We are thrilled to announce that after a long, 40-week wait, LB has finally arrived…and HE IS GORGEOUS! At 6:26 p.m. on Thursday, April 29th, all 7 lbs., 12 oz. and 21 inches of him made a (VERY) quick entrance into the world right in our living room! We are amazed, wowed, overjoyed and totally in awe of this little person, his unique personality and by the experience of having him at home.

So, the birth story (warning: some gory details involved). After four days of being cooped up in the house, Thursday morning I booted myself up and out, heading to an early morning meeting and then taking Yonah to playgroup. I was having contractions pretty regularly, but they didn’t hurt and since I’d been contracting for the past two months, I figured it was nothing to write home about. So, we had our lovely morning out (Yonah had a blast with his little girlfriend, Lillian), came home, had lunch and Yonah went down for his nap. Around 1 p.m., the contractions started to get a little painful so I decided to take a nap myself to see if they would taper off. When I lay down and the contractions kept coming, I started to suspect that this was IT.

An hour later, around 2:45, I woke up and things were still rocking. My suspicions were confirmed…Baby was coming! As Yonah snoozed away, I went downstairs to tell Shuie it was time. HUGE smile. I called Becca, who said she’d be there in an hour. Not a big deal…labors take a while, right? After I gave my friend Devorah a ring (Yonah was going to be hanging out at her house while I had the baby) I climbed into the tub and chilled out, listening to Nick Drake as the contractions got stronger. As I sat relaxing in the warm water, I offered up a prayer for the strength to get through this. I was able to chat quickly with my father and Aunt Renee and Shuie called his mother, who begged us to have the baby before sundown. If the baby decided to come after the sun set, the bris (circumcision ceremony) would be held on Friday, when my mother-in-law is due to have surgery and my sister will be graduating from college. We made no promises, since it was only about 4 hours until sunset.

The contractions were building in strength a lot faster than I had anticipated. I couldn’t help but think of what I’d heard about second births being faster, and of Becca’s knowing smile when she checked me the day before and said, “You’ll see; this baby is going to come right out”. I called Becca again and told her she should probably leave NOW.

I was still in the bath when Becca arrived — by this time it was around 4:15 — and she very quickly determined that the show was well on the road. She dunked her Doppler microphone in the water and put it up against my belly to listen to the baby’s heartbeat, then I got out of the tub so she could check me. I was already dilated 4 cm (I had been 2 the day before). I got back into the tub while Becca set up shop and Shuie got Yonah ready to go. Yonah wandered in and out of the bathroom sporadically, saying, “Hi, Mama!”, checking in with his bath toys and wandering out again. At first I was happy to see him but as things got more intense I could barely answer him. I was blown away by how intense the contractions got…and how fast! Becca encouraged me to breathe deep, relax my body and “let them be strong”. When I tried to relax, though, the pain was so intense I felt like I my body was going to break. I fought them, despite knowing that relaxing would make it easier. At one point I even slapped the side of the tub with my hand, like it was the jacuzzi’s fault for making me feel this way.

After a bit the water started to feel confining and way too hot so I migrated out to the living room, where a twin-sized air mattress was waiting for me. I started to feel like I wanted to crawl out of my skin; my bathrobe started to weigh me down like chain mail and I threw it off. I didn’t want anyone touching me and as the contractions started coming faster I was suddenly exhausted, desperate for sleep. Amanda, my other midwife, had arrived by then and told me that that was from the endorphins. In the back of my mind I knew that everything I was feeling were signs of transition, the last stage before the pushing, but I couldn’t believe it was possible for me to be there so soon. By then it was around 5:30; I’d only been in labor for four and a half hours! But Becca checked me, and indeed, I was already about 9 cm, almost ready to push!

As I lay in a heap on the air mattress, Becca set up her birth stool. I felt myself going into a “zone” between contractions, closing my eyes and just kind of floating until the next one hit. When they were ready to move me onto the stool, the contractions were lingering so that there was no break, just one on top of the other. I’m not going to lie: It was brutal. “I need a break,” I kept insisting, “I can’t do this anymore!” And yet, all the while I knew it all meant I was really close.

