Coming out of my shell(fish)

I’ve always had bad allergies. Always. And growing up on a farm in Iowa, once harvest-time came around my nose would turn into a faucet, my skin would break out in hives and my eyes would turn into itchy, red balls of fire. Pretty nice, huh? And I blame this all on my Dad, of course, who has always been a walking ad campaign for seasonal allergy relief. Once fall would come around, he and I would become the handkerchief twins. Sneezy and Wheezy.

And it wasn’t just seasonal allergies, but my Dad also had severe reactions to all kinds of shellfish. And after numerous attempts at eating fresh Gulf shrimp on our annual beach vacations growing up, and all ending with me extremely sick, it was concluded that I inherited his shellfish allergy as well. And this is something my shrimp-loving husband has been wrestling with for the past ten years, always looking into seafood restaurants with longing eyes and begrudgingly packing my extra food when we would attend low country boils.

But then something happened when we became residents of the dirty south nearly seven years ago. We not only left all our beloved friends and family up north, but we also seemed to leave some of my allergies. And for the first time ever, I was able to stop and smell the flowers without sneezing my brains out. And run through the autumn foliage without taking breaks to blow my nose. It was heavenly! I was able to ENJOY the changing of the seasons, and looked forward to stocking up on shorts and t-shirts instead of making sure my medicine cabinet was full of pills and nasal sprays.

But don’t get too happy here, readers. Don’t make the same mistake I did. Because apparently it takes our systems between five and six years to acclimate to a new region’s environment. Meaning after five years of being Kleenex-free, my system rebooted and my new southern, seasonal allergies reappeared and sucker-punched me in the face. And after a particularly crippling spring this year, I finally pulled the trigger and made my first appointment at an allergist.

And I don’t know how many of you have ever been to an allergist, but the initial visit is about as fun as driving through Nebraska with a screaming baby in the backseat. Long, boring and painful. They stick you and inject you with about a million different allergens and common substances in order to find out how your body reacts to them. And while I was itching like crazy with a few trees and grass species, I was completely cool with all the seafood and shellfish tests. Didn’t react to them at all. Which was weird, because the last time I accidentally ate something with crabmeat in it, my throat started closing up. And after explaining this to my doctor, he decided to take a blood sample and have it sent off to wherever they send blood to in order to make sure I really was allergic. Just to make sure I wasn’t FAKING this whole shellfish allergy. Yeah, like I’m THAT good at acting.

And guess what? My blood said that I was NOT allergic to shellfish. And I was all, LIAR. My Dad is. My sister is starting to have reactions. And it makes me SICK. I am just not able to eat shellfish. So go check your information again and call me back when the answer is I AM ALLERGIC. And so they double-checked and my blood continued to say, Hey, eat some lobster. It’s really, really good!

So that’s what I did. Kinda. Yesterday I blocked off a half day to bring in some shellfish and eat it in front of them. I’m not kidding. Yesterday morning I had to roll out of bed and walk into a doctor’s office and gag down shrimp for breakfast. Oh. And the kicker had to be that I brought in raw shrimp, because I’m stupid, and so one of the nurses had to steam it in the microwave. Doesn’t that sound good? Nuked shrimp for breakfast? And after she cooked them, the entire office smelled like a seafood counter, and for the rest of the visit I was referred to as The One Who Made The Office Stink.

So the test went like this - Rub some shrimp on my lips and wait 20 minutes. If I’m still alive, then make me eat a little and wait 20 minutes. Then eat a little more and wait. And so on and so on until I had to eat a whole shrimp. All while they are checking my vitals in between me gagging down portions.

The whole process took four hours. FOUR. HOURS. In a doctor’s office. Resulting in me reading through five back-issues of Highlights and mastering the highest score in the world in Tetris on my phone. But you want to know what DIDN’T happen? I didn’t get sick and my throat didn’t close up. Other than almost barfing each time I ate a microwaved morsel, my body didn’t react at all. NOTHING. And 20 minutes after eating the final shrimp and checking my vitals, my doctor looked at me with one of those I Told You So looks and said, Well, it looks like you are NOT allergic to shellfish. And I was all, Huh? But I get SICK every other time. And he was all, It might just be in your head. Now, stop being a faker and go order some Bang Bang Shrimp at Bonefish.

And after telling Chris the final verdict, he jumped around like a kid at Christmas, shouting out all the places he wanted to eat and wonderful shellfish dishes he would order for me. And CRAB LEGS! You can have some crab legs. And you can have LOBSTER. It’s the best stuff in the entire world. Maybe I can make you some scallops this weekend. Or oysters! OYSTERS!

