I'm Back, but with sad tidings...

Wow.

It's been a year since I last logged on.

Really?

Time flies when you're not having fun.

I was hoping to start this blog again with my usual dry wit and snarky observations, but fate stepped in and said, "Nope! You'll write about something depressing and sad. If you don't like it, tough noogies."

So here goes.

Dave's dad, Jimmy, passed away last week. We've been very busy with funeral details, estate details, and just everyday details that can't be delayed or ignored, as tempted as we were to forget about everything else.

Even as I write this I can't believe he's really gone. And it's not as if we didn't have time to prepare ourselves for the worst. He was sick for two years, and in a nursing home for 1 1/2 years. You figure that should have given us plenty of time to prepare.

But here's the thing: Just because you are prepared for something doesn't mean you are ready for it.

I've known Jimmy for half my life. I just assumed he would always be there, worrying about us living in the 'sticks, calling us in when bad weather was headed our way to make sure we were safe. He just always seemed to be a constant in our lives, an anchor, a person we could always call about home repairs questions, car repairs questions, or just to call and say hi.

We don't have that anymore.

Yes, I'm sad. We lived next door to Dave's parents for 5 years. In that time, he was always very generous, willing to help with anything, always greeted me with a smile and a bright, "Hey, Kath." I'm starting to realize I won't be hearing that greeting anymore, and it stinks.

I know I should be grateful that he's no longer in pain, a fact of life he dealt with for over 2 years. He's no longer forced to endure life from a nursing home bed, a situation he hated and would have avoided at all costs, had the choice been his to make. He couldn't speak, couldn't eat, and could only communicate with blinks and hand signals from one hand. It's not a quality of life he wanted.

I should be grateful that I had 17 years with him, to know him, to love him, to appreciate all his help, guidance, and support.

I should be.

But I'm not.

Instead, I find myself angry.

Angry that my daughter will never know her grandfather. Angry that she never had any real time with him, because all her visits were confined to running around outside the nursing home, while he sat nearby in a wheelchair . Angry that she will never go fishing with him, never enjoy the park with him, never be spoiled rotten by him. She will never hear his stories about winters in Indiana, about how he tricked her dad and her uncles by pretending to be Santa on the roof.

Angry that he never really got to hold her, love her, or spend quality time with her.

It's an odd feeling, being so angry at something I can't change or control.

I suppose it'll get easier as time goes by. I suppose we'll keep his memory alive by telling her the stories he himself would have told her.

I won't like it.

But I'll do it, for my daughter's sake, because she deserves to have good memories of him too, even if they're only in story-form.

Time Flies When You're Changing Diapers

I know... I know. It's been a LONG while since my last post. I could give you so many excuses for why I haven't been posting: I've been insanely busy trying to keep my 8-month-old fed, clothed, clean-diapered and entertained. Seriously -- who knew such a small person could demand so much of your time, energy and sanity?!?!?! : )

Perhaps I'll just use the standard excuse that has worked for so many schoolchildren for so many generations -- the dog ate my computer.

Really, though, my main excuse is that I got a new computer (laptop) and didn't transfer over the Favorites links, and I was entirely too lazy to remember any important details (userid and password) pertaining to the blog, so I kept putting off any updates. Well, tonight I finally found where I had written down those details. So, voila! Here we are again.

Life has been hectic, for sure. My daughter (aka my little nomad) is very much an on-the-go child. She is not happy unless she is in the car traveling during the day. So this means most everything else has taken a secondary importance, because, as those of you who are parents can attest, whatever works to keep her happy and quiet, you do it. Thankfully, as she gets older, she is starting to get content staying home for longer periods, and seems happy with 2 hours treks versus the old 6 hour treks. This means we can start getting some things done around the house which are LONG overdue. The list is too big to get into detail here, but let's just say that I purposefully have not had company over since Christmas because of my lack of attention to those home details. I have to believe that a messy house signifies that a happy child lives there. I have to believe it or I will, possibly, go insane.

Miss Kaylee is now crawling backwards, but lays on her stomach and rolls herself forward. She is learning the fine art of eating solid foods, and she is learning sign language with the help of Baby Einstein videos. She knows the signs for mommy, daddy, milk, sleep, and cereal. And let's face it -- that's pretty much her life right now. With the help of her bouncy chair, she is working towards propelling herself into the Milky Way. She has two teeth on top and two teeth on the bottom, and will strip the skin off your finger if you are brave/dumb enough to stick a finger in her mouth.

