God is faithful. Can I get an amen?
Can I say that without our friends, this Davenport ship would have been sunk by now? Amen. And without family it would have been sunk a good many months ago. Without God it never would have been.
Keith & I have been foraging through some down times, thinking "surely we'll be set by next month." And surely, when next month comes around, we aren't. What a test of our faith. And of each other. The other day I was driving home, and part of our wedding vows popped into my head (probably because we chose the traditional ones that appear in many a wedding, both real and fictional). And I was smiling about how prophetic those vows are: "Through richer, through poorer." Both are a challenge to our marriage. How desperately I desire to be in the middle!
We have had to come face-to-face with a desire for "enough" money, for a savings account, for, you know, the amount of money our friends make (it's so easy to compare yourself to your friends! don't do it!). And, for us, God has wrought us in his hands to drain out all that excess "need" to support ourselves, provide for ourselves, rest in the security we have built for ourselves. For us, extra money = safety, security, peace of mind, happiness. No where in this equation has God a place. He is not a part of it. And here is the problem.
God is giving us enough manna for one day at a time. If we try to collect extra it just rots. And that, friends, is counter-cultural.
We still wake up befuddled that two clever quirky people have fallen upon such hard times. And yet, our sort of poverty befits us. I'm not talking about our neediness, because once we cease to work and become dependent on others we become a part of the downward cycle we are working so hard to break. I'm talking about our dependency on God. For this time, he has called us to this life. Jesus told the certain young ruler he had to sell all his possessions to the poor and follow him to inherit eternal life. But he didn't tell Lazarus that, or Legion, or the blind man, or the Samaritan woman, or Peter, his mother, Saul. Because of his infinite wisdom he gave the certain young ruler this command, not necessarily meaning it universally.
For us at this time, we have felt called (or rather, lead) into a lifestyle of dependency. We have learned so much. Been so challenged. Been refined.
God has given us enough manna, every day we need it. He is our provider. We eat because of Yahweh! How awesome!
I hope some day I can talk more candidly about our "poverty." Now's not the time.
God provides for us through beautiful friendships, a thriving caring church, and wonderful leaders placed so strategically in our lives, who care deeply for us and our welfare (a holy love, no doubt, instilled in them by Yahweh). God is AMAZING!
We are looking ahead to exciting challenges that he has prepared for us. We are SO EXCITED. The time hasn't yet come for us to embrace them, but when it does, I'll let you know!
Friday, October 15, 2010
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
The IJGD Bucket List
What's cooking in the Davenport house today? Chili. Sweet & Spicy. Seriously, the slow cooker must have been invented by a momma...or a very hungry dad.
Keith's battling ancient monsters of doom on the Xbox, and Cosette's swinging away blissfully in her awesome Little Lamb swing. As for me, well, I'm still struggling to become a competent member of the 21st century by being able to change my blog background and by figuring out how to type in the little box where my post goes. A very true conversation that just happened:
Me: I can't find where to post the thingy I copied for this new background!
Keith: Hold on. [shuffles over from living room.] There, try clicking Design.
Me: No, I tried that earlier and it blew up the computer.
Keith: Okay, well try Settings.
Me: No, I just seriously searched in there for like ever and I can't find it! It must be broken.
Keith: Okay. [shuffles back to living room.]
Me: Ah-ha! I found it!
--a little later--
Me: I can't find where to change the color and font settings. My blog looks so dumb! This is so dumb!
Keith: Hold on. [shuffles back over.] Did you try Design?
Allison: I told you it blew up the computer last time. It's just some new dumb thing to confuse me. It's not there. I remember it being some thingy you click on and it shows you stuff.
Keith: Okay. [walks through various links and doesn't find it.] I'm going to go play my game.
Allison: Fine, my blog's going to look so dumb, like a dummy made it. [searches hopelessly. finally clicks on Design and finds the magical place to edit colors and fonts.] Ah-ha! I found it! It was under Design...er...
--a little later--
Allison: It won't let me post in the box thing were you write your posts! It's crazy! It's so dumb!
Keith: [shuffles over without speaking. looks at my situation. suggests a few HTML changes to no avail. shuffles back.]
Allison: I can't believe this! [feels utterly hopeless about her technology incompetence. clicks randomly and haphazardly. magically gets a cursor. begins typing this post, feeling triumphant.]
It only took 90 minutes! I've got this now...
I'd like to talk about something that's been on our hearts for a while. We are in need of a job change, or, rather, a little extra mo-jo (translation: money) in the bank-o. Through a strange series of events, I decided to apply for a job in publishing. I know, I know! I was gonna be a stay-at-home-momma. Keith was gonna bring home the bacon at two jobs, while continuing seminary classes and being a wonderful husband & dad all without passing out. But things change. Er, I changed. What is it that could make me change my mind, you ask? It's a writing job in the marketing department. Do I have experience in publishing or marketing? No, but I want this job! Do I have experience writing? Yes. Now, I have a very hard time admitting to wanting anything. Pessimism up front really helps me handle rejection. This is why I'm posting it into cyberspace. I want desperately to be able to handle both reality and hope in one healthy dose, all mixed together. Rather, I usually hope for a brief moment, then turn to reality, which (according to me) always doles up a rather unhealthy dose of pessimism, despair, and low self-esteem. Anyone else feel like that? Well, I'm just writing here, for the world and myself to know, that I would really love to earn this job and to work at it well. I want to be a part of something great, a contributing part. And if they don't want me, it'll be okay. There, I said it. Now I'm going to move on, because there's no sense dwelling on the future unknown.
Sometimes it takes quite a while to generate ideas that are blog-while (translation: worthy of being posted on a blog). Here's one: Yesterday Keith & I took Cosette to the doctor for her 2-month check up. We have been blessed beyond measure that we both get to participate in her appointments and in her daily life so far. So anyways, we took her to the doctor, yes. At this doctor's office, together with quality services comes a very hearty wait period. We waited. We waited. We shared the well-check room (a mysterious room that parents earn the privilege to enter upon their having children) with a rowdy crowd of Spanish-speaking children. Keith held Cosette while shielding her head from ICBMs and various magazine bits that were being chucked about the room, while I pretended to be at peace with the chaos by calmly reading the newest edition of Padres (yes, it was in Spanish. no, I wasn't reading it).
