A Lift

I know it has been so very long since I last posted.

I believe I've been suffering from Ongoing-Traumatic-Stress Disorder. 

You see, I quit my high paying job in July of last year partly because I was pissed at how they treated me, partly because the high-stress, high-smoking and high-drinking lifestyle wasn't conducive to the tiny pup in my belly and partly because I grew up in a wild and loving huge family and wanted the same for my incoming baby.

So we moved, at GREAT personal cost.  We lost so much money, people.  Hemorrhaged it.  I lost more money that you might actually have at your fingertips, and I don't mean to be condescending, I just need you to know how much money we'd saved, how many stocks we cashed out, and just exactly how hard this move was for us.   And then my husband lost his job. And then my severance ran out.  And then my parents gave us money.  And then we were slowly ticking that away.  

I would lie in bed at night and there would be actual physical pain, a neck ache, muscle pains like I'd been in a car accident.  My heart would race and my chest would constrict.   Maybe this is a panic attack?  I'm not dying.  I'm just losing.  I'm losing and I'm a loser and I forced my husband to move like this and I ruined our lives and we have this beautiful baby and I'm going to ruin her life by my selfish choices and we have lost everything.  We lost everything.

But a funny thing happened on the way to the poorhouse.   I got my husband back.  I got my marriage back.  I was gifted with this incredible daughter,  and I got to spend five months with her, and it wasn't hard to forget about my life stress while she was awake.  Because the joy of this little girl supercedes everything else I've been feeling.  And watching my sensitive, articulate husband giggle and smile and play with this little girl, and father her with such love and joy?  Oh my god.  If I didn't love this man before, I LOVE THIS MAN NOW.  

I'm saying all of this now because I have a job.   I was offered a really high paying job, in San Francisco, where we both want to live, doing something that I'm interested in, without all the high stress of my previous occupation.  And I took it.

I'll be in San Francisco by June 8th.  I hope that my husband and daughter are not far behind.

The thought of being without my daughter for even one night is heartbreaking to me, because I live and breathe to see her happy.  But she's got a dad who knows all the tricks, bells and whistles, and teaches me new things about her each day.  

And I think..... What a lucky little girl, that her dad and mom were there for her every day of her life for the first five months.  What a lucky wife, with a partner like this.  What a lucky, lucky, lucky blessed family we are.  We had a life lesson that didn't break us.  Just taught us something really important that we needed to know.

I hope to write more.  I've been unable to be very cheerful, and unable to be very snarky, lately. I've been in an extraordinary rut, and I've been unable to do anything except stupid my pain away.  And I don't want this to be a blog about motherhood, because there are better ones for you to read than me.  

Besides which, my aunt told me I should write a book about motherhood (I send home pictures of my daughter daily to my Ohio family) and I am.  I am writing the guide to motherhood fueled with margaritas and a really kick-ass husband.  I could do nothing without my husband.  He thinks I could, and I think he's wrong, but for a compromise let's just say I'd rather not do anything without him by my side.  

Wow, It's Uh, Been a While

I wish I were more like Alison, but I'm not.

I'm me, and I'm not writing here.  And I'm not only not writing here, I'm not really writing anywhere.  Actually, that is not true.  I am writing.  I am writing copiously, I am writing fervently, I am inscribing on my mind and heart the first few months of my darling, glorious, awesome, incredible baby girl.

I have volumes to tell you.  I have full novels sprung from a moment, from a single laugh of Auden's.  I have learned more than anyone ever tried to teach me.  I've laughed more and had my heart soar more in these last three months than ever in my entire life.

I always knew I wanted to be a parent.  I grew up an Irish Catholic kid in Toledo, OH.  My mom is one of eight.  I am one of 38 granchildren  (for those of you keeping score at home, that means I have 37 first cousins), and now there are 11 great-grandchildren.  There are a lot of us, and not one of us in the family is uncomfortable around kids.  In fact, you could say that a predilection towards children is in our very DNA.  

But I had no idea how much FUN this would be.  I love my daughter, you guys.  I ADORE her.  There isn't a single part of this that isn't pretty spectacularly awesome.  I'm having the time of my life.

Yesterday I was rocking her, she was tired and fussy and doing her fitful "about-to-sleep" thing, and so I bundled her close to me and started rocking her and she calmed down and I looked at her and she was just staring at me intently.  She was looking at me like she was memorizing my face, like I was a map she could imprint on her brain and follow somewhere incredible.  She stared at me and stared at me and then all of a sudden, completely without warning, she reached up and touched my face.  It was the first time she did that.  It was the first time I knew she had purposefully reached for something.  I was floored, thrilled, bowled over, delighted and shocked, all in an instant.  And isn't that parenting?

