my life is good

It only took me the better part of three years to figure out how to post pictures in the sidebar, but at last I have succeeded. What do I win?

There are very few things in life that are predictable, so I'm always a little surprised at how ordered pregnancy is. At week 13, like clockwork, the symptoms of early pregnancy disappear. And as I am nearing the end of the second trimester, set your very slow watch by it, my second trimester energy is diminishing. I feel very, very pregnant all of a sudden. Not big, so much, but just - I'm suddenly aware that all of my available energy is going into growing and chasing babies. This morning, by the time both Asher and I were showered and fed, the breakfast dishes were done, the diaper bag was packed, and the car was loaded, I was ready for a nap. It was only 8:30 a.m. Knowing that I'm not even big yet, and that it's not even hot out yet, and I already feel this way, makes me want to cry. Then take a nap.

Every pregnant woman I have ever known at some point has said to me, "I am never doing this again." Most of the time they don't mean it. So don't take me too seriously. I love the result. Really, it does no good to ask me how many babies I want to have, because I want as many babies as possible. What you should ask instead, if you want a true estimation of the direction of our family, is, how many c-sections do you want to have? How long do you want to be emotionally unstable? How many miscarriages are you willing to potentially have? How many major life changes do you want to have? That would be a truer measure. Babies are priceless. But all that it takes to have a baby - that's different.

In the meantime, Asher refuses to stop growing up. He's morphing into his own little person, and vacillates between doing the opposite of whatever I ask of him and clinging to my legs. It's all part of developing an identity, I know, and most of the time I have the patience for it, but it makes for some funny moments. My favorite this week was on Saturday morning, when he was trying to pull something from the kitchen counter. This is Not Okay in our house, so I told him no and moved him away from the counter. In response, he bit me. BIT me. Which earned him a trip to his bed, of course. Normally, when he's put in his bed he protests, but this time, there was silence. I walked out of his room and heard, rather than tears, a little voice calling, "Daaa." As in, "Dad, I pissed Mom off, will you come rescue me?" I was so glad I was already out of the room, because there's no way I could have kept a straight face for that. Brian responded, "When you bite your mom, you're on your own kid."

So, my life is good. I keep chanting that phrase because it's the truth. I can forget it in the moment, but a frustrating or exhausting moment is not the same as discontentment. My life is good. My life is good.

Happy Monday, everyone.

catching up

Hi all,

I wrote two posts (now three) in one day. I had two hours of grown-up conversation and a meal that I did not cook, that did not involve dicing fruit up into bite-sized pieces and saying, "Do not feed your dog," and all of a sudden I had something to say. Just wanted you to know I had a coherent thought today. Hooray for me.

Keep reading, please. Coherent thoughts can be found below.

Asher is approaching the age where little boys become obsessed with something - balls, trucks, trains, hammers, something. Asher has a few loves in life - boats, guitars, flags, and balloons. He discovered balloons on his own, but everything else that he loves is connected to a man that loves him. His PaPa (Brian's dad) has an American flag in his front yard, which began the flag frenzy; Big Daddy (my dad) walks him down to the lake to watch the boats (which is so incredibly impressive that given the choice between cake - a treat that is rarely offered - and boat, he will choose a boat every time); and, of course, his dad plays the guitar. So I wonder, does Asher love these things, or does he love the men with whom he associates them? Is it really boats that are that exciting, or the chance to stand by the water with Big Daddy? Would he care one iota about flags if PaPa didn't have one? Probably not, is my guess.

It's made me think of how our families shape so much of who we are, not just habits but what we consider beautiful, what we love, what we want. I have a clear memory of paint brushes rinsing in a glass jar at my aunt's house. The water is tinted green from paint, and the sun is shining through the glass, reflecting onto the brick wall of my aunt's kitchen. It was the first time I ever noticed something was beautiful. Twenty five years later, I always choose shades of green or red for my home. Brian and his dad bonded over air shows and motorcycles. Lane has mentioned buttermilk and baseball. My mom took me to hear classical music, local orchestras or touring pianists, and to the library. Would I love Chopin apart from her? I can't imagine that I would.

So Asher loves flags, but mostly he loves his family, and he associates them with objects. I wonder, in twenty five years, if he'll put a flag in his front yard without fully knowing why, or if he'll watch a boat cross the water and smile.

I will.

