Kissy Bombs

* Posted By Dave*

"I can't wait to see you as a dad."

My parents have said it.

My sisters have said it.

My friends have said it. And now, I know why they all said it.

Because they knew I'd be a Grade-A Jumbo Cheeseball Dork Dad. And they were right.

Soon after Annalise was born, I developed a new accent/dialect/tongue for speaking with my little girl. It's evolved a bit, starting off a bit French and recently turning more Swedish... but always a Smorgasbord of Cheesy. (doesn't that sounds delicious?) She now seems to respond well to it and even ALMOST break a giggle when she hears it, so I continue with it -- adding some new wrinkles or vocabulary to add to the smooth yet nutty texture of its well-aged cheesiness.

I realize that we haven't posted many videos of our little girl, but today I took a video of her reaction to a new game I made up on the spot when I got home (and off my Hong Kong conference calls, Jessica's favorite). I actually held Annalise during my entire conference call, hoping the noise cancellation on my Jawbone earpiece would drown out any of Annalise's gurgles, coos or other interesting cacophanies. And she was great throughout, but made my arm quite tired so I laid her on her bed while Jess reorganized her clothing drawers. And somehow, quite out of nowhere, the game of Kissy-Bomb was born at about 8PM tonight.

Kissy-Bomb consists of Daddy as World War II B-52 Love Bomber of Kisses Made of Love.

The Target: Annalise Nicole Fuhriman.

The Weapon of Choice: Wet, Slobbery, Daddy-Dorky Kissy-Missiles (my daddy voice even makes missiles sound baby-like!)

The Objective: Neutralize and Eliminate All Pre-Sleep Grumpiness

Secondary Objective: Make Daddy Do Ridiculous Things

Mission: Accomplished

Some milestones

Annalise now smiles hugely at anyone who smiles at her. And often anyone that just looks at her. Unless she's tired. Then she stares right at you as you're grinning wildly and crazily and skeptically raises an eyebrow.

She laughed for the first time! On Friday the 13th, which thus immediately became a very lucky day. My dad was holding her and she was looking at me and he kept lunging her at me and then pulling her back. First she was just smiling really big with every lunge. Then she became so delighted she began sucking in air through her grin each time her face approached mine. Then the laughs erupted! It sounded like the love child of a screech and hiccup. She did it about five times. It was so precious I almost died.

She talks. A lot. She's finally found her voice (the one not associated with screaming that is, as she obviously found and embraced her scream-voice at Genius-not-even-out-of-the-birth-canal-Speed.) And she sings along with me; with a tuneless "ahhhhhhhhh, ahhhhhhhhhhh" she blends her voice with mine during songs. Precious.

She no longer constantly nurses. This started with the advent of Zantac taking effect. Because I am used to her wanting it so frequently though, I often offer it to her before she is ready. I lay her down and show her the feeding receptacle and if that wasn't in her plans she sca-reams. Very mad that I could assume she wants that when so clearly she does not. I stand her back up and she is immediately silent. Point taken.

Sometimes she lets me lay her down for naps. Not often. And not reliably. But sometimes. One of those times is now. I would be celebrating loudly if I didn't have to be so quiet.

She continues to go down delightfully with nary a whimper by 7pm. She awakens for good 12 hours later. THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU.

Her nights are slowly increasing in wake-up numbers. Obviously, this is not a positive trend. WHYWHYWHY???

I dumped out Pixie's toy basket and plopped the Bub inside. What a sweetie:

3 Months old

MushyFace and I went to LA and celebrated the warm weather and three months of SquishyBabygirliness on this planet.

I was totally afraid of the plane ride going there. Totally. Somehow, when I go in public and the baby screams like a banshee but I'm with Dave, I feel more secure. Like there is at least one person in the establishment not certain that I am attempting tricky baby torture maneuvers inside the blankets of a screaming lass. But alas. Dave was staying here and I was going all alone. Very scary.

While we waited in the lounge next to an older lady, she began loving Annalise and asking all about her. Before I knew what was happening she stuck her finger in the baby's fist. Annalise held on tightly. I watched very grumpily. I have no interest in diseases acquired from YuckyStrangerGerms thank you very much. As I looked on cluelessly, she began cooing and lovingly pulled Annalise's fist to her face and rubbed it on the top of her nose. SHE WIPED HER NOSE WITH MY BABY. There should be laws against this sort of thing.

When we got on the plane we were in the last row right by the bathroom which would have been good so I could stand up and bounce the Boo if she screamed except I never realized before how every other single person in an airplane uses the bathroom once for luck and twice for good measure. It was ridiculous. The bathroom was never empty. One lady was standing next to me in front of the door for a long time at one point before I finally glanced up to see why she wasn't going in. The door had a tiny square on it with the word PUSH. The lady was patiently pushing the "button" over and over, not understanding why it wouldn't open.

"I think you have to push the actual door," I told her.

"Oh!" she said and finally went in.

Then came the flight. I know you're going to think I'm lying. Because I kind of think I'm lying. How could what is coming next not be lying? But it's the truth: THE BABY WAS AN ANGEL. A benevolent God was in the mood for giving me a break. My child, the screaming, shrieking, freaking-out-all-over child whom I love so dearly, who has barely been known to pass five minutes of her life without hollering fiercely, fell asleep a few moments before we started taxiing and did not wake up until the descent. At which time she smiled winningly at all around her and waved her armed cutely and cooed charmingly and that was that. Un. Be. Lievable.

50 people approached me and commented on what a good calm baby she was and how impressed they were. Nodding in wonder, I had to agree. She was perfect. She proceeded to forget how to cry for 5 of the 7 days we were there, and to tell the truth, I'm nearly glad she did lose her mind entirely on two of those days, or my mother would have had to wonder if I was making the whole thing up.

To be fair, she tortured me the night before we left by not sleeping longer than an hour at a time, so I figured she was just really tired on the plane. Which was a perfectly acceptable (and preferable) trade-off. So I was equally afraid of the flight home. I begged for errant prayers wherever I thought I could get them. Then we went to the airport. And on the plane. AND THE BABY WAS PERFECT. She slept, she woke, she ate, she played. AND SHE WAS HAPPY. The whole time. Even when the lady next to me took her StrangerGerm-infested hands and touched her cheeks 14,ooo times. (Insert cut and pasted previous comment about laws against this sort of thing.) It's like the air is a no-cry zone for her.

Dave will not be happy to hear this. But we're officially buying a plane and moving onto it. At least he won't have any more lawns to mow.





Annalise and Grandpa Raychek

It's hard to explain and probably impossible to understand what Pixie means to me. I feel a connection with that animal that transcends our differing species in a way that is absolute. In a way that feels godly. I am hers and she is mine. Each part of the same One. It seems sickening, horrible, horrifying, terrifying, miserable, wrong to be apart from her. I am abandoning her. This will be the second time this has happened in her life. I rescued her initially from a family that couldn't keep her and witnessed her shock and trauma from it. I felt sick then, recognizing her terror and confusion. I feel sick now, anticipating it.

My mother loves Pixie but didn't want a dog. She is taking her for me completely selflessly. There isn't a greater gift anyone could give me. Pixie loves and knows her and my mother will do right by her, this dog with issues. This dog who fights with other dogs, who barks her brains out at squirrels, who gets dirt in your sheets, who won't let you clip her toe nails, who pees routinely on the kitchen rug, who bit a baby for Pete's sake. This dog who cuddles your head every night, who follows you from room to room, who loves her toys with a passion, who begs you with wheedling moans to play fetch, who flops on her back when she sees you, who burrows in her beds, who huddles on your lap when she is scared, who explodes with frenzied joy when you come home, and most of all who trusts me. She so implicitly trusts me. I truly couldn't trust her to anyone else.

Pixie is such a loyal little being. Such a curious, inquisitive, happy, precious soul. She is so playful, so desirous to be involved in anything going on. She has been the perfect pet for me for almost five years.

I am so sad. I can't stop crying. I feel so sick. This feels so wrong. Nothing has ever felt more wrong. Pixie is curled up at my feet as I type.

Worst-Case Scenario

** Posted By Dave**

In case you didn’t notice the URL for our blog, it’s titled “The World According To Pixie.”

Jess started this blog before we got married, and even started it by writing in Pixie’s voice. If only we could actually know what she’s thinking all the time… Pixie collects neuroses like she’s a kid collecting candy on Halloween.

For the most part, Pixie’s quirks are hilarious at their best, and annoying at their worst.

Thursday, that changed. Pixie bit the baby.

It’s tough to even write that, but it’s true. Through a number of unfortunate circumstances, Pixie saw the baby as a threat or a competitor for just a moment and growled and bit her while I was home for lunch. Jess quickly snapped up Pixie and sequestered her in the other room; I picked up our now-crying baby and examined the damage – a deep red scrape (we presume from Pixie’s teeth) and a bite wound that didn’t draw blood but is quite visible on the right side of her head. We’re lucky she was bitten on her head and not on her face or arms, where much more damage could have been done.

It was over in just a second, but immediately Jess and I both knew what the consequences were. Jess was crying as she tried to soothe the baby by letting her nurse. My mind raced. Neither of us could think of any way we could keep Pixie, even though 99+% of the time she not only tolerates the baby but absolutely adores her.

So when Jess heads to LA on Wednesday, she’s taking Pixie with her. Pixie is staying with Jessica’s mom. For good.

This is extraordinarily difficult. Jess adopted Pixie from a rescue organization, and was her mom from 6 months on (she’s 4 going on 5 now). Since Jess and I started dating, she’s become my little girl as well and I love having her around.

She tried to hump Jessica as I leaned over for our first kiss almost three years ago.
On the day I proposed to Jess, I started the day by buying Pixie a leopard print bed that she’s sleeping in as I type this.
She was in Jessica’s arms as I got on one knee to propose, cluelessly searching for chipmunks to chase as Jessica covered her mouth in shock.
She’s a part of our family, because she was there at the beginning.

