Doin' What Comes Naturally

There are some things that you don't have to teach your kid because they just figure it out on their own.

Nose picking is one of those things. Also spit bubbles. And poop faces.

Tommy has also started stepping out of his pants. I pull them down over the diaper-booty and he does that thing where you step on the pants on the floor with one foot while lifting your other foot to try to pull it out of the leg hole. But as we all know, that isn't so effective. So why does it come naturally? Because it's dang freakin' cute. That's why.

What you're missing

Well unless you're my immediate family, you're missing out on this adorable child tonight.

Cutest monkey ever? 

I think yes.

Happy Halloween!!!

Weird that this was just a year ago....

One thing I love about our baby monitor...

One thing I love about our baby monitor is that I can take it on a walk clear around the block and it never looses reception.

Dear walks around the block with my husband in the cool fall air,

Welcome.

I love you,
love,
me

present from UPS

6 out of 7 days a week I am home for 23 out of 24 hours.

Home home.

Inside my house.

Working. Playing. Watching soap operas. Whatever.

But I'm home. Is this sad? Maybe....

2 of the last 3 days I came home to a UPS notice on my door.

They're sorry they missed me.

They'll come back tomorrow.

So today I was determined not to leave my house until they gave me my stuff.

I left before they gave me my stuff because sometimes Bubbah melts if we don't go for a walk. And when Bubbah melts, we walk. So I left the house and I said a prayer that they wouldn't come while I was gone.

Miraculously I got home before the UPS man did and he was very happy to deliver me my new toy.

Is the suspense killing you? Do you wish you knew what they were delivering?

Pretend you just waited 2 days and you'll be more satisfied with it.

It's my fancy-pants new shredder which is replacing the "I really need to get around to finding a shredder to use" box.

Am I a dork for loving the sounds it makes when the stack of papers crinkles through the shredder because you can't feed them in straight?

Probably.

Thursday weekends

This week for Thursday-Weekend we watched Toy Story 3.

Actually if we're being honest Josh watched Toy Story 3 and I watched the back of my eyelids after the first 20 minutes. (Which was actually like an hour because you know.....previews.)

What a great flick.

Maybe before Christmas I can watch the rest of it.
And the rest of that Dragon Training movie.

goldfish

"Handsome, we don't put goldfish in our ears, OK?" I reminded him for the 10 millionth time today.

Apparently we put them up our noses.

I can't say he's not obedient.

Also I snuck (that's not a word? really?) summer squash into his peanut butter sandwich today. Good parenting? I think so.

3 poopy diapers before lunch

Yep.

That's about how my day has been so far.

Here's the thing....

I love the snow. I think I always have, and I suspect I always will.

It's cold. And wet. And WON-der-fullll! It's beautiful and calm and peaceful. It makes this the most wonderful time of the year without a doubt.

However, I do not love being trapped indoors.

So, what's your solution?

Do you just bundle up and eat soup every night to thaw yourself? Do your babies get over frostbite? Are there enough hats in the world?

Really. I want to know.

Unnecessary inventions: kids toy volume

Volume switching on obnoxious kids toys. (thank you grandmas!)  - I'm just curious, once a mom finds that switch, does it ever go off the lowest setting again? No. Then why even offer the higher volume?

against my will

If life were really Burger King and I could have it my way, Bubbah would sleep until 8.  At which point, he'd want nothing more than to come into my bed and cuddle with me for another hour.

But life is not Burger King and my alarm goes off at 5something am. And Bubbah wakes definitely by 7am. (For the love!)

So I've adjusted.

I'm trying really hard to become a morning person. I know there are people out there who wake up much earlier than I do, and I shouldn't complain, but it's my blog and I'll whine if I want to. 

I even enjoy the quietness of the morning, and opening my blinds early enough to see the sunrise.

But I will never ever enjoy getting myself and my child ready and out the door to run errands and finding that the last of 5 errands can't be completed because the store isn't even open yet.

