My demands are not much. I require food, sleep, and diaper changes in as near an instantaneous fashion as possible. I also require that everyone around me conduct themselves with a reasonable degree of decorum. (Yes, yes. I have cute, chubby legs. Does that mean we must abandon all propriety everytime one of my gams is accidentally revealed?)

Most importantly, perhaps, is that I require a place that I can call my own. My crib is my sanctuary. It is paramount that I know this place is safe from all manner of invasion. If you’re a reader with fragile sensibilities, immediately hit the back button on your browser because you won’t be able to stomach what I’m about to tell you. I can scarely stomach it myself.

Earlier today, I discovered one of those mangy, loathsome cats asleep in my crib. Maybe as my vocubulary grows in the coming years, I will learn the words to describe how terribly vexed this makes me. In the meantime I leave you this image of the four-legged avatar of indecency. Notice how its yellow-glowing eyes resemble those of a demon, or the headlights of an out-of-control semi-truck as it bears down upon you in the darkness.

I woke up today for my first Christmas ever. I was so excited about meeting this Santa fellow last night that I woke up several times trying to catch a glimpse of him. No luck. It was just mom and dad. When I got up this morning, I realized that this jolly old elf had not shown up at our hotel.

Obviously, I can’t allow that sort of thing. If I let him get away with that this year, it would set a bad precendent for all the years to come. So I insisted that we all get in the car and track this man down. I’m not sure how long we drove because I slept most of the way. When we did finally reach our destination, though, I was ready to give Santa a piece of my mind.

When we finally got inside, I was absolutely shocked to discover that mom and dad had not, in fact, driven us to the north pole (where I understand Santa to live). instead we had arrived at a place called “home.” And the bearded fellow who I saw there was not Santa, but actually some hooligan named Unka Scott. I was not entirely convinced he was anymore worthy of my respect and affection then Santa Claus, but I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Well that ended up being a bust. Unka Scott decided to honor my homecoming by preparing a giant feast. Do I have the sophisticated digestive system necessary to digest duck? No. Is that gorgonzola sauce that you see around the asparagus infant-friendly? Certainly not. Do any of these dishes consist entirely of forumla? Do I even need to answer? That’s a fine how do you do. I feel like I gave him sufficient time to prove himself. This is not some snap decision. Unka Scott is even less cool than Santa Claus.

The Mabbitt Family is on the road and heading home. They’ll be stopping in Ohio this evening and will be back in Indianapolis some time tomorrow.

Libby ate very well this morning and I was told she’s in full-belly coma mode at the moment wearing her Baby’s 1st Christmas PJs (courtesy of the Adams Family).

So, here is our itinerary.

Tonight – Pack and mentally prepare for a long drive with a 5 day old baby.

Tomorrow – Spend time in the morning with birthmom and birthdad. Get on the road around 10:30/11:00-ish. Drive halfway. Stop for the night and try to recover from first leg with a 5 day old baby

Christmas Day – Finish the second half of the drive. Arrive home exhausted, but very happy with a 6 day old Christmas baby.

You know how we’ve been saying over and over again how crazy we thought the Virginia lawyer was about this quixotic quest to get our paperwork completed within a few days? Everytime he repeated his mantra of having us home for Christmas, everyone else in the room smiled politely and exchanged the kind of knowing glances you might when a small child tells you he wants to grow up to be a pirate or a fire truck.

He did it. All the papers have been filed and approved. Stanton Phillips has officially accomplished something no one else believed in. Let that be a lesson to you, Libby. You can accomplish anything if you just ignore all right-thinking people who tell you it’s impossible.

What to do, what to do…

Let me paint you a picture. I just had my very poop-tastic diaper changed and started feeling a bit peckish. So, I signaled mom and dad that I could use a snack. While I was getting my belly all fulled up, I pooped again. Now, here comes the tricky part. While mommy was burping me, I feel quite asleep. I had been pretty wound up for a while so I really needed to catch a power nap. Mommy knew I had a poopy diaper again, but she didn’t know whether to change me and risk waking me up or just let it go.

