After about a month of agonizing and overanalyzing, we finally pulled the trigger and bought plane tickets to San Diego. Neil was going for work, I had never been to SoCal, and so we made our first family plane trip. It was a blast and I learned a lot at the same time.

The lessons started as we tried to decide whether to go. I wanted to go but Simon wasn’t sleeping well so I couldn’t bring myself to buy a ticket. Then he started doing better but Neil and I were acting like we had to figure out every day of traveling with a baby before we could make a decision. We had a lengthy, heated discussion about whether to bring the car seat, and vacillated over a number of other details which really had no bearing on whether we should go. The whole process confirmed how uptight and controlling we are.

All my friends said just go. We did feel like we were setting a precedent: would we travel with Simon (until it gets too expensive) or not? I kept wondering if it would be worth it and finally concluded that even if it didn’t go well, I would regret not going more. Also, people fly with their kids all the time and it’s no big deal. I was acting like we were going to climb Mt. Everest with him in tow.

Once we bought tickets, I started worrying about the time change, whether Simon would sleep on the plane, or in a different crib (which he does often anyway), our layover, and on and on. More car seat debates ensued. I talked to a few people who had travelled with their babies (and Diana asked her friend for me). Neil sent me what is probably the longest single blog post in the history of blogging about flying with children. It literally took me a month to read, probably because I didn’t feel like devoting too much to it. I felt like I was doing a research project.

Weeks in advance I started having bad dreams about flying, getting through security, and etc. I started packing a week before the trip, reviewing my checklists over and over. At this point I switched from research paper mode to feeling like I was studying for a test. What would I forget? Hopefully nothing I couldn’t buy or do without. Whenever we’re going somewhere for a few hours I pack whatever I think we’ll need, but I always think, at least I’ve got the boy and the boobs. That’s all you really need.

So did we pass the test? We missed a few points by forgetting to declare the breastmilk at security and forgetting to put a seal inside the bottle (doh!) but Simon made up for it in extra credit by not spitting up the whole way to California! So how many outfits does it take to get to California? Apparently only one. And we got an free (extra) seat for him on every flight! After all, no one wants to sit by a crying baby. Except he barely cried at all!

So our plane trip was smooth and we headed to La Jolla as soon as we could after arriving at the hotel. Simon didn’t sleep well the first night, probably because he was overtired. However, I learned another valuable lesson. I’ve tried to avoid nursing to sleep and Simon never sleeps with us, but I broke the rules that night so Neil, other hotel guests and I could get some sleep. He slept about half the night in the hotel crib in the bathroom and the rest in the giant king bed, which was kind of cute since he’s so small. The next night he slept through the night in the bathroom and I learned that it’s okay to break the rules sometimes. One night of extra feeds and bed sharing didn’t undo the last five months of “training.”

We also usually stick to a pretty regular routine of eat-wake-sleep cycles, which had to be thrown aside in order for us to do any sightseeing (or eating for that matter). I established this routine when he wasn’t sleeping well and it has helped a ton, but I learned that he is more flexible than I realized, and this gives me the freedom to be flexible too. We were able to go to the USS Midway Museum, a retired naval aircraft carrier; we walked the beach and town at Coronado and saw the sunset; had dinner with Neil’s cousin who was in town; I took a walking tour of the historic Gaslamp Quarter; and ate some good Mexican food, In ‘N’ Out Burger, and the worst Thai known to man.

The flights back also went well, though he did have a rough first night home. The first day back he didn’t slip right back into his routine but day two he pretty much got back on track. In case you’re wondering, it took four outfits to get back.

While Skyping from Bosnia, my sister asked me what was the surprising but amazing thing about having a kid. At the time all I could pull together was a very un-profound answer about how they change so fast, and how stressful it is trying to figure out the “right thing” to do. Which doesn’t really answer the question, so I kept pondering.

How to answer that question? Several people asked me what surprised me most about having Simon and I wasn’t never sure what to say.  You know having a baby is going to be hard, and it is hard. You know you’re going to learn a lot, and I certainly am. You know you’re going to love them so much, and I am experiencing a new capacity to love, a depth and intensity previously unparalleled because your sacrifice and investment is also unparalleled. I had never spent nearly every waking moment trying to keep someone else alive, and all the other moments trying to keep myself alive so I could keep Simon alive (when he was a newborn). The caretaking which both pours out from and feeds an overwhelming maternal love was a new experience for me and thus somewhat of a surprise, yet I expected to love in a whole new way.

