My heart is full...

When I left Charleston for Austin in January, I did so with a heavy heart. I was leaving behind three sisters, five nieces, a nephew, my mom, my best friend, and many other friends I would miss terribly. I was also leaving a city I loved, the house I'd been living in for 8 years in a neighborhood I loved, and my comfort zone.

I made the decision to move to Austin in early November and found out that my niece Keri was pregnant right around Thanksgiving. I was thrilled for Keri and her husband Tim (who I also adore). Sadly, Keri's father passed away on the Monday after Thanksgiving last year, just a day or so after she told him he was going to be a grandfather. The idea of leaving my pregnant, grieving niece and moving halfway across the country made my heart even heavier. I knew it would be expensive to fly back to Charleston and I hated that I was going to miss her pregnancy and the birth of her first child.

Yesterday, Keri was admitted to the hospital to have labor induced (she's a tiny little thing and the baby was growing fast!). After being in labor all day, she finally had to have a c-section. I was on the phone for about two hours - talk and text - with my mom and my sister/new grandma and my heart ached to be there with the rest of the family. My mom and sister did a great job of making me feel like I was there; the minute my new niece was born I received a flurry of photos via text.

I already knew they were going to name their daughter Jolie, after Keri's dad Joseph. And that her last name would be Martin. When my mom texted "Jolie Martin, 6.5 lbs., 19 inches long" along with a photo of Jolie in a bassinet, I texted back, "what's her full name?"

Ever since we found out Keri was pregnant, we had all suggested names (some jokingly), and I told Keri (also jokingly) that she should give her my middle name because (a) it's awesome and (b) I don't think I'm going to pass it on myself, being the least maternal member of my family. But I never expected her to seriously consider it.

My mom responded to my text with, "I'll let Keri tell you when she wakes up." And when she called me, I told her that I wasn't serious about her giving the baby my middle name and my feelings wouldn't be hurt if she didn't. She told me Keri would probably call me this morning. She didn't. She called me last night, groggy and exhausted, to tell me that her daughter's name is Jolie Love Martin. And I immediately burst into tears. Keri, being Keri, said "don't be sad, you'll see her over the holidays," thinking I was upset that I couldn't be in Charleston. I had to choke out the words..."happy tears." And they were. I don't think I've ever felt so honored in my entire life, so connected to my family, or that I realized how amazing it would feel to have a "namesake."

Keri has already posted pics of Jolie to Facebook, being Keri, from her laptop in her hospital bed. And I've been weepy on and off all morning looking at photos of my new niece and namesake. I can't wait to meet her. Keri told me when she told the nurse what the baby's full name is, the nurse said, "it sounds like a rockstar name."

Indeed. And now I'm excited x100 to go home and visit for the holidays and get to hold my new niece for the first time, to tell her how amazing her mom and dad are, to tell her how lucky she is to be part of our screwy family. I have no doubt this beautiful little girl will live up to her name.

Where a kid can be a kid...

[insert list of lame-o excuses to why I haven't posted in two weeks here...include home a/c crapping out, followed by office a/c, heatstroke, hairballs, business, book edits, another chapter, work, work, work.]

The past couple of weeks are a blur, so I'll skip it and jump right to how I spent yesterday afternoon. Or where I spent yesterday afternoon, rather. Chuck E. Cheese. For my niece's third birthday party. For two hours. Seriously.

The party was at the Chuck E. Cheese on Rivers Ave. because my niece's mother thinks it is cleaner than the one West Ashley (I took her word for it, as I have no point of reference because the last time I was at a Chuck E. Cheese I was in third grade). I thought I'd show up, play a few video games, give my niece a card full of cash, then leave. Had to scrap the video game idea because my 2-year-old nephew was also there; his mother put him down and he took off. She pointed and told me not to let him out of my sight, and that was it for the day. The kid is two, but he knows what tokens are (and part of the fun for him is shoving two, three, four into any machine that would take them, including the tampon dispenser in the women's restroom).

When we finally did settle down at the table (which is right in front of giant video screens playing the Chuck E. Cheese devil music), half of the little ones were terrified of the "live" Chuck E. and the other half cried when he went away. The pizza looked like it was from a freezer box, so I went for the salad bar (ended up with mostly lettuce and dressing because of the "unidentified" objects in various salad bar containers...I think I saw a plastic monkey in the cottage cheese). I gave up on chasing the kids down and concentrated on not going insane from the volume and screaming (mine) and being shaken down for tokens every three minutes.

If you want a little taste of what the experience was like, turn up your speaker volume past 10 and play this fifty times in a row.

After I got home, I took a long, hot shower to get the blue frosting out of my hair and the pizza party-kid vomit-bad pineapple smell out of my nostrils. Also realized the only way I'll ever be able to do the kid thing is to also give myself permission for a full-blown valium addiction ("yes, sweetie, mommy's passed out on the couch again"). Otherwise, no way, no how, not now, not ever. Ask me again next week.