Two days and counting...

Dear Emi,
After realizing I was about to be housebound for the next few months, I decided to spend my last full day of baby-less freedom on my favorite pastime - shopping! I arrived fully armed with gift cards and store credit and whiled away several lovely hours selecting cool kitchen gadgets from Crate & Barrel, browsing through baby clothes and having a leisurely lunch while reading the newspaper.

I went to Nordstrom and bought your Christmas outfit - deep red, velvet, footed pajamas trimmed in gray plaid flannel with a matching hat. I figure you can wear it to Auntie Midori's on New Year's Day, too. It's the same one I saw a few days ago at a different mall. On the advice of the saleswoman, I decided to buy two sizes - newborn and 3 to 6 months - and just return the one that doesn't fit come Christmas time. I saw a few, really beautiful dresses that would've worked, but they were a bit too fancy considering we're just going to be visiting relatives not attending a holiday ball. But just you wait. Next year, I'm gonna drape you in layers of velvet and lace!

Daddy barbecued steak and made rice and garlic green beans for what I've started calling "My Last Supper" since tomorrow night we'll be at the hospital. Over dinner I filled Daddy in on all my activities, adding that it had been a really nice day.

After dinner I made more thank-you cards using some new Japanese stamps I'd bought earlier in the day, then cleaned up the kitchen and baked some Kahlua cupcakes to bribe the nurses at the hospital. All the baby books suggest it as did the woman who taught our birthing class. I'm just hoping there aren't too many babies being born now, 'cause I really want one of those private birthing suites!

I'm also bringing a batch of cupcakes to Pau Pau's office tomorrow to thank them for all the gifts they gave you at her "grandma shower." Daddy called Grandma Jacque again today and told her she didn't have to rush over to the hospital tomorrow since it will likely be at least several hours before you make your debut. "I'll be there in the morning," she told him in no uncertain terms. Grandma Jacque likes her sweets, so I'm going to bake her some biscotti that she can have with her coffee. Grandpa Brian will be arriving sometime late on Friday because he has to go to a conference in Yosemite. I just hope you'll be here by then...

Emi Watch: Day 5

Dear Emi,
Dr. Chan has decided to get things moving by having me check into the hospital Wednesday evening. The fetal monitoring showed you're still doing okay in there, but he doesn't want to wait until it shows you're in distress and then have to go in and do an emergency Cesarean. "I want to get you delivered," Dr. Chan said. He examined my cervix, but there hadn't been any change since last week, even though the monitor showed I was having contractions, albeit mild ones since I didn't feel them.

I told Dr. Chan I'd had a few contractions over the weekend, including three early that morning when I was still sleeping. The sharp pain that started at the top of my uterus had woken me enough to alert Daddy, but after three, short contractions they stopped and I immediately went back to sleep without even noting the time.

"That's good," Dr. Chan said. "We know something is going on."

It doesn't sound like much will be happening Wednesday night except for getting registered and taking some lab tests. The real work begins Thursday morning, when he'll start inducing labor. He cautioned that we'll have to be very patient because it'll be a long time before you'll actually make an appearance.

It was a relief to know the waiting game was over for the most part. Daddy and I were both glad you'd be coming out before anything could go wrong. "My blood pressure is going up," he told me over the phone that day, after I'd delivered the news. "I'm having trouble focusing. I keep thinking about Emi."

When he came home from school, I was in your room rocking in my wonderful chair. I told him how I'd gone purposely gone to Peet's for a cup of decaf coffee before my appointment with Dr. Chan to jump start you for the fetal monitor. Unfortunately, when I got to his office another patient was still using the monitor and it was another half-hour before it became free. Meanwhile, you were bumping along inside me the whole time I was the waiting room. "But as soon as I hopped up on the table, your daughter decided it was time to take a nap," I told Daddy. "I had to keep poking her to get her to move."

I made spaghetti and meatballs for dinner tonight. While I was browning the meat, Daddy went dumpster diving in our trash bin to find the shower cards that had accidentally been thrown out during last weekend's massive clean-up. Luckily, I'd put them in a plastic, zippered bag so they were still clean and dry. Family and friends had written lovely little notes in the cards and I couldn't bear the thought of losing them. I tucked them into the scrapbook I'd bought for you at Kozo, the Japanese paper store in San Francisco.

Maybe tomorrow I'll get started on your scrapbook...

Emi Watch: Day 4

Dear Emi,
We spent a lovely Sunday morning having dim sum with our friends Patty and Rob.

Literally translated, dim sum means "touch the heart" and it's basically the Chinese version of British high tea. Instead of scones and cucumber sandwiches served on silver, tiered trays, waiters weave through the tables pushing carts filled with a variety of small dishes such as steamed bbq pork buns, or char siu bao, lots of different meat or shrimp-filled dumplings including siu mai and har gow, as well as lotus leaf-wrapped sticky rice. My personal favorites are sei jup pai gwut, or black bean spare ribs, and chicken feet, which no one likes except me. For dessert, tiny custard tarts called dan tan is typically served, but more restaurants are also offering my favorite steamed bao filled with egg custard.

