Walter, philosopher; Sally, backseat driver

Two recent conversations with the kids worth documenting:

There's kind of a tough left turn to get from our house to everywhere we go. We were at that intersection, waiting.  I was driving. From her carseat, Sally voiced her opinion. "Go now, Mommy." It wasn't clear, so I stayed put. When I did make the turn, Sally noticed there were some cars headed our way (a safe distance away, I assure you.) "Cars coming, Mommy," she said, helpfully.

The deer in our backyard. Looking right at us. 

Yesterday there was a big doe in our backyard. She would have stayed there longer, I think, but she was a little spooked by all of us, gathered at the window, gazing at her.  Today, the deer was still on our minds.

(Hank walks past us in the living room)
Walter, joking: Look! A deer!
Me: A dog deer!
Sean: A dear dog!
Me: That's true. Hank is our dear dog.
Walter: Yes, he is. Forever and ever.

The Longest Solstice (or Happy Sixteen Month birthday, Sally!)

"This day, Sean ... I mean ... this day.  I have to write it down."
"Just start with the popsicle story."

OK.

Sally shivered gleefully in her highchair, stripped down to her diaper, sucking on a popsicle.  Walter and I sat with our feet up on each other's chairs, lounging a little, luxuriating in popsicles of our own.  Sean stood by the microwave, waiting for his dinner to be done. Hank sat like a sphinx in the middle of the kitchen floor. Riffing on a favorite Daniel Tiger tune, Walter sang: "When you're sick, you can get a red popsicle!"  Sean cracked up, and then Walter and I did, too.  Sally clapped, and to our delight, he sang it again.

Here's how we got there:

This morning I woke up with an undeniable lingering head cold, which in my profession is known as "the thing that happens every Christmas."  I lingered in bed a little longer than I meant to, but got up when I heard Sally waking over the monitor.  Umma (holding Sally,) Walter and I converged in the little hallway between the kids' rooms.  Walter got out a few bars of the "good morning song" before I turned everyone's attention to the situation at hand: Sally had pink eye.

The sight of her eyes all gooped shut made me angry.  When is this baby going to catch a break?  She just finished an awful round of croup, and was starting to get back to her sweet, sassy Sally self.  Now this. Ugh.  I hugged her close and gently wiped the goop out of her eyes ... where it stayed, firmly ensconced in her long lashes.  "OK, maybe I need to be slightly less gentle with the next cotton ball."  Sally stayed still and leaned her face toward me to help me get a better angle ... she wanted the goop out, too.  "Eyes, eyes," she said, smiling at me.

Sean took Sally to urgent care while Umma, Baba, Walter and I headed to church.  It was a beautiful service.  I always look forward to the Sunday we read the annunciation story, but I look forward to it with some trepidation, because those verses in Luke about Mary are so dear to me, so close to my heart, that I worry I won't do them justice in my preaching.  Fortunately, my preaching isn't the only means of grace in worship, and today everything came together: the incense burning on the altar, the service we put together using music from Holden Evening prayer, the solos sung by teenage girls, bringing Mary's song to life.  "Holy is Your Name," which always gets me.  And the sermon turned out to be a good one, too.  We didn't get it recorded, which is fine.  Sometimes a good sermon should be ephemeral, like incense.

After worship, we all got into Baba's car and Walter was completely delighted to find me sitting next to him.  He held my hand and we snuggled under blankets together, and he smiled and smiled.  I wonder if he remembers how I used to sit next to him in the car when he was a baby, before we added that second carseat?  I was very grateful to have that moment next to him, too, and his hand in mine.

The four of us had a very nice lunch and headed home to rejoin Sally and Sean.  They'd had a nice morning together, too, even with the sickness and urgent care visit.  Sally was hungry and in a good mood. Umma and Baba headed home. Sally did a great job with her eye drops.  I nursed her and she fell asleep; after putting her down all cozy in her crib I joined Sean in his efforts to get Walter down for his nap.  As we left Walter's room, we heard Sally throwing up in hers.  In the manner of people who have done this countless times before, I took care of cleaning up Sally while Sean took care of cleaning up her crib.  Walter left his room and ran around singing and laughing at our requests that he return to his bed.  We got Sally back to sleep ... I don't remember how ... and it took a very long time for Walter to go down for his nap, but he eventually did.  I didn't sleep; too congested.  But I got a nice little rest.

Walter woke up about an hour too early, climbed into bed with me and watched some cooking shows until we decided it was time to wake Sally up and start working on dinner. Sean worked on a beautiful stuffed pork roast while I played with the kids.  Sally did some truly amazing dancing--I have never seen such moves on one so young.  When Sean went to bind the roast together, he realized the string mesh the roast had come in was gone.  He also couldn't find his ball of kitchen twine.  But, more pressing, where was that mesh?

