Where is he?

A bizarre phenomenon has overtaken me since we brought Jack home.

Each and every night, I awake in a tangle of covers, searching for him. I frantically grab the comforter and start grabbing the sheets and I wake Josh and ask where Jack is.

And every night he tells me he is in the basinette. At the foot of our bed. Where he has been sleeping for almost three weeks now.

I believe this is Freudian somehow. I think it has to do with the fear of rolling over onto the baby and asphyxiating him. Not sure why this is a fear in the first place, considering Jack does not sleep in our bed.

Also not sure if it has anything to do with me going to sleep and Josh staying up with him until 2 or 3 a.m. So Josh puts him to bed and maybe since I am not putting him down, I can't wrap my brain around it? That, or I am just a paranoid freak and I am losing my mind.

I have always had a weird tendency to act as if I am awake and have conversations while actually still half-asleep. Many a night I have talked jibberish to Josh and he has made fun of me the next morning. Occasionally, I even wake myself up while I am doing it. Which results in me trailing off whatever I am saying and realizing I am making an ass out of myself.

So maybe tonight, I can keep my shit together and try to act like a rational parent. You know, one who is not pulling up the mattress pad looking for her baby.

The birth story

Really, the story of Jack's birth starts at my 37-week appointment on Monday, Jan. 31. At this appointment, my doctor said she thought the end of this difficult pregnancy story could be written. She said if I had not gone into labor by the following week on my own, we could set an induction date.

So the week and weekend came and went with many contractions, two almost-trips to Labor & Delivery and no baby. So that Monday, Feb. 6, she asked when we wanted to do it and how did we feel about Tuesday, since she was on call. Josh said he really didn’t want to do Tuesday, because he had a lot to wrap up at work on a new project and I was all “Let’s book it now, I want this kid OUT.”

So the doctor said she could also work us in on Wednesday and that there would be room in L&D, so we should discuss amongst ourselves and let her know that night. On the way home Josh convinced me to wait until Wednesday, so we decided that would be the big day.

So Tuesday before I was induced. Josh's sister, Marnie, had stayed with me during the day so Josh could finish up his last-minute stuff at work. I asked if he could go down in the morning and come back as soon as his meeting was over and he seemed amenable.

At 3:30 p.m. when I called him, he still had not left. He was waiting to meet with one more person and then was heading out. Fabulous. I got some last-minute cleaning and organizing done around the house and decided to get a manicure around 6 p.m.

While my nails were drying an hour later, Josh called.

Josh: "You are going to kill me."
Me: "WHY?"
Josh: "I am just leaving now."
Amy: (Audible sigh and gnashing of the teeth) "Fine. I will just eat my leftovers."

We were supposed to go to dinner and get some last-minute things done and generally hang out just the two of us. Instead, I ate leftover pasta from my birthday dinner and cooled my heels.

He made up for it though, when he came in at 9:15 p.m. with a big balloon, roses and some birthday cards (long story, suffice it to say, my birthday cards were late, but he did get them, which is all that counts).

Then we made a mad dash to Lowes, which is about 15 minutes away, to get cabinet hardware so our kitchen contractor could install them the next day. We had promised to pick them up before Wednesday, so we had to get it done. So there we are standing in the hardware aisle at Lowes, after the 10 p.m. closing time, while the nice man gets us 25 of the handles out of storage and I keep thinking "Don't go into labor, don't go into labor."

We stopped for ice cream on the way home, mmmmm, and then when we got back, Josh announced it was time to finish the website updates so we could send it live when Jack was born.

I stopped what I was doing and whined it was midnight and I needed to sleep because HELLO, I AM PUSHING A KID OUT TOMORROW AND I NEED MY REST. I helped him with a few things, had a slight feeling of freaked-outedness about the impending birth and went to sleep.

I woke up before the alarm Wednesday morning, so I actually got going and in the shower around 6:40 a.m. My OB had told us to get there early -- she actually said "Around 7 a.m." but we (read: JOSH) have a problem being on time for anything, so I anticipated lateness. We also had agreed we would actually get there a little later than 7 a.m. because my doctor had a lunch appointment and we really did not want her to be gone while I delivered.

Yes, I know there was likely no way I was going to pop a kid out in seven hours, but you never know. My cervix, it is the devil.

So we finally get going and Josh gets up and we get out of the house around 8 a.m. I insist on stopping for donuts on the way -- I knew I would not be eating all day after I got there -- and then Josh came in and wanted a bacon/egg/cheese bagel, and that took forever since it was busy. Sooooo we're on our way to the hospital finally.

We arrived and parked in the patient parking and grabbed the bags. After a five-minute discussion about whether the elevator stopped on 2 or not (Josh was right, it did not) we figured it out and headed up. They sent us right back down to OB Triage. Annoying.

So we get in and I gown up and they call my doctor and things get underway. They hook up the fetal monitor and the contraction monitor and start taking the medical history for the induction. They also start an IV.

First vein -- blown after about 1 minute. Second vein -- we have a winner. So the IV is started and I am warned I may not eat anything else. As I down the last of my hot chocolate, I inform them the two donuts will tide me over. The nurse looks at me funny, but she doesn't say anything.

