External Cephalic Version: It worked!

After trying everything under the sun to get my second breech baby to turn head down, I went to the hospital this morning for an ECV. A lot of people aren't familiar with this procedure, so I thought I'd relate my experience for family, friends and all the pregnant women out there who are researching their options.

My midwife advised me to spend the weekend and Monday drinking lots of water so that I would have plenty of amniotic fluid, which I did. I had my last meal and drink before bed last night on the off-chance baby wouldn't tolerate the procedure and I would need to have an emergency C-section.

At 8am, I checked into the labor and delivery ward at West Suburban Hospital. There, I was told to get naked under a hospital gown and pee in a cup. The nurses attached me to fetal and maternal monitors, took my temperature and blood pressure and drew some blood. I was also hooked up to an IV. After about an hour, the staff determined baby was happy and healthy and I was having a few mild contractions.

Dr. Tong ordered a shot of a uterine relaxant, which made my heart race (and undid the relaxed state I'd managed to get into by listening to my Hypnobirthing script), but Josh helpfully massaged me back to a calm state. Fifteen minutes later, Dr. Tong took a look at baby's position on an ultrasound. He predicted turning baby toward my right side would be most successful and they got started. Dr. Tong's hands did most of the pushing, pulling and prodding, with some assistance from Hillary, my midwife. Or so I'm guessing. I was focusing on relaxing my belly and breathing through the discomfort, which wasn't unbearable by any means--more like a really rough massage.

After every quarter turn, Dr. Tong would pause to check the head's position on the ultrasound and the baby's heart rate with the heart rate monitor. After a few checks, it became clear to all of us that this was really going to work. I opened my eyes and grinned at Josh through the last few motions.

Hillary and one of the nurses put on an abdominal binder (a post-natal support belt I'd purchased at Babies R Us) to help keep baby down, and Josh and I stuck around for an additional hour of monitoring.

As we were leaving, a nursing assistant said to me, "So, did baby turn?" I answered yes and she replied with, "Really? I've never seen one work before."

So that's it! We're keeping our fingers crossed that baby stays vertex and we're able to have the VBAC we've been hoping for.

Southwest Airlines: I think I'm in LUV

Apparently customer service is not dead, even in the much maligned airline industry. Quite the opposite. You see, on June 18th, Southwest Airlines took a poor customer experience, one which was due to a situation out of their control, and made the best of it. A thunderstorm threatened the Chicago area and air traffic controllers put a stop to all north and westbound flights, including our Chicago to Omaha route. We boarded our plane at 3:15pm for a 3:30 flight, but we ended up sitting on the tarmac for a full three hours.

Now a three hour delay for an 80 minute flight is exceptional, and since I was 36 weeks pregnant and traveling with a 2 1/2 year old to a funeral, it wasn't fun either. But my husband and I appreciated the crew's attitude. Every 15-20 minutes, the pilot would update the passengers on the situation and give us a revised estimate of when he thought we might take off. The flight attendants handed out water, peanuts and pretzels and did their best to entertain the unaccompanied minors across the aisle.

But while the behavior of Southwest employees on 2081 kept me from swearing off flying the discount airline ever again, the letter we received from Southwest has forever cemented my loyalty to the company. You see, they sent us unsolicited apologies along with a $75 travel voucher for each traveler.

Here's an excerpt from the letter, which was dated just three days after the flight:

"[W]e truly regret you had this unfortunate experience, and we would like to have another opportunity to provide you with better memories of Southwest Airlines. In this spirit, I have enclosed a LUV Voucher that we invite you to apply toward the purchase of a future reservation with us. Of course, this goodwill gesture may not offset the total amount of each person's inconvenience, but I hope it will be accepted as our acknowledgement of the frustrations created by this situation."

Did every passenger get this treatment or did we qualify because we're Rapid Rewards members who purchased full price tickets (the only fares available on one day's notice)? I don't know, but I hope we aren't the only ones feeling the love.

And there you have it. Thanks to Southwest's unexpected, authentic gesture, I'm spreading positive word-of-mouth for a company that I could just have easily been complaining about.

Stroller lust

We've found the ultimate double stroller.

The Phil and Teds Sport Buggy can work as a single stroller for an infant or a toddler, a double stroller for a toddler and a baby or a double stroller for two toddlers. Yet it's no bigger than a regular jogging stroller. It does cost a pretty penny (at least $425). But I want it. In lime.

A crazy morning on the El

I board the Blue Line at Oak Park, which means that just north of the platform there are six lanes of expressway traffic whizzing by, three in each direction.

This morning a teal colored Dodge Neon pulled onto the left shoulder of the westbound traffic. A young olive-skinned man in an American flag t-shirt, shorts and a black cap with flaps hopped out of the passenger side and bounded over the fence separating the westbound lanes from the eastbound lanes. Then he dodged cars and trucks headed into the city and scaled the fence between the expressway and the El tracks. Hopping over the tracks, he hoisted himself up onto the platform, jumped onto a series of benches and took off his shirt (he had another one on underneath). He waved his t-shirt triumphantly for a minute as a train pulled into the station.

Then he retraced his steps, jumping off the CTA platform, skipping over the third rail, scaling fences and dodging cars before getting back into the passenger seat. At which point his female driving companion pulled back into traffic, giggling.

Was it a dare? Did he just feel like doing some crazy sh*t at 8 o'clock in the morning? I have no idea. And the conductor of the westbound El train who witnessed most of his antics? He didn't give a damn.

Have the terrible twos arrived?

Z threw one hell of a tantrum at nap time this afternoon. Apparently limiting her to merely three library books was completely unacceptable. When I came back and offered one more book, she triple freaked out--crying, throwing herself on the bed and on the floor, hugging me and pushing me, all the while screaming "No one book. All the books!"

It took her a full half an hour to realize I wasn't budging. I read her one last book and she closed her eyes.

Why, oh why do they have to make life so difficult? So dramatic? Most of us grown-ups would give our right arm for a daily siesta.

Please excuse me

I received a jury summons from the Circuit Court of Cook County yesterday. They would like me to show up at the Daley Center on July 13 at 9:30am. That's one day before my due date.

Last time I received a summons I ended up finding a man guilty of murder for killing his neighbor over a $20 drug deal gone bad.

This time I asked my midwife to write me an excuse note.

Sheer exhaustion

Traveling to a loved one's funeral on one day's notice is hard enough. But doing it 36 weeks pregnant in 90 degree weather with a newly potty-trained, non-napping toddler in tow...now that's a recipe for exhaustion. Add in a 3 hour flight delay, wickedly swollen feet and sleeping on an air mattress one night and a couch the next, and you'll understand why I went to bed last night shortly after putting a tearful, overtired Z down at 7:30.

In spite of my grief, it was wonderful seeing my family come together to celebrate Grandma Lorraine's remarkable life. She was the magnet that has keep us connected all these years, and I hope her absence won't mean seeing a lot less of my aunt, uncle and cousins.

And speaking of cousins, Z couldn't get enough of her 8-year-old second cousin Lindsay. She shadowed her every move, picking up good things (like dressing herself and letting me put her hair up) and bad (Bratz dolls).

Book review: Garage Sale America

One man's trash is another man's treasure. It's a cliche, sure, but it's true. Even within our throwaway culture, many of us are happy to pick through someone else's belongings in search of something we could use.

I'm a moderately avid yard saler. I'm not hardcore enough to hit distant estate sales with a fanny pack full of ones, but I do circle a handful of listings in our local paper's classified section and stop by a few on the way to the farmers market in search of baby clothes and kiddie toys, books and gear. Every week there's at least one block sale in Oak Park. And every block sale has at least one family with a highchair, bouncy seat and baby swing parked on the front lawn.

