The Calm Before the Storm

Today was one of those days that made me stop. Right in the midst of it all: all the packing, all the planning, all the stress... and recognize my blessings. I have such a tendency to get bogged down. It's easy to see the negative and ten times more-difficult-than-it-should-be to see the positive. I'm the kind of person who sometimes needs a chainsaw in order to see the forrest through the trees. But today was different. I don't know if it was Evie's giggle when I tickled her, or the beautiful snow, or my husband letting me sleep in late. More than likely it was a combination of things, but days like these make me question why I ever thought I wasn't ready for this.

This is our last weekend in this house. Our first house. The place where we brought Evie home from the hospital. The place where she lost her umbilical chord on my shirt. Everything is being put into boxes and there is a looming, empty space on the walls... and while I am thankful to be taking this giant step forward in our business/family/lives... those empty spaces are just so sad to look at. So I keep telling myself that it will all be worth it; reminding myself of the end goal: a life surrounded by grandparents and cousins (and fried food and So So Def signs). What wouldn't be worth that?

Eight MONTHS...one week and one day

Evie turned eight months old on last Tuesday. This has been a HUGE month for her. We lowered her mattress. The same mattress that we unwrapped and put in her brand new cribjust nine short months ago. The same mattress that we thought we would never have to lower because our baby; our little, tiny, yet-to-be-born baby, would never be that big. And now every morning when I go in at 7:00 to get her out of bed she is standing up and smiling like: "Look how big I am with my super-low lowered mattress". And the milestones! She has been blowing through those suckers. There are now giant craters in the Earth where Evie's milestones used to be. Feeding herself? Check. Crawling like a maniac? Check. Cruising around on our furniture? Check. Yelling at Bear when she wants him to play? Check check.

She is becoming quite a tough little cookie.

Also: she learned how to say "Da-da", and in a desperate attempt to teach her to say "Ma-ma" I try and work that word into my vocabulary as often as I can. I literally walk around all day going "Can you say "Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma"?". But then that little Who-ha of a daughter of mine looks me DEAD IN THE EYES and says "Da-da". Sometimes I overreact and threaten her life, but apparently the words "I WILL END YOU" are hilarious in baby speak. She has said one other thing... yesterday she looked at me and said something that sounded distinctly like "egg head". So basically she loves me a whole lot. Obviously.

High Fructose Heaven

I know that I said I was going to blog about Evie turning 8 months old... and I will... but something so much more important than that happened today.

Ladies and gentlemen (I am saying that to be politically correct but, seriously, if any men read my blog I really want to know who you are. Show yourselves!!) allow me to introduce you to:

CHERRY ON TOP

Basically, if I only had one day left to live I would take a giant, human sized cup, fill it with frozen yogurt and toppings, and swim in it for 24 hours (with my family of course... cause it's my last day to live and I like them almost as much as ice-cream).

David Beckham loved his, too. A couples of times he took his spoon and tried to steal bites of mine. So I stabbed him in the knee. No more soccer for him. Should'a thought twice before trying to touch my ice-cream.

Oh - and I have already had two conversations about poop in the past 24 hours; so it's pretty much shaping up to be the best vacation of my life.

Wednesday is the New Monday

Today has been a giant string of miniature disasters. Aside from Wednesdays being generally sucky because I have to be on campus from 9am - 9pm, Graham is sick, I slid down a snow embankment and ruined my new flats (I know, I shouldn't wear flats in the snow. Stop yelling at me!), I forgot my wallet at home (and had to get my sick husband to drive to campus and bring it to me) and I am still here. In class. Blogging. That's almost the same as listening and learning. Right?

But none of that matters friends. Know why? KNOW WHY!?! Because tomorrow I will be hopping on a big, steel bird and flying out to sunny California. Because - have you SEEN this commercial?

So. I'm going to california because David Beckham wants to play soccer with me.

In addition to the whole "David Beckham clearly wants me and is using soccer as a ruse" thing, I am going to visit one of my favorite people on the planet: Miss Catherine Herzog. She is so beautiful it's disgusting. I can barely like her because of it. Despite the nauseating attractiveness, however, I am going to go spend some time with her. I haven't seen her since Evie was born. I haven't told the story about how she was there for those first two weeks... but let's just say that I am beyond lucky to have her as a friend. Beyond. Lucky.

I also get to visit my niece: Sophalinaloafa. That is the name on her birth certificate. At least her birth certificate that exists inside my head.

All this to say that there probably won't be much posting this weekend... but I will catch everyone up when I get back with a post that will inevitably start "HA HA, SUCKAS, I wore hawaiian shirts all weekend while you were all stuck in the cold... with runny noses!"

Tomorrow I'll post about how I have an EIGHT MONTH OLD. And, while we are on the subject: WHAT THA WHAT?!?

Rollin, Rollin', Rollin'

After years (literally: eight BILLION years) of living far away from our families THE SCOBEYS ARE MOVING BACK TO ATLANTA. I’ll pause and let you all take out your party poppers and champagne. I know I am.

And?! AND!!!! We are transitioning from Graham Scobey Photography to Scobey Photography. Know why?!?!? KNOW WHY??? Because we are going into business together, people! God help that husband of mine.

You see, over the past year or so I have begun to dabble more and more in photography… and I absolutely love it. To the point that, when this semester began I started throwing temper tantrums at random and inconvenient times. At the grocery store: “I DON’T WANNA GO BACK TO SCHOOL. I WANNA HAVE A FUN JOB LIKE YOU!!”. At church (we actually aren’t very good at going to church, so I'll state that upfront; for transparency’s sake): “NOOOOOOOOO. GOD DOESN’T LOVE ME IF I HAVE TO STAY IN SCHOOL THIS WHOLE SEMESTER. NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”. In the car by myself: *sniff sniff…tear* (because yelling to myself would be a complete and total waste of breath – breath I must save for yelling at my dog).

