Blah Blah Blah

Lately, I've been more reassured than ever that my daughter is going to be like me. Why, you may ask? Because she loves to talk.

For weeks now, Evie has become increasingly vocal while she discovers new sounds and volumes.

Her journey into the exciting world of babbling began with raspberries- short, slobbery bursts of air between her lips. Over and over and over.

Next we moved up to yelling. No, not upset yelling, just yelling. It seemed as though she just wanted to see how loud her voice could possibly get. And so, for a couple weeks, out of nowhere she would say, "Aaaaaaaauuuuuuugggghhhhhh!!!" Obviously this time period involved a lot of me sprinting from room to room to make sure she wasn't hurt or unhappy only to find her calmly staring up at me with an air of deviousness in her face.

Once she discovered volume control, or lack thereof, Evelyn moved on to screeching. When Thanksgiving rolled around, my poor grandfather had to turn down his hearing aid a bit so my daughter wouldn't shatter his ear drums.

Finally, Evie started gargling. From a reclining position, she gathers enough spit in her mouth to gargle it. It may sound gross, but trust me when I say it's hilarious. If you've had children before, you understand how many extra loads of laundry I'm doing just because everything gets covered in baby spit. If you haven't had children yet, brace yourself and your washing machine.

Currently, Evelyn enjoys making a combination of all these sounds- raspberries, yells, screeches and gurgles. But just yesterday, we reached a monumental milestone: The First Tooth. And yes, I write it with caps because it's just that important to me. So now, my Peanut is constantly searching for things to stuff in her mouth to gnaw on.

This includes, but is not limited to toys, stuffed animals, blankets, pillows, any article of clothing but especially socks (clean, obviously), mommy's shoulder, mommy's shirt, mommy's fingers, mommy's jacket, mommy's hair, the straps on mommy's purse, the plastic part of her pacifiers, towels, bibs and her own fingers.

The only thing Evie doesn't seem to want to teethe on is her teether! Every time I give it to her, she scowls and only tries to suck on it.

As you can plainly tell, I spend a lot of time focused on my daughter's little gob. Given the extra loads of laundry and toys necessary to appease her oral fixation, in Evelyn's case, talk is not cheap.

Hairy Situation

For months, I blogged about the symptoms and side effects of pregnancy, but anyone who has given birth before knows that the changes to the maternal body continue long after baby has left the building.

One of my favorite hormonal indulgences of pregnancy was the full head of luscious locks. Since I was a little girl, I've had a fine, stringy mop of blonde hair. Pregnancy, however, brought with a sense of fullness not only to my figure, but also to my mane.

You can imagine my annoyance, then, when I found myself with fistfuls of my own hair wrapped around my fingers every time I took a shower. Slowly but surely, that extra fullness was disappearing.

Here's how it works: At any given time, approximately 90% of your hair is in a growing phase while the remaining 10% enters a resting phase before eventually falling out. During pregnancy, hormone levels cause a greater percentage of hairs to enter the resting phase without falling out. When hormone levels return to normal post-partum, those rested hairs bid adieu to the scalp, causing what appears to be excessive shedding.

So really, it's just those damn hormones messing with me some more. You would think Mother Nature would be a bit kinder to someone who shoved a bowling ball through their birth canal. But no.

Shampooing has become a tedious exercise since I'm trying not to go bald. Mousse has become a must. It doesn't help that Evelyn enjoys pulling at chunks of my hair when she can get her chubby fingers on it.

If you're anything like me and find yourself plagued by lost hairs that cling to your clothes, drain and baby, here are my tips:

• Common sense: Be gentle with your hair. Wash and rinse gingerly without getting your fingers all caught up in it. When it's time to brush, don't use a fine tooth comb unless you want to pick the hairs out of it later.


• DO NOT sleep with your hair in a ponytail. At night, let your poor follicles rest without elastic tugging at them.


• Keep taking your prenatal vitamins.


• Buy some mousse to add fullness and body.


• Get a trim. I cut off about eight inches of my hair when Evie was about six weeks old so my hair wouldn't look stringy.

At the end of the day, there's not much you can do about those crazy hormones except be grateful that they helped you create a sweet little baby. I'm just praying that Evelyn and I won't be sporting matching hairstyles of nothing more than peach fuzz any time soon.

Sock It To Me

I found myself contemplating what to write about for this week's Mommy Must-Have yesterday while I was getting Evie dressed. As I looked at her bare feet and instinctively reached for my favorite accoutrement to cover her little tootsies, it hit me.

I have been in love with these socks from trumpettetoo (yes, it's lowercased) ever since I got them as a gift. When I first saw them in the box, I fell in love with their obvious cuteness, but now I realize how practical they are!

At first glance, most people don't realize that Evie is not, in fact, wearing real shoes. Once they do catch on, I almost always hear, "Those are precious!"

Yes, yes. They're adorable. But allow me to tell you why I really love them...

For a long time now, Evelyn has enjoyed standing with help from someone propping her up. Shoes confuse her. They make her clumsier and less balanced than she already is. Socks, however, keep her warm without making her feel like she's got straight jackets on her feet.

Though babies are typically exempt from the "No shirt, no shoes, no service" rule, there are occasions that demand a sense of dressiness. These socks are the best of both worlds. Look good; feel good. I've layered them over tights and paired them with jeans. They're perfect for church or a dinner outing.

Because I received these socks as a gift, I didn't know where they even came from until I Googled them. Not surprising, they come from Target. A pack of three costs $8, and they also have plenty of styles for both boys and girls. I would recommend them for the classic Practical Mom/Stylish Baby duo.

The Cold War

Needless to say, Evelyn and I have a lot of close contact. If she drools, it ends up on my shirt. If she poops, I wipe her butt. So it only makes sense that if Evie sneezes, there's a good chance she did so all over my face.

This is how I caught a cold.

Four days ago, Evie woke up with a stuffy nose. I gingerly wiped it for her and went on with the day occasionally wiping a boogie or two from her sweet face. But that night, I felt the telltale tickle in my throat that said, "Congratulations, Mama. You and baby are sharing a cold!"

For the last few days, Evie and I have been sneezing, coughing and groaning through the Thanksgiving holiday. Don't get me wrong, we had a great time with family and food, but it wasn't without a zillion tissues and regular forehead checks for fevers.

Thankfully, I was worse off between the two of us. We both, however, shared matching diminished appetites and bright red noses.

As with everything else, the world did not stop turning until baby and I recovered. With tissues in my pockets and Sudafed in my bloodstream, I trudged forth to shift after shift at work while Evie continued with her taxing life of eating, pooping and sleeping.

The worst thing about taking care of an under-the-weather baby? The treatment. Since Evie can't share Dayquil with me, the most I could do for her was to suck out her snot with a suction bulb and wipe her face. If you've ever had a baby, you know they don't enjoy this.

As of this moment, the Peanut and I are almost fully recovered. While I ponder what ailments await us in the future, I can't help but giggle every time I hear a boogery snort from Evie's crib while she sleeps.

Mommy Must-Haves!

Young mothers- any mothers, really- form an intricate network of communication. It doesn't matter if you've never met someone in your entire life; if you have the same stroller, it's a basis for conversation.

