Rabble rousin’


I know someone who fits that description, and he loves to stir some shit every now and again. <3 1,208 and counting.

Monday night party blogging*!

I have gotten the boy into the car and out of the house a couple of times these past few days, first when my sister visited (he slept through our lunch at Chili’s and then let us cart him around the Dollar Tree and Burlington Coat Factory — what a sport!) and again Saturday and today as I let Ray sleep in and I went around town, visiting friends and reacquainting myself with the world of the living. It is getting easier, the maneuvering with an infant in tow, and it doesn’t feel as unnatural as I thought it would. When we are out together, Holden and I are a team, and I love that he is mine and that if we were in a room of 100 other people, he would seek me out and I him. He is the wild card of our little team, of course, who at any moment could unleash screams were he to decide he was uncomfortable, but for the most part he travels well and is lulled to sleep by being in his carrier either in the car or in a shopping cart. Plus he is usually pretty mellow and will fall asleep in just about anyone’s arms if he’s nice and full. He won’t keep like that forever, I realize, so I better milk it while I can. (Hurf hurf, milk.)

This evening we got home from visiting several friends and stopping by Wal-Mart — THREE stops in all! — and Ray had cleaned the living room, dining room, and kitchen, and was cooking dinner. Amazing how a good day can rocket toward great the minute you walk through the door and smell dinner and see all the clutter gone from the coffee table. I think he vacuumed too. Swoon.

And that is life now. It really is the little things. The littlest. A clean table and the smell of the baby’s hair. A minute to sit and write while sipping a cup of tea.

I could use a shower, of course. But let’s not push it.


My brother and his fiancee found out that they are also having a little boy. My stock joke is that the Turner family is like China. Zing! And then tonight my cousin Keri called to tell me that she is also pregnant, due in August. Fourteen years with no babies in the family and now we’re rolling in babies. Our holidays are about to get 300 percent more awesome. Wait, is that math right?

*this post contains no actual partying

To the boy: Your dad

Still life with bored, meditating man and dying flowers

It has been a tense few months of anticipation, little one, but today we found out that your dad passed the bar, bringing him one step closer to his dream of being a slick shyster who works out of the back of his Honda.

It’s important to chase your dreams, son, even if your clutch goes out.

The Honda lawyer

We watched The Lincoln Lawyer the other night and now Ray wants to work out of the back of a car. He decided it’d be the perfect opportunity to use a tagline — “The lawyer who comes to YOU!”

I suggested that the forgo a car altogether and just get an unmarked white van.

I’m here to help.

This has to become a nursery

mission: make this a nursery is now officially a go

The Babytime people are delivering the crib tomorrow morning and an electrician is coming to repair some outlets so I can move all this stuff into the back bedroom, which needs to be the new office. I’ve got yardsale stuff stacked everywhere and it’s impossible to move stuff when there is no spare room to move other stuff out of the way. I cleaned a spot for the crib and decided I’d had enough, and fell asleep on the couch. I’m completely exhausted — mentally, physically, emotionally. This past week roughed me up in ways I suppose a single afternoon won’t heal.

Ray takes the bar exam this week. The tension around here is palpable. We both need a break but there is no spare money, there is no spare time.

Week twenty-three

This week has been blessedly free of medical freakouts and frantic internet searches leading to endless threads of panicked women posting their diagnoses and speculating about what they mean.

In other words, this week has been a breeze.

Okay, sort of. My body is starting to do some crazy shit that is taking its toll on me. It feels sometimes like my organs are in danger of falling out, either through my gut or through my ladyparts. There is so much pressure in the area sometimes that I feel like something is going to pop. When I walk, the tiny jolt of each step vibrates my bones and in the crevices of the joints in my torso and pelvis. My lower stomach/pelvic area has been so sore that I make old-lady noises and crinkly faces every time I roll over in bed, which is a lot since I’m switching between right side/left side and trying not to pause too long on my back. I am a lifelong back sleeper, so this sleeping-on-my-side thing is a real pain in the … everything. My extra-long pillow gets a workout every night and sometimes, when I fold it in half to put it between my knees, its corner accidentally pokes Ray in the ass, sending him out of a dead sleep and into a frenzy of manly self-preservation that is pretty dang funny. Dudes apparently really don’t like it when foreign objects press up against their butts in their sleep. This is useful scientific information that I am happy to contribute.

Baby boy is 11 inches long this week, and weighs as much as a large mango. He should have some sense of movement now, which I’m sure makes my daily commute more fun for him, as it involves traveling over some poorly maintained Memphis streets that have every ounce of me jiggling. And he can hear! So no doubt he is already starting to judge my awful taste in music.

He has been kicking a lot lately. The other night I sat and felt what had to be barrel rolls in there, like a crocodile. Sometimes I’ll be trying to have a conversation and he’ll do a little dance move on my cervix and it takes my breath away. Such a weird sensation. I’m still not quite able to feel him move from the outside, thanks to my generous amounts of padding. Speaking of the padding, it’s actually kind of great not being a waif, because so far even though it’s poking out quite a bit, the skin of my stomach hasn’t really even started stretching yet. That has saved me some discomfort, I’m sure.

I love feeling him move around in there. It really is this intense moment of magic to me every time. I can be so caught up in a moment at work or doing something at home, and then the flutter will happen, and then again, and I have to just smile. I always ask him, “What are you doing in there, mister man?” and he just squirms. I don’t want the novelty to wear off.

I am getting too spherical to fit into my old skirts, which I was relying on heavily since my old pants are waaaay out of the question now, even with the BellaBand. Tuesday I could barely get my long white skirt up over my hips, probably because THEY ARE SLOWLY SPREADING OPEN AS WE SPEAK. So, boo to needing new stuff.

Recently I got my hands on some of Ray’s childhood pictures, courtesy of his dad, who scanned in some film and mailed me prints. I had never seen any pictures of Ray as a kid, so it was so awesome to see his sweet face and his big ol’ blue eyes shining. Look at this beautiful boy:

feeding the goat

If I wasn’t already pregnant, that photo right there would have gotten me knocked up, I’m pretty sure.