Body After Baby Week 4: Panera Brownies = Weight Loss. Science, y'all.

Starting weight: 158.2

Current Weight: 154.4

Total L-Bs lost: 3.8! The scale is my bitch.

Number of gym visits this week: 2, plus one family exercise outing at Wissahickon Park. Didn't make the two-mile run this week, as my back is still smarting. I don't know what I did to it... Maybe it has something to do with my 11.5 pound meatloaf baby?

Other physical activity: Volleyball in Grandpop's pool wearing a maternity swimsuit. At least the bottoms were a bit loose.

Most triumphant moment this week: The scale finally budges! I think one pound a week is about all that can be expected during breastfeeding. I have no idea how long I'll breastfeed... I'd like to make it to one year, but for now I'll say: as long as the girls allow.

Most soul-crushing moment this week: My entire wardrobe is from Old Navy. I'm a 13 year-old girl.

What's motivating me this week: Strong, muscular legs that take me through my first half-marathon this November. Also, how about Courteney Cox? That woman looks damn good for 45.
Things that would make Jillian Michaels weep this week: Panera. Voted healthiest fast food, though.

This week's mini-goal: Same as last week: 3 gym visits, another two-mile run, two days of strength training.

This week's reward: Mani/pedi. I live for you, Cinderella Nails.

Drik's a Rock Star. Respect.

Happier times.

The l'il man was proclaimed "perfect" today at his two-month check-up. I've been saying it for weeks, but we finally have validation from an MD!

He weighs 11 pounds, 4.6 ounces. He's also 1 foot, 11.25 inches, which is just a hilarious way to put it. He's 1'11". Mah boy is tall and lean and thriving. I don't want to admit this for fear that my milk will spontaneously dry up, but I'm proud that he's exclusively breastfed. I don't know if I ever believed I had it in me, but somehow the girls are able to sustain life. It's a pretty powerful thing, and it makes me give thanks for my new body, pencil skirts be damned.

Of course, the two-month visit meant SHOTS, holy fuck. I felt so duplicitous, trying to distract him with a pacifier, looking into his serene baby blues, and then BAM! The needle is thrust into his tiny thigh... He was momentarily stunned, and then his face turned deep crimson and he screamed in silence. Lord, that silent cry shatters my soul.

Mama's sorry, baby. But this way, you won't get pertussis. Someday, you'll thank me.

Jacob 4 Eva

Two Fridays ago was my first bonafide night out, sans baby and husband. Liberation!

Of course, I went to see Eclipse. And I got all dolled up for the occasion, and didn't even bother to wear my new Daisy Fuentes "slimming panel" tank. It sent a very clear message: this mushy pooch is your future, tweens.

But I actually felt fantastic. I met the ladies at the theater, ordered up my small popcorn with butta, and mah Sweettarts, and it was ON.

Oh, Bella.

So here are a few observations about the film:

1. I AM TEAM JACOB. I hate proclaiming a "team," but come ON, girls. The abs. Can I get a witness? But really, Ed just doesn't do it for me. Maybe it's all the "protection" bullshit. Maybe it's the fact that he's completely humorless. Maybe it's the overall codependent relationship between the two star-crossed lovers. Either way, I will take the warm-blooded Native American any day. His only flaw? His incredulous infatuation with -


2. BELLA. Lord, Bella. First, you assault my eyes with that ATROCIOUS wig. Then, you crush my feminist soul with your complete lack of ambition, save to have sex with your boyfriend and be with him for all eternity. Did you seriously just offer to go to college ALL SO HE WOULD hit that? Sister, wise up.


3. I really dig Anna Kendrick.


4. The man seated behind me gave a running commentary throughout the entire movie. "God, that's cheesy!" He'd proclaim to his lady friend about every three minutes. "Ugh, so cheesy." We get it, dude. Your girlfriend dragged you to the show. You're not a homosexual. It's not Citizen Kane. Now please shut your big yapper. Damn.

Who saw it? What say you, friends?

Week 4: Can I Lose the Weight Whilst Eating Sweettarts, Please?

Starting weight: 158.2


Current Weight: 157


Total L-Bs lost: A whooping 1.2, But I'll take what I can get, y'all.


Number of gym visits this week: 3, plus one track visit. Didn't make the two-mile run this week, as my back has been aching.


Other physical activity: A walk with H to calm him down. My man loves to be in motion, which is a good way to amp up my activity level.


