Owl City

I think Temple has found her spirit animal, or rather, her spirit animal has found her.

A gift from Kat Rice (Rice University mascot - the owls)

A christmas present from a co-worker

A card from the babysitter

A "hoo"-die from a nice man we met at a party (Emily's co-worker's dad, a Temple University grad)

Owls symbolize inner knowing, psychic ability, and intuition.  In middle eastern cultures, the owls is the guardian of the afterlife.  In modern times, the owl is believed to hold the secret of how many licks it takes to get to the center of a tootsie pop.  It is a nocturnal bird, so that fits.  Also, it can rotate its head 270 degrees, so we have that to look forward to.  Temple is lucky to share her totem with her aunty Emily, who has an owl tattoo.  Emily, I think I know what you can get T for her 18th birthday!

In other news, Temple is crawling like it is the job she is leaving for a better job - standing and walking.  No sooner did she get those hands and knees coordinated than she started trying to pull up onto all sorts of unstable furniture.  She's pulled the dog gate on herself twice, and she upended the water bowl while attempting to use it as a walker.  The dogs were unimpressed.

Up in the Air

Tomorrow, Temple's first airplane ride.  We chase the sun west to Montana to introduce our girl to her Uncle and Aunt.  

Estimated time of departure from Casa Sermon: 4:45am, EST  

It's going to be a long day, but I'll breath through the stress.  No one better my junk at the security.  I anticipate throngs of cheerful travelers patiently working together toward a common goal.  Everyone loves a baby on an airplane.  Seatbacks and tray tables in their upright positions, folks.

If we fall out of the sky, I will hold my dearest loves and thank God for our brief, joyful lives.  

Current conditions in Billings: 8.6 degrees of mercury, light snow.  Bundle up, babies.

Away we go, again.

Diagnosis: Daddy

     We went to the pediatrician for Temple's 6 month check up.  Here are her stats:

          Height:                        27.5 inches

          Weight:                       20 pounds, 8 ounces

          Head Circumference:  46.2 centimeters

          Most Resembles:         Her father

     She also has dermagraphia, which means sensitive skin.  The doctor diagnosed it by scratching an X on her skin.  It remained visible for several minutes (derma = skin; graphia = writing).  It's no biggie.   Lots of tots have it.  She also got seven (7) vaccines, one oral, six (6) injected.  Little girl got 6 shots in a row.  She took it well, probably better than I would have.  I would have cursed loudly; she just cried a little.  The shots made her a little crabby for the next day or so, mostly, I think, because the injection sites (front of her thighs) were sore.  They probably hurt her when she laid on her belly, trying to crawl, which she is going to do any day now.  She gets in to the plank pose, up on her hands and toes.  When I go get her in her crib in the mornings, she is usually on her belly with her butt in the air, like Yoda in that scene in Star Wars when Luke first gets there and Yoda is looking through all his stuff.  Yoda butt.  

Idle Hands, Gratitude

     As you loyal readers know, until Temple was about three and a half months old, I was nursing and barely left the house.  Isolation can make you go batty; ask anyone who has been in the hole in a maximum security prison.*  After my August dental emergency, which finally broke my spirit, I resolved to leave the house everyday and stay busy, as a means of warding off the terrors.  To that end, I now frequent Target and Whole Foods, I go to the baby gym on Tuesdays, Mom's coffee at Starbucks on Fridays, and I enrolled in a continuing education class on Spinoza at St. John's College.  Temple and I finally got into a routine.  We get up around 8am, leave the house for errands at 10am, get back by 2pm, Temple naps from 2:30pm until 4:30pm, then we go for a walk and hang out with the daddy.  During Temple's nap, instead of staring into the abyss and letting the terrors inhabit my feeble brain, I would do my Spinoza reading.  I stopped noticing the dust elephants in the corners, and the cobwebs on the ceiling.  I focused on the reading, and by the time the T-monster awoke, I was refreshed, body, mind, and soul.  

