We went to the pool to grill the other day and were greeted by three little kids that were really excited to let us know that someone had thrown up in the pool a few minutes earlier. We weren't planning to get in the pool, lucky for us. At first we thought it was strange they were so excited to tell us about the throw up and the realized that when we were seven it would definitely have been the most exciting thing that had ever happened.
The book reviews on Amazon are really distracting. Also, when someone gives one star to A Tree Grows in Brooklyn because it is "boring" they should not ever be allowed to use a computer again.
Bear had almost no eyelashes when he was born. Now, eight weeks on they've started to grow in long and dark. I wasn't expecting this although it's not unwelcome. Also, I noticed bruises on his arms. They freaked me out until I realized he got them from sucking on his arms.
Visible tattoos make most women look really, horribly trashy. You can expect that I will most likely expand on this in the not too distant future.
We were at the mall and saw a girl wearing pants and a sports bra. No shirt. Just a bra. We were so shocked that we couldn't stop staring at her. I guess we should have felt bad about that but clearly that's what she wanted. Otherwise you wear a shirt when you go out.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Friday, July 10, 2009
Flights of fancy
On Tuesday I did what all new parents dread: I took my infant child on an airplane. I wasn't concerned about germs. I was concerned about being THAT PERSON. That person who takes her child on a flight only to have the child scream bloody murder the whole time and making all the other passengers wish, just a little, for the plane to crash.
Although I was worried I told myself that I'd never had a flight ruined because of a crying baby. I've certainly had unpleasant flights thanks to extremely annoying four-years-olds screaming and kicking my seat and drunk people being assholes, but never because of a crying infant. I searched the internet for tips and asked parents that have traveled with kids what they thought. What I learned was to nurse on the way up and down and to cheerfully tell anyone with a problem to go fuck themselves. The first part was no problem but the second seemed too rude to actually be employed.
As it turned out I needn't have worried. Although Foster did cry a little bit he was no match for the airplane noises and the three teenagers behind me. I guess I have a new standard for The Most Annoying People To Share An Airplane With. From what I gathered, none of them had ever been allowed to leave the house before. Their neglectful father sat near them and never said one word about knocking off their shrieky laughter or that the nice lady with the baby in front of them might not like having her seat systematically kicked for four hours.
I guess the moral of the story is that the people who suck on flights are the ones that act horrible and should know better. Emphasis on should.
Although I was worried I told myself that I'd never had a flight ruined because of a crying baby. I've certainly had unpleasant flights thanks to extremely annoying four-years-olds screaming and kicking my seat and drunk people being assholes, but never because of a crying infant. I searched the internet for tips and asked parents that have traveled with kids what they thought. What I learned was to nurse on the way up and down and to cheerfully tell anyone with a problem to go fuck themselves. The first part was no problem but the second seemed too rude to actually be employed.
As it turned out I needn't have worried. Although Foster did cry a little bit he was no match for the airplane noises and the three teenagers behind me. I guess I have a new standard for The Most Annoying People To Share An Airplane With. From what I gathered, none of them had ever been allowed to leave the house before. Their neglectful father sat near them and never said one word about knocking off their shrieky laughter or that the nice lady with the baby in front of them might not like having her seat systematically kicked for four hours.
I guess the moral of the story is that the people who suck on flights are the ones that act horrible and should know better. Emphasis on should.
Friday, July 3, 2009
I love having all my teeth
One of things that happens after you have a baby is a nice person, who obviously doesn't have kids since she's wearing lipstick, comes in with paperwork for processing the birth certificate. You get to fill it out in a narcotic-induced haze while learning to nurse and running on two hours sleep. A day or two later the same lady brings it back for you to double-check before typing it up and sending it to the state, who will tehn send the information to social security. You are of course distracted by your adorable baby, operating on minimal sleep, having fun adjusting the hospital bed and still enjoying the benefits of Perocet every three hours. It's in this condition that you are expected to notice any errors in the paperwork.
Well, this is how it went for me anyway. Two weeks ago I went to the courthouse to pick up Bear's certificate (a story in and of itself) and found out that they couldn't issue it because his last name was spelled wrong. By one letter. I called the birth certificate office and had it corrected. In the meantime they'd sent his information to social security. I got the paperwork from them and naturally our last name is spelled wrong. I was very joyful because this meant a trip to the happiest place on Earth: the social security office.
