The Pauls, no apostrophe

A Very Chuggy Christmas

2011-12-26T11:57:00.005-06:00

Here's a brief little recap of our Christmas festivities, which actually ended only an hour or so ago (at least the present-opening part... side note: Rowan is going to be totally disappointed come tomorrow morning when, for the first time in three straight days, he has no gifts to open.)

Helping me make cream cheese frosting for the pumpkin cookies. In his apron, of course.

Christmas Eve pajamas. With this kid's recent propensity for removing at least half of his sleepwear almost every night these days, we were hoping jammies that featured his beloved Thomas might make it the whole night. Not so, though. I had to re-pant him when I checked on him around 11:00 p.m. Christmas Eve.

I feel like we might be breaking some unwritten rule by letting him open Chuggington toys while wearing Thomas pajamas. It's like wearing a Cubs hat and Sox jersey or something, right?

Rowan got an awesome garbage can/ toy storage bin from my parents. The kid loves a garbage can foot pedal, and this one makes cat and dog noises when the lid opens. He's in heaven. But we're all a little sick of the noise already, so this may be a bedroom or basement only "toy".

And some attempts at a nice family picture. It becomes, like, twelve times more difficult to get one with each one child you add, I'm fairly certain. Oh, the days when all I had to concern myself with in a picture was hiding my double chin and not squinting my left eye too much...

Merry Christmas!

My kids are still cute.

2011-12-14T09:41:00.006-06:00

Not much of a newsflash, that title, but oh, well. You need proof?

Once again, I really can't take much credit for how astoundingly handsome they are. I'm okay with that, though.

Rowan loves having his picture taken with Silas (or, as he generally refers to him, "Brudder" or "Hold it"-- as in, "I want to hold it- that kid"). Anytime his face gets near Silas, he squishes cheeks with him and says, "Cheese, mommy!", waiting for the camera to come out. Unfortuately, it's true what they say about taking, like, 90% less pictures of your second kid than you did with your first. Good thing these two are almost identical. Someday I'll just throw all the photos in a big pile, shuffle them around, split them in half and give a stack to each boy: "Here you go. Your baby pictures." And no one will be the wiser.

Lots of crazy eyes going on in the next few pictures. I think we all had Thanksgiving dinner hangovers. You understand.

Rowan helped Grandma Hardy roll out some pie crust on Thanksgiving. No, really. Not just for the cute photo. I swear...

And Silas slept while we decorated my parents' basement with our Christmas stuff.

Eye eye eye, Rangers!

2011-11-16T20:27:00.004-06:00

(That title? It is in honor of my brother, the young man to whom I give credit for my extensive knowledge of all things Rita Repulsa.)

My sister Sarah, Keeper/Organizer of Old Family Photos, sent me an email last night with a couple pictures of little me in Mr. Potato Head glasses. She suggested I do a side by side of these pictures and the one I posted of Rowan in glasses for an Us Weekly Magazine-style "Who Wore it Best?" thing... My vote is for Rowan because, as we all know, men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses.

And speaking of stuff on eyes, here's what we did today. Last night I busted out Connect Four and Rowan was in heaven for a good thirty minutes putting those little checkers in the board. So I brought it out again today, and this is what we ended up doing. He is big into wearing blanket capes these days, so I feel like these pictures are very superhero-y. What's a good superhero name for this look? Connect Four Eyes? Captain Cataract? Suggestions are welcome; this might just be his Halloween costume next year, and we'll need a good name to tell people.

Oh, and here I am. I'd like to say something along the lines of, "Please excuse my sloppy, pajama-fied appearance; this isn't normally how I look..." And that would be SUCH. A. LIE. I look like this allllllllll the time. Minus the eye checkers.

We've been doin' stuff.

2011-11-15T12:49:00.007-06:00

Stuff like:

wearing Mr. Potato Head's glasses, a childhood rite of passage, right?

Riding on steam engine trains.

Getting delightfully chubby.

Picking apples.

Eating apples.

Driving tractors.

Trying to wink.

Laying on cold, slightly damp grass with cousins.

Cracking ourselves up.

Pumpkin-ing.

Bathing.

Halloween-ing.

And growing up at disturbingly fast (but also mind-bogglingly cute) rates.

Side by Side

2011-11-10T15:04:00.006-06:00

Perhaps I'll turn this into a monthly feature called "Guess which baby is which?" This one's kind of a giveaway, since I think I may have already posted the picture of Silas a couple weeks ago. But, yeah... turns out I may have given birth to the exact same child in 2011 as I did in 2009, no?

Photo Assault

2011-10-10T22:13:00.001-05:00

As promised, lots of pictures of my kiddos. These are in no particular order. Here's what's been happening with us lately:

Lots of naps. Glorious, glorious baby-on-chest naps.

Those of you who read this blog when Rowan was brand new may recall a very similar picture of him, right down to the fauxhawk, button nose, and good baby tan.

It has since fallen out, but I'm so glad I got photo documentation of his insane cheek hair. Total werewolf baby.

Milk drunk.

Lots of play-doh. And many thanks for the ability to make play-doh at home, so I don't have to be stressed about what is being put in Rowan's mouth when he makes a "sammich" and just can't resist the temptation to take a bite. I had to add some flour to it after a couple days, and he really

enjoyed that. A total pain to clean up, but at least it made for some cute pictures.

Lots of brotherly love. Rowan loves shaking hands lately, especially with people at church. One day he was lying next to Silas and started saying, "Shake... shake..." and trying to show him how it's done.

Speaking of Rowan, and how he is handling having Silas around, he is doing pretty well. There may be a bit of imitating a baby on his part. Like how he steals all of Silas' pacifiers. Funny, they had no appeal whatsoever the first two years of his life.

We went to a little fall festival a couple weeks ago. We would have taken pictures of Rowan on a pony, if he hadn't been a) completely terrified to go near the ponies and b) way more interested in the horse trailer they arrived in.

I skipped the chance at eating a fried Snickers, regrettably, but did manage to order us a chocolate dipped cheesecake. Yum.

You can file the next few pictures under "Things That Have Recently Blown Rowan's Mind":

-chocolate dipped cheesecake (obviously)

-having his carseat turned forward-facing (side note: This makes for SUCH easy temper tantrum avoidance. Whenever he is about to have a meltdown about something, we need only say, "Look at that bus/tree/tractor!!!!!" and he is completely distracted.)

-Nutella (He's never had it before, and may never have it again, because I lack so much willpower with that stuff that I can't buy it anymore. Tough luck for both of us.)

And these pajamas blow my mind with how cute they are:

And this is what usually happens when we put #1 to bed with footie pajamas:

And this is #2 getting more adorable by the minute:

Lessons from Big Slicey

2011-09-15T13:20:00.005-05:00

I thought I'd follow up on the previous post a bit, because I have gotten a few comments from people who seem impressed by my ability to gracefully handle what I could have let be a crushing disappointment. Allow my to dispel those crazy illusions with a little something I like to call "Things No One Bothers to Tell You About Recovering From a C-Section".

1) You had better pray your husband is strong, and willing to wake up multiple times a night to pull you up to a sitting position so you can nurse your baby, because that task will be far too difficult to accomplish on your own.

2) You will need double the maxi pads that you needed with any previous non-surgical births. Half will be used for their intended purpose. The other half will be stuck horizontally across the waistband of your undies to protect your incision. You will gain extra points for being awesome, not to mention a sky-rocketing of your self-esteem, if you occasionally let the pad hang out of the top of your pants. Nothing too drastic; just a couple centimeters of exposed Kotex will do the trick.

3) Those friendly pain pills? The ones without whom you couldn't have survived the first ten days? It would be well worth your time to make friends with their non-narcotic cousin, the stool softener.

4) Speaking of which, forget any thoughts you may have had about escaping the dreadful experience known as the First Poo After Delivering a Baby (Poop of Terror, Scary Poo, etc.). It is just as frightening when you haven't even used that region to actually bring the baby into the world, courtesy of the incision threatening to explode your guts all over everything within a twelve foot radius if any strain is placed upon it.

5) And since we are on the topic of bowels and such, know this: In the hospital, they will tell you that you need to pass gas before you are moved from "liquid diet" to "unrestricted diet", as far as the kitchen staff is concerned. You will likely lie and tell a nurse that you totally farted last night while your husband was asleep, because you cannot wait another minute to be off the stupid liquid diet. And then you will try so so so so hard to actually break wind during the rest of your hospital stay, but it will be too scary. So when you finally do get home and manage to make one come out, it is completely acceptable to feel like a parade should be thrown in your honor.

6) People will tell you how awesome you look for having just given birth. It will be up to you whether or not you disclose that you are wearing an "abdominal binder" (i.e., a hospital-issue corset, stained with your blood on the back from where they put the epidural) that is sucking everything in and smoothing everything out. I will not judge you one way or another. I will, however, tell you that you should be so lucky as to have a mom like mine who, after a few days of looking at said bloodstain peeking out from the back of your shirts, says, "Why don't I soak that in some OxyClean overnight for you?"

7) Do not be alarmed when, about four days after your surgery, you go to the bathroom and while sitting on the toilet, you notice that it looks like you are wearing dark purple underwear. You were probably not listening to the doctor who told you before you were discharged that you would have some significant bruising. But your husband was listening, and he will calm you down. Oh, also, that bruise will hurt. A lot.

8) Don't pick the scab that has formed right along the edge of your incision, as tempting as it may be. (I have not done this. Honestly. But those of you who know me well realize what an incredible accomplishment this is.)

9) Do not be embarrassed to sneeze in public. With a pillow jammed into your abdomen. And while folding yourself in half at the waist with your head nearly touching the floor. It is literally the only way you can ensure that your guts don't explode all over everything within a twelve foot radius. And which of those two images would people at the grocery store prefer?

10) Just kidding. You aren't going out in public. You aren't even allowed to drive.

11) You had better like sleeping flat on your back. Hopefully you got your fill of side-sleeping during the 40 weeks of pregnancy, because doing that for more than two minutes will- you guessed it- make you feel like your guts are going to explode all over everything within a twelve foot radius.

12) Unfortunately, about two days after you come home from the hospital, your toddler will develop an insatiable need to wrestle, kick, and pummel you at every opportunity. He will eventually learn to take the phrase "Mommy has a hurt, Don't kick my tummy" seriously. So right around the time that your milk comes in, he will kick you in that one boob that is seriously engorged instead. Try not to scream at him too loudly. After all, he is just avoiding your tummy like you asked.

13) Oh, and that lady? The one who commented on the total hippie blog you read occasionally? The one who said she considers "all c-sections failures"? Don't give her the satisfaction of responding to her asinine comment. And don't wish too hard that you knew where she lived so you could drive to her place and kick her in the crotch (so her bruise would match yours). In fact, distance yourself from all those stupid blogs, facebook pages, etc. Because this experience has taught you that a lot of that stuff is just another way for moms to make other moms feel guilty about not doing things their way. And it is okay to be more of a "middle of the road hippie", because you have learned that clearly, you are not a "homebirth at all costs hippie" or a "go against any advice given by an OB hippie" (and it's a good thing, since those things would have probably been disastrous for you and your baby).

So there you have it. Just some pointers for those of you who may find yourself in a similar situation someday (alliteration much?). I hope it has helped.

And for the record, I totally still love my baby. I just do not love waiting for my body to heal so I can be a normal mom to him and his brother.

The next post will be nothing but cute pictures of my kids, I swear. No more words.

Is it still called "crowning" if it's a foot?

2011-09-05T17:41:00.009-05:00

Once again, I have to warn you that this is going to be a long read. However, I can promise you a fantastic ending if you stick it out. Here goes.

We had the version done on Wednesday morning. It was incredibly uncomfortable, and did not work. (However, if you ever find yourself with a breech baby and a doctor is willing to attempt one, I'd say go for it. The odds are about 60/40 that it will work. It just happens that odds- even 97% odds- do not play out very well for me lately.) You know what was the worst part of the whole thing? The stinking epidural. And recovering from the stinking epidural. Itchiest. Feet. Ever. Oy. Anyway, I was very disappointed, but at that point had accepted that if this didn't work, nothing was likely to turn this baby. I was worn out emotionally and mentally from spending my days thinking of nothing but turning him, and doing crazy things with my body to convince him to turn, and spending money on chiropractic and acupuncturist appointments, and seriously neglecting my toddler during our last remaining days alone together, and praying all day every day that things would change. I started to think that maybe the one thing that might work would be to just relax and let whatever was meant to happen, happen. Do not get me wrong, I was still discouraged and terrified of having a c-section. But we scheduled one for September 14, and went home from the hospital anticipating meeting our baby two weeks from that day.

That afternoon and the following day (Thursday), I was very uncomfortable. Like I said, the effects of the epidural took a while to fully wear off, and I was having lots of pain in my back where they had placed it. I also felt... well, like someone had jammed her fist into my abdomen for fifteen minutes in an attempt to move seven pounds of human being to another position. It was rough. So Thursday evening, I took a long bath in my parents' giant tub. I went to bed shortly after that.

Around 2:30 a.m., I woke up for one of my six nightly pees. It should be noted, I have been sleeping TERRIBLY this pregnancy. A big part of it is that I have been dealing with round ligament pain for weeks now that has been really strange; it didn't ever bother me during the day, but as soon as I would lie down, everything would stiffen up. Rolling over or getting out of bed involved super intense groin pain, and was usually at least a sixty second process that included lots of groaning. So when I woke up at 2:45 with a contraction that was a little more painful than the somewhat intense Braxton Hicks contractions I've had for months, I figured it was a combination of the ligament pain + stress from the last few days + leftover effects from the procedure we had done on Wednesday. I went back to sleep and woke up a little while later with another one. It still wasn't terrible; I could still lie down through it, so I continued to ignore it. When another one came, I started to get frustrated. I knew this couldn't be real labor, as I was two weeks from my due date. I started to lazily time them- didn't write down when they occurred, but tried to look at my phone and remember the time in my head, fall asleep, and check again when the next one came. Based on that highly scientific method, I think that they were maybe 15-20 minutes apart. I suppose they were getting slightly more intense, but I was so worried that I was being that stupid woman who would show up to the hospital way too early and be sent home. And since Seth had limited time to take when the baby came anyway, and he had to use one of those vacation days for my version, I certainly wasn't going to make us go to the hospital for nothing.

Around 5:30, things started to get much more difficult. I brought the exercise ball into our room. I woke Seth up and told him what was going on, and asked him to help me. Just like with Rowan, I needed crazy hard pressure on my back during contractions. He said we'd start timing them. After a couple, he said I should get in the shower for a bit and he'd finish packing our bag so we could head to the hospital. He told my parents what was happening. My mom planned on coming to the hospital with us. At some point, my dad, brother, and Seth were in the room giving me a blessing. It was very comforting, despite the fact that I was starting to get nervous because the contractions were getting kind of crazy. We decided I'd skip the shower and we'd leave right away, because in a matter of four or five contractions, they went from being about 9 minutes apart to being 4 minutes apart. I was in the bathroom when I had what you could maybe refer to as a "Whopper" of a contraction, if you were the kind of person who said things like that. It. Was. Bad. My mom came out of her room and asked if I thought I'd make it to the hospital we planned on using (30 minutes away), or if she should call 911 and have us go to the closest hospital (15 minutes away). I said to call 911. While she was on the phone, I used the bathroom, and of course was greeted by blood. The operator said to have me sit down and breathe deeply. This will perhaps come as a shock to you, but I was not handling things well. I managed to get down the stairs, and as soon as I got there, I had another bad contraction. Unfortunately, this was most definitely a "time to push your baby out" contraction. I told (screamed to) my mom that I felt like pushing. She told the 911 operator. The 911 operator said "don't push". Things were getting more awesome by the second.

A couple minutes later, the paramedics arrived. They put me on the stretcher and loaded us into the ambulance. And then it feels like we sat there for about fifteen minutes. I'm sure my perception of time was a bit off, but seriously? Can't you ask me stuff like, "Is this your first baby? How was your first labor? Any allergies?" etc., etc.... while we are DRIVING TO THE HOSPITAL? Will the fact that my skin sometimes gets irritated by latex make a difference in which hospital you choose? Because I was kind of hoping we could just drive to the nearest one. This is when the begging started. I kept looking at the paramedic and saying "please... please... we HAVE to go..." He was very nice, but I suppose there is protocol they had to follow, so he wasn't allowed to obey the orders of the 29 year old hysterical stranger. He did say at one point, "We've delivered plenty of babies in the back of this truck. But, you know, when they're breech, that makes it... we would really rather get you to the hospital."

We got to the hospital about ten minutes later. Longest, bumpiest, most excruciatingly painful car ride of my life. Again, because I think I know better than every medical professional around me, I figured they'd quickly do an ultrasound or an exam to see if he was by any chance head down, in which case I'd be able to just hurry and push. Instead, we got registered with the hospital. More questions about my name, date of birth, health history, insurance... Basically I would answer a question, and then follow it up with a "PLEEEEEEEASE!!!!!! JUST PUT ME TO SLEEP AND DO THE SURGERY IF I CAN'T PUSH!!!!!!" I think I asked every person I saw to put me to sleep, possibly including a janitor, registrar, patient passing in the hallway, seeing eye dog guiding that patient- you name it, I asked him or her to knock me out and retrieve my baby. At one point Seth said, "Honey, if they put you to sleep, I can't be in the room." I had to inform him that I didn't care, because if they made me hold that baby in for much longer, I was going to die anyway.

