2007

What a year.

I had a baby.
And my mom had a brain aneurysm.
I think, in general, a new life tends to breathe new life into the lives of the living.
And really, who doesn't benefit from a little new life now and then...

On November 30th my mom was putting gas in the car on her way out to see Storey and I. She lost her balance, fell to the ground, got up, drove home and threw up in the driveway. My dad called to let me know that she wasn't coming out - something about her ankle hurting from the fall. I hung up, then called back. Something wasn't right about her falling and throwing up. My mom is never sick. I remembered seeing somewhere that dizziness/fainting and nausea are the two most common signs of stroke or heart attack in women. Dad said her head had started to hurt and they were on their way to the hospital. 50% don't make it this far.

They get to the ER. The doctors there do a CAT scan. She's got a brain aneurysm that's ruptured. They life-flight her to the Cleveland Clinic. We wait through what was the longest night ever as they figure out how to fix what's happened.

The next day, December 1st, mom had brain surgery. Of the 50% that make it to the hospital, only about half survive to see the operating table. A man named Shaye Moskowitz performed surgery, filling my mom's aneurysm with tiny threads of platinum, saving her life. Something he's likely done many times in his career. Something that meant everything to our family. Jason proposes that each year, on December 1st, we toast Shaye, thanking him. I say, if we have a second child and it's a boy, Shaye is an excellent name to keep in mind. Either way, neither gesture is thanks enough for what he and the others who cared for my mom have done. They're why my mom is still here today. They're why Storey gets to grow up enjoying two grandmas. They're why I get to be a mom but still be a daughter. It's painfully overwhelming to think of life otherwise and I guess I've been made to think about it a lot these past few weeks. Of the 25% that survive to undergo surgery, two thirds survive the surgery itself.

My mom spent less than a week in ICU. I think by the 8th of December she was discharged to Metro for therapy. This past Tuesday, the 18th, she returned home. Overall, she had roughly a 16% chance of surviving what happened and an 8% chance of surviving without serious disability.

My mom is amazing.
We're all amazingly lucky.







They're beautiful together aren't they?

Privileges

I finally finished a book I've been reading called Baby Catcher: Chronicles of a Modern Midwife by Peggy Vincent. This memoir detailing 40 some years of delivering babies made me cry more times than I could count. It also left me with a feeling of profound gratefulness that I delivered Storey the way in which I did, with the support that I was lucky enough to have, and that the result was a healthy, happy baby. Such is not the case for everyone.

Birthing a little person is so strange. On one hand, it's happened everyday to thousands of women for thousands of years. Part of life. On the other, it's such an amazing gift. Such a privilege, to be someone's mother.

Sideburns Baby!

Ahh, the holidays...
Just when things are approaching normalcy (sleep, eating, smiles), family visits, visiting family, car rides and late night bedtimes throw a baby's life into delightful chaos. I do mean delightful though. Sure, I have a cold, am back to feeding every 1.5 hours around the clock, grabbing 45 minutes chunks of sleep at night, and sigh in resignation at our whiny girl who only wants Mama lately - however...

The trade-off: the pleasure of watching Jason's mom coo back and forth with our girl, spending time getting to know his cousin's teenage daughter and her tattooed & pierced boyfriend, helping oneself to two pieces of Uncle Dylan's awesome pecan pie (yum dammit!), and sharing baby photos of Uncle Wes around the table at his 16th birthday party.

The latter happened really fast... when did he become this furry young man?

Sleepy Bees

She was playing away, talking to her bee, having grand old time, for nearly an hour. Then suddenly, silence. I look over, and...

Hands Are Amazing

Who knew? But they really are. Storey will sit for ages looking at her own hand, turning it this way and that, making it do what our hand is doing, grabbing our hand and moving it over here, over there. Hands are amazing.

Yum

She's nearly sleeping through the night, loves to play, chatter and flirt and saves all her poop for one day out of very six or seven. One, some or all of these developments are making for a very sweet and happy baby. Don'tcha just want to eat her up?

