So we shot a book trailer for 32 CANDLES yesterday against a green screen. It’s going to be dope, but more important than that, our friend Nicole B made the mistake of taking a pic of Betty on the green screen’s green floor and then sending it to my husband and myself. Apparently she underestimated our nerdiness, b/c the first thing CH did was open Gimp (sort of a poor man’s Photoshop), and mock up this 1 year birthday invite. As most of you know, I’m still on the fence about whether to throw Betty a one-year birthday party, but this book cover parody remix me want to do it just so we can send out this invite, which I would totally use with a straight face — don’t test...

So one the of things that attracted us to our church as a then-childless couple was the promise of a nursery during service. However, this was before we found out that the one thing Betty would not “grow out of” was her aversion to being handled by strangers. She likes to look at new people, but she’s never been good with baby sitters, and as I’ve explained it to my friends when she burst out crying at their touch, it’s not you, it really is her. The first attempt to leave her in the church daycare was a bit of a disaster. I signed her in, got my beeper and rushed out of there, before she could get upset as many books and websites have advised. By the time the offering plate was passed, my beeper was going off with the message, “PLEASE COME.” I rushed there to find Betty hysterical, but she calmed down as soon as I took her into my loving arms … and deposited her on the floor to play with toys by herself. Yes, as long as I was there watching, Betty was perfectly fine playing quietly by herself and she even smiled a few times at the nursery workers that she had seemingly despised just a few minutes ago. This past Sunday, I tried a different tactic (also culled from the internets). I started out playing on the carpet with Betty for a few minutes. Then I sat in a rocking chair about five feet away for a few minutes. Then after Betty was happily playing with the other babys and a few toddlers on the toy rug, I went to make a bottle near the door. After the bottle was made, I advised the nursery worker to...

Dearest Betty, Sometimes I wonder if you might want to be even a little bit cool when you grow up, and then I feel sorry for you because I know that you’ll be afraid to bring your popular-kid friends home for fear of them finding out about your nerdy lineage when they meet you’re not-even-trying-to-hide-how-geeky-we-are mom and dad. Your popular aspirations will also be thwarted by the fact that anyone who Googles “Betty Angela Hibbard” will find this baby picture from now on. So here’s 32-year-old-me saying to future-15-year-old you that instead of Queen Bee, you might want to go for Queen Nerd. You have a good chance of achieving that goal with the foundation we’ve laid out for you. Also, study hard and keep your grades up — especially in math and science. You need a lot of math and science to become an astronaut. Love,...

Hey Guys, I’ve decided to abandon the Month of Advice, because on second thought, I wasn’t all that excited about it. So if you’re wondering, “Hey, why no advice?” That’s why. In other news, a dilemma did come up yesterday. I took two pictures of Betty of such everlasting cuteness that I wondered if I shouldn’t use one of them as my Facebook Profile Pic, which is an issue b/c I’ve vowed to never ever use a lone picture of Betty as my Profile Pic. Now I know everybody has their own theories about what makes for a good Facebook pic, and I’ve seen it all. Some people use a pic of their child or children as their Facebook picture. Some people use a picture of their dog or a celebrity. I think I’ve even seen one friend use a picture of her boyfriend, but I can’t remember who it was, so m/b I just imagined that. That’s all well and good for other folks, but I’ve always been of the opin that I should be in all of my Facebook pics. So when Betty came, I decided that all of my Profile Pics would either feature Just Me or Betty and Me, but never Just Betty, because I don’t want to be represented purely by motherhood and all that jazz. However, that was before I took these two pictures of Betty, which have seriously made me question all that I had decided about Profile Pics. Anywho this all got me to wondering, do you guys have rules about your Facebook Profile Pics like I do? And I’d also be interested in know how other moms feel about using their children in their Profile Pics. And non-children havers, tell the truth: Do you judge...

