It Takes a Village.

I've written a lot before about how blessed I am to have such a strong support system. Looking back over my old posts, I found one devoted solely to that topic, although I mention it all the time.

Funny how the last time I was compelled to write about my support system, I was in the exact same circumstance that I'm in now. I got a colonoscopy and stricture dilation yesterday--just like I had when I wrote about this last time--and I still don't feel like myself. I'm not sure why, but every time I have one of these I wind up with a high fever for at least 24 hours afterward. And somehow I always forget that; I wake up all, like, yay! It's over! And then, bam, I'm back in bed feeling worse than I did before.

It's like I said back then--what do mothers do who aren't as lucky as I am? Adelyn has so many incredible people behind her, so many people who are not only willing to spend the day with her but who relish the chance to. My parents watched her all day yesterday while Jason came with me to the hospital. When we got home and my fever started to set in, Jason's mom ran over to help me out while Jason picked up my prescription and dinner (I hadn't been able to eat in almost 48 hours at that point).

This morning, I got out of bed and promptly threw up three times in a row. Adelyn was strapped into her bouncy seat in the living room, watching the Today Show, while I sat in the bathroom. Jason came downstairs after getting out of the shower, saw this, and insisted that she spend the day with his mom.

And dear god, was that a good idea. Because the rest of the day was spent undulating between a 103 fever and vomiting, and as sweet as Adelyn is she doesn't quite have the patience for these sort of things yet.

It's days like today that make me look at our lives and wonder how the hell some women go it alone. Without insanely supportive partners, without the most gracious and loving grandparents and great grandparents, without aunts who buy hilarious onesies and people who fly across the country just to meet their friend's child.

I sound like a broken record, since I've written nearly an identical post surrounding a colonoscopy before. But it bears repeating. Jason and I--and mostly Adelyn--are so lucky to live the lives that we do. Stricture dilations every three months and all.

And thanks to my day of rest, I feel a lot better already.

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A Closet Addition from India.

Out of all the amazing, generous gifts we've gotten for our wedding my favorite has been--of course!--something for Adelyn.

My big sister is getting married, too, in August. I've known her fiance for a while and genuinely love him, not in an I-have-to sort of way, but in an actual, even if I didn't have to I would way. He flew down for my wedding, and to show off his self-proclaimed "Baby Whisperer" skills on Adelyn.

And his parents, meeting my family for the first time, flew all the way in from Delaware to watch the sister of their future daughter-in-law get married. I was prepared to like them, especially because I don't have a big family on my side and am always excited to welcome new members, and because I know how much my sister loves them.

They were everything I could have asked for and more. Neel (future brother-in-law)'s dad, upon meeting me for the first time, told me that in Bombay, India (where they're from), I would be "the girl next door." Alright. I'll take it.

And then at the rehearsal dinner, they pulled me aside to give me something they'd gotten made for Addy during their recent trip to India.

Two baby saris. They might have thought I was a little crazy over how much I freaked out about them. They are beautiful beyond words.

Addy should be able to wear them soon, when she's about a year old. Even if they're a little big they will be making an appearance at my sister's Hindu/Jewish wedding in August.

And even if that's the only time she gets to wear them in public, I'm sure they'll be a big part of her dress-up repertoire later. And they look damn good hanging in her closet amidst a sea of pink.

This is what I love about family. Who would have thought my baby would be getting custom designed saris from India? I never could've dreamed it.

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Mr. and Mrs.

A picture from the rehearsal, until I can show off the real ones.

Mommy and daddy are married.

I have a new last name and a husband. I now have the same last name as my daughter. I'm a wife. I'm wearing a wedding ring. I have a new sister, mother, and father-in-law, along with a whole host of new family members.

Other than that, not much has changed. Jason and I have been committed to each other as if we were married for years. When we reunited after some time apart two years ago--three months after that he proposed--I already knew this was my life partner, officially, forever. We were already living together. A few months after the proposal, we found out about Adelyn. We already knew we were spending our lives side by side, for better or for worse, and Adelyn pretty much sealed the deal.