All in all, she's a healthy and happy little girl.

Where does the time go?

I can't believe I haven't posted anything in so long.

Time just seems to be slipping away from me, and the tighter I try to keep hold, the faster it slips away.

We've been a busy little family the last few weeks. Miss Kaylee is now in the throes of teething woes, and we're trying everything under the sun to help alleviate the worst of her pains, but it looks like this is just something she'll have to outgrow. She won't touch teething rings. She hates the taste of Ora-Gel (but it does give some relief). The only thing she likes to knaw on is a stuffed animal Bunny with wide, flat plastic feet and hands (we've Bun-Bun, because right now it's the only thing keeping Big Dave and me sane.

We're also in the process of trying to get the house in order because come Christmas Day, we will be invaded by relatives. My brother, sis-in-law and niece and nephew will be here, as well as my mom and dad, so we'll have a full house for the holidays. Great for family togetherness, not so great for Big Dave and me because quite frankly, house cleaning has not been at the top of our priority list after a difficult pregnancy and the trials and tribulations of early parenthood. I'm trying to take it one room at a time, but with a teething infant, work, and tax season almost near, there's very little time left to devote to cleaning a toilet, let alone a whole room. Why can't I have the powers of Samantha from Bewitched? Just wiggle my nose, and the chores are done. Ya know what? That's my Christmas wish. Forget world peace and goodwill towards mankind. I want supernatural powers that will take care of the housework.

Are you listening, Santa?

Life's Little Speedbumps

Ever notice how you can't enjoy the good things in life without a little of the bad things thrown in for good measure?

Lately, it seems Big Dave and I have been encountering more of the bad than the good.

Big Dave's dad is not doing so well after his strokes and operation. He's still on a feeding tube, still cannot move without a wheelchair, and is in pain much of the time. Fortunately, we were able to get him into a good nursing home. Now we have the fun task of trying to get him onto Medicaid, because Medicare will run out in December. So we have been helping Dave's mom try to get the paperwork in order. This is proving much more difficult than previously thought. We have been trying to navigate through the Medicaid system, and it is filled with roadblocks, landmines, atomic warheads and potholes the size of Texas. When you can get ahold of a live Medicaid person to talk to, whatever they tell you may or may not be the right answer. The next person you talk to will tell you something completely different, and tell you the previous person doesn't know what they are talking about. More often than not, instead of getting answers, you get pushed right back to square one. And if you don't get the application perfect, you run a very high risk of getting denied or getting delayed in funding. In short, it's a bureaucratic nightmare. And it doesn't seem to end.

Even the lawyers don't seem to know the Medicaid rules. We have talked with elder law attorneys, estate planning lawyers, and lawyers specializing in Medicaid, and they are all telling us something different. It's enough to make you scream and beg the pencil pushers for mercy.

Where's the Me That Was?

I used to be a very independent person. Just ask anyone, and they'll tell you that I enjoyed being on my own, to do whatever I wished whenever I wished. I had strong opinions about most everything, and wasn't afraid to share them. Most issues were black and white to me. Things were either wrong or right.

Fast forward 15 years. I have been blessed with many things over the years - a loving husband, a healthy and happy daughter, and a home to call my own. I am thankful for these blessings a thousand times a day. But for a long time it has felt like something significant has been missing from my life, and I think it's this:

I feel less like myself now more than I ever have before.

Let me see if I can explain it.

I am now known as Dave's wife. I am also known as Kaylee's mom. Very rarely, if ever, am I known as just me. Just Kathy.

Don't get me wrong: I love being a wife and mother. But it's not all I am. There is so much more to me than diaper changes, bottle feedings, dishes and laundry. I'm not just about business meetings, bank conferences, and investments.

But the rest of me just seems to get buried underneath the day-to-day chaos that makes up life. I don't get "me" time. I don't get to make decisions by myself. I don't get to enjoy something that's just mine. For now, it's all shared with my family, and maybe that's as it should be.

But there' s a part of me that misses the old me. The Me who could make an instant decision. The Me who could give you an opinion and spout various facts to support that opinion. The Me who could get frustrated and lose her temper. The Me who was Just Me.

I'm wondering if there will ever come a time when I can reintroduce the Old Me to the New Me, and they will peacefully co-exist.

Or is the Old Me really gone forever, and I should just learn to move on?

Maybe You Can Explain To Me...

