He was so excited to eat the rice cereal—he would open his mouth as wide as it could go, shout at us if we didn’t get the food in fast enough, and make “mmmm” sounds as he ate. It was adorable.

Then we gave him carrots.

Why carrots next? Because his pediatrician told us to start him on orange vegetables and because we’ve been giving him carrot sticks to gnaw on while we eat our dinner. He loves those carrot sticks and we thought the taste would be familiar. Apparently not. Because, according to Evan, carrots are unacceptable. We even mixed just a tiny bit of carrots with his rice cereal, but it was too late.

Evan is now a defensive eater. Even when he knows he’s getting the familiar rice cereal, he’s defensive. He’ll open his mouth to show he wants a bite, then when I get the spoon near his face, he closes his mouth most of the way and sticks his tongue out to both block and sample each spoonful. Once he’s tasted the spoonful, he’ll open his mouth the rest of the way and happily accept the bite. He does this every. single. time. Just in case.

In related news, we still cannot ask Evan to “say ‘aaaah.’” It’s been over a month and the phrase is still frightening. We don’t really enjoy making him cry, so we try to avoid saying it, but sometimes we slip up because it’s such a natural phrase for feeding someone. I am SO curious what he thinks it means and why it’s so offensive to him!

I feel so lucky to spend my days with the happy, healthy baby we prayed so hard for. At four months old, I pretty much have all the answers to the problems he throws at me. Don’t think for a minute that I’m bragging—I’m the first to admit that I’m totally winging this whole parenting thing. It’s more that right now his problems are so basic that my bumbling and stumbling is enough. Right now he just needs food and diapers and love and love and love. I can totally provide that.

The miracle is that he loves me back.

I think, more than anything, that this is what firmly cements this time right now as a honeymoon period. I’m still blown away by the fact that—at only four months old—he knows who I am and that he loves me. That he’s my family. That Ryan and I know him better than anyone else. That he grins at me just for walking into the room. I could gush for hours about how awesome my kid is.

Just like with marriage, it’s not that this honeymoon time has been free of frustrations and struggles; it’s more that the strength of this new love gives each day meaning and weight and sort of colors it with a rosy glow—especially in memory. And I know that, no matter what I do, this is going to change. There will be toddler tantrums and teenage drama. The time will come where I won’t be able to fix things, where he’ll have to experience failure and heartache, and all I can do is stand by and listen, if I’m lucky enough to have him talk to me. I’m sure he won’t believe me, but I’m not quite so old to have forgotten what was like to grow up.

I think that makes this time right now, where things are simple, slow, and under control, just a little more special.

Last night, for the first time, we told him to say “aaah” when he opened his mouth. He had this reaction EVERY time we used that phrase. If we didn’t use those words, he ate just fine.

(Clearly, by the time we got the video camera out, we’d used the phrase a few times.) I love this funny little boy!

But the worries do.

Worries of all shapes and sizes, likely and unlikely, start flooding my brain. SIDS. Being T-boned in a left-hand turn. Being bullied in the third grade. Being the bully in the third grade. Bad friends. Bomb threats in school. A national draft for some yet-distant war. Cancer. Earthquakes. Fires. Famines. Anything and everything beyond my direct control.

There, but for the grace of God, go I.

Never before have I had anything as precious to me as my little family. These two boys are the source of the deepest, simplest joy I have ever felt, and it seems almost too fragile to have so much daily happiness wrapped up in two  people. I think, in some small way, I finally understand that poor one-talent servant in the parable of the ten talents. My little family is this most precious gift I have ever been given, and it’s unsettling to risk them out in the wild world. Sometimes digging them in the earth (or just holing up with them at home) seems like the only way to keep them safe. (Unless the house collapses on us—quick, what’s safer than a house?)

Does this incessant worrying ever go away? Or is it just another part of parenthood along with changing diapers and soothing tears?

My baby is awesome.

“I think my baby is having an identity crisis. I’m pretty sure he thinks he’s a rock…”

A few days later, at my work baby shower, my friend, Sam, gave me the following card. It was too awesome to keep to myself.