That being said, the most frequented topic of chit-chat is consumerism. And why wouldn't it be? One study found that new mothers spend approximately $7,000 by the time their child reaches his or her first birthday. Which brings me to my point...

A lot of people ask me which baby products are Must-Haves and why. Because I often repeat the same speeches over and over, I thought I would turn it into a new blog segment, especially since I'm trying to get back in the habit of writing more.

With that, I present to you my first Mommy Must-Have:

This charming rainbow of plastic is called the "Ring O Links," made by Sassy. When I first created my baby registry, I made sure to put plenty of lower-priced items on the list. But when I pulled these out of a bag at my baby shower, they might as well have been a baby flat-screen TV. Call it a sixth sense, but I knew they would make an awesome toy.

Evelyn loves these little rings. Every time she sees them, she reacts as if they are brand new. I have a feelings she loves the spectrum of colors, and unlike some of her other toys, these are small enough to fit perfectly in her tiny grip.

The ring comes with eight links total, and they have different textures: smooth, bumps and ridges. Evie gets to feel the different sensations every time she picks them up. Additionally, the black stripes on the main ring are rubbery, making it easier to hold if baby wants to grab the whole thing and wave it around. (She does.)

Mommy loves these because they are, in a word, easy. I can throw them in my purse or the diaper bag. I can link each ring together to make a chain and hang it from just about anywhere, (great for car rides). If they get dropped or dirty, no problem. Just throw them in the dishwasher. The best thing of all is the price tag, only $2.99. We take these everywhere because if they get lost, it's no big deal to replace them.

When it comes to baby toys, I subscribe to the theory of keeping it cheap and simple. If she's anything like me, Evie will only want to play with boxes and pots by the time she can walk. In the meantime, I think I've found the missing link! ;)

Becoming "Mom"

Today is November 15, 2011. One year ago today was the first full day I spent with the understanding that my life was no longer a solo act.

Shortly after dinner time on November 14, 2010, I found myself squating over a stick in a less-than-clean bathroom. I remember saying out loud, "Please. Please." I can't be sure what I was praying for as the results slowly flooded over the pregnancy test. I know I wasn't necessarily wishing for any particular outcome, but rather that everything would be ok- that I would be ok.

And then, it appeared: A tiny blue plus sign in the window. For the briefest moment, the world stopped spinning while my life palpably changed forever. I stared at that plus sign as if it might start speaking to me any second before I quietly tiptoed out of the bathroom as if silence might help.

One year ago today, I woke up at 6 a.m. and waited for the University of Kentucky's Student Health Services to open so I could make an appointment, even though their phone lines weren't active until 9. They say the darkest part of the night is just before dawn, and I laid there in that darkness while crushing amounts of terror and excitement washed over me all at once. I remember those passing hours as if they were only this morning.

Finally, I made my way to Student Health only to pee in a cup and have someone walk up and say, "You're definitely pregnant." A kind, but stern middle-aged woman then sat me down in her office and handed me paper after paper on my different options before she pulled out a plastic model of the female reproductive system and explained exactly how an abortion works. Only a moment later, she explained to me what I need to look for in a prenatal vitamin and it hit me- This woman probably sees panicked, young, pregnant students all the time. It's her job to present every option and show no bias whatsoever.

I walked back out into that crisp, Fall day with my tiny hands clutching a fistful of papers and a new outlook on the world.

Though the fear was overwhelming, it was also the least alone I have ever felt in my life. There I was, still the same feisty, outgoing little fireball on the outside, no different from the day before. But on the inside, I held the most precious little secret I could ever have imagined. Every day from then on was a team effort within my body. I housed and nourished that little peanut, and in return she offered me the most sincere form of comfort.

One year ago today, when I was just over one month pregnant, I discovered that I would be a mother. At that time, my daughter was a tiny ball of cells, tissue and an inaudible heartbeat. Now, she's sleeping in her crib across the room from me. I can't even fathom where I'll be in another year...

All the Single Ladies

Allow me to provide you with a piece of little-known knowledge: Single parenthood is tough.

As I'm sure you're well aware, daylight savings time recently gave us an extra hour. By "us," I mean anyone who doesn't have an infant.

Evelyn gets tired at the same time every night these days. She's almost always fast asleep in her crib by 10:30. I, being the night owl that I am, force myself to put away the laptop around 1 or 2 a.m. Evie then wakes up at 6:30 to eat, and if I'm lucky, she goes back to sleep for a couple hours.

And then daylight savings happened. Evie now dozes off around 9 and wakes up around 5:30, but I'm still retiring between 1 and 2. So every morning for the last week, I've been squinting my eyes open and searching the room for even a glimmer of sunlight while my daughter howls for breakfast.

Without fail, I always look around me to see if someone- anyone- will grant my truest wish and take care of Evie's pre-dawn demands for me. And without fail, no one magically appears.

Such is the plight of a single parent. Sure, there are plenty of people who want to help me with Evie, but you can never go through the day assuming that anyone will help you. You start and stop the waking hour under the pretense that it's all on you.

Luckily for me, I have an amazing, helpful family who has given me more than I could ask for. I wonder, then, if it's the mere characteristic of being a single parent that feels so overwhelming?

I will say this in praise of singledom: Every day is a girls day. Our room glows with shades of purple. We don't have to share the closet. Every morning, I savor the peaceful moments of solitude with my daughter. Every night, we say her prayers and lay her down to sleep before I go watch my guilty pleasures on television.

So here I am, at 12:17 a.m. I've got at least another hour in me, but as I write this I can hear Evie turning her dream-filled head from side to side as if to remind me that not only is she in the room, but breakfast is in five short hours.

Birthday Girls

Today was my 22nd birthday. Woo hoo.

One year ago today, I was housing a tiny sprout of a baby in my belly and had no idea. In fact, I still had three and a half weeks before I would even suspect a thing. I can't even begin to describe how drastically my life has changed in one year.

This time last year, I was tossing back Irish car bombs and shots of vodka. Today I enjoyed homemade pasta sauce with spinach ravioli, (and maybe a couple of peach mango martinis).

This time last year I put on four-inch heels to go out on the town. Today I wore a long-sleeved raglan that got covered in drool and some brand new fuzzy socks, courtesy of my grandmother.

This time last year, I celebrated my birthday with friends who wanted nothing more than to watch me pour liquor down my throat. Today I took care of my daughter, the same as I have for the last three and a half months.

When I woke up this morning and looked over at Evie, her face didn't say, "Happy Birthday, Mom!" Instead, she whined and squirmed until I shoved a boob in her mouth. She cried in the car while we ran errands. She pooped in her diaper while I was eating cake. She even slobbered on my face when I held her up above my head. In short, Evelyn did not care that today was my birthday.

Unlike other days, however, she stayed quiet while I ate my dinner, happily glaring at a muted episode of Spongebob on TV. Trust me, this is a wonderful birthday gift. Normally I have to choke down a bowl of cereal for dinner while Evie threatens to fuss any second.

