Little.

Henry's birth is still as relatively vivid in my memory as it was when I wrote about it last October.  If I allow myself, I can recall most of the events that morning.  The temperature outside, the smell of the hospital and the emptiness of the lobby as we trekked to the maternity ward.  I remember the mundane details of our delivery room.  The color of the wooden cabinets, the lighting and the blankets that were placed upon me.  I can recall fragments of the conversations that we had as we checked in, the disbelief that the nurses had when they learned that I was already so far along and still smiling.  I close my eyes and I can still hear Rob coaching me through the most painful stages of my labor.  My memory rests and relishes on these happy details as I think about the excitement that Rob and I shared.  The anticipation that we felt to see our son and to start our family.    

And then tragically my mind wanders and is inevitably faced with the details of the rest of that day.  Obviously there is more to Henry's life than just his birth and being rushed to the NICU.  I was not prepared to share the rest of his story when I wrote about his birth.  I realize now that there are moments and details that I will never be able or willing to share; mostly because they are too sacred to attempt to record and partly because they are fragmented in my own memory.

Once Henry was taken away in such critical condition, the remaining people in our room were left to figure out what to do next.  My mother wept, Rob rushed to comfort me and I delivered the afterbirth.  Labor itself was painful but the after-effects seemed to be worse since Henry was gone.  I expected to go through the agony of contractions and be rewarded with a baby in my arms to distract me from everything else.  I envisioned the sensation of holding him, crying over his beauty and taking our first family picture.  I never anticipated that I would be crying because he was born not breathing.  I never thought that my body would try to get back to "normal" without him and his absence only intensified the pain of my muscles and bones twitching back into place.

I remember Rob coming and going to call his parents and his brother and to get information from Henry's doctors.  My mom left to call my grandmother and my dad visited me at my bedside.  The Division Chief of the NICU then met with Rob and me and gravely talked to us about Henry's condition.  He presented us with options and told us that at best, we would not be able to take Henry home for a while.  We were blindsided.  Devastated.  But still hopeful and naive.  I wanted to take Henry home in two days.  I wanted to put him in his car seat and do all of the things that I had been reading and dreaming about for so many months.  I remember concentrating on these rituals and feeling more disappointed that they would be put on hold than allowing myself to think of the worst possible scenario.  Yes, we would have to wait to take Henry home but surely it would not take as long as they thought?  He was sick now, but he was fine, wasn't he?  He would just need a little extra help, like so many babies, and then we'd be on our way.  Right?

And then, a few hours later, came the moment when I was able to see Henry.  I was wheeled into the first room of the NICU and stood at his bedside and finally met the person that I had a small hand in creating.  The Sprout that I had felt for months and took so much pleasure in fantasizing over.  He was more beautiful and perfect than I could have ever imagined.  And he looked exhausted.  I ached to hold him.  To hear his cry and comfort him like only mothers can do for their offspring.  I yearned to feel his rapidly-beating heart against mine, to caress his skin and stroke his little blonde curls.  I was confused and disoriented.  It seemed to go against nature to have him on the table and not be with his parents.  What was happening and why?

We spent the next 108 hours in varying states of disbelief, happiness, pride, anxiety and pain.  But I remember Henry's blessing.  An eloquent and sincere prayer uttered by Rob on that first day.  We had talked about this blessing for quite some time and thought about what key phrases we wanted to be said.  It was a tender and sacred moment to be gathered around our son and hear Rob's love and concern.

I remember when Rob wheeled me to our recovery room later that morning.  I will never forget the agony I felt when we entered our room and saw the empty cradle next to the bed.  We had it removed, hoping that we would see Henry in it soon.  But I happily recall the visitors that stopped by that day; my siblings, Rob's siblings, a few extended family members and some of our closest friends.  Loved ones that we ushered into the NICU, one at a time, to see the special new addition to our ranks.  I remember how appreciative I felt over the gifts they brought us.  Clothes, books and toys; items that we all hoped Henry would wearing and using soon.

There was a sink right outside of the NICU that everyone had to stop at before they entered.  A sign above the sink had something on it about keeping the babies healthy and encouraging you to scrub under your fingernails and remove your rings to ensure that your hands were extra clean.  I remember thinking that the severity of this warning did not apply to me.  Henry just needed more rest, he was not as sick as the other babies.  He would be going home with us soon.

I cannot remember what we ate that first night and I do not recall what time we went to bed.  But I remember how odd it felt to be in our room without Henry.  Rob and I seemed to take turns fretting about Henry's health and reassuring the other that everything would work out.  And although I remember being nervous that first night I remember feeling a sense of relief in knowing that Henry was in the NICU, under constant supervision and, most assuredly, healing.  Little did I know what the coming days would bring.  Little did I want to know.

Mutant?

Due dates are not an exact science. Women rarely go into labor when they are predicted to and I am perfectly aware of that. Yet, I cannot help but be excited by the fact that Sprout is due exactly one month from today. Naturally I am trying not to get my hopes up. If pregnancy has taught me anything it is that each woman is so individual that it is impossible to know exactly what will happen and when. But that has not prevented us from guessing. Rob and I have both been working on our fortune telling skills and as of right now Rob feels like the baby will be right on time if not a day before or after his due date. I, on the other hand have an inkling that he will be either early or late by at least a week - but I am not sure as to which one yet.

