View from the Prairie Box

Dear Livia,

The theme of your fifth month of life seems to be growth. You are growing, in both height and weight, faster than I imagined you would. Grandma L. and I spent some time sifting through racks of fall clothes last week, hoping to find outfits long enough to rid you of that “highwater-pants” look you’ve currently got going on. At five months you’ve finally moved out of your itty-bitty 0-3 month clothes—they still fit around your tummy, though! But not for long… Today you ate a record-breaking 10 ounces at one feeding. Ten ounces? No wonder you didn’t move much after that; your stuffed tummy weighed you down!

A few days ago, cheered on by your daddy, you finally rolled from your stomach to your back. You pushed hard on your arms, leaned your head to one side, gave a push with one leg and voila! A roll! By our reactions one would think we’ve never seen anything ever roll over—we were so excited. In the past few days you’ve been babbling quite a bit and today I heard you say two consonants in a row—quite impressive language development if I do say so myself.

You and I are getting into a home routine now. You wake up around 7:20am and talk loudly until we come to get you. I’ve learned that once you’ve been picked up, you do not appreciate being put back down until you’ve eaten. You eat four more meals later and call it a day around 10:00pm. I’m learning how to be more organized and more intentional in my actions because of you. Woe is me if we go out with a diaper bag that weighs less than 10 lb.—we could be missing something essential! And bathtime! Oh, baths require critical planning. Baby tub, baby soap, baby lotion, baby towel and washcloth, baby comb, fresh diaper and fresh outfit. Fortunately, you enjoy the whole bathing process as long as I sing and pretend to have great fun with exaggerated happy smiles on my face.

All this to say that we love you in a way that we’ve never loved anything before. You are endlessly fascinating to us. We praise God for you!

Much love,
Mama

Is it wrong to use “gifts” (in this case, return address labels) from a non-profit organization without sending a donation in return?

When I was little I actually liked the dentist’s office. I liked the whole reclining chair, spotlight on your teeth, staring at the ceiling posters gig. I liked choosing a flavor for the teeth cleaning procedure. I really liked one dentist in particular who was very funny and, this always helps, who really liked me. I loved going home with a brand new toothbrush, tube of toothpaste and floss. Plus, sometimes I’d get a coupon for a free ice cream cone (go figure!) after being a good patient! Loved those ice cream cones.

Then, one day, things changed. The reclining chair dipped too far back for my taste. The headache-inducing whiz of the dental tools caused my temples to reel in horror. And, this was the clincher, no more coupons for free dessert!

So with mounting dread, yesterday I found myself back in my dentist’s office for the long-awaited creation of a new crown. (For some odd, unknown reason, my first and only crown cracked, broke and fell off within one year of molar coverage. Grr!) My very kind dentist and my very kind dental hygienist kindly directed me to the reclining chair, leaned me back and got to work dabbing topical anesthetic on my gums. The rest of my 90 minutes appointment saw an internal conversation that went something like this:

Oh no! I’m going to have to get a shot! I didn’t know I had to get a shot! Darn. I’m going to be here awhile.

Shooting pains on back molar. Shot didn’t work at all.

Eeeeek!

Another shot is given.

Darn. I’m going to be here even longer.

Clausterphobia begins to set in. Mouth now full of tools.

Ugh. Not feeling so hot… Stomach’s kind of queasy. Can’t breathe very well. I wonder if anyone’s ever thrown up while in the chair? That would be so bad. So bad. Don’t throw up. Think nice thoughts. Cool breezes. Fresh air. There ya go.

Hygenist inserts thick gummy gook into my mouth for five whole minutes.

Five minutes? Five minutes? I can’t breathe for one minute, much less five! Alright. Gotta distract myself with People. Huh. Kevin Costner got married again. Oh dear. Can the man not smile even for his wedding pictures? He probably feels self-conscious or something when he smiles. I know some folks like that.

Hygenist returns and frees me from my bondage.

All done? That was the fastest five minutes ever!

Leaving denist’s office.

I’m a weenie.

