The Construction Zone

Dear Baby Girl,

Ah, the dynamic duo that is “Stimmy.” These two are like an old married couple. They’ve been flipping houses in Florida for two years now, and their one mistake during the process is that they haven’t got a camera crew filming them. They are hilarious together. Add in their living arrangement—with Grandma Tracy and Mammy—and you’ve got yourself some prime time hit TV. Jimmy has titled their show "Flipping Out," which is a duel reference based on flipping houses and flipping out at one another. Although I haven’t video-recorded anything, I have been documenting their progress (and some of their antics) via photo.

Top: Granda Steve trying to plant one on Jimmy.
Bottom: The two of them sharing a little post-work snack.

As much of a full house as we’ve got now in Arlington, you can always count on comic relief and quality work. Jimmy is unbelievably talented. Historically, his area of expertise was drywall, but in the last couple of years he has really honed his skills at tiling. I put these skills to test by picking out glass tiles for our showers. It’s his first time working with glass tile (and he has declared it his only time working with glass tile) but it is coming out even more beautiful than I could have pictured in my wild imagination. He hates working with the stuff. It is difficult to cut, and tedious to place, but he is my new best friend for it. I’ve been trying to win him over with good food and Bud Light (thank goodness for our enormous store of Italian freezer foods), but I know he probably wants to kill me as he carefully places each brick. The bath tub that he’s working on downstairs will likely be your toddler tub, and you couldn’t be bathing in a more regal looking space.

Left:  Upstairs shower. This will eventually be the "kids bathroom" (that's you, Baby Girl!)
Right: Downstairs shower. Your toddler tub as Dad and I can both fit in this bathroom to bathe you.

Jimmy also saved us with the air conditioning. We hired a crew to move the furnace to make room for a larger downstairs bathroom, but they did a truly terrible job with the duct work. With their work, the bathroom ceilings would have needed to be absurdly low. Jimmy corrected all that, didn’t miss a beat, and now the bathroom is going to be perfect. So add duct work to his repertoire.

Of course, Grandpa Steve is working equally as hard. He loves the “wow fact-ah," and as the primary painter he generally achieves it. I don’t always like to give him the satisfaction (I feel obligated keep his ego in line), but when I saw your nursery I couldn’t not be wowed. He’s almost done with the painting, and it looks great. I love the colors that we picked, and the whole house is looking more like the environment that you will know and grow up in.

Top: Grandpa Steve doing his famous proud "peacock."
Bottom Left: The stairway is refinished with a rail and spokes to keep you from tumbling over!
Bottom Right: New windows, paint, and "wet bar" (which will serve as your infant/baby bath!)
Lest you forget what all of this looked like before, go: here.

Grandpa Steve loves demolition and a good trip to the dump. He’s been bonding with your father who’s been assisting him on weekends, and I think they had a solid dump run this past Saturday as both came back in excellent spirits. Your father finds Grandpa Steve's little “Steve”-isms hilarious (glad somebody does). For example: most modern truck owners will use belts, straps, and buckles to secure construction items in their truck bed. Not Steve. He goes old school, using only rope and sailor knots. He was very excited to show your father the functionality of his sailor knot (later, a piece of trim fell out of the truck while driving on the highway. Grandpa Steve contends that the trim snapped, and it was NOT his knot job). Another “Steve”-ism: he rates each truckload of trash with his own personal highway safety label—45MPH, 50MPH or 60MPH. This one makes your father nervous.

Top: Grandpa Steve and Dad on their dump run.
Bottom: Stimmy on a Home Depot run, and Jimmy try to secure Grandpa Steve's sailor knot.

Grandpa Steve and Dad hanging the siding on the house around the new window.
The top picture is an action shot, but the bottom one is posed.

Of course, MY job is primarily being the crabby wench who tells them what I don’t like after the fact and then adds to their already extensive to-do list. I try to balance it out with compliments, and I even annoy myself with how critical I can be. But I do love their work—honestly I do—and we have a good time (mostly). I’m cooking for them as much as I can, I have ridden to the dump once, and I join them on some Home Depot runs (even though as you know I loathe the place).

We’re trying to get everything complete by the end of the month, so your father and I can have a weekend to arrange furniture and what-not in time to have it all set up for your baby shower on July 9^th.  Some of your extended family is trekking to DC for this event (which I am so very grateful for) so I want the wow-factor almost as much as Grandpa Steve does.

