Flying with a Newborn

So. I had to take my baby on a plane.

On the evening of Christmas Day, we took off to travel to Seattle to visit Dallin's family for a week.

I basically had a nervous breakdown.

No, seriously, I was in tears as the plane took off.

I have no idea why...except that I had never been so incredibly worried about anything in my entire life.

Worried about what, you might ask? Oh, you know...whether or not we'd have to check the car seat; getting past security with all our extra stuff (including bottles); having to hold the baby the entire time; the baby crying for the whole trip; the pressure change bugging her so that she cried louder/harder; having to feed her; having to change her; having her spit up or blow out or emit some other kind of liquid that had to be cleaned up immediately; the fact that the plane might crash...you know.

Well, you know what happened?

Madelyn slept. THE ENTIRE TIME.

When we checked in and were told there would be extra seats so we could take her car seat right on the plane, she was asleep.

When we got to security, she was asleep.

(Until we had to take her out of her seat AND take her little boots off so they could be sure we weren't smuggling a dangerous something in our baby's baby sized boots. Sheesh. But she went back to sleep.)

During the extra 40 minutes we had to wait because our flight was delayed, she was asleep.

As we got on the plane and settled into our seats, she was asleep.

As they explained that adults traveling with children should, in the case of an unexpected pressure change, put their own oxygen masks on first before securing the child's, which I completely ignored as I realized if that happened I would not be able to breathe at all and so would be just as well off giving my mask to Madelyn anyway...she was asleep.

As I was in tears during take-off, and as everyone's ears popped, she was asleep.

And when we landed in Seattle 3 hours later, she was still asleep.

It was hard to believe. And it's harder to believe that it will happen again when we fly home.

I guess we'll find out. Cross your fingers for me, please.

No, seriously...cross them.

Christmas

And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed.

And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David (because he was of the house and lineage of David)

To be taxed with Mary, his espoused wife, being great with child.

And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered.

And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.

And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.

And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.

For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.

And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of heavenly host praising God, and saying,

Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

Can you really read this enough?

I can always tell when I'm reading it the right way...it makes me cry.

From humble beginnings came the Savior of the world, the literal Son of God.

He came to live and die for each of us. His love is immeasurable, and His example is perfect.

I hope I can do something to follow that example this Christmas. Will you join me?

He is our Savior. He lived and walked this earth, and He still lives today. I believe this with all of my heart, mind, and strength.

Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

Merry Christmas!

Joyful and Triumphant

The title of this post really has nothing to do with the content of this post.

I just really like the phrase joyful and triumphant.

I will now proceed to write this post that is largely unrelated to joyful-and-triumphant-ness.

Basically, I am up earlier than I want to be (love you, Madelyn!), still tired, and rather bored.

So here are some things on my mind:

1) Christmas is in like, three days! Christmas Eve is in like, two days! Christmas Eve Eve is in like, one day! I really like Christmas.

b) I have a large amount of Christmas shopping left to do, some of which is unplanned (aka I have no idea what to get some of the people on my list)

iii) I like Dallin. He is fun to look at, be with, and smell.

IV) I am in a very intense baking mood. I have seen many yummy to the max recipes nowadays -

**Side note: I love picky-palate.com. This lady has the BEST recipes. And if anyone has a picky palate...well, hi, it's me. Side note over**

and would love to just escape to my kitchen and bake my little-but-powerful heart out. We shall see if that happens.

E) I'm pretty sure I could list 8,700,040 reasons why I love Madelyn. Stay tuned for that post.

last) I am fairly to moderately upset about the newer version of "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" being at the TOP of Moviefone's Worst Christmas Movies Ever list. Um, hi. Did they not read my Katie's Favorite Christmas Movies of All Time List and realize that this movie is one of my favorites before really hurting my feelings in this way? Apparently not.

I think that about covers what's on my mind at the moment...

Oh wait - and I'm hungry. Now we're done.

So tell me - what are you baking today?

Sicky McSickerson

Everything sounds better in (Blank)y Mc(Blank)erson form. Observe:

Sweety McSweeterson
Hottie McHotterson
Stinky McStinkerson

It's really the only thing I remember from my high school calculus class, in which my teacher would commonly refer to himself, students, or math problems as Trixie McTrickerson.

Which I guess sounds better, since "Trixie" is actually a name.

But you know, whatever.

I am currently Sicky McSickerson.

Would you like to know how long I've been this way?

I developed a nasty sore throat plus cough thing a few days before Madelyn was born.

Why yes, that was a MONTH ago, now that you mention it.

It got a little worse, then it got a little better, then it got all the way better, then about two days passed, and now I'm sick again.

And it's an annoying sick, let me tell you. Stuffy and coughy and headache-y and no appetite-y (which is why my pregnancy weight was gone in what was probably an unhealthy amount of time that I have decided not to reveal) and just all around blegh.

What I really need is a good old fashioned, high-powered anti-histamine, something that will just suck all the moisture out of my body and knock me out for several days.

Oh wait...

I can't sleep because I have a child to care for, AND said child would probably be in nutritional trouble if ALL the moisture in my body dried up, if you know what I'm saying.

Which is why the doc says I can't take any medicine.

So what the heck do I do? I guess I'll just take some Tylenol for my headache and drink tons of orange juice, even though I don't really like orange juice. And sleep with the humidifier. Or, as it is, sit up awake in bed with the humidifier.

And now Dallin's sick too. He didn't get whatever I had before and after Madelyn, but he's got what I've got now.

And it's Christmas.

Hmph.

Humphrey McHmpherson.

Take that, Target

So, I like Target. Really, I do. And I've got to say: working retail for like, 4 years (including like, a month or so at Target, before I gained true wisdom) has made me very sympathetic to any and all retail workers.

But I have had a couple of run ins with Target lately - one of which blemished an otherwise clean honesty record (oh ok...mostly clean. See how honest I am?), and another that left me a little bit frustrated and a lotta bit perplexed.

I'm going to focus on the second one, because really, the first one is between me and my Maker.

So I'd bought this metal Christmas sign thing from Target, and I decided I didn't want it anymore. I still had the receipt and needed to go to Target anyway, so I went to Target, baby in tow, and walked confidently up to the customer service desk.

"Hi, I just want to return this, please."

"Ok, is there anything wrong with it?"

"Oh no - I just changed my mind. I do that way too often...haha!"

(She doesn't laugh. Not even a courtesy chuckle! Boo.)

So she scans the barcode sticker on the sign, then does it again, and then looks at the sticker and does chuckle.

"Um, this is from Walmart."

What? It most certainly is not! It's from Target! This Target!

"Huh? No, I bought it here."

"No, look...it says 'Walmart' on the sticker."

I look at the sticker. It does not say "Walmart."

