Introducing...

Emily Jean!

Weighing in at 6lbs 8 oz and a length of 20 inches.

Live blog of the birth below, pictures of Emmie to follow.

It's Go Time!!!

Hi, I'm Josh, Amy's hot, wicked smart, all-around wonderful husband. She may have not mentioned the wonderful part before. Or the hot part. Or even the wicked smart part. But I assure you, it's all true.

Anyhow, we're about to have a baby here and I'm live-blogging the birth, so I guess that's my key to start and here I am. So let's do it...

3:15 - Amy says "I'm feeling weird. I think my water is going to break today." I assume she's nuts and go back to work (at home).

4:35 - Water breaks. She's on the bed and I bring her some towels. She holds them between her legs and makes her way to the bathroom. She says "Maybe I just pee'd my pants". She spends a few minutes in the bathroom and determines, she didn't just pee two gallons, it was in fact the water breaking.

4:40 - I call my sister Marnie who has her fiance, Thabu, at our place in like 10 minutes. Nice! Jack wakes up from his nap and I tell him "I hope you enjoyed your nap buddy, because it will be your last as the center of the universe in this house" He says "poo". Likely not because of what I have just informed him, but because he does in fact have a dirty diaper.

4:45 - Amy takes a shower. I should probably do that to. I don't want baby to be scared off by dirty, smelly Daddy.

5:15 - I told Amy to take a cab to the hospital and call me when she and the baby were ready to come home, but apparently that isn’t flying. I don’t see what the big deal is. I was present for the birth of Jack, and there was a whole lot of waiting around as I recall. Frankly, it got to be a bit boring. Plus, if you’ve seen one birth, you’ve seen them all, right? I’ve seen it twice now – when Jack was born and I saw it in the movie “Knocked Up” as they show you a little more than you probably had bargained for in that flick. I’m not the type that likes to see the same movie over and over and I’m pretty sure I might be the same way about births.

5:20 - Amy informs me that I am the type that likes to see births over and over. I learn more and more about myself every day. She also tells me that seeing that birth in Knocked Up doesn’t really count, but I’m pretty sure it does. I’ll ask the doctor.

5:30 - Yes, her water broke an hour ago and yes, we're still getting ready. Cameras, Ipod, Chapstick, Laptops, Beer - you know all the necessities one couldn't possibly have a baby without. (unfortunately, I am kidding about the beer. Maybe.)

5:35 - Amy is still leaking. The water doesn't just break and its done. It goes on and on. (She was induced for Jack, so we didn't experience the sudden break of the ol' water). There are towels all over the place. Maybe a cab wouldn't be such a bad idea...

5:40 - Amy only has three pages left in her really good book she was reading when her water broke and she hasn't been having any contractions. We can go to the hospital after she finishes the book. I ask her if she wants to catch a movie before we go also. Since we apparently aren't in any hurry.

5:50 - All packed up and in the car. No fur coat for Amy as she had hoped for. She didn't want bodily fluids marring it. I feel the same way about the car... its towels all around.

6:00 - Amy informs me that we'll be parking in the garage at the hospital. Clearly, I could have found a nice free spot on the street if she gave me 5 minutes. When we were at the house she had to read those last three pages of the book, but now suddently we're in a great big hurry.

6:10 - Good evening OB Triage, its been too long. We're quickly escorted into a cubicle type area with curtains splitting us from other areas. Amy has her first contraction.

6:30 - Amy has changed into her baby-having fatigues and is now laying down leaking on the bed (better than the car I say). A nurse has her hooked up to the contraction monitor. She has a sizable contraction - reporting that its only a 2 out of 10 on the pain scale. Sounds pretty weak to me - clearly she doesn't need an epidural. Another nurse comes in and asks her a series of questions about diseases. She asks if I'm working on the laptop and Amy informs her I'm live-blogging the birth. I add "so don't mess anything up" She doesn't find me funny.

6:35 - They confirm that Amy was actually just peeing herself all over the house and car, her water never broke... just kidding. Its the real deal.

6:40 - The waiting begins... a nurse does Amy's IV. No contractions lately.

6:45 - Contraction. Actually, looking at the monitor, contractions are 6 minutes apart. But we still don't know how effaced or dilated she is. The doctor is supposed to come anytime now to give us this info.

6:50 - For my guy friends reading this... No hot nurses. Bummer. Maybe the labor and delivery area will come through, because OB Triage isn't having a strong showing today.

7:05 - Contractions still every 6 minutes. The doctor is here. Actually a resident. So does that even count? I don't think so. We'll call her the fake doctor. Anyway, she asks a million more questions. Some that the nurse already asked before. Don't they share notes? Its like when I call my credit card company and they make me key in my number and then the customer service rep asks me for it five seconds later... but I digress. The doctor asks about the water break, the contractions, family diseases, drugs, the cerclage, you know, the types of small talk you would make with a stranger in an elevator.

7:15 - After 10 minutes of questions, Amy spreads 'em, the resident slaps on some rubber gloves, and goes down for a look. She comes back up and we finally have some numbers to work with... she's 70 percent effaced and 2 cm dilated. And the fun doesn't really begin until she's at 10. Go get some dinner folks and cancel Bowling League or whatever you had planned tonight... its going to be a long evening.

7:20 - A nurse comes back in with some papers to sign. One about leaving your baby unattended, one about insurance, and one about baby carseats. I say to the nurse "you mean they make special seats for babies?" The nurse reamains stone faced. I just don't have it tonight. I tell Amy I should call Matt or Jimmie, my lawyer buddies, to come look over the paperwork before she signs anything. She rolls her eyes and signs away. I bet that small print is going to come back and bite us in the ass... Contractions still every 6 minutes.

7:25 - They're moving us to labor and delivery (and maybe to some hot nurses... or at least to one with a sense of humor?)

7:30 - Get this. They come to get us with only one wheel chair. And that's not even the kicker... its for Amy, not for me. Dude, my fingers are tired from all this typing and now I'm expected to walk all the way to labor and delivery? And that's not all, I have to carry all of Amy's stuff - which by the way you would think we were going to Hawaii for two weeks if you saw the five bags I have to carry.

7:40 - Jackpot! The nurse is hot and I'm pretty sure she wants me. She gave me sheets and a pillow and told me where I'd be sleeping the second we got in the room. If that's not a come on I'm not sure what is.

7:50 - All settled in the room where its all going to happen. They gave Amy the bed and me a chair. I'm pretty sure that was a mistake, and it should be the other way around, but I'll mention it to Amy later. Amy tells the nurse she wants the epidural pronto. I tell her me too and she gives me the stone face. On second thought, she's not that hot anyway.

8:00 – The doctor comes in (the real doctor this time) and laughs about us taking two hours to get to the hospital after Amy called two hours ago. He says we’re going to start some ptocin and the epidural. Amy tells him she doesn’t want any fake doctors (she is nice about it and calls them “residents”) delivering the baby. The doctor says the residents on the floor all all pros (one has been here a whopping 3 months now, he mentions). Amy says that all is well and good, but we’ll take his ten years experience over their 3 months.

