Reality Check

I love to read your blogs.

Yesterday, I was reading a post by my old dancing buddy, Camille (who has a private blog, otherwise I would link her here). She was talking about a baby shower she had just attended for her friend and her little baby boy.

The baby's dad is in Iraq. He was in Iraq when his son was born, and watched the birth on Skype. He gets a short vacation in February to come home and meet his baby for the first time. Then he has to go back and he doesn't get to come home again until August.

Tearjerker? Umm, yeah.

After reading that post, I'm pretty sure I can deal with my husband going for a short business trip to Vegas after our baby is born.

And I won't complain about it, either.

How's That Quilt Coming?

Fifteen months ago, I get this bright idea. I'm going to make a quilt for my mother-in-law for Christmas. And not only am I going to make it for her, I'm going to quilt that puppy by hand, yessir. Because it would be easy, right? And it would only take me four months from start to finish, right? Wrong. So, so wrong.

I finished piecing the quilt top the night before we were supposed to drive to Utah for Christmas 08', and I was frantically putting basting stitches through all three layers late into the night, thinking that I would get all the hand quilting done on the 14 hour car ride. (Let's not overlook the fact that I had never hand quilted anything in my life, and thought I could figure it out from one of my quilting books and watching a few YouTube videos.)

Oh, ho, ho, ho. It's all laughable now.

Not only was I completely unable to quilt in the car, it wasn't until several days later when my sisters came to help me that I realized I'd bitten off more than I could chew, swallow, and digest before Christmas. My sister Meghan ever so gently said that there was no way on God's green earth that I was going to get that quilt quilted by Christmas, mere days away.

But we gave it heck anyway.

She was right, though, that sister of mine. I had to give the quilt to my dear mother-in-law unquilted and un binded. It was just a quilt top, wool batting, and backing held together with a few hastily sewn basting stitches.

And then I took it away from her, because who wants an unfinished quilt? (This makes me sad.) So, over the last year, I have worked on the quilt. I have quilted when I've had the time, and those who have seen it always ask me, "How's that quilt coming?"

Here's the answer. It's still not finished. Why? Because quilts done by hand don't get done with stress and hurry. But they do get done with love. I've had to learn this lesson. And I am thankful for it.

I am almost there though, and I'll be darned if another Christmas comes and goes without my mother-in-law having her quilt. So keep on asking. Keep on pestering. And I will finish the quilt so Lorene can wrap her first little grand baby in it and rock her till she falls asleep.

A Conversation With A Husband

"Abby, I'm going to have to go to Las Vegas in February on business."

"No."

"If you're not comfortable with it, I won't go."

"I'm not comfortable with it."

"We'll play it by ear."

Pregnancy Ponderings

In this edition of Pregnancy Ponderings:

-Hee Hee Hoo

-Out of the Mouths of Babes


Hee Hee Hoo

Last week Brian and I began to take part in that ceremonial rite known as Lamaze Class.

Here are some stats for you:

Number of pregnant women in the class: 9

Number of married pregnant women in the class: 3

Number of couples older than Brian and me (28 and 25): 1

Number of pregnant women who are 15 years old: 2

Age of the mother of one of those pregnant 15 year olds, who is also her Lamaze partner: 39

Call me old fashioned, but these stats make me very sad.

During a break in the class, we were given a packet with a Lamaze magazine, some coupons, and some samples. While waiting for class to resume, I read the magazine. These people are serious about birthin' those babies, and birthin' em natural like, too. Now, I have no problem with natural childbirth. I dare say I'd like to give it a go myself, but heck, I've never done this before, what the crap do I know? I won't be surprised if one contraction hits me like a ton of bricks and I'm begging for death.

Anyway, back to the magazine. The article I was reading was about taking charge of your birthing experience and not letting anyone push you into making decisions or getting medication you're not comfortable with.

After all, the magazine said, "Childbirth is an experience that is not to be missed."

Well, I'll be sure and mark my calendar then. I sure wouldn't want to be absent for the birth of my child.

Thank you, Lamaze magazine. Your genius astounds me.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

Those durned primary kids sure do come up with some doozies. Last night as I lay in bed, desperately (and I do mean desperately) trying to fall asleep, I compiled a mental list of all the gnarly things those little people have said or done over the course of my pregnancy.

Unfortunately, doing this did not have the soporific effect I was hoping for. Instead, I began giggling, and had to put my head under a pillow so I wouldn't wake Brian.

One Sunday, obscenely early in the pregnancy, one of the kids came up to me as I was standing in a circle of chatting adults. "Are you pregnant?" he asked, all innocence and big brown eyes. Well, that adult conversation ended very quickly, I can assure you. And heck, I couldn't lie to the little tyke. With his suspicions confirmed, he ran through the halls, running up to any adult that would pay attention to him, "Sister Roberts is having a BABY! Sister Roberts is having a BABY!" Finally, he reached my poor, unsuspecting husband. "Brother Roberts, did you know your wife is pregnant?!"