Big, Big Things

Bath photos must be shared. They are so happy. We LOVE the bath. There's lots of grinning and laughing and cheery conversation going on in there every evening. It's a party.

On a more prickly note, today was Storey's two-month checkup at the doctor's. She got her first round of shots. I cried. So did she. But at least I negotiated the number from six down to three. It was sad. But we both got over it, indulging in an afternoon of just napping and nursing. Could we have had a better excuse?

The rest of the doctor's visit was super though. Storey got to share with the doc all the big girl things that she can do. She impressed the hell out of everyone. Holding her head up, grabbing at things, wiggling, sucking fist, staring at fist while it zooms in and out via arm, standing, tracking moving objects and people, whipping head around to follow mama and her voice where ever she goes, babbling and smiling and laughing away at everyone. These are all signs of absolute genius at two months, of course.

Never mind that she needs assistance washing her bum. She's well on her way to big, big things. Right after her bath.

Lucky Ducks

Yesterday was really grand. First Storey gifted me a 35-minute scream-free car ride out to my folks' house. Then she bestowed lots and lots of smiles, grins and dancing on my mom, who of course can't get enough. A peaceful nap followed while the two of us enjoyed a nice lunch and chatted. Next we headed off to my dad's workplace, where the girl smiled and flirted with the wonderful ladies he works with.

But best of all was the visit with my Grandma; Storey's Great Grandma. (What a lucky duck - she actually has three Great Grandparents!)

My Grandma Ginny is 85. She lives with my Grandpa about 5 minutes from my folks' house. She is one swell lady. Anytime we were sick as kids she'd stay with us, fix us her famous pot roast or Apple Betty, or my brother Dylan's favorite, cottage cheese on toast with black pepper sprinkled on top. We'd watch Price Is Right, then her "stories" and when we'd feel up to it, she'd play a rousing game or two of Aggravation and beat our pants off every time. She's a lady of many hugs and by example has taught us that often it's best to just have a good laugh over whatever life might bring. She has Alzheimer's now, but that didn't keep her from remembering Storey, and in turn, my girl saved the biggest smiles, best stories, and happiest coos for her Great Grandma. The two of them sat chatting for longer than I've ever seen Storey do before. I couldn't bring myself to post the photos of my Grandma gazing at my baby's face while she slept sweetly on her lap. It's a memory I'll keep close however, and share with her when she's older.

The ride home and a last minute trip to the grocery store were fussy-free as well. We couldn't have asked for a better day. Our girl's growing up. It's something to see her start to take in the world - and give back to it as well.

Little Birdies in the Bath

What's funnier than a pear-shaped, pudgy baby in the bath, flippin' all the bird because bath time's over?

Were you a Good Witch or a Bad Witch?

My guess is that there are two audiences that tend to ask what your child was like when they were a new baby: new mamas and, at some point, your own child. I've wondered how I'll answer that question on more than one occasion and I've noticed that, over time, my answer seems to change right along with our growing girl. The older she gets, the easier it gets - of course. So lately, I feel my answer morphing into regarding Storey as being an easy baby - because lately, that's starting to be the case.

Oddly enough, what I don't want to do though, is forget the hard times. The loss and redefinition of self, the inevitable stress on our gratefully solid marriage, the trial and error attempts at soothing, the lack of sleep, the sometimes constant fussing and screaming and the sight of her grumpy little face has been just down right hard in these early weeks. Really.

Not that I plan on telling Storey that she was a difficult baby, but especially if a new mama asks me, I don't want the patience, support, tears and triumphs to go forgotten in the haze of that all-too-cheery selective memory mamas of older babies sometimes seem to develop.

Bottom line, taking care of a small infant 24-7 has been one of the hardest things I've ever done. But, I will say that when I see the little person that's emerging due to our Herculean efforts, it's way, way worth it.

Mad, Mad, MAD!

