A New Beginning

You know how sometimes people say: "I've got good news and bad news... which do you want first" and it's usually something like "The bad news is your hamster was eaten by a triceratops, but I brought you a piece of black licorice" (which is actually like two pieces of bad news because, if you like black licorice chances are your taste receptors are non-functioning... and maybe your brain, too).

Well, I've got good news and bad news:
Bad News: I am not going to be blogging at Three Scobeys anymore
Good News: Business and Atlanta and Pretty-much-everything-involved-in-life is going so incredibly well (and is super-duper busy). There just aren't enough hours in the day to do all of the things that I want to do right now... which is totally fine... but something's gotta give... and this is it. This blog (and all of you amazing people who have bolstered my resolve and wiped my tears with your comments and support) has been so good for me; it gave me an outlet at a time in my life when I most needed one, and it allowed me to chronicle the first year of Evie's life (which is great since I never even cracked the binding of her baby-book).

This isn't the end of ThreeScobeys, though. It's more like a merging. Instead of blogging here, there will be a weekly (and, on really awesome weeks, bi/tri-weekly) personal post over at Scobey Photography. So, if you still want to stay up to date on what's going on in our lives, you can! (CHEERS! CONFETTI! VUVUZELAS!).
In fact, the first post is already up... just waiting with baited breath for you to go and affirm it with a comment. See you there!

Double Digit Oldness

Evie turned ten-months today. I remember rocking her when she was just a few weeks old, tears streaming down my face as I sang "I love you, more than anything", wishing it were true... willing it to be true. I remember how painful it was to feel disconnected from my daughter. I never could have imagined that, in just a few short months, all of that pain would seem like a distant memory; that I would never be able to recall loving her with any less than all of me.

Missy Goo,

You have managed to do it again. You've managed to make me fall even more in love with you. You are the smartest baby this side of the Mississippi (actually, the Universe, but I don't want to offend all of the babies who read my blog). You learned how to hug this month. It is painfully adorable. You make the cutest little sound when you squeeze; like "mmmmmmmmmm mmmmm" (I think you learned it from your Pops). You wave now, too, which makes you even more magnetic to strangers. They are mesmerized by you and your beautiful, blue eyes (I am, too). My life has changed so much over the past ten months. YOU have changed my life so much. I want to pinch myself sometimes, when I'm cuddling you and those little arms wrap around my neck, because I know that I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you. I know for certain that I don't... so all I can be is thankful. And when things get hectic, as they often do when you're finishing up graduate school, moving and running a small business at the same time, all I have to do is look at your smile or hear your funny, machine-gun-laugh, and suddenly everything falls into perspective; I remember what is really important, the rest is just trivial.

Bear has really started to warm up to you, too. In fact, just today he let you crawl in his kennel for the first time. Once you were in there, though, he promptly squeezed out and then used his paw to close the door. It sounds mean, but the teasing goes both ways... At lunch today you stuck your slobbery hand down (holding a piece of chicken) and made Bear think you were going to feed him. Once you had let him lick the chicken for a few seconds, you promptly ate it. It's a good thing me and germs have a pretty decent relationship.

Recooperating

This morning, this very glorious morning where the birds were singing and top-dogs of the angels decided to take a walk on planet Earth, I slept until 11:00 am. ELEVENOCLOCK! I am completely aware that there are people reading this and cursing my well-rested self. I would be too. Sometimes, when I read here here or here how people are having suuuuuuch amazing days and their children are soooooooo quiet and always sleep on planes I'm all: "mental note: set their car ablaze. roll it down a big hill." So I get it. Misery loves company. But this morning... I slept in until eleven. And I needed it.

The past 14 days have been full of a bunch of Crap-that-shouldn't-have-happened heaped on top of more Crap-we-wish-wouldn't-have-happened and baked at agony for 45 minutes or until unbearable. Our closing in CT got pushed (twice) and we have been traveling like crazy people and have no place to call home and I've been studying for comprehensives and then Evie got sick. Really sick. Running-a-fever-of-104-for-twelve-days sick. She has been having screaming bouts and has been in extreme pain for almost two weeks. And she hasn't been sleeping.

