I am not big on New Years. There is so much pressure for people to do a Big Night out. To have a great time. I think most people end up miserable. Or bored. I don't like resolutions because again, I think people promise themselves big things that they cannot live up to.

Last year's miscarriage on Decemeber 30th didn't make this time of year sweeter.

I made it through yesterday really well. I was and am proud of myself because I am still pretty raw around that experience. The only problem was that the Girl was pretty quiet yesterday. Not being as active. And I am terrible at counting kicks. At any rate she was still for most of the morning (typical) and I had flashbacks. To the dead embryo on the ultrasound screen. The bad news. The contractions. All of the blood in that bathroom. The emergency D&C.

But this pregnancy is not that pregnancy and The Girl is back to her normal tricks. I am 36 weeks on Saturday so she is almost fully cooked too. I had contractions last night, Braxton-Hicks, which kept sending J into a tailspin. He thinks I won't tell him if I am labor, or that I won't know.

I don't want to remind him that I had full contractions with the bleeding, that they told me that those felt very close to how the real ones would (this is how I know they motherfucking hurt plus no morphine this time).

I am feeling pretty lucky today (though tired, getting up for work this morning was hard after all of that).

Gratitude:
1. That it wasn't labor just yet. We really aren't ready. And The Girl really needs to stay put for at least a week because J is going to pick up his mom in California at the end of the week. And he needs to be here when she comes.
2. That it will be labor soon. I am pretty well done. My hips feel like they are splitting in two. My back is killing me. The BH contractions are really uncomfortable. Going to work is like torture (seriously, and I have a desk job, how do people who are on their feet do it?). I now understand why evolution had to make the third trimester suck so much. How else does squeezing an eight pound thing ever sound like a good idea?
3. The extra day off tomorrow.
4. Maternity leave. My company really does have a pretty good policy. I mean it's not Canada good but at least it's something. For this country that is amazing. And J and I are in a position where I should be cobble together 12 weeks off without sending us into the poorhouse. That is lucky and I am aware of how many women do not have this option.
5. My front loader washer and dryer. Taking on loads of baby stuff in a single bound.

Did I Mention the Cinnamon Buns?

This morning we went to Ikea to get the piece fixed that wasn't right for HomeGirl's dresser. And then bought a couple of hundred dollars worth of other stuff (a bed and bedding for J's mom who will be here in OMFUCKINGG a week). I am now completely exhausted from walking around. And sore. Because walking requires an elaborate musculature I just do not have? No idea.

But still. . .BEING POSITIVE, the gratitude flows for:
1. Ikea cinnamon buns. Who knew? Such deliciousness for a dollar. If they had more icing they would be perfect.
2. That my Mama and Daddy loaned me a car. J is taking mine to California Thursday and though I could probably get his to work (PROBABLY) it was stressing me out just thinking about it. If I wouldn't have to drive myself to my baby shower next week (location: THE ENDS OF THE EARTH) then it would have been fine, maybe. But I do and I am so glad I am not going to end up on the side of the road somewhere weeping about the clutch.
3. Brow powder. Somehow my eye brows have become really patchy and sparse. I've always used brow powder because they are so light but now I need it just to not look bald.
4. The 13's are here! Anyone not reading Julia's story, she has had a long journey to get here, including 11 miscarriages. But her twins are here!

Strong

I missed my massage this morning. Because I am a moron who lost her own keys. I managed not to cry though. Through great strength of spirit. I really wanted that massage though and so gratitude is very hard to come by today.

1. Online tetris. To pass the time I should have been getting a massage.
2. J's offer to rub my feet. Which I didn't take because I really wanted my MASSAGE.
3. That I really did manage not to burst into tears over not getting the massage. SUCH A STRONG WOMAN

I Am Squishy With Fluid

I started to panic today when I noticed my thighs were bigger and more ripply than they used to be. So far I have carried this baby all in front, just blasting my boobs and belly to ridiculous proportions but not doing much else (besides the inevitable hip spreading SIGH) so adding really super fat thighs to the mix (not like they were Heidi Klumesque before) was not helpful. Then I noticed that there was fluid just MOVING under the skin.

This is a joyous time.

Continuing on my theme of gratitude:
1. Traffic this week--if I have to work at least the rest of the world is off and not clogging the I-5 corridor. Tonight I got home in less than an hour. On a Friday.
2. Wireless internet--this post brought to you while I am pooping (TMI?).
3. The massage I am getting tomorrow. Probably the last of the pregnancy but lo do I need it.
4. Peanut butter. Protein baby.
5. My I-Pod. I swore to J that I didn't need it and certainly didn't need the big one. I was oh so wrong. There is no way to quantify the amount of crazy that thing insulates me from on the bus. Setting aside the hours of music and electronic entertainment it has brought, the anti-crazy benefits more than paid for the thing.

Gratitude

Work has been such a clusterfuck of suck the last couple of weeks that it has made me angry and bitter. Add that with the general shitty feeling of the third trimester and you have some one who is really pissed off (and anxious--dear GOD the anxiety) all of the time.

So I am doing something cheesy but trying to focus on the positive (like that bright and shiny leave that comes with the baby--we won't focus on that whole labor and pain thing just yet or the whole no sleep thing). So today I am grateful for:

1. Strawberry ice cream. Every day. I am already fat anyway.
2. My knit gauchos (that really went out of style a couple of years ago but please they are so comfy and pass for work appropriate), we won't think about how J mysteriously lost them.
3. My Heavenly Bed (it's in the name)
4. Dachshunds who lay in bed with me for hours.
5. That J is putting together the dresser for the baby and not me.

Bright and Shiny Jews

This week we finished our conversion and, in the words of my friend L (who I won't bother linking because girl never blogs anymore) became "bright and shiny Jews."

It has taken us a long time to get to this stage, even though we have considered ourselves to be Jewish for a long time, the whole process has taken a couple of years. Most of that work was internal, if you were raised in a Christian home it just takes time to decompress and figure out if this is really what you want to do. It's a new paradigm of thinking and there are a lot of things that have to change about your life.

That being said, we knew that this is what we wanted for ourselves and for our family and I am due in six weeks so it was time to get cracking. I feel very fortunate that since our rabbi left a rabbi from another temple was so kind to help us. We felt so welcome in their community that the full court press we got about joining their synagogue didn't feel too much at all.

I was nervous. This shocks no one who knows me well because I get nervous about any situation that I cannot control ( or predict) and it's only gotten worse since I have a horrible case of the pregnancy anxiety jangles. I am nervous to do anything, even oh so complicated things like get up in the morning right now, and it's just part of the hormone shift.

All we had left to do was our mikvah immersion and we were all set. I'd never been to a mikvah before and had only a elementary understanding of them. Mikveh are Jewish ritual baths, created out of "living water" (in this case rain water is collected and filtered and heated) and used for purificated. The only mikvah in this area is associated with an Orthodox temple but also utilized by a number of communities and they are wonderful enough to allow it's use for conversions for Reform Jews (which a lot of communities do not allow). Having a mikvah immersion as part of our conversion allows it to be seen as kosher by a much wider scope of Jewish communities. It also allows us to be eligible for the Law of Return to Israel. I've read and been told that the mikvah can been very emotional and spiritually moving. Since I am just not that kind of person that made me all the more nervous, that I would be expected to feel something that I am just not hardwired to feel.

They had never done this sort of double conversion before (which makes sense, it is unusually to have two partners convert) and I think the rabbis enjoyed the novelty. The second rabbi was alarmed when he saw me since I know he was told I was pregnant but was not expecting me to be so large and alarming (I have become very accustomed to scaring people now). I have to admit I did have a moment where I was like WHAT IF MY WATER BREAKS IN THE MIKVAH? Since both rabbis and our third witness were men, I missed part of what they were talking about because I was in the women's section. They did let me into the men's section so they could explain what to do to both of us at once and also so they could show me that while they would be in the room with J during his immersion that the would just stand by the door for mine and wouldn't be able to see me. I do understand that people are modest and of course keeping men out of the women's section is very important in that community but I did think it was pretty funny how worried they were that I would think that they were going to peep at me. No one wants to see me naked at this point I am pretty certain.

J went first and I sat waiting. It was interesting to hear since both of our Hebrew is HORRIBLE. When it was my turn all four of them were crowded outside the door (they decided J should be nearby in case I fell that way they had some one to deal with the large naked lady) fretting like old ladies about the stairs into the tub. It was set up nicely for me though, with small stairs and a handrail (older ladies use it too so I imagine this is a good feature for them). And the water was fantastic for my back--not a spiritual note at all but man I could have stayed in their all day.

I had been talking to the third witness (who also worked for our temple but isn't a rabbi) who is also a convert before it was my turn. They were all curious about why we hadn't finished our conversion last winter like we planned. And I explained about the miscarriage and how it just stoppped our lives for a while. He said that a lot of people use the mikvah to recover from events like that--that he used it when he got a divorce and also when he came out a few years later. That the mikvah can help open new life stages.

