Why I don't blog

Here is why I don’t blog:

Because this week I was called up for jury duty--okay, actually three or four months ago, but I was a crazed mess back then because Gabe was still in his super-fuss phase, so I just deferred it as long as I could, which was until this week--and my mom is out of town, and Russell is at work, so I pack mass amounts of snacks and toddler distractions and a nursing cover in a bag, and lie in bed awake half the night worrying about it.  I manage to get inside the courthouse at 8:15 this morning after doing almost a complete lap around the building in the rain looking for the wheelchair entrance so I could get in with the double stroller.  We make it up to the desk where all the potential jurors are checking in, the lady working there takes one look at me, and with completely unveiled annoyance tells me the fact (which was probably obvious to you all along) that I cannot be there with children.  She asks me if I mentioned anything in the form I filled out online.  Yes, I did mention having a baby and a two-year-old, but the online form seemed to take that pretty well in stride.  Well, I should have called them.  Here’s a piece of paper and a pen to write an explanation to the judge.  Now I’m about ready to sink into the lovely historical floor, but I have to settle for being the most conspicuous person in the room, because my baby is starting to fuss.  The judge writes me back a note on the bottom of my note to him that I can’t actually read, but the person who handed it to me says I am excused today but need to set a new date and then arrange for “day care” for my children.  No chance of setting the date for after I plan on weaning Gabe, so I just go as far out as they let me and then wheel away as quickly as possible before I melt into a weepy puddle of anxious sleep deprivation.

Back at home, the baby is sending me serious mixed signals, like he does every day, so I decide to guess nap and set him down.  Atticus gets his snack with the soothing tones of Gabe’s wails in the background--speaking of snack, did I mention the bib that was crawling with ants when I came down to the kitchen this morning?  Gabe does eventually fall asleep, but immediately wakes up when I go cover him with a blanket.  #momfail

That takes us up to about noon.  Unfortunately I neglected to take any high-quality, well-composed pictures of any of the events described above, so you’ll just have to use your imaginations.

Atticus Arthur

Now that I've figured out how to re-incorporate a daily shower, I've decided I can finally tackle the first post-baby blog post (with Russell's help).

First, the most exciting event of our recent lives: the birth of little Atticus Arthur.  As some of you already know, I decided to attempt an unmedicated birth in hopes of avoiding an assisted delivery (e.g. forceps, c-section, etc.).  To that end, we hired a doula named Jun-Nicole to help me get ready and to be with us during labor.  Doulas are not midwives.  They don't do any medical procedures, check dilation, or anything like that.  Their purpose is to provide labor support, and Jun-Nicole did a wonderful job.  It's hard to say which was more significant, her help in getting us ready for the birth, or her help during labor itself.  To help us get ready, she lent me several books as well as some hypnobirthing CDs that basically helped me learn to relax myself during contractions.  She also went through a lot of the decisions we would or might need to make while in the hospital and gave us information on them so we could decide in advance what we wanted (e.g. timing of circumcision, whether or not nurses should give the baby a soother, etc.).

The night of Atticus's birth, I had my very first contraction ever around 11:00 pm.  I was sort of expecting a little off and on, maybe for a few days or at least hours leading up to more regular labor, but they were five or six minutes apart right from the get go.  By the time we got to the hospital around 2:00am, I was dilated to 6 cm.  Jun-Nicole met us there, and between her, the labor/delivery nurse, the on-call midwife (the hospital here has a group of certified nurse midwives who work out of the same clinic as the obstetricians, so if there are any complications, the doctors are available), and of course Russell, I had quite the support team.  My memories of the labor are sort of hazy and out of order, but Russell assures me that I "played it like a champ."  He was pretty great himself--very calm, and unflinching in the face of my knuckle-crushing grip on his hand.  Something about the baby's position was making his heart rate go down whenever I was lying down, so I spent most of the time sitting on a birth ball.  Things with Atticus's heart rate got intense right at the end, but fortunately we got him out when the midwife said we had to, and all was well.  That was about 6:30 am on April 28, just as the sun was coming up.

We stayed in the hospital with our nameless baby for about two days, during which time we had several conversations about, but made very little progress toward, naming him.  Finally, within an hour of discharge, Russell convinced me that we did not have to name the baby Russell.  Inspired by Gregory Peck's masterful performance in "To Kill a Mockingbird" and my great-grandfather Andersen, we came up with Atticus Arthur Leslie.

