With all the changes in our world, we have been discussing the idea of contraception. When Addison first arrived I told Garrett to schedule a vasectomy before he even thought about touching me. He’d say he wanted another one, I’d say no. Then he’d wake up at three in the morning for a feeding. The next morning I would say I wanted another one, and he’d say no. We flipped and flopped and had a pregnancy scare and then decided maybe we needed to talk about what we really wanted, before nature chose for us.

So Garrett, in all his brilliance, came up with this plan (which I like a lot): No contraception. Just breastfeeding. The side effects of contraception on my reproductive history as well as my anxiety are unfavorable. We didn’t want the risks that I would have to take with all my medical history and Garrett wasn’t ready to accept a vasectomy at 24 years of age.

If we do not get pregnant by the time I stop breastfeeding (about two years) then we are going to fix break Garrett’s man-plumbing.  I don’t know if this plan is very in favor of a third, since I had to have fertility treatments to push the Addison Ova out, but I guess we will see.

I think it is the excessive sun I am getting … but I have never been this loosey goosey with life planning. I don’t like the unplanned, unscheduled, unorganized (when it comes to my body). In both instances with Isaiah and Addison I already had their names picked out BEFORE I knew what/who they were. I always knew I’d have two children, some way somehow. So if I get pregnant a third time- I may not even find out the gender. I may let Garrett name it Alexander Magnus Kopter Pilot the 3rd.  I am just feeling that adventurous about life!

So maybe we’ll have a baby or maybe we won’t. Guess we’ll leave it up to nature

L-O-V-E means watching DUMB movies like this. I mean, Jeremy Piven would, I am sure, prefer to get mercury poisoning again than admit that he made this film. This is right up there with Glitter (sorry Mariah). So while I sit here trying to distract myself from this movie I post blog posts like this.

I must really love my husband.

Turns out. I do.

I once had a friend who was so in love with this girl that she was with she went to a StarWars convention dressed as an Ewok. I had another friend who took a month of French to say a couple of sentences to an exchange student. I mean, with Garrett, I didn’t convert to another religion or do anything else extreme- but I DO find myself having to watch mind-numbing movies and listening to way more Creed than I would otherwise listen to. But I love him.

So I sigh and stare at him with goo goo eyes as he laughs like a hyena at Ving Raines attempting to resuscitate an already VERY dead acting career.

What do you do for love?

I have wrestled with the idea of what to say concerning the birth of Addison. It was the most ideal experience I could have hoped for. And still, everyone is asking, “Did you get an epidural?” “Did you do it naturally?” A big part of me feels like I owe people a story, since I bitched about all of it so openly on the blog…. the other part of me wants to hold on to the beautiful experience I had and not have it tainted by people’s judgments (because OH! DO THEY JUDGE!).

I think the better questions for people to ask me are: “Jasmine, was it what you wanted?” “Did you feel supported?” “Is Addison here and healthy?” Yes to all of the above!  Garrett was a super labor coach, Sadie was great comedic relief, and I pushed that baby out in two pushes like Zena the Warrior Princess! I am so elated with what I went through. It was lovely. The UTI that followed was NOT lovely. I have never had a urinary tract infection. I would rather give birth to all of the Dugger’s children than experience that again. Um. I am not lying! I would eagerly pop out all of those little Duggers than ever have razor blades come out of my pee hole again! Thank the Lord for Cranberry and Antibiotics. MERCY!

When we are a little farther away from the birth….and I feel less of a need to hold on to this sparkly happiness of a memory, I will recapitulate what I experienced. For now I am still all squishy over what happened. IF it is any indication, half way through Sadie and Garrett and I LAUGHING through one of my contractions Garrett looked at me and said, “Dude! This birth stuff is awesome, we should have another one…” Then a couple of days later he was looking at me with creepy Precious Moments dough eyes and said, “Aw babe! I miss your pregnant belly.” I mean, the experience was awesome, the pregnancy was a breeze… but keep your evil parasite producing penis away from me sir! There will be none of that!