"Um, that says 'Wall Art.'"

She looks again.

"Oh yeah, it does."

Genius.

"But still, it's not ours. It's not in our system."

What?

"Are you sure? I can show you which thing it is on the receipt."

So I take the receipt back from her. Being the former Target employee that I am, I compare the item number on the receipt with the item number on the item's sticker. To my dismay, they don't match.

Now, this was the right receipt. I had kept in in the bag - the Target bag - with the sign ever since I bought the dang thing, which would have been a few days before this occurrence. So I was totally mystificated.

Target Lady saw what I was doing and must have decided it was a good idea because she totally copied me and did the same thing before stating, "Yeah, these numbers don't match. This isn't a Target item."

I desperately look at the sign's sticker one more time.

"But it says Target on here! 'Manufactured by Target Corp, target.com...'"

The thing said "Target" in like, three different places.

"Oh. Well did you get it online?"

Oh yeah, I forgot. I saw this Christmas decoration online and loved it oh so very much that I paid to have it shipped to my house. Then I waited a week before a big, three foot long box came with my precious sign in it. How could I have forgotten? And anyway, even if I had ordered it online, I should be able to return it to the store.

"No. I got it here. At this very store. I can show you where I found it...it was only a few days ago."

At this point, Target Lady 1 has called Target Lady 2 over and asked her for help. They both conclude that my sign is not in their system, and they will not take it back. They refuse to believe that I'm not insane and that I did, in fact, buy the sign at their store. They just won't take it.

And I won't take that. Don't think I thought for a second about just taking that sign back home with me. I marched over to the aisle where I had found it, determined to find another one and thereby prove my sanity. If it wasn't there...well, I guess Maddy and I would just wait in the store until they got more. I was ready to camp out there until next Christmas when they'd (hopefully) bring out all the crap that they didn't sell this year.

So I go to the aisle...and there it is. In fact, there they are. Two more signs that look just like mine. In the exact same spot. Because it's only been a few days. And because I'm not crazy.

So I grab one of these signs and go back to customer service.

Only Target lady #2 is there...not a major party in the issue, but she knows what's going on.

I show her the other sign.
She takes my receipt.
She pushes buttons.
And about 5 seconds later I'm walking away, refund in hand.

Now, what the heck? Why was it so easy for her? And why couldn't it have been so easy for Target Lady 1?

I guess just because they didn't believe me.

But that doesn't matter. I believe in myself.

Katie: 2
Target: 0

Last Christmas

I gave you my heart
But the very next day, you gave it away
This year, to save me from tears,
I'll give it to someone special.

Do you know this song?

If you listen to the same Christmas radio station that I listen to, you do. You probably know it backwards.

Special someone to it give I'll
tears from me save to year this
away it gave you day next very the but
heart my you gave I Christmas last.

Yeah, that probably made perfect sense to you.

This song gets played a lot. And like everyone that's ever recorded a Christmas song sings it.

WELL guess what? If I ever record a Christmas album, I'm NOT singing this one.

That's right - I don't like this song. Nope, I sure don't.

The original version by Wham! is especially irksome to me. At least other versions have decent vocals.

But really, what is this song other than a love song disguised as a Christmas song? I'll tell you what - it's a bad love song disguised as a Christmas song!

If it wasn't for the word Christmas, it wouldn't be allowed to play at Christmastime. And since none of the other lyrics have anything to do with Christmas, I submit that we officially change the title of the song to "Last Easter" or "Last August," which make just as much sense, and get this song off the Christmas playlist.

So - do you have Christmas songs that you just get sick of, or deny the Christmasness of? Don't worry - it doesn't make you a Scrooge.

Sleeptalk

Dallin fell asleep with Madelyn on his chest the other night.

Madelyn, um, stunk. Stank? Stinked?

Madelyn smelled bad.

So I took her away from Dallin, which woke both of them up. I reminded Dallin that he should get up and get ready for bed, since he was still all dressed and everything. He mumbled "Mm-hmm."

As I was walking out of our room to change le bebe, I heard Dallin roll over and say...

"I was gonna complain that there are no white people on the cover, but I guess the snowman's kinda white."

It took me a second to realize that this was totally nonsensical.

"What?" I said, kinda laughing.

Dallin lifted up his head a little bit and said "Oh. I don't know." And promptly fell asleep again.

Hooray! Hooray for sleep talking and nonsense and white snowmen! This made me oh so very happy, let me tell you.

It's the little things, you know?

Tee hee.

Mommy-ness

So, I'm a mommy.

Yeah, it's kind of weird.

It's like, I had this alien creature in my stomach for nine months. It was something I couldn't really identify with or really picture. And then I birthed it and it was like...a human. It's like...my daughter.

It's really pretty mind boggling if you think about it. And if you don't think about it, it's really a very normal thing that happens hundreds of times every day. Maybe I should stop thinking about it.

Anyway, motherhood.

Motherhood is hard to explain for me at this point. Probably because I've only been experiencing it for three weeks, which is not a very long time to become an expert or even really a well-rehearsed novice at anything.

I would say that my feelings of mommy-ness could be placed into a nutshell at this point: a nutshell named "Worry."

I worry. A lot. It sucks. I try really, really hard not to. I don't freak out when the bink (aka pacifier. I dislike the word pacifier) falls on the floor. I don't wash every piece of clothing before she wears it for the first time. I'll pretty much let anyone hold her or touch her. I've even taken her out shopping and exposed her to germ infested society.

But a cough, or a comment that she still looks a little yellow, or a little bit of spit-up coming out of her nose, or a particularly violent startle, or her being "too still" while she's sleeping, or falling asleep while I was holding her and waking up to see that she slipped out of her original position, or her eye getting a little goopy, or her not wanting to eat for a little longer than usual, or her nails getting a little too long, or wondering if I'm dressing her too warmly, or thinking the cradle mattress might be too soft, or just thinking about the possibility that something might show up on her newborn screening, or even just thinking that she might get a cold or something...

and I just...don't like it.

I mean, this is my baby. It's my baby! Nothing is allowed to happen to her - ever! You hear that, universe?

I am seriously trying to not become a total basket case by worrying about my daughter too much. But wow, it's hard.

Thankfully, this worry has tapered off since the first week or so. I can pretty much go about my daily business without being constantly sure paranoid worried that Madelyn is surely going to suffer some kind of terrible suffering.

But I still can't exactly sleep in the same room as her. She stirs, I stir.

I just love her, you know? This is my daughter. Of course I don't want anything to happen to her. I want her to be happy and healthy and smart and beautiful and I don't want anything in the world to even think about getting in her way.

I know that things are going to happen. She might even (gasp!) get a cold someday. And I'm going to have to deal with it.