Getting onto the birth stool was a HUGE relief. Shuie sat on the couch behind me, giving encouragement and looking over my shoulder at the baby. Almost immediately I felt the baby move down into my back and into my pelvis. Becca and Amanda told me to resist the urge to push until I couldn’t anymore. After only a few more contractions the amniotic sac was pushing out — my waters had never even broken! I asked Becca if I could break them, knowing it would speed things along. She agreed and I went for it, hooking my finger in and ripping it open. It felt like ripping open a mix between a plastic bag and a balloon. Even in the midst of it, I couldn’t help but think how cool it was. Not every woman can say she broke her own water!

After that, things moved lightning-quick. For the record, I am a rock-star pusher; just one, and the baby slipped right down and was crowning almost immediately. “Black hair…” Becca said. “He has hair! He has hair!” Shuie exclaimed. Becca and Amanda told me to hold off so he didn’t come out too fast and cause tearing. But even as I held off pushing, Shuie told me the baby was still moving out slowly, as if my body was doing the work without me. I was afraid of the burning sensation known as “The Ring of Fire” that comes from the skin stretching, but I was so relieved to be able to push I barely noticed it in the moment. Finally, with a couple more pushes, I felt his shoulders and the rest of his little body slip out and THERE HE WAS, his timely arrival at 45 minutes before sundown.

“Reach down and get your baby,” Becca told me, and I did, pulling him up to me and taking in his beautiful face, his fuzzy body, his olive skin (definitely my side of the family), his ten fingers and toes, and his little “apparatus”, confirming that he was a boy, as we had expected. He was still attached to the placenta so I had to be careful not to pull him up to high or too hard. I was still contracting as I held him and the placenta came out in a matter of minutes. Shuie cut the umbilical cord, the first time he’d done it for any of his children. Shaking with relief, joy and awe, I just looked and looked at him, unable to believe that he was here so quickly, and right in our living room!

As the setting sun cast gold through the windows, baby and I settled back onto the air mattress, where the picture-taking and phone call marathon could begin. I was thrilled to see that Baby took to nursing right away and was peeing and pooping in less than an hour. While Shuie went to go pick up Yonah, Becca and Amanda went to work cleaning up and starting laundry, and making me a cheese omelette for dinner. When they examined the baby, they held him with such love you would have thought he was theirs. And can you believe it…they thanked ME for allowing them to be a part of it all! I don’t care if you go to the most exclusive hospital in the world; they could never match the loving attention and care these two women gave me. It was beyond awesome and made this experience so much fuller than I could ever have imagined.

Yonah came home and gave the baby a cursory glance before climbing on the birth stool and chasing after Amanda to play with him. He’s slowly warming up to Baby, touching him once in a while, giving him a kiss or two and wandering over to say “Hi, Baby!” before heading off to play. I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Shuie is over the moon, of course, completely in love with his new son.

As for me, I have never felt prouder of myself in my entire life. Before the birth, there was a part of me that was fearful I would cave and beg to be taken to the hospital in the middle of everything. I wasn’t sure if I really had the strength to do this. But I did. And, from what Becca and Amanda tell me, with aplomb. I guess God knew just how much I could handle; it was so intense, but just for a few short hours. Going through this process, learning everything I have, making the choices I did about this birth and then following them through has solidified something that is very personal and sacred and dear. Beyond just having evidence of my own strength and ability, I truly feel that this experience has locked in a sense of becoming the person I have always wanted to be. I am so proud and so, so grateful for that.

The guests have already started “descending”, but I am thrilled to have company. Friday brought Katherine and Devorah (who came bearing Shabbos dinner for us, God Bless Her), and my mother’s close friend “Auntie” Jane. We had a sweet, quiet Shabbos and Dad arrived this morning to spend the week helping out. I would love to have more visitors so feel free to give a ring or email if you want to meet our new addition.

Baby’s bris (circumcision ceremony) will be on Thursday morning at the Chabad House, 745 West Main St. in Hyannis, where we’ll be announcing the baby’s name. We have to confirm the time but I will let everyone know ASAP. All are warmly welcome.

