A Week of Firsts

You can see from the pictures that Sadie was not in love with bath time. We can't just dunk her in the baby tub until her umbilical cord falls off, so we decided to do a sponge bath on our bed. It was our first time too so we were going a little too slow for Sadie's taste. I think she is on the fence still about whether she will forgive us for taking so long and for allowing the water to cool far beyond her pleasure level. She sure does look cute all dressed up like a pink Jedi, though!

We also had our first spin in the baby stroller, which was glorious on a perfect July morning. This was our first outing-- Sadie accompanied mommy to a much needed therapy appointment and then we strolled a little bit in Millenium Park. The morning was flawless: little humidity, sunshine, cool breezes, darling baby and shutterbug husband. I only wish I was up for a longer walk that morning. Damn that major abdominal surgery getting in my way!

Sadie, our captivating newborn, sleeps about 18 hours a day. I always assumed that was an exaggeration, but it's not. When she sleeps for long stretches I miss her and want to wake her up to play. I don't because that is insane behavior, but when she wakes up and is ready to nurse and get busy looking cute and farting, I am so excited.

Today is a big day for us as well. We have a lactation consultant coming over to observe me and Sadie doing our breastfeeding gig. I am slightly obsessed with doing it right, mostly because I want it to stop hurting when she latches on, but also to be sure that she is getting what she needs. Honestly, I am just winging it right now and I decided that if there is such a thing as a person who comes to your house to help us get this process to a place of comfort and peace of mind, then why not? I am just sitting around breast feeding anyway.

Tonight we are going to a small get together for a friend's birthday. I have learned how to use the sling, so our plan is to go with Sadie in the sling and let people admire her from afar. I am not ready to pass her around yet, but I am willing to show up and practice my new dual role as mommy and party reveler! The party starts at 8:30 p.m., which in my former life would be way too late, is now perfect. Sadie konks out from about 7-10 every night and then wakes up to feed and hang out until about 1, when she goes down for good. We'll see how it goes, but I am optimistic and grateful that the hostess has kids as do many of the guests, so it will be a friendly crowd.

La Familia Ellis

We did it. Miss Sadie is now home and settling into life with her two adoring parents who are unabashedly in love with her. She's on to us and she knows that we would do anything for her. I expect to start seeing messages in her diapers that say, "buy me a Mini Cooper," at which point, Jeff and I will pack the car and head straight to the dealership. This child shall want for nothing is our philosophy and it's working for all of us right now, though I can imagine a time down the road when we may have to tweak that a bit in order to raise a functioning and healthy member of society.

I never thought there would be any sweeter music to my ears than Lyle Lovetts, I Love Everybody album, but there is. As I sit here right now typing this entry at 9:13 p.m. on Friday, July 31, 2009, I can attest that the sound of my daughter farting every 30 seconds is as close to aural nirvana as I have ever been. She's been farting like a drunk who just binged at Taco Bell for about 3 minutes and it's starting to stink in here. The delight of my little swaddled bundle of flatulence is something that I have no words for. Jeff has gone to the drug store to fetch a refill of my pain meds along with some meds for my own GI tract issues. I tried to be a hero today and went from 7:45 a.m. until 5:45 p.m. before taking my pain meds. What the hell is the virtue in that? I guess I wanted to be sure I wasn't addicted to Norco or that I wasn't just indulging in medication. It was not a prudent move, because the reason I am on those drugs is because I had major abdominal surgery only 8 days ago and I am no spring chicken. By about 5:00 p.m. tonighht I was slipping into despair about the physical pain: the incision, my uterus, my aching nipples, my hemorrhoids. It's a lot to deal with while also caring for a totally helpless 8 lb baby who can also scream so loud it almost bursts my inner ear. So, off Jeff went to be sure we are stocked up for the next week and for that, I am immensely grateful.

We've had a great week so far at home. The highlights include getting to know more about Sadie and her needs and her budding personality, as well as the sheer pleasure of just being in her company and being her mom and dad. We've also had a loving stream of visitors, each who has been a pipeline to the world beyond our four walls, bringing in love and support so we can heal and get to know our daughter. Our freezer and refrigerator are both full to bursting at this point with the most thoughtful and generous of dishes, including a kugal, a killer apple pie, and some lentil soup that is savory enough to serve royalty.

Happily, we are also getting infinitely more sleep than we imagined we were allowed as parents of a newborn. She's an awesome sleeper, going for 3 and 4-hour stretches, which is a dream. We have some good teamwork going so we aren't running too ragged yet.

There are 100,000 more things to say, but it has to wait, because Jeff just home and suggested that our daughter's farts and the pungent smell in the room means we should change her diaper.

Milk of Momnesia

Yesterday was a big day in room 1396. Sadie hazed us like we were college freshmen trying to join a fraternity. She's earned her reputation as being "fiesty," an adjective that more than one nurse has applied to her. (And make no mistake, I take it as an affirmation every single time. I could not be more proud.) It all began innocently enough at 3:00 p.m. when I realized that my maternity shirt barely fit over my chest because my milk came in. Because I am in the haze of early motherhood this event is equivalent to winning the Pick-3 Lotto game. I have heard more stories from moms about milk not coming in or moms being traumatized by having to supplement weak flow with formula to know that I sincerely did get a huge gift when my breasts began to weep the white, calcium-rich nectar. I was literally doing the river dance in my room, scaring the baby and amusing my husband. I think the milk coming in was overwhelmingly joyful for three main reasons. First, so little of my labor went like I wanted it to, that I really just wanted the universe to give me a pass on the breastfeeding and allow me to have an easy time. I think of the milk coming in as payback for the whole C-section part of this process.

Second, I have had such a conflicted relationship with my breasts-- feeling self-conscious about their size and afraid of their significance in a misogynist society. I have hated on them and hidden them and misuderstood them for so long. In 1999 I did the Breast Cancer 3-Day walk to nourish more gratitude and compassion for my breasts, but still I had more moments of hate than love for my large breasts. So, having the milk come in that I will use (8 times a day MINIMUM) to feed my daughter feels like it may accomplish what 3 days of walking and fundraising could never do. These breasts give life. It's like a fuzzy picture that just came into focus. It's really a good development because there is no hiding these ladies. If I thought they were big during pregnancy, this is truly a whole new level. The bottom line is that I love them and they are doing such a good job. The proof of their power to give sustenance is that Miss Sadie gained 4 ounces yesterday. We got all kinds of props from the pediatrician for that. We are already looking back at my meltdown on Friday worrying that she wouldn't get enough to eat because she lost 7% of her birth weight. (Hospitals let them lose 10% before they take any action.) As I sit here right now, I am aware that my right hand is drenched and Jeff just came over to inform me that I am "leaking."

