Dream, Baby, Dream

This weekend I had one of the best dreams of my entire life. I woke up Saturday with a big smile on my face, and if you knew the week I had just had, you would understand why that was an amazing accomplishment.

I had a dream that I was going into labor and Jeff and I were at the hospital. In terms of logistics, everything in my dream was clean and smooth and undramatic. When it came time to push, I was aware that Jeff and another woman was there helping me, along with the doctor, who was also female. I pushed for a while, but Peppermint was not coming out. The doctor opened a binder with full of yellow pieces of paper and said that she would recommend a C-section. I implored her to give me one more round of pushes, and if that didn't produce a Peppermint, then I would surrender to the C-section. Well, I hunked down and pushed with everything inside of me and out came my perfect eight-pound baby girl. She was perfect and had great lungs and plenty of healthy meat on her bones. In my dream was holding her and looking at her -- it felt like forever. All of the sudden, she opened her mouth and said, "Hey, mom, can you please get me a clean, dry blanket and something to eat." I remember laughing and looking for Jeff to tell him that our daughter can talk and she can tell us what she needs! I couldn't believe my little baby just talked to me in perfect sentences. When I couldn't find Jeff in the room, I took the baby out into the kitchenette down the hall, where Jeff and some of his family members were making spaghetti sauce. I told Jeff that I needed a clean blanket for Peppermint and also it was time to start breastfeeding. We all three retreated to the hospital room to start the great breastfeeding adventure.

Then, I woke up with the delicious feeling of hope, excitement and promise in my heart.

Man, there is so much goodness in that dream. As much as I loved my recurring sex dream about Will Smith, and I really loved the one about Sean Penn, the dream about my daughter and our connection was better than any naughty dream I could ever conjure up. The feeling I had looking at my daughter in the dream was like nothing I have ever imagined. I can't even think of anything close. I also love that I was supportive of her asking for what she needs. I sort of hope that I will be a little more on top of the blanket and food situation when the actual birthday happens, but if not, I certainly support her telling me in whatever words, sounds or gestures she has at her disposal!

Another reason I love the dream is because it speaks to this deep, down quiet calm and certainty inside of me that I rarely ever give voice to in my daily, waking life. Because of some fascinating quirks in my character, I am more likely to bemoan the economy, or describe a perceived insult about my mothering, or to talk sh*t about my ob/gyn. What this dream reminds me is that it's just as honest for me to lean over and tell the person next to me on the train that I am doing great, my life is unfolding in a miraculous way, and that my daughter is cooking away and more welcome than I could ever express.

Actually, it's more honest, because I don't really understand anything about the economy right now -- locally or globally-- I really just know there's lots of fear and speculation and excuses for me to take my eyes off my own daily sliver of road I'm walking on. I don't really know how to evaulate my ob/gyn for that matter. I am mostly angry at her for not being more hysterical about my early aches and pains and for having some very mainstream ideas about weight gain in pregnancy. As for the insults about my mothering, I think I better get used to that. If I can find them anywhere-- lurking behind all comments and commentary-- it's probably only going to get worse when I have a child who can breathe outside of my womb.

Because here's the thing: Everyone has a mother. She may have left or died or never been around, but everyone's got one and everyone is carrying around a template of his or her own relationship with the big M. The healing, the scars, the shoes to fill. It's not my problem. I got my hands full with my Big M and my own incarnation of my own Big M self. I have already committed to do this imperfectly-- to sometimes serve non-organic milk or to use a Baby Einstein video. I have committed to being messy-- that diaper Genie may overflow from time to time and the diaper on the baby may overflow too. Big fucking deal. I would rather be honest: true me, my true hair color, my true self, who hopes to get better and more authentic with age. That's the commitment. If I could check my neurosis at the door, I would have done that long ago. And if I had, I just wouldn't be me. And that's NOT the message I plan to send to Peppermint.

