Tales from La La Land

When I was pregnant with Harper (and had absolutely zero clue what the fuck was coming my way), I was all, “I’m totally going to be a hot mom who is basically un-phased by snot, poop and Cheerios.” I’m not kidding when I say my current life mission is to NOT have my life taken over by Cheerios. They symbolize the complete and total loss of pre-child life. Like, seriously, if you let them, Cheerios would fill your house, car, bed, bath tub, hair and towels.

But, of course, being a normal 20-month old, Harper loves Cheerios (Chee-O). It’s one of the words, along with chocolate (shadda), cookie (titty), treat (tweet), milk (muk), paci and MINE, that she has perfected. Of course being an anal bitch, I’m still determined to conquer Cheerios so I spend half my life picking them up off the floor and vacuuming them out of the car seat and telling Harper that Sanch does not like Cheerios. And then the other day, I pulled out a beach towel, and low and behold there was a year-old Cheerio crusted onto the towel.

I wept a little inside.

I’m totally not winning this game.

When you spend half your time picking up food or changing diapers or searching the Internet for the best chemical to remove the smell of puke, you simply aren’t left with tons of time to be the “hot mom” you always dreamed you’d be. When you add being almost 6 months pregnant into the mix, looking in the mirror at your super hot body and dark eye circles contradicts everything you visualize in your mind.

And you know what happens when you have a mid-pregnancy/raising a toddler at the same time crisis?

THIS:

I went to get my hair done, and I somehow came back with red streaks. Clearly, I am losing my mind if I thought red streaks = hot.

I just needed something.

Harper is my life. She kills me with how cute she is. Every phase we go through requires time and attention. We are currently in the transition phase from crib to bed. It takes no fewer than 1.5 hours for her to finally go to sleep. She loves the fact that she can get out of bed on her own. She gets up, knocks on her door and says, “Mama mama mama mama mama mama mama mama” until someone comes to get her. We get her, put her back to bed, read Good Night Moon for the 600th time, sing twinkle twinkle, kiss Mickey, hug Minnie, tickle Mimi and hug Harper. This routine happens over and over and over until Harper finally gives in.

It. Is. Exhausting. And, even though it’s only 8 p.m. on a Friday when she falls asleep, and I technically could go for a jog or paint my nails to look pretty, I prefer to lay on the couch and eat Pretzel M&Ms while watching Real Housewives until I pass out at 8:45 p.m.

HOT. MAMA. HOT. HOT. HOT.

But then I look at her sleeping in her big girl bed and I feel like I want a gold star. I feel like Laef and I are winning. Like despite the fact that he’s gone completely bald and is already stressing about having two girls, which means one thing, and one thing only to him – TWO WEDDINGS – we’re doing this.

Despite the fact that my hair is completely fucked up and I’m trying to squeeze into non-maternity clothes for as long as possible so that Harper can go to gym class and swim lessons, we are pretty much winning this game.

Yes, on most days my feet and hands are totally sweaty (yay Pregnancy!), I’m out of breath from walking to the bathroom (double Yay pregnancy!), and I eat Tums for breakfast (HIP HIP HOORAY Pregnancy!).

BUT Harper sleeps in a bed!

And she’s so cute!

Aside from the occasional baby spit-up and two instances of projectile vomit when Harper was an infant, we have been super, super lucky in the puke department. I hate to even type that sentence because I’ve probably just assured some kind puke jinx.

But, I’m pretty sure this past Sunday night/Monday morning was our inauguration into for-real parenting. Like, the days of Harper’s bedroom smelling like freshly-bathed toddler and baby powder could be over. The days of our living room smelling like Cinnamon Yankee Candle and homemade pot roast  grilled cheese sandwiches could be done.

We hung out with some friends on Sunday evening. Harper went to sleep like normal when we got home. Then she woke up at midnight. As usual, Laef and I looked at each other, and rolled back over. I know what you’re thinking, that we are terrible people, but she normally puts herself back to sleep within 5 minutes. On this particular evening, however, 5 minutes became 15, and it was evident that something was amiss. Laef got up to check, came back and said, “She threw up. I need your help.”

The way he presented that statement, as if to say, “She peed her diaper, no big deal”, did not properly prepare me for what I was about to walk into.