     Well, the class is over.  Actually, it isn't over, I'm just not going anymore, because I am working on Wednesday nights now, so I missed the last two classes (more on the new job below).  I really enjoyed the class, and I was disappointed to miss the last two, but the restaurant wanted me to work, and I chose to make myself available to my new employers rather than finish out an enrichment class.  I think I made the right call, but now I find myself with two idle hours in the afternoons, which, I have learned, is not good for me.  Today, I found myself with a racing heart staring at the collecting dust behind the television.  "The floor is dusty," will lead to "our house is a mess," will be followed by, "I can't clean properly," will beget, "I'm a horrible pig who can't do anything right and doesn't deserve to live," and that's a bad place to be, so I need to find a new nap-time project.  One idea is to blog, but that doesn't accomplish the goal of getting out of my head.  It might actually make it worse.  I may start reading Julia Child's "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" from cover to cover.  When I read about cooking, I tend to go on a spending spree at Whole Foods, but I believe this is a small price to pay for keeping the terrors away.  Plus, I consider the reading job training.

     Here's a picture of Temple with her owlie.

     So, I have a new job.  I am an assistant chef, part time, at a restaurant in Annapolis.  It is actually in Heritage Harbor, a retirement community, and it's private, so I can't invite you, my half dozen readers, to come try, but trust me that it is a very nice establishment.  We serve lots of fish and meats, and everything is from scratch.  The owners are also growing a catering company, and I hope to become an integral part of the business.  I'm actually preparing food for money, and I couldn't be happier.  I'm fulfilling a dream I've had for many years, and I am grateful as all get out.  No sarcasm here, no witty remarks, just happy.  

*New guilty pleasure: Saturday night marathons of Lockup: Raw on MSNBC.  Thank you, hungry-in-the-middle-of-the-night-Temple, for introducing me to this prison documentary show.  

Lady Lazarus

I had resigned myself to being a lapsed blog, like the ones I keep going back to in the hope of being entertained, but months and months go by, and no news (I'm talking to you, Stef).  But, out of loyalty to my ones of followers, I will attempt to make more regular postings.  

Since my last post, the fam went on our first road trip, all the way down to Lou'siana, via Memphis.  It was awesome, but I don't feel like recapping the whole trip, so trust me.

Temple has kept growing, which is a positive trend.  When we got Clementine, I expected her to grow to the size of Flags.  I wanted to have two big boned pugs warming the bed during the winter to keep our electric bills down.  Then she got to about twelve pounds, maybe a foot long, and halted.  Then she broke her stupid neck and cost us a fortune, and now she is a crabby, cynical runt who walks funny.  We still love her, but she's a dissapointment.  So, I'm glad Temple is growing.  Her head could stand to slow it down, though.  He head circumference is literally off the charts.  It is so big* we had to have a sonogram to make sure it wasn't, in fact, a melon.  It's not, it's a regular huge head, but the doctor told us to keep the dogs away so they don't get sucked into its gravitational pull.      

Also, everyone thinks she's a boy.  Sometimes it's because I dress her like a boy.  Like, yesterday, she was wearing a blue onesie, snail pants, and a brown and orange zipper cardigan.  I would have worn that outfit, but if I saw a baby of otherwise undiscernable gender wearing blue, I would also assume it was a boy.  Yesterday, we just went with it.  An old crone in the grocery remarked, "what a big healthy boy," and I said, "thank you.  He has a huge penis, too."  But, today, I dressed Temple in a purple and white striped dress that had a pink butterfly on it, and the man who served me my sausage said, "what a big boy, he's going to be a football player."  Yeah, a transvestite football player.  He'll surely be a leader on that team.  

Anyway, I need to shove more food in my face before Temple awakes from her nap.  More to come...

*Remember "yo mamma" jokes from the nineties?  "Yo mamma so fat, when she went to the movies, she sat next to everyone."  I should start "my baby" jokes.  "My baby head so big, we love her unconditionally."  Hilarious.