*this is what sick Evie looks like*

So Graham and I have been absolutely exhausted and begging the Universe to please just give us a break.

So we got a little break (thank you Universe)... in the way of blue skys and a healthy baby.

And it's all going to be ok. I know this because, really, my problems are small. I have a beautiful baby and an amazing husband; it's just that, sometimes, even small problems seem overwhelming. It feels good to be working towards something incredible, though. Working towards no more school, owning a small business, working (at a job we LOVE) from home, and living near our families. It feels really, really good. Great, even. And I'll be back to my regular-blogging-self as soon as the semester is over... but until then I hope that you will bare with my sporadic posting (I bet you will because... well... you're all so darn nice).

*she's back to her old self*

9 Months

Today we had our nine month pediatrician appointment. Which means that in a little less than 3 months we will be having our ONE YEAR pediatrician appointment. Which means that my brain is about to implode from the sheer thought of the fact that I am going to have a TODDLER soon....so I probably won't even make it to her 1 year appt. Cause I hear that brain implosion can be pretty hazardous to ones' life. Caaa-razy!

No shots today, just a little finger prick...and we got Evie's measurements. Weight: 16 pounds - 6th percentile. Height 27 inches - 25th percentile. She is still a little Scobey with a HUGE personality. The doctor said that she was ahead of the game and super strong. He doesn't know the half of it. Evie is the smartest baby I have ever met. She picks up on things so quickly and she is super curious. Graham calls her Taz. As in, Tasmanian Devil, because she is always, always moving. Usually really quickly and towards something that will hurt her.

And she is LOUD. Good granny, is she loud. She is constantly babbling and laughing and saying "Yo yo yo dawgs, look at me" (she is really hip). Ok, maybe she doesn't freestyle yet, but she has said her first word. See? Genius baby. I told you. "Uh-oh", indeed.

I cannot believe that it has been nine months. I know I say that every month... but it doesn't make it any less true. You have been out of my belly longer than you were in it. Somehow this is both amazing and a little sad. You are a growing girl. And there is nothing in this world that I can do about it. So I breath in every moment with you: let myself forget about work on my days home, turn off the cell phone so I don't miss a single chance to crawl around on the floor with you, sneak in your room when you are asleep so I can stare at you in your crib. I think it takes being a parent to finally realize how quickly time passes, so I am making every effort I can to enjoy the moments. See how much you are teaching me?

I love you an infinite amount. And I am grateful to you for all of the ways that you challenge me, without even knowing it, to be a better person. You are all of the best things about this world wrapped up in one fun-sized, chubby-cheeked package, and I don't know how I got lucky enough to get the job of being your mom... but I am thankful for it every day.

Lame Sauce

Sorry for the blogging hiatus... things have been crazy, crazy busy (and it's not gonna settle down anytime soon). I am determined to keep on keepin' on, though... so here we go.

For weeks (and weeks and weeks) I had been dreading last Friday. More than any other day of this gonna-take-three-months-to-get-it-done move. More than any day of my ENTIRE life, even: Like a root canal with no pain meds. On a Saturday. While all your friends are at the beach... being slathered with oil by Chippendales dancers.

It was to be an entire, 16-hour-day of traveling, with my 9-month-old and mother-in-law.

Our morning began at 5am, waking Evie up so that we could begin the long drive from one side of Connecticut to the other so that I could teach from 9-12 before we headed to the Boston Airport. The stars aligned, though, and Evie napped the whole way to UCONN. Then, on the second leg of our drive, Evie took another nap. By the time we got to our gate (all the while carrying two carry-ons each, a baby and a stroller) we were so proud of ourselves that we were fartin' rainbows.

Then, because of Debbie's I'm-BFF-with-the-inventor-of-Delta Diamond Medallion Member status, we got to hop on an earlier flight, sit next to one another, check our bags for free, and BOARD THE PLANE FIRST.

Next time you see her you should channel your best Robin Leach and say "Diaaaaaaamonds, dahhhhhhhhhhling". She would like that. (She was seriously such a rock-star all day...Evie would have probably eaten my tears for lunch if Debbie hadn't been there to help me).

