We are family, I got all my sisters with me

I was super happy to have my sister come up to Asheville for a visit this weekend. And if I was to say that I was excited for her arrival on Thursday night, then the only way to describe Taylor’s emotions in seeing her Beeba was that she was doubly, super-duper excited with cherries on top. When Lib called to say she was 15-minutes from Asheville, I told Princess T that she needed to clean up all of her toys to get ready... And she actually did. No whining, no dawdling, no begging for a candy reward. Which means seeing Aunt Beeba is sweeter prize then Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups.
 
And Friday we celebrated our guest with a fancy trip to The Biltmore Estate, thanks to a couple of free passes from my good friend, Chele. I was a bit apprehensive as to how my toddler would handle walking through the historic landmark, but then we just told her it was a Princess castle and we were on a scavenger hunt for Cinderella.

 

And on Saturday afternoon, Libba and I went to a fabulous shower for yours truly that my wonderful friend, Paige, threw for me at one of my most loved restaurants, Rezaz. It was a small gathering of eight of my favorite people, and we enjoyed an afternoon of uninterrupted chit-chat and delicious food. Oh, and a dessert tray filled with cheesecakes, key lime pies, fruit tarts, lemon bars and molten chocolate cakes. It was a fantastic party, and I feel very blessed to have such beautiful women in my life.
 

The rest of Lib’s visit was basically spent relaxing, indulging in tri-daily caloriefests, playing Barbie Girl on her iPad and watching her work her magic behind the lens. Sunday morning I put my America’s Next Top Model knowledge to work for a maternity shoot that ended with me in a white, flowing skirt and bikini top in my neighbors front yard. I was fierce, and I can’t wait to see the pictures after she’s done editing them.
 
And yesterday as we gave her big hugs before she left, it was weird to think of all the changes that are going to happen before we see her again at the end of April. Baby Amys will be here, Taylor will be three and we might possibly be living in a new house. Lots of excitement and chaos heading our way in the upcoming months, which makes me even more thankful for the fun, relaxing weekend we were able to spend with Lib before the craziness arrives.

A super long post about faith and my placenta

At our 18-week ultrasound back in November, after we listened to the tech declare over and over again that Baby Amys was developing and measuring perfectly, she noticed that my placenta was lying low and that the tip of it was covering my cervix, a condition known as placenta previa.

I had heard of placenta previa from other mothers and read about it in my pregnancy books, and it usually was accompanied by horror stories of bleeding and bedrest, so I was naturally concerned. But after talking with my doctor, she assured me that since the placenta is attached to the uterus wall, and that my uterus had a lot of growing to do in the next 22-weeks, that there was an excellent chance that it would move away from my cervix and I would be able to deliver this baby without a c-section. Because, as she informed me, all I needed was for my placenta to be at least one centimeter, preferably two, away from the birth canal for me to be able to deliver naturally. And I LOVE my doctor. And I trust her. And when she said that she’d be “shocked” if it didn’t move, I tucked all thoughts of my placenta away and just focused on our super healthy baby that I was growing inside of me.

So fast-forward to last month at my scheduled 28-week ultrasound, where I walked into my appointment confident that everything had been resolved and all bits and parts were where they should be. Because my stomach, and therefore my uterus, had grown tremendously during the previous ten weeks, so I just assumed my placenta had moved significantly away from the cervix. And then I was measured, and while it had indeed moved, it had only left a measly 0.67-centimeter space between it and my cervix. Not even a full centimeter. Not nearly enough room for me to be cleared for the natural birth I had been hoping for.

Needless to say, I was crushed. In the past ten weeks of serious belly growing, my placenta had barely moved one full centimeter. And unless it moved half a centimeter more in the next months, I would have to schedule a c-section. And while I know plenty of friends that have had all of their kids via successful cesarians, but my mind was set on having this baby in the same fashion I had Taylor. Because it’s familiar to me, and because I have never had a major surgery, so the unknown of the recovery-time while mothering two kids without family close by scared the bejeezus out of me.