8:15 – The nurse comes in to prep Amy for the Epidural. Amy scores a sexy hairnet out of the deal. The nurse also gets her started on some “Pit”. “Pit” is short for ptocin and apparently its what all the cool kids are calling it these days as the doctor used it before and now the nurse too. The anesthesiologist comes in and he goes into the same questions the fake doctor and the nurse went into earlier. Seriously, are these people this backwards? Are they also using an abacus and a typewriter? I’m sent out of the room so he can stick a great big needle in her back. Amy reminds me this is four needles in her bac in the past two years. I respond “Needles? Who needs stinking needles? I’d go all-natural baby.”

8:45 – I’m back in the room. If I would have known it was going to take so long I would have gotten some food. I’m starving. So apparently while the anesthesiologist was painfully trying to push the needle into Amy’s back, another nurse comes in and they go into a 10 minute conversation about some other patients – nothing critical – as the doctor continues to push. Amy finally says “can you have this discussion later please”. The nurse apologizes and leaves. Contractions up to every two minutes.

8:50 – Get this. While I was waiting in the hall there is this bulleten board with a chart titled “Handwashing Hygiene” and this hospital is at a whopping 40% with a goal of 60%. Three thoughts come to mind after seeing this: 1) There are some people with some dirty-ass hands at this hospital 2)Their goal was 60% - what 70% would have been asking too much?. 3) They chose to make this information public? 4) How do they collect this information - are there hidden cameras in the bathroom? Ok, so 4 thoughts come to mind, not 3... I got a little agressive.

9:10 - The nurse and doctor both come in to check Amy. She's still at 2 cm and having contractions every 2 minutes. Apparently the contractions are still painful, even with the epidural. I just want all of you out there to know that despite all of these needles, contractions and tubes running all over the place, I'm still feeling great! Really, I don't know what all the fuss is about from Amy. Because if I continue to feel like I do right now, this birthing stuff is going to be a breeze. I could do it every day. The doctor tells Amy that he'll check back and hopefully the epidural will kick in.

10:15 - You'd think that after such a long break something exciting would be happening. Well, something exciting did happen - I got to eat. Not Amy though, she apparently is on a diet of ice chips until after the birth. Don't worry, I was sure to tell her how delicious each bite of my pizza was so she could share in the pleasure I was having. What are caring husbands for? The contractions continue every two minutes. No update on the dilation yet.

10:30 - Did I mention its going to be a long night? Amy and I are hanging out watching the 19" Zenith TV in our room. Hey, hospital, the 1970's called and they want their TV back. Furthermore, there's nothing on. With the writer's strike going on, you're all pretty lucky to have me tonight. Actually, if the nurses are any judge, I'm not that funny. Better go back to your reruns. No news on the baby front...

10:55 - Big news. The doctor is back and checking things out as the baby's heart rate had dropped. We're at 5 cm. Amy is on her side and the baby's heart rate is back to good - up around 150. The heart rate drops when she has contractions, but the baby is facing down like it should be at a 0 station, and her cervix has thinned 100%. They're putting the monitor on the baby's head as we speak. Hopefully things keep moving along...

11:10 - I’d like to point out that last time during Jack’s birth I was given two rules by Amy – I couldn’t bring my laptop and I couldn’t make calls on my cell phone at all until after the birth. (Alas – I found a perfectly legal loophole, text messaging, Amy was none too pleased). This time she’s told me to bring my laptop and post messages all day long. What a difference two years make. It reminds me of when I got caught drinking in high school – my parents grounded me and put me in therapy. Two years later they were hosting drinking parties for my younger sister... isn’t life funny...

11:30 - Amy's feeling a lot of pressure. With every contraction she feels an immense urge to push. Not sure what this means, but baby could be visiting us soon. I, on the other hand, am not feeling any pressure at all. Again, I'm not sure what Amy's deal is. This birthing thing is a piece of cake for me. I should write a book.

11:50 - More big time pressure. The doctor comes... and its really go time. The baby is right there, head visible! The docter says she might have pushed it out herself if she let her go longer. Everybody's running around getting ready for the big push!

11:56 pm January 16th - Emily Jean is born. We're going to call her Emmie. There was literally zero pushing this time. They asked Amy not to let her come out before they could gown up and she contracted her out. Emmie's a beauty (thankfully it looks like she has gotten her looks from her mother, not dad). Excuse the sappy post, but I just want to say, my wife is a superstar! This whole experience has proved to me once again, I am indeed the luckiest guy in the world. Even after pushing out little Emmie, she's looking as beautiful, upbeat, and witty as ever. And she's such an amazing mother to Jack already, little Emmie is in such great hands. Amy, I can't imagine where I would be with out you... I love you.

12:10 - Emmie weighs in at 6 lbs 8 oz and a length of 20 inches. She's a heavyweight like her father. This is two weeks before her actual due date, so being on the light side is to be expected I suppose.

12:30 - Emmie has been awfully quiet, just like Jack was the first 24 hours. I remember Amy and I thinking - wow, he doesn't cry, we're the luckiest parents in the world. Wow, did Jack have a little surprise for us after that first day, he found his voice and in a big way. I'm sure Emmie will do the same. Amy's feeding her now. She's been sucking away on her hands from the second she came out, so she's doing a decent job for her first boob.

1:00 - I sure hope Amy doesn’t want me to stay over at the hospital tonight with the baby. I did that last time and Jack cried like every hour and woke me up, plus all they have for the guests to sleep on is this crappy fold out chair that is about as comfortable as sleeping on nails. Maybe even less. And then they give her this big comfortable bed right next to me – just to rub it in apparently. I’m not really into sleepovers anyway. Plus, if I sleep at home I can have the whole bed to myself and my parents are staying at our place so they can get up with Jack in the morning. I can sleep in! I’m sure Amy will agree this is an excellent idea.

1:30 - Amy informs me that I am all about sleepovers. I’m really learning a lot about myself today. Maybe she’ll at least give me the bed and she’ll take the chair. That’s only fair as I took the chair last time. Right? I’m not really a chair sleeper anyway.

1:55 - Have I mentioned how much I love sleeping in chairs? Because I do, or so I’ve been told. That’s what I’ll be doing for the next two nights. I’m kind of glad because our big comfortable, quiet bed at home will sit empty for the next couple of nights and it could use a break for a few nights anyway. They're about to move us to the mother-baby room (father is conveniently left out) where we'll go to sleep. So this will be my last post. For those of you that have stuck it out until the end, you've won a cash prize of 1 million dollars. Just post a comment within the next minute and the prize is yours. Goodnight...

Party planning

With the impending birth of Girl Baby, which is apparently never happening because I don't feel at all like I am making more progress, I have been forced to get organized early on Jack's soon-to-be-here second birthday.

Oh my holy hell, my child is turning 2 in three weeks. How did that happen?

So I ordered the big gift (it's a Kettler tricycle! We could have paid our mortgage or gotten this trike; I told Josh defaulting is the new black!), it arrived today and I am so excited to give it to him I don't want to wait.

I also bought some of the smaller gifts last week, the same day I bought his Big Brother presents from us and the baby and his Little Sister present to give to the baby at the hospital.

An aside: if you've never taken your child to a toy store without a cart or a stroller, well then you've never lived. Also an aside: we went to the toy store that Angelina Jolie took her kids to when they were visiting Chicago. We're so cool.