The day was going really well; and guys, leaving the Atlanta airport with SMILES on our faces felt pretttty good. After a full day of traveling I would have been satisfied with everyone having all of their appendages intact. But no: we go big. We were SMILING. Diamonds, y'all. Diamonds.

But then we got into the car. With a tired Evie. At 5:15 on a Friday evening. In Atlanta. And here's where I will tell you that listening to a baby cry, neigh... scream, for 2 hours is worse than getting a curb sandwich. So now you know.

But then, just 120 minutes of sheer misery later, we were home. The day I had been dreading for weeks was over. And it was beautiful.

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.

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.

Zero to Sixty

Listen here, little lady: I am not even ready for you to be eating solids, let alone feeding yourself.

Put. Down. The. Spoon.

Holy moly this has flown by. Someone find the pause button please.

The one person who actually likes how quickly Evie is growing is Bear. She is a lot more fun and interesting to him now that she can crawl. Ev likes him a little bit, too.

(you may want to turn down your volume - he barks)

Some big news coming up on the blog in the next couple of weeks; just a few more details to work out before we can make the official announcement!

First Week Away

Our first day of 2010 began in tears. My tears. As I watched Graham pack the Jeep, knowing that we would be driving back to Connecticut without our little girl. We've been at a photography conference (which, by the by, rocked my face right off my head) so Evie is staying at Camp Deanie - my mom's house - for a few more days and then they're flying up on the 8th.

So there were tears; lots of tears. And just when I would think I had finally pulled it together I would look up; and there would be the cheeks. And the tears would recommence. Because, well, what if those cheeks change while I'm away?! What is those cheeks start crawling?!?

There were moments when I didn't know if I'd be able to bring myself to leave. But then I did. I got in the car. We drove away. And I waited. And waited. But more tears didn't come. Instead, my internal dialogue was something like:

"Yaaahhhhoooooooooooiiieeee, Yiiiipppppppiiieeeeee!"

I feel like I am in adult nirvana: on vacation with no child and no work. Granted, I cannot wait for her to come back so that I can squeeze that 67th percentile head of hers... but I am also enjoying these last few nights of quiet.

And if you think that my less-than-sad reaction makes me a bad mom; well, get ready for this: I fed Evie grilled cheese sandwiches all last week. And she LOVED them. HAH!

I mean, if it takes sandwiches to get this peanut the gain some weight well... then... it's sandwiches she'll get!

Six Months (and one week)

With grading and finals and travel and family I have been a slogger lately (that's a slacker blogger... obviously). Sorry about that...

In other news: Evie is the most oddly proportioned child on the planet. Her six month checkup was last Tuesday and here are her stats:

Weight: 13.5 pounds, 6th percentile

Height: 24 inches, 50th percentile

Head Circumference: 67th percentile

The pediatrician was a little bit concerned because her weight percentile had dropped from the 13th to the 6th percentile... but I promised that we feed the child as much as we can. She is just such a busy baby. All she wants is the be a part of the action, and it seems like she thinks that eating gets in the way of that... so unless you are in a quiet room with nobody else within earshot, Evie gets distracted.

Her personality keeps coming out more and more... and we are going to have our hands FULL. She is such a ham and really outgoing. It is so much fun to watch her interacting with other people.

Here is Evie before bath-time last week (Graham normally doesn't let me post naked-babu pictures... but this one got the OK because it doesn't show her hoohoo).

More to come on our SIXTEEN HOUR DRIVE to Atlanta this past weekend... after which I am just thankful to still be breathing.

The Club I Least Wanted to be Part of

This past Sunday we loaded up the Scobey Clan and spent the day at Carla's for a family portrait mega event with all of the other peeps from the studio. It was so much fun. And Evie, in typical Evie fashion, was a trooooo-per. She was incredibly patient and smiley. Especially considering that she only took a 20 minute nap the entire, 6 hour day.

I guess that shouldn't really surprise me. She is a really happy, good-natured baby. But this one time, when Evie was about 12 weeks, I drank caffeine and by the time it got to Evie it had apparently morphed into rocket fuel and she was all schooooooooom, kazoooooooommmmm, wablammmmmoooooo for the next 12 hours.

