tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59825764505921648302023-11-16T05:42:09.912-08:00Team BilliauKristin and Robhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13750304076655687940noreply@blogger.comBlogger48125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5982576450592164830.post-31780039266033735172012-02-24T17:16:00.000-08:002012-02-24T17:16:40.989-08:00One Month NewBenny Boy-<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibY6hL_R4HH_NzfrWMFNibwGJE06DG_EuX52rxPPUz197P3wEvh6CwvwAFm8epQdx09e5xlF41Eg4ENwZUrHus69J94jE0H_q55UAmZn8DA4VxSoph_DhTuNHob-ZkqR1Hgdt6f99RELE/s1600/DSC_0454.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibY6hL_R4HH_NzfrWMFNibwGJE06DG_EuX52rxPPUz197P3wEvh6CwvwAFm8epQdx09e5xlF41Eg4ENwZUrHus69J94jE0H_q55UAmZn8DA4VxSoph_DhTuNHob-ZkqR1Hgdt6f99RELE/s320/DSC_0454.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>You are here. It's been a month (okay, 5 and a half weeks- I'm a bit late!) and I am still having a hard time wrapping my brain around it. As I type one handed pressing you tightly to my chest, I still don't believe it. Even rubbing your ridiculously soft head which still harbors some wrinkly, loose skin doesn't make it seem real. You are finally here. What seemed like the never ending pregnancy has come to an end and you are here. And we couldn't be happier. Though we definitely could be a bit more rested.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjojxerIYZjb0ubMw0EOEG-RzZTjl8dBmUlNF8U-n3Kii2Eisi00afmw2AIsLWVwLXpD9IKNJ_H01KwcmIhbLg27C33sKU-3vMmLPicXKpjo7-ANCPjqCsEeHqGEpSgT0Gi9RdW6229K40/s1600/Kristin's+Iphone+022412+330.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjojxerIYZjb0ubMw0EOEG-RzZTjl8dBmUlNF8U-n3Kii2Eisi00afmw2AIsLWVwLXpD9IKNJ_H01KwcmIhbLg27C33sKU-3vMmLPicXKpjo7-ANCPjqCsEeHqGEpSgT0Gi9RdW6229K40/s200/Kristin's+Iphone+022412+330.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>It sounds so cliche', but you just fit right in with our family. We haven't even skipped a beat since that day in mid January when you came into this world. Even when Reagan came to meet you for the first time, she ran into the room, immediately saw you laying on my lap, shouted 'baby!', climbed on the bed and gave you no fewer than 500 kisses. It was as if you were some long, lost friend. She never questioned, just accepted. I'm not so sure I've ever seen truer, more innocent love. To this day, nearly 6 weeks later, she can't keep her hands (or lips) off of you.<br />
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We had an absolute amazing first week. It was incredibly low key at the hospital, which we loved. It was mostly just your dad and I, laying around, recovering and soaking you in. We went over all of your body parts memorizing you. We held you close, taking in that perfect, quickly fleeting newborn sent. We listened to the sound of your grunts. Laughed at your goofy, newborn facial expressions. And nursed. And nursed. And nursed some more.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu-I__Ednd3g4taZBAeebrvnNW42BwaF8bqYyPkNNXqOzPkYou3ERtOmqlMN3z7nd3MNwxJ-ROP1MMUCPldsDfB8_VKCfrtkO8Sr6TX_gaypjalCLZnkdl_9uoUO685urwtTTmPUZPD60/s1600/DSCN1622.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu-I__Ednd3g4taZBAeebrvnNW42BwaF8bqYyPkNNXqOzPkYou3ERtOmqlMN3z7nd3MNwxJ-ROP1MMUCPldsDfB8_VKCfrtkO8Sr6TX_gaypjalCLZnkdl_9uoUO685urwtTTmPUZPD60/s200/DSCN1622.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Since you and I were both doing perfectly, we were given the option to go home that night. Seeing as being in the hospital gives you even less rest than having a newborn (let alone combining the two!) we took it gratefully and checked out right as you hit about 18 hours old.<br />
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For some reason driving you home seemed so much less of a production than it did with your sister. Please don't take that as a lack of excitement, as we were beyond excited. I think we just felt older, more grown up and more prepared. There didn't have to be so much surrounding us bringing you home because it was exactly what we were supposed to be doing. We created you, brought you into this world and now were bringing you home, tucked just as tightly into our hearts as you were into our car. It isn't that it wasn't special, it just didn't seem out of the ordinary. We walked in to a clean house and take out ribs from Chili's (thanks Ama and Pop-pop!) and kept on with our life. Like I said before, we didn't skip a beat. Once you were here, it was just as if you never hadn't been.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqyiiRaFqCmWNXNsmfsiTFu3QexhdoBSLqm6q1pw_7neavpBrmWAfbdWGJOOz9dlOaFjRldZKElcOSVz_8x0NYAdwHk-p-T5UkC-PuWbr84kP6Lk7njbPXT_JtIa6VpmQKvmRytxQe9ko/s1600/DSC_0755.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqyiiRaFqCmWNXNsmfsiTFu3QexhdoBSLqm6q1pw_7neavpBrmWAfbdWGJOOz9dlOaFjRldZKElcOSVz_8x0NYAdwHk-p-T5UkC-PuWbr84kP6Lk7njbPXT_JtIa6VpmQKvmRytxQe9ko/s200/DSC_0755.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>That perfect first week ended, though, and as your 8th day rolled around we had quite the ride ahead of us. You woke up a glaring shade of orange and I knew it was time to call the doctor. You showed slight signs of jaundice at two days old, but they had all disappeared by your 5 day check up. We felt in the clear and were so happy to be not hopping on that bandwagon again. But the weekend came and went and left us with a pumpkin in place of our baby. Unfortunately, our amazing pediatrician, Brenda, was on vacation and so we saw Dr. M instead. He took one look at you and then on a piece of paper on the examination table, wrote down a bunch of numbers and corresponding solutions right next to your orange, wiggly, naked body. It was his guess, and he hoped he was wrong, that you would need to be admitted. He said you looked like about a 20 and anything over a 19.5 and we'd be off to the hospital. We went down to the lab, got your first (of many, many) heel pricks, and drove off, phone close and the ringer up loud waiting for the call.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdY0mEENgnvPdUQGSDsHOb0nRB8acIz3TqufjL5j0sYmqeCvQRBQr1MvhFO2lA7WO_D9c-auK3-iknx9yGQS2MSJIAR2SKAx-STbNudqCGn89Njth8HBod1KR8qlsyQVcHCsMsAje094E/s1600/Kristin's+Iphone+022412+480.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdY0mEENgnvPdUQGSDsHOb0nRB8acIz3TqufjL5j0sYmqeCvQRBQr1MvhFO2lA7WO_D9c-auK3-iknx9yGQS2MSJIAR2SKAx-STbNudqCGn89Njth8HBod1KR8qlsyQVcHCsMsAje094E/s200/Kristin's+Iphone+022412+480.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>I did the only thing I could think to do while I <strike>im</strike>patiently waited for the call; so off to Sonic I went for a milkshake. No more than ten seconds after walking in the door at home, my phone rings. "This is she. Mmhmm. How high? Wow. Yea, we can be there in about 15 minutes." The nurse sounded panicked as she told me the doctor wanted us in the ER as soon as possible. He was on the phone with the docs there and they would be expecting us. Your levels, which they don't like to see go above 20, were 24.6. Ouch.<br />
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So we did the hospital thing. And I pray to God we never have to be in there again. We were there for something pretty darn minor, and that was bad enough. That children's wing is hard to stomach, as is seeing your little, naked 8 day old in a jail-like 'crib' with foam goggles and blue lights. Though I must say. you handled the whole situation much better than I did. We were there for about 30 hours, and were discharged when your levels were at 16.1, to follow up the next day. As to not entirely taint the story of your first month of life with the stress and run around of the second and third week, I'll keep it really brief. Your levels didn't continue to go down, as they should have, and instead went back up, which they definitely <i>shouldn't </i>have. They blamed it on Gilbert's disease, which I was diagnosed with as a senior in high school. They ordered us home photo therapy lights along with daily heel pricks and told us we'd be done when your levels dropped to a 12. After a week, they FINALLY dropped to 12.1. We were so excited to see the next day's results and all but packed up the lights knowing you'd be free. Unfortunately it somehow went UP to 13.6. *#&#^#*#&$&$*#!!!! We. Were. Beyond. Frustrated.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHJX-1Ph5JlLMB5L-JtswUa2IucW8iT7ooIWVfOWuBa1ypwMCpZ40gjbHrLRlhMO4AoDPnCXWkXyAEmaysv1WVOiJzmUZX4mYKj-XJ6_xshZPxC85e3xpBGuMy2ojUUwLEN4MRULsmn2M/s1600/DSC_0010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHJX-1Ph5JlLMB5L-JtswUa2IucW8iT7ooIWVfOWuBa1ypwMCpZ40gjbHrLRlhMO4AoDPnCXWkXyAEmaysv1WVOiJzmUZX4mYKj-XJ6_xshZPxC85e3xpBGuMy2ojUUwLEN4MRULsmn2M/s320/DSC_0010.jpg" width="320" /></a>Praise the Lord Brenda got home in time to stop the other doctor from having us go on formula and more testing and anti seizure meds (?!) and we decided to do a test run with part time lights. Your levels stayed the same. So we did a test with no lights. Your levels stayed the same. So we put a big old breast milk induced jaundice label on your two week long jaundice stint that should have been put on it long ago. The home care nurses that came to get your blood sample daily said the longest they had seem babies on lights was ten days. We had your lights for a whopping two weeks. Looking down at you now, sleeping peacefully in my arms, I can't see even a hint of yellow. I am oh so very glad that is behind us.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcj6-qcC1Glkf7N2uncoheviyeGfsFZMEo2Kgpz5QHUw2xOaDtRqgRdrAR3NKINF6AsoPCIj1WYgKJX9bbSk_P7x9Uga4dvyxa4Oh4io7yU2rpVk7-6iFKvBfnmJ4aAo2pHTPzJVArkeo/s1600/DSC_0049.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcj6-qcC1Glkf7N2uncoheviyeGfsFZMEo2Kgpz5QHUw2xOaDtRqgRdrAR3NKINF6AsoPCIj1WYgKJX9bbSk_P7x9Uga4dvyxa4Oh4io7yU2rpVk7-6iFKvBfnmJ4aAo2pHTPzJVArkeo/s320/DSC_0049.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>Now you are just your sweet, mellow little self. I can't look at you or think of you or speak of you without associating you with sweetness. Your little man face is just so sweet. Your personality is sweet. Even your tiny little I-really-want-something-but-can-wait-until-your-ready-because-I'm-not-all-that-needy cry is just stinkin' sweet. Your totally random dinosaur squeaks, your over-reactive startle movements, your smell, your freakishly soft skin, your abnormally long feet, your head wrinkles and your all night long goat grunting- even your Yoda ears-; are all seriously some of the sweetest things this world has to offer and somehow came wrapped up in one adorably mellow little package and was given to us. You are the perfect combination of things fit for a second child, with your calmness, your tolerance, your patience.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgItWmfuF7-3TuwJV2Mo40uq2i3G7qvd0-PpfKLN59VBjopl1uytYM0Il9-030ChirqGAzoQxMGGZDO56PgPk0CnDWJHTa82B9uYTrgTHJ6bsijWXNYE-28HJr7_XcMf08xmJ4uzkSE0d4/s1600/Kristin's+Iphone+022412+689.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgItWmfuF7-3TuwJV2Mo40uq2i3G7qvd0-PpfKLN59VBjopl1uytYM0Il9-030ChirqGAzoQxMGGZDO56PgPk0CnDWJHTa82B9uYTrgTHJ6bsijWXNYE-28HJr7_XcMf08xmJ4uzkSE0d4/s200/Kristin's+Iphone+022412+689.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-zi4Z_GsdX6tlkKLomRNdsx-ghJGdWm0jSXlTTDxZDX1us3PCbjfIXgEJf8uIUvItJQCxg_TlHXutVWID9LTSHtYo8UGFR6TVpA0s5xv2YqO2QKlesZ0_esoWxBEDjcjGUe624R_H5Nw/s1600/DSC_0039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-zi4Z_GsdX6tlkKLomRNdsx-ghJGdWm0jSXlTTDxZDX1us3PCbjfIXgEJf8uIUvItJQCxg_TlHXutVWID9LTSHtYo8UGFR6TVpA0s5xv2YqO2QKlesZ0_esoWxBEDjcjGUe624R_H5Nw/s200/DSC_0039.jpg" width="200" /></a>Your biggest flaw at current is you have realized you like to be held. That the warmth, the sound and feel of a beating heart, and the millions of kisses that are bestowed upon the top of your head is far better than, well, anywhere else. And I can hardly call it a flaw, because honestly, there isn't much that I love more than snuggling a newborn- especially <i>my </i>newborn- either. But seeing as how life doesn't stop and the dishes don't do themselves just because you and I are hanging out in newborn lala land, every now and then, you have to be set down. And when you get set down, you ask to be picked up. And you have discovered that if your sweet, quiet fussing doesn't get the point across that your much more serious, extremely sad sounding "uh-waaaah" cry typically pulls at my heartstrings enough to get you right back where you want to be.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOdjLuSGDWFzv3NgUGAX_U3ReHU2EzTyDYhTESCyRxhYvnT8BhcYXIbRIaFgt_t9VVezTgsmKruyMPD0CknAUsxYgr6gg2Ivi5u5OYRrx8gIraCyKa3eXmc8lTk9hbMS3WBTmYlYJLoYc/s1600/DSC_0108.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOdjLuSGDWFzv3NgUGAX_U3ReHU2EzTyDYhTESCyRxhYvnT8BhcYXIbRIaFgt_t9VVezTgsmKruyMPD0CknAUsxYgr6gg2Ivi5u5OYRrx8gIraCyKa3eXmc8lTk9hbMS3WBTmYlYJLoYc/s320/DSC_0108.jpg" width="320" /></a>Sometimes when I look at you being smothered by your sticky-fingered 20 month old sister, or woken up with not-as-gentle-as-they-could-be toddler kisses for the 15th time in a row, or while the music blares as we dance to Disney songs or I'm frantically washing chocolate cupcake out of your mouth that your sister kindly 'shared' with you, even though you take it all in stride, I can't help but wonder if God meant to give you a quieter, calmer family. But then as we snuggle every morning after nursing, while Reagan directs that 'RaRa' should lay on my right arm and "Bendent" to lay on the left side of my chest, and she nuzzles your cheek and unpromted, sweetly says " I ov oo Bendent" I know you are exactly where you belong.<br />
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I love you little mister and how you somehow made my heart bigger to fit it all this new love in. And oh how I look forward to more of those giant, gummy grins you're starting to give when you catch our eye. That and a whole bunch more of your sweetness.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQQgjPGsIIa414z1HDXCpznRBWwZI-8xRpZLESGaIDNycY5M7aMbvVDRVHlCkCA5lyKbz_K3bK8J9tbDlNA0iT9jekGVw1b52pxKzvgBDBRIKVOBl8fCNcZpgh6LxSvdqV07lj23l8c8U/s1600/smile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="102" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQQgjPGsIIa414z1HDXCpznRBWwZI-8xRpZLESGaIDNycY5M7aMbvVDRVHlCkCA5lyKbz_K3bK8J9tbDlNA0iT9jekGVw1b52pxKzvgBDBRIKVOBl8fCNcZpgh6LxSvdqV07lj23l8c8U/s320/smile.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Love,<br />
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Your MamaKristin and Robhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13750304076655687940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5982576450592164830.post-75326702848312942982012-01-11T00:27:00.000-08:002012-01-11T00:35:36.590-08:00One and Two<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLQMWoYLcBMhn2iKDfeaIdHIXtabAeuJXhj-2BwhXUD-ei6SZtf-dleQh2H2uNQQZ6UN6uwkTQD-oWE4Eq0Xi6Pyqlu1F2Lca_UvOkOKrQ-VBqkeDYACkWMSRIMrmZsh2wtJYnqzzQvDE/s1600/DSC_0164.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLQMWoYLcBMhn2iKDfeaIdHIXtabAeuJXhj-2BwhXUD-ei6SZtf-dleQh2H2uNQQZ6UN6uwkTQD-oWE4Eq0Xi6Pyqlu1F2Lca_UvOkOKrQ-VBqkeDYACkWMSRIMrmZsh2wtJYnqzzQvDE/s320/DSC_0164.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>My sweet, sweet girl-<br />
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We are on the very edge of change. As we teeter on this cusp of one and two I can't help but wonder how it will all pan out. You innocently call for "Dabent, out!", freely offering kisses and belly rubs like they're heading out of style. But you don't know; you can't possibly understand. I, myself, can hardly comprehend it. And while we fully intended on filling our house with children, on making sure you had siblings, I would be lying if I didn't admit that a part of me is mourning the loss we'll be experiencing with our huge gain.<br />
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You aren't going to be my one and only anymore.<br />
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There are times when the whole idea of it kills me. When the guilt hits my stomach hard and all I can do is pray you'll forgive me. That you'll realize the gain will be ten fold. That we have intentionally brought this next child into the world, not just for him or for us, but for you. So you can know the amazing love of a sibling; the stability, the rivalry, the built-in best friend. So whatever happens to your dad and I, you'll never be alone. There will always be someone who knows the same love, who has the same experiences, who no matter how nuts you drive each other will always be connected. A bond that can't be broken; something that anger, hurt or difference cannot sever. So you can learn love and sharing and family like nothing else can teach you.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1lw5YNoxMZAt7IYtJRb5YqsYe25MaPsstcpwOdIecH-uowmlCltBO3P4hMroAeSjaJvOvzDlzfiAgn3C2EIOg33g6cvSuk_SBzmreRPTsMlaYX3UPbC9_ywrTjOAxhmxugLhpgbPY0_4/s1600/382663_614622794276_44501903_32665900_1646501746_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1lw5YNoxMZAt7IYtJRb5YqsYe25MaPsstcpwOdIecH-uowmlCltBO3P4hMroAeSjaJvOvzDlzfiAgn3C2EIOg33g6cvSuk_SBzmreRPTsMlaYX3UPbC9_ywrTjOAxhmxugLhpgbPY0_4/s200/382663_614622794276_44501903_32665900_1646501746_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
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I have zero doubt in my mind that you will love your brother. We are giving him an amazing gift in you alone. You are perhaps the sweetest spirit ever to grace this Earth and you love wholeheartedly, without abandon. I can't picture a kinder soul and it blows my mind to know you're still months away from age two. Strangers who meet you for mere seconds comment on your kindness, on your gentleness, your good nature. And while I cannot guarantee Bennett from a few battle wounds along the way, I know he is already blessed beyond measure at simply being born your brother. I am excited beyond words to see you fill your role to him as big sister.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxudunpAmSVifS6OZejZ7Z6Fi81kALPp93Jm5dfVap0Zl7z5A3oN0Tyency_K16DsnsW_oZTGe_Cd9n0S9AcuXHG5Cjb-9be4ID2Oc6NPZXz-DJJyO7u1vQXAy0PkjMtNv6RZSPfVPmXU/s1600/381521_610491194036_44501903_32653110_822783195_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxudunpAmSVifS6OZejZ7Z6Fi81kALPp93Jm5dfVap0Zl7z5A3oN0Tyency_K16DsnsW_oZTGe_Cd9n0S9AcuXHG5Cjb-9be4ID2Oc6NPZXz-DJJyO7u1vQXAy0PkjMtNv6RZSPfVPmXU/s200/381521_610491194036_44501903_32653110_822783195_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>What I fear, more than perhaps anything else right now, is how you'll react to <i>me</i>. How you'll handle me changing from yours and yours alone to one you have to share. I can't stand the thought of being away from you during labor, only to have you come back to me to find me with another child. I fear you'll think I have replaced you. That I am choosing someone else over you. And while I find myself telling you a million times a day, I hope to God it sinks in. <i>Nothing </i>will ever take you from me. You will <i>always </i>be my girl. I could have a million more children and not one of them- nothing, <b>ever</b>, could possibly make me love you less. And while our one on one time may become fewer and further between, and while you may have to share my lap every now and then, I can only imagine expanding our family will make me love you even more. That watching you unfold as the oldest child, as a sister, can do nothing but accentuate my adoration of you.<br />
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I am not naive enough to believe I will have to split my love. I don't know how it will work, and truly believe it is nothing short of a miracle, but I know without a doubt that somehow, without loving you any less, I will love Bennett just the same. It boggles my mind to think I could love another like I love you, but I know I will. These next few weeks may be tough. You may feel a bit lost in the shuffle or angry with the lack of old. It will most definitely be full of change as we attempt to find our new normal, but you will not be left behind. You will never be left behind. You will still remain at the forefront of our every thought, our every decision. Your dad and I will still love you like nothing else, and even then some. To the moon and back 'thiiiiiis' much.<br />
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And while I know you're young and wont even remember life as an only child, I pray you forgive us for our shortcomings as we adjust. That if you feel hurt or wronged or left out that you'll know it is a fluke. That we simply don't have it in us to purposefully put you second, ever. Now or then. Past, present, or future. That you and Bennett with forever, both, somehow always be our number ones.<br />
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I love you, Reagan Lee. And I cannot wait to make you a sister.<br />
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Love,<br />
Your Mama<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIzpN39z3HDzmYw10MQkARrQCWmbJpKdaFxsvDgaIY73p6LEGVGgIbgPN_WBzNA8GdpNSASCjb1wxOYA0SRb8Rlfx4Gx1qBM5EbryT0wxyKo1aiHUblvGhbr0ly9smhMZs2ag5gA_EUmk/s1600/DSC_0037.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIzpN39z3HDzmYw10MQkARrQCWmbJpKdaFxsvDgaIY73p6LEGVGgIbgPN_WBzNA8GdpNSASCjb1wxOYA0SRb8Rlfx4Gx1qBM5EbryT0wxyKo1aiHUblvGhbr0ly9smhMZs2ag5gA_EUmk/s320/DSC_0037.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Kristin and Robhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13750304076655687940noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5982576450592164830.post-45795718493055827712011-08-08T21:40:00.000-07:002011-08-08T22:04:26.592-07:00If We Don't Teach Her, She Won't LearnIs abuse and neglect the only form of bad parenting? Is everyone really just doing the best they can?<br />
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I'm going to go easy on you and hand out the answers; <b>no </b>and <b>no</b>.<br />
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Can I preface this post with something? I believe I am a good parent. I know enough to know I'm doing some things right. I am absolutely consumed with love for her. I play with her, I talk to her, and I don't cover up her faults. I tell her she's beautiful but not nearly as often as I tell her she's smart. I feed her well balanced meals nearly all of the time, but I do not keep her from the occasional fun snack. I care about who she is going to be enough to discipline her now, while still making sure I talk kindly to her, more often than sternly. Even though it can be difficult, we take her out and about; we do not stay housebound. We do so because we know our struggles now will help her shape up into a well experienced, socialized person. And dealing with one year old tantrums is much easier than 5 or 6 year old tantrums. <b>We know if we don't teach her, she won't learn.</b> We know her entire life, her tiny section of the world, is so shaped and influenced by us it is almost scary. We fully understand what an honor and a blessing it is to have been given this child and we try our absolute hardest to not take it for granted.<br />
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All of that is not to say I am the perfect parent. Or even close to it. It's not to say I don't get frustrated, that I never give in and let her eat graham crackers for breakfast, that I don't ever get lazy or have never hid the book I am sick of reading over and over. Because I do. I have and I am and I'm sure I will again.<br />
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It is, however, to say I give it an earnest shot. Every day. I consciously think about how what I'm doing- or not doing- affects her. Is it for her or is it for me? I don't just think about the mess, I think about if the mess is worth it. It almost always is. I don't just think about how hot it'll be sitting outside, I think about the joy she experiences chasing the dogs, throwing rocks in the garden and splashing in her pool. I don't simply consider how much work it is to wake up early, shower, dress, feed and car seat her, I consider how important it is to us that she grows up going to church. I may get frustrated about it, but I don't let the fact that I know she probably won't eat it deter me from taking the time to make her a healthy meal. I don't eat things in front of her that I don't want her eating, and I try not to stay up too late, knowing morning always comes at the same time and I won't be nearly the parent I could be if I'm not well rested.<br />
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No one ever said it was easy. But someone (lots of people, actually) did once say that things worth doing are rarely easy.<br />