Atticus is now almost two months old, and is our favorite child so far.  He is growing so quickly, as new babies are supposed to.  He's really not a newborn anymore.  What can I say about him?  He's quite good-natured.  Of course he's fussy sometimes, but not usually.  He gets the hiccups all the time.  He usually sleeps with his arms up by his face, sort of like a ref signaling a touchdown (this was true within days of birth--forget about swaddling his arms).  He prefers sleeping on people to sleeping in his crib.  He's still learning to smile on  purpose, and we're all working very hard at teasing smiles out of him.  Sometimes he does produce them at exactly the right time, like the other day when Russell set him down next to me on the bed when he left for his internship and I got a big toothless grin from him to start off the day.  He's long and skinny, but baby fat seems to be appearing slowly.  He belches like an adolescent boy.  When he gets tired and fussy, sometimes vigorous bouncing is the only thing I can find to calm him and help him go to sleep (I have a bouncing rap--"bow wow wow, woobity woobity woob, and a wom wom wom" repeated as desired--but I'm not sure that's essential to the soothing).  He's getting more dexterous--less hitting himself in the face, gagging himself, and nearly poking out his eyes, more holding onto things (like my shirt) and better head control.  Before his dexterity progress, we were have a lot of talks about SDB's, that is, self-defeating behaviors.  The worst of these, which he is pretty well over now, surfaced at feeding time.  For some reason, as soon as his mouth opened wide, his little hand would fly up in front of it, ready to clench.  If his hand wasn't in front of his mouth, he was throwing his opened-mouth head back as far as it would go, and of course, away from me.  Sometimes I felt like I was navigating a previously unexplored level of Super Mario.  Fortunately, I think our many SDB discussions have finally sunk in, and now nursing is much more pleasant for both of us.  Russell and I are crazy about him, and so are both sets of grandparents (as they are about all their grandchildren).

Speaking of grandparents, my parents seem delighted to have a little grandbaby so close, and we really enjoy having them nearby.  Russell's parents came to visit us a few weeks ago, and it was wonderful to have them here.  I think I enjoyed the long naps as much as I enjoyed hanging out with them, but only because the naps were particularly awesome (I got diagnosed with mono the day after they left, which may have had something to do with my fatigue; fortunately, I seem to have recovered much more quickly than expected and am feeling much better now).  I wish we could live near both sets of parents simultaneously.

And now for the baby slide show:

At the hospital, fresh out of the womb.

Sleeping on daddy.

Touchdown!

Sleeping on mama.

The Moby.

Beginnings of a smile.

Is it just my maternal attachment, or is this baby super cute?

Christmas, etc.

It has been an eventful month and a bit since last I posted. As with journaling, it seems that the things that would make good blog fodder also keep me occupied so that I don't actually write when I have things to write about. I think about most things in lists:

1. We had our second ultrasound appointment where the technician and my doctor were both thoroughly convinced that we are having a boy. Most ultrasound images are about as clear to me as a Jackson Pollock painting, but they seemed very confident, so I am also very confident. Having a boy will be wonderful, provided we can pick a name for him before he forms a confused identity as a nameless child. Our list of girl names was really progressing pretty well, but I guess that had nothing to do with parental intuition. My father suggested that we set up a sort of name raffle where people can pay some amount to enter a name, and then we use whatever name we draw from the entries. This would definitely simplify things, and perhaps give an early start to our son's college fund. However, I fear that my dear, but sometimes mischievous, brothers would not be able to resist some unfortunately creative entries, and so we'll probably go about things the usual way. The ultrasound also revealed that our unborn child is becoming cuter and less alien.

2. Russell and I finished our first reading of the Book of Mormon together. We have read several other books together (by together, I mean aloud to each other), including Till We Have Faces, The Magician's Nephew, and The Social Animal. However, the Book of Mormon is definitely the most important of our list, and is probably the one of the few books that we will continue reading to each other as long as eyesight permits (and then there's always the audio recordings, right?). Today I rediscovered a delightful quote from Marion G. Romney, who was an apostle in the LDS church in the mid-late 1900s. He said: "I feel certain that if, in our homes, parents will read from the Book of Mormon prayerfully and regularly, . . . [t]he spirit of reverence will increase; mutual respect and consideration for each other will grow. The spirit of contention will depart. Parents will counsel their children in greater love and wisdom. . . Faith, hope, and charity. . . will abound in our homes and lives, bringing in their wake peace joy, and happiness" (General Conference, April 1980). Who doesn't want that? I can use all the love and wisdom I can get, so I'm definitely on board.