Storey spent last week smiling, cooing, laughing, flirting. She was sleeping in regular intervals and eating at a rate that allowed me to complete a small task or two in between. Then...over the weekend...some other baby arrived in her place again.

Our smiling, cooing lovey has turned into Lou Ferrigno, crying inconsolably, kicking, resisting sleep, eating every 12.2 minutes... turning green and ripping her clothes off at the seams. (Hulk mad! You make Hulk angry! Very angry! Rarrrr!)

It would be really funny if after she came out of it she'd give us a bewildered David Banner monolog, wondering about the cars she overturned and trees she uprooted during her time as her nasty green self.

Make New Friends

Storey's only 6 weeks old or so, and already she has what must be her dearest friends. 10 of them to be exact. There were 12 - Rat Ox Tiger Hare Dragon Snake Horse Sheep Monkey Rooster Dog Boar - but two of them must have met some demise before coming to hang blessedly over her changing table.

This mobile was one of my most favorite of items inherited from my mentor the first year I taught Third Grade. Now it's Storey's most favorite item (in the world). She can be screaming, totally inconsolable, and if we take her to see her friends, poof! she starts smiling, cooing, laughing, dancing. We say, "Look! There's your friends!" and the madness ends, joy begins.

Like I've said in previous posts, it's a lucky thing to have such great friends.

Old Man

He loves her.

I've been wondering lately how much time we have left with him. My hope is that he sticks around long enough for her to get to love him back. My sweet old man.

Books & Prunes

When my younger brother Wes was young, he'd hold his poop for days. Sometimes it would seem like weeks. But, I'd take him to the library or the pool and as soon as we'd settle in and start enjoying our surroundings, he'd go. It was uncanny. I don't know what the deal was with the pool, but I'm convinced that something about books, magazines, newspapers, etc. makes them the thinking man's (or woman's) laxative. Perhaps it's due to the fact that books were always part of potty training in our home (you gotta have something to do while you sit there for hours, waiting). Regardless, we've all ended up pretty patterned.

Apparently Storey has inherited this gene from my side of the family. Each morning we read. Our current favorite is Goodnight Moon. I'm thinking about adding an extra line to the text, (goodnight poop) because, as we read, she fills her pants with great abandon. In reference to my oration abilities, I'm not sure whether I should feel flattered or offended.

Fun Papa

They've started their own band.

Poopy Present

I was looking through digital photos today, sorting out ones that I might like to get printed, when I happened upon this one from my mom's birthday. It's a nice one, isn't it?

Yeah, look closer.





I remember this happening, and us all laughing, but I don't remember taking a photo of the unpleasantness. Sometimes it strikes me that perhaps I'm a bit off. Oh well. It's certainly one of those "special moments" they'll both treasure forever.

Fruity-licious

Yesterday, in the middle of napping, our doorbell rang. On our front porch I found a nice lady with an even nicer offering - a giant bouquet of fruit! It was astounding, and, I felt, most definitely photo worthy. (Inside was a head of lettuce, surrounded by kale! This has to be the most ingenious edible gift ever.)

The card wished Storey a happy one month, congratulating Jason and I for weathering it with her. This from fabulous mama, May. She has this way about her, just laying low and then thinking of just the right thing to do or say. Her son is about to turn one, so she's freshly aware of what the first month can bring for new parents.

All I have to say is, fruit rocks. Storey thought so too (flailing about a short time after I ate some).


It's amazing how lucky we are to have such incredible friends. A month after her birth and people are still dropping by with little outfits, hats, things they saw at the store and had to get for Storey. She's like a kindness magnet. I ran out of thank you cards weeks ago.

You Are What Your Mama Eats

Ahh. We're learning so much, stumbling, bumbling through. Trial and error.

First, Storey got all stuffy, to the point where she couldn't breathe when she ate or slept on her back. Our days and nights were filled with snorting, screaming and the sucking sound of the bulb aspirator (a gross but miraculous tool).

