Though She Be But Little...

My daughter has gotten a healthy dose of stubborn from each of her parents, she cleverly "doesn't hear" me when I ask her to do things she doesn't want to, and she refuses to take naps when there is anything even slightly interesting going on that she might miss.

But as aggravating as our little curly-headed monster can be, I find myself filled with pride even at her most infuriating moments.

Probably chucked the spoons seconds later to go
both hands in on the custard and blueberries

She tries pretty much anything if she sees us eating it.
She happily eats moderately spicy things (hot Italian sausage, salsa), loves rabbit and lamb, and eats sauteed spinach (though that's currently one of the few greens that is easy to get in her-it's a texture thing). "MmmUmm" she says as she awkwardly spoons food into her mouth. Then, when that's not quick enough or accurate enough, she abandons the spoon and uses her hands.  

Making silly faces during dinner

She loves to be silly.
Daddy taught her how to throw snowballs at mommy's butt, so now that's the first thing she does in snow, giggling uncontrollably when she squishes it on my rear. She loves to make us laugh, repeating anything that gets a laugh out of us over and over. She makes funny faces and dances and sings. Her laugh is possibly the best sound on earth. She's recently started giggling to herself over things, which is so entertaining even if I can't tell what in the world she thinks is so funny.

She's loving.
Hugs and kisses, pats and squeezes, this girl loves to snuggle. Her enjoyment of snuggle time is nearly always at war with her urge to run wild, but she is almost always willing, even in the middle of the most raucous game, to throw a quick kiss your way if you beg. Then you are treated to an adorable damp pucker that delivers a squishy kiss. 

Feeding her Lambie a bottle

She's emphathetic.
Whether she's concerned each and every time she hears a baby crying, or she's worried to tears every time Elmo loses his blanket in Elmo in Grouchland, my daughter wants to make it better. Her cousin, Owen, gave her a small polar bear for her first Christmas. It's not her favorite toy, like it is his, but she definitely recognizes it as one of her toys. When we were all together for Thanksgiving, she found Owen's PB in his bed and took it thinking it was hers. When we explained why he was looking so concerned, that it was his version of her Lambie, she immediately made sure to give it back and brought it to him throughout the visit.

All the kids listening quietly to Santa
read a story? Nope, I'm definitely out.

She's headstrong.
She says no even when I'm pretty sure she actually means yes. She does what she wants and pays me no attention at all. It's clear she hears me, but you can see those wheels turning as she decides if my wishes align with hers. The answer is usually no. More than any other characteristic, I think this one delights my own mom the most. It seems I may be raising a mini-me. And most days I would say she's coming out ahead. As much as I might admire their control, I'm not one of those calm, talk-it-out-with-the-child-until-they-make-the-right-decision types; I'm a yeller. My tone is decidedly loud. I've made my nephew cry just by saying, "Oh no, don't eat that!" in what I considered to be a normal level of exclamation (seriously, it wasn't loud!) Eleanor remains unfazed through all my varying tones and decibels. Obviously there are problems with this. How am I going to get her attention and make her stop immediately when she's doing something dangerous? I'm not sure a deadly whisper is going to cut it. 

This railing is only about 10 ft off the ground

Watching the ants march up the tree trunk

She's adventurous.
She walks up to anyone and says hi to perfect strangers, loving the attention they give. While visiting a friend on the heart ward at the hospital, she would dart into the other rooms (we managed to catch her most of the time), trying to visit the other patients (missed her once, and we ended up visiting an elderly gentleman while he was eating his dinner. I said something awkward about hoping he would recover quickly and apologized, me somewhat mortified after we ran into a nurse on our way out-you always feel like people see uncontrollable children as a parental failing. Found out later from the friend we visited that the elderly man had loved it. Thank goodness.)

Sharing a book with Longfellow Bear

She loves books.
It is so amazing to have her interact with her books now. Not only is she (finally) relatively gentle with her lift the flap books, but she participates in the stories I read to her. She repeats lines from Pete the Cat: I Love My White Shoes (a family favorite), and she has a whole routine throughout Where the Wild Things Are. The Kissing Hand is in our rotation this week. Eleanor has me kiss her hand and she kisses mine, just like the mommy and baby raccoons do in the book. Makes my heart melt every time.

