Gems from James

Lucky you on a Monday!  I've got several gems polished up just for you!

While reflecting wistfully on his wife's always inconsistent disposition since Gracie's arrival on the scene:
"You were such a happy pregnant girl."

While shopping online:
"Look at this hat!  I don't know how much it will cost by the time I pay the shipping fee, but it doesn't matter because it's the hat I've always wanted!"

Declining my pro-offered scarf while holding our naked baby at the outdoor farmers' market on a fall day mid-diaper blowout change:
"She's going to have to learn to deal with the cold sometime."

Said the stranger passing by:
"She's shivering!"

Mentally preparing herself for the cold.

The Griswolds are preparing for another vacation - I'm sure there will be some tasty morsels for you when we return!
Shelby

GMQ Makes her Debut: Part 3

If you missed part 1 or 2 (not that you ever would) you can look them up here and here.

The last bump pic.

So, we were waiting at the desk - the empty desk, apparently the only desk in the whole wide world that has staff capable of admitting a labouring woman, even one who is lowing like a cow and terrifying every patient everywhere.  Jimmy was in disbelief and didn't know quite what to do.  I was just glad that I was no longer in a car and could resume my counter leaning and hip swaying routine.  I'm not sure how long we waited, but finally two ladies entered through a door behind the desk wearing their cots and carrying their lunch bags, clearly just arriving for their shift.
"Oh my, have you been waiting long?" They ask.  "Where is Maria?  She is supposed to be on shift now!  No one was here to help you.  Oh my!" They went on and on, until another contraction came and my grunting and groaning prodded them into a very medium paced course of action.
And then the porter, the poor porter arrived.  The man who had to convince me to sit in that wheelchair.  Who came up with this policy?  Don't all the books say a labouring woman should walk and move to bring the baby down?  I tried to explain to him that after this was all over I was pretty sure I'd never sit down again, what with all the busyness of being a parent and the life sentence by hemrhoid I feared was about to be mine.  I told him I was just preparing myself for a life on two feet and would be happy to walk myself to labour and delivery, but he was having none of it.  Sensing I had found a man who wanted to do things by the book, I tried to negotiate.  I said I would get in the chair only if he promised we could pause so that I could stand up if I needed to.  He didn't seem to understand that the world would stop turning if I couldn't stand and sway my hips and he started blathering on about how it would be best to get me upstairs as quickly as possible where there were people who would help me.  Wrong tactic buddy, no one could help me now, no one and nothing but the graceful, hip swaying dance of the tropics.  Clearly he wasn't about to be swayed by a (normally) petite blond, so that's when I went gangsta on him, and he smiled and continued to insist I get in the chair, which I did, like any gangsta would.
Once we arrived in the delivery room, my new obsession began.  Gone was my fixation on hip swaying and here to stay was my fixation on poop.  You're probably thinking I was worried about poop appearing on the delivery table, as so many are, but you would be wrong.  The pressure had become so intense that I felt sure if I could just poop, all my woes would be righted, and we could get on with having this baby.  But no, said the nurse, I can't let you poop, it's not time to push.  She did tell me that I was at 6 cm, and that when it was time to push, the poop would come on it's own, which gave me little comfort, but I was about to find out that "comfort" isn't a word my nurse was familiar with.
To distract me, my doula suggested a nice warm shower, so Jimmy got changed into his swim stuff and we prepared to enter the warm water.  I got in, and tried to do the lean and hip sway, hitting my head on the many safety bars attached to the walls and promptly got right back out.  Jimmy complained about the fact that he had gotten changed for this two second dip, and I felt really, really, bad about inconveniencing him.  Or not.
So, leaving the pint sized shower stall behind, I made my way to the bed where we found we were making good progress.  Nine and a half centimeters!  I nearly leapt with joy at the thought that the poop baby would arrive soon!
I continued to gently murmur through each contraction, keeping my voice at an always pleasant volume.  After a contraction passed, I would exclaim that it wasn't that I was in pain, there was just so much pressure, and when would I be allowed to poop?!  Nurse Comfort, sensing she would have to do something to motivate me to continue, checked things out and confirmed it was time to push.  Halleluah!  So with the next contraction, I pushed.  Nurse Comfort stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.  And she stayed there until the next contraction when I pushed again.  I looked at her, expecting some kind of encouragement or update on the arrival of the poop, and she offered up a real pearl.
"Shelby, I'm going to need a little more oomph," said she.
Even Jimmy, the man who will, by the end of this tale utter words no man should utter in a delivery room knew that was not the most encouraging or instructive thing to say.
Thanks goodness for my doula, because had I only my nurse's directions to guide me, I would still be in that delivery room waiting for my baby to learn how to crawl so she could enter the world under her own power.  As it was, I ended up pushing for about an hour and a half, and I was exhausted. We all thought this would be a fairly small baby, maybe six or seven pounds.  I don't know why we thought this, based on all the DQ Blizzards I ate throughout my pregnancy, but we did.  So while my mom was holding my hand, giving words of encouragement, her thoughts were not so encouraging.  She told me afterwards she was thinking we were in big trouble if I couldn't push this little six pound baby out!
But we slowly made progress, and soon my entourage was exclaiming things like, "I can see the head!" and "Look at that unibrow!" which motivated me enormously.

