parentalness

I've been reading while being nursed.  (There's not a whole lot a person can do while lactating).  I finally pressed through and finished Carter Beats the Devil.  That's the first piece of fiction I've finished in almost 2 years.  I congratulate myself for that.  (It helps that it's well-written, has just enough suspense, and is perfectly paced - even if it does indulge in an overly villainous villain.  It made up for that with spunky women. Thanks to my friend Shannon for the recommendation.)
Now I'm reading a book about playing with your children.  It's one of those things where I totally grasp the concept and yet the technique and application seem ever evasive.  When rubber hits the road my brain evaporates and I can't think of anything fun to do with my kids.  Hence the endless hours of streaming netflix on the computer and the wii.  Baaaaad mom.  (Even if I am cutting myself slack, the screentime gets ridiculous, and it makes my kids ornery beyond description when they spend all day zoning out.)
I found one incredibly interesting passage, a quote from Dan Kindlon's latest book.  (I love Dan Kindlon.) A lot of the book seems to be pulled from the Parenting Practices at the Millenium Survey and one part of the survey found 5 common factors among the majority of the 12% of those children surveyed who didn't manifest evidence of any of the problems or risks the study covered.  (Problems ie: drug use, laziness, failure to reach academic potential, depression, and sexual promiscuity.)  The 5 factors were: families that frequently ate dinner together, married parents, they had to keep their room clean, they were not allowed to have a phone in their room, and they regularly did community service.

According to this list, I just need to be more consistent about making Sir O make his bed.... and find some sort of service opportunity for the under-5 set.  I think we'll stick to making artwork to mail to our missionary.

These are goals I can live with.
But I still need to solve the screen-time issue.  What works/has worked for you?

in a pumpkin shell

Tuesday evening Mr Renn took Sir O to our neighborhood pumpkin patch and purchased more pumpkins than he could carry home.  So tonight it was my turn to take the Captain to pick out an already-paid-for pumpkin.



He picked a solid little green guy, just larger than his head, pear shaped with a perfect little stem.

10 minutes after we brought it home, the Captain chucked it down a flight of stairs and split it in half.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry or yell, or what.

little man

You  have slept a lot today, which has allowed me to feed your brothers and clean up most of their messes.  Hopefully Grandma will not have to have another one of those days when she wants to kick us all out of the house.  Sometimes the messes pile up so fast that she comes home to a pretty complete disaster, so I don't blame her.  8 more months and we'll all be gone, and maybe she'll even miss us a little.

You, my dear; I know she will miss.

Sir O wants nothing more than to be constantly in your face.  The Captain just wants whatever Sir O wants.  So you are terribly popular; too bad you can't quite enjoy it.  You can screw up your face into a pretty convincing portrait of agony, and you make little mousy sounds that set my body to leaking milk with gusto.  You hate being naked, as have all of my babies, and I have to turn the shower on with the water scalding hot to warm up the bathroom to your satisfaction when we bathe you. (Don't worry, you are personally nowhere near the scalding hot water)

You've begun to be more awake when you are awake.  Your eyes are just starting to give the satisfactory  effect of actually focusing on what you try to look at.  You love to be held, and I wish I could hold you more than I do.  Unfortunately most of my job description still requires full use of both hands and so I'm constantly trying to set you down - usually when you're not quite ready to allow it.  I'm remembering that babies your age have the unholy quirk of popping their eyes open the moment they are laid down, no matter how deeply they were sleeping just milliseconds prior.

I'm happy to find that on my third-go-round I am significantly less distressed by the hard parts of each little phase.  This time around I actually believe that it is a phase and will end.  Somehow that makes the sleep-deprivation, the engorgement, and the inability to complete mundane tasks infinitesimally easier to bear.

So each night, when you and I are awake and the rest of the house is fast asleep, we'll squeeze our bonding in and I will try to enjoy you and breathe you in.  I have not got much time before you develop a personality, then a will of your own, and before I know it you'll be giving me reasons to yell and reprimand and sigh.  But for now, you are a tiny little body with a pure little spirit.  You adapt to being in that body a little more each minute, and despite the part of me that wants to keep you this way, I'm excited for the day I see you playing alongside your brothers.