I absolutely love dim sum. Over the years, I've taught myself how to make a few of my favorites - shrimp balls, potstickers, har gow, sei jup pai gwut and sticky rice minus the lotus leaf. But nothing beats going out to a good restaurant, where you can just point to a bamboo steamer filled with a delectable delight.

While we were waiting for Patty and Rob to arrive, I noticed a little hapa girl about three or four years old. She had light brown hair that grazed her shoulders and she was kneeling on her chair, about to dig into the fried taro fritter on her plate. "Emi could look like her," I mused to your daddy, thinking how we'd have to take you out for dim sum as soon as you were old enough to eat solid food.

Over taro cake and siu mai, we chatted about the joys of parenthood, their daughter Ryan and my maternity leave, while I'd occasionally pepper them with random questions like "Can you use fabric softener for baby clothes?" and "Did you use your baby monitor much?" We stayed well past noon, and by the time we got home I realized my legs had become swollen. Slightly alarmed, I went to bed, propping my legs up on some pillows, and fell asleep.

Patty called while I was napping. Turns out my friend Marylou hadn't gotten her email about having to cancel the shower, and she'd arrived just as Patty and Rob were pulling into their driveway. Marylou ended up stopping by our house to drop off your presents, and we spent a pleasant couple of hours talking and catching up. I felt horrible that she'd driven all the way into town for the shower, especially since she lives about an hour away in the foothills. But it was good to see her. Like Niesha, she also made me an adorable diaper cake - decorated with white flowers and pink ribbons. It actually looked like a wedding cake!

After Marylou left, I finished tidying your nursery. Daddy had hung the Japanese mobile while Marylou was here and your room was finally done. It was the perfect little nursery for a baby girl. While I'd been nervous about the bright, green paint, once everything was in place it looked absolutely beautiful. The pink, glass curtain rod filials I'd bought at Target provided a nice, finishing decorative touch to the windows. The cushioned glider added a lot of warmth and comfort to the room, and all the pink, cherry blossom decor gave it a great deal of cheer. I'm still looking for a piece of artwork to hang on the bare wall above your crib, but I'm sure I'll find something.

We did some more laundry and ended the day watching "Entourage" and "True Blood" in the bedroom. All in all, it was a nice way to spend our last, baby free Sunday.

Emi Watch: Day 3

Dear Emi,
Your daddy and I got a lot accomplished today. We went back to the baby store (my third time in a week) to get your car seat installed, then went home and got started on your nursery. Daddy finished putting together the crib drawer and rearranged the furniture. After a quick trip to Target, he hung your curtains and I put up the name sign on your bedroom door. Tomorrow the final touch goes up - the chirimen mobile I bought in Kyoto.

Your nursery looks so sweet, Emi. I can't wait for you to see it. I just know you'll love it.

I also started assembling your birth announcements, and so far I've finished 30. I wasn't sure I'd be able to get any of it done before you were born, so I think I'm doing pretty good considering you're making your debut a couple weeks early.

Making your announcements has got me going on a bit of a creative streak. I dug up some old, rubber stamps I'd bought years ago and made a few thank-you cards. They were pretty cute, if I do say so myself. I resisted the urge to go back to the paper store, yet again.

I think I had a few contractions this afternoon. My lower back ached and it felt like I had menstrual cramps with a tightening in my belly, but after a few seconds or so they went away. It only happened about three times, but we're hoping this means you're getting ready to come out and Dr. Chan will be able to induce this week.

We still have more work to do before everything is ready for you to come home, but we made a lot of progress today. Tomorrow, after we meet my friend Patty and her family for dim sum, your daddy and I will have to finish cleaning the house. Sigh! The mess is neverending, and I worry so much about how we'll be able to manage once you're born. We're both such slobs... but I'm determined you'll have a safe, clean, loving home.

Emi Watch: Day 2

Dear Emi,
I managed to sleep through most of the night, waking just briefly around 2 a.m. and then promptly nodding off again until 5 a.m. when I finished organizing the closet and putting away your daddy's numerous t-shirts, khaki shorts and pants. "You're nesting hardcore," he grunted blearily before pulling the quilt over his head. A couple hours later when he was getting ready for work, he was more appreciative. "Wow! My clothes are folded and everything. It's like I have a real wife." Puhleez.

I seem to be getting bigger by the day. You've dropped a bit, so it's easier to breathe now. On the other hand, there's more pressure on my bladder and I spend a good deal of my time in the bathroom. Every time I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror or in a store window I'm shocked to see how much my belly sticks out. Your daddy, a sweetheart of man, has lovingly taken to calling me "Bazooka Belly."