And maybe then, after a few years or so of colds, I'll be a little more qualified to write about Mommy-ness.

You know...maybe.

On a fairly to moderately more awesome note, here are some of our Madelyn's adorable personality traits that we've noticed in her first twenty-five days of life:

-She loves to be held, and will refuse to sleep anywhere but someone's arms unless she's out like bell bottoms.

-She loves to hold hands. Sometimes holding her hand(s) calms her down like nothing else.

-She likes to have her hands up by her face. Short nails are completely necessary. She won't wear baby mittens.

-She does not like baths.

-She likes being rocked and read to, and while you might think Dickens' A Christmas Carol is a bit advanced for someone at her level, I can assure you, she loves it.

-She has a very strong neck/head. When I'm sitting up and holding her with her head on my chest, she'll lift her head up and stare at me in the face for a good amount of time.

-When she's awake, she's very alert. Just taking in the world around her, I guess!

And on the most awesome note of all, here is a recent picture of our little princess (not that all pictures of her aren't recent...I mean, she's 3 1/2 weeks old...):



Ok so it's not the most flattering angle, I know. But the fact that she's still the cutest baby in the land, even at the unflattering angle, has got to say something.

Oh yeah, I'm a mom.

Nice People

Do you know how many nice people there are in the world?

I don't think I did, until all this baby-ness occurred.

But let tell you, there are some nice people out there.

And fortunately, I happen to know a lot of them.

First of all, Madelyn disguising her gender for 5 months actually turned out to be pretty smart on her part, because once word got out it was a girl, we got a whole new set of gifts, including girly clothes and blankets. One lady in our old ward loaned us two bags full of baby girl clothes. My aunts stepped up to the challenge and threw in some stuff as well. My cousin, who had already made us a couple blankets and burp cloths, made us a beautiful, more girlish blanket. A new friend in our ward gave us more clothes and blankets. One friend who had already made us some cute boy onesies (including one with an applique tie that is so cute I just might make Madelyn wear it anyway) made us a super cute ladybug onesie complete with matching hair clip (can I just say that I love ladybugs? I can? Well, I do.) Another very dear, very talented friend whipped up some more adorable girly onesies with ruffle bums. Oh, how I love the ruffle bums! Check those out here. I'm probably forgetting several specific people. I wish I never forgot anything. But I do. Anyways, we've received an outpouring of lovely gifts from lovely people.

And the service doesn't stop at clothes. Our ward has brought us a couple delicious meals and someone brought us some delicious cookies that disappeared inexplicably fast. Someone (I still don't know exactly who...) is covering for me as the Primary pianist until I can pull myself together enough to get back to church (hopefully this week...I feel like a sinner.)

My in-laws came and stayed with us for Thanksgiving, and we got all kinds of help from them. They brought presents (again handmade - why are people so much more talented than I am?). They even got us some stuff for our backyard, including a lawn chair (OK- so that was so they could enjoy the AZ sun while they were here...but we get to keep it!) and a much needed pool timer. They grocery shopped. They took us out to eat. My mother in law made some freezer meals that I have a feeling are going to be not only handy but delicious. And, of course, they held sweet Maddy, which gave me some free hands with which I could actually do some stuff, like oh, say, homework. And a shower or two.

But really, the crowning emblem of niceness in these past couple weeks has been my own Mom. My house, my grades, my health, and my sanity would be in some serious trouble if it weren't for this one woman. She stayed with us for the first few nights that Madelyn was home, sacrificing her own sleep to help me get a little more. She cleaned our entire house while she was here (like, really cleaned). She helped me with laundry and groceries. She told me (and continues to tell me) that what Maddy is doing is completely normal, even though I've freaked out about it for whatever reason. She reminds me to take care of myself, and worries about me getting enough sleep and enough food, and about me getting over this nasty sickness I've had since before the baby came (ew). She's been more than willing to watch the baby while I do basically anything. In fact, she practically forced me to let her take Maddy to her house today so I could catch up on sleep and homework. So basically, she's a big part of the reason that I've slept, eaten, showered, and really just survived these past couple weeks. You're amazing, Momma. Will I ever reach your level of incredible Mommy-ness?

**Side note: I don't think my mom reads my blog, which is a bummer because now I'll have to find some other way to thank her, which will probably involve tears, since I'm a crybaby like that. Side note over**

Anyway, thank you, thank you, thank you to all these nice people, and to anyone else that I may not have mentioned specifically who has helped us, thought about helping us, or just thought about us. Unless your thought was that you don't like us. In that case, we don't like you either.

P.S. Madelyn is perfection. Come see her if you haven't yet. It will complete your life.

Three Things

So I didn't want to make one of those lists that lists a million different things I'm grateful for, even if I am grateful for a million different things.

**Side note: Confession: I do not take the time to read such lists. Confession over. Side note over**

But I couldn't let this day of Thanksgiving pass without letting all of you know about some of the specific things I'm grateful for. I decided to go with the top three things I'm thankful for today.

They are as follows:

1) The 5 minutes a day I get to cuddle with Dallin.

2) The bridge of Maddy's nose. Totally my favorite part of her to kiss.

3) Sleep. In any and all amounts.

Life is good. Gratitude abounds.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Optional Reading: Birth

Not that all my other posts are not optional, of course. This one is just a little extra optional, since it contains blood and guts and words like "placenta." Plus, I'm sure some of you could just really care less.

Which is fine. I'm just a writer...so I write about things. Especially big things. And this was a big thing.

Friday the 13th was a rough day for me. Not because I had anything more pressing to do than an eye doctor appointment in the morning followed by a breakfast of two cookies and some hot chocolate from Paradise Bakery, but because I was just in...discomfort all day.

About 4:30 is when the walking began. Dallin quit work a little early, and we went for a nice, long walk. Then we took a break, and went for another walk. This one ended up being about 3 miles long, taking us to the Marketside close to our house so we could get some applesauce, which was the only thing I really wanted to eat that I'd heard was "early labor friendly."

I hadn't showered all day, so after we ate, I took a shower. It felt great in every way...except at the end, at which point I started feeling some amazing pressure down there that led me to believe that the night might turn out to be very exciting after all. This was about 8:20ish, and we started timing the contractions for reals while I...did my hair. Hey, I had to do something. And if my mom was going to be involved in the next several hours, you can bet there was going to be some serious picture taking going on.

Anyway, my contractions were less than 5 minutes apart for the next hour or so, so we figured it was time to go. I was a little worried they would send us back, because the contractions I was having, even then, were not necessarily painful. I mean, I could talk through them and everything. It was not what I was expecting, which was to be doubled over writhing in pain. That means that our drive to the hospital was not what Dallin was expecting, either. I think he'd been holding out for an "excuse" to speed to the hospital, but alas, it was really not necessary.