So when Parent Bloggers Network invited me to take a look at Bruce Littlefield's Garage Sale America, I was happy to pick up a few tips from an real expert. What I found was a photo-packed brag book of super scores and kitchy collectibles with a handful of helpful hints thrown in. I liked his tips for getting a good deal and the too-short section on how to host your own sale. And I loved the chapter on the World's Longest Yard Sale, if only because it was a trip down memory lane.

I actually shopped about 150 miles of the 450-mile-long U.S. 127 Sale in 2004. For work, no less. I was the creative brain behind a partnership between Suave and the Style Network's The Look for Less, so I got to watch four women compete for the title of America's Smartest Shopper (by creating outfits exclusively from yard sale finds) and I was given a huge pile of cash to spend on prizes for a related sweepstakes. It was an unbelievable event: mile after mile and table after table of stuff, priced from a nickel up to $5000. Old baby clothes, farmhouse furniture, guns, tools and vintage cars. Everything was for sale and every car held shoppers. I don't think traffic ever picked up beyond 30 miles per hour.

But back to real life. I probably won't become a collector of vintage anything (sorry Bruce), but after reading Garage Sale America's section on design, I am going to try to keep my eyes peeled for unexpected items can be worked into our decor.

That, and a Little Tikes Cozy Coupe.

Goodbye Grandma

My Martini Grandma passed away this morning. It's sad news to start my birthday with, but it's what she wanted, so for that I'm relieved. We'll be in Omaha for the funeral.

My Martini Grandma

That's what my friends call Grandma Lorraine. She earned her nickname for her particular love for martinis--not the trendy vodka 'tinis of my generation, but the old school gin and vermouth martinis. Served in a stem glass. And garnished with olives. Wait staff who got it wrong got it sent back.

She expected a martini at 4pm (cocktail hour), and if you let her have more than one, you'd better stay out of her way. I don't think I ever saw her drunk, but I've seen her get feisty and belligerent about the issues she cared about (she's a fierce defender of liberal politics and Israel).

Grandma Lorraine turns 88 today, but it's looking like this will be her last birthday. She's dying of cancer and has been in and out of hospice care this week.

Growing up, I celebrated most of my birthdays with Grandma L. Our birthdays are only two days apart, and we spent a lot of summers visiting relatives in Omaha. Birthdays with Grandma Lorraine meant dressing up for a restaurant dinner (usually in an over-cooled Italian restaurant with a salad bar) and a shared cake. The parking lots were always blisteringly hot.

I know she's ready to check out, but I can't quite get my head wrapped around the fact that Grandma likely won't meet her latest great-grandchildren. But like the brown cigarettes she used to smoke (were they Mores?), she's forever burned into my memory. And I'll share those memories with my children.

She drove tank-like American cars (although her last car was a Toyota). She favored leisurewear, clip-on earrings and chunky necklaces. Her homes were decorated with original art, which ranged from strikingly contemporary to pop-art to clown sculptures. For many years she rode motorcycles with her husband, my Grandpa Bob. She campaigned for Governor McCarthy and spoke out against the Vietnam war. When Grandpa was dying from prostate cancer, she shocked the preteen me by telling me now much she missed their "very active sex life." After he passed away, she had boyfriends, no easy feat when the women outnumber the men 10 to 1.

She didn't just play bridge, she won at bridge. She kept her brain engaged with crossword puzzles and Sudoku. She was into yoga long before it was trendy, and I doing headstands on beach towels next to her king size waterbed.

Grandma Lorraine wasn't a milk and cookies grandma. In fact, I never liked her cooking. But I have many fond memories of playing cards with her or letting her give me a manicure (she had an enormous toolkit of polishes, files, cuticle potions and lotions).

Happy Birthday, Grandma. And cheers!

Grab a Kleenex

I'm not the Chicken Soul for the Soul type, but my eyes welled up for this truly inspiring bit of television.

Gifts for new parents

My sister finally updated her blog and reiterated what most new mothers know: the best baby visitors come armed with food. But there are other nice things we can do for bewildered and sleep-deprived moms and dads: just check out the comments section of this Ask Moxie post.

Personally, I'm not the most creative gift-giver. But I am practical. Most of my friends have received a bag of newborn diapers, a hot meal or two and toy or activity to occupy the older sibling. Hospital visits warrant a plant or footie pajamas.

But the Ask Moxie suggestions have me feeling more inspired. Why not replace that mac and cheese casserole with a variety of sandwich fixings or a fruit salad? What parent wouldn't love it if you'd run to the grocery store and pick up a week's worth of necessities? We were thrilled to shop the farmers market for our friends Deb and Andy when their daughter arrived last August.

So what do I wish for come next month? Delivery of healthy, wholesome munchies that are quick to prep: good breads and cheeses, fresh fruit and juices. An outing or focused playtime for my toddler. A pair of arms to hold my newborn while I get stuff done around the house. A friend to accompany us on those first big outings: to Scoville Park to see a concert, to the Brookfield Zoo, to the pool. And diapers. You can't have too many diapers.

Parent and hacker

I'm a huge fan of Asha Dornfest's Parenthacks, and I contributed my own parenting tip to her site ages ago, back when we were moving Z from a crib to a toddler bed. But I'll enjoy my moment of fame anyway. Check my very own Parenthack.

I'll try anything

Headstands in the pool? Check. Lying on my back with a bunch of pillows under my butt? Check. Listening to Hypnobirthing scripts? Sitting on an exercise ball? Chiropractic's Webster Technique? Check, check and check.

At 35 weeks pregnant with my second breech baby, it seemed the only thing I hadn't tried was acupuncture, so on my midwife's insistence, now I'm giving that a go too. See the picture of the needle in my pinkie toe? We're complementing the professional poking with moxibustion at home, which means all of our neighbors think we've been lighting up a bong at sunset.

I'm really hoping this little girl decides to get with the program and turn head down. I really don't want another C-section.

If I'm still presenting as breech in a couple of weeks, I'll let them attempt an external version. And if that doesn't work, I'll settle for the section, knowing I've done everything I possibly could to avoid it.

Welcome Baby Abby

Our friends Gloria and Eric welcomed Abigael to the world early Wednesday morning after only 3 hours of labor!

Abigael is a real beauty and the spitting image of her big sister Lia (Z's BFF). Visiting Baby Abby was the highlight of Z's day, and I think she's really excited about the arrival of her own baby sister.

And the timing couldn't be better for me and Gloria! We'll have two daughters with playmates less than 2 months apart in age.

Potty training boot camp, day 10

Success! We haven't had an accident since Wednesday and Z happily tells us when she needs to use the potty. She's #1 with number one and will manage number two, albeit with much more trepidation and reluctance. She's peed inside, outside, in our house and at a friend's house. She's used her little floor potty and big toilets with a kiddie seat insert. She hasn't yet managed to go the bathroom while we're out and about, but she's very interested in checking out the toilets at restaurants and grocery stores.

Sometimes she asks for a reward (she's back to preferring candy to nail polish), but most of the time she doesn't. She's even learned the importance of going to the potty before we go somewhere.

Like sleep training and the transition from a crib to a toddler bed, I felt like this was as much of a milestone for us as parents than it was for Z. And, just like those previous milestones, this one doesn't seem like as big a deal/ordeal as it when it was still looming. Sure, the first three or four days were frustrating, but like everything else we've learned, tailoring your approach to your kid's personality helps a lot, but consistency is absolutely key. It's been tempting to put her in a Pull-Up for outings, but we've resisted giving her one for any time but sleepy time. Instead, we started out carrying about lots of underpants and a few changes of clothes. Now the bag formerly known as diaper has a Ziploc bag with a complete change of clothes in it. Which--knock on wood--we haven't needed yet.

