22 months

At 22 months our darling daughter can:

• Completely undress herself.  At night.  And comfortably sleep in a puddle of pee.
• Run at the speed of light.  Through a busy parking lot.  Giving her mother a heart attack.
• Dress herself.  And vehemently articulate that she doesn't want to wear "that" shirt by throwing herself on the ground.
• Sit on the potty.  But just long enough to con us out of a Skittle.
• Help herself to a snack.  Which always consists of either crackers or raisins. 
• Sport a full set of chompers.  Which I'm fairly convinced she doesn't utilize since I rarely see her actually "chew" her food.
• Brush her teeth.  Or more accurately, pretend to brush her teeth.
• Point out most of her body parts.  And return the favor by whacking us in the head and poking us in the eye.

There is another list of sweet/fun/favorable things that she does too, but I'll save that for another day.  So, The End.

There are approximately three things I remember from my brief stint as a girl scout...

1.  Selling cookies.

2.  Having the begeezus scared out of me during the one campout I attended by playing Crazy Mary.

3.  Eating s'mores and singing "Make new friends, but keep the old.  One is silver and the other is gold..." around the campfire.

I never would've thought girl scouts would teach me anything (besides that it's waaay cooler to be a boy scout) but that stupid song does have a valid point.  As we've all gotten older, our lives have carried us on new journeys.  Some here and some far, far away. 

And while the distance can make it easy to give up on maintaining friendships, the reward of doing so is even greater than the investment.

Our hearts have been increasingly full these last few months.  I am so happy that I've been able to connect with many friends that we aren't able to be near regularly.  When we had dinner with the Schwendeners on Saturday, we figured out that it had been almost a year since our last visit together!  But whether you are 40 minutes away or 4000 miles away, please know that we feel very fortunate to have you in our lives.

However, on the flip side, it has also been wonderful to dedicate time to developing new friendships.  The last few months, we have been able to spend several evenings hanging out with different neighbors.  After being in our house for over three years, it's about time!  We have always been close with our neighbors on the (stage) right, but we have recently been spending time with the couple on the left, too.  On Friday we had our first game night with them and really had a great time.  We played Apples to Apples, which is always a little bittersweet without the Talleys, but we will always keep the legacy alive with the Creamed Corn wild card...

We have also found new friends in the people that live across the street and rang in the New Year with our new neighbors across the way.  The funny thing is that we have never spent time with them all at once.  So, our hope is to put together a block party in the near future so that we can all socialize together. 

But there is much to look forward to this year.  I get to see Megan at the end of the month, the Talley's will be in St. Louis in April, Mike and Andi's wedding is in June, and we hope to make another trip up north this summer to visit with Sarah and maybe, hopefully, the Thurstons.  Not to mention all the kids birthdays coming up and the summer months that make it so much easier to get everyone together...

In the meantime, please call, blog, email, fb, or whatever just so we know what everyone is up to these days!  We are very lucky to live in an age where it's so easy to shorten the distances between us...  We hope to hear from you soon!

Love,
Matt, Jen, & Allison

What Happened?

What happened to us bloggers?

Have we fallen off the face of the earth?

Are we too busy to muster up a brief post about what's going on in our lives?

I blame Facebook.  It has made it waaaay too easy to rely on brief status updates as a means of keeping up with each other.  And frankly, I don't usually post anything substantive on FB.

So, if anyone out there is still reading, how about joining me in a blogging pact?  With everyone scattered from one end of the country to the other (quite literally) it's become increasingly difficult to keep up with each other's lives.  And I know I'm not the only one feeling the disconnect. 

Commit to writing a post every month (semi-monthly if you're feeling ambitious) just to let us know that you are still alive and kicking.  And I hope that I will be seeing some blogging love in the near future!

Unfinished Business

In November I attempted to do a little blog series entitled Thankful Thursday, however, my final installment got derailed due to holiday travel, an overtired child, and, let’s be real here, gluttony.  However, I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t finish what I started and dedicate a post to the most important little person in my life.  My little Tazmanian Devil.  My baby girl. 

I have to admit that after living with this miniature human for the last year and a half, I’ve grown pretty attached.  While there are days I would sell her to the gypsies for a Dr. Pepper, I can’t imagine my life without her.  And I shutter to think there was a time when I thought she wouldn’t make it into this world.

The choice to start a family was a very deliberate decision for us due to my medical conditions.  Specialists were consulted, medication was tapered, post-partum care was discussed.  The one thing that I didn’t account for was my Crohn’s going completely coo coo for cocoa puffs. 

