Finishing What I Sta-

Baby Bed

2011-11-24T15:58:00.001-08:00

Last night while I baked Thanksgiving pies, Daniel assembled the crib. Now our little Leland nook is all set up and ready for a baby boy. Leland's nursery is also a shared office space, so Daniel and Leland are going to chill together in their man cave all the time. I'm just waiting for the day that "No Girls Allowed" poster shows up on the door.

The aquarium, one of Daniel's favorite hobbies, is sure to be a lot of fun for Leland as well. It will also double over as a noise maker and a night light. A very expensive night light.

My sweet friend Roseanna Hatton hand-sewed these sweet little fox and owl pillows for Leland. Roseanna is also pregnant, and her baby girl (Leland's girlfriend,) Lyla is due on December 13th. We are so, so excited to meet sweet Lyla Grace soon!

The canvas with the writing on it was painted with love by Leland's Aunt Audrey. It features the lyrics to my favorite lullaby, "You Cannot Lose My Love"which makes me cry every single dad-gum time I hear it. It's by Sara Groves. Go figure. Here's how it goes:

You will lose your baby teeth.

At times, you'll lose your faith in me.

You will lose a lot of things,

But you cannot lose my love.

You may lose your appetite,

Your guiding sense of wrong and right.

You may lose your will to fight,

But you cannot lose my love.

You will lose your confidence,

In times of trial, your common sense.

You may lose your innocence,

But you cannot lose my love.

Many things can be misplaced,

Your very memories be erased.

No matter what the time or space,

You cannot lose my love.

-Sara Groves

Agh. Now I'm crying.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone. God has been so faithful. I am thankful for His providence and provision, and for the love and support of our family and friends this year as we've prepared to welcome our little one.

"Meaningless! Meaningless!" Says the Pregnant Lady; "Everything is Meaningless."

2011-11-22T13:26:00.001-08:00

I don't even know how many weeks I am anymore guys. I lost count somewhere around a thousand. What I do know is that these days, anytime someone calls me and I don't pick up, they leave me an excited voicemail asking, "ARE YOU HAVING A BABY?!"

Sadly, I'm not.

I'm never having a baby.

I haven't had one. Single. Baby.

And at this point, I'm starting to think there may actually be four or five inside me.

Don't ask me how they missed them in the ultrasounds.

These babies are ninjas.

But on a serious note, there's something I've been putting off telling y'all for a while now. I'm not actually having a baby. I know this probably comes as a shock to those of you who are still naive and pure of heart, and still believe that pregnancy ends in labor, which, in turn, ends in the birth of a baby. But as those of us who are a thousand weeks pregnant can tell you, babies are not born into this world. It is simply not the reality we live in.

I was once like you. I used to call Daniel in a desperate panic and have him fly home from shoots in New Orleans when I had 10 contractions in an hour, because I, too, believed in labor. But not anymore. I have become, as my sister Haley so aptly coined it, a Labor Atheist. Contractions are meaningless. I've been having them for weeks now, and sometimes they are painful and come every two to four minutes. But now, I just ignore them. Fool me once, contractions, shame on you. But until a baby physically comes out of me, I will believe no more of this poppycock about "labor" and "birth". What's that you say? There's a puddle of amniotic fluid on the floor? Ignore that. It's nothing. It, too, is meaningless.

Now that we've established that I am not having, nor will I ever have a baby, let's talk about why I've fallen off the face of the earth.

The real reason have been missing so many calls from my loved ones is because I spend an insane amount of time napping. Most women report that in this stage of pregnancy it's almost impossible for them to get any sleep at all, so I'm not complaining. But I do have (sort of) good news for those women: it doesn't matter. No matter how much sleep I get, I'm still a total zombie when I'm awake. The only difference is that I get to enjoy long bouts of unconsciousness, and that helps the time pass. You could achieve the same effect by hitting yourself over the head with a frying pan occasionally, if you were so inclined.

Every so often, though, I will have one really good day where I will experience a burst of energy. The cycle has gotten to be pretty predictable. I usually have about two or three down days, followed by a day of feeling normal, and then two or three more down days followed by a day of raving lunacy.

On one such occasion last week, I woke up at 6:30 am, baked banana bread from scratch for breakfast, cleaned the kitchen, washed and folded all our laundry, sewed some pennants for Leland's room, made some thank you tags and bows for the goodie bags I'm assembling for the birth team, (this was before I'd given up all hope,) cooked homemade soup, and wrote, addressed and mailed all our thank you notes.

Another time, after catching up on some basic chores I'd fallen way, way behind on, I vacuumed our entire house, including many of the walls, (not a joke,) mopped the floors, and crawled around the perimeter of several rooms with cleaning spray and a sponge scrubbing all the baseboards. I'm not going to say I felt great that night. Or for several days afterwards. Or even that I will ever fully recover. But I'd been lying around on the couch for days at that point, staring at the dirt, silently seething and plotting my victory over it. So when I collected enough strength to do something about it, I showed no restraint.

Each time I finish one of these cycles, I get exceedingly desperate for Leland to come quickly. Because if birth really does exist, and it happens during the part where I haven't touched a dish for days and no one in the house has any clean underwear left, I'm just not sure what we're going to do.

That's about all I've got for today. If I keep being pregnant right through Thanksgiving, I might have some pictures of the crib to post soon. If not, I'm probably just going to post pictures of Leland's face at the rate of 12 per hour for the rest of my life and not bother setting up the crib until he's about six months old.

Happy Due Date, Leland

2011-11-18T09:17:00.001-08:00

Dear Leland,

Today is your due date.

Just sayin'.

Love,

Mom

Third Trimester Highlights

2011-10-24T18:05:00.000-07:00

32 weeks

Purchase absurdly enormous body pillow. Bring home to full size bed and sad husband. Enjoy first decent night of sleep in weeks.

Heaven

Birth class instructor teaches Daniel and I a neat trick: after birth, instead of bathing the baby to get the vernix off, "rub it in like lotion" to "protect the baby." Unclear what we are protecting baby from. Try hard not to make eye contact with each other and risk laughing.

33 weeks

Mom comes to town for a wonderful shower with sweet Axis ladies. Feel the love.

Daniel assembles stroller, stands back and laments its incredible size. "It's so big. I didn't know it would be this big." He's right. It looks like a boat.

34 weeks

Notice first stretch marks on stomach. Soon thereafter, notice girl ahead in line at coffee shop wearing midriff top. Grieve for approximately one millisecond that I can "never wear a midriff top again." Snap out of it, recalling that in the 24 years I've had to try this out, it's never once struck me as a good idea. Promptly get over it.

Get dressed for dinner with a friend. It's cold out; wear red maternity sweater dress I've been looking forward to bringing out. Feel really cute until I look in the mirror and realize I look like a Christmas bauble. Resolve that getting dressed up is no longer worth the effort.

In a dream, Daniel and Nate genetically engineer a son using their own DNA plus that of Brad Pitt, Ryan Gosling, Matt Damon, and various other male celebrities. Their baby will be super hot, genetically superior to other babies, and due 3 months after Leland. Daniel doesn't give a lick about Leland, but is totally obsessed with his and Nate's hot celebrity baby.

Wake up totally pissed at Daniel, stay in a rotten mood all morning. Daniel doesn't know what he did.

Week 35

Daniel and I are 2 years old! Celebrate with a short trip to Chattanooga. Reserve a hotel with very few pictures on the website; don't know what to expect. At least seventeen cats is what to expect.* Have a great time, see aquarium, eat dinner at the best restaurant in the world. Decide to stay in Chattanooga with the cats forever.

Week 36

At my appointment, chiropractor corners me and begs me not to vaccinate the baby. Wish he would stop using words like "child abuse" and "propaganda;" feel very uncomfortable.

Baby drops.

Earlier today

Midwife tells me Leland is measuring a little ahead of schedule. Next week they'll check again, and I may have an ultrasound to determine if the fetus is too strong.

*At the hotel, the tip envelope has a handwritten note on it reading, "anything you can give will help feed the cats!" We get the feeling this whole operation is about the cats.

A Challenge

2011-08-27T11:40:00.000-07:00

During the last 20 minutes of our childbirth class last night, we worked on a relaxation technique that involves deep breathing and massage.

I triple dog dare you guys to lie down on the floor with a dozen pillows around your body while listening to the sounds of soothing music and my instructor guiding the men through how to give a buttocks massage, then have your derriere awkardly massaged for the first time in your life in a room of people you don't know very well at all, then lift your head up from your pillow to see all the men concentrating really hard on massaging their wives butts. I dare you to do these things and not laugh. I was able to stifle it pretty well in my pillow so I don't think the whole class knows that I'm not mature enough to handle the seriousness of labor. But oh my goodness. I am not. It is all so very very funny.

Now This Is Happening

2011-08-18T10:00:00.000-07:00

There's so much to do. So naturally, I'm sitting down to blog about it.

This past week I went to a used bookstore and found a few of the books you all recommended, then ordered the rest on Amazon. I made some good headway on a couple of them this week at work. I was initially expecting to spend much of my free time trying to keep up with all my reading, but then I remembered that I work with the most wonderful supervisors in the world, and as long as we don't have any customers and there's nothing else for me to be doing, which is very often the case, I can read all day and they don't mind a bit. It really is very helpful that I can read at work, since it frees up my days off to work on all my other baby projects. At work, as a courtesy to everyone around me, I've been making a concerted effort to cover pictures of anything alarming, like babies crowning, with post-it notes. Don't want to scare off all the customers.

Tonight I'm attending an open house for Nine Months and Beyond, a doula service in Nashville. They call this event a MaterniTEA Party, and the idea is that you can meet and interview doulas on their Baby Ejection Squad, or whatever they call it. (Probably not that.) Meanwhile, Daniel is currently on his way to Athens, GA to get a tattoo to commemorate Leland's upcoming birth, which means that I'll most likely end up choosing a doula on my own. I hope he likes my choice. And I hope he loves his tattoo. Here's the design:

Juuuust kidding. More on the tattoo later.

This morning I was lying in bed thinking about all the things I need to do in the next three months, and it occurred to me that I wasn't sure when to pack a hospital bag. So I checked it out on my phone. And wouldn't you know, there's a whole website dedicated to the packing of hospital bags. Of course there is. Here's what it said:

"We recommend that you pack your hospital bag by the end of your second trimester. Although this may seem early, it's better to be safe than sorry and you never know if you'll go early."

Guess what today is? The last day of my second trimester. I'm taking a trip to Target and packing today. Who knows what could happen if I didn't have it packed by tomorrow! I'm so glad I found out before it was too late!

Tomorrow marks the first day of my final trimester, as well as the first day of our birth class. Then on Monday I have my monthly (soon to become biweekly) prenatal appointment and Daniel and I are going to our pastor's house to talk to him and his wife about this whole Becoming Parents thing.

Today it feels like I looked up and all at once we have actual concrete things that we can do to prepare to welcome this child into our lives. It's very exciting, because up until now it's just felt like a lot of waiting around. I'm aware that it's common to get impatient toward the end of the third trimester once you can't breathe anymore and you're running to the bathroom every five minutes and you've completed all the major preparations. For now, though, I just feel elated that I can do things. I can start packing for the hospital, setting up the nursery, writing a birth plan and doing stupid looking pretend-pushing exercises with a room full of giant pregnant women and their husbands, (all of whom have a far away look, as though trying to recall how, exactly, they got roped into this class,) and all of those things are perfectly appropriate for this stage of pregnancy. It really is time to start getting ready to have a baby. It's almost time to have our baby!

I Feel Like I'm Cramming for Finals

2011-08-12T23:00:00.000-07:00

As of yesterday, I now am 26 weeks. This means there are exactly one hundred days left before Leland is due to arrive. HOLY SMOKES people!! Time sure does fly when you're having fun! And by "having fun," I mean perpetually vomiting and crying and waddling around out of breath and feeling like a heifer. Fun! So I guess it's time to start thinking about getting this baby out. And also, what the heck I'm going to do with him after he gets here.

In the spirit of preparing to get Leland out, Daniel and I just enrolled in a 10 week childbirth class that starts meeting next week. I realize this is an extraordinarily long birth class, but I'm glad of that. My goal is to have an unmedicated birth, and I know that unless I do everything I can to prepare myself mentally and physically, that is one goal that doesn't have a snowball's chance. To say that I have a "low pain tolerance" would be an understatement so comically enormous that it might actually break the Internet, which is most certainly unequipped to support such an outrageous fib and would be crushed instantly by its magnitude. The truth is, I'm a major baby. I'm one of those charming people who copes with pain via loud complaints and dramatic moans. It's very endearing, I'm sure. And Daniel really, really hates to see me in pain. Let me rephrase that: Daniel really hates to hear me in pain. It really has nothing to do with human empathy or compassion. He's not particularly disturbed by the suffering of others, (which is something we'll address in another post, perhaps...) so long as they keep to themselves and don't go on about it. But he sure does hate it when I'm sick or injured, because he knows I'm going to be a real pain in his butt about it. I force him to commiserate with me. So anyway, I'm fully aware that if I went into labor tonight, before going through a rigorous training program, I would bust through the doors of labor and delivery demanding the immediate attention of an anesthesiologist, and maybe also a little bit of crack cocaine. Haha, just kidding about the cocaine part. Maybe. There's actually no telling what I might do when I'm in pain. Remember that time I hurt my eye and cried in front of strangers all week? Good times.

Another way I'll be preparing for birth and beyond is by reading alllll the books. Here are a few I'm bound and determined to read in the next 14 weeks.

One of my friends who delivered both her girls naturally recommended this book on childbirth:

And I've heard good things all around the Internet about this book on newborn care:

I'm also going to read these parenting books, both of which have been recommended to me multiple times by trusted sources:

Regarding the last two, I'm aware that during Leland's first year much of this information won't really be applicable, but I'm eager to start preparing anyway. I have a hunch that when he does start needing guidance, instruction and correction, I might not have time to sit down and read a book right away. I think I'll be a little preoccupied trying to keep him from hiding Daniel's wallet in the toilet or painting the nursery with his own poo. I'm sure I'll reread both of these in the future, but it won't hurt to go ahead and start mulling them over now.

