Saturday, September 30

Yay, Dodgers!

Our Los Angeles Dodgers have made the play-offs! Hooray! I'd like to think that Matilda and I showing our support for our team had a little something to do with it. We ran errands all over town today sporting our true blue colors* (keep in mind...Reno is Giants territory), ignoring the glares of those sorry Giants fans...mwahahahahaha! Of course, everyone who commented on how cute Matilda was called her a "him" because apparently girls can't support their team. What-ever!

*Thanks to Aunt Megan for the Dodgers onesie.

Thursday, September 28

More Photos to Appease the Blog Gods

I promise I'll write something soon...pinky swear.

My first photo!

Tuesday, September 19

And Daddy Has a Birthday, Too!

Well, I'm sure you've all been waiting with feverish anticipation for my epic narrative of our experience over the past week, but you're just going to have to wait a little while longer. It's not that I'm not going to tell the tale--oh, I am--it's just that I've been existing in a Vicadin-induced haze for the past week and have therefore been unable to maintain the mental focus to write much. However, I know Matilda's fans need more pictures on a regular basis like the baby junkies that you are, so in honor of Ian's birthday today I am posting a few now as an appetizer of the giant blog entry to come when I can think straight for more than 5 minutes. Enjoy!

"I HATE dresses! I hate them, I hate them!"

Ready to go home from the hospital

Nice and clean!

A pensive moment

Getting weighed at Daddy's work
(if M. were ground beef, she would be worth $34.77)

Thai food for Daddy's birthday...M. stuck with formula

Surfing the Net with Daddy

We had our first outing today...Matilda had a Drs appointment (totally healthy, by the way), so we dropped by Wild Oats so that Ian could show her off to everybody, and then we had birthday lunch at Thai Royal House. That's about all we could do because Mommy's not supposed to be out of bed until Friday. Poor Daddy! Talk about a birthday getting overshadowed. Oh well, somehow I think he doesn't mind.

Thursday, September 14

The End


Hark, the herald demons shout;
TWITCH was a bitch to get out!

The nurse she said it'd be a snap;
that was a mighty load of crap!

The drugs they gave, they weren't enough;
tho Herself is mighty tough!

And when the doctor he did slice;
'twas against Herself's advice!

Ev'ry cut and tug she knew,
'fore the surgery was through;

The pain was great, but not so great;
and for more drugs, she did wait;

The pusherman knock'd her out at last;
he should have used the laughing gas!

TWITCH is here and now 'tis done;
Buddha help us, everyone.

Wednesday, September 6

Le Grand Guignol

The end is nigh and has been conveniently scheduled for 2006 September 12. This day will likely be overshadowed for years by the preceding day, also known as The Day the U.S. Learned To Live In Total Fear For All Time Despite the Fact That In All The Time That The Terrorists Have Been Trying To Attack Us They Have Managed Only This One Real Victory. In any event, soon that day will in turn be overshadowed by The Day TWITCH Was Born. I want all of My readers to know that you are hereby warned, and can claim no ignorance in the decades to come. Well, no more than usual, I suppose. Operating as I do under the assumption that all of My readers are intelligent, I leave open the possibility that I am wrong, as I was once before in 1987. I know, it is hard for Me to believe after all of these years, but it is the truth.

No method of celebration for this day has been yet developed. Suggestions, in a rare mood of tolerance, will be accepted in the comment section. It is My learned opinion that because this celebration will be worldwide, everyone should have some input as to its form and content. I was thinking maybe Zombie pinatas filled with delicious Tacos de Cabeza, but let us all pitch in and come up with something truly magnificent, something worthy of the title.

Le minute de vérité, Le Grand Guignol, is almost upon us.

Tuesday, September 5

T Minus One Week and Counting

The Dr has spoken.