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Parenting is so much more than the required feeding, bathing, nail-clipping, sheet washing, car seat safety-knowing of many parenting books. And I will say it now and say it again, but<b> abuse and neglect are not the only form of poor parenting. </b>In fact, I'd wager to say it is much more difficult to be in the 'good' parent category than the 'poor.' We are <b>not </b>all doing the best we can. If you are letting your kid live in front of the TV, not getting down on the floor to play with and read to them, spending more time doing things for yourself, and disregarding behavioral and safety standards, you are a bad parent in my book. Yeah, you may not be starving or hitting your kid, but they, too, will suffer from your (lack of) parenting.<br />
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Having a bad or lazy day doesn't make you a bad parent. Nor does taking time for yourself. That is not the point I am aiming to make. What makes you a bad parent is consistently not doing what is best for your child. Being as every kid is different, what your child needs may vary slightly from what other children need, but overall, kids need much of the same. Time, attention, love and you. So often those things are even more important than the basic physical needs.<br />
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It really irks me when people say we're all just doing the best we can. Not only is that a horrible excuse, it makes people who probably know they aren't being a great parent believe that they're doing enough. We are shaping lives. We are taking blank slates and turning them into chalkboards full of answers, and to do any less would not only be doing a disservice to the individual, but our world as a whole.<br />
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(I apologize if this comes off as negative; it was written out of frustration. I am so sick of watching parents who don't stop their pre-parent lifestyle or who are far too selfish continue to treat their kids as if they're no more than caged pets that just need food and clean bedding every now and then. If you know me, you know I am oh so very against big government, but I sure wish you had to get a permit to get the privilege of parenting.)Kristin and Robhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13750304076655687940noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5982576450592164830.post-18795777806495858832011-08-04T10:51:00.000-07:002011-08-04T12:03:58.024-07:00Black and WhiteHow different can two pregnancies be? Believe me, I'm certainly not complaining. While this pregnancy has me plastered to the couch for entirely different reasons than my first (read: could. not. stop. puking.) it has been treating me oh so much nicer. Sure, I have no motivation or energy to do anything. And yeah, I'm still basically living on the couch. But the puking? So much further and farther between than before.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgosczMhN4rmqnRcHidt78qLILGRO9ccLrcKS8-CJi13WiIww_saBmiUbfpReokayd5LcZEDzMaHQ9r7I5PjROgwNoOL9n-wK_aB94_qH9DxNlis9zKuZUaI6V0Z1dGA5aP0-yf7DGJaBM/s1600/First+Ulrasound.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgosczMhN4rmqnRcHidt78qLILGRO9ccLrcKS8-CJi13WiIww_saBmiUbfpReokayd5LcZEDzMaHQ9r7I5PjROgwNoOL9n-wK_aB94_qH9DxNlis9zKuZUaI6V0Z1dGA5aP0-yf7DGJaBM/s320/First+Ulrasound.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reagan- 8 Weeks (Awful picture)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn-e8MydMontH9lD_CceFqPyCC1FZK3uOPvUSqabmrj2K6_9O7ESU25u2KTqS8okjKi70Es7n9UgTLsaFxqt6Jdt3lK2donRpCRclIqcctc_-F_UfWtxda7XFspPHUJkqVz6T-zxy5dS8/s1600/IMG_2196.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn-e8MydMontH9lD_CceFqPyCC1FZK3uOPvUSqabmrj2K6_9O7ESU25u2KTqS8okjKi70Es7n9UgTLsaFxqt6Jdt3lK2donRpCRclIqcctc_-F_UfWtxda7XFspPHUJkqVz6T-zxy5dS8/s320/IMG_2196.PNG" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Little Gummy bear- 9 Weeks</td></tr>
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With Reagan, I simply couldn't eat. The thought, sight, sound, smell and taste of anything but applesauce would send me running to the bathroom. With this little one, as soon as I start feeling nauseous, if I can convince myself to eat something, I typically feel better within about ten minutes. Even further on in the pregnancy with Reagan, I never really had strong cravings, but I most certainly had strong aversions. With this pregnancy, it is craving central. If you've never truly had a strong pregnancy craving, you can't understand how 'strong' they are. I heard it described once as the feeling of an anxiety attack coming on if you don't get what you're craving. And while at one point that sounded absolutely ridiculous to me, I can now stand firmly behind it. Because I've been there. Because if I didn't get that homemade hamburger patty, pan fried with onions, I am not so sure I would have lived to see the next day. My palms got sweaty, you guys. This is serious business.<br />
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These pregnancies have truly been black and white.Well, except for the fact both babies grew in my uterus and were put in said uterus by the same man.<br />
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I have been far more paranoid this go around than I was with Reagan. I don't know if it has to do with me having more knowledge, with the pregnancy being easier or the fact that I belong to a Facebook group of 300+ moms expecting in January 2012, and have seen more than I care to count leave the group due to miscarriage. It breaks my heart and always leaves me wondering, why am I so lucky? There really isn't an answer. I'm just blessed beyond measure.<br />
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In other differences, that are probably far too much to share but what the heck?- modesty and pregnancy are not friends. With Reagan, helllooooo constipation. This one? Lets just say I wish Kaopectate was safe during pregnancy. With my first I thought I had sore boobs; my boobs hadn't seen anything yet. Super with a capital S sensitive plus the little leech still nursing means if anything comes within a mile radius of them, I turn into the Wicked Witch of the West lickidy split. With my first I didn't so much as chew one Tums. This one? Holy moly heartburn. I'm two UTIs in this go around, which is something I have never experienced before, pregnant or not. I hope to God to never experience it again. With Reagan I lost 15 pounds in the first trimester, lived off of applesauce and didn't get out of bed. This one I have yet to gain any weight but certainly haven't lost any, I eat my normal appetites worth and, well, I still probably wouldn't get out of bed but this go around I have a toddler. That changes things. A lot.<br />
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In his usual fashion, Rob has been a champion. In the very beginning I couldn't stomach doing the dishes so he would come home from work, clean the kitchen, make dinner and be on Reagan duty. He was great the first go around, but having a one year old makes things more difficult, and he just takes it all in stride. He <i>never </i>rolls his eyes at my cravings and, while he certainly makes fun of me for them, he still always offers to head up the road to get it for me.<br />
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The pregnancies being so different have me truly thinking this one is a boy, though my record for guessing isn't great. (Note: I'm always wrong.) Truly, honestly, we will be super happy either way. I loved having sisters growing up and think it would be so fun to have two little girls so close in age. Not to mention cheaper because we already have (tons and tons and tons) of girl clothes. (By typing that, I would like to have it known that I am not, under any circumstance, promising to not buy more.) But we also both would, at some point, like to have a little boy thrown in the mix. Our poor family is surrounded by far too much estrogen, so a little more testosterone probably wouldn't hurt. Either way we're psyched to find out (13 days and counting! Assuming the little bugger cooperates...) and get started on the nursery!<br />
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Perhaps the very best thing about this pregnancy is Reagan's obsession with the 'baba' in my 'baba'. (Yes, 'baby' and 'belly' sound the exact same coming out of her mouth.) I truly didn't think she'd comprehend it at all. And while I know she doesn't actually understand, she remembers we said I have a baby in my belly and LOVES to wave 'bye bye' to (I don't really get that one) and kiss and kiss and kiss the baby in there. All the time. If we're sitting on the couch she lifts my shirt and pats my belly. If we're in the shower, she waves at my belly. If we're cuddling in bed, she kisses my belly. The girl loves babies, and even though she probably thinks I have absolutely lost my marbles saying there is one in my belly, she takes my word for it. I'm hoping her love for all things baby carries through to the actual baby that will come home to stay, but she is also quite the Mama's girl, so I guess we'll just have to see.Kristin and Robhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13750304076655687940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5982576450592164830.post-23953174566561334372011-08-01T11:18:00.000-07:002011-08-01T11:18:44.990-07:00All Before Noon...It isn't entirely uncommon to hear someone wonder under their breath what stay-at-home-moms even do all day. Typically it makes me Livid with a capital L. And even more typically it comes from a non-parent. Because if you were a parent, you'd know.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUQXJ9KWTNXVuH8fZ7PhVrvUEPtoOn2QAgy8Sj_2xHQ4bDSlI71xMyFoRPri_RYZHIehyphenhyphen9YrC7rnobDJHcsBy-6s95-P5b3AyzV_G6FMUgFvTB977hrjQiKFUNy_E0F3LHNcLfq1tAsUU/s1600/IMG_0086.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUQXJ9KWTNXVuH8fZ7PhVrvUEPtoOn2QAgy8Sj_2xHQ4bDSlI71xMyFoRPri_RYZHIehyphenhyphen9YrC7rnobDJHcsBy-6s95-P5b3AyzV_G6FMUgFvTB977hrjQiKFUNy_E0F3LHNcLfq1tAsUU/s200/IMG_0086.JPG" width="149" /></a>You would know that getting out of bed isn't even something you get a few minutes alone to do anymore because "MAMAMAMAMAMAMA! Ouooot! Ouooot!" is being screamed from the crib next door. Your first morning pee becomes less of a time to continue to wake up and more of a battle to save the toilet paper from it's shredded fate. And pausing before flushing to excitedly examine and wave bye-bye to your pee isn't on your list of 'most relaxing ways to greet the day' either.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_NB8ibLd-v9FSyjotxauTT2ZwrdWitUrjcA2yLudDXmAdCs790BFQObuKTU0rp_KJXyX8GpSITutoeVwRBGbUnQ8v5GchkKvB-iHU8_XFoFxHxfszrLboq8e1BRgDwiI9J3LWgKV-APk/s1600/IMG_1513.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_NB8ibLd-v9FSyjotxauTT2ZwrdWitUrjcA2yLudDXmAdCs790BFQObuKTU0rp_KJXyX8GpSITutoeVwRBGbUnQ8v5GchkKvB-iHU8_XFoFxHxfszrLboq8e1BRgDwiI9J3LWgKV-APk/s200/IMG_1513.JPG" width="200" /></a>You would be impressed with how still-asleep you can be while changing an incredibly full diaper as the toddler tries to escape and the dogs prance around begging to go outside. Zombie like, you take the dogs to the door, and to avoid a full blown tantrum in your first ten minutes of the day, you follow them out so the toddler can play too. Because God forbid anyone or anything ever goes outside without her joining. Within seconds, you're fishing a pajama-clad toddler out of her kiddy pool, who is now screaming (shhh...don't wake the neighbors) not from being wet, but from being dragged inside. You round up the dogs and carry your thrashing, whining, dripping child back into the house, call your husband to tell him you're awake while you strip the kid, put a new diaper on (two in about twenty minutes if you're counting) and get the already distracted toddler her morning milk.<br />
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Against your desire to have her not watch any TV you turn on the one show you do let her watch in hopes to get a few minutes to check your email, indulge in your guilty pleasure of Facebook and read a few blogs before moving on to clean the kitchen. Yes, the kitchen that is very messy from the previous day because using your child-free time after bedtime cleaning a kitchen is the very last thing on your list of things you want to do. So you simply don't.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhmUacF4jAUTkb-iRjYFTjQFKyTf_FJrucQZ-AcPtT4DYaSNQVsVid1RjfzTFBskI_GiMezW-cLUt-aYRoVP8GsLCdez_cBAey-zio3WMEKMHfMlOy_OCLAudaF73Ij-aRam4KvApT62U/s1600/IMG_1754.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhmUacF4jAUTkb-iRjYFTjQFKyTf_FJrucQZ-AcPtT4DYaSNQVsVid1RjfzTFBskI_GiMezW-cLUt-aYRoVP8GsLCdez_cBAey-zio3WMEKMHfMlOy_OCLAudaF73Ij-aRam4KvApT62U/s200/IMG_1754.JPG" width="149" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs6OD6k8iMtHDiI1klGv0URHuX2yeVQL0V_cnQ992h7EHJO_aMWaX9i2PUAG0ck2StHofm4NY7QrDdRjHvbiJejzkThIxITQ1jAFJtjNjYZjoZcax48coQlYKb1RgJ8NeQ4EkyYELPJVc/s1600/IMG_2032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs6OD6k8iMtHDiI1klGv0URHuX2yeVQL0V_cnQ992h7EHJO_aMWaX9i2PUAG0ck2StHofm4NY7QrDdRjHvbiJejzkThIxITQ1jAFJtjNjYZjoZcax48coQlYKb1RgJ8NeQ4EkyYELPJVc/s200/IMG_2032.JPG" width="149" /></a>Unfortunately, the TV isn't enough to keep her attention off of the clanging of unloading the dishwasher so you either A.) unload as fast as you can, breaking every 30 seconds to tell her 'no' as she climbs into the dishwasher and move her back into the living room or B.) give up and promise yourself you'll do it at nap time. Clean kitchen or not, you move onto making breakfast. Scrambled eggs with cheese and ham, whole wheat pancakes slyly stuffed with fruit and veggie puree, fresh toast made with homemade wheat bread with extra eggs, or steel cut oatmeal with homemade applesauce, in addition to a banana, peaches or nectarine, cottage cheese or yogurt, and a sippy cup of water or a blended fruit smoothy with wheat germ. You feel like supermom for a minute for taking the time to make your kid such a healthy meal, but the feeling quickly slips away, because if she is even willing to give it a try, she now requires a spoon or fork meaning she will manage to not get a single bite in her mouth. Silently you curse the toddler eating stage. You realize you forgot to feed yourself as you're cleaning her tray and picking at her leftovers . Gross? Yeah, but whatever.<br />
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After a sponge bath cleaning breakfast off every inch of her, (and you and her seat) you're on the floor reading 'Moo, Baa, La La La' for the 4,897th time. Forget the fact that you haven't read an actual book for yourself since the day she was born. Goofy rhymes and silly stories are whats in your queue, and its all made worth it by the quietly sitting-in-your-lap toddler who says and signs 'more' before you're even done reading the last page. Tickle session, hugs, kisses, "ni-nights", "love yous" and nap time. You trip over toys on the way back from her room, pick up a few, shrug off the rest and fall onto the couch. Because its exhausting. Because it is constant. Because you love her enough to feed her well, to play with her on the ground and to forgo your own desires so she can have hers (Which is always you. Well, and graham crackers when you give in.) Because you are her everything. Because its only 11AM and you haven't gotten anything of visible worth done, but you have a well rounded, healthy toddler, who is learning in leaps and bounds, attempting to repeat everything you say and do, and is happy. She is <i>happy</i>. And while there is no doubt it is all exhausting, there is also no doubt that it is all worth it.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8v0r2jIjHJnkbGMd3oqa5rCBG5DTZFERHjsRTeyKKSftY6Lz_w-myaPnPNB6ukqWQcNUZNERmjmwBovzXXxZ624IUeHlO5BmwORgoTr1gHxZDyTAd8qbKnG5ttk4d1hmXrkxJ2Rf-rL4/s1600/IMG_0296.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8v0r2jIjHJnkbGMd3oqa5rCBG5DTZFERHjsRTeyKKSftY6Lz_w-myaPnPNB6ukqWQcNUZNERmjmwBovzXXxZ624IUeHlO5BmwORgoTr1gHxZDyTAd8qbKnG5ttk4d1hmXrkxJ2Rf-rL4/s200/IMG_0296.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcBiaZj6sAwX_5ZhiUqOvbvFHNnKxqqaQAFyMokMiPTd-SVP12XWw5cPHt_A6AMNuHd_OAH_Zl5_D_lmGXGRf6nS63LToDcjJ7IcQbJtARZ95idgd94TXG11gDPWuOttyE5il53_w6264/s1600/IMG_1245.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcBiaZj6sAwX_5ZhiUqOvbvFHNnKxqqaQAFyMokMiPTd-SVP12XWw5cPHt_A6AMNuHd_OAH_Zl5_D_lmGXGRf6nS63LToDcjJ7IcQbJtARZ95idgd94TXG11gDPWuOttyE5il53_w6264/s200/IMG_1245.JPG" width="143" /></a></div>Kristin and Robhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13750304076655687940noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5982576450592164830.post-78945299430787445542010-10-22T11:32:00.000-07:002010-10-22T11:32:29.161-07:00Five MonthsBug-<br />
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</div><div>Time seems to be moving really fast. I can't even tell you how old you are in weeks any more because I've lost count. All I know is you've been here for almost half a year now, you're starting to look like a person more than a baby and you are quickly becoming mobile!</div><div><br />
</div><div>First of all, you sit! One day I brought out the Boppy to help support you in a sitting position and it seemed to work really well and you enjoyed your new viewpoint! We would also spread your legs really wide to help you balance and sit you down in the middle of the bed and you'd sit for about two seconds before losing your balance, but we were still very proud and excited. Then just a couple days later, we sat you down in some grass and you just sat! For minutes and minutes on end! You weren't very sure of your new accomplishment, but Daddy and I were beaming!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKN7B2M1wds8iahr-cSKN7lUUcrGsWn0eEHpedKfL1jvrIVSPwSA5ZzMGqaBW5pp_bwHSQAoo60oj-Du2VDuP2yf7KsbfXORWKnYIaxEDkixB8z-qSHWi7EAQdj9fMJyc3DzsbPu7KVMY/s1600/The+many+faces+of+Reagan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKN7B2M1wds8iahr-cSKN7lUUcrGsWn0eEHpedKfL1jvrIVSPwSA5ZzMGqaBW5pp_bwHSQAoo60oj-Du2VDuP2yf7KsbfXORWKnYIaxEDkixB8z-qSHWi7EAQdj9fMJyc3DzsbPu7KVMY/s640/The+many+faces+of+Reagan.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfgf9xCpZCaN2XX_YwODdp-7bt25CSLtaHMLpZsh5z-tUYutVgbEMEmSXeIpsN-ZDS6-5xlchw155VodNotsNcwtF6ZCflRwNBBlHPSprvrPYvgw0jhyphenhyphenlgL9GdeZkITsM5pwUpBAR9CnI/s1600/DSC_0045.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfgf9xCpZCaN2XX_YwODdp-7bt25CSLtaHMLpZsh5z-tUYutVgbEMEmSXeIpsN-ZDS6-5xlchw155VodNotsNcwtF6ZCflRwNBBlHPSprvrPYvgw0jhyphenhyphenlgL9GdeZkITsM5pwUpBAR9CnI/s200/DSC_0045.jpg" width="142" /></a>You have also mastered the art of rolling. Rolling with a purpose! You can pretty much get around to all of your different toys that are (always) scattered across the floor. I have looked up to find you ten or more feet away from where you started! It is quite surprising how quickly some of these developmental milestones are reached. You are just checking them off the list one by one faster than we can blink!</div><div><br />
</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcpkySe9plx_yUPJ2aVo6aHZ2UEYvfpcuqF9eSlor4cTSalWSZOoO0mbiE4dlClHGZgS4yBpOzYkOcvyZJiFULmyv-FVkO6BkRDAobgXfiM1uoMLiCicIsPKwoiOQlFoQas63C3gFBD-g/s1600/DSC_0227.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcpkySe9plx_yUPJ2aVo6aHZ2UEYvfpcuqF9eSlor4cTSalWSZOoO0mbiE4dlClHGZgS4yBpOzYkOcvyZJiFULmyv-FVkO6BkRDAobgXfiM1uoMLiCicIsPKwoiOQlFoQas63C3gFBD-g/s200/DSC_0227.jpg" width="200" /></a>We were finally able to get you to the west side of the state and have you dedicated at Lake City Church. It was so great acknowledging you as a gift from God in front of the church and we cannot wait to see the plans God has in store for you. While over there, Grandma and Grandpa (and Mom and Dad) took you to your first zoo- Point Defiance Zoo and Aquarium! Its kind of neat because its the zoo I grew up going to. You thoroughly enjoyed yourself, but it was the people and kids that you enjoyed far more than the animals. :)</div><div><br />
</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0XIQ755c5j_G5Fumns_mpKBkRg5zSsr0jVsyCdvIhKmqGOzMefGSNuWwfFLJglWMBe7W1htvVsBr96ZEQTDJWQXCrAJNzgkkUroHA_oXgDXVcNVCdLMl8wDM9Hm-xwgrc5JbOX-EFXKM/s1600/DSC_0028.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0XIQ755c5j_G5Fumns_mpKBkRg5zSsr0jVsyCdvIhKmqGOzMefGSNuWwfFLJglWMBe7W1htvVsBr96ZEQTDJWQXCrAJNzgkkUroHA_oXgDXVcNVCdLMl8wDM9Hm-xwgrc5JbOX-EFXKM/s200/DSC_0028.jpg" width="200" /></a>I don't really want to touch on sleep because, wait a minute. What is sleep, again? Ha. All kidding aside, you hate sleep. You come by it honestly, but waking every couple hours isn't easy even on this insomniac. We are up to our elbows in sleep training methods and are trying to figure out what works best for our family. So far, neither you or I are any good at the whole "crying it out" thing. You are a total champ at sleeping nestled up in our arms, but any where else? Yeah, not-so-much.</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUtAdRyL38L51QUc4aMPcdZ7GHvazmOfPPx8DUf3jErhsl-kkjKbscrXiN88KoACGdZ6BjQ_57gEsH7F61Q9st3egxlGMG-tbyc0khnr5WgT9SV1q_l1P7S2eCrJCIJwllAqjHgF-Bv5k/s1600/DSC_0309.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUtAdRyL38L51QUc4aMPcdZ7GHvazmOfPPx8DUf3jErhsl-kkjKbscrXiN88KoACGdZ6BjQ_57gEsH7F61Q9st3egxlGMG-tbyc0khnr5WgT9SV1q_l1P7S2eCrJCIJwllAqjHgF-Bv5k/s200/DSC_0309.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div>But in GOOD news, you no longer despise your car seat! Thank the ever-loving God! We were all but ready to sell the Jeep and walk everywhere because it was so awful every. single. time you were in the car. For our trip, we left dark and early in the morning for Lakewood, and you literally slept from the second we hit I-90, all the way until right before I-5! We could hardly believe it! Ever since, you're a champ in your seat. We don't understand it, but we're certainly not complaining.</div><div><br />
</div><div>All in all, you are a total joy. And even though most days, we're completely exhausted, and have given ourselves bedtimes as early as 7:30, we think we'll keep you around. We couldn't ask for a better baby.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Love you bunches, </div><div><br />
</div><div>Mommy</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjNi_Osas0I4cohlTPk7jH-fXSElYrqG9E_dkPb5QKqdWG_0LXvQtxRZ1jiarSF-YJCVF0QvM0rKpWmuTMoLjJBunUc5MkstNo-V6M9xyrQ2-0KdcOOoZ-BrJB_mucdmdgenKbeOOr05I/s1600/DSC_0596.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjNi_Osas0I4cohlTPk7jH-fXSElYrqG9E_dkPb5QKqdWG_0LXvQtxRZ1jiarSF-YJCVF0QvM0rKpWmuTMoLjJBunUc5MkstNo-V6M9xyrQ2-0KdcOOoZ-BrJB_mucdmdgenKbeOOr05I/s320/DSC_0596.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><div>Your Favorite Things:</div><div><br />
</div><div>There really is no need to make a list, because for the most part they are all the same. Water and your puppies remain two of the most exciting things in your life. You are still a pretty big fan of books. You absolutely adore being tickled. Daddy usually makes you laugh the best. You are just a happy, giggly baby, and you really enjoy most everything.</div><div><br />