Finally a nurse (doctor? not sure, really) did an exam. I thought maybe I'd hit the jackpot and she would say, "He is head-down now. Push away, sister!" She did not. She said, "She's complete. And that's not a head. I'm not sure what it is, but it's not a head." Then another doctor did an exam and informed everyone that it was a foot. Who would guess that a single foot could hurt so so so much? But yikes, it really did. Remember when Voldemort described the pain he felt whilst going through the horcrux-making process? That is the only way I can think to describe the feelings I was having. Soul-splitting pain. Coupled with total anxiety that if I did accidentally give in and push to relieve the pain, I'd be doing my baby a great disservice. I started having Seth push on my butt during contractions to help hold the baby in; it was absurd. Again, I thought they'd really get down to business at this point and hurry with the surgery. And, to be honest, they probably did. But it felt like another hour before we were finally in the operating room. As it turns out, they did not have to put me to sleep. (When I had the version done, it took about 15 minutes for the epidural to take effect, because they also had to wait for the other medication to relax my uterus. I was under the impression that all epidurals take that long, but this one was much quicker to numb me.) I think I calmed down after that. I did keep apologizing to everyone who would listen- "I'm sorry; I didn't know I was in labor. I really wasn't trying to wait this long..."- because I thought for sure that everyone must have thought I was intentionally showing up pushing so that I could be awesome and deliver my single footling breech baby naturally.

The surgery was quick. It's funny; so many of the things that terrified me about the surgery itself ended up being no big deal. I was so afraid of the tugging I'd feel when they made the incision, but I was very numb and could barely tell they were doing anything. I was scared about Seth leaving with the baby while I got stitched up with a bunch of strangers, but I was so exhausted that again, I barely noticed they were gone. I thought I'd be monumentally sad that I didn't get to be the first one to see and hold my baby, but I was so relieved that he was alive that it didn't bother me. While we were in the thick of all this drama, I just kept thinking that I was going to die from the pain- absolutely the worst of my life- and that my baby was going to die from an umbilical cord prolapse or something, so the relief of that not happening made up for a lot of those missed experiences.

After a while in recovery, I was brought to my room where Seth, my mom, and his mom were there with the baby. I was exhausted, as one generally is after birthin' a baby. My brother brought Rowan over a while later, and he likes to tell me how when he asked me if I was on pain medication, I said, "I'm not sure... I guess... I mean, maybe. I guess I probably am on something." Rowan was understandably a little overwhelmed, but he has since adjusted really well to having a brother. We stayed at the hospital until Sunday, and now I am enjoying the euphoric period known as "Recovering From a C-Section".

So after being so sick and tired of hearing people tell me "a healthy baby is all that matters" while I was being sad over the prospect of a c-section, it turns out that in the end, that was exactly how I felt. I still truly believe that birth experiences do matter, and they CAN matter to a woman without her being some hippie zealot who cares more about natural childbirth than the actual child she is birthing. And I wish more women would give themselves and their bodies credit for what they are capable of, and not just be induced out of convenience, or assume they will HAVE to use pain medication, etc, etc, etc. However, I am not sure I would change a thing about the way this kiddo came into the world. First of all, I have faith that there was some reason he turned breech when he did, and that despite all my efforts and the very, very fervent prayers of so many for him to turn back, he did not. Last week, I thought that if I ended up needing the surgery, I'd go crazy if I didn't know precisely why (i.e., they would pull him out and say, "Oh, boy! His cord was wrapped so tightly around his neck that a regular birth would have been impossible!"). I have no idea why, and I'm completely okay with that. I figured it would take me a few weeks to accept what happened and be at peace with it. Wrong again. I am proud of my stinking c-section, because it was necessary, and it was exactly the way he needed to get here. Secondly, I got what I wanted. I got my "most important thing"- a healthy, beautiful baby- as well as the crazy intense hard work with my husband that I longed for. (And with my mom and dad and brother, at least for the first part of it.) Seth was amazing and faithful throughout my going crazy, and I am not sure I would have made it without him. Nope, I am positive I wouldn't have made it without him. With Rowan, I feel like we climbed a mountain together. With this baby, I feel like we climbed the mountain during a blizzard without supplies or protective equipment (and with the feeling that when we got to the top of the mountain, it might end up being an active volcano that would erupt in our faces). And, thirdly- well, I will let the "thirdly" speak for itself:

Silas Everett Paul
Friday, September 2, 2011
7:18 a.m.
7 pounds 1 ounce
18 inches
Supremely awesome

Totally worth it.

Ice Pack on stomach, Ipod in underpants.

2011-08-23T20:59:00.003-05:00

I had my 37 week appointment with my midwife today, and I was unpleasantly surprised to discover that at some point in the last two weeks, the Boy has turned breech. And, yes, where you read the phrase "unpleasantly surprised", feel free to substitute the word "devastated". Or "inconsolable". Or "completely and utterly discouraged, disheartened, frustrated, etc..." I have some thoughts on this situation, and it is a rare moment in my life when I feel like writing down my thoughts will be therapeutic and helpful to me (one of a couple reasons I'm not a keeper of journals, the first of course being my total laziness), so here goes.

First, I had a weird feeling about this happening. Not in the "I totally predicted it" sense, but for whatever reason, I don't remember giving the possibility of breech presentation a second thought with Rowan, whereas with this pregnancy, it would pop into my head every once in a while. This past week, I was having some strange back pain and general discomfort, slightly different than the uncomfortable Braxton Hicks contractions I've been having for the past, oh, 22 weeks or so. It lasted a few hours one day, and again, in the back of my head I thought, "Huh. That felt different. Almost like he completely changed positions." But I thought it would be crazy for that to happen, considering that he was head down less than a week prior at a midwife appointment. So, there you go. Mother's Intuition may exist in my body after all.

Second, I know many, many, many people would read this and be appalled that I am, in my own words, devastated at the prospect of having a c-section. I am certainly not anti-c-section, when they are medically necessary. And I realize that delivering a breech baby vaginally can be very risky, if for no other reason than the fact that basically no doctors/midwives are even trained to assist in those deliveries anymore. (Also, have you met Illinois? This state is not exactly "natural childbirth-friendly"; I wouldn't be shocked to hear that just attempting a vaginal breech delivery is punishable by death. And now I'll dismount my soapbox.) And I one hundred thousand billion percent agree that the biggest blessing of a pregnancy is a healthy baby. So I am already eternally grateful that #2 appears to be completely healthy, and that we have no reason to expect him to come out otherwise. But... I really, really, really love the labor experience. I don't mean to say that I love my kid any more than you do if you had an epidural, c-section, induction, etc. And I don't want to squeeze my babies out drug-free for bragging rights. (p.s. Somewhat related, if you want me to think you are kind of a turd, please feel free to utter the phrase, "They don't give out medals/gold stars for going natural" in my presence.) The fact is, despite some of the less pleasant aspects of it (Hi, Dr. B******i!!!) my labor with Rowan was one of the most awesome, spiritual, unifying experiences I've ever had with my husband, and one that I have been looking forward to having again since the moment I found out I was pregnant this time. I have even been hoping that my labor might last a little longer than last time, just so we could have a few more of those super intense hours of working together and supporting one another (okay, mostly him supporting me... okay, all him supporting me... whatever). What an awesome date night for us- to just get to hang out, generally uninterrupted, and work on bringing our sweet baby into the world? WAY better than Cheesecake Factory, in my opinion. (Also, I got a lot of back/calf/foot massages out of it last time.)

And, to be a total brat, I keep thinking to myself, "Why me??? I WANT to give birth. I WANT to deal with the discomforts of labor. Why can't the women who cringe at the sound of the word 'crowning' or who just want to do whatever Britney Spears does have all the breech babies? It's not like they even care about having the stupid surgery anyway!" It is very frustrating to prepare for something for months and feel like you have done all you can to make that something happen, then have it snatched away at the last minute through no fault of anyone. [Although we could spend hours talking about the way I am blaming myself for this. "I should have been alternating which hip I held Rowan on these past eight months so things would be more balanced, I should have eaten better/ worked out so I'd be in better shape in general, I should have tried to have better posture, I should not have freaked out at Rowan last week when he threw his cereal on the floor" (karma, that one), etc, etc, etc...]

So now begins the proactive waiting game. The plan is as follows:

1) Lots of techniques found on this website, done multiple times daily.
2) Encouraging Baby to move to the right position by putting cold where his head is and warmth/light/music where we want his head to be (yep, the crotch, people).
3) Appointments with a chiropractor certified in the Webster Technique, starting with my first tomorrow morning.
4) If those don't do the trick by next week, an external version, done by a doctor my midwife is contacting. (And, hopefully, one that doesn't result in any of the fantastic potential side effects that can lead to an immediate emergency c-section.)
5) Should actually be at the top of the list, but lots and lots and lots (and lots) of praying. Especially on the part of my wonderful family members, who have committed to having a special fast this Sunday on my/baby's behalf. And on my end of things, praying that Baby will turn and stay turned. Or, if not, that I will have peace about the fact that we will have done all we can to make this "right", even if none of it works, and that I will understand that sometimes it is okay for things to not go exactly as I want.

Sorry for the length. This has made me feel a little better, though, if that's any consolation for those of you who suffered through this verbal diarrhea. And now my husband is home from school, so I plan on going to our room and having a nice long cry in his arms. Almost as exhilarating as labor. :-)

Happy Birthday to my first (and always) baby!

2011-07-31T14:06:00.009-05:00

First, I'll allow you a moment to scrape your jaw off the floor... Three blog posts in a month from me? Unheard of. Second, I'll assure you that you have no need to try to get used to this frequency of posting. Third, I'll tell you that my baby turned two this week, and I am feeling all the typical, totally cliche emotions that a mother talks about whenever her first child has a birthday.

Rowan's birthday was earlier this week. He decided that he absolutely HAD to be in my presence at the precise time he was born two years ago, and went ahead and woke up at 6:30. It was cute, and this time I am actually not being sarcastic. I decided that mothers don't get enough recognition on their children's birthdays, considering all the contracting and squeezing and other stuff-ing that they do to bring a baby into the world, so I bought myself a Frosty to show myself some appreciation. (I would highly recommend this tradition to you other mothers in the world, especially when your child's car seat is still rear-facing and you totally don't have to share with him while you drive home from work.)

We had a little party for him yesterday. Please don't be sad that you didn't get invited. I am not a "hugely elaborate child's birthday party with an absurdly long guest list" planner. If you are, great. But I am clinging for dear life to the remaining years (months? days?) when a bag of balloons and a single slice of cake is the World's Greatest Event to my child.

He did get to start the day off right- wearing his Nemo costume and licking beaters while I made his cake.

We basically duplicated everything we did for his first birthday party, starting with the Margherita pizza.

And the decor. Last year I made cupcakes and topped them with pictures from his first year of life. It is my favorite birthday project ever, and even though I am usually scrambling the day of the party to order prints online, cut them out, etc., I still love having an excuse to sit for a while and look at sweet pictures of my sweet boy living the past 365 days of his sweet life. My intention was to make this a cake topper, but the letters ended up being large and heavy, and I didn't want to kill the cake. Still cute, no?

And then the presents happened. Have you ever watched a child open gifts in the crazy, greedy, almost bloodthirsty manner which most kids do and thought to yourself, "Huh. When did that kid get so spoiled and insane when it comes to opening gifts?" I have discovered the answer, and that is, at his or her second birthday party. Because last year, he could have cared less. He still wasn't super into toys, other than balls, so Seth and I did most of the opening for him. This year, he would open a gift and want to sit down and look at it/play with it (you know, actually appreciate it), but we had to rush him along to the next box so people wouldn't get bored watching five presents be opened in three hours. So I felt like a jerk, and I felt like we were teaching our kid exactly what you hope they never learn when it comes to birthdays and gift-y holidays- "Just get the wrapping paper off, grunt your thanks in the direction of the gift-giver, and move on to the next one!" Oh, well.

All that being said, he got some really great gifts that we certainly appreciate. And he loves all of them. And this morning it was SOOOOOOOOO easy for me to get ready for church, because he was basically mesmerized by his new things, allowing me all the time I needed to do my hair and makeup without him getting bored. So, thank you, family!

My parents gave him a blowup ball pit. It has Toy Story characters all over it. It elicited a "WOW..... COOOOOOOL!" from him when he walked into the family room this morning.

And Seth's parents gave him a Buzz Lightyear doll (excuse me, "action figure"). So far we have avoided meltdowns when it's time to put Buzz to bed while Rowan naps, eats, goes to church, etc. Here's to hoping that lasts. Like, forever.

And here's to hoping that the next time I pop my head into his ball pit and try to take a cute picture with him, he doesn't tell me to "Go away!" Yep, that phrase seemed very helpful when he first learned it and Linus would try to steal his food from him. Now that he's opting to use it on us when we bug him, it is slightly less charming.

"Alone at last, Buzz... I thought she would never leave..."

So thanks again to all our awesome family (and our brother's girlfriend and her twin sister) for helping our boy celebrate 730+ days on this earth. We love him so much. I am sure I don't talk about how great he is often enough, either because I am hesitant to sound boastful or because I am part robot and lack the standard human emotions necessary to speak kindly about one's child. But he is really a wonderful, special, hilariously awesome kid, and we are so blessed to be his mom and dad. Love you so much, Rowdog! Happy birthday!

Meat Weekend: Nearly Perfect

2011-07-05T08:04:00.011-05:00

My sister Sarah posted about her birthday back in April and how it was close to perfection. Basically since then, I have been jealous of her, and perhaps a little bit obsessed with making my own perfect event. It took three months, but I think we achieved it over Fourth of July weekend (or "Meat Weekend", as we all referred to it in this house, thanks to the abundance of barbecues on the agenda-- totally fine with the pregnant lady who has morphed into a T-Rex the last couple months...).

Saturday we went to Seth's parents' house to barbecue and swim. As much as I say I don't ever want to live in a "beige neighborhood" with crazy rules, association fees, etc., I can certainly see the appeal of a community pool. Theirs is VERY nice. Although, when I am 30 weeks pregnant and it's 90+ degrees outside, a large bucket filled with cold-ish brown hose water would probably be VERY nice, as long as I could sit in it.

Seth is working hard to teach Rowan about crossing the street safely. He got another lesson as we walked to the pool. (Unfortunately, I think all Seth's efforts were thrown out the window the following day at my parents' block party, where Rowan got to freely roam the barricaded street with all the other neighborhood kids. Oh, well.)

Greased up with sunblock, to maintain my stunning summer pallor.

This was really Rowan's first time in a big pool of any kind. It was crazy how quickly he adjusted to it. The first little while he was very unsure, but by the time we left, he was almost too comfortable for my liking.

And, to make up for the lack of belly pictures these past six months, I figured I'd treat everyone to this. The suit came from Sarah, and if I remember correctly, she took a similar picture when she was pregnant with one of her boys. Only I think she had the self-restraint to just email it to the ladies in our immediate family. But since I am most horrified by my stupid face in the picture, I am not even too concerned with my overexposure of skin.

On Sunday we went to a party at some friends' house. Almost all my former co-workers have girls, so Rowan was outnumbered. That didn't stop him from giving them the business if they dared to touch any of the toys he had been playing with/ thinking about/ standing near. So it was best if he spent most of his time away from the other kids, getting a basketball lesson from Daddy.

The picture below is blurry, but I love it because as soon as we pull out the camera, Rowan does that stance and says "cheese". Every. Single. Time.

Then we went home to enjoy the block party, and some homemade ice cream courtesy of Grandma and Grandpa. These pictures are all essentially the same shot over and over, but I cannot get enough of this kid's big brown eyes. It is weird to me when people go crazy over blue eyes, because I do not see how you cannot love, love, love brown. Le sigh...

Someone arranged for a couple fire trucks to come to the party. And did you know that I am a crazy safety nerd and I NEVER think it is appropriate to let children sit in the driver's seat of a vehicle? (I am, as it turns out, a little tightly wound...) Well, I made an exception. And it made for some cute photos.

On to Monday (almost done, I swear)...
We went to the final cookout, a pig roast, where Rowan worked some more on learning to share. (He may have had no choice. Matilda was perfectly content to make herself right at home on his lap, no matter how much he resisted at first.)

He also played with some Barbies. Funny that I have no interest in owning any of these for my daughters, but when I saw him pick one up, I was thrilled. Probably because he didn't throw them, treat them as swords, or smack anyone with them.

And after much internal debate, we decided to not be Independence Day grinches, and let Rowan stay up much too late to watch fireworks. And, I must say, even if the memory of the crazy loud explosions causes him to start having nightmares and sleeping really, really terribly, it will have been worth it, because I got to snuggle him for at least 20 minutes. (See: Me, Tempting Fate With That Statement)

Happy Fourth of July!

Now, please, can I get some fall over here?

High maintenance? Moi?

2011-07-01T07:59:00.006-05:00

Oh, dear.

This may be one of those posts that causes you to completely roll your eyes at me. (Unless everything I post is like that for you, in which case, I totally understand.) You will probably say, "Jill, you are the parent. You set the boundaries. You have created this monster, so now you are dealing with the consequences." And that is fine. And probably a little (a lot) true.

You know how, throughout Rowan's life, sleep has been a teensy tiny issue for us? In case you didn't know that, I'll fill you in. Sleep has been a teensy tiny issue for us. I think it's due to a combination of me setting my expectations too high/ my unwillingness to be a "sleep trainer" (not judging if you are, but it's just not my thing)/ the fact that it is just part of Rowan's personality to not be a stellar sleeper. But whatever. The past couple months we lived through what I must now fondly refer to as The Golden Age of Rowan's Sleep Habits. Put him to bed at 8:00 p.m. after a prayer and a couple minutes of na-nas, have him smile at me, roll over, and sleep 12 hours without waking, then repeat every afternoon for his two hour nap. So glorious. So calming. So easy and not at all stressful.

Something happened a few weeks ago that has gummed up the works big time (a new tooth? detergent buildup on his nighttime diapers that caused him painful booty in the middle of the night? the sudden realization on his end that Seth and I are the sun and the moon and the two things he cannot live without, even when he is unconscious?). Whatever that something was, it has turned our bedtime routine into the following:

(*Note: I am describing bedtime sans Seth. Only because he is back in school now, so most nights he isn't able to be part of the process.)

