House hunters

We spent this weekend roaming around the city, checking out neighborhoods for our future home base. The two knowns: We're (almost definitely) sticking with renting and we want to find a house. Other than that...we're pretty open.

It's tough to ignore the insanely beautiful mountains, so maybe we want to find a pad out in the country, where I can run around in a petticoat and sing songs about horses. But on the other hand, I really like being close to...things. Like cafes and shops and other places containing human life forms.

Then there's the issue of lots-of-character-and-neatness-but-probably-old-with-bad-plumbing vs boring-architecture-but-shiny-kitchens-and-no-black-mold. Since we're (most likely) not buying, we're leaning toward the latter. We don't have to live in the place forever, so the coolness factor matters a little less; might as well enjoy some newness while I bake cupcakes.

We're enjoying our downtown loft right now and we've got a little time to figure out our next step. I think we'll get a better feel for what's right for us in the next few weeks.

In the meantime, I'm busy keeping our delicious lil baby milked-up. She's going through her three month growth spurt and girl can EAT. Good to be doing the nursing thing during these spurts, since mad, intense hunger can hit at anytime and her food source is always at the ready. It's tiring, but definitely handy. There was lots of impromptu feeds throughout our weekend jaunts and I was grateful for our feeding routine.

Sorry, (or you're welcome?) Denver, for all the nipple shots!

Biscuit in a basket

Slings (and HGTV) are a mama's best friend.

Talking to a volleyball

So Clay's back in SF for a couple days, overseeing the big move. I'm eternally grateful that he's handling all that junky bi'ness and I'm cozy on a couch. However. It means I'm alone, hanging with a (super delicious albeit) completely speechless baldie in a new city. It's a wee bit...lonely?

I'm actually pretty good at hanging out solo -- I'm one of those strange outgoing introverts -- so things could be worse. But it's definitely time to start the making-new-friends process. I had Clay print me out a mommy group application and I'm all set to fill it out. However. There are somehow NO PENS to be found? Anywhere? Just a busted mechanical pencil? I'm thisclose to pricking my finger and using the blood. Cuz hey! I still have my diabetes kit!

Name: Amy Cowan
Child's name: Harper Cowan
Hobbies: SUcKInG YeR BLoODz

I'm in!

So I made it to Target

And it was all I hoped it would be.

I even found a blue-and-white-striped shirt to replace my old blue-and-white-striped shirt that doesn't fit my nursing bod anymore. (I now wear stretched-out v-necks 98% of the time, so this is particularly thrilling.)

While I ran around grabbing shiny things off shelves, Harps snuggled into her sling and was a total saint for her mama. I think she got scared after my garage breakdown yesterday.

"Target must be really important. I shall behave."

I'd been feeling a little guilty about her lack of toys. We read lots of lovely books and talk all the time and sing and there was the caterpillar of course, but toys? Meh. So today I grabbed her a fancy playmat thing, with lots of baubles and dangles and jingles. And I also got her a Bumbo, one of those weird foamy chairs for wee ones. Perhaps this isn't a...toy. But it's sumpin different and fun for the Biscuit to work with. And it makes me squeal with happies.

It's sad

How much a trip to Target can mean.

People! Pretty things! People!

I was desperate to go yesterday. Made a list, straightened my hair (?????), and put the Biscuit in a girly outfit. Headed down to the parking garage, put her car seat in the back row, and began the tricky process of buckling in the seat, sans base.

(If you don't have babies, don't even worry about what this means.) (Just know it's hard for spatially challenged fruitcakes like myself.)

And I couldn't get it to work. And Biscuit was screaming. And my hair was getting clingy and weird.

I started frantically YouTubing How To videos on my phone. Which felt really weird and futuristic - and also completely unhelpful. I texted Clay for help - but realized a talk-thru on the phone wasn't gonna cut it and would probably end in marital counseling.

So I picked up Harper and I walked around the garage and we cried together.

"Looks like we won't be seeing other people today, Harps."

She shrugged. I think.

Then I put her in the stroller, pushed it outside into the Colorado sun, and got over it. Cuz that's what mamas do.

At the park on a sunny day

-- Post From My iPhone

Wireless no worky

So it's iPhone only today. Quick summary?

Sunday was...interesting. Whole new world this doing-already-stressful-things with a baby in tow. Lots of manic laundry and packing and hand wringing followed by airport nonsense and pacing the airplane aisles to keep Harps happy.

I honestly didn't have the time or brain space to get sad about leaving; I'm sure it'll hit me at a totally inappropriate time, like the first meeting of my mom group.

"Nice to meet you, t --"

*sob sob sob*

Finally arrived Sunday evening. Pouring rain, chilly air -- Harps looked horrified. Welcome to real weather, honeycomb! But our pad (temporary corporate housing) is kick ass. Makes such a difference to land somewhere new and be staying somewhere pimped out and cozy. Yes please.

Yesterday the Biscotti and I laid real low. Had a touch of altitude sickness and wanted her to get settled. But today? Today we conquer Denver.

Whole Foods! Walk in the park! A baseball game tonight! Probably a huge dipe explosion! Stay tuned.




-- Post From My iPhone

Clearly upset by the move

-- Post From My iPhone

Some San Francisco memories on our last night

Looking at this crazy view from our living room fort

Foggy evenings on Fillmore

The tea party at Ghiradelli Square with Meredyth and Christie

Hilly walks home from work with Mary Claire

Sitting, looking out the window on Broadway, trying to hear the tour busses

Reading and writing upstairs at La Boulange with chai

Spicy hot chocolates on cold summer nights at Bittersweet Cafe

My Crissy Field constitutionals

Up and down the hills on our Vespa

My baby shower/tea party at Lovejoy

Visiting all the Presidio cafes with mom before Harps was born

Chinese food and Idol Tuesdays with Manj

Billy the Doorman and all his complete awesomeness

The 555 California view

Swimming at the Y with my huge belly in my undies

Learning to snowboard in Tahoe together

The Saga of the Flickering Lights across from the old place

Rollerskating for Steve's birthday in Redwood City

Poke bowls with chopsticks

Zipping down the 101 in our GTI to pick up Clay from the airport on Thursdays

6th floor shenanigans at Goodby

Live scallops from Zushi Puzz

That pretzel/sausage sammy Manj and I discovered in Tahoe

My City College classes. Wow.

