We Like Her A Little Bit.

Two!

My wildly wonderful Nora Jane,

You are- unequivocally- two years old. While I'd long suspected this age (since- oh, you were nine or ten months old), the calendar finally backs me up. Two years going on fourteen, that's you.

In the color spectrum, you are neither grey nor pastel, but every single bold and definite shade. In the '80s, back when Day Glo was a very real concept, you would have been those short-lived (but much adored) neon Crayolas. Maybe a set of Sharpie pens.

When you love, it's euphoric and contagious. (Impossibly small stickers. Eggplant. Moments of unexpected independence. Daddy's arrival home each night.)

Sorrow is akin to the most epic Greek tragedy ever staged. (Babysitters. Closing credits. The tomato you grew that rotted before you could eat it. Daddy's departure each morning.)

Beyond promoting me to my favorite job ever, you've opened my eyes to things I had never before thought to do. Like, why did I never pair a wide-brimmed sunhat with fleecy footie pajamas? Or wear a cape to read [stacks and stacks and stacks] of books? When we dance each night (or rather, when you allow Suzy and me to join in on the nightly routine with your Dad), we all must dance vigorously, maintaining lyrics and energy- which, if you think about it, is the whole point. And how come, when walking down the street, I was never aware of how many sticks were on the ground at all times?

I'm fine with the icing, thanks.

Saturday was both your birthday and the party at your personal Disneyland- the neighborhood playlot. You were a gracious (if somewhat sleepy) host- barring a few moments when your pals attempted to wrestle/touch/view the gargantuan "2" balloon that threatened to lift the very picnic table. You were dressed in your Mom's version of lazy/park appropriate Rainbow Brite; layers, whimsy, and loads of color. Although, to be fair, you chose the shiny red shoes and white tutu. And you simply loved the cupcakes that I had baked inside of ice cream cones (thanks for the idea, Auntie Kate!), even though you never got beneath the frosting. There was too much else to do. And besides, when you came back for it (a good forty minutes later), a squirrel had made off with it. This caused feelings.

Dad, let go. I've Got This.

And sure, the day was dampened slightly by the end-of-party Diaper Situation that has forever changed the car/car seat cover/stairwell/bedroom floor/bathroom/tutu, but hey! You've successfully had your first shower! And I feel like we bonded further, what with me cleaning things from parts I wasn't even aware you had. And absolutely- you did not care for the removal of clothing/fluids/yourself from the party, nor did you overmuch think the shower was a great idea...until you informed me it was a little like a sprinkler. And that I had pink soap in my bath. Party on, Garth.

Sometimes I'm overwhelmed by how much information you retain- not to mention the exact intonation and 'tude with which you parrot. Or how sweetly you play with your toys (Hi, how are you? Oh, I'm good. I'm good, too. Let's kiss? Sure! Kisskisskiss. Go to the beach? Sure!) or how frighteningly you give them Time Outs, shoved backwards between the crib and the wall, getting an earful about every thing they've done wrong. (Okay, that part breaks my heart and makes me feel like the Wicked Witch of the West. Also- how they can breathe like that?)

The night before I left for the hospital to have your little sister, I cried. A lot. Buckets and vats of Ugly Cry. I was so terrified that something would happen in surgery and I'd never again get to touch your hair as you slept (as I do every single night). Or that things would change. We'd never again get quiet moments on the couch as sun streamed in and we alternated between forehead kisses and your proclamations that we were both going "a 'work," me to my writing and you to lining bath toys on the windowsill for all the block to see.

And you know what? Things absolutely did change. But I've gotten to see you love on your sister, kissing her in the mornings before anything else. And the pride in your face as you help me care for her, doing Big Girl things (even as you revel in the avalanche of her baby toys and equipment).

We still have our time. And we always will. You will forever be my tea party partner, my master puzzler, my blanket tent snugglebug. We will have treats and long walks and dance parties and I will always let you put stickers on my face.

And even though I kinda need to continue combing down the mat of wild honey-colored (and flavored) curls each day, I promise to let you become the gal you're so rapidly becoming. But don't grow too fast, okay? We have a ton of adventures ahead and all the milkshakes in the world.

I love you, Bitsy.

love, Mom

P.J. Is The Awesomesauciest.

You know, just hanging at Alcatraz.