Mazel Tov!

For those of you on the edge of your seats, I hate to tell you that L.B. has yet to make an appearance. I’ve been having some intense contractions, but nothing too exciting. My midwife Becca will be by in a bit so we’ll see if she thinks anything’s brewing.

The waiting, meanwhile, has been playing some tricks with me and getting me nervous about the upcoming painfest I’ll be enduring soon enough. One painful contraction yesterday and I thought, “Just Kidding! Take me to the hospital!”. Luckily, I got an email this morning from fellow blogger and acquaintance Chana Weisberg in Israel, who just wrote an article about “The Top Ten Tips for a Drug- and Pain-Free Childbirth”. Quite auspicious. Reading it, I was reminded that most of this is going to be all about attitude. If I get scared and convince myself I “can’t” do it, my body will tense up and make it a lot worse. If I can remind myself to be calm and remember that this pain isn’t pathological, but part of a natural process, I can stay relaxed and take each contraction as it comes. So today I will be playing cheerleader for myself, only without the skimpy clothes and backflips (wouldn’t that be something?).

As the birth gets closer I can’t help but think about the fact that my mother will not be here with me, physically, anyway. There’s still a small part of me that thinks she’s gone on a trip and that she’ll come back eventually. How can someone so integral to who I am not be present for the most momentous occasions of my life? I do believe that she’ll be watching over everything and that she’ll be there in spirit, but in my “Poor Me” moments I can still feel gypped, picturing myself as a crumple-faced preschooler hugging his blankie and wailing, “I want my Mommy!”. And yet, I’m not angry anymore. And I don’t feel helpless at the prospect of facing this experience without her. In fact, I think, as hard as it will be, I will be able to handle the labor and the birth and juggling two kids, one day at a time. I have many people here who care about me and who will help me. And while it won’t be the same as it would have been, it will have to be what it is. So while there is sadness and regret, there is also peace.

Sending love and condolences to our dear friend Jane Haar, who lost her mother Rae a few days ago. The Haars have been a part of my family’s lives for over two decades, living down the street from us when we were growing up. Jane and my mother were best friends, and Jane’s daughter Ali is one of mine. When my mother passed away last year, they drove all the way to the Cape from NJ to spend the day reminiscing with us about all the wonderful times we’ve shared. They are very special friends and I am truly sorry for their loss.

And so the cycle continues. At this time last year, my mother lay dying in her bedroom, only a few yards away from where I’m sitting right now. And now, as another soul leaves the world, another prepares to arrive. Let’s hope the new one shows up sometime soon.

Oy.

The burst of nesting energy has fizzled out and I am anchored into my house. LB continues to sleep in and gain weight, and as each day passes my capacity to move around diminishes more and more. I’ve gotten to the point where errands are out (Shuie and Yonah did the grocery shopping this morning) and my itinerary has become pathetically empty. In desperation, I have called a slew of friends to come and visit me and it looks like we have three on the roster for today.

Tomorrow night is a full moon, which is prime baby time. I was born on a full moon myself, so here’s hoping something exciting happens.

Of my few choice obsessions, perhaps the dearest to my heart is my love affair with Kate Winslet. I should clarify that I am not one of those people to jump on the “Kate Rules” bandwagon that has gained momentum in the past couple of years. Heaven forbid. Anyone close to me will attest that I have been a bona-fide, die hard fan for almost fifteen years now. I could go on and on about how amazing she is in all of her movies, how genuine a person she is, and how freakin’ gorgeous she is, but I’ll save you the nausea and instead just say that Kate and I have a very special relationship; she just doesn’t about it. Yet.