And all of a sudden, she was there on my chest.  I remember being so surprised when I heard she was a girl.  She looked so big to me!  She proved our hunches wrong again, weighing in at a healthy eight pounds two ounces.  There were many tears and exclamations when she arrived.  And I thought the hardest work was over.  But no, there was a small issue with the placenta.  After waiting about 45 minutes for it to deliver to no avail, my doctor gave me some laughing gas so that she could call in a large man wearing soccer cleats to jump up and down on my abdomen to "help things along".  So, placenta delivered, there was just one small item left to take care of involving a surgical sewing kit.  
I have never had stitches ever in my life.  I hate needles and am afraid of every and any surgical procedure.  So, still high on laughing gas, I began loudly voicing my fears to the room.  Jimmy, proud new father, comfortably seated in the rocker with his daughter offered some words of encouragement.

"Remember the time I had to get ten stitches in my lip? I did just fine, and you will too."
Ahem.
My doctor (bless her heart) threw him a death glare and said in the iciest tone she could muster, "This is just a slightly more delicate area."
Silence.
And I survived her handiwork.  

We settled in to get to know our new daughter, Jimmy and I and my burst blood vessels.  Jimmy had a couple of hours to spend with us before he got back on the road to Calgary to win his playoff game, even scoring a goal in the process.  It was fun to watch online in the hospital, and Gracie got several mentions during the broadcast.  Jimmy made it back to the hospital by about two am to spend the rest of the night with us.  I was very lucky to have my family stay with me during the day, and my sister through most of the night so that I wasn't on my own.

Ready to go home.

So Gracie has known how to keep us on our toes from the beginning, but her timing was perfect! Her dad was there to meet her and still got to his game on time.  And it makes for a pretty good story ;)

Shelby

Griswold's Family Vacation

We made it out alive.  We've survived our first family vacation with bébé in tow.  We spent one week in beautiful Victoria, just the three of us, then joined up with seven other Griswolds in Kelowna.  What makes us the Griswolds, you ask?  Some highlights, just for you:

• Arriving in downtown Victoria dressed for winter on a record breaking 30 degree day (record breaking!  It was freezing just two days before) and having to buy a completely new outfit before I melted in front of the historic Fairmont Hotel.
• Waiting in line an hour and a half for Victoria's best fish and chips, then having to run to the car twice (once to pay for more parking minutes, a second time because we forgot to take the keys to put the newly purchased parking pass in the car) just as the (well worth it) fish and chips were served.  Ok, Jimmy tells me they were worth it.  I don't eat fish.  Only chips.  Which makes the wait even more mind boggling.
• Jimmy nearly running over my foot as I tried to retrieve our first born from the back seat of the rental car.
• Finding, upon our arrival in Kelowna, that the airline handled our play pen so delicately, they managed to break every spring loaded joint in its frame.  Jimmy recommended we just lay our baby on THE FLOOR OF A RENTAL HOME to sleep.  Did I mention Gracie just learned how to roll over?  So I came up with a much classier solution: buy a playpen and return it at the end of the week.  What?  We decided the colour palette didn't work for us.
• There were many more incidents that qualify us for the Griswold standard, but I'll spare you and give you just one final escapade.  We arrived at the airport for the flight home, and as I picked Gracie up to go through security, I felt moisture.  I realized instantly that I had forgotten to pack any extra clothing in our carry on and spend the next several minutes praying it was just a pee leak. Withe bated breath I opened the diaper to see it was definitely not a pee leak, but Gracie more than answered my prayers by providing a pee fountain seconds after I opened the diaper.