Most triumphant moment this week: The dirty Grey Goose martini at Buddakan. J and I went out on Saturday night for an anniversary celebration, and that ice cold drink was so good I nearly wept with joy. The martini has nothing to do with weight loss, I know; but sitting in a trendy Philadelphia restaurant with my husband, sans baby, talking about things other than my nipples and breast milk? Heavenly.


Most soul-crushing moment this week: I'm breaking out. So that extra 20 lbs, no make-up, no shower, no wardrobe, PLUS pimples? You've got yourself a recipe for a very teary lady. The chocolate bento box at Buddakan totally helped though.

What's motivating me this week: A world without cellulite.


Things that would make Jillian Michaels weep this week: The Mcdonald's I picked up in desperation, dealing with a very fussy little man.


This week's mini-goal: 3 gym visits, another two-mile run, two days of strength training.



This week's reward: Pride.

Year Two in Review

It's been quite a year.

Happy Anniversary, Kins. We love you.

Week Three - The Good, The Bad, and The BBQs.

Eh, Week Two. Until Friday, I ate pretty impeccably. I also got some good workouts in, and accomplished my goal of running two miles. I didn't get to the gym 4 times, but I got to the gym once, and the track three times, so I guess that counts?

Either way, there were BBQs. And cupcakes. And brownies. And banana-chocolate-strawberry shortcakes, for the love of PETE.

This week, we start anew.

Starting weight: 158.2

Current Weight: 158.4 (I was 156.2 at my doc appointment this week though! Efffff.)

Total L-Bs lost: Go to hell.

Number of gym visits this week: 1, plus 3 trips to the track.

Other physical activity: Again, 3 walks with Hendrik in the heat.

Most triumphant moment this week: Two-mile run! I'm back, baby.

Most soul-crushing moment this week: Gaining .2 pounds. And not having the will power to avoid ANY of the sweet treats.

What's motivating me this week: Jennifer Aniston. Her body is slammin'.

Things that would make Jillian Michaels weep this week: Oh Em Gee, Jillian's head would explode if she witnessed what I ate at Grandpop's picnic yesterday.

This week's mini-goal: 3 gym visits, and another two-mile run.

This week's reward: Will finally put that Sephora gift card to good use, because I don't feel that deserving after this weekend's antics.

Slow and steady, y'all.

For the Love of Cloth

Last night as we hauled Snoozer home from another fun-filled family BBQ, I asked J if he wouldn't mind giving me a few solid hours in my office today, to write and organize and budget. J loves budgeting so much that he's offered me FIVE child-free hours, and here I am, plunked in front of the comp...

I think I'd rather be napping.

Which is disconcerting, to a lady who claims to want to be a writer. But we shall power through - albeit sleepily - to discuss: CLOTH DIAPERS.

More specifically, my love for cloth diapers. Yes, friends (and naysayers), cloth is a beautiful thing.

To be sure, there is poop. Then there is more poop. And sometimes, some serious POOP. But since Snooze is exclusively breast-fed, the poo is always the same consistency. So at least we know what to expect.

Right now, we've got 16 diaps: some FuzziBunz, some bumGenius. I can't say I have a preference at this point, though I am going to order four more diapers this week (likely two of each) to lengthen the amount of time between washings.

So here's how it all goes down:

1. Diaper babe.


2. Babe pees and poos.


3. Change babe as you would a disposable wearin' kid. We store our diapers in the bottom drawer of his dresser for easy access during changings.


4. We haven't graduated to cloth wipes yet, so we toss used wipes in a trash can placed next to the changing table/bureau.


5. I toss the dirty diaper aside. Sometimes for longer than my husband would prefer. (Just the charm of me!)


6. Once I do get around to rinsing the soiled adorableness, I do so in the sink in our laundry room, which is conveniently located on our second floor, next to Hendrik's nursery. I separate the outer diapers from the inserts, then rinse and wring out; finally, I toss them into a dry pail next to the washer. And done! Nothin' to it, I tell yous.


7. When it comes time to wash the diaps (usually when H is down to two), I simply toss the contents of the dry pail in the washer, along with the machine-washable bag.


8. Cold soak and a hot rinse, then low heat in the dryer.


9. Once dry, I stuff the inserts back into the outer pants, and restock the diaper drawer. Fin.

We even travel with cloth! We spent all weekend on the go, and when we're out on the town I store the dirty diapers in a FuzziBunz tote specifically designed for this purpose.

