Almost seven years ago, Matt wrote me this song… the second song that belongs only and always to me.

I’m in love with him seven years later.

Because he’s stopping the dog from choking herself in the computer power cord right now.

And because he gave me Penelope. And this song.

Lullaby by neenertronics

First song coming tomorrow…

Sometime around this week last year we bought our house. I don’t really remember the date of our closing, although I suppose I could look it up. Matt and I have been looking back on it this week and thinking of all that we’ve done in our first year… and all that we have yet to do.

In the past year we gutted our kitchen, updated the outdated electrical, knocked down a wall and put up a header, drywalled, installed new cabinets, new countertops, new appliances, ripped out the old floor, sanded down the wood floors and painted them, installed a tile backsplash, installed crown moulding, built out new door trim to match the original trim in the house. In the laundry room, we tore down old wallpaper, put up beadboard on the walls and ceiling, installed chair rail and crown, ran electrical and plumbing to make it a functioning laundry room, installed new washer and dryer, installed a new flooring, put up wallpaper.

I painted Penny’s bedroom three times. We breathed new life into the original rope & pulley windows.

In our bedroom we built a headboard and I made new curtains.

Matt installed a new gas fireplace.

We had the tiles in our bathroom reglazed, installed a new light fixture, and had the rotted floor joists and subfloor replaced, updated all of the plumbing, and installed a new tile floor.

Our upstairs was drywalled and carpet was installed.

And we painted. Everywhere. With lots of painting yet to do.

We have a lot of finishing touches to do on the inside of the house which will occupy us until next spring. When we’ve completed all of these projects we hope to move on to the exterior of the house – repaving our driveway, putting up a basketball hoop in the backyard, doing a ton of landscaping… a TON. Tearing down the unsightly awning above the front door and perhaps building out a new doorway. Eventually our roof will need to be replaced.

Yesterday, I will admit, I was pretty down. The HVAC guy came by to look at our broken air conditioner and told us that we need to replace the entire system including the furnace. We can do it anytime between now and next spring, but it will mean dropping another five grand. I’m not gonna lie, it’s been an expensive year. We’ve spent a lot on the renovations we’ve already done, although considerably less than if we had hired them all out. We bought a new car. We had a baby and paid for my week-long hospital stay. We’ve done some very necessary traveling. Matt has bought a lot of new tools. It all has added up.

I’ve really been hankering to take a little family vacation, just a week away to a dog-friendly beach condo where the four of us can just hang out in the sun and sand and do some playing. When we have free weekends, they are typically spent tackling one of the many remaining projects, not getting out and doing some playing. I’m itching for the latter.

But when our HVAC friend dropped the bomb yesterday, I realized that little family vacation just ain’t happening this year. And maybe not next year either with all of the remaining projects we have yet to do. Instead we’ll keep spending our weekends painting and nailing and fixing things up. And I suppose I’ll just revel in our AC, do laundry in my new laundry room, and gaze up at the crown moulding.

Yeah, we could have bought a newer house with paint already on the walls and kitchen cabinets just ready to fill. But heck if I don’t love our house like another member of our family. The more sweat we put into it, the more we love it, and the more we can’t imagine living anywhere else. It’s the only debt we’ve got, and one day we’ll pay off this daggone mortgage and go on one heck of a vacation.

Today was Penny’s 6 week pediatrician’s appointment. She’s indeed growing like a weed and is now 11 pounds of perfection. Imagine she were a chocolate cake. An 11 pound chocolate cake. That would be insanely delicious. I bet my chocolate wedding cake was 11 pounds.

This was, of course, the first visit with a heap-load of vaccinations. Matt and I had discussed vaccinations and his philosophy was that she needed all of the suggested vaccinations but that I could choose the schedule. So I looked around for a pediatrician who would let me do a delayed vax schedule, and that was my plan.

But I had a change of heart while I was in there today.

I realize that vaccinations are a really heated debate, and I don’t dismiss either side of the issue because I really think parents disagree on this mainly because they want to do what’s right for their kids. So I can understand the philosophy behind both sides.

However… yeah, you knew there was a “however” coming around the bend… Y’all know Matt’s occupation, and you probably know his stance on vaccinations as well. He is a firm believer that there is no link to Autism with vaccinations and that by vaccinating we can prevent a whole host of horrible diseases. And I agreed with him. But there was this tiny little part of me that, as a mother, thought “what if all this research winds up being wrong? What if years down the line they DO find a link? And I’m the mother who gave my kid the XYZ vaccine?” So I wanted Penny to have the delayed schedule so I could watch like a hawk to see if she had any bad symptoms.

