Nine Days, Zero Naps

We're officially 2 weeks into the school year, and the Sloans are over here thriving surviving. Today concludes the first full week of school, and we are tired. Not like a normal tired, either. Like the-6-year-old-was-begging-to-go-to-bed-at-4:30pm-tired. 

Over the last nine days, we have endured the following:

- Agreeing to allow Clark to make one purchase from his Amazon wish list if he completed a full week of good reports. 

      - 42 separate conversations about the exact moment he'd be allowed to complete the purchase.

      - Finding a desired toy for $10, telling him he could buy 2, and then finding out there was only 1 left in stock. There were tears, friends. We prevailed and found a similar toy for $30, but there was some confusion and we didn't discover until checkout that he thought he could get 2 of this item as well, but mom thought $60 was too much. There were wails, friends. Finally, we found a $15 *and* a $10 toy and we both made it out of negotiations alive. 

- The school pickup line.

        - It's tough on these streets, y'all. And the parking lot. And the turn lane. And the exit lane. And the one way streets. Parents are the worst example of getting in line and waiting your turn that I have ever seen. And these poor teachers, exhausted from a long day of dealing with our offspring, now have to stand in the blazing sun and direct traffic while diffusing hissy fits from parents who are sitting in AIR CONDITIONED cars. It's the most bonkers thing I've ever seen.

        - We are supposed to put neon lime green signs in our front passenger window that has the name(s) of our child(ren) so the already overworked school staff can grab the right kid(s) and get them into the right vehicle. Name shaming the random consonants that people have thrown together and put on a birth certificate is my new favorite game.

        - My kid is 6. With a backpack half his bodyweight. He is tasked with getting into the car, getting the door shut, and getting himself buckled faster than a NASCAR pit stop. Because I am a decent human being, I don't like to leave the parking lot until my precious cargo is safely buckled, so I drive past the rest of the waiting cars and pull off to the side until I hear the click that tells me he's safe and we can go. I looked in my rearview mirror, pulled forward, and then heard the roar of an engine propeling a car next to me, speeding *directly* toward a staff member directing traffic, before cutting me off and forcing me to slam on my breaks to avoid an accident. Congratulations, dude. You just played chicken with a kindergarten teacher and risked all of our lives to pass a HONDA CIVIC and gain 1 car length. Also, your kid has a dumb name. 🙄

- No Naps & A Mid-Week Urgent Care Visit. 

         - Lincoln loves naps. The mere mention of a nap produces a huge smile on his face as he races toward the stairs and signs "I Love You" to anyone left behind. I have been looking forward to getting to partake in these naps since we made the decision to send Clark to in-person learning. So of course this is the week that Lincoln chooses to boycott daily sleep. THIS IS NOT WHAT I WAS PROMISED!!

         - Clark developed a deep, wet, nasty cough that appeared right after we ordered our food at a crowded restaurant. So we're the jackholes who took a hacking kid to infect the entire building. 🤦‍♀️ 

- The desire to do everything.

       - Clark has played soccer twice through a local sports organization, and the experience has been pretty terrible both times. Ever the optimists and against our better judgement, we decided we would give flag football a try through the same organization. I emailed first to be *sure* that they have enough coaches this year, and was assured that they do. We signed him up, they charged us 4 separate registration fees, and emailed to let us know he's on a team without a coach. Ryan is a saint and agreed to attend a coaches meeting to see if it's something he's comfortable taking on. Exactly 3 people showed up, and one of them was under the impression that this league of 1st graders is the NFL Combine.

       - In one week's time, I have joined the PTA, secured a corporate sponsorship, and volunteered to do some snack shopping for the school each month. Lincoln volunteered to look adorable, shop with me, & charm the amazing school office staff. 💕

I'm not going to get that nap, am I??

Fear, Loathing, and First Grade

Do your best. Stay focused. Move with urgency.

These are the goals that Clark and I identified for this school year. This school year, where for the first time, he will not be with me all day. To say I've been dreading this day is not accurate. I've been *consumed* by it. 

He's my first baby. The baby we prayed for, the baby who I quit my job to stay home with before he became a big brother and started school, and the baby who we checked on each night in his crib to be sure he was still breathing... until he wasn't a baby anymore. I still check on him every night. Just to be sure.

