Here are a couple of pictures from Easter at our place. We had everyone over for a Ham/Beef Tenderloin dinner and ate and drank with family...a perfect Sunday.
Aunt J sitting with Austin who is about three knuckles deep in the ranch dip.
Spike and Ike cracking up at something, probably that J said.
Dying eggs with Dad, her toungue is always out of her mouth when she is concentrating.
This one is actually from the Museum of Natural History. J and I are taking advantage of all the amazing things to see in Colorado now that Austin is old enough to have fun. Here is the little pea pod after she found a slide in the kids section.
Monday, April 18, 2011
I was tagged in this on Facebook by an old high school friend and thought it was too cute not to share. “First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches. May she be beautiful but not damaged, for it’s the damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty. When the crystal meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half and stick with beer. Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age. Lead her away from acting but not all the way to finance.Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels. What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, dammit. May she play the drums to the fiery rhythm of her own heart with the sinewy strength of her own arms, so she need not lie with drummers. Grant her a rough patch from twelve to seventeen.Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, for childhood is short – a tiger flower blooming Magenta for one day – and adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait. O Lord, break the internet forever, that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed. And when she one day turns on me and calls me a bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that shit. I will not have it. And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back. “My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a mental note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with your God eyes. Amen.”
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
We found out a week and a half a go that baby #2 is breech and we go back in on Monday to see if she has turned on her own or if we have to look into other options. Of course in this scenario other options are more than likely a c-section. I have been trying to come to terms with the pending surgery but no matter how cheery I seem on the outside I haven't slept well since we heard. I blame our natural birth classes, we took 8 weeks of classes when I was pregnant with Austin that basically went into great detail as to how horrible c-sections are for baby and mom. Now to be presented with one due to unexplained reasons is hard to swallow. I have read every medical journal, blog, and news article I can get my hands on and still rest no easier. While the logical side of me completely agrees that if it is safest for baby then we just need to schedule it, the part that has done so much research is fighting the sane part of my brain. I have been going to the chiropractor to try and turn her and while I am completely bruised she is still sitting pretty darn happy...and sideways, which is the other bummer. She's not even feet down, but rather laying across my (what I can only imagine) too big of an abdomen sideways. I read yesterday about some rather unorthodox births where a baby can come out bottom first but the mom has to undergo A LOT of stitches to make that happen and of course if the baby's heartbeat drops for any reason you are rushed in for the scary emergency c-section anyways. I read a story about a baby who had a sack of fluid next to their spine and was breech, as it turns out if the baby had been born naturally the sack would have had so much pressure applied to it that the baby would have been instantly paralyzed but instead was born via c-section and underwent surgery just fine. I thought for sure that would make me feel better but alas it did not. So here I sit worried about things I cannot change which is breaking one of my cardinal rules, hoping beyond reason that all the medical journals are false and there won't be bonding issues, or breastfeeding issues, or onset asthma, increased illness and failure to thrive. Not to mention that I actually just laughed out loud thinking of me being able to take two full weeks off to heal. I have already promised to begin checking emails when I get home from the hospital oh yeah and that two year old little girl I have running around that I won't be able to pick up.