A Very Twirley Christmas

Every family has their own Christmas tradition. For example, there’s the Festivus celebration, in which George Costanza’s family initiates “the airing of grievances.” But since the “airing of grievances” is a daily, if not hourly ritual at the Twirley household, we decided to start a few Holiday traditions of our own.


Matching red shirts

There’s no color more festive than red and nothing cornier than the entire family wearing the same colored shirts. Festive and corny, that’s how we roll in the Twirley household. Next year we’ll have to bring the corny meter up a few notches by wearing matching red reindeer sweaters.

Gingerbread assembly kit

I’ve been buying the gingerbread assembly kits since EB’s third Christmas, and it has become quite the fun experience for both of us. In fact we had so much fun with it last year that I bought a gingerbread train kit right after the holidays (read: big post-Christmas discount), with the intention of putting it together on New Year’s Day. If you recall though, that was the day that EB gave us a big scare with her concussion, so it stayed in the back of the cupboard until this year. Let me tell you, gingerbread kits do not have a long shelf life. This thing smelled terrible – like a cross between Play Doh and….well, a year-old ginger bread. EB took a whiff of it and immediately declared it too yucky for consumption. This suited me just fine since I’ve always had a problem with the idea of consuming something that’s been kneaded and handled by sweaty, dirty hands. To me, these kits are for show, not for eating. So if you ever get an already-assembled gingerbread house from us for Christmas, it probably means that we don’t like you very much.

Hiking

This is the time of the year when I really love living in Arkansas. Just a few short months ago, I was dying from the heat of a thousand suns. But what a weather we had today -- sunny and in the high 50s. One would’ve never guessed that it was Christmas, which would’ve turn off some white Christmas fanatics but suited me just fine. We went out to the Pinnacle Mountain for a family hike and enjoyed the fresh air and some physical activity. B-Boy was strapped into Baby Bjorn and was asleep for most of the hike. He woke up every now and then and looked around all confused, his little brows arched and furrowed. He would look up at me, as if thinking: “Where the hell am I? And who the heck are you? And when are you crazy people going to return me to my cozy little capsule?”

A big ol' Merry Christmas, y'all!

Five!

EB turned five years old today! She woke up this morning, looked in the mirror, and said to me in a slightly disappointed voice: “I don’t look older, Mommy. Maybe I’m dreaming that I’m five.”

This girl just cannot wait to grow up. As for me, I just want to preserve her childhood forever. I get choked up just thinking about EB as a five-year old; something happens when you cross the boundary from four to five. For one, five years old is when you attend Kindergarten, or what I perceive as real school. As in I would need to worry about dropping her off on time, whereas now, I have no qualms about dropping her off 15-20 minutes late. Mathematically speaking, five is closer to ten than it is to one. Meaning, she’s just that much closer to entering the bratty tween years.

But for now, I won’t think too much about how quickly my baby has grown up. Rather, I want to take this moment to capture what she is like now, what makes her tick and what makes her the unique little girl that she is today.

• EB loves all things superhero. Unlike most other girls her age, she considers princesses “boring.” She wants to be where the action is and save the world , and her favorite superheros are Spiderman and Spidergirl.

• She loves treats—nothing lights up her face more than the prospect of eating candies, cupcakes and ice cream.

• Despite the fact that she loves her sweets, she has iron willpower. She will not eat any treats without consulting with me first, and if I allow her only three jellybeans, she sticks to those three.

• Along the same lines, she is obsessed about the idea of eating healthy food. She never tires of asking me which foods are healthy, which ones are not. In fact, She is so interested in this topic that she has proudly declared to me that she is an “expert of being healthy.”

• EB is insanely competitive, which drives me bonkers at times. She's even tried to be competitive with me, claiming that she is a better "drawer" than I am.  I was, however, very quick to point out that she is not a better artist. In fact, since I don't believe she should have an inflated self-esteem, I told her that there's probably not a lot of things that she can do better than I can at this point. The Tiger Mom's got nothing on me. 

• She is a good egg. Above everything else, she wants to please me and K. We feel lucky, although sometimes we wonder if and when pleasing her parents will drop off her priority list.

• She's had her first crush. Of course, she does not yet understand the meaning of a crush. But by the way she talks about this guy in her class, I recognize the signs of an early crush from a mile away.

• EB loves her little brother, and has surprisingly shown almost no jealousy.