Cracker Barrel count: 3

Please don't eat the La Quinta

Rise of the Machines

Temple has been asleep since 2:30.  What did I do with my baby down time?  Did I write poetry in my journal?  Did I prepare a delicious and healthy meal for my husband and dogs?  Did I sit on the sun porch and read spiritual literature?  No, and we don't have a sun porch.  I put together another contraption for Temple.  It is a Baby Einstein Musical Jumper dealy.  It only took me two hours to put it together.  I think she'll like it.  Personally, I find it boring, but it was made for a 4 month old, and I am 357 months old.  

Contraptions to hold and entertain the child have begun to take over my house.  I say begun, because I fear there is more to come.  Our house is small.  There is Matt and my small bedroom, and Temple has a little room, and we have a large main room, a closet, laundry room, bathroom, and fabulous new kitchen, and that's that.  This new one claims to "fold flat," but that's horse manure because it doesn't fold, you have to take it apart.  I don't like clutter.  Physical clutter makes my mind cluttered.  I think at some point I'll snap and set fire to all our possessions in the front yard.  Use the ashes for compost.

Chatty

In the last week, this girl has discovered her voice.  She practices her vowels all day, and very loudly.  She needs to work on consonants, then she'll be in business.

More Sads

I weigh about 35 pounds less now than I did just before giving birth.  I am a pound or two below my pre-pregnancy weight.  I was feeling so good about my weight loss that I forgot I was tubby pre-pregnancy.  I decided to buy a nice pair of jean shorts from J. Crew.  They had that summery cut-off look, you know?  So, yesterday, my mom came over to Temple-sit, and I hauled my cookies to the mall and got a pedicure, then shuffled over to J. Crew to get my new shorts.  They didn't have my size (Big McLarge Huge), so I tried on a smaller size (normal), and as I examined my cottage cheese thighs in the florescent lights, I said, "well, f this," and bought a $55 hoodie instead.  I do like my hoodie though.
I resolve to not to pass this self-loathing on to my perfect daughter.

Late Night Early Morning

I live to sleep.  I was born tired.  Yet, I have recently found myself less irritated by late night feedings.  Temple and I have gotten pretty good at it.  She has been latching right on, and needing very little formula to top her off before settling back in for the sleep home stretch.  Two months ago, Temple would have to get herself pretty worked up crying before I could be convinced to get out of bed.  It was just hard for me.  I would let her go for so long (we're talking ten minutes.  I didn't actually let my baby go hungry.) that by the time we got up, she was too hungry to eat.  We had to spend time calming her down.  Now, I wake up around 1:30 am, whether Temple is up or not.  I've considered waking her up to get it out of the way so we can all go back to bed.  The past few days, she has made it from 8:30 pm to past 3:00 am.  During those early morning hours of wakefulness, I almost look forward to the feeding.  Temple is starting to make noises that very closely resemble vowels, and she likes to make them when she is being changed and when she is sated from a feeding.  It's really cute.  