When I've dragged my child "into town" and in and out of 4 other places (one of which was Walmart which involves walking through a time warp where you immediately lose 30 minutes of your life) before you've even bothered to turn the lights on in your store, it makes me considering moving in to Burger King. Where if I'm up YOU WILL BE TOO.

One thing I love about Thursday...

One thing I love about Thursday is that in our house, it's more "weekend" than any other day.

It's not a school night. I don't have to go running in the morning. Josh and I have both had it "up to here!" with the week by then, and more often than not, it turns into a veg night.

Maybe a movie, and some popcorn.

A mini hot date.

Whatever it is, we can stay up late (you know...like past 11 or so) and sleep in as long as Bubbah lets us in the morning.

Bring it on Thursday.

Disappointment

I've been a bit disappointed with some things lately.

• Bubbah only weighed 19 pounds at the Dr. which means he stays rear facing in the carseat a little longer. Dr. Lady would really love it if I kept him rear facing until he's 18 (or maybe she said 2 - but it sounds just as unreasonable to me...).
• I'm not as good of a person as I wish I was. I find myself disappointed with my lack of kindness and tact.
• My $5 car wash at the gas station didn't wash the scratches off my car.
• Tommy's apparent shift to sleeping from 8 to 8 was just him faking me out to see if I'd cry about it when I put him down at 8 and he woke up at 6. Yes. I cried.
• Buying stamps. You walk into the store, give them loads of cash, and you come away with 3 tiny sheets of stickers. Lame.

Going back to bed

Going back to bed is a skill I definitely DO have. No doubt about it.

Unfortunately, it is not a skill Bubbah has.

Which is why even though I keep hoping that he'll curl up in a ball, crawl back into his bed and drift into a sweet slumber, he keep crying and trying to crawl through the wall of his crib.

Bad at it

Sometimes I'm just not that great at life.

Like last week when I got super glue and dryer lint on my fingernail at the same time while I was trying to glue magnets to paper. That's the whole story. I'm really just that incapable.

Or like last night, when I took my perfect innocent child for a bike ride just before the sun went down. I made sure he had snacks and water. I even gave him a couple of toys to play with while we rode because I wanted to go a decent distance.

But he started crying 3 miles in. So I went "just one more mile" and then came back. But the problem with riding a bike is that when you turn around you're only halfway done. And by the time I turned around, Bubbah was a mile past done.

So he cried the whole way home.

And all the other bikers judged me. I know it.

He screamed and wailed, only stopping to whimper occasionally.

I stopped and checked on him more than once, handed him the toy that was down by his feet, made sure he hadn't run out of water or snacks. And he was fine. Always fine.

When we got home his tiny little fingers and bare toes were cold. Bad mom! Why didn't a take a blanket with us? Because the sun was up when we left, and I was sweating like a pig. Not cold.

This morning's "bad at it" incident tops them all though.

I took Tommy grocery shopping, we got there in perfect time for the very best produce. I had my coupons and my price matching list. I was getting a steal-of-a-deal on EVERYTHING. I even found the perfect teenage boy checker (the kind who just does the price matching without challenging my research) and there was no line to wait in. This shopping trip was going to set a speed record AND a "happiness" record at the same time. Bubbah and I were thrilled.

I loaded all of my groceries onto the belt, in the appropriate order - eggs at the end and waited for the doode to start scanning.

Which is when I reached in my purse for my wallet.

Which is when I realized that my wallet wasn't in my purse.

Which is when I remembered that I got it for some computer work and it was still sitting on the computer desk.

Which is when my face turned red and I hung my head in shame. Leaving the grocery story with zero groceries and nothing but a wasted half hour.

Now all I'm doing is trying to decide whether I'm more embarrassed or just plain mad that I hafta re-do all of that shopping.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

B-day partay

I spent Friday night making a cake. Because I wanted to prove that I can. 

And I can. And now I'm done with that. And I might not ever do it again. It's not smooth, but I have to say I was dang freakin' proud of it.

Then Bubbah Josh and I went over to the clubhouse and got ready for the partay to begin.

See? Here we are, glad to be 1 year old.