Way back when we got engaged I signed up for those pesky monthly newsletters from TheKnot.com. Doesn't every overly-excited girl do that? And let me just tell you now, I used those things about as often as I use our fancy bottle warmer. Never. Yesterday, a day after the wedding, I got an e-mail with the subject line "Congratulations!" It was the first one I'd actually opened from TheKnot. And all they wanted to tell me about was this thing called "post-nuptial blues."

Geez. Before we'd even opened our gifts I was being warned about this new mind-altering, depressive state.

So. I'll just say that I, for one, am not all that worried about depression right now. Sure, the wedding's over, and part of me feels a twinge of sadness at that thought, just because I want to relive it again, and again, and again. I see now why people renew their vows, a practice I always thought was sort of superfluous. I get it. They just want another night of dancing and gifts and seeing everyone you love under one roof. If Jason and I had the money we'd renew our vows every year, fly all of our friends in and get all dressed up and stand up in front of everyone to tell each other how amazing the other is.

Sunday night was the best night of my life. Period. Coming in a close second is the night Adelyn was born, which was, I guess, more profound in a lot of ways, except I was on zero sleep and nurses were pushing on my belly until I was screaming in pain after I gave birth. Luckily there was no such practice after we said "I do."

This weekend was also the first time in years that all of my best friends have been in the same place at the same time. The bachelorette party and rehearsal dinner are entirely separate stories for later. There's just too much to tell.

From left: Elise, Crystal, Meagan, Alex, Erin, Morgan, me, and Jasmine.

On Thursday, I brought Adelyn to my parents house to hang out with my sister. On my way back out to the car, I was leaning forward to put Adelyn's DEARGOD so, so heavy car seat in its base when I stepped down at the wrong angle and my ankle twisted all the way inward. The pain was so intense it almost didn't register immediately. I got in my car, put the key in the ignition, and drove back to my apartment, my entire foot and ankle throbbing with each press of the gas pedal. Jason was waiting for me at home, recovering from food poisoning. He'd been up all night throwing up. Thankfully, his crisis was ending just as soon as mine was beginning. I called him from the parking lot of our apartment and asked him to come carry Adelyn. I couldn't walk. I sat in my car, trying to put weight on my foot outside the door, and it just wasn't happening. The pain was too intense. Jason got Adelyn inside and then came back for me. He carried me inside, got some ice for my already-swelling foot, and listened to me sob for an hour about the devastating fact that I would not be able to walk down the aisle. Of course. Of course this would happen, the day before my bachelorette party and three days before the wedding.

Jason used to be a sponsored skateboarder when he was a teenager, so he's no stranger to injured feet. In fact, he's an expert. He's broken, sprained, and twisted those ligaments so many times his feet are completely flat. (Sorry, baby. I still think your feet are the cutest feet ever.) So a few hours after the catastrophe that was my ankle twisting, Jason had me walking around the apartment. I was walking like an idiot. I was sobbing. I was dragging my foot behind me like a zombie. It hurt almost as bad as labor. (Keep in mind I got an epidural and the pain stopped when I was dilated to a four.) But I was walking, albeit walking while enduring excruciating pain. And this, Jason told me, meant that I would be fine. If it was broken or even sprained, he said, walking on it wouldn't even be an option, pain or not. So I went to bed that night hopeful I would wake up and the throbbing would be gone.

I woke up around three in the morning, and it was worse. I didn't want to wake Jason up again since he was on Adelyn-duty that night, so I crawled out of bed. I crawled down our stairs, through our living room, then to our kitchen. I reached for some Tylenol and gulped it down. And then I crawled back upstairs.

