first child for her second husband. So I was shocked when my family announced -- at my shower -- that my cousin would not be getting another shower for her new addition. When her in-laws threw a shower anyway, half of my family refused to attend or send a gift.

In my opinion, that kind of behavior is absolutely tacky. But I do understand where my relatives are coming from... to a point.

Baby C is my second child in less than three years. When my family hosted the aforementioned shower, DH & I did not know if G would be a boy or a girl, so just about everything we received -- including the big, pricey items -- were gender-neutral. In going through G's old stuff, I've found I can reuse just about everything other than her clothes. And even that isn't a problem; I have four great friends (all of whom are done having children) who gave me their sons' entire wardrobe, meaning I have far more boys clothes than I ever had for my little girl.

Sure, there were some things I simply wanted: new bedding (had to be in Duke blue, to go with C's basketball-themed room), new diapers (cloth this time; look at me, saving the environment money) and some new toys (purchased at consignment, because I don't do retail anymore). I was fortunate to be able to get some things for free, or next to nothing. The latest review I did for CSN Stores paid for most of my diaper bag. I gift certificate to Dali Decals (won from a fellow blogger last summer) along with a timely Group meant I got all C's wall decor for $1.50. And my addiction to Swag Bucks earned me more than $100 in Amazon.com gift cards, enough for me to purchase new crib sheets, a breathable bumper and crib skirt for free.

I had two friends ask if they could throw me a shower. I was flattered and honored, but I politely declined. It just didn't feel right to me. So, here are my rules for a second shower:

#1: Children must be at least five years apart-- or a far enough distance apart that you've discarded all your old baby stuff because it was worn out, had gone out of style or was taking up too much closet space in your home.

#2: Children must be of different genders (this rule is waived if children are a decade or more apart).

#3: The same person shouldn't host a shower for the same woman twice. That's a rule that shouldn't be broken whether you're talking about a second baby shower or a second bridal shower. Spread the love around!

#4: A second shower should be more understated than the first. For example, I've been to second showers that have a theme -- such as a diaper shower (as these are always a useful gift) or a food shower (which I think are a wonderful idea for a mom who will be coping with both a newborn and a young child). But having a full-blown second shower for a mom having her second girl in 18 months? I think that's over the top.

#5: All the above rules are waived if (A) the child is the first for either parent, (B) the parents have moved since having their first child, meaning this new baby will be showered by a completely new group of friends, or (C) there are special circumstances -- you always need flexibility to party, even with rules!

What do you think about my rules?

Modify mine, or add your own!

We're broke.

Between getting used to life as a single-income family, paying my hefty deductible for Baby C's pregnancy and budgeting so G can go to preschool and ballet classes next fall, money is tight these days. I feel like I know where every single penny of DH's salary goes.

Since my dad is also my tax preparer (a job he also does professionally), DH & I are at the bottom of his "tax to-do" list. Most years, we are lucky if we file our paperwork by April 1st. This year, I know I won't be filing until the week of the 11th, just days before the deadline (which is Monday, April 18th this year instead of the traditional April 15th deadline).

But that hasn't stopped me from mentally spending our refund already!

Not that our refund is big -- in fact, my dad already warned us that it's our smallest refund in years because of my decision to quit working. But when you're living on the financial edge, even a small amount helps.

Our Tax Refund Plan:
1) Hospital bill-- Our top priority is paying the hospital bill for Baby C's delivery. Thankfully, we've already paid (out of pocket, yuck) my OB for all my pre- and post-natal care, but it still leaves us with a gap of several hundred dollars before we meet our out-of-pocket maximum for the year.

2) Carpet cleaning-- If there's any money left from our tax refund after we pay the hospital, it will go to a team of professional carpet cleaners. Over the past two and a half years, G has done a number on our carpet, particularly in our family room. It's spotted with juice stains that, no matter how soon or how hard we scrub, just won't go away. It's disgusting, and a source of embarrassment for me anytime we have people over. We need them cleaned before Baby C arrives, otherwise the poor kid won't have anywhere to do tummy time.

3) Tree trimming-- We have a tree in our backyard that stands at the intersection of three property lines. No one wants to take responsibility for this tree, which tips precariously in the direction of our sunroom. Fortunately, one of my best friend's husband owns a tree-trimming business and can give us a great rate... Unfortunately, the tree's massive size means even his steepest discount will still cost us a few hundred dollars. So there goes the rest of any refund we may receive.