Today we spent the morning finding a dog bakery to give Pixie some exotic treats and a last weekend to remember as part of our family. Since the bite (perhaps we should capitalize this as The Bite, like The Great Depression), sometimes we look at Pixie and our heart just breaks for her. She has no idea what’s going on, why we keep her separate from the baby more over the last few days, why I took her to work with me Friday to keep her out of the house and give Jess a break from refereeing, or why her Mom and Dad are both acting a bit more nervous around her.

The good news (if there is any in all of this) is that Jessica’s mom agreed to take her, so we know she’s going to live with someone who has full knowledge of all (OK, most) of Pixie’s quirks and foibles. And she loves Jessica’s mom, so the transition shouldn’t be too horrible for her. We also have the fortunate option to see her on our trips to LA in the coming years.

Just as our family is growing, it’s going to shrink again.

Pixie, we love you.

This sucks.

Poor Little Pixie

Gosh I love that dog. Sadly, I barely think twice about her nowadays, since there is a much more loud and demanding little girl hanging out with us all the time. Except in the night when she awakens me by lumbering onto my pillow and collapsing heavily against my no-longer-sleeping head. Then I definitely think about her. Though at that point the thoughts are not so kindly.

Pixie loves the baby. One might say Pixie is obsessed with the baby. If the baby ever makes the slightest peep and Pixie is in another room, she races in like her tail is on fire and frantically licks all over the chubby face until it's comforted. If I take a moment before I race in with her, Pixie runs back and forth between us barking hysterically at my negligence, like Woman have you lost your mind the baby is CRYING!!!

Speaking of true negligence, I have stopped cutting Pixie's dew claws. Those are the little flappy alien toes attached by only a thread of skin that grow out of the middle of their leg. It's pretty weird that they even exist and seems like if she scratched them wrong they'd come right off, but alas they do not come off, and indeed actually sprout nails. At great effort on my part and great anxiety on her part, I have clipped them over the years, but I am extremely squeamish and she hates it so much and fights me so much and now that I have the baby all my reserves to do hard things are gone and the long story short is I haven't been able to bring myself to do it. And then I hadn't done it in so long I forgot about it. And then the other day she was maniacally licking one of the alien toes and I looked through all the hair and saw that the horrible little claw that has provided so much angst over the years had hit a new nasty low by growing so long it circled all the way around and was pushing into her skin and basically I am the worst Dog Mom ever.

SO I AM DONE. The dew claws are being removed entirely so I can sleep at night and not worry that when we get to heaven someday and Pixie can talk she'll turn to me and be like, Mom I cuddled your head on your pillow every single night and you let me be attacked by my dew claws?

Dave dropped the poor thing off and called to report that she went in the door with him very happy and waggy and excited and tried to socialize with another poor canine soul who also had no idea he was about to be abandoned there, and then when the leash was handed over to Scary Vet People and she was restrained from leaving with him, she realized what was going on and began shaking convulsively in terror, certain that she would not only never see us again but also become Scary Vet People's lunch.

My poor little baby. I feel sick thinking about her being so afraid. I am grateful Dave dropped her off, because doing so would have to go on the aforementioned list of Hard Things that I am just not up for yet.

We said a special prayer this morning for our little Pixie, who goes under both anesthesia and the knife sometime later today. She's getting her teeth cleaned and a special manicure too while they're at it. So in heaven I can be like, Yeah, I once let you be attacked by your dew claws, but at least I let you paint your toes.

A pea and a blessing

For Halloween, Annalise dressed up as a Sweet Pea. In so doing, she was referred to as a lizard, a caterpillar, a dinosaur, and a "him". I had no idea her costume was so ambiguous.

Sweet Pea is one of our favorite nicknames for her, as well as the title of Dave's special daddy/daughter song he sings to her. She was a scrumptious Sweet Pea.

Today was Annalise's Baby Blessing at church. She was blessed by her father and surrounded by family and friends to help her celebrate. Of course, the day wouldn't have been complete without her melting down exactly 10 minutes before we needed to leave. Screaming and kicking and shrieking ensued and she couldn't be comforted and I was sure we were going to have some darn loud background noise during the blessing. She screamed right through getting her dress on, but then miraculously stopped and was a perfect angel baby in church. Until the limelight was off her and she had to be removed from the chapel twice for more shrieking. But, you know. She tried.

The worthy men that participated in the blessing: Dave, Todd, Grandpa Parker, Gilbert, and Steve.

Grandma and Grandpa Fuhriman

After everyone left:

She was happiest once her clothes were off. I myself am quite similar. Every week I am barely in the door from church before stripping out of binding fashions in favor of much cozier duds.

We are so lucky and blessed to have this little girl. I love her so much I can't think of anything to do besides eat her. That is a lot of love.

Daddy's Girl

Infantile defecation is a big deal in our house. For one thing, it's not quiet. For another, it signals victory.

"Honey!" we shout. "She's pooping! She's pooping!"

It signals the baby is healthy. That she's had enough to eat. That she will not blow away with the next passing breeze. This is a victory we celebrate every day. Sometimes twice. We change her diapers and we're thrilled.

Now, Dave and I have been hearing From. Everybody. since the moment she appeared in this world that she is his IdenticalTwinMiniMeCarbonCopyClone. We smile and shrug and say Thanks! but neither of us have ever been able to see it. Until yesterday.

The baby was nursing. She started making her bright red I'm-working-very-hard-on-something-down-there face. With her signature extremely-loud evacuation in the pants, she looked up at me in delight and gave me the hugest goofiest happiest grin I've ever seen on a human face. Except for her dad's. In that moment she could not have looked more identical to him. I finally saw what everyone was talking about. It was like she transplanted his head onto her minuscule body for that one moment of glee.

How appropriate that their moment of one-ness was prompted by toilet humor.

Things I love about this baby

*The little bald patch on the back of her head, created by flinging her sweet noggin side to side like a crazy person every time she is laid down.

*The pinky-colored birth mark on the back of her neck, which looked so big when she was born at eight and a half pounds and looks so small now that she is the advanced and commendable size of nearly twelve pounds.

*If she accidently latches off while eating, she panics, opens her mouth searchingly, and in a crazed frenzy waves her head blindly back and forth not unlike a Stevie Wonder impersonator on crack.

*When she cries that it's mealtime, and sees the large bare feeding receptacle zooming in for a landing in her face, she opens her eyes and mouth wide in anticipation and excitedly continues crying but now with her mouth wide open until it's, well, filled up. Two very different cries. The normal crying sounds like, "Mmm-aaaaaaaah! Mmm-aaaaaaaah! When she's holding her mouth wide open expectantly it's more of a "Uhhhhhhh! Uhhhhhhh!"

*When she sees Dave's face zooming in for a landing on her cheek for a kiss or a zerbert, she often mistakes it for a feeding receptacle and tries to nurse his nose, resulting in me howling with laughter and necessitating him being called Boob-Face.

*The fact that Zantac has made her so comfortable that she never cries as long as we're together. Before she had to be constantly entertained (to take her mind off the pain we now realize) but now we could lay on the bed all day together and that would be fine, as long as I dare not attempt to abandon her in favor of, say, the bathroom or the kitchen pantry for a moment, in which case she screams as if to say MOM WE HAVE ALWAYS BEEN TOGETHER DUE TO MY PREVIOUS PAIN AND SCREAMING AND THAT IS CERTAINLY HOW I LIKE IT SO IF YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT CHANGING THAT UP NOW DON'T THINK I HAVE FORGOTTEN HOW TO SCREAM.

Who are you and where is my baby?

We started Annalise on Zantac. And haven't seen her since. In her place, a look-alike (possibly clone, possibly alien) has dispensed with our beloved Grumpelstiltskin. Let me tell you about this alien- whew! What a joy! What a sweetheart! What a happy smiley content little princess! A chubby little person who never cries, who can be set down on her own, and who has let her mommy take a shower two days in a row. And go to the mall all day. And hang around amidst society like a functioning adult. Whose two settings, instead of Sleeping and Screaming, are Cooing and Smiling. Now AlienCloneBaby, we like you very much (and you are so much pleasant-er on the eardrums and nervous systems) but we must insist you return our own baby because after all what have you done with her?

If you remember, during my pregnancy Zofran changed my life.

Zofran is to me as Zantac is to Bub.

I'm buying stock in the next Rx I see that starts with 'Z'.

The heavens are smiling upon me

Something crazy has happened.

I was racing around so I could go to the bookstore and buy Dr. Sears' The Vaccine Book so I could know what I was doing and make informed decisions about allowing doctorly folks to stab my mooshkin with needles full of Ouch. I was in a hurry to make sure to be back before noon so we could have lunch with Dave. I tried to nurse the baby who cried in response and then promptly fell asleep once she had one gulp inside her. Normally I would sit very still, lest moving, breathing, or the beat of my pulse awaken her. But today I tossed her onto the pillow next to me, figuring she could wake up but then hopefully fall back asleep in the car. She woke up and fussed as I raced around, thinking that screaming was imminent and wanting to get my crap together and get back to her before it began in earnest. Jogging from room to room collecting bags, wipeys, diapers, keys, blankets, hats and a tiny pink sweatshirt to match The Smooshie One's ensemble, I realized something. The house was silent. Whaaah?

Squishie-face had fallen back asleep! And not on top of me! And not at night. And not swaddled in her swaddler. Just fallen back asleep while tossed onto some old pillow, like any old normal kid!

I was so focused on the bookstore that I almost picked her up to go anyway. Then I was reunited with the mind I had momentarily lost, and thought of the thousands of things that could finally get done around the house. And came and typed this post instead.

Check-Up

Annalise had her two-month check-up today and all was great! She gained exactly two pounds since her last visit a month ago, making her now 11 lb 12 oz, which is 70th percentile in weight. She grew an inch, making her 23 1/2 inches (80th percentile in height) and 70th percentile in head size. So she is pretty symmetrical, and just a little slim. The doctor said her body type was such that she'd probably never be one of those roly-poly babies, but I wasn't to worry about it.