Our honeymoon: San Francisco up the coast to Vancouver

Picking out a mini Christmas tree together while it drizzled cold

Pumpkin picking in Half Moon Bay

Cozy bookclub evenings with my ladies

Delancey Street Cafe reuben lunches with the Ubs peeps

Walking around (and around and around) Lafayette Park with Harps in her sling

Dogsitting Kylie and Danni while eating 3 different kinds of Ben and Jerrys and mini apple pies

Baking Amy Sedaris's ginger snaps at our first lil apartment

Horseback riding with the boys

Watching Twin Peaks on our fuzzy brown couch
 
Our mini babymoon to Carmel

Strolling the Farmer's Market on Saturdays for dried lavender and olive bread

The insanely yummy smell of Method's stock closet

The #12 bus

Egg salad and lemonade lunch breaks in SOMA's South Park

Hours of Jordan, Jesse, Go! archives at my work desk

The smell of eucalyptus everywhere
 
Happiness

Fussbudget

If you didn't think Harps fusses?

You'd be wrong.

In other subjects, lately I've been feeling awkward around friends-who-don't-have-babies-yet. I feel a bit like a zoo animal. What does this caged hobo do all day? How is she looking? Is she living-the-life-she-always-wanted? Will she eat hay? (Sure.)

It's nothing they're doing, I know it's in my head. But sometimes when I'm around non-moms I feel frumpy and sort of...other. Like I hopped over an invisible fence and they're on the other side wearing skinny jeans and perfume and we're maybe also speaking different languages. Theirs being something cool, mine being Latin.

I know I'll get comfier in my new skin and my friends will get used to me being a mom and the planets will align again, just in slightly different positions. But for now, I'll be over here -- using my still-kinda-squishy bod to feed a small person, wearing the sweats and the glasses and the baby, probably smelling a little like hay.

Birth control for the younger crowd

Last week, Biscuit wouldn't nap. At all. I held her, I pushed her in the stroller, I rocked her in the swing, I cradled her in the sling. Nothing. Her red demon eyes only shone brighter. To force her into it, I drove the 45 minutes down south to my buddy Lou's house. I wasn't even sure she was around, but I desperately needed adult contact and a long car ride to put Harps to zzzzz.

Luckily she was there (with delicious baby in tow). We had a lovely visit, I regained some semblance of my sanity, and we hit the road after a couple hours.

I'm feeling totally smug that we've made it off the freeway and onto the city streets without any major car jams or small person meltdowns. But ten minutes away from home, cruising along a line of uncooperative traffic lights, Harps started wailing. Not fussing, not crying. Wailing. Red faced, fists clenched, choking on her sobs, break-your-heart-in-half wailing.

There was no way I could make it home, so I pulled off the Embarcadero, onto a wind-y side street. I found an illegal spot, nestled between another car and a fire hydrant, and parked. Hazards flashing, I jumped out of the car and scooped up the Biscuit. Within seconds, I smelled the problem. Serious, serious bum leakage.

So there I was: Target sweats, illegally parked, middle of the city, wailing, poop-smeared baby in hand.

Deep breath, deep breath.

I spot a patch of grass nearby. Score!

Juggling Harps and her diaper bag (which I'd come thisclose to not bringing along) I make it to the grass, lay down the portable diaper changey thing (thank you, Manj!!!) and strip her down. The diaper is 109% filled with liquid, mustardy, noxious junk. Leaking down her legs, up her back, all over my hands. She's naked (in 50 degree weather) and screaming and kicking as a large group of female joggers pass us by.

"Hi!" I say, waving a yellowed hand.

They run faster.

Somehow I wipe most of the offending smell away and bundle everything bad into a little package. Harps is quickly into a new dipe and her poop-stained onesie is buttoned back up. I strap her back down into the car seat and speed off toward home.

Only she's back to screaming again.

I'm literally 7 minutes from home, but I don't think we can make it.

At this point, we're cruising down Broadway -- our former street-o'-residence, but also, in parts, where the nakie girls like to dance in shiny-signed clubs. This is where I pulled over. And whipped out my boob. And fed her. In daylight, in my car, no nursing cover. But she finally calmed down. Cuz here's the thing. Mine not be as...perky...as what the passerby are used to, but they'll do. They'll do just fine.

Rockabillybaby

Holy s&*t I'm tired. Not a particularly tough day -- we even got a solid morning nap in! -- but it's the first day in a long while I haven't had an extra pair of hands around to help. See, Clay started his job this week -- so the ladies are winging it solo thru Thursday. I shouldn't even make a peep though, because if he hadn't quit the old job? This would have been our life every week. *choke*

It's our last week in SF and I'm in good spirits. Not that I won't miss some very specific people very much, but dunno -- I'm ready. As much as I talked a big game about 850 square feet being just fine for two big people and one little person, thankyouverymuch -- it's kinda not. At least when you don't have any outdoor space for spillage and there's only one main living space that we use for...everything. Tight quarters on a few hours sleep makes me psycho flustered.

In other news, I can't wa-ait to drop these last 5 or 6 pounds. Because I won't spend any cash on new duds until I'm there. I'm getting by with some baggy maternity clothes and weird inbetweeny  hobo-who-nurses outfits, so I'm desperate for some lovely items. Perhaps not "lovely", since everything I wear is covered in milk/poo/spitup within seconds, but maybe just flattering and cute? Mmmkah?

Speaking of which, check this shirt out. Clay's friend gifted it to Harps and I pretty much fainted at the sweetness of it all. Yes, that's a pink guitar that says her name inside. Hello.

Harps' best friend

Mom and I put this sucker up a week or so before I had the Harps. She didn't give a s&*t about it until a couple weeks ago, when cupid's arrow struck. Now? We can't drag her away.

Is there a fast forward button

For the next few weeks? I sort of don't want to live through them.

(Very, very, very) luckily, Clay's new job is paying for our move. Which means we'll have strangers packing up all our stuff. If this weren't happening, I'd...jump in the bay. I have a lot less to do than in a regular move, but I still have a ton to do. And it's not like before, when I'd be busy and tired and overwhelmed, but could be crabby or mopey and collapse when it was all over.

Now I have to ty and remain cheerful and calm for my Harps, keep it steady and stable so the move doesn't throw her for a total loop. This staying happy and wholesome all day long is probably the most challenging part of motherhood for me. Sometimes I just want to yell. Loud. Or hide under the covers for an hour or two and sob it out. (And then stay under for a few days' sleep.)

But now I've got a little girl I love so huge and I want to keep her daily life as peaceful as possible. So I find other ways to let out the frustration (cookie binges long walks) and remind myself how one day all this moving stress will be behind us and I'll miss those squishy two-month cheeks.

Yup

We're moving.

To Colorado.

Denver, if you want to get all specific and stuff.

Today was Clay's last day at the old job. Monday is his first day at the new. A whole two days he gets off! Slacker.