One thing is for certain though, as the weeks progress and our little Sprout continues to put on the pounds my body is becoming an increasingly more uncomfortable place to be. Not only have my ribs and back fallen victim to spontaneous bursts of pain but my stomach is also highly concentrated on practicing for his big day. My Braxton Hicks are still irregular but are becoming more frequent and intense with each day. Last week I attempted to describe the feeling of said Braxton Hicks to Rob. I tried to explain the intense pressure in my abdomen and the sensation of feeling like I have been stretching to capacity - but I ultimately felt like these efforts were futile.

I then tried to describe the feeling through movies and images (my favorite things) and at last the thought came to me...

Granted, Wolverine is a bit of a sensationalized and overdramatic comparison (and yes, scary), but it certainly conveys the feeling of one's body undergoing such profound pressure and tension that it feels like the skin is about to burst open with life.
What do you think fellow mothers and mothers-to-be? Is my example on par or can you think of a better one?

Novice.

Another week has come and gone. Our Sprout-countdown is now down to five weeks, which means that in just one month and one week our little man will be a tangible, physical presence in our home. Rob and I now find ourselves not only daydreaming about Sprout's appearance but of his limbs, his smile, and the feel of him. What will his tiny toes look like? How will his skin smell when it is lathered up in Babysoft lotion? And more importantly, how long will we have to wait before we can get him to laugh, smile, and share in our revelry?

However, not everything about my pregnancy has been completely blissful. I would not be realistic if I did not gripe about the white-hot pain that randomly surges through the center of my spine, the pressure that is applied to my ribs each time Sprout shifts his weight, or the impossibility of sleep with such a rotund belly. Yet these complaints are tolerable if not simply for the fact that in just a matter of weeks he will be here and my life as I know it will forever be changed. This change has already manifested itself in my thinking, my worrying, my shopping - all of which inevitably lead back to baby and husband. You out there have been witnessing the strongest evidence of this shift in this very blog. Initially when I became pregnant I foolishly thought that I could still maintain my posts, that my commentary would be business as usual. Obviously that has not been the case. And considering how much of my day is consumed by this little man it is quite fitting that my blog has reflected this natural shift.

Before I sink my teeth into the crux of my post (which will be brief, I promise) I want to thank each of you that responded to my cry for baby books last week. Your comments about natural instinct were particularly comforting and soothed my first-time jitters (and mother or not, it is always good to hear from you Hillary and Cullen - thanks for reading and contributing). Thank you for your good advice.

And finally, a new aspect of nesting has taken hold: cooking. I have always enjoyed cooking for Rob, mainly because he is so easy to please. But lately I have liked it more than usual. The idea of having certain recipes, specific foods and dishes that I am good at concocting is becoming more and more appealing to me.

Because after all, Sprout will be hungry when he is born and will expect a good meal. And I want to cook it for him.

What are your favorite things to cook? And what is the one recipe or food that you wish you were master of?

Lit.

It is already the middle of January and each day, March 2nd gets a little bit closer. I am now 33 weeks pregnant and although he cannot tell me so, Sprout has become quite accustomed to his cozy amniotic home. His frequent flips, flops, and kicks continue to highlight my day and constantly remind me that in just a matter of weeks we will finally be able to meet him. (Speaking of which, the mystery of his due date is quite exciting. Sure, he's due on March 2nd but he could earlier. Or later. I love surprises.)

As his mother, I cannot help but marvel over Sprout's growth. We first saw him at an ultrasound when I was just eight weeks along - when he truly was nothing more than a "little sprout." Since then we have had three more ultrasounds and have been amazed to see him form into a baby. I am only starting to comprehend the joy each parent must feel when their child is born; when they are able to meet each other face to face.

You can imagine that as new parents Rob and I have been experiencing a mixture of emotions. Right now we have both been happily caught up in the all-things-baby. On January 1 we made big steps to feather our nest and put Sprout's crib together. This simple piece of furniture has made his imminent arrival all the more real and now we are beginning to accept the realities that will come with parenthood. I anticipate sleepless nights, early mornings, and many, many, diaper changes. Above all though, I admit I nervous about the guesswork that accompanies a newborn.

Thankfully, I do not have to combat my fear on my own. Rob and I both have been catching up on our baby literature. I never thought I would be the kind of person to devour books that present hypothetical situations and scenarios but I find myself drawn to them. Admittedly, there is no way that I will remember everything I have read especially when I am becoming acquainted with own my baby, who will have his own personality and his own little set quirks. But, I hope that I will have gleaned some useful kernel of information somewhere along the line - even if it is merely through osmosis.

So, fellow mommies, what are your favorite baby books? Which ones did you find to be the most useful and which ones would you recommend to a first timer?

New.

