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April 2011
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June 2011

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 the farmer's market (which was just SO VERY hippie Earth Mother of me, don't you think?), every 20 minutes, like clockwork. They continued during a trip to the playground, throughout an ENTIRE reenactment of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, as performed by Noah And A Bunch Of Kids He Just Met Who Were Happy To Be Bossed Around By Mr. Noah B. DeMille, and back at home, during a few loads of laundry and nesting business and standing up AND lying down AND more water AND ALSO several furtive helpings of Easter candy. It was all starting to... Read more →

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 mention FILM. Like several times. Make sure your camera has FILM. Bring extra FILM. The hospital gift shop will overcharge you for FILM. It's like a glimpse into childbirth circa 1994!) Anyway, the checklist I consulted was a very, very looooooong checklist, and I ended up hauling a tremendous amount of useless shit with me. And none of it was organized very well, and since we changed birthing venues multiple times during my labor with Noah (an extended stay in triage due to overcrowding, then a birthing suite, then the OR, then recovery, THEN my non-private, exceedingly small room), we... Read more →

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 took a shower. But then I started to step into the shower, and...what's that? On the floor? Pooling between my feet? And running down my legs? Um. Okayyyy. Quick change of plans, I guess? Now, my water never broke during either of my previous pregnancies. With Noah, it was broken deliberately mid-labor with a pokey plastic stick at the hospital, and it stayed intact with Ezra all the way up to my scheduled section date. (I remember overhearing the nurse say the word "ruptured" while I lay doped up in the recovery room and hysterically thought she was talking about... Read more →

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 first -- just in case, so I could shave some essential areas -- and BAM. The contractions stopped as soon as I got in the tub, which...was good! I'm still a week away from full term! I have to wash the car seat cover, and that one baby blanket I ordered hasn't shipped yet, also CLOSETS, and...and... Fine. I was kind of bummed. Luckily, Noah was on hand to amuse me with his best Hipster Michael Cera impression. Sunday Morning: Very Serious Portait Of A Very Serious Breakfast In Bed. Perfect eggs Benedict with shaved pork loin and homemade Hollandaise... Read more →

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, I said. And promptly passed the fuck out. Oh! The sunrise/sunsettiness of it all! My baby! MAH BABY. I told Ezra he'd be visiting a school this morning. He promptly requested a backpack. When I told him it was time to go, he said, "OH MY BUS IS HERE!" and hustled out the door, where he was crushingly disappointed to learn that no, he would be chauffeured to school by Daddy. In the minivan. Jason took him; I pretended not to care in the slightest because WHATEVER, PRESCHOOL, but of course as soon as they returned and I oh-so-casually asked... Read more →

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 anymore, he's my very funny, very amazing, very wonderful, very super-grown-up-looking little boy.) Read more →

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 thought the whole time. This is IT. I suppose I'd known before then -- after all, I'd specifically requested the compound be overnighted ahead of our visit, just in case. On the Friday before he passed away I told him about Janessa and the fingerprint jewelry she offered to make for me and my mom, and I felt...weird, like YO I KNOW YOU'RE DYING AND ALL BUT IMMA GONNA MAKE ME A NECKLACE, OKAY? He didn't think it was weird at all. He thought it sounded like a lovely idea. Still, though. I left the compound in my suitcase until... Read more →