3. We got to spend almost two full weeks over Christmas in St. George, UT with my delightful in-laws. There are always more places that we would like to be than we can be, especially at holidays, but as much as I missed my own parents and brothers (and grandmothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, . . . ), I think we picked the right place for this year's Christmas. All three of Russell's sisters were there, plus the husband and children of his one married sister. It was really wonderful to have everyone together and to get mostly away from work and school. The pictures we took give the impression that we spent most of our time eating at Cafe Rio; I'll need to get better about photo-documenting things, because we did a lot more than that. Other happy memories include, but are not limited to: celebrating Russell's birthday (we actually did this twice: once in Iowa, once in Utah), watching my sister-in-law Miquelle play Mary in a brief nativity at Tuacahn (complete with real camels!), having the traditional Leslie family Christmas Eve sherbet/soda drink, Christmas morning gift extravaganza, four-wheeling (not so much me as Russell and his sisters and dad), making baby blankets with my mother-in-law, after-Christmas sale shopping, and a multi-day "Bones" marathon. Probably best of all was going to the St. George temple so that my husband, Russell LeVan Leslie, and his dad, Russell Allen Leslie, Jr., could do temple work for my Russell's grandfather, Russell Allen Leslie, Sr., and great-grandfather, Russell Uralee Leslie (and if you're wondering if we might name our son Russell, the answer is yes, very possibly).

People often ask me how I'm feeling. I'm not sure if this is out of concern for my physical comfort or in expectation that I'm filled with excited anticipation and/or anxiety. I am feeling well. It is getting more difficult to put my shoes and socks on. Sometimes I can feel the baby move. Other times, I'm not sure if the baby is moving or my stomach is growling (I know, rookie mistake, right? I'll probably get better at telling the difference). So far, he has not lodged himself under my rib cage or kicked my bladder. As for my emotional state, I am feeling very pleased about having a baby. Lately I have not been very worried about the difficult decisions that will probably come with his arrival, but as my friend Sara aptly put it to me a few weeks ago, everything feels bigger when you're pregnant. I don't know if this is a universal experience, but I certainly feel that my emotional pendulum is swinging wider than usual.

Well that was more than I expected to write and probably more than anyone really wanted to read (thank you for your patience if you've made it this far down the post). We're planning on caucusing this week (yes, I have registered as a Republican for this voting cycle), so next time I'll have the inside scoop on the Republican caucusing experience.

Cute

In the weeks since my first post, I have been wrestling with what sort of blog I want to create. Is this "family blog" going to turn into a pregnancy/childhood milestones blog? A blog of posts for special occasions (e.g. birthdays, holidays, vacations, etc.)? An introspective blog? A picture-centric blog? An entertaining blog? Unfortunately, I am not as good at taking pictures or at making people laugh as some of my blogging friends. Basically I don't know what kind of blog I want to create, though this paragraph is making me think I may accidentally end up with an introspective blog.

Since I'm already waxing introspective, I'll tell you that I've really begun to worry about the effect that studying economics is going to have (has already had?) on my perception of reality. For example, what makes something cute? My dear older brother used to tell me that if there were three cinder blocks in a row and one was smaller than the other two, girls would call the runty cinder block "cute." I suppose he meant that it had become semi-synonymous with small, or that smallness could automatically endear literally any object to some of the more tender-hearted among us. Well how about these examples of cuteness, courtesy of two of my professors:

(1) Did you know that generically there are an odd number of Nash equilibria in any game? A very "cute" result from game theory.

(2) What word other than "cute" could accurately describe the fact that the unconditional cumulative distribution function of ln(capital) is a fixed point of the operator that integrates its derivative with the conditional probability distribution of ln(capital')?

