Baker, 4 Months

This little chunk is four months old. He gets fatter every day.

Blake had his first haircut last month. For fear of repeating Jameson's wispy toupee, we cut it early and won't be afraid to do it again when he needs it!

Baker is trying really hard to blow raspberries lately. He is very vocal, squealing, laughing, yelling and cooing and spitting.

He gets ticklish when I change his clothes.

He rolls back to tummy allll the time. He is definitely a middle child already (no that's not an announcement) because though he's been rolling for a couple months, we only saw it actually happen a couple of weeks ago. Sorry, B! Today was the first time (that I know of) that he rolled tummy to back.

His favorite things are kicking around on the ground on a blanket and taking naps on our bed.

I love this little cherub! Muah!

Hello, horsey.

Tolerating the bumbo.

He likes to grab his toes.

Pre haircut.

Post-haircut. His eyes look so sleepy. That haircut must have taken a lot out of the poor kid.

Me and my brother.

I try so hard to blow raspberries!

Where I take my best naps.

Good morning!

So sleepy. I love his chubby little hands here.

My December Baby Turns 2

This kid loves getting sick around his birthday (I mean, so far). Last year, he puked for like a week. This time, it went a little something like this:

Day 1: puke for four hours, then immediately act normal and eat everything in sight.
Days 2-10: mysterious rash, sleepy
Day 11: fever and lethargy
Days 12-16: whines a lot. Asks to take naps

Luckily, by day 17 he was all good.

I have lots of pictures! So here is the past couple months in the life of Jameson, in no particular order.

Super cooperative for pictures, as always. The boy loves juice and demands it, along with "crackers in a bowl" pretty much constantly. I tell him to ask nicely, and he says, in a high pitched vioce, "say please, crackers! say please, juice!"

This is pretty much the only way I get a smiling picture of the Jamer. Laughing because he's running away.

Day 11 fever. I fixed him up a comfy spot on the couch, carefully covering the whole couch surface in case of puke, and he watched Cars in its entirety, three times.

The birthday party. This is pretty much what I saw the entire present opening time. The back of this excited boy's head, surrounded by equally excited cousins!

The cake! Jameson likes cars, a lot! And trucks! Every truck is a "big truck" to him, so I copied this concept from Pinterest and one of my aunts. It was a hit.

On December 3, we got tons of snow. Tons! He asked me to go outside, so I spent about 10 minutes getting him all geared up. As soon as I opened the door and the wind caught that sweet little face, he was too cold and wouldn't go out.

Watching airplanes! We took the boys on their first plan ride to visit my parents in Washington. Jameson was a holy terror on the plane, but was very sweet for this moment. Yes, he is wearing a toddler leash. Judge if you must; we really don't care.

J loves playing with any ball. He is pretty good about knowing the difference between a basketball, soccer ball and football, but every small ball, even Christmas tree ornaments, is a golf ball. Here he is with one of his "golf balls."

"Put on glasses?" "Dinosaur shirt?" 

See how well they tolerate each other? I love this one with their matching outfits!

Recent Jamerisms:

Upon flipping over his coloring page from nursery to reveal several pictures of the Savior, he exclaimed "there it is! Found Jesus!" Already saved at so young an age. ;)

Upon being offered soup for lunch, pointing to the stairs (I keep the soup in the basement storage room) saying, "go get soup. Go get it. Go ahead."

After waking up from a nap and finding the Christmas tree lit up, Jameson told me that the tree was handsome and that I did a good job.

After Mark performed in the ward Christmas Choir, Jameson yelled "good job!" into the after-song silence in church.

A couple times over the past week, he has burst out in song, singing the birthday song.

To him, every cake, muffin and pastry is birthday cake. And he wants "moy" of it.

Jameson loves to count, somewhat out of order, likes doing puzzles, likes big trucks, loves shooting hoops (encouraging himself with things like "almost" and "try again" when he misses), tickling Blake's toes, and telling me what color things are (almost always incorrectly).

Today

Today I noticed that Jameson was playing super intently with his stuffed animals. He took each one from the stuffed animal bin, saying, "nigh night monkey, nigh night doggy, nigh night robot (which is what he calls Iron Man)," etc., laying them on the couch in a row and ordering them to go sleep then whispering "I love you" and walking backwards away from the couch to get another animal. I was pretty amazed. Sometimes he kicks Blake in the head, other times he tucks his robot lovingly into bed.

I'm sure by now you've seen this photo.

And I have heard so many people say, "there's no way a normal person gets that fit eight months after having a baby."

Yeah, I know, they don't. Because she didn't do this in eight months. Fitness for her is clearly a lifelong priority and I doubt she spent her pregnancy watching movies and eating Cheetos. I am sure she was in great shape during her pregnancy, too, so getting to this point was not an impossible stretch.

The other argument is that spending so much time at the gym makes you a bad mom. Well, if Facebook surfing and Netflix binge watching burned calories, a lot of us would look like her. There are lots of things in life that take us away from our kids; some just have more enviable results.

You go, Maria Kang.

(This post was typed as I ate chocolate chips directly from the bag.)

Baby Blake

Blake is now seven weeks old. The time has seriously flown. I can't remember what life was like without him. I can't believe how much you can love a baby that hardly does anything. I can't think of any more cliche, but true, statements about this little boy.

For the past week or so, Blake has really been smiling and cooing. You could catch one here or there by the time he was about four weeks old, but now it's a regular thing. It's so sweet to see. He also has been sleeping for longer stretches at night. He'll usually go down between 9 and 10pm, and not wake up until 2am, 3am, or even 4am. The 4am thing happened for three days in a row (actually one night it was 5am), so I bragged to everyone on Facebook and Instagram, and the next night he woke up at 2:30, Blake's first "Bazinga!" of what i'm sure will be many. You know, just so I remember who's the boss.