Giggling riotously in her toy basket

She sings at the top of her lungs.
It's true that this occurs most often when she should be napping peacefully in her crib, but sometimes I'm treated to her lyrics in the car on the way to or home from daycare. So far the tunes and words are pretty unidentifiable, but I love to hear her belting them out. Her current favorite is the Itsy Bitsy Spider, which she would happily listen to on repeat for our entire 20 minute car ride to daycare. The best I could do in negotiation was that we would listen to it every other song. She also meets her daddy at the door when he arrives home from work, demanding that he share his "nunes" with her. He always happily crouches down and hands her one of his earbuds so she can hear his tunes.

Homemade Halloween

Not even on my life list, folks, but I still broke out the glue gun and the sewing machine for this year's Halloween costume. Before anyone feels too sorry for Nathan's series of low key, uncrafty costumes, I must add that though it is painful for me to send him out in public this way, these costumes are exactly his preference. I might have managed to get him in a fox costume this year if I had finagled, but he was very excited to get to wear his TSC hat.

 

O Frabjous Day

Motherhood Notes:

I just sincerely prayed to St. Anthony, the patron saint of lost things, for his help in returning the bacon puzzle piece that has been missing from the playroom for the last week...This was a last resort after fruitlessly looking on eBay to purchase a "Melissa and Doug bacon puzzle piece." Spoiler: no matches.

Update: DUDES, it totally worked. It better than worked! Day of the prayer not only did the bacon puzzle piece show up in Eleanor's room (which was the only room in the house I would have bet money on for it NOT to be in), but something I had long declared gone forever appeared after almost 2 months! I hadn't even asked for that one because I had so thoroughly given up on it!!! I told Nathan that I believe. I BELIEVE. I am converting to Catholicism. Or at least naming my next child Saint Anthony. Sorry kid, Mommy owed him one.

I was entirely too optimistic when I went to bed at 11 last night...I've been up since 5 AM because Eleanor doesn't understand the time change. We read Little Blue Truck (currently, according to my toddler, every animal moos) and the Babylit Jabberwocky twice. I always read Jabberwocky with a Scottish accent. I discovered this morning that my Scottish accent is much more authentic when I'm half asleep.

I currently have 3 pairs of shoes that need repair in my car trunk that have been riding around with me since last fall...The shoe repair place is less than a mile from my office.

I just discovered dried egg on my silk shirt that is suspiciously in the shape of a toddler face print...I've already had two meetings this morning.

Nathan has a surprise coming when he drops off this week's dry cleaning. I wonder how much they'll charge for the coat part of Eleanor's chicken costume?

A Place More Kind Than Home

My friend Aileen and I have been trading writing exercises as a way to sharpen our dulled writing skills. This week's, chosen by moi, was for us to write a Dear John letter from our favorite piece of furniture.

Please keep in mind that I took poetic license with elements here, so this is merely based on some facts (Sorry, Mom, I'm sure the Barrister wasn't really disappointed to be in your room. And there really haven't been any actual close calls, just many imagined ones that have made me a bit sick to my stomach...).

Dear Hanna,

I loved your grandmother very much even though I was not the center of her life. She brought me in to her home many years ago. I thought I was on my way to displaying valuables or even holding her husband’s important ledgers; however, to my disappointment she put me in your mother’s room where I housed your mother’s and aunt’s doll furniture like some sort of giant dollhouse. I came to accept this as my lot in life; at least I was out of the way of your rowdy uncle’s ever bouncing soccer ball. 

Things began to look up as the children left the nest and your grandparents made the long move to Vermont. They kept me even as they got rid of some of the lesser furniture (I was relieved that some of the coarser elements in the household were sold off. That bookshelf had always leered lasciviously at me from down the hall.)

I had hoped that I would have a more prominent placement in the new home and was thrilled to hear that I would be placed downstairs in the dining room for all to see. I looked forward to holding your grandmother’s beautiful wedding place settings or some of the lovely blue glassware she collected on lamp buying expeditions with your grandfather.

It was sadly not to be, however, as I was placed in the front entry hallway between the dining room and the living room. It took me years to realize the full disappointment of this placement. The family always gathered in the kitchen, and visitors did not come to the front door but to the side door down the hall. The hallway was merely a passageway between two destinations. Only children seemed to linger by my side with all others walking purposefully past without a glance in my direction.

I tried to find the bright side to my situation. I now held exotic, one-of-a-kind dishes and goblets. I had the company of a whole menagerie of animal serving dishes and pitchers-chickens, ducks, moose, a kitten, and even a bunny or two. I was safe from the clumsiest of newly walking grandchildren as they did not usually venture to the uneven slate floor on which I rested. But I could never quite see what was going on in the household-it was always maddeningly just out of reach, around the smallest of corners to my left or right.

