You Decide

Which is worse?

Watching your son waterboard his cousin in the bathtub or...

Watching your son retrieve his cousin's poop from the toilet?

I Voted for Pedro

And all my wildest dreams have come true.  And I'm not talking about the whole, yeah, I've got a daughter thing.  I'm talking my husband has given me my Christmas present early.  And I'm getting a maid!  So people, starting tomorrow, every other Wednesday, I will have a clean house.  My toilets won't know what hit them and my baseboards will come to know they've long been neglected. 

I think he gave it to me, not only because I've been fantasizing about a maid for about 6 years, but also because he thinks it might reduce my freak-outs that having been coming about once every 36 hours.  And by freak out I mean one of two things--either just start crying uncontrollably in a puddle on the couch, or turn into a psycho bitch snapping at Sloan.  I think I've even done both at the same time.  Things I've freaked out about--the amount of television Henry has been watching lately, Grace's Christmas stocking and the fact that each Angel wing takes about 6 hours to make and I accidentally made two left wings, the copious amounts of laundry that seem to never get done, the fact that I'm so tired I was henpecking on 288 yesterday, the fact that Henry now cries when we drop him off at school, the fact that Henry now cries at bedtime, the fact that Henry was a wild man going nuts and almost ruined his friends Build a Bear birthday party (sorry Loren!), the fact that Henry has stopped being an adventurous eater and would now prefer either a chicken nugget or filet mignon only diet (oh! how that boy is my son), the size of the coffee table in the family room (Sloan quickly replaced it), the amount of ride on toys and bikes stored on our front porch and the fears that our neighbors soon expect an upholstered couch to appear, the amount Grace eats, the amount Grace poops, getting to church on time (and how Sloan and I seem to fight every Sunday morning because I feel rushed), the fact that my eldest nephew has to have open heart surgery in two weeks, my friend in Austin gave birth to beautiful twin girls (Welcome to the World, Ruby and Tess!) and I've made them a gift but am worried they'll outgrow the onesies and Grace's leftover newborn diapers before I get around to mailing it, the fact that two of my sister's kids are staying with us this week and Sloan still has to go out of town, the birth announcements, and the Christmas cards that came in the mail yesterday were incorrect.  I've also freaked out about the fact that I've been freaking out.  I'm trying to learn to take things off my plate--Christmas cards will be reordered and late.  Henry will get to watch TV, but I'll be sure to stop my sewing and addressing to cuddle him more on the couch.  I'm going to try to get more sleep. Because I'm pretty certain that exhaustion is a huge contibutor to the freaking out.

I think the stress of the Christmas season is adding to the stress of new baby.  I must also confess that I hate being stressed out about this stuff.  But, for better or worse, of all the Charlie Browns in the world, I seem to be the Charlie Browniest as of late.

I'm still giving myself permission to prayerfully freak out about Anderson's surgery.  Please join me in praying for my 17 year old nephew.  On Dec 21st, surgeons will rip open his chest, tear his muscles, and break his rib cage in order to correct the shape of his rib cage that has been impending his lung capacity and causing a heart murmur.  He hopes to be home by Christmas, but will be in serious pain for at least a month, and unable to play sports for at least 4 months.  Please also pray that he'll be fully healed and back in shape by next fall's soccer season.  (I know that sounds trite, but this is the boy who was All State this year and MVP in the soccer tourney and I'd hate for him to miss his Senior year.)

I've also freaked out about the things that no one tells you about having a second kid.  Remember how with the first child everyone tells you to nap when the baby naps?  You can't do that with the second child.  Or, you can, but fully expect for every train and piece of track from the train table and the contents of the trash can to be strewn about your son's bedroom floor.  And I miss the whole just sitting around staring at your baby that I had with Henry.  I want Gracie to know it is not that I don't want to hold her and stare at her, it is just that if I don't put her down soon, Henry will have removed every baby wipe from the container and will have completely undecorated the tree. 

And she doesn't want to see that freak out.

2 One months

Today it has been one month since Grace has been ours.  One month ago, we sat in the Bethany office in Richmond and signed papers confirming the great work God had done--Grace was ours and we were hers.  For keeps. 

When loopy from being tired with Henry, I crafted.  I made what has become known in some circles as "The Ambien Toy".  This time, when loopy from exhaustion with Gracie, I've written a poem. 

