Thursday, October 29, 2009

Sexy dreams and the benefits of oral sex during pregnancy, (tmi ahead, duh!)

Below is my favorite email of late.

It comes from a friend who is pregnant. But she shall remain nameless. Because we won't want anyone to know she is orgasming in her sleep! I mean, what would the neighbors think?

Also, what kind of pervert searches for things like "oral sex" or "sperm" while pregnant?

I'll tell you: MY kind of pervert!

Here's the email:
"Because I can ask you things like this, but I am not as bold as you with putting up things on my blog when my grandma is reading it faithfully:

1) Did you have a lot of sleep orgasms while pregnant?
2) Have you read about the Dutch study that shows that oral sex can help prevent preeclampsia? Fascinating!"

The answers are as follows.

1. Sleep orgasms
Why yes! I did have lots of sexy fun dreams that ended in sexy fun times while sleeping.

But that is fairly normal for me. (TMI ahead, in case you couldn't figure out I was gonna go there.) Most of my sex dreams over the last, say 15 years, have happily ended in orgasms — granted, these kinds of dreams have always been few and far between for me. In fact, my remembering ANY dream at all that wasn't mundane, business meeting, day-to-day boring stuff was rare. 'Til baby. Now I remember my dreams, and they are wacky. It's likely because I am up every few hours, thanks to baby.

Here's the promised TMI:
My sex dreams that end in a big ol' O always include me taking care of my own business. Nope, I'm not actually having sex in my sex dreams. Ever. Not once that I remember.

It's always masturbation, and it's usually in some kinda public place. This is the setting for my sex dreams. (Yeah, I know, says some obvious things about me.)

OH: and anytime I'm about to hook up with someone in my dreams, be it a boy or a girl, I use what little lucid dreaming power I have to slowly transform them into Ross. OR, I make an excuse in the dream about how it's OK and I'm not actually cheating on Ross. In a dream.

And then I wake up. Super wound up and wondering why I can't get it on with someone else in a friggin' dream.

Anytmigirl, loving this website I just found when I searched for "orgasms in sleep while pregnant."

Here's the resident expert's take on they why behind the sleepytime fun times.

"During pregnancy, elevated hormones can make orgasms much more abundant and easier to have. Pregnancy hormones can also induce vivid dreaming. The combination of the two will result in frequent "wet dreams," which are very normal during pregnancy. And, don't worry, uterine cramping immediately following an orgasm in completely normal too."

On to question number two.

2. Have you read about the Dutch study that shows that oral sex can help prevent preeclampsia?

Holy crap! No. I had not heard this.

And when I first read the above note I assumed that the "oral sex" referred to cunnilingus, because I am apparently a self-absorbed, sexist kinda gal.

But after a quick click, I realized that no, it's more about the mom's body putting semen to good use and therefore not reacting in a negative way to the fetus. If you think of pregnancy in terms of its similarities to a transplant, well, you can imagine that sometimes a woman's body freaks out and rejects what's happening in her uterus. The study suggests that oral exposure to the sperm donor's semen can help her body maintain the necessary "tolerance." It's a quick read. Check it out.

But what, you wonder, trying to change the subject of the images in your head, is preeclampsia? The term refers to a set of symptoms: high blood pressure and high amounts of protein in the urine. My midwives did a urine dip at each home visit. Also, we watched for sudden leg or ankle swelling, which can also be a sign. It can develop up to six weeks after delivery as well.

Needless to say, for anyone who kept up with this blog during my pregnancy, I did not develop preeclamsia. (It's hard for me not to make some crack about why, but look, I'm not gonna do it!)

Babycenter has some preggo-friendly info if you'd like to learn more. Here's their quick definition:
"Preeclampsia is a complex disorder that affects 3 to 8 percent of pregnant women.

"A woman is diagnosed with preeclampsia if she has high blood pressure and protein in her urine after 20 weeks of pregnancy.

"(It's possible to have preeclampsia before 20 weeks, but only in rare cases, such as with a molar pregnancy.)

"Preeclampsia most commonly shows up after 37 weeks, but it can develop at any time during the second half of pregnancy, including during labor or even after delivery — usually within the first 48 hours.

"Preeclampsia can range from mild to severe, and it can progress slowly or rapidly. The only way to get better is to deliver the baby."

Or, maybe to give daddy a few blow jobs!

Sorry, I had to.