Once all of this renovating and the baby shower are done, your father and I will have a couple of months to chill before you come along. Maybe finally get some R&R this summer (HA! Like that will happen. Dream on, Dad)!

Love,

Mom

Dad at it again!
He has taken over cooking duty a couple of nights when I've been tired.
No one has complained, except that he is making them fat.
Above is one of his delicious pepperoni rolls.

24 Weeks, 25 Weeks and 99 Days to Go!

99 DAYS TO GO! 

THE "DOUBLE DIGITS" COUNTDOWN BEGINS!

AH! Look at YOU!
You don't just look like a baby; you look like OUR baby!
Such personality in that little smirk.
In the bottom picture, the ultrasound tech caught you yawning!

Dear Baby Girl,

You are one beautiful little baby! At 24 weeks, we had our last ultrasound at the hospital barring any complications. This means it was the last 3D ultrasound, and you went out rather photogenically. The technician was able to capture a couple of solid glamor shots, despite your head being nudged against my uterus (that’s why it gets blurry at the top). I think you definitely look like your father (nose and mouth), but he thinks you are too young to tell. That would be typical. I do all the work, and then you look like him! That’s okay though. He’s a handsome fellow.

More importantly, you are healthy and on track. You’re in the 64^th percentile for size, and kicking a lot more often. I love it when you kick. Because the placenta is in the front, I feel it less often than others who are 25 weeks, but when I do it makes me happy. Dad is brave enough to touch my stomach now (before it made him nervous), but he hasn’t felt you kick yet. You seem to get shy when he puts his hand on there, and you’re very sporadic with your kicks—always keeping me on my toes.

What’s going on in the world while you’re in there? Well, the presidential primaries have concluded. It’s going to be Donald Trump v. Hilary Clinton in November. Zika is on the news just about every day, but I got a tiny bit of relief when one study found that pregnant women who contracted the disease in the third trimester had no issues with birth defects. We are about three weeks away from the third trimester, but I’m going to stick with the bug spray and mosquito net hat until you are born (of course I have a mosquito net hat)!

Did you REALLY think I was kidding?
Audrey and I enjoying a nice outdoor backyard BBQ. More on Audrey in a bit.

One more positive event in the news (and there have been a lot of negative ones)—the Pittsburgh Penguins won the Stanley cup! Afterward, Dad officially declared 2016 “a good year” (obviously it was already going to be the best year of his life). He was a nervous wreck during the series. He gets so worked up that he has to watch the games in the isolation of his man cave. He has his Pittsburgh group text going, and yells at the TV to his heart’s desire. I watched some of the playoffs with him, but the 8PM games did not jive well with my 9PM bedtime. I did manage to be there and awake when they actually won. I was very happy for him. I even bought him/you a couple of Pittsburgh Penguin onesies for Father’s Day.

HI BABY GIRL!
Your Aunt Joanne sent us these Penguins T's from the home games.
And on the right is exactly how Dad watches every game.
Sad that the XL shirt fits me pretty well.

I read that your hearing is pretty developed at this point, so I’m trying to counterbalance all the yelling/snapping I do at your grandfather and father with “The Mozart Effect.” Everything I’ve read tells me that classical music will not make you smarter, but I continue to believe otherwise. It WILL, dammit!  I also have absolutely insane dreams. I feel like if I could get myself out of bed at 2AM I could easily crank out a teen fiction novel (in fact, I think this is how “Twilight” came about). I actually finished the entire series of “Game of Thrones” in one dream. There’s some 2016 pop culture for you… “Game of Thrones” might be the hottest show out there.

You’ve been raking in the gifts, and the other day when Audrey came over for a “Fuller House” marathon (a reboot of my favorite childhood show) she brought what has probably been the most amusing of all gifts. Audrey “gets” Dad and me. She’s one of my best friends from college, and I’m sure you will be on a level with her where you call her “Aunt.” She almost lost it when she saw the nursery. Audrey has been there for me through so much, and I know she will be there for you in the same way. She’s very excited about your arrival. You will do well to pick up some of her sarcastic nature.

