And so we enter the cranky stage

This weekend, I achieved the following pregnancy milestones:

1. The cashiers at the grocery store asked me if I wanted help putting stuff in my car.
2. I did.
3. Near constant back pain. In fact, hold on while I rearrange myself on the couch because ow.
3a. There. That's better. Wait, no it isn't. There is no better.
4. I can no longer bear to walk to church (not far).
5. Seriously, my back really hurts.

Andrew returns to work tomorrow, along with the rest of the world, and I'm a smidgen worried about how I'm going to get through the days without dying. Meanwhile, I'm not even at 40 weeks for three more days, but I'm mentally preparing myself for having this baby at 42 weeks because I just feel like I'm doomed that way. Did I ever tell you I was personally three weeks late? THREE WEEKS. And I'm the youngest of six, so my mother was 43 weeks pregnant with five other children at home, ranging in age from 11 to 2.5.

Let's pause here, and raise a glass to my poor mother. Three weeks late, folks. I said to her this weekend that I don't know how she did it, and she said, "Well, I cried a lot."

But I shall change the subject and discuss the holiday weekend, which was actually quite nice until the back pain kicked in yesterday. Wednesday was a bust because of a variety of things, including Andrew going to bed for the night at about 5pm thanks to a fever, but we did manage to take the kids to see The Muppets on Friday. I had been very concerned that I would not get to see it until it comes out on DVD because of this here baby, but we made it! We even found a 10am showing which was very promising since we figured Nora would be able to stay awake for the whole thing! HA HA HA! We are adorably naive. She enjoyed the Toy Story short at the beginning and then asked if it was over. About halfway through the movie, she started whining kind of a lot and asked to go home, but we are terrible, awful, selfish people, and made her stay. In our defense, Jack - and, fine, WE - were enjoying it immensely, and we only had one car, so it wouldn't really have been fair to make Jack leave. Or us. We did take her out for walks, though, and then she climbed into my lap and went to sleep.

Andrew and I are both very relieved that Jack liked it, because we would clearly have had to disown him. And Nora at least liked the singing chickens, so there's that.

And that's all I have in me because I need to lie down. WOE WOE WOE IS ME.

Some stuff that's been happening

This past weekend was our niece and nephew’s double birthday party at my brother-in-law’s. Everything was going fine until Andrew nearly cut the tip of his finger off chopping scallions and everyone FREAKED OUT. Well, I exaggerate. My mother-in-law came over and with careful calmness told me that Andrew’s dad would be taking him to the hospital for stitches. I got up to investigate matters and found Andrew’s brother holding him up at the kitchen sink while water ran over his finger. There was also a bag of frozen vegetables on Andrew’s head because Andrew had almost passed out. Fingers, it seems, bleed a lot.

At any rate, my FIL took Andrew to the hospital, and they were back after only two hours with only four stitches. During the two hours, my MIL pretended to be totally cool and fine, but she was actually having a series of secret inner heart attacks because her child! Was at the hospital! I, on the other hand, was fine except that I felt guilty for not being more worried that my husband! Was at the hospital! Perhaps I would have been more upset had it been my 35-year-old son instead of my husband? But it’s just that… it was only his finger. In the absolute worst case, Andrew was going to lose a fingertip. Which, yes, would be awful and nasty, but not as though Andrew is a professional musician or something; he’d do just fine without a fingertip. Losing a fingertip is no day at the beach, but, you know, fingertip. There are worse things to lose.

The best part of this story is how my FIL brought my MIL’s phone with him, and her sister called while they were at the ER. I guess she started talking, and the nurses were yelling at my FIL for using a cell phone, so he just said, “I can’t talk; I’m at the hospital with Andrew,” and then he hung up. He hung up! And of all the people he could have said this to, Andrew’s aunt is among the most freak-out-able. I’m a little surprised she didn’t leap into her car and start driving. So Andrew’s poor aunt had to wait two hours to find out that he needed four stitches, and had not been in a terrible car accident or something.