Today is my darling husband Peej's 30th birthday. And since he makes the other 364 days so nice for me, I thought I'd return the favor by detailing why he's the greatest thing since sliced cinnamon raisin bread.

In list form.

30. P.J. mixes a mean cocktail; Moscow Mules, Hot Todgers, Painkillers, Sidecars...and he'll even share them.

29. I've seen him look equally as good (really, really good) wearing a cowboy hat, a three-piece Calvin Klein suit, and a pair of corduroys with ducks on them.

28. Despite having an addiction (since high school) to chocolate malts, beef jerky, and barbecue chips- sometimes allllll together- he doesn't seem to gain any weight. This is maddening.

27. He once visited the town of Pisa by train, determining well before his arrival that the only thing there he wished to see was The Leaning Tower Of. His train arrived. He jumped off. Asked a tourist to take the mandatory photo of him "holding up" the tower. Ran back to the train and caught it before it left the station. This is true.

26. He has songs for Nora, songs for Susannah, and songs for me. He makes playlists, sings to unborn babies in bellies, and slow-dances in the kitchen. He has music on his phone, his computer, his stereo, and coming out of his guitar. And if he doesn't have access to any of those, he's most likely singing to himself.

25. On that note, on a Valentine's Day a few years back, I tried to surprise him by putting a new playlist of love songs on his iPod for the morning commute. I instead successfully wiped his iPod. He still managed to find the gesture charming.

24. When P.J. says "I've Got This," rest assured it'll be taken care of. (Also, bring along a good periodical. For no one will leave the house until This has been Gotten.)

23. Despite being a Dog Person, he has so fully embraced the idea of my two cats that, since moving in together five and a half years ago, he has [easily] convinced them to like him better.

22. If there is a dish more insanely wonderful than his Spaghetti Carbonara, I don't think I could handle it.

21. Upon returning home each night, he immediately strips down to an undershirt. He knows that, within moments, he will be wearing whatever his daughter has eaten/played with/inadvertently brought in from the outdoors. He's totally cool with this.

20. No matter the city, country, or method of travel, he is never lost. Rome, the Midwest, Virgin Gorda, Cape Cod...he never falters in knowing exactly what transit stop or exit to take. This is especially true- and embarrassing- when his knowledge trumps mine in my hometown.

19. He is full of surprises. Like, who knew he had it in him to kill a rat with his bare hands? (Okay, he wore gloves.)

18. Our neighbors are slowly coming around to the idea that white people are not all bad. This is due entirely to P.J. and his intense efforts of neighborliness: picking up trash, learning other languages, and mowing adjacent lawns.

17. He'll cheerfully acknowledge all of his toddler's trolls and ponies by name. (And those names? They were given by his wife when she was a nine year old girl. So these are pretty darned important- and set in stone- names.)

16. Lest you think this makes him less of a man, he also knows a shocking amount of gangsta rap. I'm pretty sure this is just to bust out a parties with a surprising amount of lyrical accuracy.

15. He's pretty good at breaking up street fights and warning off hoodlums. (Of course, he's also been known to be the cause of a few of these kerfuffles...)

14. He's an eye-poppingly talented actor He has this one monologue that makes me bawl like a child. Seriously. Even mentioning it now has me tearing up. Moving on.

13. P.J. does not have an ex-girlfriend who bears him any ill will. At all. How do I know this? Because every single place we've ever gone together, a gal will pop out of nowhere, all smiles and hugs, and declare him to be THE NICEST GUY EVER. DON'T YOU LOVE HIM?! I'm fairly certain that, were we to one day travel to the moon, his second grade girlfriend would arrive at the same time and have only good things to say about him.

12. P.J. is ridonkulously patient. This has become more obvious with the additions of a Determined Wife, two Spunky Children, and a House That Threatens To Fall Down Around His Very Head. Add to these a Real Job, a Large and Crazy Extended Family, a Theatre Career, and- when we allow him to leave- a Penchant For Running. (But- not to the best of my knowledge- Away.)

11. He can grow/keep anything alive. This applies to children, pets, and neglected houseplants. Also vegetables, lawns, rosebushes, and Roth IRAs. Unfortunately, this gift also extends to that pesky crabgrass. (He WILL get you.)

10. He has the widest, best, and most genuine smile anyone will ever see, ever. (Anywhere.)

9. He is Midwestern, through and through, and really prefers "the lake." But he's also totally on board with the idea of "the ocean" these days as well.

