Deep Breaths

I called my Mom today and said,

"I don't know if I've just forgotten everything you taught me when you came to stay or what, but it is unbelievable how bad I am at this."

Commence discouraged breakdown.

You know what? It's all going to be okay. And this isn't just a vain attempt to console myself; it really is going to be okay. I'm sure of it. I'm only two weeks in, and so is Little Eliza. We'll both get better at this. Soon. Hey moms out there, any helpful suggestions? Aside from "Hang in there, it'll get better"?

Things that have gone well today or ever:

• We did get some rather incredible belches out of Eliza in this last feeding. (Atta girl, Liza!) Not all of the burps, but some.
• I'm pretty sure she ate fairly well and held most of it down. Tough to tell with breastfeeding.
• Eliza's a good latcher. I've always hated that word or phrase, but if you can't beat them (and you can't--there's no convincing the medical/pediatric/motherhood world that we should make a wording change), join them. "Latch on." There, I said it.
• Eliza went right down for her nap. She must have been absolutely pooped because she slept through a pretty significant spit-up and then me mopping her up.
• Eliza smiled at me.
• I got a nap this morning. *cue angelic chorus*
• Dishes are done, bed is made, house picked up, and laundry almost done.
• Been having a ball reading The Book of Mormon aloud with Eliza. It's charming how easily and naturally an animated reading voice comes out of my mouth when I'm reading to her. Seriously, Lehi's family traveling into the wilderness has never sounded so epic.
• We figured out that Eliza doesn't like to pass gas. (Which is ironic, considering how she can mess her pants without thinking twice once about it.) She'll squeeze and hold them in and her poor tummy gets more and more agitated until she's beside herself. BUT, knowing this, we can take proactive measures to help in her relief--aka, pulling her knees up to her chest into prime toot position. Let 'em fly, dearie. You don't have to have social graces for several more years.
• Eliza's healthy and I'm confident she's gaining weight. (We'll find out on Monday.)
• Found a hopefully great pediatrician and set a two-week appt. on a day Blake can go with us.
• I'm healthy, recovering well from my episiotomy and tearing, and married to Blake.
• Nice ladies bringing meals to our house--it's nice to feel loved and mothered when you're doing so much loving and mothering yourself.
• Unlimited phone access to Blake, my parents, Beth, and the Hull Family.

Well, there's more where that came from, to be sure, but I'm going to call it quits for today. Life is good, as always. Keep calm and carry on.

Weirdee!

So I've been trying to figure out when The Hobbit and Les Miserables are scheduled to enter the dollar theater. (Tight wad? Yes. Is anyone surprised?) That has been an unsuccessful endeavor thus far, so if any of you know how to find out, please let me know.

Anyhow, I was looking up the showtimes at the Provo Movies 8 when I stumbled upon some rather ridiculous reviews of the theater that is apparently laced with cuddly kittens and awe-inspiring hand dryers. This chap has either too much time on his hands or way too many chemistry classes to be considered mentally stable. One of the two.

Read on if you're in the market for some mind melting. My favorite (other than the husband and wife floating the Provo River to the the theater) is the guy who made an account just to comment and say what a moron this reviewer is.

"My wife and I love this theater. The decor is top notch and the boxes of kittens is a classy touch. While I have never swam there from England, the Provo River conveniently flows right pass the theatre. My wife and I strip down to our scivvies and leisurely float to the theatre daily. {I suppose I'm biased because I love the word 'scivvies'.} We relish the long lines of people waiting to welcome us to the theatre. It can be cold waiting in line, but the staff will bring you a warm kitten upon request. The seats in the theatre are soft and springy. The cat fur caresses you as the crackling speakers soothe your ears. The real treat was bathroom. Usually I avoid washing my hands in public, but the gentle hum of the hand dryer pulls you in like a moth to a flame. A wonderful night out for only nickels."
Can't argue with that last statement...

