Kimberly "The bomb" Warner

Well, for those who haven't heard (all 2.5 of you), the little one is here! And we're just hanging out enjoying her. This momentous occasion means my normally non-visual blog deserves some pictures:

Introducing the amazing, the one, the only, Kimberly Leona Warner! Born November 8, 2010. 7 lbs 12 oz, 19 1/2 inches, 1794.32 on the Warner scale of cuteness. An absolute joy in the day we've had her. So, some frequently asked questions (or just stuff I want to make up):

The birth story: I'm not way into posting about every detail of labor. So no blow by blow of every dilation and push and whatnot. But an overview: I was induced one day past my due date. And no offense to all those people who love natural labors with minimal interventions, but it was fantastic. It was so relaxing to know when I was having the baby, to arrange for babysitting for Madeline, get all packed, enjoy a shower and all that jazz, and leisurely set everything up at the hospital. Getting an IV before you're in the midst of contractions is more awesome than in the midst of them. Anyway, the labor was about six hours, I had an awesome epidural, everything was fairly painless and easier than with Madeline, and Kimberly made her debut healthy and happy. And mom was healthy and happy too. Moral of the story: induction and epidurals are, in my opinion, the bomb.

The name: No story behind Kimberly. We just like it. We are well aware that she will probably end up being called by various people Kim, Kimber, Kimmy, Lopy, and CutestGirlEver. But for now, we call her Kimberly. Leona is my grandmother's name. My grandmother is also the bomb. Jessie would like to point out that Warner is our last name. Which is why it is also hers. We are also the bombs.

The baby: So far Kimberly has been a good baby. Which is what all mothers are obliged to say unless their babies have colic or sneak out at night to meet boys. She eats well, likes to sleep, likes to be held, poops well, and so far has a much quieter cry than our siren Madeline. So life is good. She has a lot of hair, cute chubby cheeks, and no longer kicks me at one in the morning. All reasons she is the bomb.

The sister: Madeline appears to adore the baby from the limited time she has been allowed to be in the same room with her. She has also tried to poke her eyes out, but we don't talk about that. She doesn't seem to grasp the concept that it's the same baby that has been much conversed about from my tummy, and she definitely prefers the name Lopy to Kimberly. Results on what happens when you keep them in the same house for more than half an hour are forthcoming. But I feel obliged to let you know that Madeline is also the bomb. Lest you accuse me of favoring one of my children.

The dad: Jessie likes the baby. He likes talking about his girls. He does not like sitting around hospital rooms, but does it anyway because he likes being a martyr. He was very helpful and supportive during labor as husbands should be, but probably only because there were about ten nurses sitting around ready to beat him up should he show any signs of not being the bomb.

The mom: Cami is pretty awesome. Feeling, all in all, about ten times better than after Madeline's labor. Enjoying the room service and all the buttons to move beds, turn on televisions, shut doors, and build Lego towers without having to expend energy. Cami is not the bomb. Cami is the bomb's mother.

The bomb: The bomb has been diffused. Nothing will be blowing up in the near future.

All other inquiries should be directed to our office of public affairs, located on the fifth floor. Life is good. We leave you with the visual representation of life being the bomb. Please feel free to disregard the strange look on my face and enjoy the baby cuteness and Jessie actually making an appropriate picture face.

Our last weekend in what we pretend is normalacy.

Hey sports fans. I could regale you with tales about how delighted I am BYU is actually playing football today, or how much I really hope TCU creams Utah today. (Please, hold your hate mail. I know many of you are Ute fans with great arguments about why Utah should win. Stuff it. You won't change my mind.) But I know the action you're all interested in is the athletic debut of the newest Warner spawn. Since there's been no action on that front this week, we're resigning ourselves to waiting until Induction Monday. The biggest sporting event of the year. Two days and counting. Not that I'm counting. Okay, you caught me. I'm totally counting. It's kind of hard not to when you're two days away. Your brain just sort of automatically calculates these sorts of things.

Anyway. I'm basically freaking out a little bit, and trying to think of things we need to do before we can have a baby, and realizing it's all pretty much done. And there's nothing to do but wait. Madeline keeps encouraging her younger sister to make an entrance by yelling through my belly button. Jessie is all for drinking the castor oil to get things rolling. I'm all of a sudden wondering if I'm ready to parent a toddler and a newborn and realizing it's much too late to be asking these questions. So off we go to D-day. Next time you hear from me, we should be announcing big things. Name, weight, social security number. All the good stuff. Wish us luck.

Letter to Lopy

Dear Jalopy,

This is your mother. As much as I have loved being your snug little home the past nine months, it's becoming painfully obvious to me that either you or one of my major organs has got to go. This whole sharing space thing isn't working anymore. And since I'm rather fond of my bladder, stomach, and lungs (as bladders, stomachs and lungs go), I thought it might be nice if you'd decide to make your appearance in the world. Immediately. Since this would also keep you from banging your head on my pelvis and being kicked by your older sister during diaper changes, I'm confident this would be a mutually beneficial arrangement. I promise we'll be nice and feed you often and dress you in reasonably fashionable clothes. Trust me, onesies are all the rage with newborns right now. Anyway, my hips and I would both appreciate celebrating your birthday today. Thanks for your consideration.

Lovingly,

Your mother

P.S. That's my nice, diplomatic way of saying Get Out. In case you didn't catch that. Being a fetus and all.

Happy Halloween! (And I'm still pregnant. Surprise.)

