So I didn’t mention that after Deacon peed all over my neighbor’s studio room and we finally gave up trying to take pictures of him that day, Zoe started begging to get in on the action. Actually, she had been begging all morning. Could she have just one picture taken? Please? Please, just one? I told her that she could another day. But she didn’t like my answer, so she consulted her Magic 8 Ball, which assured her that she would, indeed, be having pictures taken that day. Now granted, she hadn’t showered, done her hair, or even put on particularly nice clothes, but as I started packing up Deacon from his pee-filled shoot, she begged Kristen to take her picture. So a picture was snapped. And then another. And then some umbrellas were brought out. And some cute hats. And flower petals. And before I knew it, many, many minutes had gone by and there was a stock-pile of cute pictures on Kristen’s camera.

Voila.

Never doubt the wisdom of the Magic 8 Ball.

My photog-neighbor, Kristen, took some shots of Deacon today. He was not happy about it. And when I say “not happy”, I mean he screamed his frickin head off for two hours while she tried her very hardest to capture his “newborn innocence”. Bottom line: he was pissed, man. He just wanted to sleep. He abhors the camera flash. He detested being stripped down nekkid and having a satin bow wrapped around him. And what can you do when you’re a newborn and find yourself being stripped down nekkid against your will and tied up with a bow? Why, you pee all over the photographer’s props, of course. And I mean, all over them. Like, soaking through several layers of backdrops and blankets and tapestries. (That’ll teach her to try to take pictures of his precious l’il bum.)

But of the 350 disastrous shots of him screaming and looking eerily like an old man, she managed to get a few shots that were absolutely awesome. (Have I mentioned before that the girl is good??) Here are a couple preliminary shots:

I know, cute, right? (I’m pretty sure he was screaming in the second one, but you can’t tell since it’s the very top of his head… she had to get creative with obscuring his unhappiness.)

I’ll post a few more up on flickr once she’s photoshopped out the tears and red-faced screaming… and pee stains.

Deacon Richard Gale was born Monday, December 22, just before 8pm. I am far too exhausted and giddy to write something long and witty and entertaining, so for now I’ll just give you the basics. He weighed in at 7 lbs 10oz. and was 20 1/2 inches long. We came home yesterday, Christmas Eve. I am ecstatic that he was able to be here for Christmas (and I was wondering what I was going to do with the presents under the tree that were for him if he wasn’t here to have me open them for him. As it was, he just gave me a sleepy yawn when I showed him his awesome presents.) As we speak, the sweet little dude is in my lap on a Boppy, snoozin and being all wiggly and babyish. I call him Deac the Squeak because he makes the cutest squeaks and noises you’ve ever heard. Or maybe you have heard it… it’s that set of amazingly adorable newborn sounds. He is my buddy.

We may have to tweak how to spell his nickname, though. Because tweak has a ‘k’, and squeak has a ‘k’, so maybe “Deac” should have a ‘k’ as well. Y’know, “Deak”. Is K a cooler letter than C? Eh, whatever.

One awesome perk is that I now have three handsome guys to look at everyday. Ask me how lucky I feel…

More pics up on flickr, as Jon has been a very diligent wife-helper and picture-taker and flickr uploader. If it weren’t for him, you’d have nothing… because the last few days have just been a precious baby-snuggling haze for me. Most of my time is spent looking like this:

Baby-gazing.

There have been no posts, no Facebook updates, no nothing if not resembling baby-snuggling or kid-hugging. All of the kid-hugging has been because Jachin and Zoe? Are precious with their baby brother!! They are fantastic helpers. (And Jon has taken pictures illustrating such.)

And now, carry on with your Christmas cheer. I sure am. This is the best Christmas ever.

Yesterday (Saturday) was my due date. 40 weeks. 10 months. And still? No baby. Not a huge shock, since my kids tend to hang out in my womb like loitering teenagers at a mall. All upside-down and squished in there until they are properly motivated (read: with drugs) to come out. But even though I am not surprised I’m still pregnant, well, I don’t have to be all jumping up and down excited about it. (Although I have been jumping up and down trying to get some labor going.)

So yesterday, before going out with my family amongst the shopping public, I donned a t-shirt alerting people as to my state of emotion… lest they be caught off guard at my pissiness.

Then last night, with no baby and all, Zoe and I decided to make sugar cookies. Because what the heck… what else is there to do without a baby? We made festive ones with the holiday cookie cutters I finally bought this year.

(Last year we made ghost sugar cookies that we tried to pass off as angels. They fooled no one.)

And because my belly is still huge because it is STILL filled with baby? Of course it was caught in the line of action:

But the cookies… they turned out nicely. (The secret ingredient: sour cream. And don’t over-bake.) Yum-o.

Zoe did a fabulous job icing them:

But ran into some trouble with one of the gingerbread dudes when his head fell off. Delicious decapitation:

(The girl mugs for the camera way better than her mother.)

So that’s my update.

Yummy cookies: check.
Baby: not check.

If I post something next week that begins “41 weeks”… just shoot me.