When I woke up, I could walk. My foot was bruised and it still hurt, but the intense throbbing was gone. After that relief, knowing I'd be able to walk at my own wedding without crutches, the rest sort of flew by me. I stopped worrying about all the little details and just enjoyed it. I guess it was a sort of blessing in disguise.

I wanted to write yesterday about this weekend but I didn't know where to start. The highlight was probably the cliche moment when I saw Jason for the first time walking down the aisle, because how can you top that? You can't. But then there was my dad's incredible speech. My best friend Meagan's toast, where she reminded everyone how we met fourteen years ago debating who had the higher reading level. It also could have been Jason's dad serenading us to Elvis (I made him promise he would do this a year ago, and he refused. Guess the wine made him rethink it). Or my oldest friend Melissa performing "At Last" a cappella. Beautifully. Maybe Adelyn's aunt Erin carrying her down the aisle. Jason's mom getting down on the dance floor to Kool and the Gang. My best friend Morgan grabbing the mic to welcome Jason into our close-knit group of friends. My pregnant best friend Elise shimmying on the dance floor while holding her belly. My mom gripping my hand as we walked down the aisle. Our photographer and my good friend Justin breakdancing after he put the camera down. The dance contest for the bouquet to Beyonce's "Put a Ring on It." It could have been Jason smashing the glass after we said our vows, and it also could have been when I accidentally dropped and smashed my wine glass from dancing with just a little too much enthusiasm. Or when I went to check on Adelyn upstairs and found her sitting in her great grandma's lap, stripped down to her diaper because of the heat, snoozing.

And it might just have been the end of the night, after Jason and I finally got in our getaway car, both drowsy from too much champagne and excitement (we weren't driving), when I laid my head on his shoulder and we sat in the quiet and held hands, peaceful, content, and finally married.

Adelyn didn't even make a peep during the ceremony. She sat on my mom's lap, watching her parents say their vows to each other and watched with a happy smirk on her face. I couldn't have asked for more.

For now, I'll leave you with our vows. Nothing else could really sum up the weekend better.

Mine: I, Sarah, take you, Jason, to be my husband. I take you to be my forever friend, my faithful companion, and my constant comedian. I vow to love you every day, on the days you’ve gotten enough sleep and even when you haven’t. I vow to listen wholeheartedly and with true excitement to the details of every new passion you discover. I vow to let you play guitar every day, all day, if that’s what you want, and to sing along always. I vow to be the best mother I know how to be to our daughter Adelyn, and to never, ever forsake her or you and to always place my family first. Above all else I vow to love you more with each passing day, and to never forget the happiness I felt nearly seven years ago when I met you and realized I found my soul mate. I give you my hand, my heart, my soul and my self, as long as we both shall live.

Jason's: From the start of our first date I knew one day we'd be standing right here. In the past six and a half years we've both been swept away on a crazy journey, constantly turning and forging onward. And with those turns and life's many surprises we've always found a center in one another. A center that is real, constant, and will always feel like home to me. I vow to always be your center, no matter how far or fast life turns, to be right there with you. To always remain faithful and to honor you with each passing day. To be a partner, a friend, and a soulmate that you can rely on. And to never let you forget just how much you mean to me. I'll give you my unconditional love as long as we both shall live.

(Get ready to be inundated with wedding pictures as soon as I get them.)

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Family.

Last night I talked to my first cousin on the phone for hours.

This is not in and of itself a remarkable thing. Jason, for example, talked to two of his cousins yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that.

But I haven't talked to my cousin, or any members of my family outside of our nuclear unit, since I was 10 years old.

Having a child forces you to think about a lot of things that could otherwise be easily ignored. Like what to do when you have baby poop on your hands and you have to sneeze before you have a chance to run to the sink, and what you will one day tell your child about her family and where she came from.

