Change is good.

There's gonna be some changes made around here.  And I don't just mean that I'm gonna start posting more than once a month. What I mean is that "JonesPressley.com" is gonna have to undergo a name change, as, soon enough, that sweet little Love Bug will no longer be the only Pressley progeny.

This is no big secret to anyone who reads this blog. What IS unknown, though, is whether Jones is going to be a brother or a sister (you know what I mean). Today, though, thanks to a very thorough examination by Aunt Dolly, we got our answer.

Jeremy and I have both thought all along that this was a girl. From the start of things, I felt slightly sicker than I did with Jones. I couldn't eat with Jones; this time, I couldn't eat enough. After one monster migraine early on in my first pregnancy, I never really had another one. I'm having them same as usual this go round. Plus, and perhaps most convincingly, the Chinese Lunar Calendar said "girl," as did both the Baking Soda and pencil tests. Assured by these, we went in to our ultrasound certain we'd be giving Nan and Pop their first granddaughter.

After the ultrasound,
we went to the Pressleys
for the first of two
gender reveal cakes,
made by Maggie Shook.

This sort of freaked me out, though. Much as I loved the idea of a doll to dress in anyway I liked ... until she developed an opinion of her own, that is ... and as awesome as it'd have been to FINALLY give my beloved grandmother the namesake she deserves, I didn't really have any desire to have a daughter. There are reasons for this that I won't write about here, but suffice it to say, outside of planning her (infant) wardrobe and giving her my favorite name (Mary), a daughter was the last thing I wanted.

Jeremy, on the other hand, really wanted a girl. He likes the all-American idea of one-boy, one-girl. I prefer the idea of raising the type of children who don't grow up to have hormone swings and passive aggressive tendencies. I will say this, though: I cared about gender significantly less this go round. With Jones, I wept when I heard he was a boy. This time,  preferred a boy but would've been just as happy with a girl, given the reasons mentioned above.

Strangely, the weekend before the ultrasound, I had a little panic attack. Convinced I was having a girl, I was terrified of this fact, and I was more than a little sad to not be able to FINALLY give my beloved father the namesake HE deserves. My, how things have changed from this time last year.

At any rate, we went into Dolly's office expecting a "Girl" diagnosis. Dolly spent a LONG time (like, almost an hour) looking; she knew we'd planned gender reveal parties with both sides of the family and said she'd be "mortified" if she gave us the wrong answer. We told her it'd just become a funny part of baby's history, but she was committed to getting it right.

I knew she knew early on in the process. She got a shot of the baby covering his (or her) ... ugh, nether regions ... with her (or his) hand. Jokingly, I said, "Then it's gotta be a boy. Jones does that all the time!" She quickly countered with, "No. It's usually the girls who are really modest." And then I knew. She was covering, trying not to ruin my surprise, not knowing the surprise was in the having of a boy!

This is Maggie.
I decided the first time
I met her that my
nephew Camden
should marry her.

We got back into the car, and my first statement to Jeremy was, "It's a boy." He didn't believe me. I told him why. He still didn't believe me, so we started the drive to his parents' house, where we planned to meet up with Dolly, who'd serve us (and them) the appropriately-flavored cake, which would reveal to us if we were expecting a Thomas Frederick or a Mary Lawson.

The cake, by the way, was Maggie Shook's idea. An aspiring baker, she'd been seeing these cakes on Pinterest and asked her mom if she thought I'd let her make me one, should I ever be pregnant again. Little did Maggie know ... but Maggie's mama DID know. She asked if I'd be interested, and I was so thoroughly honored that Maggie'd even WANT to do this for us that I accepted immediately - AND asked Maggie to make Jones's first birthday cake.

The problem was that Maggie's family was going to be gone the week of our ultrasound. Maggie and her mom came up with a plan that she'd make four cakes - two of each gender - and deliver them to us the weekend before they left. We took all four cakes to the Pressleys when we dropped Jones off the morning of our ultrasound, and when Dolly got there, she picked an appropriate box, and we all found out together, which was Mr. Pressley's idea, and which was SO.MUCH.FUN.

Jeremy did the honors. He cut the cake and was the first to reveal that IT'S A BOY! I felt such a mixture of excitement and relief, true elation to have two sweet boys, one of whom would be named for my daddy and his daddy. As we walked to the car to repeat the reveal process with my family, I asked Jeremy how he felt. "I'm a little disappointed," was his honest response. I flash-backed to when we walked out of Jones's ultrasound. I was trying not to cry about not having my Mary. It was a total role reversal. I could truly empathize with his disappointment - though, this time, I didn't share it.

We had the big reveal at my parents' no long after we got to Greenville. As you can see by this video, we weren't the ONLY ones who thought Baby Number Two was gonna be a girl.