We got rid of the feather pillows. I dusted the ceiling fan (ew! how did WE breathe?) and we still had one miserable kid on our hands. Finally I came across chocolate as a possible allergen. Here over the course of about 4 days I had consumed a carton of chocolate soy milk, two chocolate bars, and our share of a big plate of brownies brought over by another kind mama. Delicious! And apparently torturous for our screaming baby.

So I cut chocolate just to see. And the snots went away. Sigh. Please, enjoy some on my behalf...

Next, she broke out in a nice crop of baby acne. This is apparently normal, but it kept getting worse, spreading into her hair, all over her ears, down her neck, over her shoulders... ouch. Zitty baby.

Then she started spitting up large quantities. Think 2-3 tablespoons of projectile milk all over the bed, me, her - all day, all night. Burp cloths rendered useless. So, I read some more and find that these two discomforts in tandem indicate a dairy allergy. Argh.

So, added to the list: No cheese. No milk. No yogurt. Oh well. The acne is clearing up and she's no longer clawing at her face. Relying on older photos for now, I thought the one above was pretty appropriate. Crabby.

Mama Said...

Days like yesterday... Mama said there'd be ones like it. Storey cried anytime my thumb or my boob wasn't in her mouth. And there was no napping, for either of us, other than the one she took in the sling when I walked up to the gallery and back to drop off some more prints to Linda. By the time Jason got home I was fried and so was our girl. It's almost like, in order to maintain patience and calm, I have to go comatose, numbing myself to the fact that my day has, for the most part, sucked.

But then, there's my husband, who took her as soon as he got home and put her miraculously asleep (after she filled her diaper in his honor). Then towards the wee hours of the morning he stayed up with her again and let me get some much needed sleep before we started another day together. And he woke me with a hug and let me take a shower, before his. A long, unhurried shower. It was pure bliss. And he made us eggs for breakfast.

I can't explain how much this means to me. I think it helps the girl too, because unlike yesterday, today Storey is already napping. Who knows. Maybe she was constipated or growing or just too damn sweaty for a Tuesday and it threw everything off. But it rained last night, it's nice and cool, she's had a bath and all seems to be right again with the universe.

It's funny how someone so small can impact your whole existence on a daily basis. I wonder how many people-to-be-parents realize just how much life becomes nothing about you once you have a kid. I'm sure my Mama said that too at some point.

Smelly Belly Buttons

Yesterday, when I opened Storey's onsie to change her diaper, her cord tumbled out.

Grody.

I stood there and stared at it. The last of what tethered us together while she was inside of me. I can remember raising my head when Dr. Mikol twisted her body out of me and seeing the thick, opalescent blue rope running from her belly, still connected, still pulsing, even though she was breathing air. In that moment we were giving her everything we had to offer, from inside and out. Then Jason cut the cord and she was out, here with us, for good.

So, on her eighth day, what was left of it, left her. It was smellin' pretty funky anyways. I told her now she can wear a two-piece without shame.

And then we read a book to commemorate the occasion.


How often as adults do we remember the origins of our own belly buttons, and the connection that once was there?

It left me inspired to call my Mom. Just to say hi.

She's A Maniac

Friends give the best presents.

Flashdancing down the runway, Storey's sporting a rockin' Max & Grace onsie crafted by Mike, Danielle and Sam, the leggings are made by Mama (me) and the Mary Jane socks are courtesy of Walter, Judy, Lila and Iris.


What a feeeeeling.
Bein's believin'.
I can have it all, now I'm dancing for my life.
Take your passion
And make it happen.
Pictures come alive, now I'm dancing through my life.
What a feeeeeeling!

Working Man

Both of us had noticed a rash of inequities during my pregnancy regarding social assumptions about the father's role in this whole baby thing. People regularly asked me how I was feeling, or whether I was excited, anxious, etc. about what was coming. Rarely did anyone outside of our circle of, I guess, a few enlightened friends and family ask Jason how he felt, as his own fatherhood approached. Is it really that embedded in our culture that fathers will take or are expected to take a less passionate, less involved, secondary role in parenting? If so, that's unfortunate.