It's a sticky subject, this family thing. Because I have always wanted to find out why I don't talk to my family and who they are, but I care more about my own parents' feelings. Unlike whatever happened in their own families, I know mine is impartible. My mom could borrow every cent of money Jason and I ever earned, never pay me back, move into my house and try to interfere with every aspect of our lives, and, sure, I'd be more than a little annoyed, but our bond is too strong to permanently break. At our worst we've maybe gone a couple days without talking, and even that was too much for my emotional health to withstand.

The topic is too big to write about right now. I hope last night's conversation wasn't a fluke, a reconnection that originated on Facebook and barely extended outside of it. I hope it was just the beginning of figuring it all out, this little thing called family. We talked about having one big, awkward, undoubtedly emotional reunion sometime this summer. And if that actually happens, I can stop wondering where I'll get the material for my first novel.

Talking to my cousin on the phone, a man I hardly know, who's memory is mostly preserved in a picture I remember of him and my sister when they were seven and I was just learning to walk, felt a little bit like stumbling upon a missing link. I don't think I realized just how much I wanted to reconnect until I saw his friend request on Facebook (what did we do before it?).

And my desire to fill Adelyn in on the whole story of her family, not one just in fragments, made me pick up the phone and call.

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Bridal Shower Part 2.

Something about being a new parent--especially when you're young, I think--makes you take a good, hard, microscopic look at all the other details of your life. Because all the things that used to be the focus of your thoughts and daily events, back when you had all the time in the world for talking on the phone and planning outings with friends and visiting with your family, suddenly take a back seat. Well, more like the back seat in a big, long bus. A back seat waaaaay back there.

Being a new parent is all-consuming. If you go back to work or if you stay home or if you do a combo or whatever, the parenting thing is still sort of resting on the forefront of your inner-narrative. When I'm working on a project or even just curling my hair I never forget, even for a moment, about the main task at hand. (Adelyn.) And I haven't officially gone back to work, at the moment I'm still just doing side projects until this job starts in July. But my days go by so fast. Dear God it's like five minutes after my feet hit the floor at the first sound of crying over the monitor I'm back in the same place, beyond eager to hit the pillow and sleep.

It's these things that force you to re-prioritize the other stuff in your life. Like friends. You no longer have time or energy to put stock in relationships that need constant attention to remain afloat. It's only the ones that can be sustained on their own, without daily, or weekly, or even monthly resuscitation needed to survive.

That's a good and a bad thing, I guess. I'm losing touch with some people I considered important to me, and I just, literally, cannot put in the effort to keep those relationships alive. The pre-mother me would be really upset about this, because I have always put a huge priority on maintaining and nourishing my friendships. Now, though, I just have to shrug it off and say "Oh, well." Before I have time to give it a few minutes of thought there's a load of laundry to be done, or dishes to be washed. Dinner to be cooked and a baby who needs to be fed.

But the good, the good has made me realize the people in my life who will be there permanently and forever, who let me vent about a fussy baby and my confusion about where my life is going, the people who listen and don't ask anything of me but to do the same for them.

I was blessed a long time ago with a group of core friends and family who care about me just as much as I care about them. It's these people who have remained, who call me just to ask how Adelyn is doing, who I'm willing to stay up an extra hour at night to talk to. I couldn't live without them.

All these thoughts came and kind of smacked me in the face this Saturday at my bridal shower, surrounded by those very people. A few of my best, best friends couldn't be there--one lives in California, the other in New York along with my sister, and one had to work. But they, in true best friend fashion, called just to say hi.

Adelyn is the lucky one, because she gets all these people in her life from the very beginning.

Addy and Trey, my mom's friend who hosted the wonderful shower for me. This woman is like hostess extraordinaire. I couldn't have asked for more. And I just love her, amazing party-thrower aside.
Jason's cousin and my future-cousin Kristy, who magically put a stop to Adelyn's crying fit with this holding position. She has two young daughters. She knows the tricks. And I took mental notes.
Jaclyn and Ella. It was Jaclyn's birthday that day, too. So happy birthday, Jaclyn! And Ella is the easiest baby to take pictures of ever, because she's SO FREAKING CALM. Seriously.
Me and my lovely momma. Her gifts were wonderful and hilarious. Along with an amazing picnic basket and some adorable pajamas, she individually wrapped a thing of hummus, some salsa, lime chips, salami, and spreadable brie. All individually wrapped. She didn't understand why I found this so funny.
Adelyn and her gorgeous Auntie Erin.
Me, Erin, Adelyn, and three of Jason's lovely cousins.
Beautiful Jazzy.