Much to Dave's delight, the doctor pronounced Annalise extremely smart about 85 times, based on the length of her attention span to everything she saw and how long she would stare into everyone's eyes. Also, she's ahead of the game in terms of trying to do "sit-ups" which the doctor said usually happens at 4-6 months, as well as following something with her eyes and then turning her head to continue watching it as it moves away. The doc said usually they won't move their head to follow what they're watching until about 4 months. So obviously she's a genius.

Genius-Girl was being exceptionally charming to the nurse who measured and weighed her by craning her head upside down and backwards to try to look her in the eye while the nurse waited for me to put her diaper on her so she could leave with the scale.

"She's looking at you!" I exclaimed in delight, charmed beyond measure. The nurse appeared either not to care, or not to hear me. Except the room was about three feet by three feet. She waited for me to finish while staring at the wall. The Genius continued staring intently into her eyes, at great effort, what with having to crane around backwards and all.

"She's staring right at you!" I squealed giddily, sure that if she understood, the nurse would take her meanie lazy eyeballs and give my precious infant the return gaze she so eagerly sought. The meanie lazy nurse, who may or may not have been the same one who messed up on the baby's weight during our first appointment and nearly sent us home to die of starvation, completely ignored my Dimpled Dumpling, and suddenly became in great danger of having said meanie lazy eyeballs ripped out of her head and presented to the angelic genius on a platter for her more convenient viewing pleasure.

Also, the doctor agreed with us that the baby might have acid reflux based on a bunch of symptoms that have cropped up in the last month, and prescribed Zantac. With any luck, this may be the answer to what is making the baby so fussy and irritable. We will have to wait a week and see. OUR FINGERS ARE CROSSED!!!

Other 2-month stuff

*Annalise can stand on her legs and support her weight quite well. She has been doing this for a few weeks now.

*She pretty much sticks to a self-imposed sleeping schedule- she goes down without a peep around 9 pm, usually wakes for a 5-minute feed around 4am, and wakes for good around 8am. Very pleasant you might realize.

*Sleep schedule during the day: ZILCH. Very unpleasant you might realize.

*I never have to think about nursing anymore. She does it like a champ, and while I spent the first month or more of her life watching the clock like a psycho, making sure she got at least ten minutes of sucking on each side to the second before I would let her latch off, and woke her in the night so she wouldn't waste away, and basically stressed myself sick over it all because she started out so skinny, now I don't have to think about it and she lets me know when she's hungry (or needing a comfort-nurse) and keeps herself full and plump.

*My body slash ovaries, the one person slash thing who should understand best how much we did not so much enjoy being pregnant, would, with this recognition you would think, perhaps consider remaining infertile for at least a year. That was my goal, what with nursing 'round the clock and all that sleep-depriving jazz. Just to give a chick a break. Said body slash ovaries are instead popping eggs like a deranged Pez dispenser while Some. People. are struck with the terrifying realization that they could have gotten accidently pregnant when their child was just six weeks old because they didn't even realize it was possible and thus apparently should have paid more attention in that seventh-grade health class you had to get a permission-slip for.

Chaos Theory: Some Pig In Mexico & Kamut Flour

Posted by Dave


It wasn't supposed to be this way.

Our 4-day weekend was supposed to start with a somewhat precarious 4-hour car ride to Sunriver bright and early on Friday morning. We were to meet up with various and sundry friends at a nice house, ride some bikes, play some games and watch some college football. Hilarity and hijinks would no doubt ensue. It was to be our first weekend "away" with the baby, unless you count our state of mind (which is constantly on direct flights to and from the small Eastern European nation of Utter Insanity).

I was in the middle of 5 meetings on Thursday, trying to finish up a week's worth of work in 4 hours, when Jessica called me at work. I think our conversation went something like this:

"Hi honey, I'm on the other line on a conference call. Can I call you back?"

"Yeah -- just real quick. Um, Julie is sick and may have the swine flu. Call me when you're done with your call."

"Whaaaah?"

Julie is our dear friend, known to some as Binkie Goddess. She is also the linchpin of our weekend getaway. The poor lady spent the next few hours trying to get our refund for the house rental (which she did successfully, as she is in all things), and we spent the evening re-planning our 4-day weekend. When I say "re-planning our weekend," we really mean going to Trader Joe's and feasting upon homemade pizza, drowning our swine flu lamentations in -- ironically -- pork sausage and pepperoni.

I'm happy to say, however, that we rallied on Friday. We got Annalise's pictures at Babies R Us, and headed to Bob's Red Mill for a little change of pace.

What's Bob's Red Mill, you say? It's Heaven for Whole Wheat, Disneyland for Durum, The Caribbean Cruise of Cornmeal, The Grand Ole Opry of Granola... you get the idea. If you love anything that has ever been baked, you automatically love Bob's Red Mill.

Our initial objective was to try something called Kamut flour, which I read about in a book called "Hungry Monkey" that I highly recommend if you have small kids. Kamut Flour is whole wheat flour (which I like) that supposedly tastes like enriched white flour (which Jessica likes). I was intrigued, and we suddenly had a free afternoon, so we headed to the Bob's Red Mill store for a little carbohydrates shopping and some lunch.

We got our Kamut flour. And cornmeal muffins. And a high-fiber pancake mix. And a whole wheat spiced apple coffee cake. And ate two wonderful toasted sandwiches. Everything looked fascinating and amazing. I looked around for a Willy Wonka and semolina-covered Oompa Loompas, it was so magical. We will certainly be back, especially when Annalise is old enough to enjoy the mill tour and sample some of their fine goods.

So there you have it -- some pig in Mexico starts a flu epidemic, and because of it we have Kamut flour in our cupboard today... and cornbread muffins in our tummies.

2 Months

Who knew we'd ever make it to two months? Life is hard but we are alive. Annie-Boo cries a lot. We feel like we could cry a lot. We are stressed out from the crying a lot. But we still like her.

Some two-month news:

*The Boo will often smile when she sees us. "Ooogily boogily woogily doodle!!" we screech at her, in voices high enough to shatter the kitchen windows. The baby reacts like we are the greatest things since Mommy's left breast. It is so cute we want to die.

*Her cheeks are so scrumptious they seem edible. It's all I can do not to munch them all day long. Example:

*The other day I laid the baby in the middle of a pillow in the middle of our bed to go to the bathroom. Approximately 5 seconds later I hurried back because she was screaming because I had set her down. She was laying on her face next to the pillow! She had rolled off!

*Yesterday Pixie (who never does this) curled right up to the baby's head on the couch. As Pixie is not particularly graceful, she plunked down pretty hard against her. Annalise was not offended. Instead, she turned her face toward Pixie's furry back and began slurping away on her. She gave up when she couldn't latch on but Pixie, who didn't mind at all, was left with a big slobber spot on her back.

*Buying a stroller was a total waste of money. Boo hates it and starts screaming the moment it touches her backside. Hence all of my good intentions to work out are down the drain, as we can't go on any walks or runs without the baby alerting all the neighbors that I am possibly trying to murder her. So while other new moms the world over are happily shedding every ounce of their pregnancy weight and becoming svelte beyond my wildest dreams, I am stuck at home, moaning over The Great Stroller Tragedy into a container of chocolate-covered raspberry gels.

Since she turned two months today, we took Smooshie-Face in to get her two-month portraits. She was not as cooperative as last time. There was much wailing, nursing to soothe the wails, and wailing some more. We got about three good shots and then the baby just laid her face straight down in the carpet and screamed. So the photo shoot was cut short. But at least we got a couple of cute ones. Frankly, she looks practically obese in them, which couldn't be farther from the truth. Very strange.

Here are some we took in the backyard after we got home. Happy two months Annalise! Here's hoping you become easier soon!

The joys of throw up

I am pleased to acknowledge that prior to bearing a child, I had never been thrown up on in my life. Sure, there was that one time I woke up in the night when I was 5 and ran in to tell my mother my stomach hurt and as I leaned over her sleeping face to alert her of my plight I exploded with puke, but I never said I never puked on anybody else.

Annalise, on the other hand, has been puked on an extremely large amount of times in her short life. By her own self. I am not talking spit-up. No. The real deal. Also, she manages to get me just about every time (possibly due to the fact that she can never be even momentarily apart from my oh-so-loving arms without melting into a hysteria not worth disengaging her from said oh-so-loving-arms to begin with.)

The Bub is not much of spitter-upper, but every few days she has a huge projectile vomit (quite different than a peaceful little teaspoon-full of spit-up). First (usually) her stomach starts to heave. Then I panickingly flail about, looking for a safe direction in which to aim her, ultimately fail, and get covered in sour milk. It's totally fun.

Today there was no warning heave, and as I stood her on her feet in front of me while I sat on the bed, she very calmly opened her mouth, tilted her chin down, and drenched me. All down my chest, and focusing ultimately on my crotch. As I froze in momentary shock and gooey horror, she opened her mouth once more. And did it again.

8 Weeks

Anna-Baby hit eight weeks yesterday. She did wonderfully and slept through just about all of church and of course looked very cute in her tiny dress, ballet shoes, and headband-with-a-bow. (The headband is a necessity to ensure her admirers understand she is of the female persuasion.)

A lady brought a baby who was one week old to church (he was her fourth child- I guess her germ-fears have alleviated over the years) and I couldn't believe that he looked so different and young compared to Annalise. She looked like a regular baby and not a newborn next to him and here I was thinking she was the youngest child ever to exist. As I looked at his peeling little hands I realized that hers don't peel anymore and I couldn't believe she passed that stage! She is old enough to pass stages! And I hadn't even noticed! Her peely wrists and ankles went away ages ago and I didn't even note it in my brain. As she stared around with her huge blue eyes, she looked So. Big.

