well thank god that's over

I love Christmas. Absolutely adore it. Why, then, am I so relieved that it's over? Usually the day after Christmas is sad to me, so I'm kind of surprised to realize that I'm so happy to be on the other side of it. I think having a baby might have something to do with it. It makes you very distracted and kind of on edge the whole time, especially when away from home. We have many childcare "aides" at home - the swing, the bouncy chair, the playmat. One of them always pleases Sasha. When out, all we have are laps and a car seat. Thankfully, Sasha has been a gem at every single outing. I, however, was not a gem last night. We had been at my aunt's house for three hours when my mom told me it would be another hour before dinner was ready. I had completely had it. I had a little conniption fit. I don't know why my mood was so foul, since it was my favorite holiday and we were in a room full of people that couldn't get enough of our darling baby. But I was pissed. And tired. And hungry. By the time we left we'd been there for five hours, a good two hours longer than normal. My aunt, who hosts this gathering, is getting older and slower and simply doesn't feel like rushing, I guess. As she helped me pack up leftovers after dinner, my mom swore we'd never do this again.

This week Sasha discovered that she can chew on her hands. She is a full-on slobber machine now. She also has her first cold, and it breaks my heart to hear her coughing on snot, or extra spit, or whatever it is. She absolutely hates the snot sucker thing. I wish it worked a little better. Between her squirming and my fear of poking her brain with it, I'm not getting very much snot out.

Sasha smiled at Micah last night. I swear he became instantly more smitten with her. It truly feels like a gift. Each day she gets a little quicker with her smiles, pays a little more attention to our faces, and is more easily soothed by a tight embrace. She's more content to sit on our laps. She's not really the type of baby that likes to be held really tight for comfort. She likes to be moving most of the time. My mantra for anyone holding her has been "if she gets fussy, try bouncing her on your knee." Then yesterday I realized I she had been sitting on my very still knee for twenty minutes without fussing. Clearly, she and her preferences are changing every day.

Oh, and speaking of smitten, she is completely in love with the television and all its moving magic. This is a fantastic development. Why, then, do I feel so guilty whenever I use it to my advantage? This parenting thing! Egads.

the goose is getting fat

Because there's a whole lot of this going on right now:SOOO good, and I absolutely do say so myself. The best sugar cookies ever. Do the words homemade buttercream icing mean anything to you? Holla.

The latest hell/excitement were the four vaccinations that happened this week, resulting in Punkin, a.k.a. the Cherub, a.k.a. Sashi Kashi Go Lean, sleeping in horribly tiny one-hour spurts for almost 48 hours. Wow. Good thing she's cute. I'm just now coming back from my wit's end. She seemed to sense this and rewarded me with a good fifteen minutes googly-eyed staring session. She smiles and I laugh, which makes her smile again. She makes this noise that sounds a lot like the beginnings of "hi" if you ask me. Very hard on the H sound, like it's coming from back near her throat as it should. I know it's because that's what I say to her most. Hi! Hi Sasha! Hi! Hellooooo! What are you dooooing? HI!

In other news, this is the back of her head:

I'm so, so curious to know what her hair will look like eventually. At home, in the dimmer lights, it looks quite dark. Outside or under flourescents the top is definitely lighter and a bit red. She has some interesting growth patterns happening. That ducktail cuteness was there when she was born, but the rest is pretty new. She has a lovely longer bit on the very back and top of her head that, when teased a little bit, stands up like a mini feather headdress. She is, like, 1/36 Blackfoot Indian. See that little bald spot? Happens to most babies, since they spend so much time with their heads supported by something. It's very soft. I like to touch it. I don't think there is ever a time when "I like to touch it" doesn't sound dirty and creepy. Really. Can you think of a time? Say it out loud. Ok stop, you sound skeezy.

I do like to touch it, though. But not too much, I'm paranoid about retarding new hair growth or something. Because you see, being a parent opens you up to a whole new set of paranoia material.

Superlatives

Most Sleep Deprived. I feel better with each passing week though, so I guess my body is getting used to it. I will say one of the things I hate most about this new job of mine is getting woken up after I've only slept about an hour and I'm already in the really good sleep zone. When that happens enough times I start to really resent, well, everything. Thankfully this feeling doesn't last longer than the next nap.

Most Loved Thing I Have Ever Loved. Yet for weeks, she was a stranger to me. They talk about the instant bond you'll have with your baby, and they are mostly right. You love her unconditionally and without limit from the very second she arrives, but she is still a stranger. She was born with her own personality and I have to get to know her. It's an ongoing thing. It helps that she is interacting more, and also more content to sit on my bouncing knee for long periods. I dare say she's getting easier, though to say she was ever difficult isn't accurate.

The Hardest Thing I Have Ever Done. You really can't prepare yourself. You think you know. I actually had a rather pessimistic (nay, realistic) view of how it would be, yet the occasionally absolute shittyness of it hits hard. I know I'm doing a good job, but at times it is under duress. The bad weather means that Micah's been home almost every day, which has been awesome. I don't know what we would do without him. We'd make it because we had to, but I really don't know how single mothers do it. Bless them one and all.

Here's another picture to get us back on the happy track, where our baby is amazing and Christmas is coming and friends are in town and life is actually quite beautiful when you zoom in on it.

(Dang, Angelina, those lips are going to cause immature boys to make terrible comments one day. I'll string up their nuts with floss outside our door, I sweartogod.)

8 weeks: let the kicking commence

For some reason, I have been obsessed with cooking. It could be my new creative outlet, it could be boredom, it could be the fact that I am always thinking about food. When I was pregnant I barely ate, except maybe during the last few weeks. Now that I'm breastfeeding and not put-off by a lot of food, I find myself watching the Food Network for hours upon end and getting recipes online. In the past several weeks I have made all the of the following from scratch:

lasagna
meatloaf
chicken pot pie
pumpkin roll
devil's food cookies
peanut butter cookies with chocolate chips
beef stew
parmesan encrusted chicken

Don't you wish your kitchen was hot like mine? I can't stop. I know you burn a lot more calories when you're breastfeeding, but at the rate I'm going I'm pretty sure I'm taking in more than I'm burning. Not a good situation. Then again, I'm developing better cooking skills and keeping myself busy. And you can't really shake a finger at all the home cooking. Think of all the preservatives and other scary shit we're avoiding!

Also, it has become quite pleasant to always have cookies around. Once you get used to it, it totally sucks when the cookies run out.

Sasha is doing great. She's spending more time on her playmat thingy. It has a bunch of dangling animals and it's quite colorful. She kicks her little legs like crazy when she's on it, tossing the animals around and squealing a bunch. She's building the muscles she'll need for rolling over and crawling. She can put herself on her side for a few moments, but thankfully she hasn't figured out how to heave her buddha-bellied self over her arm. I'm loving that I can still put her anywhere and she stays there. Not for long.

When she's alert and happy she likes to make eye contact and sometimes she smiles if you get her going. She still adores her bouncy chair. I swear the most peaceful look washes over her when she realizes she's back in it. I try not to feel offended when she's sick of my lap, which happens pretty quickly. Sniff. In her defense, lately she's been happier to just chill in my lap, but for the most part the princess loves her throne, and that's that.

She's outgrowing clothes! I find this amazing. It also stresses me out a bit because I want to make sure everything gets worn before it's too small. See, much like adult clothing, the sizes vary by brand. My friend Steph gave me a pair of jeans that were labeled 6 Months, but her five month old daughter never fit into them. I kept them for several weeks without putting them on Sasha because they looked so big. Imagine my surprise when I decided to put them on her and practically had to use pliers to get the zipper up. Yet they were too long! WTF? I was so excited about her wearing those jeans, her very first pair, so the fact that she can't wear them breaks my heart a little. So I quickly took a picture and then freed my baby from those supermodel jeans. Six months. Right. Givin' my baby a muffin top and shit.



















And now, a gratuitous picture of yummy baby feet, picked clean of toe jam (oh yes, the babies get it, and hand jam, too!).















Okay just one more. Because OMG precious.
















There is nothing cuter than a naked baby. Nothing. Except maybe when she's naked sitting on daddy's arm with her butt crack on display, headed to the bath.

Head over heels.

what a babe

Is it terribly narcissistic to think we just might have made the most beautiful baby ever?

And the baby who makes the funniest faces ever?




















She can even conduct symphonies, you guys. With ONE HAND! IN HER SLEEP!! So clearly a genius.






















But not at all amused by mommy's obsession with her new camera.

remember it

Sasha smiled! AT ME! ON PURPOSE!

It was yesterday. She was laying on the couch with nothing to gaze at, and I popped my head in the picture and started all kinds of high-pitched hi baby! hi Sasha!s and after focusing on my face for a few minutes, her lips parted and her cheeks pulled back and that's when it happened. The earth stood still.

She still hasn't awarded her daddy the same kind of reaction, but she definitely likes to stare at him. We both do.

That Christmas Feeling is setting in. I love Christmas. Sasha won't have a clue this year, but I am so excited about future years. Christmas is all about children. As a child, I found it more magical than anything.