Candice and Kennedy, in her second outfit of the day. The thing about mommy friends, the second we both saw the stain creeping up on Kennedy's cute little jeans we both sprang into action. Because I've been there, oh so many times already.

And Addy, the star of the event and of every day in our lives. She later threw up all over this outfit.

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Addy's First Easter.

Courtesy of Addy's Great Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Sandra. It was also their son's 12th birthday, so the cake had dual purposes.

Growing up, we always got Easter baskets in my house, even though my mom's Jewish and my dad's nothing and I didn't even know what the day was about until I was, like, 15. I probably didn't figure it out until people started talking to me about going to hell and such. But anyway, the Easters of my childhood were restored today, back when it was just a day of family fun and baskets of candy.

Jason woke up and went to get us breakfast at Cracker Barrell. He came home with an Easter bunny who sings "Barbara Ann" and wiggles his ears to the beat. Addy loved it. Or, she stared at it. Same thing.

Then we went to my parents' house, where there was a big basket of goodies waiting.

Later, at Jason's parents' house, Adelyn threw a fit--maybe from being passed around too much, maybe from the heat. Everyone was taking turns trying to calm her down. A little while later I went to find Addy so we could take her home. I finally found her in the very back room, on Jason's mom chest, both of them lying on the floor in the peace and quiet.

Addy's been fussier than usual the past couple days. But that's another post for tomorrow.

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Mom.

It's funny how much becoming a parent makes you realize about your own parents. It's a sort of love that can't be really understood otherwise, until you have a child to take care of and mold.

This is my mom all dressed up for the Ballet Ball in Nashville. She's the most beautiful, inspiring woman I know. I only hope Adelyn looks up to who I am a fraction as I do to this woman. That'll be enough.

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Generations.

Adelyn with her vibrant, gorgeous, more-energy-filled-than-I-am great grandma, who graciously came over to watch her yesterday so I could go to the grocery store in peace.

Apparently Jason and I both have moms who just aren't satisfied with the name "grandma," so Adelyn will have, instead, a "Yaya" and a "Janu." Their choices. Jason's great grandma was first leaning toward being called "Gigi," but then we realized that "grandma" hadn't been claimed. So "grandma," it seems, she will remain. She doesn't even look like a grandma, let alone a great grandma.

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Support system.

When my parents had my sister in Seattle, they were all by themselves. They'd just moved there a few months before, so they had no real friends. No family. No support system, aside from each other. And after living there for a while, they up and moved to China, when my sister was still an infant, for a teaching job. There, they didn't only lack a support system, they lacked a common language and culture with their surroundings.

I keep coming back to this. It's given me a brand new appreciation for my parents, for how much they love my sister and I. Because let me just say, without any exaggeration, that this is hard. Having a baby is so, so complicated, and it gets more so everyday.

I got a colonoscopy on Monday, and figuring out the logistics was a headache. Jason took the day off to come with me, my mom had to cancel appointments to stay home with Adelyn, Jason's mom rushed over from work to stay with me and Adelyn afterward since I was still under the effects of anesthesia and Jason had a meeting to get to. It was all one big jigsaw puzzle of rides and babysitters.

And guess what? My doctor wasn't able to do the stricture dilation as much as I needed since the strictures were so tight (it's been 10 months since my last procedure), and that means I have to do it all over again in two weeks. Another day of drinking that vile liquid for the prep, another day of juggling a newborn and the disgusting demands of that vile drink, another jigsaw puzzle of canceled appointments and missed days at work.

