pretty sure we all deserve a Slurpee.

Have you ever had one of those days where you finish up a cross-country roadtrip with small kids by driving 1200 miles in one day, and you arrive home at 2 AM and your poor kids have the travel-shits and take turns accidentally emitting various bodily fluids onto every imaginable surface in your home, and your toddler refuses to nap and you consider it a victory that you manage to shower and right after you finally get dressed your kid burps up all over your only clean clothes, and your house looks terrifying and then you suddenly realize the sister missionaries are coming over for dinner and you have Mother Hubbard cupboards and your spouse will be home later than usual? And at the precise moment you realize you just used the last diaper in the house, your toddler accidentally headbutts your baby and both begin screeching cries of tortured fury?

Yeah, I had one of those.

How was yours?

i'm not becoming a lactivist, BUT...

...let's talk about breastfeeding.

Sorry if that makes you squeamish. Want me to type it a few times to break the ice?? BREASTFEED BREASTFEED BREASTFEED. Now, moving on.

To cover or not to cover? The library? Church? Restaurants? Someone else's house?

One buddy told me that she abides by the sandwich rule: if you're somewhere where you would feel comfortable eating your lunch, you should feel comfortable breastfeeding.

Our (awesome) local public library has a designated "nursing mothers' room" with a nice lamp and comfy rocking chair. Because the room is locked, you have to ask someone to open it for you and then tell them when you're done. I figured if they had a room for it that must be where it's normal to do it, so the other day, I asked the guy at the desk to let me in. When I was done, he said "You're welcome to use the room if you'd prefer, but you're also welcome to breastfeed anywhere you feel comfortable. It doesn't matter to us," and pointed at all the chairs in the public section. I looked around and felt dumb. It honestly hadn't occurred to me to just do it right there. Why did I lock myself away? I was kind of embarrassed that I'd asked to use the room at all and figured I should be brave enough to just go for it. Well, maybe not across from the matted-beard mutterer with all the garbage bags, but in the comfy chairs by the children's section? Why not? So, the next time, I did, and it was fine.

The other day at a church youth activity, I fed my cute baby under one of those nursing covers that's like a little sheet you hang around your neck. Moments later, another woman fed her kid sans-cover, and I immediately felt sheepish that it hadn't occurred to me to just go for it. It's no secret what I'm doing, so what's the point of a cover? But, sometimes it's just easier to set up shop (and close up shop) behind some material. But do I send a signal of secrecy or shame when I use a cover? Am I just using a cover because I'm used to other people doing it, and when I go WITHOUT a cover, am I giving people around me permission to do the same??

Lately I've been going sans-cover and it's liberating! Is that weird of me? Am I sending the LACTIVIST signal loud and clear? If I breastfeed without a cover, do people automatically think I homeschool, have a dozen chickens, and will nurse my kid through kindergarten? (No offense...) Addition: when I say "sans-cover" I'm still covered. My clothing usually covers everything except the baby and she covers almost everything else.

Anyway, I don't have a huge complex about this, but I have no sense of what other people think is normal. I am amazed at the variety of views people have on this. Will you tell me what you think is normal? Moms, what's your personal preference on place and cover vs. no cover? Dads and non-parents, what are your thoughts? What about at church?

that time I had a kid: 2010 edition

Five years ago, I was sitting on a stranger's couch, surrounded by no less than 500 sci-fi paperbacks in dozens of stacks towering above my head, when I heard the back door open and close very carefully. "Who's that?" I asked.

"Don't worry," she shrugged. "It's just the cat."

Umm, WHAT? She had a cat that could open doors by itself.

Because it had an opposable thumb. Ummmm.

Just want to e-thank this opposable thumb cat lady, because later that winter she sewed me one of those microwaveable rice bags and it provided a needed blast of soothing distraction from barfy back labor when I gave birth to our newest little lady last month.

---

Have you ever heard of a "fog-in"?

Me neither.

Apparently, they're common in the Midwest at wintertime and when they happen, no planes can land at our local airport.

Which means if you're, say, my mother-in-law flying in to help out as we have our second child, your 5-hour journey by plane will morph into 16 hours and involve a 4-hour late-night bus ride from Chicago.

