We've got spirit, yes we do...

I'm reading a great book called The Happiest Toddler on the Block, a sequel to The Happiest Baby on the Block, which I buy for absolutely every expecting mom I know. The jury is still out on the toddler version, though if Dr. Karp can prevent meltdowns the way he claims then he's been worth every second of time I've spent reading.

In Chapter Two - and that's only as far as I've gotten so we haven't cured meltdowns yet - Karp talks about how children fall into three temperaments. Most are "easy," a few are "shy," and then a small portion are what he calls "spirited."

Parents usually know they have a spirited child because they're the 'more' kids. More active. More impatient. More impulsive. More defiant. More intense. More sensitive. More rigid. The No. 1 recommendation to parents with this toddler personality type: Keep them active. Get them outside to play -- a lot. These kids need to burn off their energy and work through their moods, experts say. They also need firm structure to keep them safe and stable -- and lots of patience.

Jackson sure sounds like a spirited sort, but since he's our first I can't be sure. Maybe all kids are like this, I thought. Dr. Karp suggests a test to determine your child's temperament:

Go to an uncrowded place, release your child's hand, and pretend to turn your back for two seconds. (Keep a close watch out of the corner of your eye.) What does she do? Stand there? (Easy.) Grab your coat and cry? (Shy.) Run away without looking back? (Spirited.) The answer will give you a pretty good reading of your child’s temperament.

Here are the pictures we took yesterday at the Cherry Blossom Festival after we let Jackson out of his stroller. Sense a pattern here?

Food fight

I've mentioned before how there are just some things that I just don't understand now that I'm a parent. And there are some things that I understand exclusively because I'm a parent (ie: drive-thru pharmacies).

Jackson doesn't read books. At ALL. It's not that we don't try. In fact, every night at bedtime we pull out a book and read it, but all he wants to do is open and close the pages. Finally, we've identified a book that Jackson seems to like: The Very Hungry Caterpillar. The little holes in the middle of the pages distract him long enough for me to read each page.

But as I was reading Jackson his bedtime story tonight, in between this incessant opening and closing of pages, I had one of those perplexing parent moments. What the heck kind of lesson is this book for a kid?

Let me sum this story up for you: A little bug wakes up, is hungry, eats for seven days including absolute JUNK on the sixth day, is so full he wants to pop, goes to sleep, and wakes up beautiful.

Uh-huh...If it was that easy I'd weigh ten pounds less.

Has anyone ever considered that there's an obesity problem in this country because too many kids read this book when they were little?

Then they do

Ok, I admit it. I am not a "stop and smell the roses" kind of person. I try. And for a few fleeting moments every now and then I do stop to take a quick break to soak in absolutely everything that's amazing with my life. But for the most part, it's run run run.

On the weekends, I wish for 15 more minutes of sleep when Jackson wakes up. Then it's time for breakfast. Then constant entertainment until lunchtime. Then lunch. Then he naps, and I scurry around to get dishes, vacuuming, laundry, yard work, and anything else done during those sacred two hours. (Who are these people who read books during nap time and why am I not organized enough to ever be able to do that?!?)

Yesterday, while I was hustling around during Jackson's midday snooze, I straightened up our room, folded two loads of laundry, made and ate lunch, cleaned up the kitchen, washed the dishes, and then decided to get a head start on dinner while Chad was out working in the yard.

I threw some music on and was buzzing around with a sort of efficiency that only belongs to the parent of a toddler. I was halfway through a song before I stopped to listen to it.

Now you've got time that's all your own, you've been waiting for so long for this day to come...Then they do. 

Ah, Trace Adkins. I hadn't listened to this song since before Jackson was born. A song about a parent who is constantly wishing for their kids to grow up...and it happens in the blink of an eye.

Oh crap, I realized. Someday - probably someday really really soon - I'm going to realize that my little guy is totally self-sufficient and I'd give absolutely anything to have some of these days back.

Secretly, I sometimes wish for teenagers. Or grown-up kids. At this rate, I'd even take the elementary school ones I could toss outside on a nice day with a "don't come in 'til dinnertime" charge. I would give anything to sleep in, or read a magazine while my kids played, or get any iota of housework done without one eye constantly planted on my child who has no fear of anything. Parenting something this mobile is completely exhausting.