• She also has an imaginary brother – her big bear Ian, whom she takes great pleasure in bossing around.

• EB knows how to work me and K. Separately, she will coyly tell each of us that she has a secret to tell us, dramatically motion for us to come close and then whisper in our ears: “I love you more than anybody.”

Wordless Wednesday: First Smiles!

Look Mom, No Training Wheels!

EB recently learned to ride her bike, no training wheels!

A little push from K to get her started....

Concentrating hard....

Look at her go!

Too Hairy, Too Scary, Too Mean

Part of the fun of Halloween is dressing up in a different costume each year. Unless you are my daughter, who insisted on being Spider Girl again. For the third year in a row. K and I took her to the Halloween store hoping that something different would strike her fancy this time: a witch? ("Too scary.") A ninja? ("Too mean.") Cat in the Hat? ("Too hairy.") We cajoled, begged and even tried bribing, but nothing would persuade her from dressing up as this Marvel Comics heroine. Don’t get me wrong—I’m pretty frugal and am all for reusing costumes. But, kids grow up fast, and I was hoping to put together an online photo timeline of EB in different costumes each Halloween.  We were finally able to convince her to at least take on a different Spider Girl look, one that adds a bit of flare to the otherwise traditional blue and red getup.

Here she is…pretty in pink, but deadlier than the Black Widow.

I had every intention of dressing up BB in something adorable, but I never got around to it; having a newborn sucks every ounce of energy out of you. I did manage to create an impromptu costume for myself and the little guy. Here's a pic -- got meself a right fine wee li'l pirate-in-training!

Full-Moon Celebration

BB turned one month old last Wednesday! Here are a couple of pictures of the little guy and me. I was going through our photos and realized that there were virtually no Mommy-BB pics in our collection, so I took the liberty of staging our own photo-shoot session.

The Chinese tradition calls for a Full-Moon celebration for babies once they hit the one-month mark. It is a big deal celebration, since that's when the babies are first introduced to friends and relatives. My parents had a huge Full-Moon celebration for me at a banquet hall and invited over a hundred (yes, a hundred) friends and relatives. K and I neither have the money to throw a huge banquet, nor do we know a hundred people locally in Arkansas (come to think of it, we do not know a hundred people that we would invite to this event). So, we decided to scale BB's Full-Moon celebration down just a tiny bit--the guest list consisted K, EB, my parents and me.

EB got to choose her brother's birthday cake, although in the process, she decided that it was only fair to celebrate her birthday as well. Despite the fact that her birthday is still a couple of months away, we thought: why not? After all, BB wouldn't know the difference anyway. Or so we thought...look at the picture below. BB was fighting hard to reclaim his place in this celebration.

It was a grand celebration indeed. The grown-ups enjoyed a nice bottle of 2007 Earthquake Zinfandel, and BB enjoyed a nice bottle of 2011 Mommy Milk.


Happy Full-Moon, BB!

My Long Vent About Breastfeeding

I've been feeling anger lately towards the La Leche League and lactation consultants in general. It's nothing personal; they all seem like very nice people, and I am sure they just want to trumpet the wonders of breastfeeding to the world and help new mothers nurse effectively. The thing is, though, in all their enthusiasm to shout from the rooftops about the life-enriching, immunity-boosting and mother/child-bonding powers of breastfeeding, they have a way of making somebody who's struggling to nurse effectively feel pretty darn crappy.

I recognize that most of what I've been feeling stems from my frustration with my own breastfeeding inadequacies: piss-poor supply and intense pain from a difficult latch (imagine your nipples being grated down with an industrial-grade sanding machine). But I also feel plenty beat down by the lactation industrial-complex. In my experience, the breastfeeding evangelists promote it as a cure for everything: Want to cure colic? Start breastfeeding! Want to lose post-pregnancy pounds? Start breastfeeding! Want world peace? Start breastfeeding!

I've always had a hard time breastfeeding, but I desperately wanted to make it work this time around. With EB, I went to multiple lactation consultants, all to no avail. The poor thing was losing so much weight that the pediatrician talked me into pumping and supplementing big time with formula. While I quickly obliged, it took me awhile to come to peace with it. I knew it was the right thing to do, but it made me feel inadequate. Especially when the lactation consultants continuously tried to convince me that while pumping is a fine interim solution, I should still work towards directly breastfeeding. They buzzed around me like the Dr. Seuss character Sam-I-Am in a sequel called "Green Eggs and Lactate" -- "Try it, try it and you may...try it and you may I say!"

