tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165583432011-10-20T06:35:27.263-04:00From 350 sq feet in Manhattan to 3,000 sq feet in Pennsylvania: One couple. One toddler named Alice. One dog named Betty. Can they survive?east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comBlogger3251100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-15464497147977998952010-04-24T21:08:00.003-04:002010-04-24T21:52:24.590-04:00

We stand in the foyer of a large house, sunlight streaming across the floor. There are pocket doors and there are stained glass windows and there are staircases with carved finials. It is a house far too grand--far too grown-up--for the likes of me. "So," says the real estate agent. "Do you need time to think? Would you like to make an offer?"I look to Spiceboy. The hardwood floors creak as we

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-82866223622004958982010-02-09T11:04:00.005-05:002010-02-09T15:28:12.187-05:00

Just nowI stood in the kitchen with Aliceand she reached upand curled her hot little finger into my palmand leaned her entire body against my legand looked up at me with big, sleepy eyes.While Alice napsI could be:working cleaningeating, getting things done.But instead, I am claiming thissleeping babyquiet housesnow-coveredmomentFor myself.

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-4632432075069005582009-09-16T16:28:00.003-04:002009-09-16T16:34:58.516-04:00

It's early morning. Alice has just woken up and I'm in her room, changing her diaper, when I let loose with a gigantic fart. It's only after I do it that I realize the baby monitor is still on in our bedroom, where Spiceboy is attempting to get a few extra minutes of sleep. "Hey!" I yell. "Did you hear that one?""Um...yeah," says Spiceboy."So what do you think? Good one, right?"Spiceboy ponders

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-29305000659145514272009-08-15T19:57:00.005-04:002009-08-15T23:27:59.986-04:00

One year ago today--at this exact moment--I went into labor.And at 2:53 am on August 16, 2008, Alice made her entrance into this world.Every day, she teaches me about patience, and laughter, and about the utter uncertainty of everything.Oh, and poop. Every day, she teaches me something new about poop.I remember holding her in my arms when she was just days old and weeping. "She'll never know, I

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-91466746747896786942009-08-11T22:11:00.005-04:002009-08-11T22:51:43.995-04:00

Last night, I stood at my back screen door (yes, I have a back door now!) and held little Alice in my arms and watched a summer thunderstorm roll in. As the sky went from bruised purple to black, Alice beat her little fists against the screen door. The trees grew still and the birds grew quiet. And then the wind kicked into high gear, blowing our hair back from our faces, a welcome relief after

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-86442788609893427162009-07-29T09:32:00.002-04:002009-07-29T09:38:27.173-04:00

For the first time in four years, I reside in living space that is more than one room! I've spent the morning walking around in wonderment.Just a little while ago, I was toweling my hair dry in the bathroom when I heard a strange squeaking sound coming from somewhere in the apartment. I listened closely, and decided it must be Spiceboy working on something. It took me several minutes to realize

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-57090938759113527702009-07-06T20:59:00.002-04:002009-07-06T21:20:03.329-04:00

In honor of the fact that I only have 19 days left on the island of Manhattan, I will list 19 things I will NOT miss about the city:1. Climbing 48 steps to get to my apartment. With bags of groceries. And laundry. And a baby. And a dog.2. Carrying Alice's stroller up and down the subway steps.3. The horrible pee/bleach smell that permeates the Canal St. station early in the morning.4. Second

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-84510797661420575522009-07-01T21:33:00.005-04:002009-07-01T22:21:38.089-04:00

In honor of the fact I am packing up my family and departing my beloved city of Manhattan in just 24 short days, here are 24 things I will miss about living in New York:1. Central Park before 9 am.2. The strange old man who dresses as a wizard and hangs out by Bethesda Fountain, and who is unreasonably afraid of Betty.3. The rare moment when you step into a subway car and realize that it is 

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-40818429632637242352009-06-02T12:12:00.003-04:002009-06-02T12:25:30.875-04:00

If you are a very lucky parent, you are familiar with the title of this post. It’s what your pediatrician tells you every time your baby does something that freaks you out. And make no mistake: your baby will do many things to freak you out.The baby is projectile vomiting? Perfectly normal. The baby’s poop is the color of a shamrock? Perfectly normal. The baby hasn’t pooped for a week? Perfectly

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-29772047984351348212009-05-26T16:32:00.002-04:002009-05-26T16:38:20.325-04:00

Spiceboy and I stand on Mount Washington, high above Pittsburgh, watching the glittering lights of the city. From our vantage point, we can see the U.S. Steel Building and Point State Park. Off in the distance, the Cathedral of Learning is tall and brooding against the darkening sky.I’m amazed, as always, by how easily I am able to slip back into life in Pittsburgh, and how good it feels.I am

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-89240001259927857902009-05-05T16:50:00.000-04:002009-05-06T06:44:06.402-04:00

I'm always a sentimental sucker for things that come full circle, so indulge me for a moment, if you will. April 24th marked the one year anniversary of when I was put on bed rest.I remember that morning so clearly; it was a perfect spring day. Spiceboy and I walked Betty in Central Park, holding hands and snapping photos of the blooming trees. Spiceboy snapped this picture that morning.