Leaking?

Holy dairy-ness, my body is leaking milk! It's totally prosaic and mothers have been doing this for as long as humans have had babies, but when it happens to you, it's like sci-fi or a miracle of Biblical proportions.

And, let's be honest. Everyone knows that breastfeeding is nature's way of taking the baby weight off the mom. I may be spouting off lots of Mother Earth thoughts and feelings, but I am also very vain and really really love the clothes I packed away over the winter as Miss Sadie grew in my belly. It's exciting to feel the body doing what it's supposed to do and one of those things is to have my daughter suck the fat out of my body so her body can grow. No gym for 6 weeks, but lots and lots of breastfeeding, which is more efficient and two of us win!

Enough about me, back to Sadie. She definitely liked the breast milk if her diapers are any indication. I think she may have overdone the first feeding because the subsequent explosive diarrhea and puking freaked her out so bad she was up from 1-4 and the nursery kicked her out because she could not be settled. Jeff and I are happy to be officially parents of a newborn who wants to sleep all day and eat and scream all night long. Like every parent before us, we wish we could figure out why she is crying and FIX it, both for her and for us. And, like every parent before us, we sometimes will be able to and sometimes will not. I have to get used to that crying because it's one of her precious few ways of communicating with us. So, just like my nipples need to toughen up so does my central nervous system, which threatens to crash when my baby cries. I almost can't wait for tonight to try again and see if we can swaddle better and soothe sooner.

Easy Like Sunday Morning

We made it to Sunday morning, which at one point back on Wednesday or Thursday would have seemed about as possible as trying to land a hand glider on Jupiter. Yesterday was a sublime day with lots of quiet moments with my baby and my husband. We love laying her body on ours, and when I see her wiggling around on the OUTSIDE of my stomach it seems like the exact same movements I used to see her make inside my stomach. I love the closeness we used to share and having her here so I can see her face and her expressions is even better.



I can't believe we are going home tomorrow. I feel excited and anxious about getting her in the car and then trying to get up the stairs when I get home. I am looking forward to getting to sleep in my own bed with Jeff, instead of in a hospital bed with Jeff on a Daddy cot across the room. I am also excited to have a relaxing routine with Sadie in our house. It gets easier to imagine everyday life as the pain and discomfort subsides. The nurses on our floor just changed shifts, and we met our nurse for today, Doreen. Doreen asked about my birth experience and Jeff mentioned our journey to Sadie. When he mentioned that I was stuck in triage for 3 hours after the doctor agreed to admit me because the labor and delivery floor was too crowded, Doreen mentioned that on Sadie's birthday the hospital set a record for the highest number of births in a single day. Incredible. This hospital is always busy-- it has 10-12,000 births every year, so the volume is always there. But there existing record on the day of Sadie's birth? No wonder it took so long to get a room and an epidural. Also, when I got out of surgery they were supposed to put these leg warmers on my legs that would keep me from getting a blood clot. My nurse asked for them 3 times and I never got them. I knew that I should have told them that both Jeff and I are lawyers so maybe they would have been afraid of a lawsuit. I am not sure how I feel about giving birth in such a high volume place, even if its reputation is that it's the best women's hospital in Illinois and ranked 18th in the country. It makes me nervous that there were so many women vying for those resources on the day I gave birth. (Does someone who has a C-section give birth? I was thinking the correct phrase is "gave myself over to birth." Can you tell that I still have very strong feelings about the C-section?)

I am heartened that everyday so far has gotten easier. The pain from having my uterus cut out of my body, laid on my chest and put back together again lessens a little everyday. I now can go almost 6 hours on a single Norco instead of the 4 hours I could tolerate just yesterday. Let's pause here for a little story about the C-section:

I was prepped for surgery and they put up a curtain so that I could not see what they were doing. Tears were streaming down my cheeks into my ears because I was laying on my back for the first time in months. (Pregnant women are not supposed to lay on their backs after the first trimester because of the pressure that the growing fetus puts on the vena cava, which in turn makes it difficult for mom to breathe.) One of the anesthesiologists (the one with the hairy chest as I foggily recall) asked me why I was crying at one point, and I said, "are you seriously asking me that?" He said, "we do this all day everyday." I said, "well, I don't." Anyway, looking back I would probably think twice before being snarky to someone in charge of my pain medication, but I digress.

Anyway, the C-section progressed and I kept saying I could feel more than I thought I should feel. I have to say that this got the doctors' attention. Once they got Sadie out and assured me orally that she was fine, but the neo-natal doctors had to clean out her lungs, I started to get a little panicky. By "a little panicky" I mean that I had a full out panic attack on the table. I started telling the resident (woman without the hair chest) that I had to get up right now. I was so sure that I was going to be able to reasonably explain why I had to get up and go get my daughter and get something proper to eat. The resident put her eyes right next to mine and said in a very stern voice, "you are in surgery and you cannot get up. You are not getting up."

I was pissed. I decided I needed another angle.

When Resident Without Chest Hair put her face next to mine again, I said in my most rational voice, "I need anti-anxiety medication right now." She said, "I can give you anti-anxiety medication, but you won't remember anything and I don't want to take that away from you."

At that point, I was out of tricks. I decided maybe I just needed more information. Dr. Hairy Chest swung by to see how I was doing and I said, "I need to know what is taking so long." (I was of the mind that getting the baby out was the point and since she was out, I thought we should be done.) Dr. H.C. said, "I hear you've been asking to get up and what's taking so long. You can't go anywhere right now, because they have to put your uterus back in."

Put. My. Uterus. Back. In.

That was a lot to process in my precarious position. So many questions. Why is it out? Out of what? Why is that necesssary? Is this why I had to sign a consent form? Where the hell is my baby? Back in?

While I am all for telling the patient the truth, is it the best practice to tell a patient having a panic attack that her major reproductive organ is currently OUTSIDE of her body cannnot be an approach signed off by the American Medication Association. (Neither is that chest hair all hanging out, but that's an infringement of a different kind.) I believe at that point I lost all semblance of calm and started asking for oxygen, which was being pumped into my nose at a medically acceptabe level.

So, that's a little Sunday afternoon story about the road to Sadie's debut into breathing oxygen.