It was four days after my due date. I suspect that subconsciously, I was holding on until hub's mom arrived. We had a few friends lined up to watch our toddler but I knew I wouldn't be able to fully relax and get "in the zone" if our cutie was at a buddy's house. I'd be preoccupied: How was she doing? Was she flipping out? Blahblahblah. Believe it or not, I'm not always such a Fretful Frances, but imminent birth-giving makes one worry. So I had joked with hub that I'd go into labor right when his mom arrived, and that we'd only spend three hours at the hospital.

AND IT CAME TRUE!

Kind of.

Hub's mom got here a little before midnight and the contractions (whoops, I mean, in hypnobirthing lingo, "surges") started in earnest an hour or two later. And suddenly they were two minutes apart, and I started busting out moves I'd only seen in books (kneeling, swaying, etc.) to take the nasty pressure off my lower back. Around 4:30 AM, we checked into the hospital and I attempted to get in the zone using all the non-cuckoo stuff from hypnobirthing (which, once you ditch the crazy, leaves you with some plain old relaxation breathing and some "I can do it!" mantras). I was determined to move through my nasty back labor because last time it had me feeling paralyzed on the bed for hours, so when the abrupt and homely nurse brought out the birthing ball, it was so wonderful that for a moment, I felt bad for noting how abrupt and homely she was.

And three-ish hours later, I puked, my water broke, I couldn't not push, and then my lady parts were ablaze and our kiddo was here!

I could talk about what a miracle childbirth is and how much it blows my mind that we have a new member of our family, or how freaking cute the big sister is as she surrounds the baby with books and toys at every turn, and is always copying her head bobbles and little coos, or how my heart melts when I think that THIS IS MY FAMILY, but let's be honest, you could just read my feelings and FAQ from last go round, but you don't care about that, you care about what useful info I've gleaned.

Things I learned:

• If you want to give birth naturally, you can do it. Whatever you decide to do, don't let anyone make you feel guilty. If you bear children in North America in 2010, chances are you can do it however you want. Hurray for choices.
• Apparently a bit of a pattern is emerging, as I'm two for two birthwise as far as 1) having daughters b) no medication except some Motrin after c) having nasty back labor d) going into labor at midnightish e) being due on a Thursday and giving birth the following Tuesday. Weird that those things were all the same, right?
• Even if the natural route went well the first time and you decide to go for the same strategy, the second time might be more terrifying just because once things get started, you know exactly what's coming. Consequently, in the thick of things you might panic a few times. But people have been doing this for a long time, and you can do it, too, so just remind yourself to grow a pair...figuratively.
  
• Giving birth might be the most empowering thing around.
  
• If during labor, there's a clock on the wall stressing you out, just take it down. It's okay if it's attached so hangs there awkwardly with cords sticking out and everyone that comes in the room asks what the crap happened on that wall. Just do it. You're in charge.
• Speaking of which, you're in charge. So do whatever you want! If you need to walk, walk. If you need a heated rice bag, use a heated rice bag. If you need a drink, ask for one. If you need a pep talk from your spouse, ask for one, and be as specific as necessary. When things get intense you might even whisper things like "Holy shit, honey. Holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit." And he will know that this means you need him to say something encouraging.

In sum: people with mutant cats could give you gifts that save your butt years later, I jokingly predicted details that then came true with eerie accuracy, reproduction rocks, we love our new baby, do what you want.