But on the flip side, someday I know the ear-to-ear grin I get just for walking in a room will disappear. And little things like riding in a wagon or singing the "Itsy Bitsy Spider" won't elicit shrieks of excitement. Instead, someday - probably sooner than I'd like - I'll get a hurried wave out the door and maybe an obligatory hug before heading out for an afternoon of who-knows-what. I'll have time then to cook dinner and read books and nap. I'll have time for me.

I'm sure I'll love that life, too. But I'm sure I'll look back at these unpredictable, crazy days fondly, and wish for them every now and then. So during these times when it feels like we're on a treadmill from 8 a.m. until 8 p.m., I tuck a few special moments away in my memory for those days I'll actually be able to sit and think about the way it used to be.

I just hope I don't lose my mind between now and then.

Three is a crowd

A friend of mine with two kids (2 & 5) was looking for a babysitter in a pinch, as she and her husband had conflicting responsibilities after work.

Could I watch the girls on Tuesday night from 6-9, she asked? She'd drop them off and pick them up. I offered to feed them dinner - and she actually took me up on it (eiks). While I was putting on a confident front, I was a little skeptical. All day, I psyched myself up for this. I mentally prepared for meltdowns, accidents, separation anxiety, food fits, and everything else under the sun.

Around 6:45, Chad called to say he was leaving work. I was just sitting them all down for dinner - one was in a high chair, one taste-testing the milk (skim vs. whole) and another was carefully selecting which dining room chair to sit in. "You ready for three kids?" he joked.

I'm fairly certain he didn't like my answer.

It was a breeze. Three hours passed faster than they have in ages. All the kids played together, ate with no complaints, Jackson took a bath and the other two watched a movie until their mom picked them up. It was actually fun. (Did I just say that?)

Don't count me in for another bambino anytime soon - and I'm under no false assumptions it would always be that way - but in a fleeting moment I actually considered that three might be better than one. If I could only fast-forward through the first rough months, you might actually sell me on it.

I'll have what he's having

When I was a kid, my mother told me that moms don't get sick. Must be their penance for taking care of snotty, puking, clingy, feverish children, I've thought all these years. I bet your body develops these amazing immunities during pregnancy so you're able to be a picture of health while taking care of others. It's very Florence Nightingale, if you think about it.

Ever since his birthday, our little guy has been in bad shape. What started as a cough - in true Jackson form - morphed into hacking, wheezing, a five-day fever, an ear infection, and RSV. After three doctor's appointments, five different medications, a chest x-ray, and a follow-up with a respiratory specialist next week, he's finally on the mend.

Here's what he looked like at his one-year doctor's appointment. The bright red cheeks and 101-degree fever weren't exactly a picture of health, so he did manage to get out of his shots that day.

With Jackson's latest plague, much like the others, I have wiped the runny noses, rocked him during the coughing fits, and am not the least bit fazed when this little person sneezes all over my face.

I am fearless. I am a mom. I don't get sick.

Until this week. It started on Monday with a little sniffle and a weird ringing in my ears. By Tuesday, my head was pounding. By Wednesday, I had lost my voice. And by Thursday, my boss was asking if I had bronchitis. As I told my sister, who asked how Jackson was, "If he feels half as bad as I do, he's pretty darned miserable."

When I confronted my mother about this complete and utter fabrication of the truth, she paused, smiled and said, "I didn't tell you that moms don't get sick. I said they don't have time to get sick."

She is right about that.

A mother's love

There are some things I understand so much more now that I'm a mom, like the brilliance of drive-thrus. (Seriously, why aren't they everywhere? You think I want to take my sleeping kid out of the car in the rain to pick up that prescription?)

But I've also been dumbfounded by how mom-hood has ratcheted up every single human emotion I have.

When I watched the two-hour episode where Diane Sawyer interviewed kidnap victim Jaycee Duggard, I was blown away. How does a girl-then-woman suffer years of abuse from someone and have his children? How could you raise two little babies living in a tent in a backyard? How could you help those kids have a "normal" life? And how could you be a mother whose child is snatched on her way home from school?