8. He is a Mama's boy. But he is not obnoxious about it.

7. This guy willingly wakes up at bizarre hours to change his newborn and hand her off to his wife- a deed made all the more impressive by the fact that there is NO biological necessity for this choice.

6. P.J. apologizes first, which is not always a good thing in a fight- especially when the other party really wants to Get Her Mad On. But I'm pretty sure it's an amazing[ly foreign] trait to have.

5. And he listens. Even when you think he's isn't. And he stores that knowledge away for a long time, then surprises you one day with the perfect gift or a recitation of a conversation you thought had gone largely ignored. And then it's utterly impossible to think such things like- Oh, he never listens to me.

4. But he's a gracious winner.

3. Have you seen his movie collection? It's an unreal conglomeration of classics, questionables, and cult favorites. He may have also recently made room for Rainbow Brite and The Star Stealer for a special little lady. (His wife.)

2. Dude can dance. Ask him sometime about Voting For Pedro.

1. Without him, my life wouldn't be a shadow of how wicked it is- nor would I have gotten to meet these two miniature gals who share his smile. That alone makes me thank the stars, and our Moms, and random auditions...

We love you to the moon, P.J.

(And back.)

(Happy 30th.)

Halloween Prep.

Our ghosts...or as Nora called them, "the nice octopuses."

Ladybug with a springtime hat.

Reluctant punkin'.

Okay, Girls...Naptime!

Both had late nights this weekend.

I feel like today is the first day of a new job that I've really wanted for a super long time...and for which I may or may not have padded my resume a tad.

In a nutshell, I am alone with my children for the first time ever. EVER. Which is a truly bizarre thing to say.

We have had nonstop family and friends are constant helpers/personal slaves for the past three weeks. (Which is also bizarre. Yet wonderful.) I miss our Moms/my sister/Bethany already. But, strangely, I'm also looking forward to the end of the "newness." It's hard to have something feel like your day to day life if it also feels mildly like a vacation. I guess I need it to feel less nice so that it feels more comfy.

I swear I am not depressed.

Also, I've been looking forward to mopping and wiping things down so that they feel like mine again. Yes, I miss cleaning up my household messes.

I swear I am not crazy.

I am, however, rather tired. For longer than my semblance of normalcy will allow me to admit, I'd been planning a small shindig for P.J.'s upcoming 30th birthday. I knew I wanted a Guys' Night Out- and I knew that I wanted it free of Guys who would turn it into A Night In Jail. Plus, there was the fact that I'd be 2.5 weeks postpartum and completely unable to ring in his new decade the way he thoroughly deserves. So. Yes. And since he's UTTERLY impossible to buy for or plan for without the dollar bill signs over his head or the wad of coupons in his pocket warring with any type of romantic gesture I've got cooking...I thought it might be nice to surprise him with this little gathering.

Arranging for a handful of his closest friends (one whom flew in from NYC for the weekend!) and a couple of cases of Shiner Bock to be at a divey pool hall in our 'hood on Saturday night was pretty easy. A little tougher was the flying leap I needed to take every time my phone buzzed for the past month. Not really sure how I would have explained the nonstop texts and emails from his pals...although he was too tired to notice how often my phone was pinging in the middle of the night. (Don't you people sleep? Go to bed!) It's pretty safe to say he would have laughingly ruled out an affair- although, pal, some people LIKE girls in sweatpants. A LOT.

I thought I was in the clear until, oh, the night before the party, when two of his closest friends TEXTED HIM AT 2AM FOR NO REASON WITHIN ONE MINUTE OF EACH OTHER. P.J. had just changed Suzy and had handed her to me when he saw the blinking light on his phone.

"Oh," he said. "Neil and Nate both just texted me!"

Ever seen a girl lunge across a bed with a baby actually attached to her? It's not for all viewing audiences.

Realizing I couldn't nonchalantly bat his phone away, I went for uber-casual.

"Oh yeah? What did they say?"

"They said hi. That's funny."

"IT SURE IS!"

"I wonder why they both texted me at the same time?"

"Honey," I told him. "They're drunk." (Prove me wrong, Nate and Neil.)

