Have I mentioned before how much I love watching Asher learn to talk? It's my first chance to know what's going on in his little mind. His language has exploded in the past six weeks, going from about 5 words and about 10 signs at 14 months to easily 50 words (and a few new original signs) at 16 months. He's also on the cusp of putting two words together in phrases, but already he has made several associations, and groups words together on his own. And through this little stream of consciousness I am beginning to see the grid through which Asher understands his world.
As his language grows, his personality (and sense of independence) is becoming more apparent as well. Asher, so far, is a little observer. He enjoys being out, and will move away from me willingly to explore and play. He is fearless about trying new activities (especially on a playground), but is a little less brazen when approaching crowds or new people. Today he was squealing "balloon!" in the grocery store until he realized the woman behind us was smiling at his enthusiasm, at which point he stopped talking, stared at the woman, and pointed solemnly to the balloon. And, without fail, when we get in the car, he tells me about his day.
"Mikkee," he'll say from the back seat. "Airplane. Sky. Reach! Stretch! Slide." He's remembering watching the airplanes in Mikkee's yard, and stretching as far as he could, trying to touch them. He also remembers playing on the slide on the playground, which he did numerous times during our visit.
"Store. Balloon. Ride. Go." This is the grocery store cluster.
"Dad. Guitar. Dance. Truck," for his dad.
"Hat. Big Daddy. Marmee. Boat. Jack." That's my parents.
"Papa. Grandma. Flag. Gracie." Brian's parents.
"Outside. Truck. Grass. Ride. Wagon." The front yard.
"Keys. Bye-bye. Car. Steps. Scoot." For getting ready to leave the house.
It goes on and on. He can "read" books this way, quoting clusters of words for familiar books. I love it. I love watching him grow, I love hearing what he remembers, I love seeing him piece his life together into words. And I love that he wants to share all of it with us. I don't know how many times a day I stop and listen and wonder. Hearing my baby talk, and knowing he wants to talk to me, is a gift.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
#3
3. Brian's attitude towards me and our home life.
The longer I am married, a. the more I realize how young/naive/immature I was on my wedding day, and b. the more I realize how well I married. Marrying well at 22 is nothing but the grace of God. I had no idea what I needed, really, in a spouse. I knew that I was in love, but there was no voice from Heaven, just peace that I knew to be supernatural. Even so, I really had no idea what I was doing. I had no clue how well suited we were for one another, how well we would work as a team. And I did not yet realize how much of a gift his acceptance of who I am would be.
Here's what I mean - Brian does not ever say, imply, hint, or cut his eyes in such a way that means, "I wish you would (fill in the blank)." All that Brian cares about in our home is that there is something that resembles food (cocoa puffs count) that can be cooked (who does the cooking depends entirely on what we're eating) and that Asher and I are happy. That's it. He doesn't care if the floors are clean (they usually aren't), he doesn't care how much I weigh, he doesn't care how much - or little - money I make. He genuinely, sincerely just wants to see me enjoy my life, and if that is happening, he is satisfied.
Really, what else could you possibly want in a mate? I mean, seriously?
I've had several conversations recently with friends (particularly stay at home moms, though I'm not sure why) who spend a good amount of energy trying to please their husbands. By staying fit, by keeping the house clean, by having children, by not having more children, by nursing, by not nursing ... the list goes on. There are so many women spending chunks of their day trying to appease a man, and here I am, playing in the park. Reading a book. Visiting friends. Doing the hokey-pokey at the library with twenty toddlers. Taking the jobs I want, and turning down others, despite their financial benefit. Talking on the phone during nap time, when I could be picking up. I have absolutely no pressure to be or do things a certain way from Brian. This is a tremendous gift, especially for me, because I put enough pressure on myself for the both of us. As we were walking this afternoon, I was commenting how a friend (who is also pregnant - have I mentioned that most of my in-town friends are pregnant?) already has the new baby's clothes washed and in the drawer, and I don't even have the dresser in the room yet. "Her house is spotless, her child is potty-trained before 2, she works out every day, AND her nursery is ready. I just don't have that kind of energy. I wish I could be more like her," I said. "I don't," said Brian. "I like you."
Thanks be to God and Brian for this indescribable gift.
The longer I am married, a. the more I realize how young/naive/immature I was on my wedding day, and b. the more I realize how well I married. Marrying well at 22 is nothing but the grace of God. I had no idea what I needed, really, in a spouse. I knew that I was in love, but there was no voice from Heaven, just peace that I knew to be supernatural. Even so, I really had no idea what I was doing. I had no clue how well suited we were for one another, how well we would work as a team. And I did not yet realize how much of a gift his acceptance of who I am would be.
Here's what I mean - Brian does not ever say, imply, hint, or cut his eyes in such a way that means, "I wish you would (fill in the blank)." All that Brian cares about in our home is that there is something that resembles food (cocoa puffs count) that can be cooked (who does the cooking depends entirely on what we're eating) and that Asher and I are happy. That's it. He doesn't care if the floors are clean (they usually aren't), he doesn't care how much I weigh, he doesn't care how much - or little - money I make. He genuinely, sincerely just wants to see me enjoy my life, and if that is happening, he is satisfied.
Really, what else could you possibly want in a mate? I mean, seriously?
I've had several conversations recently with friends (particularly stay at home moms, though I'm not sure why) who spend a good amount of energy trying to please their husbands. By staying fit, by keeping the house clean, by having children, by not having more children, by nursing, by not nursing ... the list goes on. There are so many women spending chunks of their day trying to appease a man, and here I am, playing in the park. Reading a book. Visiting friends. Doing the hokey-pokey at the library with twenty toddlers. Taking the jobs I want, and turning down others, despite their financial benefit. Talking on the phone during nap time, when I could be picking up. I have absolutely no pressure to be or do things a certain way from Brian. This is a tremendous gift, especially for me, because I put enough pressure on myself for the both of us. As we were walking this afternoon, I was commenting how a friend (who is also pregnant - have I mentioned that most of my in-town friends are pregnant?) already has the new baby's clothes washed and in the drawer, and I don't even have the dresser in the room yet. "Her house is spotless, her child is potty-trained before 2, she works out every day, AND her nursery is ready. I just don't have that kind of energy. I wish I could be more like her," I said. "I don't," said Brian. "I like you."
Thanks be to God and Brian for this indescribable gift.
Monday, April 28, 2008
picking back up with A Thousand Gifts
2. my house.
Valerie wrote about wanderlust versus buying a home, and the conflicting desires for both. I have talked so much here about the same thing that I'd feel like I was beating a dead horse to dredge it all up again, but - yes. I know what you're saying. I would add that there is a season for everything, and for this season, our house is a gift.