I just wanted to thank you guys once again for making our Month of Minefields so ridiculously awesome. I really appreciated reading your comments on a range of topics that we hadn’t really talked about before, and I am convinced now more than ever that Fierce and Nerdy has the best readers in the history of ever. Though I’m sure every blog feels that way about their kids readers. This month I also wanted to go with a theme for my personal columns and that is ADVICE. I decided about a year ago to stop giving my sister unsolicited advice and that has worked out pretty awesomely. Though I’ve had my weak moments, I’d say that our relationship is better than ever because I finally realized that she is an adult and just like I am fully capable of living my own life without following every piece of advice given to me, so is she. Sill, I’ve always been awfully fond of advice. I love giving it and I love receiving it even more. My mother was awesome at advice, so is CH. And most of my friends give GREAT advice, so I’m forever quoting some wisdom that someone else has given me. Now that I’m a mom, I appreciate advice more than ever. Seriously without friends and the internet and child-rearing books, I don’t know know how I would have done it. So this month I want to not only give, but also pass on, and recieve GOOD ADVICE. I haven’t firmed up the topic list yet, so if you have some thoughts on what to talk about for the month of November, please advise (hee! hee!) in the comments. But today, I wanted to talk about Flying With A Baby. One of...

Greetings from St. Louis! I’ve been here for three days, and I must say that being with family now that I have a daughter of my own has been an interesting experience. First of all, there is something about a baby that turns your family into a font of unsolicted advice. There was the 30 minute Sock Debate, which ended with me wearily putting a pair of socks on Betty’s feet even though she was in a perfectly warm house and did not need socks. But I was broken down after every relative over 50 (of which I have many) asked me why she wasn’t wearing socks and then proceeded to tell me why she should be wearing socks, seemingly unable to hear my practical counter argument of “it’s not cold.” I was also told by another aunt that Betty was “spoiled already,” because I had to hold her and rock her when she got upset. And I won’t even go into how many family members have chided me for being overweight (apparently baby weight was lost a lot faster back in the day) and having a “fat” baby. “You can’t even see her eyes!” one of my aunts proclaimed. When I tried to explain that the baby MO was to grow out then up, an older cousin said, “Not anymore. There’s an epidemic on you know. These kids just stay fat these days.” It’s like they have just enough knowledge about current childcare trends to make them ridiculously hard to argue with. I’ve also received several compliments on my hair and my new boots. And everyone has congratulated me on my book. It’s basically like having an affectionate visit with both the super-positive and specifically negative voices in my head. And heading into...

So by far one of my most popular posts has been “Raising Biracial Children,” which I wrote before I had any actual Biracial children living outside my womb or the gleam in my eye. I suspected as I was writing it that my perspective would change once I actually had said child, and I have to say that I was pretty much right about that. I think what has been most surprising is how little I think about Betty being biracial. Beforehand, I thought this would be a subject that would stay on my mind 24/7, but in reality being a new mother eclipses all issues of race. For example: Day 1: Oh my God, she turns red when she cries! Is that normal? (I am assured by my white husband and Betty’s doctor that it is). At 1 week: I’m not thinking about the color of her skin, I’m thinking about the color of her poo. What’s up with the green tint? (Doctor says it’s the formula we’ve been supplementing her with for the jaundice. At 2 weeks: Oh no, not diaper rash! At 6 weeks: Yes, let’s talk about Betty’s skin. Seriously, what’s up with this baby acne all over her face, back, stomach, and neck? That can’t be normal. (Doctor once again assures us it is and it goes away in 2 weeks.) 3 months: Look at Betty’s gums. Do you think she’s teething early? Also, Betty seems to get a little confused when my sister comes to visit. (Though she doesn’t really like strangers at this point, Betty decides that she digs this Sorta-Looks-Like-Mommy. This will kick off a trend of her being extra smiley with dark-skinned black women. Funny.) 4 months: I love this baby fat! In fact, I...

