Lunch Break!

I am sad to say that the happiest, most exciting, most anticipated time in our "work day" is when his Daddy, my Homet comes home for lunch...

To me, this indicates two things:

1)I would suck at being a stay at home mom. It's gotten so bad that I don't dread laundry anymore. It's just something else that keeps me busy. WHAT? I walked or ran 15 miles in 4 days this week with Everett just because we had nothing. else. to. do. Our stroller is t-i-r-e-d.

2)It's time for me to head on back to work. Surely the PICU needs me more than our dirty socks.

Fist Love

Our boy started his life as a thumb sucker. It was quite endearing, I must say (as I was one myself.) However, now that he's "grown up" to be a big, almost three month old boy, he's decided he must take on a bigger feat than one simple finger. "Thumbs are for babies", he says.

My little overachiever has wholeheartedly taken on the habit of sucking his. enitire. fist. I'm torn between, "Awe, that's cute. At least he's happy." To (immediately after he nurses) "Oh, crap. I think he's gagging himself."

That big boy does LOVE

THAT

FIST.

Get it, Big Boy.

Picky Sleeper

Why is it that as soon as Everett is in the sling, carseat, or stroller, he immediately falls into a blissful slumber? However, whenever I attempt to place him in his crib (the device we purchased with it's sole purpose being---to sleep in), he wakes right up.

Betty Homemaker, table for two

I've always loved any arts/crafts project. When I was little, my most prized possession (well, second to my mini Saints football) was my 150 count Crayon "briefcase" with TWO built-in crayon sharpeners. Typing that makes it sound really dorky but it was totally cool. Trust me. As I've grown, I've realized that while I love crafts, I'm not actually any good at them. I'll stick to nursing. However, I still LOVE to try. My Mom, on the other hand, is a sewing and quilting whiz. Quilting doesn't do it for me but I want so bad to be good at sewing. I don't mean taking classes and such, I want my Mom to teach me. Mom is quite the willing teacher too which works out well. I used to look at adorable patterns for children's clothes when I was pregnant. Well, two problems... There are ten times more girl's patterns than boy's. Another problem that most Southern women deal with is the hub's opinion. There are few metrosexual men in the South, which is just fine but try dressing your son "cute" and most men go nuts. That's another post all together though. Right after I had Everett, my Mom bought an embroidering attachement to her sewing machine. It's not been the most economical purchase ever, but it sure is fun to use! Check out the fabulous bib and burp cloths...

Yes, to Aunt Lindsay, Everett will probably be referred to as 'Baby Rhett' until he's 40. Anyway, the other day, I visited Mom for my first baby clothes sewing lessons. First off, F-U-N. Second off, next time I've got to bring Wade so that he can hold Everett because he did not want to be put down. That made for some difficult sewing. Here's him when I finally gave up and just held him while I worked.

"These are deplorable sleeping conditions, Mom!" Sorry, Son, you wanted to be with me so this is what you get!

Anyway, here's my first project. While it's a cute little romper which my husband would probably not approved of, you throw a few tools on it and WAA-LAA, he loves it! The embroidery machine also does appliques. This is the beginning of some serious clothes making if I could find anyone to hold that sweet boy while I work!

Toilet Etiquette in Question

Wade has always had good bathroom manners. For the 8+ years we've been together, 4+ living together/being married, he's ALWAYS put the toilet seat down. I considered myself lucky but must say that I eventually took it for granted. Well, the last few weeks, I have almost fallen in the toilet when using the restroom. The toilet seat seems to be in a constant "seat-up position." When I asked Wade about the change, this is what he matter-of-factly replied, "You're outnumbered now so we get to leave it up." And so it begins. However, does it really count if half of the guys in this house that I'm outnumbered in, do their business in a diaper?

Stretch Jeans?

I have never understood why they make infant's clothes sizes based on age. Working in the Pediatric ICU, I can assure you that babies 3-6 months old come in a WIDE variety of weights and lengths. Why don't they just say newborn size is 00? Anyway, it got me thinking. What if they continued age-based sizing up into adult clothes. Would I wear size 30-year-old jeans?

More linebacker than kicker

I know it will be hard for some of you to believe but I really don't want Everett to play football. If he insists, I keep saying he can only be a kicker (or punter is fine too.) I'd prefer him to participate in a much less violent sport...say tennis or curling. My Dad says he'll never play curling because we have no ice. However, we've got plenty of brooms and I'd love for my boy to be a good sweeper so we'll figure the ice thing out later. Anyway, we went to our 2 month check-up and got his stats. I just thought it was me that thought he looked huge. It took him a few weeks to grow out of his newborn clothes but he flew right through the 0-3 month clothes and never looked back. He's been in 3-6 months since he was about 6 weeks old. Apparently, it's not just me. Our boy is 12 lbs., 13 ounces and 24 inches long. That's the 90th percentile in both. Thus, if Everett insists on football, he may be more suited to play linebacker instead of kicker. Although, now that I'm really thinking about it, Morten Anderson was a "husky" kicker. Here's a pic of someone who'll be one of his biggest fans one day no matter what sport he chooses. Nothing like hangin' with Aunt Lindsay. (Can you spot the ever present Hill dimples finally trying to show themselves?)