1) Change into pajamas.
2) Brush teeth. Somehow we ended up with two toothbrushes for him. Until this week, he was totally cooperative and would let me brush away. Now I have to make sure he gets to hold one of the toothbrushes and "help". Ahhhhh, independence.
3) Sit in rocking chair.
4) Make sure he has the following in his hands: sippy cup of water (my fault- gave him one a couple weeks ago when his room was 62,000 degrees and I thought he could use a little refreshment, now it must be with him for every sleeping occasion), book (usually Thomas the Train, again my fault- a few days ago I had the brilliant inspiration that maybe allowing him a book in his crib would help cure his separation anxiety- needless to say, it's working swimmingly), my hair (which means I must remove it from any ponytail or whatever other awesome mom style I am rocking, or he will just keep saying "hair, hair" and grasping at the back of my head), and his blanket. Obviously, between that stuff, his body, and my obscenely pregnant belly, the rocking chair is uber-comfy.
5) Have a prayer. Usually one that includes me pleading, "PLLLLLLLLLLEASE bless Rowan that he will go to sleep calmly tonight."
6) Nurse. Have lots of contractions. Tell Rowan that if he wants to continue, he needs to stop labeling every part of my face and get down to business. (Although, just like my sister Rachel claimed with her oldest boy, there is something so adorable about hearing him say the word "eyebrows".)
7) Lay him down.
8) Turn on CD of children's hymns. (A suggestion from a facebook friend, and a good one, although he'd much prefer I sing them myself. And, really, if you've heard my singing voice, you are saying to yourself, "Who can blame him???")
9) Give him a back tickle. (This is new. He started loving them very recently. Now I'm somewhat reassured that his little body contains some of my DNA.)
10) Ask him to please stop rolling over every six seconds while inching his shirt up saying "back!" ("tickle my back, please"), "tumma" ("tickle my tummy, please"), "back", "tumma", "back", "tumma".............
11) Say, "When this song is over, mommy is leaving."
12) End of song. Turn to leave.
13) Hear/see him frantically pop up and start screaming, "Mooooooooooommmmmmmmmmmyyyyyyyyyyy!" (or "Daaaaaaaaaaadddddddddddyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!")
14) Tell him, "You're fine. You're safe. I'll be right back." (Not a lie, because, as my mom pointed out, "right back" is a very relative term.)
15) Cross fingers that his screaming, wimpering fit is closer to the 5 minute end of the spectrum than the 25 minute end. (We've had both, with no rhyme or reason as to why.)

So there you go. I have officially reached the point in my life where I am completely controlled by someone who lets our dog lick the inside of his mouth. But it really, really helps that when we are not attempting sleep, he looks and acts like this:

Memorial Day in Utah (or The Trip Where Lots of Annoying Things Happened to Jill in Public Restrooms)

2011-06-03T20:58:00.009-05:00

We took a quick trip to Utah this past weekend to visit Seth's sister and some other assorted family members and friends. (i.e., We know and/or are related to far too many people in the Beehive State to have a truly satisfying visit in a mere five days, at least as it pertains to quantity time spent with said loved ones. Oh, and quantity time spent eating delicious food. Let me put it this way: We only ate at Cafe Rio once. Once!!!)

Let me start off by saying that a big reason we took this trip was because we knew it would be the last time Rowan could fly for free as a "lap child". (That second birthday is quickly approaching. Yikes.) And, to be quite honest, I was almost wishing he didn't qualify for lap child status after the flight there. There were tantrums. Swears uttered (by me, although Rowan is dropping one lately that sounds remarkably offensive, even though I am 90% certain that it's just his version of "foot"). And, unfortunately, even Pixar's finest on a portable DVD player can't save you from Airplane Purgatory, at least not when your toddler has been forced to wake up at 5:30 a.m. and then deprived of a nap and a decent breakfast. But we all survived. However, I blame the strenuous travel conditions for the fact that (prepare yourselves for a Giant Shock here...) I only took a handful of pictures the entire trip. Here are some of the highlights:

We had a barbecue with friends and family the day after we got in. And if the whoooooole rest of the trip had been an enormous stinkfest (it wasn't), it would have been worth it, because I got to see two of my favorite people in the world, my old roommates, Allison and Colleen. Oh, my, how I adore these two. And now there is even more to love, because between the two of them, they have three deliciously adorable kiddos.

Here we are sans babies. Mostly. We allowed Colleen to keep Tes in the Moby because we are accommodating that way.

We also met a friend of Seth's for breakfast at Gandolfo's one morning. Mmmm, Gandolfo's. So yummy. (*Note: We do have pictures of his friend, but I never know if it's appropriate to post photos of other people on the blog, especially people I don't know very well, since I am the one who does the blogging, not Seth. But, in case she reads this- Cami, it was a pleasure to meet you. And thank you so much for the cards; they are beautiful and you are very talented. We will email you the pictures of you and Seth.) Anyway, here we are standing outside of the place. Thrilling, I know...

We were not blessed with awesome weather on this trip. Way to make us feel welcome, Utah. We finally did get a warm, sunny day on the last full day we were there. So we went to a canyon and had a cookout. Yep, lots of meat was consumed in our five days there. Digestive systems are still not fully recovered.

Rowan would have stayed by this little stream throwing rocks all night long if we had let him.

And what is a campfire without s'mores? (And what is a campfire in Utah without roasted Starburst?) And what is me eating my second s'more and Seth saying, "Two, huh?" without me getting all snotty and rubbing the contents of that s'more all over my face to really stick it to him?

Finally, what is having a marshmallow witch wart on one's face without taking the opportunity to do a "fifteen-year-old-trying-to-be-seductive-facebook-profile-picture-pose"? I feel that I really missed out on these, since facebook got big when I was well into my 20's. And since I don't drink so I can't do the "almost-30-year-old-holding-a-beer/mixed drink-in-one-hand-and-giving-'rock on' fingers/the bird-with-the-other-hand-pose", I have to really take advantage of these special photo opportunities, you know?

And it's late now, so I'll wrap it up, but stick around for some titillating tales that I referenced in the title of this post. **Spoiler alert: It's a couple vacation anecdotes that demonstrate what a crabby old bag I am.

"You're eating pineapple, ha ha ha ha ha!!!!"

2011-05-20T13:54:00.004-05:00

Only my immediate family will get that title. And I'd explain it in person to those of you interested, but I'm fairly certain that saying the "pineapple phrase" out loud is now VERBOTEN in our family, much like b***hole was when we were children. (Can you imagine? My parents not allowing us to say that completely non-offensive, non-disgusting word word in their home??? Lighten up, Mom and Dad...)

You may recall me recently mentioning that my son and I were involved in a Great Nutritional Holy War. The battle rages on. I've started to dread mealtimes the way you dread bedtime when you have a newborn. Just as you know the four week old (or twelve month old, if you're me) has little intention of doing any actual sleeping during the nighttime hours, at our house I am acutely aware that breakfast, lunch, dinner, and everything in between will entail approximately 7% food consumption and 93% tantrums, flinging of said food, and demands for nothing but crackers and "DAT!!!!!" ("DAT", of course, means a treat from the bag of jelly beans that my dad shared with him ONE TIME, and now Captain Memory has the location of those freaking beans seared into his brain synapses, causing a monumental meltdown every time we are near the cabinet from whence they came. Excellent.) I'll tell you, I don't even take a ton of pride in my cooking abilities, but few things offend me more deeply than the fact that I can spend an hour making orange cashew chicken and be informed by my 22 month old that it's "duck" (yuck), and yet he will happily eat/drink macaroni noodles and generic pasta sauce that he's let marinate in his cup of water for five minutes.

But don't cry for me, friends, because the winds of change are a-blowing. For while I am still struggling with actual meals, I have discovered a snack that he adores, which is a thousand times more healthy than crackers, and which conveniently fulfills my desire to sometimes be a little bit of SuperMom.

When my sister Sarah was in town, she was talking about how much she likes Larabars. Rightly so. They are delicious. And contain no crazy ingredients. And are very convenient for snacking. Oh, and they are also wiiiiiiiiicked expensive. Or would be, if you ate one every day. But luckily, we live in the Age of Google (the reason I was put on this earth at this time, as opposed to pioneer days). Thanks to Google, I was able to find this. And I am putting my food processor to good use. And Rowan is snacking healthfully and happily. And I am saving lots of dollars that I really didn't have to begin with. Hoo. Ray. Thanks to this lady and her fantastic blog, peace is slowly creeping into (some of) our eating times.

I am certainly not ready to hang up the "Mission Accomplished" banner just yet. Ahead of me still lies an uphill climb called "Seriously? You're going to open up that whole wheat tortilla and pick off ONLY the melted cheese, completely ignoring the delicious black beans and other finely chopped vegetables? Seriously?" And I'm pregnant and shouldn't be doing a lot of climbing, so this may end up being a very drawn out sort of war. But I am going to rejoice in my small victory, and ignore the fact that taking the pits out of dates feels very much like slicing open a "Fear Factor"-sized beetle and removing its internal organs.

More importantly, is this kid going to sleep like its brother?

2011-04-30T14:15:00.002-05:00

We had an ultrasound this morning. The big one. The one that would determine whether or not I'd need to return that pile of super cute baby girl clothes I found on clearance at Old Navy last month.

It's a good thing I always save receipts.

Did you know that Seth is really, really good at deciphering the ever-mysterious ultrasound money shot? Like, I can make out the parts if I am given a minute to look it over. Today, the technician had barely greased up my belly and touched my skin with the wand before he was saying, "I know what it is!!! It's a boy! I can see testicles!" I said, "Shut up. No, you don't." Not because I am necessarily disappointed in the idea of another male (although- hello? Outnumbered much?), but because I thought he was being far too smug about it, and also because I turn incredibly rude when I'm pregnant. (I mean even more rude than the non-human-growing version of myself.)

Anyway, the tech confirmed that, indeed, Seth was right. And, more importantly, she confirmed that Baby Boy looks good and healthy. And, let's face it, probably massive-headed already.

I am so excited for Rowan to have a little brother close to his age. I know it will be a lot of fun. Also a lot of injuries, potty talk, outdoor urination, and body odor. But mostly fun.

And now my prayers at night go from this- "I'm thankful for our new baby, and pray that it will continue to be healthy and strong..." to this- "I'm thankful for our new baby, and pray that it will continue to be healthy and strong, and that Seth and I can decide on a boy's name without getting divorced..."

Amen.

Happy Easter!

2011-04-24T18:57:00.006-05:00

I'm feeling like my sister Sarah right now, blogging about a holiday before the day is even over. Let's hear it for me! Here are a few pictures we had my mom take at church today. Since it is so rare these days that the three (and 1/2) of us are all together and all looking nice, I thought it was a good opportunity for a family picture. Do you like how I am glowing in every picture? I don't mean "glowing" like pregnant; I mean literally radiating a weird white aura... What is that about? Maybe it is something pregnancy-related, though. Baby is trying to make its presence known, perhaps? Because the back pain, varicose veins, and emotional outbursts he/she is causing me are just not doing the trick?

Also, please enjoy some photos of our front yard picnic last night. And please don't ask how many cheese hot dogs I ate. (I know. Barf.)

Rowan is SUUUUUUUUUCH a heinously picky eater these days. I should have known not to pat myself on the back so much for his previous love of healthy foods and openness to variety. Ever since he had the stomach flu a few weeks ago, he's decided to stick to a steady diet of applesauce, crackers, and wa-wa. Awesome. The good news is, turns out he doesn't like hot dogs. This pleases me on so many levels. (Sometimes that level is "Good! At least he hates some unhealthy foods!" and sometimes, like last night, it was "Good! More for me!") The other good news is that he can eat five Sun Chips and two bites of a hot dog bun for dinner and still sleep entirely through the night; I was a little concerned that the bird-like appetite would lead to him waking up at 2:00 a.m. thinking it was Second Dinner time. (P.S. Did you hear the news? Rowan now sleeps THROUGH THE NIGHT. You know, the way most babies do around six months old? It's been going on for about a month now. No more waking up to nurse at 3:00 a.m. That means I have about 21 more weeks of glorious sleep until my world gets turned upside-down by a suckling newborn. Haha! Eat that, Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child!!!!)

Hope everyone had a great Easter!

Back when John Cusack was cool, and not an enormous you-know-what-bag.

2011-04-08T14:14:00.006-05:00

We have been super busy these last few weeks. Taylor came home from his mission, Sarah and Rachel were in town with their families, and there was a whole lot of family time happening. By that, I mostly mean my sisters and I hung out all day at my parents' house and refereed our seven children to ensure that no one got injured too badly or was called "buttcrack" too much. For more entertaining versions of these vacation antics, kindly make your way to my sister's blog. She is a much more diligent blogger and vacation photographer than I am. Turns out, when I did have my camera out (rare), I took the same kind of pictures I take when we have no one visiting us: Rowan doing stuff. Lame of me. But here is a little photo story you may enjoy.

We were playing outside on one of the few non-38 degree days that occurred during everyone's visit. It was windy, so I went in to grab a ponytail holder for my hair. All I could find was a headband. When Rowan saw it in my hands, he insisted I give it to him. And it has become physically impossible for me to say "no" to him lately, so I obeyed. (Not because he is that cute or charming-- although, don't get me wrong, he is both of those things-- but because pregnancy has turned me into a defeated woman, and I will do anything to avoid a screaming, punching, snot-nosed tantrum. From him or myself.) So, anyway, he put it on.

Then realized something was not quite right...

Ahh, yes. Much better.

Then he took a break from riding and decided to work on his lawnmower. Or, as Sarah put it, "re-enact a 'fix-something-up' scene from an 80s movie".

I imagine any day now, he and Monique will race two Asian men down the street with that lawnmower while one of the men narrates the action Howard Cosell-style...

You read the blog of a winner.

2011-03-14T13:58:00.004-05:00

That title sounds a little arrogant, huh? Let's all just be grateful that I didn't use a Charlie Sheen "winning" joke when naming this post. Ohhhhh, Charlie Sheen...

I am about to confess something that is a little embarrassing. Note: I am not embarrassed that I still sleep with a blankie (it's fully disgusting, and smells like something no one can quite put their finger on, and I love it), that I love the show "Saved by the Bell" and in fact own multiple seasons on DVD, or that ever since he was in that skit on SNL with Tina Fey as the teacher, I have kind of had a thing for Justin Bieber. So you can tell that what I am about to reveal is pretty bad. Here goes.

I have an unhealthy obsession with a particular brand of expensive diaper bags.

They are called Petunia Pickle Bottom. They are astoundingly beautiful, basically every last one of them. Their quality and functionality is remarkable. They make me want to keep having babies every two years for the next decade, even if each one of said babies is exactly like the Rowdog and doesn't wake less than twice a night until 14 months of age. (Okay, that last part is a lie. Know why? Because so many of these bags can be used as very believable purses that one truly doesn't need to even have children to justify owning one. So I'll keep buying, even when my uterus is long past out of business.)

It should also be noted that I am totally grossed out by women who are really into expensive handbags. You could wave a $500 Coach purse in my face and I would roll my eyes and start thinking about how much I hate the fact that I really enjoy a filet o' fish from McDonald's. And then I'd probably say, "Please get that lame purse out of my line of vision." Ditto Kate Spade, Juicy Couture, Prada, etc. And yet, I feel completely at peace with the fact that I love me a Petunia Pickle Bottom.

Can I afford them at retail price? Maybe, if I went a year without spending a red cent at Target. But is that ever going to happen? But do they have awesome outlet sales a couple times a year? Yes, they do. And have I made a goal this year to invest my money more wisely in quality items? Yes. And, when you are crazy obsessed like me and you stalk blogs and facebook pages and enter all sorts of giveaways and contests, sometimes this happens. See that? That's me. Jill. Congratulations, Jill! Your internet time-wasting has paid off! (Like that needs to be encouraged...)

Want to see what I won? A super jumbo huge diaper bag, perfect for a lady who will have two kiddos in cloth diapers come September. Cloth diapers that take up about three times as much room as disposables. Looky:

http://www.petunia.com/collections/original/abundanceboxybackpack/heavenlyholland/

So there you have it. Turns out, my dad isn't the only member of our family who has incredibly good luck. :-) In fact, I have already thanked him for letting some of it rub off on me. (For real, the man wins more call-in radio contests than anyone you will ever meet. It's bizarre.)

I will now stop gloating, and this blog will now resume being about how cute Rowan is. But, should you feel inclined to wander around the PPB website more, take a look at the print "Sunshine in Sardinia". And "Relaxing in Rio". And "Tea on the Thames". And "Morning in Monaco". And "Dreaming in Dover". And "Afternoon in Auckland". And "Oy, is Jill shallow".

This will be quick, Michelle.

2011-02-24T13:14:00.002-06:00

It's been requested that I do some blogging because one of the five people who reads this on a somewhat regular basis claims that every time she comes here, she is freaked out by the Halloween photo. There are reasons it's been a couple months since I've done anything with this. The biggest would be that we have no internet service at home. So if I wanted to blog, I'd have to wait until Seth got home from school at night, hook his phone up to our computer, and do it that way. And, frankly, just typing that sentence both exhausted me and gave me a headache, so you can see why I haven't bothered actually doing it. The other reason I've slacked on blogging (and basically every other non-essential task in my life these days-- for the record, cleaning the bathroom and preparing meals that don't involve the words "tots", "n cheese", or "pebbles" are completely non-essential, as it turns out...) is that I've been stuck in first trimester land. Which, for me, pretty much means I get really, really tired and lazy. I feel for women who actually vomit during pregnancy, because it is one of my most feared physical functions. (And one I've been told doesn't even relieve the nausea in the first place? Lame.) Don't get me wrong, there were a few weeks where I was feeling quite vomitory, but nothing ever came of it. Besides the knowledge that pregnancy does, indeed, cause my taste buds to be hijacked by a seven-year-old. (Spaghettios? Seriously? Who EVER feels sick and thinks that spaghettios would be the only thing they could stomach?) Anyhow, that's that. We are excited for #2. Well, generally excited. Sometimes terrified. Especially when Rowan nearly has a stroke at the mere sight of Seth and me making any physical contact. There is lots of whining. And some hitting. And forcefully removing any limb that is touching any part of my body. I give the baby a month on this earth before we have to defend ourselves to Child Protective Services.