(Photos in this post are from the camera I took last year at this time when I hiked up Half Dome in Yosemite.)

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Lady Bug Ginger Crash Kennedy Loy meets Bruce Lee. And a bee, priate and jack-o-lantern

Today we celebrated the season with a Baby Zombie party. It was awesome. (In this photo are Kate and Ivy Cat)

Last night when Ross came home from work I hit the road and arrived at the fabric store 'round 8pm. Thanks to the 30 minute line, it was nearly 9 before I made my purchase.

I remembered how to sew. Stayed up 'til about 1am and finished off Ginger's first ever Halloween costume this morning.

Which is ridiculous. Because I drove to the fabric store the night before a costume party for a two month old! I happily spent hours on a costume she'll have no memory of, and quite possibly could hate. First I fixed a pair of Ross's pants (belt loop blowouts on a defective pair of work pants -- that have been blownout since I met him. Ross did not make any snide comments about "hey, wow, you have had this sewing machine since you were 18 and NOW I finally get to see you use it!" Ross is a nice guy. And a smart one at that.)

I was totally a mom last night! Look what I made!

And, I don't think she hated it.

At least not too much.

Did you get a good look at Bruce and the pirate? Here:

Sunday, October 18, 2009

So not true

All that stuff (see previous post) about the changing table quieting Ginger magically? No longer true.

As soon as I hit publish and that post went live I got into "get outta the house within the hour" mode. At, say, the 45 minute mark, Ginger got changed. On the changing table. Which should have calmed her and entertained her so that I could put on clothes for the outside world.

She wriggled and screamed (yes, screamed) and made things difficult. I dressed quickly but without any embarrassing mom-isms (clothes inside out, not fastened, boobs out, boobs leaking due to forgotten boob shield.) Only the shoulder perch position saved the day.

The umbrella stroller was not a winner either, but if I jiggled it and pushed it quickly over rocks she would fall back/stay asleep.

I wonder what new Ginger-isms week eight will bring.

(As I type this, Ross is on the kitchen floor, Ginger is in her bouncy chair and it's total call and response in there, with lots of giggles and happy grunts. Ginger is making cute noises as well.)

Just why is that changing table so magic, anyway?

I have shared with you all a few of Ginger's needs. (See post below). As well as her newly vocal personality (I'm calling it squawking, but please know that there are many new sounds beyond the squawk. Some might say she cries. Or screams. Sometimes she even hyperventilates, but those times usually involve the car set. Let's avoid talking about that for now, shall we? Yes.)

For some reason, the changing table is this magic place of quiet, smiles, coos, laughter and even napping.


Well, she likes to have her diaper changed.

I know (and sorry to other moms and dads and nannies out there). But it's true. She likes the attention and the procedure as soon as we start removing the diaper. (By the way, I'm still mostly using Nature's Baby Care because they are disposable AND biodegradable and have the fewest blowouts of anything I've used.) From there, if the paper towels we wet are warm, she practically gurgles in enjoyment.

If I'm being lazy or it's the middle of the night and the warm water just won't come (I am still in drought mode, so it's hard for me to wait) the "wipes" are a bit cold. So she does her "throw off the scorpion" move (really called the Moro reflex) and then settles into the fun wiping part.

Until recently, Ginger enjoyed the changings more when they were done by Daddy Ross. I believe this is because he has a gentler hand and far more patience than I. He noticed before I did that any good wiping around her tiny bung hole not only would get Ginger's attention, but would coax a smile or a laugh out of her.

Not to be outdone by Ross, I have taken to blowing on her bottom.

Yup, in between commenting on how cute and strong and smart and pretty she is, and predicting what kind of a student (excellent) and artist (talented/famous) and soccer player (professional) she'll be, I blow her stuff dry.

She LOVES this.

And it saves on the paper towels, which are Seventh Generation or some other expensive and green option.

The changing table is also pressed up against the window (in what WAS my room or my office), so she gets a bit of sun warmth. As well, we've surrounded her with stuffed animals, and warm, colorful, soft blankets. A number of strange but colorful items are also above her within her range of site.

And of course, there is the ceiling fan.

A changing might start with squawking and squirming, but as long as we don't change her clothes, it includes smiles and wriggling in happiness and ends in five to 20 minutes of "activity time" during which Ginger stares at various cool things and makes lots of pre-language noises. Often it ends in a nap.

