tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48980942111870449632011-11-06T19:25:58.197-07:00two points for honestywhitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333605672978990466noreply@blogger.comBlogger155125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898094211187044963.post-31579090804214255812011-11-06T19:06:00.004-07:002011-11-06T19:25:58.230-07:002011-11-06T19:25:58.230-07:00It happened...<div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:130%;">So I was going about my nightly routine, nothing out of the ordinary...it was about 7:00 and James was putting Jillian down for the night. I was upstairs putting leftover dinner in Tupperware containers, wiping down the counters, taking various things back downstairs and some things back upstairs, rotating the last load of laundry, etc. There was a cookbook opened up on the counter opened up to a stained recipe for banana bread that I was eagerly awaiting to make once everything else was done. And then it hit me...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I have become my mother.</span><br /><br />I remember growing up and watching my mom do this very same thing. Going from room to room, moving endless piles to various places, cleaning the kitchen, (because "I just can't go to bed with a dirty kitchen") and going through the upcoming week's schedule with us. And all of us would usually be sitting at the bar in the kitchen eating something, or on the couch watching a movie, or on the computer. It never occurred to me then, "<span style="font-style: italic;">Hey, she looks pretty busy zooming from place to place, why don't you go see what she needs help with?</span>"<br /><br />It didn't occur to me until I was doing the exact same thing, complaining about it in my mind. I wonder if she had those thoughts as we left bits of cereal flakes on her freshly wiped surfaces? I've never heard my mom complain about ANYTHING.<br /><br />So maybe I haven't become her yet...but it's a noble work in progress.<br /><br />_______<br /><br /><br />And on a COMPLETELY unrelated note due to my compulsive need for everyone to see how adorable my child is.. Jillian was looking supa' fly for church today :-)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gj5g1ulbplg/TrdBXcvHujI/AAAAAAAAAzI/geWjb6Ftwt4/s1600/IMG_4687.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gj5g1ulbplg/TrdBXcvHujI/AAAAAAAAAzI/geWjb6Ftwt4/s400/IMG_4687.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672074126803057202" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54489/326/CDC36E3753A8B5DDBC95A44076532B84.png" style="border: 0 !important; background: transparent;" /></a></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4898094211187044963-3157909080421425581?l=pointsofhonesty.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333605672978990466noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898094211187044963.post-21307225562976183092011-10-31T21:39:00.005-06:002011-10-31T22:22:06.517-06:002011-10-31T22:22:06.517-06:00It's the thought that counts..right?<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Here's what happens when you have a 3 month old and try to plan Halloween activities:</span></span> <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />1. You plan on going to the church Halloween "trunk or treat" party, but it starts at 6 and your baby likes to go to bed at 7. So you dress in her costume anyway, but she decides to fall asleep and you know if you take her she'll inevitably wake up and be cranky. So you decide not to go and let her sleep in her costume for a couple hours.<br /></span></span> <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />2. You plan to carve pumpkins on Saturday, and your baby lasts the first 5 minutes and then wants to go to sleep, so you and your husband end up taking turns carving the pumpkin and bouncing the baby to sleep.</span></span> <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />3. On Halloween you decide you should at least put her in her costume to snap a quick picture, after all it IS her first Halloween...but she starts acting tired MUCH earlier than usual and you know it's not worth fighting for.<br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">4. At least you figure you can pass out candy to trick-or-treaters and maybe watch a Halloween movie with your hubby, but then he falls asleep on the couch at like 8, leaving you to blog and watch <span style="font-style: italic;">Casper the Friendly Ghost</span> on the Family Channel, with a bowl of left over Halloween candy <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">dangerously</span> close. </span></span> <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Haha. Oh well. We did manage to get <span style="font-size:180%;">some</span> pictures. </span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AFnXD2Y4vGk/Tq9sWNVpFSI/AAAAAAAAAy8/zw48OLoccug/s1600/halloween%2Bcollage.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 325px; height: 500px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AFnXD2Y4vGk/Tq9sWNVpFSI/AAAAAAAAAy8/zw48OLoccug/s400/halloween%2Bcollage.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669869584676099362" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I personally LOVE Halloween. As a teacher it's friggin' exhausting...but it's still fun. Lately I've even been getting "freaked out" a little more than normal. I think it all started with a spooky dream I had that felt ridiculously real.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=" font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >(So in my dream I was recording something Jillian was doing, but I was in the shot with her, so the camera was like on the table or something pointed towards us. Later I wanted to show my mom what Jillian was doing on the video, so I showed her and while showing her, a floating black ghost/grim reaper type thing was floating behind me STARING at me in the video! I didn't see it until I was watching the play back with my mom. JEEPERS CREEPERS!)</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Then that reminded me (for some reason) of this thing Ryan, my older brother, wrote on the back of his door when we moved into our house in Lake Butler after it was just built...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">"12 to 1 is the time of the dead..."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I think he got it from a movie or something? For weeks if I woke up during that hour I would lay there and be freaked out of my MIND. Thanks Ryan. Thanks for that. That dream reminded me of that, and I got equally as freaked out the other night when I had to wake up and feed Jillian in the wee hours of the morning.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I'm a mega scaredy-cat, basically.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Happy Halloween. :-) </span><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54489/326/CDC36E3753A8B5DDBC95A44076532B84.png" style="border: 0 !important; background: transparent;" /></a></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4898094211187044963-2130722556297618309?l=pointsofhonesty.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333605672978990466noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898094211187044963.post-3378921727468407502011-10-30T21:52:00.005-06:002011-10-31T21:39:39.660-06:002011-10-31T21:39:39.660-06:00I'm a fence-sitter<span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" >Sooo every few weeks I go through these predictable phases. It goes something like this:<br /><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: center;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">-Parenting is LOVERLY! Butterflies, rainbows, SMILES!</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: center;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">-I feel like I'm doing something wrong (instant internal conflict because nothing really spurs this thought besides my own angel/devil shoulder scenario).</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: center;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">-Read 1243901834 parenting books/websites.</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: center;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">-Confusion.</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: center;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">-Give up.</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: center;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">-Repeat.</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: center;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: center;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">I feel like there are three sides to the story in the parenting game. 1) The people who say, "let your baby cry it out. They need to learn how to self-soothe anyway, and you don't want them to grow up and be a needy, clingy brat because you coddled them." 2) The people who say, "run to your babies every whim! Let them sleep with you to build a stronger bond." 3) Then there's the stuff you actually do that mostly works, but doesn't really fit into either of those categories.</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: center;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: center;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">I can't decide if I side more with people one or people two. Buuuuttt from everything I've read, apparently you have to be consistent with one or the other so your kid knows what to expect. Which I get. But here's my dilemma: </span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: center;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: center;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">It takes Jillian between 1hr-1.5 hours to finally go down for the night, because she wakes up like every 10 minutes and wants to be rocked back to sleep. That bugs. Well, only if she's crying when it happens, and only if I was in the middle of doing something. So times like that, I just want her to learn how to fall back asleep on her own. </span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: center;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: center;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">Then there are the times like early Saturday morning, when I'm too tired to get up with her at 7am, so I just let her lay in bed with us for a couple hours so I can at least pretend like I'm sleeping in. Also, it's kind of nice to have the cuddle time since I work all week. </span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: center;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: center;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">So I feel like I'm sitting on the fence. I can't commit to a direction of parenting either way. So that leads me to re-read all my parenting books...</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: center;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HlyA11QJs6g/Tq9pVNGt2II/AAAAAAAAAyw/gNZVQtdAs_Q/s1600/IMG_4684.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HlyA11QJs6g/Tq9pVNGt2II/AAAAAAAAAyw/gNZVQtdAs_Q/s400/IMG_4684.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669866268898744450" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:100%;">(Yes, these do keep permanent residence on my night stand. And no, the last book is not a parenting book, it's a novel...but notice it's placement..I'm on like chapter 3). </span></span><br /><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: center;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">And then feel like I'm not doing ANYTHING right. And I get confused...because so many people say <i><b>so</b></i> many different things. Why is parenting so subjective? GAH. I just need a straight answer. Much like when you ask your best friend if the dress you're wearing makes you look fat, and the answer is almost always most probably yes (it's a best friend's job to be brutally honest). Unless you're not actually fat at all, but I'm still dealing with post baby poundage, so that's where I'm at folks.<br /><br />A very real possibility I see happening is that I just wing it until she's 18. Then when my next kid comes along (long before she's 18, mind you) maybe I'll have a little more intuition. Or at least experience.<br /><br />...Or not. But maybe there will be some more books out by then.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54489/326/CDC36E3753A8B5DDBC95A44076532B84.png" style="border: 0 !important; background: transparent;" /></a></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4898094211187044963-337892172746840750?l=pointsofhonesty.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333605672978990466noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898094211187044963.post-8558495322283308952011-10-23T20:40:00.004-06:002011-10-23T21:10:26.824-06:002011-10-23T21:10:26.824-06:00Legend of Zelda boots<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I was recently asked by my adorable sister about what to buy this fall to be all trendy. I have the perfect answer (I spend way too much time on </span><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://pinterest.com/">Pinterest</a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> gathering ideas for way too many things). I gave it to her. Then I looked in my closet, and thought, "Where are all the cute clothes I </span></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" >thought</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> I had?" Ohhhhhh. I know. Two sizes back, from my pre-prego days.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Although, and wouldn't you like to know, I can fit into my first pair of jeans! ...well...almost...I can zip/button them, but I still have a little somethin' somethin' hanging over the top. Solution? Don't button them...no one will know... I found this out after I ransacked my closet and tried on literally every pair of jeans I own (I realized I have way too many pairs of jeans). These were the magical pair. I'll leave out the fact that they're somewhat of a stretchy jean material...hey, jeans are jeans.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">SO, when this kangaroo style pooch of mine turns into a more acceptable level of post-baby flab, I plan on buying some new clothes. A lot of them, actually. James has been mentally prepped on the damage that might occur to our bank account.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I grew a child, then birthed it. I deserve it.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Here's what I'm thinking: sweaters, belts, boots, scarves.