I was devastated for your grandmother the day that your grandfather died, and devastated for myself when I discovered that your grandmother had died (I contend that it was of a broken heart), but I held out hope that I would go to one of the grandchildren who would care for me as your grandmother did. I had high hopes when I discovered you had claimed me (though immense trepidation to find how far I would have to travel to get to you). It was a terrifying and very bouncy ride though thankfully your father is a very thorough packer, meticulously wrapping each of my glass doors.

It was a happy few years at the center of your home, as I was able to continue displaying much of your grandmother’s dishes and even continued to have one of my chicken friends keeping me company. Yes, I had to get used to the hustle and bustle again (your house is much louder than your grandparents’ had been for many years), but I have not survived the past 100 years by being entirely inflexible. These old wood slats can still bend a bit.

However, I come to the point of this letter. This past year has required too much from me. There have been too many close calls as you have been distracted with broom and mop handles. There have been too many moments of frozen panic as a chair pushed quickly back from the table has nearly toppled into me, and there have been too many instances of last second snatches of that damnable wooden xylophone mallet from your feral toddler as she headed directly toward my delicate glass doors. (Pardon my language; I must take a moment to collect myself.)

Do you know how many years these curved glass panels have survived? I have not made it this far to see them smashed in a moment of mayhem! And let me point out that nearly every moment in your once quiet household is now filled with mayhem. I cannot live like this. My blood pressure is as elevated as my once exalted status as the best piece of furniture you own. Now, however, instead of being a source of pride, I am merely a liability.

Don’t think that I don’t know you now gaze at my pristine glass with dread. You and I both know that you would have a nearly impossible time trying to replace one of these panels should when your little hellion darling finally destroys me. I can no longer just sit and accept my fate. I am leaving for safer accommodations. I’m sure there’s a racetrack or bowling alley somewhere that requires a trophy case. Lord knows they’ll be quieter than your dining room.

Best,

Barrister Bookcase

I Want Wednesday-Tiny Kid Edition

Here are a few of the things I've had to talk myself out of buying for E this week...

A small collection of magnetic blocks with a carry pouch you can have in your purse...genius!

Talked myself out of it: Only thing happening with these blocks right now would be E eating them...



Tablecloth that doubles as an adorable playhouse...gorgeous!

Talked myself out of it: Only thing happening with this cloth would be her pulling it (and everything on the table) off and across the floor...


Marbleworks set that provided my sisters and me with hours of building and marble racing fun for at least a decade...in fact, I kind of want to play with it now even as an adult.

(Why I Should) talk myself out of it: Only thing happening with this is that she would eat ALL the marbles immediately.
(But I really really want it, and I'm having a Discovery Toy party on Friday so I might buy it and store it away for, yes, I know, a very long while.)

Cross Another One Off the Life List

Got a little busy last year and lost a lot of my blogging inspiration. Just realized today that I never posted evidence of one of my Life List accomplishments: To make my children their first Halloween costume.

Though I only have one child currently, I am justified in crossing this one off the Life List because I'm pretty sure any subsequent children will wear the same costume for their first Halloween because it took forever to make and because it's pretty original. I made it all myself without a pattern. Even her little sweatpants were made using a second hoodie as they did not have any baby sweats in the right color.

Our first family Halloween costume theme: Chicago Hot Dog

Nathan went as our favorite hot dog restaurant worker (Wolfy's), while I went as your typical Chicagoan Hot Dog Eater, and Eleanor was a Grade A, one of a kind, 100% all Vienna Beef Chicago Hot Dog with all the fixings (poppy seed bun, yellow mustard, onions, pickle relish, sport peppers, and a tomato wedge). I even sprinkled her with celery salt for total authenticity.

You Know You're a Booklover

Last week I got a little carried away on our employee ordering site (I get 60% off Penguin books!) and ended up spending about 3 times as much as I intended. I eagerly awaited the package and when it arrived on Wednesday, it felt like Christmas morning!

