housekeeping

The Forty Day Fast has started. You can follow the links along the sidebar to read each blogger's post about the cause/ organization they are highlighting. I really enjoyed doing this last year, and am glad Kat brought it back.

Also, I've updated my pictures on flickr to include Silas' birth and first week. Again, you can follow the link on the sidebar if you'd like to see what we've been up to, or you can click here. If you don't see anything else, please, band family, look at this picture. Brian wanted me to post it for you, and to entitle it Joey Bag of Donuts. I also added new pictures to the side, right over there. -> I never get over seeing Asher following his daddy around, wanting more than anything to do whatever he's doing.

As for me and my house, we all get a Sabbath today. Praise Jesus. Brian gets a Sabbath from Mr. Mom, and has gone to church and then to paddle (because he FINALLY has his own kayak, after months of shopping. The way that guy shops, I swear. He will seriously spend six months to a year looking for just the right product and just the right deal. It drives me crazy until he pays half price for something very cool, and then I'm really excited about it. Once again, his efforts paid off). Asher gets a Sabbath from transition, and has gone to spend a day in the sandbox at Grandma's house. And I get a regular old Sabbath. An actual day of rest, with just the dog and Silas at home until dinner (isn't it funny how just one baby at home is now rest? SO VERY different from the first time around). I need a day to absorb what just happened, to respond to emails and unpack from the hospital. I'm very much looking forward to my Sunday.

Enjoy.

Ok, this very thing that I am doing right now is utterly ridiculous. It is 2:21 a.m., I have a sleeping newborn, and I am on the computer. Because the house is quiet! Do you know when that happens? Not very often. Also, though I've done pretty well a few nights in a row, tonight I can't fall back asleep.

Brian and I are learning some things right now. Want to hear what they are?

1. REM sleep: we get ours at different times of the night, and we have figured out when that is. We can both function best when we sleep during strategic hours. Me, I need to sleep between 10 pm and 2 am, or I never went to sleep at all. Brian needs the early hours of the morning, or he feels like a zombie. So he stays up late and feeds Silas in the midnight hours, while I wake up in the early morning for that feeding. This way, we both get around 6 hours of important sleep, not just dozing. And a person can function on six hours. It's the 1-2 hours at a time that will make life seem interminable.

2. Iced tea is my comfort food. I can live without (much) sugar, I can pass on french fries any day. But when I was in the hospital, all I wanted to drink was iced tea. And as soon as we got home, I made tea. I have been nauseated during recovery (residual effects of pre-eclampsia, I'm told), and whenever I feel sick, I want - yep - tea. It's a product of being raised in Alabama. There's a sign in a local deli that says, "Put some more iced tea in my sippee cup!" and it would be comical if it wasn't true.

3. I understand this is not the time to be worrying about such things, and we have specifically decided not to make a permanent decision right now. But I'm not sure how many times I can sign up to have a baby surgically removed from my body. This recovery has been much easier than the first (look at that, my doctor was right. Labor and attempted delivery followed by surgery is more difficult than surgery alone), but I can't pick up Asher. Asher and I are tight, friends, and we miss one another. The hospital stay and first week of recovery have led to one anxious toddler and one guilt-ridden mother. Brian and I agree that we absolutely love babies and love being parents, and are drawn to larger (than two) families. We don't feel as though our family is complete, but the process - the whole thing, with the threat of miscarriage (or actual miscarriage), demands of pregnancy, then recovering from surgery - well, there are limits to how many times I can do that. We'll just take it one baby at a time.

Speaking of, Silas is a breeze. Also, I LOVE having a newborn the second time around. If it were possible to combine the time you have with a first baby with the level of comfort you feel with a second, being a parent of a newborn would be the best thing ever. He's a very calm baby, and he has much calmer parents than Asher did, to be sure. His favorite thing is to be curled up on my chest, which makes him like every other newborn in the world. Basically he eats and sleeps in his bouncy seat during the day, then eats and sleeps in his bassinet at night. So far so good.

Quiet time is over. Happy Saturday everyone.

just another ordinary miracle day

Have I got a story for you.