***

In other news, Temerity Jane has been writing a lot about cloth diapering her adorable baby Penny. TJ uses mostly fitteds, and they are adorable enough to be worthy of Penny. And now Amalah has gone and written a cloth diapering manifesto of her own (mine is linked in the sidebar), and SHE uses fitteds with fleece and wool covers!

Now when TJ first started showing us all the pictures of Penny’s diapers, I thought, “Yes, they are cute, but isn’t it annoying to have a bunch of different kinds? And also expensive? And also you have to keep shopping?” Because we have been CDing for almost five years now, and I tried a few kinds of diapers, but settled on BumGenius one-size. It’s simple. It’s streamlined. I don’t have to keep shopping. The aplix on ours got all curly and annoying, and some of the elastics wore out, but I paid someone to convert them to snaps and redo the elastics, and they’ve been working out mostly great. They don’t fit Nora as well now, but Nora is pretty close to being trained, so I wouldn’t dream of buying new diapers for her. Still, TJ and Amalah have somehow managed to convert me. I now covet adorable fitted diapers. I’m not going to purchase any, because adorable fitted diapers are just as pricey as the 24 pocket diapers I already own that work just fine. But I WANT adorable fitted diapers. Le sigh.

***

I knew it was inevitable, but Jack no longer wants to use his pink accessories (water bottle, pencil case, etc.) that he specifically chose because he likes pink. It seems his friend laughed at his pink pencil case because pink is for girls. I am more annoyed by this than I expected to be. It would be one thing if Jack decided on his own that he doesn’t like pink anymore, but I fear he still does like it, he’s just embarrassed about it. And for crying out loud, it’s just a color. The kid should be free to use a pink water bottle if he wants to. Stupid peer pressure.

In all other ways, school is absolutely wonderful and he comes home simply brimming with songs and games and stories. I’m so glad we enrolled him even though it’s five full days (7:50-2:10). He is just thriving.

***

Finally, I’m totally pregnant. Somewhere around 30 weeks if you can believe that. I can believe it because I have the heartburn to prove it. I find myself feeling like I’ve consumed two Thanksgiving dinners by 1:00 every afternoon, and then I get terrible heartburn which induces nausea and I can’t eat anything until 8:30 or so. The doctor actually gave me carte blanche to eat ice cream every night if I want to since I haven’t gained that much weight yet, but I can’t because of the stupid heartburn. Le sigh indeed.

As far as baby-readiness, we aren’t. We did finish painting the bunkbeds, but we haven’t put them together because Andrew was going to do that this week but then he nearly cut off his fingertip instead. And all other baby preparations hinge upon getting the bunkbeds set up, because that will mean moving the dresser which will affect where I put the baby’s clothes. And, actually, that’s all I really need to do I guess, so maybe we’re not in such terrible shape after all. We did already buy the minivan. It’s a 2005 Toyota Sienna, white. I’m pretty happy with it except for how it uses twice as much gas as my Civic Hybrid. Damn, but I miss my old gas mileage.

And on that completely boring note, I will sign off and perhaps take some antacid. My life is so filled with glamor and excitement.

Back to the normal topics

I have to say, I am pleasantly surprised at how popular my last post turned out to be. 14 comments (not counting mine)! I never get double-digit comments. Very fun.

But now I need to return to the regularly scheduled whining about being pregnant (today: with bonus viral illness!) and then tell a funny-but-resigned story about motherhood.

So, first of all, pregnancy: Man, it stinks, eh? Especially when you combine it with a mysterious viral infection that I have dubbed "Entire Body Hurts Except For Your Arms Disease." Because that's pretty much what it is. I'm not stuffy, feverish, nauseated, or congested, I just hurt. Everywhere. I've had a headache for three days, and my back feels like someone has been beating me with a large, heavy stick. I went to the doctor today and they took a throat culture (negative) and some blood (will likely be negative) and basically said, "Yep. Sucks to be you." If I were being fair, I'd admit that I'm paraphrasing their kind words of sympathy, but the essential take-home message was the same: Nothing we can do but wait it out. And dammit, I was really hoping for some magic pills.