She's waking up early from a nap right now (in her bassinet) so it's time to move her to the changing table. That way, I can get more computer time. I wonder how long the changing table will continue to be magic?

the most magic place of all

Ginger is almost eight weeks old. Born at 2:07 am on Wednesday the 26th, she is not quite two months old, but is finishing off her seventh week on the outside.

She woke the-f-up at about week six.

Our perfect, easy, mellow baby is, well, she's still perfect (c'mon, you know I'm gonna say that) but she is not the easy, blobby mess who had learned to smile and would fall asleep mid squawk. That squawk, the one that demanded boob, or being picked up, or a diaper change, was the only squawk it took to get action from us. And once their was action, she'd silently accept our response.

If it was the wrong response, she'd make some noise again. We'd eventually get it. But there were only a handful of reasons she'd squawk (true, she doesn't like sleeves and has a problem with clothes in general when they get stuck on her head or nose or ears, and who can blame her?).

So, until recently; perfect, easy, mellow baby.

But nowadays, Ginger has needs!

We are still trying to figure out what these needs are and which new (louder) noises are attached to which need. These needs (desires? wants?) seem to include include:
--Bouncing harder
--Bouncing harder and swaying
--Bouncing harder and swaying on the yoga ball
--Bouncing harder and swaying and in a different location every 1.5 minutes
--Bouncing so hard in her "bouncy-vibrate-y chair" that we recall the "don't shake the baby billboard" campaign and fear the authorities
--The football hold
--The football hold with any combination of the above
--The over the shoulder perch (add above combinations , but include bright lights
--Bright lights
--Ceiling fans, off and then on, mostly on (Ginger may believe that a certain pitch of squawk actually turns on the ceiling fans, we have yet to fully test this theory)
--Dude/Dad, I sad BOOB!
--Boob while bouncing
--Boob while bouncing, swaying and walking around the house, pacing around someone else's house, marching down San Pablo Avenue while our dinner party eats
--Put down the book, lady! And pay attention to me, now!
--Lady, put down the book, OR the beer. I'll give you one, just one. And pay attention to me, now!

Thankfully, we have found a magic spot in the house for her.

It is her changing table. Observe the photos.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

That was easy, wait, I think my left nipple is sore




OK, you've been warned. Read and view away.

The pump I'm using right now is an Ameda Hospital Grade Breast Pump. An elite.

This is not something I'll take with me when I go back to school or to work. This is something that I can use at home. Pumping after the second feeding each morning is usually a good idea (we make more milk in the am, so they say). And ladies who want to protect their milk supply need to pump while they are away from their breast feeding babes. It will vary for most women. But I might need to pump (or self express and just dump) as frequently as every 90 minutes.

Eep! I can just see myself now, waiting in the bathroom line with a bunch of college girls, and rather than peeing and primping and leaving, I'll be setting up shop. In a bathroom stall. To pump.

Pumping it up, right now

Thanks to Nicole, who had an adorable small human named Piper last year, I have a crazy, teal-colored, impressively effective breast pump.

It is hospital grade.

It is easy to use.

It has dials on it for "cycles" and "vacuum."

And it is quite comfortable to use!

Ross is helping by... playing w/ a zombie ball. And making me dinner (as usual!)

My first ever pumping.We used the pump back in week 42 when we tried to induce labor. And by "we" I mean Ross set it up and told me how to use it. I sat in bed, read a horrible novel and occasionally looked down to watch my nipple expand and elongate as the pump pumped. Colostrum came out.

(Um, wow, you can buy bovine colostrum here.)

At seven weeks (tonight, at 2:07 am) we are more than ready to pump and bottle feed so I can do things like leave the house for more than 30 minutes. And Ross can share that amazing eye contact with Ginger that happens when she is happily gulping down boob juice. (I think Ross calls it boob juice. Gross?)

More on colostrum, (not of the bovine kind, though) in case you wanna know, from La Leche League, which rocks:

"Your breasts produce colostrum beginning during pregnancy and continuing through the early days of breastfeeding. This special milk is yellow to orange in color and thick and sticky. It is low in fat, and high in carbohydrates, protein, and antibodies to help keep your baby healthy. Colostrum is extremely easy to digest, and is therefore the perfect first food for your baby. It is low in volume (measurable in teaspoons rather than ounces), but high in concentrated nutrition for the newborn. Colostrum has a laxative effect on the baby, helping him pass his early stools, which aids in the excretion of excess bilirubin and helps prevent jaundice."