While I'm on the subject, do any of you have books on childbirth, newborn care or parenting that are must-reads for new parents? Did anyone do well with Baby Wise? Want to try to convert me? Now's the time! In 14 weeks, I probably won't be reading much, and even if I were to try, I have it on good authority that my brain will have turned to pudding from sleep deprivation, and I will probably be completely illiterate. So this is a limited time offer, people! I may never read another book again! What are your favorites books? 1-2-3- GO!

The Tree of Life: Thoughts On Giving Birth to a Teenager

2011-08-05T09:50:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Daniel and I went to a see a matinee of The Tree of Life. Now, this post is not a review of The Tree of Life. It's more of an anecdote about how we responded to it. But if this were a review of The Tree of Life, I would have a few questions.

Such as:

What actually happened in the first and last quarters of this movie? Why did they pay Sean Penn to be in this movie if he was just going to wander around a shiny building for a disjointed collection of abstract shots with awkward camera angles and muffled audio and maybe/maybe not have a girlfriend or wife, we can't tell, but definitely have some girl in his house with whom he has no dialogue and who brings tree limbs inside while he lights a candle, and then go back to the shiny building and get in the shiny elevator and have a muffled phone conversation with his dad and then go to the beach in a suit, but never really be a crucial part of the character arc or participate in the story in any tangible way? It seems like it would cost a lot of money to put Sean Penn in your movie? And like maybe you would use Sean Penn sparingly and only put Sean Penn in your movie if you really needed him there? Because of all the money? And WTF is up with the dinosaurs? And that wounded prehistoric sea monster? And was that beach heaven? And when they were on the beach/maybe in heaven, why was everyone the same age they were in 1955 except Sean Penn? And are they all dead? Because his mother seems really surprised to see her son who died earlier? But no one else? But for some reason I thought she was maybe dead as well? But maybe this was just her field trip to heaven in her 30 year old body with her whole family circa 1955 including her dead son but also one of her sons is in 2011 instead of the fifties so he's 20 years older than her? You know, that common thing? And who was that one kid with the hair, and what happened to his head/hair? Did he get burned? It looked like maybe he got burned? Why didn't they just shave the rest of his head? And not to belabor the point, but dinosaurs? I don't understand why there are dinosaurs in this movie?

But, like I said, this isn't a review. So I'm not asking those questions.

In the middle of the movie, there's also a coherent storyline, and we really enjoyed that part. It portrays the life of a family in the fifties from the time their first son Jack is born until he's about 13, and it's a beautiful depiction of childhood, growing up, and family tension. And boy howdy, did that family have some tension! Good grief! Between Brad Pitt being a total A-hole and putting his wife in a headlock and his oldest son contemplating murdering him by dropping a car on him, my fingernails suffered some trauma. I ate some edamame after the movie and got salt on my fingers, and it did not feel good.

After the movie, (before the edamame,) Daniel and I talked it over and realized that we'd both been relating to the parents' perspective more than the kid's. I don't know about Daniel, but for me, that was a new experience. It was interesting to me because when I thought about it, I realized this is clearly intended to be the child's story, not the parents'. I think Daniel and I related to the parents' points of view because the narrative begins with the child's birth, and since we're currently preparing for the birth of our first son, we processed it as a story about parenthood, not childhood.

Well, until Baby Jack is about 9 years old, everything's just peachy. Jack loves his parents and listens to them and thinks his mother is an angel and everything she does is magic. But as he approaches adolescence, he becomes kind of... turdish. It doesn't help that Brad Pitt's parenting style is to intimidate the poo out of his kids and then dictate affection from them, ("give your father a kiss." "Do you love your father?") but Jack starts to discover a sinister side of himself that can't be entirely blamed on his dad. Jack can't stay a child forever. It's time to grow up. But first, it's time to act like a total punk for the next ten years.

Thus begin Jack's rebellious teenage years. Like I said before, we only follow the family's life until Jack's about 13, but he's done plenty of damage by that time, I assure you. He says awful things to his mother, asks Jesus to kill his dad who he despises, shoots his little brothers' finger on purpose and also breaks into his neighbor's house to do something really creepy and gross that I don't want to go into. It was pretty weird y'all. I didn't want to see that.

Watching this boy go from infancy to adolescence in the span of 30 minutes was particularly frightening for me. I think there's a part of me that believes that's exactly what's going to happen. I get the feeling that the passage of time accelerates x12 when you have kids, so from the minute Leland is born, there will be 5 minutes in an hour, 2 hours per day and 30 days in a year for the rest of my life. And suddenly, Leland will be in elementary school. And then he'll be a teenager and Daniel and I will be 40. And then, suddenly, he'll be going to college, then out of college, then married then having kids and I'm going to be a grandmother!! No! I can't be a grandmother yet! I'm only 24! I'm still a kid! I want my mommy!

Here's another issue that this movie brought up for me: When we found out that we're having a boy, I felt really scared and I didn't know why at first. I've thought about it since and have come to realize that I am terrified of teenage boys. Seriously, scared out of my mind. And according to my calculations above, I'll practically be giving birth to a teenage boy anyway, so I've got no time at all to prepare for this. The thought that I will soon have a teenage boy and I will be his parent, which, to a teenage boy equals mortal enemy, is almost too much for me to handle. I would never in my right mind pit myself against a teenage boy. Are you kidding me? They're ruthless! But this won't be just any teenage boy. This will be my baby. And he will have the power to break my heart just by looking at me the wrong way. And he will. He'll break my heart every day without even batting an eye. And I suppose that when that time comes, Daniel and I will learn about a new and deeper level of love. We'll learn how to go about loving someone who lives in rebellion against you, when all you want for them is what's best. We'll learn what it means to have compassion on someone who despises you unjustly and scorns your wisdom. I think when that time comes, we're going to come to a much deeper understanding of how God loves us. I am really not looking forward to it.

Anyway, as Daniel and I sat there watching this movie, we kept internalizing it and attributing this character's destructive behavior to... our unborn fetus. Daniel said as he was watching, he found himself thinking, "Leland! Why are you acting this way?!"

This poor kid. He's got a lifetime of this kind of crap to deal with from his confused, misguided parents. We're already asking him to explain himself for stuff he couldn't have possibly had a thing to do with. "Guys," Leland says," "calm down. I don't even know what a movie is."

A Tale of Woe

2011-07-24T10:47:00.000-07:00

The time has come, my children. My eye is open, vision has returned, and I can gaze unflinchingly upon my laptop screen. Come close, little ones, and I will tell you my tale. Listen, and I will tell you the story of the vacation from hell.

When Daniel and I booked our flight to California, we had big dreams. I imagined long, lazy afternoons stretched out on the warm sand, soaking up the California sunshine. There would be virgin pina coladas in abundance, and I would dig a little hole for my belly so I could sunbathe my back comfortably. (My tan had become comically uneven.) Daniel had his fantasies, too. He spoke of going for a dive near a (nonexistent) reef off the coast. We could rent a couple of bikes and ride along the beach at sunrise. Maybe we'd take a little sailboat out one day. And we were both excited about the prospect of getting in some quality shopping at local boutiques and stores we don't have here in Nashville. This vacation was going to be just what we needed. We would cherish the pictures and memories for years to come.

The only comfort I've had since the storms of disappointment first rolled into our sunny babymoon skies has been this little observation: nobody- no matter how much they love you- nobody enjoys reading about the vacation we were anticipating. Nobody cares to hear how relaxing and perfect and dreamy your trip was. It's not that your friends don't want you to have a nice time, it's just that a nice time does not make for very entertaining material. So every time something went wrong, I would just tell myself, "it's okay... this will probably be really funny after the Vicodin kicks in."
Daniel had been suffering from a pretty nasty cold all week before we left. Fortunately, he recovered just a couple of days before we flew out. Unfortunately, I caught it the day before. Our travels on Saturday went pretty smoothly until we were landing at LAX and my ears wouldn't clear. I tried everything. I was frantically chewing gum, plugging my nose and blowing, drinking water... all to no avail. As we touched down, I felt the bubble of pressure from my ears force itself into my sinus cavities. It felt less like a headache, and more like a little demon in my forehead prodding my brain with his trident while laughing maniacally. I knew then that it was too late, and that there was nothing left to do but wail and cry in pain. So that's what I did. We sat on the tarmac for about 20 minutes in the inexplicably hot plane while they dealt with some maintenance issue with the gate. It was a long time to weep in front of strangers. I think everybody was pretty uncomfortable.
That afternoon, while I laid down for a nap in hopes that my ears would clear in my sleep, Daniel went grocery shopping. When he returned, he told me that someone had hit our rental car in the parking lot and left a note. He called the girl and left a message, but she never did call back.
In spite of these things, we were still highly optimistic about the week ahead. The apartment we were staying in was even nicer than we'd expected, and the owner had thought through every detail to make our stay comfortable. She'd even set out a cheese plate, fresh cherries and wine for our arrival. While I couldn't enjoy the wine, I thoroughly enjoyed the snack and we both appreciated such a thoughtful touch. And then there was the climate. There was no air conditioning, but we soon discovered that all we had to do was open the doors and windows and a cool breeze would keep us perfectly comfortable. It was such a refreshing change after the sticky mid-July heat we'd left behind in Nashville. That evening we walked to the beach and Daniel brought his camera. Everything from the plant life to the graffiti was new and beautiful and exciting to us. When we reached the boardwalk on Venice Beach, there were plenty of colorful sights to see. (There was this one guy on stilts with what appeared to be moss covering his body and dreadlocks? Someone dressed as Spiderman? Also, a lot of open drug use. Indeed, "colorful" may have been a bit of an understatement.) We came back to the house for dinner, and we both proclaimed aloud that this week was going to be fantastic, starting the minute my ears cleared.

Sunday, my cold was a little worse, my headache was a little sharper, and my ears were still clogged. I started to worry I may have an ear infection, and decided to go to the doctor on Monday and get it checked out. Hopefully, that would leave enough time to heal before the flight home Thursday.

On Monday we were having lunch at my Aunt and Uncle's house, so I located an urgent care center near their home and decided we'd swing by after lunch, before heading into Hollywood to do some shopping and sight seeing. We had a delightful time with Aunt Merry Lynn and Uncle Steve, who Daniel still hadn't met and whose home I'd never been to. Afterwards, we went to the urgent care as planned only to find that it only became an urgent care clinic after hours? And before that it was... something else, I guess. Anyway, no big deal. We'd just go to Hollywood and have our fun, then come back between 6 and 10 pm to see a doctor.

The first thing we did in Hollywood was go to the Beverly Center, where we'd heard rumor of an H&M with maternity clothes. When we got inside the mall, we went in Bloomingdales to use the restrooms. On our way back out, we spotted an All Saints section in the women's department. We started browsing, and soon a sales person was following us around making suggestions. I went to the dressing room with a lot of flowy tops we thought might work with my bump. I tried on the first top, showed it to Daniel, then started changing into the next. When I went to toss the blouse on the bench in the dressing room, the sales tag, which was made of cardboard and unusually heavy, swung at my face and scratched my left eye.

"DAN-IELLLL!!! HOLY.... GET IN HERE!!! OPEN THE DOOR!"

"What is it? Is it your ear?"

"NOOOOOOHMYYYYGOD!!!!"

I was convinced something was stuck in my eye. I didn't know what- maybe a safety pin or a fighter jet. Whatever it was, it hurt like the dickens, and I needed Daniel to get it out. But when I held my eye open and rolled it around, he couldn't see anything. I wasn't satisfied with his answer until I looked in the mirror myself. I was surprised by what I saw... not only was it not hemorrhaging, there was nothing there. Daniel suggested we go sit at one of the tables around a coffee kiosk we'd seen outside Bloomingdales until my eye felt better. I had a pretty good feeling this wasn't going to blow over in ten minutes, but I agreed. He led me, one eye shut and streaming, through the mall, past a lot of people who I could feel staring at me.

Daniel sat me down at a table, and brought me some napkins for my eye, then went to the counter to order something. While I sat there, there was this one guy sitting alone at another table facing me. I wondered what he was thinking as I sat in front of him, some pregnant lady all red in the face and crying, clutching her eye. I wondered if he had a vague idea of what must have happened. He continued to stare at me, but looked pretty indifferent and unsympathetic.

While Daniel was waiting in line, I tried to open my eye a few times. One time, I held it open for several seconds at a time, and got really excited. I was cured! It was over! Let's go to H&M! I waved at Daniel to get his attention, then opened my eye and animatedly began pointing to it with one hand while waving with the other. Almost as soon as I did this, I blinked and was struck with the worst pain I'd had yet, like a piece of shrapnel from a nearby explosion had plunged into my eye. I screamed and clutched it again, dabbing it with a napkin as the river began flowing anew. The guy at the other table was unimpressed. He clearly thought I was some kind of idiot.

Soon after that, we gave up the ghost and decided to leave the mall and head toward the urgent care so we could be there when it opened. But when we arrived, they turned us away, saying that they were part of a medical group, and you had to be a patient of that medical group to receive treatment there. It all sounded like a bunch of nonsense to me, but I gave up long ago trying to understand the bizarre rules of the medical community. They sent us to an ER across the street.

At the ER I was rudely checked in, rudely questioned about why I’d come to the hospital and rudely asked for insurance information by various personnel. By the time I got to the waiting room, I could no longer disguise my tears as directly related to my injury. And even if I could have done that much, I was sobbing hysterically, so the gig was up.

I feel like I need to step back and make a little disclaimer here: I can handle mean people. I can even laugh when people are mean to me. It can be funny sometimes! But I was having a pretty bad night, and I was in a lot of pain, and I don’t know if y’all have noticed, but my body’s been rather flooded with hormones lately. So yeah, maybe I was a little on edge. The thing is, no one in the waiting room knew any of these things. I just looked like I’d escaped from the psych ward.

When they called me back, I was “helped” by a PA named Jesse. One of the first questions Jesse asked me was whether I was on any medication. I told him I was on my prenatal vitamin, and that I was taking Sudafed, Robitussin, and Tylenol Cold. He looked dumbfounded.

“Have you talked to your OB about taking all of that?”

“That’s what my midwives recommended last time I had a cold, so I just took that again this time. Are any of those bad?”

“That’s just… really a lot of medication to be taking at once when you’re pregnant. What if you had a reaction to one? How would you know which one? Here in the state of California, we just think the baby’s health is as important as the mother’s. But you know, that’s just how we do things…”

I asked what he would suggest I take instead, and he said plain Tylenol. But Jesse the PA wasn’t done upbraiding me yet.

