1. Get in shape. GET. IN. SHAPE.

2. Learn to speak Italian.

3. Wear comfortable shoes most of the time. Because some of my uncomfortable shoes are really cute.

4. Finish “The Omnivore’s Dilemna.” I mean, it’s been months.

5. Go to yoga regularly (for reals, Eileen).

6. Eat local food more often when possible.

7. Plant a vegetable garden.

Ok. Your turn…comments please.

“I may need you to step in, hon. I think she’s getting bored.”

“Well, you have to keep it fresh, Fred. Try rubbing your head on her tummy. She loves that.”

(He tries it. No response.)

“You’re not doing it right.”

Years ago, my brother and I discovered a writing project he’d done in school when he was 7 or 8 years old. It’s a very short essay about the holiday season, written in pencil within the outline of a Christmas tree on a piece of paper. At the top, a kind teacher wrote “Very nice Vinnie,” in red ink. This piece of paper hung on Vinnie’s bedroom door for ages, where we could laugh at the spelling and sentiment as often as we wanted. But last year I opened one of my presents to find the essay carefully framed, mine to behold forever. And now, yours:

My favret thing at chritmis to do with my famliy is to decarat the tree. And to open same of my christmis presints.

Dec. 13 1990

J and I have gotten used to being surrounded by baby stuff. A burp cloth on the ottoman. A swing in the dining room. The sheer amount of material goods one can accrue upon having a child is truly staggering. But we use it all. I was shocked at how many clothes we received, for instance, and then we had the baby and I realized how capable she is on spitting up on three different outfits before even leaving the changing table.

I do have a few favorites, all of which were gifts. A few things things so cool, useful and fun that I might want them even if I didn’t have a baby. That would be weird though, I realize.

Our handmade pacifier clip, made of a string of brightly-colored wooden beads, is one of my absolute favorites, and the funny thing about that is that Nora doesn’t really like her pacifier. Still, I clip one on to her carseat whenever we go out, just in case that will be the day she can’t live without it. Of course, you could also use the clip for a toy you want to keep within baby’s reach. Anyway, it’s ended up sort of being a must-have for me, psychologically anyway, and on the few occasions when I couldn’t find the clip I’ve freaked out a little. A lot. You can buy your own pacifier clip, made by Sugar Snap, here. Or, in Brooklyn either of the Corduroy Kid boutiques, which are located in Prospect Heights at 613 Vanderbilt Ave. between St. Marks and Bergen, and on 5th ave in Park slope, between President and Carroll.

Our Sleep Sheep. Honestly, I don’t know if any of the noises - rain, the ocean, a heartbeat and whale songs - the Sleep Sheep plays help lull Nora off to sleep at night, but I do know that when we first brought Nora home, and didn’t know what in the name of God we were doing, the Sleep Sheep was crucial in our nighttime routine. Swaddle the baby, turn the Sleep Sheep on (I like the rain sounds best), feed the baby, put the baby to sleep. As we’ve become more confident, the strict routine has devolved a little but I still put the Sleep Sheep on when I want Nora to know it’s almost time for bed.

My Reese Li diaper bag. I mean, let’s say you were to take a look in my purse right now. What would you find? Maybe, like, a granola bar, some lip gloss and about 3,000 Metro North ticket receipts? Probably. All jumbled together in the bottom, with a bunch of other things. So imagine what it’s like when a person like me has to carry many necessities with them every time they leave the house, including diapers, wipes and an extra pair of baby socks, not to mention a wallet, keys and cell phone. It’s a mess. But my Reese Li diaper bag - SO MANY POCKETS! Pockets for everything! When I look inside my diaper bag, which is ultra-cute by the way, and I see all those things, organized in their own individual pockets, yeah, I feel ready to take on the world. Because I’ve got all natural hand sanitizer. And I can tell you exactly where to find it.

My Hooter Hider, and, no, I’m not messing with you, it’s called a Hooter Hider. My friend Emily, who had a baby several months before I did, had one of these and it sounded pretty great so I ordered one for myself. A Hooter Hider is a nursing cover - they come in all these great patterns and colors - that allows you to breastfeed your baby without anyone seeing what’s going on. I’m all for women nursing in public, but since I’m not brave enough to just, you know, do it out in the open, the cover works perfectly for me. I even used it on the train into New York (don’t pass out, Bobby), and I don’t think anyone sitting nearby knew what I was up to. Ha! Feeding my baby with a fashionable nursing cover while enjoying “Us Weekly,” that’s what! I ordered my Hooter Hider online from Bebe au Lait.

I recently decided to take control of our Netflix account and get a few movies I’ve always wanted to see. J does a fine job presiding over our movie viewing but every once in a while we get something totally ridiculous. Like a documentary about birds. Or the movie “Rosemary’s Baby,” which J ordered while I was pregnant, because he thought I might like to watch a movie about a pregnant woman. A horror movie about a baby.

I decided to get “The Notebook,” even though it didn’t seem like my kind of movie, because I’d heard a lot of good things. Well, if you equate “I cried so hard,” with good. So many people had told me, in fact, that the movie made them cry, that it achieved this unrealistic status in my mind, and I decided the actual experience of seeing it would never live up to the legend. I figured it would be kind of like “Wedding Crashers” because Rachel McAdams is in it, but maybe someone would die at the end or something.