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-31180624826753097212009-04-11T16:17:00.004-04:002009-04-11T16:31:53.722-04:00

I chase you down; you are covered in peas, I am covered in peas. We roll back and forth on the bed, and you plant kisses on my cheeks, lifting your rosebud mouth to my face.You bang the block against the bowl.You crawl the length of the living room, crying, your pacifier clutched in your hand. I pick you up and you lay your damp cheek against my shoulder, stick the pacifier in your mouth. We sway

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-33528327533776797202009-04-01T21:43:00.003-04:002009-04-01T22:04:22.167-04:00

The last few weeks have been busy, impossible, insane. I ended one job yesterday, and I begin a new one tomorrow (more on that soon).In other news, Alice has started crawling, and Spiceboy and I spend every waking second chasing her across our tiny apartment, prying forbidden objects from her tiny, sticky hands.I've also started giving her Cheerios, more as a distraction than anything else, as

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-58508636308256170942009-03-11T15:10:00.002-04:002009-03-11T15:12:57.261-04:00

I am sitting in my office, staring out my window at the Bryant Park Hotel. The clouds are thick over Manhattan today, but the air is warm--almost soupy.Somewhere far below, a jackhammer runs repeatedly, the sounds ricocheting off of the buildings and floating up, up, up to my window, setting my already frayed nerves on end.Somewhere uptown, in my tiny apartment, my tiny daughter is napping in her

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-66987404620356884162009-02-26T17:11:00.002-05:002009-02-26T17:17:54.410-05:00

Your husband is out of town for two weeks. Before he left, you were so confident, you practically pushed him out the door. You had it All Planned Out. You wouldn’t miss a beat at work; you wouldn’t miss a beat with the baby.Within days of your husband’s departure, the baby gets her first cold, and your caregiver situation fails you. Your boss is annoyed but agrees to let you work from home, and

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-50906626384020684652009-02-12T10:12:00.007-05:002009-02-12T10:37:54.136-05:00

Alice bumped her head for the first time the other day. She was sitting up and toppled suddenly to the side in that clumsy way that babies do. As she fell, she conked her head on her father's knee. Her eyes went blank with surprise at first, and she squinched up her face and wailed, huge tears rolling down her cheeks.I picked her up and propped her on my hip and shushed her, and she immediately

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-62272831433625783042009-01-27T09:05:00.002-05:002009-01-27T09:07:58.597-05:00

Got me a case of the winter doldrums, which I'm battling by cuddling with Spiceboy, Alice, and Betty every chance I get.I've also succumbed to the Facebook frenzy, which eats up waaaay more of my time than it should.Back to regularly scheduled programming sometime soon.

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-5931642325475083012009-01-07T17:11:00.005-05:002009-01-07T18:54:01.469-05:00

I paid a visit to the doctor yesterday. My post-baby body has been playing a few tricks on me, and the doctor wanted to make sure everything is working the way it should.It is.While I was there, the doctor had me do a pregnancy test--a standard precaution--to make sure we weren’t overlooking something really obvious.As I waited for the results in the soft leather chair in the waiting room, I held

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-30001642735786235472008-12-17T11:54:00.003-05:002008-12-17T11:59:08.282-05:00

Shown here is a rare photo of the Drooler Monkey—an endangered member of the monkey kingdom.The Drooler Monkey is known for its ability to produce incredibly long and abundant strands of drool, which are used to mark the shoulders of its victims, causing them to double the amount of laundry they must do each week.In this photo, a female Drooler Monkey has spotted her prey, and is preparing her

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-21217964829656719982008-12-16T13:38:00.004-05:002008-12-16T13:44:49.869-05:00

I am sitting at my desk in my windowless office, inhaling a quick sushi lunch and reading a manuscript when my phone rings.“Come into my office!” cries my boss, breathless. “You have to see this!”I rush down the hallway and into her office, where she’s lifting the blinds to showcase her view—tall midtown office buildings, steel gray structures against the steel gray sky—dotted with the biggest,

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-60628387959928796022008-12-15T09:48:00.004-05:002008-12-15T09:52:41.261-05:00

A few weeks ago, Spiceboy and I were lying on the bed with Alice dozing between us when he asked me, "Are you happy?"“Very,” I replied.“Remember how scared you were before you had the baby? You were worried that it was the end of things the way they were."“I remember.”“Do you still feel that way?” he asked.“No. I realize now that it wasn’t the end at all. It was the beginning of absolutely

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-57620102656394944692008-12-09T21:34:00.002-05:002008-12-09T21:52:01.259-05:00

You will never get to eat a hot meal. Ever.If you do eat a hot meal, you will spend a good part of it sniffing your baby's butt for signs of poo.  You will do this as you're chewing your food.You will discover that you are capable of more love and compassion than you ever imagined. If you grow your nails too long, you will get poop under them.After labor, your hoo-hah will hurt. A lot. And you

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-68988750259805030612008-12-03T09:32:00.003-05:002008-12-03T09:37:23.776-05:00

So I'm sitting here at the office, trying to catch up on various office-related issues. I logged some quality time with Alice this morning, and I still managed to get myself to work on time.I am showered, my hair is styled (sort of), and I even have some make up on. I look for all the world like a responsible employee.But I'm pretty sure I smell like baby poop.

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-51152969832305813202008-12-01T15:49:00.003-05:002008-12-01T15:55:55.198-05:00

Number of hours I’ve been back at work: 7Number of times I’ve called Spiceboy and Alice at home: 7Number of times I’ve called Spiceboy’s cell phone when I couldn’t reach him at home: 1Number of blocks I have to walk to get home to my family: 20Number of minutes until I can walk the 20 blocks home: 71Happy Monday!

