Work-in-Progress: Do, Do Not

We've been compiling lists of things we do and do not want to do when we're parents. I'm writing them here now because it will be interesting to see how much of it we actually carry through on.

Dos:

1. Take lots of pictures and blog frequently. (Sorry. Seriously, though, if you don't want to hear about it, what are you doing here?)
2. Keep up our baby journal. It's already about thirty pages long, and even if she never cares to read it, it will be fun for us to revisit later. I have a horrible memory, and I like the idea that I could look back on her first attempts at speech, steps, and etcs.
3. Say things that are frequently annoying, such as "We never knew we could love something so much," in moderation, and sincerely.
4. Try to raise a baby that turns into a child that eats a varied diet, and does not say no to trying new foods. (I know this is difficult. I also know it can happen.)
   

Do Nots:

1. Do not ever make my facebook profile picture my baby's face. It is MY facebook page, not the baby's.
2. Do not make the baby a facebook page.
3. Do not post on facebook about the baby being sick, or having a temperature, any more than necessary. (Necessary: No more than twice a year.)
   
4. Do not get an email address that has the word "mom," "mama," or (especially) "mommy" anywhere in it. While I am sure being a mother will be the most important thing in my life personally, I'd like to maintain some public semblance of life outside of motherhood.
5. Do not complain about being tired. All the time.
   
6. Do not get a car with a DVD player. We both have many fond memories of long family trips with comic books and made-up games, that feeling of restlessness that you'll never get there, and the inadvertent meditation that happens when you stare out of the window for an hour. We still love long car rides.

I feel like I had a bunch more of these to write, but alas, we'll consider this blog a work-in-progress, and I'll update it when necessary. At any rate, I am almost committed to posting something once a week or so, so here we go.

We're also open to suggestions, so feel free to email us or utilize the comments.

Introducing: Carrot Baby!

Last weekend, we hosted our first-ever Friend Appreciation Party. As we have managed, one way or another, to make the last year and a half or so "all about us," and done at least two things that require gift-giving and/or shower-throwing, we decided it was time to shower our friends with some gifts and some love. The lovely and talented Chrissy recapped it briefly on her blog, here.

Speaking of lovely and talented friends (and, fairly enough, it was a night literally FILLED with them), Ms. Laura Goins pointed out something equal parts hilarious and frightening about one of the ultrasound pics we have posted on our fridge. I'd like to present to you all, Carrot Baby:


In case you're still not seeing it, I've put together this:


That's right. Carrot Baby is Delano's unfortunate womb-mate. Carrot Baby, at least in this picture, is screaming directly into poor Delano's face. Carrot Baby has no sex, no eyes, and only one appendage growing out of the middle of its chest (we'll call it an arm).

Carrot Baby no doubt tells Delano what to do sometimes. In my mind, it's something like this:


I bet they fight in there sometimes, and I bet Carrot Baby fills Delano's sweet little head with all sorts of backwoods nonsense. CAPTION CONTEST! What do YOU think Carrot Baby is saying in the picture above?

Here's hoping it's the baby on the left that comes out in just under three months now.

Take THAT, Nursery Themes!

We spent all last week and weekend cleaning out the house (read: small, one-bedroom apartment) to make room for baby. There has been some discussion from friends and family on where we intend to "put" the baby when she is born. Good news, friends: Babies are small, and, at first at least, they don't move much.

Babies, however, come with a lot of accoutrements. Bags and bags of your friends' kids' cast-off baby clothes, a bassinet, a crib, more on the way. Our closets were already stuffed to brimming.

I'd love to know how many pounds we recycled, donated, and threw out last week. My husband, it seems, has never actually gotten rid of anything. Bins of Christmas ornaments (we've never had a tree, and probably won't this year either), stacks of his high-school newspaper, eight hundred photographs of the desert, receipts, papers (upon papers, upon papers).

At any rate, we've cleared out space. We've rearranged. We've set up a nursery of sorts, in our bedroom. Next to the crib hangs a painting of Washington crossing the Delaware and a Chrissy Deiger original photograph. These were not in the "nursery themes" tabs of Target.com or Amazon. I'm not really into themes, or things matching, for that matter. Also, I like to imagine her dreams not being of cartoon monkeys, but of stalwart men, icy rivers.


We'd been worried about keeping the cats out of the crib. Turns out we inadvertently stumbled upon the trick. Don't put the mattress in, and just drape a sheet over the metal grid. I put the crib together on Sunday and then went out. When I came back, every little square of fabric had been poked in. Someone had jumped in the crib, and had some trouble getting back out. I felt so sad that I had missed it; it must have been hilarious. It must have been Vander, because Monday afternoon, I came into the bedroom, and Bureau was in there, stuck, just staring at me. She'd seen the scene on Sunday, mulled it over for a day, and decided to give it a go. Needless to say, neither one of them has gotten back into the crib since.

I had a feeling being pregnant and all would qualify as an "incredibly exciting time," especially since Jason and I have felt "ready" for parenthood for a couple of years now, but that's not even the half of it. Laying around in bed feeling the baby kick every night is a joy I could not have anticipated. She seems to know her dad's hand (I know this cannot be true; she knows nothing, only darkness, pressure, sound, movement) and sets to work whenever she feels it. Every time he feels a kick, Jason says, "Baby!" Some nights, we lay around and giggle and talk, and Jason just says, "Baby! Baby!" over and over.

It never gets old. I feel like I've been pregnant forever (entering fall, I'm realizing this is my third season since we found out the news), and I'm excited for December, but I try to remember how quickly it will seem that it went when this is all over.