Pass the Cheetos, Please

An unfortunate side effect of parenthood is its tendency to introduce character flaws you never knew you possessed. Averi has given me insight into a peculiar flaw that rather disturbs me: I found out recently that I am prejudiced against weird people. Oh sorry - let me be more politically correct: I am prejudiced against people who are a little "off."

A situation will illustrate.

I am one of the Laurel assistants in my ward and am supposed to attend Mutual every Wednesday. Since Averi is so little and there are horrible sicknesses running rampant around members of my ward and community, I forbade any non-mothers to hold her until she at least gets her first round of shots. (At least, that's what I told the young women. I fully intend to wait until summer...or longer...for them to even breathe within a 5-foot radius of her.) On a particular Wednesday as we met for opening exercises with all of the youth, I sat down in the front row and held Averi close to me to prevent the mob from mauling her. Behind me, a redheaded Beehive (a 12 or 13-year-old girl) leaned in towards my back and squealed, "Oh, she's so cute." I smiled and pulled my baby closer.

Awkward pause.

Baby voice: "SOOO cute."

Me: "Thanks!"

Redhead with large glasses and European side satchel: "I want to hold your baby."

Surprised by this bluntness, I said, "Oh no, sweetheart, I can't let anyone hold her. I need to make sure she stays healthy!"

Redhead, leaning back into her chair: "Okay." HACK, HACK, COUGH, SPUTTER, BLECH.

I was horrified at the sounds emitted from this barely teenage girl and even more horrified that she wanted to hold Averi only to hack all over her. Great. I realized shortly after I got over the noises that I was holding Averi so close that I was probably suffocating her.

Some might chalk this up to a normal 12-year-old social interaction since they are still learning proper social skills, but you would have had to see this girl interact on several different occasions as I have to form an opinion that she is a little "off." Sweet, I'm sure, but "off." See? Prejudiced. I'm horrible.

Carrying this experience with me, I attended a Cub Scouts Blue and Gold dinner with my family because Casey was a scout leader in charge. At one point, I needed to take care of Gavin and prevent him from running up to Casey as he handed out awards and conducted ceremonies, and as some of you know, that kid is SOLID and it took basically my whole physical strength to hold him on my lap. Unfortunately, Casey had been holding Averi because she was getting a bit fussy, and when his part suddenly came up in the program he hastily looked around and handed her to a woman I didn't know. Knowing how I would feel about this, he looked at me quickly as he walked to the front of the room and mouthed, "It's Sister Sprunt. I trust her."

I was only slightly relieved, but trying to be less uptight about oh, just about everything, I consented. For sure, the woman was enamored with my baby (but let's be honest - who isn't?) and was obviously a mom herself and probably a grandma.

Okay, Brittny - breathe. It's okay. She probably doesn't have ebola. SARS? No.

About a minute later, a large noise made by the 11-year-old scouts collectively startled Averi to the point that she started to cry, and Sister Sprunt abruptly took her into the hall. I appreciated the gesture and didn't think much more about it.

Soon it was time for me to gather my babies and go home because the events of the evening were lasting quite a bit longer than we anticipated. I told Gavin to stay sitting in the chair and went out into the hall to retrieve Averi.

To my absolute horror, the following scene met my good eye: the redhead girl was holding Averi, surrounded by a crowd of admirers who were ready at any moment to poke and prod with snotty, germ-infested fingers. Sister Sprunt was there "supervising," but who in the name of Willie Wonka gave her permission to pass my baby around like a bag of Cheetos??

With my arms outstretched in zombie fashion, I literally grabbed my baby from the arms of strangeness and turned around, nearly deaf to the "ooohs" and "ahhs" and "your baby is so cute" comments. I put Averi in the car seat, grabbed Gavin, and shakily headed for the car.

Why was I particularly sensitive about this girl holding my baby? Was it because I didn't really know her? Was it due to the hacking and coughing of a few days earlier that may indicate she wasn't completely healthy? Could it have something to do with my preference that more experienced individuals hold such a tiny baby? Maybe. The biggest reason, though, is this: I didn't want her to hold Averi because she is WEIRD. I mean, "OFF."

I feel just awful about the way I think about this girl. I plan to spend a lot of time in study, prayer, introspection, and conversation with this girl so that I can get over what is clearly the most ridiculous and horrid prejudice. She's probably a lovely girl with innocent intentions and a few social flaws that I have no business judging her for.

The next time she asks to hold Averi, I will still say no, but I'll do it with more understanding. And a lot more hand sanitizer.

Meet Averi

I know I promised updates about Thanksgiving and Christmas 2009 (do those revered holidays seem like they were forever ago to anyone else?), but I am a bold-faced liar. I chose to have a baby and let the blog go to pot instead. For the abbreviated version of holiday updates, give me a call - until then...

Meet Averi!

Averi Lauryl Jacobs
Born January 7, 2010 at 12:21 pm 6 lbs 15.2 oz. 19 inches

We don't get much sleep, but looking at that face at 3 am (until 5 am, often) softens the blow. Gavin can't stop kissing his baby sister and is so concerned when she cries. We are very blessed to have a healthy, beautiful baby and a healthy, handsome big brother!

Christmas Joy

I'm at 35 weeks today, actually, but I thought I better capture this gem (taken at 34 weeks) for posterity's sake. Most people smile in these photos, but I thought it would be hypocritical to smile while being forced to hold up my belly so I can at least manage a waddle. Not exactly smiling material. 5 weeks to go? We'll see what the doctor says next week...and if she thinks it would be wise to induce earlier (keep your fingers crossed!). More posts to follow re: Thanksgiving and other fun stuff. At least you know we are alive!

Halloween Report

Excuse the tardiness of this report, but the pictures are worth it.