Wedding v. Pregnancy

I have been much less prolific on this blog than on our wedding blog. I was wondering why that was, and I think there are several reasons.

First, the wedding really involved two consenting adults and was a much more public affair. I felt more comfortable expressing my neurosis and ambivalence and emotions about Jeff and marriage and commitment, as well as my excitement. Illusory though it was, I felt like I had more control over the wedding process. I also never fretted about the possibility of seeing blood when I went to the bathroom, which I do about 25 times every single day. And if you have ever been pregnant, especially over the age of 35, then you probably know exactly what I am talking about. The fear of something being wrong or going wrong or malfunctioning with my daughter is the most profound and humbling fear I have ever known. Every single gas bubble or ligament pull-- every tingle, ping, and unexplained senstation-- stops my heart for several beats, because I truly have no idea what is happening and if what I am feeling is a sign that everything is proceeding according to plan or if something is not quite right.

So pregnancy is very different from getting married. It involves a little girl I have never met before, whose very existence is my responsibility in many ways-- a responsibility I relish and accept and embrace, no matter how much it scares me. I believe one of the primary jobs of a parent is to protect a child, especially a super wee one, so I haven't quite reconciled how that fits into blabbing into the universe my every thought and feeling about this process. And, what's happening in my body is very sacred and private in some ways, though it's sort of obvious from a glance at me what might be happening. To say that this process has resulted in a little confusion for yours truly would be a tremendous understatement.

I am having lots more feelings about being a mom to Ms. Pepps these days. I feel possessed by a maternal instinct that is ferocious and deep. You would not believe how careful I am when I cross a busy street in downtown Chicago. Actually, I am the one who can't believe it! I used to dart around in my high heels trying to maximize my time getting from point A to point B. All the time consumed by the rush, the push, the H-U-R-R-Y. And now, just like our beloved economic slow down, my movements through time and space have slowed down in the same of saftey, comfort, and sanity. I haven't read about this in any baby books. But then again, I haven't actually read any baby books, other than the 2 I mentioned before I went on the big Baby Book Sabbatical.

It's also a time of great transition in my family. More ying and more yang. As Jeff and I get used to being married (almost 4 months), and being pregnant (6+ months), we head into Spring and the third trimester knowing that other big changes are coming. It's not actually my story to tell, but for this moment in MY blog, it's safe to assume that whatever Benevolent Force that is running my life has decided that it's time for more change and transition in my household and another test of my faith, my surrender, and my patience.

Oh how I love the unknown.

Sneezy dwarf

I am not complaining, but it's awfully odd to sneeze when pregnant. Luckily, my husband caputured me in all my awkward glory at the tail end of a sneeze.

Hot, huh?

Corpus Christie

We used to vacation in Corpus Christi, Texas, way back in the day. Actually, I think we were trying to get to Padre Island, but hurricane season truncated the journey to Corpus Christi. All I remember, besides pouting and not being at THE beach, was visiting a mission. But, that my have just been something I read in our Texas history book.

So, here's my womb at 22.5 weeks. Jeff took this picture almost 1 week ago, but you get the idea. It's still shocking to look down and see my breasts resting on my stomach. Sometimes when I look at my beautiful ballooning stomach my mind plays tricks on me. One night, I looked into the mirror at my naked stomach and swore that I saw my former boyfriend-- the one who gained about 20 lbs in the first 2 months of dating me. (I didn't take that personally. OH wait, yes I did.) Then, sometimes I see my maternal grandmother, who lived on a farm in a small Texas town. This is the same Grandmother who had a third-grade education and a strong aversion to healthy food that was not accompanied by copious layers of bacon grease. She also had a strong aversion to wearing underwear to bed or wearing more than a see-through slip at the end of a long, hot Texas day. Is anyone anywhere still wondering why I need so much therapy?

