Yep, this about sums up what's been going on around here

The thing is they really DO watch us. Which is, you know, frightening when I think about it, because then they might think it's normal to crouch behind the breakfast bar to eat chocolate when they think no one's looking.

But the past couple days, it's just been cute. Really, really cute. Like when I found one of Sage's baby dolls swaddled in a blanket, or earlier today, when I watched her carefully place a blanket over the top of her baby stroller to keep the sun away.

The capper, though, was when the kids showed David their babies, Annakin and Padme (or maybe it was Leah and Luke, which would make more sense). Apparently, they were hungry.

 

Yeah. May the force be with them!

No Returns Accepted

"Mommy? I want to keep Xander."

"What do you mean, Sage?"

"I don't want him to go back in your tummy."

"Don't worry. He's part of our family now."

"Good. Because I love him."

Mad Scientist Hair and a Rock Star Girl

 

 

Cry Baby

There is nothing that eats away at your heart - and your last nerve - like a colicky baby. Thing is, you can't stop it. No amount of shhh-ing or rocking or, I must admit, shouting "CALM DOWN" or "SHUT UP" can make a dent in a baby who is in his own private world of Scream.

His eyes are squeezed shut, his face is red, and his mouth is wide open. Sometimes he gets so worked up he does the silent scream, his own version of Munch. I feel terrible to have such a sad baby. I try not to take it personally. But it's tough. He's my love.

The official reason for his behavior, according to his Occupational Therapist (oh yes, he has one, for his sucking issues, and I mean that literally) says he's "neurologically immature." So despite cooking for an extra five days, he arrived in this world not prepared to deal with what is has to offer.

Except for the boob. Yep, he's a boob man. Problem is, he'd like to be one 24-7. And I'm just not that good of a mom. Can't do it. It's tough, because I know it'll stop the screaming. But seriously. I do need to do other things. I know, selfish me, wanting to actually pee or brush my teeth or even, heaven forbid, change out of the shirt he's spit up all over.

To say nothing of having a moment or two to visit with my other kids. Remember them? I'm afraid THEY'RE going to remember this time, and not favorably. It will be "Remember when Xander was born and all he did was scream or be on Mommy, and then Mommy was really grumpy and didn't play with us?"

Good times.

(Incidentally, he is screaming RIGHT NOW.)

Never felt so helpless in my life. Except when Sage did the exact same thing - for 7 1/2 months.

Guess this is going to be another short post.

MUST STOP THE NOISE

My birth story, or Everyone in the Pool!

Sorry for the hiatus, but I appear to have a child who is either 1) nursing 2) screamng 2) nursing 3) nursing 4) being carried 5) screaming 6) screaming 7) nursing. To say nothing of my two other kids who for some strange reason also seem to want some attention.

So you see, not a lot of time for blogging. In fact, I hear him snuffling right now, so this could be short.

Here goes:

At about 8 p.m. March 9th, I started having regular contractions, about 15 minutes apart. Within about an hour or so they were at 12 minutes. I called my doula and my midwife to alert them.

I tried to go to sleep about 11 p.m., and I might have dozed a bit. Not sure. By 2 a.m., they were about 5 minutes apart, and by the time by doula and midwife got there, they were about 2 minutes apart.

While I was waiting for them to arrive, I tried to rouse my husband, who was sleeping on the futon in the office because he was really sick with the flu. I had him attach the hose connector to the shower and bring up the pool before he went back to sleep.

The pool, by the way, was a large inflatable kiddie pool with all kinds of colored fish on it. It was big enough that I could extend all 5 foot 8 inches of my body and not touch either side. I'm sure we'll have fun with it this summer. When it's outside. And not in my room.

Anyway, now I needed his help getting the pool filled, laying down tarp so we didn't flood the house, etc.

Yeah. He didn't budge. In fact, I was sure he was going to miss the birth.

I called my neighbor Robin at about 4 a.m. so she could come shoot the birth (she's a photographer, not a marksman), and I believe David found his way upstairs soon after she arrived.

There I was, moaning my way through contractions as I floated in the pool - while David was lying on the floor moaning even louder.

I wanted to kill him. I was all "Man up! I'm the one pushing out a baby!" Mostly, I was sad he was missing the experience and, frankly, he wasn't at all helpful.

Finally, finally, I knew this baby was coming. And that's when the shouting started. Mine, that is. I believe it was something along the lines of "GET THIS BABY OUT OF ME!" or something equally as poetic.