We got to the hospital around 10:00, and waited for a few minutes in triage for them to come check me out. I was at a 6, on my way to a 7. We were there to stay. They called my doctor who said I was good for an epidural whenever I wanted it, but I was still handling the contractions pretty well, so I decided to hold off for now. I got hooked up to an IV which made me incredibly shivery all the way to the labor and delivery room.

P.S. Have you ever had penicillin through an IV? Oh. My. Pain. I had to have penicillin through my IV to combat the evil Group B Strep that I tested positive for. So I wasn't really complaining, since the cause was so noble. But oh my stars, if that stuff didn't burn like the dickens in my arm. An ice pack helped, as did time...but...wow.

So there we were in the L&D room. A doctor (not mine- a resident) came to check me out again, and confirmed what the triage nurse had said. My mom and sister showed up, and Dallin went to get some food. This was about 12 or 12:30, and while Dallin was gone, things REALLY started picking up. It must have been the two cervix checks I'd had or something, because I was suddenly in some seriously intensified pain. The contractions were coming hard, and they were coming fast. I was going to need that epidural, stat.

Dallin got back and we notified whoever needed to be notified to stick a needle in my back. Let me tell you, I got that guy's name and address and sent him bouquet of daisies and a $50 Visa gift card for what he did. Or at least, I really, really should have. I don't think I've ever made a friend so quickly in my whole life.

The epidural brought blissful relief, and Dallin and I took a nap from about 1 to 3:30 or so. When I woke up, I was afraid we'd still have a ways to go, since epidurals typically slow things down, but it was soon discovered that I was at a 9 and that my water was (finally!) at the breaking point. Like, literally. It broke right after she checked it.

So my doctor was called. I guess he usually spends his o n call nights at the hospital, but he chose this particular night to be at home, so we had another 20 minutes or so to go before we started pushing. Baby did not agree. Baby wanted mommy to push RIGHT NOW. And while I was grateful that the epidural was not taking away any and all feeling below my waist, I was NOT grateful for that feeling of the need to push. It did NOT go away. I was afraid the baby was just going to plop out before anyone could do anything.

Ha. I laugh at that now.

Let me tell you why: because babies need to be pushed. Like, really, pushed. Like...really, really pushed. Do you get what I'm saying? You have to really, really push to get them out.

I started pushing around 4:25. Thankfully, I only had to push for about half an hour.

One of the scariest moments of my life was when they told me they could see the head. I looked in the graciously provided mirror and saw a little circle of skin, maybe like 2 inches wide. I remember thinking that was my baby's head - her whole head. I then remember thinking I was either giving birth to the smallest baby ever, 8 of the smallest babies ever, or the 15 dalmatian puppies from 101 Dalmatians.

Of course, if any of those scenarios had been the case, it probably wouldn't have hurt so much.

When the head was about halfway out (so I could tell that it was normal sized), they asked me if I wanted to reach down and touch it.

Um, no. Moving on.

Once the head was out, the rest was pretty easy peasy. One more big push for the shoulders and the little darlin squelched right out. They confirmed that it was, in fact, a girl. She cried. Man, that cry was beautiful. I cried. They wiped her down a bit and handed her to me. I held her and kissed her and got who knows what on my face and arms in the process. I didn't especially care.

After that...well, if you've had a baby, you know, and if you haven't, you don't want to. Nastiness ensued...cords, placenta, stitches...so so fun. I'll spare you any gory details, which means that this paragraph is over because really anything I could say would be pretty gory.

Well, I gotta say - birth is beautiful. It's not pretty, but it really is beautiful.

And of course, so totally and completely, 100% worth it.

Madelyn Harris

On March 2, 2009, I took a pregnancy test. There were two pink lines.

On March 3, I took another pregnancy test. This one just said "Pregnant." Later that night, I told my husband. I remember hoping he was as happy as he seemed to be.



On March 31, we saw our baby for the first time. It had a heartbeat.



On April 28, we heard the heartbeat.

On June 17, we had an ultrasound. We were told our baby was a boy. A healthy, growing boy. We were ecstatic.

In July, I finally got a bump.



On July 21, another ultrasound confirmed that everything was going smoothly.

In August, we got a new house, complete with nursery. Serious shopping began.



In September, I bought my first and only pair of maternity pants.

On October 7, another ultrasound put baby's gender in question.

On November 9, baby's gender was confirmed - to be female.

At 10:00 pm on Friday, November 13, the day before my due date, we arrived at the hospital.


At 4:25 am, I started pushing.

And at 4:56 am, Madelyn Harris came into the world, at 7 lbs 9 oz and 18.5 inches long.



I do want to share more details about the whole labor and delivery process, for those of you who want to know. But that will come later. For now I just want to say this:

In the past nine months, I have been sick, tired, and in pain. I've been hungry for things I couldn't eat, and in need of medicine that I was afraid to take. I've been depressed, elated, and everything in between. I've been excited, terrified, worried, anxious, giddy, confused, and restless. I've had days when I felt enormous, and others when I worried about being too small. I've worn clothes that didn't fit, cried for no reason, and been unable to walk. I've had pain in my head, back, boobs, stomach, fingers, and feet. Dallin's put up with all of it.

Have you ever heard the saying "Roads are for journeys, not destinations?" Or anything like that?

Well I'm here to tell you that that is a bunch of bull. What good is a road, or a journey for that matter, without a destination?

My pregnant road this past nine months has most certainly not been about the "journey." It wasn't about "experiencing" something.

It was about that moment, at 4:56 am on November 14, when I saw my little girl's face, and heard her cry, and kissed her cheek, and knew that she was mine.



Welcome to the world, sweet baby girl. We've reached one destination together - let our next jouney begin.

OH BOT: The Saga Ends

I go to the doctor every week now.

We are friends.

At least, we are USUALLY friends.

But when I go in on Thursday and Doctor tells me he wants me to have an ultrasound at the HOSPITAL on Friday because he thinks my baby and I are just too dang small, well, our friendship suffers.

And then when the hospital can't get us in until Monday for whatever silly scheduling reason, my friendship with the hospital suffers too.

I'm just losing friends, here.

I worried all weekend. Of course I did. Wouldn't you be worried if the doctor decided you needed yet another ultrasound? Even though you've already had an extra one because you were too small? And even though that extra one went just fine? And even though the doctor said that, more likely than not, it's just a small baby?

Well, I was worried.

So we went to the hospital today to have our ultrasound done by a fancy-schmancy hospital ultrasound technician.

Want to know what she found out?

1) My baby, once and for all, is NOT too small. Baby weighs about 7 pounds 2 ounces as of today. All the measurements maybe set me back about 4 days or so, but that's negligible.