bc it's 10 degrees

• I would cry if Tim Hortons ever banned me for life, not only because life without sour cream Timbits is not worth living, but also because my personal history with life-long bans is so sordid. Banned from delicious doughnuts and soup for your WHOLE LIFE just for complaining about coffee? WHAT'S NEXT!?!?
• I keep deep-ugly-belly-laughing about this guy, a third-year law student who had an e-meltdown preserved for all the world to see when he had a little mix-up in the ole job search. Go read it. You'll thank me. The whole exchange is fantastic, but my favorite sentence: "I hereby require you to destroy [the attachments]." Umm, WHAT? Can you see him raising his powerful scepter and commanding the wind to stop? The sheer power of my words magically turns the mere utterance into enforceable code. I HEREBY REQUIRE YOU. Just like when Michael Scott declares bankruptcy by yelling "BANKRUPTCY!"
• I mention (and think) this often, but bad tv brings so much joy, particularly in the middle of a quiet winter, and as much as it pains my feminist heart to admit it, I love The Bachelor. I feel like I catch an STD just LOOKING at awful Vienna, and of COURSE Gia's mom reads Jake's tarot cards, and Tenley's dance, OH, Tenley's dance...God bless America.
• Sometimes I remember that my clever friend Kiersten has a big fat book deal and I get a little giddy because who doesn't want to a) see their friend LIVE THEIR DREAM and b) see a book at the store with their buddy's name on it? So, hurray.
• In other news, having multiple kids is awesome. Watching the big sister kiss her little sister's head forty times a day is turning me into a pile of weepy mush, especially now that I can sit down without wincing and my iron count is back up above want-to-collapse levels. Also, I'll share some hippie birth details shortly to try to peer pressure you, I mean, for posterity.
  

Anyway, I hereby require you to love me.

STILL. PREGNANT.

Just kidding. I'm not. Wouldn't that be crazy? She's here and she's beautiful. And big. And incredibly cute. More soon.

Tuesday Jan 19 at 7:24 AM
9 lbs 5 oz
21 inches

I'd forgotten how wonderful/terrifying/miraculous the whole process is. Were you praying for us? We felt it.

Thank you.

kid? can you hear us?

PREDICT! THE! DETAILS!

Want to guess the kid's birthday, weight and size? I'll see if I can come up with a prize for the closest guess, most likely free legal advice and/or a nice air mattress to sleep on during your next trip to the Midwest, so, basically, people will covet you.

Thanks for the e-moral support.

Information you may find relevant:

• I'm officially "due," as in 40 weeks, next Thursday (Jan 14).
  
• Our first kid was 8 lbs, 13 oz, 21.5 inches, and 5 days overdue...though in hippie class they say there's no such thing as "overdue" bc a kid's not a library book, she should pick her own birthday, she'll come when she's ready, "turn your birthing over to your body," blahblah. But still, I was pregnant a long time last time. But they say subsequent children come earlier. But "they" also say loooove don't come eeeeeeeeea-sy (tell me you watched the horrible Bachelorette last time) so who knows.
• I've been having contractions (whooooops, I mean "surges") all week.

Whaddayasay?

hard-earned wisdom

Hello friends. I've been e-absent for some time but think of you often and fondly. Thanks to some generous in-laws, one day you might find yourself on a weeklong trip with a bunch of extended fam to the beautiful land of Hawaii, and if you do, and you happen to have a kid or two and be 33 weeks pregnant at the time, you'll thank me for what I'm about to share.

Some advice:

• There is no need to be self-conscious because there will be many, many women who are way more pregnant than you are but they will be wearing significantly fewer items of clothing.
  
• There is nothing in life that can't be improved with a few palm trees, an ocean breeze and some sunshine. Also, a ukelele. And caramacs.
• Nothing will melt your heart more than watching your cute kiddo bond with her cousins in Utah (where you made a brief stop) and then MORE cousins on the island except maybe when she puts on sunglasses and a hat and bright pink sandals and runs for the door shouting "Beach! Daddy! Beach!"
• If anyone sees you wearing a swimsuit cover-up and says "WOW! One size really DOES fit all!" just trust that they mean it nicely.
  
• If the beehives in your ward are big into The Mysterious Benedict Society, go ahead and use this vacation time to climb on that train, as you'll likely find it delightful.
• Most importantly, if you take the red-eye flight home, take an extra shirt for yourself on the off chance that the turbulence could cause your cute toddler to barf on you, thrice, when you still have 2 hours of the flight and a 2 hour layover and another 2 hour flight ahead of you. I hope you'll already have a change of clothes for the kid and a helpful spouse to crack up about it with, but if you don't pack yourself an extra shirt, you may find your very pregnant self in the airplane crapper, standing in your undies as you wring your clothing out and then put it back on. You'll eventually buy a horrible (though, fortunately, clean) t-shirt at the airport that says DENVER on it in enormous letters across your burgeoning belly and spend the rest of your journey realizing that you not only smell awful and look horrifying but your feet have swollen to a remarkable size that makes the term "cankle" seem quaint. But, you'll be grateful you won't see a soul you know. Which might remind you of when you bought a freaking jumper at Dollar General on your mission as a joke and the ONE day you ever wore it happened to be the day you ran into someone you knew from regular life. And if there's anything better than running into someone you know while wearing a jumper, it's probably running into someone you know while wearing a extra-large DENVER AIRPORT t-shirt over your generous belly and smelling of old toddler-vomit with tree trunks for ankles.
  