Yes, that was my period

It's official. Or at least it is for me.

That five days of bright red blood and pads and icked-up undies was my first period after baby.

I've lamented to friends. I've bitched to Ross. I've whined to my midwife. But really, it's all an act. I don't really mind that I bled. My periods have never been terrible, or hard, or painful. They have been a bit of a nuisance at times, and downright frustrating: if I go camping, fly to a tropical paradise, head to Burning Man or will otherwise be in a bikini or hot pants for days on end, far from my usual bathing access and routine I am GUARANTEED to be on the rag. It's just the way it has always been. I can plan a trip in the middle of my cycle, I swear, and it's drip, drip, drip, tampon, tampon, tampon.

So, really, it's not surprising that now, when I assumed that boob feeding Ginger would guarantee more months, if not years, of a period-free life, that drip, drip, drip, it's back.

Our midwife (at our last ever official visit, boo!) basically said: "Well, if you think this is a period, then it is." I have no warning signs of anything BAD that it could be. I am healthy, happy, reasonably energetic, healed, well-fed and well-watered. And darnit, I know a period when I have one.

She did prescribe one-to-two droppers full of my placenta tincture each am during and for five days after the flow.

Placenta tincture, you wonder? (See photo above.)

Yup. Mine. I got it done up 50/50: half of that temporary organ got turned into powered capsules (good for about six months) to help regulate my postpartum
moods/hormones; and half is now in tincture form (good for darn near ever and made with berry vodka so it tastes kinda awesome). If we had succeeded in the homebirth, I would have had the midwives cook me up a placenta taco, but no, I did not get to eat it.

If I am a bit hormonally outta wack, my own hormones, distilled in vodka, should set me right.

I don't feel outta wack... so, yes, first period at week 6. I don't necessarily expect to settle into a predictable menstrual cycle yet. According to blogs and websites I've perused, many a lady who bleeds so soon WHILE breastfeeding doesn't see another visit from Aunt Flo for five or six months.

Regardless... I'm kindof in awe of my body lately. And therefore, I'm interested and not peeved or concerned: I wonder what my girlie parts are up to?

On a related topic: whatthehell kindof birth control will be be using here soon?

Pull and pray just doesn't seem like a good idea. Ginger is cute and all (see photos), but I have no intention of peeing on a stick any time soon.

Time to do some research. Cool!

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Midwives last visit

Kinda sad and rad at the same time.

Ross and I first welcomed the lovely ladies of Awakenings Birth Services into our home at about 12 weeks. Which was back in February.

After our initial interview (two of the three midwives came to our home, we interviewed them, they checked us out, took in our home, our relationship with our dog, how clean of a house we keep, prob'ly checked out how physically fit/not crazy I was/am) and we all agreed to work together.

Every three weeks we were visited by a midwife. The three ladies rotated so that we could all get to know one another. (At a home birth, I would be attended by one midwife for the majority of active labor, and then a second midwife would be called in to attend the delivery. They have their schedule set up so that each lady gets a good chunk of time off the clock. The same schedule allows families to get to know all three, thereby insuring close and comfortable relationships with both of the midwives who eventually attend the birth.)

At each visit, they would take my blood pressure (always perfect, lowish) test my pee (for proteins and other not so good things: always perfect), go over reading that had been assigned to me (I love me some reading assignments, I'd take notes, highlight, gather questions and make Ross read the good/bad/interesting stuff) and direct me towards any testing, screening etc. that I was interested in at the proper time.

These visits lasted for 90 minutes! My one OB visit lasted five minutes -- I was in the waiting room for 45 minutes and saw a nurse or two, but the OB spent maybe five whole minutes with me. I don't think I got to ask more than two questions... I like to ask questions. I like to talk. I like to learn. I did not like the visit with the OB. I did not necessarily dislike it. I learned nothing.

At each visit with a midwife I talked, listened and learned. Not just from the reading material or from what the midwife had to say. But I learned a little about myself or Ross, maybe how we were dealing with a new stage in pregnancy, maybe what we needed to work on to prepare for the next stages in pregnancy.

The midwife visits quickly became something I looked forward to.

After 37 weeks, when the pregnancy is considered full term, the visits were weekly. They began to include vaginal exams (which I loved, really, cause I learned about how dilated my cervix was and how effaced etc.) and eventually talk of what to do if we got to post-term dates.