I spent the majority of that day crying. It was enough to scar me for life.

It is also the reason I am still a little shocked when Evie is her typical, awesome self.

At the end of the day we all sat down and watched a slide-show of the images: they were unreal. It got me all jazzed up and made me want to take more pictures.

So on Tuesday I got Evie all dressed up, put her in a little tutu, and we had a little mini portrait sesh of our own.

Super cute, yeah? Mommy-daughter bonding time, right? Except that exactly .45 seconds after this photo was taken I look down at my camera to check my exposure and Evie rolls off the chair. Does a full 360 degree flip in the air. Lands smack on her big 90th-percentile-head. On the hardwood. And starts screaming.

Yeah. I am officially one of those moms who drops their children on those-things-that-HOUSE-THEIR-BRAINS.

I felt/feel awful about it. Like, seriously terrible. So much so that even after Evie had stopped crying I kept the good ole' Tear Train going for a solid hour.

If life were a video game I would have had little "Mom-guilt + 2,000" signs popping out of my head for the next four days. My mom assures me that every parent has accidently hurt their child in some way, but that doesn't really make me feel better about it.

What have you done that has caused the most self-inflicted-guilt?

Just Plane Lucky

People, the travel gods seriously smiled down on us yesterday. Evie slept the entire way to Providence (that's 1 1/2 hours in the car, folks). The agents at the security gate were super kind and helpful. My husband didn't get a hernia from the umpteen carry on items he was lugging through the terminals. We got to board first and there were SEVEN vacant seats all around us. Then Evie did not have a giant poop on the airplane (a possibility that Graham had been waking up in cold sweats over for weeks).

And then? AND THEN?!?! Evie fell asleep! The first 1.5 hours of the flight were spent in complete silence. I got to brush up on my Tap Defense skills. Very important. Have I mentioned how I like Evie the best when she is asleep?

Well, asleep-Evie is my fllllaaaaavorite.

So she naps. And then? AND THEN!?!? She wakes up and is all "Hello. I feel incredibly rested and would like to giggle at you for the remainder of the flight."

So of course I'm all "Yes please. And thank you. I'll make moronic noises to further exacerbate your laughter."

So, to summarize: Thank you Jesus.

The only bad part: my foot fell asleep during her nap. And instead of doing the it-tingles-in-a-bad-way dance I just sit there. I take one for the team. Because, people, only an idiot would chance waking a sleeping baby at 20,000 feet. In fact, had the plane been an ocean and a shark had swam up and begun slowly gnawing my foot to a bloody stump, I still wouldn't have moved. Not in a million years.

We got really lucky, and that is not lost on me. This trip was infinitely better than the last plane ride we took with her: when I had to pump in the lavatory, proceeded to spill my hard-earned milk all over the nasty, urine-caked floor, and then threw myself out of the exit door. Or maybe I just thought about that last past.

Regardless. It is so good to be home. I hope that you and your's have a wonderful and blessed Thanksgiving.

CIO

We have been slowly Ferberizing Evie over the past week. Or trying to, anyways. That said, I haven't actually studied his method, but rather have taken bits and pieces of what I know about Cry It Out and used it with the little one.

I know that this method isn't always looked kindly upon by Moms, but I had to. HAD TO.

Lately, I have been getting no sleep. Like, you know those National Geographic shows with the mangy, flea infested Lion who is knawing on the once-whole leg of a one-whole Zebra?

That Lion? That's Evie. And that dead Zebra with no hope for a future or happiness? That's my sleep.

See? HAD. TO.

We have run into a few glitches along the way. Like finding out that Evie is as addicted to her swaddle as some people are to Heroin. Yes, my daughter is a swaddle junkie. She is currently looking for a sponsor if anyone is interested. I can't do it because, frankly, after about 15 minutes of her screaming I am all "just do it. just USE already."

*As I am writing this Evie is log-rolling across the basement floor. Completely. Mobile. I am terrified.*

DOUBT

Doubt is a very powerful thing. It can be good: I firmly believe that no harm can come from a willingness to question things. On the contrary; one of the greatest dangers in life is just going along; refusing to let yourself challenge what you know.