I wasn't thinking about the miscarriage in there though. I was glad to be doing it pregnant, like we were all converting as a family together (though she will not be a convert which was the point of doing this before she is born). A weird note, your center of gravity while pregnant is different even in the water so I tipped over and splashed loud enough that the nervous Nellies almost sent in the Calvary.

The conversion didn't change anything for me (or for J judging from our conversations). Which to me means that we were definitely ready.

And I am unduly amused that J's Hebrew name ends in a sound that is very similar to yahoo.

Oversharing for the Holidays

I've been rolling this around in my head (obsessing about it endlessly) since we got the letter and though I have promised J I will move on (I will! But haven't!) I just can't seem to stop.

My parents send out a Christmas letter each year and this year it had two things that made me lose my shit. One angrily. And the other is sadness.

The anger one is slightly petty and I am almost over it. They announced our baby's name. They were just excited first time grandparents and I am sure it didn't occur to them that maybe her parents would want to do that. You know, on the BIRTH ANNOUNCEMENTS. We're glad that you are excited but could you just hold it in a little better?

The sadness one. . . let me preface this that while I acknowledge that my parents are not perfect and did many things I would do differently they are really great parents and I aspire to be like them. I grew up in a healthy home, felt loved every day of my life, had my needs met and more, and now have a great relationship with two people who are able to be my friends too. I know that my parents would never intentionally hurt me. But.

They put my miscarriage in their Christmas letter. And it broke my heart.

I know that it is almost impossible to understand if you haven't been through it. But losing that baby was the worst time in my life. And though this pregnancy helps (and it does even though it SUCKS) it doesn't replace that baby. I know that J feels this way too. It's a strange feeling, because we want this baby so much so it is pretty much impossible to wish that the miscarriage hadn't happened (because she wouldn't exist) but at the same time . . .It is just still a painful event, intensely personal and something that we haven't shared with everyone we know, not even people we know very well.

And my parents announced it to every damn person they know. Some of whom I have never met.

It's been a few days and I am still crying about it. My father wrote the letter and he treaded very lightly on the subject and was tactful about it. But, like the name only more so, it wasn't theirs to share. I forgive them, of course I do, they didn't mean to do harm. But I am not over it. I feel exposed and raw and just sad. It is ten days until the anniversary of my D&C and I really didn't need to read about it in my parents' holiday greeting.

Merry Fucking Christmas indeed.

RIP Croc

So . . .the Croc is closing.

That bang you just heard is the door slamming shut on my teens y'all.

I saw my first all-ages show there (illicitly!), I saw my first show using a fake ID there. I saw Nirvana there and a bunch of other Seattle bands. J and I just saw Everclear there last spring, the night that I am pretty sure Miss Thang was conceived (what? Art gets me hot I can't help it the man has guns).

After an ugly relationship I stopped going to concerts. Didn't really do that scene at all anymore. But I have a million memories (ok hazy nights) of that club.

POSITIVE

Last week I had a variety of discounts and coupons and bought the Fekkai Glossing collection for my hair. This collection gets rave reviews in magazines and on beauty boards for making your hair shiny and soft. Since I am currently not loving much about my appearance trying to make my hair look prettier (for the low low price of 18 dollars) seemed worth a shot. I got the shampoo, conditioner and cream. They actually seem to work pretty well, my hair certainly is soft and shiny. A lot of people made the styling cream sound like the Holy Grail and sadly no such thing. It's probably the best blow-dry cream I've ever tried but I think I want the unreasonable. I really want a cream to put in my damp hair that will keep it from being poofy if it air dries without any heat styling products. I thought this is what straightening creams were for (when they first came out I actually thought straightening creams would actually straighten my hair--I was so so blind) but I have never had one be successful.

But it's a great blow-dry cream and my hair is very shiny and soft.

I also have a big giant stretch mark under my belly button. But we are focusing on the positive here.

The Real Survivor

I am now thirty three weeks pregnant. And really really want this baby to stay in for another month (once she is fully cooked she can feel free to fly her way down to freedom as far as I am concerned). But sadly, I kind of want to have her now because I really do not understand how I am going to make it another seven weeks. Or another seven days honestly. I am so exhausted from just going out with friends last night that I can barely move. And this week is the week that I stopped being able to breathe. Which is more troubling than you might think. Turns out that I really enjoy breathing. Who knew?

I don't know exactly how much weight I have gained--other than the rather vague A LOT. At least thirty pounds, maybe as much as forty, I don't actually want to know. I feel lucky that it's really all the belly and boobs (except for the HORRIFYING amount of fluid chilling in all my joints). The only issue with it all being in these spots is that I look like a cartoon (and scare people) and it's thrown off my body so much. My pelvis feels like it has been cracked in a million pieces, my lower back is swollen and bruised and while I can get up out of a chair pretty easily by myself (my chiropractor complimented my stomach muscles in that respect) it is pretty painful each time.

Billions of women have been through this and I am pretty sure they are all tougher than me. I am grateful for the experience, not because I really wanted to be pregnant (I have spent years trying to convince J that he should give it a go) but because we want a family and this is the right way for us to do this. I am not going to pretend at all that I have loved even a SECOND of being pregnant because I haven't. And this baby would be smart to come out very cute and also possible a good sleeper. I am just saying. I think that people who enjoy being pregnant for the most part have easy pregnancies. I have been sick every day of this time. I am in pain. I am pretty sure Miss Thang will be an only child. But I am sure she will be worth it. And we'll have our family. That's the important thing.

That and that somehow I survive the next few weeks.

A Week Later Is Anti-Climatic No?

This cold continues to be ugly--reducing me to a teary, weeping mess multiple times in the last week. FYI a sore throat and heartburn are very hard to tell apart and treating both simultaneously can cause crazy amounts of puking. Also, the third trimester is just sort of damp and we'll leave it at that ok?

I am having elaborate fantasies about not having to work much longer. Getting up for work feels like an unreasonable chore and my patience is so thin that I am white-knuckling a lot of human interactions. I am like a bomb ready to go off.

Mercy

Had a doctor's appointment today with fairly good results. All the things I've been doing, staying off my feet, resting, etc. are working and my blood pressure is down. The sour note? I am measuring at 33 1/2 weeks. Which would be groovy except I am only 31 1/2 weeks.

Oh little miss, please do not break my pelvis in two on your way out.

I Really Miss Lying On My Right Side

Things I used to do without any pain--or any thought at all--but now makes me whimper in agony:

1. lying on my right side
2. putting on pants
3. getting out of bed
4. getting into bed
5. waiting longer than half an hour to pee
6. wearing shoes
7. standing up
8. walking even at a snail's pace
9. laughing
10. breathing

Can you even stand the glamour of it all?

A Rant in Honor of Hanukkah

The miscarriage derailed a lot of things in our lives last year. And one of those things was our formal conversion to Judaism. We were pretty battered with grief for a long time and were not up to taking a big life step.

Of course, we hadn't counted on temple politics lending itself to no rabbi to help us. And that is how I found myself a few months ago begging around trying to find some one. We have, and our conversion is scheduled for a couple of weeks from now.

I have taken a lot of shit from many people, friends and busy-bodies alike, about "worrying too much about technicalities" when it comes to this conversion. And this pisses me off to no end. It is another case of people from one religious tradition (in these cases Christianity) and applying those norms to all traditions. And judging those traditions rather bitchily at that. Because in Christianity faith is the most important thing and the rest can be sorted out later. No child is born Christian and many sects require an adult baptism anyway--so not being baptised as a child is no big deal. But Judaism is defined by laws and traditions. The law is a very important thing. You can have faith and be part of a community but if you are not legally Jewish than you aren't--no matter what your identity is.

Our community doesn't much care about it's members being Jewish. But other communities do. And there are many rights that are afforded Jews that are not non-Jews. Since we are going to raise our daughter to have a Jewish identity, than I feel like I owe her those opportunities and protections. Liken it to being a citizen vs. having a green card. Citizens have a lot of protections that are just not available to others. Being legally Jewish could mean that for her, she would have her life cycle events within the temple if she chooses and has rights to the Law of Return (the rabbis in this area take care to make converts eligible for this). This is especially important in our current political climate (for those who think I am being paranoid look at what has happened to Muslims in this country since 9/11)--I just don't think that anyone can guarantee that Jews will ALWAYS be safe in this country.

I make a sincere effort to recognize the differences in structures between Judaism and Christianity so that I can understand where my friends, family and colleges are coming from. And I do recognize that this is easier for me since I was brought up in a Christian home. But goddamn people, have the ability to accept differences between people and their beliefs.

