Hallelujah, Holy S#$@!

3:00 AM Christmas morning I jerked awake in bed. Something was wrong. Gracie was whining. Gracie is not a whiner- a screamer, yes, but not a whiner. So, when I heard her whimpering next to me in bed I know something was wrong. I reached over and touched her forehead. She was sweating.

Quickly I jumped out of bed and hustled to my parent's nursery with Gracie. I rushed in and turned on the lights . . . nothing. The power was out because of the snow storm. I ran back in my room and grabbed my cell phone to illuminate the changing table. I stripped off Gracie's clothes and felt her legs. They were burning up. Using the cell phone to navigate around the room I searched for a thermometer, but I soon realized it would take me until next Christmas to find it if I continued with the process of treasure hunting in a room full of toys by cell-light.

I snatched Gracie again and ran up to my parents' room. "Mom," I beckoned in a yell-whisper that woke both my parents. "Thermometer?!" Mom sprung out of bed like a true veteran and rushed downstairs instantly, understanding the urgency of the situation.

I ran to the living room with Gracie, stripped her naked, and put a wet towel around her hot body. Mom was soon by my side, and by lantern-light we had the thermometer up her butt practically before we could lay her down. 103.

I looked at my mom with panic in my eyes. As a first time mom, I feel as if I am standing on the top of a teeter totter with neurosis at one end and negligence on the other, never quite able to keep my balance. "Should we call the doctor?"

"You're the mom," my mom replied, knowing I was insecure about my teeter tottering ability and would quickly snap if someone even suggested that I maybe could do things a little differently with Gracie. "Will you do it?" I asked, confirming the fact that I still need my mommy.

As my mom phoned the urgent care clinic, I ran downstairs to wake up Greg. "Greg! Gracie has a temperature of 103!" I shouted, irritated already that I felt so helpless. "No she doesn't," he answered, still asleep. "Greg!" I shouted again. He jumped out of bed, apparently having processed the situation.

We lunged upstairs to find my dad working on turning on the generator so that we would have power. My mom informed me that the doctor said to give her some Tylenol and bring her in. Soon, my dad, Greg, and I were in the car zooming up the driveway . . . and sliding back down.

You have got to be kidding me! I thought. Instantly, I pictured every awful scenario a first time mother pictures in her head when she has a sick baby, all of them ending in horrible Lifetime-movie, drama-style endings. I could tell that my dad, always quick to cuss out a crappy situation with drama of his own, was trying to hold it together for my sake.

By the time we gave it a few more runs at it and were clearly stuck in the snow, Greg had hopped out of the car and was trying to help by shoveling the snow behind the tires and giving my dad the "this-much-more-room signal" (My dad's boat trailer was in front of us) before we would have an even bigger problem. And sure enough on the next try we slid right into that "even bigger problem."

And here is when I paused my morbid thoughts long enough to have a different thought: My dad is truly a saint. You see, there is a stream of cuss words that has been passed down from generation to generation among the men on the Anderson side that is saved for the really, really crappy situations. And, I'm pretty sure this would qualify as one of those times. Yet my dad gritted his teeth and merely grunted "God Damn it" under his breath. Wow. What a guy. Both my dad and Greg were doing their best to make it seem like everything was fine.

However, the anger my dad must have felt was channeled into superior driving ability, and with one last push on the gas pedal, we were up the driveway with Greg running after us- shovel in hand.

By the time we were in the urgent care clinic, I was physically and emotionally fatigued and after accidentally telling the nurse that Gracie was a four and a half year old (which she could clearly tell she wasn't) the doctor was ready to see us. As soon as the doctor came in Gracie looked up and smiled. "Coo," she sang sweetly. The doctor took her temperature. 98.6. Really? You've got to be kidding me. The Tylenol had apparently kicked in and was doing its job, but with the rest of the family wide awake and traumatized we were ready for some drugs of our own.

Gracie's first Christmas . . . As they say on National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation: "Hallelujah, Holy S*%&! Where's the Tylenol?"

WEST SIDE! (Sorry, I just had to throw that in there. Our five month old is throwin' up signs.)

Dad's Little Snow Bunny

Cruel and unusaul punishment. (The coat, not the snow.)

The View from up Here

Baby Gracie has recently accomplished three giant feats: reaching for her toys, sucking her thumb, and best of all sitting up unassisted. It doesn't seem very difficult for her as she is so compact. She just hunches over and rests that giant belly of hers on those short chubby legs. We are still working on rolling over from her back to her front. She can almost get there, but she can't seem to get her arm out of the way. When did she get so big?

Entertain Me

Baby Gracie has been playing with toys. She's not impressed. She's rather stoic most of the time- a few squeals here and there and some shy smiles, but overall we get the impression that she is hard to please. I think she takes after Greg. He thinks she takes after me. Turns out that "snobby" look Paige was joking about might just apply. :) Meanwhile the rest of us are quite entertained with her antics! She's the cutest little snob we've ever seen!!!

Short Stack

Yesterday was Gracie's four month check-up, and we are proud to say she finally made the chart! She is no longer in the 0 percentile for height! She made it to the tenth percentile! Yet, the fact that her head and weight are in the 50th paints a picture of just how tubby our little girl has become! Dr. Koenig said no solid foods yet. "Clearly she is getting all the nutrition she needs from breastmilk." If they gave percentiles for thigh circumference I think Gracie would be off the charts. She's a tank!

On another note, for years now I have felt so blessed because I have always loved my job. I can't believe I get paid to do what I do. Yet, now that I have been back a week work feels like just that: work. Don't get me wrong; I can't imagine having any other job, it is just that it is so hard to leave my baby every day. I know it will get easier. This month she is hangin' with grandma Vicki. I know Gracie is doing fantastic, but I think grandma would love to get a shower in one of these days! We are so lucky she is here. Gracie also spent half the day on Thursday with Beth (in the picture) who will be watching her three days a week come January. We are so lucky to have her. We can tell that she adores Gracie, and that makes going to work MUCH easier. Between Greg, Grandma and Grandpa Fast, Grandma and Grandpa Anderson, and Beth Gracie is going to be very loved!!!