He loves his swing, but isn't too into the bouncy seat, which is the opposite of Jameson. We're being more aggressive about getting him to like a binky. So far, his favorite is one that Jared and Chelsey got him that has a huge black mustache on it. Ohhh, baby.

He is an amazingly good nurser. I've been pleasantly surprised  with how easy it's been to feed him, giving me plenty of time to watch trashy TV shows on Netflix and do little else. (What do you people think of Revenge? Intriguing or really, really sad? I had to start another show about rich people being mean to each other once I finished Gossip Girl.) The only way that breastfeeding has cramped my style is that I can't drink caffeine anymore. I've had one Diet Coke since he was born, and the following eight hours turned out to be the screechiest, most sleepless, terrible night of both our lives. Luckily I was able to kick the caffeine habit early on, when the withdrawal headaches just kind of blended in to the hormonal/sleep deprivation/holy-crap-I-have-two-kids-how-the-h-am-I-going-to-survive headaches, and now I'm good.

I think I mentioned that Jameson has slowly taken more interest in Blake. Today, that interest took the form of dousing the poor baby with half a Peach Fresca. Blake was mad at first, but then he realized that the refreshing citrus scent was actually quite delightful.

And now for the pictures:

Blake/Mom selfie. The selfie camera on my phone is not so hot.

I even sleep awesome!

I'm happy, but don't want anyone to know I'm toothless.

Mark's First Blog Post In A Very Long Time

Hi there, it's Mark.  Mark LaRocco.

So, for years now (or at least many months) I've been telling Holly how I miss writing.  Sure, I write a lot for work.  But that's just boring legal stuff.  Memoranda, motions, replies, letters and emails, and things like that. I feel like my creative writing groove is gone, but not unrecoverable.  With more practice writing non-legal stuff, I can get good again.  Or at least acceptable.

I believe I had the idea to just piggyback onto Holly's blog, as a contributor, and Holly had the idea to rename the blog from Holly Lynn Says to LaRoccos' Modern Life.  Brilliant.  So here I am.

Holly is good at keeping everyone updated on our growing little family, what with our two little boys and all. I imagine I will spend some of the time writing about my family.  But I hope to write about other things that interest me such as movies, sports, people, and peanut butter.

The point is, I need a bit of a creative outlet to get my ideas on paper, and then elaborate and expand on them and develop them and see if they mean anything or if they are just fluff.  I found that when I used to write papers for school, sometimes my good ideas actually grew out of my writing, rather than the other way around.  I think my best papers came out of my philosophy classes and some papers I wrote about faith for an Institute class from a Brother Harding. I've gone back and reread some of them, and I can't believe I came up with some of that.  Writing about the paradoxes of faith actually helped me to understand faith better, as if the insights that resulted from the writing would have only sprung forth from the writing itself.

Sometimes, I feel like maybe that is because I'm a slow, deliberative thinker.  Perhaps I overanalyze too much.  This morning I went on a show for KBER 101 with Mick & Allen (The Freak Show) to plug Jolley & Jolley, the fathers' rights law firm I work for.  Mick & Allen, and about three callers, asked questions that I didn't know the exact answers to, but I took some pretty confident shots and stabs at them.  (Why the violent imagery to convey uncertainty?  Shots and stabs?)  As the "expert" on a radio show, I couldn't not know the exact answers.  Confidence was supposed to exude from me.  Using many hedge words, as I did on many a law school exam and the Bar itself, is not what people were looking for.  And I don't think it's what Jolley & Jolley was looking for when they asked me to go on the show.

But my point is, I wish I could have paused for a few minutes after each question, done some legal research, maybe talked to a couple smart lawyers, and given a well-reasoned, well-researched, accurate answer to each question.  But the format of the show doesn't allow for that.

Where was I?  Oh, right, thinking and writing.  I feel like I have good thoughts, and some of them have gone unexplored.  I would like to explore my thoughts.  This, I feel, happens best in two ways: (1) Good conversation, and (2) Writing.  And sometimes, my writing, as annoying as that may be to read, will sound like a conversation between two people.  No, it won't. Yes, it will.

At any rate, I hope to use this blog as a way to express ideas, vent, give opinions, and occasionally be funny. Also, it will act as a sort of journal.  I've been writing in my journal less and less, and I've decided that it is due at least in part to my handwriting getting worse and worse.  A blog should solve that problem.

Well, I was hoping to wrap this up with a neat and tidy point.  But, I guess not.  Like the great work Freakonomics, there may be no grand unifying theme.

Well, see ya later.

Jameson these days

Combined with the hormonal rollercoaster and sleep deprivation that come hand-in-hand with having a baby, Jameson's "curiosity" and "determination" have made me feel like a full-on crazy person. At home, things are usually under control, but take that kid anywhere else, and he is a loony on the loose. Redecorating people's houses, dismembering plants, stealing other kids' bikes, kicking Blake in the face, screaming for juice, you name it.

My parents believe he is very smart. I hope this is true.

But it's not all bad. He has started to learn his favorite books and will "read" them to me. He likes to read me "That's Not My Monkey" and "Sleepy Baby." He also likes to line things up and count them. He counts to eight the quick way, pointing to each item he's counting, "one, two, eight." He is also learning the song "I Am A Child Of God," and his favorite line is "help me find the way." It's the one line he can bust out and have it sound recognizable.

Jameson is big into phones. He has all of our old cell phones stashed around the house. He'll hold them up like he's going to take a picture, and says "cheese!"

