I suppose it was my turn....

Last Sunday, Matt, my brother Mike, and I piled into my car and drove to Weaverville for a belated Father's Day celebration with my dad. Stuffed burgers, grilled pineapple and cucumber salad with fresh basil, and grilled corn with butter, lime juice, and parmesan. For dessert, I made a raspberry lemon icebox pie with a homemade toasted coconut graham cracker crust. We had a lovely day with the family, the food was amazing, and the weather beautiful.

And at some point there in the middle of the day, my feet and hands began to swell to epic proportions. They were swollen to the point of feeling like they might pop, and that popping would actually be a welcome relief. Fun.

The next day I had an appointment already scheduled at my OB's office, and Matt had already planned to come with me. As we both got ready that morning, I confided in him that I was kind of freaking out. I knew that the swelling (which was better but still puffy) coupled with high blood pressure would cause all kinds of alarm bells to go off, and even though my BP on the Friday before had been perfect, I just had this...feeling. It's rare that I hate being right...

My BP was indeed high, and all the alarm bells I predicted were rung. My doctor sent me over to Labor and Delivery for monitoring, but not before a very thorough briefing on high blood pressure, pre-eclampsia, and pre-term labor. And, also, not before delivering my sentence--Bed Rest. I thought (and Matt and the doctor agreed), that I had held it together admirably up to that point. But the phrase "bed rest" brought the tears to my eyes. No more work, no more grocery shopping, no more cooking, no cleaning, no laundry---okay, so when I list it like that you might be asking what it was that had me so upset again? But, honestly, NOT being able to do those things is insanely frustrating. I took some deep breaths, composed myself, and agreed to confinement on the couch. And with that, Matt and I headed over to L&D. I was monitored for about 3 hours, during which my BP returned to normal, and during which the Doodle's monitor showed her to be both "perfect" and "really, REALLY active". That's my girl.

We made an appointment later in the week for an ultrasound with my high risk doctors, at which they also prounounced baby girl "perfect". They also modified my bed rest sentence a bit, telling me that for every 2o minutes I spend on my feet, I have to sit out the next 40. Which, while it means I won't be heading to the mall or to work any time soon, does at least give me the option to make myself a quick lunch or go outside and sit on the deck for a bit. We got a blood pressure monitor and I use that three times a day. Starting Monday, I'll have two standing weekly appointments--a non-stress test for the Doodle on Mondays and an ultrasound on Thursdays. According to that last ultrasound, she's already 4 lbs 1 oz. I've been given a 50/50 shot at going to term, and prepared fully for the possibility of early delivery. 34 weeks is the goal in my head, and every day after that is a gift. 36 weeks and I have no concerns at all. It's mind boggling to me that "goal" simply means making it through this month. THIS MONTH. It seemed like this day would never get here, and now I'm just praying to make it through a few more days. And YES, I do feel like a genius for getting her nursery done so early, thank you. I just never realized that when I said I wanted to spend the summer with my feet up drinking tea, that would be ALL I would be doing.... ;)

So, it's been almost a week of this, and for the most part I've done well. I knew Saturday would be the tough day for me, and it has been. Small mental crack up, a few tears, but I'm doing better. It's very easy to remind yourself that this is for the greater good, especially when the greater good spends the majority of her day kicking me in the ribs and practicing kung fu on my bladder. So that's what I do. I justifies the frustration, but it doesn't cure it. Perhaps knitting will help...

Anyway, that's the story of where we are today. Bed rest. Boredom. Greater good. Please feel free to comment, email, call, write, facebook, come visit, send me games to play, etc. It's going to be a long month, and I've got nowhere to go!

Hello, Gorgeous...

Yesterday I had an ultrasound at 29 weeks and 4 days. Here's the latest and greatest picture of Baby Girl Hall:
Hello, little lady! Look at that pouty mouth! That's my Doodle Bug :)

The ultrasound was quick, not much to see or do, a few fast measurements, and it was on to my regular OB appointment. When my doctor came in, her first words were, "Now THAT'S a perfect baby!" Have I mentioned that we love her? The Doodle has flipped into head down position (although, if she's got enough room to flip, she could always flip *back*, but here's hoping she stays head down). She weighs approximately 3.2 lbs, squarely in "average" territory, which is right where we want her. Dr. Wonderful said no one would ever know by looking at her perfect, perfect ultrasound that this was a diabetic pregnancy. Rock on, Doodle Bug. My blood pressure is good, her heart rate is perfect, and she's definitely a movin' and a shakin'. In fact, she's a kung fu master. I have no idea what the moment was where we moved beyond feeling "flutters" and "bubbles" and went straight to, "Dear lord, she's trying to punch her way out!", but we've passed it for damn sure. Regardless, feeling her move continues to be my favorite part of pregnancy.

