I caught baby Elle's puke with my hand.

Yup. Hope you're not eating while you're reading this, and if you are just know that I will never again look at milky-substances like eggnog quite the same.

My poor daughter got so sick last night. Happened just as the husband and I got into bed. And no matter what we did, she just couldn't stop throwing up/heaving/hiccuping/sleeping/repeating. I did laundry at 1am so we'd have fresh bedding, having blown through the spares with ease. I slept hung out on the couch pulled up next to her in her vibrating bouncy-chair... one hand on her tummy as she tried to nod off. Laying her flat in her crib only made her throw up all over again.

And I tell you, if I hadn't just returned from 5 months off I would have called in sick without a second thought. As it is, I told work this morning that if she had any issues at all today, I would leave. But boy, do I feel guilty for making that choice. The husband and I checked in with grandma and grandpa throughout the day. Baby Elle is better. She's eating. She's not dehydrated. I'm going to snuggle and rock her as soon as I get home. And, hopefully, I'll get some sleep tonite. I was such a sleep-deprived zombie today I forgot my mic during our pre-taped interview with Congressman Blumenauer. I just have to get it together. I can't go back to drinking caffeine, but man oh man do I understand why people with kids load up on the leaded coffee.

Okay, maybe I can have just a little......... we'll see what tomorrow brings.

Follow Steph on twitter HERE

How weird to walk down that long, colorless hallway into the newsroom, tears welling in my eyes as I realized that I would be at work all day and wouldn't get to hang out with my daughter until she wakes up Friday. For those of you who follow me on twitter, this discussion is nothing new. For those who don't, basically I had a very, very difficult day.

Little things got to me. I got weepy as grandma picked her up to watch her for the day. Baby Elle (who sucks her binkie like Maggie Simpson) got very still, looked at me, and I swear if she could talk she would have said, "Mama, you can have my binkie now. You look like you need it."

So, I sucked it up as best I could and went to work. I hopped into the car and the first thing that happened when I turned the key is the baby music CD that I sing to her started playing. Little things. All day long. A hug from another new mama coworker, a mid-afternoon phone conversation with grandma, you get the idea.

But, as I sit here at midnight-- finally done washing bottles, transferring milk, laying out clothes, and eating some reheated leftovers-- I have to tell you about a bright spot. The highlight if my day was doing the Live at 7 show and, specifically, seeing all my twitter peeps who came out, in the rain, to stand there and say 'Welcome back'. @Locket2you got the ball rolling by suggesting people meet... and tonight when I came out onto the bricks... well, I'm still thinking about it hours later.

Thank you.

Follow Steph on Twitter at http://twitter.com/StephStricklen

But it's with total honesty that I tell you I can't fathom leaving my baby. I've started having these anxiety nightmares and I know it's because my return date is fast approaching.

I'll see you on TV November 5th. I'm praying I don't have a meltdown. I hope my co-workers will understand if I do.

You know, that's something I didn't see coming; this whole wanting-to-spend-every-last-minute-with-my-baby-forever-and-ever. Hear me out: I worked so hard for this job, sacrificed countless holidays, made such little money in the beginning I almost qualified for food assistance programs, lived in small towns away from my family and then boyfriend (now husband). I just gave this career everything I had. Would I have made similar choices had I known how I'd feel about being a mom? I don't know. I just always assumed I'd want to be a working career mom like so many of my dear friends. Many of them get such satisfaction from their day jobs and feel it makes them a better, more attentive parent because of how much they cherish the time they spend with their children.

I'm clinging to that as I gear up to return to the airwaves.

And they all tell me they cried on that first day back to work. And that it gets easier.

I really hope so.

Follow Steph on Twitter: http://twitter.com/StephStricklen

I'm coming back to work in November.

I just had my meeting with my bosses at KGW and it went better than I hoped. They're very supportive of me taking my full leave, which is awesome. In fact, it works great for them, too, which is always an added bonus. I'm not putting anyone out. Well, besides poor Joe Donlon (who has been a rockin' Live @ 7 host, in my opinion).