He likes watching the movie Cars. His favorite part is the beginning, when that desk lamp hops across the letters of the word Pixar and smashes down the I. He always points and yells excitedly to me, "light!"

He's into lights and trying to get Blake interested, too

His language skills in the past month have really increased. He regularly strings together two or three words to make simple phrases, making it possible to communicate with him when he isn't faking deaf so he can run away from me at the park. He mimics EVERYTHING. My favorite thing he says is "ugh! Dang it!"

Jameson still takes two naps a day. I use the term nap loosely, because sometimes his afternoon nap is mostly him jumping on his bed, squealing, for an hour straight.

After an hour or so of playing bounce castle in his crib

He is also really good at walking backwards and is still into spinning around. He has discovered climbing - chairs, tables, slides at the park, other kids' bikes. He likes to sing along with songs he hears. Yesterday at my brother's wedding, Tyler and Chelsey's sister, Vanessa, were singing a duet, and Jameson was trying to sing along loudly in an otherwise quiet room.

He is slowly getting more interested in interacting with Blake in non-violent ways. The other day I was feeding the baby, and Jameson sat next to us and softly rubbed Blake's hair. It was a sweet moment, and I'm hoping for more of these.

Don't you just love how floppy babies are?

Birth Stories

So monthly updates lasted um, not long. The past month, I have been in babyland, and I'm finally posting birth stories. I wrote Jameson's and saved it as a draft after he was born, but never posted it, so now I'm posting both. They're lengthy, just like the boys' gestation periods.

Jameson

Jameson wanted to soak a little longer than I thought was necessary, so we scheduled an induction on December 12, nine days past my December 3 due date. Since my doc didn't think that pitocin alone would be enough to kick things into gear, he asked me to come in to the hospital on Sunday night for some medicine so soften things up before laboring all day Monday with the use of pitocin, and possibly, a c-section.

I was a little nervous, because my mom and a couple of her sisters are c-section ladies out of necessity. I was worried that I would be pumped full of contraction-inducing drugs for 24 hours only to have a c-section later.

Well, on the Wednesday before induction I got a shot of energy somehow and decided to scour my entire house. Somewhere between scrubbing a bathtub and disassembling/hand washing/re-assembling the dining room light fixture (doesn't deserve to be called a chandelier), I started having contractions. I felt them in my back and radiating down my legs. It hurt to walk. I thought this might be "it." As luck would have it, we had our last O.B. appointment that evening and I thought "hey, maybe he'll examine me and exclaim, 'what are you doing here? You're at an 8! Run to the hospital! Run!'"

We went to our appointment and I was dilated a half a centimeter. and 60% effaced, just like I had been for three weeks.

I went home and proceeded to have hard, frequent contractions for the next three days. They were never close enough together or long enough for me to feel like I needed to go to the hospital, until Saturday night at about 11:30 when I downloaded the contraction timer app on my phone. Yes, there is an app for that. It showed that my contractions were averaging a minute long and five minutes apart - BINGO! Time to go!

I started getting nervous and contracting like crazy. I had to tell myself to calm down so I could finish packing my bag and take a shower while Mark had a snack and gathered up all the things we thought we'd need and load up the car.

We got to the hospital and they monitored me for an hour in a tiny triage room. I ate a popsicle and breathed through a bunch of contractions while watching Jameson's little heartbeat on the monitor. Since I didn't progress in that hour (I was dilated to a 1 at that point - a half centimeter's progress in four days was not making me feel great about what lie ahead). Since my doctor wasn't on call that night, they called one of his partners who told the nurse that it was their practice not to induce other peoples' patients and to give me a bunch of morphine and send me home till the previously agreed-upon time.

The nurse, who was so nice, gave me the drugs and told me "I'm pretty sure you'll be back before tonight."

I was worried about getting morphine and how it might affect the baby, but the nurse told us that all it would do was just make both of us relax. On the one hand, I didn't want to relax! I wanted to dilate! On the other, since I was going to be in the hospital all night the next night, I figured I might as well sleep while I could. She also told me not to get discouraged about slow progress and that the hardest labor your body does is getting to a 3.

By the time I got down to the car, I was seriously loopy. I could barely stay awake enough to get into bed and eat a piece of toast before sleeping off and on all day on Sunday. I won't lie - sleeping felt great.

My mom came over on Sunday evening before we went to the hospital and the morphine had worn off. I was feeling miserable. Every move I made, made me contract. The thought that I was definitely having a baby tomorrow at the latest did make things a little easier to handle. I ate a grilled cheese sandwich and we went to the hospital. I drank a real Coke from a glass bottle on the way to the hospital. I don't like real Coke, but the night before I saw it at the store and suddenly needed it.

By the time I was all suited up in my hospital garb and ready for my softening medicine, I had dilated to a three and was 80% effaced. I was so excited! I had done the hardest part on my own! My doctor was calling to check on me, but my nurse was busy trying to get an IV in me for about, oh, 45 minutes. (9 days later I still had a gnarly bruise. In fact, once I got my epidural, the IV site was the only part on me that hurt for hours.)

My doctor said that they should just monitor me throughout the night to see how I did - no drugs yet. Well except the epidural. My nurse and I were talking at 10:30pm about when I wanted my epidural, knowing that it could slow down labor. I wanted to wait a little. Then I got another contraction and I changed my mind really fast. By 11:00pm, it was in and I was feeling fantastic.

I slept off and on all night and kept progressing well. The only concern were small decelerations in Jameson's heart rate, and I was put on an oxygen mask, although my nurse didn't seem to intense about me wearing it. They also put an electronic monitor in his scalp to better monitor him.