So, check back sometime in September to see if I am dome gestating. Let's face it, that may be the next time I blog.

Just in time for Thanksgiving...

2010-11-12T17:09:00.003-06:00

it's a Halloween post!

This is the first year we really went all out with Halloween costumes. And I can't speak for my mom and sister, who were basically the masterminds behind most of the costumes (and the ones who rushed around with me THE DAY BEFORE OUR HALLOWEEN PARTY WHEN I FINALLY DECIDED WE'D DEFINITELY DRESS UP buying Goodwill clothes, cutting up said clothes, and brainstorming how to achieve a Bride of Frankenstein beehive), but I think it was worth all the trouble.... Now I probably owe them each about a thousand hair brushes and foot massages, the preferred currency in the Hardy home.

Rowan did not so much love wearing his mad scientist goggles, but he cooperated briefly for a picture. Unfortunately, these were taken long after the party was over, because we forgot our camera and couldn't take pictures until we got back to my mom's. Had they been taken three hours prior, you would be even more impressed with my sister's handiwork; my hair was defying gravity. Anyway, I'm taking suggestions for next year's costumes. And, mom, I promise, I'll ask for your help at least two days before the holiday next time.

Super Fall Activity Extravaganza Checklist: Item #1

2010-09-19T18:07:00.007-05:00

We took a drive north on Saturday- three miles south of the Illinois-Wisconsin border, in fact- to go to an apple orchard with Seth's family. It was heaps... nay, BUSHELS of fun. (I'm sorry. That was terrible. I don't know why I said that; maybe it's all the Laffy Taffys I ate at work last week...) So, I won't narrate, as these are pretty self-explanatory, and stinking blogger is KILLING ME with how long it takes to upload pictures- I have already been at this for over an hour. Any hints, fellow blogging friends? How do I make it go faster? So far rolling my eyes and cursing under my breath hasn't done the trick. Nor has impatiently tapping my foot. But like I said, no narration, except this: That crazy-eyed, wonky-smile picture of Rowan holding the apple is perhaps my favorite photo of him to date. And maybe it should be yours, too.

This is post #111

2010-09-05T15:10:00.007-05:00

Hooray! We went to Starved Rock yesterday. With Seth starting back at school last week, family time is extremely limited. I know he doesn't love going five days in a row without seeing Rowan awake, so we are trying to reserve Saturdays for lots o' family stuff. Week one was a success. And here are pictures to prove it. Isn't this kid just crazy cute? How did we end up with him?!?

A wee bit o' rebellion

2010-08-26T22:32:00.003-05:00

What happens when you have a couple super obnoxious weeks, 365+ days of sleep deprivation, and a phone conversation with your best friend Kristin in which you claim you are totally going to "just pull a Rachel McAdams on your hair"? If your name is Jillian Paul, this happens:

(I should have warned you that this would be a very "teenage-facebooky" type of blog entry. I am sorry for that, and I vow to henceforth refrain from anymore "here are pictures I took of myself; aren't I awesome" posts-- I am well aware that those are quite lame.)

I am enjoying this hair. Somehow, the knowledge that a lot of people likely find it juvenile and stupid seems to make me like it even more. But, you know, that shouldn't really surprise anyone... I have positively hated everything about my hair lately, including the continued Curse of the Post-Partum Locks; now everything I lost after Rowan was born has grown out about two inches, giving me some awesome feathered wisps along my hairline... needless to say, there is a lot of headband wearing going on around these parts. So that, and the fact that I remembered that I am a big girl now, and I no longer have to get anyone's permission if I want to ruin my hair, led to what you see above. I think I'll keep it for awhile.

Don't think this fancy new look didn't come with a hefty price tag, though. I had to actually step foot in a Hot Topic. And purchase a bottle of hair dye called "Vampire Red**". Kill me now.

(**You may be thinking, "That looks a little more 'Vampire Pink' to me." You may be right. Red fades quickly.)

My brother is wearing coats in Argentina right now.

2010-07-19T22:04:00.005-05:00

We spend an awful lot of time at the splash park near the home of the kids for whom I nanny. I love that it is free, easy to get to, and there is literally zero chance of any of the three children drowning. Well, I suppose you could drown, but it would take a great deal of effort. Anyway, here's Rowan enjoying some relief from one of the 90+ degree days we've had lately. Clearly, he wasn't too willing to venture far from the security of the orange rainbow thing...

Decisions, decisions.

2010-07-12T21:49:00.005-05:00

As in, I am in the process of deciding how to handle this blog. Do I let it die, and leave throngs of fans in suspense about what is going on in our lives? (Just kidding about the fans. Perhaps I just wanted to say the word "throngs" there; it is one of my favorites...) Do I scale it down to a "photo updates only" type of thing? (Truth be told, that is probably the most sensible solution. Also, the least egotistical, at least along the lines of "why does everyone on the planet think that other people want to read their words/thoughts/back door self-compliments reminding readers how hip and funny they are?" ... P.S. If you have hilarious kids who do naughty toilet stuff, this DOES NOT include you. Got it? ;-) Or, do I accept that, with an internet-free (saving money, y'all) home, I will not often have the opportunity to blog, but when I do, I should keep up with some photos and an occasional Rowan update, so I will have a little record of his life for myself and a few loved ones?

For now, I will settle on the last option.

Here's a brief "last two months" update:

Seth had a birthday. We went to the zoo. I had a birthday. Rowan got a mohawk. I cut off some sweatpants to make workout shorts and we put the scraps around Rowan's head and neck. Linus French kissed Rowan. Rowan got more teeth. Teething absolutely MURDERS us around here. Rowan held a PlayStation controller in the nude. And perhaps the most exciting bit of news, Rowan started walking. No guarantees that the video I will attempt to load will actually work tonight, but I'll keep trying this week, because it is devastatingly cute.

For Uncle Tay Tay

2010-05-22T21:20:00.004-05:00

(Let me first give credit where credit is due. That awesome nickname for my brother comes courtesy of my sister, Sarah.)

On Mother's Day, we were able to talk to Taylor in Argentina, and if my often unreliable memory serves me, I believe he requested some sort of "blog shout out" from us. So here goes.

Taylor, you are super awesome. We love you. We are dorkily proud of you. We miss you. Rowan can't wait to meet you. And, let's be honest, Linus can't wait to hump your arm. And since your sister is TERRIBLE at writing you, she is hoping that these recent pictures make up for it, at least a little bit.

This is one of Rowan's recently developed skills. Soon we will master it with him blindfolded.

Look, Mom and Dad painted their porch glider. See how exciting Plainfield has been while you've been away? ;-)

This afternoon, we took the kids (Rachellllllllll is in town) to the park. Rowan had his first experience on the swing. I think he liked it. (Oh, yes, he is a total snaggle tooth. It's excellent.)

Also, he is in love with throwing balls. Just waiting for some fantastic uncle to teach him to play baseball... and secretly try to convert him to the dark side when his dad isn't around. ;-)

We love you!!! See you in ten months!!!

The past few weeks. (Also, some proof that we don't live in total squalor.)

2010-04-23T14:55:00.014-05:00

Well, hello. Be warned; this is likely going to be another long post. Remember how I promised you big, exciting things? Here they come. (And no, a pregnancy is not one of them. But it would be a nice excuse for wanting to sleep all the time, so perhaps I'll look into it...)

Anyway, onward.

PART 1:

We recently took a trip here:

Seth had to visit a museum for a history class he is taking, so we made a family trip of it. It was great fun. We got to see Sue, the world's largest, most complete Tyrannosaurus Rex. I was very, very, very excited for this, as I am a five-year-old boy when it comes to dinosaurs. But I have to be honest, the exhibit left me a little disappointed, and I'll tell you why. You all know that I am nothing if not rational and logical, right? Well, at some point in my life, I lost all ability to think logically, dinosaur-wise. For whatever reason, when I picture dinosaurs, they are HUUUUUUUUUUUUUGE. "Yeah, huge, Jill. Like the thirteen-foot monster you are photographed with." No. Huge, like, in my head, they are so big that only about twenty of them could have fit on the entire earth at one time. Like, hundreds of feet taller than mountains. Now can you see why viewing one in person was a bit deflating? I think at one point, I might have looked at Sue and said something like, "You ain't so scary. Whatever." And I must be pretty attached to the absurd image I have of them, because even after seeing a real dinosaur skeleton, I continue to picture them my way. (My way is more fun. Try it.)

They have Sue's real skull in a glass case because it would be too heavy to attach to the body. It was cool to get a closer look at it.

(See? Rowan must have inherited my dinosaur size-perception issues, because he seemed a little bored and unintimidated as well.)

We also saw the ancient Egypt display, where I would say the highlight was definitely not entering the "tomb" via the insanely narrow spiral staircase that basically took us down to the mantle of the earth. Perhaps this is because we had our twenty pound son in his full-size stroller. Who needs the complementary elevator that's offered when you can hold up the fifty museum-goers behind you as you and your husband try to defy the laws of physics?

Luckily, we made it. And no one shot us.

Egypt was Seth's favorite part of the museum. I think he could have spent the whole day at that exhibit.

Rowan enjoyed all the animals. It's fun to see him get more interested in them lately.

Seth gave us a Dwight Schrute-style lesson on bears. Just kidding. He did help me understand better which traits/modes of attack go with which type of bear. I have since added "learn to play dead really, really well" to my to-do list.

Look, everybody! It's Hedwig!!

Isn't this a cute picture?

Out of nowhere, in the middle of our visit, he learned that he can make a great popping noise when he yanks this raspberry teether/pacifier out from between his clenched gums. So for about five minutes straight, that's all he cared to do.

"Rowan, this is a model of a gorilla's hand. Or, as mommy likes to call it, 'a breeding ground for bacteria, and the reason I will be washing your hands before you can even think about putting them near your mouth'."

It was a fine day. It made me wish we had no need for jobs and unlimited resources so we could do fun family stuff like this every day.

PART 2:
For those of you who don't see our boy very often, here are some recent developments with him.

1) He started "real foods" this week. (P.S. I tend to resent that term, as I'd like to point out that breast milk is pretty much the most ridiculously divine substance on this planet, so the implication that it is not "real" or "substantial" is not my favorite thing ever.) Anyway, he still nurses primarily, but now gets some fun food with his rice cereal at dinner time. So far, he's had peas and broccoli (he also chewed on an onion and a pickle at my mom's, but that was just for some brief entertainment). He doesn't seem picky at all, which is nice. The fun thing about starting solids is that excrementally, it opens up exciting new doors. We are definitely making good use of the poo sprayer.

2) He really loves the dog. I think I've said that before, but it's still true. Whenever I say, "Where's Linus?" or, "Where's your puppy?", he gets super excited and looks around the room for him. It's cute cute cute.

3) He also really loves any LED display in our (or anyone else's) house. He can be in a hideous mood, and if we walk through the kitchen, where he gets the double whammy of the microwave clock right above the stove clock, his day is pretty much made. And if I'm heating something up and the numbers are changing, forget it; he can barely contain himself.

4) He gives great hugs, but only on his own terms. Do not bother asking for one. Same goes for kisses. And now, since he has a top tooth to go along with his two bottoms, you are stupid if you do ask for one, because you may end up with broken cheek skin. (I am stupid multiple times a day, as it turns out.)

5) He continues to army crawl all over the place. He'll get up on hands and knees for a bit, but he really can't be bothered trying to master "real crawling".

6) He recently started pulling up like crazy. We catch him like this all the time:

Thumbs up!

Finally (and somewhat unrelated), in an effort to redeem myself, I present to you:

A bathtub picture that doesn't make you feel like you should sanitize your eyes for all the grime you had to look at.

That's right, I scrubbed our tub. Baking soda and vinegar are truly incredible.

Neglecting a blog is preferred over neglecting a child, right?

2010-04-16T10:30:00.004-05:00

That's my excuse for not blogging in a while. And I'm actually not going to do much of it right now, because I have a kid and a job demanding my attention. But we've got stuff going on over here. Big stuff. Thrilling stuff. Stuff that you will have to wait until later to read about. Until then, I'll leave you with some recent pictures. And I'll ask you not to judge the state of our bath tub. For one thing, we have lots of iron in our water that not only turns Rowan's poo green when I drink large quantities of it (water, not poo), but also gives us an awesome rusty tint to our caulk. For another thing, I haven't felt like cleaning the bathroom in a while (that's reason enough for me, so it should be for you, as well).

Vacation, all I ever wanted. Vacation, have to get away, or I'll likely stab out my own eyes...

2010-03-22T20:47:00.011-05:00

Is that not how the lyrics of that song go? Hmm... Well, whatever. We took a little trip to North Carolina last week. It was glorious, splendid, magnificent, brilliant, fantastic, delightful... pick your adjective. Rowan did very well on the plane. He probably would have stared out the window the whole time if I hadn't nursed him into sleepy submission during takeoff.

We spent the first half of our trip with my sister Rachel and her family. (In case you were wondering, they are also glorious, splendid, magnificent, brilliant, fantastic, delightful...) It was nice to just hang out with them for a few days with no real agenda. We ate some yummy food and watched many episodes of the Office once the kiddos were in bed at night. Rowan enjoyed plenty of cousin time:

Doesn't he look so grown up? He loved having so many kids around to entertain him!

We went for a nice walk one afternoon at a beautiful state park. North Carolina is PRETTTTTTTTTTTTTY, people.

Kindly ignore my horrid fake-looking smile and awkward stance in the picture below. Instead, feel free to focus on how cute my sister and her family are.

Anna and I had fun taking pictures of ourselves in the back of the car on the way home. Unfortunately, the ride was a wee bit bumpy, so none of them came out any more clear than this:

And here was my attempt to get a picture of Rowan's teeth. (Yep, I said "teeth". He went ahead and grew another one right next to the first while we were on vacation. They. Are. Sharp.)

That night, we had a fire in their backyard. S'mores were consumed. Thighs were fattened. Babies were cuddled.

And stink eyes were given to Daddy:

One afternoon, Rachel and I went on a sister date to Gandolfo's. (p.s. Yum.) When we returned home, Rowan had fallen asleep on Seth's lap while being serenaded by Coldplay on Seth's phone. Anything to do with Gwyneth Paltrow really helps him doze off...

Ethan was so sweet with Rowan. Let me reiterate how much Rowan enjoyed the nonstop attention. He is making that fact abundantly clear every time I take my eyes off him now.

We took a drive to a neighborhood filled with monstrously huge homes. Seriously, unless your last name is Duggar, there is no reason you need a house this large.

How much do I love this shirt? A whole lot.

Daddy Lap Nap #2:

After a few days at Rachel's, we headed to downtown Raleigh for Seth's brother's wedding. It was good, just a bit challenging with so many late nights and a baby who is used to a seven p.m. bedtime. He handled it like a champ. His mother, not so much.

This was the rehearsal dinner.

Seth was a groomsman, and he got a great gift from Gerry and Michaela. I don't have a photo of the picture in this frame, but since it is Red Sox-related, you can imagine his near-teariness.

An eight-month-old in a hotel room is a glorious thing, let me tell you. Between having to squeeze the pack 'n play into the bathroom so he would fall asleep without us distracting him and having a handful of toys from home to occupy him, I was ready to ask the Mr. Marriott if we could move in permanently. Just kidding. It wasn't so bad. But I'm not sad that we likely won't be staying in a hotel again anytime soon.

Oy. My hands are getting tired. We're almost done, I promise.

Saturday was the wedding. Rowan and I are very special people, so we got to ride in the limo with all the very special wedding party people. I've never been in a limo before, but I have the sneaking suspicion that there is always a lot of neon happening in them...

The church was beautiful. So was Seth in a tux.

And Michaela was the most beautiful. And I'm glad she doesn't hate my guts for racing barefoot from the front row ALLLLL the way to the back of the church right as she and Gerry were about to say their vows because Rowan became antsy and loud and I didn't want us to completely ruin their magical moment. I really probably should have known that he wouldn't last the entire fifteen minute ceremony without going a little nuts. Le sigh... The naive mistakes of a first-time parent.

Okay, now I am really getting bored with typing. So, let me sum up. The reception= fun. Rowan= tired. Couch cushions from the foyer of the reception hall= a great makeshift baby bed. Chairs placed around said cushions= a great way to ensure that your sleeping child isn't crushed to death by an intoxicated merry-maker.

Seth and Jill dancing to Beyonce= super awesome. (And worth the foot blisters.)

The cake= delicious.

The trip= just what we needed.

Milkawhaaat?

2010-03-10T20:16:00.005-06:00

Allow me to catch you up on the last few weeks for our family.

Seth and I went to Detroit overnight for a wedding. We left Rowdog in the capable hands of my parents. He went on a bit of a bottle strike. Also a pooping strike. Luckily, we were only gone for 30 hours, so it wasn't so extreme that drastic de-constipating efforts had to be made.

Seth and I had a nice time. It was not only the longest time we've spent away from Rowan in his life, but also the longest time we've spent together in about six months. It was nice to drive five hours together, eat yummy road snacks, discuss things like outsourcing and the MacGruber movie, and get all fancy for a nice wedding.

We were very, very, very excited to get back to our baby. The day after we got home, he got his first tooth. But if you think I have been able to capture it on film, you are a crazy person. I did capture some super cute pictures of him enjoying the outdoors on a recent lovely day we had.

And that's about it. We are getting excited to go to Seth's brother's wedding, excited for spring to really arrive, and excited for some other stuff that I'll write about some day when I'm less lazy.

Backwards recap.

2010-02-13T09:34:00.006-06:00

Does the way pictures work on blogger annoy anyone else out there? (And I'm not even referring to the fact that it takes 42,000 years to upload them.) I always have to really stop and think about the order I'm selecting them so that they will be in proper chronological order. And frankly, today I just couldn't be bothered with it. So what you are about to view is the last month or so of our lives, starting with this morning and ending with late January.

Goodness, he's cute to me. He can certainly work a double chin.

And he continues to make it impossible for me to not take adorable bath towel pictures on a regular basis.

He already has awesome taste in books.

And he relishes any opportunity to yank and eat the hair of whomever is holding him.

