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What I learned in college

Dear Lincoln,

I'll be graduating soon.  Quite soon... in a few weeks, actually!  It's still hard for me to believe, after being in school for so long.  But I've been thinking that it's as good a time as any to write about what I've learned during these 5 years at the University of Utah.  For the next little while, I'll be compiling a list and posting things individually as they come, in no particular order.  These will be both academic (to an extent-- there's no way I can, or really want to, regurgitate all the curriculum I've consumed) as well as larger life lessons.  I'm only 23, but I think most people will agree that college is an experience worth highlighting no matter what other accomplishments they go on to make.  And most of the realizations and lessons I've gone through during my university career have the potential to affect the rest of my life.  So, I'd like to share some with you. 

For now, the basics.  My degree:  started out as English, BA.  Ended up Mass Communication, BA, with a Business minor.

More to come. 

The 2 Parent Dynamic

Dear Lincoln,

I totally understand why God made Adam and Eve.  Marriage, I'll admit, may seem unnatural and contrary to human nature at times.  A successful one takes consistent, hard work-- but that's true of almost everything in life worth having.  When you add a child into the mix, even two grown adults aren't always enough to meet the challenges, much less one.

I'm not passing judgment or pitying those 9 percent of households in the U.S. headed by a single parent, but boy, oh boy, can I imagine the diligence it requires to keep them afloat.  From the day you were born, I gained a new respect for parents who raise children on their own.  Every single maneuver, from bundling you up to meet the cold December air, to making sure your car seat, swing and crib were safely and securely installed, was a team effort.  (All this not to mention the emotional magnitude of taking home a new person that will forever after be your responsibility.  It's nice having someone else in the same boat during a realization like that!)

Especially as you grow from a baby into a toddler, I have been able to take small breaks here and there to recharge.  I used to be chronically concerned that you would need to breastfeed at a moment's notice, and if I wasn't right there to snap open my nursing bra, all hell would break loose.  I seriously had nightmares over it.  But nowadays you are fully and happily satiated by plenty of other foods, and you LOVE spending time with your father.  On weeknights, you go to sleep less than an hour after he gets home from work, but on Saturdays and Sundays, the two of you usually take some time to have your own adventures so mommy can study, shop, write, run, etc.



It's a blessing that I can completely trust your well-being to another person who I know loves you, cares for you, and is as much invested in you as I am.  When two individuals fully embrace their roles as parent and spouse, loving and respecting one another, family operates the way it was meant to.

I am so thankful we are three. 

Imogen Heap

Dear Lincoln,

I get it now.  That far-off, dreamy look in people's eyes as they reminisce over the best concert of their lives.  Until they remember that other one, or maybe that one a couple years ago.  Oh man, that was awesome.

Your uncle Evan and your dad were talking about concerts this past summer, and I just couldn't relate.  But now, finally, I understand.  If you know the artist, love the lyrics, have lived to the music, sang it at the top of your lungs in the shower, cried softly as it trickles through headphones in the middle of the night... well, then, a concert is a place of unusual beauty.  For the moment, a whole crowd is swaying in unison, body and soul. 

Literally.  The entire Venue sang "just for now" in rounds: she broke us up into three parts.  I'll never forget it. 

Here's us, before it all began.  Your father wasn't very happy about the LONG line, but I reminded him how awesome it was to be out, on a weekday night, just the two of us.  I love you dearly with all my heart, little one, but I have to admit I can get pretty stir crazy.  This was a rare opportunity to breathe fresh air on a downtown street corner, with nothing but an ID in my pocket and a handsome man on my arm.

P.S.  Did you notice the white tree on stage?  It was THE most perfect prop I've ever seen!  When Imogen Heap sang "Little Bird" a fantastic light show made it look as if birds were flying everywhere, swooping in the air and perching on the branches of the tree.  Took my breath away.

The day you walked down the hallway

The world will never be the same for you again, little Linc!  (To viewers: Turn down volume.  It's just me being an excited, proud mom!)

12 days old

Dear Lincoln,
I was very impressed that you were born with sideburns.  They were perfectly trimmed, too, as if you'd been to the barber for your birthday.

Wherein I discuss poop.

Dear Lincoln,

When I was in high school, I did an internship with the nutritionists at McKay Dee Hospital. At that time I was interested in becoming a Registered Dietitian (RD) and wanted to see what their work actually entailed. It turned out to be kind of a survey course where I spent a day with each nutritionist in the facility. There were the outpatient RD’s who offered nutrition advice and eating disorder counseling, the NICU nutritionists who monitored every single ounce of preemie intake, the ICU nurses who meticulously concocted fluids for individual patients according to their charted deficiencies, and several others. Initially I was surprised by how often the word “stool” was tossed back and forth. Very quickly I learned to participate in detailed discussions of patients’ waste: how much, what consistency, exact chemical makeup, etc. And it makes sense. What we expel is indicative not only of what we consume, but also what we’re not consuming enough of. My point is that nutritionists are always talking about poop.

So are moms. It didn’t occur to me then, but nurturing a young child is another job that involves lots of poop. We talk about it, measure it, compare its consistency to what you’ve been eating, clean it off your bum and scrub it out of clothing. Lovely stuff, really!

I thought of this because today you had what parents these days call a “blow-out.” I believe babies do this to cure their caretakers of all squeamish, germaphobe tendencies. It’s when your poop leaks out of your diaper, onto your clothes, my clothes, blankets, furniture, car seat, and whatever else is touching you. If I’m grossing you out while you read this, keep in mind you did it to me. (And everyone else did it to their parents, too!)

Usually a blowout is detected quickly. It stinks. But today either my nose was malfunctioning, or your poop decided to be really sneaky. We were sitting on the living room floor like usual, surrounded by all your toys. You were cranky. No matter how tall I built the block tower, how far I rolled the ball, how many voices I used to impersonate your stuffed animals, nothing worked. I couldn’t distract you from constant whining, so I moved onto the next possibility. Food. I plopped you down in your high chair and offered you Gerber apple vanilla granola, sweet potato puffs and juice. You eagerly accepted every bite, so I thought we were in the clear. I’d figured out the problem and we could move on with the day! Yay for supermom! Alas, the whining ensued the moment I picked you up.

Could he really be tired? I thought. Afternoon naps are not common in this household, but the number one rule of parenting is flexibility; babies are human too and things change. So we headed to the nursery. Along the way, I noticed greenish streaks across the sleeve of my sweatshirt. One sniff told me where those came from. Right then and there I should have changed your diaper. I was going to! Really, I was! I laid you down on the changing table while I stripped off the offending sweatshirt, bent down to smell your diaper and was surprised to smell absolutely nothing. I honestly believed you were completely clean and dry. I then made the unfortunate, lazy choice of leaving it at that, wondering as we sat down in the rocking chair why I hadn’t noticed that sleeve stain before, how many days old it was and how many people I’d unknowingly disgusted.

Six books and twenty minutes later, I turned off the lamp and maneuvered you across my lap to breastfeed. It was only then that, finally, your thick-headed mother became aware of the mess you’d been sitting in for who knows how long. Your sweatshirt was stinky too, and that just couldn’t be coincidence! Sure enough, some pretty horrid stuff was spread across your back. I’m sorry baby. Now that you’ve been bathed, dressed in clean clothes and apologetically cuddled, I hope you can forgive me for being a complete dunce. You’d think that after nearly a year of this I’d know a little bit more about poop. What would my RD friends back at McKay Dee say?

This doesn't even come close to the best disaster diaper story we have. But I think we'll save that for another day. For now, I'm pooped. ;-)