Isn't she awesome???
She's Here!
October 12, 2009
Maggie made her big debut on Saturday morning at 9:45.
7 pounds 5 ounces, and just shy of 21 inches long.
She's perfect and healthy and a really calm baby so far.
I'll post pictures later, but right now my memory card is being completely uncooperative.
Maggie made her big debut on Saturday morning at 9:45.
7 pounds 5 ounces, and just shy of 21 inches long.
She's perfect and healthy and a really calm baby so far.
I'll post pictures later, but right now my memory card is being completely uncooperative.
Unsolicited Advice
October 8, 2009
So, today is October 8th. The day I've been anticipating for months and months and months.
Sure it's my due date, but pffffft, who cares about that little thing? Not only is it Jim and Pam's wedding on The Office, but it also happens to be the annual Pajama Library Party at James's school tonight--and let's get real for a minute, those are the things that matter in the grand scheme of life.
I'm off to do some work, but in the mean time I'll leave you with a little snippet of advice: No matter how lazy you're feeling, never let your four-year-old eat three Fiber One bars and six plums for an afternoon snack. They will, most definitely, poop the bed. Twice.
Don't say I didn't warn you.
So, today is October 8th. The day I've been anticipating for months and months and months.
Sure it's my due date, but pffffft, who cares about that little thing? Not only is it Jim and Pam's wedding on The Office, but it also happens to be the annual Pajama Library Party at James's school tonight--and let's get real for a minute, those are the things that matter in the grand scheme of life.
I'm off to do some work, but in the mean time I'll leave you with a little snippet of advice: No matter how lazy you're feeling, never let your four-year-old eat three Fiber One bars and six plums for an afternoon snack. They will, most definitely, poop the bed. Twice.
Don't say I didn't warn you.
Old Wives and the Stupid, Stupid Tales They Tell
October 5, 2009
By this point, you've probably realized that I'm due to have a baby this Thursday, October 8th. But we all know, that in reality, due dates are nothing but a giant pot of poo and lies. What October 8th really means is this: I could have had my baby six weeks ago, or she might come just in time to enjoy the festivities of Hanukkah--it's really hard to tell.
Anyway you slice it, I'm close enough to ready that every person who's lucky enough to lay their eyes upon me does a double take and says something extraordinarily witty like, "SOMEONE GRAB A CATCHER'S MITT!" And I'm all, "Trust me sir, you're not nearly handsome enough to see my vajango." And then I shrug and walk away. In the middle of the Olive Garden.
I guess this is the fun part.
On Friday morning, as I was getting ready for work, I had one of those really odd moments where I was feeling completely happy with the way I look. Christina Aguilera's "I Am Beautiful" was playing on the radio, and I just just couldn't help but agree with that dirty girl. I was like, "You're right, Christina! These stretch marks, this cellulite, these extra forty pounds are FRICKIN' BEAUTIFUL!" So I decided to forgo my normal makeup regimen and wear nothing but my pregnancy glow (and some really gigantic clothes) into the office.
I was sitting at my desk, busily playing some online Scrabble, when my office neighbor Karen walked in. She took one look at me and said, "Wow. You look like sh*t today, you should go home and have this baby." And then she proceeded to tell me one-zillion old wive's tales about how to go into labor and why it would most definitely happen sometime during the next two days.
She's a former midwife, so I bought it hook, line, and sinker.
She was like, "First, you've dropped like crazy. Second, you're already dilating and effacing. Third, we're supposed to have thunder and lightning tomorrow night. Fourth, there's gonna be a full moon on Sunday night. And fifth, you look like sh*t. There's no reason you're not having this baby this weekend."
"Furthermore," she continued, "if you keep drinking your pregnancy tea, eat some super spicy Indian food tonight, and can convince your husband to have sex with you, you'll definitely have your baby this weekend."
I nodded.
"But it might be hard to talk Jared into it. You seriously look like sh*t."
And I was all, "So Karen, do you think I look like sh*t today? Cause I'm confused."
She nodded, handed me my purse, and said, "Oh yeah, total sh*t. Good luck with the sex thing."
So off I went--to have a baby, dang it!
After much pondering and Googling, I was convinced that Karen was right--between the pressure change of the storm, the tidal pull of the full moon, the fact that Mercury has exited retrograde, my unexplained need to buy Cocoa Dino-Bites at the grocery store, a short bout with diarrhea, and four thousand irregular contractions, there was no way I wasn't having this baby.
I even--and I kid you not--hopped up and down my street like a bunny rabbit, four times, in the rain, under the full-moon just to seal the deal.
Every time I hippity-hopped by the driveway, Jared was all, "I don't know why you want this to happen so badly! You know it's gonna feel like you're going through a wood chipper, Amy! Don't rush this thing!"
And I was like, "Yeah, but an empowering wood chipper of womanhood, ya a-hole!"
And he was all, "Or a double decker bus filled with fat people."
That's my Jared. What a man, what a man, what a man, what a mighty, mighty good man.