I love new things. New shoes, new soap, new books, and new friends. I equally enjoy greeting each new year as it comes. Yet, as a child born in the eighties and one that was indoctrinated with the Back to the Future trilogy, Star Trek, and others; it is bizarre to greet this new decade. Where are the hover-craft shoes, holodecks and flying cars that are supposed to be littering the sky and making our lives easier? Before you all share my in the weight of my disappointment of "2010" I will remind you what Rob told me. Back to the Future II actually took place in 2015 - so science still has five years to invent, perfect, and introduce the flying car into society.

I am optimistic that it can be done.

Welcome 2010 - may you be a year that was as monumental/exciting/unexpected/and joyous as the last.

Tradition.

Christmas was particularly magical this year. As I wrote in one of my earlier posts, I have greatly enjoyed being pregnant during this season. Though it was fun to buy Sprout presents and think about the holidays to come with him in them, I think I have simply appreciated the thought of him since my reflections of love, admiration, and wonder have always led to another little baby boy, and another first-time mother. A baby that was born in a manger, whose purity and goodness brought light and life to the world. From the moment that I knew I was pregnant, I knew that our baby would change our lives for the better - our thoughts, our dreams, our concerns. But I will forever be grateful that during this time of year, our Sprout has brought us that much closer to understanding the selfless love that is associated with Christmas.

Most, if not all, of the love I have felt during this season has been experienced with our family. For us, Christmas is about tradition. Some of our collected traditions have been carried out for more than fifty years while others are just starting. In either case, we cherish them because of the good company.

One tradition on my side of the family is the annual Christmas Eve breakfast. In order to properly carry out this tradition one must: a. meet at the Denny's in Woods Cross at an obscenely-early hour of the morning, b. wear your pajamas, c. bring a white elephant gift (the more absurd the better), and d. meet up with cousins. After all of these steps are properly taken, one leaves smelling and feeling like only Denny's can make you; but you are full and happy nonetheless.
On Christmas day we get treated to yet another delicious breakfast. Each Christmas morning we meet at the Koelliker Compound where we dine, exchange gifts, and swap stories about beloved childhood memories. For the past two years we have also started a new tradition: Skyping with Paul and Ann (the proud patriarch and matriarch of the clan who're in South Africa). Though it would be ideal to have them with us, thankfully technology can make them feel like they are part of the action since this breakfast is particularly unique. Each year the parents have the monumental (and dare I say, impossible?) task of corralling the Koelliker grandchildren together for a picture. You can see by the evidence that everyone rarely looks at the camera at the same time but all of their faces are priceless nonetheless.
A third cherished tradition is the Christmas jammie exchange. Unlike the others, this is one that Rob and I do with each other on Christmas Eve night. The jammies are undoubtedly comfortable, but it is more exciting to be able to open something up the night before Christmas. There have been several times in our marriage when in a moment of weakness, one of us will suggest opening one more present, or all of them. I doubt that this will ever be a problem for us again with Sprout and Co. in the equation.

You will also take notice in the picture above of not only Rob's smashing jammies, but also of our tree. We had grand hopes for this tree, being that it has been the biggest and grandest Scipio tree we have found yet. But alas, within the first week of the season the top half of the lights started shorting out and by the 23rd they sputtered out for good. Needless to say, I had no regrets taking it down yesterday and finding (and subsequently destroying) the one culprit strand that ruined our Christmas-ambiance.
And finally, another tradition which I treasure is seeing Santa on Christmas Eve. I have been very fortunate to have seen Santa at my Grandma's house each year since I was born. In fact, my Mother has seen Santa since she was a little girl and it makes this tradition that much more special in our family. Up until this year, Rob and I have taken pictures with Santa together but this year's picture is particularly special for obvious reasons. Although he could not say so, I am sure that Sprout (along with his parents) asked Santa to give him two eyes, two ears, ten fingers and toes, and fully functioning organs - the best presents that he could ever receive.
This has been an unashamedly long post, so I do not blame you if you have stopped reading by now but humor me with this last picture. My sister Sara and I wanted to take the opportunity on Christmas Eve to showcase our little bellies side by side. Sprout is already looking forward to playing with his new little cousin, and they are destined to be troublemakers together.

I am so blessed to have my family. A family that is large and loving, and one which I look forward to seeing and spending time with on both Christmas Eve and Christmas day. Thank you to everyone that made this year so special for me, Rob, and our little Sprout. He is one lucky boy to have a built-in fan base of grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins that love him sight unseen. Merry late Christmas, everyone and may you have a wonderful New Year.

Big.

Yesterday we made our first big purchases for our new little man - Sprout is now the proud owner of a car seat and snap-n-go stroller. Considering that March is practically around the corner, we figured it was time to bite the bullet and start with the "big ticket" items. Although we have only yet to purchase art work, a car seat, and stroller (you know, the serious stuff) I must confess that to me, buying baby gear is similar to buying a car. There are numerous reviews, recalls, and ratings for each item but no matter how long you do your homework, when it comes to making that final decision you cannot help but feel anxious that you bought a lemon. And no one wants their baby sitting, walking, sleeping, or eating in a lemon. We can only hope that we did not purchase "lemons" yesterday but I suppose that time will tell.

