After Jay's surgery, we had a little while in the recovery area to be sure he wouldn't immediately die before we were admitted to a real room for the night. Spoiler alert: Jay did not die. The room, like the rest of the hospital, was super nice, and at that point Jay was already able to help transfer himself from the OR stretcher to the regular hospital bed. Painful, but able.
We got him in bed where he was 100% naked and freezing but didn't want to put on clothes because it was too hard, and isn't that the way it always goes when you're sick? Family was chomping at the bit (understandably, it was 8pm at this point) to come visit, so after we met the nurse for the night (Hi, Kate!) and got vitals we "released the hounds," as Jay says. About half the family came to visit and Jay was dozing in and out thanks to trauma-related exhausted and Dilauded, so they stayed for a few hours, brought dinner (YES) and then headed out. Jay insisted that I leave too, so about 11 left to go sleep for a few hours, which didn't work AT ALL because I was so worried. I slept for maybe 4 hours, then got ready again and went to the hospital super early on Sunday.
That's the thing about trying to sleep, it isn't nearly as much fun to rest up when your husband is alone in a hospital room in tons of pain. Luckily he texted me through the night (I keep my phone on silent so I only saw it when I was awake) with updates so I knew that he was awake-ish when I got back. The surgeon had said that he'd come back between 6 and 8 the next morning, which was alarming to me but I was determined not to miss it. The doctors at our hospital have varying schedules, with one doctor never even showing up until well after noon most days. So, I was a little wary of Dr. Geier actually being on his game at 6am on a Sunday, but I'll be damned if the man didn't roll into Jay's room all chipper in his fancy scrubs at 6:35am. Not even the tail end of his window like a cable guy (offensive or flattering to call a surgeon better than the cable guy? You decide). He talked to Jay about his pain (I'M DYING FIX ME) and said that the pain was to be expected but that as soon as Jay felt it was manageable without IV meds he could go home.
after the break are graphic leg pictures. now you know.
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Well. After 19 weeks we've got quite a little list going of all the things that are surprising to Jay about pregnancy and impending parenthood, but mostly he just comes up with the most ridiculous things to say. I would also like you to know that the following picture was taken on the exam table at our very first midwife visit with his legs in the air as if there were stirrups, which there weren't. 
When I got to around 13 weeks and we started telling people we had to go through the list of places where I work, and one of them was the yoga studio where I work and Jay practices several times a week. We only "told" one or two people, but of course those people would talk to Jay or me and people would overhear and every class we attended for the first few weeks felt like we were "telling" new people. When my friend Julia heard she looked at Jay with what can only be described as disgust and just said
you dog.
Now, if you know Julia you know that she's really quiet, amazingly fit and can stand on her head all the live-long day if asked to, and generally says hi and bye to and from class. She's very nice, but doesn't chat a ton. For some reason, her reaction was hilarious to me.
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So, today we turn 18 weeks, this little cranberry and I. Or it does? Or we do together? I have no clue. 
The beginning of trimester 2 marked telling the world about bebe, which of course opened the world's eyes to how much fun it is to give advice!
Now, I'm fully aware of how great it is to give advice, I do it for a living. What I was unprepared for is how much FREE advice I have been getting. Just for being pregnant! What a gift. I'm being silly, but in general I mean it. There are a few types of advice I don't love, however: The "oh just wait until you're a parent," kind that comes from, wait for it, usually people who don't have children. That makes me feel like an 8 year old in that I want to HOLLER to leave me the eff alone. Then there are some current parents that use that kind of "advice," and some of that has been pretty condescending and negative, but there is also the teensy matter of my hormones that makes me extra sensitive all the time.
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On my flight Saturday to Denver, I was ... solicited by a Christian man. I don't even know what to call it, but the person next to me spent the better part of a two hour flight talking to me about how the US needs to take back the Lord's will in our work as a country.
Even before we got to the awkward preachy part, "Frank" was a bit much. I thought I had it made with a seat at a window in the very front of the plane, perfect for a 6am flight that would be great for, say, sleep. Frank, though, felt the need to inform me that since there were no seats in front of us I'd probably be told to put my bag in the overhead compartment. I wasn't. We managed to take off in silence, but that was about as far as it went. Frank wanted to know all about me and my job, if I lived in Dallas (no, just connecting ), and then with zero prompting gave me all the deets about the Alaska mission trip he was headed on.
Now, make no mistake , I was giving ZERO indication that I wanted to talk. I had a magazine out that I was staring at and TURNING PAGES while Frank continued to talk. When drinks came around, Frank said very matter-of-factly. "Janis, when you are done with drinks could I please talk to you about something? " Janis seemed a little startled but came back when she was able. Bless her heart. At this point I had no idea what was going on until I heard Frank say very boldly "Janis, I have a question to ask you. My wife tells me that I put my foot in my mouth a lot, but I have to ask anyway. (Janis is nodding somewhat impatiently) Janis, do you ever pray for our country?"
Ugh. Here we go.
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Last night I had the pleasure of watching my sister Emily's production of Tom Sawyer and Company, a glorious musical.
To clarify, this was her spring production, and she is an elementary music teacher. So, the stars were 4th and 5th graders.
The show was fabulous and the children did really wonderfully. I've seen lots of Emily's performances over the years, and after each one she always asks for notes. So, to beat her to the punch, I texted her throughout the show with my incredibly insightful thoughts on the production. She also asked me to take pictures of the show and I didn't really want to because it was 40 kids standing on risers for an hour so one picture kind of told the whole story. And so now I share these texts with you, for your reading pleasure.
We begin with:
Step 1: we got here really early and I already have to pee. You have done one song so far and your hair looks really good from the back.