Tomorrow, that baby who now stands 3 feet tall, talks from sun up to sun down (Lord, be with his teachers!) about everything under that same sun, is missing 2 front teeth, has a nose dotted with the cutest freckles, and is sporting a mohawk with a lightning bolt shaved into the side of his head, will get out of my car and walk into school without me. Ryan tells me that I'll then drive my car home and wait until it is time to pick him up, but I have already made peace with the fact that I'll be forcibly removed from the parking lot.

Ryan and I decided before Clark was born that we would not teach our children to be afraid. We acknowledge all feelings as valid, and we have allowed him the space to say all the things he's feeling about school that don't fall under the happy/excited umbrella that we as a society expect 6 year olds to embody. We've talked for hours this summer about how it's okay to be nervous, scared, and sad about not being home this year, but we've also done our best to keep *our* feelings out of his world.

We have saved our sadness, fear, anxiety, and general doom and gloom for each other and for you. Welcome to our pity party. Tissues are on the left, and emotional support chocolate is on the right. 

Knowing how Clark was feeling about the changes ahead, we worked together to come up with a motto that we can have for the year and I can say to him each morning at drop off: Do your best. Stay focused. Move with urgency.

Do your best. Clark is going to do awesome. He's a smart, kind, and funny kid. He's been excited to make friends and to have specials like gym and art for two years (I'm a decent 'core subject' homeschool teacher, but PE and art have *never* been my thing). He excels in academics, he has been practicing how to introduce himself, and he is good about remembering his manners. His best is amazing. 

I'm going to do my best, too. I'm going to do my best to encourage him and not let him see my sadness. I'm going to do my best to let him be 6 and make mistakes and then make them right. And I'm going to do my best to generally just get out of his way.

Stay focused. Oh, Lord. This is my child who has to start his bedtime routine one full hour before lights out just to have a prayer of making it there on time. "Go to your room and get in pajamas" usually takes 20 minutes, two calls to the Alexa device in his room that he *always* answers with "Sorry, mom! I got distracted.", and all of my remaining patience for the day. He can do hard things (like staying on task), and I will keep reminding him of this. 

I'm going to stay focused, too. Focused on the growth that Clark is going to experience and how his independence will continue to expand. Focused on the confidence that I'll surely see sprout up in him. And I'll stay focused on my time with Lincoln, who has never experienced being the only kid in the house.

Move with urgency. I've always been the kind of person who rushes through tasks so that they can be finished and I can have the rest of whatever time is left to myself. And I think it's both science and law that people like me have to marry and procreate with people like Ryan, who doesn't crack open a suitcase to start packing until we should have already left for the airport. And like his dad, Clark can...delay. I'm convinced that the house could be on fire, and Clark would find a reason to LEISURELY walk around in literal circles, holding onto something that needed to be thrown away 10 minutes ago, and looking for his other sock... that's also in. his. hand. 

I'm going to move with urgency, too. Both from the parking lot so that I might make it off school grounds before sobbing (or landing a misdemeanor trespassing charge), and throughout the rest of the school year. I'm going to move with urgency and excitement when it's time to pick him up and hear about his day. And I'm going to move with urgency in our time together after school, too. I'm going to be quicker to set my phone down, ignore the laundry, and sit on the floor with both of my babies.

It's here, y'all. First grade waits for no one. He's ready, but I'm going to need more emotional support chocolate. 

 

Clark Started Online Kindergarten (And Other Things That Are Okay)

Clark started kindergarten this week. It didn't go the way any of us had imagined it happening. He didn't need to set an alarm (because he was awake, dressed, and standing next to my side of the bed at 6:40am. I sent him to play with legos in his room and I went back to sleep for another full hour.), there was no bus to catch, backpack to unpack, or desk to find. Instead, we got up, walked downstairs, ate breakfast, brushed teeth, sat back down at the table, and opened up a chromebook.

We as parents have all had difficult decisions to make over the last 18 months. Not one of us has emerged from pandemic life unscathed. If you hear nothing else from my words, please hear this: I see you, I hear you, and I know it has been hard; whether you made similar parenting choices to ours, or the complete opposite. 