My doctor came in at about 7:00am on Monday and I was at an 8 and totally effaced. He said that he had planned on going to do something else, but decided to stick around. At that point I finally believed that I was going to be able to have the baby. I had a painful spot in my right hip, so the anesthesiologist came and gave me an extra boost of medicine to get me through the last bit before pushing.

The extra shot combined with nerves made me shake like crazy. Mark had called my mom earlier that morning to let her know we were close, but he called her again to tell her I was going to start pushing very soon. A scrub tech came in and set up the table with all the instruments and a tub that I assume was used to catch my placenta and they turned on the big light.

I was kind of freaking out a little. The nurse came and taught me how to push. The doctor and my mom walked in at exactly the same time, and we were set to go.

Mark and my mom each held one of my legs while I pushed. At first, I couldn't feel it at all, but after a while, my epidural started wearing off and I could feel my contractions and wanted to push through them. It felt like a huge waste to be feeling the pain of a contraction without pushing.

A little while into it, my mom yelled, "he's got hair!" That made me excited. For some reason I thought it was awesome that my baby had hair, and it was really motivating.

Mark, my mom and the doctor kept telling me I was "almost there" and "so close." I finally told them to knock it off. If I had been that close for that long, we'd be done already. Other than that, I don't think I did or said anything mean to anyone, but I may have just forgotten and they are too nice to remind me.

In all, I pushed for about 90 minutes and Jameson was born at 9:25 am. It was such a relief! They put him right on my chest while my doctor pushed out the placenta (can I just say ouch!?) and my mom suctioned out his nose and mouth while a nurse gave him his Hep B, Vitamin K and erythromycin while he was right on me. Mark cut the cord. Jameson was squirming and crying like a champ. I guess he had passed some meconium on his way out, and they took care of that, too. It happened after his head had been delivered.

He weighed 7 lbs 6 oz and was 20 inches long. He had no vernix caseosa and was super peely - definitely overdue!

Blake 

Blake was born on August 19th, 2013 at 8:09pm. He was 21.5 inches long and weighed 8 lbs 12 oz.Throughout my pregnancy, we had prepared and planned for an unmedicated birth, partly in hopes of a better recovery than what I'd experienced with Jameson, partly out of curiosity and partly to save money on an epidural (epidural medication is billed hourly, and given the fact that I'd had mine for 11 hours with Jameson, that is quite a chunk of change, especially when you are self-pay, like we are).

Since we wanted an unmedicated birth, I really didn't want to be induced. Contractions with pitocin are a lot more intense than natural contractions, and being induced requires continuous monitoring, and so being induced just kind of sets you up for more IV fluids and a more "medical" birth experience.

My body, once again, decided not to go into labor (a tradition of mine). With Jameson, my labor started at 40 weeks and 4 days, so when my due date passed, I hoped things would get going soon, though I did hope to skip the whole five-days-of-contractions thing. My mom came into town on my due date, and with the hope that Blake would be born before she had to turn around and go home again, we scheduled an induction for Wednesday, August 14th.

At my appointment on the 13th, my doctor worried that I hadn't progressed enough on my own to have a successful induction, and that trying to force things the next day would lead to a c-section. So, we decided to wait. I should mention that my doctor wouldn't let me go past 41 weeks, "and then at that point, if you have a c-section, you have a c-section." It was frustrating and seemed arbitrary, but I wasn't really surprised at the lack of progress. I had a feeling it would happen this way. I knew I could have fought to wait until I went into labor and complied with whatever non-stress test schedule they push you in to to pressure you to just get an induction already, but I was tired and my resolve for a totally unmedicated birth had started to crack as I got used to the idea of being induced.

I went back to the doctor to have my membranes stripped on Wednesday (did nothing) and again on Friday (made me crampy, but ultimately did nothing).

On Monday, August 19th, we called the hospital and they told us to come in at 11:00am for the induction. We got to our room and sat there for a full hour before our nurse came in. Apparently Utah girls are prompt about full moons (which the next day was) and they were very busy.

My nurse got me all set up. Since I was GBS+, I needed an IV right away. The doctor came in to check me. I was a "tight 2" and 65% effaced, which is weird, because they had been telling me I was 80% effaced for the past month. When I told the doctor this, he asked me which doctor had made that determination and noted several times how "optimistic" the other doctors had been. They started pitocin and my antibiotics together at 1:00pm. Less than an hour after starting fluids, the doctor came in and broke my water, commenting again how thick my cervix was. The reminder was super encouraging, *sigh*.

Contractions at first were easy. The nurse came and cranked up the pitocin every 20 minutes. I don't know how it's calculated, but they start it at 2 and turn it up until it's at 20. I was encouraged by how manageable the contractions were for the first couple of hours. The only concern at this point were small decelerations in Blake's heart rate. When this would happen, I would need to switch positions until he was happy and his heart rate stayed in the normal range. Eventually this meant only laying on my side, which made contractions a lot less comfortable.

Little by little, things got tougher. By about 4:00pm, I got in the bathtub, monitors and all, hoping that the water would help relax me. It did, for a while, and then I needed my second round of antibiotics. Those antibiotics sting. My whole arm was on fire. It did distract me from the contractions, but it was really painful. Eventually, I wasn't able to relax through contractions anymore. The pitocin was up to 18, and I didn't get any breaks between contractions. It felt like I was having one constant contraction with peaks every two minutes. And they really were every two minutes. My sense of time is foggy when I'm in labor, but that timing was confirmed by all my handy continuous monitoring made necessary by the pitocin.

At 5:15pm, I decided it wasn't worth it anymore. I told Mark I wanted an epidural and he went to tell the nurse. She checked me and I was dilated to a 4. A FOUR! Ugh. A measly two centimeters in four and a half hours was super discouraging. At that rate, I could have 16 hours left, and I didn't care at that point if I had to sell all my clothes and work at McDonald's for years to pay for my epidural. I was getting it.