There are times in adult life when it's not entirely clear which emergency you should attend to first.  As we looked around for the mesh and realized it wasn't there, the "we need to get that roast in the oven and feed our children" emergency took a serious second to the "maybe our dog ate something that could really hurt him" emergency.  The way we decided who got to take Hank to the emergency animal hospital and who got to feed and entertain the kids was by having one of those brief, but meaningful, check-ins that spouses do.  We checked in with each other, and it was clear: Sean would take Hank, I would stay with the kids.  Sean and Hank headed out into the dark night. (Sean: "I was imagining so many deer all the way to Kronenwetter.")

I got Sally in her chair and started heating up leftovers for dinner.  We ate.  I sent Walter to the potty ... where he peed all over the floor.  I mean, puddles.  I gave him a roll of paper towels and went back to helping Sally finish up dinner.  Walter got the bathroom clean enough that Sally and I could come in, and I gathered up the paper towels and got him out of his clothes.  By this time, Sally had pooped, so getting them both into the tub seemed like the obvious course of action.  They were delighted, and co-existed in the tub very well (for the most part.)  They took great delight in washing my right arm with great vigor and thoroughness (Sally: "Arm! Arm!")   I got them both out of the tub before they wanted to get out but also, crucially, before they stopped having fun and started really bugging each other.

I got Sally dried and dressed, and Walter, too.  Two clean kids, ready for books.  Sean blooped to update us on Hank: a dog his size could probably pass the mesh with no trouble, but the vet decided to induce vomiting just to be safe. The mesh came up right away, and they followed up with some anti-nausea medicine, and Sean and Hank started the thirty minute drive home.

In that time, Sally demonstrated a very limited capacity to sit and read books, as well as a tenacious desire to stand precariously on Walter's rocking chair, bringing all of his books down off of the shelves (and onto her head.)  I looked up from our book and said to Walter, "She's making me nervous.  You?" "Yes," he said, somberly.  We decided to call Umma and Baba.  Sally did some more energetic dancing, was very happy to see Umma and Baba, and then cheerfully headed back to the bookshelf for more wanton destruction. She happened to step on one of Walter's favorite old birthday cards, and it played a few bars of the Israel Kamakawiwo'ole version of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow."  Both kids were enchanted.  Walter took the card and looked at it, pointed to the writing at the bottom and said, "This is from Henry."  "Did you read that, Walter?" "Yup!" he said, and smiled.  I think he probably just remembered, because it is a favorite card and Henry is a favorite friend, but still.  We looked up the song on youtube and watched several versions together, while Sally continued to squirm around and climb all over the world.

Then I heard her poop again ... and again with the assuredness of one who has years of experience with such things, I knew that it was diarrhea this time, and that my window of non-blow out opportunity was small, if any.  Sally did not want to have her diaper changed and so the window closed, and so I cleaned up a very messy baby.  (Me: "That tub might have been premature.") I got her clean and diapered and then thought ... what the hey ... she's naked, she's sick ... let's get her rehydrated.  Popsicles for everyone! (Regular for me and Walter; pedialyte for Sally.)  That's when Sean and Hank got home.  "Hey, naked baby!" Sean said to Sally, who looked up from her popsicle and smiled winningly at him.  I wanted to say, "They were clean. They were in their pajamas." But then Sean hugged me so tenderly ... I knew he was just relieved, and glad to be home.  And very tickled by the comedic brilliance of our son, who can make a Daniel Tiger song his own with the best of them.

After the popsicles, there were wash cloths ("Maybe another tub?" I mused, but dismissed it. It was getting late.) After the wash cloths, there was Walter draping a knit blanket over his head and proclaiming, "I am the king! I am the king!" Soon he clarified that he was a king bringing presents for Jesus.  He brought some shoe boxes and race car tracks to Sally (Jesus.)  "Jesus, some tracks for you!" he said.  "Jesus, some tracts for you!" Sean added.  When Sally slid off my lap and went off to make mischief (again) Walter informed me that I needed to fill in. "You are a baby named Jesus!" I obliged.

I sat on the couch next to Hank while Walter and Sally piled up more and more presents for me (Jesus.)  Hank watched the kids with what looked like great tenderness, or possibly the remnants of some nausea.  He seemed (and still seems) a little extra tired.  While the kids played, I got to pet him gently for awhile, which did us both some good.

Eventually, we got the kids to bed.

Today is Sally's 16-month-birthday.  It's also the winter solstice; the Longest Night.  Friends, I have to tell you: it was a long day.  Also, the only picture we took today was this one, sent to my email from Sean's phone, with the subject line: "It's out!"

 
We didn't get a picture of Walter with his royal blanket.  We didn't get a video of Sally's amazing dance moves.  I didn't even snap a quick shot of my two beautiful kids in the bathtub ... that classic picture that parents cherish (and kids too, secretly, right?) for years to come.  And that's OK.  Some of these long days should be ephemeral, like incense.

But you can see why I had to write it down, right?