Even more than it makes my head hurt, it makes me realize how incredibly lucky we are to have such a support system. There's a whole host of family members and friends around me that get excited about watching Adelyn. A day rarely passes without a phone call from someone asking if they can come over so I can take a shower or take a nap (really just excuses to hold Adelyn, I think, but I'm not complaining).

I don't know how my parents did it. Sometimes I feel like I have a lot to complain about (health-wise, mostly), and then I think about new mothers that are going it alone. And then I tell myself to shut up and just appreciate how blessed I am, for this healthy, amazing baby, and her many amazing fans.

Thank you all for everything you do for us. Words can't describe how much we appreciate it.

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The waiting game.

I've been dreading tomorrow.

Starting Monday my calendar is stark white, save a few noted doctor's appointments and pregnancy milestones. The baby shower has come and gone faster than I can believe. Christmas, too. Tonight is me and Jason's sixth anniversary, but after that celebration it's just a game of waiting. Waiting for Adelyn, contractions and water breakage. I've stocked up on books and movies and things to do to get ready for arrival, but essentially all I'll be doing is twiddling my thumbs. And patience is not--and has never been--a gift of mine. Deep down I still sometimes feel like the same tempestuous little girl I was growing up. "I want it NOW!" used to be a motto of mine (sorry, mom and dad).

But this whirlwind week has been wonderful. I got to spend time with my best friend Meagan. My baby shower was above and beyond anything I could have asked for. It's amazing to know that my little girl is already so surrounded by love. We got everything we need and stuff we didn't even know we needed, and after many hours of work yesterday it's all been put away and organized in her nursery (pictures to come soon of that finished project--we're just waiting on one last component).

My sister and another best friend, Morgan, were able to make it in from New York just in time, too, despite the blizzard. My sister got me and Adelyn way too much stuff, including a onesie that says "My Crazy Aunt Lives in Brooklyn." Too perfect.

And spending real time with Meagan--and on this visit, since I'm, you know, pregnant, we did more sitting around and just talking than we usually get to--really reminded me of who I am and wanted to be before this whole baby thing started. She's already so successful and we've always shared the same ambition and drive, so it was great--and necessary--to voice my fears and wants and hopes for my life outside of this baby to someone who's known me since I insisted on spelling my name "Sara" (I thought dropping the "h" individualized it a bit) and had a habit of making up the most grandiose lies to impress my peers. (Meagan decided to continue to be my friend in the second grade even though I told her I had an art studio in my closet at home and a dog I'd taught how to play Nintendo.)

And the baby shower was a chance for most of my good friends to come together--even ones I hadn't seen in years.

Here's my good friend Jasmine feeling Adelyn kick and looking a little afraid.

Me in front of the landslide of gifts. I truly could not put into words how blessed and grateful and overwhelmed I am from everyone's generosity.

A group shot of the girls. From the back left: Melissa, my oldest friend (we met at Girl Scout camp the summer before the second grade), who just graduated from the University of Indiana with two degrees in Voice and English this past Saturday. Peeking her adorable head out in the back is Mary Rose, another dear friend who was an editor with me at Sidelines and now lives in Atlanta. She knit Adelyn a blanket with her name on it that I will honestly cherish forever. In the front from the left-- Swapna, who is actually sort of responsible for this whole shebang since she introduced me to Erin (Jason's sister) back in the 8th grade. Swapna is a Harvard graduate who, as it turns out, is still the exact same acerbically hilarious girl I befriended all those years ago. Next to her, Crystal. One of my best friends since freshman year of high school. And then there's Meagan, my husband friend since the second grade. On the other side of me is Jasmine. Kneeling on the floor is Erin, my sister-in-law to be and Adelyn's aunt. And, also, one of my favorite people in the world. And on the far left, a newer friend, Alisha, who just moved here from New York.

