Yule tidings to all!

It looks like Santa left us a baby under the tree.

She's pretty cute. We think we'll keep her. (Though - who has the elf blood around here? Seriously, look at the pointy ear. They were even pointier when she was born. Should we change her middle name to Arwen?)

We slept in, and have been sitting around in our jammies. We made a delicious breakfast, complete with Hawaiian macadamia nut coffee and delicious mimosas. I have been waiting nine goddamn months to enjoy a mimosa again, and ohhh, the bubbly, citrusy loveliness (made with all organic orange juice and Gruet sparkling wine from New Mexico. Yes, sparkling wine from New Mexico. Highly recommended.)


This Christmas isn't precisely the way I imagined it. OK, it's not at all what I imagined. I thought we would be back in our new and improved house, and I'd be making mimosas in my glorious new kitchen, and we'd sit in the sunlight streaming into our new breakfast room, and we'd have a crackling fire in the fireplace, a chicken roasting in the shiny new stainless steel convection oven. But instead, we are in a rented apartment with rented beige furniture. And in the sleepless timelessness of baby daze, I forgot to get Christmas and Hannukah presents for my husband until the very last minute, so we aren't opening gifts today, and I'm feel like a horrible, thoughtless wife. Time just....got away from me.

But I did manage to get a tree, because mah baby was not going to have her first Christmas without a tree. Even if she can't even really see it. It's definitely her tree, too. Can you spot the H'es for Helene?
Here's one. Yes, she will be this spoiled forever. It's our new lifelong mission.



Merry Yule and a happy Christmas to all.

My husband is a politics crack-whore

It's been four years since the last presidential election, so I'd forgotten what it was like. I remember sleeping on the pull-out sofa in the living room to watch the election returns, and the deep, weeks-long malaise that Seth fell into after the country inexplicably re-elected Bush. But I really forgot. And it's true-my husband is a hardcore political junkie. I follow politics, but I have a finite capacity for the news, commentary, punditry, poll results, etc. Not Seth. He's whipped up into an MSNBC/Talking Points Memo/Daily Kos crack-mainlining frenzy. Sometimes, if he's not worked up enough, he turns on Fox News so he can really start foaming at the mouth. For the last few weeks, it's gone like this: I drag my tired pregnant ass off to bed at a reasonable hour. The dog tries to hang with Seth, but fails, and follows me to bed. A couple of hours later, I inevitably wake up because I have to pee, and I stumble out of the bedroom into the dual glow of the Mac and TV screens, into the drone of Keith Olbermann's voice, Seth still hunched over the computer, looking for more YouTube video of the last debate. Some hours after that, Seth finally drops into bed beside me.

He's even been home sick for the last couple of days. I've found him semi-comatose on the sofa, wrapped in a quilt and the voices of pundits. All of the pundits. Yesterday, he stayed home in the morning, and finally went to work around 1:00. When we got home after 6, he immediately turned on the TV and laptop so he could see what he'd missed in that precious five hours. "There might be POLL RESULTS!" I think he was twitching a little. I ask him "either/or" questions: Do you want a stir-fry or pasta for dinner? He answers "yes," eyes fixated on the computer screen, scrolling down the Kos website. Again.

Also yesterday, he said, "Why don't we make one last big donation to the Obama campaign?" We've been donating in smaller monthly increments. I asked him how much. He named a figure. I pointed out how many square feet of wood floor for our kitchen that would buy. We haggled it down to a number that would only be a nice kitchen faucet or 20-25 cabinet knobs and drawer pulls.

Part of him would be excited for the baby to be born on Election Day, but only if Obama wins. The other part of him realizes his head would explode if two such momentous events happened at the same time. God, Buddha, Allah, Krishna, or someone help us if there are election returns and labor going on at the same time. Someone is not making it out of that scenario intact or alive.

Last night, on my nightly 2-hours-into-sleep bathroom run, I asked Seth if he was coming to bed. I pointed out that he's been sick, and he needs to get some sleep. Not even looking up from the laptop, he whined like a petulant child, said he'd come to bed, and said, "But you know how I get in even-numbered years!"

Yes, I know. I'd forgotten, or maybe I was more forgiving in newly-engaged, ooh-sparkly ring!, haze of happiness four years ago than I am in the grunty, heavy, bladder-compressed-ness of late pregnancy. I hope I can tolerate another month of this, and it had BETTER have a good, ending, damn it, US voters, or there is going to be one surly, pregnant, white, uppity, East Coast, liberal elitist bitch gunning* for your ass.