He was satisfied with this answer, and- even though his curiosity was piqued- I rested assured that P.J. had no idea what was coming the following night...when I promptly thwapped the guys upside the head for choosing the night before a surprise party to be all nostalgic. AND DRUNK.

That said, he was surprised- or played the part convincingly- and now we can all go back to our regularly scheduled 10pm bedtimes.

Even planning other people's late nights wears me out. Heck, even remembering the planning wears me out.

Hence, the sweatpants.

Which may just be my favorite typed sentence EVER.

Now She Can Get A Part-Time Job.

Nora is pretty pleased with me.

Part of my review for LeapFrog's My Own Storytime Pad required that she give it a whirl and personalize it to her liking.

And there's a lot of liking.

The thing is pretty cool; a preschooler's version of a tablet, complete with pretend (and individualized!) emails from Mom, Dad, and Suzy, stories that she can choose, built-in playlists and the ability to create her own songs. There's an ABC function that lets her type out letters and learn phonics, and even (the slightly more advanced) ability to "write" her own stories.

As we already own a LeapFrog My Own Pal (Violet, thankyouverymuch), I had already installed LeapFrog Connect on my computer to hook it up with her name and personal preferences. (This is how Violet knows Nora digs blueberry pancakes and The Itsy Bitsy Spider.)

Checkin' out the specs.

I decided to let NJ play with the Storytime Pad and review it as I usually do- with a minimum of direction-readin' and a maximum of seeing how user friendly the thing really is for kids:

Being as my child was born in '09, she already has the techie knowledge so inherent in her generation- so she flipped it over and turned the power on immediately. And regardless of how often I initially showed her the lower buttons of ABC, email, stories, and music, she really just wanted to spend a good twenty minutes pressing the two dogs, cat, and chipmunk(?) at the very top to make them say different phrases. I completely understood.

Once we got into story mode, I showed her how to press the arrow keys to turn pages. This had mixed results as, at times, she'd patiently wait for each page to be read, and other times flip the pages like a windstorm. (I was not surprised, as this is sometimes how she reads her real books, too.)

Nora really, really liked the music function. She thought the songs were cool, but what totally rocked her world was how each letter on the pad turned into a different musical note or sound effect under the Jam Session option. (Although much like at Christmas with repeated playing of Dominick the Donkey, I quickly tired of the 'braying' one.)

The ABC phonics button captured her attention for a bit, and she had fun repeating what each letter sounded like. After a little bit, however, she turned into a bit of a beat-boxer (T-t-t-t-t-t-nnnnnnnnnn) and we moved onto emails.

When she heard and saw the one "from" me, (Nora- I love you SO much! Love, Mommy) she lit up and thanked me. (I do kind of wish there was an option to type out personal and simple messages that departed from the three stock options, but it's still pretty cute. And she looked downright amazed that Susannah had access to an email account.)

My only complaint with this otherwise superbly cool toy is the lack of a backlight function or option to change brightness. The small screen on the tablet is pretty dim and the text doesn't have much of a contrast. Nora and I both found ourselves squinting at times to read the text or see the cartoon characters. It's certainly not a deal breaker, but I was a little disappointed by tech support's answer that the brightness had been set to optimize battery life. (I'm a parent. I can change a darned battery when need be. But if she's gonna learn her ABCs visually, she might want to be able to see them.)

All in all, it's a really cute product, and one that Nora already refers to as her "computer." And retailing at roughly thirty bucks, it's a much cheaper option than letting a toddler potentially destroy an iPad in the pursuit of dominating some angry birds.

For example.

Thank you to LeapFrog for sponsoring this review. While LeapFrog provided the product to me for this review, the opinions I've expressed here are solely my own and represent my honest point of view.

Splish Splash.

Nora and Susannah are two very different ladies. Nora was the teensiest little Bitsy of a baby, with her dark hair eventually turning a really cool honey color. Her eyes (and temper) are just like mine- dark. Other than that, she's a mini doppelganger of her Dad; wide mouth, curly toes, and the opinion that the deep knee bounce is the world's best dance move.

Zuzu entered the world a full pound and inch larger than her "big" sister. Last night- at two weeks- her measurements equaled Nora's- at one month. Her white-blonde hair is gloriously confusing to us, as are her bright blue eyes. The only traits that she and I currently share are a penchant for snuggling and the ability to sleep exceptionally well on any surface. We have no idea whose doppelganger she is.

