"We're like the couple in Hope Springs," he said with a smile after a goodnight kiss and a wave good bye as he shut the door. We wave good bye now.

I had pondered out loud whether or not we'd ever share a bed again. I've gotten used to sleeping on the blow up mattress in baby's room. We bought an expensive video monitor, but it seems to have been a waste. I can't trust it and it makes too much static noise ensuring that no one would sleep. Felicity and I have gotten into a wake, change diaper, nurse, burp, back to bed rhythm while sharing her room. I think we can continue it through college. Kids thrive on schedules. 

Have you seen Hope Springs where Meryl Streep and Tommy Lee Jones play a middle-aged couple with a shit marriage? They sleep in separate rooms. We've watched it twice on my movie nights. Sad-funny, middle-aged seems to be my genre. 

Of course we aren't ever going to be that couple, but it was a funny way to bid me adieu after I expressed sadness about not sleeping in the same bed. "We're like the couple in Hope Springs."

Eugenio also sometimes refers to our room as his room. "It's in my room," he says. Next time we get in a tiff, I'm going to scream, "Go to your room!" Got my comeback ready. 

Reading at last while Felicity naps on my lap. Also, please note the blue cup in the background. When we first moved into our new apartment, the leasing agent warned that drinking alcohol around the pool and picnic areas is strictly prohibited. She told a tale of people putting alcohol in red Solo cups thinking they could get away with it. "I mean, hello, it's a red Solo cup. They were clearly getting drunk," she went on.

So Neno purchased blue Solo cups. 

I'm pretty sure I have an ulcer. That makes me feel super old. It's either that or gastritis or cancer. Going to a GI doctor tomorrow. So this is what I get. All that bragging about having a wonderful, lovely, better than yours pregnancy. Since giving birth I've had several boughts of mastitis (breast infection, it's as pleasant as it sounds), and the most heinous stomach aches I've ever experienced. Now that I'm feeling fine and the pain that had me thinking of the ER is but a memory, I can shrug and say it's not so bad. I wouldn't even go to doctor about it -- ugh, what a hassle -- if Eugenio hadn't scheduled the appointment for me, knowing I didn't intend to go. 

I also have a gyno appointment on Friday, which I'm also not looking forward to. Gotta get cleared for all that running I've already been doing. When the doctor and midwife told me no running for six weeks after giving birth, my lips said, "OK," but my brain said, "Fuck that." Clearly I'm fine. Minus my intestines. 

Since I've been living under a baby lately, I just found out two days ago that Lauren Graham wrote a novel and it's already a New York Times best seller. Of course I have to get it...and remind myself that Lorelai Gilmore did not write it. God I hope it's good.

Someone needs to design a nursing pillow with a small pull out table/flat surface attached. That would make reading possible. I think of really good ideas while feeding my babe in the middle of the night. It's not really the middle of the night, though. It's the middle of the morning. Can we start saying that? 

I'm sure to text Eugenio with important entertainment trivia, with random capitalization, while we're both hard at work. Nursing isn't so bad while watching Gilmore Girls, noting where many actors and actresses got a start. Eugenio, smart husband of mine, gave me the complete series this past Christmas. This is a dumb thing to say, but let me have my stupid TV spawned fantasties, I hope Felicity will be Rory to my Lorelai. Nevermind, forget I said that. It's dumb. OK, back to work... 

I bought a treadmill and was so excited to finally have it delivered and set up yesterday. I was slightly worried, and amused, upon seeing the man flipping through the manual as he struggled to put it together. I paid an extra $80 to have it assembled assuming the person assembling it would know what he or she is doing. At any rate, three hours later he had it complete. We gave him a tip, thanked him for his work, and sent him on his way with a diet coke. Southern hospitality, man.

And then I tried playing with my new toy and it set off all the power in the room after 20 seconds. When we tried to remedy that with the breaker switches, we managed to turned off the power elsewhere in the apartment. Meanwhile, Felicity was tired and hungry and needed her bath. After some frustration, we eventually figured it out and were not without power all night. My treadmill just sat there, sad and useless.

Damn, I was so looking forward to running on it. This is my life now: running on a treadmill is euphoria. I'm instantly a much more pleasant person once I'm drenched in sweat. I'm sure I'm developing a reputation as the crazy lady who brings her baby in a stroller to the apartment gym. I try to get there in the morning when no one is around while Felicity is sleeping. If I work it right, I can get a decent 4 or 5 mile run in before she wakes up, but it doesn't always work out the way I hope and I'm left feeling like a lazy, unmoving blob some days. It's too hot outside and Felicity is too young for me to run with her in a jogger.

Anyway, I spoke to a lady in the office and she's sending a maintenance person over tomorrow to switch something or another on our breaker. Wait, is that even the right word? Or is it braker? What is it breaking? What is electricity? Why do I not know these things? I just want to run in place while staring at a wall; that's all I know.