Jared even drove me a couple hours from home, to a ski resort in the middle of nowhere, to ride up the ski lift and enjoy the foliage. Honestly, I couldn't have cared less about some red and yellow leaves--I just thought, "Ya know...If anyone in this world would deliver a baby on a dinky, little ski lift it'd definitely be me. Let's do this thing."
Well guess what?
That's right. I'm still pregnant.
So today I'd like to send a message out to Mother Nature, the old wives who tell these tales, and Karen:
You're nothing but a bunch of super-skanks. You suck. All of you.
But for some strange reason, I still love Jared.
The end.
By this point, you've probably realized that I'm due to have a baby this Thursday, October 8th. But we all know, that in reality, due dates are nothing but a giant pot of poo and lies. What October 8th really means is this: I could have had my baby six weeks ago, or she might come just in time to enjoy the festivities of Hanukkah--it's really hard to tell.
Anyway you slice it, I'm close enough to ready that every person who's lucky enough to lay their eyes upon me does a double take and says something extraordinarily witty like, "SOMEONE GRAB A CATCHER'S MITT!" And I'm all, "Trust me sir, you're not nearly handsome enough to see my vajango." And then I shrug and walk away. In the middle of the Olive Garden.
I guess this is the fun part.
On Friday morning, as I was getting ready for work, I had one of those really odd moments where I was feeling completely happy with the way I look. Christina Aguilera's "I Am Beautiful" was playing on the radio, and I just just couldn't help but agree with that dirty girl. I was like, "You're right, Christina! These stretch marks, this cellulite, these extra forty pounds are FRICKIN' BEAUTIFUL!" So I decided to forgo my normal makeup regimen and wear nothing but my pregnancy glow (and some really gigantic clothes) into the office.
I was sitting at my desk, busily playing some online Scrabble, when my office neighbor Karen walked in. She took one look at me and said, "Wow. You look like sh*t today, you should go home and have this baby." And then she proceeded to tell me one-zillion old wive's tales about how to go into labor and why it would most definitely happen sometime during the next two days.
She's a former midwife, so I bought it hook, line, and sinker.
She was like, "First, you've dropped like crazy. Second, you're already dilating and effacing. Third, we're supposed to have thunder and lightning tomorrow night. Fourth, there's gonna be a full moon on Sunday night. And fifth, you look like sh*t. There's no reason you're not having this baby this weekend."
"Furthermore," she continued, "if you keep drinking your pregnancy tea, eat some super spicy Indian food tonight, and can convince your husband to have sex with you, you'll definitely have your baby this weekend."
I nodded.
"But it might be hard to talk Jared into it. You seriously look like sh*t."
And I was all, "So Karen, do you think I look like sh*t today? Cause I'm confused."
She nodded, handed me my purse, and said, "Oh yeah, total sh*t. Good luck with the sex thing."
So off I went--to have a baby, dang it!
After much pondering and Googling, I was convinced that Karen was right--between the pressure change of the storm, the tidal pull of the full moon, the fact that Mercury has exited retrograde, my unexplained need to buy Cocoa Dino-Bites at the grocery store, a short bout with diarrhea, and four thousand irregular contractions, there was no way I wasn't having this baby.
I even--and I kid you not--hopped up and down my street like a bunny rabbit, four times, in the rain, under the full-moon just to seal the deal.
Every time I hippity-hopped by the driveway, Jared was all, "I don't know why you want this to happen so badly! You know it's gonna feel like you're going through a wood chipper, Amy! Don't rush this thing!"
And I was like, "Yeah, but an empowering wood chipper of womanhood, ya a-hole!"
And he was all, "Or a double decker bus filled with fat people."
That's my Jared. What a man, what a man, what a man, what a mighty, mighty good man.
Jared even drove me a couple hours from home, to a ski resort in the middle of nowhere, to ride up the ski lift and enjoy the foliage. Honestly, I couldn't have cared less about some red and yellow leaves--I just thought, "Ya know...If anyone in this world would deliver a baby on a dinky, little ski lift it'd definitely be me. Let's do this thing."
Well guess what?
That's right. I'm still pregnant.
So today I'd like to send a message out to Mother Nature, the old wives who tell these tales, and Karen:
You're nothing but a bunch of super-skanks. You suck. All of you.
But for some strange reason, I still love Jared.
The end.
39 Weeks
October 1, 2009
Well it's a good thing I have this ridiculous belly to draw the attention away from that make-upless face and the big, furry box on my head. Seriously, who's gonna be like, "Girl! You need a hair cut!" when they can be like, "Girl! Pick your stomach up this instant, it's dragging all over the sidewalk!"?
Well it's a good thing I have this ridiculous belly to draw the attention away from that make-upless face and the big, furry box on my head. Seriously, who's gonna be like, "Girl! You need a hair cut!" when they can be like, "Girl! Pick your stomach up this instant, it's dragging all over the sidewalk!"?
As of yesterday, I've officially placed myself into the "full blown spectacle" category.
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