There is this thing that doctors call the rule of thirds.  A third of Crohn’s patients do really well in pregnancy.  Then another third remain stable.  And then there is the final third that tanks.  And that was me.  (Obviously this means they don’t have a clue.  Three choices each with a 33.3% chance of occurrence?  Hmm…) 

By week 7, I was getting that old familiar feeling, except I had never been pregnant before, so I assumed it was purely the influx of hormones getting the best of my gut.  I was wrong.  Dead wrong.  And by week 13, I found myself in the hospital for the first time to receive IV antibiotics and corticosteroids. (Did you know they can give morphine to preggos?)  Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before I was headed back for a return visit.  (Merry F’in Christmas.)

But under the close watch of my gastroenterologist, obstetrician, and a team of other medical professionals, we managed to get my symptoms under control by the end of my second trimester.  I was beginning to gain weight and I could see my belly growing along with my baby.  I was finally happy to be pregnant and was getting excited to meet this little terrorist causing havoc inside me.

Despite a few minor obstacles (gestational diabetes due to my excessive corticosteroid use, extreme heartburn, and the other common third trimester complaints) we had made it through most of the homestretch without major incident.  Until St. Patrick’s Day…

It was at the St. Patrick’s Day parade that I began to notice something wasn’t “quite right.”  I went to visit the port-o-potty and noticed that there was some excessive wetness where maybe there shouldn’t be.  I assumed it was just caused by the 80°+ weather.  To be safe, we huffed it back to the car so that I could go home and rest. 

Fast forward 14 hours.  I wake up at 4am to find I’m…  um…  how do I say this delicately?  I’m…  ummm…  leaking.  Matt had just left for work, so I called the OB’s exchange hoping they would tell me it was nothing and to go back to bed.  But they didn’t.  So, I grabbed armfuls of absorptive materials and drove myself to the hospital. 

Matt walked in about 30 minutes later.  Just in time for them to say, “Yep.  You’re leaking amniotic fluid.”  Shortly after, we had a team of doctors and nurses traipsing through our room debating about delivering a 33 week and 4 day old baby or trying to stave off labor.  Had I been 34 weeks, there wouldn’t have been a question.  Out she would come.  But at this point in pregnancy, every day they are in utero is valuable.  But despite the risks, I was prepped for an emergency c-section.  I barely had time to call my family before they wheeled me into the operating room.

Allison Grace was born at 7:49am.  She came out screaming, but she was oh so tiny.  4lbs 2oz.  17 3/4 inches long.  She looked like a soaking wet chihuahuaua puppy.  Or at least how I would imagine one to look like.  This teeny body covered in pale thin skin that you can see right through.  A disproportionately large head with big puffy eyes.  But she was beautiful.  At least I thought so at the time.  Looking back at her first pictures make me wince a little now.

But she was healthy.  And strong. 

And over the next 12 days, she grew stronger.  She learned to suck, to swallow, and to breathe on her own (all at the same time).  And then they sent her home.  With us.  People that have never cared for a child before, let alone a miniature baby.

Our first night home, I remember sitting in the recliner watching tv with her sleeping on my chest.  It was the most peaceful feeling imaginable.  I couldn’t believe thatwe made her.

I had hoped that would be the end of our medical disasters for awhile, but unfortunately that was not the case.  My body was apparently very confused and thought I was still pregnant.  Maybe it was due to my extended use of maternity pants?  I guess we’ll never know.

But despite my best efforts to put out the fire in my gut, nothing was working.  And when I wound up back in the ER for the third time in 7 months, I was ready to give my surgeon a call.  I just wanted something to work.  So I could take care of my baby without being stuck in bed with a heating pad.

So, when Allison was a mere 10 weeks old, her momma had her second bowel resection. 

This was not my first rodeo, so I had high hopes that this surgery would solve all my problems.  After the last one, I had never felt better.  But I hadn’t just had a kid before the last one.  And for all of you that have been pregnant, you know that that little monster will lie, cheat, and steal to get what it needs to grow inside you…  Leaving you with very little left for yourself.

So, recovery was a long process…  And my body will never be the same.  I will never have a normal colon.  I will always look like an IED hit my stomach.  But every month gets a little better as I learn how to work with my altered digestive system.

And 21 months after my little girl unexpected arrived into this world, you would never know that she was anything but a normal, happy, healthy child.  For that, I am extremely grateful.