Hope everyone is well. We are all covered in breast milk and happiness around here <3

My son is a wonderment. I see so much graciousness in him, more so than what Garrett and I have. When I see things that I know I couldn’t have possibly done, but they are so good and wonderful that someone has to take credit, I usually just blame it on God. I think Isaiah is who he is because of God. I haven’t completely worked out that line of reasoning, but I know he is so pure and good that I couldn’t take credit for that.

Yesterday Isaiah was baptized. It took less than five minuets but, I am certain, changed my life forever. For our family, Isaiah’s baptism was a recognition of his membership into the church and the acknowledgement that God redeems us to Himself even before we can acknowledge it through faith. Something about that baptism flipped a switch and reminded me that, “WHOA! This is a human life!” His soul has assigned value in Creation, he is a member in the Kingdom of God, he matters, and I am in charge of his care. THAT was a bit overwhelming. I can say, though, I am thankful that I was given this child, and this assignment, but it isn’t to be completed alone. I have Garrett. Garrett is BEYOND awesome as a father and friend. We also have our community. Our church. Our friends. All these people who are willing to link arms with us and help guide Isaiah, in love, toward a life that is his to live…

Stupid tears

This weekend reminded me, in SO many ways, to hold fast to those who are willing to not take the easy way out. Hold fast to those who will confront the hard stuff with you. Hold fast to those who will affirm that there is good in your despite your shortcomings. Hold fast to the piece of innocence in all of us….

It is that mix of dirt and deity. That innocence and love that shows on my son’s face (even when he half naked annihilating flies).

Happy Monday Y’all.

I have never made French Onion soup and maybe had never even had French Onion soup, but I saw the recipe in Real Simple and it sounded delicious so I thought we’d try it. Plus, as you probably know, a major component of French Onion soup is a toasted hunk of bread with melty cheese on it and I am a sucker for toasted bread and melty cheese.

So Rusty and I set out to make this soup, and let me preface this next section by letting you know that I have terrible knives. Terrible, awful knives that require a sawing action to cut through tomatoes. Tomatoes! I am perfectly aware that my knives are crap so I knew that thinly slicing three large onions would take me about 8 years, not to mention the arm exertion and smelly hands I would have for three solid days. For some reason I happen to have a mandoline in my kitchen drawer. I have no idea where this scary kitchen tool came from, I certainly didn’t buy it, but I imagine Rusty’s mom had something to do with it’s existence in my drawer. I have acquired a corkscrew, a pie pan, and several cups via Carol’s Kitchen so it wouldn’t surprise me if the mandoline was another stolen utensil. Anyway, given the three large onions I had to thinly slice, and the prospect of smelly hands, and the crap knives, I decided the mandoline was the way to go, never mind the fact that I am a real dunce when it comes to sharp things and once tried to use a cheese knife to cut some lemons.

Basically I was planning to use scary kitchen utensil that I had never used before to make a soup I had never even tasted before. Maybe you can see where this is headed.

I got through the first 1/2 onion with no problem, but then one of the prongs broke out of the safety cover and since one was already broken out I was left with only one prong. I was ready to admit defeat and finish up with my crap knives but the onion smelling hands were just too much for me to handle so I thought I’d just wildly over-estimate my cutting skills and finish the onion slicing on the mandoline…without the safety cover.

Again, maybe you can see where this is headed.

There we are, Rusty and me in the kitchen with an ever growing pile of thinly sliced onions. My hand is precariously close to the sharp edge, sans safety cover, and Rusty has a look of dread on his face. “Don’t worry!” I say, mentally scoffing him for his lack of faith, “I’ll be careful!” Ahhh…those pompous words. They weren’t even out of my mouth before the outside of my right thumb went sliding through the slicer, just behind a hunk of onion.

We both gasped and then Rusty goes “Ack! Do you need stitches!?” And then I’m standing there in the kitchen holding my bloody thumb, looking around for something to put on it. What I really needed was a werewolf, ready to tear off his shirt and sop up my blood (New Moon, anyone?). So I’m just standing there, looking around, with blooding pouring off my finger,  and Rusty starts to back away from me going “Umm. I don’t do well with blood..” He was obviously looking for a place to pass out so I said “Well get away from me!” and then ran to the bathroom to finish trying to figure out what to do. And I’m still just standing there when Rusty comes in with the first aid kit and hands me some gauze.