With the new little one, my usual breastfeeding problems were compounded further by a delay in milk production: it did not come in for almost seven days. As in, back in the pre-formula days, my baby would've either starved to death, or I would've had to bring the wee one to the village wet nurse to keep him alive. And since we no longer live in the Middle Ages, formula was in order.

I'm a glutton for punishment, so I once again, turned to a lactation consultant. And of course, she discouraged me from using a bottle--"We wouldn't want the baby to experience nipple confusion, would we?" She talked me into using an “infant feeding device”–a syringe that's connected to a long strand of IV tube. You had to fill the syringe with formula, tape the end of the IV tube onto your breast, and while breastfeeding, squeeze little pumps of the formula so that it mimics milk coming out of your breast. It looked ridiculous. Absurdity aside, it was difficult to coordinate—the IV tube would pop off, or I'd accidentally pump too much formula, causing BB to choke and sputter.

I did this for two days straight, and finally, bleary from lack of sleep, nipples raw and scabbed, my baby still shrinking and sputtering, I said, "F#@k IT!" and pulled out a bottle. From that point on, I resumed a combination formula feeding/pumping, and the little guy started plumping up like the Pillsbury Dough Boy.

Despite my previous experience with EB, I felt guilty for days. To console myself, I pored through baby books to help reaffirm my choice; surely somewhere out there, there would a story of somebody experiencing what I am, someone will surely reaffirm my decision to supplement with formula. Not so. Here is an excerpt from the book from the American Academy of Pediatrics:

“While recognizing the benefits of breastfeeding, mothers may feel that bottle-feeding gives the mother more freedom and time for duties other than those involving baby care...there's no need to worry about the mother's diet or medications that might affect the milk.”

Translation: You are a self-centered, selfish bitch who cares more about your own comfort than giving your baby what's best for him.

The especially maddening thing about this is that I couldn't even find something in these texts that suggested that anyone would ever really have inadequate production. Instead, all the advice seemed to ultimately boil down to this: You're not trying hard enough. So after talking with multiple friends who seem to have gone through similar issues, I put away the books, stopped calling the consultants and once again came to peace with my decision. I've done what I can and am now doing what's best for us. To hell with the lactation advocates, Le Leche League, and the American Academy of Pediatrics.

That is all. End of my breastfeeding saga, and end of my venting.

Back Home

I feel like I've been perpetually behind on blogging, but having a newborn does that to you. We've been back at home for a couple of weeks now and I'm finally getting the hang of being a mom to a newborn again. Meaning, I've re-read all of my old baby care books and torn through a few new ones, each about five times over.

For the most part, EB has been fantastic - "helping" with the feeding, fetching his pacifier and giving him sweet little kisses on the forehead. To be sure, she's had flashes of jealousy, but mostly it has manifested in the form of clinginess to me.

I find myself often staring at BB, studying his beautiful little mouth, his tiny little toes, and when his eyes are open, looking at his dark, peaceful eyes. He's absolutely perfect, I think, and then marvel that he can be so beautiful yet at the same time, bear such a close resemblance to one of the monkeys in the movie "Contagion." EB thinks that BB looks exactly like Edgar the butler from the movie "The Aristocats," with his bald, wrinkled forehead. She even gave him the nickname "Edgar Peanut" for his resemblance to the butler and because he's small like a peanut.

I love you, my little Monkey Edgar Peanut!

The New Guy in My Life

Meet our little new guy - BB. Born on September 18, 2011 at 11:43 PM. 5 pounds, 11 ounces of wonder.

It was quite a dramatic day. I felt my water break while eating a chicken wrap in a booth at Mimi's Cafe (Heh...now you will forever remember this restaurant as The Place where I left my mark. Sorry!). So, we left EB in the care of a good friend and rushed to the hospital only to be told that it wasn't my water (it was) and that I probably won't be in labor for days (wrong again) and sent home. That night, I was back at the hospital with major contraction pains and 7 cm dilated. Things moved fast from there (fortunately, not so fast that couldn't get an epidural, though.) and we able to greet our little man just two hours after I had checked back into Labor and Delivery.

Welcome to the world, BB...our adventure together has just begun!

