Nine Month Update

Dear Birdzo Butts,
It's been a while since I've written, but I'm hoping you'll forgive me. This last month has been.... WOW. Crazy. Like pink elephants, crazy. But not the kind you get from drinking a little too much at the circus. Rather, the kind where you throw up your hands and exclaim: Really? Pink elephants? IS THAT ALL YOU GOT, WORLD?

And because of the craziness, I haven't posted about your first trip to the beach! But, it's coming. I promise. Eventually. Hopefully by your second trip to the beach next year.

But, let's get over the fact that Mommy's a bit of a procrastinator these days and talk instead about what a magical month this last month has been, mkay?

First and foremost, the biggest event of the past month? GUESS WHO HAS BECOME MOBILE??? That's right, on July 11th, you took your first crawl. And we've been screwed ever since!!! Seriously... it's like you've discovered this whole new world that you haven't been a part of for the last 8 months and MUST DISCOVER EVERY. SINGLE. NOOK. AND. CRANNY. OF. IT. All before you go to bed each night. Every day blows your mind and I'm not confident that you're not just a teeny bit upset with us that we've been keeping this newfound world from you. I'm telling you, once you found your so-called legs? Nothing can contain you! Overnight, our perfect, adult-styled house had to be completely childproofed so that the Hazel Bird wouldn't be able to stick her fingers in the sockets, or pull the bookcases down on top of herself.

It's like you know when there's something in the vicinity that you're NOT supposed to play with... and that's the thing that you hone in on. I mean, why bother playing with all the toys that Mommy and Daddy got for you when you can lick Daddy's flip-flops? Or tear apart Mommy's magazine? Or strangle yourself on our blind cords? Or slobber all over my cell phone?

You've also discovered the wonder that is opening and closing doors and drawers. So, before we were finally able to childproof the drawers and doors, you were under constant supervision in the kitchen. And man... do you LOVES you some drawers. Especially the ones with the towels in them. I know I'll rue the day when you figure out the drawer on the oven.

Sidenote: Honestly... it's taking your Daddy and I a lot longer than we expected to get used to the new baby-proofedness of our house. Every morning, we forget that drawers and doors have been "fixed" and what you hear is an attempt at opening a drawer, followed by a under-the-breath "damn!". If it wasn't so pathetic - because this is our life for the next couple of years - it would be funny.

Daddy also had to put up a gate by the stairs... which you are already trying to break down. Why? Because CLEARLY we don't want you there. Therefore... YOU. MUST. BE. THERE.

I think that your new mobility is wreaking havoc on your sleep schedule. You used to be a great little sleeper at night. We could put you down, almost wide-awake, and you'd roll over to your side, stick in your thumby and it was night-night. FOR 12 HOURS. Now? Well, you refuse to go to bed unless you've been up for at least four hours. And then, when we do get you down, you wake up after 45 minutes and we have to go in and rock you back down. We're a little concerned that you're about to the stage where we're going to have to let you cry it out. I was hoping to avoid that stage all together. But it appears that your newfound freedom has given you a bit of an... attitude. I HATE listening to your cries, Birdy. It's the single-most awful sound in the world. Even worse? Someone has taken up the new routine of bagging her head against the bars in the crib. And either you have a high pain tolerance... OR you simply don't learn. Because after one night of letting you cry it out for 5 minutes? The next morning, you had three bruises on your beautiful little head. Not that it seems to bother you too much... but it bothers the hell out of me!

You've also started a new thing where you wake up at 3ish in the morning and we have to run in and pat your back until you go back to sleep. So that in an hour, you can wake up again and need to have your back patted to go back down. And lather, rinse, REPEAT. So, your Daddy and I have been taking turns spending the early, EARLY morning hours asleep in your room. So... that's fun.

This month has also brought new additions to your diet. Your normal breakfast these days is a bowl of oatmeal cereal, a whole banana and a piece of toast.

Couple of things that need to be mentioned here:

- The oatmeal cereal. So, most babies are on rice cereal. You, apparently need more fiber than the rice cereal provides. Because you, my dear, have had full formed turds greet me when I change your diaper. In fact, I've taken to naming them since a couple of them have even had faces. But, the most prevalent poopy in the block is Hanky. He comes out with a Santa Claus hat on and jumps around everywhere saying "Howdy, Ho!". (Yea... you can take the girl out of college, but you can't take the college out of the girl! And I'll explain that one to you when you're about 18.)

