The birth of my second son, who will be henceforth known as Baby Burrito (I just love the way they swaddle them at the hospital like a Chipolte sandwich), was filled with the randomness of life, a labor story to kill all others and of course, lots of lululemon.

First, the vitals. Baby Burrito was born on Friday, November 6 at 9:48 am. He weighed 8 lb. at birth and was 19.5 inches long.  For those dying to know the graphic details, I was induced at 2:30 am and pushed 6 times for a total of 15 minutes. Not so bad. His birthday came 3 days before mine, making the event even more special. What more of a gift could I ask for? (Except the diamond hoops I requested of my obliging husband, of course.)

All I can give you is an ear photo. But the face is just as adorable.

And, he was born almost one year ago to the day of my worst day ever.  Life works in ever-so-interesting ways and Baby Burrito’s birth has all but obliterated any misery associated with being pregnant and having a healthy baby.

But, enough about that, let’s talk about shoes. Yes, shoes. Because that’s what I was emailing my friend about a whopping 16 minutes before I delivered the Burrito. Apparently the epidural worked so well I didn’t realize I was dilated to 10 and that the Burrito’s head was about to come out. All I cared about, and I quote, was that my friend was properly shoed and clothed. An excerpt of my words at 9:22 am (talking about what comfy but cute shoes to get to complement a stay at home mom wardrobe):

Hmmm such a dilemma! I saw these really cute sperry duck shoes in black patent leather. Also, minnetonka moccasins are a good shoe as are danskin black patent leather clogs.

You know you’re a slave to fashion when shoes are on the mind when a baby is about to come out.

And of course, my labor story wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t plug my favorite pregnancy wear, now my savior for the post-partum waist. Lululemon did me well from the sweats I wore to the induction to the purple sweat top I wore home.  Now, I just have to figure out what I”m going to do with all those large-sized clothes. At least my shoes still fit.

The last time my due date came and went I didn’t know what to expect. All I know I was large and nervous as all hell about childbirth.

This time, as my due date (yesterday) came and went, I was a little more relaxed. I shopped around Nordstrom’s half-yearly sale (being 9 months pregnant is a great way to save money), and ate lunch at Fred’s at Barney’s with my mom. Sure, I was reading into every ache and pain, wondering if labor was imminent, but made it through the day nary a baby in sight.

Last time around, they made me wait ten, excruciatingly long days past my due date to have my son.

This time around, I was able to pick my induction date (late tonight/ early tomorrow.) There’s nothing quite stranger than having an appointment time to have a baby. But I’m a planner and this organized way of childbirth (as much as I can control the situation) suits me just fine.

Last time around I was wary of epidurals, coedeine, tylenol (hospital strength) and various creams.

This time around I say bring all the meds on. I don’t need to be a hero.

Last time I brought cute lounging clothes to wear at the hospital.

This time, I packed all black. And one cute lululemon sweatshirt to wear home and for photos.

Last time I told anyone who’s anyone to come visit me in the hospital.

This time, with H1N1 on the prowl, even my son may not be able to visit.

Both times, however, I’m equally excited.

It’s hard to put into words what it took for me to finally get the H1N1 vaccine yesterday, 38 and 6 days pregnant. There were the phone calls, the texts, the emails (yes, we’re quite the tech-savvy pair) to my OB/GYN office. There was the nagging of pediatrician offices (they had it for my son before I could procure one for myself, which is cool), other people’s (read: husband’s) internist for a dose. (They wouldn’t bite – only for patients.) I was like a reformed HFCS addict looking for a hit of a Twix. Where could I get my dose?

I didn’t really think it’d be that hard to obtain the vaccine while pregnant. I was at the top of the priority list according to the CDC and from what I’d read, they’ve been working on the vaccine for months. I figured by the time it came out, there’d be ample supply to quell my nerves about stories like these. Yes, I’m neurotic and yes, I wanted the vaccine before I delivered. (Can I throw a “dammit” in here just for fun?)

As it turned out, my road to H1N1 vaccination took me Uptown, Downtown (ok, fine, the Loop) and was hard fought with blood, sweat, almost tears (not mine), and a potential to make some hard cash. (Twix are really hard to come by, apparently).

You can only imagine what I was thinking Tuesday morning after what must have been my 40th call in 2 weeks to the OB’s office. They had no supply. Oh, they had their “Top 20 list based on delivery dates” but NO SUPPLY. So I went on a mission. I called all above-mentioned health care providers. I checked the Chicago Board of Health site for updates over and over.

And when those didn’t work out as planned, (My attempts to blackmail their healthy care practices over Twitter, Facebook and my blog were met with silence on the other end. Kidding people.) I knew I had to take it to the streets. Literally. I looked up the closest Chicago City College offering the vaccine to my house, and hightailed it there faster than you can say swine flu vaccine. Or Twix. Seriously, people, I have only 7 days left to fully indulge my sugar cravings.