My doctor comes in at 9 a.m. and says she thought something happened to us because we were so late. We apologize and she says it is busy upstairs, but they will get us a room soon.

So we wait. And we wait. And I am not having contractions. So Josh is IMing people and I am reading US Weekly. And we wait some more. My blood pressure on first check was 136/92.

At 10:55 a.m. I hear a nurse say, "Dr. X is really mad. We need to get her in a room now."

Five minutes later they were wheeling me up to Labor and Delivery and we had a room. My doctor came in and quickly explained that they were going to use a Foley catheter to dilate my cervix to 4 cm and once it was there, the catheter would fall out and we would be ready to start the Pitocin.

I started to get really nervous once I was in the L&D room. I think it finally hit me that I was having a baby. I got a little shaky, like I always do when I get nervous, and I was thinking it seemed like a good time to change my mind.

When they checked my blood pressure for the first time upstairs, it was up to 136/102. My normal BP is around 110/60, but it had been elevated for the last three weeks.

This would be a good place to note I was between 2-3 cm dilated at my 38-week appointment two days earlier and 80 percent effaced. I was contracting randomly all day, every day for two weeks, but nothing regular enough to send me to the hospital.

So Josh commenced with the IMing from his phone and I read a little. At that point, I was starting to get annoyed that he was on instant messenger. I had specifically told him we would let people know when we got to the hospital and when I was ready to push.
Nowhere did I give him to OK to give live updates to everyone, including his friends.But in the interest of labor harmony, I kept my mouth shut and instead asked every once in a while what he was doing and he would smile sheepishly and say nothing. And then he would tell me how funny he was and what he was IMing people and what funny things they were saying back.

The Pitocin got the party started at 11:47 a.m. My doctor told the nurses that I wanted an epidural as soon as possible and then left for lunch and said she would be back in a few hours to check my progress. The nurse said the anesthesiologist was in the room next door and would be right over.

They started the Pitocin at level 2, and told me they would increase it by 2 every hour. They can go as high as 20, but they like to start small. So the contractions started a few minutes later and I was not happy.

Josh was trying to tell me something funny someone had IMed him and the entire time I was looking at him listening, but thinking, "Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet." He said he could tell I was in pain and was trying to make me laugh. Instead, I was giving him a fake half-smile.

Unfortunately, the baby was not so fond of the Pitocin. His heart rate was dropping from a baseline of 130 into the 80s when I would shift to any position that was not flat on my back. I asked if I could sit up to work on the baby book and they said sure.
I was not paying attention, but when I sat up, the baby's heart rate plummeted. Within a minute I had two nurses and a resident in my room, laying me back down.

They called the doctor on call (my doctor was at lunch) and he stopped by and they decided to stop the Pitocin for a short while at 12:50 p.m.

They also wanted to get me on a pulse monitor so they could definitely tell the difference between the monitor picking up my heart rate or the baby's dropping. So they strapped one to my left index finger. Unfortunately, my manicure from the night before was obscuring the read. So they had to take the polish off that finger. Attractive!

I was also given an oxygen mask and told I had to wear it all the time. When I put it on, the baby did a lot better. When I would take it off to run my mouth about something or other, his heart rate would dip slightly, so I tried to keep it on as much as possible.

After they started it back up, I was desperately looking for the anesthesiologist. I must have asked 10 times in 20 minutes where she was. Finally at 1:50 p.m. the trio of anesthesiologists came in and I was delighted to see them. They told Josh he could not stay in the room while they inserted the epidural, so he should go grab some lunch. So he headed out to Chicago Pizza and I sat up and faced the music of the needles.

I asked if the woman doing it was a resident and the older woman with her spoke up that she was the attending. I said I did not want a resident performing the procedure and the attending said she would be doing it herself.

I had an epidural for my cerclage surgery, so I was prepared for it. They had me sit up and curl my back into a circle while the nurse held my shoulders down from the front.
They got me all set up and inserted the numbing shot. Super. They then set to work inserting the catheter. I heard some movement behind me and the doctor said she was going to have to insert it again a little higher. That time, she must have got it, because she was happy with the placement.

They got me back lying down and the doctor explained to me that they had given me " a new kind of epidural." Excuse me? Why did you not explain this to me BEFORE the procedure?

They said it was patient-controlled and that every time I felt a contraction, I could press the button and it would send the medicine directly into my line. I asked them how this was going to work, considering I was having contractions every 2 minutes. What if I wanted to sleep?

The doctor, who spoke with a eastern European accent, told me this was a new kind of epidural and that they were using it at Northwestern Hospital.

I'm sorry, but if I wanted to deliver at Northwestern, I would have. I was not impressed. After I bitched some more to the nurse, we figured out the doctor was confusing me.

I didn't have to press the button with every contraction, I would press it after FEELING a contraction. And with the dosage I received, I should only start feeling them after the medication wore off, which took roughly 90 minutes.

With that straightened out and me feeling immensely better, I settled in for the rest of the afternoon. Josh came back from lunch and we just hung out, listening to Radiohead, Coldplay and Pearl Jam on the iPod. I read my book club book and Josh played on the Internet on his phone.

At 2:55 p.m., the resident said I was at 4 cm and she was going to go ahead and break my water, which would move things along a little quicker. She took out what looked like a plastic knitting needle and started rooting around and broke it. She remarked there was a lot of fluid. Well duh. I could not feel anything, including the wetness, as my kick-ass epidural was working well.