It's the same thing with Christmas. I recognize that many people, including Jews, celebrate a secular sort of Christmas with Santa Claus and presents and I am glad that this works for those families. It doesn't work for us. We'll do Christmas with my parents in a we-celebrate-this-with-family kind of way. And we won't be celebrating Hanukkah as a Christmas substitute. Again, the holidays are not related and are not the same tone at all. Pretending otherwise is really disrespectful to both Jews and Christians. And getting up in my face like I am scarring my kid who isn't even fucking born yet is just annoying and sanctimonious. In my experience Santa is all about the parents. Little tinies don't understand Santa and are frightened of him. Then there are a couple of years where kids enjoy it. And then they figure out that he isn't real and there is this weird betrayal time (which is an interesting thing to do to a kid in connection to a religious holiday--Santa isn't real but God is trust me would I lie? OH WAIT).

I don't judge parents for doing Christmas, regardless of their religious beliefs. I don't judge them for doing Santa. I don't judge anyone for raising their kids with the value system that they feel most comfortable with. People do what they think is best.

It's weird how these things don't apply to those of us with beliefs outside of Christianity.

Cake = Divine

100% of babies agree.

He Promised

I haven't really gotten dressed in four days. Even yesterday, going to the chiropractor and Target, I just did the Tim Gunn horrifying sweats thing (with a thermal and faux Uggs!) and now today even though the snow is melting we are just chilling at home in our PJs.

My main activity today is waiting for J to make a cake. HE PROMISED.

What? Target Is Exhausting

It's snowing like a motherfucker here. It'll probably (hopefully) all be gone tomorrow, but for now it's making staying inside and napping all the more appealing. As if I needed something else to make it appealing.

This morning I went out for the first time in more than forty eight hours. I went and got a neck adjustment and massage and while my head is still sore, it is worlds better than it was two days ago. I am not wanting to die at this point which is a lovely improvement. I am trying not to take any medication for it today, just to see if I can. The meds make me so sleepy and so out of it that they won't work for a word day so I am trying to do all the right things to get ready to work on Monday.

Missing work stresses me out, not because anyone says anything (they don't) but because I am desperately afraid that they are going to fire me. I know that this is a pretty baseless anxiety but I can't seem to help myself. My boss has asked me if I want to go down to six hour work days and I can't help but worry that means she is trying to ease me out. WHY AM I LIKE THIS?

It doesn't help that people think I am huge. Well I am huge. I am carrying entirely in the front, which is a good thing I think, but there is no escaping the big giant belly. I look nothing like the glowing Heidi Klum. I just look large and threatening. At the chiropractor's office this morning the receptionist thought I must be due in December (I keep rounding up and telling people late January). The chiropractor himself said, "But you are SO BIG!" He is a doll and meant it nicely but really folks, I had an early ultrasound, my dates are not wrong. My mother carried this way too and so it isn't a huge surprise to me. But it is pathetic that when I get into an elevator the other passengers look a little panicky like they might be forced to deliver me.

I do think that I will probably be a bit early (which means I have DOOMED MYSELF to a late delivery) just because she is so large. And if I feel like this, so tired and worn, than I won't even be attempting a natural birth (that sound you heard is J laughing since he plans on forcibly medicating me if necessary). I have no desire to feel the pain or anything, I just kind of believe that it's best to not have too many expectations (FOR ME). But yeah, I don't think I would be making it very far as of right now. I get worn out going to Target.

Losing My Shit

On Wednesday night I was admitted to the maternity triage unit for observation. I had a headache that laughed in the face of Tylenol and some swelling. These are symptoms of pre-eclampsia. Everything turned out to be fine and J got to hear Little Miss Imitating Dancing With The Stars thrashing about and we came home.

My headache got worse.

And worse. In the top five of worst migraines I have ever had category. Which I was taking on basically unmedicated. I stayed home from work yesterday and tried everything that have ever worked on even taking the EDGE off of a migraine for me. Heating pads, ice bags, icing my hands (this does work sometimes), stretching, attempting to nap, dark room, light room, massage, pressure points . . .I tried it all. And nothing helped, it just got progressively worse. And I . . .well I lost my shit.

I have found in the past couple of weeks that I have lost some of the control I had of my emotions. I cry more easily (FABULOUS), my moods change quickly and I am anxious. DEAR GOD I am anxious. The books say this is normal, all having to do with hormones and well damn that makes sense plus I have some serious stress in my life about work and you know, some life changing shit happening. I have tried to have patience with me.

This was scary though. Because I really did start to believe that this headache was never going to stop. That I would have it forever. Those who have migraines, especially the kind that go on for weeks know that despair. But this was worse. Because I REALLY believed it. And I started crying and couldn't stop. I kept throwing up. I just couldn't get a grip on myself.

Fortunately, the doctor called in some pain medication for me and J went and got it for me. And basically forced it down my throat. And then lectured me for not calling him and telling him to come home (does anyone else see my point that it seemed weird to make my husband come home because I had a headache though). The pain tapered off enough that I cheered up a lot.

I still scares me though how anxious I was, how I could not get a hold of myself. I really felt crazy. With my history of depression I have been cataloging all kinds of resources for myself post-birth. Our hospital provides a lot of support for PPD and I have already brought up my concerns with my doctor.

But does anyone have experience with this pregnancy anxiety? Is there anything that can help you cope? I have long enough to go that I need to figure out a way to get a grip. And I am at a loss as to how to do that.

Doing the Best We Can

So I landed in Triage at the hospital again tonight. Had a crippling headache with an aura that wouldn't be touched by Tylenol. To me that screams migraine to OBs that screams Pre-ECLAMPSIA RUN BITCH RUN.

After the girl pulled her usual tricks of kicking the monitor (she really doesn't like everyone all up in her business) she impressed the nurse with her loud-ass slam dance routine she likes doing in there. And we were released.

I am just going to love all the bills I am going to get from the hospital aren't I?

I still feel like shit. Headache going strong, dizzy as hell and so sore I can barely move. But we're just trucking along here. Doing the best we can.

I SMELL LIKE THE WEIRD KID IN THE BACK OF THE ROOM?

This morning I had to sit next to a smoker on the bus. Not a casual, I just had a morning cigarette smoker, but a it's 6:30 and I have had a pack and might light up on this bus even though it is illegal kind of smoker. She reeked. The cigarettes were leaking out of her pores.

Even though I used to smoke I really hate the smell. And when I did smoke I was really paranoid about anyone smelling me. I am sure I fooled very few people but I made the attempt. And now I am really sensitive to the smell.

But the smell sort of clung to me and halfway through the morning I just freaked out. When you were a kid remember your friends' house would smell really different than yours? Not like bad but just weird. Like their parents smoked in the house, only stopping when they had their surprise baby, and they fried everything in oil (not that there is anything wrong with that) and never wiped the grease off the hood? Just me?

I smelled like that house and WOE WOE WOE why did I smell like that? No idea. But it was making me crazy. I scrubbed my hands. I went and sprayed myself with perfume. And obsessed about it (SHOCKING).

I came home and showered and scrubbed and I still cannot quite shake the feeling that I smell like fried pork chops.

Damn Allure

If you are like me, and have a semi-unhealthy love of beauty magazines, you are fixated on a couple of beauty products. These are products that all the magazines rave about and are just out of the range of affordability for me. Every once in a while, I will cave and try something--with mixed results. This is how I got my T3 blow dryer, which was pretty much life changing (less boof to the hair, doesn't make it feel crunchy and takes less than half the time) but also the reason I tried Kiehl's Silk Groom which is sort of meh and I use in a couple of ways because I've found that it does several things ok for me but nothing really well. These magazines are also why I keep buying Maybelline's Great Lash which is just utter crap but they all rave about it.

So for years and years, every damn beauty article in pretty much every major magazine features one brush, the Mason Pearson. Yeah, over a hundred bucks for a brush.

I am vain and fussy about my hair. And have found that really, good shampoo and conditioner and great tools like flat irons and blow dryers make a huge difference. There are bargains to be had at the drug store but for the most part the good stuff really is better. And my last hold out has been the brush. Mine is a fairly cheap Clairol job, neon yellow, that had a plastic tag that boasted about Ions or something.

But Allure Magazine recently reviewed (rather favorably) the Sonia Kushak knock off of the Mason Pearson and at fourteen bucks that was a price I could get behind. Aesthetically, it is so much nicer looking than my Clairol it is ridiculous. The handle seemed small but I think it is meant to be more of a carry around, travel style (which meh . . .I haven't carried a brush in my purse since the seventh grade when I had one of those suckers with the hairspray pump in the handle--SHUT UP you know you had one, how else were your bangs that stiff). The brush is a mix of stiff and soft bristles. The bad? It's crap for blow drying, at least for me. The handle is too short for me and the bristles aren't long enough to really grab onto all of my hair. This might be less of a problem for some one who doesn't have as much hair. The good? A lot of brushes, including my current one, make my hair puffy and boofy when brushed dry. Which means I don't brush my hair very often (HOT LOOK). This was no big deal when I had short hair meant to be worn messy but is just sad now that my hair is past my shoulder blades. This brush detangles but keeps the hair smooth and shiny. It doesn't puff it up or fray the ends and lo and behold . . .I actually brush it now.