The Chipmunk and the Squirrel

     You know how when people get their tongues pierced, their moms are always like, "you're stupid and you're going to crack your tooth on it and then you'll have to pay to have it fixed!"  Well, in 2001, 4 years after I got my tongue pierced (underaged, using my sister's ID in high school.  When I was signing the waiver, I had to scratch out the first signature I made because I forgot to sign her name.  Turns out I was stupid, just like my mom said, but the artists at Jinx Proof in Georgetown didn't give a care.  Way to mind the law, dudes.  I wonder if they would have cared more if I were getting a tattoo, because tattoos are really permanent, and piercings really aren't.), I cracked my tooth on it, just like my mom said, as I was walking down P street from my job at Soho Tea and Coffee in Dupont.  I was chewing on a caramel, then I was chewing on metal, and cracked half my tooth clean off.  The free half got stuck in the caramel, and it was totally gross.
     I guess I got it fixed soon after, then sometime around 2005, the fix failed, and I had to have it done again.  It was never quite right after that.  It was sensitive to heat, cold, and foods firmer than bread, and from time to time it throbbed for no reason or sent random bolts of pain into my brain.  In 2008, some wisdom teeth were coming in and shifting my choppers around, and it started hurting real bad.  At my emergency dental appointment, the good doctor recommended I have the sucker extracted and he made the referral.  Shortly thereafter, the shifting ended, the pain ended, and my interest in oral health ended.
     Last week, the tooth, whom I had come to know as #3, started aching again, and, wanting to set a good example for my daughter, I decided it was time to exorcise that demon.  I got the referral again, and made an appointment for 3 weeks hence.  I thought if the pain went away again, like it had a few years ago, I would cancel.
     5 days ago, I began waking up with headaches that diminished during the day, but never completely dissapeared.
     3 days ago, I woke up with an awful ache in my jaw, and I ate 25 over the counter analgesic pills.
     2 days ago, it was even worse.  Analgesics no longer working.
     Yesterday, my dentist gave me a prescription for Vicoprofen, a mix of Vicodin and Ibuprofen (yes, like croissandwich, Bennifer, jeggings, and shart) to "tide me over" for the three weeks until my surgery.  My resourceful sister also hooked me up with ballistic 600mg Ibuprofen (which is like Vicoprofen without the Vicodin).  When, last night, for the first time in months, I was not awakened by hungry daughter, but by screaming, throbbing gums, pain radiating to my high cheekbone, and swelling like I was sucking on an everlasting gobstopper, I decided that this was finally a problem that required attention.
     The surgeon took me in for an emergency appointment.  My dutiful mother dropped everything to meet me at the office to mind Temple, who was an excellent baby as always.  I was looking forward to general anesthesia, but because not even the worst toothache in history will keep me from my morning coffee, general anesthesia was counter-indicated.  You have to have an empty stomach.  Instead, they gave me twilight anesthesia, like they used to give to laboring women before the dawn of the epidural.  I guess its that kind that makes you forget the whole thing after, like Sylvia Plath bemoaned in "The Bell Jar," because I don't remember a damned thing.  It was probably like that episode of Mad Men, too.
     My mom drove my groggy ass home, got my prescriptions filled, and brought me some soft foods.  I am adjusting to my new mouthscape.  The good doctor removed the offending molar and all 4 wisdom teeth.  It feels like a city block was razed in there.  I've heard horror stories about recovery from oral surgery, but my mouth hasn't felt this good in years.  Thank you, pain killers.  Thank you, Mom, for making this catharsis possible.  And, you were right about the tongue ring: twelve years later, I did have to pay to have it fixed.  And when I say "I," I mean "you."  Thanks again.
My cheek is still a little swollen, though.  See?
 

Ma'husband and Child

At left, Raphael's Madonna and Child.  At right, Krista's Matt and Temple.  The similarities in use of light and color, as well as the beatific expressions on the infants, have lead art historians to speculate that these works were actually created by the same artist.  In fact, the picture of Matt and Temple was taken with the iPhone Renaissance-a-matic App.  

Roller Derby

Temple was so excited about watching the Season 4 premier of Mad Men that she rolled over.  

She had to watch it upside down, but Don Draper is a fox from any angle.  

Clementine's Korner

"I saw Goody Temple Virginia speaking with the devil!  She come to me in the black of some terrible night, and I hear her crying and wailing, and make me wish the sun never gone down.  I am but God's Finger.  My finger's still broken."  

Just like her father

This is Temple's bald spot.  Many babies lose this patch of baby hair because babies are lazy lay on their backs, rubbing it away, most of the time.  They can even get misshapen heads because of their sloth.  I'm not sure if Temple is losing her hair because of her laziness or because she inherited her father's baldness.  Matt lost his hair when he was 18 years old, though, and Temple is only 10 and a half weeks.

This is Temple struggling to do push ups on the lamb.  She did a few, more than I could manage, in fact. She was farting as she squirmed, also like her father.  

The Temple Parade Float

Potent Potables

 

Matt's parents got us the above-pictured tribute to America mug.  As you can see, it features a scary eagle and a painting of veterans of all branches of the military.  The text reads, "If you love your freedom, thank a veteran," and, "It is the VETERAN not the REPORTER who has given us FREEDOM OF THE PRESS.  It is the VETERAN not the CAMPUS ORGANIZER who has given us FREEDOM TO ASSEMBLE," and so on.  My in-laws intended for us to put it on our mantle.
This is my all time favorite mug.  It is even better than my West Wing mug, which features a photo of the cast from Season 4, with Rob Lowe and Joshua Malina.  I love the mug, not for it's message (I think the mug glosses over some Constitutional nuance), but for it's patriotic size.  It holds twice as much volume as my law school mug, and perhaps its message speaks at twice the volume as any legal arguments I shall ever make.  

