Incidental Jerkiness

When you're infertile, you get to be on the receiving end of a lot of incidental jerkiness.  You know, the relative who tells you that you should care more about starting a family and less about your career.  The coworker who loudly asks you in the middle of a crowded faculty lounge if you are pregnant, because she felt just how you look when she was pregnant with every single one of her thirty kids.  The lady at church who tells you jokingly that you can't sit in THAT pew, because it's where all of the moms sit.  Stuff like that. 

And the thing about incidental jerkiness is that we've all been there.  It's what happens when things that normally sweet people say hybridize with circumstances they don't even know about to become cosmic sucker punches.  Or, sometimes, it occurs when we simply say ill-considered things. Like the time a black friend of mine was helping me move and I told him not to wimp out on the heavy stuff because I'm a real slave driver.  Yeah, that was one big forehead slap.  But it happens. And I guess the good thing about receiving so many heaping helpings of incidental jerkiness over the last few years is that it has made me more aware of my own mistakes.  And hopefully I avoid being THAT GUY a little more often. 

But here's the kicker.  Ever since Eden came into our lives, I fear that my very existence has become one big tribute to incidental jerkiness.  The NICU nurse who just had her first failed in-vitro.  The car-seat check lady who has been trying to adopt for three years through our same agency.  Every prospective adoptive mom and frustrated couple trying to conceive.  I'm sorry.  Really, I am. Just not sorry enough to give Eden back.  And so here I stand, like the schmuck I am, all fresh cut marble graven in the likeness of incidental jerkiness.   

Family Pictures

We are lucky enough to know TWO amazing photographers.  And both of them volunteered to take pictures of Eden and of us as a family.  It was quite thrilling actually.  These were our first ever family photos. I mean, sure, we had engagement pictures and shots from our wedding, random candids taken on hiking trips and the like...but never have we had family pictures.  Until now.  It's almost like we're all grown up!  Anyway, if you need a photographer for anything, you can just contact Sierra (my baby sister!) at skunkeymonkey@hotmail.com or Shantel at http://www.slurpee4bys1grl.blogspot.com/. 

Alright, alright, I'll assume that you don't want to see any more.  I can't really blame you, but then you can't blame me for being absolutely obsessed with this beautiful girl. 

P.S. Mikelle, you people need to stop by sometime on your way north.  Consider this your personalized, anytime invitation.  And you won't hurt my feelings if you leave the green jello casserole behind... 

Two By Two

I hate ants.  Really, really hate ants.  I thought they were kind of cute when I was a kid because the only ants where we lived were little and harmless and busy.  Then I served a mission in Georgia and met the state mammal: Fire Ants.  Seriously those things are big, mean, and dastardly.  They inject you with some venom called solenopsin and leave open sores that weep for days, which happened to me there on several occasions.  Once, I attempted to toss in a dumpster a McDonald's fries basket that someone had thrown in the street: a whole hive of  those hellishly red fiends ate my hands raw.  I HATE ants. 

One thing leads to another.

SO, imagine how I felt when (at three in the morning) I came up our stairs to make a bottle for Eden and found instead the ants, not marching orderly and two by two, but swarming through our side door.  I lost it, people!  Some of them were the winged colonizers, you know, the scouts that decide if the new location is a great place to establish a new nest.  Oh, oh, no you didn't!  I may assure you that there was no Squantoesque "welcome to my land, let's have Thanksgiving" mistakes around here.  Ha! I ran back downstairs, assumed some form of clothing to hide my skivvies, and bolted through the back door for our garage.  Armed with a spray pump of Raid, I did what we Indians should have done when we colonial white folk first started coming 'round: Let the rest of them keep on thinking Columbus sailed straight off the edge of planet earth, that's what. It was a total massacre.  And although my normally peace-loving self feels a trifle sheepish, I'm not really sorry.

Dear Ants, want another piece of this?

Evolution

Future Writer???

"A great [wo]man is always willing to be little." -Ralph Waldo Emerson

Homecoming...Er, Bait and Switch???

On Saturday, two days earlier than we anticipated, Eden came home.  She weighed a whopping 4 lbs. 13 oz. and was up to the big leagues of 40 milliliters per feeding.  That's right, about an ounce and a half.  What a champ!  Here we are at discharge.  Funny story is that when the janitor came in to sweep, not knowing about the adoption, she asked me how I got my body back so quickly...er...um...but can you believe that's Eden's birthmom, three weeks after delivery?

When Eden was in the NICU, she never fussed except at bathtime.  She was content to eat and then lay back in her little plastic bin and sleep.  She pooped once a day (sorry for the overshare, but I am now one of THOSE people...mothers) and felt content with life.  We just knew that we were getting the next wave of baby evolution, the perfect child!  And then we brought her...or at least some baby...home.  On discharge day she was so fussy!  She refused to sleep or be content anywhere except in our arms.  I guess she knew that her environment had changed and it kind of freaked her out.  She also started pooping just about every single diaper and eating 60 mils per feeding (which I guess explains the pooping...).  And today at her first pediatrician visit, she weighed in at 5 lbs. 1 oz.  Is this really our sweet little Eden?

Yeah.  It is.  And I can't get enough of snuggling her!  Neither can Kris, although he doesn't like to admit it.  He says that if he lets on, Eden will know he's wrapped around her twiggy little finger and then the jig is up for life.  Even so, this is how she spent her morning:

Notice the relative size of our remote control. But every day, she just gets bigger!  This, the time when she's so tiny, won't last long: we're savoring every moment.   

Eden: A Birth Story

Eden was born at 2:17 am on June 5th, a complete shock to us.  So surprised were we, that we weren't even in town.  We'd already decided that the first two weeks in June were safe for travel and that we'd stick around after that, "just in case."  Ha!  We spent that afternoon hanging out with some of Kris's family in Twin Falls.  His parents happened to be in town and we were lovin' life.

(If you've never been to Shoshone Falls, you need to go.  Seriously.)

That evening, Kris went out shooting (skeet and water jugs) with his dad, brother, and brother-in-law.  I stayed behind to hang out with the girls.  So when Kris called me to say that Stefani was in labor, I turned to Kris's mom and said, "I will murder your son if he is joking."  He was not joking.  Boy!  That was some trip back home.  Kris wouldn't let me drive because he was afraid of how fast I'd go (that being one of my weakensses even without provocation), but he somehow got us to the hospital in pretty good time himself. 

When we got there, they told us to go home.  Stefani was at a 5, but they thought they could delay birth for 48 hours so Eden could receive steroids to get her lungs ready.  We went home.  Kris went to sleep, but I just tossed and turned.  Finally, on one of those turns, I looked over to see Kris's phone all lit up: Tyrell was calling and Eden was about to come by c-section!   

We first met Eden at 2:47 am, thirty minutes after her birth.  I've never believed in love at first sight.  I stand corrected!