Hi this is Zoe.I had a performance on 12,15,08! I sang lots of songs like Rudolf, Two front teeth, and more.It was very fun. But I was sort of embarrassed in my red dress.But it was still fun.Well thats’ all.Bye!

Saturday was my hubby’s office party. It was a black tie affair at the Grand America in Salt Lake. The male employees had their tux rentals covered by the company, while the female employees got $37.50 (amount of a tux rental) toward their formal attire. Which — while being completely equal and therefor technically “fair” — obviously illustrates that the male CEO has never tried to purchase a chick’s prom dress or formal wear. Because $37.50? Buys earrings. At Claire’s. The end.

Spouses of course were just on their own to look all hot and spiffy. I was in a particularly tough spot, because I had to find something maternity that was cute and made me look as decent as possible, but without costing a ton because I will probably never wear it again. I stuck with black, because that’s traditionally thought of to be the most slimming of colors. But let’s be honest: at 39 weeks I could have worn “road construction orange” and it wouldn’t have made that much of a difference.

So Saturday afternoon we got up to Salt Lake and got our room (we decided to stay over and make a little weekend of it). We watched some cable, which was a treat since we shut ours off a couple of months back. 50 channels, and there wasn’t really anything on. We fell asleep. I dreamed about the Ped Egg because that’s the infomercial that was playing when I drifted off. We woke up with just enough time to get ready… and when I say “just enough time”, I’m speaking in man time.   It was just enough time for Jon to get ready. I — being a chick — require much more time to get ready. Plus, I seemed to be having an allergic reaction to something. My eyes were red and puffy. Then my whole face started getting all red and puffy. And Jon was all, “Why is your face all red and puffy?” and I just gave him a look… except that my face was red and puffy, so I don’t know if he even realized I was giving him a specific look. So I had to carefully take off my make-up, put a cold towel over my face for a little bit, and then reapply my make-up. I looked pretty much the same… but I managed to make us late.

We got down to the party in time to get our prom-esque pictures taken. I haven’t seen the photo yet, but I hope it’s kinda cute. We found a table in the ballroom with some coworkers Jon likes, and we chatted. We had a fancy salad made up of various imported weeds, and a tiny poached pear filled with something — it was either cream cheese or that white cream filling they put in Krispy Kremes. I couldn’t tell, but it was yummy.

Then the main course. I had the sea bass.

I asked Jon to take the “covert” pics of my food. But it wasn’t so covert. And everyone looked at him questioningly as the flash kept going off. And he finally just said, “My wife takes pictures of everything she eats before she eats it.” And then they all just kind of turned to look at me. And I said, “No, I blog everything.” But that just made them look at me even more strangely. So yeah, apparently I was the lone blogger at the table.

After dinner, we danced.

And by “danced”, I mean I did the thing where I move back and forth clumsily with my index fingers in the air, while Jon did the “sprinkler” and his trademark move where he reaches behind him and grabs one foot while his other hand is behind his head and he does this “pumping” move. And yeah, he even did it in the “circle”. But I didn’t get a picture of it because Jon had the camera in his pocket while he did the foot/head pump move… and, if you’re smart, you just don’t dare go anywhere near him while he’s doing it. But I totally shook my pregnant booty. And then me and this other cute pregnant chick, Dorothy, got up on a little stage (I dubbed it the “prego stage”) and we danced crazy.

Only she is clearly not as far down the gestational path as I.  And she had real moves that didn’t include index fingers in the air or the occasional “clap” when you don’t know what else to do.

And Jon also snapped this one, which is probably my favorite:

A shot of my pregnant stomach from a cat’s perspective. Frickin. Awesome.

But even after all of this?? No labor. Not even a few lousy contractions. Nada. Maybe the kid is holding out to see if his mama will dance crazy on New Year’s Eve.

Crap.

I love looking through parenting magazines, finding cool products that didn’t even exist 10 years ago when I was pregnant with my first kid. And the things that were around then have been really improved upon. Like, the regular old monitor that I had with Jachin that only let me hear what was going on in his room? How on earth did I make due with that ancient thing? Because now there are monitors that feature full color video surveillance of the crib and surrounding area plus an alarm that sounds if baby’s heart rate or breathing become questionable. And even the Boppy, which I believed was heaven sent with both of my other kids, has been made better by now having washable slip-covers (okay, that really was a smart improvement). Things that used to only swing or bounce, now swing/bounce/vibrate/sooth/heat/cool/dry and feature alternating music and nature sounds, plus dangling colorful animals and geometric shapes.

Awesome.

But when I came across an ad for this thing… well, I had to draw the line somewhere.

Meet the Easy Expression Bustier :

For moms who are far too busy to hold a breast pump. Because, as a busy mom, how many times have you found yourself in a situation — much like the busy mom pictured above — where you had to hold the phone in one hand and hold a book open with the other hand? I mean, forget bluetooth or speakerphone… those are such a hassle! And possibly cause brain cancer. Just strap this puppy to your boobs and go about your ultra-busy day like lactating isn’t even an issue!  Go on, vacuum! Make important phone calls! Flat-iron your hair! Get the mail! Okay, maybe not get the mail..

