Check The Vitals

With my $50 guitar in hand, I was just seconds from taking the stage at The Bluebird Cafe.

Finally.

“Lindsay!” The urgency in Cody’s voice woke me in an instant.

A really poorly timed instant.

It was dark in our room. I opened my eyes wide but didn’t even look at the clock.

"Yeah?" I responded.

“K,” was all he whispered, rolling back over on his side.

I drifted back to sleep but The Bluebird didn’t wait for me.

And to think: We would have paid off the farm in an instant if I could have just sung one rendition of Strawberry Wine. I have, after all, been practicing for twenty years (take a moment to let that sink in).

Sleep came easy and it seemed like just seconds before he pulled the stunt again.

“Lindsay!” The urgency in Cody’s voice woke me in an instant.

It was dark in our room. I opened my eyes wide but didn’t even look at the clock.

“Yeah?” I responded.

“K,” was all he whispered, rolling back over on his side.

I’ve been told I’ve become a mouth breather in the last couple weeks. Not a snorer, but rather a mouth breather "louder than a 454 big block"- what ever that means.  And while I’m annoyed and in denial just hearing of this development, I have to trust my sources. Apparently Cody woke up twice last night and didn’t hear me breathing, so he decided to startle me awake to check my vitals. There are easier ways to do things (I suggested gently checking my pulse, holding his hand an inch over my mouth to feel for breath, lying in the quiet dark for five seconds and listening, etc.), but everyone seems to do what they think is right in certain situations, I guess.

While it was a shoddy night of rest, I’m grateful for a husband who doesn’t want to sleep next to a dead person.

This middle-of-the-night fiasco reminded me of someone I haven’t checked on in a while.

Someone who – I’ll admit – doesn’t enter my mind often, but when they do I feel a bit of a sting. They are a shining example of how I let time and distance drive a wedge in communication and I’ve frankly lost touch with them.

I don’t call to check on them. 

I don’t shoot them a text or an email. 

If memory serves me right (45% chance these days) I sent them a hand written note last summer because I felt the lack-of-communication sting, and that was the last of our correspondence.

No hard feelings, no fall out.

But rather, worse: No effort at all.

Which is a shame; they were a good lesson and good person in my life.

An old co-worker.

An industry mentor.

An aging grandparent.

A previous neighbor.

The one who takes you back to that tumultuous time in your life.

An old business partner.
That once-stranger on your old morning commute to the city. 

A teacher, maybe not even the kind who stood at the front of the class. 

A college roommate.

An acquaintance that changed things.

Your parent.

There is someone who could use a vitals check from you.

A hello.

A “I was just thinking of you…”

A sign that they're thought of every so often.

Do you have that person in mind?

Find them.

Write them.

Call them.

Email them.

Text them.

Do something to let them know they’re still significant enough to cross a mind now and then.

Your mind. 

But might I suggest waiting until daylight until you do your vitals check? 
Waiting until everyone is awake and aware of their surroundings just makes for a better morning, for everyone. 

Long Way To Go, Short Time To Get There

We've got a long way to go and a short time to get there. 

Late last week I marched into our Human Resources Manager’s office and let her know I’d need to get BabySank on my dental plan at some point in the next couple months. Her pretty face didn’t show much expression. After a few seconds of hesitation, she responded with a gentle smile and her head cocked to one side:

“You know they come out without teeth, right?”

It was my first and last attempt at being International Champion Mom of the World. 

I put up a short, but noble, fight.

Since making the expectation of BabySank JBO (Jean’s Boots Official), we have ordered a crib – who knew readers were so worried about where a baby would sleep? Ya’ll are on top of it. Now, who wants to come finish our Amazon registry?

 

Isn’t it cozy? 

Really pulls the room together.

Monday night we wrapped up our course of childbirth classes. We didn’t get a diploma but we did get the fear put into us and that in itself was probably worth the cost of the free class. 

There were 40 people in our class: 20 couples or mothers-to-be and their support person, whether that be the father, grandma, grandpa, aunt, etc. The gals were anywhere from 28 to 38 weeks pregnant; it was a packed house. One week we discussed encouraging words spouses can say while coaching the mother-to-be during labor:

You’re doing a great job!

You’re going to be a great mom!

This is almost over!

Stick with it!

Cody’s contribution to the conversation: “GRIP IT AND RIP IT!”

He did not write this down in the workbook as instructed. He spoke these words aloud in his born-without-a-whisper-option voice.

I reminded him we were talking child birth, not focusing on passing a row of cars in a short window to do so.