Saturday afternoon I was sitting in the front yard, feet dangling in the baby pool while Asher splashed and poured. I hadn't felt well in several days, and I had this headache that wouldn't go away. But I thought, I'm carrying one full-grown baby in my belly and another on my hip in Alabama in June. How exactly is one supposed to feel? So, you know, whatever. My mom had called earlier in the day and asked if I was in labor, because her back was hurting. The only other time her back has ever hurt like that was when her sister was in labor. I told her to my knowledge, no, I wasn't in labor, I don't know why her back was hurting. Two hours later, I'm generally miserable and basting in the baby pool when it occurs to me that maybe I should check my blood pressure. Just in case.

I leave Asher in the yard with Brian and run up to the grocery store, to find that my blood pressure is 146/93. That's high enough to check with the doctor but not high enough to be alarmed, in my mind. The pharmacist told me I'm very pregnant, and it's very hot outside, so he really didn't think there was any reason to call my doctor. But I did anyway, because I'm just that paranoid with anything that concerns my children. I expect him to tell me to put my feet up and to keep my appointment on Monday. Instead, he says, "Why don't you stick your head in the door up here in labor and delivery? It's a quiet afternoon, and we'll just make sure everything's okay." I told Brian not to come with me. It didn't make any sense to drag the whole family to the hospital for a blood pressure check. But Brian went anyway, because he is a wise wise soul. I packed Asher's overnight bag in case it took longer than I expected to get home, and I threw the camera in my purse as an afterthought as we were walking out the door. Just in case.

So we go to hospital, I pee in a cup, they draw blood, and they hook up the monitors. For those of you who haven't had a baby, labor and delivery is a three ring circus. Seriously. You're in a huge room, mostly naked, with multiple nurses in the room all the time for unspecified reasons. Your baby is monitored, your belly is monitored, and your blood pressure and heart rate are monitored, automatically. The baby is fine, of course. I'm answering intake questions ("yes, I feel safe at home, no, I do not use drugs") when a nurse walks in and asks, "Are you having any pain?" My exact words were, "I mean, I'm cramping a little, but I'm not in labor or anything. I've been in labor before, and this isn't it." The nurses in the room with children all chuckle. One of the nurses says, "Let's check you. Just in case." So Asher and Brian go for a walk around the hallway while they check to see if I've dilated (there is absolutely NO dignity in childbirth, by the way. None at all). One nurse, and then another check me, look at each other, and don't saying anything to me. "What's going on?" I ask. The nurse says, "You're 5 centimeters dilated. You're in active labor." She walks into the hallway and says to Brian, "Do you have someone to watch your child? Because you're about to have a baby."

And that's how it happened. I walked in to have my blood pressure checked, and three hours later Silas was here. Brian's mom went to the movies, and if Laura had not wandered down the aisles until she found her, she would have missed the whole thing. Also, praise JESUS for Nick and Laura, who chased Asher in the waiting room until the grandparents arrived. Praise Jesus for a lot of things, actually.

Since his ultrasound, I have been convinced that something would happen during childbirth that would put Silas' life at risk. Convinced in my soul, the way you know who you'll marry, the way you know about a good melon. I tried to ignore it for a while, and then I completely gave in to anxiety for a while. I finally decided that I would trust God to take care of us, no matter what happened, and began to ask people to pray for his delivery. I am just as convinced now as I was then that my concerns were from God, and that those prayers were answered. It turns out that I was in the early stages of pre-eclampsia, but because I checked my blood pressure on a hunch, they were able to address it before it became serious. It also turns out that I was in labor without knowing it. If I had waited until I felt labor pains (which I finally did, just before they wheeled me in to surgery), I may have seriously had that baby in the car. It ALSO turns out that my just barely 37-week baby was almost 8 lbs, and had a 14 inch head. I'm so glad we decided ahead of time to do the cesarean. All of these conditions, combined with attempting a VBAC, could have become serious quickly. But all of the things that could have gone wrong, didn't. What happened instead is I gave birth to a perfectly ordinary, healthy baby boy. Sounds like a miracle to me.

home, all of us.

I've been trying to write a post for the past 8 hours to tell you the story, but I'm still not done. Not even close. And I'm beginning to think I may never finish a sentence again. That may actually be true. I'll let you know. In the meantime, here are a few pictures from the past three days.