I love Millennium Park

It may have cost Chicago millions of dollars in cost overruns and opened a few years after the millennium, but Millennium Park brings together fine public art, music, food and kid-friendly fun. I played hooky for a couple of hours today and I think Z had a blast.

Who has time for hobbies?

Not me, that's for sure.

ReadyMade editor Tina Barseghian's Get a Hobby: 101 All-Consuming Diversions for Any Lifestyle has succeeded in making me feel woefully inadequate.

Potty training? Not a hobby. Reading library books on the El? Not a hobby. Making my own ice cream and topping it with melted peanut butter and Hershey's syrup? Somehow it didn't make the cut. But--wait a moment--blogging is included as a hobby! I have a hobby!

I used to have plenty of hobbies--artsy-craftsy stuff like drawing, knitting and pottery. I've even tried mosaics, silk-screening and sculpture. But reading about them makes me feel all the more guilty for abandoning them in favor of Deadwood marathons and that most precious of all pursuits, sleep.

But while full-time employment and early mommyhood has put a damper on my free time, I know it's only temporary. I plan to get back into knitting during my maternity leave (although I'm not promising to finish niece Eliza's b-o-r-i-n-g baby blanket), and I think I can find time to try out some of the smaller, low-investment ideas like olive oil infusing and beading.

Better yet, I can look forward to revisiting this book with my girls as they grow older. I'd love to involve them in composting, candy making, decoupage and rubber stamping.

But I'm definitely going to give falconry, fantasy sports leagues and model shipbuilding a pass.

See what other bloggers had to say about Get a Hobby and see how you can win a copy of the book plus a $100 Michael's gift card at Parent Bloggers Network.

But before you leave, I'd love to hear about your hobbies, past and present.

34 weeks pregnant

I haven't posted a belly shot for awhile, so feast your eyes on my hugeness!

Major potty training breakthrough

While Z didn't use the potty at day care yesterday or today, she's tinkled 3 times in the past 2 1/2 hours at home. The trick? Rewards she actually cares about. M&Ms weren't doing it. Cookies weren't doing it. Promises of a trip to the Aquarium weren't doing it.

But nail polish and the opportunity to watch Alice in Wonderland? Now that's some serious motivation. We're painting one toe or finger nail for each successful trip to the potty. OPI's I'm Not Really A Waitress, in case you were curious.

A little marketing magic

The online 'zine West Virginia Surf Report's Fast Food: Ads vs. Reality features an entertaining side-by-side comparison of fast food meals as shown in the advertising and actually served.

It should come as no big surprise that professional photographers and food stylists can make even mediocre food look appetizing. And while some might complain that making McDonald's burgers extra appealing for the ad is misleading, it is no more unfair than the equally common practice of styling and then retouching models after a photo shoot. You've probably seen how different celebrities look without makeup and advantageous lighting. And let me tell you, even the best skin cream can't give you the invisible pores a skilled digital artist can.

Early on in my career I remember learning why the best, most appetizing photos of pizza (think of that cheese pull) didn't show the whole pie. Turns out it isn't ethical to add extra cheese to a frozen pizza, but you can use a pair of tweezers to arrange all of the included cheese on the small area of the pizza you're shooting. And then it's on to blotting grease off the pepperoni!

Hungry yet?

Marketing Mommy sings the blues

Tired of potty training posts yet? I am, and I haven't even updated the masses on day 4 and the remainder of day 3.

Plus, I haven't had much chance to react to the news or post comments on my favorite blogs lately. With potty training taking up 100 percent of my brainpower at home and an enormous, time-sucking pitch taking up 125 percent of my time at work (goodbye work-life balance), I'm just sapped. Tapped dry and 34 weeks pregnant. And on top of everything else, baby's still breech.

The good news is that the end is in sight. I'm working for Wednesday.

Baby names

No, I'm not telling. In fact, Josh and I aren't 100 percent decided anyway. So don't ask.

Instead, head over to Nymbler, a new baby name website that lets you type in your top choice or choices and receive a list of alternate names you might like just as much. It's at least as much fun as looking up name popularity trends on Baby Name Voyager.

Potty training boot camp, day 3

The bad news is that every morning we start over again. The good news is that after Z's had an accident, she starts volunteering to use the potty.

Here's what I mean:
6:20am: wake up in a damp Pull-Up. No interest in using the potty.
8:30: Starts acting like she needs to go. Occasionally agrees to sit on the potty, but mostly whines and clings to me. Wants to be carried around.
9:30: Really acting like she needs to go. Sits on the potty for 15 minutes, but she's holding it in.
10:00: We leave for a playgroup brunch at Deb's house. Z still hasn't peed or had an accident. I line her carseat with a beach towel and she asks if she can "pee on the blanket." I say no, let's pee at Sammy's house.
10:15: We make it to the brunch without incident, but Z's not acting like herself. Super whiny and clingy with her legs crossed like pretzels.
10:20: Z slides off my lap and pees in her pants. We don't make it to the potty in time.
11:00: Z shouts "potty, potty" and we race toward it, but she slips in her own pee on Deb's kitchen floor. We make it to the potty in time to get a little bit in.
11:30: Z tells me she needs to go to the potty and this time we make it in time. Perhaps 2 drops are in her cotton training pants and the rest goes into the pot. Success!
No successful potty visits or visible accidents (although she is in her swimsuit for an hour) until naptime, when we put her in a Pull-Up.
3:15: She wakes up and tells us her Pull-Up is dry, which it is.

I think we're making progress, but this potty training thing? Not so much fun.

Potty training boot camp, day 2

Let's just say that by 10am this morning I was very tempted to throw in the towel on the whole potty training shebang. But Josh and I had promised each other we'd stick it out this time. We'd said goodbye to diapers and we meant it this time!

Despite being plied with juice and chocolate milk, Z refused to pee (even though it was obvious she needed to) from her 6am wake up until 9:30 in the morning. Tired of listening to her whimper, wail and refuse to sit on the potty without crossing her legs, we loaded the potty into the trunk and headed out to the farmer's market (we couldn't ignore the siren call of charity doughnuts any longer). Z refused to use the potty in the trunk, but as we were halfway home, she said, "Can I change into my Tinkerbell panties when I get home? Because my white underpants are wet." She'd had an accident in her car seat, but at least she wasn't holding it in any longer.

Josh left Z and I in the backyard for some pants-free running around (with her potty nearby) while he ran errands at Trader Joe's. He hadn't been gone 30 minutes before she said, "Diaper, diaper..." and grabbed her crotch. I told her to go ahead and sit on the potty, and she filled it right up! While I was on the phone with a friend, no less.

Then, about 45 minutes after our first success, Z started murmuring "diaper, diaper" again and looking uncomfortable. I guided her to the potty and this time she pooped and peed! Big, big success. She wasn't even interested in reward M&M's or stickers. She just said, "My body feels better now," and asked me if we could save the contents of her potty to show Daddy.

I don't think Josh has ever been so pleased to be faced with a bowl full of excrement.

Date night? Not tonight!

The last time Josh and I went on a date, we headed to La Piazza for dinner. And there, just as we'd finished our salads, my mobile phone rang. Z had just thrown up on the stairs. We got the rest of our dinner to go and headed home, where a feverish Z was already falling asleep in her bed.

Now we've got six weeks--give or take--to go on another date. Because once we throw a nursing newborn into the mix, going out to eat isn't going to be as simple as leaving Z at home with one of our two wonderful teenage babysitters.

That's why I want to win the Parent Bloggers Network's latest Blog Blast, sponsored by eHarmony's new marriage program. They're giving away $100 for a fabulous date night plus an additional $100 for babysitting. You've got until the end of the day to participate.

Today is the day

No more diapers day, that is.