I'm sad to leave behind good friends, an insanely beautiful city, and a chapter of my life where some amazing things happened. But I'm really excited to: have our main man at home, try something new, snag a bigger pad without paying two arms and two legs, enjoy all four seasons again, maybe buy a truck?

Pretty sure we're clinically insane for attempting such a big move in such a short time with such a small baby. But we're doing it! I've got a couple weeks left in town to wrap up loose ends, say goodbye to pals, and visit the mystery bookstore. Then we hop on a plane (psssh ain't no thang - we're pros!) and shack up in corporate housing till we find home sweet home.

Anyone in the mood to ski? Accepting visitor applications starting...now!

Cha-cha-changes

Cheeks from above

Tacos

Harper does not want me to eat. Harper wants me to weigh 30 pounds. Harper thinks only Harper should eat.

So creative eating solutions abound.

(I may or may not have found little pieces of ground turkey in her diaper.)

(Also. I'm scared that you can tell, even in a grainy iPhone vid, how beat up I look. Oh, to get 6-hours-a-night again.)

Reason #5,698 why I love Ice T

WNBA perhaps?

Compared to Grandad I might be sorta small still...

So today was Ms. Junebug's 2 month appointment. Can't say I was looking forward to it (needles in my baby's thighs!), but I was interested to see how big she'd gotten. I felt like she was large and in charge (my back and arms - her personal transport system - have been killing me lately), but it's hard to judge changes when you see someone everyday all day. Plus, mamas aren't exactly unbiased.

But yeah. I wasn't wrong.

The Little Tank That Could is 13 lbs 1 oz and 24 inches long. That's two feet, people. Even the doctor was all woh! The man actually put a gold star sticker on her growth chart with instructions to hang it on the fridge. I blushed. Yes, I'm five.

That puts our future Jolly Green Giant in the 96th percentile for both height and weight. Holy nuts! Sorry for the braggy pants, but so much of my energy goes to feeding that fiend; I can't help myself.

Okay, okay. Moving on, moving on.

The shots sucked of course. (Except that they didn't, really. Because I'm pro-vaccine! Blah blah soapbox blah!) But Dr. McSteamy gave her some yummy sugar water first (her face was all: THERE ARE OTHER FLAVORZ IN THIS WORLD WHA?!) and got them all done super quick. Harps screamed bloody murder, but calmed down once I could hold her for a bit.

Since getting home it's been another fussy day, but she's hanging in. (By a thread.) (As am I.)

Note to self: Traveling across time zones with a baby followed by stabbing baby's thighs with needles = BABY NO HAPPY PANTS.

But good God, she's freaking cute.

Thumb bum

Me: "Buddy! Quick! I can't look down without moving her; is she sucking her thumb right now?! No more pacifiers?!"

Clay: "Ah! Yes! Don't move!"

Me: *stands frozen and helpless*

Clay: *snaps a million photos*

Harper: *removes thumb; never puts it back in again*

Peepers

It's common to meet the Biscuit and think she has eyes like mine. (Blue.)

Because she does right now. (Have blue eyes, that is.)

But I'm pretty sure they're not going to stay that way. Because some days they're gray. Other days a murky...non-color? And still others I can spot a little glimmer of Clay's color. (Green-y brown.)

For the baby mamas and papas out there: When did your peanut's eye color turn its real shade?

Two months

Our best girl is two months old today.

Dang!

Apologies for her somber expression. It's been a rough day around here and that's about as happy as she got.

(Piglet for size reference.)

(And now I'm going to try and get my little angel pop to sleep. A word she's forgotten the meaning of.)

This was much of our trip

1. Country tunes. These were live at a gas station. Awesome.
2. Backward snoozing.
3. SONIC.

Oh, HI

Turns out, our sweet little baby -- who usually only cries a few minutes each day -- is VERY MAD AT US for taking her on a big trip. It's not that she wasn't good -- no, great -- while we traveled. She was a total champ on both plane rides, barely made a peep during the many, many car rides we took, and cuted it up for all her relatives.

HOWEVER.

Bedtime brought massive tears and screams. Like, you hauled my ass all over the world, I put on a good face for all those strangers but NO MORE, evil parents! Once she got her ya-ya's out, she'd sleep great. But then demon screams would reappear at the next bedtime. And now that we're home, she is completely over it. Like, if I fall asleep, I may wake up in another home or state or country. So I will NOT FALL ASLEEP. Or STOP CRYING.

(I admit she finally fell asleep. Four hours into trying. I'm frantically bouncing her with my foot as I type.)

And while I'm tired and cranky and feeling frustrated, I mostly feel guilty and my heart's a little crumbly because...we did this to her. Our sweet little scone is crabby solely because we pushed it too far. Parenting fail 101!

This isn't to say that Texas wasn't a good time. We got to see a lot of people we haven't seen in a long time, ate some really great food (barbecue! Sonic! real biscuits! sweet tea! catfish! cupcakes! I gained 300 lbs!), enjoyed the insanely beautiful spring weather, and bonded our little family of three even more.

But I just want my buttery biscuit back to normal. Sigh.

Yeehaw

Mugging in Texas. Catfish, sweet tea, and lotsa trucks. XO

Deep in the heart

People! We made it! Alive!

Typing on my fone so I'll keep it brief, but Harps truly did GREAT. She even rocked the new sleep arrangement last night! I'm one proud mama.

We're off to Location Two today, deeper into the wilds. Our little city girl won't know what hit her!



(Snoozin on the plane!)

Not that you need to know this

Before I say anything else -- NO, I am not pregnant again. Sheesh.

But! For some reason, my body thinks it should get ready to make the cute smushy mug above a sibling. What the WHAT?! Isn't nursing supposed to keep all that nonsense away for, like, a year? Maybe 10? Epic body fail.

In other, less revealing, news: We're taking our first plane ride tomorrow. Cue dramatic muzak! We haven't been to Texas to see Clay's family in much too long and there are many people yet to meet the Bisque. So we're packing up some diapers and the Pack 'n Play and hitting the tarmac for an Easter visit.

I'm feeling a wee bit nervous about the whole adventure (coughing passengers! crying baby! explosive-up-the-back-poops-in-a-small-bathroom!), but know it's good to get this under my belt before my mind makes it into something scarier than it really is.

That being said: Pray for us?!

Sunday

Please don't interrupt us. We're doin deals.

Happy Harps

Photo cred/props to Christian Selchau-Hansen.
Thank you mucho for being our paparaz today!

So why is our little lady so happy? Because! Because her daddyo papa pants won't be traveling anymore. Yup. Much to his ladies' delight, Clay gave notice this week and will put in his last day tomorrow. (!!!!!)