So there it is! Half of you are probably like: “Awesome!” And the other half of you are like: “Your husbands a photographer?” to which I scream “DON’T YOU KNOW ME AT ALL?!” And the other half of you are like “Man, she’s bad at math”.

So, having reached the conclusion that this was the perfect time to make a change (or seven), we put out house on the market. And then? TWENTY-FOUR HOURS LATER? It sold. For the win. Here's where I do the running man and start singing "Ain't nothing gonna break my stride... bad economy won't hold me down... oh no! We got to keep on moooovin'!"

Yes, I can do the running man and type at the same time. I gotz skillz.

So we are moving out of our house, which is, truth be told, pretty bitter-sweet for me: it's our first house together, it is where we brought Evie home from the hospital and it will always hold a very special place in our hearts. But there will be a new house and new firsts... and that house will become a home just like this one did.

Please send good thoughts our way so that we don't strangle each other or, worse, hold one another hostage with packing materials. I don't handle stress well. Let's just leave it at that.

Diaper Rash, A Literal Pain in the Butt

Remember that time I was all: "Swoooooon. Life is perfect. Life is awesome. Look! Over there! A unicorn just jumped over the most beautiful rainbow and now she is bringing me a winning lottery ticket!"

Well, if nothing else, parenthood is ever changing. And that unicorn? She just turned into a big, nasty, yeasty infection. White and red puss filled vestibules. On my child's hind parts. (Now that I think about it, this whole thing is probably exacerbated by the fact that Evie thinks it's cool to poop SIX TIMES A DAY. So Evie, if you're reading this: just stop that... and the agony will disappear) And, while none of this is particularly glorious to me, the poor baby is in a lot of pain.

Don't worry. I've been overmedicating her. It's any good mother's duty. And no, I am not interested in switching her to cloth diapers. I have already been told by several thousand and umpteen people that they are better for the environment! better for the baby! better for the budget! Well, I refuse to feel guilty about embracing some of life's little conveniences like, ya know, NOT having to wash crap out of a piece of cotton. And did you read that part where Evie poops SIX TIMES A DAY. Yeeeah.

So I'm opting for the easy way out: more medication. And you can say what you will about drug companies.... but those people are magical magic-making magicians! Nystatin is my new BFF. Right after I finish this post we are going to run upstairs, eat bonbons and watch Keeping Up with the Kardashians.

Why? Because in LESS THAN 12 HOURS it can turn an anguished, screaming child into this:

Nystatin, will you be my Valentine? Oh, and her socks in this video? Those socks are further proof that Ev is a genetic clone of her father. I really wish I had a picture to show you how inappropriately high he wears socks. With shorts.

(I'm gonna find a picture)

That big announcement: It's close. Really close. Like a few days away. I know, I said that like two weeks ago... but just keep yo' panties (or whatever you wear/ don't wear/ only wear on special occasions) on!

Heart Explosions: A minor cardiovascular inconvenience.

In the past two months, Evie has gone from rocking on her knees to crawling to crawling fast to pulling up to cruising. When I tell people that she has stumbled upon mobility the most common reaction is "Ohhh, you're in trouble". And I am . I really, really am.

But not in the way they meant it. Not because she is getting into things and is increasingly difficult to keep up with. I am in trouble because, every single night I go to sleep certain that I could not love her more. every. single. night. And every single morning I wake up and find that I do, in fact, love her more. And this is very dangerous to my health because one day soon my heart is going to grow so big that it starts poking out through my orifices... and if you have ever seen a human heart you know that this WILL NOT BE PRETTY. And... well, I'll probably die.

And suddenly my squishy, one-hundred-percent-dependent-on-me little baby is all "No, MOTHER, I do not have time to cuddle today. There is a job opening down at the United Nations and there is world hunger to be solved! Dear God, woman, STOP CRYING!"

I am utterly confused as to when life started going by so quickly. I mean, I know that it's always gone by fast; as in: I'm-So-Glad-That-Eighteen-Year-Awkward-Phase-Went-By-Fast, fast. But this, this is just absurd.

And now she WAVES? And is 95% of the way to being able to play PATTY-CAKES?! Someone... just cut all of my knuckles open with the edges of an Encyclopedia Britannica. That would be less painful than this.

And to make matters worse: my uterus (which is the trickiest of all the lady organs) is trying daily to convince me that I miss the babies. And that I want another one. So the logical side of me is trying my damnedest to convince my uterus that, no, you don't want another baby in there. It will stretch you. And then make you CONTRACT. And then they'll have to CUT YOU OPEN again. That doesn't sound like fun, does it? But my uterus is the captain of the Uterine Debate Team... so I think having it removed may be my only choice.

Groundhog Day Giveaway

Well, Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow this morning; graciously granting us six more weeks of winter (let's be honest though... we'll probably have another three months of winter in Connecticut).

So, to brighten the mood of all you moms/moms-to-be/friends of moms out there, check out this $50 giveaway on LA Stylist Mom. Jillybean Green has all of the uniqueness of a high end baby boutique, but the prices are great.

Oh, and can we please talk about how we went out to eat with Evie THREE times last week and not once did she have a melt down?!? It's like 7 months happened and all of a sudden we feel like what I always imagined a family would feel like. It's magical. Now I just need those doctor people to figure out a way to make it so that I can BIRTH a seven month old. Then, my friends, we'd be in business.

Can we also talk about how freakin' excited I am for this show because, well, I fully expect to be one of those s0-embarrassing-my-life-is-over kind of moms... and not even because I want to be... I just know myself well enough to know that there will be times I am unable to resist doing the robot in the carpool lane. So sue me.