Nervous Anticipation

Sometimes I look at my daughter's face and I catch myself in a terrible thought- 

"No one has hurt her yet".

No one has ever hurt this girl with their words, hands, actions, or even indifference. It's funny but sometimes indifference hurts the worst of all. 

She lives in a world made entirely of love and security. This moment, it feels so fleeting and fragile that it scares me to death. When I look at her I feel a great nervous heartbeat in my stomach. It's like a bird's frantic wings are beating in there. 

I don't want these great, heaving bouts of anticipation to floor me. But they do almost every day. It has everything to do with me and who I am. I want to trust the world to treat her gently, but I know it won't. It upsets me, and I'm not sure what to do about it, because I want her to love the world, in all it's painful glory. I want her to love it all.

The Walking Dead

Returning to work has been very challenging. Thanks to coffee, I am dragging my corpse to the office every morning, but just barely. I'm not going to be winning any performance awards either. I sort of feel like I spend all day every day at the bottom of the ocean, weighed down with large sandbags. All sound is muffled, I feel heavy, and it's dark.
I've tried explaining to Ceci that mommy needs more sleep now, but she laughed at me, and then she pooped herself.
I know women all over the world return to work after having a baby, but how do they do it? I'm barely scraping by here folks. What amazes me is that our workforce is filled with these re-animated corpse/ new mommies and society still functions. I'm reminded of a history class I took in college, where the professor talked about how China basically fell apart when the British introduced opium to the country, because everyone was so high all the time that nothing got done. That is basically how I feel about my job/ house/ life. Except I am sober. So that sucks.
But at the end of the day I get to come home to these two, so I feel lucky.

Working Girl

Well, now that I am just getting the hang of taking care of a tiny human it's back to work for me. Today is the last day of my maternity leave. Why I can't be paid a generous salary for blogging, surfing the Internet, raising Ceci, and drinking coffee all day is beyond me. I'm good at all those things. But the universe sees fit to throw me back into the workforce instead of blessing me with incredible wealth. And because I like to complain (another thing I'm pretty good at), I'd like to mention how lame it is that Washington state, unlike my homeland, does not offer women the opportunity to file for state disability benefits while on maternity leave. Thanks Washington, for being unsupportive of women and families.
On the bright side, my parents are here for a whole month to help out with the baby. Of course, pessimist that I am, I have gruesome fantasies of them accidentally scalding her with their coffee, sitting on her, dropping her, putting her out with the recycling, forgetting to feed her, or forcing her to listen to Garrison Keillor all day. Her little brain would wither.
Logic tells me that none of these things will happen. After all, my parents managed to raise me to adulthood without any fatal snafus. I just love my girl and I don't want to miss out on anything. Sigh.
I'm sure I'll feel better by the end of the week when I see that Ceci is still in one piece and she still knows who I am. And I'll be thrilled to see an actual paycheck again.
I'll leave you with an awesome healthy cookie recipe that actually tastes good and relieves some of that post-holiday binge eating guilt. Adieu for now, the next time you hear from me I'll be a working girl.

How to Take Care of a Baby

I'm still learning how to be a Mom, and it's tricky. I've made some mistakes this week and I feel a bit stupid. Here's the deal- it's the holidays, and we've gotten a lot of party invitations. I'm determined to take Ceci to a few parties because she is cute, dammit. I like showing her off.
Thursday night we took her to a friend's dinner party and things did not go well. Upon our arrival Ceci was mobbed by a herd of squealing women and she flipped out. There was lots of screaming. We ended up hiding in an upstairs bedroom and nursing for a few hours. I could hear the loud talking and music coming up through the floor and I questioned my judgement. Why do I torture my daughter when all she wants to do is stay home with a boob in her mouth?
Sunday night we dragged her out again to a three-year-old's birthday party at the bowling alley. That was okay for a while, but after about twenty minutes of pins crashing, toddlers yelling, and Guns n' Roses blaring Ceci started to melt down again.
Luckily, there was a Mom there who is a million times smarter than I am and she lent us these-

Which led to this-

Joy!