How a four-month-old can create more laundry than 2 adults.

How a baby can sleep through day-to-day noises such as a ringing phone, vacuum cleaner, and dog barking, but will awaken and cry out once Mom sits down to eat a meal.

Why no one ever tells you that baby dookie can be green, projectiled, and/or smell bad enough to make the dog run into the other room and rub his nose in the carpet for several minutes.

How a baby can fall asleep at 6pm, and sleep until 6am the following morning, and the diaper manages to hold the resulting backlog. No leaks. Impossible, you say? I call it a miracle.

How a baby can have 300 teething rings lying around the house, but still prefers to knaw on your hand or fingers to alleviate teething pains.

How a baby can poop on you, spit up on you, knaw on you, and head butt you (gaining control of those neck muscles is a tricky business), and yet you're still glad to see the little tyrant every morning.

If you know the answers, please let me know. You are waaaay smarter than I am.

I Get It

Many years ago, in a galaxy far, far away, when I was a teenager, my mother and I used to get into many arguments. Mostly they were about the fact that I wasn't allowed to do anything, and that she didn't trust me enough to let me go wherever I wanted with whomever I wanted whenever I wanted. In short, I thought she was extremely unreasonable. When I expressed my displeasure with her, and asked her why she was being so difficult, she would look at me with a weird expression, then say quietly, "You'll see. One day you'll be a parent, and you'll know why."

Well, after many years and 1 daughter later, I will say the words my mother has been longing to hear me say: I get it. I now understand.

I understand the overwhelming and complete love you feel for your child. You will do anything for her. The first time you hold her tiny hand and look into her trusting eyes, your primal instinct to protect and nurture her completely overwhelms you. You are now responsible for this tiny being, and it is a terrifying and humbling thought.

I understand the gut-wrenching, paralyzing fear. The fear that she will stop breathing in the middle of the night. That masked ninja terrorists will break into her nursery and steal her away. That she will be diagnosed with some horrible illness, and I will be powerless to make her better. It's a fear that never, never goes away.

I understand the primal urge to protect her. Everyone and everything is now a threat (real or imagined makes no difference). It's not that you don't want her to enjoy things and experience life. It's just that you have seen what people can sometimes do, and you vow to do whatever is necessary to keep those threats at bay. No threat is too small. You rely much more on your mom radar - and if someone doesn't "feel" right, if you have a "sense" about someone that you don't like, you follow it. When you're a parent, there is no such thing as a "bad" gut-feeling. You don't take chances with your child - ever.

And so, many years from now, when my daughter and I are arguing about her "freedom", about why I'm so insistant on meeting all her friends, and knowing where she's going and when she's coming home, I'm sure I'll be saying "One day, you'll see." And just like I did all those years ago, I'm sure she'll roll her eyes, sigh, and say, "Whatever."

And many years after that fateful day, she'll be writing her own "I Get It" blog. And revenge will be mine.

Guitar Hero Saga

As most of you know, my husband is a HUGE gamer. He's got every console (Playstation, XBox, Wii, etc.), and he's in the process of upgrading parts to his PC to better handle the newer games coming out during the holidays.

On a regular basis I am treated to a play by play narration on his latest gaming experience, the newest games coming out, or the latest and greatest upgrades for his various consoles.

Generally, I don't mind any of this. Games are his passion, and he has the right to enjoy them.

The problem is that he is constantly trying to convert me into being a big gamer, too. Now, I do play games, but most of the ones I play are adventure/hidden object/mysteries, etc. Basically, the low grade games that don't require a lot from my computer, or a lot of time from me.

Once Guitar Hero came out, he started lobbying for us to get it, so we would have something to play together. I took one look, and said no. I had no intention of spending any of my time trying to be a rock star. Let the teenagers have it, I said. I wanted no part of it.

Well, Big Dave kept up his campaign for months. He eventually bought one for his game room, where it has sat mostly untouched. I kept up my resistance, more as a matter of principle than anything else.

About a week ago we were at Walmart, as Big Dave was on the hunt for a PC game. I stayed in the car with Kaylee while he went inside. When he came out of the store, though, the box he carried was WAY larger than any PC game. He strolled up to the van with a big smile on his face. He opened the door and showed me the box, proudly proclaiming, "I bought something for you! I saw it and I automatically thought of you!"

It was the Guitar Hero set for the Wii, complete with guitar and game.