The Boo did pretty well at a wedding we went to on Saturday. She hollered really hard at one point, was taken out to be nursed, and returned during the quiet first dance only to begin screaming again, but otherwise let people hold her and looked around a lot peacefully.

Last night at Binkie Goddess's birthday party she celebrated her eight weeks on the earth by screaming a lot at the top of her lungs for everyone's pleasure and refusing to be placated, but before that she did let me sit down and eat a while which was extremely lovely (especially since Dave was far away at his friend's house, gleefully compiling his fantasy basketball draft with his pals and thereby providing himself weeks of unending pleasure). Usually for meals one of us stands and bounces her while the other eats and then we trade off. Annalise is our official human-relay-race-baton.

Here is my cutie-poo, 8 weeks old:

Pixie really loves the baby

She can't keep herself away...

For her part, the baby doesn't seem to recognize that Pixie is even there. Until today, when as Pixie walked by her face, Annalise turned towards her and opened her mouth to nurse.

A nice afternoon

My poor little Boo was having a bad day yesterday and since she hates her stroller (which is actually her carseat set on wheels- you can imagine how well car rides go over) I decided to try the Baby Bjorn to take her on a walk because let's face it, I should be running 10 miles a day and becoming best friends with my weights but based on the Grumpy One's edicts, a walk will have to do. The Bjorn was loaned to us by Julie (hereafter to be known as Binkie Goddess). We have the Ergo, which is supposed to be kinder on the back, but until she is 4 months old the Bub has to be squished into an infant insert which squashes her into what basically amounts to a Baby-Taco and is only acceptable when she is too asleep to argue about it. So anyway. The Bjorn began killing my back on the first block, but away we went anyway because she wasn't crying and anytime she is not crying is huge success in my book. We wound around through some green belts in the neighborhood and her eyes were getting sleepy and I looked up at the sky and noticed big huge dark gray clouds. I thought to myself, Self, Dave has taught you about this. Unlike in California where those clouds would probably mean nothing, they always mean something in Oregon. I argued back to myself that probably that couldn't be true and since here we were on this lovely walk who was I to ruin it?


Four seconds later, a light rain started. OH NO, I said aloud, waking the baby, thinking a downpour was imminent, and saying a silent prayer that if I kept going the way I was I could find a shorter route home and also PLEASE DON'T LET IT RAIN ON MY BABY. I don't really know our neighborhood very well, but I kept going, turning when I felt inclined and all of a sudden I was in front of my street, much more quickly than if I had backtracked the way I knew how, and I made it to our house with nothing more than a very fine rain gently misting us. I was so sure that my prayer had been answered that I stayed on the stoop, sure that the moment we were safe, the real downpour would start. I wasn't disappointed. We weren't safe and dry 30 seconds before the hard rain hit. The baby and I stood peacefully on the step, marvelling at our dryness and the calm sweet blessing we'd just been the recipients of. It was a nice afternoon.

New Toy!

Annalise doesn't really smile at us yet. Only sometimes if she wakes up and I get to her before she starts crying, then she recognizes me and I sometimes get a grin. Other than that, I think that every once in a while she'll be smiling at the wall and one of our faces will get in the way. Even so we do a dance of joy and shout to each other OH MY GOSH THE GENIUS IS SMILING AT ME. But for some wonderful reason, when she sees the camera, she smiles. Again, not at us, but at the small gray thing.

She got a new mat to lay on and while she appeared to like it, I think she was just appreciating the wall and the small gray thing.

Why it's so much better to be a baby

If you have thigh rolls they delight people.

You never have to worry if you're out of toilet paper.

You never have to do sit-ups. Because you can't, like, even sit up.

Being bald is scrumptious.

If you get a pimple it clears itself up in a single day.

Have a double chin? Make it three! The more the merrier!

No one laughs at you if you snort milk through your nose.

A midnight snack doesn't make you fat; it's, like, necessary!

Two people in particular really care about your happiness. Their own happiness depends on it.

Miracles do happen

ANNA-BUB IS TAKING A BINKIE.

Not well, mind you. And not all the time. And not if she's already upset. And she's not really able to hold it in her mouth longer than a minute before she accidently spits it out and cries, but still. She's like a freakin' genius. Seriously. I realize newborns all over the world take them instantly and my little bub is past 6 weeks, but I can not help but think that my little princess who had to teach herself to latch on and was successful after so much hard work is pretty much the most brilliant baby ever born. The doctor told me (when she was four weeks) that if she wasn't taking it after two weeks, it most likely wouldn't happen, as babies who have not learned by then generally never do.

I didn't give up immediately. But I did give up. I stopped offering it to her. Then we went to Julie Hillyard's house. (Cue choirs of angels.) Julie wanted to see Anna-baby gag on a binkie out of curiosity. I went to show her but realized I didn't even have any in my diaper bag anymore. That made Julie remember her own binkies she used to use for her kids and asked me if I had ever tried this special tiny infant kind. I said no, and Julie wanted to find hers and try it and I had no hope but I said okay to be agreeable and Julie found it and stuffed it in her little mouth and lo and behold IT WORKED!!! She latched! She sucked!! We took a picture for posterity in case she forgot how when she woke up in the morning. But she did not forget how. It's not quite as comforting to her as I might hope, but it definitely gives me an extra minute or two here and there before screaming ensues once she's set down. And that, my friends, is quite a miracle. Praise be to Julie and genius infants the world 'round.

On the way home from the Hillyards, I mused aloud about how much I would pay (if I had never heard of a pacifier) to have a device guaranteed to soothe, comfort, stop the baby from crying, and put her to sleep. Easily $1000, without a thought. Dave looked worried.

"Easily $1200," I told him. I wouldn't even consider not paying $1200." Dave glanced at me with concern. As though I might find a $1200 binkie and try to bring it home. Since it was unnecessary and the conversation was already making his blood pressure go up, I did not mention that in truth, I think I would realistically probably pay $5000. After that point, I could just hire a wet nurse.

6 Weeks

Our little Bub did great at church today!! By that, I mean she slept the whole time. It was nothing short of miraculous.

Last week not so much. Last Sunday we went into Sacrament meeting and she was calm in her car seat. We sat down with baited breath. The baby looked peaceful. For 11 seconds. Then her eyebrows slowly screwed together and she glared vicously around the room. Out came the beginnings of some loud noise. I removed her from her seat and jiggled her vigorously on my lap. She became peaceful again. For about 4 seconds. Then she opened her extremely large pie-hole and screamed like her legs were being plucked from her body. We spent the rest of the hour in the Mother's Room, alternating between nursing and moaning to nurse some more.

This week she was asleep when we got there, and she stayed that way. She stirred a few times, and woke up in the middle, but we nursed a bit and she was in a pleasant enough mood afterwards to go back into Sunday School. Where she fell asleep again. Unheard of. My arms were a stiff miserable mess after holding her for three hours straight (I couldn't put her down or she would wake up) and I noticed around the room that all the other women who held babies could move about, talk normally, switch positions, you know- act human. Their little infants slumbered peacefully and appeared not to notice. Whereas our little dictator opened her eyes with a vicious warning if I were to, say, shift in my seat. Or breathe. When people in the room opened or closed the doors, or sneezed, or moved their chairs, the other babies slept on as though in comas. Annalise's eyes would fly open and she would glare furiously in the direction of the offending loudness and threaten to erupt into screams until jiggled into comfort once more. I had to stop myself from acting in kind. I've never hated people with colds so much.

Also, I noticed that among her infant peers, Annalise seemed huge. Chubby. Very rotund and healthy, and not the pathetically starving shrivelly rat I tend to think of her as. Tinier, skinnier babies all around the room let out polite mewing noises to alert their mothers if they were unhappy. Our little tyrant screeches like a banshee at a decibel to be proud of, were she a contender for a World's Loudest Human contest. I always assume she screams like she does because she is so frail and clearly wasting away with her tininess and thus must alert me to her fragile state with alarm lest I not take her seriously and she die from waiting one extra milisecond. Her much calmer and tinier counterparts alerted me that, in fact, the Diminutive Despot might instead just be excessively... despot-ish. Huh. Just my luck.

She looked pretty stylish in her outfit today, a 4-piece ensemble from Gymboree, bought on the cheap from a consignment sale last spring. What a cutie!

Annalise and Desmond

Little pals:

Too much cuteness

Dave reported that this get-up makes her look like an 80-year-old resident of Boca Raton. I was going more for Bahama Mama. You decide:

WHYYYYYYYYY?????

I must have done something VERY WRONG in a past life to be deserving this... not only does Annalise reject the soothing comforts of a pacifier, but the baby will not take a bottle.

Last night we got a breast pump. Because sometimes the baby sleeps through the night but I can't because my breasts are too full. I pumped two and a half lovely ounces last night after she went to bed, before I did. All for naught.

Just like with the pacifier, she rolls the bottle nipple around in her mouth, chokes on it, gags a little, screams a lot, and generally acts like she's being murdered. And I was so excited. Being able to feed from a bottle occasionally held limitless possibilities. We could go on our daily walks without her breaking into screams in the middle, necessitating me marching home with my head down, a dog leash in one hand, a stroller in the other and a shrieking girl tucked under one arm. We could go to the grocery store without incurring disapproving looks from people wondering why I am clearly pinching her under her covers. We could once in a while give the poor boobs a break.

2 1/2 lovely ounces down the drain. The possibility of taking the Bub in public without having to whip out my breasts every twenty minutes down the drain.

I better not die or she will have to be fed intravenously.

First day of church

The doctor cleared us to take the baby in public last week, so today was her first day of church!

