My three year old daughter is incredibly cute. I’m not biased or anything. Just see for yourself.

See? I told you so.

Not only is she beautiful on the outside, but she’s an incredibly sweet little girl as well. And smart. Also? Funny. Truly funny – not just “Oh, she’s so cute so I’ll laugh at anything” funny either.

I love all these qualities about her. She’s definitely got a strong combination going for herself.

Sometimes I look at her and I can just see the wheels turning in her head. Then she’ll burst out with some random thought. I love those moments. They give me an opportunity to glimpse into her little brain and get an idea of what she’s thinking about all day.

Some of the random thoughts she’s said lately:

• Mommy, you’re my best friend.
• When I grow up, I want to be a detective.
• Daddy’s a funny guy, isn’t he mommy?
• You know what abuela? I’m from the United States.

They all make sense to me and my husband. And all show different characteristics of baby girl: love, aspirations, admiration, and culture.

She continually surprises me and never ceases to amaze me. And I just want to eat her all up. But, then she’d tell me “Mommmyyy, we DON’T eat peopleeee!”

What craziness do you love about your children? Let’s share some positive memories in the comments to get away from the everyday aggravations for a little bit.

“Brian’s funny.”

“Oh yea?”

“Yea, I like him.”

“Do you?”

“Uh hmm. He’s my boy-friend.”

“Your what?”

“My bo-y-friend.”

“Is he? And why do you say that?”

“He was at the playground. And I asked him if he wanted to hold my hand. And heeee saaaaid YES!”

“So that’s why he’s your boyfriend?”

“Uh huh.”

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Little Cesar is always in time out. Every other day when I walk in to drop off my daughter, there he is at the front of their classroom, sitting by himself at the table. He’s adorable with his little chubby cheeks. Even in time out. And I feel bad for him.

This is the same kid that lied on my daughter’s second day of preschool and said she had been bad. He always talks to me or my husband. You can tell he just wants to talk to someone.

On this particular day, little Cesar looked up at me from his time out chair and said, “[something I didn't understand]…Brian’s girlfriend.”

“Who’s Brian’s girlfriend?”

At this point, my daughter came up to me and showed me something, so little Cesar sat for a second thinking.

Then he said, “Her! She’s Brian’s girlfriend!!”

And then I hear “Yeeeee-aaaaa!” from the corner and see little Ms. Megan (who’s sitting on the potty bench) is the one being little Cesar’s back-up homegirl.

Seriously? The fact that my daughter thinks she’s Brian’s girlfriend is a known fact amongst the other little boys and girls??!!

What in the world is going on at this preschool?

If this is the crap I have to deal with at THREE (almost four), I fear greatly for the teenage years.

In fact, I think I’m gonna just lock her up soon.

*All names have been changed cause I don’t want their mommies to beat me up if they ever find this blog.*

I needed it.

I needed to come home last night after a long day at work and just sit down. Sit down with my baby girl and share some applesauce. “With two spoons mom! So we can say cheers!”

“Claro que sí, mama.” Of course.

While we shared our applesauce, we listened to dance music. And it really was dance music, like what they play in the clubs.

In the car ride home, we had danced. “What’s the name of this song mom?” I don’t know, I said. I told her the type of music was called reggae, though. And that was good enough. So we bopped our heads in sync to the rhythm.

When her daddy came home she told him, “We were dancing to reggae dad!”

Pride. My girl has pride. Everything she does, she tells us proudly.

The evening continued smoothly. We danced some more – to a special request of I Like to Move It. I think it’s probably her favorite song at the moment.

We played. She read her Leapfrog Tag Little Mermaid book. And before we knew it, it was bath time.

But, this time it was different. There was no rush. No madness to get it all done before the bath. Even the bath itself was a long one compared to most nights. And while daddy bathed her, I sat back and watched a bit. I contemplated.

And being the little princess that she is, when she got out, she told me her hair needed to be combed.

So I combed her hair. Do you remember the feeling you get when someone else brushes your hair? Maybe it’s just me, but it always makes me feel so peaceful. Except that this time, I was on the giving-end. And it too was peaceful.

It was a good end to the day. A great way to say good night to my love.

I needed it.

Did I ever tell you about the day my daughter was born?

I’ve told the story so many times in this past month that I feel like I should tell you as well.