We were able to stay a little longer and I ordered a pair of these earmuffs as soon as we got home. As soon as they arrive we're taking her to see Slayer. She's going to love it. 

Home Alone

Matthew took the baby out today for a few hours, and while I puttered around the house a revelation  struck me- I was home alone for the first time since Ceci was born! What a luxury. What silence, what peace, no one hanging off my boob or pooping on my bed (this could be the cat or the baby). The leisurely opportunity to sip tea and paint my toenails. I also tried on all my favorite jeans, and no amount of elbow grease, prayers, or expletives would make them fit over my flabby postpartum pooch.
Still, those few hours were my very own Christmas miracle.
I finally found the time to make this chai pumpkin bread, and it is delicious even though my sleep-deprived brain left out all of the spices except the cardamom, which I tripled.

I also pulled this little gem out of my creepy picture collection.

Don't worry, I've already faxed a copy of this to the FBI. Obviously, this is not just a photo of a creepy man dressed as Santa. This is photo evidence of a vile, soul-sucking Golum wearing a man suit that is in turn wearing a Santa suit. Clever no? I can see right through it. Look at the dead eyes. The child looks happy though, which is another Christmas miracle. Every photo I've ever seen of a human baby with Santa involves lots of tears. I can, and have stared at this picture for hours. 

A Good Neighbor is Hard to Find

I got devastating news this week. The girl that lives in the mother in law apartment behind our house (we'll call her Ann) gave her notice and she's moving out February first. Curses. This is tragic because Ann is thoughtful, quiet, and kind, and we're living in such close quarters that these things really matter. Her one bedroom apartment sits behind our house, and the walkway into her place goes right by our bedroom window. We share utilities, garbage, recycling, gardening space, a patio with some shabby lawn furniture, and parking. From all arise a hotbed of drama.
In the 3.5 years Matthew and I have rented our house we've had a string of bad neighbors before Ann came on the scene.
Here's a rundown of the shit show in our living space-

2007. We move into the house, and shortly thereafter L. and E, move into the apartment. They are a lesbian couple from California, tall and fit, and in their mid- twenties. They drive a gargantuan yellow Hummer that they proceeded to double park in front of our house and the naturopath's office next door (this eventually drives him to cover the street in orange cones so no one can park anywhere). All was well at first, until our utility bills started arriving and I discovered that Matthew and I were receiving all the bills for both rental units.  I spoke with the landlord and he told me there was no way to separate the two units, so I had to pay the bills and collect money from the ladies out back.
Here's where things turned to shit. I spoke with L. and E. and proposed that they pay one third of the utilities. That was really the only way I could think of to divide it, as there was no way to measure how much water or energy each rental was using. Their rental unit was roughly one third the size of ours, so I figured that was the way to do it. L. and E. told me they were agreeable with this plan.
Unfortunately, every time I had to collect money from them for bills L. (the meaner of the two ladies) became argumentative and found ways to insinuate that I was trying to cheat her and her girlfriend out of their money. They always paid, but it was a struggle every month. Collecting money from them was a nightmare of passive aggressive notes taped to my backdoor, and I got even more upset when I learned that THEY DIDN'T PAY RENT. E. was a family friend of our landlord, so they got free rent but they still felt compelled to fight me over the stupid water bill. Bitches.

2008. The girls move out and D. moves in. I spoke with my landlord about my hatred of collecting money for utilities and we agreed to lower my rent in exchange for me paying all the bills, so no more drama there, thank God.
D. is a nice young man from the San Juan Islands with a job as a pilot, so we didn't see much of him. He wasn't a total asshole. He did, however have a fondness for working out on his elliptical machine butt naked. So there was that. He also decided that he would rip up all the flagstones in the backyard in a misguided attempt to help out with yard work, then he never put them back. Eventually Matthew and I tried to put them back into their rightful place, but now they are terribly uneven and a tripping hazard.
D. moved out after less than a year.