- The toast? DON'T MESS WITH THE TOAST. You love, love, LOVE toast and if I have to take it away from you for any reason... like to give you your milk? HEADS. WILL. ROLL.

You pretty much eat anything these days. Interestingly enough, you're not a big fan of yogurt. Or cottage cheese. I don't know if it's the cold or the actual taste, but you're just not down with it and I usually end up with yogurt spit out all over the high chair.

Also this month, you came down with a weird case of pneumonia. In July. Really? Really. That was fun. I have never heard such a horrible, horrible cough. It sounded like a 60-year-old smokers cough and you had absolute fits with it. It was awful, but you pulled through. It only took one day of antibiotics for you to show some improvement. But, man... I hate that you've been on antibiotics so much!

Not that it's been affecting you in any way. You're still growing like a weed. In short, you're HUGE. Not fat, just long. You currently fit in 12-18 month old clothes and I just can't keep up with the new clothes you constantly need.

You've also discovered the joy that is playing ball. You love, love, LOVE playing with the ball. And since you've become mobile, you're able to throw the ball across the room and then crawl to it... so that you can throw in back across the room. You also like to throw the ball to Mommy and Daddy and provide us hours and hours of fun.



You also are a big, BIG fan of animals. Any animals. Especially cats. Whenever I take you outside to put you in the car and you see Nytro, you start screeching like a piglet. It's adorable. It's even more adorable that when I put you down to let you pet the kitty while she's eating, you just stick your hands out, but refuse to touch her. But the squeal is ever present and ever hilarious.

To celebrate your 9-month birthday, we went downtown at the Pioneer Day Parade, so that you could squeal at the horses, and then the Farmer's Market before we headed to some friends house for Pie-N-Beer Day. You were so excited to see so many kids at the party and I know you can't wait to start walking so you can keep up with them.



Oh... and another new thing you've taken to this month. You loves you some of Mommy's hair. I'm holding off on the prediction that you're bound to be stylist. But I'm still holding out hope that you'll be able to do your hair better than Mommy has ever been able to do her hair. Cuz if not... we're gonna have some problems in your teens!


Some other big news during your ninth month of life: You're gonna be a big sister! I told your Daddy on Father's Day, while you were chewing on his Father's Day card. It wasn't exactly a memorable moment for you, but I think your Daddy will remember it the rest of his life.



So, your little brother or sister will be here around February 19th. Which means that you'll be approximately 16 months apart. Which, in turn, means that Mommy and Daddy aren't going to get any sleep for the next year. Please be patient with us, though! It'll all be worth it once you have a baby to play with!

Love,
Mama

Ironman St. George and The Bird

Dear Hazel,
Last week, you had your 6-month checkup. You, we are happy to report, are growing like a FREAKING WEED. You're 19 lbs., 13 oz. and almost 28 inches long. Which puts you at the 100th percentile in both areas. Which means that you are finally on the charts. And Mommy and Daddy can only take this to mean that you're slowing down. Because 100th percentile means that you are taller than 100 percent of other babies at this age. We weren't sure what to make of your 4-month checkup... which had you in the 104th percentile. Statisically... how is that even possible??


You came down with a cough last week... which really makes us happy. I mean... you've been off antibiotics for what? 2 weeks now? We had 2 solid weeks of health before you got sick again? Nice. I'm just saying that what everyone is telling us had BETTER be true... that after two years of age, you'll have super immunity and won't get sick nearly as often. Because this averaging of one cold a month? GETTING OLD. I always feel so bad for you, Birdzo. Do you even know what it's like to feel well anymore? I mean, you're still just as happy as ever... but wow, does having a cold mess with your sleeping habits. And honestly, I don't know what we would do without that suction machine because the amount of snot you're producing is unheard of. There's got to be a use for that much snot, Hazey. Maybe World Peace?

Yea... your Mommy and Daddy are bummed about your cold. And we thought that maybe we're the ones that caused it. Perhaps by smothering you with kisses all the time? And furburting your belly? But, I walked into day care the other day and every. single. kid. in there had the same cough as you. GREAT.