In addition to the ongoing processing of the entire experience, there are lots of challenges and joys every hour. I want to keep/make a record for the following reasons. (1) I want to remember this so that I may be able to help any future mommies who, in the post-birth aftermath, are trying to make sense of their experiences so I can give as many details as possible; (2) I also want to have as many of the details to share with Sadie in case she's ever interested; and (3) I want to be sure that I remember this whole process as realistically as possible in case we ever do this again.

To that end, here are my favorite parts:

• Watching her exquisite face all day long
• Listening to her funny sounds: some days an eaglet, some days a piglet, other days a little duck
• Seeing Jeff and Sadie interact and develop their relationship
• Changing her diaper and seeing her body start to work out its systems
• Breastfeeding and seeing her doze off between sucks, but become a fierce little tigress if I try to take her off the breast
• Having her sleep on my chest and make those movements I fell in love with months ago
• Seeing her little hands in her gloves that protect her from scratching her delicate skin
• Her cute little boogers

As for the hard parts, that's another post. Let's end on a high note for now. It's time to go change a diaper and get the boob on!

Father Daugher Dance

"There could never be a father who loved his daughter more than I love you."

Labor Day (July 22-23, 2009)

Ah, sweet labor. I don't care what anyone says, childbirth hurts a lot. I keep explaining it as being as painful and arduous as running 2 marathons, studying for the Bar Exam, and dating into the mid-30's-- but much, much worse. We ended up having a C-section when my body failed to dilate after hours of contractions and drugs. For me, the experience was overwhelming because it was such a roller coaster: one minute we would have a victory-- such as getting an epidural or learning my body dilated to 3 on its one-- and then agonizing news the next time we talked to the doctor-- such as the baby is in distress during contractions, which were coming every 2.5 minutes. I have no words for how I experienced the C-section, but as soon as I have them, I will broadcast them to the world. I adore my daughter and am thrilled she's here safe and sound, and having yourself sliced open and your internal organs jostled about and then stapled such was a traumatizing experience for me. I have never had major surgery or spend the night in the hospital and now I have to use phrases like "my incision" and "my pain meds" and "my catheter." While I am glad we went the C-section route to keep Sadie and me safe, I am very sad that the pain and the after effects are so distracting and painful, especially when all I want to do is hang out with my baby and be her mommy. Much more to come on this.

Here are two angels who helped carry me, Jeff and Sadie during our labor and beyond. These troopers spent the whole night with us. I heard that Joyce (right) used a table cloth to wrap herself in while we were prepping for our C-section and the support crew tried to get some sleep. I am also slightly devastated that Sadie's Angels were not able to join us for her live birth experience, which was the plan had I been able to have a vaginal birth. I am deeply grateful for these ladies for brushing my hair, rubbing my feet, praying with me, and being around during some scary times when I had to come to grips with the biggest surrenders I have ever have to make.

Here's Krista bravely giving my hair some loving after about 20 hours of laboring. She's got nerves of steel and a very light touch, which is more than I can say for some of those anesthesiologists, but again, that's another post.

Jeff and I snuggling up before we got the news about my body not quite progressing. Lucky for Jeff, this was BEFORE my epidural wore off so I was game for a little visitor in my bed for the sake of a photo op. Five hours from the picture was a totally different story and I didn't want anyone touching me or talkinng to me. Drugs were a good decision for me and that was never more clear then when they wore off.

The full complement of Sadie's Angels-- Joyce, Trish and Krista. If you think it takes a village to raise a child, I am here to tell you that it takes at least a village to get them out of the womb. I assure you without these women, Sadie would be an only child. She may be anyway, but her future siblings only have a chance of being born because these ladies kept my spirits up, my eyes on the prize, and my hair shiny and styled.

The Love Of My Life

It was a long road in labor, which will be the subject of another post that I will write when I need the catharsis of writing about the experience, but let's do first things first.

Here's my daughter, Sadie Anne, on the second day of her life. She's on her way to being the most photographed baby in the world. The picture above was taken by the professional photographers that come to the hospital, spend 10 minutes in your room, and walk out several hundred dollars later. I am so glad we did these pictures because already everything is a blur and I want to remember everything about her and these early days.

My impressions of her so far is that she is very alert and very good at evacuating her bowels. She had already make a poop before I ever held her in my arms. As a person who has spent well over half her life constipated, I couldn't be more overjoyed by the murky content of her diaper. So, you can see that I have already made the leap into the part of parenthood where poop becomes a very, very big deal. Sadie is like her dad in that she would rather sleep than eat. (Her mom would rather eat than do anything.) I am happy to let her curl up next to our bodies and sleep, but there we are still in the hospitals and the nurses are very big on SCHEDULES. The protocol is that Miss Sadie must eat every 2-3 hours and we are asked to record the her feeding information on a dry erase board in our room. Twice I have pushed the feeding because it would have taken a stun gun to rouse her-- and stun guns are frowned upon at this particular hospital-- and the nurses went all One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest on me with tales about low body weight and how they will supplement with formula, which another set of nurses (and the La Leche League) said would ruin Sadie's life forever.

Physically, her newborn picture looks a lot like my newborn picture. I see Jeff's chin, eyes and ears on her. I see my nose for sure. She's quite tall for her age (21. 5 inches) so that has to be Jeff too. She's got the most gorgeous long black hair that has a slight wave in it. I can't wait to see what kind hair she has once it gets going. For obvious reasons, we are hoping she gets my hair and not Jeff's, but since she already has more and longer hair than Jeff, we're probably safe on that score.

Emotionally, she's mature as well. She's really good at letting us know what isn't working. Being cold is not something she'll tolerate quietly, which should make winter very interesting. She's ok with a massively dirty diaper, but DO NOT deny her the breast when she's ready to eat. She's pretty comfortable with having a camera stuck in her face every 5 seconds, which is good because we have more cameras than people at any given time. She loves to be swaddled tightly in multiple blankets, but does not like her feet rubbed at all. I can't believe it's only been 56 hours and I can already name things she does and does not like.

As for me, emotionally I am all over the board. Yesterday (Day 2 of Sadie's life) was a dark night of the soul for me. The physical toll from labor, the pain medication, the sore nipples, and the bone crushing fatigue started to wear me down yesterday and I was overcome by all of it. Luckily, people more rested than myself encouraged me to get some sleep and after almost 5 hours, I am literally a new person. When I get very tired, I forget how insane and despairing I get and I can longer remember that missing lots of sleep is practically lethal for me.

Today, I am so in touch with the joy it almost hurts. She's so precious and little and I can't believe she's ours. I can't believe we get to watch her grow and change and become her own little person full of life and love and thoughts and preferences of her own.