(There is part of me that wants to explain to you that writing poetry isn't my bag and beg you not to laugh.  But my 11th grade Creative Writing proffesor always told us never to begin a presentation of our work with the disclaimer "This isn't good."  Rather, he made us slap our desks and exclaim "Damn!  I'm good!"  And nothing makes you seem cooler to high schoolers than telling them to cuss in class.) 

I will simply explain that this came about when I was reflecting on our discussion of what to name our daughter.  We knew it needed to be something that accurately reflected God's heart towards us.  I proposed Mercy Margaret, Margaret Grace, and even, laughingly, Glory Grace.  (Margaret, thinking we'd use the nickname Meg, had always been our "after Emma" baby name.)   So, without further ado, I give you the poem I wrote for Grace.

Out of the darkness we prayed

for you.

Love ripped from our hearts.

A gaping grave.

We begged for Faith.

We needed Mercy.

Joy unnattainable.

Hope beyond our grasp.

Glory unfound.

But Grace. 

Sweet, surprising Grace.

Pouring down; spilling over.

Finding and filling our lowest points.

Lifting our heads.

Raising our voices.

And because the title is "2 one months", I will post Grace's one month "Pose with Baby P" pictures.

Sleeping Beauty.

Holla!

Oh, Mommy.  I can see why you sleep with this bear, Baby P. 

He is fantastic.  Maybe you could give this one to me and have Henry make you a new one?

Hot and Cold Turkey

As if adjusting to having two children wasn't enough, the holidays are upon us.  I'm overwhelmed by not only lack of sleep, Henry's sudden need to hug me all the time, Grace's thrush, the fact that I can't even remember the last time I cleaned our bathrooms (September, maybe?), but the fact that I also can't seem to find the time to clean the house to get ready to decorate for Christmas, order birth announcements, finish making Grace's stocking (why did I decide to sew on all these sequins to the angel wings?),  take a Christmas card photo, and oh yeah, order Christmas cards.  Adding fuel to this fire is the onslaught of leaves and the fact that somehow, while we were away for Thanksgiving, my neighbors all seemed to rid their yards of the aforementioned leaves.  So we are now those neighbors.  The ones with three foot leaf dunes and various kid toys strewn everywhere.  To my neighbors I say "You've got to be kidding me.  Where do you find the time?"  I think the past couple of weeks can be best illustrated by the fact that a friend said to me this morning, "Elizabeth, I was so impressed by how quickly you got out the thank you note to me for Grace's gift.  Even more impressed when a second note arrived a few days later.  It's the first time I've ever been thanked twice.  And they were even worded differently."  (I'm taking solace in the fact that also today, for the first time in my life, I wore a white shirt ALL day long without spilling anything on it.  Take THAT world!)

A crazy-frantic Thanksgiving has taught me that to seek perfection would be exhausting.  A long time believer that if you don't love Jesus enough to vacuum needles then you are not a real Christian--I've purchased a fake Christmas tree.  On some level, I hate myself a little bit.  On another level, the fact that I decided to not even try to make it look real (I bought a giant WHITE tree), I feel like I've turned a corner.  I've made the decision to recognize that it really doesn't matter that much one way or another and I'll be able to be a better wife and mother if I'm not always complaining about the mess that is the family room.  This is pretty huge for me.  I like to imagine that my kids will always have Norman Rockwell Christmases with golden turkeys and perfectly hung stockings.  Instead, I end up beating myself up because I just can't seem to make that happen. 

For Thanksgiving,  all that was missing was Burt Reynolds and Coors Light, as we cannon balled it down the entire East Coast logging over 26 hours of driving.  We went to Greensboro, NC on Monday night.  Then, at 4am on Wednesday, we went to Jacksonville, FL to spend Thanksgiving with Sloan's 101 year old Grandmother, Violet.  Nothing says Thanksgiving like staying in a hotel and lunch at a Country Club.  Then, Friday, at 4am, it was back up to Greensboro.  Then back to Richmond on Sunday.  Like Chinese take-out, after three days, time spent with family just turns bad.  (I think I've said this before but I'm pretty sure I've learned my lesson this time.) 