I have this recurring dream in which every time I use my debit card, the swiper is really an ultrasound, and I can see Silas. Only I see him as a little person, and not as the skeleton you see in normal ultrasounds. And every time I see him, he is laughing. He has an olive tone - like my mother's, not at all like Asher's, who inherited his father's ruddy complexion - and he doesn't look like either Brian or me. He just looks like Silas. He also does not resemble the baby girl that I dream about before every 20 week ultrasound, but who, so far, has not appeared as a member of our family. She has dark curls and rosy cheeks, and she's always asleep in my dream, curled up in a little pink blanket. She's about three months old. But Silas, in my dream, is a little older - maybe a year - and belly-laughing, not just smiling. My friend Halle says the baby girl may be symbolic, or may be a future child. I'm not sure. Every time I think it means I'm having a girl, and so far I've been wrong, but I still have the same dream.

Huh.

1. I am having one of those odd weeks where everything in my life, personally, is uneventful, but everyone around me has something big happening. So every conversation - with a neighbor, on the phone, on email, whatever - is intense, but is also about a different topic. It's very odd. I'm sure a good analogy exists for this kind of week, but at the moment I don't know what it would be. Odd is all I've got.

2. I realized today that I need to be careful that I'm not expecting too much from Asher. Yesterday, I found myself expecting him to do things that he is still learning, and it was frustrating us both. As Brian often says, he's still just a little guy. I need to let him be the age he is. I know this sounds like an odd statement, but it's hard having a tall baby. It's hard to remember that he is still just a baby, even if he looks more like a toddler.

3. A friend and I took our children (who are more or less the same age) to the park today in the wagon. It was all fun and games until one started to cry, and the other joined in with sympathy tears. Imagine us, two pregnant women, pulling two screaming children down the street in a little red wagon. We looked like a clip from Family Circus. Oh well. Such is life.

Really, this is as good as it gets tonight. Sadly. Happy Wednesday everyone.

Nothing I say today will be nearly as eloquent or interesting as Angela's post on good religion. She writes:

“The difference between bad religion and good religion,” Richard Rohr suggested, “is that bad religion feeds the ego and good religion transcends it.”

Were truer words ever spoken?

Our ego gets in the way of everything that we do. It gets in the way of good parenting. It gets in the way of good teaching. It gets in the way of good work, good relationships, good times…..good living. Transcending that ego is our life’s work, and in my opinion, that is what good religion enables and supports in all of us.

See? Go read it. She has much more interesting thoughts for you today than I do.

By the way, a couple of you called to ask how I was holding up after my sleepless night. Thanks for thinking of me. I did surprisingly well today. It was kind of an intense day, but I felt like God was with me. That's kind of a hokey answer, and I can't explain it any better than that. But that's how my day went.

The time at the tone is 5:51 a.m., and I have slept approximately 4 hours tonight, from 10 pm until 2 am. For whatever reason, at 2 am, my body decided today was a new day, and since then I have been up. I've watched three episodes of West Wing and read every single one of your blogs. Again. Since I'm going to be up either way, I thought I'd say hello.

If you haven't already seen them, I posted Easter pictures in the post below and in the family photos link.

So here's my latest question for moms: Asher has hit separation anxiety, and in general is in a mama-phase. Separation anxiety is so normal that we check for it on developmental tests at 15-18 months (Asher is 15 months), so I am not worried about it, really. It's just - cumbersome. He doesn't cry when we leave him, but he gets so anxious when we're gone, that everything else makes him cry. This morning they came and got me after 45 minutes of tears. Well, they didn't come to get me, exactly. We're part of a small church, remember, so we don't have a number system. But someone from the nursery was walking him around, trying to settle him down, and from the outside foyer I heard "MAMAMA" followed by "GAR" (which means 'guitar'). He saw us through the window. I know that when I go back to the nursery, I am reinforcing that crying works, and will make this phase last longer. And he needs to learn that he's okay, even when we're not around. But I've also been on the other end, and a chronically crying baby is no fun at all for those stuck with him in the nursery. Should I leave his blanket with him? Should I make him - them - tough it out? It's also exascerbated by the fact that Sunday morning is the only time he's in public without a family member (he's with his grandma all the time, but she doesn't count, apparently), so it's going to take a little longer. I'm okay with that part. I'm just not sure how to help, or if I should. When your kids went through this, what did you do?