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</div>Kristin and Robhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13750304076655687940noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5982576450592164830.post-37509850994614446102010-09-15T19:55:00.000-07:002010-09-17T09:04:19.414-07:00Four Months<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilXGZgn6_ZBFMiknldjTIKcKgpdHVGlEvOCkY2k6_DgvpE029qUzL-VikJxHvcR2IE4Wqdvhs-8qxOmKtNvVk1QHW5rNiQNufNJlkETT2ZG8YCVBzmRyQ_uL-iHI7j-_oRDDrOJ_wVGW0/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilXGZgn6_ZBFMiknldjTIKcKgpdHVGlEvOCkY2k6_DgvpE029qUzL-VikJxHvcR2IE4Wqdvhs-8qxOmKtNvVk1QHW5rNiQNufNJlkETT2ZG8YCVBzmRyQ_uL-iHI7j-_oRDDrOJ_wVGW0/s200/1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div>Four Months. An entire third of a year. Two more times of this and we'll be sitting around a table blowing out the candle on your first birthday cake.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHsyMPke3N5t4vGvVJmr0ckWu12Qo3NLCV80K-7eUIbrkoL-CrbcJT5QEY1hGityIHDUbK87_FNVZeU_swOu1m7NNEg61-K-REv6CgzIPEgp9krWstKoqI2wP47yNC1YXTKKML7Kha9JI/s1600/IMAG0956.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHsyMPke3N5t4vGvVJmr0ckWu12Qo3NLCV80K-7eUIbrkoL-CrbcJT5QEY1hGityIHDUbK87_FNVZeU_swOu1m7NNEg61-K-REv6CgzIPEgp9krWstKoqI2wP47yNC1YXTKKML7Kha9JI/s200/IMAG0956.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And holy developmental leaps and bounds! A short while ago I wrote about <a href="http://teambilliau.blogspot.com/2010/08/different-child.html">how much you've changed</a>, and the growing and learning just keeps coming. I guess that shouldn't come as a surprise because growing up seems to be the current trend, but it is somehow different with my own. Being in the midst of you changing and learning and growing every day makes it so much more thrilling, exciting and yet somehow unbelievable. Because yesterday I could gurgle and blow bubbles and dance around like a fool and you wouldn't give me a second glance, but today a simple funny sound sends you into a gut-wrenching laughing frenzy. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgscqPEqngfYB6q_eEooqGlVIhp7ZZVvHWcFDB5427pJXWOfyaawpsMP72DDLwADVt-kCrd4pdPZWCQ48R4GuDEdVd5I33ihn28ZMfUKxiLCJ8yHI1HiDaNTTC07hB5MNV3RbFutRlGdzQ/s1600/IMAG0814.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgscqPEqngfYB6q_eEooqGlVIhp7ZZVvHWcFDB5427pJXWOfyaawpsMP72DDLwADVt-kCrd4pdPZWCQ48R4GuDEdVd5I33ihn28ZMfUKxiLCJ8yHI1HiDaNTTC07hB5MNV3RbFutRlGdzQ/s200/IMAG0814.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">You have <i>finally </i>moved to eating every three hours from every two. (Thank you, Lord!) It is amazing how much difference that one, measly hour makes. We used to schedule our days in two hour chunks, and now that we've moved to three I feel like we've been granted more hours in the day! So much more can get done. I have also become more comfortable with nursing in public (using my Hooter Hider, of course) which makes getting errands done more convenient. And you are so enamored with people watching, that you will go over four hours between meals if we are out and about because, "Look! A person! AH! Another one! And LOOK! A child! And walls and floors and shoes and heads and clothes and colors and movement and things and things and things!" You are an absolute joy and flirt with pretty much everyone we come into contact with.<br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTNHmsuyRP9VOHJYLJsmxT7mgvdqtCwR5RLu2cUwnKUte6Uuc0pOl1sPjEYxhHJvvRs4NZgBcH_KIs8BdLmyfG0Fzjp66g-bLXtQgrBNQHVidNd3mJyIHQi4kpy8LCTkBBqqT2xNcJ7oc/s1600/DSC_0102.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTNHmsuyRP9VOHJYLJsmxT7mgvdqtCwR5RLu2cUwnKUte6Uuc0pOl1sPjEYxhHJvvRs4NZgBcH_KIs8BdLmyfG0Fzjp66g-bLXtQgrBNQHVidNd3mJyIHQi4kpy8LCTkBBqqT2xNcJ7oc/s200/DSC_0102.JPG" width="200" /></a>We continue to create a long list of firsts, and this month has been no exception. You've knocked out all sorts of things, your first fair and 'pooping 36,000 feet about ground' included. We took you to the North Idaho Fair a couple weeks ago and oh. my. word. you were in love. I have never seen a baby your size laughing out loud at the animals until you. You thought the goats were the funniest thing in existence (save for your dog, Baylee.) The only animals you weren't so fond of were the Draft Horses, which, hello? Their heads were bigger than your entire bodies so I can't really blame you. You didn't really notice the bunnies and you were asleep by the reptiles and 'random critters' barns. You sat quietly on our laps throughout the entire hypnotist show, enamored with all of the people around us and on stage. Overall, the fair was a success!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB89NoczcMJtObmGr24dNJJpfjXv9EiUf0hBLEvd_bDfDwrrwMsgzV8YKbRmoT0Oohgaj5RV45ahpTfJ2chvZYio5VyCnRk6P4T6e-B0fSpSrbIIEwvlyfnlJo7e2J6OpnSxH9jQcKg4A/s1600/DSC_0120.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB89NoczcMJtObmGr24dNJJpfjXv9EiUf0hBLEvd_bDfDwrrwMsgzV8YKbRmoT0Oohgaj5RV45ahpTfJ2chvZYio5VyCnRk6P4T6e-B0fSpSrbIIEwvlyfnlJo7e2J6OpnSxH9jQcKg4A/s320/DSC_0120.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgziyOekcxzvreQpMYO5wQPDHSsRhV54pbn6VqsPnb6t-4ou4nHlWDIcqIzOybLwUxTO6nNru3LySqZY38Qa6gkMEW5Mb9g_KOG89Uj8wvi1KOL2F0URzxToSzhwA9u8vgwTyr9le9W8MI/s1600/IMAG0919.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgziyOekcxzvreQpMYO5wQPDHSsRhV54pbn6VqsPnb6t-4ou4nHlWDIcqIzOybLwUxTO6nNru3LySqZY38Qa6gkMEW5Mb9g_KOG89Uj8wvi1KOL2F0URzxToSzhwA9u8vgwTyr9le9W8MI/s320/IMAG0919.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And then the airplane ride. Dun, dun, dun. Actually, my dear, you were quite amazing. Our wonderful daughter, whom we can set our clocks to based on your every-other-afternoon poop schedule, decided you just had to go, on a non-poop day, at 5 in the morning, 36,000 feet about the ground. We were joking that the pressure change literally squeezed it right out of you. I'm sorry we made fun of your pooping. Truly, I am. Fortunately, we had the row to ourselves so I was able to change you on the seat next to me because I have absolutely no idea how one is supposed to change a baby in those phone booth sized bathrooms on board. You were on a total of four airplanes in three days and you couldn't have been better. The only time you got a little fussy, was for about 15, 20 minutes on the descend down into Seattle from Denver. And everyones ears were really bothered by that particular descent, so I don't blame you. We're so proud of our little traveler! </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_YBOuGKhmGebje3_EEg8zmLn24632grmt8t7STNuEdmHz_VQ-7bSuGvwOZct3hZNawKkGkgrP8Z6XSLVqybRTEzh1ReSyrTYWSkX9rjTgNOlb-zYBqMhwcSQKF62Ehf8WbQ8QarJDA18/s1600/IMAG0904.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_YBOuGKhmGebje3_EEg8zmLn24632grmt8t7STNuEdmHz_VQ-7bSuGvwOZct3hZNawKkGkgrP8Z6XSLVqybRTEzh1ReSyrTYWSkX9rjTgNOlb-zYBqMhwcSQKF62Ehf8WbQ8QarJDA18/s200/IMAG0904.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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In other traveling news, your car seat constantly tries to kill you. Or at least thats what you think it's doing. For some reason, you absolutely loathe it. Simply getting into the car, not even in your seat yet, elicits a giant frown, followed by explosive screaming. If we put your in your seat when it isn't in the car yet, the second your little bum touches it, explosive screaming. We joke that 'car seat' is a cuss word in this house. You seriously hate the thing and we can't figure out why. Let me tell you though, it makes us think twice about going out when we really don't need to. You've forced us to go green and conserve gas by getting everything done in one outing. :)</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlRGSdDAds_iluYZ6lTWa88UUXaJChEWtVro6KDQHwASkozY2vw9glnEDI-ZyMXXA27M6ntcKBTnQNf2VYm3W0cue81NnldJDdRTsLzxIORD2kxi9fHfRh_AsMcKAeZsSW6nsGMDLxOOU/s1600/DSC_0040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlRGSdDAds_iluYZ6lTWa88UUXaJChEWtVro6KDQHwASkozY2vw9glnEDI-ZyMXXA27M6ntcKBTnQNf2VYm3W0cue81NnldJDdRTsLzxIORD2kxi9fHfRh_AsMcKAeZsSW6nsGMDLxOOU/s200/DSC_0040.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">You are getting so ready to eat, and whenever you are close to us and our forks while we're eating, you lean in with your mouth wide open trying to take a bite. I had to take my burger to go from Red Robin yesterday because you refused to be put down, but every time I brought my burger to my mouth you took a giant handful out of it. You can already drink out of a cup (obviously with a TON of assistance and mess, but you know what to do...) as well as a straw. Anytime we're drinking anything you think you should have some too. Obviously, you've only had water and breastmilk but everything looks tasty to you!<br />
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You are officially a roller. Unless being well entertained, you refuse to be on your belly and you have the ability as well as knowledge of your ability, to flop over to your back. You are definitely very proud of this feat and while we're very excited for you to be able to move around better, we do slightly mourn the days of worry-less couch, bed and other elevated surface time. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyr6u00jHndNtn4VqnEd1tDEgGszQ2t-MqyOWJpXc7BSYBwwkHGTfEMyVrX1HFYtSyj_rU9pYHYavQSsxw_UBNFXlJhwJ5b6vuEIf-euKt_dO7BuuNo-cXlRZ3f2jnoo_rZFg_8HwAz_Y/s1600/DSC_0078.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyr6u00jHndNtn4VqnEd1tDEgGszQ2t-MqyOWJpXc7BSYBwwkHGTfEMyVrX1HFYtSyj_rU9pYHYavQSsxw_UBNFXlJhwJ5b6vuEIf-euKt_dO7BuuNo-cXlRZ3f2jnoo_rZFg_8HwAz_Y/s200/DSC_0078.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">We are so absolutely enamored with you, it is kind of silly. The second you catch our eye, we're rewarded with a giant, toothless grin. When you're tired or feeling cuddly, you love to sit and play with our face with your unbelievably soft hands. And when we talk to you, you talk back in the sweetest, softest oohs, awws, and coos. You are too cute, sweet and lovable for words. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I consider it a privilege and an honor to get to watch you grow up, let alone be called your Mommy. I love you so much, bug.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhDkyAoo9iCBAS9nFQZTvFF6GmtVvUivwoKRzdX8zMOgjrJCAJvOpbAor8sDz0ZmFjLnP2mpZX9C2-5gMYqZ3pgCiXSucmzLvwUNF-8F_T6mJ1TlK8CppcEnbaIWn0bfBSOGdnPcDCe4U/s1600/IMAG0966.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhDkyAoo9iCBAS9nFQZTvFF6GmtVvUivwoKRzdX8zMOgjrJCAJvOpbAor8sDz0ZmFjLnP2mpZX9C2-5gMYqZ3pgCiXSucmzLvwUNF-8F_T6mJ1TlK8CppcEnbaIWn0bfBSOGdnPcDCe4U/s200/IMAG0966.jpg" width="150" /></a>Love, Mommy</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Your Favorite Things:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">1.) Your Sippy Cup- Holy Spumoni Batman! You would think we put liquid drugs in that thing. I bought one one a whim, seeing how much you like to take sips of water out of our cups and it was (and is) a giant success! It is one that has a thick, rubber spout so I think more than anything you like how it feels when you gum it. But you definitely know how to get water out of it, and do so when you want to. Unfortaenly, you usually end up soaking your entire outfit, but Mommy and Daddy are getting smart and starting to put a bib on when you drink out of it!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">2.) Your Puppies- They really are your favorite things. You hardly ever look at them without cracking up. When they're around, you wont look at anything but them. Whenever we're taking pictures (a common practice in our household) we usually have to put the dogs away so you'll look at the camera!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">3.) Spoons- I suppose this goes along with loving your sippy cup and water, but you LOVE to drink/eat water off spoons. You will actually grab the spoon and put it in your mouth and then yell when we take it away since, you know, metal spoons really aren't the best play toy for a four month old.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">4.) Pink Elephant- Your Great-Grandma and Grandpa bought you (actually let you pick out) this large, pink elephant that dances and sings the ABC song. You absolutely love this thing. You can be throwing a full-blown fit screaming and arching your back and we press the little button and that things starts singing and dancing and you are instantly happy. Which is all well and good except for the voice of the elephant is SO OBNOXIOUS.<br />
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</div></div>Kristin and Robhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13750304076655687940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5982576450592164830.post-58770953321164742912010-08-26T10:27:00.000-07:002010-08-26T10:34:20.758-07:00A Different ChildSometime over the last week or so, we woke up with a new child.<br />
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It has been fairly easy to see the changes in Reagan from when we first brought her home. The smiling, the cooing, the more focused eye contact. But today we have an entirely different child than the first Reagan we met 3 months ago. Heck, we have an entirely different child than the Reagan we knew a couple <i>weeks </i>ago.<br />
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Reagan has become intentional.<br />
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Intentional is the best way to describe it. Before, she would randomly bat at toys, and whenever something touched her hand she would grab it. Now, she reaches out with the intention to grab. She grabs hanging toys, toys just laying next to her, blankets, clothes, hair (ouch), hands. Yesterday she tried to grab the water streaming from the shower head. She tries to reach out and touch the dogs. (They aren't too sure about this new trick and back away most times) She will roll to grab a toy on the ground that's within reach. She reaches for and grabs my face while nursing. And everything she grabs always goes straight. to. her. mouth.<br />
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Suddenly, she finds things funny. And she cracks up over them. She used to make a low, guttural sound that was pretty clearly a laugh but we woke up on our 2nd anniversary (8/16/10) and she was busting a gut. (Pretty sweet anniversary present from a 3 month old, eh?) See?<br />
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Then, she decided she would have no more of tummy time when she didn't want it, and on August 18th, she up and rolled over. Every. single. time. that we put her on her belly, she'd flop right back onto her back. She is entirely capable of going back to belly, too. But she loathes her belly so much, that I'm fairly certain she just doesn't want to.<br />
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If anything within eye sight moves, she follows it. The dogs bounding (naughtily) around the couches. Daddy walking into the room. Bringing food from your plate to your mouth. Cars on the road. Even your lips as they move to talk. Anything moving, and she is locked on.<br />
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And then, to top everything and just blow us entirely out of the water, the morning of the 23rd, in my constant attempt to get her to smile and giggle, I was 'blowing bubbles' or 'raspberries' or whatever you want to call it when you vibrate your lips together. And then she did it back to me. My mom and I thought it was a fluke until she did it over and over and over. At first she was concentrating so hard, would sometimes forget to let the air through her lips, or her tounge would escape. But she got a pretty good handle on it and we spent the rest of the day spitting at each other. And now, she'll catch your eye and blow bubbles. It is her new trick and she (and her parents) are very proud of it. (And oh how the drool flows while she does it!)<br />
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It is so fun and exciting to watch her learn to interact with her environment. This whole growing up thing really works!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivCkBOvWrdwqGnvpFWlATVmKun5LzXAF-r59iyWg8fO2BIzH8TzsxsewTGYA_eAsRpYU9fFkoZoV8Xfhal_ce9yOIZLXexoWcDEfzOY9nTGnGMaxh0CLY2ZxRjtMl767SLUl3QsoxFp6Q/s1600/DSC_0116.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivCkBOvWrdwqGnvpFWlATVmKun5LzXAF-r59iyWg8fO2BIzH8TzsxsewTGYA_eAsRpYU9fFkoZoV8Xfhal_ce9yOIZLXexoWcDEfzOY9nTGnGMaxh0CLY2ZxRjtMl767SLUl3QsoxFp6Q/s320/DSC_0116.jpg" /></a></div>Kristin and Robhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13750304076655687940noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5982576450592164830.post-88899797902543548802010-08-16T22:51:00.000-07:002010-08-16T22:51:35.693-07:002nd AnniversaryPeople ask if I can believe it has already been two years since that gorgeous, hot day in August when we pledged our love. And while I still remember our wedding day like it was yesterday, I find it hard to believe it's only been two years. I feel like we have always been a part of eachother, not to mention we have packed more things into the last two years than some do in a lifetime.<br />
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All I know is I'm looking forward to many, many more years with this man.<br />
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I love you, sweet boy. Through sickness, health and just so-so days. For better or for worse. Through being rich, poor, or middle class.Through your faults and mine. Always.<br />
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A special thanks to our amazingly kind and thoughtful daughter who blessed us with some of the best gifts this world has to offer. All today, our three month old began cracking up loud and often while we made fools of ourselves copying her. She also gave us a whole two hours, from feeding to feeding, of quiet, content play time on her mat which allowed her Daddy and I some quality, uninterrupted time together. We could hardly believe how long she played by herself. Then to top it all off, she fell asleep on my shoulder without an iota of fuss. That is unheard of. Thanks, Reagan. :)Kristin and Robhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13750304076655687940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5982576450592164830.post-50383621299916499212010-08-14T22:57:00.000-07:002010-08-18T22:19:29.936-07:00Three MonthsDear Reagan-<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZAqXeXhbDh28AMtS6_VBc8Xvmbqe2ha55LHvC6leFMt26QIg4H8vYkZeXt97IJrn-3juYLRRpwT-dasE8mCIEx_AB9Q4JfFKAdbr7jj-TBVanRAesoxj7S8EAZXX0lyM1LwJDFn7xY6s/s1600/DSCN1828.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZAqXeXhbDh28AMtS6_VBc8Xvmbqe2ha55LHvC6leFMt26QIg4H8vYkZeXt97IJrn-3juYLRRpwT-dasE8mCIEx_AB9Q4JfFKAdbr7jj-TBVanRAesoxj7S8EAZXX0lyM1LwJDFn7xY6s/s200/DSCN1828.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>You're three months old today, and I am afraid I'm forgetting how small you were. Yes, yes, I know, you're still <i>only </i>three months old. You're still tiny and wiggly and warm. But I know you were smaller and I'm already struggling to remember it. And that stings a little.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMLyuKHA2ugTiKdY7mLy09H7ti886Dby4OfYhAx0-USp9vx4gEMWn2YFtYTsLNJS8tUk5EGASsrnvq4MfbVxbRojAFjECGvimep4DT4Av8ZIISoyqZ8SDWF_uqygO23MZh14i6MMoFneA/s1600/IMAG0490.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMLyuKHA2ugTiKdY7mLy09H7ti886Dby4OfYhAx0-USp9vx4gEMWn2YFtYTsLNJS8tUk5EGASsrnvq4MfbVxbRojAFjECGvimep4DT4Av8ZIISoyqZ8SDWF_uqygO23MZh14i6MMoFneA/s200/IMAG0490.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>People always say "I can't believe (enter child) is (enter age) already! Where did the time go? Just yesterday..." But I think it's a lie. And until now I could be accused of it myself. But today I realized I can't believe you are <i>only </i>three months old. I feel like you have been here forever. Like for as long as I've been, so have you. That you and Daddy and I have never been separate. Like we are one unit; who has always been and will always be. You just fit so well with us that there are no cracks or space between telling of what used to be. Life without a baby, without you, though only experienced three months ago, is an eternity away. And I wouldn't have it any other way.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbN0d4QckkZba9DoA0SKiFYf-jkoMjTMssg7zLbi00OO6CoP6S7WN10pBW7ejPr-deSnr_JsM35Qb7chK3OzckT6t-XMgSlLk4mgHWHcd1KUEVIdABcEckTxxcOrz_zHlamgrZ4WVlDrM/s1600/IMAG0511.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbN0d4QckkZba9DoA0SKiFYf-jkoMjTMssg7zLbi00OO6CoP6S7WN10pBW7ejPr-deSnr_JsM35Qb7chK3OzckT6t-XMgSlLk4mgHWHcd1KUEVIdABcEckTxxcOrz_zHlamgrZ4WVlDrM/s200/IMAG0511.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>You are literally changing daily. One day you began spastically reaching for dangling toys, and today you effortlessly (though very proudly) bat and grab and chew on them.The chew is very recent, and you still haven't <i>quite </i>perfected it. But whenever you grab something, it makes its way towards your mouth. Clothes, blankets, toys, fingers, hair...you name it, it's mouth bound. You actually being able to play is very exciting to me. For selfish reasons, you play in your jumperoo or on your mat for longer periods of time, allowing me to get some things done. But also because I love that you're able to <i>do </i>something. That you have moved passed the sitting and starring blankly to being able to interact with your environment and enjoy it! I am highly anticipating watching you become even more able to play and (gasp!) move around! (Many people gave me the advice to not ever wish movement upon you. But I cannot allow myself to be that selfish. I know you are going to LOVE being able to get where you want to go!)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHeYqLGPc-wb81Ug8ugh4yOHkOVMCp0NibxOTPjBY51Uw7OrVyIZn3ZtGES15895gJLPEAFfsoGe_XbfwP4V2FCqOcG1d5vndaUpQMXBCUwAaZQhHdRj4IBdAae4uad-zx1qsXj3T2t9U/s1600/IMAG0643.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHeYqLGPc-wb81Ug8ugh4yOHkOVMCp0NibxOTPjBY51Uw7OrVyIZn3ZtGES15895gJLPEAFfsoGe_XbfwP4V2FCqOcG1d5vndaUpQMXBCUwAaZQhHdRj4IBdAae4uad-zx1qsXj3T2t9U/s200/IMAG0643.jpg" width="150" /></a>Speaking of moving, we haven't achieved roll over quite yet. But you are certainly getting close. You are only happy on your belly for minutes at a time, but you are definitely starting to get your muscles working with you. From your back, you can roll to your side. This is your new favorite way to sleep. As soon as I lay you down, usually swaddled, for night you grunt and groan and thrash about until you're poor little head is thrown back, but SUCCESS! You manage to get on your side. Also on your back, you can spin in circles. We'll lay you on your play mat, only to find you minutes later in an entirely different position than we placed you in. I realize this is entirely unintentional, you just don't. ever. stop. moving. You kick and flail and kick and wiggle and kick and arch and kick and kick and kick. And all that movement literally propels you around the floor.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5hrxEinbX51XkhWr4_SvzpfAkrJLd5jVbGDvEYWPCNPGRREGwi8X0PUy461U5dWNCP-SRkH5veNIuKFuuSSPn-SqcXEQRYCLEz9885kuM7pGYVubQj6WgMPDFdHvKf_MmJS-QsgIuWPY/s1600/IMAG0695.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5hrxEinbX51XkhWr4_SvzpfAkrJLd5jVbGDvEYWPCNPGRREGwi8X0PUy461U5dWNCP-SRkH5veNIuKFuuSSPn-SqcXEQRYCLEz9885kuM7pGYVubQj6WgMPDFdHvKf_MmJS-QsgIuWPY/s200/IMAG0695.jpg" width="150" /></a><br />
Sleep is somewhat of a sore subject. You take beautiful and sweet to whole new levels while you sleep, but while you're getting there you give Reagan Rage an honest meaning. You fight and fight and <i>fight </i>sleep. It can make for some very frustrating times. Especially because once you have actually fallen asleep (which, of course, you had to be rocked and sung to to get there) you don't want to be put down. Which eliminates naps as a break for me and makes getting anything done besides loving on you (which is my favorite thing anyways) absolutely, sometimes frustratingly, impossible. You have still remained a pretty good nighttime sleeper, rarely fighting sleep at bedtime, but in the last few weeks you have begun waking up twice in the night instead of your typical one time. I have said it before and I'll say it again, I truly don't mind getting up to feed you. But I wouldn't complain about a little more sleep either.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiam02NKJQ417R4-OIOq6GlN1cWZcQ83MkHyB-5dwXvpYGIAb1W1yQisMpvBJxzuGk1QzeyrLoCtPSkVvixt1q3mJ4xiBdD_Ua5OBvyMv5-nA0Tgbw27xuwlyIPevdQ3R41YDG7s5xc41I/s1600/IMAG0671.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiam02NKJQ417R4-OIOq6GlN1cWZcQ83MkHyB-5dwXvpYGIAb1W1yQisMpvBJxzuGk1QzeyrLoCtPSkVvixt1q3mJ4xiBdD_Ua5OBvyMv5-nA0Tgbw27xuwlyIPevdQ3R41YDG7s5xc41I/s200/IMAG0671.jpg" width="150" /></a><br />
You have achieved the oh-so-typical baby bald spot right smack in the middle of the back of your head. Your hair, or lack there of, in general these days is kind of goofy looking. You have very little on top, some longish hair in the back towards the top, a bald spot, then more longish hair on the bottom in the back. It's a little funky but you manage to pull it off and still look completely adorable, of course.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgoygH-71UT0gZdn8zB5ceQLCdbGZGQxQ2lRXJa_-AqH5e29qcqureNJR6lSgF6Svz_39uykUH29VW4MM0aPXWhuubfJQSwT95H9y8Tq6-7o_QwlSvvoRF625z_jEoac9fcSYZzrxg-G4/s1600/IMAG0689.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgoygH-71UT0gZdn8zB5ceQLCdbGZGQxQ2lRXJa_-AqH5e29qcqureNJR6lSgF6Svz_39uykUH29VW4MM0aPXWhuubfJQSwT95H9y8Tq6-7o_QwlSvvoRF625z_jEoac9fcSYZzrxg-G4/s200/IMAG0689.jpg" width="150" /></a>Over the last few weeks I had been saying I think you finally had gotten some chunk in your cheeks. From day one you have been a little baby. Very petite with small, feminine features. You remained steadfast in the 25th percentile for weight and were just downright little. Don't get me wrong, you are still a pretty little baby. But in a mere 12 weeks, you gained over 5 pounds! That is just crazy to me. At 12 1/2 weeks, you weighed in at 12 pounds 4 ounces! You took a giant leap from the 25th straight up to the 50th percentile for weight! It is hard to believe, though, because you still look like such a little peanut. But a little peanut with some chunk in her cheeks.<br />