If I had paid over a hundred dollars for this brush, I would have been deeply disappointed. But I am thrilled with my little fourteen dollar bargain. Of course, this does feed the idea that the real thing must be so MUCH BETTER.

Damn those beauty magazines.

Favorite Holiday

Thanksgiving is pretty much my favorite holiday. There are no religious complications, no pressure for anyone, no fussy clothes or things to set on fire. In my family we keep it low key, just the five of us this year, with lots a gorgeous food and naps afterwards and yeah, my mom and I played a board game from the 50's.

Sometimes I feel a little guilty that Miss Thang won't ever have the crazy cousins Thanksgivings that we had as kids, with tons of people at my Grandma's house and a turkey and a ham because you have to have two meats. The kids ripping the house to shreds and people everywhere and man we had a great time. She won't get that. If she has cousins they will live 3000 miles away. I imagine next year will involve everyone trying to feed her things that I don't want her to have because she will be pre-allergy line. And they will get pissy with me. And we will have much the same day as we had today. At least I hope so. I think it's my favorite day of the year.

I have so much to be thankful for:

My husband, who is a giant asshole but is my asshole and also pretty damn great.

My family, who are so supportive and fun and sent me home with a cubic butt-ton of turkey. My parents are going to be crazy grandparents which I had a set of those--the kind that thought my sister and I ruled the universe--and every kid deserves at least one. To have two is a blessing beyond measure.

My friends, who make me laugh and listen to me complain and re-assure me that No, you do not look like a pregnant elephant.

My job, because it pays the bills and that's no small thing.

And most of all, that after the worst New Year's ever, somehow J and I caught a one in a million chance and got pregnant by accident. I don't know if I would have worked up the nerve on my own. And now we get to have this little girl. Who will have a name SOMEDAY I AM SURE RIGHT?

Also, I don't have to be pregnant more than ten more weeks MAX.

See? Favorite holiday.

Weekend Update

Awesome thing discovered today: TVGasm is recapping that horrifying (only watchable in five minute shots) Tila Tequila show! Which means I don't have to drown myself in shame anymore! WOOT.

I'm sort of bored really, because I don't feel up to much. And my family (and J) are obsessively telling me to rest. I spend more time in bed than is strictly necessary but my hands are still swollen (something no one but my mother understands, because my hands are really teeny and smaller than hers generally but not right now, night now they look like oven mitts compared to normal) and this morning my face was sort of a puffball. This is annoying but it is what it is. And swelling on it's own isn't that big of a deal. Except my joints all hurt, that really sucks.

I thought I would be busting out of the house with boredom by now really but I am just sort of tired. I guess I am just down for the next couple of months, planning any fun pretty carefully. Which is sad because, LAST MONTHS OF FREEDOM, but is not really bothering me much. I suppose I'll regret it later.

On Thursday night I came home to a police business card stuck in my front door. Our neighbor saw our front door open (and no one being home) and called the cops (which is really great of him). Nothing is missing and it is possible that J just didn't latch the door properly (that has happened before). But he swears he remembers locking the door and I believe him. Which is freaking me out but it's almost like I am not even up to dealing with it.

That sounds dumb when I am typing it out, it is dumb clearly, but we haven't done anything so we are pretty dumb in general. We'll have to do something, I have no desire to be hacked up by some crazy person who would break into my house but not take anything? GAH

Fine. No Worries

I was supposed to have my glucose test today so I took it off. They did it Monday night at the hospital but I decided to take the day off anyway. As a side note, seriously, that test is no big deal. The stuff tastes like super sweet Orange Crush. I mean I wouldn't want to drink it every day but it isn't gross or scary the way people act like it is. If I hadn't been in the throws of Swellfest 07 with Side Trip To Triage I might have liked it.

Everyone is being really great about what happened. My bosses have arranged a special schedule for me (which I was really scared about) so that I won't be on my feet too much. And they've told me if I need to leave, I need to leave and it is fine. We will work it out. I know that it would be a huge inconvenience for them if I went out early on bedrest (for me too) but I also know that they really want me and the baby to be safe. Which is a good feeling.

But my family is making me crazy. My dad sends me vaguely threatening emails about "keeping safe" and acts like I am breaking rules by going to work. For the record my doctor has not told me to stay home. She told me to "take it easy" and "do what I feel up to" which is exactly what I have been doing. To be honest, I am probably being too cautious but it is what feels right to me. But having my dad (who seriously is the worst person to do this because he doesn't take a sick day if he is DYING) lecture me about what is important? NOT HELPFUL. Even though I do recognize that he doesn't mean any harm and is trying to help.

I feel pretty good. I mean every joint in my body HURTS and my wedding ring wouldn't fit on my pinkie but I feel pretty good. To be fair my belly does HURT, which I am reassured is normal. I have this mental image of The Girl in there chipping away at my pelvic bone with a tiny rock hammer, admiring the shape she is creating and tucking the shards into her pocket (where would she have pockets you ask? My mother has been waiting for a grandchild since the beginning of time I am fairly certain she has found a way to sneak fetal dresses in there). I am in bed a lot, and am well caught up on Dr. Phil at this point. I just feel like a big bother and hate making everyone worry. I really will be fine. My current goal is to make it to Christmas. And then we will worry about January. And after that? We'll be at 37 weeks and girlfriend can fire when ready.

In the meantime, no one should worry. The dogs are taking good care of me, we have episodes of Forensics Files to watch on the DVR and Cheerios to eat. We're just fine.

No PONY

So today . . . blew chunks.

I told my pal L (who I don't link, because she isn't really blogging anymore) about my swelling yesterday. And she nagged me into calling the nurse at my OB's office. Since my doctor is near my house and it is a giant pain in the ass for me to get there I only wanted to go in if I needed to and as the tie breaker the nurse had me go down to the drugstore and use their blood pressure monitor.

It was really fucking high (for me).

So off to the doctor I went. And I was admitted into the hospital for monitoring. Since J is in Montana, I was on my own. Everything is fine, the baby is fine, I'm fine. Just having to be careful, take it easy and silently freak out.

Technically this baby is viable. But 28 weeks is way too early. She needs to cook another couple of months. So stay in there little girl. No ponies out here for you.

Counting Down

J's big thing lately is that each week we have to check something off the list. He is very concerned about having everything all set on time. Part of me agrees with him, it's nice to see things progressing, but part of me is like oh get over yourself because the kiddo doesn't give a shit if everything is all perfect. Mostly I am glad that he has put himself in charge of something.

Not that he is in charge of researching anything or deciding what we need to do--that's all on me--but he is in charge of actually getting us to do things. Which is valuable but I can't help but wish that he would pick up an issue of Consumer Reports or something.

We went out last night, hanging out with friends at their house. But this morning I woke up all swollen and sore. It's a little scary how that can happen. Since I am in the third trimester now, it feels like I am just trying to outlast this thing. Just cook the kid as long as possible without anything horrible happening.

There are worse things than a day in bed. But I've got 12 weeks to go. And I really don't want to do all of them in bed.

Jiffy Popping

When I was a little kid my family used to get a cabin in Minnesota each summer for a couple of weeks of vacation. We went to the very cheesy Paul Bunyan Land (which appears to have the EXACT same rides as when we went 20 years ago), swam in a lake, fished for tiny Blue Gills, got mosquito bites the size of silver dollars and watched the dog jump off the dock 84,000 times a day. I remember that on rainy days my dad would brown hot dogs in butter on the gas burner and we would make Jiffy Pop (I am sure we ate other things but other than those tiny Blue Gills I have NO IDEA what). For those of you with deprived childhoods, Jiffy Pop was a little aluminum pan of popcorn that you heated over a stove or (for the daring) flame and it popped up into the foil making a bizarre shape. The popcorn was good I suppose but the fun was in trying not to burn the fuck out of the bottom and watching the weird as thing happening under the little foil tent.

So last night my belly looked exactly like a thing of Jiffy Pop. A little burst on this side, then it moves to the other, then everything goes wild at once. It was surreal. So I call J in because this isn't what people describe--I can't see like a defined elbow or anything moving around, it just looks like homegirl is in there doing the Cha-Cha like she is on fucking Dancing With The Stars. I have to admit that I was a little afraid the belly was going to pull a Jiffy Pop disaster and split right down the center with all the action. But I want J to see this, because frankly it is really kind of gross and I don't feel like the grossness should be experienced only by me.

And she stops.

Damn her. Messing with me already.

Bad Things Come In Threes So This Better Be It

I actually got up in time to make the early bus this morning. Of course the driver was early and left the five us chasing the damn bus. That's right, he left a pregnant lady chasing him.

