to the snow

When my 5-year-old got excited over a pile of dirty ice in the corner of the Andronico's parking lot, I realized it really was time to take him to the mountains to see some snow.

On Serene Lake, Soda Springs, California, March 2012

This was one of those trips where the planning falls apart in several different ways, enough to make superstitious types wonder whether you should go at all, or if you should just stay home and remain in your PJs as much of the weekend as possible.

Back in the days when I was completely terrified of flying, these kind of omens would have done me in for a trip that involved an airplane. But luckily, we were driving, and besides my insistence that we stop to buy tire chains on the way up, fussy children and all, I managed to resist that kind of worry.

So I decided to not do much planning. We abandoned our original idea - to go to South Lake Tahoe with friends - and instead struck out for Soda Springs, near Truckee, on our own. We brought a trunk full of snow clothes and boots, borrowed for the kids, our own dug deep out of storage. We brought sleepers and a crib and a bunch of food, and decided to play it by ear whether we would spend the night or not.

Play it by ear -- words I never thought I would utter referring to travel with small children. I felt daring and spontaneous, despite the children fussing away in the backseat.

Once we got up there and saw how gorgeous it was, we decided to stay. Plus, it was already 3 p.m., and it was supposed to snow the next day.

I'm so glad we stayed. Since we stayed at a small (oddly sweltering 85-degree indoors) lodge, we put the kids to bed and then went downstairs and had dinner just the two of us. Radical!

And then the next day, we woke up to snow. Not just the forecast snow showers, but a solid 5 inches of flakes falling all morning long.

Emry took a nap in the lodge while Elan, Mikhail and I sledded just outside.

Emry was not so into the snow. He couldn't move much in the thick snow clothes, he couldn't grab the pinecones he so dearly wanted with mittens on, he couldn't crawl because his knees kept slipping, and he couldn't walk in the snow boots we borrowed, which were probably about 4 sizes too big for his tiny feet.

But he loved hanging out in the lodge, where the under-6 set was well-represented.

Elan loved the snow. And Mikhail and I loved the snow. It felt like such a victory for me that we made it there.

words for 2012

In what has become a yearly tradition, right around New Year's, Mikhail and I took a walk on the beach and figured out some words to express what we are hoping for this year.

I know it's March now, and I'm talking about January, but bear with me. I needed to let these words grow on me a little before I was ready to share them.

Besides, being on time isn't one of my strengths.

Once we figure out the words, we write them in the sand. Last year, we had this fabulous sunset and it was all very inspiring. This year, the fog blew in dense and cold. But we persevered, Emry in the Ergo on my back chewing on beach rocks and then making a game of throwing them at Mikhail.

Love. Because there's really no other good reason to have children in this day and age. I realize for a handful of families in this country, and for many families in other countries, kids are still a labor force. But it's not like Elan's going to be taking our herd of goats out to pasture anytime soon.

Kids cost a bunch of money, they take up all your time, and they throw food all over the carpet. But in my house, they also increase the love exponentially. Both Mikhail and I have found that when we focus on the love, it makes the craziness feel more manageable -- and less important.

Light. It just felt like a good word to me. I was looking ahead to Elan's surgery and imagining that it could be a difficult winter. So as much as the literal definition sounded good on this chilly winter afternoon -- light, warmth, coziness -- the figurative image of a guiding light, something to focus on as you're making your way through dark times, appealed to me too.

Speaking of light, it was getting quite dark by this time. Emry was fussing, we were all cold, but we still had a ways to walk back to the car, and we were hammering away at this next idea. Mikhail finally got it.

Taking the next step. Wow, does this phrase sound confronting to me. I don't know exactly why, but it really triggered me that afternoon on the beach. It sounded HARD. Like it would require a lot of courage and determination and hard work. Not that those are bad things, I just wondered - Am I ready to take the next step? Sometimes I think I am still in new baby survival mode, sleepless and with the mental fuzziness my mother-in-law calls "milk brain." And sometimes I am (though the sleeplessness is often not caused by the baby - I'm talking about you now, 5-year-old who hasn't slept through the night in 10 nights). But this is an exercise about reaching for something, so I went with it.

And it's interesting - I've already seen taking the next step play out in my life these last few months. Jumping into an opportunity to substantially increase my grantwriting workload, which increases our family's chaos level but also increases the money I bring into the family? Taking the next step. Deciding we're feeling adventurous enough to take on traveling internationally for the first time with our kids? Taking the next step. It even has a literal meaning to me these days, as I watch Emry string together his steps - 3, 5, 10 at a time.