We were off to a pretty good start this morning. Z got a large envelope in the mail from her friend Lia and promptly changed into the Dora underpants Lia sent her. She helped me package up the remaining diapers with wrapping paper and tape. And she sat on her potty...once.

But, as I was getting ready to leave for work she'd started whining, "Diaper, diaper..." Josh gets major props for being the parent in charge of potty training boot camp, day one. I'm anxiously awaiting an update from him.

UPDATE at 12:30pm

After peeing on the kitchen floor and twice watering the lawn, Z peed in the potty of her own accord!

Now this makes sense

Fancy restaurants in San Francisco and New York City are taking the local and sustainable foods movement seriously and banning bottled water. As one restaurant owner tells the NY Times, “Filling cargo ships with water and sending it hundreds and thousands of miles to get it around the world seems ridiculous."

I couldn't agree more.

Who doesn't love a parade?

Imagine the ultimate home town parade. Now imagine that home town is an upscale suburb full of multi-million dollar homes. And there you have the River Forest Memorial Day Parade, an hour's worth of floats sponsored by local businesses, high school marching bands, community groups in matching t-shirts and youths representing their tumbling classes, Little League baseball teams and scouting troops.

There were vintage and current fire engines, ladder trucks and ambulances (with sirens blaring), antique cars, motorcycles, custom bicycles and a unicycle. There were stilt-walkers, jugglers, dogs and horses. Oh, and because apparently money is no object, there were planes flying in formation overheard! Z was utterly, completely enraptured, particularly with the drill team/cheerleaders ("Look Mommy, ballerinas!") and men on horseback ("Can I pet one?").

And the cherry on the sundae? A local homeowner is a train enthusiast who built his very own miniature railroad around his yard. And he was offering all the kids free rides.


Click here to see even more parade pictures.

Website review: Light Iris

Have you ever Googled "sore nipples" and come up with on overwhelming list of possible links--with maybe a few kinky sites thrown into the mix? I haven't. In fact, while Google periodically sends freaky searchers to my blog, I've never had any trouble finding answers to my parenting, baby care and personal health queries using everyone's favorite search engine. That said, when Parent Bloggers Network asked me if I'd like to check out a new search engine for expectant and new moms, I (both expectant and a new mom) jumped at the chance. Light Iris uses the Google search engine, but it optimizes the results for the swollen and sleep-deprived, providing users with a culled-down list in a clean, well-organized layout. And its pink and green! Because we're girls!

So I put Light Iris to the test, comparing its results with my old-standby Google's results. I didn't brainstorm possible searches, I just remembered to check in with Light Iris with I was doing a mommy-related search (sticking with Google when I needed to look up a restaurant address or find a Shoebuy promo code). Here's what happened.

Search: "Repeat Breech"
I've been borderline panicky as week after week ticks by and baby number two refuses to turn head down. My midwives and the OB who supervises their VBAC patients all assured me there was no reason to believe I'd have a second breech baby, but what mother can resist the pull of the Internet when it comes to medical self-diagnosis and treatment?
Results: Both Light Iris and Google results focused on repeat c-sections following a breech birth. Both included a couple of links to ways to turn the baby (yes, I've tried 90 percent of them) and highlighted a blog post from Life of an Albuquerque Mommy that reads "4% of women have a breech baby. The chances of having a repeat breech baby increases," an interesting tidbit that contradicts what I've heard and was unfortunately not backed up links to any study.
Winner: Light Iris by a hair; its results were better organized on the page

Search: "Potty training boot camp"
We've circled June 1 on the calendar, and we've spent the second half of May telling Z how many days are left until we say "bye-bye to diapers." Having determined that reverse psychology wasn't working with 2 1/2 year old daughter, we're under plenty of pressure to get her using the potty. Baby sister arrives in July and Montessori preschool starts in the fall. And yes, the school requires that kids be toilet trained.
Results: Again, the results were fairly comparable, with both search engines placing Sesame Workshop - Toilet Training as the lead result. Unfortunately, the article's "don't worry about it, maybe the preschool will accommodate some accidents" attitude wasn't what I was looking for. I found better results with some mommy bloggers' first-hand accounts, including a tip I plan to use: letting the kid play with a bowl of warm water with a special toy in it while sitting on the potty!
Winner: Google, for finding me an inspiring blog post.

Because Light Iris and Google are both using the same basic search engine, you aren't likely to find substantially different results. What Light Iris does is cull down the returns and organize them in a clean, less-overwhelming layout. Which is probably very welcome when you're looking up "projectile vomiting" at 3am. If you're hysterical, hormonal and sleep-deprived, it makes sense to turn to Light Iris. If you're an information hound with a few more minutes available to analyze Google's results pages, you'll have more to choose from.

See what other new and expectant moms are saying about Light Iris here. Or click here to learn how you could win a free 2-day pass to the BlogHer Conference right here in Chicago.

Just half of our Memorial Day weekend fun

I posted to the Chicago Moms Blog about our adventures at the Garfield Park Conservatory and Chicago Antique Market. What I left out was that after the antiques market we headed to Crust, the Midwest's first certified organic restaurant. When we arrived in Bucktown, we noticed a leak on our back left tire. We called USAA Roadside Assistance, which arrived to change the tire for our spare just as we were finishing lunch.

Josh planned on getting our tire repaired on Tuesday, but wouldn't you know it? Today, as we were leaving a BBQ at our friends Stacie and Bob's house, our spare was completely flat! What are the chances?

Anyway, with Bob's ability to change a tire and Eric's portable air pump, we were able up get enough pressure in the tire to make it home. I guess we'll be getting two tires repaired tomorrow.

Update 5/29/07: Turns out we're just plain unlucky. Flat #1 was from a big piece of jagged metal. Flat #2 was from a nail. Just so happened that they were 2 days apart after years of no flat tires.

Consumer generated drivel

I've blogged before about how I think consumer-generated advertising is a flash in the pan, and it looks like the venerable NY Times is ready to back me up. In today's article, The High Price of Creating Free Advertising, Louise Story reports on the Heinz ketchup contest currently running on YouTube.

Shockingly, the American public is not creating the caliber of advertising brand managers are used to seeing from their ad agencies. The average joe with a camcorder is on a mission to amuse his friends and hopefully score a cash prize, but he doesn't have access to the high-end equipment, lovely models, food stylists and location shoots that make traditional commercials look good. Never mind throwing strategy to the wind.

Instead, Heinz is spending an arm and a leg promoting a contest that is netting them images of consumers brushing their teeth and shaving with the famous condiment. And now they've got to wade through the drivel and find a few entries worthy of showing on TV (which will cost money too).

Want to see exactly how bad these entries are? Check it out.

Countdown to number two

Someone at Rookie Moms is reading my mind. Today's post, Prepping for Baby #2, lists the must and nice-to-haves on hand before the arrival of a second child. Here's her list, with my comments in italics.

• Car seat: cleaned and installed (Due Date - 4 weeks) Check! We'll just need to pull it out of storage and strap it into the car.
  
• Breast pump: parts and bottles cleaned, pump assembled, tubing replaced. I've got to order some new valves and tubes for my trusty Ameda Purely Yours. Plus, I'll probably want to get new parts for the Medela PIS a friend is loaning me so that I don't have to tote the Ameda pump back and forth to work every day.
• Baby clothes: cleaned and installed (DD - 4 weeks); I liked knowing that all the mini clothes were in their proper size designations so I could see if there were any gaps in coverage. We've got the holes plugged, thanks to a generous bag of hand-me-downs. Now I just need to wash 'em...Oh, and buy a dresser to put them in!
  
• Newborn diapers: (DD - 3 weeks); [This] was something else that I felt like I really needed in order to be prepared. I asked Josh to pick up some newborn diapers at Target using the Huggies coupon from the Sunday paper, but I don't think he feels any urgency whatsoever.
  
