Happy Regular Night!

Oh, I mean Happy New Year! It's a holiday, right? A reason for celebration? An excuse to sport the new clothes you got for Christmas, put on some lip gloss, and party with friends until 2 AM, when you drive home on high alert, being sure to avoid any drivers who seem to be unable to commit to a lane...

Well, instead of watching the ball drop, I plan to be in bed. Of course, I'll be up about an hour later to feed the punk. He likes to snack at 1 am. But before that, we will spend his awake time watching him make faces. It's one of our favorite pastimes. 

We call this one Duck Lips:

He also likes to do things with his hands, like give high fives.

If he has his hand in a fist and we stroke his skin, he'll slowly open up his hand so we can play with his long fingers. He's very grabby. When I went to cut the umbilical cord, he surprised me by reaching up and grabbing the scissors! He'll be a great pianist. Or maybe a cellist! Yeah, that's it, a cellist!

A New Kind of Holiday

This year, Christmas felt different. And I bet you're expecting me to say that it felt more magical, more exciting, more special with a baby in the house. Well, that's not exactly how it felt. It felt more... tedious. 

Maybe it's because the little man didn't get the memo that he was supposed to sleep in. Sleep deprivation does tend to hang a cloud over any occasion. (By sleep deprivation, I mean mine. Not his.) Or maybe it's because I underestimated the number of diapers the punk would go through, especially if the snowstorm forced us to stay the night in Salt Lake, and was therefore preoccupied with thoughts about my child's excrement instead of letting myself relax and enjoy the frivolity of the holiday. (We didn't have to spend the night, but it did take us 90 minutes to get home instead of 45.) But whatever the reason, I have a feeling Christmas - and other holidays, vacations, and friendly gatherings - will never be the same again. I am now a parent, and therefore, a responsible party. I no longer get to stuff my face and play with my siblings (and sibs-in-law) without wondering if my little dude is hungry, messy, cold, or safe from the curious dog.

Interesting how life changes in an instant. Before getting married, I vowed to never become a boring fuddy-duddy who goes to bed early - or worse - stays in on the weekends! And before having a child, I wondered why parents tend to plan their entire lives around their kids. As in, "We had better take off. Junior absolutely must take his afternoon nap at three o'clock sharp." Aren't the parents in charge? The answer is no. The parents are not in charge. Parents exist only to serve their children. To make sure they are warm, safe, satiated, clean, and devoid of air in the digestive tract. And these things need the same amount of attention on Christmas as on any other day. 

I guess it's time for me to grow up.

Leopard Genes

Last year, I bravely ordered a pricey leopard print swim suit from Victoria's Secret. It was a one-piece, retro-fit suit. You know, kind of like how Marilyn Monroe wore hers. But when I put it on at home, I knew I just couldn't pull it off. There are certain times when it's okay to step outside one's comfort zone for fashion. Swim time is not one of them. So I sent it back.

I am now looking through some old photos of my grandparents, and look what I found! The first is a picture of my gorgeous Grandma Carter, and the second is a picture of my sassy Great-Grandma Bell.

It's no wonder why I was drawn to that swim suit! It's in my genes! Maybe if I would have had a gold arm bracelet and leopard peep-toes, I would have been able to pull it off... What do you think?

The Birds

I don't know where they came from or where they're going. I don't even know what they are. But they visited us in large quantities this morning. They swooped over and around us for hours! It was an Alfred Hitchcock experience. Or it would have been if we had ventured out into the snow. We were safe inside our warm abode.

Rub A Dub Dub

The little man doesn't enjoy bath time as much as his mama does.

Calvin Timothy

I have heard your call for pictures. Here are some photos from the hospital. I haven't taken many since returning home. The little dude seems to prefer eating, sleeping and pooping to smiling for the camera.

This is my cousin and BFF Brooke with her 2 kids and my Aunt Cindy. I included this one because I think it's funny that I accidentally focused on my pedicure instead of the peeps holding the baby.

Aunt Rachel: The Protector

My bros took a while to discuss how to transfer the baby from David to Michael.

The happiest grandma in the world

His long, wrinkly feet. Don't worry - they're not purple anymore.

He's Here!

Calvin made his grand entrance at 2:52 am this morning. He weighs 7 lbs. 7 oz. and is 19 inches long. I went from a 1 to a 10 in about 2 hours, and only had to push through 3 contractions. He's already proving to be a well-content baby, and Tim and I have to fight each other for cuddle time. I'm loving this. I will try to post some pictures in a day or two. I think he looks like his papa.

And by the way, the inventor of the epidural is my new best friend. Three cheers for modern medicine!

Less Boring Update

We've been told to go in at 7 pm, unless the hospital calls us before then. Maybe I'll just accidentally turn off my phone so they can't reach us if they try to call. Think that'll work?

This means we'll probably be pulling an all-nighter. Oh boy...

Boring Update

So far, it's been an uneventful day. We were scheduled to be induced at 6:30 am. It is now after 1:00 pm, and there's still no room for us at the inn.