2009. N. moves in. N. was a twenty-one -year-old "musician" from New Orleans. He claimed to be a professional trumpet player, but I never heard him practice in the six (?) long months he lived here. N. was a drunken violent mess. He went to the bars every night and came home with lots of young men, all loudly cursing outside our bedroom window as they stumbled back into his apartment. As he moved in during the summer months, they would continue the party in our backyard after the bars were closed, and inevitably the drunken slurs would escalate into verbal assaults and then these fools would end up fighting in the backyard. Our backyard was like a cockfighting ring for demented fratboys.
Every once in a while I would go back to N.'s door, knock, and politely explain that my boyfriend and I worked early in the morning, that he was too loud, and that all the yelling outside my bedroom window wasn't appreciated. N. was always very apologetic. Generally he answered the door with terrible booze breathe and a black eye. He always blamed the chaos on his "cousin", or his "brother's girlfriend" who "had a really bad night".
Anyway, things would get better for a few days and then once again I would find myself cringing in bed while N. and his friends fought and broke beer bottles outside my bedroom window. I stopped trying to be nice to N. I continued to sweep up broken glass and cigarette butts every morning. I started complaining to my landlord about N.
Eventually N. moved out, and left the apartment full of bags of trash.

Here's where I mention that up until now, not one of the tenants ever took out the trash or recycling, helped tend the lawn or the yard, or did anything to improve he general look of the property.



So here I am, about to lose the one good neighbor we've had in almost four years. It's a dark day. If you're reading this, and you live in Bellingham, point any and all sane and considerate renters in our direction, because I'll burn the place down before I'll live with another drunken fool or lesbian Hummer driving wench.