This morning, I pulled off her old diaper when she woke up, and put a new one underneath as I was doing so, as she likes to "go" when she feels the fresh air. Sure enough, she pooped. (Hard enough, for the record, that my hand got splattered. Julie, I now succumb to blogging about poop as well. I feel your pain.) Luckily, the diaper underneath caught it and so I removed it, putting another diaper underneath as I was doing so. Just as I finished wiping her, she pooped some more. Diaper number three caught it, and was removed with a new diaper placed underneath. As she was cleansed once more and I was about to fasten her diaper tabs, you guessed it, she soiled diaper number 4. Dave was laughing at me, and the baby was in a great mood too, smiling away. I waited until I was sure there was no more forthcoming defecation. Holding diaper number 5 I cooed to the baby, shaking my head in disbelief that in the space of five minutes, we were even needing a Diaper Number 5. Well, Diaper Number 5 in my hand was not of much help when she immediately peed freely all over herself and into many layers of our bed.

We would have needed a Diaper Number 6 (had Diaper Number 5 been in its proper place) but instead settled for needing a new giant load of laundry done.

I realize this was lots of information about pee and poop. I can not promise posts of this content will not surface again.

Junk In My Trunk

Posted by David -- apparently if I don't put this here people think Jess wrote it

Today I had one of the top 10 most surprisingly enjoyable experiences of my life.

At the dump.

Many of you are familiar with my thoughts on "stuff." To recap, I hate it. I watch a show on A&E called "Hoarders" and I almost get the shakes just thinking about some of these homes where stuff is piled up to the rafters and hasn't been touched for years but is considered valuable enough to keep. I've resolved never to even approach that point.

Slowly but surely, we have been jettisoning some of our unwanted things that were left over from moves or from previous tenants. But today, we took a big leap forward.

My dad (another less-than-sentimental "when in doubt, throw it out" guy when it comes to clutter) and I rented a small U-Haul to take out to the W.aste M.anagement facility outside Hillsboro. We sweatedly loaded up a number of things that have been lingering for years at my house and his:

- An old sawhorse

- Two hoses

- An air conditioner the size of Vermont

- 17 hunks of metal disguised as a ridiculously old and useless propane grill

- Blinds from my house that were considered stylish to someone at some point, I'm sure

- An aluminum ladder that my dad got from his neighbor when she was throwing it out, that he fixed and kept (that was 35 years ago)

- And then there's this gem, really the Hope Diamond (or at least the Lou Diamond Phillips) of this junkyard exhibit: THE SNAPPER MOWER:

This mower, ably displayed by my dad, was already old when I started mowing the family lawn.

I was 12.

During its last days, the engine would idle so low that if you mowed a particularly long area of grass (say, longer than an inch) it would moan under the strain like a pregnant sheep, so much that you had to tip it to a 45-degree angle for 30 seconds until it got enough strength back to continue. Using this method the last time I mowed the lawn, I started about 7PM and finished 6 years later. So, to get this beast onto the U-Haul was quite the feat.

We left about 8AM for the dump. I was expecting a vast expanse of wasteland with flocks of gulls flying overhead, their dirty wings riding the thermal winds of never-ending and penetrating stench, and large earth movers constantly rotating rubbish across the barren landscape as if they were beaters of a giant mixer, gently stirring the contents of a vast primordial brownie batter.

Instead, I found a rather orderly parking lot with large brown garbage bins below into which we could huck our junk. Not as apocalyptic a scene than I had envisioned, but thankfully much more sanitary.

As we first drove in, I noticed several bins labeled "Tin/Aluminum," "Wood," "Cardboard," etc. My dad and I both apparently had the same thought -- Blurgh! We had already sorted, recycled and garage-saled as much as we could handle. Now we JUST. WANTED. TO THROW SOME STUFF. AWAY. No more sorting! No more restrictions or a new place to take this material or that stuff! A man in a hard hat approached, and my dad somberly asked, "do we have to sort through all those?" nodding towards the material-specific bins. The man paused for a moment, and then said, " No, just pull up to Bin #3."

Bin #3! Big Brown Bin! Big, Brown, Non-Sorting Bin! Happily, we backed the U-Haul up to where it perched 5 feet above an 18-wheel type debris trailer.

This is where it really started to get fun. As soon as the back door of the U-Haul was opened, I just threw the first thing I saw -- a box of old tiles -- over the edge and into the pleasant abyss of refuse below. Ahhh... that felt good. Box of styrofoam! Goodbye. Old old roll of old old carpet! Auf Wiedersehen. I even added some no-look garbage tosses straight out of the U-Haul for good measure. Now THIS was what we came here to do. By the time we grabbed the infamous Snapper Mower to topple over the edge, we were having too much fun to stop. As soon as it thudded its way into the bin below, my dad paused and said with a tinge of sadness, "Welp! No going back now..." and quickly we were back to work. In less than 10 minutes, our U-Haul was clear and we were back on our way.

All told, we lost 1340 pounds today. We know this because we were weighed before and after our trip to the bins, and this was our weight on the way out:

- 6240 pounds -- yes, I'd already eaten breakfast so it's included here

By the time I got home, I had resolved to get a group of friends together each year, rent a U-Haul and head out to the dump together with a fine load of given-up-on items. There's something primal and simple about driving out to the country and just dumping things.

I first noticed this phenomenon on the freeways outside of Phoenix a few years ago, joking with a friend that I could furnish a new home in Mesa just by picking things up in the median on the way from LA. I thought it was crazy (and illegal) then, and I still wouldn't do it myself -- I guess I'm just saying I understand a bit better now.

So thanks, Dump! Thanks for being there, and for just letting us have a place to let things go.

One month

So we've known this little girl for one month now. What she has made most clear to us in her time here on earth is how much she likes to be held, jostled, bounced, jiggled, wiggled, walked, carried, carted, and toted. AND be nursed. What she does not like is being put down, or held in any way that does not involve jostling, bouncing, jiggling, etc. Her hair was golden as can be when she was born, and quickly turned red, or at least strawberry blonde. Her eyes, as when she was born, are still dark blue.

She went to the doctor today for a weight check as I am always worried she is not getting enough food and maybe that's why she fusses all the time. I made a list of worries to bring up with the doctor:

1. Obviously her weight. She is skinny. Has no Mommy-reassuring rolls to convince us I am producing enough milk for her. We were hoping for some good gaining in the last 14 days.
2. Diaper rash (she has a tiny bit of one.)
3. Her finger and toe nails are not growing. I've never cut or filed them once and they look as perfectly manicured as the day she was sucked from the womb. Is this another sign she isn't getting enough food? She can't even spare the energy to produce nails? Quite worrisome.
4. Her belly button protrudes hugely and red-ly when she screams. Kind of creepy.
5. Her nipples are inverted. Is this normal? Cause for concern?

Wonderful news! On all fronts, she is perfectly healthy! Every worry was laid to rest. She grew one inch in the last 2 weeks, making her 22 1/2 inches (92nd percentile in height) and gained ONE WHOLE POUND!!! 16 ounces in 14 days! (60th percentile in weight.) I felt like doing a jig of joy around the examination room. The doctor looked at her skin and felt her and gently pinched her little bit of chub and pronounced her as healthy as could be and even as I watched the doctor look at her I could see she was a little chubbier than even a few days ago. She said if she was hungry she would be waking up every two hours at night, which she never does. At most she wakes up a time or two, with 4 and 5 hour stretches in between. She said the nails are probably just getting rubbed off, but are no cause for concern, her belly button is normal (babies have weak abdominal wall muscles, so the buttons can bulge when they scream), her nipples are normal, and her bottom, for its few red spots, looked great to the doctor. Love the news, love the doctor, love everything. Love YOU! I am very happy.

Other one-month news: Anna-boo slept through the night last night for the first time! I was very stunned when I woke up at 7 this morning, realizing she hadn't been awake since I put her down at 10:30 last night. Amazing.

Also, as I got her ready for her appointment this morning, I walked over to her and started cooing without thinking about it. She turned her head toward me, looked me in the eyes, and gave me three huge smiles!! This is the first time she's smiled at me! It was so exciting that I continued with the maniacal antics for the next half hour.

Due to a monstrously geyser-like spit-up that soiled myself, the glider we were on, the couch next to us, and the entire small person that produced it, Annalise had a bath today. (This was after I proudly told her doctor one hour before that the bub never spits up). I put her baby tub inside the regular tub and used the hand-held shower head to spray her. She loved it, trying to catch the spray from the water in her mouth and nurse it. She hated getting out (you could probably hear her protestations in LA) but 'opposition in all things', right? :)

One month down, and we are all still alive to chat about it. Hurray!

1 month portraits

Tomorrow Annalise will be one month old. I decided to take her in for some pictures. This was no small task. I nursed her like crazy and then zoomed out the door, hoping to arrive with at least a few minutes left of Annie-Poo still in a decent post-nursing mood. Is it cheesy to go to a portrait studio these days? Probably. Oh well. Anna-baby did great!

The photographer suggested some naked shots. I agreed, but took off her diaper with apprehension.

"Please don't pee," I mumbled to her. "She likes to pee when her diaper is off," I warned the photographer.

"Everything's washable," she assured me.

"Good thing," I said, as Annalise peed freely all over her backdrop. Then she began to cry. I picked her up to soothe her. Then she pooped. All over my arm. Then she stopped crying and amazingly, did very well at her photo shoot; much better than I expected. I had accepted the fact that her one-month shots might just be of her sobbing or screaming. But she was mostly very calm! We had a quick nursing break in the middle after she loudly alerted us to a mystery-misery she was suffering, but she came back like a champ.

Strangely, Dave and I both agree that she is not really that well-represented in the photos though. They don't really look like her to us. I know that sounds weird, but in real life, she is cuter and less chubby.

