little black journal

Our little girl is one week old today. It seems impossible that eight days ago, we had yet to find out who she was, what she would be like, what we would be like as parents – eight days ago, we were just beginning the labor that would bring her into our arms.

I awoke early on the morning of Friday the 13th with light contractions. We started timing them were certain by mid-morning that I was in the midst of early labor. Finally! This baby was ready to say hello! I saw the doctor that afternoon, who confirmed that things we’re progressing – I was dilated 3 cm and was having contractions every 9-10 minutes. She sent us home, telling us that she (or one of her colleagues) expected to see us again soon. I spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening bouncing on our balance ball, breathing through the increasingly frequent, increasingly painful contractions. Nancy came over at 7:00 and stepped into her role as birth doula, offering us her encouragement and advice, and helping us make the call at 9:00 pm that it was indeed time to lay down a towel on the passenger seat of the car and head to the hospital (it would be a shame to add “clean up amniotic fluid” to our post-baby to-do’s, should my water break in the car). I waddled my way into the hospital, stopping in the garage and then the elevator lobby to breathe through a couple of contractions, and was given a small room in triage, where they checked my vitals and assessed my progress. Cervical exams are never pleasant, but I set aside any qualms about the discomfort and looked forward to seeing how far I’d come – after all the laboring I had done since our doctor appointment earlier that day, I was hopeful that I’d be well on my way to that ultimate goal of full dilation at 10 cm. My spirits fell when the nurse said that I was at 3, maybe 4 cm and told us to go walk around for a couple of hours to move things along. The thought of enduring several more hours of labor was daunting, but I summoned what energy I had left and we set out to wander the hospital’s deserted hallways while baby Schnell packed his or her bags. Shane and Nancy naturally fell into their roles as my perfect support team, Nance keeping me focused as she counted through each contraction and Shane offering physical encouragement as he rubbed my back or allowed me to lean into him. By the time we returned to triage around 1 am, I was exhausted and quickly climbing the pain scale – 18 hours of contractions, now coming just every three minutes, had taken a hefty toll on me, physically and emotionally. The nurse checked me again and said I had progressed only 1-2 cm, which sealed the deal: I wanted an epidural, stat. They moved us into our birthing suite and after a painfully long hour of watching our kind-but-sloooooow nurse fumble around the room to get supplies ready and place my IV, the anesthesiologist swooped in to offer me that sweet, blessed, magic medicine. I collapsed into the hospital bed as the pain subsided, thanking God for rest and relief. I fell asleep around 3 am and awoke a couple hours later to a leaking sensation – my water had broken! A sign of substantial progress! The doctor came in to check me shortly thereafter and surprised us all when she said I was fully dilated and ready to push. I asked for a little time to psych myself up, and at 7:30 I started in on the final stage of labor. After just a couple of pushes, the head was visible and the nurse excitedly remarked over our baby’s full head of hair. Hair? Our baby had hair? As in, there’s a real person in there ready to come out and meet us? Shane and I looked at each other and both started to cry – this was the moment our child’s imminent arrival became undeniably real. Our questions were about to be answered, our greatest longing fulfilled. The wait was nearly over – I wiped my tears and pushed like hell.

And then, at 9:03 am, our baby was born. The doctor held her in front of Shane for a brief moment and placed that slimy, wiggly, wailing little thing on my chest as Shane cried, “It’s Juliette, buhb, it’s Juliette!” Oh, that moment. It is sealed in my memory as one of the greatest joys of my life. I mean, I have cried tears of happiness before, but I laid in that bed and I outright sobbed, with relief, with gratitude, with the fullness of this brand new love. She was so beautiful, with her rosy skin and matted brown hair. Her cries were so strong but so vulnerable, like she was telling us, “Don’t worry, I’m ok, but I still really need mama right now.”

(Thank you, Nance for the photos!)

We spent the next 30 hours in our post-partum room, in a hazy blur of feeding (our girl is an eater!), dozing, and getting poked and prodded by nurses and doctors. By Sunday afternoon, we were ready to get out of there. The hospital’s photographer snapped a few shots of our family of three before we left. Three. Two was pretty damn great, but three is amazing.

(Photos by Bella Baby)

As we packed up our things and tucked Juliette into her car seat, we both started crying yet again (nothing like birthing a child to clear out those tear ducts!). I had dreamt of this moment for so long, this assertion of our status as capable parents, striking out to blaze our trail as the newly expanded Schnell family. Shane was overwhelmed by the thought that her care was being entrusted to us – his chin quivered as he squeezed his eyes shut, in that Shane way of crying that so rarely comes out, and he muttered, “I just really, really want to be a good dad…”. God had given us this precious gift, and we wanted nothing so badly as to do right by her.