“Do you see an OB? Or are you just seeing your midwife?”

“Well it’s not just one midwife, it’s a clinic with several nurse-midwives who do my regular prenatal checkups, so an OB isn’t really necessary.”

“So you don’t have an OB?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

(Pause)

“That’s just the route I wanted to take.”

(Longer pause)

Okay… (The clear undertone being, “Okay, I guess if you want to kill your baby, that’s your prerogative…”)

Finally, Jesse started addressing the things I actually needed his help with. He looked in my left ear.

“Oh yeah. Full blown ear infection. Looks like it’s gonna burst.”

He prescribed an antibiotic. I tried to get him to advise me about whether it was safe to fly, but he just wished me luck. “Good luck! Hope your eardrum doesn’t burst!” This was not very reassuring.

He then explained that he was going to put some numbing drops in my eye so he could swab it with a dye and look at it under a black light to see if it was scratched. He said he would send me to the waiting room while they prepared the dye.

By the time we got to the waiting room, I was in hysterics again. At first, I felt guilty and ashamed for taking so much cold medication. But soon, it started to dawn on me that this Jesse character was a giant A-hole. He had just treated me like I’d come in and announced, “In Tenn-uh-see, me and the other hill people like to sprinkle rat poison on our Corn Flakes in the mornins. My midwaff says that’s just fine. My baby loves it when I go cliff jumpin’ and do a good belly flop, ‘specially when I get him good ‘n drunk!” He’d suggested that he and the state of California cared more about my baby than I did because I was following the advice of inferior medical personnel who happen to be staffed by Vanderbilt Hospital, thank you very much. I have a lot of faith in my nurse midwives, and this PA was starting to seem like a real ignoramus. What a jackass. I hate him.

This is the frame of mind I was in when he called me back to the examination room. He put a numbing agent in my eye, which made it feel better. Then he stuck a stiff little strip of paper in my eye and started rubbing it around, which did not make it feel better. I have this unusual condition called reflexes, which caused me to flinch a little, and that sure was a problem for Jesse, who was very rude to me about it. I could have punched him in the face.

When he looked at it under the black light, he said, “Oh wow! That’s a deep corneal abrasion, right through your vision center! You may have vision loss!” He sounded super excited about it. Obviously, Daniel had a lot of questions about that, like, “what do you mean, ‘vision loss?’” but Jesse said he couldn’t say, and there was just no way to tell if I’d be blind in that eye until after it healed. I could tell Daniel was pretty concerned, but I wasn’t. I mean, what Doctor breaks that kind of news to someone that way? I had a gut feeling that him celebrating my potential half-blindness and telling me my eardrum was “about to burst” were just textbook examples of bad bedside manner and general douche-baggery.

Before we left the ER, I had to sit in the waiting room one more time. This time I’d been given the numbing agent and could temporarily open my eyes. I saw that there was a small child who had broken his leg, and was not sniveling and making a scene like I did. I also saw that all the other people in the waiting room seemed scared to look at me.

The next day my eye felt worse, and there was some gunk in it which we'd been warned to watch for, so I got scared it was getting infected and we went to an ER that was closer to our apartment. It wasn’t infected, but the doctor there was much nicer, patched my eye for comfort, (Jesse said they don’t do that anymore. Screw Jesse.) and prescribed me some Vicodin. I was wary when he first suggested such a strong painkiller, but as I’d recently been informed that California doctors care about my baby more than I ever could, I took his word for it. (Just kidding. I made him show me in a medical reference book where it says it’s okay for me to take that.)

He referred me to an ophthalmologist nearby and told me to get an appointment for the next day so he could check on it and make sure it was healing properly.

I felt significantly better for the next 12 hours, and we even ventured out for a walk on the beach that night. This was our first outing besides trips to the hospital since I'd maimed myself. My eye was too sensitive to light for me to go outside for long, and I had been walking around with both eyes shut since having my good eye open tugged too much on my other eyelid and caused more pain. The patch remedied both of these problems, and the painkiller made me feel up to enjoying an experience like a walk on the beach.

My eyepatch. I think I thought I was smiling.

The next day I went to the ophthalmologist as instructed, and he patched my eye again (I’d been told to take the first one off that morning) then we returned to the scene of the accident so we could get me some freaking maternity clothes. I started feeling kind of queasy on the way to the mall, and thought the Vicodin must be making me carsick. When we got there we found out that that H&M didn’t even have maternity clothes. But you know where they did have them? In Hawthorne, the town we’d just come from 45 minutes away. So we drove back to Hawthorne in the middle of rush hour. And I got some dang maternity clothes. When we were done shopping, I wasn’t feeling great, and my eye patch had come undone in the store. Daniel suggested we go out to dinner since it was our last night in town, so we drove to Santa Monica and to a restaurant Daniel had found with good reviews. When we got there, I felt nauseated, but after we parked the car and sat still for a while and I thought I was going to be okay.

Umm, long story short, I ordered a $30 dish, took two bites of it, and ran to the bathroom to vomit. So we went home.

Obviously, I stopped taking the Vicoden after that, so the little demon came back and started stabbing my brain again.

The next morning we (read "Daniel") packed our things, then we went back to the ophthalmologist before our flight home because for some reason the doctor really wanted to look at it one more time. I just want to point out that this makes four consecutive days out of the five days we spent in LA that we were in an ER or doctor’s office. I was still feeling sick, so I told the doctor when I got there that I thought I was having a reaction to the Vicoden and asked if there was anything else I could take for pain. He said that really any other narcotic was going to do the same thing, and my best bet at that point was to just take Tylenol and wait it out. I was in a lot of pain, and I was going to be flying with a double ear infection to top it off. I knew I had a hard day ahead of me. I just didn’t know how hard.

Daniel and I were on way to the airport having a conversation to the effect of, “Thank God we survived this trip! And we're still married!” when he realized we had the address to the wrong rental car location and decided to pull over and figure out where the heck we were going. When he attempted to pull into a nearby gas station, he sideswiped another vehicle.

In this moment of crisis, when we needed to bust out our problem solving skills and do our best to wrap it up and make our flight, my contribution was to burst into tears on impact. Literally. The very millisecond that I felt the car hit something, the floodgates opened, just like that. I was actually kind of surprised by how readymade and accessible this meltdown was. The whole time Daniel stood outside my window exchanging phone numbers and insurance information with the other driver, I just sat there and sobbed my way through a box of tissues like a ninny. The other driver seemed to be making a concerted effort not to look at me, and I felt the same way I’d felt in the waiting room and at that coffee kiosk. I knew this guy was wondering what the heck was wrong with me. I didn’t want to personally explain myself to him just then and tell him what my week had been like and how much pain I was in and how pregnant I was, but I did wish there was a sign over my head that would explain it for me. I just felt like he couldn’t possibly be giving me enough credit.

After Daniel finished handling all the wreck business, we went to the rental place to return the car. I was starting to feel a wave of nausea coming on. We had to file an incident report, and we were trying to do it before the next shuttle to the airport departed. I felt like we were on the Amazing Race. We turned in our form and keys just in time to board the bus. The doors shut and the bus started moving, and then… I puked. I held it in my mouth and ran to the front of the moving shuttle while Daniel yelled, “Let her out! Let her out!” The driver stopped and I ran out to the bushes and continued to barf for a couple of minutes, with this whole busload of people watching me. When I was finished the driver, much to my surprise, let me back on the bus and we headed to the airport.

When we got there, Daniel literally sprinted to check us in for our flight, and our tickets printed out with the words “seat request” on them. We went to check our bags, and there was a lady looking at people’s tickets before letting them in line. When we gave her ours, she looked at her watch and said…. “Ohhhhh. It looks like you’re not going to make it.” The impression we got was that had we been five minutes earlier, she would have let us go. Dang bus puke.

A hundred dollars later, we were assigned to a different flight departing not long after our original flight time. Soon we boarded a plane, where we sat in front of the two most ill-behaved boys in the United States. They sat directly behind Daniel and me, kicking our seats with vigor and screaming things like, “Why you put ice on my butt?” and “HE SPIT IN MY FACE!” Their mother was not much quieter than them, and spoke about fifty decibels louder than anyone else on the plane. Sometimes, she would raise her already booming voice to chide in a thick African accent, “I NEIVA travel with yoo againe! NEIVA! Deed yoo enjoy thees treep? GOOD! NEIVA AGAIN!” Needless to say, my ears and headache were in great shape after being jolted around in my seat for five hours in front of this charming family.

One good thing about a really bad vacation is that it makes your own home feel like paradise. I’m still recovering from the cold, but my eye has been feeling much better for the past few days, my vision is getting clearer, and I’m not throwing up anymore. Saturday after we got back, my friends threw me a shower where I saw a lot of people I love who were so kind to me, and none of whom looked at me like I was crazy, not even once. Daniel had a wedding this weekend so he left Nashville about eight hours after we landed here, but he’s back now, and everything can just go back to normal. Now we can put this vacation behind us, and pretend it never happened.

I do want to add, just for good measure, that the antibiotic I took for my ear did give me a yeast infection. I guess no vacation is complete without a souvenir. I'd probably be a little more shy about publishing this information to the internet, except that if you've read this far, I'm pretty sure your name is probably Debbie Rice. (Hey Mom! Thanks for reading!)

The End.

What's In a Name?

2011-06-28T16:37:00.001-07:00

Let me tell you one thing. Naming a baby should have been a piece of cake for Daniel and Hannah Meigs. We love naming us some babies. We even made a hobby of it. Throughout our relationship, we've been texting or emailing each other at random during the day when we hear a name with a nice ring to it. We've kept a running Word document since 2006 consisting of 20-30 of our favorites. We're like those crazy people who collect scary porcelain dolls or cuckoo clocks, but with baby names. So if there's one thing in this world I was confident Daniel and I could do, it was name a baby.

Then I got pregnant.

Our first conversation on this topic was brimming with enthusiasm and confidence. We pulled up our faithful Word document and began narrowing it down to a short list. By the end of that discussion, we had tentatively agreed on one boy name and one girl name, and agreed to test drive them for a while and see if they stuck.

What a great start! This is going to be so easy, right? Wrong.

Less than a week after our initial conversation, I got cold feet about both names. We'd run them by a few people, and I didn't feel like they'd gotten adequately positive responses. I suddenly found myself deeply insecure and paranoid that bestowing either of the names on our baby would be to subject him or her to a life of social ostracization, as well as a plethora of personality disorders.

From that point on, I was no fun. I became increasingly rigid and tense about what other people would think of our names. Daniel really liked the name Lucas, but, umm, sorry, that rhymes with mucus. The name Edwin came up, and we both loved it initially... for a minute, we thought we might have a winner. But one morning I woke up totally convinced that someone was going to call him a fairy prince and it was going to stick and then everyone would call him Edwin the Fairy Prince and he would get beat up on the playground. I honestly don't know where I got that idea, but I couldn't shake it. Eventually, I got over it and realized that Edwin is a perfectly decent name, but by that time I think I had ruined it for Daniel.

On the rare occasion that we both liked a name and it made it past my hypersensitive Target of Ridicule Radar, we'd immediately test it out by telling people about it. This, we now know, was a huge mistake.

When it comes to baby names, everyone has unique preferences and sets of experiences that shape what names they're attracted to, so ten different people can have ten very different reactions to the same name. (Really, this is a great thing. If this wasn't true, we would no longer have thousands of options to choose from when naming our unique baby snowflakes. There would just be two options: The Boy Name and The Girl Name. Everyone would just agree that those were the best names, and chuck the others. Boring, right?) So when you and your partner find a baby name you both love, that in itself makes it a very special name. You shouldn't expect everyone else in the world to be as enamored with it as you both are. If other important people in your life don't love the name you choose, it will grow on them in time because that name will come to represent a child they love. You shouldn't fret over whether they take to it right away.

Here's the thing, though.. even though I know all of this intellectually, my expectations are still entirely too high. Fifteen people can smile brightly and assure me that we've selected the most astoundingly beautiful and equally masculine name in the universe, but as soon as I hear a negative comment about it, even if it's from a stranger in an online baby name forum, that one comment will lodge itself in my brain and taunt me until it has totally and irreparably ruined the name for me. I'm confident that people wouldn't share their opinions with me so freely if they knew this. I simply can't be expected to take criticism responsibly or in moderation.

In many cases, no one has actually said anything negative, I've just been overly sensitive and analytical about body language and the absence of positive feedback. But on occasion, people are more assertive, and sometimes outright rude. Here are some examples of things people have said about names we were seriously considering.

-Makes me think of an evil vampire. (Well, it wouldn't if you didn't read trashy vampire novels. That's on you, buddy. Don't hold me responsible for your poor life choices.)

-He's going to hate his name.

-Reminds me of a hillbilly.

-You know he's going to change his name.

-He's not a prophet. (In response to Elijah.)

You get the idea. You guys, I'm telling you, our baby is going to be nameless until he's old enough to name himself if people don't stop cluttering my brain with their opinions. So, without further ado, I hereby formally grant you all permission to lie to us about what you think of our names. Really! Please! I beg you to lie to me! I am so happy to be lied to! If you think the name we choose sounds like a dog fighter, or a male stripper, or someone who deals drugs out of an ice cream truck, please, for the love of all that is holy, keep it to yourself. If I tell you we're naming our son King Acidophilus Rainbow Y2K Meigs, please just smile and say something nice like, "what a strong name!" Got it? Are we all clear on how we're responding? Will everyone please take a moment to practice smiling and nodding? And lying to my face?

Great. Now if everyone's ready, I have an announcement to make. Daniel and I have, at long last, picked a name that we both love and feel really good about. It's such a relief to finally have a name after fretting over it for so long.

We're naming our son Leland Elijah Meigs. Leland is pronounced Leeland, and we'll call him by his first name.

Do you like it? Be honest! ;)

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes!

2011-06-08T12:18:00.000-07:00

I'm approaching 17 weeks, and things have been changing fast. I'm happy to say that I haven't any had morning sickness for a couple of weeks now and that I've started feeling the baby flipping around, which is a lot of fun. Last week Daniel and I went to Hattiesburg for a wedding. The first morning we were in town, Audrey began aggressively bouncing my tummy around and commanding the baby to wake up, so he kicked her, which is exactly what I would have done if someone woke me up that way. I was surprised that she could feel him kick so early, but you have to keep in mind that she really got up in there. I think nursing school strips you of your inhibitions and sense of delicacy about other people's personal space. She had her fingers pressed a couple of inches deep in my belly, so I estimate that sane, normal people probably won't be able to feel him kick for a couple more months.