Believe me when I say that I am happy to be a whole year away from my former life. Evie has made my life so much better, so much more rewarding, and no number of vodka shots could numb me into the bliss I feel every time she smiles her big gummy grin.

You could say that Evie was a birthday surprise from last year. Today I held her and knew with all certainty that she was the greatest gift I could ever receive, even if she does slobber on my face.

There's No Place Like Home

Today was my very last day of work at TGI Friday's. On my way home, I had a feeling that I believe is most comparable to the way Dorothy must have felt when it was time for her to leave Oz. I went around the restaurant and said my goodbyes, feeling sad but relieved at the same time. The whole experience was summed up by the word "bittersweet."

You may be thinking, "Kellie. Get a grip. It was a waitressing job."

But that's where you would be wrong. That job was my foray back into the adult world after giving birth only a few months ago. I started working there when Evelyn was 7 weeks old, and since then it has allowed me to interact with adults and feel as if I'm good for more than breastfeeding.

Leaving Evelyn for each work shift was always a challenge, but I consistently felt tremendous joy every time I walked back through the front door, feet aching and skin stinking of steaks, when I got to see my daughter's chubby face once again.

I think parenting demands breaks. You have to go out into the world and away from your child for periods of time to retain sanity. I respect anyone who bears the moniker "full-time parent" because I fear I would permanently speak in baby talk if I did.

Aside from the mental stability permitted by working a job, the people I called co-workers have evolved into fantastic friends. I can say with all honesty that I will miss every single one of them. I already miss listening to their stories, laughing at their jokes and sharing their aggravation at a bad tip. If any of them read this, I hope they know I feel very happy to have met them. Like Dorothy, however, I hope that I'm not leaving them behind entirely so much as I'm waking up from the dream that was my time in Lexington. I'm confident they'll continue to be my friends even if I no longer see them as scarecrows or tinmen, aka co-workers.

So here I sit, wondering what to do with my Friday's polo shirt and apron, ready to turn the page onto the next chapter. Evelyn and I are moving back to Louisville in one week, and in the meantime I'm going to search for a new job. I just hope I get to trade in my black, non-slip shoes for some ruby slippers in the near future.

Worth a Thousand Words

Because she is just so stinkin' cute, here are my all-time favorite pictures of Evie since she was born! All of them were taken on my cell phone.

This is one of the very first pictures I took of my sweet little girl when she came into my life on July 5, 2011. When I took this photo, I had no idea much fun I had in store.

I think Evie was three days old here. My little sister, Carly, had brought over a sticker with the letter "E" on it, so I stuck it to her onesie and took a picture.

I've always loved this picture, and I can't quite figure out why. She was maybe a week old, and I just thought she looked so peaceful and sweet when she slept.

This was right before I took her over to my dad's house for the first time. She looked so alert and ready to go!

Wearing a hat from Paris that my friend, Jennifer, brought her. Proof that she is already more stylish than I am.

This was Evie's first boat ride this summer. I think she was just around a month old. It was very hot outside, but she did great.

So cozy!

This was taken soon after we moved to Lexington. In her little pink onesie, I thought she looked like a sleeping baby piglet.

After I took this, I started calling her my "little bunny" because she looked like a tiny rabbit nestled down in a burrow. She was just so content in her little bouncy seat, which is where she usually chills while I get ready.

I specifically remember she was staring at the toilet when I took this. She looked so calm and innocent just staring at the shiny porcelain comode.

Evie always gets this big grin on her face if I look at her and say, "Oooooohhh!" I was finally able to get it on camera, a difficult task considering if she spots the camera, she stares at it with a serious look on her face.

This is classic Evie these days- sweet, curious and mellow, but always a tad mischevious. She reminds me of someone... ;)

Sleep and My Lack Thereof

Today I was at work contemplating how much I miss having the time to think and write. When you say, "Hi, my name is Kellie and I'll be taking care of you tonight. What can I bring you to drink?" so many times, you begin to miss using your vocabulary for creative purposes. It was then that I realized I haven't written a blog post in over a month.

Forgive me! Between working and taking care of Evie, I rarely have time to eat a full meal, much less sit down and type. But here I am- fresh out of work with a baby quietly napping a few feet away. And may I just say this: I envy her.

A lot of people told me that when I embarked into motherhood, my sleep patterns would be drastically affected. But just like most other parental warnings, you can't understand it until you're living the mom life.

For the first month and a half or so of Evie's life, she woke up approximately four or five times a night to squeal and eat. Luckily for me, breastfeeding makes those late-night and early-morning snacks much easier. I just pull the baby right up next to me and let her indulge. However, because we got in the habit of laying in the same bed so much, Evie now believes that my bed is her bed.

I used to sleep like a starfish- on my stomach with all four limbs stretched in different directions. Now I sleep like, well, a baby in the womb. While Evie lays sprawled out next to me, I stay curled in the fetal position all night long. Waking up is unpleasant not because I would rather keep sleeping, but because I feel like I'm trying to undo the rigor mortis that has obviously set in.

And forget naps. Once in a while, if I'm lucky, I can doze off with Evie laying on my chest. But usually I don't even want to consider snoozing during the day because the feeling that I should be doing something else is overwhelming. My mind screams, "How can you sleep when you should be folding that huge pile of laundry?!"

But if there's one thing I know, it's that parenting is a balancing act. Sometimes you have to make time for the things that make you happy and serve no other purpose. Like blogging.

Black Friday's

I have always considered Louisville, Kentucky to be my home base. Despite the fact that I've mainly lived in Lexington for the last three years, Louisville was still home. Though the Derby City will always be my beloved hometown, I feel as though I have truly adopted Lexington as my base of operations, the place I will call home for the forseeable future. I'll admit, that was quite a shock to my system for a few days.

Psh. That was nothing.

Today I left Evelyn for the longest stretch of time since she was born. I had to. For my job.

I remember when she was only about a week old and I left her for 20 minutes to go walk on a treadmill in the gym at my mom's apartment complex. Those minutes felt like an eternity. I wish I had known then what I know now.

When I left for work today at 4, I didn't even know how long I would be gone. To garner an income as quickly as possible, I took a job as a waitress at a nearby T.G.I. Friday's, and since today commenced my training, I didn't even know how long I would be gone.

As I walked out of my apartment clad in the standard-issue Friday's polo shirt and some hideous non-slip black shoes, I felt sadness and anticipation all at once. I was excited to start working with some new people and ready to be a part of the working adult world for a while. But at the same time, I found myself clinging to a very clear mental picture of my sweet baby girl napping in my arms.

After about two hours of working, I could be found slumped against the bar waiting for a drink with a melancholy expression on my face. When someone asked me if I was ok, I replied without hesitation, "I miss my baby!"

Having been gone for over five hours, I returned home and found my little angel just as I left her- painfully cute and frustrating all at the same time. She hadn't changed while I wasn't looking, much to my relief.

After a quick change of attire so my little family wouldn't have to smell the medium-well steaks and shrimp skewers that permeated my clothes, I settled on the couch with Evelyn nestled in my left arm, Roy next to me glued to his laptop and a bowl of victory fettucine in front of me.