And once again, my doctor talked me down off the ledge and assured me that it was still possible for all my parts to rearrange in the next few months, and that I would come back for another ultrasound at 32-weeks to measure. But I was discouraged. If it only moved such a small amount in ten weeks, what chance did I have for it to move significantly in the following four weeks.

And now I’m going to switch gears completely to something that I haven’t talked about on this blog yet. For the past five months I have been attending RCIA classes to become a Catholic. Growing up, I was baptized and confirmed Methodist, but after graduating high school and starting college, the last thing I was doing on Sunday mornings was getting up early and going to church. I never felt as if my belief in God had wavered, it just wasn’t a huge priority in my life to go to church and practice my faith.

Chris is a cradle-Catholic, and after we started dating 12 years ago and a major faith-holiday, like Christmas and Easter, would roll around, we would attend Mass together at whichever local Catholic church had the best schedule for us. When we moved to Asheville eight years ago, we sporadically attended the Basilica downtown, but with my work-schedule as a night-bartender and Chris’s as a golf pro, very rarely did we fit church in our weekend routine. But when we would get to church, I always left feeling good. I always felt recharged on so many levels. And even though I was unfamiliar with the many gestures, memorizations and other routine rituals present during a Catholic Mass, nor did I take communion, I always admired the tradition and unity that the congregation partook upon during each church service.

And after Taylor was born and our schedules shifted with Chris’s normal nine-to-five, weekends-off job, we started to become more frequent church-goers. One reason being that we realized how much we have to be lucky for, and that we needed to take any chance we could find to give thanks and remind ourselves how blessed we are. And also because we started to going to a different Catholic church in the area, St Eugene’s, which held a priest, deacon and congregation that we all found to be very warm and welcoming. We knew other people that worshipped there, and it just felt like a good place to be at. And after joining the parish at the beginning of 2009, we had Taylor baptized into the Catholic church right after her first birthday.

But even though we joined as a family, I wasn’t a full-member yet because I hadn’t converted. And when we went to Mass I joined in some of the verses and hummed most of the songs, but still held back when it was time for communion. And after another year of participating at an arm’s length, I finally decided to take the appropriate steps in becoming a Catholic. And to do that, I have been going to Mass each Sunday since late summer and also attending a weekly RCIA class. And these classes have taught me a lot. At first it was just super-duper interesting to relearn all of the history of the Bible. I hadn’t studied that subject matter since junior high confirmation classes, and to reintroduce myself to all of this awesome material as an adult was truly eye-opening. I definitely have a lot more questions, coupled with twenty extra years of life-experiences, and therefore a much better understanding of the subject matter.

I also have learned to look past a lot of the preconceived notions I had about the rigidness of the Catholic church and of other organized religions. When it comes down to it, in my eyes, it all boils down to us loving ourselves and others the way that God loves us. And it’s about forgiveness, and not judging others. And it’s about being the best possible wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, neighbor you can be. You have to be selfless and patient to fill all of those roles, and when you feel like you’re succeeding at those things, you just feel good. It’s not about following the rules and just showing up to church, you have to believe in your heart that you want to be a loving person, and then do what needs to be done to become the best version of yourself. That’s what I believe.

And I also have started to take great comfort in knowing that God has a plan for me and my loved ones. I have always been a controlling person. I like to know exactly what is going on, how it started and how it will end. And in becoming a mother I have learned to let go of a lot of that control and handle some of the unexpected pinches I am thrown with a finesse and calmness I didn’t possess three years ago. And being able to just let go of certain things really does feel good. Not having a plan, not knowing what our schedule looks like next week, not having a clue what I’m gonna make for dinner tomorrow, it’s all kind of freeing in a way. And understanding that certain things are completely out of my control, such as Ruby shedding dog hair everywhere, Taylor throwing fits when I ask her to wear pants and my neighbor parking all three of his cars in the cul-de-sac, it’s best for me to stop stressing about those things because there’s really nothing I can do about them. That’s life. They’re not harming me or others, and I just need to accept them.

