On miracles, Part I...

A little over a year ago, on October 13, Trevor and I went in to see our baby for the first time.  There was no heartbeat.  No fetal pole.  So much excitement, love and hope…all snuffed out in an instant.

I had found out I was pregnant on September 22, 2014.  It was unexpected.  Not because we didn’t want another baby, but because I had experienced a whole host of health problems after the D&C at the end of March 2014.  Apparently, a lot can go wrong after/because of the procedure, and I was starting believe that having more children was not in the stars for us.  In fact, I had gone to the doctor that day because my period was more than 50 days late.  At first, in early September, I was optimistic this meant I was pregnant, but three negative pregnancy tests over the course of next few weeks put a damper on that idea.  I was distraught and desperate for answers.

So, imagine my surprise when a routine test at the office suggested that I actually WAS pregnant.  I was floored. 

Still, my doctor was very guarded, and warned me not to celebrate too soon.  The results from my initial blood work weren’t promising, and there were several indicators that suggested this pregnancy wasn’t viable.  I was devastated, and couldn’t even bring myself to tell Trevor what was going on.  I have a very vivid memory of driving north on Abrams Road bawling my eyes out.  I honestly didn’t know if could emotionally survive another miscarriage.  It felt like drowning.  Like I couldn’t get enough air no matter what I did.  Nights were the worst.  I couldn’t sleep, and spent hours weeping about the babies I’d never meet on Earth.

Over the course of the next ten days, I had a lot of blood drawn and tests run.  At first, nothing looked good, and I kept waiting for my body to miscarry naturally.  Then, out of the darkness, a glimmer of light, but – being the catastrophist that I am - I refused to put any faith in it.  I just couldn’t get my hopes up, and have them dashed.  I was in survival mode.  In fact, it took my Gynecologist announcing that she was releasing me to the care of my OBGYN to even start to consider that this pregnancy might actually pan out.  Somehow, despite blood work that initially indicated that this pregnancy wasn’t meant to be, everything magically rectified itself and – ten days later – looked perfectly normal.  My Gynecologist said it was a miracle, congratulated me and asked that I send her regards to Trevor.  Only then did realize that Trevor had no idea anything was going on.  I mean, he knew I had gone to the doctor and that she was running tests.  But that I was pregnant, he had no clue. 

I ended up writing him a letter because I couldn’t figure out how to tell him in person. 

Our pregnancy confirmation appointment was scheduled for October 13^th.  I finally allowed myself to relax and feel excitement.  And then…nothing.  For the second time in six months, an ultrasound failed to register a heartbeat where one was supposed to be.

I don’t remember much about that appointment except crying and feeling extremely angry.  I was so mad at myself for being stupid enough to believe this time was going to work out.  For getting Trevor excited.  I remember hating myself, my body…everything.  I remember thinking that there were now going to be two babies in Heaven that I would never get to see, hold or rock.  For some reason, my doctor wanted to redo the sonogram in a week just to make sure before ordering another D&C, which just made me even more furious.  Why?!  Why make me wait?!  It made no sense.  So what if my HCG levels were over 90,000?  I thought he was torturing me.  He did a Total Loss Panel, gave me written instructions for what to do if/when I started to miscarry naturally, and then told me he wouldn’t medically intervene for another week pending another sonogram…just in case.

Trevor took the whole “just in case” nonsense as a reason to hope.  So, I turned to Google.  And while there were instances where heartbeats appeared after the seven week mark (when, previously, only an egg sack was visible), many of the stories were much more depressing.  So I called my OBGYN’s nurse and asked her what she thought.  Being a nurse, she couldn’t say one way or another, but told me to prepare myself.  No heartbeat and no fetal pole were not good signs.  That said, she made a point of telling me about the miracles she’d witnessed after years of working in an OBGYN’s office.  Babies that weren’t supposed to live, pregnancies that weren’t supposed to be possible.  She had seen one earlier that week, and encouraged me not to lose hope.  At least not yet.

I wasn’t sold.

So, I called my regular Gynecologist and asked her what she thought.  After all, she had been involved since the pregnancy was first discovered nearly a month earlier.  She had run all those blood tests and knew my history.  She also knew that things didn’t look right with my initial bloodwork, and started telling me about molar pregnancies, blighted ovums and genetic mishaps that sometimes just happen.  I’ll never forget the way she gently explained that – while miracles do occur (she had been a practicing OB for years and had seen her fair share) – too many things weren’t adding up with this pregnancy.  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

The rest of the week was spent in a fog.