"My husband and I love going to movies 8 because of the hot zoobees. {Uhh, weird!} He without fail can always pick one up for a date in their extremely fun arcade. I recommend after playing a game in the arcade to go wash your hands in the bathroom. {Sound advice.} You will be so surprised at the amazing hand dryers that they have there. They must be super new, now we have started going there just to wash our hands after we pet the kittens that the sweet management tries to give you on your way out. This is a top notch establishment."

"Went to movies 8 to watch a movie about kittens but was surprised to find a theater full of kittens who thought they were there to watch a movie about me. I'm not a movie star or anything and to be honest I didn't even watch the movie because we got in a scary butter fight and I got some in my eyes (butter with tufts of kitten fur in it). The kittens ganged up on me and after drying the butter on me REAL good in the bathroom they put me in a box and tried to sell me but I think they were kind of joking about that." 
....What?? 

"Me and my 16th century army were about to attack the place, as we heard the hand driers were excellent, and that we must own them! But we got distracted by some kittens, and then decided to watch twilight, after seeing such an atrocity we decided others things had to be destroyed, so we left peacefully, and thanked the wonderful staff for such a lovely time, they even let us keep some baked kittens to eat on our quest ahead!"    

Enough with the kittens, junior...

 

"This movie theatre has wonderful hare dryers... you mean they are not for your hares? Well my box of hares liked being next to them. BTW when I left them I thought I lost them after I walked out of the theatre one of the wonderful managers there said "HEY WAIT YOU FORGOT YOUR HARES" btw "We found a wife, a child, and a box of kittens too in lost in found. Would you like them?" I said sure.. why not I could raise a family.... sometimes I sneak away from my wife, child, hares, kittens and other things and go back to this theatre to cheat with the hare... I mean blow dryers... they are so wonderful... I have to say that this is about the best place to go to use a hand dryer that also I think shows nightly Twilight movies? One time I went there and said hey Manager can you show me the way to the dryers.. he said sure and led me into this cave behind the screen.. I was going to be scared but at the end I found this cave full of hand dryers it was warm there and this buttler guy named Alfred said... wait my master would like to say hi... this guy in a tight suit with nipples on it came and said I am Batman... I have something for you and he gave me a box of robins. Just a wonderful time I have there with the dryers, hanging out with Batman and feeding robins to my box of kittens while looking at my wife through 3D glasses that they give at the door and watching my kid that I got for free at the door run around the lobby.... Fun was had by all.."

Like I said, mind melting. Buckle up... This next one is a doozy.

 

"You may be wondering. . . why is such a handsome man like myself using my free time to write a movie review for cinemark movies 8 in provo? I will spin you a tale, a tale of mystery, intrigue, death, kittens and even sexy kittens. I was born TJ houshmanzadah in the quiet farmlands of the Alaskan fisheries. Death and despair soon become my friends as the cold nights passed by on the fishing boats. That is why I am here in Provo. {Uh, okay? That cause and effect chain makes loads of sense.}

The tale continues. I soon met my second wife, which is odd because I had not yet obtained a first wife. Yet this is where the tale gets interesting. . .

We walk into the theater and what do we see???

KITTENS  {Oh boy...}

A massive army, a terrible hoard of deadly and diabolical kittens that marched towards our ranks. I bowed my head in acceptance of the defeat that was soon upon us. Yet when all seemed lost, an ally rode to our aid!

The blow dryers! {How fitting.} how elegant, how sweet the taste of friendship that swelled within my breast, words cannot express. They rode to our aid.

yet the battle was not over. Or was it?