Otherwise, all is well. I take Tylenol Sinus along with my two prenatal vitamins every day, and that has helped stave off the headache. It must have been allergy. Brian is SUFFERING with them, earlier this year than ever before. This is the bad part of living in an old neighborhood. All of those huge magnolias and fifty-year-old azaleas are blooming, which is beautiful, but not so good for the allergies. So, between the allergies, pregnant plus sleep-deprived wife, clingy little boy, and six hour round-trip drive for work, Brian has a lot to look forward to this morning, don't you think?

Easter

wearing his dad's hat:



dressed for Easter:



before:



after:



my favorite from the day:

thoughts on Valerie's challenge, or how Harry Potter and Barack Obama remind me of Good Friday.

(This post is not nearly as random as it may seem. If you're confused, read the comment section of this post first.)

I am drawn to Harry Potter, Barack Obama, Josiah Bartlett, and Jesus all for the same reason: they give me hope. Obviously there may be some qualitative differences in my feelings towards these people/ characters/ Deity, but you get the picture. Hope wins me over every time.

It's Good Friday, and I told Asher the Gospel today in the car. Part of it, anyway - the part about love and sacrifice and the crucifixion. We'll save redemption for Sunday. It was a brief conversation. In response, he pointed out a flag over McDonald's. I took this to mean he was ready to move on to other topics.

And this is how hope is, really. We don't talk about it but we need it. The Caedmon's Call line comes to mind: I want you like a hole in the head, but I need you like a meal and a bed. More and more, I admire people who can hold on to hope in the midst of dire circumstances above anyone else. Hope is dangerous, and hard, and precious. And no one can find it for us. Like Ron Weasley says, that's what makes it a quest. You must discover it for yourself.

Harry Potter reminds me that, in the end, love wins over power. Josiah Bartlett reminds me that idealism is not the same as naivety. Barack Obama makes me believe cynicism has not yet won. And Jesus gives me the hope of redemption. They aren't the same, not even close, but they all have hope in common.

Thanks be to God.

When we signed our first mortgage, we got life insurance. Inexplicably, we found ourselves signing life insurance papers a few hours before we buried Brian's grandfather. I remember driving to the funeral from the insurance agency, and the two of us talking about how we finally felt like adults. Owning property and buying insurance just felt so - permanent. Real. Since that time, I've never thought of going to my parents' house as "going home" again. Home is where Brian is, and now where Asher is. Home is where the mortgage is, where my stuff is, where my dog is. Not where my parents live. But I digress - my point was, I used to think owning property made me a legitimate adult.

But this week, having and reading conversations about sick children and failing marriages, I realized how naive that line of thinking was. Property doesn't make me an adult. Considering another person's needs above my own - that's the mark of maturity. Choosing the option that does the least damage, understanding that every option hurts someone - that's the work of an adult. It has nothing to do with marriage or even babies (though babies show what we're made of, to be sure), and it definitely is not connected to property and insurance. Sacrificial love, facing reality, taking responsibility, moving on - these are the defining moments of adulthood. The rest is just stuff.

Well, I drank as much water as I could possibly stand today, and took Tylenol Sinus religiously, and it worked. Which remedy worked, I can't say, but I don't care. I had a whole day without that cursed headache. That's enough.

In the meantime, Lane has been writing about race and education, and God bless him for rising above the mundane. Go read it if you haven't already.

And seriously Silas really did turn 180* last night. He is now kicking on the complete opposite side of my belly. Fascinating, don't you think?

Asher is beginning to act proud of himself. We encourage him to "walk away" from certain things (like blinds and dvd's). He'll turn away, then strut around clapping for himself. It's the best thing. Also, he is the funniest eater. We went to dinner tonight and I foolishly ordered a kid's grilled cheese for him. No fries, because he refuses to eat commercial french fries, but still, a grilled cheese and sliced tomato is a respectable dinner. No dice. He ate two bites of grilled cheese, then all of his and my tomatoes (I was happy to give them up). He then ate more honey dew, cantalope, and strawberries than you can imagine. But no grilled cheese. Last night he ate I don't even know how much, but a LOT of watermelon for dinner. If I want him to eat anything besides fruit, I have to hide the fruit until he has finished his other food. That's the only way I ever get him to eat any protein. I really can't begrudge the kid his body weight in fruit, though. I just won't buy any more grilled cheese for a while.