The following Monday (October 20^th) my follow up ultrasound was scheduled.  I wouldn’t let Trevor go with me because I assumed my body would not miscarry naturally (it didn’t before) and another D&C would be necessary.  Knowing I would need him home with me for a few days post-surgery, I figured the most responsible thing would be for him to work up until it was scheduled.  That way he would be away from the office as little as possible.

Trevor hates to miss work.

I arrived at the appointment, sat alone on a bench and waited.  Even though I had ordered Trevor not to come, part of me secretly hoped he’d be there waiting anyway.  The office was running behind, and time seemed to be moving abnormally slowly.  Finally, Erin, the sono tech, called my name and led me back into the offices.  When my OB’s nurse, Deandra, saw me, she asked where my husband was.  I shrugged and responded with something along the lines of “what’s the point”. 

“Yes, but you shouldn’t have to go through this alone.”

I wanted to tell her that I couldn’t bear to see the light and excitement leave his eyes again.  When we lost the other baby earlier in the year, I remember that moment.  That horrible moment when Trevor realized what had happened.  He was so happy.  We had just been joking around five minutes before in the exam room, and then it was just…just over.  Our baby was gone.  Trevor has always wanted to be a dad; always wanted a bunch of children.  And even though I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to be a mother before becoming one, Banner was such an amazing blessing.  I was hooked.  I wanted to become a mother for a second time.  I wanted Banner to have a sibling.  I wanted Trevor to have the family he always dreamed of.  But my body wasn’t cooperating.  The idea of disappointing Trevor for the second time in a year - because of ME…because of my dysfunctional body – made me physically sick.  He tried to be so strong for me when we lost the little boy in March.  I never even saw him cry (although he later admitted to breaking down once when he told him mother what had happened).  Knowing that I was about to disappoint him all over again…well, it was awful.

But I said none of those things to Deandra.  Just blinked away a few tears and continued to follow Erin down the hallway.

I walked into the sonogram room, undressed from the waist down and got on the table.  The tech did her thing, and for one last fleeting moment I allowed myself to hope.  But, sadly, I saw nothing on the screen and heard nothing on the speakers but silence.  And so I started to cry.

It was happening.  It was really happening.  Again.

“Everything looks great!”

“What?”

“The baby.  Good, strong heartbeat.  152 beats per minute.  Everything looks perfect.”

“Wait.  What?”  I started to sob.

“Here, let me turn on the sound.”

And suddenly that amazing whoosh, whoosh, whoosh sound filled the room.  Erin pointed out the now visible fetal pole and a rapidly beat heart.

“My baby?  My baby is alive?”

“Yep!  And measuring just over seven weeks. I’ll print out some pictures for your husband.”

Sometimes emotions can be just as jarring as gees on a rollercoaster.  Even now, as I think back to that day, I remember the jolt.  It had a noise; like a deep thump from within. Like a train stopping suddenly and reversing directions.  First you hear the squeaking of breaks.  Then the first whomp as the wheels begin to turn in a new direction.  Except, instead of a train, it was my heart.  My physical heart.  I swear it stopped beating that day, if only for a moment.

Pausing...

...For a moment to remember the baby we lost this time last year. 

Technically, we don't know when his little heart stopped beating, but today is the anniversary of the D&C.  Not really a birthdate at all, but...well, it seems significant anyway.  At least to me.

It has been a difficult year, and I know I haven't been as good about posting as I used to be.  It is probably a combination of not knowing where to start and not being able to find the words.

And then there is the guilt.

Guilt because I always thought I wanted answers.

Guilt because now I have them.

Guilt because I have no choice but to move on.

Guilt because I know I'll always wonder about what could have been.

A clotting disorder.  I have a clotting disorder.  Something about Protein S and Protein C deficiencies and copies of some mutation on a couple of different genes.  I really don't know that much about it other than my doctor saying that just one of those things - by itself - puts a person at a high risk of thromboembolism.  And I have three (four?  Do you count the genes individually or just the mutation?  Or are the Protein S and C deficiencies caused by the mutated genes?  I don't know).  Not that it matters, really.  It's what killed my baby last year.  A blood clot formed on my side of the placenta and...well, that was it.  No clot and I would have a six month old baby boy in my arms right now.