So after my 28-week ultrasound and all of the disappointment that followed in that my placenta hadn’t moved enough, I started praying. A lot. And at first I basically just prayed to God to please, Please, PLEASE move my placenta. Come on, God. Just do this one thing for me. I promise I’ll be super nice to everyone and go to church every Sunday for the rest of the year. I just really don’t want a c-section or any other complications with this pregnancy. Just please do this for me.

And then last Sunday, during my RCIA class, I realized what I was doing. And sometimes it’s really hard to say, think and do the same thing. And while I was really good at telling myself and others that I was totally cool with God and his plan, I really was just trying to manipulate everything to work in my advantage. I still wanted what I thought was best. And so that night I prayed again. But this time I told God that I was willing to accept whatever he had planned with me during this pregnancy. If I had to have a cesarian, then that’s obviously the way He felt Baby Amys should enter this world. It’s out of my hands, and I just have to trust and have faith in Him that everything will work out the way it should be.

And as preachy as that sounds, it really did calm me instantly. It was like a big deep yoga breath to my soul. And yesterday when we went in for my 32-week ultrasound to check the position of the placenta, I was ready to deal with whatever we found out. As long as the bean was healthy, that was all that mattered, but I was truly expecting that nothing had changed and that we would be confronted on scheduling a c-section.

So you can only imagine the joy that radiated throughout the room when the ultrasound tech announced that my placenta had moved three – THREE! – centimeters in the past four weeks, and that there was no reason to believe I would have any complications during a natural delivery. Yes, folks. We are clear for take off. No scheduled c-sections on any calendars in this house. Baby Amys will make it’s debut whenever it feels like blessing us with it’s presence.

And even though this sudden, significant movement of my placenta should not even be termed under the same word that describes unbelievable acts such as the rescue of 33 trapped Chilean miners or other extraordinary occurrences, but I do truly believe it was a miracle. And, of course, the first thing I did after finding out the good news was silently thanked God for allowing it to happen.

34 months old

As we enter our final months of being a family of three, I am having a hard time focusing on the fact that my Taylor is almost three years old. Last week we passed her 34-month birthday. Two more months of the Twos... And I’ve gotta say, even with the Universe looming above, daring to spite me and my blessed life, that these Twos haven’t been at all terrible. They’ve been pretty darn fantastic. Yes, we’ve have our share of meltdowns and come aparts, but it’s hard to even focus on those rare moments when I’m surrounded daily by so much love and cuteness.

 

So this past month was wonderful, which I’m sure has a lot to do with me entering my third trimester with the bean, and having the epiphany that I need to savor every second of just looking after one child and focusing all of my attention on Princess Taylor. We’ve been having mother-daughter adventures daily, and I’ve recklessly abandoned certain routine household chores to sit and color with her for hours and smooch her face.
 
I’ve also finally started to work on some projects that I vowed to do years ago, and with the help of my fancy-shmancy new computer, I’ve been compiling DVD-projects of our first years as parents. And looking back on the thousands of images – Yes, THOUSANDS. Taylor pretty much had a camera in her face for the first years of her life. And we wonder why she’s such a diva, – Chris and I just shake our heads in disbelief that the squishy little peanut we brought home from the hospital three years ago is now the sassy, independent toddler Princess that she is. And we are also blown away by how FAST it went. Looking back at her first babbling, to her first crawling, to her first steps... It made us lament the fact that our precious girl is growing up so quickly, but it also made us super excited to soon have another newborn join our family.
 