The postpartum hormonal experience was a bit shocking, as I described in “Giants in the Land.” At the same time, I’d heard about the oxytocin-estrogen-etc. rollercoaster and it doesn’t really last that long. Along with this, when Simon was first born I felt very close to Neil. But after a few weeks I realized I felt sort of distant from him. Of course our lives and schedules and time together had all changed and that contributed to the feeling. But another part was simply that I was experiencing motherhood, and Neil could never relate fully to this. He wasn’t breastfeeding eight hours a day or sleeping no more than a couple hours at a time (because he wasn’t breastfeeding). He would never know the hormones, the stitches, or the way motherhood takes over your brain. I’ll never know what it’s like to be a father, but I can’t imagine the transformation is as all-consuming as becoming a mother.

I started to resent Neil for a little while, not because he was doing anything wrong, but just because he would never get it. He’d pop his head in the nursery and ask, “Is it okay if I go play basketball with the guys?” and it was okay, I wanted him to go. But I also wanted him to know what it was like to not have the option to just go and do whatever he wanted. I didn’t even really want to do anything because I was happy to take care of Simon; I just found myself missing the freedom he still had. But the distance and resentment passed soon once we talked, the hormones waned, and Simon grew older.

But to answer the question: what was really a pleasant surprise was how Simon changed Neil. He started warming up to babies a little with our friends’ kids, but to see Neil cry when Simon was born, to watch him fuss over him and hear him brag about Simon’s cuteness was, well, surprising and amazing. He even complained to me when one of the babysitters didn’t wax eloquent about Simon’s cuteness. Now Simon is so excited to play with Neil when he comes home from work and gets sad when he goes to another room. Neil has lots of grand plans of fishing, camping, and playing with Simon when he’s older, but he always says, “I’m not in a hurry for Simon to grow up. I’m really enjoying this phase and how he is right now.” And Neil was never a baby kind of guy. In fact the first time I told Neil I was pregnant his joyful response was “Shit.” (And we were trying). He was scared to death about being a parent and now he’s so in love with Simon. So to answer Courtney’s question, the most surprising and sweetest thing about becoming  a mom was for me to see my husband become a dad.

I had to get that title out of the way. But for real, life does kind of feel like that sometimes now. Parenting is confusing because I don’t want to be child-centered and raise my kid to think the world revolves around him, but my day does kind of revolve around taking care of my baby. The difference as I understand it is between my world being consumed by him, and devoting much of my time to nurturing him. My life hasn’t stopped, but it certainly has changed. The big goals and values are the same but my daily routine is pretty different.

The next episode in Simon’s sleep saga: As soon as Simon starting sleeping at night (see previous post) he stopped napping well. His naps got shorter and shorter and he usually woke up cranky. Again, I felt like I tried everything short of nursing or sleep props to help him fall back asleep but nothing worked. We were both tired and it made it hard for me to make plans with people ‘cause I couldn’t predict when he would be sleeping or awake. Once he started sleeping through the night or at least waking up only once, I felt like I could handle living in 45 minute increments. Ferber says it’s only a sleep problem if it’s a problem.

Then he started waking up more at night, like he was a newborn again. And napping worse, not eating well, and getting crabbier. That’s when I decided it was a problem. I borrowed The Baby Whisperer Solves All Your Problems (horrible title, I know), and I still have problems but a couple weeks on her plan and Simon was sleeping much better during the day and at night.

While implementing her plan I realized I kind of approach Simon like a math problem sometimes. Like if I just read the textbook and study enough and do all the right steps then I’ll figure out the perfect solution of how to help him. This was a valuable realization because while I know Simon’s a person and we have a relationship, I sometimes act like I can program him to always do everything the baby books say they should do. I seriously get more stressed that he’s not sleeping exactly how some book says he should, than that I’m losing sleep or “free time” or whatever.