2) Baby is sitting low and coming high. Head is way way down in my pelvis and bum is way up in my ribs.

3) Baby is a girl.

Yeah, read it again. I had to.

Baby is a GIRL.

Not a boy.

A GIRL.

No boy.

GIRL.

Boy? No. Girl? Yes.

It's a girl.

Ultrasound lady was sure. At least, sure enough to bet her next paycheck on it. It was like, not even a question in her mind.

This has created the need for some serious mind rewiring in the past couple hours.

Not that we're not thrilled - my baby is healthy! - but it's just...not what was expected!

It is quite a difficult concept to grasp.

Girl. Girl. Girl girl girl.

Girl is a weird word.

Girl.

I have some clothes to exchange.

Thankfully, the nursery will work either way. P.S. I got bedding for the nursery (finally) and am totally and completely in love with it. The decor is proceeding quite nicely. I will have to show you pictures someday.

For today, my mind is shifting from blue to pink. Right now we're kind of in a weird purple-y stage.

So hopefully my OH BOT saga is over. I mean, this baby had better be a girl now. If a boy pops out, well, I might just have some kind of mental explosion.

Which would be unfortunate.

5 days until the due date! Any guesses as to when our little princess will arrive?

Underfed

Does this look like an underfed belly to you?


Well, it doesn't to me.

But apparently, it does to some people.

Last week, I was meeting up with a dear friend at the mall to have some lunch. I got there before she did, and there weren't very many people in the food court, so I claimed a table and sat down to wait for her.

An old lady, with a rather large sandwich from Paradise Bakery, sat down at the next table. I pulled out my phone and started playing a game where a little cow climbs high in the sky, jumping from cloud to cloud, trying to rescue his cow friends that have been abducted by aliens.

I love my phone.

Anyway, several minutes later, and my game skillz are interrupted.

"Do you have something to eat?"

I look up. It's the old lady from the next table over. She's looking at me with a concerned expression on her face.

"Oh - I'm meeting a friend here for lunch!"

I'm thinking maybe she doesn't like that I'm just sitting at the table, taking up space in the food court that someone could be using for eating. That does seem a bit silly, however, seeing as how there are several empty tables all around us.

"But you will have something to eat, won't you?"

"Um, yes. We're going to have Chick-Fil-A." *Side note: I love Chick-Fil-A. Side note over.*

"Ok..." She still sounds wary. "I just wanted to make sure you were going to eat something."

"Oh. Yeah, I will."

"Ok." And she walks back to her table.

I find myself wondering about this.

So either she really was upset that I was taking up a table in the food court, or she thought I was a poor, underfed pregnant woman who couldn't afford to eat and had to either (a) sit in the food court and just smell the food, hoping that it would satisfy my desperate hunger, or (b) sit in the food court and wait for a nice old lady to offer to buy me some food.

I was hungry. Maybe I was just showing it too much.

I also kind of think I should have started crying and said that I didn't know if I was going to be able to eat ever again.

Now that would have been blog worthy.

Anyway, thank you, old lady, for caring about me and my unborn child. You'll be happy to know that I absolutely devoured my waffle fries.

Halloween n Stuff

I think Dallin has a Halloween picture of both of us, together, on his phone.

Dallin is downstairs, working.

I am upstairs, blogging.

The distance is just too great.

So you get pictures of each of us, in turn.

Here is Dallin. He is a baker:


And here I am. I am also a baker. But I have an oven. And what is baking in my lovely oven?

A bun.


Ha ha! Get it?

We ooze of cleverness.

I know, these pictures suck. Maybe I'll put Dallin's pictures on here later. But if you know me, you're probably not betting on it.

So, Halloween.

A series of unfortunate e-mails that I received on Friday night led me to something of a nervous breakdown this weekend. I had a freak out party in my head about baby and money and who knows what else, but it seemed like the world was going to come crashing down.

It didn't. Don't worry.

However, ASU football suffered a(nother) devastating loss, this time against the Cal Golden Bears. We really should have won...we were very close to winning...so that was sad.

I am also fairly to moderately positive that I did not consume any food the entire day that had any sort of nutritional value to it. Yes, I think that's about accurate.

We did get to go to a fun party that night, at which we got to show off our costumes and play a few games, one of which was the donut-on-a-string eating contest (pictured above). Dallin and I did not compete against each other, but we did claim victory in our respective meets. Maybe we should have gone head-to-head...between you and me, I could have taken him.

We finished off the evening with a showing of Pirates of the Caribbean (the first one, duh), which led to a late bedtime.

And then there was (very) early church. We all know how I feel about that.

After (very) early church, I slept off my nervous breakdown a lil bit while Dallin proved that he IS in fact the most incredible person on the planet. He did this by basically cleaning the entire house, including doing some much needed organization in the baby's room.

I heart him.

Also, Happy November! It is very difficult for me to wrap my head around the fact that our baby will be here this month. My due date is in less than two weeks. Less than two weeks, people! Do you know how much time that is not? A lot.

I may or may not be incredibly, irrationally excited about this. I'll let you know which.

So how is everyone?

"The One The Only The Truly Incomparable Leland Stanford Junior University Marching Band!" - and Why I Hate Them

The Stanford Marching Band members do not wear uniforms.

It takes 5 minutes to introduce them (see post title).

They do not march.

They do not have very many members.

And, apparently, they do not think.

A little research (thanks, Wikipedia) has shown me that the band has given several questionable performances, including one at Notre Dame in which the band director dressed in a nun costume and conducted the band with a cross instead of a baton, and another at a game against BYU in which some female members dressed in wedding veils and the band director proposed to each one in turn, while the announcer referred to marriage as "the sacred bond that exists between a man and a woman...and a woman...and a woman...and a woman."

What the heck?! Who - exactly - thought that was funny?

Probably the same people that thought their halftime show last Saturday was funny.

I am not - in any way, shape or form - affiliated with those people.

The entire halftime show was one big long insult directed at a school - my school.

They poked fun at everything from the fact that ASU did not give President Obama an honorary degree (personally, I'm glad they didn't), to the fact that no astronauts have graduated from ASU, to ASU's graduation rate. And then they pointed out that everything ASU lacked, Stanford has had. Oh, and they mentioned that at least one good thing going for the school is the fact that they can afford beer.

Are you freaking kidding me?

Stanford is supposed to be one of the best schools in the country. I'm sure they are one of the best schools in the country. Reputations like theirs don't just spring out of nowhere.

I would never say that ASU is a better academic institution than Stanford. That's just not a viable claim.

But that does NOT give Stanford the right to point out what they think is wrong with our school and basically call it a school for morons, underachievers, and golfers (but not Tiger Woods).