Yes it was  {Congratulations. You just won the anti-climactic award.}

The Post war years were hard, economy was poor and I got myslef in with a bad crowd. . . the sexy kittens  {The plot thickens...}

yes I will admit it, I was seduced by these kittens that seemed so happy cute and playful that I could not resist their soft meows that seemed to hush all my cares. Yet my second wife was jealous, so she threw the cat in the blow dryer! but that did nothing, so she put it in the microwave and hit the defrost button. . . it was soon all over for my kitten friend, I will never forget that cute kitten, whether it was a he or she I do not know, all I know is that I loved her/him.

and so my tale ends in despair, a deep pitch black cavern of sadness,

 

{"And because I just remembered that this is a movie theater review..."}

Provo Cinemark 4/5 stars- the experience was tasty, yet it needed a little more butter, if you know what I mean. . . . and if you know what I mean, I would like for you to tell me because im not sure what I myself mean"

I don't know what you mean, but it sounds like it could be a legitimate analogy for something meaningful? In either case, sit down before you hurt yourself, dear.

 

And last but certainly not least:

"All of these reviews are really stupid. I just created an account on here just to say that. The only reason I am still writing is because I need to have 45 words in order to post this stupid thing on the website. I like the theater though."

 

Me too, my friend... Me too.

As it happened...

I drafted this on the afternoon of Thursday, February 7, following my weekly appointment:

Dilated 3 cm.
70% effaced.

This is real, folks. VERY real.

I'll try to whine a lot less about the BH contractions I've been experiencing now that I know they're actually getting their job done. :) Good job, tough uterus muscles... You're smashing my cervix nicely and widening me out--good, good, good.

Little did I know that just a few hours later, my "tough uterus muscles" were going to really put on a show and speed things up from a week or two out to just an hour or two. My doctor said he was nearly certain I wouldn't make it to 40 weeks; it was fun to call him that night (he happened to be the on-call doctor) and let him know that my water had broken and by golly, this girl was on her way.

So my dears, do you want the whole scoop? If not, skip the next few paragraphs. 

My water randomly broke around 10:45 that night as Blake and I were chatting in our room. I rushed to the toilet, very aware that I had not wet my pants. So I don't know about you guys, but I assumed that when your water breaks, it's a big Splash Mountain gush that soaks your pants and everything else. (*how embarrassing!* Pishposh. If you are most obviously 8 or 9 months pregnant and you're rushing out of Walmart looking like you wet your pants, people aren't going to be embarrassed for you--they'll be excited.) Not always the case, it turns out. I camped out in the bathroom for a while as Blake sat on the edge of the tub with the laptop googling "Is my water really broken?" After calling the hospital and then my doctor, we were told to go to the hospital and if contractions didn't start on their own, they'd put me on petocin. (Like I said, my water broke without warning. It's often the case that you've been contracting for quite a while before you get to that point.) That turned out to be unnecessary, as contractions came in full force four or five minutes apart after my water had broken. (For those of you who don't know, that pace is your body's code for Go to the hospital. Pronto. This baby's a comin'!)


Bags packed? Psh- Nope. Who prepares in advance for these sort of things? Honestly. So passe...
Car seat installed? Nope. (But we owned one! That's as good as prepared.)
Any idea what the tar we were doing? Basically nope. But excited and anxious and drowning in adrenalin nonetheless.

So we threw a few things together in between contractions, left for the hospital, paused a few times in the hospital parking lot for me to make it through a contraction, and got admitted in a spiffy jiff. A nurse checked my progress and found I was dilated to nearly 6 cm and 100% effaced. She could tell it was going to be a speedy delivery (from me, incidentally, not Mr. McFeely...) but even she underestimated how quickly things were going to move.


As it became more clear that Little Girl was ready for her debut and wouldn't be bothered to wait for anyone or anything, nurses started calling the doctor and anesthesiologist, hoping they'd make it in time to deliver. I did receive an epidural, but my labor was moving so quickly that the epidural was trying in vain to play catch up. Kind of like in a relay race where the person receiving the baton starts out too fast for the already tired runner to make the hand-off. So I ran the marathon on my own before the epidural caught up to pass the baton of relief. Actually, that's not true--Blake was with me EVERY. STEP. OF THE WAY. and I've never been so grateful for his death-grip or his support in my life. With the exception of this last week; there has been something about this whole miraculous experience and transition that has made us cling to each other more tightly than we ever have before. It is beautiful.