And even with all the enthusiasm I’m getting from all sides about my new life that includes shellfish, I’m still super hesitant to dig into a bowl of gumbo or crack open a crab leg. Which is probably because I had to eat microwaved shrimp for breakfast during a four-hour doctor’s office visit yesterday. But here I am, 24 hours later and not a hive in sight. I’m on my way to becoming a converted shellfish lover, former allergic-reaction faker. Do you think they have support groups out there for this?

This one's for Grandma

Because Grandma cannot fathom the idea of her precious angel having a temper tantrum.

And why is this ballerina so peeved, you ask? Well, because this mean Momma wouldn't let her bring her pacifier downstairs after naptime. I know. THE HORROR.

How to pick the perfect pumpkin

First, take a stroll around the merchandise. Make mental notes. THIS pumpkin will last you at least a week. You don't want to choose too quickly.

Try a few on for size.

If some are too heavy, maybe you should go down a size or two. You need to find a pumpkin that FITS you.

Make sure it feels good in your hands.

Make sure it TASTES good as well.

And once you've met all the criteria, just trust your intuition. And if your gut says YES, then you've found the perfect pumpkin.

Happy anniversary to us

Happy anniversary to the man who makes all my dreams come true.

Six years of wedded bliss down, a hundred more to go.

Park, pigtails, slides and sunshine

Yesterday was a perfect autumn day in Asheville - Blue skies, 72 degrees. Just PERFECT outside. And knowing that our fabulous weather-card is at some point going to expire, Paige and I decided to take our girls to Jones Park for a few hours of fun in the sun. And it definitely was that. F-U-N.

And even though I’m around Taylor all-day everyday, sometimes it takes going somewhere with other kiddos to realize how big and grown-up she’s getting. Six months ago when we’d go to the park, she was content to just sit in the swing and stare at all the other kids. Now she needs to be a part of the action, running around the playground, going up and down all the park equipment and introducing herself to the other kids.

She was particularly fascinated with the slide yesterday, climbing up the steps all by herself and then spinning around at the top to go down, feet first, on her tummy.

And let me take a moment to update you all on T and Miss Elliot’s friendship. I mean, they have been hanging out together since birth, so they definitely recognize one another and know each other’s names. And they always get excited to see each other, but soon after it turns into a game of who can drink out of the other’s cup, and who can claim the other one’s toy as their own. And I’m not going to lie, it’s usually my precious Taylor who lunges for Elliot’s belongings, leaving Paige’s sweet girl playing defense for the majority of our playdates. And yesterday was no exception.

And even though they fight over snacks and tug-and-pull over stuffed toys, after every single playdate, they always kiss and say, Bye-bye. And it’s the most precious thing EVER.

My girls

RUBY: Let’s get this straight. The only reason I tolerate your existence is solely because, A. THEY told me I HAVE to love you. And B. You’re a messy eater. I generally score two-to-three good bites after every meal you have. Other than that, I’m over this. You take up all of their attention and now that you’re super mobile, you think it’s HILARIOUS to chase me all over the place and try to take my tennis ball. And don’t even get me started on these TANTRUMS as of late. You always seem to pick MY naptime to throw your screaming body on the ground in front of me. NOT. COOL.

TAYLOR: But you get to lick macaroni and cheese off my face.

R: Well. I guess you got a point there.

T: Let’s hug it out.

Our friend Robert

We were treated with a short visit from one of Chris’s old college roommates, Robert, this week. Robert and his girlfriend, Emily, flew in from San Francisco to celebrate her sister’s wedding just south of Asheville. And with Emily obligated to stay with friends in Hendersonville, we had Robert bunk with us for a few nights. Meaning we stayed up way past our bedtimes each night, catching up, reliving old times at 313 North Linn and drinking like we did in our college days. And since the last time he was in town I was about nine months pregnant, it was great to finally be able to introduce him to our sassy Miss T.

Tiny dancer

Most of you who have who followed this blog for a minute or so know that I have some amazing pictures of my daughter. Lots of thanks to my wonderfully talented sister, Libba, who possesses an extremely fierce eye behind the camera. And I have also lucked into a few good shots myself over the past 18 months, with this one, which was taken last year at this time, being one of my all-time favorite pictures of my precious girl -

LOOK AT THOSE ARMS! And to think that she wasn’t even eating food yet. That’s one well-fed baby.

So today T got a super sweet Halloween-package in the mail from her Grandma and Grandpa Amys, which included a new Dora the Explorer book, a leotard and a tutu. Super adorable. Because I was already having sad heartstring twinges that I had to pack most of her swimsuits away the other day. Because nothing is more adorable than my little girl walking around in something tight with her belly sticking out. NOTHING. And because of this, I immediately changed her into her new ballerina outfit, and the cuteness just started flowing.

Seriously. How could you NOT kiss this girl’s cheeks all day? I dare you.