Add to all of this, the fact that you got your 6-month shots and it made for one unhappy Bird last week (well, as unhappy as you are possible of being). Nothing that a little Tylenol couldn't help... but still. It pretty much blew.

Anyway, despite your little cold, we left the High Altitude Training Center this weekend to take a trip down south with Aunt Kaylene and Uncle Ryan to see some friends participate in Ironman St. George. As usual, you charmed the pants off of everyone you met. You were such a rock star on the way down to St. George... slept most of the way. Which may explain why you didn't go to sleep until 9:30 that night. Well, that and the fact that your Honorary Big Brother, Gavin, was still awake... and somehow you sensed that you were missing out on some excitement. So after 40 minutes of trying (and failing) to get you to go to bed, I brought you out and you enjoyed hanging out with us until you finally ran out of steam.


The next morning, you woke up at 5 a.m. with one of the worst coughing fits I've ever heard. And then it was game on... and you weren't going down without a fight. So, after feeding you, I brought you to bed with me and you snoozed for a few hours... which was heavenly.

That afternoon, all of us jumped in the car to find a good spectating spot to watch the race. Which ended up being an aid station right next to Starbucks. It was KARMA, baby girl.

(The Nadolski Family at the aid station at mile 15)

You were once again amazing and took a little nappy-poo in the middle of the race and then when you woke up (happy!!) just hung out with us while we waited to see our friends. Even being sick, you just don't seem to let anything bother you too much. You're pretty much my hero.

(Kaylene, Gavin, Ryan, Daddy and Hazel at IMSG)

We went home that afternoon and your Daddy and I took you to the pool for the first time! It was soooo much fun to see you in water. You looked around like... whhhhaaattt? And then you got into it and started slapping at the water. You're such a natural! We can't wait for you to start swimming lessons!!


After that, we gave you a bath and put you to bed around 7. It had been a big day for you and you went down pretty quickly. Then we visited with Aunt Kaylene and Uncle Ryan until late into the night (read: 10:30... cuz your Daddy is NOT a rock star).

And then... 4:30 rolled around and GUESS WHO WAS UP AND READY TO PARTAY? This is perhaps the thing I loathe most about you getting sick. It totally messes with your sleep schedule. After I changed your diaper and attempted to get you back to sleep, I gave up, brought you to the bedroom, fed you and then settled you into the bed between Daddy and me. I'm certainly hoping that this isn't a trend with you. I'm only allowing this to happen because you're sick and I feel awful for you. That and I'm just too tired to deal with a crying, fussy baby... and if I can keep you happy and asleep by just snuggling with you in bed? Consider it done.

That afternoon, we all headed back to the cold of Ogden... a trip that you just have never done well with. You cried and cried and cried, baby girl. You only took two 30 minute naps and the rest of the time you were doing your best to communicate HOW AWFUL IT WAS TO BE ALIVE RIGHT NOW AND CAN SOMEONE PLEASE DO SOMETHING ABOUT YOUR EXISTENCE IN THIS CAR SEAT?

I think that the change in elevation bothered your ears somewhat. And I also think that you were running a slight temp. And since Mommy hadn't screwed the Tylenol lid on tightly it had leaked all over the bag and we had nothing to give you for the fever. I also think that you just wanted - NEEDED - to be out of that stupid car seat. So, we pulled over in Payson and decided to spend a half-hour walking around Wal-Mart.

You remember Wal-Mart don't you? The last time you were there you lost your ever loving mind. This time was different, though. Because you were out of your car seat and just looking around at all the pretty colors and massive amount of STUFF. We then decided that to give you an even better chance of not losing it on the rest of the way home, we'd stop in Provo and have dinner. We ate at Olive Garden and you were so excited to get to sit at the table in your very own high chair and you played and played and played... giving the good people at The Olive Garden an earful of delighted shrieks. Yep... you're THAT baby.

We left the restaurant and within minutes, you were sound asleep. We made it home in relative peace and quiet and you stayed asleep while we unloaded the car... and, you know, got the kitchen sink hooked back up. You woke up at about 9 and I fed you and put you down.