Anyway. Aloha!

Is this heaven? NO, IT'S IOWA.

If there is a better fall weekend activity than bundling up and chasing your toddler around the actual field of dreams, I don't know about it.

Also, Happy Canadian Thanksgiving. Were we still in SLC, this occasion would warrant a visit to Chuckarama or someplace similarly awesome/embarrassing. However, since we aren't, and since I am presently hanging out with our kid all day and the excuses are dwindling fast, I shall momentarily attempt to make a substantive meal. Not turkey. Geez. I'm realistic. But the goal is something warm and reasonably tasty. This could get ugly.

Let us pray.

we made it!

I can't find anything.

Not the towels, not the can opener, not the freaking grocery store. But who needs to find stuff when you have a yard and a new state to call home? I'm a moron about directions generally, but when there are only gorgeous rolling hills but no mountains, I have no idea which direction I'm facing or really, where I live. So that's unfortunate. But I have a map and a phone and with those two things I cannot fail.

Unless I get turned around on the map and have a close call or two on a so-called one way street. In which case it's less of a "failure" and more of an "opportunity to learn from experience."

Part of how I know I really learned something in law school, or at least in my latest bar-study efforts, is when I have ridiculously nerdy responses to things, e.g., the parts of the Michael Jackson saga I'm most interested are about the details about his will and whether it's valid and why. Similarly, if you happen to, say, buy your first home right after reviewing for both the contracts and property law portions of the bar exam, you may enrage everyone else in the room when you insist on reading everything. But come on! Do I look like a dummy? If I sign something that says "ONLY TODAY'S WRITTEN AGREEMENT IS ENFORCEABLE AND NO ORAL PROMISES OR EXPLANATIONS HAVE ANY VALIDITY," am I really expected to listen to these guys 'explain' things to me and then take their word for it and sign my rights away? Sigh. I suspect this is just the beginning of a long life of being uptight. But that's what happens when all you do is learn about absurd worst case scenarios and the schmucks that get squished like bugs for not reading the fine print.

Remember The Office episode in which Michael locks everyone in the conference room to teach them a lesson and every law student in America had a heart attack because THAT HAS ALL THE ELEMENTS OF FALSE IMPRISONMENT?

Anyway. Our kid has loved the move, shrieking as she goes around each corner to discover ANOTHER empty room in which she can run around with her hands in the air shouting words she understands but no one else does and beaming at us. Sometimes she just claps and looks around delighted at the world and it melts my cold heart. She is also the cutest moving-urchin, in her pjs all day with who knows what smeared on her face and black feet from running barefoot on filthy floors. They're clean now though so when you come see us you can take your shoes off without fear. Also there are a bunch of kids next door who like to feed my kid raspberries through the fence, so if you hurry, maybe they'll be some left for you.


We moved!

(Imagine me saying that in the same voice little kids, e.g., my nieces, say things like "I DID IT!" after going to the bathroom. Triumphant, jubilant, please-applaud-me. That kind of tone.)

the latest

What's the latest? Why, I'm glad you asked!

I made bread.

Myself.

Intense, I know. Next thing you know I'll be planning elaborate party favors for cute little baby girls turning one. Just kidding. That will never happen. But you know what I mean. Maybe this is one step closer to MCB taking me under her sewing wing. Clips! Pillows! Dresses! Curtains! Petticoats! Who knows!? The sky's the limit now that I'm making bread!

In other news, our kid is walking. Well, practically. Zombie steps here and there, but I think it counts. She gets the giggles these days and loves oranges, things with wheels, and minorities. Today it was hot so I took off her socks and shoes, so not only was she barefoot but she also had a runny nose. This makes for the cutest street urchin ever to roam the halls of the J Reub!