I imagine that our nerves about getting the safest, strongest, and most durable products are shared by all first-timers. And as such, it must be highly amusing to be a Babies R Us employee. Picture seeing couple after couple walk into your giant store, awestruck by its sheer size. Then imagine those same couples wandering over to the car seats where they test the weight of each one, admire the colors, the little straps, etc. Their smiles slowly turn to grimaces and groans as they get flustered trying to separate the base from the seat. Bases are repeatedly turned over and knees, elbows, and fingers are used in desperation to get the car seat out of its holder. Amusing, indeed.

Our experience was quite similar yesterday and it was humbling to perplexedly look each other and silently admit our inadequacies about baby products. If selecting a car seat is anything like parenthood, we certainly have a bumpy, yet comical ride ahead.

Blank.

Last night I emailed my last paper to my professor and finished my coursework for my first semester of graduate school. I have meant to post during this last week but my mind, has appropriately been blank. And it may remain that way for some time. After an intense three weeks of racing to the finish line my brain has at last reached a brick wall. I have written emails in the past few days that have been sent without crucial verbs and adverbs. My concentration has been non-existent and my heartburn has climbed to new and unexpected levels.

However, now that finals are over, it seems that Christmas has snuck up on me. In just one week the festivities will be in full swing and our time will happily be consumed by our family. Like you, we have our special traditions - we have our dinners, our nativity, our breakfasts, and our visit with Santa. Yet perhaps my most favorite are those stolen moments when everyone is gathered around, laughing, and talking about beloved family memories, and creating ones for the future.

This year, more so than ever before, I have been more aware of family. Much of this naturally can be attributed to our Sprout, who although still in the womb, is already a very real presence in our family, our home, and our lives. I cannot help but feel more excited about the season this year. A season that has been created to celebrate the birth, life, sacrifice, and love of a little baby, who changed the course of humanity and was a force for good in this world. I have loved being "with child" during this time of year and I suspect that I will equally love having our Sprout with us next year.

Hopefully all of you have wonderful and happy things planned for the week ahead. Watch your favorite Christmas movie ("Home Alone" is still hard to top in my book), indulge in some chocolate, and spend time with the people that matter most.

Distractions.

Forgive me for my sabbatical. I assure you that I have not been enjoying myself on my little blog-break, rather I have been immersed in finals. The past two weeks have been chaotic at best and now I am reminded why I was so relieved to graduate with my undergraduate in the first place. How quickly I forget the lessons I learn the hard way. Surely you will understand why I chose not to write in my spare time when I have been frantically composing my final papers.

The good news is that one and a half of them are complete. The very unfortunate news is that the only one I have left is proving to be the worst and most uninspiring to write. I have officially lost my will to think, write, and basically string any type of academically-coherent sentence together so I am amusing myself with shopping. After all, Christmas is just thirteen days away and up until today I was woefully unprepared for it.

Last week, Rob and I made our first, and arguably most important, purchase for Sprout's nursery. I happened upon this artist on Etsy and became enamored with his unique style. After some consideration and visualizing, we thought that decorating with woodland critters in our little Critter's room seemed quite fitting.

This raccoon was our favorite. What do you think?

Obviously we are still need of some other things such as a crib, stroller, etc but those things will have to wait until next Thursday when my brain will be uncluttered and my psyche will assuredly be lighter.

Decked.

Has Thanksgiving really already come and gone? Since it is Sunday night I suppose that it has, and I also assume that I am not the only one that is sad that all of its festivities are over. Much like Christmas, Thanksgiving seems to become more meaningful each year, since my many blessings become more dear to me with age. I appreciate my family, extended and immediate, all the more. I fall more deeply in love with my husband and future parenting-partner. I am increasingly more grateful for my religious beliefs. And let us not forget the food, which never fails to fill me up and help me recognize how blessed I am to "feast" and not be left wanting. This year, Thanksgiving did not disappoint and we enjoyed stuffing our extended weekend with family, feasting, friends, and sports.

On Saturday, Sprout embarked on his first annual Scipio Christmas Tree Hunt. This tradition is much beloved by the Koelliker family and not only gives us an excuse to visit, relax, and spend time together, but it also gives us the opportunity to find the perfect tree. Admittedly, a Scipio tree generally is not as full or thick as one that you can find in a Christmas tree lot. But, like most treasured things in life, it is the experience of being outdoors and being around family that attaches value to something.
After many years of experience, Rob is quite the accomplished lumberjack. His skills were only heightened this year by this fetching orange hat that he found in the Scipio house. He was quite proud of it since he claimed that it would not only keep him warm keep all of us safe from potentially getting shot by hunters. Thankfully, we never encountered a hunter but if we did I am sure we would have been safe.
His hat also came in handy for this picture, since you can see his head perfectly as he chops down our chosen tree. When it comes to tree selection, we have acquired a relaxed reputation in our family. Both Rob and I are fairly easy to please when it comes to aesthetics. We do not expect much other than something that is green, of a workable size, and oozing with character.
Here is our final result. I think we achieved our goal.