I was speechless. He bought it for me? Has he not been listening to me at ALL during the last few months? Did he think for some reason my continuous NO! really meant Yes?

I waited for him to explain.

"They were on sale - only $20 for the whole box! I thought what better time to get you to try it than now, when it was so cheap! I think once you try it, you'll like it."

Again, I was speechless. I knew perfectly well he didn't get it for me. He got it because (A) it WAS so cheap,and (B) he really likes playing things on the Wii.

But in the interest of marital harmony, I said no more. I agreed to try the game once, and if I didn't like it, for any reason, the matter would finally be put to rest. No more bothering me about trying the stupid game.

Once home, we set it up, and Big Dave handed me the guitar. He started me off on easy mode, and I chose three songs.

By the end of those three songs, I was hooked. Damn that game.

I can't get the songs out of my head, and I find myself trying to practice my guitar finger moves on flat surfaces like the dining room table. Damn that man.

Now my husband has been gloating (albeit quietly) around the house, singing the familiar phrase of "I told you so". Fortunately, he is too nice of a person to gloat too long or too much. But it's gloating nonetheless.

Fortunately, I know when to take my lumps when necessary. I've let him gloat, for now.

But the next time we go head to head on Guitar Hero, I plan on wiping the floor with him.

My Life So Far

Editors Note: The Innocent Bystander is taking the week off from blogging. Her daughter will be filling in for her.

Hello Everyone.

My name is Kaylee Savannah. I've only been in this world for a little over 3 months, so I'm relatively new at all of this, but I'm learning fast.

Many people have asked me how things have been going so far.

Well, I gotta tell ya, I'm enjoying myself. I have 2 people who cater to my every whim and need 24/7 (which include, but is not limited to, maid service, valet service, catering service, and bath service). Every time I go into town, I get all sorts of admiring glances and gentle pats on the head. People make a fuss over me wherever I go, and I love it.

I've gotten very curious about my surroundings, so much so that I don't like being confined to my car seat or stroller. I want to be out where I can see everyone and everything, where I don't miss an admiring glance or compliment. After all, I AM the star of the show.

It has been hard work, though, this experience called life. I've had to train two very inexperienced and slow-witted rookies (aka Mom and Dad) to respond to my needs and wants, and it's taken a while to get them into a fully cooperative state. At first they couldn't distinguish my hunger cries from my wet diaper cries from my gassy stomach cries. They would mix up the hunger cry with the diaper cry (and they don't sound anything alike!) They didn't know that you could change a diaper, then have to change another diaper just 5 minutes later. They weren't aware that I could create so much laundry. They had no idea that there is no such thing as nap time, and that I would only sleep when I was darn well ready to. Imagine that!
The rookies don't seem to be especially bright, but they are trying, and they sure seem to think the world of me. I think that with another few months of training, I'll have them right where I want them.

A few days ago I rolled over for the first time, but got caught up in the slats on my crib, and couldn't roll myself back, so I had to holler for Mom to come rescue me. She came right away, of course, and then I made her change me and get me a bottle. Then she sat down in the rocker chair and spent a long time talking and singing to me. I like it when Mom talks to me. It makes me feel like I'm part of something special. So to let her know she was doing a good job, I gave her a great big smile and a giggle. She seemed to like that, because she gave me a kiss and a hug, and told me how happy she was I was here. It was a great moment. So great, in fact, that I didn't even tell her I had to be changed again. She figured it out on her own. Eventually.

He Says, She Hears... She Says, He Hears...

Like most couples, Big Dave and I sometimes don't speak the same language.

For example, we are trying to decide on a new TV. Since Big Dave is the one who's in-the-know in the technology department, he has subjected me to long "discussions" about the benefits/disadvantages to various TVs.

He says, "Panasonic - VIERA 50" Class 1080p 600Hz Plasma HDTV with 3 HDMI outputs and built in HDTV tuner."

I hear, "..............TV...... tuner"

He says, "Should we go with Plasma, LCD or LCD LED?"

I hear, "..............................." Then I just stare at him with a blank look. I hope that will convince him to leave me out of it, as I know perfectly well any suggestion I make will be ignored by a man in the middle of "New TV Euphoria."

The tables are turned, however, when we are discussing financial matters. He usually leaves all the planning/investing up to me, but I do try to include him in the big decisions.

I say, "I know the markets are not really reliable right now, but maybe we should look at some mutual funds, ROTH IRAs and overseas CAP accounts in order to better diversify. What do you think?"