But aside from having dustily Victorian names and a mother who tends to over-kiss her young...here is something else that the sisters share.

They both abhorred their first bath.

Since the photos were almost identical- and identically hilarious- I thought I'd indulge in a little photo essay. 

Nora's first splash.

 Suzy's first splash.

Nora can't handle it.

 Susannah has words for us.

Identical mouths.

But this gal's mouth isn't that far off, either...

Okay, maybe we do know to whom she belongs. And yet again, it's P.J.

Mazel tov.

No, really.

But if they're anything like Mommy, I give 'em a year before they're lounging in the deep tub with bath salts, a good book, and the finest of classic rock playlists on Spotify.

B.Y.O.Sippycup.

Sisters...

...pose for Emo band photos...

...threaten to eat each other's faces...

...and reluctantly share Dad.

Blatant Displays Of Excessive Affection.

Auntie KT loves Zu.

And now, a bit of a love letter to my newest crush, Susannah Mae.

I know that all new parents believe their infant to be the sweetest, most even-tempered child ever created. But they must be mistaken. For it is my multiple-nicknamed baby.

She is so good- which I realize is a terrible mantle to place upon a child- but seriously. She is. Suzy only cries for two reasons; extreme hunger and extreme nudity. I completely understand.

Completely content to snuggle and kitten snore in anyone's arms, but she positively coos and shows a deep left cheek dimple (which I swear is an early smile- it just is) when she's with me.

I love being someone's favorite.

Modeling with Mim's handiwork.

And not only is she totally cool with her big sis Nora "kissing" her with a full-body tackle...but I swear she lights up at the mere sound of the biggie's voice.

Sure, it's a little biased of me, but she is easily one of the prettiest kids I've ever seen. I've seen a lot of cute kids, too. But none with crazy blonde hair like Zuzu sports. It shows no signs of thinning (yet- praise Jeebus) and her eyes get a brighter blue each day. The genetic improbability of this child really only adds to her magic.

She has three tooth buds. Now I'm no dentist and/or mystic, but that's awesomely advanced and lucky. This is a fact.

And did I mention that she sleeps five hours at a stretch each night, starting at the same hour each evening, waking only once for feeding and changing? I haven't gotten this much sleep since before this whole pregnancy thing started. It's kinda sick how the first few weeks with our newborn are easier than the entirety of the third trimester.

We shall keep her. And continue to pose her awkwardly. And potentially kiss her too much, mostly when she's trying to sleep.

Punkins.

Remember all of those pre-Susannah panics I had about time management, Nora's feelings, and strains on my marriage? Yeah, scratch those. I must have been insane to think our life with Suzy would be anything but awesomesauce.

I should have known better.

Second kids are obviously just meant for [sweet-natured] greatness.

Trust me.

But Who Will Prepare My Latte?

Going A'Work.

We have had non-stop staff here at Chez Schoeny. And it's been great. Crazy and [slightly] hard to get used to [initially], but great.

My Mom flew in the Sunday before Susannah's birthday. She quickly set the kitchen to her order, all the better to stock the freezer with pans, Tupperwares, and Ziploc baggies full of our (okay, mostly mine- but Peej is NOT complaining) favorite foods. Also, there is no laundry hanging out anywhere in our bedrooms or bathrooms. I once saw the woman do a load of laundry with three items. Plus, she got the task of Nora-wranglin' while we jaunted off to have Suzy.

My Dad fixed and built things all over the house, including an incredibly impressive revamp of our laundry/work room. Like, one can now walk into the room and do laundry and/or work. Shelving, storage, and work benches, oh my! This room is also the home of P.J.'s new tool chest. It's an early birthday present from the Flynn side of the fam, and it's the manliest of manly accoutrements. (My Dad went to go heft that thing home, too.)

Bethany came over yesterday, right as my Mom was cabbing it to Midway- and a good thing, too. My Mom and I, while both extremely in touch with our weepy sides, are extraordinarily hesitant to do so in front of "company." (Even though B has a) seen me cry, and b) napped with me.) Thusly, my Mom leaving me forever to flounder in new Mommyhood was not as tragic as it could have been. Bethany followed up this gem by promptly making me a snack, tucking me into the couch with Susannah for a nap, and proceeding to play "restaurant" with Nora for close to an hour. Did I mention that she also brought piping hot lasagna, salad and rosemary bread for supper? (Bethany For Mayor.)