Nothing says Griswold like a naked baby in an airport.  Nothing.

There were also many un-Griswold like moments.  The beautiful Butchart Gardens were absolutely incredible.  Knowing it's taking them 100 years to create their garden makes me feel better about the state of my own.

There was naked rolling over.

The naked roll over stage 1.

The naked roll over stage 2.

And because I know you can't tell on your own: The naked roll over stage 3.

And swimming.  Or swim-sleeping?  Either way, very safe, I'm sure.

Birthday parties.

And of course, spaghetti.  Spaghetti that had to be inspected, strand by strand, before being eaten.

I'll be back soon with the promised and much anticipated birth story.  The story that I swore I wouldn't want to talk about with everyone.  But now?  You couldn't shut me up if you tried.  Actually, you could, if you had ice cream, or chocolate, or cake.  Or chocolate ice cream cake.  Anyway, I've become the annoying woman who won't stop talking about pregnancy, birth, and her child.  I guess that's ok.  It's kind of a big deal.  At least to me!

To tide you over until my return, a Gem from James, vacation edition.  We were walking in downtown Victoria when I made mention of the idea of a push present, and my gratitude that my husband was blissfully unaware of this recently created tradition.  James' response after I explained the significance of a push present? 
"I'm glad I had never heard of a push present!  Sounds like a giant scam!  Where's my "I got one past the goalie present?!"
Indeed.

Until next time, much love from the Griswolds!

Anybody Still Out There?

Loooong time no see, blog o' mine.  Those first few weeks with Gracie were rough, let me tell you!  The question "How are you doing?" would bring hot and instant tears to my eyes, because I could feel the last vestiges of my old life slipping through my fingers.

"Remember when you used to just go to bed?"  I'd think to myself.  "Wash your face, brush your teeth, and lay your sweet little head on the pillow?"  In my new life, bed time meant a terrifying bath time experience with a shrieking, red-faced, Kiebler elf posing as my baby.  It meant many, many minutes of back ache inducing rock/walking, finished with a cirque du soleil-esque balancing act as I tried to lay Gracie down without waking her.  Then I would drag my bag of bones to my bed and lay my head down only to be woken several seconds later by my sweet needlet.  I remember crying hysterically to Jimmy at one point "I don't want to be sooo responsible for her every need!"  Guess I should've thought that one out a little better approximately ten months ago . . .

Bath time now invokes lady-like modesty and a micro smile.
But I can tell she's sm-eyes-ing a la Tyra Banks.

So, I thought I'd give you the Coles Notes version instead of letting my cyber tears ruin your coffee through every live long day of that beautiful transition period into motherhood. Thankfully, there were many real people over whom I could spill my real tears.  My own mother was very sympathetic, as were my sisters and sisters-in-law.  One of my friends understood my tears, after some explanation.

The convo went a little something like this:

Me: I just can't stop crying! (Said while cry-choking)

Friend: Aww, are you crying all the time because you love her so much? 

Then the tears came even harder because I was definitely not crying all the time because I loved her so much.  I was crying all the time because she terrified me!  I didn't know what to do with her, and no matter how many books I read, or whose advice I followed, I couldn't get a handle on her schedule.  Did it matter that anyone and everyone I knew who had ever come into contact with a real baby told me that a newborn will likely not follow much of a schedule?  No.  I kept reading my books when I should have been sleeping, looking for an answer.  One day Jimmy had to coax me off the ledge via phone when I called to cry to him while he was at work.  "I think it's great that you love to read books and try to find new ways to do things. But you know who's not reading all those books? Gracie."

