Friday, September 28, 2007

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?

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

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.

Sunday, September 23, 2007

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.

Monday, September 17, 2007

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?

Friday, September 14, 2007

Oh My God This Is Practically A Novel

J has taken to greeting me at the end of the day with, “How are the girls doing?” Part of me finds this adorable and part of me wants to kick his face in (I also, have to admit that the first time I totally thought he was talking to my boobs). It is inevitable that at this stage I am pretty much just the host of what people really want to know about. It’s probably better that he isn’t lying so that the shock after I give birth and people really stop caring about me doesn’t knock me out. But still, the little parasite is still in there growing fingernails and such . . .can’t I be more at least as important as that?

Not really. I know.

A girlfriend of mine had a (big, nay GIANT!) baby in July. She and I are much the same and have bonded over worries about not being maternal, etc. And we were talking about something that has been bugging me for weeks—women have to change immediately. The second you pee on the stick you start to change. It’s gradual (but it doesn’t feel gradual anymore). You can’t deny what is happening the way the father can, because well first your are vomiting and can’t stay awake, they you are puffy and your clothes don’t fit, and then you are enormous and have developed a terrifying waddle. And that’s just the first week.

The shock of it has hit her husband a little oddly. And she resents it. He continues on with his old life, scheduling nights out and business trips without consulting her—without considering the burden that puts her under. He’s not thinking about how inconsiderate that is, how unfuckingacceptable it is. He’s just doing what he has always done. And it’s pissing her off. I am impressed she’s made it this long. It’s irritated me from the beginning that J can still be J and I can’t be AB. I cannot tell you the relief that I felt, how much I relaxed when he just TOLD ME one night all the things he was thinking about. They were in the not helpful category of “I really want to take the kid camping every summer as a tradition” instead of the “I’ve been researching strollers and this is what I think” category but then again, he did clean out his space in the basement last weekend and I think the baby’s room is next so I’ll leave him alone. He doesn’t worry about child care or whether it’s toxic to use plastic bottles or about getting a reasonable semblance of his body back this winter. He doesn’t worry that he won’t be good enough, motherly enough, that everyone will judge him (because no one gets judged like moms I have seen that first hand). He doesn’t have conversations with his mother (whom he loves with all his heart) and hang up screaming because she is harping about some crazy thing and using made up words and OH MY GOD ANY SECOND THAT WILL BE ME IT IS COMING I CAN TELL.

Just so you know my mother has already mentioned repeatedly that she hopes that this girl loves ruffles and lace since I basically ruined her life by refusing to wear such things. Admittedly, this was the early eighties when little girls didn’t wear the plain things that we came to call “tailored” at my house and that this meant that all of my sister’s perfectly good things went to waste. And it meant that my dad actually had a rule that I had to wear a skirt to school at least once a week through the sixth grade (I still do not understand WTF was up with this rule. NONE of the other girls wore skirts or dresses that often even the girliest. Honestly, I think my dad thought he was preventing me from becoming a lesbian or something which . . .?? Again WTF DAD? You cared about my dresses but let me get a femme-mullet?). It’s been more than 20 years MOM. I do vididly remember the Easter dress shopping trips that had to start right after Christmas so that we could find something that 1) wasn’t pink 2) wasn’t ruffly 3) didn’t itch. BUT CAN WE MOVE ON PLEASE? Wishing my daughter to like the crazy foofy stuff isn’t going to change history especially since we don’t do Easter.

Also, I totally remember my dad paying me to wear these horribly itching wool tights and kilt when I was like five years old. With a MONOGRAMMED SWEATER. A whole dollar! Which was a fortune to me since I got a quarter for my allowance. My sister wore the same outfit for free. SUCKER.

I am pretty sure I had a point here that was lost on my trip down WHY DID MY PARENTS CARE SO MUCH ABOUT MY CLOTHES lane. Anyway, I am terrified of becoming my mother and determined that if my child does like pink and ruffles (SIGH) I will try not to care so much. And if she doesn’t, I will try not to care too much then either. My parents really freaked out about how “weird” I was and now I see that they were worried about me never fitting in. But little kids are weird and if the worst thing that ever happens to your daughter is that she likes overalls and baseball caps then she will have a happy happy life. Unless you warp her because you compare her all the time to her feminine (in their eyes normal) and better in every way sister. WOW THERAPY. Heh, my parents didn’t mean any harm but that doesn’t mean I want to do the same thing. Even in reverse.


OOOOH! MY POINT I FOUND THEE. J doesn’t have to worry about this stuff. His current obsession is her hair color (which is my fault, I read this article on the internets about genetics and found that a couple with a black haired parent and a blond parent, both with freckles, have a 1-4 chance of having a red haired child—this is a gross simplification but heh who cares—and since J is for whatever reason terrified of having a red haired daughter I ran to tell him this) and that is about it. He is becoming a whole cliché right in front of my eyes. But does he worry about damaging her emotionally? NOPE.

I just realized I could have written this post in 84,000 fewer words by saying PREGNANCY = NO FAIR.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Shana Tovah!

