XX

The new baby is a girl.

A girl!

A GIRL!

I could not have been more surprised if the ultrasound technician had told me I was having a unicorn.

As Matt and I headed into my appointment on Friday morning I was overcome with a sudden feeling of doubt and worry. "I don't want to go," I said to him.

"We don't have to," he replied.

I shrugged my shoulders, and in we went.

Our favorite technician, whose name is Susan, smiled to welcome us and tell us she was going to do the ultrasound, which immediately made me feel better. "How far along are you?" she asked as we walked into the exam room.

"A little over sixteen weeks," I replied.

"Big day! Are you ready to find out what you're having?"

A boy, I thought to myself. As if there's any doubt. For months now I have dreamed of myself as a mother to three boys. But I simply said, "Yes, we're ready," and hopped up onto the table.

She laughed and joked with us a bit during the beginning, as she rolled the transducer over my belly. She showed us the brains, the kidneys, the stomach with fluid in it (which she said was a good thing), and the four chambers of the heart. She turned on the volume and let us listen to the heartbeat, which I love so so much.

Then she laughed and said, "The baby's sleeping, and the legs are crossed. But don't worry, I don't give up easy." And she didn't. She spent the next several minutes poking the baby (and me) with the transducer and coaxing the baby to roll over and examining the little butt and legs from every angle she could manage. After a few minutes of silence she said, "I know what it is, but I want to look around a little more to be sure."

During this entire time I craned my neck and examined the swooshing images on the screen to look for the (I thought inevitable) penis. I kept thinking I could see glimpses of it, but Susan never managed a perfectly clear shot. Finally at one point I was sure I saw it. With a jolt of combined elation and the most minute bit of disappointment (I know, I know, I am a terrible person and should be thanking the Heavens for my good fortune at being pregnant with a second child, not selfishly wishing for a girl), I exhaled and said, "Oh, there it is! I know! It's a boy, right? I see the penis!"

Susan, flicked her eyes away from the screen for a brief second and said to me, "No, you don't." Matt started to laugh. "It's a girl," she declared. "You're having a girl."

That is when I started to cry, tears of happiness and utter disbelief streaming down my cheeks.

A girl. A little girl!!! I laughed and cried, Matt hugged and kissed me, Susan congratulated us both and continued to smile and joke while she took measurements of our gorgeous little baby girl. Who looks perfectly healthy, which is of course the most important thing of all. She is growing right on schedule and appears to have long legs and eventually she woke up long enough to move around a bit and show us her breathtakingly beautiful profile. (Well, beautiful for an ultrasound image, that is.) She weighs approximately six ounces and is the size of an avocado.

At the end of the exam I asked Susan, "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," she replied. "I know my girls," and then she typed "FETUS IS FEMALE" on the report for my doctor. "There," she said, "it's official."

I am shocked and thrilled and almost overcome with joy and gratitude. Gabe will be a big brother to his little sister. I cannot think of any way to say this that doesn't sound trite: we are so lucky and blessed.

Sometimes it's hard to love the cat.

This evening as Gabe and I were going through our cozy bedtime ritual, I walked him over to his crib to take out the decorative stuffed animals (as placed there by the decorators who staged our home which STILL HAS NOT SOLD ahhhhh am losing my mind from the noise of the vacuum and the fumes from the kitchen cleaners which I use EVERY DAMN DAY), I noticed something highly unpleasant.

Our cat, who has been acting up a bit ever since Gabe started walking in earnest, had peed in the crib.

CAT PEE IN THE CRIB.

The bad, bad, bad cat also managed to pee all over Gabe's lovey lion blanket (a very soft, sweet, small blanket with a lion's head sewn on one corner). I was horrified. I am still horrified, several hours later.

So rather than rock Gabe in the glider chair and lay him down gently to sleep as had been my plan thirty seconds earlier, I was forced to strip the crib and and put on a clean mattress pad and sheets. Thank goodness for the waterproof mattress pads that I bought in bulk when Gabe was a newborn. That purchase represents a rare moment of lucidity in the midst of several highly sleep-deprived weeks.