Sometimes you have to challenge yourself.

And sometimes you have to eat Girl Scout cookies with a cold glass of milk and go to bed early.

Deciding when you're going to push yourself and when you're going to hunker down with the cookies? I believe that's called being a grown-up.

they ate ice cream

I was working on Saturday afternoon when I received an email with the subject line "We got ice cream" and this photo:

My guys, February 2012

Things I love about this photo:

1) Elan's giant smile. He's been smiling more lately, as he comes out of post-op fog/fuss/upset, and as he sleeps better. Let me just say that again: AS HE SLEEPS BETTER. Ahhhhhh.

2) My husband's mini-mohawk. His hair doesn't look like that in real life. At least, not most of the time. But sometimes when it gets long, he runs his fingers through it a lot and then I call him the mad professor.

3) Emry, my little gremlin, cute whether his face is covered in chocolate or some other substance, since it almost always seems to be covered in something.

today's confessions

I confess that...

Sometimes the baby gets chocolate bread for breakfast.

Emry, 14 months, January 2012

And he really likes it.

(Notice the gummy smile - Emry's first tooth has broken through so he's toothless no more!)

Both my children drink bottles. Occasionally while watching TV.

December 2011

In the hours between 5 and 7 a.m., I frequently want to curse. Sometimes I do. Early morning is not my finest hour.

I found more amazement, pleasure and simple joy in Elan's Magical Crystal Garden than he did. I felt 7 years old again.

Magic Garden, January 2012

Smiles make everything better. It's such a relief that Elan's back to himself again. I am so glad that those 12 days of parenting hell are over.

Post-bath with Grandma Karen, January 2012

I spend a lot of time in cafes, since I work best away from the distractions of children, laundry and dishes at my house. But I've never heard singing in a cafe like the nine women clustered around a table across from me are doing right now. It's gorgeous, and it feels soulfully appropriate today. Today is my dad's birthday (Happy Birthday Dad!). And it's also the day we learned about the passing of a beloved preschool teacher at Elan's school after a long illness. I led a yoga session for Elan's class this morning, breathing and stretching with the kids after a difficult morning dealing with Elan's 5:00 a.m. restless and overtired crankiness, and my own frustration and worry about this ongoing sleep struggle, even post-T&A. So I think it's a day to FEEL. To feel the sad, the joy, the frustration, the gratefulness, and the messy combinations of emotion that make up being alive.

Water and cousins in the driveway, January 2012

gifts

Elan actually wrote a wish list for Hanukkah/Christmas this year.

In translation:

angry birds

pigs

snow hat

soccer shirt

money

This list is hilarious because a) it showcases his obsession with angry birds which seems to be a fairly universal obsession for any 5-6 year olds who have been exposed to it, b) my child hates wearing hats, proven by the fact that he doesn't want to wear his "snow hat" even though it's a yellow angry bird hat, and c) he asked for "money" so that he could lend money to people on kiva.org (we received a gift certificate for kiva from our neighbors when Emry was born). This last one made my heart sing. It made me feel like I must be doing something right as a parent, despite the angry birds obsession.

Between his birthday at the end of November, Hanukkah, and Christmas gifts that we were waiting for him upon our arrival home, that child has received a gift more days than not over the past month plus.

So it makes sense that the subject of my birthday gift might come up.

When Elan asked what present I wanted for my birthday, I said, "This is what I got for my birthday." I held up my new hot pink-clad iPhone, my first-ever smart phone and Number One Drool-worthy Item Currently Coveted by the Baby in the House. You should see how Emry's crawling picks up steam if he spots my phone in an accessible location.

Elan looked concerned.

"You can still get me a present, though," I said. "Talk to Dada about it."

"Okay," he said. Then my football-obsessed son brightened. "We'll put our heads together and make a huddle, just like in football!"

message in the sand

I love coming across other peoples' art on the beach.

We are having holiday hangover after two weeks in San Diego with my family. After two weeks of fabulous sunshine, football with the guys, and rolling around in a big kid/dog pile on the ground with my sister's two-year-old, her two Bernese mountain dogs, and my parents' dog, Elan is waking up in the dark, trying to get back to sleep and failing, and telling me he misses his cousin Judah.

Here's what holiday hangover looks like in my house:

My house was clean when we arrived home, at 10:30 p.m. Monday night. My kids took care of that by 8 a.m. Tuesday morning.