So then I went to my mom's and my parents took the kids to ice cream for lunch with their cousins and I took some Tylenol and slept for a while, and fortunately Andrew got home minutes after we did, so I didn't have to do any child raising today. Technically, the TV raised the children this morning, because I am ONLY HUMAN. And now I am lying in bed, internetting, while Andrew wrangles the children into bedtime-readiness. Part of me feels really guilty about listening to him wrangle without helping, but most of me is too distracted by Entire Body Hurts Except For Your Arms Disease.

Part of the wrangling included a discussion on what Andrew would have to do if Nora's poop (which she naturally did in her overnight diaper, after having already used the potty and gotten into her PJs) rolled off the changing table and fell behind it. (Answer: Andrew would have to move the changing table to clean it up.) The shape and texture of the poop was also a topic, and I was reminded of the last time I went to my sister's house. I told her how, back in the day, I used to think it was just so tasteless for people to say "I have to pee" instead of "I have to go to the bathroom." I was far too classy to ever explain what I would be doing in the bathroom. I always just said I had to go there, and left it at that.

But times change, and now I spend about 40% of my day telling people to check for pee before we leave, don't poop on the floor, you only get ONE M&M for pee in the potty, etc., etc., ad infinitum. I have therefore become the kind of person who announces "I have to pee" every time I have to pee. It started as a way to set an example and became a habit so ingrained that I actually once sent out a Tweet about how I had to pee but was trapped in the office because the kids had forgotten I was there and I didn't want to remind them. A Tweet! I, the high class one, essentially announced "I have to pee" to the ENTIRE WORLD.

At any rate, mere minutes after I sighed to my sister about my lowered standards, I told Jack that we were leaving as soon as I got out of the bathroom.

"OK," he said. "Pee or poop?"

That is... unhelpful

I think I might be anemic. I mentioned to my mom that I was really tired, and she said I probably was, that it's a common pregnancy ailment. "Nah, I don't think I'm anemic, I think I'm just tired," I said.

"No one ever thinks they're anemic," she replied.

So once the idea was planted, I started to consider it because I have hypochondriac tendencies anyway, and it's not really hypochondria to consider the possibility that you have a common pregnancy ailment. And I'm really, seriously, tired.

I have an appointment on Thursday anyway, so I will ask for a blood test then, but in the meantime I looked up the symptoms of anemia on Babycenter.

"If you do become anemic, you might not have any symptoms at all, especially if your condition is mild. Or you might feel tired, weak, and dizzy... You might also notice that you're paler (especially in your fingernails, the underside of your eyelids, and your lips). Other symptoms include a rapid heartbeat, heart palpitations, shortness of breath, headache, irritability, and trouble concentrating."

Yes, I am definitely tired, weak, irritable, and short of breath. But here's the thing: Those are also symptoms of PREGNANCY (which Babycenter does also admit, that's where I put the ellipses). I also have trouble concentrating and have a headache, but THOSE are symptoms of MOTHERHOOD. So now I'm obsessively checking my fingernails and eyelids for paleness. Unfortunately, paleness is a symptom of my Irish heritage. So I guess I'll wait for the blood test.

Technology is out to get us

This announcement will come as a total non-shock to many of you who follow me on Twitter, as I recently inadvertently publicly tweeted what was supposed to be a direct message. I blame my phone. You see, I was replying to a DM from someone and forgot that when you reply by phone, it is a TEXT MESSAGE so it replies to TWITTER, not to the person who messaged you. You still need to type the “DM @person” unless you want to broadcast what seems like a weird sideways hint to the entire internet, like maybe a tweet referencing mysterious “home tests” that were “all negative.”

Incidentally, I learned something recently, and it is that cheap pregnancy test strips bulk ordered from Amazon apparently have a shelf life.