I diligently collected his now accurate birth certificate, the incorrect social security card, and my driver's license. I was confident this would be a quick process. After all, this must happen pretty often.
I arrived at the social security office at 8:45 and got in line behind roughly fifteen people who hadn't had a job or full set of teeth for probably six years. I got in and told the officer (yes, with a gun and everything...what the hell goes on there?!) what I needed. He gave me a form and a number and I took a seat. I filled out the form and perused through it while I waited. I came to the section on the documentation I needed. It informed me that I'd need to show a driver's license, state ID, or passport. For Bear. Who has none of those things. Then at the bottom of the page in large, bold letters it said: "WE CANNOT ACCEPT A BIRTH CERTIFICATE...as evidence of identity." Well what the hell? What am I supposed to show them then?
Eventually my number was called. The woman working the window was exceptionally humorless, although I guess I would be too if my job involved working with people that are in trouble for "borrowing" their sister's social security number (yes, I heard a woman say this) and smell like booze.
"So, um, obviously he's a baby and doesn't have a driver's license yet. I guess this is why they should make the dads double-check and not the moms." I chuckled at my joke but she looked at me like I'd opened seven credit cards in someone else's name. She aggressively highlighted on a piece of paper and thrust it at me.
"When you come back with this information we can process the change." I sighed and silently cursed my no drinking before noon rule. I looked over the paper and saw that I'd have to get a certified copy of a medical record with Bear's name and date of birth. Sort of like the information ON HIS BIRTH CERTIFICATE.
After that I again understood why people move to Idaho, stockpile an arsenal and refuse to pay taxes.
Well, this is how it went for me anyway. Two weeks ago I went to the courthouse to pick up Bear's certificate (a story in and of itself) and found out that they couldn't issue it because his last name was spelled wrong. By one letter. I called the birth certificate office and had it corrected. In the meantime they'd sent his information to social security. I got the paperwork from them and naturally our last name is spelled wrong. I was very joyful because this meant a trip to the happiest place on Earth: the social security office.
I diligently collected his now accurate birth certificate, the incorrect social security card, and my driver's license. I was confident this would be a quick process. After all, this must happen pretty often.
I arrived at the social security office at 8:45 and got in line behind roughly fifteen people who hadn't had a job or full set of teeth for probably six years. I got in and told the officer (yes, with a gun and everything...what the hell goes on there?!) what I needed. He gave me a form and a number and I took a seat. I filled out the form and perused through it while I waited. I came to the section on the documentation I needed. It informed me that I'd need to show a driver's license, state ID, or passport. For Bear. Who has none of those things. Then at the bottom of the page in large, bold letters it said: "WE CANNOT ACCEPT A BIRTH CERTIFICATE...as evidence of identity." Well what the hell? What am I supposed to show them then?
Eventually my number was called. The woman working the window was exceptionally humorless, although I guess I would be too if my job involved working with people that are in trouble for "borrowing" their sister's social security number (yes, I heard a woman say this) and smell like booze.
"So, um, obviously he's a baby and doesn't have a driver's license yet. I guess this is why they should make the dads double-check and not the moms." I chuckled at my joke but she looked at me like I'd opened seven credit cards in someone else's name. She aggressively highlighted on a piece of paper and thrust it at me.
"When you come back with this information we can process the change." I sighed and silently cursed my no drinking before noon rule. I looked over the paper and saw that I'd have to get a certified copy of a medical record with Bear's name and date of birth. Sort of like the information ON HIS BIRTH CERTIFICATE.
After that I again understood why people move to Idaho, stockpile an arsenal and refuse to pay taxes.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
One Month
On Thursday Foster turned one month old.
Coincidentally that was also Kent's and my four year anniversary. (Happy anniversary, honey! Maybe I'll blog about how we met next time. It's a very cute story, in my opinion.)