I’m not really sure how this happened. It could be that he’s getting much more interactive—I can actually tell his back from his elbows at this point—and his movements are stronger and seem much more deliberate—I swear that sometime he kicks me just to get my attention and get a back (head? tummy?) rub. It could be that I’ve finally had enough time to (mostly) get past the fear and start getting really excited to have a baby of my own. Or it could be meeting the Herget’s little boy and getting a tangible example of how cute and new and tiny our little boy will be. Probably it’s all of the above.

All I know for sure is that I have fallen head-over-heels in love with this kid.

Which is kind of crazy when I step back and think about it. I mean, I don’t even know this kid, other than the guesses I make about his personality based on the timing and frequency of his movements. He’s a total unknown to me, yet I’m still convinced he’s completely adorable.

I’m always saying to Ryan, “Look how cute our baby is,” and making him look at the random contortions of my belly. I’m not sure what exactly is “cute” about these contortions, but I am 100% sure that the baby is being adorable while making them. I’ve never even laid eyes on this kid to verify that there’s anything cute about him, but at this point he could probably come out looking like a mountain troll and he would probably be the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

Furthermore, I find myself being fiercely protective of this kid. For the last several months, Ryan has had to be a very patient driver, living with me jumping and gasping at his every left turn because every car on the road is actively trying to attack my baby. I know it’s not rational, but I can’t convince my brain otherwise. Ryan calls it my “mama bear” response and has developed a pretty entertaining (but maybe you have to be there) reenactment of this phenomenon. It’s strangely apt, though, since I think I’m starting to understand why a mama bear would be so dangerous when her cubs were threatened.

And if this is how I feel for a jumble of knees and elbows I haven’t even met yet, I simply cannot imagine what it’ll feel like when I actually get to hold him in my arms.

I can’t wait.

For some reason, it’s been this way ever since Ryan and I got married. At first he used to tease since apparently “normal people” think you can’t be single if you’re a couple, but it’s become a standard part of the McDaniel family lexicon. I can’t tell you how many of our trips and adventures have started with the conversation, “You know, while we’re still single we really should . . .”

These “we are single” years have been the sweetest, most happy years of my life. While I am definitely excited to meet this baby, it’s also a little bittersweet to say goodbye to this phase.

This past Saturday marked the first time in months where we had an empty Saturday, and from the looks of things, it’ll be our last empty Saturday until this baby comes. (I know, I know, we overschedule.) When we realized the significance of this, I turned to Ryan and said, “You know, we really should give this phase a proper send off.”

And we did.

After sleeping in (as much as I can these days), Ryan took me swimming at the Kearns Aquatic Center. They had lap lanes, a regular pool, comfy lounge chairs, and a water playground with slides and sprayers—we had a blast. While it was clear that the baby didn’t enjoy swimming—he kept moving higher and higher in my belly until he was fully submerged under the lukewarm water—I absolutely loved getting a temporary break from managing the weight of my belly. Even better, I got to be outside in the full summer heat without being miserable. The afternoon was full of great little moments—eating churros in the sun, Ryan joining the little kids under the splash bucket, and, my favorite, the little girl who came up to me and said, “Aww, cute! There’s a baby in there, huh?” (Way to go, little five-year-old, at being more awesome than a slew of grownups.)

I wish I could go swimming every day.

After swimming, Ryan came home and took a nap while I primped for our fancy dinner. Between the morning sickness and the yardwork and the cleaning and the editing, we really haven’t had many opportunities to be fancy this year, so I totally made the most of it. I wore a new maternity dress and fancy earrings—I even got to curl my hair. Then we drove up to Park City for dinner at Grappa’s (we had a gift card). As we were slowly walking up Main Street, an arts festival guy in a golf cart pulled over and offered to drive us up the hill. Score! No hills for me! When we got to the restaurant, they sat us at a lovely spot on the patio near a fountain and outdoor heaters to counteract the breeze. We also, somehow, got the only table with padded chairs outside. Double score! The food was fantastic and it was so pleasant to be outside with Ryan as the sun set and the stars came out.

When we got home, I wasn’t ready for the night to end, so I talked Ryan into snuggling and watching Pride and Prejudice with me. I don’t make him sit through chick flicks very often, so he was a really good sport about it and joined me in fawning over classic British literature.