I will spare you the details (there might have been whole blueberries stuck to Mickey), but we stripped the bed, changed her pajamas, threw everything in a plastic garbage bag. Her hair had barf in it. Her hands and face had barf. All of her stuffed animals were victims. There are simply zero words to describe the smell. Did I mention blueberries? I will NEVER eat blueberries in my life again.

I forgot to spare the details. Sorry.

Anyway, we cleaned her up, put new sheets on the bed, and got her into new pajamas. She didn’t have a fever, so we figured she just ate something that upset her stomach and that she would feel better. I rocked her back to sleep, but let me tell you, I was dry-heaving the whole time. Her hair didn’t have that sweet baby smell. Not even close. You never want to be dry-heaving while cuddling your child, but, I guess that’s the reality of parenthood, yo.

We all settled back into bed, and then about 10 minutes later, I heard it. It happened again. We did the whole drill again. And realized we were in for a long night.

She eventually fell asleep for a couple of hours, but by 7 a.m. she no longer wanted to kick it in her crib. I wonder why?

When she woke up, we decided to give her a small bottle of milk because she was hungry, but didn’t really want to eat her normal breakfast.

Milk. Was. A. Bad. Choice.

She immediately threw up all over the living room. When I say all over, that’s what I mean. Everywhere. Because of course we tried to pick her up and get to the bathroom, which did nothing other than assure that there was barf from the living room, to the hallway, to the bathroom. We put her in the bath tub, and she looked up, smiled, and said, “All done.”

So, now we had two garbage bags full of puke covered things.

Laef skipped off to work with nary a wave. I mean, I’m sure he wanted to hang back and bask in the new fragrance of our home, but my woeful eyes didn’t do much to persuade him. I really did not want to be stuck home alone with a projectile-vomitting toddler. I just don’t handle the vom well at all. I had to act quick, so I told Laef that we’d make his lunch and bring it to him at work. (This makes me sound like an awesome wife, but really I figured if I took her to Laef’s work, she could puke there instead.)

Thankfully, the milk incident was the last of the sickness. Harper went about her morning as though nothing had happened. We visited Laef at work, and she ran around playing, blowing kisses to his coworkers, fooling them all.

Later that afternoon when she went down for her nap, I put on my breathing mask, and made my way to the laundry room. I figured if anyone saw me, I could say I had allergies. Luckily no one was in the laundry room, because, let me tell you: THAT MASK WAS BUNK. When I opened the two garbage bags full of vomit-covered items, it was clear: THIS IS THE MASK I NEEDED. I was not prepared for what came out of those trash bags. I tried to throw everything into the washing machine as fast as I could and run away.

Just as I closed the lid to the washing machine, and removed my D-list mask, one of our neighbors rolled in. I don’t know how it came up, but he mentioned in conversation that his wife is pregnant, and the baby is due in May.

I am not sure if my face was the “this is so exciting you are going to love it, babies are amazing, life changing, wonderful things” or “omg, you poor motherfuckers, wait until you smell baby barf it is the worst thing, and I only slept two hours last night, enjoy every second until May see you later, bye!!!!!!!!”, but either way, I totally smiled and said Congratulations, you will love it.

HAHAHAHAHA.

But, seriously, freshly bathed, happy babies, really are THE best. xo

Laef has finally returned from an 8 day trip to China. Yes, it was wonderful to have the TV all to myself. It was also nice to go out for drinks on a Thursday and not have Laef sitting across the table from me doing the math as to exactly how much each Appletini costs when you factor in the babysitter wage. Is Laef the only person who thinks that if Harper is sleeping, the hourly rate for babysitting should drop down to $1.50? (Sidenote to Liz: I’m in your corner. I got yo’ back).

But, we missed him. I not only realized this when I was taking out the trash, cleaning the litter box and doing the dishes, but when I was taking a shower. Or should I say, when I wasn’t taking a shower. The absolute best part of him returning was taking a shower for longer than 2 minutes.

He arrived home on Wednesday night, and because our day care provider happens to be on vacation this week, Laef had the opportunity to reconnect with Harper by staying home with her on Thursday and Friday.

The questions I always ask when daddy is in charge are:

1. What is she wearing?
2. What is she eating?

I got a text on Thursday morning from the park with the following photo:

Shorts, shirt, watch, no shoes: PASS

This probably means that she ate a Popsicle for lunch, but there’s no photo evidence so there’s no need to worry.