This phenomenon probably irked Jason only because, conversely, impending fatherhood has mattered so much to him. He's so committed to being a tremendous part of her life. I'll be pumping my breast milk, not because I need a break or want to "hand off" something to him, but because he wants to feed her at night, bond with her. He has spent months collecting things for us to enjoy as a family. Our i-pod is full of all the music he's excited to share with her. I think I even saw Storey-love in his eyes while she was screaming bloody murder, flailing her feet into a very tarry diaper during a recent change.


And tomorrow, well, he has to go back to work. We talk about it. It's very sad. For both of us. It makes me motivated to heal faster so that ideally nothing at home (meals, laundry, groceries, etc.) is waiting for him when he gets home. Not because that's what moms or housewives are supposed to do. Not because I'll have lots of "time on my hands" during the day. Yeah, both of these ideas can rot in the same cultural crap bucket as "fathers are 2nd-tier on the parent pyramid" as far as I'm concerned. Rather, if his heart has to break every morning upon leaving, it should have the opportunity to mend every night when he comes home, as he spends time with her, with us.

Pretty Babies

I'd be honest if Storey didn't fall into the pretty baby category. But she most definitely does. We can't stop looking at her. It's amazing how each day that passes there's this sense that the three of us are bonded closer and closer together. I've never experienced anything like it. Jason teases me about the concern I had that having a child might sacrifice the closeness we already enjoyed between us. The house is quiet. We take turns holding and soothing her. Enjoying her. This week has been incredible.

Coming Home

Squeezing out a very big kid, with no meds, over a period of about 15 hours, with the last hour's worth involving the ring of fire... yeah, that all leaves a battlefield in its wake. I'm fairly sure that most postpartum women share some set of physical woes. Well, one of mine is incontinence. I can't tell when I'll pee, nor can I stop or start it. I'm telling you, it's a wreck down there...

So, we come home and Jason transforms our downstairs into a homecare-baby-mama-papa-uber- living-space while I feed Storey and "wait to pee" (right... little did I know.)

Finally, I hand off the kid and walk into the bathroom to go and along with every possible thing a gal could need to heal her bottom, this is what I see:



witch hazel, a lit candle and a flower. I start to sob. Jason...

He comes to see what's wrong and that's the lovely moment when I start to pee. All over the just-cleaned-floor, in the just-made-perfect bathroom. Wetting oneself completely in front of the one you love. There's nothing finer.

Papa

I've always suspected that Jason would make a great father, because of the kind of husband he is. In fact, one of the reasons why our Storey didn't start till now was because I wanted to be just "We" and enjoy him all to myself.

All through the pregnancy, he was supportive, understanding, involved. Ask Jason about anything pregnancy related and it's likely he'll have read a book or article, subscribed to a mailing list, polled our child-weathered friends, etc. already about it and could offer up an amazingly rounded, informed perspective.

He cared for me and cried at my pain during labor. Though I had thought it better that he never see what happened to my body during birth, instead he sat right next to Dr. Mikol at the end of the bed, telling me over and over that I was strong and that I could bring our daughter into the world. He was right.

He is awake with me throughout the night, and cared for us non-stop every day of this week. I've seen him weep more in the past 4 days than in our 5 years together. He loves her so much. He loved her from the moment we found out we weren't going to be just We anymore. It makes me love him even more - if that were at all possible.

Thank you Jason.

On The Day She Was Born

Sunday, 9/9/07
10:00 - 11:00 pm
Watching Planet Earth, sill counting contractions, in bed. It's a party compared to what's to come.

Monday, 9/10/07
11:00 pm - 2:00 am
3 more hours of early labor. Contractions getting stronger, in fact, they just plain hurt, birthing ball not cutting it upstairs, so I start laboring in a hot bath. Much better. Contractions are at 1 every 4 minutes, well within range for going to the hospital but I still want to hang out at home for as long as possible.