We toasted to Juliette’s one-week birthday this morning with champagne and donuts, and I was reminded that our family is in fact much larger than just three. There are people from coast to coast that love her and want to share in the journey of seeing her grow. Grandma and Grandpa Schnell oohed and ahhed over every little half-smile and wrinkle of her nose when we video chatted with them on Tuesday. Yesterday we received a card from Great Grandaddy Jarrell with thoughtful congratulations and the beginning of Juliette’s college fund. And these people, our Seattle family, are already lavishing her with affection and gifts (thanks, Jordan and Bees, for unexpectedly scavenging that hideous diaper cake on your latest Craigslist run – the nursery needed a touch of pink).

What a crazy, wonderful, blessed week.  Life will never be the same again.

Our hospital bag is packed. The car seat is in the car. I have scrubbed the insides of our kitchen cabinets, dusted the mini-blinds, washed and folded our stack of baby blankets.  C’mon, baby!  It’s time to get this show on the road!

Or not. We saw the doctor yesterday morning, and it seems that little Schnell is, in the words of La Verne, “still clinging to the sides of my womb” (Jack and La Verne know a thing or two about stubbornly late babies).  The past couple of weeks, I’ve met these progress reports (and I use the word “progress” lightly) with a mixture of disappointment and relief, relief being the dominant emotion – I wasn’t quite ready, the house wasn’t in perfect order, I wanted a little more time to myself.  But yesterday, upon hearing that my cervix isn’t looking labor-ready, impatience began to take hold of me.  My checklist is complete.  It’s been borderline hot in Seattle.  The bowling ball strapped to my front side is making it hard for me to walk/sit/lay comfortably.  And more than anything, I really really really want to meet this kid.  I’m tired of trying to picture baby Schnell and coming up with only vague, fuzzy images of what our child might be like.  Will he or she have hair?  Will he or she like to be rocked, or bounced, or taken for long car rides?  And for Pete’s sake, is it a he or a she?  I’d really love to narrow this down to a single pronoun.  Even in my dreams, the details elude me.  Last week I dreamt that I gave birth to a stuffed teddy bear – I reached out to pick it up and was completely crestfallen by its glassy-eyed gaze.  A couple of nights ago, I dreamt that my doctor pulled the baby out during my regular check-up.  Thankfully, the baby was human and healthy, but I was so surprised by the whole thing that I rushed home and spent the entire day calling family members and marveling over my newly flat stomach – it wasn’t until late that evening that I realized I had left our child at the doctors office, without having asked whether it was a boy or a girl.

Nance suggested that we pack a couple of comfort items in our hospital bag to help me cope with labor – tokens of support or encouragement for when the going gets tough.  So tucked in my duffel bag, next to the camera and the baby clothes, is a snapshot from my 6-week ultrasound, the appointment where we discovered with overwhelming relief that our little embryo had a heartbeat.  I look at this miniature pea-sized blur and am flooded with gratitude for how the baby has grown over the past eight months.  I’m reminded of all the waiting and hoping and praying that has led us here – it’s been a long, winding road, but finally, we’re on the verge of parenthood.  So what do you say, kid?  Shall we put an end to all this crazy anticipation and meet face-to-face?  I vote yes.

A notification popped up on my phone first thing this morning:  “Showtime!”.  Shane put this “reminder”  on our Google calendar months ago (as if we haven’t been counting down to this day since January).  40 weeks into this journey.  Due day.  No baby in sight. And no signs that this kid is in any rush to make an appearance.  He or she may have inherited mom’s tendency toward tardiness. Dad is not so pleased.

But for now, I’m alright with hanging tight.  It was a pretty great weekend – dinner with ladies on Friday night, followed by cupcakes at Chez Rust to celebrate baby Chen’s hundred-day birthday, pedicures with Nance yesterday, a visit to Kedai Makan last night with Jack and La Verne, and some last-minute check-listing today (they’re starting to know our faces at the Goodwill drop-off station).  These last few days have been full of rest, full of laughter with our dearest friends, full of quiet moments at home, laying on the couch with Shane as he rests his hands on my belly in his best effort to high-five our little one.  A part of me is eager to move past the waiting and get this show on the road; another part of me is soaking up every last drop of this peaceful contentedness, reveling in this time when I’m able to meet our child’s every need without even thinking about it.