My favorite moments are after her feedings when we lay skin to skin (big deal with baby experts to lay skin to skin with baby to promote bonding and breast feeding) with my little baby and watch her mouth move inscrutably while she sleeps, utterly trusting me for her every need. In those quiet moments, when Jeff joins us in some family quiet time, I can say with greater certainty than ever before that there is nowhere else I would rather be and no two people more important to me. I hope to hold them close to me all the days of my life.

Birthday, but not Birth Day

After a somewhat excruciating night dealing with contractions, we were thrilled to go to the doctor this morning for our 41-week check up. I was positive that I was dilated to at least 3 centimeters and that this baby was going to be here any second. The monitors, however, tell a different story. First of all, the baby is doing great. She's on pace to be about 9lbs and she's still swimming in plenty of fluid, so it's nice to know that those 200 ounces of fluid are doing us all some good. The "contractions" that kept me up until 3:00 a.m., however, weren't quite doing the work I thought that they were doing. I am not dilated one bit. Not so much as a centimeter. I was shocked. The doctor says that the contractions I am feeling are doing the work of effacing my cervix, which apparently is going to take about 100 more years.

The Plan. The doctor said we were going to stick with the plan. Since I was a little foggy on the plan, I asked for clarity. The plan is that Thursday night I will leave my house around 11:45 p.m. and head to the hospital where I will check in for an induction to begin early Friday morning. As in, just after midnight. I was shocked to see the timing of all of this. Midnight? What is this, a cervical heist? Should I wear all black and a stocking mask? Something about going off to the hospital in the dead of night sounds mysterious and almost sinister. Almost as sinister as that damn balloon catheter that came back up today in our conversation about what would happen on Friday. Basically, that little balloon will be in my body for about 6 hours, so hopefully they can start the induction after that. It all sounds terribly scientific and complicated, so I will just focus on the fact that our baby is coming on Friday or Saturday at the very latest.

Seems like I have been saying that forever.

It was good to hear that the baby is doing well and to delve further into the world of childbirth which only confirm what we already suspected: everything takes about 4 times longer than you think and nothing happens quickly when it comes to birthing bambinos. What can you do but surrender any notion that you will be in charge or that you will know what is going to happen?

Jeff and I started something VERY COOL with the aid of his trusty iPhone. There is an audio feature that allows us to make audio memos. We started chronicling our delivery journey today and it's been fun. We're telling Pepps how we feel about her arrival and how she may be coming into the world. I am not a techie person, but that iPhone is one seriously overproductive little gadget.

So, now the true and final countdown begins. In about 48 hours I will be close to checking in to the hospital for the induction. Everytime they mention that balloon catheter I think of the song "Send In the Clowns," which I am sure the very capable resident will enjoy hearing when she/he tries to do this procedure in my most intimate region.

We are exhausted. We need to spend the next 48 hours resting and sleeping and drooling and conserving our energy. I see lots of couch time in the next 2 days punctuated by lots of freaking out and feelings. It's good. We can see the light at the end of this very happy pregnancy.

So close now.

Let the Games Begin

. . . or not. I am starting to have Braxton Hicks contractions and some of them are not as much delightful as they are vexing in their force and ability to wrack my body with pain. I will spare gentle readers the details, but it's possible this is all heating up for real tonight. Actually, it's 2:50 a.m. and I have been having contractions since about 9:30 p.m. Now, I am just not sure what to do with myself other than stay hydrated and make it to the morning when we'll either head to our 9:15 a.m. doctor's appointment or we'll go to the hospital to see what we can do about evicting Ms. Pepps.

If I am right and I am in labor, there is a good chance that Pepps and I will share a birthday. I am thrilled about that prospect! I am 2 hours and 53 minutes into my 36th year on the planet and so far it's the best year EVER. Jeff gave me the most magnificent birthday present I could ever imagine: He had my bridal blog bound into a book for me. I am totally in awe of the thoughtfulness and effort and love he put into such a visionary gift. It's a gift that seems like in all of our happy years together, he will never be able to top. I love it so much. I will post a picture of the book soon, when I am not too lazy to walk downstairs and get it so I can take a picture. It's simply exquisite and I am so glad that we had a little birthday moment before the crazy contractions kicked in.

It's been a whirlwind of waiting and occupying our time and having fun and distracting ourselves with more waiting and then we wait some more. We have returned to the driving range and learned the art of the iPhone, as well as see friends and family as often as possible. The wonderful world of the mommy network has got its tender touch on me and suddenly I have made mommy connections all over the place: prenatal yoga, the gym, and at a colleague's daughter's 1st birthday party. I am thrilled to have resources that will come in handy in the coming weeks and months.

Stay tuned. We have about 21 hours before we can determine for sure whether Pepps and I will celebrate our birthdays together. Labor Day, Birthday ...whatever. I feel pumped. I am ready to go. I can't wait.

Another Day . . .

You cannot imagine the sense of accomplishment at my house when the sun goes down and we realize we have made it through another day of waiting, watching the Food Network, and wondering about every 6 seconds when our daughter is going to arrive. My old friend Julie C used to say that some days all you can do is "root for midnight." I usually apply that adage in the heavy, excruciating days that follow a gut-wrenching break up, but it applies to my life these days as well. We are getting into a good rhythm of spending time inside and outside; with each other and alone; with friends and with the general public. As soon as we are coasting, the baby will arrive and we'll need to start all over again.

It's a good thing we are young and healthy.

I have noticed that not working and being home with my husband trying to pass the time patiently waiting for our little Love has translated into spending lots of money. For example, today we got Jeff an iPhone. Technically, it's his Coach Present, since he's going to coach me through the birth process. In other words, it's the male version of the "pushing present," which I will get when I push the baby out. I think we can all agree that an iPhone is not a sentimental choice, but it sure is fun to play with. I think it may come in handy if we have one of those happy 36-hour birth stories that are alarmingly common for first-time moms. He seems pleased with his phone, and I can only hope he's as pleased with the phone as I will be when I get that 6 carat diamond pendant as my pushing present. You know, something simple and elegant.

Strange things are happening with my body, but not THOSE strange things that signal birth. For example, I had a very gushy bloody nose the other night. For those of you who know intimate details about birth, you know there is a bloody element (the "bloody show"), but so far all I had was a bloody nose. Then, today, out of the clear cerulean blue sky, there was a ball of wax in my ear as big as a milk dud. I could hardly believe it. Where in the stars did that come from? I accused Jeff of planting it in my ear, but the evidence is inconclusive. We did a google search on "pregnancy and ear wax," and apparently it's quite common for the woman with child to end up with a gigantic ball of wax in her ear.