That's parenting.  The awe and wonder.  

This is a wondrous endeavor.  

I've never felt anything like it.  Watching this tiny life flourish and flower in front of me. Despite all of my particulars, this girl is a darling, she is a beauty, she is a joy and she is a PERSON.

I'm awed.  I'm humbled.  I'm buoyed by my daughter.  She is perfect and I'm the creator of something perfect.  And if you've never believed in God, she will make you do so.  Because there is no way that something this perfect and precious comes to the world without God.

Now, check in with me in 15 years, and I might sing a different tune, but for now:

Isn't she fabulous?

Resuming

I have sent out six resumes in the last few days.  I am starting to really worry here about how we will provide for our daughter.  There is nothing, and I mean, NOTHING out there for my husband at the moment.  

There are a ton of property management jobs, but I read the job descriptions and it makes me want to reach for the bourbon.  Commercial property management can be so incredibly high stress, and I become such a crappy person, all jangled nerves and irritation.  And believe me, added stress to my already irritable nature does horrific things.  I don't have much patience anyway, but under duress I actually have negative patience, sucking the calm out of those around me.  I even can stress the Pope out, and he's well, pretty mellow, all things considered.  

Besides which, if I go to work, I will miss the opportunity to throw this on the kid and take pictures:  

Ooh, that reminds me:  I have moved the computer.  After nearly 5 months of cramming my brain into a too small space, next to the refrigerator and sharing space with the home phone, I have spread out on my old desk, which has been in our bedroom holding cat fur and dirty clothes for the above referenced 5 months.  

This is a look at what you'll see in the background from now on.  In various states of cleanliness and general upkeep:

Ps, I wore that shirt two days in a row and she threw up on me each day.  I forgot from one day to the next.  Tonight, when I realized it, I changed into clean pajamas.  We've done the cry it out method and she is actually going to sleep in her crib and staying there, asleep!  

I miss her.

You know, I really need to get more interesting.  I have just sufficiently bored myself.  I'm going to go wander the house while I wait for my baby to wake up so I can hold her.

New Parent Smackdown

While things are getting clearer, and we're both getting more comfortable in our abilities with the baby, I still find that the clocks in the house blitz through the hours, and each night I'm stunned to realize it is night, and the world is again asleep.

I am suffering from some insomnia, made all the more harsh for the early hours my daughter wakes up.  Luckily my husband will take her at any hour, even very very early hours.  He does so with no protest, and talks to her so lovingly that it melts my heart.  

Breastfeeding has not gone well.  We supplement with formula and even though I am thankful for some extra hours of sleep or freedom that this affords, I just opened a box and found breastmilk bags in the bottom, items I will never need, because I do not make enough breastmilk to have any extra to store.  My throat closed up and the tears started.  I can't control the surge of shame and disappointment I feel when my failure as a functioning woman is revealed to me in tiny ways throughout the day.  

I will be sending resumes out tomorrow, and I am devastated.  What if I get a job, and have to take it??? Because I would have to take it.  I didn't want to return to work this early, not when she is learning something new every day, and not when I still have a glimmer of being able to give her some benefit of breastmilk, however little I can.  Once I go back to work, there is just no way.  She is two months old next week, which seems so old but is really so little.  In that odd paradoxical way that babies get so big and yet remain so tiny and unbelievable.

I just remembered that a urine soaked diaper fell facedown on the floor by her changing table, so I'll go clean that up.  

Then I'll go to bed so I can lie there, unable to sleep, wired by the joy and the hurt and the worry and the love that shakes my mind awake.

Phoning It In

I am phoning it in today, because I have spent a great day napping with the baby and now I'm playing Rock Band with my husband.  He is playing Medium, I am playing Easy and spending more time updating my hair and outfit than I am playing songs.  Every dollar I get, I immediately go and change my hairstyle.

So instead, here are some recent pictures of the baby:

Hello, my name is McScreamy.  I don't like that toy, no, not at all.

Top Chef is so prosaic, you know?

Correspondence File: 1/13/09

Dear Lady at Target with the Open-Mouth-Coughing Kid:

Give me a break, lady! I've got a three week old here! One of the reasons we are at Target right now instead of Walmart is that I can't expose her to that level of degradation yet. And here you are with your kid that is coughing continually, open mouth and all. Just spewing all kinds of illness around everything, like a firehose of germs.

