don't judge me, I'm concussed

The first thing I said this morning?

"Why does my head hurt?"

The reply?

"Um, because you hit your head against the wall and knocked yourself out going to bed. I'm pretty sure you have a concussion."

WHAT?!?

After a hungry baby was fetched, my sweet husband told me about the grand finale of my day yesterday that involved a wall, my head, seeing a huge black square in my vision, and making his life miserable. I remembered nothing.

I have effectively lost two hours of my life courtesy of my bedroom wall.

To make matters worse, my extremely sweet husband (sooo very patient) got me in a tub for the most embarrassing bath of my life. He put shampoo on my hair. The shampoo dribbled down my head and into my eye. I burst into tears and then lost control of my bladder (thank you baby!) and peed in my warm tub. This only made me cry more until I realized that the hand that was trying to rub soap out of my eye was covered in pee water. At which point I gave up.

I got out, JL went to work, and Ali came over to play with Walter and make sure I didn't run into the wall again.

All of this aside, Walter rolled over for the first time! Guy, Ali, and I burst into cheers immediately, but the poor little guy was so startled by everything that he broke down and started sobbing anytime we tried to put him on the floor for the rest of the day.

excuse me, I have something inconsequential to say

For the past three days, my sweet baby has turned into a monster to rival Oscar the Grouch. He is teething, growing, and sniffly. As a direct consequence, I've spent most of the time at home except for attending a performance of As You Like It at BYU's Pardoe Theater.

This enables me to tell you all about the most bizarre take on Shakespeare I have ever witnessed and I witnessed quite a few versions at Swine Palace Theater in Baton Rouge, a place much more contemporary and "cutting edge" than anything Provo, Utah has to offer. At least on a regular basis.

Before I begin, let me say that the music man wins. By a long shot.

The husband and I sat in the third row, right behind an adorable little family that had two teenagers and two children under the age of twelve. Three of the cast members were on stage warming up the audience with musical numbers that involved a guitar and a tambourine (until the tambourine broke). I was so caught up in the joy of singing along to The Beatles, Let It Be with a crowd of perfect strangers that it took quite a few minutes before I realized men in ski masks were guarding every entrance and I began to feel concern for the mother in front of me and her two small elementary aged children. That concern quickly grew as the play began and the stage was filled with more violence than, well, to give you my exact thoughts at the time, the DiCaprio-Danes adaptation of Romeo and Juliet in the 1990s. It was a very rocky start.

That rocky start gave way to the realization that Rosalind, played by the beautiful Ashley Bonner, was a head taller than most of the male cast, her romantic counterpart included. Bonner played her part well. Her talent, combined with her height, made it impossible to focus on the other players when she was on stage. I am ashamed to say, it might have been too much of a good thing.

Twenty minutes in and I had already given up on the director and the main character. Thankfully, the director had the good graces to add to the show a music man. Kris Paries, playing Amien and the new role of "Music Man", breathed fresh air into an overworked attempt of modernization. He kept me going until Orlando (Ben Isaacs) had the good graces to sing a delightfully silly song while playing the guitar and harmonica. I love a man with musical dexterity. From that point on, my mood had been restored and the play seemed to quickly culminate in its multiple weddings and great joy. I clapped for the cast, I hooted at Ben Isaacs and Kris Paries - along with several other members of the audience - and I left with the knowledge that my Saturday afternoon had not been entirely wasted.

When all was said and done, I enjoyed myself. However, I hope to never sit through another musically enriched version of Shakespeare again.

how to pretend to clean

Today is the day for cleaning. Every Saturday I get out of bed and begin a mass rejuvenation of our home in an effort to be ready for Sunday. This typically means running a few loads of laundry through, making sure the dishwasher is empty, and straightening up. We are clean people in the base case.

Today was not a typical Saturday. Today I learned how to look like I'm trying out for the spot of Organizer lady on Clean House, but really just cuddle the whole time. Walter teaches me things everyday.

Every time I tried to clean, Walter would make this frustrated noise and shoot me a look. His message was loud and clear: "Mom! For heaven's sake, why must you be so OCD?!" Like father, like son.