One thing Matt had to keep reminding me of while I was pregnant was that the medical decisions I made needed to be based on scientific evidence, not my emotions. He was fine with whatever I decided – a midwife, a natural birth, limited interventions – because I could prove that my midwives had a lower infant mortality rate than the national average, that a natural birth had lower chances of PPD than a section, and that using a doula would decrease my chances of having interventions that could have a wide range of negative side effects. But he never let me get away with statements like “no epidural because maternity anesthesiologists are in with the drug companies and want to kill me!” (Dr. Shane quickly took away all those fears!)

So while I was in the pediatrician’s office debating what to do about the vaccinations, I decided to put Penny on the regular vaccination schedule based on the scientific evidence that no link has been found between vaccinations and Autism. But I also chose to do that as a vote of confidence in my husband, in what he does, and how wonderful I believe he is at it. (Over dinner the other night he said, and I quote, “I actually prefer working with really, really low-functioning kids as opposed to those who are just barely on the Spectrum.” He’s an awesome guy. What can I say?)

I chose to put Penny on the regular vax schedule to not give credence to the Jenny McCarthy’s of the world who are basing their theories on anecdotal evidence. I chose to do it because I live with enough irrational guilt from a miscarriage, and would rather live with the irrational guilt that Penny’s possible future developmental disability came from an unsubstantiated link to vaccinations than to see her in the ICU dying of whooping cough.

I chose to do it because I don’t think my pediatrician has it in with the drug companies. And I think she wants to see Penny healthy. And I don’t think she’s evil. And… gulp… I don’t think doctors are evil.

You know how hard that is for me to say. But when I really, truly think about it… LOGICALLY… that is how I feel.

Ok, it’s out there. All my anti-vax friends, feel free to tear me a new one in the comments section.

I came home from the pediatrician’s office and changed Penny’s clothes. I changed her into this outfit – a little number that Matt picked out at the Carter’s outlet when we found out we were having a girl. Because orange is his favorite color – the color of giraffes. And one thing’s for sure… this little giraffe ain’t gonna get whooping cough!

From Daily Daguerreotype

I’m a week overdue with Penny today, and actually couldn’t be happier. She passed a non-stress test with flying colors this morning allowing us twenty minutes of listening to her darling heartbeat on the monitor and watching it rise and fall correctly as she flipped and flopped. Apparently I was also experiencing Braxton-Hicks contractions every 12 minutes, but could NOT have told you that. I think I’d have to have a million babies before I could truly recognize a BH contraction.

The midwife sent me home with the edict to spend the weekend doing nothing but the thing that got me into this mess to begin with. Matt had an evil glint in his eye. Boy is embracing midwifery more and more each visit.

41 weeks is no more uncomfortable than 40 weeks or 39, or 38. Would I love to be holding my baby girl this very moment? Absolutely. But I continue to be tickled pink that I have a team of care providers who are really in my court – ones who feel induction at this stage is unnecessary unless Penny was not responding well to the tests. I have until Monday before I go in for more tests, and should we pass those I’ll have until 42 weeks before they will plan induction.

A lot of people have asked me why I don’t just go ahead and get induced anyway. Aren’t I uncomfortable? Wouldn’t I rather just get the inconvenient waiting over with? I so appreciate that they understand how non fun it is being this pregnant for this long, but I truly believe that my babe will come when God wants her to come. Getting her out for my own comfort seems a bit… selfish, no? I want her arrival into the world to be the God-ordained, natural process that it is supposed to be.

Plus if I do this laboring according to my brilliant plan, I can come out the other end without once being touched with a needle.

So a big thank you to all of our dear friends and family who are inundating us with love, support and encouragement. As Tom Petty so correctly put it, “the waiting is the hardest part.” But I am having so much fun spending these last few weeks with Matt, and am really happy that my care providers are giving me the (very normal and healthy for a first-time mom) extra time for Penelope to make her way into the world.

Scuse me… I just got a rascally wink. Duty calls.

I wrote that title out of my absurd optimism just like I set my post-due-date midwife appointment with much eye rolling. While I was there for my routine visit this morning, I decided to forego having the midwife check my cervix because I just don’t want to know. I am staying optimistic at all costs, and hearing that I haven’t dilated a centimeter yet is not going to help that optimism one teensy weensy bit.

