I Do Believe We're Due For A Rant From My (Self) Righteous Soapbox.

Several years ago (back when I was young and carefree, living in San Diego with my fabulous roommate) there was a notepad-sized piece of yellow paper affixed to my bathroom mirror on which was A List. The List contained bits and pieces of conversations with others that, when taken out of context, could be deemed as nothing better than completely inappropriate for mixed company. Or any company, for that matter. One of the items on said List was spoken by yours truly, and I believe it said something to the effect of:

"You know, Shelby. You should really try to be more like me."

Ha! I remember exactly where I was when I said that. And I remember it being added to The List almost immediately as it really was said in jest. Who can remember the original context? Not I. And that's not what's important here. What's important is that, lately, this has really come back to haunt me. The difference? Now I'm dead serious.

I said it to Tim the other day. "You know, my life would be SO MUCH EASIER if people would just think the way that I do and then BEHAVE PROPERLY." Being the loving, obliging husband that he is, he agreed with me and we moved on. (I married a very smart man.) I'll admit that I did feel a bit snobbish after uttering (okay SPEWING IN FRUSTRATION) these words and figured that perhaps I should examine my own self before declaring myself Miss Manners And Good Behavior. So, after a good deal of self-reflection, I've figured it out. It's not that I wish people would think more like me (well. okay. I do, really. But read on.) but rather that I feel as though the ways that I think and the manner in which I behave are deeply rooted in common sense. And common courtesy.

Two things that, frankly (and I don't care if you're name's not Frank.) aren't that common anymore.

CASE IN POINT:

Today I filled my car up with three sick, almost sick, and very sick little boys for an impromptu visit to the pediatrician. Christopher has been alternately hacking up his left and then his right lung for a week now, Jake started in with the cough yesterday, and little Nate is on day three of the saddest sounding little cough you've ever heard. It was one of those mornings that I was watching the clock hit 9:00 so that I could call to get the in as early as possible; and yet, I was dreading this call as well. DREADING talking to the receptionist who has never gotten a single appointment scheduled correctly for me. Never. (Honestly, I'd rather pull out my own teeth than deal with this woman.) (I'm sure she's a lovely person, but she can't schedule an appointment to save her life.) (Really.) Lucky me, I called the advice line and when the nurse did end up recommending that we come in, she scheduled me herself.

I will be doing all of my scheduling through the advice line from now on. One way or another I'll find an excuse to do it.

When we arrived for our 10:30 appointment at 10:28 (!!!!ontimewiththreekids!!!!) I had the boys wait outside the door while I popped my head in to say that we were there. They have a sign on the door requesting that any families with flu-like symptoms come in through the back door, and while I was confident the boys don't have the flu, I also didn't want to get any of the other babies in the waiting room sick. (See? Common Sense! Common Courtesy!) Unfortunately for me, of the two receptionists, the only one at the desk was She Who Cannot Schedule. And, no surprise, she was dealing with another mom and clearly was in the middle of Something Confusing. (I will refrain from commenting on the "confusing" in the interest of being charitable. Mmmkay?)

Clearly she was busy. So, I made eye-contact and then closed the door and stood outside the window in the cold with my three snot-faced babies. Certainly they could hear the coughing from inside. Moms with kids went in. Dads with babies came out. Everyone exchanging pleasantries. "Oh what a cute baby! He's just a week older than ours!" "Oh thank you for waiting for the other door. We really appreciate it." "Oh there's another door? I didn't even know!" (First timer.)

Did I mention that it was cold outside? Did I mention that my kids were sick? Did I mention that Receptionist SAW US STANDING OUT THERE as I repeatedly stuck my head in the door?

I was getting angrier and angrier with each passing minute. I really felt that it would be wrong to take my germ-laden kids into the waiting room where they could get the other kids sick. But you know what? MY KIDS ARE SICK AND THEY'RE STANDING OUT IN THE COLD. What a conundrum. Finally, Receptionist Who Gets Things Done, returned to the desk. It was 10:35. All I had to do was say hello before she knew who we were and was hopping back out of her chair to run over to the back door to let us in out of the cold. You see, friends? Common Sense. Common Courtesy. Sick kids inside a warm doctor's office.

WHY ARE THESE THINGS SO HARD FOR SOME PEOPLE TO FIGURE OUT?

