Kidisms

Being a verbose mom I cannot help but get tickled by those little kid verbal blunders that happen while they figure out the syntax of the English language. Hey, it's not an easy task but man is it a sweet and oftentimes funny one when I listen hard enough. Here's a couple of those kidisms from Grayson's today and yesterday that I can remember:

Counting: We were counting in a book and Grayson got to the teens (out of order but he got there!) and stopped briefly at sixteen realizing he didn't know what came next. Pausing to search his filing cabinet of numbers he blurts out, W-teen! I think a letter must've jumped into the number filing cabinet of his brain for a second. Ah, there's always Sesame Street to help sort these things out.

Middle Names: So we're outside playing tetherball and Sadie cannot keep from pouncing at the glory that is a tethered ball. Through our giggles at her attempts to catch this elusive blur I stopped to admonish her for playing (it would've ended up a deflated heap if she caught it). Grayson, who already has a love/hate with poor Sadie, jumped on the correctional bandwagon. He began hollering out, "Sadie James Sh-wigh-vah, NO! BAD DOG Sadie James Sh-wigh-va!" Sadie James Shriver...huh, and all this time I thought it was Maria.

Wordless Wednesday

In honor of Wordless Wednesday (and in totally copying the interview format that Dooce's husband had with their canine a couple of days ago...visit that here www.dooce.com) I give you today's interview with Grayson (Abby and not Sadie). Bed head and PJs for us all.

MommyDumb

Sometimes I insert foot...

Exhibit A-
Grayson: You're not my best friend any more.

Me: Oh no, then who is?

Grayson: Daddy and Abby and not Sadie

Me: Well then Not-Sadie and I will have to pack our belongings, grab a Gatoraid and join the ranks of the Survivor cast on TV.

Grayson: And TV. He's my best friend too.





Exhibit B-
Husband: We do alright, we just need to eat smaller portions and more vegetables.

Me: I'm not fat now because I overeat. I'm fat because I had a baby and I overate then.



Exhibit C-

Grayson: Do you want to play with me?

Me: Yes I do but let me do these dishes, feed Sadie, and pick up the living room first.

Grayson: So you don't want to play with me.



Message Received: Work can wait.







Exhibit D-

Me: Oh Abigail, what is the problem child? I've tried the Exersaucer, the jumper, outside, inside, your play gym, your favorite beach towel. Why are you fussing so? What is it that you need?

Abigail: wears a big wide juicy grin the second I lift her into my arms.

I get it, I'm sorry, sometimes I suck.

Some Things Stay the Same

This is our kitchen table and has been my kitchen table since the beginning of time. It is the very same one that once lived at 12607 Pentenville Road for over 35 years. It is a relic. This little piece of furniture holds decades of memories. It is where my mom and my uncle did their algebra homework and ate midnight snacks. It's where a 4 year old Erin and a 6 year old Eric ate Campbell's soup with big spoons after swimming at Robin Hood pool all afternoon. This is the very same table that now has claw marks all over it from Eric's dog, Radar and our dog, Sadie who both took to standing on it to look out the front window until their people came home. Since leaving Pentenville Road almost a decade ago, this piece of history has made several moves with me and in doing so has suffered like so many sturdy icons do. After its years of devotion and loyalty, we repayed her with a makeover. Andy sanded her down and gave her a fresh coat of stain and gloss until she winked at us from across the room- saucy little square. She should be packing up her leaves and running away to Raymour & Flanigans but the thought would never cross her mind. Poor thing has endured so many scratches and dings at the busy hands of Grayson that I am actually embarrassed to show her scarred nakedness to newcomers...friends understand. Unfortunately, she will have to wait a while longer for another makeover because I'm afraid a few more bumps and abrasions are on the way once Miss Abigail gets mobile.

I write today about this table because it symbolizes strength, peace, and sameness to me. It has weathered years of marriages, divorces, moves, and even some deaths. I will be taking our beloved kitchen table to yet another home when we move to Virginia in 8 weeks. It will be the one thing that has remained the same through all our series of changes along the way. I look forward to the day when Andy sands it down, washes its new belly and repaints it once again breathing new life into a very old but very dear friend. Some things can stay the same and I'm not going to pretend I don't love that.