What Foster can do at one month:
Squawk and squeak
Consistently sleep four hours at night
Grasp, especially my hair (can't wait until he figures out earrings)
Smile occasionally although not actually in response to anything
Nurse
Poop
Charm his mom and dad
What I can do now that Foster is one month:
Run a mile (OK, I haven't actually tried to run a whole mile yet but I bet I can)
Sleep for more than two hours without using the bathroom
Fit into non-maternity clothes, as long as they are two or three sizes bigger than what I wore when I got pregnant
Take ibuprofen (this makes me very happy)
Drink diet soda without worrying that my baby will become a mutant
It's been a very busy first month, despite the fact that there haven't been a LOT of big accomplishments. All too quickly Foster will go from a tiny baby into a three-year-old that throws tantrums at the grocery store and not long after that an 18-year-old that doesn't think I know when he's been drinking. I can honestly say I'm looking forward to (almost) all of it.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Special delivery
I know, that post title is such a cliche. I know everyone has been dying to hear how my delivery went. Don't worry, I'm not going to give you any gory details or visuals you don't want. Just good, clean fun.
Before I get started let me give you a little background. First, my due date was May 30. Kent was scheduled to come home on May 25 had to leave June 5. If the baby didn't come on his own I was going to be induced on June 4 so he'd be here for the delivery. This was something I didn't want AT ALL and caused me all sorts of undue stress. I prayed and talked to the baby asking for him to please come on his on, preferably around May 27 so that Kent would be home and get to spend lots of time with him. However, being a first time mom I was sure that I wouldn't be early (statistically speaking, most first births in Caucasian women occur at 41 weeks, 1 day) and an induction was in the cards.
So, on the night of May 23 I was sitting watching TV before bed and I felt a pain that started in my back and went around to my front. I'd been having contractions for several weeks, sometimes a little painful so I don't know why this one stood out to me but it did. I thought, "Oh my gosh, is that a real contraction?" Quickly followed by, "Of course it isn't." I ended up going to bed shortly after without feeling another one. I don't know if it was anxiety or my body gearing up but I woke up at 4 AM and couldn't fall back asleep. At this point I figured I was just anxious because I was looking for signs of starting labor.
That day I went out and ran some errands but I felt cruddy and begged off from seeing a friend. Kent was scheduled to fly in the next day and I called him the night of the 24th and told him if it was at all possible he should see about trying to get in earlier since I thought by this point that maybe, possibly, I was starting labor. He and I both looked but the flight he was booked on would put him in earlier then anything else. We crossed our fingers that he'd make it in time.
I woke up at 3 AM on the 25th to a contraction. I got up and thought I'd hang out and see what happened before I called my mom and dad. I walked around, ate some soup and drank juice since I knew I wouldn't be eating again. Finally at 4 AM I called my parents and asked them to come over at 5 AM. My parents got to my house and I waited a little longer before calling my midwife. I was at the hospital by 6:30 and my contractions were 45 - 60 seconds long, with 3 - 4 minutes in between getting stronger. They checked me and I was very disappointed that I was only at 2.5 centimeters.
Anyway, I won't bore you with all the details but basically they put me on a monitor to track the baby's heart rate around 8 AM. I was watching it and noticed a change; it became really erratic looking. I called for the nurse to ask if it was normal, which it wasn't. Several nurses rushed in, they put me on oxygen and I thought they would give me a c-section. The heart rate stabilized and the nurse told me that I would no longer have the option of being off the monitor so I could walk around, get in the tub, etc. I would have to stay in bed. This was a pretty disappointing turn of events for me, as I was planning to have a natural birth and wanted to move around to manage my pain.
I labored in bed for a few more hours. They did let me sit in a rocking chair (NOT helpful in pain management) but I needed help to even go to the bathroom. It was very frustrating. I talked to Kent and knew by this point he'd definitely arrive in time for the delivery. It was a little after noon and I finally decided that maybe I'd like an epidural. I knew the risks, but since I couldn't do anything to alleviate my pain there didn't seem to be any point in not getting one. Maybe it sounds stupid but that was kind of a bummer moment for me. However, I was much more comfortable afterwards and the nurse told me that it was good I waited so long (I was at seven centimeters) because the further along you are the less likely an epidural is to slow down your labor.
Note: I would like to say one other thing in favor for an epidural. For the last six weeks of my pregnancy I had to go to the bathroom all the time since the baby made himself comfortable on top of my bladder. The epidural completely eliminated that feeling. It was wonderful.
Frankly not much happened for the next few hours. My water broke naturally (I refused to let the midwife give me an amniotomy), I napped, Kent got to the hospital and we talked. Around 6:20 PM the nurse told me that I could try to push if I felt like it. Forty minutes later we had our baby. The midwife let Kent actually catch the baby, cut the cord and announce the sex. I wanted the baby right away but he'd inhaled some meconium and wasn't breathing when he was finally born so they had to take care of him first. It goes without saying that he was fine; otherwise this post would be quite different.