So long story short, less than three short hours (unheard of!) after my water broke, we were holding a beautiful baby girl--6 pounds, 8 ounces, 19 1/2 inches, and practically perfect in every way. Welcome home, Eliza Jane. We love you so, so much.

Guest Post

Hello. My name is Miss Eliza Jane. I am one week and one day old and practically perfect in every way, or so I'm told by my Mommy and Daddy. I have a talent for making dynamic faces, I am an excellent eater, and I aspire to be amazing at burping. I love soft pink blankets, cozy hats, Mommy, Daddy, being woken up by my Dad, feeling Mommy's familiar heartbeat on her chest, and sleeping lots and lots. I love being alive. Happy Saturday!

Change

"People are always telling you that change is a good thing.

But all they're really saying is that something you didn't want to happen AT ALL... has happened."

-Kathleen Kelly

I'm stressed. And hating change.

Change just throws me for a loop much too often. Even things that don't necessarily change my immediate existence. I think of Mr. Woodhouse--

Emma: "Had I not promoted Mr. Weston's visits and given encouragement where encouragement was needed, we might not have had a wedding today."
Mr. Woodhouse: "Then please, my dear, encourage no one else. Marriage is so disrupting to one's social circle."

Indeed.

Missions are a disruption. That's all there is to it. I know that they're wonderful and I have a testimony of missionary work, but I just plain can't help hating when someone I love gets dragged off to Florida or Germany for 18 months. I love you, Courtney. Come home soon.

So there's that change that's breaking my heart, and my own body changing daily, and the pending change of a new member of society that I'm in charge of keeping alive and guiding to the Tree of Life. No pressure.

No wonder I'm having a bit of a breakdown and feel like I want my mom.

On the bright side, all of these changes are on the bright side. In fact, contrary to Kathleen's sentiments (and sometimes my own), I do want these things to happen. Missions=good thing. Growth for Courtney=good thing. My body getting ready to give birth even if it's uncomfortable=good thing. New beautiful member of society=very good thing.

Okay, I think I've reached a point of sanity where I can successfully go to bed. I suppose it doesn't surprise you that I'm what you might call a self-talk girl. Thanks for letting me share my self-talks with you and all the other tidbits of life that I throw on this blog--the more I write, the more comfortable I am being frank and candid with you. Goodnight, "Dear Void." All is well.

Love

Because it's February, here are 10 random things I have loved as of late:

• Crayons and colored pencils. I think I want to have them be an integral part of life as Little Girl and subsequent kids get older.
• Water. (I'm becoming a full-out camel. I even keep a water bottle by my bed and always drain it through the course of the night.)
• Man-angst songs. I've always loved these, and I know it's ridiculous, but there you have it. :) I was driving the other day and heard Jar of Hearts and We are Never Getting Back Together back to back and I felt like the stars were perfectly aligned just to make me smile and laugh. Man-angst songs make my day.
• New hair cut.
• Reading. I'm becoming an addict and it pleasantly shocks me.
• Milk. Many of you know of my obsession with cereal. Sadly, that phase of life seems to have been phasing out (I think pregnancy and being sick may have something significant to do with that). Rather than refill my bowl with cereal in the morning, I'll drain the milk, then fill my bowl with more milk to drink plain. So satisfying! Milk is wonderful in ways water just can never be. (And you know that I've also been loving water!)
• Spending money. (Whaaat?!?!) After the blessed shopping trip with Beth on Saturday, in which I actually made some serious purchases (by "serious" I mean buying kitchen accommodations that I've wanted ever since I was married but have never made myself buy), I'm realizing how wonderful it is to actually buy and then own things you need or really, really want. (You don't technically need a rolling pin... You can get by using a roundy cup. But life is so much more joyful and practical with a Real McCoy rolling pin!) Perhaps I'm getting cured of this spending-money-phobia!
• Baby Girl moving. Sometimes it's uncomfortable and she can even be rocking the boat so much as to make me nauseous, but I love feeling her all of the time. I know I'll miss it.
• The Library.
• Sharing on this blog. Random things, frank things, deep-thought things... Whatever I'm feeling. I think blogging might be becoming a dead technology unless you're marketing for royalties, but I don't mind continuing. Even if I have zero readers, I like writing anyway.