Fresh Air

Baba had been pestering and pestering me to take Sally outside; I was sure it was too hot, but, being a dutiful daughter, I finally relented and decided to try sitting out on the glider for a few minutes.  Sally was awake, alert, and chill. Baba was right: it wasn't too hot, and there was a nice breeze.  We sat in the shade on the glider, listening to the marsh insects hum and feeling the wind in our hair. After a nice long time of low key interaction with Mama, Sally started giving hopeful motions with her tongue, as if saying, "What a lovely opportunity to nurse al fresco!" So we did, discretely tucked behind the screen of Umma's herb garden and the welcome fact of no traffic on the street out front. Hank pestered Baba until he finally relented and brought Hank outside to sit with us.  Hank relaxed enough to lie down for awhile but mostly guarded us with noble courage.  We three sat quietly, enjoying the moment.

Thank you, God, for moments like this! (And thank you, Baba, for the pestering. =).)

Snapshot of Walter, 21 months

Tonight's bedtime exchange involving a dustpan was so representative of what Walter is like at 21 months ... it must be recorded, verbatim-style.

SEAN:  Aggggghhh, so much sand in your clothes.  I've got to get a dustpan.
WALTER: (Following Sean, wearing just a diaper, crying a little and rubbing his eyes.)
SEAN: You OK, buddy?  Do you want to watch me use this dustpan?
WALTER: JA!! (totally over-the-top delighted.) (pause.) MY dustpan. (getting petulant, threatening to meltdown.)
(Sean cleans up the sand on the changing table, showing Walter all the steps and including him in the process. Walter periodically interjects:)
WALTER: MY dustpan.  My dustPAN. My DUSTpan!!!
SEAN: Would you like to use the dustpan?
WALTER: JA!!! (totally delighted again.) (begins to sweep his bed with the very sandy brush.)
SEAN: Not the bed, please. How about the floor?
WALTER: How 'bout floor? (Sits down on the floor, happily sweeps for awhile.) Garbage! (Gets up and takes the pan and brush out to the kitchen, opens the garbage can and empties the pan into the garbage.
SEAN: Now let's put it away in the closet.
WALTER: Put it away! (On encountering Hank lying down in his path to the closet. Very politely:) 'Scuz me, Hankee.

That's the snapshot!  Walter is always just right on the edge of a meltdown at any moment, and it doesn't take much to push him over that edge.  But he's also capable of a great deal of spontaneous wonderfulness, too. And he's very polite to his dog.

How's the family?

It's Edison-Albright family update time!

We are doing pretty well, all things considered. We still have our snow shovel sitting on the front porch, but I think that's less because of household upkeep neglect and more because Sean isn't convinced we won't get one more big snow. Being able to get out into the world and take walks together as a family has improved life for all of us.  We sing songs, we scout for bunnies, we name things ("tweet tweet!" "truck!" "Baba house?") we say "hi" to neighbors and neighbor dogs. The neighbors are mostly too busy to say "hi" back, being very focused on their yard work.  We are not nearly so busy and focused.  I like that about us.

Here's a little more on each of us and how we're doing these days.

Hankee!

Hank the Dog continues to be a good and faithful companion and member of the family.  The change in the weather and more frequent walks have put a spring in his step.  We had a good check up with the vet who was very pleased with Hank's beauty, gentleness, and good overall health.  The broken leg that brought him into our lives three years ago is starting to give him some trouble, which we knew was going to happen.  For now, a daily glucosamine cookie and keeping him a little underweight seems to do the trick, although Hank isn't a huge fan of our efforts to keep him thin and trim. In human years, Hank would be about the age of a college freshman, and he believes he has a right to the Freshman 15.  In dog years, Hank is still quite young but definitely not a puppy anymore.  He's pretty calm, he doesn't worry as much, he doesn't destroy and eat non-food items.  If we leave the kitchen garbage can out while he's home alone he still feels it's his duty to knock it over and eat all kinds of terrible things, but that's just a given.  He'll also steal crackers right out of Walter's hands, which encourages Walter to use his burgeoning verbal skills to say, "No, no Hankee." Walter and Hank love each other and it's funny how similar they are in some ways.  They both want everyone they love to be together, with them, all the time.  I guess that's not such an unusual thing to want, but Hank and Walt both take special notice of who is present and who is not present: Hank by "counting" (taking stock of all the members of his pack that he can see, then searching the house for anyone who might be missing) and Walter by naming, immediately asking for all the people he wants to see by name. As you can imagine, Hankee is frequently named, especially in the morning when Walter wakes up and sings and talks to himself in his crib.  Eventually Walt moves from practicing his favorite songs to calling for his favorite people. "Umma! Baba! Grandma! Pop Pop! Mama! Dada! Hankee!" Hank listens for this every morning and, when he's called, goes downstairs and sits outside Walter's door, sometimes bringing him a toy or a dog bone.  If we don't move fast enough to get Walt out of his crib in the morning, Hank comes and gets us, pressing his cold nose into our sleepy hands until we get up and follow him to Walt's room.