So it’s been interesting having my BFF and her husband in town for Betty’s baptism. Quite frankly, I understand why community living was so popular in the 70s. It’s been really nice always having people around to pick up the extra slack. I ran around after by BFF’s 18-monther while she and her husband negotiated with Continental Airlines to get their seats together (btw, Continental said no and they officially suck hard for not having some kind of way to make sure that families with small children can sit together and then having Customer Service reps who are rude about it). And my BFF’s husband gave Betty a bottle while I helped my MIL unload the dishwasher and CH ran to the store. Sekou and Betty are getting along so well that it’s making us both want to add second additions to our own families. But I will also say that this short visit hasn’t gotten me to wondering how Betty will feel about having parents that don’t look like most of her friends’ parents while growing up. So this seems like a particularly great week to talk about interracial relationships. I want Betty to not just tolerate being different from her peers but proud of herself and her parents. And I think part of achieving that is to make sure that we give her a story about our interracial relationship before her peers do. I will say that it was a nasty surprise to find out that I was “dark and therefore ugly” according to my peers when I got into first grade. It was like, “Wait, I’m dark? I’m ugly? I had no idea!” I hope that we’ll be able to somewhat avoid that with Betty by feeding her a script that...

It’s funny, because when we were getting ready for Betty to come, we often told people that it was like throwing a wedding all over again. We had a list of weekend-consuming things that we had to buy for the big event, lessons and all sorts of consultations, and a pre-party thrown by others. If you throw in the new used car, just having a baby cost about as much as our wedding. But now that we’ve actually had the baby, I realize that it’s actually nothing like a wedding. When I married CH, we had already been living together for almost two years, we knew that children were in our future, and we were determined to spend the rest of our lives together. We even set and invested in retirement goals. Our life together was pretty well-planned. With Betty, we have no idea what the future will hold. It’s interesting meeting people as a fairly new mother. You look at them in a different way. Like Betty, your best friend used to be a baby. Your pediatrician used to be a baby. That guy that cut in front of you in line at the grocery store used to be a baby. Your worst enemy used to be a baby. I hope that Betty grows up, goes to college, gets a job that she enjoys, meets or re-meets a nice person in her late 20s/early 30s, gets married, gives me grandchildren and dies at a ripe old age. But even if she lives the absolute perfect version of her life, there are many different routes that her personality could take. She could live this life and be shy. She could live this life and be abrasive. She could live this life and be one...

So this Wednesday, CH and I are meeting with a lawyer to draw up a will. A will is suggested for everyone, and once you get married, the gentle suggestion becomes a little firmer. But once you bring children into the equation, well then you start pressuring yourself. Usually, I love planning for a worse-case scenario. It makes me happy to think of the survival kit we have in our garage. The only thing that allowed me to put my novel out there was promising myself that I would self-publish if I couldn’t find an agent or a publishing company. In fact, I often say that it’s not the important decisions that people fear, it’s dealing with the repercussions of those decisions. For example when I decided to move to Los Angeles, I decided that if I didn’t find a job as a writer within two years, then I would move to a cheaper city. That so didn’t work out. Not only did I not make it within my prescribed period, but my plans to move were (thankfully) interrupted by going out with CH. Still, when I was a poor grad student, contemplating a move to Los Angeles, it made me feel better to have a Plan B. So you’d think I’d be all over making a will. Well, not really. Having lost my mother at 19, I realize that there is no worst-case scenario that will help a child completely get over the death of one or both of her parents. And though we can make sure that she has some financial stability and the best care possible if she is forced to grow up without us, my mind shuts down with such sadness whenever I try to imagine Betty not having either...