He sits up on his own, which is simply awesome.

He eats rice cereal every evening now. And thus begins a life of much, much more laundry.

He is an obnoxiously adorable sleeper. Still not a good sleeper, mind you, but I'm learning to deal with that. (Because it appears that I have no other option.)

He won't keep a sock on his foot to save his life. But who can blame him when the alternative is a sock in the mouth?

He torments Linus. Linus torments him. They love the crap out of each other.

He fits in twelve month jammies. Well, twelve month jammies that are sized ridiculously small. (He only weighs a little over 16 pounds, people. Nothing big about this child but his eyes and his 90th percentile head.)

We still love him. An awful lot.

Drumroll, please.

2010-01-24T17:39:00.004-06:00

Rowan would like to show the world his newest accomplishment. Nothing attracts a six-month-old like a smart phone.

Now if only he would learn to sit up on his own...

Sometimes the pressure to come up with a title is just too great.

2010-01-15T09:10:00.006-06:00

I've accepted that I am never going to be a "scrapbook person". It's just not my bag. I'm not very good at it. Also, it seems kind of expensive. And, truthfully, if I'm going to spend lots of dollars on something, I'd rather that money go toward cute diapers for Rowdog or the "Find Jill a Pair of Jeans That Won't Make Her Butt Look Super Flat" fund. I am indeed very lucky that blogging is free. And, if you don't mind me saying, so are you, because you get to see this kid a lot: Aren't his eyes great? The color reminds me so much of my cute nephew, Ethan. Brownish greenish something or other. I just love them.

Oh, he is such a sweet boy. High maintenance at seriously inconvenient times? Oh, yes. Really pinchy lately with those strong little fingers of his? For sure. The person that made me understand what it feels like to absolutely know that I'd jump in front of a train without hesitation to save another's life? Yep.

Rowan is LOVING the dog lately. He cannot look at Linus without cracking up; it's so cute. I am excited about that. For some reason, I had this fear that he would be one of those kids who is terrified of dogs. It's good to know that while he will likely inherit many of my countless (and occasionally irrational) fears-- flying, heights, those awful toeless shoe booties, artificial sweeteners, Glenn Beck, black widow and brown recluse spiders, the band Creed, Kate Hudson movies, ground beef, the blatant misuse of the apostrophe, driving through mountainous areas, serial killers, laser eye surgery, and the potential for the girl from "The Ring" to climb out of my television at any given second--, he will probably never be afraid of dogs. In fact, the more inappropriate Linus gets with him, the more Rowan seems to love it. I have decided that if the following keeps them both happy, I am not going to stop it:

(I am, however, going to stop picturing the many, many times a day that I see Linus licking other areas of his own body. Ignorance is bliss.)

Be warned about the following photos. They are a little cheesy. And I never claimed to be a)a good photographer or b)the owner of a fancy camera. Also, don't tell anyone, but these were taken well after Christmas.

Remember the episode of The Office where Darryl asks Michael if he's wearing "lady pants"? I kind of ask myself that same thing about Rowan in these jeans. I'm pretty sure they are meant for boys. The lining of the pockets isn't a floral print or anything. Oh, well. Once again, we'll keep this between you and me.

Finalmente,

You know that feeling?

2010-01-11T19:10:00.002-06:00

You know. The one you get when you are running a little late for your doctor's appointment and you can't find your keys and you search the house like crazy and you get really frustrated because you know there is no POSSIBLE WAY they would be in the couch cushions because you never have your keys on the couch but you check anyway because you have literally looked everywhere else and you really want to swear but your baby is listening and you have never been so annoyed at yourself for losing something and you open the closet door and find them sticking out of your coat pocket except it's not the coat you wore to church yesterday (because you're already wearing that and you've checked those pockets five times), instead it's the coat you threw on AFTER church when your baby had been screaming and resisting a much needed nap for forty minutes and you got so rattled by it that you told your husband "I HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!!!!!!!" and ran out to your car even though you knew you had no place to go so you just sat in the vehicle for fifteen minutes and ranted to your friend Kristin on the phone about how terribly frustrating your life is?

That's a really great feeling, no?

Snob

2010-01-08T18:14:00.003-06:00

On the recommendation of my auntie, I went here and found a recipe for these. They were phenomenal. And a festival of fiber, which we love around here. So you should try them. You won't regret it.

But decrease the chili powder by about half, unless you are an insane person.

For your viewing pleasure,

2009-12-27T17:56:00.008-06:00

Paul Christmas 2009.

Christmas Eve family picture:
Christmas Eve family picture with vomit:Pajamas:

Super awesome pajamas:Pajamas that accurately depict Rowan's "bedtime face" (well, minus the tears and snot):

Christmas morning: (Every other "gift opening" picture came out blurry. Boo.)Are you tired of seeing these Rowan and Daddy snuggling pictures? I'm not.

The day after Christmas. Lots of snow. Lots of playing with the gel window clings. I don't think any of them ended up in his mouth, because I'm a pretty awesome and responsible mom. (P.S. Look at his chubby little wrists. Do they make you want to die? Just me then? Oh...)

Hardy family Christmas morning breakfast (on December 26, minus Sarah, Matt, Mason, Alec, Rachel, Jeremiah, Ethan, Annalise, Liam, Emmeline, and Taylor- but the French toast was present, so that comforted me a little bit):

And a pooped baby that night:

We did a lot more, including talk on the phone to Taylor in Argentina (!!!!!!!!), spend time with Seth's family and my extended family, eat lots and lots of food, and watch Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince three times, but I continue to be a not-always-diligent photographer, so this is the best I can offer. Hope everyone had a merry Christmas!

If I still had a facebook account,

2009-12-23T16:33:00.002-06:00

my current status update would be something like:

"Jillian Paul just spent 45 minutes sitting in her car in front of her house so that her baby would keep sleeping in his car seat."

Deviating from my recent blogging course

2009-12-21T09:42:00.007-06:00

As in, I'm going to stop complaining about stuff for a while. (Like, I won't even mention how today, when my mother-in-law so kindly agreed to come over and entertain Row-dog while I do some much needed catching up on work stuff, I am unable to remote login to the work computer from home because the connection was lost at the office. I'd blame the weather, but I'm pretty sure it's the work of the universe that currently hates me.) But like I said, no complainy. I am concerned that people think I loathe my child, since all I've done lately is talk about how he doesn't sleep. So, today I will update you on some fun things you may or may not care to know about Rowan.

1) When he does sleep, he is pretty bloody adorable: 2) Speaking of our Christmas tree, he is in love with it. And Christmas lights in general. Lately, if he is losing his mind, I will turn off the lights in the living room and hold him by the tree while I sing Christmas songs. It calms him down right away. We usually stick to mellow religious ones ("Silent Night", "O Come All Ye Faithful", etc.), but I find that a properly timed "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" also really works. Sometimes the words become "Rowan Paul is throwing... a fit". And he still loves it.

3) He is a rolling fool. Back to tummy, tummy to back, heads flopping and slamming into the hard floor at my office; it's great. And I think we can now officially call him a "stomach sleeper", because that's how we find him about 75% of the time.

4) He kind of hates the Bumbo seat. Honestly. What baby hates the Bumbo? Mine, I guess. He's good in it for about 5-8 minutes, then there is thrashing of limbs and back arching. He tolerates sitting up much better when we prop him into the corner of the couch.

5) He had his first haircut last Sunday, courtesy of my mom. Sadly, I don't have pictures because they are all on her camera. I do have the proof that he really needed a haircut, though.

6) He's getting a little better at taking a pacifier. I think it is thanks to my superb training techniques. I read once that a basketball coach taught his team to shoot by using a super small hoop so that when they used a regular-sized one, it would seem so much easier. So, I think after forcing him to use two pacifiers at once, keeping one in his mouth will be no sweat.

7) He's pretty hilarious. The other day he was snuggled in my neck and he sort of blew a raspberry. I started cracking up. So did he, then he kept trying to do it again. I swear. It was awesome.

8) He's also still pretty ridiculously good-looking. See?

Mmmmmmmmmm......... Yummy, yummy baby.

Have you SEEN this????

2009-12-20T18:37:00.002-06:00

www.weheartmacandcheese.com

Because it has just confirmed my suspicions that mind-reading is possible.

Today has been, shall we say, less than stellar.

2009-12-16T21:05:00.003-06:00

Oy. I'm not sure when this blog headed in the direction of "the insane rantings and complaints of a very likely unstable new mom", but as we say in preschool, "You get what you get, and you don't throw a fit." So, buckle up and enjoy.

Today was nearly vomit-inducing. Rowan slept a total of about 1 hour and fifteen minutes all day. In fact, I'd say the time spent crying by him and myself was about twelve times the amount of time spent sleeping today. Super cool.

Seth came home and got a dose of verbal diarrhea from me ("Why does our baby hate me? Does he want me to get fired from my job? What am I going to do? I don't think I can handle this. How come he is so much more mellow when you are home? Doesn't he know I love him so much, even if I'm not looking at him every second of the day?"), and promptly told me to leave the house by myself. So off to Target I went to run a baby-free errand, which included picking up cream cheese and caramels for the cheesecake I signed up to bring to a dinner at church tomorrow evening.

Shortly after I got home, I got a phone call reminding me about said dinner. Thinking I was awesome for remembering what I had signed up to bring, I said, "You're calling to remind me that I'm bringing a dessert, right?" (Smug, smug, smug.) To which my very polite caller responded, "No, a salad." Then I threw a little fit on the phone. It may have included me saying something like, "Are you bloody kidding me? A salad? Why would I have signed up for a salad? Did I recently eat a really good salad somewhere??? A salad?" (Rude, rude, rude.) Then we hung up. Then I threw an even bigger fit to Seth. Tears. Sobbing. The words, "WHY have I become that person that I hate??!?!?!? The mom who is always late, can't keep anything straight, is terribly unorganized? WHY DID I THINK I SIGNED UP FOR A DESSERT???????????????" More sobbing. Hugging. Chest heaving. You get it.

So, that's where things stand right now. I am going to go to sleep now, and try to scrub the funk of this day off my brain by having good dreams. Then tomorrow, I am going to make a dessert, because my nasty attitude got me out of salad duty. Yipee.

Naptime today...

2009-12-16T12:08:00.004-06:00

has consisted of me putting Rowan down at nine o'clock and eleven o'clock, followed by forty-five minutes of him screaming his brains out (without ever actually falling asleep).

Not that this is much different from every other day.

**Addendum: One o'clock, a fifteen minute nap. FANtastic.**

**And another: Three o'clock, forty-five minutes. I suppose I should be really, really grateful. Instead, I am kind of just wondering whose kid this really is, because no one that came from Seth and me would hate sleeping this much.**

Thanksgiving and nudity.

2009-12-06T09:45:00.009-06:00

In addition to Rowan making a (hopefully) temporary transformation , some other things happened during November/early December. My sisters came into town, so we spent a lot of time at my mom's with lots of cute cousins. (But I will direct you to Sarah and Rachel's blogs, since I didn't get permission to post photos of their kids.) We did lots of the things that Grandmas love to do with their grand kids, like take baths: My mom made this hooded towel for my brother when he was a baby, and she reminded me that he used his until he was six years old. Now Rowan has a matching blue one that we use all the time at home.

We continued to spend Friday evenings at my parents' house while Seth had class. It has been so much fun, and even though I'm super excited for Seth to have his Fridays back starting next semester, I am going to miss our weekly scheduled Grandma and Grandpa time. Not so sure how much my mom and dad will miss Rowan's seven p.m. screamfests, though. (Just kidding. Luckily, those ended a few weeks ago.) Anyway, here is Rowan getting Grandma kisses:

He likes them a lot more than his facial expressions would suggest, trust me.

I finally got Seth to try the Moby Wrap. I know he wasn't too crazy about the not-so-manly color, so I keep trying to find out if he would actually wear it if I got him a black or gray one. So far, all he's said is, "I don't know... It just feels... DIFFERENT..." I think the word he is looking for is "comfortable". But if he is willing to let his pride get in the way of keeping his son happy and his back pain-free, then it's his loss.

On to Thanksgiving! We stayed at Seth's parents' house on Wednesday night. I brought a dessert. Turtle cheesecake. Yum yum. It was the first time I used our spring form pan. I was nervous, but all went well. Except that I killed our blender trying to chop the chocolate Teddy Grahams I used to make the crust. It stunk. (Like, literally. It was smoking and it smelled like burning hair.) But the cheesecake was so delicious that it almost made it worth losing the blender.

Big surprise that I took the time to photograph food on Thanksgiving, but I didn't get a single picture of our family. But here are a couple of Rowan and me. Thanks to my mom, my hair is not nearly as mulletastic as it was three weeks ago, so I am now willing to post photos of myself.

Rowan loves Seth. That's kind of a stupid statement, but he really does. Already, the face lights up when he sees him. Seth is very good at making him crack up.

Here he is with Grammy Paul. I think they are almost making the same face.

My sister Sarah taught me how to use the "macro" setting on our camera after I yelled at her for being able to take such fancy pictures on hers. I have been doing lots of practicing lately, but so far I haven't had great success:

And finally, some random cuties from the last few days. In the tub pictures, he is proudly modeling the "bath lovey" my Grandma gave him. It is so cute. It serves two very important purposes, keeping him warm and helping him stay nice and modest in the inevitable naked photos.

Thanks for sticking around for this looooooooong post. Now, seriously, go rest your eyes.

The Four Month Crazies

2009-12-03T21:55:00.003-06:00

I'm pretty sure that is the clinical term for what Rowan is experiencing right now. While weeks ago, I was happily thinking to myself, "Yes! He is starting to be more content just laying around looking at things for periods of time", and even days ago, I was thinking, "Excellent! He is showing interest in toys lately", I now find myself stressed out of my brain, because our baby has become one insanely fussy little crab apple. When I lay him down on the floor, he immediately begins whining. So I make silly faces at him. He laughs. Then I turn my head for ten seconds and he whines. And screams a bit. And then cries hysterically. So I pick him up, and he quiets down. And then cries until I switch him to a different position. Once I move him around, I get about three minutes of Content Baby until he's at it again. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Someone please reassure me that this happened to your baby, and it went away quickly. I have some suspicions that he might be teething; I know it's a little early, but he is awfully drooly and hand-chewy lately. He is gaining weight perfectly, so I know it's not a feeding issue. (Although he is a highly distractible nurser lately. Which is awesome and adorable, when it involves him making lovey eyes/goofy smiles at me, but also a little annoying when I need him to please please please just eat...) I thought maybe he had an ear infection, because last night he was pulling on his ear a bit, but not so much today. (I also read that some babies have jaw and ear pain when they are teething, so who knows what it even meant?) And I am am not entirely ruling out demon possession... I mean, it happened a few years ago on "Days of Our Lives", so it's feasible, I guess.

Because of this, I am holding off on the lengthy photo journal of our Thanksgiving happenings. I will do it as soon as my real son returns, and I can accomplish more in one day than doing office work for my aunt in fifteen second increments and folding one basket of laundry over the course of six hours.

Halloween

2009-11-01T10:12:00.008-06:00

This Halloween was pretty much in keeping with Paul family Halloween tradition. As in, we got less than twenty trick-or-treaters, I failed to come up with a clever costume for myself, the Cubs were no longer playing baseball, and I ate (and continue to eat) too much candy. (Even though I had grand plans to "not consume a single piece of candy this Halloween"-- someone should have told that to the forty-seven boxes of Milk Duds I ate today. Yes, I said "boxes", not "pieces", friends.)

One delightfully different aspect of the holiday this year:
Could you just eat his little face? I could. Like so many Milk Duds...

I have now accepted the fact that I will never (or at least not in the foreseeable future) take a photo of my son where both of his hands are steady. My mom even confirmed that he has busier limbs than any baby she's known.

Oh! Here's one! Complete with an ear like Sloth from "Goonies"...

While I chose to go to our church party as a "Halloween Grinch", Seth opted for this little number. Somehow, he left his mission in San Antonio with some guy's set of army fatigues. And, yes, he did try to convince me that I "have a thing for men in uniform". P.S. Look at Rowan's face here; I think it's very pirate-y:

Some day I'll like a picture of myself. And on that day, I will appear in your living room as a mirage, a la Princess Leia, informing you of that fact. You may be out for a joyride on one of your hovercrafts, but your robot maid will tell you that I stopped by.

And here is our baby after a serious sugar high. (Ooh- I actually really like this picture of myself. Fantastic.):

Later that night, we had some friends over for homemade pizza and a viewing of "Mr. Boogedy" and "Young Frankenstein". And not once did I have to give our dog Benadryl, so I would classify this Halloween as a success. Now bring on the pumpkin pie; I am very ready for Thanksgiving!!!

P.S. For you faithful blog readers (hi, mom), I'd like to inform you that our neighbors have their tree up. Yep, on November 1. They really like their beer, loud cars, and front yard shouting matches, but they equally like Christmas. It truly warms the heart...

Thank you, Mommy.

2009-10-24T21:30:00.008-05:00

Has it been two weeks? Oy. Well, I am pleased to be typing about some actual activities that have occurred in the last little while. First, I got a little crafty. Since Seth is at school from about six until ten on Fridays, I go to my parents' and hang out with them. And, as it pertains to the last three weeks, by "hang out" I mean "force my mom to (yet again) teach me how to sew because I have a project I want to do for which I am completely unqualified". So, Rowan is getting giant, and because we still swaddle him at sleepy time, I needed another blanket that would be large enough. (P.S. Susan and Kaye Lynn, if you are reading this, you should know that the two flannel ones you made for him are my FAVORITES... they are perfectly huge and I LOVE them! The only reason I needed another was that I tend to not change diapers at night, and more often than not, I have to throw a pee pee blanket into the hamper. Gross of me, huh?) Anyhow, I found this rather glorious fabric at Hobby Lobby: and some matching ribbon, which I sewed around the edges of some green and orange flannel (not realizing at the time how "Halloweeny" this blanket would become). Then I traced some bowls onto the fabric and cut out the circles and stuck 'em on the flannel with Steam a Seam. Then I sewed. And then my baby got crazy, so I fed him while my mom sewed. Then he calmed down, so I passed him off and sewed some more. And I (well, actually Rowan) ended up with this:

I am pleased. And very, very lucky to have such a talented and patient mother.