Dadu!

Walter wakes up between 5:45 and 6:30 every morning and usually he wakes up happy and chatty.  At 19 months old he's funny, communicative, shy/slow to warm when directly approached by strangers or in crowded places, increasingly confident and accurate in his singing, trying out three word sentences and experimenting with the possessive ("mine" "Mama ice cream" "Hankee ball.")   He loves bunnies.  Two of his favorite books are "I-am-a-Nummy" and "Mama Nummy.  Baby Nummy" (Runaway Bunny.) His favorite book is a collection of eight Curious George stories.  He likes flipping through the pages and looking at the pictures, naming everything he sees.  He especially likes the stories that include illustrations of bunnies. He'd read this book all night if we let him, so we've started giving him a two minute warning and telling him to choose a last picture to look at before we move on to another book. Expectation management is something we've had some really good success with and it feels like a big parenting win when we say, "One more and then all done" and he nods and repeats, with his pointer finger up to indicate "one": "One more. Ahhh-nahhh." Sometimes he still protests when we end an activity, but knowing the end is coming does cut down a lot on the angst and the whining.  There's a reasonable amount of both of those in our lives these days.  Sometimes it feels like we're really ramping up into some terrible two-ness, but we're guessing the worst of that is yet to come.  I sound fatalistic and doom-full, but really we're just trying to brace ourselves and keep perspective. Walter is strong in every way: his body, his mind, his will.  We are crazy proud and love this about him.  If the months to come are anything like these past few months, the joy and delight will outweigh the tantrums and meltdowns.  We'll figure it out together, whatever comes!

Dada!

When it comes to figuring it out and making it work, the family prize goes to Sean.  I've done a lot of traveling the last two months, leaving Sean at home with Walt and Hank.  I'm also pregnant enough that I've had to give up some basic Walt care things.  For example, Walter doesn't fit on my lap during bedtime story time anymore. Sometimes he sits next to me to read together, but more often he sits with Dada while I sit nearby.  Walt and his Dada have always been close, but that bond has definitely grown in significant ways since we weaned and started preparing for Sally's arrival.  A dear friend from the congregation said that, when her second child arrived, her first child and husband became inseparable. "From that time on, they were a pair," she said. For a Mama, there's a little wistfulness in that changing relationship, but mostly joy. So far, it doesn't seem like my relationship with Walt has suffered at all ... I think he has a big heart, which expands to include more love without diminishing his love for anyone else.  Walt takes after his dad in this way, and in many other ways.

Sean is doing pretty well, although he seems to have reached the "aaghgahaghahh falling apart" phase of the pregnancy.  We've decided that strange health problems for the dad are just part of the way we do pregnancy in this family.  He's OK, but tired.  With any luck, he'll get some good sleep next week while he's away for his yearly training for work. [*Edit*: Sean just called to tell me his training was cancelled. Figuring out if he can get to the one a week later, now.  Life is exciting.]  We hope for that every year, but the training usually isn't particularly restful, what with the stress of travel and the exhaustion that only sitting and listening to people talk for hours can bring. Last time Sean went for training while I was pregnant, this happened.  This time, we're prepared: Baba is coming to stay and help me take care of Walt and Hank while Sean is gone.  I'm not quite resilient enough to parent solo these days.

Mama!

That said, I'm doing pretty well.  I really look pregnant these days, but I'm not as swollen and huge as I was at this stage with Walt. The heartburn is bad but usually not unbearable and I have some coping techniques that are working pretty well.  My favorite of these is the ice cream, prescribed by Dr. M.  "You need to increase your intake of carbs," he said, "Specifically ice cream." I didn't think it was going to work, but it did.  I started gaining weight, staying hydrated, getting hungry, sleeping better and I stopped throwing up.  Ice cream is awesome.   My energy improved with the ice cream diet, too, but I'm starting to slow down as we transition into trimester three.  I have good, productive days and I have days where I move slowly and not very well.  I get hazy and my words get mixed up, which is always exciting for a pastor and her congregation.  But my congregation is familiar and comfortable with my humanity, so it's OK. I'm trying to live for today and not worry too much about the further pregnancy-related debilitation to come, but if you know me you know that I'm not very good at that.  Still, I have been pretty successful, especially during my travels, at taking time to enjoy this pregnancy, to sit and do nothing but pay attention to Sally and her movements, to talk to her and give her a gentle in-belly hug and rub.

Tally!

Sally seems to be doing very well indeed. She's becoming a good mover, especially at night around 10:30 or so. I love her bumps and rolls, her rhythmic tap tap tapping.  I think she may be musical, already.  Dr. M. and Nurse B. are pleased with her growth and her strong heartbeat.  After our 7 month appointment coming up (complete with glucose test ... blech) we'll be moving to appointments every two weeks, which is exciting and nerve-wracking and wonderful.  I'm looking forward to getting to hear her heartbeat more often and to transitioning into the imminent arrival part of pregnancy.  Of course, we have a lot to do to get ready for our Sally bug.  But, at this point, even that is more exciting than stressful.  I'm starting to imagine our growing family in a new way, in a way that feels more real and close.

