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.

True confession: I really didn't know what that meant up until I got pregnant. I always thought that your due date was your due date and if a baby came earlier than that, well, it meant you had a preemie.

I have two good friends who had their babies come earlier than 37 weeks, and both families are doing really, really well. But seeing it happen to people you love really does make you pay attention to the dates on the calendar, which is why today is so important to me and my husband.

If I go into labor now... we're still freaked out because we're first time parents and will now have this little life to care for and nurture and we're clueless golden!

Our celebration will consist of some quality couch time. I'm still on bed rest because of the swelling and the spike in blood pressure (see older blogs), so I'm taking it super easy around the house. True confession #2: it was a big deal for me to put on something other than pajamas at 6pm yesterday when we went for dinner. Oh, how quickly a type-A can morph into a type-slacker when given permission by medical authorities.

But being lazy is kind of... nice, at least for now. I'm still pulling out DVDs from my collection of weirdo movies no one ever wants to watch but me. It's a great excuse to get some more mileage out of them. True confession #3: I'm not allowed to choose the movie anymore after an ill-fated selection at a recent girls-weekend. They're a Jennifer Anniston/Kate Hudson chick flick kind of crowd and I thought it might be nice to try something different, so I brought along Spirited Away. As they sat there, slack-jawed, staring blankly at the screen, I realized that we would not, in fact, follow up that showing by watching my collector's special anniversary edition of Akira.

I do have one small errand today. The husband and I need to make a run to the baby store and I've already prepped him that I want to ride around in one of those little jazzy scooter things, even if it's a touch overkill. I think they have little horns and backup alarms on them. I plan to be a holy 2 mile per hour terror in the breastfeeding supply aisle.

That's me right now.

Resting. As I'm I'm typing this, I'm rocking some super-sized pajamas, fuzzy slippers, and mini-wheats. My hair looks like I'm gearing up for an audition with a Flock of Seagulls cover band. I haven't brushed my teeth, and just might not until this afternoon.

Resting.

It looks like good ol' Type A, go-go-go Steph needs to take a dose of Chill Out and perhaps log a few sci-fi DVD marathons and some quality time with this 1200 page fine-print Gormenghast trilogy I got myself into.

And, I can't say that I mind. If you've read my blogs or spent time chatting with me during the day on Twitter, you know that I've really had a good pregnancy overall. But right toward the end, the Edema and (relatively) high blood pressure are hanging out like that weird uncle at the family reunion. The one who brings a case of cheap beer. For himself.

The edema, in particular, has made it a little hard to get through the day, since my show comes at, essentially, the end of my shift-- when I'm at my most tired, most puffy, and most apt to feel unnecessarily sweaty or some such other fun preggo side-effect.

Anyway, yesterday late morning I checked in at the doc's office and the same situation unfolded. I came in and my blood pressure was high, for me. I say "for me" because it sat at 110/70 without fail for months and only recently starting parking itself in the 140/85 range. Yesterday it was 120/95. But after laying there and resting, listening to the whoosh of this little baby's heart on the monitor, and laughing at how she really does move around when the husband gets close and talks to her, my blood pressure did something it hasn't done in a while. It dropped all the way down to 110/70.

So, more lounging for me. Resting works. I'll learn more Friday at my follow up appointment. I still don't have pre-eclampsia, which is great. Not saying it won't happen, just that it hasn't so far.

One really, really, really awesome thing: tomorrow, I am full-term, baby! 37 weeks. So, unless I go into labor today, I've done what I wanted to all along; get to 37 weeks. Basically, it means I could go into labor tomorrow and doctors would not consider her premature. And that's a real gift.

Also, a thank you to everyone on Twitter who immediately sent their well wishes and shared their stories with me. I heard from people who went on bedrest for *months*, or just at the end, or somewhere in between; and all of it makes a preggo gal feel connected. You get it; I'm making the best of this time by enjoying the quiet, the calm before the storm that is parenthood.

Besides, when else will I be able to say, "Doctors orders, honey. I can't vacuum."

Let me give you the cliff notes version. As you know if you've read my previous blogs, I'm gaining almost a pound a day right now. Normal weight gain is about a pound a week.

That's a problem.