OH MY GOD. It wasn’t anything like “Wedding Crashers.” I stood there in front of the television, bouncing Nora up and down so she would remain quiet until the movie ended, sobbing, then took her upstairs to change her diaper. As she looked up at me quizzically from the changing table - tears streaming down my face, sniffling - I explained to her that Mommy had “just seen a very sad movie, one where they decided you hadn’t quite had enough by the end so they pushed you just a little farther. I mean who the hell do these movie makers think they are, seriously? You have got to be kidding me.”

When I first got home after having Nora, I had a minor nervous breakdown, as I’ve mentioned before, when I realized how much time I’d be spending at home. Alone. Tied down. Not that I didn’t like the baby. The baby was great. Just that I wasn’t sure I could survive on so little contact with other adults. I’ve always been like this. I like spending a day at home only in theory. Halfway through, I’m staring longingly at the front door.

It took me a few weeks to truly get over that feeling. Taking care of a new baby at the same time didn’t help matters. Do I put her down and listen to her cry while I make lunch? Can I manage holding her while I pour myself a glass of water? It was a great big learning experience, really, and I can honestly say that I learned quickly. Because I wasn’t going to sit around unshowered and hungry all day long, I just couldn’t take that. Yeah, there were a couple times I emailed or texted J something like “I’m having a hard time today,” code for “Come home RIGHT NOW,” but thankfully those days were the exceptions.

I started to appreciate my time off. I relaxed on the couch and read as much of The New Yorker as I wanted while the baby slept. I put her in her stroller and we went for long walks. I started attending a mothers’ support group, as well as began venturing out on my own whenever I wanted. Coffee shops, errands, whatever - taking the baby out became not only easy but fun. There were roadtrips and family visits and events to break up the monotony.

Now, at about two and a half months, Nora is changing in new ways every day and has become this completely engaging little person. We sit around and make funny faces at each other. I point to her eyes, nose and mouth, listing off those body parts aloud and then do the same with my face. She finds this hilarious, who knows why, and throws her head back and smiles with her mouth wide open.

When things are less than perfect, and of course they often are - a day when I’m feeling exhausted because of a bad night of sleep, or a bout of fussiness right when we sit down to dinner - we deal with the situation more easily than we did in those early weeks. We laugh at our baby (it’s ok, she doesn’t know), gently making fun of her for being so ridiculously dramatic. We take turns holding her while the other eats. It’s no big deal anymore. And perhaps more importantly, we know that it’s only temporary. That soon we will all be snuggled in bed (or in a bassinet, as the case may be), our little family.

I look forward to things that unscheduled days allow, like lingering over my coffee in the morning and watching Oprah in the afternoon, something I’ve never done before in my life and, now, can’t imagine living without. When I’m playing with the baby I don’t kid myself into thinking I can get anything else done at the same time. I don’t want to, either.

I’m not sure I could do this forever. I still miss the chatter of the office and, I admit, I’d love an afternoon all to myself every now and then, free from worrying when the next feeding or nap will fall. But now, as I’m entering the last month of my maternity leave, I feel kind of sad. Beyond figuring out the specifics, such as what days I’ll commute into New York, how that will work with the baby’s schedule and which daycare we’ll choose, I’m sure there will be an overall sense of loss, as well. I can’t imagine I’ll be totally unhappy, but I do feel a sudden urge to make the most of this time.

Unlike making the most of the last semester of your senior year, however, or a weekend in Paris, making the most of the end of my maternity leave seems to mean doing more of the same; a gentle pattern of eating, playing and sleeping and - though I never thought I’d get used to it - quiet solitude, that has not become so familiar. While I’m optimistic about a new year and all the changes it will bring, I will miss these cold days spent biding our time on the couch, reading a book called “Hello Baby,” perhaps, or talking about our feet, never concerned about what we’ll do next.

“Do you think it’s weird that Nora takes a nap so soon after she wakes up in the morning?”

“No. Her grandfather does it.”

“True. True.”

This morning as I lay in bed, I listened to J, who was changing Nora’s diaper in her room and singing a jaunty song he’d made up on the spot about “explosive poop in your pants,” and I smiled and thought about how many things I am thankful for this year.

Happy Thanksgiving to all of you, near and far.

I don’t ask that much of you.

Ok, sometimes I ask things of you. Whatever. Point is, nothing is as important as this. I mean, fine, stuff is important. Like your family and your job and everything.

But here’s a chance for you to vote for findingDulcinea and help the site win a really important award and, let’s face it, you miss voting. You LOVE to vote!

Mashable has nominated findingDulcinea, where I work - and more specifically, a great Web site with tons of reliable information about every subject imaginable, interesting perspectives on current news stories, features, interviews, a blog and more - for an award in its Open Web Awards. You can vote for findingDulcinea once a day every day until Dec. 15 if you want. You want to! You want to!

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“Look at the sky! God, it’s beautiful out.”

“I love it here.”

“Look at the seagulls! So bright white against the setting sun!”

“Pooping. Pooping all over our pier.”