What are your plans for your tax refund? Are you a spender or a saver?

I suck when it comes to anything related to the kitchen.

Scratch that--I'm good at cleaning the kitchen, but since I've sworn off all domestic chores in an effort to live a more spontaneous, joyful life, the kitchen doesn't see much of the old Lysol and microfiber rag.

But I did find myself spending some time--far more time that I'd planned, in fact--in the kitchen this weekend. Why?

Well, G has taken a liking to cooking. Bizarre, right, since I almost never cook?

DH does cook, quite well, I should add. He has an amazing ability to throw together a gourmet-quality meal using just Bisquik, whatever almost-moldy cheese is in our fridge, chicken and salad dressing. G loves to grab her little stool and stand on it precariously, peering over the edge of the counter while DH explains how to make a red wine reduction sauce.

But DH was at work this weekend, and I was on my own... meaning that when G asked to make oatmeal chocolate-chip cookies (just like the kind Little Red Riding Minnie carries to her grandmother's house in our Disney story book), it fell solely on my very non-Julia-Child-like shoulders to make her sugar-craving dreams come true.

The project started out badly, since we didn't have eggs, chocolate chips or oatmeal in the house, but that's nothing a trip to the grocery store can't solve. Once we returned home, G and I donned our darling (and matching!) little aprons (why is it that women who don't cook always have at least three aprons? I have more kitchen aprons right now than shoes that fit my swollen little feet...). She pulled up her stool as I pulled out the mixing bowls, and we got to work.

Everything seemed to be going fine... although I did notice the batter was a little runny. Actually, it was really runny. Even after I'd added the flour, oatmeal and chocolate chips, it was still far more liquid than solid.

"Well," I said to my inexperienced inner chef, "That must be right, I've followed the recipe exactly."

Oh, did I say, "exactly"? What I meant to say is, "Not at all." But naturally, I didn't realize what had gone wrong until much, much later.

Undeterred, I scooped spoonfuls of the liquidy mess onto the cookie sheet and slid it into the over, where it proceeded to completely liquefy under the 350 degree heat, running off said cookie sheet and onto the burners below, which resulted in a horrendous smell and the setting off of every smoke detector in my house (which, then, resulted in ADT calling us to make sure everything was all right... technically, it was, but what had I done to those darn cookies? The woman on the other end of the phone wasn't sure, but wished me luck).

I poured what was left of the batter back into the mixing bowl, staring at it with a mixture of anger, confusion and frustration. I still had an impatient two year old--who didn't understand that you have to MAKE cookies (apparently she would have been just as happy with me buying a box of them at the store, go figure)--at my side, asking me when she could eat. So, I poured a little more oatmeal, chocolate chips and sugar (why sugar? I'm not sure, it made sense at the time) into the bowl, mixed it up, then put it back in the oven.

At this point, the chocolate chips had all but melted in the hot batter, leaving us not with oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, but with simply chocolate oatmeal cookies. They didn't exactly float my boat, but G seems to like them (she's already snuck too off the counter... reminder to mom, put the cookie plate up on a higher shelf), and that's really all that matters.

So what did go wrong with that recipe?

Well you see, in an effort not to send my daughter into a sugar-induced coma, I decided to make just a half batch of Minnie's famous oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. But I didn't remember to cut the recipe in half until I got to the solid ingredients... meaning I had twice as much butter and sugar as I did oatmeal and flour.

Yup, I think I am the reason they make boxed cookies. Girl Scouts, here I come.

What's your biggest kitchen blunder?

I was just informed that my daughter is no longer living in our house.

In fact, I also just learned that I am no longer living in my house either.

And DH? He's outta here too.

We've all been replaced... by princesses.

As I was sitting down at the computer desk to write a post this morning (and truly, having an awful case of writer's block), G came up to me clad in what has now been her standard in-house uniform: a yellow tutu and flower headdress I wore in my first ballet recital in 1986 and a pair of Cinderella glass slippers I bought for $3 at a consignment sale. When I asked her how she was doing, she replied:

"I'm not G. I'm Princess Sleeping Beauty."
She went on to tell me that I am not mommy; I am Princess Ariel. Daddy is not daddy; he is Princess Jasmine. Our dog? She's Snow White.