Our Halloween started out mellow and ended up sort of crazy at the end. We took Gavin to our ward's trunk-or-treat (which lasted all of 15 minutes - the perfect amount of time for an easily distracted 2 1/2-year-old) the day before Halloween where he got his first taste of cotton candy. The next day we started out carving pumpkins around 5:00, and then the craziness began. We had intended to let Gavin run around in his dinosaur costume while I leisurely made doughnuts and Casey handled the trick-or-treaters. As is the norm for my life, my delusions of grandeur and perfection were politely snuffed out by reality.

I didn't realize that making pizza at the same time we carved pumpkins was not a good idea, and then our neighbors came over (causing us to also have to act as hosts) and we didn't get our pumpkins carved until 9:30 pm! I'm fairly certain we were the only ones to see them lit, because we brought them back in (ha! Would-be teenage pumpkin-smashers were foiled!) an hour later. My kitchen was a disaster what with pumpkin guts, pizza dough and doughnut ingredients everywhere, and with the constant stream of trick-or-treaters and associated expectations of "ooohs" and "ahhhs" from the parents of kids we know, the doughnuts weren't done until 10:30. Amidst all of this, Gavin barely put on his costume long enough for our neighbors to see and us to take a few pictures, and then he was totally done with it and it was his bedtime. Sheesh!

It was fun, though. I couldn't do it without my patient husband, who never outright squashes my delusions although he knows they are impossible. He is always there to support me through it and then gently pick up the pieces of my perfectionist mishaps as I descend into sharp self-realization. Maybe next year I'll dress up as a normal person for Halloween and leave the mental issues behind.

We Are Going To Grandma's House

Well, we already went, actually.Gavin and I got to spend a fantastic week in October hanging out with Grandpa and Grandma in Sparks. Aside from the fact that my two-and-a-half-year-old started acting his age on this trip and hasn't let up since, we had a wonderful time and were spoiled rotten. It was wonderful to see our family, especially since this is the last time Gavin can be spoiled all by himself. The next time we see Grandpa and Grandma, Gavin will have a baby sister to share the limelight with! Following are a few highlights from our trip (not included: the phone call I got from our alarm company stating our security alarm at home was going off. Casey was in Dallas that day and I was obviously not home. Good times. All is well, thanks to Border Patrol neighbor with big guns...oh, and strong muscles, too!) I am so sorry to the family members who we didn't capture on camera - I was good at taking pictures some of the time. Marissa, if you have any pictures of you and Gav, please let me know! He says "Aladdin fork!" on a daily basis!

Thanks for taking the time to see us and making sure our visit was just spiffy, Family! WE LOVE AND MISS YOU!

Gav and Grandpa in the backyard

Makin' sugar cookies

Tastin' pumpkin seeds (uncooked. Clearly enjoyed.)

Playin' soccer with hilarious Uncle Reed

Visitin' Grandpa and Grandma Great

Kissin' all the ladies

Lest Ye Think It Is All Fun And Games...

In the last post, I touted potty training as an angelic experience that anyone would do well to learn eternal truths from. Well, let's not exaggerate, people - that was yesterday. Okay, that was about half of yesterday. The second half of yesterday went downhill quickly after two poops on the kitchen floor caused me to realize that I am projecting my perfectionist tendencies onto my child as I wonder why he isn't perfect the first time at potty training. After being mad at myself for this realization and then surging right on into a hormonal pregnancy mood change, I was as pleasant as a barrel cactus to be around last night. I am glad I wrote that last post, however, because I meant every word of it, and when I start to slide into pathetic self-pity I will come back and read it to gain the perspective I raved about before. In the meantime, I'll look at this cute face and wonder how I can ever be such a scrooge in the first place.

Line Upon Line

My life is filled with cleaning up pee and poo. And I love it.

I love rejoicing in the triumphs of a not-quite 2 1/2-year-old. I love screaming and dancing and running around the house with a half-naked toddler who runs back into my arms for a big hug after a successful go at the loo.

I love calling "Super Grover" (aka my dad) to discuss this latest triumph and watching the expression on Gavin's face as he says nonchalantly, "Hi Super Grover. I pooped in the potty." The proud, self-satisfied expression on his little face is priceless to me.

I love watching Gavin suddenly assume a sumo-like walk as he waddles to the potty and I know it is time for #2.

I love to sing, "This is the way we wash our hands, wash our hands, wash our hands; this is the way we wash our hands, after we go potty!" every time we wash hands post-pottying. With such a little bladder, the average number of hand-washing trips is about 3 times an hour.

I love to put lotion on my cracking and dry hands from so much washing. I love to watch a little body run around in Elmo, Super Grover and/or camouflage underwear and want to wear a new pair a couple of times a day even if he hasn't soiled the pair he is wearing.

In short, I love that the triumphs I used to rejoice in - graduations, my wedding, the birth of my first child - have been replaced by the small and simple every-day situations that are no less important in our development.

I love to think that this is the way the Lord designed our lives, for truly, "by small and simple means" does He accomplish His work. I know that He is just as excited for Gavin as I am, and that He is proud of the steps I am making towards becoming more patient and kind. I would hate to think that He only cared about the accomplishments that the world sees are important, like the big homes, the fancy cars, the degrees from fancy colleges, fitting in with hairstyles and clothing, etc. If we know that this isn't true of the way Heavenly Father feels about us, then why do we sometimes place so much importance on these things?

I am grateful for an infinite number of things about my son, but one of those I feel strongly about is that he has given me perspective and continues to teach me important eternal truths. No matter how small, the progress we make in doing the will of God and reaching our divine potential is what matters to Heavenly Father. I thank a potty-training toddler for reminding me of this.