The Bloom Is Off The Rose

I got absolutely nothing done at work on Monday. I didn't answer a single letter, I didn't even log my mail. Actually, that's not totally true. I did manage to take a legal call and I answered and sorted the sixty-four e-mails that had accumulated while I was in Miami visiting with my uncle before his surgery. Oh, I also got a cheap thrill. But work-wise, nada. And the day, it flew by. It was fun and it was over. All of a sudden it was 4:30pm and I had done nothing but relocate two piles of crap work. Yesterday, I got some work done. Clients' crap correspondence was organized, I devised a plan of attack to get stuff done and I even finished three or four of those things. And in the end, the day, it didn't fly by, but I wasn't staring at the clock counting the seconds either. Which brings us to today, apparently the slowest day ever. I've pumped the boobs (exciting), eaten breakfast (ham, egg and cheese on a multi-grain bagel, yum), caught up on my celebrity gossip (Justin Long, you slut!), read my e-mail (hi boo!), written to two clients (you crazy fuks), chatted with Mr. Cool (bad knees suck), and yet it is only 8:31 a.m. How is this possible. It should be like 10:00 a.m.

And, is it just me or is my use of the word "got" totally ghetto? I write like I speak and well, maybe I need to take a remedial English class or something. Yowsers. Ghettoness aside, I can't believe how slow this day is progressing. An inchworm moves faster than time in my office. Prof. Larson's business law class moves faster than time in my office. Invasive anal examinations performed by knowledge seeking space aliens move faster than time in my office. Gah.

Also slow, my ability to blog about Miami. I brought my camera with me and took some great shots of Lady Bean on her first boat ride and playing at the Stiltsville house. I had planned to blog about the highlights of my trip (afterall my uncle's five hour surgery, not a highlight, though surving the surgery was) but I am slow, however, and have not managed to upload any of the good ones. Instead I have this one ...



... a comparison of what I brought to Stiltsville for me (on the right) and what I brought to Stiltsville for her. I had my phone, camera, knitting, sunscreen and a hat, whereas, she, she had two bags of stuff.

I also have these two pictures...




... which should be accompanied by my mental soundtrack of "Are we there yet? Are we there yet? How much longer?" I have several pictures of Stiltsville, but none of the trip out there. I was trying to get some shots that would capture my mounting excitement as the houses got closer and closer. I didn't really do that.

The last picture I managed to upload is from the front patio/deck of the house looking at the city of Miami ...



It is one of the least interesting pictures I took. I really need to get my butt in gear and get those pictures off of the camera. And, if I had brought the camera to work today, maybe I could do that to pass time because even with all of my blathering .... it is still only 9:02 a.m.

Highlights, vol. 1

I walk into my office to find a sign from the gang (nice) and a present from Crazy,which, for the record, brings us up to six animals. I am feeling a bit like Noah.


I know y'all are some jealous biatches but you better step off my pink striped zebra!

I decided to take a picture to represent what going back to work meant to me ... knitting and napping time. But my inbox was so full, it tipped over when I put my yarn on top.

I was hugged by Crazy and then groped ... after hugging me (WTF?), she stepped back, put her hands on the girls and said, "Oh! I should be careful of those, I don't want to get wet."

I start to sort through the "personal mail" pile on my desk and find a court notice ... informing me of a hearing on MAY 9, 2008.

It's only 9:41 a.m. ... this is going to be a GREAT day!

Something New

I'm not in love with these socks. I do not want to marry them. I do not want to have kids with them. I will, however, wear them until they fall apart because I did knit them stitch by stitch and all those stitches took some time.



I think one reason I am not in love with these socks is the fit. The socks were a bit wide and so to compensate, I made them shorter. They fit my feet okay, but still, eh. They are wide because I am insane. Not insane in that I can't tell how wide my feet are, but insane because there was pooling in the colors and so I had to get past that and this was the way that happened. Mind you, the pooling happened anyway once I started increasing for the gusset, so bah. I hate pooling and I think that I need to quit buying these pretty variegated yarns. I know better and yet I seem to buy them anyway. I buy them, I knit them and then I am underwhelmed. I was going to say, such is life I suppose. But instead I shall be more proactive. Oh yes. I shall make a proclamation. One involving lame yarn purchases. I will need to ponder my proclamation, to draft it just so. But just wait, it will be good (or not).



So anyway, these socks took some time to knit. And, it wasn't just because they are so wide and have extra stitches or that Lady Bean is a time suck and I couldn't work on them often. Oh no, these socks took awhile because of all of the flipping around in the book I had to do. I like the idea of the mix and match heel, toe and arch, but making it work was a bitch. I have six different post-it notes marking six different things I was flipping between. In the end, I used the Rushing Rivulet stitch pattern with the Riverbend Architecture and the Whirlpool toe.

The Rushing Rivulet stitch pattern is pretty, though somewhat obscured by the yarn's many colors. I tried to mute the colors in the picture so you could see the pattern. In any event, it is a nice stitch pattern and super easy. I'm sure I will use it again at some point.



The Whirlpool toe is basically the star toe only done in a toe up manner. It was easy to do and a toe I am sure I will do again. The Riverbend Architecture consists of putting your gusset on the sole of the sock. I'm not sure how I feel about this as far as comfort in walking. We'll have to see how they feel once I wear them.



So overall the socks are okay. The book and the pattern are great ideas, if a bit fussy and pain-in-the-ass-turning-forth-and-back-y.



Yarn: Socks That Rock, medium weight, Watermelon Tourmaline.
Needles: Addi Circs, size 3.0 mm (US 2)
Pattern: Cat Bordhi's Rushing Rivulet Riverbend socks.
Modifications: None.
Time: 27 days.
Care: Machine wash, dry flat.

M is for ...

Major, massive undertaking.



Yes, that is my first "real" lace project. And, if I may say so my self (which, no duh, I can since this is my blog), I feel like I am really setting the bar pretty high. Not so much because there are a lot of complicated stitches, but because HOLY CRAP there are a lot of stitches period.



This is the Bee Fields shawl. BeFri bought the pattern for me as a Christmas gift and I have been working up the nerve to wind my Geisha yarn into a pretty ball and get to knitting. Being that it is such a massive undertaking for me, I had to psyche myself up. I do have one issue and that is my yarn gauge. It is smaller than the pattern's which means my shawl will be smaller than the pattern and that is NO GOOD! I want it to be nice and big and sqooshy. After reading the pattern, I realize I have no idea of exactly what I am doing or how this is working. Basically I am following along the pattern blindly and hoping for the best. I can't figure out how or where I could do extra stuff to make it bigger so I think I am going to e-mail Ann, the pattern creator. Hopefully she can say like, "Oh, just do an extra repeat of rows 1,161 through 2,378." Ha!

More Cowbell

Lady Bean received a present in the mail today. A present from Crazy. Well, actually, a present from Crazy's cats. Go figure.



Why yes, those are three more garbage bag animals. Apparently, we are building a menagerie. A menagerie of sharp, pointy (did I mention sharp?) bag animals that are TOTALLY appropriate for an infant.



And, for the record, I am screwed when it comes time to identify the brown guy cause I have no inkling of exactly what he is. A mini-Snuffleupagus?

You'll Be Missed

"The whole problem with this idea of obscenity and indecency, and all of these things -- bad language and whatever -- it's all caused by one basic thing, and that is: religious superstition .... There's an idea that the human body is somehow evil and bad and there are parts of it that are especially evil and bad, and we should be ashamed. Fear, guilt and shame are built into the attitude toward sex and the body. ... It's reflected in these prohibitions and these taboos that we have."
-- George Carlin.