We will have a baby in one week's time. (Unless, of course, Matilda decides to join the party before then.) Yes, I am going to be induced one week early, killing Ian's dreams of the baby being born on his birthday. Before I hear the murmurs of protest from those who believe that babies shouldn't be forced out into the cruel, cruel world before they are ready, let me assure you that I made sure to grill the Dr thoroughly about this decision, forcing him to explain why, exactly, he wants to induce. The reasons are thus: 1) My high blood pressure, whether it stems from my non-existent pre-eclampsia or just stress, is likely to turn into actual health-threatening pre-eclampsia if the baby doesn't come soon. 2) The baby is huge and strong and ready for the world, so inducing early will protect my health without endangering hers. And that sounds perfectly rational to me! So, next Tuesday at 7:30am I have an appointment with the labor and delivery ward at Washoe Medical Center...mark your calendars!

Also, these lovely photographs will be the last belly shots before I become significantly smaller, so I thought I'd better post them now. If you should want to obtain a copy of any of these photos (as I'm sure they will be worth a lot of money someday when Twitch rules the galaxy), please e-mail my friend Heather at, and she will be happy to take an order from you. (By the way, MAD PROPS to Heather for her generous use of Photoshop in removing all trace of my stretch marks...I feel like a celebrity mom with that kind of airbrush treatment!)

Sunday, September 3

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year!

Labor Day weekend in Reno means but one thing...RIB COOK OFF. Here I am, admiring my stack of 24 rib bones. Yes, Matilda and I managed to ingest 2 full racks of ribs over the course of 4 hours. Matilda's Daddy, however, only managed 17. (Pause here for victory laugh....Mwahahahah!) We also managed to fit in 2 slices of watermelon, some potato salad, a biscuit, an ice cream bar, and about 8 Diet Cokes. It was a real mother/daughter effort. I provided the will and the skill, and she agreed to find some dark corner of my uterus to hide out in to make more room for ribs. At least my girl has her priorities straight.

For the second year in a row we lucked out getting tickets into the "Rib Village"--the VIP section of the Rib Cook Off where you get all-you-can-eat ribs from all 24 competitors, along with all the sides, ice cream, and booze you want (in other words, Nirvana). It was a happy, happy night; I had such a good time that I was able to forget about my aching pelvis (feels like I've been kicked in the groin several times) and my damned carpal tunnel. I was also able to laugh at every shmuck in the village who piped up with the oh-so-original joke, "Now that lady has had too many ribs!" Oh yes, that's me! The fat one! Hardy har har! I guess I deserved it, though, seeing as I did lapse into an orgy of pig-belly consumption on par with a starving velociraptor. But what would you do if presented with this spread?

That's what I thought.

Saturday, September 2

My Chosen Consort, Darth Continent

Upon reading the last dispatch from Herself, you may be tempted to conclude that She is exaggerating slightly. While I usually encourage people to give in to temptation, as it is a quick path to the Dark Side, in this case, Herself is not exaggerating in the least. A giant, liquid- and baby-filled behemoth is in My home RIGHT NOW. While I am aware that this is only a temporary condition, and that Herself will soon reassume Her normal body state, it is incumbent upon Me to point out the fact that I get to suffer along with Her. I get to be awakened when She cannot sleep. I get to help Her move Herself around. I get to massage Her aching extremities. I get to experience a blow-by-blow of all the complaints listed in the previous post. She gets the pity, and I get to be the brutish thug who knocked her up. Very well, so be it. I need no pity. But I promise you this, by all that is unholy:

The next person to ask Me if I am excited will receive My full, unadulterated, unexpurgated, bone-flensing wrath. And that person will experience said wrath for all of eternity, or until they expire, whichever comes first.

My excitement died along with my full night's sleep. I do not blame Her, She cannot help it, but the rest of humanity needs to shut the hell up with the stupid questions already. Of course I will be excited when TWITCH arrives. Now, I await that arrival. It should be obvious to anyone who possesses the ability to breathe with their mouth closed that I am delighted to have a TWITCH on the way. Forgive Me if I refrain from gibbering like an idiot about it everywhere I go.