He was right, of course.  Despite giving her my reading glasses and propping open The Baby Whisperer in front of her during tummy time (the chapter on Y, where moms are supposed to get You time - I wanted her to absorb all of that one, thank you very much, the faster the better) she wasn't toeing the line. 

Anyway, this is not turning out to be such a Coles Notes version, but I'm so certain you've missed my long windedness that you're basking in the warm glow of my complaints.  Long story short, and to everyone's relief, I do love my baby now!

Who wouldn't love this half grin?

Hormones having abated, and sleep being had at night (by Gracie, not by me - we have traded sleep patterns), I finally feel like I am doing something right, sometimes.  And what a great feeling it is, to be striving for halfway perfection, some of the time!  Well done, me!

As a reward for your patient reading, here is a gem from James, post partum edition. While at work after Gracie's birth, James was telling his co-workers all about life as a new parent. Then he threw in some details about my life as a new parent: "Yeah, Shel's back to her normal weight, but her stomach is still a little soft."

Just when you were starting to think he had a good head on his shoulders with his comment about all the parenting books above.  He fooled you!

 Look at how much bigger she is!

I'll be back later with some details of Gracie's birth story.  You've got to know there are some Gems from James in that one - at some very inopportune times - but my doctor had some gems of her own to put him in his place.  Worry not!

Shelby

The Big One

Today is my dad's birthday.  And it's a big one.  I'm sure he'll be ecstatic that I'm mentioning not only him, but making vague reference to his age, so let me bolster his ego with this:
Last week my sister and I were getting pedicures for her birthday, and my dad stopped by to bring birthday smoothies.  After he left and we were discussing our appreciation for our dad, the esthetician said to me, "Your dad?!  I thought he was your husband!".  And that is not the first time such a mistake has been made. Yikes!

Unfortunately it doesn't look like he will be sharing his birthday with the newest grandchild to hit the block.  Sigh.   Oh well.  Happy birthday dad!
Speaking of husbands (it was two paragraphs back - try to keep up!) my real husband has been very sweet as my grouchiness clouds up our house waiting for peanut to arrive.  But there were a couple gems from a few weeks back I thought worthy of sharing.
In regards to his inability to attend our prenatal class during which we'd learn infant CPR:
"It's just two fingers, right?"
When I asked if I should contact the trainer who works on the bench if I go into labour while he's playing out of town:
"Yeah, because that would help me play real well!" 
We have since worked out a plan that satisfies all parties involved - worry not!  And know that he always says things with the intent to tease.  We're both sweating a little bit over the fact that the bébé may decide to arrive on the scene while he's out of town.  It would make a good story, and blog post I guess . . .
Shelby

Nursery Reveal!

You know that my mom is the fashion and art director here at Chez Quinlan, but did you know she is also the fashion and art director of my life too?  Well she is.  And she does a fabulous job.  Her latest project?  The nursery, bien sûr.  The theme? Vintage French Nursery.
The nursery used to be our guest room - of which I have no pictures.  I do have some kind of before pics through which you can see the amazing transformation.

Blah . . .

Floating branch that used to be anchored by the guest room book case.

The old chair and artwork from the guest room.

And now . . . the end result!  It's so full of sweet little touches and details.  My mom did a beautiful job.

As you come in the door, on your right.  More details on the artwork in a post to follow.

A view of the chair, painstakingly re-covered by my mom. You won't believe the deal she got on the chair - sources to come soon!

Notice the nail head detail.

The très French looking dresser.

A view of the chic rug and hand sewn crib skirt and mama's blanket for those late nights.

More of the custom created linens - and yes, I know the bébé can't actually use them.  It's for the look people! The little pillow (which also won't be used - yet- was mine.  It's printed with French poetry, and my mom turned it into a mini pillow for the little one.

