Clutching Boxes

Twenty-Nine Weeks : Heavy Light-as-air Hearted

2012-01-23T20:42:00.002-06:00

I've been having one of those days.

For weeks.

I don't want to say it's depression, but calling it the blues seems a little childish. Whatever the classification or vocabulary, it was there and all around me and I barely recognized that I had another thing brewing in my body. It started out small; bed rest way back in early December. I'm not the most social person on the planet, but I do like to get out and see friends and family and travel. I like wandering around Target. I'll admit that I find my inner peace on long walks, whether it is somewhere in nature or simply on the pavement around the neighborhood.

Suddenly, I felt like I was staring at four walls; the same four walls over and over. Robert brought down a TV to put in our bedroom. I watched Netflix and flipped through endless pages of books. I would open the blinds every day and get dressed to try to ward off the negativity.

But it slipped in anyways.

It's been bad recently. I've been sour and felt down, and although I felt so lonely, I didn't want to be held close. I was a (big) ball of contradiction.

I went to a girl's dinner Monday night with some friends I hadn't seen in forever. And Wednesday, Kelly came over and treated me to a day of "Operation Beautify Elizabeth" wherein she not only colored my locks, but trimmed them, cleaned up my brows and even painted my toenails. I was feeling so much better.

Dress: Michael Kors (non-maternity)

And yet, so lonely.

Saturday of this week, Robert had planned to do yard work and clean the house, and we talked about having a friend over who is watching his three kids solo while his wife is out of town. I offered to make a simple dinner for all of us. Robert had a weird reaction to it, but let me charge forward with planning. I kept reassuring him it was going to be easy to fix, and I wouldn't exhaust myself with work.

Robert told me that he didn't want me doing all the work on Saturday, so he insisted I do part of the prep work on Friday. Saturday morning came and there was nothing much to do. We made pancakes and played with Evan, and talked about plans. Robert could sense I was still struggling a bit with it, whatever it was, and offered to take me out to lunch. We went out and it was nice, but I was tired.

When we returned home, I laid down for a nap. I was in a deep sleep; two fans whirling air around me and tucked in with my Snoogle. Robert came and patted me awake, "Come with me for a second." I sat up. Shit, I thought, I slept late and his friend is here and dinner isn't ready. I sprang up (as fast as a twenty-nine-week pregnant-with-twins lady springs) and Robert said, "take your time, put on pants." I apologized for being so sleepy and lazy and popped open the bedroom door. It was still really bright out. I turned back to look at the clock. It blinked 2:15.

I froze. What was going on?

I poked my head out and saw some flowers on the living room table. "Are people here?" I asked Robert. He smiled and kissed my forehead. I rounded the column on the stairs and saw it. Saw them. All of them. A lot of them. My friends. My family. All there, waiting for me in the entry way.

And I cried.

Me, the girl who makes it impossible to do surprises and has declined offers of baby showers had the best damn baby shower, ever.

I was speechless. There were friends from online. And church. And the neighborhood. And family from here. And family from far. And friends of family.

The thing is; I've had this skeleton in my closet since February of 2010. I can tell you today, but I couldn't have told you yesterday.

When I was pregnant with Evan, Kelly wanted to throw me a baby shower. Robert and I had struggled to get pregnant, and my pregnancy was hard. Kelly was living out of town at the time, but her parents lived close by to me, and she had set the party for there. She invited my friends and had this elaborately beautiful buffet of food and cute decor.

And two people came. Three if you count Kelly. And five if you count my mother and my mother-in-law. I was humiliated.

I enjoyed the time with my three friends and ate cake, but I hurt. It wasn't about gifts. It wasn't anything physical; it was feeling alone. I felt that I didn't have support and love. That no one cared enough about me to show up and eat cake. I felt so unsupported and lonely and friendless. I felt like a loser. A failure. I felt as though no one cared I was having a baby. Whether those were accurate feelings or not is not the point; that is how I felt.

There was this raw undercurrent of emotion that stayed with me for a long time. I cried about that day on rare, unrelated occasions. I never said anything to anyone other than Robert how I felt so friendless and sad. I let a bunch of circumstances and bad timing affect how I felt. I carried that with me since then.

When I got pregnant this time, people who knew I had such a small turn-out at a previous shower offered to throw me one. I declined. I didn't want to feel that way ever again, and the best route I knew to take was avoid a party at all costs.

Not satisfied with that answer, my friends approached Robert. He thought it was a wonderful idea, but stated, "if, and only if, there is a good turn out." Again, not about the gifts. It's about the support. The people. The village of love you need and surround yourself with when you're vulnerable and need help and have lots of figuring out to do.

And yesterday was exactly that. I hugged so many friends and smiled and was patted by dozens of hands. I ate and drank and laughed. And these babies? These two wonderful little miracles still growing inside were celebrated and loved on and spoiled. People brought gifts for Evan, too.

My house was this loud, bright, chaotic frenzy of friendship and celebration yesterday. It was definitely one of the best days of my life.

After everyone left, way after the sun set, Robert pulled me close. I cried. I had this deep, emotional release of everything I'd held in for two years and in that instant, that moment when I peered into my front entry way and saw dozens of smiling faces just waiting to celebrate my family, all that hurt and sorrow and self-consciousness was replaced. It was disintegrated into thin air and disappeared over conversations and smiles and hugs.

"You deserved all that," Robert said. I shook my head. I don't like the word deserve. It's tricky and finicky.

"You needed that," Robert said. "I did," I replied. I stayed there in his arms, feeling so calm. "I feel so loved" I said after a long pause.

And I am. And I know it. And I don't know adequate words to thank people for what they did for me. Because love? It can be hard to come by sometimes. But knowing that I'm not alone, that I'm not forgotten, and that there are so many people out there wanting and wishing the best for me was the best gift I could have ever received.

You don't want to know how far I had to bend over to see my feet and what was caught on them.

Twenty-Eight Weeks : Words Are Delicious

2012-01-15T14:17:00.003-06:00

A long time ago, back when I was still wearing pants with zippers and drank martinis, I said something dumb. Shocking, I know.

When Robert and I went to Yosemite to get married, it was a rough trip. In between the flights there, we learned one of our dogs had a seizure at the kennel and they weren't sure they could save her. I remember sitting on the next leg of the flight, crying and upset that one of my dogs had died. I was already stressed out enough about traveling and making sure we had everything for the wedding (newsflash: we didn't. Robert didn't have suit pants). (Minor spoiler: the dog was fine. It seems she either faked the whole thing or it really wasn't a big deal. What was a big deal? The vet bill we paid upon our return two weeks later.)

When we landed in Fresno, we went to pick up our car; a nice little sporty convertible we'd confirmed the day before. We went to the rental counter and checked in, and the associate made a tsk-tsk noise. She was sorry to inform us, but they didn't have a convertible after all.

Or any fun cars.

Or any regular cars.

They had one car: a mini-van.

My stress level was already through the roof and I asked, "Do I look like the type of person who would drive a mini-van?"

[Cough]

We named him T-Sizzle for no other reason than to combat the grown-up feeling of owning a mini-van.

For story-telling purposes, I feel compelled to tell you our poor associate at the rental counter that day felt bad, especially after Robert apologized for my seeming lack of brain-to-mouth filter and told her about our day and how we were flying up there to get married and blahblahblah, and she told us if we waited for an hour or so, it seemed someone was supposed to be turning in a Jeep. We got the Jeep. She got my apology. And years later, I got to eat my words. Karma!

We tried not to get a mini-van. Okay, I tried. On the day we found out it was twins way back in August, the first thing Robert said was "We're going to need a bigger car!" I was resistant. I liked my vehicle. I saw no purpose in giving it up. Surely three car seats would fit.

[Sad trombone]

I had Robert try to fit them on about six different occasions to no avail. There was no logistical way to fit three car seats in my vehicle. Or Robert's vehicle. Ugh.

So, we looked at mini-vans. And I drug my heels and felt justified when the first one I drove had about as much get up and go as my grandmother's Oldsmobile. But then? We drove a Sienna. It was nice. And fast. And it ranked fairly low on the dork factor. I told Robert we could get one by my birthday, that mid-October would be plenty of time!

I then changed the date to Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving came and went because I kept saying "December 15!" And then December 15 turned to "the end of the year!" And then I started saying "January 15!" and then "How do you feel about March?" And Robert finally said, "January 15. No later. No excuses."

We bought it on January 14th. How's that for some negotiation? [I sometimes feel sorry for all Robert has to put up with.]

In non-vehicular news, I made it to twenty-eight weeks. Hooray! It's nothing significant, but kind of sounds that way. I'm mostly happy I had two really good doctor's appointments this past week. It seems Baby Girl is now out of the danger zone (8th percentile to the 11th percentile), and Baby Boy went and impressed us with a jump from the 17th percentile to the 42nd percentile. I also have a steel-trap cervix that not only isn't affected by contractions, it's actually grown longer. The other Pretty Peri gave me a high-five.

Perhaps the growing babies are why this dress fits a bit different now?

I've grown a few inches, but only managed to put on one measly pound this past week. The babies put on almost a pound each. Math like that hurts my head.

I'm feeling okay; a bit tired here and there, a bit queasy occasionally and random bits of heartburn, but nothing really to note. I don't feel that big, to be honest. I had a feeling that by the time I was in my third trimester I'd be a gravitational anomaly; leaving everyone wondering how I wasn't tipping over simply by being upright. But? I think I still look compact. Sure, I look pregnant, but not in the "Oh my gosh, are you having twins? Or due any day now?" type of commentary.

This is more what I really look like day to day. I tried on the dress in the above picture to see if I would feel comfortable wearing it to a wedding in a few weeks. I wouldn't dare wear heels to the event, but wanted to feel fancy, if only for a second. I think I'll wear a much prettier dress my friend Papar has lent me....paired with some flip-flops.

It's becoming more and more real to me that things are changing. The nursery wasn't that big of a deal; it's a room upstairs that I decorated and then shut the door to. But now, with the new car, the list of things we need to be ready is dwindling; finish sewing curtains, buy another infant car seat, find a bouncer, borrow an extra swing. We have tons of clothes, swaddling blankets and toys. I've even stashed a bottle or two in case we need to supplement. A twin breast-feeding pillow is on order.

Now, we wait. Grow babies, grow.

Twenty-Seven Weeks : The big purple people eater

2012-01-08T15:52:00.000-06:00

On Friday, I took the liberty of indulging in one of my few allotted outings and went to Target. Robert told me I needed to get out of the house and breathe fresh air and see people. I was reluctant to go, but ultimately happy to see outside the four walls of the house. I didn't walk around much in the store; looked for any preemie outfits (none) while Robert picked up a few miscellaneous items. We checked out and hit the Chick-Fil-A drive-through as our treat. I said something in the car about not feeling so hot, but brushed it off.

When we got home, I stepped out of the car and had the biggest contraction I've ever had, ever. It ranked a "holy shit" on a scale of 1 to 10. I stood like a statue by the edge of the car, waiting for the flood of relief. I had dinner in bed, and by then noticed I was having normal contractions. Five minutes. Eight minutes. Nineteen minutes.

There was no pattern, so I did what I knew to do: chugged water, laid down and shut up. Saturday was pretty much the same. After Evan had gone to bed, Robert asked how many contractions I'd had. He had no idea that I'd been having them so frequently, and once he knew, insisted I call the doctor.

Mama called the doctor and the doctor said, get your booty to a L&D bed.

That was fun. Although, whilst laying flat on my back, surrounded by medical professionals, my contractions spaced out to twenty-ish minutes apart. The babies heart rates were good, I wasn't dehydrated and all was well.

And Robert even got to witness a resident doing an internal, because nothing cures finding your wife sexually attractive quite like watching her be fisted by a nervous doctor.

I was sent home, told to follow-up with my doc and to call back if the contractions picked up again. We got home sometime around three in the morning.

***

Other than the contractions, I haven't hit the proverbial wall of exhaustion yet, which is pleasantly surprising. I generally take a nap each day, but I did that long before I ever got pregnant or married. Sleeping is a second religion to me.

One thing that cheers me up? Watching Evan and Robert play with sidewalk chalk.

In other fun news: pregnancy rage has set in. I would normally feel obligated to put "and not in a good way" at the end of the previous sentence, but really, there are no qualms about pregnancy rage. There are no exchanged pleasantries to be had at its expense.

Skirt/dress last seen here.

I've tried to keep a level head and be respectful of the slew of emotions that course through my veins, and ever-growing belly, but I've found myself on occasion muttering under my breath about doors left open or too-tight pants, or even the more rational: angrily snapping lids on Tupperware.

Notice how they're keeping their distance?

I'm in awe of my body and the miracles taking place inside. I still marvel at kicks and punches and rolls that distort my belly. But some days, I'd like to lie flat on my stomach and take a nap without sweating. I'd also like to not have to pee every time I change positions.

Ten weeks until my goal, and I know I've still got a lot of growing and changing to do between now and then. I know it's all worth it, even the unpleasantries. It's just hard to remember that when I'm feeling isolated or helpless or out of breath because I walked more than ten steps.

And in the spirit of finding the silver lining: as we left the hospital after 2:00am, Robert hinted that he was up for a snack, and in need of caffeine for the long drive home. Instead of the expected chain fast-food, I suggested an old haunt in our old neighborhood that caters to club-goers and other people needing a Mexican fix at all sorts of ungodly hours. We went through the drive through and got ourselves a snack to share. We rode home listening to good, old music and chatting away as though we'd been on a date. It was good, even at 2:00AM.

Robert and Elizabeth's New Year's Bed Rest Rockin' Eve

2012-01-02T08:00:00.000-06:00

The last time I spent New Year's Eve with Kelly was way back in 2008. It was before toddlers, back when they lived in the hill country, and when it didn't appear I'd shoved a rather large watermelon under my shirt. I always feel a bit bad about spending that day with Kelly; it's her wedding anniversary. I mean, Robert and I don't do anything fancy on our anniversary either; an expensive dinner (other than our first where we ate hot dogs and drank beer...but hey! We were at Fenway!) and back home to pay a babysitter. Kelly always says she'd rather not go out because everyone goes out on New Year's Eve and restaurants are known to jack up their prices to gouge you one last time before the year ends.

Robert and I had already planned on fondue and crispy oven latkes and cookie dough dip, and figured it would be fun to have friends over. We even busted out the toddler roller coaster. My brother begged me via text messages to ride it and send him a picture. This was the closest I came:

Ma'am, this is a safety violation.

Hmmm, something seems familiar. I seem to recall another NYE where I jammed my pregnant belly into a toddler toy. No fear, I didn't ride it.

The boys did, though. We thought we had a great assembly line of ride! Push! Share! Wait! Ready, Set, Go!

Ready for launch sequence.

Kelly explaining to Cameron why sharing is fun.

...except that toddlers? Yeah, they don't exactly take well to the all the waiting and sharing.

There was a nuclear meltdown at one point, and so we put up the choo-choo, as the ride had been dubbed by both boys, and stuffed ourselves full of food and conversation.

After our friends had left, Robert and I thought it would be okay if Evan took one last ride or two down the tracks.

He got more and more daring each ride, eventually leading to this:

I sent my brother the preceding picture and he responded back with "Yeah! I knew this would probably be the only time I could buy Evan something like that. I knew if he was anything like you were as a kid, he'd love it."

Did you hear that noise? That was my heart shattering.

After doing nothing more than cursing this big, clunky gift for a week, I finally saw the thought behind the gesture. My brother bought it for my child because when I was little, I loved roller coasters with a passion. If my family ever went to theme parks, I'd be the lone ranger begging for loop-de-loops and fast drops over and over and over again. My brother remembered that, and thought about what might make my baby happy.

Needless to say, we'll figure out where to store the roller coaster. Some how, some where, because of happiness.

Evan went to bed, so exhausted from all the play that he barely flinched when the people down the street set off their illegal fireworks celebrating the calendar change. Robert and I toasted a glass of sparkling juice and gave each other a kiss and fell asleep, listening to the thunder of crackles and pops that littered the air until well after 2:00AM. As I laid there quietly, watching our bedroom flash like it was lightening I thought to myself, Happy New Year.

Indeed it is.

Twenty-Twelve : Twenty-Six Weeks

2012-01-01T08:00:00.000-06:00

Happy New Year, and Happy New Week! I'm now at the tail-end of my second trimester, and the bottom of my fourth tub of belly butter. I'm not one that thinks they prevent stretch marks (because they don't), I simply like the feeling of being all lotioned up and massaged. It's my one prissy thing, okay?

And lest you think I'm normally a glam gal, I give you Exhibit A:

This is me on any given day or night; stretched out maternity shirt, men's boxers and my hair up in some sort of messy bun. No make-up. Rarely shoes (unless I'm in public). I'm all about the comfort nowadays.

I think the ladies of the 60s and 70s had it all right with their tent dresses and muumuus. Screw jeans, I want a tablecloth to wear.

Ahem:

Tunic/caftan thing from Silk and More on Etsy. My brother bought me this for Christmas, which surprised the heck out of me. He's the guy I used to simply exchange CDs or DVDs with and he's upped the ante. My mom bought me the earrings in the last pic, but I don't know from where.

My friend Kelly said, "You look comfortable...and an awful lot like Mrs. Roper from Three's Company."

Huh. Well look at that. [scrapes dignity off floor] I'm kidding. I couldn't scrape something off the floor if I wanted to. I'm not exactly bendable.

I haven't gone back to the doctor yet, and I haven't weighed myself either. I have a good scale at home, but I can't see around the belly to read the numbers. I did, however, manage to figure out how to paint my toenails. It took three pillows, a Snoogle, a towel and a lot of grunting. It was worth it.