Still-packed bags litter the living room floor. I am slowly tackling them. I wish a genie would come and put everything away. The genie could clean out my closet while she's at it. And cook dinner.

I think the toys were procreating while we were gone.

I'm glad to be home, and I'm looking forward to getting back into a routine, I just don't remember exactly how to do it.

I have a head cold and I'm turning 36 tomorrow. Tomorrow! This year, my birthday feels like it's coming at the tail end of celebration. Like, do we really have to celebrate one more thing? What an awful way to feel about your birthday! Can you tell I am not feeling particularly inspired about turning 36?

And Elan's tonsillectomy is in one week and one day. I'm just a wee bit anxious about that.

At least we have the memory of sand castles.

And sand in the pockets of every pair of little-boy pants, to prove we were there, not too long ago.

the 5-year-old unicorn

One month ago, Elan turned 5.

We made a sign. He wrote his name but insisted I write "Birthday Party." And those are balloons decorating the sign, in case you're not sure. Balloons being an absolute must for the celebration.

I love little kid writing. Adults can imitate it, but they can't ever quite get the adorable haphazard quality of randomly placed backwards letters and the way the whole line drifts and tilts.

After much debate, I decided to have Elan's birthday party at the Y Kindergym this year. Basically it's a big padded room, with things to climb on, jump on, and throw - and it's all cushioned. Perfect for 5-year-olds to go crazy. And let me tell you, after 4 members of my household spent hours 48-24 before the party throwing up, I was very VERY happy that the party was not at my house.

Also, after said stomach bug hit my house like a whirlwind, it was clear that I was not going to be doing the baking. So my mother-in-law and sister-in-law stepped in and delegated that task to Safeway. (Thank goodness my sister-in-law, a fabulous baker, did not decide to bake the cake, as Vicious Stomach Bug took her down the night before the party.) Elan loved his cake. It had real race cars on it. He was in little boy heaven.

I'm pretty sure that my child is actually a unicorn. Evidence: check out that horn.

And look at those eyes. Here, you can see them better in this picture.

October 2010

Humans don't have eyes that gigantic. Don't know where it came from in the gene pool, but definitely part unicorn.

There was a pinata. After the kids had made a good go at it, Mikhail slit it up with an exacto knife, but the thing was so strong that I finally just had to rip it apart. The kids ignored this little birthday party faux pas. There was candy to be had.

Even Emry got in on the action.

Now that Elan is officially 5, I realized two things:

One: That I've been thinking of him as 5 for a long time, which is weird because I'm generally such a nostalgic, stop-that-growing-up-so-fast kind of mama. He and I agreed that 5 is like a big little kid, whereas 4 is still a little little kid (and some number I can't yet imagine is a big big kid).

And two: That I've been a mother for a half-decade now. He's getting faster than me.

merry.go.round

Elan, Tilden Park, Berkeley, December 2011

We are working on creating family traditions, now that we're 5 years into this whole kids thing. One is going to the holiday carousel at Tilden Park, in the hills above Berkeley.

Mama, what's with all the pictures of me with funny expressions posted on your blog lately?

Of course, this necessitates me thinking about when we did this or that last year. Which has me think about how little Emry was at this time last year, when he went on the merry-go-round snug in the Ergo, without ever knowing that he was spinning through space.

This year, Emry picked up on Elan's excitement at the novelty of going for a ride in the dark, up windy streets lined with lit-up houses, through the blackness of the park. He was asleep when we came upon the carousel, surrounded by decorations and a 50-foot-tall tree strung with lights. But when we got out of the car, he woke up, and both boys were entranced.

Sweet Solstice. May the longest night bring you its own kind of light.

poop or chocolate?

Emry, November 2011

Thanks for the material, kid.

(Don't worry, this time it's chocolate.)

And it took a bit of searching through my brain and the Internet, but here's that clip (from Baby Mama, Tina Fey & Maura Tierney).

no, really?

I hope you had a happy Thanksgiving. We had a very happy Thanksgiving. The food at my husband's aunt's house was so good, I made slightly inappropriate groany noises as I ate it. We went for the traditional walk to the park, football playing in the park, and then came back to the house for dessert. It was all lovely.

And then... (because you know there had to be an "and then")

My husband was installing Elan's carseat back into our car from his mom's car and said, "I feel like I could throw up."

Now it is nearly 24 hours later, and 4 of the 6 people currently staying in my house have been repeatedly sick. Including me, and I used to never puke, before my children ruined that track record.

