give me your wonderful.

My 29th birthday is tomorrow. From the looks of things (my cervix) I’ll be able to enjoy some time with my sister, a good nap and something delicious for dinner. Then again, things could all change in the next 15 minutes, that’s the thing about carrying a full grown human baby in your stomach. You’re kind of at their mercy.

cookies by @happygofoodie

I have a friend who isn’t ready to have her baby come out yet in the hospital because somewhere something decided to poke a little hole in her baby’s swimming pool. I have another friend who’s cervix is ready to throw a birth canal parade but her baby isn’t quite ready. I also have so many more friends who have never made it as far as I have. I may not be up for any awards in the “getting pregnant easily” category but when it comes to baking them? I’m Gordon’s Volvo P1800. I dare you to bust this baby out before she’s ready.

We are all so lucky to be where we’re at with something in our lives. Our family, our friends, our health, our dainty wrists, the way the sun shines into our bedroom in the morning. Other people would see our individual blessings as a burden (“Blech! I would never want to be pregnant again!“) while others would give up all they had to be where we’re at.

If I’ve learned one thing over the last year it’s this…

Another person’s happiness deserves to be celebrated with all I am able to give. Is it always easy? No. Jealously can be a cruel wench. But the more I do it, the easier it becomes. And the easier it becomes the easier it is to see the blessings in my own life, which in turn allows me to celebrate the wonderful in others lives as well.

I hope to never be known as a miserable person.

What is the most wonderful thing going on in your life at this very moment?

p is for panic, and parenthood.

I would now like to present a list of things that I panicked about with Addie that turned out to be nothing worth panicking about.

  • everything.
  • all things.
  • every little thing.
  • the works.
  • and everything else.

There was actually a time I worried that I would have to learn how to swaddle a three year old. Cody worried that she’d never have any manual dexterity because I kept scratch mitts on her for the first two weeks. I was pretty sure she’d take a bottle to preschool, diapers to Kindergarten and still have a binky in middle school on top of the fact that she’d never sleep in a real bed ever.

The kid learned to sleep unswaddled after a couple of nights.

She has the manual dexterity of a surgeon. (you know, more or less.)

The switch from bottle to sippy was seamless and complete in one day.

She was fully potty trained by within a couple of weeks. (albeit LONG weeks.)

She not only sleeps in a real bed without falling out, she can sleep in a bunk bed without falling out.

sleepy moosh.

And while the binky was by far the most traumatic of all the aforementioned events? She still loves me, can walk in a straight line and form complete sentences.

To those of you who have yet to become moms, freaking out is fun! It’s a part of this whole process! I’d be ridiculous to tell you not to freak out because you’re going to freak out no matter what because if you break this kid? IT’S YOUR FAULT. Or at least that’s what society wants you to believe. You’re not going to break your kid. Or maybe you will once, and you’ll feel horrible but really, it’s okay, they’re resilient little critters.

If you already are a mom (or dad), do tell, what did you freak out over that ended up being nothing at all? I’d like some comforting reassurance that my inevitable panic episodes with this next baby are totally justifiable. I know my mom worried my handwriting would never EVER be legible. Not only is my handwriting legible, IT’S FONT WORTHY. HA!


This post is part of Tiny Prints Mother’s Day Campaign All Tiny Prints Mother’s day cards (and Father’s day cards) are completely customizable and can be sent straight to your mama or papa. Cards can even be scheduled ahead of time, you know, in case you’re forgetful like me. Which reminds me, I was compensated for my participation in this campaign, all opinions and statements are my own.

nimble I’m not, happy I am.

There have been many mentions about how uncomfortable I must be with this fully cooked human that has over taken the front of my body.

leading with my mozzi.

The truth? I’m not really that uncomfortable.

Yes, I get heartburn from really weird stuff, I can’t roll over in bed without getting winded, getting off the couch (or a chair, or out of the car, or off the ground) is comical and I certainly won’t be winning any awards for leaping buildings in a single bound (Let’s be honest, I won’t even be circling them on the ground in a graceful manner. TAXI!) But overall? I’m not bad.

I’m not one of those women who will be screaming at my doctor to “HURRY UP AND GET THIS BABY OUT OF ME ALREADY!”  I kind of really super duper wanted her in there in the first place, so I’m going to enjoy the time I have with her. She’s safe, she’s well fed and there are very few choking hazards in there. I am also not the type to take to drastic eviction methods (I’m looking at you castor oil) nor do I want to be induced. (Pitocin and I are not on speaking terms.)

I guess the hardest part is that I stink at surprises and acquiring babies is one of the last great surprises left. Could my water break in the Costco checkout line? Maybe I’ll have to poke Cody at 4 am and whisper “it’s time” or maybe I’ll birth a baby in the toilet, SURPRISE! (but really, no thank you on this last one.) Mozzi could easily be a boy, have dark hair and weigh 9 pounds (also, no thank you!!) I’ve had adoptive friends go from childless to parents before their milk expires and I’ve had dinner with pregnant friends only to find out 12 hours later they’re in a hospital snuggling a new baby that came out of them.