Also, thank goodness we have a backup lovey blanket.

OR SO I THOUGHT.

Gabe has slept with his lovey lion blanket since he was a very little guy. It's organic and made from breathable fabric and it's quite small, so even though I was absolutely terrified of SIDS (and undoubtedly will be again for Version 2.0), the lovey lion blanket never worried me much. Shortly after Gabe began sleeping with the lovey lion, we received a nearly identical blanket as a gift. It's exactly the same, except it has (you guessed it smart readers!) a bear's head on the corner.

I've offered Gabe the bear blanket on a few occasions in the past, usually when the lion was in the wash, and he accepted it without protest.

Not tonight.

Tonight I got him all snuggled down in his crib and handed him the lovey bear. He took it happily, then frowned and sat up to get a better look at it. He examined the blanket, looked at me with raised eyebrows, looked back at the blanket, then smelled the blanket. He turned to me with a very serious expression on his face, extended his arm to show me the blanket, and said, "Uh oh!"

Clearly, not fooled. Not for a minute.

After some serious negotiations he accepted his Elmo doll and DaDoh the gingham stuffed lion as substitutes, and seriously, I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't taken them. I had a few moments of something close to panic as I tried to imagine how I would get him to sleep without the cat-pee-soaked lovey lion. We have an allegedly high efficiency washing machine and dryer, and those damn things take an hour each to run a full cycle, so tossing the lovey lion in for a quick wash was not a good option.

Lucky for me, I have the greatest baby in the whole entire world, and he cheerfully settled down with Elmo tucked under one arm and DaDoh tucked under the other, and was out cold in mere minutes.

Lovey lion is in the wash now, and should be good as new in a couple of hours.

But what am I going to do about the cat?

Self-Aware

Yesterday afternoon I was speaking with a co-worker in the hallway outside my office. At one point during our conversation I leaned against the wall and oh-so-casually put my hands in the back pockets of my pants. Then I grimaced a little bit. It turns out that at some point yesterday morning Gabe handed me his graham cracker, which I absentmindedly put in one of the back pockets. I then proceeded to, you know, sit down in my car and in my desk chair for most of the day, reducing the graham cracker remnants to graham cracker dust. Let me just tell you, it is hard to carry on a serious hallway conversation about patent indemnity with graham cracker crumbs under your fingernails. But I must say, finding that cracker in my pocket made me feel like a real mom. Only real moms take partially-chewed food and put it in their pockets like it's no big deal.

Just as I am now aware of my status as a real mom, Gabe is now aware that he is "Gabe." Or as he pronounces it, "GEEB!" I find this to be a truly thrilling development. Matt and I spent a gleeful ten minutes this morning having him say his name over and over.

I have a beautiful silver charm bracelet from Planet Jill that I received as a Christmas gift from my parents last year. On it are two circular charms that contain tiny photographs of Gabe: one taken when he was a newborn, still in the hospital, and one taken when he was six months old. (This reminds me that I really should get another charm with a current photograph.) Anyhow, tonight while he was eating dinner, Gabe noticed the charm bracelet for the first time ever, and suddenly sat straight up in his booster chair to declare, "GEEB! GEEB! GEEB!" while pointing at the six-month photo of himself. He even got his grubbly little hands on the charm, which again, made me feel like a real mom. Only real moms have macaroni and cheese residue on their jewelry.

Now, unrealted to any of the above, please enjoy some pictures of GEEB! eating many, many strawberries at the farmers' market last weekend. He tried to eat them husks and all, in case you were curious. (More proof that I am a real mom. Real moms very coolly and calmly pry strawberry husks out of their toddlers' mouths in public.)

Mmmmm, delicious strawberry husks.

They are so delicious that I will do a little dance!

I know what you're thinking, and yes, I agree that I do look quite handsome in this hat.