I wake up about 4.5 pounds lighter than I end the day. That means, by the time I hit Live @ 7, I'm pushing some serious bloat. It makes my hands feel like tight water balloons, and I don't really remember what my cheek bones looks like. I actually wore the husband's wedding ring the other day when the over-sized temporary one I have became too tight. I now proudly wear Crocs with socks because my regular shoes only fit in the morning. And I challenge anyone to deride me for my questionable choice in fashionable footwear.

But turns out no one cares about that in the hospital. Well, they care about the facial and hand swelling, but only as a symptom of a greater problem.

Yeah, that's where I ended up yesterday afternoon. In the hospital. But it really wasn't a bad or stressful experience at all. I was happy to know that people way more knowledgeable than me we're taking a close look at my pregnancy.

Here's one edema-riffic Steph chillin' at the hospital. And I say chillin' because I swear they had the room set to 60 degrees. The nurse said the cold reduces the swell. It also makes me grumpy, but, whatever.

And here's what we learned. I have high blood pressure. The edema (swelling) and the blood pressure kicked in at the same time. In the past two weeks my weight has risen 9.5 pounds and my blood pressure has moved from a rock solid 110/70 to an average of 140/85-ish.

But (and here's the best part of all of this) my body is handling it like a champ! They got in there and looked at all kinds of things; liver, kidneys, platelets, you name it-- they checked it. And so far, no internal impact at all on me or my baby.

That's right, people. This little Nuggette is doing really well. Her heartbeat was rock steady and she even proved her mama right when the nurses asked me which side she likes to hang out on (I had a moment where I wondered 'Does everyone know the answer to that but me?' and I sort of guessed based on where she likes to punch me in the ribs.)

So, I have a little more than a week to go before I'm full term (37 weeks) and then I will have a true sense of relief as I play the waiting game to see if she waits until 40 weeks or comes sooner.

And, because of the blood pressure, I'm on the doctor's Watch List, which is not a bad place to be as far as I'm concerned.

Thank you to everyone who has been so kind to me on this blog, on Twitter, and on email. I'm know I'm not the first woman to go through pregnancy even if these blogs sometimes might come across like I think I am. I can't properly find the words to tell you how much I appreciate being able to share this with you. Thanks!

I look like a horde of angry bees punched me right in the face. My eyes are swollen, my cheeks are swollen, I AM SWOLLEN.

For those of you who emailed or sent me tweets asking where I've been, I wish I could tell you something exciting like, "I was in Maui"... or, "on my friends mega-yacht at a Regatta".

But I was at home pulling off Cirque du Soliel style gymnastics on the couch as I attempted to keep my feet elevated above my heart, and my heart elevated above my head, all while only lying on my left side. Do you have any idea how hard that is when you're pregnant?

Apparently someone invited Edema (swelling) to crash my pregnancy party. It showed up a few weeks ago all nice, with some flowers, and promised it would only stick around for a little bit. I'd barely notice it was there, it cooed at me.

Next thing I know, it's running around wearing only its underwear and a lampshade doing keg stands. I'd call it a cab, but it just won't get the hint to leave.

I'm carrying about 5 extra pounds of water weight right now. It came on almost overnight Tuesday and didn't go away Wednesday morning. It hurts to make a fist, my shoes are tight, and I see stars in the shower. Between that, and a nice little spike in my blood pressure earlier this week, the doc wanted to run some very routine tests.

Good news: I don't have pre-eclampsia. And, the baby is doing great great great.

Bad news: My blood pressure is up from a super consistent 110/70 to 120/90. I'm pretty puffy. And, at the beginning of May I screwed up how far along I am in my pregnancy on my calendar. It doesn't change my due-date (mid-June) but it does mean I am 2 weeks away from being "full-term" as opposed to one week.

Yeah, see that little number 34? Notice there is no date on the calendar to go with it? That's the error.

So, in the meantime.. enjoy the black shirt you'll see me wearing on Live @ 7 tonite. They say black is slimming. This shirt is about to get a major workout.

So, imagine my surprise when I'm sitting there on the couch with the husband last night and he says to me, "Wait.. what's that?"

We sat down to relax and started flipping channels when he spied something on the channel guide that caught his eye.

"The Princess Bride? What is that?"