I can’t shake the package on this one. I can’t google the return address. I have no tracking number and no delivery guarantees.

39 weeks.

I just get to enjoy it.

learning from the sad goose.

Most people who know me know that I am lukewarm to the existence of Canada Geese. Especially when their existence takes to slapping their goofy feet on the roof over my head and relentlessly honking at their buddies down on the ground when the windows are open.

Canada Geese are the drunk frat boys of the bird world.

But here’s the thing.

Canada Geese are monogamous, they find a mate when they’re two years old and stay with that mate their entire lives, which could be as long as 24 years. That’s kind of endearing right? However it doubles whatever honking happens to be around since the critters travel in pairs.

There’s a sad goose in a field by our house. He has no mate, I’m assuming something awful happened to her. He just walks back and forth all day long. Waiting. Waiting for her to come back? Waiting for someone to come rescue him? Geese can and usually do find new mates, but what about the interim? The waiting? How long will he wait? I highly doubt his little bird heart and bird brain can feel the type of pain I’m projecting onto him…but I learned a lesson from that sad goose out in the field.

Anyone can hurt. Even stupid, stupid geese.

And just because I don’t like someone or something doesn’t make their hurt any less hurty.

I hope to see that sad goose with a new lady soon. The thought of our sad goose dying in a field of a broken bird heart is too much for me. However I’m grateful in a strange way to that goose for teaching me just a little bit more about compassion, especially when it comes to those I don’t especially like.

on loving a smaller version of yourself.

Last night I plugged in my desktop…on which the screen saver is every photo I have ever taken.

I’m not entirely sure how long I sat in front of the monitor, but I do know by the time I went to bed the newest Groupon deal had been posted.

Growing up I never wanted kids, who knew it would become my best and most favorite job on the entire planet.

I could look at pictures of her all day (and all night apparently.)

moosh zen.

best girl to hang out all day in a robe with.

My favorite picture of her ever.

well made offspring.

self feeding lesson 101

my baby and me

sleepy puppy

like mother like daughter.

365 her personality has multiplied by 10 this week.

at least she got my eyeballs. right?

Oh, she makes me happy. I only hope I do the same for her.

This mom gig, it’s good stuff.

Are you the mom you had pictured in your head?


This post is part of Tiny Prints Mother’s Day Campaign All Tiny Prints Mother’s day cards (and Father’s day cards) are completely customizable and can be sent straight to your mama or papa. Cards can even be scheduled ahead of time, you know, in case you’re forgetful like me. Which reminds me, I was compensated for my participation in this campaign, all opinions and statements are my own.

MamaMemoirs, because mama’s memory isn’t so good, and pregnancy is too funny not to remember.

Now that pregnancy is coming to an end I’m feeling nostalgic about all the little things I’m going to miss.

Little things I didn’t blog about but that deserve a mention.

Like the other night at 4 am when I wanted applesauce. I couldn’t get any of the jars open so I went back to bed sobbing, but not before emailing Cody (yes, at 4 am) informing him that there were 4 unopened jars of applesauce and a sad pregnant lady in his midst. He wrote me back saying “You could have woken me up to open it.” Yes, yes of course Cody, because it would have made perfect sense to you why your very pregnant wife was standing over you crying with a giant jar of applesauce at 4 am.

I replied “In an effort to maintain a modicum of sanity in your eyes, I wrote the email instead. Hope you understand. xo-Red

Another little event that deserves to be mentioned and recorded in any pregnancy is the first time you wallop a stranger in the back of the head with your belly in a crowded restaurant.

Then there was my checkup last Thursday, it’s been awhile since I’ve had to do the whole “paper drape” at the doctors office and I forgot just how flimsy the damn things are. While trying to tuck the sheet under one butt cheek I ripped the other side. While trying to tuck the ripped side under my other cheek I ripped the original side and was left with nothing more that white paper streamers covering my nakedness. Ah yes, this is the stuff memories are made of.

I started composing a song about losing feeling in my legs on the way to the mailbox today. I really feel it could be a chart topper in the country music scene.

One thing with this pregnancy that never really happened with Addie are cravings. My third trimester shall always come with images of me hunched over a cutting board in my kitchen shoveling triangles of seedless watermelon into my mouth at a furious pace. In fact, I just polished off a quarter melon moments ago. I’m sure Cody will be left with a mental image of me pounding Cheerios every night before bed.

Blissdom '11 (Friday)

My stomach is so full of human that painting my own toenails became a joke back in January. Shaving my legs? That became comical in February and today? After getting out of the shower and realizing there was no way I was bending over to dry off my legs I just took to flipping the towel at my legs hoping that either the towel would whisk off some of the moisture or the breeze the towel produced would leave me with somewhat dry skin allowing me to put on underwear without it getting all rolled up and bunchy as it stuck to my still damp skin.