Our Birth Story

Friday, October 22nd was a clear autumn day. I woke up feeling as good as could be expected for someone 39 weeks and 4 days pregnant. I ate some breakfast and talked with a friend on the phone. Around noon I noticed some bloody show in my underwear. For those of you that haven't been to Babyland, bloody show is a mix of blood and mucus that appears when labor is impending. It could mean that labor is hours or days away, so I didn't think much about it. I did however email my doula Kathy and tell her about my exciting underpants discovery.
I went over to another friend's house to walk his dog. My whole plan for my maternity leave (which just started the day before) was to take lots of long walks and hopefully encourage baby X to make a prompt arrival. So Bosco the dog and I set out on the trail and walked. The trees were changing color and I was listening to Wilco on my ipod, really loving the crisp air and the smell of fall.
I started having what felt like menstrual cramps during our walk. They were very low in my abdomen and pretty mild, so Bosco and I kept cruising and we walked about four miles that day. At this point I was dismissing these as Braxton Hicks contractions. Weeks earlier I resolved not to get my hopes up for a early baby.
After our walk I went home and took a nap. I was still having intermittent contractions, but nothing too strong or regular. Matthew got home from work around three and by now I was timing the contractions and starting to wonder if I was in labor.
We went out to eat and I continued to time the contractions over cheeseburgers, fries, and a milkshakes (the most fabulous pregnancy indulgence ever). They were still irregular, so I gave up recording them after dinner. Once we got home we watched "Nightmare on Elm Street". I know, that's the weirdest thing to watch when you're in labor, but whatever.
Kathy called around ten to ask how I was feeling, and I assured her that I was just having a few Braxton Hicks and most likely wouldn't be calling her tonight. She told me to call her if anything changed, and we rang off.
Around midnight I woke up with contractions that were too painful to sleep through. I got up and sat on the yoga ball in the living room, breathing through the contractions and rolling around on the ball.
By 2 am I wasn't coping as well as I would have liked and I woke Matthew up. We went back and forth about calling Kathy. Amazingly, I was still doubtful that I was really in labor. We timed the contractions and found them to be consistently three minutes apart, so Matthew called her at 3 am.
Kathy arrived at our house thirty minutes later and we settled in and labored together through the dark hours of the early morning. Matthew went back to bed to save his energy for what laid ahead.
Mostly we talked. In between contractions Kathy told me about her son in Spain, and the other births she attended. We watched Planet Earth DVDs with the sound off. We breathed through contraction after contraction. I sat on the yoga ball and walked around the house intermittently. I tried to breath through contractions standing up, leaning against the couch, and even on the toilet, but nothing felt as comfortable as sitting on the yoga ball.
I was increasingly uncomfortable but still felt that the pain was manageable. I even thought to myself that this labor might not be as bad as I feared. Funny eh?
At around 8 am Matthew got up and resisted asking us to turn on the football game. I know this is what he was thinking because I just asked him. That's love people. Instead, he went to the bakery on his bike and came home with pastries for the three of us.
We three continued to breathe and walk and roll around on the yoga ball. In fact, I found the more uncomfortable I became the harder it was for me to get off the yoga ball. I started to seriously worry about the car ride to the hospital, when I would have no yoga ball under my butt. We could call this "ball attachment disorder".
Anyway, around noon we decided to go to the hospital so I could get over there in the car while I was still coping relatively well. My fear of having strong contractions in the car was starting to overwhelm me at home, so we packed up and left.
We checked into the childbirth center at the hospital after I had the most intense contraction yet in the parking lot. Ouch. When I waddled inside, panting and groaning, the woman at the front desk actually asked me:
"What can I do for you today?"
Jesus lady, what do you think? Don't ask a woman in labor stupid questions. Ever.
The admitting nurse whisked me into the triage room and got me into a gown so they could check my cervix. I was 2-3 centimeters, which was pretty much what I was expecting. My contractions quickly become more painful and difficult to manage. I believe this was partly related to the change of environment from the comfort of my home to the sterility of the hospital. At this point, the triage nurse asked me what I wanted to do about pain management.
I told her I was going to try to skip the epidural. "Try" was to operative word here. I had no solid birth plan. In cooperation with Kathy and Matthew I decided to try to have this baby with a minimum of interventions, but I wanted to keep my options open. I didn't know how things would go. I didn't know what my pain tolerance was like. All I knew is that I didn't want to be chained to the bed, or to try to push the baby out from a reclining position. I wanted to be free to move around the room during labor, and when the time came, to push the baby out from any position I chose.
They admitted me to a delivery room and I was shocked to discover that I was the only woman in labor at the childbirth center. It was a full moon, and I assumed that full term women all over town would go into labor that day.
The room was large and pretty nice, as far as hospital rooms go. We settled in by setting up our music and my beloved yoga ball. Kathy rubbed my back while the nurses hooked me up to an IV bag of fluids.
Since I was a low-risk pregnancy I asked them to leave the fetal heart monitor off for the time being and they were agreeable to that plan. The nurses, who were all very nice, left us to our own devices and the three of us spent the next few hours doing our thing- breathing, bouncing on the ball, and listening to a lot of Lilith-fair type music.
The nurses came in and offered to check my cervix every few hours. Before labor began, I decided that I didn't want these continual cervical checks, because I was worried I would get hung up on the number and get discouraged and upset if things weren't progressing as quickly as I would like. But I found myself accepting the offer every time they came in. As my pain became more and more intense I needed to know where I was at, because I wanted a realistic expectation of how long this labor was going to last.  Luckily, every time they checked me I was dilating more and more. I was at 4 centimeters by 4 pm, and 6 centimeters at 6 pm.
I got in and out of the tub a few times and labor seemed to pick up and move along every time I got out of the tub. I suppose the soothing effects of the hot water helped my muscles stretch and relax, thus speeding up the process.
By around 8 pm I got out of the tub again and found myself not managing the pain as well. Every time the doula told me to breathe through the contraction I would try, but I was whimpering and even screaming a little bit and I couldn't control it. The nurse checked my cervix again, and I was at 8 centimeters. I asked the nurse what my options were for pain medication, and she offered me some fentanyl. In retrospect I'm glad she didn't offer me the epidural at that moment, because I was definitely considering it, but the diversion to fentanyl was a better place for me to start.
The nurse gave me the shot of fentanyl through my IV, and it immediately relaxed me. I still felt the pain of the contractions, but the panic I was feeling died down considerably, and again I was able to breathe through the contractions. The pain medication helped tremendously for an hour or so, but as soon as I felt it wearing off the panic crept back, and the pain was becoming overwhelming.
My doctor came in and offered to break my bag of waters, which still had not ruptured on it's own. She told me it could speed up the labor process, but that the pain and pressure would increase because the baby would drop right into my cervix. Ouch. I thought about it for about 5 minutes and then accepted her offer. At this point it was 9 pm and I was determined to have this baby out before midnight, at which point I would have been in labor for 36 hours. I was over it.
I asked for and received another shot of fentanyl, and the doctor got out her creepy crochet hook and broke my waters. I felt a huge gush of fluid and a tremendous feeling of relief when it broke. And then just as she said, the pain and pressure increased. While the fentanyl helped a bit I was at the point where I could only scream through each contraction. I felt a bit like a fox with it's foot in a trap. I could not control my fear or the sounds I was making.
That was definitely the worst part, trying to deal with this pain at 9 centimeters and wanting so badly to push this baby out, but not being there yet. At this point I decided I would get the epidural.
"It's not too late!" My mind chirped hopefully.
But of course it was.
When it was finally time to push I tried everything- on my hands and knees, with my feet up on the birth bar, and squatting on the bed with the birth bar in my hands. (FYI- the birth bar is like a set of bike handlebars they mounted onto the foot of the bed). I pushed harder than I thought was possible for about an hour and finally, while standing on the bed with the bar in my hands I felt her head moving down.
I tried to tell the room that she was coming out, but I seemed to have lost the ability to speak coherently and I blurted something out that no one heard except for Matthew- who was turning white as a sheet.
In fact, the doctor and nurses weren't looking at me at all because they were unwrapping instruments and mumbling something about an internal fetal monitor. They were getting ready to put another monitor inside me and SCREW IT INTO THE BABY'S SKULL because the one strapped to my belly was no longer picking up her heartbeat.
So I started pushing the baby's head out while wondering if I was going to have to let go of the bar to catch the baby myself. Finally, the doctor looked up and saw Ceci's head crowning. It was pretty comical to see her and the nurses drop all their monitor equipment on the floor and get into postion to catch Ceci.
I pushed out her head, then her shoulders, and then the rest of her body slipped out like a little fish. She was born at 11:20 pm on Saturday, October 23rd.
The doctor put her on my belly and she looked at me, blinking and squinting in the bright lights of the delivery room. Matthew came around the side of the bed and we both just stared at her. It was surreal to think that suddenly now, we make up a family.
And that's how Ceci met the world. Pretty neat huh?