I think about the Baby Jessica case years ago, when the little girl was taken from her adoptive parents after a court determined that she should live with her biological father. At the time, I thought it was heart-breaking. Today, the thought of someone taking Jackson away from me when he's two years old to go live with another family - forever - is incomprehensible. The picture of her being taken from her parents will always be burned in my mind. As a parent, how do you survive something like that?

And then there's the latest. The utter human tragedy happening now in Somalia. A few weeks ago, the cover story in my Wall Street Journal offered this photo. The caption said this little boy is two.

My immediate reaction? Toss the paper into the circular file. I could not - would not - be able to mentally make time for this. Way too difficult. Way too much to do. But when I was a millisecond away from dumping the paper into the trash, I froze. This is somebody's baby. His mother probably loves him as much as I love my little boy.

Can you imagine?

And so, I read about it. I look at the pictures. I try to imagine what those poor people are going through - what it must be like to leave one child to die in the hopes that the others will live. This picture has been haunting me for more than a month. I literally cannot forget it. But I can't do anything about it either.

That's the worst part about being a mom.

Kids bring amazing joy and happiness. Lots of things happen that you can control. But when they're sick or hurt or frustrated, there are times you can't do a thing. In the end, all you can do is love them and pray for them and hope that one day they'll know you did everything you could in your power to help them find their own way.

Mama mia

Yesterday was my first Mother's Day and, I have to say, it was awesome. It was a glorious day. I've got a big bouquet of roses and some chocolates sitting on the dining room table ("I took the nutritional information off the back so you can't see how bad these are for you," said Chad) and we spent the day going out for a leisurely lunch, taking a stroll around the neighborhood, and hanging out in the front yard until Jackson's bedtime. I even took a two-hour nap. Amazing.

Leading up to Mother's Day, I got very nostalgic thinking about all of the amazing moms in my life that I've been fortunate enough to know. There's my mom, of course. And my grandmothers. And my mother-in-law, and Chad's grandmothers. And my aunts. All of them are incredible women who have taught me little things here and there about how to raise good children and what's required in this motherhood gig. We all have our own style, I suppose, but I've taken pieces from each of them.

There are other moms as well. I never really understood before, but moms stick together. So many of my friends - and even some of my acquaintances who have become friends - have reached out with advice, thoughts, stories, and hang-in-there anecdotes. It's been one of the most surprising parts of this journey: the new bonds I've made along the way.

Fortunately, for us, parenthood is getting a lot easier and more fun. (I know, I know...soon it will get harder again, but we're enjoying this time right now!) And with several friends and neighbors soon set to join the "mommy" ranks, I'm already thinking of ways to pay it forward.

Until then, I'm remembering a great Mother's Day. And thinking of ways to make Father's Day this much fun.

April Fool's

A year ago today, I had one of the biggest surprises of my life: I found out I was pregnant.

We haven't shared this journey widely, but having a baby didn't come particularly easy for us. In fact, we were close to the realization that perhaps this all wasn't meant to be.

After seeing one specialist on and off for the better part of a year, we were told that I wouldn't be able to get pregnant without a costly procedure. We thought about it and prayed about it and decided against that option, at least for the time being. Since I was never too thrilled with her, I decided to go for a second opinion. Ready to try this all one more time, I met with the doctor, they explained the testing and took some preliminary blood work. I was encouraged but knew it was going to be a long process. As in, months.

Here we go again, I thought. And if this doesn't work, we'll just be the world's coolest aunt and uncle (and be able to take lots of kid-free vacations in the process).

I went for a second opinion on March 31. On the afternoon of April 1, I was working from home when my phone rang. It was the nurse I'd met the day before.

Well, she said, your blood work came back. I've got some good news and some bad news.

The good news is, you're pregnant. The bad news is, the hormone levels are really low. It will likely end in a miscarriage.

It was April Fool's Day. The irony did not escape me. Based on all the testing they'd done, there was no way I should have been pregnant. A big part of me thought that maybe the lab had screwed up the test.

How did Chad find out? It was very anticlimactic: I called him at work and said something along the lines of, "Well, you'll never believe this. I'm pregnant though it's not going to last. But the good news is it can happen." We didn't celebrate but we were encouraged for the long term.