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Your Daddy and I truly cannot get enough of you. You have begun laughing in a more understandable way (you used to make this low, guttural sound that was clearly you attempting a laugh) and it is the most joyful sound on earth. You usually do it quite a few times in a row, so we're thinking you like the sound of it too.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh825uyQtzLNANUqIFi6Caj9dVuv78-sbVhmZUdaHvjDszx3DGqs52twK45o0w3gM_TRLokVNtyAnfSPSJOXc-kjVrM6XbQ96bwdAo3uc1Y_Uz3vOI2sUrCj26XI6AkOP5V_5ssexMQO0o/s1600/DSCN1882.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh825uyQtzLNANUqIFi6Caj9dVuv78-sbVhmZUdaHvjDszx3DGqs52twK45o0w3gM_TRLokVNtyAnfSPSJOXc-kjVrM6XbQ96bwdAo3uc1Y_Uz3vOI2sUrCj26XI6AkOP5V_5ssexMQO0o/s320/DSCN1882.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
Reagan, Reagan, Reagan. I knew I was going to love being a mother. I think everyone who knows me knew I would love it. But it is drastically different, amazingly better, and offers more incredible rewards than I could have ever imagined. I thought I knew what love was. And I did, to an extent. Your Daddy and I are giddy in love. But it is an entirely different ball game, the love I have for you. And I hope to God I can show you how immensely, how deeply, I love you. I hope you will never be without that knowledge. And I'm sure at times I will fail. Just know that there is absolutely nothing you can do to make me love you more or less. I am so completely enamored by you and this love you have grown within me. Nothing can ever change that.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxRz_hyphenhyphen5GcScGa_Po72Ki5ym9ozGZVGwdm6PSdMMB8s6GXh_U1Gd9QKY9SlMTX5FtZg_rXGVexZREWZT5P5WBwW7PWjO4IWN8MElgEeU9K7scxLQaTcRsJ0hdVIM2J8ivIkX2fuRo9b-o/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxRz_hyphenhyphen5GcScGa_Po72Ki5ym9ozGZVGwdm6PSdMMB8s6GXh_U1Gd9QKY9SlMTX5FtZg_rXGVexZREWZT5P5WBwW7PWjO4IWN8MElgEeU9K7scxLQaTcRsJ0hdVIM2J8ivIkX2fuRo9b-o/s320/3.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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To the moon and back, my sweet girl.<br />
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-Your Mommy<br />
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Your Favorite Things<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><ol><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIq5Fl2D83EyCzADg9Npjbah7EWEpS_i5yHarZ9VFO4WhKB6QSjXS7BV91fzIKMK3aUm3pSLVXtxaX73bhyhJ-FQh-sTtTpAi5eWyBHa3Ik-c8a5DVLBhLqRDEDT_JuYiKsBOUyL4hHq4/s1600/IMAG0776.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIq5Fl2D83EyCzADg9Npjbah7EWEpS_i5yHarZ9VFO4WhKB6QSjXS7BV91fzIKMK3aUm3pSLVXtxaX73bhyhJ-FQh-sTtTpAi5eWyBHa3Ik-c8a5DVLBhLqRDEDT_JuYiKsBOUyL4hHq4/s200/IMAG0776.jpg" width="200" /></a>
<li>Your Puppies. I didn't realize you would take notice to them so quickly, but ohmygoodness you love those crazy beasts. You can sit and stare at them for minutes on end, and anytime one of them comes up to you you are all grins. Bella especially loves you, constantly wanting to give you kisses until Mommy or Daddy yells at her to stop. Baylee procures the most smiles, though. Probably because she's so goofy looking.</li>
<li>Your play mat. You still absolutely love this thing. However, looking at the pretty baby in the mirror no longer receives most of the attention. Now, trying to fit as much of that hanging lion in your mouth as possible occupies your time.</li>
<li>Water. You LOVE being in water. You shower with me almost daily and you love being under the flow of water. Even when it goes directly on your head and over your face you are as happy as can be. You most definitely take after Mama in this regard. </li>
<li>Your car seat frog toy. Holy cow you love that thing. It is one of the toys that really enticed you to start reaching for things initially. You will sit there and spin and spin and spin those silly toys! You sometimes even complain when the music turns off. Teaching you to press that button is one of the first things on my to-do list.</li>
</ol><div><br />
<object height="385" width="640"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/AjjZr7W9_cw?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/AjjZr7W9_cw?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object></div>Kristin and Robhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13750304076655687940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5982576450592164830.post-2617181019531208592010-08-09T23:01:00.000-07:002010-08-09T23:06:09.916-07:00Sleep<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">She fights sleep. Always has. I'm afraid she always will.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji02LUAD87POx9tBlw_pgTvDdAsEWCRkzgTet2uM8hthxI3uud3dBw_nG3GzJ37uXzS6ANzqJPU-VNkr3uLY_AOPQK8gbH1A29kYEjc1wQhgW_19GfIY1gIC7PxBaJgF3cvQ1ijzn4Dao/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji02LUAD87POx9tBlw_pgTvDdAsEWCRkzgTet2uM8hthxI3uud3dBw_nG3GzJ37uXzS6ANzqJPU-VNkr3uLY_AOPQK8gbH1A29kYEjc1wQhgW_19GfIY1gIC7PxBaJgF3cvQ1ijzn4Dao/s320/3.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Sometimes I can't wait for naptime.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUzg458K52Ito1M98zPK98LuXbPJErTJO36IaffI_dzPYhJBzzJcwC7U8j0TPPmQNELPQkkbdybl3nGL77LI2pI27wR8Tjjqq8R120AKdESBLM9EJI5WrnoGVs0NzSAuhs-aR9PKCohyg/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUzg458K52Ito1M98zPK98LuXbPJErTJO36IaffI_dzPYhJBzzJcwC7U8j0TPPmQNELPQkkbdybl3nGL77LI2pI27wR8Tjjqq8R120AKdESBLM9EJI5WrnoGVs0NzSAuhs-aR9PKCohyg/s320/1.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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For some time to get things I <i>need </i>to get done. Some time to get things I <i>want </i>to get done.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy2Z3SadaWTgPYtkXas0XRByXVrEBMxZsqJZLWngKKOGtQ__iWgxmSHuijRR4WJUYj2ImRQT45ONZOzVK6YyRujZpiivsWzvHnf6MuTP5EXB6clr2mAGe0RHF5P7df1JEKXkrwhp2MVLU/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy2Z3SadaWTgPYtkXas0XRByXVrEBMxZsqJZLWngKKOGtQ__iWgxmSHuijRR4WJUYj2ImRQT45ONZOzVK6YyRujZpiivsWzvHnf6MuTP5EXB6clr2mAGe0RHF5P7df1JEKXkrwhp2MVLU/s320/2.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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As I rock my tired baby, I sit and contemplate these things.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf-hMKtjet5AYPteuTPB3tsyNBOU7hKLPjaLB_-FypzqT1GGe4VqROl3_cWtK_srDGcSaHSWZkDKNlT77VOKlAPiIfLRb3Z9PoIpWgZ9vSQ-o5GUrh38wX-B-lYS3xFW1wvu2BsK55t58/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf-hMKtjet5AYPteuTPB3tsyNBOU7hKLPjaLB_-FypzqT1GGe4VqROl3_cWtK_srDGcSaHSWZkDKNlT77VOKlAPiIfLRb3Z9PoIpWgZ9vSQ-o5GUrh38wX-B-lYS3xFW1wvu2BsK55t58/s320/4.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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While she fights.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW9KKsJAUrOFum1pwUiYFjANYNkzc8iYeiY7FlyrzADTYsOfWkvf1iw9sPtG53yYp0fClwV8v0dtjtlgGep8jEYN-xkheyBgC5vSw2uipYw54wbZa67cr2IsmhDeS68I_psEx4MFvPTac/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW9KKsJAUrOFum1pwUiYFjANYNkzc8iYeiY7FlyrzADTYsOfWkvf1iw9sPtG53yYp0fClwV8v0dtjtlgGep8jEYN-xkheyBgC5vSw2uipYw54wbZa67cr2IsmhDeS68I_psEx4MFvPTac/s320/5.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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I sometimes beg her out loud to give in. "Sleep, baby girl. You are exhausted. You'll be much happier after a good, long nap. And Mama can get some things done. A win, win."<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKxriArWjcSdpSRrwyzGhPcwwgLcQZ1qxXG2KNLdtLWYQqhSlYDBUGJcnsmbEwMFQA2_yurgBI9lLHVAx-szRSexKLtOu-GQTw3cd0VGxBGXlUyhYib_Zr0JZ8YCdfEgsnoToH1u6AoWg/s1600/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKxriArWjcSdpSRrwyzGhPcwwgLcQZ1qxXG2KNLdtLWYQqhSlYDBUGJcnsmbEwMFQA2_yurgBI9lLHVAx-szRSexKLtOu-GQTw3cd0VGxBGXlUyhYib_Zr0JZ8YCdfEgsnoToH1u6AoWg/s320/6.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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She eventually gives in. At least she usually does.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjzgE6vN_8g_k0ICpIgvlFzsgYwIPNjo1Div1NOK7etiQHD8NTCg2KDCAS0luNdfzwfGD7x2KtHIJHZmx-MCD7Ia3dicLAJWVJ1BoGtwFw2hyHZadfYdCVA5JVSt5QH0bHLrSudHMx27Y/s1600/9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjzgE6vN_8g_k0ICpIgvlFzsgYwIPNjo1Div1NOK7etiQHD8NTCg2KDCAS0luNdfzwfGD7x2KtHIJHZmx-MCD7Ia3dicLAJWVJ1BoGtwFw2hyHZadfYdCVA5JVSt5QH0bHLrSudHMx27Y/s320/9.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
And she is still.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi28iH57k1uulQtiEiidRSFhXODYUpNUjnoA8Ec9k1cR9JWjMV_9W-nguvRbAofLUAS4phN6BxrOf8hFPGKDbhoRA5Szus-PHeCOlxdAW73tYH51E8y1KIRQnFDzvqoUHZBhuzrkHbiK6E/s1600/8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi28iH57k1uulQtiEiidRSFhXODYUpNUjnoA8Ec9k1cR9JWjMV_9W-nguvRbAofLUAS4phN6BxrOf8hFPGKDbhoRA5Szus-PHeCOlxdAW73tYH51E8y1KIRQnFDzvqoUHZBhuzrkHbiK6E/s320/8.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
And I sit there watching her, and think about the dishwasher that needs emptying.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLhNvPEyJ6BNCH6C1WYk4tr-V0b0Z-ZLFnMwcz8L2AoBQ76WgkyP-0040YO2ET-8LB8Z4uo-Gd2-KxaqDRAbImkF9HLbPZ_aDJNVhw1tCouMTKGJxN6AxSmV7RPMIldXPeZMGbXpAVBtI/s1600/7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLhNvPEyJ6BNCH6C1WYk4tr-V0b0Z-ZLFnMwcz8L2AoBQ76WgkyP-0040YO2ET-8LB8Z4uo-Gd2-KxaqDRAbImkF9HLbPZ_aDJNVhw1tCouMTKGJxN6AxSmV7RPMIldXPeZMGbXpAVBtI/s320/7.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
And refilling.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho7eLRxrWYrRg0RuDHmMoOfiIG5UYdg-Y6m-XMe3cTR0mkqCpsk_Dm82pOldeW9azuu5E2g-Py8S42sRx7yKUTYZYRwaiFS8CXLE6T9Pn87-zOXD-iat77aoZ7IhoQ_P9tf4563QRoEc8/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho7eLRxrWYrRg0RuDHmMoOfiIG5UYdg-Y6m-XMe3cTR0mkqCpsk_Dm82pOldeW9azuu5E2g-Py8S42sRx7yKUTYZYRwaiFS8CXLE6T9Pn87-zOXD-iat77aoZ7IhoQ_P9tf4563QRoEc8/s320/10.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
The floors that need mopping.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxnf2g_CclM8MECFITqV70q7wenaQ1VuwgAT-kgEWEx9J0hTmZCEYJHeJURcx-LapxEQsSoWer842hDtO5Kpj-ULhHsXvpwD5bdN1qPE65mAb-Llgv3qHJmBpkWYS-FpjDztLlaB3KjXg/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxnf2g_CclM8MECFITqV70q7wenaQ1VuwgAT-kgEWEx9J0hTmZCEYJHeJURcx-LapxEQsSoWer842hDtO5Kpj-ULhHsXvpwD5bdN1qPE65mAb-Llgv3qHJmBpkWYS-FpjDztLlaB3KjXg/s320/11.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
And the toilets that need scrubbing.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjmVkkcFn3dzyY_QPT8dAupwJu6OGADOPU9-BEBYzrqmj3kGopvKilRFZe2I9Ou9DEIiThvbVXOxx9WpTaa8pCIY4b-KEUyvngsrXeEnOBkNRbwIlRPu5RRi3pCRyrWF2CqNdcdTSDIYk/s1600/14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjmVkkcFn3dzyY_QPT8dAupwJu6OGADOPU9-BEBYzrqmj3kGopvKilRFZe2I9Ou9DEIiThvbVXOxx9WpTaa8pCIY4b-KEUyvngsrXeEnOBkNRbwIlRPu5RRi3pCRyrWF2CqNdcdTSDIYk/s320/14.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
I think about the list of thank-you notes I still have to write.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaVYz7-M0tu1gfr2oj7V78oD9ZLtgFsAELj3QLzZzD7iyPx1WFoC7ur27tqDvKyebcfWg0W1-6c8hsbnqMLexAhPEiMEiqmnDggvYOC9Q1WT4sIS72Pq9xcdGyhHDQ44Z3eZaWbvGuuTQ/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaVYz7-M0tu1gfr2oj7V78oD9ZLtgFsAELj3QLzZzD7iyPx1WFoC7ur27tqDvKyebcfWg0W1-6c8hsbnqMLexAhPEiMEiqmnDggvYOC9Q1WT4sIS72Pq9xcdGyhHDQ44Z3eZaWbvGuuTQ/s320/12.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
And the stack of medical bills I need to pay.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq3jGYF-AgJmShCCl1f23X8U4rbz6015TrN9hHjh7S_LSQRstzFDWhWPy-7TbzJRHUMSJbl5KdE1SvUvhdk3tHSHgjhTYhepKM4WjIrrUGI0oQhNGHGP82Czv_5HKegwzed7Wy7VDp4SY/s1600/16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq3jGYF-AgJmShCCl1f23X8U4rbz6015TrN9hHjh7S_LSQRstzFDWhWPy-7TbzJRHUMSJbl5KdE1SvUvhdk3tHSHgjhTYhepKM4WjIrrUGI0oQhNGHGP82Czv_5HKegwzed7Wy7VDp4SY/s320/16.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
I watch her chest rise and fall.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNn78SMEIiH32j7GMy8Qbs0YfM83BRBnw1Qqd6R3Fuo0Og5yFHgX4pqveSnPBASepTCwMW_4YaCe2xeuQWvIzsPe-NKZREFjR1y8JllSwxbaILK4FCb3pJgky8ElKEwgzi5EfS8_aVREw/s1600/15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNn78SMEIiH32j7GMy8Qbs0YfM83BRBnw1Qqd6R3Fuo0Og5yFHgX4pqveSnPBASepTCwMW_4YaCe2xeuQWvIzsPe-NKZREFjR1y8JllSwxbaILK4FCb3pJgky8ElKEwgzi5EfS8_aVREw/s320/15.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
And listen to the sound of each breath.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqfk1jwwYM1P-nc05SoiVu5yvDKBZetDHRDFzNsnCHDxfX1TrPcVwQM3OScNIZjZtHienyUo_lYEp4pRXL0KP5ey2ZEdM3CX3lWwQ1jwbnS02rbvgkkXVGPX19N1ubjtsSMaypfWK_NK8/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqfk1jwwYM1P-nc05SoiVu5yvDKBZetDHRDFzNsnCHDxfX1TrPcVwQM3OScNIZjZtHienyUo_lYEp4pRXL0KP5ey2ZEdM3CX3lWwQ1jwbnS02rbvgkkXVGPX19N1ubjtsSMaypfWK_NK8/s320/13.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
I remember the calls I have to return.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7tHRMHboi6UfCjUkr8Jv173gDoxB4q2q7RIMqLVXnFRHjFExxp8lysjF13xNUXYhl3ijIivuWK_fT_Vf1uH6ek7dUfTr0jFAgF-ekNsSwr5WyO7l9ryeM9txu9cywhadoWiJHXKEh4XA/s1600/16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7tHRMHboi6UfCjUkr8Jv173gDoxB4q2q7RIMqLVXnFRHjFExxp8lysjF13xNUXYhl3ijIivuWK_fT_Vf1uH6ek7dUfTr0jFAgF-ekNsSwr5WyO7l9ryeM9txu9cywhadoWiJHXKEh4XA/s320/16.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
The laundry thats piled high.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkgOMurBTTLrURCbVPrnwIoeVF7D-uEoENhUNcapdx9CWG-ck9ILzpXwX6Z4oVK0z1K7zxQO9mjsZupijhYPEQLDRFLQQ7DI9SR9nA36DHQqmNbiWCmB-4AUEuwOnASNZrEqOIcQOH974/s1600/17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkgOMurBTTLrURCbVPrnwIoeVF7D-uEoENhUNcapdx9CWG-ck9ILzpXwX6Z4oVK0z1K7zxQO9mjsZupijhYPEQLDRFLQQ7DI9SR9nA36DHQqmNbiWCmB-4AUEuwOnASNZrEqOIcQOH974/s320/17.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
And the dinner I promised to make.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu_SZ3OcAFcvyMEf292TkCpwiBcHvMAaNH8elMKilxN8N62J98WijHAUjYBKMVC1Qot0LNe05hCx5ukYv-5Q7KbN4zfwrcB2nkK06EOcxxXBZK9mZ8cdyARHDUirf1t01hsAzTIO3lO-E/s1600/19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu_SZ3OcAFcvyMEf292TkCpwiBcHvMAaNH8elMKilxN8N62J98WijHAUjYBKMVC1Qot0LNe05hCx5ukYv-5Q7KbN4zfwrcB2nkK06EOcxxXBZK9mZ8cdyARHDUirf1t01hsAzTIO3lO-E/s320/19.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
I kiss her head.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfdeWRQ6dQI0meqIebu_r2PQuNZTGe5G0hNG2yMsiP9inGRJCjgJxD1PgBcypJ5tPyGCOSv6wVYU6N-4iEMTW9hPADuYqK_pnGLBBiZ5LsM81Sopw3mObRjQLQxFY5pnYr1FeQvV0f9yY/s1600/18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfdeWRQ6dQI0meqIebu_r2PQuNZTGe5G0hNG2yMsiP9inGRJCjgJxD1PgBcypJ5tPyGCOSv6wVYU6N-4iEMTW9hPADuYqK_pnGLBBiZ5LsM81Sopw3mObRjQLQxFY5pnYr1FeQvV0f9yY/s320/18.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
I run my hand across her cheek.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsyfg-uY2WBpUpLokEzyyNTQSAGag_hoLzaxDNAJQHlstCR2QWyKDYyVYiQtR4exgIcD5yQdNrRyYMYlEOu-YZsDsXMbc4BSeneZo1040sjGBcwZhbSv7D95u9PgZesUQT_1krPBU-VYY/s1600/22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsyfg-uY2WBpUpLokEzyyNTQSAGag_hoLzaxDNAJQHlstCR2QWyKDYyVYiQtR4exgIcD5yQdNrRyYMYlEOu-YZsDsXMbc4BSeneZo1040sjGBcwZhbSv7D95u9PgZesUQT_1krPBU-VYY/s320/22.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Then I lay down beside her and breathe in her scent..<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhDrGCs47u0yT79mwI3rihaPn88xrfsxdrnLuhikr4GXe9H3hSexoNfJk2o40uAN0Jbs_BrHWjMt3KsOMIYxDkgZOMYQjaZ0wvKOgNijEn64hTxpKhcW4kq_MoEey8aqHqui7VkrnEt74/s1600/21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhDrGCs47u0yT79mwI3rihaPn88xrfsxdrnLuhikr4GXe9H3hSexoNfJk2o40uAN0Jbs_BrHWjMt3KsOMIYxDkgZOMYQjaZ0wvKOgNijEn64hTxpKhcW4kq_MoEey8aqHqui7VkrnEt74/s320/21.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
And listen to her little sounds.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeNC5tKtYjIgCI0GV4tgBcAzcxwEoZl2LfnpnKYy21RplBa19-TOLFNp22tRdtOYtCitk1uyKqIEy_oil9s0-ENYGItRAkYys5TCqzVTF8TDTrmKbnzUu-0E9YjcVhCnqNhSDUnQQGVBM/s1600/24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeNC5tKtYjIgCI0GV4tgBcAzcxwEoZl2LfnpnKYy21RplBa19-TOLFNp22tRdtOYtCitk1uyKqIEy_oil9s0-ENYGItRAkYys5TCqzVTF8TDTrmKbnzUu-0E9YjcVhCnqNhSDUnQQGVBM/s320/24.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And I just can't wait for her to wake up.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMrbdXcap8wIBZjsML9GIAlj0FRcYTf-o1dG6qd-F5JfZghN6sNtPpwDIbe_NLK61uj8J4TVy1fuJDmwXihyFb4dKrfI5fDz_8ovQv7gqWIkFio6zDOfG3q6e_KzaJa8RBRSb8UvsVMxw/s1600/23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMrbdXcap8wIBZjsML9GIAlj0FRcYTf-o1dG6qd-F5JfZghN6sNtPpwDIbe_NLK61uj8J4TVy1fuJDmwXihyFb4dKrfI5fDz_8ovQv7gqWIkFio6zDOfG3q6e_KzaJa8RBRSb8UvsVMxw/s320/23.jpg" /></a></div>Kristin and Robhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13750304076655687940noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5982576450592164830.post-45279217183918090062010-07-30T10:41:00.000-07:002010-07-30T10:45:31.702-07:00Our Nights<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiawtzMMkk7-lZUrX7lun2Hr5RGUjciucI19owOPBHmkfd0lGGEmHJEs7V5NO30COw5agUn1SX0ELhg26RmBodrSsFowPmZ9uxgjgDECAScnGrrYWQHEDbJjWpcE1HPWkZm-INJd-QuuFs/s1600/IMAG0047.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="119" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiawtzMMkk7-lZUrX7lun2Hr5RGUjciucI19owOPBHmkfd0lGGEmHJEs7V5NO30COw5agUn1SX0ELhg26RmBodrSsFowPmZ9uxgjgDECAScnGrrYWQHEDbJjWpcE1HPWkZm-INJd-QuuFs/s200/IMAG0047.jpg" width="200" /></a>I hear you moving. The quietest sound coming from your bassinet wakes me up. I love having you next to me. A quick peak tells me you're fine, just stirring. Your tiny feet have broken free of your swaddle. I fall back asleep. Next it's a quiet talk, low and guttural. I check the clock, 1:45 AM. Too early. I pop your binky in and close my eyes. Three more times I put your binky back in and attempt sleep.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjaxL1MSVBiVE_6whbTqGjwfms8NGuFAxDZLjkCZpU6St76l9uNsGVfHaZ4rT7_2vyc3fbIQEBp8d4NT7LdfU2QZkXfssW19aARr6W5aqUcgwaG8IC5P5ruyq_7IkJLE_6aY0L-s4utpQ/s1600/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="119" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjaxL1MSVBiVE_6whbTqGjwfms8NGuFAxDZLjkCZpU6St76l9uNsGVfHaZ4rT7_2vyc3fbIQEBp8d4NT7LdfU2QZkXfssW19aARr6W5aqUcgwaG8IC5P5ruyq_7IkJLE_6aY0L-s4utpQ/s200/6.jpg" width="200" /></a>Now, the chomping. You sound like a dinosaur going at your hand, quite literally saying 'nom, nom, nom' while you chew, suck, slobber. I check the clock. 2:15. I slowly pull myself to a sitting position, reach over the walls of your bassinet where, when we make eye contact, I'm greeted with a sleepy grin. I pull you to me, breathe in the smell of your head, your check, the crook of your neck. This makes it all worth it. The smell and the warmth and the weight of you makes any hour a decent one.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHlI23ADSUcSOssjsxTrUqDbGcpT8qq0NajWE4EyriJlUwqp2tgWVBsePhXLGRvnv__5z6fwsCP83wLz3HguLuTs8CEkSgaks9YIuujYQqJe2BB_gRjyQc8xNo1oKtaEq2De3l-k7ei7w/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHlI23ADSUcSOssjsxTrUqDbGcpT8qq0NajWE4EyriJlUwqp2tgWVBsePhXLGRvnv__5z6fwsCP83wLz3HguLuTs8CEkSgaks9YIuujYQqJe2BB_gRjyQc8xNo1oKtaEq2De3l-k7ei7w/s200/4.jpg" width="200" /></a>You nurse as we both drift off. I somehow manage to burp you, change sides, burp again and re-swaddle. I kiss your head for the one millionth time, and lay you back in your bassinet. You don't make so much as a peep.<br />
<br />
In three hours we'll do it all over again.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ3vOZcts6AN3X5kRRyfFObuUMKF81YU2NVlkaM6Jnqutg9p3iTETyIcSBrqcgaBgvg_3O5rHsujDV9RjQSTAhhBYg0DsF-s8TxX10nvyQfghGZXcj7ag6mwsSQpyIh7H0U-QVifp0jWM/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ3vOZcts6AN3X5kRRyfFObuUMKF81YU2NVlkaM6Jnqutg9p3iTETyIcSBrqcgaBgvg_3O5rHsujDV9RjQSTAhhBYg0DsF-s8TxX10nvyQfghGZXcj7ag6mwsSQpyIh7H0U-QVifp0jWM/s200/1.jpg" width="200" /></a>Some nights, as I lay there, exhausted and falling asleep, I wonder how I'll do it. I'm so tired that I'm afraid I wont be able or even want to wake up to feed you. But it never happens. Even though its hard to sit up to feed, even though I barely sty awake while you eat, it never frustrates me. I'm never angry and I don't even wish you were still asleep.<br />
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Because I know.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwdE62JwE5334v0J5brhKEtlrWf9SyQ2Gw1oyoLnNt7IxWPD_QjmLdGuK5FPONKiglQmyjsuWsdH9CdTbe-o-S-dqlpFgYpj7jKdUjFh9on4htbEfdbhU87XAc3xF-0StnLXkGrW2SMzk/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwdE62JwE5334v0J5brhKEtlrWf9SyQ2Gw1oyoLnNt7IxWPD_QjmLdGuK5FPONKiglQmyjsuWsdH9CdTbe-o-S-dqlpFgYpj7jKdUjFh9on4htbEfdbhU87XAc3xF-0StnLXkGrW2SMzk/s200/5.jpg" width="119" /></a>I know it wont be much longer that you'll be sleeping beside me. It wont be much longer that we'll get to cuddle, in the darkness of the dead of night. I know it wont be much longer until you don't fit so perfectly against my naked chest, 'til you're sleeping through the night, no longer breastfeeding.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMII5nqhoZBkjbQCAqno7jfKpTNNgwRKHo1XCp71fRSTGp3q10BQGjUi8cEhyphenhyphen0Iz3D9isRuJt8KgLoPsl7U6cQ28EwVBHSVVs3Pv5CaMMKHpTEswkwORMFOHQjblPIV3HAADTR6N_XVPI/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMII5nqhoZBkjbQCAqno7jfKpTNNgwRKHo1XCp71fRSTGp3q10BQGjUi8cEhyphenhyphen0Iz3D9isRuJt8KgLoPsl7U6cQ28EwVBHSVVs3Pv5CaMMKHpTEswkwORMFOHQjblPIV3HAADTR6N_XVPI/s200/3.jpg" width="200" /></a>The second time you wake to eat, I don't put you back in your bassinet. Instead, I hold you nestled in my arm, pressed against my chest while we both sleep for a couple more hours. This started out of necessity for sleep on my part, since you would rarely go back to sleep a second time unless you were held, cuddled up against me. Now I'm not sure if it's more for me or for you.<br />
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Our nights aren't full of the best sleep. They're short and choppy, sometimes downright restless. But they're our nights and I wouldn't change them for a thing.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTu5ulTSi_LbbHvaZH1DNM6TT-fgYB_Zn81i2JqUT_ZtXP0bI3K94NXBuNbuokGMBRKGEUQprMMsNK8Wjf6CT6rm4q60BhGxgtdCFIhxxT9xDSnCClWn6EFfz_G4nHXxbCdNRGdSYE66w/s1600/IMAG0098.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTu5ulTSi_LbbHvaZH1DNM6TT-fgYB_Zn81i2JqUT_ZtXP0bI3K94NXBuNbuokGMBRKGEUQprMMsNK8Wjf6CT6rm4q60BhGxgtdCFIhxxT9xDSnCClWn6EFfz_G4nHXxbCdNRGdSYE66w/s200/IMAG0098.jpg" width="119" /></a></div>**Sorry about the dark and blurry pictures. They were taken at night/early morning, and as you can imagine, its pretty dark. I lightened them a bit in Photoshop so you can at least see them a bit :)**Kristin and Robhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13750304076655687940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5982576450592164830.post-84116391471574228612010-07-15T09:41:00.000-07:002010-07-15T09:58:56.080-07:00Two MonthsDear Reagan,<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd9hpkpAp27xU4mjI79g4FttJgFSfQ3iNISNCuf2774Nrc1p5-BdxNX48qjTxkYyEw3Jd71BfZxwYyUyYX8ley5Kro8vWdyQ7FPHHOvzsRdRiZlagXWhVTWg7ujgCqRgVwMzJA602R5FQ/s1600/IMAG0328.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd9hpkpAp27xU4mjI79g4FttJgFSfQ3iNISNCuf2774Nrc1p5-BdxNX48qjTxkYyEw3Jd71BfZxwYyUyYX8ley5Kro8vWdyQ7FPHHOvzsRdRiZlagXWhVTWg7ujgCqRgVwMzJA602R5FQ/s200/IMAG0328.jpg" width="119" /></a><br />
Two months old! Can you believe it? It's funny how when we were two months away from your due date, it felt as though it might as well be eternity. Now, though, as we sit two months after you arrived it feels as though it has only been seconds. Every day you move further and further away from the newborn stage and closer and closer to being a regular old, bonefide baby! I know it's entirely cliche', but I truly love you more and more each day. It's weird how it works. I feel entirely consumed with love for you, bursting at the seams and gritting my teeth in a lame attempt to contain the feeling I get by just looking at you, yet some how the next day I love you even more. I certainly haven't tired of you. We're together literally every second of every day (save for (some) bathroom breaks and me leaving you with Grandma while your Auntie Jilly and I fanned the flame of our silly Twilight addiction and ran off to see Eclipse...) and I still can't get enough of you.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>This last month was a big one! You got to meet almost everyone on daddy's side of the family after taking a SUPER long road trip (around 20 hours each way) down to Galt and Concord, California in your fifth week of life. You did amazingly well and complained far less than your father and I. We only had four days, but everyone just soaked up your sweet baby lovin'.<br />