Hormone Soup

There's been lots of action around these parts. Ceci had her first doctor's appointment yesterday. Getting her into the car seat and taking her there felt a little bit like scaling Mt. Everest, but we made it.
Ceci is gaining weight now that she's getting formula along with some breast milk from me, and she's looking good overall. In fact, the doctor and nurses were quite taken with her overall attractiveness. Her above average cuteness is now a medically established fact. But I knew that before they told me.
I had a little crying meltdown about the nursing thing while were there. It certainly doesn't feel good to think that I'm not able to provide all that she deserves. But it is what is is. Some breast milk is better than none.
The doctor told me I was "swimming in hormone soup" (a new and poorly understood diagnosis). I'm hoping this condition can be applied retroactively to all the crying meltdowns I had during pregnancy as well as the ones I may have in the future- maybe even tonight if Matthew's lucky!
Here's some pictures at the doctor-

Dr. H. admiring Ceci's gleaming pink gums

Ceci flaunting her trim physique and head of luxurious hair.

I'm working on my birth story, and I've noticed my mind has already started erasing the details. Especially the unpleasant ones. Does that happen to every postpartum woman? It's like the brain decides to delete the most painful memories so that you will go ahead and have another kid, thus ensuring the survival of the species. While I'm finishing that, if you like to read birth stories, check out Marvelous Kiddo. She posts one every week. 