Having him was the most amazing thing I've ever experienced. I love him so much. As for my birthing experience, I would say I got about 80% of what I wanted. Obviously not being able to move and having an epidural were not what I originally wanted. The other thing that upset me was at the end they gave me Pitocin to augment my labor during the second (pushing) stage. In fact, they had to stop the Pitocin almost immediately because Bear started to show some signs of distress. I'm actually more upset about the Pitocin because I thought it seemed like arbitrary administration. In fact, right before the midwife came in and told me she was going to give me Pitocin the nurse told me she was shocked I had labored without Pitocin the whole time. Apparently it's almost unheard of not to have any labor augmentation in the hospital I was at.
I'm sure some of you think I'm silly for complaining, after all both the baby and I were healthy. I also know that I'm no expert and that my midwife made decisions that she felt were in my best interest. I'm luckier than most women; my providers were all compassionate, attentive and concerned with my comfort. Other than administering the Pitocin I felt like I was in complete control of all interventions (e.g. no one argued with me when I declined to have an amniotomy and when I said under no circumstances did I want an episiotomy). Despite my minimal disappointment I would absolutely recommend the practice and hospital.
I just want to say one other thing to any woman that is reading my blog and either pregnant or thinking about having a baby: PLEASE be informed about interventions available to pregnant women. I say "interventions" rather than "treatments" because pregnancy and childbirth are natural experiences and I don't think they require treatment. There is NOTHING wrong with choosing to have interventions but make sure that you are informed ahead of time about the risks and benefits; you may not get the information you need when you're actually in labor. Ask your provider how often he or she performs certain procedures. If you don't want a vacuum extraction or episiotomy and your provider performs them 90% of the time the chances are good that you'll have one too.
There are lots of interesting and informative resources. I hope I don't sound too preachy but I've known a lot of women that have had really bad birth experiences because they didn't know what to ask or expect. I find that sad and unnecessary. Thanks for reading, I hope you found this post interesting and informative.
Before I get started let me give you a little background. First, my due date was May 30. Kent was scheduled to come home on May 25 had to leave June 5. If the baby didn't come on his own I was going to be induced on June 4 so he'd be here for the delivery. This was something I didn't want AT ALL and caused me all sorts of undue stress. I prayed and talked to the baby asking for him to please come on his on, preferably around May 27 so that Kent would be home and get to spend lots of time with him. However, being a first time mom I was sure that I wouldn't be early (statistically speaking, most first births in Caucasian women occur at 41 weeks, 1 day) and an induction was in the cards.
So, on the night of May 23 I was sitting watching TV before bed and I felt a pain that started in my back and went around to my front. I'd been having contractions for several weeks, sometimes a little painful so I don't know why this one stood out to me but it did. I thought, "Oh my gosh, is that a real contraction?" Quickly followed by, "Of course it isn't." I ended up going to bed shortly after without feeling another one. I don't know if it was anxiety or my body gearing up but I woke up at 4 AM and couldn't fall back asleep. At this point I figured I was just anxious because I was looking for signs of starting labor.
That day I went out and ran some errands but I felt cruddy and begged off from seeing a friend. Kent was scheduled to fly in the next day and I called him the night of the 24th and told him if it was at all possible he should see about trying to get in earlier since I thought by this point that maybe, possibly, I was starting labor. He and I both looked but the flight he was booked on would put him in earlier then anything else. We crossed our fingers that he'd make it in time.
I woke up at 3 AM on the 25th to a contraction. I got up and thought I'd hang out and see what happened before I called my mom and dad. I walked around, ate some soup and drank juice since I knew I wouldn't be eating again. Finally at 4 AM I called my parents and asked them to come over at 5 AM. My parents got to my house and I waited a little longer before calling my midwife. I was at the hospital by 6:30 and my contractions were 45 - 60 seconds long, with 3 - 4 minutes in between getting stronger. They checked me and I was very disappointed that I was only at 2.5 centimeters.