We've done the math, too, and we figured your average diaper costs about 29 cents. (Huggies and Seventh Generation seem to be right here.) We probably go through 10 diapers a day, but we said for the sake of argument that we'd average 8 per day each year. That equates to 847 bucks annually. If we assume we'll be diapering for three full years, the investment is roughly $2500 per baby.

Our investment? About 400 dollars at his point. There may be a minimal bump in water usage, but you can't really deny the cost savings, in addition to the environmental impact (that's nearly 9000 diapers per child not ending up in a landfill).

Sure, there are a few extra steps, but admittedly... I think cloth is fun. Not because I particularly like being wrist-deep in my precious's poop, but because cloth diapering feels decidedly old-school and... purposeful. I quite enjoy the process, which makes me unspeakably weird. And I'm okay with that.

Oh! And! Cloth diapering means little-to-no diaper rash, and early potty-training! I mean: WIN.

And there you have it friends: a cloth diaperin' diatribe, brought to you by your best good friend HomeValley, who used to talk about drunken nights spent in VIP rooms in Atlantic City and Manhattan and trips to South America. This is not lost on me either. Until tomorrow!

Week Two - Surprised to Not be Perfectly Thin Yet.

Made it through Week 1, and there are still things I need to tweak. Overall, though, I am pleased with my resolve. I've started eating salads for lunch instead of delicious organic pot pies and pizzas, which should help a bit, no? I also avoided chocolate and candy, but I did notice troublesome sugar intake elsewhere, like my lattes, strawberry preserves, and the two fruit drinks I gulped at Arts Fest because they were just ridiculously good.

Here goes:

Starting weight: 158.2

Current Weight: 157.8 (Amazing, right? I am just pleased the scale is moving in the right direction.)

Total L-Bs lost: .4! Boo yeah!

Number of gym visits this week: 3

Other physical activity: 3 walks with Hendrik in the punishing heat

Most triumphant moment this week: I reached last week's goal and avoided all chocolate and candy! And that spa pedicure was sweet, y'all.

Most soul-crushing moment this week: Not dropping 10 pounds. Looks like this is going to be challenging, huh?

What's motivating me this week: A very fit fellow mama, who told me in no uncertain terms recently that staying fit and losing weight after kids? Is hard. But she does it with will power, and by tossing those chocolate chip cookies I voraciously devour. Sometimes you just need to hear there is no magic bullet.

Things that would make Jillian Michaels weep this week: Grande decaf non-fat caramel macchiato. All those empty calories! Fail, HV. Fail.

This week's mini-goal: 4 gym visits, and one two-mile run.

This week's reward: Will finally put that Sephora gift card to good use.

At this rate I will be bikini-ready next summer. Hooray!

They Call it The J.

I really, really LIKE my husband.

Yesterday was a bad day. Hendrik was UNHAPPY. Nothing I did was working. I felt like a bad mother, which I know is melodramatic. He's a babe. I can't read his mind. I just want to be able to comfort him when his screams escalate to epic proportions, his tears flowing and his yellow eye goop oozing angrily.

J came home with a giant bouquet of lilies, and a proposition: let's get out of this house.

It sounds a bit counterintuitive, what with a SCREAMING child and all, but Hendrik always comes through in the clutch. He remained quiet and content on the way to the restaurant, lost his shit in the car once we parked, nursed, and was placid for the next 45 minutes, allowing us to enjoy our meal. It's like he knows how far he can go.

As we settled into the car for the ride home, J burst out into song:

"They call it the J!" Then: "Why am I singing the Frasier theme?"

Suddenly, a duet: "Oh baby I hear the blues are callin' tossed salad and scrambled eggs!"

Then, giggling, because the baby's screaming has sent us over the edge, and what the fuck does the Frasier theme song MEAN?

"But I don't know what to do with this tossed salad and scrambled eggs! They call it the J."

It was just enough flowers, turkey sandwiches on foccacia, and theme-song singin' to revitalize a mama.

Thanks, babe.

Body After Baby - The Inaugural Post

Supporting his mama with adorableness.

So lo and behold - I write about my desire to get back into shape, and look what I find on Sarah's blog! The gods, they are smiling.



So this is my inaugural post, in which I tell you that my goal is to drop 25 pounds (Yep, I've tacked on a few extra for good measure) by October 1.