If my children can learn to enjoy each others' company, and grow up to be some of each other's favorite people, then this whole mom bit - misery of pregnancy and insanity of young-motherhood - will be unquestionably worth it.

That's not too much to ask, is it?

cold front

The house is about 60 degrees, and there's a housefly that can't seem to find it's way out of my room.  It's easier to catch or kill flies when it's cold, on the premise that they move slower.  Unfortunately my movement seems to be equally impeded and my advantage disappears.

I've come to the stark realization that Christmas is going to pounce on me, and I am not going to be ready.  And with hardly any Christmas budget I've got to use my noggin or I'm going to have one disenchanted 4-year-old.  It all feels terribly unfair, as do most aspects of being the mom.

I'm trying to eliminate foods in my diet that may increase GI discomfort for our Gentleman.  (Not because it's dire, just because I value sleep that much.)  This means no dairy, beans, chocolate, dark green veggies, strawberries, tomatoes, or citrus.  Now, can anyone tell me what I CAN eat?  Having a hard time with that one.



Sir O and the Captain have finally hit the wall of "permanent adjustment" being required, rather than a temporary one for our Gentleman's addition to life.  This means tantrums and more tantrums, and then some more tantrums.  Sometimes this makes it hard for one to remember that one is the adult, and needs to behave accordingly.  Luckily I learned a long time ago that arguing with Sir O is an exercise in futility.  Unfortunately not all the adults in his life have learned this yet.  There are other methods, they usually involve hugs or time-outs to calm him down, and then some sneaky conversation convincing Sir O that what we're trying to get him to do is entirely his own idea.

Neither of the boys has been willing to eat much in the way of meals lately.  This makes it awfully hard for me to justify preparing their meals one-handed while trying to keep our Gentleman pacified.  They may or may not have had left-over birthday cake for lunch today.  (It's carrot cake, it has a vegetable in it!)  I'm hoping I find a better balance sometime soon, and that they decide to be willing to eat again.



I keep trying to cut myself some slack and allow a sizeable window of time for all of us to adjust.  I'm realizing that what I need is not slack from myself, but from my boys.  How does one manage that?  I think I need a mediator - like the guy they bring out when there's a hostage situation.  I'm sort of a hostage until 6pm everyday, right?

knee deep

I can't keep track of anything lately.
My days are being lived minute-to-minute and in my brain they get blurred together like a sequential sludge.  Mostly it's a constant effort to keep at least one of three little men appeased or asleep.
Breastfeeding is going well; it almost doesn't hurt anymore.
Reflux is not where I'd like it to be, but our gentleman is gaining weight, so it mustn't be too bad.
Sleeping is not our strong suite yet, but I still have hope.
And there is no risk of jauntice, as our gentleman is plowing through diapers at an impressive rate.



Somehow these details are the substance of life just now.
Which is good. I think of the alternatives and I take my reality quite happily.
There's just not a whole lot of action, not many verbs in my life besides eat, sleep, change, burp, yell, and occasionally taking a quick shower.  I don't have the presence or power of mind to describe these minutiae with any clarity or poignance.  I'm sad about that, but don't see a burst of brilliance in my near future.



Because he would become insanely stir-crazy if he were forced to live at this quasi-remedial pace, Mr Renn took the older two boys for an outing with his parents this morning.  Last weekend they did the same, and began pondering just how it was that pioneers managed wagons and handcarts across and through the Rockies, which thought led to the decision to drive through Emigration Canyon today.  As always they had a great time, and the boys returned with beaming smiles and Sir O's mile-a-minute description of what they'd seen.   It looks to have been a gorgeous, relaxing outing.