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<a href="http://s13.photobucket.com/albums/a252/apirateninja/Reagan%20Lee/?action=view&current=DSCN1069.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" height="200" src="http://i13.photobucket.com/albums/a252/apirateninja/Reagan%20Lee/DSCN1069.jpg" width="150" /></a> <a href="http://s13.photobucket.com/albums/a252/apirateninja/Reagan%20Lee/?action=view&current=DSCN1068.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" height="200" src="http://i13.photobucket.com/albums/a252/apirateninja/Reagan%20Lee/DSCN1068.jpg" width="150" /></a><br />
<a href="http://s13.photobucket.com/albums/a252/apirateninja/Reagan%20Lee/?action=view&current=DSCN1090.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" height="240" src="http://i13.photobucket.com/albums/a252/apirateninja/Reagan%20Lee/DSCN1090.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://s13.photobucket.com/albums/a252/apirateninja/Reagan%20Lee/?action=view&current=DSCN1108.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" height="200" src="http://i13.photobucket.com/albums/a252/apirateninja/Reagan%20Lee/DSCN1108.jpg" width="150" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://s13.photobucket.com/albums/a252/apirateninja/Reagan%20Lee/?action=view&current=ReaganandGrandmotherFowler.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" height="239" src="http://i13.photobucket.com/albums/a252/apirateninja/Reagan%20Lee/ReaganandGrandmotherFowler.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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You and I then left daddy for a whole week (which he was very sad about) so we could celebrate Aunt Jillian graduating high school. While on the west side of the state you met TONS more people who love and care about you, too! You are one VERY loved little girl!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAX-bQGZLyOjWwEkDFMBGbYWkgEsquNStnbu0CAlqATw0qGDfUL3hvm8Xb3NB3xXFtVDnZH1UDJpuKDrh7UUzVmix-G_HbtobTUBK4GN1GUJ5O-tMHPi8Y7rEvn5Iw6_LQhywIo87kVGw/s1600/DSCN1161.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAX-bQGZLyOjWwEkDFMBGbYWkgEsquNStnbu0CAlqATw0qGDfUL3hvm8Xb3NB3xXFtVDnZH1UDJpuKDrh7UUzVmix-G_HbtobTUBK4GN1GUJ5O-tMHPi8Y7rEvn5Iw6_LQhywIo87kVGw/s320/DSCN1161.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhohUtaWsUJ2SolupCjVP9ZLKVmqT6Geg2-KMcrJ5a7EHWY5NmmTA3u1ZVj7oxnMTmanBUPD0W9F4OQJgTOcYt9RcmeQPeiwE4oK-x7iZt1ztymdRwIo5fmJEP3L62bvAC_YtkU-zXrLNQ/s1600/IMAG0121.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="119" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhohUtaWsUJ2SolupCjVP9ZLKVmqT6Geg2-KMcrJ5a7EHWY5NmmTA3u1ZVj7oxnMTmanBUPD0W9F4OQJgTOcYt9RcmeQPeiwE4oK-x7iZt1ztymdRwIo5fmJEP3L62bvAC_YtkU-zXrLNQ/s200/IMAG0121.jpg" width="200" /></a>Your schedule really hasn't changed much. You still nurse every two hours throughout the day, and sleep for four to five hours during the night. Your schedule isn't so much of a time thing, though, as it is a pattern; you eat, you play, you sleep. Eat, play, sleep. Wash, rinse, repeat. Because of this you are pretty darn predictable, and it's easy to keep you happy so long as you're full and you've had a good nap. A nice, long nap is the difference between my sweet baby Reagan and Reagan rage. Don't feel bad, though. You're mommy is a monster, too, when I don't get enough sleep. :)<br />
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The discovery of the swing has helped you and I both. You haven't cared much for the swing until these last few weeks. It is a wonderful place for a nap because I am able to get a few things done and you are able to sleep better, thus longer, while it keeps a'swingin'. Even if a loud noise wakes you up, it usually lulls you back to sleep. You still almost always have to be rocked to sleep in my arms, but more and more often you're able to drift off by yourself in the swing. Progress!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbfYDTdfRiHv7bFZDPFho3RLImEO6xG216lfHFNbatQDq7ZJcxrMBYH98b213xdZwlYJkzk2kjVMC9LOLllnqV_83cqKSorN4_LYEYoV3pCCcSYoAObj9UaroH012WqF5zAJEfsJdFjks/s1600/IMAG0314.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbfYDTdfRiHv7bFZDPFho3RLImEO6xG216lfHFNbatQDq7ZJcxrMBYH98b213xdZwlYJkzk2kjVMC9LOLllnqV_83cqKSorN4_LYEYoV3pCCcSYoAObj9UaroH012WqF5zAJEfsJdFjks/s200/IMAG0314.jpg" width="118" /></a><br />
You are still absolutely in love with your play mat, where you spend about 20 minutes a few times a day after you eat. You're still in awe of the hanging, striped elephant, but the goofy looking monkey is coming in at a close second. You have started reaching for both, and it is quite funny to watch because you still have very little coordination. But practice makes perfect and practice you do! More so than either plush animal, however, you love looking at that adorable baby in the mirror that hangs above you. Laying and smiling and cooing at yourself in that mirror keeps your attention longer than anything but eating. I can't get enough of watching you smile and talk to yourself. It is the sweetest thing known to man.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuwWunbN_ym8kGOkrpvMeqMyPGRWai8n4zWzllXyxpme-1uJgQPoFvqUgtJx_PJxqtSSMjp71LynoZMlke3nrGEUQvTXHIQKh_LcvYsMXWm4xouCpHIEB6sbS_bPcZVO32seZA9jqBRXs/s1600/IMAG0266.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuwWunbN_ym8kGOkrpvMeqMyPGRWai8n4zWzllXyxpme-1uJgQPoFvqUgtJx_PJxqtSSMjp71LynoZMlke3nrGEUQvTXHIQKh_LcvYsMXWm4xouCpHIEB6sbS_bPcZVO32seZA9jqBRXs/s320/IMAG0266.jpg" /></a></div>Somehow even sweeter, though, than you smiling and cooing to yourself? You smiling and cooing to your Mama. I melt into a pile of mush right onto the floor every time you smile at me. And you are quite the smiler. When you're happy, you are <b>happy</b>. Nothing isn't funny enough to receive a giant, toothless grin. When you really get to smilin', you start making these guttural sounds with your open mouthed grins that is clearly the beginning stages of laughing. And then I die a million deaths. And just to up the ante, in the last few days you have started reaching for my face. And you might as well be saying 'I love you Mommy' by the look on your face and your hand touching mine and then I just lose it and die all over again. This being a mommy thing sure is something else.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh850udp6euytuSt23mKBZG_Gs7QaDNUCUOpTmBYCb0PohiHo-HtRi7cnZ62AoimoEday3s39UdWF_NbFXlL3DKcGnY0GRsTcWIeFQoLX2eEAUWHjn4OEz3q2wxCjCzuWpxtjfUcRqXtBo/s1600/IMAG0264.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh850udp6euytuSt23mKBZG_Gs7QaDNUCUOpTmBYCb0PohiHo-HtRi7cnZ62AoimoEday3s39UdWF_NbFXlL3DKcGnY0GRsTcWIeFQoLX2eEAUWHjn4OEz3q2wxCjCzuWpxtjfUcRqXtBo/s320/IMAG0264.jpg" /></a></div>Smiles and all, you have become a better communicator. Either that or we have become better translators. It is pretty easy for us to figure out what you want, especially since you are really only fussy whenever you need or want something. If your butt's dry, you belly full and you aren't too hot or tired (you HATE being hot, and fight sleep with the best of 'em) you are a smiling, cooing, happy camper; emphasis on the cooing! You have inherited your mother's ability to talk; and talk, and talk and talk. You absolutely love holding conversations and really get a thrill out of it when we repeat back to you what you said.<br />
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<a href="http://s13.photobucket.com/albums/a252/apirateninja/Reagan%20Lee/?action=view&current=ReaganandMama.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i13.photobucket.com/albums/a252/apirateninja/Reagan%20Lee/ReaganandMama.jpg" /></a>We have produced quite the mommy's girl. Don't get me wrong; you LOVE your daddy. He can calm you down in seconds when you're upset and you're pretty convinced he's one of the funnier things in life. But when you're really sad, when your belly hurts or the hiccups annoy you, nothing but mommy does the trick. Nothing is wrong in the world when you settle down and snuggle into my neck. My heart can hardly take it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlt0uJHv0pdDvbu7Vd5MDWIk6A9FnDJLi8jF1BuVA_y6tm1KeqsMSbk0ze3IwojOyFYiFxXQwarLAHCjJT5nX66uxo4MVr-lTQwkoDFe7v4qlixTO3HWxYgXbEOpgHAW0V8npSNC1Fo7o/s1600/IMAG0300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlt0uJHv0pdDvbu7Vd5MDWIk6A9FnDJLi8jF1BuVA_y6tm1KeqsMSbk0ze3IwojOyFYiFxXQwarLAHCjJT5nX66uxo4MVr-lTQwkoDFe7v4qlixTO3HWxYgXbEOpgHAW0V8npSNC1Fo7o/s320/IMAG0300.jpg" /></a>You are growing in leaps and bounds. At six and a half weeks, you weighed in at 9 pounds 4.5 ounces and 23 inches long. At seven and a half weeks, exactly seven days later, you weighed in at a whopping 10 pounds even ad 24 inches long. You gained almost 12 ounces and a whole inch in a mere seven days! You are hovering just above the 25th percentile for weight and are sitting pretty in the 80th percentile for height. Our tall, skinny girl!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWjrc9T3jkXPGdRJL4D6nyw3AcRChHUDpCAlovjibbehyphenhyphenT9hhHypoecX69q0AjCgJ7xEf59PlxH0ATW0YXYpV5N-zY8QO0n9vTUVoAERMROmIsYE7r_D4tpKizBK2KEJAxcutwOkrRUa4/s1600/IMAG0131.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWjrc9T3jkXPGdRJL4D6nyw3AcRChHUDpCAlovjibbehyphenhyphenT9hhHypoecX69q0AjCgJ7xEf59PlxH0ATW0YXYpV5N-zY8QO0n9vTUVoAERMROmIsYE7r_D4tpKizBK2KEJAxcutwOkrRUa4/s320/IMAG0131.jpg" /></a>And what about me? I with all honesty can say I am throughly enjoying my wonderful, underpaid yet over rewarded, new job. I want nothing more than to snuggle, play, and feed you throughout the day. I can't imagine not being with you every minute and feel so incredibly blessed and loved that Rob is able and willing to singularly provide for our family so you and I can hang out all day long. We're a couple of pretty lucky girls to have such an incredible daddy and husband.<br />
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I still can't believe I get to be your mommy. Forever. Nothing can ever change that. Ever. You have completely stolen my heart.<br />
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I sure love you baby girl. Happy two months!<br />
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Love,<br />
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Your Mommy<br />
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PS- Your ever lovin' bum is finally big enough for your tree huggin' mama to put cloth diapers on! Wahoo!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtq-z6smr5s7I9GY7_iR-xxangIW4i0Xu0W066BW5S6cXHMZmX1aC1yTaQqOdaUfcf8iEuV0b0TuAE3o50ZXJ3gVepO51gkMUGhyT3M-0ROjH4CF_ZNyojxLsjH8CdypDq8TYKEwuTqZk/s1600/IMAG0247.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtq-z6smr5s7I9GY7_iR-xxangIW4i0Xu0W066BW5S6cXHMZmX1aC1yTaQqOdaUfcf8iEuV0b0TuAE3o50ZXJ3gVepO51gkMUGhyT3M-0ROjH4CF_ZNyojxLsjH8CdypDq8TYKEwuTqZk/s400/IMAG0247.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><br />
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Your Favorite Things:<br />
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1.) Your Play Mat. You absolutely love just hanging out on your back on your play mat.<br />
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2.) Mirrors. I realize you have no idea it's you you're looking at, but you absolutely LOVE staring at mirrors; on your play mat and in the car you constantly stare at the mirror.<br />
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3.) Moving. You LOVE when Daddy flies you like an airplane (and your doctor says its good for your neck!) and if you're fussy a good bouncing on the lap can usually calm you down.<br />
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4.) Football hold. Daddy has perfected it, and rarely does it not work. He holds you like a football with your face towards the floor and his arm across your belly and you sit happy, content, and usually drooling.<br />
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5.) Music. We go deaf in the car, not because of your screaming, but because you like the music to be on and loud. When I sing to you while changing your diaper you almost always smile and coo back at me.<br />
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6.) Sitting. You LOVE sitting up. One of your favorite positions currently is propped up against the couch cushions so you're sitting like a big girl! (Like in the diaper picture, above.)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgInqHc8TOvsOWWxcGUrmhtvEKuSX6MsRbm8Os03lHTW5JbWwSpdKnquyhY50WIRJV4MStkz2NMZgVpMj95Nk_fWbL-V1XXYLzxXmBWdgQYEgS976_RUNP0pVcQh1zMRLWtlTEIebpNEJQ/s1600/IMAG0249.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgInqHc8TOvsOWWxcGUrmhtvEKuSX6MsRbm8Os03lHTW5JbWwSpdKnquyhY50WIRJV4MStkz2NMZgVpMj95Nk_fWbL-V1XXYLzxXmBWdgQYEgS976_RUNP0pVcQh1zMRLWtlTEIebpNEJQ/s320/IMAG0249.jpg" width="320" /></a>7.) Books. It's kind of weird how attentive you are to books. You love to sit and analyze the pictures, but your favorite one BY FAR is your black and white book from Aunt Lindsay. You will sit and stare at that for minutes on end, cooing and smiling at the pictures. You absolutely love it!<br />
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<a href="http://vimeo.com/13347458">Reagan Lee Birth to Two Months</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user2008231">Kristin Billiau</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.Kristin and Robhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13750304076655687940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5982576450592164830.post-1229194945613444532010-06-29T22:30:00.000-07:002010-06-29T23:34:05.640-07:00...And Babies Don't Keep<i>"Quiet down cobwebs, dust go to sleep. I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep."</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>-Author Unknown</i></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX3eI7wxTX041j43ZN534BsjjsHiq2xQ9hym_BZGKKvOyaDbpfB03uaYAJijkvL2lCZDjB5dhyphenhyphenkVTwfjpf59rPRX-4azIE2hDkAJqqK-1C49QwnxYdxWXB2xpUyH9Q_2zZr836fCHZsqg/s1600/IMAG0005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX3eI7wxTX041j43ZN534BsjjsHiq2xQ9hym_BZGKKvOyaDbpfB03uaYAJijkvL2lCZDjB5dhyphenhyphenkVTwfjpf59rPRX-4azIE2hDkAJqqK-1C49QwnxYdxWXB2xpUyH9Q_2zZr836fCHZsqg/s200/IMAG0005.jpg" width="119" /></a><i><br />
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My baby is growing up. And it absolutely terrifies/devastates/breaks my heart that I don't have every single second documented. That the picture with her sitting next to the stuffed owl that I was going to take daily turned into weekly turned into monthly turned into "woops I forgot the first month so five weeks old will have to do." The 'Line a Day' journal is missing 40 days worth of lines. This blog I planned to update <i>at least </i>once a week? Yeah, you can tell how that panned out.<br />
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I haven't failed. I just didn't know.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZOYedgVK7dxfZAuGjydNTWkRX3tOvZWlKkswJHvDZwSlv-ccIvlyvMPC8M3aQ4IXK40reKq8PT965sWFGZsqrXj08KiflNGe7CLs56fDhxDNIg6yi5Uw_YHRwtJMZYTZva45DH7R9DPY/s1600/DSCN1175.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZOYedgVK7dxfZAuGjydNTWkRX3tOvZWlKkswJHvDZwSlv-ccIvlyvMPC8M3aQ4IXK40reKq8PT965sWFGZsqrXj08KiflNGe7CLs56fDhxDNIg6yi5Uw_YHRwtJMZYTZva45DH7R9DPY/s200/DSCN1175.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>I didn't know how entirely consumed I'd be with her. That each time she smiles and coos at me that I can't take my eyes off of her long enough to grab the camera or video camera. (Thank goodness for cell phone cameras!) That if setting her down and propping her up next to a stuffed owl makes her cry that I would rather just hold her and snuggle her to my chest instead. That writing anything is nearly impossible with the <i>maybe </i>one free hand I have at any given moment. Even now, I type this one-handed while my other holds the weight of my sleeping babe sprawled across my chest.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL8SWxyXh3Fra5Kw8hlGDvEB-E37PrStA3BXlJC1TpQjRtXw0yysa1zizOygCLDl5sm7BTmqMLiVRJlA_Em5_gn2gteItn5OR2VMdoZY8nOn7lfFwSdL1rmy55uxono6OIfTHXy8QiRks/s1600/IMAG0097.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL8SWxyXh3Fra5Kw8hlGDvEB-E37PrStA3BXlJC1TpQjRtXw0yysa1zizOygCLDl5sm7BTmqMLiVRJlA_Em5_gn2gteItn5OR2VMdoZY8nOn7lfFwSdL1rmy55uxono6OIfTHXy8QiRks/s200/IMAG0097.jpg" width="119" /></a>Our swing sits, empty and neglected, against the far wall. Her crib is filled with clean laundry I have yet to fold and put away. We have all these gadgets and gizmos to set her in and on, and yet I would so much rather just <i>hold </i>her. I have a hard time convincing myself to put her down when being in my arms is what she wants most, too. And please don't bother telling me I'm spoiling her; she gets plenty of back and belly time. And besides- it isn't much longer that she'll fit this perfectly in my arms. Or be this content to be there.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0DhBh-mdFkpJQXC7nrk2_kpMwqnopu8ys2vkLZWQkCQ6M3YBnbkVi73D51qKz0oYs4CEwNi0bk13okvV8jm15UatRQHY2J-ukRk5m_GQVlfjcK8LPxaCOvOtj4zhimO344V6M4xcCw0A/s1600/IMAG0010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0DhBh-mdFkpJQXC7nrk2_kpMwqnopu8ys2vkLZWQkCQ6M3YBnbkVi73D51qKz0oYs4CEwNi0bk13okvV8jm15UatRQHY2J-ukRk5m_GQVlfjcK8LPxaCOvOtj4zhimO344V6M4xcCw0A/s200/IMAG0010.jpg" width="119" /></a>So our house is pretty messy. I tend to be able to get the dishes done daily and thats about it. Rob, the amazing man/dad/husband he is, has voluntarily taken over laundry. (Out of fear of not having clean clothes? Perhaps...) I can barely count the number of dust balls I can see from my current position on one hand, and I can't tell you the last time I mopped the bathroom floors. The dining room table is random stuff central, and the fish can hardly be seen in his tank.I have not even made a home cooked meal since Reagan came home. We're going on seven weeks here, folks. We had a lot of freezer meals from friends and family, invitations to dinner at friends' houses, and we've, ahem, eaten out a bit. Okay, a lot. Fine; probably a few times a week. But look at it on the bright side; at least Reagan's getting a head start on restaurant manners! :) My best piece of advice to new parents? Get a comfortable couch. You're going to be sitting and doing a whole lot of the best kind of nothing. :)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxMx_VMF8ppwAwGXpgbzwzg83aom2cr7ArPvxL4d_hb4IHBgIhXf-yC4Nw_wfNIshKbuePbKkpnLfnF092UARVPp3f4P6FGUJ3wcW2GBRC1RzRuwdo76vs3GBLbITDoYEmtTnbV421WFA/s1600/IMAG0055.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="119" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxMx_VMF8ppwAwGXpgbzwzg83aom2cr7ArPvxL4d_hb4IHBgIhXf-yC4Nw_wfNIshKbuePbKkpnLfnF092UARVPp3f4P6FGUJ3wcW2GBRC1RzRuwdo76vs3GBLbITDoYEmtTnbV421WFA/s200/IMAG0055.jpg" width="200" /></a>So while I hate the fact that I'm not going to have every second of her life pictured and recorded for years to come, I find comfort in the fact that I'm experiencing it. That I'm living in the moment and that each smile isn't rushed with having to find the camera. That I'm not missing a conversation between Reagan and a hanging, striped elephant while I fiddle around with the video camera. It's taken me awhile to get to this point, but it is so much nicer not worrying about recording every moment in time. I figure I'll just pray for a good memory and continue to enjoy this amazing little miracle in the here and now.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga0wuSEiO_DUE64C_BzgrVGU9EhxQJeThXdupghX2emJRCVykkFy_kBdKlUDTRgwVs_4BvTPhkijoQiuSL7Qm-fYx45hX6SXGu7gPp4L5uIuqIkQoSDK4sVvAwpOfXzWTGk1CGyCAEGgs/s1600/IMAG0041.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga0wuSEiO_DUE64C_BzgrVGU9EhxQJeThXdupghX2emJRCVykkFy_kBdKlUDTRgwVs_4BvTPhkijoQiuSL7Qm-fYx45hX6SXGu7gPp4L5uIuqIkQoSDK4sVvAwpOfXzWTGk1CGyCAEGgs/s200/IMAG0041.jpg" width="119" /></a><br />
**This isn't to say I'm not going to take pictures and videos. I'm just trying to not make it my main focus.<br />
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**Pictures don't do her justice, anyways.<br />
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**Note- I have postponed posting this post (holy batman that's a lot of 'posts') until I uploaded pictures off of our camera and cell phones from the last FIVE WEEKS so I could decorate it with pictures of our sweet baby's face, so you can sit and stare at her for hours too. :)**Kristin and Robhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13750304076655687940noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5982576450592164830.post-40872020941114744642010-06-09T16:44:00.002-07:002010-06-29T23:07:16.005-07:00A Tale of Two Boobs(Do you mind if I just say boob? Saying breast makes me feel like I'm someone I'm not and we all know what they are anyways. Boob, boob, boob. Is it demeaning? I don't think so. I hope you don't either...)<br />
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Disclaimer: I don't know if this even needs to be said, but this really is a post about boobs. Mine in particular. And their newest function. So if me saying boob or reading that breast milk really comes out of them makes you squeamish, I'd advice you not continue. :)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOL48qCsuh13vTFDKIwSSLHD5RYo31RHmhW6H1y2Jw9ndiwHfWsvQnrYnUGawCPUEsLpmlNfIT9I_grXgV_uR6j94rvvs7EHrJ5jr7op3ugAP3ioeYY8Nbz3XPLYblalh4mSJt_wBuPgI/s1600/Tummy+Time.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOL48qCsuh13vTFDKIwSSLHD5RYo31RHmhW6H1y2Jw9ndiwHfWsvQnrYnUGawCPUEsLpmlNfIT9I_grXgV_uR6j94rvvs7EHrJ5jr7op3ugAP3ioeYY8Nbz3XPLYblalh4mSJt_wBuPgI/s200/Tummy+Time.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I can truly say I never thought I would write an entire blog post on my boobs. I knew they would become a much more integral part of my life once we had children; that they would sustain said children for over a year. I didn't know our first child would be head over heals in love with them, requesting them vehemently as often as every few minutes whether she needed to eat or not. I didn't know I could love and hate them so much; loving the bond they allow between my child and me, hating the leak stains they leave on the bed sheets, my shirts, the couches. So as much apart of my life that my boobs are now, it seems only fitting they get their 15 minutes of fame on our family blog. So without further adieu, A Tale of Two Boobs.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjseuci7HeTpADhDHjLESaHFKGhyphenhyphenGpBVNc0FAA_v8gta-8mCYHTLTzpQ9Fst4bbAsLGPRM3easDo2z0_z_-nj1zSQIfcNafsGCE16OZKKif27Aw9jpNP-E-cH10uloeRUcKHV_6S75eqQw/s1600/Sweet+Big+Eyes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjseuci7HeTpADhDHjLESaHFKGhyphenhyphenGpBVNc0FAA_v8gta-8mCYHTLTzpQ9Fst4bbAsLGPRM3easDo2z0_z_-nj1zSQIfcNafsGCE16OZKKif27Aw9jpNP-E-cH10uloeRUcKHV_6S75eqQw/s200/Sweet+Big+Eyes.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
One of my biggest fears of having a baby was knowing that people would see my boobs. I'm a very modest girl and prefer to keep them nice and covered up where they belong. But knowing the basics of how child rearing tends to work, I knew eventually people would see them. And see them they did.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNCeX0D6FUXIw2UanrPISUBF-OH0XH4RlLufUE_Rpj_GgqTR6N-EIgKYaUqmOCrk9IY_P2YoHh9qcwa7M4PN074wD3d_leZ-MBwzEMpksTajwWK8kASpPNbikuzyXIwIfRyINK9XNpi3Y/s1600/DSCN0016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNCeX0D6FUXIw2UanrPISUBF-OH0XH4RlLufUE_Rpj_GgqTR6N-EIgKYaUqmOCrk9IY_P2YoHh9qcwa7M4PN074wD3d_leZ-MBwzEMpksTajwWK8kASpPNbikuzyXIwIfRyINK9XNpi3Y/s200/DSCN0016.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>The second Reagan was born I ripped open my gown. I wanted her directly on my chest and I couldn't have cared less at the time if someone saw anything. My mom laughed at me for my sudden lack of modesty. I had a goal, though, and modesty played no part in it. Reagan had latched within the first 5 minutes of life. It didn't last long, but I felt success! Breast feeding was something I was extremely passionate about, but I had my concerns. I have known many people that struggled with it, and I wanted to give my daughter and me the best chance at succeeding as possible. I desperately longed for the bond of breast feeding, to be able to sustain our child from my own body, to experience such a natural thing.<br />
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Our first actual feeding a couple hours after she was born must have been extremely annoying for Reagan as I tried to put everything I had read into practice. No one showed me what to do, so Reagan and I just went off of what little experience I had and winged it. She fussed, squirmed and complained greatly in newborn fashion, but I pushed forward. I was determined! She wasn't latching well but fortunately I had what they told me was a 'great supply' and I could literally leak colostrum into her furiously rooting mouth. I was not discouraged.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqCaeZeC9oPj3rj7QI3awzO0QipXv_PGlpoMHVX7fMLdYkysHSQJluWFtHQfG_pePJvsNcrKGj0mj8r5wie6Q5raF7T1-8IxHG7jfoeVItue1oVg-84qgLFkBAIgXOKc3EAsLh-W5Sf20/s1600/DSCN0064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqCaeZeC9oPj3rj7QI3awzO0QipXv_PGlpoMHVX7fMLdYkysHSQJluWFtHQfG_pePJvsNcrKGj0mj8r5wie6Q5raF7T1-8IxHG7jfoeVItue1oVg-84qgLFkBAIgXOKc3EAsLh-W5Sf20/s200/DSCN0064.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