That same day I purchased all the party paraphernalia that I could find with Elmo's mug on it and the invites were sent out this week. I am proud to say the only thing we'll need to take care of is getting cupcakes and pizza the day of the party.

Since I will likely be tired, fat and leaking milk, we decided to just host a small party for kids at our place. For 90 minutes, everyone can eat and drink and play and then everyone is getting the hell out at naptime. That's my kind of party.

Crabby old ladies

Today's Baby Watch 2008 update: nothing to report. After yesterday's spotting and contractions post-appointment, today has been full of nothing at all. I am glad of it, to be honest. We're going to a movie tonight and I kind of like the idea of managing this birth next Tuesday, so there we have it.

Let me share with you my little story of annoyance from this weekend. I decided to run away from home for the afternoon, doing frivolous things like going to the post office to mail Jack's birthday party invitations and then stopping at a mall. I needed to return some pajamas and I wanted to get some new eye cream. Craziness, I know.

So I return the pajamas first. I park, relatively close to one of the store's entrances, and saunter in to the first counter I see. Let's remember: more than nine months pregnant, not in the mood for any bullshit.

As any fool knows, you can return anything at any counter in a department store. You don't need to go directly to the department from whence it came. So I inform the woman I have a return.

This particular store, Carson Pirie Scott, only appears to employ crabby women over the age of 60. I am not kidding, every time I have ever gone to Carson Pirie Scott, which is a lot over my lifetime, I have never been waited on by someone not matching this description.

This old lady looks at my return and says, "This is from the lingerie department!" Well, yes, they are pajamas, but I suppose they live over there. I look at her and say, "Well, you can return them at any counter, right?"

"Yes," she replies. "But then I would have to walk them all the way over there to put them back. So..."

I look at her and with as level a voice as possible, say, "Well I am nine-and-a-half-months pregnant and I call tell you, I would rather you walk over there than me."

She looks down at the belly and then looks annoyed and says, "Well. Umm. Yes. I guess it's fine then."

But my annoying clerks story doesn't stop there. I go on to the next establishment, Bloomingdales, where I am continuing my fruitless search for a new eye cream. A bit of history: I have been looking for a new eye cream to battle my genetic dark circles since August. No joke.

I have tried many, many creams to no avail. (If you have one you like, for chronic dark circles, please do share.) I have committed myself to trying samples of each brand for at least two weeks to see if they make a difference. Then I move on to a new brand.

At Sephora and Ulta, the clerks could not have been more helpful and willing to let me try different samples. They were so generous with their product, I probably could have kept myself in eye cream for free for the rest of the year.

My friend, she of the Supacoo blog, suggested Borghese eye cream. They only sell it around here at Bloomingdales, so that brings us to the present day with me standing at the Borghese counter.

The saleswoman asks if I need help and I say a friend recommended the eye cream and I would like to try it out before I commit to plunking down $100 for something that might not work.

She smoothly tells me they don't have samples. I respond by asking could she please make one up from her tester then, in a small pot? She looks annoyed, but goes to the drawer and pulls out a small pot and puts about a drop in there.

She then haughtily looks at me and says, "Well you can take this, but I can tell you, you'll need to use at LEAST a half-tube of this product before you see a difference. You won't see anything after using this small amount."

"Perhaps you could give me a little more then, so I can get a sense of it," I say. "I have been trying various eye creams looking for one that works and most stores have been willing to work with me."

She recoils, I am not kidding, and says in the most dramatic voice possible, "I can't POSSIBLY give you that much product. I find it hard to believe others did. What store would DO that?"

I reply, "Sephora. Which clearly appreciates my business more. I'm not trying to steal eye cream here. I am just trying to find something that works without wasting a lot of money."

She drops the pot in the bag, and says, "Sorry I could not be of more help. You can contact our manager if you would like. Here's her card."

Lady. You're selling COSMETICS. At a DEPARTMENT STORE. You're not Coco Chanel. get over yourself and divvy out the samples. GOD.

Small progress at 38 weeks

Sorry for the lack of update yesterday, but when there's nothing to report, it gets a little boring. So yesterday, nothing good was happening, but I was having contractions seven minutes apart last night. But of course they stopped after about an hour. Bah.

Today was my weekly appointment. I went in expecting not to have made much progress, and told my OB I was betting I was about 2 cm. She said I was juuuuust barely 2 cm, but the head was right there. We forgot to talk about effacement, so I have no number for you there, but with the head right there, I am guessing I am almost fully thinned out.

She also measured the old belly, just for kicks since they stop measuring at 36 weeks because the dropping head can skew the measurements, and I was measuring 34 weeks at 38 weeks. Everyone keeps saying I sure don't look like I am due in two weeks, and I don't think I do either, so there's some confirmation.

I should be pleased with 2 cm, but I was all bummed and whining to my mom on the phone after my appointment. You have this cervix, which is really quite a crappy cervix in general, and for all those weeks you try to keep it in line. And then you open the gates, so to speak, and it decides to play nice. No fair.

But 2 cm is a lot better than 0 cm and no hope of being induced next Tuesday. I would imagine I will probably be 3 cm by then -- and when I say I imagine, I mean I will be doing everything in my power to move things along this week -- and everything will be fine.

However. When I tried to make my 39-week appointment for next Monday, the receptionist cheerily announced my OB was not in next week. Until Thursday. WHAT? You can imagine the look of panic on my face that accompanied that annoucement. After pleading with her to please, for the love of all things holy, check with the nurse to see what the deal was, it was found that my OB will be around, just not seeing patients because of her teaching schedule. She didn't even know herself that she was out next week.

After I ceased breathing into a paper bag, they made me an appointment with one of the other doctors in the practice and assured me my OB would indeed be available for the induction next Tuesday. I am still not convinced, but I am refusing to think about it.

So who's got some great ideas for dilating the old cervix?

Move along

No baby. Moderate amount of contractions. Some stabbing pains in the cervix. That about sums up my day. I feel not a flicker of impending labor. So that's my update.

Shaking my fist at the sky

Remember yesterday when I said I wasn't having very many contractions? Apparently the Gods of Childbirth decided to stick it to me and I have been cursed with them since last night.

Not non-stop, but enough of them to be annoying and some of them are starting to get a little painful. I am trying to ignore those. I like to think I am doing a good job as I managed to get through Gymboree class this morning and then took Jack to lunch and am now running several loads of laundry up and down the stairs.

Last night's contractionfest started around 9 p.m. My husband, conveniently out drinking with his friends, was instructed to ANSWER THE DAMN PHONE if I call him and not to drink too much. I can't be taking a drunkard into Labor & Delivery, not to mention the fact he needs to drive me there. (His solution: We could take a cab! My solution: How about I punch you in the face!)

I called him after I had about four contractions, 10 minutes apart. You know, just to keep him in the loop. No answer. I call again. No answer. I wait a while, call again. You can see where this is going.

TWO HOURS LATER he finally sees he has about eleventy-hundred missed calls from Home and calls me. Apologizing profusely, saying he could not understand why the phone was not vibrating. "Oh," he said sheepishly. "That would be because it's not on vibrate. I'm sorry."

Stuff your sorrys in a sack mister.