Monday, 9/10/07
2:00 - 2:30 am
Calling the doc, running around, grabbing bags, shoes, cell phones. Contractions are 2 + minutes apart (holy crap!). Good thing we only live 3 blocks from the hospital. We're admitted and get our room. I am 3 cm dilated. Only 7 more to go.

Monday, 9/10/07
9:00 am
We've breathed our way through 6.5 more hours of early labor. I remember thinking, "the pain can not get much worse than this." Ha. The doc comes in and says, contractions are good, but I've not dilated much further. This sucks. She offers to break my water, and we decide sure.

Monday, 9/10/07
12:00 pm
Active labor. Holy, holy crap. This is pain. The contractions are blinding. Jason and our nurse, Andrea, breathe through them with me, one at a time. They are incredible. I begin to doubt that I can do this with no meds.

Monday, 9/10/07
1:15 pm
I'm stuck at 7- 8 cm. She's stuck. They turn me on my side.
I push and the doc guides her past the last bit of cervix. The doc, Sharon Mikol, is amazing. Let's just say I picked the right lady way back when. In many other realities, my delivery could have likely become fraught with intervention and/or a c-section (our baby ended up being 9lbs, 3 oz of it and 21 inches. That's a BIG baby.). Dr. Mikol knew all the tricks and never once suggested anything outside of my initial wishes. She stuck to my guns... for me. No drugs.

Monday, 9/10/07
1:35 pm
"We see her head! We see hair! It's long, and there's lots of it! She's almost here. Push!" they say. "Almost". That's a relative term, depending on who's perspective is king.

I will say this about this part of delivering a baby: It's an experience that either can't be described with words or people just don't talk about it afterwards. I have a very high tolerance for pain, so the contractions, I managed. But, what I did not anticipate, was the anti-intuitive yet required act of causing myself pain (pushing = pain) a number if times over in order to get her out. I thought it would never come to an end. But it did.

Monday, 9/10/07
2:49 pm
More than an hour later, with much yelling, tears and exhaustion, we witness the real beginning of our Storey. Storey Rain Williams.

Spinning Babies

Sunday nights are hard. We spend the weekend together, hoping for the Bean to arrive. And then she doesn't. And Jason has to go back in to work and hear "oh, you're here, she didn't have the baby?" 10,000 times over. Then he calls me - one time for every time he hears it, to see if I have anything new to report. Which I don't.

So, tonight (after researching the pig semen thing) I decided to occupy myself by looking into why I would be having all of these contractions for days and then have them repeatedly fizzle out. I found this website: http://spinningbabies.com and discovered that the Bean's position is likely not putting enough pressure on the cervix to cause it to dilate, so the contractions are all for naught.

For the last hour Jason and I have been repositioning her with me on all fours, then using The Abdominal Lift with each contraction to get her to slide backward into the right spot.

I know. We're getting pretty desperate here.

Gross-NESS!

Well, still no kid. I've been having full, intense contractions all weekend. We even had an hour's worth, 1 minute long, 5 minutes apart last night, which is when you're supposed to pack it up and head to the hospital. But something told me though that it still wasn't time - and it wasn't. The contractions fizzled into the night...kindly allowing me to get some sleep instead.

Here's why I'm extra glad we didn't go to the hospital. Had we gone, they might have witnessed the slowing down of contractions and recommended a prostaglandin insert to ripen or soften my cervix. Not only does this intervention often lead to other types of intervention but HERE'S THE GROSS PART: apparently that med. is made of pig semen.


Sorry, but that's very gross...

Big Ones

In an effort to occupy myself I finished two large paintings yesterday. I had a hard time taking them in. They're pretty fun.

Meet:
Night Owls (24 x 30")

















and
Big Crush (24 x 24")

On Being Late

Ah. The first quality apparent, handed down by myself, rather than Jason, to our lovely daughter is... tardiness. Due September 2nd and yet, she's still hanging out in there, enjoying all the ice cream I've been consuming.

