beccalogue

five months

2012-02-10T09:17:00.000-05:00

Baby Boy,

Really? Almost half a year has come and gone since you joined our family? Nah... I refuse to believe it.

Your personality has taken off this month. It is hilarious to watch how intent you are on solving all the world's problems. You will find your foot, and with a little furrow in your brow, concentrate on it and mumble displeasure at its foreignness. Then a few minutes later, I'll tickle you or make some ridiculous sound, and you're as wide-faced happy as you were serious just before. I love your range of emotions, already.

I don't feel quite ready to be feeding you solids regularly. I feel like breastmilk has so many more nutrients than any little can of smashed up peas that it's not necessary yet, but the other day we thought we'd try out a little bit of rice, just for texture. Oooh boy, that was offensive to you. I think I'm still apologizing for it. There was no crying, but a heck of a lot of cringing and flailing. So... we'll try again later. Sorry, son.

Sleep comes and goes. We finally let you cry it out for a little while, a decision that on the one hand made me feel guilty and on the other, restored my sanity. The first night, your dad was at the hospital working, so I was in the kitchen listening to you cry while downing chocolate at an alarming rate and talking to your grandma on the phone for support. You responded quite well to this, and have proven that you are capable of sleeping quite long periods of time! Yay! Although this week you started rolling over to your belly and sleeping that way, which has your dad and me freaking out. The first night you did this, we flipped you back onto your back probably 15-20 times throughout the night. The next day, a couple dozen experienced mothers convinced me this was quite a bit ridiculous, and so now you sleep on your belly sometimes. Will I ever stop being paranoid?

I love that you make people happy. If you're not overtired or, you know, ravenous, you smile so easily and just delight people around you. This hilarious old Russian man sort of followed us around the farmer's market the other day, commenting over and over again about how cute and alert you were. May have been a bit creepy, but it made him happy to see your gummy smile.

I keep telling myself that one of these days I'll really start making you take naps in your crib instead of in my arms, but I seem to not be able to find a good reason for it yet. I simply love cuddling with you. The other day, we were both so tired, but you hadn't fallen asleep quite yet. We both laid down together and I just traced your face until you fell asleep. You didn't move a muscle; you just let your little eyes close and then drifted off. It was one of those oh my gosh, I'm a mom and I love this more than anything moments.

Thanks for being my best little buddy. You bring so much happiness to your dad and me. I don't know what we ever did before you came into our lives.

love you,
Mama

cali road trip

2012-02-06T22:49:00.012-05:00

It's been almost an entire month since I last wrote on here, and honestly, I can't really explain the absence. I think it might have to do with the fact that my life currently revolves around this teeny little boy, and, while I think he's pretty much the best thing on planet Earth, ya'll probably aren't interested in his every babble and nap. I have managed to make a full-time job out of stressing about his sleep (or lack thereof), and, let's be honest, no one but Grandma wants to hear about that. Heck, I don't even want to hear about it anymore. So it leaves me wondering if I have anything worthwhile to say. Not being at work anymore means I am fresh out of stories about octogenarians throwing applesauce at me, and since those tales have gone by the wayside, this blog just doesn't dazzle like it used to. ;)

I also have been struck by the stark reality that I don't have hobbies. I mean, sure, I've sewn quilts and done craftsy things that have put a check mark in the "domestic" box on my wifely resume. I also like to cook and will read an occasional book, but as far as the thing that I DO just for ME that defines who I am when I'm not being a mom or a nurse... I'm kind of sitting here shrugging my shoulders feeling a little sheepish, and... unaccomplished. So. I'm on the hunt for a hobby. Stat. Pinterest and Real Clear Politics don't count as hobbies.

In other news, Ty got a random vacation in mid-January that resulted in our taking a fun road trip all over California. We toyed around with the idea of doing something exotic or far away. Then we reasoned that people come from thousands of miles away to this here golden state every day, so we had probably better take advantage of its offerings while they were in our backyard. So we packed up the car, and off we went. Jack did great, mostly because we were never in the car for more than 3.5 hours at a time. The trip didn't break the bank either, thanks to it being off-season for basically everything, and the fact that I spent lots and lots of time on tripadvisor and yelp. We also shuddered at the idea of eating out for every meal and coming home several hundred dollars poorer and 10 lbs heavier, so we loaded up a couple boxes with fruit and cereal and goodies from Trader Joe's. Best way to travel. We'll be doing it again.

We headed first to Yosemite, where Jack got his first full breath of real mountain air. There was no snow, but it was still quite cold, which gave me a great excuse to shove the baby in a ridiculous puffy coat. We stayed in a quirky little inn about 45 min outside the park.

Then onto Sequoia National Park, a place neither of us had been before, but now one of our favorite places on earth. The Forest of Giants was hauntingly beautiful and quiet and inspiring. Yes, John Muir was the prophet of nature in his day, but who wouldn't spout poetry after visiting this place?! Gorgeous. We'll be back. We stayed in Visalia in a gorgeous B&B that boasted the best breakfast I may have ever had.

I spy with my little eye... a wee bebe.

We headed south to Anaheim/LA where we met my parents and went to the temple, the natural history museum, and Disneyland. I'm telling you, going to Disneyland on a Tuesday in mid-January is just about the smartest thing we've ever done. The weather was perfect, the lines were non-existant, the baby dozed peacefully in his stroller most of the time, and after a little obsessive planning on my end, we were able to do everything on our wishlist. Not to mention there was a Cold Stone in the lobby of our hotel. Darn.

There may have been a trip (or two) to Cafe Rio. Ty and I are trying not to be completely bitter at the fact that Southern California boasts SEVEN Cafe Rio locations, while Northern California gets no love. Whatever.

We stopped through quaint Solvang on the way back north, and I felt all proud to be Danish. I believe I'm technically more Danish than I am anything else, but I'm such a European mutt that it's hard to claim one nationality. But, for the day, I was a blazing Dane. Again, another gorgeous day.

Sorry if a naked little mermaid bothers you. I think she's quite classic. My friend addresses nude art here.

Jack did such a fabulous job, sleeping in a different place every night and spending so much time in his car seat (a feat we thought impossible a few months ago when a ride to the grocery store induced a full-on red-faced, breath-holding, arm-flailing emergency). Even though I had serious apprehension about taking a 4 month old on a trip like this, I'm glad we decided not to fret about it too much, and just pick up and go.

four months

2012-01-10T13:49:00.000-05:00

Little Bug,

Dang, I must say, you have gotten unbelievably cute. And you were cute already. And the fact that I got an iPhone this month means the cuteness has been recorded even more faithfully. I take about 3 zillion pictures of you a day, most of which are promptly sent off to Grandma.

I love watching you grow and discover things. You have taken to grabbing things with all the seriousness you can muster, like you're taking a chemistry exam. You'll grab something, inspect it, give us a verbal analysis of it, then stick it in your mouth for taste-testing. Brilliant. I should have done that with my chemistry exams!

Your sleeping this month has been awesome, until... the past week or so. Actually, I'm not even gonna go there. Because then I'll start crying again, and when I cry my eyes get all puffy and my mascara runs, and we should probably spare everyone that sight. But I keep telling myself "tonight's the night" you're gonna sleep. It'll happen someday, I'm told. For now, though, you've got about a fifth of a normal mama.

I think you are getting HUGE, but they put you at 44% percentile for height and a teeny weeny 17th for weight! It means you get to stay in smaller clothes longer, which I love. But your tinyness doesn't keep me from regularly dressing you up like a little old man, a comment you get frequently.

You LOVE to be entertained. None of this 'sitting in someone's lap' thing. You need to be standing up or being walked around. You think you can actually sit up by yourself (as evidenced by the persistent crunches you do whenever you're reclining), but you are really 98% intention, 2% coordination in that department. Very cute. I love how inquisitive you are, but your dad and I agree that you will most likely be quite the handful once you're actually mobile.

I love you, sweet boy. I have been stretched thin this month and have been running on fumes, but there is nowhere I'd rather be than home with you. You are my little ray of happiness, even after a long, hard night. I can't believe how lucky I am.

Happy four months, kiddo.

love,
Mama

be more

2012-01-05T07:31:00.001-05:00

Happy New Year!

This is my 500th post on this here blog. So, happy 500th postiversary to me. By the way, it is strange to me when people say they're celebrating their "4 month anniversary" or something because, really, anniversary means year. So... is there a better word for that? Luniversary, perhaps?

Anyway, the real purpose of this post is to talk about the new year. There is something invigorating to me about the turning of a new year. I know that's it's technically just some arbitrary date, so why not chose February 23rd or June 4th to get excited about. But, placebo or not, it's a date symbolic of newness and change and a fresh start and maybe a second (or 27th) chance at being a better human.

I know some people think that resolutions are stupid and get delight out of watching the gym triple its population the first two weeks of January, only to reach its steady, faithful number by February. And perhaps it's silly or childish to begin each new year with glee at all the wonderful things I'm going to accomplish. But I can't help myself. Each December 31st, I get out a paper and pen and categorize my goals. A bit of experience has taught me to be more realistic than optimistic, and it's yielded more success.

This year I had the usual on my list: exercise more, read more, cook more, do more. But this year I felt a true yearning to BE more. I want to be kinder, more reliable. I want to be spectacular. Not so that people will think I'm wonderful, but so that I can reach a potential I know I'm falling far short of. Aren't we all? I think something that has been inhibiting me from being more is the crippling, obnoxious, ugly habit of self deprecation. I think that being the usual teenager suffering from low self esteem, I fell into this habit early on and never let it go. Luckily I don't have the same self loathing I did in high school. I truly love myself and am happy to recognize fairly both virtues and faults. But the tendency to be self deprecating has lingered, and I'm ready to kick it to the curb. Any of you have that habit? Feel free to join me. I believe the trash is picked up on Tuesdays.

Why is it that we are so bad at accepting compliments? We work really hard at something only to have someone tell us how great it is, and then we deflect their kind words. We make excuses for why we aren't as pretty or smart or fabulous or witty or profound or talented as the person next to us. We use humor or sarcasm to put ourselves down. We marvel at our friends' perfect lives without acknowledging their flaws, while dwelling on our imperfections without acknowledging our own beauty. It's exhausting to worry about not measuring up. So let's not, shall we?

I'm not saying we should join hands like Whos and sing our own praises, but rather, be better at taking compliments. Be satisfied with the 4 things we were able to check off our to-do lists. Don't play down our strengths or our hard work like they're nothing. Be happier in general with who we are.

Maybe it's just me who has to work on this. But I'll shout a proverbial "Who's with me?" into this vast blogosphere and assume that there are people out there who need to be a bit kinder to themselves this year.

christmas carol

2011-12-24T07:35:00.002-05:00

Tyler's Grandpa Fred used to read Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol to his children and grandchildren every year. Ty wanted to continue the tradition, so on Sunday night, he pulled it down off the shelf and started reading it to Jack. I told Ty that we'd better appreciate it, because he's likely more interested in it (or tolerant of it) this year than he will be for the next 18 or so.

This baby loves books. And his yummy fists.

And he loves his daddy.

Merry Christmas.

four years

2011-12-21T09:07:00.001-05:00

Four years. Wow.

I remember, shortly after we were married, reading the blog of one of my dearest friends. She had a wedding photo of them on her sidebar with the caption, "If the first year is the hardest, we're living the good life!" In that vulnerable moment, I sobbed, wondering when our "good life" would start. I had a serious case of the First Year Sucks blues - adjustment issues mostly having to do with Philadelphia's lonely winter and the cruel grasp of depression.

But time went on and I got better and the good life settled in and kicked up its feet and made itself feel right at home. And this boy was nothing but patient and tender and loving through it all (that is no small feat!). He's never raised his voice at me, never asked me to change anything about myself, never made me feel guilty for the mood swings or the difficulties of those early days, never said, "I wish you would just _____". So these past three years have flown, so much sweeter and easier and richer. And literally each day I realize, again, how much smarter the 23 year-old me was than I could have imagined to have snagged this guy. My better half, the sweet and tender father of our beautiful son, and my dearest friend. It's amazing to me that the longer you live with a person and the more you learn about them and the more your soul becomes inseparably woven into theirs, the more you really can't get enough of being with them. I love this man with all my heart. Being married to my best friend truly is the greatest blessing of my life. Thanks for choosing me, Tyler. You are my rock.

Here's to a zillion more years of togetherness, of learning and growing, of adventures and compromise (meaning more trips to New York for you, and more trips to National Parks for me), of seizing the day and loving the moment, of finding joy in our little family.

Photos by the Wonderful Anna Page

Happy Anniversary.

deck the halls

2011-12-18T17:34:00.001-05:00

So the tree is up and lighted and lovely and the fresh wreath purchased from Trader Joe's and hung in all it's smelling glory on the front door. The Christmas cards just arrived and are being addressed, and I only have a few remaining gifts to purchase. AND, I have made it 18 days into December only having consumed about 3 quarts of egg nog (singlehandedly, and always diluted!) and not a single cherry cordial (or what was likely a cherry in a previous life but has now been reduced to red syrupy goop embalmed in waxy chocolate).

I have also managed to avoid these first 18 days of December without hearing a single hair-splitting, overly ambitious rendition of O Holy Night, though I have not escaped hearing My Favorite Things on the radio a zillion times. As much as I love Barbra Streisand, she could sing it to me 100 times and I will not be convinced that this is a Christmas song. I know many of you agree with me.

Jack and I went on a date last week to the Stanford Mall while Tyler was at work. We gawked at lovely Christmas decorations at Macy's and especially at Williams-Sonoma, and we enjoyed hazelnut hot chocolate from Starbucks and maybe even a festive cupcake from Sprinkles. Or maybe I did all of that while Jack happily dozed. We even contemplated stopping by Santa's overpriced chair for a picture or two, but Santa was looking a little unwell and perhaps short of breath, so we passed and went to Pottery Barn Kids and gawked some more.

Yes, 'tis the season.

A dear friend from church sent out a list of her tippy top favorite Christmas things to do in the Bay Area, and one of them was to visit a local Christmas tree farm. We paid the farm a visit ourselves last week, found a lovely small and simple tree, took some family photos (which included an old man plaid shirt for Jack - small pot belly and all), and were floored at how beautiful the area was. The beach was literally across the street from the farm, so you can imagine how gorgeous that drive down Highway 1 was. It's moments like that when I suddenly wake up with a jolt and remember that I live in this lovely place called California.

Despite several singing obligations which have required many many hours of rehearsing Christmas carols, I had a hard time getting into the spirit of the season this year. But sitting here in the soft glow of our Christmas tree lights (our very first live tree - how grown up are we?!), my snoozing boy in the other room in his striped Christmas jammies, and a beautiful and simple manger scene from Poland on the table in front of me, I think it's about time I nestled into some Christmas joy.

So goodnight, all. I hope your last few days before Christmas are cozy and sweet.

the muppet

2011-12-14T07:25:00.000-05:00

I know, I know. You guys are all just dying to know how Jack's poor, neglected, forgotten older brother Ody is doing, aren't you?

Happy to inform you that he is doing just peachy.

I was curious how Ody would do when we brought the baby home. Some of you saw this picture below on Facebook already, but Ody has been kind of protective of Jack. It's pretty adorable. Tyler left for work one day and said, "Hey Ody, take care of the baby for me while I'm gone," and no joke, after Ty walked out the door, Ody did this.

He still pouts and lets us know how neglected he feels (we should have named him Eeyore and permanently fastened a pink bow on his tail), though honestly he's getting more attention now than he ever was before since I am home all the time. But he does really well. He gets upset if he can hear Jack crying and it appears that no one is doing anything about it. He'll walk up to the crib and shove his furry snout in between the slats of the crib to check on him.

Ty teasing Ody with some Cold Stone. This was actually before Jack was born, hence the birthing ball IN the crib.

He just got a mega haircut due to his tendency to develop matted fur at an alarming rate, and is now freezing cold in his nakedness. I called him a spindly chemo dog tonight and I think he didn't appreciate the nickname. Maybe Ty will actually let me buy him a sweater.

So yes, admittedly, my life isn't centered as much around Ody as it used to be before Mr. Baby came along, but we sure love this little dog. He has been so gentle and curious and careful, and besides trying to eat the Christmas ornaments and drink the tree's water, hardly mischievous at all. :)

three months

2011-12-10T07:28:00.000-05:00

Oh Sweet Little Bug,

Three months old - can you believe it? Your mama turned 27 this month, so Grandma and Grandpa are probably saying the same thing. "Our baby - 27! Can you believe it?" I'll skip the part about time going too fast and all that, lest I sound like a broken record.

But really? Already?

You really are just too cute for words. You've discovered your hands, which I think it absolutely hilarious. This means that most of the time your hands are up like you're about to get in a fight, then you stare at your little fist until you manage to punch yourself in the face. The whole ordeal usually ends up with you smacking loudly on your fist (oh, and the drool has officially come in full force!).

Recently you've also developed a fascination with my face. You could win any staring contest because you really can look me right in the eye for the longest time. All I have to do is say "I love you" in a ridiculously saccharine voice to get the biggest smile out of you - a smile too big just for your face, so you involve your shoulders and arms too. It makes my heart burst just to think about it.

We had a rough little patch this month, kiddo, in terms of sleeping. For about 5 straight nights, you'd wake up every 10 to 60 minutes. The longest stretch either of us got during this time was one single 1 1/2 hour stretch. Plus this was during a busy weekend of Christmas concerts and obligations, so I couldn't just bum around in my jammies trying to make up for it (and Daddy was on night shift and wasn't around to help out!). Oh boy was I sure tired! But the night before my birthday, something clicked and you slept, well, like a baby. Your Dad (who had finished his night rotation by now) took you and fed you a bottle of my milk the one time you woke up, giving me a solid eight - EIGHT! - hours of sleep. It was magical. It's as if you knew I had hit my breaking point and you wanted to butter me up for my birthday. It worked. We might try to repeat it sometime.

Day after day I marvel again at how wonderful it is to be able to stay home with you. Who knew a three month old could be so entertaining? I love laughing with you and reading and singing to you and enjoying every moment being your mother. Every now and then, a co-worker will contact me on Facebook and tell me they miss seeing me at work, and then I feel guilty at how little thought I've given my old job. I am just now toying around with the idea of going back to work two measly days a month, and yet thinking about spending 16 hours away from you during all of January just makes me so sad. We'll see if I can actually do it. Although I'm sure Dad would love the manly bonding time.

You and your dad are the light of my life, sweet pea. I can't believe it's already been three months since you made your way into our lives, and yet it really feels like we've known and loved you forever.

I love you to the moon and back,

Mama

change of heart

2011-12-04T07:41:00.002-05:00

I'm not going to ever pretend to be that girl that was always confident enough to not worry about her appearance. I've been guilty of caring too much, and placing way too much emphasis on what the scale said or what size dress I managed to fit into. I was a little heavier in high school and college, a fact that tormented me with obnoxious insecurity, and then leaned out after I got married, mostly due to eating a vegetarian diet and walking several miles a day to downtown Philly. I gained about 40 lbs when I was pregnant and have lost most but definitely not all of it. And for the first time in my life I can honestly say I Do Not Care.

!!!!!!!!!!!

Did you hear that?! It is the most liberating thing in the world. Yeah, I've got some baby pudge. Yeah I had to go to Goodwill to get some "in between" jeans since I'm too big for my pre-pregnancy jeans and too small for the maternity ones (one more thing to love about Palo Alto - Goodwill is full of Gap, BCBG, Banana Republic, etc). And yeah I'm still working at losing the rest (hello closet full of things I spent a long time collecting and would like to be able to wear again!), but it is so wonderful to literally have that care taken from me. Instead of obsessing over what I can pinch, I seriously marvel that my healthy body was able to produce this beautiful child, and is able to keep him growing at a breakneck pace. It might seem obvious to be at peace with your post-partum body because duh - you just gave birth to a person. But for anyone who knows how critical I've been of my body over the years, you know this is a huge deal. And it feels wonderful. When I see pictures of myself nowadays, I'm too distracted by that adorable kid in my arms to care much about the waistline behind him.

Now I obviously am not going to just let myself go, or turn into Frump Wife (okay, there may have been a day a couple weeks ago when I was still in pajamas when Ty got home from work), but for the first time in my life instead of scrutinizing and loathing every flaw, I am truly thankful for the body that gave me my beautiful son. And squeezing into those jeans is most definitely not my priority these days. I simply don't care.

Whew.

in a manger

2011-11-23T08:13:00.000-05:00

Those who have come to see me since Jack was born know that I have an incredibly difficult time putting the child down. He sleeps more soundly in my arms or on my shoulder, and there's no way I'm gonna put him down when he's awake and being cute, so basically I end up holding him most of the day. On days when I absolutely have to get something done, I'll use the bouncer for a few minutes, but this is always followed by an intense feeling of guilt that I have missed those few minutes of his life and now they're GONE. FOREVER. This is the reason that I have hit my record of going 4 days without showering (rivaled, perhaps, only by girls' camp) and have often not eaten breakfast until Ty gets home from work. I am starting to get better, but I simply wanting to be holding this boy as much as I can.

I'm singing in a few different choirs that are preparing for Christmas festivities, and this phrase from scripture popped into my head the other day during rehearsal, "...and they wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger..." This might not be very profound to you, but at that moment it's what I needed to hear. Mary and Joseph put their baby down! They laid him in a manger! It does not say, "And in order for him to be happy and for Mary to be a perfect mother, she carried him around without putting him down, until the day He learned to walk." The fact that they laid him down even for a minute makes me feel better about the fact that I can put a perfectly contented little boy in a bouncer for 15 minutes while I shower. Or eat breakfast. Or make another family dinner. I don't have to feel guilty. Mary's baby turned out pretty well, so maybe mine has a shot of being a healthy, secure person too.