And late last night, my big sis Kate arrived via O'Hare- just in time for my late night lasagna snack. She's spent the a.m. chasing down N.J., dealing with some seriously serious diapers, snuggling Suzy, and giving us presents. There's also talk of taking someone out in the jog stroller if the rain lets up. (I don't know if she means me or the Biggie Bug, but either way- it sounds just lovely.)

This weekend will herald in the Week O' Schoenys, as my in-laws will take charge once Kate leaves...but I'm a little worried what will happen once my built-in staff takes their well-earned rests in the own homesteads. Am I going to have to do laundry? The dishes? Diapers? Who will hold my children when I shower?

Okay, that'll be the first thing to go.

We'll be just fine. And I'll start to be more hands-on with housework, et. al really, really soon.

Maybe after my nap.

Zuzu's Second Week.

We're off to a good start...

Hippie bed.

Voicing displeasure.

Baby burrito in a huge crib.

Stickering the baby.

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety Jig!

The New Normal.

This is the first time- in recent memory- when I've posted this blog with the extremely attentive help of a toddler (hell-bent on showing me each rattle in her sister's collection) and a newborn (hell-bent on making me stare at her face for no urgent reason whatsoever).

Okay, that last issue is totally mine.

Maybe it's the Norco, and maybe it's the wild amount of cooking/cleaning/Mother Hen help I've been getting from my Mom (and my Dad and my husband...) but I think this Two Kid thing is absolutely neato.

Nora has gone from curiosity ("Is that Baby Sister Susenanna?") to horror ("Do you want to hold the baby?" "Oh NOOOO.") to pleasure at having a new baby doll on which to pile hats and scarves and shaky toys. Plus, I held The Little for most of the weekend, freeing P.J. up for pretty much anything The Big could ask of him. Like sitting still and holding her.

Susannah, for her part, is impossibly good. She's mellow, happy as a clam to be held by anyone, and slept for two 4.5 hour stretches last night, waking for a paltry fifteen minute late night snack in between. I like her more than myself right now. I also have a minor obsession with her shock of pale yellow ducky hair. It is awesome and I will cry myself to sleep when it falls out.

Back to the sleep thing. For this kiddo, I had purchased a ridonkulously cheap (five dollars) co-sleeper that slides in bed between the two of us. It's the greatest thing since sliced bread for so many reasons:

a) I am, at heart, a humongo hippie. (Sigh.)
b) The first 17 months of the pregnancy and ending fifteen months are still SO vivid in my mind that it's kinda cool if Peej and I just high-five for a little while.
c) It sure beats the fright fest that was letting newborn Nora loll around between us in the middle of the night. Ah, first time parentude.

So, this co-sleeper business allows me the dual purpose of indulging my selfish desire to not get out of bed all night and the peace of mind that I won't trample her in my sleep. Glorious. Plus, she sleeps exceptionally well in it, which would equal a tremendous amount of sleep for all of us if I were not afflicted with the twice-hourly desire to awaken, wondering a) why she's sleeping so well and b) how she's so goshdarn cute. 'Cause seriously, it's an issue.

We've also been having fun playing around with her nicknames- because, for real, how can you nickname   someone before you've seen them laugh? And while we love the name Susannah, it's an awfully big one for such a teensy brownie bite. (Also- I live to nickname.) Our standard has become Suzy (with a Z, not an Sie, because I want to keep her on her toes. Also, it looks cooler in print). But we've also been rocking the 'Zuzu,' because we apparently adore naming our children after Golden Era Cinema females. (Zuzu's petals, anyone?) 'Miss Mae' has made an appearance, as has the hilariously sleep-deprived choice of 'Shumai.' I think Peej may have just been hungry, though.

And by the way? We love you. It's unreal how wonderful people have been in terms of cards, messages, calls, flowers, food, and sweet offers to take Nora places.

And these aren't even from people who gave birth to me.

(Not entirely, anyway.)

It's fabulous, and would make me feel warm and fuzzy even without the post-op drugs.

Really.

The Story Of The Monkey.

So this is the story of Susannah Mae. I will attempt to toe the line between crazy gory details ('cause there are people who really, really wanna know) and uh, non-crazy gory details. 'Cause there are definitely people who DON'T.