I'm starting to worry you may be getting too big. Aside from the whole labor thing, I've got all sorts of adorable, teeny newborn outfits that I'm dying to dress you in, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed. I almost bought a red velvet pj set from Nordstrom today for you to wear on Christmas, but the saleswoman seemed to think the newborn size would be too small for a nearly 2-month-old baby. So I decided to wait until after you're here. I also popped into Janie & Jack, a relatively new baby boutique in the mall, and found some beautiful dresses. I'll definitely check it out when I go shopping for your red egg & ginger party dress.

I got started on your birth announcements today, after I took a two-hour nap. They're going to be lovely. I bought some beautiful Japanese paper at a special store in San Francisco just for your announcements, and Auntie Midori was able to make a paper kimono out of it so I can frame it with your photo.

Your nursery is shaping up nicely, too. This weekend, Daddy and I are going to rearrange the furniture and add a few more finishing touches. I can't wait until it's done!

I've been enjoying these last few days, now that my To Do list has been whittled down to a more manageable level. I should've listened to Dr. Chan when he advised me to take a month off before my due date. I felt fine at the time and couldn't justify leaving work so early, at least in my mind. Plus, I wanted to spend as much of my six-month maternity leave with you as possible. But Dr. Chan was right. I'm going to have to remember that next time...

You didn't move around much today, and by dinner I was starting to worry. Daddy reminded me that you do that sometimes - hibernate quietly for several hours. Sure enough, once I ate dinner you made an appearance and I was able to relax again.

I worked on your birth announcements a little more after dinner. While I was busy punching out flower shapes and snipping lengths of gold cord, I noticed I was having Braxton Hicks contractions again. I'm hoping this means you're getting ready to come out, Emi. It'd be great if my cervix could be "favorable" by Monday. Hint, hint...

Let the waiting begin ...

Dear Emi,
Our wait began this morning when Dr. Chan checked my cervix and declared it "unfavorable."

I'd had a long, mostly sleepless night. The day before I ran around in a crazed state of nesting, doing laundry, shopping for more baby things and stopping at this amazing stamp store to get cards for your birth announcements. By the end of the day, I was so tired I couldn't sleep. I lay in bed next to your daddy, my mind racing with all the things we still had to do before your arrival, and panic set in. "Oh my god. What the hell are we going to do with a little baby?" I asked, near tears and half-asleep.

The last thing I remember before finally dozing off was your daddy wrapping his arms around me, calmly telling me that everything would be fine. "You're going to be a great mother. That's why I married you."

I was awake again by 3 a.m. I passed the time folding laundry, lining the drawers in your dresser with this lovely pink, Paris-themed paper that Niesha wrapped your gifts with, packing for the hospital, eating a bowl of chili and blogging. I managed to catch a few more Z's sometime after 5 o'clock, then woke up and changed the bed linens before taking a shower and heading to the doctor's office.

I was so busy, I forgot to eat. All my activity must've worn you out, too, because after I was hooked up to the fetal monitor it quickly became clear you'd fallen asleep. Although I poked my belly in the hopes of prodding you to move, you didn't budge. Sure enough, Dr. Chan had to shake you up before determining you were still okay in there.

Next, he checked my cervix, not the most comfortable of exams. As I winced, it occurred to me that labor would be a lot more discomfiting, but I tried not to dwell on it too much. At one point during the examination, Dr. Chan told us he was nudging your head. I laughed out loud. Your head, Emi! Can you imagine? You were so close!

But alas, although my cervix was soft it was tightly closed. Dr. Chan said he'd check me again on Monday and if I was still unfavorable, he'd push it to Thursday and at that point he'd have to go in and induce labor one way or the other.

My friend "Charlotte"

Dear Emi,
Niesha - my friend from work who generously loaned me her maternity clothes, baby gear and gave us some lovely outfits that her daughter, Elle, had outgrown - came by yesterday to drop off some gifts. You should've seen her walking up the porch steps with a pile of packages and this amazing diaper cake straight out of Sex and the City.

You wouldn't know this of course, but SATC was a hit television show in the early 2000s that chronicled the love lives of four single, women friends living in New York City. It was smart, fresh, racy, hilarious and heartbreaking. At the time, your daddy and I were newly married. I was in my late 20s and, like many women my age, I quickly became fascinated with the wild escapades of Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte - not to mention their amazing wardrobes!

My friends and I loved this show. It aired Sunday nights on HBO, and the next day we'd pick apart the latest episode. Will Carrie and Big ever get together? Can you believe what Samantha did? Will Charlotte ever find true love? Did you see what Carrie was wearing? When the final episode aired in February 2004, we all gathered at my house to watch it.

Charlotte, the eternal optimist whose faith in the power of love was unwavering, was my favorite character. Preppy, prissy, her style was always classic and elegant. In one episode, she threw a baby shower for Miranda that featured a four-tier diaper cake - layers of disposable diapers festooned with other necessities like rattles, teething rings, etc.