This is where I start to lose sense of all time and space. I was out of my mind in pain, the baby's heart rate was going nuts, and the anesthesiologist had to poke me three times before he got it right. I was preparing a speech in my head for Mark about the fact that we would be having no more children and that two was enough. There was no way I was going through this again. On top of it all, it was shift change for the nurses, so my night nurse was introducing herself and performing a cervical check (WHAT?!) in the middle of it all. I knew that my epidural was properly placed because I started to shake uncontrollably. I was dilated to five centimeters. This was about 6:15pm.

I continued to shake and feel all my contractions, so I self-dosed twice. Finally my pain was gone, though I could still feel all my contractions and the shaking never stopped. Blake's heart rate was getting scary low, so I was put on oxygen (another tradition of mine, I guess) and my nurse shut off the pitocin, mentioning that the cord could be around the baby's neck. I could not stop shaking. At 7:15pm or maybe 7:30pm, I could tell I was complete. I told the nurse, who checked me and lo and behold, 10 centimeters! Yahoo! Now I just had to stay in a position that let Blake's heart rate stay as stable as possible and breathe as deeply as I could into my oxygen mask while we waited for my doctor to finish another delivery.

They started setting up the room for me to push. I could feel Blake's head the whole time and I knew that if I didn't have my epidural, I would be pushing uncontrollably. He was *right* there.

The doc was ready for me and came in to chat with me about how pushing would work. I reminded him that I was keeping my placenta (placenta pills - love them - I don't care if that grosses you out), that I wanted delayed cord clamping, immediate skin to skin, and NO episiotomy. I started pushing at 7:50pm. Again, my sense of time was totally gone, because I swear I pushed for only 3 contraction before his head was out, but I know it actually took longer. His head emerged, purple, with the cord draped around his neck. Not only was Blake purple, he was stuck. Everyone in the room rushed over to me, yelling at me to push, while they pushed on my pelvis, my stomach, everywhere, yelling things like "staff assist!" calling for reinforcements. I was pushing as hard as I could, and less than a minute later, he was out. Mark told me later that he couldn't watch during this part. I was so focused at the time that I didn't realize how badly things could have gone until I looked back on it.

I learned later that I had an episiotomy, which given the circumstances, I was completely fine with. When you have a purple baby with a cord around its neck, you get that baby out as soon as possible. Because of Blake's scary delivery, we didn't get immediate skin to skin or delayed cord clamping. Instead we got rushed with everything and Blake was wisked over to the warmer, where nurses worked on him with total focus, speaking in hushed tones. He finally cried, and they said his apgar score was 7. His breathing was grunty, so he finally was able to lay on my chest, and in a few minutes, his breathing was fine.

Holding Blake after that scary 15 minutes of pushing and not knowing was the best feeling in the world. We instantly bonded. It felt like we were both breathing a sigh of relief and that he knew I was his mom and that he was safe. I never wanted it to end! After just a few minutes, his breathing was normal. All that "two kids is plenty" talk went right out the window. In that moment, it was all worth it.

Blake is the sweetest little boy. He nursed like a pro from the beginning, is putting on weight steadily, loves to snuggle, and so far has survived his big brother. We love him so much!

18 Months, and a new phase of baby-proofing is in order.

I just walked into the kitchen to find Jameson crouching Peepers style on a kitchen chair, gulping with gusto from my big icy drink. I would have taken a picture, but I didn't want him to steal any more of my treat, so I grabbed the cup from him as quickly as I could.

The kid is getting more sophisticated; there's no denying it. Not only did he climb up on the chair, a first, but he managed to carefully lift the large cup from the table to the chair without spilling an ounce. Putting things on the table or kitchen counter used to keep them safe, but those days are apparently gone. *sigh*

Not only is Jameson an agile mover, he's a wordsmith, too. At his 18 month checkup, one of the questions was whether he said 8 words. Um, yes:

no
hi
buh-bye
more
dada
mama
toast
cheese
doggy
george (as in curious)
uh-oh
nose
toes
toast
all gone
boat
ball
bowl
roll
block
apple
book
tickle
baby
strawberry
blankie
shovel
light
water
shoes
cookie
hot
a bite
bath
outside
egg
monkey

This month, Jameson likes to walk backwards and stomp with his shoes, and he spots doggies and balls everywhere He learned how to give hugs and kisses and knows where baby Blake lives.

He is obsessed with eating strawberries and toast.

He learned how to whisper and how to blow on his food.

A couple weeks ago, we were out to lunch with my friend Penny, and he reached across the table, grabbed my napkin and proceeded to blow his nose. Like, for real. He's doing it right now, too. Silly kid.

He loves blankets. When he sees one (or a towel, or something else resembling a blanket or towel, he says, "awww, bwonkie," and lays down on it on his tummy and shimmies around for a second to get a really comfy snuggle going. He stays that way for about three seconds and then he is on to the next thing.

He also insists on performing routine light switch checks, a la NBC's Community, whenever he sees a switch.

Breathe: everything is fine.

Tonight, after looking at IKEA's website, only to see once again that the crib we want for Jameson's big boy room (yes, I realize that "big boy" rooms aren't supposed to have cribs) is still not only out of stock, but no longer available for purchase online, I started to panic at the possibility that the crib had been discontinued.

If we can't get this crib, then the crib won't match the dresser.

My design plans will be thwarted.

Jameson will be deprived of a well-thought-out furniture plan and his room will look like the result of a dumpster dive.

Heavy stuff, you guys.

I did a little search and started to think that my fears were well-founded.