Apparently Ryan Dempster just needed me to scream "THROW STRIKES YOU MOTHER FUCKING COCKSUCKER!" in order to throw strikes. I wish I had known earlier.

Yes, I know that it's the New Year and I am blogging and not being spiritual and all. Which I actually feel bad about. But J and I are at an impasse with our temple. We were in the process of converting and about to complete the ceremony when I miscarried. Which just sort of derailed our lives for a few months. It's not that I didn't care about God anymore, I just wasn't up for some of the crap that comes with it. By the time we got our act together, I was pregnant again and our rabbi had left the community. There is a story there and I wish I knew it. But I don't. But this rabbi was really our favorite thing about this community. J's old boss has been a member of this community for quite some time, only leaving over a dispute with this rabbi. We suspect he will be back and since the dude couldn't be civil to us at a PASSOVER SEDER (so appropriate, so mature) we are not really excited about being in a very small community with him. Especially since J did nothing wrong but somehow is being treated like a serial killer by this person. Add in some stupid temple politic crap and yeah, we are skipping services this year. We are working on what to do to celebrate at home and at some other options (which I mean much of Judaism is celebrated in the home so this is not like a wild and crazy idea).

But I am saying here, I apologize to anyone here that I may have offended or hurt this year. I know that this lacks the personal touch that is warranted but since most of us have never met . . .it feels appropriate.

This year we are focusing on who we want to become as a family. We are looking for another community. There is a lot to work on.

But tonight we look forward to a sweet year.

Shana Tovah everyone!

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

It's a Girl

The headline on CNN this morning was "Americans Forget" which set the tone for my day. I am frustrated even now with how we deal with 9/11 in this country. Americans haven't forgotten (not that we could ever be allowed to forget even if we should want to) but as culture we are ill equipped to deal with tragedy and God knows we avoid dealing with death at all costs. 9/11 changed all of our lives whether we knew anyone in New York or DC that day, whether we are associated with the military, whether we even lived in the country that day. 9/11 has been used to justify all kinds of things, some of them positive but many negative and we are all still having the hangover six years later.

I have nothing new to add to the subject except scorn for the idea that Americans have forgotten. Fake patriotism and flag waving isn't honoring the dead nor is it particularly American. So shut the fuck up CNN.

Of course it feels inappropriate to talk about anything else today but I am going to do it anyway. I was up very late watching Monday Night Football (so stressful) last night. We were on edge watching the 49ers do absolutely nothing until the last minutes of the game (except for the defense which was fantastic) and then Alex Smith finally march on the field. Thank God because J was upsetting the whole neighborhood with his screaming of obscenities. Between football and baseball this time of year is just nerve-wracking in our house. And loud. And possibly R-Rated for language.

Yesterday we also found out that little Muppet is a she. Which, frankly, stunned me silly in the ultrasound room. I had pretty much decided that she was a boy and was extremely unprepared. Happy, of course, but shocked. J whispered very quietly in that room, "well there goes Boy Name We Chose" and then broke into a grin. Bittersweet is what you call it I think. Because that is what this whole thing is about for us, gaining something really lovely but letting go of possibilities. The possibility of a boy is gone (well I suppose the tech could have been wrong but I do have a picture of her labia so I doubt it) and the reality of a daughter has set in.

I am terrified to be a mother of a girl. First, the explosion of pink is coming now and I doubt I shall be able to stop it even though I will try and try and try. Second, gah my mind just blew up with all the shit to worry about--none of which I can do anything about right now so I will just stop. Those of you who have ever been a thirteen year old girl can probably guess what I am thinking about.

Plus, we don't have a name. We shook on the boy's name ages ago, it's been settled since long before the Muppet existed. For girl names we are continents apart and the battles are ugly. We hate what each other likes and can I just suggest to all of you ever considering having a child well EVER start negotiating now. Get the solution written out in blood. Otherwise you will find yourself shrieking during halftime of Monday Night Football about how NONAME LASTNAME SOUNDS GOOD RIGHT because that is rational.

So yes, it's a girl. How do I stop the pink?

Sunday, September 09, 2007

Cheesey

Dear Muppet,



I haven't written you here because well, it is a little twee to write to your unborn child on the internet. We've been calling you Muppet because, well, judging by the ultrasounds you are like a little Animal in there thrashing around on your damn drums--all giant head and skinny arms.



Tomorrow we find out if you are a boy or a girl. People have very strong opinions about this. People will tell me that I would be a good boy mom (for the life of me I cannot fucking figure out what this means but THANKS PEOPLE) or pull me aside to try to get me to say I really want a girl. I have to admit that both me and your dad go back and forth on this, mainly because we hear chimes of doom for both genders. We are not a sunny family, so honestly I am not as worried about your gender as I am about whether you will become a Republican or an optimist. Sadly, no one can tell me that via the ultrasound.



For a while I confess that I really wanted you to be a boy because I was afraid that I would be a shitty mom for a girl. Then I realized that I would figure it out either way and really I can't wait to just know. However, if you are a girl, could you pound out a name for yourself via Morse Code because we are just STRUGGLING for names here. You have pissed off everyone this week because you and I are defying ALL wives tales by landing right in the middle. I sort of enjoy that you are joining me in this early act of defiance.