The custom made wall decal we plan to use as a growth chart.

My mom calls it the tree of life.  Worry not - sources are coming!

The unbearably cute giraffe lamp and sleek and stylish side table.

The of the moment drum light, lovingly installed by James, after my dad taught him how to do it with our dining room lights.

 My mom slaved over this room.  She did all of the shopping, sewing, and pounding of upholstery nails, not to mention trying to figure out how to fit all of that furniture into a not so big room.  All I did was find a designer for the tree of life then help my mom put it on the wall.  Jimmy of course risked life and limb with the electrical and moved the old furniture out.  Other than that the room was a total surprise fro me and Jimmy, which was so fun to come home to after yoga one afternoon.  And now we wait . . . 10 days to the due date.  Jimmy told me the other day it might be time to tell his boss that we're having a baby seeing as he may need to leave work in a hurry any day now.  
"What?!" I said. "You still haven't mentioned it?"
His reponse: "I like to keep my private life private."
Clearly.
I'll be back soon with all the details on where my mom found all the goods!
Shelby

I am Cray - Cray

Today's nesting project brought to you by the chicken farmers of Canada.

Step 1: Grill chicken

Step 2: Take a picture of grilled chicken for your blog

Step 3: Slice and package chicken in meal sized portions to be frozen.

I'm getting tired of nesting.  Does that mean the baby is coming soon?  When I told my mom about my efforts (as if she didn't suspect based on the overpowering scent of charcoal emanating from my person) she said I was crazy.  I explained that a new mom friend had told me about this trick so that when the last thing you feel like doing is making dinner, you can thaw your pre-grilled and pre-sliced meat to throw in a salad, stir fry, or pasta dish.  Finally my mom agreed that planning ahead did sound like a better strategy than the one she used after my sister was born.  I'm not sure what she means.  I have fond memories of eating nothing but Chips-a-Hoy for weeks on end when my screaming sister came in to the world.
Yours in ever lessening sanity,
Shelby

I Pity the Fool

I mentioned yesterday that I tricked Jimmy on April 1st.  It wasn't my idea, but my sister-in-law's.  I had doubts, to be sure.  Let's face it, I'm not an Oscar nominated actress.  I've never even gotten a nod from the Razzies.  And I thought it was a little mean.  So what made me change my mind?  It was on April Fools' Eve when someone was looking for me and James said, "She's just over there.  The one with the huge belly.  You can't miss her!"  And with those words, his fate was sealed.
So, early on April Fools' morn, when Jimmy climbed out of bed and made his way to the bathroom, I sprang into action.  I went into the other bathroom and with some strategic water splashing, achieved the look of a woman whose water had broken.  I called Jimmy once.  "What?" came the call back.  I called once again, a little more urgently, and started making my way towards him.  "What's wrong?" was the call back this time.  We met half way, and I told him I thought my water had broken.  
"How do you know?" was my husband's first question, a stunned look on his face.  I had to call on all of my dramatic skill to stay in the moment and not laugh.  
"Well, I don't think I peed my pants!" I replied.
I have to commend James.  He stayed calm and did his best to be supportive.  He told me everything would be okay, and that I was okay.  I think he needed a moment to collect himself, as the next thing he asked was: "What does your book say?" 
I know he knows what my book says.  He has a good head for numbers, and he can recite all the stats we learned in our prenatal class.  He could tell you that as long as the contractions aren't coming close enough together that birth is imminent or you're in unmanageable pain, you have about 12 hours after your water breaks before infection becomes a concern and you need to get to the hospital.  But I had caught him off guard.  You see, he may have been out the night before, and he may have enjoyed a beverage with friends.  So, I turned to go get my book to answer his question, even though I knew the answer, while he tried to get his bearings.  Upon looking in the book, I turned to him and said, "The book says Happy April Fools' Day!"
He looked relieved, then slightly annoyed and said, "That was mean!"  When I hugged him, I noticed he was slightly sweaty.  He forgave me, of course, but said it was an unfair trick because he wasn't totally clear headed so early in the morning.
The fact that we woke up to a beautiful spring snowstorm didn't help his nerves either!  He told me later he had visions of us stuck in traffic, trying to endure contractions in the car while traffic stood at a standstill.  