We were up most of the first full night in the hospital. She had decided she really was hungry and was desperate to eat, but still couldn't quite latch. She would seemingly get a good latch here and there, only to loose it after a few sucks. After numerous attempts and fails, I finally manned up and asked for help.<br />
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Let me tell you- having someone, albiet a nurse, handle my exposed boobs is just as awkward as I imagined it would be.<br />
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Between about four different nurses from the remainder of our hospital stay, I got a lot of advice. Sandwich your nipple, make sure she gets enough boob in her mouth, make sure her chin is down, make sure her head and neck are aligned with her spine. Reagan and I managed. She still struggled with latching but between the hours she would spend nursing and me just leaking into her mouth, she ate.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-7bn4ncvRLjsayaOAK5PrY6ZOTwBuW9U1q-VWNWwl4uSLlm8OoTdjuB19bBENDfLPX3UVFpa5Y0v3TCYbqFylKev0NbpmjV6OgYVOnt9xwpomuJl-0NjKyvTX-VrTJvOA4ToTyzBvx2E/s1600/IMAG0003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-7bn4ncvRLjsayaOAK5PrY6ZOTwBuW9U1q-VWNWwl4uSLlm8OoTdjuB19bBENDfLPX3UVFpa5Y0v3TCYbqFylKev0NbpmjV6OgYVOnt9xwpomuJl-0NjKyvTX-VrTJvOA4ToTyzBvx2E/s200/IMAG0003.jpg" width="119" /></a>Our Pediatrician (who is amazing and comes to our house! But more on that in a later post...) is also a lactation consultant and really worked with us to find out what our issue was. Turns out our sweet little girl sucks in her bottom lip. She does it so often that while she is nursing, most of the time she will suck her lip in with my nipple which leaves little to hold the nipple in her mouth, thus she would loose the latch. We began literally opening her bottom lip with our fingers when she would go to latch and it has worked wonders!<br />
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Reagan got down to 7 lbs, 2 oz which was as low as our pediatrician wanted to see her get, especially since she was jaundiced. So we nursed and nursed and nursed. Reagan was seemingly satisfied between feedings, was peeing and pooping us out of our savings account, and wasn't overly groggy or tired. All the signs that she was getting enough. She was gaining weight slowly, but she was gaining.<br />
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I really do enjoy breastfeeding. Even when she wasn't latching well, I didn't get too stressed. When we had learned that her jaundice had gotten worse towards the tail end of our struggles with nursing, however, I did stress out. I had just read that breast milk is the best way to remove jaundice and that if her bilirubin got to a certain level she could get BRAIN DAMAGE or DIE. And here we are told that our 3 day old baby's, who is struggling with nursing, bilicubin levels are even more elevated! And she wasn't gaining weight as fast as she should be. Three strikes against us! My stressing out did nothing but lessen my milk supply, which stressed me out further, yada, yada, yada, insert catch 22 here, my milk supply retreated. Our pediatrician told me breast feeding was 99% head game, and I needed to just trust that my body would do it's job. So I did. And then it did.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHnsTbiUDVpugM2f35eHLmtUvqsDhZHt_ZLF65_pSnw4DR14MZcZv-236TQUJI44CqyZTUOjS4nhhfMXAnEVwr5RKECaqCr4of6FwRK7H9Xcglwhw0N_kyFSWUOqHjyhrZ3fBeAzjjTfE/s1600/IMAG0087.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHnsTbiUDVpugM2f35eHLmtUvqsDhZHt_ZLF65_pSnw4DR14MZcZv-236TQUJI44CqyZTUOjS4nhhfMXAnEVwr5RKECaqCr4of6FwRK7H9Xcglwhw0N_kyFSWUOqHjyhrZ3fBeAzjjTfE/s200/IMAG0087.jpg" width="119" /></a>It hasn't been a walk in the park but it certainly hasn't been a walk through hell either. The most stressful part about breast feeding, to which I'm sure most mom's will agree, is not knowing how much she's getting. How do I know if it's enough? Well, I just have to trust that my body us doing it's job. And Reagan is a pretty good indicator, too. She is 100% jaundice free, has been gaining about half an ounce a day, and is up over 8 pounds! She (usually) is a happy camper between feedings and still pees and poops like a champion. Through our nursing session, I listen to make sure I hear swallowing, and watch to make sure her jaw is moving as she sucks.<br />
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It isn't the sit back, relax and nurse like I expected it would be. But you know what? I am sustaining a human being with milk that I make on my own. What's YOUR super power?Kristin and Robhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13750304076655687940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5982576450592164830.post-17936825098209324652010-06-09T16:44:00.000-07:002010-06-09T16:55:18.052-07:00One MonthDear Reagan-<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDd3WJcrK8LMFwEznQtBozrabkBlVxRkIo-pSgGocWvu-RNi3psLqo7uZg4CMBIhhWjFQ0mq8a_UUs-mThQhQUQy8inDh6sbfIEy4VWgcHoBU_njLp6ZCuwzjDmrs2R6cMTrWwYOgI6ac/s1600/DSCN0068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDd3WJcrK8LMFwEznQtBozrabkBlVxRkIo-pSgGocWvu-RNi3psLqo7uZg4CMBIhhWjFQ0mq8a_UUs-mThQhQUQy8inDh6sbfIEy4VWgcHoBU_njLp6ZCuwzjDmrs2R6cMTrWwYOgI6ac/s200/DSCN0068.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>As we (all too) quickly approach your one month birthday, I can't help but think about how fast time has flown. Truly it was just yesterday that we met you for the first time, excited beyond tears to finally see you, touch you, hold you. Yet the calendar swears you're nearing that four week mark, and I can't call it's bluff.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNecMwHRb7C_Qrlw9hTQwfHUPBdODRwP5E0Q2rokdU8P717yo5WZPteWDRXJSlB2JOXqX1YSyXCNwCwJ2kc94DsclXAAbTcGyypOFkIAuD8FqQIaG_FtdcLV6FHJwxaCfWkvsHoppYKzY/s1600/DSCN0710.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNecMwHRb7C_Qrlw9hTQwfHUPBdODRwP5E0Q2rokdU8P717yo5WZPteWDRXJSlB2JOXqX1YSyXCNwCwJ2kc94DsclXAAbTcGyypOFkIAuD8FqQIaG_FtdcLV6FHJwxaCfWkvsHoppYKzY/s200/DSCN0710.JPG" width="200" /></a>It's bitter sweet, you growing up. Your breath has changed. From birth it was an amazing scent best described as sweet nail polish remover. People laughed at me when I described it as such, but it was true! I know it sounds crazy but I could sit and breathe it in for hours at a time- your breath just smelled that good; sweet, warm and alive. It has since moved on to a sour milky scent, still comforting to a needy mom, but it's just not quite the same.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZTa1NW3ToCcgoIanLFz-trs3yzuUG7UZb8sz3LMhN_7b2ROW9djWNnHoJVMWuJAnCe1aIhyeZySXw8vtiKGN01z9NYs75IBBT3VXTt-AhTota0HPqFAnVig4pmxEFaBF0haclsfB2uZM/s1600/DSCN0811.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZTa1NW3ToCcgoIanLFz-trs3yzuUG7UZb8sz3LMhN_7b2ROW9djWNnHoJVMWuJAnCe1aIhyeZySXw8vtiKGN01z9NYs75IBBT3VXTt-AhTota0HPqFAnVig4pmxEFaBF0haclsfB2uZM/s200/DSCN0811.JPG" width="150" /></a>Your cry has grown up, too. While you still do my ever loved (and laughed at, sorry, dear...) "uh-wah! uh-wah!" cry, you have mostly moved on from your squeaky bird cry. It was such a sweet, sincere, tired sounding cry. It sounded as though you put forth little effort, or almost as if you were hoarse. You have, however, perfected your anger cry. It hasn't been coined "Reagan Rage" for nothing.<br />
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Fortunately, for my poor breaking heart, you haven't lost you spastic, 'aerobic' movements. If you're awake and not nursing, you are constantly, without ceasing, moving. Your limbs have yet to look attached to your body. Your legs flail out between kicking, bicycling and Lord only knows what else. Your hands are constantly moving back and forth to your mouth, and if startled to any extent, they shoot outward as if you are triumphant in your winning of some award. Your face rotates between umpteen different expressions; the root of many of our laughter outbreaks.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqq4m5tgNk57BYdrYiYslcFNM-bnA2VMRXkQF7nS3hm4m25w3EcKst1xYszGwJ1aDkksVC6QUeRRvCbQSGYWCPhZCRuOjqnxQZj-UzswTEIk6EZ8umf8QKYKReDVPo7aKKQIBui0Hv4Wo/s1600/DSCN0703.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqq4m5tgNk57BYdrYiYslcFNM-bnA2VMRXkQF7nS3hm4m25w3EcKst1xYszGwJ1aDkksVC6QUeRRvCbQSGYWCPhZCRuOjqnxQZj-UzswTEIk6EZ8umf8QKYKReDVPo7aKKQIBui0Hv4Wo/s200/DSCN0703.JPG" width="200" /></a>Watching you wake up is my most coveted time these days. You do not wake up crying. You wake very slowly, starting with quiet grunting, squinting your eyes without opening them, and then begins the stretching. You stretch your arms straight out in all directions. You stretch the full length of your body, quite often arching your back off the mattress. Though you're swaddled from your armpits down (Lord help the man who inhibits movement of your arms and hands) you usually manage to stretch out of your blanket. Blinking a few times, you open your eyes and are bright eyed and alert. The last week or so, I've been able to squeeze a few smiles out of you at this time. You're quiet and content until you realize that feeling, and OH-MY-GOODNESS-WOMAN-FEED-ME-ALREADY!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0awMOqho_lJgP848gJ3XyrPn4iGxId5NL9QMXIZWwIEdogt5kC7s7JOWfq5F35CJabuJedZVzPieOskMOeGnAwKFqP2iiEvLmkn2D0jTIMN6n44p9Fb_MCh0_zsBG4u6ATOZmjmWnMXU/s1600/3+Minutes+Since+Eaten.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0awMOqho_lJgP848gJ3XyrPn4iGxId5NL9QMXIZWwIEdogt5kC7s7JOWfq5F35CJabuJedZVzPieOskMOeGnAwKFqP2iiEvLmkn2D0jTIMN6n44p9Fb_MCh0_zsBG4u6ATOZmjmWnMXU/s200/3+Minutes+Since+Eaten.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>It must be pretty confusing because I laugh at you almost through our whole nursing session. You are so predictable and funny. Realizing you're hungry is always such a sudden event and you do not take to the situation lightly. You are instantly furious, writhing and screaming lest I get you to my breast <i>immediately</i>. You can be mid-shriek as I lay you on my lap to pull up my shirt, and you know enough to know whats coming to quiet down. But I only have about .34 seconds before you start wailing again. As I bring you to my breast you inhale and exhale 3 to 4 times very quickly, from impatience or excitement I'm not quite sure. You rooting for my breast cracks me up; you are so ferocious about it. Apparently, nursing is an extremely serious task. Once latched, you almost always make a few little guttural noises as you exhale that almost sound like snickering. It is definitely a noise of success. When you first latch, you always suck so fast, as if you haven't eaten in days, all while scrunching your forehead and squinting your eyes. This is most definitely one of my favorite faces you make. While nursing you rotate between holding my hand, breast, or trying to poke your eye out.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5wBlQjfHl6ke08aPJFbv459AR1dmOSiqxgAZ49896_ZN7oE4ryflVcZqwMSHDOlViFzGYdyEtS5vp7blPDz5EaZEDA8s2PBc6swDFX28okek5_kKSexhOM0FFvSk5z0_2otsiG4IVYA0/s1600/After+Nursing+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5wBlQjfHl6ke08aPJFbv459AR1dmOSiqxgAZ49896_ZN7oE4ryflVcZqwMSHDOlViFzGYdyEtS5vp7blPDz5EaZEDA8s2PBc6swDFX28okek5_kKSexhOM0FFvSk5z0_2otsiG4IVYA0/s200/After+Nursing+2.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibCuhfbjzpbzvNQZN-UjYlbVeXQMsA0mca-GmijcGgBWeDW9SFjRRhX8H7cNc34gK5UhHPxUhOYbA-Ax0fSlLqwJd5q9weJKq65LOAGaXb8imwu3Zo1I2wM7YQW5XKKrVKDOGF0j0qgmQ/s1600/Sweet+Big+Eyes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibCuhfbjzpbzvNQZN-UjYlbVeXQMsA0mca-GmijcGgBWeDW9SFjRRhX8H7cNc34gK5UhHPxUhOYbA-Ax0fSlLqwJd5q9weJKq65LOAGaXb8imwu3Zo1I2wM7YQW5XKKrVKDOGF0j0qgmQ/s200/Sweet+Big+Eyes.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY0P0fxySYu9IRQdFxZ5TCjiCTm2MB-UvWl_uRub_fJLbyN_8KyKc0KRUG24ZctBcyhShm81ofFOmRmKdr4_cbcgmOFHSqtlN2Qy7PC7Q8ZqULdlvR_SZ1LLkoelElu4lNNcmOFfM5LIE/s1600/DSCN0997.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY0P0fxySYu9IRQdFxZ5TCjiCTm2MB-UvWl_uRub_fJLbyN_8KyKc0KRUG24ZctBcyhShm81ofFOmRmKdr4_cbcgmOFHSqtlN2Qy7PC7Q8ZqULdlvR_SZ1LLkoelElu4lNNcmOFfM5LIE/s200/DSCN0997.JPG" width="150" /></a>But my favorite part about nursing, hands down, is if you break the latch before you intend to. I call you my little Velociraptor; you are all business. You usually let out one quick cry of frustration, scrunch up your little forehead (which wrinkles up for effect quite nicely) and begin wildly thrashing for my breast, upon which you thrust your head forward like a chicken on steroids pecking at the ground. It really is quite the site. If I wasn't so modest I'd take a video to have forever, but you'd probably think that I am crazy by the time you'd be old enough to find it funny anyways.<br />
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It's hard to believe we ever struggled with nursing in the beginning, what with you sucking in your bottom lip. You and I, kid, we're pros now. You're even finally gaining what you're supposed to (at least half an ounce a day) and you're chunking up to where those tiny little newborn outfits are actually starting to look a tad small on you. You were back up to your birth weight right around the 3-week mark, and at 3 weeks 3 days, you weighed 8lbs 1oz. I'm proud of you and glad you're healthy and growing like you're supposed to be, but I've gotta tell you; it breaks my heart.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicB3p_Ywr2VPI-jluir_HYebVMby06kBWUr4L9TdZ6kB90zGqyoiv7p6QOncogg3e_yPECYXF6QTeVaxHPjBDWu5Tw5udzhgYfd4XiOSVhx7X4ifDBmmkHzx3o8YllWKzK5ZQUDg2Q6WY/s1600/DSCN0587.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicB3p_Ywr2VPI-jluir_HYebVMby06kBWUr4L9TdZ6kB90zGqyoiv7p6QOncogg3e_yPECYXF6QTeVaxHPjBDWu5Tw5udzhgYfd4XiOSVhx7X4ifDBmmkHzx3o8YllWKzK5ZQUDg2Q6WY/s200/DSCN0587.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnJRz0_D36zXOeu7fezO2RZRMQggJLcOwTVakReEFHKxiCaZjGx0SZtK7vdsV1rcdsRw553Xj1Z56NW6RxHJNr-Zyaje0AQZkbnVYHnWliJWvkVhCb9d3QJlnBrL6xiLswJsiyR_-OA9Q/s1600/Big+Yawn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnJRz0_D36zXOeu7fezO2RZRMQggJLcOwTVakReEFHKxiCaZjGx0SZtK7vdsV1rcdsRw553Xj1Z56NW6RxHJNr-Zyaje0AQZkbnVYHnWliJWvkVhCb9d3QJlnBrL6xiLswJsiyR_-OA9Q/s200/Big+Yawn.jpg" width="200" /></a>Save for the first few nights home from the hospital and those AWFUL days and nights of having to be on/under the bili-lights, you have been an All Star in the sleep department. We go to bed around 11:30 and you sleep for four to five hours, nurse, and go right back to sleep for, get this, another four hours! This means I get 8 (not consecutive, but still!) hours of sleep a night. I have yet to really feel the 'new parent exhaustion'. But I'm not complaining! Okay, so I probably don't quite get eight hours because half the time you're asleep I spend just looking at you. It truly can't be helped, though. You are too darn adorable! You almost always have the cutest little frown face on while sleeping, and the part that melts my cold, cold heart is your hold your tiny little hands right up by your face. Even in your ultrasound pictures, you did this. It is too sweet for words.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmYgZgC5uGAuaVjpqR2vUrWzJPVHlI0INwOQT4TQHekmvZf8gTJg1y2d7M4gEwQEcLkhFNjwwQz2u3hFqDnsckQFb7sa7gAu-zAfQVh_0X_gIQb7B2w6X6f5FC9vOWwR8-l5VwtAz_bzM/s1600/DSCN0718.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmYgZgC5uGAuaVjpqR2vUrWzJPVHlI0INwOQT4TQHekmvZf8gTJg1y2d7M4gEwQEcLkhFNjwwQz2u3hFqDnsckQFb7sa7gAu-zAfQVh_0X_gIQb7B2w6X6f5FC9vOWwR8-l5VwtAz_bzM/s200/DSCN0718.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>This first month has been a whirlwind of falling in love with you. From meeting you for the first time to already seeing big changes as you grow, I'm not sure how much more I can handle. But I'll be the first to tell you I can't wait to see what next month brings.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiboSU7RmDy7-NpoW7KdeV3YTYDLzHPSDAYjKhL5pvqYebWUySLwCfYcBlbKnyhyQ0XgqJ-VOnzzWeNOfTNHBdwpKaxW5Q8oi-ESmxSHJkeqqBQciJa-h3mkCC7St-7EwnWCbnJQqFRPWU/s1600/Back+Wrinkles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiboSU7RmDy7-NpoW7KdeV3YTYDLzHPSDAYjKhL5pvqYebWUySLwCfYcBlbKnyhyQ0XgqJ-VOnzzWeNOfTNHBdwpKaxW5Q8oi-ESmxSHJkeqqBQciJa-h3mkCC7St-7EwnWCbnJQqFRPWU/s200/Back+Wrinkles.jpg" width="200" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAWzcyRt05A1mL7u0LHG68i14_KUtCLAbkMmwjdcv0Hwf_8WezoKt8Pp88BTD6xwyB5Q0BRWj67QprBRFU9DamT_uhFhlYRqqcMjksIRmkihXujLqw-rcy-0J8NyfB-pUQoc4BI2wSCNk/s1600/Sweet+Sleeper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAWzcyRt05A1mL7u0LHG68i14_KUtCLAbkMmwjdcv0Hwf_8WezoKt8Pp88BTD6xwyB5Q0BRWj67QprBRFU9DamT_uhFhlYRqqcMjksIRmkihXujLqw-rcy-0J8NyfB-pUQoc4BI2wSCNk/s200/Sweet+Sleeper.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I love you more than I knew I ever could.<br />
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Love, Your Mommy<br />
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Your Favorite Things:<br />
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<ol><li>Boobs. Seriously, though. You could eat and eat and eat. There hasn't been a problem yet a boob couldn't fix.</li>
<li>The changing table. You LOVE being on the changing table. This is where you smiled the first smile that I count. (You were two and a half weeks. :)</li>
<li>Your hands. You are always holding your hands, sucking on your hands, or just keeping them right next to your face.</li>
<li>The ceiling fan. We lay you on the coffee table and you'll just gaze up at the fan (whether its moving or not) for quite a while.</li>
<li>Being held. You really aren't that big of a fan of being put down, except every once in awhile, you love to just stretch out on your back. (Like on the coffee table to stare at the fan or on your changing table.)</li>
<li>You have started to really enjoy hanging toys. On your play-mat or in your bouncer, you will sit and stare them down. A few times it looks like you're attempting to reach for them, but I'm still pretty sure its accidental. Soon, though!</li>
</ol><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7FGPzJS6yByVPy8kNen5VLjguBBR9F4jX0NifyHGSMklO2gmQ2n2DqG3LxX-MNL_OgHLcp115xkwTwDs_vEzdjmq1GldhNk_3z_puYID4hCUHdYwvS9pXQ3acRlm2UkGJ36AOZpw5qqg/s1600/DSCN0500.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7FGPzJS6yByVPy8kNen5VLjguBBR9F4jX0NifyHGSMklO2gmQ2n2DqG3LxX-MNL_OgHLcp115xkwTwDs_vEzdjmq1GldhNk_3z_puYID4hCUHdYwvS9pXQ3acRlm2UkGJ36AOZpw5qqg/s200/DSCN0500.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>Kristin and Robhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13750304076655687940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5982576450592164830.post-38226939444792483942010-06-03T14:50:00.000-07:002010-06-03T14:51:29.174-07:00A Family is Born<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Our labor and delivery went absolutely nothing like what we had planned or pictured. It was so much more and so much less than I could have ever imagined and though in the end we veered from our plan, I wouldn't have changed a thing. Our daughter came into this world naked and screaming, healthy and loved, and that was perfect for us.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><b><i>DISCLAIMER: This is a birth story. If you don't want to, you know, hear a story about birth, I advise you to not continue reading. That being said, it isn't super gory. Beautiful as it may be, due to the nature of, well, birth, I probably will use words like 'cervix' and 'dilate' and maybe even a 'fluid' thrown in here or there. Consider yourself warned. :)</i></b></span></span></span><br />
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Wednesday the 12th of May was a quite non eventful day. My mom was in town, helping with the house, keeping my extremely 40-week-pregnant mind occupied so as to not let me go any more stir crazy and to hopefully be around for when my labor began. We moseyed around Spokane, bought some groceries, some flowers and planned pedicures for the following day. After dinner we all took the beasts for a pretty good walk, came home and lounged on the couches for a bit before retiring for the night around 10PM. I tried to ignore the fact that our due date was a mere day away and I wasn't having many contractions, I hadn't dilated much if any in the last four or five weeks (at 35 weeks I was dilated to a 1-2 and 50% effaced) and generally wasn't showing any signs of impending labor. Except for, you know, the giant 40 week old baby that was living inside of me. Like every night, I fell asleep picturing what our daughter would look like.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7NA7Qy-3tY2Y-giI9R8zADQ2TQE6PzWiS8trFStrWeB-RJyGMr2luLMAbUS0PqVyhYkI2TN-obKD187V0dMK-Ln42Cm4ESyj3sE3U-pglU_eDwoaX0jDt2X-ksjpxHVsJpuFb3haA8UY/s1600/DSCN0004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7NA7Qy-3tY2Y-giI9R8zADQ2TQE6PzWiS8trFStrWeB-RJyGMr2luLMAbUS0PqVyhYkI2TN-obKD187V0dMK-Ln42Cm4ESyj3sE3U-pglU_eDwoaX0jDt2X-ksjpxHVsJpuFb3haA8UY/s320/DSCN0004.JPG" width="320" /></a>I woke up shortly before midnight to console my screaming bladder. This was typical; for the last few months I was literally getting up 3-5 times a night to use the bathroom. Just as I stepped from the hallway onto the bathroom floor, I felt a weird popping sensation, and fluid started steaming from 'down there.' The excitement was INSTANT. I knew exactly what was going on, and I knew that labor was imminent. I called for Rob in the <a href="http://teambilliau.blogspot.com/2009/09/bring-on-babies.html">same shaky voice when I had called him into the bathroom 9 months prior to show him the pregnancy stick</a>. This time, though, he SHOT out of bed, made sure he glanced at the clock (11:58PM) and came to see what had happened. He immediately got on the phone with our doctor's office who told us to come on in. I ran downstairs to wake my mom, threw a few last minute items into our hospital bags and loaded into the car. We were heading to the hospital. To give birth. To meet our daughter. To start our family.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuleALuYffCFGOopX2a8wxNoaDZi5XlRyeOFpNyZEO6F24lQ2a7ht0z0NC-XeVlMVthoBqf_IwybIpfvU0FcFjXHTxj11f4BMW-wemstGgZj1W0fmtzxAZoyR5NdZ-JCxA3lQ7C4Upy7A/s1600/DSCN0036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuleALuYffCFGOopX2a8wxNoaDZi5XlRyeOFpNyZEO6F24lQ2a7ht0z0NC-XeVlMVthoBqf_IwybIpfvU0FcFjXHTxj11f4BMW-wemstGgZj1W0fmtzxAZoyR5NdZ-JCxA3lQ7C4Upy7A/s200/DSCN0036.JPG" width="200" /></a>I was in a stellar mood. Though my water had broken, I wasn't really experiencing any contractions and was filled with pure joy and excitement. We were sent straight back to OB triage, and after having verified my water truly had broken (a much more difficult task than it should have been since my body will never act normally medically) I was gowned and admitted into our labor and delivery room. I was checked and was dilated to a 2-3 and 50% effaced. Rob posted a message on Facebook letting people know it was 'game time.' It was surreal. We were sitting, comfortably and content, in the room in which our baby would be born.<br />
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No more than an hour later, I began contracting. I was extremely pleased my body began on my own, as I desperately wanted to avoid being induced. It only took a few contractions until they were strong, consistent and ALL in my back. Though I hadn't pictured myself having back labor, we still went through the motions. I relaxed my body, going entirely limp, allowing my body to do it's work. I breathed slowly and rhythmically, groaning as I exhaled, not from the pain but for distraction. It felt good to make noise. Rob would rub my back, putting pressure on as I requested, while my mom kept a cool washcloth on my face. All the while I pictured my uterus moving our baby down and out. It wouldn't be long until I could see her, hold her, breathe her in. We just had to get through each contraction, and one by one, they brought us closer to our sweet little girl.<br />