We did. Get to post dates. Rather than have an early baby, (which I had planned on) or a 40 week baby (due date was August 10) or a regular baby for a first time mom like me (41 weeks and 1 day) we got well into 42 weeks.

The visits amped up in regularity. One of the midwives made herself available to me daily basis, (on the weekend!) when I wanted her to monitor Ginger's heart beat (perfect!) or to otherwise attend to my increasingly neediness.

The labor and birth were amazing (someday, more on these).

And the follow-up visits were fantastic. We had midwives here on day 2, day 3 and, and and, many times in the first days and weeks.

Now, at week six, we are done.

While these ladies remain our midwives and will happily answer any questions we have, offer us guidance, referrals, and in many ways continue to support our little family, there are no more scheduled visits.

It's kinda sad, like I said.

These women have been such an important part of my pregnancy and of course, of my labor. They have also each been here since Ginger was born. Each was informative and supportive. None was ever judgmental or bossy, even when I asked ridiculous questions, the kind that she must have heard from each new mom. (Me: So, it's OK when she does the whole REM sleep thing with her eyes open? 'Cause she kinda looks like a demon when she does that. Midwife (silence) "Yes, newborns sleep can look and sound strange."

In no way do Ross and I feel set adrift or otherwise unprepared for our midwives to say goodbye... I believe that thanks to working with midwives in general and Awakenings in particular, we are better prepared than most new families for the delightful and daunting, messy and difficult, magic and silly days/weeks/months ahead with Ginger.

It's wonderful that we manage our daily lives with a few weeks-old human. We have not only kept her alive, but her weight is great, she is alert and smiley and doesn't torture us any more than we torture her (midnight feedings and 5 am alert/hangout times are trade offs, I think, for bathing her or putting her in a car seat when she REALLY doesn't want to be in a car seat). So it's freaking radical to know that we're doing it!

But, yes, sad to say goodbye to our relationship with the midwives. I'll never be pregnant again for the first time. I'll never ask someone if it's OK to sleep on my back or drink a beer; and be reminded that I live in my body, and if I listen to it, I'll know what is right for me -- and my baby.

I'll never be scared of labor again; and gently guided to the knowledge that not only am I capable of a beautiful labor, but that I was born to experience a beautiful labor.

So, yeah, I could go on... but you get the idea. It's a bittersweet goodbye. I'm gonna go with a ta-ta-for-now, actually, because I'm not done knowing these amazing ladies.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Is that spotting or is my period just happy to see me?

Really? I'm having my first period? At six weeks? What about all those sore nipple moments and the wonderful scraping feeling that accompanies my milk "let down?" Are the 3 am feedings and the 6 am tummy rubbings all for naught?

OK. I'm certainly not breastfeeding for my benefit. (Well, OK, kinda, because it's thanks to the milk ducts, baby suckling and etc. that I'm able to enjoy my 1-to-2 year boob job and I AM enjoying it, thank you very much. So is Ross. So are the guys at the liquor store.)

Breastfeeding is damn good for baby. And I suppose if I was less well-fed, less healthy and less-vitamined, I'd experience a traditional effect of breastfeeding: birth control! Granted, as Kitty pointed out, "Irish Twins" and all my Catholic friends' families are proof that boob feeding does not stop ovulation indefinitely. But I expected a few months of padless and tamponless life post-natally.

There is a chance that the medium, but bright red bleeding I'm experienced (day two or three now) is a resurgence of my spotting. But I don't think so. And I might have even felt a cramp yesterday. And one today.

At our last midwife visit this week, I'm sure we'll further explore this subject. And I know they'll respond to me email query if I have anything to worry about.

But I wonder:
Can I assume this is a period? And if I do, does this mean I am HEALED? And if so:
Can I use tampons?
Can I have regular (by that I mean vaginal, frequent, fun) sex?
Can I exercise more vigorously?
Can I do push ups?
Lift my tiny 10 lb weight?
Do crunches?
Bikram Yoga?

Don't know yet. And while I plan to do some research, I need to go buy more pads.

Man, I kinda thought that as long as I was shelling out cash for expensive diapers, I'd get to NOT buy "feminine hygiene products."

Grrrr. Argh. Pads it is.

(But really, it's kinda cool that my body is what it is.)

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Things my mother lied about

My mother has told me wonderful stories about my childhood, about raising kids, being pregnant, giving birth, etc. She is a helluva story teller.

When I've called her on her less-than truths, she has said, "Jenny, if we told our daughters the truth about childbirth, the human race would end." Or something like that.