And these are the ridiculous musings of a woman who has thrust herself wholeheartedly into motherhood.

sleeeep

2011-11-19T19:49:00.001-05:00

I think all new moms are probably OCD about one thing or another. Many are anal about germs. I probably should be one of those moms, what with all my nursing knowledge and microbiology classes, but I'm not. Kids at church are always coming up and wanting to touch Jack and I'm sort of like, "Eh. Whatever. Antibodies are good for him." Some moms are OCD about their child looking Picture Perfect Janie and Jack Runway Worthy at all times. Whooo boy, I am not that mom either. We try to keep the kid clean, but I'm fine with the too-big romper with the giant t-rex on it as long as his feet aren't cold (I might be downplaying that a bit - I do love me some cute, classy baby clothes).

I am, however, OCD about sleep. I sincerely did not want to be this mom. The one that's always checking the clock, wondering if he's been awake a bit too long and will start fussing at any moment but needs to be sleeping in his crib because that's what the experts say. I know he just fell asleep in his car seat but GET THAT BABY HOME and in his crib! We definitely don't have him on a rigid schedule. He has set his own schedule. Three naps a day. One within an hour of waking up in the morning (I know, weird, huh?!), one in the late morning, another in the afternoon, then to bed at 7. He has seriously fallen into this all by himself. But those times when I lay him in his crib awake but drowsy and he just nods off himself without fussing? Ah... that is when the OCDness pays off (though I still love it when I get to rock him to sleep). But it's hard for me to disregard his "schedule" and just go out and run errands whenever because he is so. dang. happy. when he sleeps well, and he sleeps so much better when he's allowed to do his thing. Did I mention that I'm also happier when he sleeps well? Small detail.

So I'm trying to be a normal person who, you know, accomplishes great things like running to the grocery store, without compromising this system Jack has set up for himself. I remember a few years ago inviting a couple over to do something and getting the response, "Sorry, that's when our baby naps." While I was saddened by their declining the invitation, I can understand that a bit more. Because seriously one wayward nap can throw off the entire night. And then the dark circles deepen and I'm back to eating cereal for three meals. Or, rice crispy treats, if that's what's sitting on the table. Yes, I am really that fragile some days.

So all you sage people out there - how do you strike a balance?

He's a good enough baby that we can mostly stick to the Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child principles and he does really well. He doesn't have to cry it out at all; if he fusses, I just rock him a bit and that usually does the trick. But every so often he'll fall out of his own pattern and get super inconsistent, like taking 20 minute naps or waking up every hour at night (the past 2 nights have been like this from 3 AM on). Then two days later he's back to 6-hour stretches and long, healthy naps. Any other sleep advice?

"hello from Philadelphia"

2011-11-14T10:09:00.004-05:00

Five years ago today, an email with the subject "hello from Philadelphia" showed up in my inbox, not completely unexpected, but from a stranger nonetheless.

That stranger became my husband, and so I look back at this sweet email with a smile and seriously can't believe it's been five years.

Hi Becca--

This is Tyler, Meesh's brother. How's BYU? How's your semester? How's Singers? How's the FLSR (I don't even know if that's the right acronym and I'm not even one-hundred percent sure you live there, but you get my drift)? Are you excited for Thanksgiving?

Philadelphia is wonderful right now. We are far away from all tests, which is a big positive in medical school. Even better, it is fall and fall, at least on the East coast, is beautiful. The last couple of days have been a bit rainy, but last weekend was heavenly--bright colors, cool temperatures, crisp air. Life is good.

I don't know if Meesh has told you, but I attend two wards (actually, one's a ward and one's a branch). I attend a student ward in West Philadelphia and a branch in South Philadelphia. My Bishop called me and some friends from my student ward to work with the youth in South Philadelphia, so we spend most of our church time there now. Our branch president, who has been serving for seven and one half years, was released on Sunday: it was shock and I don't think there was a dry eye in the congregation. It would be difficult for me to describe the kind of Christ-like service he has given: literally thousands of hours spent driving people to meetings, getting kids up for seminary, and visiting in people's homes. The best part is: when he was called to serve he was living with his family in a quiet Philadelphia suburb (the stake president called him as a special temporary branch president to serve until leadership could be found within the branch boundaries). But President Boik and his wife prayed and decided they couldn't serve the people if they didn't live with the people, so they moved their family out the suburb and into South Philly and have lived there for the last eight years. He is an amazing man.

I hope all is well in Provo; have a great day.

Tyler

And that was just the beginning. :) I wrote back, intrigued, and we met about ten days later when he came home to Utah for his friend's wedding/Thanksgiving. We were married 13 months, and over a thousand pages of emails (seriously), later. I never knew I had it in me to survive a year-long long-distance relationship, but it worked beautifully for us!

December 2006

2 months

2011-11-10T14:48:00.000-05:00

Little Bug,

Oh my sweet boy. These past two months have been so much fun. I keep saying I don't want you to grow up, but the older you get, the cuter and more interactive you are (you rolled over today!). Maybe you can grow - just make sure to do so slowly.

We spoke too soon in declaring you the dreamy sleeper. :) This month we had a few rocky days and nights where you didn't want to sleep, or wouldn't sleep anywhere but on a person, or couldn't understand why your eyelids were shutting completely against your will. It's very hard to be 7 or 8 weeks old and not understand fatigue! But I've gleaned a few principles here and there from different books I've read and things are going much smoother. It's funny though, because the days when you are a perfect angel about it and will fall asleep after being placed in your crib wide awake, I lament the fact that you don't need me to hold or rock you. Ah... I guess I'll never be satisfied.

Last Sunday your dad gave you a name and a blessing at church. It was a beautiful day and you were surrounded by so many people who traveled very far just to see you. Your Grandma Warthen spent probably 100+ hours knitting a gorgeous blessing outfit for you which you managed to keep clean all day! Several people peeked during your blessing and said that you were smiling.

The smiling and cooing came in full force around 6 weeks and oh my, we can't get enough of it. At least 10 times a day I try to snap a picture of your face taken over by a smile to send to Dad at work, but it usually ends up blurry like this. Yet I really think nothing could be cuter.

Everyone comments on how alert you are. Your eyes are always wide open, as they have been since you were minutes old, and your eyebrows are usually raised like you really don't want to miss anything. Some babies are lulled to sleep on walks, but you just look around and take in everything. Your eyes are still super blue, and you just seem very wise.

I can't tell you how much I love being your mom. I feel so lucky to be able to spend all day each day with you.

Love you kiddo,
Mama

miracle boy

2011-11-09T01:54:00.003-05:00

Remember this little miracle baby I blogged about last year? Well he just turned one year old today. My sister blogged about his birthday and current status. When I go back and read my journal from last November, I kind of shudder thinking that we really didn't know if he was going to make it. I remember sitting at the nurses' station at work wondering if I would have to fly home for a funeral, then sort of walking around in a helpless daze while I waited for news and prayed for my sister, her boy, and her family. And then not only did he live, but this kiddo is thriving. And is adorable.

Is he not?

little feet

2011-11-03T09:17:00.000-04:00

One of my very favorite things to do in the world is to give Jack a bath. There is just something about his perfect, little naked body all slippery with Johnson & Johnson's baby wash that makes me so happy. Not to mention this kid LOVES that warm water. After his bath, I'll massage him down with a little bedtime lotion, and count his fingers and toes and marvel - again - that this little wonder belongs to us.

I commented to Ty the other day how ridiculously soft the soles of his feet were. I just sat there rubbing them over and over (his Babinski hated me). Ty said, "That's because they've never been used."

That struck me as so profound. Well of course they've never been used. They've never gotten blisters from running shoes or callouses from sandals. They've never been burnt on hot Vegas asphalt or turned numb after snowboarding too long. His little toes have never been stubbed or stepped on.

But it got me thinking how beautiful it is that babies are born so pure. His little mouth has never said anything mean. His little mind has never judged another person. His little heart has never felt envy. It makes me want to protect him all the more, especially since I have control over what his little ears hear. Is the music I'm listening to worthy of the rest of his purity? Are the words I'm saying, either to him or so he can hear, kind and worth ringing around in a little mind? My sensitivity has increased ten fold since this precious boy was born. And that's the way it should be. Hopefully for a long time.

little wizard

2011-10-31T15:17:00.005-04:00

Happy Halloween!

the right place at the right time

2011-10-28T00:15:00.004-04:00

Jack and Ody and I try to get out at least once a day for an hour-long walk (and I'm inheriting a hand-me-down running stroller tomorrow, so this will soon turn into a run!). Sometimes this is a peaceful, successful time, and sometimes it's not. Sometimes Ody is completely distracted by another dog and aching to get off his leash, sometimes he poops on the sidewalk instead of on grass, and sometimes he decides that the biker that just snuck up behind us is the scariest thing in the world and he must run for cover. And sometimes Jack cries. A lot. I've become quite the spectacle; the dog's leash around my left wrist, hunched over the stroller with my toosh in the air trying to replace the baby's binky while he wails and I try to keep walking. It's a graceful sight.

Well today I wandered into the park quite peacefully. Glad my bright-eyed boy was taking in the world around him and that the dog didn't seem to anxious to be anywhere but right next to the stroller. I looked across the field to see another sight that looked quite like me; a mom with a new baby in a stroller, a leash around her left wrist with a beautiful German Shepherd attached.

The past few days, Jack has decided that his crib isn't quite up to par, and that sleeping long stretches at night isn't so much fun because there are so many other things he can be doing. So he'll only sleep about 20 minutes to an hour at a time. I'm hoping it's a few days-long phase, but needless to say, it's got me quite tired, and I've been doing a bit of crying. I got my first shower yesterday in I-don't-care-to-admit-how-long, and only because I enlisted the help of a kind neighbor who was willing to hold Jack so I wouldn't worry about him crying when I couldn't get to him.

So I approached this mom and asked her how old her baby was. She said 5 months, and then immediately said, "He doesn't sleep," and started crying. I told her that my son was having a bit of trouble sleeping himself, and we exchanged ideas. I asked her if she had any friends or neighbors who could come watch her boy while she got a nap or showered, and she said that most of the people she knew were on the east coast. She said her husband was out of town, so she, too, hadn't showered in she-didn't-care-to-admit-how-long. We chatted a while longer, figured out we were both nurses, and exchanged phone numbers. Oh, and our dogs loved each other.

I walked away feeling a little less alone, a little less like a horrible mom who can't keep her baby from crying on walk (even with binky acrobatics), and like maybe I was at the right place at the right time. Maybe I can hold this girl's baby while she takes her first shower this week, or we can just meet up at the park to exchange new mom We Have No Idea What We're Doing ideas and stories.

Jack and his only-occasionally-helpful football binky. Look, I know babies' eyes change colors, but those are some mighty blue eyes coming from two brown-eyed parents!

Because I meet 98% of my friends at church, where friendship is as easy as adding eggs and oil to cake mix, I am really grateful for a little providential run-in like this at a park. I'm also hoping that my new friend's baby (and my own) sleeps a little better tonight.

the tale of the blue blanket

2011-10-18T08:14:00.000-04:00

When I was in high school, my mom bought me an unfinished hope chest, which my father assembled and finished for me. It is beautiful. Before I got married, I collected kitchen-y stuff that I didn't need yet, but would someday, and that I didn't want destroyed or swallowed whole by the Black Hole that is college kitchens. Then when I got married (and even before), I started collecting baby stuff. A onesie here, a pair of shoes there.

I read Smitten Kitchen, a food blog (this is related, I promise). Deb, the writer, had a baby boy named Jacob a few years ago. In one of her posts right after his birth, she wrote about taking him to the farmer's market at 11 days old (Jack also went to his first farmer's market at 11 days old), and included a picture of her baby with an eggplant in his pram. But then there was this BLANKET. And it was just about the cutest little blanket I had ever seen. And I had to have it. But Deb lives in New York City, and because of the cuteness of this blanket, I was sure it came from some hoity toity baby boutique on the Upper West Side that I would never be able to find, much less afford. And so I mourned what would have been a mighty cute blanket to stick in my hope chest.

And then my dear friend Bethany had a baby around the same time as Deb. And I read her blog religiously because she is so dang cute, and because I love the way she writes and the photos she takes. And then one day, it APPEARED! The BLANKET! (And, you know, her adorable newborn son) And in less than 10 seconds, I had risked my dignity to send off an email to Bethany inquiring where on earth she had purchased that blanket, with the necessary disclaimer that I wasn't pregnant, I was just crazy.

Luckily Bethany informed me she had bought the blanket - get this - at Target. Yay! And so I rushed out that same afternoon and bought it. And it has been sitting snugly in my hope chest for the past two years. When we assembled Jack's crib in my last trimester, this blanket is what we draped over the side of it. It's not as meaningful as the two quilts made especially for Jack by his grandmothers, of course, but I love it as much now as I did the day I saw it on Smitten Kitchen. You are more than welcome to mock me; I recognize how ridiculous this all is.

But really, it is cute. It is the perfect little blanket.

why natural?

2011-10-13T08:32:00.000-04:00

I've had a handful of people ask me why on earth I would feel compelled to "go natural" for Jack's birth. I realize in some areas of the country it's sort of a re-trendy thing, with natural birth making a comeback from when it was super popular a few decades ago. But in some areas, the epidural rate is still in the 90s. The rate at Stanford is over 85%. So I thought I'd explain a few reasons why I made the decision I did.

Let me make it clear, though, that what I am most passionate about is a woman's right to choose the kind of birth she wants to have (to the extent that choice has anything to do with it). Obviously emergencies arise and women end up having c-sections who didn't want them, but I feel very strongly that women should be well-informed on the pros and cons of each medical intervention used during their birth, and that no woman should be pushed through a formula by medical staff who assume she wants "the works" without a sound understanding of each intervention. If a woman understands all of that and still wants an epidural, great! But if she thinks she's just signing up for a pain-free delivery and ends up with a cascade of other consequences she didn't anticipate, I think the system has failed her, and more informed consent needs to happen.

Anyway, with that said, I'll give you my very personal reasons for going natural. Not to be confused with I Think This Is How Everyone Should Do It.

My friend posted this comment on my birth story post, "Your post has ignited some interesting discussion around our house. We are trying to identify the benefits of going "natural" during labor. While I can't imagine what childbirth would feel like, I certainly wouldn't have a tooth pulled without anesthetic. Can you enlighten my "drug-friendly" mind as to the reason for going "natural?" I am also curious why an RN and an MD (not that it was his decision) would avoid the benefits of pain management.... "

I think that's an excellent question/point.

I certainly wouldn't have a tooth extracted without anesthetic either! The difference for me is that teeth weren't made to be extracted. Bones weren't made to be broken. Tonsils weren't made to be removed. So I would be completely on board with using pain management during all of these very unnatural situations. However, women were made to give birth. It's not a sickness, it's not something that went wrong or is broken, but simply what women have been doing for a very very long time.

Now, you can easily say that yes, that's true, but why be masochistic about it? If something exists to make you more comfortable, why not use it? I certainly turn on the AC when I get into a hot car. I like to be comfortable. So why voluntarily walk into the worst pain of my life without so much as a Tylenol?

I wanted Jack to be born without medication in his body. Yes, an epidural could have made me more comfortable. Heck, a Percocet could have helped a little, at least after the delivery. But I didn't want any of those drugs in his teeny body. I also didn't want the possible consequences of an epidural, which are definitely not explained to birthing women as thoroughly as they should be. Because I had full sensation, I was able to push very effectively, and I knew exactly when to bear down. Jack was also alert enough to breastfeed immediately like it was second nature (which I guess it is).We also didn't run into any complications that are sometimes just written off as "complications" but are actually a result of the epidural/pitocin/the works. Sometimes I joke that the doctor loves to get credit for saving the day in a situation that could have been prevented had he not intervened in the first place.

The recovery is also worth mentioning. Having full use of my legs afterward was wonderful. For some people the epidural wears right off after birth, for others, the effects linger for a long time, obnoxiously. So even though I felt weak from blood loss and general fatigue, I could still walk by myself. And I don't even have to mention how glad I am that I didn't need to have a catheter placed after birth, since I had full sensation.

Then I guess there's the feminist in me that loves the idea of the empowerment of natural childbirth. It's pain with a purpose. It's harder than running a marathon (and you don't have to eat any of that nasty goo) or hiking any mountain. And although I didn't feel that endorphin rush that so many women describe after natural childbirth, I will forever know that I did it, and that I can do hard things. And that, to me, is almost worth it in and of itself. No one can take that away from me.

Now, like I said, I have strong opinions about this, yes, but even stronger than all of these opinions is my belief that women should do what they feel is best for their particular delivery. Women owe it to themselves to be fully educated about their options, and doctors owe it to women to not assume anything. Some doctors and midwives are fabulous at this, and others have a long ways to go. Regardless, it is ultimately up to each woman to study her options. There are a lot of great resources out there for the pregnant woman interested in natural birth, or who simply want to understand the implications of medical interventions. I read a zillion books, but among them was The Thinking Woman's Guide to a Better Birth, and Natural Hospital Birth. Both of which are fabulously no-nonsense and thorough.

So hopefully that answers your question of why I'm crazy enough to do it.

And we might as well throw in a cute picture of this angelic baby of mine, because we all know that Grandma skims over the text for photos anyway. ;)

one month

2011-10-10T08:04:00.001-04:00

Dear Tiny,

I now join the droves of parents who say, "Time goes too quickly!" Because it really does. I can't believe that one month ago this morning, I had no idea what was about to hit me.

I always knew I'd love being a mom and that I'd love my kids, but I had no idea how powerfully and fiercely I could love until that first day with you in the hospital. Before you were born, I was a bit worried how I would handle staying home all day with you. I was worried about getting bored or going stir crazy or missing adult interaction. I couldn't have been more misled. I love being at home with you all day long. I never want to be more than a few feet away from you. Even if I don't get out of pajamas until 5 PM, or don't manage to eat more than a handful of trail mix before noon, I love spending this time with you. I simply won't put you down. I have mastered the one-handed peck when I write emails and have carved out an unintentional little spot for myself on the couch where I nurse you. I feel like you've already changed so much that if I put you down, even while you sleep, you'll be a different boy when I pick you back up again. Which is why you often sleep on my chest during the day (okay, and sometimes at night). There is nothing quite like it.

I really have to give you a huge, mama-sized THANK YOU for being such a fabulous sleeper. I know there are probably people out there who feel like I haven't reeeally tasted true parenthood because you are such an easy baby. Your idea of fussing is grunting like an old man and letting out an occasional displeased yell. And even though you still wake up twice a night to nurse, you go right back to sleep until the sun is up. I feel as if I'm cheating.

For someone who loves to sleep, I must say how surprised I am that I love to get up with you in the middle of the night. You're still a bit stingy with your smiles, but more often than not, you'll give me a huge gummy smile when I lift you out of your crib to feed you in those wee hours. I can't even tell you how much I love that.

Watching you with your dad makes me happier than you could imagine. You love his beautiful singing voice, and you love craning your neck trying to find where he is in the room. And ooh my, does he love you. I was also worried that having a time-consuming little baby would somehow compromise my relationship with him, but I love him more now than I ever have, just from watching him with you. You two are a cute team. :)

I know that my emotions are still all over the place, but I get overwhelmingly sad if I think about anything or anyone hurting you, or the fact that you'll grow up someday and not need me anymore. I love that right now your dad and I are your entire world. The advice we got over and over again before you arrived was simply to cherish each moment with you, and let other things wait. We have done just that, and I have no regrets.

Please try not to grow up so fast, little one.

Thank you for making me a mother.

love,
Mama

We're gonna try to take a picture of Jack in this same spot every month so that you can all lament with us at how big he gets.

an ode to my angel mother

2011-10-05T08:40:00.000-04:00

A few years ago, I decided that I wanted my mother to be present when I delivered my first baby. This is a different thing in our family, because of my 17 nephews and nieces, my mom hasn't been in the room for any of their births. I think this is both because she never expressed a desire to be, and my sisters never extended the invitation. The idea of it was probably a little too... I don't know, earthy? or something, for our family. But for whatever reason, I really got it in my head that I wanted her to be there.

During my OB rotation in nursing school, I was able to witness births, and I thought that it was just about the most thrilling privilege imaginable. I would be in the room with these total strangers during this crazy beautiful moment, and I just felt like it was the sort of moment that my mother deserved to see, after having 4 daughters of her own, and all their subsequent children. When I first mentioned the idea to her, I think she was kind of like, "Hmm... that's interesting. I'm not sure about that." But after enough time, she started to actually get excited about being there.

So, in my arrogance, I thought I was doing my mother a favor by inviting her to be there. How selfless and kind of me to provide such an opportunity.

Ha.

My mother came out a few days before Jack was born. She really had this feeling that he would come on the 10th, and so she came out on my due date (the 6th) and we did some last minute pre-baby things together, including celebrating her birthday. I couldn't have really known how much fun it would be to have my mom with me during those last few days, but it was wonderful. Not to mention her prediction of his birthday was spot on.

Then once labor started, my mom was anything but the privileged observer in the corner. She became a hands-on godsend. She coached me in a way I didn't expect to need coaching, and she was there for me physically, emotionally, and mentally in a way I certainly didn't anticipate. I'm sure she was exhausted at the end of the day (both from the work of helping me through labor, and the fact that we subjected her to sleeping on our couch the few preceding nights), but she was just a ball of enthusiasm and love. I absolutely loved having my mother standing right next to me during the most transformational moment of my life. Forget the idea of it being for her. I needed her there, and was comforted by her presence.

