Okay, blah, fine. Birth stories and hospital/breastfeeding drama are all well and good, but AMY! THE SWING! WHAT ABOUT THE SWING, AMY? The swing was still in pieces on the day Ike was born, which was also coincidentally the day we discovered that indeed, Ike was easily comforted by swinging/swaying/rocking movements. Jason commented on this and I said NOTHING, though I did shoot him a DRAMATIC PRAIRIE DOG look. He got the point. "I'll fix the swing." He went up in the attic but alas! The missing connector piece was nowhere to be found. He waited until the next day to confess this to me, via text message from the aisles of Target, where he was contemplating buying a new swing. "WAIT WAIT Internet can help! Commenters offered to send part!" I texted back. But it was too late. My husband -- who does not generally get too worked up or involved over baby gear* -- had spotted A Swing. The Swing. It rocks! Sways! Bounces! Simulates the ocean waves while offering a wide variety of white-noise options! It's oblong and minimalist and all kinds of SPACE-AGEY. It's like somebody attached a cradle seat to an iPad and taught it... Read more →


(SPOILER ALERT: No baby yet.) You know, I've been making fun of my husband a lot around here. And honestly, he probably only deserves...eh, let's say about a third of it. (THE SWING. THE SWINNNNNNGGGGGG.) The rest is a combination of good-natured ribbing and the natural reaction to seeing your partner up and relatively spry and able to function like a normal human being while you loll around on the couch, grunting like a beached whale, wishing you had the ability to whip other people into a nesting-like frenzy using only the power of your MIND, like, seriously? Would it kill you to install the car seat already? I know you SAY it can wait until the baby is born and you'll do it on the way to pick us up at the hospital but I WOULD FEEL BETTER IF I COULD SEE IT DONE AHEAD OF TIME SO THAT I MAY FUSS AT AND CRITICIZE YOUR ABILITIES IN THE PRIVACY OF OUR OWN DRIVEWAY. But really, Jason has been so, so great. Flowers for no reason. A constantly replenished stash of my favorite bath thingies from Lush. Back rubs and belly kisses and moving heaven and earth to make... Read more →


Swing Low Sweet Crazy Person

AMY: Thanks for getting the baby swing down from the attic... JASON: No problem. AMY: *under breath* ...three freaking months after I originally asked you to but whatever. JASON: What? AMY: Nothing! AMY: *busies herself with refastening freshly-washed cover to baby swing* AMY: *tries to attach swing seat to swing frame, makes horrible discovery* AMY: THE SWING IS MISSING A PART! JASON: What? AMY: MISSING! A PART! THIS WON'T ATTACH! THE LITTLE THINGS THAT GO ON THE OTHER THING AND KIND OF...POP? OUT? THOSE THINGS! OR WAS IT A SCREW? EITHER WAY! THERE IS SOME ESSENTIAL MISSING THING! JASON: *looks* Yeah, you're right. I'll look up in the attic again, I guess. AMY: Okay. AMY: *waits* AMY: ... AMY: *waits more* JASON: What? AMY: OH MY FUCKING GOD. (PS. NO BABY YET.) (PPS. OR WORKING SWING.) 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 →


Ezra's middle name is Harrington. It was his now-late great-grandmother's last name, and we chose it in her honor. Noah's middle name comes from my side of the family -- Corbin, the Latin version of Corbett. Though we found out this weekend at the memorial service that the actual last name Corbin appears a few branches up on the Harrington family tree as well. Huh. We also discovered that while Ezra got the name, Noah got the genes. (Professional photos [I am sure you can tell which ones those are] by Kaileen Galhouse, Galhouse Photography) Read more →


I Really Hate Coming Up With Titles Some Days. (There. Done!)