Yes, folks, we’re going to have another baby. Sometime in December. I’m tennish weeks along. I’d know more precisely, but I don’t have the exact date of my LMP. This makes me sound like I have a breezy/irresponsible devil-may-care attitude towards such things, but in actuality, I have charts and graphs and observations. I don’t HAVE to remember the date of my LMP because it’s on the chart. You know? The chart? The one Nora found and stole and put somewhere? Else? I’m sure I’ll find it in late December some time.

Yeah, so about five weeks ago I went to the doctor to find out what in the holy hell was wrong with me, because something was not right. Not right at all. And the home tests! Were negative! In fact, I think I deserve some kudos for restraining myself and not googling “early menopause.” Unless maybe I did. Yeah, I probably did. The doctor’s office spends a bit more on test kits, however, so everything was cleared right up. Things were still kind of terrible for a while, though, because the stuff that was not right? Was in my brain. It was like I had post-partum depression early. Partum depression, I guess. So while it was somewhat helpful to know that there was a simple biological explanation and I had only gone mad temporarily, I was still in the midst of it sitting there in the doctor’s office, and the news did not exactly make me jump up with joy. There’s not a lot of jumping for joy when everything about life is totally awful.

I remained in the midst of it until about a week ago, and I have to tell you it feels so good to be ME again. I no longer storm around the house every morning, slamming cabinets and resenting the entire world for not sending in someone ELSE to clean the bathroom for a change and do you think that another person in this house could deign to sweep the goddamn floor once in a while? It was awful. And the worst part of that was how my kids could not even look cross-eyed at me without my taking it as a personal attack on my sanity. They could do nothing right. It felt like they were just pick-pick-picking at me every second of the day. I was just so angry, all the time.

To name one specific example, in the throes of this depression I took the kids to my niece’s birthday party, and I had some trouble finding the location. It was in a play center in an office park, and there was a sign at the entrance to the lot, but no second sign pointing the way to the waaaay back of the lot. I drove around that stupid lot for about five minutes and could not find the place to save my life. I had to call my brother, who directed me back out onto the main road – a BUSY road that I now had to take a LEFT TURN onto – around the corner and back IN to the stupid office park where I found that had I only kept going straight to the back in the FIRST place I would have FOUND the stupid playspace FIVE MINUTES AGO.

I seethed about that for at least thirty minutes. I seethed at the people who decided to put something like that at the BACK of the lot, I seethed at whoever was in charge of signage for not including a second sign, I seethed at the traffic on the busy road, and I seethed at my brother for making me take a LEFT TURN onto a BUSY ROAD. It was an extremely rational and reasonable response to a few minutes of inconvenience, obviously.

When I wasn’t angry at everyone and everything, I was crying from sadness or loneliness or guilty feelings over being a hateful person or a combination of all three. Or else I was dry heaving, and feeling sad and angry and resentful about it. I was pure joy to live with, believe me.

I did consider antidepressants, but I was trying to give my hormones a few weeks to settle down a bit. My doctor and I discussed it, and had I not been feeling better by twelve weeks I would have tried them, because nine months is a helluva long time to feel like that. But the fog lifted during the past week, and I have been in a good mood even though the weather is dark and rainy and cold, I still have to clean the bathroom and sweep the floor, and I continue to spend a lot of quality time dry heaving over the toilet. On the upside, I clean the toilet much more often seeing as I have to stare into it several times a day. (To clarify, the upside there is not that I clean the toilet much more often, it’s that we more often have a clean toilet.)

Best of all, I am once again enjoying my kids. My kids who are not, as it turns out, evilly conspiring to drive me crazy. In fact, they’re actually pretty cute. I kind of like them. Another one seems like a great idea to me.

The Name

First, I want to apologize for making you all wait so long to find out her name, but the hospital blocked Blogger for some reason. Also photobucket, so I couldn't upload photos either.

Nora Frances
June 25th, 2009
7lb, 8oz, 21in.