My Own Fault

For the most part my maternity leave has been Crazy free. There was the call informing me that I might get laid off, then there were the five gazillion subsequent calls telling me that no, not getting laid off. And, for the record, that totally bummed me out. I wanted to get laid off. But I digress. I had been pretty much Crazy free and I guess all the normalcy pushed me into complacency because I voluntarily stopped by my office last week and then, again voluntarily, brought Lady Bean up to Crazy's office to say hi. One thing led to another and the next thing I know, the woman touched my belly. I KNOW! Who the fuk rubs a non-pregnant person's belly? She says, "You're looking good" and then rub-a-dub-dubs. I was NOT prepared. Not that you can be. I mean, really, who is prepared for that kind of thing? Especially at her office. A pole dancer, maybe. But not a lawyer.

L is for ...

Little feet in handknit Little Coriolis socks.



Handknit socks which are a tad to long if you look closely.



I finished these Little Corilois socks several weeks ago but forgot to do a finished object photo shoot. Aside from the fact that the yarn is crap, the socks came out quite nice. Actually that is not true.



Even though I followed the directions meticulously, the second sock isn't the same as the one in the pattern. The picture of the second sock in the pattern has two lines of stitches going up the arch, which makes sense since the first sock has two rows of stitches going up the arch. Only my second sock, it has one row of stitches. Weird, huh? Lady Bean doesn't seem to mind so I'm not sweating it. Plus these will only fit her for a minute, so I am not going to rip them out.

I have to admit that using little feet in handknit socks for my L might be "cheating" as K was for knitting and the knitting was these socks. I did finish the socks and Lady Bean is wearing them so there is some difference since K was written, but still. I feel a little wrong using the same item twice. So I have a back-up L ... L is for large ass lizard



This guy was chilling on my uncle's screen porch and startled the hell out of me. I was standing on the porch, talking on my cellphone, minding my own business, and turned to look out at the yarn and BAM! There he was in all his reptilian splendor. He was longer than my hand and the brightest green. He was also pretty patient too since he stayed put while I went and got my camera.

So there you have it, L is for lizards and Lady Bean's little lady feet in little coriolis socks.



Yarn: Moda•Dea Sassy Stripes, color #6946 Crush, dye lot #5821.
Needles: Addi Turbo, size 3.0 mm (US 2)
Pattern: Little Coriolis
Time: 3 days.
Care: Machine wash, dry flat.

Peas in a Pod

This morning I realized that my coffee, milk and caramel concoction looks eerily similar to Lady Bean's infant formula, breast milk and prune juice concoction.



God forbid I ever confuse the two!

Constitutionally Required

So I've decided to supplement my income by pole dancing and have knit my pasties.



As if. Can you imagine? What if the yarn started to stretch out and then I got cold? That could be disastrous.

Actually, these are toes for a pair of socks I am knitting for myself. For some reason I like to spread them out and picture pasties and yarmulkes. I need more sleep.

K is for ...

Knitting, obviously! One could say krazy knitting since I'm once again attempting to knit a pair of socks for the bean. Okay, let's be honest here. I am knitting the second practice pair, the little coriolis, in Cat Bordhi's book, but it seems better to say that I am knitting for Lady Bean than just farting around with a new pattern and some cheap yarn. Moving on, I have one sock done and it took me two hours.



It fits! There is even a little extra room in the toe area which seems promising in the whole "actually can wear them" department.



Now lets hope I can find another two hours in the near future to finish the second sock. This pair is significantly bigger than the last pair I knit (since I am using much cheaper, but much thicker, yarn), so I have high hopes that I will finish them before she outgrows them.

Ha

So Crazy called me at home tonight and for about one millionth of one tenth of one second I missed work. Then she started to speak and the missing work thing evaporated. In any event, the rumor is that the state may not be renewing my firm's contract and so we may all be laid off at the end of the month. Somehow getting laid off while on maternity leave seems like the perfect ending to my current job. There is something poetic and perfect about the whole thing, so poetic and perfect that it will never happen which is I'm not the least bit worried about it. It just ain't happenin. What, am I tempting fate by putting that out there in writing? BRING IT Fates! Lay me off! Force me to stay home with my new kid while collecting unemployment, I dare you!

Turtle or Hare

I finished the Little Sky practice socks for Lady Bean. I did, I did. I thought she might enjoy wearing them today after suffering through the indignity known as "vaccinations" but she didn't. Oh no, she didn't.



I'd like to think that the screaming that commenced when I put the socks on her was due to the various viruses floating through her system because really, that could sour anyone's disposition. And though the virus thing did not help, I suspect the socks were what set her off (that time) because they were too small and I had to really cram her feet in there. The heel didn't reach anywhere near where her heel was ... despite my attempts of pulling, pushing, and prying. And yes, I really did try to cram, push and pull her little feetsies into the sock. Hell, she was already crying, I figured I might as well try to jockey those little fuckers onto her. But it didn't work. She and I had a heated discussion on the virtues of bacon fat as a lubricant and in the end she won out so I didn't grease her up. Can you imagine those feet covered in bacon grease? Gah! That is like a meal right there!



I suspect if I had used half my brain and actually read the pattern, and not skipped important things like "knit 8 rounds" that I could finished these little guys in time to fit her. Having to rip back each sock and re-knit them more than once (or more than twice) because of reading issues, well that is just ridiculous. Especially the second sock. Who has to re-knit a second sock that is identical to the first one she knit? A moron, that's who! In any event, the socks were a fun knit and the construction was interesting. The thing I enjoyed most was the short row heel. I KNOW. I hate the short row heel. At least I did until I did this one. The directions clicked with me and I was able to conceal the wraps in a way that made the sides match and now I know longer hate the short row heel. I KNOW. Crazy.



Yarn: (Leftover) Socks That Rock, medium weight, color unknown, I thought it was Nodding Violet but a browse on Ravelry makes me think not so much.
Needles: Addi Circs, size 3.0 mm (US 2)
Pattern: Little Sky Sock
Modifications: None. Except that I missed a few rounds on one set of ribbing because not only can I not read, I can't count either. Whoops!
Time: 23 days a/k/a as long as it takes for my kid's feet to grow bigger than the pattern.
Care: Machine wash, dry flat.

J is for...

Jesus Jackass! Quit wrecking your husband's car.



This was the second time in three days that I had an "unfortunate incident" when backing up. The first time cost us $17 for a new Honda emblem. This time, the second time, well try $17, times a thousand.

The first time I'd like to say was not my fault. It was the garage door's fault for not opening up fast enough when I was reversing. For some reason nobody is buying that. I'm not sure why. In all fairness though, the second time really was not solely my fault. For reals, yo. In any event ... Jackass indeed.

Neverending

I've been working on the itty bitty practice Little Sky Sock for-eveh. It's been so long you'd think the sock was going to be a men's size gazillion. In fact, I'd been working on it for so long that I decided to test it out to make sure it would fit.





It does fit and, surprisingly, Lady Bean was pretty cool with me putting the sock on her with the needles to test the size. I was happy it fit and so I motored on and finished.



Now, I just need to crank out the other one. Pronto. Mucho pronto. So pronto that they both will fit for at least one wear. Otherwise I am just going to have to chew off her toes to make 'em fit. Baby toes ... yummmmm!

Obvious

You know your life is taking a downward turn when you actally have "do NOT wreck car ... AGAIN" on your to-do list.

Bits

I haven't been real good about updating me blog, mostly because I have nothing of import to say; but also because my twenty-three inch, twelve pound boss cracks the whip and doesn't like me to futz around on the internet. Tyrant!

* * * * * * * * * *
I haven't done anymore work on my sock. Joan was here for several days and loving on Lady Bean so I had many breaks but I found myself gazing at my navel during those breaks. I don't really get to naval gaze anymore so it was totally worth it but it means my mini sock is stalled.