And then you woke up at midnight... and I knew we were in for a long night. So I girded my loins, grabbed a blanket and spent the night cuddling with you in the rocking chair. I think I'm finally getting what motherhood is all about. I remember my mom telling me a story about how when I was sick once and the only thing I wanted... the only thing that made me feel better... was being held all night. And I think that's what you need right now. I guess you can call it Mother's Intuition? Anyway, you're so stuffed up right now, Hazey... it's the only way to keep your nose drained. But it was a looonnnggg night. You woke up every two hours and I had to coax you back to sleep each time. That means a LOT of rocking and shushing. Stuff that I haven't done since you were a newborn.

But when you woke up for the day at 7:15... you were all smiles. Which put even a grumpy, tired Mommy in a good mood. Luckily, your Daddy was able to come home and pick you up to take you to day care, which allowed me to go back to bed for a few hours and catch up on some much needed sleep. I'm really hoping that this cold improves quickly because while I cherish getting to snuggle with you all night... I REALLY MISS THOSE 10 HOUR OVERNIGHTERS YOU CAN THROW DOWN.

Love,
Mama

The Waiting Game

Well... here we are. 10:17 p.m. Thursday night.

No contractions.

No labor.

No rush to the hospital.

No Tweet.

But... also, no more contagious Benny! So, I guess we've got that going for us.

So, we've held on to Tweet (or, rather... she stuck to the game plan) for a few days longer than anticipated. Benny took the last of his three days of shots and we'll find out tomorrow morning if he has to go in for some more aggressive treatment if he doesn't feel markedly better.

Also, tomorrow we get to go to the doc and check my dialation to see if I've made any progress. And will likely get a cervical balloon inserted (sounds pleasant, doesn't it?) to stimulate dialation. Man, sometimes being a woman ABSOLUTELY ROCKS.

Today was more sitting around waiting for something to happen. I took my mind off the minutes ticking slowly past by getting some work done, watching a little CSI - NY (not as good as CSI: Miami, btw... but it'll work in a pinch) and updating my Facebook status with little known facts about the dog.

For instance, did YOU know that my dog can clear a room... simply by existing? She doesn't even have to pass gas. It's just this odor that follows her around. I've got a theory that it's her skin and a friend of mine has turned me on to a kind of dog food that will supposedly help with that. Of course, it's more expensive... THAT'S HOW YOU KNOW IT'LL WORK, RIGHT???

Seriously... I grew up on a farm with outdoor dogs that were never bathed. Were never shaved. And routinely got in battles with skunks... not to mention the rolling around in deer, fish and chicken carcass. And none of those dogs ever smelled one-tenth as bad as my dog does two hours after a bath and shave with her only visits to the outside world being to pee and eat. It's really quite the phenomenon.

But, I digress. Benny and I are so over the waiting right now. We're ready to move on to the next phase of our life.

Throughout the last 40 weeks and 4 days (but who's counting) everyone we've talked to has said the exact same thing: Your life is going to change forever. (Or some variance of that statement.)

Um... yea. We kinda knew that going in to it. It was kind of the point, you know?

I know that people only mean well by telling us this but, honestly... it gets a bit old. We know it's going to change. We know it's going to be hard... the hardest thing we'll ever do. We know that we'll never sleep as well as we are currently used to. And that's OK! We didn't decide to have a child on a whim. It's not like we didn't have several deep discussions on what we wanted out of life and when we wanted it and how we were going to go about starting our family. Tweet isn't a surprise. We knew we wanted Tweet before we even knew Tweet was here.

And these last few days have only solidified that, YEA!!! Let's get ON WITH IT ALREADY!!

I've been trying to be zen about the whole thing. I really have. I've spent the last couple of days watching the birds feeding at the bird feeders and sitting on my rocking chair on the front porch and watching the world go by, trying to take as much of it in as I can so that I can remember when I had time to myself without a screaming baby or a rebellious teenager turning my attention elsewhere. And it turns out... even with the thought of not having those moments as often as I do now, I still can't wait to be a Mommy.