And so we spend another day living spontaneously and pretending we’re in back in college where Today! Just! Might! Bring! ANYTHING!!!!

That’s how we spent our weekend, and I can’t tell you how spontaneous and doting Matt was. He bathed the dog, hung curtain hardware (his least favorite task in the whole world), mowed the lawn, took me shopping and for water ice, took me out for pad thai, and suggested we rent the first two Twlight movies because “I’m interested in it since you’re so infatuated.” While we were in TJ Maxx, I suggested we pick up a gift for his coworker who has an upcoming baby shower, but he only wanted to do spontaneous things – not check things off a to-do list.

Then yesterday afternoon my sciatica was bothering me, so I flopped on the bed to spoon Berlin. Matt sat down with his guitar and played all of my favorite George Harrison songs over and over again until I ceased whispering “Again! Again!” He painted my toenails despite much guffawing, and he complimented me on the strange cream-of-every-kind-of-vegetable-imaginable-and-wild-rice-soup that I concocted. Soup for lunch on a 95 degree day.

As we were laying in bed last night, Matt’s first dog, Toby, was referenced, and I asked for a reminder on how Toby died. “He died of heat stroke.” And that’s when I remembered the tragic story and broke into hysterical tears at the thought of poor Toby getting so excited to see his owners arrive home from vacation that he wound himself up into such a mess he died of heat stroke. I was laying there weeping leaving Matt very confused with my spontaneous outbreak, but when he realized the extent of my hysterics, calmed me down and made a mental note to never ever bring up Toby’s death ever again. Just store that memory in the silent box in the back of his brain where he also keeps the death of the Crocodile Hunter – another devastation I cannot bear to relive.

I know that I must be nearly unbearable to reside with at this point, as I’d imagine most pregnant women within are within days of their due date (see above hysterics). But my best friend and lover has taken such good care of me these last few days, that I cannot complain about the nagging aches and pains, the endless waiting. He has stepped in to walk me through this crazy time of my life and to face my fears right beside me. I am reminded again just how lucky I am to have him, and likewise how important it is to protect my time with him. He is and always will be the most important person in my life, the love of my life, and my soulmate.

So thankyou, Matthew, for making this weekend, possibly our last weekend alone, so much fun. For caring for me and making me slump over in laughter.

And for being taller and hotter than Robert Pattinson.

My little girl is due in two weeks. Meaning she could come any day now. Also meaning I am planning on starting all homeopathic wivestales that theoretically induce labor as of this evening.

This week has been one where I have felt very blessed by the friends and acquaintances in my life. My house is bursting with fresh flowers that have been given to me all week long. A chair in our living room is covered in gifts that I need to write thank-you notes for. My email inbox is overflowing with messages from people who are thinking of us, praying for us, and telling me to hang in there for the next few miserable days until she arrives. I am truly blessed.

A few months ago, our pastor called Penny our “Blessing Baby” when referring to her in conversation. I found it moderately cheesy, but in actuality she really, truly is. Even yesterday as I moaned to Matt about how sore I was, I still got giddy thinking about how she is now fully formed – fully ready to live in the outside world. Perfectly knit together. And more Matt for me to love.

I want her so badly. I have wanted her so badly since what feels like forever ago. I am eager to have her radically change my life. I am ready for her to stress me out. I am dying to be her mama and take care of her every need. I can’t wait to see what she accomplishes in her life and how she changes the world.

And as I write all of this I am astonished by what I’m saying. I’m floored that I have become this person – this person who just cannot wait to go through labor and delivery and get to the other side where I’m holding my tiny baby girl in my arms. I never thought I would be this person. I never thought I’d admit it even if I became this person. Although, I still wouldn’t be all that disappointed if a puppy came out instead.

While I’m incredibly impatient and can hardly go ten minutes without thinking “WHEN THE FLIP IS SHE GOING TO MAKE HER APPEARANCE, ALREADY!?!” I am trying to kick back and enjoy the last two weeks of our lives as we know them. I’m trying to get and keep my house in order. I’m trying to look at Matt as my best friend and partner in crime, not just my Baby Daddy. I’m trying not to kill the cat for making me have to vacuum daily.

But I sure wouldn’t mind if the next two weeks flew by in double time.