Seriously?

Okay, let me break it down for you. I just put Tucker down for a nap. Finally I was able to take a moment to read a magazine on the toilet (hey, I'm learning to multitask these days...). It was great! I haven't read a magazine in weeks, and I have a ton of them to catch up on.

So I'm reading all about skin care products in May's Real Simple (keep in mind I have June's issue to get through, too) when the phone rings. Dammit! I always like to get the phone just in case...So I jump up off the toilet (I had already wiped) and pick up the phone. "Hello?... Hello?" You readers know that when you have to say hello more than once, you're usually in trouble. It usually means that it's some sort of telemarketer or pre-recorded message waiting for you on the other end of the line.

I was in trouble. A pre-recorded message finally began, and it was, of all people, The Miz!! You know, Mike from the Real World Back to New York who dated Trishelle, participated on all of those Real World/Road Rules challenges and decided to become a professional wrestler? He was calling to remind me to order the WWE fights that are happening this weekend.

Now, I am a starfucker of the highest order. I am obsessed with celebrities big and small. Hell, I had a small nervous breakdown when I thought I saw Samuel L. Jackson on the street in New York. It turns out that I DID actually see him. In front of Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum. Ask Brian how much I freaked out before I realized he was made of wax.

But my point is, normally I would be tickled to hear The Miz on the other end of my phone. Just not when I have to jump off the toilet to do it.

Jury Doody

I don't know what I was thinking, but I didn't write in to get my jury duty excused being that I have a newborn and all. Anyway, it was yesterday. I unhappily got up after about three hours of sleep and made my way to the courthouse to do my civil duty or whatever it is you call it.
Did I mention that I've never been called to serve jury duty before? What are the chances that I would get called NOW?
So I got to the courthouse and took a seat, waiting to sign in. Of course they called the group I was sitting in dead last to sign in. I got to the courthouse at 8:30 and didn't get to sign in until 9:30. During that hour, I sat in a chair wondering how the hell I was going to make it through the day given the fact that I was so tired I considered curling up in a ball on the floor and crying. I mean, I didn't know what I was going to do. I brought magazines to read and thank you cards to write, and I couldn't muster up the energy to even open the bag where I stored them.
Finally we got called to sign in. When I got to the front of the line and stated my name, the woman looked at her records and said, "Oh Ms. Rudo, do you have an issue with daycare?"
See, when you send in your form for jury duty, they ask you whether you provide daycare for your children, to which I replied, "Yes."
So I told the woman that I have a three-week-old at home. And she said the words that were music to my ears - "Oh, they've excused you. Didn't you get the notice in the mail? Oh wait, they sent it out Friday."
Friday?!? Yesterday was only Tuesday. I didn't get that piece of mail. And I still haven't, as a matter of fact. It would have been nice to have gotten the notice before I schlepped all the way to the courthouse. But really, I'm just thankful I got to hightail it out of there when I did.

Mmmmmmmommy

I'm back. I feel like blogging. Finally!

I have a little guy sleeping next to me as I type this. He's in his REM sleep cycle, which means that he flails his little arms around and makes cute baby noises. Apparently that's how babies' REM sleep cycles are. I have a lot to learn.

So where do I begin? I'll start on April 15th, when I went to get checked by my midwife. I had progressed to about 2 cm and was 80 percent effaced. I knew that I wanted her to deliver my baby, as opposed to any of the other doctors in the practice I go to. Not because I don't love all the doctors there, because I do. It's just that I had developed a great relationship with my midwife. So...we set a date for induction for Saturday, the 19th because my midwife was scheduled to be on call at the hospital that day. Woot!

So I ended up starting my maternity leave that Thursday the 17th to give myself a couple of days to get ready, do some things for myself, that kind of stuff. I even got a manicure. When I went out in public and people would ask when I was due, they looked a little scared when I told them.

Brian and I went out for a fun dinner on April 18th and I started to get nervous. I hadn't really been nervous for labor prior to that. I guess it just hit me all at once. I had to get up at about 4:30 the next morning, so I'm glad I got nervous so close to my induction.

We got to the hospital at 5:45 on Saturday morning and I was admitted a little after 6. I started the Pitocin at 7 a.m., and started feeling contractions an hour or so later. No big deal. Well, at least at first. Once the contractions got a bit stronger, I asked very nicely for my epidural, which they were more than happy to give me.

Good stuff.