Anyway, my girl Kate has jumped on the “food activism” bandwagon by narrating this short German documentary about the atrocious treatment of ducks to make foie gras, keeping them confined and force-feeding them starch and fat to enlarge their livers. The awfulness is on par with all the mistreatment of animals I’ve been reading (and writing) about here in the States. While Foie Gras consumption is not exactly what I’d call a huge problem in America — we’ve got enough of a headache dealing with Chicken McNuggets — in France it’s as ever-present as, well, cigarette smoke and the stink-eye (and I mean that in the best way). I’ve actually been to the Foie Gras capital of the world, a tiny little town called Sarlat, where off the main square there are cute little copper statues of a mommy duck and a couple of her ducklings trailing behind. I guess adding the force-feeding tube wouldn’t have worked so much, aesthetically.

So, among the many reasons I have to be in love with Kate, now I have one more. Not only can she raise two kids and consistently turn out Oscar-worthy performances, Kate Winslet is saving the world, one duck at a time.

All I have to say is, God Bless Jamie Oliver.

I finally got around to watching his show, “Jamie Oliver’s Food Revolution”, in which he spends 3 months in Huntington, West Virginia (the most unhealthy town in the U.S., according to the Center for Disease Control) and attempts to teach people how to eat properly. After a smashing success getting schools in England to trash the processed food and start feeding kids fresh stuff, Jamie wants to spread the message on this side of the pond. I was SO relieved to see something like this going on; having been a teacher myself, I have seen the kind of crap kids are being fed in schools — I use the word “crap” specifically, since much of it can’t technically be categorized as “food” — and even the kind of crap that PARENTS are sending in the lunch boxes. I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again: No one, especially kids, should eat anything florescent. So, hooray for celebrities that are actually using their star power to help humanity. Now to cut through all the USDA’s red tape…

My due date has come and gone and LB is still sleeping in. I still have another couple of weeks until I’m considered “post-term” so I’m not too concerned, but I am so freakin’ pregnant I should lease myself out to one of those “wide load” trucking companies. So that I don’t obsess about this baby not coming, I’ve been obsessively cleaning and baking, fearful that I’ll go into labor with a messy house and nothing to eat. The problem with that is, I live with two men, one of whom it 20 months old and trails messes wherever he goes. The other plows through my muffins like he’s trying to break a record for highest number of muffins eaten in a 15-minute period. Ah well, at least it’s keeping me busy…

Since I will be transforming into the “Dairy Queen” pretty soon, I am looking for book recommendations to keep me occupied while LB is in chow mode. Send ‘em along if you’ve got ‘em.

If Yonah had any hankering to become some kind of water-based superhero, those aspirations were drowned by our visit to our friend Shari’s the other day. I love visiting Shari for a number of reasons. Besides her company, of course, she has three fantastic kids in their early teens who are happy to entertain Yonah, leaving Shari and I to chat like actual grown-ups. She also has a big, beautiful house in Osterville, a neighborhood I drive through with my mouth literally hanging open. I have never seen such gorgeous homes; they make me giddy, like a bottle of champagne uncorked in my belly.

This, by the way, is an aspect of what I like to call “House Envy”, the female counterpart to Freud’s pathological “Envy” unique to the male sex, relating to a certain part of their anatomy. While men constantly compare their physical attributes, women tend to compete more in the arena of marble countertops and stainless steel appliances.

Anyway, in the back of Shari’s house is a sprawling yard and an olympic-sized pool, which these days is still covered with a winter tarp. After throwing the dirt from her garden onto the patio, Yonah took a keen interest in the big green “thing” on the ground. He took a tentative step onto it (with me running up closely behind), and then another, at which point the tarp dipped down and up sprung a HUGE puddle of water. Yonah was soaked! He was also a little shaken up, but was over it in about 30 seconds, after I had scooped him up, brought him inside and stripped him. He got to spend the next couple of hours running around in an oversized T-shirt while his clothes went through the dryer. Although all ended happily, I’m pretty sure Yonah won’t be trying out for the swim team anytime soon.

So I guess I’m going to be pregnant for the rest of my life.

I really thought this weekend was going to be it. I figured I’d go into labor over Shabbos and we’d call everyone Saturday night and say, “Surprise! Baby’s Here!”. Not so much.