Once my water was broken, they were able to place a monitor on the baby's head to get an exact read on the contractions and his heart rate. I felt better about that, since they said the readings taken through the monitors on the stomach can sometimes be off.

The resident said they would check me again in a few hours, as most women progress about 1 cm per hour. OoooooK. Thanks much. See ya later.

Josh and I continue hanging out, chatting and reading. At 4:40 p.m., the baby's heart rate dropped into the low 80s again. Josh watched the strip on the machine showing my contractions and the monitor with the heart rate. He stood there for about 2 minutes and decided since the nurses weren't exactly busting down the door, he went to get them. They came in and checked things, but all seemed well.

Josh encouraged me to try to take a nap, and I dozed for about 45 minutes until my doctor came in at 7 p.m. and checked me again. I was thinking I would be moving right along, but no, I was still at 5 cm. I had not progressed AT ALL in the last three hours. My contractions were still about a minute and a half apart at a high intensity and it wasn't doing anything.

My incompetent cervix was suddenly more than competent and in fact, was mounting a coup and barricading itself with reinforcements in there. My doctor told me that my contractions were intense and regular and if I did not have any change by the next time she checked me, we would be having a C-section.

I was secretly happy about that, because I was really apprehensive about pushing this kid out. I had been wanting a C-section since Day 1 and had even asked about an elective way back in the day and my doctor laughed at me.

The nurses changed shifts around this time, and I got a new nurse, Brigitte. Brigitte turned the Pitocin down a little bit when she took over because she likes to see her patients contracting every 2 minutes. She thought the baby could use the rest between contractions, which might help with the heart rate issues as well.

A new resident also came in with two med students to check in and see how I was doing. She was the resident who was on the night I was admitted for contractions in December (for those playing along at home, that was my third and final hospitalization of the pregnancy), so she knew the whole sordid tale of the cervix. She was thrilled to see I had gone full-term and filled the med students in on the situation. Explained incompetent cervix, the pre-term labor, yada yada yada, here we are at 38.5 weeks and who would have thought!

I figured I was in for a long night, so I had Josh bust out the laptop so I could watch a DVD. I watched an episode of "Deadwood" while Josh studied, since he had already seen it. I was adamant that we watch "Lost" that night since it was a new episode and I told Josh the baby better stay put until after 9 p.m. so I would not be interrupted.

My nurse also told me I could have a popsicle! Mmmmmmm. Sweet, sweet orange flavor. It was possibly the best popsicle I have ever had in my life. I am not kidding.

Just after "Lost" started, I realized I was having a lot of pressure. And pressing the epidural button was not really doing anything about it. So a new anesthesiologist for the night shift came in and checked things out and said he would prefer to top it off at this point to get me comfy. I was all for it and once he sent the new meds into the catheter, the pressure let up a little.

He told me that was good. He wanted to watch me for a second, however, in case the catheter had shifted in my back. He said if it had, and he pushed too much medication, it would go into the space in my spine and paralyze me temporarily and I would not be able to breathe.

Wow! Fun! So we chatted about "Lost" for a moment and I was still breathing, so thankfully, we were good.

At 8:20 p.m., the resident also said she would give me a quick check, since I was feeling the pressure. She found I was now 7 cm, 100 percent effaced and at +1 station.
Well how bout THAT progress? I did 2 cm in two hours. I was textbook.

So we finished watching "Lost" and I noticed the pressure was increasing, despite the topped-off epidural, and I was shaking. I knew from reading other birth stories and various other articles online, that shaking was a sign you were in transition.

I told Josh I thought we better call our families, who were all gathered at our house, and tell them to head over. I had been adamant that no one come to the hospital until I was ready to push, because otherwise I would have stage fright and feel all this pressure to perform. So he asked me if I was sure I wanted to deviate from the plan and maybe we should wait.

At this point, a little voice in my head was telling me I was getting close, so I said no, I wanted him to call now. So he called my mom and told them to head over. (My sister told me later it was a mad dash to get out the door. I am imagining a state of panic and people running into each other and looking for their coats. High comedy.)

Josh asked his mom to stop on the way and get him some dinner because he was starving.
When he got off the phone I looked at him with my jaw hanging open and he was like, "What?" When I pointed out I had not eaten in 12 hours, he looked sheepish and laughed and said he felt bad and he would tell her not to get anything. But I said one of us should get some food, so he should go ahead, but that he better not eat it in front of me.

I instructed the nurse that no one was to come through that door unless they had express written consent. I told her even if someone said it was OK, they were lying and she should not believe them. She laughed and assured us that would not happen and that the families would have to wait in the main lobby anyway, since there were so many of them (eight in total) and it was after normal visiting hours.

I kept trying to make Josh bone up on his labor coach duties by reading from "What to Expect When You're Expecting" – which he kept avoiding. I shouldn't say "boning up" since he never read them in the first place, so let's call it "a crash course" shall we? So when he realizes I’m almost fully dilated, suddenly he has the book open and is reading like he’s taking a final in 15 minutes and hasn’t been to class all semester. He busts out laughing and reads aloud to me that "The man should not be intimidated by the doctors and medical staff and their finesse and expertise. Sometimes a whispered I Love You means more to your partner than anything a doctor can do." Josh joked that there would be no doctors in the room during the birth because he didn’t want to feel intimidated.

