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April 2011
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June 2011

37 Weeks

I feel like I'm at That Point already, where I need to check in at least every day with some kind of NO BABY YET alarm. Even though I'm still technically three weeks away from the dead last of my assorted due dates. (June 5th. Though May 30th and June 2nd also have reasonably good chances of being correct. Take your pick.) But oh, my lands, my uterus is getting SO GOOD at this Big Tease routine, to the point that I'm actually waking up each morning a little surprised to still be pregnant. Yesterday I started getting contractions at... Read more →


The Third-Time-Around Hospital Bag

So. You may be happy to hear that I finally up and packed a damn hospital bag. (You may also be mildly ambivalent, profoundly disinterested, or experiencing nausea and dry mouth. Side effects may vary, please consult your doctor.) Packing the bag, I believe, is the sure-fire way to prevent a repeat of Tuesday's events, and guarantee that absolutely NOTHING of baby-and-labor-related interest happens until June 1st, when we are scheduled to go in and get 'im. The first time I packed a hospital bag I used one of those checklists from the Internet. (Many of which, I've noticed, still... Read more →


And They Kept Asking If This Was My First Pregnancy, For Some Crazy Reason

So apparently I very much accidentally made the end of Monday's post sound a little...misleadingly cliffhanger-y, as many of you misinterpreted my "awkwardly backing out of a topic about how crazypants I am in order to go search of better hand-me-down bin labeling materials" as "I JUST WENT INTO LABOR DUN DUN DUUUUUN." I was totally planning to tease y'all about that, by the way. Oh! You guys! Are so cute! I forget how labor-trigger-happy the Internet gets whenever it gets within spittin' distance of a due date! At least, that's what I PLANNING to write yesterday. Right after I... Read more →


36 Weeks & The Return of the Hysterical Nesting Syndrome Thing

I spent most of the weekend alternately convinced that 1) I was going into labor, or 2) never going to go into labor until I FINISHED ORGANIZING ALL THE CLOSETS EVER. Saturday night: Very Serious-Looking Self-Portrait With Toilet Paper & Assorted Hand Soaps (And A Very Bad Angle Of My Kickass Mother's Day Gift, Dammit). Taken at some point during three hours' worth of contractions, at times coming as little as three minutes apart. I figured the best way to put a stop to that nonsense was to pack my hospital bag, but then decided to take a quick bath... Read more →


Bragging + Blogging = Mommyblagging? Brogging?

SOMEONE had a preschool interview this morning. His first -- and likely last, because the kid just totally got himself accepted to our first choice school, the uber-precious Montessori down the street that strikes that perfect balance of all-plain-solid-wood-toy adorableness, completely imaginary snob prestige, and oh yeah, being in our goddamn price range, holy shit. Though I originally THOUGHT we'd apply for a two-day two-year-old program, only to find out that no, Ezra's mid-October birthday is still early enough to admit him as a three-year-old. Three-year-olds attend five days a week, they said. Imma gonna need to call you back,... Read more →


Here Is Some Ezra, For No Particular Reason

ALL RIGHT. WHICH ONE OF YOU ASSHOLES STOLE MY BABY? AND REPLACED HIM WITH THIS... THIS... KID. THIS CHILD. THIS SUPER-GROWN-UP-LOOKING LITTLE-BOY CHILD. (Who still, admittedly, sleeps with his Winkie blanket and sucks his thumb and blows raspberries on my pregnant belly and calls Cheerios "chowder" and says "I SCARED!" whenever Noah watches Harry Potter and "OW MY BUTT" whenever I pinch it but who also unloads the silverware from the dishwasher and counts to 10 and knows his shapes and is applying to preschools this week because it just now occurred to me that wow, he's not my baby... Read more →


Imprint

I haven't cried since that night. I've teared up a couple times, my voice has wavered now and then, I've stood deer-in-the-headlights style at a party waiting for the topic of conversation to move on from cute stories about other people's fathers, but I haven't cried. That is, until this arrived in the mail: That's my dad's thumbprint. I took the impression while sitting with him after I could no longer talk with him. Some people take photos or locks of hair, I rolled up balls of purple-and-white putty and gingerly pressed his fingertips into them. This is it, I... Read more →