I am ashamed to say that it did not even occur to me to bring Mr. Pickles to the hospital, but I'm sure he'll make an appearance in later, better pictures of Nora. There are better pictures, but they require finding cables and such, so that's out right now.

And now Jack is requiring attention, so I'll have to wait to write about Nora's birth story. (short version: FIVE HOURS. She is TOTALLY forgiven for being late.)

Thanks to everyone for your thoughts, prayers, and good wishes. I love the internet so much.

Forty-ONE weeks

Well, I'm still on my couch. Even though Jack is at his grandparents', I'm not at Up, because, as much as Andrew and I hate to waste this last golden opportunity to go to an actual movie theater, we're just too darn tired. It sort of felt like a chore.

I am scheduled for an induction tomorrow. When my sister was induced, she had to be at the hospital by 7am, but my hospital works differently. They will call us when they have a bed available, and we will have one hour to get there. They can call us any time between 6am and 10pm. So... yeah. Let's hope for, say, 8am? Fortunately, the hospital is only ten minutes away, so as long as we're awake by 6:00 we're good.

I had an biophysical ultrasound and a non-stress test today just to check that everything's fine, and everything's fine. All signs point to this kid's just being really, really comfortable. But me? Not so much with the comfortable. More with the lots-of-pain-whenever-I-move. Incidentally, my mom stayed with Jack today during my tests, and I asked her how she ever survived carrying me the three extra weeks she had to - have I told you I was three weeks late? - and she said she cried a lot. "I can believe it!" I told her.

I will say that she looks pretty cute on the ultrasound. We could see her little nose and she kept sticking out her tongue, much to the amusement of the tech. I asked the tech if she really does have fat cheeks or do they always look like that in an ultrasound, and, sadly, she said they always look like that in an ultrasound. But that's not to say she doesn't have fat cheeks. I guess we'll find out tomorrow.

Man, it feels weird to write that. We'll find out tomorrow. But here's hoping that a miracle occurs before I have to get induced. I've tried a variety of reported labor-inducing techniques including scrubbing the kitchen floor and eggplant. I mean I ate the eggplant, I didn't scrub it. So now, we wait.

I leave you with the final belly shot. Bonus points for any Mr. Pickles sightings.





See you on the other side!

I am typing this from my couch

Not from the hospital. Believe me, I am more sorry than you are.

Updating

Why would she want to come out HERE when it's so comfy in THERE?

On the upside, I realized today that if I do make it till Wednesday, Jack will be heading to his grandparents for the night and that means Andrew and I can go see Up.

Still nothing.

Yesterday I took my midwife friend's advice and tried "curb-walking." (This is walking with one foot on the curb and one in the street.) It seemed to get some contractions going, so I went for a second walk during Jack's nap and ended up wearing myself completely out and having to take a nap as well. Sadly, all the contractions petered out and I was left with nothing but sore calves. You should see what the combination of sore calves and a being nine months pregnant does for a person's gait. It's not pretty.

I had called my parents in the morning to say that I thought maybe things were beginning, so I had to call them back in the evening to inform them of the unfortunate turn of events. "Well," said my Dad, "you'll go to bed and relax for a while, and that will get things moving."

"Now you're just making stuff up," I told him. Then my mom got on the phone and said, "You should try taking a walk."

"I did," I said. "In fact, I walked long enough that I completely wore myself out!"

"Oh, don't wear yourself out," she replied. "You should put your feet up and relax!"

I laughed and said, "Well which is it, Mom? Should I go for a walk or relax? I can't do both!" She then told me that my dad made her a whiskey sour when she was due with their second, but, sadly, we have no sour mix. Well, that and I wasn't really in the mood.

And today is Father's Day, and poor Andrew spend the whole thing pretty much waiting on me hand and foot. I did get up with Jack and let Andrew sleep "in" a bit during which time I chopped things for his omelette, but I didn't MAKE the omelette because I figured Andrew would want a GOOD breakfast on Father's Day. Omelettes are his forte. Breakfast in general is his domain, actually, but I am at least capable of making other things. Just not omelettes.