ONESIES!
Top Left: From Audrey- "Home Brewed Baby"
Top Right: I bought this for Grandpa Steve, but it applies to both
the Cicala and Leavitt side of your family.
Bottom Left: From Audrey- "lil' lager" baby bottle
Bottom Right: The Pittsburgh Penguins onesies I bought for you/Dad

HA. My new favorite children's book. "Go the f*ck to sleep."
Audrey also had the same idea as your Aunt Joanne with the Star Wars bedtime story.
I told you... she "gets" us.

I’m doing poorly lately with “the bump” photos, but that’s because we have so much going on with Grandpa Steve and Uncle Jimmy working on the house. That is going to be another letter entirely, so I will wrap this one up for now.

Jimmy took this bump photo for me. It's not my typical bump outfit but it will have to suffice.

It was so good to see you, Baby Girl, and crazy to think that the next time I’m at the hospital just MIGHT be for your grand arrival!

Love,

Mom

Crib Drama

Dear Baby Girl,

The decision around your crib and changing table was one of your mother’s crazy, neurotic, indecisive, obsessive moments. This is exactly what I was talking about when I said that I am driving your father insane. I think he wants to murder me, yet feels incredible pity for me at the same time. It must be a difficult balance for him.

On our lovely Pittsburgh shopping spree, Dad and I picked out a crib and changing table at Pottery Barn. We were in the store, we had a discussion about which was best and why, and we came to a decision. It wasn’t the crib I had had in mind prior to walking into the store, but logic and reason diverted us to a different crib. White made more sense than weathered gray (I just have a bit of a weathered gray fetish). Your Nonna graciously footed the bill and everything was hunky dory.

Fast forward a few hours later. I am second guessing my decision to the “n”th degree. I often have this notorious habit, and your father hates it as he is a “once-it’s-done-it’s-done” type person. Would that I could be more like him. I suffered through much mental anguish, enlisted Aunt Joanne and Marielle’s opinions, softly broached the subject with your father who relinquished the decision to me, and decided to return to the weathered gray crib as that was the one I originally had in mind.

Fast forward to the next day. We got home from Pittsburgh, I went to Pottery Barn, paint samples in hand, held them up against the crib, and hemmed and hawed at the store by myself for a while before ultimately switching our order. Never mind that the gray crib was on back order until mid-September. I was determined.

Fast forward to the day after that. I painted a small section of your nursery with the colors that we picked. I tried to envision the entire room with the gray crib, and then the white. I pictured it with the rocking chair, the rug… the gray crib just wasn’t going to work. I called Pottery Barn, changed our order again and told your father not to let me think about it anymore. His response: “PLEASE tell me how I can do that Taylor, I’ve been trying to figure it out for years.”

So now you have a taste of how the rest of the renovation process is going. Dad calls me the “inspector” and every time I mosey on over to the work zone he’s like, “uh-oh, inspection is coming!” Honestly, it’s a stressful way to live life and I wish I could be more laid back about this sort of thing but I can’t. Maybe if you have a sibling things will be different (see picture above), but for now the crazy continues to haunt me. I also realize that this is a silly thing that doesn’t matter and that there are much more important things in life, but it is just one of those things I can’t get out of my head. I’ll chalk it up to being pregnant.

All of this being said, I am happy with the final decision. Now that the nursery is coming together I know that the white will be absolutely beautiful. I bought you a gorgeous chandelier and a rug that I love, and I think that it will be a room fit for a princess. I realize that the picturesque nursery may be more for me than you at this point, as babies don’t generally wield an opinion on such matters, but I think that by the time you are a toddler you will really appreciate it. I know that my childhood pink-walled, pink-carpeted room with triangle windows that my father built at my request was young Taylor’s personal oasis and sanctuary. I hope that you will love your room as much as I did mine.

Added bonus: the white crib and changing table will arrive today (NOT mid-September)! This gives your father peace of mind as now your nursery will be ready a couple months in advance verses a couple weeks (Dad hates “scramble” mode). Now I just need to pick a rocking chair…

Love,

Mom

Can't resist giving you a sneak peak of your nursery.
There's Dad waving to you in your bedroom!

A chandelier fit for a princess!

You and I in your bedroom at 25 weeks.

This one's for Dad(s)!

