The hubby and I just survived more than a week of what the news stations refer to as "Arctic Blast 2008" in the Seattle area. No more frigid were the streets than were our sheets. After having Babe Wonder two months ago, I was finally ready to cozy up to the hubby and being snowed in for more than a week certainly afforded us plenty of opportunity to fool around...until I invited our neighbors over for cocktails.

Rewind...a few weeks ago, in a time period known as pre-Arctic Blast, we went to a Dirty Santa party, at which my friends play the typical anonymous gift exchange. There are some really hilarious interpretations of "dirty" every year, I've decided next year I will bring two ornamental Christmas tree balls...blue ones to be exact. In any case, I gifted what was left of our condom supply as part of the "Manscaping" kit I added to the exchange. 

A few days after the Dirty Santa party, Arctic Blast hits us with our pants down...literally. Being snowed in with an infant had cemented the hubby's plan to wait a few years before considering a second child. So while his mind was on family planning, my mind drifted toward finding a fun way to spend the time together. At first I was able to convince the hubby that breastfeeding is natures birth control, and I won't get pregnant. That excuse seemed to work, though he was doubtful. My big mistake was inviting a few neighbors over for cocktails on day 4 of being snowed in. As the group of us were chatting, one of the ladies shared a story about her friend who got pregnant with her 2nd child while she was breastfeeding her 1st...who was 2 months old.

The hubby shot me a dirty look from across the room. And it wasn't a Dirty Santa kind of look either.

Since the Babe Wonder arrived 6 weeks ago, I've noticed I've become ultra sensitive to loud noises, the volume of the tv in particular. Poor hubby may look into getting a miracle ear so he can follow along whilst we watch the drama unfold on the Housewives of Orange County (sorry to sell you out babe, I'm sure there are at least 3 other men who watch that show).

Maybe my sensitive sensory is a hint of the mommy superpowers that befit the women who balance family, friends, career, health and hobbies. I'm looking forward to finding the right pair of electric blue knee high boots ala Wonder Woman so I can dress the part.

Oh yes, a new addition to my New Mommy compilation of 80's tunes, its "Hold Me Now" by the Thompson Twins. Seems as if this is my 6 week old son's mantra. He wants to be held from 5pm until we get him down for the "night" which is 4 hours of my eyes rolling into the back of my head whilst the young prince sleeps.

All you mommies out there, do the lyrics below evoke fond memories of spending hours, during what were your quite evenings with your husband, bouncing the babe feverishly on the yoga ball or papoosing them to your chest with one of your myriad of baby slings in a desperate attempt to quell their cries?

I think going forward I'll give the gift of song at baby showers and download the collection of 80's tunes whose lyrics are in fact art mimicking the life of a new mom. I always did like making mixed tapes in junior high.

My mom came up for a visit this week, so for the last few days I've shared a good deal of personal space with her as we coo over my adorable 5 week old baby in unison. I'm not all that close with my mom, so this would be a bit of a Hallmark moment in our relationship except for the fact that something crawled into her mouth and died. Actually its not just something, to be more precise I think it’s a moth ball militia, or my cousin Mike's pet hermit crab circa 1981.

Yesterday we took the Wonder Babe to his pediatrician for a check up and before going into her office, I handed mom an altoid, then insisted she take two, and then in the lobby of the doctors office, I was overcome with diarrhea of the mouth and told her she has halitosis. No sooner did the words escape me, did the nurse call us back to the exam room.  Mom, ever the chatty Kathy, took my observation in stride and in her lame effort not to further offend, she chatted up the pediatrician by talking out the side of her mouth, which didn't change the smell of her breath, it just made her look like she was a stroke victim with halitosis.

Poor mom, she really is the nicest lady but I couldn't take it anymore and I just didn't have the ability to hold back, so when we got back into my car to head home, I suggested she see her dentist when she got back to Portland. She countered with the idea to buy a bottle of chlorophyll capsules, as she had heard these would help. We stopped by a vitamin and supplement store, she bought some chlorophyll and now every couple hours, she walks up to me, heaves a big dragon breath into my face and asks if the remedy is working. My only reply is "you should really make an appointment with your dentist, maybe there is a prescription they can give you."