My lack of a good camera is starting to upset me. I can't believe I don't have anything reliable with which to capture my baby and her expanding set of skills. I told Micah I have to have a camera, even if it's cheap. I can't take it anymore. It's a crying shame, is what it is. Most new moms have already taken a thousand pictures, and all I have are a few grainy shots from a disposable camera and some my mom gave me out of pity. Micah doesn't see the urgency until I remind him that his coveted family photos wouldn't exist if someone hadn't had a decent camera. So he agreed and then went out and bought about $75 worth of concert DVDs and new CDs. Whatever. Fair enough!

Anyway! That just means there will soon be more baby shots on here. OMG I just heard the baby poo from across the room. This is her first poo in a week (in the range of normal for breastfeeders) and I expect it will be spectacular.

Recordkeeping

I can't tell you how many times during the day I think of good things to blog about. I even work out some of the wording in my head during these times. When I finally get a chance to sit down at the computer for awhile, I always think "I should blog now" but struggle to remember any of the stuff I meant to share. It's sad. What's wrong with me? I really want to record some of these things for posterity.

We are so close to a purposeful smile around these parts. From the baby, I mean. Micah and I smile purposefully quite often, as there is an increasingly more adorable baby in our midst. Her face is just so perfectly sculpted. Her smell is a tantalizing mixture of sweet milk and clean diaper, with hints of baby powder and baby detergent. Her cheeks smell the best. Where was I before? Oh right, the smiling. This morning I swear she meant to smile when she felt her ass hit the vibrating bouncy chair after finishing a nice morning breast. Dude, my face is totally going to melt off when she actually smiles at me.

She has many hilarious expressions, but I am particularly fond of the wide-eyed, "o" mouth look, like she isn't sure if she's excited or terrified. Probably both. She likes to watch my mouth as I make exaggerated but quiet popping noises. I also cluck. I like it when she watches me. She watches me all the time now.

Micah plays music for her. Yesterday he serenaded her with a collection of classical favorites, and the day before that it was Robert Plant. Today is his first day back at work in a week because of inclement weather and the holiday, and I miss him. It was awesome to have him home. I lost all sense of my normal routine, which is a good thing. I got to do things like take the dog to the dog park and go to Target by myself. I'm getting better at trusting them alone together. It's not that Micah isn't capable, it's that I'm just being paranoid. I always find her content when I come home, and that's all that matters. Even if she screamed her cherubic little head off while I was gone, he was able to make it go away and that's what matters.

Making it go away is an interesting task. There is definitely a checklist to consider when dealing with a screaming baby. Several nights this week Sasha was inconsolable. It totally sucks when it happens. Micah handles it better than I do, but passively. He wants to just let her cry for a bit to "get it out." I get increasingly upset as the baby does. Even though I know she's most likely very tired and that Micah is probably right, sometimes I have to plunk her in the bouncy seat and walk away. Let Micah listen to her, since he's so at peace with it.

Speaking of the bouncy chair, it is the sole reason for my sanity lately. Sasha's love for this chair knows no bounds.

She spends a lot of time in this chair, which I feel sort of guilty about. We get a good amount of body bonding when she's nursing, but she pretty much hates being in any position longer than a minute or two, which makes it hard to cuddle and hold her for long periods of time. However, she will sit in the bouncy chair for hours, which now vibrates because I finally remembered to purchase those blasted D batteries. I try to tell myself that she won't even remember being this young, that she is tended to when she cries, and that the most important thing is that she is loved immensely, warm, dry, and fed. But what will I do when she's too big for this chair? My mom assures me she'll be too busy with crawling, toys, and other baby things by the time that happens. It's kind of intimidating to have a child care professional for a mother. While she's a great giver of advice, I'm afraid to look like I need that advice. I want to do this well without her intervention. I felt like she might judge me for using that chair so much, but all it took was one evening of babysitting for my mom to realize the power of the bouncy chair. There is no judging. In fact, because my brother and I were adopted at five or six months old, my mom has never actually lived with a newborn. She readily accepts advice I give about how to make the baby happy.

My new mission is to update this blog every Wednesday, marking another week in the life of the babe and putting some structure to the disarray. Crap, the baby just woke up and realized she's not bouncing anymore.

Dude. This is quite the experience.

Went out for a couple drinks last night and I was disappointed. Not in the company or the atmosphere, but the general lack of excitement I thought I'd surely feel. The alcohol tasted funny, and I wonder if the past ten teetotaling months have changed my tastes that much. Maybe I should have eased back in with a beer instead of a mojito. When half the drink was gone I just felt tired and bit distracted as I wondered how Micah and the baby were doing without me. Though when I am with her and she is inconsolably crying and I feel like strapping her safely in her bouncy seat and driving far, far away, when I am far, far away the thought of her crying like that makes my tits ache.

All the little ways this baby has changed my life queue up in a chaotic line and suddenly I find myself needing a map for the simplest of tasks. I shampooed twice in the shower the other day. Right now Micah is singing to the baby. For every shitastic episode of whatever, there is a moment of complete, blissful clarity. This is our baby. She tickles every fancy and the fancies are working overtime to keep me sane.

Another thing keeping me sane is the Anne Lamott book I'm reading. I find myself putting it down a lot, it's so good. I want to savor it. It's about her son's first year of life, sort of a journal, and I find it so spot on. Even though I know I'm not the first mother to ever exist, it surely feels like it sometimes. And other moms felt it to! I'm not totally effing crazy! Anne did this as a single mom with a very colicky baby, so the fact that I have a loving husband and a decently unfussy baby makes me feel like I can do this. Then I open a card from my parents that they've sent through the mail. It basically says we know it's hard and we think you're doing great and I'm sucking back tears. These hormones, y'all. I'm pretty sure motherhood renders you a sniffling delicato (that's not a word, but I'm feeling creative) no matter how you may object. Because normally? Hallmark sentiments don't knock me in the emotional nuts.

I suddenly want my hair to be long, long, long. At least there's that. Don't most moms want to cut it all off? That's the cliche. The mom cut. Fuck that. I'm a rebel, right? Sadly not, actually, but I like to pretend sometimes.

Baby accomplishments:
-Squawking in a very cry-like manner, but the cry never comes. It's hilarious. Testing vocal chords, I assume.
-Very good at clenching legs together while diaper is being affixed, rendering completion impossible.
-Makes very nice round "o" with mouth. Cherubic.
-Sleeps in any position, including Snapped My Neck and Look How My Arm Can Bend.
-Chortling is at an all time high. While nipple nears face, baby frantically bobs her head back and forth, mouth agape, grunting from the depths of her belly. Notice how this makes Mommy laugh and forget that poopsplosion of a diaper she just handled. Barely.
-Notices things. Notices she's alone. Notices the dog. Notices when the bouncing stops, which is simply not acceptable.

She's one month old today.

maybe it's time to change the header

I can tell this is going to be the hardest thing I've ever done. Duh, right? The many hours I spent wondering how it would be when Sasha got here did nothing to prepare me. The fucked up thing is that I know it's only going to get harder. Don't get me wrong, she makes my heart weep and bleed and sing and swoon. She's only two weeks old, which boggles my mind. I feel like we've had her for months.

I haven't slept in my bed in what seems like months. Sasha and I live in the living room. We do this because Micah actually has to get up and expend a huge amount of energy every day. He's breadwinning, after all. The baby isn't terribly fussy; whatever is getting her Pampers in a twist is usually on this list: hungry, wet, cold, or on the verge of sleep so just hold me close and bounce me, mama. But she does cry, so I try to keep the bothering to a minimum. Though I must admit the other night Micah woke around 2am to find me and the baby sobbing in the kitchen. He wisked her away and calmed the storm. I'm doing okay, but the lack of sleep thing is definitely getting to me. Breastfeeding is glorious for many reasons, but I just can't help but feel a little bitter that I'm the only one who can feed her. So I've started pumping milk. I bought a used breastpump awhile ago, kind of knowing that I might like some time to myself and a pump could provide that for me. I have never said I'm not a selfish person. I am. That's what scares me most about being a parent now.

I just want to sleep for eight hours in my bed. Is that too much to ask? The physical space between Micah and myself is starting to spread it's ugly tentacles. I have some thoughts that go like this: good lord, you have NO IDEA how hard this is, DUDE. It's hard not to be a little bitter. It's hard to be the primary provider. It's just hard, I guess.

I think the learning curve for men is a little different. Because they tend to not be the primary love-giver, it takes longer to figure out where they fit into the big picture. I try not to stand over his shoulder when he changes diapies (oh yeah, that's what we call 'em, shoot me now) and I try not to wisk her away when he's trying to sooth her and it ain't working. I want him to figure it out. He absolutely adores her, but he hasn't had to commit to her like I have. It's okay, though. It's a job. It just happens to be a 24-hour job, which is the root of the problem. I just don't get a break. The breast pump has given me new hope. I'm starting a collection of milk in the fridge because Micah volunteered to take care of her all day one day this weekend so I can sleep. Now let's just hope I can actually sleep. See, my body still thinks sleeping is for night. No matter how tired I am, I cannot sleep at 10am when Sasha slips into a nice three hour nap. Yesterday I even turned off the tv, locked the dog outside, and took the largest recommended dose of Percocet. Sasha was secure in her bouncy chair. Check, check, check. Then I laid there for two hours unable to sleep. If that's not infuriating.

