We are thrilled to introduce the tiny and beauteous Phoebe Pearl, who was born on Friday morning, November 30, at 11:04 am, weighing in at a petite seven pounds, and is practically perfect in every way.

So far, she is a very good baby who looks, and behaves, an awful lot like her big sister (which is funny to think that my husband and I have the capacity to create just one kind of baby, and this is it).

Favorite note from the hospital: the first day the girl came to visit. She seemed not terribly interested in the baby, so we went for a walk around the halls. We were sitting in an alcove by the window, talking about her day at school, and every time someone walked by – a nurse, a doctor, another new mother – the girl would say, very quietly, and not addressed to anyone in particular, “Big sister.”

Sometimes the passer-by would overhear and remark upon it (“Oh, are you a big sister?”), and sometimes they wouldn’t hear or wouldn’t respond, but it was just funny to hear her do it.

Favorite Fran story.

Mother (eying breast pump suspiciously): How can you just attach yourself to something without even reading the manual?

Me: That’s what she said.

Mother: What?

Me: Never mind.

Mother: Is that working?

Me (randomly punching buttons): Not sure. I’ll keep you posted.

Mom (fumbling for glasses): It says there’s “stimulation” mode and “let-down mode.” I don’t know what any of that means. When you guys were kids…

(Pump suddenly lurches into action. Loud noises. Violent spraying.)
Me: Agh! Get it off me! Get it off me!

Mom (laughing): This is like a Charlie Chaplin movie.

Me: Stop making me laugh! It hurts!

Favorite night note: waking up three in the bed for the four a.m. feeding our first night home and seeing Wendell curled up in the baby’s brand-new Papasan-style bouncy seat.

I looked at the dog. Then I looked at my husband. “Is the dog in the bouncy seat?”

He squinted through the darkness. “Yes. Yes, the dog is in the bouncy seat.”

Then we both looked at Wendell, who looked back at us from underneath the dangly sheep mobile as if to say, “What? You got a problem with this? It’s a dog. In a bouncy seat. Deal.”

Of course, we tried to take a picture but by the time my husband got back upstairs the dog had regained a measure of his manliness and repaired to the pink and brown polka-dotted dog bed.