Taylor is growing up at lightening speed, both in personality and body. Gone is the chunky little monkey, whose thunder thighs and round tummy I would squeeze on an hourly basis. She is leaning out and losing some of that sweet pudginess, and I can only hope that Baby Amys will have the same plump, Popeye-like arms that look like they have rubber-bands lining the midsections and joints. And while her limbs are sprouting, so has her hair. Which is especially noticeable because the only way to manage her wild mane is with headbands – No ponytails or clips for this Princess, ONLY headbands. So in an attempt to clean up the toddler-mullet, we went in for her second-ever haircut this past month. And she loved the whole process, especially staring at herself in the mirror, and I am happy that she has a new do that doesn’t resemble a Nick Nolte mugshot.
 

We also got a new pet, our fish Nemo, this month. And I’m happy to say that after nearly five days living in our house he’s still alive. Barely. Funny story about that – So, on day three of having Nemo I noticed that his bowl was super cloudy and dirty, and when I asked Chris what the proper upkeep of a Betta fish bowl entailed, he shook his head and answered, Honestly, I didn’t think it would be alive this long. THIS long? It’d been 48-hours... And what’s the point of attaching ourselves to a creature that has a shelf-life of less then a week?
 
So that day I did a little research on bettafish.com and went to the pet store to buy some more betta water, a net for transferring Nemo, some sort of solution to balance the chemicals in his bowl, a teeny-tiny fake plant and a different type of food. And because Taylor is Chris’s offspring and the most inquisitive toddler on the planet, each item I placed into our cart was soundtracked by, What’s THAT Mom? Why you getting THAT? Why we need to get THAT? Why, Mom, WHY? And when I told her that we had to get Nemo new food, she looked at me and said, But I feed Nemo my milky Mom. And I was all, Um. Excuse me? And she chirped back, Yep. I feed Nemo milky.
 
And after explaining to Taylor that fish don’t have the lactose-tolerance we humans do, and then rescuing Nemo from his dairy bath, we cleaned up our new family member’s bowl and now he’s swimming a little faster and happier in a milk-free, plant-adorned living space. Which is now also out of reach of Taylor and her sippy cups.
 
Ah. It’s always entertaining. And, like last month, our lives are constantly peppered with Taylor-questions. Most of which I try to answer truthfully and to the best of my ability – Mom, why the car stopped? Well, because the traffic light told me to. And some questions I defer to Chris – Mom, why is water wet? Um, you’ll have to ask Daddy that one. And some questions I just answer by slamming my head against a wall in attempts to divert her attention and numb my own pain – Mom, why can’t I go inside the TV and be with Strawberry Shortcake?
 

We’re also on month two of her refusing to wear pants. And when I say she doesn’t want to put on pants, I mean she all out loses her mind when you even mention the word Pants. And if you hold them up and she can actually see them, the reaction is similar to Superman being confronted with kryptonite. Her body collapses to the ground and she starts sobbing, convulsing and screeching, But I no look like Princess in pants. And I’m sure that’s funny to you, because it’s not your kid. But not only is it frustrating for us, but it’s really starting to interfere with our daily lives. Because it’s really hard to play at the park when you’re wearing ruby slippers and a formal dress.
 
And last weekend Chris wanted Princess Taylor to accompany him while he ran errands, including a trip to the hardware store. And when he announced that she had to put on running shoes and pants to go, she curled her lip in defiance and announced, Then I no go, Dad. And we were like, Really? You’d rather stay home then put on pants? And she snotted back, I stay home and wear my dress. And when Chris tried to pull the whole, You’re doing it because I said so, I shot him down with my hormonal-pregnant self and said, Good luck, Buddy, because there’s no way you’re gonna get her to do anything that way. To which the lone male in our house threw his hands up in the air in desperation, and then pointed at my stomach and said, If THAT’S a girl, then I’m building an apartment over the garage and living there.
 
