Sweet way to start the day

Maybe you're like me, and you woke up to a baby who mysteriously ended up in bed with you. You'll later learn that you brought her to bed around 1 a.m. because you didn't have the presence of mind to get her to go back to sleep in her own bed. Anyway, you wake up because she's pulling your hair, clawing your face and kicking you in the back. So you bring her out into the living room and decide to set her down with some toys so you can use the restroom. You think you're safe.

You forget your husband left half of a Twix bar on top of the end table in the living room.

You come back out to see her relishing every moment with this candy bar. You remember all the work you and your husband have put into keeping foods like this out of the baby's mouth. But then you see the look of pure joy on her face. And you laugh.

And though she pretends to feel guilty for the camera, you know that your little family's battle between sugar and sanity has begun.

Defiance: A genetic defect?

I still remember the day I first felt truly defiant. (Well, the first day I can remember, of course.) I must have been, oh, six, and I had watched entirely too many dramatic stories on television of young runaways. After my mother delivered what I perceived to be a vicious injustice, I stormed off to my room, packed a few necessary belongings into my baby blanket, searched the room for a toy broom to tie the package onto all hobo-style, and marched back to the front door. I looked up at the kitchen only to see my mom busily doing the dishes.

Who did she think she was? A mother of five? (Or maybe it was six by then, the timeframe really is blurry.) Giving it an Oscar-worthy, "goodbye-cruel-world" performance, I painfully sighed, "I'll see you in twenty years."

She turned off the sink and looked at me. Immediately I understood this to mean that she felt all the pain that would exist in her life without me. I felt her begging me to stay and remain the vital part of our family that I was. I felt her apologizing. Then she spoke.

"Did you say something?"

"Yes mom," I thought, "your apology is acceptable. Thank you for understanding your error. I would like to spend the night in my warm bed now."

But all I sighed was, "no."

I don't know why this story has been running through my head lately. Perhaps it's because Penelope had her first truly defiant moment the other night: refusing to swallow her food.

Like mother, like daughter.

Note: Please ignore the obviously bad parenting and filming in this video. Also, did you notice how Jesse is all worried she might be sick, and I immediately just wanted it on film? Man, he really is a better parent than I am.

The best part of waking up

In case you don't know yet, naps are heaven sent. Of course I enjoy my hours of alone time (aka the only time I have to clean up before the next wave of crazy starts), but what's even better is that the baby always wakes up a different -- generally happier -- beast than she was when I put her down.

If you are in our house, you will most likely find her like this after a nap. I guarantee that you cannot stay frustrated when you walk in to the little face.

And while I would love to tell you that Penelope always wakes up all smiles and sunshine, that really isn't true. Sometimes she wakes up like this. Congested, runny nose, exhausted, miserable.

That's what happened in our house this week. But we spent the whole day like two little slugs, watching Gilmore Girls (the ultimate sick day TV programming. Penelope would back me up on this one), manually removing snot from a baby's nose, and comforting said child from the agony of her first head cold.

Sometimes, however, you put your child down for a nap just to get a break from her cranky, teething attitude. And after deciding you are slightly less exasperated, you might peek in to see her peeking right back at you.

And then you immediately take a photo to document her beautiful, raw silliness.

No matter what, it truly is the beginning to a new day (or afternoon, or two hours until the next nap).

NOW FOR SOMETHING ENTIRELY DIFFERENT

husband: What is that?

me: It's the Halloween costume I got for Penelope.

husband: Yeah, but what IS it?

me: It's a peacock.

husband: That's NOT a peacock.

me: Why not?

husband: When have you ever seen a peacock with a human face peeking out of its neck? It's terrifying!!!

Conclusion: Our difference of opinion wasn't resolved. However, we did agree on a new costume for the baby. Pictured peacock costume has been returned to the store. (But I still claim it is awesome.)

Half Birthdays *or* Carrying on the Tradition

Each February 17, I would get excited to remind everyone that it was my HALF BIRTHDAY! Well, Penelope was this close to being born on my half birthday. Luckily, she had the decency to come a early and save the day for me.

Well, today is Penelope's HALF BIRTHDAY. If you can believe it. I don't want to drone on and on about everything she does (because I know that I'm just about the only one that cares), but in six short months, she has become one of my best friends. And the best thing I've ever done.

We love you, Littles.

evensong

we have started whispering all the time to each other when the baby is asleep. even when we are in a completely different part of the house where she couldn't possibly hear us.

i am even typing this quietly.

you see, when your two-month-old daughter no longer fits into her 0-3 months clothes and is in the 96th percentile weight range for her age, you fear what happens when you wake a sleeping (though admittedly adorable) mini-giant.