Now that our bellies have been sufficiently stuffed and our halls are decked with decorations it is time to look forward to Christmas. I anticipate a busy but fulfilling, Christmas season this year, one marked by graduate school finals, an expanding belly, and more family time.

Birthday and a Babymoon.

November is a joyous month. Families gather indoors and give thanks for their blessings. Turkeys, pumpkins, and delicious pies are made for a grand feast. And, in our house anyway, it's even more joyous because it is "Rob month" for not only do I get to shower my husband with praise on our anniversary but I also get to spoil him for his birthday which is just four days later.

As his wife, it is never difficult for me to find excuses to recognize Rob for being a remarkable husband, friend, and companion because each day in one way or another, he provides me with evidence. He is the type of husband that surprises me with flowers at work when I have had a hard day. He is the type of person that never gives up or loses hope when things do not work out - he simply finds a new and better way to achieve his goals. He is the type of friend that when he goes out of town on a business trip, will stop in at a place that has special meaning to me to take pictures. And he is the kind of man that will be an amazing father, just because he is who he is.

So this year we decided to piggyback the celebration of our anniversary and Rob's birthday in grand style. Over the past month Rob has been across the country and back doing presentations for his job. Although it has been (and was) difficult to have him gone for days on end, it was also gratifying for me to hear about his successes and adventures. This past weekend he was asked to do another presentation so he swept me off on a babymoon (which is pregnant woman-ese for a trip taken after the nausea has worn off from the first trimester and before the discomfort has set in during the third) to Kansas City.

Before you all swoon with jealousy about the exotic location of our trip, let me vouch for KC, which I gather many of you underestimate as I did. Yes, Kansas is home to corn, tornadoes, and Dorothy but it also has NFL football, champion college basketball, great shopping, and more importantly, the current hometown of Rob's sister Jenni and her cute little family - a combination which made Kansas/Missouri (since there is not only a Kansas City, Kansas but a Kansas City, Missouri as well) impossible for us to resist.

The wonderful thing about visiting family is that they make you feel at home even when you are miles away from it. We both enjoyed visiting and laughing with Jenni, Joe, and Owen over pizza, homemade chocolate cake, candles, and ice cream. Jenni has a flair for taking care of her siblings, and she certainly made Rob feel special (don't you just love his face in this picture? He's singing to Owen.).

Here are our Kansas City tour guides in a yummy pizza place in Lawrence, Kansas. It was a treat to see them a month earlier than we expected, since they will not be coming to Utah until the holidays. Jenni in particular introduced me to a new addiction: baby clothes shopping. Yes, I am openly admitting right here and now that up until this past Friday I had yet to buy Sprout clothes. This could be misconstrued as laziness, but in reality it was due to being overwhelmed. Whenever I went to a store or looked online by myself I had no idea what to get him. What onesie worked best? How much 3-6 month clothes will Sprout need? Thankfully, Jenni answered these, and many other questions. She was the perfect shopping companion and was just as excited as I was to hold up pair after pair of bodysuits and pajamas.

And this is Owen. I included this picture just because he is evidence that I have the cutest nieces and nephews around. I also included this picture to validate my assertion that Sprout has a lot of pressure on him in the looks department in relation to our many darling nieces and nephews. Don't you agree?

When we were not with family, Rob and I were together exploring a new city - one of the things that I enjoy doing most with my husband. And by some wonderful twist of good fortune and fate, one of our favorite musicals happened to be playing in downtown KC during our stay. We had been wanting and wishing to see Wicked since we were first married (especially since our duet of "Defying Gravity" had been leaving something to be desired lately) and we both jumped at the chance to finally experience it. For those of you who have seen it, I am sure you will agree with me when I say that we were not disappointed.

And finally, I thought it was time to reveal my ever-growing baby bump. On our trip I had not one, but two, random strangers ask me when I was due. Initially I was taken off guard by their questions, wondering how they knew I was pregnant in the first place then I realized that I must finally look with child now if people are asking.

Thanks Jenni, Joe, Owen and Rob for making this past weekend a great little getaway and the perfect babymoon.

Four.

Four years ago today I woke up feeling excited. I received a "good morning, beautiful" text from Rob. I routinely ate my cereal and greeted my family. I got my hair done, ran a few frantic last-minutes errands with my Mom, and then headed downtown where I changed into a white dress.

Today we are celebrating four years together as Mr. and Mrs. Robert Koelliker. As Rob and I look back on our wedding we both agree that out of all of the many happy emotions we felt that day, the most overpowering one was love. Love for our parents that had supported us everyday of our lives. That made our dream wedding possible and beautiful. Love for our siblings, our grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles. Little nieces and nephews that dressed up in their best clothes to look pretty in our pictures. Love for our friends that celebrated with us and supported us. And of course, love for one another.

Being pregnant makes me feel all the more blessed to have Rob as my husband on this special day. Many wise women have cautioned me since we were married that we should enjoy our newlywed child-free lives while we could because "once you have kids, your lives will never be the same." If that is the case, and if our lives will forever be changed after the birth of our son in the spring, then I am grateful to say to Rob and to myself, that we have no regrets.