And speaking of school, IT IS MY LAST WEEK OF LAW SCHOOL. Can you believe it? I know, I know, some of us thought this day would never come, but here it is so let us rejoice and give thanks. There is but one big fat paper and one big fat final between me and freedom, if by freedom you mean studying for the bar. And guess who else is almost done with school, though he has a couple more weeks left than I do? Husband! So, yep, that's pretty great.

Okay, but seriously, back to the bread. I MADE IT. Like, kneaded it (seems like past tense should be kned) and everything. No gadgets. Just me and the flour, like Mother Eve (or whoever). Who knew it was a) so easy and b) so tasty?? Do you guys have OTHER such information that would have been useful like ten years ago?

jiggy

Will Smith and I are both parents, we both hate Carlton, we both cried during the Pursuit of Happiness, we both rap AND we were both born today. Okay, so there are a few differences--he's black, I'm white, he fought aliens, I am an alien, he's 40, I'm 26. Whatever.

((birthday shimmy))

26, Internets!! Can you believe it?? Are you gasping bc my youthful exuberance convinced you I was younger, or bc my startling maturity convinced you I was older? I know, I know, my fart jokes and casual swearing make me come off pretty cultured. Either way, it's been awesome. Hub has to do his VIP job teaching wee minds this evening, so cute baby and I had a serious girls-only pajama party...we both rolled to the Redbox for a cheesy husband-would-never-want-to-watch-it flick, grabbed ourselves a bit of Little Caesars and put on our pajarmas. We both drooled as I tried (and ruined) a few chocolate-covered oreos, now I sup diet cola and she sups my teet as we wait for Andrew to get home. Pretty chill, pretty nice, pretty awesome.

I'm on the top of the world...

If you'd told me my first day of law school that in two short years, I'd bring a computer bag AND a diaper bag, I'd have laughed in your face. But WE DID IT!

Yesterday was the first day of school and the longest day of my life except for childbirth and maybe the first couple days in the MTC...I brought our sweet baby to school and it was quite a production with the carseat, stroller, my books, diaper bag, computer bag, blanket, sink. Ok, not the sink. Generally I'll only bring her one day a week but this first one was intense, not just bc it was a long day but bc I didn't know what to expect spending the whole day with her out of our element. I spent most of each class period really tense, praying "Please don't flip out. Please don't flip out." Not that she's a flipper outer very often, but I was worried that everyone around me was sighing in annoyance, that she'd poop everywhere and we'd be 45 miles from home, that I'd run out of enough clean clothes for her (or me), that I forgot the wipes, that my computer would melt down, that I'd get called on while she was tugging on my earring, that the stroller would break, blahblah.

WE DID IT!

By the numbers:

90: miles we traveled roundtrip
3: classes she (mostly) behaved through
2: meetings she smiled (mostly) through
billion: people who opened doors for us as I felt like I was pushing an SUV around the law school
2: kind classmates that switched me spots so we could sit in a stroller-friendly part of the room, one just on his own when he saw me walk in with a look of panic on my face as I realized the only available seats were down a bunch of stairs.
2: profs who welcomed my cute baby to the class; one of them I was expecting to hate but instead, he actually timed out during class to smile at my cute baby and welcome her, saying something like "We're glad to have her, a visual aid for family law, don't feel bad if she fusses. Any lawyer worth their salt needs to learn to speak/think over substantial distractions, thanks for this opportunity to help us focus, blahblah." I wanted to hug him.
11: hours we spent at the law school
20: miles we were away from home when my car died on the freeway in the dark.
0: number of my lights that were working, INCLUDING HAZARD LIGHTS, on the side of the road, with my cute baby, after one of the longest days of my life.
1: husband that saved the day.

WE DID IT.

Cue applause.