And pardon in advance my odder-than-usual vernacular, as well as the moments where I appear to be trailing off mid-sent...

The drugs are my friends. Anyway.

On the morning of the 4th, we set our alarms for 5am, knowing that we had to be at the hospital for 6am sharp. Of course, this meant that I wouldn't get to bed 'til 11pm, waking three times with various concerns, needs to pee, and at least one dream where I had missed my alarm, was informed that I needed to go change Nora's diaper since I missed my surgery anyhow, and consoled myself with a sandwich.

I woke up really tired (but without having succumbed to said sandwich) and after P.J. finished packing (I had been packed for Exactly. Two. Months), we jaunted down Lake Shore Drive and checked ourselves in to Chez Prentice. (There was a woman whom I allowed to check in ahead of me, as she was In Active Labor And Was Not Pleasant To Be Around. I wished to move her along.)

Somewhere between the third blood draw, second hospital gown draped over me (backwards, natch, over the frontwards one- it covers slightly more area), and first I.V., I began to have doubts that this whole second kid thing was a good idea. Turns out, by this point, no one really cares about pausing the shebang until one gets one's courage back up. So, sometimes, one needs to fake it. Which works really well until an O.R. nurse soothes said patient and commends her bravery in a nice voice...causing the patient to well up and completely ruin the facade...which generally results in a ridiculously nice team of anesthesiologists to take turns holding the patient's hands while talking and joking her through an impossibly pain-free spinal. (Seriously. My only slight owie jolt was the first numbing needle, which, upon my flinch, caused every single person in the O.R. to rush over and tell me how wonderfully I was doing. I later commented that giving birth in front of an applauding team of twenty was the ONLY way to do it.)

Okay. Gory details time. BUT FIRST- may I state again for the record how incredibly pain-free the actual c-section was? 'Cause it was. I felt nothing. Not the broken popsicle stick test (I swear to God that is a real measurement of pain after numbing medicine is applied- they also said they had a paper clip they sometimes used to prod the thigh, hip, rib cage and sternum to test how high up the numbing goes), not the first, second, third (and on and on) incisions, and certainly not the cauterizing thinger- though I definitely could smell someone's burning flesh. Poor fool. By the time they invited my questionably married husband to look over the divider and inform me what we now had, I wondered what sort of mutilated carcass he'd see on his wife. I still don't know. But even after the crazy tugging, weird sounds, and elephant-like pressure on my rib cage to shove the kiddo's legs out (the ciiiiiircle of liiiiiiife), I was still off the charts excited to find out who this new little person was.

The one who really dug liverwurst. And melon. And making me sick as a dog for thirteen weeks- though that also might have been the liverwurst and melon.

And P.J., looking over the curtain to see the kid's head still emerging from my abdominal cavity like some bizarre cross between E.R. and Alien (he thought it was AWESOME, by the by), said in a quietly pleased voice- "It's Susannah."

BFFs.

And I cried because I was so happy.

Because she had a head full of the thickest, blondest ducky hair I had ever seen. And- when she eventually squinted them open- the brightest blue eyes. She had the Schoeny mouth, of course, wide as anything and tilted like a bow. Her skin felt like velvet and her chubby cheeks promised to be superbly kissable. I could already tell that we'd be great friends.

And once they'd unstrapped my arms from the T position, placed me on a board for transpo onto another gurney, and dangled all of my wires and tubes from the appropriate hooks...they placed her in my arms. And it kinda didn't matter that I had just undergone the complete opposite of a natural birth, nor that I'd feel like a Mack truck rolled back and forth on my belly in a matter of hours. As I looked into Susannah's weary face (I hear that, sister), I once again had the realization that it wouldn't have mattered if they had removed her from my ear canal with safety scissors.

It was worth Every. Single. Frightening. Pain. (Isn't it obnoxious when mothers say that? Even more obnoxious is when they're right.)

And sure, the past couple of nights have not been amazing, physically or emotionally; due to my gestational diabetes, Suzy's been subjected to way too many blood tests, tubes, force feedings, heart monitors, and an overnight in the NICU. But luckily we've been able to be with her nearly nonstop. P.J. especially has made a habit of chasing her rolling bassinet down the hall with whatever cranky night nurse  is currently finding him a pain in the ass. (And he has the 45 minutes of combined sleep since Tuesday morning to prove it.) We've had some lovely angels on our side, too, especially the NICU nurse who lobbied for our daughter to be sprung and sent back up to us. (And she made P.J. melt like a summer popsicle when she fashioned a bow for Suzy's tiny cap.)