Fuck, you guys. I'm only sixteen days into this. It's messed up to think that I can't fuck up or quit or take her back. Nothing could have prepared me.

And now I'll stop being so fucking negative and tell you about my amazing daughter.

She's gorgeous. I could stare at her for hours. Her eyelashes are decidedly lighter than the hair on her head, which makes me think she could be on the blonder side one day. Her eyes have lightened a bit from the steely blue-gray they were at birth. It will be interesting to see if she gets the orange ring around her pupils, as Micah and I both have those.

She makes unstinky poop. Cannot get over this.

She makes the most adorable noises. Sometimes she sounds like a grumpy old man, other times like a baby dolphin. When she's about to hone in on my nipple she chortles like a little chipmunk. Do chipmunks chortle? I bet they do.

Sometimes I catch her smiling even though I'm pretty sure she has no idea she's smiling. I think babies must be born with every facial expression available, they just have to learn when to use them. But seeing her smile is the sweetest thing ever, and mostly because it's a glimpse into how it will be in a few months, when we tickle her and she actually engages and acknowledges us. Arguably the most adorable thing I can imagine. I can't wait to hear her laugh.

Her face has filled out and her head is definitely bigger. Everything is probably bigger, I just don't notice much other than her head because that's what I stare at.

She's perfect. I know that's an unoriginal thought for a new mom to have, but if there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that every cheesy parenting cliche is unavoidably true. She's perfect.

some truths

The first postpartum shit will be a nightmare. Harder than childbirth.

If you're breastfeeding, you might wake up from a nap totally soaked and sticking to your shirt.

The baby will shit moments after you change a diaper. If you hear/feel pooping, wait a few minutes before changing.

Baby farts are just as loud as full-sized human farts.

Breastfed baby shit is virtually unstinky.

Why would anyone want to bottle-feed if breastfeeding was an option? I can't imagine having to prepare a bottle as soon as the baby is hungry.

You might just be ready for sex much sooner than you thought.

Cabin fever is a bitch, especially when your favorite season has just begun. You could gather the babe and the dog for a walk, but that takes energy that two hours of sleep per day does not provide.

Damn, do you miss your bed. And snuggling with your fella. And sleep in general.

back, y'all

So, I had a baby! Soon I'll sit down and write out the whole birth story. I want to have the details all written down for posterity. What an experience. It actually feels quite bizarre to try and even begin to tell a story about having a baby. Oh my god. Right now I'll just share a couple of pictures.
The picture quality kind of sucks because I had to scan these. I have tons of pictures on my digital camera but I can't find the cord. Maddening.










Please note the hellacious haircreature on the back of my head. That there is the result of 24 hours confined to a bed. And, you know, laboring. I wish someone had thought to tell me about this situation before I let them take plenty of pictures.

the homestretch. seriously.

Wow. Nine months coming to a close.

Things I will be happy to be able to do again:

- Do dishes without soaking my entire front.
- Cook without soiling my entire front.
- HAHA I was just about to say "sleep through the night without waking to pee three times." I'm such a dumbass sometimes.
- Eat sushi. Lots of it.
- As much as I loathe admitting it, smoke a cigarette. I miss them. I hate that I miss them.
- GET KNEE-WALKIN' DRUNK. If that's even still possible. Most likely I'll just fall asleep.
- Have sex without thinking about a squashed baby or feeling like a squashed ham.
- Eat a tasty sandwich loaded with all kinds of dangerous deli meat!
- Bend at the waist.
- Shave properly.
- Live without the organ kicking. Shit hurts sometimes.

Things I will miss about being pregnant:
- Walking around without trying to suck in my belly. Letting it all hang out has been liberating.
- Using the Expectant Mother parking spot at the grocery store. They need them at Target. I think I'll write a letter.
- Thicker hair.
- The organ kicking. It's nice sometimes.

----------------------------------------------------
It's not 100% official, but it looks like Sasha will be born on Tuesday the 16th. My doctor would like to induce me, as long as everything looks good to go on my appointment on Monday.

Commence to freaking the fuck out!

When I was told I would have to have a c-section because she was breech (she's since turned, but I think you knew that) I had to get used to the idea that the relaxed, hippie birthing I'd been studying was not going to happen for me. I read up on epidurals so I felt more educated about the inevitable procedure. Now that I have a chance at natural birth again, I feel less tied to the pain-free concept. I am really going to give it my all and hold off as long as I can. If that ends up being the whole time, well fuck if I ain't woman, hear me roar. But if whatever methods I've been reading about aren't working so well, I will take the epidural and run with it. Or...be paralyzed by it. Whatever. I think the most important thing is that I don't have expectations because you know what they say about the best-laid plans.

Today is my last day at work. I will miss marking days off my calendar and getting paid to read blogs. Getting this job was fairly serendipitous for me, a lucky string of events that lead me to a job that pays a lot for what the duties actually are. Not that I'm rich, but I will definitely miss the money. But I am looking forward to not having anything to do but take care of my baby and maybe do some dishes.

Today I get to eat my last-day mint. Not long after I found out I was pregnant, I lifted my keyboard and found Baskin-Robbins Mint Chocolate Chip candy. I put it in my pen caddy thing and decided I would eat it on my last day here. I'm weird. After my boss retired I wasn't sure how long I'd be here, so it was kind of exciting - would I get to eat the mint soon? Weeks? Months? I'm so bored here, I participate in mental games with myself. So today, I get to eat the mint. I'll pop it in my mouth as I shut down my laptop for the time being (technically they can still call me for a few hours' work here and there until December) and then I'll suck happily on it while I pull out of the parking lot and head home. Or maybe I'll crunch the fuck out of it before I even get down the stairs.

Another oddity - my favorite work pen. I found this rather normal, unassuming pen in my desk drawer last year. I like the way the rubber on it feels a bit velvety, and the ink is just as smooth. It has no brand on it, it's been mysteriously rubbed off, so I can't search for more. There will never be another My Pen. Well, when I discovered how much I love this pen, I opened it to see how much ink was in it. Not much, maybe 1/3 full. How long would it last?! When would I have to throw it away?! Please lord, let it last me until I'm done here. And you know what? Creepily, it just ran out today. No shit. It's just so damn perfect. Satisfactory. Closure.

--------------------------------------------------
Micah and I are now in the final days of Not Being a Parent. Were there not a life to support in my belly, I might be inclined to get crazy. So far my weekend plans include seeing the second Elizabeth movie and...that's it. Oh wait, I'm making Eggs Benedict and Jalapeno Bacon wraps this weekend! I have been a cooking machine lately. I made lasagna, chicken stuffing casserole, and chili con queso in one day. I've heard women go a little nutty with the nesting in the final days. I've been acting positively domestic. Though I must say, it's a good warm-up for after the baby comes, because most of my life I've been a domestic slacker and now that I'll be home all day, I'll feel inclined to take on more of those responsibilities. Are your feminist hackles raising? Don't be alarmed. I actually like the idea of cooking, cleaning, baby-raising, and finishing school until I'm ready to go get a Real Job. One where answering the phone is not part of my job description.

Wish me luck. Kiss not-a-mom Gabby adieu.

38 weeks

Holy motherfucking shit. Two more weeks. Do I have to stop saying things like holy motherfucking shit after I have a baby?

I see the doctor weekly. Yesterday she checked me and I'm 2 cm dialated. Before I left she said "see you in a week...if not before!" But 2 cm really isn't anything, and I haven't had anything resembling a contraction. I'm hoping she won't come this week because my parents are out of town. They're in Boston visiting my godfather, and they went with their best friends. My parents have such an awesome social life. My mom's best friend has been her best friend since kindergarten, and I can only hope to have such strong bonds with the same people into my 60s. I'm actually quite jealous of their ridiculously full social life. Lately mine has been lame at best. Is it weird that I thought people would start rallying around me during the last few weeks of pregnancy? People have been oddly quiet. Then again, I'm convinced half of my friends don't even like me anymore. But that could be the raging hormones speaking. Yelling, really.

It would be nice to go into labor on Monday, the 8th. Please send me lots of good juju for getting a jacuzzi tub birthing suite, as there are only two and they're first come, first serve. When I told my doctor how much I wanted one, she said "they're so messy." I'm not sure how to interpret that...messy because water sloshes everywhere? It's just water. Unless my water breaks in there, then...yes. Messy. Still want one, though.