After months of nightly discussions, tracking covid numbers in our community, discussing our options with our school and our pediatrician, and a whole lotta prayer, Ryan and I made the decision to start Clark in online learning. Y'all, I have seen less of a fuss made when someone announces that they are joining a cult than I saw when we told people that our five year old would be spending the first 10 weeks of kindergarten learning on a chromebook.

The dialogue usually goes a little something like this: we are asked about Clark starting school. Then the room turns into Who Wants to be a Millionaire: the lights dim, save for one bright, blue-tinted, hot spotlight shining directly into our face. Regis, God rest his soul, looks us dead in the eye and asks us "is that your FINAL answer?", there is a long pause, everyone is uncomfortable, we are silently doubting our answer, and then mercifully, the person we are conversing with decides whether we made the correct selection or not. A few times during this summer-that-seems-to-have-lasted-for-six-years, we have experienced the proverbial studio lights come back on, we are praised for our correct response, and we all joyfully move on.

That scenario, friends, is not the one I choose to write about today. Because if we have learned anything from this little corner of the internet, it's that in the awkward and uncomfortable moments of my life, there's usually some pretty funny material in there if we dig hard enough.

The response sequence that Ryan and I have most often found ourselves in is as follows: the person we are conversing with slowly and quietly repeats the word "online" to themselves, over and over again while we stand there quietly, nodding and smiling, and waiting for our conversation partner to scan their brain for socially acceptable words that seem to always escape them in this part. After what feels like seven full minutes of silence, they usually perk up as if they have just thought of the most supportive answer, smile, and in every. single. case we have experienced, their voice jumps up an octave as they exclaim, "well, that's okay!"

It is at this point that their inner monologue becomes audible for the whole room. We watch as they desperately try to find another supportive sentence to follow up that groundbreaking statement of acceptance that they just expressed to us. If you can get past the skin-melting awkwardness of it all, it really is the funniest thing I have witnessed since my binge viewing of 'Schitt's Creek' during the first quarantine.

Listen, I know that this decision is not a terribly popular one. Ryan and I agonized over it, and questioned ourselves and each other as if we were quizzing the other one on our plotted bank heist to be sure there are no holes in our story (sidebar: if you ever need to rob a bank and your choices for a partner have woefully led you to the Sloan residence, pick me. I'm a terrible liar, I get all sweaty when I'm nervous, and I'd probably demand way too little money to make it worth anyone's time, but I'd still last longer under interrogation than Ryan.). But, it is our decision, and one that I assure you, we have not taken lightly. We are fully prepared that if Clark becomes a 3rd grade dropout who can be found smoking cigarettes in an alley behind a 7-11, we'll know that it was definitely this decision where things took a turn.

Can you imagine if we all just started responding to other peoples' life choices with a combination of condolences and resignation for their future?! 

Person 1: 'Hey Sloans, I'm getting married to this person that I love!" 

Sloans:

Sloans:

Sloans: 'Well...that's okay!"

Person 2: 'Hey Sloans - I got my hair cut!'

Sloans:

Sloans: 'Well...that's okay! It'll work out. Probably..."

Person 3: 'Hey Sloans! I'm pregnant!"

Sloans:

Sloans: (smile fades)

Sloans: 'Well...hmmm...well, that's okay! I'm sure it will be fine! You have probably considered the lifelong consequences of this decision, and somehow landed on this one, but...yeah! We're saying it with enthusiasm to try to make ourselves more comfortable!'

Friends, it has been a long, hard year and a half of isolation. People-ing was hard enough before we had to consider masks, 3-or-6-feet-of-distance, and which-kind-of-learning-model we each enrolled our kids in. I know we are all doing our best, and it is less-than-ideal no matter how you slice this gooey shit sandwich we find ourselves living in. I think most of us are doing our best to re-enter society and feign excitement and support over each other's wrong decisions.

So anyway, Clark started kindergarten. It didn't go the way any of us had imagined it happening, and that's okay. Just like your hair.

Experiencing Technical Difficulties

When it comes to parenting in the world of technology, we feel mostly prepared to guide our boys through the maze. Clark has set amounts of screen time, he knows he isn't allowed to download anything without permission, he only has access to kid appropriate apps, and even understands how to look for the recommended ages on games when he is looking through the play store. 