We do all the appropriate things, like staring at the blood as it drips in the sink, putting pressure on the wound and wondering at my amazing amount of stupidity and then I decide that I should maybe wash it. There was onion juice in the wound, you know. So I tell Rusty to get the alcohol (rubbing alcohol, though tequila would have been alot funnier) and help me pour it on my finger. He reluctantly agrees and we go back into the bathroom. He carefully pours some alcohol into the cap and holds it over my hand, gritting his teeth and grimacing. He looks at me for permission because he knows its going to sting like the dickens.

And then he pours. And he’s bouncing up and down on the balls of hit feet yelling “Ow! Ow! Ow! Oh my gosh! It’s ok, you can yell if you want to!” and I’m just standing there looking at him because seriously? I don’t feel anything at all. And then Rusty, in true Rusty fashion says, “No really. It’s ok if you yell and cuss. I won’t get mad at you. They’ve scientifically proven that cussing helps deal with pain” and I’m like, “No really, Rusty. I don’t feel anything at all.” And then he walks away, amazed at my pain threshold.

Two onion scented hours later the soup was done, and wouldn’t you know it, it was gross.

So my finger is disabled and I had no idea how much I used my right thumb until today when I popped the cut open a good three or four times. The soup was a failure and I’ve been through more than my share of jumbo sized Band-Aids. But at least my hands don’t stink like onion.

The other day, at our routine checkup, the amazing Dr. Crownover asked me how I was feeling. A blush came over my face and I started to explain:

Jasmine: Dr. Crownover, before you see my belly I have a confession to make…

*Dr. Crownover gave a very medical, yet attentive look…*

Jasmine: So…. as my belly has gotten bigger I have become increasingly insecure about how hairy my belly is. In a moment of weakness I decided I would wax my belly.

*Dr. Crownover’s attentive look melts away and he doubles over in laughter*

Jasmine: Seriously! Don’t laugh. I got into the first strip, and I thought, “Who the hell’s idea was this! But then I was already in over my head and I had to finish it… now it is growing back, and I am all itchy. GAW! What is wrong with me!!!!”

*Garrett interjects*

Garrett: I told her not to be insecure about it. I told her that her body was normal.

Jasmine: Shut up Garrett! You don’t get an opinion! You shaved your face into a trucker “stash” …. people who look like that don’t get opinions on what is normal.

*Side note: Days before Garrett shaved his beard into a handlebar mustache and decided that he loved the trucker look. I laughed at him every time I looked at him. THEN he thought it was an awesome idea to wear it to my appointment. Because, ya know, that look is cool? What! No! It isn’t cool. All he needed was a cut- off flannel shirt and an “I love mom” tattoo… geez!

Dr. Crownover: OH! I didn’t even notice your mustache Garrett, I like it… I like it *Up until this point I believed my OB was a great honest man, now I believe he is a filthy filthy liar!*

My belly itches like an S.O.B and the little red bumps from my shirt rubbing the hair that is growing in is not very pretty… it is actually worse than being hairy. Because now I am hairy/bumpy/red. A dead sexy combination.

*Fast forward to today*

After a vigorous step aerobic workout Sadie and I decided to go to lunch. We talk about a plethora of things. Sadie is smart. She is a real brain. But today, she looked at me with all seriousness, she, “When we get closer to having the babies we should go get our nails done, and then make someone wax our lady parts so we will look all nice for the delivery…”

I evaded the remark. I was having flashbacks of a couple of weeks earlier where I got that dumbass bright idea to wax my belly. I don’t think Sadie and I can be friends if she starts suggesting things like this. Next she will ask me about anal bleaching….

Garrett: I think I miss the era of the 50’s and 60’s.

Jasmine: Why? You wouldn’t be able to legally marry me!

Garrett: No just the way they dressed… I watched Mad Men last night.