In fact, I've really enjoyed the vast majority of being pregnant. I know from watching all of you ladies just how lucky I am. Yes, the insulin shots and stricter diet are a bit of a bummer (though the fact that I'll probably weigh less after she's born than when I started is a nice incentive), but it hasn't been anything I couldn't handle. I haven't been sick, and so far I haven't had a lot of swelling or fatigue (knock on wood). True, I can't sleep worth a damn at night, and the occasional bout of "restless leg syndrome" doesn't help, but thanks to my work schedule I can pretty much make up for all the lost sleep during the morning hours. I'm kind of in love with the way my pregnant body looks, which is not something I thought would happen to me. All in all, not a bad 9 months, particularly when you consider the reward at the end of it all.

My mother and her friends are in the midst of organizing a shower for me at the end of July, and when I looked at the date and realized I'd be 35 weeks that day, all I could think was, "that can't be right, can it??" But it is. 35 weeks. Nearly done. The Home Stretch.

We have one more regularly scheduled ultrasound in two weeks. Then, starting at 32 weeks, I go in for twice-weekly monitoring. Yet another perk/punishment of the diabetic pregnancy. I'll get my blood pressure monitored each time to make sure we don't get surprised by pre-eclampsia, and The Doodle will get non-stress tests to make sure her heart rate and movement are still on track. We'll take a peek each time with a quick ultrasound, and Baby Girl and I will be on our way for another few days. It sounds exhausting, but I'm grateful for all the assurance. It's a fine line between keeping her in there long to have everything develop properly, and taking her out before things get...complicated. We're so excited to meet this baby girl, I'd happily go in every day if they told me that's what it would take.

Speaking of "the Doodle" and "Baby Girl Hall", I think Matt and I have finally settled on a name. We've also settled on not telling. At least, not yet. We've decided we think it's perfect, and we don't need anyone else's opinions. Besides, it's more fun to keep y'all guessing...

Our little lady...

Baby Girl Hall, 25 weeks and 2 days old.
Isn't she gorgeous?

34 years and 24 weeks...

A month has gone by since we found out our adorable Baby Hall is most definitely Baby Girl Hall. We still can't settle on a name, and truly, I've lost hope of making a decision before the little Doodle makes her debut. We'll just have to look at her and decide what name suits her best. Our pool has been narrowed to five. Her middle name will be Ann, because, well, it has to be. My middle name is Ann, my mother's is Ann, my grandmother's is Ann, and Matt's mother's is Ann. I've always known we'd use Ann. So, in no particular order, the running five favorites (with nicknames in parentheses) are:




Magnolia Ann (Lola)
Beatrice (or, possibly, Beatrix) Ann (Bea)
Ellie Ann
Matilda Ann (Mattie)
August Ann

On any given day, I can fall in love with one, and find fault with the others. But I truly love them all, which is part of the problem in making any kind of decision. Poor baby girl, maybe you ARE destined to be "The Doodle" forever.... ;)

My parents, grandmother, and aunt all chipped in to buy us our crib for my birthday, and with that last piece of furniture, the nursery is essentially finished, all except for decor on the walls. I've arranged and rearranged all the elements until it's exactly the way I want it, and usually I'll wander in there to sit and bask in all the baby glory at least once a day. One of my decorating projects was this little mini-clothesline, with these vintage cotton shirts and dresses we picked up at Goodwill here and there. My other pet project was this branch full of these tiny stuffed birds, cut from patterned scraps and hand sewn and stuffed by yours truly (only noteworthy because, while I may be a painter, I am NOT a sewer, but I still managed to pull it off). For over the crib, I have plans for a set of four square canvasses, two with silhouettes (a branch with a tiny bird perched on it, and a branch with a birdhouse hung from it) and two with Baby Girl's name (once we finally decide on one) and her length and weight when born. The rest, well, it will come in due time. Much like The Doodle herself :)



We had our 24 week Fetal Echo ultrasound today. Examining all the parts we couldn't see very well last month, and in particular her little heart. All, it seems, are perfect. All chambers of the heart formed correctly, beating away beautifully as it should. She's an active little wiggler, and for the first time ever I was able to SEE and FEEL her move at the same time, which was, quite frankly, surreal. She weighs 1lb 7oz today, falling perfectly and squarely in the "average" category. As diabetics tend to have larger babies, I'm completely thrilled with 67th percentile, size-wise! She treated us to several views as she twisted and turned in there, and confirmed that she is still 100% Girl.