He asked should he come home, I said probably not, thinking they were not real anyway. I told him to just answer the phone when I call. With that he announced he would be home in a little while because he did not think they would be staying out that late. It was about 11:15 p.m. when we had this conversation and I went to sleep immediately afterward.

AT 1:30 HE ROLLS IN TO THE BEDROOM. Can you tell I am so pleased with this?

So after all that, I have a few more during the night and then a few more this morning and afternoon and here we are. I imagine there will be a slight change to my dilation by Monday with all this activity, but I am not convinced I will be in labor any time soon.

Nary a sign

Another day, another "nothing to report." But I am pleased with this week's non-progress as it allows me to get to tomorrow night and Josh's company holiday party. It's at a club downtown and while I can't drink or wear anything remotely appropriate for a club, I am looking forward to it.

The contractions could, perhaps, be considered a little more numerous today. By no means anything to get excited about, mostly non-painless and just tight. But it's still something. Could be the fact Jack keeps asking me to sit on the floor and build lego towers or read books. The floor, and the getting down to it and getting up from it, is not so easy to navigate at this stage.

But let me tell you about my exciting day. We slept in until 9 (another post for next week, but my child's ear infection several weeks ago reset his sleep pattern and he now routinely sleeps until 8:30 a.m. or later) and then went to the bank and hosted a playdate. After naptime, we went to the grocery store and I whipped up chicken and potatoes for dinner. By the time Josh got home from work, Jack was fed and happy and the house was clean.

I asked Josh if there was anything more he could ask from his stay-at-home wife extraordinaire. He told me he had a list, would I like it. Hardee har har. Comedian.

What Jack's up to at 23 months (and a pregnancy update)

Pregnancy Watch 2008: A few more contractions than normal, mostly Braxton Hicks in nature, but nothing painful or earth-shattering. Although, this child is dropping further into my pelvic cavity than I ever thought possible. This is causing some eye-popping groin pain that actually had me gripping the countertop during lunch prep today. I might be the first woman in the history of childbirth to have the baby fall out without the aid of a contraction.

I don't think I am dilating any more, but I am likely effacing based on the lowness of the head. My medical degree from Google is really coming in handy now.

Other than that, nothing to report. Move along.

There have been some great strides made in the world of Jack recently. I have been remiss in sharing them, so let's have us some bullet-y goodness.

* This week, he looked up at the sky while on a walk and said, "Plane?" And I said yes, that's where planes fly, up in the sky, but I did not see any right then. He thought about it for a second and said, "Daddy, go?" I almost jumped up and down. Yes! Daddy did go in a plane last week! The fact he remembered we talked about it a whole week before and that he used a pronoun/verb combo for the first time made me really proud.

* He has peed on the potty every day (except one) for the last 10 days. A few times, he's even gone twice. Although I have never personally witnessed the stream myself, I have taken reliable word for it.

* He is adding new words to his vocabulary in a fast and furious manner. While they are mostly still one syllable of a two-syllable word, it's a start. We're working more on him saying two syllables, in the hopes he will start catching on.

* He has a wicked skin reaction to strawberries. Last week, we started giving him freeze-dried strawberries as a snack because he won't eat any fruit other than applesauce. He loved them, of course, and then broke out in a horrid fit of eczema, the likes of which we have not seen since he had his milk intolerance this time last year. We deduced it was the same reaction his Grandpa gets when he eats too many strawberries, so perhaps this one runs in the family.

* He is getting more interested in the baby paraphernalia covering the house. He saw the bassinette all set up in our room and pointed to it and said, "Baby!" He's never seen one before this, so who knows where he learned that. But he's really into reading his book about a new baby coming home and kissing my belly. He also smacks the hell out of my belly with an evil grin on his face and has to be reminded to be very gentle with Mommy's belly and the baby.

* Our rule of doling out one Christmas gift per day has been going quite well. He doesn't get overwhelmed by too much stuff and it gives him something new each day. We're keeping the toy overload in the house at a minimum this way, by subtracting an old toy for the addition of a new one. Although we still have way too many toys, even after purging a ton of them to Grandma's house right before Christmas.

* He gets so excited when I put him in the car and tell him to climb into his carseat while I open the gate to the alley. By the time I turn around from getting it all situated, he has crawled in and is waiting for me to buckle him with a HUGE grin on his face. This is going to be so helpful when I have an infant seat to load up as well.

* The tantrums are starting to rear their ugly heads. Prime example: if he can't balance 37 pieces of Tupperware at once and carry them the 20 feet from the cabinet to the couch, he falls to pieces and laments his entire existence.

* He's totally into bags right now. He carries a cell phone and a little toy phone and a shape-sorter in an Elmo backpack and then loads various other items into my old Victoria's Secret shopping bags and carries those around too. He picks them up and says "bye" and then waves and announces he is going to "school" or to buy "cheese" with them. He walks around the kitchen island and then runs back to us with a huge smile on his face, waving and saying "Hi" and we welcome him back. It's hysterical. And played roughly 117 times a day.

Of course there are a million funny things I am forgetting, but just wanted to catch up on a few things off the top of my head.

The one where I scrub the floors

There is NOTHING like scrubbing the floors, on your hands and knees, when you are 37 weeks pregnant. Seriously, you should try it some time.

Today a certain someone flung an entire bowl of carrots (yes, baby food carrots. Yes we still consume baby food veggies in this house. You may now commence with throwing of stones.) on the floor. And the fireplace marble. And the rug. Instead of spot cleaning, I knew it was better to go whole hog.

And you just can't properly scrub a floor without getting down on your hands and knees. So there I was, at naptime, scrubbing the floor for the first time since July. Dsiclaimer: my floors have indeed been scrubbed, just not by me and not up to the exacting standards I so highly set for myself.

After that I cleaned some more things around the house. I oppose calling this "nesting" because it's really more like me trying to get my stay-at-home-mom groove back on. Sort of like running errands all morning -- fun! I can lift Jack into a cart! We can buy mass quantities of Kleenex and toilet paper at Costco!

And wouldn't you know it, I didn't have a single contraction from this adventure. I am a little sore from all the bending, but that's to be expected. I don't expect I will be feeling so up to scrubbing the floors in a few weeks, but then Josh can take over until I am sufficiently healed. That way, I can bitch about how he does them again and we all love that.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes (not)

I had my OB appointment this afternoon and as I suspected before going, there were no changes since Friday. This is good news!

I am a loose 1 cm dilated and about 70 percent effaced. I realize this could all chnage in a nanosecond and my water could break, but I feel pretty confident saying I think I will make it through this week without pushing a baby out of my crotch.

We even walked about two miles yesterday when we took Jack to the zoo and it didn't cause a single serious contraction. Incompetent? Hell no. I think my cervix is shedding it's label and rehabbing its image with a media consultant. And don't think I wouldn't post a picture of it if I could. I just can't figure out how to get a good shot of it.

About that trip to the zoo. You see, we are having some bizarre weather phenomenon here in Chicago right now. Yesterday it was 61 degrees, yes on Jan. 6, and today we have already hit 65. We went to the park and the zoo yesterday and we stopped at the park again this morning and hope to squeeze in an afternoon trip before it starts to storm. I know it will not last after tomorrow, but my gosh, it's delightful to be outside and let the child run around, burn off some energy and actually get some fresh air in his lungs. We have the windows in the house open right now -- this is crazy.