(My friend The Photographer once asked me why I didn't have Andrew show me how to make an omelette. "Then you can make them!" she said.

"Why on earth would I want to do that?" I answered.

"Ah, yes. I see what you mean," she replied.)

At any rate, after my somewhat lame attempt at making his Father's Day nice, I spent the rest of the day napping and wandering sadly around the house while Andrew entertained Jack, cleaned the kitchen, and did laundry. This pregnancy is not going easy on him either. But, lest you feel TOO sorry for him, you should know that I also have a cold. And it is more than unfair to be 40+ weeks pregnant with a head cold. UNFAIR.

Well, my bag is packed and the induction is Thursday if she doesn't come sooner.

Not yet

Still pregnant, but there are irregular contractions. So that means... well, pretty much nothing. Could be tomorrow, could be next week. Keep your fingers crossed for me!

Plus side of being overdue and wallowing in misery

Andrew picks up all the toys every night and also cleans the kitchen most nights, even when he also made dinner. And tonight he even washed the pans! And here I thought that was against his religion!

Nope.

I had my 40 week appointment yesterday. Zero cm, folks. ZERO. "Maybe a little bit of thinning."

HEAVY HEAVY SIGH.

I had to go back for an ultrasound today because I measured slightly smaller than last week, but everything is totally find. She's apparently quite comfortable in there. And it looks like she has fat cheeks.

Kermit? Where?

Well I must have been doing SOME nesting, because there's nothing to do around here. Well, OK, to be fair, that's because what there IS to do requires action on my part that I am unwilling to partake in. For example, I am not going to pick up all the stuff from the drawer that Jack threw on the floor because that would mean I'd have to stand up and then bend down. SEVERAL TIMES. So that's out. If it doesn't attract bugs, it stays where it is. That's MY motto.

That pretty much leaves things like organizing photos and blogging, and I finished organizing all the photos yesterday, so here I am. (For real; I made Jack's baby book this week. Yes, he IS two and a half. Your point?)

So. Kermit. I had actually wondered if anyone would ever notice Kermit. (For SHAME, Kristin!) I cut this out of a magazine my first year in grad school, and it has hung in my bathroom ever since. I even bought a frame specifically for this picture, but naturally I bought the wrong size and was forced to mat it with black construction paper which immediately faded to a dingy gray. What sort of dye do they use on construction paper, anyway? Because it fades SECONDS after you take it out of the dark.



It is a "Got Milk?" ad from 1999. My shiny new computer - oh, right, I got a shiny new computer and the battery, like, WORKS and stuff - does not have any fancy imaging software, so I couldn't reverse the image to enable you to read it, but it's too blurry anyway. (Of course, if I were on a fake-science based TV show, all I'd have to do is hit a couple of keys and my magical imaging software would pull pixels out of the ether and we'd all be able to see Kermit's fingerprints even though his hand is turned away and he is made of felt and therefore has no fingerprints. And the thing about all that that bothers me the most is that we would not have to use the mouse to select the area we want to enhance, we'd just hit three keys and a box would show up on our screen selecting the correct region and zoom in. Does that bother anyone else? MAKE THE CHARACTERS USE A MOUSE.)

Wow, I'm bored. Bored and completely without contractions. And typing this free-thinking style, in case you couldn't tell. Also, Jack is napping. His nap today started at 10:30am. Currently, Jack's nap are completely and utterly unpredictable, happening anywhere from (apparently) 10:30am to 4:30pm. They usually last two hours (except for the 4:30pm start time one; I only let him have twenty minutes because I'm not a complete moron), but I simply never know when - or IF - they will take place. On the plus side, though, he just gets into bed and goes to sleep when he's ready.

Oh, speaking of contractions, I agree with you all that she DOES look lower in that picture compared to last week's, but I think it's partly the different shirt. She's been dropping for a long time now. I can tell because I've been walking around for some weeks now with the distinct feeling that a baby is about to spontaneously fall out due to sheer pressure. Also, I have to pee ALL THE TIME but then I go and there is NOTHING.