And here they are in all their unposed glory.

And last, me with my big sister and my mother. And, I guess, Adelyn's in that picture, too. Hiding behind the massive bump.

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Hanukkah and Pocket Knives.

When he pulls out that pocket knife I can see the little boy in him. His dad's dad passed away more than 10 years ago and not a week goes by that he doesn't tell me a new story about that man. He gave Jason his beloved pocket knife collection when he passed away. And Jason bought himself a pearl-handled knife to add to the collection a few years ago, a knife so expensive, he says, it would've made his Papa jealous.

Jason knew his grandpa was getting near the end when he was about 15. So he started spending every night he could with him, listening to his stories about farming and the Depression and life.

Adelyn will have two sets of thriving grandparents, a pair of equally thriving great-grandparents and two aunts. And she'll have a myriad stories about the ones she's never met, from a pig farmer who loved pocket knifes to a family of Orthodox Jews.

Jason and I were making latkes for the first night of Hanukkah when he pulled out that pocket knife. And it reminded me just how lucky Adelyn is, coming into a world with such rich stories and histories.

One of the first truly positive thoughts I had about being pregnant was that I could give this child an actual, loving, warm, active extended family. I never had one. It's not a complaint--I was gifted with the two most amazing parents, with whom I share an unwaveringly strong bond. They're not going anywhere. Ever. But I'm sure I'll be giving Adelyn lifelong relationships with a group of incredibly diverse people. There will never be an end to the stories we have to tell her about where she came from.

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New family.

In the beginning, I really wasn't sure I could do this. I know that's a normal thing for a first time mother to think, but that doesn't change the fear in the thought.

The idea of telling my parents, and Jason's parents, felt like the worst part. I don't know why. I know I'm not 16 and that Jason and I live as adults already. Still, part of the scared 16-year-old clings to your psyche for a long time. I thought I had let them all down.

As soon as we told them (in one fell swoop--we drove straight to Jason's parents' house after telling mine), the Adelyn adventure stopped seeming like a terrifying burden and more like a blessing.

That has a lot to do with my own realization that I'm capable of being mother. That I'm 23, not 16. That Jason and I are ready. But I owe a lot of it to two families that never fail to go above and beyond what I hoped and expected of them.

I've read and heard some horror stories about in-laws, pushy mother-in-laws and nosy sister-in-laws. I just happen to have fallen in love with my fiance's family before I even fell in love with him. His sister is one of my best, best friends, and was for years before Jason and I went on our first date. I already loved her parents. I just thought her big brother was, like, totally cute.

And now that family really will be my family. I couldn't be more thankful they're the ones that I get.

Last week, my mom and I went with Jason, his mom and sister to pick out our wedding cake. We went out to eat afterward, and as soon as the first bite of food made its way into my stomach I felt Adelyn start her familiar dance. I scooted my chair over to Jason's mom, grabbing her hand and placing it on my stomach without a warning.

My mom told me later how incredibly touched she'd been to witness my bond with another mother. Because the look on her eyes when she felt Adelyn for the first time was undeniably filled with disbelief and joy and actual, honest adoration--not because of a bond forced together by logistics, but because we actually like each other. Love each other.

And the following week, Jason and I drove to their house to meet them for lunch. When I walked in the door, his usual rough-and-tumble, "let's clean the four-wheelers" dad was waiting with a glass of ice water (because he'd heard it was Adelyn's favorite), ready to feel the movement himself. And when she didn't move for him after I gulped it, he couldn't hide his disappointment. So Jason and I drove all the way back to their house that evening, because she'd started kicking again and we wanted him to feel it, too.

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Becoming a mother.

When you find yourself, suddenly, with child--with no preperation at all--it's easy to forget one major thing. After you get done worrying about pregnancy and the fact that your stomach is extending further and further and further without your permission, you still have to worry about being a mother.

