Nope, they’re not Elmore’s.
I don't think this is what Elmore had in mind when he wrote Whose Muddy Shoes. These shoes aren't even muddy - small, but not muddy. It’s a mystery really; packages and boxes have been arriving with things too small for anyone at our house. The nature of these items would indicate that someone is planning for an extended stay. Still, who is the owner of these things? Some say it’s a shorty – a tot, a peanut, a tulip, a baby. Could it be true? You be the judge.
Pretty sure that’s a baby in there, but is it a lass or a lad? So far, speculation has it that those adorable shoes belong to a lass. Apparently there are some that can tell you the sex of a baby by simply looking at an expecting mother’s belly. What do you think? Is this a lass or a lad? Perhaps the results of a "scientific" poll will tell us. Please go to our poll and cast your vote – lass or lad? You'll find the poll on the upper left side of this page.
There is another debate around when the barefoot contessa/count will come to collect their shoes. We were told to expect their arrival on April 14. But a reliable source tells us that there is only a 5% chance that the peanut will actually show on this day. We were told that there is a 10% chance we will see the tot before April 6th and a 10% chance they will show up after April 21. That means there is an 80% chance that the owner of these soon to be muddy shoes will show up sometime between April 7 and April 20. A vague idea at best. This is unacceptable and will never work with our specific lists and schedules! This may be a good time for a family meeting.
Thankfully, not everything is a mystery. We know that as of 3.23.08, the tulip is healthy, about 19 inches tall, weighs 6 lbs. and was last seen sucking on their arm and thumb. Based on their weight, they are in the 47th percentile when compared to their peers, so they are of average size. We know that they have a beautiful profile and that they love to dance and kick. We know that they have a strong heart, pounding out 135 to 145 beats per minute, a sound indication of an endurance athlete in training. Their lactic threshold remains unknown as well as most other details. Oh, and there is this too ... a happy foot!
We have decided that the details don’t matter, we are ready. We aren't in control anyway. Lists, schedules and birth plans are simply distractors and don't really prepare you for 
what's to come. Perhaps the smartest thing to have at the ready is a packed suitcase full of stuff you won't use. Besides, this man helped his wife get through a similar situation. If he can help keep things together, I think I can too. Take a look at what he helped make. Really, LOOK!We have taken every baby class the hospital has to offer and we are even certified in infant CPR (or at least certifiable). We have researched everything from pacifiers to second grade teachers. We are ready for a long term visitor. Just for clarification, long term does not exceed 22 years. Our lists are complete, the crib is made, diapers are washed and the car seat is in the car. Now we wait.
Here is where the lass or lad will sleep.
This is where guests will sleep when they come to visit. I made this bed with my bare hands; I even included a James Bond-like bed underneath.
This is me drillling it old school. It's amazing what you can do with a cordless drill. The hat helps me think as I feel my way through my home projects!
This is where baby A will play.
This is IronBaby’s first piece of training equipment. This machine morphs into a car when your kids turns 16. Until then, we are planning on spending many hours chasing or pulling this thing.
Mommy is doing well. Jennifer puts in long hours at work and continues to cycle and swim, staying strong for this upcoming endurance event. Jennifer’s walk has seen some changes and sleeping with a dozen pillows has become the norm. Except for the blood clot (leg cramp) and bronchitis (cold), Jennifer doesn’t complain. Jennifer is happy, beautiful and eager to meet baby A.
A long awaited update, but there you have it.
But the question remains...Whose Muddy Shoes?