Also, I haven't read a book or counted on my abacus or used my brain almost at all since Felicity was born and I'm afraid it's turning to mush, so I hereby declare that I will start reading again. They have boarding schools for babies, right? That would really free up a lot of time so I can pursue my hobbies full time again.

Happy two months to the real royal baby, princess poopy pants.

She had her two month check up today where she received her first vaccinations. That was that. You know, a baby getting shots. She's now a little over 11 pounds, and slowly resembling the late, great James Gandolfini: 

Sorry, baby. I love the extreme close-up double baby chin photos. Here's a more flattering angle, saying hi to daddy in the morning: 

Now we're home from the doctor's office, which was a major hassle and small victory on my part. Getting ready and out the door with a small, dependent, hungry, poopy, tired baby is something I'm still figuring out. 

So you want to hear all about my labor and delivery? Every last detail? How my vagina is fairing? No?

I was obsessed with reading birth stories when I was with child and then not at all when she was no longer squirming inside of me. I made a note to self to maybe not share the expulsion of my baby with the Internet. So here's a photo rendition instead! 

Last belly shot, 38 weeks and 3 days. I really wanted that shirt at Target and figured I'd go back post baby. HA HA! There's no way I can shove my chest into that now.

Like a million hours into labor, Eugenio asked to take a picture, to which I said hell to the no. "Your sister said you'll regret it later." I don't think I'd be terribly sad without this precious moment, but OK.

Felicity's first photo. She was so swollen but I was relieved that she was cute. Imagine over twodays of labor for an ugly baby. No thank you. 

The one second I got to hold her before she was taken away for two hours for observation. She had fluid in her lungs. I was mischievous and snuck up to see her anyway. A cool nurse let me feed her, as she was sticking out her tongue in obvious hunger. 

See.

After I fed her. Eugenio was so excited to hold his baby. Swoon. 

My content babay, still a little swollen.

Going home outfit. On our way out people kept asking if she was a boy. Ladybug, hello. People always comment on what a handsome boy she is, even when she's all decked out in pink pants, heals, lipstick, all that. That's fine. I'm not about instilling gender norms anyhow.

At home in her crib. MTV just left after filming. She was tired. 

When she saw my engorged breasts for the first time. "Oooohhh chile', them is some big titties." We're working on her grammar.

One week. She gets my jokes.

And some more cute pictures and then I'll stop. Maybe a look-at-my-baby! photo post is even worse than providing the details of her expulsion. Whatever. I'll delete it later. Pictures, pictures! 

Felicity will be two months on Tuesday. We're already planning her Halloween costume. I'm a mom now. How bizarre. It seems as if I've forgotten how to write. Typing on my iPhone is really a pain in the ass. I hope you enjoyed this picture post.

OK, bye. Until another nursing session.

I'm so smart.

Just realized blogger has an app. I can now blog all day long while nursing my baby. I celebrate this. I find myself once again in a new city with no friends, this time with a baby on my boob, so I'm clearly in desperate need of attention. 😀

At long last, my ass in sitting in a chair, at the kitchen table, in front of the laptop. I may have to switch my blog to Tumblr, though I think this one is prettier, because it's easier to post quickly from my phone. I spend a lot of time on my phone these days...

Rul quick, before I get rolling, let me say, I probably won't have time to edit this like, at all, so don't hate on the mistakes...

So my new boss is a real piece of work. Love her to death. She sharts all day long and doesn't give a f*** ( I feel the need to censor myself now? WHHHHYY??? Ugh). She's the reason I haven't had a chance to sit in a chair in front of a laptop to type. Very needy, this lady. She eats non stop and keeps gaining weight, but she can afford to gain a few. Without further ado:

Welp, never mind. I was going to upload a photo, but the internet here is so damn slow.

Fuck a duck, I sense I'm being summoned again. Quick update: in the past two months I had a baby and drove across the country with my husband, said newborn, and MIL in a teeny car (NEVER. AGAIN.), and spent my time figuring out this new job. My breasts got ginormously, freakishly huge and I cried and cried for days (they eventually went down a little, praise the lord) and anyone who saw me in the first few weeks post partum was treated to the big titty show because I still haven't figured out to feed my kid discretely and eventually stopped caring, almost. I'm a stay at home milk dispenser for the time being. Felicity, child of mine, is a smiley, happy baby. I can't complain, though the first few weeks were "fun."  We finally have that welcoming king sized bed I've been fantasizing for the past four years. It even has a head board! So grown up. But I sleep on an air mattress in Felicity's room. LOL LOL LOL

And that's all I have time for today. Sad face. This wasn't the post I was hoping for. I've written so many witty updates in my head in the wee hours of the night. So many. You're missing out. Sorry.

Posting from my phone is hard.

I haven't been able to blog or write almost anything in over six weeks and that makes me feel like I don't exist. I hope to write a very long and melodramatic post after Tuesday when we finally get the Internet in our new apartment. I got a new job, which has required all my energy but plan to make more time to embarrass myself here. Gotta get my priorities straight.