3 Months Old

Our little baby is 3 months old this week!  My how time flies...

We did, in fact, get more snow last week, as we had hoped for since it was going to be so darn cold.  It was somewhere around 6 inches, and it was beautiful:

The view from our front porch last Wednesday evening.  Unreal.

On Wednesday afternoon, all 3 of us bundled up and headed outside in the 20-degree weather to play in the snow for a few minutes.  Sweet Susannah could hardly open her eyes because the snow was so bright!  She liked it for a few minutes, until her mean ole mommy and daddy decided we wanted to see how she would react to lying in it...

Daddy had a hard time opening his eyes, too.

POOR BABY!!

We are heading to Harrisonburg for a few days this week since Pete has a conference near there; we are pumped to spend some more time with family!  Here's hoping the 3-hour trip there and the 3-hour trip back go better than last time...

And the day after we return from Harrisonburg, Uncle Eric, Aunt Lauren, Hudson, and Holland are coming in town to visit!!!!!!  My exclamation points do not do our enthusiasm justice -- we are SO EXCITED to have them come spend a few days with us.  I've been researching for 3 weeks things for us to do in our little, rural town without a whole lot of luck.  Fingers crossed there's at least a live auction or something that pops up...

Babies Are Fickle and Chickens are Neat

January 15th, 2014 will go down in the books as the first night Susannah Jane Acker slept through the whole night without so much as a stir.  I, of course, woke up at 5 wondering if she was alive in there and proceeded to wake up every 10 minutes thereafter, anticipating her cry that never came.

Of course the very next day, Susannah was hit with a growth spurt and has been absolutely ravenous at 4:00am each day since.  But we know now that she's got it in her to make it through the night, so we're looking forward to getting back to that point again soon!

Also, it is important to note that we bought some Buff Orpingtons today.  They should start laying eggs by May!  Here's to not buying anymore eggs to feed my "grown-ass man" husband (how he likes to refer to himself) and our growing-booty girl baby.  Once we get our fruit trees and bushes planted and our spring garden started, we'll be regular locavores off our own land (and, I suppose, the land where Pete kills our meat).


Without further ado, here's a small sample of our entertainment this week.

Firstly, a video example of how Susannah's legs never stop.  Think changing her diaper is easy?  Think again!  Think changing her diaper is super cute?  Every time?  Minus the poo?  It sure is!

Nextly, some cute baby pics.

Heading outside for a little walk around the house with Daddy.

Tummy Time is slowly growing on us.

Susannah is becoming more and more interested in the TV when we have it on.  So during the NFL playoff games last night, she and I sat away from the TV to play but close enough for me to hear what was going on.  And yes, she is pants-less.

Playing in the musical gym.

Lastly, our new babies.  We are now a family of 7.

That coop is a Pete Acker original, folks, that he designed and built right in the shop next to where the coop resides.  

That's all for this week!

A Glimmer of Hope

We have been so lucky that Susannah has been relatively easy during the nighttime hours.  Since about 4 weeks, she's been only waking up once, and over the course of the last month, she's been extending her time between night feedings like a champ.  This past Friday night, she cried for her paci at 4:05am, and that was it!  No feeding!  She went right back to sleep after it was popped in and slept until 7am.  WOW.  The next night, we had a dinner party to go to, so her schedule was a little off, but she still slept from 9:30pm until 4:15am, when she ate an early-morning breakfast and went right back to snoozing until 7:15am.  Two nights in a row of 7+ hours straight??  I thought we had arrived.

Then Sunday night happened.

Bedtime at 8:30.  Dreamfeed at 10:30.  Should sleep until at least 4, according to new pattern that she would obviously stick to...  Wakes at 1:30.  Wakes at 3:00.  Wakes at 5:00.  Wakes at 6:00.  Wakes at 6:45.  Poop EVERYWHERE.  Mommy picks up poop-soaked, crying Baby to remove poop-soaked swaddle and clothing only to notice these were not the only poop-soaked items.  Mommy straps baby in on changing table so she can strip crib of all things soiled -- everything but the mattress itself.  But if you know anything about cribs, you know that entire mattress must be removed in order to strip it of anything.  Mommy wakes Daddy to share in this poopy experience so crying Baby can eat and be happy and laundry can be relocated to washing machine.

And that's how our Monday began.

Of course, in the hour of play time that followed, Susannah was cooing and smiling more than ever, so all was forgotten.  I seem to remember using similar tactics with my parents as a teenager.  Interesting...it's learned so young.

And now, more proof of her cuteness:

Her favorite thing to watch, second only to the ceiling fan.  We play with this toy at least an hour a day.

Playing with Freddie the Firefly.  I don't think she even realized she was holding on to it.