Is this going to get stranger? Don't answer that question.

In other news . . . well, frankly, there is no other news. We are making tentative plans for the next few days. We were bold enough to go for a birthday lunch plan for next Tuesday, which is actually my birthday. 36 golden years walking the planet. People ask me what I want for my birthday, and I can only stare blankly because my entire being is consumed with wanting a healthy baby and a healthy, safe, fun delivery. Yes, Fun. I said it. I want it to be fun. I had two contractions on the way to the Apple store tonight and I can say it was completely amazing and fun. I love how it feels. It's a sensation not like any other I have ever felt. My whole core felt really warm and there was a tightening, almost a burning sensation, and then it all softened again. I loved it and can't wait to crank out some more contractions. I may eat those words, but I think it's fun. I can picture being in the hospital with Jeff and the Birth Team and hanging out, turning the thermostat down low, and paying attention to my body in ways I never have before and may never again outside the context of birth.

Today I was folding some laundry for the baby and I came across some newborn sized onsies and I realized they probably won't fit Pepps. They are ridiculously small. They are literally the size of my palm, and though I have never laid eyes on my baby thus far, I know her body is bigger than my palm. A mother knows. She's currently swishing around like I fed her crack cocaine, but actually it was just some tamales with extra pico de gallo. It was a little strong on the jalepeno side so I am not surprised that she's gone all wiggle worm on me. If it helps her little brain make that signal to start birth, then so be it. It's all in a night's dinner.

I am not quite impatient for her to come. I would more say that I am impatient to know WHEN she is coming. Unfortunately, medical science hasn't advanced to the point that anyone can say when she will come or even if she will come on her own. I am happy that medical science has advanced far enough that I am not likely to die in childbirth, but it can't do much more for me right now than make that general assurance.

In the meantime, we just go about our business. I am enjoying these last few days of attention from strangers who can see I am about to burst with baby. I thought the check out lady at Target was going to go boil some water when I told her I was 2 days overdue. I told her that I was perfectly willing to have the baby in the Target bathroom, so long as they give me a $5.00 gift card for my trouble.

It's an exquisite time. I am thoroughly happy and excited about what the next week holds. As I understood the doctor, the most she will let me to is to next Friday. 8 days. That's nothing. God created a world in seven. Makes sense you need an extra day to make a princess.

Stylin' and Profilin'

Is that a homeless woman or is that me in an outfit that probably scared my daughter so severely that she decided to crawl back up my womb and hide so that I never dress her like this.

Dear Pepps,

I promise never to dress you like this. Maternity clothes are one of life's cruel jokes and chances are, if we play our family values cards right, I will no longer be choosing your wardrobe when you are in the family way. So, if you promise not to get pregnant before aged 12, I promise not to dress you like this.

Love,
Mom

Wonderful Day For A Walk

For 9 months we have been waiting for this day: July 14, 2009. Bastille Day. Our expected due date. I barely slept a wink last night. And, then, like many first-time parents we learned that the expected due date doesn't mean sh*t. We showed up at the doctor's office today at 8:30 a.m. and my cervix hasn't budged since last week, though she threw us a bone and noted that my cervix "wants to open." I have no idea what that means, but the bottom line is that I am not dilated and there is no little baby bouncing on my knee.

Yet.

So, in the spirit of flexibility and celebration for what is still coming, we took a little walk on the lake today and enjoyed the unseasonably mild weather and the opportunity to take yet more pictures of my belly. It took about a mile to process what we learned at the doctor's office. She told us that we could schedule an ultra sound for next Tuesday, a full SEVEN days from now, to check the baby's stress level and the amount of fluid. She noted that we should come next Tuesday (assuming that I do not go into labor before then) with our bags packed, just in case she orders us to the hospital if the baby seems to be no longer thriving.

It's all totally surreal. I always knew it was a possibility that Pepps would come after her due date. That's true of over 50% of first time moms. I also knew that I would feel pride that my daughter likes hanging out in my quarters. But, I didn't expect how much more anxious I would feel as the days start to drag on. The afternoons seems sort of long, and we are hesitant to plan much because (1) we thought we'd have a little baby to tend to and (2) who knows how my energy level will be.

It feels good to be totally ready. We can't come up with any errands we need to run or anything we need to buy or fix or make before she comes. We are truly in the waiting game. We have made plans for Friday night. I am starting to think about what I would like to do for the weekend. I am forced to see beyond July 14, which I had barely considered at all once we knew that was our due date. So, until we get some indicia of labor, such as contractions or water breaking or some of the less appetizing ones, I will prance around just as proud as can be for carrying my Peppermint for 40 PLUS weeks. If that doesn't get me some street cred, I don't know what I ever do that will.

July 13, 2009

Can you hear that? Turn down the iPod. Can you you hear it now? That's the sound of my heart beating really fast as I live out the last 2 hours and 9 minutes of the day before my due date. My stomach is clenching a little bit, but it's hard to tell if that some kind of prelabor contraction practice of just plain wigging out. I believe that only time will tell at this point.

Today my coping strategy for living through the day before the due date was to keep on moving. I left the house at 7 am and didn't return except for a brief snack stop in the afternoon, until almost 7:15 p.m. Not bad for someone who is 39 weeks and 6 days pregnant. It was a really great day too. I made it through group therapy, which is a great feat regardless of how pregnant I am, and then a lovely breakfast with my mother-in-law, followed by an all-important mani/pedi appointment, time with friends, a 2.5 mile walk at the gym, and then a movie date with my husband. I am really happy I got some time with Jeff and could interrupt his industrious nesting schedule. I sit back in awe of Jeff's nesting instinct which has transformed some old frozen chicken bones into delicious corn/broccoli/cheddar soup. In his spare time, he has made about 1 gallon of turkey pasta sauce, 1 pan of enchiladas, and he's still at it. Last night, he let the chicken stock boil for about 8 hours and we woke up in the middle of the night smelling like chickens. We will be eating very well during those first harried weeks with our baby girl.

Speaking of the Baby Girl, last night I had a contraction, most likely a braxton hicks, around 3:00 a.m. Damn thing woke me straight up wide awake with its intensity and strangeness. My uterus got all bunched up and pointy and it felt not quite painful, but I can see clearly how that little maneuver could get painful really fast. Just as soon as I realized what was happening, it was over. I got some water and laid down and there was no more bunching up. All day there has been weird tightening of my uterus and strange sensations in places that I don't usually discuss in a public forum.