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jrC-psYFRiE/TqTWB1THdEI/AAAAAAAAAx0/jmW4yGCQTgk/s1600/style3"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 265px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jrC-psYFRiE/TqTWB1THdEI/AAAAAAAAAx0/jmW4yGCQTgk/s400/style3" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666889558114399298" border="0" /></a></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hWQsyT-4I8A/TqTWBgIE-cI/AAAAAAAAAxk/mmQTbODeYsg/s1600/style2"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 261px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hWQsyT-4I8A/TqTWBgIE-cI/AAAAAAAAAxk/mmQTbODeYsg/s400/style2" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666889552430954946" border="0" /></a></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iggC5cfCWS0/TqTWBbWyjkI/AAAAAAAAAxY/WTTIOuWiQVg/s1600/style1"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iggC5cfCWS0/TqTWBbWyjkI/AAAAAAAAAxY/WTTIOuWiQVg/s400/style1" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666889551150485058" border="0" /></a></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lytJr-KwMII/TqTWCElQvVI/AAAAAAAAAx8/EuAWqlk00xE/s1600/style4"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 242px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lytJr-KwMII/TqTWCElQvVI/AAAAAAAAAx8/EuAWqlk00xE/s400/style4" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666889562217037138" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-style: italic;">I also like stripes, if you couldn't tell...I'm sure Stacy and Clinton would give that a big NO-GO given my current enlarged mid-section...but then again if somebody submits me to What Not to Wear and I get a $5,000 shopping spree...I won't complain. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">James calls these boots "Legend of Zelda boots". Last year I thought they were hideous, and we frequently made fun of the people who wore them. This year I might actually buy a pair. What can I say...I am a product of the success of advertisement and peer pressure.</span></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54489/326/CDC36E3753A8B5DDBC95A44076532B84.png" style="border: 0 !important; background: transparent;" /></a></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4898094211187044963-855849532228330895?l=pointsofhonesty.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333605672978990466noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898094211187044963.post-68721770570817840732011-10-21T10:41:00.011-06:002011-10-21T21:11:12.860-06:002011-10-21T21:11:12.860-06:00Dear Jillian (3 months!)<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Dear Jillian,</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Didn't I just write your 2 month post? I'm pretty sure that was like, last week. Craziness...you are GROWING! Your little body doesn't slump anymore when you're picked up, you're getting stalky enough to hold your shape! You're still definitely not as chunky as some other kids your age, but you're gettin' there. You make up for it with your multiple chins.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TzeibzjFw4I/TqIhhF8NyOI/AAAAAAAAAw4/5DPqHmbZHsE/s1600/IMG_4622.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TzeibzjFw4I/TqIhhF8NyOI/AAAAAAAAAw4/5DPqHmbZHsE/s400/IMG_4622.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666128133599643874" border="0" /></a><br />But I look at some of your newborn clothes and think, no WAY you were THAT tiny!! You were. </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">You seem to be learning a lot. I'm pretty sure you're going to be a </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; font-family:trebuchet ms;" >genius</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">, because you're so interested in everything around you. You get bored easily, so I have to switch up what you're looking at/playing with frequently.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GgwW2QAiRvA/TqIhgyNVdcI/AAAAAAAAAwk/jChcJgRcVIs/s1600/IMG_4621.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GgwW2QAiRvA/TqIhgyNVdcI/AAAAAAAAAwk/jChcJgRcVIs/s400/IMG_4621.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666128128302740930" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">You also make these adorable coo sounds! And you GIGGLE!! Kristen put a video of you giggling up on her blog.. </span><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://kyleandkristenhaskell.blogspot.com/2011/10/jillian.html">http://kyleandkristenhaskell.blogspot.com/2011/10/jillian.html</a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> You're pretty lucky to have such a great babysitter!!<br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Your favorite toy: hanging butterflies on your bouncy seat<br />Favorite song: Itsy Bitsy Spider<br />Favorite position: On Daddy's chest, laying across Mom with your head buried in my elbow/arm<br />Tickle spot: Under your chin<br />Favorite way to go to sleep: being bounced or in your stroller on a walk<br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I'm pretty sure you'll be able to sit up on your own fairly soon. It's just a matter of balance. You can hold your head up well enough to sit up in your Bumbo seat, and anytime you're laying down propped up you try soo hard to pull up with your tummy muscles! Today you were laying propped up on your tummy on your Boppy pillow, and you were kicking your legs so hard you pushed yourself right over your pillow and face planted! You didn't like that much...but you definitely have some strong leg muscles! You can even stand! (with assistance of course).<br /><br /></span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8e2vbM1DhK8/TqIhhzOPMmI/AAAAAAAAAxA/ZUltATYGRDQ/s1600/IMG_4627.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8e2vbM1DhK8/TqIhhzOPMmI/AAAAAAAAAxA/ZUltATYGRDQ/s400/IMG_4627.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666128145754829410" border="0" /></a><br />Right now you're going through your 12 week growth spurt, so just like the books say, you're not napping super well, and you're only snacking during the day, but chugging 6 oz at night. Hopefully that won't last too much longer. :-) Your reflux stuff is going really well! (Yay!) We have your medicine schedule down pat, and you've been doing super well on this formula (Alimentum). So last night we decided to switch back one closer to regular formula, just a sensitive kind. We'll see how it goes!<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">You have lots of shoes. It's okay..you're a girl. Apparently I bought/received way too many 0-3 month size shoes. So even if we're not going anywhere, I feel like you have to wear an outfit and shoes every day. You also have a ridiculous number of hair bows. I'm pretty sure you're set until you're at least 3 years old...but I have a compulsive need to always look at them any time we're in the store, so I'm sure your collection will just continue to grow.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zw3xlZwx-cg/TqIhgQ9K6BI/AAAAAAAAAwc/DPjkPwsGfz4/s1600/IMG_4620.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zw3xlZwx-cg/TqIhgQ9K6BI/AAAAAAAAAwc/DPjkPwsGfz4/s400/IMG_4620.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666128119376570386" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uK54pKFsqhY/TqIhgFB7efI/AAAAAAAAAwQ/O5ifJRKDN7Q/s1600/IMG_4618.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uK54pKFsqhY/TqIhgFB7efI/AAAAAAAAAwQ/O5ifJRKDN7Q/s400/IMG_4618.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666128116175305202" border="0" /></a><br /><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/SzRWSqqGl-k?hl=en&fs=1" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" width="425"></iframe><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">All in all, you are stinkin' CUTE and you have the sweetest little personality! Thank you for finally acting like a little human being!! (Even though you still have your diva moments...) We couldn't be more in love with you!<br /><br />Love,<br />Mom<br /><br /></span><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54489/326/CDC36E3753A8B5DDBC95A44076532B84.png" style="border: 0 !important; background: transparent;" /></a> </span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4898094211187044963-6872177057081784073?l=pointsofhonesty.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333605672978990466noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898094211187044963.post-28318600426271527552011-10-19T19:51:00.005-06:002011-10-20T19:22:16.613-06:002011-10-20T19:22:16.613-06:003 years and counting<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4idDtxvyQJk/Tp-DK8L449I/AAAAAAAAAv0/5_ni8cZstpc/s1600/IMG_4602.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4idDtxvyQJk/Tp-DK8L449I/AAAAAAAAAv0/5_ni8cZstpc/s400/IMG_4602.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665391080233296850" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(My squinty eye problem is getting out of control.)</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Happy Anniversary!<br /><br />I can't believe I've been married for 3 years...I further more can't believe I graduated college 2 years ago, am well into my career, and have a CHILD.<br /><br />When did I grow up?<br /><br />It's been a good 3 years though. A LOT has changed since we first got married. Everyone says the first year or so of marriage is the hardest, but it wasn't. Sometimes I think it's so funny looking back to when we were dating, and we'd stay up all hours of the night just to "talk" or go on a walk or something. Now, three years later, going to bed at 9:30 is a lot more desirable. Not necessarily more desirable than "talking," don't get me wrong, I love a good chat. I mean it's a lot more desirable than like 3am, which is when I'd usually crawl into bed in my college years.<br /><br />Allow me to illustrate. It's 8:00 and James is asleep on the couch with Jillian snoozing on his chest, and I'm on the other couch with the TV on for background noise, blogging. :-) And the rest of the night will probably go as such: Jillian will wake up one more time before she's out for the night and be so restless and wiggly one of us will have to vigorously bounce her until she conks out again, I'll get a bubble bath, go to bed around 10:00, and James and his nocturnal like ways will probably stay up until about 1 am. The only time I'm gettin' up at 3am for ANYTHING these days is if my house is on fire, or Jillian is demanding to be fed (frequently the latter).<br /><br />I asked James what he thought our greatest accomplishment was after being married for three years, and he said Jillian. I'd agree. I'm still baffled by the fact that we created a HUMAN BEING. Not only that, but we figured out all her little issues. A LOT of little issues in not a very long period of time, relatively speaking.<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-z9Sakso4Rb0/Tp-DKVeIYPI/AAAAAAAAAvs/OpZxMSB9IHI/s1600/IMG_4598.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-z9Sakso4Rb0/Tp-DKVeIYPI/AAAAAAAAAvs/OpZxMSB9IHI/s400/IMG_4598.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665391069840826610" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" >Twizzler bouquet.</span><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Yr9-pd1NASs/Tp-DKOIqQdI/AAAAAAAAAvc/DKiugqb66yU/s1600/IMG_4596.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Yr9-pd1NASs/Tp-DKOIqQdI/AAAAAAAAAvc/DKiugqb66yU/s400/IMG_4596.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665391067871723986" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" >Real bouquet.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" >So how did we celebrate?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" >Cheesecake.</span><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fN2-Pj_ke-I/Tp-DJ-RQ6tI/AAAAAAAAAvU/TfXuuXddPfA/s1600/IMG_4595.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fN2-Pj_ke-I/Tp-DJ-RQ6tI/AAAAAAAAAvU/TfXuuXddPfA/s400/IMG_4595.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665391063612844754" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />My mom watched Jillian overnight and we went out to Cheesecake Factory (delish) and stayed at a hotel in Salt Lake. I even got to take Nyquil, which made sleeping in that much better. I did actually have a cold...I'm not just like a Nyquil junkie...<span style="font-style: italic;">anymore</span>...ahem.......<br /><br />Although I did wake up slightly groggy and try working out in my head who would go downstairs and get us breakfast and who would stay in the room and watch Jillian...I forgot she wasn't there.<br /><br />Then we got a couples massage. Excellent.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p46CgUG8UfQ/Tp-DLLNvpDI/AAAAAAAAAwI/dd5EgRAPobM/s1600/IMG_4604.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p46CgUG8UfQ/Tp-DLLNvpDI/AAAAAAAAAwI/dd5EgRAPobM/s400/IMG_4604.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665391084267611186" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">("Hold 3 fingers up for 3 years!")..Yes, I'm that cheesy.<br /></span><span><br />Overall, life has changed a LOT. For the better. Definitely for the better. I wonder where we'll be in the next 3 years? Hopefully I'll be a retired teacher ;-) or at least doing online teaching, Jillian will be THREE (wwhhaa???) and we'll probably have another kid, if not then one on the way. WOWZAS. Cheers to us. </span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span><br /></span></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4898094211187044963-2831860042627152755?l=pointsofhonesty.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333605672978990466noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898094211187044963.post-14396480118869013962011-10-12T16:41:00.003-06:002011-10-12T17:00:40.759-06:002011-10-12T17:00:40.759-06:00Nannying by Nana<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" >Hooray for Nana's who come to visit and take care of the baby so you can SLEEP! Good timing too, because I came down with a cold and had the PRIVILEGE of taking Nyquil for the first time in MONTHS. I've rarely been so excited to take cold medicine. It was the best sleep I ever got with a cold, medicine. ;-)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" >Jillian's pretty happy she's here too.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dhAycP2IJu8/TpYbl5z6PwI/AAAAAAAAAu8/fA4TfPrf_8I/s1600/Picnik%2Bcollage%2B3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dhAycP2IJu8/TpYbl5z6PwI/AAAAAAAAAu8/fA4TfPrf_8I/s400/Picnik%2Bcollage%2B3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662743919452634882" border="0" /></a></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" >Oh, and it's almost HALLOWEEN. Even though James HATES Halloween, I LOVE it. It's one of my favorite times of the school year as far as cute school projects go. Any ideas on what she should be? <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Besides</span> adorable? :-p</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m5HKZ0cUFO0/TpYbmJ7fZOI/AAAAAAAAAvI/atBQem6Oymw/s1600/IMG_4571.