So instead of pristine and ready for the Sabbath, my table is covered in mail and empty rice cereal bottles. Peter Pan is on the floor under a walker covered in toys. A packet of typewriter paper (where did that come from?) is next to a miniature globe.

Today was a fabulous day.

let's hear it for new routines

This morning, while JL snored very lightly in my ear, I rolled, rather ungracefully, out of bed to go for a jog. Because I'm running a 5K with my sweet sister on April 24. (What happens to be a busy day, belonging to my dear friend Ali and my sweetly psychotic brother-in-law, Lincoln.) For awhile I would jog at 7 PM, during Walter's bath. I loved coming home to a happy clean baby and laughing husband. Baths are always cause for a good dose of joy in this house. Unfortunately, JL's schedule has been a bit hectic recently and jogs have not happened. Provo is scary past 9 PM for the ladies. I blame Provo for not exercising.

...You read me.

Back on point. I left the house with Walter happily chatting away to himself in his swing, assured that he would go back to sleep as he does every morning as soon as I stopped banging around the kitchen and got out the door. Thirty-five minutes later I came huffing and puffing through the door. Apparently little had changed. JL was just getting out of bed and Walter was still happily chatting away, as I quickly learned, to the animals on his swaddling blanket, which he had maneuvered over his head. Per usual.

I was elated. My husband was happy, my baby was laughing, and I had already gotten in my morning work out. To boot, the early morning looked like New Jersey, so it was a little bit of home in the sky. What else could a girl ask for?

gee whiz kid.

So...about two weeks ago Walter started spitting up after every meal. Sad day. Every piece of clothing was victim to his explosive baby vomit. It was a great mystery easily solved. Like his cousin, my little man had food allergies. But what exactly? Five loads of laundry later, I am happy to tell you we've got it all figured out.

Lactose and soy intolerance.

Put two and one together and we are a gluten, lactose, and soy-free household these days. And by household, I mean baby and me.

I cried. A lot. For three days. I was horribly depressed. I called my father for positive words of encouragement. His words? Eat food. Food is good. ...Thanks Dad. (In his defense, I called 24 hours before my mom went into surgery, although minor. I'm giving it to him. I promise he's not emotionally and intellectually inept.) I got really upset and said mean, nasty things to the husband. The husband went to In & Out and brought me back a protein style burger with no onions and a Dr. Pepper. Talk about love.

I'm sort of calm now. And in desperate need of recipes that don't use wheat, barley, rye, dairy, or soy ingredients. Help? Please???

winter cleaning

Today I am cleaning out my closet. Goodbye elongated maternity shirts. Goodbye elastic banded pants. Farewell big bellied dresses.

Hello old clothes. How I missed them, piled high on the top shelf of the nursery closet. I missed my jeans and my cute sweaters. The husband missed his favorite top.

This may seem horribly materialistic and not at all inspiring - I haven't even started exercising yet, so there was no real struggle to reclaim some semblance of my earlier figure - but by golly, the husband lifted me up in the air the other night. It's little things like this that make sleep deprivation and sore breasts worth it.

Not including the reason that they exist in the first place. Helloooo baby!

and then there were three

Walter Theodore Olmstead joined our family Sunday morning at 3:47 after 30 (never-ending, totally worth it) hours of people telling me to breath and the husband proving how all-star he is at back rubbing. Sorry for the delay in this announcement, but I've been a bit busy. There was also a catastrophic epidural that ended with five holes in my back the size of number 2 pencils. I can't see them, so we'll have to take the husband's word. There were other things that went wrong, and if you want to hear about how I developed separation anxiety within 5 minutes of my child's life, just ask. Otherwise, back to the positive.

He is the new great love of our life. And if you've read The Baby Whisperer, then you know how awesome it is when I say that he's an angel baby. Which just makes him easier to love.

In fact, I love him so much, I call him Stud.

In the last week, he has developed a pacifier addiction, applied for Future Thumbsuckers of America, dirtied every long-sleeved onesie in his closet, peed on his face, developed an appreciation for Bach's cello concertos, and punched the husband in the nose.

We couldn't be prouder.