I use 8 heaping tablespoons of course ground coffee in my 32 ounce french press, add boiling water, and let it steep for for 10 minutes, or as long as Temple the tyrant allows me to be in the kitchen before summoning me.  I add two Splenda.  Yes, the plural of Splenda is Splenda, not Splendae.  Contrary to the theories of many modern etymologists, Splenda's linguistic roots are Germanic, and not Latin.  It's like "a moose" and "many moose."  Co-incidentally, "many moose," is what I would be if I didn't use Splenda.  I also add a splash of almond milk.  I used to use soy milk, but I have been learning about the evils of Monsanto, who own the genetic code for the soy bean, so I have switched choice of pretentious coffee lightener to almond milk.  Thank you, whole Foods.

You may think 32 ounces of coffee in the morning would be enough for me, but if you think that, you are wrong.  I knew my hot cup of almondy sludge was missing something, but I don't have an espresso maker, and crack is illegal and unhealthy.  When I was at Target, I saw it: General Foods International Coffeehouse Beverage Mix.  

Like Proust's madeleines, the sight of this tin of naturally and artificially flavored coffee drink brought back memories of my youth.  I drank the crap out of this stuff in high school.  I kept it, loosely covered, in a private corner of the senior lounge, where it was enjoyed my me and ants.  We had a heating coil, like grannies use, and I would heat the water I got from the bathroom tap in an insulated Georgetown travel mug that was never once washed.  I glugged down my international delight in the morning, and maintained a nice buzz all day.  I would frequently get through seven hours of school and a two hour sports practice on little else.  I now put a heaping scoop of the creamy concentrated coffee in my huge bowl of joe.  The first time I made the concoction, I actually got coffee sick, which hasn't happened in months.  It was glorious.  I've had it every day this week, and it is the second best part of waking up.  The first is, of course, my Temple. 

No pictures!

Temple trying to keep the photographers away.  Pappa, papparazzi!

Temple Turnover

Temple wants to be on the move.  She gets crabby sitting in her chair, and is constantly marching her feet in place, like she's doing abs.  I went to step class last night, and the instructor made us do flutter kicks with weights for abs, and I wanted to kill her.  She made one girl cry.  Temple cries sometimes when she's doing abs.  She is also getting pretty good at picking her head up when she is on her tummy.  I went to yoga on Sunday, and we did some tummy time there, too.  The instructor made us do the thing where you lay on your belly and lift your head, arms, and legs.  It works your back.  I couldn't do it for very long.  Me and Temple are at about the same fitness level right now.  

Our pediatrician told us at her 2 month appointment that she will be more mobile in the next few months, and that means she is more susceptible to injury, particularly falls and burns.  He gave us a list of development items to look forward to between now and her 4 month appointment.  She will be making faces more and more, and she will react more to people other than her mother.  This is because she is noticing new things, and my face isn't new.  I'm thinking about shaving my eyebrows, just to see if I can get a reaction out of her.  Or maybe I'll get a mask.    

Solstice

Temple is asleep.  She has been sleeping all day, getting up only every two hours to eat.  The last two weeks, she has spent each day grazing, barely sleeping more than ten minutes at a stretch.  I guess she is catching up.  I hope this doesn't affect her night routine.  Once again, I failed to follow the advice, "sleep when the baby sleeps."  What did I do with all my free time?  Maybe I started reading a new book, since I finally finished "Let The Right One In," (it was gruesome and good), or maybe I cooked some chicken to keep in the fridge, so I would always have chicken when I wanted chicken.  Maybe I took out the recycling (funny story, I finally took the diaper garbage bag out, but I didn't put the can on the street in time for the garbage men, so that bag of poo will sit in the can in the heat until Friday.  Happy Friday, garbage men.  I appreciate your service.  Enjoy the stank.), or maybe I did my postpartum yoga DVD.  Or maybe I ate peanut butter and jelly with a spoon and watched The Real Housewives of New Jersey marathon.
Also, Temple is almost big and strong enough for me to perch her on one of my ample hips.  I'm this close to being able to hold the baby and eat a burrito at the same time.  That will be a happy day.  Maybe I'll get a burrito to celebrate it.