I arrived home on Thursday evening, however, and it was a much different story. This is what I saw:

No shirt, No pants, no shoes, pink backpack (???): FAIL.

I guess the fact that she was in the comfort of her own home, and it was a scorching day in LA should make it OK. There is nothing like seeing your daughter looking like the next lead character in a Jon Krakauer novel.

After surviving day 1 with a toddler and jet lag, Laef and Harper embarked on Friday. They decided to make a trip to UCLA.

Wearing this:

Cute skirt, shirt, SHOES THAT ARE TOO BIG SO THEY ARE MacGYVERED WITH ATHLETIC TAPE???: OK, fine. Pass. Barely.

God, I love these two. SO. MUCH.

UCLA basketball season is over. The NCAA tournament is definitely more fun when you have a team to follow, but I can not lie: I am happy that the season is over, and that Laef is home more often. Yes, I’m happy to see his mug everyday, but, again, I can not lie: What I missed the most was his hands. As in: Please hold the baby while I do A, B, C. Or, please take out the trash, bring in the laundry, clean the litter box while I give the baby a bath.

So, anyway, Laef had his first day off from work on Tuesday. I assumed that he’d spend it eating CheezIts and watching Storage Wars while scratching his balls.

But, he proudly proclaimed that Harper would not be going to daycare, and that they were going to spend the “whole day together having so much fun!”

I immediately gave him my Parent of the Year banner, because, again, I can not lie: If I had a day off from work, Harper would be going to day care (at least for part of the day). Judge me all you want, but I’ve been looking for a spare 4 hours for a while now, and the only way to get that is by having a day off when day care is open. Which, frankly, never happens.

When I left for work Harper was eating a blueberry waffle wearing nothing but a diaper and a bib.

Laef: “I don’t want her jammies to get messy.”

Me: “OK, well, it’s a little cold.”

Laef: “Go to work.”

The key for any mother is this: Out of sight, out of mind.

If I don’t see that Harper is wearing stripes and plaids together, then it probably didn’t happen, and I will never know, and then I won’t lose sleep. If I don’t see that she ate a piece of cat food from the floor, then it definitely didn’t happen (unless I see it later in her poop).

Later that day, Laef brought Harper to UCLA to visit his coworkers. Then he brought her by my office to say hi. So. Cute. The two of them out and about spending their day together.

At 12:30, I told him he should probably get home because they’re now approaching the danger zone of her afternoon nap. If it’s me, I don’t fuck around with nap time. I stay within a 5 centimeter radius of the house so that we can be in the crib before the wheels come off.

Which is why I had to shoo them away. Because if I don’t see that it’s 1 p.m., and Harper is nowhere near her crib for her nap, then it’s not happening and I don’t have to worry about what this will mean for the rest of the day.

At 2 p.m. I got a call from Laef.

“I don’t know what to do. She fell asleep in the car, but only slept for 20 minutes. Now she doesn’t want to go back down in her crib.”

Me: “Well, she’s probably passed the point of napping, and will just stay up the rest of the day.”

Laef: “But, Dad needs a nap.”

Me: “Welcome to motherhood.”

So, they played and hung out for the rest of the afternoon. By the time I got home, it was evident that both were in desperate need of a nap.

Bed time came early. She fell asleep sitting up. Didn’t even bother to finish her bottle.

Daddy Day Care Day absolutely wiped her out.

Sometimes I think about how much money I would spend for free time.

When we were in Maui, Laef had Thanksgiving Day completely off. Just knowing that I’d have an extra set of hands to help made me beyond excited. And then Laef agreed to watch Harper for 1 hour so I could go to the pool. ALL BY MYSELF.

Then of course something happened with work, and he got called away seconds before I was to escape. I’m not kidding, I almost went Harper on his ass. I had to fight back a serious meltdown. I could taste that one hour, and it tasted like a Pina Coloda spiked with Banana Boat SPF 4.

In the end, he didn’t have to be gone very long, and when he came back I went to the pool.

And let’s be honest, I totally missed them both after 30 minutes. But since finding an hour seems impossible in real life, I forced myself to order another Corona and tough it out. It was so hard. Times were tough.

So, anyway, we came home from Hawaii on Friday. Laef had to work all day Saturday and Sunday. When he got home Sunday evening I handed Harper to him so that I could do a few things.

Laef: “OK, well, I need to poop first.”

Me: Side eye. “OK. I guess you can poop.”