I slept most of the time they were gone, as our little gentleman had a particularly rough time falling asleep last night.  I didn't wrestle him down until well after 3am.  It feels like a wrestle; that dance of trying to get all factors to combine just right so that a little man falls asleep, and then stays asleep when he is laid down.  I got trumped so many times that I probably would have given up, had that been an option.  Luckily I've convinced myself that the longer it takes to finally get him asleep, the longer he's likely to stay asleep.  Don't burst my bubble, it's keeping me sane.



There are moments when I regard Mr Renn's ability to sleep through all the nighttime drama with less than perfect regard.  It can seem so unfair when only mothers are wired to sleep with their ears wide open.  Mothers need sleep too, you know.  They probably need it more than anyone else, and yet so rarely do we get enough of it.  Consider thanking your mother for all the sleep she has lost on your account, I'm sure it adds up to more than enough dark and droopy hours to merit a spectacular show of gratitude.

Mother of Three

I cannot tell a lie.
I do not have a hang of this yet.
There are some super sweet moments, total tender mercies.


(Samantha rocks) 

But most moments are not like that.
Today within 2 minutes the Captain hit our baby Gentleman on the head with a plastic dog, Sir O hit the Captain with a toy xylophone, and Sir O managed to perch so precariously on my computer chair (while watching Blues Clues via Netflix) that he fell and hurt himself.

There was a lot of crying in 2 minutes.  And a lot of yelling.  By me.

 I'm off the lortab and only taking ibuprophen for pain now.  Mostly because I am a weakling and have a low pain threshold. I like being able to think more clearly, but am frustrated because I'm still not thinking clearly enough to keep ahead of the game of 3 sons.  That is only going to come with sleep and exercise.  I can have neither right now.

Luckily I have got initiative and motivation.  Those are certainly not a given at this point, so I'm appreciating them.  I'm celebrating the things I can do.  I can bend over to pick things up.  I can see my toes, I even painted them yesterday.  Since I still have help most of the time I can get small tasks done during some of our Gentleman's longer naps - I've stayed on top of laundry and ironing and writing thank-you notes.

Most importantly, food tastes like food again.  There is nothing like eating when things taste just right.

Our Gentleman is a massive cluster feeder.  He'll go for 3 hours or so and want to feed almost constantly, then take a 3 or 4 hour nap.  The trick is to try to time the long naps to be at night when I can sleep..... and minimize the forever long feeding frenzies at night when I could otherwise be sleeping.  I've had one night so far where the stars aligned just right and I got two four hour bursts of sleep almost back to back.   Other nights.... not so much.

I still get crazy giddy inside looking at this tiny bundle and trying to wrap my brain around his potential.  His personality and a whole life of choices are still an unknown, and while part of that terrifies me, it's also exciting to know I'm the steward of him and his life, at least for a while.  There are moments (like that wild 2 minutes) that I question God's wisdom in entrusting these boys to my care, but mostly I trust that whom the Lord calls, He qualifies.

And I trust that my kids will develop amnesia as needed, and hopefully not be too scarred by my screw-ups and shortcomings.

What else can I do?

midas' touch

I am still essentially house-bound; bleeding and bladder control and all.  But that doesn't mean everyone has to be, so yesterday Mr Renn took the boys and his parents up Farmington Canyon to celebrate Fall.  He promised to come back with pictures so I wouldn't feel left out.  Sir O also brought me two fists full of leaves.  Doesn't it look lovely?   I'm sad I had to miss this one.













Autumn is so entirely here, and I can't help feeling excited about it.  Then I remember that November is taking Mr Renn 6-7 hours away and then panic eats up all my excitement.  We will survive that one, but it may get ugly.

A brief history of Elliot who has lost a "t".

I had quite the ride in the maternity ward. I think it's terribly ironic that you can choose your ob/gyn, but must play russian roulette for your nurses. Your nurses essentially define your experience.... your doctor catches the baby, sews you up, and if you're lucky checks on you once before you go home. I have had 4 wildly different nurses, to the point of almost feeling like I was in a totally different hospital every 12 hours.

Percoset makes me alarmingly incoherent. I hope I'm remembering everything with some degree of clarity.

Sunday morning Mr Renn and I arrived late for my induction. I had a much harder time feeling prepared enough to get myself out the door than I was anticipating. We discussed the paradox of being late to an appointment when Mr Renn has a relatively low tolerance for late patients as we drove in.



I flew through registration and less than 30 minutes after being admitted I was donning a lovely IV and the pitocin started - nice and low at a 1.  Enough to make the contractions regular, not enough to make them any more intense than they had been on their own.  Because we are in Utah, we had the opportunity to take the Sacrament while in labor, which is both a blessing and hilarious. My cousin Samantha arrived to document, and to keep Mr Renn company, and I thought we were good to go.



Mr Renn is a world-class avoidance technician.  He did not want to have the requisite conversations for narrowing options and naming this baby.  I pinned him down and made progress a couple of times as my pitocin level was raised to a 4 then a 10.  But no further.  I managed to get my epidural placed before they checked me and noticed I was dialated to a 6, and was beginning to get so uncomfortable during contractions that I couldn't carry on a conversation through them (which killed the progress on the naming front).  The anesthesiologist was very nice, and very busy, but for some reason her block didn't work for the right side of my abdomen.  I was not happy about this, I'd heard so many stories of epidurals only working on one side, and I don't handle pain in a particularly calm manner.  I didn't want to be a self-absorbed mess through labor. (Oh well....)

I tried rolling onto my right side, to see if gravity could help me out. (I also pushed the "increase dose" button a time or 10).  It seemed to be working ever so slowly, but then the 3rd year resident arrived with orders from my (still not physically present) doctor to break my water.  He was a very pleasantly-demeanored red-head with an aura of calmness, and will make a great doctor.   After my water broke the baby's heart rate announced that laying on my right side was no longer an option, and I realized that I was going to have to make it through to the other side of delivery before I would be remotely comfortable again.  To my credit I did not ever scream or mangle my husband's hand.  I should get lots of points for this.

I received word that my doctor was on her way, and would be there in 10 minutes or so.  15 minutes later I had to tell my nurse I was certain I was crowning and didn't know how many more contractions I could go without pushing.  I had graciously been given oxygen again, and I tried to focus on holding my oxygen mask in place with one hand while I violently shook a bar on the side of the bed with the other hand through each contraction.   The nice red-headed resident appeared, and was informed he'd most likely be delivering my baby.  He confirmed that I was "complete" and through my self-absorbed pain I was aware of bodies bustling around getting instruments in place and moving my body into the proper position for pushing.

Just then my doctor walked in.  No time for fully scrubbing in, she grabbed a pair of gloves and joined the resident at the foot of the bed, she was telling me to push before she even sat down.

I don't actually remember pushing.  I couldn't tell you who was there or what they told me.  I had the noise of the oxygen washing out 85% of what was being said to me, and all I could think was how grateful I was that at least the epidural was working down there where it counted.  I pushed, someone counted to 10, I hyperventilated, then took a deep breath, then we started over again.  At one point I realized that I could feel that there was no longer a baby up in my ribs, and a few pushes later I could hear the long-awaited wailing of a baby that was all mine.

My great grandmother gave birth to her first born, a daughter named Caroline, who never cried.  Somehow her neck was broken during delivery and she only lived a month or so.  My great-grandmother used to say that the sound of a new baby crying is the most beautiful sound in all the world, and that when her second child, my grandpa, was born she had never been so relieved or happy as when she first heard him cry.



This was the first time I'd given birth where kangaroo care was promoted.   I had the baby across my chest within moments of giving birth, and they only took him from me once to cut the cord and take quick vitals before he was back again.  I got to watch as his face slowly lost its puffiness from the trauma of being born, and feel his first wiggles.  Despite the messiness of this approach, I think I'm a fan.