I slept for about three hours after I got that bad boy. In my head I was all, "Labor? No big deal! I could do this every day!" That is, until it came time to push. Not that it was bad, but it was so much more exhausting than I imagined it would be. I pushed for a little bit, and it was determined that the little man's head was face up instead of face down. So they had me lay on my side for about an hour to see if he would flip down. He did!

Then the real pushing began. I swear, I am really proud of myself for not cussing anyone out. I was surprisingly calm. I remember when little man started to crown, my midwife and Brian commented on the fact that they could see his hair. And I kept saying, "Are you sure it's not pubic hair? Are you sure it's not pubic hair?" (Because, let's face it, I hadn't really kept up with the grooming down there. Ahem.)

Just as he was crowing, my epidural started to wear off. Wowsers. That hurt. I said that I didn't think I could do it anymore. I felt like I was going to split apart. But the anesthesiologist came in and gave me more and I was able to finish what I had started. I was surprised that once his little head came out, his body followed so quickly! And I was not in the least bit surprised to hear that it was a boy! I just knew it. I knew it all along.

I can really describe what it was like when they put him on my chest, but I just felt like I had known this little guy all my life. Tucker Scott. We had picked out the name awhile before. It was literally the only boy name we could agree on. Here he is:

I am completely in love with him. The past couple of weeks have gone by so quickly that I can't actually believe it. I don't even know where the time has gone. I spend a lot of it staring at him because I can't believe he's here and that he's mine. Here's another couple of photos for your enjoyment.

I Figured It Out

The stupidest song in the world, that is.

Mr. Roboto by Styx. I listened to the whole thing this morning in the car, and I have to say, I am sad about those five minutes I'll never get back.

The funniest part is that when it came on, I was all, "All right! Yes! Woo hoo!! Mr. Roboto! I haven't heard this song in FOREVER!!" I was so pumped.

Then as I sat there listening to it, I became more and more upset by it. Because the lyrics are the worst ever. And then I looked it up on Wikipedia and it turns out that the song is part of Styx's concept album for a rock opera having something to do with some freak who gets locked up in some kind of jail for musicians or something and he escapes by killing the Roboto who was guarding him and hiding in his empty shell of a robot body. I seriously cannot believe that:
a. Styx made a rock opera/concept album
and
b. That this is what they chose as the plot

That's why the song says 'Domo arigato Mr. Roboto,' which translates to 'Thank you very much Mr. Roboto.' The guy is thanking this Roboto for letting him kill it and hide in his body.

This is all too much for me.

All I Need Are Some Tasty Waves...

Well, actually what I'd like are some Tastycakes. Or a Little Debbie snack cake. Or any cake really. The point is, I am really into baked goods.

This is so unlike me. Usually I'd go for savory over sweet. That's not to say I don't enjoy my desserts. I really do. But I usually really enjoy my savory meals more.

It started last weekend when I realized that all I wanted for breakfast was some pancakes. Preferably of the chocolate chip variety. It was a good thing I was meeting Amy and the gang for breakfast at Miss Shirley's. I got my pancakes, and they were damn good.

But here's the weird part. I don't normally order pancakes, or any other kind of sweet breakfast item, when I go out to breakfast. I almost always prefer a nice omelet or some such thing.

Fast forward to today. I went to Whole Foods before I went to work so that I could get some lunch (I had a doc appointment this morning and was going to be late to work anyway). I picked up a salad, which at the time, only semi-appealed to me. By the time I was at work and ready to eat said salad, I couldn't have been more sad to eat it. This is normally not the case.

So what did I do? Ate part of the salad, threw the rest away, braved the rain outside and hiked to Panera (less than a block away) for a chocolate chip cookie and a pumpkin muffie (the top half of the muffin). And I ate the hell out of them.

The ironic part? This morning I was complaining to the midwife about how tired I am, and she suggested cutting out simple sugars. Um...I'll start that tomorrow. For sure.

"I Can't Believe This is Really Happening"

This is not pregnancy related.

These were the words I just uttered at my office. Someone brought a trumpet to work today and has been playing it off and on all day.

How many people can say the same about their office? Jealous?

Oh wait, everyone just clapped. It was a good song I guess.

The Worst Commercials Ever

I cannot stand those new Comcast commercials where there is one person who speaks like a normal human being and another person who opens their mouth only to have random songs come out. And all the songs contain the lyrics 'more more more.'

I hate them I hate them I hate them.