I have a friend who is 34 weeks pregnant with her first child and living in an apartment. Their lease runs out May 31 (she's due June 9) , and they have to move closer to her husband's job for financial reasons, and they can't move into their new apartment until May 15. Did I mention how very pregnant she is? Every time we see her, she's on the verge of the hysterical laugh-cry women use when they are trying to make light of something serious. My heart goes out to her. Her bassinet is in a box, her shower gifts are still in their bags, and that baby is closer to being here every day. I would be hysterical too.
I love our house. It is the perfect layout for roaming babies; you can make a loop without ever having to turn around, and I can shut off every room that is not baby proof. It is exactly as much space as we need, and it is has a good yard.
And I love our neighborhood. Yesterday we walked down to the park, as has become our habit after Sunday naps, and were surprised to find fifty of our neighbors already there. Every Sunday in the spring they have a free concert in that park; we had forgotten all about it. Our neighborhood is largely academic types and old hippies, or young families with children. Kids were on the playground while old men sat in folding chairs drinking wine and eating pita and hummus (seriously). But most importantly, everyone was talking to one another. People knew each other, and those that didn't talked anyway. It was a great way to spend Sunday afternoon.
One last thing about our house that I love is the mortgage. Because we chose the cool-adjacent neighborhood, we have the luxury of both paying a mortgage and going to the grocery store every single month on one income. It is in line with our financial priorities right now, which are mostly to function on cash and raise our children, though sometimes that seems like a pretty lofty goal. For all of these things I am thankful. I love our little house.
Valerie wrote about wanderlust versus buying a home, and the conflicting desires for both. I have talked so much here about the same thing that I'd feel like I was beating a dead horse to dredge it all up again, but - yes. I know what you're saying. I would add that there is a season for everything, and for this season, our house is a gift.
I have a friend who is 34 weeks pregnant with her first child and living in an apartment. Their lease runs out May 31 (she's due June 9) , and they have to move closer to her husband's job for financial reasons, and they can't move into their new apartment until May 15. Did I mention how very pregnant she is? Every time we see her, she's on the verge of the hysterical laugh-cry women use when they are trying to make light of something serious. My heart goes out to her. Her bassinet is in a box, her shower gifts are still in their bags, and that baby is closer to being here every day. I would be hysterical too.
I love our house. It is the perfect layout for roaming babies; you can make a loop without ever having to turn around, and I can shut off every room that is not baby proof. It is exactly as much space as we need, and it is has a good yard.
And I love our neighborhood. Yesterday we walked down to the park, as has become our habit after Sunday naps, and were surprised to find fifty of our neighbors already there. Every Sunday in the spring they have a free concert in that park; we had forgotten all about it. Our neighborhood is largely academic types and old hippies, or young families with children. Kids were on the playground while old men sat in folding chairs drinking wine and eating pita and hummus (seriously). But most importantly, everyone was talking to one another. People knew each other, and those that didn't talked anyway. It was a great way to spend Sunday afternoon.
One last thing about our house that I love is the mortgage. Because we chose the cool-adjacent neighborhood, we have the luxury of both paying a mortgage and going to the grocery store every single month on one income. It is in line with our financial priorities right now, which are mostly to function on cash and raise our children, though sometimes that seems like a pretty lofty goal. For all of these things I am thankful. I love our little house.
I know what a blessing pregnancy and babies are. I know. But the time at the tone is 4:20 a.m., and this is the third night in a row I've been awake at this time, and I am lying on the couch (watching West Wing, of course) thinking about how badly I want my body back. Everyone talks about the transition to being a mom of two kids, and how I'm going to feel like everyone needs more from me than I can give. But I already feel that way. Silas is getting big enough that being pregnant takes most of my energy, and Asher is busy enough that he needs nearly-constant direction. He is just old enough to reach everything that's less than three feet tall, and just young enough to not follow directions. Isn't it possible that having both of my babies OUTSIDE of my body might be easier than what I'm doing right now? I know I will be busy, but I'm busy NOW, and I'll get to have my own person all to myself again.
Please don't hear me complaining. Well, I AM complaining, but please understand it's coming from a place of seeing 4:20 a.m. three nights in a row after chasing Asher all day. I am 30 weeks pregnant today, so Silas needs me a little longer, I know. But I am beginning to think two kids may be easier than one and a half.
Praise God Brian is off work tomorrow. I'll be more positive tomorrow.
Please don't hear me complaining. Well, I AM complaining, but please understand it's coming from a place of seeing 4:20 a.m. three nights in a row after chasing Asher all day. I am 30 weeks pregnant today, so Silas needs me a little longer, I know. But I am beginning to think two kids may be easier than one and a half.
Praise God Brian is off work tomorrow. I'll be more positive tomorrow.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
home, james.
Hi. I'm still alive. I've been visiting Mikkee in Nashville until today, so I've been untethered from the Internet for a while. Just so you know, Mikkee is second only to grandmas in Asher's world. "Bibee!" he calls her. All weekend long. "Bibee! Bibee!"
We had a great trip. We spent most of our time outside, and is there really a better way to spend a weekend? I don't think so. But I've been sole producer and director of The Asher Show since Wednesday (we tour, you know), and now my house has exploded into a thousand dirty bibs and Curious George books, so we'll pick up here tomorrow.
Tune in this week for more about our trip, more of my Thousand Gifts list, a guest post on short-term missions trips from Mikkee, and whatever else falls out of my head in the next few days. Good night everyone.
We had a great trip. We spent most of our time outside, and is there really a better way to spend a weekend? I don't think so. But I've been sole producer and director of The Asher Show since Wednesday (we tour, you know), and now my house has exploded into a thousand dirty bibs and Curious George books, so we'll pick up here tomorrow.
Tune in this week for more about our trip, more of my Thousand Gifts list, a guest post on short-term missions trips from Mikkee, and whatever else falls out of my head in the next few days. Good night everyone.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
sprinklers and observations
Please scroll down to skim the previous post, or the first part of this won't make sense.
1. Picking out a sprinkler with Asher.
We went to Target today and made a quasi-impulse buy. Those of you who know me well know how frugal I am, so to decide at 1:00 to buy a toy and drive home with it by 3:00 is impulsive by my standards. But our air is out (we'll get to that in a minute) and we're on day 2 of 85* weather which means, friends, I hope you enjoyed the spring because it's over. Now we'll just get gradually hotter like frogs in a pot until we all jump out or boil alive, whichever comes first. With that in mind, today seemed like a good day for a sprinkler. And it really was. We picked out a twirling penguin on a surfboard; Asher enjoyed it until he tried to catch the spray and got repeatedly squirted in the face, at which point the water hose became a better toy. The boy has no fear whatsoever of water (his mother would be a little more comfortable if he was slightly more intimidated by it, because since bringing him home from the hospital bathtubs and baby pools look more like death traps than fun to me). But sprinklers feel safer (whether they are or not), and he loved playing in the water. And I loved watching him play.
On a different note, I've been writing observations in my head all day. Want to hear them?