It's a big change for our little family, but I couldn't be happier. (And neither could Harps!) Our favorite guy is going to be here instead of there.

Which is really effing awesome.

Details on our next chapter to follow when...they're figured out. Bam!

A different kind of baby bump

My little papoose and me.

I'm still working out the kinks and I've still got a few other brands to try out, but dude! Babywearing is so incredibly handy. Of course little Junebug doesn't always want to be RIGHTUPONME -- the lady likes her space, too -- but usually she does.

(And actually in the past few days she's totally realized when I've left her zone and will sometimes cry until I'm back. What in the hell will the stranger anxiety months hold if she's like this at 6.5 weeks?!)

When I actually get the wrap snug enough and her little nose in the right position to breathe and her head not bobbing around, I can get so much stuff done. Holy two hands!

Another bonus? All the crazy looks and waves from rando fans on the street.

*beauty queen wave*

In 'n Out

Cheeseburgers and cokes on Fisherman's Wharf.

I blame any and all fast food binges on my brother.

In which I annoyed everyone in San Francisco

Because I couldn't stop squealing and taking pictures of her little peeping mug during our family stroll.




Not sure what you did Saturday night, but mine was spent picking up all the pieces of my heart.

Sometimes... I dress her like a girl

  
Listen. It's not like I'm anti-pink. I love pink! Makes my skin look all glowy and my husband look all hunky. But for some reason, I find myself dressing Harper in unisex outfits. It's just that I love love love her in a plain white onesie! I can't help it -- it's an American classic, people. Add in the jeans and she's ready to join the Jets!

And then we all know how I feel about lumberjack oufits. Yum!

The problem is, when your baby is small and bald, no one knows what the hell she is. And when they try and find out by asking her name? Er. Clearly, my unisex tendencies carried over there, as well.

So when I go out in public -- like yesterday, to visit old coworkers and show them what I cooked up all those months at my desk -- I feel driven to put her in pink. And stick a purple binky in her mouth. And a flowery blanket over her legs. I come very close to swiping a bit of mascara on her lashes. Because as much as I pretend not to care, I need people to know she's a lay-dee.

Open doors for us! Pull out our chairs! Let us off the Titanic first!

Um

That is all.

6 weeks

Lil HJC will be 6 weeks on Friday. Huh? What? When did that happen? Mom?

Which means it's time (today) for my 6 week check-up with the laydee doctor. I remember thinking that was LIGHT YEARS away right after I pushed Harps out and my OB was up in my grill telling me to make an appointment stat. But I blinked my eyes and suddenly I'm dressing myself and my bug for a quick jaunt down the hill, into some stirrups.

I've read all these things about people being super nervous about this particular milestone. And I'm confused. Should I be nervous? Are they going to make me push out another baby? Will she strip my membranes again? Drill my teeth without novacaine? What in the world could be worse than those things? Honestly, I'm excited to get the go-ahead for things like exercise and, ahem, exercise. It's time to feel like a real person again.

But before we go, may I treat you to a foto? Snapped for papa, who's on the road and needed to see these jeans in action:

We must suffer to be beautiful, Biscuit!

Chances are

If you catch me on the phone these days:

1) A small miracle has occurred and I've decided to press "Answer" -- even though I'm the Worst Phone Person Ever and I now have a Very Small Thing that needs me At All Times.

and/or

2) I will fill your ears with breastmilk/poo/snot talk. ("She pooed up her back AGAIN! Should we try another diaper size? I'm thinking of trying another diaper size...Or maybe just another brand?") And genuinely think you're genuinely interested.

Doesn't me-not-answering-your-call seem a lot more appealing now?

Papa love

For his personal use, Clay has deemed the stroller "lame" -- there is something kind of pansyish about a big guy pushing a very small person around -- while the Bjorn has gotten his stamp of approval. I'm fine with this because OH MY HOLY GOD LOOK HOW ADORABLE THEY ARE TOGETHER.

We took a stroll down Fillmore, peeked in some shops, picked up some takeout, enjoyed the sunshine. (Sorry, monsoon-sufferers of New England.) She was O-U-T the whole time, cuddled up close and loving her tough little life. And it left my hands/back/everything free to walk around like a real person! I approve.

Zip zip

This (sunny, sunny!) weekend, my little family and I drove down the Peninsula to meet Harper's new best gal pal, Inga. After shared pregnancies full of what-the-hell-is-happening-to-us and chocolate cupcakes, my good buddy Lou gave birth a couple weeks ago to her own little baby girl heart stamp. I've been dying to get my grubby little hands on her and finally I did! And she is DELICIOUS. I can't wait to see her again.

But the crazy part was seeing Harper and Inga side by side. Only one month apart, but so different! What a month of milk can do! Because I see our scone baby everyday, it's tough to see how she's growing and changing. (Except when I look at her thighs -- her thighs say it all.) But next to a new newborn, I was finally able to see.

And then I took this video yesterday and oh man! It's almost time for college.

(Look for the almost-smile she's throwing at us these days!)

The books all say

That weeks 4-6 are the fussiest for babies.

I can confirm this fact.

But then!

She does this!

And all is forgiven.

Germz

I'm getting (slightly) better at not freaking when it's time to take Harper into public places. The thought of mouth breathers mouth breathing on my little scone makes me twitch, but I know I've got to a) start building up her immune system and b) see the light of day now and again.

We've developed a rating system to determine which places are appropriate. It goes like this:

Definitely safe (home) = 0 germs.
Mostly safe (sidewalk) = 1/2 germ.
Just-bearably-safe (cafe on a weekday, in the corner, facing away from all humans) = 1 germ.

Anything above 1 germ? (Grocery store, movie theater, mall, etc.) is OFF LIMITS TO THE BISCUIT.

What? Why're you looking at me like that?

Here's the Harps rockin' out gangsta style at a cafe down the street.

Don't mess!

Snooze pants

Most times, our little glow worm is pretty good at snoozing, no matter where you put her. There are naps in the bouncy chair, naps on the couch, and nighttime in her cribby. But sometimes her tum is hurting or she's a little overtired or hiccupy and needs a little extra loving. (You know -- in addition to the 78 hours a day she gets held.) And sometimes (always) her mama needs rest (and extra loving), too.

So we head to the Big Person Bed. We lie down next to each other and snuggle. She hears me breathe and smells my smell (milk) and falls into a deep sleep that's tough to replicate elsewhere. And then she wakes up and looks like this and my heart explodes:

We haz aliveness!

Scenes from a couch. Can you spot the Peeps? The dirty diaper? The God-knows-what?