Four years has given us enough time to savor quiet mornings in bed, go to much-anticipated movie premieres on opening nights, and dine out on the weekends. It has given us time to stay out late with our couple friends, chatting into the wee hours of the morning - guilt-free of putting little ones to bed or having to wake up early. It has given us time to establish traditions with both sides of our family and to travel with them on mini-excursions. It has given us time to establish our own traditions as a couple, to talk about things we like and things we do not. It has given us time to travel. It has given us time to talk. It has given us time to laugh and to cherish inside jokes. And it has also given us time to bicker, to be impatient, to push each other's buttons only to make back up, and inevitably, to laugh about the ridiculous things we said in the heat of the moment.

Four years has given us the time that we personally needed for this next step ahead. It has given us time to watch our siblings in action with their kids - to see how they handle tantrums, runny noses, and dance recitals. It has given us time to reflect on our own parents, the things we admire about them and the qualities that we want to emulate. And it has given us time to foolishly assure ourselves that yes, we will act this way and no, we will never do this or that with our kids. Surely there will be surprises when Sprout arrives - I am not too proud (or too stupid) to think that I have everything covered and I will never feel differently. Innumerable changes will have to be made in our daily lives and I am preparing myself to expect the unexpected (and unpleasant). But I do know that as of right now, as of today, I eagerly look forward to celebrating this day in the years to come. A day when we can gather with our children and grandchildren to commemorate the love that we share as a family.

Thank you, Rob for making this the happiest four years of my life. And for bringing a smile to my face and a laugh to my lips each day.

Nesting. Part 1.

What would the world do without Saturdays? Or rather, what would I do without Saturdays? I would be at a loss if I did not have a day set aside without work, without class, and usually without distraction that I can clean, run errands, and simply catch up on those little chores that I avoid during the week. Today Rob and I took full advantage of our Saturday and cleaned our little nest from top to bottom. We started early in the morning and spent a good portion of the day organizing, scrubbing, and dusting. For months now I have been shuddering in disgust when opening certain closets or drawers in our apartment. Everyone has that one closet or one drawer that they tuck things away in, right? Well, I am certainly no different.

Unfortunately my one hidey-hole multiplied into many. So today I decided to roll up my sleeves and get rid of the clutter - a task that I had been putting off for too long. It felt so good to get the cobwebs out of the corners. To throw away the dozens of shopping bags that littered my pantry. But it felt even better to bundle up my pre-pregnancy shirts, skirts, and pants and get them out of sight and out of mind. My closet and I are now officially prepared to pack on those pregnancy pounds and still feel good.

Now that the house has been cleaned and most of the nooks and crannies (I emphasize most here because our office/study/soon-to-be-nursery is still a disaster) have been organized, I feel like I am one tiny step closer in preparing for Sprout's arrival. Yes, I realize that he is not coming until March, but in some small way knowing that I have things in better order today than I did yesterday makes the idea of being a Mom a little less daunting. To me, there is nothing that makes me feel more blissfully domestic than a tidy house. Cleaning has been something that I have enjoyed since we first got married since it gives me a feeling of catharsis, calm, and a sense of pride that is hard to beat. I have had four years to master the art of caring for one Koelliker man. I think I can handle another one. I think.

And with our chores all done for the day we can now enjoy the evening's festivities. Since our own little pumpkin-Sprout is still growing, we are off the hook for trick-or-treating this year. Instead, we will enjoy a night in with a movie, guacamole, and other tasty treats. Happy Halloween everyone!

Together.

I am now 21 weeks pregnant and am enjoying my second trimester. The constant nausea that plagued me on a daily basis is finally becoming an almost distant and unpleasant memory (I say almost because I still have my days, but doesn't everyone?). Two weeks ago Sprout finally decided to provide everyone with visual evidence that he is in fact in there, and my little baby bump grows each week. And as icing on my second trimester cake, I have finally been able to recognize his movements. What started out as a fluttering almost disembodied feeling in my stomach, has evolved into forceful ripples and rumples across my belly.

Much like most babies, he is an active little man and as expected he decides to practice his Kung Fu just when I am lying down to sleep. Thankfully he is still small enough that his kicks are not strong enough to keep me awake rather his movements are always blessed reminders that he is growing, moving, and exploring. And is it just in my head or does he become particularly active when I am talking to Rob or when he feels the sturdy weight of his Daddy's hand on my belly?

But just when I thought my second trimester could not get any better my darling sister Sara (she's the one on the far right) surprised me with her own happy news.

Four years older, and much wiser and more patient than I will ever be, my sister is a wonderful mother. She is one of those rare women that basically come out of the womb wanting to be a mom. When we were kids I usually a clown or a cat for Halloween but she was always "a mom" with a baby doll in tow. It has been my great pleasure to watch her along with my oldest sister, raise their children and become truly amazing women.