Observation #1: Until a few years ago, I had always worked with babies and toddlers, not preschoolers. This doesn't sound like a big difference, and I guess it's not in most ways, but there is one aspect of teaching 3-5 year-olds for which I was not prepared: a large part of every day is spent discussing poo. I teach J on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, and no matter what plans or objectives I have for our day, at least an hour will be devoted to if, when, how, or why we go poo-poo on the potty. After our 23rd unsuccessful trip to the public bathroom in the park with J announcing, "No poo-poo on the potty!", I was beginning to question my life. I felt better when I saw two little boys standing side-by-side, pants at their knees, peeing into the sand box while their mothers watched and laughed. And in the moment, I understood exactly why the moms were laughing - at least they didn't have to change wet clothes. Nobody has a handle on this potty-training thing.
Observation #2: Our air is out. I'm not sure I can pray for my air conditioner with a clear conscience, so I am seriously hoping the whole thing needs to be replaced. It is under warranty until September, and this is the second time (since September - and how often do you use the AC in the winter, even in Alabama?) that it has broken down. Please oh please just die, so we can get a new unit for practically nothing. Please please PLEASE don't wait until next October to die. Amen. Also, I have been thinking about pregnant women in desert climates who must be completely covered to leave their homes. I'm dying in 85* in a t-shirt and ponytail. Do you know how HOT those women must be?
Observation #3: I have picked out a bed for Silas. Do you know that, aside from a travel swing purchased a few weeks after Asher's birth, this will be my first purchase of new baby equipment ever? I have found most things on consignment or yard sales, I borrowed an infant carrier, Asher's bed is a hand-me-down, and our kids have three sets of grandparents. Aside from the occasional outfit (or impulsive sprinkler), we haven't bought much from a store for either of our kids. I guess that should be #2 on my Thousand Gifts list.
Observation #4: I was talking to J's mom today about how anxious I have been about this birth, and she brought some much-needed clarity to my thoughts. She said, "It's because you know how much he means to you now. With your first child, you have no idea how much you are going to love them. Now you know." Yes. Yes I do, and that's why I am so much more afraid. Thank you.
Observation #5: Jon & Kate Plus Eight comes on back-to-back episodes in the middle of the night on TLC. I watch it but I am not impressed. Kate is not a happy woman, or, at least, she does not present herself as such during the taping of the show. I know mothers of large families, and I know how busy they are. But she just doesn't seem to enjoy her life very much. That's my opinion, for what it's worth.
Observation #6: I was shopping today for a baby gift, looking through all of the tiny pink sun dresses, and I had a moment where I actually felt a little sorry for mothers of girls, who have to contend with so much PINK in the world. I kept looking over at the adjacent rack and thinking about how boy clothes are cuter because there are so many colors to choose from. This, from the woman who was so convinced she was having a girl that we didn't even consider boy names until the morning we were driving to the ultrasound. Not once, not at all. We've come a long way, baby.
Happy Tuesday, everyone.
a thousand gifts
Missy is listing a thousand gifts. The idea came from a blog I have not read before called Holy Experience. Here's a quote from her post on what happened when she began noting the daily moments and seeing them as gifts from God:
I am seeing things I have never seen before, atuned and aware of this constant, endless stream of gifts from His hand. I am one waking from slumber....from the stupor of indifference and ignorance. I have sight, fresh and keen---the world is new and full of His gifts.
Too often I miss Him, oblivious, blind. I don't see all the good things that He is giving me, gracing me with, brushing my life with. True, He is everywhere, always. But maybe, before The Gift List, I thought of Him as further off, not so close. When I started to see all the things that I love bestowed upon me, I started to see Him as near, present, everywhere, showering me with good things. Seeing the things I love all around me gives me eyes to see that I am loved, that He loves me.
It is happening to me as John Milton wrote: "Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies, those transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world."
Everyday epiphanies everywhere, indeed: gifts....Grace.
The truth is that I love my life, and I am grateful for it. But in the moment, I can forget just what a gift it is, how badly I wanted and how I waited for this season. So, a list of a thousand gifts seems like a good idea. Care to join me?
I am seeing things I have never seen before, atuned and aware of this constant, endless stream of gifts from His hand. I am one waking from slumber....from the stupor of indifference and ignorance. I have sight, fresh and keen---the world is new and full of His gifts.
Too often I miss Him, oblivious, blind. I don't see all the good things that He is giving me, gracing me with, brushing my life with. True, He is everywhere, always. But maybe, before The Gift List, I thought of Him as further off, not so close. When I started to see all the things that I love bestowed upon me, I started to see Him as near, present, everywhere, showering me with good things. Seeing the things I love all around me gives me eyes to see that I am loved, that He loves me.
It is happening to me as John Milton wrote: "Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies, those transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world."
Everyday epiphanies everywhere, indeed: gifts....Grace.
The truth is that I love my life, and I am grateful for it. But in the moment, I can forget just what a gift it is, how badly I wanted and how I waited for this season. So, a list of a thousand gifts seems like a good idea. Care to join me?
Monday, April 21, 2008
Saturday, April 19, 2008
best laid plans
We had big plans for our day. We were going to the Alabama Book Festival. Joshilyn Jackson and Clifford were there, and it was the kind of day in Alabama that makes you want to be outside, and we loved the Book Festival last year. So. We picked up Asher from his grandma's (where he spent last night, because he needed a break from the demands of his parents). His grandma was babysitting a toy yorkie puppy which could not possibly weigh more than two pounds, and Asher has never been happier. It's a toy! It's a puppy! No! It's a toy puppy! Is there anything better? Probably not. Anyway, between pancakes with Grandpa and the toy! puppy! and the gloriously springish weather and Grandma's backyard, the kid was PUMPED. We told him about going to see Clifford (one of the few characters he knows) and even washed his face before we got in the car, so excited were we about the festival. Asher rode out of the neighborhood listening to the Indigo Girls (because the Indigo Girls are springtime music in my world), enjoying the wind, and generally pleased with life. Like so:
But by the time we were out of the neighborhood, the excitement of the morning was fading, and he started asking for his blanket and pacifier. And by the time we were downtown, the kid was sound asleep. Now, I love a good festival - not to mention a Clifford sighting - probably more than most, but timing is everything. And a poorly timed Clifford is markedly less fun than no Clifford at all. So we drove home instead. Maybe next year.
Speaking of bumbling plans, I have hit a plateau in my New Year's resolution on new recipes. I've tried several of the ones you sent in January, and most of my cookbooks read like a church potluck dinner. Potluck food is fun twice a year, but sausage-cheese-fat stroganoff is not our idea of a nutritious dinner, and I'm somewhat confined by Brian's digestive abilites. Any suggestions? I did, however, eat a new recipe tonight that was SO good - strawberry cream pie. Perfect for summer.