There are stretchmarks, but I'm not too worried about them. I'm carrying twins, you know. The belly button has completely given up all hope, but I think it's amusing looking.

I am feeling better. I let myself be blue for a bit after my last not-so-great appointment and then decided to buck up. My grandma used to say something like it was okay to be sad, but not to cry all day.

I decided to fix my hair and paint my nails and do my make-up...get up and get dressed and make myself feel pretty. "I'm big as a house" I said to Robert. "Nah" he said so genuinely, "you're more like a duplex."

I'm a duplex. In a muumuu. And that's okay.

Rewind : 2011 Style

2011-12-30T19:23:00.001-06:00

I've done recaps for both 2009 and 2010, and they are some of my favorite posts. I like the nostalgia of seeing what all I did in the course of twelve months. As I ~~stay the same age~~ get older, I forget all the lovely, not-so-lovely and miscellaneous things that have filled my calendar in all the days behind me.

2011 taught me a lot. Even though I was sleep-deprived as the year began, I knew my resolution list was meager and kind of shallow. I don't know whether I was lacking hope or time or just needed a nap. Regardless, 2011 was a big year. It was better and harder than I could have imagined it to be. Here's what happened:

I became a work widow, the dogs ran away and came back, and I finally had some family pictures taken.

I geared up for homesteading and kept good on my promises to travel more.

Evan turned one and we traveled even more. We then visited New York, and Canada, and Brenham for both bluebonnets and a Texas-staple ice cream.

Robert turned 31, the garden started to grow. We visited story times at far-away libraries, visited East Texas, I talked about boobs, giant watermelon and swim class. Daisy died. We also went to the pool about five million times.

I got knocked up, found out it was twins, and found out one was a girl. And even did family pics again.

We celebrated four years together, took Evan on horse rides, I turned 30, and despite all the morning sickness, we kept on traveling.

Evan started preschool, he got his first haircut, and I went out on bed rest and did a whole lot of belly aching.

Something feels so familiar about this time of year; I've both been on bed rest at New Years, and had a baby here. I don't feel like I accomplished all that much, especially with my soft list of resolutions. But there was a #9 I didn't put on that list. It was something that only Robert and I talked about and I didn't write down anywhere. #9 was to get pregnant. I'd say I at least accomplished the one concrete thing on my list.

I don't know what 2012 will be like; our family of three will explode to a family of five, almost doubling in size. I'm excited and scared and anxious and over-joyed all at the same time. I don't know what it's going to be like to have an older child and younger children. I don't know what twins will be like or when they'll come or what shape my body will be in by then. I know that it'll be hard and my mantra remains Eisenhower's wise words stating "Plans are worthless, but planning is everything." We have a big, comfy rocker and two cribs and some tiny diapers and we'll have a minivan before I know it.

More than anything, we have love. And each other. Love always remains. As Avalon sings, "Through the brightest joys, the darkest pain". Love remains.

Bring it on 2012. We're ready.

*both professional pictures courtesy of Kipper Photography.

Picture is Unrelated (Christmas, Twenty-Five and Other Miscellaneous Pregnancy Bitching)

2011-12-27T23:03:00.000-06:00

Tuesday the 20th, I had another growth scan with the Pretty Peri, my MFM at the fancy-pants maternity center that is so new 90% of the building is closed until March 1, 2012. Last time we'd seen the babies, they were measuring in the 24th and 29th percentiles (girl/boy). Although on the smaller side, neither Robert nor I batted an eyelash. Did you see how tiny Evan was when he came out fully cooked? It's not like my twig frame lends itself to chunky babies (that is, until my breast~~milk~~ heavy cream comes in).

We thought all was well until I noticed the measurements on the screen seemed a bit small. Baby boy is now in the 22nd percentile with Baby girl squeaking in at the 11th. She's on the cusp of growth restriction (10th percentile) and not comfortingly far away from IUGR (5th percentile). IUGR is a nasty acronym in pregnant-ese that stands for Intra-Uterine Growth Restriction, aka We're going to take your baby now because your body and the placenta are failing at health. Better in than out, and that isn't something I'm ready to even think about. It's still 2011. And I've got (in my mind) quite a ways before I need to worry about all that.

We made Christmas cookies on Christmas Eve...for "Santa". Can you guess which three Robert decorated?

They also noted an echogenic intracardiac focus on Baby girl's heart. Woah. Wait right there. I was already worried about size and now there's this? Lovely. Although a lot of times, this bright spot on the papillary muscle of the heart doesn't mean much more than a fuss, it is considered a soft marker for Down Syndrome.

I didn't say much of anything after the appointment. I cried a bit on the ride on home and then went and took a nap. I then rounded out my emotional mess with copious amounts of vomiting. My friend Kelly came over and climbed onto the bed with me that afternoon and petted my hair. She brought me marshmallows and a tub of belly balm, and listened. Just listened. And that was exactly what I needed.

I didn't sleep much the next few days, and found that my morning sickness/stress induced vomiting had returned with a vengeance. Robert and I went out on a date to talk about things on Wednesday night. We reaffirmed our name choices, so baby A & B, as so labeled on ultrasounds, will forever be...well, A & B. It just so happens that is their initials. We talked about the what-ifs and all the other scary parent speak I didn't want to partake of, but knew I needed to. No matter what, these babies have our love.

The tricycle was a big hit. It was the first thing Evan ran to in the morning.

I found myself over the next few days boiling inside. I was exhausted. And stressed. I wasn't feeling well. The storm culminated to a peak on Christmas Eve, when I finally damn-near exploded throwing a stuffed animal and crying and throwing f-bombs like it was my job. It was nothing and everything all at once, and after my fit, I collapsed in bed. Robert pulled me close, even though I know that probably wasn't his first instinct.

I did all that I could the next few days; stayed on bed rest, tried to eat, tried to relax and tried to enjoy the holiday. I read a lot about all the medical speak that we'd been bombarded with, and waited until I saw my OB, Dr. O today (the 27th).

Evan was a pro at tearing up wrapping paper this year. It was so great to see the pure, unadulterated joy of a child opening surprises.

I hit my twenty-fifth week on Christmas day, but between the sickness and stress, I just wasn't up for pictures. I kept saying "maybe later" until the sun set and then stayed in pajamas all day Monday. Perhaps I'll feel up for pictures next week.

Evan did take a few breaks in between opening his four boxes. We had breakfast. And plenty of tricycle time.

Before my appointment with Dr. O this morning, I met a nutritionist that is housed in the same office as the MFM. I'd been referred to her, as part of the "multiples program", although I was told that maybe, sort of, I don't know, we're not sure if you qualify for the multiples program, even though you're a multiples mom and blahblahblah. Whatever. I was willing to have a sit-down and listen to advice about how to pack on the pounds.

Aaaaaaand, I was told to eat 2,025 calories a day. That would be LESS than what I'm eating now, and less than what any doctor has told me, and honestly, it was more about weight loss than gain. By week 28, the nutritionist was recommending I cut my calories to below 1800, and that was when I kind of tuned out and went to the "smile and nod" function.

She pointed out what I knew, though, that I'm grossly under the weight goals of where I should be. At 25 weeks, I should have gained anywhere from 34 to 47 pounds by now. I'm sitting at a meager 17 (wahoo! It still counts as weight gain even though I wore jeans and a sweater!). I don't understand how she thought limiting my calories would make the scale jump by double the amount it has risen, but hey, you can't say I didn't try another avenue of advice...very, very poor advice that I promptly shoved out of my head less than ten seconds later.

The biggest hit was the wooden pot, pan and spoon set we bought him. It was to accompany the wooden kitchen Robert's parents bought him that we only assembled tonight, despite it taking up real-estate in our dining room since the 23rd. Evan kept shouting "SPOON!" and "STIR!" and would clang everything together.

Dr. O was lovely and jolly as always. That woman has this deep laughter that sounds so bubbly and light, that you can't help but feel more relaxed just by being around her. Robert and I love my appointments and think the midwives really knew what they were talking about when they said Dr. O was just the type of doctor I needed.

There was some discrepancy in the report about my growth scan from the 20th. It was input that babies were even smaller than the percentiles I'd been told, and there wasn't a mention about a foci on A's heart.

There was a detailed transcription about blood-flow and heart valves that looked pristine and perfect, but not a word about the soft marker for Down Syndrome that had overwhelmed me for a week. Dr. O told me that it would all get sorted it when I have my next growth scan on the 10th, which is the same day I go back to see her as well. She told me I have nothing to worry about except growing my babies and loving them.

My brother, the "cool uncle" bought Evan the biggest, most obnoxious toy he could find. He wanted to surprise Evan a bit, so he did a hilarious wrapping job that encompassed three sides of the box and probably a quarter of a roll of duct tape.

I then did the ever-lovely glucose test today, something that last time was a world of fun. I downed my orange syrup in less than thirty seconds and waited for the sugar high...the sugar high that never came.
The sugar crash? Oh yes, it came hard and fast. I came home and slept for almost four hours.

I hate this toy so much. Really, I do. If it were up to me, it would have lived in the box back at the store. I was rail-roaded and the toddler roller coaster was unpacked and played with. As such, it's sitting unassembled in our garage where my husband normally parks his car.

So, I'm in limbo. Waiting. I'm waiting on everything, it seems.

Waiting on the results of that gestational diabetes test.

Waiting to know what percentiles the babies really are in, and whether A's heart is okay or if that was just a one-time fluke.

Waiting to make sure everything is going to be okay.

I'm just so tired, too tired to get riled up and fuss about it anymore. I'm not in the angry, emotional, out-of-control scary part anymore. I'm not in the scared and sad phase anymore. I'm just tired.

My mom hemmed and hawed whether to give me these onesies. She'd been holding on to them for quite a while, evidently. She's very superstitious about gifting babies things before they're born, but the cuteness outweighed any skepticism. These were ultimately my favorite gift of the day.

I'm glad though, so overwhelmingly grateful, that I'm not alone in all this. That although Robert may think I've got a screw loose thanks to the surge of pregnancy hormones, and Evan can't understand why mama's lap is rapidly disappearing, that they love me and want me here. That four-hundred times a day I'll get hugs and pats and kisses, and even when I cry my big ugly cry and give in to the stress, that I'm loved. And okay. And that I'm not alone.

I'm not alone. It's the five of us, this little family. Robert, me, Evan and A&B. We're all in this together.

Twenty-Four Weeks

2011-12-18T14:42:00.008-06:00

Twenty-four weeks is a milestone of sorts. It's considered viability, although I don't want to test medical science (and my own sanity) by having these two any time soon. Nonetheless, Robert and I toasted, with sparkling grape juice, to this. Celebrating the little things keeps me motivated.
I had another check-up with my doctor, where it seems that the bed rest has been worth it; the cervix has actually lengthened back out a tad. However, I'm still on strict bed rest. I was told that if my appointment this week with the perinatologist goes well (meaning that the cervix is still at the same length or longer and that the babies are measuring well), I'm allowed back to modified bed rest.

I was told I still need to concentrate packing on the pounds, seeing as the scale is stuck at +~~14.5~~ 15 pounds.
Despite being the same size I was when I delivered Evan, I don't feel that big. Maybe it's because I haven't been up and walking much, but I don't feel bad at all. I'm sleeping fairly well, my nausea is almost fully controlled and I've had one instance of heartburn that a little Pepcid knocked out in no time flat.

Despite the rest, the nursery is coming along. There are only a few things to finish (curtains, the girl's crib skirt) before I'd say it's ready. Small details: A handmade mobile for the boy. Robert and I did this during the second half of a very boring football game.

T is for Twins from The Letter K Design:
Corner of an initial from Kids Love Letters:
The new glider from Baby's First Furniture (we scored a sweet deal on a floor model) and artwork from Urban Tickle:
This week, to keep away boredom, a friend of mine brought by two crates of books. Her mom was going to sell them to a used book store, and figured I might want a few to read. It was so sweet and thoughtful.

And helpful:

Because if paper cut-outs of humans having sex didn't get me in a better mood...

I'd certainly say that this page may have made many conversations amongst my visitors this week:
Here's hoping this next week will be just as good.

Forty-Six Weeks Twenty-Three Weeks

2011-12-12T17:26:00.007-06:00

I went to my check up on Friday to see how things were in the gestational tank. Wait, that doesn't sound right...but uterus sounds so clinical and forboding. Any suggestions?

Any how, the tech we had was absolutely delightful and we got some really good shots:

Baby girl on left sucking her thumb. Baby boy on right with his legs crossed

The boy was, for then, head down, with his legs crossed and curled up. Baby girl was breech, with her butt in her brother's face.

Seriously.

And she kept kicking his face.

Evidence:

Baby girl's bottom in baby's boy face, and then baby girl's foot smushing poor baby boy's face

It was wild to see them interacting as much as they did. We'll get measurements on how they're growing on December 20th.

Now, the icky part: my cervix is shortening. I can't say I was terribly surprised with the amount of contractions I've had. The good news is, however, it is still considered "long" and "safe", but I'll be back this week for another scan to see if full bed rest helped.

I went outside for fresh air on an allotted bathroom break. No, I did not use the restroom in the yard, despite how poorly constructed that previous sentence sounded.

The doctor, at first, wasn't terribly concerned about the length of my cervix, but once she realized it had shortened by a centimeter in two weeks, she told me I was on full bed rest. And then she started talking about the what-ifs.

I didn't like that part.

Dora is wondering why I'm hiding a watermelon under my shirt.

If the at-home bed rest doesn't work, I'm looking at hospital bed rest.

And steroid shots for the babies' lungs. And progesterone therapy to try preventing pre-term labor.

There was talk about viability and statistics and that's pretty much when I tuned out. I stared at the ceiling and tried to blink away my tears.

I am still currently refusing to be photographed in my ~~belly bra~~ maternity belt. Although it holds up the gut well, it is the singular most unattractive thing I've ever worn.

Robert and I talked about things, and prayed about things. And I decided that stress wasn't going to help me out, so I've plugged into mindless TV and fluffy chic-lit books and listened to relaxation tapes over and over. Worrying won't help anything. I am doing what I can, and I know that. No sense getting in a tizzy over it a fussy uterus.

It hasn't been easy being in bed so much, especially with a rambunctious toddler...but we're doing it. We have to. This is my job; to keep these babies cooking as long as I can. My goal date of March 20th is 99 days away from today. I can do that.

And if for some reason I don't make it that far, I know that I've done all I can.

I asked Dora who had a bigger belly and she made a noise, hence the look on my face.

PS - The belly is now a whopping 37" around (up 13.5" from my pre-pregnancy size) and weight gain? Holding steady at ~~14.5~~ 15 pounds. The doctor said we'd round up for posterity's sake.

Twenty-Two Weeks

2011-12-04T17:06:00.006-06:00

I went to upload today's photos and paused. Twenty-one? I have a folder with those images already. Here I am at twenty-two, sleepily pondering how I got here.

The bun is back.

I had a check-up with the OB this past week, where I measured a +6lbs from my appointment with her a month ago (making their scales read a total of +15 overall since the beginning of this pregnancy). I admitted that it was probably because I:

a) was wearing a heavy sweater
b) was also wearing boots
c) hadn't given my urine sample yet

Nonetheless, positive progress! Although, when I was asked whether I'd had any Braxton-Hicks contractions, I had to be honest and say "yes". I've felt the belly tightening for...well, I don't know how long now. It hadn't been note-worthy until the night before when I noticed they were coming rhythmically every 20 minutes for about three hours. I was told to take it easy. To put myself on modified bed rest.

And yet? I found myself that very night having the Braxton-Hicks every 15 minutes over a course of about eight hours. After a bath and sleep, my belly is back to being quiet again; having occasional episodes but nothing noteworthy. I'll be back for a cervical check with my OB this week just to make sure all that fuss was nothing.

When people ask how I'm feeling, my patent answer is "tired". Can you tell?

The weather warmed up to an unseasonably hot temperature mid-week, and cooled back down again today with a gentle thunderstorm. I, however, insisted on a tank-top and flip-flops to go out in. It was raining by the time we got around to pictures, so we stayed inside in the entry and opened the front door for some fresh, cool air and a peek of light.

Measuring a wee bit over 34 weeks.

I don't know whether it's the fatigue or weather or the morning sickness (and now, seeming lactose-intolerance), but I feel myself having the tendency towards being grumpy. I'm trying to keep it all in perspective, but this week, I just didn't feel like myself.

Sweater: Nordstrom (2010), Tank: Gap Maternity, Skirt: Express

Maybe next week will be better.

Twenty-One Weeks

2011-11-27T19:55:00.004-06:00

I tried to do good on gaining weight this week, but it seems I'm so full from babies that I barely have room for food. I did manage to eat a small slice of my own pumpkin cheesecake and had mashed potatoes twice, but man, I am full.

Dress/tunic/whatever you want to call it last seen here. Top is Forever 21 (oh, the shame!), Old Navy maternity leggings and Target shoes.

I'll have a day or so when I feel so big and then I'll wander aimlessly back into the "I'm sure some of my old dresses work fine as shirts" way of thinking. I know maternity clothes have come a long way from all the muumuus of yesteryear, but I still feel they have a long ways to go. I have a piece here or there that I splurged on that I like, but overall I'm still of the mindset that if it fits, I'm wearing it.
I do still have feet, right?

I'm up a pound and a half, despite the morning sickness hanging around. I've grown a little bit in the belly, and by night-time each night, my skin below the navel will be fiercely red from all the stretching. I slather up with lots of shea butter after steamy showers and giggle at my heft.
My child and I share the same cheesy smile.