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-75593602420944509932008-11-30T12:28:00.001-05:002008-11-30T12:35:04.822-05:00

We are driving to my mother's house in Beaver County, Pennsylvania when Alice begins wailing uncontrollably, pinwheeling her little arms and bucking against the confines of her car seat. "Quick!" I yell to Spiceboy over her cries. "Put on some music, maybe it will calm her down." Spiceboy grabs a random CD and shoves it into the player. Unfortunately, our vehicular music collection is severely

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-29842234254611127292008-11-20T11:09:00.004-05:002008-11-20T12:41:09.107-05:00

Unless you've been living under a rock these past weeks, you know there's a transition of power happening in Washington right now, as the Bush Administration makes way for the Obama Administration.But what you may not be aware of is that here in my 350 square foot apartment on the far eastern and utterly unfashionable section of the Upper East Side of Manhattan, a different type of transition of

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-49184825636056167172008-11-12T09:32:00.010-05:002008-11-12T10:19:38.111-05:00

For the past few days, I've been feeling rather grumpy and twitchy and generally out of sorts. I've been snapping at Spiceboy and throwing dirty looks at Betty, whose biggest offense is wagging her tail and being adorable.  I'm restless, and I just want to be left alone. And the other day, I went to the bathroom and discovered I was bleeding."Something's wrong," I announced to Spiceboy in a tone

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-52519185997474181492008-11-09T13:59:00.005-05:002008-11-09T14:23:39.546-05:00

You know what's coming from the way she holds her body; she stiffens, then arches backward, then screams.And so it begins.Sometimes the crying lasts for hours, sometimes it's only 15 minutes. Still, you're always surprised by the red numbers on your alarm clock because it feels like forever every time.You walk.  Bounce. Swing. Sway. None of it ever works, but you try anyway. In the end, you lay

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-3138634760108941532008-11-06T10:34:00.003-05:002008-11-06T10:38:26.378-05:00

We are walking in the Upper East Side, and the sidewalk is covered in brilliant yellow leaves, which make the most delicious crunching sound as we step through them."Hear that?" I say. "That's a great sound.""You know what else is a great sound?" asks Spiceboy.I've fallen for similar lines before, but this time I'm onto Spiceboy's game. "Your fart?" I ask.Spiceboy grins, then lets out a little

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-82255025532009800532008-11-04T19:18:00.004-05:002008-11-04T23:52:57.466-05:00

...when my daughter asks me what I was doing on this amazing night, I will be able to tell her:When Barack Obama was elected president, I was holding you in my arms and you were sleeping, and I pressed my lips to your sweet, sweet head and whispered, "I love you. We are making a better world for you."

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-46669651811707430022008-11-03T13:25:00.002-05:002008-11-03T13:30:04.343-05:00

Alice's test on Friday went well. She has no physical digestive problems, thank goodness! She is a healthy, normal baby!She does, however, have reflux, and an intolerance to dairy and soy, so we're still figuring some things out.Maybe someday I'll write more about this and how challenging these last two months have been, but I'm not quite ready to do that yet.Thanks for your well wishes. More

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-17386122518753340172008-10-31T06:40:00.006-04:002008-10-31T06:46:00.914-04:00

...won't you let me see you smile?Miss Alice is going to have an upper GI done today. Long story--reflux and food intolerances and allergies--oh my! More soon. Wish us luck!

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-48064590622162909752008-10-27T15:59:00.006-04:002008-10-28T10:17:50.938-04:00

It's just after 6 am and still dark outside. I am sitting my parents' kitchen with the lights low, giving Alice her first bottle of the day.My father emerges from the bedroom, hair grizzled from sleep, wearing only his tightie whities and a pair of brown knit legwarmers. "Morning, hon," he says as he shuffles past. I try not to stare.He opens the garage door, lets the dog out, then steps out into

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-82187374113094800322008-10-21T15:44:00.004-04:002008-10-21T16:09:12.069-04:00

I am at my mother's office, where she is proudly showing Alice off to all of her coworkers. "How long are you in town?" a coworker asks me."I'm not sure," I reply. "It depends on how homesick I get."The coworker smiles, but her brow furrows. "Homesick?" she asks. "But you're home right now, aren't you?"Can you feel "at home" in two places at once? When I'm in Pittsburgh, I miss our morning walks

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-37393082175980492272008-10-16T08:28:00.004-04:002008-10-16T08:35:44.490-04:00

A few days ago we were in Shadyside, eating gelato and visiting with a friend. She looked upon the face of baby Alice,with her olive skin and cocoa hair, and proclaimed that she is what America will look like in the future.That is, an America in which we see people before we see race--a country in which we won't think twice about the color of a person's skin before casting our vote for

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-14941135823968489222008-10-14T12:04:00.004-04:002008-10-14T12:43:30.305-04:00

Nothing about this parenting thing comes easily; it seems we get it wrong more often than we get it right.We miss feedings. We waste diapers. A simple outing takes hours of planning and effort and inevitably, we forget something important which results in Alice screaming as though we're killing her, right there in front of everyone. So photos like this one may make it look easy and effortless,

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-68321516232883440792008-10-03T09:13:00.004-04:002008-10-03T10:29:21.705-04:00

As I have not been off of the isle of Manhattan since going on bed rest in April and I still have some sand left in my maternity leave hourglass, Spiceboy and I are packing up the baby and dog and going to play house in the East End of Pittsburgh for a little while. There, we will traverse the rusty bridges and steep hillsides of Pittsburgh to visit with family and friends, and no doubt partake