I felt like I knew a lot about Walter when he was in the womb.  I got a sense of his personality right away: I just knew that he was strong, and boisterous, and big in every way. I don't have as strong a sense of that with Sally, or rather, I think I might, but I'm second guessing myself much more than I did with Walter.  I'm unsure in part because I don't want to just compare her to her brother, and I don't want to make assumptions about her because she's a girl.  But I think it's fair to say that Sally is very sensitive to her womb-environment in ways that seem remarkable to me: during our ultrasounds, she's been tense and jumpy when I'm tense and jumpy, and then she calms down as soon as I calm down.  I've noticed this with her movements, too. It makes me anxious about exposing her to my anxiety (which is self-defeating, clearly.) It also makes me curious to see if this will continue after she's born, and I'm excited to watch her grow and see how she interacts with the world around her.

We're doing well these days, we Edison-Albrights.  Our yard is unruly, but the bunnies prefer it that way.  And we enjoy every bunny that hops our way!

"NUMMY!!"

Odds and Ends

It's Friday, my Sabbath day, and I've spent most of it in bed.  Hank has been my constant companion.  He stood by the bed and gently reminded me that it was time to wake up this morning.  He slept in his bed at the foot of my bed, woke up with me and accompanied me downstairs for lunch, then back upstairs.  I just apologized to him for disturbing him when I got up to go to the bathroom.  Now that it's past 4pm, he's dividing his time between the top of the bedroom stairs and the living room to keep an eye on me and be close to the door for when Sean and Walter get home.  If they arrive any later than 5pm, he'll take up a post by the front door to wait for them more intently.

The receptionist at our vet's office observed yesterday that Hank is a "very family oriented dog." It's true.  I worry about how much he worries about us.  I feel terrible for his prematurely white muzzle, which developed during the last weeks of my pregnancy and first weeks of Walter's arrival. But I am thankful for his watchful, protective companionship, for his ministry of warm, furry presence.

This morning Walter delighted in bringing Hank his collar, and later his leash to get him ready for his morning walk.  He greets his dog every morning with a cheerful "Hank-eeeee!"  Walter knows.  We're a lucky family.

***

Walter woke up this morning singing "Happy birthday day to you!" which is pretty neat, since it's his 16 month birthday today.  He is bright and beautiful beyond bearing, really.  I get overwhelmed at least once a day with it. This morning he also sang, "A, B, C ..." when he usually just says "A, B" and stops there.  We were overjoyed and clapped and praised him.  He was pleased but very embarrassed, tucking his chin down to his chest to hide his secret smile, turning around and heading right out the door of his room.  The bashfulness ... where does it come from? Will it continue?  Does he secretly know how to sing the entire alphabet already?  I suspect he does.

These days Walter loves: his bath crayons ("colors!"), anything Jim Henson, especially Elmo (we may have had some influence, here, but he's taken to it like bath crayons to our tub,) crackers and cookies (sometimes foods, Walter, these are sometimes foods,) broccoli (gotta balance out the crackers,) being sung to and listening to music and, more and more, chiming in with the songs.  He is perfecting the dramatic heavy sigh of frustration and disappointment.  He occasionally makes wookiee noises when he's really upset.  I don't laugh at him when he does this, but I do tuck my chin down and smile a little bit.

A Hank Tail

We've been Ferberizing the baby (Sean is working on a post on the subject) and that means more crying from Walt and more consternation from Hank.  He worries about that baby.  When Walter cries, he comes to us and gives us a very clear "What are you DOING? Go comfort my baby!" kind of look.  Sometimes he goes to Walt's door and tries to get in and do it himself.

Tonight, I nursed Walt in his darkened room and could barely make out a dark, vaguely canine shape push the door open and come in.  The dark shape walked over to the crib, flattened itself in an impressively feline-like way, and gradually disappeared under the crib until only a wagging tail was visible and then, with a swish, also gone.  I called out to Sean to get him to come in and see it (or rather, not see it) for himself, but that alerted the puppy and he reappeared, leaving the room as quickly and quietly as he came.

I'm not sure exactly what he's planning, but I'm pretty sure it's not compatible with the Ferber method.  Sorry, Hank.

Happy Celebrate Hank Day!

Our plan was to walk as a family in the Stevens Point 4th of July parade.  Red white and blue outfits and stroller decorating paraphernalia were purchased.  The threat of super hot weather loomed ominously and led to the purchase of a red white and blue water bottle/fan/mist-maker.

Walt's report on his second day in room 2 tipped us off that something was wrong: he spent the day sitting and quietly observing everything.  Not very Walt-like.  That night his longest stretch of sleep was maybe 2 hours.  Usually much less than that. He had trouble nursing and cried while eating, a bad sign.

So, on the morning of July 4, the day we celebrate our Independence as a nation as well as the day that Hank the Dog joined the Edison-Albright family, we prepared Walter for a trip to the urgent care clinic. As Sean headed out the door with Walter, Hank followed ... unleashed.  He went straight for our densely woodsy (or really, weedy.  Densely weedy and tick-infested) back yard.  As he made his way around the side of the house I noticed some truly motivated bunnies running just ahead of him.  He turned around and headed for the back again, where Sean caught up with him and picked him up--holding him like a baby, just like he always loved as a puppy.  He was the picture of doggy happiness.  Sean got him back into the house and we headed off to urgent care.

Walt charmed everyone at the clinic as usual, and has an ear infection, also as usual. We got the usual antibiotic prescription and headed out, now definitely for certain not going to make it to the parade. But it was OK. We went to Ranchito, our favorite Mexican restaurant, for brunch while we waited for the prescription to get filled, which is something we've wanted to do for some time. It was delicious and felt like a holiday meal, with Walter gamely trying out nibbles of rice, beans and tortilla while he flirted with the other restaurant patrons and showed off his much-improved Cheerio-eating skills. We picked up the prescription and spent the rest of the day inside, with brief outings for Sean and Hank to take care of doggy needs, and for Sean to grill us some hotdogs. And that was probably a smart way to go on such a hot day, anyway. We all took an almost two hour nap in the afternoon and spent the rest of the day playing.  Hank got his Celebrate Hank Day toy, a new nylabone which he immediately set to chewing. Walter was sick and sad and snugly but also started looking better right away and did some more "no hands!" standing, staying up without support for longer and longer intervals.  I only cried twice: once when I heard a story on the radio about active duty soldiers taking the oath of citizenship, because it was quite moving, and once when Walter looked up at me with his sad face, the one with the extended lower lip that he's made since he was a little baby, because that was pretty moving, too.

I got the baby to bed about an hour ago and have been lying on the couch with Hank on my feet since then, tired and glad and grateful for my family, furry and otherwise. It's not the day we planned, but it was a pretty good day, all things considered. Happy Celebrate Hank Day!

Symptoms include ...

The Mayo Clinic Guide to Terrifying Pregnant People says to expect these things during the second trimester:

Vivid, unpleasant dreams
Check!  Although they haven't been as bad as my usual anxiety nightmares, just more life-like and frantic.  I'm usually doing something that requires a tremendous amount of energy, like directing a high school musical.  I wake up exhausted.  This morning, though, I had an incredibly vivid dream that I was eating oatmeal.  Then I woke up and ate some oatmeal for breakfast (and some for lunch, too.)  What a helpful dream!

GERD
Heartburn, baby.  Acid reflux-o-rama.  Did you know that all good foods cause heartburn?  Oatmeal seems to be a notable exception.  Milk and chocolate are both on the list of foods to avoid, but for some reason chocolate milk seems to be all good for me and Scooter.  Scooter also likes peanut butter cup blizzards, chocolate milkshakes, and cherry dipped vanilla softserve cones from Dairy Queen.  Not all at once, though.  We are trying to be healthy.

Irrational Fears
I've been really busy this week.  That's the reason I'm giving for the fact that I went a whole day without noticing any Scooter movement.  I'm sure the movement was there (in the days since, there has been tons of movement, including an adorable case of late night fetal hiccups after one of those trips to Dairy Queen.)  I just didn't notice it, and then I noticed that I hadn't noticed it, and then I panicked a little.  Sean was very calm and encouraging.  He put his mouth right next to the belly and addressed the Scooter directly: "Walter!  This is your daddy.  Knock once if you can hear me!"  We waited for about 30 seconds, and then there was one very distinct bop from inside the womb. The child is not even born yet and already the menfolk are in cahoots.

Anti-climactic revelation of baby's name
As noted above. =)  We are quite excited to meet wee Walter and have started using his name with gleeful abandon.  We've been duly warned by many experienced parents: sometimes the baby arrives and does not look at all like the name you've chosen.  We think we're safe, though, because every baby, male and female, looks like a Walter (ie, like an old man.)  We know it's not a particularly fashionable name, but we love it.  He's named only partly after Mr. Whitman (he of our last pictoral clue) and really only tangentially after WALL-E (the lovable robot).  Mostly he's named after Sean's grandpa, his mom's dad, who Sean never got to meet but who he's always loved.   We're planning on calling him "Walt," aware that we may eventually be overruled by the child himself when it comes to nickname preferences (today, for example, we learned that Hank comes very quickly like a good boy when he hears the word, "Cake.")

