One year.

Disclaimer: Birth story ahead.

Charlotte was born a year and almost a month ago. I've debated pretty much since that day about posting the story of her entrance into the world. Ultimately, I decided to go for it; that said, I won't be offended if you don't read it. 

Background information: throughout the entire pregnancy, I strove to be as 'natural' as I could. With the exception of things like, um, nutella and antihistamines, I was good about it. I wanted to have a 'natural' birth, too, I thought, but I wasn't fully committed to it because, really, I'm a wimp when it comes to pain. Give me an easy way out and I'll take it, every time.

So, my labor.
Sunday: I worry I have a slow leak of amniotic fluid.  Matt and I went for a walk in the park in the morning, to see if I can get labor started. Here is what I was thinking: I am huge. My feet and ankles are ridiculously swollen. Walking in the snow will get things moving. It did not work, and since at that point I'd been leaking for over 24 hours, I called the OB. The guy on call was less than helpful, but eventually I got him to tell me I should go in to get checked.

At this point, I had a pretty good idea I wasn't in labor, but I'd read too much and was worried about leaking amniotic fluid for so long. So, we put Gus in his kennel out back and head to the hospital. The hospital, like most hospitals, is not particularly easy to navigate, and despite previously taking a tour of the Labor and Delivery ward, we still manage to take a fun ride on the elevator as we search for the floor with L&D. Cue laughter. We finally find the floor, and check in. I was in high spirits, joking and laughing with the nurses and midwives, and was not at all surprised when we got sent home. As a reward for not freaking out, I made Matt take me to Pizza Hut (don't judge). We ate linner around 3, then went to walk around the mall. We went to the Christmas Tree Shop, the stress of which should have been enough to send me into labor right then and there. It was not, however, so we headed back home.

We watched something on TV, then I settled in to watch the Grammys. I made it all the way to 10pm before giving in and going to bed. Foolishly, I did not bring any water upstairs with me.

At around 12:30, I woke up with the most absurd need to poo. I mean, seriously. Time for a little TMI, folks, but I've been through amoebic dysentery. I know the signs of diarrhea. I headed to the bathroom, but strangely, didn't poo. So I went back to bed. Then I woke up in an hour and went through the same thing. Then only half an hour went in between these sessions.

I know. At this point, every single mother out there is shaking her head, saying, honey, that's labor! But I was still convinced it was the Pizza Hut.

Finally, at 3:30, I decide I'm not going to keep going back in to the marital bed. Feeling somewhat certain that perhaps these are contractions, I got a little more sleep in the guest bed. At 5:30, I woke Matt up to tell him I was in labor and that contrary to my earlier statements, I was not doing this without pain meds (HAHAHA). He felt it prudent to go back to sleep, so I labored in bed for a few more hours. I thought I remembered the childbirth educator telling us that sometimes showers can help back labor (HAHAHA), so I told M I was going to take a shower. While the water was warming up, I sent my mom this email:

Date: February 13, 2012 7:40:17 AM EST

Subject: Ive decided

That really, I am not that invested in a drug-free birth.

Yes, contractions started last night around midnight.
And honestly, now that ive had a few, I can tell that I will definitely choose to not be man enough.
And since I never really allowed myself to think about the actual labor, I am not disappointed! Yay for not setting high expectations, hahaha.
About to get in shower. Dont anticipate heading to hosp anytime soon, will probably just go to my 2:30 drs appt and let them tell me what to do.

Re-reading that makes me laugh SO HARD. I got in the shower and really, that was probably about as bad as I felt the entire time. I did manage to wash and condition my hair, though, and I may have even shaved my lower legs. I definitely shaved my pits. Why? I can't tell you. After performing my ablutions, I exited the shower and went immediately to the toilet, where suddenly stuff was coming out of what felt like every orifice in my body.  Seriously, it felt like the worst case of gastroenteritis everrrrrrrrrr. In a stroke of genius, I started using the contraction timer app on my phone (yes, there's an app for that).

Somehow, I managed to get dressed and went downstairs. I continued to puke into various trash cans. At one point, I was squatting on the floor by the wood stove, hugging the bathroom trash can (which  I was carrying through the house), while Gus sat in front of me, worried and trying to lick my face. Matt showered and shaved his head, and asked me when I wanted to go to the hospital.

And here is where it all went wrong.

In childbirth class, they tell you: wait until you are having 5-1-1 contractions: 5 minutes apart, lasting for one minute, for the duration of an hour. They don't want you to get there and then get sent home.