He and I are laughing and cracking jokes about this. My doctor came in at this point, around 9:30 p.m., and asked how I was doing. We felt the need to share this passage with her and laughed about it again. Josh said he was a little disappointed that he hadn’t been offered an epidural yet because after reading about his coaching duties in the book, he felt that he was the one that would be doing the most work.
Clearly the medical staff loved us. We're funny! And snarky!

So my doctor checked me, looked up and said "Well, you're complete. Ready to push?" My face lit up and I got excited and ordered Josh to get my brush out so I could fix my hair. Yes, I ran a brush through my hair before I pushed this kid out. I didn't even put my hair in a ponytail because I wanted to look good in the pictures later and didn't want a weird mark. I wiped the mascara out from under my eyes and felt pretty ready.

Josh, in the meantime, had just gotten a call that his mom was there with his food and he said, "I'm not going to be able to come down and get it." And for once, I didn't have to tell him to get off the phone!

I looked at the clock and it was 9:40 p.m. My doctor sat down on the end of the bed and held my right foot and a med student sat down on and held my left foot. Nurse Brigette stood at the end of the bed and Josh was up by my right shoulder. My doctor told me to go ahead and start pushing.

I could the feel pressure of the contractions, so they told me to push when I felt that. My doctor told me to push against her hand and the nurse said to push like I was constipated. Except that scared the hell out of me, because I spent the last 9 months terrified of pooping on the table. I was obsessed with it and begged Josh to not ever talk about it if it did indeed happen. So as soon as she said that, I started thinking about it. And not pushing very effectively.

They would have me do a series of three pushes with each contraction. Then I would rest and wait for the next one and start again. The nurse was being encouraging and my doctor was being totally chill and awesome and the med student wasn't saying anything. I was trying not to think about pooping. And Josh was being supportive and I could tell he was excited.

I must have been making progress, but I was getting frustrated. I told my doctor I felt like it was "One step forward, two steps back" and she laughed and said that would mean I wasn't making any progress at all! But she knew what I meant. I felt like I would get him almost there, and then the head would regress.

At this point, all I wanted was a glass of cold water. And I couldn't have it, because all I was allowed were ice chips. So after every set of pushes, I would say "ice chip" and Josh would throw one in my mouth and I would chew it and get ready to go again.

After pushing for what seemed like an eternity, I knew I was close because they got out a blue pad and spread it out under me. I knew the baby would be going on that pad, so I started to focus even more. Josh was funny as well, because he would tell me I was only going to get more ice chips if I promised to push him out at the next contraction. He was excited by the progress I was making, but as this was our first birthing experience, was expecting things to happen a little quicker. So I could hear the excitement in his voice, but then it would tail off when I had to take a break. Kind of the noise a crowd makes when a receiver drops a pass in the endzone -- so close, but ooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

On one of the next pushes, I started to feel like I was going to tear UPWARDS. It was not a nice sensation, but not painful either. Just really weird. And when I felt that they were telling me to push even harder and give it all I had.

So I did and out came the head. My doctor told me to rest and hang on and she suctioned out the mouth. I was not looking because I really didn't want to see anything. I had even instructed them not to put the baby on my chest right away -- I preferred them to clean him up and swaddle him and THEN bring him to me.

So my doctor told me to give her one last big push. I did and I felt him slide out and it seemed like he had the longest body ever. And I looked down and there was Jack, lying on the table, all pale and wet and I said "Oh my God. He's here."

It was 10:24 p.m. I had pushed for 40 minutes.

Josh was looking at him and looking at me and he kissed me and I know we said we loved each other and then he said, "Look what we made!"

They took Jack over to the warming table and got him cleaned up and I could see him and hear him crying so I told Josh to talk to him because he would know his voice. And as soon as Josh started talking, Jack stopped crying. Josh was taking pictures and I could see them across the room.

I don't think I even had to push to get out the placenta, and after some massage of my abdomen by my doctor, there it was. I was obsessed with the placenta during my pregnancy and I begged Josh to take a picture of it. He did. I won't post it here and cause anyone to go into cardiac arrest, but suffice it to say, if you want to see the picture you can e-mail me and I will show ya. I mean how often do you get to see a placenta live in living color?

I asked if I needed stitches and my doctor said yes. I asked how many and she said she did not know, but that it was a second-degree tear. She got to work and I watched Josh and Jack from across the room and Josh was holding him and it was just surreal. After all the bedrest and doctor visits and worrying and waiting, he was here.

Then they brought Jack over to me and I got to hold him for the first time. He was all swaddled up and had a little hat on and I could not believe how cute he was. I said "He looks just me!"

He had a total conehead and a decent-sized bruise on the top of his noggin from banging into my cervix, so Josh and I were laughing and said we would keep the hat on him so no one would see.

We just stared at him for a while and then Josh went down to tell the families and bring them up in pairs. Kind of like Noah's Ark. And the nurse brought me a box lunch. Half a turkey sandwich, an apple and some milk. Which, I wolfed down in 5.4 nanoseconds.