I like ‘em big

Taylor had her 18 month check-up with her pediatrician this morning and, no surprise here, she’s still gigantic. Her current weight is 28 pounds, 15 ½ ounces and she’s grown to 33 ¼ inches in height, with her updated stats keeping her securely stationed in the 95th percentile for kids her age. And when I nervously asked if she was getting TOO heavy, Dr Childers just laughed and said that she was the perfect weight for how tall she is. Whew! Because if he had said anything different, I was going to make HIM come over to our house and try to take away her lunch-time mac & cheese. That’s not a battle I plan on entering anytime soon.

And after running through the laundry list of questions and concerns, it was determined that my not-so-little girl is totally healthy and right on track of where she needs to be developmentally right now. In fact, both the doctor and the nurse kept remarking on what a good girl she was being during the visit, as most kids apparently freak out during their 18 month and two year check-ups. And she was a very good little peanut, until the nurse came back with Taylor’s shots. TWO shots. And the look that my daughter gave me when the first needle pricked her was like, OH. MY. GOD. And then she did the cry where her face got all red and she didn’t breath for about three minutes between screams. And then we came right home and ate mac & cheese.

18 months old

Today is Taylor’s 18 month birthday. A year and a half old. Which is nice, in that when people now ask me how old she is, I can just say, Oh, a year and a half, instead of spouting off her age in months. Which, unless they are parents themselves, they just look annoyed that you forced them to do math in their heads. So, there you go dumb, baby-less people, my precious girl is a year and a half old this month. But coming up she’ll be 19 months, so put on your thinking caps.

And I don’t read any parenting magazines or keep up with the baby-charts anymore, but I’m assuming that month-17 is the month that both their brains and personalities kick-it up a few notches. Because we’ve got one smart and sassy girl on our hands. Yep, obviously those brainiacs over at Baby Einstein know what they’re selling, because I’m pretty sure my daughter is turning into a genius. She is always trying to figure things out, snapping and unsnapping her booster seat, buckling and unbuckling her shoes, building with and knocking down her blocks, undressing and dressing her baby dolls, putting things back where they belong. Smarts. OCD. Whatever you want to call it, my girl is an itty-bitty think tank.

Her vocabulary has also grown in leaps and bounds since last month. And not just in WHAT she’s saying, but WHEN she’s saying it. She may babble and squeal here and there, but now she is actually TALKING to us. Asking for things, telling me what things are. She’s especially proud of her body parts knowledge, pointing to and saying, Mouth, Ears, Nose, Hair, Belly, and Eyes. But, be advised, she doesn’t warn you when she’s gonna show you where your eyes are. So if you get eye-gouged by my daughter, don’t say I didn’t tell you so.

And for some reason this month, I went from being Momma to Mommy. And not just mommy, I’m now MOMMY! And she’ll scream it at the top of her lungs like she’s trapped in an alligator’s mouth or being force-fed broccoli. And she’ll keep screaming it until I’m right next to her going, WHAT? And then she’ll just give me the cutest smile in the whole world and continue on with whatever she’s doing. And I’m fine with this, because I’m her Mommy. And she's my precious girl.

She also developed an obsession with car keys last month. Weird, I know, but whenever we go shopping and she’s in the cart, she’ll squeal KEEEEZ until I hand her my set, and then she’ll spend that rest of the trip in silence, holding the ignition key and forcing it in and out of the notches and grooves of the cart. Which is great in that I don’t have to worry about her grabbing things off the shelves or throwing things out of the cart. Not so great in that when we’re done and I actually need those keys to drive us to our house, and I have to dislodge them from her power-grip and she has a total melt down and sobs, Keeeez, Keeeez, Keeeez the whole ride home.

However, Taylor’s number-one fixation are still her beloved baby dolls. In fact, we need to have at least one baby with us at ALL TIMES. I have babies stashed all over the place, because HEAVEN FORBID we not have a baby doll with us for 30 seconds. Car - check. Diaper bag - check. Jogging stroller - check. And all of her dolls go through cycles, with her giving all her love to only one of the many we own at a time. We already have quite a doll collection started, and she is just precious with all of them. She truly does act like a mother to her babies, giving them bottles, placing them in her booster seat, strolling them around in her baby stroller, kissing them before she goes to bed. And NO, Bloggers, that doesn’t mean she’s ready for a little brother or sister. It just means she loves baby dolls. Trust me, I’m still trying to figure this one out. I am not quite ready to add an infant to the mix. Plus, I’m pretty sure my dog would run away if we brought another attention-stealer home.

So everyday is a new adventure, and now that she’s getting bigger, we are having so much fun watching the world through her eyes. Like going to the zoo earlier this week. She LOVED it. And it wasn’t just being outside and walking around, she actually enjoyed looking at the animals and interacting with the other kids there.