The actual birth was, well, amazing in a truly crazy way. I mean, it hurt. I can't lie. But that part was so fast and then he was out, and my midwife was shuttling him - under water - between my legs like a quarterback to me, so I could grab him and lift him out of the water for his first breath.

Then there was peace. Just me and my boy, hanging out in the pool. And no, there was no blood or anything in the water, in case you're wondering. No one rushed to clean him off. No one took hin away and swaddled him before I could count 10 perfect fingers and 10 perfect toes.

No one intruded as we gazed at each other for the first time.

And that is the true beauty of home birth. You know, never once during the process did I think "I can't do this." It never crossed my mind to ask to be taken to the hospital for pain relief.

It wasn't pretty and easy, but I knew I was strong enough, that my body would know exactly what to do.

The best part, though, was the immediate bonding I felt. Like there was just him and me and no one else existed.

That is, until Sage wandered in a few minutes after the birth.

"Mommy? Why were you crying" she asked.

Because pushing out a baby is hard work.

"Oh! It's hard work pushing him out of your bagina?"

Yes, yes it is.

But SO worth it..

He's here!

Our beautiful baby boy was born at home this morning at 5:15. He's 8 pounds, 2 ounces and looks exactly like his big brother. He's healthy and perfect and someday may even have a name!

Here's an awesome shot of him and me taken by the amazing Robin of Robin Gray Photography moments after he was born.

More details later!

Crank-O-Meter

I know you mean well. Really, I do. It's just that when you ask when I'm due, and I say last week, it is not the time to say "Oh, you're not even that big."

Pardon me, but what the hell does that mean?? That I 1) must be lying 2) am not AT ALL uncomfortable or 3) am showing good restraint by not saying, "Why, were you a huge sloppy blimp at the end?"

Seriously. SHUT UP! I don't care how "small" you think I am. The fact is I have had a baby sitting in my crotch for the past few weeks. If you want to say something intelligent - and yes, since YOU are not pregnant, you actually have more than 1/3 of a functioning brain - how about "Oh, that sucks!" or "Hang in there!" or something sympathetic.

You're NOT THAT BIG?? Fuck you!!

Sorry. I'm just a bit cranky. See, I had both kids and my husband all healthy at THE SAME TIME! That lasted two days. Now this weekend, Sawyer's fever has ranged from 101 to 104. David also woke up this morning with a 101 fever and body aches. Sage's nose started to run this afternoon.

Clearly, this baby is not coming out. He's no fool. I don't even want to be in this house, why should he? I have been chasing everyone around, spraying all available surfaces with Lysol.

And then someone wipes boogers on the door handle.

So yeah, I'm clearly topping out on the crank-o-meter. But hey, on the bright side, at least I'm not that big! GAH!

BREAKING NEWS: Sage woke up from her nap with a - wait for it.... - 104.1 fever!!

I Wouldn't Come Out Either

The reason this child is not coming out is because he clearly senses the pestilence swirling around on the outside. And his answer is HELL NO.

Let's see: David spent three nights on the futon because the first night he had a fever, the second night a sore throat and a cough, and the third because he claimed he was still sick but it was really so he could continue watching the first season of Heroes in peace.

Last night I ordered him back into our bed. He then awoke with his eyes all crusty and swollen and now has a mild case of pink eye.

And my friend/neighbor who is supposed to take pictures of the birth has been cooped up for about a week with her three sick and contagious kids, and she also has a little touch of the plague. And then my next-door neighbor who is always ready to help out has pneumonia.

What next? Locusts?

Meanwhile, my midwife came over yesterday and this baby has dropped so much that his next stop will be the floor if we don't catch him. She will be back next week (when I'm 40 weeks, 4 days pregnant) and will take some measures. I will spare you the details, other than she will also send me to an acupuncturist. Then she left to go visit her client who is TEN days past-due.

One last thing. Please do me a favor: if you see me in person, DO NOT ask if I am still pregnant. Because I will slap you. I have no tolerance at this point, and really? REALLY??? Do I always walk around with a freakin' blimp under my shirt? Oh, and while you're at it, it doesn't make me feel better to hear "but you don't LOOK that big."

Maybe I'm a touch cranky. Can't imagine why.

Enough Already

There comes a time in every pregnancy when you're done. D. O. N. E.

Unfortunately, your baby has other plans. Like staying put. Forever. Where he just floats around, nice and warm, gets all the food he wants, and if he feels like it, he can kick the shit out of something (ie my rib). It wouldn't surprise me if he had a flat-screen TV in there.