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-2898555348493832572008-09-28T05:45:00.001-04:002008-09-28T07:30:01.114-04:00

Another night is coming to a close, and here I am, having (finally) successfully rocked Alice back to sleep after her night feeding.  It's too early to do much of anything, but too late for me to go back to sleep. I'm sitting here thinking of Saturday nights past when Spiceboy and I were just creeping home at this hour, the hour the diners are bright and empty of all but the most unsavory patrons

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-5980757757698824472008-09-24T17:04:00.005-04:002008-09-24T17:19:04.351-04:00

You move in your own orbit, all sighs and fragile baby sleep, unimpressed by the wail of police sirens whisking blank-faced diplomats off to meetings at the UN, or by the spectacle of Barbara Walters strolling past you in Central Park, bedecked in oversized sunglasses.On Planet Alice, sirens are the sweet lullabies that put you to sleep and your parents are glittering cinema kings and queens,

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-61765694878945299892008-09-22T14:43:00.010-04:002008-09-22T15:38:57.956-04:00

Some of you may recall this post, in which I spoke ill of the Boppy--the current "must have item" the childcare establishment is telling newly minted moms we can't live without.Through a twist of sweet n' sour irony, I wound up getting a Boppy as a gift--all cutesy and pink-flowered. And in those first dark and swirling days of motherhood, desperate to make breast feeding go more smoothly, I

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-19301401694966110772008-09-16T10:34:00.011-04:002008-09-16T15:59:43.215-04:00

Alice Spice is one month old today! To commemorate, I'd like to tell you about when she was born. I'll spare you any gory details, I promise.The day I went into labor, we took Betty to the park in the damp, hot morning. Upon returning home, I discarded the leisurely pace I'd adopted over the interminable spring and summer. I was ready to get this baby out, one way or another. "Out of  my way!" I

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-86893103804461054332008-09-12T17:39:00.005-04:002008-09-12T18:02:08.312-04:00

Spiceboy, after having taste-tested a batch of cookies I just made, turns to me with a bewildered expression and says:"I have something brown on my finger, but I'm afraid to lick it because I don't know if it's baby poop or chocolate."

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-36827784850947242572008-09-10T13:29:00.004-04:002008-09-10T13:39:11.588-04:00

Each moment is one of exquisite joy and heartbreak; out of a million breaths there is only one first breath, out of a million smiles there is only one first smile, out of a million days on this earth, there is only one first dayYour body will be battered and soreYou will feel lonely, and you will cry into your husband's shoulder and he will be brave for you, even though he wants to cry himselfThe

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-10160198939452842542008-09-07T08:47:00.004-04:002008-09-07T08:58:30.998-04:00

1. She has gas.2. She's sick of reading headlines about Sarah Palin.3. She is outraged that they made a "new" 90210--Brenda and Brandon will always be #1 in her heart.4. She is hungry.5. She just heard that "competitive crying" has been added as an Olympic sport for the 2012 games, and she's fairly certain she can take the gold if she starts training now.

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-69125609794835706372008-09-03T11:39:00.004-04:002008-09-03T11:51:18.851-04:00

Alice screamed all night. We're talking purple-faced, high-pitched, slit-your-wrists screaming. The health insurance company won't cover my prescription and claims that Alice isn't "in their system" even though we have an insurance card with her name on it.  Yelling at them hasn't improved the situation.I'm trying to print out my disability forms for work (because in America, giving birth is

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-14961408579584771712008-09-02T08:40:00.003-04:002008-09-02T09:16:03.375-04:00

Throughout my pregnancy, everyone warned me that once we had the baby, our whole lives would revolve around poop. I've found this to be untrue. Since we're a family who spends an inordinate amount of time discussing our own bodily functions as well as those of our dog, the arrival of Alice has only marginally increased our extremely high and graphic level of poop talk.What no one ever mentioned

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-76766917053619424012008-08-29T11:57:00.004-04:002008-08-29T14:33:25.630-04:00

The days are a blur.We are up with her at dawn, our eyes hardly open, gulping coffee to wake ourselves, then feeding and rocking her. In the afternoon, we laugh at her funny faces, or call her Sugar Monkey, a nickname we gave her right after she was born. We look at one another, helpless, when we can't soothe her crying. We pull her socks up over her tiny red heels again and again and swaddle her

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-30018162612605405882008-08-22T08:30:00.005-04:002008-08-22T08:43:47.176-04:00

Scary:  The labor pains are coming so hard you feel as though you're about to turn inside out.Sweet: The awe in your husband's voice when he sees his daughter for the first time.Scary: They hand the baby to you, all wriggly and wet and new, and she begins to scream.Sweet: They bring your daughter in from the nursery, all bathed and swaddled and warm as a loaf of fresh bread. Scary: She begins to

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-28778798813209904342008-08-18T17:18:00.003-04:002008-08-18T17:32:01.849-04:00

We're pleased to announce the arrival of Spicebaby!Meet Alice Spice.Born August 16, 2008 at 2:52 am. 7 lbs, 7 oz.She's quite prompt--arrived on her due date!More soon.