Attempts to regain sense of drama with the baby's middle name
So, middle name clues!  As Sean noted, it is another family name. Walt will also share this name with someone who shows up quite a lot in Christian iconography carrying a sword and showing off his receding hair line (he's depicted with a "high forehead" to indicate his great intelligence.)  No pictures this time ... the last one I posted actually had the name written in the lower right hand corner, leading Sean to note that the two of us need an upgrade to our monitors or our glasses.

Amphibious characteristics
I have taken to the water.  I spent my free time at Synod Assembly floating, treading, and jogging around the hotel pool.  I've been to two water aerobics classes at the Y and am looking forward to more.  This swimming thing seems to be nothing but good for me.  I am less dangerously clumsy in the water (still clumsy, just not as dangerous.)  I feel light.  The water seems to take some pressure off my innards, leading to better digestion, and the chlorine seems to be clearing up my awful back acne. (I make pregnancy sound so glamorous and beautiful, don't I?)  I've noticed that it seems to already be helping me get my strength and stamina back after those 3 months of near total immobility.  Water is very, very good.  

Even moar weeping
We went to a piano recital of two young members of the congregation last night.  This was the greatest beginner recital I've ever been to--the kids were all so proud, so happy, so confident and just giddy with the chance to do something they clearly enjoyed. Of course I cried.  You would too if you'd been there to hear Cooper's own arrangement of "Amazing Grace."  We got a pamphlet for the program ... it's a music appreciation curriculum that starts with infants!  We are so doing this.  Also, Baby Swim. 

Wonderful gifts
This doesn't really fit with the "terrifying pregnancy facts" theme, although it is related to the symptom described above.  Also, I am a little terrified that I will be too paralyzed by guilt to sit down and write thank you notes, because I'm already so very far behind.  There's my next vivid dream, I predict.  But oh, the wonderful gifts!  There were ladybug cards from Nancy and booties from the Andersons (who have also lent us the most gorgeous crib you've ever seen.  Their youngest son recommends we rock it by attaching a string to the crib and the other end of the string to my big toe.)  There was the blanket from Audrey you heard about before, and a classic text on "Expectant Motherhood" from Shannon (along with a note which I will always treasure.)  My parents sent us Bunnicula II--descended from the noble line of Bunnicula, my all-time favorite stuffed animal and vampire bunny series protagonist.  I got a book on child rearing from my confirmation co-teacher and an adorable bunny figurine from a member of the women's study group.  And today ... today a box arrived from Texas.

The box came from Arwen.  Like the box from Audrey, you could tell right away that it was good because it was covered with stickers. Inside was something truly wonderful indeed. 

A homemade, hand-crafted fraggle!

Arwen remembered that fraggles played a significant role in the early wooing days of Scooter's parents, and she remembered fondly the enthusiasm she and I shared for Fraggle Rock during our time as teachers together. When we started this blog four years ago, Arwen decided to make us (and Baby Edison-Albright) a fraggle.  We've named him Groovy Fraggle and we LOVE him.  But there's more!  Other handmade items in the box: a doozer (we named him Biscuit,) a radish, a cupcake, and a hat for Sean to wear for comedic effect in the delivery room (you can see the hat in the picture, too.)

Little Walt, you are so loved by so many amazing people. Friends and family  from all over have been preparing for years for your arrival.  If you feel the love, knock once. [Bop!]

Mozart for Scooters

On Saturday night I finished up my sermon (sermons written on Saturday night=maximum freshness) and asked Sean if he might be plotting something for Mother's Day.  He was. "Would you like to have Mother's Day now?"  Why yes, I would!

Hank the Dog and I made room for Sean on the couch (Hank sleeping on my feet is a very important component of sermon writing.)  Sean brought over a plastic bag promisingly full of gifts (unwrapped gifts=maximum freshness.)  I started with the card: the cover features an illustration of a very pregnant lady in profile and the words "Kick! Kick! Kick!" emanating from her belly.  The message inside: "Translation: Happy Mommy's Day from You-Know-Who!"

Voldemort?  Nooooooooo!  Run, Harry Potter!

Obviously, I loved this card even before I read Sean's message.  As you will see, I was about to love it even more.

Sean writes:

I was so excited when little Scooter asked me to share a few thoughts in this card.  What a wonderful mother you are and you will be! When I see you, so content, so happy, with your hands resting on your belly (not so big as the front of this card yet) I get such a thrill! Soon we will hold our little Scooter, but you are holding our little Scooter every day--what a wonderful, uncomfortable miracle.  All of my love x2.  Mwah!

You are maybe starting to notice a theme in these blog posts.  The theme is crying.  My happy crying woke up Hank, who was concerned.  After sniffing at my face a bit he sat down next to me very calmly and put his head on my belly.  From the way he lingered with his big ear there and the thoughtful look on his face, we wondered if he could hear the baby.  

We've read in our baby books that, at this stage, Little Scooter can probably hear us.  I am hoping Little Scooter likes my sermons.  Sean has started directly addressing the belly: "Hey Baby!" he says.  "I'm your daddy!"  There's a theory (not scientific) that playing music for the baby helps with brain development--Mozart, in particular, is a popular choice among fetal geniuses.  As I went back into the plastic bag of presents, I pulled out a three CD set of the Best of Mozart along with a pair of big, padded, new/old school head phones. Perfect.