Anyone who has seen my mom hold a baby knows she is an absolute natural. She is the perfect grandmother. She just oohs and aahs as if your baby is the cutest one she's ever seen (though she was right when she said that about Jack) and she makes these gorgeous quilts for just about every baby she ever meets. Jack's basically has his name written all over it - it is beautiful and so perfect for him. She also made a hospital gown for me to wear during labor, though because of the speed of things, the gown ended up still in the car with the rest of the things we thought we'd need. So I got to wear it after he was born, and feel much lovelier than I would have in those nasty hospital ones.

I didn't get a real picture of it, so this one was taken by Missy with her fancy iPhone.

I love how even when you're 26 years old and having your own babies, you can still feel like you need your mom just as much as you did when you were a toddler after a nightmare, or when you got your heart broken in high school. I'm just so glad that when I felt like I wanted her there the most, she was right next to me, just as she always has been. I love you, Mom.

the name game

2011-09-27T22:21:00.000-04:00

I mentioned that we won't be using our baby's real name on this blog. I've also mentioned how sad this makes me because I love his name. But after months and months of deliberating about this, Tyler and I decided that the internet is just too unpredictable a place to be splashing his name all over it. We also want to be careful about what is searchable considering he has no say over what we post about him! Maybe we'll change our minds someday, because sometimes it really seems like no big deal. And maybe we're just being uber-paranoid, but considering I check to make sure he's breathing at least 450 times a day, I think I'm just going to have to come to terms with my paranoidness. It's part of who I am now.

Anyway, without further ado, meet Jack.

I chose the name Jack because it's a name I really love, and because go ahead and try to google Jack Johnson and find this blog. :) After calling him by his real name for 2 weeks, he looks absolutely nothing like a Jack to me, but that's okay. It's better than calling him "Baby T" forever, I think (and no, we did not name him after Tyler).

Also, I want to make it clear that his name is in no way a secret. I've had a number of people email me and ask what it is, and I'm thrilled about that. I just don't want it on a public space. For now. Because I'm paranoid.

the birth story

2011-09-17T22:29:00.000-04:00

I don't know about you, but I'm the kind of person that can stumble upon a stranger's birth story post and sit completely captivated with detail after detail. So if birth stories are your thing, read away! If not, feel free to skim the pictures. This will likely be quite long.

On Friday night, the 9th, our community was holding its annual Moonlight Run & Walk 5K and 10K. Last year, Tyler and I ran the 10K with his brother and sister-in-law. Even though the run was 3 days after my due date this year, I determined to at least walk the 5K if I were still pregnant. Luckily, several friends from church in varying stages of pregnancy agreed to walk it with me, and it became the "Moonlight Waddle." We even made alternate shirts that looked like this year's race shirt, except they had a baby on them and they said "waddle" instead of run & walk. We prided ourselves on our cleverness. A few of us even hoped to go into labor.

Earlier that same day, I had an appointment with my doctor during which she stripped my membranes for the second time that week, and declared me dilated to a 3 and 80% effaced. Joy! Certainly the Waddle would do the trick.

I felt nothing that night, and admit to feeling a bit discouraged. Heaven knows why. Tyler ran the 10K with his sister and after we dropped her back off in the city, I went to sleep thinking I'd have to be induced with this baby and there is pretty much nothing in the world I wanted to avoid more than Pitocin.

But horray! Around 3 in the morning, I started feeling distinctly different contractions than the ones I'd been feeling for the past month. I started timing them around 4:30 and they were coming 8 minutes apart. I didn't wake up Ty or my angel mother who was in the family room (she came into town for the birth, sort of gambling when it would happen since obviously we didn't know), because I figured they needed as much sleep as possible if they were to see me through this thing. Around 8 or so, Ty woke up and asked how the night went. I told him I'd been contracting regularly for almost 5 hours, so he pulled out his iPhone contraction timer app (seriously, we love his iPhone) and thus began the long day.

My contractions started coming about 5 minutes apart sometime in the late morning, but when I got up to take a shower and get ready for the day, they were coming about every 2.5 minutes apart and were much more intense. We called my sweet friend *Katie who was serving as my unofficial-but-way-better-than-a-doula doula, who came over promptly, and called the doctor who told us to come in. We started to get kind of excited that this thing was actually happening, and maybe a bit quicker than we thought it would.

*After a lot of drama, I didn't actually end up hiring a doula. I didn't write about it because it was just too obnoxious, but Ty and I felt strongly that Katie should be there instead, and she was perfect for the job. Between her, Ty, and my mother, I had the best labor team ever.

At the hospital, they checked me, and after all that work (about 9 hours of labor) I was dilated to... get this - still a THREE - and maybe 90% effaced. To say I was discouraged would be an understatement. Surely at this rate the baby would be coming the following Wednesday. The doctor offered to break my water and get things moving along, but I didn't want to start a cascade of interventions that I couldn't get out of. I was absolutely determined to do this without medications. So he sent us home.

Boo.

Once I got home, I was lucky enough to be able to get myself into some sort of comfortable position and sleep in between contractions for a couple of hours. I was still pretty miserable, but at least I wasn't walking around, and as long as I stayed down, I'd have 5-10 minutes of rest in between contractions.

I tell ya, child labor is not for sissies.

Especially not back labor, which my labor promptly turned into. The doctor had said to come back to the hospital around 4ish, and so we did. At this point, my pain was so intense that it took serious concentration to not cry out during each contraction and to actually keep breathing.

At the hospital they checked me again, and I was at a 4. At this point I seriously thought I was going to die. My nurse was seriously Superwoman, and she figured out very quickly that although he wasn't completely posterior, the baby was in a position that made it difficult for labor to progress. She had me kneeling over the back of the bed in the triage room and doing all these crazy positions to get him to turn. She made it obvious that she wanted me admitted but that the doctor wasn't keen on the idea and wanted to send me home again. But after about 40 minutes of that, my water broke by itself and voila! they admitted me.

What happened after that is a serious blur for me. On the phone with my sister after the birth, she said, "I'm looking forward to hearing your story!" and I responded, "Me too!" because it felt like everything happened so fast and essentially without me.

In the hospital room, I felt like I was spinning in a tornado, getting closer and closer to the center. I felt completely out of control, and terrified at how fast things were progressing. Ty was pressing this acupressure point on my ankles that the nurse assigned him to, Katie was pressing HARD on my lower back, and my mom was letting me squeeze the heck out of her hand. Either Katie or Mom always kept a cool rag on my forehead and neck. I threw up, tried to get into the shower but only lasted two contractions because it was too cold, and was a lot more vocal than I thought I would be. My labor team assures me I wasn't that loud, but in the middle of it all, it felt like I was That Lady down the hallway whose screams and moans encourage every other laboring mother to quickly request an anesthesia consult. Oh well. I seriously felt no control.

Very soon after we got into the room, I remember already feeling the urge to push, but being confused since I was just barely at a 4 in triage. I told the nurse, she checked me, said I was at a 6, but she still had another nurse come in and start preparing for the delivery. Literally a few contractions later I basically said, no really, I have to push, and the nurse started getting very demanding on the phone with someone that the doctor needed to come. right. now. The two contractions I had to make it through without pushing while "waiting" for the doctor were the most miserable I have ever been in my life. Even in my crazy state I remember them saying something about waiting to push till the doctor got there and my responding, "I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE DOCTOR!" or something. I was in insane pain. It's impossible to describe.

Finally they pulled a resident in there since it was clear the doctor wasn't going to make it (and he didn't). Some women describe pushing as being a relief, but it did not feel that way for me. I wanted so badly to scream but I couldn't push effectively when I did. My mother wisely got right into my ear and coached me through pushing. Ty was supporting my leg and crying. Katie was thankfully behind the camera by this point. I pushed for about ten minutes, everyone cheering me on and telling me they could see him and that he was right there! A lot of intense pain and suppressed screams later, out came his head, followed by a slippery little body.

When they put him on my chest, I expected to feel the intense and overwhelming endorphins that people describe following natural childbirth and introduction into motherhood, but I think I was a little too traumatized to completely breathe in the moment. I still was in immense pain and continued to be so for a good few hours (mostly thanks to the hour it took the doctor to place 40+ stitches, plus some weird clotting/uterus issues. I will spare you those details. You're welcome.), but I must say that I was immediately captivated by and in love with this wriggling little person. They declared him perfect and adorable and teeny and I marveled that I had survived the past hour. He cried nice and strong for less than a minute and then opened his big eyes and stared at everyone in the room, peaceful and alert and completely beautiful.

To be completely honest, I felt shell-shocked for a full 24 hours. Tyler felt the same way, having watched me go from a 4 to delivery in less than 90 minutes. That night when I tried to sleep, I kept having dreams that I was back in labor and I'd wake up panicked and short of breath. It was a pretty scary experience, not because I was in danger, but because it just moved so incredibly fast once things got going, and I felt so completely out of control.

I must say, Tyler was spectacular. I was skeptical how it all would go, but he could not have been better. We were both worried that I would get mad at him during transition, but I really wanted him close to me the entire time (except for the one time I pushed him away because I was about to throw up!). He kept looking me in the eye and saying, "You can do this. You ARE doing this. You are amazing." It was just what I needed to hear, and his confidence truly kept me going. I also don't have enough positive things to say about my mom or Katie. They were all so wonderful, and kept their cool so well, especially considering the circumstances.

We are absolutely in love with this baby. He is just so beautiful and I will literally stare at him for hours at a time. He is nursing and sleeping so well and we simply can't get enough of him. I also can't believe how small he is. My sisters are all smaller than I am and have had huge babies (the largest of which was over 10.5 lbs), so to have this little 7 pound peanut is somewhat surprising.

We are crazy about him. This has, hands down, been the happiest week of my life.

he's here!

2011-09-13T19:34:00.004-04:00

Oh what a story do I have to tell you. Our beautiful, perfect little boy made his way into the world on Saturday night (9.10.11!!) at 6:25 PM. He was 7 lbs even, 21 inches long, and has big eyes to die for. I personally love a good birth story, so I'll be posting mine (sparing you a few details) as soon as I am willing to give up a nap or a shower or a snuggle in order to blog. So, not sure when that'll happen.

As an FYI, I'll write about this more extensively, but we have chosen not to use his real name on this blog. The internet is just too big and scary a place for such a little person, so we'll be using an alternate name. So I would be very thankful if you don't use his name in your comments if you do know his real name. It's a shame, since we are crazy about his name and what it means for us, but we just don't want him to be Google-able at 3 days old.

Can't wait to tell you the story! Being a mother is roughly 9 zillion times more wonderful and powerful than I could have imagined! We are over the moon in love with him.

just gestating...

2011-08-29T09:43:00.000-04:00

If I haven't updated this thing in almost 2 weeks then it's likely because I have nothing new to say. I feel bad for the group of people who call regularly, asking if there is any action, because nope - we are just in the waiting phase. I'm 39 weeks tomorrow, so I could hang out here for a few more weeks, and that's okay, because this has been one of the more relaxing times of my life. I sleep in, organize a bit, read read read, run errands, walk the dog, bake naughty things like lemon chiffon pie or muffins with too much butter or the closest thing you'll ever find to a Nutella cookie, and occasionally make it down the street and around the corner to my friend's pool where I enjoy bobbing around in her over-sized floaty (or swimming laps on ambitious days). So really, no complaining here.

Ty and I made a mini bucket list of things we want to do together in the next few weeks before our family changes forever. Nearby places we want to visit, restaurants we want to try, movies we want to see (by the way, The Help is totally worth seeing). Anything we should add to it? Things you wish you'd done with your spouse before your first baby came?

Mr. Baby is still as active as ever. I think sometimes he's kicking so hard to try to find a trap door or something, a different way out than the conventional way. I had this dream that my skin was super thin and he was kicking away and as cute as it was to see his little feet through my skin, I was worried that my belly would pop open. Lovely thoughts.

There are 10 (ten!) girls at church who are expecting babies before December. One of them just had her baby this morning at 3:30. Our due dates are only a week apart, so that means I'm next. I feel like all us girls are standing in a cold, dripping line at the top of a high dive waiting our turn to dive in. And now I'm next, and I'm wrapping my toes around the end of the board thinking, hmm, maybe I'll let the girl behind me go first... Although an exhilarating free fall does sound kinda fun right now. :)

I am thoroughly enjoying not working, mostly because I've adjusted very well to not waking up at 4 AM anymore. I must say, it was not a hard adjustment to make. And as much as I disliked waking up at 4 AM, my next reason for waking up that early will be much cuter. :) However, I'm entering this new phase called "You are now going to be a stay at home mom," and that has hit me with all sorts of mixed emotions. I am obviously choosing this, and will stand by this decision, but I'm worried about what's going to get me out of the house once the little guy comes. Will I be bored? What will I do with my time when he's sleeping? How do you entertain a one-month or two-month or seven-month old all day long? How do you maintain a sense of accomplishment? These are the sort of questions I'm grappling with these days. I'm grateful we're making the stay at home mom thing work, but it is going to be a huge adjustment.

The chubby cheeks have begun! Woo hoo!

These pictures are actually at 37 weeks.

He really could come any day now! This is a crazy waiting game!

scrubs in storage

2011-08-13T21:16:00.000-04:00

Today I did three very important loads of laundry. I washed every pair of scrubs that I own in anticipation for putting them into storage. I quit work a little earlier than I thought I would, mostly because I'm already dilating and effacing a bit earlier than expected and my doctor recommended I take it easy for the next couple weeks. The baby is almost full term anyway, but Ty has 2 more weeks left of a really awful rotation, so if we can just get past this, he'll be all ours. And perhaps even well-rested! As if we have anything to do with when the baby comes. He'll come when he darn well pleases. But it's nice to fool ourselves a bit.

But back to my laundry. 90% of these scrubs I haven't worn in a while anyway since I've been borrowing maternity scrubs from a friend, but I still can't help but be a bit sentimental about this whole nursing journey. I can glance up at my diploma on the wall, which, on the baby's due date will be exactly 2 years old, and remember how much work it took to get that dang thing. Good grief. Those of you who have been around for a while, remember the HESI? My standardized exit exam from nursing school that I had to do really well on in order to even qualify to take the boards? And the fact that, really, only by the grace of God, I did really, really well on it? Then the whole trying to be able to even take the boards, but California's lovely government kind of falling apart and making it difficult to do so. Then my sweet husband and parents and in-laws throwing a fabulous surprise "graduation" for me since I couldn't make the trip back east for my own pinning. Then sometime in November I got word that I was actually assigned a date to take the boards, took them, and then I got the lovely news, earlier than anticipated, that I had actually passed the boards and was a full blown, bona fide nurse. What a whirlwind this whole thing has been. That is the hugest, most ridiculous understatement ever.

Then the waiting to find a job - ANY job, in this nurse-saturated area. I settled on a long-term care/rehab facility, something that wasn't my first choice but which ended up teaching me a lot. And I've been there for a year and a half. Sometimes waking up at 4 in the morning to be there by 5. Sometimes laughing my head off, sometimes crying in the stairwell. Sometimes having applesauce or pills thrown at me, Ensure spit at me, sometimes having my breath taken away by the important lessons learned, sometimes working a lot more than I wanted, but mostly just doing a lot of growing.

Sometimes I have been completely inspired by my job and the privilege it is of working with people this sick and vulnerable, and have relished the opportunity. Other times I have been completely uninspired by the lack of respect that can be shown to nurses, or the frustrations of difficult co-workers (so much so that back in May, I had my "two weeks notice" speech prepared on a post-it, which I didn't give thanks to some sage advice from several family members). I'm grateful that, frustrations and all, I stuck it out to this point and have grown as much as I have.

I'm definitely not done with nursing. The scrubs are going into storage, not onto Craigslist. I might even go back to work in January and do a handful of shifts a month when Ty can watch the baby. But as I look back over the past few years and the total headache and miracle it was to even become a nurse, and then the miracle and headache that it was to get and keep a job, I'm grateful for the ride.

on death

2011-08-09T06:55:00.000-04:00

This is a post I've been meaning to write since part-way through nursing school, but I never seem to be able to wrap my mind around how to do it justice. So I'm just gonna go for it and trust that the majority of you will get what I'm saying without reading too much into the inadequacy of my writing abilities (or the lack of addressing every exception). It's not the first time I've blogged about death, but I feel like this will be more thorough.

(And by the way, my opinion here only applies to the elderly. I don't believe that there is some overarching principle that should govern how we handle children and their illnesses, but rather that they are on a case-by-case basis.)

Due to cultural elements and medical/technological advances, our society has had reason to become afraid of death. People are living longer than they ever have, and we sort of have this obligation to prolong life if we have the ability to. Taking someone off life support, or choosing not to aggressively treat their illness, is seen as "not doing everything" or "giving up" or any number of guilt-ridden options. I hear a lot of family members say they want to leave the death of their loved ones in God's hands, and to them, that means doing everything until the meds just stop working, the machines do no good, and the body refuses to comply and God just "takes them."

My question is, though, had we really left it to God, or to nature, how long ago would they have passed away? And how much more peaceful could it have been? Instead of surrounded by machines and tubes and fluorescent lights and panic?

The following stories are not unique at my place of work. I see this sort of thing every day, as does Tyler. But my strong feelings on this matter might be better explained with real life situations:

- A 90-something year-old lady was admitted to our facility following a dramatic stay at the hospital. She could no longer take in anything by mouth (so she received everything by feeding tube), was under 80 lbs, and was quite miserable. In the early hours of the morning, her body decided it had had enough, but since she was a "full code" the staff started performing CPR. The family was soon contacted and they held their ground that she was full code. "Do everything!" They weren't there to watch their mother's ribs break, or to watch her feeble body be treated so violently for the sake of "saving her life." The paramedics arrived since 911 had been called, and she was whisked to the hospital, only to be pronounced dead. It's like Atul Gawande says in this brilliant, although long, article, "But, ultimately, death comes, and no one is good at knowing when to stop."

- An 87 year-old WWII veteran came to our facility on IV antibiotics. He had been non-verbal for several years, and besides opening his eyes, did not respond to any kind of stimulation. He had a pressure ulcer (bed sore) since his wife had been caring for him at home and was unable to turn him as frequently as he needed. Every day his wife came and sat next to him, clearly believing that as long as he had a pulse and was breathing, he was still with her. Watching this kind of love had its inspiring moments, but the word "futile" kept coming to mind, most especially when his treatment needed to become more aggressive.

- We currently have an extremely ill 80-something year old woman with an alarmingly attentive daughter. The mother has given up. She still converses and is surprisingly alert, but refuses to eat or drink much more than a few sips or bites a day. To counteract the mother's stubbornness, the daughter has basically demanded IV hydration, which, because of her mom's unbalanced chemistry, is accumulating in her limbs in the form of swelling. The doctor feels her hands are tied; if she complies with the daughter, the mom ends up in worse shape. If she withdraws the aggressive care, the daughter accuses with terms like "negligence." So the satisfaction declines and the costs soar. No one wins.

I share these stories because these are my everyday reality, things I never would have thought of had I not gone into this line of work. But when my parents are into their 90s and are faced with similar decisions, that is not the time to establish opinions. That is when you are overcome by the guilt of not being as good of a child as you should have been, or not spending as much time with your loved one as you might have, and that is when the logical answer becomes, "Do everything; it'll make up for the guilt," or "It'll give me peace."

I recognize that my religion changes my view of death dramatically. Death is not something that I fear as being The End, and when my grandparents have passed away, though all death carries some sadness, there has been a sense of relief and release. I believe wholeheartedly that they are going on to a place far more beautiful than anything this sad world has to offer. Death is as beautiful and natural as being born or as living. Our bodies are not meant to live forever, especially under artificial and painful circumstances. Death can be met gracefully and without dread or fear, and those who accomplish this generally leave their loved ones with an immense sense of peace and closure. Several times a week, Tyler and I will exchange stories of families or patients who either "got it" or who didn't, and it has been our observation that those who do get it are, yes, sad, but at peace. Those who don't get that death is natural fight and fight and fight and come away from what could have been a beautiful experience sad, questioning, miserable, accusatory, and in denial. The answer seems clear to me.

(And all of this is without mention of the economic repercussions of futile aggressive treatment. David Brooks covers that very briefly here.)

Now like I said at the beginning, this mostly applies, in my opinion, to the very elderly. When a young person gets sick and has the option of artificial means to help keep them alive, the waters get a little muddy. But we have observed time and time again (even in younger patients) that when quality of life is a futile pursuit, those who let go with grace and choose to actively treat the pain instead of the disease, leave in the room a lingering, palpable sense of calm and peace.

anonymity

2011-08-05T07:15:00.000-04:00

There used to be a time when I wrote pretty stupid stuff on this blog. Well, not stupid per se, but unrestrained and probably inappropriately-placed stuff. I stopped doing that for a few reasons: my strong feelings about some of those things have changed, the anonymous comments I got were exhausting and impossible not to take personally, and simply because I wanted this blog to be a fun place where people could spend 45 seconds of their day reading something interesting. Not something that would rile them up or make them mad.

The anonymous comments truly are not the main reason my tone has shifted over the past couple years. But there were some powerful and awful things said. I think, though, the one experience I've had with terrible anonymous comments that has stood out to me the most was when my friend Craig died. I blogged about him a couple years ago. I was reading an article about his death in an online newspaper (the Deseret News, perhaps? Or maybe the Salt Lake Tribune - I don't remember). People can comment on these articles. The circumstances surrounding Craig's death were a little unique in that he had recently lost his right hand in a fireworks accident, but then died later in a drowning. I skimmed through some of these comments, most of which were beautiful tributes and friends sharing fond memories. Occasionally, though, there would be some anonymous comment criticizing Craig's decision to ever swim again since he only had one hand, or saying how he should have known better, or how foolish he was. This totally blew me away. These people were literally attacking a dead man.