He hears, "....markets.... funds...."

He then says, "Yeah, I think we should open up a money market fund."

Again, I stare at him with a blank look.

In another example, my husband, like most men, is not very diligent when it comes to cleaning/organizing the house. Things can pile up very quickly, and he's perfectly content to let it pile up until (A) we can no longer enter the room or (B) we can no longer open the closet door. So I'll casually mention that something needs to be cleaned.

I say, "We really need to do something about the master closet. How about if you take a couple of minutes and sort through your clothes and get rid of the ones you don't wear anymore? I'll do the same for mine."

He hears, "............................."

The closet remains untouched 2 weeks later.

We may not speak the same language sometimes, but we usually know the most important things to say to one another. "I love you. I appreciate you. I worship the quicksand you walk on."

Because of that, life is good.

Trials and Tribulations

Ever have one of those weeks when everything seems to go wrong? That you can't seem to do anything fast enough or good enough?

If so, welcome to my world this week.

We've been trying to solve our daughter's gas problems by switching her to soy formula. It worked. No more gas. Unfortunately, soy caused her to be constipated. Bad for baby, REALLY bad for us. There is nothing sadder than a 2 month old's cry after she tries pushing out a hard poop. Once we figured out what the problem was, we switched her back to her old formula, only to have the gas return. So now we have to deal with about 3 hours of colic everyday, because poor Kaylee has such bad gas pains (and yes, she is on the "gassy" formula, but it doesn't seem to do a whole lot).

Then, we ran into a problem with our well, as we lost water pressure for the house. That meant no water coming into the house. We then discovered that our stored water was expired, and so had to make an emergency run for bottled water. The person who was left behind had to deal with prime-time colic all on their own. Needless to say, not a good evening.

Then we had to fight with our insurance company. They wanted to classify my emergency c-section as "elective surgery", which means they don't have to pay for it. So after many phone calls to doctors, insurance company, insurance broker, and hospital, we finally got that cleared up (fingers crossed). We hope.

I'm thinking of running away to join the circus. Anyone care to join me?

Have a Nice Day

Big Dave and I went shopping yesterday, to pick up a few items for the kid. (Those of you with children will understand what a chore it can be to load up the baby, baby supplies, stroller and various paraphanalia).

Upon reaching the checkout, the clerk asks for our phone number. I tell her we don't give out that information. Clerk gives me a funny look, then says, "Oh we don't sell the info or anything. We just use it to track where our customers come from, and we send you coupons and such for your future visits." Once again, I tell her we don't give out that information. Again, I get a funny look, as if the clerk is wanting to say, "For heaven's sake, just give me the phone number -- everyone else does. Why are you being so difficult?"

This has been one of my pet peeves for a long time. Within the last few years, it seems more and more stores are asking for information they have no business getting, whether it be a phone number, zip code, or email address.

And whenever I protest that they don't need the info, I'm usually given "the look", which generally translates into "This is the way business is done now. We need your info so we may better annoy you, bombard you with junk mail, and send you unwanted email. Please cooperate so we may make even more money by selling your information to our partners."

I cannot begin to tell you how many times I've been "reassured" by clerks that the info is never sold to anyone else, and yet how often it corresponds to an increase in unwanted mail by 3rd parties. Hmmm...

So our Standard Operating Procedure is now to deny any company any information they don't need to know. Meanwhile, I'll continue to get "the look", the sighs, the eye rolling, and other rude gestures from clerks.

I guess in today's corporate world, this is the new "Have a Nice Day."

The Totem Pole

Before our daughter was born, it was well known we had several pets, and our fellow townspeople always asked after them. The banks always gave Koda several dog treats (a small handful whenever he came with us on errands into town), the post office employees always asked after our feline roommates, and members of our exercise club always wanted to know how our "furry kids" were doing in spite of our role as "parents". Whenver my mother called, she would ask after the pets first. We were always an afterthought. Sad, but true.

So my husband and I started joking that we were definitely at the bottom rung of the totem pole, since we were obviously not the most popular inhabitants of our home.

Now that our daughter is here, the positions on the Totem Pole have once again shifted. Now, it goes from Kaylee, to Koda, to the cats, and finally, to us. We know our place in this world (albeit it's subterranean), and we have been resigned to the fact that in the eyes of most of the people we know, we will just never matter as much as the kid, the canine and the felines.

There is a bright side to this situation, though.

