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I'm just finishing up a fabulous book, called Waiting For Birdy, by Catherine Newman. It's a memoir following Catherine's second pregnancy (she's already mom to a hilarious 3-year old little boy, Ben).

Like so many other moms, I read a zillion pregnancy and parenting books, but this is the first one where I was nodding along and saying, "I know!" at every page. One minute, I'm snickering and reading out portions to George -- for example, her extraordinary thirst while nursing (George thought it was just a weird peccadillo of mine that I'd practically become hysterical if I didn't have a tall, iced glass of water next to me as soon as Sam latched on), and how she thinks that doctors should nix the "wait 6 weeks after birth to have sex" rule in favor of a more realistic time period, like, say, 2 years.

And then a page later, she's talking about the aching, bittersweet love she has for her son and daughter, and suddenly, I'm weeping and snuffling into wads of papertowels (I buy tissues, I do, but there never seem to be any around when I need one).

Anyway, read it. It's great. In fact, it's so good it almost makes me want to get pregnant again. Almost . . .

Posted 04 September 2005 at 09:09 PM