And two days later...it's still a boy! What? Not quite as exciting anymore? Damn these follow-up posts. They're such a letdown. I spent all day yesterday in rapid reverse-gear, solely fixated on my older existing-model child and visiting our kindergarten options for next year. A variety of special education flavors and regular strength. I started off the day with a pre-existing belief in one of them, only to end up with that belief shaken and stirred and coming home to wail that I DON'T LIKE ANY OF THEM, EVERYTHING IS WRONG. One option is too this and the other is too that. I still haven't come to any great revelations about the day and the experiences and what I saw, other than to randomly decide that I think I'm going to sign Noah up for a karate class. That will solve...none of the big issues at hand, but it's a DECISION. About SOMETHING. Everybody golf clap. DO IT. Oh, and I bought like, five boxes of chocolate truffles. They were on sale, because they're tied up with Christmas ribbons, and they're practically PRESCRIPTION truffles. Because once again, I showed up at my OB appointment having gained zero pounds. The baby... Read more →


Surviving in the Desert

I don't talk about my in-laws that much. I mean, do I? I don't think I do. FUN FACT: I have probably deleted all of about...three or four blog entries, tops, ever, since I started this site (counts on fingers...oh my GOD) seven years ago. But I still remember the very entry I deleted. It was about visiting my in-laws, and despite sound incredibly tame and ridiculously nice compared with the kind of screeds you saw flying across the average anonymous Blogspot blog back in those Wild West days, I deleted it at Jason's request. So I've been good, right? Other than occasionally holding them up as a case study for the Advice Smackdown, I feel like I've barely mentioned them. So I'm due! I can talk about my in-laws for just a little bit. It's my Christmas wish. DISCLOSURE: This post is brought to you by XFINITY from Comcast. Watch all your favorite shows from anywhere with XFINITY TV. The views expressed here are solely those of the author and do not necessarily represent the views of Comcast or its partners. (Hey, so. I know. Two sponsored-content-type posts in a row. This usually never happens, and really wasn't supposed... Read more →


Well, hello! Everybody back to the grind after the hallowed day of national gluttony? Nobody got run over or squished too badly on the crazy batshit day of national consumerism-ism? Anybody want some leftover pie? I've got...three, I think, still. But not this one. Our holiday was fantastic, thank you for maybe thinking of asking, just now, once I said that. The turkey was our most delicious ever, thanks to Jason's brine (he won't tell me what's in it, the bastard) and my basting (which I will tell you because I am giver AND a showoff; it's butter + thyme + honey + apple cider). He also made challah bread stuffing and homemade cranberry sauce (the secret ingredient to THAT is, no lie, vodka). I made a cauliflower and broccoli gratin with so much cheddar cheese and cream that I successfully destroyed the nutritional benefits of every vegetable from here to the White House garden. Including the ones Ezra made. He then covered them in parchment paper and braised them in a little shitload of butter. He ate them too! Dipped in the vodka-spiked cranberry sauce, at least. He went really, really nuts for the cranberry sauce. Damnedest thing, right?... Read more →


Halloween, take three: Noah's struggles with Halloween and dressing up ebbed and flowed this year, with one costumed activity being a roaring success and the next causing a meltdown of epic proportions. It was like spinning the wheel in Sensory Roulette. So I had no idea how his classroom costume parade party would go on Friday. When I arrived with Ezra in tow (and in costume), Noah had steadfastly refused to put his costume on while his friends got dressed. But then another mother showed up with a tray of chocolate cupcakes. "See those?" I fibbed. "Those are for kids who wear their costumes." BAM. Obi-Wan Kenobi IN THE HOUSE. And on parade. With his faithful sidekick Yoda, seen here shortly before losing a shoe in the parking lot at some point. Other than some mid-parade WHERE ARE THE CUPCAKES ALREADY fatigue, he did great. Ezra did too, though he did tend to gravitate to some very non-canon props. And then: FEASTING. Halloween, take four: Trick-or-treating. The main event. Noah not only agreed to wear his costume with absolutely zero protest, he even allowed me to put on the cheap-ass synthetic-fabric tunic and rubber belt portion of his Jedi outfit... Read more →