I'm so glad to be home.

they come with hats...

Silas James was born June 21 at 6:58pm. 7 lbs 14 oz. and 19 1/2 inches long. Mama and baby are doing great. A plethora of pictures to follow soon. Here are a couple more to hold you over!


3/4 of a happy family


Big brother

a day in the life - UPDATED to include one very pregnant lady and one very cute nearly-big brother

Brian has been working more than usual lately, so he took a much-needed morning off for waffles and the park. I'm not sure who had more fun, Asher or Brian.



Hanging out.

Doing the motions to his favorite song from the story hour at the library.

He loves to pour; used plastic containers from the kitchen all become water toys.







Taken this morning - I'm 37 weeks today. You can also see Silas' bed in the background. I keep saying I want to finish his nursery before I post pictures, but at this rate his nursery will be finished by the time he's 14. This is the biggest difference between first child and second child. Asher's nursery was completely ready by 30 weeks. Silas, not so much.



While Brian and I were taking pictures for Silas' baby book, Asher busied himself with the rocking chair. He climbs up and sings "rock-rock." It's very cute. Anyway, here is the nearly-big brother.

And one to grow on - I looked back this morning and Asher had his sandbox bucket on his head. "Hat! Hat!" he said.

birth plans, discipline, sleep deprivation, another gift,

and a partridge in a pear tree.

1. I don't have a written birth plan. Like Julie, they feel a little silly to me, because if I have learned anything in the past few years, it's how little of life we get to plan. Parties and field trips, that's about it. Everything else is outside of our control. Even so, I have learned a few things from the previous experience, and I know a little more about what I do and don't want this time around. I DO want to sleep at night, if at all humanly possible (isn't it ironic that in an institution created specifically for healing, it's almost impossible to get any sleep?). I DON'T want to bring home an exhausted and confused toddler, matched by his exhausted and overwhelmed parents, so I'm going to do my best not to be a baby and to let Brian and Asher have a normal night time routine at home while I'm in the hospital. I also DON'T want any more pain medication than I absolutely have to have. I'm a lightweight, my doctor says, and pain medicine messes with my head (so does anesthesia, but with a cesarean, that's unavoidable). I'd almost rather deal with the pain than deal with the side effects. That's it. That's all the plan I have.

2. Brian and I were up in the middle of the night talking last night, and it was so much fun. We were waiting out Asher, who is in the midst of a sleep THING that is potentially miserable for us all, and it wasn't fun trying to decide when to let him cry and when to go to him. But after he fell asleep we stayed awake for another hour, talking about nothing of any consequence. It's the kind of thing you do all the time when you're dating, and then never again once you get married. And in this season of our lives, when time to just hang out is rare, it was a gift to us both to have the time together.

3. Anyone been reading Arwen's posts lately on discipline? I think about her point all the time, how teaching and discipline only belong in the context of love. If I didn't love Asher so much, I couldn't possibly have the authority to discipline him. And when the goal of parenting is to build a relationship, not to control another person, the "how's" begin to answer themselves. I HATE spanking him, so I don't do it unless I earnestly believe that is what is best for him in that moment. In my opinion, this is a good argument against corporal punishment in education. Children have to learn to follow rules and to function in society, but who teaches them, and how, is profoundly important for their future. Also, I think of my role at this stage as one of a teacher more than an enforcer. With a few exceptions, he's mostly learning what the rules are. He's also learning to read (and to believe) me, just as I'm learning to read him.

4. For those who keep up with such things, Asher had his 18-month check-up today. He got the DPT and Hepatitis shots, and it was the first time he's understood what was going on, and it made us both very sad. "Bites!" he said when they injected him. Sad. He's in the 90th percentile for height, 75th for weight, and 95th for head circumference. My boy is almost 3 feet tall at 18 months old. Geez. Anyway, he's a perfectly healthy, developing kid, which is the part that matters.