His parents came up first, followed by my parents, my sister Beth and her husband Paul, and Josh's sister Marnie and her boyfriend Thabu. Everyone was so excited, but we limited the visits to about 5 minutes each since there were so many and we were exhausted and needed to still go to recovery and get him breastfeeding. But between visits by my sister and his sister, the nurse wanted me to get up to use the bathroom.

Wait, excuse me? Ummm, no thanks. I would like to stay right here in this bed. And HA -- I had a catheter, why would I need to pee? Oh, the catheter was removed right after birth? Shit. Well that's no good.

I offered the nurse cash money to put the catheter back in so I would never have to get up. She laughed and declined. And then helped me sit up. I felt OK, so she had me stand. I felt OK with that, so we shuffled me the 5 feet to the bathroom. In that 5 feet, it looked like a murder had occurred. I kept apologizing and she kept telling me it happened to everyone who gave birth and there was nothing to be sorry about.

I just kept looking at all the blood and thinking "Man, what a shitty job that is to clean up after this." She had me pee, and I think I managed about 2 drops. But she said it was a good start. Then she showed me how to use the squirt bottle thing after I peed and told me how swollen I was.

Well, yes, I would imagine that was the case SINCE I JUST PUSHED AN ALMOST 7-POUND KID OUT OF MY CROTCH.

Oh, and I almost forgot, almost equally as important as birthing the child, I am proud to announce I DID NOT POOP. The nurse told me and Josh later confirmed. I do believe there should be some award given to women that accomplish this feat. I would like to thank the Academy, my family, my manager, my agent, and all the great people at Miramax.

Then she let me get back in bed, sweet sweet bed. After Josh's sister left, they got me ready to go to my room. It was after midnight once we got settled in and we tried a little breastfeeding, but Jack didn't seem very into it.

Josh finally got to heat up his three-hour old panini and he gave me a little of it. And then he finally got to bed around 3 a.m. after we stared at Jack forever and remarked how seriously cute he was and trying the breastfeeding thing again.

He latched on that time, but it was not such a good latch and I ended up with a hickey. On my nipple. Seriously. And I knew it was probably not a good latch but I was so excited that he was just sucking that I let him. That set me up for a good three days of misery and pain.

We ended up sending Jack to the nursery around 4 a.m. so we could get some decent sleep. The next morning, they brought him in around 8 a.m. and we hung out with him a little more before his circumcision, which an OB from my practice performed. They said he pretty much slept through the whole thing.

We stayed three nights in the hospital as Jack was not getting the hang of the breastfeeding and my blood pressure was still slow coming down. By the third day, he was eating and I was anxious to get home. I had had enough of hospitals and doctors after the last 20 weeks.

I still can't believe I am a mom. It surely was not the pregnancy I had envisioned for myself back in June. But I look at his little face and I realize it was all worth it. I know every mom says that and it's such a cliche, but in my case, there were a lot of hard times. I can't believe how close we came to losing him. But in the end, he's here and that is all that matters.

Two-week notice

Yesterday, we made our 3,622nd trip to the pediatrician's office for Jack's two-week doctor appointment. And while I do love me some visits to the doctor, seriously, CAN WE STOP WITH THE DOCTOR VISITS ALREADY?

I have seen a doctor every week since the third week of September. For those of you playing along at home, that means I have gone 20 consecutive weeks. Five months of weekly visits.

Please stick a fork in my eyeball.

So I was hoping for some good news. A respite, perhaps, from the weekly grind.

We walk in and they ushered us directly to a room and the doctor followed us in. So far, this was better than my OB appointments, where I waited up to 90 minutes to be seen. Score one for the pediatrician.

He asked us if we had any questions, quizzed us about Jack and said he would weight him and that would be that. They like to see babies back at their birth weights by 2 weeks, but if they're not, it's not a huge catastrophe.

Jack was born at 6 lbs 11 oz. He was down to 6 lbs 3 oz at his 4-day doctor appointment. So he would have needed to gain 8 ounces in 12 days. Which, unfortunately, he did not. He gained 5 ounces, putting him at a whopping 6 lbs 8 ounces.

The doc said he was not overly concerned because of his little hospital stay. The stress, coupled with the heat lamp that we think dehydrated the crap out of him, might not have been the best thing for gaining the weight.

Well that, and he's trying out the Atkins Diet. He misses those carbs, but damnit, he will be beach-ready for this summer.

So we have to go back. AGAIN. Next week. For a weight check. On the plus side, the doc said we don't have to pay him for that visit. Well giddy up. That's $15 mommy can spend on a bottle of wine. Or a manicure.

In the meantime, he directed us to keep breastfeeding on demand and waking him up during the night to feed. Had he gained that extra 3 measly ounces, we could have gotten a full night's sleep. Oh but no.

So this weekend we are giving Jack protein shakes and making him drink raw eggs. he will be hitting the gym for some heavy lifting. I am thinking he'll work legs on Saturday and arms on Sunday. I think his abs look good, so we'll let him slide on those. And no cardio -- we need to fatten him up.

Jack says, "No way. I am sleeping in."

Date night!

So we figured Jack was old enough to stay home by himself while we went out. You can leave two-week-old babies alone right? I mean, really, the cats were here in case anything went wrong.