So Babywatch 2008 continues, albeit in a rather boring format. Josh will be going to the office tomorrow, that would be two hours away, which will ensure I go into full-out labor just as he arrives so he can turn around and drive right back again with me calling him every 30 seconds to ask if he is here yet. Don't you wish you were him?

Stitch-free area

If you are at all squeamish, or would rather not be privy to the contents of my girlie parts, then perhaps you should tune back Monday. Because today's post is going to be all cervix all the time.

The cerclage is out and I am relieved. But it was not so much fun having it removed and I would equate the experience to having all my fingernails pulled out one by one with a pliers. A rusty pliers.

When I arrived, I was a wee bit uptight. Or so my blood pressure indicated, considering it was 112/89. My normal is a coma-like 100/60, so I would say I might have been a bit nervous. Of course my outward appearance betrayed none of that, as I breezed in with full makeup, straight hair, jewelry, cute outfit and my fur coat. Because you can't take out a stitch in your cervix without your fur, natch.

They get me all set and call my OB and she comes down and we get down to work. And she digs. And she grabs. And she snips. And she digs. And she grabs. And she digs. And she grabs.

I am sweating bullets by this point, squeezing my opposite hand and doing some serious deep breathing. I can tell you what each of the ceiling tiles above the bed looked like and where all the water spots were. I was silently trying to decide if this was an acceptable form of torture for prisoners at Guantanamo. I would say the resounding answer is NO.

Then the discussion about the gauze used to stanch the bleeding began and it was determined that the old 4x4s would have been awesome, except they don't let them use them in the triage room anymore so we had to make do with the 2x2s. I have no idea what in the sam hell this means, except I hope no one was driving an SUV through the speculum. Although with all the pain, I really can't be sure.

About 25 gauze pads later, my OB said she thought "the oozing" had stopped and that she was done. She muttered something about talking to the perinatalogist about tying his knots on the side and checked my progress.

Lookee, lookee: immediately after removal I dilated to 1 cm and she pronounced my cervix very short. I was monitored for about 20 minutes and I think any contractions were very minor, so they sent me on my merry way. I was there an hour and 15 minutes total.

I came home and tried to pick Jack up and he looked at me like a crazy person. I guess he knew what was up after 21 weeks, but then he deemed me worthy and has not stopped asking "uuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhpppppppppp" all day. It's nice to be loved.

My smug self was feeling pretty positive until about 2:45 p.m. when I started contracting with some serious intensity, four minutes apart. We're talking serious, can't-talk-through-them contractions that had me lying on my side and drinking water. I had about five of them before I fell asleep on the bed, slept for about an hour, and then had some more that woke me up. After the worst one yet, I decided to pee and that really helped. They stopped after that and I have been fine since dinnertime.

However, holy bleeding batman. I didn't bleed this much when they put the cerclage in. I can't believe it's this bad just from pulling it out. They told me to expect it for today and that it was normal. But seriously, it's a lot.

So now we wait. I want at least 10 more days out of this pregnancy, so let's all hold hands and chant or pray or think good thoughts or whatever it is you do. I'll just be here ignoring the impending labor.

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow

Tomorrow is the big day -- cerclage removal!

I seriously can't believe how fast the last 21 weeks have gone. I feel like I was just going in to get sewn up and here we are taking it out.

With Jack, I had the cerclage removed at 35 weeks 6 days and I dilated a to 3 cm over the course of 19 days. There were tons of contractions but no real labor and we induced to end my misery at 38 weeks 4 days.

This time, I am really hoping to make it 18 days, to my scheduled 39-week induction on Jan. 22 (I will be 36 weeks 4 days tomorrow). But of course, my cervix and this baby are conspiring against me and plotting a coup.

I had my final ultrasound yesterday to check for growth. Girl Baby is measuring ahead in almost every category and is estimated to be about 6 lbs 6 ounces. She's shaping up to be long and skinny, like her brother.

Unfortunately, the baby is sitting so low in my pelvis that they could not see my cervix nor could they see the top half of her face or head. They could see from the nose down and that was it. We got some lovely shots of her pursing her little lips, but who knows what was going on with her eyes and forehead.

I do believe the ultrasound tech's quote was, "This baby could just fall right out when you cut that stitch!"

She wasn't telling me anything I didn't already know. I can barely walk and I feel like I have a bowling bowl between my legs. But I am not one of those naive first-timers who think the stitch will come out and I will immediately go into labor. Of course the slim possibility is lurking somewhere behind my eyeballs, making me pack my hospital bag, wash all the clothes and instruct (read: demand in a loud voice, possibly with tears) Josh to assemble the bassinette and changing table.

I do believe that I will contract for many, many days without any regular pattern. I do believe I will experience some outstanding pelvic pain from this child being so low. I do believe I will be begging for an induction two weeks from now to just get this kid out already.

And I do believe I will be both stitch-free and baby-free tomorrow afternoon. Here's to lifting my son for the first time in 21 weeks and going back to changing diapers and getting up early. Wait, do I really want this stitch out?

Mr. Josh Goes to Pasedena

Yesterday I promised to tell the story of how my husband ended up going to the Rose Bowl when I was 36 weeks pregnant, also known as, "Why I Am The Greatest Wife Ever."

When the University of Illinois was selected to play in the Rose Bowl way back in November, a good friend of ours was visiting and he and Josh were talking about going to the game. Because I have a photographic recall of all calendar days during my pregnancy, I instantly laughed heartily because I knew I would be 36 weeks on New Year's Eve and there was no way in hell he was flying across the country when I could go into labor.

He told me that night, "But it's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!" Nevermind the fact that really isn't true, it was a pretty weak argument. I thought about it for a day or two, however, and after realizing I would still have my cerclage, decided the chances of me going into labor would be really low.

I walked upstairs, grabbed him by the shoulders and said, "Merry Christmas, you can go. Have a good time." He was thrilled, until he heard the caveat that went with it. I told him he could either go to the Rose Bowl now or to London to see his friend in the spring. But it was one or the other.

As an aside, it's not like I "let" him do anything. But I find it unfair he would get two expensive trips, by himself, not to mention leaving me with the two kids after being gone all week at work if he went to London. So of course I had to raise a huge stink about it.

Suddenly, his "once-in-a-lifetime" experience wasn't so exciting anymore.

"I would rather go to the London," he said. I'm sorry, what? He's been to London like 10 times, most recently two months ago. Why on earth he needs to go again is beyond me. So we left it at him saying he was doing both and that I could come to London too! Except hi, I have to take my boobs with me to London and the new baby will be breastfeeding and leaving for a week is just not an option.

So he booked a flight for New Year's morning so he could spend New Year's Eve with me and is scheduled to fly home tomorrow night. He got his fun little trip (Funny, he also went on a fun little trip with friends when I was 35 weeks pregnant with Jack. I am sensing a trend.) and I stayed home. I like football. I like the Rose Bowl. But the airlines, they do not like the 36-week pregnant ladies so much.

Seriously, how many women in this stage of pregnancy would encourage this behavior? Not many. But this is why I am the Greatest Wife EVER.

Farewell 2007

What a crazy year this was. I'm not usually one to get all retrospective at New Year's, I'm more of a "look forward" kind of gal, but I am throwing caution to the wind this year.