What's that? What's that?! It's only one of the most campy, most fun, old school quotable movies ever. How did I not know that he'd never seen it? Watching it with him was a blast. He'd pipe up, "Hey, that's Andre the Giant!" and "Hey, that's Billy Crystal!" and, "So that's where that line comes from..."

I didn't get to bed until 12:30am.

This morning at home I hopped on Twitter (http://twitter.com/StephStricklen) and mentioned that the husband had never seen it. And by the time I got into work and logged back in I had a boatload of responses from people quoting the movie, sharing their favorite scenes. How great is that? A movie that's more than 20 years old can still inspire that kind of fun chatter.

Tonight I'm avoiding TV completely. Heaven forbid another Rob Reiner great like Stand By Me is on, or something. I need to sleep.

Sleeping is the only thing that helps relieve Teh Swell. Teh Swell is sort of like Teh Clumsy. It's something that I'm noticing creeping into my daily pregnancy routine as I round the corner into the home stretch. Things start off well enough in the morning, but by noon my hands feel a little funny. Then my ankles start to look a little.. puffy. And by the end of the day I look (and feel) like I've gained 10 pounds. Teh Swell. Awesome.

The best part is trying to pry off my wedding ring at the end of the night. I finally gave up and dug out some of my costume jewelry that I normally wear to fancy auctions. The ring I'm wearing now is studded with 100% blingy, sparkly, completely fake diamonds.

Did I mention the ring normally fits my pointer finger?

Sweet. I'm SuperSized.

The doc thinks I may have a swollen right kidney. Turns out my uterus is a bit of a bully. And as it steals lunch money from all my other internal organs, things in there are getting rough. And like that big, mean kid in the second grade who used to pummel you with the dodge ball; my uterus always wins.

So, my new pregnancy homework is to sleep only on my left side. Always. Have you ever tried to sleep in one position for the entire night? I felt limited when I had the right side as my other option. Now, I don't even have that. And as I tried to put on the smiling, happy face in the doctor's office, she looked at me knowingly and said, "The last month is the hardest month. It's why women actually start looking forward to labor."

It's possible I do have a very persistent muscle strain and not a swollen kidney. If so, it's a stubborn bugger that refuses to respond to heat, ice, stretching, girdles Maternity Support Belts, and Tylenol. But, it's not like my doctor is going to muck about with all kinds of fancy diagnostic testing if everything else looks good (which it does), so I have the added benefit of Physical Therapy now.

And let me end that bit of conversation by saying I'm having a good pregnancy. Of all the things that can and do go wrong, for all the women who puked their guts out, got put on bed rest, had sick little ones, gestational diabetes, high blood pressure, whatever... I have you in my thoughts when I say I am NOT whining about this. I have no room to complain. A little back discomfort? Please. So, here is me sucking it up and shutting up about it.

On the bonus side, this little Nuggette looks like she is a normal-sized baby. At my last ultrasound, they pegged her in the 90% percentile; a huge baby with long limbs. As my eyes widened at the thought of having some whopper 10 pound infant, they assured me her growth could level off. And it has. Makes this mama very, very happy.

The husband and I did our childbirth class this past weekend. Let's just say the videos were... eye-opening. For those of you who follow me on Twitter (@StephStricklen) you saw this picture this weekend, but there are a fair bit of you who don't use it. Here is the husband doing what he does best; impressing me with his wonderful attitude and sense of humor.

That's a 35 pound "empathy belly" which he volunteered to wear around the classroom. It even has a lung compression band that simulates why I sound like I'm running in circles while reading the Top 8 during my 7pm show.

And one last note for you: it's funny because well-meaning people have started saying to me, "WOW! Any day now, huh?!" and "You look ready to pop!".

I still have 6 weeks.

Friday, the doctor prescribed a Maternity Support Band for me. You guys... it's a girdle. The doctor prescribed me a girdle. And not just any girdle. It's an industrial strength girdle. It comes in three pieces. It requires instructions to successfully put it on lest you wind up velcroing yourself to your covers. Instructions with pictures in case you can't follow along. And it's huge. It's no easy feat to get that kind of coverage on me these days, but that thing starts about mid back and covers me right to my tail bone. There's a cutout for my belly and a little strap that goes over the top of my stomach that does nothing but showcase the fact that I am, in fact, huge. It's like a giant, white bullseye. And you have to wear it over your clothes since it's itchy.