But here's the thing, not a single one of the books in that box was over 25 pages...they were all for Eleanor. And she's FIVE MONTHS OLD. Kid can usually manage to enjoy one whole book in a sitting, sometimes two if she's in the right mood, but I'll level with you and admit that I realize she doesn't care what we're reading. In fact, a couple of weeks ago, she seemed just as enthralled when I read some of my Dublin Murder Squad novel out loud to her (it was very enjoyable for us both. Nothing like getting to read a tough Irish guy's speech patterns out loud. Sometimes cursing can be really fun. No, Eleanor, that's not true. It makes us look cheap. Don't curse. Unless you can do it with an Irish accent.)

However, as I pulled book after book out of the box, positively cackling with glee, I realized I may have an addiction. A serious addiction demonstrated by the full two shelves already dedicated to books for Eleanor. But I'll tell you this-we read every one of those books aloud that afternoon, and Eleanor did not pull her usual shriek/freakout in the middle of any of them.

Some of the best ones that we acquired:

Secret Pizza Party (This one even got a thumbs up from Daddy, and he's a hard sell. The running commentary of asides from him when he's reading to Eleanor is the stuff of comedy routines. "Holy cow, that beard in the costume shop is almost twice as much as the hat. No wonder he went with the hat and trench coat as his disguise..." "Look, Eleanor! That guy bought the beard!")
The Day the Crayons Quit
Stuck
Lost and Found
This Moose Belongs to Me

Just a Minute: August 2013

August was a learning month for me. I had to learn to let go as Eleanor started daycare, I learned that I really can't prepare for Leisure Games by myself anymore, and I learned that Miley Cyrus has a lot of tattoos. I try not to watch her somewhat disturbing video, but that song is so catchy.

reading...I just finished the fourth book in the Dublin Murder Squad series by Tana French. They are incredibly good. A lot of people were probably turned off from her later novels because her first one, Into the Woods, didn't ever solve one of the mysteries. Her later ones tie up all the loose ends, however, and they keep getting better and better. This one, Broken Harbor, left me incredibly unsettled for days afterward. I don't want to give anything away, but it was so well-written that the details of the book stayed with me.

listening...A Ghost in My House by Lucy Schwartz never gets old no matter how many times I listen to it.

adjusting...Eleanor's first day of daycare of August 26th. It was awful. But only for me. She was her usually sunny self, happy when I left her, happy when I picked her up again. It's never going to get easier, I'm told. Preschool, grade school, high school, college. Every time I say goodbye to her as she stands on the brink of a new precipice, I will be a mess. Sigh. Having a kid just tears you open and exposes your tender insides to the world.

Photo by Béatrice Peltre
via allabroadbaby.com

cooking…I have made numerous batches of Oatmeal Carmelitas this month. It seems they go over well for every occasion. As this is the beginning of zucchini season, I broke out my favorite zucchini recipe, Cherry Tomato, Zucchini, & Goat Cheese Clafoutis, while Sarah was here, and I plan to make it again at least a few more times this fall. 

Finding a Balance

My soon-to-be brother-in-law shared this blog post on Facebook the other day, and as I am newly back to work post maternity leave, I found this section particularly meaningful.

And in that moment it suddenly dawned on me what was taking me down. We (myself included) admire the obsessively dedicated. At work we hail the person for whom science and teaching is above all else, who forgets to eat and drink while working feverishly on getting the right answer, who is always there to have dinner and discussion with eager undergrads. At home we admire the parent who sacrificed everything for the sake of a better life for their children, even at great personal expense. The best scientists. The best parents. Anything less is not giving it your best.

And then I had an even more depressing epiphany. That in such a world I was destined to suck at both.

Needless to say it took a lot of time, and a lot of tears, for me to dig myself out of that hole. And when I finally did, it came in the form of another epiphany. That what I can do, is try to be the best whole person that I can be. And that is *not* a compromise. That *is* me giving it my very best. I’m pretty sure that the best scientists by the above definition are not in the running for most dedicated parent or most supportive spouse, and vice versa. And I’m not interested in either of those one-sided lives. I am obsessively dedicated to being the best whole person I can be. It is possible that my best whole is not good enough for Harvard, or for my marriage; I have to accept that both may choose to find someone else who is a better fit. But even if I don’t rank amongst the best junior faculty list, or the best spouses list, I am sure there is a place in the world where I can bring value.

Because frankly, my best whole person is pretty damn good.

I've been struggling with that first epiphany too. In trying to be everything to everyone, I am going to suck so much at overachieving at it all. Thank goodness there's someone out there like Radhika Nagpal speaking up. I know I'm still going to shed a lot of tears on this in the coming months and even years, but at least I know I'm not alone in the struggle. I just need to be the best whole person I can be and know that it's enough.
 