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m5HKZ0cUFO0/TpYbmJ7fZOI/AAAAAAAAAvI/atBQem6Oymw/s400/IMG_4571.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662743923779396834" border="0" /></a></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4898094211187044963-1439648011886901396?l=pointsofhonesty.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333605672978990466noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898094211187044963.post-63348876946435193122011-10-08T21:11:00.005-06:002011-10-08T22:16:55.682-06:002011-10-08T22:16:55.682-06:00Life lately...<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">is GREAT. Right mix of meds for baby=baby who eats and functions normally=one happy mama. She is so HAPPY all the time- I love it!!! Her "fussy" times don't really last too long, and she goes to sleep fairly easily now (except when it's time to go to bed for reals at night..that still takes her about an hour and a game of "as soon as you put me down my eyes will pop back open!"). We'll get there.</span><br /></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xXzIAeTLFEI/TpEdv3j4LWI/AAAAAAAAAu0/Ae3h2vIoUJM/s1600/Picnik%2Bcollage2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 184px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xXzIAeTLFEI/TpEdv3j4LWI/AAAAAAAAAu0/Ae3h2vIoUJM/s400/Picnik%2Bcollage2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661338914786913634" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I feel victorious. I think we've arrived at the whole "I promise it gets better!" state. Over the past couple of days I've found myself already thinking about baby #2. Mostly because I feel so empowered that we've gone through so many things, but have come out on top. </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >Not to say that my thoughts about baby #2 will be put into action any time soon, but the idea now seems less scary.</span><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Here's a recap of the last couple of months:</span><br /></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />*2 weeks old- first symptoms of reflux- vomit. projectile, paint the wall, vomit.<br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">*3 1/2 weeks- switch to sensitive brand formula, hoping it's due to a food allergy</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> begin 7.5 mg of Prevacid a day to relieve heart burn symptoms </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />*5 weeks- formula fail. switch to different brand of sensitive formula</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />*6 weeks- switch to liquid Alimentum (hypoallergenic formula), still hoping symptoms are</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> due to food allergy </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />*7 weeks- switch to powder form Alimentum </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />*8 weeks- hospitalized for 3 days due to dehydration </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> begin Neocate formula (amino acid based nutrition, $$$)</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> increase Prevacid dose to 12 mg/day</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />*10 weeks- upper GI x-rays confirm reflux</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> begin 2 mg/day dose of Erythromycin to increase intestinal motility (aka prevent </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> barfing)</span><br />*<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">To date (11.5 weeks): back on powder Alimentum</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> still on 12 mg of Prevacid/day in two doses via dissolving pill</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> still on 2 mg of Erythromycin/day spread over 4 doses via liquid in syringe. </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> No barfing. Very little reflux. :-)</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">WHEW. Like I said. I feel victorious. I haven't cried in over a week.</span><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">All of this has me thinking about my own mom and how awesome she is. I have a WHOLE NEW perspective on motherhood. Some days ya hate it, some days ya love it. I guess that's like most things. It's quite possibly the single most time-consuming, frustrating, self-less, baffling thing...</span><br /><br /></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jA286ox01lo/TpEdv1xukPI/AAAAAAAAAus/4odDTQEDNMo/s1600/Picnik%2Bcollage1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jA286ox01lo/TpEdv1xukPI/AAAAAAAAAus/4odDTQEDNMo/s400/Picnik%2Bcollage1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661338914308133106" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">but somebody's gotta do it. ;-) </span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4898094211187044963-6334887694643519312?l=pointsofhonesty.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333605672978990466noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898094211187044963.post-53741678928556879062011-10-02T21:04:00.005-06:002011-10-02T22:07:44.238-06:002011-10-02T22:07:44.238-06:00Happier times ahead<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">IT'S A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE!!! (3 months early, but still) I'll TAKE IT!<br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Jillian's medicine is working FABULOUSLY. NO barfing, NO reflux, all in all, one HAPPY BABY. She really is like a totally different kid. We're in the process of going back through the formulas in reverse this time (from most expensive/best for babies with food allergies to least expensive/regular formula) to see if she can tolerate those again (meaning she doesn't and never did have a food allergy if she can make it back to regular formula, if she can't, then she also has a food allergy in addition to reflux).<br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">All of this equals one happy ME. It's so relieving to finally see the silver lining. I know we're not completely out of the woods yet, and she's bound to have episodes or bad days, but at least she'll have plenty of good days to balance out the bad! </span></span> <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Shout out to our AMAZING pediatrician Dr. Kendall. I seriously would recommend her to anybody...I feel like she cares about Jillian as much as I do, which has been my saving grace in all of this with her. </span></span> <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />All smiles here folks. All smiles. </span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">(She LOVES her baths now):</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zmRUNRwDYAA/TokuJ69H_GI/AAAAAAAAAuk/GtaKrGiUUUQ/s1600/bathtime.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 500px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zmRUNRwDYAA/TokuJ69H_GI/AAAAAAAAAuk/GtaKrGiUUUQ/s400/bathtime.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659105154747071586" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4898094211187044963-5374167892855687906?l=pointsofhonesty.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333605672978990466noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898094211187044963.post-34215313106078758362011-09-26T19:56:00.002-06:002011-09-26T20:13:20.226-06:002011-09-26T20:13:20.226-06:00Complain.<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-style: italic;">*Spoiler alert*</span> This post is <span style="font-weight: bold;">going</span> to be depressing. It's a vent. You might think I'm an awful person for feeling the way I feel, but if you do, you've either 1) never been a mother 2) never admitted to having similar feelings or 3) haven't had the same experience as me, so whatever.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Today sucked. I'd say the highlight of today is that it's over. Nearly, anyway. I'm really tired of sucky days...that almost always revolve around Jillian as the cause of them. She's on her 2nd full day of this new medicine, and had 2 reflux episodes, threw up, then spit up. (The spit up thing is weird cause she NEVER spits up, only vomits...but the medicine is supposed to debunk it all). </span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">WTF. </span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Hopefully I forget all of this mess, or else the poor girl won't have any siblings.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I hated being a mom today. I HATE thinking that. I don't think I was cut out for the whole stay-at-home-mom deal..I wouldn't survive it. (There was no school today so we had a 3 day weekend together). Exhausted doesn't even begin to describe...from giving her 6 doses of medicine a day (2 doses of Prevacid, and 4 doses of the new stuff I can't pronounce), feeding her every 2 hours (which by the time she's done and I get her down for a nap is about a 30 min. break in between), and dealing with her fussiness, I'm ready to throw in the towel. </span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">What am I supposed to be learning in all this? Anything? My Dad made that point the other day when I was talking to him. Patience? Humility? To be okay with the following saying: "ya get what ya get, so don't throw a fit?" Am I just supposed to just deal with "what I got?"</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">It's hard not to be jealous...envious of other babies who sleep allll the time, who hardly cry, merely grunt when they need something, who can already do things like roll over, when I can't even put Jillian on her tummy for that long because of her reflux. </span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Everybody says it's supposed to get better. "Just wait, I PROMISE it gets better!" Well. I'm quickly losing sight of when that day will come. We're quickly approaching the end of medical options to help her out before we just have to live with it until she outgrows it (most likely by 6 months...but that's 4 months away). Matter of fact there are only two things left on the list: one other type of medication with possible side effects, or going up to Primary Children's hospital for a scope. Dr. Kendall said needing a scope is very rare- only about 1 in 100. So far I'd say Jillian is definitely in the minority of statistics at this point, so it could be very possible. </span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">*Sigh. </span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Today sucked. </span></span><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4898094211187044963-3421531310607875836?l=pointsofhonesty.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333605672978990466noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898094211187044963.post-5912364771871359682011-09-22T19:46:00.006-06:002011-09-22T20:27:04.707-06:002011-09-22T20:27:04.707-06:00Dear Jillian (2 months)<div style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Dear Jillian,<br /><br />How are you TWO months old already?! I can hardly believe it. Mostly because it feels like it's been 9 years. You've had a pretty crappy two months of life. Good thing you won't remember this part of your life...but don't worry, I'll remind you when you're a teenager and trying to give me crap again. And you'll probably graciously laugh and roll your eyes and continue to tell me I "just don't understand" how much you LOVE your little boyfriend or something.<br /><br />Here's why your life sucks right now:<br /></span></div><ul style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><li><span style="font-size:130%;">You barf. A lot. The special/super pricey formula you're on now smells like a penny, but you still gobble it up.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">You have to sleep on an incline to help your reflux. Sometimes you slide down to the bottom of your bassinet and end up sleeping in more of a sitting-on-your-legs position. It's kinda funny.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">Sometimes you scream a lot cause your reflux is so bad :-/<br /></span></li></ul><div style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Despite the sucky things, you're starting to be super adorable...<br /></span></div><ul style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><li><span style="font-size:130%;">You SMILE!!!!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DEJxOl8O1Bo/TnvtPwsle9I/AAAAAAAAAuc/NP5QzjVCDcU/s1600/jillian6"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DEJxOl8O1Bo/TnvtPwsle9I/AAAAAAAAAuc/NP5QzjVCDcU/s400/jillian6" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655374612119518162" border="0" /></a> It's the cutest thing EVER.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">Sometimes you make little noises and you ALMOST giggle.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">You can hold your head up by yourself for a long time!! You're still a little wobbly though.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">Sometimes you try to dive out of the arms of whoever is holding you. Simmer down on that one.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">You found your tongue! You like to stick it out and move it around a lot.</span></li><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MZNbe5tjcfI/TnvtCRoDvpI/AAAAAAAAAt0/vtPxT0Fd2g4/s1600/jillian1.htm"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gDS1xjw-TDM/TnvtCIsIKGI/AAAAAAAAAts/_W9dlviUtCs/s1600/tongue.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 202px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gDS1xjw-TDM/TnvtCIsIKGI/AAAAAAAAAts/_W9dlviUtCs/s400/tongue.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655374378041878626" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><li><span style="font-size:130%;">You're lovin' that play gym.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">Your "poop face" is super hilarious. You get all scrunched up and aren't lady like at all about ridding your bowels.</span></li><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4_ZRk4L7ZZg/TnvtBxwFvnI/AAAAAAAAAtk/gPa15QlCGgE/s1600/Picnik%2Bcollage.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 202px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4_ZRk4L7ZZg/TnvtBxwFvnI/AAAAAAAAAtk/gPa15QlCGgE/s400/Picnik%2Bcollage.