We snapped what will probably be our last baby bump pictures today (I’ll spare you the ginormous belly shots if I’m still pregnant at 41 weeks).  Like I said, I don’t mind if the baby wants to hang out in utero for a few more days…as long as he or she temporarily stops growing.  If I run into you this week, please spare me your stories about past-due 10-pound babies.  I don’t wanna hear it.

See you on the flip side, kiddo…

I cleared my inbox, turned on my out-of-office message, and said “peace out” to my co-workers yesterday.  Today marks day 1 of my six-month maternity leave!  I have been eagerly anticipating this break for awhile – I hit my 8-year anniversary with my firm in August, and while I take a lot of pride in what I do, I was feeling ready for a change of pace.  A hiatus from Revit and building permits and too many emails.  I’m wanting new challenges and opportunities and forms of communication (remember when I talked about dancing around with a bowl on my head?  not likely to go over so well in my workplace).  But when I shut down my computer and walked out the door last night, rather than throwing my arms out in overwhelming relief, I felt surprisingly anxious.  The frustrating-but-true fact is that no matter how much I look forward to something new, whether it’s a vacation or an art class or motherhood itself, when the rubber hits the road, I freak out a little bit.  Whenever we go on a big trip, I spend the entire ride to the airport thinking about work deadlines and our unmade bed and that extra sweater I should have packed.  Yeah, the day-in, day-out can wear on me, but I also find comfort in it.  I like stability.  I like knowing what to expect and knowing what’s expected of me.  Same old, safe old.

As I was getting into bed last night, I realized that I don’t have to set my alarm clock for the next six months (let’s temporarily forget about the fact that I’ll be waking to an alarm without a snooze button once the baby is here).  And this morning, I lingered in bed until 8:00.  I made myself breakfast and ate it slowly while I watched the rain fall outside and checked my favorite blogs.  I took a shower and blow-dried my hair without once looking at the clock to see how much time I had left to get ready.  I went out to lunch with La Verne and satisfied my persistent shaved ice craving.  That nagging pain I’ve been feeling in my right shoulder didn’t bother me a bit today.  I watched a movie this afternoon, and then dozed/read/dozed/read on the couch for awhile.  I had the time and energy to do a little yardwork while Shane cooked dinner on the grill.  I’m capping off the day with Project Runway, kicking back while my belly rocks and rolls (baby loooooved that shaved ice!).  So all that stuff I said about maternity leave anxiety?  Nevermind.  Day 1 was kind of amazing.  And watching La V cradle baby N in her arms over lunch, I realized the best is yet to come.

I bought a baby book last week with the intent of starting early and writing a thoughtful note to our child before he or she is born. But words keep escaping me – I want to lavish the baby with love and affirmation, with hopes and dreams for his or her life, but I’m just not there yet. Sounds silly, I know, but I’m still having a hard time fully comprehending that this belly bulge is actually our child. I love preparing our home for the baby, I love feeling all the wiggles and kicks, I love seeing Shane eagerly anticipate fatherhood, but that deep sense of maternal love I see on the faces of my friends as they cradle their little ones in their arms is just out of my reach. I’m still in this place where baby Schnell is a fuzzy image on an ultrasound screen. And that’s ok – I don’t doubt the “I love you’s” will fly from my mouth once I lay eyes on him or her. In the meantime, while my vision of our child is still hazy, I’m clarifying my vision of myself as a mother, forming aspirations for the woman I hope to be.  No doubt, the parent gig can be hard, but I’ve also seen first-hand that it’s an opportunity to stretch and grow and be your very best self. So to the future Mama Schnell:

Be flexible. Even if that means being inflexible. Of course, you and Shane want to be those free-flowing, easy-going parents that are always down for anything. Dinner invite on a Friday night? Sure, you’ll be there – the baby will tag along and sleep in the car seat, or stay up late and sit at the table with you. Camping? You’re game. Afternoon BBQ during nap time? Eh, you can skip nap for the sake of hanging with friends. Flexibility at its finest, right? But I suspect the true test of flexibility will come when you find that you need to make sacrifices in order to let the baby get the best rest possible, or to allow yourself some much-needed sleep, or to establish that restrictive but oh-so-necessary routine. Don’t be bitter or resentful over the way your life has changed. Don’t feel sorry for yourself when you miss out on a party because the sitter cancelled or the baby is sick – keep in mind that parenthood is a package deal, often weighted with limits or sacrifices, but also bursting with incredible joy.