In short, I am fascinated and having a blast. I think that little braxton hicks made me cocky. I have half a mind to just plan on a natural childbirth. No one loves an endorphine rush more than I do. I hear that having a natural childbirth is like ingesting oxycotin and meth all at once, except that it is ALL NATURAL.

Who knows? One thing we do know is that the doctors won't let us go more than 2 weeks from tomorrow. So in less than 14 days my littlest and most beloved tenant will be evicted from my body and forced to contend with my undying love and attention and fascination with all things Peppermint. How weird to see my baby's face and how weird to see my toes again. So much to look forward to.

I have already decided that the first movie we will take her to is Fame, coming to a theatre near us in September/October 2009. There is no movie that has had a greater impact on my life than Fame. My obsession with Fame, the original movie, is one of the earliest and most convincing signs that I may have a slightly addictive personality. I knew all the songs from the record within 3 hours of receiving it from Santa Claus. I knew all the lines because it was the first movie that Santa rented for me when he brought us a BetaMax. (Santa thought the VHS was just a fad and that the BetaMax was the wave of the future.) Fame was my first love and when I listen to the album today I still remember the dances I made up in my room for all the songs, the jubilant and the mournful. As soon as she gets her bearings and gets her palm in synch, I will get on Pepps' calendar and made a mother-daughter movie date.

This is going to be so fun.

A Watched Pot...

Jeff sent out an evite on Monday night inviting some of our friends to come to an End of Our Independence Bar-B-Que for tonight. Eye brows were raised when we planned a party inviting about 40 people over for dinner 72 hours before our first-born daughter is due. But if you know my husband, then you know that throwing together a Bar-B-Que this close to delivering a baby is really nothing. Mostly, I think Jeff and I are tired of looking at each other every night and deciding whether to watch the Food Network or the Home & Garden Network. I adore my husband and love spending time with him, but one more night of Iron Chef or Ace of Cakes and I think I was going to get on a trampoline and try to get the baby to bounce right on out.

And, to tell you the truth, after a morning taking an infant CPR class at the hospital and an afternoon napping for two-and-a-half hours and dreaming about perilous situations that little babies can get in, I was thinking this little soiree was one of our worst ideas ever. Nothing sounded better than settling in for a night of Property Virgins and Rate My Space. But, then beloved friends started to fill out house and I remembered how great it is to have people in our home and how sublime it is when Jeff grills eggplants and peppers to a charry perfection.

Since it is the height of summer and many people are out of town or at weddings or at some street festival, our crowd was an eclectic mix of neighbors, old friends, new friends, graduate school friends and law school friends. It felt so good to look around the table and see our neighbor talking to one of our old friends making connections that wouldn't have been possible if I was in my Gap lounge wear surfing the television for a great summer re-run or one of the 50 different Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan movies. I feel lucky that we have lots of people who know us and will be rooting for us as the birth of Peppermint commences. I slyly mentioned our CPR classes and hinted strongly that anyone who wants to babysit my daughter will have to become CPR certified. If I have to go to class and hear the scary stories, then so do my babysitters.

Tomorrow is the last of our classes. We are going to a class called Care For Newborns. I am excited. I think the class covers lots of basics like diaper rash, swaddling, sleeping, and cooing. I am looking forward to heavy dose of practical reality. My sister also called and gave me a list of things to pack for the hospital, which is a good thing because I didn't pack of any of the following:

1. Maxi pads in case my water breaks on the way to the hospital. I try not to think about this possibility , but now that she mentioned it, it's too late to not know.

2. Plain chapstick that comes in the black tube-- the old school chapstick. I told her I already packed my tinted Burt's Bees lipglossy-chapstick, but she said that I needed the old school chapstick for my breasts. I didn't ask any questions, but upon further reflection, I should follow up for her because I can't conjure up the scenario where I am going to need chapstick for my nipples.

3. Stool softener. Apparently, the prospect of returning to normal bodily functions after having your offspring slide out from your belly is as frightful as any other part of the birth process. New mothers have been quick and candid about how torturous that first post-baby movement can be. So, now having heard this from my sage younger sister, I am finally willing to peruse the colace aisle so I can take care of business without calling the suicide hotline.

4. CHOCOLATE. And, that's why I love my sister and am thrilled she'll be the godmother of our daughter. Sure, I will need that other stuff, but when the chocolate craving kicks in, we'll know it's part of my genetic make up and that I should embrace it as I do my propensity to use the plural "ya'll" to refer to a group of people in the second person plural or my tendency to stand about 5 feet 5 inches tall. It's hardwired. And that's why I have already packed some chocolate bars in the hospital bag. If I work the chocolate right, then maybe I won't need any stool softeners. A girl can dream.

That's the report from July 11, 2009. The baby is moving around as we speak. I have been telling her how terrific oxygen is and how much fun her newly installed car seat will be to ride around it. I'm playing up how great life outside the womb is so she will know that her life's greatest highlights are yet to come.

So are mine.

I Am Ready

Here's the deal:

I am ready. For all of it. Labor. Contractions. Pain. Decisions about the epidural. Cranking my iPod mix. Laughing with Jeff and the support team.

HAVING A BABY.

I am ready. I am done waddling around and worrying about kick counts. I am ready to let go and share Peppermint with the world. I am ready to go to the park and figure out breast feeding and ask for astronomical amounts of help and stroll in the summer afternoons with my baby and my husband. I trust the world with my baby. I am thrilled we had this almost 40 weeks together and sooner or later we both have to let go and move to the next phase of our relationship.

I did a little research today about why labor starts. It turns out the baby's brain sends out signals that triggers hormones in her mama and then the body does what it's supposed to do to help the baby transition from the womb to the world. I want her to know I am ready. As ready as I can be. If she's holding on for my sake, she can let go. I am sending her a message that I and her daddy love her very much and we will continue to do everything we can to make her world a place where she can thrive and learn and explore and be age appropriate for as long as she is on my watch. She may be loving the watery world in my womb, but that nursery bedding is seriously cute and I can't imagine that my uterine lining is as lovely to behold as toile.

So bring on the play groups, the nipple cream, the round-the-clock nursings. Bring on the hormones, the episotomy, the new incarnations of old fears, the utter changes that are coming when she comes.

Here's my love letter to Pepps:

Dear Peppermint,

Let's take our relationship to the next level. I think we are ready. We've been together almost 40 weeks. I want you to meet my family. I don't think this is rushing things.

I am ready.