I was tickled pink to receive my own diaper cake, which was decorated with a cheerful bunny toy, girlie purple pacifiers and a pink bottle brush. Inside, a baby bottle served as an anchor for the layers of newborn-size diapers. It was adorable.

I loved it.

It was the perfect gift. So very Charlotte, so very Niesha.

Maternity leave

Dear Emi,
My maternity leave started off with a bang - and a shopping spree the likes of which your father may never recover. It was likely we'd have to cancel my last two showers, and we still needed all kinds of gear and doodads before we could bring you home. So while Pau Pau and 'Jiichan were hard at work cleaning our house, Daddy was pushing a cart through the local baby store blissfully listening to his iTouch as I frantically threw things into the basket. An hour and $374 later, we had all the necessities - diapers, bottles, microwave steam sterilizer, bottle warmer, portacrib, mittens and nursing bra. (Daddy was slightly less tranquil after the clerk rang everything up.)

I also picked up your homecoming outfit - a beautiful, footed pajama set by Kissy Kissy, delicately embroidered with tiny flowers and a pink, crocheted trim. I expected resistance from your daddy. Ever since I'd seen a similar outfit at an overpriced, but adorable, baby boutique in San Francisco, he'd been questioning why you had to have a special, i.e. expensive, outfit just to go home from the hospital. "It's not like she's going to remember what she wore," he'd say.

"It will be the very first thing Emiko wears in her life," I'd answer firmly, thinking about the blanket from Paris. "It has to be extra special."

Surprisingly, however, he didn't say a word while I rummaged through the clothing rack in search of the pj's in a newborn size. He even helped me find the matching hat. It was the perfect outfit to bring you home from the hospital. I couldn't wait to see you in it.

Back at home, Pau Pau and 'Jiichan were scrubbing the stove top, cleaning our toaster oven and washing down the cupboards. I hadn't been able to do any deep cleaning for a while. Even washing dishes wore me out and gave me a back ache from leaning forward over my belly. So when your grandparents offered to help clean, I decided to take them up on it, especially since I'd only have a week off before you arrived. Time was of the essence.

Daddy & I came home with sandwiches and salads from a neighborhood Italian deli, and we took a break for lunch. Afterwards, I started sorting all your clothes and doing your laundry, while Daddy took a restless Chase for a much-needed walk. I couldn't get over how many clothes you had! In addition to all the gorgeous things we received as gifts, my co-worker had given us two diaper boxes full of darling outfits. Another teacher at your daddy's school had a baby girl in July, who'd already outgrown a lot of her clothes, so he passed them along to us with a lovely note from his wife.

I ended up doing four, full loads of onesies, socks, mittens, pajamas, sleeping sacques, pants, shirts, undershirts, blankets, towels, burp clothes, bibs, wash clothes and bedding. I marveled at the tiny, little socks, fretting over how I would ever keep track of them. But most of all, I couldn't get over how much laundry there was - and that was just the newborn through 3 months sizes! I figured you could wear three different outfits a day and still not go through everything.

Folding all your freshly-laundered clothes that night proved a frustrating experience. I couldn't figure out how to sort everything. Should the short-sleeved onesies be kept separate from the long-sleeved ones? Is the onesie with the ducks an undershirt, or was it appropriate for going out? Then there were all the little pants. Should I pair them with their matching shirts? Better yet, could I match them up with the right tops? Was there a chapter on how to categorize baby clothes in What to Expect the First Year?

Overwhelmed, I left the last load unfolded in a basket and went to bed.

The next day was spent relaxing, blogging, and folding more laundry. I managed to take a nap and when I woke up I had a painful cramp in my lower belly that seemed to wrap around to the small of my back. I panicked at the thought that I might be going into labor - there was still so much to do! Gradually, the pain faded and never reappeared.

Monday morning I woke early for my doctor's appointment, which went very smoothly. You were very active that day and Dr. Chan was pleased with the fetal monitoring results. He reiterated that he'd check my cervix on Thursday to see if I was ready to be induced, so I knew it would either happen in three days, or possibly the following Monday.

I found out when the nurse did her usual routine that I gained 2 pounds since my last appointment three days ago, which was actually a good sign because I'd actually lost a pound-and-a-half the previous week. While most women gain an average of 25 to 30 pounds during pregnancy, as of Monday I was two pounds heavier than the day I got pregnant.

Bizarrely, I couldn't seem to gain weight during my pregnancy, although I'd never had any trouble putting on the pounds before. I'd had a bout of food poisoning just before I got pregnant, followed by two terrible colds, so my appetite had waned quite a bit and morning sickness didn't improve it. Later, I was really good about eating healthy, conscious of the fact that everything I ate affected you and how you'd grow in my womb. I ate soybeans for the protein and antioxidants that would help the development of your brain, orange juice for the folic acid and calcium, and I completely cut out caffeine two months before you were conceived because I'd read about a study that supposedly showed women who had more than two cups of coffee a day had an increased incidence of miscarriage.