The Poet

He's the one Pop-Pop calls The Professor. He's the one I call my "Diggy Boy" because I completely dig him just so much. And here's a little bitta how come.... Growing somewhat house-bored yesterday, Grayson laid himself on his back right next to me while I nursed Abby for the millionth time. Here he discovered running in the air. After a few minutes of this he says, "Look Mommy! My kick are feeting!" and they were. His little kicks were feeting a mile a minute and we both sat in awe to watch such a happy dance.

And then during lunch Sadie had a stare down with Grayson over a dinosaur shaped chicken nugget. Her chops were salivacious and even her nose was running. Grayson looks at her with empathy and says, "Mommy, Sadie needs a tissue. Her nose is crying."

And the best one of all came when he was sleep talking. After our usual rocking and singfest I put him down for bed and he says to me (before I utter a word) "I love you too, Mommy. I love you so much. Do you know where my red hammer go?" Sweet as Shakespeare, dark as Poe. That's my Diggy Boy.

April Udpate

April was a good month. We had the Pecors from MD come to visit for Easter weekend and everyone had a blast. Our neighbors and dear friends Marni & Vinny came over for our "Sunday Easter Ham" dinner on Saturday...which was a chicken roast. Unorthodox times two. Hey, I'm still shell-shocked from three months of straight baby crying from dawn til dusk. I'm just tickled the house didn't go up in flames that weekend.

















Aunt Christie baked this beautiful (and delicious) Easter Bunny cake that was sliced into w/a butcher's knife thanks to Uncle Eric. He's always a crowd pleaser. :) (even though someone here looks a little worried.) Grayson and his cousin Landon searched for Easter eggs inside (it was cold outside) which proved to be a good time for SuperBoy and ArgyleBunny.



















Miss Abigail was all dressed up in her Easter "bonnet."

And the shades are for her road trip to Va that she took w/Mommy & Daddy (while big brother enjoyed the day at home w/Nam&Pop). She was AMAZING the entire ride down to Va and back. Abby must've known her parents weren't up for any shaninagans that afternoon; we all had our game face on and FOUND A HOUSE that we loved and one that wasn't already taken. Less than a week later, we got approved for the rental and we'll be moving to Falls Church, Virginia by July 9. It's going to be one bittersweet move for all four of us (okay, five b/c Ninna loves her house, family, friends/neighbors too) b/c it's going to be so hard to move away from those we love here but the prize will be living closer to the ones we love there. At least it's not across the country (yahoooo, no New Orleans for us this time around, sorry Harry Connick), or worse yet, OUT of the country so we're happy and looking forward to the year ahead. Next task at hand? Garage sale this Sat. Anyone in need of a stuffed rocking Eeyore?

A Little Trip Down Memory Lane

An old find... I just unearthed it and laughed so hard my teeth hurt so wanted to share w/you! It's not Abby, it's Grayson between 4-6 mos. He was reacting to me whistling a song. Needless to say it was the last song I whistled for a very long time.

I am a saver. I get it from my grandma, Boompa. She would literally put four peas and three carrots in a small bowl and sweetly cocoon them in Saran Wrap to be added to tomorrow's dish. She would save other things too, like wildlife. Boompa spent her (very!) hard earned money not on herself but on the ASPCA, Humane Society, and other philanthropies dedicated to helping all things have a better life. I am not as generous with my time or money yet but I'm glad I did get the saving gene from my dear grandmother and here's why:

In an effort to cull large quantities of pure stuff boxed up in our basement I began with old notebooks from college. I chose a few dilapidated looking ones with corners curving toward the sun, no doubt looking for resurrection. They found it. Let me tell you how much I enjoyed going through the pages of those old notebooks! It was better than any VHS home video I could've come across. Evidently, when I was in my late teens and early twenties I felt the need to chronicle every dark emotion that coursed my veins. Evidently, I considered myself quite the tortured soul and oozed love, hate, and quirky through every single pore because the pages told me so. Up from those yellowing diaries sprang a girl who had a great vocabulary (what happens to post baby brains anyway?), a zest for the dramatic, and a flair for zinging people who never received the zing because the page was still there, in tact and never sent (thank goodness). I found old letters to the boyfriends, to the boys who never wanted to be my boyfriend (yeah, you know who you are, you unscathed lads), to the nobody in particular, to the cosmos, to the girls who ticked me off for looking at me sideways (told you, DRAmaTIC!). Thrown in for good measure were drippy poems or halfway melodies purporting my love for birds, trees, meadows and oh yes, my eternal love: chocolate. At least I had that one right.

I'm so glad I saved these writings because otherwise I'd never know. I'd never know how far I've come from being so ungainly serious. I'd never know how much more fun I am to be around nowadays in my delirious sleepless haze and uninhibited running around in my socks. Don't get me wrong, at one time I needed to be that girl, so serious and affected. I must have loved her solidarity and romantic view of the world. I must've admired her sense of fairness and equality. But my GAWD, did I really think I had it so rough? Did I really believe what I was writing? What I'd love to do is pitter patter back in time to visit that size 6 (yeah, I admit it now since I'm pretty much a double digit lady now!) beatnik flowy skirt girl and frap her upside her clueless little head. I'd love to show her these stretch marks, swollen fingers (still!), and silver strands to let her see how flawless her life really was. OH, and these chestnut sized circles under my eyes that no amount of vanishing cream can vanish? Yeah, they're from four YEARS of interrupted "sleep" and not hours spent VOLUNTARILY at some studio recording hours and hours of songs I tortured myself over while subsequently never taking the time to finish. And I cried tired then...have mercy.

In honor of my former self, I'm going to read and catalog each sorrow-filled notebook. I know for a fact I'm going to need a good laugh if I reach 83. The irony there is that by that time, I will not recognize the woman who took the time to organize these old notebooks but that's not important. What's important to me is that I saved myself, for all those years, through all those moves, and through each cardboard box cleansing. I'm glad I didn't throw me away. It would've been easy and even tempting to deep six 'em all but I'm happy I didn't. Maybe one day Grayson and/or Abby will come across these gems and identify with the self-love and self-loathing of a twenty-something and realize how human their mom really was. That she wasn't always the brainless idiot playing air drums in the living room for a cheap laugh. Nevertheless, I think it's good to save yourself from time to time... even if that means carrying a heavier box load into your next move. :)

Mantras

Make Faces

Take Time to Create Your Own Game

Rest When Tired

Slay Your Dragons...

...and protect those you love.

Think Hard

Stand Up for Yourself

Have Excellent Hygiene

And Smile Often!

My Village

I now understand Hillary Clinton like I never have before. She's right, it really does take a village. At the risk of boring you with more mommy drivel, I take the time tonight to remember some things lest I ever think I did all of this (any of this?) alone.

BK - "Before Kids" I was Miss I Will Do it Myself. I went away to a college my family never dreamed I would go to, thought seriously about getting a tattoo (whoa), paid rent to slumlords who are lucky OSHA never came a knockin', and rode a Harley. Okay, it was a vespa and I rode on the back of it but still...the point is I was a young girl who worked tons of odd jobs most of my young life while forcing myself to eat Egg Drop soup for weeks because I couldn't and wouldn't ask for help. This is not to say I didn't have slews of family and friends who pitched in despite my obstinance. I'd be fooling myself if I thought I was in fact supporting myself. Yet that's exactly what I thought.