Night Night

We have the nicest little bedtime routine, Gabe and I. When it's getting late enough, Gabe gets a clean diaper and a clean pair of PJs, and we lower the blinds in his bedroom to make the room feel nice and cozy. Then we settle into the big soft glider chair in his room with a bottle (the only bottle he gets nowadays, which he drinks with unbridled enthusiasm) and a stack of picture books. Then we read and read and read until he begins to rub his eyes. Next is the best part: we turn the lights down very low and cuddle in the glider and rock and rock and rock until he is nice and sleepy. Then it's kisses and hugs and time to go to sleep in the crib.

Tonight while we were rocking, when I suspected Gabe was beginning to drift off to sleep, he nuzzled his head a little deeper into the crook of my arm and said, "Mommy." Then he looked up at me, straight into my eyes, and said, "Happy." Then he nuzzled back down and let out the most contented sigh I have ever heard.

This ranks in the top ten moments of my life, for sure.

I love our routine so much, and I really, truly hope I can figure out some way to continue it after baby #2 is born early next year.

That's right, I'm pregnant again. Like, really pregnant. Fourteen weeks. That's officially second trimester and everything.

I've been trying to muster up the enthusiasm to write a "Hooray I'm Knocked Up Again Hooray Hooray!" post for literally weeks now, because Matt and I are over-the-moon excited, but quite obviously this post has not happened. I blame: (1) my full-time job, which seems to be more full-time than ever, if such a thing is possible; (2) my toddler, who only walks now (no crawling!) and is trying to figure out how to run; (3) the killer fatigue of early pregnancy, which I somehow managed to block out from last time around (although I really should have remembered the multiple times I flat-out fell asleep at my desk at work during my pregnancy with Gabe, including once with a little drool on the desk); and, most critically (4) the evil, evil "morning" sickness.

I experienced very little morning sickness during my pregnancy with Gabe, and really, I should have thanked my lucky stars for that fact. I did not appreciate it enough at the time. Not nearly enough. Because this time I am sick. SICK. Since the six-week mark, I have been somewhere on the sliding scale of nausea - dry heaves - puking every single day. Usually towards the puking end of the scale, and not just once a day puking either. One of my pregnancy books refers to morning sickness as "progesterone poisoning," and really, that is such a better and more accurate description.

It's bad enough that I whined to my OB about it, hoping he would have some good advice or maybe some nice anti-nausea drugs or something. His respone? "Well, you got off easy last time. This should make you appreciate what an easy pregnancy you had last time around!" He said this with remarkable cheerfulness and a big smile. I kind of wanted to hit him.

So as I mentioned, I am now about fourteen weeks along. I am hoping (praying!) that the progesterone poisoning tapers off pretty soon so that I can attempt to enjoy this pregnancy. Because honestly, we are so damn lucky. Tonight as I sat in the glider chair in Gabe's quiet bedroom, I had a growing baby in my belly and a happy baby in my arms. That, my friends, is just about as good as life ever gets.

Four Quick Things

1. Gabe is totally patriotic. Check out his getup from the Fourth of July (extreme closeup edition):


2. Does marinara sauce count as a vegetable? If so, then Gabe ate a vegetable tonight! Celebration! Party time!


3. Gabe moves from the Infant Room to the Toddler Room in three weeks. Sob! (I have no picture to illustrate this one. Just picture me with sad, sad tears as Gabe toddles off into the sunset to go play with the more exiting Toddler Room toys, or something.)

4. Gabe very much enjoys playing the ukulele these days.

Running Down a Dream

I am so far behind that I can't even attempt to catch up. Suffice it to say that since my last post, we've had many social outings (including Baby Loves Disco with my fab friend J and her husband S and their delightful son B) plus we celebrated an excellent Father's Day. Gabe bought his dad a customized Sigg water bottle reading "Peace, Love & Gabe" and matching shirts for himself and his daddy. They both look very handsome in the shirts, in case you were wondering.