And by "got ready" I mean tied some balloons (face and all) to the tables and set out the food.

While we all sat around and ate, the grandmas took turns entertaining the little one. 

My mom playing "This is the way the boring kids ride, slow and easy, slow and easy...." and Tommy thinking she's the funniest thing since Josh.

After eating and sitting around and directing each family to the clubhouse one by one (shouldda just included a map....) we started with the presents. This is sortof my worst nightmare. I hate opening presents in front of people, so the fact that I did it just shows how much I love this child. And Josh's mom.

You might think this is a photo of Tommy enjoying his new book, but it isn't. It's a photo of how filthy the carpet in the clubhouse is - see the bottom of my feet? That's ONLY because I wandered around the clubhouse barefoot for 2 hours. Seriously.

Bubbah was spoiled absolutely rotten. And all of the people Josh and I  have ever annoyed in any way shape or form got the noisiest presents they could find. Bubbah positively loves them.

And while he was reaching the present fell and he face planted a little bit. It was fairly traumatic. But we're all OK.

Add caption

Once he recovered from the fall, he was thrilled with all his loot! We have such generous friends.

And then there was the cake!

This child knows what to do with cake when it's in front of him - but the crowd of people anticipating the whole event got to him I think. He stared at it. Examined it. Stared at it some more. Looked around and all the people looking at him. Looked at the cake. Looked at me. (replay this series of events for like 5 minutes)

Then, refusing to touch the apparent filth with his hands, he started to lick it.

Once he eased into it we all got to clap because he did so great.

I'm much too lazy to make a smash cake for him, and honestly I didn't want him eating a cake bigger than his own head - so I made cupcakes too. Maybe the fact that they look like Satan is what made him so wary.....

If you see pictures of these online you'll know how cute the example was and why I wanted to make them. If you just see my pictures you'll wonder why I threw my kid a Satan-themed birthday party. Don't judge me.

After forcing our guests to cart our stuff back to our house and clean up our mess (we're such good hosts....) we promptly changed into comfy clothes for an evening sitting around and playing with the new toys.

What a lovely day for the birthday party.

I accidentally superglued lint to my fingernail.

Really do you need the rest of the story?

Bubbah's b-day

Oh, did you not notice that Tommy turned a year old? Did you miss the 10 MILLION posts about that? The recap of the entire baby-having experience? (I never did get around to writing it all a year ago....) Well then, you have hours of catching up to do. Go nuts.

But the real fun starts today.

Bubbah shares a birthday with 2 other little ones in the ward. Which means that the clubhouse was reserved LONG before I got around to thinking about it. So, we're celebrating a week later and pretending that this is his birthday.

Even with a candle in the pancakes and everything.

We'll learn about not touching fire next summer.....

Maybe we'll also learn about forks....

and bite sized pieces......and chewing before you swallow.

Tommy has an aunt who never misses a birthday. I mean never ever. And her gift to him came a day early, of course we didn't let him open it until the actual day. And he had a hay day.

Eventually we had to tear the papers from his hands - something about being poisoned by post office germs and markers.

All of the wrestling led to Dad "gettin' you!" Tommy.

Bliss

I spent 4 hours picking raspberries earlier this week. That was not bliss.

I spent 2 hours washing raspberries the next day. That was not bliss.

I pulled tiny thorns out of my wrists that somehow snuck through my daddy's old dress shirt which I wore to protect me arms from said thorns. That was not bliss.

I ground the flour for my bread - oh wait, no that was the little red hen.

I went to the grocery store 3 times in one day, still missed an ingredient and had to beg my good friend to borrow exorbitant amounts of lemon juice. That was not bliss.


I mashed the berries, mixed the ingredients, stirred until my arms ached (oh Zumba....how I've missed you!) and poured the fresh homemade jam into any and all jars I could find. While it wasn't bliss, I secretly enjoyed that.

Then I spread my fresh homemade jam on my toasted bagel this morning and let it ooze into the crispy yummy-ness. And that, my friends, was bliss.