This whole common sense thing has been nagging at my brain for the past couple of weeks. It didn't just start today with my poor little children standing out in the cold with snot icicles dangling from their noses. The pressure is starting to build within me, though, and I'm afraid that my Common Sense volcano is going to erupt one of these days just because someone leaves an empty glass on the counter rather than putting it in the empty sink.

Ah, pet peeves. Aren't they delightful? What are yours?

*****

By the way, we came out of that visit $90.00 poorer, but three kids healthier. Chris has a cold along with his first ear infection and a prescription for Bubble Gum Medicine (amoxycillin), Jake's already downed his second dose of cough medicine, and little Nate was sent home with a nebulizer with saline solution that steams up in his face and makes it look like he's taking a little smokey tokey. Hey, you have to find the humor in this somewhere, right?

I Had No Idea I Could Be So Linky.

Lately I've been doing a lot of thinking about blogs and bloggers, Twitter and tweeters, about those who take them seriously and about those who write them off as wasted time by narcissistic people. I've been meaning to poll my Twitter Friends on this very topic, especially when it comes to their husbands. Do your husbands tweet? If no, then what do they think about the amount of time you spend on that website or sending in updates from your phone throughout the course of a day? Because you know it's a lot of time. Especially for those of us who are stay at home moms.

Tim, for one, has been very supportive of my blog reading and twittering about, I think mostly because he sees what a support system I've tapped into in the world of Mommy Blogs. I don't think this was his intention when he originally urged me to "check out some blogs." Back then (and still) he was reading a series of Catholic blogs (many of which are linked to on the right side of my page), finance blogs, news blogs. These are the things that hold his interest, the things that encourage him to keep reading. Keep learning. Educate himself. So I hopped onto the computer and started looking for information on what I was interested in at the time: pregnancy. You see, I was in my seventh month of carrying Christopher, plagued with pregnancy insomnia and just looking around for others who were enduring the same joyful, yet challenging stage of life.

Not surprisingly, I found exactly what I was looking for...and what I didn't even realize I was craving.

First, I found Emily. Actually, Emily popped up when my darling ex-roommate, Shelby, sent me a link to one post in particular which I ended up reading out loud to Tim with tears streaming down both of our faces as we HOWLED through the whole thing. (I started to look for a link to it but let's be honest, I'm just too lazy.) A little more reading revealed that she was pregnant too, and due to deliver only a few weeks after me. Next came Maggie. Also pregnant, also with her first, and Hey Look At That! She's Catholic too. Then Rachel. Then Kate.

The more I read, the more connected I felt. The more I realized that, even though I didn't know these women, they were experiencing the same things that I was in pregnancy or child-rearing or marriage or just LIFE. These blogs that I started reading regularly (and commenting on faithfully) quickly became more than leisure reading material. Over the past three years, some of these women have become my own bloggy friends. I've never joined a mommy group here in our little town, but the Mommy Blogosphere has become a support group of its own. And this, my friends, is what I was not expecting.

From there came Twitter...much more convenient for uncommitted bloggers like myself who are still trying to figure out When To Find The Time. And out of the Sacramento Group I've gotten the opportunity to know Manda, and Lizzie, and Sheila. And, to put it lightly, it's been lovely. Example? Well, sure...

The last couple of nights have been particularly challenging around here. Tim, only two weeks into his new job (two weeks including two separate trips to LA, which have taken a toll on him AND on us) has been sick. Nothing we can't handle, nothing we haven't dealt with before, but worrisome. This is a huge challenge for him, of course. It's awful being sick. But it's also a huge challenge for me. Being Mommy. Being Nurse. Being Worried Wife. Or, as Manda reminded me on Twitter last night, being The One Who Everyone Needs. It's such an insecure feeling, worry. Isn't it? And, honestly, such a waste of time. But we'll deal with that in another post. Anyway, I digress. When Tim is sick the best thing for him is to rest. To sleep. To Get Better. And I know this. But having two babies who have no interest in sleeping OR DOING ANYTHING ELSE ASIDE FROM CLIMBING ALL OVER MOM when Dad is home but just out of commission? It's those times that it's Just. Hard.

So after I finally got everyone to bed last night, I came downstairs and left a brief Woe Is Me on Twitter. Do you know what? The outpouring of support was amazing to me. One lovely Twittersation with Manda, some comments from others, and a handful of private messages later my world was suddenly SO MUCH SMALLER. Instead of sitting downstairs in the dark, spending my evening in worry, I had a support group of dear friends encouraging me, making me laugh, and lifting our family up in prayer. It was exactly what I needed - but what I never expected.