Then came Abby. I would start with Grayson but honestly when I had him and only him I still wore my Proud Mary badge daily and didn't relinquish his chubby body often for fear some bystander would for one second assume I wasn't capable of dealing. But again, then came Abby. Talk about dealing. What you women do with more than two children to cope with the demands of every day living I haven't the foggiest. All I can say is that you have more strands of iron and vinegar in your DNA than I ever will. Abby is wee but the stress added when she entered the scene was anything but. She humbled me like no other. Ironically, Abby is a pretty easy baby (once we figured out how to calm the screaming meanies inside her). The things that come with having more than one dependent are not. Instead of doubling, somehow things in this house and in our lives absolutely tripled with bringing home baby. We used to have housework. We now have boats of laundry listing over their baskets, dust bunnies we should start taking the vet, dishes that beg to be hand washed instead of flung into the scalding dishwasher again. We no longer have grocery lists. We now have holy crap we just went to the store yesterday and I can't believe we already need milk, juice, and cheese again lists. Seriously, who is eating one lb of Cooper's Sharp in a day? Even Sadie is mystified.

So learning how to deal with two children has been my new job. I'm not going to lie to you. I completely suck at my new job. I try like hell to be a better time manager but somehow I still end up brushing my own teeth close to 1:00 in the afternoon- that is about 8 hours too late people (and for those of you who know me this is a very huge problem). I also try to do all of the things a mom is supposed to do but I sometimes forget. Like dinner. You may think I'm joking but there have quite literally been a few days when 6:30pm rolls around and I'm so very busy being proud of myself for not letting Grayson watch eleven straight hours of Max & Ruby (only 10) that it comes as a complete surprise to me when a funny grumbling moan sounds off from deep inside my toddler's belly. OH MY GOD! I didn't make dinner! I didn't even THINK about making dinner until now! I don't even have one edible protein thawing in the sink! Who does this? What kind of mother doesn't make their children dinner? What about my poor long commuting husband who is going to come walking through that door any minute to discover the devastation that is an empty oven? Not good.

The last pride-crushing straw? When my long commuting husband had to recently go on travel. This is a typical occurrence around here only this is the first time since Abby that he has been away for an entire week and I haven't had family visiting. I was here to care for the house, the baby, the Grayson, the canine, the fish, and the mailbox all by myself. Not an unusual assignment for a wife and a mother one would think. One would also think said wife and mother would be able to tend to her tribe alone for one piddly week. One would be wrong. Day 2 and I was muttering obscenities to the hairdryer like a crazy loon and her crazier half-sister. That's when I realized I could not do this alone. I repeat: I could not do this alone. What's "this?" That would be caring for my own children (et. al) by myself. I believe the kindest, sweetest, loveliest thing I did for Grayson and Abby on Tuesday night was call in for backup. They deserved more than what I alone could give them. They deserve backup. They deserve their village. Who am I to rob them of their village just because Miss Independent was hanging on for dear life? Last Tuesday, she needed an ego defibrillator and it was time I let her go into That Good Night...she won't be missed. We need more of the new Erin- Miss IndiePendent I like to say. The new cool indie mom who actually makes phone calls asking for assistance before things get terribly ugly and hostile in her own head. The wife who hired not one but TWO new babysitters to help her get some needed rest so she can carry on with dancing suburban salsa in the kitchen with her baby in a Moby sling and her little boy standing on her feet. Olay!

An aside: I haven't mentioned my extended family and friends much in this blog. This is no oversight. I started this blog as a memory for my children and my future self. Therefore, I chose to respect the privacy of my family and friends. It's my decision to blurb out to the world at large and it's my responsibility to keep it close without mentioning names or posting pictures of those people who may not want to be that public. However, tonight I have to let the world at large know there is huge undertaking going on behind these curtains. I have to thank my village out loud for being there for me, for us, through so much. Starting from Andy's first deployment, to our monsoon of a wedding, our non-cratable and extremely destructive Labrador, our many moves within Maryland and then to PA, the prom setup and breakdown, my hyperemesis, our firstborn and then our second love bundle - you have all been here either physically or in spirit- to help my family. Here's to you: Nonie & T, Pop-Pop & MiMi, Nammy & Pop, Uncles Eric, Donnie, Alex, Matt, Pete, Jason, Aunties Jen, Christie, Dawna, Libby. My own Uncle Jimmy & Aunt Mary, Marni &Vinny, our other fabulous friends and neighbors on N.Gorski :), my nurses and Wendy at Home Solutions, my fellow Mommy friends (Kathleen, Monica, Lisa, Sarah, Kim, Blythe, Cara, Tracy G), my baby-free friends both near and far (April, Marni, Tracy D) , my lovelies (babysitters), and all of you who have not been named but have also not been forgotten. We would not have made it without you. I would not have made it without you. You are my village and that Hillary Clinton is one smart cookie.