Here they are! Our little bub, one month old:

Sucking and Sleeping

Our little bub will. not. take. a. pacifier. WHY WON'T SHE TAKE A PACIFIER??? I do not know. We have bought her three different kinds. The green hospital kind, the Nuk, and the Mam. No go. We can balance them atop her open screaming mouth, but as far as sucking goes, there's none of it. Other babies suck them. Other babies enjoy them. Other babies are soothed into bliss beyond measure. Ours screams. Gags. Flings her appendages in a fury that demonstrates she is all-too-aware of our attempt to trick her and deny her the boob she actually desires. Mind you, she is supplied with said boob on a nearly hourly basis, but for the fussing inbetween, it would be nice to employ a separate means of comfort. I try every day. Many times. To no avail. She is having none of it.

Additionally, Anna-baby is having some sleep issues. The issue is she can't do it. To be fair, she does pretty well at night. She wakes up a time or two, but after nursing, will usually go right back down. During the day is another story though. Now, if it's day and she is supposed to be nursing, she sleeps. If she is in your arms, she might sleep. But if she is laying down or in any way in a position that is not majorly impairing your daily life, she absolutely can not do it. She can be in the deepest snoring-est sleep known to man, and if an attempt is made to set her down, she awakens and screams at you for trying. To combat this, we bought a reclining glider that I can nurse her off to sleep in and then hopefully recline back to get some sleep myself. As it is, we have no naps during the day. That is, I have no naps. She of course sleeps when it's time to nurse while I'm hunched over in a position that would make slumber impossible.

The glider came today. Dave put it together tonight. I will report back on its effectiveness.

Random Notes From Dave -- Wait, Aren't All Blog Posts Random Notes?

- I had a dream last night that I was changing Annalise but didn't have a diaper ready... and Annalise made me pay. She started peeing all over the place as if I'd put the nozzle on a hose. It was amazing, going all over the walls, the carpet, the computer, everything. I couldn't get her to stop. You can imagine my relief when I woke up and she was slumbering peacefully in her little chair.
- I slept in a pink Snuggie a few nights ago. We crashed into bed -- because the baby crashed -- and I woke up very cold. The only warm thing within reach that wasn't living (mommy, baby, dog) or being used by said living things to keep warm (baby blankets, momma blankets, dog hair) was a pink Snuggie that my mom lovingly gifted my wife (It's a blanket! It has arms! It's pink!). In my semi-conscious stupor, I dragged the Snuggie over my body, placed my arms through the oh-so-comfy holes, and drifted off back to sleep. I give it a 7.2 on a 10-scale of comfort. Could be warmer.
- I completed my first business trip last week as a daddy. It brought back memories -- some good, some bad -- of my days as a road warrior a few years back, when trips to Hong Kong were about as frequent as trips to the barber. In the last few years, my trips have been severely cut back, but I was pleased to know that I still had my old habits in tow. I thought I'd share with you some of my favorite air travel tips, in case they can someday come in handy:

1. When selecting my seats, I always go with the aisle -- I am a typical man and I need to know my escape route is clear if needed. I hate waking people up if I have to go to the bathroom, and I like to access my bags if needed. In short -- I like options.

2. I also like to pick rows where someone is already at the window on a 6-seat row airplane to get the aisle; I've basically given up on having my own row on planes these days, and choosing a row with a window-mate prevents couples from taking the window AND the aisle. You know how firefighters build a firewall to prevent further spread of forest fires? This is kind of a "fight fire with fire" concept, but it usually works and I have the middle seat to place my book on or put my laptop case under.

2a. On a larger 747 plane, I like the aisle in the middle section of 4 seats. I do this because a) there's nothing to see from San Francisco to Hong Kong... just a lot of water, b) someone with a middle seat would at least like to be close to a window, so the "middle section" middle seats fill last, giving me the best chance to have an open seat next to me. This may seem like overkill analysis, but it's worth it if it helps me avoid 14 hours of armrest-wrestling and footsie with a stranger.

3. On international flights, I always get a "special meal" instead of one of the standard ones. The most simple reason is because it means that SOMEONE is actually looking at what's going in these meals -- and really, that's all I ask. Plus, they don't cost extra (rare these days), and the flight attendants bring them out before they pull the carts out for everyone else, so you make everyone jealous around you. I first started ordering the kosher meals, but they had to be wrapped in cellophane which was too much work. I've since settled on the high-fiber meals, which basically means more whole grains and fruits & vegetables. You'll thank me when you look at the creamy, amorphous blobs of food on everyone else's tray.

4. Bathroom strategy is key to avoid lines. On international flights, the best times to go to the bathroom are a) near the beginning of the flight so they're clean, b) right as the movie ends to beat the rush, and c) about 10 minutes before they announce the plane's descent for landing. Again, you can NOT think about these things... but do so at your own (and your bladder's own) peril.

5. It's worth joining frequent flier programs and concentrating your miles on one airline whenever you can. Premier status lets you a) avoid baggage fees, b) board first to get dibs on overhead space, c) get more leg room in some airlines with extra inches for premier seating, and d) get first-class upgrades on occasion to use on domestic flights. I'm about to lose my premier status on United, and quite frankly I'm scared to death.
These are the things you think about when you're fighting for the scraps (i.e. coach) of the airline traveling world -- and when you travel 2 weeks out of each month.

When Daddy's Away

Dave was out of town in Minneapolis for two days on a business trip this week. I almost lost my mind. I never knew how much I looked forward to lunchtime when he comes home (so I can hand him the baby) or 5:30-7:00 when he is off (so I can hand him the baby).

Dave's parents came and kindly spent a few hours both days holding the Bub so I could nap, do laundry, and go to the grocery store without her losing her mind with the screaming. It's nice to have grandparents nearby. I grew up without mine in the same state and this is much better. Additionally, they brought me a piece of pie, roses from their garden, some fresh peaches, and their willing baby-holding arms. Could there be anyone or anything more generous and lovely to see show up at your door as you shuffle about in sleep-deprived, unbrushed, pajama-clad, and mascara-streaked delirium? Certainly not, I attest.

Dave is home now. Praise be to the heavens.

Annie-Bub and the Doctor

Annalise was born at 8 lb 8 oz. In the next three days, because my milk took a little while coming in and she apparently has a great metabolism, she lost 1 oz shy of a pound. My baby lost a pound! It was so horrible and scary and I was trying not to supplement with formula because it's for the best if you can avoid it.

When we went to the doctor though, they weighed her and said, Great news! Your baby gained weight! Um... no. I knew she hadn't. My milk hadn't come in. She looked skinny and dehydrated. She screamed all the time. What were they talking about?

"Um... I don't think that's possible," I said softly, trying to be polite.

"Oh, yes, yes," the nurse assured me, pointing to her charts. "She gained lots of weight! Good job!" She started to leave.

"Uh..." I stuttered. "But, I mean, uh... there's no way though. My milk hasn't come in. Look at her! She looks sickly. She's starving!" I wanted permission to give her formula because it clearly seemed for the best at this point.

The nurse left the room, convinced my baby was thriving and I was crazy. The doctor came in.

"Great!" the doctor said, looking at the chart. "She gained weight! Nice work." I repeated my concerns, adding that in fact it seemed like she had lost too much weight and was possibly starving a slow death. Even the little double chin she was born with was completely gone. The doctor told me I was wrong but I made enough of a fuss that she agreed to bring the scale back in and weigh the baby herself just to be sure.

"Oh, whoops!" she said. The nurse must have written it down wrong." Whaaa? "Yes, you're right, she's down to 7 lb 9 oz which is much too low! She needs to be put on formula immediately!" Nice that they tried to send me home with my starving baby to die. We gave her some formula right there in the office and the look on her little face when she got sustenance for the first time was so grateful and heart-breaking that my mother and I cried. My milk came in that night so that 1/2 ounce of formula was all she had to have. That was two weeks ago yesterday. We went back to the doctor yesterday morning and she was weighed and she gained 19 oz in 14 days! Which is wonderful! They like babies to gain an ounce a day, so Annalise did a little better than that which is very relieving and wonderful and puts my mind at ease since I never did get engorged so I was just hoping she was getting enough milk.

After making us wait 45 minutes in the waiting room (which totally messed up my perfectly-timed nursing schedule and caused the Bub to be very grumpy) we were called in. Annie-Poo retaliated by being placed on the scale and peeing freely once her diaper was removed. All over the scale, the floor and herself. This struck me as hilarious. It struck the nurse as less so.

She is in the 60th percentile for weight and the 80th percentile for height. Her head size is in the 75th percentile. She has grown half an inch since being born, making her now 21 1/2 inches. The doctor kept commenting on how big she was and how long her arms and legs were. She certainly doesn't look very big to me, but I was glad to hear it. Now I am excited for her to get chubby. She's still pretty skinny with no rolls or anything. She held up her head like a champ when placed on her stomach for her examination, and when the nurse measured her by gently pulling out one of her legs, she went from peaceful to screaming like it was being plucked from the socket. The nurse jumped back in fright and let go. Annalise immediately ceased scream-fire. Point well-taken.

They did a PKU test where they stuck her heel and sqeeeeezed the blood painfully onto a paper and we both cried mightily. That was the worst part.

Because she cries and fusses nearly constantly, I asked the doctor if I should try changing my diet by cutting out dairy and and she said it couldn't hurt to do it for four months. Done! Anything for some peace. She asked if Annalise will take a pacifier and I told her she hates it. The doctor nodded knowingly and reached for it herself, as though perhaps my binkie-stuffing skills were what the problem was.

"Sometimes she acts like it's choking her," I offered helpfully as the doctor put it in her mouth. As if on cue, Annalise erupted into a screaming choking fit so violent the doctor felt it necessary to immediately perform a mouth and palate check to ensure she wasn't deformed and unable to suck. Fortunately or unfortunately, this was not the cause of the problem. Annalise is formed just fine. She just hates the binkie.

"Wow," the doctor said, amazed. "She really does just hate this thing!"

Told you so.

Don't mess.