We did have our cell phones, so if anything went wrong he could have contacted us.

Actually, my mom came to stay overnight so we could see a movie. So Josh and I went to see "Munich."

Just the two of us! With no rib pains! And no peeing twice during the movie! Whee! I forgot what it was like to see movies when you are not pregnant. It's actually enjoyable and comfy to sit in your seat and enjoy some fine cinema.

Jack wasn't interested in a film about the Palestinian/Israeli issue so he declined our invitation. He stayed home and played with Grandma instead. He wants to see "Brokeback Mountain" but we told him the subject matter is too risque for such a little baby. Maybe when he's three weeks old.

This child is a genius

I know all new parents think their kid is the most advanced, smartest kid on the block. But really, come on now, when your 12-day-old son rolls over on his own, how can you not feel that way?

Josh and I were playing with Jack on the floor of our room last night for some tummy time. We put him down on his stomach on a blanket and he was pissed and he rolled onto his left shoulder, paused for a split-second, and then continued on to his back.

We looked at each other and laughed and clapped and told him how great he was. We then congratulated ourselves on birthing a protege.

Our little all-pro pee-er also made it through last night in a single pair of jammies and slept from 3-7 a.m. without a peep or the aid of a pacifier.

We've become "those" people who were snooty about the pacifier. The lactation consultants got to us early in the hospital and drilled it into us that it was not to be trusted and would cause nothing but problems. So we were sufficiently scared and refused to try one.

When Jack sleeps, he gets held or he's in his swing. If he turns into a crab-ass after he has eaten, we stick a pinky in his piehole. We swaddle him for his night sleeping in his basinette, but we leave his hands out for him, otherwise he acts like a big baby and cries.

These tricks work well, but he still has some fussiness sometimes. Which gets old at 3 a.m. when neither one of us particularly cares to sit up with him and stick a finger in his mouth so he will be quiet.

So Sunday night we broke down and -- gasp -- gave him the pacifier. Which he promptly spit out. We tried it again, and he kept it in for a short time, but he prefers those hands, so he worked it out of his mouth and replaced it with his fingers.

(Note, I have nothing against a pacifier for those parents who choose to use one. If you are using one, Godspeed to you. Knock yourself out. And in a few weeks when I post about this kid having one in his mouth 24-7, please do not say I told you so.)

Last night, we tried the paci a few times and he kept working it out of his mouth. After I fed him at 3 a.m., I didn't even offer it and that was his longest stretch of sleep. Of course that means nothing. Tonight he could scream bloody murder for four hours until he gets it.

Or, he could stay up whistling. He's doing that at 13 days old. I told you, he's advanced.

Jack leads the medal count

Our little Jack leads the medal count for the US in peeing himself.

This kid is advanced. He can't be beat. Josh said he is an all-pro.

The last three nights, this child has worn three sets of pajamas. He's quite the fashion plate at midnight, 3 and 6 a.m. in his new jammies. It's a good thing my sister convinced me he needed a lot of sleep sacks, because he blows through them like nothing.

And it's not usually an out-and-out wetness of the outfit in the middle of the night. Oh no, Jack is a stealth pee-er. He lies in wait in the night, plotting maniacally for the perfect moment to spring it on us. He's gotten so good that we can't even see he has peed himself until we go to put his onesie back on after his diaper change and there it is, urine.

He favors the left side, but sometimes he mixes it up for variety.

Of course, this necessitates changing his outfit after we just got him calmed down from the indignity of a diaper change. Which means more crying and general unhappiness. For both Jack and the person who is lucky enough to change him.

So in the grand scheme of things, I think we can start shooting for two sets of pajamas per night. Maybe once we get that down, we can dream the impossible dream of a single, pure outfit for an entire night.

But really, how can you not like this face, even when he's peed himself for the third time in one night?

House arrest

Today we took Jack to the pediatrician. And shocker of all shockers, he was pronounced healthy and wealthy and wise. We took him home and that was that.

Apparently the doctor is the only place we will be taking him ever, because the nurse sentenced us to house arrest for 30 days. Now I expected to not take him to the mall, but I mean really, what's the harm in grabbing a cocktail at the corner bar? Or maybe hitting a little Happy Hour action downtown?

We asked if we could take him to my parents' house for my dad's birthday next week and they said no. People have to come to us, and they have to wash their hands and cover themselves with a receiving blanket when they hold him.

They also mentioned something about gas masks and underground bunkers and stockpiling duct tape and plastic, but we can't really speak further about that without express security clearance.

We dumped the kid with my mom and dad this afternoon while we scampered off to run a few errands at Target and Home Depot. We also had to get cat food. Remember the cats? They think everyone has forgotten them. They seem quite perplexed at the changes and were sulking around until Josh played string with them this afternoon.

String is a complex game consisting of Josh throwing a shoelace around in circles and them jumping and biting it. It's good times for all. We can't wait for Jack to be big enough to play it too. I mean what's cuter than a three-month-old biting a shoelace in mid-air?

Right now, the only thing he is biting is the boob. Well, not biting, but good lord, he's been eating every two hours. He's latching like a champ and eating really well, so no complaints, and he gained .6 ounces since Monday. He now weighs in at a whopping 6.9 ounces.