As for the duration of my leave... in my line of work there is often an unspoken pressure to get back on the air as quickly as possible. You don't want people to forget about you. Or worse; you don't want your bosses to realize they're getting along just fine without you. But, that's the great thing about my station. I'm very fortunate that I don't have that kind of pressure.

And truth be told, I'm not ready to come back to work, either. As baby Elle nears her 12th week of life, I realize how much I enjoy spending my day with her. I enjoy the mommy & me movies. I love my moms' group. I like just being with her. I'm sure every woman who had a child and went back to work has felt this way; not ready for that transition. And I'm sure it won't be any easier when baby Elle is almost 6 months old as opposed to now. But, I'm not going to think about that. Not yet, anyway.

For now, I'll savor these next few weeks with this little baby of mine.

Oh well. You'll have to trust me when I say she is smiling up a storm. It's this beautiful, wide, flirty smile that I love. And in between smiles, she's keeping me super busy. There's the mundane feeding, burping, changing routine. And there's also Baby & Me playgroup, the Mommy & Me movie at McMenamins once a week, running errands whenever she'll let me, and some feeble attempts at working out. By the time she goes down for bed about 8pm, I flop down on the couch too exhausted to do much of anything.

She's 11 weeks old and I'm nearing that time when I'll come back to work. A working mom...

See you on TV sometime soon. In the meantime, chat with me on twitter if that's your thing:
twitter.com/StephStricklen

I'm not updating as much as I'd like. I'm actually not doing anything as much as I'd like. Not showering, cleaning, visiting, etc... I'm just super busy. If I'm not holding the baby I'm frantically trying to bang out some chores, or shovel food in my mouth. Speaking of, here's what I did yesterday.

(Photo courtesy of stellar photographer and friend The One True b!x. Check out more of his pie-off photos by clicking here.)

That's me on the left, shoveling amazing pie into my mouth as part of this really cool community-driven event: http://www.portlandpieoff.com/. The winning pie was from Ali Greco and was this chilled melon, cucumber, chocolate bit of heaven. Yup. cucumber. And melon. And chocolate. And chilled. Hey, it won, so we all dug it. Man... rough life I lead, right?

Anyway, the new plan for this blog... post often. Just post briefly. We'll see how long that lasts. And yes, I AM thinking about how I'm going to transition back into work. I've gotten a few emails and a few tweets wondering if I'm ever coming back. Someone told me they hoped I was having a nice vacation. I laughed at that. A vacation would be nice.

If you're on twitter, come chat with me there. That whole 140 characters thing works well for this busy mama. :D

(http://twitter.com/StephStricklen)

Let me just tell you how absolutely, positively over the moon I am that we have it. OVER. THE. MOON. I can't fathom having baby Elle in a hot, stuffy house. She doesn't even enjoy stroller walks when it's in the low 90s. And short of stripping her down to her diaper and blasting her with a fan... I don't know that we'd be able to keep her cool. So, while we're all a little stir crazy right now, you won't hear any complaints. We're not sweating to death.

Baby Elle is slowly starting to stretch her overnight feedings. Of course, a 5 hour stretch for her doesn't mean 5 hours of sleep for mama. It's more like 3 to 3.5 hours of shuteye for me. But let me tell you something that most parents already know; the first night you get (relatively) good sleep you feel like a million bucks. Maybe $2 million. That happened for me two nights ago. I ran around the house like Superwoman. I could take on anything. Chores? No problem. Fussy baby? Please. Getting in a workout? Piece of cake.

Baby Elle; apparently not a fan of the new mobile toy for the car carrier upon initial introduction. She likes it now, especially the crinkly bits when she manages to get her hands on it.