So his head is so far down that he's literally sitting on my pubic bone. Oh yes. Right on it. You can imagine how easy that makes it for me to do stuff, like walk. I guess I shouldn't complain - I'm sure he'll be a pain in the ass soon enough.

The other day I had a false alarm when I was awoken from a sound sleep at 5 a.m. by intense contractions. I called my poor doula, who was so out of it she had no clue who I was for about 3 minutes. Once she figured it out, she suggested I listen to a hypnosis CD. But the contractions didn't go away.

I was actually excited to get the show on the road. I've had a lot of anxiety lately: Sage has been REALLY sick for about two weeks (a double ear infection followed by some virus that gave her a runny nose, hacking cough and a 104.5 fever).

Then, my midwife completely freaks me out by talking about the dangers of hemorrhaging after home birth if you don't have enough iron. I believe she was telling me this because I'm not exactly down with all the homeopathic stuff she's suggesting, but I am taking some of it.

I actually told David after she left that fuck it, let's just have a hospital birth and be done with it. Luckily my doula came over the next day and talked me off the ledge.

At any rate, the contractions stopped after about an hour that morning.

Now it's just a matter of waiting. The birthing pool - which is just an inflatable kids pool - is blown up and airing out in our garage. I think we have all the supplies we need. The house is relatively clean, but that's a constant battle with two kids and two dogs to pick up after.

Thing is, I know having a newborn is exhausting, to say the least. I am trying to enjoy the moments I have left before his arrival, spending uninterrupted time with Sawyer and Sage.

Sage and I watched a DVD of water births. She was totally into it and was not alarmed at all. She had a few questions: Why is the mommy making those noises? (because having a baby is hard work); Why is the mommy crying? (because sometimes you cry when you're REALLY happy); is that the mommy's bagina? (yes, and see the baby's head?)

She really wants to be there to watch. Sawyer, on the other hand, is ambivalent. He's said he really doesn't want to be there. Which is, of course, fine. But he's also been super emotional lately.

This morning, on the way to school, he burst into tears because he saw a roly-poly bug and I wouldn't let him bring it to school. Last week, he said he wanted pita and hummus for lunch, and when I told him we didn't have any pita, he started sobbing. Pretty much everything has set him off. Poor little guy.

I'm attributing it to him worrying about the arrival of the baby. Not that it makes it any easier to deal with, but I figure I better cut him some slack.

Hopefully he will embrace the new baby like he did his baby sister 3 1/2 years ago.

Someday soon, we won't remember our life without No. 3 - or imagine him not being part of our family. All we need him to do at this point is show up!

Just Say No? HA!

Bristol Palin, teenage mom and daughter of former Republican vice presidential candidate Sarah Palin, said in a recent interview with Fox News that abstinence education - espoused by her mother - "is not realistic at all."

In other breaking news, the earth is round.

I'm glad one of the Palins has some grasp on reality. Then again, is it possible for a teenager NOT to know how pregnancy happens?

At any rate, the bottom line is teenagers have sex: according to the Guttmacher Institute, 7 out of 10 teens have had sex by age 19. Oh - and, attention, Governor Palin: a sexually active teen who does not use a contraceptive has a 90 percent of getting pregnant within a year.

The best gift you can give your child is education, not ignorance. Let them know the facts about sex, birth control, STDs, emotional impact, pregnancy, all of it. Hope that, over the course of their lives, you've taught them to be responsible and how to make good decisions - and that they are comfortable and trusting enough in their relationship with you, the parent, to talk about it openly.

Maybe Bristol Palin's choices would have been different had she had that opportunity. Instead, she's just another statistic.

You Really Do Forget

Think about how many times people have told you to enjoy your kids while they're little, because it goes by so fast. Meanwhile, it's all you can do to get through each day, dealing with snot and poop and tantrums and playdates and hurt feelings and wondering whether your child is normal because he's not reading yet/she's not making friends.

Then you realize that the birth of your final child is going to happen very, very soon and you have to start all the newborn/infant stuff again. You're exhausted even thinking about the no sleep/crying/gazillion diaper changes/and wondering if your breastmilk be poisonous to THIS baby.

And for some reason your husband decides this would be a good time to go through old videos and put them in a new format. He emails you this and then you remember what a happy, smiley, giggly baby your son was. How he belly laughed at 10 weeks and had such joy about him.

You remind yourself to cherish, cherish, cherish. It does go by way too fast.

My Babies

My friend and neighbor, Robin, is starting her own photography business. Which is fabulous because she has a wonderful eye for capturing kids at just the right moment. Speaking of which, if you look through her gallery of lil' kids, #14 might look familiar to you.