But Simon’s not a math problem or a machine. And I’m so glad he’s not. An old friend of mine had her first baby, a son, two weeks ago, and he’s still in the hospitable for heart problems. He’s already had two heart surgeries and he’s still got a long recovery ahead of him. I can’t imagine being in her shoes; it would be so hard and so scary…And another friend had a stillborn baby, and there are so many other sad stories I really can’t dwell on too much. But whenever Simon wakes up halfway through his nap or in the middle of night, or is crabby or not acting like a textbook perfect baby, I try to remind myself of what a blessing he is, and how grateful I am that he’s here and healthy.

And in the midst of the little daily ups and downs, I like to stop and think about the wonder of it all: how so much love and broccoli materialized into a beautifully and wonderfully made human being. And how I love him more than I could ever describe.

And I also try to remember that if I love him well, he will not become my world. I need to keep serving other people so he can grow up and learn to serve other people. So our little game of Simon Says must have its limits, but I’m still trying to figure out what those are. And he can’t even talk yet.

When Simon was born a single friend gave us a hilarious book, read here by Samuel L. Jackson: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S3UwbpUKCTo

People told us about the “grace period” of having a newborn, when they sleep so much. God must have made them do this so the mom can recover from childbirth and visitors. Then after three weeks of almost constant sleeping, Simon decided he’d rather not sleep at night. I could barely keep him awake long enough to eat during the day, but at night he wouldn’t sleep until the wee hours, or sometimes until morning.

Although the sleep deprivation was bothering me, the lack of control was even harder to take. Several times I had to cancel my morning plans because I was just too tired from being up all night. I felt unreliable and pathetic, but I didn’t really have a choice. Because most nights, Simon would just cry until it was time to feed him again. Then he’d look around the room, wide-eyed, seeming to take in every detail. I gained a new understanding of the expression “bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

Simon during his "night's not for sleep" phase.

We tried the “cry it out” method but even when he finally nodded off, exhausted, he’d start up again after a twenty-minute catnap. We tried the “shush-pat” method but after a long process of getting him to sleep, again he’d only sleep twenty minutes or so. I was determined not to get him dependent on props to sleep—the vacuum, the car, the swing, sleeping only in our arms, etc. But even when we held him, he’d often keep crying or just look around.

Perhaps even worse than feeling out of control was my frustration that I was trying to “do the right thing” by teaching him to sleep in his crib, not nursing him to sleep, trying to keep him up during the day, and avoiding sleep props. And still he wasn’t conforming to the plan. I read and re-read the same chapters on sleep problems and followed the suggestions precisely but the nighttime problem was only getting worse.

Sleepy head during the day.

I asked my older, wiser mom friends for advice. “There’s nothing you can do,” they concluded after I said what I had tried. “Babies aren’t machines you can program.” They said to keep up the daytime routine and wait it out. “He won’t do this forever,” they all comforted, and I believed them, but I couldn’t conceive of how he would stop if I didn’t do something to solve the problem.

“Since you’re doing everything you can and nothing’s working,” one friend said, “I bet God’s allowing it to do something with you.”

This was so true, and strangely comforting. I was stressed out about the sleep training, about what to do, how to fix the problem, and how to regain control of my schedule. Yet I was also so grateful for Simon, to have him here so healthy and cute. He even started smiling at me in the midst of this crazy time. I knew God was opening up new capacities to love in me, and I also wanted God to change me, to teach me to be less uptight and controlling and worried.

“When he’s up at night, just relax and enjoy the moment,” she said, and recounted similar times with her firstborn. I was so grateful for this advice and it got me through the next week or two. And then Simon flipped a switch, in the most dramatic way.

Usually when you roll over in the middle of the night and look at the alarm clock, you hope it says it’s only 1 am, right? You hope for lots more hours of sleep before you have to get up. But I started anxiously awaiting 6 or 7 am when Simon would finally fall asleep and I could take a nap.

Then one day, he just kept not sleeping. It started at 12:30am but when morning came he just kept crying or looking around. And I started crying too. He took a couple catnaps but for fifteen hours he didn’t sleep more than three. Around 11am I broke down and took him for a car ride. He was quiet, sleeping I presumed, but when we got home he started up again. Around 1:30pm I did what I should’ve done much sooner and called my best friend. She ordered me to drop him off at her place, where she was hanging out with two other mom friends, so I could take a nap. I obeyed.