And hey! I went back to the gym this past weekend, only to find out I'd mysteriously been kicked out of my Healthy Lifestyles program (inactivity?), and that yep, I'm out of shape. Whilst on the elliptical on Saturday, I had imaginary conversations with Jillian Michaels in my head to keep me motivated.



HomeValley: I can't do it!



Jillian: YES YOU CAN! Do you wanna be fat forever? Do you WANT to lose this baby weight or NOT?!?



HV: Yes... But I can't go on, Jillian! It's too hard!



JM: DO YOU WANNA WEAR A PENCIL SKIRT AGAIN, HOMEVALLEY?



HV: Yes!



JM: I SAID - DO YOU WANT TO WEAR A FUCKING PENCIL SKIRT?!?



HV: YEEESSSS! *breaks down into heaving sobs*



JM: *softly* Why is this so hard? Why is it so difficult for you to give up the chocolate chip cookies?



Obviously, I need to develop a better playlist.



So here goes... On Sunday, I banished chocolate and processed sugar from my diet. So far, so good, including when J remembered his secret pregnancy stash of Snickers bars for moi, and devoured that satisfying conglomeration of chocolate, nuts, and caramel in front of me.



I suppose this is how we'll track this:



Starting weight: 158.2



Current Weight: Talk to you in a week!



Total L-Bs lost: 24 since H was born. So that's cool. Unfortunately, we're starting here at 0.



Number of gym visits this week: 2, thus far



Other physical activity: 1 walk with Hendrik, thus far



Most triumphant moment this week: Snickers avoidance, y'all.



Most soul-crushing moment this week: SNICKERS. YUM.



What's motivating me this week: My son. Putting healthful things into my body, drinking more water, and avoiding sugar mean Hendrik reaps the breast milk benefits. Also? A shopping trip to Kohl's. The jeans I purchased are two sizes bigger than normal, and holy hell FLORESCENT LIGHTS. Jiggly bits.



Things that would make Jillian Michaels weep this week: All of the chocolate and sugar I ate on Saturday in preparation for Sunday's start date. And I enjoyed every calorie-laden morsel.



This week's mini-goal: No chocolate, no candy. Really, really challenging for me.



This week's reward: A trip to the nail salon.



Let's DO THIS!

DENIAL: Thy Name is HomeValley.

A medium? She CRAZY!

On Sunday we ran errands, which is always interesting with our little buddy. (Now, all errands generally involve a diaper blow-out, because I think Hendrik just enjoys effing with his parents.)



J waited in the car with the babe whilst I ran into Target. I had only a few items to pick up:

• a digital scale


• a one-piece swimsuit


• a cover-up, Jesus Christ cellulite jiggly bits

We needed a scale, as our old-school Ikea one was falling apart, and desperately inaccurate. I figured it would help me get back on track, and bonus: we can weigh the boy, which helps with my piece of mind.

I am not sure why I needed the suit. I was thinking I was going to finally swim in the pool at the gym. Honestly? I am frightened of the pool at the gym. I mean, I am just not a very strong swimmer (I have no form), and there are typically a lot of elderly people wearing swim caps in that pool. Also, I haven't been to the gym in five months. Still. I have plans, people.

I grabbed a MEDIUM, non-descript, brown one-piece, made sure it was returnable, and brought it home to try on (there is no time to try on a swimsuit with a 4 week-old infant pooping in the car). Also, Target lets you return bathing suits. Gross, Target.

Dudes: I grabbed a MEDIUM. The size I mostly wore pre-pregnancy. When I was about 22 pounds lighter.

Stuffed sausage, party of one.

"Oh," I mumbled to J as I waddled into the bathroom to get a good look at my form. "I guess it will be awhile before I wear this, huh?"

"Why did you buy that? Because you are a mom now, you need to wear a one-piece?"

(Aside: maybe. I mean, because I am a mom now, I understand reverse mullets, y'all. They must be damn convenient. I have blown dry my hair once since May 15th.)

"No, J! I had to buy it on account of my pooch!"

Oh, my pooch.

I mean, I know I gained a ridiculous amount of weight during my pregnancy. I am thankful to be down 23 pounds or so. Alas! Would that this pooch would just melt away on its own! Then I could continue to eat copious amounts of chocolate chip cookies and pizza and cheeseburgers, and have my old flat belly and wear pencil skirts. I need to wear pencil skirts! What about the PENCIL SKIRTS?!?