While at my parents' house, Henry earned the nickname "Full Throttle."  He enjoyed the slumber parties with cousins and pretty much eating cookies whenever, and by the last night there had finally figured out the physics that is sleeping in a sleeping bag.  (Who knew this was a skill?  He kept saying, "I want feet out."  No, Henry, they go in the bag.")  I think my favorite moment was when he decided to pre-treat my mother's laundry room with a brand new thing of Spray and Wash from Costco.  We found him splashing about, soaked from head to toe, in a gallon and a half of the suds.  Full Throttle, people.

But while I've been busy dropping the ball on the best daughter in the world and cleanest house on the block contests, I have been doing a fine job in the Mommying dept (Spray and Wash debaucle not withstanding).  Today, Gracie had her one month check up (despite really being 5 weeks old).  She weighs 9 pounds, 4.5 oz (around 30th percentile).  She is 21 inches long (25th percentile).  Her head circumference is 35.5 cm (15th percentile, up from 3rd percentile at birth).  She also is DRUG FREE.  Okay, so not really drug free--just controlled substance/Methadone free.  She has to take Zantac for Reflux (which they think may be due to withdrawal symptoms),  and Nystatin for the crazy thrush she has.  We've been using a sugar water syrup to combat the pain she's been having from withdrawal  (have you seen the movie Ray?) and this, combined with some propholactic antiobiotic they have her on, has my girl's mouth looks like a white North Face fleece.  So not Frat-tastic.  (She does, however, have a pair of teeny tiny pink Uggs, so maybe she is a little Frat-tastic and ready for her first Sorority social.) 

During her weaning, she has not been the screaming mess we anticipated.  She does need to be held to settle her down, and please, oh please, do not take her passy from her, but no more so than other babies.  We've had a few rough nights with her being up and irritable for hours at a time, but mostly all it takes is cuddles and a few verses of Amazing Grace to soothe her.  With all she is fighting, she is a trooper and an easy baby.  Even if she weren't combating all this junk, I still think she'd be an easy baby.  She wakes to be fed (between 5 and 6 oz) usually around 10pm, 2am, and again at 6.  Tonight will be the first night we don't have to wake her up at 3am to give her meds. That will help her (and us) sleep some more.  I'm looking forward to it.

Henry napping in his chair.  (Yes.  That's the chair from my childhood bedroom.  Non pink-stripe fabric has been purchased--just don't know any upholstery people in Richmond.)

Sweet cousin Natalie cuddles Grace (who doesn't mind having a double chin).

Napping in the hotel room.  (Don't tell G's doctors she is sleeping on her tummy.)

Great Grandma Violet loves Grace.

 I think Isabel told me no less than 100 times, "You know I wuv her."  This statement was usually followed by the question, "Can I hold her while sidding onna couch?  I alwedy washed my hands."

47

The number of laps around his room it took for Henry to "run" off his pee pee diaper tonight.  Having already commited to sitting on the floor, pajamas in hand, I was too tired to wrangle him.  This was after an afternoon where instead of a nap Henry ripped all of the pop-ups out of a book, emptied his humidifier onto the floor and proceeded to attempt a clean up (I'm assuming) by dumping his entire hamper of dirty clothes on top of it, and decorated his newly changed sheets with a tube of Desitin. 

But the good news is that I am so blissfully baby tired that I find all of this hilarious.  (Except the having to change the sheets again.)  But still, pretty darn funny and totally worth the hour of sleep I snuck in this afternoon while Grace napped.

Grace is doing well.  Since being home from the hospital, she has gained about a pound and a half.  I'm guessing this because last Wednesday, when I took Henry to the Dr for Croop, she had gained a pound.  She has begun to thicken up and I'm guessing that by Thanksgiving she'll have completely traded in her old man legs for yummy chunky Turkey thighs.  And her cheeks are beginning to fill out.  Everyone who meets her for the first time is amazed by how tiny she is.  But she's a beast compared to how she was when we first met her.  Probably because in true Phillips fashion, the girl likes the grub and is averaging 24 ounces of the high calorie formula a day. 

She is doing well with her meds and we hope to have her completely weaned off of the Methadone by December.  She has only had one rough night--this past Saturday night--where she was awake for around 6 hours, cranky, needing to be held, and too amped up to eat--which in turn made her franticly hungry.  Finally, around 3 am, I gave her .05 mL extra of the Methadone, which calmed her down enough to eat 5 ounces and then fall asleep.  I've never been more pissed about sin in the world as I was that night.