Zachary was called, and the chaos died down. Elijah was called. Some kid named Sam or something-er-other. Then Davenport was called. Yes, Davenport. The nurses have given up trying to say Cosette, and it makes me sad. Now, Cosetta and Hosette are not acceptable variations on her name, but I had hoped they would have given it one more try. Nope. Davenport. We enter the room, strip the poor baby to her diaper, and get weighed and measured. 9 lbs 10 oz, 21.5 inches. Not bad. The statistics prove that if she were in a room with 99 other babies, she'd be able to beat up 24 of them. We're really proud. Okay, anyways: The nurse asks the normal questions and then leaves. We wait 30 minutes and our jovial Dr. Jay walks in. Dr. Jay is actually Marandapalli R. Jayaram, MD, of India. Translation: I can't ever seem to understand him. He greets us, hands us an adorable book to keep for Cosette, asks us how she's sleeping and eating and does the routine physical checks. I smile and nod, missing most of the pertinent information and relying on my very savvy husband to give me the low-down once we reach the US borders of our Chevy Cavalier. A problem, arose, however, when it came time for her immunizations. He read us a list of the recommended ones quite quickly while showing us the words so that we were sure to understand him (this doc's no fool). We smiled and nodded, understanding. We agreed to the shots. I got myself mentally prepared for my tiny child to be stabbed 3 times with needles. Then Dr. Jay gave Keith instructions. Keith gave Dr. Jay a blank stare and I faltered, not sure what to do if my interpretation services fail. Dr. Jay repeated himself. Keith looked to me for interpretation and I gave him the "Err..??" face. He repeated himself AGAIN. We both smiled and nodded, and then the next thing we knew Dr. Jay had shaken Keith's hand and was out of the room. Now, rest assured, a nurse came in to do the shots, which went as well as expected, and we left quite content. In retrospect, we figure the doctor had been telling us to clothe and hold our poor naked child until the nurse arrived to do the shots. He must have thought us quite the parents though, smiling and nodding at his advice and then leaving our infant striped for the world to see, crying on a exam table. We are quite the parents, that's for sure.
Well, shoot.
I've been creating a mental bucket list of things "I've Just Gotta Do." We'll call it the IJGD Bucket List. (I know, I reek of creativity.) Here it is so far:
In closing statements, mark this day in history! Keith was pooped upon for the first time. It was quite the show. Ettie doesn't mess around. Three shirts wound up in the bathtub, together with one baby and a baby tub. There was also much shouting, something like, "What do I do!," "Take the baby!," "Hurry up!," etc. I hurried right up: I finished the dishes from making dinner, tasted the chili to make sure it was perfect, and then headed to the living room armed with paper towels. Priorities, priorities.
Keith's battling ancient monsters of doom on the Xbox, and Cosette's swinging away blissfully in her awesome Little Lamb swing. As for me, well, I'm still struggling to become a competent member of the 21st century by being able to change my blog background and by figuring out how to type in the little box where my post goes. A very true conversation that just happened:
Me: I can't find where to post the thingy I copied for this new background!
Keith: Hold on. [shuffles over from living room.] There, try clicking Design.
Me: No, I tried that earlier and it blew up the computer.
Keith: Okay, well try Settings.
Me: No, I just seriously searched in there for like ever and I can't find it! It must be broken.
Keith: Okay. [shuffles back to living room.]
Me: Ah-ha! I found it!
--a little later--
Me: I can't find where to change the color and font settings. My blog looks so dumb! This is so dumb!
Keith: Hold on. [shuffles back over.] Did you try Design?
Allison: I told you it blew up the computer last time. It's just some new dumb thing to confuse me. It's not there. I remember it being some thingy you click on and it shows you stuff.
Keith: Okay. [walks through various links and doesn't find it.] I'm going to go play my game.
Allison: Fine, my blog's going to look so dumb, like a dummy made it. [searches hopelessly. finally clicks on Design and finds the magical place to edit colors and fonts.] Ah-ha! I found it! It was under Design...er...
--a little later--
Allison: It won't let me post in the box thing were you write your posts! It's crazy! It's so dumb!
Keith: [shuffles over without speaking. looks at my situation. suggests a few HTML changes to no avail. shuffles back.]
Allison: I can't believe this! [feels utterly hopeless about her technology incompetence. clicks randomly and haphazardly. magically gets a cursor. begins typing this post, feeling triumphant.]
It only took 90 minutes! I've got this now...
I'd like to talk about something that's been on our hearts for a while. We are in need of a job change, or, rather, a little extra mo-jo (translation: money) in the bank-o. Through a strange series of events, I decided to apply for a job in publishing. I know, I know! I was gonna be a stay-at-home-momma. Keith was gonna bring home the bacon at two jobs, while continuing seminary classes and being a wonderful husband & dad all without passing out. But things change. Er, I changed. What is it that could make me change my mind, you ask? It's a writing job in the marketing department. Do I have experience in publishing or marketing? No, but I want this job! Do I have experience writing? Yes. Now, I have a very hard time admitting to wanting anything. Pessimism up front really helps me handle rejection. This is why I'm posting it into cyberspace. I want desperately to be able to handle both reality and hope in one healthy dose, all mixed together. Rather, I usually hope for a brief moment, then turn to reality, which (according to me) always doles up a rather unhealthy dose of pessimism, despair, and low self-esteem. Anyone else feel like that? Well, I'm just writing here, for the world and myself to know, that I would really love to earn this job and to work at it well. I want to be a part of something great, a contributing part. And if they don't want me, it'll be okay. There, I said it. Now I'm going to move on, because there's no sense dwelling on the future unknown.
Sometimes it takes quite a while to generate ideas that are blog-while (translation: worthy of being posted on a blog). Here's one: Yesterday Keith & I took Cosette to the doctor for her 2-month check up. We have been blessed beyond measure that we both get to participate in her appointments and in her daily life so far. So anyways, we took her to the doctor, yes. At this doctor's office, together with quality services comes a very hearty wait period. We waited. We waited. We shared the well-check room (a mysterious room that parents earn the privilege to enter upon their having children) with a rowdy crowd of Spanish-speaking children. Keith held Cosette while shielding her head from ICBMs and various magazine bits that were being chucked about the room, while I pretended to be at peace with the chaos by calmly reading the newest edition of Padres (yes, it was in Spanish. no, I wasn't reading it).
Zachary was called, and the chaos died down. Elijah was called. Some kid named Sam or something-er-other. Then Davenport was called. Yes, Davenport. The nurses have given up trying to say Cosette, and it makes me sad. Now, Cosetta and Hosette are not acceptable variations on her name, but I had hoped they would have given it one more try. Nope. Davenport. We enter the room, strip the poor baby to her diaper, and get weighed and measured. 9 lbs 10 oz, 21.5 inches. Not bad. The statistics prove that if she were in a room with 99 other babies, she'd be able to beat up 24 of them. We're really proud. Okay, anyways: The nurse asks the normal questions and then leaves. We wait 30 minutes and our jovial Dr. Jay walks in. Dr. Jay is actually Marandapalli R. Jayaram, MD, of India. Translation: I can't ever seem to understand him. He greets us, hands us an adorable book to keep for Cosette, asks us how she's sleeping and eating and does the routine physical checks. I smile and nod, missing most of the pertinent information and relying on my very savvy husband to give me the low-down once we reach the US borders of our Chevy Cavalier. A problem, arose, however, when it came time for her immunizations. He read us a list of the recommended ones quite quickly while showing us the words so that we were sure to understand him (this doc's no fool). We smiled and nodded, understanding. We agreed to the shots. I got myself mentally prepared for my tiny child to be stabbed 3 times with needles. Then Dr. Jay gave Keith instructions. Keith gave Dr. Jay a blank stare and I faltered, not sure what to do if my interpretation services fail. Dr. Jay repeated himself. Keith looked to me for interpretation and I gave him the "Err..??" face. He repeated himself AGAIN. We both smiled and nodded, and then the next thing we knew Dr. Jay had shaken Keith's hand and was out of the room. Now, rest assured, a nurse came in to do the shots, which went as well as expected, and we left quite content. In retrospect, we figure the doctor had been telling us to clothe and hold our poor naked child until the nurse arrived to do the shots. He must have thought us quite the parents though, smiling and nodding at his advice and then leaving our infant striped for the world to see, crying on a exam table. We are quite the parents, that's for sure.