Yes, I hate leaving my daughter. Yes, I hate taking people's orders with a dumb grin on my face when all I can think about is her face. Yes, I thought I was going to have a stroke when another baby cried in the restaurant and I looked around for Evie.

Despite all those things, however, having a job is rewarding, and those moments I spent on the couch after I got home were the best moments I can recall since I relocated to Lexington. And honestly, who wouldn't want to come home to that?

New Beginnings

I've been neglecting my blog lately. First, allow me to apologize. Second, let me make excuses.

Six days ago, Roy and I moved into our new Lexington apartment with Evelyn, and the following days have been a haze of organized chaos. Getting settled in a new place with a six-week-old baby is...challenging.

Sunday- Moving Day
We woke up early, came to Lexington and commenced the unpacking process. With help from a few friends, we got everything in the new place only to stare at the massive heaps of crap that two people and a baby have accumulated.

The first room I went to work on was Evelyn's naturally. Note: She spends MAYBE an hour per day in her room, but all of her stuff is so cute I couldn't resist.

That night, filthy and exhausted, all we wanted was a shower and a drink to celebrate. Two things were missing: 1. The rings to hang the shower curtain. 2. Corkscrew. While Roy watched the baby, I made a trip to the dollar store, which doesn't, believe it or not, sell corkscrews. That required a separate trip to Walgreens. Later, we discovered that our original shower rings had been stuffed inside a cookie jar in our kitchen, and the wine bottle had a twist-off cap. Oh, cruel irony.

Thursday- Epic Haircut
After contemplating a new 'do for a week or so, I impulsively decided to go chop off a lot of my hair. This, however, was not the most significant part of the day. What matters is that doing so required me to leave Evie with a babysitter who was not her father for approximately three hours.

After a cosmetology student who was so young she still had braces lobbed off six inches of my hair, I raced back to my precious baby. (I go to the Paul Mitchell School for my haircuts. They're way cheaper and I'm all about supporting education.) You know the old saying, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder?" It's true. As fond as my heart is for my baby, I think I needed those few hours to do something for myself and not constantly be listening for her pitiful little squeals.

Friday- Job Hunting
After making daily trips for food and other necessary items, we concluded it was time to focus on getting some revenue flowing into this household. Since Roy is a second-year law student, that meant I had to put on my big girl pants and some high heels to tackle the ol' rat race.

For several hours, I scoured the city for any job that pays American dollars. By the end of the afternoon, I was feeling defeated and tired, but made one last stop. Thank goodness I did because they hired me on the spot. Let's just say you may find me bringing you your dinner someday...

So here I sit- in my new apartment with my new haircut and new job, contentedly glancing over at my new baby snoozing on the couch. All in all, I can't complain. Roy and I are discovering new quirks about each other every day. For instance, he can't understand why I put peanut butter on crackers only to lick it off, and I recently found out that when confronted with a lack of dresser space, he elected to stash his t-shirts in the desk drawers.

Tasks for the upcoming days:
1. Preparing to leave my baby for hours on end to go work.
2. Get Evelyn to sleep in her crib and not right next to me.
3. Memorize a menu.
4. Loads and loads of laundry.
5. Starting Monday, I'm going to eat healthier and take Evie for more walks to get back in shape. Pregnancy really takes it out of you.
6. Pumping lots of milk for baby to have while I'm working.

The only question I'm still asking myself is this: How did I grow up so fast?!

Totally Pumped

Throughout my pregnancy, I studied up on breastfeeding. I took the classes, read the books and learned the necessary information. So when my little girl was born, I had a pretty good idea of what to do: 1) Disrobe torso. 2) Hold baby up to chest. 3) Commence latching. 4) Lactate.

I would be lying if I said breastfeeding didn't come with its share of surprises. That first day in the hospital, I paged a nurse to help me get the baby latched on, at which point she entered the room, grabbed my left mammary gland and shoved it in the baby's mouth.

At 5 this morning, I woke up to feed Evie and realized that the left side of my bra was completely soaked. And yes, I wear nursing pads. I planted Evie on that side, but when she slipped off, she got sprayed right in her sweet little face. She wasn't too much worse for the wear.

Despite these unpredictable circumstances, nursing has come pretty easily to me, and for that I consider myself quite lucky. As I've recently discovered, however, pumping breastmilk is a whole different story.

For starters, pumping is not very comfortable. You would think it couldn't hurt any worse than the baby, but you would be wrong. It hurts, especially if you're having a tough time getting the milk out. And when you're finally finished, the first time you let the baby nurse from that side, it stings like getting a tattoo on your nipple for about 30 seconds. (Note: This may be different with electric pumps, but I kick it old school with a manual one.)

That brings me to my next point: pumping milk isn't always easy. Unlike nursing straight from the source, your body doesn't automatically release for something that you don't mentally recognize as your own child. Recently, I tried to pump a couple times to no avail, only to realize that it was only possible under specific circumstances.

I have to be completely relaxed to pump successfully, which is tough when you have a fussy baby. I prefer to pump while Evelyn is sleeping soundly. Knowing that she's content makes me release tension, and breastmilk for that matter.

To my surprise, I can pump better when no one is watching me. This is surprising because I'm not a shy person. I can nurse with no problem while other people are in the room, but if someone watches me pump, I might as well have a clog.

Once I figured out what works best for me, I managed to stockpile a few bottles in the freezer. On Thursday night, a day before she turned one month old, we gave Evie her first bottle. Rather, Roy gave it to her while I tried not to freak out because my baby is already a month old.

She took it like a champ. She rested comfortably in Roy's arm and sucked down four ounces in no time at all. Then came time for me to face my irrational fears- what if she liked the bottle better than me?! To check, I served up a finale to her meal straight from the keg. She transitioned between the two flawlessly.

If there's one thing I know, it's that feeding a baby, like parenting, is a learning experience. You have to figure out what works best for you. The hiccups are not failures, they're just opportunities to learn more about yourself and your baby. And when it's all said and done, I get to watch Evie have some hiccups of her own, which is just the cutest darn thing I've ever seen.

In the Name of Love

I've never spent every waking (and sleeping) moment with one specific person for three weeks straight. Honestly, you would think it would be frustrating to be around the same person that much.

I spend almost every minute of every day with Evelyn. She sleeps in my bed at night. She sits in her pink vibrating chair on the bathroom floor while I shower. And the better I get at nursing, I can even feed her while I munch on a snack of my own.

Sound exhausting? It is. But I wouldn't change a single minute of it. The more time I spend with Evelyn, the more I can see her pint-size personality coming out.

Evie likes attention. I know all babies require a certain amount of attention, but she actually commands it. When I talk on the phone while I'm holding her, she cries. If I hang up the phone and talk to her instead, she's perfectly content. Let's just say I make a lot of phone calls during nap time...

The little lady also likes to dance. After searching for things that make her happy for days on end, I finally figured out that she loves for me to hold her in my arms and take a spin around the living room floor. This is Evie's playlist:

"Someone Saved My Life Tonight" -Elton John
"Time After Time" -Cyndi Lauper
"Piano Man" -Billy Joel
"I Wanna Dance With Somebody" -Whitney Houston
"Angel" -Aerosmith
"The Story" -Brandi Carlile
"We Belong" -Pat Benatar

She usually falls asleep after the third or fourth song, but sometimes it's hard not to keep on dancing. The last three weeks have gone by so fast, and I know these times when she can fall asleep in my arms while I dance with her will be short-lived. Not to mention, it's very liberating to act so ridiculous and not care one bit.