I guess I simply don't understand what drives people to say such horrible things that they would never say in person. I once had someone leave an anonymous comment saying that if I truly loved my husband as much as I said I did, I would have never gone to nursing school and I would have stayed home and had his children. (???!) I mean, it's truly incredible. The veil of anonymity has brought out a really terrible side in online commentary that is inappropriate and simply does no good. All you need to do is read the comments on an online article from a news source to see how vicious people can be. These comments never succeed in changing anyone's mind, but rather just in riling people up. Such a practice seems like a totally useless way to spend one's time and I feel bad for those who do it.

35 weeks

2011-08-03T22:28:00.005-04:00

So, we found 'the one.' At least we think so. After interviewing four doulas in one afternoon, and talking extensively with another over the phone and another through email, we think we found the one. She is enthusiastic and strong and hilarious and not at all 'sweetsy,' and she's just what we need (I couldn't handle the thought of someone with a fairy voice petting my head and telling me to visualize flowers and waterfalls). I'll obviously let you know how it goes. Thanks for all the words of encouragement, by the way. I guess I don't really feel like I'm wimpy for wanting a doula, but when I hear birth stories from some super moms, I feel a little sheepish for wanting yet another person in the room to hold my hand and remind me to breathe. But we feel good about it, so a doula there will be.

So this week I hit 35 weeks. Being under 6 weeks is pretty surreal and has put me into a frenzy of organizing and planning.

I am not unhappy with how much weight I've gained during this pregnancy. It seemed to pack on pretty fast at the beginning, but it has since slowed down, and the last thing I'm going to be complaining about these days is being huge (although rolling over in bed has reached an all-time comic high). Because, hello, I'm growing a person. I have noticed, however, that I find myself staring at girls with waistlines thinking, "Wow. I don't think I've ever had one of those before." I'm sure it'll come back someday, but in the meantime, I'll just admire those who have a waistline.

I cannot for the life of me figure out how to work our scanner, so I took a picture with Ty's phone of sir baby's hair. Because I'm serious when I say it looks like Einstein. Or Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes. The hair is obviously the white stuff in this picture.

Hilarious, no? I mean obviously it's floating around in amniotic fluid, but I still think it's pretty dramatic. And a telltale sign that this babe did indeed already inherit something from his dad. Since a child who inherited any hair from me would certainly be bald until sometime around their 4th birthday. Or 5th.

the doula hunt

2011-07-29T07:11:00.001-04:00

Have any of you ever used a doula for your births?

Last week I hit a point of irrational angst about this whole upcoming birth thing. I'm sure most of you handle stress or nervousness gracefully, but I occasionally turn into a wreck. I don't mean to say that I can't function like a normal human being or anything, but I fixate on fears and spend an inordinate amount of time (usually when I should be sleeping) stressing about whatever it is. So it was this past week thinking about how I'm going to deliver this child.

Unlike most first-time moms, I have actually witnessed live births. My experiences in nursing school were so fabulous during my women's health rotation that it had me convinced that I would be the best labor and delivery nurse the world ever saw (the economy convinced me otherwise). But in seeing what I've seen, I can't be ignorant to the fact that it hurts. Birth hurts. Epidural or no epidural, some part of it is going to hurt. And as someone who has no clue what shape her pain tolerance is in, that kinda freaks me out.

Luckily, Tyler will be there through the entire thing. He won't be on some insane rotation that will have him bounding into my room from another corner of the hospital just in time to see his son be born. He will be there the entire time. Yet, this won't come as a surprise to any of you, Tyler does not have a uterus. He has never experienced a menstrual cramp, let alone a contraction. So while I have full confidence in his ability to be a fabulous companion during those long hours, having both of us heading into this thing slightly cluelessly kind of freaks me out. It sort of doesn't matter how many births either of us has witnessed as medical professionals - it's a totally different deal when you're experiencing it firsthand.

Hence, our decision to hire a doula. You can call me a wimp, and that's fine. Not that there's anything wimpy about giving birth to a person, but, you know, some women are more heroic about it than I'm being.

On a particular night last week that had me still awake, and still crying, at 3:00 AM (I am not exaggerating about being a wreck), I decided that, yes, while there are millions of women around the world who are capable of just getting in there and doing what they need to do, I could probably benefit from a little extra support. And it's okay for me to admit that. I am delivering at Stanford, which, while it is one of the best hospitals in this country, is very good at dealing with problems. Almost every person I've talked to who has delivered there has said it is not the ideal place to have a normal birth, let alone a natural birth. And I think this added to my worry. It's just a highly interventional setting, and its efficiency thrives on plugging patients into a medical formula that is probably more convenient for the caregivers than it is comfortable or comforting for the patients. At least that is what I've heard repeatedly.

So Ty and I are interviewing doulas. Several of them. And I feel like I'm dating 6 people at the same time or something because it's impossible not to feel personal about it. But there are some wonderful, supportive women out there who do this for a living and I can't even tell you how much more settled I feel about this whole thing since we made this decision.

[Insert big sigh of relief]

Yeah, it's still going to hurt, but I am much more confident in my ability to do this, and in Ty's ability to be just the right amount of "there for me" that I need.

charlie

2011-07-25T06:31:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago, I got a text from my dad, "Charlie Warthen, age 80, distant cousin, is in the Bay Area visiting his son and would like to meet you. I gave him your number. Your sister met him in Ohio a while back and enjoyed her visit. No obligations."

This struck me as so random but definitely intrigued me. I guess that Charlie and my dad have been in contact for many years about genealogy, though they themselves have ironically never met. I figured I had the time, so I drove up to the adorable little town of Lafayette on the same day I visited Amy and her twins and met Charlie for "coffee" (hot chocolate for me).

The visit ended up being so much more pleasant than I could have imagined, though just as random. This sweet man loves his ancestors and loves that he is connected with people he's never met all over the country by blood. Our connection goes back several generations (to a family of Warthens in Ohio in the early 1800s), but he still greeted me as if we were long lost, very mismatched-by-age siblings.

After our little visit, I texted this picture to my dad, to my sister who had met Charlie, and to Ty. It was just a sweet little reminder that we human beings are all a lot more connected than we think we are, and that family ties run very deep.

Thanks, Charlie.

ode to the singleton

2011-07-19T15:00:00.000-04:00

One of my best friends from college, Amy, recently had twin boys. She has a 2 year-old daughter and although her pregnancy with the boys was not a surprise, the number of babies most definitely was. She lives in Kentucky but luckily her parents live here in the Bay Area, so when she came out west to visit her folks for a few weeks (and, let's be honest, probably get some more help from her mom), I was able to drive up to the East Bay to see her.

Now let me be clear, Amy is a champ, and does not look like a frazzled mother. At all. She is beautiful and calm and handles everything in stride, but I quickly became aware of how daunting it would be to have twins, especially when there is also an attention-hungry toddler one tantrum away from disaster. When I was younger I used to think HOW MUCH FUN it would be to have twins; you could dress them alike, come up with ridiculously similar names, buy two of everything cute, and oh how FUN would that be?! Now I think that version of myself is insane, especially after watching Amy's very careful juggling act.

You guys know how I've been freaking out a bit about the changes that this baby of mine is going to be bringing to our life. But trying to hold both of these beautiful boys - just for the length of time it took to snap a photo - made me realize that while twins are darling and quite literally twice the love, I'm grateful for my little singleton. And I think that I'll be okay. I also came to realize that mothers of twins (or multiples in general) are superwomen.

So, dear sweet Singleton, thank you for just being you, for not snagging a sibling during conception to join with you on this ride to being born! Your arrival alone will be exciting enough, I'm sure.

Speaking of our baby, my doctor had me do a growth ultrasound today at 33 weeks. Long story short, I have a [usually not a big deal] clotting disorder that can inhibit growth because of clots in the placenta, so my doc wanted to make sure that Little Guy was on track with everything and growing alright. Well, turns out that he is in the 77th percentile and already over 5 lbs (with at least 7 weeks to go!), has an enormous head, has enormous feet, and tons of hair. The tech said his hair looked like Linus from Peanuts because it was long and going every which way. I thought it looked more like a mad scientist. Regardless, I fell a little more in love with this little person this afternoon.

pseudo photo shoot at stanford

2011-07-17T09:36:00.000-04:00

Last Sunday Ty and I took advantage of the to-die-for weather and took Ody down to Stanford for a long walk. It ended up turning into a sort of photo shoot, probably the only one I'll be able to handle while pregnant. No offense to my friends who have done these, but there are some pretty extreme maternity photo shoots out there that are just to sexualized for me, so a nice, fully-clothed one is about as much as I'll be able to do. If I lived anywhere near Wisconsin, I'd make my dear Anna Page take some fun maternity shots. Same thing with Bethany, if we lived closer to Colorado. But alas, we know no photographers out here, so Ty behind our little Nikon d80 (and my complete ignorance of and therefore lack of photo editing) would have to do the trick. And by photo shoot, I mean 2 pictures.

Enjoy. This is at about 32 weeks.

possibly my new favorite picture ever

2011-07-14T08:56:00.000-04:00

This is what happens when either Ty or I are right outside our front door, ready to come in after a day at work, and Ody can hear us coming. He gets so excited and sticks his little nose through the blinds as if to check if it's really us. It is basically the cutest thing ever.

I love this little dog.

31 weeks + anxiety

2011-07-08T07:28:00.001-04:00

Something about coming home and settling back into real life has made this baby's arrival seem quite imminent. Yikes. Not that we're not excited, because we definitely are, but I think I've entered what I'd like to think is a very common phase of anxiety and feelings of inadequacy. Like, oh my goodness, there is a child coming to our family who not only has to find his way out of my body, but who will also be helpless beyond belief, and whom it is our responsibility to teach to be a good person. No biggie.

Physically, I can't complain. I know some people think it's not possible for a woman to love being pregnant, but I really do. I get an occasional rib jab that startles me (and can sometimes kind of hurt) and I am a lot more sensitive to heat than I used to be, but otherwise I feel fabulous. I love feeling this little guy move around or get the hiccups; it's just constantly a miracle to me. And although high numbers on the scale and a little extra padding all around is enough to make any girl a little self-conscious, I really do feel beautiful.

I've heard mothers talk about how when they have their second child they are scared beyond belief of what will happen to the relationship they have with their first child. While I'll save that particular anxiety for another day several years down the road, I find myself a bit sad thinking of how this is the last time it will just be Ty and I. We both randomly had last Wednesday off, and spent the day eating breakfast together, going to a movie, out to Panera and Pinkberry (the new salted caramel flavor is life-changing, people), watching another movie at home, and just talking together. I'm going to miss days like that. It makes me regret any minute we could have spent together but didn't. Not that we won't see each other after this little guy is born, but the leisurely childless time will be replaced by tag-team responsibilities and the stress of wondering if we have any idea what we're doing. Any advice on how to embrace this?

For a long time I was afraid to get pregnant because I had this insane, irrational idea that once you had a baby, you were officially on "house arrest." I was so convinced of this idea that when I'd see a mom out doing normal day-to-day things, or when I'd read a friend's blog detailing her active life (with a baby!) I'd want to applaud these women as having conquered the dreaded, inevitable house arrest. I've come to realize that this is a ridiculous notion, as is the idea that once the baby comes Ty and I will never go on a date again, but right now the fear of the unknown is making that a pretty convincing reality.

Mostly, though, I'm just excited to meet this little boy and fall in love with him. At this point I am capable only of imagining what it will be like to hold and love my own child (my own child!!), and I'm sure that in and of itself will melt away a lot of anxieties.

happy july!

2011-07-07T13:40:00.006-04:00

Well hello! We are finally back and well into the swing of normal life again. I'm back at work and Ty has officially started his third and final year of residency (not to be confused with his last year of training - there are four more years after this). We loved our time with family but there's something about being home that just can't be beat.

We spent a few wonderful days with Ty's family at their condo in St. George which was just the sort of relaxing break we (especially Ty) needed.

The time with my family in Cedar City, while maybe a bit less relaxing (the number of grandchildren in the Warthen family is currently 9 times that of the Johnsons!), was also fabulous. Plus all the kids got a kick out of Ody.

We got to spend time in Zion National Park with both families at different times, which was a treat. Ty did the West Rim with his siblings and dad, and then later in the week did Scout's Lookout with my dad (they wanted to do Angel's Landing but weather sadly did not permit).

Ty's not in these because he's taking the picture, of course. And while he was off gallivanting in Zion, I was sitting home in the air conditioning, safely gestating.

There was a lot of driving (Palo Alto to Las Vegas, to Salt Lake, to St. George, to Cedar City, to Vegas, back to Palo Alto - whew!!) but overall we seriously had a blast. Yes it would have been nice to have taken our last 2 week vacation time to do some sort of babymoon, but at the end of the day, spending time with family is really the most important thing we could have done. We are both so fortunate to have wonderful, loving families.

still MIA for the time being

2011-06-22T16:47:00.004-04:00

I've been floating around Vegas and Utah for the past two weeks or so, and have therefore neglected ye olde blog. But lest anyone be concerned that the bump is not still growing at a rapid pace, here is some evidence. Ty and I stopped by BYU yesterday on our way to Salt Lake to pick up a few things from the bookstore and hopefully say hi to Dr. Staheli (my old choir conductor). Alas, he was there, and all rejoiced.

So here I am with the good doctor, and my 29 week belly (29 weeks!!).

The Utah excursion will continue through the middle of next week, after which I'm sure I'll pick up things on the blog with my usual wit and eloquence. I hope everyone is enjoying June!

seattle

2011-06-07T09:54:00.000-04:00

Oh what fun we had in Seattle! I've said it before, but Ty has such incredible friends and they each have such an awesome wife. There were ten adults and three babies and the whole long weekend was pulled off without a hitch. And my sunny Seattle streak continued; I have still never seen the city under rain!

I won't go down each detail of our schedule, but some highlights were definitely:

-Staying in the cutest house in all of Seattle. Tay and Tally were such fabulous hosts and we adore their little home. It fit a surprising amount of people, but no one was uncomfortable. T + T really planned everything perfectly.

-The Seattle Art Museum. There was this great exhibit by Nick Cave that basically consisted of these enormous, elaborate, bizarre "suits." Our favorite was the polar bear. And mine and Tally's apprehensive looks are because this photo was strictly prohibited.

-The Seattle Library was also stunning. I love how libraries are getting all gorgeous and modern and inspiring these days (a la Seattle and Salt Lake).

-Exploring Seattle. I had forgotten how incredible Seattle is. We walked around so much and got to see a ton of the city. We also all got to visit the temple on Friday evening.

-Exploring stuff around Seattle. We nibbled on samples at the Anacortes farmer's market, swooned over Whidbey Island. And a lot of other things whose names I don't remember. The weather really couldn't have been more beautiful.

-Watching these guys together. They've all been friends since elementary school, and that was made obvious the first playground we hit. They looked like they were having so much fun that the girls had to join in.

-The kids. The three little ones were definitely the stars of this trip. No matter what they were doing, it was amusing. Plus I loved watching Ty with them. The shot of him was actually sort of a 'shot from the hip' since I was fixing lighting settings (and you can't even see the toddler!), but I love seeing him in his kid element.

-The food. Oh my. Between random Cuban sandwich shops, BBQ joints, sinful ice cream, and yummy homemade grilled pizza and salads, we rolled out of Seattle a little heavier than when we rolled in.

-Running Charades. This is a game I've mentioned at least 5 times before on this blog, as it is a Johnson family tradition and now a 39ers reunion tradition. The girls dominated this year (and last) - depending on who you ask. Ty's dad kindly made up the lists for our game and sent them in a confidential, sealed envelope to T+T's house with a "do not open unless authorized" post-it. It was awesome. Thanks again, Norm!!

-Spending so much time with Ty. Isn't amazing how the longer you're married to someone, the more you like them? :) I really can't get enough of him. We also made sure to appreciate that this was likely our last time flying without an infant - and oh how easy it was. :) We read books and napped on the plane and contemplated how different it will be next time we fly.

-Spending time with these wonderful people. I feel like I married into the best group of friends one could hope for. I hope we'll be doing these reunions for many, many years to come.

still kickin'

2011-06-01T22:25:00.001-04:00

The title refers to both myself and Sir Baby. :)

Sorry for my leave of absence from the blog. I was able to go home to Vegas last week for a choir reunion my high school teacher put together. She's been at our school for 20 years (as long as the school has been there) and invited all her alumni to come back and sing in the spring concert. There were over 200 of us there and it was surreal. In one moment I felt I had never left high school and in another I was amazed at how different of a person I am, what with all the college experience, my marriage, my job, and oh - the protruding belly that no one could get enough of. My only regret is that my camera was snuggled safe and sound back in my closet in Palo Alto.

Now tomorrow morning again we're leaving, but this time for a long weekend in Seattle. The fabulous group of friends we visited Yosemite with last year (the 39ers) is having another reunion and we're so excited for it. There should be rain, yes, but so far the weather man is teasing us with 76 degrees and sunny on Saturday. We'll see. Though I've been lucky since the two times I've visited Seattle in the past 10 years I have seen nothing but sun.

In baby news, my first glucose test (the one that all women are required to take, though I'm sure I could have opted out of it had I claimed something like "religious reasons" or whatever nonsense) came back borderline for gestational diabetes, so they had me do a repeat, longer test today. I had to come fasting and had to stick around the lab for 3 hours, during which time they drew 4 vials of blood at 1 hour intervals (and I got to drink that lovely concentrated orange soda again). I'm not anticipating that I'll actually be diagnosed with gestational diabetes, but in the event that I am, there will be some strict diet changes happening around here. Which is probably just a good idea for all of us anyway (you know, more protein and veggies, less sugar and carbs). And of course as I type this I'm working on a pina colada slushee that Ty lovingly brought me, for the second night in a row. :)

In other baby news, this kid is seriously getting active. It is crazy cute. The three or four times that I've sung in choirs while pregnant, he's given me the most movement, which I think is awesome. Recently he's decided that if my uterus is a recliner, then a good foot rest would be the very top part, which is lodged under my sternum (when I'm even slightly hunched over). Love him, love his little feet, love the kicking, but it is a seriously weird sensation to have a baby foot stuck up there. But I can't get enough of this kid, and I love feeling him move.

I hope your foray into June was warmer than ours. I spent most of the day shivering in a jacket but refusing to put on anything heavier if solely for the fact that it is JUNE.

And because everyone loves a picture of a happy dog...

Happy June, Everyone.

content

2011-05-20T05:54:00.000-04:00

So, despite all our best efforts, our dear friends did not advance in the Rolling Stone competition, but they are all being fabulous sports about it, and I have a feeling there are better things to come anyway. But it was a fun ride, and thank you to those who voted!

Anyway, back in January, this blog post started circulating the internet. I mentioned it briefly before, but it's essentially an 'outsider' perspective on Mormon mommy blogs and their "shiny, happy domestic lives" where "marriage and childrearing appear completely unproblematic." The author, a "late-20-something childless overeducated atheist feminist," seems entranced by these happy women and "picture-perfect catalog lives." She makes sure to mention, though, that there is probably a lot of editing that goes on, and that these women might want to make their lives seem more perfect than they are.

When I first started blogging - eesh, I don't even want to think about it, really - but I sort of prided myself in writing about "real life" and being blunt about my difficulties or things that made me mad. I'd read people's blogs who made their lives sound all perfect and I'd get so annoyed that there was no realism, nothing accessible for those of us normal folk who weren't 100% happy 100% of the time. I think a huge part of this was the fact that there was a bit of depression that went on right after I moved to Philly that ran a lot deeper than I wanted to admit, and I wanted to feel like I related to other real people somehow. But the Mormon mommy blogs, like the ones mentioned above, were too saccharine for my fragile emotions.

Since coming out of that depression and moving to a place that loves you back a lot more than the hard, frigid Philly winters do, I've realized that a lack of negativity does not always indicate a facade. Yes, there is probably a decent balance to be found between wanting to portray your life as perfect and dwelling on every hardship for the sake of being 'real.' But, as I came to find out, some people are really that happy.

A couple years ago I used to feel twinges of jealousy when I'd read about my friends' lives - owning their own homes, having their 2nd or 3rd (or 4th!) kids at my age or younger, having husbands who were home a lot, living in Ideal Suburbialand 10 minutes away from their moms. Because I was in a pathetic state of self-pity, I felt like I was missing out and that living in Philly was some sort of test. But as some of you know, I came to absolutely love Philadelphia, and cried when I left (we still miss it). My perspective changed, the healthier I got.

So although the tone of my blogging has changed significantly over the past, what, 4? years since I've been doing this, it's not for a lack of realism, but rather because I am so truly happy. Ty and I often talk about our friends who are "further along" in the Game of Life than we are (what with owning expensive things and having big families), and how although that'll all be nice when it comes, we would literally not trade our lives, or the timing of significant events in our lives, with anyone else's. It's a peaceful, content feeling to have. I love my life, not because of its lack of imperfections, but because it's perfect for me.

dreamers

2011-05-11T14:37:00.000-04:00

I had a few friends in college who wanted to make it big in the music world (I guess the rest of us were just studying music for fun). A few of them are actually doing really well (beware: some of those links go straight into music) and are watching their dreams be fulfilled. I remember talking to my mom once about how I admired this sort of personality because while trying to make it in the music world is scary and uncertain and a huge risk, it's dreamers like these guys that give us the incredible artists that we all end up loving. Think about your favorite band or singer or composer (or artist or designer or actor) and how their art has influenced your life. A lot of us have music on all the time without really thinking about how much those people had to put on the line in order to create the music we listen to so easily. They had to give up the idea of a "steady, reliable job" because they believed in their art and the value of their contribution. I find that inspiring. Even if I am a musician turned nurse. ;)

Photo taken from Rolling Stone website, here.