Anyway, I won't bore you with all the details but basically they put me on a monitor to track the baby's heart rate around 8 AM. I was watching it and noticed a change; it became really erratic looking. I called for the nurse to ask if it was normal, which it wasn't. Several nurses rushed in, they put me on oxygen and I thought they would give me a c-section. The heart rate stabilized and the nurse told me that I would no longer have the option of being off the monitor so I could walk around, get in the tub, etc. I would have to stay in bed. This was a pretty disappointing turn of events for me, as I was planning to have a natural birth and wanted to move around to manage my pain.
I labored in bed for a few more hours. They did let me sit in a rocking chair (NOT helpful in pain management) but I needed help to even go to the bathroom. It was very frustrating. I talked to Kent and knew by this point he'd definitely arrive in time for the delivery. It was a little after noon and I finally decided that maybe I'd like an epidural. I knew the risks, but since I couldn't do anything to alleviate my pain there didn't seem to be any point in not getting one. Maybe it sounds stupid but that was kind of a bummer moment for me. However, I was much more comfortable afterwards and the nurse told me that it was good I waited so long (I was at seven centimeters) because the further along you are the less likely an epidural is to slow down your labor.
Note: I would like to say one other thing in favor for an epidural. For the last six weeks of my pregnancy I had to go to the bathroom all the time since the baby made himself comfortable on top of my bladder. The epidural completely eliminated that feeling. It was wonderful.
Frankly not much happened for the next few hours. My water broke naturally (I refused to let the midwife give me an amniotomy), I napped, Kent got to the hospital and we talked. Around 6:20 PM the nurse told me that I could try to push if I felt like it. Forty minutes later we had our baby. The midwife let Kent actually catch the baby, cut the cord and announce the sex. I wanted the baby right away but he'd inhaled some meconium and wasn't breathing when he was finally born so they had to take care of him first. It goes without saying that he was fine; otherwise this post would be quite different.
Having him was the most amazing thing I've ever experienced. I love him so much. As for my birthing experience, I would say I got about 80% of what I wanted. Obviously not being able to move and having an epidural were not what I originally wanted. The other thing that upset me was at the end they gave me Pitocin to augment my labor during the second (pushing) stage. In fact, they had to stop the Pitocin almost immediately because Bear started to show some signs of distress. I'm actually more upset about the Pitocin because I thought it seemed like arbitrary administration. In fact, right before the midwife came in and told me she was going to give me Pitocin the nurse told me she was shocked I had labored without Pitocin the whole time. Apparently it's almost unheard of not to have any labor augmentation in the hospital I was at.
I'm sure some of you think I'm silly for complaining, after all both the baby and I were healthy. I also know that I'm no expert and that my midwife made decisions that she felt were in my best interest. I'm luckier than most women; my providers were all compassionate, attentive and concerned with my comfort. Other than administering the Pitocin I felt like I was in complete control of all interventions (e.g. no one argued with me when I declined to have an amniotomy and when I said under no circumstances did I want an episiotomy). Despite my minimal disappointment I would absolutely recommend the practice and hospital.
I just want to say one other thing to any woman that is reading my blog and either pregnant or thinking about having a baby: PLEASE be informed about interventions available to pregnant women. I say "interventions" rather than "treatments" because pregnancy and childbirth are natural experiences and I don't think they require treatment. There is NOTHING wrong with choosing to have interventions but make sure that you are informed ahead of time about the risks and benefits; you may not get the information you need when you're actually in labor. Ask your provider how often he or she performs certain procedures. If you don't want a vacuum extraction or episiotomy and your provider performs them 90% of the time the chances are good that you'll have one too.
There are lots of interesting and informative resources. I hope I don't sound too preachy but I've known a lot of women that have had really bad birth experiences because they didn't know what to ask or expect. I find that sad and unnecessary. Thanks for reading, I hope you found this post interesting and informative.
Friday, May 22, 2009
I've gotta say...
First, my dad wanted me to let everyone know that he and my mom have been happily married for almost 30 years and that my previous post on Mel Gibson was not in any way related to my family. I think Mel Gibson is a tool, but not because anything similar happened to me!
Today was my last day at work before starting maternity leave. Officially I am off for twelve weeks. Unofficially, I don't know for sure what I'm going to do. I'm relieved to be finished with work; at this point I consider it a success if I have the energy to take a shower, let alone make myself presentable enough for an office.