Well, shoot.
I've been creating a mental bucket list of things "I've Just Gotta Do." We'll call it the IJGD Bucket List. (I know, I reek of creativity.) Here it is so far:
- Run another Half Marathon. (around mile 8 of the first one I ran, I swore to every limb in my body that I would never make it go through such agony again if it just wouldn't quit on me, but I'm going to break that promise. Mwahahahaha.)
- Climb a 14er.
- Do some serious traveling, locals style. Maybe visit mnya Amanda in Kazakhstan. Relive my Central Asian glory days.
- Learn piano.
- Learn guitar. (This would be simple if I didn't have a vendetta against Keith's correcting me all the time.)
- Become a Pilates instructor. Okay, maybe not. I'll modify it: Take a Pilates class. There, much better. (Now, it is noteworthy to mention that I do Pilates at home quite often and usually find myself with a very sore core, which is the case today. However, I wonder when I will realize that doing Pilates at home while still indulging in cinnamon rolls, ice cream, and soda at 11:00 at night will never = the body of my dreams, abs of steel, a toned physique, or anything else Lara, Suzanne, and Lisbeth --my personal trainers. right -- promise me? Ignorance is bliss.)
In closing statements, mark this day in history! Keith was pooped upon for the first time. It was quite the show. Ettie doesn't mess around. Three shirts wound up in the bathtub, together with one baby and a baby tub. There was also much shouting, something like, "What do I do!," "Take the baby!," "Hurry up!," etc. I hurried right up: I finished the dishes from making dinner, tasted the chili to make sure it was perfect, and then headed to the living room armed with paper towels. Priorities, priorities.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Allison The Great's No Good Very Bad Day
It was just a normal Tuesday. How could I have known? I talked to my sister on the phone in the morning and was quite surprised that Cosette was only sort of crying when I put her down in her bed for her morning nap. I ate breakfast, had coffee in my mug, and was reading my book -- a wonderful morning!
Then...
Max Dog, our rotund terrier/schnauzer/street mutt, jumped off the chair he was snuggling with me in, and proceeded to vomit a nice little pile in the middle of the living room. At exactly that moment, Cosette's intermittent whimpers escalated into a scream. Sighing, I set aside my book about a gladiator journeying home to Germania and set out to do what I had to do. I'm a great mom/wife, after all, and can handle it. Multi-tasking as I do, I grabbed the paper towels and carpet cleaner in one hand and then grabbed the baby in the other arm and headed back out to the living room. What awaited me there in addition to Vomit Volcano? A pee-puddle the size of Rhode Island and a very unconcerned-looking Max Dog. Sadie Catahoula, on the other hand, crawled out from her lair under the futon, looked at Vomit Volcano and Pee Puddle, and started trembling. (Now, as an aside, Sadie is a wonderful pound puppy we rescued. After we rescued her, we discovered her non-breed, Catahoula. It is the way of the Catahoula to be extremely obedient and respectful, and she has never once willingly done her business in the house. It was not her Pee Puddle. She only feared my corporate wrath.)
What to do, what to do. I made the executive decision to put the baby in her bouncer and scoop up Vomit Volcano first. Immediately the screams returned. I put on my happy face. Sadie started barking at Max, perhaps recognizing I hadn't had time yet to discipline him so she would. Once the puke spot had been thoroughly soaked up and sprayed, I plugged the pacifier into Cosette's mouth and pressed on toward Pee Puddle. Turns out paper towels weren't going to cut it for this one! I grabbed real towels and started dancing on top of them to soak up Rhode Island's fury. I sprayed it, threw the towels by the basement door (where they still are...right...) and scooped up my screaming child. We rocked and settled a little bit, until we reached her feeding time...always a happy time...and then found some peace again.
Keith came home at 12:30 and promptly stepped in the still-wet Pee Puddle. I smiled. He changed his clothes and sat down in the rocker, took Cosette, and immediately both of them fell asleep. Now, I may have lost 13% of my brain cells during pregnancy, but I recognize an opportunity when I see one. I grabbed my purse and headed out into the wonderful humidity and heat of Kansas City, KS, solo. Goal: Complete this month's grocery shopping for under $100. Grocery shopping is rather cathartic for me: I can be in my own world, alone, pretending no one else is around, while perusing one of my favorite topics--food. I enjoyed my adventures down each aisle. Meat, cheese, potatoes, tomato sauce...I needed it all. Once my cart was sufficiently overflowing, I eyed each check-out lane and astutely chose lane 4, hoping beyond hope that my shallow profiling of the clerk would prove right and I'd be through the lane in a jiffy.
I was wrong. Baffled by some of my purchases, Lane 4 Lady began sending the customers in line behind me to another lane, telling them she was going to be with me for a while. She spent more time doing that than trying to check me out, I do suppose. Then she commenced, picking up the sack of red potatoes, and was about to key them in when a woman with 4 items got in line behind me. She told her to come on up and go in front of me, because "she was going to be with me for a minute," which is KCK-speak for a long time. "No," I thought, "I don't mind if you have her cut in front of me. How thoughtful of you to ask." Finally she refocused all her attention upon my groceries. Three sackers, one manager, $140, and 35 minutes later, I was loading up my car and headed home. Goal = unmet.
The afternoon continued on peacefully, with Keith casting his daddy-spell upon the baby, resulting in a sleeping, cooperative Cosette. Little did I know that my inconvenient morning was going to become THE no-good-very-bad-day, although I should have considered the black storm clouds rolling in as an omen...I do have a degree in English after all. Vowing earlier in the week to finally begin making meals again on a regular basis (no, pancakes, cereal, and spaghetti no longer count), I took up my mantel and began preparing some delicious tilapia and some corn on the cob. Half-way through, the unthinkable happened! We lost power. Something to do with a hazardous thunderstorm and perilous lightening.