Another thing that has changed recently is that I've transitioned from thinking about the pregnancy all the time to thinking about the baby all the time. For the first few months, I was so intensely aware of the weird stuff my body was doing that sometimes I nearly forgot about the whole baby thing. This probably sounds strange to many of you because of how pregnancy is a beautiful miracle, but what you need to understand is that pregnancy is also a weird and gross miracle, especially for the first few months. Certain things I knew to expect- nausea, soreness, sensitivity to odors, etc. But I'd like to propose that even the classic pregnancy stuff, when it’s happening to you personally, is a pretty bizarre experience. For 24 years, my body has followed certain rules and patterns that I've learned to anticipate. For instance, when I’m hungry, I feel like it’s time to eat, and not like it’s time to puke my guts out. Eating is pretty counterintuitive when you feel like it’s time to puke your guts out, by the way. But the thing is, for the first few weeks of my pregnancy if I didn’t eat when I was nauseated, I would actually puke. I felt like my body was angry with me and was intentionally sending me mixed signals to confuse me and make me suffer. “I need sustenance so you should probably vomit now,” is what my body told me on a regular basis. “What, My Body?? WHY?!” I would ask.

“Normal” stuff aside, it turns out that your body can pull pretty much any stunt on you when you’re pregnant, and the doctors will be surprised by absolutely none of it. “Sometimes that happens” is something you start hearing a lot after you become pregnant. At times, I can’t help but feel like they’re not really listening.

Me: “I’m pregnant, and this morning I pulled a gummy worm out of my belly button.”

Doctor: (filing her nails,) “yeah, sometimes that happens.”

Here’s a true story of something that apparently “sometimes happens.” I know now that this was the first pregnancy symptom I had, although I didn't know I was pregnant at the time, and didn't make the connection between the two because it’s super weird and nobody ever would. One morning I woke up, got dressed, drove to work and after being at work for about 10 minutes, I just... stopped being able to see anything anymore. I could see colors and vague shapes, but anything more than a foot in front of my face was a blur. I thought I was going blind or that maybe there was a tumor pressing on my brain. I panicked for a while then called my doctor and cried a little. After a few hours it went away. The next time I experienced it was a few weeks later, after I’d learned I was pregnant. By this time I’d read about all kinds of crazy stuff that can be chalked up to pregnancy hormones, so I had a hunch that I should probably call my nurse midwife in case this was just another one of the many things my body's allowed to do. She gently informed me that blindness in pregnant women is okay and normal. Of course it is. Body: a million. Hannah: zero.

Lately, I've been feeling much better and have grown used to some of the pregnancy stuff that felt so foreign at first. Meanwhile, I've also become more physically and emotionally aware of the baby’s existence. Of course I was happy about the baby from the beginning, but for a while it all seemed a little abstract to me. I’d see pictures of what the baby was supposed to look like, and for what felt like a long time, it looked much more like a plant than a baby. Seeing the baby in my first ultrasound helped me start to wrap my mind around it. I got to see with my own eyes that there was someone in there. Then the first time I felt the baby kick, something changed. I lay there thinking, this is my child, and I’m his mother, and no one else gets to experience what I'm experiencing with him right now. I felt so joyful. It was the first time I'd ever thought much of it, but suddenly I felt tremendously thankful to have the privilege of carrying him.

So lately, I've been think about him instead of my body. I carefully plan his nursery and research diaper brands and baby monitors. I want to make everything the best I can for him. I wonder what kind of parents we’ll be. I wonder what we’ll decide to name him. I wonder what he’ll be like. What will he look like? Will his personality be like mine or Daniel’s? I can't wait to meet him and learn the answers to all my questions.

Thinking about his arrival naturally leads me to think about giving birth. Today I looked up and realized I was daydreaming about the day the baby comes, and I wasn’t afraid anymore. I was driving to work and thinking about what songs I wanted to put on a play list for labor, wondering whether I'll prefer happy, upbeat music or something softer. For the longest time, I wouldn’t talk or think or read about labor because I was so scared and I didn’t want to make it worse by learning any more about it. I remember talking to my friend Racheal back in April just before she delivered her first baby, Nora. She was telling me how miserable she was and how ready she was to go into labor. I was so mystified by that. To me, it was like hearing someone say they were ready to die. While I dreaded it and avoided thinking about it at all costs, she was looking forward to it. I thought she was in some kind of denial. I thought all women must have to go into denial to want to give birth. Maybe it’s true, and maybe I’m in denial, but I’m not petrified by the thought of the pain anymore. I think that's because I’ve gotten a small taste of what I have to look forward to. I’m not saying I’m mentally prepared to have the baby today, but I do look forward to it and I know that when the time comes I’ll be ready.

Pretty soon I’m going to start shopping for birth classes and doulas. Becoming better educated about the birth process is going to be a little daunting, but I’m guessing also pretty entertaining, based on some of the weird stuff I’ve read so far. For instance, I don’t know if you guys have heard this, but I once read that during labor, it’s very helpful to have someone “stimulate your nipples” to move things along. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!! If anyone tries to do anything of the sort while I’m in labor, that person is going to lose a finger. Also, one of the educational pamphlets I received from the birthing center warned me not to insert anything into my vagina after my water breaks. And guys, I’m so glad someone warned me, because definitely the first thing I would have done in the event of labor would have been to pop a foreign object in there, had they not informed me that it was a bad idea. I mean, I think it probably would have been my first instinct, really.

Tomorrow I'm going in for the follow up ultrasound so we can determine whether our boyish child is a boy. I'll let y'all know if it turns out to be more girlish than we originally thought.

A Modest Child

2011-06-02T14:52:00.000-07:00

Today I had an ultrasound to find out the sex of the baby. And guess what??

It's a boy-ish!

The umbilical cord was tucked between his knees the whole time so I'm going in again next week to see if we can get a better look. The tech was unable to get a very clear shot of his nether regions today but once he got the view you see above, he said he's 99% sure it's a boy and would be very surprised if it turned out to be a girl.

If this baby does turn out to be a girl, though, I'm definitely never letting her find out that one of the first comments made about her physical appearance was that she "looks boyish."

Daniel is out of town right now, so Sarah Emily came with me to the appointment. I think the receptionist thought we were a, err, "non-traditional" type family. The tech may have thought so, too, since we were holding hands and cooing during the ultrasound, like this was both of our child. Sarah Emily is a good friend, and I'm glad she loves my baby so much already. I was happy to have someone there to be excited with me.

During the ultrasound, we did a lot of funny things to try to get the baby to move so we could get a better look. First the tech had me hula an invisible hoop to try to shake the baby up. Later he just started bouncing his hand on my stomach and saying, "wake up, baby!" Eventually, the baby did wake up, and it was so cute to watch him stretch. At one point he was waving at us. Sarah Emily said he was going, "Hey y'all! I'm not gonna let you see anything, m-kay?" I hope this kid is more accommodating after birth than he was today. Sarah Emily's more generous interpretation of the difficulty we had today was that he's "a very modest child."

A few weeks after we found out we were pregnant, Daniel and I went to McKay Used Books to hunt for some of the pregnancy books I wanted. While we were there, Daniel found this book and got very excited, and we made our very first purchase for the baby.

This nostalgic book contains such priceless information as how to make the world's greatest paper airplane, how to tie a knot and how to write in invisible ink. It equips fathers to prepare their sons for adventure, which is going to be so much fun to see Daniel dive into. It's also pretty darn cute, and will definitely be displayed prominently in our monster's room. Best six bucks we ever spent.

Meanwhile, it appears that the little girl pjs I bought at a consignment sale are going to be passed along to another child. One who's not so "boyish."

Pictures Now, Story Later

2011-05-19T16:38:00.000-07:00

Last night, Daniel drove this baby home from Chicago. Isn't it perty?

Eat, Drink and Be Merry For Tomorrow We Die, Pumpkin

2011-05-17T08:35:00.000-07:00

Last night I attended a bachelorette party for my friend Hannah Parish who's getting married this Saturday, which, incidentally, is also the long awaited Day of Judgment. We had so much fun celebrating her upcoming nuptials and kicking off our last week on this earth. Her Aunt Diane threw her the most fun lingerie shower I've ever attended, then we got our nails done. After that we went to dinner, where I enjoyed a faux cocktail, and then back to Sarah Emily's house where we played games. The girls had cocktails while I had more mocktails and got myself all hyped up on juice. It was a wonderful time with very special ladies.

I am looking forward to this wedding so much. Hannah and her groom Daniel (I know, weird coincidence) have incredible taste in clothes, art, music, food and friends, so this wedding is bound to be abundant in style and personality. Daniel and I are so excited for this sweet couple, and Daniel has looked forward to the prospect of shooting their wedding since long before they got engaged. That's how cool they are. As excited as I am to celebrate with them at their wedding, I'm even more excited I'll be there to see what adventures lie in store for this sweet new family in the future.

Here's something else. Last night when we were at the restaurant, I caught myself just in the nick of time before I called our 40-year-old male server Honeybear. What? Why would I even think that? The thing is, this has been happening to me a lot. I don't know what to do about it. I've never been much of a pet name person, and I actually have some pretty intense pet peeves related to that. I hate it when anyone who isn't extremely close to me* calls me Honey, Hon or any variation of Sweetie, especially if it's a girl my own age. It seems really condescending to me. So why am I suddenly bursting with the impulse to call perfect strangers Baby, Babycakes, Babychild, Honeychild, Honeybear, and Boobear, to name a few? Every time I get coffee, I consider calling the barista some new term of endearment. Of course I never do it, but it always leaves me feeling really disconcerted. I ask myself, why do I want this so bad? Why am I like this?

I know what y'all are going to say. You're going to say something about this being a new maternal tendency, and maybe you're right. But I don't know if I can directly pass this one off on pregnancy. You have to pull the pregnancy card sparingly, by the way, or soon you'll be justifying all kinds of inappropriate behavior like arson, kidnapping and grand theft auto. I definitely think it's indirectly related to being pregnant, though. There's the chance that thinking about my unborn baby all the time makes me misplace my affection for the baby on whoever's in front of me at the moment, (for instance, middle aged men with receding hairlines and visible nose hairs). Maybe since I don't have a baby that I can physically see and squeeze and call cutesy names, I feel the need to at least do that to somebody. The other theory I've considered is that maybe I think that the fact that I'm somebody's mother now gives me a license to act like everybody's mother. Like I have some kind of special privilege. But I have no idea where I'd have gotten that notion. I don't see other young mothers running around calling fellow adults baby names and getting away with it. I mean, people do it, sure, but people also dress dogs in tiny human clothes and carry them in tote bags. You can do a lot of things in this world, but that doesn't mean you should, or that those things aren't awkward for everybody around you.

I guess that concludes my random pregnancy observations for the day. Now for a brief update on Trimester 2 thus far. I've been feeling much more energetic for the past few days. I usually still need naps, but when I'm awake I feel more alert and energetic than before. My nausea hasn't gone away, but it has changed. Anytime I get nauseated, the onset is really sudden and intense, and I'm more likely than before to actually throw up. But the good news is that it's briefer, and doesn't seem to happen quite as often now. Oh, and my baby is the size of a peach. And that's all I have to say about that.

*A few questions to help you determine if we're extremely close:
1. Are we married to each other?
2. Were you in my wedding party?
3. Are you related to me by blood or marriage?
4. Have I ever peed in front of you?
If you answered yes to any of the above, you are qualified to call me whatever you want. May I suggest Love, Doll or Dear? I love being called all those names, and on occasion, if they come from the right stranger, I don't even mind. Also, me and my sisters' favorite name for each other is "Piddle." I have no idea where that came from, but I love it so much.

Super Daniel

2011-05-14T11:22:00.000-07:00

Today, I want to talk about what makes Daniel Meigs is the best baby daddy a girl could hope for.

I mentioned a few of my annoying pregnancy symptoms in my last post, including fatigue. I'm going to talk about that one some more. Y'all, I've been a mess. I can barely pull it together long enough to get myself cleaned up, dressed and to and from work, where I'm pretty much a zombie. On days I don't work, I'm generally about as productive as one of these guys. For a while, the tasks around the house that I normally take care of- cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping, etc.- were either being severely neglected or performed by a very cranky little girl. But not anymore. Because guess what? Daniel Meigs to the rescue, that's what.

I've been so thankful to have Daniel these past few weeks. He noticed that I was struggling to keep my head above water, so one day he just started doing everything I was too tired to take care of. He didn't ask me if I needed help, he just started helping. One day, out of the blue, I came home from work to find the formerly filthy kitchen spotless and dinner in the oven. Dinner! Dinner has been the bane of my existance on days I work, because it involves forethought and preperation, and by the time I get home I'm already starving, and there is nothing scarier than a hungry pregnant woman. Trust me on this. Fixing dinner after work has probably made me the crankiest I've been over anything these past 13 weeks. I'm tired, my feet hurt, and I just want to lie down and magically have food in my belly. But it's not. And I have to stand up on my angry pregnant feet and make it. So if Daniel had presented me with a diamond encrusted tiara in that exact same moment, I probably would have been like, "that's nice, honey, but DINNER?! This is too much!"

Another thing: I don't know where Daniel is getting all this energy and time. He works too, you know. When he doesn't have a shoot, he spends most of the day editing. I don't understand how he's getting all his work done and still managing to pick up my slack, but I'm grateful to be married to Mighty Man.

I feel so blessed to be going into this whole parenting thing with such a helpful, sweet partner. It's so good to know that when I have too much on my plate, he'll come through for me and he'll do it with such a cheerful spirit.

He ain't too hard on the eyes, neither.

