Noteworthy Thursday #29

Dear Baby,

Well, you've been in there 26 weeks now (Okay, okay, fine. The first two weeks don't really count. Pregnancy math is hard. As is all math, if you ask me. But don't ask me. Ask your father. Or your Uncle Jeff.). I just wanted to remind you to stay put for a few more months. I just read about a somewhat infamous reality show star (for lack of a better term) who developed preeclampsia and had to deliver her 19th child (I know! That's a lot of kids!) at only 25 weeks. 25 weeks! That's way too early! That baby only weighed 1 pound, 6 ounces. Baby, you probably are already bigger than that, and even though you are already making my back hurt sometimes, I want you to grow and grow and grow, until you're nice and chubby and squishy and chompable. Then you can come out into the world and I will give you kisses.

Do we have a deal? I will keep you warm and safe (and I will stay away from the extra-spicy foods), and you will keep growing until you are nice and ripe. Okay, it's settled. See you in March!

Love,
Momma

Momma at 26 Weeks

Happy Birthday to Me

Last Friday was my birthday, and it was lovely. I received some fantastic gifts, including a fancypants camera and lens from Andrew (I’ve been talking about taking a photography class forever, and now I have no more excuses), a gift certificate for a prenatal massage, some lovely notepaper, some tasty goodies, an adorable brooch, and lots of cards. Oh, and with some birthday money from my parents (and a hefty discount for being a Hallmark employee) I bought this lovely bag for myself.

The gifts weren’t the only good part. Two of my best work friends took me to lunch (which included a stop at Sheridan’s!) and talked me into buying the fabulous bag. That’s what friends are for—getting a girl frozen custard on her birthday and helping her make good shopping decisions.

We also went to dinner at Potpie, my fave restaurant, with two fantastic people whose names easily become one (one of whom will be mad about the fact that I am about to call them this) (and on the INTERNET, no less), Jeffanie. Since I am expecting/knocked up/have a bun in the oven/pregnant, I refrained from having wine with dinner, which has always been one of my favorite parts of going to Potpie—sitting for a long time, sipping the wine, and talking. But Andrew—my lovely, amazing husband—somehow snuck in a bottle of sparkling grape juice just for me. He gave it to the server and everything, who brought it to me as if it were any other beverage. (Of course, Andrew got lucky that I went to the restroom first thing upon entering the restaurant, so he didn’t have to be THAT sneaky.) I was confused at first, because the grape juice looked just like wine. But only two people at the table ordered wine, and there were three glasses, so… Confused. It was a wonderful birthday surprise and a wonderful 28th birthday.

The One In Which We Register

Have I ever told you about the time Andrew and I registered for wedding gifts? No? Well. I’m not really going to tell you now, except to say that we hated every single stinking minute of it. Registering sounded so fun, you get the little scanner and you go around and pick out things you would like. Easy, right? Oh, so terribly wrong.

We couldn’t make up our minds about anything, and the pressure to make the right decisions, quickly, was very overwhelming. Take towels. Which towels were the best? Are those soft enough? Do they come in the colors we want? And what exactly are those colors? How am I supposed to pick out what color towels we will someday want in our future guest bath? All for a few pieces of terrycloth.

In the end, I think we went back to the store no fewer than three times to finally register for everything we “needed.”

Last Saturday we made the trek out to register for baby stuff. Since we knew how much we hated registering for wedding gifts, we came prepared. We had three separate lists of recommended baby gear from trusted sources, and a plan to not over think anything. We’d get in, scan the things we needed, scan a few super cute things, and get out.

The trip started out well enough. We got the forms filled out and received our scanner. Checking our lists, we began moving through the store. Our first stop was “infant care” (which is sort of a vague name for a section in a baby store, don’t you think?) and we quickly found ourselves faced with a bottle dilemma. I’m planning to breastfeed, so we don’t think we will need that many bottles. (All you parents out there may be snorting with laughter at my naivety. All I ask is that you let me down gently.) One of our list writers recommended two or three brands that she liked, and since we had no clue (and have read that our baby may reject any particular bottle just for kicks) we decided to go with what was recommended. But the list failed to mention that for each of the brands, there were numerous options. Too many options.