String Bean

Bubbah was naked and laying nicely on the scale. I crossed all of my fingers and closed my eyes and tipped my head back because that seems like the ultimate "wishing" position.

Please let it say 20, please let it say 20. I chanted more than prayed.

The nurse looked at me like I was a little crazy, and chuckled to herself.

The numbers flashed a few times and finally held stead at 19 pounds 1.2 ounces.

"Dang it!" I muttered "we were so close!"

Here's the thing, I could gain a pound overnight if my mom asked me to. In fact, I could probably do it in one trip to Cafe Rio.

Bubbah apparently did not inherit that gift.

Dr. Lady lectured me about keeping him rear facing in the carseat even if he was 20 pounds. "You really should keep him backward until you can't stand it anymore anyway. So it's probably better that he's not 20 pounds yet."

I suppose it isn't that bad, and he doesn't scream the entire time he's in the car, so I should count my blessings right?

But I had the Switching of the Car Seat Ceremony all worked out in my head, and it was going to be a lovely thing. Right there in the parking lot of the Dr.'s office.

Instead I just buckled him in and we came home.

In other Dr. news:

• Kid's noggin is still totally average (always has been) at 18 inches. 
• 30" long puts him in the 70th percentile for height.
• We can graduate to any kind of food we want. (Was I supposed to wait for that OK? Cuz I didn't.)
• We're supposed to move from bottle to sippy. (I don't see this being an issue. Famous last words eh?)
• Mom learned that kids don't drink the same milk as moms. (whole vs. skim) Duh? Yeah. Duh.
• Tommy survived more more more shots. I hate shots. I can't watch. So I put my face next to bubbah and look him straight in the eye so he can't watch either. The exceedingly kind nurse nearly didn't survive the look of hate Tommy graced her with when she was done. She backed out of the room whimpering about how "he's looking at me like he hates me!" I think the nurse might have been most traumatized this round. Which I count as a victory.
• Dr. Lady told me he was perfect. She always says that. Which is why she's perfect. 

One year

It's been a year since I puked as part of my morning routine.

It's been a year since I unintentionally waddled.

It's been a year since the swelling in my feet went down.

It's been a year (well, in one more week) since I wore those pants.

It's been a year since I went to the hospital.

It's been a year since I looked at a fuzzy black and white picture and knew that I loved that picture more than any other.

It's been a year since a stranger walked up to me and touched my belly.

I gotta say, it's been a dang good year.

Tommy: 1 year, 12 months, 365 days

Tommy likes to walk butt-up.

Tommy must be a speed reader, because turning one page after the next as soon as possible is his current method.

Tommy is totally into gravity.

Tommy babbles constantly. Gee. Wonder where he got that?

Tommy still loves Daddy best.

Tommy pees and poops on the potty. But only when his mom is on top of things enough to put him on it.

Tommy naps twice daily. Thank goodness!


Tommy is really great at the eye gouging self-defense technique. I think he's practicing in case we get attacked  while we're on a walk. I pity the fool!

Tommy hates priesthood meeting. It's long past his nap time and there aren't enough goldfish on the planet to keep that kid entertained!

Tommy smacks his lips when he wants to eat. It sounds obnoxious, but I actually think it's cute.

Tommy drinks from a sippy cup, weaned himself from the binkie, and seems to be much better at adjusting to new things than his parents are.

Remember that time we had a baby? Part 4

Dr Man walked into the room, pulling on gloves and energetically and said "Well, one way or another we're going to get this baby here in the next 10 minutes. You ready?"

I was ready. I sortof couldn't figure out why we had waited so long anyway, I mean I had checked in the night before for that very purpose, so I don't know why he thought it was some big revelation that we ought to have a baby sometime soon.

3 nurses, Dr. Man and Anesthesiologist were all there coaching me. Anesthesiologist was trying to teach me how to push and said something irreverent about pretending I was pooping. Then she was thoroughly impressed with my pushing skills when it came time. She was really really good at being impressed. I loved her. I wonder if she'd be willing to follow me around and be impressed with me all day long...