So I did what any money-saving Utahn would: I went to check the KSL classifieds. Hopefully someone will be selling one and I can just buy that one, and bonus, not have to put the dang thing together with those tiny little allen wrenches.

But when I get to KSL.com, I'm stopped by a huge photo of the cutest two-year-old boy who is battling something much bigger than mis-matched nursery furniture; he has kidney cancer.

I thought of my little boy, running around outside, digging in the dirt, going down slides, chasing dogs, eating popsicles and getting sticky and sweaty and having the time of his life, and at once I was so happy, and so sad.

My heart broke for this little boy, and for his parents. As much as I try not to do this, sometimes when I look at my life and all the good things in it, instead of feeling grateful, I feel scared at how much there is to lose. When I think of my child being in pain or danger, I just ache inside.

So I will take temper tantrums. I will take picky eating. I will take red popsicle stains. I will take Curious George every day until the end of time. I will even endure mis-matched bedroom furniture and I will not worry what people think of me for it. Because whether Jameson's bed is IKEA brown/black or just plain old espresso finish, I'll enjoy the same slobbery kisses, the same giggles, the same snuggles, the same excitement from learning a new word, and the same love, love, love from my sweet little boy.

And I'll just pray that the fun isn't cut short, and that I don't forget how much fun I'm having.

17 months

Two months in a row - am I good, or what?

This is his catalog pose.

This month, Jameson has been all about books. He loves them. He likes to flip through each page pretty quickly, then go back to review random pages near the middle.

The other day, I was up getting ready for the day and he was being really quiet. Usually, when I go upstairs, he follows me eventually and tries to get under the sink so he can sprinkle Comet in his hair and eat pomade. But today, he didn't. I looked down the stairs, and he was crouched on the kitchen floor (like Mr. Peepers) thumbing through Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? Like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

He also has a special book that he reads at church, that is also a puzzle, which is cool, and a few he likes to read in the car.

I love his obsession with books and I hope he'll soon allow me to actually read to him!

He also loves apples as much as Mr. Peepers does.

Jameson has also discovered the joy of dipping french fries (and his fingers) in ketchup.

He also eats yogurt with a spoon and is obsessed with outside. Here he sits watching Mark mow the lawn:

This little bug is getting so big, but I still can't believe he is going to be the big brother so soon. I entered the third trimester today, and it's also 90 degrees outside. We are so excited to meet baby Blake.

Breckenridge

We just got back from a fun trip to Breckenridge, Colorado. The locals call this "mud season;" the resorts are closed but it isn't quite warm enough for summer sports.

We didn't care. We practically had the city to ourselves, and the weather was actually really nice.

On Sunday, one of Mark's friends from law school came up with his family to stay with us at our condo. It was nice to walk around, visit and try to keep the kids entertained. We walked the river in town, which is so pretty.

We also found a slide:

On Monday, we went in to Denver to visit my friend Melissa and her family, but not without stopping by Mile-High Stadium for Mark to commune with the sports gods and for Jameson to fall on his face on the sidewalk. We met up with Melissa and her kids at the Colorado Children's Museum, which Jameson loved. He could have moved right in. I don't have a lot of good pictures at the museum, because Jameson wouldn't even take a break from playing long enough to even look at me.

On Tuesday, we spent time hiking and shopping. The hiking was (mostly) successful, with Jameson doing quite a bit of his own walking.

Main street in Breckenridge is so adorable. It's lined with colorful, historic homes, and I was geeking out about every one.

We loved our little getaway and will definitely be going back!

Playgrounds are serious.

Today we took Jameson to the park with the swings. Our neighborhood, which we love for many reasons, has two awesome playgrounds. One is for kids 3 and under, but has no swings. One is for kids 5-12, but has swings, including baby swings. So you can see my dilemma when it comes to deciding which park to visit. We wanted to go to on the swings today, so we went to the big kid park. After a while on the swings, we tried the big slides, and Jameson was in heaven. I think we have some cute pictures of it on Mark's phone, so I will have to get some of those.

I love the look on his face in this picture. It says to me, "I know this park is for big kids, but I'm here, I'm fairly coordinated, and I can't look like a fool in front of all these people. I'm walking across the drawbridge, dangit, if it's the last thing I do."

Jimmy Jam is 16 Months Old

Without the monthly baby book updates keeping me honest about tracking Jameson's growth, I find myself slacking. This week, I have become so aware of how much he has grown and changed recently. Even though physically, babies don't grow as fast after their first birthdays, it's amazing how quickly they start learning new skills.

At Jameson's 15-month doctor's appointment, he was still in the 95th percentile for height, 90th percentile for head circumference and 50th percentile for weight. I think he is going to be built like Mark, but with a bigger head. He has 13 teeth.

At that appointment, he also had four words: hi, more, uh-oh, and no.

This month, he's added night-night, bye-bye, ball, block, apple, water, nose, tickle, daddy (not mommy),and all done.

If you ask him, he will show you his head, nose, toes, socks and shoes. He claps his hands when he does something good, he dances when he hears music and he spins around in circles.

 He is also somehow remembering signs for words I taught him months ago (well, tried to teach him for a couple of days before I gave up), as he learns the word. Suddenly when he learned to say "more," he was also doing the sign. Likewise with "all done." It's kind of funny, because signs are supposed to be used when the baby can't communicate. Either way, I get a kick out of it.

This kid loves a sandwich. I believe this is the first time I ever said "smile!" and  he complied.

Today I told Jameson we were going to go to the store. He excitedly went to the shoe basket and brought back one of his shoes for me to put on him, then walked right over to the door to the garage and tried to open the door. I loved it, because I could tell he knew the drill for leaving. I also loved that he only felt the need to put on one shoe.