But now onto the big news: Gabe took his first real steps yesterday!!! (At least I think they were his first real steps. Sometimes I think daycare lies to me and says they've never seen him do things like waive "hi" and say "doggie" and take steps because they don't want me to think I'm missing out on milestones. And this is fine with me, by the way. Ignorance is bliss and all.)

Anyhow the steps were highly amusing. Here's how it worked: I sat on the floor and helped Gabe get into a nice solid standing position about arms' length away from me. He pushed my hands away to prove how good he was at standing all by himself. The he grinned madly, hesitated, and lurched forward for two whole steps before crashing into my arms and screaming excitedly. We repeated this sequence several times.

AWESOME.

I know everyone says you shouldn't encourage your kid to walk because it unleashes a new level of chaos into everyday life, and I totally believe this is true, but I still think it's super exciting that he's trying to figure out how to walk. I can't help myself - I have to encourage him. He just looks so proud and he gets so excited! (And he's getting sort of heavy, so it's nice to think that one day I won't have to carry him absolutely everywhere and give myself arm cramps. Because I am LAZY.)

I have to go find myself some dinner now because I am SO HUNGRY and because feeding myself is clearly more important than documenting my baby's life and milestones and precious moments in detail. (LAZY and SELFISH, people.) But I promise to not wait weeks and weeks before posting again. Maybe I'll even throw in some pictures next time. Mwah.

Aloha!

This morning at breakfast Gabe signed, "More crackers, please." Clearly, he is some kind of genius baby.

But I digress! So, once again I have been a slacker about posting. But I have a good excuse! We have just returned from a week on Maui! Oooooh, I love me some Maui. I could probably live there. If I could live in a hotel and get spa treatments and go to the beach and snorkel with sea turtles and tropical fish and not actually work at a job, I mean. Then it would be seriously great to live there.

We had an absolute blast. Gabe loooooved the hotel where we stayed. It had a giant lake that wrapped around the entire hotel, with multiple waterfalls and little rivers branching off. It was full of koi and swans ("ducks," according to Gabe), with parrots nesting around the perimeter, and he could pretty much have hung out in the hotel lobby looking at the lake for the entire week we were there. Every single morning when we stepped off of the elevator and into the lobby, he bounced up and down and pointed excitedly while proclaiming, "Wa wa! Duck! Wa wa! Duck!"

The hotel also had five gorgeous pools, one of which contained a little baby waterslide. After some initial uncertainty, Gabe decided that going down the slide on mommy's or daddy's lap was maybe the most fun thing he'd ever done in his life. We went down the slide and into the pool over and over again until Gabe was so cold that his little teeth (ok, mostly gums) chattered.

He also loved digging in the sand in shady places on the beach. He even ate a little sand, just as an experiment. Not so yummy, but very funny, as it turns out.

He ate other things too! Yogurt and fruit every morning for breakfast, sandwiches for lunch, crackers and snacks all day long, and quesadillas or chicken fingers or bites off of my plate for dinner. He ate vegetables, people. Vegetables. I know, I can't believe it either.

The only thing he did not do in Hawaii was sleep. He never really adjusted to the time change, so he decided that waking up at 4:45 a.m. each morning was perfectly acceptable. But he woke up in such a good mood that we couldn't even be upset about the wicked lack of sleep. Instead, we would bring him into bed and he'd snuggle between us and then laugh and say hi and poke us. It was so great.

And then, just to cap things off, our good friends J and G were on Maui at the same time, and we managed to coordinate schedules and meet them for dinner on our last night there. They hadn't seen Gabe in a while, and were properly appreciative of his charm and good looks. And Gabe loved them...he happily sat in J's arms for much of the evening, babbling and eating goldfish crackers. So the end of our vacation was filled with easy conversation and laughter and good old friends.

The real magic of the trip was that I was able to just step back from our usually rushed routine and simply enjoy being with my husband and baby. No rushing off to daycare, no checking the blackberry every ten minutes, no worrying about nap schedules, even. There was just no point. We slept when we were tired, we ate when we were hungry, and we giggled and played a lot. Because we are so lucky. So very lucky and blessed.