Evan likes to give the babies hugs and kisses. He's not afraid of the big, white belly. He does stare strangely at the movements that you can now see from the outside. (How can I blame him, though? Today during Sunday School, I giggled and poked Robert into distraction to stare at my top bouncing while the babies rolled and punched and stretched.)

I've got about 16 weeks to go until my goal date and I keep telling myself I can do it. Other than being so tired about once a day, I don't feel bad. I'm used to the morning sickness. Even the belly skin stretching doesn't make me complain. I have enough energy to cook and bake (and nest!). I listen to relaxation tapes every night before I fall asleep and I take naps whenever I can. I feel good. And I'm enjoying this. I just can't believe it's going by so fast.

PS - It was still in the low 40s this morning when we went outside to take these photos. Oh, it felt good! No jacket or coat for me. I generate enough heat, thank you very much.

PPS - And crazy wavy hair thanks to pregnancy. The bun is courtesy of me not knowing how to style other than the every-blue-moon straightening I'll do.

A scattering of thoughts

2011-11-22T20:17:00.003-06:00

I had the big anatomy scan today, which has the nickname "big reveal" amongst most parents-to-be. We didn't find out Evan's sex until this big ultrasound last time, and the only reason we were privy to information before this time was thanks to that nasty stomach bug.

When we had gone for a check-up with my regular OB a week or so after the ultrasound in Washington, I asked the doctor if she could verify the sexes. (She declines to use a fetoscope for twin pregnancies because of the impossibility of verifying you've listened to both separate fetal heart tones.) I wasn't trying to be paranoid, but the night we'd found out it was one boy and one girl, we were both very sick. And tired. And we didn't get any pictures to later gloss over and squint at. So, I asked. The baby on my right and up high was definitely a boy. Baby A, down low and to my left, had the cord between their legs.

You can foresee how this only increased my anxiety, yes? Couple that with plenty of crazy pregnancy dreams and I started doubting why I'd bought some pink clothes.

Today at the ultrasound, the tech asked if we knew the sexes and I said I thought we did but wanted to confirm. I pointed to my lower left and said "this is the one we think is a girl." She glided the wand over. "Oh, um, no, that's definitely a boy" she said.

Huh. Look at that. We just became those people...you know, the ones you read about that get told a girl and it's really a boy?

Except about thirty minutes later she pinned down the baby in my upper right quadrant. "Now that? That's a girl" the tech said.

It seems the babies still have room to play switcheroo in utero.

Head to head, messing with my head.

The babies are small, not worrisome small, but more like "What you'd expect for an extremely thin girl with a small frame who had another small baby" small. I'll go back in every four weeks to the perinatologist for ultrasounds to check on the babies until I deliver. I have one doctor looking out for the babies, one looking out for me.

***

In other things and thoughts about pregnancy; I don't really know how to respond when someone tells me that they want a twin pregnancy. I understand the excitement aspect of two squishy babies, but deep down I can't help but hear "I want to experience a high-risk pregnancy." I kind of cringe a bit. I've had this happen a few times and I'm still not sure how to react.

But when someone tells me that they're expecting twins/triplets/more? Then? Yeah, I know how to react. Not like a ass, that's how. I've had enough people make snide comments to me to know no one wants to hear something like "You'll have your hands full" or "Better you than me." I thought it was fairly common sense that if you didn't know what to say to someone, the safe bet was "Congratulations" or even the more elusive "You must be so happy!", but fail.

***

The whole luck lottery of conception still gets to me. When I got pregnant, I was actually doing a Bible study on infertility. It was a small class; it was its pilot run at the church and there were only three of us who huddled together every Thursday night. I grew so close to those women.

And then I got pregnant, mid-way through the study. (Wah-waah)

Don't get me wrong, I was thrilled and ecstatic, but how do you tactfully say you're now knocked up to other women who are just as desperate to be there? I think it was painful all around. Don't get me wrong, the women there were so happy for me and wonderful and caring, but I felt this sense of self-inflicted guilt.

I'm still fairly close with one of the girls from the study, and I love her sweet disposition and caring spirit. It's hard for me when she asks how I'm doing because I always want to blurt out "I want you to be pregnant! You deserve a baby!" But yeah, that would be weird. Life seems so unfair sometimes, and it is so tricky to navigate those waters.

I've been there; both sides of infertility and it doesn't get any easier as time goes by.

***

I don't focus too much on how much life will change when the babies arrive. I know things will be vastly different than they are now. I try not to go into the unknown with too many expectations. There is no sense in worrying about tomorrow.

However, I am trying to be prepared. I know there are things we need (and we're slowly crossing them off our lists), but I am having a hard time with the whole "How do you do it?" aspect.

My mother-in-law had twins. She had them two years after she had a singleton (my husband). So, I do have a little bit of guidance from her. She, however, had a very different lifestyle at the time, and a lot of luxury of familial support.

I'm not saying I don't have family support, but it's different. After I had Evan, Robert and I had told people that we'd like a week to spend together as a family of three getting to know each other and establish a routine (or at least recover from it all). I was discharged with Evan from the hospital on a Sunday.

Robert had to be at work Monday. (He did eventually take some time off, but it was a day or two here or there, and he was still expected to answer calls and emails.)

That sucked. I had to take Evan in for a weight check the day after we were discharged, so my dad came and played chauffeur. My dad did that occasionally; he'd come over and help out a bit. He was there with me the morning this happened.

My mom came over once on a Friday when Robert was at work. And my in-laws came over once together for dinner, and my mother-in-law visited separately once by herself.

That was it. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but this was far from the "family coming in to help out en masse" that I frequently heard about from my friends and online. Some people from church had a few meals delivered (which, yay!) and I had one set of friends come over and bring a pizza. A lot of my other friends had either just had babies or lived far out of town.

I suppose part of it was maybe my fault; I'm so staunchly independent that I rarely ask for help. I'm never going to be the girl that says "I cannot keep my eyes open and the baby needs to be held and PS, my laundry hamper is overflowing." Even when I was on bed rest I didn't ask for people to come over. I craved it, though. One of my friend's moms came and brought me comfort food and groceries one time just to check up on me and I nearly sobbed myself sick I was so beside myself with gratitude.

We got through it all okay last time. Great, even. Evan was an exceptionally easy baby, who although didn't sleep much, was happy and fantastic and didn't have any major issues to contend with. I found a rhythm pretty quick and figured out how to do enough laundry to survive, and we ate a lot of sandwiches.

This time, though, I know it will be different. I'll even go so far as to say harder. It isn't just one baby, it's two. And a toddler.

I've done the preemptive task of getting Evan a set routine of two days a week at a preschool where he gets some one-on-one attention and future baby-free time. I've also got a plan to freeze some meals so we can all eat healthy and hot food for a bit.

But then? Then sometimes I think of the logistics of two little babies and my needing-attention toddler and wonder how the heck I'll do it alone. Yes, Robert is getting paternity leave this time (four weeks!), but...just how? How do you do it?

My mother-in-law has graciously volunteered to take a week and come over and help, and I'm sure my dad will be there if he can (he and my mom share a car). But then? Then I just don't know. I don't have any living grandparents, and Robert's grandparents live too far to come in and help out. My mom is so dedicated to her work that it's hard to get her to take time off (although I'm sure if I asked flat outright, she would take a few days). I have friends that are in town and not pregnant and have told me they want to come over and love on the babies. I still worry, though.

Then, just like a flicker of a light, I decide to postpone all that worry and all those thoughts of how will we do it all and focus on the positive. We have so much to be grateful for.

I don't know what having twins will be like. I don't know about feeding schedules or sleep arrangements or how I'll park a minivan in the garage.

What I do know is that we'll be okay. We always manage to find a way through it all, still together and intact, and better for the journey. We always end up laughing together.

This is our path, and although it sometimes causes me palpitating anxiety thinking of all the questions, I know that undoubtedly it will be worth it. I don't have an ounce of regret about having two babies and a toddler. This is how it's supposed to be. I just sometimes start worrying ahead of myself.

I'm trying to take it one ~~ultrasound~~ day at a time. I cannot wait to meet these babies and figure it all out.

PS - Possibly the whining has something to do with the return of the morning sickness? It can go away at any time now.

In my twenties

2011-11-20T19:48:00.006-06:00

I made it to my twenties (weeks pregnant that is). (Because I'm not in my twenties anymore.)(Woe.)

I also kind of hit a wall this week. Well, back up. Last weekend none of us were feeling well. Robert went to the doctor Monday and came home with a handful of medicine. I figured if Evan was still feeling bad by Tuesday I'd take him in.

Well, guess who had their first bout of RSV (with a double ear infection to boot)? Poor guy.

Child's first cheesy school photo. This was before this shirt was destroyed in the great Carrot Juice Chugging Incident.

I kind of skirted the whole sickness, managing to escape with allergy-like symptoms that were gone in a day or so. But Friday, my old pal morning sickness returned. (Reference how I truly feel about it here.) That, and I was exhausted. Not the typical, "I need a nap" exhausted but "Am I the living dead?" type tired.

I have been thoroughly warned by my OB that I'll hit a wall of exhaustion somewhere around 26 weeks. I think this is just the precursor to it. The half-useless period of pregnancy, if you will.

I spent most of Saturday alternating between hard-core nesting and sleeping. And being sick.

My weight is still hovering at around +11 pounds (down a pound since last week), and my belly circumference is the same. The babies are much more active now, and I'm about 99% positive I can tell which is which. The girl is lower and to the left and more inside. The boy is to my upper right ribs and much more surface-level. Robert's even been able to feel a kick or two.

Dress is the Infinite Dress by Hayley Starr. I bought it during their annual sale and can't wait to find another steal, because this mama can't afford a $325 dress, despite how comfortable and versatile it is.

I'm hoping that with Thanksgiving ahead of me I might be able to eat enough to make the scale jump a bit so that my doctor won't give me that "Why aren't you gaining weight?" look that I'm sure my friend Kelly is giving me right about now. (Hi Kelly! I swear I'm eating! Things with butter!)

I'm enjoying the nesting, though. The nursery is almost complete (still waiting on curtain fabric to come available), my house has never smelled better (thanks to all the baked goods I've been whipping up) and my spice cabinet has been rearranged. Again.

PS - No, I haven't seen anything past the belly in weeks, including my toes, hence the lack of shoes. If I can't see them, they don't count, right?

PPS - But I'd love a pedicure right about now.

19 weeks

2011-11-13T20:14:00.006-06:00

What did you do this week? I made an indoor hopscotch game for my toddler because I thought it was too hot to go outside: That lasted three days, until he remembered the joy of peeling tape and stickers. Robert asked me where I got the idea and honestly, I don't know. Call it a mix of creativity mixed with boredom and craziness.

Sadly, I also had my last snow-cone of the season. If I knew of a place that was open year-round, I'd probably put their kids through college. I have a love affair with snow-cones, and much to my friend Papar's chagrin, vanilla ones. Oh, the goodness of ice and sweetness.

Monday I felt like my belly had grown a bit. I didn't measure or weigh myself, simply dressed and went on my way. I went to drop something off at a friend's house, and she very politely asked if I was wearing a maternity top.

Wah-wahhhhh

Yes, I was. A maternity top I'd evidently outgrown.

I threw it to a "maybe next baby" pile, and went on. The next day, I was out (in a completely different outfit) and noticed I felt a breeze on my stomach. I reached down below my scope of view and touched skin. I hurriedly pulled down the shirt in front, only to have a nice breeze now airing out my back and sides.

Ooookay. That's not cool.

I went home and said something to Robert. And I showed him and said something about maybe my clothes had shrunk because man, my pants felt tight. It was then he noted the angry red ring circling my lower abdomen from my pants...the pants that had fit just fine last week.

By Friday I had sorted through what still fit, and thus this outfit: That's a dress. A dress I am wearing as a shirt.

See? Dress:

Dress from more normal times, AKA April of this year...back when I could still see my toes.

I threw on a pair of leggings (that were also too tight) underneath and went to the store for new clothes.

...where I totally cried like a baby in the dressing room at what size shirts I needed.

And then noticed that none of my shoes fit because, HELLO SAUSAGE-TOES.

And, that's my intro to 19 weeks. Yay!

PS - My belly grew another inch. Or two. And I gained four pounds. I'm only up 12 pounds total, so why the sudden "I'm almost as big I was last time at full term"*, I have no idea.

*I posed a theory to Robert that since I'm 19 weeks with twins, I should count it twice, therefore 19 week twin pregnancy = 38 week singleton pregnancy. He squashed that theory by reminding me that all my books and my OB and perinatologist said that you generally measure 7-10 weeks ahead. Whatever. 38 weeks! Wahoo!

Words I never thought I'd say

2011-11-12T21:08:00.004-06:00

I kind of miss the baby mullet.

I found a coupon the other day, and the sheer insanity to suggest we get Evan's hair trimmed. More specifically, trim the back of Evan's hair where he had been trying his best to grow a mullet.

I've been cutting Robert's hair at home for almost two years now, but the thought of putting sharp objects near my baby's neck bothered me. Having a stranger do it? Sure! Sign me up and charge me an unreasonable amount!

But hey, look at him:

The mullet is all gone.

Afterwards, we took him for a late lunch and he kept patting at his spiky 'do and making silly faces.

And in just the right light, you'd still think he was bald. I love that wispy, fine blond hair, so soft and golden.

Almost halfway and still moving furniture

2011-11-06T12:28:00.007-06:00

I decided moving Evan to the new nursery just wouldn't work. He's going through enough change and his current furniture (with the transition from crib to big boy bed) just won't work.

Oh, and I'm going through enough change. I just...can't. Having a baby changes a lot as is, but I feel like I need a little bit of "still the same" in my life, and for some reason, I've pinpointed that to be Evan's room. *taps hammer*

We moved the cribs (again) and found two more configurations that just wouldn't work.
I sheepishly asked Robert to move things back as I'd originally planned and I've declared them stuck...until I have another episode of panic/nesting/pregnancy meltdown.

And in other craziness - do you realize I'm almost halfway done with this pregnancy? Shocked me, too.I mean, yeah, typically 20 weeks and change is halfway, but that's for singleton pregnancies. I know that realistically my goal date of March 20 is probably one of the last calendar days I have a chance of still gestating these twins.

This week I became a phenomena; I grew an inch and a quarter in less than four days, and somehow also lost half a pound. I mean, what? I've been eating my weight in burritos and pimiento cheese sandwiches, but the scale is unresponsive. My waistline? Heck yeah, it got the memo. Although, this morning on the way to church I suggested to Robert that perhaps this dress made me look "normal" and "not pregnant" if I was viewed from the front. He kind of made this snort-laugh and covered it up with a sneeze. Not thirty minutes later did the nursery director at church gestured at my belly and told me how close I must be to delivery and to be sure and call when the baby arrived.

I can take it. Really. Tell me. Can you see a belly? Even from this angle? What if I grimace at you? SERIOUSLY, do I look pregnant from every angle now?

Also of note, the heels were worn for pictures only. I'd originally put them on this morning and teetered at a snail's pace into the kitchen. Although I felt dressy and sexy, I also felt wobbly, unsteady and fairly sure it would take me thirty minutes to walk from the parking lot into the church building. I ended up in some ugly flats for service, but put on these pretty silk shoes for fun later.

It's a fun time, lately. Even with the nausea still creeping around occasionally, I feel pretty darn good. I'm happy and healthy and I can't believe that this is all flying by so fast.

Three cheers for semi-decent maternity clothes. Dress: Maternal America purchased via Amazon, Shoes: bought at Dillard's for Easter when I didn't know what would match my green dress.

Wherein I start to show my crazy

2011-11-03T09:56:00.005-06:00

I have done some dumb, dumb things the past few days. Let's not talk about the garage door opener incident. And let's not mention me trying to figure out the DVR. We're set on talking (today) about the nursery. And why is it that when you most need a drink of vodka, it is frowned upon.

First dumb thing I did: fiddled around on Pinterest. I've never used the thing before, despite signing up ages ago. I thought I probably couldn't utilize it any more because I'm not on Facebook any longer and I thought the two accounts were linked.

Anyhow, I innocently went in search of nursery inspiration, because I fail at this (see last pictures to prove it), and I found these:

Both images are from here.

I was doing this because our cribs came when we were out on vacation and we* assembled them the other night. I had this great vision of the nursery since we found out it was twins. I knew what furniture I (kind of) wanted and how to set it up.

Except that when we put both cribs in the room I sat on the floor and went "Woah" (as in, dude, two cribs means two babies) and "No" (as in, Why did this room shrink by 83%?).

We have left the room alone for a few days, and this is what it looks like (other mattress, bedding, curtains and art work to come):

This is not a small room. It isn't the biggest room in the house, but is the third largest bedroom (master being first, Evan's being second) in the line up.

It felt full and crowded and just...no. Wrong, somehow. The crib isn't right in the door frame, despite what trickery my wide-angle lens may be trying to tell you. There is plenty of room to amble around and wrestle and walk and whatever, but it didn't feel right.

So I goofed around on Pinterest, saved a photo or two and Robert tried this: That would be an even bigger no.

"L-shape?" he asked me, holding his ever-aching back.

Ugh, sure: Except...no. Gah. No.

"What about Evan's room? We could switch the furniture and repaint" Robert said, grimacing. (Hey, it wasn't my idea.)

"No" I said, automatically, "He's going to go through enough change and it's his room and..."

I stopped. Would it work?

Current set up (the comforter has been ordered...and no, I've never figured out how to decorate his room. I figured I'd meet him and figure it out...but I met him, got tired and you have what you see today):

From the closet corner:

And from standing on the bed:

I asked if we could try it. Robert said it would be a good idea.

