How I Spent My Christmas Vacation...

As December quickly flashed by and we got closer and closer to Christmas Day (my due date), I began praying that the baby would not decide to make an appearance on Christmas. I didn't want to spend Christmas in the hospital and I also didn't want the poor kid to have a Christmas birthday. A few days before or after-- great. But as someone with a birthday three weeks before Christmas who *still* sometimes got shafted on gifts, I had some compassion for having a birthday right on the holiday itself.

As Christmas approached and nothing seemed to be happening, I relaxed a little bit and started to plan for having a late baby. The Pretend Husband and I started discussing whether we would want an induction or membran stripping, and I began hoping to go into labor on my own sometime in the week between Christmas and New Year's.

Christmas Day came and it was perfect. We had decided to keep the holiday simple, not knowing if it would even happen. We set out a bunch of food, told family when we would be home and sat back to wait for them to visit. FunnyKid alternated between riding his new backhoe, jumping on his new trampoline and snuggling up with grandparents. I alternated between talking and eating, mostly while cuddled up on the couch.

Everyone left in the evening and within two hours, I started having some cramping and then contractions, which were not at all regular (and had started and stopped before, so I didn't get too excited about them). That evening, I had the PH take a photo of me at 40 weeks pregnant, not knowing how little time I had left.

We put FunnyKid to bed and the PH and I watched some television while I timed the contractions, which were anywhere from 12 to 20 minutes apart. As we got into bed around 10:30, my water broke. And that's when things got real. The PH (who had a really bad cold) tried to grab a little sleep while I went downstairs to pace and time contractions, which got stronger and closer together but since I was still able to walk and talk through them, I figured I was still pretty early in the process.

As the contractions got down to 3-5 minutes apart, I jumped in the shower and the PH started preparing for a trip to the hospital while family members started to make their way over to our house to stay with FunnyKid. After getting dressed, I was fine with chatting with my dad in between contractions, but the PH started to get nervous ("I am not delivering this baby myself!") and started to rush me out the door.

We got to the hospital and, although I was having really, really painful back labor, everything was still manageable. In fact, the nurse told us later that she almost didn't admit us because I didn't seem like I was very far along. In fact, I was already 7 centimeters dilated when they checked me and that's when things started moving fast.

There was some really loud moaning (me) and some slightly scared looks (the PH) and some casualness from the midwife as the told the nurse to call my doctor, but tell her there was no need to rush to the hospital. As she was saying that, I could feel the baby moving down and started having the urge to push, but who was I to argue with the expert?

Which is how it came to be that I gave birth 15 minutes later without a doctor in the room. The baby basically flew out and was placed on my chest and I said, "it's a boy?" Then I said, "Brothers!" A little FunnyBoy to torture and tease and love and admire my FunnyKid, who I'm sure will do the same in return.

And so, three hours after Christmas Day had ended, that's how our FunnyBoy, Finnegan (we'll call him Finn), came into this world, in his own time in his own way and with a full set of lungs that reminds us he's here on a daily (and nightly) basis.

I'll give you $10 to scratch my back... lower... a little to the right... ahhhh

I know this blog makes it sometimes seem like SJ and I live these fabulous lives filled with hilarity without a care in the world. And it is like that... most of the time. Other times, I wake up with a serious medical issue and spend my weekend on the couch fighting it off.

Take Friday, for example. I woke up and was scratching my elbows, which have been dry from the winter weather. Noticing large bumps on my elbows, I told the Pretend Husband to take a look at them. That's when he glanced at my face and said, "Your face is really broken out." Reaching up to feel tons of bumps all over my face, I ran to the mirror and discovered I was covered in hives (and the PH thought it was acne? If it had been, it would have been like taking every break-out I ever had as a teenager and putting it on my face all at once).

Anyway, as bad as the hives were on Friday, they were worse on Saturday. Laying in bed that morning, I felt my chin and thought, "It's definitely getting better." Then I tried to open my eyes... and could only get them open half-way. The rest of the weekend is a blur of going to the walk-in clinic, doping myself up on Benadryl, laying on the couch and hoping the hives would clear up before I had to go back to work.