Jack turned 1, I lost my job, I got pregnant, we started SnarkyBabies, Josh started a new project in Michigan, I got morning sickness, I stayed sick for the like the whole entire summer, I had a preventative cerclage placed, Josh was off the project in Michigan, we went to France, I was in the hospital with the flu and then it was the holidays. Look at that, 2007 summed up in less than 75 words.

As we get ready to usher in 2008, however, I find myself pretty excited. When people ask if I am excited about the baby coming, I usually reply, "No. I am terrified."

But truth be told, there is a little glimmer of excitement in there too. I can't wait to push her out and have her here and see Jack's face when he meets her. I think things will be all right, after a little adjustment period, and I am confident I will be able to handle motherhood squared.

So goodbye 2007, hello 2008!

Merry Christmas and all that jazz

I won't go into the ridiculousness that is our holiday travel schedule yet again, but suffice it to say we spent nine hours driving hither and yon over two days. But it was a very nice holiday and Santa was very good to everyone.

Jack got a ridiculous amount of toys and clothes, Girl Baby hauled home probably more loot than any of us and she's still in utero, Josh got his Guitar Hero 3 game that I spent 10 days stalking the sales guy at Best Boy for and I got some new shiny diamond earrings that are so big I might tip a little bit when I walk. We are all spoiled brats.


Mom, I know it's Christmas but I haven't even had my coffee yet.

We're still recovering from all the holiday hoopla and believe it or not, I got sick again! I know! I never got better from the initial cold I have now had for eight consecutive weeks, so my OB took pity on me and my hacking and sniffling today and gave me an antibiotic. I swear I took the first dose this afternoon and I am feeling better already.

In other OB/GYN news, I had my 35-week appointment today and it was an interesting one all right. I gained 5 pounds (WTF? In two and a half weeks? Am I mainlining ice cream? Oh wait, I actually am. Shit. Moving on.) and my blood pressure is just sliiightly high for me. Not high for a regular person at all, but I hope it was just because I was kept waiting for 90 minutes and not because it's deciding to whack out.

While there, I asked my doctor if you always dilate and/or efface sooner or more quickly with second pregnancies. She said yes, or as "always" as anything can be when it comes to pregnancy. So I asked her, "Do you think I am going to make it to the 22nd?" Her answer: "No."

Whaaaat???? No! This can not be! I want to manage my birth. I didn't sign up for any labor!

So looks like our plans might be altered somewhat when it comes to the two weeks between the cerclage removal and what I am now referring lovingly to as my "hypothetical" induction date. Josh will have to work from home and I would imagine I will walk around feeling like a ticking time bomb who could leak fluid in a shocking gush at any time.

I know you are all waiting on pins and needles for those two weeks worth of posts.

High five

Five weeks from today, I will have my second child.

OK, in theory it could be sooner. But we know it won't be later than that, as it is my scheduled induction date. But let's pretend I am going to make it to my induction, just for shits and giggles.

I am so not into the idea of going into labor and having to suffer through contractions for hours on end at home. No thank you, next please. I want my epidural and I want it early. No labor pains for this wuss.

We're mostly ready, in the physical sense. We have a bassinette, we have a closet full of pink clothes, we have Miracle Blankets, we have my boobs. Really, what more could we need?

But in the emotional sense, I am still freaking the shit out. I waffle between thinking I can do it all and thinking I am going to be a huge failure at mothering two children. Of course, no one else in the history of the earth has ever parented two children at once. Get over yourself, I can hear you murmuring.

But there is this ... FEAR ... that resides just behind my eyeballs and makes me lie awake at night. How will I ever manage two kids by myself all week? How will I nurse one while chasing another? How will I find time to myself when they're on opposite sleep schedules? When will I sleep? And for God's sake, how will I ever carry the new baby and keep Jack from running away from me while balancing my drink?

So I have five more weeks to freak out about these things. I am sure it will work out. Right?

Scottie Pippen week

Here we are at 33 weeks pregnant. And I always think of Scottie and his chicken legs when I see the No. 33, so Happy Scottie Pippen Week to everyone!

Yesterday I waited one hour and 45 minutes to see my doctor. It was a new record, even for that notoriously wait-filled office. Oh but it was worth the wait!

I only gained one pound in three weeks, hooray! And I am measuring at 31 weeks instead of 33, hooray again! But I can tell you I am starting to feel every centimeter of this expanding uterus. I am having trouble rolling over in bed easily and can't bend over anymore. Being pregnant in the winter sucks -- how the hell am I supposed to manuever these snow-filled sidewalks in backless New Balance tennis shoes?

But I really feel I should not complain because I am not that big. People tell me all the time I am carrying really small and to tell you the truth, I am happy about it. I don't want to look like a huge cow. How vain am I?

Anyway, we also solved the mystery of the comment from the resident at Labor & Delivery last week, which was, "Well, you are ... (pause) ... closed." To which I said I was nervous she was going to say something about being a fingertip dilated and she said, "Well I can get a fingertip in there." Which was news to this cerclage-sporting girl.

My OB said when they place cerclages, they don't do them so tight that not even air can get in. She said there needs to be a little play to the cervix to allow for the inevitable changes. Too tight and you would rip through the stitch. Sounds good enough to me. So she said that yes she could get a fingertip in, but there was no dilation or anything like that.

After all of that waiting and checking, we set the cerclage removal date for Friday, Jan. 4. I will be roughly 36 weeks 4 days, not that I am counting or anything, and I was pleased to have a date picked out. That gives me 17 days worth of contractions and false labor scares between my cerclage removal and my induction date. Won't that be fun?

And while I don't think I will go into labor immediately following the cerclage removal, there is a slim possibility. So we have to be prepared for a second child to join this family in a mere 24 days.

Wait. What? That's like three weeks from now.

Go home

Of course, last night was a non-event at the old Labor & Delivery ward. I got there, got hooked up to a monitor and lookee lookee, contractions!

But my cervix was competent as ever, well as competent as the stitch can make it, and the contractions weren't causing cervical changes. So I was monitored for about three hours and then they deemed me worthy of going home.

Home in a snowstorm. By myself. At 1:30 in the a.m. And yes, I did indeed drive myself to the hospital. I am a big girl, I can do it.

Having a traveling husband kind of sucks the big one. He couldn't come home last night because of the snow, so he wasn't here to begin with. But even if he was, he would have had to stay with Jack, so he would not have come anyway.

The hospital staff probably feels bad for me that I am a single mom, going at it alone.

Anyway. All is well on the cervical front. Contractions slowed down and then stopped and now I just have them when I bend over. You know, to pick up toys or sort laundry. I think there is a message in there somewhere.

I know I promised a court story

But I just don't have the energy today.

I ran errands all morning, then I spent three hours cleaning out a closet in the late afternoon. Yes, that is correct, three.

It was a jumble of our stuff and Jack's stuff and Baby2's stuff. So now that we have a super-duper new closet in Jack's new big boy room, I moved all his stuff in there and cleaned our stuff out and now it's all nice and orderly and clean.

But all this activity also caused contractions. That would be 14 in an hour and now I am on my way to Labor & Delivery. Because I don't spend enough time there.

I shall update tomorrow.