But doubt can also be harmful. Especially when you make a habit of doubting yourself.

I have always been a glass-half-empty kind of person. Whenever I do things that are difficult, there are these voices in my head whispering: "you're not good enough", "you cannot possibly go that far -- do that much"...

Since Evie, that's changed. I mean, since Evie everything has changed: but THIS, this I never thought would change. I have been battling self doubt my whole life. There is only one possible explanation for this. Evie is my Horcrux. When I had her, my soul split... and now there is nothing I cannot do.

Something more powerful than doubt: being a mother.

And the leaves are changing which means that I get to drive to school through fiery tunnels and it is beautiful and all is right in the world.

Here is little Miss playing airplane on Mommy's legs during a picnic on Friday.

I know what you are all thinking: "That is not Evie. That is GRAHAM. It has to be Graham." and although I have this very same thought at least seventeen times in any given day: no, it is not Graham, it is my baby daughter. I know this because Graham is much too big to play airplane on my legs.

Long Overdue

In August we went to Atlanta and, besides the part where I had to milk myself, it was an awesome trip. Evie got to meet all of the amazing Southern Folks who love her so very much. And suffice it to say that there are a LOT of them. So we did what any good Georgian Family (albeit a transplanted one) would do: ate a lot of food and traveled around handing out free hugs everywhere we went.

I'm just gonna say it: Southerners do it better. And I don't just mean cooking, decorating, and partying. I mean they are better at being humans. (Oh, wait, what's that sound I just heard? The tapping noise of my non-southern readers clicking UN-FOLLOW). But really, once you dip below the Mason Dixon Line it's hard not to compare everywhere else you go to That Place where the people are just soooo naice (that's "nice" in Georgia-speak)... and I'm not gonna lie: there is a piece of me that dies every time I think about the little, twangy accent that Evie could have had.

And the love. Ohhhh the looooove. There were people who we saw on this visit who have loved us our entire lives, so to see them snuggling on Evie just made my heart look like a scene straight out of Disney's Fantasia.

Three cheers for Grandpa. Hip-Hip, Horray!

Snuggling with the Meemers...who drove all the way from Mississippi to hold Ms. Evie.

And the man who has, on more than one occasion, been single-handedly responsible for helping me maintain my sanity.

And the man who has, on more than one occasion, been single-handedly responsible for keeping Graham's mother from murdering him.

As you can see, the trip was a success...and we cannot wait to take Evie back to the ATL in November so that she can meet her new cousin, Sophi.

I will leave you with some sweet, sweet second cousin love.

**PHOTOS TAKEN BY THE UBER-TALENTED GRAHAM SCOBEY, DUH**

Boogie Nights (and mornings... and days...)

Evie has her first cold... and its a doozie. Now, before you go feeling all sorry for me and sending me chocolate (my favorite is hazelnut flavored) and flowers (gerber daisies, please) I should admit to you that there is a bright side to the situation. Remember back when I admitted my nose picking habit? Well, turns out that the joy I get from digging for my own gold TOTALLY translates to picking my kid's nose, too.

It's like a game: the deeper they are in there, the more points you get... plus special bonus awards for size and color. Give me one of those squeezy-bulbs over a video controller any day, thank you.

Little-bit is no child of mine. I mean, she looooovves her baths. She just might be the cleanest newborn on the planet (side note: that may be the last time I get to refer to her as a "newborn" on the blog... since, as of Wednesday, my big THREE-MONTH-OLD will officially be considered a full blown infant. Just rip my heart out and put it through a meat-grinder, why don't you?! This growing-up-too-fast crap is way hard.)

There she is, that little Benedict Arnold... just lovin' that bath. I will do my best to change that. I can just see Evie and me in ten years, sitting on the couch all sweaty from a family run (we will not take a shower for at least 48 hours afterward) picking our noses and letting the dog lick our faces. Ahh... bliss.

Eternal Sunshine of the Mommy's Mind

I am going to get a little sentimental on you guys for a minute. I know, I know... not my typical M.O....so just grin and bear it this once.