Oh! Was that a contraction?

NO IT TOTALLY WASN'T. Because I'm going to be pregnant forever and ever. The end.

(Note: I didn't even feel anything, I was just using a literary device to complain. I realized later that it sounds like I felt something and decided it wasn't a real one when, in fact, I felt nothing because nothing remotely contraction-esque is happening 'round these parts. Sorry to get you all excited.)

40 Weeks

and counting.





As near as I can tell, I'm going to be pregnant for the rest of my life. But I'll keep you posted.

No news

I am still pregnant. Sigh.

Nesting

So. I’m still pregnant.

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That was me yesterday, at 39 weeks exactly. I decided to wear my pretty shirt instead of my usual striped T because I needed a little lift to get me out of the ocean of self-pity I’ve been wallowing in these past few weeks. Being pregnant is just SO HARD! POOR POOR POOR POOR ME!

(slap)

Sorry. Hey, howzabout I mention some ways in which this pregnancy has been easier than average? First of all, yesterday at my mom’s I discovered that I am having Braxton-Hicks contractions, I just can’t feel them. (My mom is a retired OB/GYN nurse, and she felt the tightening on my belly and pointed it out to me. Since it doesn’t hurt at all, I had just thought that was the baby stretching or something.) Contrast this to one of my sisters who was brought to near tears by her BH contractions for three straight months. So that’s good. And then there’s sleep and how I can still do it. Sometimes I even sleep straight through the night without having to get up to pee at all! This is unheard of in a nine-month pregnant lady, and hoo boy, will I miss it when I suddenly find myself getting up 87 times a night to breastfeed. On the other hand, the sleep I get isn’t particularly refreshing, since when I wake up I’m still completely exhausted*. I think it’s because I can’t roll over, so the mornings after I don’t get up all night, my left side is practically numb from having lain on it all night. Still, I’m sure I will soon look longingly back at these days of sleeping in one position for eight hours because of the EIGHT HOURS part, so I’m trying to savor it.

But I was going to talk about nesting. Really, I was! Check the title! I don’t think I nest as much as some women do; for example, while I did spend two days purging all the old papers from our file cabinets and shipping them off to a shredding service, I did not finish the job and reorganize the remaining files into a sensible system. Nevertheless, there have been several bursts of somewhat odd behavior like how I suddenly primed the back stairwell last month during Jack’s nap. (Don’t tell my mom I did that.) Now that we finally painted our bedroom, the only painting left to do in our house – if you don’t count repainting the bathroom because we accidentally chose a god-awful pink or the living room because it’s been long enough that I’ve gotten sick of it – are the outside pantry and the back stairway. These two are low priority because no one really sees them. Guests see the back stairway if we have a cookout, but for the most part, these areas of the house are closed off and therefore invisible. Still, the stairway had horrible dark blue walls and dark brown wainscoting and trim and did I mention it was dark? Very very dark. A very very dark, dark cave. So we figured we’d use our leftover yellow and white from the kitchen and brighten it up, but, you know, when we got around to it.

Well, I got around to it, or at least to the priming part. I knew I probably wouldn’t finish before the baby comes, but I also figured that even if all I did was prime it, it could not possibly look worse and it would at least be brighter. And I was right, I didn’t finish. Technically, I didn’t even finish priming because there is so much trim and wainscoting, but I was right, it doesn’t look any worse and it is, in fact, much brighter. So I’m calling it a success. I do kind of wonder when we will actually finish it, though. Even though the woodwork is only half primed, it’s the sort of thing that just starts looking normal until you have people over and they say things like, “Oh, are you painting? When did you start?” and you are forced to reply, “Uh… four years ago.”

But my battery is dying and I want to post this now because I am hoping I will be too busy having a baby to post it tomorrow. Fingers crossed!