• Stroller for two: purchased and on hand (DD - 2 weeks); I would now hold out as long as is humanly possible. A pregnant woman cannot possibly evaluate a stroller properly, largely because she can’t fold and lift it well. Now I completely agree with Rookie Moms' advice here. I'm going to borrow an aging Graco Duoglider and shop for a double stroller when I'm up and about and looking for an outing (something tells me we'll be running to Target and/or BRU once or twice in those early months).

Me again. My other must-have is a bassinet or bassinet-equipped pack-and-play so that #2 can sleep in our room for a while and/or nap downstairs where I can keep an eye on her. Nice-to-haves include a new, lightweight sling, Avent bottle nipples, pacifiers, Infant Tylenol, diaper rash cream and more burp cloths.

Say what?

Z: When I grow bigger like a big boy to be a Daddy, I’m going to have brown eyes.
Me: Do you think you’re going to grow up to be a Daddy or a Mommy?
Z: A Daddy.
Me: Um, OK. What are you going to do when you are a Daddy?
Z: I’m going to start the bath!
Me: Your Daddy usually starts the bath, doesn’t he? What else are you going to do?
Z: I’m going to pee with my Daddy penis.

Rosie vs. Elisabeth

Although it is amusing to see lame-duck Rosie and lame-o Elisabeth lose their tempers on The View, this clip also worth watching for Joy Behar's litany of outrages our President has committed since coming into office.

What kind of Playground Parent are you?

MetroDad has a hilarious post up called The Eight Types of Playground Parents, in which he details the stereotypical behavior of The Executive Dad, The Peter Pan Dad and the Crazy PTA Mom, among others. As many of the comments have pointed out, he only forgot one major group--the vegan/anti-vaccination/LLL moms.

My husband spends a lot more time at the playground than I do, so I'll have to see how accurate he thinks these personas are. I suspect the female stereotypes aren't as accurate away from the coasts. Midwesterners are just a lot more chill. But I think the male stereotypes are right on target. And I I'm going to go ahead and say that Josh is about equally divided between Hipster Dad, Peter Pan Dad and The Hoverer.

I've got something new to read

Check out Gawker's new blog for women, Jezebel. It's like Cosmo without the lobotomy, US Weekly without the copious drool and BUST without the self-righteousness.

So many calendars, so little coordination

I've got my work calendars. One's on the cube wall. And one's electronic, hooked into Lotus Notes. I've got my Crackberry, which is connected to my Lotus Notes calendar. None of my work calendars correspond to the kitchen wall calendar. And it has no relation to the wipe-clean "countdown to no more diapers day" calendar outside of Z's room. Which makes me an excellent candidate for the BusyBodyBook Calendar giveaway announced on Chicago Moms Blog.

Digging for diamonds

Z figured out how to pick her nose this week. I've caught her with her finger up a nostril a few times in the past few days. The first time, I tried sounding casual, "Hey sweetie, what are you doing?"

"I'm just taking out boogers, Mommy," she replied, wiping one on my husband's side of the bed.

"But we don't put our fingers up our nose. You can get the boogers with a Kleenex."

"It doesn't work as well," she said, pointing out the obvious as her finger headed back upward.

Waiting for the train

After a week of working late, I left the office right at rush today. Naturally, my train was delayed. But I had fun playing with my camera in the Clark & Lake Blue Line station.

Is this the life?

Only until Z wakes up from her nap. Even our bed is no longer a safe haven for our 10-year-old tabby Silver. The birds on the wall are from Blik. Real birds, like the ones outside our now-open windows, are much more exciting.

Yahrzeit

My father died five years ago yesterday. I remember receiving the call from my mother. She dialed me from a satellite phone from a fairly remote area in Albania, the country where my dad was serving as the U.S. Ambassador. I was shaken by the news--he was only 55 and seemed to be in good health--but I didn't grieve, not just then. Like so many others in shock by the loss of a loved one, I was distracted by the work that needed to be done. Family members needed to be called. A memorial service needed to be planned. My mother's life was suddenly without direction; while she usually managed to stay employed full-time, she'd uprooted herself (and us) every few years as Dad's assignments took us from place to place.

As it happened, my mom stayed in Albania to oversee a local memorial service (Joseph Limprecht was something of a celebrity there) before accompanying Dad's body home to Washington. My sister and her fiance flew in from Australia, and I helped the State Department coordinator plan a memorial service in D.C. We ended up choosing to have the service at the DACOR-Bacon House, where I'd been married just 2 years earlier.

It wasn't until a few months later that I really came to grips with my Dad's death. I was never terribly close to my father--if anything, I regret we didn't have the chance to deepen our bond. But I often wonder what Grandpa Joe might have been like.

Z says

Z was looking over my shoulder at the NY Times website, where there was an inset photo of Shrek.
"Do you like Shrek?"
"No," she replies. "I just like sprinkle cookies."

I guess licensing pays off even when the kid doesn't care for the property.

When the clock strikes midnight...

Last night. 11:56pm. I hear my daughter call out from across the hall, "I need to throw up." I'm out of bed in flash. She seems cool and comfortable as I pick her up for a hug.

"Do you want to rock on the chair or go throw up in the toilet, Z?"
"Throw up in the toilet."

She leads over the can, dipping her head in so far I can hear her bangs swish in the water. I pull her up to wipe off her face and... she vomits all over herself, me and the bathroom floor. Bright red pomegranate juice and pizza puke. I strip off her pajamas and we sit on the side of the tub. She's got her head resting on my shoulder when the second wave hits. I catch some of it in the bowl we use for rinsing off shampoo.

A cool sponge bath and fresh pajamas and she's back in bed.

12:36. "Throw up. Throw up, Mommy." This time Josh races to her room. Only she's already soaked her pillow. As Josh wraps up the sheets with the clothes soiled earlier and heads downstairs to start a load of laundry, I encourage Z to drink a few sips of water. We cuddle, clean off her face and read a story. She willingly lies down in bed.

This time Z sleeps peacefully through the night, but we don't. We're too tense, listening for the next summons.

Come on baby, let's do the flip

In the past week and a half, I've held frozen peas to my belly, shined a flashlight on my pelvis, laid on the bed with three pillows under my butt and watched TV perched on a stability ball. I visited a chiropractor. I closed my eyes and visualized a tiny backflipping baby diving down toward my pelvis. I've drunk glass after glass after glass of water.

And every few hours I touch my belly, hoping not to feel the telltale bump that is baby's head. It moves from the left side to the right side, and sometimes it's just over my belly button. But it's never where I want it: head down. It sounds crazy, but I just want a kick in the ribs... instead of a push to the bladder.

Yup, my baby's breech. At 31 weeks. Intellectually, I know I still have time. But because my first kid never turned vertex, I'm freaking out a little bit. With Z, I tried everything to get her to turn. Handstands in warm water. Hypnosis. A touch of moxibustion (which we quit doing because it made the house reek of pot). I even signed up for an external version at 37 weeks, and trust me when I tell you that was no picnic!

Because she was breech, Z was delivered via a scheduled c-section at 39 weeks. I never experienced labor. I was rolled into an overly bright, freezing OR at Northwestern Memorial Hospital at 3:20pm and I heard my daughter cry out at 3:44. I didn't have the natural birth I'd hoped for, but I got a healthy, beautiful baby who's been the light of my life. My recovery was quicker than expected, and aside from some side effects form the anesthesia, it wasn't a bad experience altogether.

But I figured I'd paid my dues. I did the ultimate-intervention birth and now it was my turn to have a minimal-intervention birth. For a variety of reasons, location being a big one, I switched to West Suburban Midwives in Oak Park and planned a delivery at West Suburban Medical Center's Alternative Birthing Center (aka the ABC). I found a doula-in-training to give me confidence. I've been taking a prenatal yoga class and I even remember to do kegels once in a while.