Maybe it's the fact that Evie is about to be in the double-digits (10 weeks!) or the fact that her newborn clothes are fitting tighter and tighter everyday... but I am starting to realize how much I am going to miss these days... and how quickly they are passing me by.

I now completely understand what people mean when they say you "don't remember" the baby blues... and why they don't talk about it.

It is just a shadow. Such a small and utterly

insignificant part of the journey. It's like one day it rains, but all of the days for the rest of your life are so full of sunshine... and the sunshine is so warm, bright and beautiful. Are you going to mope around and talk about that one time it rained? No. You're going to sit and enjoy the sunshine... taking comfort in the fact that it is never going away.

I don't remember what it felt like not to know her; not to wake up every morning to her mile-wide smiles... but I can't imagine it felt anywhere near as good as this.

The Chapters We Skipped

After Evie was safe and in our arms on Tuesday, Graham and I admitted to each other that, despite all of our preparation and reading in order to get ready for labor, neither of us knew a thing about C-sections; we had skipped all of those chapters in our books. We just didn't see it as a possibility...but now it is our reality. I am beginning to think that it is the curse of a planner to have things not go according to plan.

Here is how little Evie's grand entrance came to pass: Monday evening was our first night of contraction counting. The real kind. The outch kind. We had our contraction counter application in hand because, well, you all know how much of a geek my husband is. The next morning I woke up still contracting...and they were getting closer and closer together. I wanted to stay at home and labor as long as possible because my biggest fear was getting to the hospital and being sent home...but Graham insisted that we go ahead (probably out of fear that my stubbornness would lead to him having to deliver a child IN OUR BATHTUB).

We get to the hospital and they hook me up to the monitor, and then everyone leaves the room. We start watching my contractions...and realize that with my first big contraction Evie's heart rate starts going down...and down...and down. Graham and I look at each other questioningly. "I am going to get a nurse" he says to me, and I (still being stubborn and not wanting to look like the typical "first time mom") tell him that someone will come in if anything unusual is happening. In that same second, 5 nurses run through the door and begin working on me.

I try, as politely as I can, to tell them that I do not want an IV...this was going to be a natural childbirth and pain medications were not in our plan. It turns out they were not interested in our plan, they were interested in keeping my baby alive (I am forever forever grateful to those 5 quick acting, slightly abrasive nurses). With every contraction that came, her heart decelerated, and within minutes my belly was being shaved and I was being wheeled off to the operating room for an emergency c-section.

When I woke up, I was a mama to this gorgeous little girl.

She was 6 pounds, 13 ounces, and 19 inches of over-cooked goodness and, just like everyone said she would be, totally worth the wait.

She had the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck and there was a kink in the cord so that every time I had a contraction her oxygen supply was cut off. The night after my c-section, I came down with a 102 degree fever. The fever spikes lasted over the next several hours, until I got put on antibiotics for the Strep B virus that my blood-work showed I had (which I had tested negative for on May 16th). Strep B is much, much worse for babies than it is for adults, so the doctors decided to go ahead and put Evie on antibiotics preemptively...they wouldn't get her blood-work back for another 24 hours and they'd rather be safe than sorry. The problem with the antibiotics, from a new mother's perspective, is that they had to get an IV in her arm...and seeing your 2-day-old baby being used as a little pincushion is akin to having your heart yanked out of your chest by a bulldozer and then having that bulldozer run over it...repeatedly. To make matters worse, they were unable to find a vein, and they can only try so many times before the risk of introducing an infection begins to outweigh the benefits of giving the medicine in the first place, so they did not get to start her on antibiotics yet. They are going to try again if her blood work comes back this afternoon and shows an infection. It has been a whirlwind. At times terrifying and, at others, blissfully amazing.

As one of our doctors put it....our case is very "interesting", and "interesting is not something that people want to be to him". My placenta is, as we speak, being shipped off to some super secret crime lab to be examined...which is all at once pretty cool and totally disgusting. We are still at the hospital, but hoping to be able to go home sometime this weekend...where we will get some much cuter pictures with Evie's brother (who cannot wait to meet her), her room, and all of her little lady clothes!

The important part of this story is, obviously, the ending..and regardless of which chapters we did or didn't read, we still got our happily ever after.