Unless you're my mother, you probably weren't on the edge of your seats, but rest assured -- Glow Worm and I made it through our first night alone healthy and (all things considered) happy.

Harper did great -- completed her eat/sleep/eat/sleep/eat/sleep routine without missing a beat -- and I surprised myself by actually sleeping somewhere in the fog, too. (Instead of obsessively feeling her chest for movement every five minutes or adjusting the temperature of her room to perfection. I still did these things; it just wasn't every five minutes.)

Of course the tough part usually comes the next day, when the adrenaline wears off and you realize there are a lot of hours to fill with a non-speaking cuddle smush. Without Clay taking one of my feeding shifts last night, I'm running on a couple less hours sleep today than usual (when "the usual" is 5ish, "a couple less" makes a big difference) and with him gone until 9 or so tonight? Today hasn't been exactly...pretty.

Not that we're losing our minds over here, the Biscuit and I. It's actually been a lowkey and fairly calm day. We've eaten and napped and pooped. Rinse repeat. It's just the aesthetics of it all leave something (major) to be desired.

I'm wearing a strange hodge podge of sour milky clothes and she hasn't worn much more than a diaper and a blanket. I have paper towels stuffed up inside my shirt to soak up any leaks and there's a spit up stain the size of Iceland on our sheets. My main source of nutrition has been a baggie of cookies from Billy the Doorman and I still haven't folded the clean laundry from yesterday -- currently residing in the storage unit of my stroller, since someone stole our hamper bag.

But it's strange. Having these types of days makes me feel like I'm really doing this thing. This mom thing. This love-your-baby-so-much-you-don't-care-she-just-pooped-in-your-hand thing. It's nutty and tiring and insane, but it's also kick ass and real.

Girls night...in

Clay "Dad Man" Cowan hit the road today for a quick, one-night trip away. Which means the Lobster Bisque and I are solo for the first time since...never! Huzzah! Gulp.

I felt a little nervous pervous/mopey yesterday thinking about it, but our little friend let me get a few solid hours of sleep last night, today turned out to be sparkly sunshiney blue skies, and I even went for a walk into the real world without my mom forcing me to. And I did baby laundry! And ate a Cadbury egg! And I'm having one of my best pals visit tonight! I can do this, people!

And the icing on the cake? Running into Billy the Doorman who gave an amazing performance pretending not to know me since I've lost some baby weight.

"YOUR NAME CANNOT BE AMY!!!!!"

Yup. Things are good.

(But we still miss you, Dad Pants!)

Do they take one-month-olds at Weight Watchers?

Because I've got a potential customer over here.

PPD (Post Partum Dance)

We kind of like to dance in our family. Like, a lot. So when my buddies at the old job sent me one of the Wii games I worked on (well, the manual) that gives you points for dancing? Well - I was a touch excited. Even if I'm not supposed to exercise for three more weeks.

It was my mom's last night in town (sob sob sob), so I made her play, too. And Harper watched. Intently. What followed is below.

Harp's signature look (and pose)

A white onesie and legwarmers. Check out the pink 'n purple skulls, people! Walk the plank! Argh! Some other sort of pirate talk!

(If you click the pic it'll get supersized; I just realized HJ and CC have the same upper lip. Heart explosion.)

Fine. I admit it.

I AM OBSESSED WITH MY BABY.

When I was younger, so much younger than todaaaaay

I'm not sure about you, but I always hated group projects. Navigating schedules, delegating tasks, dealing with idiots. And usually, in the end, having to do most of it myself anyways. Or maybe that was just me? Hmm. So that's why everyone wanted to do that Bob Fosse paper with me...

But this quality I have - this FINE I'LL JUST DO IT GO AWAYness - isn't the best trait to carry into motherhood. Because dude. Help is needed - like, seriously - to stay sane and survive. For some reason, though, it can be so hard to ask. Not out of a pride thing ("I'm the best diaper changer in the world!"), but almost out of a laziness thing. Like...it takes too much time to explain what I need and so I just do it myself. And then I get so tired I can't even make eye contact anymore and start saying "Wait - did I say that out loud?" all the time.

I don't recommend this strategy.

Luckily, I've got Clay and Mom in the background, doing things without asking and also asking to do things. And when I finally do pause a moment and realize I need more (sleep, specifically) they're ready and more-than-willing to jump in and take over. Because no one is expecting me to do this whole thing on my own, even if it feels that way sometimes to my crazy, exhausted brain cells. It really is amazing what a little help will do for my spirits. It just takes asking.

Sweet cheeks

I may have mentioned one or twenty times how much Harper can eat. The girl don't stop, yo. And she's packing on the pounds to show for it.

Case in point?

These cheeks.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzz

Milk is life!


Oh, I'm sorry! Did I just drool on your shoulder? Your foot? Did my eyes close mid-sentence? Did I fall over standing up? Please excuse my rudeness. It's just that I HAVEN'T SLEPT IN YEARS.

That's not exactly true, of course. I sleep for little chunks here and there - usually when Clay takes the morning shift, bless his soul - or I'd be hallucinating by now. Although, come to think of it, I did mistake a stale doughnut for a lifebuoy last night...

I can't really complain, though; I've got a scrumptious and healthy baby. And we've all got our jobs in life; mine is Mama Pants and Harper's is Eating Machine 2010. I knew this was part of the newborn deal, this no-sleep-ever thing, but it's just crazy when you're face-to-face with it. Like - ohhhhhhh by "no sleep" you guys literally meant NO SLEEP. Message received, Chief!

And on that note! I must pick up my squirmy bug and kiss her smushy cheeks. She's been a hard worker and deserves a raise.

San Francisco values

Happy as a gender-neutral clam.

Back in Minneapolis, I fell in love with that checkered onesie lil Harps is rocking above. (Look at the elbow pads!) But it was 30+ dollas and I just couldn't do it, dude. I'm not laying down that kind of cash for clothes until she plans on staying the same size for more than a week.

Fast foward a few months - a week or so before her birthday - and I'm scanning the clearance racks at Baby Gap. Huzzah! My onesie! For four dolla! Done.

But here's the thing. Without the proper accessories (a red headband? black strirrup pants? mascara?) that little lumberjack number makes poor, bald, little Harps into a boy. Clay was horrified. Biscuit looked delighted. I couldn't stop laughing. You'll fit right in with the gender-is-a-spectrum SF peeps, Harps! Way to go!