Finally, Evelyn likes to go outside. I think she enjoys the feeling of the hot, humid summer air on her delicate baby skin. Maybe it reminds her of the 98.6 degree cave she lived in for nine months. Still, I can hardly stand going outside in this awful heat, so we compromise. Lately we've been going on a short walk to get the mail every day.

She sees the sights and hears the sounds, happily indulging in the simplicity for a few minutes. When we step back in the air conditioning, her dark little eyes open wide and she stares up at me with a look that says, "Woah, who turned off the hot?"

This is my simple existence. Typing out these activities makes them sound so provincial compared to a lot of the things I used to do, but I don't care. I've happily surrendered the average 21-year-old life for something sweeter.

Bonus: My youth allows me the stamina for multiple living room dance parties every day.

A Humble Existence

For the last three weeks, I've been enjoying every moment with Baby Evelyn. After constantly worrying I was going to break her for a while, I've finally settled into some manner of a routine with my sweet little girl. However, as I'm sure any new parent will tell you, this child has a lot of tricks up her tiny sleeve.

In recent days, Evelyn has decided to repeatedly fooling me into thinking it's a good time to change her diaper, only to immediately soil the fresh one I put on her. I know you may be thinking, yes, Kellie, babies poop in their diapers. And I understand that. But Evie will make a mess in a fresh one before I can even fasten it shut.

I pull off the messy one, thoroughly wipe her down, slide the clean diaper under her hiney, and then, there it is- the telltale bubbling noise that means I acted a little too soon. At least those messes actually make it into a diaper...

Evelyn loves her bath time. She reclines in her little tub while I scrub her down and pour warm water over her belly and just relaxes. But perhaps she is a little too relaxed...

One morning last week, I had just finished giving Evie a bath and she was sitting calmly in the warm water, ready for me to wrap her up in a fluffy, hooded towel. I turned around to grab the towel when I heard it- the sound of a quick flurry of bubbles under the water. Yes, ladies and gentlemen. The baby pooped in the tub. Moments before I was going to put a clean diaper on her freshly-scrubbed behind, she muddied the water.

In a comedic chain of events, I plucked my naked little cherub out of the tub, yelled for Roy to come help me, and ran her backside under the faucet before handing her over to Daddy. Evelyn was no worse for the wear.

Aside from the poopy incidents, Evelyn has peed on me twice and spilled countless mouthfulls of breastmilk all over me. And yet, despite her messiness, I wouldn't change one second of the whole experience thus far.

True, my laundry hamper is full of clothes covered in mysterious substances and my garbage can is overflowing with diapers, but that's what I signed up for, right? Right.

Life with Evie

Little Evelyn can't do much yet, but she's a wonderful daily companion. Just for fun, I'm putting up some pictures from our day-to-day life to share the cuteness.

Evie sleeps a lot.

And yawns.

Sometimes she takes a leisurely bath.

Sometimes we go to the store.

And sometimes she likes to read "Vanity Fair."

It's a good life, really.

Losing An Arm

Becoming a parent means acquiring a whole new set of skills. You learn how to change a diaper quickly and carefully so the baby doesn't get too upset, bathe someone who doesn't want to unclench her tiny fist, and creep out of a room very quietly so as not to wake the infant who HATES to stay in her crib.

But perhaps the most interesting skill is learning how to do absolutely everything with one hand, because you always have to assume that the baby will be taking one for herself.

Evelyn spends approximately five to six hours a day nursing. Add to the the fact that she's a total mommy's girl who wants to be held as much as possible, and there you have the loss of my left arm.

For the last six days that I've been a mom, my left arm has been incapacitated by the fact that I'm usually using it to hold the baby. So far, I've learned to go to the bathroom, make Kool-Aid, put away laundry, and yes, type with one arm. I don't mind though. I'm enjoying these precious days when she wants to be so close to me that she can hear my heartbeat. Someday, she will be a rambunctious teenager who, just like that song from "The Grinch," won't want to touch me with a 39 and a half foot pole.

When I gave birth, I had no idea that along with the belly I've been carrying around for nine months, I would also lose a limb I've been using for 21 years. But just like losing your time and freedom when you have a baby, the arm is a happy loss. Right this minute, Evelyn is fast asleep on my chest, giving me a few minutes to stretch this arm and work the small muscle control in my hand before rigor mortis sets in.

I can only imagine that as my daughter gets heavier, my arm will become abnormally and disproportionately buff from hauling the extra weight. And really, what else could a mother ask for?

Hello, Cruel World

Aside from the hospital, Evelyn had never been outside the comfort of home- the place that holds her precious swing, clean clothes, and patient mommy. But the last couple days called for adventure, and so we left the house equipped with a carefully-prepared diaper bag and a prayer.

Little Evie had her first doctor's appointment at 10 on Saturday morning. We woke up at 8:30, which gave me just enough time to feed her, change her, put her in an outfit, throw myself together and still be 15 minutes late.

Getting a newborn ready to leave the house is like rallying a small army. You have to check, double-check and triple-check the diaper bag to make sure you didn't forget anything. You have to feed the baby right before you leave the house so she doesn't get hungry in the car. Finally, you have to strap the baby in the car seat, a task comparable to buckling a mouse into a bicycle helmet.

We made it to the doctor and back in one piece. She didn't cry in the car one bit, just a few shrieks when the doc pried her little eyelids open to check her peepers. Naturally, I felt like I had climbed the highest mountain when I made it back home with a happy baby all by myself. Next it was time for a couple errands.

Mom needs new furniture, so she, Evelyn and I visited a local furniture store to check out some pieces. The baby didn't even open her eyes the whole time. The only attention we got was from one particularly enthused woman who felt the need to glance beneath the baby in my arms at my shrunken belly and remark on how small it is. Um, thank you?

Next we made a quick stop at Target for some essentials. I can't lie, I was excited for Evelyn to see what I believe is the second happiest place on Earth, right after the buffet at Gattiland. We put her whole car seat in the cart and made our way inside. All seemed well until a rather elderly woman decided to ram our cart while we were standing three feet away. I gasped in shock while Mom darted to the cart. "Was there somebody in there?" the old woman asked in her witchy voice.

"Uh, yeah. An infant," Mom replied. The old lady didn't apologize or express one iota of remorse. Personally, I would have been mortified if I bumped into a cart with a baby in it. Not this woman. Though, I have to speculate that she wasn't all the way there because she proceeded to bang her cart into several other fixtures before she left my field of vision. From there, things got interesting.

By the time we made it to the medicine aisles to find the Vitamin D drops recommended by the doctor, Evie was not a happy camper. The jolt in the cart woke her up, so we made a mad dash for the corner of the store for a personal moment. Mom held up a blanket to cover me while I started nursing the baby. From there, we perused the food aisles with a carefully-shrouded baby attached to me. All in all, it was a productive visit to the store, albeit unpredictable.

