Sorry for the sporadic posts. I'm finishing up Book Four, and this last week's been brutal. Write, write, write, baby, baby, baby, eat dinner, watch reality TV, fall asleep, wake up at three in the morning thinking about the book.

It's been rough. But Monday, it's all over: I'm shipping the damn thing off to my editor and then I'm going to answer all the email, return all the phone calls, send baby gifts and thank-you notes and get my hair cut and try to act -- or at least look -- like a human being again.

In other news, the girl is talking up a storm.

This morning, I stopped by her crib shortly after she woke up.

"Sheet got wet," she said, pointing.

"Yes, it did."

"Pants wet, too," she said, tugging at her pajama bottoms.

"Yes, I see that."

"Need fresh diaper, Mamacita."

Gotcha.

When we went out to lunch, Adam and I got menus, and Lucy looked up at the waitress. "Need menu, too!" she announced.

But my favorite thing is that, even though she's turned into a chatterbox, she's still a chatterbox that can't say the letter L. So if you were, for example, to say "What's your name?" she would point at herself, smile, and say, "Name Oosie!"

Jen