Miracle

A minor-- nay-- a MAJOR miracle has just occurred. Annalise has three settings: Nursing, screaming, and sleeping. The Sleep Setting is often overlooked in favor of the Scream Setting, and thus we spend much of our day trying to trickily manage more sleeping opportunities. For instance, I regularly try to put Annalise in her swing to see if she will accept it as a permissible means of comfort. Thus far, she has made VERY clear that I am delusional to even consider this. Dave even mentioned yesterday that he was annoyed we had the swing in the house as it takes up so much room, was a hassle to move here from the other house, and only serves as an apparent torture device for our new daughter during each minuscule amount of seconds she inhabits it.

But my friends, a new day has come. A new dawn has arisen. I wax poetic in my joy in announcing that I just set her inside it and instead of screaming like usual, she FELL ASLEEP.

I called Dave to report the wondrous news.

Very sincerely he replied, "Congratulations."

Miracles do happen.

Davey

Dave is a great husband. Dave is a great father. I've heard the expression "more than I could have hoped for" so much that it's never held much meaning for me, but as I reflected on Dave today, that was what came to mind. I couldn't have hoped for better. I couldn't have imagined someone could be so sensitive, selfless, and genuinely desirous for my well-being and happiness. I. could. not. do. this. without. Dave. (I can barely do it with him, but he is what makes it possible.) This parenting-an-infant thing is so ridiculously exhausting and stressful and anxiety-producing (in addition to being a blessing, and miraculous, and amazing) and Dave's kindness and willingness to "take one for the team" are the sole reason I don't plunge off the edge (that I perch precariously on) into full-fledged arm-flapping insanity and/or major depression.

***************************************

On a funny note, I asked Dave if he could pick up some pads for me at the store. Because he is the mature, loving man that he is, Dave did not balk nor refuse. Instead, when he came home, there were two items in his grocery bag.

"I thought it would be weird if I just bought pads," he explained sheepishly, holding up the random item also in his bag. "So to make it less awkward, I got some chips too."

Annalise's Diary Entry

(Posted by Dave)

Dear Diary,


I'm now in Day 10 of my experience in the outside world. Still no signs of anyone who speaks my language, just a couple big people that sound like Charlie Brown's teachers as far as I'm concerned. I continue to lay low, spending my days sleeping, eating and crying with some diaper changes in between. I like to play a fun game with the Big People where I move my feet around at diaper-changing time and see if they'll stop me from stepping in, well, "it." They weren't so fast the first few times but they're starting to catch on. The bigger one of the Big People is a particularly slow learner, and actually thinks that I enjoy kisses on my face, nights in a sling and songs proclaiming love for me. He'll be the first one I eliminate once I learn how to walk and use a shovel.

I have made one breakthrough with the outside world; although the big people are oblivious to the statements of insight and vast intelligence hidden in my pterodactyl-like cries, there is a hairy beast, slightly smaller than me, that appears to respond to and understand my screaming sermons. I sense her presence most when I am falling asleep. She tends to cuddle up next to me and, on occasion, lick my appendages or just sniff around my head, ears and diaper. I believe this beast is referred to by the Big People as "Pixie" or just "Rat."

I find that I actually have much in common with this Pixie. We both relieve ourselves, practically, at our own leisure. Neither of our languages are understood by the Big People, and yet we are adorned with clothing and accoutrements in spite of our protestations. We are both capable of emitting sounds that are very disturbing to the Big People and prevent them from gaining any sleep advantage on us (we both sleep for most of the day). This "Pixie" has apparently found a way to get solid Big People food by standing on her hind legs at meal times. I have tried this technique, but I found that I first need to learn how to hold my own head up. "Baby steps," as they say here.

I have enclosed a picture showing me and this hairy creature. I trust that we will become very good friends, and allies in our battle against the Big People for many years to come.

More to come later -- It's too quiet in this house, and I have a diaper to fill.

Likes and Dislikes

We are learning so much about our tiny girl.

Dislikes:

1. Being changed. Anytime a diaper is coming on or off, you can bet Anna-Boo is screaming. Which happens approximately 16,000 times a day. Which makes it tempting to get her a catheter and be done with it. (PS- Learned about the joys of catheters during labor. Made life so easy! I LOVED mine! Strange? I'm sure.)

2. Being set down. If she is not in someone's arms, you can bet Anna-Bug is wailing. And she seems to prefer Mommy's arms to everyone else's. This does not thrill Daddy, who can't help himself from taking it a little bit personally.

3. Her swing. If Anna-Baby is in her swing, you can bet she is hollering. Same goes for her bouncy seat.

4. Laying on her back. She loves her stomach. But that's a no-no for sleep-time, much to Annie-Poo's dismay.

5. Baths. She's only had one but she hated it.

6. Gas. She has lots of it. Mylecon be darned, there's no escaping it. And the little Bub screams like she's being murdered til she gets it out. Then she is instantly fine.

7. Sleeping. Doesn't appear to be much of a fan.

8. Her pacifier. We tried it at first, and had some nipple confusion that resulted in two trips to two different lactation specialists, a rental of a hospital-grade nursing pump, and hours of crying (both mine and baby's). And here we go trying it again. But the second it touches her tongue, Anna-Smoosh recoils like I've burned her with acid. She refuses to suck. Refuses. Gets furious. Screams.

Likes:

1. Being bounced on someone's lap on the yoga ball. (Thanks Gilbert, for the priceless tip.)

2. Having tummy time on Daddy's chest while getting a backrub or falling asleep. (Daddy falls asleep too.)

3. Nursing. Really this is her favorite thing in the world and she would probably prefer it if her lips were permanently fused to my breast.

4. Being carted around by Daddy in her Ergo baby carrier. Dave thinks there should be an Olympic event regarding how much you can get done with a baby in a sling, with judging based on amount accomplished as well as lack of crying during performance. He's sure he would win.

Sidenote: Last night while practicing for this event by making the bed, I overheard from the other room a song he was singing to the baby:

Oh my little Annalise,
Her entire head was made of fleece,
She says 'moose' instead of 'meece'
Oooooooooh, my little Annalise!


(PS- I typed this one-handed, so as not to set down and thus incur the wrath of The Tiny One. Am proud.)

Lots of firsts

1. Annalise had a blow-out! We thought she was just lying peacefully on her boppy and so we snapped this pic.





Then we pulled back her blanket. This is what we found.

2. SOOOO... Annalise had her first bath! We were racing around like nuts, shouting to each other to get towels and washcloths and baby soap, fill the tub but not too much, is the water too hot? help! the baby got it on her hands, help! the baby got it on her feet, help! the baby is drowning in poo. Bumbling and fumbling and trying to comfort a screaming and excrement-soaked lass. Quite a First-Bath Memory.

3. Annalise lost her belly button today! Which was good because it got saturated with poo during her eventful blowout and there wasn't much we could do about it. She's had a button of dried poo for days.

4. Annalise spit up for the first time today! She hated her swing the first time we put her in it, but today I thought we'd try again. I set her inside. She looked around grumpily. She screwed up her mouth angrily and glared about with suspicious shifty eyes. That was okay though because she does this a lot. But I guess the motion was a bit much. Because then she opened her mouth and deposited a half hour's worth of work on both our parts down the front of her pretty striped dress.

5. Dave went back to work. BOO.

"Why don't you work from home forever?" I suggested.

"Can't," he said. BOO.

What We've Learned About Annalise

Posted by Dave

In the last 4 days, we've been able to glean a bit of knowledge about our dear Annalise that we thought we'd share with you to get to know her better:

• She has active arms and hands. During feeding, it's like she's swimming an individual medley as she switches from her efficient freestyle stroke to her defensive "get away from my face" breaststroke (apropos name now that I think about it) to her over-the-top butterfly stroke. When she sleeps, she has these movements that make us think she's conducting a symphony in her sleep -- arms out in front of herself, swaying rhythmically and with much feeling. Her arms, by the way, are very strong -- this may be the case with all newborns, I just haven't had to arm-wrestle many over the years.
• She has a great mad face. She developed this one early, it's the between stage of crying and calm. She gets this look on her face like, "weeeell, I'm not pleased about this situation, but I'm not mad enough or I'm too tired to cry." I call it her stinky-face, although it doesn't have any correlation to what's going on in her diaper.
• She can crawl already! Well, sort of. When she cries, I like to give her some tummy time on my stomach and rub her back. She likes it, but it's amazing to watch her slowly army-crawl from my belly button all the way up to my neck and shoulders. The first time I did it, I swear she gave me a hickey on my neck and she would have then kept moving north all the way to the Canadian border had I let her. It's one of the cutest things she does.
• She likes to go on long drives. Late at night in the hospital when she cried, we would head out on the town in her wheeled bassinet. The mere movement around the (very small) hallways would usually calm her down immediately, and if we were lucky would let her fall asleep for a few minutes. She preferred turning left - is she the next Danica Patrick?
• She already has a (smaller) big sister. One of the things we were most excited for when we came home from the hospital was to see how Pixie would react -- she usually looooves little babies. We were not disappointed. Pixie is scared of Annalise when she cries, but politely sniffs and occasionally gives her small licks on her legs and toes when she's awake. She even does her play-bark in Annalise's direction sometimes because she wants to go play fetch with her. Last night as Annalise rested on the bed, Pixie curled up by her blanketed feet for a little shut-eye. It was very cute bonding time.

We can't wait to see what we learn in the next week!

The good news is Annalise doesn't look like her ultrasound pictures. As you can see, I was not making up the uncanny resemblance between her and Homer Simpson.

*******************************

It feels like a hundred years since I was in labor in some ways. I want to share the experience but I think it will take a while. I want to do it justice in recording it for my memory but it was so traumatic that I need to take some time to recover physically and emotionally before I can process it fully. For now I try not to remember and focus instead on our beautiful daughter. She is a blessing beyond measure.

More Images of Annalise

Posted by Dave

(Thanks Todd for taking great pictures as usual)

Our Preferred Caption For This Fist Pump:

"Dave and Jessica are my parents? Outtasiiiight!"

Daddy Loves Daughter

Party in the Back, Thriller Impersonation In the Front

We Love Our Anna-Baby!