So, I tell Matt: well, my contractions are definitely close together, and they're lasting at least a minute, but it hasn't been an hour. So take your time, take the dog up to the kennel, whatever. I called the doctor's office while he was transporting Gus, and told the nurse what the dilly was. And I swear, she said "why aren't you at the hospital?" She was chastising me! The nerve! I wanted to say to her "you people told me not to call 'til I was at that stupid $(*@^# 5-1-1 point, is why!" But I was raised better than that. And also I had a contraction and basically just hung up on her.

Matt packed the car (oh my god, why hadn't we packed it before?!) and I gingerly made my way out there. It was around 10:30 by now, and I'd been vomiting for 3 hours. Matt had repeatedly made me try to drink something, but nothing was staying down. The car ride was less awful than I thought it would be. I sat in the passenger seat with my eyes closed most of the way, making those lowing/mooing sounds I swore I'd never make. Finally, we pull up to the valet parking area at the hospital...

Back in the saddle again

Running. I love it. I hate it. Several weeks ago, a flyer came in the mail for a 5k run/walk commemorating the 300th anniversary of Middleburgh, NY. So I signed up. And I signed up M, too.

The last time I ran, I looked like this:

Fittingly, for that "Great Pumpkin Challenge" race, I looked like I had swallowed a pumpkin. It felt like that, too. I miss not having a floppy belly.

That race was at the beginning of November, making it about four-and-a-half months since I last ran. So let me tell you, when I went out and did a little run-walk thing with M last week, I felt it the next day. Since then, I've gone on 2 other runs, and I didn't stop once! Sure, when Gus is literally WALKING next to me as I plod up the hills, I'm a little ashamed, but already I can tell that it's getting easier.

I won't be setting any records, but I'm looking forward to giving it a shot. Because, let's face it, running a "fast and flat" 5k will be easier than unmedicated childbirth!

Welcome to Miami (bienvenido a Miami)!

I guess the third time's a charm: Three times writing this post. Three visits from new grandparents. Three person household. All because I spent three hours pushing on Monday. Charlotte Eve joined us on February 13th, weighing 6lbs 9oz and measuring 20 inches long. She is a delight. Once I get a little more acclimated to feeding her every two hours (seriously, kid, you better be gaining weight), pictures will follow. And happily enough, Gus is completely unfazed by the new addition!

Grafitti is bad.

I went to Joanne's this weekend, to buy a ridiculous amount of cardstock and printed paper for a few projects I'm working on. What? It was only a quarter a sheet!

I went to the ladies' room twice while there (what? I was there for a while), and on the second trip, noticed this. It seemed too perfect not to share.

Can you read it? It says
Your Mom 

is awesome!

so call her more often.


Thanks, I think I will.

World Nutella Day

Unsurprisingly, M. and I are celebrating World Nutella Day as expectant parents, rather than parents of a newborn. There are seven-and-a-half hours left, but I'm not too convinced, at this point, that Baby Girl will make an appearance today. Guess I lost the pool.

Please use your imagination for the following image:
Here is the last piece of the Nutella cheesecake I made earlier this week. I have nursed it for several days, just so I'd be able to say I had some of it on this magical day.

And now, back to reality. M. ate the last piece today, which means this:

is how I celebrated World Nutella Day.

Gus was very sad not to celebrate with me.

See?

He is good practice for my "just say no" skillz.

Best.Socks.Ever.

My mother-in-law gave me a pair of hand-knit socks for Christmas this year. It's my first pair of hand-knit socks, and while the colorway is a little outside my comfort zone, I have to say the socks are very much inside my comfort zone.

Now that I'm less than 10 days away from my due date, my once-trim ankles are starting to resemble bread dough. My feet are definitely piggy feet.  I mention this so you'll understand why I love these socks so much: lack of elastic at the top means OMG NO SOCK DENTS. 

And that is a glorious thing.

Decisions, decisions.

M. brought home a large tub of Nutella last week, reason 48,348 I love him.

I really, really want to bake something with it, but am so incredibly torn on what to make! I asked him if I should do a nutella pound cake or cookies. His response? Yes. To an either-or question. Cute, mister. So I'm still stumped as to what to bake. I googled "Nutella recipe" and came across a fantastic site: www.nutelladay.com

Reason 1 it's fantastic: it celebrates World Nutella Day (February 5). I have now decided I would like my daughter to be born on this day. What better way to commemorate her birth than with a jarful spoonful of Nutella? Plus, it would give me an automatic theme for future birthday cakes. I hereby claim Feb. 5 as my day in the pool we have going on when she'll actually be born. FYI, Feb. 11, 12, and 14 are taken.

Reason 2 it's fantastic: 27 breakfast recipes that incorporate Nutella; 43 Nutella brownie recipes; too many cookie recipes to count; etc. There's even a category for savory and pizza recipes, for crying out loud!