Two Point Five

Yesterday Grayson and I were hanging outside and enjoying some quality sunshine with each other. Inside, Nonie was cooing over baby Abby who she now affectionately calls, Sassy. Let's just say our once colic-ridden girl has found her "well" voice and doesn't mind who hears it. So while the girls were chatting indoors, Grayson and I bundled up and went out to the backyard to play. I had a cup of my home brew and he had his shovel. After really working hard at digging up a sacrificial landscaped pile of mulch for about five minutes he looked up at me with those big brown eyes and said, "Mommy, Daddy is not at home. He is at work and not looking for spiders or poop." With that perfectly out there, the absolute ONLY thing that could come as a response from me was, "No honey, Daddy is not at home. He is at work and not looking for spiders or poop. Poor unlucky him." Oh how I love the two year old mind: one part magic to two parts grody.

Nursing

Nursing babies is a weird thing. You see someone else doing it and you feel shy and all "avert the eyes-ish." You engage in the act yourself and pretty soon reaching down your shirt to release your double D (active A? bountiful B?) is as commonplace as reaching into your pocket for a tissue. Now, I'll admit that I never pictured myself a breastfeeding type of girl but as it turns out I am. In fact, Grayson was nursed so long that I received a certificate of achievement from my bras & La Leche League. I'm only kidding but wouldn't that be a great recruiting tactic? What I DID receive were a few sideways glances from close friends who knew damn well he could pretty much walk himself to the fridge for a Capri Sun and be done with it (all truth be told, he was a little over 12 months). Was I one of those freak moms who wanted to keep her baby at the boob long after the child could practically call in for a curbside Bloomin' Onion? Was I afraid his auto-immune system would spontaneously shut down upon the cessation of me lactating? Maybe I was addicted to the alone time we shared together in a quiet place where nobody wanted or felt comfortable to interrupt. Whatever the case, I don't regret our time at the till and the many stretchy tank tops I 'outgrew.'

Sadly, I hardly remember Grayson as a newborn because little "Lillabeth" has taken up every working neuron worth a shit in my brain as of late but when I conjure up those really good moments with him, I remember him peacefully drifting off to sleep while nursing when sleep simply did not come naturally for at least a year. I also remember his wide grins after taking in a long swig of his daily drink and remember how satisfying it was for me to know he got a nice warm meal full of antibodies and other good stuff I can't pronounce from me, the mom. Sure, the downsides were awful. Who wants to send their pediatrician 15 separate jpegs of their babies' mouth b/c you can't believe all the white dots inside there are "just milk spots?" (They weren't, it was thrush) Who enjoys those bonus flu-like symptoms that come with the prize of a mastitis infection otherwise known as hellfire in your tatas?? I can happily report that a healthy and super chunko baby outweighed any negatives the first time around and in retrospect I feel proud we made it as long as we did.

I feel the same way now that I'm nursing Miss Abby Cakes. As to be expected, she is a different eater altogether. She is enthusiastic and passionate whereas Grayson was loud and voracious, she is merry and chatty where Grayson was private and introspective. Abby kneads my chest like a kitten while Grayson drummed down rhythmically with his tiny baby fists. Abby enjoys her time at the 24 hour milk diner just as much as her brother did and I will admit that I stare at her face and contemplate her hair color more than anything else in my day. This could make me one of those crazy moms who has lost herself completely in motherhood but I don't consider myself lost (crazy? yes.). I am in love neutral, learning who she from the moment she calls out (she goes from sound asleep to a three alarm fire drill in seconds) for food to those sweet long sighs and slow blinks once she has had her fill. Breastfeeding is weird but it's also wonderful for some women and besides, when else will you have 6-8 possible 15 minute clusters to deliberate over your newborn's hair color? In case you were wondering, Abby's is that see-thru baby strawberry brown. In my opinion, a noncommittal red.