All in all though, I think the trick was a good thing.  I feel totally reassured that Jimmy will be a calm and supportive coach when the birth day does arrive, and Jimmy has realized it really could happen at any moment, and that it will be a lot easier without any residual beverages in his system.  Will that hold him back?  Only time will tell!

Awkward self portrait #1

And #2

Only 3.5 more weeks to go!

Shelby

Wanted

Seeking a replacement for my motivation which has suddenly gone missing.  Said motivation has been replaced with an approximately 17 pound muffin top, shortness of breath when walking distances of more than a foot and sleepless nights punctuated with the most bizarr-o dreams outside of Tim Burton's REM cycle. Limited budget prevents an actual paid transaction for any motivation you may be selling, but a trade is possible.  Upon receipt of your gently used motivation, I will bake you a batch of the most delicious chocolate chip cookies you have ever eaten. It will not be a full batch, as I will have undoubtedly eaten several dozen, but still.
Interested parties may contact me by phone or email, which I will have my husband respond to. 


Ugh!  Seriously - I have no energy for anything.  I know everyone says this, but I can't imagine the steep decline that is yet to come over the next seven weeks. Neither can Jimmy.  My digestion is also lacking motivation, and so I am rarely hungry at dinner time.  It would take way too much energy to prepare a meal that I have no interest in eating, so it's been toast, fruit and yogurt at the timely hour of eight o'clock 'round these parts, poor guy.  He's really missing his meat and potatoes.
Never mind the decline in motivation and productivity, my supportive spouse and I are having a hard time imagining what my mega sized muffin top will look like in seven weeks.  In my opinion, James could have kept his horror to himself, but he never does.  Last night, wide eyed in amazement he declared, "I think you're going to be as big as a house by the end of this!"  He later amended this statement of love and support by adding, "It's just that you're still small everywhere else!  It's going to have to go somewhere!"  Indeed.  
If only I had this kind of airbrushing available to me at all times, because one of these things is not like the other.  Really - click these links, it's worth the energy needed to tap the mouse.  I wouldn't lie about what is or is not worthwhile energy expenditure in my current state.
Rest assured that I will work up enough energy to ask Jimmy to turn on the TV so that I might turn my eyes toward the screen to take in The Bachelor finale.  I can't wait!
Shelby