10 minutes later I realize I am still on Harper duty.

Me: “Um, this is NOT one of those poops. This is not a “read the entire Week cover to cover poops.”

Laef: “What?”

Me” “NOW. If I can’t take a shower longer that 4 minutes, you certainly can NOT poop and enjoy a magazine for 10 minutes areyoufuckingkiddingme? Do you want me to cut you?”

I think it was at that very minute that Laef finally realized how valuable time is.

He was about as excited to sit on the toilet as I was to sit by the pool.

So, right after Harper was born, I started noticing that I couldn’t hear very well out of my left ear. The problem proceeded to get worse, and after asking Laef to repeat himself 400 times over the course of the last month, he insisted I go to the doctor.

I don’t know exactly what I thought the problem was, but I certainly was not prepared for them to tell me that I have otosclerosis and will have to have surgery to replace a bone in my ear. This condition is apparently common in women late in pregnancy or during menopause.

So, yes, this is yet another thing that I will be blaming on Harper. I mean, it’s not enough that I pee while jogging, average 4 hours of sleep per night, have a beer gut (without the enjoyment of beer), and brush out giant amounts of hair each morning.

No, I also have to be practically deaf in one ear.

Now I am wondering what could be next.

All joking aside,  it doesn’t matter all that much.

We just experienced our first holiday with Harper, and I have to say that it brought out the kid in both of us. We took her trick or treating (yes, she is only 4 months old and did not know what the hell was going on) Monday night, and our excitement level was quite high. We both realized that this might be the last year we can eat all of her candy without her throwing a giant fit.

When we started walking down the street and approached the first house, we stopped and looked at each other.

“What do we do? We just knock on the door, right?”

Yeah. OK.

I mean, it has been like 25 years since I have been trick or treating (I just barfed typing that) and like 6 years since Laef has gone. We were rusty.

Most of the houses in our neighborhood had bowls with candy on the porch. I don’t know if it’s because people were out with their own kids, or if that’s how it’s done these days. That’s not how it was done back when I was a kid, which is a good thing because I didn’t exactly follow instructions, and a note that says, “TAKE ONE ONLY” wouldn’t have meant shit to me. Actually, yes, it would have meant, “TAKE AS MUCH AS YOU WANT AND RUN AWAY FAST!”

I tried really hard to only take once piece to put in Harper’s trick or treat bag, but it was not easy.

Laef: “Remember, you are trying to set an example for her.”

Me: “Bah. Fine. But we can take three pieces. One for me, one for you and one for her. That is totally legit.”

Laef: “Oooh. Get that flavored tootsie roll.”

I mean, no matter how old you are, a bowl full of candy is a hard thing to resist.

And no matter how deaf, tired or decrepit you feel, spending the holidays with your kids will make you feel like a child all over again.

While Harper passed out from her first Halloween experience, Laef and I dumped all her candy on the table and took turns picking what we wanted. It was like the fantasy draft of candy picking, and of course the last thing left was some janky candy corn.

Candy Corn > Tebow.

There is one thing people who have been through the baby-raising stage of life will always tell you: It gets better.

I totally wanted to make a youtube video like this one, except with people like Angelina Jolie, Jennifer Garner, Pink, and Gwen Stefani telling me “It Gets Better”. But those bitches have a lot of money, so they probably have nannies. I would totally have a nanny if we could afford it. Like someone who is on nighttime duty.

But, anyway, I do believe it gets better. Then I saw a 2-year-old in Ralphs this morning LOSE HIS FUCKING MIND over gum. (Dude. That was totally me when I was little. And, by little I mean 9, and acting like a 2 -year-old STILL because we couldn’t get Capri Sun). To be fair to this kid, gum is like a really, really big deal when you are little. I don’t think there was anything I wanted more in life than a pack of gum when I was between the ages of 3-37.

While our lives have gotten easier in many ways, and we have managed to get on a routine, I am wondering if we will get better as parents.

Because we do some shit sometimes that I am thankful no one saw. For example, about 2 weeks ago, Laef was giving Harper her bath. He was getting ready to rinse her hair and I told him that I was starting to put some water on her face so that she would begin to get used to it for when we start going to the pool. What I meant was that I let some water slowly drip down her face. What Laef heard was, “Oh, you’re throwing water in her face as though she was being dunked in the pool.” So he threw a glass of water on her face. To his credit, he blew in her face first so she’d take a breath, and not drown.