Despite the mind games, I am loving my body and my daughter inside. I heard on my mommy message board that 24 weeks is viability. Yet another hoop looms just 4 days away. Next up, glucose test and third-trimester benchmarks, which include vericose veins, leaking breasts, sleep disturbances, and swollen ankles. Now we know why God made babies so cute...so women will be willing to do this again.

Welcome to My High-Class Problems

Well, just like with the wedding dress that I eventually fell IN LOVE with, I am having some indecision around the baby bedding. We registered for the bedding below, but now I am thinking it's too garish. Or too something. I am not sure what, but I am just not quite feeling it for the Tiki Floral from Land of Nod.

I just found the above bedding at Babies 'R Us, and I sort of love it for our pale yellow nursery. It's less busy and overall just softer and more calming to me. And believe me, with this busy brain as her mother, this little lady is going to need all the calm she can get. Starting with those peaceful little fireflies.

Now, is this post proof that I have a little too much time on my hands if I am perseverating about this? Yes. Am I aware that baby bumpers are not supposed to be used once you have an actual baby sleeping in the crib? Yes. But, let's not kid ourselves. Baby bedding is not really ever for a baby. It's for mommy, who wants to create a little sanctuary for her baby complete with soothing colors and images that will hopefully reduce nightmares, colic, future eating disorders, insomnia, and teen-aged rebellion, while simultaneously encouraging literacy, sleep, bonding with mom and dad, and an innate sense of security and self-esteem. That's a lot of work for a little bit of bedding.


I don't actually know if the baby will ever sleep in a crib. Maybe we'll be co-sleepers. I haven't ruled it out, but I am pretty sure having a little baby in the big people bed will alter the "honeymoon" period that we newlyweds are in. For the record, I am keeping an open mind about all of this. And, I mean, all of it: Natural childbirth? I am considering it. It may be purely theoretical since I have never ever been to a hospital as a patient for more than 4 hours. Come to think of it, my only hospital stint was in George Washington University Hospital in D.C. in 1998, when I went to the emergency room for really bad menstrual cramps. Probably does not bode well for my natural childbirth plan that I admitted myself for cramps, but my mind is still open for the possibility of eschewing an epidural and pitocin and all the other "comforts" of labor.

Co-Sleeping? Maybe. Making my own baby food when the time comes? Sure. Breastfeeding? Absolutely. Cloth diapers? I'll try anything, as long as Jeff will do the work. My point is that I am enjoying my non-dogmatic time as an expecting mother, when I can try on all sorts of parenting hats. I totally picture myself being a whip out the breast mom-- even when in public where other people are trying to eat-- in part because I like the idea of someone trying to stop me and getting use my skills at detachment or telling the "uncomfortable" co-diner to bend over and kiss his own Puritianical ass. I also like the idea of being more mobile: When I am out and about, if little Peppermint needs a snack, then let's take care of business.

It's actually laughable that I think I will suddenly have the free spirit of a native European just because there will be milk in them there hills. I have spent a considerable amount of time hiding my breasts from ages 23-35, so exactly how this transformation will take place is beyond my intellectual or intuitive grasp right now.

The point is, today, I can envision being a thousand different versions of "MOTHER." By the time the child arrives, which will necessarily make this all more realistic, I will settle into the actual mother that I will be. Maybe a year from now we'll be plopped in front of daytime T.V. munching on McDonald's chicken nuggets and ignoring the needs of our child for the enduring pleasures of the Internet or Facebook. Perhaps, we won't even have a T.V., but we'll be working in an organic garden to gather fresh tomatoes and milk a free range cow. Of course, it will be somewhere in between, which is why I have to explore the extremes today, and even then, only in my head.

Sisterhood of the Maternity Pant

Say whatever you want about Old Navy, but I just got the most fabulous pair of pants there. I have never in my life owned a more comfortable and luscious pair of pants. ("Perfect Khaki Bootcut Pants.") The super good news is that they come in short sizes. The comfort is downright obscene. I tried some Liz Lang for Target clothes last night and let me just tell you that the pants all come in one length: too long for me.