G will no longer answer to her given name -- unless I preface it with the word "Princess." When DH isn't a princess, he's (naturally) prince charming, the man Princess Sleeping Beauty (aka my daughter) is going to marry. G told me that once they get married -- which to her means they dance, because that is how Disney seems to symbolize the joining of two souls in holy matrimony -- that I will have to sleep in her room while she sleeps in mine; she also plans to evict me from my seat at the foot of the kitchen table. No word yet on whether I'll have to give up my wedding ring (I hope not, because right now it is stuck on my swollen fingers -- thanks pregnancy!).

What G doesn't realize is that while she may be a princess, I am definitely a Queen... hello? the reigning Queen of England and I share a first name; that is no coincidence! And no one is evicting this Queen from her castle!

I heard it one too many times over the past few weeks, and it finally got to me:

"You're too small to be __ weeks along!"

It's situations like these
why others should watch what they say
to hyper-hormonal pregnant women!

The fact of the matter is, I've now gained roughly the same amount of weight with Baby C as I had up to this point with G, but the weight is distributed very differently... and it's not in my belly. I spent some time comparing pictures of myself at 33 weeks with G and how I look this week, and honestly, I don't look like someone halfway through her third trimester. I'm about as big -- belly-wise -- right now as I was at 22 weeks with G. Combine that with everyone's comments (from the lady on the elliptical next to me at the gym to strangers at the grocery store), and I got paranoid.

So when I woke up yesterday morning and realized, "Hmmm, I haven't felt Baby C move since yesterday," I was worried. When a few more hours passed and I still felt nothing, I started to panic. DH, G and I were on our way to do some grocery shopping when I expressed my concerns to him, and he drove right past the Harris Teeter and directly to my OB (did I mention he's my conscience and my hero?).

When I told the nurse what was going on, she asked me how long it had been since I felt the baby move. I honestly wasn't sure... I had been so busy the day before, and I didn't even remember feeling him move at all -- which is unusual for my little guy, because he's usually a spitfire of energy inside of me. The nurses all got that "Uh oh" look on their faces and brought me back immediately.

After forcing me to swig down a Pepsi (which gave me caffeine-induced tremors the rest of the day), the nurses hooked me up to a fetal heartbeat monitor for an NST (non-stress test). As soon as they hooked me up, I heard Baby C's heartbeat, nice and steady around 135 beats per minute. But he still wasn't moving. In fact, it took about 10 minutes on the machine before C started some feeble movements; then, the caffeine must have kicked in, because he started going bonkers in there. My fears were alleviated.

The nurses told me I did the right thing by coming in; they said that at this point in a pregnancy, any major change in fetal movement like what I'd experienced over the previous 24 hours is cause enough for concern. They also told me that, like a car in the shop, most women who come in with the same concerns I had end up having no problems the moment they walk into the doctor's office.

I'm hoping this is the one and only "scare" related to this pregnancy... because it was more than I could take! I spent the rest of the day feeling drained, emotionally and physically.

What was the biggest scare of your pregnancy/pregnancies?

This is something I really didn't want to write about on this blog. It's something that left me feeling embarrassed, untethered and like a failure.

So then why am I sharing it anyway?

Because I'm pretty sure I'm not the only person to ever feel this way and--what the heck--misery wants company.

It all began when G was born; no, I'm not making that up, the source of this shame really does go back that far. When she was born in September--smack on the wrong side of the "public school admissions cusp," I concocted a plan:

There was no way my genius kid (because doesn't every parent think their child is a genius?) was going to start kindergarten when she was almost six years old.
My not-so-secret plan drew a lot of ire from my friends, whose children's birth dates also lie perilously close to the haphazard line drawn in the sand by our local public school district. Some friends thought I'd be pushing G; others saw its merit, but didn't think it would work. Others supported me to my face, but I'm pretty sure laughed about my rigid determination behind my back.

The first part of the plan encompassed G's first three years; it involved exposing her to as many wonderful things as possible, giving her the life experiences I thought would shape a toddler into a fuller person. On this level, I think I've been fairly successful.

The second part of the plan is where I've failed her miserably. A child of Montessori school myself, I thought it would be the perfect environment for her first taste of formal education (if you can ever call a Montessori education "formal"--it's kind of an oxymoron). I thought the "go at your own pace, pursue your own interest" mindset of a Montessori would give G the best shot at entering kindergarten a year ahead of where the public schools would want to place her based solely on age.