So that's the change. Changes to our family means a change to our babies' blog. JonesPressley.com will soon become JonesandFreddie.com to represent both of the little boys that we are thrilled and grateful to call our own!

Oh, and here's the thing about his name.

I've had a thing for Thomas Frederick for a long time. If anybody deserves a namesake, it's my dad, and Frederick - his dad - indirectly started my love affair with music. I'd wanted to smash the two names together and call him "Teddy," which I think is just adorable. Jeremy did not. "People will think we're Democrats," he'd jokingly say, citing Teddy Kennedy as the reason not to use the name. I'd counter with "Teddy ROOSEVELT was a Republican ... and a bada$$," but it never helped.

Jeremy wasn't really wild on Thomas Frederick at all, but he agreed to it, knowing how much it meant to me, so the nite of the reveal, I announced his name as "Teddy." Later that nite, though, we were talking, and Jeremy said, "I just really don't like Teddy. Can we call him 'Freddie'?" I figured if he's gonna compromise with me, the least I can do is give him that, so we agreed on Freddie, which I like every bit as much as my original choice, even though - and do not tell Jeremy this - I'm pretty sure there are some Democrats (including the grandfather with whom he shares his name) named Freddie, too.

Jeremy pointed out that, with "Freddie," both of our boys and I will go by our middle names. He also pointed out that both boys will share a name with some of his favorite golfers (Bobby Jones and Freddie Couples). Something about the parallelism in all that makes the OCD in me overload with euphoria, so we finally agreed on a name that met my criteria - that it have strong family significance -and Jeremy's - that people not think we're Democrats ... or (and I agreed with him on this one) ... Yankees.

That's what I call a win-win-win.

Here's the cake, the pink and blue
hydrangeas Mrs. Pressley very
thoughtfully used as a centerpiece,
and the picture of Freddie's you-know
that Dolly called "the Money Shot."

If he's gonna have to share the attention,
he might as well get something
out of it!

I love how dapper Jones looked
in his outfit.

Ruth and Leslie came to hear the big news, too!

This is the second of the four cakes Maggie made.

More cake? Maybe brothers aren't so bad!

Sleepover Jones

Last nite, Jones had his first slumber party. While Jeremy and I went to the wedding of Zeb & Ashley Smathers, he spent the nite with his Nan & Pop.

Part of me felt guilty for how easy it was to leave him there. Shouldn't I wake up in the middle of the nite, desperate to go grab him and return him to the nursery that felt uncomfortably empty without him in it?

But that's not how I felt at all! I felt like I wanted to be sure to pick him up on time, so his grandmother wouldn't be late to rearrange the sanctuary flowers before the morning's church service. I felt so excited to see him when I eventually did, and I felt grateful for in-laws that I feel completely comfortable leaving him with, but never once did I feel like "I can't do this!"

For his part, Jones felt right at home. After we dropped him off at 5:30, his cousins visited for a little while. He then hit the hay about 7:30 and woke up about twelve hours later.

When he saw me for the first time since yesterday, he looked like, "Have we met?" and went right back to laughing at his Nan.

Nursery Time

This morning, I took Jones to the church nursery. As usual, he was the last of the regulars - AND the only baby - to check in. Four or five others were already there, all of them toddlers in varying stages of walking around and rolling on the floor.

Their play was interrupted, though, when they caught sight of my nearly nine-month old: "JONESIE!" they shouted, a chorus of preschoolers welcoming my son to church, like he was Norm Peterson walking in to Cheers.

This is very probably my favorite moment of motherhood yet. I hope "JONESIE!" is always so well loved by his classmates. I KNOW I will always love this adorable story!

Happy Independence Day!

From beautiful Lake Chatuge, happy Fourth of July!

I think I'll "pac" ...

While I'm keeping track of milestones, I might as well mention that Jones has entirely given up the paci. He never loved it like Camden did. For two years, Camden walked around with one in each hand and two in a holster on his hip.

Jones was always way more blasé about it. He'd take it, but he'd just as soon leave it. I read somewhere, though, that some study had shown putting babies to bed with pacis in their mouths cut down on SIDS, so of course, I was obsessive about it. "No naps without the NUK!" was a major motto of my first seven months of motherhood. He'd always spit it out as soon as he fell asleep, but the peace of mind it gave me to give him the paci was well worth the seeming futility of the gesture.

In the last couple of weeks, though, he'd started spitting it out sooner. In fact, he'd spit it out as soon as I'd slip it in, preferring instead to replace it with his thumb.

So finally, I quit fighting it. Now, I lay him down at nite, and he rolls to one side - usually his left - puts his thumb in his mouth and drifts off to Dreamland.

About the same time, I quit carrying the paci during the day, too. He hasn't missed it a bit, and neither have I.

I just hope he gives up the bottle as easily. Operation Sippy Cup is full effect, come his nine month birthday!

Our "Itty Bitty" is getting big!