You see, Chris doesn’t have a sister. It was just him, his brother and his parents, and his mother realized she was outnumbered early on. So he’s never been fully comfortable in an estrogen-heavy situation. And now that Taylor is showing all signs of becoming the Girliest-Girl in all Girlville, it’s starting to sink in that his future is going to hold more Rapunzel then Rambo. And let me just say, he’s doing an amazing job introducing himself to all the new girlness in his life. He knows all the Disney Princesses by name, and the other day my heart melted as I watching him sitting cross-legged on Taylor’s bedroom floor at her insistence, brushing his daughter’s hair and helping her pick out a matching headband to her fancy dress. He’s getting it. And if this baby is another girl, I’m pretty sure he’ll survive. Well, at least until they become teenagers. Then we’ll just move both of them to an apartment above the garage.
 
And while the center of that fight was that Taylor wouldn’t put on pants, the real heart of our frustration was that she wasn’t letting us tell her what to do anymore. That she’s her own little person, and that she’s forming all of these opinions about things and won’t be persuaded away from what she wants. Gone are the days of us as parents being able to tell her exactly what we want her to eat, think and wear. And I’m fully aware that this whole no-pants-debacle is most likely a phase – PLEASE, Universe! – and that hopefully by the time Spring is in full swing we’ll be able to wear park-attire again, it’s not going to make anyone’s life easier by fighting her about it every single day. If in her own toddler-mind she has to wear a dress and tights every second of the day, then we’re just gonna have to wear dresses and tights. After nearly three years of motherhood, I’m getting better about being able to let go of some of the control. Taylor is Taylor. She’s not me and she’s not Chris. We love her for her wonderful, sweet, inquisitive, stubborn personality, and feel like the luckiest parents alive to be blessed with such an amazing daughter. 

Introducing Nemo Amys

Miss Taylor's Valentine's Day gift from her Daddy:

Our princess was pretty excited about her fish, and promptly named him Nemo. All night we kept asking her, Hey, Taylor. What's Nemo up to? And she'd look at him and say, Looks like he's taking a bath.

And this morning she jumped out of bed to feed him, and before we left for the gym, we had to make a special trip back inside the house to say Goodbye to Nemo. And once we got back in the car and on the road, she got worried because she thought Nemo's mom might be wondering where he is. And while I assured her that her new fish was super happy about his recent living situation, I tucked away her comment and might have to remember it if we ever find Nemo belly up at any point. Sorry, Honey. Nemo's mommy must have come and rescued him in the middle of the night.

30 weeks pregnant

This past week marked my 30th week of pregnancy with the bean. And according to the handy-dandy babycenter.com app I have on my phone, it says that Baby Amys is now nearly 16 inches long and weighs close to three pounds, and at my appointment last Tuesday, my giant belly was measuring right on the mark at 30-centimeters.

Wow. Look at that thing! Pretty amazing, huh? And I've still got another 10-centimeters to grow. Which is why I came pretty close to assaulting a fellow gym-goer who asked if I was due any day. Come on, People. There's a certain etiquette you're required to follow with giant, hormonal pregnant women. Learn it.

And even though the belly's right on the mark for where I'm supposed to be, I am definitely carrying this peanut different then I carried Miss Taylor, as nearly all of my maternity clothes I wore throughout her entire pregnancy stopped covering my belly about two weeks ago. It's borderline obscene. And thank goodness I don't have to worry about getting dressed to go to an office everyday, and I'm able to look super sporty in my yoga pants 24/7. People must think I'm the most active pregnant mom they've ever seen… And then they get a glimpse of my expanding fanny and thighs and start to guess the truth… That I've been sitting at home in my workout gear eating mass amounts of Fritos and Reece's Peanut Butter Cups.

And while I'm still trying to be good about breaking a sweat at least four times a week, I am totally giving into every single craving that passes through my growing body. Ham sandwiches from Jimmy Johns, Red beans and rice, Avocado burritos from Papas and Beer, ice cream sundaes with lots of peanuts, Special K bars, green grapes. I saw a slogan on a sign at some store that quoted, What's the point of counting calories when you're already fat? And I just nodded… Amen to that.