Thanks to everyone for their well-wishes, thoughts and prayers. We feel very lucky.

Dave & Jessica

Annalise Nicole Fuhriman (Yes, I gave in on the "a")

Born: August 16, 2009, 7:34 AM
Sign: Leo
Weight: 8 lbs. 8 oz.
Length: 21 inches
Hobbies: crying, breastfeeding, being a conehead

More to come on her later! Thanks for all your support, well wishes and prayers.

Love,

Dave & Jessica

Surprise Spa Vacation!

This morning, I surprised Jessica with a quick weekend getaway right here in town. I called and got reservations this morning, and they found a room for us immediately!

We headed to NE Portland with a view of the river and the Portland skyline. The staff showed us to our room, turned down our beds and even ordered some food for us. Perfect!

Later on, they brought Jessica some ice-cold drinks, and she enjoyed a whirlpool bath while I sat and talked with her and we called family.

Even better than all that -- they told us we can leave with a baby! You guys should all really check this place out, rooms are really hard to get. So quick! Grab a pen and paper and write this down, it's called:

Legacy E.manuel Spa & Resort

IMPORTANT: When you call, there's a secret password phrase you have to use to get a room. It's kind of strange, but just try it out:

"My wife has been in labor all night with contractions every 5 minutes; she would gnaw Pixie's face off and eat it raw with banana and blueberry yogurt if it would make the pain go away. Is it time to come in?"

I know, it's weird, but just do it. It'll get you the best room, with a view of the roof. More to come on our visit when we leave, probably tomorrow!

Love, Dave

PS -- Ask for the constant contraction and heart rate monitoring in your room, it's like having a Wii in your room but much less enjoyable.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

This is torture. There are no words. There is only pain and pain like this trumps any ideals I might have had for natural-anything.

I have been having contractions 5-7 minutes apart since 11:00 last night. Dave is sleeping. My mom is sleeping. Pixie is sleeping. When I try to sleep I am awoken by the horribleness and then it seems like that's all there is because I'm unconscious for the good parts. So I am staying awake to relish the minutes inbetween.

This does not seem possible. It's going to get worse than this. I can't imagine it.

DD (+5)

We went to the appointment this morning and they told me it was supposed to be yesterday. So apparently I am losing my mind. I put it on the calendar for today. I thought it was today. I remember the discussion where the receptionist told me it would be today. But now no. So they called the midwife on staff at the hospital and we had to wait an extra hour but she was able to come examine me so that was good.

When I went to give my urine sample, I opened the little door to the little compartment where we leave it, and was startled to see another one already there, not having been removed yet from the previous occupant of the bathroom. As these samples are not collected in jars with lids like I am used to, but instead in Dixie cups with a sticker with our names on it, I was instinctively repulsed and let go of the little door reflexively. My other hand with the pee cup was still in the way though. The spring-action door tried to snap shut, bumping my hand with the pee and flinging it up in the air. As I watched in slow-motion-horror, pee sprinkled down all over the wall, the floor, and the sign saying where to put it. Also on me. I ruined the entire bathroom! Such a tiny amount of pee! And such coverage it managed! I began laughing at the ridiculousness so hard I was gasping. When I came out I shared the story with Dave and pointed out the debacle's tell-tale drip on my shirt. I'm not sure if he could fully appreciate the hilarity of the situation though, based on his single focus and extreme repulsion to the drip.

They did a non-stress test to make sure the baby was doing well, which she is. She moved so much that the nurses couldn't even just leave the monitors strapped to me and leave the room, but had to stand there and follow her around with them to get a reading that was longer than a few seconds.

The CNM did a very painful (I was thrashing and convulsing) exam that she said she hoped would start the labor, (I believe now that she stripped my membranes, which I was not consulted about, did not ask for, would not have allowed, and am thus very displeased about) but the news is that I am 1 1/2 centimeters dialated and 70% effaced, which is progress from last week when the cervix couldn't even be reached. She felt the baby all over and said she believes it weighs in the high sevens, but probably not quite 8 pounds. Since then I have been having different kinds of contractions than before (deep-down cramping ones that hurt a bit, as opposed to all-over stomach tightness that didn't hurt) about 12-13 minutes apart. So still a long ways to go, but any kind of progress is very inspiring.

Come on Insider! Let's have a birthday party!

DD (+4)

(Picture me with my legs crossed, eyes closed, wrists resting on my knees. I am saying "ahhm, ahhm.") This is because I am SO zen. I am SO at peace. I am patient until the end of time. Pregnant forever? Doesn't phase me. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHMMMM. (Isn't that the noise meditators make?)

Well, friendsies, I am still knocked up. And there comes a certain point after the due date has come and gone, that since there is nothing to look forward to anymore, the light at the end of the tunnel is slowly ground out by the less-than-compassionate boot heel of fate. Then there's just you and the tunnel. But you've been in the tunnel so long. You know the tunnel. The tunnel certainly won't attack you the way childbirth might. So you can live a while longer in the dark without losing your mind.

Today I woke up from a nap in a panic over the childbirth-pain-that-might-be. (This has happened three times before.) In that instant between sleeping and wakefulness I was freakishly praying mightily that the baby just stay in forever to spare me this possible terror. It takes me about 5 minutes to regain my composure after I've awoken because I get so scared of the possibly overwhelming pain. This fear of the unknown is kept at bay while I'm conscious, but rears its wimpy head when I'm less prepared.

I go in for my check-up tomorrow morning and maybe this time they'll be able to tell if I've dialated or effaced at all.

DD (+3)

Like anything else, this is a growing experience. A learning curve for patience and surrender. (It would be nice if the curve weren't so physically uncomfortable! Or if I could roll over in bed without having to get on all fours. Or if walking through a store didn't seem like training for a marathon. Or if I didn't need 16 hours of sleep out of every 24. But I digress.) Certainly this experience can be benefitted from somehow. Just as I've been taught to surrender to the physical exertion and discomfort of labor for pain management, so must I surrender to the process leading there. I am working on it. Three cheers for endurance waxing long!

Some gems:

(from my mother)


*(Upon seeing me)
Me: Hi Mom.
Her: You are the biggest person I have seen in real life. I have never seen anyone as big as you walking around. Maybe because anyone else this big would have just given up by now.*

*(At Costco, after eating our hot dogs for lunch)
Me: The thought of standing up seems very hard right now.
Her: (Staring at me expectantly and excitedly.) Maybe the hot dog will help you!
Me: Help me? With standing up?
Her: No! Going into labor right now!!!*

(from the checker at Target)

*Her: You are LOW! You are so low! You should have this baby already! I think it should already be here!
Me: Oh. Yes. I agree.
Her: (very concerned) Have you called the hospital?
Me: The hospital? Uh, no. Why?
Her: Because sometime we don't have pains. You need to go to the hospital immediately.
Me: Um. No thanks. But... thanks.
Her: I had no pains with my third! I called the hospital and they let me in and took out the baby. Is yours still moving?
Me: Yes.
Her: It might stop moving. You have to have the hospital get it out before it stops moving!
Me: (zooming away) 'Kay, thanks! Bye!*

DD: (+ 2)

Well. This is getting a little tedious. I mean, I'm ready. We have diapers. We have a crib. We have a would-be grandma that has flown expectantly into town. We have 17,000 small pink going-home-from-the-hospital outfit options. But we have NO BABY.


I personally feel that the baby might never actually come. I personally feel that perhaps the baby never existed to begin with.


If I am still pregnant, I will have another Nurse/Midwife appointment Friday. Then I will start being checked twice a week to make sure the Insider Resider is handling post-due-date life healthfully. As I am of the 'natural childbirth' persuasion I will not be artificially induced without medical necessity, which would include placenta breakdown or growing too large. Perhaps impatience bordering the brink of insanity should also count as medical necessity? (Slap on my wrist. No, Jessica! Bad Jessica!)



Dave has long prophesied that the baby would be born August 11th. Well, that is today. Maybe that is something to hope for? Or if she is born tomorrow she will share a birthday with her triplet cousins. EITHER WOULD BE GREAT! LET'S GET THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD!

Due Date: TODAY!

3, 2, 1... Blastoff!

Except there is no blastoff. As I sit here, Insider is happily pummeling my insides with her elbows. Giving me heartburn. Making me have to pee. Apparently in no hurry to get out or anywhere else. Veeeery comfortable.

At church I told 4,063 people that Yes, indeed, I am still pregnant. No, indeed, I don't know why the baby isn't here yet. That no, again, I have no idea when she will be born. Lots of questions. No good answers.

Since we had never been to the hospital where I will deliver, we showed up unexpectedly tonight to visit and figure out where we'll be going. It seemed like a good Due Date activity. The nurses laughed at us.

Last night Dave treated me to a fun night on the town as our last hurrah before parenthood. What we hope will be our last hurrah, anyway. If the Insider waits much longer we might need some more hurrahs to boost our morale. We ate at The Blue Tangerine (Mediterranean food) and by Dave's choice saw Harry Potter at the IMAX (he fell asleep twice during the movie, and I, who was not interested in seeing it to begin with, had to awaken him when his snoring became distracting to the other patrons.) The whole theater had about ten occupants. There were thousands of seats everywhere. But nonetheless, three people came in and started heading over toward us. Dave and I eyed each other worriedly.

As an old lady plopped herself right next to me, she laughed and said, "I bet you're wondering why, in a theater of empty seats, we're sitting right next to you! Ha ha ha!"

"Ha ha!" I laughed back weakly, secretly horrified and pinching Dave pointedly in his thigh while trying to locate a Candid Camera or some other excuse for this behavior. I waited for the reason the lady was obviously leading up to telling me. There was none. That was the end of the conversation. Then we just moved down to the handicapped seats to accomodate my very handicapped-feeling self.

Well, it's August 9th. The magical day I've been looking forward to. It turned out kind of... ordinary.