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655374371884482162" border="0" /></a><li><span style="font-size:130%;">When you're really hungry you make noises when you start sucking your bottle, almost like you're talking to it.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">A lot of times you go into total "milk coma" when you're done eating.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-71bVt03_qyA/TnvtH5SMMZI/AAAAAAAAAuM/zoFnEne_-ZA/s1600/jillian4.htm"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 183px; height: 243px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-71bVt03_qyA/TnvtH5SMMZI/AAAAAAAAAuM/zoFnEne_-ZA/s400/jillian4.htm" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655374476985774482" border="0" /></a><br /></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">You look at people when they're talking and interact with people smiling at you.<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">Lately you don't mind being put down...(before you would cry like 10 seconds later). In your butterfly bouncy chair you love staring at the hanging butterflies and you get so excited you start kicking your legs like crazy!<br /></span></li></ul><div style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Basically you're less like a parasite and more like a person, and we actually enjoy having you around. :-) We're getting closer to figuring out your eating woes..so I think that should be fixed in the next couple of weeks. Yay!!<br /><br />I love cuddling you when I get home, especially because you love being cuddled (even though I have constant shoulder pain).<br /><br />Eeeee!!! You're just stinkin' adorable.<br /><br />Love,<br />Mom<br /></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4898094211187044963-591236477187135968?l=pointsofhonesty.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333605672978990466noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898094211187044963.post-3671367469080808452011-09-18T21:09:00.000-06:002011-09-18T21:10:28.888-06:002011-09-18T21:10:28.888-06:00Exactly.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lYez9cPcNXM/TnaymBw7rzI/AAAAAAAAAtU/XE_hRfYS7ss/s1600/fearless"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 369px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lYez9cPcNXM/TnaymBw7rzI/AAAAAAAAAtU/XE_hRfYS7ss/s400/fearless" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653902748588683058" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4898094211187044963-367136746908080845?l=pointsofhonesty.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333605672978990466noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898094211187044963.post-38449789743501794032011-09-16T19:59:00.004-06:002011-09-16T20:32:24.278-06:002011-09-16T20:32:24.278-06:00Hit me with your best shot.<div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Have you ever had the experience where you're walking outside and get caught in a torrential down pour? And you start to run to get inside or back into your car but you eventually stop running because you're already soaking wet and you figure running will do absolutely no good because you could not possibly get any more waterlogged?<br /><br />I feel like that. Metaphorically I mean.<br /><br />I feel like I'm walking through the rain, letting it slap me in the face, taking it. Referring to the whole mess with baby J, of course, and all her ups and downs. I feel numb to all of her problems at this point...wondering, what's next? Hit me with your best shot.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Kjz7QqfYuAA/TnQEulphWyI/AAAAAAAAAss/Gh2Xz4Z_1I8/s1600/IMG_4499.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Kjz7QqfYuAA/TnQEulphWyI/AAAAAAAAAss/Gh2Xz4Z_1I8/s400/IMG_4499.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653148630683573026" border="0" /></a><br />Thursday afternoon we took her to her pediatrician because she was had diarrhea and was throwing up all night. She looked absolutely pathetic. Her little face was lifeless. We followed the doctor's orders and switched her to Pedialyte only...but she didn't want to drink it. Not cause she thought it was nasty, she just wouldn't even suck the bottle. She also only peed once the whole day. No bueno. So we called her pediatrician back who said to pack up and head to the hospital. Diagnosis: stomach bug. ....Really? Babies can get that? Apparently.<br /><br />Great.<br /><br />The pediatric floor is depressing and bubbly all at the same time. There's paintings and murals everywhere, even rope light around the nurses station that changes colors. Ooo. But horribly depressing and at time eerily quiet. There is a kid in the room next to us who constantly cries out, "Daaaddddyyyy!!!"...heartbreaking. Will someone just go get the kid's father already?!<br /><br />Anyway. Jillian started saline solution for dehydration on Thursday night through an IV they stuck in her foot. Man oh man she did NOT like getting that IV.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jQ9-Dzse5CY/TnQEvJCRMwI/AAAAAAAAAs0/MRIpkbG8uPo/s1600/IMG_4502.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jQ9-Dzse5CY/TnQEvJCRMwI/AAAAAAAAAs0/MRIpkbG8uPo/s400/IMG_4502.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653148640182612738" border="0" /></a><br />She actually got WAY TOO MUCH saline solution because our very bright male nurse with Spider Man scrubs mixed up her charts. The chart he was looking at was for a 40lb kid. Now tell me...how do you look at Jillian and think, "Oh yeah! She's about 40lbs...bring on the saline!" No. You don't. Idiot. So she had a slight resemblance to the Micheline tire man- puffy and what not. But that resolved itself.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fg3kG6PROUo/TnQEvsB6y0I/AAAAAAAAAtE/8KgRybStEng/s1600/IMG_4504.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fg3kG6PROUo/TnQEvsB6y0I/AAAAAAAAAtE/8KgRybStEng/s400/IMG_4504.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653148649576385346" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-K9REBPCxPMI/TnQEv7U0CkI/AAAAAAAAAtM/G2XXG80qz-M/s1600/IMG_4505.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-K9REBPCxPMI/TnQEv7U0CkI/AAAAAAAAAtM/G2XXG80qz-M/s400/IMG_4505.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653148653682166338" border="0" /></a><br />I've never seen her sleep so much. Through the night she ate <span style="font-style: italic;">maaaybbee </span>2 oz of formula combined. We've mostly been holding her to comfort her. My arms want to fall off. Sometimes she'll wake up and make the most pitiful attempt at a whimper, then fall back asleep. We were thinking she'd be able to go home today though, after staying through the night, as long as she could keep down a few feedings. Well. Of course because we have the worse luck EVER, she barfed 3 times today. Which means we get to stay tonight too. She's back on Pedialyte instead of formula for now, because she doesn't throw that up. Hopefully she can keep her formula down tonight and tomorrow so we can go hhhooommmeeeee and she can return to just her NORMAL reflux issues.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-usajyN86uX0/TnQEvQwBEJI/AAAAAAAAAs8/52dOity6Obw/s1600/IMG_4503.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-usajyN86uX0/TnQEvQwBEJI/AAAAAAAAAs8/52dOity6Obw/s400/IMG_4503.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653148642253541522" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(She LOVES sleeping on James like this.)</span></span><br /><br />I wonder what an "easy" baby would even be like??? I probably couldn't even handle it.<br /><br />She did start getting back to her normal self tonight though, and we caught her in full action cuteness:<br /><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/cuEDRiShiJ0?hl=en&fs=1" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" width="425"></iframe><br /><br /><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Guf8r6h-Xj8?hl=en&fs=1" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" width="425"></iframe><br /></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4898094211187044963-3844978974350179403?l=pointsofhonesty.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333605672978990466noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898094211187044963.post-18738358676484432942011-09-07T21:22:00.004-06:002011-09-07T21:43:21.998-06:002011-09-07T21:43:21.998-06:00Survival of the fittest.<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">My goal is to be in bed at 9:30. So I'm starting a blog at 9:22. I have good ideas. The past two days have been nuts. I'm not even sure it's been TWO days...I think it's really still Tuesday. Just an extension of it, anyway. And tomorrow will be Tuesday evening. The next day will be Tuesday night. </span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">That makes sense. I'm good at making sense these days. Good thing I'm not responsible for molding and shaping 25 young minds...WHEW. </span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">Babying is hard. Babying (v). 1. The act of having and caring for a baby. Fortunately Baby J is sleeping better at night. She usually will go to sleep around 6-7p and be out until 12-1a. Then she'll wake up around 5-6a to eat and start her day. Does that mean I'm sleeping more? Not really. I'm excited with all my new found evening time to myself so I can do completely useful and productive things, like peruse pinterest for hours. Last night James and I almost didn't know what to do with ourselves. So what did we do? We both laid on the floor and measured each other's arm spans vs. height using the length of our feet. Like I said, I have good ideas. </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">In case you're wondering, our arm spans were shorter by about half a foot length (and this is foot as in FOOT and not foot..got it?). </span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">School is going well though, all things considered. I forget how much they DON'T know at the beginning of the year. I feel like I'm trying to house break a bunch of puppies in some ways. Not that they pee everywhere... The past two days I've had meetings, so I haven't been getting home until about 5:30. Remember how I said baby J goes to bed between 6 and 7? Yeah. I see her for about an hour before she's out for the night. This is sad. Tonight I got home in time to feed her- she at a whole 4 ounces. I bathed her (by myself for the first time) and she didn't scream at all...not even when I put lotion on afterwards (she usually hates that). Then I dressed her in her little sleeper and bundled her in her swaddle blanket, and we rocked in the glider. I sang her some primary songs and started crying a little bit. For a few different reasons. </span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=" font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" >(While singing:)</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style=" font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" >Heavenly Father, are you really there?</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style=" font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" >And do you hear and answer every child's prayer?</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style=" font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" >Some say that heaven is far away, but I feel it close around me as I pray. </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">First I started crying because she was already falling asleep. I finally get to see her awake for the day and now she's already sleeping. I squeaked a half smile out of her earlier... I guess that will have to suffice until tomorrow. But also because of the song I'm singing/sniffling. For several days I was feeling a little abandoned- spiritually that is. Feeling like all of my earnest prayers for baby J and all of her woes would be lessened, and that in turn would let me well, sleep. But holding her little body and looking into her half-closed eyes, I thought, how can I even think that? For months and months <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">SHE</span> is what I prayed for. Her PERIOD. Just her existence! So maybe my prayers and wishes for MY sleep aren't quite happening yet, but SHE is sleeping. </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">Which is really a fantastic new development.<br />My prayers have been answered. I'm holding the answer to my prayer. And she's asleep. Dead asleep. Until the hour or two she'll be awake when I get home tomorrow to rock her back to sleep. </span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">Oh Saturday. Hurry up already. </span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4898094211187044963-1873835867648443294?l=pointsofhonesty.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333605672978990466noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898094211187044963.post-24496472018745483952011-09-01T22:39:00.006-06:002011-09-01T23:48:00.548-06:002011-09-01T23:48:00.548-06:00My living science experiment.<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Soo most babies are born, they eat, they poop, they sleep, they grow, they cry. It's a routine. It's what's "normal". It's predictable and expected. And then there are the babies who eat, barf, painfully poop, sleep sometimes, and still grow. We were blessed (</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family:trebuchet ms;" >oh so blessed</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">) with the latter. Who would have guessed? Not I. But then again, everything I was expecting about having/raising a baby has been tossed to the side, along with all the dirty diapers. I'm flying by the seat of my pants here...going "off the cuff". </span></span> <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">
<br />
<br />Jillian started exclusively formula feeding at 3.5 weeks. One of those things I completely was not expecting to do, but happened almost out of necessity (as in it was necessary if I wanted to stay a sane individual). She started having some reflux symptoms even before she went on formula. She would vomit and sometimes projectile vomit. Can we say...smelly? So she started Prevacid (heart burn medicine) at 4 weeks. She was switched to a sensitive brand formula to help with gas/fussiness as well. Her once soft and sweet little face broke out in a red, bumpy rash.
<br />
<br /></span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Here we are at 6 weeks. She's now on Alimentum, a hypoallergenic formula. She hasn't thrown this kind up yet...so that's good. Her reflux symptoms are slightly better on this kind as well. She still hates the morning. "She's not a morning person," the retard medical assistant tells me on the phone today after I describe her most recent symptoms.