Entertainment

When Temple isn't busy pooping through her clothes, she digs her Infant-Stim Mobile.  It has high contrast, exchangeable cards, and adjustable heights, so it will amuse her for months to come.  She seems to enjoy it.  It is sort of like a Top Chef Marathon, but for babies.

Clementine's Korner

And You Shall Know Me By The Trail of Bloody Paw Prints

- a very short story, by Princess Bumfoot

"I hurt my foot.  See?"

"I broke the toenail right off.  It's like the third time I did this.  The last time, they had just fixed the screen door, and I didn't know they had fixed the screen door, so I walked into the screen door, and I scratched my eyeball.  Then, that night, I couldn't see out of that eyeball, so I fell down the stairs.  Yes, the stairs to the bed that they got me after I broke my neck and had to learn to walk again."

Chair sleeper

  

Temple falls asleep in her bottle feeding chair.  Like a drunk on a Lazy Boy, the sated T dozes in her Maclaren.  You should see the empty bottles of breast milk strewn around her.  I think she needs meetings.  This type of thing is hereditary; Temple comes from a long line of chair sleepers. 

Feast or Famine

Matt's parents were here from Sunday to Thursday morning.  Josh, a prospective Naval Academy student, was here from Thursday to Saturday.  Tomorrow, Temple goes to her maternal grandparents' house for the first time.  All very exciting.  Sunday night, Matt leaves, not to return until Thursday afternoon. It's back to just T and me. Sorry, Temple. We are not watching soccer. It's America's Next Top Model marathons until Thursday.

Asleep at the wheel

"Wah, I'm so hungry!  Feed me!  Wah!  [suck suck suck] Noms.  [Snore]."

Clementine's Korner

"In the past six weeks, they have been getting up several times a night, just to sit on the couch for forty minutes.  I didn't understand it, but I would get up with them, because I also like to sit on the couch, as long as someone picks me up when I say and puts me back on the floor when I say.  Then, all of a sudden, those lazy buttholes stopped waking up when they were supposed to.  I believe, as chief in charge of household affairs, that it is my responsibility to keep everyone on schedule.  That's what I had to wake everyone up the last 4 nights in a row.  This laziness will not stand.

Also, our neighbors were outside talking quietly, and that freaked me out.  That's also why I was barking.  

Also, the wind was blowing.  Also, I had gas."

Pugs: can't live with them.

On Friday, June 11, Temple slept from about 10 pm until 2:00 am, ate for 40 minute or so, slept until 5:30 am, ate for about 40 minutes, and then stayed up, eating and sleeping on and off all day.  This had been her routine for about 4 weeks.  On Saturday night, she dozed off around 8:00 pm, and wasn't interested in being woken up for a 9:30 pm feeding like she usually is.  We expected her to wake us up just as we were drifting off to dreamland around 11:00 pm.  What did wake us up, around 12:30 am, was Clementine.  She barked for nearly an hour for no reason.  Temple, however, slept until 4:00 am.  Temple has slept for about 6 hours at a time at night since Saturday night, and Clementine has woken us up every one of those nights barking around 12:30 or 1:00 am.  Clementine sucks.  

3 Facts About Mr. Rogers

I watched a biography channel biography of Mr. Rogers.  Three touching facts:

1.  Koko, the sign language gorilla, would watch Mr. Rogers everyday.  when she met him, she took off his shoes.

2.  In 1980, Joan Rivers guest hosted The Tonight Show, and Mr. Rogers was a guest.  Joan Rivers was pissed, thinking that a saccharine children's show host had no place on late night television.  When she interviewed him on the show, she was so charmed by his sincerity that she cried when he sang "I like you."

