This morning at 0730, I got the phone call I've been anticipating for the past few weeks.

"Hey, Lauren, its Lauren. You're not going to work today, I'm in labor."

After a quick shower and double checking to make sure I had ample camera batteries, I was off to the hospital up north. I was one of only three people allowed in the labor and delivery room, and it was amazing. Jeff and I and Lauren's mom Becki made a great labor coach team -- even through failed epidurals, loads of back labor, and several hours of feeling useless watching a person we love be in gross amounts of pain.

Until today, I'd never been present for the birth of a baby. I had been in the room while friends of my parents were in labor, but never for the delivery. Of course, being the nerd that I am, I've seen plenty of births on the Discovery Channel, but I was extremely excited to be there while this little person entered the world. I was so honored a few months ago when Lauren told me she wanted me to be there with her when she had the baby. My excitement only grew as the day got closer. When I learned I was one of only three people allowed to be present during this process I was even more honored -- I was the peer-aged representative. There was the husband, the mother, and me.

Lauren had a few hours where she was basically comfortable; perhaps not truly free of pain, but comfortable enough that she could talk and laugh and be herself. But during her moments of agony, she was still very collected and a total champ. It was during one of these moments of torment that she suddenly grabbed my hand.

"Hey," she breathed, blowing out the last of a contraction, "did I ever ask you to be the godmother?"

"What?" I stammered, "No, no you didn't."

"Oh, perfect," she rolled her eyes, "I talked to Jeff about it, but not you. Well, will you?"

"Of course!" I said. It was the only thing I could really think of, even though I wanted to jump up and down and express how unbelievably thrilled and flattered I was.

A few hours and three very fast pushes later, my godson came into the world before my very eyes. As the nurse took him off to examine him, Jeff followed like an astonished puppy dog, completely glued to his son. Becki -- not just Lauren's mom, but also a nurse -- stared intently as the doctor finished his work with Lauren, while Lauren's eyes were glued to the little nursery to the side of her bed. She asked me over and over if the baby was okay, and Becki and I assured her that he was. Since Lauren was wholly numb from the waist down, Becki had the left leg and I had the right, just as we had since she'd started the last of her labor. I was completely amazed at what I'd just witnessed -- one minute, it had been "Jeff and Lauren are pregnant" just as it had been for the last nine months; but in such a short amount of time -- mere seconds, really -- there was an extra person in the room. Little head, little ears, little body. Six pounds, eleven ounces, twenty inches of brand new life. Jacob Alan May. Indescribable.

I'm not what I expected to feel when he finally came, but I was so focused on Lauren and making sure she was calm and alright that I was surprised to realize my heart was pounding with excitement. Jeff couldn't stop smiling, and finally the nurse brought Jacob out to let Lauren hold him. Propped up in bed, my friend stared in astonished bliss at her son.

"Did we really make this?" she kept asking. "Did I just push this out of me? Is he really mine?" Finally she couldn't say any more, and I watched as a few beautiful tears streamed down her face. I felt my own eyes grow warm and blurry, and one look at Jeff and Becki told me I wasn't alone.

I am so happy he's finally here. I am so thrilled to be his godmother. And I am so, so blessed to have such amazing friends in my life as this newly expanded family.

Peter left yesterday for what will undoubtedly be a long mission.

I left yesterday, grabbed a friend, and said, "we're going home." And that's exactly what we did. Picked up and drove north until we hit New Milford, CT, which is where I sit happily on Genghis' couch clicking away of the laptop I am so thankful for (at this moment, because of its long-range wireless card).

I saw one of my very favorite sights last night: New York lit up from the George Washington Bridge. Driving across from Jersey into Manhattan, listening to Billy Joel and seeing the skyline by night is simply indescribable.

It would seem official now, that learning the English language is an optional portion of migrating to the US. Driving down 684 last night, a mere 3 exits from Danbury, I found myself driving in the left lane with a Porsche (or other expensive compact sports car) on -- nay, up! -- my rear end. Naturally, I shift myself into the center lane, but Mr. Expensive Sports Car follows and is once again trying to put he nose of his car under my rear bumper. I, as I am sure you would have, too, move back into the left lane. But he follows once again! No sooner do I turn on my signal to move back into the center lane than do I see a cop turn on his lights and pull onto the highway. The sports car zips around me and is gone. I pull over and wait, prepared to tell the truth -- that I was afraid of being rear-ended had I gone any slower. I am already holding my license and military ID, and searching for the registration when the officer approaches my car. He is a kind looking African American gentleman, and it would seem he can sense reasonableness when presented with it. Except that this kind looking officer turns out to be from the Zimbabwe region and cannot be understood. It took three tries for me to get that he wanted me to pull my car 100 yards forward. He rambles incoherently about not signing, and mailing and something about a guilty court date, and then gets in his car and drives away. Apparently I got a ticket?

Listen, I am all for America being a melting pot, and I am all kinds of proud of this guy for making something of himself, and not becoming resigned to working a drive thru. But really? You have to be able to communicate with people. It is bad enough that you can't communicate with people at a drive through, but at a traffic stop? How exactly did you become a law enforcement officer when you can't even SAY "law enforcement officer" and be understood?

I am off my soapbox now. I am off for a divine breakfast of challah french toast and some serious Fairfield County time.

My in-laws came into town today, and brought with them many wonderful Christmas presents.

For example, I am now the proud owner of a red Kitchen Aid standing mixer, which I'm wholly thrilled about.  Lord knows how long I've coveted the ones my friends have .

And I bought myself a brand new toy -- a MacBook laptop.  I'm ridiculously excited about it, even though its taking some getting used to.  I will definitely be buying some ram to upgrade this puppy with.

We're watching the Presidential debates on ABC.  Its never ceased to amaze me how much the campaigns are just one giant pissing contest.  Here are the facts in their simplest form: NO ONE is ever qualified to be President.  No experience, except perhaps prior US Presidential experience, can prepare a person for the job.  Every candidate is underqualified and overzealous.  Campaigns are rigged, and the candidates shoot low blows at each other.  It is like watching an 18-month-long battle of incest lovers on the Jerry Springer show.

And with that, it is time for some hot chocolate and peppermint schnapps.