So my father and stepmother came to visit Betty this weekend, which was interesting on a few levels. I think every girl worries about becoming like her mother and I’ve certainly inherited quite a few of my mother’s bad traits, including talking too much, worrying too much,  overthinking too much, and fearing too much. But I didn’t realize until this trip that I had also inherited a few bad traits from my father, including rambling on (at least my mother didn’t go to a thousand different places when telling stories), thinking dumb commercials are way funnier than perhaps they really are (I found this out when he cracked up at the same Stride “spit out your gum” lederhosen-wearing dancers commercial which also never fails to put me in stitches), having strongly-held theories about everything (though we’re both happily married, we found ourselves having a rather intense conversation about how one should go about dating and then complaining that no actual single people ever took the dating advice we tried to force upon them), and playing the exact same set of low-grade practical jokes over and over again (ask CH — on second thought, don’t ask CH. He suffers enough as it is). I also have his short and stubby teeth and the gap that goes with it — though I love my teeth and especially my gap, so that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Of course, this got me to wondering what bad traits Betty will inherit from me. I’ve talked before about being concerned that she’ll inherit the fear and worry gene. But I also don’t want her to inherit my tendency to procrastinate, my slight stutter, or my intense level of messiness. However, it occurs to me that it’s almost impossible to...

So far there’s been one huge unexpected side effect to having a baby: having to talk to a ton of strangers. You see, I’m one of those people who almost never starts up conversations with strangers due to shyness and intense focus when I’m out and about — I don’t go anywhere to just walk around or hang out. Whether it be a mall or restaurant, I’m always there on a mission, w/ little time for chit-chat. So I was rather surprised to discover that newborns are basically stranger-magnets. There are few guarantees in life, but I do know now that if I’m out with Betty, somebody will ask me about her. Stranger: “How precious! Is it a boy or a girl?*” Me: Girl. Stranger: “Oh, she’s new isn’t she? How old is she?” Me [usually I have to think about it]: She’s [however many] weeks. Stranger: Well, I have [insert: grandbaby, niece/nephew, etc] that’s [whatever age] Me: Wow, that’s great… This conversation, which I’m guaranteed to have at least once whenever I’m outside of my house w/ Betty, wouldn’t be so bad, except it often takes place at awkward times. Like when I’m trying to change her in the bathroom or load her into the car or buy something — it’s weird to have to carry on a separate conversation with the cashier about your baby whilst checking out. Oh, and did I mention: it’s almost the SAME conversation every single time. And it’s super-awkward, b/c what do you say after this exchange? Usually the conversation peters off, while I try not to feel rude for not saying anything further. The journalist in me knows how to keep a conversation going on the barest of steam, but the time-conservationist in me won’t allow...

Hey-ho! We’re back from our road trip to Santa Fe and back. I’ve been joking on Facebook that this was basically guerilla diaper-changing training, but that pretty much nails it. Somehow I had never noticed the lack of changing tables in all but the family friendliest of restaurants. Those cute little cafes that you discover in the middle of nowhere — no changing tables. Gas stations — no changing tables. Even non-chain diners, which were supposed to be family-friendly — no changing tables. And then even if there’s a changing table in the women’s room, there’s often no changing table in the men’s, which makes it really hard to receive any help from your partner. And let’s not even get into nursing. I was shocked that so many childcare books basically browbeat you into nursing without mentioning how hard it is to do anywhere but in the privacy of your own home. But the upshot of this is that I can now change Betty just about anywhere. I even changed her on my lap a few times. Same almost goes for nursing. I can’t feed her while walking around a store at the same time as one friend can do, but I have pretty much mastered the art of the car feed and so has Betty. She’s become 10x more efficient at eating during the course of our 5 days on the road, and she even occasionally unfrogs her legs to help us with diaper changes. Part of me feels like, “Well, you just shouldn’t take Betty anywhere, as this always seems to be a problem when you go out, even in LA.” The other part of me is annoyed, b/c I saw tons of families on the road with babies in diapers and...