<br />
<br />We've had to eliminate things one by one, to figure out what it is that's causing all of the problems. Obviously we haven't figured everything out yet, so it's been quite the process. It really is like a living science experiment. Anyone need to use my baby for their 6th grader's science fair project? Unfortunately, we have no "conclusion" at this point, but there is a heck of a lot of qualitative data. ;-) </span></span> <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So here's our new schedule until Tuesday (when I talk to the pediatrician again for an update):</span></span> <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">1/2 probiotic tablet in the morning and evening, dissolved in her formula (to help with gas)</span></span> <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">1/4 dissolving Prevacid tablet in the morning and at night, 30 minutes before a feeding (for heart burn and reflux)</span></span> <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Hypoallergenic formula
<br />Lots of chocolate ice cream for Mom
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<br />One thing I learned when I started teaching was to be really flexible. During my first year of teaching I hated when my schedule would be interrupted and things wouldn't go as planned (<span style="font-style: italic;">my teacher friends..like that <span style="font-weight: bold;">ever</span> happens, right?</span>). I quickly learned to change that and would often tell myself something my mom would always say,
<br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" >
<br />"Be like the willow, and bend."
<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">
<br /></span></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Things hardly ever go the way you plan them to go. </span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">
<br />
<br /></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;">I have to apply that to this as well. I used to get so worked up every time her skinny little body would vomit and it would splatter down the wall and she would scream as I changed her soaked clothes. But I figure this is like my first year of teaching. This aren't going to go as planned; the schedule will be interrupted. "Be like the willow, and bend."
<br />
<br />"This too shall pass," right?
<br />________
<br />
<br />I got this cute little video of her during a happy time today. She used her play gym for the first time and loved it (the video I got was towards the end when the excitement was starting to die down...chalk one up for my timing). She's <span style="font-style: italic;">SO CLOSE </span>to smiling. She's done it like maybe twice that I've seen. One day soon it's going to happen all the time and I'm going to melt into a puddle on the floor.</span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;">
<br /></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br />
<br /><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/9ZVMZc67Fyo?hl=en&fs=1" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" width="425"></iframe></span>
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4898094211187044963-2449647201874548395?l=pointsofhonesty.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333605672978990466noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898094211187044963.post-11336721255840718392011-08-29T20:41:00.005-06:002011-08-29T21:05:29.933-06:002011-08-29T21:05:29.933-06:00I had a bad day.
<br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I was cautiously optimistic about today and the direction it would take. Last night went pretty well, considering the dreaded "6 week growth spurt" that baby J is in the thick of. She went 4 hours between feedings! Then two chunks of three hours, then only an hour and a half...then three hours again. She fell back to sleep fairly easily as well. I woke up feeling slightly rested. What a change. But like I said, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >cautiously</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> optimistic.
<br />
<br />All was well until she barfed around noon-ish. It always messes up her whole eating schedule...because then she wants to sleep when she should be awake, or eat when she should be sleeping, or some variation on the three things she does (eat, be awake, sleep). Soo she was slightly fussy for a while, she couldn't eat because she was refluxing too bad and eventually cried herself to sleep. I decided I needed some time out. Bless Jen Wardell's pregnant heart for watching her! I went for a much needed pedicure.
<br />
<br />And this is where it went downhill.
<br />
<br />The guy who did my pedicure reeked of cigarette smoke. And he didn't do things in the same order on each foot. That bugged me. He also skipped cuticle oil completely! I know...the nerve...He got distracted by the TV during the massage portion and almost stopped completely. I should've kicked him in the face. I mean my foot was practically right there. Did I tip him? Yes...three bucks...I feel bad NOT tipping people when they ASK you if you want to add a tip. People should just not do that...just print it on the receipt or have a little collection jar...seriously.
<br />
<br />So then I decided I do a little shopping to try to find some new clothes for going back to school. Every time I look in my closet I feel depressed. Everything is either out of style, stretched out, or faded. Time for a change. I went to Old Navy first, but they surprisingly had very little. They were like in the middle of getting rid of summer stuff, but the fall stuff wasn't out yet. So I ventured over to TJ Maxx, where there was even less of a decent selection. I still bought a couple of things- a cardigan (go figure), a plain white t-shirt, a floral undershirt, and a graphic tee. Meh. I decided to call it a day.
<br />
<br />On the way back to collect my offspring, I tried to maneuver from one turn lane to the next so I wouldn't be stuck behind the semi, who was inevitably going to drive me nuts. Well. That was a bad idea. I grossly misjudged the distance between myself and the semi, because on my way around I nicked by side mirror and side door against the back of it. The car probably behind me was probably in shock. Aye aye aye. So this sent me into tears.
<br />
<br />I had a bad day.
<br />
<br />But looking at these things made it slightly better. This video almost made me cry (I have no idea why...but I'm only 5 weeks post-partum, so I suppose I don't really need a reason..). Isn't this little boy ridiculously adorable? I totally want to make one of these videos when Jillian does more than stare at me with a blank expression. It also made me realize I should really enjoy more of the daily cute little things that make the daily hard things seem not so bad.
<br />
<br />Good thing tomorrow is a new day.
<br />
<br />
<br /><iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/28228033?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0&color=ffffff" frameborder="0" height="225" width="400"></iframe></span></div><p style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a href="http://vimeo.com/28228033">LINCOLN</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/digitalmemorys">Digital Memorys</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.</span></p><div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:130%;">
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PwlwvUVP17A/TlxRES_3zeI/AAAAAAAAAsc/lWWgqTZimiI/s1600/iam2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PwlwvUVP17A/TlxRES_3zeI/AAAAAAAAAsc/lWWgqTZimiI/s400/iam2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646477167076822498" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;">
<br /></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4898094211187044963-1133672125584071839?l=pointsofhonesty.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333605672978990466noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898094211187044963.post-1766879917470959352011-08-27T12:06:00.006-06:002011-08-27T16:20:47.359-06:002011-08-27T16:20:47.359-06:00I feel like a zombie.
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So last night I'm sitting in the rocking chair with little miss Jillian, who has been screaming her face off for an hour. It's the third time I've been up with her in 4 hours. Am I an awful person for wishing this sleepless part of her life to be over? That's rhetorical by the way. If I could just fast forward to the part where she sleeps...I know there's always something that will come up- growth spurts, teething, la la la. But the key difference is dealing with a fussy baby on 4 hours of sleep (taken in about 1 1/2 hr increments) and dealing with a fussy baby on a consecutive like 6 hours of sleep. Aye aye aye. Sometimes she and I just cry together.
<br />This is that crazy position she likes to sleep in that I mentioned earlier: </span></span> </div>
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tcWUx_4X8ZE/TlltHOI45iI/AAAAAAAAAsU/l10QZnJMuK8/s1600/IMG_4495.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tcWUx_4X8ZE/TlltHOI45iI/AAAAAAAAAsU/l10QZnJMuK8/s400/IMG_4495.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645663578707519010" border="0" /></a>
<br />
<br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span class="st">There was <em>never</em> a <em>child so</em> lovely but his <em>mother</em> was <em>glad</em> to get him to <em><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" >sleep</span>.</em></span> -Ralph Waldo Emerson
<br /></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4898094211187044963-176687991747095935?l=pointsofhonesty.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333605672978990466noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898094211187044963.post-16482149839717304312011-08-24T16:53:00.006-06:002011-08-24T19:35:14.377-06:002011-08-24T19:35:14.377-06:00Jack and Jillian
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="http://gordyandjenn.blogspot.com/">Gordy, Jenn, and Jack</a> were in Utah this week! We got to see them a couple of times. So fun! I can't believe how BIG Jack is!!! Kids grow. Crazy stuff. </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Check out their cousin cuteness: </span></span>
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<br /></div>
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RKIr50AIS3k/TlWmQ-Oq9jI/AAAAAAAAAr0/JF_jUGmuLFc/s1600/IMG_4482.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RKIr50AIS3k/TlWmQ-Oq9jI/AAAAAAAAAr0/JF_jUGmuLFc/s400/IMG_4482.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644600518491436594" border="0" /></a>
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wZi2fR9Iv64/TlWmRNtDC2I/AAAAAAAAAr8/BUM_nwpjuNs/s1600/IMG_4483.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wZi2fR9Iv64/TlWmRNtDC2I/AAAAAAAAAr8/BUM_nwpjuNs/s400/IMG_4483.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644600522645375842" border="0" /></a>
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UM_2ymuwQbY/TlWl8p5DqqI/AAAAAAAAArk/vd-LxL3jB40/s1600/IMG_4479.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UM_2ymuwQbY/TlWl8p5DqqI/AAAAAAAAArk/vd-LxL3jB40/s400/IMG_4479.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644600169434688162" border="0" /></a>
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-omTv-eaK9yM/TlWl8EKvMcI/AAAAAAAAArc/JEIYrloNmfo/s1600/IMG_4478.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-omTv-eaK9yM/TlWl8EKvMcI/AAAAAAAAArc/JEIYrloNmfo/s400/IMG_4478.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644600159308296642" border="0" /></a>
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-y7rndxaM0hg/TlWl7uJJdXI/AAAAAAAAArU/43qod0C6TzQ/s1600/IMG_4477.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-y7rndxaM0hg/TlWl7uJJdXI/AAAAAAAAArU/43qod0C6TzQ/s400/IMG_4477.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644600153396049266" border="0" /></a>
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yD3wj5mP6zc/TlWl7My3F1I/AAAAAAAAArM/4qQ_yL6QdM8/s1600/IMG_4476.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yD3wj5mP6zc/TlWl7My3F1I/AAAAAAAAArM/4qQ_yL6QdM8/s400/IMG_4476.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644600144444200786" border="0" /></a>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Qy4O1lgrmAM/TlWl9KFmu2I/AAAAAAAAArs/1M-UGtnc8vU/s1600/IMG_4480.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Qy4O1lgrmAM/TlWl9KFmu2I/AAAAAAAAArs/1M-UGtnc8vU/s400/IMG_4480.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644600178077252450" border="0" /></a>
<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Do you like how most of the time Jillian has a constant look of terror on her face?? </span></span>
<br /></div>
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<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LSrN4Sb5Rd8/TlWmrJnZqoI/AAAAAAAAAsE/Zt-75J8bowo/s1600/jillian.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 368px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LSrN4Sb5Rd8/TlWmrJnZqoI/AAAAAAAAAsE/Zt-75J8bowo/s400/jillian.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644600968224549506" border="0" /></a>
<br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4898094211187044963-1648214983971730431?l=pointsofhonesty.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333605672978990466noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898094211187044963.post-8831028419366579512011-08-22T19:42:00.007-06:002011-08-22T22:13:55.002-06:002011-08-22T22:13:55.002-06:00Dear Jillian (1 month)<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Dear Jillian,</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I can't believe you're already one month old!!! You still seem so tiny and helpless, but much bigger and older all at the same time. I feel like I'm finally starting to figure you out...especially now that you have your eating business figured out (remember the heck of a time we had? egh...). Here's some things about you now:</span>
<br /></span><ul style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><li><span style="font-size:130%;">You HATE being burped. You start screaming as soon as the bottle comes out of your mouth and you feel yourself being propped up. When you do burp, they stink like crap. </span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">You make the funniest faces. Mostly when you're just chillin' in your bouncy seat and staring around (a deer in the headlights kind of look), and also when you're falling asleep.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">You always try to poop while you're eating and you grunt REALLY loud to try to get it all out. You don't have the skills to eat and poop at the same time yet (and when you do develop these skills, don't do it anyway...it's gross).