But she has also been right about some stuff, and I've got to admit it.

Things my mother was right about:
--The pierced nipples: they do leak, a little, out of the hole where the piercings were for many years until about six months ago. (When I grudgingly pulled my mom aside to say "you were right" she said, "you don't have your nipples pierced!)... he he he, that's my mom!)
--The first few weeks are fun and easy
--Playing dress-up with Ginger is fun. But she's already growing out of clothes.
--There's really nothing like it. Spider-dog was good practice, but yeah, this is very different.

Things my mother lied about:
"Having a baby is cheap!"
LIES! Hospital bill is, so far, $20,000. I only owe about $2000 of that at this point (after my $2400 deductible and my out-of-network $4500 midwife/homebirth bill, not to mention acupuncture -- that is not paid for even out of network -- by my plan, but this is after my deductible, etc.) All told, I've spent about $10,000 on medical stuff so far.

I just ordered 8 packages of diapers for about $80. Sure, they are biodegradable/disposable, so I could go cheaper, but sheesh, don't tell me this practical stuff ain't gonna add up!

"You'll be such a cute little zombie"
This is what she said while chuckling about my plans to start school. If Ginger had arrived two or more weeks before classes for my master's program started, I would be in school. Now. Before now. Before the six-hour-drive back to NorCal resulted in my sleeping until 5 pm the following day.
Ginger arrived two days AFTER class started, so, Mom's visions of my negotiating sleepless nights and morning classes, paper deadlines and diaper rash, were all for naught. I am NOT a zombie. Because I can sleep in until 11 am if Ginger is up from 5 to 6 or 7 or 8 EVERY night.

Or like last night, if she'd up at 2:30 til 6 am. I fed her. She was smiley so we just hung out. Then she got cranky. Then she threw up two boobs worth of milk on to me and her outfit and my robe. Then she fell asleep. Out of bed by 11:30 am!

"It won't matter where you have her once you have her in your arms"
To some extent this is true. But honestly, at three or four weeks, I was still processing my disappointment with having to START off at the hospital. I always imagined laboring at home -- where I delivered here didn't matter to me in my imaginings, but taking advantage of the privacy and familiarity of our own home, not to mention the birth tub, cool swing/hammock thing that Ross made for me, was certainly part of my imaginings. And my fantasy of our birth.

The birth was amazing, the staff at the hospital made it amazing, I was amazing (yes, I will go there), and of course, having Ginger is amazing.

So, here, mom was kinda right. And kinda wrong.

"I hardly noticed I was in labor"
Say what?

OK, this is what Mom says her older sister said to her. So it was Mom that was lied to. She does in fact admit to noticing she was in labor with me. In fact, she told the Doc she wanted to go home. He said it was too late to good home. She begged for drugs (Can you say transition! I can! Gimme a T...), Dog said nope, too late, you're doing fine, etc.

Next time, on "The Lies My Mother Told Me" -- the milk let down feeling for me: not nice, not warm, not pins and needles. Oh no. Tiny razors scraping my inner boob on their way to the nipple. Fun!

Ginger has allowed me on the computer!

Ginger is nearly six weeks old. The photo here (which makes me laugh!) is from a few weeks ago. She looks more human every day!

Life is very different now. My schedule is different. My body is different. My energy level as well. Life is fun and new and revolves around a squirmy, smiley, leaky little human. At least for now. While the world hasn't stopped turning, and being me hasn't gotten any less complicated, I'm grateful to the shitty economy and a lifetime of saving money and my wonderful partner because for the next many weeks, my world, my being Jen CAN revolve around Ginger. At least as much as I want it to.

Yes, I sound like a new mom "oh, my baby is beautiful, want to hold her?" and "Having a baby is like nothing else," and "If you don't have kids, you just can't understand!"

OK, I'm not actually saying that last statement, and I hope to never even suggest it.

In fact, I wanna try to convey to anybody who dares to read this here blog (Ross's dad agrees with friends' description of me as a sometimes too-much-information girl) just what the experience has been and is for me.

Let's see if Ginger lets me be at the computer for more than 15 minutes a day. Which, as it turns out, is enough to check my email, plan to read some of it later, stalk a few friends on Facebook and update my status. But so far, it's not enough to write a story for money (1 story in 15 days!) or do a daily blog post.

Oh, I hear Ginger now. Time for boob!

Or bouncing.