This has not made my decision any easier.

A debt of gratitude.

The past nine months have been pretty low-key when it comes to wacky food cravings. In the beginning, I wanted Cheerios, and lots of 'em. I didn't want sweets, which was completely unlike me. And I legit craved veggies and cold foods. There was a two week period where I really, really wanted Roy Rogers fried chicken. Now that I'm counting down the days (cough 15 cough), my imagination has started to get the better of me.

An actual thought that ran through my head while driving home from work on Friday:
"I want ice cream. Vanilla ice cream. With, hmmm, chocolate-covered potato chips or pretzels, and salted caramel."

Figuring that the chances of such a concoction actually existing were slim, I stopped at our local Stewart's to see what they offered. They carry their own ice cream, and have some very delicious flavors. Nothing came close to my vision of perfection, though, so I continued my quest at the grocery store.

The ice cream aisle there is a beautiful thing. So many different kinds! So many different price points! I started at one end and worked my way down, feeling more and more hopeless as I approached the last section. I skimmed the pint-size cartons of Ben and Jerry's, knowing in my heart of hearts that this very specific craving would go unsatisfied, and I'd have to make do with something like Peanut Butter Cup Explosion (delicious, but not on point). And then, I swear to you, the Hallelujah chorus from Handel's Messiah was piped over the sound system in Hannaford and a magical amber spotlight appeared over a pint of...

Ben and Jerry's Late Night Snack. Vanilla bean ice cream, fudge covered potato chip clusters, and a salty caramel swirl.

Seriously, thank you, Ben and Jerry, for fulfilling a pregnancy craving that I thought for sure could never be fulfilled.

29

As my grandmother would say, goll-ee mose! I am truly astounded that I have only less than 30 days til my due date.

Up until now, I haven't had much in the way of complaints. But finally, my body has decided to acknowledge that it's pregnant. Sleeping is more of a challenge than I'm used to. Getting off the couch is no small feat. And I really, really miss all my jackets and coats.

Here's me, nearly 36 weeks pregnant:

I never thought I'd feel like I had skinny legs, but suddenly, I do!

Pounti auvergnat

My post-undergrad time in France was spent in a region called the Auvergne (more specifically, Cantal). It's very rural, and the regional foodscape was filled with hearty, stick-to-the-ribs meals. The better to fuel a day spent on the farm! Or, in my case, taking 3 hour walks every day I wasn't working.

I lived with a host family, and they 100% brought me into the fold. We had Sunday dinner at Tata Nenette's every week - my host mother's aunt, who had to be at least 80. Tata Nenette was, like all the women in that family, an amazing cook. It was at her table that I first tasted pounti. Roughly translated from fr.wikipedia.org:

This dish is a perfect example of a single country food that melds sweet and salty, and is great for brown-bag meals eaten far from home. It is a pate or terrine that combines a batter of flour, eggs, and milk with swiss chard, bits of pork, and prunes. It's traditionally eaten cold or lightly pan-fried in slices, accompanied by a salad. It can also be eaten as a side dish with roast chicken.

Thanks to pregnancy, prunes started holding a special appeal for me last week. I'd never eaten them out of hand, though, and was nervous to try them. I did know I liked pounti, and it seemed like an excellent thing to take for lunch. I looked for recipes in my multiple French cook books, and struck out, so I turned to Google. Quelle surprise! Over at Chocolate and Zucchini, I found a promising recipe. I combined it with others that I found online, and created my masterpiece.

Only it wasn't so masterful. It smelled FANTASTIC coming out of the oven, but it did not unmold well, which really causes me to feel like a complete failure in the kitchen. I hate when things stick to the pan (this post brought to you by Pam cooking spray. I wish). It did taste good, though. But I found there were several things that I will be changing the next time I make it... I'll post my recipe once I finalize it.

 It's short because I don't have a proper terrine, so I made it in a loaf pan. Also because the bottom inch stuck to the pan. And yes, those are extra prunes on the side. I made M. try it, and he said he thought it needed more onion, but mostly liked it.

Overall, my pounti cantalou is tasty and filled with fiber (which, after all, was the point), but there's room for improvement. Specifically:

• more chard
• less meat
• higher temp for shorter time

Still, it was well worth the effort, and I'm looking forward to making it again.

I love DC in the fall.

My five days in DC passed in a whirlwind. I had an early(ish) flight Wednesday morning, which started the whole trip off on the right foot. Why's that, you ask?