My belly has officially "popped." I look pregnant, not just fat. My belly is really hard and enormous and you have no idea how hard it is to shave your legs in this condition. And I can only guess what the crotchal hair situation is looking like. Shaving by feel is not so effective. All I know is that I really must do my best to examine it and if needed, call Micah in for back-up. In who knows how many days, there will be a multitude of strangers looking at the 'jay and I'd rather not look like a crazed lumberjack did my grooming.

I finally gained some weight! After about 35 weeks of staying the same, I'm now up ten pounds in the last three weeks. The doctor says it's all baby, and after I give birth I'll weigh less than when I started. Sah-weet.

Now if I can just figure out how I'm going to finish this term at school. The final project (three 3-4 page papers) is due six days after my due date. Shall be interesting.

That's all I have for today. Back to waiting for something, anything to start moving down there.

update and some old stuff

So. Remember how I was telling you that if the baby hadn't turned around by Tuesday they were going to schedule a c-section for me? Well I'll be durned! She turned! No c-section for me unless some unexpected complication necessitates it. Now it's just a waiting game. 21 days until my due date (as if that really means anything...I could go at any time).

We toured the Labor & Delivery floors this weekend. The birthing suites have hardwood floors! Unfortunately I'm pretty sure you only spend enough time in this room to pop out your baby before you are whisked away to a less schmancy room. There are two rooms with jacuzzi tubs, and they're first come, first serve. I want one SO BAD. Please pray for me to go into labor during the middle of the night or something. I've heard jacuzzis are heaven for laboring. Oh God. I have to labor. Though I must say for some reason I'm a lot more open to laboring with an epidural.

Now, onto the old stuff!

I'm cleaning up my computer at work because I don't want to leave anything personal behind. There are some things I wrote that I never posted here or when I was doing regular stuff at Sevens. It seems like a waste to just delete them even though they aren't anything spectacular. Filler, if you will. Filler that is not about being pregnant.
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Betcha Didn’t Know

I’m a sucker for trivia. I like knowing things mostly unknown by the general public. Oh, twas a happy day when I discovered a stockpile of such trivia at imdb.com. In just about every entry in the database, there is a trivia section including little known facts about the movie, tv show, or documentary. Let’s get old school for a second, because the older the school, the greasier the grilled cheese sandwiches, and you’re a liar if you claim you didn’t eat them (and love them).

A few gems I betcha didn’t know about…

…Saved by the Bell:

- Jennie Garth auditioned for the role of Kelly Kapowski, as did Elizabeth Berkley, and though the producers thought both were wrong for the part, they like Elizabeth so much they created the role of Jesse just for her.
- Lisa Turtle was written as a white Jewish girl, but after meeting Lark Voorhies the producers changed their minds.
- SBTB was originally called “Good Morning, Miss Bliss,” back when they were all in middle school (remember Haley Mills?) and when they were developing the pilot they were considering casting Jaleel White, Jonathan Brandis, and Brian Austin Green. What’s with the 90210 cast theme?
- Mark Paul Gosselaar isn’t (and wasn’t) a blond. He dyed his hair every two weeks. Why do I feel cheated now that I know that?

…90210 (it was a natural progression):

- Deep breaths! Really! What I’m about to tell you is shocking. Dylan was only supposed to be on for two episodes. Obviously the producers felt the Earth move as millions of teenage girls swooned at once and decided Dylan was a keeper.
- The role of Valerie was offered to Alicia Silverstone, but she turned it down. Can you even imagine? She just doesn’t, and never did, have the bitch-tastic fortitude to play that role. Then again, who’d have guessed Kelly fucking Kapowski had it either?
- Tori Spelling wasn’t listed as part of the main cast in the pilot. I guess her daddy feared the nepotism backlash before it even began.
- Brandon Walsh is also Josh Brolin’s character’s name in The Goonies.

Honestly, I was hoping for more from imdb about 90210. What, no gossip about fighting amongst the cast? No juicy tidbits about the despicable Brenda Walsh? For shame! There was more trivia, but who really cares if the Walsh house changed locations after the pilot? Though in all fairness, perhaps this entire list falls under the Who Really Cares category.

…Family Ties:

- Michael J. Fox threw in the “P.” part of Alex P. Keaton in his audition, and the writers loved it. Fox almost didn’t get the part because NBC execs thought it wasn’t believable that Meredith Baxter and Michael Gross would have such a short son.
- The premise for the series came from the producer’s own experience of living a hippie lifestyle and then settling into suburban life with his wife and having children.
- The cast wanted the series to end with the entire family dying in a plane crash so that they’d never have to do a reunion show.

…The Facts of Life:

- was the longest running show with an all-female lead cast!
- the role of Tootie wasn’t written as an African-American, it just so happened that Kim Fields had the best audition.
- In the first season, there were seven main characters. By the second, they’d cut three girls (including Molly Ringwald) and decided to make the series focus on adolescent issues instead of fluffy humor.
- Blair was supposed to lose her virginity first, but Lisa Whelchel refused to participate because of her religious beliefs (she’s a total Jesus Crispy!*) so they had Natalie get some instead, giving hope to chubby chicks everywhere. It’s the only episode that Blair doesn’t appear in.
- Tootie was always wearing roller skates in the first season because it made her look taller (she was only nine and played a twelve-year-old).
- Nancy McKeon joined the cast in the second season only after proving she could act tough AND cry on cue. Who didn’t love Jo? Who couldn’t quite put their finger on why it was weird to see her with a boyfriend?
*If you’re not already familiar with the term Jesus Crispy, just imagine those people on the street that try to strike up normal conversations with you and then suddenly ask you if you’ve been saved and then get kind of mean and say “you’re going to hell if you don’t accept Jesus Christ as your personal savior!” when you walk away. They are Crispy because they are totally fucking burnt out on some Jesus.

…Growing Pains:

- Julie McCullough, who played Mike Seaver’s fiancée, was fired at Kirk’s request for posing in Playboy; he had a religious awakening between the 1989-1990 seasons and became a big fuckin’ prude. After his little awakening he became such a pest about removing all “adult” themes from Growing Pains that several writers quit the show.
- Kirk Cameron is a fucking tool. If I’d only known I wouldn’t have hung so many Tiger Beat pictures of him above my bed at summer camp. If I’d known there’s no way Kirk would feel me up if we ever met because of GOD I’d have replaced his mug on my wall with the much naughtier Johnny Depp, who was burnin’ up the screen in 21 Jump Street at the time. Anyway. Onward.
- Maura Tierney admitted to being fired from the show. I didn’t even know she was on it. Must go investigate. You do not fire Maura Tierney, aka The Only Reason to Continue Watching ER.
- Tracey Gold and the anorexia blah blah missed almost a whole season because of it yada wouldn’t even take a bite of pizza in the last episode of the series BLAH. Don’t know where this apathy comes from regarding Tracey Gold but all of a sudden I’m mad that I even looked Growing Pains up.

And finally, to redeem myself…

…Roseanne:

- Alicia Goranson (the original Becky) left the show to attend Vassar and study poetry. Sara Gilbert also left to attend college, but she was able to work around school. When Alicia came back for the ninth season Darlene says “Where the hell have you been?” when she walks into the kitchen.
- All of the exterior shots were filmed in Evansville, IN.
- Alicia requested a shorter hairstyle for Becky and the producers turned her down, so she went to Roseanne for help with her plight and Roseanne cut her hair off right then and there. (Alicia has a blog! How normal!)
- Corn, the vegetable, is mentioned or shown in every single episode in some form or another.
- All three of Roseanne’s husbands made guest appearances on the show.
- Tom Arnold hated one particular shirt that Roseanne wore, so much so that it never appeared on the show while they were married. After their divorce, it made an appearance in every episode, usually in the laundry. It was also used as a pattern for the apron Roseanne wore at the diner and on a poster in the diner as well. I’ve never noticed this Rooster and Egg shirt/pattern, but I’ll be looking for it now!
- The show’s original title was “Life and Stuff.”
- There was a naked picture of George Clooney on the Connor’s refrigerator for many years, his nether regions covered only by a pair of goggles, until it mysteriously disappeared one day. It was totally Crystal.

nope, not about pregnancy!

Just a few thoughts:

- Have you watched JT's concert special on HBO? If you have to ask who JT is, probably not. I watched most of it the other day, and damn that boy is foyne. So cute. (Why did I watch only most of it? Micah came home and I felt like I had been caught, somehow, and I turned it off. The drooling gave me away, huh?) It was about time for JT to make a little comeback, show those moves and bust out the most masculine falsetto imaginable. He's the only person who can pull off white shoes with a dark suit, which, skillz. Even though lately the tabloids have been saying he's kind of rude and arrogant, I couldn't care less. And the Jessica Biel thing? Hawt.

- Have you watched Californication on Showtime? You should. David Duchovny is precious. Though you will feel squicky when you realize the teenage nympho is the daughter from The Hand That Rocks the Cradle. Have you watched Tell Me You Love Me on HBO? You should. It will make you feel like you have the best relationship in the universe.