Sigh.

Apparently, I think I can carry around an extra 22 L-Bs and still maintain my old size. I also believe that my pre-prego jeans should fit, as I torture myself by trying them on periodically. They don't make it past my KNEES! Gah!

(PENCIL SKIRTS!)

I am going to have to get serious, for the love of Bob Harper. My problem? I am not sure how to this whilst breastfeeding. My initial inclination is to cut out chocolate (which is also a win for my gassy, reflux-y offspring), and processed sugars. To stick with fruits, veggies, and whole grains.

Easier said than done when you're caring for a tiny infant, and all you want to do is eat all of the M&Ms. (Crap - what did I do with those M&Ms?)

And so we begin, folks. I am saying this: in two months time, I would like to be down at least 16 pounds. I feel like 2 pounds per week is realistic for nursing, though I know I can't do any major calorie-restriction, I can amp up my diet and haul my ass to the gym.

Also? I need to buy some new pants. I can't live in maternity jeans for the next 2 months. It's uncivilized. I am sure I will hyperventilate when I learn my new non-pregnant size, but thems the breaks. Hendrik is well-worth the body woes, y'know?

(Oh, here's a charming little anecdote to start your weekend. Last Saturday, J and I got all dressed up and took Hendrik to dinner on Main Street. I was wearing this dress, and I asked J, "So, how pregnant do I look now?" He gave me the once-over, and said, "Well, you didn't start showing until month 4... so I'd say... Like, 25 weeks pregnant?" Me at 25 weeks pregnant. LORD.)

One Month

One month old today, and already a little world-weary.

Back to the doc's today, this time we left with a prescription for Zantac. Hendrik is over this reflux. Eff you, reflux. Leave mah precious belly alone.

Me? I am having one of those days. The woe-is-my-mushy-pooch-formerly-known-as-my-abdomen days. I've been googling "how to lose weight while breastfeeding" and feeling just a bit low. Meanwhile, I am trying to remember to stay in the moment... It seems I am always fighting to temper my anxiety, and to stop imagining every single thing that could possibly go wrong. I'm concerned about the future of my career, and what lies in store professionally.

Also? I am trying to cut out sugar. What am I: Superwoman?

My boy? At one month, he is glorious. He is growing (nine pounds, 5.8 ounces this morning, up from nine pounds 1.4 ounces on Monday)... He is focusing. He loves music (very partial to Jack Johnson and our wedding CD), the outdoors, and moving, whether he's swinging, driving, or strolling around the Yunk in his ginormous Bob Revolution. Oh, he LOVES his nursery. The orange wall soothes him. He's also fascinated by the lion we created, affectionately dubbed Lionel Richie.

Dislikes? Diaper changes, the end of feedings, and when Dad lectures Mom about cleaning and organization. (True story.)

Most nights we look at him, and still can't believe he came from us. Or that 32 days have gone by.

Happy one-month birthday, Hendrik. We adore you, son.

Stenosis Schmenosis

Totally zen about this whole thing. Calm down Mama OMG.

We're currently keeping my little nugget upright, at a 45-degree angle, post-feeding. Child has got some issues. He's been spitting up quite a bit, almost to the point of projectile vomiting Exorcist-style. Yesterday, I called the pediatrician and I brought him in for a weight check and a once-over, figuring he was dealing with Saturday's choco-chip cookie overdose.

After a few hours of Internet research, I was ill-prepared for the potential diagnosis. Have you dudes ever heard of "pyloric stenosis?"




Within a few minutes of examining him, the ped gave me the 411 on PS. She then said though she didn't feel the "olive" in his belly, she'd like him to get an ultrasound. At the children's hospital. Immediately.




Oh, and if he does have this condition? He'll need surgery. Immediately.




Um, to reiterate, I took my kid in for spit-up. I was told he might need surgery within hours?




Imagine how composed I was, sitting in the office there, feeding my screaming, starving baby. We were both sobbing. The ped gave me a hug, and told me that H could have no liquids after 12 PM. I finished up his feeding in the exam room, composed myself, and hurried to the car to call J.



At which point I lost my shit again.



J came home and we cuddled a pleasant, satiated Snoozer. We then packed about 17 bags for the trip to the hospital, just in case. (Clothes, breast pump, toiletries, magazines, etc.)