(!) But (!)

It would require dissembling of most furniture, and gah...that's a lot of work for just trying out an idea.

Any other ideas out there? Help?

Please and thank you. /takes swig of imaginary martini

*Group effort**
**Okay, I lie. I taught Evan how to use an Allen Wrench on his belly button and say "Turn, turn!"***
***But I did totally help assemble the dresser and chest of drawers. There are pics.

A little late, but still on a sugar high

2011-11-03T07:00:00.002-06:00

It only took one house for Evan to catch on what this fun was all about.

However, I had to explain on our walk the next day why we couldn't "knock-knock" on everyone's door for "trick-or-treeeeeeeeeeeeat!"

/melt

Traveling with a Toddler : A How-To Guide to Keep Your Sanity

2011-11-02T09:16:00.000-06:00

We've been so lucky to have been able to traveled as much as we have this past year. We've been on eight plane rides, spent countless hours in the car and seen who-knows-how-many wonderful places. Our travel map at home is dotted with at least two dozen map pins spanning a handful of states and Canada.

In doing that, I've learned a little bit about traveling with a wee one, and thought I might share what worked for us.

We always try to stay some place that has a washer & dryer access in the hotel or lodge. We pack a few things of travel laundry soap, a travel stain stick, a baggie of dryer sheets and a handful of quarters. I've saved a ton of space by doing this. (And really, what else are you going to do when it's bed time and you're not tired yet?)

I pack enough diapers to get us through the plane ride to our destination and part of the first day. I then go out and get a decent-sized package at our destination.

I then pack twice as many diapers as I think I'll need for the plane and end up thanking myself later.

I try to fly during nap time (short flights) or at bed time (longer ones). Evan is a heavy sleeper and the lull of the engines is better than a lullaby.

I have a Go Go Babyz Travelmate for getting Evan's carseat to luggage check-in. I've always checked it with no problems. I also don't have to pay to check it since it rates as an "execption item". Score!

I utilize an Ergo carrier through the airport. (And now, with new TSA regulations, you do not have to remove your baby from the carrier, nor take off their shoes. Hurrah!)

I don't travel with a stroller. I love my Ergo, and used it for most all of the trips. This time, Robert used the Ergo with Evan through the airport, and we bought a cheap $15 stroller at Target (when we picked up diapers) for me to use with Evan (since I'm trying to cut back on carrying him as often). We then donated our cheap stroller before we left.

In Evan's carry-on bag, I pack: stickers, colors & a coloring book, reading books, a roll of painter's tape (great entertainment in the hotel room too - can stick to any surface without ever causing damage), snacks, a sippy cup, a change of clothes and then a small assortment of toys (cars, legos, etc.) that I wrap up in tissue paper. This makes it seem new and fun, and hey -- who doesn't love unwrapping a surprise?

We fly with our spare car seat, so that upon returning from travel, you don't have to mess with installing a car seat and packing up the car.

This past time, we had an iPad that we had a few episodes of "Cookie" (Sesame Street) and "Hot Dog" (Mickey Mouse Clubhouse) downloaded on. We used this as our emergency "someone's-about-to-lose-it" bribe. We also used a pair of kid-sized headphones (from here) so that everyone didn't learn that Letter G was the letter of the day

I'm sure I'm missing out on some things...but a lot of it is learning when to let go and knowing when to laugh. Kids are impeccably resilient and adaptable and much, much easier to travel with than people think.

Griswold Vacationing : Reasons Why We're Donkeys

2011-11-01T09:45:00.000-06:00

Yes, the PNW was beautiful. We enjoyed it. We're also a bunch of donkeys who couldn't help but continually laugh at our own stupidity and dumb luck.

For your entertainment, a list:

Caught a stomach bug so bad that 1/3 of the family ended up in the ER our first day there

Robert dropped his cell phone in a puddle first thing at the office

Evan decided that it would be a FANTASTIC time to get his two-year molars

I accidentally ran over a possum in the rental car (and thanks to pregnancy hormones, cried for almost half an hour following!)

After I'd squawked for the better part of a year about a waterfall, we got to see this:

Forgot to pack both Evan and I a coat, jacket or even a heavy sweater

And finally, upon arriving back in Houston, jumped on the wrong shuttle back to the parking lot. We hurriedly got off and waited for the correct shuttle, wherein I realized suddenly that I no longer had my tote bag with my precious Trader Joe's loot, and more importantly, my camera....you know, my big, expensive, helps-me-earn-money camera? Uh huh. GONE. In a bag, on a shuttle going to some random, unknown parking lot.

I freaked out. Robert freaked out. I flagged down a similar bus and asked to driver to radio the other driver. The driver comforted me, signaled the other driver and then asked me to write down my info. I shifted to hold the paper and asked Robert if he could hold my bag because it was heavy.

Robert grabbed my bag.

We froze.

And stared, at the bag, the very tote bag I thought was on a bus going to who-knows-where...the bag that had been hooked on my shoulder the whole time.

The End.

Last Hurrah Vacation : Picture Post

2011-10-31T21:16:00.005-06:00

The trip to the Pacific Northwest was our last hurrah vacation. One last travel before I'm on the ground and at home for a bit. And a "hey, that's an easy way to celebrate turning 30" thing, too.

I love the Pacific Northwest. It's my dream living locale. I know the cost of living is more than where we're at, but it feels like home. The air is cleaner. The land is lush and green. It's nestled against the Pacific Ocean. It's close to mountains. The weather is fantastic. I always feel my heart sink a bit when we board a plane back to balmy, hot Texas. Things are nice here, but Robert and I truly feel we belong somewhere colder, somewhere surrounded by evergreens and giant maples. That's our someday.

Here is 16 weeks, in between my "I'm feeling human again" notion and Robert's "Uh, I think I have what you had" realization:

Evan, although he got a bit of the bug, thoroughly enjoyed being out and about. Even near our hotel, there were plenty of sidewalks scattered with leaves.

Evan has grown quite a bit since last time.

After the week was done (Robert was working, and Evan and I explored quietly on our own), we spent our last weekend furiously crossing things off our to-do list that we'd missed the previous weekend.

We went to Spooner Farms in Puyallup, Washington to visit a pumpkin patch. The pumpkin slingshot was the biggest hit:

The duck races caught attention, too:

I was amused with all the decor the farm had made:

A little kiss:

Hands-down, the winner of the pumpkin patch and farm was the fresh-roasted corn. I foolishly thought I wouldn't have to share: (We may have had to buy more than one.)

Later that afternoon, we drove to Snoqualmie Falls. I've seen pictures from at least four bloggers of the beautiful falls and Salish Lodge.

*cough* Evan's look pretty much sums up our feelings.

Tip-toeing into 17 weeks:

And my boys throwing leaves:

Before we flew home, we revisited Ferrel-McWhirter Park in Redmond. We went earlier this Spring, but it was much more beautiful in the fall:

The giant maples littered the walkways with leaves bigger than Evan's head:

The trip was good; we made memories. We soaked in all the cool weather and vibrant fall colors. We splashed in puddles, drove through both nature and big cities. We laughed a lot. We shared one last trip, just the three of us.

I can't wait to show our next two babies the places we dream about.

30 and 16

2011-10-24T19:41:00.007-05:00

I turned 30 the other day. And also my pregnancy progressed to 16 weeks. I knew while we were in the pacific northwest that we wanted to get some maternity and family portraits taken. I wanted to go to Kerry Park overlooking Seattle, and Carolyn (who has done wonderful work for us before) asked if we knew the sex of the babies so maybe we could use some props.

I told her no, that we didn't know yet. I knew that things would still be fantastic.

What I didn't know is that I'd caught a nasty stomach bug going around, and was going to end up visiting a Seattle-area hospital:

Yeah, that was fun. We were driving through Mount Rainier when I got what I thought was car sick. I just couldn't stop getting sick, though. And Robert and I knew that I needed fluids and some Zofran in an IV.

Poor Evan, having to accompany us so late:

Hey Robert, whaddya think about spending your vacation in the hospital?"

On the way home from the hospital late, late that night, Robert suddenly got sick. And then Evan got sick. It seems we all had caught the same thing. I just happened to be the lucky first recipient.

BUT! There is a bright side here.

I had some horrible cramps when I got sick.

No, okay, that's not the bright side.

They wanted to check on the babies while I was in the ER. The tech asked if we wanted to know the sex of the babies if she could tell.

We said yes.

And?

Well, we got to use some props after all:

Image courtesy Kipper Photography

We are so surprised and so happy and so everything. I don't know why, but I think Robert and I both thought the babies were boys. But one of each? This was the bestest surprise of all. The best vacation souvenir. The best memory our little family of three made together...even if it wasn't the best of circumstances, it was perfect, nonetheless.

Party

2011-10-16T20:10:00.003-05:00

This weekend was jam-packed; painting the nursery, two parties, two photo-shoots, and the endless search for laundry hamper that isn't ugly and doesn't have a lid. (I recognize the latter may seem silly, but it's been driving me nuts.)

Friday was a Sunday School party where they encouraged people to bring photo props. I threw my cowgirl hat in the back of the car and left it there. We were almost out the door before my friend Jennifer insisted Robert and I participate. I was going to stand and smile and go on, but Jennifer (and her husband) threw a helmet on me and kept handing us sports equipment: This was the best grumpy look I could give.

Saturday was a play date/Halloween party for kids. I didn't buy Evan a costume this year (bad parenting, I know), but I picked out a cheesy shirt at Target. For some reason, the jeans seemed to make him look like such a big boy. I figure when he "gets" Halloween, we'll do a costume. (Last years costume was purchased by my mother and put on once, and that wasn't even on Halloween.)

And today marked 15 weeks.
I'm now up nine pounds, and have felt both babies thump. My taste for spicy food is definitely back, even though some nausea still remains.

I think I'm more amazed at the running commentary from strangers. We've had a few ugly comments from people, but a lot more congratulations and questions. A woman in Target tonight came out of nowhere (I was wearing the dress/leggings pictured) and told me I was having a girl because of the way I was carrying. I told her it was twins. She paused, motioned for me to turn to the side and then said, "Ah, well, it's two girls!" I smiled. "Go ahead, buy some dresses! Pick out girl names! It's girls!"*

Dress: Need Supply Co. (not maternity), leggings: Old Navy (maternity), Shoes: Target (only semi-comfortable, but at least they weren't flip-flops)

I get a lot of people asking when I'm due, and when I tell them "April" and then quickly follow "with twins", they generally say "Oh, you're so tiny!" I know I'll get much bigger, but I don't feel tiny. Although I still weigh more than 15 pounds less than I did when I got pregnant with Evan, my waist is now 9 inches bigger than when I first found out I was pregnant this time.

I'm happy, though. About it all. Tiny or not. Girls or boys. I'm so happy to be here, right now.

*Personally, I have no feeling either way. I've had dreams that they were girls. And I had one before I even knew I was pregnant that I had boy/girl twins. I've also been prone to thinking they're boys because that's just what I know. In any case, I'll be thrilled as can be...because hello? Babies! Two babies!

In which I prove I am clearly ready to manage three children

2011-10-13T18:36:00.004-05:00

Have you seen this?Robert and I now frequently say "WTF" to each other. Those three letters, along with the knowledge of some one's mom getting it so wrong make it so applicable in our day-to-day lives.

Especially yesterday.

My friend Kelly is moving to town and called when she realized she was just down the road. She wanted to know if I was up for an impromptu play date. Of course! I hadn't gotten sick in like three days!

We let the boys play around the house for a bit, and then I suggested we go to lunch at this grill by our house that has this fantastic toddler outdoor playground. The owners were smart enough to put it under a covered patio, complete with picnic tables and fans. (We tried it out at a birthday party, and Robert and I were able to eat in peace while Evan ran and squealed and went down the slide to his heart's content.)

All was going well; the temperature wasn't too hot. The food was good. The boys were playing gloriously well together.

And then Evan's diaper exploded.

It was evident from ten feet away that this was Not Good.

So now faced with the Not Good, Kelly and I decided it was time to go. I knew I'd have to carry Evan to the car seeing as "leaving" did not coincide with "more slide time."

I picked up him, and the Not Good was really not good. I gagged. I placed him in the car, knowing it is less than a mile home and glanced down.

There was Not Good on my shirt.

I then did what was helpful; I gagged and flapped my arms. Kelly cracked up.

"Just take the shirt off" she suggested, "You have a sweater in the car."

So I did, right there in the parking lot of the family grill.

And you know how pregnancy pants kind of come up to your bra line? Well, the Not Good had gone through the shirt and onto the panel of the pants.

I was not taking my pants off in the parking lot.

I still had to find my sweater. I reached in the car to find it and then realized it was a wrap sweater. With no buttons. Or closure.

I did what I could. I did this: All I can really say is WTF.

A little of this, a little of that

2011-10-10T12:04:00.002-05:00

It seems that someone might finally be needing a hair trim:
Evan seems to surprise us more and more every day; what with communication and tricks and general hilarity. Since the weather has cooled ever-so-slightly, he likes for the back door to be open so he can waltz in an out at his own pace. It leads itself to a treasure hunt by sunset of rounding up the toddler toys from the yard and the dog toys from the living room.

I've tried to keep track of all the words he knows, and as soon as I think I've caught up to him, he either learns a new word or uses one I'd forgotten he knows. Some are useful (up, down, more, please) and some are used too much (NO). I keep telling him "I don't think that word means what you think it means."

We put a full-size bed in his room; partially because I'm sure he's close to getting out of his crib, and also because when he starts preschool (!) next month, he'll have to adjust to napping on a mat.

And yes, preschool. Robert and I know that it would be best to get Evan some structure, especially with all the changes that are about to take place. Plus, it gives me some time to go to my million doctor's appointments and rest a bit. I think it will also serve us both well when the babies get here and I'm left alone in a house with three under three to care for.

Speaking of babies, they're doing great. We've had two peeks at them recently, and they've been doing fantastic. Last Tuesday, Robert went with me to visit the OB and we were able to see the babies interacting (*cough* fighting *cough*) on an ultrasound screen. It was wild. One would stretch and touch the other, and then the kicking and head-butting began.

We're starting to cross things off our of needs/wants list. We have some baby furniture that we spent hours assembling. And...well, that's about it. We know what car we're getting. We know what stroller we want. We're now in a holding pattern; part saving money for it all, and part waiting to find out the sex of the babies. (Which, if you ask Robert, he swears he saw a penis on Baby A. I didn't see one, but I wasn't really looking. We shall know if he was right within four to six weeks.)

This is the belly at fourteen weeks. Some days I feel big. Others, not so much. But I'm always aware of my left hip. And how incredibly good ice packs feel. I'm also in flip-flops about 90% of the time that I'm required to wear footwear. I have no idea what I'll do when it gets cold.

Belly: 14 weeks, Dress: Shabby Apple

Four years, twelve weeks and a pillow

2011-09-26T20:59:00.007-05:00

Last year, I wrote (albeit late) about how tired we were on our anniversary. I want to kick that girl in the shins.I'm also sure that next year I'll want to kick this me in the shins. But oh, I am so tired. I nap when Evan naps. I go to bed when Evan goes to bed. I feel as though I'm barely functioning. I chase around this toddler who has two modes: awake and asleep, and let me tell you, awake is GO GO GO all the freaking time. That boy does not slow down.

Robert and I were, thankfully, able to go out for our anniversary, just the two of us. I spent the better part of the morning hugging the porcelain throne and promising that I was willing myself to be better by 7:00pm and I was demanding of myself to keep down a steak.

We had fun, although when we got to the restaurant, I wanted both a martini and a bloody steak. Instead I had ice water and a steak somewhere on the upper range of medium well. It was good to go out, just the two of us.

Since we're having to buy a new car (one that can accommodate three car seats safely), we forewent any gifts. And we let ourselves know that our previous plans of a five-year vacation next year were probably on hold until something like year ten.

***

In other news, my Snoogle has become a permanent fixture in the bed. I had one of these glorious pillows when I was pregnant with Evan, but someone hated it and thought it took up too much of the bed and insisted on throwing it away shortly after the baby arrived. However, Robert made it up to me by buying me a brand new one, and although it is insanely hot, it makes night-time that much more bearable. Evan isn't sure what to think of it when he snuggles in bed with me for occasional naps. I think he thinks it is some sort of wrestling device.

***

And an update on the belly...I'm now 12 weeks, and about to graduate from my first trimester:

Yep, clothing reruns.

How big are the babies: It depends on which site you read, but somewhere around a plum
Due date: Easter Sunday, April 8th, 2012
Goal date: March 20, 2012
Weight gain: +6.4 pounds (I was hovering at +3 pounds for quite a while, but a few days of feeling human had me eating and gaining)
Measurement: 30.5" (or +7")
Symptoms: Morning sickness is still here with a vengeance, and I have lovely swollen feet whenever I'm up and about for more than thirty minutes
What's the same this time: The sickness. It's a little too familiar.
What's different this time: How big I already feel
Cravings: Nothing. I eat a lot of bland food, mostly avocado and provolone sandwiches or baked potatoes with butter, sour cream and cheese
Aversions: Apparently anything with flavor
Sleep: Is it too early to say how much my hips hurt and also how freaking hot it is? I sleep with a single sheet, the air set inappropriately cold and three fans blowing, and I still sweat. Sexy.
I am loving: Naps?
I miss: Suddenly, martinis (although I haven't had one since early 2009)
I am looking forward to: An upcoming vacation!
I'm worried about: Doctors and the like. I'm thinking of switching. I'm just not getting a good vibe. The midwives at the clinic cannot take VBAC patients, nor patients with multiples, so I was referred to a doctor. She seemed great at the first appointment, and then it all kind of went to hell with setting up an ultrasound and subsequent twin screening.
Best thing this week: A dinner date with Robert
Milestones: Last week of the first trimester
Movement: None that I can feel yet
It's a...: No idea, although an ultrasound tech offered to guess (which I declined)
Exercise: Ha! No way. I miss my daily walks, but it just isn't happening right now.
Other miscellany: Remember this at 18 weeks? I think I'm bigger currently at 12 weeks:

Riding Along

2011-09-13T22:53:00.004-05:00

Robert is in between travels at the moment, so we carved out some time to go to East Texas to visit his grandparents. We went earlier in the summer, but we wanted to share the good news of my pregnancy. And morning sickness! And toddler-related fun!