...

#11:  BLAKE. A lot. All day. Every day. In sickness and in health. Through the good and the bad. When you're driven nuts or when you're blissfully head over heels.

Love is grand, especially when you don't expect it to be perfect all of the time. It has lots of different faces. To quote a wonderful song, love can be "a victory march," but it can also certainly be a "cold and broken hallelujah."
Love can be laughing, love can be crying, love can be sneezing, love can be quiet, love can be silent.
Love is a first kiss where you feel both your heart and time stop in the suspension of the moment.
Love is sharing shakes with two spoons.
Love is running to the store in the middle of the night to get cold medicine.
Love is adding green onions because he likes them even though you don't.
Love is him watching Pride and Prejudice and you watching Inception. (I enjoy both, by the way.)
Love is him choking down the mystery crock pot concoction that didn't turn out anything like you intended.
Love is holding each other and crying different kinds of tears through the positive pregnancy tests and the miscarriages.
Love is excitedly planning Valentine's Day surprises for the Valentine's hater you're married to.
Love is Blake gently rousing me in the middle of a bout of fitful night contractions to help me consciously relax and calm my body.
Love is crying into your pillow because my goodness, how are we ever going to adjust to marriage like every other "normal" couple who "has it together." Just a sidenote for the benefit of anyone who can relate to that sentiment: "I was just sure the first ten years would be bliss. But during our first year together I discovered … there were a lot of adjustments. Of course, they weren’t the kind of thing you ran home to mother about. But I cried into my pillow now and again. The problems were almost always related to learning to live on someone else’s schedule and to do things someone else’s way. We loved each other, there was no doubt about that. But we also had to get used to each other. I think every couple has to get used to each other.” -Marjorie Pay Hinckley. If we're all "normal" like Marjorie and Gordon, I think that's a great start.

All faces of love are great. Because what would love be if it were missing any of its dimensions? It would be incomplete. Biased. A facade. A ruse. Love is love for its continuity, its unconditional nature. Appreciate love for its depth and many faces this month. Love isn't always what we feel we need to make it be. Let love be what it is, and love it for it.

Never were there such devoted sisters...

So remember my recent grumpy over-reacting morning? (I hope so. It was yesterday.) This post is an added testament that things always work out.

I had a lovely day yesterday.

I spent four delicious hours with Beth, whom I had not seen for any legitimate amount of time in two weeks. ("They haven't spoken in a week. That's like a century in girl years." Name that movie.) Come to think of it, that relational deprivation may have been a big contributor to both my ridiculous morning and general irritability as of late. I seriously have a special kind of endorphin release when I'm with Beth--there's nothing quite like the joy and laughs that can be generated by two very simpatico, very silly sisters.

Anyhow, you know Beth is a genuine miracle-worker if I can say that we went shopping for four hours and I had the absolute time of my life. Winco, Walmart, Smiths, and the Library. All with Beth. What bliss! We had a jolly time pushing around a fully loaded Winco cart looking like lost puppies as we figured out the store layout. Beth used her mad accounting skills and quick math to convince me that I really could make myself bite the bullet and buy a half gallon of honey. (But seriously, little bees--do you think we can strike a bargain next time? I respect your commodity as being liquid gold and all, but that purchase really did hurt my feelings just a little bit.) We legitimately enjoyed mosying around Walmart looking at Valentines cards and kitchen gadgets, all the while laughing about "sloosh la doosh," love languages, disciplinary parenting, and my random labeling of objects we passed. ("A BUS." I'm so eloquent.) Top it all off with a quick run into Smiths for the very best Kroger Cottage Cheese and picking up some leisure books for Beth at the library and you're left with a very picture perfect morning.