We watched football all day today and as I was calling Sean Alexander a worthless piece of shit (forgive me, but the dude had a shit start) I realized I am going to have to drastically clean my act up by this time next year. Next year you will be in 49er gear (because you are already a fan, we had a talk) screeching along with us. It just won't do for you to have your first words be Motherfucker or Cocksucker, both of which are strong possibilities.

If you are a girl, I will give liking pink and princesses a grand try should that be your thing (also, I suppose if you are a boy into those things). That isn't my nature but I trust we will figure things out. If you are a boy, well I don't know shit about boys either but I am a quick learner. Either way, could you stop giving me this much heartburn?

Can't wait to see you tomorrow. Make sure to flash your bits.

-Mum

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

Mantra

For those concerned, the muppet is not dead. Cruising along, gaining weight steadily with a lovely and easy to find heartbeat.

My OB gasped at my weight, which might cause horror for others but made me laugh. It's not that I have gained too much but I am one of those people who can carry weight and not appear overweight or large. In a culture where the only women who admit their weight are those that are 120 lbs. or less, my weight is a surprise.

She said I was fine and not to worry but I think maybe I am growing a huge baby. This wouldn't surprise me much. J was nine pounds and while I was only five I was six weeks early. I will let those who know about infant growth do the math and GASP IN HORROR. Now they might have gotten my mother's due date wrong (likely) but I was in intensive care for those weeks so . . .I would have been a damn monster at full term.

Still, having an intense addiction to Discovery Health Channel has taught me that a larger baby (but still normal) is a blessing. If a little uncomfortable.

I will just repeat that as a mantra.

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

Helpful Even In The Womb

I had dead baby thoughts this weekend. This part of pregnancy is hard, because while I am happy to be out of the vomiting-want-to-die stage, the puking was re-assuring. I haven't felt the baby move yet, and I know that while some people feel something as early as sixteen weeks, some people don't feel a thing until twenty weeks. Still, it is hard to not feel like I am making this whole baby business up (my gut however is not making a damn thing up since it proceeds me by about twenty minutes).

I was just bragging to my boss about how even though I am so congested I could DIE I haven't puked in ages.

Y'all know where this is headed.

Yeah, the little whatsit gave me a GO AHEAD AND THINK I AM DEAD and I vomited all panicky into a (leaking!) baggie while driving--this time at the slow poke speed of thirty miles an hour. I have to admit it was grosser this time as I filled the bag (EW) and it was full of lettuce and chicken and bacon from my lunch salad.

The real delight was cleaning the leaked out puke out of my car when I got home. THANKS KID, I could have waited until tomorrow when I go to the doctor.

Monday, September 03, 2007

Cubs Rant

Fucking Carlos Zambrano.

Such a damn drama queen. He makes a really damn stupid base running mistake and then loses his mind and can't throw a strike and it's the fans fault. They don't support him. Well you haven't won a game since the fans committed to paying you ninety million dollars fool. Maybe you could cut them a break too?

Throw a fucking strike tool.

Sunday, September 02, 2007

A Dream That Better Not Come True

I had the most horrible dream the other night. And I know the internets are full of other people’s really boring dreams that they find just fascinating and actually I am totally guilty of posting my pointless dreams repeatedly this one chilled me to the bone. I was shaking off the aftershocks all day long, reminding myself that it wasn’t true.

In my dream I went to the doctor’s for a regular appointment (it must be noted that it wasn’t my regular doctor or her office but it didn’t seem to surprise me in the dream at all). I had been having pains all day and mentioned them to the nurse who hooked me up to a monitor and found they were contractions. I started to panic as I am just about eighteen weeks and that is certainly much too early for any sort of delivery but the nurse was nonplussed. She told me that it didn’t matter since my baby was dead anyway. We could just deliver now.
Since I was freaking out so much, because isn’t that the only possible response to that, they had another nurse come in. This one found that the baby wasn’t dead and gave me some sort of giant pill to stop the contractions.

I guess the truth is you never feel safe. Never feel as though you will be fine. I read a story online the other day (unintentionally as I had NO IDEA what I was about to read) about a couple who went in for a normal delivery (39 weeks so not really even early) and their baby died on the way to the hospital. How does some one write about that later or even have a later after something like that happens I have no idea. But since reading that story I feel much more aware of how unsettled I feel. How anxious. Finding out the gender in a week or so is causing me fits because I feel like I NEED to know. Despite the fact that I don’t actually care one way or another. It is like knowing what the baby is is going to keep it safe. Maybe not calling it an it?
I don’t think it ever stops. My mother worries about me every day. You are bringing something into the world that you love beyond reason so it is almost natural that you are terrified of losing it (IT AGAIN I NEED A BETTER NOUN PLEASE). I suppose the trick is to learn how to control that fear, to make it manageable so that you are not me—lying in bed, white faced and afraid to move, over a dream that is unlikely to come true.

And you know that if it does come true, there is nothing you can do to stop it.