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Another day, another child. Months later, I was passing out papers to the primary kids. A mother was in with her little girl that day and as I got close to them the mother said, "Hailee wants to know if you're only halfway pregnant because you don't look all the way pregnant yet." Hailee, apparently, was too shy to ask me herself.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

When my grandmother passed away in August I went to Utah and spent the month there. I came back looking noticeably more pregnant. Upon my return, I was in the primary getting ready to teach Sharing Time. A hand was raised. "Did you go away to have your baby in Utah?"

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Yesterday after church, I was talking with a parent as her little girl, McKenna, hovered close by. She was staring intently at my bulging belly during the conversation and finally, not being able to resist the urge any longer, she reached out and patted it. "Is there a little baby in there?", she asked. I told her that yes, there was. Then she leaned in a little closer, got a very stern look in her eye and asked, "Did you marry someone?" I had to try not to laugh, but I told her yes, I did. Then, with that same stern look on her little face, she said, "That's good. I was just making sure."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

In closing, because of my propensity to sit around and take the most unflattering pictures of myself possible, here is one that will really make you feel good about yourself.

Operation Sewing Basket

My Great Aunt Mary left a few things to me when she passed away. One was a cedar hope chest, the other was her sewing basket and everything in it. I was just a kid when it fell into my hands, and couldn't have really appreciated all the treasures inside. Now, thankfully, things are a little different.

As of late, I've had an intense urge to learn the art of embroidery. I knew Aunt Mary had excelled at this, as she had in all things crafty, so I pulled out her sewing basket. Inside I found all the things I needed to get started: a hoop, embroidery needles, and an abundance of embroidery floss. I have yards and yards of muslin that I bought sometime in junior high, back when I was determined to teach myself to quilt (it didn't go over so well the first time), so I cut a 24 by 18 inch piece, found a drawing of a flower that I liked, traced it onto the muslin, and commenced embroidering.

And a tea towel was born.
It was easier than I thought, and oh, so very fun.

I found the how to page over at Sublime Stitching very helpful. I also enjoyed looking through this: Just another treasure from Aunt Mary's sewing basket.

Pregnancy Ponderings

In this edition of Pregnancy Ponderings:

-Sleeping Arrangements

-On Being a World

Sleeping Arrangements

The thought that preoccupies my mind is this: where is the best place for my child to sleep?

And seriously. Where SHOULD she sleep?

My two options are as follows:

1. In a bassinet near our bed.
2. In her crib in her nursery.

I know people are going to say I should go with my instincts and do what feels right, which is excellent advise, but in the end, I'm not getting a whole lot of information. I suppose what I'm looking for is someone to tell me what they think of me putting my days-old, precious angel down the hall in her own crib to sleep. We're talking alone. In her own room. With her own stuff. What have you moms done? What has worked best for you, your partner, and your baby?

I want to get her started off in her own room. There will be less transitioning for her and for all of us. Not to mention more sleep for the dad who gets to pay for all the diapers.

Call me a mean mom if you must, and then, when you are done, tell me what you think of my decision.

I'm tough. Because mean moms have to be.


On Being A World (or something like one)

It occurred to me the other day that I am a small planet, maybe a bio dome, perhaps a greenhouse. It hit me that if I don't live, neither does my baby.

If I don't breath, have a beating heart, have neurons transmitting and myelin sheaths shooting, my baby doesn't make it. How many small miracles are happening every second to keep me alive, I wonder. And now they are happening for two.

I am a world. A big dumb, blundering, world. I don't control the science of it. I don't tell my body to work, to pump, to build or create.

My body is a house, a house for two souls and a house for miracles.

And I do believe I know where these miracles come from:

He gave me my eyes that I might see

The color of butterfly wings.

He gave my my ears that I might hear

The magical sound of things.

He gave me my life, my mind, my heart;

I thank Him reverently

For all his creations,

Of which I'm a part.

Yes,

I know Heavenly Father loves me.

And that goes for all y'all.

If you'd like to hear the whole song, this is a beautiful video with music by Amy Gileadi.

Operation Pantry

Once upon a time, I had a really teeny tiny pantry. Despite my organizing attempts, it still looked like a big messy blob. I didn't even know what I had in there. On Saturday, that came to an end when Brian took his only real day off and built me a new pantry.

First he placed some brackets. He also concentrated very, very hard.

Next, he built some shelves. He even ate lunch in there because he's just that dedicated to his craft (yes, that is a turkey sandwich in his hand).

Then he built even more shelves (this was his reaction when I told him to smile).

And I organized.

Finally, I saw that it was good. (I also saw that, at 27 weeks, I am enormous.) We're talkin' huge.