Getting consistent nights like that are the first step in me coming back to do Live @ 7. Elle is only 6 weeks old, so I'm not counting on anything yet. But, we're getting there. It's starting to happen. And for the first time since June 10th-- when I went into labor-- I feel like I have a head that is free of fog and cobwebs. Man, do I hope this trend sticks around for a bit.

Speaking of 6 weeks old, I realized the other day I forgot to write a week 5 update. Baby Elle is napping less and her since her smiles are apparently laced with a drug I call mama-crack, I find myself addicted to spending all day with her in an effort to catch every last one. If only you guys could see me at the house... making stupid faces, singing stupid songs, acting like a doofus. And you know what? It's awesome, because it works.

Of course, Dad has the market absolutely cornered on baby Elle smiles. He plays a simple game with her, "Running Through the Woods". He lays her on her back and pumps her little legs as fast as he can and off they go... jumping over imaginary logs, dodging bears, tripping over roots. And she lights up like the Rockefeller Christmas tree. It is hands-down her favorite thing in the world right now. I think she likes it more than my boobs.

Since we're on the topic, it's about time I get her fed. These blogs take me half the afternoon to finish because baby Elle demands her mama (I started this one at noon). Stay cool. And thanks for the blog comments and the emails. It's nice to feel connected.

What a wild ride I'm on. :)

I'm sitting here exhausted, oily hair pulled up in a ponytail, wearing one of 4 shirts I have in heavy rotation because I don't want to leak all over everything else, looking at a messy house that is slowly becoming overrun by all things baby Elle.. and you know what, folks? I'm happy. Completely satisfied. Life is good. Why?

My baby smiles when she sees me.

She just started this. When I come around a corner and her little eyes lock on me, her mouth breaks into the widest smile you've ever seen. Her eyes crinkle up. She takes a few loud breaths. And I fall in love all over again.

That smile makes up for the fuss and holler. The late nights. The groundhog's day that is my life right now. The millions of diapers.

And why don't I post a picture of this? Because at the exact instant she lights up mama's life with that smile my milk lets down and a camera is the last thing on my mind. Go figure.

:)

She is very protective of Baby Elle, as witnessed by how she reacts during the baby's "Tummy Time" exercises.

We couldn't have gotten luckier with how she's handled this transition. Just 10 minutes ago she had a minor freakout in the backyard because she could hear a newborn crying in the neighbor's yard. The husband found her standing with her nose against the fence barking her head off in the direction of the commotion. Where is the baby? Is the baby over there? Why is the baby crying? Someone please pay attention to me while I tell you important news about the location of a crying baby. We got her in the house and showed her that, indeed, our crying baby was perfectly safe inside.

She also comes and breathes all over me the minute the baby starts fussing in her bassinet. And it's funny because no amount of me explaining to her that I, too, can hear the baby seems to put her at ease. Go figure. So, my middle of the night feedings are usually preceded by me wiping dog breath off my face.

In other news, we had our first 'official' family photos taken by a gal who actually used to work for the competition. Julia Radlick left TV news and runs a studio called Jewel Images. We started chatting on Twitter and then the husband and I saw some pictures she took of another on-air gal's children and that basically sealed the deal. The husband and I talked about the expense and decided that considering we spent a small fortune on our wedding album, why wouldn't we make an investment in this other major life milestone? And Julia's work really isn't that expensive. Besides, look at what you get:

I'm so glad we decided to capture this moment in our lives because Baby Elle already looks different at three weeks old. Most notably, she has a wicked case of baby acne that would make a high-schooler cringe, but she's also filling out and looking less newborn-ish by the hour.

Okay, gotta go. Someone needs to eat. :)

Well, I'm getting a blog post done, which is a huge feat as far as I'm concerned. The husband and I are still in survival mode. I'm sure most of you with kids can relate. We get a kick out of people who tell us how much they love newborns. They want more newborns. If only their kids could stay newborn forever. Newborns! And we chuckle to ourselves, "Are we doing something wrong? Because she is a whole lot of work."

Of course, we're not doing anything wrong. Things are going really well, in fact.