Gems from James: Christmas Past Edition

I know it's March and I shouldn't really be thinking about Christmas, but I figured we could all use a little Christmas cheer to hold us over till the next big holiday.  I'm talking about St. Patrick's Day of course.  What?  I'm very Irish - haven't you seen my last name?!
So anyways, you all know James produces gems for me to mine like gangbusters all year round, but what you didn't know was that he really shines them up in time for Christmas.  It all started way back in his university days with his job at a very classy wine store (which just moved to a beautiful new location, btw).  Most people agree that enjoying a festive beverage at Christmas time is right up there with building gingerbread houses, and so Christmas Eve is always a very busy day at the store.  The generous owner of the store would reward his hard working staff with a well deserved sip here and there throughout the day, opening bottles he had been saving up all year just for the occasion.  Needless to say, when the working day ended at four o'clock Jimmy required a chauffeur to get him to Christmas dinner where the festivities would continue.  After we were married it became a new tradition that Jimmy and I would meander back to my parents' house at the end of the night on Christmas Eve so that Santa might fill our stockings there.  
And thus Gems from James Christmas Edition was born.  Because he is such a generous soul, at Christmas time Jimmy shares his verbal nuggets with my whole family and not just me.  These are the type of gems that have mileage for years, and are often brought up at Sunday dinners.  Now that he no longer works at the wine store sipping vintage reds all day long, he has to work a little harder and faster to get himself into the festive mood, but he never, ever fails.
The year after we were married was the year Jimmy whisper-shouted to my parents and siblings what my Christmas gift (that I had yet to open) would be while I was sitting next to him, repeating his news every few minutes as he promptly forgot what he had just said.
A couple of years ago, Jimmy again suffered short term memory loss, saying to my sister:
"Do you like coconut flavoured lip gloss?  Because Shel got this coconut flavoured lip gloss from my aunt, and she doesn't like coconut.  You should have that coconut flavoured lip gloss."
And again, moments later:
"Do you like coconut flavoured lip gloss?  Because Shel got this coconut flavoured lip gloss from my aunt, and she doesn't like coconut.  You should have that coconut flavoured lip gloss."
But Christmas 2011 definitely takes the cake.  We pulled up to my parents' house, car loaded with gifts and food for the coming celebrations, and Jimmy decided at that exact moment he must immediately relieve himself . . . in the shrubs.  My very responsible brother-in-law chose this exact moment to exit the house to help his pregnant sister-in-law and her husband unload the car, which he did, laughing the whole time.  I don't believe Jimmy actually unloaded much from the car.  But he did make it into the house to have just one more celebratory Grey Goose and juice with his sibs-in-law.  Short term memory loss caused him to ask my sister several time where she had been that evening and otherwise entertain us, until suddenly, there was a pause in the conversation.  Jimmy leaned back in his chair and unleashed the best Christmas Edition gem yet:
"Man . . . a bird could fly right in to my face right now, and I wouldn't even care!"
We were stunned into silence.  Who knows what led him on this train of thought. The Grey Goose?  The thought of Christmas turkey?  We're not sure.  But we laughed at the absurdity of it.  
Jimmy didn't last much longer.  He suddenly became pale and announced he wouldn't be finishing his one last drink.  He made his way up to bed as I bid goodnight to the sibs, then followed a few minutes later.  I wasn't able to make it very far however, as I stumbled over a giant husband shaped lump lying at the top of the dark stairs.  I roused my no longer festive husband, and guided him to bed, where he rolled over and said:
"I really shouldn't have eaten those gummies.  They're what did me in!" And promptly fell into a peaceful slumber, sugar plum fairies spinning above his snoring head.  
And hey, guess what else?  I've been published on someone's site other than my own!  You can check out my first article here.
Can't you hardly wait for Christmas 2012?!  I told you some Christmas cheer was what we needed!
Update:  Jimmy just walked in the door and asked what I was doing.  I told him I was writing a blog post all about him.  His reply?
"It's about time you gave the people what they want!"  I need never worry about lacking material while he's around.
Shelby

Look What I Found!

Isn't this sweet?

What made it even sweeter was the $1.94 price tag and the fact that it was the last one on the Joe Fresh clearance rack.  I'm starting to shop more for little bits and pieces for the peanut, and am in a state of utter shock and disbelief at the very limited number of gender neutral items available.  Does everyone find out the gender of the tenant in their womb nowadays, thereby eliminating the high demand for sleepers in cream and yellow?  It sure seems like it.  My mother (if you'll recall she's art director and fashion editor here at Chez Quinlan) is incredibly frustrated.  

The other day she was thwarted in her efforts to find a suitable homecoming outfit for bébé Q and literally threw her hands up in exasperation.  She has resigned herself to rushing out of the hospital minutes after the announcement of Q's gender (she says newborns aren't much to look at so soon after their birth anyway) to return with a fashion forward and gender appropriate outfit just in time for the little one to have pinked up.  

In other, totally unrelated news, Jimmy and I enjoyed a lovely weekend as he had time off from his other job.  We went to a newish restaurant called Soda Jerks. Jimmy had a giant, build your own burger which included root beer barbecue sauce, chipotle aioli, and roasted red peppers.

I chose a sourdough grilled cheese, and seeing as I can't partake in any alcoholic beverages, I was very excited about all the fancy pop choices.  In a nod to my youth, I chose a Pop Shoppe lime rickey.  Mmmm, it tasted just like 1988.  It was so retro, it actually made the picture blurry, almost like a time warp.  All of a sudden I was hearing the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles theme song in my head . . . Anyways, the food was very good, as was the service.  I'll definitely be going back to sample more exotic soda flavours.