Evan was magnificent; a seasoned traveler in my opinion. He nary made a squeak in the car on the ride there (or back) despite the many (many)(MANY) stops we may have had to make for someone to lean out of the car and get sick. *Ahem*

Anyways.

Evan has a penchant for making animal noises, so we thought he'd like the farm quite a bit. He was fascinated with chasing chickens around a coop and while they clucked he bok-bok-bokked at them.

The ever-friendly horse, Frank Sinatra (which okay, I have actually NEVER asked this horse's real name), was very interested in my cracker-toting and cracker-dropping toddler. After a few pets, Evan wanted a ride.

Robert kept asking if I could tell in the photos that he had a death grip on Evan.

The baby had a blast, signalling for "more" and "please".

The horse was hell-bent on not allowing there to be a photo of the belly without being in it herself. I didn't think she'd follow me down a steep path towards the gate at the edge of the woods, but every time I'd stop, she'd nudge me on the shoulder as to say, "Yes, I'm here. Keep going."

I may have thrown a saltine in the pine needles to get her to back off for a split second so we could have proper photographic proof of the ten-week belly.

I don't know when we'll go back again - hopefully by Christmastime. Even though I'm not a small-town girl (yeah, they upgraded with a blinking stop light a while back), I enjoy the occasional venture into the quaint country. There's something so familiar and comforting about walks through shady woods and dinners of fresh-hulled peas.

Breakdancing, bear crawling and belts

2011-09-06T22:03:00.002-05:00

Evan recently turned 18 months. 18! A whole year and a half. No one was more surprised than me. It's still okay I call him a baby, right?

His vocabulary is about 15 words or so, and some are so seemingly silly that it cracks me up. My child knows "purple". Why purple? I don't know. But he knows it. And loves to point it out. I had a discussion with a friend that wouldn't it be nice if ~~babies~~ toddlers learned more useful words like "sleepy" or "meltdown".

Evan is getting better at communicating; but that isn't to say we don't hear lots of grunts and pointing and then when someone can't figure out what he's wanting to tell us in .004 seconds he screams. I just remind myself how frustrating it must be to know what you want, but not know how to convey it.

He's such a good helper; able to help unload the dishwasher or clothes dryer. And he's great at putting away his toys or throwing things away. He's also the quickest shoe-taker-offer I've met. He has an affinity for avocados, carrots, cheese and applesauce. He's still take-it-or-leave-it with cow's milk (and yes! Still breastfeeding!). He's even taken the first initial steps towards potty-training.

I was a bit sad for a while that he never bear-crawled. I don't know why I always thought it was such a cute thing, but Evan quickly grew out of the crawling phase and straight into walking (and now running and learning to jump). However, the other day he decided he wanted to bear-crawl around the kitchen. He'd stop and put one leg up in a yoga pose or put his head down like a break-dancer and sing. I haven't laughed that hard in quite a while.

The other two are doing well as well. I met with the new OB today and loved her no-nonsense, straight-forward approach to my pregnancy. I'll be meeting with a perinatologist in a week or so as well. I got another quick sneak peek at the babies today because the OB explained she'd rather do a quick scan every week to make sure she's listening to the right heartbeats than just guess. So hurrah! Views inside the womb once a month!

I've definitely popped quite a bit. I am in virtually no regular clothes (save for my super-stretchy tank tops), and my OB suggested (or rather told) for me to embrace the pregnancy belt. Nothing quite as sexy as a big elastic band holding up your baby gut.

And the funny thing is? I'm starting to already feel a bit better. Last week, Robert was traveling and the first day was awful. I spent the majority of it in the bathroom playing Sesame Street on my iPhone for Evan. The second day wasn't that bad, and the third day I only got sick once. And then? Then on Thursday I woke up and didn't feel bad at all. Not even a hint of nausea. I wanted a cheeseburger. And when I had my cheeseburger, I still didn't feel bad.

So you know what I did? I worried. Because that's just what I do. I suddenly started freaking out about not feeling sick and thought something was wrong. When I woke up Friday and lost my breakfast, I told Robert I felt relieved. He told me I was weird.

However, I am feeling much, much better. I might even venture to say I feel human. I'm exhausted, and still a little sick here and there...but I think (ohpleaseohpleaseohplease) that maybe the worst of the sickness is behind me.

Pregnancy: 9 weeks, Dress: Shabby Apple, Shoes: A rare find in my attic...possibly 3+ years old and new!

Well, you knew that was coming

2011-08-25T11:10:00.003-05:00

When I found out I was pregnant, I was already feeling sick. It was a pesky, constant, annoying sick. It was something always in the back of my throat.

I called the midwives and they called me in a prescription. The relief lasted about a day.

Sunday was fun. I took my medicine before my feet hit the ground, and I knew the day wasn't going to end well. We went to church (because by then, I thought it was out of my system), and that was a fail. I got up three times during main service. I figured if I went home and took a nap, that I'd feel better.

I napped. And then I ate the blandest sandwich one has ever consumed.

(I think you know what happened next.)

The midwife on call suggested that since I hadn't kept anything down in 24 hours (including liquids), that I go in for a quick rehydration.

Trickery, I tell you.

This was my bed in the ER. Tell the front desk you're pregnant and you get some priority. Mention "twins" and you're guaranteed a prime spot on the list for a bed.

Not entirely surprising, the IV meds of anti-emetics didn't work, and that apparently was my ticket upstairs to a unit. Antepartum was full. I was placed on the Medical/Surgical Floor, which to describe it properly is "gah!" and "yuck!"

I was tucked into my bed by 2:00AM. Breakfast was chicken broth and jello. Same with lunch. Despite feeling ill, I was starving. They decided to up my medicine and give me a regular tray for dinner. I was offered "fish with cilantro sauce" or "Swedish meatballs". I didn't know what the latter was, and in a spirit of adventure, sprung for it.

Anyone hungry?

Robert played super-dad, and my parents helped out a ton. Evan seemed confused and clingy, but overall, he was awesome.

By my second day in the hospital, I was itching to go home. I showered and cleaned up and even put on pants. (Leggings are pants, right?)

I was told that if I didn't get sick for twelve hours I could go home. Now, technically my orange juice from my morning tray didn't settle well, but even the midwife blamed it on the acid.

Robert was waiting with me to get discharged when we were told "it will be a while." In a restaurant, I'd expect that to mean 30 minutes. But I used to work in a hospital. "A little while" surmounts to hours. Robert went to the gift shop and bought a deck of cards and some Skittles so we could play Texas Hold 'Em.

I suppose it had been a while since I played because on my second hand, I greedily slid a ~~grape~~ five piece over and declared "three pair". Well, color me confused. My next hand I tried to go all in on a full house, but Robert knows I'm terrible at bluffing and he folded. Dang.

I did get home, albeit late, Tuesday night. I showered and ate real food and cuddled my baby until he fell asleep.

Wednesday, a belly shot was taken: I feel thick. I have gained all of two pounds since I found out I was pregnant four weeks ago. Despite the low weight gain, my body is very different this time. It could be bloat, but it could also be the fact that I'm carrying two. Who knows. I know I'm still small and have a long way to go, but to notice even a small change was neat.

***

That above was originally going to be all the post, and it was going to be posted Wednesday evening. However, due to an awesome storm that rolled through the area, we lost power about the time I was uploading the photos, and so I put it off for today.

This morning I was scheduled for my post-hospital stay check-up with the midwives. They wanted to do a quick ultrasound to check on things.

One of the midwives who saw me during my hospital stay had warned me not to get too excited because of Vanishing Twin Syndrome. I knew of the risk, but the talk of not getting my hopes up left me worried.

Imagine my horror when the first midwife rolled in the old, creaky ultrasound machine (not their high-tech ones over in the ultrasound area) and could only find one baby and an empty sac.

I promised myself I wasn't going to cry. I stared out the window. "I'm pretty new at the early ultrasounds" the midwife confessed. I tried to smile. She went to get the other midwife, and hey! It was "Don't Get Your Hopes Up" again. She pushed the wand at a different angle and voila. Two. Two babies, two heartbeats.

It seems that the babies, instead of being side by side, are "stacked" front to back. That isn't problematic (except for ease of early ultrasound viewing). And even though the babies are in different sacs, the likelihood of identical twins remains. We were told that they may be able to tell within 10-12 weeks.

Regardless, here's my trouble-makers. Tiny as raspberries, and already have the ability to give me a heart-attack.

Terrific Twos

2011-08-17T13:09:00.004-05:00

Evan is determined to march himself straight into toddlerhood with great expectations. There has been an explosion in his vocabulary (mostly sign language) and skills. He's dropped down to one nap a day. (I may have sniffled a bit at this.)He's also gotten in touch with his inner monkey and I've found him in his high chair, on the dining table, and once, I found him asleep on the coffee table in the living room:

Regardless of the challenges, it is fun. Evan is still very sweet and silly and at least once a day I'll find myself doubled over in laughter with him. Marching backwards. Snapping a ball between his legs. Trying over and over to do a somersault. He keeps me on my toes.

Although, a few weeks ago, I started feeling not-so-hot. I thought at first it was the heat and Evan's insistence on one nap (meaning less breaks for me). I was so tired. And queasy. And just not feeling right. I thought I had food poisoning. Or maybe a cold. I mean, Robert had just gotten over strep throat and I thought maybe I was sharing the germy love.

When day four came and I was still feeling like warmed-over ass, I took a pregnancy test. Negative. I had a friend over that morning for sewing and she said something about taking another test. I dismissed it with a hand gesture, and as soon as her tires left my driveway, I started thinking about it. I went to the restroom and the test from that morning was sitting on top of the trash. Do I see two lines? That looks like two lines... I busted out the bad boy of pee-sticks: the digital. I knew I was being silly.

Except maybe, I wasn't:

I stood and stared at Evan. He clapped and sang and turned on the bathtub faucet in celebration.

I told Robert. We took a silly picture:

Monday of this week, the office wanted to do a quick ultrasound to check to make sure everything looked okay. I had been having nightmares about lack of a heartbeat or one of the other thousand anomalies that plague the anxiety of most first-trimester women. I didn't sleep a wink Sunday night, and by the time we got to the clinic Monday I was shaking with nervousness.

I laid on the table and they turned on the ultrasound machine.

"I see two" said the tech.

I said nothing.

I said nothing for thirty minutes.

When I did gain my composure (from the alternating laughing and crying I was doing), I finally asked, "Two? As in twins? Like one-two?"

She smiled. Robert smiled. I laughed.

Two.

Two, you guys.

Here's hoping for a safe, happy, healthy pregnancy. I know this is going to be a wild ride. And yes, I know it's early, but this? This is a whole new ballgame. I'm going to need all the support and love I can get.

TWO!

New Post on 19twelve Photography

2011-07-25T11:10:00.001-05:00

Come see what I've been up to lately over at 19twelve Photography. Hint: bows, ruffles and frilly diapers. Hooray!

Random Picture Post

2011-07-02T07:00:00.002-05:00

First up, my mountain goat child. One evening when Robert was mowing the lawn and I was trying to cook dinner, I heard him pounding on a window in the living room. I found him here:

The dogs seem to obey Evan more than Robert or I. I just wish he wouldn't close himself in the kennel so often:

Evan found this creepy doll in a doctor's waiting room. He carried it around by the foot. Ick.

Evan has a fondness for sitting in the cloth toy boxes to read himself books.

We all went out for snow cones one afternoon.

Evan and his swim diaper / baby Speedo. I love that thing. And his little baby belly, too.

Beaninator

2011-07-01T07:00:00.001-05:00

Evan loves to eat off a plate now.

With silverware.

Except for beans. Beans are finger food apparently.

This doesn't bother me. It bothers Robert.

It bothers Robert even more when I ask Evan (who has a handful of beans) where his hair or his ears are.

Coincidentally, I find it funnier on the nights when it is Robert's turn to bathe Evan.

Story Time

2011-06-30T07:00:00.000-05:00

Road Trips

2011-06-29T07:00:00.001-05:00

I loved road trips as a kid; sitting on a pillow in the back seat stuffing my face with crackers and reading books non-stop as the landscape whipped by.

Robert and I have taken our fair share of travels in the past six years together. We've traveled most often to East Texas to visit his grandparents. It's a short trip from here; merely three and a half hours in the car.

Since Robert has been traveling this trip his whole life, he generally drives. I've done it a time or two, but I'm not comfortable on back country roads and places without street signs or stop lights or any markers save for that big ominous tree next to the burn pile.

I like it. I like feeling surrounded by nature. When we last went through Washington state and into Mount Rainier State Park, I enjoyed the drive scenery almost as much as the park. East Texas looks a little the same; there isn't snow on the ground and trees aren't evergreens, but it is wholesome. There is something so calming about rows of trees, with a road carved out between them stretching so far into the horizon.

Evan still sleeps most of the way to and from. Maybe one day he'll find it all familiar, too.

It's Not For Everyone

2011-06-28T07:00:00.000-05:00

In a previous post about travel, I alluded to the fact Evan and I had an unpleasant trip experience. It came down to the nasty attitude of the flight attendant.

It was an early morning flight, the first of the day for the crew. Everyone on board, passengers and crew, were sleepy eyed and sipping coffee and being quiet. It was a short trip from Houston to Chicago.

The first flight I took with Evan was a very late night flight to the west coast. We flew back on a red eye. Both flights he slept most of the way. I wasn't sure how he'd do early in the morning, but I put him in a comfortable outfit and didn't try to stimulate him with toys. I figured he'd probably sleep most of the way.

This flight was on Southwest. I didn't want to pay four times the price to fly Continental...and also? The airport for Southwest is infinitely closer and easier to get to.

I boarded with everyone else, and was lucky enough to find a front row (SCORE! Extra leg room!!) seat, and squeezed in the middle between a college kid and a grandpa. I put away our things and cuddled the baby. While the plane was pulling away from the gate, Evan signaled that he wanted to breastfeed. So, to keep him comfortable for take-off, and quiet, I fed him. I did so as discreetly as I could.

It was then, that a flight attendant came over to me. She stopped and pursed her lips and then, in such an unpleasant tone, asked "Are you going to cover up?"

Uhhhh...I was covered up. As covered up as I could be. I mean, I hadn't busted out a parka or something, but with a breastfeeding tank layered under a long shirt (not to mention a baby with a good sized noggin), there was nothing to see here.

I said, "No, I think we're okay." The flight attendant walked off.

And then she came back. It hadn't been thirty seconds.

"Do you want me to get your coat down to cover up?"

She was quite pissed.

I was getting kind of embarrassed.

"No thank you" I stated.

She huffed.

"You are making people uncomfortable" she said as she stood, staring at me. I didn't say anything. I looked around. No one was looking at me, there were no passengers in front of me. The row beside mine contained two old people already slumped over trying to go to sleep. The college kid next to me had his nose in a book and the grandpa next to me was peering out the window.

"Ma'am, you're going to have to cover up. You are making people uncomfortable."

It was then that the quiet college kid next to me spoke up, saying "She's not bothering me."

The grandpa sneered, "Me either."

The flight attendant huffed. She then walked off.

I was somewhere between wanting to cry (I HATE confrontation) and wanting to kiss the passengers next to me.

When the plane neared Chicago, we had to circle about a bit because of bad weather. Evan, who had been asleep since just after the confrontation, roused a bit. I think the turbulence and altitude change were bothering him and he wanted a quick nosh to comfort. I again, as discreetly as possible, nursed him a bit. I looked up, and there was the flight attendant, in the rear-facing seats attached to the cockpit staring at me. She cleared her throat. As she began to say something to me, the male flight attendant sitting next to her said, "Oh, just leave her alone!"

And that was that.

***

I'll admit it; I cried when we landed. I felt so embarrassed having had someone seemingly single me out, especially for something that isn't wrong.

On the connecting flight, from Chicago to New York, and the two flights back to Houston, I never had any trouble. Just as my flights to the west coast, the other legs of the New York trip were met with helpful, friendly flight attendants.

The more I thought about what happened that morning, I got mad. If I had been blatant about breastfeeding, perhaps holding a bare breast out for my baby, then I could have understood needing discretion.

I also understand that breastfeeding isn't for everyone, and everyone is not comfortable with it. I have some family that isn't comfortable with breastfeeding, and I use my utmost discretion when I'm around them. When we're in public, if Evan needs to breastfeed, I do what I can to ...well, get the job done and not show a lot.

I wrote a letter to Southwest Airlines when I got back. They wrote me an apology and gave me a $50 voucher. I had some people say "Woah, don't go too far out of your way, Southwest!"...but honestly? I think the apology was good enough for me. They can't erase time and make that situation not happen. I think they did a quick patch to remedy the situation as best as they saw fit. I'm fine with that.