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-80288466850038616072008-08-13T07:21:00.001-04:002008-08-13T07:23:10.320-04:00

We are waiting for the notoriously slow elevators at St. Vincent’s after one of my checkups. Standing next to us is a nurse, a new baby, the new mom, and a couple of her friends. The new mom doesn’t speak English, so her friends translate what the nurse is saying. It is an exciting day; they are taking the new baby home.When the elevator finally arrives, we all step inside, and I cannot stop

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-28802638181763613062008-08-12T09:46:00.002-04:002008-08-12T10:08:03.311-04:00

Number of days I was on bed rest: 78Number of days I’ve been off of bed rest: 26Number of days various doctors have been telling me I’m going to have a baby “within the next 24-48 hours”: 21Number of bottles of hot sauce I’ve consumed throughout this pregnancy: 3.5Number of days since I’ve stopped working: 3Number of books I’ve read for pleasure since I’ve stopped working: 3Number of peach tarts

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-50351046182862427842008-08-05T11:45:00.001-04:002008-08-05T11:47:48.389-04:00

As Spiceboy and I walked Betty to the park this morning, a woman passed us on the sidewalk. She looked me up and down, took in my pregnant lady waddle and my huge belly, complete with popped-out belly button, and said, “You look great! You’re almost there—congratulations!”Her cheerful, motivational tone reminded me of the way people cheer on marathon runners while handing them bananas and Power

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-75267327006398138122008-08-04T06:44:00.001-04:002008-08-04T06:47:10.550-04:00

The West Village is crowded with Friday revelers, and we wander the streets hand in hand. There is a man playing a piano in the middle of a square, and we laugh as we imagine him pushing his piano down Sixth Avenue every day so he can play for the crowds. “I’ll bet he lives on the first floor,” you say.It’s been so long since I’ve been to Bleecker Street. I forgot how much I missed shuffling

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-71821023659055695382008-07-30T15:20:00.003-04:002008-07-30T15:51:41.813-04:00

While I was on bed rest, I wasn't able to brush Betty, which has resulted in the highly unfortunate matting of her fur.I figured the problem would be easily solved by dropping her off at the groomer and letting them work their magic. After a few hours of fluffing and brushing, my adorable dog would be restored to her former fluffy self.But sometimes life throws us curveballs. Due to months of

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-20182946900363371632008-07-29T14:12:00.001-04:002008-07-29T14:13:46.455-04:00

GrumpyHungryHotHugeHave a lovely day.

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-34936667532669350932008-07-22T13:04:00.000-04:002008-07-22T13:05:59.107-04:00

We are wandering around Soho after my doctor’s appointment when I spot an Asian woman in Jackie O. sunglasses, decked out in a Snow White costume, complete with a fluffy yellow tutu-type miniskirt that nearly shows her ass.“Did you see Snow White?” Spiceboy asks as we cross Broadway.“Her skirt was little short, don’t you think? As I recall, Snow White wore a tea-length skirt.”“Well,” Spiceboy

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-9280999554509581512008-07-21T07:02:00.004-04:002008-07-21T07:07:17.726-04:00

Eight months ago, my only knowledge of “cribs” was that show on MTV. But in the last few weeks I've learned more about cribs--not the kind celebrities throw parties in, but the kind babies throw up in--than I ever wanted to know.Some of them are oval. Some of them are square. Some of them convert to toddler beds. They come with mobiles and canopies and a veritable smorgasbord of bells and

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-36613670631525412232008-07-17T10:24:00.001-04:002008-07-17T10:25:24.839-04:00

Sitting in the apartment with the air conditioning on full blast, feeling the baby kick and roll in my belly, and eating copious amounts of Niman Ranch applewood smoked bacon.Viva la pork!

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-79931604951585091762008-07-10T10:40:00.002-04:002008-07-10T10:41:20.161-04:00

Went to the doctor this morning. Everything is perfect.I'M FREE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-15374390423886981702008-07-08T06:57:00.003-04:002008-07-08T07:01:46.464-04:00

You’ve purchased one of those silly baby slings that everyone says is so great. You try it on, but without something substantial to fill it—like a baby—it’s just a limp piece of fabric hanging over your shoulder.You are desperate to find out if the sling works, so you:A. Test the sling by stuffing it with a throw cushion or some other soft, pliable object.B. Put the sling aside. Patience is a

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-19141600919608363892008-07-07T08:09:00.001-04:002008-07-07T08:11:25.266-04:00

I am now 34 weeks pregnant.Last week’s ultrasound revealed that Spicebaby is awesome--she weighs 5lbs and is looking great. The doctor said I can “slightly increase activity” but that I’m not officially off of bed rest yet. So I spent Independence Day weekend testing my independence.I walked Betty around the block. It was humid, and the air smelled of concrete and trash.Spiceboy drove us to Coney

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-377561476341109332008-06-30T05:45:00.003-04:002008-06-30T06:03:22.032-04:00

"You know, your side of the bed is much more comfortable than mine," Spiceboy says, rolling to my side of the bed and tucking his arms behind his head."That's the same thing you said last year when you convinced me to switch sides," I say, flopping onto his side of the bed, which feels pretty comfortable to me.Once a year, Spiceboy becomes convinced that his side of the bed is horribly

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-57669177423472966872008-06-26T08:16:00.003-04:002008-06-26T08:27:52.693-04:00

Studies show that it takes 30 days of a repeated action to form a habit.I’ve kept an almost-daily journal since I was in the third grade. That’s approximately 24 years of a repeated behavior, which I guess counts as a habit. I like to think it’s a good habit, as opposed to some of the less savory habits out there, like picking your nose or smoking. That’s not to say I haven’t done both of those

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-34582727650791328232008-06-25T08:09:00.003-04:002008-06-25T08:15:55.793-04:00

Yesterday I hauled my big belly down to St. Vincent’s for Spicebaby’s 32 week ultrasound. I've been dreading this appointment, as every time I go see the ultrasound doctor, I seem to wind getting admitted to the hospital. And as you know, I haven’t enjoyed that very much. At all.But luck is apparently shining on me at the moment. For once, my body isn't attempting to go into labor. It's just

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-20322226324122419402008-06-23T13:28:00.002-04:002008-06-23T13:32:40.778-04:00

Spiceboy: Did you just fart on me?Me: No.Spiceboy: Yes you did. I felt it.Me: I did not. Technically, my butt is turned into the couch cushion, which means that I farted on the cushion, not on you. Anything you felt was just a residual vibration.Spiceboy: Unbelievable.