Because on Southwest, pregnant women can pre-board. Yes, that's my second-row seat! I don't like the bulkhead. I'd rather have my carry-on at my feet. I took this picture explicitly to send to my brother in a boastful moment.  I have no idea what I did for the rest of the day. Lunch with my bestie? Shopping? Seems likely.

Thursday my dad and I went for a walk on the C + O Canal, and came across this totally prehistoric looking heron. Dad is far braver than I, and got to within 10 feet of the pterodactyl. I hung back and flirted with hyperventilating. My bird phobia continues.

I conscripted my bro into helping me with some individual apple galettes for Thanksgiving dinner. How cute is he in his vest and apron? He is about the most precise person I know, and the apples he sliced were just about perfect. Mine, though done in a fraction of the time, were not perfect. Those two phrases could be applied to our lives in general. It's probably why I love him.

Thanksgiving dinner was outstanding. We went to our family friends' house (ancestral manse of my bestie) and feasted, then played board games, then feasted some more. It was like being in a sit-com.

Friday my mom's friend threw me a baby shower, which was so kind of her. I had a fantastic time. Please to excuse the poor lighting. I hope to scrounge up more photos to share from others who were in attendance. My mom and I have incredibly generous friends, and I feel lucky to know them!

Since I'm not running anymore, I tried to walk at least a little every day I was there. The weather was gorgeous (hello 70 degrees in late November!) and it's so easy to walk in my parents' neighborhood. Mom and I took Max for a walk one morning. I knew Max was old, but I didn't realize this is how most of their walks conclude:

Is he not the cutest? I love how he crosses his hind legs and just chillaxes. I told Mom she needs to get him a stroller. I'm pretty sure he'd dig it.

Go, Go A.Leo!

A.Leo was my first non-spousal running partner. Even though she whines A LOT I still love her and want her to do her best. She did the Army Ten Miler with me last year, we did a 5k together in October (my last race of the pregnancy!), and we've done a bunch of leisurely training runs together over the past few years.

Early on in my pregnancy, I felt fairly certain I'd still be running by this point, so I told her I'd do the Stockadeathon with her. 6 months later, maybe I changed my mind a little. Instead of running with her, I volunteered to spectate. This was what greeted me at the start line:

She's in the middle of the pack somewhere. I didn't get there in time to find her before she queued up. I looked for her to run by, but the dog (who'd never in his life been around that many people and strollers and other dogs) got a little manic, so we had to find a calmer spot.

This spot looked pretty calm to me. So did that puppy. I wish my dog was that calm.

There's our girl, running out of the frame. I am, quite possibly, the world's worst sports photographer. Several times I tried to snap a picture and couldn't understand why the stupid lens kept closing. Evidently, I was simply turning the camera on and off.

Side bar: that woman's celtic knot shrug is about the coolest running garment I've ever seen.

Gus calmed down and we waited for our friend to run by us on a little bit of an incline.I used my standard cheer of "nice smile!" to encourage people. They usually weren't smiling before, but after that, nearly everyone ran by me with a grin. I felt accomplished. So did Gus, because he got a few "nice dog!" greetings in return. You can't tell, but his tail wagged the entire time we sat there. He was astoundingly well behaved and stayed in a down for at least 20 minutes.

 

 There's the girl with only two short corners to go! 

This morning was pretty exciting to me, because I finally realized a goal I'd set years ago: to spectate a race while pregnant, if I couldn't run it. I had a blast. Gus did, too. Hopefully A.Leo will do it again next year so we can take some better pictures.

Barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen

True story: in high school, my superlative was "most likely to be barefoot and pregnant in the deep south." I'm (not so, anymore) secretly proud of the fact that I've achieved two out of three.  

The only problem with putting my appliances to work yesterday was that I don't have a housekeeper to put to work after the appliances have done their jobs. The hours I spent on my feet were a good reminder that, really, my days of spending hours on my feet should be over.

Especially if I'm barefoot.

It was worth it, though. I've got 3 meals' worth of roasted tomato soup in the freezer, a really delicious sour cream-banana-milk chocolate chip bundt cake waiting to be eaten at breakfast, plenty of 1/2 cup servings of applesauce, and at least 7 pints of the best poultry stock I've ever made.

Next weekend's project: reorganizing the cellarway and freezer so I have somewhere to put all the jars and bags! We'll see about this; someone convinced me to sign up for a 5k Saturday...

Busting a gut

While I start finish writing my race recap from the Army Ten Miler, I thought I would share with you the following anecdote:

My mother, my friend Jenna, and I were reading particularly funny blog posts over at Hyperbole And A Half Saturday night. My mom and I often get stuck in feedback loops of laughter. Add Jenna to the mix, plus the story of the magical dog who makes food, and it's a recipe for hysteria. I was bent over with my hands on my knees, gasping for breath, by the end of it.