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I wont lie- the contractions were painful. But they weren't unbearable. They were not nearly as bad as people make labor out to be. The worst part is that they were in my back; it made it more difficult to picture my uterus working to deliver my baby. It also limited the varying positions I could labor in, as very few were comfortable. It was literally like having the kidney stones again, though this time I had a couple minute break every minute or two. The best part is there was zero pain between contractions. I was chipper and alert between them, and though for the most part I wasn't hooked up to a contraction monitor, you could tell instantly when one started because I would go limp and groan with my exhaled breaths.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUPsBRUN7Cpsu9p1WTEKdl107r4hXkEugYqWJM6_BylEvepUhd_uMVig_id-Tl4ide_rHH1rCrOtLBiF96xDAbce9SYMKoECN5GELDkLv2fTgxed4Ys_5Zi2Y_fQKo5_xe9-1_JZ-h6xQ/s1600/DSCN0007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUPsBRUN7Cpsu9p1WTEKdl107r4hXkEugYqWJM6_BylEvepUhd_uMVig_id-Tl4ide_rHH1rCrOtLBiF96xDAbce9SYMKoECN5GELDkLv2fTgxed4Ys_5Zi2Y_fQKo5_xe9-1_JZ-h6xQ/s200/DSCN0007.JPG" width="200" /></a>My labor appeared to be progressing efficiently and pretty normal. I was contracting every 2-3 minutes, with the contractions lasting about one and a half to two minutes each. For the majority of the labor I was laying in the Bradley Methods "side relaxation position" where you are on your side, almost belly, with your knee pulled up and resting on a pillow. This was by far the most comfortable position I could find, though we tried many. Our amazing day nurse, Maggie, was so supportive and helpful. She had us trying all different kinds of positions, she would practically take the bed apart to provide support for various positions, and she had all kinds of helpful advice. Not only was she an absolutely sweet heart, she was amazing at her job. I took a few showers, and one bath. (I was allowed only one bath with the tub plugged because since my water had broken, that could allow for infection which all of us wanted to avoid.) We had packed two (count them, TWO!) different things for me to wear while in the shower/tub so I could maintain my modesty, which didn't ever leave our bag. It is true what they say- modesty was out the window during labor and delivery. I count myself a VERY modest person, and I really, truly couldn't have cared less about who saw what.<br />
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I was checked at about 3:00PM, 13 hours into labor. I was only a 3-4. It was pretty disheartening; 13 hours of labor and only one centimeter to show for it. Dr. Zwiesler gave us until 6PM to show progress, or we were going to have to put me on a penicillin drip (an antibiotic since my water had been broken for so many hours) and pitocin to help with dilation. I was demoralized, but determined. For the next few hours we went gung-ho with walking, using the birth ball and hands-and-knee type positions that are known to help move baby down, thus further dilating the cervix. It was extremely painful and I was losing steam. I was on 24 hours of no caloric intake, I had been puking from the pain and thus losing liquids, and it had been nearly two full days since I had had some decent sleep. Between contractions, my mom swore I was going to faint because my eyes kept rolling back into my head.<br />
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About half an hour or so before they came to check me again, my contractions became AWFUL. They were literally one on top of another. I would have three to five minute long contractions with mere seconds between them. We thought for sure I was in transition, so we were very hopeful I had made some great progress and wouldn't have to be hooked up to an IV. But when she checked me, no such luck. I was still only measuring a 3-4. No progress meant the IV. It meant antibiotics and induction. It meant more time and more pain. I broke down.<br />
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Maggie, our wonder nurse, brought up pain management. I knew the pitocin was going to strengthen my contractions and, though I was relaxing pretty well on my own through each contraction, my morale and energy reserve were shot. She said if we could get my pain managed, my body would be able to better do it's work and move our baby down and out. 19 hours of the hardest work I've ever done, and I felt it was all in vain. We discussed our options between narcotics or an epidural. Narcotics, we were told, would be administered through the IV and into my blood stream, thus straight into the baby. The epidural wouldn't affect the baby nearly as much. Rob and I asked for some time alone to talk about it, and I totally lost it. I'm not so sure I've ever sobbed so hard or so long. I had failed. I knew I was going to take the epidural. I had to. Here we were practically starting from the beginning, and I was already 19 hours into the hardest work of my life.<br />
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About an hour later, I was given the epidural. I didn't really see the big deal- so many people complain about how painful it is and I didn't even feel it. Mind you pain has taken on a new meaning after 20 hours of back labor with no medication. Within about a half hour, I was no longer feeling my contractions. I attempted sleep, but felt too numb to drift off. I couldn't stand the feeling, so the anesthesiologist came back in and turned the epidural way down. That helped a bit, but I still wasn't a fan of not being able to feel my legs.<br />
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A little before midnight, right around the 24 hours of labor mark, I felt the very distinct feeling of needing to push. I was actually convinced I needed to poop, but when checked and told I was complete, 10 centimeters dilated and 100% effaced, we knew it was FINALLY time to meet little Reagan. After a few practice pushes, we decided to have me labor down. This was the most painful thing of the entire labor. It is hard to describe the need to push without using the needing to poop comparison, so I apologize. But laboring down is literally like having to use the bathroom extremely badly, but not being allowed to. With each contraction that was pushing our baby out, my body desperately wanted to push but I would refrain from doing so. What this does is allows my uterus to work at getting our baby out, without me expending energy.<br />
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While I still had my epidural, it had been turned WAY down and I was so uncomfortable during each contraction, that I was shaking like mad. I also had gone a little mad. I kept saying, over and over and over, "I am so hungry but I don't want food. Please don't make me eat food. I'm so hungry but I don't want to eat." I then obsessed with the manufacturers sticker on the ceiling light, complaining that I couldn't read what it said. And was that a phone number written on it? Does it say MKL? I then began complaining that through each contraction, as I moaned, I sounded like a whale. And I was SO afraid of pooping on the table, I kept asking if I pooped. "Are you sure? It stinks. I don't want to poop. Please don't judge me if I poop." (After the fact I was assured it never actually stank and I truly hadn't pooped. Thank goodness.) Like I said, I'd gone crazy.<br />
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During this whole time, though I was pretty unaware, Reagan's poor little heart rate shot down and then straight back up with nearly every contraction. While they were glad it would come right back, they didn't like how low her heart rate was dropping and were concerned with the stress it could be causing her. After consulting with a few different nurses, they all decided she seemed to be handling it, so we kept on keeping on.<br />
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Finally, shortly before 1:30AM, it was time to push. The relief was instant. I LOVED pushing! Rob and my mom each held one of my legs and we did three 10 second pushes through each contraction. The amount of pressure I felt was amazing, but it wasn't painful. It felt very good to actually be able to DO something. Dr. Zwiesler (sorry in advance...) massaged my perineum with mineral oil the ENTIRE time I was pushing to help prevent tearing since I wanted to avoid an episiotomy if at all possible. He really was a rock star. Reagan's heart rate began acting up again, and though I was unaware of it at the time, Dr. Zwiesler had ordered in the anesthesiologist and another doctor because we were pretty darn close to having an emergency c-section.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgueRNXIvmQU5l_jcvT31L5twpNoOJNFBAKOzdx-hDpw7Lv-kPQlVbc6J4luHW755crPI6f_HDPQiR6MJIXyIr2w6zFaNJ5VLxs0d4bgqoQD9E7RvX4ZQOkh9Wipql5TNhJqVxMfBzgcU/s1600/DSCN0013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgueRNXIvmQU5l_jcvT31L5twpNoOJNFBAKOzdx-hDpw7Lv-kPQlVbc6J4luHW755crPI6f_HDPQiR6MJIXyIr2w6zFaNJ5VLxs0d4bgqoQD9E7RvX4ZQOkh9Wipql5TNhJqVxMfBzgcU/s200/DSCN0013.JPG" width="200" /></a>On my last contraction, after my three pushes, Dr. Zwiesler asked me to push one more time and I felt amazing relief as Reagan was born into this world, looking straight up. In no more than a second, she was screaming. As the doctor prepared her umbilical cord to be cut, I kept asking, "is she a girl? is she a girl?" Rob cut the cord, and then per my very adamant request, she was handed straight to me and I snuggled her right on my bare chest. It was pure and utter bliss.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikrUXkEkJDO3OxFUE7Pog1StTJ_xxKm-nTxgOJvjz869MaY7x8ctr0RSF4ryDQq8L9Ko5bjS_ncXSOIYVYgXhRH1Csqjzss8bSR3cxuZQVo89SV3YuCYe8om_fRjCnFRgXCEvN7j2Gu2M/s1600/DSCN0026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikrUXkEkJDO3OxFUE7Pog1StTJ_xxKm-nTxgOJvjz869MaY7x8ctr0RSF4ryDQq8L9Ko5bjS_ncXSOIYVYgXhRH1Csqjzss8bSR3cxuZQVo89SV3YuCYe8om_fRjCnFRgXCEvN7j2Gu2M/s200/DSCN0026.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicpNb57FB7YZYT99xjWd0rWSijEsun9AY6D9VGROVXSLpkx6W4UfHOeEkhki1xEWKywb387BisyCRNgtbmFtWkfiFL3omXPHAQKFM9CmKFqV4O4J_Z_HcTRlQc2AmXXILzhIerp-1xZag/s1600/DSCN0016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicpNb57FB7YZYT99xjWd0rWSijEsun9AY6D9VGROVXSLpkx6W4UfHOeEkhki1xEWKywb387BisyCRNgtbmFtWkfiFL3omXPHAQKFM9CmKFqV4O4J_Z_HcTRlQc2AmXXILzhIerp-1xZag/s200/DSCN0016.JPG" width="200" /></a>Reagan was pretty purple since her oxygen had been being cut off with each contraction, thus the reason her heart rate had been fluctuating. They assumed her cord had been wrapped around her leg or something, and with each contraction, it was being squished and the oxygen supply cut off. They set an oxygen mask just next to her face while still on my chest, and in no more than a minute or two she had pinked right up. It took a bit for me to give her up to the baby nurse so they could check her vitals and get her weight. I laid in the delivery bed getting stitched up, (thanks to Reagan's idea of coming out face up instead of down, I got a nice 2nd degree tear and she came out so banged up and bruised she looked like she had been in a bar fight) and watched my husband watching his baby. My mom commented on how patient I was being while they were taking care of her, and I told her I was enjoying watching Rob with her too much to mind that I wasn't holding her. We finally had our family.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHS-zHHjuZ6UK8eXddwDI5ze-CMu6rQqIaiNpTY_b9zpUItPDJGfEIhd0mOG52_Zi-8-VDWcuj6UEnAdWmfFoh46FZbuSTBHXytJZeuvXmMufI4id_fWsX9lANJR3VBLXf_IW4p5Yijxk/s1600/DSCN0056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHS-zHHjuZ6UK8eXddwDI5ze-CMu6rQqIaiNpTY_b9zpUItPDJGfEIhd0mOG52_Zi-8-VDWcuj6UEnAdWmfFoh46FZbuSTBHXytJZeuvXmMufI4id_fWsX9lANJR3VBLXf_IW4p5Yijxk/s320/DSCN0056.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvzg_7AOo6r5SlYrfv-YGY5dB51AGSD2tXJJ8QqwSPkCYF7p1GUGUZgt2RVvSYmOMbTSiq3LFyCjp8ZPJIMob6MD_NcEShoQpdPpH4xHC_6D0IUv8ngUNSV-cQVZN3uovtF5BdoSdNvKQ/s1600/DSCN0046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvzg_7AOo6r5SlYrfv-YGY5dB51AGSD2tXJJ8QqwSPkCYF7p1GUGUZgt2RVvSYmOMbTSiq3LFyCjp8ZPJIMob6MD_NcEShoQpdPpH4xHC_6D0IUv8ngUNSV-cQVZN3uovtF5BdoSdNvKQ/s200/DSCN0046.JPG" width="200" /></a>Reagan Lee Billiau was born at 2:02 AM on her due date, Friday May 14th 2010. She weighed in at 7 pounds, 15 ounces and 21 inches long. She was here and she was healthy. She was beautiful and she was perfect. And she was ours.Kristin and Robhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13750304076655687940noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5982576450592164830.post-31506165039192646742010-04-17T10:26:00.000-07:002010-04-17T10:26:03.149-07:00A Second Trimester and a First House<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I feel little need to go back and relive the details of the first trimester. We'll just go ahead and say from about week 6 or 7 to about 14, all I could do was puke and sleep. Literally. Puke, sleep, puke, sleep. I lost about 15 pounds.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">We entered the second trimester with much promise and hope. Not only is it nice to get out of the first and onto more stable, reliable ground (baby's chance of survival goes up ten fold once you hit the second trimester) but along with the second usually comes the feeling good. The morning sickness has faded, energy and appetite will return. It took us a little longer into the second than we would have liked, but by about week 14, I was feeling pretty good. I had my moments, there was definitely still plenty of food aversions, but I could move my head without needing to hope I'd already rinsed out my puke bowl. Running to the bathroom made little sense as I never would make it.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Sometime at the end of the first or beginning of the second trimester, Rob was able to get a route back in Spokane. We were very excited for this, as we wanted to raise our family in Spokane, but it did mean a lot of work. Work like packing and cleaning and moving. Oh. And buying a house. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">We spent nearly every weekend of November in Spokane with our incredible realtor, April, driving around poking in and out of houses trying to find one that would suit us and our growing family. I did a lot of sitting in the back with a plastic bag up to my face trying to hold in my lunch. But we got through it. April was a star at letting me get out and walk around, taking plenty of bathroom breaks in random places and would cut our drives short if my stomach was revolting. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">In our first or second run we found a house we really liked on Gustavus Street. It was a 50s rancher with hardwood floors, three bedrooms, two baths and a full, unfinished basement. 2400 square feet total, a fenced backyard, two car garage and in a nice, well kept neighborhood. Our brains were flooded with houses, so we went home to think over the week and had plans to come back the following weekend.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">We were consulting with April on Friday, going over houses we wanted to look at again, both of us still having the Gustavus house on our minds. We knew it was the house for us when re-looking at pictures online, we noticed it has been reduced $10,000 that morning! The next day we walked through it again, this time being sure to open closets and flush toilets, and tried our best to imagine all of our stuff in it. That evening we put in an offer. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">The entire process was exciting but nerve wracking. The owners had some, um, shall we say interesting? negotiation strategies, that finally ended after 3 or 4 amendments to the contract with us still feeling like we got an awesome deal on the house, a near new washer and dryer plus a 46" flat screen mounted on the wall above the fireplace <i>and </i>they paid all of our closing costs. Plus, our mortgage is only 50 dollars higher than what we were paying for rent. Not bad, eh?</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">The house belonged to us as of 4:45PM on December 31st, 2009. We made sure the closing date was in 2009 so we wouldn't have to amend our taxes to get in on the $8,000 first home buyers credit. The timeline couldn't have been more perfect. We certainly did some pushing of the bank to get paperwork done. As it was we closed in less than a month, which is super fast for an FHA loan. But we've known for awhile that we've got the Big Man Upstairs on our side. We feel so blessed.</span></span>Kristin and Robhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13750304076655687940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5982576450592164830.post-15401638453243047462010-04-10T11:04:00.000-07:002010-04-10T11:06:39.270-07:00You Know You're Pregnant When...<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I will admit I'm slightly nervous about giving birth. Not for the pains of labor, not for being entirely responsible for a tiny, completely helpless human being. Not for any physical or emotional reason. I'm nervous about not having the excuse of pregnancy anymore. I use the term excuse probably too loosely because everything that inhibits me in pregnancy is completely honest. I truly have ZERO energy. I seriously lack the desire to get anything done, all well fretting the un-doneness of it all. Food honestly has no appeal and cooking it equates right up with playing with spiders in my book. (And no, I am not fond of spiders.) My hips literally are about to pop right out of place, and frequently feel like they have every time I roll over in bed. Which is approximatively every 28 seconds for those who are wondering.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">What if the energy doesn't come back? What if I never feel like getting off the couch again? I'm assuming blaming the pregnancy will no longer work once the baby is </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">outside </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">of my body.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Stop. Rewind. All of this is to say, I hate that I haven't kept the blog updated. I meant to. I truly had the best intentions to keep this as a running history of our first pregnancy. The quirks. The excitement. The cravings. The aches and pains. Yet here we are into week 35 and we have, what? Three, maybe four, pregnancy posts? Ay yi yi.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So, and I ask very politely, if I may backtrack? Go back through the last 6 months or so that have gone undocumented and just pretend I've been that perfect balloon bellied, soon to be mama who forgets nothing and accomplishes everything? Please and thank you. :)</span></span>Kristin and Robhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13750304076655687940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5982576450592164830.post-24070088792536126762010-01-14T10:35:00.000-08:002010-07-02T10:05:23.659-07:00A Letter to YouDear <s>Poppy</s> <s>Nugget</s> <s>Sugar Packet</s> Baby Billiau,<br />
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It seems kind of strange to write you a letter, seeing as you're curled up inside me right now, testing out the mobility of your limbs against my uteral walls. That and I talk to you all day, every day. And when I want to feel you, to rationalize this crazy idea that you really <i>are </i>mine, that you really <i>are </i>growing within me, I nudge you until I feel you kick out against me. Its a weird feeling knowing you're so close, but in a sense you're still pretty far away.<br />
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Though I cannot wait until I can hold you in my arms, to feel you nuzzle your head into my neck, to breathe in your sweet baby scent, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I am totally in love with being pregnant with you. I love knowing you are growing within me, I loved feeling your first flutters of movement and now your much more practiced and perfected art of kick boxing. I love knowing you get everything you need without having to so much as bat an eye, that my body just provides the way God intended it to. I love that you and I, together, are a part of moving the world forward, having joined the history of millions and millions of women and babies who have expanded our species, who continue our existence. I love that I have been there for you, from day one, since you made the journey of one cell to billions.<br />
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But most of all, I love how safe you are in me. How there are no bullies to push you around (aside from Baylee the dog, who absolutely <i>insists </i>on stepping on my belly every time she comes near me...), no disappointments, no fears. No hunger, no cold, no pain. You are completely safe and protected. I sometimes vow to myself that even once you come screaming into this world I will do everything to make sure you are still completely safe and protected. Which, between your Daddy and I, we will. But I will have to watch myself. I already can't stand the thought of watching you fall. But how, then, will you learn to walk? I can't stand the thought of watching your feelings get hurt, but how, then, will you know a true friend? I can't stand the thought of watching you experience disappointment, fail over something you tried so hard for, not meet a goal. But how, then, will you understand success? This awful, beautiful world we live in offers no life worth living that doesn't come with a few bumps and bruises along the way. So while it is my job to protect you, I also know and fully understand that it is my job to let you <i>live</i>.<br />
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I promise I will try my best to let you live your life. To be a child. To fall over a toy, to bump your head on the table, to play on the ground and get filthy. To talk to a stranger, eat something off the floor, to blow your nose on your sleeve. I will do my best to protect you from the craziness of our world, as long as it is what's best. But I realize one day you will grow up, and you will join the world in all of its awful wonderfulness, in its craziness and its beauty. And if we've done our job, if your Daddy and I figure this whole parenting thing out like we plan, you will be prepared.<br />
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Baby Billiau, the one thing you are guaranteed in this life is to be loved. We don't know what the future holds. We can't begin to guess how our country, how the world, will unfold. There will undoubtedly be changes we cannot predict. But we do know that regardless of what is going on in this world, you will be loved. Your Daddy and I already love you so much we ache inside with it, dying for the chance to see your sweet face, to hold you in our arms, to see the person you'll become. You have grandparents and aunts and friends who love you. You have more people than I can count praying for you. You have a God who already knows you, loves you and calls you His own. You will never, ever be without love. And regardless of whatever else you may be lacking, that will take you a long, long way.<br />
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We really cannot wait (but we will! Please stay nice and snug in there!) to meet you. But for now, we are completely content feeling you thrive and grow within me. We love you like no love we've known before.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
<br />
Your Mommy (and Daddy, too!)<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://vimeo.com/8846289">Sweet Sweet Baby Ultrasound</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user2008231">Kristin Billiau</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.Kristin and Robhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13750304076655687940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5982576450592164830.post-27818175837849522402009-10-18T17:50:00.001-07:002010-01-15T10:16:11.180-08:00Welcome to Fetus-hood!To my sweet Poppy, Sugar Packet, Nugget;<br />
<br />
I should begin by letting you know how proud we are of you! You have overcome your first milestone, accomplished your first task, and boy oh boy do I have the nausea to prove it! You took one look at being called an embryo, and decided to up the ante. Hello, fetus-hood! You have grown from a tiny little ball of cells to a somewhat-functional little person! Its so exciting for us to know that you now have all of your organs safely in place, that you're testing out your new accessories by moving your little arms and legs like crazy, pumping your own blood and even making your own waste! Way to go, kiddo!<br />
<br />
Even though I swear I <i>knew </i>you were growing inside of me before the pregnancy test confirmed it for us, even though I took <b>four </b>pregnancy tests, had the doctor confirm our pregnancy, have seen your adorably cute little blob of a body swimming around on a screen, even though I've been sick to my stomach for weeks, can't even <i>think </i>about eating food, and am up and down all night to use the bathroom, it is so incredibly hard for us to believe you're actually in there. That we are actually blessed enough to have made you. That you're strong and growing on schedule and healthy. But it is still so hard to comprehend that we get to have a child; that we get to have you!<br />