*Yesterday, I asked Jack how he had slept, and he said “Slept good.” Then I asked him if he felt refreshed, and he said, “And rested!”

Still pregnant

I'm hoping to write a real post today, but just in case I don't get to it because of a certain cranky party in my house I figured I'd let you all know I have not had the baby. It's been a while since I posted, so I bet some of you were wondering. I have, however, had my first ever experience of a stranger touching my belly. It was very bizarre. Who does that?

This is not the post I was going to write

I’ve been working on a post about late pregnancy and how it stinks, but instead of the light, amusing tone I was aiming for, it was coming out more like this: “Whine whine whine I’m uncomfortable and I HATE EVERYONE.” So I scrapped it.

But I will sum up salient points for you:

1. Many parts of me hurt because I am 37 weeks pregnant.
2. I am small for 37 weeks, but I feel enormous.
3. Even though I am small, that doesn’t mean I welcome total strangers’ comments and critiques on my physical size.
4. I will never again comment on anyone’s size ever, not even to say, “You’re so thin!”
5. What is up with total strangers asking me if I’m going to have any more kids after this one? Seriously, what is UP with that? I DON’T EVEN KNOW YOU. (My standard answer is “I do not plan the next child while gestating the current one.” But now I’m thinking I might switch to, “Yes, we are going to have eleven and half.”)

So. There you go. I feel I should also mention for the sake of my friends and relatives who read this that I don’t mind when YOU tell me I’m small. It’s mostly the strangers who get to me. I think it’s because I have to be polite to them and can’t give them the litany of my complaints like I can with you. So don’t feel bad.

In other news, The Doktah sent me a surprise package last week. It turned out to be full of cute clothes that her own daughter has outgrown. I remembered that The Doktah had told me she was going to go through her stuff and pick just her favorites, and she did a great job. There’s a little flowered dress, a pair of cool embroidered jeans, and an adorable little pink track suit!



Awww. Except… wait a second. What is THAT?







What kind of sick joke IS this? A New York Yankees track suit? So I called The Doktah and demanded an explanation.

“This is why I sent you that email that you should call me before you open it!” she said. “I only put it in because I thought you could use it at Halloween. She can go as the devil!”

Well, OK then. But after Halloween, I guess I’m stuck with it forever, because I certainly can’t give it away to anyone around here. I’d be lynched.

Place holder

I'm at Andrew's computer right now and starting my computer up involves far too many steps. It's WAAAAAY across the room and I'd have to BEND DOWN to plug it in* and then wait for it to boot up and I'm exhausted just thinking about it. So this means I can't post pictures and I can't finish my post about how I feel about being pregnant right now. (Short answer: It stinks.) But what I can tell you is that I recently bought at $13 watch at Target, and it has CHANGED MY LIFE. I haven't worn a watch in years because the clasp on my good watch broke and it kept falling off my wrist. I got it "fixed" at least twice and finally gave up and stuck it in my jewelry box. Then I just started relying on clocks, my cell phone, and my innate sense of time. Since clocks are not everywhere, my cell phone is often difficult to access, and I have no innate sense of time, I have basically just been late for everything.**

Then one day I thought, "If only there were some sort of small clock device which I could strap to a part of my body, say... my wrist, so that I could simply glance down to see what time it is without having to search in my bag for my sleek-yet-difficult-to-find cell phone. I would gladly pay upwards of $15 for such a device!" And then, lo, I found racks of them at Target. Racks and racks. (Well, one rack. But still.)

Since acquiring my cheap watch, I continue to be amazed at how quickly I can find out what time it is at any given moment. I've also noticed that in this cell-phone society, no one wears watches anymore, and OTHER people seem equally startled at how fast I can tell them what time it is. It's like a magic trick.

The only catch is that I have to remember to wear it.

*This is a legitimate excuse because of the whole "pregnancy stinks" thing. I am not very bendy at the moment.

**In other words, nothing had really changed from when I wore a watch except that I didn't know HOW late until I got where I was going.