Too old, too fat

So the club was... ummmmm... interesting.

I present to you, photographic evidence before we left the house!



First, we went to dinner. Because the reservation was for 9 p.m. and the bitchy pregnant lady gets crabby eating that late, Josh and I had stopped for dinner with Jack at Panera earlier in the night.

And because we didn't want to get stuck splitting a dinner bill 10 ways when we ate a salad, we didn't order anything. Cheap? No. Money-saving? Definitely. We did end up ordering a dessert to share and Josh split a bottle of wine with two other people. So we dropped $40 in at the end of the meal and everyone was happy.

Since we were going out big, I decided to rock the fur coat for the evening. I swear to God, I am so pretentious. How can anyone be so vain and this pregnant?

Anyway.

So we headed to the club. I was told we were going to a cool club. Guest list and the whole shebang. But then the plans changed slightly, and we ended up going to a club that is literally across the street from Cabrini Green, one of the most famouse housing projects in all of Chicago.

As I contemplated whether or not I would give up my fur coat in an armed robbery, we headed to the door. As we roll up on it (how ya like that lingo?!) the group of people we are with start getting asked who they are there with and do they have ID and yada yada. I walk up and say, "Morgan? Hi! I'm Leah's friend, Amy. How are you?"

Turns out I knew one of the managers and she waved us right in. That's right. The pregnant one knew the doorperson and walked right in. I am so in demand.

So we walk into this club, and I look around say to Josh, "Don't you think there are an inordinate amount of fat chicks here?" Because seriously, there were a lot of women who should not have been wearing the outfits they were wearing. There's a difference between being overweight and being a fat chick and most of the difference involves wearing skin tight clothing.

Josh agreed and his friend basically said the same thing to us about 10 seconds later while we were standing near the bar. Which lasted about 10 more seconds before roughly 17 post-college-but-still-acting-like-they're-in-a-frat boys muscle their way past me, roughing the belly.

I headed for a seat, where the guy next to me proceeds to ask me, "So, you having fun?"

I do a double-take, like seriously, is he talking to me? I respond, "I am wildly out of place here."

He says, "That's because you're wearing a big wedding ring."

I say, "And not because I am PREGNANT?" as I point to the belly.

He is now dying laughing, says he didn't even notice and has to tell his buddy because this is hilarious. I'm sorry, this is just surreal. I am the oldest person in this bar by at least seven years and I am a mom and oh my God, I just felt so old.

Then Josh gets called up to the bar to do shots by his friend, Ed. (Ed, who specifically asked for a shoutout in the blog, so Ed, here you are.) When they are up there doing shots, one of the other guys, Vinny, says something about paying and Ed tells him, "I got this round buddy" and shoves some money in his pocket. They all do Patron shots and when Vinny walks back over, he sees Ed dropped a $5 bill in his pocket. For an $80 round of shots. Hilarity ensues.

I manage to hold on until 1:15 in the morning, an hour I am usually seeing as I get up to pee in the middle of the night, when I announce to my drunky husband that I am leaving. He, however, of the Drunky McDrunkersons, doesn't want to leave and apparently wants to do more shots with fat chicks. He does put me in a cab, though, so chivalry is clearly not dead.

I arrive home 10 minutes later, wake a sleeping babysitter (Grandma) and go upstairs after telling her she is so lucky because when Josh gets home, whenever that might be, she gets to get up and let him in since he does not have his key.

Which she does. At 3-freaking-30 a.m. He then proceeds to come upstairs to bed, where he announces, "There's a 50-50 chance I am going to puke." He didn't and was asleep within 30 seconds.

So that, my friends, was my big night out. I think I may never do it again. Especially when pregnant. There's just nothing sexy about a pregnant chick dancing on a table now is there?

Project managing my pregnancy

When it comes to labor and delivery, my mantra this time around has been, "I like to manage my births."

I am not a fan of surprises. I mean not when it comes to things like gifts or last-minute trips or something like that. But for major life events that could involve an embarassing episode of bodily fluids cascading onto the floor in a Starbucks, I like to be in control.

The added benefit of having an Incompetent Cervix is that it is, generally, not able to perform to the best of its ability. With Jack, I had my cerlcage removed at 36 weeks and immediately starting contracting and slowly dilating. I would just contract contract contract all the live-long day, but nothing in enough of a pattern to send me to the Labor and Delivery ward. By the time 38 weeks rolled around, I was dilated to 3 cm and was swollen and my blood pressure was a-rising and I was contracting and I think my OB was so sick of seeing my face that she induced.

So this time around, I have been walking around telling people I was having this baby on Jan. 22, but that my due date is Jan. 28. And they say "Oh yeah?" like "You are such a dumbass. No one can predict that." And then I lay the smack down on them that I am going to be induced and they're all, "Really? Your doctor will do that before your due date?" Of course that was before checking with my doctor, but she's cool and I figured she would let me.

At my appointment yesterday, I laid out my case. My due date just happens to be my birthday, which falls on a Monday. I am really not keen on the idea of sharing, but whatever. But my doctor is on call on Tuesdays, so I proposed we go with the Tuesday before my due date. With a husband who travels and a child at home and the incessant need to control every last detail, I like me a good induction.

My OB said as long as my cervix is favorable, and she laughed and added "And we all know how your cervix is," then we're good to go for Jan. 22. I am more nervous I won't make it that far after the cerclage is out, but I am optimistic.

We also decided my cerclage will be removed the first week of January, at the standard 36 weeks, and then the we're off to the races toward Jan. 22.

For those of you playing along at home, jan. 22 is NINE WEEKS from today. Holy shit. Nine weeks. Nine. Single-digits. I think I just threw up in my mouth. For at least three weeks, that means I will have two under 2. I need to lie down now.

So there we have it. An induction and a cerclage removal. It's starting to seem a little more real. Just in case this huge belly was not enough of an indicator.

Garish at any size

I had to exchange some maternity clothes this weekend, which meant I had to actually shop for and try on maternity clothes. Which, holy hell, is there anything worse?

During my pregnancy with Jack, I shopped only a couple of times before I was relegated to the bed. There was really no need for a wardrobe outside of yoga pants and T-shirts, so the two pairs of jeans and handful of tops were fine for my doctor's appointments and for the end of the line, when I had about a month to go out and enjoy myself.

This pregnancy, I got a bunch of new T-shirts, two pairs of casual cargo pants and a couple sweaters from Old Navy. I added one more pair of jeans and a dressy dress and now I have a pretty respectable maternity wardrobe.

Oh let me sing you the praises of Old Navy maternity: inexpensive, trendy and did I say inexpensive? I got short-sleeved T-shirts for $5.99 that I wear allllll the time and while I abhor going all the way downtown or to the burbs to see their selections in person, it's been worth it. My Old Navy that is four blocks away, sadly, does not carry maternity. Boo hoo for me.

So outside of Old Navy and a couple higher-end boutiques in my neighborhood, I really don't venture too much into maternity sections. But twice now, once at Motherhood and this weekend at a department store, I have perused the racks.

Holy loud prints and tenty-styles batman. There is nothing out there that is not either a large-scale geometric print or hot pink and turquoise, sometimes at the same time. I am not really sure how that is supposed to make pregnant women feel attractive or even remotely sexy, but it sure doesn't do it for me.