<br />
The weirdest thing about it all? We are already so in love with you. Its hard to explain how we've only known about you for mere weeks and you already mean the world to us. There is nothing we wouldn't do for you. You are ours, and we are yours. We are so excited to watch my belly grow as you do, to go to the doctor to check up on you, to get to see you again on the ultrasound screen, and to feel you moving around inside of me. We lay in bed, your daddy and I, and talk about your life. What you'll look like, how you'll be. The kind of parents we want to be for you.<br />
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Speaking of your daddy, you are going to get a kick out of him. He is quite the man. He takes care of me (and you!) like there is no one else in the entire world that matters. You aren't so fond of <i>anything </i>right now, so I've been pretty sick and tired and useless. All I can do lately is lay around and try not to vomit. But your daddy? He does <i>everything</i>. He works hard for our family and he loves you and me like crazy and thats plenty in my book. But lately? He's been cleaning the house, doing the dishes and laundry, and as I write this he's making dinner. This morning for breakfast he made French toast, ham and bacon, and even turned it into a smiley face. I'm sure there will be plenty of smiley-faced breakfasts in your days.<br />
<br />
He also can't stop touching you. He loves to rub my belly, kiss my belly, cuddle my belly. He still goes on and on about how excited he is that we get to have a child, that we get to have you! I cannot wait to see him interacting and playing with you. You really are one lucky little tyke to get to call such a man Daddy. And I'm pretty darn lucky myself. :)<br />
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Keep on trucking, our sweet little unborn! There are plenty of weeks and milestones ahead of us and we can't wait to experience each one with you.<br />
<br />
We love you more than you can possibly know.<br />
<br />
-Mommy and DaddyKristin and Robhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13750304076655687940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5982576450592164830.post-90614228863062479372009-10-14T12:26:00.001-07:002009-10-14T14:08:03.752-07:00Attached Parenting/ Exterior GestationClearly, at this point and for the next six-ish months I am 100% attached to this baby, and this baby to me. I rely on him/her to make me feel nauseous, to crave something that just makes me puke, to bring me really weird dreams (like the CPS lady showing up asking me where my baby is and upon telling her baby is still growing inside me, I get 'taken in' for losing my baby...) and to make me constantly touch my lower belly, dreaming of our future, of our family, of the amazing love I already feel and how it is growing exponentially daily. Baby, on the other hand clearly relies on me for safety, nourishment, temperature regulation, and plenty of other life-giving stuff. It is obvious that both of us are significantly impacting each others lives. We rely on each other. We are basically one.<div><br /></div><div>Unfortunately for many, many babies, this whole attachment parenting ends when it is no longer obvious that mom and baby are attached, namely, when baby is born. Nursing babies tend to stay more closely attached, strictly due to the round the clock body sucking they need. Our baby, however, will maintain attached to me. Yes I am planning on breast feeding, and no I am not planning on keeping this little sea monkey in me longer than the 9 months. But I have been doing research (really, Kristin researching? Thats odd. <i>Not</i>.) that shows the immense benefits of attached parenting and something that was entirely new to me called Exterior Gestation, or exterogestation. (Apparently this is new to blogspot, too, as it is telling me its spelled wrong...)</div><div><br /></div><div>The whole idea that the closeness ends after birth is something us crazy westerners and Anglo-speaking people came up with. Around the world babies are <i>constantly </i>attached to their parents until they are completely mobile. We're talking baby wearing here, folks. Around here, though, we have all these nifty products that are made with the express purpose of ease, and keeping baby occupied and out of the way so mommy and daddy can get stuff done sans baby. But the research that has been done on babies that are constantly in physical contact with their parents is pretty amazing.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here is the deal. Human infants are born more immature, mentally and physically, than any other mammal. Most mammals are already mobile (we're talking walking or crawling) within a few hours after birth. Not so much with the human infant. Something interesting, though? The average number of days a baby is born from the day of conception is 266 1/2. The average number of days it takes for a baby to crawl (like really, actually crawl) from birth? 266 1/2. Therefore, if a human were the typical mammal, our gestation period would actually be about 18 months. This also falls in line with the fact that most mammals are born with 50% of their adult brain, whereas humans are born with 25%. And how long do you think it takes for humans to be at 50% of their adult brain? Thats right. 9 months after birth.</div><div><br /></div><div>But because we are superior (I'm not being all GO HUMAN! here, just stating the facts) than these other mammals, it has proven to be extremely beneficial to be born so immature. "The infant is not a passive creature who is shaped by his environment, but is constantly exploring, trying to learn, and bring the environment under his control." (Karen, Ph.D, R.) Long story short, humans shape their environment, more so than the environment shapes them. The critical first nine months after birth, when the baby is still extremely immature and developmentally incomplete, are vital to the baby's development. Think how much more the baby learns while his brain is growing faster than it ever will again, being outside of the womb with all of the sights and sounds and smells and tastes of the world around him.</div><div><br /></div><div>We are one of the few societies that isn't constantly attached to our babies. We are breast feeding less and less, working more and more, and plenty of us consider picking up a crying baby spoiling it. (Post on this for another day. I'm sure your retinas are already bleeding.) The fact of the matter is, throughout most of history, if we took care of babies as we do today, bottle feeding, leaving them for work, sleeping in different rooms, etc, we would not have survived as a species. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Nature intended for babies to be with their mothers, especially at a time when their brains will grow more than any other time in their lives. Babies could not have been born developmentally incomplete and left alone most of the day or separated from their mothers if we were to survive as a species. No matter however numerous its advantages, however, retardation of growth rates and birth at an earlier state of gestation could never have occurred had there not been compensating care taking behavior on the part of the mother."</div><div><br /></div><div>So what does this mean for us as a family? It means we'll be sleeping together for awhile. It means I'll be staying home as a mommy. It means I will do everything in my power to breastfeed, and will go into thinking and KNOWING I can do it. It means this little love duck (love duck? Really, where do I come up with these names?) of ours will be attached to me. A lot. Thanks to this:</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(102, 102, 102); white-space: pre; font-family:Arial;font-size:10px;"><a href="http://s13.photobucket.com/albums/a252/apirateninja/?action=view&current=3.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i13.photobucket.com/albums/a252/apirateninja/3.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">Enter: <a href="http://www.sleepywrap.com/index.php?page=sleepy-wrap">The Sleepy Wrap</a>. Weird name, but from all of my research, this is one of the best wraps out there, and wraps are one of the best carriers out there. Once the little tyke gets to be about a year, we'll switch to a Mei Tai of the <a href="http://www.babyhawk.com/">BabyHawk</a> Brand. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So there you have it. Part of our plan to be the best parents we can be. Part of the whole 'best parents we can be' thing, though, is knowing that every child is different. That plans can change, that life can throw curve balls and that things may not end up exactly like we'd like them to. But this is what we feel will best suit our family and our baby and so this is what we're aiming for. And we'll try are darnedest to make it work.</div>Kristin and Robhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13750304076655687940noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5982576450592164830.post-8670841607027570702009-10-06T09:52:00.000-07:002009-10-14T13:36:21.197-07:00Love at First Sight<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102); white-space: pre;font-family:Arial;font-size:10;"><a href="http://s13.photobucket.com/albums/a252/apirateninja/?action=view&current=FirstUlrasoundCutestBlob.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="width: 341px; height: 237px;" src="http://i13.photobucket.com/albums/a252/apirateninja/FirstUlrasoundCutestBlob.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a></span></div><div><br /></div>Let me just go out on a limb here and say I was so incredibly nervous/anxious/terrified/excited/worried/thrilled/sick to my stomach/ecstatic at the thought of our ultrasound. The week or so before, it was mainly the good. I couldn't wait. It was scheduled out two weeks from the day we had it scheduled and that seemed like an eternity. As if 9 months isn't long enough! <div><br /></div><div>Then as they day approached, namely the day before, I started worrying. I had been sick all week with that rotten cold, which was a more complained about endeavor than the pregnancy symptoms that week. Then, I read a stupid, stupid, STUPID article by accident Thursday morning that said one of the first signs of miscarriage is <i>not feeling pregnant. </i>So what do you think I was feeling at that exact moment? I certainly wasn't feeling pregnant! Surely, I had lost this baby. Surely I wasn't fit to carry a baby. Surely this was all too perfect, all too surreal. There was no doubt in my <i>logical </i>mind that I was pregnant; four home-tests, as well as a urine and blood test at the doctor, a board certified nurse coming in to tell us, "You're most definitely pregnant!" and a doctor spending an hour going through medical history and birth stories of everyone I've ever known and then oh so wonderfully 'checking to see if my pelvis is large enough to give birth naturally'. I'm fairly certain all that doesn't happen from lack of proof of a baby growing. But my regular brain? The logic-free one? Yeah. There was no way I could be pregnant.</div><div><br /></div><div>We got to the imaging department half an hour early, because, well that's just how I roll. And if you know me well, you will know that in any situation where quiet, still waiting is required, I prefer to do nothing. No reading, no talking, no anything. Just sitting and staring. People watching is allowed. The entire time I'm sitting there, while Rob reads a camera magazine and tries to grab my attention to take it off of what I'm certain he knows I'm thinking, I am praying to God for peace and protection of our unborn, and arguing with my logical brain that, of course something is wrong, of course we're not going to see a heart-beat and how in-the-heck am I going to be expected to just waltz right out of this place just having learned my baby is gone? I understand I'm crazy, people. Really, I do.</div><div><br /></div><div>Side Note: I was told to drink one quart of water one hour before the appointment and DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES PEE AFTER DOING SO. Okay, um, I have to pee like the dickens sans drinking any water. What kind of foul punishment is it to make a pregnant woman drink two bottles of water and <i>not </i>pee? I was in pain. If my bladder has ever caused me pain, that was the day. </div><div><br /></div><div>So we finally get called back into this dark little room with a chair for my love, a bed for me and a sweet ultrasound tech (I don't actually know her title, so we'll just go with that) who was very soft spoken and told me she'd let me pee as quickly as she could. She was my new best friend. So I lay down, fold my jeans down a bit, and she squirts that weird feeling warm goo on my lower belly and the <i>instant </i>she touches that little magic wand to my belly we see our baby. Our baby! Oh the screen! (Not that the little tyke is all that big anyways, but dude was DWARFED by my GIGANTIC bladder! I know, I know, too much information but OH MY GOODNESS. My bladder was a BEAST!) We sat amazed as she showed us this video/picture of <i>our </i>baby, in my belly for twenty minutes. I tried my best to ignore to agonizing pain of having my already too full bladder pushed on over and over as she looked for various parts of me and measurements of baby.</div><div><br /></div><div>She then zooms in on baby and we see this tiny little light bulb flashing; white, gray, white, gray, white, gray, white, gray. Our baby's heart. Beating! Strong and fast and perfectly normal! The screen was then cut in half; half ultrasound of our baby, the other half this weird, lined, chart looking thing which she told us was the motion of our baby's heart beating. All 151 beats per minute of it! We were amazed. We sat in utter bliss. I'm fairly certain I would trade never peeing again for being able to sit there for the next seven months and watch that adorable little heart beating on our little blob of baby. </div><div><br /></div><div>When it was time to go (we avoided the, um, 'other place' of interest for first trimester ultrasounds because the tech was able to get the measurements she needed just from my belly) we walked out to a different world. We had our baby, alive and well, with his or her little arms and little legs and amazing little beating heart. Rob couldn't stop saying "that is the coolest thing I have ever seen in my LIFE" and "I have never seen anything so AMAZING" and "that was our BABY!" Needless to say, he doesn't cuddle me in bed anymore. He only cuddles his baby. Have I told you how much I love this man? I feel like the luckiest woman alive to not only get to be called his wife, but that my child, <i>our </i>child, will get to call him daddy.</div><div><br /></div><div>The picture we got isn't great, but it is still amazing to stare at because it is a picture of our baby. Of that tiny little 3/4 of an inch baby, our large raspberry sized nugget, that we are already head over heels in love with. Here's to counting down to December, when if everything goes normal and well, we'll have our next ultrasound!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Statistics:<br />Crown to Rump Measurement- 3/4 inch<br />Weight- too little to measure :)<br />Due Date: Friday, May 14th, 2010 (doesn't that sound so futurish?)<br />Ultrasound from Friday October 2, 2009: 8 Weeks 0 Days<br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102); white-space: pre;font-family:Arial;font-size:10;"><a href="http://s13.photobucket.com/albums/a252/apirateninja/?action=view&current=FirstUlrasoundCropped.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="width: 374px; height: 260px;" src="http://i13.photobucket.com/albums/a252/apirateninja/FirstUlrasoundCropped.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a></span></div>Kristin and Robhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13750304076655687940noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5982576450592164830.post-59398887177127294862009-10-01T14:45:00.000-07:002009-10-14T13:36:00.603-07:00Goodbye Modesty, Hello Baby!I took the crazy test, and it was a positive two pink lines; pregnancy has made me crazy. Not only does this pregnancy have me eating nothing but applesauce, peeing 347 times a day (17 times in the middle of the night), irrationally needing to rearrange and/or buy new furniture, perilously sorting through things and wanting to give EVERYTHING away, but it has me crying. Desperately crying. Ridiculous, reasonless crying through pretty much any song or show or commercial, but namely Friday Night Lights. Have you seen the show? Disclaimer: if you're pregnant, for the sake of yourself, your spouse and your unborn child, please do not watch this show. Holy cry fest 2009. <div><br /></div><div>Aside from the peeing, the crying, the needing to buy new and the purging of old, pregnancy and this sweet little nugget growing inside of me haven't really treated me too badly. I'm nauseous most mornings and evenings, and sometimes through the day but I can really track it to when I let myself get too hungry. Which is quite an easy task, seeing as absolutely NOTHING sounds good. Applesauce? Yum, delicious! Anything else? No thank you. I have actually had to (I apologize) hold in my vomit just thinking about certain things. The other day I about lost my applesauce at the mere sight of some canned black beans in our pantry. I had no intention of eating them, I was not trying to concoct a recipe using them, and I'm not so sure I was even <i>thinking </i>about them, but the sight of that innocent little can had me running to the bathroom and praying to the Good Lord Above that I could keep down my lunch. </div><div><br /></div><div>With the help of my loving Water Nazi (you know, the Baby Daddy) I've been doing my best to down as much liquid as I can, (I promise, Mom!) but it has proven to be a difficult task when there are times pure bottled water makes me gag. I still can't figure this one out, but I've taken to just going with the flow and figuring it is what it is. At least I have managed to not throw up my prenatal yet, though I gag even just thinking about trying to swallow that pill. And believe you me, pills have never been an issue. But apparently my unborn isn't too fond of them.</div><div><br /></div><div>So aside from the very typical (and my mom thinks I've got it pretty easy as far as these things go) first trimester symptoms, this whole baby making thing has gone pretty textbook so far. I've been stuck with a rotten, ache-all-over-my-body, throat-burns-like-the-depths-of-hell, congestion-like-New-York-traffic-at-rush-hour type cold all week that I think is just starting to leave me alone and let me be. Fortunately, Benadryl is a Class A (meaning it has been tested and approved for use in all trimesters of pregnancy) drug that I have been taking at night to let me sleep. And I'm fairly certain the house will recover from lack of me doing ANYTHING but laying in bed for the entire week. I actually even ventured out to the store (oh boy!) last night to get some more soup for me and mine, who has also caught this wonderful cold. </div><div><br /></div><div>Exciting news of the week? Ultrasound TOMORROW! Woohoo! We are so very, very excited to see our sweet little blob of a peanut on a static-y black and white screen. We may be a little over zealous, but come on! This is our BABY! And we're seeing him or her! On a screen! From inside my belly! And apparently another place I'm told they utilize for first trimester ultrasounds... heh. Oh well. Goodbye modesty, hello baby!</div><div><br /></div><div>And there is reason to celebrate- our little poppyseed is so grown up! The little tyke is now 3/4 of an inch! That is a far, far cry from the little poppyseed he/she was when we first were introduced via that nice pregnancy test!</div><div><br /></div><div>Alright then, folks. Updates tomorrow I'm sure with news from the ultrasound. </div>Kristin and Robhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13750304076655687940noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5982576450592164830.post-19812013704325505062009-09-23T15:26:00.000-07:002009-10-14T13:35:25.525-07:00Let the Symptoms Begin!I am exhausted. Completely and utterly exhausted. The kind of tired where I wake up from a decent full night of sleep and feel like I could sleep for another eight hours. And I'm sure I could. I've never been much of a sleeper- I hated it from day one (ask my poor parents!). This feeling of wanting to be sleeping ALL THE TIME is so foreign to me! I've been taking about an hour or so long nap a day and it doesn't seem to help restore the energy at all. By 8:30 at night, I'm <i>begging </i>to go to bed. They say our baby is set to TRIPLE in size this week, and I'm pretty convinced that has something to do with it. <div><br /></div><div>I have learned what they mean by morning sickness, and have jumped on the bandwagon to get the title changed to ALL THE TIME sickness. Truth be told, from the get go of this whole baby making adventure, nighttime hasn't been so good to me. The night after we found out I was pregnant, I spent an hour or two in the bathtub trying to work through some awful stomach stuff. From then on, nights have just been bleh. Gassy, bloated and feeling like all my innards were turned into outters and replaced with a dense, wet sand. Fortunately, aside from nights the constant need to pee, I felt really, really good. This whole week, however, has brought a brand spankin' new brand of nausea. True blue nausea. The "oh please don't throw up. Come on Kristin, please don't throw up. Think through it, work through it, oh God please don't let me throw up" kind of nausea. My lovely unborn has yet to make me actually puke, but I sure have had some close calls.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh. And my brain? Gone with my energy. It is gone. I've been told you get mommy brain pretty much as soon as you get pregnant and it never. goes. away. Not after the kid is born, not after the kid is in school, not after the kid moves out. Never. It is here to stay. Which really sucks considering at about 6 weeks into the whole deal, I went and got my purse stolen. I say stolen, but I pretty much put it out there for anyone who was experiencing a lack of judgement to take. Bye, bye credit cards. Bye, bye check book. Bye, bye point and shoot camera. Bye, bye positive pregnancy tests I was keeping to remind myself when I found it surreal. Bye, bye work time cards. Bye, bye favorite wallet. Bye, bye journal. Bye, bye keys and the 4-500 dollars it is costing to replace you. Bye, bye normal brain.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hot flashes, food cravings, food aversions (who thinks a frickin' ice cream sandwich doesn't sound good? My kid is a weirdo!) added to the nasea and bloating and I'm FINALLY really feeling pregnant. This kid is coming. And I am so ready. <i>We </i>are so ready.</div><div><br /></div><div>After work today I took a bite of a much coveted apple slice and it totally made me feel like a million bucks. (I may or may not have even giggled out loud to myself.) But three apple slices in, I was doing my best at convincing myself to keep them down. I am fairly certain during that mental battle with my stomach, I decided I never want to eat another apple again. </div><div><br /></div><div>I then proceeded to fight the air conditioning the whole way home. It would be freezing and then it would be a million degrees. There was no middle ground. It took a good long 20 minutes for me to realize it probably wasn't the jeep, rather my incubating child giving me hot flashes. </div><div><br /></div><div>This afternoon I got three dishes into the massive pile holding our sink hostage. I then had to sit down. Three dishes? How am I expected to labor for hours and hours and then push a kid out if I can't even do THREE FRICKIN' DISHES without being exhausted? This miracle of mine is rendering me useless.</div><div><br /></div><div>But do you know what? I love it. I love every single aspect of this pregnancy. I love being sick because it means my hormones are fighting hard for this little tyke residing somewhere near my bladder. I love the cravings because they remind me I'm not just taking care of myself. I love the bloating and the hot flashes and the crazy dreams because it makes me <i>feel </i>pregnant. It makes me feel like a mommy. And that makes me feel amazingly blessed and more excited than I can possibly imagine.</div>Kristin and Robhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13750304076655687940noreply@blogger.com2