So, without further ado, I introduce to you guys Fictionist. Actually, I'm sure a lot of you have heard of them, because they are pretty popular these days. But these 5 Mormon guys are in a competition with only 3 other bands for a spot on the cover of Rolling Stone Magazine, which is pretty dang enormous. Plus they're our friends. :) Their music is big and inspiring and soulful (Ty has it on basically all the time). These are the kind of guys who are willing to live out of a bus and shower at community centers while on tour because they believe that much in their music. They've made it to round 3 in this competition (out of 4 rounds) and we think they deserve to take the whole thing. So, if you have 4 seconds to spare, please do these dreamers a favor and follow this link, vote these guys 5 stars, "like" them, or tweet about them. You can read more about the actual competition here. Round 3 ends in a couple days.

Thank you!

navy seals

2011-05-10T06:37:00.000-04:00

I, along with most of you, I'm sure, sat riveted in front of any television or computer screen I could find on Monday of last week. On Sunday night, I had happened upon a status update on Facebook made by one of my friends alluding to Osama bin Laden's death, but didn't know if it was real. I went to the New York Times website only to find the "article" about the death (about two paragraphs) wouldn't even load, perhaps because of a flood of people trying to load it. CNN.com said there would be a live video of an announcement from the President, and so Ty and I sat in awe as he revealed the news.

So Monday came, and as luck would have it, it was an eerily un-busy day at work, so I was able to spend quite some time in front of patients' televisions, or the one in our common room, listening to briefings from the White House and commentary from all sorts of newscasters. I felt that news was being released at an alarmingly fast rate, and was quite surprised at the vast amount of information the White House was comfortable disclosing. It felt surreal to watch history unfold at the speed of media.

Now there are a lot of people trying to be really noble about this and [mis]quote Martin Luther King by posting on their Facebook pages, "I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an ememy." And that's all fine and good because people can have and voice their opinions. But while the announcement of his death didn't send me into the streets in a drunken state of celebration, I couldn't help but be satisfied (understatement) that this man who had caused such destruction and terror would no longer have the opportunity to do so, and pride in the fact that my country is the one that stopped him. My feelings about this run very deep.

There was much talk about the Navy SEALs team that went in and performed the operation, and in my very, very naive mind, I thought about how those men would soon be on the cover of TIME magazine, and how great it would be to hear their story (this is reason #246 that I'm not in the military). After thinking about this for more than 3 minutes, I realized that, no, these men would likely be kept anonymous to protect them and their families. There are enough wingnuts in the world that would love to kill these heroes that their names and faces will probably never be revealed. I thought about the little old crumpled World War II vets that come into my facility, and how all they have to do is don a "vet hat" and they re-live their hero days with handshakes and "thank you"s from people around them. Each one is a hero, even if he was the cook on the battleship. And while I do not at all mean to minimize the heroism of our World War II veterans, each one has spent the past 65 years being a hero (though for the past 30 years, our generation could certainly have done a better job at acknowledging them).

But these Navy SEALs, these men who went into this compound without thousands of their comrades in front or behind them, who spent 40 excruciatingly long minutes inside this place without 100% certainty that their guy was even in there, and then who completed the mission and came out triumphant - these men will never get public recognition for that. They can't! That is insane to me. I think that is truly heroic.

someone has gotten used to his haircut

2011-05-07T06:46:00.000-04:00

I know I mention him a wee bit too much on this blog, but I am seriously obsessed with my dog. Ty and I always say that he was our best 'purchase' ever. He has kept me company night after night when Ty has been on call, he's the best Welcome Home greeter in the world, and he's just dang hilarious.

After a very traumatic haircut, Ody has returned to his normal, ridiculous self. He seriously curled up in a ball under the quilt for a solid week (coming out occasionally, but then returning immediately back to his little cave). I don't know if he was embarrassed, or if he just felt naked and cold or what, but after a little adjustment period, he's happy again. We miss his fuzzy, muppetous face and the fact that when he laid down just the right way he'd look like a bathmat, but he'll feel a lot better this summer with a shorter 'do.

A lot of people have commented on how neglected this poor creature will be once the baby comes, and I'm sure that's true to some extent, but I know that, if anything, he'll just be happy that someone is home so often. I have no intention of neglecting Ody, especially because throwing a tennis ball across the living room three times a day is enough to keep him happy. But there is no denying that I am crazy about this little dog, and he has made an enormous difference in our lives.

le bump

2011-05-04T06:39:00.000-04:00

So I promised bump pictures. We were really good at taking these each week until about 14 weeks (when it was still actually hard to tell) but then Ty got on a busy rotation and every time he'd suggest it, I'd be in pajamas with post-nursing hair and would feel as unphotogenic as possible. So although I am not darlinged up in this most recent photo, at least I'm not in sweats. It's the small things.

Here we are at 7ish weeks. And I do apologize for the horrendous lighting.

Some things were already changing at this point (ahem) but we'll just go ahead and call this my baseline.

And then here's almost 22 weeks.

Kinda fun, huh? I got my first "Are you pregnant?" comment from a stranger last week, and then my first from a child today. So I'd say that's pretty good. Although I still think it takes a lot of nerve to ask that question.

I wish we could figure out our scanner so we could stick an ultrasound picture on here for you guys, but if you're interested in what it looks like, just google "ultrasound" because it looks like every other one you've ever seen. Though we're a little partial and think our baby's profile is just about the cutest thing ever.

So as you know, I was sort of leaning girl, just because that's what everyone was guessing and I had girly stuff on my mind, but definitely not out of preference. I'm surprised at how surprised we were by the boy announcement, but we could seriously not be more thrilled. I have a lot to learn about dirt, worms, trucks, and ESPN, but I'm willing to lay aside Jane Austen and tea sets for a few years. :) We are so excited.

barefoot and pregnant

2011-05-02T06:53:00.000-04:00

This would be a much more novel or eloquent post if I were madly in love with my job, which I'm not. But regardless, I'm a nurse, and nursing is a career, and so I think it counts.

I am continually amazed at the looks of shock I get when I tell people I'm not going back to work after the baby is born (people at church tend to be less shocked - I'm mostly talking people at work). I was not raised in a cave; I know it's obviously becoming more and more rare for mothers to choose to stay home, especially when finances are tight. But still, it's like people can't believe what they're hearing.

I've known my whole life that I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. Not because it's glamorous or fun or because my kids would sing my praises for it, but because my mom stayed home with us, and I think it made all the difference. Heck, I am emotional almost daily when I leave ODY to go to work. I can't imagine how difficult it would be to leave my little person. I know that some people don't have the luxury of staying home to raise their children, but I knew that if it were at all possible for me to do it, I'd make whatever sacrifices I could.

This isn't to say that I wasn't tempted by the idea of a career and trying to "do everything." Many moms make this work. If I had found my niche in nursing and were excited to go to work every day, it might be harder to give up altogether. I see the diplomas hanging on the wall and wonder sometimes when they'll be put to use again, or if they were somehow a waste because of what I've chosen to do. But I know my kids will benefit from my education, even if I don't go back to work for many years.

The other day I was scrubbing the floor, anticipating the arrival of some guests. I was, yes, barefoot, and the phrase "barefoot and pregnant" came into my mind. I thought about how most women consider that such a derogatory idea, but if pressed, most people would admit they would rather have had their moms around during their growing years instead of having her off in an office. And they'd probably rather have a clean home with healthy, home-cooked meals, though cooking and cleaning is somehow viewed as this ancient thing that no strong woman should be expected to do anymore. It is not prestigious, this life so many of us have chosen, but not all dreams are.

blank slate

2011-04-30T19:12:00.003-04:00

A lot of you know that I used to be marginally obsessed with languages. I took all sorts of linguistics classes at BYU and lived in the Foreign Language Student Residence learning a number of languages for three years. And despite my, I'm sure, occasional mishap with English grammar, I love picking apart our own language. The study of linguistics is fascinating to me.

I've been thinking lately about my baby's blank slate brain, and how cool that is. Even Ody recognizes a few words (you should see him go berserk after we say "Do you want to go outside?"), but my baby will come out knowing or recognizing no words from any language, but with the capability to master literally any language he's exposed to. My lily white son could be handed to a set of African parents at birth and learn Swahili perfectly. Or Chinese. Or you name it. That is so cool. I don't know why I've been so fascinated with that lately. Maybe because I hear people speaking Finnish or Navajo or Croatian and wonder, seriously who is smart enough to learn that? Well, babies are. That is awesome, I think.

Some people think that exposing children to too many languages early on delays their speech, and it might, but there are others who say that the benefits outweigh any delays. I know a fair amount of Portuguese, and a bit of French and Spanish - all of which I'd love to expose our boy to. I wish I spoke any of the three well enough to only speak that language with him, but I'm shaky enough that I don't want to establish a relationship with him based on insecurely expressing myself in another language. So English it will be, with a few bonus phrases every now and then, I'm sure.

on infertility

2011-04-24T06:36:00.000-04:00

I know this is kind of a bizarre thing to be writing about when I'm pregnant, but just hear me out. A few years ago I found the blog The R House; it's written by a woman in Utah who is sterile and therefore will never be able to have biological children. She and her husband have adopted 2 boys, and she has become a huge adoption advocate and influence for good in dispelling adoption myths and promoting truth. She is blunt and powerful and passionate and even though I had no idea if any of what she wrote about would ever apply to my own life, I was fascinated by her journey.

Reading her blog over the past few years has opened my eyes to infertility in a way I'm really grateful for. She continually quotes that 1 out of every 7 couples is infertile, though many don't share it. It makes you think twice about that couple you know whose been married "long enough" in your book, and you wonder what's taking them so long. I hope that as more people become aware of the painful road of infertility, people will become less judgmental and more kind and appreciative.

A few years ago I was talking with my friend about a girl she knew who was infertile. My friend called her "bitter" and talked negatively about her attitude. I don't know what their interactions were, or if either girl was offended, but the exchange left me sad that there wasn't more sympathy for a woman who was hurting so much, and who would literally move heaven and earth to have a child. I can't imagine wanting a child more than anything, and year after year watching your friends have as many as they decide to. I would probably be tempted to become bitter myself.

I say all of this because as I celebrate my own pregnancy, I do so knowing that statistically, there are at least a few people reading this who are struggling to get pregnant. I write here about my own life, not as a means of flaunting what I've been given, but simply because I'm so grateful. As soon as I found out I was expecting, I thought about those who struggle to see that second line show up on the test, and how I would never for one minute take it for granted. Because of you, I will be able to appreciate my own child more than I otherwise would if I knew nothing about infertility and how rampant it is. I know that I will never be the woman who says, "Ugh, I hate being pregnant," despite any discomfort, simply because it's such a gift!

National Infertility Awareness Week is this week, April 24th-30th. I'd encourage you to learn a bit about infertility if it's something perplexing or mysterious to you (here are a few short quotes from infertile people that are eye-opening), and maybe appreciate your own children a bit more. Heaven knows we can all afford to appreciate the blessings in our lives more than we do.

!!!

2011-04-21T20:28:00.001-04:00

A little fuzzy, but hopefully the color is clear enough!

We're elated!!

i'm still pregnant ;)

2011-04-13T22:36:00.003-04:00

Thank you so much for the migraine advice. Thankfully things started winding down that night, and the whole headache was gone by Friday. I'll have to try the Diet Coke thing next time.

In an effort to not turn this into a pregnancy blog (complete with a floating fetus on my sidebar and a weekly analogy of my baby to a piece of fruit), I have hardly blogged at all about the fact that I am, indeed, pregnant and that I can think of almost nothing else. In fact, I have hardly blogged at all, period. I'm at 19 weeks and find myself teetering over the edge of the half-way mark, looking back and wondering where the documentation is of all this excitement (oh yes, in my real, old-fashioned journal), and bracing myself for the fact that September is coming at me at a very intense speed.

So can you indulge me a bit of pregnancy excitement? Just for a moment?

I've been feeling the baby kick for a few weeks now. At first it was darling little flutters, and recently it has turned into full on mom jabs. I can't get enough of them. I just hate it when I'm at work and running around and I can't just stop and enjoy them for a minute. I know this is the best time to enjoy them since in a few months, especially considering my messed up ribcage, they're bound to get violent.

I have a number of coworkers who love the fact that I'm "fattening up everywhere" or that I look so tired and sick. It's so wonderful to come into work and have my love handle squeezed or to have three co-workers gawking over the dark circles under my eyes. The pregnancy glow looks good on me.

(for the record, I feel great)

My dreams have always been weird. Always. Pregnancy hasn't changed that for me at all. Thank heavens! Or else how boring would sleeping be?! The big find-out-the-gender ultrasound is coming up in a week, so I've been thinking about it a lot. I had a dream a few nights ago that I went into the ultrasound, found out it was a girl, and decided, you know what, we just want to meet her. Let's just do this thing. So I gave birth to a 20-week old baby who was about 6 inches long and very cute. With completely developed lungs. Oh, and she could speak in full sentences. I wasn't yet able to feed her since that takes a few days, so I gave her sliced up cucumbers in the meantime. Little Girl was not happy about this and let me hear it. "...grumble grumble cucumbers...grumble....YOU eat the cucumbers...grumble." It was darling. I don't think I've eaten a cucumber this entire year. I'll have to make sure to avoid them.

A lot of people at work are wondering if I'm taking a few weeks off at the end to "prepare the nursery." This is such a great idea, if you have a nursery. Our baby will sleep in a small, hand-me-down crib right next to my side of the bed and we are totally fine with that. There will be no pink or blue paint or wallpaper, no fancy crib/changing table/other furniture set, no swing or diaper pail. Just a little crib. And a new baby. And I'm thrilled with the simplicity of that. Especially after reading through this sobering book this week and realizing how blessed this baby will be to come home with us, and how blessed we all are. Heck, my parents emptied out one of the drawers of their dresser, lined it with blankets, and my oldest sister slept there when she was a newborn.

I'm not really having a premonition of which gender this baby is. Sometimes it's all boy, sometimes it's all girl. It probably depends on whether I'm in a baby store standing in front of an irresistible boy outfit or girl outfit. I'm carrying this baby "everywhere" and also "high" which I've been told means girl, and also the Chinese gender chart has told me girl, but Warthen girls do not have girls. My oldest sister has 7 sons! So I fully expect a houseful of boys. I guess we'll all know next Thursday! Any guesses?

We do have "bump" pictures. Do those weird you out? (I'm fully clothed - no one gets a peek at my bare belly - gross.) I'll have to post an 8 weeks and a 20 weeks photo next week.

Mostly, I am still just in awe that I get the opportunity to be a mom. This is not something I am taking for granted or something I just expected would always happen. I think every baby is a miracle and I'm just so grateful for the little one growing inside of me.

on headaches and short haircuts (for Ody, that is)

2011-04-06T20:10:00.004-04:00

Sorry for the hiatus. Try to act really sad and disappointed and utterly curious as to how we've been doing.

Well, I'll tell you. I have been a very fortunate person in that I have only been struck by the migraine gods a few times in my life. Once was when I was 12, another at 17 (on the night before New Year's Eve, when I was supposed to be singing with Gladys Knight's choir at the Flamingo the next evening - there are drugs powerful enough to get a girl to that concert, luckily!), and then another several months ago that sent me home from work early clamoring for a dark space and heavy duty Ibuprofen. I do not use the word "migraine" lightly, not like those people that are singing their guts out in choir rehearsal, but put the back of their hand to their foreheads and complain of a migraine. Or like the people that are joking and laughing and carrying on and casually mention that they have "another migraine." No no, migraines, at least in my experience, are debilitating and completely obnoxious.

So last Friday I woke up with a slight headache. Annoying to wake up to, but whatever. I had some funny dark patches in my vision that should have tipped me off immediately, but I was able to go through the work day just fine. That evening it escalated into a full-scale, light- and sound-sensitive, Oh-my, I-think-this-may-be-my-4th-migraine. Bleh. I slept with a cool rag on my head and couldn't even handle the light from a cell phone across the room.

Saturday morning, still a bit of a headache, but otherwise, okay! Yay! We watched General Conference in the morning, went to a friend's house for a ridiculously good waffle breakfast, dropped the dog off at the groomer's since he was getting pretty matted (remember the dig-fest in Yosemite? and the ensuing bath of much emergency?) and it's getting hot enough here that he was uncomfortable, then came back home for the second session.

Here is where I insert a little side story about the dog that was previously a cockapoo, but is now some sort of skinny Labrador/Daschund mix. Do you see that little picture of Ody on my side bar? Or even the photos in the posts just a few below this one? Very furry creature. Well, all of that is gone. And what we're left with is a sadly naked, surprisingly cold, slightly depressed dog.

Seriously, who is that? So sad. We're not too happy. Good thing he has a cute face anyway, even if his tail is disturbingly skinny. Anyway. Back to my head!

Saturday evening the headache escalated into migraine-status again and I was trying not to cry because that increased the pressure even more (oh and throw in a little sick-to-the-stomach to make things awesome). Sunday, same pattern, although Sunday night got so bad that I decided to go into the emergency room (not to mention that Ty was on call, to boot). Turns out, though, that I knew both the resident and the attending who cared for me - the resident was on one of Ty's teams before and we had all had dinner together, and the attending goes to our church. Seriously comforting. They gave me an IV (okay, so I hadn't been drinking enough) and a very pregnancy-safe but maybe not overly potent pregnancy cocktail (Tylenol and Reglan, if you're curious) and by 11:30 PM I felt on top of the world.

Monday, repeat cycle (minus the ER).

Tuesday, repeat cycle (minus the ER).

Wednesday, determined to go back to work as this is getting ridiculous. Last 2 hours. Got the most enormous hankering for tomato soup you can imagine, and Smitten Kitchen again saved the day. Took some more Tylenol, which is about as effective as Smarties Candy (though not nearly as tasty).

Oh, and when I called my OB's office to try to get in to address this in the daylight, the nurse on the phone passed the buck and said that this is a primary care physician-type issue. Even though I informed her I don't have one (we're very new to the network) and considered my OB my PCP, you know, while I was pregnant and everything.

Sigh.

Any advice? I can't call this a 6-day migraine or anything because it most certainly is not. Maybe it's just bad headache by day, migraine by night, or something. But because of this 6 inch long baby (kicking up a storm! I'm at 18 weeks, people!) inside of me, I can't take too much in the drug department. Anyone who is or has been pregnant and had serious prolonged headache issues? I can't call into work every day. Mah.

if you're interested

2011-03-20T11:48:00.000-04:00

My nephew, and all the other missionaries from the Sendai and Tokyo missions, have been evacuated to more southern missions for a few reasons that Elder Holland sums up very well here. It's not a panicky thing, but just a practical thing.

My sister got a very brief phone call from Preston the other day in which he basically told her where he was (Okinawa, part of the Fukuoka mission) and that he was safe and that he basically just wanted to get on with the work. He says he's in the "Hawaii of Japan," seeing as how he is pretty far south and on a bitty island. Their conversation is summarized here.

And then, an interesting excerpt from an email my sister received:

One thing not reported in any media was that many missionaries all over Japan were in Mission Offices or Churches for Zone and District leader training and conferences when the earthquake hit. Many were not in their apartments nor outside, which we think helped protect so many of our missionaries. They were with groups of missionaries along with their Mission Presidents.

Elder Dowdy emailed his mom: He said on Sunday Pres. Tateoka took him and his companion, Elder Carthew, back to their apartment in Fukushima to get some things. When they got there Pres. Tateoka would not let them go up until he went and checked to make sure it was safe.

The entire apartment was trashed. The refrigerator was on its side and had moved across the room. All the dishes were broken and the windows were all blown in. He was able to get some stuff but because of all the debris and glass he was afraid to dig through it to look for some things (like his camera).

He said it was a blessing that they had been at zone conference when the earthquake struck because if they had been in Fukushima they would have been in the apartment for planning time and would have surely been injured.

He told me that they were on the second floor of the church in Koriyama when the earthquake started and that there is a warning system that sounds on the cell phones when the Earthquake gets past 6.0. All the alarms started going off and Pres. Tateoka yelled at them to get out now!

Benj said that he had to hold onto the railing to get down the stairs and that the Earthquake kept slamming him up against the wall. As soon as they got outside it started snowing heavily.

He said that he has heard many miraculous stories about how missionaries just happened to be doing things just a little differently than they normally would, or had planned to, and that is what saved them!

Anyway, interesting stuff, for those who are interested. Please continue to pray for the people of Japan.

yosemite

2011-03-19T05:26:00.000-04:00

Last summer Ty and I got to go to Yosemite together for the first time. We had an incredibly fun time with his amazing group of friends + their wives, and have often felt guilty for living so close and not taking advantage of its beauty several times since.

We had planned two other trips to Yosemite this year but were unable to go both times because of weather. Luckily we got to go this past weekend, not as much for hiking since there was still lots of snow, but mostly for the sake of accessing something so beautiful. Since we were mostly going to be sticking to roads and large trails, Ody got to come. And oh my goodness, did he have the time of his life.

We stayed in this quirky B&B in Groveland (and for some reason I could never remember the name Groveland and kept calling the town Doloresville, which clearly sounds similar), and were quite thrilled that our room had a TV on which we could watch highlights from the ridiculous BYU game in which Jimmer scored 52 points (!!!). My favorite part was when the SportsCenter host said, "Jimmer does have teammates. You'll see them there, in white." Incredible.

I may have tuckered out part way through the 4th showing of the highlights, seeing as how there is not nearly as much testosterone in my body as there is in Ty's and, well, we had already watched Jimmer be awesome. A few times.

If Ty takes half as many pictures of our kids as he does of our dog, our family journaling will be in good shape. But seriously, once Ody got over being mad at us for the long car ride (during which he mostly curled up in my lap, pouted, and sighed dramatically every now and then to remind us of his misery), he had a total blast being in the big outdoors. We'll call this shot the Regal Muppet.