Shortly after I was all sewn up and loaded with anti-hemorrhage medication my parents arrived with the boys.  They had brought me a meal, but I was shaking so badly that I could hardly eat it.  Mr Renn kept laughing at me because he'd never seen anyone shake so violently, let alone with a spoonful of soup in their hand.   I had wanted to introduce the boys to their brother by name, but that was just not to be.  Sir O was very aware of and interested in this new baby brother, whereas the Captain was oblivious and mostly just interested in the novelty of a hospital room.  Unfortunately Sir O was also a little concerned about the blood he was seeing everywhere, and when they tried to help me to the bathroom my left leg wouldn't hold me up and blood went everywhere.  That one took some explaining, and the promise of a very large bandaid finally calmed Sir O's concern.



A ridiculous parade of the 9 of us, plus a nurse, made our way to my room in the maternity ward.  My parents took the boys for a long walk to try to give us time to choose a name, but at that point I was way too drugged to have the coherence to cut through Mr Renn's avoidance technique, and just a little narrowing progress was made.  Mr Renn insisted that he couldn't decide on a name until after they bathed the baby and we saw him all cleaned up.  So naturally it was another 2 1/2 hours before anyone showed up to bathe him.  At that point there was meconium all over his blanket and he's peed 4 or 5 times without ever being diapered, so we figured whomever was that late to bathe a baby got their just reward in additional mess to clean up.

He cleaned up awfully cute.



We had narrowed the field to two first names and about 8 middle names, and were crossing them off at a painfully slow rate.  We kept having visitors, and because the hospital was a learning institution there was a steady stream of med students and residents passing through (both day and night, for my entire stay....)  The baby was looking to maybe never be fully named.



Around 6:30pm my Grandma called and after asking if we'd already named him, announced prophetically that she'd had a dream and knew what his name was supposed to be.  Wouldn't you know that Samuel was still on our middle-name list, and only worked with one of the two first names we had left.  Just like that his name was decided and relief flooded the room.  (Only to be replaced with consternation over how to spell his name - after 3 days we decided on Elliot - and also decided that in the future we'll teach him to accept all the acceptable spellings of his name).

Renn had to go home to be with Sir O and the Captain, and the remainder of my hospital stay is a lonely blur of interruption and contradiction.  When I did manage to get the baby to the nursery and sleep, I slept hard and deep, but usually only for 2-3 hours.  I learned quickly that it was worth it to stay ahead of the pain with my meds, and I had 4 different nurses with 4 drastically different opinions about how my breastfeeding was going.  I also had some drama concerning the shades to my window going missing, and my nutrition order being entered as a liquid diet..... both of which nobody seemed to know how to fix for a while.  There was never a dull moment.  Unfortunately  dull moments were kind of what I was hoping for.  I really wanted quiet uninterrupted bonding time and didn't get very much of it in.  Luckily I'm not as worried about bonding as I was with the Captain.  I know it will happen.  I know that a million tiny moments will slowly turn into memories and that before I know it none of us will be able to imagine life without this baby in it.



In the meantime my milk has come in and my uterus continues to contract beautifully.  Good, painful things.

So it goes as we enter a fuzzy, transitional phase.  There are so many people who have so many adjustments to make before we'll start recognizing our new normal.  Despite the discomfort of change, I'm pretty wildly excited about the prospect of this new normal, and I fully expect to love it with my whole soul.

And my Grandpa informed me that the baby's web-alias ought to be "Wild Bill", but he's so far from wild right now that I'm inclined to call him "The Gentleman."   I guess we'll see in the coming days which pseudonym he earns.

Home Soil

I appear to have a typical reaction to strong pain-killers in that they turn my brain to mush.  (Combined with postpartum hormones it's an especially mushy mush).  I've tried at least 4 times to sit down and compose something sweet and all that comes out is an abrasive parade of statistics and facts.  I do hope this improves as my pain goes down and I can function sans popping pills like clockwork.  (But as I'm currently dealing with milk-coming-in-ness, pain is still ever present).

Something sweet is definitely in order.
I did, after all come home to:











yes, that is the wrapper from my kouing-aman.  
I ate it before I had a chance to take a photo.