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-74455081256361588162008-06-19T06:53:00.005-04:002008-06-19T07:00:46.673-04:00

As I round the bend into the final two months of this pregnancy, I’m starting to notice little things:I am borderline narcoleptic. Seriously. I can nap at a moment's notice. If you challenged me to a nap-off, I would totally win.My belly is much bigger. Yesterday, a complete stranger referred to it as a "basketball."My new-and-improved belly makes it more difficult for me to do simple things--

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-6766236731570040032008-06-18T07:29:00.005-04:002008-06-18T07:43:24.149-04:00

Our next door neighbor has a piano, which he practices nearly every day. Hence the nickname “Piano Man.”We’ve never seen Piano Man; he lives just on the other side of our wall, but his apartment is actually in a separate building from ours, so we’ll never run into him in the hallway or on the steps.I figure he must really love the piano in order to go to the trouble of getting it into his

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-91314265614401066772008-06-12T16:56:00.003-04:002008-06-12T17:02:06.297-04:00

Yesterday evening, I was reading a manuscript and Spiceboy was on the computer when there was a soft knock at our door. In the hallway stood a blonde man in khaki pants and a crisp button down shirt, looking very “just home from the office.”He was soft spoken, so I didn’t quite catch his name. Jim? John?He claimed to be our neighbor. We never get visits from our neighbors, so I was curious to see

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-83431859096575548022008-06-09T07:36:00.007-04:002008-06-09T09:14:46.825-04:00

Living in a tiny Manhattan apartment means one must do without certain creature comforts.Like having a real kitchen.Case in point: We don't have a real refrigerator. We have a mini -fridge, not unlike the kind you find in a college dorm room, filled with cans of Milwaukee’s Best and leftover pizza. Except that our fridge is filled with slightly more adult and snobbish indulgences: stinky cheeses,

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-57957353455915348042008-06-05T08:05:00.006-04:002008-06-06T09:13:21.293-04:00

I got pregnant at the tail end of the Fall, just when the growing season was winding down. There were many apples to choose from at the market—Honeycrisp, Gala, Cortland, Pink Lady. I ate them any way I could—grated into my morning oatmeal, or at lunch with a slice of good cheese, or slathered in peanut butter.The leeks were abundant, too, and I craved them so much that I ate them for

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-57357835282571509472008-06-04T16:28:00.003-04:002008-06-04T16:36:38.793-04:00

A & M have come to visit us this week. It's so nice to have people here--to change the arrangement of the air and energy in the apartment a little bit.They bring with them lovely little gifts: an avocado, bright red strawberries, a nectarine, 3 gerbera daisies, and a large bunch of celery, which we slather with peanut butter and munch on while they regale us with the New York minutia I miss so

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-44390620840180714112008-06-03T07:05:00.006-04:002008-06-03T07:51:54.499-04:00

Here's to:Pate on toast in Pittsburgh.Grilled Rachel sandwiches.Dim sum in Toronto.The ham, cheese, and mushroom crepe from our last night in Paris.Noodle soup and Shabu Zen to ward off the cold Boston winters.Oysters and loads of Sancerre in London.Spicy shrimp in Bangkok.Beef in la lot leaves in Hanoi.Cacio e pepe and chestnut gelato in Rome.And late on our wedding night, sitting on the bed in

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-389547011462730102008-05-30T06:29:00.006-04:002008-05-30T14:21:27.829-04:00

It is after midnight and you fidget to get comfortable in your hospital bed. All around you, the galloping sound of babies' heartbeats float through the walls from the various monitors in the observation ward.Every woman in every bed has her own story.You are dozing off when you first hear it; a long, low moan. It is intimate, uninhibited, the kind of moan a woman might make for her lover, and

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-40881378990188283232008-05-26T08:46:00.010-04:002008-05-27T07:47:18.029-04:00

I have a bitchy uterus.It tends to contract at random times throughout the day and night. This little issue, known as pre-term contractions, has earned me the wonderful pregnant-lady honor of being on bed rest until sometime in July.While the contractions can be scary, extensive monitoring determined that they were not causing any other changes in my body (like other labor symptoms), which is

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-7291706564141004042008-05-21T15:51:00.003-04:002008-05-21T16:05:49.850-04:00

It may be difficult to believe that two people can cohabitate for nearly three years in a mere 350 square feet of space without killing each other, but we have managed quite well thus far. So well that we threw a dog into the mix. So well that we're now throwing a baby into the mix.It's like our own little social experiment.Spiceboy has scarcely left my side since I went on bed rest, which means

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-43602903465801124972008-05-19T13:57:00.003-04:002008-05-19T14:19:42.049-04:00