A good lesson for me to keep my mouth shut next time, lest I am willing to become my moms testing ground for whether or not her breath smells like a vinegar bottle rocket exploded in granny's attic.

We are  one month into parenthood and the score is: Us: 1; Nursery Furnishings: 0

The babe peed through his diaper, clothes, sheet and mattress pad yesterday. I laundered the aforementioned (bedding, not child) and tried to put the bedding back on the mattress tonight. I must have looked like I was wrestling a crock while doing so. I couldn't get the mattress out of the crib so that could get the mattress pad and sheet over the corners...the culprit was the crib bumper, it basically was taunting me. I could almost hear it daring me to just try to change the bedding without having to untie about 20 ties that affix the bumper to the crib rails..just try.

Well, neener, neener on you stupid bumper, I finally got around you and managed to tug, pull and cajole the mattress out from under your wrath. You are decorative and are a cornerstone to the adorable matching bedding ensemble that anchors the whole nursery decor, but you are no friend of mine and I have my eye on you. You are one step from becoming dog bed stuffing...and Murph the Wonder Dog likes to dry hump his bed, so you best mind yourself.

Standing over the trash can with a handful of panties I brought home from the hospital in one hand, I dedicate this haiku:

Large, white, mesh breathing comfort

You hit my navel

So sexy, I wore you out

After 13 days past my due date, Dr. Z Gyno Extraordinaire finally induced me to put me out of my misery and prove that there is good in humanity. Apparently I had an "unfavorable" cervix, which means it was not thinning, nor opening on its own. I was later to find out that I also have flat nipples. Strange, I thought my body was made to do this baby making business.

I went to the hospital open-minded, (which for me is a labor of a different color). I thought I could work my way through labor pains, so as to avoid what was rumored to be a huge needle in my back. After I heard my nurse say that Dr. Z Gyno Extraordinaire was on his way to break my water, I figured I was in for a long night and a world of hurt, so I asked for an epidural. The needle wasn't as bad as was rumored and it really didn't hurt...except for the part when the anesthesiologist hit a nerve causing my left leg to kick out, nearly missing my hubby's nut sack. I am forever grateful that I decided to get the epidural, for what was to come in the next few hours would have been real hell if I were in pain.

After 12 hours of pitocin and saline drip, the baby's heart rate continued to drop and finally the fetal heart rate monitor lost his heart rate altogether. About a dozen doctors and nurses came running in my room, moving my numbed legs in different directions until the babies heart rate returned. Meanwhile, one of the nurses threw a surgical outfit to hubby and told him to get dressed and grab his camera. We were obviously heading for an emergency c-section. Hubby was able to watch the whole procedure as he sat next to me. When Dr. Z Gyno Extraordinaire pulled the baby out of my belly, he announced that his cord was wrapped around his neck three times. Apparently this is really rare, and according to hubby it looked like the baby was wearing a sausage turtleneck. Gross.

From that point I remember telling hubby to follow the nurses who took the baby to an exam table at the side of the room, I really wanted as many photos as possible. While Dr. Z Gyno Extraordinaire and the assisting doc were talking about the last time they saw a baby with its cord wrapped around its neck three times, which they concluded was during the 2000 Olympics, they were trying to recall the names of the male gymnasts who rocked those games, as they remarked we should name the baby after them for his obvious gymnastic abilities. While these two docs were going on about the 2000 Olympics, and trying to recall the name of the Hamm brothers, I was wearing an oxygen mask, and trying to get someone's attention, I knew the answer and it was killing me that I couldn't communicate. Actually, it was killing me that I knew the answer and wasn't able to beat someone to the punch. I suppose this would be the slow painful death of a Jeopardy fan like myself.

As I was trying to answer "Olympians for $1200, Alex", the hubby was going down. He was escorted out of the OR white as a ghost. Apparently he had a stomach virus that reared its ugly head in all of the excitement and ended up spending the next three days sick as a dog. Thankfully one of the nurses took over his photojournalist duties, and he was able to collect himself and come back into the OR for our first family photos.