Baby Elle is just over 2 weeks old and is thriving. At her two week checkup the doctor informed us she put on a bunch of weight (born at 6 lbs 3 oz and is now 6 lbs 14 oz). Normally, they just want to see that your baby still weighs the same by 2 weeks, and hasn't lost weight. So getting only an hour of sleep here and there in between those 2 hour feedings is paying off. And I'm now able to stretch it to 3 hours at night. It's nice to get the validation of Baby Elle's weight gain since Baby Elle can't really tell us herself how she's doing.

She is a joy when she's not fussy, and she is heart-breakingly cute even when she is.

The husband and I marvel at her little features, her chubby cheeks, those long fingers, her little baby bum. She likes it when I sing, even though I'm tone deaf. I sing to the Geico commercials, I sing Christmas carols, I sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star about 30 times a day, and recently I've just started singing complete nonsense. Baby Elle doesn't care. And she likes daddy to hold her over his shoulder. She could probably stay there all day. She looks to his voice and even holds her head up when she's laying on him.

And we're learning about her, too. We're getting to know what she likes, and more importantly, what she dislikes, and I've quickly become unapologetically fearless about putting fences around well-intentioned folks who will push things too fast for this tiny human who is basically a paycheck old. The husband and I are the parents. The decisions we make together are what counts.

We've also learned how to ignore navigate people telling us we're doing it wrong, that's not how they did it with their kids, why aren't we doing it this way... that sort of thing. Not the nice sharing of opinions, mind you.. which I enjoy, but the other kind-- where people feel a compelling need to save you from your own bad parenting that will clearly lead to teen delinquency and a poorly-adjusted adult. Note to self: NEVER do that to my friends when they have their kids. Offer advice when asked. Butt out otherwise. So simple.

Let me leave you with this: the best bit of advice I've gotten from so many of you either on this blog, or via email, or on twitter (http://twitter.com/StephStricklen); something that the husband and I have made a conscious effort to do:

Take every day for what it is.
Enjoy her when she's this small no matter how tired we are because she will grow so fast if we blink we'll miss it.
Slow down.
Be a family.

Thank you for that advice. This little family is doing really well.

Big hugs to you all, Steph

Let me introduce you to baby Elle, born June 12th at 8:17pm.

She was 6lbs, 3oz and 20" long. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting on the blog for the update.

Each day I tell myself I am going to post pictures and share my thoughts about this wild ride (that's new to me) called parenthood. And as each day passes I realize about the best I can do is take care of baby Elle, sleep for an hour here and there, and tweet to stay in touch with folks when I need a minute to wind down (it's handy because it's 140 characters.. very, very speedy for this mom-on-the-go).

Baby Elle is a wonderful little gem and I'm loving every last second with her. I love snuggling her, taking way too many videos and pictures of her, and just getting to know her. My husband has been a rock, can change a diaper about 5 times faster than me, and goes out of his way to make sure we're both taken care of. Man. I'm a mom and he's a dad. It's pretty surreal, to be honest.

I'm heading downtown here in about 40 minutes to meet my geek idol Wil Wheaton who is on Live @ 7 tonite. The husband, baby Elle and I are all going. It's our first real outing and a good test of what it takes to get out of the house with a baby.

Then later tonite, the husband and I have a special one week birthday party we're having at exactly 8:17pm. Just him, me, and baby Elle.

Happy birthday my littlest weasel bean. Mama is in love.

It's almost 5am.

5am on... Thursday, I think. I'm not really sure at this point. I'm also not sure if I'll even click publish on this post, to be honest. I'm trying to kill time out here in the living room while the husband gets some much deserved rest.

Speaking of rest, rest assured that this little girl of mine will come out covered in glitter and unicorns singing show tunes. Why? BECAUSE I STARTED HAVING CONTRACTIONS TUESDAY, so I figure that must mean she is extra-awesome for dragging this out, right? More pain, more gain? Bueller?