Some other stuff happened, too. My dear friend Teri and her family came into town for a marathon trip to Illinois. They slept on our new couches, and graciously lied about how comfortable they were. And I fooled them into thinking that I would be a good tour guide when they took a jaunt to the city. We pretty much walked around Millennium Park (but the face fountains weren't spitting- lame...) and drove around Lake Shore Drive. But we had Giordano's for lunch, so I think they were happy. I was. (Until two hours later when I thought I was going to start oozing cheese from every pore. And I swore to Teri that I'd never eat Giordano's again. And then Seth's friend Sam came in from California, and I ate it again. Welcome to me, people.)

He normally doesn't fall asleep in this, but I guess an hour and a half of being jostled about and having one's ears blasted with the noise of the el will do that.

I'm suddenly realizing that this is already a long post, and I still have quite a few more pictures. So, enough with sentences. Here we go.

Cheeks:

Photo seizures:

Morning hair:

Snuggles:Bumbo:

Hippie:

Drool:

The end.

An uneventful update.

2009-10-09T07:54:00.006-05:00

I have not blogged in a long time. There is a good reason for that. Aside from the usual "really busy" stuff- church, baby, school for Seth, work for both of us, neglecting of laundry, etc.- not much has been happening. We have, however, been taking lots of pictures. And they continue to come out slightly fuzzy, which is annoying.

Here's something exciting: we finally had Rowan's baby blessing. Nothing like putting that kind of thing off til your kid is two months old... As you can see, he got very fancy for the occasion:

The shirt has a collar, which is about as far as I am willing to take it these days. For one thing, he is gaining around two pounds a month, so I will certainly not spend lots of dollars on baby dress pants that he will wear for three weeks. Secondly, specifically having to do with baby blessings, I CANNOT ABIDE those creepy white satin suits people put their boys in. Say what you want about my kid's legwarmers (and many of you have... you know who you are), but I'd rather have him wear the most wildly inappropriate pair of babylegs to church than have his precious skin touch one of those hideous suits.

Isn't Seth handsome? He did a very good job with the blessing. Must have been all that coaching I did to make sure he said good stuff for our baby. (Just kidding. And totally waiting for the lightning bolt to strike me at any moment.)

In other news, Rowan hates tummy time.

How long did you spend looking at the two pictures above? That's about how long he gets tummy time every day. 'Cause I'm kind of a bad mom. I figure his neck is pretty strong anyway, considering that he whacks me in the cheek with his head hard enough to make me want to cry a few times a day.

Here he is in his preferred position, flat on his back clenching his fists like crazy:

And Seth continues to teach him the art of sleeping like the dead. And I continue to think it is the cutest thing ever:

Chubby cheeks, fuzzi bunz, wide-eyed pirate monkey babies.

2009-09-16T12:42:00.008-05:00

We have been having fun with Rowan lately. You know, reminding him that even though his last name is Paul, he is half Hardy, and he should remember his full-faced roots...
The face he is making below is pretty much a reflection of Seth's attitude about this outfit. Well, mostly about the hat. He thinks it's not tough or something? Oh, well. Despite my propensity to dress this kid in skulls, I can still appreciate a baby blue pajama with a matching teddy bear ear hat.

And perhaps this is why Seth doesn't take lots of pictures of me. Long live that non-jawline...

You see the vacuum in the background? Welcome to colic hour at the Paul house.

Here he is showing off his mother's new obsession. And showing the world that he just may have a career in underwear modeling.

P.S. These things are freakin' fabulous, in case you were wondering. If you and I are close, and you are pregnant or thinking of becoming pregnant, please expect me to give you a thousand reasons why you should use them. Because even though I CANNOT STAND other people telling me how to raise my child, I'm all about trying to convert others to MY way of doing things.

So, motherhood is basically bliss twenty-four hours a day. He is the best, smartest, most inquisitive and creative and well-behaved and curious and hilarious and active child ever to exist on the planet. And everything just comes so naturally for me, from nursing to comforting him to accepting that this Thursday, I may miss a giant portion of The Office and Community, because I will likely be doing lunges with a screaming baby in my arms.

Oopsy. That paragraph is for my phony baloney blog. What you should have read is this:

Things are going pretty well. He is a good baby, although I have no other kids to use as some sort of measuring stick (but he should get used to that- you know, me comparing my children to one another). He is very active, but I'll be honest- unless his constant movement is foreshadowing a career in professional sports that will help his mommy and daddy retire early, I'd sort of prefer a completely sedentary baby, at least for the first year or so... It would surely help me get more work done during the day. And it would save me the "embarrassed parent face" I have every week at church when he is the only one of the FIVE infant boys who seems to never be sleeping peacefully. Also, if he could not be hideously fussy EVERY TIME WE GO TO SOME ONE'S HOUSE FOR DINNER, that would be splendid. Oh, and he poops an awful lot. I read somewhere that at this point in his life, it would be completely acceptable and healthy if he only pooped every couple of days. Sign me up. Seriously, how do we arrange that?

All that being said, I sort of don't mind most of the frustrating stuff when he does this:

And, as luck would have it, he does that pretty frequently throughout the day. Good boy.

I leave you with what my sister Sarah called the "wide-eyed pirate monkey baby" picture:

Arrrrrgh!

Friday Time-Waster (that's TOTALLY not a waste of time)

2009-09-04T09:25:00.004-05:00

I'm going to take a break from gushing about my sweet little baby (who is still very cute and very sweet, by the way) to direct you all here:

http://www.celebuzz.com/sandlot-where-they-now-g131871i33319261/

If you want to be highly entertained/creeped out/disappointed/uplifted/baffled at how the kids in this movie, who all looked to be around the same age at the time, could have aged so completely differently, check out this link. (Seriously. The Great Hambino looks approximately five years older, while Timmy Timmons looks eerily similar to/as old as Cowboy John from the Real World Los Angeles. Odd.)

Anywho, enjoy! And watch the Sandlot as part of your weekend festivities, because it's awesome.

(P.S. The fact that I took the five minutes to post this greatly reduces the chances that my child will allow me to eat an actual breakfast. Just so you know what I sacrifice for you guys! :-)

One month of super cuteness. And some male pattern baldness.

2009-08-31T10:57:00.003-05:00

Today Rowan is five weeks old. Again, nuts. Time is flying. Last Thursday was his one month birthday; his gift was a trip to the pediatrician on Friday. He did well. He has gained two pounds, and when I hold him, I feel deep, deep sympathy for anyone who has ever had to actually deliver a ten pound baby. Oy. The doctor said he looks great. I agree.

Here. Proof that my last post wasn't a big lie. The picture below really highlights the wicked comb-over he is rockin' right now. I'll be honest, if I saw this hair on someone else's kid, I'd be like, "WHAT is happening there???" But on mine, I just think he looks like an adorable nursing home resident.

Still waiting for him to chub out so he can fit into the fuzzi bunz. This is over a onesie and a regular diaper, so clearly we have some time:

He takes his most gloriously long and peaceful naps in the Boppy. Probably because it feels nice and squishy like his mommy's stomach.

He is such a good boy. I am finally not freaking out when he cries for one or two hours at a time. Which, luckily, he doesn't do every single night. And since running the vacuum is one of the few things that can calm him down on a pretty regular basis, we now have cleaner floors than we ever did in our first three years of (child-free) marriage. Go figure.

Oh, great. I'm THAT parent already.

2009-08-23T09:52:00.002-05:00

I've known lots of them, working at a private preschool in a fairly wealthy town for five years.

I thought I wouldn't be one of them, hopefully ever, but especially not this early.

But I swear to you, my four-week-old is smiling at us, and not because he has gas.

At first we thought it was a fluke, but after trying and successfully getting reactions for an entire day, I am convinced the smiles are real.

I'm not telling you this to brag about how advanced he is; I am just excited to be entering this more rewarding phase of infant-raising.

And as soon as I can figure out how to stinking post videos on blogger, I will prove it to you all.

(See? I'm that stupid that I can't post a video. Clearly, being "advanced" is not in this kid's genes anyway.)

This blog isn't quite naked enough.

2009-08-19T20:33:00.004-05:00

We are excited to report that Rowan now fits in one more of his newborn onesies! Odd that a baby that was born weighing over eight pounds is still pretty much swimming in most of the clothes that claim to fit children much smaller than he is... Perhaps he just carries all his weight in his head? Actually, being the one who delivered him, I totally buy that. Well, anyway, this is good news for mom, because she no longer has to wash the same three onesies every time he poos out. (By the way, thanks again, Colleen. If it weren't for you, our kid would have spent his first three weeks of life completely nude.) Doesn't he look good in blue?

I am getting a bit disgruntled over the absence of mommy-baby pictures. Not that I'm in any hurry to have you all view the wicked double chin I'm working on, but for crying out loud, we need some proof that I helped raise him. On second thought, considering that most of the time I spend with him involves me semi-topless, I guess I won't cry too much over the lack of photo documentation.

Rowan reminds you all to fight the power:

I am afraid he is losing some of his hair. Bring on the power alleys for the next couple of months, I guess.

Another blurry one, but I think this really shows he is my son. Most people say how much he looks like Seth, but his face in this picture looks almost identical to every chubby "napping" photo Seth has ever taken of me.

I'm already running out of semi-clever titles.

2009-08-17T09:43:00.006-05:00

Because, let's be honest, how many ways can you possibly come up with to say "Here's my cute baby"?

So, here's my cute (three week old!!!) baby:

He really loves to move his head. Like, a lot. So many of our photos look like he is mid-seizure.

And he really likes to sleep with Daddy. See above. And below.

And this is in the running for my favorite picture taken of him yet. Even though, once again, the quality of the image is not the best.

That is all.

While the baby sleeps...

2009-08-07T10:12:00.006-05:00

I post pictures of him. Never mind that our fridge is stuffed full of rubbermaids containing potentially moldy food. (And, consequently, our cupboard is empty of rubbermaids.) And never mind that the floor on which I sometimes change the stinky pants of my infant son hasn't been vacuumed since his birth. Bragging about his cuteness to the world of blog is more important. (P.S. I was very productive today, I'll have you know. I bathed Rowan, took him to the pediatrician, showered, and filled out the forms to order his birth certificate.)

I can't wait until these are actual REAL smiles, but they'll do for now.

Has anyone read the book "Frog and Toad Are Friends"? For some reason, the picture below reminds me of it. But I really don't know why, and I don't own the book myself, so I'm going to have to do some research at the library someday soon. Anyway, here he is (in his Linus onesie from my lovely friend Colleen) looking like Frog. Or Toad. Or something.

And I am in love with this, because it allows me to simultaneously snuggle my baby AND eat ice cream. (That's not a wretchedly hairy armpit; it's a shadow. I think. Actually, no, it could be a wretchedly hairy armpit... Whatever. I just gave birth. You're lucky I even remembered to wear pants for the picture.)

Something's up with our camera. All the pictures look fuzzy lately. Seth will have to check that out. Also, I am going to have to find someone with a good camera and a brilliant eye to take some fancy pictures of him. So even though it's not an awesome picture, I still love this. His hair gets so messy on that side when he sleeps. And I love the shadow of his nose on the bed.

Rowan wishes you all a lovely weekend!

Seriously? A week?

2009-08-03T08:42:00.003-05:00

Our baby is one week old today! I really can't believe that a week ago I was already done having him. (The terrible flashbacks have mostly subsided, in case you were wondering.)

Things are going very well, except that Seth had to go back to work today. I have been worrying about this day basically since we left the hospital, because he is such a HUGE help and so good with Rowan. But so far so good. I have at least mastered nursing well enough that I can hold my own cup of water to take a drink while Rowan eats.

Rowan has already reached some major milestones in his short week here:

1) His cord stump fell off yesterday. I like to think it was his sheer will that caused it to come off fairly quickly. I'm sure he recognized how uncomfortable and nervous it made me, so I think he forced it off.

2) His poop is wonderful, could be the photo on Wikipedia to demonstrate "seedy, mustard-like". It is also very frequent. (And, no, we're not using the cloth diapers yet. For one, they are kind of huge for him right now. And secondly, I think I've earned a few weeks of lazy-changing, earth-polluting, baby care.)

3) He has caused Linus to have diarrhea, speaking of poop. So far it's all been outside. And since I'm on strict orders from Seth to "not do ANYTHING around the house" these next few days, even if he did do it on the carpet, I wouldn't be allowed to clean it up. Right?

4) He must have some sort of "unsolicited parenting advice repellent" coming out of his pores, because we have really not received much at all. It is pretty glorious. (P.S. Mom and sisters, you don't count. I want your advice.)

That's about it. We love him. I know people say that after two weeks babies show you how hard they are really going to be. We are halfway there, I guess. Hopefully, he will continue to be the mellow, non-fussy variety of baby. I think it would be best for everyone, including his potential future siblings, whose existence hinges on the experience we have with #1.

Well, the bouncy castle and seven-tiered cake will be arriving soon for his one-week birthday party, so I better be off! Enjoy some more photos:

He can't always sport the mowhawk. Sometimes he just wants to have investment banker hair.

Note the leaking milk mouth. This is many, many minutes after nursing and many, many burps later, too. He likes to store it in his cheeks to maximize his drooling opportunities.

I could take six thousand of these and not get tired of them.

Thumb sucking. Wonder which parent he inherited that from? It's not like his mom did it until she was about twelve...

The first non-hospital family picture. (Translation: My butt is not hanging out in the back.)

Happy birthday, baby!!!

I'm told that everyone enjoys a good birth story.

2009-07-30T20:13:00.003-05:00

Right? Well, if you don't, skip this entire post.

Here's how it went down. And out. :-)

Sunday night around 9:15 I was on the phone with my friend Kristin (as usual), and my water broke. You can figure out for yourself how I discovered that. So I hung up with her, called Seth in to let him know, and called the answering service for my doctor. Remember how there is one doctor in the practice of whom I am absolutely not a fan? Well, since I have the world's best luck, he was the one on call that night. As soon as they told me they were going to page him to call me back, I hung up the phone and started crying. I told Seth I was so scared to have this doctor. He began doing what has become his full-time job since that evening-- reassuring me that everything was going to be fine. So Dr. calls me back and I tell him what happened, thinking maybe he'd say wait a little while to go to the hospital until regular contractions started (they hadn't at all). He said, "Get to labor and delivery." I said, "Oh, okay. I just didn't know, since I haven't even been having real contractions yet." He says, "You're water broke, you need to get to labor and delivery. You're going to have the baby." REALLY politely, as you should by now be able to imagine.

So we got to the hospital around 11:00 and they checked me. I was at 5 cm, which made me very happy, considering the last week of crap and no progress. I was worried that they were going to want to start me on pitocin right away, rather than wait a while and let me go into labor naturally. I told the nurse that, and let her know that I was not very comfortable with my doctor. She said they could try not to have him around until the last minute, but that he would likely want to start pitocin soon.

We checked into my labor and delivery room and met the nurse I would have. She was WONDERFUL, and reassured me that she would do her best to follow the birth plan, and specifically to keep my doctor from interfering unnecessarily. My mom and Seth went to sleep around midnight, right about the time my contractions started. I tried to rest, but couldn't. I hung out for a while, getting through contractions-- unfortunately I couldn't use the shower because I had to have continuous monitoring since my water had broken. Around 3:00a.m., I woke Seth up and told him I needed help getting through contractions. He was great. I had nothing but back labor, which I was so scared about, because everyone made it sound so awful. But as long as Seth put a hot pad on my back and pushed with all of his freaking might, I was good. I didn't have a single "regular" contraction, like the crampy kind you read about. To tell you the truth, I would take nothing but back labor any day over the other kind, because it was very, very manageable. Around 4:00 I asked when she was going to check me; she said she was planning on waiting until 5:00, but that we could do it sooner. So a little while later she checked and I was 8cm. I was very excited, happy to know that I had reached beyond the point of even getting an effective epidural, and thrilled that it was not very hard to get to 8. (Seriously, I think I had freakishly easy contractions, because I am not that tough.)

Very shortly after that, I started to feel the urge to push. She checked and I was at 9cm, and she said I could start anytime it began to be unbearable. So at 5:30 they had my mom come in to help Seth with the leg holding, and I pushed for about 40 minutes. I'll be honest; the pushing was WAYYYYYYYY worse than I had expected. The same way I was relieved to be at the "too late to turn back and get an epidural" stage, I was scared out of my mind knowing I HAD to push this kid out and there was no going back. I said to the nurse, "I know I'm not even close because the doctor isn't even here yet!" She said, "He is. He's right out in the hall, but we're waiting til the last minute to get him." Before they finally did get him, the nurse said, "Now, it's going to get hectic when he comes in. You need to make sure you tell him what you want and don't want. Let him know." I knew I couldn't, so I told Seth to. When the doctor got in, he immediately started talking to the nurses about prepping me for a "local". (P.S. Have I mentioned that this guy LOOOOOOOOOOOVES to give episiotomies? He is, like, famous for them. He does 'em big, and he does 'em often. As in, pretty much all the time. Well, since I am not a fan of having my sexual organ sliced open just so a doctor can get done with his work more quickly, I was pretty adamant that I didn't want one done unless it would be in the best interest of me and the baby.) So my mom says, "Seth, he's talking about an episiotomy. You need to say something." Seth was too distracted with me, so my mom politely but firmly said, "Doctor, she would like to avoid an episiotomy." Nothing. He just kept talking to the nurses. So she said it again. And he snapped, "Ma'am, I heard you the first time!!!" Holy awkward, in case you were wondering, sitting with all my goods exposed while my mom almost gets in a fight with my obstetrician...