She’s Got a Way with Words, Year 2

It’s been nearly a year since I posted EB's three-year old "EB-isms," so I thought I’d refresh the list. Obviously the latest EB-isms have progressed beyond the simple funny words she used to invent. The latest collection includes a combination of funny-logic, logical-logic, and words that she will want to swallow when she hits pre-pubescent years.

EB on being a child of interracial marriage:
“I’m half-Chinese, but when I grow up I will be full Chinese - just like my mommy.”

She then also likes to point out that K is "Zero Chinese," and look at him pitifully as if he's missing out.  My ancestors would've been proud.

EB on growing up:
“Mommy, I want to live with you and Daddy forever and ever and ever.”

This one makes me smirk. I will be sure to pull it up when EB is in her pre-teenage years; rebellious, surly and ready to run away from home.

EB on her career aspirations:
“When I grow up, I want to work next to Mommy in the same office.”

God, I really, really, really hope this is not going to be the case, for both my sake and her sake. For my sake, because that would show that I have not moved up the ladder in 17 years. For her sake, because office jobs are overrated. I like my job just fine…but for the love of everything that’s good, follow your passions, EB!

EB on who’s the boss:
EB: “Mommy, I’m going to be the boss of you.”
Me: “Umm…no. I’m the boss of you and don’t you ever forget it.”
EB: “OK. But Mommy, you’ll never be the boss of Jesus; Jesus will always be the boss of YOU.”

This confirms that we are in the South. Neither K nor I are that religious; we’ve gone to the church maybe a handful of times, so she definitely picked this one up from other kids.

34 Weeks and Counting

Here I am, 34 weeks pregnant. My belly has expanded to such a ginormousity that I’ve occasionally caught the guys at work alarmingly eye me as if I’m about to crouch down and  birth a baby right in front of their eyes. Relax, dudes...sudden labor and delivery usually only happens in the movies.

For the most part, I’ve been feeling OK. There’s always the typical pesky pregnancy side effects: permanent shooting pain down my lower back, 6+ visits to the toilet in the middle of the night, the insomnia, and the feeling that I’ve been impersonating Fudgy the Whale for the past few months. Overall though, I think I’ve enjoyed this pregnancy far more than my first one. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I now tangibly can see how 10 months of discomfort will result in another wonderful little thing like EB. Or it could be that we did not have the easiest time getting pregnant this time around, so I realize now how much of a gift it is to get this far along without a hitch.

Nevertheless, I’m getting bored and am anxious to enjoy a few of my favorite indulgences again. Like going for a long run on the weekends - although with the weather that we’ve had this summer, it would not have been possible anyway. Or that great glass of red wine with dinner and happy hours after work, the martini at work event at Sonny William’s. Or the sublime sushi platter paired with crisp, cool beer. The list goes on and on.

So I eagerly await Baby Stephen’s arrival. And while I don’t plan on creating a birth plan (I didn’t have one for EB, and I figured I’d just continue to go with the flow this time around), I do have a solid post-birth dining plan: a congratulatory toast with a glass of bold Rioja, a dinner of exotic rolls and sushi from Sushi Café and a breakfast of runny eggs on toast.

K, take note.

Bugs and Clichés

I grew up eating everything just about everything that was placed in front of me—liver, fish with eyes still intact, frog’s legs--you name it. I am determined to raise a child that semi-follows in my footstep. I don't expect her to eat the same stuff I did when I was a kid, since you have to work pretty hard to find fish with head/eyes intact in the States. But I do expect her to try everything that K and I eat, so we have a motto in our household: try everything just once, and remember the starving children out there.

On the latter point, I find myself constantly telling EB that she’s lucky to have such abundance of food available to her--there are starving children in Africa and Asia that would give anything to have what she has (clichéd, I know). “Sometimes, these starving kids have to eat bugs to get enough nutrition,” I would tell her. To which, her eyes would always widen, and she would take the obligatory bite of the food that she was protesting earlier on. She definitely took this to heart, as you’ll see in the dialogue that we had last night.

EB: “Why do kids have to go to school?”

Me: “So you can learn lots of things.”

EB: “Why do we need to learn lots of things?”

Me: “So you can become smart and get a job. You know what happens if you don’t get a job?”

EB: “You can’t make any money.”

Me: “That’s right. And what happens if you can’t make any money?”