Tuesday night, the husband and I went to the hospital to visit a friend and his wife. She, at one point, looked at me and asked if I was doing okay. Think about that. Her husband is laid up in a hospital bed with a severe wound from a fully ruptured appendix and she's asking about me. That was my first clue that a) these weren't your normal pre-baby pains and b) I'm not very good at hiding my discomfort.

The hospital may seem like a great place to go into labor, but the reality is you're supposed to do a fair bit of the work at home.

I'll spare you the details, but over these past many, many, many, many hours the husband has tried to talk me into going to the hospital more than once. My answer has been to go for another walk, take another hot shower, and procrastinate. He's not super excited at the prospect of delivering a baby in the house and I can't blame him. But I've seen friends get sent home after a diagnosis of false labor, and I'm not in the mood to get there, get checked in, get hooked up to all the monitors, and then get sent packing 3 hours later.

And, in an important note, when I finally get utterly exhausted and lie down... everything stops (textbook false labor symptom #1 according to both The Google and the nurse I've got on speed dial). When I sleep I get what I can only describe to you as the most glorious 2 hours in the entire world.

Of course, then it all starts over again, but hey...

So, until I hit that magical 5-1-1 (contractions 5 minutes apart, lasting for 1 minute for a duration of 1 hour), the hospital doesn't really want to see my bloated, grumpy, zitty smiling face, so we wait. And I kill time out here in the living room in an effort to give the husband a much deserved break.

Maybe I'll ask Producer Aaron to publish this for me later today, when I'm at the hospital and cleared for takeoff. We'll see. At the very least, you can bet this is going straight into a file called, "LOOK WHAT YOU PUT YOUR MAMA THROUGH" which I plan to save for little occasions like future arguments over curfews, short skirts, and dating.

Okay, after chatting with @geoffk on twitter, I like this idea of a baby pool guessing when she'll get here. But, because twitter is a 140 character medium, I figure I should flesh it out here on the blog so those of you who aren't on twitter can play along, too, if you like.

Your guess, please: When will this baby come and how much will she weigh? (thanks @magazinemama for nailing the question since I have no idea how these things are supposed to work).

The facts: I'm due June 18th. This is a first baby, which tend to come a little later. But, I'm also 35 years old and may not make it to June 18th (BTW, full term was more than a week ago-- so she can come at any time and it's all good). The husband and I were both average-sized babies ourselves, which suggests she'll be average also.

The prize: a $25 dollar gift card to a coffee or tea place that I can reasonably get to with a newborn. So, that means places like Starbucks, Stumptown, Peets.. places in downtown Portland or just across the river. I'll mail it to you, but it might take me a week or three, since (and hopefully you can understand) I'll be a little busy.

The details: If a few of you pick the same winning date/weight then I'll draw a name out of a hat.

If you want to guess, just leave me a comment on this blog with a working email address (it doesn't show up publicly) or let me know on twitter by at-replying me (NO DMs, thank you) http://twitter.com/StephStricklen.

:)

CSA; what's that, you say? Canadian Standards Association? Confederate States of America? (thanks, b!x)

It's actually something I've wanted to try ever since doing a story on these fine folks some 6 or 7 years ago: http://www.47thavefarm.com/

It's called Community Sustainable Agriculture. You can learn more about it here: http://www.localharvest.org/csa/.

In one horribly over-simplified sentence: CSA farms allow you to purchase a share in a local farm for weekly pick up of typically organic produce (and sometimes meats and cheeses) during the growing season.

In fact, that link I just shared was the site I used to start researching farms near my house. Of course, every year I seemed to miss the window to get on board. It's a popular thing 'round these parts, and finding a farm that has a pickup schedule that works with your work schedule AND has open slots can be a challenge.