One Down, Two to Go

2011-05-10T09:37:00.000-07:00

I'm now 12 1/2 weeks, and baby and I hit a couple of milestones this week. First of all, at long last, The Bump has begun comparing baby to decent, respectable fruits. This week, baby has reached the size of a plum. This may not sound like much of an accomplishment to anyone who hasn't had a baby in the age of the The Bump, but what you need to understand is that our baby has graduated from being compared to wimpy and often unappetizing foods, such as apple seeds, olives and prunes. Poor Baby Meigs' cuteness has been insulted time and time again, but we're past all that now. We have crossed into the land of sweet, adorable, plump fruits, and no one will ever compare my baby to a prune again if they know what's good for them. Also, about a week ago, Baby Center's artist's renderings of fetal development started looking significantly more baby like, and less like some kind of mutant grub. Baby Meigs is getting more attractive by the minute, as evidenced by those ultrasound pictures, which I just can't stop looking at. Do you guys want to see them again? No? You're sure?? Okay. Here are some labeled pictures of someone else's reproductive system, though. You're welcome. The first picture depicts week nine, while the second is week twelve. See what I mean?

The second milestone is that these next few days in week twelve will be my last days in trimester one. Crossing over to trimester two is something worth celebrating because everyone is projecting a significantly more pleasant existence for me during the coming three months. Legend has it that during the second trimester morning sickness is forever banished, energy returns, and by some accounts, the hormone-induced emotional roller coaster I've been riding levels out. It sounds just like the Promised Land. I hope every word of it is true.

At this point in time, all three of these things take place every day of my life:
1. Nausea, often accompanied by dry heaving. At least I haven't thrown up much, but still... this is getting old.
2. A nap. If I can't take a nap, I develop a miserable headache between 2 and 4 and can think of nothing but my bed and how comfortable it is and how good it would feel to be in a horizontal position.
3. Tears. I'm pretty sure I've cried every single day of my pregnancy so far. It's pitiful. Adele's new album is good, but I suspect it's not really all that sad.

So as I said, I am happy to leave trimester one behind and move on to bigger and better things. Although I'm pretty sure "bigger" is the operative word here.

Welcome to Prego Land

2011-05-03T08:21:00.000-07:00

Remember that time I didn't blog for two months? Well, this time, for once, I have a legitimate excuse. We found out about six weeks ago that we're expecting, and decided to wait till after my first appointment to make a public announcement. In the meantime, could not think of one single thing worth blogging about that didn't involve babies and pregnancy.

Yesterday, at long last, I had my first prenatal appointment and everything looks great. Now I'm free to sing of my pregnancy loudly from a mountaintop or, more practically, plaster photos of my uterus all over the internet. Incidentally, I am aware that some people are uncomfortable with ultrasound images. I have never been one of those people, so I'm not very sympathetic to their plight. But I would like to formally apologize now to anyone I've offended. I know some of you who I'm facebook friends with have not seen me since high school and probably don't care to see my insides. That being said though, if you knew the first thing about me in high school, you really shouldn't expect better behavior from me now. Come on guys, think about it- we're talking about the girl who co-founded and regularly celebrated the holidays "Vagina Tuesday" and "Uterus Thursday." And it wasn't because I was making some bold statement about celebrating femininity, either. I was just very immature, and thought that was hilarious. Come to think of it, some of you probably shouldn't be facebook friends with me at all. I'm kind of gross. Am I really the kind of person you want to be associated with? Your mom told you in high school that you're known by the company you keep, and that's why you stayed far, far away from me. You should probably keep that up, because, as I said, I'm crude and immature.

Now that we've got that out of the way, let's move on to the very pressing matter at hand: boy or girl? Okay, so it's really not pressing at all. But it feels that way to me and this is my blog, so I get to call the shots on what's pressing and what's not, okay? I hearby declare this a pressing matter of extreme urgency. So here's what I want to do: when my sister Haley was pregnant with her first child, Kate, she held a poll on her blog and had people place their bets on the baby's sex. It was a lot of fun, and by the way, I guessed right. I have a great track record in the baby-sex-guessing department. But you can bet your hiney I'm not telling you what I think the baby is now, because then it may compromise the results of the poll. I don't want you guys peeking at my test paper now that you know I'm a straight A student in Divination.

If you're still reading this and didn't peace out a few minutes ago when I made my very convincing case for why you shouldn't be my friend anymore, please leave a comment and cast your vote. I'm going to have to think of some kind of prize for the winners. You know those contests where you guess how many jellybeans are in the jar and if you guess correctly you get to keep the jar? It will be like that. But wait... in this case, I think Jar of Jellybeans = My Baby. Nevermind, bad example. You can't have my baby. But I will give you something. Like, maybe I'll let you name the baby. Just kidding. But maybe though, because we're kind of stumped. I know we have almost seven months left to figure it out, but I'm starting to worry we're never going to find a name we both love. We might end up having to settle on a name neither of us like, just so it will be fair. Like Urkel. Or Fanny.

(Oops! There it is again! But look how sweet! I just can't help myself. I hope I successfully weeded out those squeamish guys earlier.)

I also have a pregnancy related update on my haircut situation from February. My backward bangs have grown out at lightning speed! It turns out that was such a fortunate time to get a bad haircut. Thanks, baby! Also, I do have to admit that even though there were things about that haircut that were simply unforgivable, the length grew on me after a week or two. I may start getting it cut that way from now on. But, you know, without the unfortunate... features.

I leave you today with the promise of much more frequent updates. Now that I'm free to talk about morning sickness and nurseries and fruits that thebump.com is comparing my baby to, (this week it's a lime,) I am confident I will have a lot more to say for the next seven months.

My Dogs Have Gone Feral.

2011-02-28T13:13:00.000-08:00

Daniel and I went to Hattiesburg over the weekend for this wedding. While we were down we visited with my parents and Audrey, enjoyed a traditional Rice Sunday lunch, and basked in the warm Mississippi sunshine.

While we were gone, Nate took care of the animals for us. When Nate take pet sits for us, depending on the weather, we usually have him leave Naavah and Wilco in the yard so that he only has to come by twice a day to feed them instead of worrying about potty breaks and such. Last night we returned late, and they seemed very happy to have us back and to sleep in our room once again.

This morning when Daniel left for work it was rainy, so he didn't let the them out as he normally does. By the time I got up, they were getting pretty stir crazy and talking back a lot. (If you know Wilco and Naavah very well, you know what I mean by this.) By this time it had stopped raining, and I figured they probably just needed some exercise. I put them outside for an hour while I made coffee, worked on unpacking from the trip and cleaned the kitchen.

When I returned, here's what I found:

It appears that the idea of being outside dogs grew on them pretty fast.

Also, something on my to do list just moved itself up a few spaces...

What Happened to My Hair

2011-02-24T20:55:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, it struck me that my hair had grown very long without my consent. I don't mind long hair. In fact, I typically prefer it. But mine was by no means the sleek, soft long hair that we can all appreciate. Lord no. What was happening in my particular case was that every hair on my head was rising up in mutiny against me for forgetting to cut it for a year.

I only recognized the problem when, for several days in a row during my morning routine, I spent 20 minutes thrashing about in an unsuccessful attempt to release the wild animal that had entangled itself in my mane. And that's when I realized it was time for a haircut. So I booked an appointment at a local salon school.

Now, if you know anything about my unfortunate history with salon and spa treatments, you already know what an asinine move this was, and probably have a pretty good guess as to the outcome. For those of you who aren't familiar with my uncanny knack for selecting the world's most unprofessional salon personnel, I'll have to chronicle those experiences in a future post. Just know it's bad, and that I really ought to have learned my lesson by now, the lesson being that I shouldn't allow anyone to touch a hair on my head, (or elsewhere,) unless they have a PhD in Cosmetology, which I am almost one hundred percent sure isn't a thing.

I will say this for myself: I at least had the sense to request a level four student, meaning a student who's almost completed the program, and has had more hands-on experience. I was told over the phone that Jessica would be cutting my hair, and when I arrived the girl at the desk asked me to wait while she got Jessica. The first red flag went up when a young man who appeared to be about 14-years-old came to retrieve me from the waiting area. He introduced himself as Tyler*

Tyler was a sweet boy. He reminded me of the kind of kid I was in high school, and the kind of kids I hung out with back then. Part of me related to Tyler, and I wondered if he was the same insecure teenager I had been not so many years ago. I wanted to help him along on his journey somehow. Perhaps by imparting some wisdom to him, or just listening, or being his camp counselor. But though Tyler was a very sympathetic youth, by no stretch of the imagination did he inspire confidence. There wasn't a graceful bone in his body, and this became apparent to me within approximately one minute of meeting him. Every move he made was sharp and sudden. I wondered what he was doing here, and considered the possibility that he'd just walked in off the street.

I still had a faint, distant hope that maybe this kid was just prepping me for Jessica. I'd never seen anything like that, but who knows? Maybe the students had mentors here? Maybe he was just shadowing Jessica? I soon realized, though, that Jessica was but a happy delusion of the past, and that Tyler was my future. Whatever Tyler had in store for me would be mine to live with.

The first thing he did was brush out my dry hair with a fine tooth comb. As I described earlier, my hair was not exactly in a brushable state, especially not when it was dry. Also, Tyler did not know how to comb hair. He started at my roots and just tore his way down. There was a lot of muscle involved. It was the worst. I'm serious you guys, I still have a headache.

Next, he awkwardly "shampooed" my hair, which could me more accurately described as "rolling my unsupported head around in a sink while lathering my forehead and neck excessively." Meanwhile, he told me the story of how he had decided to become a hair dresser. "I had always straightened my own hair," he told me, "but I never thought of cutting hair. I went to community college for a semester, but I just wasn't interested in school. My parents (who he'd mentioned earlier that he lives with,) were totally cool with it when I dropped out. Then one day my friend's hair looked really stupid, so I told him to wash it and I would blow-dry and straighten it for him. (Gay.) When I was done, he said it looked really good, and he was like, 'man, you should cut hair.' At first, I was like, ‘no,’ but then I thought about it some more, and I thought it could be kind of cool, even though I'd be the only straight guy doing it. (Sure.) When I told my parents they were cool with it. So here I am... and I graduate next week!"

In my last ditch effort at optimism, I took comfort in knowing that Tyler was one week away from graduating, and was, in fact, a level four student. But my confidence was soon shattered when he asked me what kind of music I was into, and upon my returning the question, he answered that he liked "emo and hardcore." No. There was no hope to be had here. I knew exactly what I was dealing with. It was time to accept my fate.

After once again aggressively combing the ever-living daylight out of my hair, the first thing Tyler did was pick up the topmost chunk from the crown of my head and cut it three inches short. Like reverse bangs. Tyler and I had discussed in detail what I wanted done to my hair, and what was happening right now had nothing to do with that conversation. I really just wanted a trim. And now I had bangs on the back of my head.

He kept cutting with all the technique and sophistication of an ape. It was so random- as far as I could tell he would just pick up a piece and cut it whatever length felt right? He was free styling my haircut, you guys, and I knew it, and there was nothing I could do. Well, that's not entirely true, I guess. There was always the option of asking for someone else, but I really didn't want to hurt his feelings, because he was so proud of what he was doing. And that's another really weird thing about the psychology of getting a haircut from a nine-year-old. I felt the need to support him in his dreams, because he was so tender and vulnerable. I needed to protect him by telling him that of course he could be an artist when he grew up, and displaying his art on my fridge. Except that his art was my hair, and my fridge was my head. He genuinely thought what he was doing was great. He kept saying things like, "this is going to be awesome!" I couldn't see it, because he'd started in the back, but I was pretty confident it was not awesome.

The haircut became visible as he made his way around the side of my neck, and I realized that this was even shorter than I was expecting, and that the backwards bangs were rapidly becoming 360 degree bangs. I was really, really worried. I asked if he thought I would be able to pull it back in a ponytail, as this was my only hope for hiding this obscene haircut until it grew out. "I don't know," he replied, then, looking at the student next to him, "Emily*, do you think she'll be able to pull this back in a ponytail?" Emily replied in an exasperated, Hermione-esque tone, "No, and if you keep cutting it that way, she's going to look like she has a bowl on her head.” When he started to protest that it was too late to change the pattern, she interrupted, “She doesn't want layers that high around her face, Tyler" ("...you harebrained buffoon!"). Emily then demonstrated to Tyler how he could try to save my haircut in the remaining two-inch margin on either side of my face. Half an hour later as he worked on some final touches, he exclaimed, "I'm really glad Emily told me to do that!", solidifying my distinct impression that he had had no exit strategy until that moment. I actually came that close to having a bowl cut.

Before he "styled" my hair, he told me he'd need to have a teacher come look at it. A very flamboyant man came and examined me, and asked Tyler, "what do you sthee here?" He was pointing to either side of my face at the ends of my hair, directing Tyler's attention to the very plain fact that one side was longer than the other by at least an inch. The teacher touched up my hair a little himself and blended the layers, but told Tyler to fix the length issue himself, I guess operating on the principal that fixing such a careless mistake would be to encourage the behavior.

Finally, Tyler “styled” my hair with a diffuser, repeatedly praising its volume. I would be much more inclined describe what was going on as “unruly poofiness,” but yes, I suppose “volume” is another way to put it. If there had lingered any trace of hope that Tyler had a genius master plan that would justify this goofy haircut and turn everything around at the last minute, it was obliterated. I looked like I’d just woken up after sleeping on wet hair. Tyler declared it “awesome.”

After this two hour ordeal (seriously,) I went to the front, and the girl at the desk, who'd already gone over the pricing with me for the various levels of student experience, charged me for a level one haircut. There are two possibilities here: one, she saw my hair and felt really bad for me, or two, they always charge Tyler as a level one because even though he's graduating next week, everyone knows he's a dud.

Now that I’ve styled it properly a few times, I’ve decided that I can live with it, and maybe even go out in public on occasion. I’m going to have to get it fixed by a professional because I’m sporting the “two haircuts for the price of one” look on the sides, where the highest layer is taking on a life of its own and looks like an independent haircut. But I'm uncharacteristically unemotional about losing so much length. After all, it's not like I cared about the do I was rocking before- not like I patiently and painstakingly "grew it out" and nurtured it. I seriously just forgot about haircuts for a year, and it kept growing because hair does that, and then one day I realized I couldn't brush my hair anymore, which kind of ticked me off. I was actually kind of mad at my hair at that point in time. So... good riddance, I say!

The experience reminded me of this great commercial for a Cosmetology school in Utah that exhibits a healthy sense of humor about the risk one takes when receiving a haircut from a student.

Lesson learned. Next time I get a haircut, I'll just go to Cognito.