When I got to work the elevator wasn't working properly. And I ended up walking up the stairs (SEVEN FLIGHTS) and being very sorry. My legs did ok (which is amazing given the extra weight I am carrying) but my lungs just about collapsed. Girlfriend is shoved up into my ribcage and my lungs are smooshed under normal circumstances but walking that far? DAMN.

When I got home tonight I managed to clog up the toilet, even though it wasn't like a spectacular shit or anything. I couldn't unclog it (which given my sister's troubled history with our plumbing when she flushed q-tips and cotton balls and messed up those pipes forever is quite EXTENSIVE). J got home and spent a long time and couldn't unclog it. He went and bought a snake and he couldn't really unclog it. He called Roto Rooter and was threatening the toilet with an intervention when it miraculously unclogged itself.

HALLELUJAH

For those playing at home, I am seven months pregnant. My legs and ankles swell up into hourglass shapes each night and end up peeing out a lot of fluid. Last night I peed seven times in an hour last night. The thought of having to go outside, walk in the rain, unlock a door and go into our cellar in order to pee all night, would be a NIGHTMARE.

So as far as I am concerned J is a genius.

But I do feel like I should go to bed and not touch anything again.

Definitely Boobs

Since I work at the Chickiest Place on Earth it is not surprising that we were all talking about hair today. What is surprising was this woman complaining about how her hair is always flat and dry and awful looking (and admiring a bunch of ours) and then admitting that she doesn't use conditioner.

Me thinks some one doesn't understand cause and effect.

In some ways, this reminds me of my mother's attitude towards moisturizer. She won't use it, never has and is BEWILDERED by her dry skin. And if she does put something on, it "doesn't work" if her skin doesn't morph into that of a twenty-five year old. Because if you could turn back the clock that much it would cost twenty bucks at the Kiehl's counter.

At any rate, this woman just assumed that everyone lept out of bed with their thick shiny hair and hers was just terrible genetics and DOOM. Does anyone feel like a grown woman who can't go get at least some Pantene deserves shitty hair? Yeah, me too.

I have super thick hair with some wave to it. So to whip it into top condition I need to do the following:

shampoo roots only
deep condition from middle shaft to ends (deep condition after every shampoo, I don't worry about flat hair with a poof ball like mine)
comb through conditioner
wait as long as possible
rinse for a really long time
towel dry and put a bunch of leave in conditioner from mid shaft to ends
let air dry a couple of hours
distribute some sort of cream throughout hair
blow dry straight layer by layer
flat iron layer by layer
repeat every other day

Admittedly, my honest routine that happens most often is the complete cleansing and conditioning bit (HAVE TO) then
let air dry until right before bed
distribute hair cream
do half-ass blow dry
wake up cursing self for half-assed blow dry
flat iron ends and bangs
put into bun or ponytail
repeat every three days, using baby powder on roots if necessary the third day

But still, that is way more involved then:
wash hair, probably with fucking ivory soap
towel dry
use PICK (I KNOW IT IS 1985)
curse genes

Goddamn, if I don't write about being knocked up I am whinging about hair. What the hell to men obsess about? Boobs?

A Few Things

Buster is mewling like a lost kitten in the damn living room. He is just so pathetic about the curtains blocking his view of the street. I finally caved and opened them a couple of inches so that he could keep up his Constant Vigilance! He is still sad out there, with mournful sighs and much moping. Damn Dog.
***

Surprising but not unwelcome pregnancy side effect: my leg hair isn't really growing much anymore. Not that I would be shaving much more often than once a week anyway but still. I don't really seem to need to do that.
***

When I was like sixteen, seventeen I was convinced that I could NEVER leave my current boyfriend because no one else in the entire WORLD would ever want to have sex with a girl with weird knees like mine. Yes, I really believed that I would be naked with a boy and he would see my knees and FLEE LIKE THE WIND. Now that I understand a little bit more about men I realize that it is unlikely that any man I've ever slept with could pick my knees out of a line up of two. Oh the angst that could have been avoided.
***
People really need to stop touching my stomach at work. We don't know each other that well. And also, I am quickly losing my civility. Right now I can grit my teeth and smile wanly. In another month I will probably stab your hand with my mechanical pencil and club your face with a three hole punch. Is it really worth the risk?
***

I am going to start telling people my due date is in January. Honestly, I don't really think I am making it all the way to February (even if it might be easier for everyone) and besides people hear February and think end of. I am big for my due date but I am HUGE for one three or four weeks later.

Only the Important Details

J and my dad were brutally productive this afternoon. While my mother and I bought tiny baby socks at the mall, they assembled the crib, found out the light fixture we bought for that room wouldn't work (DAMN IT), hung the drapes in the living room (which we've been meaning to do since August) and fixed our bedroom door so that it shuts (which it hasn't since we moved in two years ago).

Frankly, I am tired just typing that.

Then we all ate onion rings. Or at least that is what I remember.

JOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCE

J and I both had rough days at work yesterday. He dealt with his with loud venting and drinking many shots very quickly and I dealt with mine by sipping a diet coke and picking his ass up.

And then venting when I had him home and trapped.

At least yesterday was Friday and we both have time to get into acceptance phase with it all before going back to work. And it's massage day! The best day of the week.

I've been really lucky in that I still sleep great. At seven months I know a lot of people are just not that comfortable and can't sleep. Eight hours of sleep is the difference between a reasonable facsimile of AB and a horrifying monster who will rip your eyeballs out so I am sure everyone agrees this is a Good Thing. My only issue is really that I now cannot get through a night without peeing (SAD) and without the 4am thirst. I usually make it through the water bottle I have on the nightstand by then and the kiddo is screaming for apple juice. I am pretty sure she is in there doing the black power salute and bellowing "JOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCE" from the sense of urgency I feel. I could do without that, frankly, but I suppose I should count my blessings.

She is only shrieking from the inside.

Skipping Tomorrow Would Be Helpful

I did not get one trick or treater last night. However, given my weepy pitiful state it is probably just as well.

This morning I felt much more rational about the whole thing. I was dutifully reassured by my friend L (who I am not even going to link because girlfriend hasn't blogged in like two months) who said she had gained nearly as much at this point in both her pregnancies (I am going to pretend that I don't realize that she was also thin to start and heh she hit that milestone at seven months and I am not quite). I am just going to try to get off my ass more. It's a doable goal.

I am writing this drivel from my shiny laptop which has been returned! WHOOOT. J wisely hid the true cost of the repair from me until it was already done. This pisses me off because HI I AM ADULT but also pleases me because he truly knows how cheap I am and I would have been without a laptop for a loooong time.

I woke up this morning with a sinus headache (I actually fell asleep with one so no shocker) and well halfway through the day and BAM my left eye swelled shut. SO SEXAY.

I am just going to look ahead and think about Saturday.

Fatty Failure

I've gained a lot of weight. People smile when I say this, and immediately jump in with "but you're pregnant!" as if I have somehow forgotten when said pregnancy has enabled me the wondrous experience of having fetal tap dancing on my bladder. But as of my doctor's appointment this afternoon I have gained twenty five pounds. Which, honestly, could have been a nice gain for the whole pregnancy. I have more than thirteen weeks to go. If I am honest it is all in the front (except the huge amount in my boobs and the water pooling in my ankles) which is a positive but let us not kid ourselves. Kiddo weighs about two pounds right now, she isn't driving this bus.

I was not small to begin with, I don't think of myself as tall though technically I am. Almost 5'8". And I have the blessing/curse of being able to carry more weight than people imagine I am. This is a blessing because who wants to look like they weigh more than they do? But at the same time, I am not light. I am a solid German girl.

I have to confess I had hoped I would be one of those women who wouldn't gain that much since I wasn't tiny to begin with. Yes, my weight was normal, but it's the high end. And I didn't need to do the sixty pound pregnancy thing like my mother. Pregnancy has exposed to me how really fucking shallow I am. I don't like looking this fat. I don't like being this weight. And when my doctor mentioned that it was a little high I just heard the chimes of doom in my head.

Honestly, I should have asked her to clarify for me, because I am an obsessor. So is this something I should freak out about and eliminate sugar and worry and fret or is this just a sign that maybe I should get off my ass a little more often? But I didn't ask and now it's like the day after a big date, well how did she say it? It's sad really.

I wish I could say that I have been eating really well this whole time. I don't think I am eating a ton but I mean it's not all lean meats and vegetables, if it were I wouldn't worry. This would just be how my body does pregnant. But I mean I have been eating a lot of carbs and lets be honest there have been cookies and cereal and that two weeks of really intense ice cream. I am thinking in terms of how our culture thinks of food--good and bad--something that I try not to do. My mother dieted my entire childhood and with my sort of fretty personality I could morph into crazyland food issueville FAST. I don't want to do that. But I don't want to doom my kid to childhood of obesity because I can't put down the peanut butter either.

Weightgain during pregnancy is a hot button issue. There are eighty-seven million articles about how you shouldn't gain too much weight (but they never really say how much is too much, they just tell you the averages which aren't adjusted for height and starting weights) but never ever diet either. Which just leaves you with worry. And feeling like you have already failed.

