The One with Seth in a Grandpa Sweater

Jason is out of town on a "business" trip. Okay. Fine. Inappropriate use of quotation marks. He is on a business trip. Playing golf. So... "" it is.

Meanwhile at the Hammond House, perfect baby Captain Sethington decided that he'd had enough of being the captain of babyhood. Because reserving whine/crying just for when you're hungry is such a waste of your young, strong, freshly off oxygen lungs. So today, he decided to cry. A special treat for mom while dad is away.

But we survived, and now that little bundle of happy is asleep in his crib for the next 11 hours. And that is why he's the captain of babyhood.

I should probably just go to bed too, but instead I'm having a healthy and balanced dinner of muddy buddies and just realized that all I've eaten today in addition to my chocolatey friends is a handful of cheerios and a peanut butter and honey sandwich.

Annnd this is why I don't blog anymore. A crying baby and a lack of food consumption. Riveting stuff over here.


His Arrival

It's 3:00 AM, Monday, December 16th and I'm awake. This is not uncommon because at 33 weeks pregnant, I wake up a lot during the night to go to the bathroom or lament that I am stuck laying on my side wishing I were laying on my back. But this time, I'm awake, and I'm in pain.
They were too painful and coming too quickly to just be practice contractions, but I was also in denial that they were the real deal. Half an hour later after trying what I could to make the pain subside, I called the nurse advice line. This denial led me to describe my situation to the nurse as such, "Hi, I'm 33 weeks pregnant, and I woke up with severe abdominal pain. The pain comes in waves about every 5 minutes." Yes, I'm pretty sure I gave her the text book definition of a contraction, but I still refused to use the word.

Even though I was planning to deliver at a hospital close to us, she told me she wanted us to go up to St Joseph's Hospital in Denver (because they have a level 3 NICU, though she didn't tell me this). I asked, "Do you want me to go now?" She responded, "Yes, go now, and if you feel the baby coming, pull over and call 911."  ....Umm, what?

At this point, I woke Jason up and told him we needed to go to the hospital. The drive there was painful. I told Jason to drive fast. We sped past not one but two cop cars on our way there and luckily neither one of them pulled us over. The whole way to the hospital, I kept thinking that the worst thing that could happen was that I'd be put on bedrest. We were supposed to be flying out to California on the 20th to spend Christmas with my family, so I was naively hoping that it was still a possibility.

When we finally got to the hospital, they brought me to an observation room. An ultrasound showed that my cervix was very thin. Then the resident checked and announced that I was dilated to a 6 and 90% effaced. ....Umm, what!? I knew enough to know that those numbers meant I wasn't going home for Christmas. The resident looked at Jason and I and told us it was likely that the baby was coming today. As this shocking news started to sink in, Jason needed some clarification, "So.. what are the chances that this baby is coming today?" Clearly, those numbers made a little less sense to him. The resident explained that there was nothing they could do to stop this baby's arrival. He was coming today. While we were slightly nervous, we were mostly excited. Actually, I was slightly nervous about his early arrival, but Jason was not at all. He was all excitement.

Once they got me into a labor and delivery room, I was dilated to an 8. It was 10 AM. Then, everything stopped. We waited and waited and waited. And since we came to the hospital unprepared to stay, we waited with very little entertainment and comfort.  They finally broke my water at 4. I started pushing a bit later. (For the record, I got the worst heartburn in my throat while pushing...which was awful. Ice chips did a whole lot of nothing.)

By 6:18 PM our sweet baby boy was crying, announcing his arrival to the world.

At 33 weeks he was a whopping 4 lbs 15.8 oz and 18 1/4 inches long.

We named him Seth Douglas Hammond.


Oh hiiiiiii

I think I've reached the "I feel huge and would prefer to never go out in public" stage of pregnancy... annnd I'm only 33 weeks. Here we go.

So Craigslist. I keep telling myself to stop visiting that site. But I've found so many gems already (e.g. wine button-tufted chairs, a rustic West Elm console table, vintage metal lockers, a mid-century dresser) that it's hard to just say no. I told myself I was done when I'd finished furnishing the family room, kitchen, and master. But the office/guest room started calling to me, and the nursery needs to be addressed at some point. So I'm back at it, and there is no stopping me. (Furnish is a key word here. Furnished, yes. Decorated, no. There are still no holes in any of our walls. Not a one.)

Speaking of the house, we've been in it for a month and a half and Jason and I still turn to each other and say, "This house is awesome."

Grizz is the worst. And I love him. But for about 10 minutes every day, I dislike him greatly. And for the other 1,430 minutes... he is asleep.

And now for the captioned life:
1. The Colorado sky was showing off.
2. This is the extent of our Christmas decorations this year. I feel like a failure. Sorry Christmas, you deserve better.
3. A little family picture from Thanksgiving.


That's what you get wise guy

I'm happy to report that this year at Wellington Lake, we did not have any bear sightings. The only bear in sight was sick little Grizzly. He climbed into one of the kids camping chairs and was so dang cute, we didn't kick him out of it.
In another area of the campsite, there was equal cuteness going on from this little baby girl that I love so much.
More babies, and older babies, and oldest babies.
This girl took glamping to a whole new level. Leopard print, bedazzled pink hats. She's got it going on.
Guess who was not glamping.
And because it's not a Hammond get together without a made up game...
The Rules:
On go start running.
Kids throw on 1.
Girls throw on 2.
Boys were assigned different numbers after that.
And don't forget to run fast.
And probably don't stop.


Wrong or Right

I was determined to prove my point. Luckily, this failure of mine works out to benefit us all anyway.

All during American Idol, I kept telling Jason that Phillip Phillips looked just like Matt Saracen aka Seven aka Zach Gilford. (This is now the appropriate time to tell you that if you haven't yet watched Friday Night Lights, you really need to get on that. And for the majority of you that have watched it, Clear eyes, full hearts!) Unfortunately, my "look how right I am collage" quickly turned into, "Okay, I was a little off but let's just finish it because...why the heck not?! collage."

So without further ado:

Twins? Brothers? Cousins? Or do I need glasses?