The Joneses WIN.

That's IT. It's final. I can't keep up.

I'm announcing it publicly so that upon reading this you will know to dramatically DROP your expectations, hopefully avoiding the inevitable disappointment that I would otherwise cause (and probably already have caused you) due to something I did or will certainly fail to do.

I'm acknowledging this theme to my life. I figure it is healthier to admit the truth than remain stymied by self-exasperation. So, I hereby admit it: I simply can't live up to ANYBODY. I have friends who went from solid careers onto pregnancies where they gained all of, oh, about 10 pounds, then popped out their babies and now are raising toddlers while pregnant again, WHILE effortlessly decorating for Christmas, sending out newsletters, holding jobs, you name it. They are unfazed.

I am fazed.

Enough to make up for ALL their cool-collectedness.

I only DREAM of a solid career, I gained 10 pounds in ONE MONTH over Thanksgiving, I don't even have a child yet and I didn't manage to decorate for Christmas (ours is one of the only bleak, dark houses on the block), no one got a newsletter from us, and my ONE focus, this HOUSE, seems only minutely farther along than it was when we moved in! Sean literally got a booklet of "Project Promises" from me for Christmas because I couldn't get my act together and actually DO them in time. My preparedness level for this child is hovering somewhere around zero; I keep telling her if she would let me SLEEP, I might have the mental clarity to find her a car seat or something to hang out in...

--But again, should I really be overwhelmed by an infant who isn't even outside of my body yet? Yes, she's tumbling around, stomping on my bladder, using my rib cage as a jungle gym, leaning back into my veins and cutting off the blood return to my heart, but this is the EASY part. Come April, this sort of activity will be accompanied by crying and an endless need to nurse. Oh yes, I'm fazed. If I can't keep the weeds out of the front yard NOW, the future is hopeless.

The silver lining to this doomsdayish cloud is that I've discerned my calling. Yes indeed. Like any good Christian, I've always wondered what it is and now I know. It seems that the main purpose for which God uses me is to teach everyone else not to place hope in other humans. Hey, at least I'm being used-- and ultimately for a good cause-- so this is an exciting fact. I really think Paul meant to include Being An Utter Disappointment in his list of spiritual gifts. ;-)

As further evidence of my calling, here are the cowpoke's living quarters at 26 weeks. I do not match the drawing of the Jones's tummy on BabyCenter.com, which is about half as full as mine. I will no doubt be chided at my next appointment for my Christmas weight gain. (Meanwhile, somebody needs to communicate to the baby how good she has it; her attempts to stretch out my gut even further lead me to believe she's oblivious to the relative roominess of her accommodations).

Here, of course, is my cooler, more collected half at 26 weeks. He is handling the pregnancy quite well-- one of the unfazed.

Conclusion: So now that I've cleared the air, acknowledging my endless shortcomings, I feel as though I can ring in the new year on a note of frankness and honesty. My resolution for 2009: Survive.

(Not that the Joneses even wanted to compete with me next year. They were bored with the lack of challenge I presented.)

Family Photos

Okay, so here's our little clan, Christmas '08.

And here's the Haigler bunch:

I failed to get a nice family photo of the Sims side. There's one of Sean's dad with Christmas ribbon around his head Rambo-style, admiring his new Beretta. But rather than propagate stereotypes of small-town Texans, I decided the most representative family photo was this shot of Badges:

Last, though only least in her size, the cowpoke is supposedly the weight of a rutabaga. I think this means she's no longer Wilbur's "little" sister. (She's well over a foot long and weighs a pound and a half. Wilbur is more like a pound and about eight inches long.) I attempted a visual:

'Tis the Season [of Mooching]

Ah, the splendid time of year when we don't have to cook, do dishes, run our own heater, or attend to any responsibilities at all. Yes, we love Christmas. Nothing finer in life than kicking back at the cozy homes of our parents, being surrounded by the people who are required to love us despite everything, and celebrating a savior who also has this obligatory, unconditional love thing going on. It's just a blissful, happy time. (And we're deeply grateful that we can say that-- I'm not assuming it is such for everyone).

This year especially, we're soaking it in-- keenly aware of the fact that next Christmas will involve l'enfant. There will be little to no attention for Sean and I, and instead of the carefree lounging, I expect we'll be preoccupied with a subtle, endless anxiety over her behavior and needs. This is our last season of true mooching as we have known it to-date. Such bittersweet feelings.

To maximize the mooching potential of this final season of freedom, I'm not even relying on my own creativity for this post. That is what friends are for. Here are a few bits of seasonal beauty:

A version of this was on the Whaley's blog. I understand it was a bit of a viral video last year, so you may have seen it-- but I hadn't. Got a kick out of it. Watch Straight No Chaser's rendition of the Twelve Days of Christmas.

My friend Stacey's entire Christmas post is also worth referencing. The baby bear video is adorable-- but make sure you watch the 5 worst local TV Christmas commercials. Hilarious.

From our family to yours, Merry Christmas and
Happy Mooching.

It's Too Cold!

I'm not standing half naked for a photo when it's freezing in here! So I drew a picture instead. This is what I look like at 24 weeks. Maybe a little bit bigger. The baby's now the size of an ear of corn, and she's inhabiting a soccerball size space, according to babycenter.com. I'm keeping her well insulated with a layer of pink fluffiness (much like the fiberglass batts in your attic... approx R-19). I'm tempted to draw y'all a literal picture of what I just described, but I don't really have time to do it justice. I'll leave it up to your imaginations.

Sean finally felt her kick; it wasn't what he thought it would be like and reportedly did not meet his expectations. Wilbur has been feeling her kick for a while now. This really disturbs him; he sits on my belly during our heart-to-heart conversations and isn't too fond of being popped from below. (Her aim is impeccable). Unlike the men in the household, I usually enjoy feeling her move; it's kind of like my insides are on a roller-coaster ride, and I'm happy that they're having such a good time in there. I would like to ride on some roller coasters too.

Worth Quoting

"If evolution really works, how come mothers only have two hands?" ~ Milton Berle

"Diaper backward spells repaid. Think about it." ~ Marshall McLuhan

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

These came via Darla. Out of genuine concern for the baby, she also sent me the following advice: http://www.c00lstuff.com/1133/Do_s_and_don_ts_with_babies/
:-)