lions

I've found it! There is a bit of us in Zoralee. Our lion genes are coming through.

The image of a lioness was important to me during my last trimester, when I was envisioning giving birth. She represents unwavering strength, stability, grace, and efficiency. From what I read, a lot of laboring women are helped by imagining or looking at pictures or artwork of certain animals.

When Zoralee was a week old and we were first adjusting to sleep deprivation, I had a dream that Jason and I were riding along in a Jeep over rough back roads, hunting. Then I had an overhead view of the scene and saw a dead lion and lioness in the back of the Jeep. I knew that they were us too. When I awoke (probably within an hour of konking out), I thought about how fitting it was that we were both the hunters and the hunted; we'd put ourselves in this situation, essentially killing ourselves. Ha! Reminds me of a Jerry Seinfeld sketch about his newborn baby. The idea was that babies look innocent, but they're actually a reminder of your own frailty and mortality. "Make no mistake about it - they're here to replace us!"

And now, in her fourth week of life, Zoralee has turned into a regular baby lion! She cries a little less now when she wants something and growls instead. No foolin. In the night, when she's sleeping fitfully, she growls and grunts until she wakes herself enough to cry. We've been thinking it is the influence of Molly the Schnauzer, who growls as her primary communication, no matter her emotion. Could be, but I think there's a little lion in Zoralee too.

Christmas time

Merry Christmas, friends! And happy new year. And happy six days in between.

The holiday thing we looked the most forward to was Zoralee meeting her Aunt Rachel and Uncle Cam. They had actually driven over from Portland for the birth when my waters began leaking in early December, but they had to return home a couple days later, before the delivery, on account of work and responsibilities. So, this was their first, much anticipated, out-of-womb meeting.

All of us kids and the three spouses were home, and we were joined by Cameron's mom, Linda, and Jason's mom, Barbara. The star of the show was our very own Zoralee Rena; it has been quite some time since there has been a baby around. She put forth a veritable plethora of facial expressions and bodily poses, which warranted taking, oh, roughly 4,937 photos. It's kind of sad to see the focus switch so suddenly and thoroughly away from the family's dogs, but Gunther and Molly wore jingle bell collars, and Murray and Peanut wore a Santa beard and an elf costume, respectively, so the cameras were turned on them for at least a few minutes.

* * *

We always read the Christmas story as recorded in the Gospel of Luke before delving into gift opening, and this year I was the reader. New things struck me, having just given birth myself. What a walk or donkey ride that must've been as Mary and Joseph approached Bethlehem, she being very close to delivery. For months ahead, I prepared my surroundings for labor; Mary had to take what was available. In this case, a stable. I was surrounded by family, she by cattle. The image of a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes is so fresh to me. I've seen or heard the line a thousand times, but now I have a swaddled baby myself, and I know the feel of her so securely wrapped, so sweetly scented, and in my arms. Mary received visitors, worshippers who knew her babe was special, a gift to the world. I watch my baby receive extra love and attention too, because she's the first of her generation in our family, a symbol of hope, of the continuation of our ways.

* * *

And Mary pondered these things and treasured them in her heart. Me too.

(Jason took this last photo tonight)

* * *

Our Christmas time activities were playing Tripole, Risk, and Scrabble, watching movies, shoveling snow, piling into a borrowed van to tour Christmas light displays on common houses around the Valley (it was a pretty measly showing "in these hard times"), experimenting with having the horses pull sleds, eating seafood chowder and other delights, and passing the baby around.

pouting babies: if you can't beat 'em, join 'em

three strikes

In two days' time last week, we got three self-induced parenting strikes. Fortunately, no one has showed up on our doorstep to declare us out of the game.

Strike One:

Jason, Barb, and Zoralee dropped me off at the salon to get a trim, and then they headed to the coffee shop. Once there, Jason hopped out of the pickup and started walking inside, only to turn around and see his mother still standing by the pickup looking confused. "What's the matter, Ma?" he asked. "Well, aren't we taking the baby inside?" she said. Oh yeah. The baby.

Strike Two:

Last Sunday was such a busy day with church, Heather's birthday lunch, and going to see the completed music studio that Luke has been working on for months (which I'm so proud of him for - he used lots of salvaged materials and free labor from friends in exchange for studio time)...

...that I somehow forgot to change Zoralee's diaper for like EIGHT HOURS. I had a good cry over that one.

Strike Three (the least traumatic):

That same Sunday morning, I had rifled through all her clothes trying to find some type of pants or leggings to go with her purple dress. I don't take matching too seriously, but this dress was given to her by one of our fellow church-goers, so I didn't just want to throw on green striped pants. I couldn't find anything, so eventually we took her with bare legs and an extra blanket. That evening when I finally did change her diaper, I discovered the third strike:

I had laundered the purple dress, put it on Zoralee, and given her a previous diaper changing that day without seeing the panties attached to the inside. What's worse, the dress buttons up the back, so when I initally dressed her, the thing must've been splayed fully open.

Awesome.

parenting Zoralee: reflections at two weeks

We love our Zoralee! She is wonderful. She is lovely.

She looks nothing like either one of us (to our own eyes), so I'll admit we occasionally feel robbed, but a hospital switch-up is impossible. She needn't be anybody's spitten image, though a couple of obvious genetic links to us would be nice. Maybe with time. Ironically, we do see extended family members in her sometimes.

with Grandma Barbara, visiting from MarylandUncle Dave and the girls

A new baby sleeps an inordinate amount of time, so how are we far, far behind on housework, laundry, and communication with friends and family?! We're in some kind of a productivity-sucking vortex. I think it's because yes, the baby is sleeping a lot, but also yes, she wakes up a lot too and doesn't hop up to fix herself a sandwich.

at Lula's for lunch

Speaking of laundry, there is suddenly a lot of it, on account of the wide variety of bodily fluids that end up on every article of clothing and linen. Truly, between a new mom and baby, there are like 10 different fluids that pass down, around, through, and between. If you get a little squirt of poo on, say, a bed sheet, after about 30 seconds of trying to wash it in the sink while keeping the water localized to the dirty spot, you realize it's way easier to throw the whole darn thing into the laundry basket.

observing a sheet: a good 20 minutes of entertainment

Zoralee spent most of week 1 naked, just swaddled up tight in a blanket, other than one or two of her short social engagements. We thought this was the smartest thing to do, because a) putting clothes on a baby is a waste of precious energy, and b) why not let her be free from such shackles as long as possible? Both of her grandmothers, independently, thought this was just awful, so we succumbed to peer pressures and started clothing her. At first, Jason and I hated it! She didn't look like the same person AT ALL. In fact, the next picture is her in her baby shower dress, and it took awhile for us to get cool with it. Now we're coming around. She does seem a little better regulated as far as temperature, because blankets are often opening up and falling off during the passing of a baby back and forth among family members.

The baby is pretty fussy. She is a good baby, and our love for her is not diminished by this, but she is definitely a fusser. Her worst fits are followed by gaseous explosions from one end or the other, so we know there is reason for some of it. But other times she seems to fuss just to fuss. We give her gripe water and make sure all of her needs are met. We experiment with freely-available coping mechanisms like walking, talking, singing, and rocking. We are using a gifted rocking seat that looks like a car seat, with good initial results (the baby falls asleep) but mixed long-term results (she wakes up pretty soon). But what we're uber excited about is even now on its way in the mail: namely, an old school, mechanical wind-up swing. We searched high and low for this joker, and today we won it on ebay for 99 cents. Ahem, shipping was 17 dollars, but I absolutely couldn't care less. It's the click-click-click variety from when all of us were babies. We're stoked.

yawning during a chiropractic adjustment

We are trying quite hard to limit the baby paraphenalia that comes into the house, because gezzads! There is no end to the possibilities! Walk through the baby department at any store, and you'll agree. For example, there are about 14 different spongy pads available - one for keeping the baby asleep on her back, one for the tub, one for changing diapers, one for laying in the living room, one for every variety of crib and cradle. So anyway, we were planning on bathing the child in a mixing bowl or the kitchen sink, like our mothers did it. We had three traumatic bath/shower experiences, whereby there was much screaming, flailing, and pooing, and then Zoralee received a plastic baby bath at her baby shower. Skeptical we were, but we tried it, and would you believe she has reclined in it peacefully and contentedly for two baths now?! As Jason said, it's a little frustrating when modern gadgetry actually works.

This could be the result of sleep deprivation, but we have the heartiest laughing fits these days. Some of the hilarity is at Zoralee's expense, what with her random arm movements and facial expressions, but hopefully she's not grasping that. Occasionaly they'll even happen during her fits, just because she's being so unreasonable. But the most notable one came late one night while we were up browsing craigslist ads. I don't know if every location would have as riotous ads as in Montana, but check out the Free section sometime. People are giving away and advertising the darndest things, like a pair of pants that wouldn't work as pants anymore but could be cut up for fabric. Hang tight, lady, while we drive five hours to Helena to get those. Or this one guy who was begging people to come and make use of a miniature golf course that he'd made. Dang. Now that's funny AND sad. Jason's new motto is "Craigslist - we laughed, we cried."

Grandma Rena reading Zoralee's first post card from great Aunt Melody

Zoralee's first week

day one with Grandpa Larry

with great-Grandma Louise

with Uncle Luke and Aunt Heather

day two at Chinese food with the extended family;

great-Grandpa Gene introduces the LED light

at the SAD lamp to help with a touch of jaundice

day four walk to church with Papa and Mama

Zoralidell "The Ice Baby" Stoffer

(for the UFC fans out there)

think I'm coy, do you?

But behold, I am Super Zor!

don't judge;
even superheroes get discouraged and need Grandma time

resting today with Papa

GUESS WHAT!!

We have ourselves a new little Pumpkin Buns.

She's a girl.

We are in love with her.

Her name is Zoralee Rena Stoffer.

I am finally at the computer to tell about her. Here's the short of it, and I will certainly post the whole birth story in days to come. Thursday morning, December 4, at 8:47 a.m., after 3 loooong days of quasi-labor and a deep, dark night of labor, our baby girl was born at home. She was 7 pounds and 6 ounces in weight, and 20 inches long. Friends, thank you so much for your prayers and well wishes during the spregnancy and delivery! We have so, so much for which to be thankful.

Zoralee has conceivably the world's longest fingers, so long in fact that they fold over on each other and get caught on things. She surprised us with a full head of straight, wispy, blonde-brown hair. It's looking like she'll somehow have to support a barrel chest and thighs like Jason's on top of skinny ankles like mine. Fortunately, her gigantic feet and long toes will lend good ground support. So far, Zoralee spends her time sleeping, crying inconsolibly about sudden changes (made bearable by the most wonderful squeak on each inhale) and, when she settles down, observing her surroundings wide-eyed.

warming at the fire after her first bath

today, two and a half days old

A little about her name. The name Zora means aurora and dawn; Zoralee was conceived in Alaska and born half an hour after dawn. My paternal great-grandmother's name was Zora. She became sick and died as a young mother, but her own mother, a nurse and woman of great faith, prayed that Zora would come to life at least to raise her family. She did, and when the last child was married, she died again. I feel that our own little one arose by grace from what was seeming to be a lifeless womb. Lee is Jason's mother's middle name, and Rena is my mother's name.

More pictures will come later! I mean, duh.

tramplings

Death by trampling of the Wal-Mart worker in New York yesterday - wow. When I heard about that, in 2 seconds flat I went from complete disbelief to outright judgement.

How dare these people allow themselves to be so consumed - literally - by cheap, plastic crap that they would even lightly push the person in front of them, much less rush the door to get inside? I don't care if there's a freaking gold mine on Aisle 3 for $19. Have we lost our ever-loving minds? What a perfect mirror for our society to see their reflection in.

Then I started thinking that it probably wasn't the people at the front of the line who were pushing on the door so hard, those who could actually see the employee on the other side of the glass. I guessed it was the people in the middle or the back who let impatience get the better of them and started inching forward, then footing, then yarding. Their competitive nature overran their manners and sense when a Samsung 50-inch Plasma HDTV for $798 was involved, and they never realized what was happening ahead of them. That's what I guessed.

BUT THEN, I read a news update online which said that people were feistily and angrily shopping and refused to leave even when informed that the store was closing because of a death by trampling. "But I've been standing in line since yesterday," they said. Boy, would I have loved to have gotten ahold of the Wal-Mart loudspeaker system and said, "STOP! Everyone just STOP what you're doing right now. You people, yes you, have just run over a bunch of fellow human beings, including a woman who is 8 months pregnant and a young man who appears to be dead. Now look at the crap in your hands and drop it to the ground. Just drop it. And on your way out, we've instructed our greeters to dispense serious spankings-by-ping-pong-paddle to each and every one of you. Now GET GOING."

Ahem. Yes, well, easy for me to say as a non-shopper and as a person who would rather poke fun at a crowd than be part of one. Then I remembered. I remembered a few of the many times I've trampled over people to score a useless item or get a point across or prove myself. Three examples, if I may:

Trampling #1:
When I was in college, a bunch of girls from my floor drove to the ocean for a day. We found in the shallow waters the end of a giant wooden spool used for wrapping rope or steel cables around. It's simply a huge circle of wood onto which a bunch of people can sit or stand and float about. Long story short, I wanted that circle for my very own, to make a table top out of. We had all driven small cars, so I called a guy back at the college and begged him to drive the two hours to the coast with his pickup. As we loaded that stupid wooden circle up, there was a family standing there watching us. "You know, that's a neighborhood play thing," said the dad meekly. "Nobody really owns it. All the kids around here use it." I sort of ignored him, made small talk about a different subject, rationalized it in my head, whatever. And off we took with it.

By that night my stomach was in shreds over it, no help to Jason, at that time my boyfriend, who did nothing to alleviate my guilt. I cried and cried. And actually, after enough crying, Jason recognized I wasn't completely lost to the Dark Side and he did console me. The whole experience is something I've thought a lot about over time. That silly circle cost me a bunch of money that I didn't have too. I'd had to go buy rope to tie it down, pay for my friend's gas, and buy both his dinner and that of his girlfriend (whom I didn't know was coming along) at a very nice restaurant. And whatever became of the circle? It leaned up against K House, where I lived, and grass grew around it until I left college. I assume it was thrown out when they demolished the house several years later.

Trampling #2:
Once, a pair of super soft pants from Old Navy was given to me for Christmas. They were too big on me, so I took them in for exchange. The girl at the front counter said, "Oh my gosh! I just LOVE these pants. They sold out so quickly. We don't have any left, but you could pick something else of the same value." I knew that girl was going to take home those super soft pants, my super soft pants if I left them there. Suddenly, since other people wanted them, they were worth something. So I changed my mind and kept them. Even though they were too big. This was while I was a grown woman.

Trampling #3:
A long time friend of mine went through a really tough divorce several years back. I'd known all along about some of the relational problems they had that extended back to their dating days, but we'd lost touch during the actual divorce proceedings. When I found out about the divorce later, without knowing any significant current details about it or even pausing to ponder how my friend was coping, I gave her a piece of my mind about her culpability. That was a very bad thing to do. I didn't hear back from her for a little while. Then, instead of blowing me off like she could've done, she was honest about what a jerk I'd been and graciously explained some of the personal details that informed the divorce decision. That was an important and humbling lesson to me, and I hope I learned a significant amount more than whatever amount my friend was hurt.

So, tramplings. Yes, they happen by throngs of people who lose their wits, like Wal-Mart shoppers on Black Friday. They happen by individuals too, like me.

a few fotografias

First off, nope. Nada. Zilcho change. No indication the baby's on its way.

Pregnancy-induced insomnia has me up tonight, so like a moth to two flames I come first to food and then to the computer to blog and be blogged. Here are some pictures from Thanksgiving day and today. Actually, the first one of Jason and my folks is from Tuesday - not that it matters. They're watching a buck chase a doe.

This was fun to see:

exact same location, 24 hours apart, different herd of critters

Here's Dad passing down a surprising wrestling move to Cousin Eugene at the Thanksgiving gathering. The move is called "While-the-other-guy-is-wondering-what-in-Zeus's-name-you're- doing-boom!-you've-got-him-pinned." Dad has wrestled since high school and coached my brothers from when they were small, so it was common as I grew for the living room furniture to be pushed aside and a wrestling match to commence. It was refreshing to see it again after time away from home, you know? One of those visuals you don't even realize you've missed. Not this butts-up visual specifically, but the general scene.

looking at google-earth to see where everybody hunted

Gunther and Molly at the top of the stairs

wondering if we're going for a walk or what

I'm thankful for

family and friends, of course! and life and liberty, and shelter and food, and health. But here are some specifics on my mind this season:

• my parents, who have opened their home to us and have loved us unceasingly, freely giving emotional support, time, counsel, and apple fritters, and Mom, who has cooked more than usual for us since I've been on bed rest
• Jason, my compassionate, sincere lover and life partner, a good man who will be a very good Papa
• getting to be near Mom and Grandma Louise, hearing their birth stories, and experiencing the excitement from their vantage points
• not working at a job for money right now
• frosty mornings and fog on the meadow
• the abundance of life I see each day: dogs, horses, deer, wild turkeys, birds, bugs, and spiders
• the howls and yips of coyote packs at night
• my Grandma Maxine's peaceful passing, and the beautiful time with family that followed
• nearby friends and family who tell us they pray for the baby and the delivery, and who lend us books and baby paraphenalia
• far off friends and family who call or write with news of their own and want an update from us
• wiggles and rollings of the life within
• expecting a baby at the same time as several close friends
• warmth from a wood stove
• the rich guy who is happening across this blog (maybe months later) and decides to send us a bunch of money. Thanks, guy.
• candles
• washrags - what a handy idea
• the rekindling of old friendships and creation of new ones
• the moon and darkness
• the sun and light

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody.

Guess Stuff About the Baby Contest

A couple of friends have recently had contests on their blogs just for kicks and giggles. That got me to thinking that since we know virtually nothing about our baby, how fun it would be to have a little guesswork contest.

To participate, simply click "comments" at the end of this post and state your guesses. Anybody can do it; if you don't have a blogger account, comment as "anonymous" and be sure to include your name in the message. We won't close the contest until the baby is born. The prize for whomever's answers are the most accurate will be....something. You can safely figure it will be homemade or worth less than $10, but where you'll be lacking in fortune, you'll make up for in fame when I announce you as the winner here on the blog!

Useful to know: the due date is December 3rd or 4th (it switches, depending on the chart used, maybe because this was a leap year). I'll be 39 weeks along out of 40 this Wednesday. The baby seems low-key; it's not super wiggly, but it is very responsive to touch, as we know by the heartbeat variations and movement when we or the midwife jostle it this way or that. Oh! Two weeks ago, Marcy felt him/her to be just under 7 pounds.

Things to guess about:

• the baby's sex
• weight
• length
• arrival date
• arrival time
• most surprising feature
• any other guesses! (this can only up your chances)

There's the "comments" link, right below these words.

end o' the week pics and sprego update

Here's my brother on his 27th birthday,

hoarding his presents in these tough economic times.

I love you, Luke!!

What's yummier than yummy?

A man using power tools in long johns, wool socks,

and a Samoan lava-lava.

Peanut, skinny even by Chihuahua standards,

adores any heat source.

Happy, happy news in our little world! With all this bed resting, my blood pressure has stabilized quite significantly. Marcy let me go to the film festival Wednesday night, which was a fabulous event. We enjoyed every film they showed; it was a good year for variety of style and subject matter. PLUS, and perhaps most significantly, we met up with actual FRIENDS at the festival. They are other human beings besides ourselves who live around here and with whom we can do social things, a major missing ingredient in our new lives down here in the States.

Jason has been taking my blood pressure each day, which has been consistently 20 points lower than what it was last week. Today we phoned in to Marcy the results of that and my blood glucose and protein levels. She was happy and said, "You know what this means, don't you? Your body is responding well to bed rest, so you need to keep it up." [insert visual of me blubbering my lips with my finger like a person going crazy] "However," she continued, "You can now feel free to get up and move about for a couple hours each day. Think hard about how you want to spend that time. You can even go for a walk." WELL, say no more, Marcy the Midwife! Very soon, Jason and the dogs joined me for a meadow walk in the gloriously brisk, 1/2 sunny, 1/2 storm cloudy day.