Love,
Mama

Party of Three, But Not Yet

We went to the doctor today and the internal exam revealed that my cervix has not changed one bit since last week. Hrumph. The doctor kept apologizing as if I was upset. I can't really say I am upset, though the prospect of having up to two more weeks before delivery does make me feel like I might mentally decompensate. Pepps is kicking around and seems content to stay put so I am going with it.

For now.

Mostly, I was thinking today that it is such a privilege to have gotten this far. Carrying a baby to 39 weeks and 2 days seemed impossible back in November. It's a pretty amazing thing that the baby is happy hanging out in my body, giving me a few more precious days to get ready mentally and physically. This weekend we are taking an infant CPR class and a "How To Take Care of a Newborn," which seems like pretty relevant subject matter for us. Nothing like cutting it close on the baby preparation classes. We also found a place that will inspect our installation of the car seat, which turns out is a necessary service since 80% of American parents have NOT installed their car seats correctly.

So, I am ambivalent as ever. I just looked at my friend Ann's Facebook wall. Her baby girl is about 4 weeks old. Ann and her daughter look so happy and so cute. When I see those pictures, I get an ache inside of me and want this little squirming girl to come out and let me hold her and use all these cute baby products on her. Then, when I think about the responsibility and how small and fragile she will seem to me, then I think, "hey, kid, stay put, because we got a good thing going here."

When the doctor described some of the ways that she might help induce labor if I am not dilated next week, I felt a little light-headed. She said something about a catheter and that it would be "not pleasant." You have to assume that when a medical professional tells you that something she will inflict on you will be "not pleasant," then, it's going to hurt so bad it will chip off my pedicure. Can't wait.

People keep asking me what my intuition says about when she will come. Honestly, my intuition is so clouded by the growing anxiety and anticipation that it's quite difficult these days to get quiet and still and listen to my inner voice. Also, I have been having horrible nausea and headaches, which means that every time I sit still and put myself in a position to do any listening, I fall dead asleep in that thick, molasses-y, "I don't feel good," sort of sleepy, drooly way. The nearest I can get to my intuition is that some time next week I will meet this little girl who knocked some joy in me one kick at a time.

My intuition also says I will never ever tape a bow to her little bald head, because I think that looks stupid.

In the meantime, I think every gas bubble is a contraction, which is nerve wracking for someone who eats as many beans as I do. I have one more load of baby wash to do and am trying to hold out on getting that last pre-birth pedicure-- you know, the really important things to prepare me for motherhood. I am sleeping as much as I can and trying to return phone calls now, because who knows when I will have the luxury of laying around and talking on the phone after Pepps comes.

I am also desperately hoping this process isn't waiting on me to resolve my ambivalence, because that's going to take longer than balancing the state of California's budget. I am told this isn't up to me so I pray for surrender and to be made ready and available for this, and hope to get the prayer out before I start drooling on my pillow.

39 Weeks and Hard At Work

As you can see I am gracefully leaning into the free time as we prepare for Ms. Pepps. It sure isn't easy to swing a golf club when you have a full-term child sitting just below the ribs. She has actually dropped some so I can eat and breathe a little better, but she's still in there and that club wasn't being very forgiving. It was a gorgeous morning on Tuesday, July 7, so Jeff and I headed to the driving range to enjoy some cool breezes and swings. We are pretty much ready to go for Ms. Pepps-- we figured out how to put the car seat on the stroller and we have washed almost everything that will touch her delicate skin. Jeff installed the baby monitor today, which is very cool: it will sound an alarm if the baby stops breathing for more than 20 seconds. In this advanced era there are lots of gadgets to prevent SIDS, and we got a recommendation on this monitor from one of Jeff's former bosses.

In addition to the general nesting at our house, we have survived other important feats. Chiefly, we had a little visit to the Labor and Delivery department of the hospital on Sunday morning. This visit was spurred by my astronomical fears about Pepps' health after she spent several days being very chill. Too chill for mama's comfort. I wasn't feeling those knees to my ribs or the fist to my liver so I sort of freaked out. By Sunday morning, I just couldn't take it anymore and decided I had to have confirmation that she was ok or I would end up giving birth from a straight jacket heavily sedated. The hospital visit was a great experience. Our nurse Susan was really supportive of us checking on Ms. Pepps and told us to come back if we got worried before the delivery. Once we heard the heartbeat and could see her health as measured on what looks like an EKG sheet, we settled in and watched Wimbeldon from the comforting confines of the triage room. I had been so worked up with worry and fear, which was not subtle, but after getting confirmation that she's still thriving in mama's womb, I felt such a relief that I just can't explain. Looking back, I think she probably dropped on Friday, which is exactly when I started feeling her differently. The nurse said that the record for someone coming in to hook up to the fetal monitor was 19 visits. I have had 2 and unless I double up between now and Delivery Day, I won't be the record. That's just fine with me, because my little heart just can't take that amount of stress!

Jeff and I have also managed to both be off of work simultaneously and not drive each other to drink or drug. We weren't sure that we'd be able to balance the togetherness with the waiting and the anxiety and the boredom, but we are having a good time and we know we are lucky to have the luxury of time off before the baby to mentally and physically prepare our house and our psyches for the new member whose arrival is imminent!

Other triumphs include the small inconvenience that Jeff endured because of my somewhat laxed attitude towards prompt cleaning of a plastic water bottle that I may or may not have filled with soy milk about a month ago, but never cleaned out. He confessed he was "angry with me for a few minutes," when he opened the Nalgene bottle I borrowed from him and discovered the curdled soy milk. With no way to justify that little oversight, I agreed wholeheartedly that he deserved to be mad at me for a long long time. He says my punishment is to have to smell it before he throws it out. I cited the 8th amendment's prohibition against cruel and unusual punishment, but his wound was too fresh; he'll stick that thing up my nose when I am least expecting it.

We are beyond blessed that the weather has been unseasonably cool. Hot days and end of pregnancy do not mix. I cannot emphasize this enough. When the thermometer reaches over 80 degrees and the humidity starts climbing, my cells start to swell and I can barely bend my knuckles.

I also had a little dream come true today. I have been attending prenatal yoga at the greatest studio with the most gentle and motherly teacher in the Midwest.