Well, a couple pushes later things were getting super intense, and the doctor says in such a smug voice, "You'll push for another 20 minutes and the baby won't be out. I can do one little cut and he'll be here." I shouted, "FINE!!!!!" because I was just so done and so discouraged by his attitude. Thankfully, my mom and Seth just kept reminding me that I did not have to do what he said. I just laid there, not wanting to commit one way or another. So the doctor didn't make his stupid "little cut", and two or three contractions later, Rowan was out. Huh... Funny, it didn't FEEL like 20 minutes of pushing with no baby emerging, but I guess I've never been to medical school, so I wouldn't know... :-)

So, a baby coming out of your body is pretty much the strangest feeling ever, I'll just leave it at that.

Things were crazy after that. I felt so weak, and the doctor jamming his fist against my abdomen immediately after the delivery to get the placenta was less than pleasant. Later I found out that he cut the umbilical cord right away, and didn't even offer Seth the chance to do it. Not sure if that's the policy of those doctors, or if it's special only for patients who make them angry...

So, that's about everything. It was actually a great experience, despite the doctor. My nurse was so incredible, and Seth and my mom were so, so, so amazing. I am so grateful that I was able to do what I felt was best for me and Rowan, and that they helped me not get wimpy and just do what Dr. Crapface wanted.

That being said, I am TERRIFIED to ever do it again. :-)

And now I am going to take a nap.

2009-07-29T16:19:00.004-05:00

Don't have time/energy to give many details (rest assured, they're coming...), but I thought I'd share a massive number of photos with everyone. And since they are of a cute baby, I'm sure you won't mind, right?

Rowan Seth Paul
July 27, 2009
8 lbs. 2 oz.
20 1/2 inches
Pushing out babies sucks

I don't really want to talk about it,

2009-07-24T18:44:00.004-05:00

but at least you guys can't hear me crying as I tell you the latest.

Which is basically nothing, except that I have had most hideously painful and frustrating week of my life, topped off by a doctor's appointment that went a little something like this:

Dr. I Hate His Face: So, due date's right around the corner?
Me: Yep.
Dr. I Hate His Face: Well, let's see... (motioning for me to assume the position)
Me: (assuming the position) Yeah, um, I have been having REALLY intense back pain on my left side for a couple days...
Dr. I Hate His Face: (nodding very knowingly, but without an ounce of sympathy)
Me: Is it okay for me to use those icy hot patches on my back?
Dr. I Hate His Face: (barely even making eye contact, nodding) So, you're about one...two...yes, two centimeters. Baby is a little bit posterior. (reaching for my hand to yank me up from the table) So, you come back in a week, and if you haven't had the baby, we schedule the induction.
Me: Oh. Um. Oh...kay...
Dr. I Hate His Face: But I think you gonna go into labor next week.

[Exit Dr. I Hate His Face]
[Enter the many, many tears I try to withhold while I put my pants back on]

And, scene.

Here's the thing. I won't be induced. Unless they can offer me a LEGITIMATE medical reason for induction (not some myth like, "your baby is going to be too big" or "it's not 'safe' to go past 41 weeks"), I will not do it. So to have this jerkbag just say that, like it's not at all a matter I have a choice in, is not really sitting well with me.

Also, you'll note that this is the same man who so confidently told me LAST Friday, "You gonna go into labor next weekend". Thanks, pal. Although I totally don't trust you, and the only reason I am still attending your office is that my insurance company told me I couldn't switch at 33 weeks like I wanted to, I still am a naive first-time mother who, despite my better judgement, tends to get my hopes up a little when a medical "professional" tells me something.

I am feeling like a giant disappointment to everyone who asks me what's up on Babyfront. I am sad to have to tell them that my uncooperative uterus has made no progress, in spite of five nights of torture.

So next week I am finally seeing a different doctor in the group. I don't particularly like her, either, but she is not at all as pompous and gross as the guy, so I feel a little less intimidated by her, and a lot more inclined to give it to her about the induction issue. Until then, I am crossing my fingers that it I don't even make it to that point.

Aaaaaand, I'm still growing.

2009-07-20T22:00:00.003-05:00

Yeah, in case you all thought the fatness had come to a screeching halt...

All Quiet on the Uterine Front.

2009-07-18T15:56:00.003-05:00

Well, not technically, but I promised my sister I would use that title for the next blog post.

I had my 38 week appointment yesterday morning. It went well, I suppose. There are four doctors in the practice, and unfortunately, the one I am DREADING having in the delivery room is the one I've seen most often. He's a nice enough man, but he is VERY brief during visits and sort of seems to be the "I've seen/know it all" type. (Part of the reason I think I will definitely be riding the midwife train for Baby #2.) Anyhow, after the most pleasant and comfortable exam I have ever had in my life (no), he said I am two centimeters dilated. He then predicted that I will have this baby next weekend. Which is a rather bold statement, considering that next weekend consists of July 25th and 26th, and my due date is the 27th. Way to really put yourself out there, buddy...

(Side note: After my appointment I went and got a pedicure with a spa gift card I had. It was fine, but there was very minimal foot massaging, which is pretty much the only reason I used the stupid thing in the first place. Boo.)

So pretty much for the rest of the evening I felt crappy. We had the missionaries from church over for dinner, then cancelled our plans to play games at Seth's cousin's house because I was feeling so gross. Seth had to work super early this morning, so we went to bed early. And pretty much right after I realized he had taken an Ambien to help him get to sleep right away, I decided to embark on a glorious journey called "seven hours of false labor". It was everything I dreamed it would be, too. From the intense cramps and back pains (that didn't stop if I changed positions), to the total lack of quality sleep, to the realization that if this did, in fact, become so intense that I felt the need to go to the hospital, my husband would be absolutely no help to me for at least eight hours. I imagined myself calling my mom and saying, "I think I'm in labor, but can you come pick me up, because Seth is too high to drive right now?" Actually, that conversation probably isn't that uncommon in our neighborhood... Huh.

And now I am tired, even more crabby, and left wondering how many more times this will happen before Rowan stops screwing around and decides he wants to really join us out here. I am starting to understand why someone would choose the torture of being induced over waiting, and I am not even 40 weeks yet.

37 weeks. Blah blah blah.

2009-07-08T22:18:00.003-05:00

I really have nothing more to say. I am very large. My face, hands, and feet are very chubby. And, most recently, I cannot go more than about 30 hours without having tremendous emotional meltdowns. Last night I was crying to Seth about something completely irrational, then I was crying about the fact that I was crying about something so irrational, and he was trying to calm me down. He said, "Honey, it's okay. It's expected that you're going to be emotional. I mean, you're eight and a half months pregnant, your hemorrhoids are out of control..." Then I stopped crying and started laughing almost as hysterically. Never in my life have I been so pleased with someone using the wrong word for "hormones". Let me give thanks to those of you who are not constantly inquiring about the state of my cervix. All I can tell you is that it's there. Rest assured, it does exist. Beyond that, I really could care less until I am actually in labor. Just know that if you feel the need to ask about dilation, effacement, softening, and so forth, you may well get an earful about bloating, back pain, and Tucks pads. You've been warned.

The baby's room is getting closer to done! Just in time for him to... not even use it for the first few months... But here are some updated photos. I still have a few large Rubbermaid containers to find a new spot for (not bloody likely), and the curtain making is on hold until later in the summer, but I am excited nonetheless.

The dog picture is up, thanks to my husband, who is the best, most meticulous picture hanger I know. (Don't get all SIDS on me about the crib, people. I will take out the stuffed animals and soft bedding before use, I promise.)

And here is a project I did last night. Remember how I said I pretty much ganked others' ideas to come up with ways to decorate? Here's a prime example. Thanks to my sister for showing me that one girl's blog (which I won't post a link to; then you'll never know how much cuter hers are than mine) to give me this idea:

So, we are pretty much ready for this kid to get here. Aside from parenting skills, there's really not much more that we need in preparation for his arrival. (Can you get those at Target? Cause I've still got some credit there.)

Not suitable for public viewing

2009-06-30T20:18:00.003-05:00

... is how I have been feeling about myself/my appearance these days. I told my mom the other day that I feel like I am "obscenely pregnant". Like people look at me and they are afraid I am going to suddenly explode baby juices all over them or ask them to help me cut the umbilical cord or something. She said I was being ridiculous. I offer the following as proof that she was wrong:

Last night Seth and I went to Target to get a video camera. We were standing in an aisle discussing the potential purchase when a group of teenage boys walked past. Like typical teenagers, they were being obnoxious and loud. Like a self-absorbed pregnant woman, I was not so much listening to them. Actually, I should correct that. Like a woman who can barely stand the sight of anyone age 12-22, I was not so much listening to them. I did however notice that they were swearing loudly (one of the many reasons I feel okay about the statement I just made) and that the further away from us they got, the louder they were talking. Then I looked at Seth's face (slightly enraged) and replayed in my head the last thing they had said, which was, "WHAT??? WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU HAVE SEX???" "THAT'S WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU HAVE SEX!!!!" And I said, "They're talking about us, aren't they?" Seth nodded. He was clearly annoyed. I...... sort of lost it. I couldn't decide if I wanted to go punch them in their throats, cry, or yell back, "I wouldn't be too concerned with the consequences of having sex, considering that one of you looks like Pauly Shore circa 1993, one of you has a fatter gut than I do at eight months pregnant, and the other one is too unbearable to look at long enough for me to even come up with a nasty comment about." Instead, I walked with my husband to our destination, glancing at him every once in a while with pathetic puppy dog eyes and saying things like, "Seriously?" and "Am I that disgusting?" It was fantastic. I prayed extra hard that night that our boy will be completely nerdy and never, ever, ever do stupid crappy adolescent things. Ever. We'll see how that works out for me.

With that being said, I present to you, 36 weeks:

I took this myself, obviously. Seth is at work late. And frankly, I don't know that I would have allowed him to include my face even of he were home to be the photographer.

I'm just really, really done with pregnancy. I want my body back. I want to stop peeing all the time. I want to stop crying and imagining all the horrid things that could go wrong in this kid's life. I want to shave my legs in less than 20 minutes. I want to work out again. (Seriously, I do.) I want to not have to roll myself out of the front seat of my car. I want to wear the fantastic green shirt I got last fall. And I really, really, REALLY just want to hold our baby.

And in about 6 or 7 months, I want to dress him in this:

(Thank you to my $5.31 Macy's merchandise credit and to the 40% off rack in the infant section for brightening the day of a very hormonal, very tired pregnant woman.)

Insert "weiner" joke here.

2009-06-11T19:41:00.006-05:00

I find myself being a sort of unintentional stay-at-home not-mom-yet lately. I finished at the preschool last Wednesday (I'll give you a moment to say your "hallelujahs" for no more blog posts about that place...) and since then I have been working for my aunt. Eventually it will be about 25 hours a week, which is perfect, but right now it's a little less because there's not a ton I can do completely on my own yet. Anyhow, this means lots of free time for me. I am trying to be productive and not use it as a means for catching up on episodes of The Soup and bloggy time- wasting. Clearly, I'm succeeding rather marvelously. It does help to have a cute baby coming soon, whose bedroom I am very excited to finish. I have wanted to do this project for a while, and finally got around to taking my itty bitty dachshund silhouette picture to Kinko's and asking them to "enlarge the crap out of it, please" to make me a pattern for tracing. And here is the finished product:

(I am not really loving the legs. Because in the picture, the back ones were separated a bit and the front ones weren't- which is a completely reasonable stance for a dog, I know- it sort of makes him look not very well-proportioned. Do you think the baby will notice?)

The Linocerous seems a little skeptical of it, perhaps because I used dark brown paint instead of black like his real color. Sorry, pal, but you just don't fit the color scheme in Rowan's room.

I know it's nothing phenomenal, but we think it's cute. And I prefer something more original than the snooze-y pastel prints from Babies R Us and such. I will also be a big braggy brat and say that this is pretty much the only element of the decor that I am not just ganking from someone else's blog. I'm sure it's been done before, but for my purposes, the idea was conceived entirely by my buddy Kim and me.

I have a fear that this kid will end up having a really severe allergy to dogs. And these paintings will serve no other purpose than to constantly remind him that his mommy doesn't love him enough to get rid of the stupid pet that causes him hives and anaphylaxis. Just kidding, Baby. We'd for sure get you an inhaler or some Benadryl or something.

A soon-to-be pile of poop.

2009-06-04T20:35:00.004-05:00

Yesterday the diapes arrived! We ordered twelve of the small size, the recommended number if you plan on doing laundry every other day- which is also recommended; I guess it wouldn't be a great idea to leave soiled drawers laying around for longer than that. They are pretty close to what I was expecting, although the outside material is a little more polyester-y than I imagined. That would be fine, if I didn't have the crustiest dry hand skin on the planet that likes to snag on those types of fabric. But I can get over that minor detail. See how clever? Lots of snaps to adjust the size, thus the "you should only go through two different sizes of diapers in your child's diaper-wearing career".

There is a lot of room in the pocket to stuff extra absorbent pads in if he's a total pee machine.

And my favorite purchase, the poo sprayer. If you come to our house anytime after July, be prepared to see this bad boy hooked up to our toilet tank. And if you are in need of some extra feminine hygiene, the package tells me that the "gentle" setting works wonders. Just sayin'.

When I opened the box and was holding these last night, I sort of had the feeling of, "Okay... We're really doing this... No going back now." Which I anticipate will be the same thoughts running through my head in about 8 weeks, times about a bazillion. (Actually, in the case of the diapers, we could go back; we'd just have to pay a 10% restocking fee. I don't know if hospitals give you that option with the baby. And I suppose I wouldn't take them up on it anyway.)

32, but 31

2009-05-31T10:33:00.005-05:00

Here we are, big fat baby and me. I am actually 32 weeks tomorrow, but I am too ugly right now to have Seth take an up-to-the-minute picture. Seth made the comment that he doesn't think I am growing much lately. Not so sure about that, but bless his heart. Lately, I am enjoying the hideously veiny stomach, chest, and arms of pregnancy. It's phenomenal, I tell you. My veins literally could not look more like thin garden hoses swirling around under the top layer of my skin. Lucky for me, they mostly come out at night and are not so visible in the daytime. Like little vampires.

I know this will get me plenty of "Oh, please; we'll see how long THAT lasts..." comments, but I am very excited to tell you that we just ordered our cloth diapers! I am so thrilled, not sure when they'll arrive, but there will definitely be pictures. Seth was even super excited to help me pick out the colors. (By "super excited" I mean, "he agreed to sit patiently by the computer with me as I said, 'Do you like this periwinkle? How many royal blue diapers do we want?' and stuff like that".) Oh, and for those of you who DO plan on sending me nasty and non-supportive comments, just know that I am sort of a fifteen year old. As in, when someone says I won't do something, that only makes me more resolved to follow through with it, even if I know in my heart it's not working out. (To support that statement, I'd direct your attention to every photo of me from high school, when I thought crazy baggy jeans and Goodwill t-shirts were an ideal wardrobe choice.) Oh, also, you're kind of a jerk.

Moving on, the following pictures are mostly for one Michelle B., whose delightful children gave us this awesome puffy dog vest. As much as I love it (and I really do, because hello? skulls?), I am sad to report that Linus is a little too broad in the chest to wear it. Maybe I should try it on.

Loving those volatile organic compounds.

2009-05-25T21:43:00.006-05:00

We painted the baby's room today! It was fun, and I am anticipating lots of sore muscles for the two of us tomorrow.

Here are a few "before" pictures. Ho hum...

Have I mentioned that it is an awfully tiny room? It is. Good thing babies are awfully tiny. Well, maybe not mine.

Here are some "during" pictures. Don't worry; I am not posting any of the ones that include my crack. (There are quite a few, believe me.)

No infant's bedroom is complete without Rock Band sitting on top of a storage cabinet, right? (P.S. You can't tell much in this picture, but Seth is wearing one of my favorite shirts of his. It includes every color of paint that you would find gracing the walls of our home.)

Usually I handle mostly taping and painting edges. Today we switched back and forth. I have to say, the rolling part of painting, while initially satisfying, is kind of a lot of work. My deceptively wimpy arms could barely handle it.

And here is the sort of finished product! We do not have the luxury of being very creative with the furniture arrangement, thus the assembly line of Ikea dressers you are viewing.

I'm not really on love with the way these pictures make the blue look. It's not so baby blue in real life. At least, I am hoping not. And please don't worry; when the time comes that the kiddo needs to sleep in this crib, we are hoping to have a mattress in it.

This is a little magnet board Kim made me. Cute, no?

And someday this glorious, $7-in-the-clearance-bin-at-Crate-and-Barrel-Outlet table cloth will be curtains! As soon as I remember how to sew. Or whenever the curtain nymphs sneak into my house while I'm asleep and decide to leave me a present. But I hear they've been on strike for a while now, so I'm not holding my breath.

Anyhow, that's that. I will be adding more to the room, so don't worry if this didn't quite satisfy your craving for all things Baby Paul Bedroom. Plenty more pictures to follow!

Now I am going to scrape the blue paint out from underneath my fingernails!

Taking a shower.

2009-05-13T18:54:00.010-05:00

Well, I really shouldn't complain about my job too much, considering that the women I am with every day are very, very thoughtful and crazy generous. My friends Jen and Kim threw me a shower last Friday (it was actually going to be last Tuesday, which ended up being "Swine Flu Day"; naturally no one was in a very shower-esque mood). It was a festival of delicious food, adorable baby stuff, and best of all, no one measured my stomach with toilet paper! Win, win, win.

Tilt your head, don't think about what a dummy I am for not rotating this picture when I put it on the computer, and then tell me if you've ever seen more adorable party plates?

Isn't that the best cake ever? Kim likes to call the baby "Little Row Row" a lot, so I told her I really would have enjoyed it if the cake said "Row, row, row your boat, gently down the birth canal", but I suppose her choice was more appropriate for a large group of women who don't talk about bodily functions as much as she and I do. And speaking of strange bodily functions.....

For those of you who have never seen my "Are-you-freaking-kidding-me-you-all-pitched-in-and-bought-our-stroller-and-car-seat" face, this is it.