Fuck. I thought I escaped my mother's diets and my women's college with a pretty decent body image. Guess not.

Babbling

As a Cubs fan I am supposed to be rooting for the National League team but feh I hate the damn Rockies. I have no good reason other than the phrase "Rocktober" makes me want to cut their marketing team into tiny little pieces.

So hopefully the Red Sox wrap up this shit tonight and we can all just think about how the Cubs will blow their season next year.

We bought a crib today. Um. Is a baby going to be moving here? My sister has been so sweet (and has been knitting like a fiend I think) and offered to sew baby bedding. But after another disastrous fabric store trip last weekend I told her I give up. There isn't anything cute out there. Apparently I am the only person who isn't into pastels and bears for babies. I have a feeling that this kiddo will be sleeping on the two pack of plain white sheets for 9.99 at Target. She'll get used to disappointment I am sure.

Did you see that we bought a crib? A CRIB FOR A BABY?

I slept for 20 of 36 hours Fri/Sat and woke up feeling a little perkier. If I could just stay in bed and only get up for soup and raisin bran I think this pregnancy/cold thing would be a breeze. Sadly, it is back to work tomorrow.

How many subjects have we covered so far?

Last night we went to a surprise party for a friend of ours. His fortieth birthday. WTF y'all, how do we have a friend that is forty? It was a friend night, and I was BRAVE because it involved socializing with people I didn't know. Especially the guest of honor's mom who was a scream and also had maybe one wrinkle and at sixty-six could have gotten carded at the restaurant. But I talked to strangers y'all! Like a big girl.

Fuck, maybe I still have a fever? I am babbling.

The Plague

I'm home from work today. For the last couple of weeks my neighbor at work has had what I have semi-jokingly called the plague. He has a cough, a sore throat and is either fever flushed or shaking with the chills. He gets better and then worse. It's awesome!

He has stayed home a couple of times but somehow his wife and kids and him just keep passing it around and can't get it. I'm not Catholic but maybe they need an exorcism? All week I could feel myself slipping down into this sick funk. And this morning my face melted off and my throat screamed and I whined enough that J said "baby you should stay home."

J works all the time now. I am trying hard not to take it personal. Because it really isn't. He is working on a big project (which sadly doesn't deliver until a couple weeks after the baby is due) and until then well his ass is at work. It makes this pregnancy even more lonely but it's also my high stress season at work so I should understand. I do have moments when I can't seem to keep it in my head that this is temporary. That he won't be at work late every night until the end of time. There are nights when the chimes of doom get to me.

Those nights happen when I have a sore throat especially.

The plague is not making me a joy to be around. Except to Darla who thinks the bedridden me is fucking fabulous. We are propped up on pillows and watching 90210 on Soapnet.

Too Bad It Didn't Knock Him Unconcious And He Wouldn't Remember

J and I switched sides of the bed a few weeks ago. Our bedroom is t-tiny and the space between the bed and the dresser was starting to become a tight squeeze for me. Besides, his side had a straight shot to the bathroom which was An Issue. We had been sleeping on the same side of the bed for our entire time together--regardless of the room orientation--so switching had some rough patches. Namely, he still fucking tries to sleep on this side and just push me off. He now bangs into the furniture the way I used to. And well, my alarm clock is on his side. One of the joys (!) of an old house is that there are about three outlets in the whole place. We have surge protectors and power strips everywhere but for modern, electric gadget people this is tough. So the alarm clock is on his new side. And I get up like three hours before he does. And he cannot fucking figure out the clock. He always ends up turning on the radio or throwing it. So the current solution is that I lean over him and turn it off (this means there is no snooze button which means I often just go back to sleep but you know . . .we all do our best).

This morning I leaned over and basically . . .well crushed his face with my belly. Because the pregnant belly has no give.

Why do I feel like if he gets a black eye that fucking story will get told over and over until I rip my own face off?

In other news my lap top is off being repaired but sadly the Sony center is right in the middle of those damn fires. I know these fires are tragic for many reasons that are much more important than my computer but I DON'T CARE BRING BACK MY PRECIOUSSSSSSSSS.

Woot Indeed

My laptop mysteriously died the other day. Of course when I say mysteriously died I am really saying I am pretty sure J spilled something on it. This is a damn shame because I love my laptop and the glorious freedom of playing on the internets while lounging like a lazy trollop in bed. And also because there will be a seriously lack of blogging until it is returned to me. Though I will try.

I have entered the third stage of fucking giving up of pregnancy. The first stage is the first trimester where maybe you wash your hair slightly less often, rock the ponytail sometimes at work, maybe give up your most uncomfortable shoes. The second stage is the slightly portly stage, and more days without eyeliner. The third stage is the comfortable shoe stage and lord I bought me some clogs. Clogs which made my feet swell up like fat sausages and screech in protest (this is not due to the shoes but due to my instep and a poorly chosen size). They are not cute with my dress up work clothes and really signal my full descent into third stage. Where my hair is just cute enough and most of my makeup time is devoted to the dark cavernous circles under my eyes. I am sure fourth stage involves going to work in my adidas workout pants and baby pink t-shirt that reads "What's kicking" with little baby feet in puffy paint. And surfing the internet for minivan prices because FUCK WHAT ELSE PEOPLE.

I had lunch with a friend of mine today who has a fourth month old. She spent the whole time either giving me advice that I didn't ask for (and really didn't want), talking to the baby like I wasn't there (which FUCK I hate that) and telling me how AMAZING IT ALL IS. In all caps people believe me I could tell.

I hate the MY BAYBEEE IS AMAZING thing even though I am sure I will do it (and also the advice thing and possibly the damn talking to the baby instead of people who can answer) because it squicks me out. And also, I am just not mushy like that and it makes me feel guilty. I love my baby and all but I don't think that she is amazing. She is standing on my fucking bladder which makes me hate her a little (but just a little). This makes me less than mother of the year I am aware.

I am pretty sure this post guarantees that I will be the world's most annoying new mother. WOOT!

Job Description

I've acknowledged that I am not the best at being pregnant. It's been very hard for me, with the puking and the heartburn and the killer fatigue. I tore my rectum people, in a hotel room a couple of thousand miles from home. I've struggled more with body issues than I imagined possible given that I look totally fine and normal. I don't like being pregnant and I really don't trust these women that claim that they loved it so damn much. I've yet to meet a currently pregnant woman who gasps in ecstasy about this conditional but I suppose the mythical creatures may exist.

But as much as I wanted to be pregnant, and I did for so long as those of you who have stuck with me through all of this are well aware, it wasn't for the experience. I don't give a shit about the gift of giving life, even though I do feel grateful that I was able to do this. I wanted a baby and there was no way else to get one (first one to mention adoption gets kicked in the balls, people with our middle class incomes and J's family history don't get to adopt, not without knocking over a convenience store and greasing a lot of palms). Actually, not so much a baby, I wanted us to have a child, a family and I am amazed every day that this is coming true.

But I hate being pregnant and I am no good at it. And J cannot wait for it to be over because as much as people want to believe that he is a cocksucker he actually does love me and he hates to see me this way. When people ask him how I am doing he makes snarky comments about the little parasite and I can see them think what an asshole he is. I don't make these comments, not because I don't think they are funny (they are) or because I don't agree (um I do) but because I know people tolerate these things from fathers but from mothers they speed dial CPS and forcibly deliver this kid now because GOD if I could say things like that I probably eat deli meat too. SAVE MY BABY.

I feel stretched to my limit. I work a lot, fifty hours a week, at a stressful job with a two hour daily commute. This is my busy season. And just maintaining my home, my marriage and treading water on everything else is all I can do. I cannot do drama. I cannot do conflict. Anything outside of getting shit done in the next couple of months is going to have to wait. People are making demands that oh fuck them, I know they love us and they love our baby but fuck . . .No one gets to make us do anything right now. If I don't want her bedroom to be pink, that is my choice. We can use whatever name we like. I do not have to take any belly photos (my sister is like GASP at this but actually she was nice about asking and lovely when refused unlike others who are ogres from hell). The other day I cried a little at the end of Iron Chef America and honestly that is a sign that things are Not Going Well. It is just too much.

So my job is this. Go to my actual job and do the best that I can and not freak out about the rest. Be a good partner to my husband and not make him panic. Maintain the bare minimum of livability in my home. And eat ice cream, I am definitely in charge of eating ice cream. Everything else? Fuck it.

Goodreads

I deleted my book blog. I am guessing no one but me noticed since I hadn't updated it in more than a year. It would just stare at me all accusingly on my dashboard on blogger. I felt guilty because I just couldn't type up the books I was reading, and then they added up and then . . .

I am pretty wimpy.

So I joined Goodreads. You will notice that I have zero friends. SAD. So feel free to join up (search for me under anyabeth@comcast.net) and add me. It is a wonderously geeky kind of tool to catalog all your books.