Other than driving me a bit bonkers, Henry is very sweet with Grace.  He enjoys rubbing her head, wiggiling her piggy toes (wee wee wee), teaching her her body parts (probably because I totally forgot to teach him where his nose was), and helping Mommy burp her.  He also is quick to cover her with a blanket whenever she cries.  I'm trying to teach him not to put the blanket on her face, but also recognize that he really is being quite sweet.  I do miss the just sitting around and holding your babyness that is having your first child.  I feel a bit guilty the amount Grace ends up in her swing, bouncy, or shoved into a sling across my chest.  But I suppose this is the nature of being the youngest.  Hey, I was the youngest in my family and I turned out...ok, maybe this is a problem.

 A note about why the blog posts are few and far between.  I try to only be on the computer either during naptime or at night when Sloan is out of town.  Well, I've been sleeping during Henry's naptime or simply cuddling Grace and tonight is the first night that Sloan has gone out of town for work.  There's also the knowledge that I am so very tired.  This morning I wore my bedroom slippers to bible study and while I led my small group in prayer, I was a total prayer hog.  This wasn't because I'm super spiritual, it was because I was afraid that if I didn't keep talking I'd totally fall asleep. 

Also, I tried uploading some extra photos, but blogger is doing something weird. I'll try again tomorrow for a photo only post while the Pickle is at preschool. 

Amazing Grace

Yes.  I know it has been over a week since I last posted.  But we've been busy with a newborn here at the Phillips house.  And yes, I know you really want to see pictures.  And we have lots of those.  However, I wanted to take a beat and reflect on this wackadoo roller coaster God used to bring Grace to us.  And it seems that Grace chose her own name, for her story is so richly amazing that there is no other explanation except to shrug our shoulders and say, "Umm, yeah.  I know it makes no sense.  It's a God thing." 
Were she to have been a boy, I suppose we would've had to name her Ebenezer.  (Praise God she's a girl.)  I say this because scripture tells us that the prophet Samuel took a stone and named it Ebenezer as a monument to God's faithfulness and help.  As a sign of restoration, literally meaning "the stone of help."  Were her story to be set to song, it would have to be a Methodist hymn.  Of course Amazing Grace would be appropriate.  But what is even more our story is another one of my favorite hymns--Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing.

Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing

By: Robert Robinson, 1735-90

 

Come, Thou fount of every blessing,

Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;

Streams of mercy, never ceasing,

Call for songs of loudest praise.

While the hope of endless glory

Fills my heart with joy and love,

Teach me ever to adore Thee;

May I still Thy goodness prove.

Here I raise my Ebenezer,

Hither by Thy help I’ve come;

And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,

Safely to arrive at home.

Jesus sought me when a stranger,

Wandering from the fold of God;

He, to rescue me from danger,

Interposed His precious blood.

Oh, to grace how great a debtor

Daily I’m constrained to be;

Let that grace now like a fetter

Bind my wandering heart to Thee:

Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it;

Prone to leave the God I love.

Here’s my heart, oh, take and seal it,

Seal it for Thy courts above.

Oh, that day when freed from sinning,

I shall see Thy lovely face;

Clothed then in the blood washed linen

How I’ll sing Thy wondrous grace!

Come, my Lord, no longer tarry,

Take my ransomed soul away;

Send Thine angels soon to carry

Me to realms of endless day.

And though you may be tiring of hearing me write of God's grace and want to get down to reading about my little Grace, God has given me a daughter to be the fetter of His mercy to my wandering heart.  His grace and my Grace are intertwined and I cannot think of one without the other.

Two Fridays ago, around 4:30 in the afternoon, the phone rang.  I saw that it was the adoption agency on the caller ID and assumed it was simply to confirm our signing of papers and placement of dear little Emma Sloan.  The painters had just finished painting the nursery.  I'd registered at Babies R Us.  A sip and see invitation was ready and prepped to be sent out for Monday.  But our case worker called to say that Emma's mom had come back into the agency, along with her Aunt, and wanted to reinstate her parental rights. 

Sloan was watching TV in the family room as I was in the kitchen taking the call.  As our case worker spoke, I fell to the floor--my legs literally gave way.  My chest began heaving and I was having difficulty listening.  Between sobs I mouthed to a now obviously concerned Sloan, WE LOST EMMA.  I suppose we knew this could happen, but had had a great meeting with the birthmom and knew that the birthmom had told most of her family (who was against adoption) that the child had not survived the delivery.  We were uncomfortable with her having to live with this lie, and yet also saw it as a security blanket.  Yet every adult knows blankets are just blankets.  They can provide warmth, but that's the extent of their powers.