We can get any lower than we already are. There is some comfort in that.

Not much, but some.

Canine Loyalties

We've had our dog, Koda, for several years. We got him when he was just a tiny 8 week old puppy and could fit in the palm of your hand. During his puppy stage, we spent hours training him the basic commands, teaching him to hold "it" until he was outside, nurturing him, nursing him after his allergic reaction to his puppy shots, etc. In short, he was our baby, and we did everything we could to ensure his happiness and health.

As he grew up, we bought him the best (ie: expensive) dog food, as recommended by the vet. We made sure he had his yearly vet visits and shots. We spent a fortune on chew toys and bones, in an effort to save our furniture and shoes.

Somehow, as he grew up, he became a mommy's boy. He became completely loyal to me. He followed me around the house, always laid at my feet while I was working at the computer, always wanted to sit beside me on the couch. I figured that kind of loyalty would last a lifetime.

I was wrong.

As soon as our daughter came home from the hospital, Koda immediately took a shine to her. He alerts us to her cries (not that we can't hear her ourselves!), he lays across her nursery door, he licks her feet while we are feeding her. He has now become HER dog. He is fiercely protective of her. If she cries, he is right there, upset and wanting to comfort her. If she gurgles, he wants to sniff her from head to toe, to assure himself she is alright. If she sneezes, he curls up on the floor beside the chair and only gets up when we go to put her back in her crib.

I may have gained a daughter, but in the process I lost a dog, and I don't know how or why it happened.

There is a bright side to it all, though. He will be a 24/7 guardian for her. I know I will never have to worry about her because he will be right there with her, protecting her. They will become best friends.

As a Mom, the most rewarding part of it all for me will be the fact that my daughter will come to know unconditional love. She will know the joy that comes from loving an animal, and having that love returned ten-fold. She will be taught the value of being kind to all living things. And she will be blessed with constant companionship.

It doesn't get any better than that!

When are you going to...??

When I think back over the momentous occasions in my life, I discovered there have been too many times when I've heard the old "When are you going to..." by well-meaning but nosy people.

It seems that no matter what milestone I reached, it wasn't good enough. Reaching for the next one seemed to be the constant expectation from everyone around me.

• Headed for college? Choose a major before you choose a college. No, not THAT major.
• In college? Find a steady boyfriend. Don't want a steady boyfriend? What's wrong with you? You are nothing if you don't have a steady boyfriend.
• Have a boyfriend? Get married. Don't want to get married? How can you say that?! You are nothing without a husband.
• Getting married? You must have the big wedding. Don't want a big wedding? Sure you do! EVERYONE wants a big traditional wedding! It's tradition! Just do it.
• Now that you're married, have a kid. You must have a kid. Don't want to have a kid? Surely you jest. Every married couple should have a kid.
• Isn't pregnancy great? Isn't it a wonderous experience? No? Don't say that. How can you say that? Of course it's great! It can't be anything BUT great!
• Now you have a kid. When you are going to have another one? Because really your kid should have a sibling. Start thinking about having another kid.
• Isn't parenthood great? What do you mean no? Sure you are exhausted, sleep deprived, overwhelmed, and inexperienced, but it's still great. And don't you dare say otherwise.

And to be perfectly honest, I'm tired of it. I'm tired of having to explain my life choices. Tired of being made to feel like I'm less of a person because I haven't embraced the "traditional" ways of doing things. Tired of being asked questions about those choices, and not being able to tell the truth, because more often than not, people don't want to hear the truth. They want to hear the polite fiction behind the tradition.

I think the next time I get the question "When are you going to...", I'm going look them straight in the eye and dump toxic waste on them. Then I'll say, "I'll do it when you stop asking me dumb questions and leave me alone."

Enough is enough!