* * * * * * * * * *
I've discovered a great product. What could it be, you must be wondering (or not), this product so good I am willing to hock it for absolutely no consideration from it's manufacturer (Not that wouldn't like some swag ... call me Crest!)? Why it is Crest Pro-Health Night Toothpaste. You see, I've always been a Mentadent kind of girl but during all of those random intervals in the middle of the night where I had to wake up and feed   the tyrant   my darling daughter, I was having some wicked dragon breath. Breath so bad I feared it would wake her all of the way up which would be NO GOOD. So, bowing to the power of advertising, I got me some Crest Pro-Health Night Toothpaste and started using it before I went to bed. And it worked. I mean, I don't have fresh minty breath when I   am violently snapped out of slumber by shrill demands for food   wake up, but I'm not going to gag a maggot either. Which leads me to my next thought: Crest isn't doing a good enough job advertising this product. Instead of the clinical aspect as the hook, they should be using the whole morning nookie thing as a hook... you know, freshens breath so well that you won't kill your partner if he/she wants some morning nookie before you've brushed your grill. I know there is an awesome tag line in there somewhere ... breath so fresh you can get fresh in the morning? Right, well I am a lawyer, not an ad-man.

* * * * * * * * * *
Have you seen Wedding Crashers? If you answered no, well, you need to change that. Anywho, you know that scene where Hotty Hot Vince Vaughn is making balloon animals and the bratty kid yells, "Whatever, make me a bicycle Clown!" This scene ...


Well, I often think Lady Bean is looking at me and thinking, "Make me a bottle Clown!" or "Walk me around the room ... faster Clown!" Whenever I think this it makes me laugh. I suspect she will call me Clown instead of Mom.

* * * * * * * * * *
How about them Canes and their ACC championship? Now we are ranked Number 1 ... Sweet!

First

In the past, Mother's Day has been kind of a downer for me so I usually just ignored it. Or made jokes about being a mutha, a muthafucka. This year, however, I find myself the honoree, not the honoror. This shift in my stature has made the holiday a little less sucktastic and so I decided to celebrate. How you may wonder (or not) do I celebrate when the person that would throw the celebration, Lady Bean, is only five or so weeks old and has not yet mastered her opposable (or prehensile for those of you medically and scientifically inclined) thumbs and her accomplice, Boo, is out of town until this evening? Well, at 5:30 a.m., I had cake for breakfast. Crazy, I know. But wait! There's more! At 9:15 a.m., I had a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup for brunch. Also crazy, and good for maintaining a nice sugar buzz. But that is not all. There is even more celebrating going on!

Lady Bean has decided to sit, peacefully, in a half awake/half slumber state NOT ON MY LAP so that I can knit! She doesn't like when I knit with her on my lap as the needles tend to smack into her a bit. So picky, but whatever. I'm getting to knit. Actually, I think that the reason she is being so biddable is because she knows I am knitting for her. I've been wanting to dive into the new, well not really new anymore but I am slow, Cat Bordhi book. Instead of just jumping in, which is usually my preferred method, I've decided to actually knit the practice socks since I now know someone with a foot small enough to wear them. Though, at the rate I am plodding along, they are going to be for her children instead of her. Either way, it doesn't matter because I get to celebrate Mother's Day doing something I enjoy. So, for all of you moms, or you muthafuckas, Happy Mother's Day. Try to enjoy it and do something fun.

Inished-fay Object-ay

I is for Inished-fay object-ay? What? Is that cheating? Pig Latin doesn't count? Well, it should!



I finally finished the Lacy Summer Socks I started in March. The pattern was quite simple so under normal circumstances these puppies would be a quick knit. Heck, I finished the first sock in a day! When life interrupts, they take a bit longer, but they are still pretty brainless, and painless, to knit.

I did run into a glitch as I hate the short row heel and that is what the pattern wants. I mean I really hate the short row heel. Hate it with a passion reserved for things like bugs and cheap vodka. Nonetheless, I gritted my teeth and used the short row heel in the pattern. I didn't use the short row method for the toe because I always do the same toe. Also, me, not a masochist. One short rowed thing is enough. The pattern also called for using the design on the sole which seemed like it would be uncomfortable. Since I did the stupid short row heel, I felt good about just knitting the sole.



The design part of the pattern is pretty and reminds me of a feather and fan type deal. Even though I didn't modify that part at all, for some reason mine do not look like the socks in the pattern's pictures.



I am not sure if it was my yarn substitution or something else more ethereal. Either way, I am not too bummed. They are nice summer socks that I can wear with my sneakers on a regular day.




Yarn: Socks That Rock, medium weight, color unknown, I thought it was Nodding Violet but a browse on Ravelry makes me think not so much, half a skein.
Needles: Addi Circs, size 3.0 mm (US 2)
Pattern: Lacy Summer Socks
Modifications:to be a ped and modified to have a stockinette sole.
Time: 37 days.
Care: Machine wash, dry flat.

I is for ...

Sanity saving Infant formula.



You may have noticed that things have been pretty quiet here. If you chalked it up to having a new baby, you'd be right. Sort of. Until this week, things were kind of grim as Lady Bean was CONSTANTLY screaming and I was losing my mind. Though she was thriving as far as weight gain, Lady Bean was not a happy baby, and I was not a happy mommy. For the first three weeks of her life, Lady Bean didn't sleep and when her eyes were open, so was her mouth. From the beginning we had had problems with my milk supply which left us supplementing my milk with formula. It also had me attached to a pump every two and a half hours and taking herbs and prescriptions trying to up my supply. I was pumping, adding formula to the pumped milk, and praying Lady Bean would be full and soothed. Initially we thought that Lady Bean was so unhappy because she was starving. Later we figured out she had reflux. Reflux that made her every meal painful and sleep impossible. It also made our stress levels skyrocket.

Now I've dealt with stress. And, I think I've done pretty well with it. I grew up with alcoholic parents who didn't get sober until I was 12 years old and divorced shortly thereafter. Then I buried both of those parents, as well as my aunt, my FiL, my second mom, cousins and friends. I think I handled the stress of these events pretty well. I feel like I am someone who rolls with the punches for the most part and don't lose my shit in an untimely manner. Not that I don't lose my shit, but I wait until after I've dealt with the crisis. In any event, this is why I never thought the stress of having a baby would knock me off my keel. Would I be stressed? Absolutely. Would there be rough times? Bad times? Hairy times? Sure. Would I lose my mind and suffer from postpartum depression? Nope. No way. I suspect it was this mindset that kept me from realizing that what I was feeling was not the normal baby blues or new parent stress but instead was postpartum depression.

After ten days of herbs, I started taking the milk supply prescription. Lady Bean was constantly awake and constantly screaming, even though she was no longer starving. Reflux was kicking her itty bitty ass and her prescription wasn't helping. I figure the angst, the insomnia, the sadness, the desperation, the soul sucking ickness, the inability to get a deep breath, the desire to just go away, these things that I was feeling, they were from being overwhelmed and over-tired. This was life with a fussy baby. I mean, you can't sleep when the baby sleeps, if the baby doesn't sleep. So I took each day minute by minute, sometimes second by second, chanting "keep her alive," and forced myself to do the things I needed to do.

I figured that I was just feeling the new parent stress and disregarded the big fat warning all over the milk drug and it's instructions that said that rare side effects include (both bold and underlined or basically saying "pay attention dummy") anxiety, agitation, depression ... or difficulty breathing. So for seven days I took the milk drug and slipped further and further into myself. I felt less and less engaged in my life and more and more agitated at the thought of spending another second alone with this little screaming person. I didn't want to pump. I didn't want to feed her. I didn't want to cuddle with her. I didn't want to change her. I just wanted to be alone. I counted down the time until Boo came home and I could give the baby to him. I was introspective and gave some thought to how I was feeling since Boo would ask me multiple times a day if I was okay. I figured, I didn't want to hurt Lady Bean, I didn't want to hurt myself, I just wanted to be left alone so I was overwhelmed and not depressed. I convinced myself, my husband, and my friends that I was okay, just tired. Even feeling totally incapable of getting ready for guests to come meet Lady Bean seemed normal-ish to me. It wasn't until I found myself sobbing in the shower for no apparent reason and unable to stop that I realized that I was not normal and something was really, really wrong.