I know he's not that little, but he really seems little. Today he fit into a preemie-size outfit my mom bought him back in the day. It has a fire truck on it. But damn, a preemie outfit for a full-term baby. I think that qualifies him as little.

Little, but big-time cute. I mean come on, he's literally a star!

Home from hospital v2.0

OK, we're home from the hospital. Again.

Diagnosis: "He was probably just cold."

YOU GAVE MY 5-DAY-OLD BABY A SPINAL TAP BECAUSE "HE WAS COLD?"

Excuse me while I run across the room and bang your head into the wall. No really, I am sure it's "just a headache" and it will "only hurt a little."

Can you tell I am over it and happy to just be home? Who feels the love? Who feels it?

The only good to come of this hospital stay -- OK, besides knowing Jack is just fine -- is the vast amount of material I now have. So, you know, there was a plus.

Also, I have BIG BIG NEWS. When I told my sister, Beth, I had big news, she asked if I was pregnant again. Yes, I am the Guiness Book of World Records’ newest subject: the woman who spontaneously conceived within one week of giving birth and tested positive with the world's most sensitive and early home pregnancy test.

Bwahahahaha.

No, better than that, I wore my pre-pregnancy jeans today. Zipped and buttoned. There was a little flab hanging over -- no, not excessive, but not attractive if I was to try a tight shirt -- but they were on my body.

Yes, I am gloating to the Internets. I am one of "those" women who will proclaim it from the rooftops. I don't care if it makes me a snot. It is what it is.

So to recap: Jack fine. Amy getting skinny. Josh tired.

Better, but still there

After a rough night of feeling like inducing my baby brought all of this on (yes, my fears of being selfish came back to haunt me), today is a better day.

We talked to our pediatrician group last night and the on-call doc made us feel better about some things. For instance, when a nurse taking care of your child exclaims, "We NEVER get babies this little here," you tend to freak the shit out. Also overheard on Floor 9, "Oh feeding him milk from a cup? We've never done that! But wow, now everyone is going to want to do it."

Ummmm. Right. Moving on.

Jack slept well, we slept like shit. He was awake from 4-6 a.m. eating and hanging out. We read him his favorite Elmo book and played a little and he finally went back to sleep. He seems unfazed by all of it. Me, well, better now. No more crying. I can discuss it rationally, which is, you know, nice for Josh since he could not have a conversation with me for more than 10 seconds.

This morning the doctor from our pediatrician's office came in on rounds and made us feel more positive. She said he looks "like a healthy baby" and she did not seem overly concerned. This was after a visit from the resident (note: not a fan of residents these days) who told us they heard "a little heart murmur" and he would need an EKG. Whaaaaaaat? I told her I had 13 ultrasounds and at every single one they remarked how great his heart was.

The doctor said she could not hear it, shook her head and told us we did not need the EKG.

And saving the best for last, they said his bloodwork came back fine and we did not have to wear the yellow gowns and masks and gloves anymore. Oh, and they think it might just be a urinary tract infection. Can't we just pump him with a little cranberry juice and be done with it?

So we should be home tomorrow afternoon.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Jack is in the hospital

I am beside myself. My five-day old Jack had to be admitted to Children's Hospital because his temperatures were too low at his first checkup today.

When they admitted him, they found his blood oxygen levels are below 88 and they should be above 92. He is on a nose cannula with oxygen hooked up to tons of monitors and wires.

I cannot get it together. I am a mess. I will update when I can.

We're home

We got home yesterday at 3 p.m. and all is going well. Jack is liking the boob and we're settling in.

Didn't want to leave anyone hanging, thinking we were stayin' for 17 days or anything. Because we all know what fun times that is.

To tide you over, here's a picture of Jack right after he was born. Excuse the heroin addict scratches on his face. While I swore he had a knife en utero, he actually just had talon claw nails and he scratched the shit out of himself before we got some nail clippers from home.

He's Here!

Well, we're still at the hospital.

With the baby.

Jackson Joseph arrived on Feb. 8 at 10:24 p.m. after 11 hours of induced labor with a kick-ass epidural. He weighed 6 pounds 11 ounces and was 20 1/4 inches long. He emerged after 40 minutes of pushing and no poop on the table. I rock the house.

It's been a rough couple of days in the world of the boobs, but we're making some progress. Jack is not such a fan of the boob. I mean, like all men, he likes to stare at em. But not so much with the sucking.

He would much rather hang out and just look around. Four sucks and he's outta there. Not so good for the weight gaining. Or the digestion. Or the sleeping peacefully.

We're trying a little pumping and feeding him with a syringe taped to a finger. He learns the reward for the sucking is mmm mmm good milk and I learn to keep his tongue down, which makes latching less painful. Because there is nothing like a painful latch.

So they are keeping us here an extra night hoping he improves his feeding technique.

There will be a birth story to follow very, very soon.

And we're off...

We're leaving for the hospital in a few minutes.

HOLY SHIT I AM HAVING A BABY TODAY.

Let me repeat, a child the size of a small terrier is coming out of me today. Oh my. I think I changed my mind. Can I reconsider? Is there some sort of recount I can file with the Supreme Court?

Hopefully Josh will have something to post later on today.