3.  Mr. Rogers did not want to make a big deal out of the final episode of his show.  He wanted there to be a catalogue of episodes teaching lessons to children, and wanted his last episode to be just another show.  So, there is nothing special about the final episode of the show, except for this:  during the episode, Mr. McFeely, the mailman, did something he had never done before.  Before he left, he shook Mr. Rogers' hand.

In cartoons and gum commercials, a bright smile sparkles and makes that *ding* sound with a shiny asterisk.  There is a brief moment when the suns shines just right through the trees onto a piece of rock, and the rock glows for a moment.  There are those beautiful moments in time and in life, too.  These ones with Mr. Rogers are some of them.

Separated at birth

At left, Temple Virginia Sermon, 6 week old baby.

At right, Matthew Barney, modern American artist, best known for his series of five films, The Cremaster Cycle, which explores creation through allusions to the human reproductive anatomy's process of differentiation. 

Go Strasburg!

Things may be looking up for Temple's sports heart.  The Redskins still suck, but the Nationals' new pitching prodigy just struck out 14 (a Nationals' record) in his MLB debut.  

Premonitory dreams

I might be psychic, or maybe a prophet.  I have dreams that predict the future.
In college, I dreamed who the new director of the student run coffee shop would be before anyone told me.  I actually dreamed that Adam, one of the people who would chose the new director, told me who they had selected.
In 2006, I dreamed that Joe's wife was 7 weeks pregnant, and she really was.
In December, I dreamed that I had a c-section, and that they had to use general anethesia, and I slept for 3 days and never got to meet the baby.
I did get to meet my baby; in fact, I see her all the time.  But, as I have written about before, I did have a c-section, they almost had to give me general anesthesia, and I was in a fog for my whole stay in the hospital.  During the handful of moments I have had alone since T was born, my mind has consistently wandered back to her birth, and how difficult it was.  It didn't go as I imagined it would.  I thought I would deliver in a bed, sitting up, intensely but quietly pushing and breathing, an angelic glow on my cheeks, a crystal tear running down my temple, and she would be born and we would look each other in the eyes and instantly know that we were meant to be.  Then the violins would start up.  Then, the birth went the exact opposite way than I expected.  I had surgery, which was the very last thing I wanted to do, I didn't get to hold her for almost an hour, I was drugged up, sick, in pain, exhausted, I had trouble nursing, I cried for 3 days, and so on and so on.  I said I was prepared for it to go other than I imagined it, but based on my reactions after the fact, I clearly wasn't.  I didn't think I was the type to have rigid expectations for birth, but I was, and now I know that about myself.  I should pay more attention to my dreams.  Although, these days, my dreams are mostly about nursing.  No symbols, no metaphor, just reliving the events of the day.  They are the dreams of a dog.  Or a cow.

Exchange

[Matt and Krista arrive home from lunch to find that Santa (the Fed Ex man) has delivered the Snap n' Go Infant Car Seat Stroller has arrived.]

Krista

Baby, could you bring that package in whenever?

Matt

By "whenever," do you mean, "right away, or else I'm going to get pissed and do it myself?"

Krista

Yes.

[and scene.]

The first act of vengeance

"I shall have my revenge.  For all your sins, I shall have my revenge.  My first plague: I have stolen the word 'walk' from your vocabulary!  Henceforth, neither Matt nor Krista shall speak the word 'walk' in this house, unless they wish a rash of barking dogs scratching and barking at the front door and gnashing our teeth.  And that isn't all!  They shall be so conditioned, they shan't even speak the word when the dogs aren't there!  Diminished to speaking in euphemisms!  Delicious vengeance!"

Gifted

Kat Rice braved thunderstorms and our lack of cable and internet to come meet Temple.  Kat acknowledged how alert Temple is, and noted that she must be very advanced.  Kat would know: she herself is also very advanced. 

Ingredients

    

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Tummy Time

Temple is making progress on the lamb.  She is getting more confident picking her head up, and she doesn't cry in frustration as much.  So, she's basically all set.