And you're following me!!

Like a homing missile petri dish, just everywhere I go I hear that KOFF KOFF KOFF and see your kid hacking all over everything. We are trying to keep out of your way, but the goddamn stroller turns like a palsied flamenco dancer* and this is our first trip to a store with the baby and we're one big cluster-you-know-what.

But seriously, get out of my baby's airspace or I'm going to full-body tackle you and your typhoid family and slather you with Purell.

In Good Health,
Salome

* turns out the stroller's front wheel was locked and I didn't know. I discovered this halfway through my first walk around our street with Auden. I reached down, fully prepared to bust the wheel in order to make it turn, and realized it had the lock set. Hee.

Musings

I am hopelessly in love with my daughter.

Every expression on her face.  

The way she jerks her head randomly.  

The way she does this huge squeak inhale.  

The way, when she's getting mad, she pumps one leg rapidly, like trying to start a tiny baby motorcycle.  The mad look she gets when we delay getting her food to her.  The blinking awake of this tiny life.  

I don't know how much of the behavior we're seeing now is an indication of her personality, but this newborn is goofy.  She's smart.  She's generally good-natured, but possesses a fiery temper. When she gets really furious she cries in a way that sounds like an angry duck.  WAH WAH WAH.  

I wonder if she'll ever know, 15, 20 or 30 years from now, how I held her in my arms and tried to keep my heart inside my body, tried to keep my emotions from pouring out of my skin and flooding the city I live in.  I so incredibly love this little girl, I am so completely and utterly charmed by this person, I almost can't stand it.  I look at her sometimes and I'm surprised my husband doesn't hear the pop of my heart as it swells beyond its borders. 

And she's not even smiling at us yet!  

Her tiny smiles, right now attributed to gas, or urination or the contentment of falling asleep, are enough to achieve world peace, they are enough to quiet my screaming heart.  They are enough for me, forever.  

They melt me, utterly.

For so long I have examined my life and my decisions with a critical air of disenchantment.  

I now look down at my sleeping daughter's face and I feel I've accomplished greatness.

She's Not Sleeping

She's not sleeping, and it has been five hours.

The Pope isn't feeling well, he retreated to his quiet guest room hours ago.

HOURS AGO and still, she does not sleep.

She is now fed twice, rocked three times, and jiggled in the way she likes many times, too many to count.  Diaper changes:   two.  She's been swaddled, she's been unswaddled, and the whole time she will not stop fussing.  She will doze, she will catnap, but she will not sleep.  

I am losing it, folks.  She needs to sleep, goddamn it.  

I will lose my fucking mind in a second.

In all of this, every time my patience just wears out and snaps, I look at my baby girl and love her more than I could possibly express.  I roll my eyes, I curse out loud and then I reach down and see her alert eyes, and I kiss her cheek, I kiss the soles of her feet, I whisper to her that I love her so much.  

What she does to me!

This kid is killing all the toughness inside of me.

Lucy picked tonight to need me again, after three weeks of being the most perfectly behaved cat I've ever seen.  Tonight, she is trailing beside my feet, winding her way in my walking path and yowling at me.   I love her dearly, so will not kick her, although the temptation is great.  She finally climbed up on the baby blanket and slept beside me.  

I can wash the blanket.  

I love the cat.

So, how are you doing?

17 days old

We're hanging in. I haven't worn clothes other than pajamas in three days and I'm not sure when I last showered. The days blur into the nights, and it seems like I have nothing to show for my hours awake. I'm sleeping fine, but today started crying about a $60 heating bill on our empty house in Seattle. Seems like someone set the thermostat up and left it like that, in our vacant house, with us having no jobs. $60 seemed to unwind me. I am now having a wee glass of white wine, to bolster my Irish heart.

Our daughter is LOVELY. The hugest joy of joys. My darling girl. If you've called, thanks for calling. I'm nowhere near wanting to be talking on the phone right now. It would be awesome if you want to reach me, to email me. The phone ringing right when I'm going down for a nap, or getting her down for her nap, really bothers me. I won't answer if I'm feeding her, and the answer to your question is I'm ALWAYS feeding her.

And now for the photos!!!

Welcome to the World, Pup

The Pope and I welcomed a baby daughter on Friday, December 19th.

Her real name is Auden.  

She was born at 1:13pm.  She weighed 7 pounds, 13 ounces and was 20.5 inches long.