Hello/Goodbye Neighbor

We are close with a number of neighbors who now love Eleanor nearly as much as we do. The bookshelf in her room is decorated with things given to her from various neighbors. She has an antique stork figurine from one, a Japanese doll from another, and rainbow beads from her "uncles." She's so lucky to have them all in her life.

Recently our 94-year-old neighbor, Kathleen, moved to Vegas to live with her daughter. She told Eleanor how sad she was that she wouldn't get to see her grow. It broke my heart a little. Her family is selling her building, so Nathan, Sarah (our summer nanny), and I have been cleaning and cleaning and cleaning to take care of all the things her kids left (such as a refrigerator FULL of perishable food)!? Nathan's even pulling up the carpeting that's been there since the '60's at least.

Maybe a third of the jars she had stored in her cabinets.
This is a full size trash can.

Emptying the huge pantry, we've found some ancient canned goods, a nearly antique box of Club crackers (1986), and lots of really fun items that I will post about later. Kathleen was in the Japanese internment camps here during WWII, so she is very frugal and careful with her things as a result. She is the ultimate recycler, keeping everything to use again and again from the netting from her onions to toilet paper rolls and EVERY instant coffee glass jar she'd ever bought.

It certainly teaches me two lessons, one about how she was able to live happily with things that were decades old, not feeling the need for lots of material possessions (I'm not sure how long that lesson will stick though-sorry Nathan). And the other about weeding out your belongings periodically so you aren't one day pulling 15 bags of dried mushrooms so old they're nearly dust out of boxes in your pantry.

A Song for My Daughter

This one brings tears to my eyes every time I play it (and I've been playing it practically nonstop). Eleanor remains unimpressed by it so far.

Parenthood

It's a pretty heavy thing being wholly responsible for the life of a human being. You literally hold that little baby's life in your hands (and never do I feel that more than when I'm holding my slippery wet baby over our bathroom's marble floors-I can vividly picture the awfulness of dropping her there.)
  

At three in the morning I never disliked something as wholeheartedly as my crying baby...only to feel overwhelmed with such an intense love for her a mere three hours later. In the beginning, Nathan asked me a number of times why anyone would ever have a second child. "I will never forget this," he vowed, as she lay shrieking inconsolably in his lap. It's really hard to be a parent. No one tells you that until you're already knocked up; clearly it's a conspiracy.

But now she smiles at us. Big, wide gaping mouth smiles that make her already chubby cheeks puff out as she gurgles a hello to her daddy when he arrives home from work. And I can literally see him forgetting. Everyone tells us that as soon as we begin to feel like we have this parenting thing figured out, when we've developed a routine, that's when everything changes again, so we're just waiting for hell to break out again.

Now I count success as a day with only one incident of spit-up on my shirt, only one outfit change (hers or mine), and 2 hours of freedom while she naps. We're sleeping mostly through the night, breastfeeding is as easy as such an odd thing can be (I am attaching a human to my chest where she gets her entire nutrients from my nipples, a body part that until now has been basically decorative.), and she spends her waking moments staring, wide-eyed and awed, at everything around her.

She can almost hold herself in a seated position, nearly roll herself over, and almost laughs at peek-a-boo, and now I have to leave her. Someone expects me to be able to head back to work and actually work instead of wondering if she misses me as much as I miss her. Someone expects me to be okay with pumping milk into sterile bottles every weekday for the next 10 months instead of cuddling my snuggly daughter as she eats.

But, as awful as all that sounds, I'm actually looking forward to being back at work, to talking to adults other than my husband, to eating lunch with the use of both hands and no need to shovel everything in before my daughter starts to cry, and to being appreciated for my mind rather than feeling like I've lost it as I make up ridiculous words to "Splish Splash I was taking a bath."

It seems that ever since I went off to college, being an adult has meant being torn in half, never being entirely satisfied where I am. In college that meant that I was homesick at school and missing friends and my freedom when I was at home. After college, it meant the word "home" referred to my childhood home and to my apartment. And since having a baby, I look forward to returning to work nearly as much as I am dreading it.

Things I Would Never Have Dreamed

Before having a baby, there are a number of things that I would have assured you I would never allow to happen. Then I had a baby and realized that all bets are off.

I never would have thought I'd

But she's pretty sure she'll NEVER
do any of these things.

Say that 26 hours of labor was honestly not that bad. Boring, definitely, but not as bad as it sounds. I would even (no joke!) do it again.