But after several minutes staring blankly at the packaging and furiously scanning our lists, hoping to see something we missed, something to clue us in as to what we should be looking for, we sort of gave up. We scanned two or three bottles (BPA-free, of course) and moved on to pacifiers. From then on, we were a little more carefree about the whole thing, figuring that we could always adjust our choices online and that since we couldn’t predict what Baby Langford would like anyway, we might as well not stress over it.

Almost two hours later, we found ourselves on the other side of the store, faced with the task of selecting one of those play mats, with the arches and the dangly toys and the bright colors. There really weren’t that many to choose from. Andrew was fond of one in particular, but I disliked it for some reason. I wasn’t really excited about any of them. Did I want my baby to look at an underwater scene or a jungle scene? Should we get one that played music? Was the smaller round one okay, or were the colors a bit too primary? It was ridiculous.

My head was spinning. The aisle was crowded, and Andrew couldn’t fit the cart through (BTW, we had a cart just to hold my water bottle and the three lists, not for actual purchasing of product. In case you were wondering.), so he went to the next row over to check out some toys. I looked up to see that he was not intently studying that play mats like I was and got frustrated. Why was he not helping me figure out this great mystery of the universe? He said he couldn’t fit the cart through and was waiting for it to get less crowded. But I need your help nowwww, I whined. And so he came over, and we stood in silence for a moment, again looking at the display.

And then the tears started rolling down my face. “Let’s go,” I said. “I need to get out of here.” So Andrew turned in the scanner while I composed myself and go we did.

I don’t really think the tears had anything to do with the floor mats. It was all just such a huge process. And when I tried to visualize one of those mats in our home I just didn’t know where it would go. Suddenly all those things we had been scanning became real products that we would soon own and soon have to find a place to put in our house. How are we really going to have a baby? How are we going to figure out how to do it? We couldn’t even figure out which stupid play mat was best, or what all those differently sized waterproof pads were really intended for, or why babies need specific baby washcloths. And it was all just a little overwhelming.

Or maybe I can blame this one on the hormones?

The Recordable Storybook is Going Fast!

If you have been thinking about purchasing the new recordable storybook from Hallmark, don't wait! The Night Before Christmas is selling so well, Hallmark is predicting it will sell out well before, well, the night before Christmas. This book truly makes a fantastic keepsake for the people you love, so hurry out and get your hands on a copy before they're all gone.

(And I'm no expert, but if I had a guess, I'd say that just a couple of months after Christmas, around Valentine's Day, one of the other recordable storybooks, All the Ways I Love You, just may sell out, too. Don't procrastinate!)

Thanksgiving 2009: an essay in photos

I present The Turkey. This is the first entire turkey I have ever purchased, and I went all out. This guy is local, free-range, pasture-fed, the whole thing. He weighed in at a modest 12.8 pounds.

Naked turkey! I was a bit baffled by that flap of skin binding the legs. But eventually I stretched it off. Gross. But if I thought THAT was gross, I should have just waited... (ooh, foreshadowing!)

Here is me, pulling out the giblets. (Why is it that no one ever uses that word any other time of the year?)

The turkey, the organs, and my belly.

This photo was taken near the beginning of this process, when I was all into taking pictures. These are just a few of the aromatics that were to go inside the turkey, you know, for their aroma.

And look! Now there are also carrots and everything is chopped.

And then the turkey got stuffed full of aromatics, and then the whole thing went in the fridge overnight, then I got up early and melted butter and brushed it over the turkey, and salted and peppered it, then put it in the oven (tented with foil, of course), then with an hour to go, brushed more butter over it, removed the foil, and then voila! The turkey you see here was ready!

Our first meal at our new dining table. Also our first meal to be eaten in the formal dining room. So nice that we could share it with our parents and Andrew's sister and brother-in-law.

Here is my mom, making the gravy. Our first gravy attempt was a big fat FAIL. Thankfully my mom was there and knew how to just start over. I was all, oh noes, gravy lumpy! And she was all, psssshhh, you no worry, I fix. And she did.

Andrew's first ever turkey carving, taught by the turkey-carving master, my dad.

Two and a half Langfords, posing in front of the buffet-style meal.

Yum, pies. Delicious pumpkin, of course, and the delectable Tollhouse cookie pie that was always somewhat of a Thanksgiving tradition at my house. The perfect end to a perfectly lovely Thanksgiving meal.