She is without a doubt the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.  

I can't stop staring at her and telling her I love her.  

I have never done anything in my life that made me so instantly and completely happy.  

Birthday

Posting very quickly to say that in four hours we will check into the hospital to have the Pup.

They will be inducing me at 7:00am tomorrow morning.  

The next time you hear from me, I will be a mom.  

How exciting!!!!!

Love,

Sal, Pope and Pup

Not Having Baby, Just Lazy

You know what's good?

Nilla wafers dipped in Nutella.    I have eaten almost half a box of Nilla wafers this way.

Except they're not Nilla Wafers TM, they are Safeway (tm) brand Vanilla Wafers.

Real Nutella, though, I found it one day at the Grocery Outlet.  I'm sure it was confirmed dosed with botulism in order for me to get it at $1.99, but it is Nutella, so suck it up intestines, here we go.

Well!  We are dilated 1 centimeter, which doesn't seem like much since it has taken approximately 3 days of intermittent cramping to get there,  our pelvic station is -1, which is good, and we are effaced 50%.  Which is unchanged from last week.  They tell me not to obsess about that effacement (to which I laugh, because they CLEARLY don't know my OCD with Google) because apparently you can efface to 100% overnight.

The baby is a huge monster, normal for tall people, and totally making me feel better about the whole problem quitting smoking thing I was having there for, oh, 8 months.  

Rest assured, guys, I have not had a cigarette in over a month.  I've been done.  My mom read somewhere that breastmilk of smokers tastes like smoke and when she told me that, I was done.  Well, not really.  I was done after the Pope was let go and I smoked four packs in seven days.  After that powersmoking binge, my vigorous and vibrantly moving baby stilled for two days.  I went to the doctor's office in a panic and spent 20 minutes hooked up to fetal monitoring to make sure that the baby was still happy and healthy and thank god it was.  THEN I was done.  Then I was so, so soooooooo way done. 

You know, things got so bad there, so many punches thrown, that by the end we weren't even ducking them.  We'd just look down, take the hit and then keep slowly moving, lost in our daze of what else could happen.  

Except that I've become a kind of ostrich hydra.  Every time some worry rears its head, I say to myself, can't fall apart over that, bury it.  Then the next thing, then the next thing.  Maybe one day all of these heads are going to look up from the sand and blink at me expectant-like, and I'll have to reckon with them.  Or maybe, the mountains I saw will just stay molehills in the dirt behind me, and I'll keep slowly moving.  

Speaking of my mom, she predicted the following on 10/14/08 (which oddly would have been my 8th anniversary, had I stayed married to my first husband).

Girl

Born December 6th

8 pounds, 3 ounces

21 inches long

Any predictions from the Carcharodonna readers?   

Weight Loss Secrets - Third Trimester of First Pregnancy

Yesterday at the doctor's office I found out that I have only gained 9.8 pounds at this stage of my pregnancy. I have 5 weeks until my due date. The baby is fine, the baby is healthy and happy, and my fundal measurements are excellent, perfect for the stage I'm in. There is no cause for concern, I'm told. The nurse actually told me not to tell anyone about this, because pregnant women everywhere will be upset at my genetic tranquility for pregnancy.

So I decided to blog about it, naturally, and tell everyone how I've managed to do this.

1. Overeat immediately upon getting engaged, and rack up the poundage to a terrifying state that gets you enlisted in your local Weight Watchers meeting after an unflattering photo is taken of your alarming lack of chin.

2. Drink heavily for many many many years preceding your weight gain.

3. Exercise only when in fear of death. i.e. Don't run unless you are being chased, get winded and smoke heavily when you attempt to garden, consider lifting the weekly wine purchases to be all the "conditioning" you need. 

4. Gain and lose the same 2 pounds for three weeks on Weight Watchers while introducing all kinds of leafy green vegetables into your diet.

5.  Get pregnant after almost a year of trying, presumably because the leafy green vegetables hit your ovaries first.  They certainly did nothing for your thighs.

6.  Negotiate transfers to be closer to family now that you're pregnant.  You have stopped drinking immediately, which surprises the hell out of you.

7.  Lose your job when the transfer for you doesn't work out.  You are still craving and eating lots of green vegetables, although pickles gross you out, inexplicably.

8.  Have the sale of your house fall through minutes after the moving company drives away with all your belongings.  Pop Tarts subsist you through the move, which you perform alone,  four months pregnant, while your husband fulfills his obligations to his idiot company who have no sympathy for your situation.  Obligations that he cannot be excused from include Miniature Golf, and last-minute impromptu dinners for "team building."

