Guess I'm not surprised.

I had to swing by the local Senior Expo on my way to work this morning.  While I was there, they announced the winner of the hourly raffle drawing over the loudspeaker.

The prize was a gift certificate to Chuck-A-Rama.

Mind blowing.

"When are you due?"
"October 18th."

Sometimes I wonder how many times I heard and said that.  A lot, I bet.

One year ago today was Bug's due date.  I didn't get to meet her for another 7 days, of course, because she was running a bit behind.  (Not sure what she was so busy doing in there that she needed an entire extra week.  She came out bald and naked, after all.) 

I laugh when I think about those last few weeks of pregnancy.  I wasn't as crazy for her to come out as the blog made it look.  Babies are much more difficult to take care of outside of the womb than inside, even when you factor in the pregnancy heartburn and all the waddling and peeing and whatnot.  I was lucky, too-- I was as comfortable it's possible to be when you're the size of Costco without any pain or real complaints.  I slept reasonably well (see: all the peeing) and my feet never swelled until after she came out.

I worked full-time until I was 40 weeks and 5 days pregnant.  Every morning I'd haul myself all the way from the employee parking section across the long expanse of pavement and into the office.  The front desk crew would audibly groan when they saw the still-very-pregnant me plodding along.  I lumbered past the receptionist about 25 times a day at my old job, sometimes 30 seconds apart.  Each and every time she'd excitedly ask if I was feeling any cramping or pain.  "Nope!" I'd cheerfully respond, and she'd sort of visibly deflate.  I imagine they were all thrilled when I didn't come to work that final Friday.  I don't know for sure; I never returned to that job.  (See:  Things we thought were a good idea at the time until everything completely derailed.)

October 18th.  October 18th.  My first baby was due on October 18th. 

In the future, maybe you could save on the postage

Dear Alumni Associations from either of my two alma maters,

Thanks so much for thinking of me!  It's really very touching, especially since you are so darn consistent!  However, I will not be giving you any money at this time.  I am, after all, still paying for the experience of attending your school.  Shucks.  (This is where I snap my finger in a swishing motion while pulling a helpless face and shrugging my shoulders.  That way you have a visual.)

Aggies, go ahead and give me a try in, say, a decade or so.  We'll see if I'm done paying for the first go 'round by then.

Utes, you weren't that great the first time around.  And you were puh-ricey, even for just one wimpy year of grad school.  So I'll have to ponder on that one.

Best regards,
Your distinguished graduate

P.S.- GO AGGIES!

Things I'll likely forget by baby #2.

Our Bug started eating solid food around 5 months old.  Back then, she looked like this:

(All the pictures in this post were taken via cell phone.  Sorry they stink.)

That's when I decided to begin making much of her food here at home.  It was something I had considered before she was born, and I was eager to give it a shot.

I don't have anything against store-brand baby food.  In fact, Bug enjoys crackers and other snacks from the store regularly because they are so portable. I just feel that, like nursing, making most of her food here at home is something healthy and cost-effective I can do for her.  Plus, despite how rarely I really do it, I really love to cook.  After a day like today, peeling and chopping vegetables is quite therapeutic. 

I started Bug out on simple veggies like sweet potatoes, yams, green beans, and avocado.  I'm sure there are fancier ways to prepare baby food, but I simply peel and boil the veggies, if needed.  When she was very small, I blended them in the blender to get them nice and smooth.  Now, a hand mixer or even mashing with a fork pretty much does the trick.  When I serve it to her, I generally mix it with fortified rice or wheat cereal to ensure she gets plenty of iron.

We have done our best to expose Bug to lots of different flavors.  As she has gotten older, we have slowly added carrots (gross, but healthy), peas, squash, cauliflower, cucumbers, and spinach.  We have chosen to add each new food slowly, letting her eat it for several meals in a row before introducing anything new.  When I prepare veggies for the first time, I've decided to boil them separately.  That way, if she has a reaction to one, I don't have to throw out all the other varieties I made that night.  Once I know she tolerates each of them just fine, I usually throw like vegetables in the pot together (ie sweet potatoes and yams).  Because of our busy schedule, I tend to make lots of food at a time and freeze it to use later.

Fruit has been easy to add to her diet, as well.  I generally don't prepare fruit ahead of time, as it is easy to mash up on the spot.  We started with bananas (which tended to, ahem, stop her up a bit) and applesauce.  We've also tried pears, peaches, and mandarin oranges.  After she reached nine months old, we got the go ahead to add yogurt, string cheese, and cottage cheese to her diet.  She's also tried black beans, olives (chopped), graham crackers, and several jams and jellies.