After church on Sunday we set me up with the Mozart and the headphones.  At first, I couldn't discern any fetal activity.  Then I shifted the headphones down and to the side and some very noticeable scooting commenced. At this stage, the baby's movements feel like weird little internal tickles. In this case, the tickles seemed to say: "I'd much rather be listening to Jethro Tull, Mom."

I was spectacularly sick last night--clean up required a mop.  After getting me cleanly and safely to bed, getting Hank into his crate and getting a bucket for me and another bucket for the mop, Sean commented, wryly, "One thing we know for sure: the baby does not care for Mozart."  As sick as I was, I was more happy and content in that moment than words can tell.  I put my hands on my little baby belly and said about a thousand thanksgivings.  What a wonderful, uncomfortable miracle!

This Week in Baby

Subtitled: "Vignettes pulled from Edison-Albright family life."  If you have any squeamishness about bodily functions (the word "vomit" makes you want to vomit, for example) you'll want to skip the first one.  How often in the history of writing do you think that warning has preceded a "vignette"?

***
It's sometime after midnight, Monday blurring into Tuesday time.  I'm sitting on the floor of the bathroom, adjacent to my good porcelain friend.  Sean is nearby ... reading to me, reminding me to breathe, trying to distract me.  We've had a long night.

The doctor on-call chides me for calling at such an hour (really? When should I call the emergency help line about going to the emergency room with non-stop vomiting and a migraine?) But then she gives some good advice: if you're still peeing, you're not dehydrated enough to need IV fluids.

I tell Sean the vomiting is never going to stop, the migraine is never going to go away, and I will probably need an ambulance.  He encourages me to focus on how overtired I clearly am and try to sleep instead. Suddenly filled with a wave of courage and determination, I announce: "I will try ... to pee!"

At this point my memory gets a little fuzzy.  I think I fell asleep for a minute or two.  I remember the bathroom floor mat felt very comfortable and my body felt impossibly heavy.  I came back to reality when Sean said (very softly, gently, lovingly):

"Are you peeing?"

I was not.  But I was laughing, and that laughter lifted me from the floor and eventually got me back to bed for a few hours of fitful-but-healing sleep.  Little known fact: if you can laugh like that, you are not dehydrated enough to need IV fluids. 
***

You would think that merely hearing a baby's heartbeat after actually seeing the baby jump and kick and squirm around on an ultrasound would be anticlimactic.  This is what I told myself, anyway, before our appointment with Dr. M on Wednesday.  I was trying to prepare myself for the very real possibility that we wouldn't hear anything; at this early stage, you can't really tell with the Doppler if no heartbeat is a problem or if no heartbeat means the baby is just really good at dodge ball and hide-and-go-seek.

Dr. M also tried to prepare us for this.  "Your uterus tilts to the back," he says.  I nod, sagely.  Sean gives me a look that says, "How could you possibly know that?"  A woman knows.  The good doctor continues: "Given that, and even under ideal circumstances, we often can't hear the heartbeat until 14 weeks, and you're at 12 weeks.  So you MUST NOT worry if we can't find it today."  Everyone in the room silently acknowledged that we would worry anyway.

Dr. M stared into the middle distance as he tried one spot, and then another.  The nurse did the same, and I wondered what they could see that I couldn't. Another try.  One more just in case and then ...

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump

There's our Little Scooter!  Found you!  The doc mercifully lingers on the spot, and we all just listen.  And cry.  At one point there's a sound like a record scratching.  Dr. M's eyebrows fly up: "Your baby is KICKING!  Did you hear that?"  Yes, we did.  Two words: soccer scholarship.

More crying ensued, followed soon after by pie.  Banana cream.  Mmmmmm.
***

For the record, Hank also enjoys napping.

For the past three months, my interaction with Hank the Dog has mostly taken the form of napping.  I haven't had a lot of energy and I feel bad about it.  On Monday I tried to make it up to him by taking him for a beautiful walk in the early springtime.  We set out, some of us hoping to suddenly realize the benefits of exercise during pregnancy, some of us hoping to kill and eat a small woodland creature or two.  It was a day full of promise and potential--a celebration of new and renewed life.

We'd gotten about a block from our house when it started to hail.

Me: "I'm so sorry, buddy.  We gotta go home."
Hank (with his soulful eyes): "You must be joking.  It's just a little hail!  Ow, something's hailing in my soulful eyes!"

We made up for it today with a nice long morning walk.  Hank was pleased to get his nose and paws dirty in the melting snow.  I even let him look menacingly at a robin for awhile.  It must be Spring.

***

And that's the news from the Edison-Albright family, where all Scooters kick mightily, all the pie is gladly shared, and all the dogs are above average.