<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">Your favorite position to fall asleep in is when you're up on my chest, your body is curved into a c-shape, your head is to the side and cocked back so you can see me. Looks super uncomfortable.
<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">You hate getting in your car seat. Can't blame you here- it doesn't look fun. But once you're in the car you LOVE it. Well, not your seat I guess, but the car. You just stare out the window. </span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">When you're sleeping, like really sleeping, your arms are above your head.
<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">You just found your fingers! Sometimes you suck them. It's the cutest thing. I hope you're a thumb sucker instead of a binky baby...sometimes those things are hard to keep up with.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">You only sleep 2-3 hours at a time at night right now. Aye aye aye. It's taking it's toll. Hopefully you grow out of that one fast.
<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">You're definitely getting chunkier! You're still only about 8 1/2 lbs, but your cheeks are starting to resemble a chipmunks and you even have little thigh rolls!
<br /></span></li></ul><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">All in all, I'm falling more in love with you everyday. You already have me wrapped around your long little fingers. And fortunately, taking care of you is getting a little bit easier/more manageable every day (much appreciated). I know it's probably super obvious to everyone else that I'm a new mom...especially when we go places and I have to try to coordinate your diaper bag, my purse, and the stroller, but so far you've been pretty patient with me. It's been a very long, yet very short month. I guess I'm starting to understand when parents say that their babies grow up way too fast. (Although I really wouldn't mind the next couple of months speeding by until you sleep through the night). ;-)</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Love,</span>
<br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Mom</span>
<br />
<br /></span><div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--Hf4ezRG4_0/TlMoUzdJUYI/AAAAAAAAAq0/4MQf0LSL-dc/s1600/IMG_4470.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--Hf4ezRG4_0/TlMoUzdJUYI/AAAAAAAAAq0/4MQf0LSL-dc/s400/IMG_4470.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643899095900311938" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;">
<br />You always have your hands right up under your bottle or by your face when you eat.
<br />
<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--7S3tBPJnAM/TlMoVO5tC8I/AAAAAAAAAq8/rrapZ4oYDsI/s1600/IMG_4471.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--7S3tBPJnAM/TlMoVO5tC8I/AAAAAAAAAq8/rrapZ4oYDsI/s400/IMG_4471.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643899103267851202" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;">
<br />You fell asleep like this in about 10 seconds after you were just screaming.
<br /></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;">
<br /></span><div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FVpoObsckOo/TlMn0n2YXmI/AAAAAAAAAqc/XXSxAx8GHkw/s1600/IMG_4466.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FVpoObsckOo/TlMn0n2YXmI/AAAAAAAAAqc/XXSxAx8GHkw/s400/IMG_4466.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643898543029116514" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;">
<br />How you looked at Uncle Matthew.
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<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uFezoaRDrsg/TlMn0f-Kz9I/AAAAAAAAAqU/5i8iGaR9epU/s1600/IMG_4464.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uFezoaRDrsg/TlMn0f-Kz9I/AAAAAAAAAqU/5i8iGaR9epU/s400/IMG_4464.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643898540914298834" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;">
<br />We know you're really asleep when your mouth is wide open.
<br />
<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V7YaedxdshI/TlMn0JiL8bI/AAAAAAAAAqM/By67ZpYWtA0/s1600/IMG_4463.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V7YaedxdshI/TlMn0JiL8bI/AAAAAAAAAqM/By67ZpYWtA0/s400/IMG_4463.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643898534891352498" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;">
<br />You always sleep well when you're being held.
<br />
<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rigzjoSak74/TlMn1IT3P5I/AAAAAAAAAqs/IOUTJAKcPxM/s1600/IMG_4468.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rigzjoSak74/TlMn1IT3P5I/AAAAAAAAAqs/IOUTJAKcPxM/s400/IMG_4468.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643898551742709650" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;">
<br />There it is. That deer in the headlights look. Hilarious.
<br /></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4898094211187044963-883102841936657951?l=pointsofhonesty.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333605672978990466noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898094211187044963.post-80067041581944180172011-08-19T21:30:00.003-06:002011-08-20T20:46:50.796-06:002011-08-20T20:46:50.796-06:00A bouquet of newly sharpened pencils
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It's getting closer. That time of year...where I'm forced to know what day it is (both day AND number). Back to school. This is such a weird time of year for me. I LOVE summer. Love. Love. Love. This summer wasn't very "traditional"...we didn't have our annual trip to Florida, which made it feel a lot less like summer. We did get a +1 though, which also made us stay indoors quite a bit more.
<br />
<br />But now it's getting closer to the time to put flip-flops in the back of the closet and start scrounging up my scarves and long-sleeved shirts. Hopefully I'll be able to fit back into my jeans soon enough...</span></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:130%;">But Fall is good too, I guess. I like the general idea of the fall season. It gets a little bit cooler, stores start selling pumpkin bread again, and I get to start thinking of my Halloween costume. </span></span>
<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">
<br />It was fun getting ready for school when I was still pregnant. I LOVE getting/organizing school and office supplies. But now that it's nearly here and I'm holding the fruits of my labor, quite literally (school starts Monday, but I go back in two more weeks), I don't feel as excited.
<br />I feel <span style="font-size:180%;">tired.</span>
<br />
<br />I've already plugged several meetings, notes, important dates, etc. on iCalendar. September is booking up people. I'm not sure how I'm going to survive the next few months. I'm sure after that I'll get into a routine with this whole teacher/mom thing. But it's mostly September-November that I'm worried about. But apparently it's been done before. Don't you know like 1908231433 teachers who are moms? My hat goes off to them. I should try to pump myself up somehow. I can't help but think of <span style="font-style: italic;">You've Got Mail</span> when Tom Hanks tells Meg Ryan:
<br />
<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Don't you love New York in the fall? It makes me want to buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address."
<br /></span></span></span></div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZkXYsiGlupU/TlBv1NS-AeI/AAAAAAAAAqE/CmC151BLlV0/s1600/pencils.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 223px; height: 226px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZkXYsiGlupU/TlBv1NS-AeI/AAAAAAAAAqE/CmC151BLlV0/s400/pencils.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643133292988203490" border="0" /></a>
<br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:130%;">*Swoon* This makes me OCD/anal-organized heart sing.
<br />
<br />Happy school year everyone. Only 180 days and counting. ;-) </span>
<br /></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4898094211187044963-8006704158194418017?l=pointsofhonesty.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333605672978990466noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898094211187044963.post-86483880559051207072011-08-14T21:06:00.003-06:002011-08-14T21:20:26.749-06:002011-08-14T21:20:26.749-06:00Schedule? ...What schedule?<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; ">I like things organized. I like my house clean. During the school year I like looking at my plan book just to look at it. I make lists. I like to complete them. Yes, I'm one of <i>those</i> people.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >
<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Throw it the heck out the window now that there's a baby in the picture. Not to mention, a baby who can't figure her schedule out. Just when we were getting into our little routine and I was starting to feel more than a total failure, I was blindsided with these two infections (I'll spare the painful and icky details), which really screwed everything. Forget even knowing what day it is, my life revolves around this little wriggly body in 2 hour feeding increments, where we do about the same thing: eat, change diaper, fuss a little, maybe sleep, repeat. I guess that may sound like a schedule, but I promise it's more complicated than that. I really feel like I might as well walk around the house all day with my shirt off (Let's be honest, it happens). </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >
<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I think the phrase, "This is only temporary" has been sandblasted into my working memory. But then it makes me think...this IS only temporary. Soon she's going to grow up and be big- too big for me to hold and cuddle and sing to. She'll figure out how to control her arms and legs, pee when she wants to, get food for herself, and even tell me WHY she's upset instead of just screaming about it. This makes things a little more bearable when I'm walking up and down the stairs with her at 3am to try to put her back to sleep. (She LOVES the stairs...weird...). I won't get to have her this little forever...</span></div>
<br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rce2LPBaWv4/TkiP3QgPhzI/AAAAAAAAAp0/3pc0MsPskM0/s1600/IMG_4462%255B1%255D" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rce2LPBaWv4/TkiP3QgPhzI/AAAAAAAAAp0/3pc0MsPskM0/s400/IMG_4462%255B1%255D" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640916712767326002" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4898094211187044963-8648388055905120707?l=pointsofhonesty.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333605672978990466noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898094211187044963.post-74433970002368627192011-08-11T19:45:00.005-06:002011-08-14T21:06:04.508-06:002011-08-14T21:06:04.508-06:00Oh..so...tired...<span class="Apple-style-span" >
<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Great Scott. I knew this whole "kid" thing would be exhausting...but HOLY COW! Now it's really hit since my Mom is back in Florida, and we're left to figure this thing out by ourselves. I'm surprised she (the baby) is still alive, quite frankly. James said something completely true, but that only made me feel mildly better, "Whitney, far less qualified people have done this." </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >
<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i>True. We all know somebody.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i>
<br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Still doesn't mean it's easy. I should have done a better job following the advice I got when I was pregnant: sleep now when you can! It's amazing how little time you have to do ANYTHING with a baby. Not even kidding. Today I managed to eat cereal one handed around 10am, and eat dinner in two sessions around 6pm. And that is all I had time to eat. But baby girl ate a LOT. A whole HECK of a lot. She's going through a growth spurt. *sigh. So she eats like every hour. I also have two wicked nasty infections. So my body has a hard time keeping up with her demanding feeding schedule, which means we're supplementing her with formula also. And let me tell something to you...babies who drink formula have the most foul smelling poops/farts I think I have ever smelled from any human body opening. I really should record James changing a diaper- all his gagging is nearly comical. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >
<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Just to give you an idea of just how heinous these infections are, these are all the pills I take in a 24 hour period, in addition to a cream. Aye aye aye. Do I even still have a liver? Good thing I'm not a drinker...I'm sure that'd do me in.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >
<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sver3E9WGmY/TkiMgHIpT_I/AAAAAAAAAps/jAEJiE8_hXA/s1600/IMG_4460%255B1%255D" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sver3E9WGmY/TkiMgHIpT_I/AAAAAAAAAps/jAEJiE8_hXA/s400/IMG_4460%255B1%255D" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640913016580558834" /></a>
<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >
<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span"> I think the highlight of my day today was taking a shower (which I JUST did by the way, and it's 7:30pm). </span><span class="Apple-style-span">Actually wait, the highlight of my day today would have to be when she just wanted to be cuddled, so I was holding her and singing her some Weepies songs (they make for good lullabies) and she kept eye contact with me the whole time, then gave one of the biggest, gummiest grins I've ever seen her make. I know it was probably just a face muscle spaz at this point...but I'd like to think it was intentional. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >
<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Things that definitely were <b>NOT</b> the highlight of my day:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >-Changing some of the biggest, nastiest poopy diapers I've EVER seen.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >-Being awake from like 2am-7am with her when she decided it would be day time.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >-Getting barfed on at 4am.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >-Getting a really nasty infection that makes me feel like crappers.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >
<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >We both didn't make it out of our pajamas today. She had to go through a couple pairs though, since she pooped through them. And I was too tired/lazy/busy to change out of mine that had been spit up on and even a poop smudge. Gross. <i>Have I really let my hygiene slip to this level?</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >
<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >My mom says that this is only temporary- the whole sleep deprivation thing. I don't believe her. I want to believe her though. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >
<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Sometimes it feels like everything is one continuous day. A very long day. ..Very..long..day. </span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4898094211187044963-7443397000236862719?l=pointsofhonesty.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333605672978990466noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898094211187044963.post-42327249958970602352011-08-01T12:49:00.006-06:002011-08-01T22:23:37.968-06:002011-08-01T22:23:37.968-06:00Thoughts 11 days in..<span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Ahhh.."me" time. Finally. This baby thing is EXHAUSTING. Tonight my mom and sister went out to give us some "family time" alone. Well, here's what's happened during "family time"...James fed Jillian from a bottle and she promptly vomited (again) all over herself. So I finished feeding her, put her in PJ's, and changed her massive poopy. ...That's now a regular word in my vocabulary.<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" >"Poopy." </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >While I was changing her, she spit up all over her PJ's. Great...which end do I tend to first? So we changed her again, got her all snuggled and I sang to her until she fell asleep. As soon as I laid her in her bassinet, I heard what can only be described as an old tractor trying to be started. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >More "poopy". </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Changed. Singing. Asleep. And she lasted about 10 minutes before she started crying again. James picked her up and within 30 seconds she was out. Spoiled? Probably. I should probably read a parenting book. <b><i>When</i></b> would I do that? </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Things like this make me miss "me" time. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Anyway. I think partial thoughts these days. Most of my conversations are in fragments <i>(and mostly about diapers, spit-up, and me asking my mom, "Is that normal?". </i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Some of my other thought fragments now that we're 11 days into this parent thing:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><ul><li style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I haven't gotten a breath of fresh air in 3 days. I also don't think I've put deodorant on in those three days. Gross.</span></li><li style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Oh boobs. Pain. I can totally understand why some women just opt straight for the bottle.</span></li><li style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >How many poopy diapers has she had today? Okay good.</span></li><li style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Oh. I've started doing that thing. Where I talk for her to James and call him "Daddy". </span></li><li style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Soggy cereal again. Cold foods are hot, and hot foods are cold by the time I get done feeding her and onto feeding myself. James and I eat in shifts.</span></li><li style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Thank you heavens above for letting me have a baby that sleeps 4 hrs at a time at night.</span></li><li style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I FEEL SO SKINNY!!! </span></li><li style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Crap! I haven't checked her diaper in a few hours. I feel like the worst mom ever.</span></li><li style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Have I gotten off the couch today?</span></li><li style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Boobs. PAIN.</span></li><li style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Oooo cute outfit! I have to get it (for her..not me). Does she have a bow already to match?</span></li><li style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Am I really expected to do all of this alone when my family goes back home? AH!</span></li><li style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >She makes ALL her facial expressions while she's eating. Hilarious. I'd record it if it wasn't well, when she was eating. </span></li></ul><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Anyway. I'm trying to stay <span class="Apple-style-span" >SANE</span> during all of this. I figure if I can make it through the first month then I should get it figured out enough to make it. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Earlier during "family time," we were sitting on the couch watching some random TV show. I wasn't really watching, just kind of staring at it. I turned to James and said, "This is probably going to be like every night for us now, huh?" </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >"Yup." He replied. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >This makes me want to cry. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >But then I realize how cute she is, and that makes me want to cry too. But for different reasons.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sr2zSkdKtV8/Tjd7OZQsyeI/AAAAAAAAApc/LoYeinDzDbE/s1600/IMG_2755.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 362px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sr2zSkdKtV8/Tjd7OZQsyeI/AAAAAAAAApc/LoYeinDzDbE/s400/IMG_2755.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636108945906780642" /></a><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4898094211187044963-4232724995897060235?l=pointsofhonesty.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333605672978990466noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898094211187044963.post-56693436151239760712011-07-28T12:42:00.006-06:002011-07-28T13:11:29.725-06:002011-07-28T13:11:29.725-06:00Jillian's Story- Start to finish<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; ">I’m exhausted. Despite that, I figured if I don’t write this, then soon enough I’ll completely forget- along with what day it is, where Jillian’s binky is, and the last time I actually ate or slept.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; ">So here it is, to the best of my ability, Jillian’s birth story:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; "><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms'; "><b>Monday July 18, 2011 Doctors Appointment: </b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><i>Well it looks like we can go ahead and set up an appointment on Wednesday to get you induced! So you'll call early Wednesday morning and they'll tell you if they have room for you to come in. Last week I did have three ladies call and they weren't able to get in, just so you know.</i><br />There has to be room. I don't feel like I can do this anymore. I'm SO uncomfortable. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >Tuesday July 19, 2011 Due date.</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >Hi! I'm just calling to let you know ahead of time that we have a pretty full schedule for tomorrow. So there's a good chance you won't be able to be induced. There are 5 rooms available for first time moms to be induced, and you're number five on the list to be called, but all of them are currently full. We'll give you a call tomorrow. If you don't hear from us by 10 am, give us a call.</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Suck.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >Wednesday July 20, 2011</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >9:23 am</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >Hi this is the charge nurse from Utah Valley Hospital. I'm calling to let you know that unfortunately we won't be able to fit you in today. We'll go ahead and set up an appoinment for you to come in tomorrow for a stress test to make sure that the baby is doing okay.</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Super suck. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Later that day:<br /><i>Well James, let's make a lot of plans tomorrow, since clearly this isn't happening anytime soon. Let's make a list:<br />-clean bathroom and vacuum<br />-call Melanie about broken light in dining room<br />-get my car checked<br />-James' eye appointment<br />-Stress test at 1:30<br />-Buy batteries and air humidifier for down stairs</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >Watch, now that we have a ton of stuff to do tomorrow, she'll decide to show up.<br />Probably.</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >Thursday July 21, 2011</span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p>3:23 am</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Ow. …Ow. Ugghhh. Time to change positions again. Okay body, here we go. Sloooowwlllyyy rollllllll over…OW. Big belly bblleegghhh. Okay. Ahh. That’s slightly better. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >3:29 am</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >That didn’t help. My hip hurts. Egh. Again? If these are false contractions again that’s going to suck. Are they real contractions? I dunno. What IS a real contraction? Whatever. I’m going back to sleep. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >3:34 am</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >OOWWW. These feel like cramps. Are these different than the other night? Should I wake up James? Nah. Not yet. Let’s not get our hopes up here. Oh, should I be writing these down? Eh. We’ll see if they go away this time.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >3:39 am</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Cramp. Cramp. Cramp. Are these getting worse? Contractions are supposed to get worse right? They feel the same so far…And Dr. Nance said the first stage of labor can last 7-8 hours…so, I guess I have a while if they’re for real. Back to sleep. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >3:45 am </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Ooooo gotta sit up. I think I have to pee? Maybe. OUCH. CRAMP CRAMP CRAMP. Okay. Maybe I should start timing these things. They seem close together already. Okay here we go…45 seconds. Hmm, these are definitely longer than the other night. *Digs out a neon green pad of post-its and pen from nightstand. Why do I even have post-its in here? Oh well. I need a watch…I guess my phone will work. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > 3:49<br />3:52<br />3:56<br />4:00<br />4:06<br />4:09<br /><br /></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Okay. These are regular…well, sort of. Regular enough I guess. Will sitting up help? No. Okay I’ll try standing. No. Walking? Slightly better. Is someone literally pinching me from the inside? No, not pinching…GNAWING ON ME with spiky metal teeth?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >James. I think I’m having contractions. </span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Okay…are you timing them?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Yeah, they’re pretty close, like 5-6 minutes, some are 4 minutes. But I don’t really know if it’s a contraction. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Doesn’t it say in your book thing?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Oh yeah…let’s look. …. Umm, I guess it could be a contraction? It says that the first stage of labor can last for hours, so try to get comfortable. But these are already pretty close. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Well, I guess keep timing them.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Okay. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><o:p> </o:p></i>4:14<br />4:19<br />4:24<br />4:33<br />4:38<br />4:42<br />4:45<br />4:52</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >OOOO. James, these are getting pretty bad. I can’t sit down.</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Should we go to the hospital?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I don’t know. What if they’re not real and they just send us home? I’ll feel so stupid. OOOWWWWWW.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Okay I think we should go to the hospital.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Okay. Go wake up my Mom and tell her. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p>[At this point James went into complete “go” mode.]</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">James, where’s my bag? I have to put my last minute stuff in there?</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >It’s in the car already.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Wait, what? Why? I’m not ready.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Mom: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">It’s okay, I’ll get it and put it in there. </i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p>I guess I should at least brush my teeth. I wanted to put on mascara at least and deodorant…I don’t care anymore- this HURTS. I need to go to the hospital NOW.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p>Okay. We’re in the car. I can do this. I can do this. It’s not to far. How far apart are they? Oh crap. 3 minutes. What if I have this baby in the car? Oh crap. HHOOLLYY #($*&@# that hurts! Where are we? Have my eyes been closed? Oh…okay, there’s the mall, we’re getting closer. James is driving pretty fast. Good thing it’s so early and there’s no traf…SSSHHEEESSSHHHH these are no good. Okay. Definitely not fake. Not fake. Not fake.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Should I park right here? </i>[At the front door basically].</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >No, it’s okay just park in the parking garage. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Are you sure?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Yes. Just park. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><o:p> </o:p></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Let’s leave the bags in the car until we find out for sure…I still don’t know if these are real.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><o:p> </o:p></i>Wait…why are there so many doctor’s outside? It’s like 5 in the morning? …Are they grilling? Holy cow, they’re grilling. Maybe it’s breakfast…oh well. Okay. Here we go. We’re almost there. …People have got to be looking at me…am I even wearing a bra?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p>[On the 5<sup>th</sup> floor- Labor and Delivery]</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p>The red phone. They said pick up the red phone in the prenatal class.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >James, use the phone. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Hi uh…I think my wife is in labor. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Doors open. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Okay, what’s your name?<br /></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Whitney Houlin.<br /></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Birthday?<br /></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">6-12-1988.<br /></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Due Date?<br /></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">The 19<sup>th</sup>.<br /></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Of…August?<br /></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">July.<br /></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Oh!</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Okay we’ll get you checked in and the nurse will go ahead and check you.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p>Finally…HURRY UP.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p>[In the room with lots of monitors and a mirror.]</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Oh. This is THE room. As in, THE room it all goes down in. </span></p> <span class="Apple-style-span" ><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-T7WYVwlzHBY/TjGzM3V4KEI/AAAAAAAAAo0/w7KqYZOctxA/s1600/IMG_4408.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-T7WYVwlzHBY/TjGzM3V4KEI/AAAAAAAAAo0/w7KqYZOctxA/s400/IMG_4408.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634481642412714050" /></a> </span><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p>5:15 ish</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Okay Whitney, go ahead and put the gown on and I’ll check to see if you’re dilated.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Okay.<br /></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">…<br /></i>WHOA LADY, think you could shove your fingers up there any faster?<br /><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">WHOA you’re fast at that.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Haha. Well, you’re 5cm, so you’re not going back home! We’ll get your IV hooked up and finish getting you checked in!<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Oh…OH. It IS go time. Yikes. No turning back now. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Were you planning on having an epidural? <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >YES.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Okay, I’ll go ahead and call the anesthesiologist. I think he’s still asleep, but he needs to wake up anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >..What? Asleep? Doesn’t seem like he should be giving people drugs if he’s half asleep. OOOOUUUUCCCHHHH. Okay whatever, bring it on, I don’t care if he IS asleep. GIMME THE DRUGS. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p>[45 minutes later, epidural is in and working].</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p>Wow. This is magical. It’s like, I was dying, and then I was not dying. Ahh sweet relief. This is awesome. I can totally do this. Why would anybody choose to go natural? Beats me.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Umm, I’m still feeling some pelvic floor pressure, is that normal?</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Oh yeah, that’s normal. You should feel pressure, but not pain.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Oh, okay. Well, if that’s all I have to feel, then I’m game. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><o:p> </o:p></i>[A few minutes later]</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p>Ok. This is really starting to hurt again. It feels like a contraction but I can only feel it in my crotch. PAAAIIIINNNNN. I don’t think this is working right.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">This is REALLY starting to get uncomfortable. </i>Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. I shouldn’t have to breathe like this with an epidural in…right?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Okay, I’ll go ahead and call the anesthesiologist to come check your dosage. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p>WOW. These hurt WORSE than the contractions I felt….Please Mr. Candy Man, come QUICKLY!!!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p>James: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Honey, I know it hurts, but you’re squeezing my hand reeaalllyy tight.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >*Glare. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Hello! I’m Dr. so and so. So you’re still feeling some pain?</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Yes. A lot. Way down low. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Well, I’m going to give you a different drug than the first time that should be a little bit stronger.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Good. Do it. <o:p></o:p><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yYkTm0Jn5l4/TjGy7YLhEZI/AAAAAAAAAos/XDL7wTca1A0/s1600/IMG_4406.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yYkTm0Jn5l4/TjGy7YLhEZI/AAAAAAAAAos/XDL7wTca1A0/s400/IMG_4406.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634481341989982610" /></a></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p>[10 minutes later]</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p>Ahh….relief again. Okay. We’re good. Aside from this catheter tube that is annoying the heck out of me, and the fact that I have the shakes like a seizure patient, we’re good.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Except for the heartbeat. Do they have to keep the microphone turned up on her heartbeat? It’s making me so nervous constantly hearing it. What if it just…stops? I should try to rest. It’s freezing in here. I can’t stop shaking. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">James you should probably go get the bags in the car.<br /></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Okay.<br /></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">I’ll call my mom.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Mom! Looks like we’re staying here. When she checked me I was 5cm, and the epidural is in and working and….umm…I think my water…yeah…my water just broke! Um, I’ll call you back.</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >This is gross…talk about a mega gush of goop. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >[Nurse checks] <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Oh yes! Your water did break! It has a greenish tint to it, which means your baby did have a bowel movement. So I’ll call Dr. Nance and see how he wants to proceed. </i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Crap. That’s the one thing I was super nervous about. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">So Dr. Nance said we’ll go ahead and start an amnio-flush. Where basically a tube </i>[another tube?] <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">is inserted and warm water is pumped in to dilute the meconium. <o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Okay. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><o:p> </o:p></i>Progress is made. Every hour I’m checked for dilation, and every hour I progress another centimeter.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p>11:00 am</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >9cm. Wow. 9 cm?! I don’t feel like 9cm…I feel like I’m on a cloud floating past rainbows and watching puppy dogs chase their tails.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >You’re almost ready to push! You just have a teeny bit of cervix left that I bet will be gone with a few contractions.</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Wow. Okay. </i>Where does the cervix even go? It just disappears? Whatevs. Sounds good. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><o:p> </o:p></i>11:25 am</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">10 cm! Time to start pushing!<br /></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Oh…okay. Sure.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Next contraction, first push. Okay, I know I’m not supposed to push with my face. If I push with my face, I’m doing it wrong. I reeaallyyy don’t want to have them turn down the epidural. Here we go. PUSH.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Wow! That was a great push! I bet you’ll be having her within about 30 minutes!</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Well Dr. Nance, I’d love to believe you, but you also told me at 37 weeks you thought I’d be delivering early…so I’ll believe it when I see it.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><o:p> </o:p></i>More pushing. On the third and last count to 10 I’m struggling to finish. Whew. This is intense. I feel out of breath.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Okay, well I need to run downstairs to sign some papers, and I’ll be right back.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >WHAT?! <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >It’s okay, I can be back in two seconds. You can keep pushing with the nurse.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Holy shiz balls, is he for real??? </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Pushing with the nurse:</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Do you want to look in the mirror?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Uhhhh, I’m not sure…I guess.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><o:p> </o:p></i>[With the mirror]</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Look, can you see the top of her head?</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">WHOA! </i>Also…wowzers…this looks like I’m going to be in some pain afterwards. Yikes at my lady parts. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Okay here’s another contraction, let’s push! <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >James is being so quiet during all of this. Where is Dr. Nance?! Shouldn’t he be back by now…</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >A few minutes later…finally…he’s back. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p>I’m going to vomit. I’m shaking uncontrollably and I want to vomit.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >James, get the barf bag. Just hold it by my head. If I barf I’m just turning and going, so be ready.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Uhh, okay. </span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p>12:05 pm</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Okay! Here comes the head!</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Holy crap the pressure. So much pressure. Something is SQUEEZING through a very small space. Even with an epidural, this I can feel. I think someone just lit a firecracker in my vajayjay. OH MY GOSH I HAVE TO GET THIS THING OUT. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Look Whitney, open your eyes!</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">HOLY CRAP!!! </i>(I literally shouted). This HUMAN BEING just came out of me! What a strange, wonderful, beautiful, freaky thing. She’s here. I did it. She’s here. And I’m not pregnant anymore!!! She’s crying, that’s a good sign. James is tearing up- that’s so cute! I’m not crying though, shouldn’t I be crying? I’m still shaking a lot. I can’t believe what I just pushed out.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">James, go see her! What does she look like? </i>[They had to immediately take her over to the side with the NICU team to be checked out because of the whole meconium situation.]</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">All right she looks good! She didn’t ingest any of the meconium.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p> </o:p>Whew. That’s a BIG relief.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >She’s 7lbs and 7oz and 20 inches long!</span></i></p><span class="Apple-style-span" ><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BEEwqGHxgQw/TjGzc-NCGiI/AAAAAAAAAo8/LBFA9QQ5Xoo/s1600/IMG_4409.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BEEwqGHxgQw/TjGzc-NCGiI/AAAAAAAAAo8/LBFA9QQ5Xoo/s400/IMG_4409.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634481919132572194" /></a> </span><p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Wow. She’s small! <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >That’s not that small, actually.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Well, I was expecting at least an 8 pounder. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Finally, I get to hold her. She IS tiny. I’m still cold and shaking. Are my legs still wide up in the air? Oh, looks that way. He is definitely going to town on those stitches- I feel like I’m being pulled in five different directions. But she’s perfect, so it doesn’t matter.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GgrsRLyjFQg/TjGzrAy8uRI/AAAAAAAAApE/p-HdKQ7CQ6M/s1600/IMG_4410.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GgrsRLyjFQg/TjGzrAy8uRI/AAAAAAAAApE/p-HdKQ7CQ6M/s400/IMG_4410.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634482160346642706" /></a>I can’t believe this is who was inside of me for 9 months. Every jab was from those knobby little elbows. Every kick was from those skinny little feet with those itty-bitty toes. How soon can I paint her toe nails? Those ridiculously painful head butts were from this currently little misshapen head. I wonder what color hair she’ll have? I just want to study her face and memorize every little wrinkle and dimple.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Wow. James, we MADE this.<br /></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">I know, we did.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >And she’s perfect. And I’m so in love.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></p><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8tg8cA1ECzc/TjG0BMZnQjI/AAAAAAAAApU/qS-BYjHB3YQ/s1600/Baby%2BJillian.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8tg8cA1ECzc/TjG0BMZnQjI/AAAAAAAAApU/qS-BYjHB3YQ/s400/Baby%2BJillian.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634482541418725938" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jIvvfwaUqNw/TjG0AyVT8KI/AAAAAAAAApM/br1JjrPAlhc/s1600/IMG_4411.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jIvvfwaUqNw/TjG0AyVT8KI/AAAAAAAAApM/br1JjrPAlhc/s400/IMG_4411.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634482534421360802" /></a></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4898094211187044963-5669343615123976071?l=pointsofhonesty.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333605672978990466noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4898094211187044963.post-566453078960471552011-07-15T15:19:00.003-06:002011-07-15T15:28:51.921-06:002011-07-15T15:28:51.921-06:00The ONLY 3 things you should say to a pregnant lady<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Two blog posts in one day? I know. I'm out of control. But one, I have nothing to do during the day. I'm sitting around waiting to go into labor, which is an awful lot like watching grass grow. And two, as soon as d-day does go down, I'll probably have a lot less time (from what I hear) to do things like complain about my current state via text online. So, two blog posts in one day today.<br /><br />I just found something hilarious. It's from this <a href="http://www.jetsetcarina.com/2011/06/this-baby-is-fired.html">blog.</a><br />And I <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">completely</span> relate.<br /></span></span><span id="internal-source-marker_0.35054130270145833" style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; "></span><br /><div style="background-color: transparent; margin-top: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-right: 0px; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; ">"<span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; ">Every time I stand up I swear bad swears in my head. “Great Cesar’s Ghost!” I say, only not that. I do not know who is sneaking into my house and beating my lower back with a 4” pipe, and why on earth I am not noticing during the commission, but it needs to stop. Walking is the worst joke. So is sitting. My own body is violating the Geneva Convention. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; "></span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; ">If you’ve had a baby you know the last couple weeks are physical torture. I don’t know why it’s such a surprise. You know that your insides will be squashed and pummeled. You know that your bladder will experience sudden, crushing pain. You know that staying in one position for more than 15 minutes will cause brutal debilitation and shocking torment. Yet, we still have babies, plural. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; "></span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; ">People ask how you are and you’ll smile and say, “Tired,” when the truth is that you’re in physical agony. Mostly you want people to stop asking how you are, or if you are excited about the baby, or what the baby’s name is. </span></div><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; ">How about we go with <a href="http://downstageleft.blogspot.com/2010/02/and-only-three.html">Emmie’s advice</a> and say one of only three things:</span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; ">1. You look fantastic.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; ">2. Would you like to sit down?</span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; ">3. Have a cookie.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; "></span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; ">Not on the list:</span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; ">“You must be so done!”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; ">“Hurts just looking at you!”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; ">“Have you had that baby yet?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; ">“No, you cannot have Thai food.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; "></span><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; ">(Yes, I can, and it had better have at least 3 stars or you’re </span><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; "><i>all</i></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; "> fired.)</span>"<br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" >And I'd like to add something to the "not on the list" list: "She'll come when she's ready!" </span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Obviously. But that doesn't make me feel ANY better.<br />Now where's that cookie?</span></span><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4898094211187044963-56645307896047155?l=pointsofhonesty.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333605672978990466noreply@blogger.com0