9.  Have the SECOND house sale fall through when the buyer is an incompetent deadbeat who can't really afford the house, with an estranged wife who is taking legal advice from her friend Doofus McIdiot, who is not actually a lawyer.

10.  Get your husband's company to let him go three months after you lost everything to fulfill his transfer commitment.  It is best if they do this on the last day of the month so that your health insurance expires instantly.  

11.  Voila.  You have only gained 9.8 pounds, yet you manage to have a happy, healthy baby in there. 

Baby, I promise you that I will never treat you the way life has treated us while we were waiting for you.

Oh God

The Pope and I had a 3D ultrasound done last night, so we have an idea of what the Pup looks like now, which is BEAUTIFUL.  I will scan and post soon.

They gave me a diaper bag courtesy of Similac, and inside was a bottle cool pack and some samples.  There is a sample for Aquaphor, for the "baby's sensitive skin," and a sample of Preparation H portable wipe, presumably for the mother's ripped apart butt.

God help me.

Will the Cats Love My Baby?

Or, equally as important, Will the Baby Love My Cats or Will I Need to Release the Baby into the Wild for Wolves to Raise?

I have had a couple of people comment about the cats, and whether I'd get rid of them if for some reason there was a problem with the baby and them, or comment that they'd be interested to see how much spoil the cats once the baby comes. It is something that I think about, so I thought I'd explain myself a bit.

If, when the baby is born, there is a problem with the cats, I will go to every length possible to sort out the issue. I will hire behavioral experts, I will read books, I will do everything I can. And then as a last resort I will keep them separated, and if that still doesn't work, I don't know what my heartbroken self will do.  

I have had Lucy since she was 2. She is now 10 years old, and she has been my best friend this whole time. There have been some hard time, some sad times, some times when I went to bed crying every night. For months. There were weekends I didn't leave my bed. There were nights where I drank so much wine, I collapsed sobbing at my computer, writing tortured poems full of self-loathing and shame. Throughout the whole thing, Lucy always cuddled up to me and purred loudly and slept right with me and always ran to see me when I got home, and spent all her time within five feet of me.

Even now, she is sitting at my feet while I type this. She is old now, and not so spry, and she sleeps more than she eats (which was a ratio I'd never thought I'd see). The thought of abandoning her in her senior years is appalling to me. I can't do it. She has given me everything she's had to give all this time. She has been steadfastly devoted to me since the moment I met her.

The way we spoil them, well that is simply routine at this point. I've given my cats wet food for dinner for at least 7 years now. It is as natural as pouring a glass of water for me. The Pope has done the litter for the last several years, so that will stay the same, and the only thing I can think that will change is the attention that they currently get. But as much as we know the baby will take everything, the cats don't actually ask for much. A lap, a leg when we're sleeping, and brushing once in a while if we feel like it. 

And they're our friends, our family members, they are as much a part of who we are as anything else I can think of.  

We have Comcast cable, which has this great feature called On Demand.  They have a pet channel, and I found a brief show called "How to Acclimate Your Cat to a New Baby."  I was extremely eager to watch this, and selected it.   To my surprise, it was about 4 minutes long.  It said that cats are pretty neutral about babies, for the most part, and as long as you make sure not to ignore the cat completely, they generally get along fine with the new addition to the family.  And that was it. 

Being that Lucy is one of the most constant and loving friends I've ever known,  I think we'll be fine.   

If not, I will change the baby's name to Romulus.   Regardless of sex.

Boobs, Glorious Boobs

A couple people have asked how I'm feeling.
I'm actually feeling pretty much fine. I experienced early nausea, which prompted us buying the test, which gave us the news, which caused me to feel every first trimester symptom in a matter of three days. And then I came to my senses and realized that I feel mostly fine.

By all accounts I am in my 6th week.
I have low to mid-grade nausea, exacerbated if I don't eat frequently.
And if I skip breakfast for any ill-advised reason, the nausea swells up and lasts throughout the day.

Vernor's soda is my friend.
I need to eat frequently. Tiny portions, because I feel full almost instantly.
My boobs, which have been the bane of my existence, are now these gorgeous globes.
They are also about 92 degrees each, they weigh 7 pounds each and they are so exquisitely sensitive that if anyone but me touches them, I'm liable to smack the person. Taking off my bra at the end of the day causes me to wince. Rolling over onto my boobs causes me to wince. Hugging someone causes me to wince. Forget about the cats climbing all over me, the agony would be impenetrable.