- I'm glad I'm apparently not the only one who feels bad for BritBrit. I want to see her make a comeback and I believe she can, provided she gets her head out of her cooch. Her head, by the way, is the #1 issue she should be dealing with (aside from the bebes, I guess). Why the fuck can't she rock the short hair? A sharp blond bob, perhaps? How can someone that rich have such terrible extensions? And have you seen her delicate wig dancing? Totally afraid that mug is going to fly off. Ugh. Now I'm getting all worked up. Leave Britney alone! (If you don't get that reference, you should watch The Soup a little more. Or look it up on youtube.)

- How excited am I that Knocked Up came out on DVD yesterday? I never made it to the theater when it was out even though everyone told me to go see it. Shit, was that about pregnancy?

- If you're out there, Hei-Ho The Dairio, have you watched the new crosswords gameshow on the WB? If they shoot it in LA, you should go be a contestant. Really. Silly not to.

- Ha ha, remember awhile ago when I was bragging about my grades? Turns out I had some very easy-to-please professors that term. I think some professors might grade on how well you do compared to the rest of class and others compare you to, I dunno, standards of excellence. I'm doing well this term, but when I got a 93 on a paper (whereas last term all I had to do was spell my name correctly and get 100), I was furious. I'm such a brat. I got spoiled by subjective professors when I what I really needed was for someone to challenge me. Fucking christ, did I just say that?

- I am taking a term off after the baby comes, but I would like to start reading again to keep my brain busy. Do you have any suggestions for me? I'm not ashamed to admit I have preordered Rosie's new book. Also on the way is an Anne Lamott book because I've heard great things about her and just found out she has a book about life after childbirth. I've wanted to read The Corrections forever, so maybe I'll do that. Even though the title scares me, I've heard Eat, Pray, Love is good. Anyway. Recommendations for me?

put down the knife and go eat another cookie, preggers

Ugh. This has become the most boring blog. (Way to keep new visitors, Gab!) I feel like it's just an endles stream of pregnancy updates. I'm so sick of being pregnant. Eventually it hijacks your body and takes you on the most fucked up ride...get me off. I'm getting nauseous. No really, I've been getting nauseous again, in the ninth month of all times! See what I mean? Get me off.

Pregnancy has done some ugly things to me, and I have been pregnant for almost all of 2007, so I am really feeling like one tragic bitch rightaboutnow. The weather refuses to dip below 85 no matter how much I beg it to. Copious sweat and a general inability to move effectively have rendered me the most awkward, feisty, hazardous bitch. I will cut you. (When I am not busy bumping my poor baby into walls. The Clumsy hath taken over.) Everything makes me mad or makes me cry. I've had four crying jags in the last twelve hours. I cry because I'm scared. I'm also overwhelmed, nervous, and mourning the loss of my not-a-mom self. I've said it before, but I find pregnancy to be terribly alienating. I cry because nobody understaaaands meeee, waah. I cry when I don't want it to end because I'm afraid of the responsibility. Then I cry because I am just so fucking excited to meet my baby and it's an intensely moving thought. I know she's beautiful and amazing, and I want to adore her. Also, you can only clip so many tags before you want to fill the clothes with a baby, already! Ready. Not ready. Toss in a generous handful of pregnancy hormones and I am just a peach. The most wobbly, mealy, scarily fuzzy peach you ever did meet.

Wow, this is kind of like therapy.

This coming Tuesday at my doctor's appointment we'll find out if she's still breech; if she is, they are going to plan my c-section sometimes during my 39th week. This both relieves and horrifies me. On one hand, I get to shave a week off of pregnancy, and I will be able to tell everyone when she's coming and no one will be caught off guard. Everyone will be where they want to be and I can also ask certain people to come on certain days so there isn't a deluge. Such a control freak's dream. On the other hand, I will now be partially responsible for picking Sasha's birthday. This freaks me out, as I feel I am messing with fate. Such an astrological devotee's nightmare. So what I'm really hoping will happen, quite honestly, is that we pick a date and then I go into labor before that date comes. (Like on October 8. That would rock.)(What? I can throw some favorites out there!)

That's all for now. I'm going to go hang out with my husband because he's working sixteen hours tomorrow and I'm going to miss him. I think I'll do a little anniversary-related post soon, possibly with recently obtained video footage from our reception last year! (Thank you M&N, that was a fucking awesome surprise). If I can figure out how the hell to put it on a blog. Good night and good luck.

i'm not picking up what you're putting down

A most interesting conversation, at least to me:

(the scene: a couple married one year (today! is! their anniversary!) have been playing the lottery lately and have gotten sort of addicted to the idea of winning.)

"I would totally hire a maid if we won. God, that would be awesome," says Gabby.
"What? You would? No way. We don't need a maid," replies Micah.
"Ummm, I disagree. Who couldn't use a maid? I bet even a maid would like a maid."
"No way. I'm not letting some stranger come clean our house."
"Oh, please. What do you think will happen? If they steal from you they're jeopardizing their income. Besides, you can just hire one of those services where a bunch of maids come in and do the job in like thirty minutes. Those places have insurance. They can't just flee the country with our...what, exactly? My computer that weighs eighty-five pounds and runs on gerbils? Or maybe my $99 digital camera that looks like a toy and can't zoom." Gabby laughs a little too loudly and waits for some sort of equally profound reply.
"It's just ridiculous to hire a maid."
"I disagree."
"That's because you had a maid when you were younger."
"Maid service. It's not like we a had a live-in or anything. You think we were that rich?"
"Whatever. I just...I can think of a billion better things to spend our money on."
"Really. Because I'm kind of thinking that is the best reason to get rich. So you can hire a maid."
"You must be joking."
"Nope. What's wrong with spoiling yourself rotten if you can?"
"How is having a maid spoiling yourself?"
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!"
"I don't want a stranger cleaning up after us."
"Wow. You know, if we won the lottery and you had something you'd just love to do with the money, I would never stop you. Whatever your newly rich heart desired."
"I'd hire a chauffeur."
"WHAT?!"
"That would be a much better way to spend the money. It's so much safer! And if anything happens, like a speeding ticket or an accident, it's not your fault! It's the chauffer's!"
"OH MY GOD. You think hiring a maid is ridiculous but a chauffeur is perfectly acceptable? Unbelievable. You are unbelievable."
"You can get trashed and never worry about who will drive!" Micah is now laughing meniacally like he's the first person to ever think this thought. Gabby, however, is having none of that.
"Dude, there is no fucking way I'm going to win the lottery, buy a few fucking ridiculous new cars, and then pay someone else to drive them! Fuck that noise! If you have a chauffeur I'm totally getting a maid."

So the question is: what would you buy with lottery money? What luxury would you indulge? What

no pasa nada

I'm just checking in. I don't have much to say. I've been seriously lazy and craving sweet food like crazy. I daydream about donuts, homemade gooey butter cake, fruit & chocolate fondue, and french toast. It's bad. The only exception to this is the Pot & Kettle "sandwich" from a local bar/restaurant. It's a thick slice of white bread smothered with pot roast and topped with mashed potatoes and gravy and GOOD GOD, I can't get enough. I've already asked Micah if he will bring me some in the hospital after I have this baby.

Six weeks to go. Seems like nothing, but I also hope it goes fast. Not too fast, just fast enough. I'm doing absolutely everything I feel like doing because I know in six little weeks my life will be all about a baby. That means the hedonism is flowing pretty freely right now. I keep thinking "oh, go ahead and do it...soon you won't be able to!" Best reason ever.

We've set up the Pack n Play baby bed/play area/changing table thingy in the bedroom. I've taken tags off of the baby clothes we've received so far because I have to wash them all in special baby detergent before she arrives. I've been brought to tears because the dog discovered one of the baby's adorable new slippers, which he carried around the house and threw around a bit before I found him. It was dirty, but nothing a little Woolite in the kitchen sink couldn't fix. It'll be very interesting to have a young and mouthy dog AND all the soft and inviting toys that accompany a baby.

Everytime I claim to have nothing to write about, I squeek out some paragraphs, huh?

baby update!

I just got back from an ultrasound. Want to hear about the baby? Well, it's definitely a girl. At the last ultrasound they were sure about that, but it's nice to know someone else is really sure about it, too! I even have a picture of her va-jay. When she's older, please don't tell her I put it on the internet.

Even though I have not gained a pound, the baby has. She weighs 4 lbs. 13 oz. Eleven weeks ago, at the last ultrasound, she weighed 1 lb. 6 oz. She's eating up my fat or something. It mystifies me, but you'd better believe I'm not complaining about it!

What I want to complain about a little bit is the fact that she's breech. At nearly 33 weeks, there is very little chance she's going to spin around because there just isn't enough space. That means I will almost definitely have a c-section, which pisses me off a bit. I've devoted a lot of time to reading about natural child birth and mentally preparing to give it an epidural-free go, but it looks like I won't have the chance. A c-section isn't the end of the world, in fact I must admit the idea of not having to deal with tearing and stretching sounds pretty nice. Did you know it can feel like your innards are going to fall out of your vagina while recovering from vaginal birth? Can't say I'd prefer that to nursing a wound on my abdomen. There are drawbacks to c-sections, such as delayed functions in the baby because of the epidural drugs, fluid in the lungs that doesn't get pushed out by way of vag delivery, and complications during and after surgery. I guess there are pros and cons for every method of delivering a baby, so I'm not too freaked out or sad. At least I have some time to adjust to the idea of major abdominal surgery.