Care more about exploration and play than you do about keeping clothes or floors or hands clean. Put the to-do list away and spend an afternoon splashing in mud puddles at the park or finger-painting in the dining room. Remember your dream house? You’re about to move into it, and it will be lovely, crumbs on the floor and all.  And don’t forget to be silly – put aside any self-consciousness.  Sing songs in your horribly off-key voice.  Make up games that have no point.  Shoot, put a bowl on your head, pump up the Elli Goulding, and dance in the living room – revel in the opportunity to be a total weirdo with someone who won’t think you’re weird at all.

Let stuff go, and don’t hold grudges. There will be moments, or even entire days, when the kiddo is cranky and unreasonable and inconsolable. It will be tempting to check out until the brattiness has passed. Try, try, try to stay engaged. Be persistent in your affection. The passive-aggressive silent treatment you use to coax remorse or an apology out of Shane won’t work on a toddler. So when you’re in the middle of the grocery store, dragging a wailing kid with noodle legs through the produce section, grab an extra carton of Ben and Jerry’s on your way out, mow through half of it when you get home, and then spend the rest of the afternoon cuddling with the little one (hopefully the tantrum wore him or her out). I realize this sounds kind of impossible, but it’s worth your best effort.

Here I sit, in our quiet, clean house, realizing (but probably not really realizing) yet again that I’m about to relinquish so much of the control I daily take for granted. Most of life right now is about what I’m feeling, how I want to spend my day, what I think is important. Who will I be when life is less about me and more about someone else? Will I be the tired, frazzled woman standing in the checkout line in her pajamas, clinging to three cartons of mocha almond fudge ice cream? Or will I be the mom that’s making goofy faces and babbling like a fool, because the sound of her baby’s laughter is so irresistible?  I suspect it will depend on the day – I’m in for a wild ride.  Bring it, baby!

I thought we had settled in for a stretch of quiet weekends at home. But then Jason and Nancy told us they were heading to the Hood Canal to do some camping on Friday, and although I couldn’t muster the will to spend a couple of nights sleeping on the ground, Shane and I were game for getting up early on Saturday to spend the day enjoying the great outdoors with our friends. We rolled into their campsite along the Duckabush River around 10:00 and set out with the gang for an easy hike to Murhut Falls.

Shane and J were feeling a little envious of Brian’s skin-baring tank top, so they gussied up a bit for a pre-hike photo op. These boys…

The falls were full-flowing and gorgeous. The adventurous ones among us scampered down to the base of the falls.

And then across the falls…

Jason was even bold enough to strip down and walk through the falls. I usually love seeing Shane in “play-mode” with his buddies – I could tell from a distance that he was reveling in the thrill of exploration. But man, he really tested my anxiety threshold yesterday! In between photos, I paused to pray that those rocks weren’t as slippery as they looked.

Meanwhile, Nance and I played the role of the sensible mom and mom-to-be and hung out along the trail with the kiddos, at a safe distance from any hundred-foot drop-offs. I kept my “that was dangerous” comments to a minimum when our thrill-seekers returned, but I certainly breathed a sigh of relief when we were all together again.

We spent the rest of the afternoon back at camp, lounging along the river.

Or, in Shane and Belinda’s case, in the river. Now this is how I prefer to see my husband position himself in regards to moving water…

Isaiah channeled his inner adventurer as he climbed on a fallen tree trunk.

While Stella toddled along the bank, picking up stones and tossing them in the river.

Gryffin took a quick dip in the freezing cold water (and sported a super-cool mohawk afterwards).

We circled our chairs back around the firepit in the evening, and Shane squeezed in one last bout of pre-bedtime cuddling with his best buds.

Belinda was kind enough to get the fire started a little early, so that I could indulge in one round of s’mores before we hit the road. This woman is a maniac with her fire-starting ability. Seriously impressive.

We shared a good meal together, I got my chocolate marshmallow fix, and then Shane and I pointed the trusty Civic back toward Seattle. I was a little bummed to miss out on the late-night campfire chat, but the feeling of waking up late in our own comfy bed this morning affirmed our decision to take a break from tent-time. Maybe, hopefully, fingers-crossed, we’ll be back at it next summer, mini-camper in tow.

We managed to squeeze in one last weekend getaway with the gang before settling in at home for this final stretch of waiting for the baby to arrive.  Three glorious days at an amazing house on Vashon Island with 14 of our best buds – our kid-free days are ending with a bang.