Yesterday, Evie and I went to visit my dad's house. I'm thrilled to report that my little girl is an ideal car companion. She doesn't cry or fuss, but she does squeak every now and then to let me know she's alive, which is quite comforting when I can't see her.

I know these are just the first of many out-of-the-house trips to come. I've been itching for some "Smurf" ice cream from the Pie and Ice Cream kitchen up the road, so that may be an upcoming trip. Regardless, I know most of my rides in the car from now on won't be solo, and that's just fine with me.

Meeting Evelyn

After three days, I've snuck in a brief moment of calm to indulge in a little writing. My daughter's first days of life have been a whirlwind of immense joy, intense pain, learning experiences and more well-wishers than I can count. Still, I've been recounting the labor and delivery process in my head, hoping to put it into words as best as I can.

I spent the majority of the 4th of July working on a painting that I intend to hang in the baby's room. I started having dull contractions in the afternoon, but after months of Braxton-Hicks, I didn't pay much attention. They started becoming regular, however, around 9 p.m., and by midnight, my mom was preparing to take me to the hospital.

No luck. I was sent home around 3:30 with discharge papers telling me to wait it out and a big sleeping pill to get me through the night.

Deep in an Ambien coma, I slept contentedly for three hours before I woke up with one sharp pain and a feeling that I had peed my pants. "Mom! My water broke!"

One car ride and a change of pants later, we were back in the labor and delivery unit. Throughout the morning hours, my loved ones began to flood the waiting area. And then, a hitch in the plans.

I have been allergic to lidocaine since I can remember, but it never occurred to me or anyone else that it would impede the epidural I had been planning on getting for months. Lidocaine is a local anesthetic and one of the main painkillers used in a regular epidural, so that was off-limits to me. Unfortunately, no one told me this until I was knee-deep in active labor, so the hospital staff spent a decent chunk of time attempting to find a solution. I watched helplessly as they speculated and guessed at what might be the best option and cried when they told me that I would have to be intubated and put to sleep in the event of a c-section. After an apology from the OB and some reassurance, I decided that this baby was for sure coming out the old-fashioned route.

Then there was the pitocin. The doctors gave me this particular drug to speed up my labor, intensifying the contractions in the process. Cue the most intense pain I've ever felt in my life. With each contraction, I grabbed someone's hand (usually my dad or Roy) and tried to take ten deep breaths in unison with that person. By the third breath, I was usually screaming or cursing. (Apparently I said some rather nasty things to the anesthetist regarding the ineptitude of his morphine.) After each contraction, someone would shove a few ice chips in my mouth and I would pass out until the next one. Finally, it was time to push.

About half an hour later, Evelyn Claire came into the world. The pain was profound, but not nearly as much as the joy and relief I felt upon seeing her goopy, purple face. She weighed 6 pounds, 2 ounces, and she is perfect from the fuzz on her head to her jelly bean-sized toes.

When I was in the middle of labor, I would have taken a bullet if it meant getting the baby out that much sooner. But now I look back on the whole day with fondness. I never realized how much strength my body is capable of and how much love my heart can hold.

Three days later- I'm sitting on the couch watching Evelyn nap in her swing. Delivering a baby is a lot like graduating high school. Just when you've reached the top of your game, you endure a rite of passage and then suddenly, you're back at the bottom. Every time she squeaks, I crane my neck to make sure she's ok. Her farts have become an angel's chorus to me because I know her little tummy is working. I can't imagine my life any more without this perfect little creature, even if she does keep me up all night.

Bump Watch- Grand Finale

This will be the last picture I put up of my belly. Two reasons: 1. Baby has reached her birth size, so I won't really get any bigger. 2. She could be born any day now. I'm hoping the next picture I put up is one of my newborn daughter. That being said, behold the enormity...

38 1/2 Weeks

I remember early in my pregnancy when I wondered what I would look like with a fully-developed belly full o' baby. I don't know if it's something you can really imagine until you're there. I'm still amazed by how much the human body can stretch and change to accommodate a growing infant.

This is the end, my friends. I would say that I couldn't be happier to have finally reached this point, but honestly, all I want is to ditch the belly and hold my baby.

Waiting for Labor Day

Babies are tricksters. How do I know? I spent several days this week thinking I was finally going to meet my daughter, only for her to stay firmly rooted in her warm little cave.

On Monday morning, I woke up at 5 a.m. having the most painful contraction I had experienced up to that point. The same thing happened that afternoon, but only one contraction each time. Nothing to be excited about, right? Wrong.

When you're nine months pregnant, you crave nothing more than to feel unbearable pains radiating from your midsection. It's the most masochistic state of mind you can imagine.

At 3 a.m. on Tuesday morning, I awoke with similar pains that weren't subsiding. They lasted half an hour before I called Roy and told him to get to my house in Louisville. I got in the shower, only for the contractions to slowly and subtlely subside. I felt guilty for making Roy wake up and come all the way here for nothing, but there was nothing I could do. Neither of us got much sleep that night.

We spent the next day walking around as much as I could manage to no avail. And so Wednesday passed with no baby.

I'm not a superstitious person, but by Thursday, I was fully convinced that making a big deal about labor would only prolong my pregnancy. So when Roy went to work with my mom on Thursday, I insisted that neither of them call to check on me. If anything happened, I would let them know. (Nothing happened.)

We decided to make a trip up to the IKEA store in Cincinnati that afternoon thinking that maybe getting me a couple hours away from home would tempt the baby to come out. Sure enough, it seemed to work. By the time we were almost home around 10:30 that night, I was gripping the arm rests in my chair, completely immersed in painful contractions every three minutes for two hours. My hospital bag sat in the living room, ready to go, while I focused on breathing in and out, in and out.

Words can't describe how disappointed I was when I woke up in my bed several hours later. My contractions had subsided enough for me to fall asleep.

So today is Saturday and still no baby. The last week is a blur of anxiety, frustration, guilt and disappointment, all strung together by a series of good meals and a successful trip to IKEA.

The guilt may be hard to understand, but trust me when I say it's there. I feel so disheartened every time I make people think something is really happening only for it to stop. I'm sick of the phone calls. I've heard, "No, nothing yet," spoken into the phone receiver more times that I could keep track of. The anticipation alone of wanting to see your baby is exhausting.

A while ago I wondered to myself how labor is possible. When your body is so worn out, your back feels like it might break any moment and you can't even walk up a flight up stairs without getting winded, how in the world are you supposed to push out a baby? Now I understand.

Childbirth relies on willpower, on the idea that you are so excited to finally meet this little person for whom you've been preparing for months that you will surrender your entire body to the process of getting him or her out into the world.

So here I sit, no baby to speak of, still waiting. I'm indulging in selfish pleasures- painting my nails, baking desserts, taking naps- while I still can. But my greatest selfishness of all is probably wanting this baby to come out when I want her to. What a conundrum...

Buckle Up for Safety

I'm prepared for this baby. She has clean clothes in her drawers, fresh towels in the bathroom, sheets in her crib, diapers on her changing table and a mommy who desperately wants to meet her. But as of last week, I still had one thing left to do.