Also, I've been telling everyone the wrong due date! I really thought it was 10/17, but it's actually 10/18. I'm fine with that, because 8 is great, and I generally don't like odd numbers.

Want to see some pictures now?

These are her arms. The ultrasound tech said her hands are up by her face. Look for the vertical lines near the center - these are her forearms, with hands near the top of the image. I believe the wavy white line to the right is the curve of her ear and she is facing away from the image. On every image the tech put some words, and this one says "Hi family!" but my caption would have to be "Talk to the hand!"

This is her face! Tilt your head to the right and you'll see her straight-on. I see a skull and some eye holes and what must be her nose. Cute! Makes me want to spend $150 for one of those 3-D image things. But I also want to spend $150 on a Roomba for the copious dog hair situation, and unless little Miss comes out with vacuuming skillz, I'm thinking the Roomba will be more worth it. Besides, I can wait to see her face. I've been uncharacteristically patient knowing the best surprise of my life is headed my way.
These are her feet! "LT Foot" is below the left foot, "RT Foot" above the right. The feet are very close together, and this is a bottom view of them. Do you see them? I see them! Apparently she's bent in half at the waist, with her feet up near her belly and her butt sitting on my bladder. That means her head is near my ribcage, which explains why I can't eat more than fist-sized amounts of food before I'm stuffed, only to be starving again in less than an hour.
This is her vagina. The text says "Think pink!!" with a nicely defined arrow pointing right at her poochy labia. I'm allowed to say stuff like that because I'm her mom. Poochy labia, poochy labia, poochy labia.

So that's it for now, I guess. Oh yeah! We decided on a name! Now we just need to pick out a middle name, which might very well be the middle name my mom and I share. You know, tradition and shit. Seven weeks and counting, people! I'm so ready to meet her.

malazy

Ugh. I am so freaking tired.

All I want to do is sleep. It's never been easier for me to fall asleep, which makes it even more tempting to just stay home and stay horizontal on the couch, fading in and out as needed. Frequent trips to the kitchen for blackberry cobbler (from scratch!) would also be nice. I made it yesterday on a whim, which turned out to be a very expensive whim. Did you know fresh blackberries cost almost $4 for a little container? I spent nearly $15 on just blackberries alone, and I'm pretty sure I could've just gone to the bakery section and gotten like FIVE fucking cobblers for that. Sure, sense of accomplishment and blahblah. Whatever. I ripped myself off. But now I know how to make cobbler!

I really want to start cooking more. We've been stuck in a food rut, getting the same things at the store every time we go. Do you do that? How adventurous are you in the kitchen? I want to be adventurous. I really like cooking, but I'm lacking motivation. I've even started collecting recipes that I want to try. What I lack, as usual, is follow-through. I can't fucking stick the landing!

(Sorry, I was watching gymnastics a few days ago. They were talking about the next summer Olympics! Squee!)

When I'm all, like, mommy to a toddler who is no longer attached to my breasticles (so mature!)I want to have menus planned out so that cooking and shopping isn't stressful. I already hate grocery shopping, in fact I think I'm going to talk to Micah about him being the permanent grocery shopper and me the permanent laundress. Even though laundry takes twice as long and folding makes me sweaty and squirmy, I absolutely hate the grocery store. Consequently, food rut, because I go for what's familiar so I can get out of there faster. Micah actually takes his time and peruses the fucking place. I must say, he always comes back with a few fun surprises that I never would have picked up. He's good.

God, have I really resorted to expounding on our grocery habits? If you could even call it expounding. More like spewing.

I'm bored. I want the baby to come, yet I'm still eager to gulp up all the decadent alone time I can get, eating warm cobbler with vanilla ice cream and watching Real Sex reruns. I can't stand sitting at work, browsing blogs that don't get updated often enough and dreading having to actually answer the phone. Maybe I'm nesting, or something? We're finally settled into the apartment, and though it's smaller and less charming, I love it. I just want to be here, with Micah and Avery, eating $15 cobbler, debating baby names, and watching Big Brother 8.

Have I mentioned the cobbler? Oh. I'd offer you some, but...it's expensive. (Memo to self: Purchase frozen berries next time, you fucking idiot.)

scary baby edition

Actual Suggestions From The Baby Name Book

Ragnfrid - (Norse) One who gives beautiful advice. She'd better do everything beautifully with a name like that.

Celery - (American) Refers to the refreshing and healthy food. What? No. Really. What?

Heart - (American) One who is romantic. Um, last time I checked, a heart is a blood-pumping organ. They could've even gone with something like "The internal drive to persevere." These fucking idiots.

I could go on, but maybe later. I think you get the point. The authors reeeeally had to stretch it to come up with 100,001 baby names. Really, wouldn't 50,000 have sufficed? You only need one, after all.

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This baby bunting fuhreaks me out.

Why?

1. That baby has flippers.

2. That baby has four flippers.

3. The lower flippers sort of look like adult-length arms with oven mitts on.

4. Consequently, the whole thing looks like an alien.
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Registering for baby things at the Giant Baby Store was sofuckingannoying on every level. Not only do I think it's highly presumptuous to put a $300 stroller/carseat combo on the list, I find testing the items and being forced to choose one much like how I imagine having pins driven under my nails would feel. That sentence was a mess, sorry. I just really can't imagine needing all that stuff, and I also don't like comparing the features of two similar items and trying to figure out why one costs $30 more than the other. I know I should feel grateful. I do. It's just annoying, okay? My favorite part was when, after twenty minutes of pushing around, testing, jabbing, and possibly kicking some strollers, a sales guy wandered over and asked if we had any questions. My mom tells him we're trying to decide if the more expensive one is really worth it (and when I say more expensive, there were strollers still hundreds of dollars more expensive than this one!) and the guy, who looked like a nineteen-year-old community college student, expounds on the features and gives us the most generic speech ever. By the time he's telling us why this color is so much more popular than this color (therefore more worthy!) I had had enough. "Sold!" I said, and scanned the fucking barcode already, just so he'd shut up and we could move on. By this point, we'd already been there for an hour and a half.
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I have taken to holding my belly when I'm out so people will know it's not just fat. Totally intentional. But then I realize it feels good, even if it makes me feel completely matronly, which is not something I'm terribly familiar with.
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Last post I mentioned that our baby will be five months old when LOST comes back on. I just realized she will be a ONE YEAR OLD by the time we've elected a new president. Holy shit. (They really started early, did they not? I fear for my already politically-weary soul.)

braggart

So. I just wrapped up another term at the online university I attend. Guess what? I got 100% in both classes, which were Organizational Behavior and Technical Writing. Forgive me for sounding like an ass, but I'm beginning to think this shit is way too easy and that other folks are just that stupid. Or maybe I had easy professors this term? It confuses me a bit, but mostly I'm just so fucking proud of myself, because 4.0 isn't something I'm acquainted with. We're fresh and new, like doe-eyed lovers.

On another topic entirely, I cannot begin to describe how odd it feels to have your organs kicked from the inside. I swear yesterday the baby was having tea party on my bladder with my kidneys and liver. But then my liver had to go and talk smack about the lower intestines and the baby got what did they ever do to you and kicked that bitch. Or something like that.

I have an ultrasound next week because Dr. Sandra Oh But Hotter, while basically happy about it, is wondering why I haven't gained any weight. I was up two pounds at one point and at my last visit, back down to where I started. I know I sweated off two pounds at least during the move. Anyway, she wants to make sure the baby is growing. I know she is growing. My stomach feels like it's in my lungs, my lungs feel like their in my throat, so I know she's taking up more room in there. But I'm still wearing the same pants. I guess I can see why she's a little concerned.

We're closer to a name. Micah finally heard one that he really likes, which is more than I've gotten out of him so far. The race isn't over yet, though. There are several strong contenders. Sorry, can't share them yet. Soon?

OMFG. I'm due in two months from Friday! Our baby will be five months old by the time LOST comes back on! CRAZY.

but the cinnamon twists from taco smells were good!

You know what's really not fun? When you let your scalp get burnt right up there in the front where it tends to be thinner. And, you know, right there. This past weekend's little floating hellaciousness left me rather rosy (oooh, good band name) and the horrid results are now forcing me to wear my sunglasses on top of my head while I'm inside. Yeah, such a winner. I hate myself.

So what's worse - letting the layer of skin float above your scalp where it might freak some folks out, or start dismantling it and begin the frustrating process of freeing it from the strand? That's never ever a good thing to start, because the shit ain't stoppable. You can never find a happy resting place. There is always just one more piece of skin that completely gives you away. Wait, just this one more. Then you try other maneuvers, like violently frisking your hair to shake the bits loose. After enough of frisks you'll looking oily and frazzled. Sexay.