Last thing - tomorrow Nick and Laura find out the sex of their twins. Two boys. Fraternal. That's my guess.

I am pretty sure that most of what I do on my blog is complain. Which is funny, because I don't think I'm characterized by complaining in real life. So I'm not sure why you always get an earful here ... based on my blog, one could conceivably believe my child never sleeps, my health is failing, and all is lost. It's not true. Most things are great. Most nights Asher sleeps like a champ, most days I feel fine. But I don't write about what's great, because, what's there to say about that? So to those of you who don't know me in real life, I apologize. I'm really not a whiner. I'm just more likely to whine here than anywhere else.

Having said that, I have a headache. And I've had this headache since Friday. I thought it was my blood pressure, but now I don't. I thought it was allergies, but I'm not really sure. Today I'm going to guess - water. Maybe I'm not drinking enough water. It's not a debilitating headache, but after a continuous stretch, any pain becomes more cumbersome than it should be. I'm limited on what medicines I can take, and Tylenol only takes the edge off, it doesn't kill the thing. I'm ready to kill the thing myself, if that thing were not necessary to sustain my life. Since it is, we'll try water today. On the off chance that it isn't water, and that Tylenol does not suddenly become the miracle drug I know it could be, if only it would try a little harder, anyone have any suggestions?

As an aside, I'm pretty sure Silas turned 180* last night. Which is nothing but COOL in a science-experiment sort of way. Thankfully I have a stomach of steel, or all that kicking of the organs might have made me queasy. And if it had, I would have complained about it here.

it's spring

Hi all. I'm still around. It's one of those weeks that I've been busier living life than talking about it, but all is well. Now that the time has changed and the sun is back out, we're outside most of the day. Which has me sneezing but in love with life all over again, just the same. Silas is kicking like it's his job (and I guess it is), Asher is growing an opinion, and I have discovered Little Einsteins, which is the best early childhood television show ever. It's the only educational program talking about tempo and melody, rather than vowels and numbers. Last week Asher was mooing Ode to Joy along with the characters. What I would have given to have the video camera charged and ready in that moment (that is the story of my life with the video camera, which is why I rarely ever bother with it at all). Even though some studies show that most of what young children learn from television programs is character recognition (preparing them for a successful future in consumerism), on the off chance that Asher does pick up something useful, maybe he'll begin to see how much more there is to learn than letters and numbers.

Also, anyone have any insight into low blood pressure during pregnancy? If you know something about it, please share, because I'd like some more information. My blood pressure has been consistently low (98/58 yesterday) the past few days. I don't think it's dangerous for Silas, but it's making me feel weird. What's that about?

This week is Holy Week. It's my favorite time of the year. I love the story we're celebrating and I love that we celebrate resurrection in the spring. I also love all of the little trappings, lilies and baskets and such, and Asher has a newfound love for plastic eggs.

That's it. Little Einsteins and Holy Week - that's the best I have to offer at the moment. What do you love this week?

It's official: we're having a baby. He doesn't have a bed yet, but he does have bedding.

Happy Thursday everyone.

things I never thought I'd say

1. (Me, pointing my finger at the dog whose head is hung low, using my most threatening, I'm-really-serious voice as he stakes his claim on the nearest plastic toy): "Drop ... that ... pig."

2. (Georgia's Mom, speaking to her children, while I am on hold on the phone): "No, honey, Brother doesn't want a tail. Make a tail for yourself if you want one."

What's the strangest thing you've said today?

* * * * * * *

On a related note, Things I Never Thought I'd Do:

I realized last week that a serving size for my prenatal vitamins is two caplets, not one. For three years and four pregnancies I've been taking exactly half of what I needed every day. And here is an odd thing about my personality: I don't accept every rule as Irrevocable Fact, but once I do accept something is true, it is very VERY difficult for me to will myself to work against it. For example - when Asher's nurse told me to give him yogurt at 8 months, instead of waiting until he was 9 months old to start dairy, I had to talk myself into it. I felt as though I was POISONING my child by breaking the No Dairy Before 9 Months Rule. How ridiculous am I? Quite. But in all the nights I've stumbled off the couch and into the bathroom to brush my teeth and take my prenatal vitamin, I have always been very careful about not accidentally taking it twice in a day. I always wake up just enough to be sure I hadn't already brushed my teeth and taken the vitamin and then somehow forgotten about it. Because overdosing on iron can kill people, not to mention what it could do to a pregnancy, and this is a Fact. Last night, when I intentionally took two pills for the first time, I half expected to be rushed to the emergency room for iron poisoning. I swallowed both pills and waited (for what?). Nothing happened.