My mind is just starting to catch up with my stomach. I've come to grips with the whole labor thing, with the whole expanding midsection thing. I've started to let myself realize that I will soon be responsible for a newborn. I've never even held a newborn. Mine will probably be the first. I've read up on colic and breastfeeding and the pros and cons of different sleeping arrangements. I think I freak Jason out sometimes when I start spouting off facts on co-sleeping or SIDS.

But beyond doing everything in my power to keep the newborn alive, I am going to be a mother. For the rest of my life. Like, someone will call me "mom," not Sarah, and probably be weirded out at some point in his/her life that my real name is, in fact, not "mom."

And once you start thinking about this it opens up an entirely new Pandora's Box of concerns and what-if's and labels and questions. I'm going to have a child. A teenager. An adult. And I never spent a second picturing myself as a mom, or wondering what kind of mother I'll be. I'm starting from scratch.

I feel a lot better about it with Jason as my partner. He--unlike me--is one of the people you just know will be a good parent. Sitting at his show in Memphis last weekend, his extraordinarily drunk friend looked at me, so sincerely, and said "I've always known Jason will be the best dad ever." Like, really? You gave that some thought? Between chugging 24-packs? He said this to me after shouting "Freebird!!!" at the top of his lungs each time a song ended. Jason just has that quality about him.

The only real confidence-booster I have is the example of my mom. Because in my opinion, it literally doesn't get any better. Growing up, I was terrified of disappointing her, yet she was never strict or authoritative. She was my friend and my mother. She didn't kill me when she found beer under my bed, but I still never dreamed of doing it again. (Well, at least in my house. Underage.)

In high school, you meet those kids with the "fun" parents, the ones who throw the parties at their house or who, like one mother I met, brag about their pocket-pipe shaped like a tube of lipstick. That particular mom ended up having an affair with one of her son's high school friends later. Not someone I want to emulate.

My mom somehow struck a perfect balance of "cool" and "mom."

Last night, for example, she made me feel like the old one. I was in my pajamas, in bed. It was 7 at night, already past my 6 o'clock bed time (I wake up at 2am). I get a call from her on my cell, and I reluctantly answer because I was just drifting off to sleep. Giggling, she says, "Come outside in five minutes. And bring Louie." Then she hangs up.

Honestly, I have no idea at this point what's going on. But my mom has never called me out of the blue and asked me to come outside. So I throw on some sweatpants, grab my dog, and head out the door. I don't even put on shoes. Or a bra.

There's a stretch SVU limo parked in front of my apartment. The driver is holding the door open for me. So I cover my chest with my arms (white T-shirt, no bra), and climb into the limo. My mom, her friend Trey, and their younger friend (a few years older than me), all former co-workers of my mom when she was the Executive Director of a succesful Nashville non-profit are sitting inside (she's now the executive director of a homeless shelter. She also has a career I wish I could inherit).

They're dressed to the nines, champaigne in-hand. I'm wearing a see-through shirt. I did not expect to be sitting in a limo that night, or at all in the next decade.

It's the youngest of the three's birthday, and also a celebration that she just graduated with her Master's degree. My mom and Trey decided on a whim to rent a limo to take them to dinner.

So we take a drive around my neighborhood. We talk about the baby, about my burgeoning bump, about the fact that I was in bed at 7 o'clock and my mom is drinking champaigne in a limo. Right before they drop me off, rain starts falling in sheets. The driver doesn't have an umbrella, but I assure him that it's fine, that unlike these ladies I'm just going upstairs and getting back in bed. I say good-bye and make a run for my door, with Louie shivering in my arms.

When I walk back inside, Jason is sitting in the couch with an understandably confused look on his face. I'm soaking wet, so is Louie.

And then, still wet, I get back under the covers and fall asleep, while my mom parties it up with her friends.

That's the kind of mom, I guess, I want to be.

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A bright spot.

My dad just e-mailed me this picture of me and my sis.

Then.

Now.

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