That was at 2:15pm. Bubbah was born at 2:19pm.

Since we were in a bit of a rush to get him here, Dr. Man got out the forceps and the scissors. After Josh watched him do the episiotomy he came back up and whispered in my ear about how "that is gonna HUUURT tomorrow!" I rolled my eyes back in my head far enough to read my own mind - but couldn't bring myself to slug him.

Josh was totally into the whole thing, and definitely wanted to cut the cord. But when Tommy's head came out it (the cord) was wrapped so tight around his neck that he wasn't breathing and his heart kept stopping. "Oooooohhhhhhh! THAT'S why his sheet was so crappy." said the nurses. Or maybe that was me. Whatever - I was drugged.

When Dr. Man cut the cord there was so much pressure built up in it, that blood spurted everywhere: all over me, all over the room, and even a little bit on my purse. Good times. The nurses cleaned me up, which was weird because I could feel them wiping down my legs with towels, but I could see that they were scrubbing hard, and I could only feel a little bit of it. So it turns out the epidural did work. On my legs anyway.

They poked and prodded Thomas, put him on oxygen, took his blood, and forced him to cry against his will. The first time I ever saw my baby was from across the room and it was just his tiny little foot while they took his footprint. Perhaps that's why I'm obsessed with his toes...it's the first part of him I ever saw in real life.

I would have liked for them to put his tiny squirmy slimy body in all its disgusting-ness right on me after he was born, but I like more that he survived the first few minutes after the whole experience way better.

The held him up to me for about .2 seconds as they whisked him out the door and down the hall for more help.

And Josh followed.

Dr. Man stayed with me long enough to finish stitching me up then he left too.

So there I was, alone in my delivery room. Babyless. Husbandless. But occasionally being checked on by the new shift of nurses.

I never did hold Thomas in that room. When I insisted that I felt fine 2 hours later, they allowed me to "prove it" by going to the bathroom, which might have been the most horrifying experience I've ever had. I've never seen so much blood in my life. After proving that I could walk, they wheeled me down to the room that would be ours for the next two days.

They brought me the sweetest and most fragile baby in the whole wide world and told me he was mine. Josh came back and together we started being parents.

People came to visit, made all kinds of comments on who he looked like and just how beautiful he was. Grandma Egbert breathed a sigh of relief because "thank goodness he didn't get those weird Egbert toes!" and we all breathed in the beauty of the new baby.

Remember that time we had a baby? Part 3

The next morning they started me on Pitocin. I was only dilated to like a 3 or 4 which sounds a whole lot closer to halfway than it really is. I remember them saying that and thinking "wow, we can do all this one more time" because that's what "halfway" means right? Wrong.

Around 5:30 in the morning I called in to work and left a message for my boss and one for my dear friend. They had me on oxygen, cuz you know...the pressure cuff was not invasive enough and I was only hooked up to 3 monitors, and an IV and that seems insufficient. So I'm sure the message was as garbled as you imagine it. "Um. Josh and I are at the hospital and instead of coming to work today we're going to have a baby. I didn't ___________"

I was very concerned about the reports I hadn't pulled, the meeting I was missing and the stuff I left open on my desktop. But I have to say, of all the "I'm not coming to work today" messages I've left in my life, this was by far my favorite one. If you ever get the chance to leave that message you should take it. I recommend calling as many people as you think might possibly miss you. Not just your boss.

At 9am I'd been on the Pitocin for 3 or 4 hours and the nurses kept asking me how I was feeling, adjusting my monitors and commenting on "this crappy sheet" which showed Bubbah's heart rate all over the place because the monitors weren't staying put.

They asked when I wanted the epidural and I said "whenever". I don't know how these things are supposed to work and I really just wanted them to tell me what came next. So they brought in the anesthesiologist in at around 10.

She read me all the stuff about how if it went wrong I could die, the baby could die, and on the off chance that we didn't die, we could both be paralyzed. Also, they weren't even sure the number of diseases the epidural could cause. Then she said "so....do you want it?" and I looked at Josh wondering if it was a trick question. What kind of profession is required by law to talk you out of using their services and then ask if you still want it? I said yes but wondered if they had the police outside waiting to drag me to jail for child endangerment and it was all a trap. It wasn't. That really is the stupid law.