Grip and Rip: Two words black listed in the maternity ward and my husband somehow found a creative way to use both in one encouraging sentence. 

They also gave us nice little diagrams and ways to ease labor pains at home. I let Cody know he has yet use a rolling pin at our house up until this point, there is no way in heck he needs to get his hands on one now. I've since hidden all rolling pins, just in case. 

The next week we were introduced to exercise balls and the excitement continued. For those inquiring minds, exercise balls are available in a lot of hospitals these days as a relaxation technique for the mother-to-be. Personally, bouncing on top of a large rubber bouncy ball is probably the last place you’re going to find me when this deal goes down. Anyway, I was there to learn.

And Cody was apparently there for another reason.

Out of guilt, he did share his smoothie upon his return to class. 

I talked to someone over the weekend who listens to classical music regularly now that their baby is able to hear outside sounds. They want her to appreciate Mozart, Beethoven and Bach. I figure BabySank will very likely to come out singing Mama Tried and Are The Good Times Really Over since I’ve had straight Haggard on repeat for two weeks. At least they’ll be able to appreciate lyrics that tell a story, a fiddle and a steel guitar.

 Our goal is a well-rounded kid. 

Not a Mensa membership. 

Another week down, another to-do checked off the list and the 4th of July is creeping closer and closer. I reminded CS last week about one big thing (by no means bigger than the crib...) that I had put in his court: selecting a baby monitor. I sold the task to him like he got to pick out a new set of barn cameras, except these would be in the house. I told him to get whatever he thought was best, and I wouldn't ask any questions (It's all about marketing.) I just wanted this little project done.

I came back from a late lunch one day to read this:

Ah, Life with Cody Sankey is fun. 

We really do have a long way to go 

and a short time to get there. 

A Different Kind of Firecracker

An Oklahoma State onsie, a Certified Angus Beef bib and a pair of cowboy boot patterned socks: That is absolutely as far as we’ve gotten.

Seriously.

Since I’m in the third trimester and Momma continues to ask if we’ve considered buying a crib, we thought now might be the time to share with you the best news we’ve ever had:

Our first child is expected 

to shake up life as we know it 

on the 4^th of July.

Cue Shooter Jennings:

Kinda destined to be a firecracker: Double bred crazy.

A lot of names float across my mind as I write this, this morning:

Bob and Barbara Jean

Larry and Melva Jean

Paul and Marie

Ralph and Martha Jean

And after them come Chris and Sharee, Phil and Linda

We have just a little bit of pressure to raise a great American, much like their grand parents and great-grandparents.

A well-grounded, cattle-committed, rooted-in-faith, humble-and-kind, kid.

I hope you’ll help us.

No, we’re not asking for a babysitter before they even hit the ground (figuratively speaking). We’re asking that you help keep this child on track at the 2031 Junior Nationals and you’ll encourage them just a bit if you ever notice they’re having a bad day.

It takes a tribe to raise a good kid and you’re part of our tribe.

We promise to do the same for you.

I’ve absolutely loved being pregnant, though I’m not clueless to the fact that the tough part lies ahead. Ask me again in June when I can’t see my boots and the Dollar General is out of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

Side Note to the Losantville Dollar General Customers: You’ll leave the entire stock of mint chocolate chip ice-cream in the freezer case if you know what’s good for you. And Cody.

We’re almost done with our childbirth classes and that experience has produced weeks of blog-worthy stories. Just wait. I didn’t realize just how awkward Cody could get in certain situations until we sat him in a room full of 8-months-pregnant strangers and exercise balls. 

There are so many things I want to share with you about the hopes we have for this child. In fact, much of the six years of content inside this blog is reflective of things I knew I wanted to pass on, but wasn’t sure if I ever would. The news of an Independence Day baby has greatly changed my perspective.

And my sleep schedule. There have been Tuesday nights when I’ve fallen asleep mid-keystroke and never finished  five sentences of a weekly blog. Now you know why.

We’re often asked when the gender reveal party will be. 

We've approached parenthood - and enjoyed it - like it's 1995. Leaving it off Facebook allowed us to tell folks when we saw them and share that moment of excitement. There are no neck hugs on Facebook. And I really like neck hugs. 

Secondly, this is a baby, not a movie premier.

Thirdly, the party will be at the hospital. On the day of the birth. 

But please, don’t show up. 

Unless, of course, you're thinking of bringing a gift:

We could guess the gender now, but we would only have a 50% chance of being right. 
I think I better wrap this up; I'm getting hungry (shocker).

Thanks for sharing in our joy with us - 

We couldn't be happier.