***

So fine, I got some lip from a groggy, grumpy flight attendant. I've had worse. (A patron once YELLED at me in an Ann Taylor Loft in Tulsa, Oklahoma when Evan was only six weeks old or so. He started crying to get out of his car seat and I was fumbling with the latches to get him out when she said, "Would you shut that baby up?" That has nothing to do with breastfeeding, but rather to show the kindness of strangers. Hmmph.)

A month or so ago, I was having a minor procedure. The scheduling person at the hospital could hear Evan babbling in the background and asked how old he was. I don't remember how it came up, but the scheduling person asked if I was breastfeeding.

"Well, when are you going to stop doing that?" she asked.

[What the f-bomb]

"Oh, when he's ready to stop, I suppose" I said, trying to redirect the conversation back on track.

"He'll NEVER stop, you hear? If you don't set boundaries, he'll breastfeed FOREVER" she started in.

I was beyond agitated.

"Really? He'll never stop? Because I don't plan on packing my breasts with him to kindergarten" I snapped. And the conversation closed.

***

Seriously, what the heck? This:

A) was not her business
B) had nothing to do with scheduling my procedure
C) was from someone working in a hospital

When I received a survey in the mail about my experience, I let them have a piece of my mind. I stated that not only had the commentary been inappropriate, but furthermore, before dispensing advice, the person should:

1) Check out WHO's recommendations on breastfeeding (at least six months, continued to two years or beyond with complementary foods)
2) Check out AAP's guidelines on breastfeeding (as long as mutually desired by both mother and baby)
3) Perhaps attend a LLL meeting that is, not only in her building, but partially sponsored by the company she is employed by.

***

I know breastfeeding isn't for everyone. I've said that. And I know it. I know that it makes some people uncomfortable. However, it is a privilege, a gift, and a right. Breastfeeding is protected in forty-four states by law.

I know that an argument won't change any minds.

All I know, is that my body is still doing something good for my child. He still receives nourishment and vitamins, as well as comfort. I don't know how long we'll breastfeed. I still enjoy getting to do something for my child that I know that no one else can do. I like knowing that my body is still helping him grow strong and healthy.

And there is nothing anyone can say that will change that.

***

Random aside, this is one of my favorite photos of me and Evan. Robert and I have it hung in our bedroom. This photo is so intimate and personal. It's a moment with my baby. (And no, for the record, I wasn't feeding like this on the plane)

This beautiful image courtesy the lovely and talented Carolyn Kipper from Kipper Photography

A lazy weekend iPhone photo, capturing a baby nursing off to sleep. We were both sick here, but the closeness seemed to cure anything.

I really wish our society was more accepting of breastfeeding. It isn't dirty. It isn't shameful. It is beautiful and wonderful and miraculous. Motherhood is hard enough without everyone telling us we're doing it wrong.

I'm on your side, mamas...both breastfeeding and not. Breast milk and bottles don't define us. Our love for our children does.

32.8

2011-06-27T20:04:00.002-05:00

We returned home late last night after a quick weekend trip to ~~get scared by copperheads~~ see Robert's grandparents. I had left my garden last week, keeping an eye on an evolving watermelon, scared to pick it too early after what happened last time.

After hearing a few family farmers tell me to thump the watermelon and listen for a Whomp! or Ba-rump or sort of a hollow sound, but not too hollow, you hear?, I decided it was time.

Except for the fact I couldn't lift the watermelon.

I did my best helpless woman act and asked Robert to go ~~throw his back out~~ pick the beast.

It was big enough to be a pony:

It weighed in at 32.8 pounds

And! It was ripe!

Even after sharing half of the watermelon with our neighbors, I'm fairly certain we're set for summer.

Wherein My Child Tries To Tell A Duck "Happy Father's Day"

2011-06-22T23:32:00.004-05:00

On Father's Day, after going to church, we headed out for a bite to eat. Evan was in one of those "I don't want to eat or sit in a chair" moods. It blissfully coordinated with a "Hey look, this crayon flies like a rocket" mood.

Needless to say, Robert and I split up during lunch, chasing Evan around outside so the other could eat in peace. Robert went first on baby-wrangling duty...which, by the way, works out perfectly; I like eating my food searing hot where as Robert prefers his food at a more acceptable temperature. After uncouthly stuffing my face in a fashion akin to a starving hyena, we switched.

I decided since it was a [relatively] nice day outside, we could walk around the back of the restaurant that faced a rather large pond. Evan was babbling and pointing and I was Mmm-hmmm-ing and sweating profusely when I noticed his attention was suddenly gazelle intense.

He'd found a flock of baby ducks.

And this wouldn't be so bad if my child had ANY fear. Or you know, if ducks aren't protective and have beaks that peck (and also those grotesquely webbed feet - ick!). Evan started his tip-toe run towards the baby ducks when the Daddy Duck decided he needed to protect his flock. He puffed up and spread his wings and started kind of charging at us while honking and making not-friendly noises.

And Evan?

Evan thought the outstretched ~~arms~~ wings meant Daddy Duck wanted a hug. So Evan began charging at the duck.

It was at this time the Daddy Duck's Insanity Detector must have hit high because he spun (as quick as his grotesquely webbed feet would take him) and ran towards the water.

And you want to guess what Evan did?

Nods.

Yes, my child continued chasing the Daddy Duck with his own little baby arms stretched out squealing in delight.

It was about then, in the 99-degree heat, and 45-degree slope embankment that I suddenly REALLY regretted wearing those four-inch heels. Children can run fast, you know.

Only the tiniest tip of his shoe touched the pond before my fingers grasped his overall straps and underarms to save him from what would have been disastrously hilarious.

I walked back in the restaurant, now drenched in sweat with a look of heart-attack on myself and made the "Let's bail" signal to Robert. He quickly paid and we left, me still out of breath and Evan, still held across my body (like some human baby shield) laughing maniacally as though the whole afternoon was the BEST THING EVER.

I explained this all to Robert while we were driving home and he looked at me and said, "Yeah, I didn't take him down by the pond because I didn't want to have to chase him."

Robert, for the parenting win.

Hope

2011-06-20T22:54:00.003-05:00

Two years ago, I was entrenched in the confines of infertility. Or so it felt.

I was so lost, and lonely, and confused.

Infertility is inexplicably lonely; although the journey is generally with a partner, and you know the path has been tread before by many, it can be a dark, dank place to be.

I don't claim to be optimistic. Or pessimistic. Whenever Robert and I talk about the metaphorical "glass is half empty or full" I state, with a smirk, "It's a glass of water." We tend to gloss over a lot with satire; I grew up in a family that bred me to be strong and sarcastic.

I didn't have a lot of hope in the medical community at the time, although I was working amidst one of the fastest growing hospitals in the country. I know they call it "practicing" medicine for a reason. I'm well aware of statistics and outcomes, but I wasn't much aware of hope. Not in that regard. I saw a doorway of opportunity rapidly narrowing before me. I was scared. I was too scared to be hopeful.

I felt like a failure; as a woman and a wife. Our fertility was labeled "unexplained". It wasn't investigated further, and although it's maddening not to know, maybe it's a cushion for an ego. Who knows. Not I.

I tried to be lighthearted about it all. I was, outwardly, optimistic. Inside, I was trembling with fear. The day of the procedure, I was so full of frenetic energy that I'm surprised I didn't vibrate off the table. I fell asleep in the car on the ride home and barely roused to stumble to bed, where I lay most of the weekend in a post-emotional-high haze.

I remember it like it was yesterday. And yet, it feels like a lifetime ago.

In Misconceptions, Naomi Wolf talks about the things women must do alone, for ourselves. We must be born. We must die. And as women? We birth alone. No one else can do that for us.

No one else can walk the infertility path for you either.

It is no secret that I was sick during my pregnancy. (Really, really, really freaking sick.) I had bad days, days where I would sit on the front porch after Robert left for work and cry. Days that I wouldn't get out of bed at all. Days that the only thing I felt I had to look forward to was the home health nurse coming by to change out my catheter or IV.

But I was also so thankful. I really didn't believe I'd ever get to experience something so miraculous. And although I was sick, and had bad days, I enjoyed it. I don't think there was ever a single day that went by where I didn't hold my hand on my belly and think "I am growing a person in me." I was in awe of the miracle.

And life is funny that way; when you don't know things any different, you don't know how bad they are. Yes, I knew my pregnancy wasn't a picnic in the park, but I had never experienced pregnancy before, so I had nothing to compare it to. Nothing to say "this is worse than that"...so I tried, valiantly not to complain. I ask Robert if I was a whiner, and he always promises that I was good. That I was brave. "You did better than I would" he says, "Better than anyone I know."

The birth day wasn't my ideal either. I don't remember big chunks of the day. I was sick. The medicine made me feel sicker. I remember turning inward, feeling so lonely. Naomi Wolf's words thumped through my skull. This was my journey. Mine alone. No one could do this for me.

When I was in high school, I scribbled Langston Hughes in my journals:

Wave of sorrow
Do not drown me now:
I see the island
Still ahead somehow.

I see the island
And its sands are fair:
Wave of sorrow,
Take me there

That loneliness, that sorrow, it came in waves.

And then Isak Denisen,

"The cure for anything is salt water - sweat, tears or the sea

Even though I didn't believe in hope, I somehow made it to the other side. The other side of infertility.

He was worth it. Undoubtedly.

I look at him and see what hope is. What hope looks like.

I have heard, though, from other people that having a child doesn't cure infertility.

It may not. But it gives hope. And a reason to hope.

June

2011-06-20T22:27:00.004-05:00

In an effort to stay busy this summer, other than essentials of snow cone eating and sitting in front of oscillating fans, I've found various outlets for our energy:

Although the community finally opened the neighborhood pool, we've spent most of our time at swim lessons.

We bound in once a week, and let me tell you, Evan takes the BEST naps on those days.

Quite frankly, I do too.

Someone asked how I know he enjoys it. I suppose other than the squeals of delight and smiles and clapping and "YAY"-ing, it is the fact that on the days we go, if we dare arrive five minutes early, he'll stand in his little speedo-esque diaper pounding on the glass doors to be let in to the pool area.
(And yes, yes, I know, baby swim lessons aren't for everyone. For us, though, they're fun and it's a structured time together that Evan and I get to spend together once a week.)

We've also perused a lot of local libraries for story time. Some are better than others.

And play dates. Oh, the play dates. One night some friends were over, and it was getting late and Evan's little pal needed her bath and jammies, so we plopped the two in the tub together.

Oh, the cuteness that ensued.

We've been to birthday parties, and barbecue parties, and just-for-the-heck-of-it parties. We've been in inflatable pools and at splash pads and in bounce houses. We are enjoying the hell out of summer.

And, of course, goofing off at home. Nothing like a boring afternoon, a set of cars and an impromptu race course.

I've told Robert that I don't understand people who say having children made them boring. Having Evan has reignited my passion for fun...for that silly fun that is satisfied with sprinklers or splashing or snowcones. Long live the summer.

New Post on 19twelve Photography

2011-06-19T21:37:00.001-05:00

Hop on over to 19twelve Photography for a glance at some of the Father's Day photos from this year.

Happy Father's Day

2011-06-19T21:28:00.002-05:00

I didn't do anything big for Robert for father's day. I bought him two books I thought he'd enjoy (and yes, in paper, despite his persnickety fondness for his Kindle...which, funny enough, *I* bought him for his birthday. Hmm, that seems so odd now that I've typed it out...) and printed him a picture that I knew he'd like.

I did a lot of father's day pictures this year, but to make Evan's special, I used the tie Robert wore at our wedding. I suppose it is akin to me chopping up the wedding gown for a blessing outfit.

A super-bright, 80's-pop-color shout-out to that blasted Cozy Coupe car my brother bought Evan for his birthday. It's referred to as the Fuss Stopper. Seriously. Cranky baby? Put 'em in the car and wheel them around. Works like a charm.

After a few wild rides up and down the hallway (complete with sound effects of squealing tires and horn honks), Evan was much happier to participate:

Although, sad enough, this was the best in the bunch of the two of them. The other one I strongly considered had someone with their finger up their nose. (And it wasn't Robert.)

The Curious Case of the Uncurious Toddler

2011-06-19T21:00:00.003-05:00

My brother and his wife adopted a new dog the other week, and from the pictures, I could tell it was:
a) furry
b) impossibly small

My brother said it was a shih tzu they named Eva. (As in Longoria, Herzigova, Mendes or possibly Peron...take your pick.) Robert, Evan and I were in the neighborhood for a birthday party and stopped by to see the pup. Now, Evan is good with our dogs; our 70-pound fur bags that barely notice when he pokes their bellies or tugs their ears. I wondered how he'd do with this pound-and-a-half furball.

Meet Eva:

And meet her impossibly small, impossibly cute tiny puppy tongue:

Evan didn't even want to look at her. We tried setting him on his Tia Sharon's lap, and he wouldn't even glance at the puppy:

We tried setting him on Robert's lap and letting him "hold" the puppy to no avail:

We tried plopping them in the yard together, and neither would look at the other:

Normally, my little guy is all over everything and into anything. However, something was intimidating about a puppy 1/25th his size.

PS - He promptly came home and crawled in the kennel with our two big labs. So much for dog fear.

Summer Love

2011-06-16T11:28:00.001-05:00

The baby has been attending lots of photo shoots with me. He's the best ~~assistant~~ model.

James Evan and the Giant Peach Zucchini

2011-06-10T07:00:00.003-05:00

When I'm not plucking unripened watermelons, I'm letting my zucchini get too big. For scale purposes, please note the ~~baby~~ toddler.

He was more amused that I was letting him play with food.

He couldn't carry the 3.5 pound squash too far.

Although quite impressive in girth...

And length (I mean, do you know how big my husband's feet are?!)...

Okay...and length for regular scale...

I think it would be advisable not to let squash get this big. The inside was a bit too mushy, and I ended up carving around a spongy core to save the flesh and pieces closest to the skin. I made it into a lovely stew with tomatoes and garlic that lasted us a few ~~weeks~~ days.

Distraction and Sprinklers

2011-06-09T07:00:00.000-05:00

After Daisy died, I thought the dogs were coping well. In eight years, the dogs have only been separated twice. I gave Dora (Daisy's litter mate) and Duchess extra attention, and Robert and I even assembled them a new dog house. When we turned out the lights, we heard this...noise. I don't know how to describe it. At first we thought it was a far-off fog horn? Or maybe someone blasting a humpback whale CD?

Clearly, my rational thoughts end about 8pm when Evan goes to bed.

It was Dora, baying. Despite my best efforts to soothe her, it went on for the better part of the evening and has started again today. I didn't know how the other two dogs would mourn, but they certainly are. The sound is chilling.

I can bribe them into good spirits with treats, though:

In happier news, life continues on without a hitch for the baby. He seems to enjoy helping with the yard work.

Here he is signing "more"...which I don't know what he wants more of.

The sprinkler is the biggest attraction.

Our lazy summer evenings have been saddled with joy.

The littlest things can bring out a smile, and sometimes, that's just what we need.

The small & the big of it

2011-06-08T07:00:00.001-05:00

Even though the weather has been offensively hot, the garden is still doing well. After installing trellises for the cucumber and two watermelon vines, some baby carrots finally appeared:

And in my haste, and rookie gardening knowledge, I really thought this bad boy was ready:
It weighed in at 8 pounds even and had all the "signs" of being ready. It was paler on the inside than my thighs.

PS - I've noticed I'm wearing a lot of stripey dresses this summer. Hmm. Yes, well, it's too hot for pants.

Scraping the bottom of the barrel

2011-06-07T17:42:00.005-05:00

Do you ever have those days when, from the second you wake up, you know are going to suck? Today was one of those days around here.

Daisy died early this morning, without so much as a prior warning sign she was sick. I feel so sad. I've had her longer than I've known Robert. She was my calm, sweet girl who liked to moo like a cow. She had her own ideas about obedience, but was clever and cuddly. She was fiercely protective of me and Evan. She was always everyone's favorite of the three.

I didn't know what to do for the other two dogs. I kept Daisy's collar, and brought it back for Duchess and Dora. I put it in my lap and explained it to them as though they might understand.

I miss my big girl.

Bountiful Harvest

2011-05-10T07:05:00.002-05:00

The garden is doing great...so great that we've had to share some of the vegetables with our neighbors and friends. We've eaten our weight in zucchini and still have plenty to spare.

I knew I had some more zucchini that was ready to pick and eat, but don't have enough stomach for it, so we offered some up to our neighbors. They said they'd love some (and hey, my neighbor watered my garden for me on my last trip out of town!), so I plucked one.

Robert gasped at its size. This isn't your average grocery-store zucchini:

I remember laughing at the ginormous vegetables my grandmother could grow, and now I have some real gardening pride:

This baby was about 10 or so inches long, about 12 and a half in circumference and weighed in at over 2 and a half pounds:

I'd have to say we're doing pretty well for our first shot at gardening.

The Birthday That Didn't Suck

2011-05-09T20:53:00.003-05:00

Heyyyyyyyyyy, remember last year? We do. A little bit. We're still ~~crying~~ ~~laughing~~ remembering.

Anyhow, this year went off without a bang...OR a beep! Robert was into something a little more low-key, and good golly, I had quite a tizzy trying to figure out something to get him. I finally settled on a Kindle. And he kind of knew I bought it for him, so I plopped it on his pillow and said "Sur-preeeze!" and we laughed.

I did want to spoil him a bit, so we went out for a hibachi dinner in town, where learned the baby likes miso onion soup:

And also? Baby likes salad. From chopsticks. Seriously.

I wanted to do something fun, so we stopped by a batting cage / miniature golf course for some good laughs at each other.

Robert did fairly well.

For the record, I'd never swung a bat (well, not at a baseball).