So maybe she's destined for a lifetime of being late for everything, unless she's lucky enough to have someone, like her father, to move her along and get her where she needs to be on time. Unfortunately in this present case, even Jason can't do much to expedite her arrival.

So we wait. And we wait.

Elephant Money

This is so small. Should be so insignificant.
But, this morning I sold my first item on etsy.com. Elly the Elephant. Go Elly, go Elly, someone bought you, go Elly!

This distraction comes at a good time, in that I spent from 10pm till 4:30am weathering full contractions, only to wake up this morning with nothing but a sore belly. I can't express how much of a bean tease this was. I was really ready to say hello to her today, but I guess she still has some thinking to do. Maybe thoughts of woolly elephants... they are pretty intriguing.

Ha Ha

This man is going to be a dad...(and a really, really, good one I might add)

One Half Of We

Well we've had a birth (of sorts). Jason plays drums for Mike Uva and Hook Boy. Their CD, Static Songs, was released last week. It's the best yet. The bean agrees. She's enjoyed many hours of basement rehearsal in utero. It will be a staple for our living room dance parties together, I'm sure. Check it out, buy it, etc. at: www.collectibleescalators.com.

Testing Our Non-Stress

Well, for the past week I've had no energy. Zilch. Which is a first, so I took notice. And, the bean isn't moving as much as she always has. So yesterday, when we went for our weekly OB appointment, I mentioned our apparent lack of enthusiasm for being awake. The doc hooked me and the bean up to two big, stretchy belts with disks underneath them, squeezing her tight, tight, tight. Her little heartbeat started causing mountains and valleys on the printout that steadily flowed out of the top of the machine. As she left the room, the nurse said we were looking for 2 movements (and thus an increase in heart rate) within the next 10 minutes. The bean immediately started flipping out, skooching around, trying to get out from underneath the belts. The kung fu hands and feet were flailing. When the doc showed up at the 6 minute mark, the bean had already revved her heartbeat way up 4+ times. So all is fine with the bean. She's just thinking. About when to come out.

Racing The Bean

I've been racing. My opponent weighs in at 6.5 - 7 lbs and is only about 18 inches long, but we're neck and neck. Each week for the past three, I've been painting like a mad woman, trying to get material into the gallery and online before the bean gets here and places things on hold.

I'm proud to say that I now have my own online store on etsy.com (It's called We & The Bean!) with actual art for sale. It's pretty exciting, though we'll see if people want my silly cows, sheep and dogs. You never know.

Baby-dar

This photo is funny to me for two reasons. First of all, it illustrates the recent fun-ness of how I always seem to have a breezy gap between my pants and the bottom of my shirt (sexy).


Secondly, look at Max. Staring at the bean. He has been freaking out this week. Constantly barking, sulking, moping, giving me the cold shoulder, cuddling with Jason in excess as if just to spite me. And on Sunday, for the first time since we first found out we had a bean on the way, he peed on the floor upstairs. In addition, he also dug out a bar of Burt's Bees Buttermilk Baby Bee soap from the changing table up there and ate it and 3/4 of its box, leaving the other 1/4 as evidence on our bed, just to make a statement. His items-o-destruction have always been so intentional... (my passport two weeks before I was due to leave the country, my bra before a date, a whole packet of birth control pills, three of Jason's books when he first moved in, 5 remote controls back when I actually watched T.V. on a regular basis, etc.) What are we going to do with this big baby when the one on the way arrives? Man, I really hope he loves her to pieces.

Whoa There!

Okay. Yesterday was our first internal exam. I'm pretty sure our doc stuck her whole hand, arm and shoulder up to the clavicle up there. THAT was unexpected to say the least. But the news: I am 50% effaced and she felt either two inches or two centimeters of the baby's head. I was too preoccupied with unclasping my hands from the table rails to hear the exact unit of measure with much accuracy. Regardless, she's on her way...