Seriously contemplate sending out a picture of my boob to in-laws, family, and friends. (But she looks so adorable when she breastfeeds! I haven't actually done it, but I've been tempted, which is horrifying enough).

Go without ANY makeup in public.

Go out in public with vomit on my shirt (in multiple places).

And, in the same vein...Laugh as someone vomits down my cleavage.

Cheer every time someone burps, poos, or toots. (After many nights of intestinal distress, you too would cheer when your child FINALLY lets them rip.)

Consider an uninterrupted four hours of sleep "a full night's sleep."

Witness yet another reason Nathan gets attention from strangers. He's already had perfect strangers walk up to him on the street and say that he and his daughter are "so cute." Sigh. No one tells me that we're adorable when I'm out with her.

Feel the need to avoid putting mustard on my food. I just can't do it. It looks scarily like what we find in our newborn's diaper after each change.

Guess What I Did in April?

On April 15, at 2:19 PM (after 26 hours of labor--I'm so going to use this in our future arguments, Ellie) Eleanor Sinclair McArdle joined our family!

Needless to say, due to lack of sleep and general fogginess, I will likely not be updating the blog for awhile. Hopefully once she's on a bit of a sleep schedule I might start regaining my brainpower and general clever remarks, but I'm not counting on it (the regaining what brain I've lost AND the sleeping normally soon).

"I Don't Understand Why A Muscle Contraction is so Painful"

or Just One of the Entertaining Things My Husband Said During Birthing Class

Nathan and I had our 2-day parenting class this weekend. Though we did learn some useful things, they could easily have fit in a two or three hour class rather than the 12 hours we spent in a basement at the hospital. It was just short of torture because the weather this weekend was positively gorgeous.

To add salt to the wound, on Saturday, the second our car pulled into the garage, it began to rain. Nathan did some general yard work anyway. I stood on the covered porch and watched most of it.

One of the obnoxious openers to the class was that we had to say one interesting thing about ourselves as an icebreaker. Nathan told the class that he planned to bike up to the hospital for my delivery (jury's still out on that one), and that he was packing his clubs in the back of the car so that in case the delivery was a long one, he could head out the back door of the hospital onto the course for a quick round of golf (straight up no on that one). I pointed out that he was clearly in need of the parenting class.

Needless to say, we were probably the most entertaining couple in the class. (And likely also the most disruptive...) Many of the videos and pictures we were shown of couple interactions during labor and what to say and when to say it were so effusive and over the top touchy-feely that we did some quiet giggling and eye rolling picturing Nathan trying to do that in the midst of my labor.

We were chosen to demonstrate a position on the birthing ball to the class that required me to be sprawled across it with my behind to the sky while he molded my hips for what felt like an eternity. I suppose that may have been payback for the giggling.

I did come away from the class feeling confident that I can make it through most, if not all, of the birth naturally, which is what I had been leaning toward initially...(I cry when the dentist gives me gas, I can only imagine what a semi-paralyzed lower half will do to me emotionally!), and feeling very confident that Nathan will be supportive and keep me laughing in the delivery room (that is, if he makes it on his bike in time).

Conversation #18

Me:(Always tearfully these days): Nathan, I need you to say that I'm beautiful even though I have elephant cankles...
Him: You are.
Me:...and that you love me very much even though my face is fat.
Him: But no, it's not very.
Me: (Pause. Less tearfully.) Close, but that's not exactly what I was hoping for.
Him: Sorry, I think you're beautiful, and I love you very much. I hope you don't have to do this much longer.
Me: Me too.

Spring Showers

My family threw us a baby shower last weekend, and it was marvelous! Not only did I have all of my family around me for a long weekend, but friends came from quite a distance away to help celebrate Eleanor's imminent arrival. We had a book theme, which contributed to us receiving a whole shelf of fun books (with surprisingly no duplicates!), but we also received many other wonderful gifts.

I made a few book illustration garlands, one appetizer, and the shower favors, but other than that my mom and sisters did everything. Nathan and my dad even found time to build some gorgeous bookshelves around the top of the baby's room and the sunroom before the shower.

I am a lucky gal.

Some of the guests busily decorating onesies.

Finished onesies

A few of the decorations.

Some of the gifts we received...

Nathan and Maybe testing out the baby carrier.

The spread of goodies...

The farthest traveling friends
(though my sister-in-law, sisters, and
cousin win for longest distance overall).