Baby love.

Well, she's here. At long last.

I'm proud to say that Sweet Pea lives up to all the promise of a new baby girl: Sweet, delicate features, impossibly tiny toes and soft, gentle coos that melt your heart.

She's already won her spot as little sister in our big happy family, with the big kids alternately doting on her and fighting over who gets to hold her next.

With just a little over a week in, she's a good baby. Content and quiet, Sweet Pea prefers to sleep for long stretches during the day and, surprisingly, is not up all hours of the night.

She and I are working together trying to figure out this whole nursing thing, which despite some speed bumps, seems to be going fairly well.

The jury's out on who she looks like most, though, she's definitely got Mark's dimpled chin.


Her delivery was crazy quick -- something to be expected being my fourth baby and all -- but it still took me by surprise. When all was said, she was here in about 5 hours and came out face up and howling. (Truthfully, we both were howling since my epidural barely had time to take effect.)

But, like any mom, I'd do it again in a heartbeat.


When we got home, The Deuce (10 years old), asked me, "Mom, are you done having kids yet?"

Unable to get a good read on her, I asked, "Do you think we should stop now?"

"No way," she answered, stroking Sweet Pea's cheek.

Let's just take things one day at a time.

Tick tock.

I know, I know. I've been the worst about posting lately.

The fact of the matter is that I've been behind in just about everything. Luckily, I've emerged from my busy/crazy season at work relatively unscathed and am finally getting through my catch-up list:

• Bassinet and car seat ready? CHECK
• Blankets and burpers washed? CHECK
• Bathrooms clean? CHECK
• Laundry caught up? MOSTLY CHECK - it's a moving target
• Major work projects wrapped? CHECK
• Reschedule parent-teacher conferences originally scheduled for due-date week? CHECK
• Update the blog? GETTING THERE

My list of to-do's is getting a little shorter:

• Baby shower thank yous
• Catch up on phone calls and emails
• Stock the freezer with heat-and-eat casseroles

Each day, as I've crossed items off my list, the weight on my shoulders has lightened slightly.

So now, instead of bargaining with the baby to stay put...

"Mommy will buy you a pony if you stay in there another week,"

I've given her the green light to come out and play...

"Mommy will buy you a Mustang if you come out today."

As far as progress goes, things are starting to happen -- albeit slowly. As of Monday afternoon, I was 1 cm dilated, but that's not necessarily a sign that things will happen quickly, if not at all before my induction date (11/22). After all, it's now Friday and I'm still here.

While it's easy to feel impatient, I keep reminding myself that these last few, painfully slow weeks will be but a blink in the rear view once the baby comes.

Until then, I'll waddle along, feeling like a time bomb, wondering if I should mark the time for every little cramp and twinge. I'll read and reread the last few chapters of Your Pregnancy Week by Week, and each morning, dutifully put my daily-use toiletries in my "go bag" ready to grab at a moment's notice.

Tom Petty was right: The wai-yay-ting is the hardest part.

Babywatch 2010

T minus 20 days and counting.

20 days. I alternate between feeling impatient that Sweet Pea will never get here (and I'll be a huge, fat preggo forever) and nervous that she might possibly come early (and create huge logistical challenges both here and at work).

It sucks feeling like a time bomb.

I've officially moved to the living room couch so I can try to get a decent night's sleep and have outgrown some of my already tent-like maternity clothes. The kids drift in and out of the bathroom while I'm getting ready, begging me to lift up my shirt to reveal my huge, freakish belly. When I do, they cry, "EW!" and scamper off, giggling.

Two coworkers have told me they refuse to ride in an enclosed car or take the elevator with me anymore. One insists he's got a hot pot of boiling water ready to go at a moment's notice. I routinely hear, "You're STILL here?!?" as I walk through the building, wishing I was home, cuddling a new baby.

At work, I'm in the process of trying to wrap up projects and gently extract myself from new ones. The busy season at work is starting to wind down (thank God), but the loose ends are endless and despite my daily struggle to haul my big self to work in the first place, I can't stand logging off at night with that mountain of work still in my inbox, screaming for my attention.

At home, I'm as ready as I'll ever be. The Go Bag is packed, fridge is stocked and emergency call list is safely loaded in my cell phone. The baby's room is set, car seat ready for installation and a load of baby blankets and clothes are washed, folded and ready to go.

And all we do now is wait, which for an impatient control freak like me, is torture.

Thus is the sucky limbo land of the last three weeks of pregnancy. It feels like FOREVER in the moment, but I know that soon, when I look back, it'll feel like a nanosecond's worth of time and I'll wonder why I was so impatient.