And then we have upcoming plans: tomorrow our church is focusing on music and worship. We aren't really a cantata kind of church, but some of our friends from Birmingham are coming down to lead part of the music, one of the college girls on the worship team is leading the rest, and members of the congregation are painting (it's the picture of Jesus thing, for the Junaleska folks). Also, Brian is teaching. He hardly ever does that, but he's talking about worship, about which he is passionate and knowledgable. Anyway, tomorrow is going to be a good day.
I'll close with a few bonus pictures of Asher cutting our grass:
and the neighbors grass:
Enjoy your Sabbath.
But by the time we were out of the neighborhood, the excitement of the morning was fading, and he started asking for his blanket and pacifier. And by the time we were downtown, the kid was sound asleep. Now, I love a good festival - not to mention a Clifford sighting - probably more than most, but timing is everything. And a poorly timed Clifford is markedly less fun than no Clifford at all. So we drove home instead. Maybe next year.
Speaking of bumbling plans, I have hit a plateau in my New Year's resolution on new recipes. I've tried several of the ones you sent in January, and most of my cookbooks read like a church potluck dinner. Potluck food is fun twice a year, but sausage-cheese-fat stroganoff is not our idea of a nutritious dinner, and I'm somewhat confined by Brian's digestive abilites. Any suggestions? I did, however, eat a new recipe tonight that was SO good - strawberry cream pie. Perfect for summer.
And then we have upcoming plans: tomorrow our church is focusing on music and worship. We aren't really a cantata kind of church, but some of our friends from Birmingham are coming down to lead part of the music, one of the college girls on the worship team is leading the rest, and members of the congregation are painting (it's the picture of Jesus thing, for the Junaleska folks). Also, Brian is teaching. He hardly ever does that, but he's talking about worship, about which he is passionate and knowledgable. Anyway, tomorrow is going to be a good day.
I'll close with a few bonus pictures of Asher cutting our grass:
and the neighbors grass:
Enjoy your Sabbath.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Thanks for the encouragement. It's been a busy week. We sold the old car, shared a cold, almost witnessed a robbery, and picked paint colors for the nursery (I think), on top of all the normal life busyness. So, by 8 pm (my blogging hour), I have been on the couch every night. Anyway, all is well.
Maybe almost witnessing a robbery is a story worth telling? How about my neighbor walked into her house on Wednesday late in the afternoon to find a guy CARRYING her washing machine out her back door. By himself. After he has pulled the entire thing - including the copper pipe - out of the wall. Paula, my neighbor, says, "Who are YOU?" to which the robber replied, "Mike."
So Paula calls 911, because Mike is taking her stuff, and - are you ready for this? - 911 PUT HER ON HOLD. That's when we drove up, and heard yelling in the back yard. I took Asher inside and Brian went around to see what was going on. Paula is trying to save her possessions while ON HOLD with 911, so she calls out, "Brian, call the police!" Brian had the magic voice, apparently, because when he called the yard was surrounded by squad cars within a minute. Mike, of course, had already left. He dropped the washing machine and ran out the front door, into the sunshine.
Does anyone else find this story absurd? On so many levels - how ya gonna pull a washing machine out of a wall and carry it out single-handedly? For that matter, how ya gonna call 911 and be put on hold? The whole thing was like a scene from a sitcom. For me, anyway, because nobody was trying to steal my washing machine. He also stole her television and end tables (end tables?), and trashed her house. Look out for Mike, everyone.
So that's it. That was the highlight of our week. Otherwise, it's been runny noses and car stuff all week.
Have a good weekend.
Maybe almost witnessing a robbery is a story worth telling? How about my neighbor walked into her house on Wednesday late in the afternoon to find a guy CARRYING her washing machine out her back door. By himself. After he has pulled the entire thing - including the copper pipe - out of the wall. Paula, my neighbor, says, "Who are YOU?" to which the robber replied, "Mike."
So Paula calls 911, because Mike is taking her stuff, and - are you ready for this? - 911 PUT HER ON HOLD. That's when we drove up, and heard yelling in the back yard. I took Asher inside and Brian went around to see what was going on. Paula is trying to save her possessions while ON HOLD with 911, so she calls out, "Brian, call the police!" Brian had the magic voice, apparently, because when he called the yard was surrounded by squad cars within a minute. Mike, of course, had already left. He dropped the washing machine and ran out the front door, into the sunshine.
Does anyone else find this story absurd? On so many levels - how ya gonna pull a washing machine out of a wall and carry it out single-handedly? For that matter, how ya gonna call 911 and be put on hold? The whole thing was like a scene from a sitcom. For me, anyway, because nobody was trying to steal my washing machine. He also stole her television and end tables (end tables?), and trashed her house. Look out for Mike, everyone.
So that's it. That was the highlight of our week. Otherwise, it's been runny noses and car stuff all week.
Have a good weekend.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
on apple juice and other stuff
The time at the tone is 5:37 a.m. I woke up at 4:45 craving apple juice. Craving, as in, I cannot stay in this bed one more second, because that's one more second I am not drinking apple juice. I've had two juice boxes since then. Granted, they are mini-juice boxes, so that probably only totals one full glass of juice, but still. I can't remember the last time I've had - much less wanted - juice before this morning.
I tried last night to write a post, but it didn't go anywhere. What has been on my mind lately is Silas' birth. Have you ever met a woman terrified of her second child's birth? Me neither. Maybe I've read too many sad or scary birth stories lately, or maybe I'm just pregnant and emotional (ya think?). But it has been weighing on me, and every time I see my doctor, I get more anxious about it. I really don't know why. According to every possible measure, I am carrying a completely healthy, normal little boy. There is no reason to think anything at all will happen.
But because of my anxiety, I am going to begin to prepare as though I will have another c-section. My plan (at 28 weeks - we'll see how it changes over the next 12) is to schedule a c-section at 40 weeks. If I go into labor on my own before then (as I did with Asher, not that I can use that as a measure of this child, I know), and my doctor is comfortable with a VBAC, we'll do it. But planning a c-section will take the anxiety over the unknown out of the equation. Also, a scheduled c-section is an easier recovery than a c-section after labor, and it allows me time to prepare. I won't be able to lift anything over 20 lbs for 6 weeks, which means I can't be alone with my 25 lb child while I recover. We need to look at Brian's time-off and figure out when we'll need grandparents, that sort of thing.
So, that's the news here. It's probably not pertinent to anyone but me, but for me, it really is.
And here is my confession: I have a hard time praying about anything pregnancy-related. I don't know what to ask for. I believe that God is good and loving toward all He has made; I also know we live in a world where babies die. I have made peace with those two realities, but it leaves me uncertain of how to pray. I can pray for my child, and for the person he will become. But for the time between now and when he is a little person who can eat and breathe apart from my body, I don't have the faith to pray for his health and honestly believe my prayers are effective. But I know that as a believer, I can't remain as anxious as I have been about his birth. I have to trust that God - who is good and loving toward all He has made, including me - will give Brian and me the ability to face whatever is handed to us. Lord willing (and the creek don't rise), that will be the normal stress of bringing home a healthy baby. But even if it's not, God will give us the strength to do whatever we need to. That, I can trust. That is something I can pray in faith.