Over the next few weeks, I returned multiple times for blood work. Instead of going down, my numbers kept going up. And up. And up. By about the middle of April, I started to wonder if this was really going to happen. The next several weeks went painstakingly slow as we kept getting morsels of good news but needed to be realistic that it was still very early.

We all know what happened next but in case you need a refresher...

One year to the day later, I'm on my last day of maternity leave with a beautiful little boy who makes me laugh more than he makes me crazy. While I dream of sleep and a real vacation and an impromptu evening out, I can't really imagine our lives without him anymore.

Oh my, how life can change in an instant. That April Fool's was apparently no joke.

10 lessons in 10 weeks

In honor of making it to the 10-week mark fairly unscathed, I've given some thought to the ten things I've learned (or was glad I had heard) during this whole experience. Here's what I know now that I didn't know before - or that I knew but kept reminding myself for the last two months. 

#10: Trust your gut. I was worried that Jackson wasn't eating enough. Every new parent apparently thinks they're starving their child and I was not going to be one of those spastic new moms who called the pediatrician convinced of this. But at Jackson's two-month appointment we found out that there is an exception to every rule: my "lazy eater" wasn't gaining enough weight and had, in fact, spent the greater part of his scant eight weeks of life hungry. (Ouch. The idea that you haven't been feeding your child enough has "Mommy Guilt" written all over it.) Someday while my son is scarfing down his third helping of dinner I will remind him of the fact that he was once considered a "lazy" eater. Chad and I just aren't sure which side of the family that came from. Point being, in the back of my mind I knew this about week #4. I just talked myself out of it because I didn't want to come across as a spaz.

#9: If at first you don't succeed, try again. Some other day. At the six-week mark, I was determined to move Jackson from a Pack 'n Play into his crib. Six weeks seemed like the appropriate milestone for this to occur, so we made the move. And at the six-weeks-and-three-day mark, I abandoned my valiant mission. After several nights of getting up every hour to soothe a crying infant, we pulled the Pack 'n Play out of its carrier and put Jackson back in his little vibrating napper he loved so much. I needed sleep and I preferred to stay sane. "I am not giving up," I told Chad. "I am just accepting the fact that he is not ready for this." We'd try the crib in a few weeks, we decided. And, guess what? Two nights ago I put him into the crib and he sleeps like a dream child. Life is good.

#8: Kids make noise when they sleep. Why did no one ever tell me that I need to listen before rushing into my child's room? After about nine weeks I realized that Jackson grunts, farts, snorts and even cries in his sleep. Rushing in to put in the pacifier or feed him resulted in me legitimately waking a sleeping baby more times than I care to admit. Now I know a "just readjusting myself, Mom" whimper from a "Hello, I'm hungry, Lady!" wail when I hear it.

#7: Dr. Harvey Karp is a frickin' genius. If you ever invite me to a baby shower, let me spoil your gift: I will bring you a copy of The Happiest Baby on the Block and a swaddle. Even when I was apparently starving our child (see Point #10) I could calm down his cries in a matter of seconds with the "five S's". This man is a dream worker. As of late we've been loving the Miracle Blanket because it is the one swaddle that our little Houdini cannot escape from in the middle of the night. And he can't scratch himself, either, which he does if he's not wrapped up tight.

#6: Talk to your mommy friends. They will understand. I have been so lucky to have this charter group of women who have gone before me that really "get" this whole parenthood gig. They check in. They send reassuring emails and how-are-you-doing text messages. They comment on my blog posts. They call in the middle of the afternoon for no reason and we talk about things like bowel movements and the appropriate length of naps. (Yes, I have become one of those people who keeps track of both.) In my non-mom days I wanted to support my mom friends - and I did to the extent I could - but I've realized that I just didn't "get" it. If you're having a kid, find your network of people who have already sailed these waters and put them on speed dial. Immediately.

#5: This, too, shall pass. During the screaming fits, and there have been a few, I constantly reminded myself that neither of us would permanently be worse for the wear in six months or six years. These are the times of long days and short years, one of my friends wisely told me. And it's funny that, looking back even on the last few months, I really remember the best moments and have blocked out the worst parts. Perhaps that's the sleep deprivation talking, who knows.