I mean seriously - who does that?

What group - especially a group who is supposed to represent the entire school - would stoop to taunting, jeering, and degrading another school that is visiting for a football game?

If you think you're awesome, keep it to yourself. Otherwise, you're going to get another reputation - that of a stuck-up university that goes out of their way to point out any statistics that make them better than others.

Sure, you can tell me it was all fun and games - and hey, maybe it was. I can laugh at myself - really, I can. I can take jokes that are made in good nature - whether they are directed at me, my family, my lifestyle, whatever. And maybe no one at Stanford actually thinks this way about ASU, apart from whoever writes the ridiculous band shows.

But then why not crack down on whoever writes the ridiculous band shows? It really should be done, before this joke of a marching band completely embarrasses an otherwise entirely respectable university.

At least, that's my two cents. It had to be said.

If you want to read the entire transcript of the halftime show, click here.

But I wouldn't blame you if you just stayed far away.

Roadtrip at 37 weeks. Check.

Don't hate me because I'm crazy.

I mean, I'd rather you didn't hate me at all, but especially not because I'm crazy.

But I did just spend right around 30 hours in a car this weekend.

With one (1) pillow and four (4) men.

Applause is not necessary, but appreciated.

So yes, Friday morning, Dallin and I, along with my dad, my brother, and Dallin's brother, left for our drive to San Francisco, to see our beloved Sun Devils in action against the Stanford Cardinal.

The drive was actually pretty pleasant, and not any longer than the drive to Salt Lake, which I've made several times. Took us under 12 hours to get there, including stops to eat and everything.

Saturday, we explored the lovely city of San Francisco a little bit. It really is a nice place! Lots to see.

Lombard Street (incredibly crooked and incredibly steep. Scared the crap out of me.):


Steep hills (including a very steep one that the boys decided to race up. They all regretted it after. I died halfway up, and I was walking):


Ghirardelli Square (no, we didn't buy/eat any chocolate while here. Probably a sin of some sort. But the chocolate/ice cream shops smelled divine, and the square itself was beautiful):


Of course, we had to check out the Golden Gate Bridge. Unfortunately, this proved more difficult than you might think...

Golden Gate: attempt 1


Golden Gate: attempt 2


Golden Gate: attempt 3


Yeah, these were all taken at different times, probably over the course of 5-6 hours! The weather was perfectly clear and sunny everywhere but right around the bridge. We finally decided to drive over it, just to prove to ourselves that it actually exists. It does, by the way.

The best pics we got of it were while we were driving over it. The fog cleared considerably in the middle:

Crazy California fog...grumble.

We checked out various other highlights, including Union Square, AT&T park, and sorta-kinda Fisherman's Wharf. We also drove to neighboring cities to check out Apple and Google headquarters, as well as a history of computers museum, which was fascinating, but apparently not fascinating enough for me to take pictures...I actually think I doubted that they would let me take my camera in, so I left it in the car. But other people had cameras...but by the time I realized that, the car was so far away...

I get lazy sometimes.

Anyway, considering the fact that we only had one day to see the whole city, and that we made a couple food stops and what-not (including one at Costco...sometimes you just need a taste of home. Plus it was Saturday which equals sample day which equals bliss), I think we got a pretty good tour of the city!

And then it all went south for the winter.



I thought we were going to win this game. I really did.

We did not win this game. We did not come close to winning this game. It simply did not happen. I don't think it even thought about happening. How lazy of it.

And not only did we lose, but we had to listen to Stanford's JOKE of a marching band make fun of our school! I am not going to go into this now, since there is still more to write about the trip. I think it deserves its own post anyway. Just know that I am upset. Up. Set.

Anyway, sometimes its heartbreaking, being a Sun Devil fan. But we plow on!

(Please disregard any and all fatness, tiredness, and/or makeuplessness in this picture. At least Dallin looks good.)

My incredible slackerness as a photographer shone through the next day, when we made our way home. I didn't take a single picture. And the sad part is...we took the long way because it's prettier!

Yes, we drove home along the Pacific Coast Highway. We made our way through the Redwoods to get to the coast (holy big trees!), and then drove down it. Really gorgeous stuff!

And I didn't get a single picture.

Oh p.s....if you're going to take the PCH, make sure you have an extra six hours or so. Seriously. We left around 7:00 am, only made a couple stops (including an elephant seal infested beach, the Hearst Castle, In-n-Out, and a gas station at which we got locked out of the car and had to call AAA) and didn't get home until almost 2 in the morning!

And yet, I am here to tell the tale. Complete with baby in belly. Come bumpy, curvy roads, changes in elevation, and walking until my flip flops cried, baby stayed put. Thank goodness.

It really was a great trip. I'm glad we got to squeeze a little somethin-somethin in before we two becomes we three.

Oh yeah- did I mention that Dallin fell in love with the area and basically wants to move there? I blame it on Google.

Lazy Days

I'm in a lull. A hull of a lull.

It would almost be hard to tell you what I'm up to these days, because I'm simply up to so freakin little.

I used to have a million things to do every day. I used to work for 8 hours, have full-time, on- campus school, have a group of friends that lived close by that I could hang out with, and have this one amazing boy that I didn't live with that I just HAD to be around all the time.

Busy days these days constitute having homework and/or laundry.

I mean, let's face it: two people do not make for a very messy house, so there is only so much I can clean. We don't exactly have a lot of moo-lah for me to go shopping for more house/baby decor/stuff. My current condition restricts any active activities I could be doing. There just isn't a lot for me to do.

I should probably be soaking this in like a good bubble bath, since once the baby comes I'll probably be nice and swamped and sleepless and such.

But you know what? I feel totally like, worthless right now. Like a worthless lump. Because my days are spent sleeping in, checking out millions of baby things that I'm never going to buy online, and playing minesweeper on my phone. I might shower. I might take a couple snack "breaks." I might read a little bit (although most of the time, reading makes me feel lazy too). Homework days are Mondays and Thursdays, so I do that on those days.

But mostly, I just feel really bored and really lame.

It's not like I really want a job, per say. I completely loved my job at the school over the summer, but with starting school myself, and the impending period of time that I'll be baby-bound, it's probably best that I'm not employed full-time at the moment. I'm still technically "employed" at American Eagle...at least, I think I am...but I haven't worked there in...a looooong time. And I'm pretty much to the point where a shift would be rather uncomfortable now (5-8 hours straight on my feet? Yeah, no gracias).

This problem is compounded by the fact that I have the most amazing, busy, hardworking husband ever. Yeah, ever. He gets up super early every morning so he can be done with everything he has to get done (has to get done) so he can have ample time to spend with me before he collapses from exhaustion. He works so freakin hard to provide for us. I just feel like I'm not doing my part.

