The truth is, I couldn’t come up with one coherent theme for this week’s post.  How could I when my head is filled with baby showers to give, first birthday parties to plan, wedding invitations to address and bridesmaid dresses to obsess about?  Honestly, the inside of my head looks like so much scrambled eggs, and it’s all I can do some days to keep my brain from leaking out my ears.  So, this week you get a bunch of random thoughts, and you’ll be thankful to have them! (Just kidding!  I know! I’m lucky anyone pays attention to my crazy self at all!  Kisses!)


Oh my lord, the Duggars.  The spawn are spawning.  First grandchild.  Meanwhile, Mrs. Duggar has been pregnant every year for the last eighteen years.  Her body has brought forth eighteen Duggars.  Does she get a bulk discount at the hospital?  Does she feel anything below the waist anymore?

But, God, how I love them anyway.  I love the vacant look in Mama Duggar’s eyes, how all her children’s names begin with J and how her clever husband paid cash for that ginormous Duggar compound where he holds church services so he can write it all off.  Speaking of, I love Papa Duggar and how he looks like a cross between John Edwards and Howdy Doody.  I love all the Duggar kids the most and how their favorite food is pickles.  And, damnit, I love every single five-gallon jar of pickles they keep in their Duggar pantry.   

I heart you, Duggars!  Against my better judgment!


The other day I dropped Evie off at daycare.  While Gloria and I were having our normal chit-chat, I glanced over to see one of her charges scampering around and around in a circle, dragging her favorite blanket behind her.  It was cute, and I chuckled.  Gloria laughed, too, and told me the three little girls who can walk were doing the exact thing the day before.  She said they all ran around and around in a circle until they got dizzy and all fell down on the floor.

“Huh,” I thought.  “Not unlike my workplace.”


Evie has pretty much dropped her morning nap and now only needs a two-hour (or so) siesta in the afternoon.

For some reason, this has inordinately saddened me.  For some reason, this nap dropping, to me, especially signifies that she’s not a little-bitty baby anymore.  Technically, when she turns one in a couple of weeks, she’ll be a toddler.  She’ll be a big-bitty baby. 

All of the online and not-online baby literature said this would happen, so I shouldn’t be surprised.  If you want to be dramatic about it, and I never miss an opportunity for that, the prophecy is being fulfilled.  There’s a Star Wars reference in here somewhere, but, again, the scrambled eggs and the leaking.


Speaking of prophecies, I picked Evie up the other day, and a very bright thought ricocheted through my head.  It actually stopped me for a moment.

I thought, “Eve Langston will do something great.  Something really great.  Music, science, medicine, literature, something.  She will astound many people.”

And I am her mother.  I will be sitting in the front row with my old-lady hairdo, pearls and demure light-blue suit, smiling from ear to ear, clapping, with tears running down my face.  And her daddy and I will still forget the camera.


I’ve been thinking a lot lately about this time last year.  This time last year I couldn’t eat blue cheese dressing, drink caffeinated beverages or take Advil.  If I stayed on one side for too long in bed, that side would fall asleep.  Contrarily, I could not.  I had heartburn that felt like fire in my chest and throat.  I had very uncomfortable Braxton Hicks contractions on a regular basis.  Evie thrashed around inside me until my belly looked like a horror movie.  I couldn’t seem to stretch out enough to accommodate her.  I always ached in at least one part of my body.  I was starting to get really scared of giving birth.

Tonight, a year later, there’s a little person soundly sleeping in her crib upstairs.  I can hear her breathing on the monitor.  She fell asleep in my arms as we watched TV, and I decided to hold her for a little while instead of immediately putting her to bed.  As I half-watched some silly sitcom, I turned several times to look at her sweet face and nuzzle the top of her head.  Her long arms and legs sprawled across my lap, and her little hand lay curled on her forehead.

Totally worth it.