Feelings, Nothing More Than Feelings

Pregnancy-wise, time has started to stand still. I have a sneaking suspicion I am going to be pregnant forever.

Meanwhile, the kiddies were engaged in an amicable round of Let's Play Trains early this morning, which basically consists of each person holding his or her own line of five to six trains, freight and coal cars and cabooses included, going 'round and 'round the kitchen table. Banter includes water stops and animals on the track mishaps and wrecks that need the help of a trusty (and cranky) crane. Cordial excuse me's and trade you this Percy for that coal tender and how many minutes with that Thomas are uttered.

And then someone's Gordon bumps a freight train full of zoo animals and all niceties are thrown to the wayside. A red James gets tossed across the table, hands go to smackin', voices go from sweet to eardrum-popping shrill in seconds flat, and the name-calling begins.

You Poopie Duck Cracker. This is Stella's latest dagger in Heath's heart.

That's not my name. My name is Heath, he screamed with self-righteous indignation, having only half an hour ago called her Butt Cracker when she dared to cuddle his Fire Fighter Curious George.

But I was pleased in that moment that he chose to use his words, and I boldly encouraged him to tack on the statement, Name-calling hurts my feelings.

That hurts my feelings, he parroted.

She stopped re-aligning her row of trains, looked him in the eye and shouted, You're not your feelings, Heef!

Heath considered this for a moment, then silently resumed his own line of train driving.

If she can work out the yelling-kink, Stella may have a great future in counseling.