Carrie sent me an amazing email the other day... one that I will keep forever. In it she talked about Mommyhood and the pressures that come with it. And I must admit, I've been thinking about what kind of mom I am going to be... and have been concerned that I'll fall way short of what other moms do for their kids. I'm not a crafty person. I'm just not. And I'm not much of a cook. And, I really have a hard time relating to kids. I've never even changed a diaper for the love of Pete! And I doubt I'm one of those women who just fall into motherhood naturally and who seem like they're Wonderwoman... cooking dinner, doing the laundry, keeping the house clean, playing with the kids and teaching them about life.

But Carrie... she must have somehow known because in her email was a paragraph that hit me like a brick to the face:

"I'll never be a mom like my mom who sews and bakes bread and keeps up with laundry and cleans every speck of dust, but those things aren't all that important to me. It took me a while to discover, that's what made my mom, my mom. I'm a mom who takes my kids hiking and on adventures, makes art projects, frosts cookies, and leaves the laundry until it is piled high. You'll show Tweet what is important to you and you can be whatever kind of mom you want to be."

With that one paragraph, Carrie gave me my "Aha!" moment and I'll never be able to thank her for that. I get to decide what kind of mom my children will have... and it's okay if it's not the same definition as other kids moms. I have my strengths that I'll play up and hope people don't notice so much the weaknesses.

And if I can be half the mom to Tweet that Carrie is to her kids? I'll be doing pretty well.

Monkeys and Balance Beams

It's still amazing to me... the generosity of people.

Last week, in between naps, I found a package on my doorstep from a couple that I'm pretty sure we've only seen twice in our lives: Fe-Lady and hubby. Of course, after we met them the first time at Benny's first Ironman, we quickly offered up our house to them to stay in for X-Terra while we were in Europe. Cuz, we're trusting people that way and that's just how we roll.

I mean, for. the. LOVE! The first time we met him, we had Greyhound hold our wedding rings while we went for a swim in Tempe Town Lake? WHO DOES THIS?

Enter Benny and Jaynee whose only possession of real value (the scooter) is currently out-of-commission because a certain, un-named FATHER-TO-BE refused to insure it when I was five days prego because of the baby on board.

Actually, I guess that's not the only thing of value we own anymore... because Tweet's bedroom situation is looking pretty fine. I'm telling you... she has nicer stuff than we do and SHE WON'T EVEN CARE!

But, I digress. Fe and family sent us this last week:












Tweets very own espresso cup, sushi dish and rice spoon!

I mean, you could TRY to be more precious, but you would fail miserably. How cute is the mug? I may start drinking my Sprite out of it, because it's the perfect size. And the spoon? I mean, I know... I know we won't be using this for a while but... did I ever tell you that my mother used to have a monkey? Like... A REAL, HONEST-TO-GOODNESS MONKEY?

So, yea... I'm pretty pumped up about the monkey, as it's the closest I'll ever get to owning one of my own. What, with all the crazy laws about owning monkeys anymore... and people being all nervous and grossed out by possibility of having feces thrown at them... or having their faces torn off... and what kind of CIVILIZED monkey does this??

I also recently finished ready The Tall Book that Greyhound sent Tweet. Man, you have NO IDEA how much I loved that book. Really put things into perspective for me. For instance, did you realize that when you go to the Gap and try on a size 14 outfit that the mannequin is wearing, that it's completely normal that it will look like six blind hobos tried to dress you? That's because all Gap clothes are size-fitted to about a 6. A SIX?? I have a second-cousin that's a size 6, but since she's only 5 years old, she doesn't have that kind of money to spend on clothes.

And let me just tell you something else about size 6, Tweet. Size 6 doesn't podium amongst the Athena's. Size six doesn't get your college paid for... unless you're a gymnast, and trust me, you may be tumbling around in there something fierce, but gymnastics is sooooo not in your future. Through no fault of your own, mind you. In fact, when I was a kid, I used to think I had the ability to be the greatest balance beamer of ALL TIME. And then... then I got on the balance beam and WHOA, THERE, COWGIRL! Is this your first rodeo?

Yea.. my lanky legs and arms had other plans. As did my pride. This is also the reason I was never able to successfully become a rodeo clown, although parading around the yard on the shetland pony with my feet almost touching the ground comes AWFULLY close.