Thanks to a lovely gal on twitter (@hollysue) I got an 'in'. She suggested a farm that she was leaving and I started work on making things happen. Everything lined up and yesterday the husband and I picked up a bag full of these goodies:

The husband and wife farmer team was apologetic about how meager the first week's offerings were, which makes me laugh because there is a lot of good stuff there. I mean, if that's meager I can't wait to see it during the peak of the season. First, the spinach is to-die-for tender and tastes wonderful. The arugula is actually sweet instead of only spicy. The husband sauteed green onion tops last night and will grill the thicker stalks tonite. The mixed salad is fresh as can be, the radishes didn't even last 5 minutes in the house, the sprouty potatoes were an optional-take and came with a suggested recipe, and the rapini... well, that brings me to the whole point of why I wanted to write about this.

I've never purchased rapini (aka "rabe") in my life. I had to prod The Google for a recipe, only to get a good suggestion from @JenStorer on twitter. And as I looked through the schedule of what's coming in the following weeks, I realized I'll learn to work with all kinds of new, healthy foods. For some reason, I am way too excited about that. I was all a flutter with talk of learning how to can, jar, pickle and preserve foods, make my own baby food, blah blah... and finally the husband looked at me and lovingly said, "Honey, calm down." (If you've ever spent any time around me you can see how this conversation might transpire.)

So, off I go on this new little food adventure, bursting with this ridiculous enthusiasm that is proof I should never ever ingest caffeine. You know where to find me if you want to talk rapini.

As for the obligatory Steph-can't-talk-about-anything-but-being-pregnant-these-days update: I had a really fantastic doctor visit yesterday. Blood pressure is down. Swelling is under control. No more blood draws because things are looking so good. And the baby has decided making braided key chains and telling ghost stories in Camp Uterus is fun, after all. So, I'm waiting. And secretly hoping she doesn't wait til 40 weeks to show up. Or 41 weeks. But, like so much else in my life these days, that's something I'm not in charge of.

See ya soon. :)

That's what the husband and I are doing. Waiting. This baby could come tomorrow. This baby could come in 2 weeks. This baby could find herself coming at the hands of some pitocin if my blood pressure even sneaks so much as a peek at the party going on the other side of the fence. I have two doc appointments this week to keep an eye on things. The nuggette is doing great, which is the best part of this craziness. So, for now, we wait.

The quick update from my last doctor visit confirmed that bed rest is working, so that's what I'll be doing until she gets here. It absolutely foiled my original plans to work right up until the end-- saving as much leave time as possible. But, as the finish line draws close, I realize that I wasn't really well-equipped to work up until 40 weeks, anyway. I had such an easy pregnancy for the first 8 and a half months, I figured why wouldn't I work right up until I go into labor? Women do it all the time. People would ask me when I was going to stop working, and I would honestly say that I had no plans to do any such thing.

Laughable, now.

My waddle makes me look like I sprained something in my back. I'm swollen. And I have suddenly turned into a blast furnace. The poor husband is freezing in his own home as I challenge our AC to do the impossible; make me comfortable. I swear, if you could bottle it, I put off enough heat energy to launch the next shuttle mission.

Thankfully, my bed rest isn't the "stay in bed all day and don't you dare move" bed rest that some ladies get. Especially because the husband comes to all the doc visits and is The Enforcer of every last little thing the doctor says. I can't get away with anything. I got caught hoisting a small table out of the way and you would have thought I was doing 110 pound fast-rep squats at the gym. The Enforcer put a stop to that.

The doc just told me to use my common sense while at home and try to spend a few hours in the morning and then again in the evening laying down resting on my left side. And she told me I could take my sanity-saving walks... as long as I go slow (Um, have you seen me lately? Not a problem.) and I avoid the hottest parts of the day, which also isn't a problem since I pretty much hate the sun along with anything else that makes me hot, like Johnny Depp and spicy food.

But you know who has been bed resting with me? The mutt. No joke. She decided to forgo her "please let me spend as many hours as possible outside so I can stalk birds" routine and instead opted to hang out with me inside. Sleeping. In positions I can only describe as horribly uncomfortable looking. Judge for yourself.