Yesterday I was talking to some co-workers and one of them asked me if I was dying to know if the baby is a boy or girl. Of course I'm curious and I think about it, but really pondering the question made me realize I'm actually much more interested in something else. I'm really excited to see if the baby is bald or not. That's what I think about, if I'll have a little bald-headed baby. I sort of hope so, because I think bald babies are adorable.
Sorry this point is so disjointed but it's 10 PM which is well past my bedtime of immediately after work (I'm lots of fun these days). Kent is home on Monday so cross your fingers that I make it through the weekend without going into labor!
Today was my last day at work before starting maternity leave. Officially I am off for twelve weeks. Unofficially, I don't know for sure what I'm going to do. I'm relieved to be finished with work; at this point I consider it a success if I have the energy to take a shower, let alone make myself presentable enough for an office.
Yesterday I was talking to some co-workers and one of them asked me if I was dying to know if the baby is a boy or girl. Of course I'm curious and I think about it, but really pondering the question made me realize I'm actually much more interested in something else. I'm really excited to see if the baby is bald or not. That's what I think about, if I'll have a little bald-headed baby. I sort of hope so, because I think bald babies are adorable.
Sorry this point is so disjointed but it's 10 PM which is well past my bedtime of immediately after work (I'm lots of fun these days). Kent is home on Monday so cross your fingers that I make it through the weekend without going into labor!
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
O Mel
Dear Mel Gibson,
While reading my favorite gossip rag today I saw that allegedly your 39-year-old Russian girlfriend is expecting your eighth child. Wow! That's really something. I'm sure that your other seven kids are thrilled that you and their mother split up and they get to have a new baby brother or sister! I would sure be happy about that if I were one of them.
But I need some clarification on something. Forgive me for my confusion, but I also read that you and your wife are divorcing. Now my understanding is that Catholics aren't allowed to divorce. Strictly speaking, you have to get an annullment which means you were never married and now your seven other kids are (and excuse me for being indelicate) bastards. Maybe you're wondering why I care. Well frankly I guess I really don't. Mostly I'm just embarrassed for your ex-wife and kids. I know how I would feel if I split up for my husband and then saw him out and about with a pregnant girlfriend. And even moreso I can imagine how cruddy it would feel, as a grown woman, if my dad knocked up his much younger girlfriend. For heaven's sake, you're 53. Your oldest child is 28! Basically that means your oldest child could easily be this baby's parent.
I'd like to make a few suggestions. First of all, stop spouting about being Catholic. I'm pretty sure the Catholic church isn't very impressed with you at this point. Second, why don't you have a little respect for your family and keep it in your pants.
I hope you will consider my suggestions.
With absolutely no respect for you whatsoever (or any man that behaves the same way),
Maggie
While reading my favorite gossip rag today I saw that allegedly your 39-year-old Russian girlfriend is expecting your eighth child. Wow! That's really something. I'm sure that your other seven kids are thrilled that you and their mother split up and they get to have a new baby brother or sister! I would sure be happy about that if I were one of them.
But I need some clarification on something. Forgive me for my confusion, but I also read that you and your wife are divorcing. Now my understanding is that Catholics aren't allowed to divorce. Strictly speaking, you have to get an annullment which means you were never married and now your seven other kids are (and excuse me for being indelicate) bastards. Maybe you're wondering why I care. Well frankly I guess I really don't. Mostly I'm just embarrassed for your ex-wife and kids. I know how I would feel if I split up for my husband and then saw him out and about with a pregnant girlfriend. And even moreso I can imagine how cruddy it would feel, as a grown woman, if my dad knocked up his much younger girlfriend. For heaven's sake, you're 53. Your oldest child is 28! Basically that means your oldest child could easily be this baby's parent.
I'd like to make a few suggestions. First of all, stop spouting about being Catholic. I'm pretty sure the Catholic church isn't very impressed with you at this point. Second, why don't you have a little respect for your family and keep it in your pants.
I hope you will consider my suggestions.
With absolutely no respect for you whatsoever (or any man that behaves the same way),
Maggie
Monday, April 20, 2009
Today
Do you know where you were exactly ten years ago? Who you were with? What you were doing?
I do.
I do.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Candyland
We have a bowl of candy at the reception desk at work. We fill it with very good candy, if I do say so myself. Butterfingers, Reese's, M & Ms and other stuff. I rarely eat it myself since I don't have much of a sweet tooth. If I do take some I just take it, I don't think that the person at the front desk wants any explanation at all. I know when I'm working the front desk the last thing I want is a story about why you're eating candy. I'm not your mom. Pick something out and go away.