While I sat on the edge of the bed curling my spine to the best of my ability she prepped all the stuff I didn't wanna see. But Josh totally wanted to see. And he did.

She commented on the perfect curve I was able to give her and I gave myself a gold star in my head. "Go me! I have a curly spine!" Then she introduced me to The Button, told me to move around as much as possible to let the drugs work their numbing magic everywhere and went on her way.

Remember the "crappy sheet" that was supposed to be recording my baby's heart rate? The one that looked like he died every few minutes? It never really occurred to me that the crappy sheet had to do with anything except the monitors. So when the nurses told me that his heart rate kept dropping I didn't really panic.

They came to check on me every few minutes and finally decided to do an internal heart rate monitor for Baby Thomas.

We saw one of these things in our "how to have a baby" class and I really recommend not ever looking at one, just in case. But if you've been there, you know that they screw this thing into the top of his head. Screw. It. In. Like the buttons on my grandmother's sofa. They have the sharp twisty thing that SCREWS. IN.

Once they had a solid read on his heart rate they realized that it really was dropping.

Following the anesthesiologist's orders I tried to switch which side I was laying on every few minutes, but every time I rolled to my left, Bubbah's heart rate dropped.

I was feeling the contractions on one side of my body, and Josh desperately wanted to push The Button. He asked about every 30 seconds if I needed more drugs, I kept telling him that I was fine, but eventually told him he could push The Button if he wanted to. He did.

Later, Anesthesiologist came in to "dose me" while I was on the bad side hoping that it would mean I couldn't feel the contractions on that side. But when his heart rate dropped I told them I didn't mind feeling the contractions on half of me if it meant his heart was still beating. So I stayed where I belonged on the other side of my body.

I remember watching 4 nurses and an anesthesiologist standing around the monitor looking at it and asking the others what they thought. Eventually someone decided to call Dr. Man, which they did. Since his office is about a 30 second walk down the hall from the hospital room he was there right away.

to be continued again......

Remember that time we had a baby? Josh's version

And I quote: "We went to the hospital, then you got some drugs and fell asleep so I got lunch at the cafeteria. Then Tommy was born."

Remember that time we had a baby? Part 2

Since we had called the hospital they were expecting us. We parked in the lot and passed a nurse who was just getting off her shift on our way down the stairs. She watched me waddle down the stairs and said "You must be Amy! They're all ready for you in there. Good luck!" And that part of getting there pretty much summarizes our whole experience at the hospital.

We walked to the front door, which was (of course) locked, so we walked around back to the ER door and checked in with the lady who was much more stressed about my baby coming than I was.

"I think my water broke and I'd like to have a baby here" we told her.
"How long ago?" she asked
While counting on my fingers, I guessed "2....maybe 3...oh wait, is it already 11? yeah, definitely 3 hours ago."

That's when she started hurrying up. Which I appreciated because I was still leaking "my water" and standing in one place for a long time didn't seem like a great option. Standing in a puddle of "your water" with your legs crossed is slightly less than graceful.

"Did you already check in?" she wanted to know which made no sense to me because clearly we had just arrived, she watched us walk through the door. That's when I remembered that our "how to have a baby" teacher was going to pre-register us that night. Only I was busy packing my bags and we skipped our final installation of "how to have a baby" what with all the "water" everywhere.
"No. We were going to do that tonight, but I guess we'd rather just have the baby instead." I tried to make a joke. She didn't laugh so much. Those ER people are so serious all the time! (Also I don't think I was really that funny.

She was in a hurry to get us out of "her" ER because "we don't really like babies coming out of women in the waiting area" so she sent us a with a clipboard and a pen and told us to send the paperwork down after we were settled in our room. That's right, we entered the hospital before being admitted. That's just the kind of cool we are.