Yes, Bloom Yoga in Chicago has been one of the happiest parts of my pregnancy. I have attended the prenatal classes with Dee, along with about 37 other pregnant women each class. It's amazing to be surrounded by so many pregnant women at one time. I love the class for several reasons. First, it's so comforting to see that pregnant bodies come in infinite shapes and sizes. That is, it was always reassuring that there were so many ways to "look" pregnant and to carry the weight. Second, I found all the women there so beautiful. It was so miraculous to spend 1.5 hours with other women doing what I am doing, which is to make healthy, loving choices for my body and my baby. Third, it really helped with the transition from hard-core runner/cardio exercise to loving, gentle, family-centered exercise. I can't say enough about that as a process that was important to me in becoming a mother. For so many years exercise hovered on a fine line between health and abuse, but even before I knew I was pregnant, I had an overwhelming sense that it was time to be gentle and prioritize something (anything) besides sweating my ass off and getting the cardio boost. Thank you, Bloom Yoga and Dee, for helping me enjoy the transition and find something deeper and more enduring than the seismic calorie burning of a spin class. Best of all, one of my nearest and dearest friends is now pregnant and she came with me today. It was always a vision of mine to have a good friend pregnant with me at the same time who could share the joy of pre-natal yoga with me. That dream was a reality today when Krista B came to yoga with her taut and sassy 6-week belly, housing a future Pepps' playmate.

The very best part of the yoga class is the end (just like the end of a long run, so that hasn't changed), when Dee leads us through a meditation during shivasana. Every time she tells us to send a message to our baby: "You are perfect. You are special. Everything is as it should be. You are welcome." I have never heard her say those lines without tearing up.

You are welcome.

What a beautiful message for a baby. Every baby should be welcomed into the world and his or family with that simple message. If my preparations say nothing else, I hope they communicate that our baby girl is welcome into our lives.

JULY 1, 2009

We are at 38 weeks, and it's my first official day of maternity leave. Is it totally wrong that I am sort of bored? I am assuming I am just detoxing from working months without any proper vacation since December 15, 2008. I even had a very full day: group therapy, doctor's appointment, lunch at a new Cuban place by our house, naps and an hour walk. How am I bored?

I think I am bored because I don't know what I *should* be doing. I am overwhelmed by both freedom and restriction. It takes me a while to transition to new phases of my life and this is obviously the first step in one of the largest I will ever face. Transitioning from freewheelin' and newly married lawyer to mother is right up there with moving from the hot, flat confines of Texas to the harsh streets of Hyde Park, which I pulled off in Fall 1997 when I started graduate school at the University of Chicago. This whole having a baby thing is going to have to be really, profoundly life-altering to usurp the shock of moving from Texas A&M University in College Station, Texas to the southside of Chicago to study Humanities with an emphasis is feminist literature. And I mean it's going to take more than dirty diapers and a nipple infection because that was a seriously life-defining move.

And, speaking of our Beloved first born daughter, we got a little udpate on her progress today at the doctor's office. It was our first visit with the only male doctor in the rotation at my ob/gyn practice. Dr. G* was a little glib for my taste. During the chit chat that led up to my internal exam, he asked me where I live in the city, and I told him the neighborhood where I live, which has a reputation of being somewhat hip. We actually live on the fringiest fringe of that neighborhood, but I was a little nervous about where he was about to insert his gloved hand so I kept it brief. When I answered he said, "oh, so you are hip, right?" Something just didn't quite rub me the right way in his assumptions about who I am and where I live. I let it go and then he made a lawyer joke. I can't wait to see if he is the doctor on call when we deliver. With my luck, he'll be at the other end of my delicate parts waiting to make more assumptions about me and my family.

He did indeed use his gloved hand to determine that I am not dilated at all, but my cervix is 50% effaced, which happened in the past week. "For a first-time mom that's good work for one week."

*Blush*

The most unsettling part about this visit was that Jeff and I were coming from different places, planning on meeting at the doctor. Unfortunately, right after I turned in my weekly urine sample, the nurse took me straight to a room and told me to take off my pants to get ready for the internal exam. I asked her to send Jeff in, who I hadn't seen in the office yet. We aren't sure exactly what happened, but we assume the nurse forgot to fetch Jeff so I got to have my first internal from a male doctor when Jeff was three rooms away wondering where the hell I was. Jeff was so upset he missed the show, but he recovered pretty quickly and it's a good thing, because he asked the doctor some questions that had totally slipped my mind.

Such as, can we go to Milwaukee in the next few days to see some friends for the day?

One of my friends just had a little girl in Milwaukee, which is only about 2 hours away from Chicago. My bright idea was to take a road trip to see Kelly's new baby girl, Annabelle. To be honest, I wasn't even going to run it by the doctor. Thank goodness Jeff asked because the doctor's pithy comment was: "I don't love it."

Basically, he said he would hate for Jeff to have to deliver the baby at some McDonald's oasis if I went into labor in Milwaukee and tried to make it back to our hospital in Chicago. Hard to argue with that. He also said that even if I made it it would be scary and possibly more painful than he would like to see me have to endure.

Thanks, Doctor, I forgive your jackass comment about me being hip.

Though, come to think of it, my new vericose veins and other special features-- some of which requires Preparation H-- are pretty damn hip. Who can blame him for thinking that?

In the meantime, I have downloaded Steve Martin's bluegrass album. Yes, that's right, the star of the iconic film, The Jerk, plays the five-string banjo and put out a blue grass album. I am not sure exactly what so captivates me about this-- that is, besides the fact that I really love banjo music and love surprises and the fact that Steve Martin has a blue grass album is a big shock-- but I am plotting to see if Jeff will let me name the baby Banjo. Isn't that cute? If I was a famous celebrity that had to come up with an obscure name for my offspring, I would call her Banjo Smile. But, since I am not famous and not a celebrity, that name most likely won't work so I will keep mulling it over, steering away from musical instruments and third world countries.

Do I need to say that it freaks me out that we are in July? It freaks me out that THIS MONTH I will have a baby. Right as we speak Jeff is putting up the curtains, which makes the final touch for our nursery. He's sweating like a swine and swearing like a corsair, which I can barely hear above the blue grass music. I think there is an issue with a metal pillar in the wall and some kind of leveling problem. I am doing Jeff a big favor and staying out of it. The last thing he needs is for me to waddle in, clumsy as I have a right to be at 38 weeks pregnant, and start "helping" him. I am opting to make dinner, which may be a challenge because I said I would make dinner from whatever is in our house when I refused to go to the market after running errands. These days once I get tired it's impossible to face one more errand. The centrifugal force drawing me back to my couch is so strong that if I have to go through our neighbor's trash to find something to eat, I will do it. I myself am still craving Fritos topped with chili and sour cream, but the Father of my child deserves more than the standard fare served to Texas middle school children in the 1970s. I am wondering if there are any savory recipes featuring the animal cracker, another food I am craving night and day