Easter weekend, pictured with my dad and my Opa. Apparently it is too much to ask for anyone to look at the camera.

Over Easter weekend, my parents were in town, and my mom attempted teaching Jameson to blow kisses when they were saying goodbye. I thought it was so cute that I've been working with him on it. Today, I was prompting Jameson to say bye-bye to the checker at Lowe's, who was talking to Jameson. Lately he'll tell people bye-bye, in addition to saying hi to them six or seven times. Today, he just blew the guy a kiss! It was his first perfect blown kiss, and he chose to use it on the checker at Lowe's.

This poor pale kid has only had a handful of opportunities to play outside. He is a little cautious.

This made me think.

I just read this post from C. Jane Kendrick. I will occasionally drop by her blog and find a lot of the things she writes to be very thoughtful. This post just reminded me so much of myself as a teenager. I think we all have angst as teenagers (or was it just me?), and letting go of it is an important rite of passage. From the post: 

I use anger constantly to feel validated and smart. If I'm lonely or bored or hungry I need a hit. It's mostly mental, the way it pools up in my head and I start to think about issues or people who anger me, and with that anger pumping in my veins, I can accomplish almost anything I need to accomplish. I don't yell or scream, I don't hit or punch, I just think.

It's worth a read, especially if you ever feel your angsty teenage self come a creepin.

And now, mysteries of the human condition.

I really wonder where the derogatory name "pansy" came from. Of course it means someone who's weak or wimpy like a tiny little flower.

But I tell you what. We have had a super snowy, super cold winter here in Utah. Coldest in 40 years or something (and you know how it can snow here - 40 year record cold is pretty significant).

I also this year decided to be lazy do an experiment where I didn't rip out any of my flowers in the fall. I thought I'll just let them die there and see what happens come spring.

Recent sunshine has just uncovered a flower bed in my yard that has been covered with a foot of snow and ice for the past month, and wouldn't you like to know what I just found...green leaves and stems on several of my snapdragons and at least five green and kicking pansy plants, one with a BLOOMING FLOWER.

Time for the bullies of America to re-examine the name "pansy," because that is one tough little blossom.

How to tell if your kid is wiggly.

I have a wiggly kid. I realized this the other day when I was looking through the pictures on my phone and noticed that basically all of them are J in his high chair, like so:

When the kid's this cute, I'm OK with wiggly. He will even cuddle with me for 3 seconds at a time! So sweet!

Thank you notes

Dear ATM,

I like it when you read my debit card. While the not knowing is exciting, thanks for obliging today so that I could pay for my husband's Valentine's Day surprise. Not that I don't like talking to my favorite teller, Pebbles, but without knowing her shift schedule, it's kind of a crapshoot. Now if only you would let me withdraw $25...

Thanks anyway,
Holly


Dear Person Who Filled My Diet Coke Order at McDonald's Today,

You should give seminars on the definition of "extra ice." The amount of ice you gave me today was most definitely "extra". Thank you for that. Please tell your coworkers that when I take the cup from them and can hear three ice cubes clanking against each other, that is not "extra ice." There is nothing worse than asking for extra ice, and then getting less ice than other people get. People who did not ask for extra. (And don't you hate it when people say "there's nothing worse than..." I mean really, nothing is worse? You can't think of a single worse thing? But then again, I just used the phrase, so what can you do?)

You made my day,
Holly


Dear Living Social,

Thank you for allowing me to get all my carpets cleaned for $99. While the vague crispiness of my carpet now makes me worry it will look twice as dirty in two weeks, for now I am happy, and my new vacuuming habit may land me on an episode of "My Strange Addiction." It is so much more enjoyable to vacuum clean carpet. Kind of like how I'm more likely to clean my bathrooms if they haven't had a chance to get dirty yet.

Self-esteem in my house freshly boosted,
Holly

Stop whining and find something to do.

I am pretty into Downton Abbey. A few months ago, a girl in my neighborhood announced that she had a way to view season 3, even though it didn't start airing in the US until this month. I figured I would wedge my way into this social group and quickly watch the first two seasons so I could watch season 3 with the neighborhood ladies.

I loved it from the start, and adore Maggie Smith's character. Her zingers seriously make my day. In last night's, Edith was moping (won't tell you why, in case you haven't seen it yet) yet again, and Violet said:

You are a woman with a brain and reasonable ability. Stop whining and find something to do.

Amen. I think she would have said something similar to the Drops of Awesome lady, before her revelation that she isn't a loser. Stop whining!

I guess I have officially become my parents, because I can hear them in my head when I say, stop whining!

It isn't so bad. We can do more than we think we can. We need to stop whining. I think I'll tape this to my mirror.

And now, mysteries of the human condition.

Pinterest, guys. I feel like it has taken the blog copy-cat decor movement and given it a seven Tour de France winning (too soon?) injection of mimic-enhancing power. Before Pinterest, you might see something familiar on a blog, but you probably wouldn't be able to remember the source, and it was easy to give the person the benefit of the doubt. Like, that blogger schemed up the idea on her own, but maybe that other one did, too.

Like inspiration in clusters to ensure that a good idea reaches critical mass. Providence maybe is thinking, "OK, if I tell her to paint her pantry door a bright color but then her blog doesn't have the correct SEO to really get the idea out there...oh screw it, I'll just tell seven bloggers to paint their pantry door a bright color."

But then we got Pinterest, and well, that is no longer necessary. A good idea gets pinned one time, and before you know it, it's mainstream and maybe even a little passe.

So the deep thought is, who are we really copying? If I have a gallery wall, and 10 people I know have gallery walls, but gallery walls are also big on Pinterest, can I say that I'm copying Pinterest and not my friend? And if I got the idea to do a gallery wall without seeing anyone else's house or ever seeing it online, am I really inventing the concept?