Dear Baby Girl,

So much has been happening lately. I have no time to write to you, as my time is consumed with the three men currently residing in our house: Dad, Grandpa Steve, and “Uncle” Jimmy. However, this trio is making magic happen. Your nursery is incredible. I am so excited for you to see it, and I hope that you will love it for years to come. They are working away to gain our little family nearly double the square footage your father and I have had for the past couple of years… and it’s all for you my dear.

Whenever I’m not bumping heads with Grandpa Steve, traveling to Home Depot, or being overly critical of every doorknob to the point that I’m driving the aforementioned men insane, I’m worrying about you. We’re in a crucial stage of development and I want to make sure I’m doing everything right for you. I’m not going to lie, as beautiful as everything is turning out with the house, this renovation is stressful, and I hope that the stress is taking less of a toll on you than it is on me. I try to stay calm (for your sake), but I get worked up about silly things on a daily basis. My consolation:  at our 24 week appointment I got some phenomenal pictures of you in the ultrasound. I will share these photos and photos of the nursery soon, but for today, I have to change gears and recognize three men that will be very special to you: your father, and your two grandfathers.

Your father. What would I do without him? My demands and moods have been out of control, and he takes them in stride. I drive him insane, yet he still does his best to help me maintain my own sanity. He can come off abrasive at times, but you and I both know he’s a softy deep down, and he’ll be a sucker for you for sure.

Grandpa Steve. Man, this man can really get to me. Probably because (I hate to say it), I have some of his qualities, and there simply can’t be two of us in the same room at the same time. But the man is giving his heart and soul, blood, sweat, and tears to making this house perfect for me, you, and Dad, and I know that he will be as great a grandfather to you as he was a father to me.

Poppa. I truly wish he were here joining in on the construction fun. He’s a worker, and I think that the crew we’ve got would thoroughly enjoy his company and expertise. We miss him. His generosity literally fuels the post work hours, as we have a solid supply of his homemade wine. 

So that’s two fathers, and one father-to-be. You’ve got a lot of Dad-love coming your way, kid. Happy Fathers’ Day!

Love,

Mom

Two of my favorite fathers... present and future!

I couldn't help but get a few gifts for this little holiday.
Grandpa Steve got his own attire, but I got Dad something for both you and him.
I figured since you are not born yet, clothes for you count as a gift for him.
Plus, how perfect is that onesie for him?

Little Fathers' Day brunch.

My photos of Poppa are pathetically limited.
I will remedy this next time I see him.
But this is a Cicala favorite of mine.
Look at your own dad in the little sailor suit! What a cutie.

Grandpa Steve is working so hard he can't stay awake in the pickup.

Visitors

Dear Baby Girl,

We’ve had several visitors to our humble home during the time you’ve spent in utero, particularly in the second trimester. In March, Grandma Tracy and Grandpa Steve came up for a weekend visit. In April, Great Aunt Judy popped in for the night on the way back from Hannah’s (I believe Hannah is your first cousin once removed—but these sorts of labels get very confusing, even when using Google). In May, Mariah stopped by as she was in town for work (I don’t believe I have yet properly introduced you to Mariah, but that will come momentarily).

Let’s begin with Grandma Tracy and Grandpa Steve. Whenever any of the Leavitts come to visit, Dad generally gets burdened with cooking. It is because we all adore a good Italian spread, and no one can put one together quite like your father (except maybe his mother). So we had a little pasta night. It was very enjoyable. Uncle Eli played Italian Pandora much to your father’s dismay and then did a little role playing exercise where he pretended to be you as a teenager. You see, Dad has declared that when you are born we will start a tradition of Sunday night “family meetings” where he can air his grievances to the family. Uncle Eli simply wanted to demonstrate how such a meeting might go when teenage attitude is thrown into the mix. I think it ended something like, [quoting Eli, as you] “I hate you; I’m going to live with Uncle Eli!” It was actually quite comical.

Above left: Uncle Eli pretending to be you as a teenager.
He rolled his Iphone into his sleeve and turned his hat backwards supposing this is how a teenager would be.
Above right: Uncle Eli playing the fanciest game of Monopoly ever.
You will become quite versed in the ins and outs of Monopoly as it is a popular (yet dangerously competitive) family past time.
Bottom: We are all waving to Uncle Ben, but it could also be waving to you, Little Girl.
Grandma Tracy insisted on wine glasses even though there is water in mine and beer in hers.