I even know what we would have named him.

Of course, the miraculous part of all of this is that Banner IS here.  The same thing could have happened to him.  Did - in fact - happen to him.  Remember that placental abruption that very nearly killed both of us?  Blood clot.  They don't know when his formed.  Only that it made his entrance into the world much, much more dramatic and terrifying than I imagined it would be.  Thank God he survived.  I cannot imagine my world without him.

Although, it is easy enough for me to imagine a world where his brother survived.  Still.  To this day.  Whether I want to our not.  I see him everywhere.  In the arms of friends who had babies around the same time.  At the Arboretum.  While at swim class.  In all of Banner's hand-me-downs that I saved in case I had two boys.  Sometimes I dream he occupies the now empty nursery down the hall.  I think about the milestones he'd be reaching.  Solid food.  Sitting up.  I tear up.  No one knows.  No one sees.  No one wants to talk about it.  Because it has been a year.  Twelve months.  365 days.  Time marches forward, but I don't think this particular wound will ever heal.  Scar over one day maybe, but right now it still bleeds. 

It is what it is.  No one ever said miscarriage was easy. 

Banner sometimes tells me he wants a baby brother, and I tell him he has one.  In Heaven.  Watching over him.  Watching over us all.

What Makes a Mother...

I thought of you and closed my eyes
And prayed to God today.
I asked what makes a Mother
And I know I heard him say,

A Mother has a baby
This we know is true.
But God, can you be a Mother
When your baby's not with you?

Yes you can, he replied
With confidence in his voice.
I give many women babies
When they leave is not their choice

Some I send for a lifetime
And others for a day.
And some I send to feel your womb.
But there's no need to stay.

I just don't understand this,
God I want my baby here!
He took a breath and cleared His throat
And then I saw a tear

I wish that I could show you
What your child is doing today.
If you could see your child smile
With the other children and say,

"We go to earth to learn our lessons
Of love and life and fear.
My Mommy loved me oh so much
I got to come straight here."

"I feel so lucky to have a Mom
Who had so much love for me. I
learned my lesson very quickly
and My Mommy set me free."

"I miss my Mommy oh so much
But I visit her each day.
When she goes to sleep at night
On her pillow is where I lay."

"I stroke her hair and kiss her cheek
And whisper in her ear,
Mommy don't be sad today
I am your baby and I am here."

So you see my dear sweet one
Your children are okay
Your babies are here in My home
And this is where they'll stay.

They'll wait for you with Me
Until your lesson is through.
And on the day that you come home
They'll be at the gates for you.

So now you see what makes a Mother
It's the feeling in your heart.
It's the love you had so much of
Right from the very start

Pausing time. Just for a moment.

I can't believe my baby turns ONE in the morning.  

What a wonderfully terrifying and absolutely joyous whirlwind the last twelve months have been!

This time last year, Trevor and I were a bright-eyed family of two. We didn't have a clue.

And then Banner blasted onto the scene, and changed our lives forever.  

Minutes old.

Hours old.

Three days old.

One month old.

Six weeks old.

Two months old.

Three months old.

Four months old.

Five months old.

Six months old.

Seven months old.

Eight months old.

Nine months old.

Ten months old.

Eleven months old.

...STAY TUNED!

Trying to make sense of the senseless (and failing)...

I’ve started this and deleted the first sentence about one hundred times. I guess sometimes there just are no words. This is probably why I don’t write about current events on my blog very often. It isn’t because I don't care. I’m just shocked into silence. My soul aches. It is hard to write about something when you can’t get your mind around it to begin with. And that’s just it: the tragedy in Connecticut is just too senseless and horrific for me to even begin to comprehend. My entire being grieves for those sweet babies and their teachers. I cannot fathom what it must be like for their families. I look at Banner and I can’t imagine a world where I continued to exist if he suddenly ceased to be in it.

Just last Monday, I burst into tears after a tour of the cardiac ICU at Children’s Hospital. All those tiny babies hooked up to so many machines. I know they are in the best place and – because of the care that they are receiving – most will survive into adulthood. Still, it was one of those moments that really hit me hard, and I found myself saying prayer after prayer of thanks for my baby and his good health.

And then Friday happened, and I found myself thanking God for each and every moment I get to spend with my sweet child.

I am so lucky. So blessed.

I am also terrified. Chaos. How does one protect their family from chaos? Because part of me wants barricade my loved ones in my house and never let them out again. I can see how easy it would be to give into that fear, too. But the price for living in fear is never really living.

Last Wednesday, my coworker and I were walking to our cars and discussing all the mass shootings around the country lately. There had been one at a church over the weekend and another at a mall in Oregon the day before. I expressed concern over the silly little superstition that things sometimes happen in threes, and wondered aloud if we – as a nation – were beginning to become desensitized to cases of mass shootings. Lately they seem to happen so often. The church shooting last weekend was barely a blip on the news at 10 PM, and the terror at the mall two days later was all but gone from the headlines by Wednesday afternoon.

Then on Friday morning at 8:30 CST, I was picking up after the dogs in the yard before heading to work. All of a sudden I heard these popping noises coming from the house behind ours. My first instinct was to duck. I thought they were gunshots. Which is silly. Why would there be gunshots in my neighborhood? I’ve never heard any before. Then again, I’m sure no one expected to hear them at an elementary school before Friday either.

It was only after they kept happening that I finally realized what they really were: Neighbor Joe across the alley was getting a new roof.

And what gets me is that at the exact same time, some 1400 miles away, six and seven year olds were also hearing popping sounds. Except they really were gunshots. My terror came and went in an instant. Theirs continues on.

“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.” 

- C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

Remembering Moo...

Since the whole family was all together down at the ranch this weekend, we decided to spread Moo's ashes.  She passed away in 2008, but there has been a lot of discussion about the places she wanted to be scattered.  Moo definitely wanted to be with her parents in Dallas and the ranch, but there ended up also being room at the family plot next to my grandfather (but only because she wanted to be cremated), so it has taken awhile to work out all the details and find a time when the entire family could be present. 

Moo's head stone is on the right and Pop's to the left.

Additionally, dad wanted to scatter some of her ashes at her favorite fishing spot (Lake Mimi), as well as Mimi's backyard in Lampasas (Mimi purchased Moo's home after my grandfather passed away back in the mid 1990s). 

Out of the five spots, we got three done today.  We started at the cemetery where Pop is buried then went to Mimi and Bud's house in town.  Lunch was next at Eve's followed by a carivan back out to the ranch for the third and final scattering of the day. 

We will reconvene in Dallas for the final scattering at Moo's parents graves over the holidays.  William and my dad will take the remaining ashes to Lake Mimi in the interim.

Even though it pretty much took all afternoon, it was nice to spend the day with family while remembering Moo.  She was such a wonderful woman, and I feel so lucky to have had her in my life for 28 years.

It was also nice to have Banner in attendance.  Even though he never got to meet any of his great grandparents, I think he sometimes smiles like Moo.  I know her spirit lives on in him.

Mimi's backyard.  Moo always loved this view.

Adam, Amy, Claire and Trevor.

Final scattering at the ranch at sunset.

Love and miss you, Moo.  

XOXO

A letter to Banner...

Peter Banning: "Now I want you to take care of everything that's smaller than you."
Thud Butt: "Okay."
Too Small: "Then who do I look after?"
Peter Banning: "Neverbugs - little ones."

- HOOK, 1991

Dear Banner,

House was exactly 10 weeks younger than you. I thought it was funny that 2012 was the year of baby boys with nouns for middle names.

The two of you never met because House was born right before I returned to work, and his mother was in real estate. We talked about it, but it just never happened. I was busy during the week, and she on the weekends. I regret that. I would have loved to meet the little guy and watch the two of you interact as only babies can do.

Who knew time was so short?

His mother and I have known each other for over thirty years. She's older than me, but we spent every New Years together at the ranch for the first decade of my life. Her family, my family, Rogan's - it was tradition for years. And one morning we'd all wake up to find confetti all over the ranch house – evidence of a New Year that I didn’t even realize was approaching. I remember going to Wal Mart with her and our respective mothers to buy string to make friendship bracelets. She was always older and wiser, and I looked up to her. Her dad always brought the four-wheelers, and she'd take me for rides to the peak and back. When I'd get scared of the dark at night, she'd be the first to comfort me. I have always considered her to be my friend.

Her deb ball had a miniature merry-go-round. It was white with horses. Of course, that was years ago. I was still a teenager. I don't know why I always remember that when I think of House's mom, but I do. Just like I can recall what she and her husband were wearing for House's big brother's first Fourth of July at Gore Park following the parade in 2008. They were both so proud to show off their new baby.

The last time I saw House's parents was at Courtney and Patrick's wedding the weekend after Amy and Adam tied the knot. His dad teared up when recounting a story about how House's older brother walked in and said, "But daddy, House loves you!" See, House had Down Syndrome and his daddy, by his own admission, had a hard time accepting it and letting go of the future he dreamed for his son when House was in utero. But he seemed to be making his peace with it, and realizing that the syndrome did not define his son or him as a father. It might not be the future he had envisioned for his little boy, but there was no reason why House couldn't do great things with his life. You just need to love and cherish the special ones a little more.

We talked about getting the families together. We thought it would be easy to find an excuse to hang out considering my father and House’s grandmother are very close and see each other often.

That conversation haunts me now.

What happened this week to House's family is nothing short of incomprehensively tragic, and it has been hard to be away from you, my sweet baby, for any length of time. I'd hug you all day every day if I could. I teared up on Wednesday night when I received my weekly email from Mom365, and realized I would not be seeing pictures of House this week on Facebook celebrating his 18th week in the world. My heart aches for his family.

Last week, House was at the pool with his grandmother lounging on a recliner. This week we attended his memorial service. What a difference seven short days can make in the lives of one family. They played Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star before the service began and Jesus Loves Me during communion, and I broke down in tears both times. And then House's mom did what I would have thought was impossible: she stood up and eulogized her son. It was heart-breakingly beautiful. She is a remarkably strong woman.

We didn't stay for the 3 PM service, but I hope many others did. We had left you with your Gran, and she had afternoon commitments she couldn’t get out of. It just wasn't possible to go to both. Still, I pray the other one for House’s dad was well attended. The family needs support right now and the more prayers the better.

I hope you grow up with your father's patient and loving heart, and are quick to love and protect and slow to judge and dismiss. Live each day to its fullest, sweet baby, and appreciate every second you get to spend with those you love.

And always remember House. The little friend you never knew.

I love you.

Mom

Banner's First Fourth of July...

Please note that I spelled "Fourth" F-O-U-R-T-H and not "Forth" this year. Even though I KNOW it is "Fourth" (like the number) as opposed to "Forth" (like, "Go forth and conquer"), I ALWAYS want to use F-O-R-T-H when talking about Independence Day. Drives me crazy because I know better, but I make this mistake nearly every year regardless.  My brain is such an a$$hat sometimes.

Since it was Banner's first Independence Day, we wanted to make it special and family oriented.  So, we started the morning off at my dad's house.  He lives less than half a block from the Park Cities parade route, and it used to be tradition when I was little to wake up early, decorate our bikes and watch the floats go by (and stock up on candy in the process).  Then, at the conclusion of the parade, all the kids would ride their bikes to Gore Park.  Except I only remember actually making it to Gore Park once.  I don't know if I got tired before reaching my destination, or if my parents refused to chaperone me.  Regardless, I took the bike riding portion of the event very seriously, unlike my brother who was commonly distracted by small inflatable objects (as depicted below):



Maybe I never made it to Gore Park because all I had to work 

with was a tricycle with a wheel radius of 2.5 inches.

Anyway, we did watch the parade from the traditional vantage point, but there was no bike riding to Gore Park.  This was partly because the adults in the group were hot and unmotivated, and partly because it doesn't appear that decorating your bike and riding behind the parade is still The Thing To Do like it was when I was a tot.

Sigh.  So sad.

Still, the parade was fun, and Amy and Adam brought breakfast tacos, freezy pops, water and Gatorade so there were more food and beverage options than Smarties and Tootsie Rolls thrown into the street.  And we all had fun making Amy go out and collect the candy that was thrown our way, because, you know, why not.

Banner's favorite part was the marching band.  He danced a little jig as they passed by.  I wish there had been more music in the parade this year, because he definitely likes to get his groove on.  The faster the beat, the better.



Oh, and eating his flag was a close second.

Banner was actually so captivated by the parade that he, for once, refused to finish his bottle.  I never thought my baby would turn away food.  It was pretty amazing.



Being patriotic with Daddy.

After the parade was over, we returned to Grandpa Buddy's to cool off and regroup.  My dad wasn't feeling well (bad seafood) so he was still in bed.  There is a fabulous picture of my father floating around the family, however, that was taken Wednesday morning when he came out briefly to say "Hello" before retreating back into his boudoir.  However, it is not something that can be posted on the internet.  Well, I guess it could, but my dad would probably kill me.  Sufficed it to say, though, the image exists and it is awesome.  Especially since Adam couldn't look at my father without laughing, and Amy kept elbowing and chastising her husband for not making eye contact with her dad while he talked about his long night battling fever and nausea.  And, of course, it was MY husband that took the picture in question in the first place.  The whole thing was pretty wonderful in a pantless kind of way.

Dressed like Uncle Adam.



Working on his beach modeling pose.



Gnawing on Sophie.



Lunch was at Whole Foods with RR and JLR, which was awesome (like a hotdog) because I hardly ever get to see them anymore.  I thought it had been since my wedding, but I was wrong.  It has only been 2.5 years (as opposed to three), because we went to see Eddie Izzard together back in January of 2010.  Actually, it only might have been JLR, but I seem to recall eating sushi beforehand with both of them. Regardless, I really should make seeing them both more of a priority because I miss them and they are truly fabulous people.  Plus, maybe if I saw them more, I'd stop babbling incessantly about obscure and/or irritating people from our shared pasts that none of us really cares about in the first place.

Sigh...when did I become THAT person?



I should probably send them both a thank you card for offering to spending time with me voluntarily. 

Banner posing with RR's ear.



After lunch, Trevor, Banner and I headed home to restock the diaper bag, NOT wash the dogs (because I've been meaning to do it for a week now and it still hasn't happened), change clothes and try carrots for the first time (Banner is a BIG fan).  After all this excitement, we put Banner down for a nap in his crib, but the little guy refused to dose off.  That is until I went in, picked him up and delivered him to his daddy on the couch.  Apparently, Banner likes to nap WITH us if/when he has the opportunity.  Less than a minute after being placed on his daddy's chest, the little guy was out like a light.  Point taken.

So, my boys napped together on the couch while watching The Patriot (snicker, snicker, ha, ha), while I downloaded the 2,000 pictures and videos from my iPhone to my computer.  Because, you know, I NEVER take pictures of my baby and needed to clear everything off so I could continue in my quest to document my son's life in real time.  Plus, I was starting to worry about what would happen if I dropped or lost my phone, and July 4th seemed like as good of a day as any to back everything up.



Dressed and ready to go!



We were supposed to meet at the DCC at 6:30 for dinner and fireworks, but things got pushed back a bit because my dad (cured by now from the bad seafood by eating a hamburger for lunch) didn't get in the shower until 6:45, and, well, Amy was passed out in the backyard after an afternoon at the pool drinking margaritas and paying small children $10 to swim to the bottom and fetch her sunglasses.

To be fair, Amy hardly ever drinks anymore and the 

margaritas at the DCC are wicked strong.

So, we hung around dad's house for an hour or so while I fed Banner his dinner, made fun of the guys for all wearing slightly different shades of Nantucket Red pants, and tried to council Adam on what to do about Amy. 

Poor Adam.  Not only was his wife inebriated, but he had sustained a bad sunburn while at the pool that afternoon AND lost one of his contacts while swimming.  So not only was he wifeless at the club, but he was crispy and blind to boot.

Finally, though, we got Amy relocated from the backyard to her childhood bedroom, and arrived at the DCC around 7:30.  They made EVERYONE valet park, which you knew was going to end badly (and it did), but the food and company were good.  In fact, had it not been for the extremely loud music both inside and out (OMG...I am SO old), it would have been a perfect evening. 

I was worried that Banner would freak out watching the fireworks.  After all, he liked the Flag Pole Hill fireworks on Memorial Day, but got a little unsure and clingy towards the end.  But I didn't need to be concerned at all, because five minutes into the show this happened:



That's right: My baby can literally sleep through 

bombs going off in the sky above his head.



It was actually pretty fabulous that Banner fell asleep, because it took an hour to get our car back from the valet.  A lot of the other kids around us were fussy, but our baby just power napped through it all because he is awesome and won't let a little thing like heat and firecrackers get between him and some decent shut eye.

And that, my friends, was how we spent Wednesday.  My only real complaint was that this morning felt an awful lot like the second Monday of the week.  But tomorrow is Friday, not Tuesday, which is completely brilliant.  I'll survive.