Being the 21st-century suburbanite that I am, I nearly lost my cool. Refocusing all my thoughts on the new mommy-energy I inherited from the mommy-gene-pool, I pressed on. The corn and tilapia finished cooking at a much slower pace, but cooked they finally were! Keith and I found all our candles and lit them about the house. We ate a candle-lit dinner, through which the baby slept! It was almost what one might deem romantic. That is, if you don't mind the smell of dog poop. Yes, you got it, in silent protest of the monstrous storm going on outside, Max sneaked into the corner and pooped sometime during the dinner-making mayhem. Accident #3, check.
We spent our early evening reading and chatting. When I had conceded to a night without electricity, however, our lights shot on, the A/C buzzed to life, and the creepy man voice on the answering machine began doling out our answering-machine options. It all ended as quickly as it began, though. It was only a joke. We were back in darkness in no time. I began creating a mental emergency plan if we were to face the summer night with no electricity. One must be strong enough to contemplate such things. Thankfully, I didn't need to put my plan into action, for the electricity was back, and this time, it stayed on longer than 20 seconds!
We laughed together about our no-good-very-bad day, watched some TV, read some more, and then tried to head to bed around 10:30. Much to our non-amusement, however, the power went on vacation, checked out, took a snooze -- however you want to say it, we were in the dark AGAIN. Oh boy. We lay in bed and started to laugh about it. Honestly, what's the big deal about not having lights, and A/C, and TV, and laptops, and all that jazz? We are enjoying life now with our little one. We love each other. God is taking care of us! We settled down to a toasty night's sleep, happy.
The end.
Not.
The power came back on. And the next thing we knew, Cosette would have nothing to do with sleeping. This is unlike her, who for the past few nights has willingly slept from 8:30 - 3:30. Well, okay, so what's next? Keith being the awesome husband that he is offered to rock her in the living room so I could go to sleep. Ah, love. As I lay there trying to sleep, I recalled my day and remembered with a start that I was deeply involved in the plot of my gladiator-homecoming novel! I can't leave it be when another option is finding out how Atretes' return to Germania is going! I flipped on my lamp and started reading, only to drift off into a peaceful sleep, book in hand.
The end.
The end, I wished! I was awoken at midnight to the news: Max had deposited diarrhea all throughout the house. Accident #4, check. With super-mommy strength I leaped out bed, snatched Max Dog, and threw him in the tub. Consider this punishment for all you've done! I thought, thoroughly enjoying myself and cackling like that little hunchbacked man who assists creating Frankenstein. I washed him and I washed him until he smelled Fructis fresh and my frustrations had been satisfied. Meanwhile, Keith placed the baby in her bed and began the daunting task of cleaning up the deposits.
Finally, all and everyone were clean. We dragged ourselves to bed, pleasantly surprised to see that Cosette had drifted off to sleep on her own. Now, you may be worried about Max Dog's health due to his day of accidents. But let me assure you, nothing good can come from eating paper products out of the trashcan.
Now, since we had power, we might as well use it to our advantage: My final request was for Keith to turn the air conditioning up, because it was getting hot and sticky in our room. He came back with an air of comedic defeat: Our A/C was frozen over from the power turning off and on, off and on. We would have no A/C. Regardless of the power, we were going to melt. What do we do? Smile about it, I guess. We were beyond exhaustion and practically reduced to monkey-speech by this point. We flipped on our oscillating fan and turned out the lights on my No Good Very Bad Day.
The end.
Then...
Max Dog, our rotund terrier/schnauzer/street mutt, jumped off the chair he was snuggling with me in, and proceeded to vomit a nice little pile in the middle of the living room. At exactly that moment, Cosette's intermittent whimpers escalated into a scream. Sighing, I set aside my book about a gladiator journeying home to Germania and set out to do what I had to do. I'm a great mom/wife, after all, and can handle it. Multi-tasking as I do, I grabbed the paper towels and carpet cleaner in one hand and then grabbed the baby in the other arm and headed back out to the living room. What awaited me there in addition to Vomit Volcano? A pee-puddle the size of Rhode Island and a very unconcerned-looking Max Dog. Sadie Catahoula, on the other hand, crawled out from her lair under the futon, looked at Vomit Volcano and Pee Puddle, and started trembling. (Now, as an aside, Sadie is a wonderful pound puppy we rescued. After we rescued her, we discovered her non-breed, Catahoula. It is the way of the Catahoula to be extremely obedient and respectful, and she has never once willingly done her business in the house. It was not her Pee Puddle. She only feared my corporate wrath.)
What to do, what to do. I made the executive decision to put the baby in her bouncer and scoop up Vomit Volcano first. Immediately the screams returned. I put on my happy face. Sadie started barking at Max, perhaps recognizing I hadn't had time yet to discipline him so she would. Once the puke spot had been thoroughly soaked up and sprayed, I plugged the pacifier into Cosette's mouth and pressed on toward Pee Puddle. Turns out paper towels weren't going to cut it for this one! I grabbed real towels and started dancing on top of them to soak up Rhode Island's fury. I sprayed it, threw the towels by the basement door (where they still are...right...) and scooped up my screaming child. We rocked and settled a little bit, until we reached her feeding time...always a happy time...and then found some peace again.
Keith came home at 12:30 and promptly stepped in the still-wet Pee Puddle. I smiled. He changed his clothes and sat down in the rocker, took Cosette, and immediately both of them fell asleep. Now, I may have lost 13% of my brain cells during pregnancy, but I recognize an opportunity when I see one. I grabbed my purse and headed out into the wonderful humidity and heat of Kansas City, KS, solo. Goal: Complete this month's grocery shopping for under $100. Grocery shopping is rather cathartic for me: I can be in my own world, alone, pretending no one else is around, while perusing one of my favorite topics--food. I enjoyed my adventures down each aisle. Meat, cheese, potatoes, tomato sauce...I needed it all. Once my cart was sufficiently overflowing, I eyed each check-out lane and astutely chose lane 4, hoping beyond hope that my shallow profiling of the clerk would prove right and I'd be through the lane in a jiffy.
I was wrong. Baffled by some of my purchases, Lane 4 Lady began sending the customers in line behind me to another lane, telling them she was going to be with me for a while. She spent more time doing that than trying to check me out, I do suppose. Then she commenced, picking up the sack of red potatoes, and was about to key them in when a woman with 4 items got in line behind me. She told her to come on up and go in front of me, because "she was going to be with me for a minute," which is KCK-speak for a long time. "No," I thought, "I don't mind if you have her cut in front of me. How thoughtful of you to ask." Finally she refocused all her attention upon my groceries. Three sackers, one manager, $140, and 35 minutes later, I was loading up my car and headed home. Goal = unmet.
The afternoon continued on peacefully, with Keith casting his daddy-spell upon the baby, resulting in a sleeping, cooperative Cosette. Little did I know that my inconvenient morning was going to become THE no-good-very-bad-day, although I should have considered the black storm clouds rolling in as an omen...I do have a degree in English after all. Vowing earlier in the week to finally begin making meals again on a regular basis (no, pancakes, cereal, and spaghetti no longer count), I took up my mantel and began preparing some delicious tilapia and some corn on the cob. Half-way through, the unthinkable happened! We lost power. Something to do with a hazardous thunderstorm and perilous lightening.