That was 10 days ago. Since then I've been falling in love more and more with my baby boy. He is not only beautiful, but he is such a good baby. I have to say, I wasn't prepared for the amount of sharting that comes from this little guy. There are some really explosive sounds down in diaper land, and they make me laugh every time. I can tell we're going to have a good time together!

Oh, Chubby Checker... there are three reasons your tune is the one I dedicate to today's pregnancy status. Being that I am two days past my due date, Chubby just seems to be a perfect musician for me to channel today. That and the fact that I just came home from a walk-walk-waddle around the lake, having decided that as long as I keep moving, the baby will be encouraged to dislodge himself from his cozy abode in my belly. Hopefully, while I was on my hour walk (which usually takes closer to 30 mins), my little boy was twisting his way down, inching closer to his big debut. 

The third reason Chubby's Twist is the song of the day is that I was hit with a sugar attack on my drive home from the lake, and being a rare sunny day in late October in the Pacific Northwest, I decided this must be an "Indian Summer", which of course calls for an ice cream cone. So, I pulled into Tulley's, ordered a vanilla bean and chocolate twist in a cone. I had to repeat myself three times, obviously the dipstick working the drive-thru isn't accustomed to customers ordering ice cream in the midst of Fall. 

"C'mon, twist again, twisting time is here..." 

When I initially saw Dr. Z Gyno Extraordinaire at 9 weeks pregnant, he told me that by the calendar (the date of my last period), my due date was yesterday, Oct 15th. When I had my 20 week ultrasound, the baby's head, femur and other leading indicator body parts estimated his birth date at Oct 20th. Dr. Z decided to stick with the earlier due date because of my active lifestyle, my stubborn disposition may have had something to do with it as well.

Now that Oct 15th has come and gone, I am looking at Oct 20th, and perhaps later. I don't have any physical indication that the baby will be coming in the next few days. My water hasn't broken, I'm still feeling really good. Its a bit more difficult to bend over to put pots and pans away, or to get off the couch, but honestly I was more physically exhausted three or so weeks ago than I am now. I am sleeping much better and this has me perplexed. To get this far, and have no idea when this child will first send me into a hurricane of pain before making his arrival makes this tale of two due dates yet another one of the woes of pregnancy that nobody told me about.

Since I found out I was pregnant on Valentines Day, I've earmarked October 15th as the due date, I've told countless friends and relatives, I arranged for my maternity leave to begin based on that date...only to find out once the day approached that perhaps Oct 20th is more realistic. That's like telling a half marathon runner that they took a wrong turn, and they are actually on the full 26.2 mile marathon route...and its raining, and they have blisters and diarrhea has set in.

That half marathon runner better be compensated with the oversized race t-shirt and cheesy medal bragging that they finished the FULL race. I haven't thought of what my conciliatory prize should be for sticking this pregnancy out another week...but I'm thinking it belongs in the "medal/natural stone" family. Perhaps the confusion of two due dates is the orgin of the push gift. Hint, hint, hubby my ring size is still a 6, don't let my pregnancy bloated digits fool you.

You guessed it, tomorrow is my due date, and so I chose Little Orphan Annie's theme song to dedicate to today's pregnancy status. The hubby and I are fielding phone calls from anxious friends and family wanting to know when they can meet our little boy (this morning's first call was from my 2yr old nephew who demanded to know where the baby was and when he would be outside of my belly...when I say demanding I'm not kidding, he was yelling at me).

When we went to bed last night, the hubby and I took account of the waning hours of our quiet household. We laid in bed and talked for 45 minutes about nothing in particular. I went to sleep knowing I would really miss that luxury of a free flowing chat with him. Just before I drifted off to sleep, he rolled over, threw his arm over me and I compiled a mental note of all the friends, family and neighbors who have volunteered to babysit for us...you can expect a phone call.

The sun'll come out tomorrow, so ya gotta hang on til tomorrow, come what may.
Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I love ya Tomorrow!
You're always a day away!