Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Everyone at Team Botanical is happy and healthy. We are, without a doubt, enchanted by our little girl. The past week has flown by, and while I have lost track of time (I couldn't believe it this morning when Chip told me that today is New Year's Eve), I will tell you that each day gets better and better. We're so stinking lucky, I can't even stand it.
I will stop now before it gets any more boastful around here. Or I cry. Whichever comes first.
Our thanks to everyone who has sent well wishes. We can't wait for you to meet our little bird.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Well, let's just say that Chip and Dr. Simckes both took my expectations and tossed them out the window today.
This morning I was getting ready for work (denim day!) and after successfully pulling those damn elastic-waist jeans over my bum, I heaved a sigh of relief and then, basically, made a poor decision and spoke.
Me: Good heavens, I am fat. I'm exhausted just from squeezing myself into those jeans.
Chip: Babe, you're not fat. You're nine months pregnant. Just look at your belly.
Me: The problem's not my belly, it's my butt.
Chip: Well, what do you expect? Your stomach is huge. If your butt didn't balance you out in back, you would tip forward.
The fun continued at this afternoon's weekly check-up. Dr. Simckes breezed into the room, gave me a hug, shook Chip's hand and sat down.
Me: Don't forget, we don't want to know the sex.
Dr. S: Well, I do. You're 39 weeks pregnant. When in the hell are you going to have this kid? I'm tired of keeping this a secret.
To be fair to both of these wonderful men, I really did set Chip up for failure. There is no good response when a woman -- especially a pregnant woman -- says "I'm fat." And as far as Dr. Simckes goes, I love the fact that he is so incredibly blunt. I mean, any doctor who responds to the question of "what can I do to get things moving?" with the oft-repeated phrase of "what brought you here shall set you free," is okay in my book.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
I'm quite certain there were many, many a discussions surrounding this particular purchase. I think Sherri knew at some point Brian would come home with it anyway, so why fight the inevitable? Brennan, of course, was thrilled with his gift. The battery wasn't charged so he couldn't scoot around, but he had a pretty good time climbing off and on the toy and waving at Brian, Sherri and the dogs. The four-wheeler is making the trip to Illinois, so it looks like we may have to hold a parade for the little show-off.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Clearly, I am an excellent hostess, because Baby Lindh is showing zero interest in leaving the cozy little womb he/she has called home for the past nine months. Before going to yesterday's weekly appointment, I was convinced that Dr. Simckes would take one look and me and say, "Get over to St. John's, stat." I was so certain this would happen, I asked Chip to bring our hospital bags with him to the appointment. I think we both knew that doing so would jinx us, but good sport that he is, Chip hauled all of the bags out to the car (and even made a last-minute outfit switch for me), and then quietly hauled them all back inside when we returned home.
Before going to yesterday's weekly appointment, I was convinced that Dr. Simckes would take one look and me and say, "Get over to St. John's, stat." I was so certain this would happen, I asked Chip to bring our hospital bags with him to the appointment. I think we both knew that doing so would jinx us, but good sport that he is, Chip hauled all of the bags out to the car (and even made a last-minute outfit switch for me), and then quietly hauled them all back inside when we returned home.
To Chip's credit, he did stop short of blowing it up.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Saturday, December 13, 2008
You also may recall that for the past nine months I have seriously slacked off in the cooking department. I blame a lack of appetite, lack of energy or lack of interest in any sort of protein source that doesn't come in the shape of a nut. Sometime this fall, I mentioned to Amanda that Chip thought my lack of cooking was both a blessing and a curse. The upside was that I no longer used him as a guinea pig for wacky new recipes. The downside, of course, was that my aversion to most meats meant that he couldn't even get the basics like meatloaf and grilled steaks.
A few days later, Amanda appeared at our house with a baking dish full of stuffed shells. One half of the shells were covered in meat sauce and labeled "Chip." The other half of the dish was covered in tomato sauce and labeled "Debbie." Our delivered dinner came complete with these insanely decadent jam-filled cookies that I tried to hide from Chip because I didn't want to share them.
Fast forward to this week. I am sitting at work, willing myself to go into labor, when I receive an email from Amanda that says, "Taco soup and all the fixings delivered to your house at 1:30 p.m." I immediately forwarded the email to Chip, as he usually arrives home before me. While he's not one to pass up bags of homemade food, he typically likes to know the source of said food. Needless to say, he was delighted by Amanda's delivery. Especially when she confirmed that the soup was particularly meaty.
Last night, as Chip and I were driving to the Galleria, the song "Amanda" came on the radio. After singing a few verses about Amanda's taco soup, corn bread and gooey butter cake, Chip asked the following:
Chip: Hey, what do you think Amanda is going to bring over when the baby's born?
Me: Are you serious? She's already brought us dinner twice and we haven't even had the child. She shouldn't bring us anything.
Chip: Yeah, but you know Amanda. She will. I bet Rob will come over and grill filets. And she'll make a souffle.
Me: I can't believe how greedy you are.
Chip: Whatever. I can't wait for the baby to get here. I bet they'll be bacon-wrapped filets.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
On the way home, I called Chip so we could recap the doctor's visit.
Me: So, we're at seven pounds, nine ounces. That certainly sounds manageable.
Chip: Yeah, not bad. Wait. How big was Brennan?
Me: Um, I'm not sure. Just under nine pounds, I think.
Chip: Well, I'm sure we can do better than nine pounds.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
I've never received as much attention from either Buddy or Brennan as I have in the past week. I'm guessing that both Bs are feeling a little threatened by Baby Lindh's impending arrival. Rest easy, boys. You're still my number ones.
Click here for more photos of the little turkey in action.
Three years ago a lower strand of lights went out, so I wrapped new lights over the existing ones. Two years ago the entire middle section of lights went out, so I added even more new lights to the existing ones, resulting in a lovely tangle of cords and whatnot. Shockingly, last year all of the lights went out, so we cut off everything and wrapped new strands around every branch. Let me tell you, nothing says holiday spirit like cramped hands covered in plastic pine needle cuts. This year we were hard pressed to remember how the revamped model went together, and well, that was not fun, either. It was a marked improvement over last year's experience, for sure, but apparently Chip was not ready to let bygones be bygones.
"Silver Bells," was playing on the stereo, and Chip, ever the clever one, started singing along, only with his own lyrics. The refrain went a little something like this: "Broke-ass tree, broke-ass tree ... it's because we live in the city." I chuckled. Big mistake. He went on to work favorite words like thugtastic, Targetto and Homie Depot into the verses, as well as the names of our more annoying neighbors. I thought the song would never end. I also thought he could have left well enough alone with just the refrain, but hey, it distracted him during the last stages of assembly, and before I knew it, the tree was up.
Whatever it takes.