I am lucky that I have a husband and friends who care about me and were able to step in and help when I said something along the lines of, "Um, I think I might be fucked up." When I walked into the family room wearing a towel and tears Boo knew that I was not okay. So with his, and some really good friends' help, I talked to my doctor and the pediatrician and worked on fixing me and our baby. I stopped taking the milk drug and Lady Bean started taking a special formula for reflux babies. Now Lady Bean is no longer awake twenty hours a day, screaming and inconsolable. And, with the drugs out of my system, I've been able to regain me. With the help of friends, I have been able to rest. I'm still not one hundred percent. I still have some anxiety (after all, if Lady Bean isn't screaming she must have stopped breathing since screaming was her modus operandi for three weeks) and some insomnia. But, I can breathe. I can laugh when I flick the air bubbles out of the baby medicine dropper like a heroin addict getting ready to shoot up. I can pick up Lady Bean and snuggle with her. I can sit her on my lap while I surf the internet and laugh with her about the latest celeb gossip. I can leave the house with Lady Bean knowing that if she has a melt down, I won't.

So, I is for infant formula. Infant formula has saved my sanity. Infant formula got me off the milk drug. Infant formula feeds Lady Bean in a way that soothes her reflux, allows her to sleep, and when she is awake, allows her to act like a baby and not a writhing, screaming banshee. Infant formula got my mind back in a place where I can say yes when people offer to help because I am not worried about me or the baby driving the helping person nuts. Don't get me wrong, I aspire to having a breast fed baby. I may not be able to feed her fully with my milk supply, but I have hopes that Lady Bean and her wicked reflux will be able to tolerate my milk in the near future. I am still pumping. I have storage bags of the stuff in our crisper waiting for a chance to be her dinner. But, I also have perspective. If she can't tolerate the breast milk in the next week or so, if she is a formula fed baby forever, well, it is okay. Some people might disagree. Some people might see me as a failure and instant death for my baby, but to them, I am enough of my old self that I can say fuck off. And, for good measure, kiss my ass. Lady Bean being formula fed doesn't mean that she is going to be sickly. It doesn't mean that I am a failure as a mother.



It does, however, mean that on those days when she is fussy, a normal fussy baby, and I need a break, I can pass her off to my husband, call a friend and share a bottle of wine (preferably while eating sushi) without worrying about Lady Bean getting loopy. Silver linings, if you will.

H is for ...

Hand!



Sweet little baby girl hand, which when sleeping gives mom the one fingered salute while it's partner looks cute and munchable.

Query

Is our baby monitor so powerful, so sensitive, so state-of-the-art, that it can pick up the sound of Lady Bean 'dropping a load' when on voice activation mode OR is Lady Bean such a loud pooper that I would have been able to hear said load dropping even without the monitor?

Either way, when she started screaming after twenty minutes of almost unheard of uninterrupted peace (during which I managed to get a few rows of my knitting done ... sweet!), I totally knew why.

Emerging

I think we might be exiting the two week haze of figuring out this newborn-with-no-manual-ness. I may be jinxing myself by saying that but I have high hopes that we are going to have some routine at some point soon. Or maybe my brain is just delusional with having to function on snippets of sleep instead of full blown nights. Hell, I am finally reading my e-mail so that is a start. I'm not complaining. I revel in the little things.

And, I know this will surprise you, but I haven't been getting much knitting done lately. Any by much, I mean any. As in, my sock hasn't left my purse since it left the delivery room. That's not to say we haven't been indulging in hand-knits lately as Lady Bean has received some really cool hand-knits including teeny tiny socks from home-dyed yarn ... home dyed? That sounds hinky. There is a better, more proper term but my brain, it can't find it. Anywho, in addition to the teeny tiny socks, Lady Bean received a little sweater, hat and sock set from someone neither she nor her parents has ever met. The kindness of knitters, it is pretty damn cool. This woman is a volunteer at the hospital my MiL volunteers at and heard about Lady Bean and whipped her up the outfit. So nice. All the fiber though, it makes me want to knit. So I am thinking that instead of cleaning ... okay, I haven't been cleaning, that is a total lie, but it sounded better than "instead of listening to bad daytime television while I stare at Lady Bean to verify that she is still breathing." So, instead of doing other things I am going to set a goal of knitting five rounds on my sock a day. I won't break any speed records, but maybe, maybe I will finish the sock sometime this summer!

The Labor Post

I've been wanting to memorialize our labor story but this whole mommy thing is taking up a ton of time. Go figure! Lady Bean is currently sleeping and so I thought I would give a quick and dirty version of our labor as another note-to-self.


3:45 a.m.: The alarm goes off. This sucks! Why must we wake up so early? The getting ready part is pretty easy since we essentially slept walk through it.

5:00 a.m.: We leave the house and are on the way to the hospital. We have a good laugh as Bush's Machine Head (Breathe in, Breathe out, indeed!) and the Ramones' I Wanna Be Sedated play on the radio.

5:30 a.m.: We enter Labor and Delivery exactly on time and there are already two other women laboring there.

6:30 a.m.: We have met our L&D nurse, Stacey. We are her only patient and we really like her but for her Red Sox sweatshirt. Boo asks if there is way to get "fluids" on it so she has to change. We meet with a resident who gives me a once over and then I am juiced up on pitocin. I start having contractions. They appear on the monitor and I giggle. So cute, my little contractions. This shit is easy! I start knitting on my second sock.

7:00 a.m.: We meet with the doctor and she comments on my sock. She approves. We discuss the game plan and I giggle at how easy this labor thing is. She smiles and ask if I am going to want drugs. I explain that my plan is to wing it. Wait and see. She thinks this is a great idea and asks if we have an actual labor plan. We reveal that our entire labor plan is to: 1) have a healthy baby, 2) keep me alive with all of my parts in tact, and 3) keep Boo at my head end. This is a big hit and voted in as one of the best labor plans ever. Man is this birthing a baby thing easy.

7:30 a.m.: Boo gets an awesome, comfy chair that reclines, but nearly cries when it's revealed to be broken. Nurse Stacey gets him another one and he forgives her for her Red Sox sweatshirt. There is no more talk of fluids ruining the shirt.

9:45 a.m.: The contractions are more real. Not painful per se, just noticeable as contractions. They are getting stronger, at least in my back. I fear that at this rate, I'll birth the baby out of my ass. That can't be good. I start to walk around and the back pain ebbs to some extent. I am still drug free and feeling pretty good. Stacey gets me a heating pad for my back which also helps. I labor pretty uneventfully and am bored enough to send out a few e-mails, though I have a hard time typing with all of the monitors on me.

1:00 p.m.: I am dilated about five to six centimeters and the doctor decides to break my water. This is quite a nasty feeling as it feels like I am peeing myself. Constantly. I'm told that labor will really start now. I (foolishly) say, "Bring it!"

1:15 p.m.: Wow! The contractions are kicking it up a notch. I start to discuss pain medication with Boo.

1:30 p.m.: Stacey comes to check on me and asks if I have any interest in pain medicine or an epidural. She, Boo and I discuss it and I decide to go with an epidural.

1:50 p.m.: The anesthesiologist goes over all of the medical and legal stuff and then gets to work. He is a really nice guy and he an Boo chat about sports as if he isn't going to stick a huge needle in my spine. The actual epidural part is unbelievably easy. There is no pain and not even any discomfort. I am glad I hadn't been stressed over it.