There was only one small trail that Ty wanted to take pictures of on which Ody couldn't go. Sad. So Ody and I took a long walk and then parked on a boulder. While I was sitting on said boulder, Ody was overcome with a most urgent need to DIG. And dig and dig and dig. Normally if he even shows the slightest inclination towards digging anything, we put a stop to it right away and he's quite good about complying. His moppy fur basically turns him into a flannel board and he collects all sorts of dirt very quickly, and cleaning him off isn't very fun. Luckily it's easy to avoid. But I figured, hey, he's a dog, and we're as close to the "wild" as he'll ever get. So I just let him dig to his heart's content. He must have dug for 20 minutes straight, and it wasn't till I really looked back at him and his handiwork that I realized how ridiculously dirty he had gotten. But oh man, was he ever a happy pup. Take a close look at his beard and those ridiculous paws.

Oh yeah, Yosemite was lovely too! What I loved more than the fresh air and beautiful vistas was watching my dear Ty light up like a school boy when he got close to the park. He just comes alive in nature, sort of the way I do in New York City. Which is why we're such an awesome pair. I might not be aching to scale Half Dome again (though I could hike to the base of it 100 times!), but I'm glad we live so close to this beautiful place.

We got home on Saturday night around 8, threw the dog in the tub and proceeded to have to empty the tub four times because of all the dirt. He was grumpy about that ending to such an incredibly liberating day, but he is now back to squeaky clean status.

big sur

2011-03-15T15:57:00.007-04:00

A couple weeks ago we found ourselves with a surprisingly free weekday and decided to turn it into a day trip. My old roommate Kristin, who is a Bay Area native, had suggested we try out Big Sur, which is just below Carmel/Monterey. It was dreamy to drive along the gorgeous California coast and pull off to the side of the road and hike among the redwoods. Have I mentioned how much we love living in California?

I also must mention how much better 2nd year of residency is than 1st year! We spent most of 1st year hunkering down, Ty trying to sneak naps wherever he could, Ody and I trying to tiptoe around, but 2nd year has been so good to us. There's nothing I love more than getting to spend time with Tyler.

These last shots remind me of the mermaid lagoon in Peter Pan.

I know this type of thing will become increasingly more difficult come September, so we're trying to take off as much as we can and explore the beauty around us.

what a week

2011-03-13T20:58:00.004-04:00

My heart has been really full this week. Like, bursting.

On Wednesday, my nephew Trevik came home after faithfully serving a wonderful 2-year mission in Texas. It seems like just yesterday we were saying goodbye to him, and now he's home and all grown up and stuff. Crazy.

I was extraordinarily homesick all week, wishing I could have been at the airport to welcome him home, and then also at his report today in church. Especially because his welcoming party looked like this:

Clearly our family never weak-sauces anything. :) And even the Little Dude got his own mini "E" shirt.

I was at work and watching the clock like crazy, wishing I could be there. I got super lucky and he actually called me later in the afternoon so I could tell him my exciting news before anyone else got to. It was so wonderful to talk to him.

I love this picture because his little sister Kirsi is standing there staring up at him in awe. For days before he came home she'd say, "Trevik is coming home. He will hug me and he will love me." She was a baby when he left and so had just heard tales of this big brother of hers, and my mom said that watching Kirsi watch Trevik was like watching someone admire the Empire State Building. Apparent in this picture.

My heart was also full because of the whole Japan thing. My second oldest nephew Preston is on a mission right now in Tokyo, and since I just heard snippets of the earthquake details on NPR on my way to work, I didn't know the geography of everything and had no idea what to expect. It felt so weird to sort of hang in limbo wondering what was going on (especially since all the stupid news stations playing in my patients' rooms only had coverage on the mini waves splashing up around the Bay Area and very little on Japan), until my sister texted me that the Church had released a statement that all missionaries in Japan were safe and accounted for, except for some communication issues from the Sendai mission (the Church later updated that all Sendai missionaries were also safe and accounted for).

Preston and the other missionaries were instructed to write home so their families could hear from them directly. My sister posts his emails, including the earthquake email, on a mission blog. Interesting reading. We're relieved that he's safe, and we continue to pray for the people of Japan, especially in Sendai where it seems the destruction is the worst. It's amazing how fast the world can sort of turn upside down.

I hope everyone has had a lovely Sunday.

cafe rio

2011-03-07T06:20:00.000-05:00

I understand that I have a serious problem when it comes to Cafe Rio. Over the three and a half weeks we had off in December and in Cafe Rio Land (Utah/Nevada), we ate there over 10 times. It was glorious. It would have been 11 times if we had another day. I sometimes have these cravings for Cafe Rio that make me feel like I will most certainly die if I don't get a pork salad (this is when I'm not pregnant, too!). A few weeks ago, that craving, amplified by the I Sort of Deserve Whatever Food I Want Right Now attitude, left me feeling most miserable.

Now, there are actually 7 Cafe Rios in California. The closest one is in Oxnard, which is about 6 hours away (they're all pretty much in the LA area). You would not imagine the begging and pleading that happened when this craving hit and Ty and I were staring at a free Saturday. I insisted it would be the best possible way to spend a Saturday, you know, driving 12 hours round trip for a salad. Ty insisted that, no, there were probably better ways to spend expensive California gas money (now over $4.00/gallon around the corner from us). But you have to understand that I grew up in a family where we would occasionally drive from Vegas to Brigham City, UT (over 7 hours) for the sole purpose of going to Maddox because my mom was craving their raspberry cream pie (we would of course visit and stay with family). And that raspberry cream pie tasted all the sweeter for the drive. So, clearly the logical choice in this matter in my mind.

But Ty said no (cue the pathetic, heartbreaking, "But I'm pregnant!" pleas...).

I threatened to go by myself on my day off that week.

He said, "Why don't you just try to make it?"

I sort of scoffed at him because, hello, no one actually reproduces the Cafe Rio salad successfully and those who claim they do have clearly not spent as much time at this restaurant as I have. But I decided to give it a Google because that's all I could do. And I found this. Just some girl's blog claiming to have tinkered with this recipe enough to have made a worthy replication. And I started to really read through every single step and wonder if maybe she could have figured something out.

I have to admit that I spent more time that week reading through her recipe and each of the 102 comments than I did reading anything else. I analyzed what people said in the comments had worked or not worked, I printed out the recipe and wrote down notes and made a very thorough shopping list (down to the salad tins). I got so excited at this prospect that I invited a few people over, divvied out some of the ingredients (it was very hard of me to let go of the 'power' and not just do everything myself) and printed out a Cafe Rio sign for our door.

We made the mistake of giving Ody a bite or two of pork, after which he wouldn't leave us alone and gave us this sad, deprived look the rest of the afternoon.

And I have to say, the pork was a bit spicier, the dressing was a bit lime-ier (which I definitely didn't mind), and the rice was sort of a pilaf, but all in all, this actually satisfied my craving. The people who came seemed to think it was a pretty dang successful attempt and I, of course, started wondering how soon was too soon to try it again.

Oh I was so happy! And can you see that 13-week pudge? Yay!

One of my favorite parts of all this was that I was telling my mom about all these labors the day before The Dinner and at the end of the conversation she said, "Hmm... that sounds really good. I think I'm going to go to Cafe Rio for dinner." And she did. Punk.

So if you are one of those unfortunate souls who finds yourself living too far away from a Cafe Rio than your husband will let you drive, have a bunch of friends over and try this girl's recipe. Oh, but please use cotija cheese and not parmesan. It's totally worth it.

finding out

2011-03-01T19:49:00.000-05:00

I really promise this isn't going to turn into a pregnancy blog or a baby blog, but there has clearly been a build-up of things I've wanted to talk about these last 13 weeks but wasn't able to. So there might be a few things while I get my "cat's out of the bag" wiggles out.

I took a test way earlier than I told myself I was going to and was literally speechless at the result. I danced around the apartment with Ody, squealing and telling him that he was going to be a big... brother? muppet? dog? (there is a large amount of Ridiculous that goes on around here). I was then struck with how obnoxious it was going to be to keep this whole thing a secret. I rock at keeping others' secrets, but not my own. My life is an open book - the good, the bad, the ugly - so I wanted to tell everyone. My sister-in-law had just announced her pregnancy of 8 weeks days before, so I wanted to call her and be like, "Me too!" And of course I wanted to call my parents and Ty's. But with the staggering amount of miscarriages in my family, I knew it would be better to wait.

Ty got home that evening and I was wearing a camera around my neck, hiding 3 tests behind my back (I'm sorry, you can't just take one). I basically just handed them to him and waited for his response, which, I have to say, was everything I wanted it to be.

Being New Year's Eve, we headed out to dinner and talked about names - a conversation we'd had a millon times before, but this time directed at a poppy seed-sized collection of cells. We were giddy and speechless and excited and oh my gosh, did it ever feel like we were sitting at the top of the tallest roller coaster drop of our lives.

We came home and watched the adorable movie Babies and then went to bed at 9:30 since we both had to work the next day. Besides, we didn't need to stay up for any countdown or fireworks since the countdown from 40 weeks was exciting enough.

eeee!!!

2011-02-24T15:50:00.000-05:00

Thank you all for your sweet congratulations! I can't even tell you how excited we are around here. September can't come fast enough. I have wanted to be a mother my entire life.

So, a few details and answers to questions. I am 12 weeks along, and not showing yet (maybe just a general "pudge"). I found out on New Year's Eve that I was expecting which I'm pretty sure is the most awesome day ever for such a discovery. I am sick, but not awfully so. In fact, I consider myself very lucky because I'm not throwing up all the time or anything and I know that some women have all sorts of terrible sickness. There are some interesting smells I have to deal with at work that are not so pleasant for a pregnant lady, but otherwise work continues to be okay. The sickness mostly comes in the evening. Sometimes I'm wiped out on the couch a little bit and all I want is macaroni and cheese and hash browns, but overall I've been very fortunate.

Cravings-wise all I want is salty stuff. I'm the girl who could (and would) eat an entire pint of ice cream for dinner in college, but now I don't want anything sweet. And I actually crave meat. Ty just watches me eat with raised eyebrows and swears he doesn't know me anymore. It's hilarious. I can't get enough potatoes.

We aren't allowed to say the phrase "we're pregnant" around here. Ty is very much not pregnant, and I am, so we keep the pregnant phrase to first person. I feel like that's pretty fair. :)

My sister-in-law is also pregnant and due exactly a month before me which I think is so much fun. This is their third child so clearly I am the benefactor of much wisdom. Not to mention the fact that my three older sisters have collectively had 17 children. I am an advise sponge. If you have some, pass it along.

I do not care whether this is a boy or a girl, but we do plan on finding out the gender. We've talked and talked about names for the past 3+ years and have agreed on a few (picking a name around here is like trying to get a bill passed!) but will probably keep those mostly under wraps till we see the baby and know what kind of little person we're dealing with. So we won't be monogramming anything quite yet. I'm still undecided on whether or not we'll be using the baby's name on this blog. I can see the benefits of using fake names for the sake of internet safety and all that, but I still can't totally wrap my mind around it. We'll see.

Mostly, I am just thrilled beyond reason. Sure, deciding to start a family is a huge, life-changing step, and we will never go back to being "just us." But we are so excited to meet this little one and give him or her our best. When I was little and people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would say, "a mom." I added a few things in there along the way, like musician and nurse, but being a mom is my dream and I feel so privileged to be able to live it.

why I stopped hating on valentine's day

2011-02-21T05:36:00.000-05:00

So I've always really disliked Valentine's Day. Not because I was ever bitter to be single or because I thought love wasn't expressed enough the rest of the year through, but just because I thought it was stupid. The magenta teddy bears you see in WalMart or the battery-operated dancing gorillas in cages singing "Wild Thing" all just struck me as a completely ridiculous way to express love, not to mention I really can't stand Sweethearts candy. As a kid I sent "valentines" to my classmates like everyone else, usually a Disney princess or something, I'm sure. But I sort of grew to hate the red rose for this reason (kudos to Ty for only ever giving me lilies!) and any semblance of consumerismly-expressed love.

Consumerismly is a very cool adverb. Or should be, at least.

However, this year, I decided to have a wee change of heart. I decided to send valentines to our parents and siblings and two of my closest friends. I worked on these for hours, and watched a lot of Biggest Loser while keeping my hands busy.

Now, I wanted our family to think they were getting boxes of chocolates, so I went to See's to see if I could have some empty boxes in which to place my very hard work. Turns out they can't just give you an empty box, and I wasn't about to buy 10 lbs of chocolate (and subsequently consume 10 lbs of chocolate) for the sake of the box. So luckily, The Container Store sells a box of similar dimensions (and who doesn't love an excuse to visit The Container Store?) that worked just fine. See's did, however, give me a handful of stickers.

So here's what the finished product looked like.

That could very convincingly be a box of chocolates, could it not? White wrapping paper and all.

And the hard work I put inside them?

Yes, those are onesies. And yes, this is an announcement. I promised I'd be obvious. :) Oh, and yes, my parents' onesie is in Portuguese.

Idea lovingly stolen from this genius girl.

Turns out Valentine's Day is a pretty fun day to announce to your family, and I'm therefore a convert. As if there's not enough love in the air, everyone gets to imagine a teeny little person coming in the fall and have their heart get all melty, without the help of red roses.

Due date is September 6th, and we. are. thrilled.

monterey

2011-02-19T21:48:00.009-05:00

One of mine and Ty's goals for 2011 is to see Yosemite National Park in all four seasons. We live too relatively close to such a beautiful thing to not take full advantage of it, yet the past two weekends we have set apart to see the "winter" Yosemite have not worked out. The most recent of which being a severe weather warning that we didn't want to mess with.

So with a free weekend (hallelujah!) that we decided couldn't go to waste, and since Ty wouldn't entertain my idea of driving 6+ hours to the nearest Cafe Rio, we decided to spend our Saturday down in Monterey at the aquarium. What a fascinating, beautiful place. It was quite rainy outside which I think forced a lot of people indoors who wouldn't have otherwise been there (it was very crowded), but we absolutely loved it.

And took some fun pictures, of course.

The jellies were seriously other-wordly. They just float there upside down, pulsing every now and then and looking weightless. Bizarre.

Then there were the fuzzy sand dollars (sad this picture turned out fuzzy itself).

The aquarium has this cool exhibit called the Secret Life of Seahorses which was seriously mesmerizing. Seahorses are such funny little creatures. They had the ordinary ones you'd imagine seeing, then these weird leafy dragon-looking ones, and to finish up the exhibit, some teeny, 1/2 inch long ones. Oh the cuteness. Who knew that I'd ever want to bring home a seahorse.

A fun beautiful day, rain notwithstanding, topped off by a stop at a farmers market for some lovely strawberries. Not a half bad way to spend a free Saturday. :)

on nursing

2011-02-16T06:59:00.000-05:00

A while ago I was at this girls' night activity with lots of beautiful, well-put-together women. I didn't know any of them, and it was sort of an awkward evening, but I ended up having fun.

We naturally asked each other what the other did. Some were mothers, one was in design school, one was a personal assistant to an extremely prominent family in the area, another was the nanny for that same family. There were sort of mixed reactions when people found out I was a nurse.

Some thought that was "so cool that you can handle blood and guts and stuff." Others thought of it as a service. One girl said to me, "Oh gross. That must be a gross job. What's the grossest thing you do?" I obviously did not give her the description she wanted, because considering I do some pretty "gross stuff", it didn't strike me as a conversation anyone really wanted to have. I just responded with "Wound care," which is probably #3 on the list of Grossest Things I Do At Work.

Sometimes I think of nursing as being a glorified, educated secretary. We spend such a large amount of our time charting patient information and talking with doctors and labs and clinics on the phone that it can feel like a desk job for those few hours. Other times I feel like a poor substitute for these people's children; cleaning up after them, trying to provide company, helping to feed them and give their regular meds. Sometimes I am a maid, refilling water, taking trays out of their room, fetching more salt or coffee.

My favorite, though, is when I really feel like their friend. We recently discharged a man who came to us after cancer treatment for some follow-up wound treatment and physical therapy. He was a kind man who had lost his wife a few years before to cancer and was simply extremely lonely. Everyone loved him and appreciated his patience and kindness. We wrote up all his discharge papers, gave him what he needed, and then I said to him, "Well, this is goodbye." He got teary and gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, as well as the other nurses there, and said, "I'm really going to miss you guys." It was one of those moments that makes all the other "gross" ones worth it.

Another older patient came to us on hospice care with very advanced pancreatic cancer. He had a beautiful family that almost never left his side. His youngest granddaughter was about 2 and was always running up and down the hallways of our facility, adding a much-needed reminder of the beauty of young life. She used to play hide and seek with me and squeal when I'd catch her. This wonderful man maintained dignity until the very end, always more concerned with others than he was about his own discomfort (which made it very difficult to know when he needed pain medication, which is one of the most important aspects of hospice!). When he passed away, all of the nurses received a Christmas card with a personalized note from this man's family. Mine, written by his daughter, thanked me for my "sparkling smile which always made Dad feel better," and said that she hoped we would meet again under happier circumstances. I can't tell you how much that meant to me.

So yes. There are gross days. There are days when I tear out my hair and swear I'm never going back. There are days when I am hit or spit on or yelled at and I may or may not cry at the nurses station. But then there are days like the two described above that make me want to say proudly, Yes. I am a nurse. And I love it.

irrational aversions

2011-02-14T18:30:00.000-05:00

There are a few things that I am irrationally afraid of, or averse to, or just plain don't like. Sometimes I'm having a conversation with someone and I'll just throw out there, "Oh I don't use ______ because I'm afraid of them," and then I get a quizzical look and I feel weird. Here are a couple of said things for your enjoyment, and please, someone throw me a bone and tell me that there are a few things you are just irrationally afraid of.

1. Candy thermometers
I hate candy thermometers. Or any kind of thermometer in the kitchen. If a recipe says "heat ___ until this many degrees," I will not use that recipe. I made buttermints over Christmas break with my mom (a passed-down-through-the-generations sort of recipe that I have to master someday) and Mom had me watch the thermometer for a second while she ran to the garage and I seriously almost panicked. What if it gets too HOT!? What if the temp isn't moving because the thermometer is actually broken and we're ruining this entire beautiful batch of buttermints? I might have screamed at her a few times from the kitchen, "Get back in here!! The thermometer is moving!!" The buttermints turned out fine. Mostly because my mom doesn't share this ridiculous fear.

2. Strollers
I absolutely hate strollers. I understand they're necessary for carting around your beloved littles, but seriously, they are big and bulky and have to be assembled and reassembled anytime you go anywhere. Then the more kids you have, the bigger the strollers get and before you know it, you might as well have just driven your Suburban into the grocery store aisles for all the space you're saving. I can see myself either just wearing my child on my back, or resorting to one of those $10 umbrella strollers since, really, the idea of a stroller large enough to have "compartments" and a cup holder freaks me out. All you moms can go ahead and say, "Oh but when you have 2 kids you'll love it," and I'm sure that's true. But my childless self is pretty scared of them.

3. Shopping Carts

This one is remarkably similar to strollers, but I just can't stand pushing a shopping cart around the store. As such, I have had big red marks on my forearms from carrying the little basket with way too much stuff in it, and my hands have gotten way too cold from carrying milk that would have fit nicely in a shopping cart. Ty and I have even attempted Costco runs without a shopping cart (usually unsuccessful) because I hate pushing them around. I seriously don't know what this is about, but I would so much rather carry everything.

What is wrong with me?

my thursday vs. her thursday

2011-02-10T19:57:00.002-05:00

Today was about as normal of a day as ever. I went to work at 7 and had an uneventful shift. Two of the nurses started dancing at the nurses' station, a discharged patient gave us a box of cookies for "taking such good care of her," and a 50 year-old patient threw his call bell at me because he wanted his toothpaste which was being held captive by his closet. Someone turned on some Dean Martin which made the day delightful, and a CNA acted mock-offended when 3 nurses gathered around her and admired her very awesome veins (for starting an IV). I went home at 4 with a sore right hand from hours of paper charting. I came home to find Ty sleepy after his 30-hour shift. Ody was thrilled to see me. I changed out of scrubs and into "comfies" (the main difference between the two being the level of cleanliness and exposure to bizarre bacteria) and scrambled myself an egg. That's it.

Tonight will be simple also. My friend is moving tomorrow so I'm going over to help clean her place. My other friend is cutting my hair (undramatically). I'll sneak dinner in there somewhere and come home, again, probably to a sleepy husband and a happy dog.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Tyler has a friend from high school named Erin. Her Thursday, February the 12th, 2011, was much more out of the ordinary than mine. Today Erin and her husband Zar buried their second child. Both beautiful girls died due to complications from a unique chromosomal defect. Sometimes when I need a healthy dose of Becca, You've Got it Good, I'll read Erin's beautiful, candid blog and remember how blissful it is to be spared this level of heartache. They've handled it so gracefully.

Nothing like a poignant bit of perspective.

california dreamin'

2011-02-05T15:54:00.005-05:00

I, along with you, have been watching all the updates on Facebook this past week as people very much east of here have been experiencing all sorts of crazy weather. Maybe some of you have even been playing ice hockey in your cul-de-sac like my sister's family in Ohio! Regardless, the weather has been nuts.

California decided not to take the bizarre weather bandwagon. It's currently 76 degrees here in Palo Alto, and Ody and I just got back from a lovely 3 mile walk. We passed lemon trees and saw hummingbirds buzzing all over the place and I even worked up a bit of a sweat. Ody, being the martyr he is, came home and crashed on the floor in utter overheated exhaustion while I made myself a banana smoothie and drank it outside. It just made me realize again that we are so extremely lucky to be living here.

