and because I have everyone coming over tonight for New Year’s Eve, I am going to end the year with this hilarious commercial. Let’s end the year laughing, shall we?

It’s not about babies. Or Christmas. But!

Did you know that Patrick Henry has his own website? Well, he does. And you could fall off your chair from laughing. (Tip o’ the Swiffer: LGF)

Oh, just so’s you know, “Hey Bin Laden” is not work- or child-safe. Now go forth and be amused.

I never knew how women labored standing up before. With both my previous labors, the contractions would just drop me. But this time, when I tried to sit or lie down, it hurt so much worse. So around and around the living room I paced. Eventually there was no more walking – I just held on to the kitchen counter and talked to my cervix. (Which was hollering back, I can tell you.)

“C’mon, open up. Let that baby out.”

Mom, behind me and rubbing my back, said, “Oh, believe me – it’s opening up. You’re progressing very quickly.”

And I could feel it! With every contraction, I could feel this circle getting bigger and bigger. I looked at the clock somewhere around five and thought, dear God, if I have hours and hours ahead of me at this intensity, I don’t know what I’ll do. Please help me.

A soft knock at the door, and in comes my midwife, Cynthia. After she and mom had a talk, it was determined that there was just no time to set up the birth tub. By the time it was filled, I wouldn’t need it anymore. So, while she flew around and set up her equipment, mom went upstairs to fill the bathtub. By this point, I couldn’t stand anymore and lay kneeling over the arm of our recliner. And I was feeling so heavy inside.

The tub was full. I said, “I don’t think I can make it up the stairs anymore.”

More setting up equipment.

“I think I’d like to push…”

Time for a check. “Oh, gosh, Geph! She’s right there.” Chux pads! Move the chair aside for easier access! Somebody open the almond oil! And Mom runs upstairs to wake the Princess so she can see.

As Mom is upstairs and Cynthia is finalizing everything, I hear keys jingling. “Mr. MG is home.” I muttered. So Cynthia goes to get him.

“Hi, welcome home! We’re having a baby.”
“Yeah, I know…”
“No! Right now. She’s getting ready to push.”

I waved him over to come sit in the recliner and I rested my cheek on his khaki uniform shirt and squeezed his hand. Down the stairs comes the Princess with my mom. At some point here, Cynthia’s assistant arrives, but I was kind of preoccupied, so I’m not sure how that all happened.

And I pushed. Man, the pressure! I had forgotten the heaviness, and the sensations that nothing but a human being passing through your pelvis can produce. The head. The sharp little shoulders. And then sudden emptiness as her slippery little body kicks out into the world. And she was almost pink before she was entirely free of my body – my first baby to score 10’s on the Apgar. I’m a mama times three at 6:05 in the morning and nothing could be finer.

From Cynthia’s hands to my mom’s to mine. They all lay me down on the floor with Moo on my chest and my head on a pillow in the Princess’ lap. I’m not cold, I’m not hungry, I’m not tired. For the third time, I am on the most fabulous natural high I’ll ever know. Moo only cried for the briefest time, then calmed right down and got on with being nuzzled into me, her tiny self still slick and warm, in her brave new world.

Me: “She looks like Mel Brooks.”
Mom: “Oh, she does not!”
Me: ” Yes, she does. All newborns look like Mel Brooks. Mine’s no exception.”

After it stopped pulsing, Mr. MG got to cut the cord for the first time ever. After delivering the placenta (which everyone got to see but me!) I was wrapped up on the futon to nurse and relax. I tried to eat a bit of English muffin, but really, who could eat at a time like this? I mean, there’s this baby here, and food is so not important anymore.

When it’s time to weigh her, I can not believe she is only eight pounds, six ounces. Either I’m hearing incorrectly, or the scale is off. I later told Cynthia that she could feel free to sing a few choruses of I told you so.

Now I’m jealous of every hour that passes. She changes every second, and I weep for what’s gone and for what’s new and amazing and yet to come.

Bear with me – this might take a while to get it all out. I am typing one-handed, after all.

Thursday morning I passed some show at about 4:30 am, and spent the rest of the morning tossing and turning. I know by heart that it means nothing and that a baby can fool around for days after mom loses her plug, but it was still too exciting to go back to sleep. That, and the fact that I was having something more than Braxton-Hicks about every hour or so.

So I got busy all day making sure that a bomb could go off in the house and not need my attention for a while. Laundry? Check. Cat boxes fresh? Check. Ornament wrapped for that evening’s ornament party? Check!

(I look forward to Cindi’s ornament party all year. No way am I missing that for the birth of my own child.)

By Thursday night, I was feeling… impatient. With the whole world. Contractions were about twice an hour now, and it was distracting. My mom came over to watch the kiddos (since Mr. MG had duty on the ship all night) and off I went to the party to eat cookies – really, how much weight could the baby gain at this point? – and vie for the coolest ornament in the pile. Never mind the profuse sweating. I’m fine.