But, hell, even if you aren't pregnant, you should try these pants. Who can't use a little extra room for those extra helpings of dessert or extra puffy days of the month? I swear to Christmas that I have looked for the perfect khakis for years and never found them until now. These are the pants I will grab if the house is on fire. Except I won't need to because I plan to sleep in them every night until the baby comes...and then for a few months after that.

Is it wrong to love a pair of pants so much?

Dear Body

Dear Body:

Thank you. Thank you for getting pregnant and for carrying Ms. Peppermint. I am so grateful for the opportunity to carry a child, and now that her kicks have started, I decided it was time to stop and say a proper thank you for all that you have done for me and all that you will do for me in the next few months.

I think it's the greatest privilege of my life to carry a baby. This Baby. I have maligned you and scolded you and berated you enough to last a lifetime. Now, I find myself tempted to shove aside my deep gratitude for all that you are doing (making and housing my daughter) to focus on how you are doing it. How arrogant and how shortsighted of me to focus on something as trivial as

whether my weight gain falls neatly into some chart. I believe it is time to let that go. We are in the back half-- at 23 weeks, we have approximately 17 more to go. How about I spend the next 17 weeks honoring you and the sublime work you are doing with my daughter's heart, spine, limbs, brain and lungs? How about that! What if every time I got a pang of panic about whether I am eating the right amount of X, Y, or Z, or if it was ok to have a little ice cream at a birthday party, I took that adrenaline and applied it to deep, genuine gratitude? How much closer would I be to my vision of myself as a woman who has her prioritities straight, her focus on people and love and relationships, and a harmonious and collaborative relationship with her body? I would love to find out!

For the record, the still small voice inside of me whispers every day that you know what you are doing. You knew when to get pregnant so that we could welcome a beloved SUMMER baby-- which is downright brilliant for us Chicago denizens! You kept me safe all those years during the crash diets and ice cream binges. You helped me cross the finish line for two marathons in ONE year-- both time obliging my masochistic impulses, while helping me find balance. Of all the things I could possibly put my trust in, you're really the safest bet I could make. And, I have always suffered from selective memory, so I'll probably forget how heroic, tenacious, and sturdy you have been, even when not guided by the most gentle brain under the sun. When I forget, I hope I can come back to this moment, when I can say that I have been as honest as I am capable, that I am in a state of thanksgiving for the wonders and miracles and beauty of my body. And, it's this gift I hope to turn over to my daughter.

Now, hair, you and I have some work to do, but there's plenty of time.

With love and (long-overdue) gratitude,

Christie

Ying and Yang of Pregnancy

On Thursday morning at 5:30 a.m. Ms. Peppermint was dancing all around the womb. For about the 100th time since week 17, I put Jeff's hand on my belly to see if he could feel what I was feeling. And around 5:37 a.m., he felt it. It's a truly sublime feeling. She wriggled all over the place for about 20 minutes, and about 4 different times she threw a punch that I could feel from the outside. I fell back asleep with a huge smile on my face. I was so elated and proud that I didn't even care how loud Jeff was snoring.

So that's the ying.

Here's the yang: I have been feeling some achiness in my lower abdomen, which has been mostly fleeting since week 20. I haven't been too concerned because in every single pregnancy website, manual, or discussion, there is always talk about the stretching of the round ligaments that can be downright painful long about the second trimester when the true growing really gets underway. Last night I tried to walk part of the way home from work, but I felt that ache and decided to get on the bus and not push it. This morning it was achey again, so I called the doctor.

When the head nurse called me back, she suggested that I come in. I was sort of stunned because I have previously begged to come in and have an ultra sound or check the heartbeat (yes, first time mom) and they said they just had a cancellation so I should just plan to come in to rule out that I am dilated. Um dilated? I have seen that in the movies on and on Guiding Light and it comes at the very end of pregnancy.