Great Aunt Judy stopped by in April on the way back to Maine after visiting Hannah in North Carolina. And guess what? We made Dad cook again! I swear I cook too, but this was pizza night, and again, that’s your father’s forte (however, I did make the crust the night before). Judy brought a friend of Hannah’s and we too had to resort to Pandora after failed attempts at getting our victrola record player to work. The victrola was your Great Great Grandma Hazel and Grandpa Ray’s, and apparently worked quite well in Grandpa Steve and Great Aunt Judy’s childhood. I hope to get an antique specialist to come fix it at some point because I think it would be very cool to put to use, but unfortunately it’s fairly low on my priority list with you on the way.

Dad, the master chef; Aunt Judy, the antique technician;
and the star of the evening, the pizza... one pesto, one traditional sauce.

Finally, in May, Mariah stopped by to have lunch with me. Mariah is your mother’s longtime childhood friend dating back to... second grade maybe? I’ve lost track. We spent much of our youth on the same “Odyssey of the Mind” team, among many other things. Her daughter Lacey is my fairy God-daughter (as I am not Catholic, I had to go with the fairy God-title rather than the traditional God-mother), so I suppose that would make Lacey your fairy God-sister. I hope that you and her brother Theo will be very close. Lacey has already named you Flower—a name I’m not totally sold on, but out of respect for Lacey will remain in the running.

My bump was not looking very bump-y here so i put both my hands on my belly to hold my shirt.
But really it just looks like Mariah has her hand in a somewhat inappropriate position.

And who will, might you ask, be our next house guest? None other than the dynamic duo known as “Stimmy,” expected to show up tomorrow. Their arrival will mark the beginning of a major overhaul to our house and hopefully by the time they depart we will have a gorgeous nursery ready and waiting for a new baby girl. Estimated arrival: 9/29/16

Love,

Mom

Memorial Weekend

Dear Baby Girl,

We spent Memorial Weekend in your father’s motherland, Pittsburgh—the Tony Bear back in his natural habitat, surrounded by his kith and kin, filling him simultaneously with happiness, anxiety, and impatience. At center stage of the weekend festivities was Marielle, the graduate, salutatorian of her high school class and a few short months away from embarking on her collegiate journey to the highly esteemed Notre Dame. This cousin of yours is to be your role model, so make sure that when you come along you follow her around like a little duckling.

This picture was not taken by me, as I wasn't there
but it is an excellent picture of your cousins, aunt, uncle, and grandparents.
HOORAY FOR MARIELLE!

Allow me to brag a bit about her accolades—a near perfect SAT score, acceptance to her top choice of colleges, a future engineer in the making, and salutatorian to the fourth decimal. As far as cousins go, by the time you are born you will only have two of them, but what we have here is quality over quantity. Marielle and Michael are truly wonderful. Not only have you got the studious hard working older sister who sets the bar very high, but you also have the clever, witty, and dutiful younger brother—key I’m sure to his sister’s sanity and success (if it is anything like my own situation). I’m sure that you will fit right in with these two prodigies, and I hope for you to someday reap similar benefits of an unbreakable sibling dynamic.  

Unfortunately Dad and I missed the graduation ceremony (who has graduation on a Wednesday? Come on!), but we did attend Marielle’s graduation party on Friday. It was spectacular—the Gleason’s truly delivered here. I might have to send you straight to them for your own graduation party. With tents, and centerpieces, and Nonna’s meatballs how can you go wrong? Marielle looked absolutely beautiful (DAMN me for not getting a picture of her!), and I got rather nostalgic of my own experience when I saw her picture montage with her senior picture, prom picture, etc. (I’m getting ahead of myself but I am so happy I will someday get to shop for a prom dress with you!).

As I mentioned, I did not get a picture of Marielle at her party.
However, in the top left you see the brilliant graduate and the top right is her again PRE PROM!
(Hopefully she doesn't mind me posting these here. I have to assume the young kids are okay
with this sort of thing what with all the social media apps these days).
The bottom two pictures are my masterpiece cupcakes.

