How did women survive?

In one of my classes for graduate school, my professor asked, "Do any of you ever feel like you were born in the wrong time?" As I listened to a few classmates drone on about how they were certain they should have been born (coincidentally) in the time period we were studying, I began to convince myself that I was, in fact born in the wrong time.

OK, sure, whenever I think about living in another time, I am quick to remember that I am blessed to have access to medical care in this time. That's a gimme. (And really, I couldn't be more grateful for it.) But this is one of those hypothetical questions where you can romanticize and demonize aspects of society as you see fit.

After that lovely day in class, I determined that I had, in fact, been born in the wrong time. I wanted to live in a time where people were recognized for beautiful words and great deeds. Where men not only covered their rear ends when they left the house, but they fretted over things like hats and pocket squares.

But as time goes on, I have started remembering things I love about living now, like running water, countless devices to keep babies happy (can you imagine having a newborn without a swing?!? I would die), etc., etc. I was beginning to feel better about living in 2008, 2009, 2010 and 2011, but then my dishwasher broke.

I am here to testify that after hours and hours of hand-scrubbing dishes, I was so born in the right time. I don't know if you know this, but living without a dishwasher is awful. Miserable. My two weeks of experience have made me a believer in the power of technology.

And now if you'll excuse me, I can hear story time happening in the living room without me. And that's where I really want to be right now.

Collecting no moss (I hope)

Rollin', rollin', rollin'

That's all little Penelope is doing these days. First she learned how to roll from her belly, onto her left side, onto her back. Then she learned how to roll from her back, onto her right side, onto her belly again.

Folks, this is what we call a log roll. And this is what my daughter does all.day.long. Until she would get in situations like this.

We thought things were under control. She would get caught under a chair, against the wall, etc., and then she would scream. But then she started getting curious. And then her fingers were all over everything.

We soon realized that our current abode is NOT baby-proofed, and we fear we are eerily close to the little one sticking her fingers in something hazardous. (But we may just be every bit the part of paranoid, first-time parents my older siblings try to explain we are.) Instead of buying the $5 plastic things you stick in outlets that save your child from electrocution, this was just the needle on boo's back that convinced me: We need our own place.

It's not that we aren't over-the-moon-grateful for the current space. With my parents' generosity, the price for staying in their condo is more than right. But we hate the idea of getting too comfortable. Of overstaying our welcome. Of never breaking out the crib we bought for our baby about a year ago. Of having our new couch stay wrapped in plastic in the garage forever. Of spending half of my child's early years driving in the car between our home, my sister's home, and jesse's and my respective places of work.

So we hope to roll on. We've put in an offer to buy (yes, BUY) a home. But it's a short-sale, and the pace seems to be slower than the crawl Penelope is now working on. So we may end up renting after all. Until then, I am learning more every day that home is where my heart is. And even though all of my things are in a combination of storage units, garages, and boxes around the house; I'm happy to be making our memories here.

But a girl can dream...

Right?

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.

ain't no sunshine when he's gone

so, jesse is gone for the week. the whole week.

i know whining like this seems pathetic (because it really is), but let me explain. he was gone all last week. and i saw him for about two hours this weekend because of family commitments and my recent fondness of napping. he keeps going to boise to finish his mandatory free labor for school.

but see, jesse leaves with the sun shining, and no less than three hours later, i hear the wind howling and the rain coming in. coincidence? i beg to differ.

if i could have heard myself five years ago, this kind of whiny behavior would have been baffling. some more potentially offensive (but recently occurring) clingy behavior might include:

• refusing to sleep in our new place until jesse can stay there with me. sure, there are creepy crafts crowding each room, and the place is really fit for senior citizens, but still. i simply refuse to stay at the place with my belongings and where i am paying rent until the husband can be there. i am surprised my parents haven't forcibly removed me from their basement.
• retiring to bed around 9:30 because i don't want to do anything else. i seriously got out of bed to write this post. i haven't been in bed that early since elementary school.
• talking about jesse so much that all my co-workers couldn't possibly handle another tale.
• sending approximately ten text messages an hour or calling if i haven't heard from the man in more than three hours. when i approach the three-hour mark, i tend to assume there has been a horrific accident. then each unreturned communication increases certainty that i have become a tragically young widow, and the volume of calls exponentially increases. it's a wonder he takes any of my calls.

so this could be indicative of a few things. it could be that i desperately need friends. or it could be a testament of the fact that i continue to fall more in love with him everyday.

it's probably both. but for sentiment's sake, i'm going with the second option.

jesse, i miss you. call me when you get to boise. or now.