The Tall Book also finally gave me closure on 4th grade incident that has haunted me to this day. Turns out, there WAS a reason why I couldn't dance like all the other 4-11 girls could for the pep assembly. It was just a lot more work to get my limbs under control... which is also a great explanation for my dancing style today. Luckily, today I have what I didn't have in 4th grade... a smart mouth AND blacklights lighting up the dance floor so EVERYONE looks herky-jerky when they dance.

It's taken me 20 or so years to get over that humiliation... but at least now I can appreciate "Jump" by the Pointer Sisters again.

Speaking Of Ribbons...

So, I guess I shouldn't have bragged about the quality of sleep I've been getting lately. Because Karma, that nasty little deviant who clearly needs a job, had something to say about that. And I spent all of last night laying in bed... wide awake... in between potty breaks and bouts of 5 minutes of sleep.

I do believe that last night marked the first time that it hit me... it really hit me... that Benny and I were no longer the globe-trotting couple we've enjoyed being for the last six years. And HOLY COW... we're gonna be a family. And that means that we must both grow up. And always have veggies and fruit in the house. And have a house. And a job... that's no longer an option, is it? And start to stay Argh! instead of our preferred plethora of swear words. (And... FYI, 'tis better to say Argh in a pirates voice... gives more credence to your displeasure.)

Yes... all of this ran through my mind last night when I should have been in la-la land dreaming about food. Which explains why I was in my office at 7:45 a.m.. Sersly... WHO WORKS AT THIS INSANE HOUR OF THE DAY?

Surprisingly, work helped with the anxiety. And because she knows I lurve it, Tweet did what she could by kicking around in her temporary home. Apparently, we've got a soccer player on our hands. And not that I don't love soccer... but I've always been more of a climate-control athlete. Especially after I've witnessed Soccer Moms come home after a Saturday out in the rain or snow. I'm holding out hope that Tweet will figure out that with her God-given height (I'm calling 5-10 out of the womb) she'll be into volleyball. And yes, I'll support her in that sport even if she does wear ribbons in her hair to match the rest of her team... a HUGE pet peeve of mine. But playing in a gym where there's no such thing as a sunburn or frozen toes? TOTALLY WORTH IT.

And speaking of how tall our little Tweet is gonna be... I came home this afternoon to find that our very own Greyhound had sent Tweet (c/o me) The Tall Book.

How could he have known that I've been having dreams about birthing a full-grown woman?

The inside of the jacket reads:

Tall people:
Smart.
Wealthy.
Successful.
U.S. Presidents.
Oscar winners.
NBA players.
CEO's.

Scrunched into airplane seats.
Unable to find good clothes.

WHY?

In the book, the author, Arianne Cohen, attempts to unlock the mysteries at the center of talldom. Like, why do tall people succeed professionally, financially and intellectually far more than others? (Which makes me think that clearly, I can't be counted among the tall anymore... Or, am I just an outlier?)

Apparently, she travels from endocrinologists' offices to the annual European Tall Club Convention in search of answers. I wonder if she ever bothered to check the nearest farm as I'm convinced that farm girls grow like weeds cuz we eat so well. And so often. Something that will follow us throughout our lives and next thing you know, we get pregnant and eat the house.

The endocrinologist mention has intrigued me, because when I was born, I grew so fast that by the time I was something like 5 months old, my pediatrician told my mom that he thought there might be something wrong with me and sent her to an endocrinologist to take some blood. And, I think you can all imagine how 5-month-old's and needles get along, right? In fact, along with my pediatrician, my mother was getting pressured from her friends to check to make sure that I wasn't the next Andre' the Giant. The doc even asked my mom: What are you gonna do if she ends up being 6-7?

Apparently, love for your children - like your average roller coaster - has a height requirement? Anyway, mom told him what any mother would tell an idiot like this: "Well, I guess I'll have a 6-7 daughter. What would you have me do? Cut her off at the knees?"

And honestly, the only way that I could demonstrate how excited I was to get this book... besides the fact that I rushed to pour myself a fruit punch with soda water and lime... is to equate it to this:

YOU GOT ME THE TALL BOOK!!!!
OMG! OMG! OMG!!!

Thanks, Greyhound! You're the best.