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So. You know how there's a thing in karma and life where REALLY AND TRULY the most ridiculous things only happen when 1. you're sober or 2. tons of other people are watching?
I've noticed a pattern in my life and have determined that this is the truth.
Example: I only spill beer (or anything) after I've had 1. After 6? I'm allllllll careful. The first drink, though, sometimes BEFORE THE FIRST SIP, is when I'm really confident in my sober motor skills and end up dumping gallons of expensive drink all over myself, cell phones, carpet, you name it.
We had a similar situation last week when we hosted a party for FIFTY PEOPLE IN OUR HOUSE. The party itself was absolutely wonderful; we did it for an out-of-town friend who came in for a surprise for his dad, and it was crowded but lovely and I think everyone had a nice time.
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So, things look a little different around here. Good different? Bad different? Tell me tell me. I'm concerned that the top of the site looks too busy but Jay likes it but also he has ADHD and overstimulation calms him. Seriously.
It's a thing. Look it up.
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Being married one year isn’t bad at all. I’m actually surprised at how some people say, “The first year of marriage was really tough.” I guess those people didn’t marry Lindsay Howerton(-Hastings). I mean, I guess half the population couldn’t marry her based on gender alone (which is Fing stupid), but somehow, due to dumb luck and clean living, I landed her. I can honestly say I’m better a person today than I was a year ago. So much has changed, while staying relatively the same. We’ve been to Hawaii together. We’ve laughed…a lot together. We’ve fought together. We’ve kayaked together. We’ve been to NYC together. We’ve cooked together. We’ve watched movies together. I seriously think we have something here.
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Guys guys guys. 
It's time! Because you're so concerned about my friends' lives and neighbors' lives, right? I know, me too. 
Like I told you, last Saturday our dear friends and neighbs Scott and Belen threw themselves a little partayyy to announce that they weren't having a girl. More on that in a minute. It was a GREAT party, and while I was super mad that they wouldn't tell anyone before the party, it was totes worth the wait and so stinking cute that they kept this secret from all of us and got to kind of BE with the news before telling the world.
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I mean, of course I did, right?
I told you we were going camping this weekend and that it was supposed to rain. IT RAINED A LOT. Like...for 24 hours straight before we were supposed to leave, so we had a family meeting with the couple we were travelling with and were all "yeah, we bought all this food and hotels suck but also being soaking overnight sucks so..."
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Guys we went hiking on Saturday. This is a picture of us hiking in January in Hawaii. The rivers of SC basically look identical.
As per the usual, it was a comedy of errors as only we can create.
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Welcome, Monday!
I need to tell you something about myself. This is a real thing. When I lived alone I kept a can of wasp spray by my bed. I really dislike wasps, but that wasn't the thing. I don't think we should have guns (yes, even you, sorry), and I think that if someone ever got close enough to me in the middle of the night to stab I might not do a very good job of protecting myself. BUT BUT BUT, I read somewhere in an article that taught women to fear the very earth they live on that wasp spray is an excellent protection device. It sprays for 20 feet and suffocates whatever it hits so....win win, right?
I never had to use it, that's not what this story is about.
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Awhile ago when we were in NYC, I spent time chatting with a woman named Terri who promotes our tournament to fancy people in LA. That's literally all I know about what she does.
I tell you that to tell you this: Terri had some sort of misconception that I was this southern belle and THAT was why I'd snagged a husband before I was 30. This was a legit conversation we had, and I think maybe it was because my hair was really big that day? And I was wearing a dress, makeup, and heels all at once? This is what I looked like selling CDs about 5 minutes into this conversation. Mom face alert!
I tell you THAT to tell you THIS: I am not a southern belle, and I did not snag a husband. I basically dragged him to the altar kicking and screaming after a slew of silly dating mishaps on my part. The idea that I've tricked anyone into thinking that I'm eloquent is just absurd. To be fair, Jay once said in a fit of madness that he was really glad that I get ready for adult milestones before he does because it gives him the push he needs to move forward. ...
I teach yoga a lot, I'm not sure if I've mentioned that before.
Syke.
Yesterday I was teaching a weird class and I got all preachy about love being simple. I have to do that sometimes when classes are...bad. They were just being bad, like all types of classes can be. Chatty, people running in and out, had to ask multiple times for quiet to start the class, you know the stuff. THEN, there was a new person who put her mat right in front and huffed and puffed really demonstratively the entire class. Also loudly said she couldn't breathe several times, which I later found was just because she recently quit smoking and it was "way too hot" in there.
It was 72 degrees.
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My mother has this thing she does where sometimes she'll tell a really unimportant lie for fun to mess with people.
Does your mother do that? Probably not. She's probably not as funny as mine.
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I say Great because I'm not one of those women who's all I WAS LOST BEFORE YOU SAVE ME LET'S RUN AWAY TOGETHER.
Have been, admittedly. It was hormone-related. If I'm the only formerly 16-year old girl who can admit that, then fine. You were all perfect, I'm the crazy one. #serialmonogamist
But now, I'm Great alone.
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It was warm on Sunday.
It's freezing now, of course, and was 25 effing degrees last night, but SUNDAY it was 70 whole degrees.
It was glorious.
I was photographing some food and the sun was going in and out, so I kept stepping on the deck to see what the dealio was so that I got the shots I wanted. I do that sometimes, but this particular day the dogs pushed through me every time to go outside.
They're labs. They pee about twice a day. So this was weird and annoying. Finally I wandered off with the door open to let them come back in on their own, but they didn't come back for a few minutes. When I cam back to look out the window to be sure they hadn't wandered off (our neighbors LOVE us), this is what I saw:
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