Today she took some maternity shots of me. I've never had them done, so I thought it would be cool since this is THE LAST TIME I WILL BE PREGNANT. Just wanted to make sure that was in all caps.

Here are a few:

What Would You Do?

Salma Hayek was in Sierra Leone on a humanitarian issue, along with representatives from Pampers. Her trip was documented on Nightline last week.

The purpose was to promote Pampers One Pack = One Vaccine, where for every pack of Pampers sold, they will pay for one tetanus vaccine. Tetanus is a completely preventable disease which is in part responsible for the region having the highest infant mortality rate in the world.

The main culprit? Malnutrition. Women are discouraged from breastfeeding for more than a few months because, according to local beliefs, their husbands won't have sex while their wife is still nursing their child.

In part to take away the stigma of nursing, Hayek decided on doing something that's led to an explosion of international reaction: she breastfed a week-old sick boy, whose mother was unable.



What I thought was amazing is she never hesitated. Her only thought, for a moment, was whether she was being disloyal to her one year-old daughter, who she is still nursing.

It was a genuine moment that simply reminded us exactly what our breasts are for - and where their real power is. And in the process, also showed how natural nursing is.

The obvious question: would you do this for another child?

George Foreman Was Onto Something

And I'm not talking about his grill. The man knew what he was doing when he named all his sons George. Because internets, I have no name for my child, who will arrive in less than a month (do you HEAR me in there?? It's time to get out!!).

For some reason this is really stressing me out. Maybe it's because we don't really even have a list. Okay, we have a list, but I don't like anything on it. At least, not today. I've become increasingly grumpy about the whole thing.

Boys are tough. You want something different, but not anything TOO different. I don't want a name that appears in the top 10. Or the top 50. When we picked Sawyer, the name was like #490. Now it's 240th - and I'm not happy about it!

And the name has to go along with the first two. I can't have Sawyer, Sage and Bob. You know?

The other issue is I really love Sawyer's name. And I haven't come up with another boy's name that I heart as much. If you know Sawyer (and some of you do), you know that it just fits him.

If #3 was a girl, I know we'd have a ton of names that we liked and the problem would be narrowing it down. But since it's a boy, the problem is liking even one name.

Both our kids' first names start with the letter "S," but that was just a coincidence. But now there are those (you know who you are!) who think this kid will be bitching me out in therapy for not naming HIM with an "s" name. To which I say that will be the LEAST of his worries, with me as a mother!

The middle name will be after my father who died two years ago this summer. His name was Gerald and he went by Jerry. So it will be either a G name or a J name. That part's easy.

We have actually called the baby Baxter since I was nine weeks pregnant, just to have something for the kids to refer to him as. David thinks we should just name him that for real, but unless he comes out with a tail and fur, it's not happening. Besides, when Sawyer says it, it sounds like bastard. Not what we're going for.

Everyone says I will just "know" when I see the baby. But I think that only works if you actually have a fabulous options to choose from. I doubt he'll pop out and I'll look at his wrinkled face and be struck by inspiration. I think it'll be more like panic.

The good news is I have a year to choose. Or maybe that's not so good: I'm great on deadline, but that just gives me WAY too much time.

So we'll see. I could go with my first reaction when I learned I was pg, which would be "oops" followed by "shit!" Hey - at least one of them's an "s" name!

Are we done yet?

There comes a time in every pregnant woman's life when she arrives at the conclusion that she's Done. Although not in any way ready to deal with a newborn, she is simply through with the metal-eating acid reflux, tired of an ass that is growing exponentially to the size of her belly, and finished with sounding like a Very Old Person With Gas every time she has to bend over or get up from the floor.

Saturday I actually had to rest after taking a shower. Because I was THAT exhausted. I wake up in the morning completely sure I will not be able to actually get out of bed - and that's after I've slept nine hours.

And of course, there's no telling when this will end. I have two different due dates: one puts me at 37 weeks this Thursday, the other not til next Wednesday. I've decided to go with the earlier date. Let's hope The Boy goes along with this plan.

I don't want to have to resort to drastic measures, like, you know, actually have to have sex (prostaglandin in semen can help get the cervix ready). I just don't think I can stay awake long enough, to say nothing of the circus act that it is at this point.

But you know, desperate times and all that..

Anyway, my midwife came over today and, through external examination, determined the baby's head has definitely descended, and he's just wiggling his butt around (SO comfortable, let me tell you).