Turn out everything with Pepps was really good. We got to hear her heartbeat again-- it sounded faster to me, but it's somewhere between 150-160. When we thought Jeff couldn't make it to the appointment, my friend Krista joined us. It's pretty fun having a posse at the OB/Gyn appointment. Turns out my cervix is perfect so there is nothing to worry about. Right?

Well, there is one teeny tiny thing. After spending a good three weeks eating mostly heathy food (Saturday, March 7 notwithstanding), I was disappointed to see my doctor gasp and wince when she saw my weight on my chart. By "disappointed," I mean devastated. She retreated when she saw I was going nuts on her: "Oh, you usually come in the morning and now it's afternoon, so that could really make it crazy." I wasn't buying it.

And, here I am. One of my greatest fears is that any worry or obession about my weight or food would interfere with my relationship with my daughter. I am so not available for that. I don't know what happened with my weight. I weigh backwards so I don't see the numbers, I haven't known my weight since March 1997 (it was 120 that day) and I have been given a fair measure of peace around the numbers, scales, food, etc. But, now there is this pull to be measured by my weight. The babycenter.com boards are full of frets and posts about weight gain and weight loss. This isn't Jenny Craig; this is pregnancy and I don't want to waste another minute worrying about my weight.

My goal is to have joy. My goal is to nourish myself and Pepps to the best of my ability without counting calories or playing compensation games. I am not willing to reduce this experience to the scale or the weight gain. Every second I spend thinking about whether I am gaining too much or if I should get to the gym more than I do is time I have missed connecting with my daughter, my husband, my world, my life. Believe me, there have been times in my life when I was more than content to check out and think about calories or work outs, but not now. Not with so much love and joy at my disposal every single day. It's right at my fingertips.

The doctor can gasp all she wants, but this little mama is surrendering the battle. I know where to find a spin class when I need it. For now, it's too violent for me and my daughter. I'm taking the gentler road that is way scarier for me. For now, it's time to slow down and glide along the surface of the water, instead of fighting my body like it's an enemy to subdue. The sooner I find peace with this vessel the sooner I can get back to counting kicks and looking up cute baby clothes.

FUZE ME

This drink makes the afternoons worth living these days. It's smooth and delicious and is the perfect afternoon libation to go with my almonds and yogurt. It hardly bothers me that a bottle costs almost $3.00. It's worth it. Love the Fuze.

22 Weeks

This weekend the denial broke away a little further as Jeff and I began to research cribs. For the uninitiated, there are about 10 million choices for cribs out there. The price ranges from $99 to $2000. We had almost decided on a DaVinci (sounds Italian, but made in China) crib as recommended by some fellow mommies, but then Jeff got his copy of Baby Bargains in the mail and it gives the DaVinci cribs a C+ grade. I am thinking that with over 10,000 choices, can't we do a little better than a C+? I have never made a C in my life-- all the B's I ever got still sting to this day-- so why would I start now in my childraising days?

C+ ain't gonna happen.

So, we are back to the drawing board.

We also got our first present for Peppermint. At a one-year birthday party for a friend's daughter, we were the luckily recipients of a basket of goodies, including the softest, organic onsies you have ever felt. I am seriously going to order me and Jeff some organic jammies-- there is nothing softer and more comforting than good pj's. And if you saw the state of my body in my current pj's, you would post a picture on youtube and send it to all of your friends. It's wrong and it's borderline obscene. I am still having that experience of not feeling like I am any different, until I put on clothes and realize that there have been very significant seismic shifts in my body.

Twice this weekend I felt the baby kick from the outside when I had my hand on my stomach. It's incredible. Last night, I kept tossing and turning and putting my hand on my stomach so I could feel some more, but this kid ain't going to perform on command. I am proud of her. When I got up to go to the bathroom 5 times last night (don't I wish I was exaggerating), I told her in the bathroom that she is not required to kick to make mom feel better or to entertain mom. She should only ever kick when she damn well feels like it and at no other time. I told her I was proud of her for holding her own and not starting any codependent patterns in the womb whereby she takes care of me by meeting my needs. Guess those Melody Beattie tapes I put on my womb are really helping us both!