2:15 p.m.: I feel good and my legs are kind of warm and toasty. I can move my toes, sort of.

2:30 p.m.: All of my machines start beeping from the baby warmer to the epidural. It is almost comedic in that every time I fall asleep (love you epidural!), something goes off. Stacey apologizes profusely but I tell her it is fine as I am amused

4:50 p.m.: I wake up feeling as if I have to take the most massive dump ever. It is really uncomfortable. I immediately regret my last Outback dinner and wonder if anyone will let me use the loo with the epidural in. It is then that I realize my legs are normal and not warm and toasty. I fear my   best friend   epidural has died.

5:00 p.m.: The shakes kick in. I am shaking like an epileptic and it is weird. Stacey is in with us and assures me that I don't have to poop, and instead that I am about to go into active labor. I politely tell her she is wrong and that I totally have to pooh. She smiles and contacts the doctor and anesthesiologist.

5:15 p.m.: I am checked out and almost fully dilated but my cervix has a lip so I can't push. I am given a small shot of juice in the epidural which does nothing for my lady parts but does ease the contractions in my belly. I continue to shake. A lot. Boo comments that my milkshake brings all the boys in the yard. I continue to fret over the massive dump I am sure to take any second now.

5:55 p.m.: By now I have a death grip on the bed railing. It helps with the contraction pains and the shakes. Boo is patting my back and being encouraging. Stacey has everything prepped and is also cheering me on. A new nurse, the baby's nurse, comes in and finger prints me. This strikes me as odd.

6:00 p.m.: The doctor tells me to push. Time stops. For the next hour I push whenever I feel a contraction. It is painful, but not unbearable. I push and I push. I do not, however, pooh. The whole thing is very intimate as it is only Boo, Stacey, the baby's nurse and the doctor.

6:45 p.m.: I joke that this hurts more than the time I gave birth to the gall bladder anesthesia pooh. The doctor jokes that she bets I will want to keep this thing that I am giving birth as opposed to the other.

6:55 p.m.: My crotch is on fire. I announce this and am told, vary sternly and forcefully, to push.

6:58 p.m.: Crotch? Still on fire. I tell everyone this again, in case they missed it the first time. I also note that this hurts A WHOLE LOT. But, I do not cuss. Nary a fuck, shit, or holymutherfuckinjesus passes my lips. I push and I push and I push.

7:00 p.m.: Lady Bean is born. She is perfect. She is immediately placed on my belly and my first words are, "Wow, she is tiny!" I forget all about my fiery crotch. Her cord is cut and she is swooped over to the warming tray to be tagged with Baby LoJack and wiped off. We get some pictures while I deliver the placenta. Much to my all of my (weird) friends' dismay, I don't ask to see the placenta or ask to save it for stew. Lady Bean and I have some skin to skin time and I am amazed that she is over seven pounds, she looks so small. Lady Bean is bundled up and given to Boo. He cuddles her while I am stitched up. I need a local anesthetic because I feel everything. The doctor repeatedly requests extra packets of sutures. I am freaked out by this. I ask exactly how many stitches I am getting and she says it isn't something you count, that it is like a seam. My vagina is being whip-stitched. Everyone makes general conversation and I learn that the doctor was worried towards the end. I'm not sure if it was for Lady Bean's well being or my crotch's, and I don't ask. Lady Bean is brought to the nursery for the pediatrician to check out and I am cleaned up and then am allowed to walk to the restroom to clean up some more. There is a lot of ... fluids. I still do not pooh.

10:00 p.m.: I am in my new room with Boo. Lady Bean is brought in from the nursery. I have to use the loo again and as I am cleaning up more fluids, Lady Bean starts to cry. I hear Boo immediately work some magic and she is soothed. I start sobbing in the bathroom. I am the luckiest woman in the world to have a healthy perfect little girl and a husband who loves her lots.

As soon as it was over, and now, over a week later, I can only see my labor experience as positive. My bits are sore from the tearing and my boobs are not being cooperative. My hormones make me cry. A lot. We've had some ups and downs trying to get the boob thing, the sleep thing, and the what-does-this-cry-mean thing going. Nonetheless, I feel very lucky.

G is for ...

Girl! Gorgeous, great, baby girl!



Lady Bean has arrived! She swooped in Thursday, healthy and hearty, all seven pounds, twelve ounces.

The Pregnancy Post

Good God people! I'm suppose to have a baby today. Can you say, "Totally surreal?" I haven't been real diligent about blogging my pregnancy. I figure most people would find it boring and also, I am paranoid and didn't want to jinx anything. Now that the end is in sight, I do want to make myself a reminder of how things were ... a note-to-self, so that if/when we decide to try this again, I have something to look back on and say, "Oh yah, right, that is how I work." Feel free to enjoy nine months of my ramblings, or, um, skip this post and come back tomorrow (am I being overly optimistic with my tomorrow?) for interesting tales of ... something.

September 25, 2005: We make the big decision (which is actually recorded in my calendar) ... "You wanna have a baby?" "Um, sure, okay." "Let's do it. Let's have sex." "Heh. Sex!"

September 25, 2006: A year later, and we have made no progress ... "Um, are you sure we're doing this right ... we ain't got no baby." "We're doing it right, let's try a little bit longer."

May 2007: Now it's just getting ridiculous ... "Fine, I give up. I'll go see a doctor ... Um, the soonest I can get in is July." "I guess we can have more sex." "Great, more sex."

July 2, 2007: "Sorry, we have to cancel your appointment with the doctor today. How about August 9?" "Greeeaaatttt, more sex." Well, we can try one more time. I mean sex is fun, right?

July 21, 2007: We decide to re-do the small bedroom and create a yarn room since there is no baby in sight. We start the process of wall repair and painting and so on. We don't worry about perfection because fifteen years from now when we finally have a kid via some black market adoption, we will have to redo it again anyway. We adopt a motto of "Better than Before" and chant it during each step of our remodeling.

July 28, 2007: "My period never came today." "That's odd." "Maybe we're pregnant. HAHAHAHA." "Wake me up in the morning before you take the test."

July 29, 2007: It's early in the morning and I totally have to pee ... "You wanted me to wake you up when I had to pee." "M'kay. I'm up." "No period, I'm peeing on a stick." ... tinkle tinkle tinkle ... wait wait wait ... "Um, that's weird, I think it says we're pregnant." I crawl back in bed thinking the stick is messing with me, "You go look." Boo crawls out of bed and glances at the stick ... "Yah, I think you're right. It says you're pregnant. How bout that?" He pees (there is a lot of peeing going on that morning) and comes back to bed. "I'm tired." "Me too" and back to sleep we go. We are more skeptical than excited because come on, our one last chance before I go and get poked and prodded, whatever.

July 30, 2007: I'm still not a believer. "Another test, another positive." "Weird."

August 1, 2007: Still not convinced, I plunk down more of our hard earned money on outrageously expensive home pregnancy tests. "Another test, another positive." "Weird. Do you feel pregnant?" "Nope, I'm bloated like I'm going to get my period." "Huh."

August 4, 2007: We continue to work on the yarn room. We rip up carpet and beginning staining bookcases. We joke that this might all be futile because, haha, this could be a baby's room and maybe stain isn't the best thing in the world for a pregnant person to be inhaling but ha, come on, us and baby. Hardy har har.

August 6, 2007: "Another test, another positive." "Weird. Ya feel pregnant yet??" "Nope!"

August 7, 2007: It is the fifteen year anniversary of our first date. We celebrate with another test, and another positive. "This is so weird." "Maybe we really are knocked up?!?" Then we go to dinner and I have swordfish. I later learn that this is a high mercury fish and that I am an asshole for eating it.