When I returned a little before 3pm Simon had just fallen asleep in my friend’s arms. He slept a lot that evening, pulled a similar stunt for the following twelve hours, and after that he started sleeping at night again. Not sleeping through the night, but waking only twice a night was totally manageable at that point. The body surprisingly well to the demands of a newborn. I’m still stuck on waking at 5am; Simon is much better at sleeping through the night than me!

“Neil!” I woke myself up yelling. Just a second before, still half asleep, I heard what sounded like something was in trouble.

“Shhh, Kalie.” Neil shot back immediately. Apparently I had been talking in my sleep.

As soon as his words fell we fully awoke and recognized the noise.

“The chickens!”

Neil darted out of bed and ran out the sliding door that leads to the deck, hitting the outdoor light and grabbing a grill basket before descending the stairs. From the deck I saw the infiltrator: a raccoon. I watched from the deck as Neil, wearing only his boxers, smacked the top of the chickens’ box with the grill basket to scare the raccoon. As he yelled at it and pulled off the top of the box I wondered how he was going to fight a raccoon while barefoot and practically naked. My fear subsided quickly as the raccoon jumped out the top and scurried away.

“Are they okay?” I asked.

“One of them is bleeding.”

“Awww.” The irony of our concern for the chickens and outrage at the raccoon was lost on me at 3:30 in the morning, but I feel justified because raccoons are nasty scavengers who ate my carrots out of the cooler when I was camping. They also kill just to kill. Supposedly Neil slit their throats the “humane” way, and while it didn’t bother him, he said he got a bad taste in his mouth each time he killed one.

Neil tried to get a better look at the wounded chicken. A thin trail of blood ran next to its wing and it squawked and squirmed when Neil tried to pick it up to examine it. He let it go.

“Doesn’t look too bad. He can still walk.”

As Neil secured the box with large rocks that bordered the nearby flower bed, we conjectured about how the raccoon got in. The top of the box was a wooden frame covered with two overlapping pieces of chicken wire. It usually rested unsecured on top of the box and was still sitting squarely in place when Neil rushed out to save the chickens. Seemingly the raccoon broke in via the overlap in the chicken wire. Neil wove sticks through the wire to keep the pieces together until he could secure the box more permanently the next day.

Back in bed, we couldn’t sleep after such an adrenalin rush. The humor of the situation dawned on us once we stopped worrying so much about the chickens. I imagined telling someone the story in my best hillbilly accent. Better yet, I imagined the neighbors watched Neil run around in his underwear, batting a raccoon away from his chicken coup with a grill accessory while his knocked up wife watched the action. The breaking and entering occurred right next to the fence separating our yards, after all.

A couple weeks earlier when the chickens first graduated from the garage to the yard, Neil wanted to give the neighbors fair warning. So when he saw them outside he invited them to come see the chickens.

“I’m not going to lie, that’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen,” said the twenty-something wife.

The next day, there was a for sale sign in their yard.

I spent the rest of the week trying to convince Neil that it wasn’t the chickens.

“We’re weird,” he concluded. “We’re officially weird.”

“Yeah, but you don’t just decide to put your house on the market in one day because we’re weird.”

Maybe he was right.

Maybe they were right.

Neil said country is different from hillbilly. Probably true, but I did spend the week right before the eventful night on the beach, seven months pregnant in a two-piece bathing suit. Not a maternity bathing suit, but my normal, not-pregnant bathing suit. If I learned anything from lifeguarding at a hillbilly campground, it’s that hillbillies of any size or shape will wear a bikini. No matter if you’re 100 pounds or 500, a bikini is appropriate beach attire if you’re missing a few teeth and your hair faintly resembles a mullet no matter how you cut it.

Later that week, I purchased an oversized fanny pack. I’m not sure what this means, but I’m afraid to find out.

Our friends came over to try the first chicken this week. Upon arrival their two-year-old daughter, who apparently had been praying for the “baby chicks” since first seeing them, asked, “Did the baby chicks go to their new home?”

I glanced at the golden-skinned bird and got out an unconvincing, “Yes.”

I can’t believe I’ve reached my third trimester. I still can’t get my mind around the idea of having a baby in three months! I’m finally getting close enough to my due date that I’m no longer feeling so impatient, but getting to that “oh shit” phase, wondering how I’ll ever accomplish everything on my to-do list and prepare for parenthood (??!!) before then. Don’t let the title fool you; I’m increasingly excited as well. But there’s the standard tasks like painting the baby room and choosing a name (a seemingly impossible job). And I’d like to read more about baby care, breastfeeding, and parenting in general.