I thought trekking to Uptown to get in line at the free clinic by 2:30 p.m. for the vaccine would give me a prime spot in line and a sure bet to be vaccinated by at least sundown. Instead I was met with this:

And that wasn’t half of it. When the nice 16-week-preggers-who-considered-wearing-a-fake-bump behind me in line and I realized that we could cut the line because we are pregnant, we raced to the next zone of H1N1 in waiting. Mind you, I’m pushing my 3-year-old around in his stroller the entire time while he’s screaming “I’m not getting a shot am I mommy!?”

Yes, it was that pleasant. Only, in that room, we were met with this:

Hundreds of those “high risk” people just waiting for the vaccine, you ask? Oh, if only. I think I saw more elderly, low-risk ninnies in line than I care to mention. Oh, and protocol, you ask? By all means, there was none. And if you don’t believe me, you can read for yourself. I was number 373 in line, well behind the old man wearing the medical mask. How is it possible that he would get it and not my 39-week pregnant friend whose son has H1N1? Surprisingly I found a chair to sit on and stuffed my son’s blankie in his face. And then decided to make a call to change me from number 373 to number 1. My OB had a dose for me. Saved.

I’ve never hustled my 167 lb. (yes you read that right) ass so fast back down Lake Shore Drive to the Loop in my life. Sweating, completely out of breath with a dirty-faced toddler in tow, we showed up at the desk of my OB ready to go. Twenty minutes later, I was injected.

But I can’t stop thinking about that 16-week preggers I left behind. Did she get it? Did it all work out for her like it did for me?  That’s the problem at hand. Amidst the chaos, there were no good systems in place to ensure the high risk were put at no risk. I got lucky. My delivery date is imminent. But I know about the teacher at my son’s school who waited in line for 3 hours on her feet for the vaccine while my other friend’s low-risk over-50 years-old aunt got it for free at her internists’ office.

I’m not political, or vocal about much. But if we all want to fix what’s wrong with health care in this country, doling out medicine to those in need would be a good start.

I can’t believe I did it, but the lack of high fructose corn syrup must have gone straight to my non-sugary brain: I bought pencils, puzzles and card games to give out to kids for Halloween this year.

Oh, yes, I did.

My friend Caitlin was on the fence about the candy-overload dilemma. Me? I took one look at the Halloween candy aisles (yes, plural) at Target last week, and nearly vomited up my vegan animal cracker. Too many treats, too many chemicals and artificial flavors. Too much junk.

So I went the way I never thought I would and opted out of candy-buying for this Halloween. What the heck, I figured. The kids will survive. They’ll get plenty of candy elsewhere, right? They may scoff at my offerings, but I’ll feel better knowing I’m not contributing to their dental decline.

And then I presented my case to my better half. Who simply said. No you didn’t. But, oh yes, I did.

Upon further thought about it, however, I regretted my decision. Isn’t this what Halloween is about? It’s not about pushing my anti-HFCS stance on poor innocent kids knocking on my door. It’s about the sugar high, the rush of counting out our candy stockpiles, trading with friends. Where would my lame-o Disney puzzles end up in the piles of Skittles? Likely on the floor or in the trash. And pencils? They’re worse than the pennies my grandmother used to give out of her plastic pumpkin.

So I caved and went for the full monty.

Because nothing says Happy Halloween like good ol’ fashioned Hershey bars, right?

Plus, the dentist told us chocolate was better than gummies.

I knew this would happen. Motivation to do anything but nap, clean up around the house and fret about having another child has officially set in. I have stopped all “professional” commitments before my “maternity leave.”

I did, however, write a couple more articles for Chicago Parent before the newborn phase sets in. This month’s article is about … wait for it … Dr. Harvey Karp’s “Happiest Toddler on the Block” book. After this one, I promise I’m done drooling over his books and blog posts. Promise.

And, I’m still wearing lululemon consistently, but now, it’s more out of necessity.  The thought of putting real pants on these days makes me cringe.

So don’t be surprised if I teeter on the fringe of the blog world for a little while… I’m still here.

It’s clear the end of my pregnancy is nearing. With about one month to go, I’m getting those looks. The ones where people look fearful I may give birth on their store floor. Or, people are starting to give me hearty congratulations and wishes of good luck.

As I head into the home stretch I’m increasingly grateful and wistful at my *hopefully everything will go okay* last pregnancy. I’m not terribly uncomfortable, I have a lot of my energy back and am generally feeling good. I mean, I’m not gonna lie – sleeping is massively uncomfortable, I can’t wear my normal shoes and I haven’t worn anything but lululemon in the past 27 days – but holy cow, in about a month a new living thing is going to magically come out of my tummy! (That’s how I explain it to my toddler son.) I’m finally going to set eyes on the creature who punches, kicks and tosses and turns inside me. We’ll add to our family and my son will get a new brother or sister. I’ll go back to changing diapers, making bottles and practicing shushing, soothing and calming.