And then I remember how wonderful new babies are. Those tiny toes, delicate tulip-like lips, soft little baby coo's -- impossibly sweet. Impossibly delicious.

I just can't wait.

Yeah, I'm gonna pass on the DIY home birth. And I don't care how many YouTube videos make it look easy.

Mark and I are do-it-yourselfers.

We're the type of people who would prefer to NOT pay someone else to do a job that we're capable of doing ourselves. And the list of jobs we're willing to tackle, aided by eHow, YouTube and the DIY Network, is pretty long.

However, we're in solemn agreement on one job we absolutely refuse to attempt or delegate to anyone who's not a professional and that is to deliver this baby.

I'm reading a lot about people who prefer home births and doulas over hospitals and doctors and, while thank God we have choices, I can't wrap my head around why anyone would avoid a hospital when it comes to having a kid.

Seriously.

I'm willing to fumble around and tinker my way through a home-improvement project, but when it comes to babies, blood and pain, I'm willing to spend the extra cash to involve medical professionals.

Meds free. Under water. Hypnobirthing. To me, this is insanity. Give me drugs and a board-certified OB-GYN in a hospital equipped with a state-of-the-art NICU, please.

I'm 1,000% sure a hospital birth with a team of trained professionals beats trying to do it at home, in my bathtub. (Have you seen the soap-scum ring in there?!?)

And while Mark's a very handy guy, I just can't thrust that kind of responsibility on his shoulders. He's totally capable of watching This Old House and then installing new replacement windows, but to force him through a marathon of A Baby Story and then expect him to deliver our own kid is a bit of a stretch.

Plus, we've got home-improvement projects that are a little, shall we say, stalled out (hello, parts of my kitchen have no counter tops!). Do I really want him to leave while the baby's crowning to run out to Walgreens (or God forbid, Menards) to get something we need for the delivery but don't have on hand?

Uh, that'd be a big negatory.

Yeah, we're handy, resourceful -- and quite thrifty, but we're not stupid. We know our limitations.

Hospital = good.
Pain meds = good.
Birth handled by trained medical professionals = good.

I'd like this baby to come into the world in a cold, sterile hospital vs. my warm, cozy bed. I prefer it. This is less about my comfort and more about the baby's safety.

And the fact that there's enough dog hair on my comforter to knit another dog.

Cleaning the house when the contractions begin = not good.

I'm glad it's not you either.

People say the dumbest things.

When I was pregnant with the girls, when someone would find out I was carrying twins, inevitably I'd hear surprised (and often uncensored) responses. The one I heard the most often, that bothered me the most, went along the lines of:

"Holy shit. I'm glad it's not me."

Seriously. I heard it all the time, in varying forms.

"I could never do that."
"Are you freaking out? No way I could handle more than one kid at a time."
"I'd go crazy for sure."

Every time I'd get a reaction like that, I'd be polite and smile, but think to myself, "Yeah, we all should be glad it's not you, jackass."

Well, dumb people are at it again. This time, it happened when I told a co-worker I'm expecting my fourth child. I was met with that familiar look of shock, surprise and overwhelm. Without a second's hesitation, she responded,

"Holy shit. I'm glad it's not me."

I responded to her the same way I did all those years ago. I was perfectly pleasant on the outside, but inside, I want to grab and shake her.

Back when I was expecting the twins, that particular response really bothered me. I know it was because I really was freaked out and overwhelmed at the prospect. I needed a supportive, encouraging response -- not one that cast doubt on a person's ability to manage.

So when people would drop the line, I'd smile, but walk away wondering and worrying if I was up to the challenge.

But now, things are different.

With three kids in tow, the prospect of having another and expanding my family doesn't worry me in the least. I'm not overwhelmed or freaked out. I'm genuinely excited about the baby. I don't doubt my ability to handle another mouth to feed, or butt to swat.

Maybe it's because I really enjoy being a mom. I like my kids. Sure I have moments where the responsibility and work can get overwhelming, but I let the moment pass, pick myself up and move on.

I'm sure ten years of experience have something to do with it. I've spent a decade juggling a full-time job, housework and parenting -- several years of it on my own -- and have emerged more confident and sure of myself than ever before.

So when I think of adding another baby to our bustling 3-kid, 2-dog, 1-fish household, I say:

Bring it the fuck on.

And too bad for the next sorry sap who tells me, "Four kids? I'd have to kill myself," because I just might be the one to help them pull the trigger.