Seemingly less urgent but equally (or more) important are matters like having my character refined, strengthening my relationships, and contemplating parenting on a broad scale. In the character department, I would like to become less negative and more grateful and encouraging. Post-partum depression looms around the corner: will it strike? My melancholic nature lends itself well to depression, opening the door wide in invitation, although my mental orifices have been closed to infiltration for the past few years. But PPD is no doubt an equal opportunity invader, so I feel the need to be well-grounded in thankfulness and the realistic expectations that come with it. But how can be I realistic when I’m not sure what to expect, despite the famous book series’ best efforts? I expect it to be hard, but, much like the pain of childbirth, expecting something and dealing with it for the first time can be vastly different exercises. I hope to be so overjoyed with my little one that the pain, fatigue, and massive life change will feel worth it, though not easy. But if I’m not grateful now, I have little hope of joy buoying through such a stormy time.

Regarding my relationships, I feel a need, even a pressure, to make the most of my time with people now. Of course I want to have a strong marriage and friendships going into a major life change. Not that I won’t see people or continue to invest in them, but things are so much easier now. A spontaneous meeting, an uninterrupted conversation, long hours of talk and Bible study—all are possible for a limited time only. With a few friends, my goal is to have some good, thought-provoking spiritual conversations. Also, I want to provide the high school girls I’m working with some tools for being useful and substantial. I would love to see them make some progress before then, which means I need to make some progress in loving and equipping them. I’m praying that I can love them really deeply and fervently, from the heart. Sometimes being nine years older makes it tempting to view them more as projects than people, but I know the moment I fall into this, my chances of helping them evaporate. God will not let me into their hearts in order to motivate them if I’m working out of self-serving, superior, or functional attitudes. My greatest desire is for them to love others with zeal. Certainly I can’t expect or even hope for this if can’t model and provide at least a glimpse of such love for them.

That brings me to the big picture of parenting, the question of “What do I want my kids to become? Who do I want them to be in twenty years?” The answer is too big for me to fully comprehend, but I know I want them to love and serve the Lord first of all. And that means loving and serving other people: “And He said to him, “ ‘YOU SHALL LOVE THE LORD YOUR GOD WITH ALL YOUR HEART, AND WITH ALL YOUR SOUL, AND WITH ALL YOUR MIND.’ This is the great and foremost commandment. The second is like it, ‘YOU SHALL LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR AS YOURSELF.” (Matthew 22:37-39). Manners, “good behavior,” grades and other accomplishments must be secondary, or not even make the list. But I have no doubt I’ll mix up parenting priorities often. Then there’s the question of how to get there, and that’s really a stumper.

On a lighter note, I totally understand why parents always think their kids are cute, no matter what. I can’t even see my kid yet, but sometimes when I feel him moving around I immediately think, “He’s so cute!” I can’t see him, he’s kicking me in the bladder, and I think he’s cute! Completely irrational, but so is having kids, and so is love.

Today is a magical day. Today I’m allowed to stop worrying so much, tell acquaintances I’m pregnant, and think I might actually have a baby. Today I’m magically supposed to be less tired (seems true), less naseous (never really was), and eat 300 more calories a day! My due date still seems pretty abstact, but at least it doesn’t feel completely irrelevant as it did the past three months.

Today I also declared that I’m allowed to look at baby magazines, read pregnancy books, and read What is a Family? by Edith Schaeffer. Although I probably won’t get to this right away as I need to finish the appendix of God’s Strategy in Human History.

I know there are no guarantees, but I’ve been feeling more confident and less nervous for the last couple weeks. Maybe it’s just that “honeymoon” period after hearing the heartbeat, but with weeks till I have my next OB visit to worry about. Maybe it’s getting a month past the point of my last loss. Sometimes I feel like I should be worrying more, because I don’t want to get my hopes up too much and take anything for granted. But I am just trying to enjoy each day and thank God for bringing me this far.

I got really anxious and emotional before my last appointment. Watching a sad movie the night before (Neil’s choice) probably wasn’t the best idea, either. I was just thinking, even if my appointment goes great, I still have over six months left for things to go wrong, and then if I have a baby that’s another lifetime of worry and there’s bound to be sorrow. Sometimes I wonder what the heck am I doing, but God thought creating us was worth it, even knowing every tragedy that would ever occur in human history. Love is worth it, and that must be why he not only created us, but gave us the ability to create life.