Hungry girl

So I was thinking last night -- around 2 or 3 or maybe 4 in the morn? -- that after this whole nursing thing is said and done, I really think it'd only be fair I add it to my résumé. Because holy Batman! The time and persistence and patience and, uh, team spirit it takes is much more impressive than any software program I know how to use. (Word. And...a creative interpretation of Excel.)

Which is not to say that things are going badly or that I'm frustrated. Because actually, Harper has been a pro at this whole deal since her birthday. I've got no idea how I got so lucky -- I didn't take a class or read a book on the whole thing, just figured I'd wing it -- but she somehow just got it. I'm not a religious lady, but if I were? I'd send a brightly wrapped package of See's Candies to Heaven and say thank you.

And the insane, gooey bonding time when she clutches my shirt and nuzzles me and the, uh, losing 18 pounds in 10 days? Tough to beat.

But man. It be some work. Not like digging-in-a-coal-mine work, of course. It's just the absolutely mindboggling frequency with which she wants to eat (especially from the hours of 11-3 a.m.) can drive a sister bonkers.

I've got some tricks, though. Lots of peanut butter toast. Lots of podcasts in one ear. Lots of watered-down cranberry juice with lots of ice cubes in lots of red cups. Lots of remembering it's not forever and I'll miss it when it's over.

And this sweet mug doesn't hurt things either.

Don't mind my rosebud mouth

All the better to smush you with.

Want lots more yumminess? We (Clay) finally uploaded a bunch of pics from HJ's first week. Click here for a tour of our lil Valentine. Bon appetit!

Morning music class

This is how we do.

One week in

The elusive eyes-open shot.

Dude. I can't believe it's been a whole week since little Harps J joined our scene. But at the same time, I feel like we've known her forever. How did we not know about her little pouty mouth and tasty cheek cakes 8 days ago? Seems impossible.

Things so far are really good. It's surprising to write that because I assumed at this point I'd be face down in a pool of saliva and tears - both hers and mine. But I'm handling the changes and chugging along, feasting on her chicken legs whenever they're loose from the swaddle and nibbling on her nose as dessert. I'm tired, with the undereye circles of a heroin-addicted raccoon, and of course there are low moments, but she's seriously been such a sweet baby for us and I could not be more grateful. Who knows if suddenly she'll turn into T-rex the Baby Robot, but for now? She's just our tiny harpsichord.

Who me?

I'm just chillin in my navy hoodie. Don't mess!

Labor tales: Part 3 (and the end)

Okay, I'll wrap this up.

I napped for a couple hours until they checked me again.

"She's right there!"

"There" meaning the crucial area, apparently. Nice work, Harps!

I assumed the position again, this time sans iPod. The music thing was not working for Team Cowan.

This time, pushing was a lot less sucky. Each push was actually making visible (though very small) progress, so I wasn't losing the will to live. Not that I saw any of this visible progress; I was asked muliple times if I wanted to "feel her" or "see her with a mirror" to which I always answered:

"Nope!"

Now I sort of wish I had looked, but at the time it wasn't my thing, so - meh. It's probably for the best.

After another hour and 50 minutes of pushing, I was really close - but Harper just wasn't making her appearance. She can't help that her brain's so big! I was exhausted and my back was starting to seize up again. Up started the cliched GET THIS BABY  OUT OF ME's. It's all I could think. GET HER OUT.

The OB kept telling me to focus focus focus, but I was! And it wasn't the numbing of the epidural slowing us down, because I still had quite a bit of sensation in the...pushing area. If lady didn't come out in the next few pushes, they were bringing out the vacuum to suck her out.

"It only holds serious side effects for 1 to 3 percent of babies."

Clay and I look at each other. Not really fabulous odds?

So as a last ditch effort before busting out the Hoover, they cut me up a lovely (dun dun dun) episiotomy. Sigh. For those who don't know what this is, they gave me a quick slice to make more room for beefcake's exit. I was slightly bummed, but it proved the right move, because with one or two more BIG pushes...she was out!

Strangest.Feeling.Ever.

A person! Just! Came out! Of me!

And it felt like it.

Clay, who had remained pretty quiet through the whole pushing process, holding my hand and focusing with me, saw her heading my way and went:

"Holy SHIT!"

It was awesome.

Soon she was up on my tummy, bluey and covered in cheese and quiet. Once the placenta slithered out, the umbilical cord had stopped pulsing (the one alternative birthing thing I was adamant on) and it was cut, little Harper June started crying and mugging and cuddling and cramming her way into our heart cavities for good.

I couldn't stop staring at her and then looking at Clay, staring at her and looking at Clay. I honestly couldn't believe it had all happened so "fast" (24 hours later) and she was suddenly here with us! Holy shit was right.

And then there were three. Snap!

Fingers!

Last night, I decided to live on the edge; I drove my mom home and then got some gas. All without Harper.

I wanted to give Clay some solo papa time and I wanted to give myself the confidence that I can leave her without losing my mind. First goal? Achieved. Second goal? Um. We're working on it.

When I got home and rushed in the door, I found Clay sitting on the couch with Harps next to him, lying on her side. Fully alert, eyes wide open, loving life with her favorite guy. And what was she doing?



What's next? WALKING?!

Labor tales: Part 2

Where were we?

A couple hours into our night's "sleep" (I was way too ramped up to sleep), the doctor came in and checked my progress. She sounded really surprised to find I was almost 5 centimeters. They hadn't started a pitocin drip and oftentimes the epidural slows things down for awhile, so this was moving fast. She gave me a thumbs up and headed out.

I felt another wave of excitement and realized it was time for a cherry popsicle.

I rang the nurse and snap! Cherry popsicle in my mouth.

While she was puttering around with the baby's heart monitor, I felt the weirdest sensation. A small *pop!* and then a big GUSH of...stuff...came out of my nethers.

"Did my water just break?!"

Quick check.

"Yep."

I think I've watched too many sad clown birth shows on TV where they always have to break the water bag with some arcane pointy object, so I was totally stunned when it just...happened. And I was psyched because things would definitely move even faster now.

Doobie doobie doo. Another few hours passed. Clay flipped and flopped in his medieval cot and I continued to enjoy my numb legs. I could still feel lots of pressure when a major contraction rolled around, but pain? There was none.

Around 5 in the morn, the nurse came back in to check my progress. I was fully dilated! Holy Batman.

I could have started pushing then, but because a) I wasn't in pain b) the baby still sounded great on the monitor c) the baby was still pretty far UP inside and d) there was a doctor shuffle going on (I could write a whole entry on this, but meh - boring), we decided to keep me chilled on ice for a couple more hours. This way, the biscuit could mosey on down naturally and hopefully reduce my pushing time.