We know that the conversations will get more involved as he continues to grow, and that we will have to be diligent about staying informed on the latest technological advances. This is expected, and so we feel equipped to handle it. 

What I was not equipped to handle was trying to parent a grown woman in the age of technology. My mother is armed with a smartphone and an internet connection, and let me tell you... that's enough to be dangerous. 

I've come to realize that my educated, successful, reasonably intelligent mom requires more technology supervision than my 5 year old. The woman who was responsible for keeping me alive. The woman who was gainfully employed for 30+ years. An actual, bona fide adult. 

These are a just *few* of our recent exchanges. As you read them, remember: educated, successful, reasonably intelligent, adult.

The Free iPad:

Mom: Hey! Do you have an iPad?
H: Yes, why?
M: Well, I just won one on Facebook!
H: No, you didn't. 
M: Yes, I did! I was just scrolling through my page and then a new page popped up with confetti on it and said I had just won and all I needed to do was click a link and they'd send it to me.
H: Did you click anything?
M: No.
H: Are you sure?
M: No.
H: Did you click on anything after the confetti, mom??
M: I can't remember.
H: Mom. If you didn't enter a contest, you definitely didn't win anything. Why would Facebook give you a free iPad? Now you need to change your password. 
M: Okay. 

H:

M:

H:

M: How do I change my Facebook password?

Amazon:

Mom: Will you show me how to order something from Amazon?

H: Sure.

* 45 minutes later, via text*

H: Just tell me what you want and I'll order it. 

M: Thanks. Here's a picture of my debit card.

*32 seconds later*

M: Heidi, did you get the card information before I delete the picture?

H: Not yet, but you deleting it won't take it off my phone.

M: Yes it will! I heard it wasn't safe to send your debit card over text, so I'm deleting it right away so the hackers can't get me. 

H: MOM. Deleting it only removes it from your phone, not mine. 

M: Oh no. 

H: It's fine. I'll delete it as soon as I order and then you'll be safe, but don't send your financial information to people, ever.

M: Okay, I won't. Also, if you need it, my PIN is 6392.

H: MOM! Didn't I *just* say not to send your personal financial information to anyone via text?!

M: I'm sorry. I'll delete it. 

Different Airwaves:

Mom: If I send you my login information, will you please get onto this specific website where I have an account and get something ordered?

H: Sure. 

M: Here is my username. Let me know if you need the password, and I'll pm you. (This conversation was over text, and this 'pm' comment should have been the first red flag)

H: Yes, of course I will need your password. 

M: Well, I don't know it. It just automatically pops up on my computer. 

H: You're going to need to find it or I can't help you. 

*This woman proceeded to leave our private text conversation, and in an attempt to open a message between the two of us on Facebook Messenger, she somehow managed to start one with 11 various friends and family*

Mom: *sends password and nothing else*

11 people in group message: What? I hope that's not a password. Why is she sending a random password to 11 of us? 

H: Mom, why did you just leave our text conversation and send your password to an entire group message?

M: I thought it wasn't safe to send my username and password over the same airwaves!

H: First of all, it's all the same internet. Secondly, that's the wrong password...

Excess Inventory:

Mom: Have you ever thought about getting a pallet?

H: What?!

M: A pallet. They are $29. You should get one for you and one for me. 

H: I literally have no idea what you are talking about, Mom.

M: Ebay and Amazon and Walmart have excess inventory and they can't store it all, so you pay them $29 and they send you a whole pallet of things. They have electronics, and furniture, and appliances!

H: Mom, that's a scam. 

M: Okay. Thanks for telling me.

*7 minutes later*

Mom: Target has pallets of excess inventory for $9.99...

H: NO, mom. No, they do not. 

I wonder what technology I won't understand in 30 years and the things Clark & Lincoln will have to painstakingly walk me through. Also to my boys, I apologize in advice. 

"It's fine. We're fine. Everything is fine." - A Tale From The Trenches

As someone who has worked my entire adult life, I was very excited about becoming a stay-at-home mom, but I was concerned about whether or not it would be challenging enough for me. Ohhh, how naive 2019 Heidi was...