And that is so much different that when we took her to the Nature Center a year ago, and she just sat like a blob in her stroller, more interested in when lunch was than petting the animals.

And with the end of the year closing in on us, I can’t wait to see her reactions to Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas. I can already tell you, she’s gonna like them. Because they involve candy, feasts, presents and lots and lots of yumminess. And where as last year, she didn’t know what was going on and really didn’t care, now she will be involved in creating our new family traditions. And while she still isn’t old enough to frost cookies or run down the stairs on Christmas morning, I’m pretty sure the next few months are going to be packed with more awww-moments and milestones than the number of baby dolls we have under this roof. Yep, THAT many. And we can’t wait.

Déjà vu

As I mentioned before, Chris is in St Louis this week for conferences, leaving Taylor and I the perfect opportunity to go down to Birmingham for a few days to hang out with my sister and extended Blackwell family. And just like our trip to the farm last month, T traveled like a champ. Most likely a result of all the baby gear I loaded in the car. Or the fact that she got fast food. Either way, Happy Baby = Very Happy Momma.

And not only was she a good girl on the car ride there and back, she was great during the entire visit. Which I was nervous about, considering that the last time we went down south in May, she had a kung-fu grip on my legs the entire trip and would freak out if I wasn’t within an arms length of her. But not this time. In fact, she handled the new faces and change of scenery like a pro, and was happy to entertain all of my family with her cuteness.

On Monday night we all gathered at my Granddaddy’s house to feast, drink lots of wine and celebrate both his and Libba’s belated birthdays. There were 17 people there, and with most of them being of Blackwell decent, the decibel level was equivalent to an outdoor concert. What can I say? We are called the loud family for a reason.

And FUN. Don’t forget how fun we all are.

And on Tuesday, my Aunt Jane and I took baby T to the Birmingham Zoo, a staple vacation-stop for Libba, Will and I growing up. Taylor proceeded to lick her way around the facility. Don’t worry, Mom. Jane and I bathed her in Purel when we got in the parking lot.

My girl most enjoyed the giraffes and the monkeys. She least enjoyed SITTING in the stroller, making for one tired, dirty little girl at the end of that adventure.

It was a wonderful trip, and I always cherish any amount of time I can spend with Libba and Dirk, Granddaddy and the Graffeo family. They definitely make my heart smile, and I thank them so much for all their wonderful southern hospitality.

Gimme a boost

Chris leaves on Sunday for another week of conferences in St Louis, so Taylor and I are taking a roadtrip down to Birmingham to hang out with Libba and Dirk, my Granddaddy and the Graffeo family for a few days. And even though we’re only going to be visiting until Wednesday, I’m already making mental lists of all the baby gear, clothes, food and toys required to keep my little princess a happy girl on our trip. Because if she doesn’t have her entourage of baby dolls, or her baby-stroller, or her Dora and Boots figurines, or her purse, or her fake-keys, or her bubbles within an arms length at all times, we’re looking at one wicked melt-down. The other day I tried to run a quick errand with her and just grabbed one baby and her purse to bring with her, and then had to listen to her whine, Doh-wah, and, Booooots, from the back seat the entire outing. And I was all, Hey, what about that BABY you’re holding? And she would scream, NO, and slap it out of her lap like it was on fire. And then she did the same with her purse. And then I turned up the radio.

So when I started gathering all the stuff we need to survive away from home, I realized that the only thing we had for a travel high-chair was one that clipped to the side of the table. And because T is a good 5-6 pounds heavier than the last time we used it, I decided it was time to just pull-the-trigger and buy her a booster seat. She had used one successfully while we were visiting my parents at the farm last month and, unlike the bottle to sippy cup fiasco, I didn’t think this would be a hard transition for her. I mean, come on, as long as there is macaroni and cheese on her plate, I don’t think she’s gonna care what she’s sitting on to eat it. Plus this way she has easier access to grab things off other people’s plates. And a better chance of knocking her own plate full of food on the floor. So, needless to say, Ruby is VERY excited about the booster seat.

And last night was the maiden-voyage with the new seat and she did awesome. And she looks like such a BIG GIRL in the booster, just sitting at the table with us, eating off her plate like a grown-up.

And this seat is about a million times easier to clean than the high chair, and I’m pretty sure there aren’t any crevices or cracks on it that can house rotting fruit. GROSS. That high chair had so much food-debris stuck and smeared on it that it was like a standing science experiment. But as much of a pain as it was to clean, it was a little sad to put it out in garage with the rest of the baby gear that Taylor has outgrown. We have a lot of memories and milestones that took place in that chair.

So long, high chair. You were good to us.