You know, no one knows about this little blog. No one in my family, anyway. (It's nice to just have your own private little outlet, you know?) Beyond that, though, very few people in my real world know about the blogs that I read. Certainly no one knows about how much time I spend on Twitter each day, and while I don't think I'll change that, I feel more confident now. Last night confirmed for me what I've known for some time now - that these blogs offer community. Support. Friendship. A helping hand and a hearty laugh from people who are in the same boat. It's not narcissistic, it's realistic. It's smart. It's brave. It's humbling to put yourself out there and invite everyone in, knowing that you're quite possibly inviting as much criticism as support. And yet, it's gratifying and encouraging because, through it, you see that you're not alone.

The Nitty Gritty of Parenting

About 10 seconds after hitting "publish" on that last post...I sneezed. And, immediately, a myriad of fears began to swarm around in my mind. The utmost being a tie between: 1.) Did I wake Christopher up? and 2.) Am I getting sick?

Yes. And Yes.

My poor little guy coughed once and then just started CRYING. I ran into his room (because, Yes, I was worried....but also because I couldn't have him waking up Jacob. There's such a delicate balance to be struck around here when it comes to noise and bedtime.) and there he was. It was the saddest sight you've ever seen. Red face, watery eyes, snot all over his face. And sweating. I held him for a while thinking that I'd be able to get him settled back down. He didn't wrestle me on it either. He didn't even ask for his dad...so, of course, I was relishing the fact that he actually wanted ME. Unfortunately, after a few minutes, I could tell that something needed to be done. This critter needed some special care. So, I gave in and took him downstairs.

This is something that I never do. I've learned that if you take a boy out of his room during naptime or bedtime, there is NO GETTING HIM BACK IN. But this was a special case. I have never seen my little one in such a state.

The two of us traveled downstairs where Daddy was already setting up blankets and pillows on the floor and cueing up Christopher's favorite show on our On Demand. It was time for a Daddy and Christopher camp out on the cold, hard floor. Perfect for one....challenging for the other.

About half an hour later, after a proper dosing of tylenol, a few blows of the nose, and some family-wide temperature taking (I'm pleased to report that Haha was fever-free) Mommy headed back upstairs for a catnap before Jacob would be waking up. Naturally, I only left after taking advantage of the Kodak Moment that was occurring on my family room floor. Terrible, I know. I, for one, would do some SERIOUS PHYSICAL DAMAGE to any person attempting to take my picture if I were sick, but honestly? Kids are just SO. FREAKING. PRECIOUS. when they're all goopy and sick-like.

Jacob and I ended up sleeping pretty well that night. It wasn't until 2 am that his stirring roused me from my slumber, at which point I discovered that the other half of my bed was still empty. Having no idea what I'd encounter when I made the descent, I took care of Jakie and then headed down to investigate. About half way down the stairs, I discovered the sweetest sight: Tim, passed out on the couch (boy was I glad to see that he had transitioned from the hard floor to the couch) and Christopher all bundled up on the floor with a death grip on Haha and Blankie. Oh. And Caillou. Still singing along on the TV.

It is now three days later. Three days, two flu patients, three fever victims, and one Daddy who seems to have weathered the storm unscathed. And we're only one week into Fall.

Flu shot, anyone?

I've Got You...Under My Skin....

Sarah Palin.
AWESOME. I am fascinated by this woman. She has renewed my excitement over this election. Which, honestly? Faded out about 2 years ago. Hasn't this been the longest, most drawn out, ridiculous presidential race in the history of the world!? Good grief. And just as I was counting down the days until it was all over, they introduce this MOM from Alaska with 5 kids, one of whom she's still breastfeeding. I am so intrigued by her and so excited to see where this election goes now. At this point, I choose not to weigh in on the whole "is she doing right by her family" argument that has popped up on some of the blogs. I struggle with it when I think too hard on the subject. I really do believe that a mommy's place is in the home...and yet I wonder if by taking this mommy out of her home the world might change. Even just a little. And wouldn't that be nice.

AIG. Lehman Brothers. And all those other guys.
Um...WHAT?! Aren't these investment bankers supposed to be, like, the smartest people in the world? How do you not see this all coming? More importantly, what does it mean when the stock market is in a steady nose dive, the investment banks are failing, and everyone is filing bankruptcy? And even worse...what does it mean when the guy who very well could be president is going to mess everyone's investments up even more by raising the capital gains tax to nearly 30%?! In the interest of full disclosure, I know nothing about this stuff. But I watch enough business news to know that things are NOT GOOD right now...and it seems like they're only going to get worse before they get better. Is it selfish to think that it's okay (at least a little bit okay) that the housing market is in the TANK because maybe this means it will be easier for us to buy a house. Am I trampling all over someone else's dreams with my own? I don't know. And does it even matter because the entire economy is in the tank anyway?