(no, honey, this isn't the same photo i promised you i wouldn't put on my blog. she looks really terrifying/hilarious in that one, but i picked this much more tame version. i promise.)

maternal ramblings: volume I

my mom always told me that being a mother is the best way to learn charity. since she is an expert on this mothering business, i knew she was on to something. but for some reason, i blocked out the "learn" portion of this statement, and assumed that charity just comes innately the moment a baby is born.

penelope's delivery was actually better than i had expected. i spent so much time psyching myself out over the terror of a c-section that i had made it out to be much worse than it was. sure, being paralyzed, mostly naked and strapped to a table in a room full of strangers is a bit unsettling. but as soon as jesse got to come into the room with me, it was one of the most thrilling experiences of my life. (this was the first of a million times i have asked myself how in the world some people do this on their own.) i will never forget the doctor's remarks during the surgery "wow, that is a lot of hair." "that is a really big baby." "how big of an incision do you think you need to make to get a baby that big out? AS BIG AS I JUST MADE IT!" (i imagine he was mentally high-fiving and chest-bumping his surgical team during the final comment.)

when i saw penelope's little face, i started laughing and crying at the same time. and the weirdest thing? i snorted. twice. i never snort. i have never felt so overwhelmed with joy in my life.

and while overall the experience has been 90 percent bliss, it's been difficult. people tried to warn me that the first few weeks of having a baby are hard. and i (mostly) believed them. but i had no clue.

none.

so far, i spend much of my time at home feeling like my life is oddly akin to groundhog day. the same thing over and over again. maddening. exhausting. desperately searching for some kind of relief. a combination of constant feedings, diaper changings, need to rest and recover and nearly total isolation (in an attempt to avoid exposing the baby to the joy of RSV season) isn't always a flattering fit for me. i have been known to devolve into what jesse and i refer to as "that crazy lady" that takes over my body.

luckily, i have received such thoughtfulness from other people. meals, visits, phone calls, gifts. it's been unreal. my dear sister even spent an entire afternoon in my bed with me after i passed out and was instructed by the husband that i wouldn't be going anywhere that day.

these acts of charity have begun to show me what it means to be a mother. selfless, patient and loving to no end. the selfless and patient part are still slow coming. but when i look at this little thing, the loving portion is completely effortless.

here's to working toward the rest of the combination.

to tide you over

until i can sit down long enough to get some thoughts pulled together, here are some photos of little penelope and her incredibly handsome, wonderful father (aka the parent she actually resembles).

we love you all!

tuesday i'm in love

so, i have a c-section scheduled for tuesday.

the thought of delivery terrified me. now that the doctor wants to do a c-section, i am scared of that too.

awesome.

for now, i will focus on the fact that i can't wait to meet this little thing.

wishing and hoping

at a recent appointment, my doctor told me i only have to make it three more weeks before the baby is considered full term. since they are worried she will get too big with my diabetes, it sounds like they won't be letting her stay in there much past that. weekly ultrasounds and non-stress tests are doing all the hard work to configure that business.

on my end, i have decided i am officially done photographing my pregnant self after taking this dandy photo.

not seen in this photo: aching back, enormously swollen feet and ankles, general discomfort, lack of sleep, and constant angst about little one growing too big/breathing right/coming out too early/staying in too long/terror of delivery. but i know that she is the answer to so many of our prayers, and i feel so at peace about everything -- and i know that is the answer to so many of your prayers. thank you for that.

i hope next time you see my face it will be glowing with the excitement of the safe arrival of little one (aka the only thing getting cuter in this pregnancy).

things bright and beautiful

busy times call for busy photos

against all odds

evidence this child could be male:

jesse has all boys in his family. his dad has seven brothers. my dad has four brothers. i have three brothers. you could say we come from a line of male-dominated families.

out of the ten previous davis grandchildren (offspring of my immediate family), seven are boys.

the chinese lunar calendar predicted it would be a boy.

my all-knowing supermom sister told me i had to have a boy so our children could be BFFs.

all nicknames given to the baby have been male-oriented (such as "shank" and "moon doggie").

this baby kicks. hard. it makes its presence known.

i just had "that feeling" that it was a boy.

but, against all odds, we are thrilled to know we are having a beautiful BABY GIRL!