Mr Renn picking us up from the hospital to go home:
(he was on duty with the boys at home and didn't get to spend much time at the hospital with us).




I shall try to collect my scattered powers of coherency and record this whole experience as soon as possible. Hope you're in the mood to indulge me!

ten ten ten

Dear World,

Look who's joined us.  Isn't he perfect?
I just have to finalize how we're spelling his name.  At least he has one.
Finally having a name is huge when you are our child.



And a gargantuan thanks to Samantha for spending the whole day with us.  The whole adventure is documented and as gorgeous as photos of birth can be.

boyness

Last week I noticed on the Kaysville City marquee that the fire department was hosting an open house today.  When you have a little boy like Sir O, you notice things like that.

There was absolutely no way I was braving it myself, so as soon as Mr Renn was home today I sent him with both boys and a camera.

Sir O came back in the most delightful of spirits, showing me that he'd accrued no fewer than 4 junior fire chief stickers and two fridge magnets.

And for having both boys and no help, Mr Renn delivered pretty well with the photos.

And I got a few minutes free of feeling guilty for neglecting the boys.

How's that for a win-win?

new levels of rotundity

I have never been this pregnant before.
Sir O was delivered 6 days before his due date, the Captain was 5.
My due date is 4 days away.
All I want to do is sleep.
But I have to be the mama.



Can't I somehow do both at the same time?
Not responsibly.
There is an unacceptable amount of neglect being experienced by those two boys.
I'm banking on them having no memory of it.
Also banking on them deciding to like the baby, and not decide to feel abandoned.
They're not abandoned,  I promise.

Game Plan

Last night I made the mistake of reading a Patricia Polacco book to Sir O.  You never saw such a pathetic mama.  I am a hot hormonal mess - a big round one.

We have arranged with my doctor that I shall have this baby this weekend, if not before.  The end is in sight, the baby is back in the birth canal where he belongs, and I am utterly exhausted.

My boys keep sneaking out of the house when they can sense I have no energy left.  Usually this results in barefoot or stocking-footed escapades in mud.  I am so looking forward to having help soon.  I am also utterly terrified of the part where the help will end, and I will be left alone with all three boys. all. day. long.

sir O and his train/golf course creation - one of our better moments today

Made my butternut soup yesterday - it's the perfect autumn supper.

Picked up some baby name books from the library - along with an armload of curious georgeness.

My hospital bags are packed, my thank-you gifts for attending doctors and nurses are wrapped (I had BETTER make it to the hospital to deliver this baby!) and I've been living out of a packed toiletries bag for two weeks now.

I've been reading Carter Beats the Devil, but reached a chapter where I know something sad is about to happen and can't force myself to keep reading.  I'm really tempted to re-read Little Women, but am worried that will make me melancholy about my non-daughter-ness.   Who am I kidding?  I'll have no brain left for reading in a few days anyway.

Inevitably, I dream every night about birthing this baby.  Usually he comes out as a full-blown 6-month-old or looking exactly like children of our friends and acquaintances.  I can tell you one thing, he is a strong little man.  When he stretches he sure lets me know who's boss.  And judging by the heartburn I've had, and the amount of pepcid it's taken to make it bearable, I'd wager that he will not come out bald.

So goes my excited, terrified little life today.  Tomorrow?  Who knows.

paternal instincts and big brotherness

Have I mentioned that I'm having trouble getting out of bed lately?
Not only am I not sleeping well, but I'm just large enough for gravity to keep me in bed long after I'm awake.  It requires a ridiculous amount of energy to peel the still-pregnant me out of the bed and into a vertical position.

So when I hear the boys stirring next door in their room, I tend to wait until somebody is hollering at me to get up- and buck up- and be the mom.

But this morning the hollering was taking a suspiciously long time to begin, and since I've learned to worry when it's quiet for too long, I fought the good fight, got myself upright, and went to check on them.