*In the interest of protecting Tyler's identity, Tyler is not Tyler's actual name.

*Emily's identity is not protected by a pseudonym, because I don't want to diminish one drop of glory due to her. Sweet, sweet Emily. Merciful goddess of the Salon School. Helper of the helpless. Thy name shall ever be revered among the mortals. Amen, and Amen.

It's That Time of Month Again

2011-02-09T08:49:00.001-08:00

Time for me to write my monthly blog post.

Wait... what were you thinking? You guys are gross. Grow up already.

Since I do have a tendency to blog on a roughly monthly basis, let me tell you about the coolest thing that happened to me this month. My brother Aaron told me in late January that he, Kelly and Clark would like to come visit Daniel and I. So last weekend, they made the five hour drive to Nashville with a one year old in tow, which I realize is no small feat. They were also really good sports about the sleeping situation at our house, which is currently not great. We do plan to remedy that situation this year, so please don't cancel your plans to come see us just yet. Even when one of the four animals in the house (I suspect Babs) climbed into the basket of guest linens and soiled them, the valiant Aaron Rices didn't complain or even go to a hotel. They just slept right on them, like little babes. No... no that's not what happened. Seriously guys, please don't call me and say something came up that will make it impossible for you to ever stay with us again. It would break my heart. It's not that bad, I promise, it's just kind of medium bad.

The highlights of our weekend included going to the Pancake Pantry on Saturday morning to participate in the famous Nashville Tradition of waiting in line to get into the Pancake Pantry. The food was pretty good, too. We also introduced Kelly to the Wii, but I don't think she was into it.

Oh, and Clark ate his first sushi.

So as you can see, we had a really fun weekend, and Clark is the cutest baby Nashville has ever seen. The end.

Now let's discuss my employment situation. I think it's time we all talk about it. About a week ago, my manager at Obelisk approached me and was like, "you're just going to keep showing up here, aren't you?" And I was like, "Yeah. Even if you stop paying me, I'll keep coming." So they said I could stay and my job's not seasonal anymore. Okay, so that's not exactly how it went down... the point is that this puts me in the position of being able to work several days a week and still have time to write from home. Lately I've been trying to get the ball rolling with freelance journalism by building my portfolio (read, "writing for free") in hopes that one day someone will want to pay me to write for them. So now that we're on the subject, would anyone like to pay me to write for them? Pretty please? I promise it will be more polished than this blog, and I won't make jokes about menstruation in my introductory paragraphs. Usually I'll probably wait till somewhere in the body, maybe the conclusion. You have to know when your audience is prepared for period jokes, so it's a little different every time. It's really quite an irregular thing. You can't just schedule it, say every 28 days. lolz.

Alright. I'm done. Before I go, though, I'd like to direct you all to an exciting blog that's going to get even more exciting come March 23, when our dear friend Nate Johnson takes off on his trip biking (and blogging) from Florida to California. Nate is a photographer, and will post a series of photo essays documenting his trip and sharing stories of people he meets along the way. In his first post, he articulates his reasons for wanting to do this. It's very inspiring, by which I mean that it makes me feel like a lazy bum. Here's how you can support Nate on his journey:

Read his blog. The opportunity to share stories is the core reason Nate is doing this. Whether you know Nate or not, he would so appreciate your comments and words of encouragement along the way.
View the map on his blog and get him in touch with anyone you know who he can stay with along the way. Nate will be camping most nights, but any chance to sleep in a bed will be very welcomed, as you can imagine.
Pray for his safety and health.
Spread the word. The more readers, the better!

Thanks for reading, everyone. I'll catch you in a month or so.

Not That Simple

2011-01-12T08:35:00.000-08:00

I've been so ashamed of how neglected my blog has been that I've been having a hard time making a comeback. I feel like I need to have this incredible post prepared that will describe in detail all the amazing things I've been up to in order to adequately excuse my extended absence from the blogging community. Unfortunately, today I have no such post prepared.

I guess some neat stuff has happened over the past few months, now that I think about it. There was Thanksgiving with the Meigses, then Christmas with my family, then my birthday. I had my first article published, and there's been a lot of snow to play in... but those things are not what I want to talk about today. Today, I am compelled to blog because I want to talk about gossip. And advice. But first, a lot of other seemingly unrelated things. Hang in there...

Yesterday, the newest issue of Real Simple came in the mail. I just subscribed a few months ago, and this is only my second issue. I thoroughly enjoyed the December issue and most of what I read I agreed with. I found it not only practical, but in some cases profound.

One article in particular, citing psychological findings, attempted to address the age-old question of what truly makes people happy. There were some silly things in there, like keeping plants or fresh flowers in your home, which are supposed to promote healthy brain function. But there were also some pretty surprising reports. For instance, the article addressed misconceptions about money and happiness. It explained that though we tend to believe more money will make us happier, that this is simply not true- at least not in the long term. Here's why:

The author likened it to walking into a cold room after a long jog on a summer afternoon. At first, the body experiences pleasure in response to the change of temperature. However, over the next several minutes, as the body adjusts to the new temperature and the heart rate slows to its normal pace, the brain will begin to tune out the temperature, and the person will stop feeling the former pleasurable response and will simply accept the environment- begin to take it for granted.

The study suggested that we respond to an increased income in much the same way. At first, especially if we've been under financial strain, an increased income will trigger a pleasurable response. However, we will quickly adjust to our new income and it will seem normal. We will begin to take it for granted. So higher income cannot be expected to provide long-term happiness.

What can we expect to make us happy? The article focused on the satisfaction that can be found in putting others first and living generously. In fact, the studies cited showed that "splurging" on other people has a more powerful and long-term effect on one's well being than splurging on oneself.

While I think many of us can relate to this from personal experience, (how many of you experienced this phenomenon during Christmas?) I found it surprising that a magazine produced in the good old USA was endorsing selflessness. Rather than telling me what I'm used to hearing from such sources: "go ahead... get that thing you've been wanting," or, "you've been working hard. You need a vacation."-it suggested that my time and money would be better spent focusing on others.

And that is how Real Simple earned my trust.

As a side note, I thought it was pretty cool that in these studies, psychologists were just skimming the surface of the counter-intuitive message of Christ. In our cultural context, where we live by the laws of instant gratification and self-preservation, these findings may sound ground-breaking. But this is nothing new. Jesus' disciples have believed this for over 2,000 years.

So, like I said, yesterday I got the new issue of Real Simple. I got to work today, and was looking forward to a bit of light reading. If I was lucky, I thought, I might even come across something that would feed my soul, or challenge me a little.

I flipped through the pages and the first article that caught my eye was entitled "Five Things Worth Admitting To." Among the five were confessions such as, "You don't have all the answers," and "Your house is usually a disaster area." The fifth thing worth admitting to was, "Everything."

"Interesting," I thought. "Go on..."

The paragraph read:

"Be frank about your age, your sexual orientation, your criminal record, (if you have one), your tattoos, your scars, and your prescriptions. Admit to your bad moods, your neuroses, your fantasies and your fears and it will be so cathartic you won't need therapy."

I liked the sound of this. What a thought- how would it change our relationships if we were all more honest about our flaws? If we weren't too proud to admit that we were human and made mistakes? If we apologized when we were wrong? I kept reading...

"Better still," the article continued," you'll be able to gossip without hypocrisy... No one can fault you for talking about others' indiscretions if you're the first to reveal those things about yourself."

Wow. That was disappointing.

I was expecting the reason to be something noble, perhaps that being open about these things means you can relate to more people with the same potentially embarrassing experiences... that it opens the door for you to hear others' stories and share what you've learned, while reassuring others that they're not alone. Or that it makes you more approachable and human. Or that it will help you to keep a loose hold on your image.

But as it turns out, all that honesty ultimately comes back around to preserving your image. You'll have a license to be shallow, to meddle and gossip, and no one can rightfully call your hand on it, because you're just being "honest," just like you always are.

Sigh. Real Simple, you've let me down.

It's okay, though. It just made me think, and here's what it made me think about: You can't really rely on one source, whether it's a collaborative effort like a magazine, (which is just plain foolish to place stake in, as I wanted to) or an individual, to always speak good counsel and truth. There are all kinds of lies out there masquerading as truth, and we are responsible for the counsel we accept. Also, if counsel is easy to accept, we may want to challenge it. Usually the right thing to do is also the hard thing. And as Jane Austen once wrote, "how quick come the reasons for approving what we like!"

All the Pretty Things

2010-10-28T10:35:00.001-07:00

Last week, Daniel and I celebrated our first wedding anniversary. At the time, we were visiting Elmhurst, IL so Daniel could take his brother Joe's senior portraits. Joe is, without a doubt, ready for college. Just take a look at this guy... he simply oozes intelligence.

Seriously, though. This is what college is really about, isn't it? Being comfortable enough with yourself to dress up like a banana and walk around downtown like you own the place. We had a lot of fun taking these pictures- everyone in Elmhurst was simply delighted to see a banana amongst them. Joe was an instant celebrity. The public was especially pleased when we got in the car. His stem was getting squashed down by the roof, so Daniel opened the sunroof and we stuck it out the top. People were practically in tears for joy.

So we celebrated our anniversary in Chicago. Daniel's parents got us tickets to see the Broadway musical, The Lion King. It was one of the coolest live performances I've ever seen. You really have to appreciate how much creativity goes into it... the costumes were beautifully ornate, and not at all what you'd expect. (I have to admit, I had my doubts about how someone was going to dance around the stage dressed as Simba without any road bumps.) The best part, hands down, was the music. A lot of the musical numbers are the same as those in the movie, but when you hear it live, it's a lot more powerful. You start to notice that there's like 30-part harmony in every song, a lot of it is sang a cappella, and it's perfectly executed. We were pretty impressed.

Then we went to dinner at this place called Girl and the Goat, which was right up our alley. Then we went and got each other's names tattooed on our bums.

Ok... we didn't do that last part, but we did get our wedding bands tattooed on. Daniel's is a simple band, and mine is an, err... this thingy:

This was taken a few days after I got it, and now it looks like I drew it on with a blue pen then washed my hands several times. I'm going to have to get it retouched once it heals up, but overall, I'm very happy with the design.

People have funny reactions to this, by the way. People are very hesitant about the idea of getting, of all things, your wedding band tattooed on. The most common response I've gotten is, "well, that's certainly a commitment." My answer? "Yes. Incidentally, so was getting married." Another thing I'm experiencing is people's responses to the design. The first thing most people ask is, "What is it?" I would describe it as a fan or half a flower, but it's not really anything other than a shape I thought was pretty. Here are some of the interpretations I've gotten: stained glass, (cool... I can see that. I like stained glass.) lace, (I like lace, too... nice!) and "a chief hat." Seriously? No. I do not like Native American headdresses. At least not enough to get one tattooed on my finger. You should really stop talking in public.

Last Friday, we had an anniversary party. Entertaining has been a huge part of our first year- we love having friends over for dinner, to play the Wii, or to make s'mores in our fire pit. So it only seemed natural to celebrate with yet another shindig. I wanted to make this one extra special, so I started reading up, and I found this article that suggested making the party paper themed, since your first anniversary is your paper anniversary. I thought that was awesome, because it involved hand making a bunch of pretty things, which was my favorite part about planning the wedding. I even decided to make Daniel and myself outfits out of paper to wear that night. Now, if you know me at all, you already know how this worked out: it didn't. Why? Because, although I love this kind of thing, I'm not great at it. I can do some semi-artsy-craftsy things that involve minimal hand-eye coordination, but I'm really better off sticking to small projects. I did make an honest attempt, but was quickly disillusioned. To give you an idea, I ended up taking a creme paper tablecloth and cutting a hole in the top for the neck, then cutting holes for my arms, cinching it with crepe paper, then admitting to myself that this was not going well at all. I don't even know how to describe what I looked like. It wasn't good. Same with Daniel's paper vest.

But here are some of my projects that did turn out...

I made garland out of tissue paper flowers (the white ones are made from paper doilies) and raffia, and hung it across the dining room wall.

In between every string of flowers, there was one of paper hearts strung on embroidery floss.

Since Daniel and I lost the top layer of our wedding cake in the flood, I decided to compensate by making a paper cake of hat boxes covered in pretty paper. Then I made cupcakes in the same flavors as our wedding cake.

Remember those tea stained cards we had you write on in lieu of a guest book at the wedding?

I strung some raffia in a couple of places around the living room and fastened those cards on with tiny clothespins. It was so much fun getting those out and reading them again... we have such loving, supportive friends and family. Aaron and Nate, yours both stood out. You made me tear up a little.

There were a few more non-paper touches. We got out some wedding pictures and set them around, put out fresh flowers, lit a bunch of candles, and made a playlist of songs we played during different parts of our wedding (pre-ceremony, ceremony and reception). Daniel made a slideshow of wedding photos and highlights from our first year together, which we played on the TV.

All of our friends from the wedding party who live in town were able to make it, as well as a few new friends. We had champagne punch, apple cider, and hors d'oeuvres. When everyone had arrived, we played a few games, including Mafia, which was definitely the highlight of the evening. Nothing quite like getting a bunch of friends together and having them accuse each other of murder.

It really was so perfect to gather and celebrate with the friends who have been here for us through the ups and downs of our first year. We are constantly reminded how blessed we are to have such loving community.

In other non-news, most of you probably already know that I have a seasonal job at Obelisk, a housewares and gift shop in Green Hills. I've been there for a month now, and am thoroughly enjoying it. The people I work with are wonderful, and it's such a fun, laid back environment. Plus, we sell awesome stuff, like this terrarium hurricane Daniel and I got the other day.

I guess that pretty much covers the highlights of the past few weeks. Life is moving along as usual, and I'm as happy as ever. Before I finish this post, I have to brag on my man a little. Today I got to sleep in, and when I woke up I found that Daniel had called around to find a florist who had my favorite flowers (ranunculus) in stock and driven across town to get them.

I am really a very lucky girl, and I hope I never take for granted how much love I have in my life.

Let's All Just Smile and Nod and Say This is About Equality or Something Noble Like That, and Not About How You're Most Likely in Psychological Peril.

2010-09-13T15:46:00.000-07:00

Good for you, Lady Gaga, for making a stand against don't ask don't tell.

Wait a minute though...How exactly does wearing meat make a stand against don't ask don't tell? I wasn't quite clear on that.