It was really funny, ok?

So Sunday morning, I wake up bright and early. Because I'm lazy and am sporting a belly these days, I rolled out of bed. I did morning stuff. Finally, I got in the car to go to the race. I laughed at something someone said (or maybe at Dad, because he can't hear?) and ow! Belly. pain. Localized, sharp, only when laughing or sitting up - contracting the muscles.

Are you ready for this?

Because I'm pretty darn certain I actually busted my gut laughing.

The nurse at the ob's office agrees that I've probably strained a muscle in my abdomen from laughing. She suggested that next time I find myself overcome with uncontrollable laughter, I walk away.

Clearly she's never met me.

Sand-wow.

I have a confession to make: slap some food between two pieces of bread, throw it on a grill, and I'm a happy camper. I love grilled sandwiches. Grilled cheese, tuna melt, patty melt, reuben, every single form of panini. I love them all.

And yet, I only ever make grilled cheese.

Last night, I stepped outside my usual weeknight comfort zone and made pesto chicken panini. I wanted to take a picture of them, but whoops! We pretended to be starving children and ate them in the blink of an eye.

This sandwich was pretty much my garden's last hurrah. I had some basil that's seen better days, lettuce that's really too bitter for my taste, and a single perfectly ripe tomato. Oh, and some ciabatta rolls and a rotisserie chicken. I made pesto, but overestimated my capacity for garlic. So I took some mayonnaise (eeeew, I hate that stuff) and mixed it in with the pesto.

Clue #5,492 that I'm pregnant: I proceeded to chow down on pesto mayo and Tostitos.

Slathered it on the bread (both pieces!), put on some lettuce, shredded chicken, some shredded mozzerella I found in the cheese drawer, and the tomatoes. Then I smushed each sandwich with the palm of my hand, slammed it laid it lovingly down in a hot cast iron skillet, and covered it with a grill weight.

Oh my stars was that a delicious sandwich. I am going to make as much pesto as possible this weekend so that I can make this sandwich in the coming months.

That there? That's a...

We celebrated with Baby * Brownies. They were delicious (seriously, if you want to try the world's fudgiest, crackly-toppiest, kinda-like-boxed-brownies-only17-times-better, make these).

Anyways, we had our ultrasound yesterday! Baby looks great, although frankly I'm pretty sure I saw the Scream mask floating around in there a few times. Everything was just right. Immediately following the scan, M. and I got on our phones and proceeded to be that weird couple in the waiting room that's not talking because we were too busy with the phones. We must have sent out 20 texts before we got called back to have the regular appointment.

Other exciting news: according to the scale at the doc's office, my weight? It is great. Because I'm anal, I wore pretty much the same outfit I wore last time; it's pretty much the lightest thing I own. Not sure what I'll do come winter.

But here's what you've been waiting for:

Courtesy of my lovely co-workers!

21,xxx

We got our race numbers, and yay! I'm not in the dead-last color group at the Army Ten Miler!

Wave 3 Start Corral - 8:15 Start - You will have access to the corral between 7:20am - 8:00am only. All runners in waves 2 & 3 have the responsibility to be in their start corral by 8:00am. 

19501-24500 Orange
24501-30000 Purple

So if we walk reallllly fast and weave our way through approximately 3,000 other runners, we stand a chance of meeting the 5-mile pace requirement and being able to finish the entire race.

Only a little part of me is hoping that we'll get cut off and only get to run 8 miles. Ha.

Already I'm thinking about how my morning routine pre-ATM this year will differ from years past: I'll definitely have to have nearly a full meal, probably will have to shower, and will need to allot more time for taking care of business.

But most importantly, I'm trying to rationalize the purchase of a bump-flattering running shirt. And maybe a longer running skirt. These thighs can only rub together so long before they'll start a fire!

perks of pregnancy

Pretty sure this ranks up there with, you know, the miracle of life.

Temptations

About halfway back from visiting M's family in the Finger Lakes, I offered to stop napping in the passenger seat and drive - if we stopped at Starbucks. These sudden flash-cravings are bad news for me. I walked in thinking I'd get a grande iced skinny decaf caramel macchiatto (say that three times fast!) and walked out holding something the size of a newborn: a Venti Salted Caramel Mocha Frappucino (try saying that three times fast!). With full-fat milk. And whipped cream. And, um, toffee nut syrup. And salt. In my defense, I ordered a decaf. Thank god, because with that much sugar I was pretty much bouncing off the walls. I could have pushed the car home.

Kind readers, allow me to introduce you to my secret lovah:

Our Best Frappuccino® Blended Beverage Ever