It's officially November. And I'm really excited, because that means we're having a baby this month. In a week, actually. I'm officially scheduled for induction on the 8th if Jalopy hasn't made her appearance before then, so there is a light at the end of the tunnel. We're officially taking bets on when she'll show up. The entrance fee is a plate of cookies, to be left on my doorstep, and you can submit your choice of date telepathically. If you guess correctly, you can have the satisfaction of knowing your cookies were definitely my favorite. And that you are the smartest person ever.

Actually, we really don't need any cookies, because between Jessie's work party and two trunk or treats, Madeline managed to bring home at least six months worth of junk food. Which will disappear in two weeks if I'm not disciplined. Madeline went as Dorothy to the Friday activities, and I was the wicked witch. On Saturday she dressed as a Broncos cheerleader to match her uncle Bryce who was a Broncos football player. They may be having a bad season, but the whole team will probably be comforted by the cute pictures we got. Jessie was a nerd to match the rest of the people in his department at work. So basically, he just went to work as usual but we added a pair of glasses. (Kidding, Jessie. We all know you usually wear a tuxedo to work.) All in all, it was an awesome holiday. And we made it through the actual Halloween day without having a baby, which was a relief, because it was the one day I was firmly committed to not going into labor. No Halloween babies for us. Because birthdays on Halloween=way too much sugar and hyperactivity.

Out of the mouths.

Madeline is getting quite independent, as always, and the latest manifestation of this is wanting to say her own prayers. This is how her last prayer went for lunch:

"Heavenly Father. Bless this day. And the pumpkins and the ghosts. And then a nap. When it is dark. It's not dark yet. Light outside. And at work. Bless Daddy at work...(with prompting) bless the food. And Jayden's party. Name of Christ. Amen."

I'm pretty sure we'll keep this girl. Because when she's not making me cry,I'm laughing hysterically. Although the other day I asked her to pick up her toys repeatedly. Finally I said, "It would make mommy so happy if you picked up your toys." She turned her back on me and ran away. Then she looked back, smirked, and said, "Mommy sad." Little punk. In other news, if we watch Cinderella one more time this week, the DVD might accidentally get lost. Because I can only sleep through it about 100 times before I need a change of pace.

Thinking about babies and baby brothers who aren't babies.

Not much has changed around here lately, because I've officially entered waiting mode. Pretty much nothing can hold my attention for long except wondering when this little girl will decide to make an appearance. I've made up my mind it won't be for three weeks until her actual due date to try and avoid disappointment, but that's hard to remember when everyone keeps telling me it could be anytime. Drat all the well-wishing and kind people I run around with. We had another doctor's appointment and things are progressing well. I'm dilated to a 2, which basically means she could hang out there for another month or make a surprise appearance tomorrow (just because it's my brother's farewell and I told Jessie I cannot go into labor this weekend because I'm too busy.) You know that you, the blogging world and my facebook acquaintances, will be at least in the top 50 people I tell, so be sure to wait eagerly for any unexpected updates. But don't wait too eagerly or you'll throw off my calm, collected, patient waiting.

In the meantime, we're keeping busy so that I have as little time as possible to brood. Madeline and I have been doing a lot of shopping and thinking about getting ready for Halloween. (We don't actually do anything because we object to productivity around here.) Although the other day, thanks to some on the ball neighbors, I actually did a Halloween craft. Me. An honest to goodness craft. And it doesn't look like a first grader did it. I may have to post pictures. Until then, I don't blame you for being skeptical. And this weekend will be busy, as I mentioned, because my little brother is giving his last talk in church before his mission. Formerly known as a farewell. I can't believe the little squirt is actually old enough to go, but he assures me it's true, and since he has to shave every day, I'm starting to believe him. I better go warn the people of Chile so they'll know what they're getting into.

More Madeline.

So I know you have all been waiting with baited breath to hear more about our favorite resident toddler maniac. Because she almost never makes an appearance on this blog. Madeline has been undergoing some changes, and I'm not sure if they're natural toddler phases or a response to the big change coming up, but we're just trying not to get thrown for a loop every time she decides to mix things up. Currently, she's on a hair strike. Which means if I try and get near her head with a brush or comb, she screams bloody murder and runs away and hides. So we're doing a lot of headbands, because they're the only thing she'll let me put in. We're also on a nap strike. After a phase where she was waking up at 5 every morning for almost a week, we started putting her to bed earlier in hopes that she would cease and desist. It worked like a charm and she started sleeping in until seven. And promptly gave up napping. And I cried. But given the choice between getting up at five or giving up my nap in favor of an extra hour of peace and quiet in the evening, I am reluctantly giving up on napping.

Madeline has also been acting out more and more as she's realized the advantage she has over me in energy and tenacity. Somewhere along the line she realized that I can't physically make her do what I want because I am too fat and slow and tired. So certain activities have become a battle, and putting her on timeout has become almost impossible because she just refuses to stay there. The other day I tried and she slapped me in the face. We also experienced our first full-fledged store tantrum today. We've had minor tantrums before, but never on the floor, kicking and screaming fits. Those have generally been reserved for home viewing. But today, I was that mother trying desperately to ignore the looks as my daughter collapsed in the front of the grocery store and screamed and kicked and generally made a scene. And I promptly vowed to never judge anyone with unruly children again. If your child is a well-behaved angel in stores, at home, and in general, please refrain from giving me looks when mine is in full revolt. You have no idea how easily it could be you.

Anyway. That's the scoop on our little fireball. The maddening thing is that she's still as adorable as ever, and entirely too good at making me forget how terrible her tantrums can be. And her sweet moments are just as intense and more unforgettable than the bad ones. So crazy me, I'm looking forward to what I'm sure will be another little fireball with great anticipation. A true glutton for punishment.