We also got some lovely hand-me-downs from a friend, including this strange yellow booster-seat looking chair that is meant to help Peppermint when she is learning to hold herself up. Jeff tried to sit in it, and that didn't go well, but it proved to be a sturdy little piece of furniture after withstanding his 170lbs weight.

And, we've made it to 22 weeks. It seems so far-- 11 weeks ago we heard the heartbeat again and I was really starting to lean into my morning sickness. Now, I have a fair amount of energy, but I sure do love sleeping. 12 hours or more is best. My appetite is much calmer now and I am hoping when I see the doctor next Wednesday, I have a pleasant exchange with her about my weight. As in, I hope to hear that I am right on track, as opposed to, "You really spiked this month, gaining almost 10 lbs." I read that Pepps can taste the amniotic fluid now and is practicting swallowing. Some moms report their babies having hiccups. I love eating delicious and healthy food thinking of little Pepps lapping it up. I am also really craving fruits and vegetables. Last night I really, really wanted to order the fish and chips, but I stayed true to my goal of providing Pepps with really good nutritious food and went for the polenta with veggies and later a mango.

I also treated Pepps to an evening with Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love. It was a fantastic night-- Gilbert told stories about writing-- and rewriting-- her new book about marriage and then answered questions from the audience. The best part about it was that Gilbert didn't preach or pretend to have any answers. She was pretty adamant that it is a spiritual exercise to say NO to people, even and especially when they may dislike you or be disappointed. I agree that is spiritual and also the hardest word in language for me to use. I hope to teach my daughter how to say no without shame and without fearing that she will die if someone experiences disappointment or, god forbid, doesn't like her.

But, then again, who is not going to love Ms. Pepps?

Baby Daddy Birthday

It's my Baby-Daddy's birthday. 34 years of life on this planet-- all poised and ready to be a daddy to a little girl. This is a special week in our household as today is Jeff's birthday and tomorrow is the second anniversary of our first date. It was a snowy March 6 when Jeff picked me up and took me to dinner at La Scarola. We split two entrees and talked until they kicked us out of the restaurant around 11:00 p.m. We are going to try to re-live that dinner tonight, except now I will eat two entrees myself and be asleep by 8:00 p.m. How lucky is this man of mine?

I gave him his birthday present on Saturday: I commissioned a painting by dear friend, and renowned artist, Joyce Polance. I gave her a picture of the two of us from our 2007 trip to India and she made some magic with canvas and paint. We love the painting and hung it in our office where it looks amazing.

It's been a big week otherwise. We watched Juno again now that we are pregnant and there was not a dry eye in the house during that scene in the hospital when Juno gives birth to a beautiful baby boy. When Michael Sera's character comes into the room and lays on the bed with Juno, I just about lost it. I am so happy to be married and over the age of 16 and to be planning to keep my child. It would be fun to be as clever, ironic, and hip as Juno, but I'll trade that for what I got.

Yesterday was Peppermint's first trip to a maximum security prison for a little client visit. I wasn't scared at all until we got through the screening and a somewhat dim-witted Corrections Officer escorted me and two male associates to the client meeting room. Suddenly, I felt afraid about being with Peppermint in a maximum security prison where I was about to meet with a man who had taken it upon himself to end the life of another man. I felt my ferocious maternal instinct kick in: I was sure I could wrestle anyone who tried to hurt my baby or me. I also assured the two male associates that I would cheerfullly use them as human shields if the need arose. Pepps was actually squiggling all around during the first 15 minutes of the meeting with the client, who, incidentally, was articulate, bright, grateful, and perfectly non-violent. He was also ripped like Mr. Universe, and I confess to thinking more than once that he could probably kill me with one hand.