After a really great evening (and at least a dozen cookies) I got home, kissed the kids, and thanked mom for putting them to bed. She urged me to go to bed early – something about me needing some extra rest tonight. And I did feel pretty tired. So I made it to bed around eleven, which was two hours early for me, but by then Moo was doing her customary evening gymnastics. No chance for sleep, since she was setting off a lot of cramping every time she moved.

At 2:15, it was time to have some quality time in the bathroom, followed by yacking up supper, vitamins, and aaaaall those formerly delicious cookies. All righty then, I thought, perhaps I had come down with the kids’ tummy bug. Great timing. So I put the trash can by the bed and tried to rest again.

Nope. Somewhere around three, I figured it was time to get downstairs and make the round of phone calls. First the ship. Wait for the contraction to stop so I can dial.

“How can I help you, Ma’am?”
“Pass a message to OS1 – I mean OSC. Tell him to call his wife.”
“Okay. Will do.”
“Wake him up.”
“You want him to call immediately?”
“Yes. Tell him his wife is in labor.”
Pause. “OH! Should he call her cell?”
“Nope. She’s at home.”

Hung up and spent the next contraction thinking about how odd it is to talk about yourself being in labor in the third person. Next, called my midwife. I could still talk through contractions, and they were only 30 seconds long, so she said to call her back when they were 50. Finally, called my mom to come take care of me, and my mom-in-law to get the Bear. Let the Princess sleep – this was going to take a while, and there was no sense in getting her up yet.

Mr. MG called back, and I begged him not to hurry and get in an accident. Visions of Dr. Bailey’s husband having brain surgery swam through my head.

My amazing mom in law got here first, just as I as yacking up the last of the cookies (boy did I regret those things) followed closely by my own amazing mom. Kissed the Bear goodbye in between cramps – he was in a smiley, fine mood! – and got down to work walking circles around the living room.

Either my timing was off, or I was getting along pretty quickly, because it was time to call my midwife and have her come. Now.

“So…what does transition look like?” my mom asked in an offhand way, as she started to set up the birth tub. I gave some descriptions of what I’d read, but I only remembered getting chills with the Bear and nothing about transition with the Princess, so I wasn’t a ton of help. Mom sped up setting up the tub as far as she could alone and timed the contractions (closer and closer, now) while waiting for my midwife and her assistant to arrive.

Yes, it is. It’s a magic number.

Introducing Moo, born at 6:05 this morning.

Everything about this birth was an answer to prayer. She turned anterior in time. She was born quickly – in four hours – but the labor, while it didn’t tickle, wasn’t too intense to handle. And my midwife was right all along… the no sugar rule did the trick. Even at 12 days late, she was 8 pounds, 6 ounces. (And 21 inches long! Talk about a noodle baby.) Even though Mr. MG had to stand watch on the ship last night, he got home just in time and walked through the door as I was ready to push. The Princess got downstairs at the same time and watched her sister be born. And I came through the whole thing with nary a problem.

The Bear came home from Grandma and Grandpa’s after lunch, ecstatic to finally meet this baby he’d been trying to pull through my stomach for weeks. He was a very happy boy.

Thank you everyone for your prayers and support. You have no idea how much it has helped.

Happy Birthday, Moo.

I had never seen “A Christmas Story” until Mr. MG made me watch it. Whenever he would say fra-jeeeee-lay! I would just look at him like, well, like he had lobsters crawling out of his ears. Now I know better.

Just in time for the holidays, we can load up our Red Riders and shoot our eyes out! Have fun.

Saw my midwife again today, and our little critter is further down and things are progressing toward some eventual end. If she doesn’t decide to vacate by Monday or Tuesday, I’ll be taking castor oil. Again. Blech!

Only one hitch in the proceedings (if you’re not counting my being still pregnant at 41.5 weeks a hitch on its own) – last night she turned posterior. I am not kidding. I have never ever had one turn this late, or do anything but be in the perfect launch position from 36 weeks on. So I will be crawling around on all fours for a while. Scrubbing the kitchen floor on hands and knees. Lost your contact lens? I’m the woman to call to find it!

So keep this spinning baby (and her mama) in your prayers. I’ll admit, I am a little wigged out.

Bear: Mama, when will the farmer’s Market open up again?

Me: Not until June, babe. It’s a long way off.

Bear: Is that when we get married?

Me: Weeeeell, I’m married to Daddy. And when you grow up and love a woman, you can get married.

Bear: I love you, Mama. So we’re married.

Forty-one weeks pregnant.

I feel like a bomb that could go off at any minute. Or the ending of a suspenseful movie. (Hopefully not an M. Night Shyamalan movie, or I’ll be giving birth to my own mother, or something strange like that.) I feel like a forgotten science experiment, left on the shelf and bubbling away unattended.

I feel like an unopened Christmas present at the back, in the corner.