But now the two gals are catheter, I.V., and needle-free...and the guy is slightly more rested. And tomorrow morning we'll all be going home, where a positively ecstatic biggie sister has already given Susannah Mae permission to play Sleep Tight in "the baby's room."

Little Miss Bow Hat.

There's kinda nothing better in the universe- not even the super white tuna sushi on its way to my hospital room right now. (Though- oh my God- so, so SO close.)

And now we'll go snuggle our little Monkey close while we watch our favorite shows and drift into a blissfully medicated sleep (okay, maybe just me).

But I know I'm not alone in thinking that life as Peej and I know it has just gotten a heck of a lot sweeter.

Susannah Mae.

Little baby gal, 7lbs, 10oz and a whopping (for me) 20in.

8:42am on October 4th, 2011.

I love her so much that I want to eat her face, smell her head, and snuggle her belly until P.J. intervenes (for his turn). Nora digs her, too- especially since Susannah brought her a life-size Dora the Explorer.

T Minus WHAT?!

Donesville.

Okay, this is getting nuts.

By tomorrow morning at this time- if all goes according to plan- I will be holding the newest member of the mini Schoeny family.

Which blows my mind right outta my head and plops it onto the dining room table, which I have yet to stop dusting.

It's very strange to know precisely when your pregnancy will be done. And at the same time, you almost wish you'd go into labor (regardless of how wonky that would be) if only to break up the inevitable and breakneck locomotion towards surgery and a certain deadline. I love suspense. But I also hate it.

In some ways, I'm more excited about the birthing process this time around. With Nora, I was afraid. Of the c-section, of being a first time mother, of getting to the hospital itself, pretty much anything I had read on the interwebz...But at the same time, there was a kind of bliss in not knowing how hard the healing process would be or what to expect when.

But I had had no idea how euphoric that first moment holding her would be. Or how perfectly wonderful that first couch nap at home with Nora would be. So in that respect, I simply can't wait for this baby. AT ALL.

But then again, as someone who's had slightly more than the national average of surgeries (some minor and some not-so-much), I will never lose my apprehension at feeling like a human pincushion. Sure, I can deal with the post-op metal staples, but please don't make me watch while you put in an I.V. and draw blood. There are limits.

That said, after the last few nights of waking up with insane false contractions and an internal (child-sized? Debatable?) foot in my sternum, I would willingly jab the needle in my own arm. Especially if you include last night's sideshow of a full leg cramp that made me a) shriek in pain, b) wonder why someone was stabbing me into ribbons with scissors, and c) if contractions have ever been brought on by leg pain.

On a fun note, I had my first gender-related dream in recent memory. And it was a boy. Meaning...absolutely nothing. Because, if anyone remembers, I was certain that N.J. was a boy. Which I'm decently sure she is not.

In my dream, I was so thrilled to meet my kid and announce his birth that I promptly sent a mass text...to all of the past year's contractors. Like my mold guy and the plumbers, et. al. But it never sent. Leaving me to panic. (Great- one more thing to stress about.)

So, uh, this is the last day to lemme know your guesses for The Monkey's weight and gender! I've been receiving them via Facebook, text, and in person...overwhelmingly, people feel that the baby will be a girl and under 7lbs.

So I'm gonna go on record and say BOY, 7lbs, 13oz.

P.J. thinks it's a dude as well, but he's sticking with 7lbs, 10oz- which is very The Price Is Right of him.

My youngest sister is thinking Girl, 5lbs, 8oz. Because a) she was a preemie and a twin, and b) she has not, in recent memory, hefted a full term infant.

My Dad thinks it's a boy. My Mom, to counter that, is going with Girl. Even though she really thinks it's a boy. (Especially since she made gorgeous wooden letters for the baby's name- both gender options, in fact- but really likes how the boy name came out.)

So I'm curious what YOU think. Again, I can promise you nothing but my undying impressitude and bragging rights on a blog of medium publication. Oooh.

And I'll seeya Wednesday for a [blissfully] wordless post. And probably something exuberantly drugged on Thursday.

Plan accordingly.