And clearly I need help figuring out what to read next. HELP ME

Pregnant Face Goes to the Gap

I just want to say ALL HAIL THE MOTHER FUCKING GAP. I've been struggling with clothes, since my belly has just exploded and wearing the regular stuff just doesn't work anymore. My super long torso with a big belly is a recipe for the kind of exposure that traumatizes people (including me). I had to give up my regular pants weeks ago, something that delights me (because honestly I thought I would have to give them up in week three) even though I know I pulled it off through laziness. I had some pants that I hadn't bothered to alter the waists in, which were too large. Bless the lazy yo!

At any rate maternity shopping is fucking annoying. A lot of pants only run up to size 12 and the sales girls admit that they run small. Or they sag in a way that is just not ok. Or they are so ugly that I cannot stand to even think it. I was seriously thinking about using black electrical tape to cover the white stripes on my Adidas sweats and calling them dress pants. I don't think my boss understands that I was totally not kidding when I told her that was my plan for the week before I go on leave. But I am pretty sure I will be large and frightening enough that she won't fuck with me by then.

I ordered two pairs of pants from the gap plus a jacket and GOD BLESS THEM. They look like real pants, fit the leg nicely and were not a million dollars (they were not cheap though). The jacket is cute and soft and while note PERFECT will serve me well I think the rest of the way. I also have a couple of t-shirts and a sweater from the line and am pleased with the fit (just by your normal Gap size) and quality (seems to be normal Gap quality which is definitely higher than most maternity wear). Best of all? They carry large sizes, up to size 20. As some one who is just at the high end of regular sizing (hilarious that, since I am smaller than the average American woman so I can't be alone here) the other options are infuriating (I am aware that plus sized women have it even worse).

Gap isn't perfect. The jeans I bought are the best option I've found so far, but they are a hair shorter than I'd like and not the cutest wash. And it's annoying how few sizes and styles they have in-store. And their selection this summer was HORRIFYING, full of florals and baggy tops and capri pants. But this fall they have sensible and tailored career options and cute casual things.

When you are six months pregnant and tired and trying to do a million things you really don't want to have to worry about how you are going to cover your ass appropriately.

Of course I do wish that they had something that would somehow give the illusion that I do not have pregnant face. Which appeared this week. And J was too foolish to lie to me about.

SIGH

Cosmic Joke

Now that day seven of Operation Get That Yeast Out of My Cooter is past I welcomed back my regular underwear. I was in giant cotton boyshorts for the duration and I am not a fan. They are comfortable but I missed real underwear. I do not recommend yeast infections, by the way, may my lady bits never be visited by such things again.

My Cubs exited the playoffs in an unremarkable and rather pathetic fashion. I am in acceptance phase. In a weird development I have found myself rooting for the Yankees. Who are in the process of going down in flames too. MAYBE IT REALLY IS ME.

J and my dad did manly things this weekend and now we have an aqua second bedroom. Which is not the guest room anymore but I am not sure I am ready to call it the baby room. Having it all painting seems to have brought it all home though. Did y'all know they are going to let me take home a baby one day? MADNESS SURELY.

We are down to a list of three names for Muppet. And we had a very pissy argument via email today about the middle name. I thought it was settled and told my mother accordingly. J didn't think it was settled and mean things were said . .er . .written. I am still kind of mad but am trying to be an adult about it. We'll see how that works out.

Oh dear more swearing. Me thinks the Yankees are losing more now. SHIT.

One side of my belly is growing faster than the other. This would be interesting and maybe funny except earlier today the side that is growing just slightly less felt as though some one had Nancy Kerriganed it and DAMN I could barely walk. Like all sorts of strange and uncomfortable symptoms (yeast infection, deformed nipples, sinus swelling, and giant threatening toenails) this is completely normal during pregnancy. I feel confident if I wake up tomorrow with a blue nose and fangs my doctor would assure me that "that happens for some women during their second trimester." The crowbar slapped side isn't throbbing right now but I am sort of gun shy about it. I keep looking for a bruise because SURELY THERE IS A BRUISE.

There is an evolutionary purpose to all of this I am sure. Or it is a giant cosmic fucking joke on womankind.

SOB

I was very calm about the Cubs losing last night. I am not doing as well with them being down tonight. In fact I am a sniveling wreck. So I am going to just pretend it isn't happening.

For those who emailed me about my mystery in the cooter. It's nothing too mystifying really (this is your cue to look away if you are squeamish) just a yeast infection. Which I had never had before and hope to god that I never do again because LORD GIVE ME STRENGTH. It has now been addressed but not before I scarred both myself and J with making him look at it repeatedly, caved and bought giant all cotton boy short underwear (which are SEXAY) and shot various creams up my ladyplace.

DAMN IT, I keep looking at the Cubs game and wailing. WHY DO THEY HATE ME?

Apparently yeast infections are one of those lovely things about pregnancy that just come with. Like killer heartburn and dry skin and zits on your boobs. At this point anything that is strange and ugly or uncomfortable is just something that "completely normal during pregnancy!" I could wake up tomorrow with my nose rotted clear off my face and I am sure that google would reveal that sometimes that just happens with all the extra estrogen during pregnancy. It's annoying and yet oddly reassuring.

I look somewhere between just pudgy and hugely ready to pop pregnant all depending on who you ask and how much I am abusing black at the moment. I was telling my sister that I would save my maternity wardrobe for her and she made fun of me. Asking how I could have a wardrobe yet. But I cannot wear regular clothes at all. Well other than my beloved Adidas sweatpants and since I have the kind of job that requires more than Adidas sweatpants (and sadly involves no lying around in my bed eating pretzels dipped in cheese--though if you know of a job like that available I am your girl) I had to invest in some clothes. So yeah, I have a wardrobe, even if it is small and kind of pitiful. I do remember before I was pregnant, and even at the beginning, thinking that oh I wouldn't need much and my long shirts would last until the end but HEE. My pants do not even come close to buttoning, and though I can still make the belly band thing work sort of the maternity sort are way more comfortable. Shirts are honestly worse, because they are too short. So yes, I have a couple of pairs of pants and an assortment of shirts and SISTERS WHO MIGHT WANT FREE CLOTHES (because this shit is expensive man) SHOULD NOT MOCK THOSE WHO MIGHT PROVIDE THEM AND EVEN PAY FOR SHIPPING.

But really I just need that job dipping pretzels.

And for the Cubs to stop making me cry.

Starting NOW

In the coming weeks if you pay attention at all to baseball you will be bombarded with tales of the Cubs’ “curse.” This curse is stupid, and entirely the creation of sportswriters who really should have to write something original to get paid but instead trot out this nonsense every year. Like the Red Sox were prior to their World Series win, the Cubs have been defined by failure and this curse that seemed to follow their every season. Unlike the Red Sox, I have never met a Cubs fan that really believes in the curse.

This doesn’t mean that any of us are optimists. We aren’t. I firmly believe that the Cubs will blow this, as they have so many times before (but believe me I would LOVE TO BE PROVEN WRONG GUYS). But I don’t believe it because of a goat or whatever crap ESPN and Fox and whomever is going to trot out until we are knocked out. These are the same networks and writers who portray Cubs fans as know-nothings who just come to the games to get drunk and don’t care about or know anything about what is happening on the field. They are lazy writers in other words because Cubs fans are obsessive and crazy and spend a lot of time worrying about Kerry Wood’s pitching motion (yes, even now). There are countless Cub blogs and podcasts and message boards. There are people like me (and my grandpa) who have watched the team since they were little kids but have never been to Wrigley. Baseball is a game about history and emotion and feeling connected to a community. I love the Cubs because I remember watching them in the afternoons with my Grandpa. And having a crush on Mark Grace. That is my only reason. I have never lived in Chicago (I grew up in Iowa though so what were my choices—the White Sox? SHUDDER). But I feel that connection. It is literally the only thing I have in common with my grandfather or cousin at all. So I watch them. And obsess. And silently acknowledge that they will probably lose.

But I think the fans of the Cubs deserve more than the crap on ESPN about how baseball needs the Cubs to lose because you can’t create that kind of futility overnight (sure you can, it’s called the Nationals). They deserve more than whatever crappy goat graphic TBS is going to trot out through every game (though how thrilled am I that the National League isn’t on Fox? SO THRILLED). Broadcasters and sportswriters should just cave and learn the sports that they are working with (this is a little unfair because some of these guys are talented and manage great articles about other teams so MAYBE they are bullied by their employers for this crap but if you can write something interesting about the Royals than maybe you can come up with something about the Cubs that doesn’t mention their last World Series?). As annoying as the curse talk was during the Red Sox run at least their fans believed in it. They were more obsessed with it than their team. They reveled in that, gloried in it, and some of them seem a little psychotic now without it. But Cubs fans really aren’t like that. So leave us alone.