Not food poisoning! Just unfortunately timing for the Vicious Stomach Bug that's been flying all about Berkeley. Plus, the baby, who thankfully has not been puking (not yet at least), has a weird rash AGAIN. And Elan, who started his puking at 6 a.m. today, has been throwing screaming fits because we won't let him gobble up toast. I'm like: I can't even look at plain white rice, and you want to eat MORE food?

I should probably wash nearly every sheet, blanket and towel in my house. I believe half are already piled in the carport by my washing machine. But I'm just so darn tired. And still nursing the baby. And drinking some flat Coke my father-in-law, the only adult not felled by Vicious Stomach Bug, scored for me.

And did I mention tomorrow is Elan's birthday?

Hello, life/parenthood/illness? Can you ease it up a bit? I'm getting pretty worn-out.

Thanks,

Mama still in her robe at 5:45 p.m.

because i know you were wondering

Elan on the pumpkin pile, October 2011

Halloween was a very big deal at our house this year. First, we went to our neighborhood's version of a pumpkin patch, which is more a pumpkin pile, a huge hill of pumpkins at Monterey Market. The kids (and brave adults) scramble all over the pumpkins, including some that must weigh 100 pounders (pumpkins, not people, well, people too, but that's nothing extraordinary).

Someone should have taken a picture of the maneuvers I had to make in order to get myself, Emry and my camera onto the pumpkin pile, not to mention position the boys and get the shot, while balancing in my clogs on pumpkins. They're not so stable, pumpkins. Kinda round and slippery.

But it was worth it.

Then, on Halloween, we had a robot.

Elan came up with the idea. This is the second year that I've been surprised by how definite he's been about his costume. Execution was carried out by Mikhail, on box duty, and Grandma, on decoration duty. My job was to admire the results.

We also had a monkey who, true to form, managed to get through this banana peel and cover himself with banana goop despite the fact that he has exactly zero teeth.

I was dressed up as a harried mother of two. I threw that costume together in about 4 seconds flat. That's how good I am.

And this picture proves that I suffer from lack of imagination when it comes to Halloween costumes:

Elan as a monkey, 11 months old, Halloween 2007

Or maybe I just like tradition.

It was Elan's first time doing official trick or treating, since last year, our Halloween block party fell on Oct 31, and Elan was so worn out after 8 hours in the jumpy house that he was asleep before the trick or treaters were out. This year, trick or treating was a huge hit. The monkey hung out in the Ergo and sampled his first 3 Musketeers bar.

My husband got into the spirit. Someone had to help Elan get up and down stairs without falling. Boxes don't have the best visibility, we learned.

Eventually he would just take his head off between houses. Which led to funny lines like:

"Dada, you have to put my head back on!"

boys in sleepers

November 2011

They might not always sleep a lot, but they always spend a lot of time in their sleepers.

sometimes it goes like this

On the hunt for stuff to get into, October 2011

Today, I am sorry to admit, my baby ate his own poop.

Need I say more?

He has become a total squirmy monkey during diaper changes, and this morning, he almost managed to kick the dirty diaper off the edge of the changing table. I caught it, but a tiny bit of poop must have fallen onto the floor, because after I had cleaned him up and re-diapered him and set him down and washed my hands, I turned back to see him putting a little light-brown, squishy thing into his mouth.

"What is that? Is that POOP?" I screamed.

This reminded me of a movie clip I saw once that often runs through my mind in these kinds of insane parenting moments, where the Experienced Mom analyzes the brown substance on her toddler's face. "Poop, or chocolate?" she asks, grabbing her child's dirty face while her childless sister looks on, horrified. "Poop, or chocolate? Poop, or chocolate?" She swipes a finger through the mystery substance and into her mouth. "Chocolate!" she proclaims.

This was like that, except there was no chocolate around.

There are two possible reactions to a moment like this: laugh or cry. And today, because Emry has an ear infection and is on antibiotics and isn't sleeping well and I don't know if these facts are related or he's just decided to stop sleeping well, and because two nights ago Elan woke up at 11 p.m. having spewed vomit all over his bed, sheets, mattress, pillows, stuffed animals, blankets, sleeper and himself, and because Elan then couldn't go to school yesterday which made his 4-day weekend into a 5-day weekend, and because that reduced the amount of time I have to do what I need to do from marginal to ridiculous, and because I'm feeling Mama-ed out right now what with someone always needing something, getting into something, crying over something, making a mess, waking me up, or sick, I cried.

Maybe next time I'll laugh. Except I'm really hoping to not have a next time. Really hoping.

ONE!

Emry's first birthday was on October 22.