I also realized recently that I’ve never wanted something so much in my life. Maybe that’s bad. Like I should want my friends and family to come to God this much, for example. The intensity of the desire is similiar, but wanting a baby is so much more sustained and so inextricably close to my heart. And I know God put that desire there. It’s not really rational, and I was holding out for a while, but a switch sort of flipped in my brain and I knew this is what I’m made for (among other things).

Going through the losses made me want this more and made me less scared of pregnancy and childbirth (though not less scared of raising a kid). I probably got somewhat desensitized to at least a few fears through all the blood draws and surgery and what not. I’m really grateful to have a bit more courage, since before I ever wanted kids I would worry almost daily about the medical aspects of having a baby.

There’s a lot more I could say but there are many other things I should be doing, so that’s all for now.

Usually I tell people why they shouldn’t buy things. But sometimes I find a deal so good, I can’t help but tell everyone about. And I’ve found the deal of a century: the new Operation World: The Definitive Prayer Guide to Every Nation by Jason Mandryk (2010). Here’s my top ten reasons to buy it:

1. It’ll change your perspective. When you learn that the life expectancy is Afghanistan is 46, or the income per person in Burkina Faso is $578/year, it’s hard to look at your life without gratitude and a sense of stewardship. Learning about the persecution and isolation Christians experience elsewhere also puts our suffering in perspective and helps us appreciate the local body of believers. It’ll open your eyes to the needs of the world that’s likely to spark not only gratitude, but also action.

2. The subtitle. Praying for the world is an overwhelming task. No one really knows where to start. But the yearly reading guide suggested in Operation World makes it possible to pray intelligently and effectively for every nation in the world in one year. Or make it a two-year endeavor, or an on-going family or cell group project. However you approach it, Operation World is the best way to get started in global prayer.

3. The country overviews. Operation World really is an amazing reference work. It includes an overview of each continent, reviewing the trends of the past decade or so and providing general prayer points. Then it moves alphabetically through each country in the world, providing a map, information on geography, people groups, economy, politics, and religion, including graphs depicting growth of world religions and Christian denominations. Large, diverse countries like China and India have a wealth of information broken down by state/province.

Disclaimer: the author is up-front about the obviously skewed religious statistics, since the it’s based on those who identify themselves with that religion. For that reason, Christianity often appears more widespread than it really is in Western or evangelized nations. But the book helpfully provides the percentages of denominations, evangelicals, and charismatics, giving a more accurate picture.

4. The values. This book tries to steer clear of oft-debated doctrines within Christianity, but the author clearly appreciates indigenous leadership, house churches, church-planting movements, lay-led ministry, and discipleship.

5. The “Challenges for Prayer.” While the stats are very informative, I’ve learned the most from the Challenges for Prayer, which are specific to each country but general enough to remain timely for probably the next decade. These prayer requests include information about the state of the church in that country.

6. The “Answers to Prayer.” These updates about evangelism, church-planting, Bible translation, and the like are very encouraging reminders that prayer works. Reaching the world is not a lost cause, and anyone can support cross-cultural and national workers through prayer.

7. It’s radical. The New York Times best-selling book Radical, by David Platt, is an awesome call to “taking back your faith from the American dream,” and one of the five “radical experiment” challenges is to read through Operation World. Platt, a missions-minded mega-church pastor, said this book changed his life and his church, leading to much missions giving, going, and sending. Prayer is an act of rebellion against the status quo, so join the revolution!

Also a great read.

8. It’s an amazing resource. If you’re supporting a missionary in another country, or even just considering this, you can easily read up on that place. Or learn more about a country making the headlines. When you meet someone from another country, you can find out more about the spiritual climate there than you’re likely to learn from Google. Use it in cell groups, discipleship, or family time to raise awareness and fuel prayer, or feature a country at the Missions Prayer Breakfast.

9. It’s easy to read and well-written. To get through it in a year requires about 10 minutes of reading every day.

10. It’s a great value. Currently priced at $14.56 on Amazon, this nearly 1,000-page resource is a steal.

Check it out on Amazon, or hopefully at the CT book table soon!