#4: Don't fool yourself. You will not be able to sleep when the baby sleeps. A well-meaning friend said to me around Week Two of this adventure, "So, what are you going to do with all your free time?" I smiled, but I was gritting my teeth. Yes, it goes to figure that if a newborn sleeps 14-18 hours a day that you should be able to be pretty darned productive. Well, in the last ten weeks, I have taken exactly one nap. During Jackson's spotty nap times I am lucky to shower or eat lunch or put in a load of laundry or take out the trash or feed the dog or... I think you get the gist. In fact, when I'm putting Jackson down for his naps I am mentally prioritizing my to-dos. Should I make myself coffee first or write those three thank-you notes? Dare I make some oatmeal or should I wash those bottles? When you're living on borrowed time, it's amazing how productive you are. But, unfortunately, sleeping isn't usually part of that equation.

#3: Get out of the house. RIGHT. NOW. I sign up for these weekly baby emails about what your child should be doing developmentally, what you should be watching for, etc. At Week Eight, my email said something like, "Now is the time you should be thinking about and mentally preparing yourself to leave your child with someone else." Yikes, I thought. I must be the world's worst parent. We left Jackson and headed for the hills at about Day #3. Getting out of the house is essential. Chad and I have been to dinner by ourselves more often than I can count. And I've got a rule that if the temperature is above 40 degrees, I bundle Jackson up and take Lucy for a walk. Accept the fact that, if you're lucky, there are people on this Earth who love your child *almost* as much as you do. And those people have probably had far more sleep and are much more refreshed than you are. They make amazing babysitters. Get out of your house without your child. For everyone's sake!

#2: Having a baby is a productivity killer. This was actually the phrase that Chad uttered to me last Sunday after we had both been up for six hours with a fussy child and found ourselves still in our pajamas. Mentally prepare yourself for the fact that you will not be able to get anything done for the first 12 weeks and if you do, it's a bonus. This is not the time to be planning or doing anything of substance. Like knee surgery. But that is another blog post. And, yes, my Aunt Rita cautioned against this.

#1: If anyone offers to help, teach yourself these six little words: "That would be awesome. Thank you." Now is not the time to be Superwoman. You can't do it all, trust me. (And even with help, your kitchen will look like a disaster.) In Jackson's first weeks, Janice did my laundry. My mom made dinner more than once. Rachel sent me a "Pick a night this week when I can come babysit" text. April and Sarah and Sara and Erika and Margaret and Cathy and oh I'm sure I'm forgetting lots of people took care of us so we could take care of our child. Those are the best friends to have. And you need to be willing to accept everything they're willing to offer.

Any day now, Buster

You know you've really neglected your blog when your own grandmother calls to remind you that you've been slacking off. (Hi, Grandma. Thanks for checking in!)

Ok, how many times can I say this without sounding like a broken record? It's not that I haven't wanted to blog or that I have nothing to say. It's actually the opposite: I have so much to say that I don't know where to start.

Here's what has happened in the last month, all of which warrants its own blog post but I'm currently feeling both overwhelmed and lazy so I'm going with an update through bullets:

• My friends threw me an amazing shower (see Buster's little hat and mittens from his Grandma Margaret)
• I found out that I'm going to be an aunt in May! Congrats, RT and Paul! We can't wait to meet "Yogi". (Where my brother comes up with these stupid nicknames I have no idea but we will eventually pay him back.)
• Chad had his meniscus repaired. Compared to last year's ACL surgery, it was a total breeze. ACL surgery for his left knee is scheduled for December 22. He is currently going to physical therapy so often that he got a t-shirt for "perfect attendance" last month. Not kidding.
• We went to a cabin in the Shenandoah with my sisters and their husbands as my birthday present. I can honestly say I've stayed in a barn! The weather was perfect and we spent two days playing cards, games and eating. A lot.
• Janice and Nick hosted an incredible Thanksgiving. Evening entertainment consisted of finding objects (ie: hot cups of coffee, glasses of wine, etc.) that would balance on my gigantic belly.
• Black Friday and Cyber Monday came and went. I worked. A lot. I even did my share of TV, though my clothing options were much more limited.