Luckily, my Aunt Molly called right then. Since she’s already had two babies, she knew just what to do. She told my mom and dad not to wake a sleeping baby just for a diaper change. She was right, I have been asleep now for 2 hours and I may just keep on sleeping. My bottom will be fine and I will let you know when I want it changed. I know you already have diaper rash cream ready to go for when I need it so no worries, mom and dad.

Thanks Aunt Molly!

Would it be nice to spend Christmas back home in Indiana? Well, certainly. But we did make preparations to have a great Christmas morning no matter where we are. Nevertheless, our Virginia lawyer has decided that he will take anything less than a Hoosier holiday as a personal insult.

I’m certainly cheering him on. Heaven he knows he’s got a better understanding of all the legal processes than I do, but this just seems ambitious.

Here’s a picture of the Christmas corner in our hotel room. The tree was generously provided by Grams. (and, yes, I always wrap presents in aluminum foil)

Hi everyone!

All is well here…now. Last night got a bit rough. Clay had Libby during quite a fussy spell. She was dry and fed, but not happy. She settled down close to 6am and since then has been pretty predictable. We had been told that 3-4 hour feeding was pretty normal. Not our little angel. She likes to get up every 2 hours with either a soiled diaper or a need for food. We have decided to take advantage of the 2nd bedroom in our hotel. We are alternating on who is on baby duty and the other one of us is getting some unbroken sleep in the 2nd bedroom. We started that this morning and so far so good. The real test will be tonight. Currently Clay is sleeping and is scheduled to get up at 8:30pm. His shift is timed so that he and Libby can watch the Bears game. Good to see that although our lives are in a huge transition, some things never change.

We heard from VA lawyer today. The VA paper work is good to go. Now the ball is in Indiana’s court. Not sure how long it will take. We should know more tomorrow or Wed about when we might be heading home.

Today was Libby’s pediatrician appt. She is as normal and healthy as they get. Blood good, size good, feeding good, pee/poop good. She peed on the pediatrician so that aspect of normalcy was super confirmed. We couldn’t be happier about her health. At one point during the pregnancy there was a minor concern about her heart. It showed up a little funny on one of the sonograms. Concern is gone. Her heart is just as it should be.

In an effort to get back to a little bit of normal, I attempted to do some baking in our hotel kitchen. If I wasn’t sure I was a new mom before, I am certainly sure now. I was sitting about 6 feet from the oven and managed to burn cut and bake cookies. Luckily, I only made half the package so there is hope for later and I did manage to make spaghetti last night so we aren’t going to starve.

Here are a few pics to tide you over until Clay updates the flickr feed:

The last pic was taken when we got back from the pediatrician. The whole thing just wore our little lady out. I don’t blame her. Wore me out too. That’s all for now.

We got back to the hotel, and Katy needed to run some errands. Libby and I were able to watch some football. The Steelers were down in the fourth quarter to the Titans.

At first I thought Libby was crying because she was a Pittsburgh fan. Then my daddy-sense started tingling, and I realized that she might need to be changed. Beneath the layers of tiny clothes, we finally got down to the diaper. I opened it up, and my baby girl did need to be changed. There was a modest amount of poo there in the diaper. (Daddy-sense +1)

As soon as my baby doll realized that I was cleaning her up, she decided that she wanted to help me feel useful. If I liked cleaning up a little bit of poo, then surely I would love cleaning up a lot of poo. I feel pretty good that she’s already got such a logical approach to life. I’m also delighted that she was looking for ways to make me feel good about myself.

At first I thought it was just a little bonus poo. I caught it with a baby wipe, handily preventing any from landing on the brand new diaper that was about to go on. Since I was patting myself on the back for that, Libby saw a great opportunity. She had more poop that she had been saving up for later, but now this seemed like a chance to get some good use out of it.

Many wipes and (surprisingly only) three diapers later, she had run out of steam. I figure it will take at least a few hours for her to build up her reserves again. Uh-oh. I gotta go. My daddy-sense is tingling.

The hospital has been great but I’m ready to leave the nest. I’ve got to spread my wings and fly. It’s time to put aside childish things and move onto the next phase of my life. Look out, world. Car rides: you’re first on my list. Get ready.