Many words come to mind when I try to describe the excitement, delight, happiness, and joy that I feel to be experiencing our pregnancies together. As the youngest in my family I became used to doing things on my own. I was always the only Thomson at my school, in my soccer league, or in my ward's primary. When I was a freshman in college both of my sisters had been married for several years and were starting their little families. As a result, I became accustomed to the likely reality that I would be the lone pregnant woman in my immediate family for my pregnancies - and I was okay with that. How could I not be? I am blessed to not only have a knowing mother and mother-in-law but two sisters and six sister-in-laws that provide me with support, advice, encouragement and love.

So you can imagine the surprise and elation I felt when I learned that my dear sister, my former bedfellow, roommate, and example to follow, was in the same boat. Now in addition to looking forward to Sprout's birth I get to anticipate the arrival of another niece or nephew into my family. We get to swap stories, share ailment complaints, and truly get excited over each and every stage because we are in it together. Congratulations, Beaner your baby truly is lucky to be joining your family!

Now...what do you think the odds are that I could convince one of my sister-in-laws to join us?

Breakin.

The week that little Sprout and I have longingly been looking forward to since the beginning of the semester has finally arrived. Fall break is upon me and it could not have come at a better time. I thank those blessed bureaucrats at the University of Utah who planned the academic calendar and understood that college kids need a break from the bump n' grind of school. A time for nerves to unravel and the brains of their eager young pupils to recuperate and gear up for the last, and hardest, half of the semester.

For the first time since the end of August I have been able to spend guilt-free time with Rob, my family, and my friends. Now I fear that my sabbatical has come to an end. This week is partway over the familiar panic of papers, midterms, and bibliographies is sinking in. Tomorrow I will officially resume my studies. I hope that this break will carry us (meaning baby, Rob, and me) to the middle of December when I am amidst a deluge of research papers and finals.

But since today is still today and not tomorrow, I will relish the last few hours of my break. Here are some of the highlights of my stay-cation:

...watching the big wedding with Rob.

...buying my first pair of maternity pants (which are still a bit too big).

...going on a spontaneous shopping trip to Park City.

...feeling a tiny kick, courtesy of an increasingly active Sprout.

...dining on homemade buffalo wings and chocolate-covered strawberries (thanks again Tamber and Eric).

...cheering on the Cougars for another win.

...having long conversations with Rob, my sisters, and a friend.

...eating Sunday dinner with my parents, brother, and Grandma.

...hearing my Grandma react to watching The Princess Bride for the first time.

...catching up with dear friends over lunch.

...enjoying a Daddy-Daughter date.

...seeing Up for the second time and loving it.

...crying at Bright Star with a good friend.

...sleeping.

It definitely has not been the most exciting break, especially considering that most of my friends in my program are spending this week in New York or Seattle, but I think it was just what the doctor ordered. Particularly in the middle of the flu season.

Oh, boy!

For those of you that voted "boy" in our poll, your psychic skills were right on target. I am overjoyed to announce that Sprout is a boy and quite the little gymnast (I suspect that he gets his fine motor skills from his father) at that.

We sat back in awe today as our baby's lungs, kidneys, brain, and delicate little fingers, toes, and femurs were mapped out for us. Relief swept over me the instant that the probe was placed on my abdomen and we were able to see that tiny-something inside. Still growing, still developing, and still "cooking" - just waiting to come out and be loved.

Tears sprang to my eyes when we heard the words "it's a boy" and I am 100% positive I would have had a similar reaction if it was a girl or even a shark for that matter. I am just delighted that he is something that I know now, and even more than that, a little someone that I can start to relate to. Now, the fun part begins. Not only do we get to start narrowing down our list of names, but we get to shop, nest, paint, and imagine how our lives will be when we make room for one more in our family. And right now, there is plenty of room.

Falling.

Today I wore a long-sleeved shirt. This morning, I gleefully changed the bulb in my my wallflower from apple to pumpkin patch. Later, I frigidly carried an umbrella across campus to fend off the rain. For lunch, I heartily drank down soup to warm myself from the chill in the air. After class I was greeted with a brief but blissfully unexpected flurry of snowflakes (yes, snowflakes) on the way to my car. Finally once I got home I turned on the heater, which I am sure I will turn off soon once the weather changes, but for now I am still enjoying the sound, smell, and feel of it on a blustery and unusual day.

Fall is finally in the air. As you can tell, I am already welcoming the chillier weather, changing foliage, and smell of spices in my home. I am eager to see what autumn will bring us this year. Eager to wear my favorite scarves, sweaters, and leather boots. Eager to eat pumpkin chocolate chip-flavored morsels. Eager to gather with my family at carnivals, dinners, and little parties. And eager to feel and watch (from the outside anyway) Sprout grow.

Speaking of Sprout, thank you to all of you that indulged me and either commented on my last post or voted in my little poll. October 1st has finally come and in less than 24 hours we will be able to associate a gender with our little one. According to your predictions, Sprout is a boy so I am anxious to see how accurate your guesses are (and if they are accurate at all). Either way, we will be one happy set of parents this time tomorrow.