And that brings us to today, for the most part. This is Buster's due date. While I never expected an early baby, I have been giving this child the benefit of the doubt and told myself over the past few weeks that Buster is waiting to arrive until:

• The furniture gets delivered
• We go to a childbirth class, take a tour of the hospital, and choose a pediatrician
• His clothes get washed
• My hospital bag gets packed
• The Christmas tree and decorations are put up and the boxes go back to the attic
• We make a final decision on his name
• The car seat gets installed
• We spackle and paint the hallway and complete a zillion other household projects, much to Chad's chagrin
• We go out for our "Last Supper" (as we called our evening out last Saturday night)

Now that those tasks are all done, I hope he's not waiting for it to warm up outside because that doesn't appear to be happening for some time. So on his due date, the date I have had circled on my mental calendar for the last nine months or so, I sit. And I try to remind myself that the days I work now will be more days I have off later, that even though I'm not sleeping much I am also totally on my own schedule, and that every day that goes by without a baby is one more day I get to think about how amazing it's going to be to meet him!

DC's power couple

Chad reminded me this morning that it's been nearly a month since I blogged. Mom reminded me - publicly - as well, though I will say I've blogged since she has.

So, here's our biggest news from the last month.

Remember this? Well, it's happened again.

In a football game a couple weeks ago, Chad tore his ACL and meniscus on his left knee. He also has been having some lingering pain and swelling in his right knee, and an MRI showed that he tore the meniscus in his right knee as well. We were hoping for good news and preparing for bad news. Unfortunately, we got the latter.

Between my ever-growing belly and Chad's hobbling, we are quite the pair. It's actually comical.

So, Chad needs a scope on his right knee and reconstructive surgery on his left (ie: crutches for a month). The question around here is, when should we do it?

Should we try to get the ACL done before the baby is born so that Chad could start his recovery during a slow time of year and I'd only have to deal with taking care of one child at a time? (Sorry, couldn't help it...) If we went that route, in a perfect world the worst of his recovery would be behind him before Buster's grand debut, even though he'd be on crutches during the delivery and through Christmas. We wouldn't have to dread any upcoming surgeries since it would be out of the way and it's a slightly better option from an insurance standpoint. In a not-so-perfect world, the baby would come while Chad was still doped up on pain meds and unable to drive, though fortunately we have lots of friends and family who have already offered to chip in.

Other options: Wait until later on in my maternity leave, even though Chad will be busier at work. Wait until next summer even though the baby will be more mobile, I'll be back at work, and in the meantime Chad may injure his knees even more. (I don't personally see any of this as a good thing though this is what the surgeon seems to think makes the most sense.) Do both surgeries at the same time, even though the immediate recovery would be more difficult... Decisions, decisions. And not a single one of them is a no-brainer.

So I leave it up to you:

How should Chad approach surgery?
Just scope the right knee before the baby is born. There will be time for the "big" surgery later. Have surgery on the left knee ASAP. Get it over with already and hope Buster doesn't come early! Have both knees done at the same time sometime after the baby is born. Wait until next summer to do both, separately. Babies are hard work!
	Results

(Let's say it in unison, "Hopefully Buster gets Ellen's knees.")

No turning back

Sometimes I don't blog because I don't have anything to say.

Sometimes I don't blog because there's so much going on that I can't figure out where to start.

My silence for the last two weeks has been a result of the latter, but I promise to be better about it! I really do have a lot of things to write about...

NRF released its holiday forecast today. This is my ninth holiday season at NRF and our announcement is exhilarating every year. (I almost played Christmas music at work today, that's how excited I am...) I like my job for the first nine months of the year, but I love my job for the last three months.

I've actually been so focused on getting all the little puzzle pieces together for this big day of ours that it just hit me yesterday I won't make it through the entire holiday season: Buster will make his grand arrival before Christmas - if I'm lucky, right after Cyber Monday. As the date gets closer, the idea of having a baby strangely seems much farther away. I need to get out of this mindset soon because, as my doctor reminded me on Monday, Buster could come into this world anytime. (There is no indication that he will, but technically he could.) Eiks!

Turf war

Buster and I are in the midst of a little property dispute. All was going well for the first seven months, but apparently he thinks the little cocoon I have so lovingly crafted for him is no longer big enough. So he is trying to make himself more comfortable by stretching and kicking his way into a larger space. Despite the fact that I am a generally hospitable person, I must say that my stomach, bladder and other organs are not liking this new development one bit. I'm starting to feel squished from the inside out. (And, yes, I realize this is not likely to improve in the next several months.)