5. T-21 days. I had an appointment yesterday, and a few things are happening that would suggest labor is imminent, but it's like my doctor says: all that really tells us is that I'm going to have a baby. There is not any way to know when. So I'm doing my best to function as though I'm having a baby in three weeks, so that I don't sit perched, waiting for labor, until I drive myself and everyone around me crazy. Besides, I still have a few loose ends to tie up around the house, and Brian is out of town tonight, so today is really not convenient for me. And Friday we're going to the lake, and next week Mikkee will be in town ... so July 8 is as good a time as any, I guess.

How has your week been?

ice cream fun

speechless

I was looking at Elizabeth's pictures just now and saw this:



and I was speechless.

My world is so small. How quickly I forget that real problems exist, problems beyond gas prices and swollen ankles, problems that deserve more than a sigh and a shrug. Kat is gearing up for this year's 40 Day Fast. Last summer I participated, but struggled with the concept of a public fast. I actually fasted on a different day than I was assigned (sorry Kat) so that I could pray privately, but still speak up when it was my turn. I may do the same this year. Because I think what she's doing is important. For most of us, our worlds are really small. I don't want to miss an opportunity to pray for someone, and to think of something, outside of my little universe for a few weeks. If you want to join us, sign up here.

Look at that.

I made it. I'm over 36 weeks pregnant. I can't believe it.

I just assumed I wouldn't stay pregnant. When we made it past the 12-week mark, I was convinced something would be wrong (also, that it was a girl, which shows how TERRIBLE my mother's intuition about pregnancy is. I was also certan Nick and Laura would have identical twin boys, so clearly, if I ever guess the sex of your baby, you can assume the opposite will be true. I haven't been right yet). When everything was okay with the ultrasound, I spent weeks waiting for the shoe to drop, and assumed I would go into labor early. But look, I've been wrong every time. If I have a baby now, there's nothing to fear. Not that nothing ever happens with full-term babies, but that's a really unusual situation. Most often, full-term babies after healthy pregnancies go home two days later and keep their parents awake for the next three months, just as God intended.

What do you know.

In other news, we had dinner with Nick and Laura last night, followed by an exorbitant amount of ice cream (I swear I ordered a small cone!). Laura got some cute ice cream pictures; hopefully they'll get posted on one blog or another soon. In the meantime, look at a. how tall our grass was earlier this week, and b. how fast my little boy is growing.


(Please note the lawn that came up to Asher's knees. Oops.)


(Showing his dad his smile.)


(Doesn't he look like a little boy - not a baby - in this picture?)

all of the random things I've been meaning to tell you.

* Someone recently asked us if we ever miss Asher being a newborn. We nearly laughed out loud. NO. Emphatically, absolutely no. It's such a sweet time, but it was just as stressful as it was fun. What I do miss, though, when I think about it, is six, seven, eight months old. Six months old is GOLDEN. He could smile, he could eat, he could SLEEP THROUGH THE NIGHT, he could laugh out loud and enjoy new things. He was also stationary (briefly, because Asher could roll around the house like a champ pretty young), slept for a good portion of the day, and was easily amused. Six months old is the age when moms foolishly begin to think, gosh, if this is what life as a mom is going to be like, I can handle another one. I could handle being pregnant and doing this, even. And then, about the time you get pregnant, they they begin to move. Anyway, I LOVED last summer. I love this one too, for different reasons, and as you all know, I absolutely love watching him learn to talk and do new things. But I do kind of miss six months old, and I'm excited that I'm about to get to do it again. We have a lot to look forward to.

* Macaroni and cheese. That's what I've been eating lately. Also, fresh peaches. Aside from grandparents, fresh local peaches are the best thing about living in Alabama again. Canned peaches, while tasty in their own right, have been so loaded down with sugar they should really be called The Candy Formerly Known as Peaches, and grocery store peaches taste like cardboard. But local peaches, after a rainy spring, are the best fruit ever. Asher and I together can easily put away four in a sitting (they're small, okay?). Brian has been gone more evenings than usual lately, and our dinner de jour has been macaroni and cheese, (fresh) green beans, and peaches. YUM.

* My niece flies in this weekend to spend her summer in town. Can you believe she is 13 years old and going into the 8th grade? Me neither. She is really excited to be here for Silas' birth, and she and Asher love each other (Asher talks about her all the time). I love her too, and can't wait to see her.

