When we moved last weekend, we didn’t set up the crib in Poppy’s room. We set up a twin bed, returned the crib to its rightful owner and crossed our fingers.

And it worked.

Poppy made the move to her “big-girl bed” with no problem at all. She’s been falling asleep with very little trouble at night, and she hasn’t gotten up to play in the middle of the night or the wee hours of the morning.

The one hitch in our collective giddy-up has been naptime. The only naps she took last week were in the car. She was content to sit in her bed for about 30 minutes, but there was no sleeping going on. Not in the middle of the day. Not when Daddy was home, just waiting to Play!Play!Play!

Today, though, is Daddy’s first day at his new job. And just like that, the nap is back. Maybe I should feel bad about that — the fact that the prospect of an afternoon with me isn’t exciting enough to override Poppy’s need to nap.

It’s hard to feel bad when you get to take a nap of your very own, though.

Poppy and I just had one of those outings. The kind where the other moms look at you with pity and the less-sympathetic scornfully avoid looking at you at all.

To Poppy’s credit, our outings are rarely traumatic. Today, though, all was not well in Mudville.

Our first stop was the grocery store. For nothing more than half a gallon of milk. Should have been quick and painless. It was quick, but it wasn’t exactly painless.

At other stores, I don’t hesitate to take Pi for a spin in the fancy race-car shopping carts. This particular store’s carts are more bumper car than NASCAR, though, so I try to avoid them. Otherwise, I end up crashing into every display in the store.

So I tried to put Poppy into a regular cart, and she spotted the “Red Cart.” And she screamed, and her little legs turned into iron, and she would not sit down. As I was trying to bend her legs, an older woman came over to offer her advice: “Oh, just give her the red cart. Poor, pretty little thing.”

I snapped her cane in half and lugged Screaming Poppy through the store.

Then we went to the post office, where they do not have race-car carts. But they do have an ample supply of People Who Shoot You Dirty Looks When Your Toddler Collapses in a Fit of Woe.

I think naptime might come early today.

Amy and Rachel have been asking for Pregnant Me pictures. I finally asked Rockford to take some pictures this evening, and this was the only one that was even halfway decent. (That may have been because I was doing the chicken dance at the time.)

The top is one of those ridiculous baby doll dresses from Old Navy. I bought it when I was far less pregnant, but it was still way too short to wear as a dress. And I don’t have long legs. For the record, I’m against this style. But it does make a mighty comfortable maternity top.