Sir O had taken it upon himself to bring the Captain breakfast in bed.  Cookies, lots of cookies, that my little sister just baked last night.  They were both so pleased with themselves that I couldn't quite get upset.  And it is sort of my fault for not bouncing out of bed at the first sound of awake children, right?



Looks like I'll have an extra load of laundry today.  It's good to know these boys are minded to look after each other, even if they do it in ways I am never prepared for.  I think they'll be good big brothers, and that's more important right now than healthy breakfasts or clean sheets.

pretend that no news is good news

Because I know there are people checking, I feel obliged to say NO BABY today.  At least not yet.
But I'm 90% sure he's finding his way back down the birth canal, since I can hardly walk today.
Don't you worry, I'll find a way to update promptly once there is news.

Well, there is news... just not the kind anyone's looking for.  The captain woke up on Friday with what we think is a spider bite on his left cheek.  By today it was swollen to unholy proportions.  Luckily an agressive regimen of benadryl and hydrocortizone has got him looking considerably less like a chipmunk with seven nuts in one cheek.



See?  News.  I always deliver.
Sorry, bad pun.

I find it's hard to be clever when one is this uncomfortable.  But I expect my brain will get much mushier before it gets any better.  At least I'll have baby pictures to share, if not coherent sentences.  Soon.

Hanging

Despite having said she'd be surprised if I made it until my appointment yesterday, my doctor didn't actually seem surprised at all.  I was disappointed only because I like feeling like I'm remarkable (and rarely have opportunity to).  The baby has backed out of the birth canal a little, but is still head-down, so what happens next is anybody's guess.  Just in case we were put on a waiting list to be induced on my due date (10/10).  Knowing that I won't be pregnant past a certain date makes these last days feel a bit more bearable.

HSF graciously joined me for a trek down to Provo last night to hear Nie.  Despite getting there only 10 minutes after they were supposedly going to start seating people, we got some of the last seats in the house (and that only because my cousin Jenny was saving them for us..... we sat down right as the overwhelmed seating shark began barking into the microphone that nobody was allowed to save seats.)  I think they got about twice as many people as they were expecting.  (They had seats for 1700, I'd guess there were at least 2500 people there).  The program started about 45 minutes late because they had to clear aisles through all the crowds of standing people in order to comply with fire-code.



So the attendance was intense, and the production values were .... they struggled.  The venue had dozens of stage lights that weren't used.  The stage was only lit by fluorescent light from behind the podium.  (That's about the worst way it could possibly be lit..... so if/when they release the video online it'll almost certainly look pretty crummy.)  And the cord connecting the podium computer to the large screen kept shorting out.  Luckily nobody cared much, and what we really came for was to support Nie.  I think she felt supported.  And I cried, I wasn't expecting to cry.  (I am dense and pregnant, remember).   Someday I hope to be somebody like Nie or Tollipop who everybody wants to be friends with or feel like they already are friends with.  I have a lot to learn about bridling sarcasm and narcissism.

Afterwards the parking lot was jammed, so HSF and I hit up the BYU creamery.  I can attest that the lemon sherbet rocks, and that I don't miss being a girl on BYU campus.  Way too many attractive people; real life is not like that.  (Which complex may have something to do with my forgetting to take a photo of myself and HSF that evening)

Then we drove home and stayed up way too late talking about being poor and ambitious and aesthetically minded.  That is a rare treat for a young mama.  (The talking, not so much the staying up late).

On the way home from her house, I started having contractions about 5 minutes apart and panicked a little.  It was 1:30 in the morning and I was too tired to be happy about being in labor.  But once I got home they stopped and let me sleep.  This was good, because I don't think I could have awakened Mr Renn to save my life.

That trip to Provo was the very last thing on my list of "To hopefully accomplish before baby comes."  Everything else will be frosting.  Hoping to not miss any of General Conference, and otherwise I'm just biding my time and being fully aware that babies are easier to take care of when they're on the inside.

But I think, for me, they are a wee bit easier to love when they're on the outside.  So he's welcome to join us out here too.