Now, this is going to be a bit long, but I feel you need to know all of the information so that you can get a true feeling of what went on that day.

A bit of background story first…

My doctor swore up and down that my daughter was in position and ready to be born. This was around 36 weeks or so.

A short while later, I was sitting at work one day and just wasn’t feeling my baby move as much as she normally did. You have to understand, that my baby was *super* active in my belly. So much so, that my husband nicknamed her Samurai-J, like the cartoon Samurai Jack.

Since she was not moving as much that day, I called the doctor. After once again doing the pelvic exam and stating she was in position and he could “feel her head,” he sent me to the hospital for a non-stress test. They were not able to get a proper reading on this test, so they decided to send me for a sonogram, just to be sure.

Well, the sonogram was fine, and baby girl was good. Whew! What a relief.

So, I casually ask the tech, “And, she’s in position and all looks good?” To which he makes a face, turns his head and says, “No…actually, she’s breech.”

WHAT?

You’re kidding, right? But, the doctor said he could feel the head?

Shit! That means…

Yup, by the time I was out of the sonogram room and heading back up to the nurse’s station, the nurse confirmed that “You’ll be needing to have a c-section since your baby’s breech.”

After I got over the initial shock, anger, and disappointment (because, yes, I actually wanted to experience normal childbirth for my first baby), I accepted what had to be so that she would be healthy. And no, I wasn’t about to try to deliver her vaginally when breech.

I was scheduled for a c-section on a Tuesday. The Wednesday night before the day, I began to have pains. Because the pain was low and was also in my back and came and went, I assumed they were contractions. I rode it out through the night because it wasn’t horrible and not very often. I woke up on Thursday with the same pain, so I figured it’d be safe to call my GYN, who sent me to the hospital.

The hospital was unable to track any contractions and I was pretty sure they were going to send me home (or rather I thought I’d be heading to work). But, the nurse came back in saying, “We’re going to go ahead and deliver this baby today! Doc said you’re close enough and rather than send you home for the weekend with pain, we’ll just do it now.”

Uh, what? But, I’m not prepared. My bags are at home. My mother isn’t here yet!

I’M NOT MENTALLY READY YET!!!

Of course, I had a few hours before the surgery, which gave my husband time to run home for our bags and gave my mom time to arrive and all that good stuff.

Now here’s where things really get good…

When the anesthesia was administered from waist down, the doctor made sure I was numb. I swear he pushed his knee down on me.

I confirmed that no, I didn’t feel anything. I was good to go.

My husband wasn’t in the room because they have some ridiculous rule about him having to be out for the anesthesia, but they “would call him right in.”

And then the doctor cut. Because my doctor was a trigger-happy, hyperactive doctor who didn’t wait for the nurses to call in my husband.

And.Then.I.Felt.It.

I felt him cut. I felt pain. Oh so much pain.

I literally felt the knife cut into me.

So, I screamed. I screamed like I’ve never screamed before. I screamed things like, “Get my husband in here!” And oh yea, “STOP!” and other profanities I’m sure. It’s hard to remember exactly.

I was asked, “Are you sure you’re feeling pain and not just me tugging? Because you’ll feel me working in there, but shouldn’t feel actual pain.”

Hmmm…I’m pretty sure that’s pain alright! Now, get my husband!

And, as my husband walked in, his first sight was me laying naked on a table and crying hysterically.

Of course, now I would have to go under general anesthesia, and my husband once again had to step out of the room.

Down came the mask on my face and the next thing I remember was me being rolled down the hall towards the recovery room.

How is she? Did you see her? Is she ok?

Yes, I saw her. She’s fine.

But, were you there? Did you get to see her come out?

Yes, I saw her.

Is she ok? Where is she?

I was a rambling, bumbling fool who was 1/4 awake from the anesthesia. My husband says I asked him the same questions about 5 times.

He later filled me in on what happened while I was out. He walked in right as they were pulling her out.

He heard her first cries. Saw her grabbing at the cords and giving the nurses hell while they cleaned her up.

And, I did not.

Which, still makes me sad to this day.

But, all is well and I have a healthy baby girl.

One day we’ll record this and make a video, because it’s way funnier to see us act it out.

Of course, my husband tells the story *a little* different than I do. His version involves much more anger and many more curse words.

He says he’s “never been so happy and so angry at the same time.”

I concur.