I want a VBAC so badly, but I feel selfish and whiny for caring so much about how my second daughter enters the world. My sister just gave birth on Mother's Day, making her the first woman in two generations to deliver the old-fashioned way. I want what she had, and what so many of my friends have experienced. I want to nod along knowingly when women talk about labor and pain and childbirth.

Hell, I want this baby to flip over before I flip out. Because obsessing is not productive. And frankly, it's not my style.

-----------------

Cross-posted at Chicago Moms Blog, where you can read the rants of raves of plenty of other mothers.

The break up

The Break Up
Uploaded by geertdesager

This great video for Microsoft Digital Advertising Solutions showcases how little advertisers are listening to their consumers. I'd like to think the below-the-line work my agency does is less about shouting at consumers and more about fostering a meaningful dialogue, but we've done our share of couponing too.

Awwwww....huh?

Last night, as I gave Z her bedtime snuggles in the rocking chair, she gave my belly a hug and a kiss and asked, "When the baby comes out, can we all cuddle together?"

"Yes," I said.

"And is she gonna come out your belly button, Mama?"

Fickle, fickle Z

This weekend we'd purchased an adorable tent-like canopy for Z's toddler bed. Josh hung it up today while I was at work and Z at daycare, and it looked absolutely lovely. The white mesh matched her bed and the sage green leaves coordinated with her walls.

Z was over the moon with excitement over her little "fairy princess house where no one can come in!" That is, until lights-out time. Then she decided she was "too scared" and asked me to take it down.

C'est la vie. We should have known better than to try to change anything.

Speaking of fairy princesses, we watched the first half of Pan's Labyrinth tonight. Dividing movies in two drives my film buff of a husband nuts, but since I'm only able to keep my eyes open until 10pm, it's the only way we're going to see anything. The last two nights were dedicated to Little Children, which was very faithful to the book.

A second moms blog

The Second City is now home to the Chicago Moms Blog, the Silicon Valley Moms Blog's very first sister site. Beating NYC to the punch? That's good news for Chicago. Getting invited to contribute my own thoughts on raising a kid in my favorite city? That's good news for me!

I'm proud to be sharing space with a talented pool of mommy bloggers, a diverse group of working, work-at-home and stay-at-home moms. Moms who wear fabulous shoes and moms who wear their babies. Moms who write for a living. And moms who live to write.

Death by Popsicle

Is there anything more torturous than watching a toddler eat a Popsicle? The mercury hit 90 degrees in Oak Park this afternoon, so I gave Z a Popsicle Scribbler (basically a smallish Popsicle "made with fruit juice") for dessert for dinner. We headed out to the back steps to enjoy our frozen novelties in the fresh air, but the torture of watching Z slooowly take a little lick of the top of her pop, scoot down all 10 of our steps, scoot back up, and take another tiny lick sapped all of the fun out of it for me.

How old does a kid need to be to understand that enjoying ice cream on a stick means battling against the forces of time and temperature? The Popsicle was glistening in the heat, and Z would grab it by the frozen center to get a better hold on the stick. Did I mention she was wearing a really cute skirt? Well, I pulled it off after the first drip landed.

I was cajoling her to take a little bite...lick the sides...anything to get the show on the road, but she blithely ignored me, happy instead to spy on the neighbors as Popsicle juice ran down her chin and cascaded over her fingers. Her remedy? Once again, she grasped the Popsicle around the middle so she could lick the sticky runoff from her fingers and inner arm. Kind of defeats the point, doesn't it?

Finally, after 10 minutes of this torture, she handed me the remainder of her Popsicle with an "I'm done." I tried to figure out what was more urgent: throwing away the melting mess or getting my messy kid under some running water.

Weekend highlights

On Friday, five mothers, three of us in our third trimester, hit Emilio's Tapas in Hillside for plate after small plate of delicious Spanish cuisine. The other two got to wash their bacon-wrapped dates, grilled calamari and garlic potato salad down with a pitcher of sangria.

Saturday morning was kind of a bust (all of us were in bad moods and feeding off each other's negative energy), but the evening was spent with our Chavurah. Nothing like a bunch of Jewish families cooking up an Asian-themed potluck!



That night I curled up with National Geographic's In the Womb, only to be surprised three-quarters of the way through the movie with the news that my sister had just given birth (it was already Mother's Day Sunday in Australia).

I had modest hopes for Mother's Day, having only requested breakfast out. We eschewed the brunch crowds and returned to The Depot American Diner, where we dug into fresh, made-to-order doughnut holes with chocolate dipping sauce as well as more traditional fare (pancakes, apple pancakes and an eggs-potatoes-bacon platter). Josh and Z surprised me with not one but two generous Mother's Day presents: a lime green TOKYObay watch and a gift certificate for a prenatal massage at Urban Oasis! And the day got better yet. We headed to out to IKEA, where I scored a summer-weight duvet and wooden folding chairs for our backyard for $14.99 a piece, and Z was so well behaved we rewarded her with a 50¢ hot dog. She ate the whole thing, bun and all, "like a big girl."

After naptime, Z and I headed over to my friend Stacie's house, where our girls gave us a break, entertaining each other for almost two hours. I can barely believe our 2 1/2-year-olds are big enough to play pretend and (a very primitive version) of hide-and-seek.

Happy Mother's Day

To all the moms in my life, but particularly to my little sister Eleanor, who became a mother to a little girl for the first time today.

Book review: Even June Cleaver Would Forget the Juice Box

If you've ever grumbled that you wish your kid came with an instruction manual, mosey over to the Parenting & Family shelf in any bookstore. There, you'll find a six foot tall shelf of pastel paperbacks promising to show you the way. Advice from parenting book authors is a lot like advice from family members, friends and neighbors. It can be colored by an combination of religion, science, personal experience and wishful thinking. And whether you've picked up a general parenting guide or a sleep/toilet training/sibling-rivalry bible, what you won't hear much of is reassurance that you're probably doing just fine already. Heck, you're probably worrying, obsessing and simpling doing way too much. And your kids aren't likely to benefit.

Enter Even June Cleaver Would Forget the Juice Box. At 300 pages, it's a bit padded with the kind of self-help quizzes and summary pages I hate (I'm so not the self-help type), but the premise is sound: be a good-enough mom. Don't overschedule your children and overextend yourself. Don't make your life so child-centric and self-sacrificing that you end up running on empty. There are no gold medals in the Mommy Olympics, so you might as well walk the marathon and enjoy the scenery. Remember that if mama is happy, everybody is happy. And that means you need to take care of your needs too.

It's a message I already believed in, so perhaps this books wasn't written for me. I worry a little about the big issues (instilling values like respect and manners and, I'll admit it, potty training), but I'm too cheap to buy fancy baby shoes and too lazy to prepare and freeze my own organic baby food cubes. With work, friends and everything else on my plate, I don't have the time and energy to "do it all," and it's never occurred to me to engage in the kind of playground oneupmanship that author Ann Dunnewold says pushes mothers into the Extreme Parenting trap.

Dunnewold suggests cultivating a circle of like-minded parents as an antidote to the mommy madness, and once again I'm a step ahead of her. I've got a wonderful group of mom friends, and they've never judged me or made me feel inadequate when I ask for advice or blow off a little steam. With my girlfriends, I can safely confess my sins of motherhood, be it skipping a bath, using a video to grab a moment of peace or serving cold cereal for dinner.

If Dunnewold's to be believed, I'm one of the lucky ones. Apparently this Extreme Parenting thing--whether an invasion of the Baby Genius Edutainment Complex, the uber-boobers or the sanctimommies--is reaching crisis levels in some communities.

No wonder some folks are flocking to the cocktail playdate.