I tend to fall into the "form-fitting black shirt and Seven maternity jeans" uniform during pregnancy. Hell, take out the adjective "maternity" in that sentence and it sums up my whole wardrobe when I am not pregnant as well. I detest baggy maternity shirts -- you know the ones, they look like tents and make you look 10 times bigger than you actually are -- and will not wear them.

Don't even get me started about buying maternity clothes in my second pregnancy to begin with. I feel so guilty, like I am wasting money. But ... wait for it ... we're not entirely 100 percent certain that two children will be the end of the road for us. I know! Crazy high-risk pregnant woman considering a third child. Film at 11. But for now, it's just an option. Let's move on, shall we?

So this weekend really scared me. I had about five racks to choose from and I think I found four things to try on. I came away with two: a cute black cardigan and a print shirt that is allllllmost form-fitting. But it shows off the cleavage, so it will do.

But could someone please tell the mass clothing manufactures out there: less is more when you are smuggling a basketball in your stomach. No need for people to see me coming three blocks away. Just give me some neutral colors in fitted styles and we'll all be happier in the end.

Jack wins by KO

Could his noggin be any harder?

This morning, after returning from my doctor appointment (more on that in a minute), I was sitting on the couch with Jack and Josh. Jack was talking on the phone to Grandma and kept trying to slide the keyboard out on the phone. Apparently he wanted to text her instead.

The problem with sliding the keyboard out is that he is able to activate the screen, which then enables him to hang the phone up. As Grandmas don't generally like to be hung up on, we try to discourage that little trick.

And know that by discourage, I mean "take the phone away" from his hot little hands. Which results in screaming and tears and tantrums the likes of which you have never experienced.

Today's little fit resulted in him throwing his head back with the force of an atom bomb. Into my eye socket. I saw stars -- literally. I ran from the room, clutching my head and sat down on the kitchen floor, where I actually shed tears.

That shit hurts!

Jack ran over and tried to pull my hands off my face, and then when I finally looked at him, telling him he hurt Mommy and that she was sad, he hit me and laughed. That's right kid, kick me when I'm down.

So now I have a knot on my eyebrow bone and a headache. Jack, of course, was rubbing the back of his head for like a milisecond and then was off to the next adventure.

After that we settled down and I showed him my "owies" from the doctor's office. My OB gives the pediatric flu shot to pregnant patients, since that is the thermerisol-free one, so adults get two shots: one in each arm muscle. I showed Jack my bandaids, but lamented that Mommy did not get an Elmo sticker for her bravery. He pulled my sleeve down and didn't want to look at it anymore. Great bedside manner on this kid.

But everything looked great at the doctor. She said my cervix is closed, but short, but no shorter than it was on Monday, so we're still calling it 1.5 cm. I am free to roam about the cabin, she just said to sit down or lie down if I start having contractions again.

And HA! I lost 3 pounds this month, which I didn't really, but it all balanced out. Last month I went in right after my hospital stay and all the IV fluids they had given me were apparently still floating around in there. They tried to tell me I gained 11 pounds that month, which I disputed vehemently. So losing 3 pounds this month really puts me at 8 pounds over two months, which is what I figured. So for those playing at home, I have gained a grand total of 21 pounds in seven months, which puts me on track to gain exactly what I did with Jack.

My twice-monthly appointments start now, continue for the next two months, and then right after Christmas, I go weekly. Which scares the living hell out of me because here is the progression: Thanksgiving is in two weeks; Christmas is a month after that; my stitch comes out the first week of January and then HOLY SHIT we're having another kid. See how quick that comes up? It's like boom, it's Christmas and we're having a baby.

Excuse me while I go hide under the bed now.

Rest for the weary uterus

NaBloPoMo should really be called NaPoAboMyUteMo on snarkymommy.com because apparently I am just going to talk about my uterus every day.

Last night, after having a whopping three contractions in 20 minutes after leaving dinner, I broke down and called my OB. She was the one on call, so she personally returned my call and said she didn't think I needed to come in to Labor and Delivery since I was just seen on Monday. Hooray!

But she was slightly troubled by my three days of contractions and did say she wanted to see me on Friday and that I should "stay off my feet" until then. Which seemed pretty reasonable, considering when I stand up, I have a contraction. Or 20.

So I laid on the couch today. I slothfully drove the five blocks to Jack's play class and sat watching from the sidelines as Grandma chased him around. Then I came home and returned to the couch.

I am not calling it bedrest. I am just viewing it as lying around. Jack toddles over to play every few minutes. It's all very laid back.

So. Staying off my feet. Not contracting. BUT IT'S NOT BEDREST. No bed here. Carry on. Move along. Nothing to see here.

Contractual obligation

So hey, remember yesterday when I said I was still having contractions? And the day before that too? Yeah, still enjoying them today. It's like the gift that won't stop giving.

If I sit down or lie down, my uterus is at peace with the world. The second I stand up, I contract. Last night, I went on a date with Josh. Of course, my irritable uterus had to butt in and come along as well. God, it's such a third wheel.

We walked about four blocks to our dinner destination -- mmm Mexican food -- and then took the El downtown, walked another three blocks and sat down to see "American Gangster." Which was awesome. Go see it. Really.

I had about 20-25 contractions on the five hours we were gone. Most of them while I was walking in an upright fashion. (As opposed to walking on all fours? God sometimes I sound stupid. Moving on.)

I refused to call my doctor, however. I know these are just annoying Braxton Hicks and I know if I lie down and drink water, they will fade for a while. So ignoring my husband, who kept saying I should just CALL already, I laid down and drank water. Three contractions and 45 minutes later, I was asleep. I woke a few times during the night -- you guessed it, contracting -- and by this morning they were mostly gone.

Except when I stood up to make breakfast for Jack. Or walk over to the little reading corner to read a book to Jack. Or quickly moved to the kitchen as little arms threw toys and a cell phone into the sink.

This afternoon I have sat on my ass and only had about three total. two of which came when I was standing up. I am sensing a trend here. One I don't really want to see, so I am ignoring all the statistical data screaming "bedrest you fool, you clearly need bedrest" and also ignoring my mother, who is saying the same thing.

My 28-week update

Holy shit, I am in my third trimester. How did that happen?

I had an ultrasound this morning, which went just swimmingly. Baby2 weighs 2 lbs 10 oz and is measuring three days ahead. She's head down, low in the pelvis, which is contributing to all my nice Braxton Hicks contractions. And yes, they are continuing. Let's not speak of them.

Baby2 is looking great. My cerclage is looking great. Cervix is looking great, although down slightly from 2.0 cm below the stitch to about 1.5 cm. But my peri is not concerned at all and the ultrasound showed no signs of funneling, which is awesome.

Apparently, my incompetency is non-existent this pregnancy. Yay me.

We had discussed the possibility of my lifting restriction being lifted at 28 weeks, but my doctor said Jack and his 30 pounds of mass is a pretty significant weight to be placing on the wee stitch and I should hold off for at least a few more weeks.

I had previously dismissed the Granny Nannies from their duties, but now will have to reinstate them. I am also not allowed to resume my housework duties, so Josh will have to soldier on scrubbing the floors and vacuuming. Damn, I was really looking forward to that too.