Freeze

Not every day in this house is a Norman Rockwell painting for certain. There are days when I walk around the house looking and acting like someone I don't recongnize and would've probably thrown spears at when I was younger and knew everything. Some days there are Goldfish crackers and raisins smashed into the couch, diapers forgotten in mid-fold b/c Grayson pulled poor Sadie's tail again, millions of banged up toys and their derelict pieces scattered throughout the place like a trail of tears. When things are this way and I'm up to my boiling point with time-outs and "how many times do I have to tell yous..." I take a moment to breathe in, zoom out, and freeze. To get over myself this is what I picture:






...and this.....
















and then I remember that today is my last day to hold on to these particular expressions, these sweetly honest, incredulously mischievous, and always candid faces my children make while they bound away from their babyhoods and into a life independent of their nannycam of a mom and worry-Nelson of a dad. While Grayson is just 2 and a half, he is learning the concrete and the abstact. He mixes Ranch dressing and hot sauce together and declairs it glue. He puts the vacuum extension to his right eye and announces, "Yo Ho Ho!" These real and imagined properties are part of his expanding world and he is so quickly discovering more every day. He knows how to make (not so hot) tea with honey and sugar and does not spill a drop in the process. Little "Lillabeth" (what I call Abby b/c I still cannot remember my own daughter's name to save my life on a typical day) is in her own stage of developing and growing and becoming her own little person. Her "fourth trimester" out of my belly is ending and she is of lovely temperament and has a funny bone with an airy giggle to match. The lamp next to our couch is her boyfriend. She coos sweetly and flirts shamelessly at Lamp until she fatigues of her unrequited advances and cries for the comfort and solace of her rocking chair (little does she know her mother did the exact same thing right up until college!). These little people I call my babies are fascinating to me and I'm realizing, to many other family members and close friends too. It's amazing to watch babies become toddlers and toddlers become children. Though I've lived 34 very full years fat with experiences and memories, I have to admit that I am eager to start the days now in a way that's never been true before. Before I was excited about the possibilities a day could hold for me. Today I am excited about the possibilities the day holds for these little emoticons who happen to be sharing their own space, boundless energy, and precious time with me and I'm not about to let on that it breaks my heart and fills it with joy at the same time to watch them grow up.

Colic Schmolic

I've decided that colic is just another word for hazing. Colic is not as mysterious as the doctors, nurses, emergency room residents will have you believe. I feel that it happens to many babies. My theory is that these babies are simply ensuring that they've been taken home by the best, most resourceful and strongest parents available. After all, who wants to be kid with the lightweights for caregivers?

It's all very simple if you think about it. Colicky babies are putting the parents (and siblings) through their paces when they are at their worst. It's the Crucible for a family unit; a familial triathlon if you will. You see, even colicky babies sleep all day "carbing up," for the big race that starts promptly at 8pm, rain or shine. When the gunshot goes off so do they. The bigger and bloodier the scream, the more these sleep-deprived, emotionally drained and physically depleted adults have to dig down deep for another hour of swaying with baby...another hour of swaddling, shushing, lullabying until your throat is sore and your back is on fire. Just then, the colicky baby decides to go into hiding (aka: a 2 minute nap) making the parents believe they are demi-gods at finding the right solution to lull baby to sleep. Just as the parents drowsily crawl back on to the couch, pull covers to their chin and close their eyes, the colicky baby pulls a surprise ambush and begins to wail excitedly as if its skin is aflame. The race continues until at least 4am.