I was also obsessed with making you smart, so nearly every day that summer Daddy & I walked a mile around the park because exercise was also supposed to help brain development. I even took water aerobics classes at the neighborhood pool. But I was always careful to keep my heart rate low since I didn't want to burn calories, only stimulate blood flow and keep muscles tone.

Once I hit my third trimester, however, the walks in the park became harder and harder as my belly became unwieldy. I often had to ask your daddy to slow down, and soon the half-hour walk stretched to 45 minutes. At the same time, my appetite seemed to grow exponentially. I was frequently hungry by the time I got to work, even though I'd eaten a bowl of cereal for breakfast and then of course, there were the midnight meals.

Yesterday, my second official day of maternity leave, I decided I had to prepare a few meals ahead of time so when you were born we wouldn't have to worry about food. After a trip to the grocery store, I cooked up some homemade chili, then a batch of craving-inspired chocolate chip cookies. I'd been wondering when my nesting instinct would kick in, and as I bit into a nut-filled cookie I started to wonder if my way of nesting was to cook.

Later that night, I had a burst of energy and began tidying your room, finally putting away all that laundry and compiling a list of things to do the next day, including another trip to the baby store. When I woke shortly after midnight, I put together the drawer for your crib and straightened up the kitchen before spending hours blogging on my laptop.

"I think you're going a little kooky," Daddy said lovingly.

A busy week

Dear Emi,
It was a non-stop, crazy week.

I spent the restless, wee hours of last Saturday morning at my laptop researching cholestasis. Thanks to Itchy Moms, a terrific online resource created by a woman who had it, I found out that cholestasis is very rare, occurring in only about 1 percent of pregnancies. Women who are carrying multiple babies, had previous liver damage or whose mothers or sisters with it were most at risk, while there are higher incidents in women living in Scandinavia and South America. Puzzling since none of those apply to me.

I also learned that most specialists recommend inducing labor by the 38th week of pregnancy, when the risk of stillbirth increases. Dr. Chan hadn't mentioned anything about inducing labor, and when I'd asked him about it he said that he wanted to let you grow for as long as possible. I resolved, however, to further prod him into getting you out before it was too late.

Fueled by the possibility that you could be arriving in less than two weeks, I spent the weekend dragging Daddy around town running errands. We went to Costco and stocked up on essentials, then picked up the beautiful upholstered rocker Daddy bought me for your room before heading over to Pau Pau's house to get the rest of my shower gifts and your crib. We also had to stop at my old office to get my files and personal belongings.

When we finally got home, Daddy got to work putting together your crib. Now, your daddy has many wonderful qualities - he's warm, funny, smart and very loving - but he'd be the first to tell you that he's not the handiest of men. Anytime he has to fix or assemble anything the long hours are punctuated by swearing and typically result in at least one injury. To make matters worse, the instructions included in the box were for a totally different crib, so your daddy had to figure out how to build it on his own, which he did fairly easily because as I said, he's a smart man.

When he was done, he proudly showed me the perfectly assembled, white, wooden crib, demonstrating how to lower and raise one side. It was beautiful! I made your crib with the pretty pink and green cherry blossom bedding set I'd picked out even before we knew you were a girl, and arranged a stuffed dog and the organic monkey from Christina in the corner. That night I rocked in my new glider, listening to "Swan Lake" as I munched on an apple and counted your movements.

It was the first moment of ease I'd felt since finding out about the cholestasis. You were happily rumbling around as I rocked back and forth, and you finished your ten movements in about a half-hour reassuring me that you were still snug and secure inside me.

Tuesday afternoon we had our first non-stress test. The nurse hooked me up to a fetal monitor that would keep track of any contractions I could be having as well as your heartbeat. She also gave me a "clicker" to push every time I felt you move. Daddy was given the task of watching an indicator light on the monitor to make sure it stayed green and was still picking up signals.

For twenty minutes we listened to the unwavering pulses of your heart beating booming through the exam room. Just as I feared, however, you were taking your afternoon nap and I could only detect a few, small shrugs. Dr. Chan confirmed my suspicions when he came in and checked the paper read-out. "Did she fall asleep or something?" he asked, pointing to a line that showed uniform squiggles all along the paper ticker tape. He explained that it showed a very steady, rhythmic heartbeat, which was good, but he also wanted to see spikes indicating heart rate increases. "I'm going to wake her up a bit," he said as he began shaking my belly.

Slowly, reluctantly you began to move. Over the next several minutes the steady pounding of your heart was interrupted by periodic bouts of static as you squirmed. It was sort of like listening to a paranormal phenomenon, the kind you see on "Haunted America" or "Ghostbusters."

After examining the read-out again, Dr. Chan called the results were reassuring. "This is good," he said. He told us that he'd consulted three different University of California perinatologists - obstetricians specializing in high-risk pregnancies - who naturally offered three varying opinions. The upshot was Dr. Chan wanted to induce labor by my 38th week. In addition to the fetal monitoring every three days, he wanted to check my cervix on the 24th to see if I was dilated enough to induce labor. If not, he'd either wait a couple more days, or give me medication to soften my cervix in anticipation of inducing. Worst case scenario, he'd have to do a Cesarean section. "One way or the other, she's coming out by Halloween," he announced. "I can't wait to deliver this kid. It's been a long haul, hasn't it?"