“This is the first time that I ever had a girl pee on me,” the babysitter informed us, when we got back from our second official date night. CH laughed, and I said, “Good job, Betty” in the chagrinned way of a mother whose baby has just peed (and later spit-up) on her 50+ babysitter. In retrospect, the more appropriate response would have been to apologize on Betty’s behalf. But instead I added this to the list of Betty’s Dubious Achievements. Other than being the first girl to pee on our babysitter in her triple-decade career, this list also includes 1. Protesting and then later managing to pee down the back of the pretty dress we had put her in to meet her great grandmother — but only after she had actually met her great-grandmother and we had taken her back to the hotel room. This required great cunning on Betty’s part, since I knew she was gunning for the dress and I was ready for her. She waited 5 whole minutes into the change and somehow managed to arch her back just as I was making the clean diaper switch. I was really impressed … as I changed her into a simple onesie. 2. Looking really angry, whenever we give her a pacifier, even though she was literally just crying for a pacifier. See the pic. This also happens in regards to nursing, but I’m not going to post a picture of that. 3. Looking really sweet in the morning, as if to say, “Did I wake you up 5 times last night? Pardon moi. And if it’s not too much trouble might I have some more milk now?” See the other pic. In other new mom news, last Monday I decided to...

Sorry, sorry, guys. Not able to turn in my behind-the-scenes Jimmy Kimmel report due to time constraints — read Betty’s waking up. But I promise to tell you all about it later in the week. Meanwhile, I want to make these three observations about new motherhood: DY-NO-MITE! 1. You know how I used to begin a lot of posts with, “I was up all night with racing thoughts”? Total thing of the past. Racing thoughts are no match for new mother sleep deprivation. Now if my head gets anywhere near a pillow, I’m asleep. So if you’ve been on the fence about having children, and you have problems with racing thoughts and/or insomnia, let me just say that having a kid is a great cure for that. 2. I’ve realized the hard way that nearly every song I have memorized, is deeply inappropriate as a lullaby. For example songs like LL Cool J’s “I’m Bad,” Peggy Lee’s “I’m a Woman,” and just about every song George Michael put out before the mid-90s (“Monkey,” “Faith,” “I Want Your Sex”) probably won’t fly once Betty starts to actually even sort of understand words. On the other hand, you can only sing “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” so many times w/o falling asleep yourself. I’ve got to find some cooler lullabies and memorize them. Meanwhile, I’m meeting propriety halfway and singing her a bunch of showtunes. “Ohhhhhhhhk-lahoma!” 3. On a similar note, before labor I was inspired by Betty to stop cussing, but actually having a baby hasn’t exactly been conducive to that goal. I mean what else are you supposed to say when your baby manages to both poop and squirt pee on you during the course of one diaper change? Saying “Shit!” seems like the most...

Hey Guys! Wanted to get one last blog in while Betty’s upstairs w/ CH getting her very first bath. Man, the pushing bit of labor was hard. It took 90 minutes and considerable hoohah tearing to force CH’s big headed progeny out of what turned out to be my really narrow birth canal. And as you can see below, Betty wasn’t happy about her eviction. She was only 6 lbs, 13 oz, but according to our doctor, her overly large head created a few problems. Oh and did I mention that they stopped my happy epidural right before I was commanded to push? “Oh, believe me, no one wants to push with an epidural,” my doctor told me. Really? No one? B/c I’m somebody and I wanted my frickin epidural. An hour and 15 minutes later I was telling CH and Shandi the nurse quite seriously that I could not possibly push anymore. In fact I was about to violate yet another term in our already decimated birth plan and ask them to vacuum her out when another contraction came on and then another and then another until the next thing I knew they were put this screaming kid on my chest and CH was crying. “Oh Betty,” I said, just so surpised to meet her. “Hi, Betty, hi!” Then she got quiet and started nuzzling her slimy head into my chest, and wouldn’t you know it? All that crap they’re always telling you about labor being worth it, is totally (if also sappily) true. But the point is can you believe I’m somebody’s mother? First things first, I think I’m going to fashion Betty’s already wild head of hair into a fauxhawk as soon as we get home. But other than that, thanks...