Seriously, can't we all just get along?

I told Buster last night that if he wasn't careful I was going to serve him with an early eviction notice. I'm fairly certain he wasn't listening.

Testing...1, 2, 3

I've been thinking ahead to September 13 for the last several weeks. This is the one-year anniversary of Chad's total knee blow-out. And I thought about it even more yesterday when I watched a player on the other football team Chad's guys were playing likely blow out his knee, too. [cringe]

In retrospect, much of that experience was awful: it was a test of patience, expensive and led to a lot of unplanned finagling and rearranging of our life. The half-hour I spent trying to get a woozy Chad into our house and up the stairs when we came home from the hospital after his surgery was definitely a low point. But at the time, it certainly didn't seem tragic.

The whole "knee" incident was another example to me of how sometimes you just have to put your life on autopilot and take things one step at a time - sometimes literally. I actually think back on that lesson a lot when I'm feeling like something is just too overwhelming or unfair or frustrating. You deal with it, you learn from it, and you get past it. And one year later, thankfully, Chad's knee is as good as it's ever been. Well, almost.

And this year, our Sept. 13 was much better. Why? Because the doctor's office called this afternoon and my glucose tests came back normal. That experience was a social experiment like no other, by the way. And I'm glad it's over. (I will take you up on that cake now, Robert!)

Inside and outside

I mentioned a few months ago that we've had a big list of to-dos in getting ready for Buster's arrival in just a few months. We got a new backyard patio and landscaping, put a TV in the living room and are making slow progress on our baby check-off list.

The furniture has arrived, so I feel like I can finally show off the backyard. Chad's had breakfast out there a few times and now that the weather is cooling down, we'll be spending lots of nights out there too. (Remember what it used to look like?)

We've also been busy inside. In summary, Chad made a mess and I cleaned it up. If you didn't know any better, you'd think this just involved hanging a TV on the wall, but a lot of behind-the-walls work was involved...which of course also means cutting, spackling, painting...Our living room is now quite a bit more functional and Chad is already enjoying it immensely (as you can see by his feet propped up on the coffee table).

And we registered. One wouldn't think that this would take much time, but it took f-o-r-e-v-e-r. Thanks to some amazing friends who sent along lots of tips - plus one who even went to the store with me and another who gave us a ton of toys, clothes and gear they're finished with - we've made quite a dent in this baby thing. We finished registries at Buy Buy Baby and Amazon.com last weekend and have a study full of great baby stuff that needs to be sorted through and put away. We still need to pick out a crib and a dresser, but, well, we've been pretty darned productive lately. That project can certainly wait until next weekend.

I told you so

About a week ago, I went to the doctor's office for a routine appointment and a glucose tolerance test, which evaluates a woman's risk for gestational diabetes.The nurse told me if I didn't hear from her by the end of the week, I had passed. I was fairly certain I would fail just because this whole pregnancy has seemed relatively uneventful, but was crossing my fingers that I didn't.

Thursday came and went. Friday came and went. Hooray! I told my mom this weekend that no news was good news. She said she wasn't surprised: "I've never known you to fail a test."

Until my phone rang this morning. I failed.

#!$&@^#!

I was so mad, I ate three cookies.

So for five hours this Friday, I get to sit in a lab, drink straight sugar and see how my body reacts to all of it over time through a series of blood draws. I can't eat or drink anything else twelve hours beforehand or at any time during the test. (Jealous?) I'm relatively optimistic that I'll pass this more advanced version and that my only inconvenience in this whole deal will be five wasted hours. And let's hope that is the case.

If I fail, I get to spend the remainder of my pregnancy monitoring my blood sugar multiple times a day and adopting a modified version of a low-carb lifestyle (ie: no bread, pasta, dessert...). To me, this sounds like torture. To Chad, this sounds like a pretty good deal. I'd basically have to spend the next 10 weeks eating just like him.