August 9, 2007: We have our first doctor's appointment where the nurse cheerfully tells me that the stick turned pink and I am at the right appointment. We are given a bunch of information and we meet the doctor who looks eerily like my college president, Donna Shalala. "Congrats! Now I need a gallon of blood." We walk out laughing at the thought of Donna Shalala delivering our baby.

We look through the stuff they give us, including the food list and I start mourning the loss of sushi. Then I see that swordfish is bad and wonder how hard it is going to be to raise a child with an extra-ear growing out if its forehead.

August 13, 2007: I finish the yarn room and lurve it. It is, indeed, 'Better than Before.' It is also going to be a huge pain in the arse if we have actually have this kid and have to move it.

August 17, 2007: I'm almost seven weeks along and am sent for my first ultrasound. It seems that yes, there is a baby-to-be in there, though I think it looks like a bird. Or a bean, with a beak. There is only one, and it has a heart beat. I walk out of the office with a wonky, shit-eating grin because hey, I have a bean in my belly! I also wonder if the swordfish gave the bean a beak. I toughen my resolve to avoid sushi.

For the next few weeks I feel exactly the same as I always have. The pregnancy doesn't seem all that real. Sometimes I am a little sleepy, sometimes I am bloated, sometimes I am crampy. But for the most part I feel like me. I think, "This whole pregnancy thing is easy." I'm at a high risk for developing gestational diabetes so I get extra monitoring which is actually nice because I get reinforcement that the bean is still in there and growing.

September 17, 2007: I catch a cold. I realize that the pregnancy thing is not easy since I can't take any decent drugs. I am nasty and grumpy and Boo becomes scared that the next nine months of his life are going to be pure torture.

September 20, 2007: We fly to Florida for BeFri's wedding. I leave my doctor prescribed antibiotics in Connecticut. I am an asshole. Several calls later a new prescription is waiting for me in a twenty-four hour drugstore, in the Miami ghetto. I marvel at the possible irony of getting killed while picking up antibiotics. I survive the antibiotic pick up. Even though we are only twelve weeks, we bring one of the ultrasound pictures and decide to tell my uncle in person that we're having a baby. Even though we tell him and it is very exciting it still doesn't feel all that real. I also miss my mom and aunt and try not to dwell on the fact that they aren't around for the big news and to answer questions and tell me what their experiences were like.

September 24, 2007: We have the first trimester screening ultrasound. The bean is breech and uncooperative but they decide all looks well. Boo is surprised I can't feel all the hurkey jerky movements we see going on during the ultrasound.

October 6, 2007: We are fourteen weeks and out of the first trimester. It still feels unreal, but we go to Jersey to see Boo's family and tell them the news in person. Everyone assumes that we are pregnant and gossips that this is why we are visiting so we tell them we are moving to Ireland. The family is shocked about our move and we are smug. Heh, don't mess with us! We do finally tell them the truth.

Over the next few weeks we tell our friends. I am worried about jinxing things but Boo isn't and tells me to chill. I say I do, but I don't really. I still feel bloated and sometimes crampy. I have some sort of ligament pain which I am told is normal. I'm not stressed over the discomfort because it seems like it is just part of the pregnancy ride. Even acknowledging this whole pregnancy thing doesn't make it any more real. I wonder, shouldn't I feel pregnant?

November 1, 2007: We are eighteen weeks and have our level two screening. We are hoping to learn the baby's gender. Ha! The baby is uncooperative and we don't get gender, or good measurements. We have to go back in a few weeks. Boo, still surprised I can't feel any baby movements when they are so obvious on the ultrasound, thinks maybe I am an alien.

November 7, 2007: My favorite work pants are tight when I sit down. I don't look any different and I haven't gained any weight (but the doctors say this is normal and okay considering I could stand to lose a few anyway) but something must have shifted because the pants don't work when I am sitting.

Around week twenty, I have still not felt the baby move. I conclude that there is no baby. It is all a ploy. Boo thinks I am insane. I conceded that maybe there is a baby and I just can't feel it do to residual numbness from my gall bladder removal surgery or because I have belly flub. Though I don't feel the baby, I have developed a shooting pain in my left hip and butt cheek. My first real pregnancy "symptom" is sciatica. I am not stressed over this new discomfort because, again, it seems like it is just part of the pregnancy thing. I do wonder if, however, my mom or aunt ever had similar pain. I try not to dwell on it. We start getting gifts from friends which is awesome but also weird because hey, are we really having a baby?

November 22, 2007: I am sitting at my vanity getting ready for a trip to Jersey for Thanksgiving dinner and I feel the baby move for the first time. I interrupt Boo's shower to tell him this. We both are psyched. Kind of a cool way to ring in Thanksgiving.

November 28, 2007: Crazy tells me I am developing a gut. Boo who sees me naked on a daily basis disagrees.

November 29, 2007: We have our re-do of the level two screening and are still hoping to learn the baby's gender. Ha! The baby is, yet again, uncooperative and is breech. The ultrasound doctor, overwhelmed by the scent of our desperation, takes pity on us and really works hard. He determines that the bean is a girl bean. She's got "three lines." We giggle. Three lines. Now we must decide on a girl name. We decide we'll each submit a list of ten names come February. Three lines, hehe!

For the next month or so I still feel exactly the same. My sciatic pain has gone away and while I do feel the baby move, I often think it is phantom gall bladder pain, or gas. Every now and then she gets caught on my internal organs and reminds me that, "Yo, woman, I am a baby, NOT a gall bladder." She also likes to do a little River Dance on my cervix. I puke for the first time in the beginning of December, mostly because I messed up the prenatal vitamin taking schedule. Overall though, the pregnancy still doesn't feel real. I think I should feel more different. I feel fine and not-so-preggers. I have gotten stretch marks which is weird since I figured my body had stretched all it could since I have been heavier that I am now. My clothes, with the exception of my favorite work pants, still fit and I can't really tell a difference in how I look. Even my boobs are the same, much to my chagrin. I've had to start testing my sugar every other day and it is typically fine. I learn, however, that Panera Bread and Five Guys Burgers will raise my sugar, no matter what I eat. I still mourn sushi.

January 2, 2008: I wear my jeans and they fit fine. The pregnancy doesn't feel real.

January 3, 2008: I bend over to tie my shoe and vomit. I vow not to mess with the prenatal vitamin schedule ever again.

January 5, 2008: My jeans don't fit. Well, not if I want to sit down and breathe, at the same time. This makes no sense since they fit three days ago. I am confused but figure that I'm at twenty-seven weeks and pretty lucky that I haven't had to buy new clothes yet. I order maternity jeans which are ridiculous and so I return them. I then go through my wardrobe looking for all of my stretchy type pants and pants that were previously too big. I decide I have enough pants for now and so I don't bother looking for new ones to buy.

January 7, 2008: I am just over twenty-seven weeks pregnant and it is the first time a random person has noticed I am pregnant. I guess I am starting to show. Maybe my jeans were telling the truth. My boobs? Not bigger, still the same. Such underachievers.

January 8, 2008: My extra monitoring really kicks in and I have to schedule NSTs and ultrasounds for the next few months. I also start scheduling classes. I figure some of this will make the pregnancy thing feel real. It doesn't.

January 12, 2008: We start the registry process. I am sure this is a jinx and a bad idea but all of the books say we need to get on the ball. The registry process makes me cranky because not only do I fear the jinx, I don't know what any of the shit is and what we'll need. I mean come on, special towels for the baby? She is human right? What is wrong with my towels? We also look at a crib and dresser. We can't decide on anything so we put it off for a week knowing that it could take "up to ten weeks for delivery" and we have eleven weeks until Lady Bean's arrival. We feel no stress since Brian, the sales guy we spoke to, assures us that it usually only takes two weeks for furniture delivery.