So I just woke up from a rock star nap and I’m still at 7. Though I’m a pretty fast runner, I have always been a sprinter and pretty shitty at long distance. I think Betty might take after me in that regard. Everytime CH asks me if there’s anything he can get for me, I keep on asking for a fig newton. And he keeps on saying no. I think the only reason he gave me my iPhone back after cruelly taking it away was so that I’d agree to take a nap. But I’m em-effin starvin’ like Marvin up in this joint — and also talking like a bad 80s stereotype. Shadi the nurse says I can’t eat. Though I have the feeling that if I take a zombie like bite out of her arm the next time she comes in here, she’ll make an exception. Either that or sue me. This is LA. Hey, you know how the pain made me feel a little wacky last night? I think the hunger might be the new pain. Can one of you guys come to the hospital and sneak me a fig newton behind CH’s back? I’d be ever so grateful. Anyways, Shadi says that when I’m ready to push that I’ll feel the urge to poo. I keep on farting when I have contractions, so I wonder if that means I’m getting close. C’mon Betty. Mama wants a fig newton — oh and Villa Family, if you’re reading this, thanks for the lovely...

This just in! The doctor did a cervical exam to determine whether to administer the pitocin. Turns out that thanks to these horrible back-to-back contractions, I’ve already made it to 7cm, which means I won’t have to take the pitocin! Super yea!!! So hopefully I’ll get to the pushing point here soon. In other news, CH has become rather obsessed with the fetal-maternal monitoring machine. He’s loving tracking my contractions on them. Also he likes that you can see the all the other babies’ heartbeat rates and contractions on the floor. Right now he says there’s one person pushing and another chyck getting a C-section. He also likes to tell me when my contractions are particularly huge. I think he might have been an air traffic controller in a past life. Anyway here’s his new computer love and also a pic of my last contraction. According to him im currently having the biggest contraction on the...

So things got really intense there for awhile and when Mariah came in at 6am to take out the cervidil, I was pretty much feral and silently weeping into my pillow. I took out my headphones and asked her about the epidural. I didn’t yell or scream. I just felt weak. She answered that she’d need to see where I was dilation-wise after removing the cervidil. Also she said my doctor would be here at 7am to give a yea or nay. By the time she pulled the cervidil out I was in so much pain that I basically refused to let anybody else touch me, so no cervical exam. Mariah and another shift nurse looked at my monitor and determined that the reason that I was having such a hard time of it was b/c my contractions were long, fairly strong, with less than a minute between most of them, so it gave me little to no time to recover. My doctor came in at 7:30 and said, “Well let’s get you an epidural.” I had been pretty staunch about waiting for 4 or 5cm while going over our birth plan with him last month, but that had been one of the few things he had fought me on, saying simply that if I asked for an epidural he would give me one no matter how far along I was. God, I’m grateful for that policy now. About 30 min later a lovely Dr. Kang was administering my epidural. I had about 5 contractions during the time it took him to get it in, but 10 minutes later, I felt 10 times better and more importantly like myself again. I could actually make jokes and I formally said hello to Shandi, the nurse...

You know how wounded animals often go off to suffer alone? That’s basically where I’m at. I’m singing and not talking to anybody and composing blogs in my head to get through the pain. CH is the best husband ever b/c he’s not engaging me just rubbing my back, handling all interactions with Mariah the nurse, rubbing my back occasionally and making sure that my monitor cables get reconnected correctly when I come back from energy-sapping trips to the bathroom. Every so once in awhile it sinks in particularly deep that this man truly gets me, and I love him even more for that even if this situation is technically 50% his fault. I’m totally over labor. If I could go back in time and schedule an elective C-section like I hear most European women do, I would totally do that. I have never felt more selfish than this in my life and all my what’s-best-for-Betty thoughts have flown out the window. And I’d rather be sore and on bed rest for a week than in labor pain for hours and hours b/c Americans are scared of science. That’s probably the pain talking. Writing really helps. At this point I feel like I’m gathering up energy to put out another blog as opposed to resting to push. So thank you for reading. I’m already very interested to see how I handle my next pregnancy now that my eyes have been opened. Sorry that this blog has no structure. Hopefully by the next time I talk to you I will have had an epidural. Epidurals are a gift from God. I now worship at their altar. Why do people always say “You’re alone when you’re born”? That’s a lie and I’m fairly sure a man...

