8 years

Eight years ago today, I stood at the altar in an ivory princess gown exchanging vows with the man God intended just for me—I don’t think I fully realized at the time just how blessed I was.

He lets me be me, even while shaking his head at my silly antics.  He puts up with my shit, encourages me, forgives my mistakes, makes me laugh, gives me grace, deals with my double standards and makes me fall for him over and over again. 

He’s the husband I’d always hoped for—the guy who doesn’t mind my feminist side, and doesn’t see male and female “roles,” but looks at me as a partner in everything we do.

He’s a great dad, and makes me strive to be a better mom.   

And even on the days he’s pushed my last button and I think I might lose my shit on him, I still love him more than I ever thought I could love a man. 

Happy anniversary, hun.  I love our life.

February Gavinisms

Looking at the snap close to his wrist on his coat:
Gavin: "I need to look at my watch."
Me: "What time is it?"
Gavin: "Um....it's ninety thirty."

When requesting to play with my iPad:
Gavin:  "Mommy, go get your iPad right now and please."

During bedtime routine:
Me:  "Would you like to say a prayer before bed?"
Gavin: "Ya.  I wanna pray God be with my grandparents and give them lots of love."

Pondering his soon-to-be sibling:
Gavin:  "Who gonna be Baby Doc's mommy?"
Me:  "I am, sweetie.  I'm going to be your mommy and Baby Doc's mommy."
Gavin:  "Who gonna be his daddy?"
Me:  "Your daddy.  He's going to have the same parents as you."
Gavin:  "Ooooohhhh."

While eating lunch:
Gavin, pointing to a bag on the table: "Mommy, what's that stuff?"
Me: "That's granola for my yogurt.  Would you like some granola?"
Gavin:  "Wat chu say?  Cranilla?"
Me:  "Gra-no-la."
Gavin:  "Oh.  I sayin' it wrong!"

Sprawled out in the front doorway when the door was open:
Me:  "What are you doing?"
Gavin:  "I layin' in the sunshine like Daisy."

When thinking I'm being goofy:
Gavin: "You a silly bobby."
Me:  "What's a bobby?"
Gavin, shaking head and sticking out his tongue: "That."

To Ryan as he buckled Gavin into my car:
Gavin: "Daddy, you go away now.  I have a date with Mommy."

While playing with the baby Jesus from our Mardi Gras king cake:
Me:  "What are you doing, buddy?"
Gavin:  "I put baby Jesus in the fridge cuz he gettin' hot."
Me:  "Won't he get cold in there?"
Gavin:  "He need to cool off and be safe."

Pregnancy Is Beautiful...Except to Pregnant Women

I think other people are adorable pregnant.  They're all so glowy and cute it almost makes you want to get knocked up yourself.  Unfortunately, I don't feel all glowy and cute when I'm pregnant.  I feel awkward, uncomfortable and big.  Really big.


Don't get me wrong—I love pregnancy.  The thought of this little life that's part me and part Ryan is a miracle, plain and simple.  And I love feeling Baby Doc rolling around, and trying to guess if an elbow or a knee is sticking out of my belly—but at times, I wish I could just take pregnancy off like a coat.  I'd like to hang it up for a while and rest.  Breathe comfortably.  Sleep comfortably.  Move comfortably.


When I thought about maternity photos, I was so not into the idea at first.  Why would I want to document this whale-like feeling forever?  But then there's that other side—the side that's done this before and knows the uncomfortableness won't last forever, that I'll miss this time when creating life is what my body is meant to be doing.


That's why I'm so glad I got these photos taken.  And the thing that surprised me the most?  
I feel beautiful in them.  

Many thanks to Jaime Russell for taking these beautiful shots to document our little miracle.  Check out her Web site here.

"Falling Down Is Funny" Came Back to Bite Me in the Ass

I totally bit it while walking out of work on Monday night.  Some yahoo spilled the tiniest amount of water on the floor and I happened to hit it juuuust right and went down hard.  Now, before the panic ensues, I'll tell you that Baby Doc is perfectly fine, as am I, with the exception of my left knee.  I landed on it pretty hard and let me tell you--I sure felt those extra 30+ pounds I'm carrying right now.