It really was the perfect day.

I follow a pretty consistent process every time I need to get in the editing zone. Basically, the name of the game is eliminating distractions. Nearly every time I edit, without fail, I send Ryan into another room, use about 500 pillows to ensure adequate back support, get a glass of water and a few munchies, close Facebook, gather all my stylesheets and books within arms reach, and turn Pandora to a piano music station to eliminate background noise. With all of these preparations in place, it only takes a few minutes until I’m a well-oiled editing machine.

At least, that’s how things happened until this baby came along. He’s not even born yet, and he’s messing with my groove.

It turns out that this little boy loves him some classical music. As soon as Pandora comes on, he starts wiggling and rolling all over the place. It’s heartwarmingly adorable. It’s also incredibly distracting. How can I focus on editing when my baby boy is being so much fun?

See for yourself:
(I put the video after the break so that those of you who are weirded out by big, bare pregnant bellies don’t have to watch if you don’t want to. In a way, I can kind of understand—Mrs. Weasley always says, “Never trust something that can think for itself if you can’t see where it keeps its brain.” Still, watching this baby dance really is one of the most amazing things I’ve ever personally witnessed. But, then again, I’m extremely biased.)

See? This baby is TOTALLY AWESOME.

This change of course came about so suddenly. One week, I was sewing curtains for the nursery; the next, we were boxing up non-essentials, getting ready to place our home on the market. Since we listed the condo two weeks ago, we’ve had only a handful of phone calls and a single showing. Really, with such limited interest, it didn’t feel like we were actually selling the place—for me, the only tangible difference was living day-to-day with an unsustainable level of cleanliness. (Running late? Too bad—the dishes must be washed, the bed must be made, and the counters must be shined just in case.)

All of that changed yesterday, when we received a last-minute phone call about a surprise showing. Said showing lasted nearly two hours and ended with us receiving a verbal offer. Now, I know there are about a million other things that need to happen before we can sell, but this is the start of the process. Believe it or not, this selling thing is really happening. 

I have such mixed feelings.

On the one hand, I really think this is the “right” move to make at this time. As I look back, I can see how our prayers for guidance on laying a solid foundation for our growing family have been answered a little at time. At its core, selling allows me the freedom to choose to stay at home with my babies, rather than letting the HOA board’s financial decrees decide for me. By selling our condo, we are doing everything we can to stabilize our monthly costs. By living with my parents for a short time after we sell, we are preparing to buy something that is suited to a family rather than a couple. And even though we’ll be selling our condo for a loss, we’ll more than make up for that loss in being able to afford a nicer house than we could in a better market. On paper, the decision to sell couldn’t be more clear.

On the other hand, my heart tells me that this little place is our home. From the moment we bought it during our engagement, we have poured so many daydreams into this place. It really feels like a part of our marriage—all the furnishings, pictures on the walls, and even the contents of the cupboards—in a way, all of these are a physical record of our memories and dreams of building a life together. I still feel like I have so much still to do here—bringing a little baby boy home to his little yellow nursery, celebrating a first Christmas together as a family, spending summer afternoons outside on the playground. These are some of my most tender and happy daydreams, and my heart is having a really hard time imagining them happening elsewhere.

I will dearly miss our little place. I will miss that it only takes 45 minutes to clean from top to bottom. I will miss being able to set the thermostat to whatever temperature we want without it really making much difference to our monthly bill. Most of all, even though it will just be temporary, I will miss having a place to call our own, a place where Ryan and I can be completely at ease, where we can be as silly and as loud as we like, and where we are completely in charge of our own schedules.

Furthermore, the timing isn’t quite what we had expected. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to not have to worry about watching a baby amid all the upcoming packing and unpacking; however, with under two months until this baby comes I am much less physically able to help with the actual moving process. I hate not being able to help. Also, I’m nesting like crazy—but I’m packing up for moving when all I want is to be putting down roots. Hopefully this sale will go smoothly and I’ll be able to have a little time for nesting once we get to mom’s house.

Still, from what I hear, change is inevitable and will lead us off to grander adventures in the future. So, I guess, here’s to new adventures, where ever they may be.