How is it possible, with all of modern medical technology available to us, that we haven’t found an alternative to the rather Victorian prescription of bed rest?We can monitor the baby’s heartbeat and brain activity and kidney function. We can predict whether or not I will go into labor within the next two weeks (I won’t, thank goodness). We can take 3D pictures of Spicebaby inside my uterus,

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-72688305527392951862008-05-17T07:07:00.009-04:002008-09-22T14:43:31.145-04:00

I never intended to write about pregnancy-related stuff on my blog so often. I mean, there's plenty of other stuff to write about, right?Right.But this pregnancy thing? It takes up a lot of mental space. When you're prego, the entire world wants to pass their parenting and childbearing wisdom on to you. And when you're on bed rest, you're forced to sit and listen to them.Which brings me to the

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-18360408000829509552008-05-16T16:21:00.006-04:002008-05-17T11:05:27.904-04:00

Spiceboy and Betty have just gotten home from the vet."How'd it go?" I ask from my post on the bed."Betty has plaque.""I didn't know dogs could get plaque," I say.Spiceboy tosses a package onto the bed with a wry smile."Is that...a doggie toothbrush and toothpaste?" I ask."Yep," says Spiceboy."You're telling me that I have to brush my dog's teeth?""Uh-huh.""How do you brush a dog's teeth? What

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-38751967625847308492008-05-13T18:02:00.006-04:002008-05-13T18:21:08.514-04:00

One recent Sunday, I was feeling quite weepy about this whole bed rest thing, so I insisted on making mayonnaise.Spiceboy set up a TV tray for me. He attached my hand mixer to an extension cord so it would reach over to my post on the couch. He brought me the eggs, olive oil, vinegar, lemons, and mustard.It was important that I complete this simplest of tasks, that I do something other than sit

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-61707055627573697992008-05-08T07:19:00.003-04:002008-05-08T07:23:49.182-04:00

...you discover a chocolate bar that contains applewood smoked bacon and sea salt.And it is good.

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-67827242372320295372008-05-05T07:15:00.003-04:002008-05-05T08:07:39.458-04:00

Bed rest, no matter how pleasant it may sound to the uninitiated, is not so easy. Especially not when the trees are blossoming white and pink in Central Park and there's so much to do at work and you had about a billion plans for the spring--none of which included sitting propped up in bed for Placenta Watch: 2008.Here's the deal: I most likely have what they call an abrupted placenta. Simply put

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-290089414189957372008-04-29T07:17:00.003-04:002008-04-29T07:37:21.394-04:00

Spiceboy and I are lying on the bed.Spiceboy: Are you okay?Me: I don't know. I can't tell if I'm about to have a contraction, or if I just have really bad gas.Spiceboy looks worried, and places a hand on my belly. We are quiet for a few moments, then I let out a very long, very loud fart.Me: I guess it was really bad gas.I can't quite read the expression on Spiceboy's face, but I'm guessing he's

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-13108178470591334632008-04-28T18:16:00.004-04:002008-04-28T18:41:02.100-04:00

I could torture myself about what I did last week.Did I walk too much? Climb too many stairs?Not drink enough water?Did I eat too many hot dogs at Gray's Papaya?I could freak out about what will happen tomorrow.Or next week.Or next month.But that's the funny thing about this situation: I can't control what happens tomorrow or next week or next month. I can only focus on today, and be grateful.My

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-39745174886649135852008-04-25T17:38:00.005-04:002008-04-25T18:36:58.744-04:00

The women on the observation ward shuffle from their rooms, their eyes tired and red, their pregnant bellies huge under their hospital gowns as they tug their IV poles along with them to the bathroom.Just a few hours or days ago, they were the glowing pregnant ladies you saw waddling down the street.In a second, everything changes.Yesterday, I wore my new green wrap shirt to work, proud to show

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-53946156142894799962008-04-21T18:01:00.005-04:002008-04-21T18:17:29.947-04:00

Welcome to your Monday evening pop quiz.Please review the following conversation between Spiceboy and myself, then venture a guess as to what it is about."I've got this one," I say to Spiceboy."No, it's okay, I'll get it.""Are you sure? You've been doing this too much lately," I say."S'okay, I've got it," says Spiceboy."Wow, what is it, my birthday?"The conversation is about:A. Picking up the

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-87789727340992481612008-04-18T10:48:00.006-04:002008-04-18T11:00:53.295-04:00

I've recently come to a few decisions that have made me a rather unpopular mother-to-be:I am not having a baby shower.I am not registering for baby stuff.There are many contributing factors to these decisions, and at least some of them have to do with my own personal hang-ups. But personal issues aside, it’s more about the stuff.Since when did momentous occasions, such as getting married or

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-5662206198435604442008-04-16T15:40:00.003-04:002008-04-16T15:48:53.839-04:00

Someone has left a McDonald's cheeseburger in the kitchen.It's all wrapped up in its golden packaging.Is there anything more wrong than eating a McDonald's cheeseburger?Why, yes: Eating an abandoned McDonald's cheeseburger is pretty damn wrong.And yet I'm seriously contemplating walking into the kitchen, bringing the cheeseburger back to my office, closing the door, and eating it.Happy Wednesday.