The birthday boy is seriously into his thumb these days.

He is seriously into his brother too.

The birthday hat has stick-on numbers from 1-5. Elan's worn it for 3 out of his 4 birthdays. I like that it's now an official family tradition, even if I did drop the ball on Elan wearing it last year, when he turned 4.

And of course, no first birthday would be complete without baby's first cupcake, which he mostly enjoyed squishing into a cupcake pulp and then sucking out of his little chubby fist.

sick

Fall spiderweb, Berkeley, September 2011

I'm having one of those weeks when a cold turns into laryngitis, turns into a sinus infection that feels like someone's sticking knives into my cheekbones, turns into a night spent alternatively shivering and roasting with fever, turns into the nurse practitioner saying I have the flu on top of the cold/sinus infection, turns into Emry taking Tamiflu preventatively just in case I do have the flu, turns into Mikhail going away for an overnight trip I didn't know he had, turns into me calling my mom and asking her can you pretty-please come now rather than in 2 days?, turns into discovering the joys of Theraflu Nighttime and finally getting some sleep, turns into holing up with my computer attempting to not be so behind on my work while Emry is crying downstairs, turns into writing on my blog because who can manage to write grant proposals while their baby is crying downstairs, turns into nursing Emry instead of writing grant proposals or on my blog, turns into the baby crying when I hand him back over to my babysitter, turns into more knives in my cheekbones, turns into Can I please just go back to bed now?

Yes, you can. Go quickly, before someone else needs you.

one year ago

A year ago, I was pregnant.

I went to the pool a lot.

Sometimes with my pregnant friends.

Elan was already telling the baby jokes.

Did I mention? I was VERY pregnant.

But soon not to be.

At 2 a.m., I woke up. It was pouring. First I heard the rain, then I felt the sensation of the contraction. It was the baby's due date and a full moon. I couldn't believe the baby would really be so precisely punctual, but the contraction felt different than the ones I regularly got around the clock, so I got out of bed. Made cream of wheat. Read Blink on the couch. Timed the contractions. Told the baby I was really ready to not be pregnant anymore, and wasn't he/she ready to come out and meet everyone?

I promised a lot of yummy milk.

The contractions stayed about 10-15 minutes apart, so eventually I went back to bed.

Elan woke up and went to preschool.

The contractions were still 10-15 minutes apart. Between them, I'd think that maybe I run out and pick up that nursing bra I hadn't bought yet. But then, one would come, and I'd think Not a good idea.

I went for a walk to try to speed things up. I walked very slowly. I kept expecting someone to notice me, walking around my neighborhood, in labor, alone, with my cell phone in my pocket. But I only had one contraction the whole walk, leaning over the splintery railing by the path in the greenway, so I guess I wasn't that noticeable.

Mikhail brought me Thai chicken coconut milk soup, a sudden craving, and over several hours, I ate the whole container.

Elan came home from preschool. I hung out with him on the couch, reading him books. Every 10-15 minutes, I'd roll onto the floor and have a contraction. It freaked him out a lot less than I thought it might.

At 3 p.m., I told my amazing midwife that I wanted to come in to the hospital, but I was afraid I'd only be dilated to 2 centimeters. (In labor 4 years before with Elan, I got to the birth center where I delivered already dilated to 8 cm after laboring at home for 20 hours.) She assured me that she'd never had a second-time mom come in at less than 4 cm. I wanted to be in the water, and I couldn't fit in our little tub, so we decided to go for it.

Some neighbors saw me shuffling down the driveway to the car, while Mikhail loaded it up with all our stuff, and they called out Good luck! I thought - I guess I really am in labor.

The ride to the hospital was surreal. Everything looked so NORMAL outside the car window. It was Friday afternoon, and people were out doing their Friday afternoon, beautiful fall weather, thing. I only had one contraction during the 10 minute car ride. After that one contraction, I was glad I didn't have more.

My midwife Lindy was there waiting for me, at the nurse's desk. She got me a room with a big jacuzzi tub, like we had planned. She checked me. "Well, it's your worst fear," she said. "You're 2 centimeters."

Ha!

But then she was very comforting. She told me to take my time. "I've got my magazine so I'll just hang out a while," she said. She'd send me home if there was no baby by morning. It was 4:20 p.m. I was still having contractions 10-15 minutes apart.