We arrived at the Vashon Lavender Farm on Friday evening, poured ourselves a couple of cold drinks, and kicked back for a weekend of eating, lounging, and laughing.

We passed hours upon hours on the house’s spacious porch that weekend – we ate our meals out there (dang, our friends know how to eat), we read books out there, we caught the morning’s rays and the evening’s view of Rainier out there.

I use the term “kid-free” lightly in reference to the weekend, as we were joined by three kiddos and three new babies (we’re in the midst of a baby boom!).  Initially I wondered whether Shane and I would be overwhelmed by the presence of so many littles, but my fretting was in vain.  I completely forgot – I’m married to the baby whisperer.  And these just happen to be some of the sweetest children on the planet.

And check out these proud poppas, with baby O (3 months old), baby N (2 months old), and baby W (one month old, napping in his little green floor cushion next to Jon).  Shane will be in good company come September.

Our all-day porch lounging was interrupted only by brief rounds of soccer or bocce ball, and a short trip to the nearby beach.  This is where I could wax poetic about the perfection of Pacific NW summers, but I think I’ve already done that on this blog.  A few times.

The lavender was free for the taking, so the ladies spent a few minutes on Sunday afternoon doing some harvesting.  It smelled a little like heaven out there.  And Jess’s lavender-infused cocktails and mocktails tasted just like summer.

We took one last stroll through the lavender field on Monday morning, pausing to soak in the sun and snap a few baby bump pics.

And then it was time to catch our ferry back to Seattle.  So long, Vashon…

We’re already making plans to return next year, with three more babies in tow.  A few of us were talking on Sunday about what it will be like in 10 or 15 years, when we’re planning these weekend getaways with our teens and pre-teens.  Will they groan at having to spend so much time with mom and dad’s friends?  Or will we need to keep an eye on any budding adolescent romances?  Will they hole up inside and play video games, or still want to throw the Frisbee around with Shane and Jason?  How will they all fit on that little green couch for the obligatory group photo?  Joking on that one.  Kind of.  I can hear it now:  “Geez, Mom, another photo?!”

Speculation aside, it’s a blessing to grow older with these people, to continuously build up our memory bank with laughter-filled meals and long talks around the firepit.  Looking forward to years more of these easy-going adventures.

Looks like I made it as far as Tuesday before pooping out…Ooof.  I’m tired tonight.  Feeling especially large.  Sick of waking up three or four times a night to the sensation that my bladder is in a vice.  I caught myself waddling in the reflection of a store window today; it’s as if my sore hips are preemptively protesting the fact that they’ll soon have to pass an 8-pound baby between them.  I tried to correct my gait, to straighten my back and move with more grace, but this took too much effort and so I went back to my belly-out pregnant shuffle, weight clumsily shifting from side to side.  I dramatically flopped down on the couch when I got home this evening, propped up my swollen feet, and wondered to myself how on earth I’ll make it through the next few weeks.  How quickly my pregnant glow has waned…  This isn’t how I wanted the final stretch to play out.

The thing is, I don’t know when or if I’ll get to do this again.  I certainly hope we’ll have a second (or maybe even third?!) shot at pregnancy, but only God knows if that’s in the cards for us.  And even if another little Schnell does someday find a home in my uterus, I’ll never feel this particular baby’s kicks again.  It will never be new like this again, I’ll never have this quiet, child-free space to focus on the life growing inside me.  My mom has told me to rest, to let the unimportant stuff take a back seat for now; I’ve responded to this advice with an uh-huh while carrying another load of laundry down the stairs.  But perhaps mother knows best.  So I slowed it down tonight, asked Shane to take care of dinner, cancelled my plans to hit the gym for a swim.  Instead I’m being still, reveling in the alien-like ripples of my belly as the baby wiggles and squirms and lets me know that all is well in-utero.  I’m taking a few minutes to rock in the glider of our nearly-complete nursery and dream about what it will be like to see our child in that empty crib.  And when I feel a foot kicking at my ribs, I’m ever so gently pushing back, telling our little one to hang tight for awhile longer, because mama really, truly loves having you in there.

I have always loved my weekends somethin’ fierce, but I’m treasuring them now more than ever.  It’s getting harder and harder these days to make it through the work week.  By Friday, I’m running on empty.  Thank goodness for a two-day chance to recharge.  Does a pregnant body good.