I am easily distracted, if I get mad I get rushingly, staggeringly mad, with crescendos of blood pounding in my ears and the precipice of tears rushes on me suddenly. I haven't gotten sad, but if I'm touched or heartwarmed over something, I could just about sob about it. I watched a Baby Story on TLC this afternoon and welled up with tears over how cute a couple's four year old son looked, sleeping. It is goofy and silly.

Today I put on an empire waist blouse and turned to leave the bedroom. I caught myself in the mirror and had to change, it would have given me away completely. Funny how when your uterus expands to the size of a plum, all that excess fat I've been snuggling it with makes me look like I'm 4 months pregnant.

I am most definitely pregnant with the Pope's child, because I crave chocolate, I salivate over chocolate, and as many of you know me well will remember, I'm not actually all that crazy about chocolate, but it is the Pope's favorite sweet.

So far the only thing making me feel sick is the damn candle in the bedroom. I need to throw that thing out.

I wake up like clockwork at 3am to pee. I am a frequent pee-er, but I have almost always slept through the night about it.
I am actually noticing a fair decrease in my trips to the restroom to pee.

So that is how I'm feeling.
And then I'm feeling the other things, harder to describe. Like I want to hold this baby tomorrow! I want to meet this baby in 5 minutes. I want to tell it how much I love it already. How much we hoped for it, how happy its dad and I are that it decided to come to us. How much fun we're going to have, what laughter, love and joy we want to show it, how excited we are to meet this little person created out of the best things of both of us.

At least we hope it gets the best of both of us. I flunked the genetic roulette with my parents, getting none of my mother's slender limbs, lightning metabolism and placid demeanor, getting most of my father's ass, bad skin and frighteningly nasty temper.

Dear pup, please concentrate on the chromosomes carrying your father's calm demeanor. Please get his long, skinny legs, and his thick curly hair. But I hope you reserve some of your mom's for a chance at blue eyes and the ability to raise some serious hell when and if life warrants it.

Cat Saga (Part Boring of 1 Trillion Parts)

Leo has definitely sensed that there's a little kitty in the oven. He is very attentive. Must be on my lap. Must snuggle lovingly whenever I sit down. Stray, (she who was named Cleo but is now called Sheba) stomps flatfooted around the house. She stands, and I swear she is duck-footed. The CUTEST. It is just the cutest. She chirps and squeaks at us throatily. She's a DARLING.


Lucy missed all indicators, then must have suddenly felt left out. Now she's dragging her baby (a ripped up stuffed rainbow mouse-thing whose sticker eyes are hanging on by a thread, she has had it since I adopted her, 8 years ago) around the house and mournfully calls us to it. This mouse she alternately bites, places gently by her bed, leaves next to the food bowl, and once, memorably and instantly washed, in the litterbox.

Wasn't as funny as the time Finny dragged a magazine into the litter box, then looked up startled, while I gasped with laughter in the doorway, but still, touching that Lucy wanted to teach her baby good manners.

All she really wants you to do (I think) is come up to her and ask her how her baby is. She will look up at you with these sad eyes and if you pet the baby then she seems to be ok. She will happily come with you and curl into your legs to sleep.

I find myself most mornings with at least one of the cats snuggled up to me.
This is different in no way than usual, I'm a cat magnet while sleeping, but I'm more touched when I wake up.

The Pope says I'm way more mellow, too. I hope to keep that with me. He says I'm definitely driving differently, although I reached over him and honked in frustration while he was driving today, and that is way not mellow. ;)

It is early to tell anyone yet, but I would sit down to blog with this huge, happy elephant hanging over me, and everything else just paled in comparison to what I want to talk about.

A Baby Shark is Called a Pup

As some of you may know, the Pope and I long for a child.
We have been trying, on and off, since January 2007.

We have both long held fears and suspicions that some vital part of our bodies wasn't working.
We've spent our lives being afraid of contraception failing, fear of unplanned parenthood.

Then you try to get pregnant and you realize that there are only about 3 days a month that it is likely.
And even then, you could try for months and months and months and months without ignite.

So much to our wondrous relief, much to our teary heart's desires, it is with great joy and pleasure that we announce the existence of our little Pup, due December 15th of this year.

Thank you God and all our loved ones in the heavens, for allowing this miracle to happen for us.

Love,
MamaSal and DaddyPope