However, not everyone shares my feelings. Most people are pretty good about picking out something and going on their merry way. But one of my coworkers (co-irker?) wants to give me a treatise (not entirely an accurate word since it's oral not written...but cut me a break ok?) about why she's taking a piece of candy, how she needs a piece of candy, how she is DYING because she is so tired and needs the sugar. Some days it's all I can do to bite my tongue and not say, "How about this? I don't remotely give a shit."
Can you tell who was just up at the front desk with me?
However, not everyone shares my feelings. Most people are pretty good about picking out something and going on their merry way. But one of my coworkers (co-irker?) wants to give me a treatise (not entirely an accurate word since it's oral not written...but cut me a break ok?) about why she's taking a piece of candy, how she needs a piece of candy, how she is DYING because she is so tired and needs the sugar. Some days it's all I can do to bite my tongue and not say, "How about this? I don't remotely give a shit."
Can you tell who was just up at the front desk with me?
I guess I shouldn't feel so self-concious
See, two posts in two days. The new blog layout is already making a difference. On Wednesday I went to my midwife for my bi-weekly check up. She asked me standard questions about Braxton-Hicks contractions, how I'm sleeping and if I'm experiencing any swelling in my hands and feet.
Me: Yeah, I have a little swelling in my hands and feet. Nothing terrible but bad enough that it's a little uncomfortable to wear my rings. I take them off at work but put them on when I go anywhere so I don't look like a shameless hussy.
Jules: Oh don't feel bad, I think about 75% of our clients could be put into that category. Today I had an 18 year old that was on the phone with her boyfriend during her exam. I asked what he was doing and why he wasn't with her and she told me that he couldn't make it because he was in prison.
Me: ::Long pause:: So, did she mention why?
Jules: No. But I really wanted to ask.
And then I laughed. Because if it were me, I'm not so sure I'd be very forthcoming about that information. Luckily for me I'll never be in that situation because I'm completely confident that Kent's never going to prison. Also, I will wear my rings even if my finger turns purple and falls off (that would really solve the problem).
Me: Yeah, I have a little swelling in my hands and feet. Nothing terrible but bad enough that it's a little uncomfortable to wear my rings. I take them off at work but put them on when I go anywhere so I don't look like a shameless hussy.
Jules: Oh don't feel bad, I think about 75% of our clients could be put into that category. Today I had an 18 year old that was on the phone with her boyfriend during her exam. I asked what he was doing and why he wasn't with her and she told me that he couldn't make it because he was in prison.
Me: ::Long pause:: So, did she mention why?
Jules: No. But I really wanted to ask.
And then I laughed. Because if it were me, I'm not so sure I'd be very forthcoming about that information. Luckily for me I'll never be in that situation because I'm completely confident that Kent's never going to prison. Also, I will wear my rings even if my finger turns purple and falls off (that would really solve the problem).
Thursday, April 9, 2009
***
So brace yourself. This is going to be a long one and it's going to be a lot of baby stuff. Consider yourself warned.
First, here I am at 32 weeks:
First, here I am at 32 weeks:
No, I don't know if it's a boy or girl. Yes, I'm sure it's only one. No, I'm not ready for it to be born yet. (Those are the same questions I get over and over. I really love when people ask if I'm having twins. Seriously, I'm big but I'm not THAT big.)
Yesterday I went to the doctor and I've gained 24 pounds. Honestly I was hoping that would be the total I would gain but given that I've eaten pretty much whatever I want and I haven't done more than walk to back and forth to my car I guess that's not bad. I started the pregnancy with fatigue that never really went away. I felt a little more energetic in my second trimester, just like all the baby books promised, but only in comparison to how I felt in my first trimester. Now I'm tired all the time again. Oh well, it could be worse.
Today I was watching "A Baby Story" at lunch. Normally I detest this show but it was preferable to watching Kathie Lee and Hoda play some stupid Easter game. Anyway, the woman was having a ten-pound baby and was measuring 51 inches around. Since I have no life I thought it would be interesting to see what I measure. I'm at 39 inches. Of course, I had to congratulate myself on not being 51 inches and ALSO on not having any stretch marks. Then, because I think I was getting too smug, I went to the bathroom and saw what look to be baby stretch marks on my hips. Damn.