By the way, Silas liked the apple juice almost as much as I did. Happy Wednesday.
I tried last night to write a post, but it didn't go anywhere. What has been on my mind lately is Silas' birth. Have you ever met a woman terrified of her second child's birth? Me neither. Maybe I've read too many sad or scary birth stories lately, or maybe I'm just pregnant and emotional (ya think?). But it has been weighing on me, and every time I see my doctor, I get more anxious about it. I really don't know why. According to every possible measure, I am carrying a completely healthy, normal little boy. There is no reason to think anything at all will happen.
But because of my anxiety, I am going to begin to prepare as though I will have another c-section. My plan (at 28 weeks - we'll see how it changes over the next 12) is to schedule a c-section at 40 weeks. If I go into labor on my own before then (as I did with Asher, not that I can use that as a measure of this child, I know), and my doctor is comfortable with a VBAC, we'll do it. But planning a c-section will take the anxiety over the unknown out of the equation. Also, a scheduled c-section is an easier recovery than a c-section after labor, and it allows me time to prepare. I won't be able to lift anything over 20 lbs for 6 weeks, which means I can't be alone with my 25 lb child while I recover. We need to look at Brian's time-off and figure out when we'll need grandparents, that sort of thing.
So, that's the news here. It's probably not pertinent to anyone but me, but for me, it really is.
And here is my confession: I have a hard time praying about anything pregnancy-related. I don't know what to ask for. I believe that God is good and loving toward all He has made; I also know we live in a world where babies die. I have made peace with those two realities, but it leaves me uncertain of how to pray. I can pray for my child, and for the person he will become. But for the time between now and when he is a little person who can eat and breathe apart from my body, I don't have the faith to pray for his health and honestly believe my prayers are effective. But I know that as a believer, I can't remain as anxious as I have been about his birth. I have to trust that God - who is good and loving toward all He has made, including me - will give Brian and me the ability to face whatever is handed to us. Lord willing (and the creek don't rise), that will be the normal stress of bringing home a healthy baby. But even if it's not, God will give us the strength to do whatever we need to. That, I can trust. That is something I can pray in faith.
By the way, Silas liked the apple juice almost as much as I did. Happy Wednesday.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
my day, part 2, or, the gospel according to the indigo girls
Scroll down for part 1 and some great pictures.
After a few more trips down to the dock to wave at the BOPES!, feeding butter beans to his grandmother, playing with the water hose, chasing the cat for a while, walking a retired baby doll around by the hand (the same way he has been learning to walk with me), emptying a kitchen cabinet, and countless stops to bang on the piano, our trip to my parents' house came to a close. For Asher, it was better than Disney World. It was a 24-hour-party in which he was the star of the show. What kid doesn't love that?
Now, when I was 15, I was the definition of extroverted. The longer I was around people, the more energized I became. But the older I get, the more I appreciate balance. By now, I function best when I have equal parts quiet and excitement. But an hour in a car with a toddler can hardly be called quiet. Most of the time, Asher occupies himself by narrating books and noticing the scenery with what is quickly becoming a characteristic exuberance for language. I normally spend most of my travel time saying, "Yes, baby, that is a leaf." I assumed the quiet I was craving after the Asher Show Marathon would not begin until after bedtime tonight.
I was wrong.
About five minutes down the road, after remembering our day out loud (BOPES. JACK. MARMEEEEEE!), Asher asked for his blanket and pacifier. He'd already had a nap, and we normally have a strict rule about saving pacifiers for bedtime, but it was such an unusual request that I complied. He got the glazed-over look of a tired baby with a paci in his mouth, and I wondered if he was going to sleep, but he didn't. Instead, we listened to the Indigo Girls together. In between songs, he'd ask (quietly - a decibel I did not realize he was capable of using) for more music. And when he recognized a word, he'd announce it softly. "Love," he said. "Jesus!" This one was his favorite, and he repeated it a few times, smiling as he said it. "Jesus!" "Jesus!" very softly, from the back seat. "True?" "Water?" "School." And - my favorite - a word that came out of his innocent mouth as "Uck," which I am certain he thought was referring to his dad's vehicle. We let that one pass us by. This is how we rode home. Until we pulled into the driveway, Asher and I listened to the Indigo Girls, occasionally repeating the important words, and relaxed for a while.
I love the words that stood out to him. We learn language by the repetition of sounds, a thousand times over, until babble becomes associated with an object, and imitating that babble gets us what we want. How long do those little neurons have to fire before nonsense becomes substance? How many times do we hear a word before we understand it? My professor once asked it this way: "How much 'cup'ness do we really need to comprehend before we understand that c-u-p holds our drink?" It's a difficult question to answer. But the salient words for Asher, the ones that he recognized, were so sweet. I love that these are the words he's heard enough to recognize, repeat, and know that he's saying something.
Except Uck. That one was all him.
After a few more trips down to the dock to wave at the BOPES!, feeding butter beans to his grandmother, playing with the water hose, chasing the cat for a while, walking a retired baby doll around by the hand (the same way he has been learning to walk with me), emptying a kitchen cabinet, and countless stops to bang on the piano, our trip to my parents' house came to a close. For Asher, it was better than Disney World. It was a 24-hour-party in which he was the star of the show. What kid doesn't love that?
Now, when I was 15, I was the definition of extroverted. The longer I was around people, the more energized I became. But the older I get, the more I appreciate balance. By now, I function best when I have equal parts quiet and excitement. But an hour in a car with a toddler can hardly be called quiet. Most of the time, Asher occupies himself by narrating books and noticing the scenery with what is quickly becoming a characteristic exuberance for language. I normally spend most of my travel time saying, "Yes, baby, that is a leaf." I assumed the quiet I was craving after the Asher Show Marathon would not begin until after bedtime tonight.
I was wrong.
About five minutes down the road, after remembering our day out loud (BOPES. JACK. MARMEEEEEE!), Asher asked for his blanket and pacifier. He'd already had a nap, and we normally have a strict rule about saving pacifiers for bedtime, but it was such an unusual request that I complied. He got the glazed-over look of a tired baby with a paci in his mouth, and I wondered if he was going to sleep, but he didn't. Instead, we listened to the Indigo Girls together. In between songs, he'd ask (quietly - a decibel I did not realize he was capable of using) for more music. And when he recognized a word, he'd announce it softly. "Love," he said. "Jesus!" This one was his favorite, and he repeated it a few times, smiling as he said it. "Jesus!" "Jesus!" very softly, from the back seat. "True?" "Water?" "School." And - my favorite - a word that came out of his innocent mouth as "Uck," which I am certain he thought was referring to his dad's vehicle. We let that one pass us by. This is how we rode home. Until we pulled into the driveway, Asher and I listened to the Indigo Girls, occasionally repeating the important words, and relaxed for a while.