And the cause of the hives isn't clear. I hadn't eaten anything unusual and I didn't switch detergents. The only theory that might fit is one my co-worker has about why her husband broke out in hives recently. As strange as it sounds, he had been eating a lot of citrus. And I have too, including at least an orange a day and orange juice every morning. Needless to say, I'm sticking to coffee for awhile.

I'm sick (and possibly dying)

I want to post about our wild weekend at the baseball game (perhaps even with photos if I can find the stupid cord for my camera) but I can't because I'm dying. It's very sad because I feel like I just recently started really living and all that other inspirational stuff.

I'm sick. And still working my butt off because I don't have anyone who can cover for me at work. I worked from home in my pajamas yesterday and then dragged myself into the office today (and made sure to cough extra loud so everyone knows how seriously ill I am... and how seriously dedicated I am)

So, instead of me sharing all my inspiring life lessons before I die, this is your chance to tell me how awesome I am before I go (or before I get better, whichever comes first...)

Oscar Night: Someone get the popcorn.

I don't usually do this kind of blog. And by usually, I mean ever.

I decided since my original Oscar night plans fell through, it doesn't mean the glamour has to be missed (was going to attend glamorous party in fantastic blue retro inspired dress, but j and I are having a rough weekend. and he's leaving for KC first thing in the a.m.). So because of this, I chose to bake and stay home and record my thoughts via text (to various friends, but notably, our blogger friends -- Poor, Pat. It must be annoying for someone who doesn't watch many movies but has much to say about people's outfits to randomly text you.) and Twitter, where I laughed out loud at our friend Andy.

I didn't watch any of the red carpet stuff until we got home. I turned in at 8 p.m. Now, I love me some Oscar fashions. Mostly, I am jealous. Mostly, I envy their perfect size 2 figures.

However. That said, I also think that if I had their budgets and figures, I could do better.

See?

I figured, no sense letting this great outfit go to waste. So I'm dressed up, old Hollywood style. It seems only right.

My initial thoughts on fashion:
Someone has stolen the sleeves off of Kate Winslett and Marissa Tomei's dresses.
Daniel Craig has to stand 10 feet away from Carrie.. I mean SJP in order to give enough room to her dress.
Jessica Biel, fire your stylist.
Amy Adams - love that necklace.
Anne Hathaway. Meh. Looks like Xanadu - the ballet.
The girl from Mamma Mia looks awesome.
The girl from High School Musical looks like someone went a little crazy with the bows.
Tilda Swinton is really beautiful. Last year, she scared me a little.
Angelina Jolie could probably wear a bag and look awesome.
Mickey Rourke scares me this year.
The girl from Slumdog Millionaire looks gorgeous.
Reese also looks like her dress changed its mind. It was going to have wide straps. And then, no. Narrow straps.


Other Oscar moments:
I was so hoping for song and dance with Hugh Jackman. He didn't disappoint.
FTW: did SJP actually introduce Matthew Broderick to an interviewer? Say what?
I forgot Roy Scheider died.
And I also forgot about Richard Widmark.
And the girl from Gone With the Wind.
And Cid Charese!
I was wondering what happened to the Heath picture, and then I figured they must have done something last year, because he died in January 2008.
"Wow. Slumdog Millionaire won again."

And granted, they're not over yet. But I'm going to guess that Slumdog wins best picture, and go to bed. I am hoping that Kate Winslett wins. Because she's awesome.

Let me know if I was wrong about Slumdog. I'm heading to bed.

better use for Zicam: shove it up your nose

my cold has blossomed into a full-bloom sinus infection, but i just discovered zicam's intense sinus relief spray - menthol scent.

i may have accidentally shot it onto my cerebellum, but really, this stuff seems to be a godsend.

i felt instant relief. but you can only use it once every 12 hours, so i'll let you know if it gets me through the night.

current itunes song: "tear in your hand" by tori amos