No, it's not on TV. It's actually my life.

Amid the clutter on our kitchen counter today are two glass bottles. One is tall and dark - an empty bottle of $12 Pinot Noir. The other is short and clear with a lime stuck at the bottom.

I drank the Corona and the last glass of wine today. Around noon.

I know.

But I just felt like drinking.

The baby wasn't even crying. Not at the moment anyway. And she actually hasn't even been all that much to handle (not compared to her brother anyway, who basically screamed for 3 1/2 months. But of course that was probably because he was starving. Breastfeeding and a tongue-tied infant do not work. And should not be tried. Ever).

But back to the booze. I haven't felt much like eating. Nothing sounds good. And the tummy still needs some work. (I'm working on implementing the ab routine). But beer, after nine months without it, sounds good.

Don't think I'm a drunk. I'm not. Even without alcohol for that long, one "gateway" beer doesn't do a whole lot, if much of anything.

I sort of think I just want to drink it because now i can.

Hear me roar, land of the unpregnant!

Or maybe it is to cope with the crazy last couple weeks we've had.

I never wrote the whole birth story here, but the abbreviated version (mind you: I'm not very good at abbreviated versions) is this:

Sunday, May 17, was Rye's birthday. An hour and a half before his party, a neighbor came to tell me that another neighbor's dog had attacked one of my cats. Horrified, I ran through my neighbor's backyard and nine months pregnant hopped a chain link fence, pried this Greyhound's jaws off my poor cat's throat and then rushed her to the emergency vet.

I missed the first 45 minutes of Rye's party (and tonight, he said, "Why didn't you come to my birthday party?") and wasn't sure if my battered cat was going to make it.

That night (morning) at 3:30 a.m., I woke up with extreme low back pain and after 20 minutes or so knew I was in labor. All I could think: What about the cat? I was to pick her up at the emergency vet at 7:30 and take her to our vet across town. Dane ended up doing that, and while he was gone, Rye threw up.

Three times.

Paige's birth story will always include the detail of Mommy holding Rye over the kitchen sink so he could hurl while she endured a contraction.

The vomiting meant he couldn't go to daycare. So my mom came. From Fremont. Which is at least a 45-minute drive.

We made it to the hospital in plenty of time, however, and Paige arrived with no problem and much joy.

Little Kitty, though, ended up dying, alone overnight, at the vet's office Tuesday night. We buried her Wednesday, the day we came home from the hospital, in the backyard. Rye used his blankie at one point to wipe away my tears (does it get any sweeter than that?)

And as if that wasn't enough excitement for our little family, a few nights ago, we got to call 911. (Yes, I know, Mother, I haven't told you this yet). Paige had spit up in her sleep and seemed to be choking and really in need of help. She was obviously in distress but couldn't cry or cough or do anything. After a few minutes of this, I told Dane to call 911. So little Paige and I got to ride in an ambulance and spend five hours in the ER at Children's Hospital. She is fine, but they did chest X-rays and blood tests and for a while at least seemed concerned.

Her pediatrician the next day said the worst she has is reflux. We have medicine for that and instructions on how often to feed her and how much. She also has to sleep in an inclined position for 30 minutes after she eats.

This whole event, of course, means I'm terrified to leave her alone. So she's been sleeping in the car seat next to my bed.

And she really is doing fine.

But all this - does it justify the mid-day booze?

Cheers.

Bath time

We got lucky with the smile.



And she didn't even cry during this first bath at home. I'll take that.

Rye's birthday

Better late than never.

Rye's party on Sunday featured superhero cake and homemade capes. We also had wind, room to run and a park playground where bad guys didn't stand a chance.

Here are a few photos:

The birthday boy with his cake.


Opening presents.


Rye and his superhero friends.


I love this picture.


At home afterward, with his new Wolverine claws.

She's here

Nearly two weeks early, Paige made her arrival at 1:29 p.m. Monday, May 18. One day after her big brother turned 4. She couldn't be more perfect.

Four years

Dear Rye,

You are 4 years old today. How did that happen?

I won't say it feels like yesterday that you were born - because it certainly doesn't. We've all changed a lot in the last four years. Sometimes, I barely even feel like the same person who paid attention to every single detail of my pregnancy with you that long ago. I've learned that life isn't always going to be what we all want it to be, even if we are trying, in our own individual ways. Sometimes, it doesn't matter how hard you try. Things are just the way they are, and we just better get used to it. Parenthood, I've learned, is not what I thought it was going to be when I dreamed about having a child.

But I wouldn't trade it for anything. Because just as often as it's hard, there are those moments when you smile that unmatched smile or say something completely unexpected or hug me like you'll never let go, and I can't believe how much I love you.

The other morning, when Daddy was taking you to Jessica's, I was leaving for work in my car at the same time. And we looked at each other through the two car windows, you straining around Daddy to get an uninterrupted look at me, and you didn't stop waving, not until I had pulled out of the driveway and was out of sight. I didn't stop waving to you either, and I remember feeling like I was going to cry, lose it right there in my car as I drove down our suburban street, away from you. The guilt of working full-time and putting you in daycare has lessened substantially since that first awful day I dropped you off with a stranger nearly four years ago, but that day last week it all came back, fresh and raw and humbling. You are my baby, my first baby, and you always will be, no matter how old you get. I feel often like I should be there more, do more, try harder. But you are thriving.

So today, you have already asked me at least five times when we can go to the store to get a guy. Action figures now are your true love. And it is your birthday, so I will without hesitation take you to get a guy. A $10 piece of plastic that will make you happy.

You've done so much in the last year that it's hard for me to even begin to make any sort of list of those accomplishments. Your vocabulary, grammar and sentence structure are amazing. The other day you used "apparently" correctly in a sentence. And that is just one example.

You play on your own, sometimes for 30 minutes or more at a time. This is both nice and completely scary for me.

You'd eat Eggo waffles for every meal if I'd let you. Or macaroni and cheese.

You are independent, strong-willed, stubborn, determined - like someone else I know. You are also curious and sweet and smart and loving.

You crave information, activity, interaction, attention, new stimulation. I'm trying to keep up, and sometimes I do better than others.

But today, on your fourth birthday, sweetheart, I want you to know I love you more than anything else, despite the trying times, the not-so-glorious moments of parenthood.

You are everything to me, and I wouldn't trade the last four years for anything.

Happy birthday, baby.

Love, Mommy.

Introducing...

Baby Paige's room (after a doctor's appointment Monday, I am 1.5 cm dilated and 50 percent effaced. Translation: I probably have to stick this thing out another couple weeks).

So. I'm trying to focus on the material things surrounding any baby's birth. Like the room. Which I got into order this weekend.

And at the request of a friend, you all get to see pictures. Dane says he knew we would someday have a girl when he chose this paint color nearly four years ago. I do not believe him. But I like the paint color even more now that it serves as baby-girl room purple, not just guest room purple.

Mother's Day (a day late)

I got this card (a day early). Because Rye was so excited to show it to me when I got back from the gym on Saturday, how could I make him wait until Sunday?

Here is the front, princess picture, stickers, misspelled name and all:




and here is the inside (name spelled correctly). I love the list.


and here is the boy, jammies and all.

36 1/2 weeks

I'm feeling as you would expect a woman who is hopefully three weeks or so away from having a baby would feel. Tired. Uncomfortable. Anxious.

But I know the end is in sight. And today my friend Jenny sent these pictures she took of me on Saturday. She was generous enough to offer, and she takes beautiful pictures, so how could I say no?

Here's a few of them, and I'll hopefully have a link for any of you who want to see more in a few days.