Really, these are all things I want to remember. Promise. If for no other reason than to really laugh at them when I have abdominal muscles back and I don’t run the risk of peeing a little if I let out a good guffaw.


Awhile ago I was asked to try out a new site called MamaMemoirs, it’s an online pregnancy journal for everything from “I’M ONLY 34 WEEKS BUT MEASURING 39!! (true story)” to “No watermelon in a 8 mile radius is safe from my voracious craving right now.” It allows you to add pictures, link your flickr and share your posts with just yourself, your family or the entire world (aka facebook.) While I personally haven’t used it for the exact reasons listed above, I kind of wish I had. I decided to use it as a way to document the huge virtual baby shower so many of you have taken part in. Collecting stories, cards, photos and well wishes from dozens of friends, because when this is all over? I’ll be able to have it made into a book ($30-$40) that mozzi and Addie will be able to read about how much we were loved before we even became a family of four.

Not to mention there is a place for information and photos from parties and showers as well as a whole area dedicated to your labor. And after Mozzi is here? The format will automatically switch over allowing me to keep track of Mozzi’s first years. (like the moment the umbilical cord falls off unsettling everyone in the house…especially if the cat runs off with it…so much good stuff.)

An account is free during pregnancy and can be started the moment you get that positive pregnancy test, because you control who sees it you can keep it updated and private until you’re ready to announce your news to the world. As soon It’s also especially handy if you’re not a blogger but want to have some sort of tangible record of the 40 weeks that is the hilarity of pregnancy. Adoptive mom? You don’t have to start with pregnancy, you can enter your baby’s birthday and start tracking their first year, from the moment you first saw them to the moment the papers were signed to their first steps. (There is a $19 fee to continue using the journal after pregnancy.)

Sound good? I know my first reaction was “THEY DIDN’T HAVE THIS STUFF WHEN I WAS PREGNANT! (with Addie that is.)”


What do you always want to remember from your pregnancy? Because I know I’ll always remember the look on that guys face when he turned around and realized he had just been pummeled in the back of the head by my protruding stomach.


DISCLOSURE: I was compensated for my time in evaluating, working with and creating my own profile with the MamaMemoirs team. All statements and opinions are my own honest ones. Pinky swear.

I know we’d be friends.

I like it when I get emails that say “I think we’d be friends in real life.

Because I think so too.

I qualify this statement because A) you read something I wrote, weren’t scared away and took time out of your busy life to write me an email. B) There’s very few people that I don’t want to be friends with and C) One can never have enough friends.

The sad trombone part of this story is that when I open my front door I don’t see any of my friends. I have a few here and there around my town…but outside my front door? None. If I needed a cup of sugar? The grocery store clerk is the only one who could help me. My dad lives on a street where they host regular neighborhood get togethers in their driveway, like launching fireworks off the grumpy neighbors sidewalk on the fourth of July or the annual pumpkin carving contest on Halloween.

Everybody knows everybody else and growing up there were always friends to play with and people to talk to. It remains true to this day.

I miss that.

The bigger question I have to ask myself is would I trade a street full of neighborly folks for the neighborhood I have online? I have a friend in New York who sent Addie ballet shoes from Julliard and black and white cookies for me. I have a friend who let us crash in her guest room with almost no notice in Denver. I have plans to eat cherry pie with everyone who lives in Michigan. I also have several Canadian Kit Kat suppliers. I could wake up in almost any city tomorrow morning and have a friend there who knows where the best pastries are. Not to mention I’ve had several friends come through Indy where I had a warm bed and tasty food to offer them.

You know what else I just realized? My friends are googleable.

I can check in on them, keep track of them and they can do the same for me.

The other day I decided I’m going to be basing my opinions and judgments of people on how they felt during the first 15 minutes of the movie “Up.” (these four minutes specifically.)

Based on the answers I got on both facebook and twitter?

We’d get along just fine.

I have a feeling most everybody would get along with everybody if we were simply honest with ourselves and kind to others around us.

And I do hope we get the chance to share pastries someday.

Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.” -Dr. Seuss (he and I would have been grand friends as well.)

full term.

I made it.

I’m full term.

There’s a human in me that could come out tomorrow and become president in 35 years.

This feels like a dream. I keep waiting to wake up.

the day I found out I was pregnant vs. the day I hit full term.

On the left, the day I found out about mozzi, about 4 weeks. On the right, today. 37 weeks.

I guess now’s the time we all start guessing when I’m going into labor and just how big this kid is going to be.

Addie came on her due date, I went into labor around 9 am, she was born shortly after 4 pm. She weighed 6 lbs. 14 oz. and was 19.5″ long.

Phew. This is real.

Thank you for sticking by me.