Last night Ty had to go to this recruitment dinner for people who are interviewing at Stanford for residency, and, surprisingly, I was invited to go along this time. We ate amazing food and talked about what sets this program apart from other great programs around the country. It wasn't the phenomenal research or the zillion-dollar donations from the too-wealthy in the area or the amount of published attending physicians per square foot. Everyone talked about how happy the residents are, about the culture of camaraderie, and how wonderful it is to go to work every day with people you like and consider your friends. Yet another reminder.

Sometimes work has both of us tired or feeling like we're at the end of our rope, but we both have jobs in this tough economy, and ones that bring us satisfaction. We live in a small-ish apartment without many luxuries, but it is beautiful and clean and just what we need. We love our church family out here, and know and love many of our neighbors. We're just really blessed.

There was recently a blog post written on a popular website about a feminist, atheist, educated woman who is addicted to Mormon housewives' blogs. She loves the idea of these women living happy lives and taking care of beautiful children and keeping lovely homes. She thinks their world sounds like a fantasy land and is a nice escape from her "real world" life. While I don't agree with every premise of her post, I've gotta say that right now I feel like that happy Mormon girl who has nothing negative to say. Sure, life is hard and people aren't perfect and things still make me cry, but I love my life with Tyler and Ody, we love our lives here in California, and sometimes I just have to say that life is good.

why I decided

2011-01-21T07:49:00.000-05:00

Because we spent so much time traveling in December and we got to do so many cool things, Ty and I agreed that we wouldn't exchange gifts this year for our anniversary - the trip itself being gift enough. I cheated a little, but the gift that I gave Ty didn't cost anything, and therefore didn't defeat the no-gifts purpose.

I changed my name.

Some of you have been around here long enough to remember this post. I loved that post because I sort of put out there some the reasons I hadn't changed my name, and I love hearing from you why you did or did not change your names. The entire conversation we had meant a lot to me, and I have thought a lot about it over the past couple of years.

Here are some of the reasons I hadn't changed:

-It wasn't important to Ty, and he made that obvious.

-My maiden name means the world to me and I have always felt proud of it.

-My mother's maiden name and Ty's last name are the same, and I remember growing up, my mom loving her married name since her maiden name was so common. Uniqueness became very, very important to me.

-My grandfather had two sons to carry on the name, and from those two sons was only born one son (who is presently showing no indication of a desire to start a family) and so the idea of "giving up" a name that wasn't being passed down at all made me want to keep it.

-None of my sisters has used Warthen for their boys. It doesn't really flow well, and it would make an awful first name (imagine the nicknames, people!), so I don't blame them.

-The hassel of it all was unappealing.

Since I felt so strongly about this, and since it had, in fact, been almost 3 years since we got married, it was really a wonder when I had a feeling sometime last summer that it was time to change my name. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, Ty and I hadn't talked about it, and my feelings for my maiden name were as strong as ever.

I decided to have it done in time for our 3rd anniversary and sort of surprise Tyler with it, although I had no idea at the time if it would mean anything to him since my keeping my maiden name hadn't bothered him at all. Being the OCD planner carrier that I am, I wrote in "change name" on a couple of different dates in November to remind me to do it.

I secretly collected all the documents I needed to do this and headed down to the Social Security office in early November. The dude at the SS office gave me a hard time for wanting to keep all 4 of my names, stating that didn't I want to get rid of Warthen and just adopt a new name? My exact quote to him, "If Polynesians can have 10 names that are all 15 letters long, then this white girl can have 4 simple names." He laughed, and my married name was added to my name instead of replacing any of it. I confided only in my father during this whole process, and literally called him from the parking lot crying, asking him if I was betraying him or Grandpa. He kindly, and not in these words, told me to stop being ridiculous.

Literally the next day, I was asking Ty what he wanted for Christmas since the creativity wasn't really flowing for me. His answer made me wonder if he had followed me to the SS office.

"All I really want is for you to change your last name."

I was completely shocked since this was the first time he had ever come out and said this, and I asked him why now, why 3 years after we were married, and didn't he understand all my reasons for keeping Warthen? He said he did, but he just wanted us to have the same name. I tried to sort of give him a little feminist attitude, but inside I was totally smirking since the change had already been made.

Needless to say, the gift given on our anniversary was especially meaningful. I strongly believe that this had to happen now, not three years ago. If I had changed my name the week after I had gotten married, it would have been simply because that's "what you do" and it wouldn't have meant very much to Ty or me. I think I would have woken up a few months later missing my maiden name and wondering if I had been too hasty to give it up. As it is, though, Tyler appreciates my maiden name, I think, more than the average husband might appreciate his wife's maiden name - he knows what it means to me and is not dismissive of it as "the old me." He values all 4 of my names for why they were given to me and what they mean.

And although I didn't join this family this past December, but rather three Decembers ago, I hope that I can live up to my new, additional, name. I also hope that Ty and I can instill in our children a love for all names that they inherit, whether on their birth certificates or not.

strong little dude

2011-01-17T06:21:00.001-05:00

I write this post with my sister's permission. The only thing she wanted me to add is a big THANK YOU for the prayers and well-wishes of those who have asked about Daxton.

I've written about Sweet Daxton here and here and here, and wrote about what a miracle it was to hold him at Christmas. While we were home, my sister pointed out that I was maybe a bit unclear about his brain shunt. In the photos I posted of him where he has the little tube coming out of his nose, that is a feeding tube that he had temporarily in the hospital. That is not the tube that he'll have for life. The actual brain shunt starts at the top of his head, goes down under his skin behind his ear, over his shoulder, down his chest and then into the stomach cavity. You can't see it all that well from the pictures I posted before unless you're really looking for it.

You can see the incision on the top of his head and how it's sort of threaded under his skin. He'll grow into it, and it will eventually be virtually invisible.

I wondered how weird it would be to hold a baby with a big tube in his head, but it wasn't weird at all. It doesn't bother him, he doesn't favor the other side, and it's not all that weird to the touch either. It's just another part of him.

I know it sounds cheesy to say that no one really cared what they got for Christmas this year because we had this gorgeous healthy baby to pass around, but it's true. Our gifts were simpler and fewer in number, and it all seemed fitting. Watching my gorgeous sister with this precious baby was seriously an honor. He loves her so much and responds to her voice instantly.

I didn't think I'd get to hold him very much since she's pretty possessive of her time with him, for good reason. But surprisingly I got to hold him for several hours over the course of a few days and I savored every minute.

Daxton is usually eating like a champ. All the breast milk has to be measured and given through a bottle so they know exactly how much he's getting. Whatever he gets too tired for and doesn't take through the bottle, but still needs, he gets through a little feeding tube the doctors put in his belly. It's actually not nearly as big of a deal as you'd think, and eventually he'll trade in this tube for an easier-to-manage "button," but this way they know he's getting the nutrition he needs. Because of spending four of his first six weeks of life in the hospital, it took him until almost 6-7 weeks old to get back up to his birthweight! He needs every drop he can get.

He's perfect, and we're all head over heels for him. We don't know exactly what kinds of things to expect from him in the future, but considering all the miracles we've seen with him so far, nothing would surprise us.

smooch

2011-01-12T06:05:00.000-05:00

While we were in NYC, we took the bus to Philly for a day to visit our old stomping grounds and say hi to some people. Ty was able to visit with a friend from early on in med school who left on a mission shortly before I arrived in Philly, and who came back right after we left. We also went for hot chocolate with our old neighbors/best friends who were as beautiful and successful as ever.

Since we were already walking around Penn campus and West Philly, we decided to stop in and see our old landlady, and her cat George (who has been a frequent visitor on this blog). She appreciated our visit so much, and apparently so did George because he had sprayed Tyler's leg within 2 minutes of our arrival. Our landlady, of course, blames this behavior on the PTSD that George has as a result of there once being a Russian show cat who belonged to a couple who rented her upstairs apartment. George has felt threatened ever since. We don't blame him. We hear Russians can be very intimidating.

We had a lovely visit in which she apologized for not being a better correspondent and we told her about sunny California. Then it came time to leave since we had reservations at our favorite restaurant (and had been carefully honing our menu choices for weeks beforehand). She walked us to the door, grabbed my face and gave me a kiss on both cheeks. Then she did the same for Ty, except held onto his face and -seriously- gave him a big, fat kiss smack on the lips. There was a bit of awkwardness in the air as we walked away from her home, wondering if what happened had really just happened. At the corner, we both burst into laughter.

Who knew that Ty would ever have another first kiss? And that it would be from our 75 year-old landlady?

Doesn't George look darling and snuggly?

you may judge me

2011-01-09T14:24:00.001-05:00

This morning I took Ody on a few miles-long walk and passed by a house that was still all bedecked with Christmas stuff. The lights were hung and still twinkling, the tree was still up and visible in the window, and there was a pretty wreath on the door. And I judged that person.

{I am ashamed.}

But what I'm about to do is the cyber equivalent of keeping your Christmas tree up till January 9th. I'm going to give you a picture-and-blurb post of our December. :) And you are all welcome to judge me - both for my late blogging, and my inability to edit which pictures to leave out of this post.

Highlights:

I am not, and will probably never again be a big burger person, but the Shake Shack burger in New York is really a burger to be reckoned with.

My scarf doubled as a hat for about a day in that 22 degree weather until I invested in a mega furry hat from AE.

The Rockettes Christmas Spectacular was, well, spectacular. The dancers were perfect and precise, and the whole thing was just so New York-y. But my favorite was the live nativity they did near the end, camels and hymns and all.

I love all the people that bustle in and out of New York!

The window displays were stunning. This one was Anthropologie, right by the Rockefeller Center.

Yes, I'm excited to be there.

Literally the one and only picture taken of Tyler and I in which we are in focus. While there were many kind strangers on this trip willing to take pictures of us, I guess our camera was complicated, because we are very fuzzy in all of them. This is in front of the Rockefeller Tree.

Hot chocolate at City Bakery as recommended by Tally, the NYC connoisseur. :)

It was so, so sad to see the gutted remains of the Provo Tabernacle, having sung and worshipped there many times.

I do, indeed, have the best in-laws ever. :) And I will hereby never doubt the awesomeness of a Snuggie.

Our anniversary didn't go quite as planned, seen here stranded in Beaver at the Butch Cassidy Holiday Inn, instead of in our beautiful lodge at Zion. But it was an adventure.

Holding this baby was such a miracle. He is beautiful and perfect. Have I mentioned that before? I'll likely say it again.

We loved spending so much time with each of our families. I love watching my dad watch our family interact. It makes him so happy.

So there you have it. In as small of a nutshell as I could muster. December was very good to us. If you want to see a bunch more of the photos (including some leftover from Halloween), click here.

Alright. Now I'll take down my Christmas tree.

well hello!

2010-12-31T19:28:00.002-05:00

Happy New Year, everyone. 2010 was awesome to us, so I hope 2011 is just as great.

We just spent an unnaturally long vacation together. Stanford combined almost all of Ty's vacations for the entire year into the month of December for no apparent reason. At first we lamented the lack of fall or spring vacations, then we decided to run with it. So we spent over a week in Utah with his family, almost a week back east for the well-being of my heart, and over a week in Las Vegas with my family. And yes, we realize we are insanely spoiled.

Some highlights:

-We took an inordinate amount of pictures. I'll do a highlight post or something, because there are some fun ones. Though I will certainly not bore you with the Documentary of Ty and Becca's Very Long Christmas Break.

-We ate an inordinate amount of food. We hit the 10th tally mark for Cafe Rio on our way out of Vegas. I do not regret a single salad.

-We hit an inordinate amount of really, truly, awfully bad weather. First driving to Utah, then driving to Zion, then driving to Palo Alto. Snow, rain, floods, potholes, snow chains, you name it. It was exciting. Though we did get out of New York just in time for Mother Nature to dump 2 feet on the city. Not that I would have complained about being "stranded" in New York for an additional week or two, but, you know, coming back to work was kind of important.

-We celebrated our third anniversary! We were going to spend it right outside Zion National Park at this gorgeous hotel, but alas, there was some crazy flooding so the park was closed, and due to a dam threatening to break and leave us trapped over Christmas, we decided to check out of our hotel after a few hours and head south to Vegas. Oh well. We'll try again next year.

-We went to some beautiful productions - namely, Hale Center Theater's A Christmas Carol which was remarkably done and had me very emotional, the Rockettes Christmas Spectacular in Radio City Music Hall which was every bit as mesmerizing and New Yorky as you'd expect, and The Nutcracker at the Paris Hotel in Las Vegas which was timeless and lovely.

-I got to hold Baby Daxton for hours longer than I thought I'd be able to (my sister was VERY generous to not snatch him back!). After wondering if he'd be with us this Christmas, getting to hold him and stare at his sweet face was just about the most precious gift we all got this year. He is remarkably beautiful. I love him so much. Definitely the highlight of the trip.

-Ody was a traveling champ. He stayed with my Utah-based sister and her family while we gallivanted around, and then actually got along well with my family's [very old and grumpy] dog, Abbie. Last year, I think he was still in the obnoxious puppy stage and Abbie wanted nothing to do with them. They tolerated each other this year. And even shared bones. How cute.

I thought that coming back to normal life after so many weeks away would be really hard. It was so wonderful to spend so much time with family and to relax and eat and sleep and actually spend time together (oh, what a dream to spend so much time with Ty!!). But as we pulled into Palo Alto a few days ago, even in the middle of an ugly rainstorm, we both just sort of sighed with satisfaction. It is good to be home. This is our home now, and we love being back. My job made sure to welcome me back by having me work some extra shifts right off the bat (including my first ever overnight shift which I only survived because of some awesome popcorn and good co-workers), but it's really good to be back.

So Happy New Year, everyone!

would you look at this cute little guy?!

2010-12-13T06:10:00.000-05:00

Sweet little guy was doing great at home, but still so drowsy that he couldn't stay awake while eating, so wasn't gaining weight fast enough. He was a month old and a pound under his birth weight, so the doctors decided to hospitalize him again to try to figure out what was going on.

Turns out his brain had been reabsorbing the solids from the hemorrhage as they had expected, but the fluid had been building and creating pressure within his head that needed to be fixed. So they did what they sort of assumed all along that they'd eventually have to do, which was to insert a shunt to drain the fluid. Sadly, he'll have this for life (no football for this little dude), but isn't it amazing they have things like this?! He recovered remarkably from his surgery and almost immediately perked up. My mom says he's almost like a different baby.

So I haven't been privileged yet to meet this sweet nephew of mine, so I have to rely on pictures from my mom.

And OH are they cute.

I love how in this one he looks all skeptical, like, hey! Who just put a tube in my head?

Isn't he darling? Again, more wonderful holiday miracles for our family. Thanks for your continued prayers for sweet little D.

please take care of your body

2010-12-11T07:31:00.000-05:00

Last week I showed up to work at 4:45 AM a little groggy and absolutely freezing. I had two jackets and two scarves on, and my hands didn't warm up for a good 2 hours, despite the fact I was keeping them busy. As I walked into the nurses station, I noticed the night nurse had the fan on full blast. I looked at her sort of incredulously and said, "Why do you have the fan on?! It's freezing!" She looked at me flatly, with a very exhausted expression on her face, and said, "I just performed CPR on a 400 lb man. I'm a little warm."

Uhm, yes. I suppose I would be too, even if it's 33 degrees outside.

This man ended up passing away that morning before I got there. Death is not an altogether unfamiliar thing at our facility, but this one was different. The man was in his 40s and had been up walking around the day before. His mother and brothers were frequent visitors. He was a very successful businessman, and had wonderful family and friends. But he was also an alcoholic and morbidly obese.

His family and the morticians arrived shortly after I did on that chilly morning. It was a strange feeling to have the place totally silent as it usually is at that time, but with tear-streaked faces hanging around this room, sort of wondering what to do next. It was so sobering, and it felt almost disrespectful to continue on with my other work.

Of course I felt sad at the loss of a human life, but I was so, so saddened at the preventability of it. Obviously if a person chooses to eat themselves into obesity or drink themselves into illness, that is their choice and it is not my job to judge their decisions. It is my job to try to help them manage the consequences that come from those decisions, however labored and futile those efforts are compared to simple prevention. However, nothing could equip me to manage the worst consequence of that sort of lifestyle - comforting a grieving mother. No mother deserves to bury a child.

I was quiet and contemplative throughout the morning - there's no way to witness death and not be. One of my co-workers asked me later what I was thinking and we had an interesting discussion about the absolute GIFT that a body is, and the obligation we have to treat it as well as we know how. We only get one body, and I think it must sadden our bodies' Creator/Designer when we mistreat it thoughtlessly or intentionally.

I joked during my vegetarian years about eating that way so that I could live forever, and while obviously I believe you can eat turkey at Thanksgiving and an occasional chicken salad and still be a healthy person, there really is something to the idea of taking your health by the reins and making big and lasting changes (before a doctor has to tell you to do so). Not for a certain dress size, or for an impressive body, but for your children. For your siblings and your friends, and your mother.

fall color tour

2010-12-03T06:49:00.000-05:00

A couple months ago, I was reading NieNie's blog and came upon this post about their family's tradition of an annual autumn color tour. I found the idea so enchanting that I immediately wanted to go on a color tour, but seeing as how she wrote her post in September, and California's summer is still in full-swing till late October, we had to wait a while.

Finally two weeks before Thanksgiving, Ty and I went home from church, grabbed Ody, and literally headed for the hills in pursuit of some lovely autumn color. The leaves were wonderful, yes, but what was even more beautiful was the perfect light we encountered at that time of day.

I'll let the [unedited] pictures do the talking.

So there you have it - The First Annual Johnson Family Fall Color Tour. :)

turkey day

2010-11-30T00:27:00.006-05:00

Guess what you guys?! My nephew got to go home!! The day after Thanksgiving, the doctors deemed him well enough to go home with his mama, so home he went. And our family had even more reason to give thanks than we already had. It is truly a miracle. Two Fridays ago, we were trying to prepare ourselves to say goodbye, and then he took a turn for the better and stabilized, and has only gone uphill since. If there is any lasting damage from the hemorrhage, that will manifest itself later in life, I'm sure, but for now, the doctors told my sister to simply expect him to be totally normal. Doctors and modern medicine did not save this little guy; God really does continue to perform miracles - I am sure of this.

500 miles away, though, Ty and I were hosting his entire family here in our small apartment. My OCD Thanksgiving preparations paid off, and the day really went without a hitch. I have this big file of exactly which ingredients would be used in which recipes and where each of these would be prepared (we had access to 3 kitchens - thank heavens for out of town neighbors) and who would be preparing it. In the file was also the Granddaddy of all Shopping Lists, the seating arrangement, and a day-by-day guide of the to-do list 2 weeks before. I reupholstered the couches (again!) on Friday and Saturday, made pie dough on Monday, cut up vegetables on Tuesday, baked the sweet potatoes and prepared a "just incase" batch of butternut squash soup on Wednesday, all of which made Thursday a breeze. I had tons of help in the kitchen too. I have a pretty darn fabulous mother-in-law and sisters-in-law.

This year I brined the turkey the night before in this glorious citrus maple brine. I thought this would be terribly complicated, but it really wasn't. It just required a large bucket and a fun array of ingredients. Natalie helped me prepare Trudy the Turkey for her overnight bath.

It was all fun and games till I reached inside and pulled the turkey NECK out of the cavity. I was fine with the giblets, but the neck skieved me out a bit much and I thought I was going to hurl. The little vegetarian that used to live inside of me let out a desperate little cry for help. Don't worry - I still feed her zucchini quite regularly.

Despite not having a large enough table to accomodate 11 people and therefore having to borrow 3 card tables from friends from church, the "table" ended up looking quite lovely, even if a little mismatched. I wish I had gotten a better picture of this lovely cornucopia that I fell madly in love with from Pottery Barn, but this'll do.

It's huge and even though we are officially full swing into Christmas season, I can't bear to put it away. Maybe I'll stuff it full of fake snow and wrap Christmas lights around it through December.

Trudy ended up being very tasty, but I seriously think the preparation for the day was much sweeter than the food. It is very fulfilling to pull off a big meal as a first-time hostess.

The entire week was full of fun visits to the city and games and tons of good food and even a little Black Friday shopping (my first time ever!). I am indeed extremely fortunate to have such fabulous in-laws and to love them the way I do.

emotional week

2010-11-24T12:49:00.003-05:00

I've been meaning to blog about the beautiful fall colors we've been privy to this week, and the fact that I'm hosting all of my in-laws tomorrow for Thanksgiving (ALL of them!). I was catapulted from the very predictable annual jello duty to doing the whole thing, so there have been lots of preparations (and ulcers) that have gone into that. It'll be an exciting day.

However, this week has sort of left us all reeling. Some of you, I know, have seen updates on my Facebook, but the little guy whose miraculous birth I just barely blogged about suffered a massive brain hemorrhage last week at only 10 days old. He has been in the hospital for a week and we're still not quite sure what to expect. The good news is that he has improved a lot since things were at their worst on Friday, but there is still a lot of waiting and watching. I hate thinking about that teeny little boy surrounded by all that scary equipment, but he is in Good Hands. His mommy hasn't left his side since he went into the hospital, both grandmas and grandpas are taking care of the other children at home, and we know that God is the one calling the shots here. Our family has been blessed so much already.

So Happy Thanksgiving to all of you, hold your little ones a little closer and if you have a moment, send a prayer heavenward for our family's baby, his sweet parents, his older siblings who might not understand everything that's going on, and his two older brothers on missions who haven't yet met him, but who love him no less.

girls trip

2010-11-15T05:28:00.000-05:00

A couple Christmases ago, Tyler, his brother, and his dad decided they wanted to do something big for the girls in the family. They wanted to send us somewhere fun for a couple days to be girly and get pampered and all that. Timing didn't work out for us to do Park City or something similar when we were together for Christmas, so the idea was simply filed in the back of everyone's minds.