Sisters are the best.

Keep Calm

I'd been out of bed for less than ten minutes today, and already I was wanting to throw in the towel. Blake's alarm went off for work and I got out of bed shortly after because I knew he was dealing with a breakfast (and lunch...) dilemma:  no milk, no eggs, no bread.

Yeah. It's been one of those weeks. (Or I suppose two of those weeks in a row?...)

I got up and sure enough, he was sitting ready for work by the fire, not pursuing any sort of means for sustaining himself through a morning and afternoon shift of manual labor.

Annie: "Good morning. How do pancakes sound for breakfast?" Thank you, that would be great. I was just thinking about what I might do.

So I went into the kitchen and proceeded to mix up the Krusteaz and plug in the griddle. Mix + water. Easy peezy, lemon squeezy. I had what I considered six fairly decent pancakes on the griddle, but when it came time to flip, I discovered it was a little past the time to flip. Fairly decent pancakes just became lame-sauce crappy-wife pancakes. Not total burned, but you know when the underside sometimes just cooks too fast on the first batch and you end up with an overdone ugly top and an almost done middle? Grr.

If any of you know how this is to be avoided and how to make nearly perfect pancakes nearly every time, please post in the comments. No seriously. PLEASE.

I even had it set on the very perfect temperature. (Discovered by Blake, of course.)

Blake is generally the breakfast master in our house. His scrambled eggs: to die for. His mom even has him do the eggs at home. His any-other-kind-of-egg: equally perfect. Pancakes: perfect. *insert Yul Brynner voice* Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. Naturally, that's why I had the griddle on the perfect temperature--because the last time Blake made pancakes, they were perfect, and I was sure to ask him what the griddle was on so I would be able to avoid the sort of mishaps exhibited this morning. Perhaps the stars were perfectly aligned when Blake made his pancakes?...

So yes. After flipping the pancakes, I'd just about had it. Blake sensed this, did a bit of probing once we sat down to eat, and I blurted out, "I'm sick of sucking at breakfast!" (Once I cool down, I'll probably be able to look back on that moment and perceive that Blake had to suppress a laugh.)

Imagine Blake's kind, reassuring, calm-down-overreacting-pregnant-wife tone: "You don't suck at breakfast."

"That's more or less where we're at. I always make the weird pancakes, the weird eggs, and I somehow can't even manage to keep milk in the fridge so you can have cold OR hot cereal. OR bread in the pantry so you can make a sandwich."

"Sandwiches aren't for breakfast."

"It's in the same general category and another item on the list of wife deficiencies!" (Whoa there, Annie. Easy on the self-love, girlfriend!)

The rest of the conversation is unimportant. As is the first part, really. But here I am, writing it anyway to document how little things can just set you off when you're pregnant. (Uh... or female? Or your name is Annie?) Were the pancakes fine? Yeah. Did Blake leave with some lunch? Yeah. (Homemade rolls that I made yesterday, chips, granola bar, and an orange. Not a bad lunch.) Is today still a good day? Yeah. Am I fine? Yeah.

Word to the wise or the freaking out:

Don't let the lame-sauce pancakes of your day ruffle your feathers too much.

It's all going to be fine. I promise.

P.S. One more part of the conversation:

Once we were about done with our food and I was less of a hot-head...

Sheepish voice: "I'm sorry that I said 'suck' in our house." (I hate that word. That was always a bad word growing up, and never one that I wanted to say because it always just felt so crass.) "...You can spank me later if you want."

Somehow I don't think Blake would mind taking me up on that offer. Just a hunch, though.