Bad Blogger

I know, it's been a while since the last post. We're just in waiting mode and sometimes it feels like there's not a lot to say other than that. 37 (or is it 38 now?) weeks and counting. We had an awesome baby brunch with friends and family here at the house a few weeks ago. It was more like a party than a baby shower, with Jason's waffles, fritatas and mimosas and incredible live jazz courtesy of Gene's Jazz Hot. A breezy, shady, happy morning. And of course, my mom sent everyone home with a plant for their garden or home, with this little diddy inserted into the soil that says it all.

These weeks have been some of the most content that I can remember, despite the obvious discomforts of having a giant baby riding in the front seat of my body. Summer has been very good to us.

Swell-ness

Okay, now that the bean is so big, people, total strangers, are being exceptionally kind.

This morning, in lovely downtown Lakewood, I was wandering back to what I thought was our black VW. But in Lakewood there are many VWs and we all like to travel in packs and park near each other, so mid-crossing-the-street I figured out that the one ahead was someone else's car and ours was actually parked behind me on the curb. A man likely in his 50s came up to me as I waddled back to the sidewalk and asked me, "Are you okay?" I replied yes and gave a brief explanation about the whole car confusion thing. He smiled and said, "Well, you have a good excuse (gesturing to the bean). I just noticed you were pregnant there and just wanted to make sure you didn't need any help or anything". I thanked him and as he walked away he turned and ended with, "I wish you and your baby a very safe birth and hope he or she will go on to do great things." Well. How often do you hear that from a total stranger? All I can say is Lakewood has always offered us exceptional neighbors, and a warm sense of community, but being preggo with the bean here has opened up a whole new world of swell-ness. It makes me excited that she'll live amongst all these good people (and of course incur the added bonus of a multitude of those fine, compact German automobiles).

Magic Ice Cream

What has:

0g Total Fat
0g Saturated Fat
0g Trans Fat
0mg Cholesterol

Tastes like delicious goodness AND gives you

12% of your daily Fiber and
10% of your daily Protein?

Mmmmm... Magic Ice Cream
Jason and I are in love (with this product) (oh, okay...and each other).

This stuff is a pregnant lady's dream. I even checked the ingredients to see what weird chemicals I was feeding the bean and there weren't really any terribly bad ones.

Thank you Breyers. You rock.

Bigger-ness

31 weeks.
the bean is huge.
how much bigger can she get?

Girl Power

My whole life has been filled with boys. Two brothers, my neighborhood playmates growing up, most of my friends as a young adult. My dog, my husband, etc. Synopsis: I like boys.

So when, as part of my graduate program, I was told that my teaching apprenticeship would be at an all girls school, I was a little wary.

That apprenticeship turned into a lead teaching position and I quickly discovered that I actually loved spending my days with girls. For Pete's sake, I'm a girl!

The first year I taught, two of my students made a t-shirt for me at the end of the year. I wear it to bed all the time. So, I looked down this morning to see all their little faces on my big belly and thought, "Hey now, that's blog-worthy." Here's why: I've loved spending my days each year with these girls so much, that my heart has broken each June when I have to say goodbye. Their stories, their crafty, articulate hands, their laughter, their interests and the way they share them, celebrate them, celebrate themselves. It's magical, and it's different than with boys. Last week, I wept when I said goodbye to this year's girls, realizing that it may be the last time I spend my days with girls, for a while. But then it occurred to me, that special magic... we're about to have some of that - all of our own. In our home. In our lives every day. And I get to enjoy her, for the rest of my life. How absolutely fabulous.

Big-ness

Our neighbor kindly said hello yesterday as he walked his dog past our house. He then said, "Boy, you only have a few weeks left, huh!?"

"Well, I don't know, at least 8, maybe 10 or 12," I replied. His eyes went directly to the bean and then back to me, filled with disbelief. I'm guessing our bean is destined to either be a very large baby or a very tall, all folded up baby. Sigh. It's belly eruptus, belly erectus, belly interjectus, belly elephantitus, belly protrusionitus, belly catapultus, belly holymolus...