I was almost jubilant with relief. I'd read on Itchymoms.com that many ob/gyns are unfamiliar with cholestasis, probably because it is so rare, and frequently insist to their patients that they're merely suffering from the minor skin irritations that are common in pregnancy. In some cases, the babies were allowed to stay in the womb for too long, sometimes resulting in stillbirth. Before my appointment that day, I'd vowed to push for inducing before the 38th week. It was good to know I wouldn't have to.

Dr. Chan really deserved all those Top 10 Ob/Gyn plaques that lined his office walls.

I had to break the news to my editor when I returned to the office that afternoon; after two whole days in my new job downtown, I'd be going on maternity leave by the end of the week. He was very understanding and supportive, urging me to feel free to take off sooner if I wasn't up to finishing the week.

Truthfully, I was glad to be going. Although I felt fine, the itchiness made it uncomfortable to wear certain clothes, particularly bras. To make maters worse, the newsroom downtown was set at 75 degrees, a tad too warm for my tastes and the heat made the itchiness worse. I downed copious amounts of ice water, to no avail. I was also becoming more and more fatigued, partly because I couldn't sleep through the night. Friday couldn't come fast enough as far as I was concerned.

Once, when I was in the company cafeteria a woman asked me if I'd had any Braxton Hicks contractions yet, precursors to labor, when the uterus is essentially practicing for D-Day. I shook my head and she told me they felt really weird. Not painful, just like something was stretching inside you. Surprised, I wondered if those strange tightening I'd been feeling in my belly for weeks were actually Braxton Hicks contractions.

Friday afternoon we were back in Dr. Chan's office for more fetal monitoring. This time you passed with flying colors, moving around like a champ. The surprising news was that I was having contractions. "You might just go into labor on your own," Dr. Chan said.

"Really? I don't feel anything."

"Maybe you're one of those women who won't feel labor pains," he suggested.

"I've never heard of that..."

"Me neither," Dr. Chan chuckled.

Later, your daddy and I celebrated my maternity leave with a steak dinner at Outback. We happily chewed New York cut sirloins, and talked about all the things we still had to do before you arrived.

An important lesson

Dear Emi,
I learned a very important lesson this week: never hesitate to tell your doctor everything, no matter how personal or seemingly trivial. Promise me you'll remember this, Emi, because you never know whether the smallest detail could save your life one day.

A little more than a month ago, just as I was starting my third trimester, I started to itch. All over. It wasn't what I would call severe, but it was annoying enough for me to look it up in What to Expect When You're Expecting - the handy, dandy pregnancy bible recommended to me by my general practitioner. Apparently, pregnancy can bring on all sorts of lovely skin conditions from splotchy discolorations to red, itchy, pimple-like bumps. But I didn't have a rash, or pimples - the only marks on my body were self-imposed scratches. Plus, the other skin problems were typically confined to the belly.

The only thing that seemed to apply was a rather serious liver problem called HELLP Syndrome, but itchiness was only one of the symptoms. I didn't display any of the others - vomiting, nausea and a general malaise. I did read, however, that pregnancy hormones can make your skin extremely dry, especially if you run a fan or air conditioner. So I slathered on more lotion and hoped it would go away.

But it didn't. I combed the Internet for information about itchiness and pregnancy, but couldn't find anything new. My regular appointment with Dr. Chan was coming up and I debated whether to mention the itchiness to him. The book said HELLP caused severe itching, and while the nightly scratching sessions were bothersome, it wasn't interfering in any of my normal activities. Besides, I felt fine except for the itching.

The next day at my appointment, when the nurse asked her routine, "Do you have any problems, pains or concerns?" I found myself telling her that I've been itchy all over. She took some notes, and Dr. Chan asked me about the itchiness a few minutes later while he was measuring my uterus. He examined me for telltale signs of the other pregnancy-related skin disorders, and finding nothing he ordered a blood test to check my liver function and rule out HELLP.

Otherwise, everything else was fine. My uterus was the right size and your heartbeat was strong and healthy. He wasn't worried and neither was I. By then I was far enough along in my pregnancy that he wanted to start seeing me every two weeks. Before my next appointment I stopped by a lab near my office to take the blood test.

Two weeks later, Dr. Chan told us the results showed I didn't have HELLP, but some other liver levels were slightly high. He asked whether the itching had gone away or gotten any worse, checking me for a rash or pimples. Then he asked if I was having any headaches or nausea, and if anyone in my family had any liver problems. But I was still feeling fine, and while my family had a history of heart disease, diabetes and uterine cancer, I couldn't think of anyone with liver issues. He ordered another blood test, saying he wanted to rule out hepatitis and check my gall bladder functions.