Ahem.

blahblah

So I am taking this ridiculous but funny "intensive" course at a law school that is not my own, and it goes all day everyday for a week...seriously...8-5...HURL. It's interesting even though it involves a lot of Steven R. Covey-esque barftastic phrases like "Money now is better than money later," the profs swear a lot which I appreciate, and for a split second yesterday I actually understood why someone would want an MBA bc the professors make business stuff sound interesting. One of the them said, "Is this more fun than BYU? Wait til we bring out the keg on Friday!" which made me pee. But I'm having baby withdrawals BIG TIME bc I haven't been away from her all day before. And it sucks. And I call every 2 hours to see if she's okay, and of course SHE'S okay, but I'M not okay...who knew reproducing made you so gushy? Man, she is the best. Even when she poops on my skirt at church--AGAIN--in the middle of a musical number and it's so messy and noisy that the lady in front of us turns around and says "I bet SHE feels better! Hrmph!", she is the best.

There was a time in my life I thought I'd never blog about about baby feces, and that time is over.

with a kiddie root beer, please

Today involved one of my favorite outings: a little lunch date with Supa-ironwoman-linds. To my delight and amazement, as I walked into the good old Red Butte with cute baby, the nice gentlemen working there kindly showed me to my seat and proceeded to ask me if we wanted a kids' menu.

A kids' menu.

She's ELEVEN WEEKS OLD. If there's ever been a time for a grilled cheese or bite-sized corndog, it's now.

Thanks but no thanks, man. I AM her kids' menu.

Reasons You Should Applaud My Bravery

1. Saturday I got in a swimsuit. Six and a half weeks after pushing out a kid. Good job, eh?
2. We blessed our cute baby Sunday and she was really cute and really good and really cute. Same with hub, who refrained from changing her name during the blessing; I shall therefore bear him more children.
3. We actually (gasp!) cleaned up our home in anticipation of the festivities involved in the event mentioned in #2. This includes the bathroom...yikes.
4. I got up in front of the whole congregation even though I was 90 percent sure my boobs were about to leak.

In which I light incense and beckon you to come through the beaded curtain

FAQ involving our hippie birthing experience:

Natural? Are you crazy? No way, man. I'm awesome. I buy the whole medicine-is-for-when-things-go-wrong phenomenon, and figure childbirth is a natural part of life, and figured women have been doing this a helluva long time, so wanted to give it a whirl the old-fashioned way (not in a cave or handcart...I mean without drugs). If there had been a problem, I would have been open to medical intervention, but since there wasn't, it worked out well. And yes, of course it still hurt. Relaxing is not magic and it's not marijuana.

Do you have an abnormally high pain tolerance or something? I don't really get this question, because I don't have anyone else's pain tolerance to compare mine to. Do I faint when I get shots? No. Am I a triathlete that pounds my body into the ground for the thrill? No. So whatever that means.

So do you think others are spineless for getting an epidural? What?? You have to have a spine to get one, right? I vote that everyone should do whatever the freak they want. I even have a shirt that says that. And I'm all about modern medicine and don't think anyone who gives birth is a wimp and I am not going to refuse blood transfusions for our child or pray for a miracle instead of getting her glasses. If you want to give the natural way a try, I recommend it, and if you don't, high five as well. Just live the dream.

What are the perks? I knew what was going on the whole time, felt totally in control, could walk around after (even though I took babysteps like a 90-year-old hunchback), had a speedy recovery, and to our delight, our sweet baby was totally alert from the first second. Also, it was pretty great to just know that I could do it, and all the nurses made me feel like a rockstar.

Hypnobirthing? Do you hypnotize yourself or what? Basically, yes. I clucked like a chicken whenever husband snapped his fingers, and even now, when he says the magic word (which I can't reveal here), I fall asleep immediately until someone offers me a corndog. Either that, or we just ditched a lot of the weird hypnobirthing stuff (I didn't have much luck imagining myself as a rainbow or visualizing a fawn running through the forest or picturing me throwing a treasure chest of my problems out of a hot air balloon. None of those examples are made up) and went with the normal stuff, which was just relaxing and some positive affirmations that champion hub read to me the whole time. That, and he pushed on my knees during every freaking contraction to take the edge off my damn back. I'd take that over an imaginary hot air balloon any day.

Other questions?? Feel free to post them in the comments and all mysteries shall be revealed.