But fear not, good parents! The colic or hazing (its proper name) won't last forever. According to our forefathers who bore this burden before us, it only goes on for 12-16 weeks so buck up young soldiers and fight on! It may not be the Cold War or even the Battle of the Bulge but this is the fight that commences a bond between baby and his perseverant parents who have not only proven themselves to baby but have come away with the knowledge that nothing in parenting is easy but with a sense of humor and a lot of home brew (tobacco for Andy, hot water and brown sugar for me) only makes you that much stronger and impervious to the big obstacles that await. The next one? Teething or as I like to call it: Miniaturean Volcanoes Eruptus.

A New Year

Abigail Kate Shriver

December 12, 2008

5:46 a.m.

8 lbs 3 ounces

20.5 inches long

It was about midnight on December 12 when I felt my first "real" contraction. Having had the Braxton Hicks all day long I kind of ignored these stronger bursts of fireworks in my belly...for a while. Then about 1am, I awakened to the next louder and even more gregarious kick in my gut. Still not sure if these were the real deal, I grabbed some paper, went downstairs and paced while realizing these barking puppies were happening every 7 min. After putting in a somewhat excited call to the doctor's pager (they must love those 2am phone calls from over zealous moms) I was told to "keep timing your contractions and call us back in an hour." Like a good little patient I did what I was told, or tried to anyway. I went back upstairs, gently woke up Andy to tell him we'd have to go at some point that morning but no rush.

About 5 minutes went by and another two contractions had me to my knees when I decided to get my shoes on, call Marni to watch Grayson, and get Andy's keys. I wasn't as gentle in this wake up effort and shook him practically yelling, "Get your shoes on, we're leaving NOW, I'm not gonna make another hour." I remember letting Marni in, making fun conversation and then falling to my knees again in a contraction that wasn't kidding around. Then, about 3 minutes later- BAM- another bully of a contraction and I was hot-steppin' in to the minivan.

Just like in the movies, I yelled, writhed, and cursed our way to the hospital. It was icy and wet outside so my rational husband was doing the speed limit trying to get us there alive. The speed limit and red lights never felt more ridiculous to me and Andy was subsequently "encouraged" to run them or watch a baby be born in the bucket seat of the van. We turned a 20 minute commute into a couple of Indie laps and arrived at the hospital entrance about nine minutes later.

On entrance into the maternity ward, I had a few more episodes of kicking and screaming my fool head off. This time, I wasn't cursing Andy however, I was pleading with the nurse to check me and find the epi man. She did both and we found that things were very much under way. I was 8 cm and the epidural man was on his way. I believe I thanked him so much and so effusively that things got a tad awkward between us and he shyly backed his cart into the hall and disappeared into oblivion. Still, an angel's face he had :)

The doctor came in after the epi and wanted to get the show on the road. Blessed was I when my sweet sweet nurse suggested they wait a while to let me enjoy the magic juice flowing about my spine. So they left us for an hour until things got exciting again...push time! Dr. Shirker checked me to find all systems were a go (10 cm) and told me she'd just stand there w/her catcher's mitt on b/c I wasn't going to have to push for very long. She was right. Fifteen minutes of torturous hell ensued until my body needed to expel the lovely being inside by grabbing (avert your eyes if you're squeamish-it's gonna get a little graphic) my ankles and pushing until my body almost imploded w/effort. It was all worth it when out came BIG Abigail Kate. She was whisked away before I could get a good look but I already knew she was a beautiful girl with as much determination as her momma to see the world on her own clock.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here it is, 2009 already I'm still wondering what happened to December. For us, our little Abigail Kate was born, much sleep was lost, and Christmas took place despite our efforts to stave it off a few weeks until we were ready. Apparently Santa didn't forget Grayson this year as our living room "play area" has now spilled over into the unfinished basement. Poor thing, down there with the steroid spiders. At least he got slippers for Christmas :)

Well, enough chit-chat, here's the more interesting pics of our tribe. Hope 2009 is treating you like royalty and giving you every reason to stay motivated to work a little, play a lot, and turn off your TV once in a while.

Be back soon. XOXO