The women at the next front desk were, in fact, ready for us, and waiting. Before we had even approached the desk they were talking to us. "You must be Amy. Are you ready to have this baby? Come on over here, we have a bed ready for you, and since you're the only ones here tonight you get the room with the jetted tub."

Josh and I did the fist-pumping high-five-ing business once she turned her back and we were pretty sure it was going to be a good night.

They gave me an IV which made me squeamish (Did you know they just leave that thing sticking out of your hand the whole time? Even when you're not attached to anything....) and I was still getting up to go to the bathroom at least every hour or two.

The first time I asked the nurse if I could get up please and she said "yes of course". But every time I got up from then on, they came in the room afterward because my sensors said we (the baby and I) were dead. We weren't. We were simply disconnected. But they had to come check on us to make sure.

Tommy's heart rate sensor wasn't staying put, so even when we were connected he had a "crappy sheet" showing his heart rate.

After talking to Dr. Man they told me that they'd just keep me monitored all night and wait for morning to start the real fun. See mom? We totally could have waited till morning.....nothing really happened that night anyway.

Josh tried to sleep in the chair next to me. I tried to sleep with all the beeping and that stupid pressure cuff exploding on my arm every 2 seconds. Aside from getting to know all of the nurses really well "let's check you again, it's been a little while hun" it was uneventful.

We were the only ones in labor and delivery that night, we had the undivided attention of everyone and the nurses were exceptionally kind.

The real fun started the next morning......

Remember that time we had a baby? Part 1

It was a Thursday night and I was blogging about an award my friend gave me, when I thought I peed my pants.

But then I peed my pants again.

And again.

And I called my mom to see if maybe I was having a baby and not losing control of my bladder.

I couldn't feel the contractions, but I could see them happening. So I rested my hand on my belly and typed with one hand (must.....finish........blogging....) and felt the contractions with my other hand.

I had an appointment scheduled with my OBGYN the next afternoon at 2 and I couldn't understand why my mom thought I needed to go to the hospital tonight instead of just asking Dr. Man about it tomorrow at my appointment. Her "you have to have the baby within 24 hours of your water breaking" logic didn't work on me since there were 6 hours between my appointment at 2pm and the 8pm 24-hour mark. Plenty of time to have a baby if I needed to.

So I called my sister who had her baby just 6 weeks earlier and asked what happened when her water broke. She told me I had to call the hospital.

The nurse at the hospital told me I had to come in. I asked if we needed to hurry or if we could take our sweet time getting there. That was at 8:30 or 9. The contractions were still 7-9 minutes apart and I could hardly feel them. She said I could take my time.

So I slowly gathered my lists of stuff I wanted at the hospital and packed my bags. Josh started to clean out his car which was full of Redbox crap and installed the car seat.

We loaded up the car, cleaned the kitchen and headed for the hospital at about 11pm. We talked on the way about calling the moms and telling them we were going, but I wasn't at all convinced that Tommy would be making an appearance. And I was terrified of telling everyone we were going to the hospital and then having to tell them that I really just can't control my bladder. But Josh was more terrified of the backlash of not telling everyone we were going to the hospital. So we called his mom.

I'd heard horror stories of starving laboring mothers who weren't allowed to eat anything but ice chips so I made Josh stop at Wendy's and we ate in the parking lot before going to the hospital.

I remember sitting in the car talking to Josh thinking that I should be a lot more nervous about this whole thing, but I wasn't. I wasn't scared. I wasn't even anxious. I was just sitting in the car eating Wendy's while my amniotic fluid soaked the old towel I was sitting on. What could be more natural?

To be continued.......

new hair again

Lookit! I got another hair cut. 

You like?

fall smells

I'm not sure if you noticed or not, but the weather has been positively beautiful the last few days. 

In Aundrea's words it's "so Amy-ish!" and yes. It is. I'm in heaven. 

So, I opened all of the windows a few days ago and haven't closed them yet. Because this time of year just smells. so. good. Unbearably good.

Until yesterday. 

We live withing spitting distance of Legacy parkway. And since the hippies built the parkway, it's protected wildlife/nature preserve all along it.