In the Internet age, I don't know what originality is or if it even counts anymore.

And if I am copying a bunch of people, does it really matter? When people copy things I do, it makes me feel awesome.

So I guess what I'm saying is, if I copy you on something, just follow the admonition of Neil Patrick Harris:

"When I get sad, I stop being sad and be awesome instead. True story."

Burning questions.

So if you didn't already know, we are having another baby.

We had a heck of a time naming Jameson. Stress over naming your child is so not what a new, jiggly, emotional, exhausted mother needs. Maybe I'll tell you the story sometime.

So we have vowed to have this child named well before he or she is born. Just get it over with, taken care of an agreed upon, so I can worry about other things while I'm sitting blankly trying to decide what to eat for lunch and wondering how on earth I'm going to be responsible for two kids.

Incidentally, we have had our girl name chosen since well before Jameson was born. If we have a girl, that will be very convenient for us, in the naming department.

However, this pregnancy so far has been so similar to my pregnancy with Jameson, I am sort of just planning on it being a boy until I hear otherwise. I have been scouring baby name websites. Most names I suggest just make my husband crinkle his nose and say, "I guess I don't hate it, but..."

Anyway, my favorite boy name when we were expecting Jameson was Gunnar. I just think it is such a cool name. But then I think...does it make people think "gunman?" Does it sound kind of redneck? Like if this child ends up moving somewhere urban and getting a classy job, will his name make him out of place?

So I like it, but I have been scared to commit.

So I made a poll. Feel free to take it. I am so interested in feedback on this. To me, the name sounds well-traveled and mysterious, but that might translate to "weirdo who eats lunch alone" in middle school.

The thing is, you can make fun of pretty much any name, especially when the person you're making fun of has any sort of flaw or quirk. So yeah, any name. I know I can't escape the name getting made fun of, but I would like to avoid it as much as possible.

Can you tell I just love having something to stew over?

Everything old is new again.

I believe with my whole soul that I got my fill of Jack "Banana Pancakes" Johnson in college. I still have four or five of his albums on my iTunes, like a hidden monument to the singer-songwriter movement that hit the mainstream and made college-types feel super fulfilled and also a little put out that their music had hit a regular rotation on the listen while you work stations, forcing them to find yet another unique genre.

But this weekend at Costco, we were looking through the books and movies (only because my husband was there. Costco to him is still a novelty and not yet something one must simply endure), and we found a combo DVD pack of Curious George AND Curious George 2 for $8.99. We showed them to Jam Sesh and his face lit up like a Christmas tree. So we bought them.

Did you know that Jack Johnson music runs throughout the first film? I haven't watched the second, but I fear I may find the same there. It's also worth noting that I have never seen anything hold my child's attention the way this movie does. He's one, so he normally has the attention span of a gnat, but to my surprise he has been sitting on the couch with his blankie and his thumb for at least thirty minutes and appears totally at ease.

So Jack and I are getting re-acquainted. I hope that we can rekindle that loving feeling. Maybe it's like how after 1997 no one could listen to "My Heart Could Go On" one more possible time, and then last year Jessica Sanchez sings it on American Idol and suddenly it's a good song again.

We shall see.

Also, I think David Cross is the villain, which is pretty cool.

P.S. Google just told me that they had seen some suspicious activity on my account. I think my blogging twice in a week really threw them for a loop. But if you did get spam from me...sorry.

We're going to have two of these.

This morning was a wild one. Peeling myself out of bed with all the first trimester energy I could muster to get Jam Master J out of bed and give him his bottle. Him whining the whole time I pour, heat, assemble, shake and walk to the couch. I let him play for a while while I lay on the couch, trying to convince myself that this is a GOOD day and I can DO this! I make him breakfast and come back to find that he has rubbed buttered toast all over his hair.

We're going to have two of these. Breathe in, breathe out.

This kid understands the value of a deep conditioning treatment. You are never too young for hard-core moisturizers.

So we go up for bath time. This is where the story gets a little mommy TMI. He pees on the bathroom floor while the water is running, then does the other one in the water while I'm washing him. Oye.

We're going to have two of these. Breathe in, breathe out.

Once all THAT was cleaned up, we went back downstairs so I could get myself together. You know, maybe unload the dishwasher, check my email, etc.

That's when I hear him in the closet, which I thought was locked, clanking together two ceramic vases and chewing on a button.

We're going to have two of these. Breathe in, breathe out.

None of this stuff is really out of the ordinary for a standard day, but let's remember it's not yet 9:00am. I decided that the only rational thing for me to do was to strap that kid into a five-point harness and invent some errands.

Don't ask me if I had gotten dressed yet or brushed my teeth or hair. We were out.

I remembered I needed to go to the bank. Oh thank heaven I have to go to the bank! Let's go.

And our teller's name was Pebbles. I'm not kidding. When I gave her the check and deposit slip, she said, "I'm Pebbles. I'll have this right out." I hadn't remembered mommy brain making me hear things before so I checked out her name tag, and her name was indeed Pebbles.

I don't think Pebbles or her parents are reading this, but I have to say, this is a very unusual name for a human and I really wonder what the story is there. She looked too young to have parents who were flower children, so that's out.

It actually reminded me of this past week's Mindy Project episode, which was not the funniest, but there was that conversation about rocks, stones and pebbles that prompted Mindy to say, "I don't know, I'm not an expert on sediments and geology!"

By the time I'd been through a drive-through for an icy drink and come back home, taking the long way, the J Man was asleep and miracle of miracles, he transferred to his bed well and has been sleeping for almost an hour.

I think I'll shower.