She also came up to my bedroom, where David rearranged the furniture so we can accomdate a birthing pool. She then explained to me exactly how one gives birth while in the pool. I will simply report to you all that in one position, I would be delivering the baby myself. Luckily, the baby is still attached via the umbilical cord so the slimy little baby can not slip out of my grasp and fly across the room.

We'll see how it goes. As long as it goes sooner than later.

Shower me!

My wonderful running partner, Cindy, upon learning I was pregnant last summer, immediately offered to host my shower. And how could I refuse? Her house is BEYOND gorgeous. Aside from the view, which is all canyon until the ocean, her home looks like something out of House Beautiful. You kinda have to see it to appreciate it.

Saturday was the day. And, of course, it was pouring out. I took a shower in the morning and wondered how my hair would dry in time for me to get it wet walking from the car to her front door. I then pondered how big it would grow once it dried again in her house.

Oh well. I figured most people would be looking at my belly, anyway, or at least the hair would balance out my lower half.

I was really excited to see Cindy and Torrey, my other running partner, who was co-hosting. I hadn't seen Torrey since the summer and was looking forward to catching up.

 


It was also cool to get different groups of my friends all in one spot: women from my mom's group, who I've known for five years; a couple moms from Sawyer's pre-k; a bunch of neighbors; and then a couple random friends. The nice thing was, aside from Torrey and Cindy, everyone knew at least one or two other people there.

 

 

 

 

 



 

The place looked amazing. The food was fabulous. And I was totally overwhelmed by all the gifts and the time and effort everyone put it to make it a special afternoon for me.

 

I truly believe every baby deserves to be celebrated, whether it's your 1st or your 4th or your 14th. I couldn't have asked for a better group of friends to make everything so amazing. I definitely felt the love! The sun even came out so we could take this shot in Cindy's back yard.

 

Then, on my way, home, there appeared a double rainbow. Talk about a perfect ending!

 

The Business of Being Born

A little support would be nice. I mean, the woman IS my mother. One would think that she could keep it to herself that she's not in favor of my having a home birth.

Yeah, right. In typical fashion, I'm sure she's only focused on EVERYTHING THAT COULD GO WRONG.

And yeah, sometimes stuff does happen. Most of the time, however, the only stuff happening is normal birth. Frankly, hospital births are statiscally much more dangerous.

To help my mother out, I recommended she watch The Business of Being Born, a documentary produced by Ricki Lake in 2007.



I'd wanted to see it since it came out, and finally got to last week. It is, to put it mildly, startling. Some of it I already knew, but jeebus, people. It's crazy how out of hand the baby industry - oh yes, birthing those babies is a billion dollar business - has become.

Did you know our country has the highest rate of C-section in the industrialized world? Actually, that's probably in the entire world. And guess what? Our rate of maternal and infant mortality is right up there, too.

Coincidence?

Add to it that only 1 percent of births here take place at home, vs. almost the opposite everywhere else.

I don't mean to get all preachy, but it's really stunning when you think about it. For instance, no one knows for sure what the effect is of all the drugs that get pumped into women in labor. They used to do all kinds of things that they later realized were not so good, such as pelvic x-rays of pregnant women - until they figured out why the babies were getting cancer. Then there's that lovely drug, thalidomide, that caused all kinds of birth defects.

There's a reason why they're looking into pitocin - a drug routinely given to women either to induce labor or to hurry it along - as a possible contributor to autism.

Now, obviously, there are high-risk births that definitely need to occur in a hospital. And yes, sometimes things do go wrong. Doctors specialize in the 2 percent of those cases. But for the majority of low-risk births, doctors are there to catch the baby and that's it.

I think a lot of people don't really get what a midwife is. They either think she's an old wrinkled lady in a babushka who comes with her magic potions, or just some woman off the street who shows up with a towel and a pot of boiling water.

The reality is my midwife is licensed by the medical board of California. She's delivered more than 300 babies. This is what she does. And you know, she's real good at it. She comes with lots of equipment - and a real understanding of how a woman's body works during the process of childbirth.

She can deal with a cord wrapped around a neck, shoulder distocia, resuscitation, hemorrhaging. She's got no hero complex: if she feels the birthing is not going well, she will transfer me to the hospital before there's any chance of a true emergency.

I encourage any woman who is pregnant or wants to be to see this film. If you belong to Netflix, you can stream it to your computer for free. Ricki Lake is no Michael Moore (despite my mother saying the film is "propaganda" and that it shouldn't be in a video store since it's not appropriate for a 13-year old to rent, unlike all the violent movies out there) but it still gets the message across.