There is also a halter version that is apparently good for when you are reading the newspaper and doing light yoga stretches:

The main scenario that played in my head when I first imagined using this thing was me, standing at the sink, loading the dishwasher with a bunch of dishes that could not wait until I was done pumping, and then having my kids come in from school, and I would turn to greet them, and ask them about their day, and they would freak out over their milk-squirting cyborg mom standing in the kitchen with bottles dangling from her chest, beeping and churning. Because no where in the product description does it mention anything about it being “whisper quiet”. So of course I imagine all of these pumping, churning, robot sounds that would be emanating from the boob area.

Like a Borg. From Star Trek.

But scary Seven of Nine, not hot Seven of Nine.

Welcome home, kids! How was your day? Whir, swish, beep, chug.

Y’know, I think the dishes and phone calls can just wait…

(hilarious post-script: Jachin walked in, looked at the picture, and said, “What the crap is that thing? It milks you??” He may be scarred for life… but I’m laughing my butt off.)

My neighbor, Kristen, called me the other day, asking if I would mind doing some maternity shots for her photography blog. I was a little hesitant, because 6 or 8 weeks ago I felt all cute and stuff… but now I just feel rather HUGE. And I said, “Umm, I have stretch marks.” And she said, “Umm, I have photoshop.” And then she said that nothing would go up on her blog without my approval. And I said, “Well, if you can make me feel cute at 38 weeks, that would be awesome!” So we gave it a try. Saturday morning I drove over to her house and we took some pictures in her studio room. And, well, I am so happy about how they turned out, I could hug everyone I see! (Which isn’t even an easy thing to do anymore. I kind of have to give people a sideways hug.)

Here are a couple of the shots:

There are more up over on her blog, if you’d like to check it out. And if you live in the area and need any photography done (ahem, it’s Christmas card time), I highly recommend her. Besides being super cute, she’s nice, makes you feel very at ease, takes great shots, and has mad photoshopping skillz! (Cuz, yeah, I did some bare-belly shots!I know… ca-razy!)

When I was about 24 weeks into this pregnancy, my sweet doctor, Dr. Gordon, was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig’s disease. I can’t tell you how much I love Dr. Gordon. He delivered both of my other kids and I was looking forward to him delivering this baby as well. He reminded me of Sully from the movie Monsters, Inc. He was a big guy with a great laugh and a megawatt smile. When I think of the way he looked at Zoe’s birth compared to the way he looked when I showed up for my 10 week visit with this pregnancy, the difference was shocking. Sure, it had been 6 years, but he looked much older, and smaller… though no less happy.

Immediately after his diagnosis he flew to Germany to undergo stem cell treatment. Upon his return, everyone hoped for the best. Hoped that the treatment would help sustain him. But it didn’t seem to help.

Even with his quickly deteriorating health, he came into the office and saw his patients nearly every day. I came in every couple of weeks for my appointments, hoping to see him better. But he was always worse. From the time he returned from Germany he had lost almost all muscle strength. He pushed himself around from patient room to patient room on a rolling office chair. He cracked jokes and continued to call me (and I assume every other pregnant woman) “kiddo” when he came into the room. His smile still beamed. He informed me that he was no longer doing any deliveries; all deliveries were being done by his partner, Dr. Judd.

“People don’t want me dropping babies all over the floor,” he said to me with a laugh.

I was crushed that he wouldn’t be delivering this baby.

I saw him at Jon’s big office party at Halloween. He came into the building with a huge group of his family, one of his 8 kids pushing him in a wheelchair.

“Dr Gordon!” I said. “Hi!”

And he waved at me and smiled. I’m sure he didn’t recognize me from any of his other hundreds of pregnant patients, but he acted like he did. His kids saw a pregnant witch smiling and waving and they put 2 and 2 together. They smiled at me, too.

And then when I went in for my 36 week appointment a couple of weeks ago, the nurse took me into a patient room and informed me that Dr. Gordon had passed away. I cried.

It had been only about 3 months since his diagnosis.

I miss him. The rest of this pregnancy will be weird. There is a new doctor that he selected to take over his patient load. I am trying to like her. Trying to give her a chance. But she’s no Dr. Gordon…

And although I was only one of the thousands of faces of pregnant women he saw over the years, he always made me feel special and individual in his presence. He was special to me.

His obituary is here, if you would like to read a little more about him. The comments left there only echo the things I’ve said and feel about the man. He was loved by everyone.

Nothing makes sore piggies say ahhhhhhh like a pedi.

Zoe wanted flowers. Then when she saw that I was getting snowflakes, she was mad that my toe paintings were more Christmas-y than hers. I told her that her toe flowers are poinsettias, the official flower of Christmas. So if she asks you, please confirm that the flowers on her toes are indeed poinsettias… NOT hibiscus. Even though they look a lot like hibiscus. Just — shhhhh — trust me.