January 22, 2008: We make a decision on the dresser and crib. Boo orders the dresser and is told that it will be in by April 5 - our due date. They assure him that it will probably be ready in about two to four weeks but they have to say ten weeks to cover themselves. The crib, however, is in stock so Boo brings it home. We look at the box and then prop it up against the wall. No need to rush to put it together, we have ten plus weeks.

January 23, 2008: We have an ultrasound and learn that Lady Bean is big. Birthable, but big. This is Boo's fault since he was a big baby. Even knowing he was gig, I am somewhat surprised since I haven't gained any weight. Is she sucking the fat out of my ass? Am I making a baby out of butt fat?

January 29, 2008: It is my last girls weekend for a while and I have my first surprise shower. We now have baby stuff. Cool! Um, what do we do with it?

February 7, 2008: We have our first class. On breast-feeding. Nothing like jumping into the deep end. There are some odd ducks in the class with us. I'm impressed that a thousand year old woman can whip out her boob for a doll and not show a thing. I am angry that my peers can't do the same thing. I'm also bummed because I can't have sushi while I'm nursing. I'm just paranoid enough that I will follow the rules ... if only I hadn't had that damn swordfish!

February 9, 2008: We tour the Labor & Delivery area, as well as the Maternity area of the hospital with a group of morons. We realize that we might not know much, but we know more than the people surrounding us. We hope that none of these people end up giving birth when we do. Boo decides that I have somehow signed us into the reject group and is worried about the rest of our classes.

February 11, 2008: I have my first NST. It is easy peasy and I realize I am going to have plenty o' time to knit. We also have an infant care class. We still seem to be attracting the fruit loop contingent as classmates. Nonetheless, we pay attention and manage to put a diaper on a doll. We are so ready for this. If only it felt real!

February 16, 2008: We, and several of the fruit loop rejects, take a childbirth prep class. We watch a video of five births. Boo and I decide that the baby shall not be leaving my womb after all. We are both cool with this. She shall stay in utero until she is eighteen, at which point I will molt my skin like a snake and become and eighteen year old girl. I am told this is not possible. I think someone is lying.

February 18, 2008: We have an ultrasound and learn that Jumbolia is ... still largeish. We meet with the doctor and there is discussion of inducing me at thirty-nine or forty weeks. Nothing is set in stone but it does not seem like we will have to be induced at thirty-seven weeks so we are relieved. We still have no done anything about picking a name. People are getting peevish about this but it doesn't spurn us on.

February 23, 2008: We head to Jersey for a family shower. It still seems surreal because I don't feel pregnant. The shower is either close family or family I have met only once, at my father-in-law's funeral. I am worried this is like a big ole gift grab and tacky. No one else thinks this way though and I have a good time. I learn that one aunt-in-law is a Labor & Delivery nurse and offers any help or advice we might need. We ask her to live in our basement. She lives over three hundred miles away and doesn't want that kind of commute for to work. As if three hundred miles is all that far. Whatever. We also learn that you can throw away baby clothes if there is a blowout in public. We never ha thought of this. We think it's brilliant.

February 27, 2008: We begin the removal of the yarn from the yarn room. My awesome plan is not awesome. It sucks. Boo is doing ninety-nine point nine percent of the work, so I don't want to complain too much. But oy! What a pain in the ass.

March 1, 2008: I have my friend shower and it is fun! I wear the one shirt that makes me look preggers and everyone is impressed with the belly. I laugh knowing it is only the shirt. I bring home a lot of baby stuff and realize we have no where to put it. Huh, where is that furniture we ordered? Surely it has been two to four weeks.

March 3, 2008: We call the furniture store to track the dresser. We learn that there is no way to track the dresser and that it will arrive on or before April 5, 2008. Gee, great. As I have no nesting urges, I figure this is not a big deal. The stuff can stay in piles in the family room. Since my sleeping has started to suck, I wonder if being tired is why I have no nesting urge.

March 10, 2008: I have my first pregnancy pelvic exam and all is closed and normal. I am like a lock box. There is more discussion concerning delivery options and of inducing me at thirty-nine or forty weeks. Still nothing is set in stone but it looks like I will be having a baby by forty weeks. Still no nesting urge and still no dresser. I do manage to organize the piles of clothes by size. I learn that there is no rhyme or reason to the sizing.

March 15, 2007: The dresser finally arrives and Boo and a friend get it in the room. Holy crap the room is small. Boo is excited and wants to put the stuff away. I want to take a nap and maybe eat a donut.

March 17, 2008: We have another ultrasound and learn that Lady Bean is still large, but not too largeish. Assuming the calculations are right, which they may not be because this ultrasound is not so reliable. In fact, this is the least reliable ultrasound we are going to have. The doctor determines that Lady Bean is large enough that they will want her out at forty weeks so if I do not go into labor on my own, we'll be induced. I am officially full term so I might go into labor on my own, but since I haven't even had a practice Braxton Hicks contraction, I think this is unlikely. I mentally prepare for an induction. I continue to work out with my trainer who strikes a deal with Lady Bean that if she stays put while I am working out, PT will give her a gift later on. I still have no nesting urge and Boo takes the reins and does Lady Bean's laundry. Feeling guilty, I finally fold one load and realize I have no clue on how to fold something so small. I swear my granny panties are bigger than her clothes. Boo doesn't really know how fold it either, and I giggle at his months and months of Gap employment failing him miserably. We wing it.

For about a week I have wicked heartburn, pain in my right hip and butt cheek, and my sleeping sucks. I deduce that I finally feel pregnant but still don't feel like the whole 'having a child thing' is real. I am cool with feeling craptastic because so far the pregnancy has been smooth and there looks to be a real live human coming out at the end. I am also cool with more new stretch marks since I can play head games with myself and tell myself that I must have been thinner than I thought I was. It is crazy talk, but it works for me.

Marsh 24, 2008: I go in for my weekly exam. I am dilated 3cms. UM, WHAT? I have dilated through the early part of labor and didn't know. I have had no contractions. Not a Braxton Hicks, not a nothing. I am somewhat shell shocked. The doctor thinks I could go into labor on my own, but if I don't, come next Monday we will schedule an induction. For the second time during this pregnancy, I walk out of the hospital with a wonky grin on my face. I call Boo as I exit and respond to his, "Hey Babe!" with, "My cervix is dilated 3cms." He is now shell shocked too. I am nothing if not willing to spread the love. I am scared to walk around. What if this baby falls out of my gaping cervix? We wonder whether this will kick into gear my as of yet non-existing nesting urge. I sort of feel like this pregnancy might be real after all. I immediately go home and read some of the books we have. I learn heartburn and back pain usually accompany contractions in early labor. Well, I had two out of three. Go figure. I wonder if my yarn fatality that morning caused my gaping cervix. I vow to be more careful with my yarn. Boo comes home and we decide we should pack a hospital bag and think of a name. I offer up Justice Mariano. I note Justice is a tribute to my legal career and Mariano is a tribute to Boo's beloved Yankees. The name is voted a total dud. We decide to table the name discussion a little bit longer. We also don't pack a hospital bag. I go to bed with my gaping cervix and sleep better than I have in a week.

March 25, 2008: The shell shock of having a gaping cervix has worn off (though the joy of saying gaping cervix has not). I no longer feel the need to pack a bag or think of a name. The pregnancy has returned into that surreal realm and I go about my day like normal. I work out with my trainer. She reminds Lady Bean of their agreement wherein Lady Bean does not fall out at the gym.

March 26, 2008: Boo is entering crunch time for a huge project at work. A project that will effect seventy-billion-gazillion viewers, or some shit. I worry our baby is going to fall out at an inopportune time. I decide I shall put myself on my own version of bed rest which involves a lot of time on the couch. This does not suck. I start to ponder what type of jewelry I should wear during delivery. Do I go with my locket that has a picture of my mom and my dad, the same locket that I wore to pass two bar exams? Or, do I go with my mom's diamond flower necklace that I wore during our wedding. I realize that normal people would be practicing breathing or planning the items for their hospital bags. I am a freak.