Well, it didn’t work. She did not likey the water in the face. Mommy had a panic attack, daddy felt like shit, Sanch was like, “Whatever. I’ve been dealing with these two for years. This is just the beginning.”

OK, so she didn’t die, and nothing bad came of it, but Laef and I were like, “God Damn, I can’t believe people let us be in charge of a baby.”

A few days later, I put Harper in the Bjorn and we walked up to some friends house. When we got there, Laef casually pointed out that Harper’s leg was blue. This is because her leg was pinched a little in the Bjorn. But she never cried or anything so I didn’t know. Of course, when you see your baby’s leg blue and devoid of blood, your heart immediately drops to your stomach. We took her out, daddy did whatever you do to get the blood flowing. And we went on our day.

But, seriously. What are we doing???

Then two nights ago we forgot to turn on the monitor after putting Harper to bed. She is a saint when it comes bed time, and is down for the count by 7:45 p.m. We don’t usually hear from her until 6:30 a.m. But on the night we forgot to turn on the monitor, Laef had Tosh.0 on at a 43 volume and I was in the kitchen making dinner. And all of a sudden we heard Harper screaming. We go in and get her, and it seems as though she’s been crying for a bit because her face is very red and she has lots of tears.

Ugh. Nothing will kick you in the stomach harder than that.

So, yeah. We are still figuring this whole parenting thing out. And she has her ways of getting back at us: Sneezing with her diaper off, which leads to a rocket of poop flying all over the bedroom. Or pissing on me the minute I take her diaper off for bath time. Or throwing up on me right when I put on a fresh shirt.

I guess we’re all getting better at one-upping each other.

Well, after 10 weeks, it’s now official: Harper has been hazed.

For years, Sanch has tolerated us. I was too lazy to look through all the blogs, but there are way more stories. Like the time Laef took Sanch in the shower with him. Or the time we put a onesie on him.

He still gets his fair share.

I used to feel guilty that maybe Sanch was feeling neglected. Now I’m starting to think he’s actually happier. There’s just not enough time for us to torture him. He is also quite aware that we are preoccupied and knows that he can sneak on the counter or in the bedroom, and enjoy both for an extended period of time before we realize he is M.I.A.

Anyway, yesterday I decided to take Harper to the pool. She turned 10 weeks old so I figured double digit weeks qualified her for such an activity. And, also, I am running out of things to do with her. Well, things that are free. How many fucking walks around Brentwood can a person make in a 10 week period? I will tell you: TOO MANY.

Little babies shouldn’t be in the sun too much, but the pool we went to had lots of shade, and we used the kind of suncreen our pediatrician said was OK so don’t yell at me.

Before we could go, however, we had to make a quick trip to CVS for some Little Swimmer diapers. Turns out they only carry size medium, which is for babies that are 24 lbs. Harper is almost 12 pounds. I bought them anyway.

Laef is not the only MacGyver around here.

Athletic tape is this family’s duct tape. It will fix anything.

She’s a fashionista in training because once she had her suit on, you couldn’t see anything wrong.

We took Harper to her 2 week doctor appointment last week and the highlight of the visit was that she gained 9 ounces! And, I must say, if this little trick hadn’t gained anything I might have thrown myself on the floor right there and screamed until someone swaddled me and gave me a paci dipped in Patron. I swear I have been breastfeeding (or pumping) nearly 24 hours a day for the past 19 days. Breastfeeding has been far harder than I ever imagined, although I will say that my nipples have finally thrown in the towel and succumbed to the beast that is Harper’s mouth. I did not know that babies could suck cracks the size of the Grand Canyon in one tiny nipple. Nor did I know exactly how painful it was going to be.

Having said that, we are extremely lucky that she’s a good eater. She latched on from the first day, and has not looked back. She eats constantly, night and day. She is now able to drink breastmilk from a bottle, and it doesn’t affect her ability to breast feed. This means that Laef can do one of the nightly feedings. I can’t even tell you how nice it is to have that one little break. Of course, sometimes she will finish the bottle, and after trying to rock her into a coma, Laef will bring her back to me 45 minutes later and say, “Chris Farley is hungry again.”

She eats constantly.

At first this meant that I was confined to the couch or the rocking chair for most of the day and night. I will say that I do cherish those moments when she is making the “this tastes soooo yummy” sighs and her whole body is completely relaxed. I could stare at her for hours.