I love the words that stood out to him. We learn language by the repetition of sounds, a thousand times over, until babble becomes associated with an object, and imitating that babble gets us what we want. How long do those little neurons have to fire before nonsense becomes substance? How many times do we hear a word before we understand it? My professor once asked it this way: "How much 'cup'ness do we really need to comprehend before we understand that c-u-p holds our drink?" It's a difficult question to answer. But the salient words for Asher, the ones that he recognized, were so sweet. I love that these are the words he's heard enough to recognize, repeat, and know that he's saying something.
Except Uck. That one was all him.
Opinions are like belly buttons. So here's mine, with a few bonus pictures.
I have had several immunization conversations since the last post. Just so you guys all know, I'm not opposed to immunizations. And Asher has been partially immunized - which is another reason why the fill-in doctor really had no business giving me unsolicited advice on immunizations. We just aren't fully immunizing during the second year. My doctor and I discussed what diseases could potentially be fatal - like meningitis - and Asher received those vaccinations. Everything else will wait until he is closer to school-age. If you start reading the forums and research on immunizations you will see a. the answer you get depends on who you ask, and b. research says one thing, while parents and anecdotal evidence says another. So. We're erring on the side of caution, and rolling the dice on chicken pox. Polio, not so much.
In other news, we're at my parents' house (on the lake) this weekend. This is our first overnight trip here in Asher's memory, and he is equal parts thrilled at hanging out with his grandparents and dismayed at sleeping in a new place. I made the mistake of telling him two hours before we left where we were going, and heard an unending chant of toddler babble that, when interpreted, meant, "BIG DADDY! BOAT! JACK! (the cat) SCOOTER! MARMEE! VACUUM! (he apparently remembered their vacuum from our last visit. Go figure.)" I get it now, why I've always been told not to tell toddlers anything until the moment it is happening. Duly noted.
But he's had a blast. He's already watched Tigger and Pooh, seen BOPES! twice this morning, eaten pancakes, chased the cat, and played the piano. Now he's down for an early nap, while my parents are recovering on the couch.
Here are a few pictures from our adventures:
In other news, we're at my parents' house (on the lake) this weekend. This is our first overnight trip here in Asher's memory, and he is equal parts thrilled at hanging out with his grandparents and dismayed at sleeping in a new place. I made the mistake of telling him two hours before we left where we were going, and heard an unending chant of toddler babble that, when interpreted, meant, "BIG DADDY! BOAT! JACK! (the cat) SCOOTER! MARMEE! VACUUM! (he apparently remembered their vacuum from our last visit. Go figure.)" I get it now, why I've always been told not to tell toddlers anything until the moment it is happening. Duly noted.
But he's had a blast. He's already watched Tigger and Pooh, seen BOPES! twice this morning, eaten pancakes, chased the cat, and played the piano. Now he's down for an early nap, while my parents are recovering on the couch.
Here are a few pictures from our adventures:
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
look for it somewhere along 85N
I've lost my filter, that filmy line between what you think and what you say. I left it somewhere along the interstate, upon which I have driven back and forth and back again ALLLL day long. On any given day, I put most of my energy into taking care of my family, but today I feel as though I have only marginally succeeded.
I took Asher into the pediatrician this morning, believing that he could have foot and mouth disease (a very common and not at all serious virus that toddlers get). It turned out he only has a paranoid mother (in my defense, he was exposed to it yesterday, and had a rash and hives on his foot this morning), a sore throat, and fever, but not foot and mouth disease. I had to see my least favorite pediatrician in the group, the one who misdiagnosed his antibiotic allergy and caused us a weekend of avoidable misery, and got a lecture on keeping him out of the nursery and grocery stores because he hasn't had a chicken pox vaccine. Seriously, friends, WHAT do I win for not rolling my eyes at that woman today? Does she honestly think I made such a decision without carefully considering my options and discussing it with my doctor? And what about the professional courtesy of not telling other people's patients what to do? Also, WE ALL HAD THE CHICKEN POX AND LIVED TO TELL THE TALE. Pa-lease, is what I did not say but wanted to this morning.
Back down the interstate we go, home for nap and to cancel our afternoon plans. Then UP the interstate, again, to the grocery store with the good produce, only to realize my check card is in the diaper bag, which is, of course, at home. Back and forth, one more time, making a simple errand as complicated as absolutely possible, and doing it at the worst time of day possible, so that what could have been a 20 minute errand took us almost two hours.
Alas. The day is almost over. Asher, for all of the sore throat and running around, is doing pretty well. I think he's done with his day, though, too. He has spent the last hour saying, "Da? Tar?" as in, "Where's my dad and his fun guitar? Why am I still stuck in this car seat with YOU?"
Hope your Wednesday (it is Wednesday, isn't it?) was better than mine.
Oh yeah. I forgot to mention that Asher fell out of a chair and hit his forehead on the tile floor JUST as they were calling our name at the pediatrician's office. There was a collective gasp from the waiting room, and a wide-eyed nurse who wanted to put ice on it. Seriously? Do you know how many times a day this kid falls down? He was only scared, and made more so by the response from the crowd. If he's not bleeding or bulging at an odd angle, he really is okay.
I took Asher into the pediatrician this morning, believing that he could have foot and mouth disease (a very common and not at all serious virus that toddlers get). It turned out he only has a paranoid mother (in my defense, he was exposed to it yesterday, and had a rash and hives on his foot this morning), a sore throat, and fever, but not foot and mouth disease. I had to see my least favorite pediatrician in the group, the one who misdiagnosed his antibiotic allergy and caused us a weekend of avoidable misery, and got a lecture on keeping him out of the nursery and grocery stores because he hasn't had a chicken pox vaccine. Seriously, friends, WHAT do I win for not rolling my eyes at that woman today? Does she honestly think I made such a decision without carefully considering my options and discussing it with my doctor? And what about the professional courtesy of not telling other people's patients what to do? Also, WE ALL HAD THE CHICKEN POX AND LIVED TO TELL THE TALE. Pa-lease, is what I did not say but wanted to this morning.
Back down the interstate we go, home for nap and to cancel our afternoon plans. Then UP the interstate, again, to the grocery store with the good produce, only to realize my check card is in the diaper bag, which is, of course, at home. Back and forth, one more time, making a simple errand as complicated as absolutely possible, and doing it at the worst time of day possible, so that what could have been a 20 minute errand took us almost two hours.
Alas. The day is almost over. Asher, for all of the sore throat and running around, is doing pretty well. I think he's done with his day, though, too. He has spent the last hour saying, "Da? Tar?" as in, "Where's my dad and his fun guitar? Why am I still stuck in this car seat with YOU?"