And it makes me feel really, really guilty. He can usually talk for quite a while about all the things he did that day, and when it comes to my turn...I, quite literally, have nothing to say.

Which then makes me want to cry.

I need something GOOD and WORTHWHILE to do. I guess it's not like all my craigslisting hasn't paid off (I've saved us a good chunk of cash on some good baby stuff, thanks very much), but having nothing else to do makes me feel like a lazy slob. A fat, lazy slob, in fact.

I get to go visiting teaching today (YES!). But then what? I mean, that excitement really only happens once a month.

Do I just wait out my slump until baby gets here? Does anyone have a suggestion for a good hobby-type thing that also happens to not cost any money?

Maybe I'll just blog...a lot. You'd love that, wouldn't you?

Yeah, I thought so.

Beautiful.

Dear Danny Sullivan and Chris McGaha,




Thank you.

oh...bot?

So.

Yesterday I went to get my third trimester ultrasound. My doctor said it's pretty routine for them to do a third trimester ultrasound...you know, to see how the baby's growing, positioned, etc. Plus she said I was looking a little on the small-ish side.

Hmph.

But I went happily, because hey, I wanted to see my baby.

So after the shirt was up and the jelly was rubbed and my innards were revealed and some head/heartbeat/leg/whatever else measurements were taken, ultrasound technician lady asks, conversationally,

"So, what are we having?"

I assume she knows it's a baby, since she can see it more clearly than I can, so I figure she's talking about the gender. My powers of deduction are amazing.

"Oh, it's a boy!"

"All right, let's check that out."

So she moves the little prober to that general area, and checks it out.

Brief pause.

(UTL=Ultrasound Technician Lady, K=Katie)

UTL: "It's a boy?"

K: "Um...yeah."

UTL: "Seriously, I told you it was a boy?"

K (out loud): (nervous laugh) "Yep!"
K (thinking): "Yes you told me it was a boy! I've been in here with you two other times and you told me it was a boy! You drew a little arrow on a picture! You used the word 'scrotum.' YOU DEFINITELY TOLD ME IT WAS A BOY. That is why I have boy-ish crib bedding. That's why everyone's been giving me boy clothes. That's why I've been stressing out over a BOY name. BECAUSE YOU TOLD ME IT WAS A BOY."

UTL: "Did I really? Did I write that down? Did we keep any of the pictures?"

She spins her stool around to look at my chart on the counter, and flips through some pictures trying to find the "proof." I lay there just watching helplessly, a "smile" frozen on my face.

UTL: "Well, there's the picture. I guess I did tell you it was a boy. Let's look again."

We spend the next few minutes trying to figure out if there is a protrusion that sticks far enough out between my baby's legs to be a boy part, or if the fact that it doesn't seem to stick out very far, plus the fact that we can see a faint line (although boys have those too), means that we're checking out a little miss.

In the end, UTL decides that she's sticking with boy. She says she's only been wrong twice in her 20 something year career. She also says that one of those times was about 3 months ago, so she's a little paranoid.

My mama bear mind interprets that as, "You got me just as I was losing my touch."

But she did say she still thinks it's a boy. And she sure seemed pretty dang sure when she cried "male" before. I'd say it would be pretty odd for this baby to not be a boy.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself. Over and over again.

Oh and also, my baby is plenty big enough, thank you very much. She's guessing he'll be 7 1/2 pounds-ish when he's born. I've also apparently been doing great with my water drinking (YES!) because there's a lot of "great water" in there. Oh, and the baby is settled pretty low in my tum, which is what's making me look/measure small-ish. This also means he might come a smidgen early.

Assuming, of course, that he is still a "he."

Heh heh heh heh....heh.

What's in a Name?

That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

But my baby ain't no rose.

And he needs a name.

And he probably wouldn't smell as sweet if he was named something like...Wulfric.

Which, along with being one of Albus Dumbledore's middle names, was actually a name in one of our baby name books.

And I just admitted to you that I know Albus Dumbledore's middle names, and that I currently have, in my house, more than one baby name book.

I should really be more careful about what I write.

So... I've looked at names. I mean, I've looked at names.

**Side note: Dallin recently caught me sorting through the tab on my bookmarks toolbar labeled "baby stuff." With all the crazy "research" I've done on everything from cribs to cloth diapers to diaper bags to baby slings to names, this tab contains an unhealthy number of links. Dallin laughed. And I got mad. And I wouldn't even let him kiss it better. That's how you know I'm mad. Side note over**

But seriously, I've looked. Like, look at this website: http://www.babynamewizard.com/voyager

Why in the name of truth and goodness would you need or want this much information on baby names? Am I really going to christen my child based on which name was most popular in Minnesota in the 1950s?

If you did that...um...well, I was going to apologize for making fun of you...but that's just too weird. Intended apology rescinded.

Anyway, no amount of online searching has really changed my mind either way about the names I've been considering, or really presented me with any new names that I've fallen in love with. And the books, lent to me by loving, caring people, have really not helped much either.

And yes, I am female, and I am Mormon, so I have been thinking about baby names since like, before I could date.

But this is the real deal. It's different when it's the real deal.

But in the past couple of days, Dallin and I have buckled down and hammered out a short list.

My criteria for names that made the short list:

1) All boy - I don't want some girl having my son's name.
2) Not super common, but something that he won't have to repeat more than once when telling someone his name. (Dallin has to do that...he don't like it)
3) Ideally, can be used with Dallin as the middle name. I think this is very difficult, because I love the name Dallin. I think it's a very strong first name, so it's hard for me to give it the secondary slot. And it's hard to come up with names that are strong enough to precede it.
4) Not super trendy or cutesy. I think those names just end up being weird.

Dallin's criteria for names that made the short list:

1) Not Wulfric.

I think he really just wants to name the kid so I'll stop stressing over it.

Well, without further ado...here are the top 10 competitors in the race to win the title by which our firstborn will be known for his whole life. Gulp.

In alphabetical order:


Brendan

Derek

Devin

Jacob

Jaxon

Layton

Logan

Parker

Tanner

Trevor


Some stick out to us more than others. Some have been on the list from the beginning. Some are more common, some are a little more unique. Some are more like "filler" names, like we like them, but would probably just use them if we decided we didn't really like anything else. You know?

Anyway, that's the list. We'll see how long it takes us to narrow it down completely. I really want to have a name picked before the baby is born. I am not a student of the "When you see him, you'll know" school. I think brand spanking new babies look pretty much the same for the most part.

If you feel the urge to comment on a particular name or whatever, feel free. I can't promise we'll listen to you...but you know, if it'll make you feel better.

But we're not voting or drawing out of hats...yet.

I Want...