Luckily, I didn't have hepatitis, but my liver levels had gotten slightly worse. Dr. Chan told us that 5 percent of the population had levels like mine and had nothing wrong with them, but he wanted to do another test and possibly get a second opinion just to be sure I was okay. "It's something I found because we were looking for something else, but I need to follow through on it just to be cautious," he told us. "I'm not worried." He confirmed you were still moving around regularly and checked your heartbeat.

I have to say that by then I was sick of getting poked with a needle. I'd put off taking the second test until the Monday before my Thursday appointment, and knew I wouldn't be rushing off to the lab for the third time. But on Wednesday, I got a call from Dr. Chan's nurse asking if I'd taken the blood test, yet. She said Dr. Chan would like me to get it done as soon as possible, so I went in the next day after I'd fasted for the requisite eight hours.

His call triggered a panic. Once again I hit the Internet and searched for liver problems and pregnancy. The first hit was a March of Dimes reference to something called intrahepatic cholestasis of pregnancy, a disorder that leads to a build-up of bile acids in the blood, causing itchiness. I remembered seeing the words "bile acids" on my lab form, and I knew cholestasis was the culprit Dr. Chan was checking for. I tried not to dwell on the fact that cholestasis comes with a slightly increased risk of stillbirth.

Today, Dr. Chan called. It was my last day working in the suburban bureau I'd been assigned to since starting at the paper eight years ago. I'd packed up my belongings, said goodbye to the ladies in advertising and was about to start my car when my cell phone rang. "Your test results came in and your liver function hasn't improved - it's getting worse. You have something called cholestasis, so I'm going to prescribe some medication that will make you more comfortable and be better for the baby," he said. "We're also going to do fetal surveillance twice a week until you deliver."

Even though I'd been prepared for the diagnosis, the reality hit me hard. After two miscarriages, we'd manage to get you through the tricky first trimester, and except for a gestational diabetes scare in August, I'd sailed through the rest of my pregnancy without the slightest of problems. Now, as we were entering the final stretch I had to face the possibility of premature labor or worse - stillbirth. I sat in my old cubicle, crying over the phone as I relayed the news to your daddy.

I don't remember what he said. Maybe he pointed out that we were fortunate Dr. Chan caught the problem in time to do something about it. He probably said something about how you were a trooper and that he knew you were to be okay. Whatever it was calmed me enough to finally leave the office and pick up the prescription Dr. Chan phoned in.

During the drive home, I couldn't stop thinking about everything that had happened over the last month and I was profoundly grateful that I'd had the sense to mention the itchiness to Dr. Chan.

Six weeks and counting...

Dear Emi,
We found out yesterday that you're getting into the birth position. Dr. Chan told us at our bi-weekly check-up that you're hanging out in my uterus upside down, with your hands and legs scrunched up on my left side, your butt firmly planted on the right. I laughed out loud when he told us that. Auntie Noriko and I had been rubbing the hard, round shape just last weekend, deciding it must be your head.

Your heartbeat was strong and steady. Just six more weeks to go...

It's been a crazy few weeks at work. The rise of the Internet coupled with the struggling economy has created a dismal outlook for the newspaper industry. Papers all over the country have been slashing their budgets and laying off employees. My company is no exception. After one round of layoffs earlier this year, we learned in August that due to the closure of some major advertisers our company was forced to make further cuts. I came back from vacation to find a packet on my desk. The company was offering buyouts to many of its employees, including a majority of the newsroom. While I looked through the offer carefully, I never really, seriously considered taking it.

I discovered journalism the summer I turned sixteen. That year I spent two weeks at a high school J-Camp sponsored by the local newspaper and the California Chicano News Media Association. While I was there, something clicked inside me and I realized I could evoke change, reach out to people and have a voice in this world through my writing, something I'd always loved. With the exception of my last quarter at UCLA, I worked for the school paper all through college and spent my summers interning at small, daily newspapers accumulating clips I could eventually parlay into a job.

I was luckier than many young reporters of my generation. I never had to leave the state for work, and within four years I was at a major, metropolitan newspaper in my hometown. Not that it wasn't hard work getting there. I put in plenty of 12-hour days, often fielding calls from sources at home, working weekends and holidays, not to mention the endless hours at mind-numbing school board and city council meetings. But I never regretted my career choice, and couldn't imagine what I'd do if I wasn't a journalist.

So I wasn't going to trade in my career for a lump-sum check after only a dozen years in the business.

I decided to hang on for as long as possible, until the business decided it was done with me. Then I'd regroup and figure out what to do next. Of course, that could be sooner rather than later. The corporate head honchos made it clear that another round of layoffs could be on the horizon if the buyouts weren't enough. After he talked me away from the ledge, your daddy and I discussed what would happen if I lost my job. Things would be tight, but we could manage, although there'd be little disposable income for vacations or dinner out, let alone your college fund. Still, I would have the luxury of time to spend with you before figuring out my next direction in life.