Hope your Wednesday (it is Wednesday, isn't it?) was better than mine.
Oh yeah. I forgot to mention that Asher fell out of a chair and hit his forehead on the tile floor JUST as they were calling our name at the pediatrician's office. There was a collective gasp from the waiting room, and a wide-eyed nurse who wanted to put ice on it. Seriously? Do you know how many times a day this kid falls down? He was only scared, and made more so by the response from the crowd. If he's not bleeding or bulging at an odd angle, he really is okay.
Monday, April 07, 2008
family day
Brian has the day off, so we had a few hours this morning as a family. We wanted to do something fun with Asher, so we chose to go see ... the Bass Pro Shop. How redneck does that sound? Very. But it has an aquarium, all kinds of (stuffed) animals, and, most importantly, BOPES (known to the rest of us as "boats"). And it's free. Considering that Asher only has about a 20 minute attention span before any outing becomes a chore, Bass Pro Shop sounded perfect this morning.
And it really was. Talk about creating an atmosphere ... I can't imagine the money it takes to make a warehouse feel like an outdoor adventure, but they were successful. My favorite moment was Asher calling every deer "Bambi." Here we are, perusing a HUNTING shop, and Asher is bellowing "Bambi! Bambi!" every few seconds. Take that, senseless killers. I mean, hunters.
And one more story to grow on -
Yesterday morning, we were all lazing around on our bed. Asher was trying to climb overboard, but we had him blocked with our legs. "You're stuck!" I told him. "Stuck," said Asher. A few minutes later, Asher was watching Pooh while I was working on breakfast. Roo's kite was caught in a tree, and Pooh and Tigger were hatching a plan to retrieve it. "Stuck!" said Asher, pointing at the kite. "Stuck!"
Genius, I say.
And it really was. Talk about creating an atmosphere ... I can't imagine the money it takes to make a warehouse feel like an outdoor adventure, but they were successful. My favorite moment was Asher calling every deer "Bambi." Here we are, perusing a HUNTING shop, and Asher is bellowing "Bambi! Bambi!" every few seconds. Take that, senseless killers. I mean, hunters.
And one more story to grow on -
Yesterday morning, we were all lazing around on our bed. Asher was trying to climb overboard, but we had him blocked with our legs. "You're stuck!" I told him. "Stuck," said Asher. A few minutes later, Asher was watching Pooh while I was working on breakfast. Roo's kite was caught in a tree, and Pooh and Tigger were hatching a plan to retrieve it. "Stuck!" said Asher, pointing at the kite. "Stuck!"
Genius, I say.
awards
Angela was kind enough to give me this blogging award:
Thank you! In return, I am passing it along to Adrienne. In the face of miscarriages and infertility, Adrienne and her husband have not only shown continuing grace and hope, they have also used it as an opportunity to adopt a sweet little boy who desperately needed a loving family. Owen's life is immeasurably better, not only because he was adopted, but because he has such caring and conscientious parents. Also, if Adrienne and I lived in the same town, we would definitely be friends.
In other news, I got to see Carrie last night. I love having the kind of friends where you talk for an hour and a half before you ever get around to asking about spouses and children. It was really fun to see her.
Happy Monday everyone.
Thank you! In return, I am passing it along to Adrienne. In the face of miscarriages and infertility, Adrienne and her husband have not only shown continuing grace and hope, they have also used it as an opportunity to adopt a sweet little boy who desperately needed a loving family. Owen's life is immeasurably better, not only because he was adopted, but because he has such caring and conscientious parents. Also, if Adrienne and I lived in the same town, we would definitely be friends.
In other news, I got to see Carrie last night. I love having the kind of friends where you talk for an hour and a half before you ever get around to asking about spouses and children. It was really fun to see her.
Happy Monday everyone.
Saturday, April 05, 2008
Two interesting things happened today:
1. We bought a car.
(a googled image identical to the car in our driveway, but not the actual car)
2. The prayer room (from Kansas City) had a day-long meeting in Montgomery, and Brian and I spent the afternoon there.
Of course both of those statements deserve their own posts, but that's all you get tonight. Enjoy your weekend, everyone.
1. We bought a car.
(a googled image identical to the car in our driveway, but not the actual car)
2. The prayer room (from Kansas City) had a day-long meeting in Montgomery, and Brian and I spent the afternoon there.
Of course both of those statements deserve their own posts, but that's all you get tonight. Enjoy your weekend, everyone.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
on treasures and darkness
I will give you the treasures of darkness, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the Lord, the God of Israel, who summons you by name. Isaiah 45:3
My pastor's family has eleven children. Have I mentioned this before? Maybe not, because I wouldn't want to give the impression that our church is as cult-like as eleven children sounds. That's a personal preference, not any sort of mandate, in case you were concerned. But my pastor's wife, as mother to eleven children, is a wealth of maternal wisdom. She has told me more than once that the best thing that could have happened to her first child was the birth of her second child. "I had too much love to give, and I was going to smother that poor girl to death if she'd stayed my only one." The phrase has stayed with me - too much love to give.
Also, lately Brian and I have been talking about cars. Both of our cars have passed 200,000 miles, and neither will fit our entire family - including the pup, stroller, and two pack and plays, not too mention guitars and the pile of what-not that is a permanent fixture in any car we own - once Silas gets here, so we're going to need another car.
Which has us talking about what exactly we need from a car, and how long we need it to last. Our conclusion: this is the wrong time to buy a good car. By good, I mean, a car that we could own and drive for several years. We don't need a car that will last that long, because we don't know what kind of car we are going to need long-term. This is the time in our lives when our needs are changing, and what's the point of spending more money than is strictly necessary on something that depreciates (for pete's sake), that may be insufficient in a few years anyway? So we're going to buy another car, but it will be our interim car. Our rebound car, if you will, to get us through. Just what we need.
Tonight I sat in the darkness, rocking Asher, breathing in his little curls, and thought about all of these phrases. Treasures of darkness. Short term cars for changing needs. Too much love to give. I thought about the blogs I read earlier - one written by a woman who knows that she will bury her baby next week, another by a friend from church who has been celebrating the anniversaries of her adoptions. And I thought about the verse above, given to me just before the miscarriage last summer. Everyone who has lived through darkness - which is to say everyone, given enough time - knows that kind of treasure isn't monetary. The fruit of suffering is good, but it cannot be rushed. It will happen in time, but all that comes in between cannot be diminished in an effort to find the silver lining. I have a sense that I am holding pieces in my hand that will someday fit together, but not yet. I don't think about my own darkness very often anymore, but it still feels incomplete to me. We have moved on, but I am still waiting to see the value of our experience. I am still waiting for the treasures of darkness. I don't know what that will be, for me or for anyone else. I don't yet know what good came from it, but I do know good will come. One of the great blessings in trusting God is letting that be enough - hope for the future and a belief in the goodness of God mean that I don't need to understand everything.