What 25 weeks looks like

Five weeks ago I posted a photo featuring my little quasi-pregnant belly. Well now there's no disputing. As I was discussing with my friend Brigid, who is due just a few days before me, the good news in all of this is that now we really look like we're getting ready to have a kid, not just that we overindulged ourselves during a lunchtime pizza buffet. The bad news...well, there really isn't any bad news other than I am getting ready to send my pre-pregnancy clothes to the attic which makes me sad because some of my summer stuff that doesn't fit anymore is really cute!

So with 25 weeks down and 15 to go, here's what I look like now. Chad has felt the baby kick and punch and do Lord knows what else quite often. Though it's sometimes distracting, I like the constant reminders that Buster is still in there hanging out. He's an active little dude, just like his dad.

As for the pickles-and-ice-cream questions I keep getting, I really have zero cravings. Please just let me have endless supplies of fruit and water - and, umm...dessert. (Though, let's be honest, that is not a craving as much as the fact that because I'm pregnant I feel like I have a license to eat Ben & Jerry's whenever the mood strikes, thankyouverymuch.)

zzzzzzzzzz...

If I'm really good at anything, it's sleeping. Always has been. I wasn't even the kid who woke up early on Christmas.

But for the last few weeks, I haven't been able to sleep for more than a few hours at a time. Even when we were in our super-comfy bed at the Ritz. And it's irritating. (Granted, I realize this is a far cry from what some pregnant women have to deal with but please afford me this minor complaint.)

I've always been an equal-opportunity sleeper: my stomach, my back, a side...I don't discriminate. But of course I can't sleep on my stomach for the time being and apparently sleeping on your back during pregnancy isn't good either (something about cutting off circulation to the baby). Now, not only am I supposed to be sleeping on my side, I'm supposed to be sleeping on my left side. And who the heck wants to stay on their left side for an eight-hour stretch?

So I'm constantly tossing and turning - grabbing extra pillows, flailing around, trying to get comfortable, sitting up and stretching, and then trying this whole "sleep" thing again. (Let's just say Chad probably hasn't been sleeping very well either.)

The second trimester must be God's way of getting you used to the fact that you'll soon be unable to sleep for more than two or three hours at a time anyway.

Let them eat cake! ...for breakfast?

Last week, two of my colleagues (one current, one former) - who both happen to be men and amazing dessert masters - were mired in a political debate on Facebook.

Always the opportunist, I proposed a solution: "I'll settle this. Each of you bake me a cake and I'll pick the winner. Deal?"

It's amazing what people do for you when you're pregnant.

This morning I swung by my friend Robert's office building to pick up three huge pieces of red velvet cake (Chad's new favorite, so he gets one - and RT gets the other). I put it in the fridge, but I can still hear it calling my name from the other side of the office.

I'm pretty sure the real winner of this political discussion is...me.

The only question is, How early is too early to eat it?

It's a....!!!

I've written before that we went back and forth deciding whether we wanted to know the baby's gender ahead of time. But when it came right down to it, Chad wanted to find out and I couldn't imagine him knowing without me.

When we went in for our 20-week appointment, we gave the technician a blank note card and envelope to write down whether Baby Davis was a boy or a girl. She didn't have any trouble determining the gender of what she called our "very active" baby, though we were looking at the same monitor that she was and had no idea.

We left the appointment and continued on with our weekend. That envelope taunted me for 36 hours! My trustworthy husband sealed it shut himself because he thought I would peek. Hmph.

On Saturday night, we had reservations at a nice restaurant and planned to open the envelope then. It was a surreal, but very cool, experience. Chad opened the envelope first, made absolutely no facial expression, put the note card back in the envelope, and handed it to me.

At that moment, I was - honestly - terrified! Not because I was hoping for one more than another but because this was such a big deal (though everything to me is a big deal lately).

And this is what we saw:

Of course I started crying.

I do that a lot these days, though rarely in public.

In hindsight, I'm very glad we found out. Yes, it's one part of the equation but we've still got lots of surprises in store - will our little boy have red, curly hair like his grandpa? brown eyes like his dad? - and I think we now both feel a bit more connected to the little dude, especially Chad who hasn't been feeling all of the sometimes wonderful and sometimes nauseating elements of pregnancy. That makes me happy.

As we were falling asleep that night, I turned to Chad and said, "You realize this gives me a whole new set of things to worry about, right?"