Blog Blast: What Makes a Mother

In honor of Mother's Day, Parent Bloggers Network and Light Iris are sponsoring a blog blast, an invitation to moms across the blogosphere to answer the question, "What Makes You a Mother?"



What makes me a mother? Not pregnancy, birth or breastfeeding, although all of those things made me feel motherly. Not sacrifice, sleeplessness or worry, hardships common to moms but not our exclusive domain.

What truly makes me a mother is my daughter. My name is the first thing she says in the morning, and it is me she wants for goodnight stories. At least for now, Mommy is best at just about everything: making snacks, pouring drinks, pushing the stroller and driving the car. Her face lights up when she sees me, and I am comforted knowing my embrace can soothe away boo-boos, worries and tears.

The day she was born, my identity changed forever. I was no longer just Alma; I was Z's mommy. I was no longer a wage-earner; I was a provider. I was no longer my parents' child. I was my child's parent.

Z has deepened my commitment to leading a certain kind of life. My neighborhood, my friends, even my religion are elevated in importance because I want the best for her. Being her mother makes me want to be a better person because I want to set a good example for her. As her mother, I have a vested interest in the environment and politics. I vote because I want a just world for her. I make green choices because I want a livable world for her. I nurture friendships with other families because I want her to grow up with life-long friends.

My daughter, only 2 1/2 years old, has made me a mother. And I couldn't be more proud.

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What makes you a mother? Join the blog blast before the end of the day Friday, and you could win a SpaFinder gift certificate.
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Cross posted to Silicon Valley Moms Blog

Restaurant review: Kitsch'n

It is absolutely gorgeous today in Chicago. The sun is shining, the air is clear and the temperature is about 72 degrees. The perfect day for lunch alfresco with Josh. We picked Kitsch'n for the outdoor seating and cheap validated parking.

The service was friendly, if a little absent-minded, but the food...not so great. My macaroni and cheese was a Velveeta-eque gloppy orange goo with cold cheddar shredded on top. A little too retro, if you ask me. Josh was unimpressed with his hamburger, but he did clean his plate.

But one thing blew me away (literally). The hand dryers in the bathrooms are too cool. They are Dyson Airblades, and look like this.


Dried my hands in seconds without hot air and with no shake-shake-wipe-on-pants finale.

Little night owls

I just returned from a late evening run to Target, and I was surprised how many toddlers I saw up and about, running errands with their parents at 9pm. I would understand if the kids were with a single parent since it probably doesn't seem worth the money or hassle to pay a babysitter for chance to buy laundry detergent in peace, but all of the kids were with both of their parents.

Do these children sleep in? Do their parents have jobs that make sleeping in late a possibility? Do they make up for their late nights with long afternoon naps? I know that children's bedtimes are dictated by culture, and many folks have told me that in Italy and Spain, kids are out at restaurants with their parents at 10pm. But given how many jobs, preschools and daycare centers open for business between 8 and 9am in this country, I wonder if burning the midnight oil is such a smart move for such small children.

I can see clearly now

We had our windows professionally cleaned yesterday and I am kicking myself for not doing it earlier. We've owned the place for almost four years and it only occurred to me last month that I could pay people to climb ladders, pull apart our vintage storm windows and squeegee everything to a sparkling shine. Our glassed-in front porch is completely transformed, and I feel like I could put my hand through the handful of windows that don't have screens.

My next Angie's List project: find a carpet cleaner to restore my stairs, which are still bearing witness to the great mother-in-law candle wax incident of 2006.

Judd Apatow's knocked up

I liked The 40-Year-Old Virgin and Undeclared and I loved Freaks and Geeks, so I'm more than a little excited to see director Judd Apatow and so many familiar faces in a new summer movie, Knocked Up, about a couple who conceive a baby during a one-night stand. Click here to see the preview.

One more reason not to diet

The NY Times has a fascinating article about weight-loss research that is sure to surprise a lot of folks and piss off those companies who make money pushing diets and diet foods.

Researcher Dr. Jules Hirsch has devoted his life's work to studying the differences between obese and normal-sized individuals, and what he had discovered is that all of us have a natural normal weight range of about 10-20 pounds. It can be heavy or light, depending on our genetics, but it can't be permanently altered. Which means that the rare obese person who is able to keep the weight off is in a constant state of semi-starvation, a state that takes iron will to maintain.

The researcher came to his conclusions by forcing fat people to diet and normal-sized prisoners to become obese. As soon as his subjects were released from his studies, their body mass reverted to its previous state. He also compared the body mass indexes of adoptees and twins to determine that nature, not nurture is responsible for our size.

My personal experience supports Dr. Hirsch's conclusions. Both of my parents maintained normal weights without much trouble and--pregnancy excepted--I've never strayed far from 134-140 pounds, no matter how much or little I'm exercising.

But we don't get to pick out parents, and some people won't win the genetic lottery. For that reason, Dr. Hirsch suggests that our anti-obesity efforts might best be directed at those whose overweight parents put them at an elevated risk of obesity.

I say bring back recess and daily P.E. and use taxation and incentives to decrease our reliance of cars and encourage walking, biking and mass transit. No matter what our size, we'll be in better health. And so will our planet.

DVD review: Go Potty Go!

If you've got small children, I know what you're thinking. You want to skip to the bottom of this review and find out if the video really worked--if my just-barely 2 1/2-year-old daughter has magically been transformed into a potty champ. Well, I'll save you the agony. She's not.

Yes, she talks the potty talk like nobody's business, but she's all talk, no plop (IYKWIM). So, following my midwife's sage advice, we've put all potty paraphernalia away for the time being. And that includes potty movies.

Fortunately for you, I endured a full month of Go Potty Go! before we decided to take our little bathroom break. Okay, endure might sound a little harsh; I put up with four weeks of insidiously catchy songs about going to the potty and marching in the "big big kids parade!" I suffered the embarrassment of humming these ditties to myself as I hauled my pregnant butt across the office and down the hall to the ladies' room, oh, six to eight times a day.

But my toddler loved watching and re-watching Paige and Parker Panda put on their "big kid underwear" and "go potty, go potty, go potty go!" She learned all the words to the songs and narration, mouthing along through the whole 20 minute DVD. She even brought the movie to daycare, where all the other two and three year olds gave it their own tiny thumbs-up. But best of all, Go Potty Go! is motivational: nearly every time it ended, Z would pull her pants down, unfasten her diaper, and bolt upstairs to get a pair of underpants.

What's most interesting about Go Potty Go!, is that unlike the toilet training classic Once Upon a Potty, it doesn't really delve into the physical mechanics of toileting. There are no money shots of pee and poop, like we get to see both inside and outside (oops!) of Prudence's potty. The focus isn't on recognizing that "feeling in your tummy...like poo-poo is ready to come out" -- rather, Go Potty Go! is chock-full of Up with People-positive peer pressure, musical numbers that reinforce how wonderful it is to be a big kid and "say good-bye to diapers."

At least for now, Z isn't buying it; she'll sleep in a big girl bed and drink out of a big girl glass, but she'll take diapers over big kid underwear, thank you very much. It's one part of babyhood she wants to hold onto a little bit longer. Might have something to do with the upcoming arrival of her baby sister.

See what other parents are saying and enter to win a copy of the DVD at Parent Bloggers Network.

From the west coast to Chicago

The Chicago Moms Blog, a sister site to the uber-successful Silicon Valley Moms Blog is coming to Chicago, and I'm going to be one of the first six contributors! Until our local site gets up and running, I'll posting periodically to the original. Check out my virgin contribution here.

Want to see who else is representing our fair city? Click on the lovely and talented mamas behind Self Made Mom, Foodmomiac, Adventures in Babywearing, Want Sugar and Sassafras.