Which means that the animals roam free on the parkway, then get run over by the cars crawling along at a whopping 56 mph. 

It seems that more often than not 'the animals' = 'skunks'. 

So when I walked in the door yesterday the dead skunk smell had permeated the whole house.

Today the rain has cleared the smell and it really really smells like fall again. 

The days of naked mornings are long gone, socks and slippers are mandatory because I simply refuse to close these windows just yet. Because fall belongs inside my house.

It should be illegal to lock out fall.

Conference: The winners

If Conference was a competition (it's not) here would be the awards:

Best (and only) breakfast maker: Amy

Filthiest white onesie: Tommy
also
Most excited about about hymns: Tommy

Blew bubbles long enough to get light-headed: Amy
Provided enough bubbles to last through all 4 sessions of conference (as if anyone could blow that long): Grandma B. 

Nakedest baby: Tommy (see filthy-white-onesie award above...)
Is it just me or is "filthy white onesie" a great name for a band?
Is it just me or is that an incredibly "old people" think to say?

Biggest bubble: Josh

Ate most popcorn out of someone else's mouth: Tommy.
also
Laughed so hard popcorn came out his nose: Joshua.

And there you have it. The awards of October Conference 2010. We'll see you in 6 months.

blood and guts

Josh is on a medication that he's sure is killing him.

He gets headaches (and he never used to).

Last week he woke up 4 different times with bloody noses in the middle of the night and in the morning.

Last night he was coughing up blood. Which was only one of the reasons he woke up 3 times and only slept for 3 hours.

He blames the drugs.

I blame the schedule. He's up at 5:30 every day, and he works until 8 or 9 when he comes home to study until he falls asleep at his desk. Unless of course he had the foresight to study in bed.

Also he doesn't have time to eat so his "I just got married and gained 20 pounds" gut is MIA.

I love this picture

Josh got too lazy to clean out the little potty and skipped straight to the big potty.

I love this picture because I can just hear Josh saying "some dinosaurs have LOOOOONG sharp teeth and LOOOONG sharp claws!"

the housefly

Did you know the average lifespan of a housefly is 20 days?

That means that this week the creature that is making me crazy should have a midlife crisis. And I'm just wondering what that will look like.....

Lights Out

I wake up before the sun - oh wait, you already knew that, because no matter how long I live I will never stop complaining about it - which means that I walk around in darkness until I've left the bedroom, closed the door behind me, and can safely turn on the light without waking the boys in my house.

When you're aiming for "don't let the light in their eyes" you turn on only the absolutely necessary lights and no extras.

This morning I flipped my regular switch and only one of the two assigned bulbs turned on.

Light bulb changing is strictly a "man job" in my house. It requires a great big man ladder which has to be hauled up from the garage, and you have to climb up WAY past the second rung of the ladder (which is my limit...) and usually the light fixtures have some kind of disgustingness in them. All of that is clearly not women's work.

But this particular bulb is above the staircase in the vaulted ceiling and I wondered if even the man in the house would be able to get to it. How did they even get a bulb in there in the first place?

I left the house thinking about the surrounding lights that could just cover for this one, because some light bulbs simply cannot be replaced. Sometimes when the light goes out there simply is no fixing it.

Which made me think of the atonement.

I like to think that when my personal lights go out, there is always, always a way to replace them. 
No matter how high the vaulted ceilings are. 
Even when it's over a staircase. 
Even when getting to it seems WAY past my limits (which are admittedly pathetic).
Even if it requires finding all kinds of disgustingness. 
Even if I have to haul out the big equipment from the depths of the garage.

No matter what it is, or how hard it seems, the atonement of Jesus Christ can cover that. My lightbulbs can always be replaced.

tennis shoes at the buffet

I went to lunch with my sister yesterday and while I was waiting for her to arrive from two counties away I got to watch people - one of my favorite past-times.

Here's what I noticed. Some people wear tennis shoes to the buffet, others wear heels.

If you don't understand why that's significant, you're a heel person.