This weekend has been like some sort of terrible research project into the nocturnal habits of juvenile humans when exposed to large amounts of sunlight, food and fun. Code Name: tire the crap out of the baby even though it doesn’t guarantee anything.

On Saturday we met our friends Brandon and Amanda and their daughter Madison down in Essex, CT (Motto: The Best Small Town in America)(My New Proposed Motto: Where To Go If You Want To Feel Really Bad About Your Economic Status). We took the kids to a rather child-inappropriate museum on the history of the Connecticut River and let Baby Evan do his best hobo impression, running in shoeless circles for an hour before we tracked down one of the most delicious fried clam po’ boys I’ve ever had at the Black Seal Restaurant. It was so good even Baby Evan liked it, chomping down part of the giant hoagie roll it came on, an adult-sized handful of clam strips, and dozens of french fries. Did I mention he also ate half the grilled cheese we ordered for him? (Our first time ever ordering off the kid’s menu! THAT is the kind of milestone they should put in baby books.) We didn’t get home until after 3, but by thanks to some crazy magical time warp he was perfectly happy to run around in more shoeless circles yelling at the dog until bedtime, when he collapsed in a heap of exhausted cuteness and slept for TWELVE. STRAIGHT. HOURS.

On Sunday we ran last minute errands (including letting Hobo Baby Evan run up and down the aisles at Stop & Shop – you guessed it – shoeless) before Brandon and Amanda and Madison came over and we all headed out for our first boat ride of the season. The weather was perfect, the traffic on the river was incredibly light and the kids behaved (at least for the first half of the day) especially after stuffing them with Goldfish and Twizzlers. We spent four hours enjoying our horrible financial decision boat and the sun and the water, with everyone but Baby Evan jumping in (water temp: 72 degrees) for some splashy fun.  After forcing one overly tired child into an afternoon nap, we went over to Brandon and Amanda’s (can you believe they weren’t tired of us yet?! What I am going to do when they move to Virginia???) for grilled chicken pineapple quesadillas and a few rounds of the marble game.* For dinner, Baby Evan ate several pieces of bread with goat cheese dip and some plain cheese quesadillas plus a whole sippy cup of watered down lemonade. Instead of the quite, easy bedtime we were expecting when we got home, E and I had to take turns rocking/patting/nursing one INCREDIBLY ANGRY SCREAMING CHILD for two hours before he would go to sleep and stay asleep. Eventually a dose of (generic, non-recalled) baby tylenol was what did the trick and Baby Evan slept from 11 pm to 6 am this morning. Which, well, just isn’t good enough anymore. He needs at least 10 hours of sleep to keep him from turning into a monster and in my fetus-growing state I need at least 8 hours.

WHAT THE HELL, BABY EVAN? What was the one factor on Saturday that led to a good night that we somehow missed on Sunday? French fries? No afternoon nap? Less sunshine? More hobo shoelessness? Is it teething? Diaper rash? A broken leg? Demon possession? Please tell me so I can solve the problem with food/shade/medicine/holy water and start getting those wonderful 12-hour nights on a regular basis. Sandy and I thank you.

* The marble game: best card/board game ever. Requires 4-6 people and a special wooden board, unless you are REALLY addicted in which case I’ve heard you can make a board with cardboard and little hole-punch circles. Sometimes called “Social Security” in Ohio, but the rules are less stupid complicated.

When life leaves your blog lacking, that’s what God invented bullet points for.

– Baby Evan officially knows both the word and the sign for dog and will do them both independently and on command. So those 12 weeks of signing class ended up being (almost) effective after all.

– I added threading to the comments section, so you can use the “reply” option if someone has said something SO BRILLIANT or SO AWFUL that you just must speak to them directly. Expect to see a lot more of me in my own comments.

– If you have a discussion with a coworker about fun things to do over the weekend, make sure you’re on the same page regarding whether you are going to do said things TOGETHER or are just hearing about HIS plans. Otherwise you risk his wife and your wife misinterpreting your polite interest as complicit agreement and you will spend your whole weekend visiting museums and quaint seaside villages full of antique stores.

– That last one was totally hypothetical of course.

– Although MAYBE if you took a second out of your busy iPhone-game-playing schedule to, oh, I don’t know, ASK YOUR PREGNANT WIFE HOW SHE’S FEELING she wouldn’t feel the need to drag you all over New England to get some time together.

– No really, these are just generalizations.

– I’m going to have to go bathing suit shopping AGAIN, since last year’s one piece is not a maternity suit and the maternity suit I do have is incredibly uncomfortable and ugly. I seem to remember buying it because it was the only option though, so I may not have any luck.

– In an incredibly strange and somewhat evil twist of fate, this pregnancy has improved my skin quality an enormous amount already (which, according to tradition, means I’m having another boy) and last year’s stretch marks have faded to almost invisible. I suppose this is just in preparation for new, angry, violently purple stretch marks in my 3rd trimester, but I may make it through the summer without looking like I’ve been attacked by wild badgers.

– I think I’m going to go to Target today. Just thought you should know.

– A warning to all new parents: TAKE LOTS OF PICTURES OF YOUR BABY NOW, because before too long they’re going to be running through your kitchen naked and refusing to hold still long enough to focus the camera. And if you DO manage to get them to hold still, it will only be sitting in your lap on the floor and they will somehow still manage to ruin your photo.

At least he's still pretty cute.

This is sort of rambling and vague so I apologize in advance.