Thanks again for all of your well-wishes and for sharing in our excitement. Tomorrow will bring many things but for now, I am relishing in cooler weather and the excuse to cuddle up under the covers.

Gambling?

Start placing your bets - in just two short weeks (October 1) we will finally learn what our Sprout is and your guess is as good as ours. It seems that much like my near non-existent baby bump, my mother's intuition has not kicked in yet. Although I cannot foresee what our little bundle of joy will be, I still think that Sprout is a perfectly suitable nickname for a boy or a girl. Particularly a girl because when I think of Sprout I automatically think of precocious little Scout Finch (or Jean Louise, if you want to get particular and if that is the case she will be climbing trees, spying on our neighbors, and dressing up like a ham in no time).

Regardless of being a boy or a girl, one thing is for certain - this child is going to have to a grow thick skin and a sense of humor quickly. If you ask Rob what he is most excited about when the baby comes he will say the standard Daddy answers: holding the baby, watching it grow, seeing our personality traits in it, etc. But if you get him to speak candidly he will tell you what he looks forward to most - teasing it. I would expect nothing less from my Rob and quite frankly it will be amusing to see how our child reacts. My guess is that if this little guy/gal has an ounce of Rob in it that it will take his teasing and dish it right back.

Until those days come, I will have to whet my appetite for familial entertainment with daydreams. Will Sprout have freckles (most likely - poor kid)? What will he or she look like? And will it be just as passionate as its parents (again, poor kid it doesn't stand a chance)?

But enough about what I think, what do you think? Are we going to have a boy? A girl? Or, judging from our 12 week ultrasound - what looks like an alien?

Bang.

I doubt that anything could top my post last week or your wonderful comments. As of right now our doctor says that Sprout will make its big debut on March 2nd so to all of you that took the time to congratulate us on our latest and greatest adventure, thank you. As I said last week this pregnancy, this tiny little being - this future little person, has become that much more real after sharing our elation with all of you.  

Thank you so much for your support, excitement and well-wishes. I must admit that one of the things I look forward to most about motherhood is joining the "mommy club." Whether you think so or not, mothers flock together and speak in code i.e. boppies, onesies, 13 weeks - 24 weeks, sippies, and so forth. It is nice to know that I will be joining the club with so many capable and knowledgeable mommies. It was especially comforting to read that so many of you had morning sickness (most of which was worse than mine) and lived through it. For those of you that were sick maybe you feel the same way that I do in that in a way it is reassuring to feel queasy, a little moody, or a bit uncomfortable because that means my little one is still in there.  

On another note my life became a little more interesting - and busy this week.  Monday marked my first day as a graduate student at the University of Utah. Always the multi-tasker, I decided to tackle my first semester and the majority of my first pregnancy at the same. Needless to say it is going to be a bumpy ride but so far I am not dreading my decision. Now that I have reached the graduate mark my art history classes have become that more interesting and I can genuinely say that I have missed Academia. 

And let's face it, being busy with school will make my pregnancy fly by and that benefit is too good to pass up!

PS - The image above is one of my personal favorites, Johannes Vermeer's "Geographer," ca. 1668 - 69

Sprouting.

After six long weeks of feebly trying to keep our lips sealed, we are finally ready to spill the beans - I am delighted to announce that I am pregnant with our first child. We have at last reached the twelve week mark and heard our little "Sprout's" heartbeat for the first time this morning. Its bup-da-bup-da-bup-da-bup was music to our ears and brought on a myriad of emotions - relief, excitement, wonder, and most of all, joy. 

Up until now this pregnancy has felt like a dream.  At times real (such as when I have been curled up in the fetal position clutching my stomach or giggling over the phone with my mom and sisters) and at others a big mystery (something - someone is growing inside me?!). Without a cute little bump I still look normal. I have not gained excess weight and my waist is still intact but if you look closer the top button of my favorite jeans is already unbuttoned, my face has broken out in hormone-induced acne, and I have a knowing smile on my lips. Yet my smile does not come close to equaling this baby's Daddy's. If you want proof of his excitement, just ask him about the night vision baby monitor that he bought at 4a.m. a couple of weeks ago (it's going to be perfect). 

Above is Sprout's first picture, which was taken when I was just eight weeks along. To anyone else it is just a blur. A little jelly bellian-like sea monkey in a black oval. But I will say that watching a baby, our baby, move was incredible. I look forward to that feeling coming over me again and again as watch our little one grow, develop, and finally join our family.

For now my days, nights, sleeping and waking thoughts are consumed with thinking, wondering,  and worrying about this tiny thing. Am I eating well enough to give it what it needs? Should I be getting more rest? What will it look like? How big will my belly get? And will my morning sickness ever end? Thankfully I have a lot of people I can turn to for advice and I will need it all the more as the weeks go by so please, keep it coming. 

By the end of next month or the beginning of October we will find out what it is and I greatly look forward to that day but for now I am enjoying its anonymity.  Right now my mind is not filled with visions of tutus and dolls or basketballs and trucks. Instead I am simply enjoying that Sprout is just that. Our Sprout.