 I guess I need to NOT let him watch shows or movies later than the 60’s. Next he is gonna want me to call him “Mista”  or “Boss” while bringing him a Mint Julep *YUM* and commanding  me to mop the porch in my Mammy outfit. Garrett and I are not only from intensely different families, we e are different cultures and races that are light years apart. Garrett is a beautiful, kind, and open-minded man… he just…haa a vivid imagination. Movies and TV shows and books, sometimes, get him a little carried away.

(After watching Crooklyn, the movie)

Garrett: Did you ever live on a stoop?

Jasmine: I did grow up in the hood… but I am from OKLAHOMA not BROOKLYN.

Garrett: Well I was just wondering. Sounds like “stoop life” would be fun…

Jasmine: Yeah, I mean, since Brooklyn is the natural habitat of the black person? What the hell Garrett!

(When Isaiah, our son, was born)

Garrett: He has such smooth hair! Will this stuff fall out and then the nappy lamb’s wool stuff grow underneath.

Jasmine: NO Garrett! Jesus! He is PART African American… and “nappy” is a rude word!

Garrett: Well I know it is… but I am talking to my WIFE, and you knew what I meant. I would never say that to someone else.

Jasmine: Uhh yeah, because it is rude.

Garrrett: No, because they would probably have a knife or a gun!

Jasmine:…… I can’t even believe you.

(later)

Jasmine: Children who are biracial usually have smoother hair, but it isn’t a guarantee. White people have different textures of hair also, you know.

Garrett: I guess our different textures just aren’t as noticeable. So I am gonna have to learn how to “grease” his hair?

Jasmine: Yes. And if we ever have a daughter, you’ll have to learn how to braid too.

Garrett: I will leave that up to you, ya’ll are naturally good at corn rows.

Jasmine: WHAT! It isn’t a genetic disposition!

Garrett: Nooooo I was just saying that African Americans all grew up braiding and beading each other’s hair.

Jasmine: *Blank stare*

(After seeing an ethnic hair commercial)

Garrett: Can we Afro Isaiah’s hair! Oh my God! PLEASE! Can we!

Jasmine: Afros are only worn because our hair is so hard to manage. They aren’t REALLY fashion statements anymore! Afros, I think, are only cool to white people….

Garrett: OR we could totally cut his hair short and then cut lines into the back, like Chris Brown or Kanye West!

Jasmine: He is a two year old… he isn’t a performer. I swear! Next you are gonna request him a Gherri Curl!.

Garrett: Why do you ruin all my fun?

Jasmine: Because your fun is stupid- and stereotypical.

(Upon meeting my friend MiMi, who was born in Africa)

Garrett: So do you speak the African clicking language?

MiMi: *Blank Stare*

Garrett: No seriously, you know what I am talking about right? The one where they click to talk *imitates clicking noises*

MiMi: Jasmine! WHAT is he talking about I went to a private school…. WHAT is he talking about?

Jasmine: I guess he assumes everyone from Africa lives in a hut, just ignore him.

Garrett: OH MY GOD YA’LL are RUDE. It is not like that was even a weird question to ask someone from Africa!

Sadie and I have been slacking, haven’t we!  We apologize [Well I apologize and if Sadie doesn't I am saying she apologizes anyway...don't worry, I'll pinch her!]

Here are some updates:

*Baby Addison is kicking. I never got used to Isaiah flipping and flapping around and I don’t think I will with this one either.

*I got an article published in a local magazine “Peekaboo”….as soon as I figure out where they put it, online, I will post a link.

*I’ve watched Twilight eight times in the last week and a half, which accounts for that bizarre dream. It also accounts why Garrett walks around the house when it is on spouting, “what the hell Jasmine, AGAIN!?”

*I started a new job, I am pretty stoked about it.

*Tis the season for Pumpkin Spice Lattes, which means a mouth orgasm for me… another gross visual [you're welcome].

*Living with a husband who has sleep apnea is amazing, By “amazing” I mean, ‘Sweet baby Jesus when you can’t sleep because you are pregnant and uncomfortable and then you have Darth Vader sleeping next to you, you kind of wish that a Jedi would come and silence him with light saber. [okay. I went too far with the Star Wars reference, I know]

Happy Labor Day.