Shane and I have started a new kind of pre-baby “to-do” list, filled with the fun outings we want to do before baby Schnell arrives.  Topping that list was a nice dinner out with the gang, so we gathered at Hunger in Fremont on Friday night with the Chens and the Rusts for drinks and seafood and dessert.  I’ll miss these three-hour meals where we eat until we’re stuffed and laugh until we cry.  Then again, parenthood hasn’t kept our friends from a night out on the town, so perhaps we just need to start looking for babysitters now.  Oh, and they’re all pointing my way as an attempt to “include” me in the picture (always the photographer, never the photographee…).

Saturday was another gloriously sunny day, so we hopped in the car and headed north to Magnusson Park.  Despite the fact that this is one of Seattle’s largest parks, we had yet to check it out, so we spent an hour walking along the water and wandering among the trails.

Saturday afternoon was lazy – reading and naps and back porch lounging.  We packed a picnic dinner that evening and spread out a blanket on the lawn of Jefferson Park to eat olives and cheese and cherries and listen to the Giants game.  The perfection of a Seattle summer evening is not lost on us.

Saturday’s lounge-fest left me with some energy to burn today, so we went to the gym after church for a swim, and hooray!  I have found my new pregnancy work out!  Got my heart rate up and fired up my muscles, but without the achy hips and swollen hands and feet that come with long walks.  I have recently started longing for the days back when movement was easy and painless – my exhilarating runs along the lake are a distant, distant memory.  But in the pool, all this extra weight I’m carrying isn’t a burden.  And I’m more buoyant than ever!

It was another quiet afternoon at home – I spent some time in the nursery, arranging trinkets on shelves and reorganizing the closet for the umpteenth time.  This is the fun part of nesting.  The not-so-fun part comes next weekend, when we wash windows and scrub the kitchen cabinets (brace yourself, Shane!).

We caught the last of the day’s rays on our back porch, toasting to a perfect weekend with sparkling lemonade and frozen grapes.  Hallelujah – I’m refreshed, recharged, ready for the week ahead.  Realistically, I suspect I’ll be itching for another weekend by about 3 pm tomorrow, but whatever.  I’ll enjoy this Vitamin D high while it lasts.

Another summer weekend bites the dust. Literally! We headed to Poulsbo Saturday morning with the Rust clan for the World Concern Mud Run – a 5k obstacle course riddled with sloshy mud puddles, organized to raise funds for clean water projects in developing countries. Here are our fresh, clean runners, pre-race:

Mid-race:

And post-race – check out these dirt-caked studs! Crawling in the mud isn’t something Shane would typically pay to do, but he registered for the race out of a desire to channel his inner “fun guy” and support and great cause. And he embraced the event with such gusto – I’m pretty dang proud of him for stepping so far outside his comfort zone for this one.

That said, he was still given strict orders not to touch me until he’d rinsed off! Nance gave Jason the same orders, but he couldn’t resist trying to sneak in for a kiss.

The kids were a little bummed to have missed out on the run, so they staged their own mini-race once the guys were done. Gryffin was off like a bullet before I could say “Ready, set…”. He’ll be giving Shane and Jason a run for their money in the not-too-distant future!

We ate burgers on the lawn and then spent a couple of hours hanging out by the lake. Shane and Isaiah shared one of their precious buddy-buddy moments while Jason shot off the end of the monster water slide.

Sun-soaked and sleepy, Shane and I crashed for awhile when we got home, ordered pizza for dinner, and then watched the Giants beat the Diamondbacks. Pretty stellar day.

Today was Jack’s turn to show off his stuff – Shane, La V, and I headed down to Seward Park this morning to watch him crush the SeaFair triathlon. With hardly any training and a new-baby sleep schedule, he killed it! We celebrated his victory back at their house with banana bread french toast and mimosas. This whole spectator thing I’ve got going on is pretty great – no pain, all gain!

Shane and I came home and conked out again for an epic nap. Unfortunately, we both awoke feeling stuffed up and groggy – Shane is officially under the weather and I’m fearing that what I thought was allergies is actually a cold. We cancelled our afternoon plans for a visit with our newest baby friend and instead holed up inside to drink OJ and watch baseball. Felt like such a waste of a perfect summer day, but I’ll do what it takes to put myself quickly on the mend – pregnancy is tiring enough on its own these days and sick time doesn’t figure well into the packed few weeks I have left at work. Thus, I’m heading to bed early tonight (while it’s still light out!). G’night, all.