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-30175383594051207642008-04-14T12:38:00.004-04:002008-04-14T12:47:57.157-04:00

I know you guys aren't really in the business of granting favors, but I just have to ask:When this whole growing-a-baby-inside of me-thing is over, can I keep the thick, fabulous, shiny shampoo commercial hair?Oh--and the boobs! Can I keep the boobs?Sincerely,East Side Girl

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-39143425521260330972008-04-10T09:33:00.004-04:002008-04-10T09:47:22.032-04:00

First thing at work this morning, I passed one of my coworkers, looking harried as she rushed down the hall.“I just found out that my daughter has just been in a terrible accident,” she said to no one in particular, then she disappeared around a corner.A few minutes later, I stopped by her office to check on her. I asked if I could do anything for her at the office today. She is supposed to leave

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-66875663998463099112008-04-09T14:36:00.003-04:002008-04-09T14:49:31.410-04:00

It’s the first place I lived when I moved to Manhattan.It’s tiny, so I can keep only the things that I love the most.It’s a 20 minute walk to work, 10 minutes to Central Park.On summer mornings, the light shines across the floor just so.In the winter, it’s warm and cozy, like a cocoon.It’s where I was living when I married Spiceboy.It’s where I was living when we got the puppy.When I think of

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-76567032437304579122008-04-07T14:20:00.002-04:002008-04-07T14:25:29.903-04:00

It's a phantom thing at first; a strange fluttering as you fall asleep, a nervous sensation in the pit of your belly, as if you're about to give a speech.But then it comes more often, and you realize just what it is--the baby is moving. At first, it's only an inside feeling--you cannot feel it yet from the outside. You cannot prove it exists.You feel as though you are carrying great secret inside

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-22208246270166792542008-04-03T14:24:00.004-04:002008-04-03T15:55:11.450-04:00

The scene: The office kitchen. I’m getting hot water when two ladies from accounting walk in.Accounting Lady #1: Hey, mama, how are you doing today?Me: I’m doing great thanks!Accounting Lady #1: Your belly is really starting to show now. How cute!Accounting Lady #2 (to her friend as if I’m not even in the room): Really? You think she’s showing? I think she’s gained more weight in her backside

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-26501722933383280712008-04-02T11:26:00.002-04:002008-04-02T11:29:17.524-04:00

The panic doesn’t take hold of you all at once. At first, it’s just a numbness, a lack of understanding, as if someone has just spoken to you in a foreign language.You are on an exam table in a dim room. On the ultrasound screen, your baby floats and kicks and sucks her thumb.The doctor speaks, and you try to process the words and possible outcomes: Single umbilical artery. Kidney problems. Fetal

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-43818409167843972262008-03-30T17:14:00.003-04:002008-03-30T17:31:58.771-04:00

Spiceboy and I are lying on the bed."Your baby is moving all around in there," I tell him."Really?" he says, placing a hand over my belly. We are both quiet for a few moments, waiting for that phantom kick.I take a deep breath, and when I exhale, I accidentally fart. Spiceboy's eyes widen as he feels the movement in my belly. The expression on his face is so sweet and full of wonder that I almost

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-44952384155477235702008-03-27T18:55:00.002-04:002008-03-27T19:06:48.629-04:00

Ever since I found out I was pregnant, we've been calling Spicebaby by various pronouns. He. She. It. Or sometimes, just Baby.But today is the beginning of my 20th week. For you non-prego readers out there, that means I'm officially halfway through with this crazy incubation period called pregnancy.And today, I had big-ass ultrasound, which looked at pretty much everything from the baby's heart

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-45137849676139296422008-03-23T13:30:00.005-04:002008-03-24T17:16:04.291-04:00

I steal into the kitchen like a thief, open the fridge, and peer inside. I am starving, as has become the norm ever since Spiceboy knocked me up.I pretend I'm searching for a snack, but I know what I really want: the thinly sliced French ham Spiceboy picked up from the market yesterday.Ham, along with all deli meats and soft cheeses, has been sanctioned as a harbinger of evil by the Pregnancy

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-13284532473812986472008-03-19T13:27:00.004-04:002008-03-19T13:53:03.210-04:00

Spiceboy and I are standing on the subway platform, waiting for the 6 train. I am wearing a red scarf with gold stripes that I haven't used for several months.As I fiddle with the scarf, I notice a series of very small, very strange brown pods attached to it. I try to brush them off, but they cling to the fabric.“Ew!” I say. “Look at these weird things on my scarf.”Spiceboy looks. “Maybe it’s

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-20366662260145520582008-03-16T09:11:00.004-04:002008-03-16T17:00:58.354-04:00

Me: What would you do if we found out I was pregnant with twins?Spiceboy: I'd see what I could get for one of them on the open market.

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-79185635119398551062008-03-14T08:54:00.005-04:002008-03-14T11:21:20.854-04:00

I'm in the kitchen baking chocolate chip cookies (my favorite sport) when Spiceboy chuckles."What?" I ask."Right now, you are barefoot and pregnant-- in the kitchen!"I open my mouth to protest. After all, I'm a modern woman, right? I work hard! I have a career! "Barefoot and pregnant" carries with it a connotation I've worked very hard to avoid.Then I look down at myself. I am wearing a tattered

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16558343.post-71383330165476507602008-03-13T14:51:00.005-04:002008-03-13T15:19:45.618-04:00

There are few things that fill me with more dread than waking up in the middle of the night to see Spiceboy standing dead still in the middle of the living room, his head cocked to one side, as if listening for something.This is Spiceboy’s “mouse in the house” stance.Now, the last time this happened, I may have freaked out a little bit.I resolved to be calmer about it this time around.The mouse

east side girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14416126234428923593noreply@blogger.com