EB: “Then that means you can’t buy food. And it means that you have to eat bugs, LOTS OF BUGS, ALL NIGHT LONG.”



This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but at least now I know that my lectures to her isn’t in one ear and out the other.

A Musician in the House

A few months ago, we bought EB a mini-guitar so that she can strum along with me while I was practicing my own guitar playing. Alas, my busy schedule and (literally) growing responsibilities put my guitar ambitions on a temporary hiatus. However EB continues to show interest, picking up the instrument on a near-daily basis and even making up songs of her own. Here's a video of her recent performance. I've transcribed her slightly surreal lyrics below -- a song about space exploration in Mars, sang with a Bluegrass twang.

I know-I know you want to go

That's how I talk, go...

You have to listen-listen to my charge

You're in charge so I'm Mars

Have to go-go-go-go-go

go-go-go-go-go-go-go

go-ooo

Rock on, Little Girl!

The Invention

Our dirty dish situation is out of control. Every day, we load piles upon piles of dirty dishes, glasses, travel mugs and Gladware in the sink.

The biggest contributing factor to this smelly mess is our frugality: Since all three of us bring our lunches to work/school, it generates a lot of dirty food containers. Each of our lunches usually consists of an medium-sized entree container and a small fruit container. In addition, I usually pack myself oatmeal for breakfast, which creates yet one more dirty container. When you multiply this by three people, it really adds up.

Here's a more conservative example of our daily dish mountain:

So, K and I were talking about this situation when I had a bright idea --  what if we were to invent edible container? "This could be a million dollar idea," I told K. "Just think about all of these families, having to wash loads of dishes every day. Imagine a container that you can eat...kind of like a bread bowl, except it would be in a form of a container."

K was skeptical, but he played along: "How would you design it so that liquid doesn't spill out?"

Me: "Well...I'm not sure about liquid, but we could design ones that hold dry stuff. Like meat and veggies."

K: "Hey, I have a perfect name for this invention!"

Me (getting excited): "Really? What?!"

K: "We can call it a hamburger. Or a sandwich. Oh, wait...I think those names have already been taken."

Ass.

Giraffe puppet, doughnuts and football players

EB has been doing a lot of drawings lately, and she's come a long way since the surreal/scribble-like drawing
she created a year ago. Here are a few of my recent faves.

Giraffe Puppet

EB: "This is a puppet giraffe."

Me: "Why a puppet?"

EB: "Because I can't draw its legs.

 

Father's Day Card
EB: "This is me and Daddy. I have a chocolate doughnut and a strawberry doughnut. Daddy has two chocolate doughnuts."
Me: "Where's Mommy in the picture?"
EB: "Mommy...it's Daddy's day, not your day."

 

 Football player

 EB: "This is a picture of two boys and they are football players. This is a girl (the one on the left), and she's sad because they won't let her play football."

Me (slightly concerned): "Did that happen to you at school? Did the boys not let you play football"

EB: "No."

Me: "Do you know what football is?"

EB: "No."

Me: "Then where did you learn about football?"

EB: "On Caillou."

 

Wardrobe malfunction

I had the unfortunate experience of flashing my baby belly to an entire plane last week as I was flying back into Little Rock.

It’s gotten hard for me to sit still for longer than 30 minutes at a time, so after the takeoff, I stood up to go the bathroom. As I was making my way back to my seat, I saw that the flight attendant was serving drinks, so I patiently waited, reaching up for the overhead area to steady myself. I was perfectly content; I was sick of sitting, and it felt good to stretch out my back. I saw a few people look up at me, break into a smirk, and just as quickly look down. “Assholes…it’s as if you’ve never seen a pregnant lady before”, I think. And then I felt a bit of a draft on my mid-section. I glanced down and to my horror, I saw that my shirt had decided to creep its way up, and the belly band on my maternity pants decided to roll down toward the bottom of my belly. Fully exposed was my preggo mound—I could’ve charged people for a lucky rub of my big, Buddha belly.

My face burning, I quickly pulled my shirt down, and did my walk of shame down the aisle to my seat. The guy next to me looked up, smiled, and said brightly: “So, you’re having a boy or a girl?”

Weepy pregnant lady in the house

A generous friend gave us a gigantic bag of her 8-year old daughter's outgrown clothes this weekend. So, I decided to make my Fourth of July a clothes-sorting day: I organized all of EB's clothes and went through her baby stuff in search of unisex onesies for Baby Stephen. Simple enough, right? Except I forgot to mention that I've been a bit crazy lately -- in a weepy, nesting, pregnant-lady sort of a way.