I’ve started singing along with songs to get through the contractions. But Mariah the nurse came along and put me in an oxygen mask for 20 minutes. I’m not sure why… But do you know how hard it is to song in an oxygen mask? — wait do you think that’s why she put me in it? Here’s the convo that came before the mask: M: Is that Abba etc (w/ real scorn in my voice as I don’t have one Abba song in my extensive music collection. Not one!): No, it’s Juice Newton “Angel of the Morning” M: Oh. Then she put on the mask. 2 hours until I can ask about an...

Just a blog to say that I’ve started having contractions, so my posts from now on will be shorter and a lot less pithier. Contractions don’t just hurt. They also come with the twin sensations of period cramps and the feeling that you really, really have to poo. Not cool, man, not cool. No word on what this means for the whole pitocin plan since they can’t properly check my progress until 6am b/c of the cervidil. So far I’ve cried b/c I now can’t believe I ever said a mean word to my mother when she went through this to have me, and I’ve told CH the history of every bike that I owned as a kid. This is all rather epic, fascinating and unpleasant. I seriously can’t wait for my effin epidural, and I’m rather unkindly thinking that women who choose to forego them are insane. It took me like 6 contractions to write this. 2 and a half hours until I can ask for an...

Grr! So I totally lost the blog that I wrote while I was waiting for the cervidil (sp?) to be administered. So annoyed, but here are the highlights: 1) Maybe In-N-Out wasn’t such a good idea. Hello indigestion. 2) My nurse’s name is Mariah, and she was late b/c she was tending to twins that delivered at 31 weeks. 3) I’ve got a heplock doohicky sticking out of my right wrist. 4) I decided to wear the earrings that pop, but they were totally uncomfortable when mixed w/ a hospital bed, so I took them out. Now for the post cervidil observations: 1. Man that was uncomfortable. They basically give you the world’s worst cervical exam then they stick this gauze with cervidil on it up your lady part. It has a string attached. They compared it to getting a tampon inserted, but it was so not like that. Ow… 2. There’s a very slight chance that this might kick start the contractions and I won’t have to get pitocin at 6am in the morning. Fingers crossed. 3. I was still only 1cm dilated when they did my cervical exam. Basically Betty was never planning on coming out. 4. Mariah just rushed out to tend to a woman who walked in at 9cm dilated. WTF? I don’t know this woman, but I’m for dead sure that I don’t like her. 5. So far all I’m feeling on the cervidil is menstrual like cramping. Not too uncomfortable. 6. I thought last night would be the last time I was forced to sleep on my side, but they asked me to do so tonight in order to better keep the cervidil thingamagig in. Sigh. 7. As it turns out, it could take anywhere from 12-24 hrs...

Wow, so I guess it’s almost time to go to the hospital. CH and Angela got In-N-Out for our last pre-baby meal, and that’s all eaten. CH is wrapping up the many power cords that we’ll need to stay sane at the hospital (yes, we’re nerds to our deepest core). He’s also showing Angela all of the special locks around the house and going over Tulip’s eating and walking schedule. We’ll see her tomorrow at the hospital after Betty’s here. One of the weirdest things about this experience is that we’re already completely off of our birthing plan, b/c of the induction. Also, I’m not quite sure what all will happen when I get to the hospital. Supposedly they first put “something” on my cervix to make it dilate tonight. But then I might already be pretty dilated and just not having contractions that I can feel yet, so who knows how that will go. Either way, I don’t plan to ask for the epidural until I’m 4 to 5cm dilated and I have no idea when they’ll actually administer the drug that will make me start pushing. They just said “Monday morning.” And even more important than all of that, I’m thinking that I might have to change out my earrings. This morning I put on the demure pearls that CH gave me two Christmases ago in a fit of romantic nostalgia, but I now feel that they make my face look puffy and maybe I ought to wear something with more pop. We’ll see. Anyways, thanks so much for all of the blog and FaceBook love today, guys. It’s so nice to have you all out there rooting for us. I’ll try to update a few more times overnight, but like I...