* Last night I woke up to contractions. I had them consistently for one hour before they stopped. They were significant enough to make me feel nauseous, but clearly they were not actual labor contractions or I would be holding a newborn right now. I didn't have false labor with Asher until the weekend before he was born, so the idea of doing that for the next month is new to me. I really wish I could call a meeting with my uterus, and explain that this child will need to be surgically removed, so there is absolutely no reason to be rehearsing for the big day. My muscles can just relax, already. Also, while the idea of no longer being pregnant is appealing, Silas needs to stay put at least another week or so. So, seriously, back off with the contractions.

* Speaking of - little boys and aggression, I swear. I have such a mild-mannered child, but that does not prevent us from having to address hitting, pushing, biting, and general aggression pretty regularly. He started hitting Taylor (and pulling his tail) a few weeks ago, so we told him to tell Taylor to "back off" if he's too close. I mean, the dog is still significantly larger than Asher and gets excited enough to wag his entire back end when we come home, and that back end can take Asher out. So. We were at our neighbor's house, and the other little boy was attempting to share a toy with Asher, and Asher started to hit him. I corrected him, of course, so he looks at the little boy and says, "Back off!" Yeah, I'm not sure how I feel about that. On one hand, an 18-month-old using language instead of aggression is definitely progress. On the other, perhaps we should have chosen a more appropriate phrase ...

* Brian, through no fault of his own, got to spend a night at the beach with one of his good friends yesterday for free. He was absolutely apologetic about it, as well he should be. He doesn't even LIKE the beach. I love it, and wanted so badly to go this spring (I've missed my window now), but it just didn't come together. At least if he liked it I could be happy for him to get to do something fun. Alas. Maybe we'll go this fall.

* I won a book about clowns, written by Diane Keaton, from a blog contest. And that, my friends, is the MOST random thing that has happened to me in a long time. I am pretty excited about the book, mostly because it's a good conversation starter. "Yes, I won it in a blog contest. Isn't that funny?"

What about you? What's the strangest thing you've ever won? What age do you miss? What fun trip is your spouse taking that you're missing this summer? What's your favorite fresh food? Pick a question, any question. It's time for All Things Random.

T - 29 days

I'm aware today of how much we all play off of each other in my house, how cheerfulness begats cheerfulness and whining begats whining. If you feel so inclined, please say a prayer that I will not channel all of my whatever you call this, the equal parts miserable and exciting condition of being nine months pregnant, into exasperation at the little hands that are forever reaching up for me. He isn't wrong for needing his mom. It's not his problem that I am BIG and HOT and IRRITABLE, and I don't want to respond to him as though it is. But this afternoon I did, and my attitude created uncertainty for him, which lead to him whining and wanting to be held, which lead to more whining from me. Alas.

But I am the grown-up, he is the kid, I have the ability to make tomorrow more pleasant for us both, and with a little grace from God and my family, I will. Otherwise, we're staring down a long summer, friends.

May tomorrow be better than today. Amen.

We have a neighbor with a little boy almost exactly Asher's age. I'm really excited about this, both because I like our neighbor and because the older Asher gets, the more having a friend around the corner will mean to him (and me). Yesterday was the first time the boys played together, and all went well. His mom was asking what I enjoy doing besides having, teaching, or raising babies, and I was embarrassed by how many of my sentences began with, "Well, I used to ..." and "I did ..." The truth is that in this moment, 35 weeks pregnant, and 18 months into motherhood, I don't do much that doesn't involve a baby.

Then this morning I read a poem that I love and haven't heard in a while. I saw a picture that reminded me of springtime and longing. And in a rare quiet hour on a Saturday morning, I remembered how it feels to be stirred by beauty. I'm still that person, too. My mind is consumed by the tyranny of the urgent, but this is only for a season. I will think and read and do all of the things I used to love again. It felt good to remember that, that I am a whole person, not just someone's mom.

I have chosen to stay at home because I am a terrible multi-tasker. Whatever I am doing in the moment is what consumes me. It's a blessing - I don't have many regrets, and I'm not one to hold a grudge because of it - but it also means that I forget how temporary every season is, how quickly we move forward and do new things. I won't always have babies, nor will I always be consumed by them. My hope is that I will enjoy this moment completely, so that when it is over, I will not spend the future wishing I could go back. I want to do the very best in this season that I can, and when I have boys, not babies, I want to enjoy that season, too. And when I come back to the season where every Saturday morning is quiet, I want to sit on a porch and read poetry or hike and be who I am, apart from my children, once again.