Bien sûr, with all of this bonding time there were many gems from James to be mined.  My doting husband asked, "Do you ever wish you could just have a glass of wine?"

Me: "Yes, yes, I really do."

He: "Me too, because I can't really open a bottle by myself."

I'm always amazed that his empathy for my current condition knows no bounds. That's all I can share for now.  I don't want to be blamed for making your life partner look bad in comparison to mine.

Ciao,

Shelby

Bits and Pieces

I am nearing completion of my lovely mustard coloured scarf.  Having overcome my first hurdle of figuring out how to tie in a second skein of yarn (I'm now fluent in knitspeak) my next task will be to learn how to bring this thing to an end.  I could just wear the scarf with the knitting loom dangling from one end, but I fear it might poke someone's eye out.  Can't have that kind of bad publicity following me around with my campaign for Queen.  Soon enough I will post the conclusion of my first foray into the knitting world but now, the results of tying in the second skein. Remember, my youtube mentor said the knot would be undetectable.  Here is a close up.

Can you spot the knot?

It's not easy to detect, but if Martha came to inspect my work, I am sure she would find it.  If you didn't see it above, below the crochet hook points straight at the eye sore that would be sure to offend the master crafter.

This is all scintillating I know, so before I go, a gem from James.  We were at our prenatal class the other night discussing natural induction of labour should the due date come and go with no babe in arms produced.  My knight in shining armour chimed in with his expertise on the subject.
Said James: "I've heard Castrol oil will do the trick."
A stunned silence followed.
I snapped out of it and quickly came to my husband's aid before the instructor could call Social Services .  
"Oh, I think you mean castor oil," I said, laughing nervously.
"Is that what it's called?" He asked skeptically.
Ever since, our instructor has been keeping a close eye on him.
Can you hardly wait for The Bachelor tonight?  Me neither.  Have a fabulous Monday night.
Shelby

Phoenix Fashion Photo Shoot

Since I've been making zero progress in the self photography department and Jimmy is so busy, busy, busy, we've hired a new art director and photographer here at Chez Quinlan.  And by hired I mean that I told my mom she has to take my picture.  She added in the title of art director and has really run with the concept, searching out the perfect accessories and story lines for each of our shots.  Sure, there are some difficulties in doing business with family.  First off, she refuses to wear her glasses while shooting, so after each shot, I have to look at the camera to tell her if it turned out or not.  Since I usually think I look ridiculous, this leads to many, many retakes.  Secondly, as I mentioned earlier, with my mom taking over as art director, each shot must tell a story, and I am no actor, so my mom can often be heard telling me I look stiff and unnatural, which leads to increased levels of stiffness and unnatural poses as I become more self conscious.  
And now you, lucky reader, get to enjoy the fruits of this mother-daughter collaboration.

Top: Gap Maternity Jeans: Thyme Maternity Accessories: My mom's closet
Story: Pausing to catch breath after walking up two steps.

Top: Gap Maternity Skirt and shoes: My mom's closet
because the jeans I had planned weren't exciting enough.

Story: Pregnant women need to sit down a lot and
look good while doing so.

Top and Jeans: Gap Maternity Boots: Guess
Necklaces: Stella and Dot
Story: The windblown hair isn't just for photographic effect.
Pregnant women overheat easily and must be kept cool.

Top: Gap Maternity Jeans: Thyme Maternity
Boots and Necklace: My mom's closet, purchased in Italy!!
Story: At the library, browsing for books on parenting, of course.

Top and accessories: My mom's closet (I told you, she's really
running with her role as art director)
Jeans: Thyme Maternity
Story: The urge to nest is strong.  Arrange flowers while
looking your best!

And a gem from James before I sign off:
James: Ever since I trimmed my nose hairs the liquid has been coming out of my nose so much more easily.
Me: You mean snot?!
James: Yeah, I think it's because there's less hair.
Can I hear an amen for good personal grooming habits?  As for the fashion, you can bet there's plenty more photo shoots for you to look forward to with my mom at the helm of the art department.  Can't wait?  Me neither.
Shelby