Let us blow it in peace.

Weekend

Saturday I got a massage. It's been years since I've had a massage, which is ironic since I am still a licensed massage therapist, and GOOD GOD I needed it. I also got my neck and back adjusted by the chiropractor and I was a new woman. Add to that a Dick's deluxe and fries and Saturday was one of the best days I've had in a long time.

Of course Sunday I had a mysterious thing happen with my cooter and the 49ers played like crap and J and I didn't do much but lay around and bitch about football and obsess about baseball playoffs. I spent too much time worrying about baby related finances and didn't wash my face for 24 hours and Sunday was just bad. Any time there is a Scooby worthy mystery in your cooter it is a bad day.

So today I trudged to the doctor and MYSTERY SOLVED which is excellent and then I realized that my driver's license expired a month and a half ago so shit it's a good thing I am not going to work anyway huh?

I am realizing that honestly just taking it day by day is the only way to do this pregnancy thing but it is still hard. Especially when you are googling inappropriate things at midnight on a Sunday trying to figure out what the fuck is going on down there.

Twin Globes Of TERROR

Today I did something that I have been putting off for months. I bought a new bra.

The Girls grew about ten seconds after I peed on the damn stick those many moons ago but I knew they would get bigger (oh and they have and will continue to do so) and I am a cheap cheap soul so I've delayed and delayed until . . well I couldn't wait any longer.

The fitter GASPED IN HORROR and actually visibly recoiled when I took off my shirt. I laughed because I know these women pride themselves on being professional and making the customer comfortable and she really didn't mean to. And she didn't. Oh this was my best fitting bra but it in know way fit. It didn't lay flat on my chest at all, it cut my breasts into fourths and SPRUNG OPEN when I undid it. I have little bruises where it was digging into me.

The reason. Oh my lands. I've gone up a band size and two cup sizes. Y'all, I am only five and a half months pregnant which means by the time I birth this child I should be in one of those bras that I used to (as in a year ago) giggle about that I could wear as a hat. And my head is enormous.

The new bra is marvelously comfortable and I am semi-regretting that I only got one (a DKNY for about thirteen dollars! STEAL) but I know that I will probably need another in like a month so it seemed pointless. Horrifying to me, my breasts actually look LARGER now since they are not trapped in some sort of flattening device.

I have to admit it was hard to stand in front of all the mirrors with no shirt on. On one hand, I do not have pregnant ass and still appear to have a waist from behind. But! There is a wee bit of back fat back there that was not there before. And those mirrors make it obvious that while my face hasn't broken out too much (I have had this same cluster of zits on my chin since the beginning they just shrink and grow and terrorize me to end) my chest has and WOW I believe Neutrogena makes something for that shit right? I have often cursed our lack of a full length mirror at the house (this leads me to all kinds of dumb standing on the toilet nonsense which I almost attempted the other day before thinking about how much J would kill me even if I didn't fall off) but now I see it is just protecting me. No mirrors until this time next year I think.

The Cubs just won, our magic number is 1, can I get a LETS GO PADRES?

Name That Muppet

There is a woman at my company who has the exact name (but with the feminized spelling) of a well known baseball player from the eighties. Every time I see her name on an email I laugh. I am sure she is bright and intelligent but I can't help but picture her with a mustache like his (and given her age I am guessing her parents did that to her on purpose).

I used to work a man who had a name that rhymed with Darth Vader (think Barth Jader but you know, different). He was born pre-Star Wars so this was just a coincidence. Does this mean that we were all mature about it and never did the big helmet breath around him? Heh no. Did his assistant (who hated him) get back at him by player that evil Star Wars music during meetings? YES HE DID.

My point is that names are important. And that they have power and meaning and also I am a big snob.

Names have connotations. They can sound smart or silly, they can sound rich or poor, we have a lot of code written up in names.

And J and I don't agree on them. He says I worry too much, that I care about things that other people would never think of. I wonder about how we have been married for so long and he knows shit about me. OF COURSE I AM OVERTHINKING THIS. It's what I do! And lucky him, he gets to walk through it with me hand in fucking hand.

We had a girls name picked out. We hadn't shook on it in blood like we did the boys name though and . . .I don't know. In some ways it is perfect. J likes it because it is in honor (at least in his head) of one of his favorite bands. I like it because it is a literary character from books I loved as a child (well and still do). It is an unusual name in the U.S which is important to us because our last name is one of the most common in the U.S. To me it is the name of a spunky, creative and interesting little girl. She could be a tomboy or a princess. She could grow up to be a judge or be a personal shopper.

At one point I really loved this name.

But then I found out that one of our friend's wife has this name, though she uses the dreaded nickname that was my one hate spot for the name. And, she is lovely honestly, but meek and mild and really not how I pictured some one with this name being. It's funny, but when a name is common you don't associate one type of person with it but if you have only met one person with that name well they embody the spirit of it. And, well, this isn't the spirit I think is growing in me.

I think my girl already is who she is and no matter what I name her she will be that girl. And if she is meek and mild I will love her just as fiercely (I will wonder how she got this way because LO we do not have such folk in my family). But I don't think she is, I can sense her a bit and while I don't know her habits or who she is completely, she's my muppet. She has a certain something. She needs the right name.

So . . .internet. I know you have an opinion. Name that muppet.

People are Ridiculous

I swear I did not mean to just disappear for a week but with Yom Kippur (J fasted, I did not) and some stressful sports shit (the CUBS have a 3.5 game lead y'all, you know you are rooting against the Brewers all week right?) I have just been all over the place. Well mostly my ass has been in bed because every moment I am not at work I am just so tired and sore and well. . .

Being pregnant makes you public property apparently. People feel free to comment about what I eat, my weight, my clothes, everything. The food thing especially pisses me off. Even when it is a compliment it's like I am three years old and adults are free to contribute their opinions about my nutrition. NOTE TO THE PUBLIC: pregnant women are adult enough to become mothers so don't sing song "WHAT A NUTRITIOUS BREAKFAST" into their cubes at 7 each morning unless you really love being an asshole and want to get punched.

As soon as we announced we are having a girl people asked about names. Since we don't have one chosen it is easy to deflect this shit but just by the opinions they offer I am not telling anyone what we are picking. Because . . .just no. I don't like the same things that other people like I guess because they have shitty taste? I don't know. But they all feel like they get a vote. They only get a vote if they are agreeing with me.

I understand that kids and pregnancy are just loaded subjects. Everyone wants to feel like they made all the right choices with what they have done. So if you deviate even slightly from what people did themselves then they take it as criticism. People of the world--I AM NOT MAKING A COMMENTARY ABOUT YOUR PARENTING OR YOU AS A PERSON PLEASE CHILL THE FUCK OUT. If you want to cause a huge explosion mention that you are not painting a nursery a pastel. For baby girls you are required to paint it pale yellow or pink or you are trying to raise some sort of feminazi riot grrl (by the way I am totally trying to raise a feminist here but not wanting to paint anything in my house pink has nothing to do with that shit). I am now just not answering questions when people ask because people don't want the answers, they want you to parrot back what they would do.

I am still doing whatever the hell I want anyway.

Misc. Shit Crammed Together

I am currently obsessed with quesadillas, something that everyone around me deems a craving which it isn't but it suits me just fine that you think so. Then today I was thinking about how really cheese quesadillas are just really giant grilled cheese sandwiches that you eat with sour cream. Then I thought that grilled cheese sandwiches would be outstanding with sour cream. Oooh and tomato soup with a little dollop in it? Fantastic! And then I lost an hour thinking of all the foods I could eat sour cream with.

THAT is a craving.
* * * * *
The worst part about the Patriots kicking the shit out of the Chargers (worse even then the total dick sucking that the media immediately started in on about how they were UNSTOPPABLE now) is how now no one thinks that their cheating is a big deal. And it is cheating. Don't even start rationalizing it to me. And is there anyone who is not a Patriot's fan or like my grandfather who believes that most bank robberies are misunderstandings that really believes that this is the only rule that they broke? I mean they were doing this against his former assistant who is well aware of his activities. To me that just shows that it doesn't even measure on his morality meter.

I am over people acting with outrage over steroids in baseball. People who have tested positive for steroids play in the NFL all the time (Sean Merriman made the fucking Pro Bowl last season) and no one even mentions it. If this sort of cheating happened in baseball it would have brought on the apocalypse. So whatever assholes, you don't give a shit about "integrity."
* * * *
The next couple of games are going to be rough for me. The Cubs are really doing a great job but it is heart attack time. I mean tonight they were down by two and then rallied in the ninth. It is just not good for my stress level.

Add the fucking 49ers and their shitty offensive play calling and really I cannot handle it. All of my sports teams really need to get their acts together because I cannot handle the strain.
* * * *
People on my bus this morning didn't offer me a seat. They made a pregnant lady stand for forty minutes into the city. What the fuck people? Who they hell brought these animals up?