But it saddened me to think that you might never know me as a journalist. I've always hoped that my children would find something they loved to do and pursue it, not only as a way to earn a living, but as a means of fulfillment. I wanted to be an example for you, someone who could show you how to follow your dreams. Not someone who works in an office at a boring state job.

It was a great relief to find out a couple weeks ago that enough people took the buyout and the company wouldn't need to lay off anymore employees. Although they were closing my particular section of the newspaper, the reporters would be shuffled around to different positions within the newsroom. Then today, I received an email from one of the editors that I would be moving downtown to the Business section covering general assignment stories and the retail beat. While I wasn't certain about the new beat, I was ecstatic to be working so close to home, right across the street from your daycare. As an added bonus, I wouldn't have to cover the election so I was free to go on maternity leave any time. I was ecstatic.

I managed to gain half a pound in two weeks, probably because I've been eating like a horse. I've long been snacking on cereal or toast with apple butter when I wake up in the middle of the night to help me go back to sleep. But I recently graduated to full, midnight meals. One night, we were watching TV and the characters were eating spaghetti. I woke up at 2 a.m. craving - spaghetti. I had just made spaghetti and meatballs the week before. After a few days eating the leftovers, it was a little low on sauce, so I chopped some garlic, mixed the meatballs with some crushed tomatoes and had a lovely second dinner. The next day it was pasties. One trip to the Pasty Shack for dinner and the problem was solved. Then it was Chinese food, which provided enough leftovers for a satisfying midnight snack.

My sweet tooth was also spiraling out of control. Ordinarily, I don't care for too many sweets, but since I got pregnant, I've been craving everything from cake to Popsicles. I was actually starting to worry you'd be born with cavities. One day at the office, Carlos, a columnist, stopped by my cubicle to chat about his visit to a gelateria that had recently opened. When Daddy and I were in Italy, I tasted my way through the gelaterias of Rome, Florence and Venice, frequently ordering lemon, mango and coconut sorbeto as a way to stay cool during the warm, sunny afternoons. A few hours after my talk with Carlos I was happily savoring spoonfuls of cold, creamy tiramisu gelato.

The next craving - Jewish rugelachs - required a little more work. When I was a little girl in New York City, Auntie Sharon used to come over with a white box wrapped in red string that was filled with rugelach - a rich and creamy cookie with plenty of walnuts and dusted in fine, powdered sugar. We'd sit around the kitchen table, the adults sipping their coffee, while we devoured the baked delights.

A few years ago, Daddy found a recipe for rugelach in our newspaper, which he clipped for me. I'm no baker - chocolate chip cookies and fruit cobbler are about as complicated as I can manage - so I'd never attempted to try the recipe. But those pregnancy hormones proved stronger than my baking trepidations, and they turned out to be fairly easy to make. One day, I'll teach you how to make them, Emi, so we can sit at the kitchen island eating cookies together.

Rugelach

2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup, or 2 sticks, unsalted butter, softened
8 ounces cream cheese, softened
1/2 cup sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 cup apricot preserves or raspberry jam
1 cup loosely packed golden raisins, chopped
1 1/4 cup walnuts, finely chopped
milk for brushing cookies

Whisk together flour and salt in a bowl. Beat together butter and cream cheese in a large bowl with an electric mixer until combined well. Add flour mixture and stir with a wooden spoon until a soft dough forms

Gather dough into a ball and wrap in plastic wrap, then flatten into a roughly 7 by 5-inch rectangle. Chill until firm, 8 to 24 hours.

Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line bottom of a large, shallow baking pan with parchment paper. Cut dough into 4 pieces. Chill 3 pieces, wrapped in plastic wrap, and roll out remaining piece into a 12 by 8-inch rectangle on a well-floured surface with a floured rolling pin. Transfer dough to a sheet of parchment paper, then to a tray and chill while rolling out remaining dough in same manner, transferring each to another sheet of parchment paper and stacking on tray.

Whisk 1/2 cup sugar with cinnamon.

Arrange 1 dough rectangle onto work surface with a long side nearest you. Spread 1/2 cup preserves evenly over dough with offset spatula. Sprinkle 1/4 cup raisins and a rounded 1/4 cup of walnuts over jam, then sprinkle with 2 tablespoons cinnamon sugar. Using parchment as aid, roll up dough tightly into a log. Place, seam side down, in lined baking pan, then pinch ends closed and tuck underneath. Make 3 more logs in same manner and arrange 1 inch apart in pan. Brush logs with milk. With a sharp knife, make 3/4 -inch-deep cuts crosswise in dough, but don't cut all the way through, at 1-inch intervals. (If dough is too soft, chill until firmer, 20 to 30 minutes.)

Bake until golden., 45 to 50 minutes. Cool to warm on pan or rack, about 30 minutes, then transfer logs to a cutting board and slice cookies all the way through.