I tried reading the instruction manual for the car seat by myself and gave up after about ten minutes, nevermind actually installing it. So when Roy came to visit me and my belly in Louisville last weekend, it seemed to be the perfect opportunity to get some help with the last mandatory baby item.

We went out to my car and got started. I had a simple job: read the instructions out loud.

We were both frustrated within 15 minutes. Roy described it to my mom as a "communication" error, which she thought was much funnier than I did.

Eventually, all three of us were working intently to install the base of the seat so it wouldn't shift more than an inch in any direction. (If you've never worked with a car seat before, the cardinal rule is that once installed properly, it shouldn't move more than one inch in any direction when you shake it.)

We tried to install the base on the back passenger side, but it shuffled around way too much. We speculated that the passenger seat had to be reclined to hold the seat in place, but that just didn't seem logical. Was I really supposed to move the passenger seat every time I wanted to get the baby in or out of the car? Surely not.

After we tried to call the manufacturer to ask for help, (no service on Sundays) Mom resorted to Youtube. After watching a video of a woman installing the exact same seat as the one I have, we tried again. The trick appeared to be applying a lot of pressure on the base with your legs while you tighten the straps. No luck.

At this point, I became quite disheartened. How could this Youtube woman have more strength in her legs than my 6-foot-something boyfriend? How could it possibly be this complicated?!

Mom piped up. "Well, she did say something about the middle of the back seat being the best place to put it if you can."

That one little tidbit was the secret. Note: It doesn't say anything about this in the instruction manual.

Vain and ridiculous as it may sound, I thought I had covered some basic knowledge of everything there is to know about preparing for a newborn. Imagine the giant piece of humble pie I had to choke down that day.

Now that my car is fully equipped to bring a baby home from the hospital, I have to admit that I couldn't have accomplished that particular task by myself. When I look back on the entire Sunday afternoon that was spent on something so comparatively small, I can laugh about it. Parenthood is obviously a non-stop learning experience, but if you don't take yourself too seriously and ask for help when you need it, the whole thing can be a fun ride- with proper safety precautions, of course.

Still embarrassing...!

Several months ago, I published a post about the less-than-charming aspects of pregnancy, including wardrobe malfunctions, shameless cravings, butt massages, and farting.

I'm almost finished with this grand charade, but the embarrassing dynamics have yet to cease. In fact, I'm convinced that the bigger you get, the more humiliation you risk. Here's what I'm dealing with in these last few weeks:

Swelling.
During the second half of the last trimester, pregnant women gain approximately one pound per week. Half of it is the baby; the other half is water. And yes, people notice.

Today, I went to the doctor. She first glanced at my feet, said they weren't too swollen, and then looked up at my face. "Well, you definitely have some swelling in your nose!"

I beg your pardon, doc? How can my nose be swollen?! Needless to say, I've been a little self-conscious of my schnoz all day...

A few weeks ago, I was perusing Target with my mom when my feet became unbearably painful. They were swelling up too much in a pair of sandals I had chosen to wear that day. The shoes had to come off and I walked around the store barefoot. Yes, barefoot and pregnant. Lovely.

Farting.
It doesn't go away. It just doesn't.

Leakage.
Late pregnancy means living in constant fear that you will piss your pants. I've sneezed really hard and had to immediately run to the bathroom.

A while ago, I was on the phone with Roy when he made me laugh really hard. That laughter was directly followed by panic. "I gotta go I just peed my pants a little bye!" You know you're having a baby with someone when you have to own up to wetting your pants while you're completely sober.

Surprises.
I didn't know that beginning at 36 weeks, I would be getting a pelvic exam every week at the doctor. I've had to endure some pretty humbling moments at that office- getting a Rhogam shot in the behind, peeing in a cup at every single appointment, cursing out loud while a lab technician takes my blood- but not being prepared for a pelvic exam is outright unpleasant.

"Undress from the waist down and the doctor will be here in just a minute."
"Woah, wait. Undress..."
"From the waist down, yes. You'll be getting pelvic exams every week from now on."

I like going into the doctor's office knowing exactly what to expect. If a thin sheet of paper is going to be the only thing between my naked body and the world, I like to know ahead of time.

Needless to say, I had no reason to be nervous or embarrassed, but jeez! Warn a girl before you get so close and personal!


Pregnancy is everything people say it is. It's beautiful and amazing and intense. But it also presents multiple opportunities for embarrassment every day. My theory? It's all just preparation for when I have to stick my legs up in the air and let anyone in the room see my lady business. Pregnancy may be womanly, but it's certainly not lady-like.

Cheap Thrills

Since I have everything I really need for my baby and I'm stuck staying pretty close to home, I'm constantly looking for tasks that will keep me busy, and this weekend I rediscovered something I love.

Several years ago, I was feeling artistic and decided to color a picture with some old crayons I found in my room. I then decided to turn that picture into a painting, and the rest is history. I love to paint.

Unfortunately, I hadn't painted in quite a while. Art supplies really only take up space in a dorm room, and I just never had the time. But now it seems I've got all the time in the world- at least, up until my princess decides to vacate the womb.

Last night, I pulled a large, blank canvas out from under my bed and started sketching. Now, it's my slowly becoming my masterpiece. I'm completely enthralled with this particular painting. I think it's because it will belong to my daughter.

Your options for entertainment are limited when you don't have money to blow, an able body or the ability to go far from home. I've been moaning and groaning for weeks because I'm so ready for this baby to come out. Now I'm hoping she stays in there just long enough for me to finish this painting.

I just have one fear: What am I going to do with myself when I finish the last brush stroke?!

MissBehavior

A while ago, it occurred to me that at some point, I will have to punish my daughter. No matter how well I raise her, she will make mistakes and discipline will be necessary. So I started slipping a simple question into my everyday conversations: "Were you spanked as a child?"

The answer is a resounding "yes."

Some of my friends were simply spanked. Others felt the crack of a belt. A few were even subjected to a switch.

Note: About a week ago, I had no idea what a switch was. My mom explained it to me while I cringed and winced, wondering to myself what kind of bad behavior warranted such capital punishment. For those of you who are out of the loop like I was, a switch is a small branch taken from a tree with any twigs and leaves stripped from it to maximize the sting. Mom says it makes a swishing noise when you wave it through the air. Ouch.

Me? I was never spanked by my parents. If I acted up, I had something valuable taken away, like a new toy or television priveleges. Granted, I was probably grounded a lot earlier than most. The first time I was made to stay in the house for a whole weekend and not do much of anything happened when I was 8 years old. I got caught jumping off a friend's second-story roof onto the trampoline in her backyard. Yeah, I was trouble.

The only person who ever spanked me was my nanny, and boy could she dish 'em out. I remember her fondly, but I also remember her killer three-smack spankings, which were promptly followed by a session in the time-out chair until I stopped crying.

So the question remains of how I plan to punish my daughter, but here's what I'm really wondering: When and how will she be bad?