Baby Evan’s birth was just the way I wanted it. It was fast and uneventful and pain-free. I went to the hospital without a formal birth plan (although I joked I was going to print out a dozen pieces of paper that just said “GET THE BABY OUT” in giant letters) since my requests were already written in my chart. I liked and trusted the OB practice I was seeing and with my totally normal, low risk pregnancy I was confident I could avoid the only two things I was horribly afraid of: a c-section and an episiotomy. And I did, thanks to a doctor who let me go home to labor, a very well placed epidural, some of the strongest pelvic muscles in the Western hemisphere and a lot of luck. I have absolutely zero regrets regarding my choices, especially since I ended up with the healthy baby every mom wants after 40 weeks of pregnancy.

But sometimes I feel that because I didn’t give birth squatting in a meadow surrounded by bluebirds and fawns and harp music and 100 of my closest friends chanting ancient birth rituals I have somehow failed. Because I don’t have regrets about trusting modern medicine and taking advantage of pain medication I am betraying womankind. Because I didn’t even try to do it naturally I am less worthy to call myself a mother.

Which is all ridiculous.

I think I just spend too much time on the internet, where the only two stories seem to be horrible traumatic c-sections no one wanted and all-natural wheat field births where Jesus himself was the midwife. If I had never heard a birth story other than my own I wouldn’t feel this way at all. Which is probably an indication I need to get away from the computer more often. But with every joyful, triumphant, glowing story about a natural childbirth I wonder…could I do that? Do I even care if I do that or is it a weird form of social peer-pressure and misplaced guilt?

This pregnancy is clearly to blame for all my thoughts about my last birth, since I hope to experience another one in the not too distant future. But do I want the same one?

(Sidenote: E thinks I’m a crazy person for even considering doing things differently. What kind of person decides their birth was too easy and too painless? A crazy one, that’s who. Which means any of the husband-coached pain management techniques are probably out – my coach is too skeptical to be truly helpful.)

p.s. As silly as this sounds, one of the reasons I feel I have to give this birth so much more thought is my day after Christmas due date. I have horrible fantasies of a doctor who doesn’t want to miss his kids opening presents and insists I get a c-section so he can be home in time for dinner. Not that I think that would ACTUALLY happen. Probably not. Right?

p.p.s. And THEN I start thinking of the mothers who didn’t end up with a healthy baby in the end and think I’m being totally selfish for spending so much time thinking about trivial details. I imagine those mothers would sign up for unmedicated c-sections if it meant they could have their babies back.

Regarding comments: Please feel free to share your experiences and birth stories. I love reading them, especially the good kind – and by good kind I mean any that you were happy with. But if you use the phrase “women have been giving birth for thousands of years” or “your body was designed for birth so of COURSE you can do it naturally” you’re going to get some epic eye rolling on my part. I’m not looking for a bunch of “you go gurl!!!” support. If I DO decide to do things differently this time I will let you know I am open to all the womanly power affirmations you can think of.

Literally. My parents, E and I took Baby Evan to the National Zoo in Washington on Saturday. It was…exhausting. And hot. And I was sort of unimpressed by what I remembered as a really cool zoo from my childhood – the walking to animal ratio was much too large and the one animal I though Baby Evan would really like (giraffes) were no where to be found.

I know pictures of zoo animals are really boring so I’ll try to keep this short. Of course, I will fail.

Baby Evan's first ride on public transportation. I think he liked it.

OMG A PANDA IT'S A PANDA IT'S BLACK AND WHITE AND A BEAR AND FROM CHINA. TRY NOT TO PEE YOUR PANTS.

Seriously, the amount of freaking out of a panda eating bamboo was epic.

Baby Evan getting in on the exciting panda fun. Although he thought it was a dog.

Number of Ergos spotted: 4. Number worn by men: 4. Number of people who looked at my carrier and told their husband "Oh I think that's the Becco": 1.

For the record, the zoom on my camera is not that good. This cheetah was REALLY close.

Stupid llama. Plus ten point for getting the reference. Minus 10 points for admitting it. Minus another 10 points for me since this is actually an emu.

Aw it's a gorilla family. The baby was the cutest thing ever.

This is the point where Baby Evan lost interest in the animals and started wondering when nap time starts.

I suspected this was a fake alligator because of the moss, but I saw him blink so I'm pretty sure he was alive.

I had to physically restrain myself from shouting "Aslan! Aslan! Take me to Naria!" I'm kind of a crazy person when it comes to lions.

HAHAHAHA! You thought I couldn't get breastfeeding into a zoo picture post didn't you? I can get breastfeeding into ANYTHING. But really, I loved this sign.

After the zoo Mom and Dad took us out to lunch while Baby Evan slept in his stroller. When he woke up our waitress bribed him to be good with Oreos. I think he enjoyed them.

Baby Evan made a lot of friends on the metro. He clearly doesn't understand the "listen to your iPod and don't make eye contact" rule.

Although by the end of the day I'd say he was ready for his own metro card.

Next time we’ll do real Washington, with lots of monuments and museums and freeze dried ice cream. Which is the Washington I remember from my childhood.

Occasionally (rarely) I get email from a reader. It always makes my day, since just knowing someone took the time to type out my address and spend a few seconds telling me they liked my post or have a suggestion or agree with me makes all the time and energy I spend on this space worth it. What can I say, I’ve got an attention-seeking personality. Aaaaand everyone who new me in high school just said “DUH”.

Even better than “I like you” mail, sometimes people email me asking if I would consider writing about a specific subject. Take for example, this email I got from a lovely (and incredibly loyal) reader named Amanda: