Ooey Gooey Baby Love

Basically, if you’ve met my daughter, you know what I’m talking about.

She is yummy. But not in a hamburger and french fry way. She's yummy in a dainty, princessy, vanilla ice cream with strawberry sauce on top, she’s mine—not yours, neener neener way.

Not to juxtapose a frustrated rant about my son to a love eruption about my daughter. I love my children equally. I just happen to have extremely positive feelings about Kiana right now. She’s so pleasant, she smells good, and she doesn’t get into my makeup drawer every day and paint the floors with my treasured MAC eye shadow.

Kiana’s tiny head fits so nicely on the space between my collarbone and neck. I rock her gently and stare into her droopy eyes as she prepares to fall asleep. Her lips curl upward in a semi-smile as I stroke her velvet scalp. Her body feels so warm and so small molded against my chest. A little jelly bean.

I kiss her miniature nose. It is firm, not squishy like mine (thank heavens she didn’t get my nose). Her eyelashes are growing longer. They are the color of honey. Her mouth is so delicate. When she yawns, I see that the top of her tongue is snowy white from her last meal. Each time she sneezes, she coos “ohhhhh” in gratitude.

As I gaze down at my little girl, I savor the moment. I do not think about the price I paid to bring her to the earth. Nor do I wonder what she will be like when she gets older. I just appreciate who she is right now. She will not look this way tomorrow. She won’t emit the faint clean scent of the preexistence for much longer. Her hair will grow, teeth will come, and one fateful day she will turn “two.”

By then, the space between my collarbone and neck will have become far too cramped.

My heart aches to think that she will only be this Kiana for this moment. So I hold her close, watch her sleep, and thank Heavenly Father for this incredible gift.

Cub Woes

“Douglas, don’t you step in that!”

Doght! I immediately realize my mistake.

My little insubordinate has now plunged his foot into the clammy knoll of dog poop and is grinning at me wickedly. I quickly put down Kiana’s car seat and grab Douglas before he starts somersaulting through the stuff (Oh yes he would).

He begins thrashing to and fro. He REALLY needs to do the somersaults through the poop now that he knows that I would prefer him not to. His very life depends on those somersaults. There are tears… oh the tears. Then there are blood-curdling screams… only furthering the neighbor’s suspicions that we beat our child.

I found two gray hairs growing from my scalp last week.

I use to think I was Super Mom—that I had all the answers. Then “two” happened. Two kids is not the issue, but the fact that one of them is “two” is.

How does one do “two?”

I need a book.

I need your prayers.

I need a pint-sized straight jacket.

Bow Chicka Bow Bow!

The doctor gave me the go-ahead (with a wink).

I have been shopping for the “appropriate” outfits.

All systems are revved-up and ready for action.

I have been stretching.

Ryan is incredibly excited.

It’s GO TIME.


Are you thinking what I think you are thinking? You would. Get your mind out of the gutter.

I’m talking about exercise.

After my nine month hiatus from the gym, I was worried I’d have a rough time getting started again.

Oh contraire!

After one play date with the elliptical trainer my body was coated in a rainbowy, frothy lather of endorphins! Wahoo! I love getting that heart rate up!

The Pulmonary Edema Diet gave me a good jump start but there is still work to be done. And I am glad! I love setting and accomplishing goals.

I am doing pilates. I am getting my cardio in at least four times a week. I am pumping iron. And while I don’t believe in dieting, I am definitely watching my portions.

The only thing standing in my way is Doug’s potty training treats.
Can’t resist… So delicious.

And when I reach my goal I will be rewarding myself. Ryan is going to take me on a secluded romantic weekend getaway and I will be sporting one of these by the pool.

Are you scandalized?

Don’t be. I probably won’t be wearing it for long.

Again… the gutter.

My Beautiful Girl

Bethanyisms (Eyebrow Woes)

When I pluck one, two grow back in its place.

Annoying? yes.

A blessing? absolutely.


My mom took me to get my first wax when I was thirteen. My eyebrows had become akin to those of Frieda and Oscar the Grouch. I was a social misfit anyway and my forehead unibush was only complicating matters.

Some might argue that I was too young for such a procedure (facial waxing)… and they were right. The responsibilities of eyebrow grooming were far beyond my maturity level and my tweezers were insatiable.

By fourteen, I had accidentally tweezed off the outer half of each of my eyebrows. I looked scary, but at least I then had two separate eyebrows.



Remember that… yeah, I bet you do.

I finally realized the magnitude of my problem when I looked in the mirror and saw Spock staring back.



Thus, the evolution of my eyebrows continued. As I regrew the length of my brows, the width took a plunge. Pretty soon my eyebrows had become mere slivers of what they once were. You know the look.



Thanks to my uncanny talent for resprouting unwanted facial hair (some might call it a spiritual gift), my eyebrows have recovered time and time again from the endless cycle of torture and experimentation. A blessing and a curse.

Luckily, Ryan and I met during a "good-eyebrow" year.

Sometimes I Forget that I am White

I look at my three-week-old baby and feel baffled.

I asked Ryan several times if he messed around on me because I am not completely convinced that Kiana is mine. She’s beautiful and perfect and… so incredibly Caucasian.

Not that there is anything wrong with that.

I have a hearty helping of lips, my skin is olive, my eyes are dark brown… these features combined often inspire the question “what ethnicity are you?”

Well… I am Danish. I am as white as they come. But one would never know by looking at me. Sometimes I forget that I white, myself.

Several years back, I was working at Gandolfos and some of my coworkers were making some semi-racist comments. I put them in place by telling them that I was .5 African American and found their remarks offensive. This shut them up pretty quickly.

I know I don’t look black, but I look just un-white enough. I meant to tell my coworkers the truth later, but I forgot.

A couple days after, my boss approached me. He said “Hey Bethany, I’ve met your parents and know that you are not half-black.” Then we had a good laugh.

Here’s a question, though:

We plan on getting Kiana’s ears pierced in a couple of months. I created a firestorm of controversy when I wrote a comment indicating so on a friend’s blog. People commented that it was “barbaric” and “white-trashy.” Why?

I admit that their disdain only strengthened my resolve.

If an African American or Latino baby has their ears pierced it is “okay” and “cute,” but if a white baby has their ears pierced it is trashy. Sillyness.

Boy in Training

Ryan spent the majority of Sunday trying to undo the damage I caused. He and Douglas watched five hours of uninterrupted football together. They ate roast beef sandwiches and I believe several cans of Dr. Pepper were involved. There were manly grunts and high-fives exchanged. I wouldn’t even be surprised if Ryan taught Doug a few testosterone-laced phrases such as “for shizzle” and “Hey man, waz-uuuuup?”

You see, because my cub spends day in and day out with the mama bear, he may have adapted a few of my non-masuline characteristics. For example, when he and I go shopping he runs his fingers along the rows of clothing and squeaks “Ohhhhh, how cute!” I don’t think he learned that from Ryan.

Then there is the cross-dressing. Doug likes to try on me and Ryan’s shoes, but particularly enjoys the challenge of my high heels.

Douglas watches me get ready in the morning. He has now mastered the art of blush and mascara.

But the final straw was when we caught Douglas in the bedroom with my Evenflo Comfort Select yesterday. He was pumping. It made the list of my top ten favorite Douglas moments.