Clark has somehow reached the appropriate age to begin preschool, but thanks to our friend Covid, he will not be attending in person for quite some time. Being the glutton for punishment that I am, I decided that virtual preschool would be a good way to dip our toes into the homeschooling waters... with a newborn... and no teaching experience whatsoever. 

Here's a quick overview of our stay-at-home, preschool homeschooling days:

7am: Lincoln wakes from his 8 - 10 hour (thank baby Jesus!) slumber, and is starving to DEATH. 

7:02am: Clark comes flying out of his room to race the dog, who is also demanding to be fed, down the stairs. 

7:05am: The dog has been outside once and fed, Lincoln has been changed and his bottle is in the warmer, Clark grabs himself a yogurt and heads to the table. 

7:08am: Lincoln is mid-feed, and Clark needs a drink right this second or he will faint from dehydration. 

7:12am: Lincoln is back to eating, Clark is at the table, and the dog needs out for the second time and is staring me down, daring me to tell her 'no', because she'll just pee on the floor while never breaking eye contact. 

7:40am: Everyone except me is dressed, fed, and has used the necessary facilities. So I grab a handful of cheez-its and a diet mountain dew and start our day. 

8:00am: Lincoln starts his 3 hour morning nap, Ryan is heading out the door for work, I get a load of dishes put away and another load started as I make a mental note to remember to put away the 2 baskets of folded laundry that have sat in the living room for 3 days, and get 2 additional loads started. 

8:15am: Fire up the chromebook to get started on virtual preschool.

9:30am: Still troubleshooting technology issues. 

10:00am: Stop working on the chromebook to change and feed Lincoln.

10:45am: Look at the 2 baskets of folded laundry as I head back to work on the chromebook and remind myself that I HAVE to get them put away today. 

11:30am: Awaiting my third email from the "technology innovation team" from the school, who think that I am a moron who can't complete basic computer functions. 

11:45am: Clark is hungry, but I'm making a little bit of progress logging into his learning system, so I throw a cheesestick in his general direction and silently curse that it's time to prepare lunch. 

11:47am: The dog has eaten Clark's cheesestick. She runs upstairs to avoid my wrath while I pick up a sobbing 4 year old off the floor and promise him a new cheesestick. 

1:00pm: Lunch has been served, is cleaned up, the dog has been scolded, and Lincoln needs changed and fed. 

1:45pm: "After I get Clark started on school, I'll run upstairs and get dressed while I put the laundry away." One of many lies I tell myself throughout the day.

2:30pm: Houston, we're signed in! This is not a drill! Preschool is starting!

2:45pm: I start a video for Clark to watch, and take the first load of laundry downstairs and put it in the washing machine. 

3:00pm: Ryan walks in the door to grab a quick and very late lunch before returning to work, but I throw a fussy baby in his arms and try for the 10th time to upload a video of my kid counting to 100 to complete one of the FOURTEEN assignments waiting to be completed on my 4 year old's preschool learning agenda. 

3:10pm: Clark is now crying that his counting video is too large of a file to upload, and suddenly can't count to 30 in any of our eight additional video shoots.

3:15pm: Lincoln is screaming and would like to eat 45 minutes ahead of schedule, Clark is NOT going to count one more time, the dog needs her 83rd trip outside, and Ryan never got to eat, but looks at me with my disheveled hair, still in my pjs, and says "I have to head back to work". I apologize profusely about the state of the house and promise to get laundry put away. He sweetly kisses us all goodbye and assures me that he's not worried about anything on my self-imposed to-do list.

4:00pm: Lincoln is asleep again, and Clark is ready to try a few more assignments. I refuse to acknowledge the laundry baskets that I walk past again, but they remind me that I have to switch that load downstairs to the dryer. 

4:30pm: We're rocking and rolling on the school work. I'm going to get SO much accomplished after we finish this up!

4:45pm: Clark's hungry. Didn't I JUST feed him lunch?! A quick glance at the clock tells me that his stomach is correct and it's time to prepare dinner, which I haven't considered even once today. 

6:00pm: Dinner is eaten and cleaned, and now Lincoln needs changed and fed. 

6:15pm: Ryan walks in the door from his late meeting and fixes himself a sandwich, because I didn't make anything for him. He smiles kindly and asks how my day was. I look at myself and realize that I'm still in pajamas. And the laundry baskets have sat in the living room for another day. I'll remember to switch that laundry downstairs as soon as Lincoln is fed.