(which has to be announced in green because, according to gilmore girls, everyone knows that green is the new pink.)

to my unborn child -- a plea

dear baby,

at 19 weeks, you are supposed to look like a large mango covered in greasy cheese. i don't mean to be rude, but you sound a bit disgusting. sometimes, though, i find myself daydreaming about a really adorable, greasy mango and it makes me smile.

on tuesday, we get to find out which of two varieties of human you are. you will go from greasy mango to boy or girl -- that's quite a step up! it seems to be in vogue to choose not to know -- some prefer a surprise and some find superiority in declaring that women didn't know for thousands of years and were just fine. i have never been one for waiting, and i figure thousands of years ago i wouldn't have access to lots of medical care that lets me experience this, so we will be finding out. besides, your dad always says it will be a surprise to us come tuesday.

i mostly can't wait to see you again.

the doctor says that you are a rebel. you wiggle too much when they tried to find your heartbeat, so we had to do an early ultrasound (and you scared me to death, young man or lady). during the ultrasound, the doctor exclaimed, "that is quite a bit of fetal movement! you have a very active one on your hands!" you don't seem to behave as they would like you to for these routine procedures.

so this is me pleading. if my center of gravity weren't so messed up, i would even get down on my knees. please, please behave. this is the only time i will ever ask you to share your unmentionables with a room full of strangers.

we pled so much to be able to have you at all, so this kind of pleading seems a bit silly. no matter what, you are the most amazing blessing. and we can't wait to see you. even if you come out looking like a greasy cheese-covered mango.

love, mommy

you may be seeing more of me

two nights ago, jesse and i returned from a one-week hiatus (that i will refer to internally as a vacation) at my parents' house. sure, they were the ones in europe, but we got to babysit my 17-year-old-senior-in-high-school-too-cool-for-school little sister annie.

when we got back to our other temporary little home (you know, the one with our bed in it), i realized just how cold eastern idaho gets in early october. apparently the snow on the ground earlier that day wasn't reminder enough. i went to turn up the thermostat in various rooms in the house, only to learn that the husband and i have varying ideas of what "warm" means. to me it means comfortable. to jesse it means survivable.

so i confidently set the thermostat in one room in the home. the room where my little iMac resides, along with half of our belongings and some leftover storage from the true owners of this place (and yes, we will be trying to fit a baby in this place).

so you may be seeing more of me. or maybe not. but at least now you understand why i look like this.

and for diane, here is the belly approximately one week ago. (so... 18 weeks?)

warning: random babbling

here are some things i have learned lately:

maternity pants are not all hideous. they are not all flattering. but they are so comfortable. i should have done this years ago.

peanut butter captain crunch cereal is absolutely delicious.

if you are four months pregnant, and you wear your old clothes to the gym, sometimes your belly sticks out when you move rapidly. and that is, apparently, not attractive.

sometimes ten-year-olds in primary will answer a question about preparing to share the gospel with the statement "yeah, but all my friends are mormon, so this doesn't really apply to me." well, i guess that's one approach.

six-day work weeks are not very much fun. thank heavens for a day of rest.

life isn't perfect, but sometimes i forget about the amazing compensation the lord has given me. i hope ya know that i have learned it is so true. (and i hope you will watch the video about it)

at the end of a six-day work week, you might get a letter from one of your sweet, ten-year-old primary children telling you how excited they are that you're having a baby. and it might make you a little emotional.

i should have never found this web site.

BEST OF ALL: my bff is coming home this weekend. (i can't wait!)

and there is one thing i will learn in three weeks:

whether this little critter taking up more space in my body is a boy or girl. i have my suspicions. (but we are so excited either way.)

because i could not stop for illness...

illness forced me to stop for the afternoon.

see, sometimes i get sick. and usually i convince myself that it's not going to go away just because i go home. and it's not like i can get anyone else ill (at least, i don't think that's where babies come from...)

and then all my books and web sites and silly pregnancy e-mail updates convinced me that i should be starting to feel much better. so i told everyone i was starting to feel better. and for a few days, i was.

then this week happened. and though monday and tuesday can be attributed entirely to the little wild thing, today showed that sometimes baby growing + diabetes = no bueno. and without being too graphic, just trust me. it was no bueno.

so for today, my big prayer is that i will actually be able to work my full nine hours tomorrow. it would be a first for the whole week. and i am reminded (yet again) that sometimes a little humility is a good thing. but i'm going to keep hoping that when my second trimester starts on sunday that illness will listen to all of my books and web sites and e-mail updates, and it will kindly stop for me.

this completely uninteresting post brought to you by a girl who hasn't left her house for anything other than work or church in far too long.

some thoughts

we got to see our little wild thing. (ok, ok. you can see it too...)

and we learned that it should be joining us around february 28 (no, this is not a leap year).

the other night i woke up in a panic because i swear i could feel my body expanding. it wasn't comfortable. and i know it will get worse. and i'm terrified. and thrilled.

and then i threw up a few times and fell asleep again. so far, pregnancy really is the joy i had hoped it would be.

7,000 words of summer