Friday, October 23, 2009

Jellycat


I want this to be the stuffed animal that Lila carries around with her wherever she goes:

Too bad I can't force her to like what I like. What a wonderful, twisted world that would be.

Monkeys and Pizza and other Semi-aimless Discourse

Ohai, friends. Guess what? I'm done traveling for a while. Kels and I went up to Minneapolis this weekend for yet another wedding. The wedding was great and it was fun seeing friends, but dang that's a long drive for a twenty-fourish hour stay. Especially with a pregnant wife who can't get comfortable in any position that a passenger bucket seat will accommodate. The drive up there was worth it when we saw a Davanni's right across the street from our hotel, though. You'd better believe that's a good pizza. Take my word for it- eat one.

So since Kelsey gave me the news of Lila's existence in April we've flown to L.A., driven to San Francisco, Chicago, Table Rock Lake (thanks again Marty), and the Twin Cities twice. I think we packed in a good bit of the U.S.A. before the kid comes, and I'm spent. It's home for us for the next few months.

The problem is, the more we're home and have access to Lila's perpetually-in-progress nursery, the more we want to change things (I use the pronoun 'we' rather loosely. I'm mostly the one who moves things when it's already been determined that they should be moved/replaced). But we did find these cool mid-century white and pink dressers that are moving in this weekend. I cringed at the idea of buying any furniture the same week we have to drop a new engine in Kelsey's car (that's a whole other debacle), but they're totally the kind of dressers that will last her at least until college. So I can check that off the list. Bedroom furniture until she moves out. Check.

NEW RULE: No one is allowed to name a baby girl Lila for the next 10 years. We found it and it should be kept unique and special. Ok, so I don't have any claim to that name. I'm sure there have been thousands of Lila's before ours. And if you're reading this and want to name your baby Lila some day I guess I can't stop you. But I will consider our daughter to be her namesake forever and you can't take that away from me. Ha.

Finally, as supremely cool as the Jellycat undoubtedly is, I always pictured Lila as a sock monkey kind of kid (in review, that sentence is hilarious if you stop reading after the word monkey). So no offense, amazing and lovely wife who is currently enduring the discomfort of carrying our first child, but I'm pulling for the sock monkey. There's something classic about it; I can just picture her in hip little jeans and pink Chuck Taylors with a blanket in one hand and her monkey in the other (for arguments sake, let's call him Giuseppe) with a look on her face that boldly says, "yeah, a sock monkey. And have you heard the new Grizzly Bear album? I have. That's how awesome I am." Can't you picture it?



Thursday, October 15, 2009

I would like the world to know what kind of a husband I have

(Confession: I totally ripped off that title from my friend Bethany's blog about her awesome dad)

So the other night I was asked the following question: What do you consider your best attribute?

My response? The ability to choose a good husband.

I mean it. I really think that's the best thing I have going for me. And this is more and more apparent with each progressing day of my pregnancy. We have 9 weeks to go before this little creature makes her entrance into the world. And while many things in pregnant world are better since that painfully long first trimester, there are a few new developments that I can't say I'm altogether happy about. Gone are the days of vomiting and picky eating, but gone also are the days of a cute little rounded belly, an ache-less back, normal-sized feet, and the ability to get to sleep without a good dose of Tylenol and a heating pad. I am now officially ENORMOUS. Now when I say that out loud, all the experienced moms in the room give me a look like, "just you wait, sister." I know, I know. I'm going to get even bigger. And then bigger again. And then bigger some more. And then just when I feel like I might explode, I'll get just a bit bigger still. I know this. I'm just saying I am, at this moment, enormous. Don't argue with me or I'll sic my big belly on you.

Now, where was I? Ah, yes. I have an awesome husband. Let me brag on him for a little while. Get ready to be jealous.

Over the last 7 months my husband has:

  • rubbed my feet nearly every night
  • cleaned up my vomit from the passenger seat of his car (just once, but that's enough I think)
  • made countless midnight trips to the grocery store to satisfy my cravings (this week it's been those really delicious $.99 frozen pizzas that I loved when I was in middle school and had the metabolism of a cheetah)
  • forfeited his space in bed to make room for the new additions of my 2 king-sized pillows, my huge belly and my huge...well, just take a guess at that last one, er two.
  • cooked us dinner almost every night of the week
  • willingly gotten on board with my brilliant hippie ideas like cloth diapers and natural childbirth
  • attended childbirth classes with me and been attentive and helpful (I've received comments every week from the other moms like, "He's a good man" as he willingly hops up on my request to fetch me a bag of crackers, a water bottle, the paperwork I hadn't picked up, etc)
  • made me feel like I CAN do this, that I'll be a great mom, and that I'm attractive to him - giant alien belly or no
  • gotten up in the middle of the night to refill my hot water bottle, bring me a glass of water, or just comfort me
  • made late-night trips to Walmart to buy me my yoga ball (feels so good on my back), my cocoa butter lotion (feels so good on my belly), my hot water bottle (feels so good on my everything), etc, etc
  • sacrificed a free ticket to the Wilco concert to be at our childbirth class
  • tactfully kept his mouth shut when I have been irrational and moody
  • patiently endured my incessant moaning and whining about my body hurting
  • patiently endured the constant state of transition that Lila's room has been in as I keep changing my mind about what I want it to look like (by the way, "transition" requires his muscles moving the furniture around according to my whims)
  • patiently endured my irrational, hormonal outbursts of tears or anger or both
  • patiently endured...living with a pregnant, emotional, ever-expanding, demanding wife
  • not complained a-once


I could go on and on. I seriously have the best husband ever. He has been attentive and supportive and self-sacrificing throughout this whole pregnancy and I am so grateful for him. Lila, your Daddy is the best man in the world. Your are so lucky. We are both so lucky. Come soon so you can meet him and see just how awesome he is.

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Winning the human race.

It astounds me that we as a species have survived as long as we have. I say this because I can't grasp how an event as huge as having a first baby can happen a few thousand times a day to people who have had no practice and continue to perpetuate itself generation after generation. And I don't mean practice with kids in general- I mean people, like ourselves, who are totally ignorant to what parenthood really entails. Seriously, think about that. The greatest responsibility we've ever had and there's no way to test it out, to get experience, to fall into a groove before we have to do it for real. And somehow, human beings are still here. God bless childbirth classes.

Kels and I started classes earlier this week with a really fun biologist-turned-doula who we're really glad is our teacher and is not going to be in the delivery room. I mean no disrespect- I'm sure she's awesome at her doula duties, but we're introverts and we like our space respected with sensitivity and she seems a little, um, intense. But the first class went well- we mostly covered early labor and when to relax, when to walk around and help the awesome kid work her way out, when to not freak out, when to go to the hospital and how to breath. Did you know that they don't teach lamaze anymore? Turns out the medical community found out moms were hyperventilating and they threw up their collective arms and said "our bad." Essentially. Which brings me back to my original point (yes, sometimes I have points, however feeble); how the crap are we supposed to know this stuff?

Well, clearly parents have made it on little information and even less sleep before, so I shouldn't be worried. I suppose I should stick to the things I do know, like mix tapes and rock band onesies, and leave learning all the other things up to grace and mutual dependence between Kelsey and myself. And parents and siblings who are eager to help, right?

And speaking of awesome onesies, Dave Coates (friend and writer, not the motorcycle stunt king. Google it) sent me the following text a few weeks ago: "Danny Glover just started a children's clothing line called 'I'm Getting Too Old for This Shirt.'" If only. That's the kind of celebrity endorsement I could get behind. Thanks, Dave. Now come back in December so you can meet your pseudo-niece.