Last night I heard animated jumping upstairs in the study. Jump, jump! Which really sounded like Bam! Bam! considering our wood floors. In a few moments the Bam noises took bounding leaps from the study to the hallway and down the stairs and all I could think was, Goodness. Sure hope Jeremy’s not holding the baby right now! Next thing I know, my husband flies into the kitchen, arms raised in the WeDidIt! pose:

“She rolled over! She rolled over!”

Oh, the things we get excited about these days!

Sucking her fingers, laughing out loud, holding her head up (it is, too, exciting, Joe!) and rolling over are all on equal turf with winning the Indy 500 or an Oscar. Go, Team Livia!

I’m usually the one behind the camera, but today I asked my dad to take a picture of me, future blog in mind.

I have taken a position on “O” Street as part of the “Life Chain” for years now. In the early days I enjoyed taking a stand for my pro-life beliefs in a public venue. I can remember seeing the Life Chain for the first time and being floored at how many Lincolnites lined this longest main street in the U.S. (not sure if it still is) — and I wanted to be a part of it. As the years passed I grew more outspoken about abortion and desparately wanted to change the minds of pro-choice folks. But this year marked a change in my thinking… Though I’d like to somehow affect someone’s view of abortion, more than ever I just felt the need to voice my opinion. We live in an amazingly awesome country and our rights to free speech are important. Today, the sign I carried spoke my sentiments precisely.

And yes, that is Livia’s stroller at my side. There is a boy at my far left carrying a sign that says, “Adoption: the Loving Option.” He’s adopted. Livia’s adopted. I am profoundly grateful for the birthparents who chose to carry these pregnancies to term rather than abort them as teeny fetuses. Such self-sacrificing folk have given us wonderful opportunities for parenthood. God bless ’em.

…is a sleeping baby on your shoulder, breathing evenly on your neck, soft cheek against yours. It’s a feeling that just can’t be beat.

I highly recommend having children.

Our Blockbuster movie dealio has come to an end. And for anyone who’s counting—yes, we did the deal for two months because, ahem, we didn’t cancel it in time. No real surprise there. I think we’ve ended our two months with two winners: Man on Fire and Winged Migration.

Man on Fire was interesting, violent, disturbing at times and yet hopeful. Sometimes I get a little tired of Denzel, but he did a fantastic job in this one and I really enjoyed his performance. Both Jeremy and I agreed it was one of the better movies we have seen recently, for reasons that I can’t quite articulate right now. Sorry… My movie reviewer skills are failing horrendously.

Winged Migration was beautiful. Jeremy and I are PBS fans and tend to be fascinated by documentaries of the natural world, which thoroughly explains why we enjoyed this flick. The actual movie portion of the DVD was a bit long; we watched it in two sittings. I highly recommend viewing the featurette on the making of the film—very, very cool. I felt every inch the non-filmmaker that I am as I saw what took place behind the scenes and said, “Oh! So it wasn’t just dumb luck that they caught that scene on camera?!?” The movie is due back sometime this week. Hopefully I’ll get to watch the featurette on the film’s music before returning the DVD.

Happy birthday to two special guys in my life…

To Jeremy, my awesome husband: I wish you much joy in this next year as we establish our own little Tredway family. May the Lord grant us wisdom in the journey and an abundance of love and grace in our household!

To Andrew, my younger brother: How the heck did you get to be 23?? (That means Adam’s just plain elderly and I must be middle-aged!) I wish you a year that includes a fabulous graduation and, afterwards, a new path for you to explore, wherever the Lord directs you.

In honor of your birthday tomorrow (happy 23rd, old man!), I present to you: The Progression of Fussy.

Hmmm…

Can you get fired from your job because of your blog? Troutgirl and Dooce were.

Can you shame a major television network and their chief correspondent because of your blog? Yes, yes you can.

I have learned that the strength of a blog is also it’s weakness. On this page in the vast worldwide web I am allowed to speak freely. No editor to chop my chosen words or correct my grammar. No advisor to read it before it’s published and tell me to rethink rash statements. No guide to remind me that 12 year old cousin Bobby, an unknown pot-smoking college freshman, my highly respected pastor and my Granny are all reading my words. Nope.

The beauty is that in Blogland, I go it alone. The problem is, similarly, in Blogland I go it alone.