Also, for the record, I have a MUCH smaller head than my husband:

We finished with a round of miniature golf, where seeing as I was wearing the baby, my handicap was score X .5. I had a few holes that were something like 5 and a half.

Even with my handicap, Robert still smoked me. It's okay; he was the birthday boy after all.

Feliz Cinco de Mayo

2011-05-05T19:03:00.002-05:00

In my last post, I talked about how the garden was growing. Tonight, seeing as it was Cinco de Mayo, we celebrated...we talked about drinking Negra Modelos (none were cold in the fridge) or eating a tres leches cake (too many calories for a mid-year diet)...so we settled on rice and beans and tacos.

...And what better way to spice up the meal than with a few peppers from the garden?

Although they were small, the flavor of home-grown, and straight from the garden cannot be beat. When the tomatoes ripen, I'm looking forward to salsa.

The Great Outdoors

2011-05-01T22:23:00.005-05:00

My grandmother had the greenest thumb you can imagine. I talked a little about it here, and then the plans for our backyard here.

Now, for the record, this was (until now) my only success in the realm of gardening:

Oh my gosh, those eyebrows. I was a tad awkward.

After Robert and I busted our tails, this was one side of the garden: I snapped one measely photo with my iPhone because I just knew it wasn't going to go well. I didn't want lots of photos of our ~~hopes and dreams~~ money and vegetation to be shattered.

Well, well, well, looky here:

The tomatoes are the cutest, by far.

And the peppers aren't ready yet:

My other peppers, cucumbers, melons, potatoes, corn, strawberries (what is left after the dogs were hungry for fruit) and herbs are doing well. My zucchini? It is apparently taking over the planet. Only a bit later than we planted have we started harvesting zucchini -- we even had one of the bigger ones for dinner. Between the two zucchini plants that have survived (thrived, really - one is almost six feet in diameter!) we have almost 25 zucchinis that are in various stages.

My helper, who has recently learned to run (and appreciate the grass!):

That boy is growing up so fast.

I already have plans for next year...besides crop rotation, better space planning, I want to try out other fruits (I'm still searching for dwarf blueberry bushes), another tree to plant, and other squashes. Maybe I'll grow my own green thumb after all.

Confession Time : Bad Habit

2011-04-29T22:51:00.004-05:00

I need to confess something here...

I have ~~some~~ a bad habits. I am possibly the world's worst suitcase unpacker.

I am GREAT at packing suitcases. I am meticulous in cleaning my house. I like things neat and tidy and in order, but oh my lord, I am downright awful about unpacking my suitcase.

When I come home from a trip, I'll wheel my bag just inside the door and leave it there. I'll unpack the essentials the first night: toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, deodorant. The next day, I'll generally get around to unpacking the dirty clothes and washing them.

And then?

Then I slowly unpack the bag as I remember things I need; bobby pins. Hairspray. My running shorts I never wore, but packed anyways.

And yet, the bag will remain with stuff; weird souvenirs I brought back (rocks, sand, brochures), and generally the books I anticipated reading (but never had time to), travel laundry soap, ticket stubs and a spare camera charger.

This goes on, generally, until my next trip.

*****

I thought I was confessing something new and unknown to Robert when I told him about this last weekend. I flew back on the 12th with the baby and the only reason the suitcase is not in the dining room is that my in laws came over and I wheeled the (still mostly full) suitcase into our bedroom because I was embarrassed.

Robert looked at me, expressionless, "I KNOW". Hmmm, apparently he's noticed over the past six years that I don't really ever unpack. He told me that he's just a super patient person (and nice enough not to make fun of this slovenly habit), and then he confessed that for the record, he's unpacked the bag for me on at least one occasion.

I made it my weekend goal to put away the suitcase. We'll see.

Tripping Down Memory Lane

2011-04-28T15:18:00.005-05:00

Hurrah! I finally figured out how to use our scanner at home.

First up...is this not the scariest damn Easter bunny you've ever seen? Please denote the look on my face:

Apparently, I've always had a love of Dr. Pepper (see lower right corner):

Nope, never had rhythym:

Yee-haw:

Vacation from Hell; weren't we a memorable bunch:

Ugh, the 90s:

My mom kept insisting that I once dyed my hair black for a school dance. I did no such thing. I might have worn black (and some tacky-ass shoes), but my hair was never black:

Also, I was the only goth kid that took piano. Go figure.

Easterrific : 2011 Style

2011-04-27T07:00:00.003-05:00

Do you remember last year?

This year:

Last year:

This year:

Last year:

This year:

Trying to make him pose:

Hmm, it seems he is much more wiggly this year...

He is able to run off.

...but still so adorable.

That boy of mine.

...and that's when it got even better

2011-04-26T07:00:00.000-05:00

Although I was fairly sure the other day that we were nearing the end of the plague and pestilence, I was wrong. I could not have been more wrong if I tried.

When I woke Evan up on Thursday, he was hot; so hot I'm fairly sure I could have cooked food on his sizzling skin. To make a long story short, I ended up with him at the pediatrician's office and left with a prescription for antibiotics, over-the-counter allergy meds and Tylenol.

Robert was supposed to fly in Thursday night on an early flight, arriving about the time I would be tucking Evan into bed. He texted once he'd landed, and then about the time I thought he should be about halfway home, I thought I'd not-so-cleverly ask for a fizzy beverage.

"Yes, I would" I texted.
"?????????" he texted back.
"Yes, I would like a fizzy drink. :)"
[silence]

After another ten minutes or so, I received this:
I would love to get you one, but I'm freaking out because I can't find my car key.

My response might have included an f-bomb.

It was...not good. The airport is about an hour away (if you take the toll roads). And there is only one key for Robert's car.

Robert initially planned to take a cab to the house, but no cab driver wanted to go out this far (and even if they did, we didn't want to pony up major cash for that). I did the best thing I could think of: told Robert to take a cab to a restaurant he'd been hungry for while I plopped the sick baby in the car and drove to get him at 11pm.

*****

The next morning, we contacted the car dealership who stated they had to have the car on-site to make a new key...and since we didn't have the original key, it was three times as expensive as getting a regular key made.

We called a tow truck to meet at the airport long-term parking and drove (all the way)(sigh) back to the airport. Because the car had to be in neutral (and also because someone had parked a wee bit close to the driver's side), the tow truck driver suggested jimmying the lock open and pushing the car out of the space to hook it up to the tow truck. The driver went to the passenger side first and after two tries, he got it open.

And that's when the alarm went off.

*****

After being towed to the nearest dealership (yes, the alarm was still going)(also: $$), we decided to wait on the car at a restaurant.

I knew Evan hadn't eaten much the day before, but figured perhaps he was feeling better. Robert had him on his lap and we were talking about what we could do for the weekend when it happened: Evan barfed.

Robert cleaned him up and we thought it was much better when Evan's body decided that perhaps it could go down the laundry list of side effects of the antibiotic. NEXT UP: Diarrhea. WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

*****

We had two car keys made, lest we have this much fun again.

An almost $500 Friday and hard-lesson learned, we were on our way back to a normal weekend.

Post-script: Evan's body evidently read the next warning label of doom and gloom: Rash. We're headed back to the pediatrician tomorrow because although he's breathing better, he's looking mighty leper-ish.

Post-post-script: Also, we learned this morning on the way to church that the Thermos spill-proof sippy cup is not, in fact, spill-proof. It's more like HOOVER DAM DONE BROKE IN YOUR CHILD'S CAR SEAT. We had to turn back to the house, throw his outfit in the dryer and then when we couldn't wait any more, drove all the way with his pants on the air vents.

Post-post-post script: See?

Asking for it

2011-04-25T07:00:00.001-05:00

After seeing a few photos I'd snapped of Evan in bluebonnets, Papar wanted some of Layla. Now, let me say that Layla is one of the sweetest-tempered, sweet, adorable, precious, cuddly babies there is...

...but that is one PISSED OFF bunny:

The children were bribed with many fruit snacks, water cups and cheering. They really weren't buying it.

Layla didn't mind posing with her beautiful mama:

...but my child? Hated me for inadvertently giving him another wedgie:

The children merely wanted to go and stomp in the crunchy, sun-scorched grass, completely ignoring either mother with either camera.

My child displaying his little furrowed brow...the only physical trait he seemingly got from me:

Toddlers : Cooperating Since Never

WOMAN, are you really still snapping photos? Give it up already.

The Jesus-is-Risen/Bunny Holiday

2011-04-24T07:00:00.004-05:00

Can I admit something here?

I don't understand the correlation between the Easter bunny and the churchy Easter story. I've tried valiantly in my head and return back to "It's spring and there are bunnies...?" I really don't know. I mean, when I was a kid, my grandma would buy my ~~picky~~ particular self white chocolate bunnies and insist it wasn't real chocolate. I still wouldn't eat anything with chocolate in the title.

But yes, there was an Easter bunny and I remember at our first house I was very concerned about the How of it all because we didn't have a chimney there and well, at Christmas we visited my grandparents who had a chimney and how is this giant bunny bearing jelly beans and circus peanuts (oooh, yum!) going to get to me? I distinctly remember posing this question to my mother who said I could make a key of some fashion for the bunny to put on the front door, and although that's about the last train stop of that memory, I can pretty much guarantee it was made with aluminum foil, construction paper, Elmer's glue and glitter.

SO, ANYWAYS...yes, the bunny. I just kind of go along with it like a lemming because it just feels right.

I had thought that while my mom and I went to Brenham it would be a good photo op for bunny ears, but that was a fail of epic proportions...OR WAS IT? You be the judge...

Option 1 : General tantrummy toddler

Hmm, no, that doesn't feel right.

Option 2 : Sassy and straightforward

I somehow don't think that's church appropriate, nor would a giant fuzzy creature be tempted to bring that kind of 'tude candy and/or age appropriate gifts

Option 3 : Honesty

Hmm, it looks more like someone off-camera threatened him to put his hands up. No cops show down for the religious crowds...

Option 4 : Transparent Anger and/or Bargaining

Those little fists of (almost) ineffectual fury just don't say "Celebrate our risen Lord" to me.

Option 5 : Closer to the truth

Admit it, you've wanted to say this to someone.

Option 6 : Grumpy Nursing Bunny Toddler

Considering the stigma around breastfeeding, I don't know how well this would fly with certain people...

Fine, I'll admit it; we went to a mall and posed with a weird looking bunny*:

At least we upgraded (did we?) from last year. Perhaps a smidge. Or not. Who knows.

Now let's all eat some chocolate and call it a day.

*Um, seriously, this bunny person did not know how to hold a child, which yes, the fact that this bunny was ALLOWED to hold a child is a major upgrade from last year, but why is my child slipping between his/her** lap? Evan was actually quite still and not in the squirmy stage, which is why I don't understand why they were holding my happy (!) baby so awkwardly.

**Is the Easter Bunny male or female? I really don't know.

Contagious

2011-04-23T07:00:00.000-05:00

There was nothing particularly special about the day I snapped this photo. Evan was 1 year, 1 month, 17 days. It's just that he is always so happy...always smiling and laughing and acting silly.

Even on days when things are rough or I'm feeling a bit blue, that boy shows me how to find joy anywhere.

The best parts of my day are the parts I spend with him.

He really has his father's eyes

2011-04-22T07:00:00.001-05:00

When my mother and I went to Brenham to see the bluebonnets, we figured Evan was old enough to tour the Blue Bell Ice Cream factory because hello? Yummy.

Also? Baby is old enough to be embarrassed in a paper hat.

Photos were not allowed on the tour, but after the very ~~boring~~ informative tour, we got what we went there for: free ice cream.

This was about the time I noted maybe Evan was experiencing a sugar high:

Something tipped me off, maybe it was him running around maniacally squealing while thrusting his spoon in people's faces saying "dadadadada!"

Or maybe it was the fact that his eyes were all wonky: (Evan, you can really thank your dad for that one. When he's had too much tequila his eyes do the same thing. I have many pictures from our last trip to Mexico where it seems as though he's both looking at the camera and the sunset a whopping 45-degrees away.)

I knew it was a bit of a drive back, so I tried to let him out to expel energy.

Which, yes, if you've noted, I put my kid in mandals that day. I don't know. I bought them at Target one day because SQUEE! BABY SHOES ARE CUTE.

Evan happily ran along the path towards the car...

until he realized that the car was the exact opposite direction of ALL THE ICE CREAM

Which, hello mom? I'm going back for more.

Which, yeah, he pretty much passed out the second he hit the car seat and stayed in his ice-cream-induced-coma until I pulled in the driveway.

House of Plague and Pestilence* Welcomes You

2011-04-21T07:05:00.000-05:00

You know what makes for stellar parenting? Parenting a toddler alone. While you're sick. And they're sick.

I'd like to tell you we have been eating more nutritious things than grilled cheese sandwiches and applesauce. I'd like to tell you I've maintained and neat and orderly house. I'd like to tell you that our clothes are not covered in crayon stains (seriously?) and miscellaneous (yet curiously) snot-like smears that dry like slug trails.

I'd like to tell you that, but I'd be lying.

We've been a sorry bunch.

I've been functioning in survival mode, which includes a lot less structure and a lot more sleep. The baby and I spent the other day until noon in bed. NOON. Most days are fogs of drippy noses and headaches and laying down and cuddling on the sofa together.

Although, Evan did discover the race track my brother bought him for Christmas makes an excellent baby turn table:
Which I'm sure someone out there is freaking out about blah blah blah baby might get hurt. Well, it looks cute and kept him entertained for the better part of an hour.

Because I'd rather him be more active than this:
I swear I don't know where he learned to do that.

Or watching some random TV show like this:

Okay, and back to the race track:
OH MY GOD, I love that child. I want to squish him.

That was his first big smile since I acted like a big ol' donkey at the Easter Bunny photo place (pics upcoming!).

Personally, I am fantasizing about snow cones. Large vanilla snow cones eaten with those horribly flimsy white plastic tea spoons in un-environmentally friendly styrofoam cups. I made a Homer Simpson drool noise over that tonight. I have no idea where a snow cone place is around here, and the last time I ventured out (for caffeine), I threw up in a drive through line while the man behind me trying to order some cheesy-taco concoction yelled expletives at me for ruining his dinner....so, I think maybe it's best we stay in until this whole thing blows over.

*We're not contagious, I swear. It was an allergy thing that got on a plane, some how crawled up into our sinus cavities and then hey you guys, know what would be SUPERFUN? How about a migraine? Wheeeeeeeeeee!

How to sever a coax cable in one easy step crash of a shovel

2011-04-20T07:02:00.002-05:00

To continue the mind-blowing stupidity around here, this happened:

Yes, yes, it was accidental. And really, it was poorly placed; nary four inches underground and in such an odd spot, but really? REALLY?

The second the shovel hit it, I heard an "Uh oh". From two parties.

One call to our cable company and a one piece of plastic and a crap-load of electrical tape later, we were back in business.

Dude, so not my fault. Also? Send help. You think they're capable of taking care of a human?

Floor cereal makes an excellent snack, and other lessons learned while half-assing it through baby-proofing

2011-04-19T15:13:00.006-05:00

We're just going to go ahead and call this a fail:

And while I went to get the vacuum, Evan decided his creation needing some spreading out via wild hand gesticulating (while happily shrieking).

It's kind of an art you have to appreciate.

A performance art demonstrating my naive dumbassery and assumption that it was okay to store things on the floor of the pantry and that doors were safe from being opened.

Win for no loss of suction.

Stealing more sand

2011-04-18T07:02:00.002-05:00

After visiting Niagara, we drove to Toronto.

Which, yeah, when you arrive and your bellhop says "Oh no, I don't have a car...I wouldn't drive here!"...you wonder why you didn't know this information beforehand. Good grief, the traffic. It was like NYC, but with more "eh" and "aboot".

We did manage to score a balcony room (one of only three in the hotel) and the only one on the roof. We decided to wheel Evan's crib out for nap time:

He thought the view wasn't half-bad:

Whenever we travel, I try to find interesting little places to eat. I don't like going to a place I could find at home...what's the point?! Through various review websites, I heard about Khao San Road, which was a good walk from the hotel.

I am certainly glad I had drawn a map, because, um:
I had heard that if you didn't have reservations and arrived just as they opened for dinner service, they might let you in. We arrived at 4:59 and snagged the only non-reservation table for the night. It was definitely worth it. Evan ate his weight in fried squash blossoms and we all delighted in garlicky chicken and a variation of Pad Thai.

The walk allowed us to explore the city and get lost and see tidbits we would have otherwise overlooked:

And the next day, before we left (as it began to pour in 40 degree weather!), we took a quick photo together. We placed my camera on top of a book, on a side table that we balanced inside the crib and wheeled out on the balcony.
(And no, I wasn't wearing a coat...but you can tell how cold it was based on Robert wearing one!)

The weekend was short, so we had to head back into the states so Robert could return to work. Evan wanted to try out the hotel pool...which oh! Babies in flip flops! Melty!

While Robert worked, Evan and I explored what there is in Rochester, New York...which is, um, really cool Kodak buildings...

And, um, Kodak buildings... (The quaint nostalgia of seeing where George Eastman founded such an iconic company sent my heart aflutter.)

In the afternoon, though, we drove up to Lake Ontario to explore the beach a bit. We drove near Irondequoit, New York hoping to get into state parks, which turned out to be closed. However, we got lost and found this quiet beach instead:

It was windy, and cold, and so beautiful:

The father-son moments melt my heart. Evan was roaring at the ocean here:

Those boys, exploring the world together:...capturing their relationship makes me want to freeze time (and quite possibly have a thousand babies):

And you know, you just KNOW I couldn't go up to a beach and not steal sand (and drift wood, because really, who doesn't need drift wood?):

Oh Cananada!