6:45pm: Lincoln finally finishes eating, just as Clark needs a bath and to start bedtime.

8:00pm: Clark is bathed, has had a bedtime snack, prayers are said, and Ryan put him to bed. He comes to sit next to me for the first time all day. 

8:01pm: The dog is prancing around the living room needing another trip outside. Her prancing has awoken Lincoln, and he is PISSED. Ryan and I each take one of the souls needing our attention and silently promise that we'll get to spend some time together right after this. 

8:20pm: Both Lincoln and the dog are asleep and Ryan and I can finally chat. 2 more Lincoln feeds and at least one more dog duty ensue, I realize that I never ate dinner and inhale a bowl of cereal, and it's 11:00pm. Both of us are falling asleep as we get Lincoln ready for bed. 

11:18pm: Doors are locked, Lincoln is in bed, Clark has been checked on, and we crawl into bed; me still in my pajamas from the night before. I close my eyes, wait for sleep, and sigh in relief that I got everything done. And then it hits me.  "$^!@ - the laundry is still in the washing machine!!!!"

The good news is that tomorrow is a new opportunity to get it all accomplished, and we look pretty adorable in the meantime:

Lincoln Ryan Sloan

Lincoln Ryan Sloan, you were born on 06.25.2020 (your cousin Sawyer's first birthday!) at 1:38pm. You join mom, dad, and proud big brother Clark in our sweet little family.

You arrived 3 weeks early, after first trying to escape at over 8 weeks early. My pregnancy with you was both easier and harder than it was with your brother. I was less sick with you (thank you!), but I was also hospitalized 5 separate times with preterm labor and other complications.

Labor was fast and furious! Because you were early and due to some of our complications, 4 hours of it involved very close monitoring with very little medical intervention. After we got the medical all clear, in a matter of 37 minutes, we hit active labor, spent about 15 glorious minutes in the warm tub, and within 5 minutes after getting out of the tub, you were laid on my chest! Your dad was the most amazing support, and I don't think we could have done it as seamlessly and without medication if it weren't for him.

Just like your brother's birth, I had a lot of back pain and just like that time, Daddy spent most of those 5 hours bent over me to push on my back, sing to us, and keep me encouraged. He's incredible at this, and while you laid on my chest waiting to be held by him first, I told you the 3 most important things I could; how much we love you, how often we have prayed for you, and how lucky you are to get to have your Daddy as yours.

Every time he has spoken to you, even in those first few seconds of your life, you have opened your eyes to look deep into his. It's really the sweetest thing to watch you recognize his voice and look to him with so much love and familiarity. I was hoping that I might be your favorite, OR that you would look like me, but I'm not sure either of those things will end up being true. And because I know first hand how great your Daddy is, I don't mind losing on either account. 

Just like your big brother, your name holds significant meaning to us. Your dad hails from Illinois, known as 'The Land of Lincoln", and as the place that shaped him and all of his wonderful qualities (more on those later), we thought it was a fitting tribute.

Illinois is known as the land of Lincoln because of our 16th president; Abraham Lincoln. He was best known for abolishing slavery and is regarded as the greatest president in the history of our country. Lincoln is commonly known as "Honest Abe" because of his integrity and honesty; two qualities that your dad and I will work hard to instill in your life.

Something extremely important in my life is fighting for the oppressed and crusading for equality. The fact that people were (and still are) withheld basic human rights because of the color of their skin and who they are as a person is both appalling and unacceptable to me, and I pray it will be for you, too. Before Lincoln was president, this kind of discrimination was not only legal, but widely accepted as morally sound. He took a stand and made a change, and it is my hope that you will do the same when you see inequality in the world. 

Your middle name is maybe a bit more obvious, as the man you will know as 'Daddy' answers to the rest of the world as 'Ryan'. Your brother and Daddy share the middle name Scott, which is a nod to your Great Grandma Kay who neither of you will meet in this life, but rest assured, she would have adored both of you. It was important to me that you also share your dad's name not only because he will be the most important man in your life, but you'd be hard pressed to find a better one.