She's already developing a routine, as far as the squirming goes. 6am, 10am (after breakfast), and between 10pm and midnight are her most active times (the latter does not bode well for her Daddy and I in terms of "bed time") In fruit and vegetable terms, she's a papaya. And tomorrow, 24 weeks old, will mark her as "viable". Of course we want her to continue to cook in there for the next three months, but there is some satisfaction in knowing that, were she to come early, she'd now have a shot at surviving--a battle as a preemie, true, but, surviving.

Just a few weeks more, and we're in the third trimester. The home stretch. This is the time I've been waiting for my whole pregnancy. It's time for farmer's markets, and fresh Tennessee strawberries, blooming flower gardens and growing tomatoes. Freshly mown grass and driving around with the windows down. Soon there'll be lightning bugs. And before we know it, it'll be Doodle time :)

SO...

In case you haven't heard...

IT'S A GIRL!

Yes, we're sure this time. Yes, that was a surprise. Yes, we are delighted. Of course, we were happy either way, and it certainly took a few days to readjust my world view, considering I had gotten pretty used to the idea that The Doodle was a boy. And, yes, Baby Girl Hall will have to spend the first few months of her life wearing a lot of blue (as much as I loathe hair bows on a bald little baby, I'm thinking I might have to subject the little girl to one out in public, lest her momma get in trouble for snapping at the people who mistakenly say, "What an adorable little boy!". It's cool, I never really liked pink that much anyway). The nursery and all the big ticket items we already purchased were picked with gender-neutrality in mind, and I so prefer greens and yelllows in decorating, it probably would have all gone that way regardless.

Friday evening after our earth-shattering ultrasound, we were driving home with a take-n-bake pizza, and suddenly I felt bubbles run up my expanding bump to my belly button. And thus, The Doodlebug's first kick was felt. I don't know if it was all that bouncing she did during the ultrasound, or the constant pressure of the scanning on my belly for an hour made me more aware of my uterus, but there it was. And I've been able to feel her tossing about in there ever since. When Matt asked what it felt like, I thought about all the comparisons I've heard (bubbles, fluttering, popcorn), but honestly, that sensation reminded me of something else entirely. "Did you ever fart in the bathtub as a kid? And the bubbles run up your back? That's exactly what it felt like."

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So, according to the scan, Baby Girl's organs are all functioning as they should. She's right on target at an estimated weight of 13 oz. and her heart beats at a beautiful-sounding 148 beats per minute. She is perfect.

As for me, well, allergies are kicking my ass. I still can't get more than a few hours solid sleep at a time. And the last trusty pair of jeans that fit are suddenly a lot more comfortable if I leave them unbuttoned. I caught a glimpse of myself in the window at Target yesterday, and I realized my center of gravity has shifted, and suddenly my bump is a belly. I've put on minimal weight since getting pregnant, my doctors say the numbers are right where they should be. But, clearly, things are movin' around in there. And, they reminded me this week, those numbers? Are about to explode. Awesome.

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Our chief occupation since learning the news Friday has been trying to pick a name. When the baby was a boy, we knew instantly, and in a week or two our whole family was referring to him by that name. Now that he's a she, well, we're having trouble pulling the trigger. Early on, we had two front runners, and suddenly now that we knew for sure, we had doubts. And mothers with opinions. And helpful suggestions. And now, instead of narrowing our list, it grows longer every day. So, I figure, what the heck....I'm humbly asking for your suggestions. Keep in mind, our last name is Hall, so there are a lot of names that will be ruled out simply because together they sound like a dorm. Lately our litmus test has been, does the name sound better in one of these two phrases:
"Ladies and Gentlemen, please rise. The honorable Judge _____ _____ Hall, presiding." Or, "Gentlemen, please welcome to the main stage of the Snake Pit Lounge, ______ _____ Hall!" Obviously, we prefer the former...