I know I’m only officially 39 weeks but I’m getting antsy. I suppose this is a good sign — according to my Aunt Renee, the more miserable you are, the closer you are to giving birth — but it’s still a drag waiting for this kid to show up. I think LB and I need to have a little talk about “consideration for others”. I mean, it’s just discourteous, like hitting the snooze button over and over again while the rest of the family is waiting in the car.

We are looking at another not-so-manic, newborn-free Monday and Yonah and I don’t have much going on, aside from trashing the living room, although that’s subject to change since Yonah is getting really tired of picking up after me. We’ll probably take a walk, weather permitting, hit the library for some new books and not eat batteries.

Pray for me, people. I need some patience and serenity today. In two weeks or less when LB is here, I will long for this lull time like a drowning person longs for oxygen, so I’m going to try to enjoy it.

It is a rare occasion indeed that I will sit down and watch television. I used to be a total TV addict, but after working in L.A., every time I turn on the tube I always think of the network execs who sit around the boardroom table, batting around ideas for shows. Based on the crap I see produced, it’s clear that they must think I, and the rest of America, are complete idiots. This makes me angry, so I don’t watch T.V. anymore.

However, there is one show that, despite my antipathy, I always enjoy watching: Iron Chef. I’ve been watching the show since its early days in Japan, but a couple of years ago the Food Network picked it up and made their own version for American audiences. For those of you who haven’t seen the show, two accomplished chefs are presented with a secret ingredient and then have an hour to create a multi-course meal featuring that that ingredient in every dish (example: grapes). Being someone who loves cooking, I love watching the chefs at work; the things they come up with are absolutely amazing. Being a food addict, the show is what I affectionately term “Food Porn”. Considering the multitude of foods I am unable to eat, an hour in front of “Iron Chef” is a good as a hit of crack. But that’s just me.

Anyway, Shuie and I watched the American version of the show last night and it was just as mouth-watering as ever. But while I was indulging in food fantasies I was also cracking up at how dramatic they make the show. Spotlights, dramatic music, intense close-ups and spirited commentary (think the last two minutes of a basketball game); it makes you feel like the person who loses is going to be taken outside the studio and shot. By the end, I wanted to rename the show, “Cook for your LIFE!”.

This, by the way, is the essence of American entertainment. Everything is the biggest DRAMA. I can’t help but wonder if maybe that’s why a significant number of women are terrified of giving birth; you watch an episode of “A Baby Story” and it looks like they’re in the middle of a war zone. Turn on the news and they’ll tell you a kitchen fire is really a massive meteor coming to destroy the planet. I don’t know about you, but I find real life dramatic enough; I don’t need manufactured drama to make me crazier than I already am.

That said, it’s time to make Shabbos dinner.

When I was fourteen and the throes of my first real celebrity crush (Leonardo DiCaprio in “Romeo and Juliet”), I asked my mother who got her heart doing jumping jacks when she was my age. She didn’t have to think twice. “Paul McCartney,” she said, smiling to herself. Thus was a love affair with The Beatles passed from one generation to the next.

Mom bought me a copy of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band (her favorite of their albums), and after I’d listened to it enough times to stamp in on my DNA, I moved on to explore the rest of their music. My favorite of their albums is “Abbey Road” (though “Revolver” is a very close second); it was their last together as a band and, I think, their most epic. “Golden Slumbers” is one of the most beautiful songs on the album, and one of my all-time favorite Beatles tunes. So, as an homage to Mom, I decided to record it. Happy Listening!

It’s been a while, but I somehow managed to get a little time to myself to record some music the other day. This song is an original called, “Lap of an Angel”. I actually wrote it a while back, right after I found out I was pregnant with Yonah. It’s based on a passage in the Talmud that talks about when a child is in the womb. As they grow, an angel teaches them the entire Torah, and in turn the truth about the world. Right before the baby is born, the angel taps it right above the lips and they forget everything (hence the little groove between your nose and lips). The baby spends its life re-discovering the truth it already knows.

I find this story empowering because it reminds me that everything I need to know I already have somewhere inside; all I need to do is turn down the noise long enough to be able to hear it. It also lends me some humility as a parent, knowing that my kid(s) probably have a lot more to teach me than I have to teach them. Enjoy!