Being the 21st-century suburbanite that I am, I nearly lost my cool. Refocusing all my thoughts on the new mommy-energy I inherited from the mommy-gene-pool, I pressed on. The corn and tilapia finished cooking at a much slower pace, but cooked they finally were! Keith and I found all our candles and lit them about the house. We ate a candle-lit dinner, through which the baby slept! It was almost what one might deem romantic. That is, if you don't mind the smell of dog poop. Yes, you got it, in silent protest of the monstrous storm going on outside, Max sneaked into the corner and pooped sometime during the dinner-making mayhem. Accident #3, check.
We spent our early evening reading and chatting. When I had conceded to a night without electricity, however, our lights shot on, the A/C buzzed to life, and the creepy man voice on the answering machine began doling out our answering-machine options. It all ended as quickly as it began, though. It was only a joke. We were back in darkness in no time. I began creating a mental emergency plan if we were to face the summer night with no electricity. One must be strong enough to contemplate such things. Thankfully, I didn't need to put my plan into action, for the electricity was back, and this time, it stayed on longer than 20 seconds!
We laughed together about our no-good-very-bad day, watched some TV, read some more, and then tried to head to bed around 10:30. Much to our non-amusement, however, the power went on vacation, checked out, took a snooze -- however you want to say it, we were in the dark AGAIN. Oh boy. We lay in bed and started to laugh about it. Honestly, what's the big deal about not having lights, and A/C, and TV, and laptops, and all that jazz? We are enjoying life now with our little one. We love each other. God is taking care of us! We settled down to a toasty night's sleep, happy.
The end.
Not.
The power came back on. And the next thing we knew, Cosette would have nothing to do with sleeping. This is unlike her, who for the past few nights has willingly slept from 8:30 - 3:30. Well, okay, so what's next? Keith being the awesome husband that he is offered to rock her in the living room so I could go to sleep. Ah, love. As I lay there trying to sleep, I recalled my day and remembered with a start that I was deeply involved in the plot of my gladiator-homecoming novel! I can't leave it be when another option is finding out how Atretes' return to Germania is going! I flipped on my lamp and started reading, only to drift off into a peaceful sleep, book in hand.
The end.
The end, I wished! I was awoken at midnight to the news: Max had deposited diarrhea all throughout the house. Accident #4, check. With super-mommy strength I leaped out bed, snatched Max Dog, and threw him in the tub. Consider this punishment for all you've done! I thought, thoroughly enjoying myself and cackling like that little hunchbacked man who assists creating Frankenstein. I washed him and I washed him until he smelled Fructis fresh and my frustrations had been satisfied. Meanwhile, Keith placed the baby in her bed and began the daunting task of cleaning up the deposits.
Finally, all and everyone were clean. We dragged ourselves to bed, pleasantly surprised to see that Cosette had drifted off to sleep on her own. Now, you may be worried about Max Dog's health due to his day of accidents. But let me assure you, nothing good can come from eating paper products out of the trashcan.
Now, since we had power, we might as well use it to our advantage: My final request was for Keith to turn the air conditioning up, because it was getting hot and sticky in our room. He came back with an air of comedic defeat: Our A/C was frozen over from the power turning off and on, off and on. We would have no A/C. Regardless of the power, we were going to melt. What do we do? Smile about it, I guess. We were beyond exhaustion and practically reduced to monkey-speech by this point. We flipped on our oscillating fan and turned out the lights on my No Good Very Bad Day.
The end.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Davenports in June & July
In an effort to remember these crazy days I'm going to write about the mundane as well as the magical. Hopefully I'll manage quite a few updates, but when the days consist of a crying baby and two very needy dogs and some genuine family time with my awesome family, 6 weeks go by and I've hardly even blinked!
What's going on in our little life right now?
Cosette smiles back and Keith & I both are sure we have heard her utter her first sounds....something like an "Ahh," or perhaps, "Heeyaaaeeee." She also enjoys squirming on her tummy and lifts her head up to 90 degrees. What can I say, we are proud parents. I think she's managing to sprout some more hair as well, although her totally awesome flattened mowak look is still being rocked. She actually fits into some of her 0-3 months clothes now too, and I've had to retire most of her newborn-sized clothing. Now that was sad. But, being a mature and forward-moving adult, I packed them away with only a few sighs and sniffs.
Going to bed each night is an activity full of expectation and hope, quite like Advent season. Who knows when that magical night will be that I wake up, not to some pitiful whimpering that gives us 20 seconds before it turns into a hunger wail, but to my own biological clock that says, "Wake up, Allison! You had a nice, refreshing sleep, and now it's time to get up and embrace the day!" (I feel obligated to state that I'm aware I may never again wake up to such a peaceful alarm, but I'm not secure enough to admit it to myself yet.) Maybe tonight will be the night? Please oh please oh please.
Let's see...what else...
Recent impulsivity (is that a word? impulsiveness?) has led to my over-indulgence in delicious chocolate chip ice cream, as well as, quite ironically, a renewed passion for Pilates. Pilates, by the way, is much more interesting without a 6.5 lb baby in a basketball-sized uterus adding her opinion on Downward Dog and the Saw. Um, okay, what was I talking about? Oh yes, impulsivity or impulsiveness...Right. Yesterday I got fed up with my frumpy fuzz hair and got it chopped right off. Now I feel much more cool, double-entendre implied. Oh, and much more mom-like. Mom-like as in, "Cool shopping mom that has it all together." Right.
One of my friends lovingly advised me that pregnancy and child-birth result in the average mom losing up to 13% of her brain capacity, most of which she can re-acquire in one year. I would like to attest. I think many things are responsible for this brain loss: 1) My baby sucked part of it out while in utero (I mean, really, how else does she get her own brain?), 2) Part of my brain voluntarily evacuated after labor and delivery (the weak cells couldn't hold up, so they left), 3) The human brain doesn't thrive on 6 hours of sleep divided into two or three parts, every night, every week, every month, and finally, 4) Part of my focus is always on Cosette, regardless of who is holding her or where she is or what she's doing. Undivided attention, therefore, is a joke.
Anything else?
Keith & I are in love with Booth & Brennan. Now, you may say, "Wait, aren't they fictional characters from the TV show 'Bones'?" Um, yes, but they rock. We've watched almost every episode from the first 4 seasons. This is what we do when we aren't sleeping, eating, playing with the baby, assisting in an effort to keep the house from voluntarily purging itself, working, etc. etc.
Max Dog & Sadie Catahoula are adjusting to the third (or rather, fifth) member of our family quite well. They enjoy sniffing her and occassionally offering up a lick offering. Sadie Catahoula also enjoys lounging on Cosette's play gym mat and alerting me whenever she is crying. Max Dog enjoys ignoring the baby, eating grass, and licking his paws.