Wedding dresses from Target

Target locked up my loyalty long ago, but I have to admit I'm a little miffed that Isaac Mizrahi wasn't creating dirt-cheap wedding dresses for the discounter when I got hitched back in 1999. According to this press release, the masstige designer will debut a line of wedding gowns priced from $9.99 to $159.99 (I'm guessing the $9.99 is for a veil).

Now I know only the best will do for some brides, but I've always been of the opinion that this is one dress with a really limited shelf life. Off the rack is fine. Polyester is perfectly acceptable. After all, it only has to hold up for about 6 hours.

If you're interested, I wore a $300 ivory Jessica McClintock dress with an embroidered, fitted bodice and a frothy tulle skirt. Anyone willing to share what they wore and what they paid to play princess for a day? Would you have shopped Target for your bridal wear?

Helzberg gives one mom a month off

In honor of Mother's Day, Helzberg Diamonds wants to pamper one mom with a $10,000 prize package that includes a month's worth of maid service, laundry and dry cleaning service, spa treatments, a personal chef and limo service. Plus diamonds, naturally.

I nominated my mom. Now who's going to nominate me?

Consumer-generated content: marketing flavor of the week

Consumer-generated content is the buzzword of year at my agency. Now that other brands have embraced the promotion of the moment--the consumer-generated TV ad--our clients are trying to decide if they should climb aboard the bandwagon.

And it's already a crowded space. The word-of-mouth gurus behind the Church of the Customer blog have assembled a great recap of some of most recent (post-Super Bowl and Oscars) make-your-own-commercial promotions. The bar for participation is set pretty high, so it's not surprising that most of these contests attract a mere 200 entries, peanuts in the land of consumer promotions.

My gut tells me this is a fad on its way out, which makes me happy, because the last thing a good creative wants to do is retread someone else's work. But there's been some positive fallout from this consumer-centric approach to marketing: brand marketers are learning to cultivate a dialog with their consumers. And trust me when I say there are much more compelling, customer-service oriented ways to reach your target audience than a contest that invites the most computer-savvy, driven ones to throw together an amateur commercial. Yes, there are a few diamonds in the rough, but they tend to be budding ad creatives themselves (like the Doritos' winner).

What do you think? Do you see yourself filming and editing a commercial for one of your favorite products in the hopes of winning a fame and a fabulous prize?

Fake bake in a bottle

No less than the venerable NY Times is writing about self-tanners, worrying that these supposedly harmless bronzers are reinforcing the unsafe tan as a beauty ideal. I'm a fair-haired, pale-skinned gal myself, and I'm pretty vigilant about using SPF. Hell, I use a face moisturizer with SPF 15 even in the darkest days of the Chicago winter. But I'll admit I own a tube or two of Jergens Natural Glow. I like the way it give my face a hint of "healthy" color and makes my legs look a teensy bit thinner. But I hate the smell and the potential for tan palms, so I'll only use it in the summertime, when my ghostlike complexion becomes an issue.

So I'm asking you, of the dozens of moisturizers with gradual self-tanner mixed in, has one of them managed to mask that unmistakable self-tanner smell?

And more philosophically, do you think that self-tanners are perpetuating our preoccupation with suntans? Will we ever embrace ivory skin?

31 cent scoop night

Get your ice cream for next to nothing and show your support for the National Fallen Firefighters Foundation during this evening's 31¢ scoop night at Baskin-Robbins. May I suggest the Heath Bar Crunch, one of their new Hershey's flavors? The deal's good from 5-10pm tonight.

Toy envy

Parenthacker recommends this toy Animal Hospital, and I gotta say, it looks like it brings together all of the elements Z loves best: keys, animals, doctor equipment and little places to put things.

I kind of want to play with it myself.

Restaurant review: La Cocina

Dear La Cocina,

I'm torn. I love seeing how successful you've become, but today's wait for a burrito positively turned my legs to jelly. I've told countless coworkers about the "little Mexican place across the street from Chipotle," because your staff is sweet, the basket of fresh tortilla chips (eat-in only) is addictive, and the imported sodas come in glass bottles (and they're made with real sugar instead of HFCS).

But today I stood in the back of your un-airconditioned storefront, the fans whipping stray napkins around my legs and the stereo blaring club beats (perhaps you should name your place Disco Taco?) as you called numbers 84-93. Then you called 99, 98 and 96. My number was 94. Hello, customer service? I'm not expecting special treatment because it is hot and I am pregnant, but throwing my order to the bottom of the priority list is making me reconsider my love for you.

You're lucky that the burrito really hit the spot. Figuratively and literally, as I am now sporting an orange grease stain on my belly.

La Cocina
45 N. Wells St.
Chicago, IL
312-346-1638

It was a zoo

A beautiful Sunday morning and every family in the Western Suburbs seemed to have the same idea: Brookfield Zoo. There was a traffic jam 20 minutes long just to get into the zoo 30 minutes after opening, and by the time we left, the zoo police had closed the entrance altogether.

Here's a shot of the ticket taking counter. Everyone waiting here has a zoo membership or has already paid for their single day ticket. Zoo management, is this step really necessary? It seems a little insane to me.


Inside the zoo, things weren't much more spacious. I've never seen so many strollers and wagons in my life! But at least we could say no to snacks and the merry-go-round on account of the lines.

Did I mention we went with friends? Yes, four cars worth of mommies, daddies, toddlers and babies faced the crowds and came home smiling (if exhausted).

The things we do for love

Or, in my case, for work.

My agency sponsors a number of morale-boosting annual outings, and one of them is a bowling party where employees who otherwise don't work with each other are thrown together on teams and expected to come up with a creative team name, a team poster (each team gets an art director) and costumes.

I was on vacation when our team's name was selected, but I gamely sported press-on ink and the world's largest, most unflattering white bowling shirt as one of the Tattoo Love Bowlers (a play on the semi-obscure song "Tattoo Love Boys"--I'd suggested The Devil Wears Bowling Shoes).

Let me tell you, putting on a huge white men's shirt and throwing gutter balls under black lights next to skinny, more racily dressed co-workers (other teams included send-ups of Desperate Housewives and The Girls Next Door) is not the way to feel attractive when you're 7 months pregnant.

Blond ambitions

As we were heading out to the ABC orientation, I walked across the yard to say goodbye to Z, who was playing in the wet sand in our neighbor's back yard. Our babysitter says to me, "Z just told me she's going to get older and be a Mommy and she's making soup."

Indeed, Z is stirring together a lovely muddy liquid. "I'm a Mommy to cook soup. It's hot hot! Don't touch my soup, Mommy! I need to stir in an ice cube to cool it off before you eat it."

And here I'd always thought I'd been quite sneaky about stirring ice into her food to cool it off. Nothing gets past this kid.

T-minus 11 weeks and counting

Josh and I attended the Alternative Birthing Center orientation at West Suburban Medical Center this afternoon, and I've got to give the place props. I don't much care for the crosses in every room, but the ABC birthing rooms are fabulous! They're the size of an Embassy Suites suite and feature a real queen-sized bed, a huge birthing tub, a bathroom with shower, a warming isolette and a wooden bassinet, a refrigerator and microwave, a birthing ball, a birthing stool and a rocking chair. And unlike every other hospital in the area, you're encouraged to bring and eat your favorite foods (you aren't limited to ice chips) and you can videotape the birth, if desired.

All this is yours, provided you make it to 37 weeks and don't require any medical interventions. Need pitocin to start your labor? Off to the regular L&D rooms. Decide you can't live without an epidural? You're outta there!

From what I've heard from friends who've delivered in the ABC, the postpartum experience at West Sub doesn't measure up. They move you out of the ABC about 6 hours after the birth, and the hospital food's mediocre, the staff isn't terribly attentive, and the intercoms blare pages all day and night.