One particularly odd craving I have had for the past few weeks is for braunschweiger, which is a type of liverwurst. I'm sorry, but it's absolutely delicious. And even though it makes Chris dry-heave when he watches me eat it, I just can't get enough. And if you've never had it and are at all curious, this pregnant mama recommends it served straight up on a Ritz cracker. It's salty wonderfulness. Trust me.

So both the bean and I are growing at a noteworthy rate during this third trimester, and even though it's becoming a bit cramped in my belly, this baby is still super-duper active. And it's got a knack for feeling out all the neighboring internal organs next to my uterus and giving them a few roundhouses while I'm trying to sleep or relax. Ouch! So either Baby is already taking an interest in anatomy and going to become a future world-class surgeon, or I'm growing the next Chuck Norris in my womb.

And when it's not targeting my bladder and other inside bits, I enjoy watching this bean moving and grooving in my belly. Sometimes it looks like a tidal wave rolling across my stomach. And it particularly loves to party starting at seven at night and ending around midnight… Which I guess means I'm in for NO sleep once Baby makes it's arrival. Because if it's not sleeping inside my warm, quiet tummy, no way will it relax enough to snooze with a loud, toddler princess running around in plastic high-heeled shoes on the hardwood.

Chris and I have narrowed down our name list, and now we're just getting anxious to find out if it's a girl or a boy. I don't have any real convictions either way, but a lot of people have been telling us that they think it's a boy. But the other week when I was getting a much needed pedicure the Asian nail tech sized me up and said that it was a girl. So, there ya go.

And other then the first ten-weeks of heartburn, misery and morning sickness, this pregnancy has gone by pretty fast and has been relatively smooth sailing. Besides a few growing pains, I've been feeling really good and hope to keep that wonderfulness going for the next two months. I know I will reach a point soon where I'm just over being an enormous whale, but more then anything, I'm just so excited to formally introduce myself to this baby. And now that we're going to the doctor every two weeks, just being able to hear the heartbeat on such a regular basis makes my heart flutter with anticipation of being able to see it's face and snuggle it's warm, newborn body and kiss it's cheeks. Yes, Baby. Mama's gonna smooch those cheeks right off your face. Let's just call it payback for the swift kicks you've been delivering to my pancreas.

So you wanna know how potty training's going?

So a few weeks ago I was in the basement switching laundry from the washer to the dryer and Taylor started yelling at me from upstairs, MOM! Come up here! And it didn't sound urgent so I yelled up to her that I'd be right up and continued separating my delicates. Well, by the time I had gotten up to the main floor, she had opened the fridge, pulled out a clementine and half peeled it to eat. And when I told this story to my sister, she laughed and said, So, she can peel fruit but she can't figure out how to use the toilet?

And this made me stop and think. Yes, Taylor-tot's a smart girl - She can put together jigsaw puzzles, she can color within the lines, she can count to 15, she can distinguish what an octagon is, she can name every Disney Princess and, now, she's pretty darn close to preparing fruit salad. Why haven't we mastered the potty training yet?

And it's not like I'm not trying here. I'm asking her every ten minutes if she needs to use the potty. And we're doing pretty good with number-two… In fact, she does a good job of telling us when she needs to go poo-poo. And when those words come out of her mouth, it doesn't matter what we're doing or where we're at, the mood changes to one of total urgency and we sprint to the nearest bathroom to do the job. And after a successful deposit, she gets a prize.

But it's number-one that has been the challenge for us when it comes to going in the potty, or even detecting that the urge is coming. But in the past weeks she has started announcing, Mom, I'm peeing. And she'll spread her legs and shimmy like a penguin to the nearest bathroom, where I'll set her on the potty and nothing will happen. Because she's already peed all through her pull-up. But I was starting to get encouraged just by her awareness of the fact that she understood she was peeing and the fact that she didn't like having it in her pants.