It was all working out fine... until G got rejected from the Montessori to which we'd applied.

The reason? She was (and I am not making this up), in the words of the headmaster, "Too advanced."

Now, my kid is not a savant; she probably isn't even the genius I make her out to be. But, because of what I'm sure is a photographic memory (it's not that far-fetched; I am also blessed/cursed with this "skill"), she has had an easy time memorizing her numbers, letters, shapes, colors, etc. Apparently, that is what made her "too advanced" for the two-year-old classroom next fall at our local Montessori (which was unwilling to budge on it's September 1st cutoff and move her up to the three-year-old room). It left my daughter with no place to go.

Shame. Guilt. Fear. Failure. I felt awash in negative emotions, most of them on G's behalf. There she was, happily playing with her "Little People Barn," completely unaware of the travesty of educational injustice that had just been executed against her. Me? I was drenched in my own tears, bawling like a toddler who'd just been told (for the 18th time), "No, we are not going to the zoo today."

Haven't we all--at some point--internalized emotions on behalf of our children, even when those children don't care (or understand, or even know) what is going on? We take things so personally for them, thinking we're doing something for them, when really, our own selfish motives are behind it in the first place.

Ultimately, we solved the preschool dilemma. We selected a small, Christian preschool much closer to our house for next fall. The main reason for our choice? G loves the playground (and yes, I did let her make the decision... well, I let her decision play a role in mine).

Have you ever internalized an emotional situation "on behalf" of your kids, even when they didn't give a hoot?

When I left my job, my goal wasn't just to be a stay at home mom.

I planned to do anything but stay at home. I planned to whisk G away to exciting play dates, trips to the museum, picnics in the park (probably not a good idea in mid-winter, but this is the South), visits to her grandparents.

Instead, I've been caught up in the daily minutiae of life. Laundry, grocery shopping, potty training--they've all kept us at home, exactly where I didnt' plan to be.

How did I let this happen? How did my perfect plan go so awry? (Well, you know what they say about the best-laid plans...)

I'd spent weeks wracking my brain for an answer when--in the middle of another third trimester-induced sleepless night--it dawned on me:

I was taking everything way too seriously.
I'm pretty sure an elderly woman on her death bed never said, "I wish I'd spent more time vacuuming the floors..."

I'm pretty sure a retired grandfather, suffering from Alzheimer's, never said, "I wish I could remember all the good times I had staying late at work..."

I'm pretty sure a young mother, just diagnosed with breast cancer, never said, "I'm scared I'll never have time to potty train my child..."

Yet, I've spent so much of the last five months taking myself too seriously. I have let myself believe that having the "perfect" life meant having a perfectly clean home, a perfectly organized check book, a perfectly potty trained two year old (can you tell I've spent a lot of time with her in the bathroom recently?).

NONE OF IT MATTERS.

Life, lived too seriously, is a waste. Life, void of spontaneity, is a tragedy. Life, without the little things that give us joy, is a mistake.

I'm done focusing on the mundane tasks I think I "must" do. Heck, if I thought my daughter was more important than my career, why isn't she more important than unloading the dishwasher? Making the bed? Cleaning up the playroom?

Instead, I'm going to devote my attention to her. We are going to grab life by the horns and, housework be damned, do whatever the hell we want.

There will be no time for cleaning the toilets, because we will be at the park!

We will be eating leftovers for dinner tonight, because we will be baking cookies instead!

Thank you very much, Ricky Martin--we are going to start living la vida loca... won't you join us?

(Just not at my house... it's probably going to be a mess...)

What of life's "must do's" do you find yourself getting bogged down in?

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There's an old saying that goes...

Make new friends,
But keep the old:
One is silver
And the other gold.
Well, I'm turning that phrase on its head.

Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with having friends from all periods of your life. It's kind of like a road map of where you've been and where you're going. But my days of collecting friends--like I would souvenirs on vacation--are officially over.

There was a time in my life when I was accused (rightfully so) of choosing friends based on quantity over quality. I think a big reason for that was college and, more specifically, my sorority. My Greek affiliation gave me access to 120 "best friends," girls I could count on to be there to study with, go to the gym with, room with, party with, etc. It was like a smorgasbord, a buffet with wide ranging options that never seemed to run out. Hmmm, do I want the party friend tonight, or the go out with coffee friend instead? Choices, choices.