Things we are looking forward to:
* David's wedding on August 21!
* A job modification...one part-time job just doesn't cut it. Please pray for us, as we have no idea how this complication will be worked out.
* Our 24th birthdays!
* Cosette's adjusting to a more scheduled existence, perhaps one that her mom and dad will be able to use to estimate when she'll be hungry, tired, etc.
* Season 5 of Bones coming to Netflix. Just kidding. Or am I?
What's going on in our little life right now?
Cosette smiles back and Keith & I both are sure we have heard her utter her first sounds....something like an "Ahh," or perhaps, "Heeyaaaeeee." She also enjoys squirming on her tummy and lifts her head up to 90 degrees. What can I say, we are proud parents. I think she's managing to sprout some more hair as well, although her totally awesome flattened mowak look is still being rocked. She actually fits into some of her 0-3 months clothes now too, and I've had to retire most of her newborn-sized clothing. Now that was sad. But, being a mature and forward-moving adult, I packed them away with only a few sighs and sniffs.
Going to bed each night is an activity full of expectation and hope, quite like Advent season. Who knows when that magical night will be that I wake up, not to some pitiful whimpering that gives us 20 seconds before it turns into a hunger wail, but to my own biological clock that says, "Wake up, Allison! You had a nice, refreshing sleep, and now it's time to get up and embrace the day!" (I feel obligated to state that I'm aware I may never again wake up to such a peaceful alarm, but I'm not secure enough to admit it to myself yet.) Maybe tonight will be the night? Please oh please oh please.
Let's see...what else...
Recent impulsivity (is that a word? impulsiveness?) has led to my over-indulgence in delicious chocolate chip ice cream, as well as, quite ironically, a renewed passion for Pilates. Pilates, by the way, is much more interesting without a 6.5 lb baby in a basketball-sized uterus adding her opinion on Downward Dog and the Saw. Um, okay, what was I talking about? Oh yes, impulsivity or impulsiveness...Right. Yesterday I got fed up with my frumpy fuzz hair and got it chopped right off. Now I feel much more cool, double-entendre implied. Oh, and much more mom-like. Mom-like as in, "Cool shopping mom that has it all together." Right.
One of my friends lovingly advised me that pregnancy and child-birth result in the average mom losing up to 13% of her brain capacity, most of which she can re-acquire in one year. I would like to attest. I think many things are responsible for this brain loss: 1) My baby sucked part of it out while in utero (I mean, really, how else does she get her own brain?), 2) Part of my brain voluntarily evacuated after labor and delivery (the weak cells couldn't hold up, so they left), 3) The human brain doesn't thrive on 6 hours of sleep divided into two or three parts, every night, every week, every month, and finally, 4) Part of my focus is always on Cosette, regardless of who is holding her or where she is or what she's doing. Undivided attention, therefore, is a joke.
Anything else?
Keith & I are in love with Booth & Brennan. Now, you may say, "Wait, aren't they fictional characters from the TV show 'Bones'?" Um, yes, but they rock. We've watched almost every episode from the first 4 seasons. This is what we do when we aren't sleeping, eating, playing with the baby, assisting in an effort to keep the house from voluntarily purging itself, working, etc. etc.
Max Dog & Sadie Catahoula are adjusting to the third (or rather, fifth) member of our family quite well. They enjoy sniffing her and occassionally offering up a lick offering. Sadie Catahoula also enjoys lounging on Cosette's play gym mat and alerting me whenever she is crying. Max Dog enjoys ignoring the baby, eating grass, and licking his paws.
Things we are looking forward to:
* David's wedding on August 21!
* A job modification...one part-time job just doesn't cut it. Please pray for us, as we have no idea how this complication will be worked out.
* Our 24th birthdays!
* Cosette's adjusting to a more scheduled existence, perhaps one that her mom and dad will be able to use to estimate when she'll be hungry, tired, etc.
* Season 5 of Bones coming to Netflix. Just kidding. Or am I?
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Cosette Has a Name!
I'm thinking this blog is going to become a Davenport Family Update Transit of Information blog. Hopefully I can put some interesting info up regularly, especially once baby Cosette comes and I'm back on my feet (or not on my feet and a little restless).
Firstly, we have named our baby girl Cosette Marie. And yes, I meant to type it out! We had been keeping our name choice a secret for about 5 months for two reasons: We could change it if we wanted, and it was fun to be sneaky. Well, reason number one become very valuable to me when about a month ago I fessed up to Keith that I really didn't love the name we had chosen and had been calling the Kicking Kid for months. I just didn't.
For a while I loved the name Evelyn, the old-style way. Then I recalled the hauntingly beautiful store Eveline from James Joyce's Dubliners, and I vividly remembered my senior-year English teacher telling us to say her name Eve-Line or Eve-Lyn, because she's Irish, Joyce is Irish, and that's how the Irish like it. Eve-Lyn sounded awesome to me, beautiful and unique. So we made it Evelyn, pronounced Eve-Lyn. Somewhere along the way, though, I started hearing Keith say "Evil" every time he called our baby by name. And I was bothered. Eventually I couldn't handle it anymore and broke his heart by casting "Evelyn" out the window. But, I mean, come on...Evil just shouldn't be tolerated.
Cosette was on my top 5 list for quite a while. Keith, however, wasn't in love. It took some living with and convincing on my part, and finally one morning, Keith said, "So let's name her Cosette." And I was happy.
Where the name came from, though, I'm not sure. I think I was inadvertently influenced by my reading selections of Les Mis over the years of Englishness and literature-learning, although I couldn't have told you Cosette is the daughter of Jean Valjean...that is, before I was reminded of it.
Marie is my middle name...that's where that came from.
So anyways, other Davenport happenings:
Olivet graduates this weekend: David, Kent, and Andrea are undergrads, and Tim with an MBA. Busy, busy! Graduating from college ourselves seems like ages ago to Keith and me. College itself also seems like another world, in which we only possibly actually lived or perhaps only made up. We do miss our college friends so much though. And some professors. And some classes :)
No more work for me after next week. I'm cashing in my lattes at Caribou Coffee after 1 year and 7 months to wait impatiently for Cosette to come see me and then take care of her. Now this means many things to us Davenports, but mainly it means that we will be relying on the Providence of God now more than ever, and we will be hopefully looking for an additional job for Keith that he can work joyously and not reluctantly. It means rearranging things financially. And it means that I'm finished with yet another "Just a Job" job and can look forward to a new job in the future that really invigorates me, or to more at-home motherhood, whichever befalls me.
Max & Sadie, our adoring 2-year-old furry fluffies, say hi to the world through the blog as well. They want you to know that they are doing well. Sadie Catahoula is excited for the baby to come so she can have yet another Davenport to snuggle and mother. She also wants everyone to know that she has settled down (*some*) but will still jump on you and love you if/when you come to visit us because she just downright adores you already. Max Dog, on the other hand, wants you to know he feels apathetic about the whole baby thing. However, if you come to visit, he promises to sit with you in the green chair and do nothing all day.