That sums up my Friday so far. Yours?

All swoll up.

Well. That was annoying.

What I mean to say is, we moved! It sucked royally. I think partly because I'm pregnant and partly because I'm an idiot who apparently doesn't know how to pack.

But here's the thing. I did 90% of the packing and preparing by myself. By the end of it I was so fucking frustrated at the shit that kept appearing that I was just throwing things in boxes with no rhyme or reason. Oops. I realize now that I should have been more firm and made Micah help me, but my initiator personality just takes over and I have to get it going whether I have help or not. It's the finishing I have a problem with. The first boxes' contents were carefully identified on the outside, and everything fit in the box just so. The last boxes? Well, last night I unpacked a purse, a sponge, 409, Avery's toenail clippers, a baby name book, and some dirty socks all from the same box.

Which is to say things went downhill right around T-minus 12 hours. We even had movers and the shit sucked royally. Why did my back and feet hurt so bad if we hired movers? Yo no say. I guess I did a lot more than I realized.

Which could be why my ankles are so fucking swollen. Yes. Swoll up like the 7-month pregnant chick that I am. It's kind of terrifying, seeing your ankles like that. I should have known that's why I had trouble getting my river sandals on this weekend, and why they gave me blisters on my ankles.

River sandals? Yes. We went camping and floating. I actually can't believe I've been friends with certain folks for twelve years and that was the first time we've gone camping together. A travesty, really. The camping was fun, but the floating was not. Besides blood shed, drowning, or a wicked case of the trots, traffic jams are a sure fire way to ruin a float trip. You could barely see the water there were so many people. There were literally thousands of floaters, which means tens of thousands of beers were consumed. And whoa, the tramp stamps. You've never seen so many in your life. Also? Guys get so much gayer when they drink.

Anyway, we all survived (barely).

We're still getting used to the new apartment. Meaning myself and Micah. Avery is in hog heaven. The yard is fenced and there's a dog that lives outside who belongs to the maintenance guy. At first the dog terrified me, but that's just his through-the-fence demeanor. He's all business until he realizes you live there, now he just wants to come in our place and score some cold water. There are several dogs in the building, which means Avery essentially has another dog park right in his backyard, which blows his mind. You mean there are furry friends to chew on and chase? All the time? Suddenly I'm totally boring to him.

Living on the first floor is a dream. I had safety concerns at first, as anyone living on the first floor in the city might. But basically there's a guard dog outside our bedroom all day and night, one who looks menacing and barks like a badass. I love that I don't have to haul my ass up and down lots of stairs every time Avery wants out. Love it. And when my arms are full of a baby and all her gear, I'll be very thankful that I only have eight stairs to climb instead of eighteen. That sounds so lazy, but whoomp, there it is.

Lastly, I feel very pregnant lately. I pee all the time, and little miss seems to think kicking my bladder when it's basically empty is hilarious. Cuz then I run to the bathroom only to eliminate about a teaspoon. Talk about annoying. People are finally saying I look pregnant, which is both fun and mortifying. Baby showers are in the works and ankles are swelling, so there must be a baby just around the corner. Whoa.

coming up with titles really sucks my elbow

So I know I just went off on Victoria Beckham for never smiling, but I would like to redact that statement. I actually watched her Coming to America show, or whatever it was called, and I was captivated. Not only do I love her overuse of the word "major" (as in "wow, that woman has a major personality!") I found her charming and funny as well. I know she was probably playing it up for the cameras, but I still feel like I saw a side to her that didn't make me want to force-feed her a juicy T-bone in between smacks upon the cheek. Yeah, she's rich and spoiled and impossibly thin, but I don't so much have a problem with that. That scene where she gets invited to a lunch with the neighborhood Socialites (as they call themselves) and then gets drunk while analyzing them in voiceovers was priceless. I mean, those women could not have had more surgery. Could not. They scared me, and I'll betcha five bucks they scared Victoria, too. Those women were major.

Unbelieveably, it's like 80 degrees today and not humid at all. Just thought I'd mention that, seeing how it's nearly the end of July.

Which means I have a week and half to get ready to move. I'm pretty excited about it, even though the move is basically a downgrade. I'm really getting into getting rid of stuff. The crate of crap I'm taking to Goodwill is practically full, and I'm not finished. I'm also rewarding all of this crap removal by slowly purchasing affordable things that will spiff up the apartment a bit, such as new curtains, a shoe rack that hangs on the door, a bamboo rug for the bedroom, etc. I really, really love moving. I can't believe I managed to stay in that apartment for TWO YEARS. I haven't lived anywhere that long since my parents' house.

Some things to do this weekend:

- Celebrate Shelly's birthday with some mini-golf! WOOT!
- Crack open the Borat DVD I bought Micah for his birthday.
- Possibly swim, if it gets hot enough. I love that I can even say that!
- More packing, organizing, chucking.
- Watch Meadowlands, a new show on (I think) Showtime. Rosie O' gives it the thumbs up, and I am nothing if not her biggest fan. Oh, you didn't know? I read her blog every day. Love.

Oh, and from the positive responses I got about that poetry I posted (though of course y'all never use that handy COMMENT feature) I think I might start writing a weekly...thing. Just a...thing. Either poetry or prose or a bit of fiction...something that keeps my creative wheels greased. Because I love having a blog, but sometimes when I reread what I've just written I'm all meh about it. I'd like to try to impress myself and not just get some cheap laughs. Not that you all are cheap. Au contraire, you are luxurious. I'm the cheap one.

Over and out.

smile, bitch

Victoria Beckham has a lot to be happy about. She's happily married to a man considered among Earth's hottest, she's widely considered a style icon, and together they are playing the fame game with virile swagger. I'm sure you've heard - they're coming to your country next!

So why, pray tell, doesn't Posh ever smile? I've never seen her teeth. I feel extreme validation this morning, because E! News just confirmed my opinion! Don't you just love when that happens? We Americans just won't stand for that cooler-than-the-situation purse of the lips. See over here? We pay big money for our teeth. We want to see yours. So do be a good sunny-bunny and show us you're happy. If celebrities aren't happy...then I just don't know what to aspire to anymore. Somebody told Posh what we think of her and she said she's going to try and smile more. Now everyone knows her smiles won't be genuine.

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It must be the summer! Big Brother is back! A show which causes great strife in my life, or rather Micah's life. I repeatedly extol it's entertainment value while Micah goes all intellectual and tries to convince me it's okay to watch more than two hours of cable news every evening. I listen to NPR. I'm as informed as I would like to be. I know he listens whenever he can, too. I can admit I'm addicted to some really trashy programming, but Micah is a bona fide news junkie. Summer looks like it's going to be a season of televisional torture for the hubbs, what with So You Think You Can Dance and a smattering of terrible, additive game shows that rarely last more than one season.

So Big Brother. Have I really been watching it for eight years? Oh god, that's dedication. I remember the first and seventh seasons, but anything in between is just a muddled mess of southern accents, fake breasts, and incredibly inflated egos. It's fucking genius, I tell you. Call me lowbrow. Whatevs.
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Micah asked me why we don't have a baby name book. Precious! Because I am a terrible, selfish person who uses the internet and has had her fill of baby name resources. If it's out there, I've seen it, and chances are I didn't like it. I'm so glad he's thinking about it, though. We've tossed around about five names for a few months now, and we're still no closer to chosing one. I just feel hesitant to try and decide when I'm not totally positive that I've seen every name. I'm open to suggestions, but so far you all haven't uttered a single one! What, did I scare you off?
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Because I'm trying to keep last-minute scrambling to a minimum, I've been slowly packing up this apartment for about two months. Every weekend I'll pack another box or go through another stacked of discarded papers while hovering over my beloved shredder. It actually feels awesome to find a stack of something and start throwing things out. I've been carrying certain things with me from move to move since I moved to Boston almost ten years ago. (Fackin' christ is it almost time for a high school reunion? Noooo. Though my hot husband is great arm candy! In ya face!) Some of the things I can't bear to throw away, with no good explanation:

- a decorative candle of a wise-looking, floppy-eared, old Asian man. It's jade green and in surprisingly good condition. It's too cute to burn, and even if I wanted to I don't think I'm really supposed to - I tried to light it years ago and basically the wick is all for show, ie. decorative.

- a round patch with a horse head given to me at summer camp, where I used to ride everyday, all day, except for a break to take a swimming class. I never learned to dive at camp, and it was the only skill I couldn't master so I could "graduate" and never have to take the required class again. The patch is begging for a permanent home on a piece of fabric, but I just never want to commit to anything like that.

- plastic horses from a cake top. I don't remember which birthday.

- a bag of cassette tapes that got me through not having a CD player in my car for five years. It's crazy that they've made it so far, considering the heavy rotation and my tendency to lose things in the black hole that is Gabby's car. I'll have you know I have been much better at keeping my spaces clean lately, car included. There's a tape player on Micah's record player stereo thingy, so I popped in an Ani Living in Clip mix while I was cleaning this morning. It felt so cool and familiar. I finally forced myself to throw some of them away, like the ones that had obviously spent a sunny afternoon on the dash board, the ones with noticeable nastiness caked on, and a couple without stickers because I don't feel like investigating any further.