And, of course he didn't. The most traumatic part of the visit was not being able to pee or drink from my water bottle for two hours. I pretty much drink about 4 oz of water every 20 minutes, so when we emerged from our meeting, I almost started to hallucinate. Thanks to Pepps' position right above my bladder, I got the privilege of using the "Ladies Room" at the prison. You have really never peed in style until you have peed in the prison ladies room. Someday I'll tell Pepps about the visit and what I saw in there. I'll probably embellish the story so that I sound even cooler than I am. I may include a vignette about wrestling an inmate who tried to hassle me during lock down, but I'll have to watch some episodes of Prison Break to be sure I get the vocabulary down.

21 Weeks

It's Tuesday, so we turned 21 weeks pregnant today. I find it uncanny that the portion of the pregnancy email update that comes on Tuesdays that includes "what's happening in mama's body" is right on target. Today, it says that "increased oil production" may worsen acne. Unbelievable. For the first time since Peppermint's conception, I got two lovely blemishes on my face. Again, very unoriginal, as the majority of women who are 21 weeks pregnant the world over are also experiencing similar flashbacks to high school. I can't decide which I like more: my incontinence or my acne. It's a toss up. Why choose sides; I love them both.

I just survived an insanely busy stretch at work that actually was powerful enough to distract me from pregnancy for more than 15 minutes at a time. It's strange to slow down again and savor every kick and flutter from Peppermint. And, the Pottery Barn Kids catalog came yesterday. I could have just wept from the cuteness in there. ON MY GOD. I wish we had 3 different rooms for the Peppermint. We could do an all-out pink explosion with pink toile curtains and bedding, and also a bold, tropical room with mango-tinted sheets with acqua accents. Then, for kicks, we could also do a soothing blue room, just to reinforce the idea that we are beyond gender rigidity-- that is, we are not creating a world where girls can't have anything to do with blue and boys can't enjoy a little pink now and again.

I am starting to get recommendations for products we'll need for Pepps, including a very inventive "co sleeper" that we'll wheel up to the bed for those first few weeks back home. It gets a little more real everyday, especially now that (1) I am showing and (2) we are in the back half. Other tasks for this week include signing up for birth classes and registering at the hospital. I am a little nervous about the whole hospital part of this. I have never ever been admitted to a hospital for any reason-- no broken bones, no ebola virus, no acute psychosis. (We won't talk about how close I may have come for some of those.) Anyway, from my limited experience, I think I want to bring my own pillows, some comfy socks, and some snacks. I haven't come that far only to end up in a hospital with no snacks! Oh yea, and I guess an outfit for the baby to wear on the way home. I am so happy its going to be summertime. On so many levels. The last thing I want to worry about is driving home in an ice storm with my 48-hour-old baby. No, we'll cruise the streets of Chicago the mere 6 miles it will take to get home.

So, I am hoping my Type-A mom friends will forward me their lists of "must haves" and clue me in to what is not necessary. A co-worker said not to buy any blankets because I will get many as gifts, and according to the SIDS guidelines, you are not supposed to put a baby to bed with a blanket. I am hoping Jeff will take the lead on the safety part of this operation, because I can't read about SIDS or other baby dangers without almost having a stroke. I am pretty sure that my coronary will not be advantageous from a health-perspective for Pepps.

We've dipped only a toe into the baby naming waters. It's such an awesome responsiblity and there are so many names. I refuse to get a baby name out of some book or list or source on the internet. I believe the name should come from history, literature, family or make it up. I can't stand the thought of telling my daughter one day, "Yes, I logged on to the social security website to find a name that appealed to me." It sounds so impersonal and unimaginative. So, we'll see. It's one part of the process I have no inclination to rush. Too important and I don't want to miss a great name because I got locked in weeks ahead of time.

Slow and steady.