*Not that I own any actual guns, being an afore-mentioned uppity white elitist type, despite the recent Supreme Court interference with DC's gun ban. But I'm quite sure I could do some solid damage to you with a breast pump.

Three Years/33 Weeks

This past Wednesday was our third wedding anniversary. We did a low-key, nice-but-not-extravagant dinner out at a restaurant we've never been to before. I put on a maternity sweater that somehow makes me feel trim and chic; big, bright jewelry that distracts from my puffy ankles, and heels, because I will always be too vain to wear ugly/flat/comfortable shoes all the time. I looked longingly at the cozy, golden-lit bar in the front of the restaurant, and at the glittering flute of champagne that the bartender was pouring. I definitely feel at least 50% less fun these days, since I don't drink, my stomach is the size of a (flattened) walnut, and at least half of what I put into my stomach gives me heartburn, no matter what it is. Nonetheless, I managed to put away an appetizer of the lightest little puffs of delectable fried oysters, a rich Chesapeake seafood stew, and most of a piece of key lime cheesecake. When the waitress asked if she could take my dessert plate away, I leaned back in my seat, moaning, and replied, "Yes, please, before I hurt myself." Since I'm not drinking (more a factor of heartburn than paranoia), I make sure to order fancy bottled water, and harass Seth about what beverage he should order so I can taste it.

I spent some time thinking about the past three years, but perhaps more thinking about how different the next year is going to be. Three years seems like both a long time and a short time - I remember vividly our wedding, our honeymoon, and all the adventures - good and bad (mostly good, I have to say) - that have happened in between. What I think makes it seem long is the fact that I am PREGNANT, which means there will be a BABY in seven-ish weeks, which is still such a far-out concept for me to wrap my head around.

I look kind of mmm, puffy. And so thrilled to be here. I blame the photographer.
The whole experience is just so far from everywhere I have been and everything I have done until now. Last year at this time, I was deep into training for the New York City Marathon. On this day last year, I ran the Army 10-Miler, and then ran home to get in an extra 4 miles to hit my necessary weekly training mileage. Today, I tried to find a t-shirt that still covered my belly, went to the market with Seth, researched diaper bags, and got a pedicure because painting my own toenails is most definitely out of the question at this point. It's been an ambitious day - I feel pretty energetic. Unlike yesterday, when I just felt sapped of energy most of the day. It's not the total, soul-sucking fatigue of the first trimester, but I'm definitely draggy on some days. Sleep cannot be depended on. Last week, I felt like I was in a tussle of wills (already???!!!!) with the baby, who likes to curl herself along the right side of my uterus. I normally fall asleep on my left side, and will wake up a couple of hours later to flip over to my right because something has probably cramped or gone numb. Then I move whatever pillow is working for me that night, and do the cumbersome, slow-mo roll over to my right side, rearrange my limbs and belly on the pillows, and go back to sleep. Except that the baby was having NONE OF IT. Every time I would roll over to my right side, no matter how I propped my belly, the baby would kick and punch and wiggle until I just gave up and rolled back over to my left. I tried to sleep through it, but this would seriously go on for like ten minutes, and I just couldn't take it any more. Fine, fine! I'm rolling over! Are you happy? OK? And seemingly, she would be. This week, I'm allowed to sleep on my right side most nights, which has made for better sleep.

I also have some competition for my body pillow:


There is progress on our house. Of course, we wish it were faster. I really try not to think about it too much, because it would make me insane, and be a waste of energy, and I need all the energy I can get. I went over to the house yesterday for the first time in a few days to view the taking down of the back kitchen wall. This wall was originally an exterior wall, and our three-season porch was originally an open back porch. The porch will be our new kitchen eating area and mud room. I have to say, I love it. So much light comes in, and the sight line from the front to the rear of the house is great. It's going to be fantastic. (Here's the old kitchen, for comparison.)

We talk about all the photos we've taken of the house, to show the before and after. Seth has pointed out that the "new" Version 2.0 house will be the only one the baby ever knows. He can't wait to show her all the photos of the "old" house, to show her how we lived before she came along. I am sure that once the house is finished, and once she is here, it will feel like it has always been that way, and the photos may seem almost as distant to us as they will to her.

Oh Yes I Am

Sunday night. After a long afternoon of football watching and beer drinking, topped off by oven-fried chicken with mashed potatoes, and kale with onions & bacon, my dear sweet husband has fallen asleep on the sofa with the dog.

He has also made the grievous error of leaving a full glass of delicious, cold Chardonnay on the table nearly untouched.



Am I going to drink my poor, sleeping husband's (clearly abandoned) glass of wine while he's asleep? Oh yes I am.