I spent some time with your Dad’s cousin Joe and his wife Maria (what you lack in first cousins will surely be compensated for in first cousins once/twice/thrice removed—both on Dad’s side and on mine), who is Pittsburg’s renowned barber—with an excellent sense of humor. I also got to meet Uncle Mike’s side of the family, full of big Irish personalities that you can’t not love. I wish I got to chat with them more, but, as per usual, my energy level and conversational capacity fizzled at around 9:30PM, and I’m lucky I now have a visible bump to use as an excuse for my diminishing lack of social skill as the night progresses.  

"Fighting Irish" is the theme we went with here.
Aunt Joanne did all the tent lighting and drapery herself.
And if that wasn't enough work she also took the time to wrap the barrels in burlap.

The day after the graduation party was a day I had been looking forward to for some time—a day in the life of Nonna. She took your father and I on her weekly shopping spree to the Pittsburg “Strip District,” and we hit up Pittsburg classics like Pennsylvania Macaroni and Wholey’s. Pittsburgh boasts a large European immigrant population hailing from countries that produce, arguably, some of the most delicious food in the world. “PennMac” (as the locals call it) is an Italian food lovers dream. Cheese, pasta, olives, sauce, balsamic vinaigrette—and we had the master chef doing the pickings for us. In fact, at one point Nonna acquired a shadow who was copying her every selection and putting it into his own cart (he laughed and blushed when I called him out on his game). PennMac provided samples at the door of a delicious pork marinara, but I didn’t dare buy any because in Nonna territory we make our own sauce (I believe she was quite appalled when we bought a pack of pierogi… why would we buy Polish food when we could buy Italian?)!

Above: Dad entering this family shop owned and operated for over a century.
Bottom: The EXTENSIVE olive bar PennMac has to offer.

Our next stop was Wholey’s. I found this place incredibly amusing. In a landlocked city, it is a fresh fish market. And it literally is fresh. They have tanks and tanks of live fish that are slaughtered on the spot, and for the most part, every fish you could imagine (albeit, not all live). This is the site of Nonna’s Christmas Eve dinner shopping for the famed “Feast of the Seven Fishes.” What I found most amusing about the place was that it was her unequivocal choice for lunch. It simply tickled me that in a city full of excellent European cuisine, we got fried fish sandwiches. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good shrimp po’ boy, but I had my fair share of fried seafood growing up on the coast of Maine. Also, Nonna will not dine out anywhere but here. Again, I’m not complaining. It was delicious and this is just part of her charm.

After lunch, and for the rest of the afternoon, we focused on “The Princess” (this is what Nonna is calling you now—and it’s a name you share with Marielle). She took us crib shopping and clothes shopping and very kindly insisted on footing the bill. She took a back seat and let your father and I get what we wanted (really me getting what I wanted, while they both tolerated my insane deliberations), and when she saw my eyes light up at a pink elephant rocker she announced that we were buying that too (thus, the origins of your pink rocking elephant).

I keep hearing from Dad’s family that Nonna had such a lovely time on our spree, and thanking me for it. I think the gratitude is entirely misplaced because I had one of my best days in Pittsburgh yet and am very grateful at her contribution to helping us prepare for you. Nonna is so excited to go on repeat shopping trips with you in tow—and so am I. Her and your father had the occasional quarrel, but though he will never admit it I think even he enjoyed it. Sometimes Nonna reminds me so much of Grandpa Steve—telling random cashiers our whole life story (“my son is having a baby girl!”) and knowing where the “secret” parking spaces are. It’s as if Grandpa Steve were morphed into a little Italian lady. I’m sure you will notice the parallels.

Our trip concluded with ice cream at Saris (another Pittsburgh hotspot I can’t wait to take you to), dinner with the Gleasons, and lunch the following day at Primanti Brothers. As per usual, we went home with a truckload of Italian eats that we will likely still be eating when you are old enough to eat.

Happy Memorial Day Baby Girl, I hope you enjoyed listening to all of the craziness as I am told you can now hear our voices!

Love,

Mom

Above: Nonna putting together the cheese and charcuterie for the graduation party.
Fortunately we got to take some of this home with us!
Below: Uncle Bart and Dad being silly.

Baby's first Primanti Brothers.
This is my absolute favorite Pittsburgh tradition, and it's another longstanding family business.
The original Primanti's was designed for truckers. They put the french fries in the sandwich because it was easier for said truckers to eat only one item.
I went with the kielbasa (another Polish dish... don't tell Nonna).