.......

Not too exciting today, I know. More to come. Next time: The big 2nd birthday. And the surprise visitor we had at the park!

Talk To Me

Stacy and Clinton are right. Quality fabric + quality workmanship = higher price, but also = better fit. That being said, I FOUND A SWIMMING SUIT. Praise the Living God. I'm so happy. Sure it's not fabulous (It's hot pink. Not my first choice.), but I do feel comfortable and confident in it. Thus, tomorrow's trip to the swimming pool has already gotten off to a good start. And, can I just say, that I LOVE this whole "swim mini" concept. What in the world took so long to come up with this? This is not your average swimming-suit-with-a-skirt of the days of old. No no no, my friends. This one is actually cute. It's actually flattering. Land's End is my new best friend. And Sears is my newer best friend for selling Lands End stuff without my having to order it online.

Sears, however, is not my new best friend for their photo studio. I'm still mourning the loss of our local Picture People. Oh, Picture People, how I miss thee. How I miss your perky teen-age employees with their funny sounds and their overbearing enthusiasm for bringing staged smiles to the faces of my children. Oh how I miss being able to use your "free 8x10" coupon that you're still sending me (which, seriously? MUST you pour salt in my already open wound?). Oh how I miss the agony of trying to figure out just which photo to actually BUY, rather than the searching and searching to find a photo of high enough quality to merit actually bringing home.

Sigh.

And yet, I signed up for the year-long Sears Photo membership anyway. Beggars can't be choosers.

All of that being said, NONE of the above was in my plan when I sat down at the computer tonight. Tonight's topic is even better than a swimming suit that fits. Even better than the kids at Picture People. EVEN BETTER than the brownies that I made tonight that totally flopped, BUT in their flop-ness actually turned into one of those "molten chocolate" cakes that you have to order at the beginning of your meal at a fancy restaurant because it takes so long to cook and is so delicious because of the gooey chocolate that pours out once you put your fork into it. (Honestly - if a recipe is going to flop, then this is the way to do it. Wouldn't you agree?)

Tonight is all about my son TALKING. Using words. REAL WORDS.

Now, I freely admit that this is something that we've been anxious about. As we find ourselves racing towards "two" at breakneck speed, we also find ourselves counting down the days until The Deadline. The time when Christopher should have a good number of words that he uses with frequency. Words that he uses with meaning. And (gasp!) word combinations that express intent.

Don't get too excited. We're not reciting Shakespeare here. But today we did have a breakthrough. Over the past week, I have been teaching Christopher to sing "Do Re Mi" and boy is it cute. I'll say, "do do do." And he'll say "do do do." Then we'll do the same with Re and Mi. But today. TODAY! After our normal "repeat after me" session in the car, I heard a little voice from the back seat say, "do re mi...."

AAAHHHHHAAAHAAAA! IT WAS AWESOME.

And then, tonight, as he was jumping off the couch and bouncing on his pillows on the floor, all of a sudden I hear, "OW." Ow. Ow. Owwww.

Perhaps you find this to be anticlimactic, but Tim and I were thrilled. Thrilled, because WE NEVER TAUGHT HIM "OW." Which means he's picked it up from someone else - we're guessing his big cousin who came over to play on Tuesday. HE PICKED IT UP. He picked it up without my saying, "Christopher, say ow. Ow. Say Ow. Christopher say it. (hopeful waiting) Okay, Mommy say it: ow. Now Christopher say it. Ow. Owwwww. Christopher say it."

Yes, this is the way we've been living our lives. It's a wonder he hasn't packed his bag and moved out by now, what with all the pressure.

Thus, we've experienced a joyful day around here. Not because of the impressiveness of the word, but because it feels like we're moving forward. He is getting it. The synapses are firing. So it really will be only a matter of time before the "MOM!!!!!" that I hear from the backseat when we pass a bus or a fire truck on the road, followed by enthusiastic pointing and waving of arms actually becomes "WOW MOM LOOK AT THAT TRUCK!"

And that will be SO. AWESOME.

Decisions, Decisions.