Holy crap, I’m nervous.

p.s. if you follow the “Opt-Out” debate and discussion, this NY Times blog post is a must-read. It’s definitely time to stop debating the details and try to figure out a solution.

Have I mentioned yet here that yet, again, we didn’t find out the sex of the little darling that is occupying my insides like the monster in Alien? Sometimes, I really think something is going to punch and claw it’s way out of my belly button.

That aside, however, now that I’m 34 weeks along, I’m at the place in my pregnancy where people are having fun guessing the sex of my unborn.

“You’re carrying so high- it’s a girl!”
“You haven’t gained any weight in your face – it’s a boy!”

My husband even told me my ass looked smaller than it did with my son. Whatever that’s worth.

Problem is, I think my OB has already given it away. I’m pretty sure when he said, “if and when you get induced we should do it on a Thursday so that the bris isn’t on Shabbat” that he told me I’m having a boy. He’s kind of a planner, so I know he wants me to think ahead to “be prepared for whatever it is,” but now, all I can think is, well, it’s a boy.

It’s kind of the worst-case not finding out scenario. Did he really give it away? Will it still be a surprise? Needless to say, I haven’t picked out any girl stuff.

Good news that it’s only about 6 more (hopefully less) weeks, until I figure out for sure the gender-bender mystery.

Are you dying to know how I’m doing ensconced in nylon day after day? Well, on Day 17 I’m finally wearing a pair of long pants as the temperature has dipped below 75 degrees. (My criteria for wearing long pants has drastically changed due to my limited wardrobe options.) And one of my three sweatshirts. So I feel that I now have some more clothing options. Because really, wearing the Bulerias or Power Y tank EVERY DAY was just getting a little nasty.

Luckily the ‘lemon washes quite nicely and hasn’t stretched out into weird proportions considering my stomach is looking more and more like I swallowed a watermelon every day.

But trying to work the ‘lemon into my repetoire every day can be a bit daunting. Especially as I try not to look like a gym rat/ haven’t showered/ only wears sweatpants kind of mama every day.

So today, I paired the wrap pant in charcoal grey with my uber-cute but potentially blister-inducing Tory Burch Bryce Clog.

Because every pair of sweatpants needs a patent leather clog to stay above the sloppy fray.

It’s a wonder what a little T logo can do to the maternity fashion psyche.

I’m not a hysteric about making my house an organic haven, or making sure my kid can speak Tibetan by age 4, or worrying about the effects of Dora the Explorer’s shrill voice on my son’s eardrums.

But lately, I have taken to trying to eradicate certain ingredients from our food, like high fructose corn syryp, and after talking to my new BFF, Dr. Harvey Karp, making an effort to rid our lives as best as possible of endocrine disrupting chemicals.

What are EDCs, you ask? Good question. I wrote all about it today on Babble in an interview with the doc.

And he put the fear of freaking g-d in me about all the toxins in all the products we use on our bodies and in our house. Like  phthalates in beauty products, insulating agents, chemicals in carpets and flooring. It’s not just the chemicals alone that are scary. It’s the research being done about how these chemicals compound in our bodies and may cause autism in our children. (The Ecology Center published a report yesterday showing test results on various household items in a similar vein. You can find their database of tested products on their site, healthystuff.org).

We all know BPA is the devil, but that’s just the one that gets all the buzz.

Luckily, though, there are things we can do. We can use “green cleaners.”  (For a good list go to: Healthy Child Healthy World.) We can use natural beauty products on ourselves and kids (I listed a smattering of recommended products on my article.) We can buy organic foods.

We can vigilant without draping ourselves in hemp all day and living in a tent.  And best, we can talk about it, create more awareness and try to get companies to get the toxins out of their products. (And try to get Sigg to give us a freaking explanation for what’s going on with their BPA-laced bottles!)

If you guys have any tips about this topic, I’d love to hear it as well.

If you are one of my few twitter followers, you’ll know that over the past few months I’ve been in contact with one of the country’s leading pediatricians, Dr. Harvey Karp, about his Happiest Baby/ Toddler programs, and his research about scary, scary chemicals in our environment.

The fruits of my labor (read: trying to set up interviews with him is about as hard as birthing a child; he’s super busy) are now appearing. Out yesterday on Chicago Parent magazine’s website is our conversation about raising a happy baby.

I love his advice, and hope you find his insight as appealing as I do. Stay tuned for my scary chemical article appearing on Babble.com (OMG Babble!) this Friday.