Your dad, much like Abraham Lincoln, is honest, full of integrity, and is a great leader. He loves you so much already, and takes care of you and your brother like it's what he was born to do. Not all dads take to parenthood as naturally or quickly as he has, and you are one of two of the luckiest little boys in this world because you get him as yours. He is fiercely loyal, loves with his whole heart, makes everyone around him laugh, and is the best father I could have chosen for my children. I hope you and your brother will grow to feel honored to get to share his name, because I promise you; it is a great privilege.

After we chose Clark's name, we realized that Busch Stadium (home of our favorite baseball team) is on Clark Street. We have a lot of great memories at Cardinals games, and it seemed like extra confirmation that we had chosen the right name for him. Much the same, after we had already decided on Lincoln for you, it occurred to us that Christ Church (where Daddy works, our family's place of worship, and the reason we moved to Davenport) is framed on one side by Lincoln Ave. It's also the name of the street where one of your dad's favorite guitar shops  resides, but he SAYS that wasn't the reasoning behind his name suggestion. :)

We also realized after choosing Clark's names that each of his 3 names has 5 letters. After choosing yours, we realized that all 3 of your names end in the letter 'n'. I love a good theme in life, and think it's pretty perfect that while you each have a theme or two in common, you also each get to have your own individual themes. 

I think it's fitting that we found another name with so many connections to our lives. And I can't think of a better name for the sweet boy who was the missing "Linc" in our family. We love you so much already, Lincoln Ryan, and we can't wait to see who you become and what great things you'll do!

Four Things Nobody (Except Me) Tells You About Pregnancy

This is a pregnancy story, but not the kind that you usually hear. This is the cold, hard truth of some of the things I have experienced across 17 months (and counting) of growing 2 tiny humans from scratch.

If you are queasy, or just plain not interested in the inner workings of gestational 'glamour', or if you don't yet have children, but want to someday consider it, or if you quite frankly don't want to be scarred for life, LISTEN TO ME: turn away from this post. Do not read further, do not let your inquiring mind take over. No offense will be taken by me, and we can still be friends. Just. Stop. Reading. NOW!

For those of you still with me, whether to relive your own experience, you're a rebel who didn't heed my very clear warning, or you're just here to laugh at my life, let us proceed:

Recently, we have spent quite a lot of time at the hospital due to Baby Boy #2 being, well, a second child. We seem to be okay for now, but it has been made abundantly clear that we will not be making it within a month of our due date, if we even get that far. So, when your uterus is apparently not-up-to-par living standards for your child and they show their appreciation for months of puking and discomfort by trying to vacate the premises early, you find yourself watched very closely by a swarm of medical personnel. Again, we're mostly fine, and he's growing and we're really close to being at a medically acceptable time for him to arrive. It may mean a stay in the NICU, or some other twists and turns, but pregnancy revelation #1: babies do what they want, when they want.

Over the weekend, I had a surprise extended stay at the spa de' labor and delivery floor of our local hospital, who is in the midst of quite the baby boom (which, if this is their summer/fall conception group, can you imagine what their winter/spring births will look like after this quarantine?? Just saying...I know how long we've all had at home together recently). I was told by a nurse that as of the 15th, they had delivered 100 babies this month alone, and I personally heard 6 lullabies play (which is super cute - they play a lullaby over the hospital loud speaker every time a new baby is born) that same day. Baby Sloan #2 got himself in line and has so far avoided having his own lullaby played, which has been a relief.

Not a relief, however, is actually being IN the hospital. We had nothing but wonderful care and attention, but dare I say that I had a little too much attention. Pregnancy revelation #2: nobody tells you about these terms before you take the plunge and make a baby. Only once you're knocked up with cankles does the truth come out. Buckle up.

First of all, I'm someone who generally cares about my appearance and likes to be presentable most of the time. During my first labor, I was literally straightening my hair during contractions so I'd be photo ready later. Priorities. However, there's just not much that can be done with a one-size-fits-all pastel green hospital gown with, here's the kicker, NO back. Just 2 sad little shoelaces who have been tasked with keeping the tent closed, but only against your neck and mid back, because GOD FORBID strangers see those body parts. All the ones you would like covered in front of everyone except who you made a baby with, those are left up to your/your partner's underwear packing skills. Glamorous, right? Anywho, since I knew that we probably weren't going to have a photo shoot just yet, I tossed my hair in a bun, but left my giant sparkly earrings in all weekend, because I'm a classy broad.