2011-04-17T07:11:00.000-05:00

A couple of months ago, when Evan and I trekked up to the Pacific Northwest to visit Robert, I had wanted to visit Vancouver. I had dutifully applied for Evan's passport in anticipation of such a trip. It just wasn't in the cards; our time was too limited...but we did have fun! We were able to visit lots of places I've wanted to see, but one night, in tired stupor, I said to Robert "...but I wanted to go to Cananada!"

[Pause]

Yes. Cananada.

Well, Cananada, here I come!

Robert has been in upstate New York on a project for a while now, and when I saw $89 flights on Southwest, I jumped at the chance.

So yes, once again, I flew across the country by myself with a baby. The baby was well behaved on the flights. One particular flight attendant? Not so much. (More on that in a later post.)

We decided to sight see in Niagara Falls and Toronto. We drove into Ontario and stayed at the Fallsview Marriott.

Gee, wonder why they call it that? (Yes, that's Evan learning how to crank open the window to listen to the noise.)

The next morning, after we'd ~~rested a bit~~ laid on a hotel mattress and stared at the light show, we went down to see the falls. I've been before; it was 10+ years ago, and I visited the American falls. This time, we were advised to leave our car at the hotel and ride a tram down the hill and then walk.

The tram:

Ugh. Robert wanted front-row seats, which made me quiver:

But Evan? NO FEAR BABY:

It was an absolutely gorgeous day, cold and misty and as beautiful (if not more so) than I remembered. I hadn't been close to horseshoe falls before, so it was much different than my last visit:

Robert...oh, Robert didn't wear a jacket. I have absolutely no idea how he doesn't freeze to death about 90% of the trips he goes on:

The baby and I? Yeah, all bundled up in the mist (because you know we had to get close):

We went back to our hotel, dried off, warmed up and then drove on to Toronto...more pics on that next!

Fussy bluebonnets

2011-04-16T14:13:00.002-05:00

I've been single parenting. And traveling.

I would make a longer list, but anyone who has lived (and survived) alone with a toddler for any period of time will understand.

In any case, I felt it was pertinent to go visit the bluebonnets again this year. Last year was our first big trip with the baby. He was tiny.

This year, he wasn't so tiny.

He was also just about as thrilled about wildflowers.

This was the best shot of the three of us that traveled that day. Clearly I need some sort of horrid device to keep me from slouching:

Evan and my mom:

I was trying to stave off a total melt-down by nursing the baby (yes, with bunny ears), but this was the best actual shot of the ears:

I mean, really, not a good photo in the bunch:

A half-hearted smile as my mom jumped and clapped for him while I chanted nonsensical promises of ice cream:

And the crocodile tear of true guilt:

*****

We gave up. We went back in to town for lunch, and you know what we couldn't miss again?

The sign...although they did change the wording to be slightly better than last year:

One

2011-03-03T07:00:00.009-06:00

One year.

It seems amazingly impossible, serendipitous, a painful joy. In the same breath I cannot believe it's been this long, I also cannot believe it hasn't been longer.

One year ago, I was very scared. The morning of March 3rd had not started out good for me; I was sick and having contractions and generally not feeling well. I had a fleeting thought on the way out the door (on the way to my 39-week midwife appointment) of "What if this is the last time I leave the house without my baby?"

I've often imagined how Robert and I looked walking into that hospital; the trepidation evident on our faces and in my quivering voice when they asked if I was in labor.

And when I laid in the hospital bed, and the midwife's soothing voice, soft as velvet, told me enough times for it to sink in, that I wouldn't be leaving the hospital without a baby, it suddenly became real for me.

I laid on that cold operating table, shaking, partially from the medication, and partially from nerves. I didn't know what to expect. I didn't know who the baby was. We had whittled our name list down, but ultimately wanted to see the baby to choose. I held Robert's hand. I tried to be brave, because aren't mothers brave?

And then? Instantaneously, I knew that cry and asked to see my baby. My baby.

For me, it was though a switch was flipped. A rush, a wave, whatever you may call it, swept over me and I was no longer the same.

Love came so easy. I was blessed a million times over with what could possibly be labeled the easiest baby on the planet. Evan was (and continues to be) an even-tempered, rarely-crying, adorable, snuggly, simply adorable baby. We bonded; all three of us. But Evan and I had the most time together; quietly in the dark as he nursed for hours, or in the morning when it was us alone in the big house. We fell in love together. As he learned to depend on me, I slipped so easily into the role of being his mother. His mama.

I look back with no regrets. I didn't know how life with a baby would be; I spent most of my pregnancy trying not to be sick...not having much time on thinking of what motherhood would be like. I didn't have expectations. I didn't know what to expect, so why worry or pretend?

The year has been unbelievably wonderful. It has challenged me, renewed my faith, changed my view of the world. I wouldn't trade it for anything.

As part of Evan's birthday party, I made a banner showcasing a photo from each month of his life. It's a celebration of him; my baby. This blessed boy that came barreling into our lives and hasn't stopped making us smile since.

March

April

May

June

July

August

September

October

November

December

January

February

He went from being this impossibly small, seemingly fragile bundle to a boy. His soft, lamby cries are now squeals of delight and small words. He's no longer a stranger to me, but someone so familiar that I feel as though I've known him my whole life. He is brave and he is strong. He is wonderful and loved and cherished.

He is all I could ask for in a child. He is a gift.

I have told Robert, time and again, that I know that although genetically, he is of us, that he is not mine to keep. Evan is his own person, a gift from God to raise and protect. To help learn and learn from. To love and be loved.

His name was no accident; Evan means God is good.

Evan was wanted, more than any wants in the history of all wants or babies.

Happy birthday, my little guy, my guppy, my sweet, sweet baby.

Go Texan

2011-03-02T07:01:00.001-06:00

If you're not from Houston, you don't understand the Houston Rodeo. It's a big deal. A really, big shindig. You wouldn't expect a city this big to get its knickers all in a twist over something like a rodeo, but it's not what you're imagining. It's bigger than that. It's not a backyard barbecue and a handful of cowboys. It's an entire sporting complex full of animals and cowboys and concerts and barbecue.

And to prove the extent at which the city, collectively, goes gaga over such a thing; my mom's church has "Go Texan Day". You know, as in a day where people dress up like cowboys and have a cook-out and even have a small carnival for the kids.

This was the first year my mom had a grandchild to take. She may have ~~casually~~ mentioned Go Texan Day to me a few weeks ago. She tried to act timid, but I know my spot in her will and good graces depended on my Evan's attendance.

When we arrived, Evan lunged for the petting zoo. That boy loves animals.

All animals are for petting, you see. Baby goats. Cows. Pigs. Dogs. People with beards. You name it, my kid wants to pet it.

I thought I could entice him away with a big bouncy slide.
Although you might not be able to see the crocodile tears from here, please note that Evan does not like bouncy slides. I suppose it took two turns with him to teach me.

And being pissed about being taken down a bouncy slide led to one heck of an unhappy pony ride.

And if you don't like bouncy slides, you definitely don't like bouncy houses. NOT ONE IOTA of smiling or liking.

But petting a bunny? Timid win.

Pulling grass out of a cow's mouth? Win.

Watching a pig bite your father's finger?
Definite high point.

Going back for the cow?
Exactly what we came here for.

Twins!

2011-03-01T09:41:00.002-06:00

Unlike last summer, no one asked if the boys were twins this time...even though we dressed them alike:
Such a shame. I really think I see a resemblance.
(whispers: a resemblance in their pajamas!)

Making Friends with Bacon

2011-02-28T09:22:00.000-06:00

Evan had a play date this past weekend, as did I.

I have been aching for some social gatherings since trying to adjust to doing some single parenting. My old friends, who have two beautiful boys, invited me over for play time and dinner on a warm, almost-spring evening.

The two youngest boys, a mere five months apart:

My boy, suddenly acting shy when I blurted out "ARE YOU EATING DIRT?"

Evan's handsome young friend:

And my child, living up to his name Magnus; pushing over another child and climbing up a slide:

But the real attraction...more than social interaction and friends and play time?

PIGS! Yes, we were back with my friends who have pet pigs. And my child showed no fear, toddling over to pet them:

He didn't see the hub-bub about it all; it was simply another animal to play with...another big beast that makes noise and smells and is there to keep him company.

You would have thought perhaps he might have thought it was odd or scary, but Evan?

Mighty and fearless.

Shared Interests

2011-02-27T10:11:00.003-06:00

My brother is a car guy.

And for as long as I can remember, always has been. When we were little, if we played together, it was one of three things:

1. The Ewok board game
2. MicroMachines
3. Playing "car" - as in, you know, sitting in my parent's car while my brother pretended to drive, and I played the part of the hand-wringing mother who told my imaginary children in the back seat to buckle (and shut) up.

John got a 1986 3-liter Mustang when he turned 16. And a few short years later upgraded to a 5-liter version with T-tops. He then got into restoring old cars (a 1969 Mustang), and BMWs and motorcycles.

His current project car (along with help from my dad) is a 1969 Corvette Stingray, and even at a young age, Evan knew to appreciate it. Here he is, playing "car":

And, of course, being the safe toddler baby driver he is, he even thought to adjust the mirrors:

John let Evan on one motorcycle (although the crotch rocket is at my dad's house...I'm sure that would have been good for a try, too):

And then, of course, John had to show Evan a convertible:

I think my brother has destined me to be the nerdy sibling.

So much for baby-proofing

2011-02-26T10:06:00.000-06:00

As Evan toddles around more and more, I find more things I need to baby-proof. He can lock doors. He can flush toilets. He can play in toilets. He can turn on tub faucets. And unload dryers. And open ovens.

(!!!!)

HELLO.

Yeah, the second he showed an interest in the oven, I went out and bought a lock for the oven that took me a good bit to figure out.

But Evan?

1...
2...

3...

Well, that lasted all of thirty seconds.

Wheelbarrelbarrow

2011-02-25T10:00:00.002-06:00

Before Robert left for this super-~~fun~~ long work training, we finally got our butts in gear to build a garden in our backyard.

Or rather, turn our backyard into a garden. We spent the better part of two months planning it out, two weekends gathering all of the supplies, and then put the structure (bare bones) of it together in less than two days. We asked my parents to come over and help, especially since my dad is so handy with woodworking.

Was.

He's now handy with a baby:
Clearly, he was very helpful:

And my mom? Yeah, she helped, too:

You know, it's really a shame that little boy doesn't enjoy himself more.

A Ferry Tale

2011-02-24T11:26:00.002-06:00

Despite Evan being sick, the last Saturday we were there, we decided to trek out to Whidbey Island on recommendation of a friend I made on the airplane. (I suppose you could call him a friend; his wife held my baby while I got my bags, and the man and I talked for most of the flight, and he even let Evan pet his beard. I so wish I had asked for their address to thank them.)

There are two ways to Whidbey Island; ferry or bridge. We decided to do both, one each way.

On the ferry ride, a nice gentleman offered to take our picture together, thus proving we did actually vacation together:
Also of note; our child has on one sock. Superb.

The ferry was so old-fashioned and charming; although I spent most of my time peering over the side as to avoid joining Evan in Barfville.

We didn't have any particular place in mind to see on the island, just to explore. While meandering (you certainly couldn't have "jetted" in our shitty rental car), we found this red door: It was there, by the road, keeping mailboxes company. I loved its randomness.

The big attraction on Whidbey Island is Deception State Park. When you go to Deception Pass (north Puget Sound area), you drive over this old fashioned bridge where there are many signs of "strong cross winds" and "NO STOPPING ON THE ROADWAY!!", but oh:

On the other side of the bridge, I almost jumped out of the car at the turn out:

We drove into the state park, and even pulled Evan out in the wind and rain: He got back at us because we're pretty sure it was there that he threw one of his shoes out of the car. Nice.

The state park was scattered with striped rocks and black sand, that of which I had to take some home as my souvenir. Robert could not believe I was so adamant on getting sand:

On Sunday, we went to Bellevue to Top Pot, which was supposed to be *the* donut place, but Evan didn't seem too excited:

We bought an array of sweet treats, devouring them all:

...and even taking one for later as a snack, only to deem it "okay". I'm just glad we didn't wait in the outrageous line that formed shortly after we'd sat down. 30 minutes for a donut? No thank you.

I was taking a red-eye back to Houston, so we had the entire day to waste. After getting another pair of shoes for our now-walking baby, we went to a farm park where chickens run loose. They have goats and a giant sow, a cow and horse stables. Evan was enamored with anything that would let him pet them:
After a jam-packed weekend, Evan fell asleep on the plane before it even took off and barely stirred before we landed in Houston.

It wouldn't be a vacation without barf

2011-02-23T11:04:00.002-06:00

I don't have many traditions.

I don't have a Christmas day plan or a birthday ritual or even an anniversary "thing". I've always envied traditions, but continually found myself bereft of any.

...save for the curse of always throwing up on vacations. Robert jokes about it. He even asked if I knew which day I'd be barfing on the trip. Lovely.

Early one morning, Evan was sharing our bed, up at 3:00am, pulling my hair and whining to play. I was exhausted, so I asked Robert if he might rock Evan a bit. And the very precise moment Robert picked up Evan, it happened.

Barf.

EVERYWHERE.

(But not mine!!)

It appeared that Evan caught a nasty stomach bug. After changing our hotel sheets, and bathing Evan (twice), Robert noted he was out of clean undershirts.

So what do you do with a baby who's sick at 3:00AM and you're out of clean clothes?

You cuddle in your only clean pair of pants and a polo.

Robert is one stylish sleeper.

Gum, Needles and Honey

2011-02-22T16:00:00.007-06:00

After our weekend of exploring Rainier, Robert went back to work and Evan and I were left alone in a teeny, tiny hotel room (which was totally not baby-proofed at all). I've met some people online who live in the area, and I heard that the Pacific Science Center was free on Mondays.

Guess where we went?

I've never taken Evan to a museum of any sort, and free seemed like the best kind. Plus, once he saw the toddler area with a 30-foot long water table, he was sold.

Robert's schedule wasn't too bad, so I showed him around downtown in the evenings once I'd learned my way around. The sky was beautiful, despite everyone's warnings of depressive gray, overcast shadows and no sunshine:

We went to the market at night when it was quiet, after enjoying a sunset in the cold:

And just a breath away is the original Starbucks:

Later in the week I found the Seattle Children's Museum, where my child once again stretched his legs and played with everything. Also of note? It was this week when Evan decided he no longer needed to crawl. He could walk.

We went to a nearby soccer field near Robert's work, and the astroturf was too weird for Evan to dare crawl on.

That boy. Where did my baby go?

I think it's safe to say that after being on the road for almost a month, Robert was really happy to have his little buddy back:

It was so quiet out there, and this moment encapsulates their relationship perfectly:

Evan has two smiles; his coy, flirty smile, and then this one...a big, cheesy grin:

We went back to the market again later in the week, this time to see the infamous Gum Wall:

Robert would not go near the thing. I didn't have a contribution, but giggled madly at such a sight:

Unfortuantely, the brass piggy bank was "injured" earlier in the week. I'd heard that a delivery driver accidentally ran over the pig, and in his place was this hilarous poster:

We lazily went around the market, peering into shops and gazing at everything...

...from the produce

...to the pasta (which we brought some home for my mother)

...to a variety of broccoli I'd never seen:

...to my childhood favorite of honey sticks:

Downtown Seattle is alive; not this barren office-building city I'm used to. It seemed different; smaller, personal, almost like it was home.

Testing the limits of sanity...

2011-02-21T10:13:00.005-06:00

Where did we go?

The beautiful, lovely, dreamy Pacific Northwest!

Robert landed a swanky new job back in December and has been traveling a ~~bit~~ lot. He went to Chicago. And Toronto. And then he was going to San Francisco and the PNW for three weeks. He hasn't been able to fly home on the weekends, so I figured, what the hey! Why not fly up there? With a baby! By myself!

Of course, when I decide to fly out, Houston suffers the Snowpacalypse (of no actual snow), where the airports and tollways were shut down. I was a lucky duck who (smartly?) chose a red-eye flight and my plane was good to go.

This was Evan and I at the airport:
(Which, he promptly bit me between my shoulder blades about three seconds after snapping this photo and I whipped around to get him to unlatch, much like a dog chasing its tail.)

We arrived around 12:30PST, and arrived at the hotel around 2:30PST. And no, I hadn't slept on the plane (although Evan did fantastic...like, he never squeaked on the plane or fussed...he collapsed on my lap and that was that.) (Although, he did sweat.)(A lot.)(Which made me sweat.)(Ew.), and I was hungry. I fell asleep holding a burrito.

So what do you do the day after you do something like that? You take a dam picture:

We went to Mt Rainier National Park, a short two-hour drive south/east from where we were staying.

Never in my life I have felt so saturated in nature, what with all the green and moss and dream-like qualities of the lower park:

I kept gasping and pressing my face to the window, and begging Robert to stop so I could get out and breathe the clean, cold air.

I also may have said "HOLYSHIT STOP THE CAR!" when I saw this gal snacking near the roadway.

Robert, driving the rental car on patches of ice, did not appreciate my sudden elk-loving.

The views were fantastic. We pulled over at each turn out and pulled Evan from his car seat and oohed and ahhed.

It was cold. So cold.

...so cold that when we came back the next day, we brought our big coats and Evan's snowsuit, although in this picture I'm in a short-sleeved sweater, because I don't know, I'm weird like that.

The snow banks close to the top were amazingly tall:

And Evan? He thought snow was great! Our little guy squealed and clapped and tried to crawl and walk all over the snow.