Day Three

Dear friends, as some of you may know, I had a baby on Saturday night. If any of you are interested in hearing my birth story, let me know and I will try to write it down. It was intense, and I'm glad that part is behind me.
Anyway, now I'm trying to get to know our little Ceci.
She's been home with us just a day and a half. Last night I tried to jot down some observations about her at 3 am, while I was trying to breastfeed. The title of that post was "Help!". I deleted it.
We've been having some trouble with breastfeeding, to put it mildly. Between Ceci's insatiable hunger, the fatigue of labor, and my sore, bleeding nipples I've had some trouble coping. Last night I actually questioned if I brought the right baby home. I was hoping for a sweet angel baby, not a piranha that screams. Today we had a visit from the home health nurse and as I suspected, she hasn't been getting enough milk from me. I'm incredibly relieved to know what's going on, so we can now take steps to fix it. I'm also terribly ashamed for getting so frustrated with my baby. What kind of a person writes a snarky blog post about their hungry baby? I'm going to Hell for sure. She was so panicked, it makes my heart hurt. I think tonight will be easier, and now that she is fed and resting, the house is peaceful and quiet.

My Life as a House

Here's the obligatory belly picture. I look like I ate a baby. In the last few days I've felt significantly bigger and heavier, and baby X's movements feel like they have more muscle behind them. I'm a little worried that she may be growing to gargantuan proportions. I really want a nice, petite baby I can get out with a few good pushes and call it good. The other thing I really want is a waistline. That would be nice. 

The Nursery Blues

The theme of the week at our house has been neurotic obsessing over baby X's nursery. Specifically, I've been melting down a little bit because I'm due in 5 weeks and we have no where for baby to sleep and no bedding for our non-existent crib/bassinet. My Dad was helpful and suggested we stick her in a drawer. Thanks Dad, for feeding my Ma Joad insecurities.
The instigating factor for my meltdown was a casual conversation with the owner of my favorite antique shop, who happened to mention that her baby showed up a month early last year.
Christ Almighty. A month early would be next week and we are not even close to being ready. First of all, the baby's room looks like this-

Sad isn't it? It looks like a place where bad things happen to babies. And yes, the floor is a disaster. Every time I go in there to try to organize I get upset. There is one dresser and a pile of boxes. That's it.  All my attempts to furnish this nursery have been thwarted. Last month I won a beautiful Persian rug off ebay that never arrived. After trying to contact the seller for 3 weeks I ended up filing a complaint with ebay. Eventually I was refunded, but I'm still without a rug to cover that terrible floor. We are going to Ikea this weekend to get a few furniture items and rumor has it that our crib has been shipped, but I'm not sure I believe it. I guess I have no one but myself to blame for waiting this long to get my act together, but that can't stop me from whining into the blogosphere.

There is nothing sadder than a pregnant woman pumped full of nesting hormones with nothing to nest with. I've found myself folding and refolding the clothes in the dresser to soothe myself. I feel like I need to be swaddled and carried around. It's not good.

Here are a couple of lovely nurseries from Bloesom kids.

I'm telling myself that both of these nurseries were once "before" pictures. Am I right?

Not Your Grandmother's Tea Tray

I can't decide if I love this dessert tray from Supermarket or I hate it. I'd love to have it for parties, but when not in use it would have to be hidden in the back of the china cabinet so I didn't have to look at that kewpie head all day. 

In other news, I'm feeling a million times better today. I really needed the day off. I'm just getting too pregnant to be on my feet all day, and this sprained ankle has really thrown a monkey wrench into my life. I realize more and more over the years that there is a direct relationship between the amount of exercise I get and my tolerance for frustration. Spending the week with a bag of ice on my ankle has brought me down to a bad place. On that note, I'm off to get a massage and then to the pool to swim laps! Happy Friday. 

Feeling Crabby

Hi folks, I'm not going to lie, it's been a rough week. I sprained my ankle, I'm hugely pregnant, it's hotter than Hades, the job is a shitshow, and I've got baby anxiety big time. 

My Type A tendencies have emerged full force and I'm suddenly losing my mind trying to pull together a nursery. I'm looking around my house and everything that always looked so sweet and quirky and "vintage" suddenly looks old and shabby. I'm terrified that baby X will resent living with Ma and Pa Joad. 

True to my Cancer nature I'm going to pull into my shell for a few days, and the next time I peek out I'm thinking things will look a little brighter. 