I got in the tub. Everyone left me alone. I listened to music, rubbed my huge firm tummy, nearly weightless in the water, felt the baby move and wondered who was going to come out. Here we are kid, I thought, back in the water, where the best moments of this uncomfortable pregnancy had been spent. I had been feeling a little freaked out by the hospital, but in the tub, I got my head together. You've done this before, I told myself. You know what to do. Just relax and let your body do it.

I got out of the tub and decided to take a walk. But I never made it out the door of my room. Every time I'd head for the door, I'd have another contraction. And these were big ones, coming on every few minutes. Finally! It looked like the baby was in on the plan.

And then it hurt. More than I remembered. I've had 2 natural births now, with no meds, and I can say: there is pain. It's a whole heck of a lot of work. There's a reason they call it labor. But if you have a good situation - a great midwife and/or doula, and no complications - it's worth it. Your body makes the natural pain relief, which helps; you can stay completely active, birth in the position you want to birth in; you can feel nifty sensations like the baby's feet "walking" down your spine as he turns; and the high afterward is INCREDIBLE. I'm sure all women feel like super-stars after growing and birthing another human being, as they should. But I can say that my experience of natural birth is that, afterward, I felt like I could do anything. Which was especially helpful while recovering from my first baby's birth, which took longer and was more painful than I expected. Not to mention that whole adjustment to being responsible for a tiny, helpless human. I frequently thought back to my superhero birth powers and felt buoyed by them over the course of Elan's first few months.

But, yeah, it hurt. My mom came in the room, and I called her over to me by wailing Mommy!! I'm not sure if this alarmed or touched her, as I haven't called her "Mommy" in several decades. But that's what birth will do to you; you shed all the non-essentials; you become the most focused version of yourself, one is so intent on doing what you're doing that you don't give a damn who happens to come in the room and see your nether regions on full display.

I had an amazing team of midwife, husband and nurse all helping me. One would work on my back with each contraction, and this is not just a casual hand - this is putting some real weight into it. Though this labor was less back labor than my first, that strong counter-pressure still really helped me. The best position was standing next to the bed, leaning over it, rocking and swaying my hips. After contractions, they warmed me up. During, they cooled me off. Lindy put cold cloths on my forehead.

Sidenote: Recently, on a random Tuesday, Elan turned to me with a look of shock on his little face. "We don't have a video of when Emry was born!" he exclaimed. I had to stifle a laugh.

"That's true," I said. "But we have one of when you were born."

"I want to see it," he said.

"Actually, I don't think you do. When a baby comes out, there's a lot of blood."

"Ew, I don't wanna see that. Dis-gust-ing!"

Yeah, I didn't think so.

Anywhere, where was I? Oh, yeah, birthing a baby one year ago.

My midwife and I had come up with a little game plan of what we wanted to try for the birth, which included birthing on my side and trying to push the baby out between contractions. Amazingly, these both worked. Mikhail found the whole thing pretty interesting because he was beside me, holding my leg; when Elan was born in the tub, Mikhail was behind me, meaning he got a worse view than I did. But this time, he saw everything! Lucky guy!

Later, Mikhail told me that, as he was watching the baby's head crown, he kept picturing a 2-month-old's head size, and could not imagine that this whole birth thing was going to work. Thankfully he kept that observation to himself at the time. When Emry was actually born, he was shocked at how tiny his head actually was (it was smaller than Elan's, thank you!).

Once my water broke as I pushed, and we got through the ring of fire (that song has never been the same for me since having babies), and I did some good old fashioned screaming, Lindy told me to push again, and a hot, slippery little baby came out. I tell you, I think even if you birthed 12 babies, there would still be a part of you shocked that after all that - 9 months of nausea and insomnia and heartburn and varicose veins and backache and general slow lumbering quality of life, plus the labor itself - a BABY COMES OUT. Just amazing.

Mikhail announced It's a boy!

And there he was.

The Aforementioned Slippery, Ruddy and Oh-So-Sweet Baby Boy, aka Mr. Emry Isaiah Brams Davis, all 7 pounds, 15 ounces of him, born at 8:30 p.m. on October 22, 2010.

Everyone oohed and aahed over him. Lucky baby, he had 3 grandparents in attendance (my parents and my mother-in-law), and my sister-in-law dropped in just after he was born.

His big brother came to visit.

And took him for a ride around the hospital.

The promised yummy milk was provided, and he was a fan.

I could keep going like this all night, but I have laryngitis and a wicked cold, and my baby just turned 1 year old, so I'm feeling a little emotional and should get some sleep.

So just one more... for now.

This is what happens when you teach the big brother how to swaddle his doll before the baby arrives.

Did it make you look twice?