At the very least, you get to see babies born. And there's nothing in the world more beautiful than that.

I thank you, and my daughter thanks you

"On the 36th anniversary of Roe v. Wade, we are reminded that this decision not only protects women’s health and reproductive freedom, but stands for a broader principle: that government should not intrude on our most private family matters. I remain committed to protecting a woman’s right to choose.

While this is a sensitive and often divisive issue, no matter what our views, we are united in our determination to prevent unintended pregnancies, reduce the need for abortion, and support women and families in the choices they make. To accomplish these goals, we must work to find common ground to expand access to affordable contraception, accurate health information, and preventative services.

On this anniversary, we must also recommit ourselves more broadly to ensuring that our daughters have the same rights and opportunities as our sons: the chance to attain a world-class education; to have fulfilling careers in any industry; to be treated fairly and paid equally for their work; and to have no limits on their dreams. That is what I want for women everywhere."

- President Barack Obama

Amen.

Secret Agent

Let's just say the kids weren't exactly stoked when they learned the TV was tuned to something boring yesterday morning instead of that thrill-a-minute show also known as the Backyardigans - and would remain that way for the entire day.

I had to explain, at least to the five year-old, that this was a day he probably wouldn't remember but was very, very important.

"Why?"

"Because we have a new president."

"Barack Obama is our new president?"

"That's right. It's very exciting."

"But who's going to be president after him?"

Let's just see how Obama does - hopefully for the next eight years. I then said that it was also a big moment because Obama is our first Black president, and that when Mommy was born, no one thought this would ever be possible.

"But Mommy, he's not black. He's brown."

"Well, yes. People come in all different colors. Barack's Mommy was white and his Daddy was black. Just like you and Daddy are part Asian and Mommy is white."

Now, as these words were coming out, I realized I was about to careen down a very slippery slope. The fact is I have mixed-race kids (throw in that they're also technically Jewish, and my children have a lot going on!). It's part of who he is. Out here in The OC, kids who are half or a quarter Asian are not unusual at all.

But maybe five is too young to talk about it.

I'm sure Sawyer has never for a second thought about this. Which is the way it should be. He doesn't think it's odd at all that his grandmother has an accent. Or that she sometimes speaks another language on her cell phone. He probably thinks every grandmother cooks bulgogi, right?

I guess I was trying (not very successfully) to explain 1) why Obama's presidency is such a big deal and 2) point out that it doesn't matter what color you are.

I think I entirely succeeded in confusing him. Because a couple hours after our discussion, he said "Mommy? What am I? Action? I'm part Action?"

"What? No, part Asian."

"Oooh. Like Secret Agent."

Exactly.

And I thought I was slow before

I was starting to forget what life was like on the outside. You know, where you don't have a sick child with a very high fever wanting to lie on top of you on the couch, under a blanket, despite it being in the 80s and sunny outside and not much cooler inside.

This went on for an entire week.

She was finally better by Thursday, so Saturday, when David said he was taking the kids to his mother's for the morning, I felt, well, free. I set up a play-date of my own, at Nordstrom Rack, for later in the morning. I figured I had plenty of time to get in a nice walk.

I stuffed myself into a sportsbra and tank, found a pair of shorts, laced up my running shoes and set off. It was just about 80 degrees with a slight breeze. A little hot, but I wouldn't be out there that long. I wanted to do my regular route, which is just about 3 miles.

That's when I remembered running is a LOT faster than waddling.

What usually takes me under 30 minutes took me 45. And later in the day, I was hurting. Guess I thought I could pick up where I left off - where running eight miles was a short jaunt, so surely walking a few miles would be no problem, right?

Perhaps I should have taken into account that I'm now the size of a small truck. To say nothing that I'm carrying a not-so-smallish creature in my belly that completely changes my stride.

Aside from that, though, I was reminded how great it is to be out and about, moving in the fresh air. It's definitely something I've missed. People who don't run distance wonder how a 10-mile run could be fun. But with the right conversation and a beautiful day, it's awesome. Trust me.

Now that I have (hopefully) less (or is it fewer?) than seven weeks to go, I'm starting to think about getting myself back out there. I've already started my personal training fund (donations accepted!) and am looking forward to being cleared to start really exercising again.

And now a HUGE shout-out to Torrey and Cindy, who kicked ass at the Rock 'N Roll Marathon on Sunday in Phoenix, and I think crossed the finish line without peeing on themselves once over the 26.2 miles. WOOHOO!!