Thanks be to God, for seasons and for beauty in them all.

thoughts on (not) nursing

I may be filleted and skewered for this post, because what I'm about to say is not popular or politically correct. So let's begin here - opinions are like belly buttons. I'm about to show you mine, and you're welcome to show yours. But let's remember they are. Also, everyone loves their child and wants to do what's best for them. No matter what you have chosen, I have absolutely no doubt that we are both motivated by love.

So. This is how I came to be a bottle-feeding mom.

First of all, I was lucky in one respect: Georgia's Mom, my lifelong friend and two years my senior as a mother, did not nurse. Neither did my mother-in-law, who undeniably devoted her life to her children. My mom nursed one of her children and not the other. My step-mother tried to nurse, but switched quickly to a bottle. So in my immediate sphere of influence, there was not the same pressure to breastfeed other pregnant women have described. For me, nursing or bottle feeding was one more decision to make, one of a hundred new mothers face.

With Asher, it wasn't much of a debate. Simply put, I was terrified of being completely responsible for keeping him alive. The idea that if my body didn't feed him, he couldn't eat, was overwhelming. Hadn't I already felt the burden of that responsibility for the last nine months? And hadn't my body already proven itself unreliable in doing what it should be able to do? Once he got here, I needed to know he could survive without me. So that was easy enough.

Looking back, that decision was a blessing. Asher had trouble eating initially, even with a bottle, and I had complications in recovering from the c-section so that I felt miserable for a little while. I'm pretty sure that if I had tried to nurse, it would not have gone well, and I'm not sure how I would have handled feeling as though I was failing in that moment. I was emotional and neurotic enough without any mitigating circumstances.

With Silas, nursing has been considered more seriously. Like everyone else, our budget is suffering from rising gas and food prices, and formula is expensive. Also, I'm comfortable in my role now, and understand that I will be his primary caregiver, whether I nurse or not. But we have decided, once again, to bottle feed our baby. Here's why.

I understand that, in terms of nutrition and immunity, breastmilk is healthier. I also understand that, like everything else, these trends move in and out of fashion. A generation ago, nursing was not in style. Even so, Harvard graduates and Supreme Court Justices have still risen from that generation of babies, so let's not any of us pretend that either decision is harming babies. With that in mind, I honestly believe bottle feeding is the best decision for my family.

The most important reason is that bottle feeding allows Brian and I both to bond with Silas. In my experience, the only way to actually interact with a newborn is by feeding him, and if I nurse, there just aren't many opportunities for Brian to care for him at that age. Because I was drugged and semi-conscious at the time, Brian gave Asher his first bottle and changed his first diaper. From that point forward, there was never an assumption that Asher was my sole responsibility. If we are both at home, we are both taking care of him. I love this. I love that Brian was able to bond and establish his own relationship with his son apart from me. The ability to do so is important to both of us.

The flip side is that we can also share the more demanding aspects of caring for a newborn. Once Asher's routine was established, Brian and I were able to get into a routine, too, so that both of us had six hours of uninterrupted sleep a night. Brian has never once said, "I can't get up with the baby. I have to work in the morning," (and for this he deserves a Klondike bar). We both take our work and our sleep seriously, and a person can function on six hours of sleep. It's the hour and a half (or half an hour) at a time, for weeks at a time, that will leave me groveling and irrational. I can't imagine not being able to share that responsibility with him.

I also think bottle feeding will help Asher transition into being a brother. It will be hard enough not to be able to pick him up for six weeks. If Brian could not feed Silas, too, Asher would become primarily his responsibility, and Silas would become mine. Asher is bonded to his mama, as I'm sure you have noticed, and it's going to be hard enough to share my attention and time. To more or less lose it would break both of our hearts.