Next, came the questioning. So many questions. Never in my life have I been asked so many times how my bodily gas levels were doing, and how often they were vacating my body. Is this a number I should be tracking? Because my top concern is how soon a PERSON is vacating my body, but sure, we can check in 22 times a day about gas. And, it's always asked in front of your partner, who, hello, I'm trying to keep the magic alive with in my backless frock and ogre hair and very sparkly earrings, and this apparently very important metric measuring isn't helping!

Speaking of checking, and this is where you REALLY need to stop if you don't care to know about childbirth, because pregnancy revelation #3 is this: it's all disgusting and demoralizing and you will have no pride, or no shame left.

There's something called a cervical check, and it's done about a million times, and it's worse than actual labor. While chatting with a trusted friend who has recently birthed a tiny human, I mentioned that not only are they terrible, but they are always insulting and why, and she specifically requested that I include my paragraph long text message to her in my next blog post. I'll be happy to forward your comments/concerns/therapy bills to her. Quick lesson that's important to the aforementioned paragraph if childbirth is new to you - one of the numbers you get assessed by is from 1 - 10. Babies are born at 10, and smaller numbers mean it's not time yet. Still with me?

How they assign this number is by manually feeling your cervix, which I'm no doctor, but by the feel of things, it seems to be located just under your eyeballs. Since it's not the best time for our baby to be born, a low number is a GOOD thing, but even when it is an appropriate time, you're always given an insulting number. Like, your medical staff's entire hand is halfway to your brain, WHILE you're having a contraction every 2 minutes, and they have the nerve to SMILE and tell you what a low number you're at and how far you have left to go. Seems like something that should be covered more elaborately in sex ed classes and perhaps we can cut that teen pregnancy rate while simultaneously giving our local labor and delivery staff a much needed break. But to be fair, the process DOES make you care a whole lot less about that butt-less mumu you're wearing. 

Next, there's the air boots. They go over the hideous-but-comfy gripper socks, and they alternate squeezing your leg like a blood pressure cuff every 15 seconds. All. Night. Long. With good reason, yes, as they prevent blood clots, which is just another item to add to your already miles long list of worries, and let me tell you - they are super attractive! Every night, the nurses sweetly tell you to get some rest, and then hook you into about 8 different contraptions that all light up, beep incessantly, squeeze, and administer medicine. Pregnancy revelation #4: there is no rest; ever. I legitimately slept better with a newborn than in any month of pregnancy or hospital stay in my life. Buy a good coffee pot and keep it close. Forget the swing and the stroller and the crib that converts until they go to college. You need diapers, wipes, food for baby, like 4 outfits, and caffeine. 

And speaking of sleeping at the hospital, I had it easy. I had a real bed that adjusted in every direction, while my 6'1 husband laid across a 4.5 foot long foldable couch that I'm guessing was repurposed from a grandmother's couch in the late 80s. A good partner (and I have the best) sacrifices sleep and comfort just like mom, and worries twice as much, because they are concerned for both of us. Find yourself a partner who loves you hard enough to do anything they can to help, and takes care of all of the million details so you don't have to. While you're at it, get yourself friends and family like ours who stepped in immediately, dropping everything, in the middle of a global pandemic, to make sure care for our child and dog and every other need was handled. We love you!

While I'm being serious, I know there are so many hopeful moms-and-dads-to-be out there who would gladly take every complaint I just tried to lay out in a funny-but-true manner, every single day if it meant getting their own tiny human. Please know that I see you, and care about your dreams, and in no way mean to diminish how thankful we are to get the opportunity (twice!) to bring a sweet baby into our family. We want that for you, too. 

And this concludes my speech on a glimpse into childbearing. Thank you for coming to my Ted talk. If you'd like further information on any of the following related topics, please reach out to me and I'll be happy to give every awful detail I have about:

- blowing 3 veins before getting an IV in

- shots that bleed through multiple bandages

- what a 'mucus plug' (they don't tell you about that one ahead of time!) is, and my newly acquired information that it can apparently regenerate over and over again, so the fun never stops. It's a Christmas miracle!