I called my Mom and she headed on over to the hospital. Clay opened up his laptop and started doing a little work. I...don't remember what I did. I really couldn't believe I was about to push out a baby. Like, you can mentally accept that fact all you want, you can know you have to do it, but when it's suddenly time? It's absolutely bizarre.

Finally, the doctor situation got (sort of) settled and it was time to begin the Great Push. The nurse hung out down below, and up by me were Mom to my right and Clay to my left. I felt suddenly self-conscious about people seeing everything, so I asked if she could drape me with a towel? She hooked me up and I kept telling Mom and Clay NOT. TO. LOOK. Not sure why I really cared at that point, but I just felt completely exposed and vulnerable. And one definite downside to the epidural is how immobile you feel. I needed help pulling my legs up into the stirrups and I kept making inappropriate comments like:

"This is how John Locke would have to give birth."

I don't even really know what that means?

I also got it in my head that I needed to have music during the pushing time. So Clay found my phone and started scrolling for good tunes. Of which we kept failing to find. I think at one point I was pushing to Paul Simon singing 'Take Me to the Mardi Gras' which...I don't recommend.

So pushing! Yeah, it's weird.

My good friend Manjiri told me a year ago that it's exactly like...going to the bathroom. And to use exactly those muscles and nothing else. Don't picture you're pushing something out of your ___, picture you're pushing it out of your ____. Which is exactly what I did and is exactly what worked. Thanks, Manj!

But I totally hadn't prepared myself for how athletic the whole thing would be. Dang! Like, it is work, people. You push and push and push and people are shouting things to you:

"ARC OVER YOUR BABY!!!!"

(What???????????)

"MAKE A "C" OVER YOU BABY!!!"

(???????????)

"PULL ON THE HANDLES!"

"PUSH MY FINGERS OUT!"

"DON'T JUST PUSH WITH YOUR FACE!"

Wow. So yeah. I pushed and pushed and pushed. For two hours. And nothing was really happening. Harps was slowly, slowly, slowly moving down the birth canal - but she was taking her sweet time. They kept asking me

"How big IS this baby?"

And I'm all - I have no idea! Big I guess? Can we not talk about this right now?

Then they started warning me she'd have a conehead. Clay and I were both born with coneheads due to lots of push time by our mamas, so I wasn't too worried. Tradition!

Toward the end of the first hour, my pain levels started increasing. My lower back was suddenly in agonizing spasms again, I could feel each contraction, and I was super nauseous/shaky/sweaty. I asked to push on my side for a bit, which helped with the back pain, but didn't help move our lady down anymore.

Aside from some bad times pre-laboring at home, I was most unhappy during this stretch of time. It feels so depressing to push and push and push with no results. And how was the pain coming back with a spinal tap full of numbing juice pumping through me? And why did all my least favorite Beatles songs keep playing?

I think I might have said a lot of nasty things during this chunk. I'm choosing to embrace the amnesia, though I'm sure Clay and Mom could help you out if you're interested in specifics.

So after two hours of minimal progress, we changed our game plan. We'd start me on a pitocin drip to strengthen the contractions and move her down passively (read: she does the work, not me) past the pelvic bone, up my meds, and try again in a couple hours. I feel super lucky we were able to do this. Many times, c-sections are ordered up when things don't progress fast enough, but because Harper stayed happy and healthy and steady with her heartbeat the entire time - there was no reason to rush. Thank you, my best girl!

In strolled Mr. Drug Man Pusher Man and pumped me up again. The waves of pain started to subside and I nodded off to sleep, exhausted and really ready to meet Bisquick.

Waiting for Mr. Docta

A ballerina awaits her first appointment.

Labor tales: Part 1

I want to start knocking out my labor story before it all leaves my brain. I'll try and keep it brief-ish.

(No, I won't.)

I think a good amount of you followed my tweets last week, so you have the rough outline already, but here goes:

After a busy day Wednesday (another membrane sweep, a long walk with my mom at Golden Gate Park, various errands) I woke up early, early Thursday morning with some cramping and squeezies. It felt a little different than the past few days and the nervous butterflies started to kick in. It felt crazy that I might actually do this before my due date, without induction. I crossed my fingers tight.

I got up, ate a bunch (seriously - like four) rice krispies treats on the fort/couch and watched my Netflix queue under a blanket. The cramping and contractions continued coming, about 15 minutes apart. I didn't want to alert the crowds, because false labor is so common, but I felt hopeful. After peeing, I noticed a small amount of pink on the tissue paper. I pretty much knew it was really happening then.

I told Clay to head to work because it could be a long day (or two) and I'd spend the day with my mom while he wrapped things up for a possible few days out-of-office. Mom came over around 11 and things started moving fast from there. By 1-ish, the contractions were never more than 10 minutes apart and were largely concentrated in my back. By 2-ish, the contractions would come and go - but the back pain wouldn't. It just HUNG OUT and never went away. I'd been really worried about this (I've always had back issues) and rightly so. It really, effing hurt. Like, in that terrible claustrophobic, I-can't-get-away way. Because instead of being able to gather my strength and sanity for the next contraction, I had to battle through the constant back pain and then try and find some reserves for the actual squeezing.

I bossed my poor mom around, telling her to apply counterpressure (leaning really hard on my back during the worst of the pain) and then yelling that it wasn't good enough. She made me snacks and I couldn't even look at them. ("WHY WOULD I WANT GRAPES?!") We watched a lot of Man Vs. Food because even though I didn't want to eat anything, watching someone else eat disgusting things was strangely comforting.

At one point, I told her:

"I hate everybody."

She said:

"Except baby Libby." (My cousin's baby.)

I had to agree. But seriously - everyone else? Even Santa Claus? I hated them.

Clay came home in the afternoon and joined in the fun. He and Mom took turns applying counterpressure until he brilliantly remembered our heated massage chair tucked away in the closet. Once that came out, it took serious prodding to get me off it. I watched News Radio and took sad little walks up and down the 12th floor hallway. I felt crabby and exhausted and anxious and over it.

I kept asking them:

"Will I always feel like this? Forever?"

Because...it really felt that way. I tried to remember the soothing messages my birthing books taught me. That "each contraction is a step closer to meeting your new baby" and other gems like that, but nope! Not happening.

Around 8ish, my contractions were coming about 5 minutes apart and had been for an hour or two. But they were still "only" about 45 seconds long - and the hospital doesn't want you showing up till they're 60. We decided I'd hang in another two hours and if they weren't 60 by then - screw it, we were going. An hour into our two hour deal, I suffered yet another insane wave of contraction pain on top of the constant waves of back pain. I stood up and said:

"I'm done."

Obviously, they weren't messing with a preggo.