- two Polaroid cameras. I'm not sure why I need two, but I always think I'll want to use them for some artsy portrait project or give one away as a fun gift for a creative friend.

- a puppet horse that my Aunt Gloria gave me for Christmas a long time ago. It's in great shape for a stuffed animal. I guess now that I'm having a baby I want her to have it. I might just have to stuff my hand into it and talk to her like a horse. Yeah. She'll love that. And no, I won't demonstrate for you.

- a recommendation letter from my favorite English teacher. It's not that I read it regularly for a ego boost (I swear) I just think it might be useful someday. Do things like that remain relevant ten years later? I must admit I'm having a hard time with this ten year thing. I feel so different than the person I was in high school. So very, very much has happened. 95% of our classmates have no clue what the rest of us have agonized our way through or miraculously overcome since high school. It's a shame, really, because I bet a lot of those details would bond more than divide. I'm voyeuristic enough to have great curiosity about all those people. Not that I'd get that type of information at a reunion, and besides, it's not like I'm even going to a reunion. Right? It depends on how I look by then. Isn't that a sad statement.
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Try pudding in a waffle cone, if you're the type who buys ice cream and cones at the store. Please tell me it's not just me.
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I've officially gained weight during this pregnancy! Two pounds, with just three months to go. And it's not from ice cream cones, thankyouverymuch. It's from pizza, smoothies, fruit roll-ups, and root beer. Okay, ice cream cones too. But I mostly eat fruit and lowfat cottage cheese! This must mean...gasp!...my baby is growing.

ugh.

Do you know how weird it is to be six months pregnant and STILL be wearing your normal clothes? I've mentioned it before, but when I see the belly pictures of the skinny women on the pregnancy forum, it makes me insanely jealous. I should be thankful that I haven't had to spend money on maternity clothes. I fear that I've gotten off easy so far and that in the very last month suddenly my belly will explode and I'll have to buy bigger clothes for one little month of pregnancy. And I'll be very bitter about that if it happens.

Sometimes, I cry just because it feels good. Tears have never been so accessible. I feel a little dramatic when they come for basically no reason, but it doesn't stop it from feeling good.

If I had the baby today, she'd be able to live outside my womb. She'd probably need assistance breathing, but the fact that she's actually viable is really, really weird. I know I'll end up eating these words, but MAN has this pregnancy flown by.

School continues to be good, though I'm worried about starting a new term in August. Each term is ten weeks, which means I'll be expected to complete my final project a mere 14 days after my dute date. I'm thinking that final project will be the last thing on my mind. I'm not quite sure what to do, because I'm so eager to finish school that I don't want to even take one term off. Nevermind the fact that I've decided to go from two classes to one class after the baby arrives...that's extending my expected graduation by practically a year. Ugh.

The good news is that my new boss is considering hiring a temp until I feel like coming back to work. There are an assload of files here that are very important and frequently accessed for current projects, and considering my new boss works in Indianapolis and all the engineers based out of this office actually work from home mostly, it's really important to have someone here who can find files quickly. I was under the impression all the files would be moving to their respective new homes in KC and Indy, but so far they stay boxed up and shelved (yeah, I boxed them up all by myself, and now I'm bitter because it's annoying as hell to get those fucking heavy boxes down and find things). No one knows what will happen to the boxes. If they are still here several months after I give birth, I just might have a job to come back to. It would only be temporary, because I plan on trying to get what I consider a "real" job once I have that degree. But the fact that my boss is already thinking of having me come back means that perhaps I don't need to freak out about what we'll do about money once our meager savings is gone. Then again, the thought of coming back to this extremely boring job where I am extremely under-utilized does NOT excite me. The money, though? Enticing.

Isn't this the most exciting post EVER? Aren't you so fucking glad you stopped by?

Happy Fourth, or whatever

It's always fun to have a day off work which requires no excuses.

I was poking around on my computer and found something that made me remember why I love to write, why I love words, yada yada. I miss writing. Like really writing. From a quadrant of my brain that thinks a little more creatively. Or something like that.
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far south, near the shuttered paper factory
where the casino lights electrify the water
you pushed a damp whisper into my chin

we were holding hands for the first time
ashamed of my hatred of hand lotion
afraid you’d feel the fissures in my palm and think me rough

you smelled like what your home must
detergent and pretzels, burnt coffee
your hips made me want to build a chair around them

while the hammer was out, I’d build an altar to your lips
swollen pink jelly slugs that catch on your teeth when you speak quickly
teeth not meant to be orderly and tampon-white

the dent in your cheek, the oil slick on your crooked nose
things that made me the feel distinctly, entirely breakable
a herd of glass buffalo attempting ballet

a creature like you seems formed from absolute zero
no memory of mistakes or errors in evolution
imperfect brilliance sketched, crafted, accounted for.

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A funny little something:

Yesterday I was standing in the kitchen waiting for Avery to eat his food so I could let him out. Which is what I do every morning. He's so excited that everyone's awake that sometimes it takes awhile to get him to actually finish. Anyway, I was standing there watching him and suddenly I let out a fart that sounded like a machine gun. Popopopopppp. Avery spat out his whole mouthful of food, like he was afraid the food might be made of dynamite. It scared the crap outta him! And oh, did I laffff and laffff.
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Another funny happening was something Micah said. He has the most unexpected sense of humor. I mean his timing is unexpected and he can be so clever. God, now I'm just filling you with expectations, it probably won't even be funny anymore.

We were watching that show Dirty Jobs and Mike, the host, was helping in a bell factory. Where they made bells. One of the essential ingredients in a bell is manure, much to Mike's (and our) surprise. Before they got around to explaining it, I said, "I wonder why they need manure? That's so weird!" and Micah replied, "It's the part that makes the bell go dunggg, dunggg."

I'm still cracking up about that twenty-four hours later.
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I hope you eat BBQ and see some fireworks today. Cyndi Lauper is playing for free downtown tonight. I've actually known about this for awhile and kept thinking it would be so cool to go, but I never brought it up and now it's tonight and most people have plans already. Micah and I could just go, but...I am so against that fucking crowd that gathers down there on the Fourth. It's just kind of overwhelming. I'm such a dud sometimes. But it requires parking, chairs, orienting to toilets because I'll have to go all the the time, and I know it's going to be hot. I need to get my cool back, though, fo' reals. Boorrrrrinnnngggg.

what a girl wants

Just one aspect of why being pregnant is so foreign and alienating: you become a tortured hedonist.

I declare myself a hedonist. When I don't want to go to work, I don't. I rarely feel bad about it. When I want to procrastinate in favor of reading blogs or plucking my eyebrows, I do. I watch mind-numbingly stupid reality shows and complain if Micah wants to watch the news for more than an hour. I like to be happy. I like to indulge.

Because I'm pregnant, I can't always do that. One of my biggest cravings lately is sushi, which I obviously can't have. Last year, for the very first time, I had good sushi. Until that time I had only eaten the kind you buy at the grocery store that comes with a pack of soy sauce and a hunk of wasabi. This good sushi experience I had was kind of a religious experience for me. It took two hours. I felt free to order more because sushi isn't so filling. Sure, it set us back over $100 (with generous cocktail consumption) but it was well worth it.

I can't have sushi, cocktails, cigarettes, soft cheeses (oh Brie, baby, I'll be back soon!), or even lunch meat because of listeria. That means no Quiznos, no Subway, no easy-peasy turkey sandwiches when I don't feel like cooking. (Ok, fine, I could have lunch meat if I steamed it first, but honestly who the fuck wants steamed lunch meat?)

So that's the tortured part. But within the torture there is hedonism, because I AM PREGNANT, which pretty much means if I can have it, I shall have it whenever, wherever, in whatever portions I deem fit. Slurpees, for instance. Yeah, ok, sugar ain't so great for me...I know I'm at risk for gestational diabetes just like every other gestating woman, but COME ON. There has got to be some give with all the take.

I cannot stop thinking about all the alcoholic bevies I will consume. Even though it is not my intention to start smoking cigarettes again, I fully intend to buy myself a pack of Camel Lights and smoke the hell outta them while I'm out having drinks that first lovely postpartum evening. What I don't finish I'll give away. But I am definitely at the point where all the things I'm not allowed to have consume my thoughts.

I am the tortured hedonist. It sucks. Yes, it's worth it, and as the kicking in my belly continues to get stronger, I realize that certain sacrifices will always be worth it. Did I tell you I haven't gained a pound since getting pregnant? Fat = awesome so very rarely, I must boast about it.

i need to start playing the lotto

What am I supposed to do when things like this cost $30? Hm? Is it wrong to sell your body when you're pregnant? THIRD TRIMESTER pregnant?

Oh yeah, friends. We are in the final stretch. As you were.