Last week, I was browsing through my MOPS magazine (anybody else belong to that amazing group? What a blessing it's been to my life, and I hope to yours as well), and came across an article on relationships. In this article, the author divided her relationships into a series of circles embedded into each other, so they looked kind of like Target's logo. It got me thinking, who is in my inner circle and why?

My first circle: My first circle would have to be devoted to my immediate family--DH, G, Baby C and my parents. These are the five individuals on the planet on whom I rely the most; if something happened to them, I'd not only be crushed, I'd be granted immediate access to the nearest mental hospital... because losing them would most definitely send me over the edge.

My second circle: This circle includes my very best friends, the girls (what a euphemism that is--with most of my friends a good 5-10 years older than me, we're hardly "girls" anymore) that "keep me real" and know the real me. They include my three best girlfriends from college, who--though we might go months between visits--always know what I'm thinking, usually before I'm actually thinking it. It also includes four women who are instrumental in my day to day life; we see each other usually at least once a week, email multiple times weekly, and text almost daily just to see what's up. They're my lifeline to the world outside my home.

My third circle: This circle includes a lot of the people I've met tangentially because of the people in my first two cirlces: friends of friends, their relatives, DH's coworkers and their spouses. These are people with whom I truly enjoy spending time, but just don't always have the time to spend. However, this is the group that adds a tremendous amount of color to my life, because they are so varied and so outrageously unique.

I was explaining my "cirlces" to a few women (who happen to be in the "third circle") just the other day. One of them--a friend who's nearing 40--completely understood what I was talking about; the other, who is significantly younger, thought I was crazy. I find that the younger a person is, the more likely they are to "collect" friendships as I once did. I think it's the elementary school mindset of sending a Valentine's card to everyone in your class, or inviting everyone in your playgroup to your birthday party.

Not so long ago, there were more of these layers in my life, and I felt overwhelmed trying to keep up with all of them. There were--literally--never enough hours in the day. I kept these individuals as a part of my life, quite simply, because I did value the quantity of friendships. It was like having a closet full of shoes, some of which I knew I'd never wear, cute as they may be. They just hurt my feet.

Which friends/family have earned a spot in your "circles of life"?

Stop for a minute and think--what is the most wasted space in your house?

It could be a closet. I have a few friends whose closets are piled so high with junk that there's no room for the coats or extra linens you'd typically find inside.

It could be a spare bedroom. For years, my dad has been forced to locate his home office in a chilly corner of the basement, which not one, not two, but three upstairs bedrooms contain beds in which no one ever sleeps and dressers in which no clothes are ever stored.

In my house, the most wasted space is our dining room. Or rather, where our dining room furniture is currently located.

A few years ago, we added a sunroom on to our home (the construction debacle--and the contractor who left us with a 3-foot deep hole in our backyard 37 weeks into my first pregnancy--is another story for another day). Originally, that sunroom was supposed to be a playroom for G... but it's a little too hot in the summer and a little too cold in the winter, so it's never quite worked out that way.

So a few months ago, one of my girlfriend's suggested swapping rooms. She mentioned moving our sunroom furniture into our dining room, and our dining room furniture into our sunroom. It seemed like a brilliant idea; I mean, I think in the 4.5 years we've lived in this house, we've eaten in our formal dining room all of 6 times (and that's being generous).

Even though I was four months into this pregnancy, I helped DH carry our solid glass table top from our dining room to our sunroom, and the oversized couch from the sunroom to the dining room. It's been a wild success; G is much happier playing in her new "playroom" than she ever was in her old.

But it's got me thinking... now, we never use the sunroom. Our dining room furniture just sits there, begging to be used. It looks like a page out of "Southern Living," which would be great if I had enough room in the rest of the house to have a "show piece" room. I definitely do not.

I'm starting to think the concept of a formal dining room is obsolete in today's America. We already have an eat-in kitchen; do we really need two different rooms in which to dine? I understand back in the day when American families ate dinner together every single night--it was probably nice to have a "special place" to eat on holidays and birthdays. But now, so many American families have odd schedules; in our house, DH's work prevents him from eating dinner at home three or four nights a week. And for many holidays and birthdays, we simply choose to go out to eat.

A realtor will tell you that a house doesn't show as well without a formal dining room... but I'm not so sure. To me, it's just an anecdote on American history, outdated in the modern home. What do you think?

What's the most wasted space in your home, and why?