So...suggestions? I'll probably post our list at some point...we'll see.

Random Thoughts Masquerading as Cohesive Ideas...

Yeah. I'm pregnant. That is my excuse. FOR EVERYTHING.

19 weeks is pretty exciting, I must admit. Nearly halfway (or, well, probably halfway, considering I believe very strongly I won't go the full 40), and I'm really starting to feel pregnant. I haven't felt the baby move yet, my doctor has predicted I won't til 21 weeks or so. But I can feel my uterus if I poke my belly button, which, quite frankly, is just bizarre. I already have to get up twice a night to pee (I'm sure this has just as much to do with the fact that I'm drinking water like it's a competitive sport as it does pressure on my bladder). I've got one pair of jeans that still fits with no problems, and most of my favorite spring shirts are working just fine, but, well, there's no disguising the Belly (which, I'm kind of digging, but will dig more once it's *obviously* a Baby Belly). I'm not sleeping all that well during the night, but my schedule let's me do some solid sleeping from about 6am to 8:30, once Matt gets up and herds all the animals downstairs.

I had my first visit with my High Risk Perinatologist (thanks to my ol' pal, Daisy Bee Bees), since the pregnancy hormones will progressively complicate how my body processes food, glucose, and insulin. I don't yet love them like I love my OB (who I get to see in conjunction with the perinatologist and who will be the one to deliver my baby, yay!), but they're all very helpful and understanding. It sucks, of course, to not be able to binge on cookie dough or french fries, but the five months or so I have left are well worth the sacrifice for a healthy baby. My biggest fear about being a pregnant diabetic has nothing to do with birth defects (which are highly unlikely anyway), but more selfishly, to do with the fact that diabetic babies tend to be on the, um, LARGE size. I'd like to avoid a C-section if possible, but I'm also not excited about the prospect of pushing a line-backer out of me, epidural or no.

We're slowly but surely amassing more, well, stuff. Yeah. There's a lot of stuff that goes with babies, huh? The nursery is coming along swimmingly. After doing some measuring Matt and I broke out the graph paper (like the nerds we are) and diagrammed all possible set-ups for the furniture. We threw out our original configuration, and I think the new arrangement is much better. We also scored the perfect rug, on clearance, for about $20, and suddenly this room that was collecting furniture became The Baby's Room. We're still waiting on the crib *ahem, cough, Mom and Dad, cough* and we have to buy the shelves for the opposite wall, but the plan is in place. Several people have mentioned it seems like I'm really getting a jump on the nursery, which is true, and I tell them all the same thing--my plan is to finish it all in the second trimester, so while I'm gigantic and pregnant and uncomfortable in the unbearable heat of a Tennessee summer, my biggest project will be finding some air conditioning and the perfect position to prop my feet up and fan myself while I drink ice tea.

Work continues to be awesome--I love what I do, it's not stressful or hard for me, and I get paid well by people who appreciate both my work and my work ethic--truly, what more could you ask for? As a new business we're still working out kinks with scheduling and hiring and marketing, but those headaches seem minor in the larger picture, which I think bodes well for me and my future there.

And, it's Spring. Oh, how I adore Spring. The transitional season (Spring and Fall) have always been my favorite, and if it weren't for the horrific allergies I suffer through every year, Spring might just be the winner. Even with the sneezing and congestion and the itchy eyes, it's hard not to get a little rapturous at the weather and the sunshine and the greening grass and budding trees. Spring in East Tennessee is so beautiful, and I appreciate it perhaps this year like no other...

It's A BOY!

....we think...

Truth is, we're not sure. Not 100%. I'm only 13 weeks, which technically speaking is far too early to be able to tell. But at our monthly appointment yesterday, The Doodle graced us with an ass-up posture the entire time, which meant two things. 1) We had a nearly impossible time getting a cute little face picture for the fridge, but 2) we got a prime shot of the young'uns developing genitals. The minute our doctor asked us if, on the off chance she could tell, would we like to know the sex?, the both of us said "absolutely!" Both she and Matt instantly pointed to a spot on the ultrasound where the suspected penis was (I suspect my husband has been secretly studying ink blot tests for practice). I put on my glasses, leaned forward, cocked my head to the side, pretty much anything I could think of to give myself the advantage I needed to be able to see this mythical member. In the end, I took their word for it. It wasn't until I had the print outs in my hand, and was able to flip them upside-down to get a right-side up view, that I could see what they're talking about. So, here we are. With a powerful disclaimer reminding everyone (including myself) that it's still REALLY EARLY and we're not 100% sure....our OB is pretty sure. We're having a boy! *

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*probably

It's been a big weekend...