Can't wait to meet you

Dear Blob,

Today we will meet you for the first time. It's kind of weird to think that we know almost everything about you, yet we really know nothing at all. We don't know why you will cry (You want a boob? You just took a dump? You want George W. to wipe that godforesaken smirk off his face?) or why you will smile (Gas? Your love of the bouncy seat? A cat licked your face because it smelled milk?).

But your arrival has been very anticipated.

Your dad and I are a little freaked out this morning. We're excited and nervous and scared and so looking forward to seeing you for the first time.

We hope you like us. We're cool. We like to do fun stuff and we like good music (OK mostly that's dad, me -- I still like me some pop radio from time to time) and we throw fun parties and we made you a nice home over the last six months. Enjoy the plasma TV -- oh wait, no TV for you yet. Well, we'll enjoy it anyway on those nights you keep us awake.

Hopefully we'll see you later today. We'll be the ones with the big faces and the blurry features you'll see first. We love you already.

Mom and Dad

We have a date

The eviction notice has been served. Come out, come out where ever you are Blob!

Wednesday at 7 a.m. I will arrive in style at the Labor and Delivery ward and I will walk out of there with a baby at some point.

I am excited but now I am officially freaking the FREAK OUT because ohmygod I am pushing a kid out in 36 hours. Ummmm. Yeah. Good times.

Josh gets to have the meeting he really needs to have, we get to finish things up around the house tomorrow, I can get myself a manicure and hopefully we can have a nice dinner just the two of us.

Since we'll never be just the two of us again.

THAT IS SO WEIRD.

My delightful OB said it could take anywhere from 18-24 hours, but then again, it could go faster. There is just no way to tell. I won't have to have the cervadil appetizer, I will go straight for the Pitocin main dish with a side of sweet, sweet epidural.

This is so bizarre. I spent 16 weeks trying to keep him in there and now I am kicking his little ass out. He's in for a rude awakening on Wednesday. He's coming out to a crazy mother, a laid-back dad, some anxious grandparents and two cats who have no idea what is about to hit them.

Poor Blob. He's going to have it rough.

Please come out

So I guess we pick an induction date tomorrow.

Apparently The Blob did not want to come out and watch the Super Bowl with his own two eyes. He stayed in. Despite two hours of PAINFUL contractions last night. That were 10 minutes apart. While we watched "The 40-Year-Old Virgin."

Until I went upstairs to flat-iron my hair. Of course, then they stopped.

38 weeks

Here is a list of things I did today that did NOT put me into labor:

Painting
Climbing ladders
Standing on the countertop
Unpacking moving boxes
Cleaning cabinets

While I am not in labor, I am in pain. My legs are killing me from all the back and forth walking I did and I am sore all over.

Move along

Baby?

Bwaahahahahaha.

Ah no.

I had contractions 8 minutes apart for an hour tonight and of course, they stopped. This was after a rousing evening of painting the dining room baseboards and windows.

We're getting crazy like that in our last free weekends. Friday night painting.

We also watched "March of the Penguins."

Seriously, someone stop us before we hurt ourselves.

Nada

Baby Watch 2006: Nothing to report.

I still have the damn stabbing pains.

I still have random contractions.

I got a pedicure today, hoping it would bring on some labor, and the woman refused to massage my legs. I was NOT HAPPY. I kept telling her I wanted to go into labor and that I was two weeks from my due date, but she said the owners could be held liable if I went into labor.

I should have just worn a sweatshirt and hid the tummy.

Total bullshit if you ask me. I want labor, damn it. Give me labor or give me death.

February...finally

It is officially February. The month of The Blob.

Rather exciting.

Although, I have to say he might go straight to prison from the womb for attempted murder. I do believe in one of the many dildocam ultrasounds, they somehow smuggled a knife in to him. It may be a box cutter, but it's definitely a sharp instrument.

And he uses it to inflict stabbing pains in my cervix. I have just sat here for the last hour while he amuses himself with the REPEATED paining of his mother. I thought for a moment -- HA -- that these might be dilating the old cervix. But since they last for about 3 seconds, I am going to go with negative on that.

See, these are indeed the things no one ever tells you about. I surely didn't read about this in "What To Expect When You're Expecting." Nor did it make the edition of the "Girlfriend's Guide to Pregnancy" that I invested in eight months ago.

Very similar to no one telling you that you will have a problem reaching to wipe after peeing in the month, that babies actually come out from between your ribs instead of between your legs and that you will go apeshit crazy trying to read into all the "signs" your body is going into labor.

On one of the message boards I belong to for February moms, we have collectively lost our minds with the impending labor. We post about bowel movements and twinges and Braxton Hicks contractions and rib pains and loss of appetites and our pets' paying extra attention to us. It's quite comical. And we all acknowledge our psychosis. We embrace it.

A good friend asked me yesterday if I was freaked out about having the baby any day now. And I said I really didn't think I could be. For the last 17 weeks, all we have heard is that the baby could come any day. I liken it to the little boy who cried wolf.

You can only hear that so many times before you become desensitized. So while in my rational mine I know he could come any minute, my irrational mind keeps saying, "Yeah, I will believe it when I see it. He ain't coming until May."

Maybe in honor of Groundhog Day tomorrow, The Blob will emerge, only to stick his head back in and decide to stay in for six more weeks of winter.