Well. We finally settled on Godparents for Jacob. And, believe it or not, it was a lot easier this time than last. When I was pregnant with Christopher, we must have mulled it over for months. As Catholics, it is something that we take quite seriously. So Tim and I set up some criteria.

Criterion #1 - Catholicity. They must be practicing Catholics. And that means PRACTICING. In the Dictionary Of Me, "practicing" can be defined as REALLY GOES TO CHURCH. EVERY WEEKEND. AND HOLY DAYS. And, perhaps....maybe they even go on a weekday from time to time. It also means that they know their faith and have a love for it. Perhaps a devotion is exercised here or there. Maybe they even own a Rosary. And use it. In most cases this would narrow the candidate pool....but in our circle of family and friends, it really only shaves a few people off the top.

Criterion #2 - Proximity. As the role of Godparents is to provide a lived witness of the Faith to the child, we both feel that it's really important that these people are a frequent presence in our lives. I want my children to see them more than once a year. For both boys we considered family and friends who lived out of town, out of state, even out of the country. But we keep coming back to this consistency issue.

Criterion #3 - Family. There are certain things that, I feel, you have to use family for first. Whether it "should" be that way or not. Whether it's annoying or not. Whether you really want to or not. It's kind of like the whole issue of who you have in your wedding. There's a progression, and lest you have complete disregard for the possibility of alienating people who are bound to you FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE, you should really start there.

I tell you, we AGONIZED over this issue with Christopher. Is this person going to pass on the Faith to him the way WE will? Is that person around enough to really have an impact in his daily life? Is anyone going to get their feelings hurt if we ask so-and-so instead? Good grief.

But, the agony was worth it because I'm confident that we chose the PERFECT people for him.

And then I got pregnant again. I chose not to think about Baptism AT ALL FOR THE DURATION OF THE PREGNANCY because it's just too stressful. All of a sudden, Jacob was one whole month old and we'd only discussed the issue once. Maybe twice.

We both knew that we wanted to ask Tim's sister. She is the perfect match. We both adore her. And she adores our kids. Easy peasy. The real challenge was going to be finding a Godfather. Because, after all, what about THE CRITERIA?! So Tim says, without taking a breath, "What about your brother?" Once I regained consciousness, I asked him if he was serious. And then I asked him if he was sure. And he said yes. And I started crying.

You see, my brother lives in L.A. We see him maybe twice a year. And when it comes to criterion #1....well let me just say that when I told my mom who we were asking, her response was "are you hoping for a back-door conversion through Jacob?"

I finally called him last night to ask him if he'd do it. He provided a good deal of comedic effect when he asked me "how Christopher and...um....the other one...why can't I think of his name?" were doing. But when I asked him if he'd be interested in the job, he was speechless.

When he finally spoke he said that he'd be honored. And that he was humbled. And then he thanked me profusely. The conversation ended with a slew of dates that he'd be available to come up, even if he had to come up the weekend after he was up here for something else, he'd make the trip to be here for Jacob. With this, I knew that we'd made the right choice again.

The agony was different this time. And I should know by now that God often works in ways that are opposite to what I'm expecting. The first time we were looking for the people who Christopher needed in his life. This time, maybe we've found the people who need Jacob in theirs.

I looked it up - Jupiter is the biggest planet. This time, I'd say I'm coming in at a steady Saturn.

I don't consider myself to be an anxious person. Anxiety and insecurity are not things that occupy much of my time. I like meeting new people. I enjoy public speaking. I prefer to do things by myself rather than bring someone else along with me. While I'm far from perfect, I think that I've struck a good balance of shy vs. confident. It is true that I'm not very patient. Others would say that I am, and in many ways I suppose they are correct. But those people are not privy to my inner monologue. My interior moanings over the things for which I have zero tolerance. My point is that I know my weaknesses, and do what I can each day to move past them.

But back to the matter at hand. This is going to be a big week for all of us here in the land of burps and farts, especially (dare I say?) for me. On Thursday I will be having a baby. In order to accomplish this, I will be undergoing major abdominal surgery. As a result of that, I will be leaving Christopher for four days - something I have never done before. In many ways, I feel ahead of the game. I literally feel no anxiety over welcoming another child into the family. It does not concern me that we are going to be experiencing a major transition in our family life. I'm not worried about how Christopher will handle becoming the "oldest" at the expense of being the "only." Nor am I concerned over the whole moving-into-the-operating-room thing. Perhaps this is because in my mind, I'm just having a baby! That fact alone trumps the whole surgery issue, and I find that I have to remind myself that the surgery will even take place. I've done it before. It was no big deal. My doctor is phenomenal. And! My husband gets to go in with me. There couldn't be a more ideal situation.