But sometimes I need other things to keep me occupied. So when Laef had to go to work and I was by myself for the day, I had to make sure that my command station was set up before I started feeding her. (I am just now getting to the point where I can be mobile or move around without having piercing pain).

Once I have my command station set up, Harper and I conquer the world. I’m so thankful that she eats well despite the fact that she usually shits herself halfway through, which means she grunts and kicks her legs violently while working it out, all done with my nipple in her mouth because God forbid I politely pull her off to help her burp or work out her giant shit. She does not like to be interrupted for anything while eating.

Fine by me, little Diva. Eat with your pants full of shit.

Anyway, Laef and I are approaching week 3 and I can’t really say that we’ve got it all figured out. Some nights she sleeps a max of 2 hours per stretch, other nights she will go 5 hours. But we can never count on anything because things change daily. And that is the hardest part. Just when we think we figure something out and think we’ve mastered the 3 week old who runs the household, she switches it up on us and we’re back to square one.

The good news is that Laef and I have both been in this together everyday since day one. I don’t think anyone truly knows how hard it is mentally until you’ve been through it. So I don’t have to explain to him why I’m crying after having been up all night. He already knows. Having someone in you’re corner who knows exactly what you’re feeling makes it a lot easier.

Because we all know that when I was crying because of PMS he didn’t have a fucking clue what was going on, nor did he understand why it was such a big deal that he missed the hamper for the 6ooth time.

Some days we look at each other and roll our eyes. Other days we stare at her and smile and say, “We did this.” We feel so happy and and so lucky. Even if I never have any idea what day of the week it is, and 3 p.m. is no different than 3 a.m.

At the end of the day, whatever day it might be, she has changed us both in a myriad of ways. I didn’t know I could give so much of myself and expect nothing in return. I didn’t know that Laef and I could talk about her epic shits and how many grunts it takes for her to finally be done.

Or how F’n cute she could be.

I was a bad, bad child. One of the things I was particularly bad about was Christmas. Or anything related to presents for me. I would do anything to find out what I was getting, and never thought twice about knowing what ALL my gifts were.

In fact, one year I desperately wanted some leather gray moccasins. While snooping around my mom’s closet one night, I found the bag that contained my coveted shoe. The next day – after my mom had left for work – I took the shoes out and wore them to school. Once I arrived back home – before my mom returned from work – I put them back in the bag and acted as if nothing had ever happened.

First of all: !!!! What the hell? Sometimes I remember things I have done and I don’t sleep for 2 days hoping this baby will never do some of that shit (she won’t because Laef is the best at hiding stuff. I mean, we’re in our 10th consecutive day of hanging out together in the house and I STILL have not found his secret stash). Second of all, those moccasins were wicked cool back in the day, and third, I believe they actually came back in style recently.

ANYWAY, I am terrible at secrets. Anyone who knows me knows this. Not only do I hate not knowing what my presents are, if I have bought YOU a present, I hate YOU not knowing what YOUR present is. So, it’s very likely that prior to Christmas or your birthday, I will have already given you your gift or told you what it is.

Soooo….this baby is KILLING me. It’s like the one present I want to see really, really bad and I can’t do anything but wait.

My past transgressions have finally caught up with me, and someone is torturing me.

Laef and I have been enjoying the fact that we can stay up late, sleep in, and read all the magazines that we never have time to read. We’ve haven’t spent this much time together since our honeymoon, and surprisingly we’re getting along quite well. We have figured out a way to share the TV, which means that Laef actually asked me the other day, “Is Alexis married to Peggy’s ex?” (this is a Real Housewives reference and the minute he said it, he was very angry and went back to trying to fix his fantasy baseball team). While he knows the happs on RHOC, I now know the entire St. Louis Cardinals starting line up, and somehow watched all of the NBA finals.

We’ve played Scrabble twice – and BOTH times Laef began with a Bingo, but we still finished the game, which is a miracle. We’ve played Wii, baked ourselves out of flour, gone over What to Expect The First Year extensively, learned how to use a breast pump (yes, even Laef), navigated through Babies R Us (nightmare!), and watched a ridiculous amount of movies.

And, yes, we’ve done all of the things they say to do to induce labor.

She is just not going to let us see her because she knows I need to work on my patience.