For now, I enjoy what I have - a toddling, talking, screaming, growing, thriving little person in front of me, and a healthy, squirmy one on the way. Future cars and future treasures remain in God's hands.
My pastor's family has eleven children. Have I mentioned this before? Maybe not, because I wouldn't want to give the impression that our church is as cult-like as eleven children sounds. That's a personal preference, not any sort of mandate, in case you were concerned. But my pastor's wife, as mother to eleven children, is a wealth of maternal wisdom. She has told me more than once that the best thing that could have happened to her first child was the birth of her second child. "I had too much love to give, and I was going to smother that poor girl to death if she'd stayed my only one." The phrase has stayed with me - too much love to give.
Also, lately Brian and I have been talking about cars. Both of our cars have passed 200,000 miles, and neither will fit our entire family - including the pup, stroller, and two pack and plays, not too mention guitars and the pile of what-not that is a permanent fixture in any car we own - once Silas gets here, so we're going to need another car.
Which has us talking about what exactly we need from a car, and how long we need it to last. Our conclusion: this is the wrong time to buy a good car. By good, I mean, a car that we could own and drive for several years. We don't need a car that will last that long, because we don't know what kind of car we are going to need long-term. This is the time in our lives when our needs are changing, and what's the point of spending more money than is strictly necessary on something that depreciates (for pete's sake), that may be insufficient in a few years anyway? So we're going to buy another car, but it will be our interim car. Our rebound car, if you will, to get us through. Just what we need.
Tonight I sat in the darkness, rocking Asher, breathing in his little curls, and thought about all of these phrases. Treasures of darkness. Short term cars for changing needs. Too much love to give. I thought about the blogs I read earlier - one written by a woman who knows that she will bury her baby next week, another by a friend from church who has been celebrating the anniversaries of her adoptions. And I thought about the verse above, given to me just before the miscarriage last summer. Everyone who has lived through darkness - which is to say everyone, given enough time - knows that kind of treasure isn't monetary. The fruit of suffering is good, but it cannot be rushed. It will happen in time, but all that comes in between cannot be diminished in an effort to find the silver lining. I have a sense that I am holding pieces in my hand that will someday fit together, but not yet. I don't think about my own darkness very often anymore, but it still feels incomplete to me. We have moved on, but I am still waiting to see the value of our experience. I am still waiting for the treasures of darkness. I don't know what that will be, for me or for anyone else. I don't yet know what good came from it, but I do know good will come. One of the great blessings in trusting God is letting that be enough - hope for the future and a belief in the goodness of God mean that I don't need to understand everything.
For now, I enjoy what I have - a toddling, talking, screaming, growing, thriving little person in front of me, and a healthy, squirmy one on the way. Future cars and future treasures remain in God's hands.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
some things you may care about, some things you probably won't.
1. So one of my non-blogging pregnant friends told me water makes a big difference in her energy level. Since she is generally more health-conscience than I am, and since I have not been drinking as much water as I used to, I've decided to take her advice. She drinks 3 liters of water a day. So I bought a water bottle yesterday and was a little disconcerted to realize that after 3 liters of water today (not including glasses of water at lunch and dinner) I did not have to pee more than the average pregnant woman. Um, obviously my body needed some water. In general, my energy comes in spurts, and I am trying to appreciate and use it when it's there, and sit down when it's not (when sitting down is an option). I'm going to stick with the water thing for a while either way, though, just for the general well-being of Silas and me.
2. Another one of my non-blogging friends had a baby this morning. While none of you know her, healthy babies are always news worth sharing. No name yet, but a healthy little boy was born at 5:30 this morning. And she did not have to be induced, to her great pleasure. She was hoping to avoid induction, and this time - her third birth - she did.
3. Someone posted an advertisement on Craig's List giving Brian's cell phone number and promising a free autographed copy of Hannah Montana memorabilia. Was it any of you? If so, that's the best April Fool's joke ever. Hilarious.
4. Last night I had a dream that Asher kept crying just as I was dozing off (which is not outside of the realm of possibility, but fictitious last night, at least). At 2:45 a.m. I woke Brian up telling him to give the baby Tylenol already, so that I could go to sleep. When he tried to appease me and roll over, I sat up and said, "Why are you still in bed? Go!" So, because he is good to me, Brian got up and checked on Asher. The kid was so asleep that when Brian moved him a little, he didn't even squirm. He came back and reported that all was well, but by that time I was already asleep again. Poor Brian. He still has three more months of this, followed by postpartum hormones to look forward to.
5. Some of you said something similar a year ago, but at the time, I couldn't imagine it to be true. But I think the second year of babyhood might be more fun than the first. A year ago I was lamenting sleep and generally way too uptight about the minutia of infant care. But he is learning so much right now - making new associations and learning new words every day - and it is really fun. Plus, I LOVE one nap a day. It's going to be sad to have to stay at home again in the mornings for Silas. If we spend all morning at home, by about 10 am Asher starts saying, "Bye bye?" As in, hello? Isn't it time to go somewhere? It's a fun time in his life and a pretty time of year to do it.
2. Another one of my non-blogging friends had a baby this morning. While none of you know her, healthy babies are always news worth sharing. No name yet, but a healthy little boy was born at 5:30 this morning. And she did not have to be induced, to her great pleasure. She was hoping to avoid induction, and this time - her third birth - she did.
3. Someone posted an advertisement on Craig's List giving Brian's cell phone number and promising a free autographed copy of Hannah Montana memorabilia. Was it any of you? If so, that's the best April Fool's joke ever. Hilarious.
4. Last night I had a dream that Asher kept crying just as I was dozing off (which is not outside of the realm of possibility, but fictitious last night, at least). At 2:45 a.m. I woke Brian up telling him to give the baby Tylenol already, so that I could go to sleep. When he tried to appease me and roll over, I sat up and said, "Why are you still in bed? Go!" So, because he is good to me, Brian got up and checked on Asher. The kid was so asleep that when Brian moved him a little, he didn't even squirm. He came back and reported that all was well, but by that time I was already asleep again. Poor Brian. He still has three more months of this, followed by postpartum hormones to look forward to.
5. Some of you said something similar a year ago, but at the time, I couldn't imagine it to be true. But I think the second year of babyhood might be more fun than the first. A year ago I was lamenting sleep and generally way too uptight about the minutia of infant care. But he is learning so much right now - making new associations and learning new words every day - and it is really fun. Plus, I LOVE one nap a day. It's going to be sad to have to stay at home again in the mornings for Silas. If we spend all morning at home, by about 10 am Asher starts saying, "Bye bye?" As in, hello? Isn't it time to go somewhere? It's a fun time in his life and a pretty time of year to do it.
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