I suppose, that's kind of an understatement.

If you know me or my husband through Facebook, then you already know the biggest part of the story.

We're pregnant. I'm pregnant. We're having a baby. Baby Hall, hence forth to be known as "The Doodle". And we just announced it to the world. You'll pardon me if this is the only way I can sum up this moment, but....Holy Shit.

So now you all know. It's been a secret, from everyone but our doctors, for quite some time. Specifically, the day I took that pregnancy test was December 17th. As of this moment, I am 12 weeks and four days pregnant. But we've been keeping this secret for a lot longer than a few months. More like two years...

Back a jillion years ago (or, well, 2008) after a blissful first year of marriage, Matt and I began discussing having a family. At my annual visit, my OBGYN and I discussed it, and she offered to run some basic bloodwork for me, so we could assess where we were starting from. Unfortunately, what we found was high blood sugar. You all remember that. And when I started seeing an endocrinologist, I mentioned testing for several diseases. I mentioned the ones that came back negative. What I did not mention was the one that came back positive. My OBGYN and my endocrinologist jointly diagnosed me with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS). The insulin resistance is merely a side effect of this larger disease. 10% of ALL women suffer from PCOS, and it is the number one cause of infertility among women. And, quite frankly, it's a bitch. Anyway, what I've been conveniently not mentioning since fall of 2008 is that every doctor visit, every outrageous prescription, and every exasperating lifestyle change I've implemented has been in treatment of PCOS, and been in the pursuit of getting pregnant. We didn't tell, not because we were ashamed in any way, if anything it has been frustrating for me not to be able to speak out about PCOS and be an advocate for those suffering from infertility. We didn't tell, frankly, because we're private. We didn't tell, because fighting what felt like such a futile battle was pressure enough, without having to involve everyone else. We didn't tell, because it was the right thing for us. But, oh, you guys, you have no idea the feeling of relief I get from finally being able to talk about it. This is that journey, in a nutshell....

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In 2009, I was cleared by my endocrinologist to begin trying to conceive. I started with a fabulous new OB, who put me on the mildest fertility drug at our disposal, starting at the lowest dose. As winter turned into spring and spring into summer, we upped the dosage each month, and each time, were disappointed to find my ovaries hadn't responded at all. My OB referred me to an Reproductive Endocrinologist, who ran tests on both Matt and I, and began treating me with drugs again, this time a much stronger drug at a much higher dosage. For several more months, that failed as well. Finally, in December, we decided upon surgery on my ovaries as the next step, and January 5, 2010, I had laproscopic ovarian diathermy (a fancy term for what basically amounts to cauterizing spots on my ovaries). Later that month, I began ovulating on my own. We began timing the cycles with an hCG injection to pinpoint ovulation, and finally, in May, we thought we'd finally hit the jackpot. Unfortunately, we lost the pregnancy in it's earliest stages. After a short break, we began again, this time with another drug added to boost ovulation. Eventually, we added intrauterine insemination (IUI) to the mix (basically a "turkey baster" procedure). We did an IUI cycle in November, and again in December. December 3rd, 2010, I laid in an exam room, Matt holding my hand, wearing my lucky Santa Lobster socks, and the elf hat I was wearing the night Matt proposed to me. That was the day my husband, a nurse, an RE, and a PA got me pregnant. Granted, it doesn't sound romantic. But, after two years of being poked, prodded, and drugged on a constant two-week rotation, I became a fan of anything that works. This worked.

Two weeks later, at 14 Days Past Ovulation, I took a pregnancy test, and later that day had a beta at my RE's office. On January 3rd, at 6weeks2days, my RE confirmed the pregnancy was doing well via ultrasound, and we saw The Doodle's beating heart. The RE continued to monitor my progesterone levels weekly, and at 9 weeks I had my first visit back with my regular OB, whom I promptly fell in love with again. She described The Doodle with one word. "Perfect." Matt and I agreed that, now that we were sure the pregnancy was progressing exactly as it should, we would pick a date to "come out". This past Friday, my dad got a package from me, ostensibly for his birthday. It was a frame, a "baby" frame, and inside was a picture from our 9 week ultrasound. My mom cried. Then Matt and I drove to his parents' house, where we brought them Valentine's cookies, and a card. The card was addressed to Grandma and Grandpa, and it too contained the ultrasound picture. Matt's mom sent us home with two huge bags of Matt's old baby clothes. Both sets of Grandparents-to-be are thrilled. My relatives all received Valentine's Day cards from us, all with their own pictures of The Doodle. Later that night we told all our Facebook pals. And now, I've told you.