March 28, 2008: I visit my clients in jail for the last time. In the car, while I am on the way, I tell Lady Bean that this will be the thirty-ninth and final time that she ever visits a prison AND I'M NOT MESSING AROUND YOUNG LADY, I MEAN IT! I'm not sure that she understands, but I have hope. I "pop my cork" so to speak. Scientifically it is kind of interesting but in reality it is odd. I still haven't had contractions, and though I am relieved that I am not contracting while Boo is working, I wonder if my uterus is broken. I go to our safe deposit box to get peruse my jewelry and end up sobbing over an old watch. I realize my hormones are really flying.

March 30, 2008: Boo's project is successfully launched. We have met the goal of not letting Lady Bean fall out while he was working. We celebrate by running errands to finish getting what we need for her arrival. We get nothing of importance and instead spend money on things like room decor. I still have no nesting urge and Boo is mentally fried so we go to dinner and plan to do the real stuff later.

March 31, 2008: The doctor determines everything was pretty much the same (I am thinking this could be because I spent my entire weekend reclining on the couch like a lady of leisure fearful of going into labor while Boo was working). In any event, if nothing happens on its own, I/we will be induced on Thursday, 04/03/08, at 5:30 a.m. Personally I think it is cruel to do anything at 5:30 a.m. other than sleep. I very circuitously, and with a whole lot of verbiage doing my legal education proud, asked the doctor, on average, understanding that there is no exact science to know how long these things take, but maybe he could make a guesstimate on how long it could take based on his years of practice and general experience on all things baby delivery related, factoring in me and whatever my medical files tells him, and considering same if he could make such a guesstimate when he thought we'd have a baby ... he says 6:20 p.m. I suspect he is laughing at me on the inside. I tell all this to Boo and explain that we will have a brand new baby at 6:21 p.m. on 4/3/8. Boo says, he would prefer 4/4/8 and that I should hold her in. He is the first, but not the last to tell me this. I hypothesize that I could name the baby Jamiroquai and get less shit than I am for not demanding the 4th. By the end of the day I am in a maudlin mood. I figure it is hormones.

April 1, 2008: I am in a better mood and survive my last full day at work. Crazy hasn't been talking to me so that makes things easier. I work out at the gym and feel really good. I think the exercise may have positive effects on my hormones. I hate exercise so this is a first for me. Once Boo gets home, we do some work on the house and I note that all of Lady Bean's decorations are bird themed. I worry she is going to have issues.

April 2, 2008: I am working my last three and a half hours with a grin on my face. Crazy, resumes talking to me having been silent for a week, and tells me she is going to pick on me and make fun of me and kick at me since I am leaving. I'd be confused except that her insanity doesn't faze me ... I only have to deal with it for three and a half more hours. Sweet! I get Dogbert and her bag and take her to daycare/boarding. I   cry   sob as I load her into the car. I feel as if I am abandoning her and ruining her little puppy life. I am a nut. A teary sobbing nut. Dogbert's tail is going a mile a minute at the thought of daycare and she is oblivious to my distress. I get through the dog drop off with mild to moderate humiliation. I work out one last time and then get a pedicure. I decide to go with red toes. Should something go terribly awry, I want to go out with red toes.

As I pack the hospital bag, I intentionally try not to think about my mom and aunt or the fact that Boo and I are basically on our own. My family is almost non-existent and twelve hundred miles away. His, though larger, is also far. Neither one can ride to the rescue if we need a break or want to have dinner out. I have no doubt that we can do this, and do it well, all by ourselves. Nonetheless, I try to ignore the fact that we have to and swallow any bitterness that I have about it. We have our final dinner together, just us, and then Boo goes to get a new camcorder. We will NOT be recording the birth, but since it has been given to us as a gift, we figure we should get it.

April 3, 2008: I wake up at 3:45 a.m. and am tired. I'm not nervous, but this is probably because I am so tired that my brain can't function. Why the fuck does this have to start so early? I am a little put out because I haven;t had a chance to prrof read my ramblingbbgs but I figure guck it, I'm going to have a baby, I deserve some leeway.

Overall this pregnancy thing has been pretty easy and I am lucky. Getting pregnant, not so easy, but once we got there, I can't complain. Physically, it has not been difficult. The hardest part for me, emotionally for sure, has been re-mourning the loss of my mom, dad, and aunt. Sometimes that hurt is so fresh it surprised me. In any event, the overall experience has been pretty damn cool, and gloriously uneventful.

Even now, heading off to go birth this baby, it still seems somewhat vague or unreal. The best example I can come up with is a long planned vacation ... We've never been to Italy but we hear it's great and we are excited at the idea of going. For two years we talked about going but we couldn't afford it, couldn't make it work. And then, nine months ago, we won the lottery. We had the cash, we could finally take our trip. We booked airline tickets, reserved hotel rooms, and planned day trips for some great location in Italy. So for the last nine months we have talked about our trip and played the what-if game; we've discussed dining options, entertainment ideas, the weather and what to wear. We've taken classes on Italian and boned up on cultural stuff, but still there is no sense of reality. It is kind of one-step removed. All the prep work was just prep work. Even now, stepping on the airplane, I can't quite wrap my brain around this huge journey we are about to embark on. Intellectually I know that we're going to another country and it is going to be like nothing we have known before. But the reality is not real. I suspect that once we land in Italy, things will click. In the meantime, I am hoping the flight is smooth and terrorist free!

The End is In Sight

In exactly 21 minutes I will be free from work. Free from Crazy. I can't wait.

Ten on Tuesday

I almost missed it. Two on Tuesday almost passed me by, again AGAIN! It is a good thing I decided to put off working on things that need to be worked on (Me: What about Joba for a girl, you know, like Joba Chamberlain? Boo: Are you high?) and decided to fart around on the computer. Otherwise you would never have the joy of learning about ...

Ten Things I'd Fix in My Home (if I had the time and money)

10. Two words: New. Kitchen.

9. Two (more) words: New. Bathrooms.

8. Hire someone to paint the living room (damn you cathedral-esque ceilings that our ladder can't reach).

7. Expand the front area of house to make the dining and living rooms bigger while creating a front porch.

6. Even out the back yard and put up a fence.

5. Use the fence to keep our new, in-ground, uber deep and long swimming pool with an attached hot tub/jacuzzi safe from intruders.

4. Replace the subflooring under the hardwood floors.

3. Add a fireplace in the family room ... right after we rip out the gawdaful faux wood paneling.

2. Build an addition as part of the kitchen remodel that also includes a master suite.

1. Install a winch and pulley system to pull my car up the driveway when it is super snowy and icy.

Geeze, after reading this, I wonder why we are still living in our house. Oh right, because we don't have the time and money to do these things. Duh!

And thus concludes my farting around.

No Foolin'

According the the forces that be (or my doctors), I will be birthing Lady Bean on Thursday. In preparation for this event, Boo and I decided we needed to narrow down the name thing to three choices, pack the hospital bag, decide how long we are going to board the dog, make arrangements for boarding the dog, pack a bag for the dog, finish decorating Lady Bean's room, clean the house, buy some groceries, and basically get everything ready for a smooth transition home. So far, we've ... um ... well, we watched Law & Order, had Taco Bell for dinner, discussed the merits of ordering Showtime when the new season of Dexter starts, researched camcorders, debated the merits of Spearmint (I say no good: smells and tastes like Pepto-Bismal - which is intentionally misspelled because that stuff tastes and smells abysmal; he says: yum; obviously he is WRONG), and thought up all of the worst names possible without coming close to getting three good ones. Oh, and we argued about the stuff that needs to go on the list of stuff we need to get done before Thursday. In other words, we have done nothing productive.