Not surprisingly given the size of her cheeks, we have not found much of anything she doesn't like.  Now she looks more like this:

After eating pasta and tomato sauce a few days ago and smearing it all over herself, she developed a mild rash on her tummy.  A bit of nervous-mommy googling revealed it was likely just from the high acid content in tomatoes.  Rumor on the street is that raw strawberries can also produce a skin reaction, so we have not given her those.  Tonight, I made her brocolli for the first time.  It can be hard on little tummies, so we waited a bit longer before giving it a shot.  I also mixed it with some simple white sweet potatoes (which she loves) to hopefully make it tummy friendly.  We have held off on introducing melons as Schmoopsie is slightly allergic to them.  We also steer clear of highly allergenic foods including eggs and peanut butter, and we have not given her regular cow's milk yet.  Honey, of course, is another no-no. 

Tonight, as I peeled the carrots, I threw the occasional bite down to Lupe.  She's not a good catch, so she let them bounce off her face before eating them off the ground. 

It seems both my baby and my dog eat healthier than I do.

Bring it.

I can always think of the perfect, witty, biting thing to say. Perfectly placed sarcasm and humor with forceful emphasis to make my point flows like a smooth, wide river unencumbered into my brain and straight out my mouth.


Problem is, not until several hours after I need it.

I stand up for myself, communicate clearly, and stand confidently with my shoulders back.

Later, of course. Like when I’m home, unfairly spilling my wrath on my unsuspecting and certainly undeserving husband.

I am so tired of stepping up to the plate. I am so tired of taking one for the team. I am tired of pinch-hitting for everyone else in an emergency that isn't my fault.

And I am tired of stupid sports analogies.

Wherein I wax philosophical

Here is what I am thinking about:

This weekend is General Conference. I love Conference weekend. It means lots of jammy-wearing relaxation, family breakfasts, and late-afternoon naps, to say nothing of spiritual enlightenment. It is refueling, both physically and spiritually.


Six months ago, I spent many of the sessions gazing at my small, not-yet-mobile daughter in wonder. Last year at this time, my belly was swollen and heavy with the weight of her. Half a year before that, I was throwing up my oatmeal while the tiny Floyd fetus inside me grew. I can measure my life in these even chunks--- April, October. April, October.


It was meant for me. I hear this often in the weeks following conference. It was just what I needed.


I have often figured that it was more the spirit of the meeting that speaks to the individual than the speaker. After all, with millions of listeners, surely the topic cannot be directed toward only one person. It is the truth of it that serves as a balm; the Spirit highlights, pulling and illuminating pieces specific to the listener.


Comforting, teaching, answering, guiding.


I know this is true.


And also:


Perhaps the content is just what we need, too. And the reason it can be “just what I needed” for many of us simultaneously is because we are not as different as we think we are. Sure, the details, the circumstances, the particulars vary, but maybe the heart of it all is much more universal.


I hurt, I want, I need. Help me.


And that is why I intend to listen for both--what the Spirit teaches, and what the speaker teaches--because I am not that different.

Look, sire. The herd is on the move.

My sister MJ watches the Bug while I am at work.  We've put in place a special formality known as The Deal-- should Bug acheive any major milestones while I am away, MJ is to keep her mouth shut about it and then act surprised later when I excitedly tell her about it.  I'd like to say that she's never had to implement The Deal as I've been there for each 'first' so far, but now that I think about it, I guess I really don't know for sure...

Anyway, all was going along swimmingly until last Thursday night.  You see, last Thursday night, Schmoopsie and I headed to Capitol Theatre to see The Lion King with other qualifying members of his work sales team.  It was wonderful, fabulous, amazing, genius, insert-any-impressive-adjective-you-know-here good.  I'm not exaggerating here; it was that. good.  Really.  REALLY. 

And then at intermission, Schmoopise scurried off to the men's room, and came back with shocking news.

"Got a text from your mother," he said.  "Bug took 6 steps."

Clearly, Madre/Nana doesn't know The Deal.

"Are you kidding me?!" I asked.  "The one time we go on a date without her?"
"Are you kidding me?!" MJ thundered when she heard the news.  "The one time I'm not watching her?"

And now?  Bug won't repeat it.  Stubborn little thing.  Gets it from her Daddy.

Watch out.  Our ladyBug is on the move.