This cozy comfy-ness to rock my baby in:
Of course, I'm not picky. I'd take it in red, too.

Oh, and be a love a make sure to throw the matching ottoman in? Cheers.

These cookies:


Now, who wants to make them for me? Don't all jump at once. Ok, you can all make them for me, if you insist! Gosh.


This diaper bag:


Please note: There is no way on earth that I would ever possibly need this diaper bag to the point that I would actually pay for it. Therefore, I shall never own it. And there will be weeping.

A pumpkin spice blended creme from Starbucks:


Ooh-da-lolly, those things are good. If you've never had one, go get one now. But come pick me up first. Because really, it was my idea.

These maternity jeans:


The best part about these is that they are not terribly expensive, so I can probably actually buy them! When I say "Hip hip" you say "Hooray!"

This list really could grow quite a bit more. But before you color me selfish, consider that 3 of these 5 things are within financial grasp. I'm really being quite self-depriving, you know, to deny myself these things.

We'll just see how long the denial lasts.

Happiness Is...

having a husband that makes sure you always have a supply of Ben and Jerry's Phish Food in the fridge.



Love you, bambino.

8:00

We have a new ward (church congregation, if any of y'all aren't hip to the LDS lingo. Which is cool).

We love our new ward.

Our new ward meets at 8:00 AM.

We do not love that our new ward meets at 8:00 AM.

Dallin thought he would love it. I thought it might be nice.

I was wrong. And so he was wrong. Because if I'm not happy, he's not happy. And I have made it quite clear that it is very difficult for me to be happy at 8:00 AM.

Ok but seriously. Lots of people claim to really love the early church thing. And hey, I'm sure some people actually do love it.

But you know what? I feel like a lot of people "love" the early church thing because it "gets church over with." No one will ever say that to you, of course. They'll say, "Oh, I love having church early! It just gives you the rest of the day to...." and then they kind of trail off to leave you wondering about how they spend the rest of their day when pesky church is "over and done with."

Not that everyone feels that way. I mean, maybe no one does. Maybe I just dislike early church so much that I can't imagine anyone genuinely liking it.

I can see how it could be an excellent start to your day...

but not if you're just so crazy tired (possibly from not being able to really sleep? Not that I currently have this problem) that you can't really focus on the meetings/lessons.

And not if having that "tired start" makes it so you don't want to do anything when you get home besides crash for an abnormal number of hours, making the rest of the day all but completely wasted.

And not if the early morningness makes you be unjustly cranky to your husband, which hurts his feelings, which hurts your feelings, which makes you cry.

Simply stated: Early church makes me very tired. Tiredness makes me unfocused, lazy, and something akin, in manner and sound, to a witch.

It's not like it's physically impossible for me to get up early. I really can get up early if I need/want to. (Shush, Dallin, dear.) And it's not like I'm going to stop going to church because it's too early. That would be quite the waste of the past 1,100 (give or take) Sundays of my life.

But really, I'll be glad when it's January and our schedule changes. Sundays are too important to not be enjoyed.

Thank you. That is all.

I Dreamed a Dream

So...I keep having this dream.

I mean, I've had it like, 5 times in the last couple months.

Which, really, is pretty often for a dream.

Although, I guess it's not really the exact same dream every time. More like, variations on a dream theme.

Whatever it is, it freaks me out.

So like I said, it's a little different every time. But the serious weirdness always begins with me showing off to someone all the fantastic, brilliant movements that my fantastic, brilliant baby is making. What's weird, though, is that in the dream, you can always really tell what's pushing against my belly- baby's foot, baby's face, whatever. Like, really tell.

**Side note: I've heard that some people actually can tell things like this. Whoever you are, you are magical. Everything is a lump unto me. Which, I guess, is good, because apparently I'm terrified of being able to really tell. Side note over.**

Anyways, after a few "Oohs" and "Ahs" over this, the freakyness grows exponentially. Most of the time, what comes next is my showing someone my baby's finger...which is sticking out of my belly button. This is never especially weird to someone...we always just ogle over the cute little finger with the cute little fingernail.

But then...more of the baby starts coming out. Like, I'll pull out an arm. Or a leg, or sometimes, the whole baby! And not through my belly button, either. Oh, but also not through the place where babies normally come out, thank goodness. At least this dream, as weird as it is, is rated PG (for thematic material and disturbing images). But no, I pull out the larger parts through some suddenly appearing opening in my stomach, like all that was keeping it closed in the first place was a little overlapping skin.

Ew.

Anyway, the point is, the dream always ends with my going too far in showing someone the baby. I end up pulling her out completely and not being able to put her back in. And yes, in my dream, baby has always been a she-baby. Usually, the person I'm showing (it's been my mom more often than anyone else) doesn't think it's too weird that I just pulled the baby out of the front of my stomach, although she does usually make some sort of comment on how I shouldn't have done it, baby needed to grow more, but hey, you have a baby now!

It's weird. I really don't like having this dream.

So, anyone want to psycho-analyze me? I love making up crap to psycho-analyze other people's dreams.

I'm not sure what my shrink self would say to my wanting-to-be-shrunk self, however. Maybe..."You live in constant fear of giving birth." Or..."You're worried about having your baby too early." Or maybe even..."You really wish you were having a girl...today!"

To which I'd reply, "Doc, I don't think I'm really thinking any of those things."

And shrink self would say, "Do not argue with your subconscious!"

And, I guess, I wouldn't have anything to say to that.

Attention Oreo Lovers

I'm not talking to the casual Oreo eater here, people.

This is for Oreo LOVERS. Like, Oreos are as common in your pantry as cereal or pasta or bread. Or you've had Oreos for breakfast before.

Yes, those people. I am looking for you.

I have noticed something about my Oreos as of late. You must know that on a typical Oreo, both sides of the cookie have an imprint on them. It looks like this:



This nifty little design is usually on both outer facing sides of these delectable cookies. Am I right? Of course I am.

Well, in the past (ahem) couple of packages I've bought, there are some cookies that follow this traditional pattern, but then there are OTHER ones that (are you ready for this?) only have this pattern on one side.

The other side?



Blankety-blank.

And THEN, take the cookie apart, and...



The pattern is not gone, it's just facing the cream! So the cream gets on the cookie, and there's a little design imprint in the cream, which I would take a picture of... but (a) it would probably be pretty hard to see anyway and (b) I'm already amazed that Dallin hasn't looked over here to see me taking pictures of my Oreos on the computer. I'm still trying to convince him that I'm normal. It's taking a while.

So anyway, I'm wondering...have I just bought (ahem) a couple of defective packages, or have you other Oreo lovers noticed this too? Why are only some of the cookies put together this way? If this change was made on purpose...why?

Why? Why? WHY?!

And why do I care?