But then the case worker continued to talk.  She said something about another opportunity for placement.  That another birthmother had liked our profile, but they hadn't approached us about it because they thought we'd be receiving Emma.  Now with the phone on speaker, Sloan told our case worker to tell us about the child.  It was a little girl.  Born at UVA on October 22nd.  But there were some hurdles this little girl would have to overcome because of the birthmother's drug addiction and poor prenatal care.  She was in the NICU and doing well.  She was on target to be discharged from the hospital on Monday.  Originally, the birthmother had chosen another family.  But this family, because of the medical needs this girl would have and the birthmother's history, declined the placement.  This little girl had nowhere to go.  Would we consider the placement? 

Our case worker told us we didn't have to make an immiediate decision.  That we could think about it because she knew we were overwhelmed with grief and that she did not want to seem like she was pressuring us, as she was certain they could find a family willing to take her, but we were a family that the birthmother liked.  She liked that her daughter would have an older brother.  My gut reaction was no.  In fact, I walked out of the room and told Sloan, "I don't want to deal with this right now.  I want Emma."  And then I proceeded to bubble snot cry on our couch.  Sloan told our case worker that we'd call her at the beginning of next week with our decision but not to rule us out.

We sat on the couch, holding each other, crying for awhile.  Sloan looked at me and said, "Let's do this.  Let's be the ones to fight for this little girl."  Wishing it could just be easy, I said, "I'm afraid.  I don't want to risk the family we have.  Can't just one thing be easy for us?  Just one thing?"  Then Sloan sat up and was resolute.    He said, "For whatever reason, Emma was not our daughter.  I believe this girl is.  I'm afraid too, but we cannot allow our sin to get in the way of what God is doing. Let's do this.  Let's love this girl." 

His entire demeanor was something I'd never seen before. It was as if I were meeting him for the first time.  And similar to when we first met, in an instant my heart changed.  I had fallen in love all over again, and this time with both my husband and my daughter.

I wavered some the next day.  I began to think that maybe we were acting out of desperation.  I kept telling myself that maybe some other family would step forward.  In fact, the prayer I posted about felling Goliath and my unbelief was not in response to grief over Emma--but fear over Grace.  I oscillated between joy over her life and fear of giving up my smooth life I have now.  (Have I read this blog?  Smooth life?)  A friend of mine emailed me and told me to read an old blog post of mine where I clung to God as my only source of comfort, rather than the health of my family.  I awoke on Sunday painfully aware that this little girl was my daughter.  That Jesus loved her and He was asking me to as well.  That this was a good work He'd prepared in advance for me.  That I couldn't weasel out of knowing God was pretty serious when he said we were supposed to look after widows and orphans and that if Christians didn't step up and do this, who the heck would?  Once again God brought me to a place where I knew the right thing to do and yet was afraid to do it. Afraid to trust Him so completely. Gracefully, this resolve evolved into genuine joy.  We didn't tell anyone but our parents about this opportunity, but we knew that little Margaret Grace was ours.  Beyond a doubt.  And yet, what Mommy turns her child away in fear? 

On Monday, we woke up early to get to Charlottesville to meet her and her doctors and find out what else we could.  We had an appointment back in Richmond at 5 to sign all of the paperwork, as the birthmother's rights were to be terminated that evening.  We dropped off Henry at my sister's house on the way, where he spent the night, ate lots of doughnuts, chased chickens and turkeys, slept in a bunk bed, played with legos, and literally thought he was at a party. 

At UVA, we met all of her doctors.  We had been expecting a child who was easily aggitated and unconsolable (how Sunday's nurse had described her).  She was chirping a bit when we got there, but within seconds of being in my arms, she calmed down.  She fell asleep while taking a bottle.  As I kissed her sweet little head, I whispered, "It's okay, my baby girl.  Mommy is here.  You are home."  The doctor told us he was impressed with her development and was hopeful for her prognosis.  That the horror stories we hear about on TV are untrue and that more studies find that when children born addicted to drugs are completely removed from that environment, they develop normally without ANY lasting effects.  That when she had completely been weaned from the Methadone, she would have no more symptoms.  Her main physician had wanted to send her home last week, but knew she had nowhere to go and didn't want to send her to the state.  She had had nowhere to go.  She was a baby in need of a Mommy:  I was a Mommy in need of a baby. 