I prayed all the way there, whilst examining my child for signs of this mysterious condition.



"Does he look yellow to you? He looks a little yellow to me."



"Stop," J said.



Hendrik was a champion during his ultrasound. He whined a bit at first, but then seemed to think Meh and went back to sleep. Within a few moments, we were told that the results were negative. I could have wept with joy. We were elated.



And so we still have a spit-up issue, though it is lessening. The doc thinks it was possibly a little bit of a stomach bug, perhaps combined with reflux, so if you are coming within 20 feet of my child? PLEASE WASH YOUR HANDS. I mean, please wash your hands within 20 feet of any small infant and toddler. If I am ever around your baby, I will make a big show of washing my hands and slathering on the organic hand sanitizer, because dude. Nobody needs projectile-vomiting infants getting ultrasounds of their tiny bellies up in here.

Tidbits

I'm having trouble writing Hendrik's birth story. The words get jumbled and I can't seem to get coherent thoughts on paper. It's still a work in progress, I s'pose. To distract you, some delightful tidbits:

• Fucking soft spots. I am TERRIFIED of soft spots. The other night, Hendrik's head was dented. Seriously! And it was also kind of pulsating. So I did what any new mother would do: I burst into tears, nudged J - who was sleeping placidly next to me in bed - and wailed that our son was brain-damaged - I have RUINED him! And J looked at him and said: "He's fine." By the next morning, H's skull had regenerated and healed itself with Ninja-like prowess. Fucking soft spots.


• Michael Jackson won the Ninja Baby Pool. That's... er... creepy.


• I have discovered the secret to my own happy marriage is keeping the kitchen sink empty. There is nothing that will piss my husband off more than when he needs to use the sink for a manly-man task, and my dishes are piled there, "soaking." I told J my brilliant theory the other day, and he stared at me, bemused. "Sure, but maybe you could expand the cleaning a little bit?" Quite.

• Pretty sure the raccoon is long gone. The pest guys need to come and remove the expulsion trap and close up the hole. They canceled on me Wednesday (due to weather) and then last night they showed up at 5:30 PM. They said it would take them about an hour and a half to do the job, which for these dudes I estimated to mean about six hours. I told them it wasn't a good time, and blamed H. Because you can do that when you have babies.

A raccoon tryin' to come into MY house? Not on my watch, Mama.

McSnoozer

Every day is a little bit different.

J's back to work, and so Hendrik and I are adjusting to our new life together, sans dad. On Monday, we went grocery shopping and bought stamps at the Post Office. Yesterday, we went for a long walk, enjoying the gorgeous weather together. We stopped at CVS, and even made it to the coffee shop for a quick decaf latte. I picked up Self and Women's Health magazines, and wondered (via Facebook), if it might be possible to lose 20 pounds by the Fourth of July? (Oh, I have already lost 25 pounds. I'll let you dudes do the math there. And let's never mention it again, mmmkay?)

Hendrik is just over three weeks old. Just when I think I know his patterns, he confounds me again. He is gaining weight steadily, and his cheeks are getting ever so slightly chubbier. He loves light; put him in front of a window, or step out onto the porch, and he is mesmorized. His tiny mouth forms an O, and his eyes get very wide. They sometimes cross when he is really attempting to focus.

He also loves to be in motion. He screams when we attempt to strap him into his car seat, but as soon as he is moving, he settles down.

Oh, and much to our delight, he adores his orange wall. He lights up when he's in his nursery, and he stares at the wall in wonderment.

He's got amazing head and neck control. He is also a champion "rooter." If he is ever so slightly hungry when I lay him on my chest, he lifts his head and bobs it ferociously up and down, eventually finding his way to a breast. He's no slouch, my kid.

Tummy time really pisses him off. He prefers to be on his back. He spits up about 78636 times a day. Just this week, he has decided that he would like to eat, thankyouverymuch, Lady with the boobs. And eat. Even if it takes six hours and two bottles of pumped breast milk. I fear he has inherited his parents' appetites.

We call him Snoozer, although we're making a conscience effort to say his name more. (Occasionally, we'll refer to him as Ninj.) He had the great misfortune of being born when the MacGruber movie was coming out; so he gets "Macgruber!" shouted at him a lot, or often: "McSnoozer!"