Lord of the Hoop

We went to a beautiful wedding in Sumas last night and rediscovered hula hooping.

Turns out pregnant hula hooping is really fun. According to this lady, it also improves balance and coordination. Considering that I took a scary fall in the backyard last week, I think a little balance and coordination in my life would be a good thing. I never want to fall down pregnant again. I spent the rest of the afternoon feeling overwhelmed with frustration and fear. It's just a terrible feeling to have your body change so much that you feel like a clumsy lumbering beast. And of course I was convinced baby X was toast until I felt her squirming around a few hours later.

Pregnant Laurilee hula hooping. 

Congratulations Morgan and Andrew!

The bride's father read this amazing poem.

On Children

 Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,

which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them,

but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children

as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,

and He bends you with His might

that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;

For even as He loves the arrow that flies,

so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Happy Sunday.

August 15

Today is our one year wedding anniversary. I'm also suddenly 30 weeks pregnant. What a trip. Sometimes it feels like someone poured fertilizer all over my life and everything's blooming at once.
I never thought of myself as the marriage/ babies type. Now I know that I was just maturing and waiting for him. I'm so glad that we decided to go for it and learn as we go. I guess there's really no other way to do it- you just have to hold hands and jump in.
Here we are. Building one unshakable life a day at a time.

Dog Day Afternoon

This is Vivian. Matthew and and I hung out with her today. 

Dogsitting and hiking go together well, so we drove to Mt. Baker and hiked Ptarmigan Ridge.

Thankfully, Vivian is not one of those dogs that tries to drag you to a certain death down steep embankments. 

Her hiking manners are better than some people on the trails. She also likes to hike slowly and take lots of water breaks. 

So it's easier to remember to stop and smell the flowers.

Thanks for helping us slow down Vivian! 

Dreams Really Do Come True

I would not want to imply that happiness is found in the aquisition of long- coveted objects. But sometimes getting what you want just makes for a great day.
Today I came home and found a shoebox on the dining room table with my husband's name on it. It also had a few postcards and a Pez dispenser tied to the top with ribbon. Because I am nosy, I opened this box.
Guess what was inside?

It's true. It's the bird planter that I have been admiring for the last few weeks in the window of an apartment downtown. Some of you may be familiar with my bird planter obsession. The bird planter belonged to this man-

He's the local guy who wears a Mr. Peanut suit when the mood strikes. 

He came into the restaurant where my husband works today, and Matthew told him that I was in love with his bird planter. This very kind man went home, wrapped up the bird planter, and gifted it to my husband. 

What an awesome guy. I can't even remember the last time a total stranger did something so nice for me. All my happy buttons have been pushed. It makes me want to go out and love on a perfect stranger myself. Kindness begets kindness.

Also in the theme of fulfilling obsessions is the stegosaurus gifted to me by Laurilee at our baby shower. 

I've been lusting after this dinosaur for weeks. It's supposed to be a gift for baby X, but I'm so infatuated with it I'm not sure I can let her have it. Maybe if she's a really GOOD baby. Maybe.

Happy Monday. 

Wednesday's a wash

My plan for today was to work, do my pregnancy workout DVD, and make a nice lasagne for dinner. Accomplishing those three things would have been enough to leave me feeling satisfied that I am a well adjusted, functioning individual and an above par wife and person in general.
Unfortunately, at the end of my work day I developed one of the screwy migraines I've been struggling with since the third month of my pregnancy. I've never been one for migraines before, so it surprised me when these crept into my life and that they manifested as tunnel vision instead of the splitting headache I imagined a migraine would be. Today was the third time I've left work with one and had to go lay down in the back of the car and call my husband to come get me.
So instead of accomplishing the self-actualized behavior outlined above I've spent the evening being horizontal in the bedroom clutching a sweaty pillow. Lame.
Anyway, these pictures of the Beautiful Cervix Project cheered me up, and maybe you'll like them too.

Who knew the cervix had such a tender, dorky look to it? It makes me want to put my arm around a cervix and assure it that this akward stage will soon be over. Some of the cervixes, especially those that recently gave birth, really look like they could use a pep talk.