But this I'm-peeing song and dance started to get old real fast, especially because I'm almost seven-months pregnant and my sciatic nerve has been KILLING ME from constantly bending over to help her undress and lift her onto the potty. And so each time she made her announcement and cowboy-legged over to the nearest toilet, and each time we would go through the quick process of putting her on the stool only for her to say, I no have to go anymore, I would remind her over and over again, Honey. You need to tell Momma BEFORE you actually go pee-pee. And each time she would say, Okay… Now I get a prize?

And when re-telling our situation to other mom's, the resounding response has been, Just take those pull-ups away. Put her in big girl undies and she'll get it. Oh, that SOUNDS so easy. So we just take away the pull-ups and POOF! she's potty trained, huh? Why didn't we think of THAT?

So the following Sunday after church when we were home for the rest of the day and after we got her up from her nap I got out Taylor's super-fancy Sleepy Beauty underwear instead of her pull-up. And Miss T was pretty excited to put them on and parade around the house, showing us how beautiful she looked in her big girl undies. And, let me tell ya, that little booty in those little undies was about the cutest thing I'd ever seen. I basically spent the next few hours chasing her around the house, pinching her buns and tickling her belly.

And then she peed all over them. And the floor. And then had a melt-down over the whole mess. But I cleaned her up and put on a new pair, this time one's that had Cinderella decals all over the booty. And then we continued our big girl undies party for the rest of the day, with Chris and I asking her every 15 minutes if she had to go to the bathroom again.

And even with constantly asking her about her need to pee, she once again had another accident that night right before getting ready for bed. And then had another freak-out. And after cleaning her up once again, putting on her jammies and, ultimately because it was bedtime, sliding a pull-up on her, I reassured her that accidents happen, it was no big deal and that we would try to wear our big girl undies again in the morning. To which she crossed her arms, shook her head and said, No, Mommy. I wear diapers like the baby. And I responded by saying, But Taylor, you're the BIG SISTER. You wear BIG SISTER undies, and the baby will wear diapers. And she grabbed my face with both hands and said very clearly, No, Mommy. I the baby too. I wear diapers like the baby.

Uh-oh. And here's where I throw my hands up in the air and say, What am I supposed to do with that? Because the next day, true to her word, she reminded me that she wanted to wear diapers like the baby. And instead of a traumatizing episode of me laying my giant body on top of her to wrangle her into some big girl undies, I just put the pull-up on her. As I have continued to do every day since then, because she keeps reminding me that, I the baby too, Mommy.

But pull-up or not, we're still working on doing all the business on the potty. And she's improving. And there are days that we make it all day with the same pull-up on, and then there are days where we have to change it several times. So it's not like we've totally given up, but lately she is adamant that she wants NOTHING to do with big girl undies. And so I just put a pull-up on her, and remind myself that she'll get there eventually. Because how many grade-schoolers do you know that still wear diapers? Exactly.

So. In short to the before potty training inquiry - It's driving me crazy, but we're working on it. But in the meantime, here's a picture of the 24-piece puzzle my little genius put together all by herself.

Happy anniversary Asheville

Eight years ago this week, Chris and I packed all of our college-worn, earthly belongings into both of our cars and a UHaul trailer and moved from Iowa City to Asheville. We had no idea what to expect - We hadn't even seen the apartment we had already signed a year-lease on over the phone. We didn't know a single soul in Asheville, and the only thing we had waiting for us was Chris's job at the Country Club. We didn't even have cell phones, and I can remember clear-as-day, both Chris and I finding a pay phone outside of an Arby's on our side of town and calling each of our parents to let them know we arrived safely and that we'd call them in the next few days when we had a better grasp on the situation.

I look back at ourselves then and smile. We were engaged, broke and halfway across the country from every single friend and family member we knew. It was single handedly the best thing we ever did, the best decision we have ever made. Not only did we stumble across a city that holds more character, beauty and friendships then we could ever ask for, but I truly believe it has made us the rock-solid couple that we are today. Thank you, Asheville. We love you dearly.