But then I think about leaving my Christopher.

And my heart breaks and my face crumbles. My blood pressure triples and I feel like every vein in my forehead is about to burst out of my face. You see, I don't mind the fact that after Thursday it's no longer going to be just the two of us. (That's what we've dreamed about and prayed for, practically since we brought Christopher home from the hospital - how could I be sad about bringing him a buddy?!) What I do mind is the fact that I have to give up control. I have to give up my knowledge of his every minute and allow....and trust....someone else to help me by caring for him. Sigh....outsourcing control and asking for help. My two strongest traits.

So last week I was sitting downstairs at the computer typing up my "How to Keep Christopher Alive" manifesto to leave for my mom and Tim's sister. Christopher had been in bed for a while, but was clearly having a little too much fun. To calm things down, Tim went upstairs to read to the boy while I continued this very important task. Only minutes later, it seemed, I heard the following coming from upstairs: "Christopher, NO! NO! NO! NO!".....THUMP!...."Waaaah!"

My PLANET of a body sailed up the stairs faster than I've moved since....well, EVER.

The boy had climbed out of his crib. Thank GOD for the fact that Tim was still in the room and caught him before the "THUMP" that I heard turned from Christopher falling back onto his mattress into Christopher falling onto our awful, unpadded carpet. The entire event sent us all into orbit, but once we settled down, everything was fine. And now, Christopher's mattress sits on the FLOOR inside the walls of his crib. It makes me feel like we've got a litter of puppies - should have just bought a cardboard box.

Anyway. All that being said, I DO recognize that regardless of what I do or where I am - even if I'm breathing down his neck every second (which, admittedly, I am not) - accidents will happen. Despite the fact that I know everything about Christopher's day, I cannot stop him from growing, from exploring, and from learning. Even from his accidents and mistakes. But for me, handing that responsibility...that PRIVILEGE...on to someone else is not something I'm too pleased with. Even though they ADORE him. Even though they will probably be more watchful and more vigilant than I ever am.

Currently this anxiety is manifesting itself in my attempts at planning transportation for my boy while I'm in the hospital. Originally we had talked about moving the carseat from the expedition to the Taurus. That way no one has to move the carseat and worry about whether or not they have installed it properly, nor do they have to worry about driving around my beast of a vehicle when they are far more accostumed to their own cars. At least by having it in the Taurus they'd be downsizing. That's always an easier transition.

Today I was informed that my in-laws want to buy their own carseat. NOW. They've told me this for months, and I've always put it off. I've never really felt the necessity for anyone else to take the boy in their car, and because of that I've always felt that for them to shell out that kind of money would just be too much. Especially when I don't anticipate taking them up on carting Christopher around. (Remember that whole asking for help thing? That whole "I'm an independent person who likes to do things herself" thing?) While the smart side of me recognizes the generosity and kindness that this offer entails, the newly-developed anxious side of me wonders why we need to do this right now. Okay. Why we need to do this at all. Why, at a time that is fairly considered to be a very anxious time, do we need to deal with this issue that is clearly making me even more anxious about the whole event?

Why? Because it will make things easier on me. Or at least that's the goal. And that is the truly wonderful thing about living so close to Tim's family. They have this genuine concern for my welfare - for truly being a family and helping out where and when they're needed. Even when that need is solely in their own perception, rather than in my reality. For all of that, I am incredibly grateful. I'll admit though, as if it's not already painfully obvious, that my independence, my confidence, and okay my pride all have the tendency to get in the way of my truly appreciating that helpfulness. I don't like being told when I need help, but rather would prefer to ask for it when I honestly feel its need. Based on the above, yes I do recognize it, the whole asking thing is a challenge that I need to overcome. But I know my limits and I'M WORKING ON IT.

To resolve the issue, my wonderful husband tells me to just leave the carseat in the expedition and that's that. Why are things so much easier in his brain? Why do I need to add so much drama - even if it just stays inside my own head - to the situation? Why do I need to make an already-anxious week even more anxious by worrying about this?

All of those questions, for now, will have to be answered with the same resolution that I've used to justify everything else in the past week (from ugly clothes to going bra-less in public. OKAY. I didn't really GO bra-less. But boy was I tempted.):

I'm having a baby in five days and I can do ANYTHING I WANT.