More random thoughts: We’re on our 4th episode of Weeds, which means our Netflix reserves will probably run out and we’ll have to go to the video store before we hit the hospital. Any good movie suggestions? Still not freaking out, even though we’re getting pretty close here, and I’m a little concerned that I couldn’t muscle myself into a nap today. Liveblogging was a good idea. It gives me something to do other than worry. My back hurts, but that might be b/c I’ve been sitting on the couch all day. Really, really hoping it’s not a sign that I’m going to have back labor. CH and Angela picked up a huge can of dolmas at are local international market. They are my heroes and so far I’ve had like 12. Angela says that they’re a good thing to put out for the people who will come to visit us after we bring Betty home, but at the rate I’m eating them, I wonder if there will be any left for guests. Sorry friends, but I doubt you’ll be surprised as I’ve never been a particularly good host. I’ve been trying to convince CH that I can have sushi as my last meal tonight, b/c what harm could I possibly do Betty now?  But he’s all like, “No, let’s not take any chances.” Ranh. But by this time tomorrow I will have had my sushi. Believe that. T – ~3 hours til I have to be at the...

Trying to watch the 4th season of “Weeds” but so far have been interrupted by a couple of family calls, asking when and how the baby will be coming. Apparently no one in my family reads my blog, which makes me wonder about what new-fangled media Betty’s gen will come up with and if I’ll be cool enough to embrace it. My sister, who like Betty is a Cancer, not only doesn’t read my blog but also refuses to check her non-work email on anything but a m/b weekly basis. Again, I’m little concerned that Betty is just going to be really stubborn. But we’ll see. Also, CH and I are arguing about whether one can really find Shasta for sale in California as claimed in “Weeds.” He says you can, but I’ve never seen it. This also makes me wonder if Vess is still around. T – ~5 hours til I report to the hospital All this baby talk has poor Tulip...

Nothing new to report. Angela is taking a much-deserved nap, since she left out at 6am this morning. CH has turned on The History Channel, and I’m returning all of my emails and syncing my phone for the last time pre-baby (I downloaded both Bat for Lashes albums after hearing an interview with her on NPR and thinking, “Hey, that would make great delivery room music!”). After I’m done with all of that, I think I’ll try reading more of my thick baby care book, since that always seems to put me to sleep. Poor Betty. She’s squirming big time right now, but not in a way that says, “Hey, I would like to come out.” My co-worker said that I shouldn’t think of my upcoming induction as forcing Betty out but as showing her the first of many new things. Still weirdly calm. However, I am suspicious that this feeling will not last. T – ~6 Hours til I report to the...

Hi Guys! Since I’m going into the hospital tonight, in order to get induced tomorrow morning, I figured that I’d start liveblogging about it now, since I might not be able to later. Right now, things are extremely calm. I’m writing this on the couch. My sister-in-law, Angela is reading a Charlaine Harris (True Blood) novel, and CH is surfing the web. Our new dog, Tulip is asleep on Angela’s lap. Even my racing thoughts are for once blessedly quiet. The plan was that I would do nothing all day but rest up for tonight and maybe read, but when it came time to do that, I found that I remain unable to just relax before big events. I remember always feeling a little sleepy during childhood field trips b/c I couldn’t sleep the night before and it taking me forever to get to sleep the night before my wedding day. And since this is the eve of the biggest event of my life so far, no go on the sleep-o, but at least that means I’ll be able to update every hour or so. Funny story, yesterday, I started having what I thought were contractions around 2pm. We called the doctor. We called Angela. We called Dan B., who will be watching Tulip while we are at the hospital. Well, CH called them. I did not remain calm. My mind instantly scattered, and one of the first things out of my mouth was, “I’m not ready!” I still had to put FaN to bed for the next two weeks, and I had a ToDo iPhone app list that was like a mile long. “We’re ready, we’re so ready,” CH assured me. The contractions died down. Then got sporadic. Then disappeared entirely. I put...