A Tale of Two Gizmos

Big Dave was taking out the trash the other day (note to self: garbage pail in baby's room needs to be emptied every day, or woe be unto the person who forgets). As he was putting the cans out by the roadside, he happened to notice two rabbits nearby. They hadn't seen him yet, so they went about their business of eating the tall grass near the well shed. He looked closer. One of the rabbits looked familiar. He inched his way over towards them. At this point, the rabbits noticed he was getting closer and became suspicious. Before they could run for the woods, Big Dave got a good look at one of them. He came running inside and announced, "I just saw Gizmo! She's right by the shed. It's got to be her! Quick, come outside and see for yourself!" So I followed him outside, but the rabbits were long gone. My husband insisted he saw Gizmo, and gave me a play-by-play of the sighting. According to him, she is much bigger now, looked healthy, and seemed to enjoy eating the wildflowers growing under the big oaks by the shed. I couldn't help but notice the sad look in his eyes. I suggested he may want to leave some veggie scraps by the shed, to try to draw her out of hiding and encourage her to stick around. But my husband said no, that she was wild now, and should find her own food. The catch in his voice was unmistakable. Over a year later, and he still misses that rabbit.
This morning I was taking out a dirty AC filter to add to our trash collection when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a couple of rabbits by the shed. Sure enough, when I got a closer look, I did see Gizmo (or maybe just one that looks like Gizmo). I stood still for a minute, just looking at her. There are few sights more peaceful than watching rabbits graze as the early morning sun rises over the oaks. Just before I went on my way, I spoke to her. "I hope you realize how much that man misses you. If it weren't for his high bid at the auction, you very well could have ended up in someone's stew pot, or been made into someone's winter coat. You could show more gratitude, you know."
The rabbits continued eating. They seemed to be unimpressed by my little speech.

I sighed. Another day had begun.

What No One Ever Tells You About Parenthood

1. I never thought I would be so happy to see someone poop (our daughter pooped for the first time while we were trying to give her a bath -- over a week after she was born).

2. Laundry is now a daily instead of a weekly chore. Who would've thought something so small could create so much mess?

3. Babies are psychic. They know when you are thinking about taking a nap, catching up on chores/paperwork or just taking a break. That's when they'll cry for no reason other than to keep you from doing anything constructive. Our daughter has become a master at this.

4. Meals become something to gulp down, rather than taste.

5. Everyone who volunteered to babysit/help before the baby was born disappears once the baby arrives.

6. People with no children are quick to tell you what you are doing wrong with your child. People with children are quick to tell you their baby horror stories. And everyone is quick to dismiss your feelings if you don't paint a rosy glowing picture of early parenthood.

7. You will never experience unconditional love like being up a 4 am with your newborn, convinced you will never sleep again, when your child looks at you, smiles, and grabs your finger. Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, nothing else matters. She is all that is good and pure and worthwhile in the world. She is the reason you were born. She is wonderful, frustrating, delightful, and maddening. And you realize - she is yours, forever.

Baby Pool

A good friend of ours has "suggested" (demanded, actually) that we start a baby pool, whereby everyone can submit their guesses as to when the baby will be born, weight, height, etc. So, we are now offically announcing the start of the "Welcome to the World, Baby Big!" contest. We're taking guesses on the following stats:

Sex of Baby
Weight of Baby
Height of Baby
Date of Birth
Time of Birth

The person(s) with the most correct guesses will get a mystery gift, as well as bragging rights. You can submit your guesses via email or comment on this blog. We'll announce the winner after the arrival of Baby Big

Baby Big in 4-D!

Yesterday we traveled to Tampa to have a 4-D sonogram done. We'd like to introduce you to the many faces of Baby Big (Week 35):

This is his/her "suckin' on a lemon" face, AKA grumpy pants

because apparently he/she didn't like being photographed.

"The Thinker". Probably trying to figure out a way to bust out of his/her tight space.


The Contortionist. Trying to itch his/her nose with the foot. We had a heck of a time
getting him/her to move the foot so we could get a good look at the face.

Hope you enjoy. Our next regular ultrasound is next week, so we'll post updates then.

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

Right now, if someone gave me the choice between a good night's sleep and having Big Dave, Big Dave would probably win out, but I would think long and hard about the choice first.

Baby Big has decided he/she will remain active all day and all night long, giving me no peace. If it's not the baby's constant movement keeping me up, it's the 3,000 trips to the bathroom, the 3-4 snack attacks in the middle of the night, or the soul-searing, gut wrenching heatburn.

When I finally drag myself out of bed in the morning, I am greeted by a smiling, well-rested Big Dave, who cheerfully asks me if I slept well. I attempt a snarl, a glare, some kind of facial expression to signify my displeasure, but all I can usually manage is a snort, followed by a glazed stare from under half raised eyelids.

The father of this child then smiles, hugs me, then says, "Baby Big giving you trouble again? Well, that's all part of the process, isn't it?"

Any man who can say that to a non-caffenated, sleep-deprived, swollen-footed, achy pregnant woman is a brave man. Smart, no. But brave indeed.