Months and months ago, my mother-in-law told us she was going to be attending a conference for teachers in Anaheim in November and did we maybe think a girls trip would work out and would we perhaps be interested in going to Disneyland?

Uhm, let me think about that. YES.

Missy lives in San Francisco now, so she took the train down to Palo Alto and we drove down to Anaheim, while the other girls flew in from Utah. We stayed in a hotel about a 10 minute walk from the parks, and we had a ridiculously insane amount of fun.

Do I not have the most beautiful sisters-in-law in the world?

Natalie is a senior in high school and had NEVER been to Disneyland. We all made sure to try to make her dad feel as guilty about this as possible. It was so fun to have every ride be a brand new experience. And I think this photo captured her joy pretty well.

We did Disneyland and California Adventure for 2 days and lucked out with virtually no lines. I guess the first week of November is the time to go. We were standing in line for Alice in Wonderland's ride (we did almost every ride!) and the guy operating it asked me where I was from. I told him the Bay Area, and asked him how long he'd worked at Disneyland. He told us 50 YEARS! He held up his ring that he got at 30 years, and had a pin on his name tag that he got at 50 years. Now that's the spirit. I loved it so much that we had to get a picture with him after the ride.

How cute, no?

We saw a girl in line with this bag and I almost stole it. But then I decided not to. And Missy had the guts to ask her if we could take a picture of it.

I love carousels. Like, I seriously just really love carousels. And the one at Disneyland is all the more magical.

But I don't so much love Tower of Terror, or just free fall in general. Especially 13 stories of free fall down an elevator shaft. I'll be a good sport about it, but chances are that the candid shot they take of the party will end up having a paralyzed-with-fear version of me in the corner.

Nat had also never been to the beach (I know, right?!). So Newport Beach was a priority, as well as the fact that it is conveniently located close to an enormous H&M. Let's just say Ty didn't know it, but he did a lot of my Christmas shopping that weekend! I'll let him wrap them. :)

I'm a big believer in jumping pictures. (Nat on the left, Missy on the right)

We had so much fun and ate such good food and spent way too much money on apple pie caramel apples (okay, maybe just I did) that we decided we have no other choice than to do this quite regularly.

Missy's fancy schmancy California Caprese salad

Kristin enjoyed the little break from her two sons, Natalie from her AP classes, Missy from her crazy kindergarten class, Mom from her preschool, and me from my patients. Although I did miss Ty and Ody quite a bit.

Thank you to my wonderful mother-in-law, Julie, for planning this thing (and yes, I do realize how very, very lucky I am to have such a great respect for and relationship with my mother-in-law - she is just so wonderful!), to the guys in the family for holding down the fort while we were away, and to my beautiful sisters-in-law for gallivanting around Disneyland with me like little kids. I love you all!

#9

2010-11-10T14:33:00.005-05:00

Last week I went on the world's most ridiculously fun trip with my mother- and sisters-in-law. The kind of fun where you glance over your shoulder occasionally to make sure your boss isn't there do dampen it. We took gobs of pictures and begged for this type of girls trip to become a tradition. Can't wait to blog about it.

BUT.

Before I do, I have to share with you a picture of a very special little person who recently joined the Warthen family.

This is little D. His mama, my oldest sister, had to be on bedrest for several months before he arrived this past Monday. D is the 9th baby in this beautiful family (his two oldest brothers are on missions), and even though he decided to come two and a half weeks early, he was still 9 lbs 2 oz! His is probably the most scary and eventful birth of any of my 17 nephews and nieces, but we're glad he's here safely and that he is fully equipped with enormous squishy cheeks. Can't wait to kiss on those cheeks at Christmas.

Seriously though, my sister is a rock star.

the muppet

2010-11-05T06:52:00.000-04:00

This is my little homage to the muppet, because even though I only occasionally talk about him, he is really a huge part of our lives.

Can I just say how much I love our little dog? This is a picture of him with his girlfriend Stella (though she is actually more masculine-looking than he is, for sure). They hang out every day basically. Stella is pretty awesome and we love having her over, but at the end of the day, Ty and I always say to each other, "We have the perfect dog." We really do.

Ody is a floppy, Raggedy-Andy sort of pooch who smiles at you and has a way of philosophizing about very serious issues (like why his food bowl suddenly looks threatening). He doesn't jump up on people obnoxiously or lick their faces off - he doesn't bark incessantly or howl when we leave. He's actually pretty shy around new people and slowly warms up by plopping on their lap with a rope chew. That's how you know you've arrived.

I never thought I'd be one of those weird "dog people" that feels guilty leaving the dog by himself (what if he gets lonely!? or bored?!) or picks up gingerbread dog treats at the pet boutique on the way home from work, but I totally am. This dog has an infectious little personality and his warm little muppet self has kept me company on too many days to count when Ty is gone. Sometimes I'll go to the hospital to drop off dinner or treats to Ty and his team, and Ty always loves it when I bring Ody. We seriously just LOVE him. And yes, all the arguments about just having a baby already because if we love a dog this much then wow, wouldn't we love a baby even more? are totally true, but Ody's what we've got now, and we're crazy about him.

a little bit wicked

2010-11-02T21:25:00.007-04:00

I know everyone is through posting about Halloween, and that all of your lovely children in tiger suits and fairy costumes are far more worth looking at than what I'm about to post, but I just have to. Mostly because you've never seen me like this before, and you most likely never will again.

Our ward did a Halloween party on Saturday night with an Oz/Emerald City theme. There was a little program in which a girl dressed as Dorothy sang Somewhere Over the Rainbow, three guys dressed as the lion, tin man, and scarecrow and sang If I Only Had a Brain, etc. Then my friend Taylor and I were asked to dress as Elphaba and Glinda from Wicked and sing Popular, Defying Gravity, and For Good.

It was SO much fun. I've never heard myself sing the way I did on Saturday night but it's certainly a place I wouldn't mind revisiting. Taylor and I worked so hard and it really paid off. Check out these costumes!

(and then I promise to let Halloween die)

Anyway, next year's ward party is a pirate theme, so I can start preparing my costume now!

usta

2010-10-25T06:10:00.001-04:00

Does anyone remember that ridiculous Veggie Tales song about loving your lips, and how the Polish kid taught Larry the word "usta" for lips? This post is about a Polish lady, which made me think of that song. Which is pretty unrelated.

Anyway.

Ty came home the other day from the CCU raving about this most adorable Polish lady who had just won his heart. She was this teeny little thing with a tired heart who they tried to make better, but it was obvious that she'd need some rehab in a long-term care facility before going home. Ty begged and pleaded with the case manager to send her to my facility so that I could meet her and continue to take care of her. So she arrived last week.

When her admission paperwork was being processed, it became known around the facility that this patient was being referred to us by "Dr. Johnson, Becca's spouse" (I hate the word spouse. Have I mentioned that?). He became this sort of rock star because everyone thought it was awesome he'd try really hard to get a specific patient to us.

Ty asked me if I could try to get someone to take her outside because her entire 2 weeks at Stanford, she could never go outside. Our census is full (23 patients for me! 7 patients for each CNA!) so it was looking like the odds of getting 15 minutes off to walk her around outside were pretty slim. My "lunch break" was eating a banana at my med cart - there was just no time. I at least asked the CNA if she could get her dressed and up and in her wheelchair so she'd be ready to go in case the perfect time hit.

Well, I handed off my keys to another nurse and said, you know what, I've got to do this. I took 15 minutes I didn't have, wrapped a sweater around her shoulders and one around mine (fall is coming to Palo Alto!), and headed outside. Since the skilled nursing facility is attached to an assisted living and independent living, there are actually a lot of beautiful gardens and paths to walk around. She's deaf so I couldn't tell her what we were doing but once we got outside she just lit up and was all smiles. It was nice to slow down my pace and meander around these gardens for a few minutes.

When we came back inside, she grabbed my hand and pulled my face close and said, "Thank you, Swee-tie. You are so bu-ti-ful. Thank you." And then she started to cry. And then I punished myself for ever thinking I was too busy to take a few minutes to be human.

over the hill

2010-10-21T00:06:00.002-04:00

My favorite person in the world turned 30 yesterday. Thirty!! Making endless fun of him seems to be in my job description. I feel like 30 is the point at which you have to take full ownership of adulthood, or something. But he's handling it (adulthood) surprisingly well.

So well, in fact, that it was announced yesterday during grand rounds at Stanford that Ty will be one of the chief residents for the 2012-2013 year. That means that instead of 3 years of residency here and then another three years of fellowship here or elsewhere directly thereafter, there will be a fourth year at Stanford, then fellowship. This is all awesome for a few reasons:

-Ty is amazing and, I think, perfect for this job. This is a huge honor, even though Ty's trying his darndest to pretend it's no big deal. And thanks to this, I can now officially say, "I am proud of you, Sweetheart" and "Do not inhale" in the same breath. (If you're not Mormon and you don't get that, don't worry about it - although it's some pretty good reading if you have a few minutes.)

-This delays our application to a fellowship program by a year which means the decision between oncology and cardiology doesn't need to be made, you know, RIGHT NOW, like it was going to be. The whole "rest of your life" decision is a huge one, and we were going to have to have fellowship applications in before the end of the year.

-A fourth year in Palo Alto sounds pretty dreamy. Now if I can only get myself to soak in the flaweless weather without fruitlessly fretting about how much it's costing me to live here...

-This is Ty's dream job because it includes a LOT of teaching, which is what he's passionate about. He'll have a lot of different responsibilities and the year will be full of some incredible opportunities, but a chief year is centered a lot around teaching med students, interns and junior residents. I can't imagine anything more up Ty's alley, especially considering that the end goal of this whole 15 year-long medical ride is academic medicine.

So, all in all, not too shabby of a way to enter your 30s. Not to mention I Martha Stewarted up our kitchen with all sorts of color-coordinated birthday goodness. Black was a wee bit depressing, so brown it was. Brown and gold balloons, brown houndstooth wrapping paper (because I'm ridiculous like that), and the works. You only turn 30 once!

Happy Birthday, Love. I'm proud of you, I'm proud to be yours.

two funny things in reference to my head

2010-10-15T19:48:00.004-04:00

-I was giving medications to this DARLING elderly lady yesterday. She has this bashful smile and this "ah drats" way of lamenting the fact that I didn't forget to give her heparin shot. She finished taking the meds so I started to change a dressing on her leg. She then said to me, "Wow. Your hair. Can I... do you mind if I... touch your hair?" Uhm... no, I told her that would be fine. So she pet my bangs for a few seconds and then nestled back into her pillow all content. I have NO idea what that was about.

Such pettable bangs!

-While giving report to the next shift, the nurse stopped me partway through and said, "You look like you lost weight." (I haven't.) I was about to thank him when he decided to throw in a metaphor for good measure. "Like, your face used to be a family van and now it is a mid-sized sedan."

Well then. Duly noted. Does that mean the ultimate goal is SmartCar status? I have no idea how to respond to that.

They're really subtle, those Filipinos.

amigo

2010-10-12T20:07:00.002-04:00

I have a high proportion of patients who like to be naked. I can't blame them. Being naked is pretty liberating. And heck, if you're 85 and comfortable in your own wrinkly skin, who cares anyway?

Two particular patients are perpetually disrobing. They simply prefer the birthday suit to anything else. We really do try our best to encourage them to put their clothes back on, or wrap them with blankets or what not, but some days it's a fruitless effort.

One of our most frequent nudists is a teeny skeleton of a Chinese man who yells a lot and doesn't like anyone to touch him. Oh, and he spits. Today he kept taking off his shirt, revealing skin hanging over a pronounced ribcage like a drape, and trying to fight off any staff member trying to reclothe him. The best moment, though, came, when he succeeded in taking his shirt off again, held it in the air, and yelled to the nearest passing Latino staff member, "Amigo! Hey!! AMIGO!"

Please just take a minute to put that image in your head. And please tell me it's as funny as I think it is.

It was just what I needed today.

well, hello there.

2010-10-04T23:17:00.000-04:00

Sorry for the loooong absence. A few reasons for that:
-exhaustion
-an 'internet diet' with Ty
-a mundane routine

I've lately been going through what I'm sure is a natural and common period of disillusionment with nursing. The job, the whole health care system, and as dramatic as it sounds, my faith in human decency.

I think, as much as I'm embarrassed to admit it, I came into this profession with a white-capped, cool-rag-to-the-brow idea of how my job would be. I knew that there was nothing glorious or prestigious about nursing, and that some days would be downright dirty and frustrating, but I love old people and I'm passionate about maintaining the dignity of people whose dignity is no longer apparent, so I figured it'd all balance out.

But in this long-term care setting, with 22 patients to one nurse, I've had to turn into sort of a mechanical pill-dispensing machine. I relish what real, unrushed one-on-one time I get with any patients, but as much as I would love to stop and chat with Mrs. B while she takes her meds, I know that Mr. C is right next door waiting for his. And the next door, and the next door...

I have a very hard time working with some of our CNAs. 100% of them are of a different culture than me, which wouldn't normally be a problem except, to be honest, none of them seem to care. They don't wash their hands between patients, they speak to them disrespectfully, and for the LIFE of them, they don't seem to be able to use pronouns correctly. I can't tell you how many little old women hear "He's done a poo-poo," in reference to themselves, and how many old men have been referred to as "she." It's extraordinarily frustrating, and no matter how many times I try to gently correct their pronoun's gender, 2 seconds later, all the men are being feminized.

Today I was doing my floater shift (5 AM - 2 PM) and was coming downstairs from the third floor. I walked past a patient's room and heard a feeble little, "Help?" I stepped inside to find a sweet old man sitting on his wheelchair with his diaper around his thighs and his pants around his ankles. Some CNA had just left him there and ignored his asking for help. My heart sort of broke as I told this man to put his arms around my waist, then I hoisted his frail frame to a stand and dressed him properly. He looked at me and said thank you like no person should have to thank another for being kept decent.

See what I mean? This sort of thing is rampant.

The nurses also have this very mechanical approach to patient care. We had a sweet, weak 95 year-old patient a few months ago who expressed that he felt he was dying and wanted to speak with a priest. How beautiful, no? He wasn't scared, he wasn't frantic - he was at peace and wanted to leave this world properly. How did the nurse react? By calling the doctor in the middle of the night, placing the patient on "suicide precautions," and then transferring him to Stanford. Oh my goodness, I was irate the next morning to come in and receive report about that. (Rage!) I have to wonder what these nurses are thinking.

Oh, and by the way, the priest was never called.

So while I know that I'm doing important work and that even if I only cheer up one person per week, it's worth it, but after being spat on, vomited on, hit and punched, verbally abused, and witnessing this lack of care by other staff, I am weary.

Maybe I should have stayed in music after all. Any uplifting advice?

*PS - No one should write a blog post after having woken up at 3:45 AM to go to work...

carmel

2010-09-18T13:07:00.004-04:00

Last weekend by some fabulous alignment of the stars, Ty and I spontaneously got both Saturday and Sunday off from work. We seized the opportunity to take a little trip instead of lounging around our apartment eating cereal at 10 AM. We booked an inexpensive and rustic little cottage in Carmel, loaded Ody in the car, and off we went.

I swear the thing was 14 square feet, but it was so cozy and cute, and we loved that we could bring the dog with us.

Now, because of some poor scheduling at work, I had just done an evening shift (3-11 PM) followed by a morning shift (7 AM - 3 PM) and then someone called in sick for the relief shift from 4 PM - 8 PM so I did that too. I think lack of sleep + stress + exposure to about 7 sick co-workers landed me with an awesome cold just in time for our little vacation, but it was nice to sleep it off in a little cabin instead of at home.

I went to Carmel with my mom and niece in July, and then again with both my parents a few weeks later. Both times, Ody came. Both times, Ody wanted nothing to do with the water. I thought we'd try to get him all excited and just start running towards it to see if he'd follow, and this is what happened.

So although Ody could dig in the sand all day long, he's just not a water fan. And that's okay because neither am I.

I don't know the next time we'll get another full weekend off like that, but it made me really covet the lives of M-F people! But after so long apart and the collision of our schedules, we felt really lucky to get a little trip.

oops, forgot to post this after NYC

2010-09-13T08:49:00.000-04:00

Wanna know what's not worth it? Waiting FIVE HOURS in line at Carlo's Bakery in Hoboken, New Jersey, for a glimpse of the Cake Boss himself, or a taste of one of his famous pastries. I'm sorry, but a New Jersey pastry is a New Jersey pastry is a New Jersey pastry. Which is not to say that his pastries are not very good, but oh my gosh, why did we wait in that line?

Last summer when Ty started residency out here and I was finishing up school back east, I moved in with a classmate who ended up turning into the crazy Italian Catholic New Jersy sister I never had, but always wanted. I adore her, to death. She and I would study our brains out during the day, stressing about just about everything nursing-related, wondering if we'd make it through the last quarter of school alive. Then in the evening, we'd sometimes catch an episode of So You Think You Can Dance or Cake Boss. The show takes place in this teeny bakery in Hoboken that has an inordinate amount of character and... Italians. It's hilarious and entertaining. We vowed to go there together someday.

Since Hoboken is a very, very fast trainride from 33rd Street in the city, Carly met up with me on a rainy morning for brunch in Tribeca and then we took the train over to New Jersey. We saw the line creeping across the street (she had been there a few times before and never waited longer than 2 hours) so we figured we'd brave it. Our denial of how long we'd actually be there grew stronger and stronger until somewhere around the 4-hour mark but at that point, you've already invested 4 hours into a pastry (A PASTRY!!) so you might as well stick it out. It rained on us on and off, the inside of the bakery was charming but the Cake Boss had already headed home a few hours before, and we escaped with a few red velvet cupcakes, lobster tails, eclaires and cream puffs. All of which were eaten over the next 2 days for breakfast.

It's one of those experiences that's relatively cool to say you did but not so much fun in the doing.

{speechless}

2010-09-01T05:30:00.000-04:00

In another life, I will come back as a Brazilian jazz singer (right after the life where I come back as an actress who dances with Fred Astaire).

Last Wednesday I went to Jazz at Lincoln Center (except, ironically, it's not at the Lincoln Center - it's at the Time Warner Center at Columbus Circle) with my friend from high school and her boyfriend's parents. We sat in this lovely little lounge on the fourth floor, high enough to see a stunning view of the city and the rising moon. Just walking into that room with its dim lights and small stage with a blueish hue completely threw me. The most frustrating part about all of this is that I sat there wondering how on earth to put it into words.

Sidenote: Before Ty left, I was all for playing rock-paper-scissors to see who got custody of the camera for the 6 weeks we were apart. I tried pulling out puppy eyes and moaning something about it being my first time to New York with a reeeeal camera and how badly I needed it. All he needed to do was look at me and say, "I'm going to AFRICA" for me to realize he owned the trump card. So the above picture was taken on my friend's iPhone.

The jazz group was a quirky bunch of older Brazilian hippies called Trio de Paz ("Peace Trio") who were so at one with each of his instruments that it made me covet that kind of familiarity. I can't imagine knowing an instrument that well in every possible combination or maze of keys and time signatures. They were downright mesmerizing. Add to that the innate sultry flavor of Brazilian music, and you've got quite the show. They had a guest vocalist come - a woman who had actually spent 10 years singing with Antonio Carlos Jobim himself and whose unnaturally low voice was perfect for the style. I almost died when she ended the program with that familiar tune, "Olha que coisa mais linda, mais cheia de graça, é ela menina que vem e que passa num doce balanço caminho no mar..."

The Girl from Ipanema.

I sat there basically expressionless because there were so many emotions and memories pulsing through my brain that I couldn't pick one to exude. To have my love of New York mixed with my love for Brazil mixed with my love of good music mixed with the love of good company and then throw a gorgeous moon into all of that... Does this sound ridiculous to all of you? It likely does. That's okay.

Like I said, in another life.

i belong here

2010-08-25T08:36:00.000-04:00

Last night I arrived in New York City.

I started the Hunger Games in San Jose (such a good book!) which carried me through a layover in Vegas (during which I got to see my sister and her family for roughly 47 wonderful seconds) into another layover in Chicago and then until our descent into LaGuardia. I stopped cold at page 312 and stared out the window. It is the most childish thing in the world, but I get so extremely and helplessly giddy when I see that skyline, whether it's approaching by bus or from the air - which I had never done until yesterday and which is stunning at night! My heart just starts pounding in my chest and I can't help but smile broadly at the sight, and yes, even tear up. I even swallowed my gum out of excitement. I feel such ownership over this city that I've never lived in and most likely never will, a city whose neighborhoods I still have to internalize better and whose rhythm I have barely even tapped into. I simply love this place and what it does for my spirit.

I have been this excited to see people in other cities, but never this excited to see a city itself. I love Philly for the deep meaning it has for me. I love DC for its beauty and inspiration and San Francisco for its uniqueness and ease. I love Vegas for what it means to be home and how the baking heat is a welcome comfort. But I truly feel like my heart belongs in New York. We'll probably just remain pen pals, but this is a love affair that isn't going away.

Sadly, there is only so much time that I can take off work, and so many people to see and things to do that I'm sure I will feel very cheated at the end of this trip despite the wonder it is to even be here. My goal is to not go back to the places that I used to frequent, but rather to abandon habit and experience shops and restaurants and parks and neighborhoods where I've never been. And oh how wonderful to have so many people here who I love to experience these things with.

I think it is quite unnatural to feel this serenely happy in a city like this, but here I am - with a silly perma-grin on my face and butterflies in my stomach at the sound of the train.

Here I come.