Molly Sumerlin Jackson entered this world July 6th, 2010 shortly before 10AM. It was a beautiful, hot summer morning with the same clear blue sky her brother Rowan enjoyed during his first day on earth. Also like her brother, Molly was a very alert baby who seemed to be “in” the room with us. She is 8 pounds of cuteness, and I’m excited to finally have a little girl to buy stuff for.
Want to know what Rowan thinks about everything?
As you can see, as long as everyone continues to realize how adorable and center-of-the-universe he is, he’ll be fine. With the addition of a sibling to any single child reality, there is most likely some adjustment that has to happen. Rowan will be fine. There’s plenty of love to go around for both of these babies.
Brandy went into the hospital Monday night. Rowan stayed with Mom while Dad, Tohner and I stayed with Brandy. Dad and I assumed we’d be in the waiting room all night, but ended up we were able to stay in the room with Brandy. So the poor girl had to listen to our bullshit all night while going through labor. We thought we should stay awake in case something started to happen, so we talked pretty much non-stop until about 4AM when we started running out of steam. If you look at the photo above Brandy’s bed, you may see a cute little baby. If you are Tohner, and then the rest of us once he pointed it out, you will think that the baby is shooting the finger. Even though he is not. That is the kind of stuff that is somewhat funny at 10PM but really freaking hilarious at 4AM. The TV was on History Channel, so we watched a number of episodes of American Pickers and Pawn Stars, two programs I probably wouldn’t have watched on my own that I will now associate with Molly’s arrival.
[side note: Though the entertainment factor was certainly raised by the constant Jackson commentary, both programs are a fairly interesting look at the things we value – or don’t. A number of the people who were selling things to the pawn shop were bringing in items passed down through the generations with seemingly little emotional connection. I can’t imagine taking something of my grandparents or parents and dumping it off at a pawn shop for a fraction of the “value” of the thing. We’re talking Civil War relics that were probably treasured by past generations being sold for a couple hundred bucks to either a mouth breather named Chumley or a tanned guy named Big Hoss. For real. Then on the other end of the spectrum is American Pickers, in which two guys in a large Mercedes van travel the back roads of the US to pick through people’s attics and garages and old barns to find things they want to buy. Though the people featured on the show most often sell whatever these guys find (or, at least, that’s what ends up in the program), you get the sense that most of the people give a shit about what they are letting go.]