SHIM-SHIMINY SHIM-SHIMINY

(INSERT LARGE CELEBRATORY SHIMMY)

Finished my second year of law school yesterday! Baby and hub took a big fat field trip to the law school with me and it was intense but now it is over so let us give thanks. Cute hub was on thankless law school baby lockdown basically all day and for that I salute him. In the morning, I had a big meeting during which I frantically ran out twice to feed her bc the cries of a 9-day-old baby's hunger break me heart, and by afternoon I took a lame Wills & Estates final during which she shat all over hub's shirt, the changing pad, and a large portion of the study room. Haha! Your father and I think finals are shitty too, dear. We have a lot in common.

In the last 10 days I have pushed out 1 adorable baby, fed her 30,000 times, changed her 30,000 times, taken 2 big law exams, and now I am 2/3 of the way through with law school and don't plan on thinking about it again til August and just want to shake it like a polaroid picture, but that hurts, so I'll just treat myself to another load of laundry and maybe a shower. Woopwoop!

Welcome to our family.

A few years ago, I really clicked with Ammon. I was preaching the good word door-to-door with a nametag, a frumpy skirt covered in cat hair and some serious bottom-of-the-foot blisters and I was the happiest I'd ever been. I read in the Book of Mormon about when Ammon says "My joy is full, yea, my heart is brim with joy" and thought, Amen, brother. I really got it. I was sure that THIS, this mission thing, this feeling God's love for strangers when I couldn't feel my toes and bits of my hair were frozen together, THIS praying for stuff then watching it happen, THIS was what he meant by a heart brim with joy. Gotcha.

Then, a year later, I knelt across from my champion husband as we got married and realized, nope, THIS is brim with joy, THIS is as good as it gets, THIS staring at your favorite person and realizing you're perma-joined for the long haul and about to build a life together, THIS is as good as it gets, THIS is brim with joy.

Then exactly one week ago, husband placed our 10-seconds-old, wriggly, bloody, screaming, perfect baby on my tummy. I stared at her and at him and together we looked at this little person we made together who was inside me just a minute ago and I realized, THIS is brim with joy, THIS is as good as it gets. I have never felt anything like it but it's gotta be what Ammon meant when he said, "I cannot say the smallest part which I feel."

I feel weird blogging about her. You blog about sushi night, funny things people say on the bus, lame commercials, or how you hate finals. How do you tell the internets about the most intense feelings you've ever experienced in your life in the same space that you laugh about the gas station lady's sex advice? I don't know what to say but I can't even handle the love I feel.

I will never forget how husband stared at me when it was all over, how proud he was of me and how much love I felt from him and for him and how the love I felt for this screaming, goopy infant was amplifying every good feeling I've ever had in my life and I forgot for a minute that I'd just pushed her out without any meds and that I hadn't changed a diaper since I was a Beehive and that I don't know how to give her a bath and I don't get babies at all, and for a minute all I could think about was how NOW I might explode with love and I finally know what Ammon meant and I finally got it through my thick head that this whole family thing really is what it's all about.

best. day. ever.

Welcome to your life, baby!

After a long drumroll, our daughter finally joined us Tuesday April 15th at a beautiful 8 lbs 13 ounces. I have never prayed so hard or hurt so much or been so happy, EVER, let alone all in the same day. Husband talked me through the whole thing and the hippie in me is delighted that everything went just as we hoped it would.

As I figure out life with a new little person, what one writer has termed "National Geographic crotch," enormous bricks for boobs and with two more law school finals ahead of me, I will have to delay blogging about the most amazing day of my life for a while. This poem is hanging in our baby's room and it captures what we're feeling, and it's my blog and I can cheese if I want to. She is so awesome I could explode.

On Children
by Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let our bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Still in the oven, er, crockpot

One of the many perks of being this pregnant is that people start to give you advice on how to bring the baby out, and when I say "people," I mean strangers. The grocery store cashier told me to try black or blue cohosh pills. A professor suggested I sniff peppermint and start jumping up and down. A lady in the temple told me the baby would come "in the Lord's time," which is scary since at that rate, one day is a thousand years.

But best of all, the rough-looking gas station lady asked me if I'd tried "s-e-x," cautioning that "it might not be worth the trouble at this point." Ummm...YOU'RE THE GAS STATION LADY. DO I LOOK LIKE I WANT TO HAVE A SEX CONVERSATION WITH THE GAS STATION LADY?