My mom recalls a time when I was quite small and refused to get in the bath. I pitched a total fit, and the end result was a stern phone call from my dad- terrifying. Will my daughter pitch fits? Will she fight with another child? What happens when I catch her lying to me for the first time?

In my experience, a number of punishments speak louder than spankings. Physical punishment is so temporary; you take the beating, get over it, and then you're free to go on with the day unscathed. When I was bad and something was taken away from me, whether it was my Easy Bake Oven or my freedom, it messed up the whole day and I associated an action with a punishment from then on.

Call me a hippie, but I'm just not a big fan of physical punishment. When you actually use it, you get a few minutes of tears and some humiliation. Years later, however, it has a different impact when your little jailbird starts visiting a therapist. "Well, my problems really started when my mom hit me with a switch..." I can see it now.

I'd like to believe that I won't have to worry about punishments for a long time and that when it does come up, I'll know exactly what to do. The truth is that I'll probably call Roy or my parents and say, "She refuses to get out of her pajamas! What do I do?!" all while keeping my poker face in front of the little lady.

Despite the variations in childhood punishments that I've heard about, not a single one involved the parent losing his or her nerve and backing down. Kids are like dogs. They can smell fear.

Tip Off

Throughout my pregnancy, people who have had children before (and a few who haven't) have been giving me ceaseless heaps of advice. As much as I appreciate the tidbits of information offered to me, sometimes I just want to say, "Quit telling me what to do!"

Good advice:
"Make sure you never run out of wipes. They're not something you want to get caught without."

Not-so-great:
"Here's what you should do to take care of that weight..."

It seems to me that everyone has an opinion on my pregnancy and parenting methods. For a long time, I was hesitant to tell anyone what I wanted to name my daughter because people always want to give their unsolicited evaluation. Luckily, we've picked out a name that seems to be unanimously liked, but honestly, I wouldn't really care if no one liked it at all. She's not their daughter.

I may be coming off as spiteful, but I've been listening to people tell me what I SHOULD do for about nine months now. Like I said, I'm more than happy to accept productive pieces of advice, especially from people who have been around the baby block before. But seriously, I really don't care to feel judged by friends and aquaintances who aren't even close to having kids.

I honestly believe that there is a form of etiquette necessary to giving advice. Pregnant women do not want to hear the words "You should" from anyone except their doctors. So here is my advice to the advice-givers:

You can sneak it in there, but be subtle. Start the sentence with "I recently heard that..." or "Have you considered..." Don't assume that you know every detail about everything. Pregnant women and new parents are scared and chin-deep in an intense learning process, and everybody has their own style.

You Sexy Thing

Today I was laying by the pool, alternating between my left and right sides because that's all I can manage, wearing a bikini that shows off my enormous belly complete with the dark line down the middle and belly button that pops out like a wine cork, dreading the inevitable trips to the nasty poolside bathroom every 15 minutes, and I got to thinking about sex appeal.

Over the holiday season, I went through my entire wardrobe in anticipation of needing more space for baby stuff, but in the process I got rid of a lot of clothes that no longer spoke to my lifestyle. I realized then that I would soon be a mother, and along with an armful of sweaters that I haven't worn in years and a few old homecoming dresses, I let go of some daisy dukes, sequined miniskirts and midriff-baring tanks.

To be fair, I hadn't worn most of those things in a long time anyway. My idea of sexy is a woman who wears the right pair of jeans and a white t-shirt with total confidence. Regardless, it was time to dismiss the notion that I could ever feel comfortable in a bedazzled ensemble even if I wanted to wear it.

So here I am six months later and approximately 20 pounds heavier. Ask me if I feel sexy. I dare you.

"Sexy" may not be the right word, but I am more impressed by my body than I ever was before. I grew a baby, for crying out loud. Yes, I do miss having a visible waistline and the ability to wear bras that aren't beige and made of cotton, but I think I've got a more grown-up idea of what it means to have a great body.

Every day before I get in the shower, I turn to the side in front of the mirror and look at what my figure has become. If I think hard enough, I can still envision the petite, spry little thing I used to be. I miss that body, but I'm learning to adjust to this new one- one with an existent butt, thank goodness.

I know that when my daughter is born, my midsection will still puff out for a little while, my feet still won't want to jam into cute shoes, and my lady lumps will turn into all-you-can-eat infant buffets. But even though it will take a while, I'm determined to eventually have the kind of figure that I'm content with, complete with a renewed waist and newfound deriere that would make a sequined miniskirt look damn good even though I'll probably just be wearing jeans and t-shirts.

Wisdom from the Swimming Pool

Wanting to enjoy the beautiful weather today, I decided to surrender my dignity and don a bathing suit for a trip to the pool. Little did I realize it would be a learning opportunity.

I've often heard that children are a reflection of their parents, and now I'm convinced that it's true to some extent, even in subtle ways. There were a variety of children at the pool, and each of their personalities corresponded to their parents:

Splashers
Whenever you go to a pool, you will inevitably encounter children who splash like it's their job. They kick their little feet and water goes everywhere, coming down in a resonating cascade that soaks anyone and anything within a six foot radius. One little boy was continuously splashing me while I tried to lounge, and I was irritated until I saw his father doing the exact same thing. The difference is this: Children who kick up a lot of water are forgivable. Grown adults are obnoxious.

Screamers
Attempting to immerse myself in the editorial content from a recent issue of Harper's Bazaar proved exceptionally difficult thanks to a little boy who would not stop screaming. No, not cry screaming. This little fella screamed when he was happy or whenever his dad didn't do exactly what he wanted. Nearby, his mother was talking bizarrely loud on the phone. She chatted while he yelled, and all in Chinese, no less. I couldn't understand a single word, but I knew exactly what he meant when he started doing the potty dance. That's the same in any language.

Litterbugs
With my impeccable nose, I can smell cigarette smoke from a half mile away. Annoying as it may be, I understand that it's perfectly legal, and the smokers were outside in the open air. Fair enough. What's not cool is tossing your butts on the ground like it's your own personal giant ashtray. C'mon people. This is the pool. Everyone is walking around barefoot!
How did their children reflect the parents' behavior? No, they weren't smoking, thank goodness. But they did spit mouthfuls of sunflower shells all over the ground. Gross.

Show-Offs
Soaking my poor feet in the pool is a fantastic sensation. While I indulged, a small boy with a mini-mohawk swam up to me and put on a show. "I'm a good eater," he said before flipped around in the water, twisting and thrashing around in every effort to hold my attention before he popped up and declared, "I'm very silly!" When he got out of the pool and walked over to his mom, I realized that she had some excessively large...flotation devices. I consider it a useless skill of mine to tell the difference between real and fake, and there was no way those things weren't intended to get double-takes.

I know I probably sound critical and a little weird for watching other people so closely. But once I realized how much these kids resembled their parents, I couldn't help but observe them like a biologist watching lab mice. Frankly, I'm glad that I took note of the similarities, both subtle and otherwise, between parents and their children. I don't want my daughter cursing too much or picking her fingernails like I do, but I know I'll be setting the standard for a lot of her mannerisms.

Obviously, it's time for me to wash my mouth out with some soap. Heaven forbid my daughter's first word be a four-letter one.