He has this face, too. He does it when he's waking, and sometimes when he is milk-drunk and settling down to sleep. He tilts his head back, scrunches his tiny brow, purses his lips, and stretches his arms out to his sides. It seriously makes us melt and guffaw at the same time.

Yes, we'll keep him. Even if he frustrates his mama with his insatiable appetite, or pees and poops and spits up on his father within a span of 3 minutes when he arrives home from work. He only needs to make the Snoozer face. He owns us.

Oh Em Gee ClusterFEEDING.

Hey, y'all.

Very little time to chat, as this child is permanently attached to my jubblies.

I am hoping to finish the birth story this week.

To distract you from my sorry blogging of late:

Perhaps he wants out of this laundry basket his parents have cruelly placed him in? Or perhaps he has heard too much of the Glee soundtrack this week and is channeling Lea Michele?

You decide.

Labor, In Painstaking Detail. Please to Enjoy. Part 1.

You'll have to forgive me this painfully-detailed account, but I don't want to forget a minute of it.


On Saturday, May 15th, J and I planned a DAY. You know: breakfast at our favorite spot; a walk on the Wissahickon Trail; a quiet afternoon spent sunning ourselves and reading in the backyard; and finally a romantic date on Main Street.


"This could be our last weekend," I said happily to my husband over a bacon-and-egg omelette that morning. "But really? I don't think it is. I think we have at least two more weekends."


HA!


On the trail, we ran into another very pregnant mama. "We've got the same idea," she yelled to me. "Walking these babies out!"


I wonder if her walk was as effective.


At home, I spent some cherished hours with my beloved Kindle, reading a book of short stories. My mom called.


"We've got a nice little Saturday planned," I told her. "It could be our last weekend, you know. Not that I think it is... I have no signs of labor. None. I'm going to be pregnant until June. Cheers."


HA! HA.


We eventually showered and dressed, and I felt pleased with my pregnant form. I waddled down to Main Street on my husband's arm, and we ended up at the Italian place. I ordered an NA Coors. We talked. It was lovely.


When we arrived home, we sank into our respective couches and watched the making of Planet Earth. We were engrossed in the filming of the snow leopard chase (never before filmed, y'all), when I started to feel... something.


Crampy.


"I'm feeling crampy," I announced to J. "It's probably nothing."


As the night wore on, however, it got increasingly uncomfortable. But I was totally handling it. Am labor champ! We went to sleep. Occasionally, a cramp would wake me. At 1 AM, I had to pee.


And here is where it gets interesting. Because I peed. I was done peeing. I stood up and flushed. I washed my hands. I walked towards the bathroom door, when suddenly -


A GUSH.


I mean, not a torrential downpour, but a gush of fluid coming from me, tinged pink, on the floor. (Hey male readers!)


I started to tremble.


And much to my delight, I got to TV sitcom-it into the bedroom, and say:


"Babe - I think my water just broke. It's TIME." (Fantastic, right?!)


(HA! HA. Meh.)

Hendrik's Due Date

Hey, y'all.

So, we're a bit sleepy over here at the HomeValley Ranch. We're surviving the sore nipples, the all-nighters, the diaper changes, the baby blues, and the milestones. (His cord has fell off last night. He's getting so old!)

We've got another pediatrician appointment today, and I'm hopeful that our long, lean boy has gained some weight. He lost 12 ounces initially, which left me reeling with mommy-guilt, as my milk took it's sweet time coming in. It finally appeared on Saturday; so far I haven't had to supplement with formula, and I am confident we won't have to go that route.

But, I am learning that parenthood is one giant, humbling lesson in flexibility.

In the meantime, we have the sweetest baby boy who was ever birthed. Not that I'm biased; but this kid brings the awesome.

More to come as I attempt to regain brain functioning and my sense of humor. I do miss sleep.

Deliriously Happy.

SERIOUSLY?

Every cliche about the love for your child is true, btw. This boy has us whipped.

Cue "Circle of Life"

The Ninja has finally revealed his true identity!

It's a boy. We have a son.

His name is Hendrik. He was born on Monday, May 17th, at 1:48 PM. He weighed seven pounds and 13 ounces and is 21 inches long.

Oh, and he is spectacular.

MUCH more to come on this little guy as I slowly rejoin the human race. I can't wait to tell you all about labor and delivery. (Spoiler alert: it HURTS.)

For now, we're home and getting used to being a family. One of isn't too fond of his bassinet, and thus did not sleep a wink last night. But I won't name any names.