Before I started my PhD program, I was under the impression that this is the sort of thing really embodies cuteness: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/11/18/lovely-owl-video_n_1101488.html. It's strange how economics (probably other fields as well, but I wouldn't know firsthand) really gets under your skin and changes the way you talk and even what you mean by the words you use. Perhaps by the time I'm done, my brother will be praying for me to go back to the small = cute mentality.

In between visions of the "this is your brain on economics" commercials I could make to warn away the unsuspecting beginning students of economics, I convinced Russell to grow a little goatee this week. I think he grew it for a good seven or eight days, and this allowed the hair on his chin and mustache to get as long as it has ever been in his entire life. What did we learn as a result of this experience? For one thing, it turns out that Russell has a sort of reddish beard. Which begs the question: what evolutionary or creative purpose can there possibly be to having a single human being with blond head hair, red facial hair, and black chest hair? My husband, the Neapolitan man.

But now the beard is gone, my brain is still on economics, and I think I should probably save the rest of my introspective musings for my journal, rather than assuming that anyone besides me could possibly be interested in them. In three weeks we get to find out "what flavor" we're having, in the words of my OB/GYN. Also, Thanksgiving will have happened. So perhaps I can escape an excessively mind-vomity blog after all...

The Alien

This is the new Russell and Emily Leslie family blog. Sort of. Mostly, it's going to be me, Emily, blogging about the Russell and Emily Leslie family. I feel a little bad about taking over PR for our family, but not too bad. I figure I can succeed in being at least as unbiased as most major news outlets (am I setting the bar too low?).

I guess since this is the first entry, I have about 16 months of stuff to cover. Here's the first 13 months: We got married in June 2010, made it through one last year at BYU, successfully got admitted to our respective graduate programs at the University of Iowa, and had a summer of epic adventure.

My epic adventures:

-going to Guatemala

-building a bookshelf

-orchestrating our entire move

-researching the pretrial detention of suspected felons

Russell's epic adventures:

-finishing classes

-interning at clinics

Mine may have been a little more epic, aside from the shared epic adventures:

-nuptial celebrations for bosom buddies

-Webb family reunion (i.e. temporary tent city, complete with family "Survivor" activities to separate the wheat from the chaff in my mother-in- law's wonderfully large extended family)

-first anniversary celebrated at amazing B&B in Salt Lake

The last three months have been spent mostly here in the Shire of the U.S.: Iowa. Russell is now well into the first semester of his MHA (masters of healthcare administration) program. He has become an avid reader of Atul Gawande books (I recommend them on his behalf, and also based on the two chapters I have read so far). He is also well on his way to a successful career in politics, having won in his first bid for elected office as a member of the Student Faculty Liaison. I think we're both still figuring out what the SFL does exactly, but we'll let you know when we know.

For my part, I spend most days doing math. None of my classes have math anywhere in the course title, but it turns out that as a first year PhD student in economics, that's pretty much what all your classes boil down to. There are five other students in my year, so we're getting to know each other pretty well. For anyone who's wondering, Russell's program is two years; mine is five. How's that going to work? Excellent question.

This brings me--tangentially--to my final and most important topic, also the inspiration for the title of this post: I am pregnant. I had my very first appointment on Friday (two days ago), and so I am finally in possession of an estimated due date, which is April 22. I never knew where due dates come from, and I guess I still don't know if they are all estimated the same way, but mine involved an ultrasound. This was awesome--probably the best thing that happened to me all week. I didn't know I was already 13 weeks along, so I wasn't expecting to see the little heart beating, and the not-quite-as-tiny-as-expected limbs so clearly. The technician printed two images for me: one from the side of the entire fetus, and one of its face. "Aw, it's looking out at you," she said as she handed it to me. Perhaps I'm experiencing an oxytocin deficiency, but honestly all I could think of when I saw that picture was the striking resemblance that the dear little face bore to the iconic alien. I suppose we'd all look a little more like aliens if we were looking at each other using ultrasounds (or x-rays?), so I can only assume that the baby will resolve itself into a lovable infant bundle by the time it gets into my arms and I'm looking at it with normal vision instead. What will I do about school when that day comes? I don't know yet. I think about this question a lot, but I doubt I'll actually decide in advance.

For now, we're both happy to be in Iowa, grateful to be in school, and excited about the prospect of a baby.

P.S. Russell just showed his sister the picture above. She thought it was an alien picture that he was showing her as a joke.