My day went something like this:
1. Open up a bag of EB's baby clothes and pull out a cute onesie
2. Marvel at how much she has grown
3. Show it to K
4. Kiss EB and tell her not to grow up too fast
5. Break down in tears

K soon realized that nothing good could come out of him sticking around the house with a semi-crazy pregnant lady, so he sought refuge in a trip to Sam's Club with EB. So there I was, all alone, opening up bag after bag, pulling out EB's little bottles and outfits, marveling at them, and dissolving into tears.

Indeed, my pregnancy hormones have taken me for a ride on the crazy train.

Wacky hormones aside, the cliche is all too true: Time flies by way too quickly and kids grow up too darned fast. Just look at the little slippers that we used to put on her little feet...and compare them to her "new" hand-me-down boots. In the blink of an eye, my baby girl has grown into a little lady.

So when EB asked me to have a "sleepover" with her last night, I happily said yes. I had a great time, reading to EB, chatting with her about this and that, playing with flashlights, and finally coaxing her to close her eyes at around 11 PM. Even though it meant that I had to give up the very little time I have to get stuff done around the house, the "stuff" can wait. Pretty soon, EB is going to be off to sleepover parties with her friends, and this precious time that we spent together will be but a distant memory for her.

Baby Manatee

A baby manatee. That's what I look like when I'm waddling around in my bathing suit. But I have not a care at this point, as the summer heat has been intense and I've re-discovered the joys of lap swimming at our local pool. I'm hoping the exercise will help keep down the level of swelling that I experienced during my pregnancy with EB. During the third trimester, I bloated to a form that the Michelin Man would ogle -- cankles, sausage fingers, double chin -- you name it, I had it.

Alas, even though I've been walking and swimming on a regular basis, my transformation into Mrs. Michelin will still occur. The expansion usually begins from the feet and works its way up -- kind of like a reverse, slow-motion metamorphosis of a man into Werewolf. Unfortunately, my transformation back to my normal self will be even slower if my past pregnancy is any indication. Regrettably, Mrs. Michelin will be here to stay for at least the next four to five months.

So, that's why I'm not minding the Baby Manatee look I have right now at all. While I may be rolly-polly, at least I'm compact.

Grandparents-Palooza

Looking for Snookie at
Jersey Shore

We took EB on a 15-day "grandparents-palooza" tour so she could spend part of her summer vacation with her most ardent fans. The tour kicked off in New Jersey, where EB enjoyed leisurely days filled with tons of attention from Ah-Gong (my dad) and Nai-Nai (my mom). Of course, almost every day included an obligatory trip to one of the many Chinese Buffet restaurants in the greater Princeton area along with a sprinkling of visits to the park, beach and the pool. It was great to see my parents but after a prolonged period under their roof again, I needed a vacation from our vacation. Thankfully K and I had the chance to visit NYC for a day while EB continued to woo my parents. Uncle A even made a special appearance from Virginia, and had the patience to engage in a few "pretend" play sessions--"Uncle A, let's pretend we're eating at a restaurant!" I'm sure it was tons of fun for a 30-something single male.

Helping Nai-Nai with her favorite hobby

Watching basketball with Ah-Gong

After about a week in New Jersey, EB and K continued onto the second destination of the tour,  Detroit, Michigan. I had to skip this as I'm trying to save vacation days for maternity leave. It was a great visit for both EB and K, since EB had a chance to catch up with Grandma P and Aunt Aud and K had a chance to catch up with all of his Michigan buddies.

With Ms. Olive and Aunt Aud

We've got some work to do on her table manners...

I missed EB and K insanely while they were gone. It's strange; I always thought that I'd enjoy 10 straight days of "me-time." But without them around, the house just felt empty and lonely. I was glad, almost smug, to hear that towards the end of the trip, EB was constantly asking about me and eagerly looking forward to coming home to see me. What can I say? Mommy rules!

Having parents living a few states away is becoming more of a challenge now that we have EB in our lives. We want to make sure EB stays in close contact with them, so we'll definitely have to factor this in the future when we relocate.

In the meantime, we look forward to my parents' visit in late September, when they will get a chance to dote on EB and their soon-to-arrive grandson.