Our dinner party outfit - cute as a BUTTON

We like Susannah to be versatile, so we let her nap in random places sometimes, such as a blanket pallet on the floor.

We lost power the night it got down to 15 degrees, so Pete put Susannah inside his jacket for a while, and she could not take her eyes off the candles!

Susannah will sit in my lap and follow my fingers up and down the keys for longer than she'll do most anything else.  Luckily, she isn't aware that I'm playing the one song I remember from middle school piano lessons over and over and over again...

And lastly, an adorable video of Susannah's reaction when I blow in her face:

Changes on the Homefront

The due date countdown: 43 days!  Baby Susannah will be here before we know it, which means the following things are going on in the Acker house:

• Extreme deep cleaning
• Waddling, lots of waddling
• Installation of safety outlets - 43, to be exact... apparently the previous owners never wanted to use extension cords.  We would have gladly just bought those el cheapo outlet plugs, but ALL outlet and light switch covers had been painted over, so poor Pete has been replacing ALL of them.
• Baby furniture painting and assembly, along with multiple rearrangements
• Pete having to help heave me up from sitting, lying, squatting, kneeling, etc.  
• Crying at the drop of a hat (me, not Pete... that I know of anyway)

...Among other things.  It becomes more of a reality everyday that we will have a third body to care for very soon - a month and a half, give or take a few days, Lord willing.  I have been holding Matthew 6:34 close to my heart as we draw near to the big day with great anticipation: "Do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself."  The enemy would love for me to dwell on all the things that could potentially go wrong over the next few days, months, and years.  I could very easily give into all those anxious concerns about what life will hold for us as parents or, more importantly, what life will hold for our sweet baby girl.  Nobody wants that, but all - yes, all - pregnancy books address these concerns because it is SUCH a common thing for expectant mothers.

Thankfully, the Lord has reminded me over and over again that He has every detail of our future already worked out, so there's no need for my worrying.  One recent reminder came last Sunday at church.  We sang the well-known hymn "Because He Lives" just before the sermon, and I could hardly sing because of the emotion that was overtaking me.  I know verse 1 and the chorus like the back of my hand because this was a benediction favorite of my parents' church, where I grew up going.  But verse 2...oh my.  I don't believe I ever remember singing it before:

How sweet to hold

A newborn baby,

And feel the pride

And joy he gives.

But greater still

The calm assurance:

This child can face

Uncertain days

Because He lives!

Granted, any song, story, or sentence that has the word "baby" or "Jesus" (or "it," or "the"...) in it makes me cry these days, but what truth!  Praise the Lord: I can rest assured that Susannah is under the protection of Jesus - a protection much stronger and more reliable than what Pete or I could ever give her - as she faces each and every new day.  We will still change our electrical outlets, buy a crib and carseat that meets safety regulations, not leave knives laying around on the floor... and all that other stuff that's probably in her best interest; our prayer, though, is that we can cling to the truth of God's sovereignty, knowing that we are just vessels of His protection for her and that she is ours on loan from the Father.  Praise Him for entrusting us with that responsibility, and we can ALL face uncertain days because He lives!

UPDATE: Pete's Finger Injury

Here is the X-ray that was taken last week of Pete's finger.  You probably notice the shattered bone, but if you're extra-observant, you may also notice the faint, crooked fingernail.  You should count yourselves lucky that X-rays do not show blood or mangled skin.  That, my friends, is disgusting.

The doctors are now saying that it "should" heal on its own just fine, so no surgery or cut off fingertips just yet.  We'll just have to wait and see how the sucker heals!

Pete's Inaugural Hospital Visit

I guess living in the country and owning some land means that you will eventually have some mishap that leads to a bloody visit to the hospital (bloody meaning dealing with literal blood, not the British definition meaning dern, though I guess both would be appropriate).  We made it safely through our first month here, but the inevitable hit last night.

We had invited some neighbors over for dinner last night, and I was going to prepare my normal go-to impressive meal of Chicken Lasagna Florentine, which takes me like 5 hours to create.  (It should not take this long.)  I add approximately 18 unnecessary steps to any given recipe, however, so knowing this, I began preparing the meal with the exact amount of time it would take me to be pulling everything out of the oven exactly 10 minutes after our guests arrived.  They would walk in to a perfectly clean kitchen, a set table, and glasses awaiting me to pour their beverage of choice.  An enjoyable dinner depended on my appearing to be a timely and perfect hostess!  I mean, come on, I had even ironed my cloth napkins.*  They were bound to be impressed.