"If we don't fight for our rights, pretty soon we're going to have as much rights as the meat on our bones," you say? And you're not a piece of meat? Oh, ok. I get it.

But wait... no I don't. What do... you mean? Waaaiiiit a minute...

Are you sure this isn't all just some elevated excuse for you to get to wear a meat dress?

Because it's kind of starting to seem to me like you just wanted to wear a meat dress.

Yeah. I'm gonna go ahead and say you just wanted to wear a meat dress.

I can't believe I just blogged about Lady Gaga. I suppose you may now count me among the scores of bloggers who simply can't resist this kind of material.

You can watch the Ellen interview containing Gaga's questionable explanation here.

Go Speed Racer!

2010-08-21T12:10:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Daniel's helmet for his new bike came in the mail. He was so excited, and walked around the house wearing it most of the day. I had to get pictures because... well... see for yourself.

There are few things cuter to me than when my husband gets new toys and behaves like an 8 year old.

Disclaimer: Mom, if this is the first you've seen/heard about the bike, I had nothing to do with it. Upon Daniel's purchase of the bike, we agreed that he is subject to all complaints, wrath, concern, etc. of any mothers involved. So call him. I wash my hands of this.

Before and After

2010-08-06T10:24:00.000-07:00

I have had several requests to post photos of the new house, so Daniel and I finally got around to it this morning even though we've had the house pretty much set up for a month. Me and procrastination are tight.

I am going to post a few crappy before pictures that I took on my iPhone, mostly to show changes in paint.

Living room before

Living room after

Daniel designed and built this nifty TV mount out of shipping crates. Gotta love a creative man.

Dining room before (the rug came with the house... I don't know.)

Dining room after

Our dining room chalkboard wall- the best thing that ever happened to Daniel Meigs. Including me.

Master bedroom before

Master bedroom after

That's all for now- I will probably post pictures of the kitchen and office on here at some point, after we've made a few more improvements. We're also planning to paint the rest of the walls in the bedroom red, so whenever we get around to it I'll post pictures of that.

In other news, my brother Ryan is getting married in a week! I'm headed to Mississippi on Monday to spend some much needed time with my family and to finally meet my nephew Isaac for the first time. Daniel is shooting the wedding (which is sure to be gorgeous) and will post pictures on his blog before long, so stay tuned for that!

Alleged "Coffee"

2010-08-03T18:25:00.000-07:00

I am very old.

Aged.
Decrepit.

So old I have to drink decaf coffee now. Decaf.

In my youth, caffeine had no effect on me whatsoever. I remember the days fondly. My relationship with coffee peaked when I was working at Starbucks. We were allowed to have as many drinks as we wanted during our breaks. In retrospect, I believe that this tactic on Starbucks' part is to obtain lifelong coffee-addicted slaves, much like crack whores. They provided us with as much of our drug as we wanted so long as we worked for them. This was the happy chapter of my life. I would drink as much as 6-8 cups of coffee per day. Once I was turned out into the streets, though, a sinister spiral took place as I tried to live my life apart from my pimp, a mere shell of who I once was.

I was soon forced to abandon my dignity, showing up unkempt in my pajamas at the nearest Starbucks drive-thru with blood shot, begging eyes looking up at the happily supplied Barista who greeted me. "Please. C-coffee." I would croak, holding out a trembling fistful of change.

In those days, caffeine didn't necessarily give me an energy boost, and it most certainly didn't keep me awake at night. I would lull myself to sleep with a warm, comforting double shot of espresso. I simply needed it to survive. Without it, I would have withdrawals, but the high had worn off long ago.

In the past year, a change has taken place which I can no longer ignore. I can't drink coffee past about 2 pm if I hope to get to sleep at a reasonable hour. One wouldn't think that once I realized this, it wouldn't be that difficult to simply adjust my habits accordingly. It is. I can't explain why, but I constantly make excuses to drink coffee after dinner, or while hanging out with friends in the late afternoon. My most common excuse is that it's a "special occasion." As though the effects of caffeine can be reasoned with. My definitions of "special occasion" is becoming terribly broad. A special occasion could mean that I have friends or family in town whom I am entertaining, and I feel that coffee would be a nice touch. It could mean that I'm in the mood to write if I can sit still and focus, which, for some reason, coffee helps me do. Or that I'm quite sad, and coffee would cheer me up. Or it could simply mean that I want to "appreciate" and "celebrate" coffee at 8 pm. My idea of what constitutes a "special occasion" is ever-expanding, and I've reached a point where I can expertly, almost without thinking, render any given moment of any day a special occasion. Then, I invariably lie awake until dawn, riddled with regret and self-loathing, wishing more than anything that the occasion hadn't been so danged special.

In response to this, Daniel has started buying me decaf coffee, or, as I like to call it, placebo coffee. I have never understood the point of decaf coffee. It's kind of like non-alcoholic beer. I have reached a point, though, where I am willing to brew decaf coffee just to satisfy my craving, helping myself maintain the illusion of fulfillment.

So Yes.

I am old.

Back with a Vengeance. And some baby pictures.

2010-06-16T20:04:00.001-07:00

Alright friends... It has really been too long. But where to begin? Can I just write an outline until I feel like filling in details? I think that is what I must do.

April 23: Our new baby nephew, Isaac Daniel Wachdorf is born!

Click here to view more pictures and videos of this adorable baby boy.

May 1: Daniel leaves town for the weekend.
May 2: Ryan and Rebekah get engaged! Woohoo! August 14th!
Also, Hannah and Daniel's apartment floods. Remember how Daniel's outof town? Yeah.
May 3: Hannah's finals week kicks into full gear, and Daniel returns to Nashville.
May 5: Hannah and Daniel sign lease on a new (much cooler, much bigger, miraculously cheaper) house.
May 6-7: Hannah and Daniel move everything worth moving to new house, with much help from beloved friends and family.
May 8: Daniel leaves the country in the morning, Hannah graduates college in the afternoon.
May 8-26: Daniel travels the world while Hannah unpacks and cleans at the new house.
May 21-23: Hannah goes to Oxford, MS for Clark Rice's baptism, and gets a much needed family fix.
May 26-June 2: A happy time in Hannah's life. (Daniel is home.)
June 2: Daniel leaves again, Hannah cries and cries.
June 4: But not for long! Hannah is off to Mississippi to visit her sweet friends Racheal Burnett and Rachel Purser in Jackson, MS.
June 6: All good things must come to an end, however, and Hannah cries some more until she picks Daniel up from the airport the same evening.
June 8-9: Hannah and Daniel go to Oxford to shoot engagement pictures for Ryan and Rebekah.

View more pictures of the gorgeous couple here.
Today: Things are winding down and getting back to sweet, comforting normalcy.

So... that pretty much covers everything important.

So far, we have replaced most of the essentials that we lost in the flood (living room and dining room furniture, kitchen appliances, etc.) We are so proud of our cute new house and have been having a lot of fun painting and decorating it. I will post pictures when things get a little more presentable around here.

I have been on a reading frenzy since graduation. I'm like a kid in a candy store- the whole world of literature has just opened up in front of me. You might think that completing my English degree would have satisfied my literary appetite for a while, but let me explain. For the past four years, I have had very little free time to read what I've wanted to because I've always been reading for school. I have been developing this mental list that I can't actually keep track of in any organized fashion of books I've been wanting to read, and now every time one of them pops up in a conversation or a book store or my head, I can just... read it. It's so exhilarating to be able to read whatever I want to- it's like discovering reading for the first time all over again. The only problem is that I am getting sucked into too many books at once. I'm reading five books at the moment, and have five that come to mind that I intend to start reading any minute now. At this rate, I wonder if I'll ever be able to actually finish another book in my life.

Meanwhile, I'm looking for a job. This is a much less exciting topic for me, so I'll probably be brief. Or maybe I'll rant. We'll see.

So far, all I've done is browse online classifieds day and night, write cover letters, tailor my resume ever so slightly for some positions, and email strangers asking for work. I am starting to feel like a lunatic because not one person has responded to an email I've written. I must have applied for at least 20 jobs by now. At least. And no one has answered. I am starting to secretly believe that Craigslist is actually the Matrix, and Craig just posts ads day and night to maintain the illusion that there are actual people out there looking for employees, and stringing me along as some sort of cruel joke. Maybe I'm the only person who buys the whole Craigslist thing anymore, so Craig has deserted the other communities and mostly just focuses on Nashville, occasionally posting ads in Hendersonville, Spring Hill or Murfreesboro to keep things believable for me. Meanwhile he's got cameras set up all over my house and he's broadcasting my job hunt like the Truman show, and everyone is tuning in to watch me shuffle into the office in my p.j.s every morning to tinker on the computer, drinking my coffee and applying for imaginary jobs in my naivety. "Will you look at that idiot??" they all jeer. "She really thinks that someone's going to answer! Look at all that hope... that pathetic hope. I almost feel sorry for her."

Sigh.

Before I go, I have a prayer request to make: Tomorrow morning, Daniel's mom, Jerri Meigs is having spinal surgery to hopefully correct some severe pain she's been having. Please pray that the surgery goes well and is successful in alleviating her pain.

Well, that's all I've got for now. I promise to post a little puppy montage sometime soon to break up some of the heavy, intimidating blocks of text on here. :) So tune in for that...

My Final Finals Week Marathon: Surviving on Cheerios, Neglecting Hygiene

2010-04-27T17:16:00.000-07:00

I have had a few complaints about my failure to blog for the past few weeks. My response to this is to direct you to another blog, where something very exciting is happening. My sister Haley gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, Isaac Daniel Wachdorf, last Friday. Daniel and I are so proud of our precious new nephew, and can't wait to meet him. There are pictures on Haley's blog. Go forth and swoon.

In the meantime, I'm smack dab in the middle of final papers and exams, so if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get back to that. I'd also like to warn you that it would not be advisable to stand within 500 feet of me for the next week or so, as I have temporarily given up bathing.

Tune in sometime after my graduation on May 8th to find out what has happened recently in the lives of the Meigs.

Attention! Spoiler Alert!

Not very much, actually.

Ah, what a day.

2010-04-06T19:53:00.001-07:00

Today has been eventful, to say the least.

As those of you who have recently had a phone conversation with me know, my little Samsung Blackberry-rip-off has desperately needed replacing for some time. I didn't get any reception in my house, I rarely got it anywhere else, and if we were talking long distance, you could forget about me understanding more than half of what you said. So when I returned from a trip to Mississippi last weekend, Daniel (probably out of sheer desperation after trying to fit in a decent conversation with me between "what?"s and "hold up, I'm going down a hill"s,) decided it was high time for a trip to the good old AT&T store. We weren't able to make it in until this morning, and in the meantime, Daniel silently mulled over the pros and cons of an iPhone. He eventually concluded that if we were buying me a phone we might as well get an iPhone, and that we could swing the bill if we took texting off our plan for now. When he pitched this proposal to me, I agreed and said that I was definitely willing to sacrifice texting for all the perks of an iPhone, so it was settled.

This morning I had to go to class first thing, but Daniel said he would be able to do everything at AT&T; he would just need my old phone. I handed it over, happy to see it go, and went on my merry way to class.

Or so I thought...

As I drove and drank my seriously amazing cup of coffee Daniel had fixed me, I thought about what a beautiful morning it was, and how glad I was to be up to witness the birds chirping, the cool air and the sunshine. I felt a renewed motivation and gusto for life, and decided that I was going to start working out. And writing more. And keeping up with the news. And that, in spite of never having been a morning person- ever- I would make time for my new goals by rising earlier to greet the day.

I was so lost in this euphoric daydream that I barely noticed when my car started to decelerate. As I started up a hill, I was startled awake when the pressure I applied to the gas pedal elicited no response. "Oh, crap," I thought. "Oh, well. Don't panic- it's no big deal... just call Da.... OH CRAP."

I pulled over to the shoulder of I-24, sat there for a few minutes to collect my thoughts, and then I got out and started walking. I figured I'd walk to the nearest exit and find somewhere I could use a phone. I didn't get very far before a good Samaritan pulled over to help. He was a really sweet man named Otis, and when I explained that I didn't have my phone, he let me borrow his. It was only then that I remembered that Daniel had changed his number less than 24 hours earlier, and I didn't know his new number.

Luckily, Otis had internet access on his phone, and I soon recalled that Daniel had updated his facebook status with his new number. I really have no idea how I would have gotten him on the phone today otherwise. In the end, Otis dropped me off at a Starbucks off the next exit, where I waited for Daniel.

It turns out that my timing belt snapped. We have a neighbor who is a mechanic and he is going to fix it for us for a very reasonable price once we can afford the parts. In the meantime, we're going to have to figure out some sort of schedule with Daniel's car that will allow us to be everywhere we need to be. The good news is, I will have a super cool phone to play on while waiting on my ride 5 hours after my classes end...

In other news, Daniel and I have become very popular in our neighborhood since we acquired a puppy, which is, apparently, what it takes to be the coolest kids on the block. I have a little gang of 5-7 kids who run squealing to greet me every evening when they see me pull up. I first met them when I was taking Naavah out to play in the front yard. Now, they just show up at my house, puppy or no puppy, hugging me, asking for candy and requesting that I read them stories. They also like to come inside and explore our house; they are fascinated by the mac mini hooked up to our TV ("why is that TV a computer?"), the fact that we have christmas lights strung across the ceiling in our half-bath down stairs, ("are you decorating for next Christmas?") and my hair ("who braids it?")

It's been a while since I've been around kids this age, and I guess I had forgotten how disarmingly sweet they are. It has been so much fun to read them the story books I got for my campers when I worked at CRS, offer them each a piece of candy when they come over, and let them crawl all over our furniture and my lap. Kids have a unique way of making your day so much brighter when you see how they embrace and love their world with no restraint. It's really sweet to see that and to be a recipient of it.

