Jackson and I spent this week in Houston. Travis Cottrell was singing at our LPM event on Tuesday night and I was bound and determined not to miss it. It was definitely worth the drive. Poor Jacks has a cold, so poor me hasn't slept in 3 nights. The first night, after having been up with him every hour, I thought it was because his grandma's-house-pack-n-play was too small. He seemed very uncomfortable and I kept having to move him out of the corners. So my mom went out and bought him a real crib and set it up herself. She's every woman. It was tragic the following morning when I had to break the news that it didn't help one bit. Dern. It was the cold all along. But I think we will be very glad through the next few years to have a full size crib there. This afternoon we headed back home. Mom hooked me up to a hot tea IV so I would stay awake. It really did work. I look pretty rough after three days of no sleep. It makes me thankful that I'm 9 months in (as of tomorrow) to motherhood and not in the throes of newborn nighttime parenting.
When we pulled up in the driveway tonight our house was completely lit up with Christmas lights. I had two thoughts: Wow, that looks amazing! and Why on earth do we have Christmas lights up a week before Thanksgiving? I mean, we joked (we were joking, right?) about going all Clark Griswald this year to make up for last year's lack of decor. (We were moving.) But, literally, no one in the neighborhood has lights up yet. Then, after I thoroughly gushed over the incredible way my husband had lined the complicated roofline and curvy walkways with beautiful lights, he explained that we wouldn't light it until after Thanksgiving. But when the clock strikes 12 on November 24th, he's flipping the switch! Really, he just wanted to get it done so that when we return from our travels it will already be taken care of.
Okay, if you're squeamish, easily embarrassed, or a man, please stop reading now. No, really, stop now. The following discussion involves the word "placenta." That's your final warning. Last night I went out with some of my best girlfriends in the world. Two of them were able to come from Houston and see me and Jackson when he was born. At one point during dinner they made a remark about having seen a friend's placenta while visiting her in the hospital. After I enthusiastically expressed my horror, they informed me that it was ME! I said, "No way, y'all didn't come until I was moved out of my delivery room! Right? Tell me I'm right!" Wrong. Then a very vague and fuzzy memory began to surface. I don't remember most of that day because of how tired I was from being up all night and having taken an Ambien (do yourself a favor and refuse this when it's offered) during labor. I'm completely embarrassed and feeling sorry for myself about this. I told them that, truly, the hardest thing about childbirth was having to get over my modesty. There is no dignity for a woman. I have many other examples of how this is true, but that could be its own post. Look for it. And also, did you know that some people are really into placentas? Apparently you can plant it under a tree like nature's own miracle grow in honor of your offspring or do artwork with it. Yes, artwork. There's more, but I won't go there. You're saying, "Now she decides not to go there!" I will add that these two friends - Christine and Michelle - still love me after seeing my placenta. So they are friends for life. In fact, Christine inadvertently saw Michelle's placenta too. As she said, she's two for three. Kay, you're next.