I called my doctor, lied about the timing, and grabbed our (way overpacked) hospital bag.

By that time, I'd decided an epidural was happening. I was hoping, in my innocent before-Thursday-life, to avoid one. But I'd never talked too much about it, knowing I didn't want to set myself up for "failure" if I gave in. I just kind of kept my mouth shut over the course of my pregnancy and figured I'd know what the best answer was.

The best answer was an epidural.

Ten minutes later, we arrived and they quickly took us to triage. A speedy (seriously, I've never seen emergency room people move so fast - could it have been my DEATH GLARE CRYING SAD CLOWN WANT TO DIE-ness?) exam showed me at 3 centimeters, 100% effaced. I panicked for a second that wasn't good enough, but nope! I was in.

Clay immediately took action. After sage warnings from his co-workers that it can take awhile to get one set up, he said:

"She wants an epidural. Now."

And dammit! Those people hustled. Maybe they thought we were important somebodies? I had no idea things didn't have to take 79 hours in a hospital. But 45 minutes after walking into the ER, I was numb from the waist down. HALLELUJAH.

I kind of wish I had a transcript of the things I was saying during all this. But I do remember the anesthesiologist coming in and explaining his credentials and experience and what he was doing and yada yada yada. And me interrupting him to say:

"I don't care if you're a man off the street. Just do it."

After I was numb and warm and cozy, they set up a cot for Clay and told us to get comfortable; I was still in early active labor and it would take awhile to get to 10 centimeters and pushing. My mom headed to her pad a few miles away, Clay got "comfortable", and I turned on a Frasier. I was snuggled up and pain-free, I could hear my baby girl's heartbeat thumping away, and exciting things were just around the corner.

I was giddy.

No more bumpdates!

(Can we discuss the hilarity of that hat? One of our nurses fashioned the bow out of the hospital nursery hats. She looks like she's about to take a bubble bath with a chilled wine cooler.)

Not that I don't have a bump, of course. I'm still rocking a Santa-like, 20-week-ish, tummy that jiggles when I move and fits quite nicely under both maternity and regular person clothes. Just maximizing the wardrobe, people!

Oh, but seriously, guys. Thank you big for all your Harper cheers and well wishes. We really loved reading all your comments from my Intro post (written with one hand during crazy hospital time) -- it's so much fun sharing her with ya'll after all those pregnancy adventures you came along with us on. I definitely need to make some sort of book of it all; one day she'll love to read all that love from her wide-flung friends. She's one lucky lady.

And now? Now, we are safely snuggled in our hatch -- a little family of three, figuring things out as they come and rolling with the punches as best we can. Last night Ms. Harper showed us just how wakey wakey she can be when she wants! I, for one, am very impressed. Also, exhausted. And occasionally anxious. I'd be more than a little bonkers right now if my mom weren't here to help with food and diapers and stealing her away from me so I can take a quick nap here and there. Cereal life saver. Word to my mommies-to-be sistas? ACCEPT ALL OFFERED HELP. Whew.

My favorite part of all this madness so far, apart from just her, is seeing Clay and Biscuit together. Um. I know I'm supposed to have words, for this is a blog, but nope! I'm a bit of a hormonal mess right now, so I'll catch him chatting her up, telling her a story, whispering little things to her and I basically lose my bananas. Bye, bananas!

May I show you this?



AHHHHHHHHH.

It's easy to see why people keep makin' the babies even after all the nuttiness. I just want to eat them both and protect them both and eat them again, all in 2 quick minutes. That makes sense, right? Oh good. Moving on.

I want to tell you all my labor story (at least up to the PG-13 parts), the hospital stay, the adventures of breastfeeding and newborn aftermath. And I will! But for now, it's Harper time. Kinda like Hammer time, but different.

Hearts.

Introducing!

Harper June Cowan

Born February 5th, 2010
1:24 p.m.


8 lbs. 8 oz. (Ah!)

 20 inches

Full story and more details coming soon, friends, but mama and papa and baby are s-p-e-n-t.

But put simply: She's already rocking our world.

And thank you thank you thank you for all your awesome and supportive tweets and comments and emails and texts. The nurses made fun of me for checking in on them throughout labor, but they really helped me in some seriously low moments. And wooo eeee will those moments be fun to write about!

And now. We fall asleep, at chateau le Hospitale.


xo.

Dear Epidural

Will you marry me?

We can have lots of babies. Because it won't hurt!

Oh right - I'M IN LABOR.

Full story later but in the hospital, everyone doing well, need to rest up for the push ahead. Ha. Push.

But seriously. Let's talk marriage, Epi.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Flip Flop

Okay. Forget yesterday. All those high fives with SF and such.

I'm back to grumpy.

There's no reason for it, of course, unless - oh wait! - you realize how unbelievably uncomfortable I am.

Clay now refers to my belly as "The Apartment" because, well, it's where the Biscuit lives. And because it totally looks like a separate entity from the rest of me. Like I'm just hoisting around someone's living space for kicks. Because - oh wait! - I am.

I had another appointment today. We're (because this is a group activity) at 2 centimeters dilated, 75% effaced, and baby is slightly more dropped. This is pretty good news, but truth be told, I wanted her to say:

"Wow! You're at 4 centimeters! 90% effaced! You're in active labor and didn't even know it! Head to the hospital - you're having this baby TODAY!"

But I guess that only happens on baby mama online forums and not real life.

Docta docta gave me the option of inducing as early as Saturday (!), which, while (very) tempting, seems a little early to be evicting Biscuit without warning. Because I'm not birthing this baby in a closet under a duvet cover, part of this process is up to me, but part is also up to my doctor - who is still concerned that Biscuit might be too big to push out if we wait too long.

I think our compromise, if she hasn't come on her own yet (PLEASE come out on your own?) will be an induction next Thursday the 11th. This will put me at 40.5 weeks (because, unbeknownst to me, Monday the 8th is my official due date...).

So!

That's where we stand.

Me: Grumpy
Baby: Cozy

Keep ya posted.

Thank you, San Francisco

For being the perfect place to survive this last chunk of pregnancy.

You are not too cold or icy or gloomy. You are not too hot or humid or stanky.

And currently, you're holding back on the total monsoon you're supposed to be throwing our way. We've had rain, sure, but there's also been plenty of weak sunshine and dry skies to tempt me outside these walls.

Plus! There are so many little activities and eucalyptus-scented parks and itty bitty cafes to keep us busy while we tick tock tick tock wait.

Fairly certain if I weren't here, I'd be performing my own c-section right now.

So! In conclusion.

Thanks, SF. I owe ya one.