About 2 minutes and 15 seconds before it was time for the lasagna to be placed in the oven, I hear Pete casually call from the back door.  "Hey, babe?  Can you bring me some paper towels?  Um, a lot of paper towels?"  Pete had come home early from work to mow the lawn before our 6:00 dinner plans.  Because of the lack of urgency in his voice, I threw a few dishes in the sink, put some things back in the fridge, grabbed the roll of paper towels, and casually walked them out back to my husband.  The man was pacing around the deck, appearing slightly distressed, and holding something close to his stomach.  Upon closer inspection, that something that Pete was clutching with an increasingly blood-soaked t-shirt was his middle finger.  My immediate fear was that half his finger was out in the yard somewhere and he was holding on for dear life to what was left of his birdie.  "Pete?!  What'd you do?  What'd you DO?  Where's your finger??  Is it still attached???  Oh my gosh, that's a lot of blood!  PETE, WHAT'D YOU DO??" Looking back, maybe asking, "Are you okay?" or, "What can I do to make this situation better for you?" would have been better options.  I need to work on more appropriate knee-jerk reactions.

Needless to say, the next half-hour was spent cleaning, bandaging, and elevating a thankfully still-attached, though crooked and fingernail-less, finger that Pete had attempted to use to quickly swipe some grass off the mower while it was running.   Not phased, Pete still wanted to have our neighbors over for dinner and told me that he'd just go to the doctor the next morning.  Tough guy!  Knowing that my plans of appearing to be the perfect hostess had dissolved - followed shortly by the dissolve of my pride - I was quite phased, and slowly went back to preparing dinner on a cluttered kitchen counter next to a sink of dirty dishes as our neighbors came up the driveway and Pete headed to clean up.

The evening proceeded like normal, with the exception of Pete's constantly elevated right hand.  ("Yes, Pete?  Did you have a question?")  His visit to Urgent Care this morning confirmed what we had suspected: a dirty, ripped fingernail and broken finger.  More specifically, the end of Pete's finger is kind of, well, shattered, and the man is at this moment being prepped for surgery to either get it pieced back together or get the tip cut off.

If I were in that situation (as a woman) I would be FREAKING OUT about the physical appearance of missing part of my finger.  Pete, however, is still not phased because, as he said last night, "I shoot left-handed anyway..."  Life would only be bothered if hunting season was bothered!  He also expressed excitement over the fact that he now has a new story to tell our 4-year-old niece Charis, who always wants to hear stories about how you fell down and scraped your knee, or got hit in the head with a ball, or got a spanking, or anything else that took some physical toll.  Pete can't wait to tell her the bloody details of nearly slicing his finger off in the blade of a lawn mower!  Classic!

_________________________________________
* Included only because my mom will eventually read this and such details remind her that I haven't failed as a homemaker.

Beginnings

I’m currently looking out my back window at the biggest pile of horse poop I’ve ever seen.  A local farmer was more than happy to haul his excess horse excrement from his farm in a dump truck for the sake of our compost pile, and thus it sits.  Pete hasn’t had to leave town for work once since we moved in to our new house but is, of course, not here to do anything about it for the next 2 days because of a training, so I’m just stuck staring at it, imagining what the heck our neighbors are thinking.  I’m sure they already think we’re a little on the crazy side because Pete’s been spotted using a reel mower, planting broccoli in the dark of night, flipping tractor tires, and doing hundreds of squats/lunges/pick-your-poisons, all for the fun of it.  So in actuality, our neighbors think that Pete’s crazy based on logical observation and that I’m just crazy for tying myself to that strange man.  But they sure are nice to our faces, so we can’t complain about that. 

The anticipation of the poop delivery had been looming for several weeks prior to today’s dump truck deposit, while my excitement to compost began months prior.  My plan: we’d start with a trashcan, add my coffee grounds and some scraps, toss in the mowed grass, and build our compost from there.  Pete’s plan came out of the woodwork the day he found out that farmers give their animal crap away for FREE.  “Sal, they just GIVE it to you, no questions asked!”  The Ackers are a frugal people, and no good deal ever goes unnoticed.  A small trashcan would not do, I would soon learn; it would take a solid portion of our backyard to handle the amount of poop we just came into (for free, mind you).   

I was about to go outside to take a picture of the brown mass of a pile for you, but I just heard the next-door neighbor start up his lawn mower.  I’m not sure if I’m ready for the “what the hell ya’ll got that huge pile a’ horshit for?” conversation just yet.  I’ll let Pete handle that one when he gets back in town so the neighbors will continue thinking he’s crazy, and I was just blinded by love.

Okay, I made it in and out without being spotted.  It's hard to tell just how big the pile is because of the scale of our yard and our neighbor's yard combined.  Just trust me on this: the dump truck was fully loaded.