Countdown...

I am going to the hospital tomorrow morning to be talked into giving birth (induced, if you will). As ready as I am to be done being pregnant, I think I'm going to need some coaxing tomorrow. Hopefully, that's where the drugs will come in. 

It reminds me of when I went skydiving with my good friend Jake during college. First, he had to talk me into agreeing to go with him in the first place. And then when we were up in the tin can they call a plane, I wouldn't have been able to bring myself to jump out the door without the mustachioed tandem guy strapped to my back, rolling me out the door. I'm thinking childbirth will be something like that.

For our last night as a couple sans offspring, I did what any perfect housewife would do. I made a roast turkey for my man.

Cheers!

Hairball in the Christmas Tree

This is Little Sis.

This is Little Sis's hair.

I shall now take you back to a special Christmas many years ago when said hair was violently eaten by a hungry Christmas tree. 

Little Sis was about 5 years old. She and her older brothers were having some fun in the front room. We must have been pretty bored because the entire family happened to be congregated in the front room, watching the fun. Each brother held an arm and a leg, and they were swinging Little Sis, "one, two, three!" and launching her onto the couch. It happened to be Christmastime, and the tree stood proudly in front of the window, across from the couch.

As the fun escalated, so did the pendulum's reach - Little Sis being the pendulum. The boys swung her one last time: "One... two... three!" And in one motion, Little Sis was flung onto the couch, the tree had inexplicably landed on top of her, and she was screaming her tiny head off! We thought the tree had just scraped her up a little bit, or that the ordeal had scared her. As we lifted the tree and put it back in its place, we noticed a substantial tuft of blonde hair sitting innocently on a branch. Sure enough, when we examined Little Sis, there was a nickel-size bald spot in the middle of her scalp.

We never miss the opportunity to warn Little Sis to stay away from rogue Christmas trees.

New Find Friday: CarolinaCottage on Etsy

Bonjour faithful readers! 'Tis the season to spend needless amounts of money on your loved ones, people you kind of like, and that weird cousin who you'd rather avoid for the rest of your life, but whose name you drew at Thanksgiving dinner.

But have you found yourself sneaking in purchases for yourself as well? I have! And I'm not ashamed. Look what I found on Etsy:

It's a 4-piece coaster set from CarolinaCottage. I never thought I'd be in the market for coasters. I'm just not that fancy. But, as an avid water drinker, I have found that my condensation-covered water bottle often leaves rings on select pieces of furniture around the house. So, as a new convert to the world of Etsy, I started searching for a coaster set that warms my soul. This one spoke to me; it was love at first click. It's simple and stylish, and it will add a little suh-um suh-um to a side table without distracting the eye from other important things in the room, like the TV.

What have you bought for yourself while Christmas shopping?

A Baby and The Bird

Brace yourself. Irritable 9-month pregnant lady typing...

During my first year at the University of Utah, I did not own a car. I was at the mercy of public transportation, and it wasn't pretty. Each day, I had to catch the bus in Taylorsville, take it to the Trax station in Murray, ride Trax downtown, and catch another bus up to the U. This took me an hour and a half each way, which meant 3 hours among Salt Lake's elite every day. You might be surprised how much Salt Lake's elite smells like B.O.

One day, I spent an extra-long time waiting at the bus stop at the end of my street; I must have missed my bus, and therefore, had to spend 30 minutes waiting for the next one. I was wearing this skirt from Express, still one of my favorite pieces: 

I had bought it for $40, which was a large purchase for a poor college student, but I loved it too much to pass it up. Anyway, as I waited, I heard someone honk at me. This was known to happen on occasion, and I chalked it up to looking extra nice that day. About 60 seconds later, someone else honked. "Wow," I thought. "I am on fire today!" Then another honk. And another! After 4 honks, I was no longer flattered - I was annoyed. Is that really how to impress a girl? Honk! Honk! They were coming every 2 minutes by now. By the 8th honk, I was completely fed up and pissed off, and I felt like a piece of meat. So for honk #9, I gave the driver the finger. Oh yes. Sweet little Mormon girl had had enough. I finally counted 11 honks and/or cat calls that morning. By the time I boarded the bus, I was so angry, I could have punched anyone in the face for looking at me the wrong way.

And now to the point of this story... The first time someone asked me if I'm excited about having this baby, I was touched. It was nice to know that someone was interested in my life. Momentous occasions like weddings, babies, and spelling bees tend to bring the masses together in celebration. Everyone is interested. Everyone is thrilled for the happy couple, the new parents, or the kid who can spell appogglatura. But here's the problem - everyone asks the same question: "Are you excited?"

Gah!

I find myself avoiding eye contact with people (who aren't really looking at my eyes anyway - they're gazing at the watermelon in my shirt) just so I don't have to answer the same question over and over again. I am tempted to send an email out at work with these three sentences:

I am due next week. Yes I am excited. Don't talk to me.

Like I said, the first time was nice. The 11th time may cause certain fingers to fly on their own.