The Beautiful Unknowns

Many people talk about how frustrating it is not knowing what a young baby needs when they're crying. '"I just wish he could tell me what he wants"' is a common sentiment. Well, while I can appreciate that (even though to be perfectly honest, Rhett is pretty predictable), I'm going the other way with it. These are the things I appreciate right now...

--When his head slams into my chest while sitting on my lap, I'm going to assume that he's just ready for a good snuggle and not that actually he doesn't have full control of that heavy head.
--When he smiles and giggles, I'm assuming it's because I'm the funniest thing he's ever been around and not actually that he's tooting or filling up a diaper.
--When he coos and babbles at me, he's saying things such as, "I love you, Mom" and "You're such a good caregiver!" and not actually, "Mom, you look like a real idiot dancing in front of me and talking in that voice" or "Why don't you just leave me alone already. I think there's a nice, quiet peaceful nursery back there where I could get a little private meditation done. Yeah, thanks."
--And the age old: When he "holds" my finger, he really wants to hold it and it's not actually just a primitive reflex which is also shared by our wonderful primate friends, the monkeys.

I'm embracing my nonverbal baby. And, no, I'm not doing sign language. Call me a bad mom but I didn't learn it and I turned out fine (I like to think so.)

Heaven Can Wait

On December 31, 2008, my sister and I joined Bert (my stepdad) and Mom in a doctor's office at UMC. A week or so before we had been informed of the cancer that unbenknownst to us had been growing rapidly in her uterus. Upon hearing the type (leiomyosarcoma), we were immediately warned not to "google" it. What does the normal person then do? Stupidly, I googled it at work and promptly had to excuse myself to the bathroom to be sick, cry, etc. You get the idea. Anyway, I think back to that day around lunch when the doctor came into the room for our first visit in regards to her prognosis. Mom probed him for details. We wanted the truth and didn't want anything candy-coated. Well, he delivered. He informed us that the average person in her situation (the uterine mass had already metastasized to 5 spots in her lungs) lives for 6 months to one year. He offered the options, one being to begin Hospice care immediately and forgo chemo. It was terminal, Stage IV. Mom looked "normal." We opted out of the Hospice and we agreed to fight the cancer (Mom hates when we use violence to describe taking it out, but that's the only way to describe it!) Being in the medical field, Lindsay, Mom and I all agreed that she would not endure chemo if it became not worth it. We didn't agree on a stopping point or any parameters to discontinue chemo, but she would NOT suffer just to get a few extra days.

At the time, my family thought we were living in a nightmare. I could not work a full 12 hour shift for months without breaking down at some point. Most nights at the dinner table, I would literally cry in my plate while Wade watched helplessly. Wade and I had started trying to get pregnant 3 days before she had the CT scan that initially identified the cancer. Would she ever meet the grandchild that she had BEGGED for forever? We had so many concerns.

On December 30, 2009, Mom sat with some of our biggest supporters. We threw her first annual "Heaven Can Wait" celebratory dinner. Mom is down to only 3 spots on her lung and continues to receive chemo about every other week. They have actually considered resecting the spots on her lungs. While this won't be a cure (nothing will as it will eventually come back no matter what), it will buy more time. Mom has met her first grandchild and completely basked in his presence (she has been in Jackson every week since he was born except one--he's 8 weeks old and she lives almost 3 hours away! You do the math.) This year we assumed would be our worst as a family. However, it has turned out to be the most rewarding year of my life. When you are given a "life sentence" you learn to appreciate all those little things that are typically taken for granted. We've made so many wonderful memories. Everett is going to be the warmest child ever as Mom has gone nuts with the quilting and, as it stands now, he has around 7 quilts to "remember her by." I realize that it could get worse at any point. I still somewhat live in fear that every cough or sneeze that she has is the beginning of a pneumonia.

This year I am so thankful to have my Mom in her (new) healthy state. We are attempting to attain a new normal while still appreciating everything. My wish for my 1 or 2 friends that actually read this is to hug your family just a tad tighter each day, tell your loved ones that you do love and appreciate them, and don't take for granted good health.

Mom meeting our boy, November 7, 2009

Everett's safe in Granna's arms

Mom and Reid blowing out her one year cake!