Langer Loksh

A Baby Boy on November 30... But Not Mine

Up until 3:59 this morning there were five pregnant people in my book club.

Congratulations Trish and welcome baby Mason! Mason, I saw your picture online and you are really cute. I celebrate your birth with a bologna sandwich, my first in so so long. I figure since I have now been pregnant for officially forever, a little listeriosis might just move things along.

On the Way Home From Lowell

we spotted this fabulous bumper sticker on the clone-mobile (dark gray minivan just like ours) in front of us.

As for Quantum of Solace--fabulous. Though not QUITE as good as Casino Royale. But really, what could be.

Quantum Date

Jeff and I are off to ogle Daniel Craig on the big screen for a few hours. Well, that's my plan, anyway; Jeff will probably pay more attention to the Ukranian chick.

Perhaps Mr. K. will like the loud explosions and such? Enough to want to come out and see what's going on?

Why Did Mr. Kickers Cross the Road?

Because I did, and he's still in my belly.

Bob and Greg are out of the pool. I'm next: my hope was to have the baby on Sunday, Nov. 30, because my other kids have birthdays on the 30th of other months. Also because I'm trying to avoid You-know-what-mas and You-know-what-ukkah, and December just reeks of those. But last night at the World's Most Enormous Thanksgiving Dinner, several December birthday folk assured me that it's perfectly fine to share your birthday with the holiday lights.

So we wait some more.

Will My Stuffing Be On the Side By Nightfall?

No Turkey Trot to NJ this year for us; we did not know whether I'd have a newborn, or go into labor on the Cross-Westchester Expressway, or what. And while I'm thankful to not be in the car for 14 hours, I am missing my family.

It is a beautiful day here and we have so, so much to be thankful for. Happy Thanksgiving and thank you readers for reading and commenting all year round.

Love,
Jill

Conjunctivitis! Long Time No See, Mon Ami!

It's getting to the point where I want to go into labor so that I can stop cooking dinner and supervising baths and SQUIRTING EYE DROPS INTO UNCOOPERATIVE EYES because yes yes of COURSE there is pink eye in the house. I mean how sad is that. I would welcome the opportunity to pass a regulation rugby ball, and all the attendant discomforts such as night sweats, giant sore boobs, and Gitmo-style sleep deprivation torture, just for a change of pace.

Not the really awful pain in my thoracic spine I got the first two times, though. That I fear.

Egg Count

In addition to his budding career as a window treatment professional, Jeff has established himself as a chicken farmer extraordinaire. His clever system of making sure the water dish doesn't freeze is a triumph for the ages, since he used to have to go out mornings and chip ice off his chickens' water when he was in first grade. More importantly, his ingenious timed lamps have fooled the chickens into ramping production back up to summer-time levels. Yesterday we once again reached our peak daily haul of seven eggs. Way to go Farmer Jeff!

How Do You Do, Mr. Braxton? Mr. Hicks?

Last night I settled myself down with my Pregnancy Journal and wrote: "7:30. Painful contraction." I thought I was going to track contractions getting closer and closer and then, somewhere in the wee hours, write "Off to the hospital!"

But when I read the eerily well-timed text in the journal -- all along it's been like, "I have varicose veins," and the info for that day says "You may notice varicose veins," and such -- I got discouraged. The tidbits for this week are all about "false" labor versus "real" labor. According to the description, these contractions I've been having are of the Braxton-Hicks, non-progressing variety. Daphne, mom of the other kid in speech with Charlie and a veteran four-time birther herself, assured me this a.m. that my "body is getting ready." I don't know people. We may have to yank out Mr. Kickers, kicking and screaming.

First Fire in the Wood Stove (Next to the Heat Sucking Picture Window)

How Much Do We Love This Dad?

Here is a post written by the dad of a toddler with mild hemifacial microsomia, microtia and atresia. (The little guy, Brennan, looks more symmetrial than Charlie does.)  He has struggled and is filled with hope. Brennan is lucky to have him for a dad. (Thanks for the link Julie.)