The last reason is a minor one, but still worth mentioning. I've had four pregnancies in three years. I want my body back. I'm bewildered by a culture that puts equal demands on breasts as sexual objects and a function of mothering, and I'm not entirely comfortable with the switch. This private, sensitive part of my body, that I've been taught to cover up, is now supposed to be exposed and utilized at two hour intervals every day for the next year? Maybe that sounds selfish - maybe it is selfish. If I hadn't sacrificed heart and soul and waistline and career for my children, maybe I would feel selfish. But I am confident in my love for my babies. My boobs, at least, can be my own.

What about you? What did you do?

playing God

I just had the strangest experience.

I just got a letter in the mail telling me I will have a baby on July 8.

For all that people joke about wishing God would just send a letter saying what's going to happen, I just got that letter. Not from God, from the hospital, but still.

And for all that the uncertainty and anxiety that accompanies pregnancy, this much I can say for sure: unless he makes up his own mind (which could always happen), I know what day I will have a baby.

That, my friends, is odd.

update.

As I mentioned last week, I really can't concentrate on much besides gestating and toddler ailments, so I won't even pretend that I have an interesting blog right now. But please stick with me - this is a season, like everything else, and hopefully a pretty short one.

Because ... I have one month left. One month of being just Asher's mother. After that - bring on the chaos.

So, here's an update on our little life:

* Today was the first day in the last 7 that Asher has not run a fever. We went back to the doctor yesterday, and she says either he's at the tail end of the virus that caused the upper respiratory infection, which is causing a cough, coupled with cutting teeth, causing a fever. Or, he has walking pneumonia. Time will tell. I'm optimistic, though, because he had no fever today. Plus she gave him samples of a prescription decongestant, and that's made him feel much better. For those who aren't regularly studying the back of a child's medicine bottle, small children died last year after an accidental overdose of cold medicine, so my pediatrician (maybe most? I don't know) recommends no cold medicine until he's two years old. Which is fine and good, except this past week the kid needed something to dry up all of the, well, gunk. A little decongestant has made us both happier.

* I've decided to have a c-section. Did I tell you already? I have. The hospital will call sometime this week, and I will schedule a date. I would love to do this the old-fashioned way, but I'm comfortable with our decision. With so many of our friends' babies in (or just out of) NICU, I'm not really in the mood to take risks during birth.

* Things are finally falling into place in preparation for Silas. His nursery is done, more or less. Not much decoration, but otherwise done. Right now his bed is housing the inside of our linen closet (which is a story even MORE boring than my blog right now), but when it's back in order, I will post pictures.

* I've also decided not to nurse. I didn't nurse Asher, as you know, but economics led me to consider my options. Brian and I have been talking about it for a few weeks, but I've decided against it. The reason is simple: it's the best thing for my family. If you'd like me to expound, leave a comment and I will. Otherwise I'll assume that if you're a mom, you already have your own strong opinions on nursing, and if you aren't, you don't care.

* I say this about once a week, but I really like my husband. And I really enjoy our life together. In case you were wondering. Asher, also, really likes his dad. He wants to do everything he sees Brian doing; yesterday he was imitating sprinkling seasoning over fish. He will also imitate a burp (nice), and wants to eat cereal while he watches the news in the morning. Just like Dad. And when he is upset - even though he would prefer me to comfort him - he always calls for Brian. Why is that? Yesterday the doctor's office was full of wails of "Da-deeee ...."

* Last thing: I love my dog, but he's about 84% useless. We have this stray cat that has been plaguing our house (why OUR house? We're really not cat people), and today he was in the backyard. We let Taylor out, hoping he'd chase it away. Taylor ran outside, excited by our "Go get 'em!" tones, and peed on a tree. He never even noticed the cat. The only thing Taylor does well, aside from entertaining the internets by running from a toy lawnmower, is clean out Asher's high chair after every feeding. At least he saves me a little time. The downside is that Asher understands how much Taylor loves leftovers, and will start to call him if he's served something he doesn't want. "Dog-dog!" followed by a handful of dinner on the dining room floor. Alas.

* And one to grow on: Conversations like this are why I love adoption. This is the same little girl who, when she was told her mom and dad were on their way to Colombia to take her home, said, "Mi Mommy y Poppy?" She couldn't believe she was going to have parents of her own.

Happy Tuesday everyone.