And as if you aren't already astounded as to my little miracle, Margaret Grace, it gets even creepier.  Creeptastic, I tell you.  Her main physician, the doctor who delivered her and was responsible for keeping her in the NICU until Bethany could find a family for her--is a sorority sister of mine.  I got home on Monday night after signing all the papers and posted pics to facebook.  I get this email saying, "Hey, EJ, you may not remember me.  But I delivered your daughter.  I've got a new last name now.  Page me at the hospital tomorrow." 

Seriously, God?  Seriously?  I get it.  You are soveriegn.  You made Grace our daughter a long time ago.  But for her to be delivered by my sorority sister just seems a little flashy.  Uncle.

So we met with Brooke and she told us the story of Grace's delivery and we both agree that despite being born at UVA, Grace is officially a Carolina girl by default. 

And in typical Carolina girl style, my daughter is freakin' beautiful.  Her fingers are long and smooth, reminiscent of the fact that her birthmother, in a former life, was a concert level pianist.  She has a precious smile and apparently has lots of funny dreams.  Her skin is smooth and oddly enough, the same color Henry was when he was born (of course, he was jaundiced for awhile).  She is a good eater--taking  between 3 and 4 ounces roughly every four hours.  She only wakes up twice in the night--around 11:30 and then again at 3am.  We have to wake up at 3am anyhow to give her meds so it all works out.  She then wakes up again around 7:30.  So she is a Phillips--loving to eat, sleep, and look pretty.

Henry adores her.  He'll point to the Purell and say, "Wash hands" so he can be near her.  He likes to help me burp her and rub her hair.  He has even kissed her feet.  He even played the drums for her, but was shocked to find out that she wasn't a fan.  He loves that since her arrival  the "30 minutes of TV a day" rule has been rescinded, and that if Grace is crying and he asks for Halloween candy, he pretty much will always get it.  He loves our new Phil and Ted's double stroller.  He loves that people from our church keep bringing over meals and that they all make us brownies.  He loves the new Lightning McQueen car that Grace brought him.  He'll even give her "Rain Man" hugs where he touches her forehead with his and then say "Kiss Kiss Kiss, Baby Gwace." 

Kiss Kiss Kiss, my sweet children.  By the way, I just love saying "the kids".  I say it a lot.  Kind of how I gestured a lot with my left hand right after Sloan proposed. 

You need to be sitting down

So, as we're grieving the loss of the little girl who was to be Emma but turned out to not be our daughter, God was being sneaky.  No means to be disrepectful, but the story I'm about to tell is a little creepy.  I think the churchy way to talk about this is to say God is mysterious.  But people, hold onto your hats, because God has gotten all kinds of crazy good.

SOOOOOO....we were picked again!  And this time, I can tell you now, that the biological Mom's rights are over with.  Her rights were teminated today at 5pm.  We have signed paperwork.  We are, indeed, this child's legal guardians and in about 6 months or so we are going to petition the Commonwealth of Virginia for her new birth certificate.

As a friend said, this is faster than Brad and Angelina.  Our case worker has never in her life seen something like this--that this is not normal and is kind of ridiculously gracious, even for God.  To have the mom's rights end on the same day and all.  Most people's response has been simply to say "OH MY GOSH!" a bunch of times.  Or my dear bestie Robin's response was perfect--"Oh EJ, you're life is such a movie!"  (Her saying this only confirms why we are friends.)

I'll tell more of the whole story, but to be short--MARGARET GRACE was born on October 22nd.  There have been some medical complications due to the birthmom's poor prenatal care and the like, and she has been in the NICU at UVA in Charlottesville since birth.  She is thriving!  In fact, the doctor's said they would've discharged her last week, but as of last week, she had nowhere to go.  She was 5 lbs, 13 oz and 18 inches long. 

We did not name her Emma Sloan, because well, we cannot grieve an Emma if we are raising an Emma.  But this little girl is pure GRACE to us.  And I'd go on and on about how much we love her and how we are stoked to be bringing her home from the hospital tomorrow, but let's face it.  You just want to see cute baby pictures.