That's about all for now. 5 more weeks till the due date!
Firstly, we have named our baby girl Cosette Marie. And yes, I meant to type it out! We had been keeping our name choice a secret for about 5 months for two reasons: We could change it if we wanted, and it was fun to be sneaky. Well, reason number one become very valuable to me when about a month ago I fessed up to Keith that I really didn't love the name we had chosen and had been calling the Kicking Kid for months. I just didn't.
For a while I loved the name Evelyn, the old-style way. Then I recalled the hauntingly beautiful store Eveline from James Joyce's Dubliners, and I vividly remembered my senior-year English teacher telling us to say her name Eve-Line or Eve-Lyn, because she's Irish, Joyce is Irish, and that's how the Irish like it. Eve-Lyn sounded awesome to me, beautiful and unique. So we made it Evelyn, pronounced Eve-Lyn. Somewhere along the way, though, I started hearing Keith say "Evil" every time he called our baby by name. And I was bothered. Eventually I couldn't handle it anymore and broke his heart by casting "Evelyn" out the window. But, I mean, come on...Evil just shouldn't be tolerated.
Cosette was on my top 5 list for quite a while. Keith, however, wasn't in love. It took some living with and convincing on my part, and finally one morning, Keith said, "So let's name her Cosette." And I was happy.
Where the name came from, though, I'm not sure. I think I was inadvertently influenced by my reading selections of Les Mis over the years of Englishness and literature-learning, although I couldn't have told you Cosette is the daughter of Jean Valjean...that is, before I was reminded of it.
Marie is my middle name...that's where that came from.
So anyways, other Davenport happenings:
Olivet graduates this weekend: David, Kent, and Andrea are undergrads, and Tim with an MBA. Busy, busy! Graduating from college ourselves seems like ages ago to Keith and me. College itself also seems like another world, in which we only possibly actually lived or perhaps only made up. We do miss our college friends so much though. And some professors. And some classes :)
No more work for me after next week. I'm cashing in my lattes at Caribou Coffee after 1 year and 7 months to wait impatiently for Cosette to come see me and then take care of her. Now this means many things to us Davenports, but mainly it means that we will be relying on the Providence of God now more than ever, and we will be hopefully looking for an additional job for Keith that he can work joyously and not reluctantly. It means rearranging things financially. And it means that I'm finished with yet another "Just a Job" job and can look forward to a new job in the future that really invigorates me, or to more at-home motherhood, whichever befalls me.
Max & Sadie, our adoring 2-year-old furry fluffies, say hi to the world through the blog as well. They want you to know that they are doing well. Sadie Catahoula is excited for the baby to come so she can have yet another Davenport to snuggle and mother. She also wants everyone to know that she has settled down (*some*) but will still jump on you and love you if/when you come to visit us because she just downright adores you already. Max Dog, on the other hand, wants you to know he feels apathetic about the whole baby thing. However, if you come to visit, he promises to sit with you in the green chair and do nothing all day.
That's about all for now. 5 more weeks till the due date!
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
23-Week Ramble
Well, hm, things sure are fiercely normal and frighteningly different. All, of course, on a scale of minute proportions.
Normal: Currently addicted to the Olympics,
Abnormal: Projecting my fear of motherly failure on that one American snowboarder who totally choked four years ago at the finish line, gained a ton of media attention for her hope for gold this year, and unfortunately wiped out in the semis in a furry of snow, flags, and a flying snowboard. Needless to say, I teared up a little on the way to work thinking about her surely broken heart.
Normal: <3 for rearranging and purchasing furniture
Abnormal: Obsessively checking Craigslist for new listings.
Abnormal: Finding a beloved changing table/dresser combo on Craigslist, feeling like I had it for sure in my grasp, and then finding out it sold before I could see it. (Note that it was used and not the finish that we wanted, but for some reason I latched on.) Finding another beloved combo changer at JC Penney Outlet (it did, in fact, have scratches and damages, but of course, I loved it unequivocally), checking on it a few days later, arranging for a friend to help us haul it, and then finding that hours after it was in my sight for the last time, some other mother-to-be (likely a Johnson County-ian, hmph) bought it out from underneath my very grasp. I bawled, bawled, rejected fast food, bawled, curled up on the recliner, and bawled. Over a damaged dresser.
--Clearly I'm swinging on a pendulum--
Normal: Excitement for the baby to come!
Abnormal: Waking up at 1 am and pondering the birth of my child, waking Keith up to discuss it, and finding that I'm annoyed with him for not wanting to chat about childbirth and birth defects and all that jazz...
Normal: Dreams
Abnormal: Dreams that involve my mother, at 52, having another child; a college acquaintance blowing up in Disney Land; and my OB stealing my child at birth and giving it to a couple who couldn't have kids all for the sake of doing Good in the world (I could always have more children, after all). I now have developed isolated fears of birth control, Disney Land, and my obstetrician.
Enough of this talk. Some info updates: I'm 23 1/2 weeks and feeling the baby moving about a lot. Keith felt her swimming around two weekends ago (yay!), and just recently I've been able to see her kicks! While I'm watching TV or reading, I enjoy leaving my hand on my tummy and feeling every knee, elbow, hand, or foot that I can. Usually, I giggle. Giggling has become my number one reaction to any miracle of life: marriage, healing, salvation, babies...
At my last check-up I had gained 6 lbs from my previous appointment, for a total weight gain of 7 lbs. Yippee. I very much enjoy my prenatal pilates, mainly because the instructor is at least 10 months pregnant (ha) and if she can do it, I can do it too. For the most part. Unless it involves moving more than 2 appendages at a time. Coordination gets tricky, if you know what I mean.
Still trucking away at Caribou Coffee. I both look forward to and dread my quitting day, because once I quit, there will be no more paychecks. And I don't know what we'll do, or how we'll make it, and I don't know what my next work move will be from there, and I don't know how long we'll be able to hold on, but that's where the beauty of Christ-following comes in. Something (well, Someone) is keeping our hearts at peace as we approach this serious unknown. God is our Provider. He'll provide.
Normal: Currently addicted to the Olympics,
Abnormal: Projecting my fear of motherly failure on that one American snowboarder who totally choked four years ago at the finish line, gained a ton of media attention for her hope for gold this year, and unfortunately wiped out in the semis in a furry of snow, flags, and a flying snowboard. Needless to say, I teared up a little on the way to work thinking about her surely broken heart.
Normal: <3 for rearranging and purchasing furniture
Abnormal: Obsessively checking Craigslist for new listings.