This picture isn't very important, I just put it up to demonstrate that I sort of wear pretty whorish eye makeup... might be time to rethink my "daytime" look.
This is diaper bag #2 from Kim, because, as she put it, "You will HAVE to have a smaller one for when he's a little older and you don't have so much stuff to carry around!!!" As if I needed any legitimate reason to own multiple handbags to begin with. :-)

And this is perhaps my most favorite gift I received that day. During the party, a couple kids were having class on the other side of the room we were using. One sweet girl came over while I was eating and brought me this picture she had drawn. I know it's light, but I'm pretty sure it's a person with a "down" arrow coming out of her bottom/leg/feet area. So nice of her to illustrate for me the job I will have to do in the birthing room.

It was a whole lotta fun, and I am so so so thankful for such great friends at work who are truly spoiling this baby (and his mom) rotten.

P.S. This was not meant to be a braggy post; I am a little worried that it has ended up being very "Look at all my stuff!" However, given the nasty/complainy/crabby tone to many of my recent blogs, I figured this might be slightly more uplifting than hearing me whine about how much I can't stand my job yet again!

29 weeks, and ignore the bulging crotch.

2009-05-10T20:50:00.003-05:00

That is the unfortunate side effect of many types of maternity jeans- lots of room in the "front butt" area, as I like to call it. Having never been pregnant before, I don't know whether or not this extra pouch room will be useful to me in the next eleven weeks; right now, it's just making me have to constantly check (and obviously sometimes forget to check) that I don't have that fabulous "sock stuffed in the pants" look...

So I am now third trimester girl. I really can't complain about much of this pregnancy. Aside from weeks 6-12, everything else has been fairly delightful. I don't feel nearly as big as I actually am. When I see this picture, I can sort of understand why I get, "Oh!!!! Wow... Two and a half more months???" from people. (That still doesn't mean I like hearing it, though.) But honestly, I have been very comfortable for the most part. And ever since the 20 week ultrasound, the time has really flown by. Here's to hoping that continues through this sure-to-be-beastly-hot summer.

I have lots of other fun stuff to blog about, including assembly of baby furniture/nursery decoration and a wonderful surprise shower thrown by my excellent co-workers, but I don't have pictures of most of it yet, so that will have to wait.

I hope everyone had a great Mother's Day! I am now off to see if a twenty minute foot massage is the one part of Seth's gift to me that he just forgot to mention. Wish me luck.

File Under: "Yet another reason Jill is ecstatic to be leaving her current job in mere weeks"

2009-05-05T20:33:00.003-05:00

Ahhhh.... I almost have no words.

Who am I kidding? Of course I have words.

Late this morning we found out that a co-worker of mine who was out sick tested positive for the flu. They were doing further tests to make sure it wasn't THE flu. You know the one, right? Oh, you haven't heard of it yet? Just google "Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt Mexico"; that will tell you all you need to know.

So, they decided to close our school for this afternoon and all day tomorrow. Okay. I'll take a day and a half off. I assume we will be paid for these days, considering this is an emergency school closing over which we have no control, correct?

Oh... we only get paid if we come in all day tomorrow and help disinfect each classroom? Interesting...

First, let me congratulate you on being (hands-down) the most mind-blowingly cheap, greedy, and generally unethical establishment I've ever had the privilege of working for.

Second, let me commend you for the careful consideration you took in deciding not to hire a well-equipped, fully trained cleaning company to take care of this. It does seem more prudent to ask the teachers you employ to expose themselves to potential illness in an effort to save the expense you would incur by hiring said cleaning company.

Third, let me tell you that I would rather make myself an exfoliating mask made of equal parts playground sand and the contents of the soiled underpants I helped change today than come into your lousy building and help bleach toys and countertops.

Fourth, let me say that aside from the people with whom I work on a day to day basis and the kids I love, I will SO not miss you when I leave.

Kisses,
Jill

It doesn't mean I hate the baby, just the space he's occupying.

2009-04-28T21:49:00.003-05:00

I have come to the point in this pregnancy where it is no longer a great idea for me to wear my regular shirts. (If you are thinking this statement means that I am still wearing regular pants, good... go with that...) Actually, I probably should have stopped wearing non-maternity shirts long, long ago, but I have finally accepted that things don't look cool when they only cover half your belly, even with a tank top underneath. Also, I don't fancy stretching out every top I own just to get through the next three months.

And that is where you come in, formerly-pregnant blog readers.

All I want in the world is t-shirts. Solid colored, stretchy, long enough to cover my gut, t-shirts. (Preferably not crew neck, as I tend to look dude-ish in that style.) My sisters gave me lots of very delightful maternity clothes a while ago. And I'm thrilled with them. But I think it's pretty well-established that not only am I the sister who wears the most trashy eye makeup, but I'm also the sister who prefers to dress the skankiest. Which means that I'm okay with wearing a tight top every day that I can get away with it, because when else in your life do people tell you how great you look the fatter you get?

You would think finding maternity t-shirts that don't look like tents would be easy in 2009. Not for me. I have had no luck at Target, Baby Depot, Motherhood, H&M, Wal-Mart, TJ Maxx, Marshall's, or even Sears. Yep, Sears. They still exist.

So if anyone knows of somewhere I could purchase said item, please feel free share. And keep in mind that I find $30 completely unacceptable to spend on a single t-shirt. Thank you.

I'm not a shrinky-dink.

2009-04-21T18:20:00.005-05:00

The other day we went to Seth's parents' house for dinner. I was sitting next to his 16-year-old brother, Ben, who was daring enough to feel my belly when the baby kicked. (This is pretty impressive, considering that it took my own brother thinking about his two year move to Argentina to even go near my stomach.) Anyway, Ben asked me if my stomach hurt from stretching out so much. I said, "Yes, a ton. It feels like someone is just twisting my skin in opposite directions." He said, "Ow... But I bet it feels better once the baby is out." I said I assumed it would, that then things wouldn't be so tight anymore. Then he thought for a minute and goes, "So, wait... Does that mean that after the baby comes out... like, will the skin just be... hanging there?" Then he got a look on his face that was a delightful blend of confusion/revulsion. Sadly, I had to inform him that, yes, I would have pounds of flabby skin occupying my mid-section for quite a while post-baby.

I'm pretty sure he was horrified, and I know he now has absolutely no desire to touch/look at/think about my stomach once his nephew is on the earth. That makes two of us.

Bottoms up.

2009-04-15T21:45:00.004-05:00

Tomorrow morning I go for my glucose test. I will possibly find out that I have gestational diabetes, and perhaps that is why everyone keeps telling me how huge I am- I may be carrying a twelve pounder in here, you know?

It should tell you a little something about my dedication to my job lately when I say I am actually looking forward to drinking this:

only because it means I get to take the morning off work. (I'm told ingesting this is comparable to drinking one's own vomit.)

It should also tell you something about my dedication to this very important medical procedure when I tell you that despite my doctor's instructions to "consume nothing but water" in the twelve hours leading up to my 8:45 a.m. appointment, I just ate a chocolate chip pancake. Just because I felt like it. (By the way, Baby seems to be enjoying it, too. He is currently doing the Time Warp in my uterus.) So, worst case scenario, I fail this and have to schedule a three hour test to see if I really have gestational diabetes. Which just means I'd get to take another day off work!

I am going to look SO AWESOME!

2009-04-09T19:11:00.002-05:00

It's okay to post rants about work as long as I don't use people's names or tell you where I'm employed, right? Goody.

Every May, we have a little preschool graduation for our kids moving on to Kindergarten. Pretty standard practice, I think. Ours is always preceded by a little musical performance/"play" type of thing. Last year we did a preschooled-up version of "The Wizard of Oz". It was pretty cute, and I defy ANYONE to watch a bunch of five-year-olds sing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" without getting teary. (Well, I suppose someone like, say, Kim Jong Il would be able to handle it with dry eyes, but that is really neither here nor there...)

Anyway, today we had our first music class and found out that the kids will not be performing "The Wizard of Oz" this year; instead it will be "Stone Soup". Fair enough, although at least "Oz" has some sort of decent lessons to be learned-- you already had courage, brains, etc., you just needed to believe, blah, blah, blah...-- I'm not quite sure what the message of "Stone Soup" is. But whatevs.

Because, my friends, the real issue I take with this entire production is not the lack of an appropriate "moral to the story". No, I am wrapping my brain around the news that on the day of the performance (Read: Graduation Day. Read: The Last Time The Kids and Their Parents Will See Their Beloved Mrs. Paul and Will Undoubtedly Take Many, Many Photos of Her), all teachers are expected to dress AS PEASANTS. WITH THEIR HAIR IN PIGTAIL BRAIDS. IF SAID HAIR IS NOT LONG ENOUGH TO BE PIGTAIL BRAIDED, A YARN WIG WILL BE PROVIDED.

I didn't just tell you a lie. I promise.

I will not do it. I refuse. I am probably going to be pushing three bills by the time this pregnancy reaches the month of May. The very last thing I plan on doing is wearing some faux "peasant dress" I purchased at Goodwill with Pipi Longstocking hair. No. Mama will attend preschool graduation in a very cute, figure-flattering maternity dress, paired with some awesome but sensible heels and an equally awesome necklace made by her very talented sister, thank you very much. And considering that it will be my swan song at this particular place of employment, I will not worry about the repercussions. Oh, you're going to write me up? That's cool, this is my last day anyway. I'm off to have an incredibly cute baby and work from home in a few weeks, so I will opt not to be concerned about that...

So, yeah. I think now would be a great time to sing praises to the fact that I will be able to work for my aunt after the school year ends. And if for some reason that doesn't work out, I might see if Kim Jong is hiring. Even his uniform is better than Stone Soup couture.

At least he will be warm.

2009-04-08T19:35:00.014-05:00

This might be even worse than the cookbooks.

You see, before I was even pregnant, I spent lots of time in the Target baby section eyeing a couple very cute bedding accessories from their Dwell Studio line. When I found out I was having a baby, it was the perfect excuse to buy this:

So glorious, right? Beautiful colors that aren't too pastel-y, no Disney characters, somewhat modern without being obnoxious, and so soft you want to eat it... So I had our baby's first blanket, but I heard from many responsible mothers that babies need more than just one. That explains this:

And I shouldn't need to explain this, because it is stinking cute and it cost $3.74:

This one was from my co-worker:

This one was purchased after my sister told me I would need some stretchy knit blankets to wrap up the baby all womb-style:

These four were shower gifts:This was at my mom's house the other day. I asked whose it was and she said, "Oh, yours. It's from Susan." (a friend from church):

And even though I sort of promised Seth that I would stop buying baby blankets, did I really have any other choice when I walked into Home Goods today (with a gift card from my lovely sisters) and saw this? I think not.

Are you kidding me? For once since the sex of this kid was determined, I found a without-a-doubt, non-unisex item that is totally awesome. My hands were really tied, you see?

So he's not home from work yet, but I am pretty sure he is going to say something like, "Honestly? What can I do to put a stop to this?" But I will be quick to remind him that he has also contributed to the abundance of blankies. See one of my Christmas gifts:

(We also have a pink one, because when he bought them we didn't know what we were having. So whenever she comes, she'll be set in the Red Sox department, too.)

This weekend we are heading to Ikea to buy the bedroom furniture. Due to the lack of space in our tiny closets, we will be buying a wardrobe/armoire type of thing. We are deciding between two, one that is average amoire size, and one that takes up approximately 950 cubic feet. I was leaning toward option #1, but after counting the blankets, I am thinking we'll invest in the very beastly one. Then at least I can hide any more blankets I purchase from my devoted husband.

You asked for it, America.

2009-03-30T19:33:00.002-05:00

Well, maybe you didn't, but you should have. I now proudly present to you the Most Excellent Clip of Television Ever. Enjoy:

(Sarah, sorry to beat you to it. And Kristin, way to come through, buddy. Your mad googling skills are indeed a gift to society.)

http://vids.eonline.com/services/player/bcpid1396519019?bctid=17829396001

You're welcome.

My new obsession, and proof that I desperately need a tan.

2009-03-27T19:33:00.004-05:00

Wow. It's been a long time since a fat stomach picture. It will be interesting to compare this to five weeks ago, the last time we took one:Are you thinking, "Get yourself back to Myrtle Beach, woman"? I am, too. (Or at the very least, to the nearest Mystic Tan center. I'd settle for Lindsey Lohan skin at this point, just to avoid the yucky pastiness staring me in the face...)

Things are going well. Like I said last time, he's moving a ton. I heard a lot about later in pregnancy when the kid takes up basically the entire space from your throat to your pelvis and presses on your bladder, but I didn't expect it so early. It is strange to get the out-of-nowhere feeling that I am going to have the biggest pee of my life all over myself, then have it be gone a minute later when he moves away from that area. But I am still loving it for now.

And I didn't believe the people who told me I would get to a point where I loved buying baby clothes more than clothes for myself (especially having a boy; let me not get started on the complete bias there is in infant sections- it is like a 30:1 girl to boy clothing ratio), but I think the time has come. It began when my compulsive gift-giving co-worker friend Kim gave me this on Wednesday:

Look at the waistband- he will TOTALLY have his pants all Urkeled up to show it off:

Haha! I told Kim a long, long time ago that I would never spend lots of dollars on baby clothes, except that I must buy a few Small Paul items because, well...

And then I thought I would try my luck at the baby section of TJ Maxx that same day, and look what I found:

It's as if the universe wants this child to have the most awesome pajama collection this side of Hugh Hefner. (P.S. I described these in detail to Kristin before buying them, and she assured me that they are, in fact, unisex. Baby boys can wear pink gumball pants.)

And finally, this is the $5 reason that I am very much looking forward to Halloween this year:

Babies ahoy!

So there you go. I promise I will not post every delicious item of clothing I buy our son. But it really is a lot more fun shopping for him these days. Imagining his fat thighs squeezed into pants brings a smile to my face, whereas imagining mine gives me guilt about not stepping foot on a treadmill for five months.

A visit, a couple parties, and LOTS of emotional breakdowns.

2009-03-18T22:08:00.005-05:00

It has been a little crazy here, so not lots of time to post. Allow me to catch both of you up:

As I said, we had the 20 week ultrasound last Monday. In addition to finding out that it's a boy, the technician told us he seems to have a large torso. So, there's at least one common bond my son and I can share.

Two days after our appointment, I felt him move for the first time! I had been having weird feelings for a couple weeks that felt more like tightness from things stretching out, but this was the first time I knew it was Baby moving and I could feel it from the outside too. It is pretty bloody awesome, I'll be honest. So far he has some consistent "busy" times of day, so it's fun to be able to expect them. I will enjoy this while I can, because I'm sure it will get REAL old in a few weeks when it's keeping me up all night. (What I'm not loving right now is that the upper area of my torso is hurting like crazy. I'm guessing it's just from that area getting bigger than it has ever been; all the same, I do not enjoy feeling like the recipient of the World's Most Giant Indian Rugburn all day long. And no, lotion doesn't help. But thanks for the suggestion.)

My sister Sarah came into town from Texas last Wednesday. She was very nice to organize a baby shower with our family while she was here. It was a lot of fun; the ridiculous cuteness of everything helped to get me much more excited about the prospect of dressing a boy. (At least when he's still young enough to wear shirts with puppies on them.) I also got a glorious diaper bag from my friend Kim. I will start using it July 27 whether this kid is out by then or not, because it is just that beautiful. Oh, and after looking at the pictures, I realized that my face has, indeed, gotten pretty fat. Can't wait to see what the next 19 weeks will bring...

Finally, in good news that nonetheless makes me ridiculously sad, my brother left for his mission yesterday morning. He will be going to Salta, Argentina. I don't know how people with multiple brothers do this over and over again. I was nuts yesterday. I may or may not have cried so hard that morning that my voice was scratchy at work. I also may or may not have completely lost it the minute my husband came in from work that night. And finally, I may or may not have gotten a little teary when "Womanizer" (yes, that "Womanizer") came on the radio today and I realized I couldn't text him to have him turn it on and dance. I am going to go ahead and blame the hormones. Good thing I quite literally have a built-in excuse for being a complete wreck about this. Anyway, I really am so excited for him, and I know it will go by so quickly. Let's all look at how cute (and absurdly tall) he is, shall we?

Okay, time to go be a little sad again. Today my co-worker said, "Oh! You're going to have to do the same thing with your little boy someday, huh?" I'm glad she reminded me, as I can now spend the next 19 years preparing for another one of these. Cheers!

Someone must have known that the Paul house is already overloaded with estrogen.

2009-03-10T22:51:00.002-05:00

And perhaps that is why will be having a baby boy in 20 weeks.

Seth is insanely excited.

I am a little disappointed that the bedroom can't have beautiful, hand-painted, leafy flowers all over the walls. But aside from that minor flaw in my plans, I am thrilled.

I'm also comforted by these wise words, spoken to me a few weeks ago by a friend from church: "With a boy, you only have to worry about one wiener. With a girl, you have to worry about hundreds of them." By all means, bring on the boys.

"Your face isn't this fat in real life."

2009-02-25T20:14:00.002-06:00

Here's 18 weeks:

And here's why I love my husband more each day:

He was taking the picture last night, and putting up with my repeated requests for him to "do it over" until we got a semi-flattering shot (Oh, did you guys forget that I'm sort of vain and shallow? Whoopsy...). I looked at this one and decided it was okay, then he looked at it and said, "I don't like these pictures!" I said, "Why?" He said, "Because they make your face look fatter than it ever is in real life." Now, I think many women might take offense to that. Not me. Because bless my husband's heart (and his eyes that are clearly blinded by love) if he truly thinks I am not packing as much double chin as this photo would otherwise indicate! (P.S. I am. And then some, because you'll notice I am cleverly tilting my head to minimize it-- bet no one's ever thought of that genius move before.) It's like when he tells me that he thinks I look the same as I did on our wedding day. For a while I got annoyed by the fact that he was clearly patronizing me, but after almost three years I realize that he honestly believes he is telling the truth. So, my darling, thank you. And you are absolutely right. The camera is adding 20 pounds or so. Now if there were only a way to convince you that I really don't smell that bad after I eat a Fiber One bar...