meandering thoughts on delivery

I woke myself up Saturday night worrying about delivering Silas. Yes, I am only 22 weeks, and yes, I have delivered a baby before. Still. Saturday night neither of these facts were of any consolation. I talked to my doctor about VBAC's (vaginal birth after cesarean) in more detail today, and it's a little scary. Among VBAC's, the chance of serious complications is only 1%. Which is to say, 99% of the time, when women are able to successfully have a VBAC, everything is fine. But for the 1% it's serious - ruptured uterus, emergency hysterectomy, possibility of losing the baby, and (most uncommonly) a life-threatening situation for the mother. It's like reading the label to a prescription that says, "Side effects may include death." But that's only 1% of the time. And the decision to have a VBAC has not been made yet. At this point there are no complicating factors, but complications would occur closer to delivery anyway. So by June my doctor might be saying that a VBAC isn't an option for me. I told him today - and I'll tell you all now - that I prefer to try a VBAC for convenience sake. I don't want to be recovering from major surgery with two babies in tow. But if there's a question of Silas' health and safety, by all means, we'll do the c-section. Inconvenience versus death is an easy decision to make.

Many women (especially first-time mothers) plan a birth like they plan a wedding. They are striving for the ideal experience, and are disappointed when it doesn't happen the way they anticipated. My experience with Asher's birth was less than ideal, but I have no regrets about anything we did. I credit 1. low expectations, and 2. reading about pain management for this. I read a book about preparing for a natural delivery, even though I had no intention of delivering naturally, and it was the best thing I could have done. I was much better able to handle and manage pain thanks to that book. It also turns out I have a pretty high tolerance for pain. Who knew.

The bigger issue is, I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop. An uncomplicated pregnancy is too good to be true. I have friends struggling with infertility, friends and acquaintances recovering from miscarriages, and I keep hearing stories of still births. Why should I get to have two normal, healthy pregnancies, followed by two successful deliveries, resulting in two perfectly healthy, normal children? Could I really be that lucky?

flag!

as a bonus -

in honor of Angela's lab(?) Biscuit, who has been lamenting snow, here is a picture of Taylor's chief complaint in life: rain.

better. and louder.

I found the sale - thanks for digging around for me. I found out by running into a mom of twins in the store. How's that for advertisement?

Missy, I DID call my OB and beg for a z-pack, and they obliged, and I was grateful. It's been 24 hours since I started antibiotic and I'm feeling much closer to human. Thankfully.

Tomorrow, we're expecting snow. In March. In Alabama. Last weekend, Asher had on shorts. It's no wonder the entire state has a sinus infection.

As a bonus -

Asher has become a narrator in the car. About his language he is passionate (wonder where he got that?) and every word carries an exclamation point. This is especially cute because the sounds are almost identical, but if you are around him enough, you can differentiate them. He barks at every back yard (signifying my, "Yes, baby, dogs play in yards"), quacks at every bird in the air (all birds quack in Asher's world), and, most importantly, notices every (and I do mean EVERY) flag within eyesight. The flags are very important. All flags are worth noticing (as an aside, you have no idea how many flags you pass in a day until you ride with Asher - did you know fast food restaurants all have flags with their logos on them?), but American flags are the best. I am struck by two things: first, how observant he is, and second, how much Asher and I communicate, despite how few actual words he uses. The kid notices everything. And most of the day, he and I both know what the other wants. Isn't that something?

Please, please, someone smarter than me confirm that the Mothers of Multiples Consignment Sale is this weekend in Montgomery. I am INEPT on the internet and am ready to throw the computer across the room because it won't just tell me what I need to know, already. I have the kind of sinus infection where everything above my neck hurts, and so far I've pulled it off all week with the baby by myself, but I'm ready to wave a white flag and beg Brian to take a sick day tomorrow so that I can stay on the couch, where my aching head belongs. ANYWAY, I think the sale is this weekend (why in the name of ALL THAT IS HOLY don't I write these things down?! WHY do I continue to depend on my memory which has already spectacularly proven its inability to hold salient details, like the times and dates of everything other than life-altering events?!) but I need to know for sure. Consignment sales are a GIFT to mothers of babies but for pete's sake, they're like a secret club. If you're not on the inside, it's almost impossible to find out information about them until they're over and the newspaper covers them. I need baby equipment, and I just need one good sale, when I go on the first day. If you wait any longer it's picked over, which is fine for play clothes, but not for everything. SO. Anyone want to look it up for me? My sinuses thank you.

worth a thousand

There's more new pictures at the family photos link, if anyone is interested.