Someone helped me up and I limped the rest of the way to my car before realizing, "Hey.  This happened at work.  I probably can't just head to any random urgent care to make sure my kneecap isn't broken."

And so it began.  At 8 months pregnant, I not only completed a breathalyzer test, but also a urine sample drug test and what seemed like dozens of sheets of paperwork to document what had happened, when it happened, why it happened, etc. before finally seeing a doctor who ensured me that my knee would be just fine.  Diagnosis: a badly bruised kneecap.  Treatment: ice for 72-ish hours.

Gavin sent me to work the next day with his favorite Elmo ice pack.  "Elmo make you feel better, Mommy," he said, and I couldn't resist accepting his very sweet offer.  So, there I sat with Elmo on my knee in meetings and at my desk.  My co-workers feigned concern, but got over it quickly at the sight of Elmo.

For years I've laughed inappropriately when others have fallen down.  It's almost an automatic reaction for me, like some kind of nervous tick or something.  So I suppose I deserved this, but the most comical part of this whole ordeal is that I'll likely have to submit a list to HR of the ways my accident can be avoided in the future.  I'm not kidding.

Though my list will be a little different for HR, here's my list for all of you on "How to Avoid Injury and/or Falling at Work."

"How to Avoid Injury and/or Falling at Work"

Wear clothing made only of bubble wrap.

Avoid blinking while walking.

Insist no one be allowed to drink water at work. Ever. Again.

Give birth so I can see my feet while walking.

Only wear shoes with suction cup soles.

Insist I be carried around in some kind of palanquin, like Cleopatra.

Wear knee pads at all times.  

Buy new shoes (preferably very stylish ones!)
Learn to walk on water. (Thanks to my manager for this idea!)
Wear hospital-issued gripper socks over my shoes.

32 Weeks

Not much longer now!

My Little Pinocchio

I caught Gavin in his first lie last night.  That's right...I caught my TWO-year-old (okay, almost three-year-old) in a lie.  I'm still reeling.

Let me just set the scene for you:

There's a rule in our house that there are no treats after teeth brushing at night.  Usually, whomever gives Gavin his nightly bath also takes care of teeth brushing, PJs, etc. and the other parent reads books, sings songs and puts Gavin to bed.  Occasionally, one of us forgets a step (usually the teeth brushing) and the other will pick up the slack during the rest of bedtime routine.

Last night, I was in the middle of singing songs when Gavin interrupted with his usual, "I have to go poooottttyyyy."  We got up, he did his business, and then informed me he also needed to go number two.  He sat down, did that business, and then asked for a special treat.  Usually, we oblige.  He's still potty training after all, and he's doing so well that if a little treat after number two helps things along, we're all for it.  But NOT after teeth brushing.

I smiled and said, "You know you don't get a treat after you've brushed your teeth."  Usually he smiles back and knowingly heads to bed, but not last night.  Last night he insisted Daddy had forgotten to brush his teeth.  "He forgot?" I asked.  "Yeah, he forgot," said Gavin convincingly.

Now here is where my mom instincts should have kicked in.  But my child is TWO, and I'd just read this post and thought, "Phew!  I have a few more years before I have to deal with the lying issue."  Parenting FAIL!  You now have permission to laugh at my naiveté.

Needless to say, I went ahead and gave Gavin the treat and said, "Okay, we'll brush your teeth after you're finished."  Just then, Ryan walked through the living room and I asked if he'd brushed Gavin's teeth.  "Yeah," he said.  "Right after we put PJs on.  Why?"  At that point, I turned to Gavin and said, "Did you lie to Mommy?  Daddy said you already brushed your teeth."

Gavin immediately burst into tears, spit out the candy and threw himself on the floor.  I felt bad for him, but not bad enough that I wasn't going to make this a lesson.  When he finally calmed down I said, "What did you do wrong?"  Between tears he responded with, "I ate candy when I not posed to."  Not exactly the response I was looking for, but close enough.  "That's right," I said.  "You told Mommy you hadn't brushed your teeth when you had.  That's a lie, and lying is not nice.  What do you say?"

"I sorry, Mommy," he said and I wrapped him in a hug, hoping with all my might that this little lesson sticks.