Knock knock jokes are his favorite, though. I started with the classic interrupting cow joke. I trust you know it. The G version goes like this:

G: Knock knock!
Me: Who’s there?
G: Interrupting cow!!
Me: Interrupting cow who?

- Sold our condo.
- Got rid of a metric ton of junk.
- Packed all our belongings.
- Moved to San Francisco.
- Unpacked all our belongings.

We arrived in SF on June 23rd. Our belongings arrived on the 25th, a Friday, around 10:30pm. It was Pride weekend and our apartment is in the Castro, so nobody was sober enough to complain about having a huge 18-wheeler parked on the street for three hours. G started his new preschool, a montessori school, the Monday after we landed. After three frantic weeks of unpacking/buying stuff/shuffling stuff/realizing we STILL have too much stuff I started work as a lab manager at UC Berkeley. A is happily (or screamily, depending on the state of his intestines) spending the days with Kim, as is G now that school is out.

So far we like it. It’s a big adjustment from Cambridge, where grandparents were never more than a few minutes away, and when we were feeling overwhelmed we could just jettison the kids and take a break. Our weekends are ours again - no more shuttling between grandparents and barely spending time at home. Instead we explore the coast and check out farmers’ markets, or just play in the backyard with our landlady’s children. At 14, 12 and 8 they are old enough to play nicely with Gideon, and young enough to be willing to include him in their games. They are expert makers of obstacle courses and players of back yard pickup baseball.

Despite having a one hour commute in each direction, I love my work - it’s all my favorite bits of experimental biology, with some writing and management thrown in, and no pressure to publish or organize my results beyond what I need to keep the lab running smoothly. I never have to give lab meeting again, and I’m okay with that! My schedule is flexible enough that I can get home by 5pm every day, giving me plenty of time to run around the back yard with G and cover A in kisses (he’s such a squishy baby!).

The left coast is growing on me….

(A’s best castro camo)

Me: “Seven weeks!”
Guy #1: “Is he working out yet?”
Me: “Nah…I’ll give him a few more weeks.”
Guy #2: “Never mind working out - start him with baseball. The Sox could use some help!”
Me: “With our genes, I’m guessing he’ll be the next Bill Gates, not the next…uhm…does Manny Ramirez still play for the Sox?”
Guys: silence and cold, cold stares.

I spent the next two hours laboring in and out of the tub, made it all the way downstairs to the first floor in the hopes of taking a walk (contractions were 2 minutes apart, so I didn’t make it as far as the door), and feeling sorry for my doula, Jan, who had nothing to do. G had arrived at the birth center with my parents shortly after 8, but left around 10 due to boredom (”WHERE is baby brother? Where’s the blood?” he asked every time he came in to check on me) and the lure of Grammie’s house. By 10:30 or 11 my contractions were getting far more painful, and I called Jan in to apply counterpressure to my back and hips while Omer scratched my back to take my mind off of the pain. Things sped up from there - I could no longer make polite conversation between contractions, and merely directed Jan and Omer to where I needed them.

My water broke during one of the contractions and was thankfully free of meconium - my last hurdle to staying in the birth center for the birth. I started crying, partially because I was relieved that I wouldn’t have to go to the hospital, and partially because I knew the end was in sight. Two or three contractions later I could tell I was in transition. Transition was the most painful part of my last labor, with contractions almost on top of one another. This time I seemed to get through it in a few contractions. I went back to the tub to push.

At this point the midwife on call, Joyce, joined Connie, Jan and Omer in the very small bathroom to coach me through pushing. Connie took the lead, checked me, and found that I was only 8cm dilated with A’s head pushing on my cervix. For what seemed like the next dozen contractions I was told to NOT push and instead blow out with small breaths. This was nearly impossible, given how strong the urge to push was, and I remember yelling at people to blow with me because I just couldn’t do it by myself. I was finally given the okay to push, and it seemed to take ANOTHER dozen contractions before A was ready to be born. I give full credit to Connie and her amazing coaching - she told me when to push, when to blow, and let me feel A’s head while it was still far up in the birth canal - for the fact that I didn’t tear or require stitches. On the whole the pushing phase was much more painful with A’s labor - I think mainly because Connie made me do it on my back in the tub, instead of on my hands and knees as I’d done with G. I remember flipping onto my back and feeling Jan and Joyce pin my legs up and telling them “This is wrong!” but Connie told me I couldn’t birth on my hands and knees due to the shallow depth of the tub.

Once A was out we encountered the same problem we had with G - a very short cord. We could barely get A up on my chest, and held him awkwardly out of the water until his cord was done pulsing. At that point Omer cut the cord and took A out of the bathroom, and the midwives helped me out of the tub to birth the placenta. As with my previous labor, contractions stopped as soon as the baby was out, so the midwives eventually made me give three (very weak) pushes to get the placenta out.

The midwives then made sure A was able to latch on, and left us alone for about an hour while A nursed. They then took his vitals, weighed him (7lbs, 9.3oz!), and returned him to us so we could all have lunch and a nap. After naps I got to take a shower, and then our pediatrician came to check him out. I love our pediatrician, Dr. Meikrantz. He’s a family doctor (so he also sees Omer as well as G) and he’s got a great demeanor with kids. I was very impressed that he was willing to come all the way to the birth center to check A out!

After Dr. Meikrantz left we filled out our paperwork (most ironic form? The one to which I was supposed to attach A’s non-existent hospital bracelet, and certify that he was really my infant. The only time he was out of my sight was when Omer took him out of the bathroom, so I guess I’ll just have to trust that Omer didn’t make a switch on me), got a list of future appointments, and left! We were discharged 10 hours after we arrived, and less than six hours after the birth.

Big bruvver G met us back at our house, and I’m happy to say that he seems fascinated with A. So far he’s been great about washing hands before touching the baby, not putting any hard objects near him, and carrying stuff for diaper changes. We’ll see what happens when the novelty wears off, but right now I’m so proud of G!

All in all, I prefer the experience I had at the birth center to the home birth - mainly because of the coaching I got during labor and the excellent post-partum care at the birth center (it didn’t hurt that we were able to abscond with extra receiving blankets, pads, peri bottles and other assorted goodies!). I was impressed with how efficient yet caring the birth center staff were, and the speed with which they made follow up appointments for both me and A.

Off to pull some red yarn from my stash. Or maybe rainbow, to match his scarf.

Today marks the day that BT2 becomes eligible for the birth center - he is officially 37 weeks, and (although I suspect he’ll stay in his warm and comfy digs for another three weeks) I am really ready for him to be born!

* I told my midwife that I am using her for her birthing tub. She thought I was joking….

22 weeks at a benefit for the Massachusetts Humane Society:
Lilya with Fan Veils

34 weeks at Arisia:
Lilya at Arisia

I’m not happy with my performance at Arisia (smile, dammit!), but I think it’s a great record of how I looked and moved at that point in the pregnancy.

The quest for a circumcised version of the doll was a fruitless one. Apparently nobody makes anatomically correct circumcised boy dolls that drink and pee and use the potty. Isn’t there a Jewish niche market for this?

I eventually gave up my search and bought the uncircumcised version, and Omer has suggested that we use a dremel to alter the doll’s boy bits when the baby has his bris. I just don’t want G to get any ideas about using a dremel on his brother….