I have the crud, so I don't have much to say this week. Though I did feel Silas kick - not flutter but kick - today.

Happy Wednesday, everyone.

pictures from the weekend

THIS is the cutest little boy picture you've ever seen. With a bonus shot of his new rug.



A friend called me yesterday and said, "I'm so sorry my daughter hit Asher Friday at the library!" I sincerely hope she had not spent all weekend worrying about that, because it was not even a blip on my radar. If I had a dollar for every time I said, "Don't bite," or "We do not hit," we could make a significant dent in Asher's college tuition. I am told that this is completely normal behavior for their age, and particularly for boys. Here is Asher in action.



We were accidentally color-coordinated on Saturday. So we took a picture.



Asher with Mikkee. I kept trying to take a picture with Asher looking at the camera, but he turned to look at Mikkee every time. Soon, we are going to buy a digital camera with no delay, and then we might actually get a picture of Asher smiling again.

March

The worst part about having limited internet access is that I only post after bedtime, when I'm spent. This morning I had so much to say, but by 8 p.m., nothing sounds quite as important or eloquent as it did twelve hours ago. So this is a post that could have been something, but instead it's just free association.

Mikkee and I were talking this week about finding satisfaction in the moment. It reminded me of how happy I am with my life - I'm doing exactly what I want to do. It's true that I sleep much less than I would like, but who cares. This is the life I want. Other times and places, I was always chasing an elusive goal - there was always something more or better just around the corner. For the first time, there is nowhere else I'd rather be. What a blessing.

I was driving to church this morning and realized - do you know what happened this week? The due date came and went. Both miscarriages had the same due date, and it was this week. And I didn't even notice. People told me this would happen, that it would be better in time, that dates would lose their sting. I never believed them until now. I've said it before, but healing is always supernatural, and it always surprises me.

Alabama is entering into the best two months of the year. March in Alabama is ... glorious. I love the spring, and I've never been more ready for it than this year. I am the least educated among us in church history, but it's my understanding that Christian celebrations originally corresponded with pagan festivals. Easter, the celebration of resurrection and new life, is perfectly situated in the center of Alabama spring. I can understand completely the need for pagan and Christian alike to celebrate the spring. The earth itself is coming to life; there's no better time to remember our own resurrection and salvation. I can't wait.

That's it. Easter, spring, satisfaction, and forgetting. Praise God for them all.

mush

1. I found rugs for both babies' rooms at a consignment sale today. Asher's is perfect, but Silas' is debatable. I'm not sure I can get it clean enough to feel good about it. As my dad would say, though, it was a 10$ gamble I was willing to make. At least it gave me some good nursery ideas, which I needed.

2. Mikkee came to visit this week. That's why you haven't heard as much from me. It was her first visit since Asher was born when there wasn't some big event in the works - a birthday or baptism or whatever. It was nice. Asher learned pretty quickly that Mikkee was a life-sized toy. He was sad to see her go.

3. Missy at It's Almost Naptime wrote about being tired. Yes, me too. It's funny you should mention 2:09 a.m. - at 2:09 a.m., I was listening to Asher cry, watching the clock in the living room, while the rest of the house was undoubtedly listening to Asher cry from their beds and wondering how long I was going to leave him in there. I had done everything I could. He was clean, he was in new jammies. He'd been rocked, he'd been medicated, he'd been up for two hours. He just didn't want to go back to bed. It was sad for everyone, but a few tears were necessary for sleep last night. Tonight he's at his grandma's house. Praise God for grandmas.

4. Asher is on a new allergy medication and a new round of antibiotics, and Brian and I both have been BEATEN by this round of illness. I'm so glad he's a basically healthy kid. If this was our life, and not just our February, I might lose my mind.

5. That's all. This cannot possibly be a very interesting post for most of you, but the mind of the sleep-deprived is, well, mush.

Have a good weekend everyone.