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The Doodle is due August 27th. Saturday marks the start of my second trimester. Matt and I have been buying gender neutral baby clothes at Goodwill at an alarming rate. Currently, my unborn child has more clothes than I do. Which isn't hard to believe, since none of my clothes fit right anymore anyway. Other than being exhausted all the time, I feel great. No morning sickness, but I did go through a 3 week period of being grossed out by all food except fruit. That has passed, and now I will push you down in public for a hamburger and fries.

Easing back in...

Hi.
I missed you all, too.

Basically, a mere day or two since my Thanksgiving post, our little lives got shaken up like a snowglobe for, what seems like now, the millionth time. And things were crazy and then they were bad and then they were okay and then they were amazing and then it was Christmas and then it was New Year's and some parts were wonderful and some parts were scary and some things are better and some things still haven't worked themselves out.

So, I just wanted to say that I'm here. And I have lots to tell. Next week. For now, I'm organizing my thoughts the way I wish I could organize my life, and that's taking some time. I did finally get the pictures off my camera, so Flickr has some new stuff for you to see. If you're curious how the Christmas Present Homemade Extravaganza turned out, those pictures are under the "Craft Projects" set. So, yeah, enjoy my handiwork, and next week, I'll be here. With some stories to tell...

So this is what's next...

As I sit here, typing, there is a massive dish of turkey pot pie in the oven, bubblin' away. Turkey. The last of the white meat. Still legs and thighs left in the fridge. And I hate leftovers. Oh, the turkey. It was delicious, but, in hindsight, a 13 lb bird for four people who love side dishes more than anything was probably a bit on the large side. Oh well. Thus, the pot pie.

How was your Thanksgiving? We had an excellent, low key day with Matt's family and the aforementioned excessive bird. I wore a cute apron. The cats managed to stay off the table during dinner. We watched the parade AND the dog show. Good day.

Mostly I relished not being at the bakery. My first week as a free woman was glorious, so much so that I suffered a massive guilt attack and had a teary melt down in my kitchen as Matt watched. I was having a hard time reconciling my glee with the overwhelming feeling that I was no longer pulling my weight (even though my house has never been cleaner, dinners are spectacular, the laundry gets done every day, and I'm handmaking all our Christmas gifts...). I dreaded not having a job almost equally as much as I dreaded getting called for an interview and giving up my glory days. And as I sobbed about losing my purpose and my crushing guilt and how I wish I could just be an artist, my sweet husband just stared at me puzzled, sighed, and said, "So why don't you not worry about it at all until January, and in the mean time, try to figure out how you can just be an artist?" And I blinked back my tears, and wiped my snotty nose on my sleeve, and said, "....Really?" And my darling husband said, "Sure."

And that's how I ended up staying up until the wee hours of the morning, researching printers and archival ink and packaging and shipping containers and etsy and crafter's guilds and Oh. Emm. Gee. Y'all, I'm gonna be an artist.

Almost everyone I've told has been supportive in the extreme. My parents are delighted. Our friends in Virginia are already planning a commissioned painting. I've got a few skeptical extended family members, but you know, they'll just have to get over it. This is something I have to try. If I fail, I fail, and I find a new safe job, or my next life's passion, or whatever. At least I know I took a shot at finding bliss in my work. Who wouldn't want to take a chance like that?

In the mean time I'm also still, you know, living my life and all. Decorating for Christmas, making pot pie, cranking out presents, going to the park. I'm making Jeff Hertzberg and Zoe Francios' Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day, which has been pretty cool so far--an experiment worthy of a post of it's own, maybe later this week. Whether I'm hanging ornaments or walking the dogs, though, my head is still racing...planning...pondering...

It never stops. This is a good thing.

Ladies who've gone before me...if you have any advice, things you wish you knew when you started an art-based business...don't be shy. Share. I'm all ears.