I have one final piece of baby news and then maybe I can start posting funny stuff again (maybe, no promises). My due date is May 30 and the baby will be here no later then June 1 or June 2. Here's the story. Kent is taking leave on May 25 and has to be back at work on June 6. He also gets 10 days of paternity leave but he won't be able to take that until July probably. Since I have a very understand midwife she's agreed I can be induced right after my due date even though the practice prefer to not induce before 41 weeks, 6 days. It's really a bummer, I SO do not want to have to be induced but even more I want Kent here when the baby comes. Maybe you can all send me positive energy for the baby to be born sometime between May 26 and May 30. Any earlier and Kent might miss it.
You might notice that I changed my blog layout. For some reason my blogging dropped precipitously right after I changed my template so changing it again might mean more blogging. Anyway, it can't hurt.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
The baby stole my funny
There is an old wive's tale that baby girls will steal their mothers' beauty while in utero. I don't think I'm any less pretty but I do think the baby has stole my wit, humor and intelligence, leaving me basically stupid. I thought pregnancy brain was just an excuse to act like a dingbat but I am beginning to think it may actually be true. For example: I drive a black Prius. My parents have covered parking at their house but it's all reserved. Their neighbor moved and I routinely parked in her empty spot. One day I drove into their parking lot and prepared to take my normal space. I was confused to see a Prius already parked there. I couldn't figure out how my car was already there. It took several seconds before I realized that I was in my car and that there was apparently another Prius driver somewhere in the world. It would be slightly (ever so slightly) less embarrassing if that Prius was black too, but in fact it was dark gray. I certainly felt very stupid and am happy to now share this story with you for your amusement.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Bah
First things first. Here I am at just over 25 weeks. I know it's a little ghetto but I don't have anyone here to take my picture.
OK, I may have touched on this briefly in an earlier post but the reason I don't have anyone to take my picture is because in November, Kent was deployed. He's in North Carolina working as a respiratory therapist at the hospital at Fort Bragg. In case you have any funny ideas about trying to break in my house I'd like to let you know that if you try it you'll be looking down the business end of a shotgun (I'm not kidding). Anyway. It's been really hard to be apart even though I've had a pretty easy pregnancy. Of course there's the normal chore stuff I wish I had help with but I miss just having him here. When the baby moved for the first time and when I had my ultrasound at 20 weeks he wasn't here. It's sad for me and I know it's sad for him too. He should be able to come home before the baby is born at the end of May and stay for a few weeks. We're going to see each other this weekend and I think he's going to be surprised at how much bigger I am now then I was last time he saw me.
We don't know if we're having a boy or a girl. I decided I didn't want to know and Kent said that he wouldn't be able to keep it a secret. At first I was sure it was a girl but now I sort of think it could go either way. I'm happy with a boy or a girl and I hope it's not asking too much to clearly be one or the other.
OK, I may have touched on this briefly in an earlier post but the reason I don't have anyone to take my picture is because in November, Kent was deployed. He's in North Carolina working as a respiratory therapist at the hospital at Fort Bragg. In case you have any funny ideas about trying to break in my house I'd like to let you know that if you try it you'll be looking down the business end of a shotgun (I'm not kidding). Anyway. It's been really hard to be apart even though I've had a pretty easy pregnancy. Of course there's the normal chore stuff I wish I had help with but I miss just having him here. When the baby moved for the first time and when I had my ultrasound at 20 weeks he wasn't here. It's sad for me and I know it's sad for him too. He should be able to come home before the baby is born at the end of May and stay for a few weeks. We're going to see each other this weekend and I think he's going to be surprised at how much bigger I am now then I was last time he saw me.
We don't know if we're having a boy or a girl. I decided I didn't want to know and Kent said that he wouldn't be able to keep it a secret. At first I was sure it was a girl but now I sort of think it could go either way. I'm happy with a boy or a girl and I hope it's not asking too much to clearly be one or the other.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Oh...my
I'm a terrible blogger friend. I know. I know. I have ohsomuch to write about but first and foremost, I'm sure many of you are wondering how I'm looking these days. Here I am today at 20 weeks pregnant:
I have many updates and pictures to come. Tomorrow morning, bright and early!
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