Abnormal: Finding a beloved changing table/dresser combo on Craigslist, feeling like I had it for sure in my grasp, and then finding out it sold before I could see it. (Note that it was used and not the finish that we wanted, but for some reason I latched on.) Finding another beloved combo changer at JC Penney Outlet (it did, in fact, have scratches and damages, but of course, I loved it unequivocally), checking on it a few days later, arranging for a friend to help us haul it, and then finding that hours after it was in my sight for the last time, some other mother-to-be (likely a Johnson County-ian, hmph) bought it out from underneath my very grasp. I bawled, bawled, rejected fast food, bawled, curled up on the recliner, and bawled. Over a damaged dresser.
--Clearly I'm swinging on a pendulum--
Normal: Excitement for the baby to come!
Abnormal: Waking up at 1 am and pondering the birth of my child, waking Keith up to discuss it, and finding that I'm annoyed with him for not wanting to chat about childbirth and birth defects and all that jazz...
Normal: Dreams
Abnormal: Dreams that involve my mother, at 52, having another child; a college acquaintance blowing up in Disney Land; and my OB stealing my child at birth and giving it to a couple who couldn't have kids all for the sake of doing Good in the world (I could always have more children, after all). I now have developed isolated fears of birth control, Disney Land, and my obstetrician.
Enough of this talk. Some info updates: I'm 23 1/2 weeks and feeling the baby moving about a lot. Keith felt her swimming around two weekends ago (yay!), and just recently I've been able to see her kicks! While I'm watching TV or reading, I enjoy leaving my hand on my tummy and feeling every knee, elbow, hand, or foot that I can. Usually, I giggle. Giggling has become my number one reaction to any miracle of life: marriage, healing, salvation, babies...
At my last check-up I had gained 6 lbs from my previous appointment, for a total weight gain of 7 lbs. Yippee. I very much enjoy my prenatal pilates, mainly because the instructor is at least 10 months pregnant (ha) and if she can do it, I can do it too. For the most part. Unless it involves moving more than 2 appendages at a time. Coordination gets tricky, if you know what I mean.
Still trucking away at Caribou Coffee. I both look forward to and dread my quitting day, because once I quit, there will be no more paychecks. And I don't know what we'll do, or how we'll make it, and I don't know what my next work move will be from there, and I don't know how long we'll be able to hold on, but that's where the beauty of Christ-following comes in. Something (well, Someone) is keeping our hearts at peace as we approach this serious unknown. God is our Provider. He'll provide.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Girl!
On Wednesday Keith and I went to my 18-week appointment all excited because we were going to have THE sonogram. Is it a boy or a girl? For a couple who replied "A baby" when people asked what we wanted, the excitement was not over finding out the news that it was a boy or it was a girl so much as just knowing.
We both knew before the sonogramer said...our baby's a girl!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Mad props to my dad and grandma, a cousin, a best friend, and Keith's grandma for all also "knowing" it was a girl for quite a while. Super spidey sense on these ones, if you ask me.
The sonogram showed our daughter sitting breach-style, cross-legged, facing out, with her hands pulled up to the sides of her face, just hanging out, swimming around. How cool! News is, too, that she can hear these days (19 weeks) and recognize familiar sounds like my voice, Keith's voice, my heart beat, perhaps a coffee pot brewing...
So, after the shock of life-changing information and then the mind-dulling 2-hour wait to see our doctor, we didn't really hit the road naming her and buying her lacy pink outfits. Well, we didn't until yesterday! Shopping for baby girl clothes = an amazing experience of ruffles, pink, lady bugs, dresses, and bows. Amazing how much more fun it is to shop for her than for myself! (I never thought I would have such a thought.)
About her name, we decided upon the recommendation of a few trustworthy moms and our own intuition not to share her name until she's born. Besides, a secret is always fun and the pursuit of its answer always makes your life more worth living, right? Um, right. Anyways, we think we've settled on her name, and we're trying it out on her now to see if she likes it (and us too).
After buying her an "I Love Daddy" onesie (and I'm convinced they make no such thing for Mommy that comes in girl colors, sob) and a few other staples and some diapers, I entered some eratic sort of psycological state where I felt I needed to buy all the items for the nursery and decorate it all and fill the closet and register post haste, or else. Good thing someone was reminding me I have 5 more months of carrying the child before we get to meet her and need to clothe her and introduce her to her room...he did the trick. oh, as did a delicious vanilla bean frappuccino (yes, I betray Caribou Coffee every once in a while to meet my needs...but that's another blog post).
I've now found that a good way to channel my overbearing motherly instincts is...drum roll...crocheting! I've been a crocheter for officially 5 hours now, which necessarily means that I'm terrible and my "blanket" could also pass as half a sock, a Barbie poncho, or a shrunken scarf. However, I fully intend to crochet my baby girl a beautiful blanket which she will love and cherish forever.
Well, until more news strikes me as noteworthy (or maybe not so much?), that's all folks!
We both knew before the sonogramer said...our baby's a girl!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Mad props to my dad and grandma, a cousin, a best friend, and Keith's grandma for all also "knowing" it was a girl for quite a while. Super spidey sense on these ones, if you ask me.
The sonogram showed our daughter sitting breach-style, cross-legged, facing out, with her hands pulled up to the sides of her face, just hanging out, swimming around. How cool! News is, too, that she can hear these days (19 weeks) and recognize familiar sounds like my voice, Keith's voice, my heart beat, perhaps a coffee pot brewing...
So, after the shock of life-changing information and then the mind-dulling 2-hour wait to see our doctor, we didn't really hit the road naming her and buying her lacy pink outfits. Well, we didn't until yesterday! Shopping for baby girl clothes = an amazing experience of ruffles, pink, lady bugs, dresses, and bows. Amazing how much more fun it is to shop for her than for myself! (I never thought I would have such a thought.)
About her name, we decided upon the recommendation of a few trustworthy moms and our own intuition not to share her name until she's born. Besides, a secret is always fun and the pursuit of its answer always makes your life more worth living, right? Um, right. Anyways, we think we've settled on her name, and we're trying it out on her now to see if she likes it (and us too).
After buying her an "I Love Daddy" onesie (and I'm convinced they make no such thing for Mommy that comes in girl colors, sob) and a few other staples and some diapers, I entered some eratic sort of psycological state where I felt I needed to buy all the items for the nursery and decorate it all and fill the closet and register post haste, or else. Good thing someone was reminding me I have 5 more months of carrying the child before we get to meet her and need to clothe her and introduce her to her room...he did the trick. oh, as did a delicious vanilla bean frappuccino (yes, I betray Caribou Coffee every once in a while to meet my needs...but that's another blog post).
I've now found that a good way to channel my overbearing motherly instincts is...drum roll...crocheting! I've been a crocheter for officially 5 hours now, which necessarily means that I'm terrible and my "blanket" could also pass as half a sock, a Barbie poncho, or a shrunken scarf. However, I fully intend to crochet my baby girl a beautiful blanket which she will love and cherish forever.
Well, until more news strikes me as noteworthy (or maybe not so much?), that's all folks!
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