This girdle means business.

I'm only wearing it at home. And only after reading the medical journal article that assured me I'm not crushing her in there. The husband and I have all kinds of jokes we make about this elastic contraption. The dog eyeballs it warily. But the bottom line is... it works. It's a bit of relief for what would otherwise be a constant pain in my back.

I have a love/hate relationship with this girdle Maternity Support Band. Hate the way I look in it. Love how it makes my back feel. Did I mention that I wear my Crocs at the same time? It's like a double-dose of "Hey, Who's Really Pregnant?". I call them my Hobbit shoes, and while I'll never get any points for looking "cute-pregnant" (you know, like the petite gals with the adorable baby bump in their skinny jeans and 2-inch pump sandals) you have not felt true relief on your feet as a pregnant lady until you slip on the wide, forgiving awesomeness that is a Croc.

So, the next time you see me on Live @ 7 and you feel tempted to tell me to stop wearing those heels, just know that the split second I get home, all that fancy stuff goes right out the window and I turn into a pumpkin. A pregnant pumpkin. Wearing a huge white elastic girdle and squishy shoes. Nice visual, eh?

God Bless the husband who makes me feel beautiful through it all. I really can't tell you how lucky I feel.

:)

And it's even better when it's something totally embarrassing. Nothing like a little public humiliation, right? And frankly, this little gem is downright funny, too.

So, on Twitter there are about 1,350 people who follow my updates. The law of averages means there are a certain number of them who are currently pregnant. I've seen really awesome ultrasounds from some of my twitter friends and exchanged stories about feeling clumsy, backaches, and weight gain.

But then there is the stuff that's really better left off the grid. You know, bathroom-y stuff. The stuff that's in the baby books I'm reading that often starts with a sympathetic paragraph that reads, "This happens to a lot of women" and proceeds to tell you horror stories about the internal workings of your bladder or colon. Chapter 2: Wow, I might pee the next time I sneeze because the baby is cramping my organs. Sweet. Chapter 4: My pelvic floor (which I didn't even know I had until recently) apparently needs to hit the gym or else it will get weak and do what?! Eesh. That kind of stuff.

One of my twitter friends is newly pregnant. And, speaking from direct experience, there is nothing like having someone in-the-know to ask about all the little things. Including the bathroom-y stuff. So, she sent me a direct, private message on Twitter about an 'issue' she was having.. is it normal? Did it happen to me? What helps?

Well, shoot.. I am all too happy to share any information if it will help a fellow preggo out. So I replied. With details.

Only, on my iPhone a direct message looks just like any other text message. Didn't even notice it was from Twitter.

And.. on my iPhone when you hit reply to a Twitter direct message it does not "direct message" the person back. Oh, no. Why would it do that, silly? In what I can only describe as totally awesome planning on Twitter's part... it blasts it straight to all 1,350 of my twitter peeps. With details.

It's pretty funny. I can only imagine the look on the faces of my fellow tweeples sitting at their desks or surfing on their phones wondering why the heck I am going on (in detail) about my bathroom habits.

Hence the title of this blog.

Now you know.

:)

It's the last child-free one I'll have.

And, had I known for sure that I would get pregnant so quickly, I might have partied harder on my 34th. As it was, I chilled out. That's the best birthday for me, these days. I guess today isn't really much of a departure from prior practice, except I'm 25 pounds heaver than I was this time last year and a lot more hormonal.

And as of today, I am now officially considered in respectable medical circles to be "of advanced maternal age". Like I'm some sort of Triceratops who managed to dust off my ovaries long enough to make a miracle happen. I am the Jurassic Park of Preggo's.

It's true. When you're 35 and pregnant all sort of tests and screening options unfold for you that, at the wee age of 34, just aren't going to happen unless you want to pay out of pocket. It's almost as good as the $2.99 senior breakfast at the dive restaurant down the street, except I don't have to be there before 6am to take advantage of it.

Earlier this week I sucked down some syrupy goo that tasted like condensed Sprite with extra sugar and chemicals thrown in. An hour of totally-amped-from-the-sugar-rush waiting and then I watched while my nurse extracted a vial of blood. The birthday present I was hoping for came via a phone call: I do not have gestational diabetes.

Happy Birthday to me-- WITH CAKE!