Today, the new phone was the center of attention. They especially liked playing with the "voice memos" app. Here are a few samples:

Haley

Angena Pledge of Allegiance

I don't feel like this post is complete until I mention something Daniel did while i was out of town that made my week. We have a shed attached to our house where our washing machine and dryer live, and it has become home to many other odds and ends. It had gotten to be a chaotic mess, and somewhere along the line we got a leak in one of the hoses going to the washer. I always dreaded going out to dig for something or trying to do laundry without letting any clean clothes fall in the big puddle under my feet. While I was gone, Daniel fixed the leak, and organized the shed beautifully. I have no before pictures, which is probably for the best... I'd rather pretend that none of it ever happened. But here are the afters:

Oh, and he got me flowers, too. :)

One more thing: This summer, Daniel's off to see the world! Again! If you don't already know about his upcoming job with Passion Conferences on their World Tour, you can read about it on his blog. He is so honored to have been asked to shoot this year, and I am thrilled for him.

Well, that covers just about everything. Consider yourselves fully updated. I know the suspense must have been killing you. Well, you can all just compose yourselves now. Take it easy. Calm. Down.

Puppy, puppy, puppy, other stuff, puppy.

2010-03-28T14:02:00.001-07:00

Okay, so I am realizing that for the next few weeks this blog is going to be much less about me than it is going to be about Naavah and how freaking adorable she is. I feel the need to warn those of you who have been reading that there will be nothing substantial going on here. I'm just going to update constantly about her hic-ups, her relationship with Wilco, her house training, etc. Feel free to tune me out.

Naavah sleeps most of the time, which I don't think will last very long. We got Wilco when he was about 6 weeks older than her, and he was wildly energetic, displaying symptoms of ADHD and/or demon possession. I hope that her cuddly nature will last into adulthood, though. She loves to snuggle more than anyone I've ever met. She loves being held, and if there's no one to cuddle with, she will burrow under a pillow or between the couch cushions. Today, she and Wilco cuddled for the first time, and I felt like my wildest dreams had come true. I want them to be good friends, and so far it's looking like we can expect just that. They've been playing so well together- he's been so patient, and she has learned quickly that she can trust him not to chomp her head off, even though he is 10 times her size.

With Babs, Naavah is having no such luck. I'm not planning to leave those two in a room unsupervised, since I keep catching Babs assuming hunter's stance while staring crazily at Naavah and swishing her tail. Sorry Babs... it's not gonna happen.

For the most part, however, everyone is living in harmony. Daniel and I have noticed that if we stay in the same room for a substantial period of time, all three of our pets will join us. Today, we brought Naavah with us to take a nap and left the door open. Wilco wandered in looking pitiful, so we invited him to get in the bed, which never happens. He was too excited to sleep at first, and kept turning in circles, lying down, standing back up, turning the other direction, etc. Babs wasn't far behind, and hopped up on the footboard to observe the chaos. Eventually, everyone in the house was asleep in the same full sized bed. It was a bonding experience.

Meanwhile, I'm afraid I will never complete another productive task. I try to wash the dishes, but then I "take a break," pick Navaah up, and don't set her down for several days... rinse, repeat.

Yesterday we took Naavah to Petsmart, and after finding the only collar that fit her, we went to check out. The cashier pointed to Naavah and asked, "this for that dog?" When we answered yes, she responded, "You know this a cat collah, right?" "No, we didn't," I answered, "But that explains the bell. We'll take it."

In other, more newsworthy news, the Meigs came through town last night and we enjoyed a short but sweet visit with them. Mary and Joe are on spring break this week, and so they were heading down to Gulf Shores for the first trip in their new pop-up camper. When they got to town, Daniel, Nate, the Meigs and I all went to The Family Wash. We enjoyed good food, good conversation, and, in little Hannah's case, a very refreshing nap in Daniel's lap. Since they were delayed by a flat tire, they camped in our driveway overnight.This morning, we got up and had coffee with them before they got back on the road. This was the first time for them to see our house since we've been married, and we were really happy to have family in our home.

Speaking of people in our home, I have a strong desire for everyone to see Naavah before she gets any bigger. If you're planning on coming to Nashville soon, or just crossing town for a visit, you are more than welcome to- the sooner, the better. I want to share the joy of a pocket sized puppy while she's still so tiny.

Can you imagine how absurd I will be when I have an actual baby? Food for thought...

Meet Naavah

2010-03-26T20:07:00.001-07:00

Today, we were hoping to find some time to go look at a few litters of huskies we'd found online. We didn't plan on making any purchases just yet, we just wanted to shop around. We realized the folly of this plan only after it was too late, and we were on our way home with the first puppy some stranger put in my arms. I don't know what we thought was going to happen. Like we were going to casually and conscientiously sort through all the reasonably priced puppies in the greater Nashville area, then go home to sleep on it, saying, "I don't know... none of those puppies were as cute as I'd hoped." Right.
We weren't even sure we were getting a puppy. A little piece of advice: if you ever want a puppy but are not sure you should get one, don't go look at puppies to help you make your decision. Because as strong as you are, you cannot resist the cuteness of a puppy. Any puppy. Even if you hate dogs... you love puppies. You are putty in their tiny paws. They'll look at you with these adorable (blue!) eyes that say, "take me home with you! I'll be good, I promise!" and then you'll melt and take them to your house, where they will promptly poop on your brand new carpet.
I am so in love with this little girl, (it's a girl,) and so is Daniel. Her name is Naavah. Here are some pictures, lest you judge our rash decision. Could you resist this face?
Her first bath. She was not a fan, but she smells awesome now.

Wilco loves his baby sister, and tries not to scare her.

Crying Over Spilled Milk

2010-03-22T21:32:00.001-07:00

Today, my friend Kirsten pointed out a hilarious theme in my marriage thus far.
First, she reminded me of how Daniel and I argued during our engagement over what kind of milk we were going to buy: regular milk, or Hatcher Nectar of Life. Produced right here in Middle Tennessee, Hatcher Dairy's non homogenized milk is clearly what God had in mind when he made cows. Its flavor is sweet, rich, and deliciously creamy. So what if it has a few chunks in it? I enjoy few things more than a cold glass of Hatcher Dairy milk, and don't mind drinking around a little cream. However, since the mere thought of finding a "fat plug," as he affectionately calls it, at the top of a carton makes Daniel nauseous, this is a luxury I sacrificed when I entered the bonds of matrimony. It was for the well being of our marriage, and though it was worth it, every day I feel the sting of life without Hatcher.

She then recounted how, after our first couple of months of marriage, I almost wept for joy when Daniel finally brought home salted butter from the store. Prior to this gesture, we had kind of a silent war going on- whoever made it to Kroger first got to choose whether the butter was salted or unsalted. "What", I asked on a semi daily basis, "is the point of unsalted butter? You're just spreading a layer of tasteless fat on your toast!" The day I opened the refrigerator door and realized that Daniel had sacrificed whatever affinity he had for that bland stuff for the sake of my happiness, I knew he must really love me. It was the most romantic thing he's ever done. To his credit, he's done many more conventionally romantic things, but somehow, this meant more.

This afternoon, I showed up on Kirsten's doorstep, my cheeks stained with tears. As she let me in, I explained, "I'm having a meltdown over butter!"
"I know it's silly," I laughed. "But I used the last of our butter in that stupid cake last night. Now I'm about to make french bread with dinner and I really want butter, but we're out of money. I'm always a good sport when money is low, so I don't know why this is getting to me! I know it's not a big deal, but I think the fact that it's such a small thing is what makes it easy to feel sorry for myself. 'We can't even have butter'...you know? That kind of thing."
"I understand," she answered. "It's totally natural for you to feel defeated, and the fact that you haven't let it get you down before probably means that all the stress is concentrated in this one thing, and you feel like it's all about the butter, but really, it's more than that." (after a brief pause,) "have you noticed, though, that you are kind of emotional about dairy products?"
Being the sweet friend that Kirsten is, she empathized, made me some chai tea, lent me some butter and sent me on my way feeling more than refreshed.

After I left, I got a text from Sarah Emily asking if I'd like to hang out. Earlier, Daniel had suggested inviting Nate for dinner, so I decided since we'd have plenty of food we should make a little party out of spaghetti night. I called Kirsten, and soon, the five of us were hanging out at our house, laughing and breaking bread together. Bread with precious butter.

I learned a few things today. First of all, I learned that money matters to me more than I like to think it does. I didn't used to think of myself as someone who cared about money because I'd never really had to go without. Over the past few months, we've seen our ups and downs financially, and Daniel has commended me for how well I've adjusted to our new lifestyle thus far. But I realized today that I need to be vigilant about those feelings of discontent that will creep in during times when we have to sacrifice luxuries. I also realized that the things that are going to get me down are almost always going to be small, but Daniel and I don't have to look very far to realize that we're extremely blessed. Tonight, we were surrounded by friends who love us like we're family, and that is no small thing. In fact, it's one of the most valuable things we'll ever attain.

My Hero

2010-03-19T10:55:00.000-07:00

When I was four years old, I absentmindedly jumped into the deep end of a pool without floaties. Not sure how I managed to forget this vital detail, but the important thing is that my seven year old brother, Aaron, came to my rescue. After he pulled me out of the pool and I finished choking up water, I declared him "Myyy hero!" I would like to share one of many reasons Aaron still deserves this title.
Yesterday was the five year anniversary of Aaron's survival after being injured by a road side bomb in Iraq. He was flown to Germany where his left leg was amputated below the knee. I remember the 4 days before Aaron woke up from sedation as some of the longest I've ever experienced. We were all so worried, and didn't know if he'd been conscious during the explosion and its aftermath. When he woke up in Bethesda Naval hospital where our parents and his new wife Kelly were waiting for him, he told my dad that he'd woken up while being transported to the States and someone had told him about his leg. He later recounted his experience of the blast. He was awake when a comrade tied the tourniquet and he'd known as soon as he saw his leg that he wouldn't keep it.
We had always know what a strong and determined person Aaron was, but during the months following the attack, we witnessed super-human strength we couldn't have known to expect. We watched as Aaron pushed himself through rehabilitation with a confident attitude and a cheerful spirit. I know there were days when rehab was excruciatingly painful and discouraging, and while Aaron didn't deny this, he was never resentful and never let himself sink. I saw him comfort others instead of pitying himself. I will never forget the first time I saw Aaron in the hospital after he was injured. Audrey and I had spent the silent plane ride to Maryland nervously wondering what we could say that would be any comfort to him. When we saw him, he pulled himself upright in his bed, stretched out his arms to us, kissed our faces and immediately began explaining why he would be fine. He told us that they made prosthetics so advanced now that he would be able to swim better and run faster than he ever could with his old leg. He'd always been so persuasive, and here he was in a hospital bed, trying to debate us out of our worry. We laid our heads on either of his shoulders and cried as he comforted us. This was March 25, one week after the explosion.
This year, on January 6th, Clark Randall Rice, Aaron and Kelly's first son was born. Aaron is such a proud, doting father, and I'm so thankful for his life and the precious new life he and Kelly have brought into our world.

You can view Aaron and Kelly's blog here.

I would like to leave you with some facebook status updates from yesterday.

Kelly Anne Rice: Today is Aaron's 5th Survivor Day. I, personally, am very glad he is alive and am grateful for everything he did for us.

Audrey Rice: Five years ago today, God saved my brother Aaron's life. Praise God for this and his many other blessings he has shown my family.

Haley Rice Wachdorf: thankful for my brother Aaron, his wife Kelly and their awesome baby Clark on Aaron's 5th Survivor Day.

And finally, Aaron Rice: Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin alive, stayin alive. Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin alive.

Happy Survivor Day, Aaron, and thanks for making sure I survived my preoccupied childhood. If natural selection had it's way, I'd be a goner.

Hiya, buddy!

2010-03-18T15:19:00.000-07:00

This is my first blog post in over three years. I haven't felt up to keeping a blog until yesterday, when, out of nowhere, I decided it was an excellent idea... so here I am! When I talked to my sister Haley today, she attributed my disinterest in writing for pleasure to my being forced to write academically for four years straight as an English major. This makes sense to me. As I near graduation, though, maybe I sense that I will need this outlet soon to keep me writing something...anything. We'll see.
Remember when you were seven and you would fill up one diary, so you'd get a new one and feel the need to re-introduce yourself to.. yourself? "Hi, I'm Hannah. I am seven yeers Old. I live in Yazoo City and I have two Cats and no dogs. my favorit color is purpel or lime green." I kind of feel the need to do that here, though I don't imagine that anyone reading this doesn't already know the basics. Just for good measure, here they are:
I hail from Hattiesburg, MS and I am the fourth of five children. My family is very close, and full of personality. I got married last October to my best friend, Daniel Meigs. We live in Nashville, TN with our dog Wilco and our cat Babs (short for Whore of Babylon). Daniel is a photographer, and a very talented one at that. (Am I allowed to say that? I promise I take no personal credit whatsoever for this.) You can view his work here. I am currently an undergrad student, but will soon graduate and be launched into the shadowy abyss that is job hunting. I am no fool- I am well aware that my Liberal Arts diploma would serve me better as a napkin than it will in my career. But alas... when I was but a sophomore, I came to realize that there was a major whose requirements I could meet by taking a course solely on the novels of Jane Austen... who could resist? (Okay... I can maybe think of a few people.)
I am an INFP personality. In short, I am intuitive, idealistic, empathetic, nurturing, and can be very driven and motivated when working at something I believe in. Though I tend to avoid conflicts and am generally a very gentle person, if one of my values (something or someone I care about) is threatened, I can become fierce.
I have recently been able to admit to slightly more people with slightly less embarrassment that I am an aspiring, albeit amateur fiction writer. I am taking a fiction workshop this semester, and after my professor talked to us about different ways to make a living writing fiction without necessarily being widely known or having a "big break," I now feel a little less like I'm announcing that I want to be a rock star when I grow up. I don't need recognition, but if I can write something that moves even one person, that will be so rewarding. I really take heart in knowing that hard work can pay off, even if you're never immortalized in the world of literature. My short-term goal is to get at least one short story published by the end of this year in a literary journal or online magazine. I may be posting drafts here for feedback.
As a hobby, I also enjoy songwriting. I'm not well-versed an any instruments but I am familiarizing myself with the guitar at the moment. I took lessons in High School so I know some basics, but I'm in a one hour course right now where we're learning to sight read, and I'm improving. Daniel plays mandolin and violin, so we've been having fun trying to play along with Patty Griffin and Denison Witmer lately. My friend Sarah Emily is a staff engineer at a studio in town, and we've recorded a couple of electronica/pop songs together. It's always fun to write lyrics for the music she programs and I am increasingly impressed by how talented she is.
I guess there's not much left to say about my life... tune in for more as things develop!