Oldie McWrinklesworth

So we had a good appointment this week at the midwives. Got to hear the little guy's heartbeat again, and all was well. Except the midwife we met with kept referring to my age. And putting me in the category of "older moms." Now I realize I'm well settled into my thirties. I accept that some days. So far my thirties have been far better than my twenties. And I do realize that as far as childbearing years, I'm getting up there a bit. But come on! I'm no Sarah Palin, am I? (It's been weeks since I've mentioned her in here... phew that feels good!) The experience was a bit unsettling. Also unsettling was the discovery of a small but persistent dark patch of hair blooming from my stomach. "It'll go away, Grandma Moses" promised the midwife. "And you're measuring right on schedule-- 21 weeks, Roberta McCain!" she added.

I began to think something was up the next day when I checked the mail and discovered an exciting offer for Scott-- from AARP! We think with all his golfing and golfing magazines that he must've slipped onto some sort of retirees master list somewhere. I have to say it made me feel a little better though.

In other dramatic news, I've been sleeping like crazy. After the midwife deemed Zyrtec safe to use, I've been taking it for my nighttime allergies (which may or may not be related to my cat sleeping on my head), I've been sleeping better-- but I think I clocked almost 12 hours last night. And then, due to the dreary day and my avoidance of writing more articles for work or performing mundane but much needed housekeeping tasks, I succumbed to a nap as well. So I am officially a cat now. I only wish there was a way I could bank all this extra sleep and use it later this winter and spring, when I will need it so, so much more.

Who's a Big Girl?

So Max, aka the bebe, must be undergoing a serious growth spurt. Suddenly I've got some serious poochage going on. And I'm freaking starving all the time-- even more than usual!

The other night, I yelled to the other room "I need OJ, cake, and pretzels!" Now, I was only half serious. Scott and I have this thing we do where, particularly if we're both tucked cozily into a bed, couch, or recliner, one of us nudges the other and names a particular food we want the other to go fetch. For example, Scott's favorite nudge is the KFC nudge. "Ehhh! KFC!" he'll grunt, gently pushing at my arm as if the momentum would spring me up, into my car, and down the street to gather up some fried chickeny goodness. We never actually get the food that the other requests-- I think the whole game is actually more about trying to agitate the resting party than a serious urge for sustenance.

So I was only partially joking when I shouted "OJ, cake and pretzels." And of course, I can't have cake unless it's wheat free and lactose free (which they have at the Pepper Club where we celebrated our anniversary-- a delicious cardamom cake), and can only have wheat-free pretzels from Whole Foods that cost like $30 for a snack size bag. But the combination ran through my pregnancy addled mind and was out of my mouth.

And my sweet, sweet husband actually got up and went to the grocery store for what turned out to just be OJ and grapes. This is even more notable because it was after 7p.m. and since we live a very geriatric lifestyle, that says a lot.

But the moment he was out the door I realized I also needed Rice Krispy Treats. Now, I didn't used to eat sugar (besides the bit that goes in my decaf vanilla soy latte... which is starting to sound really good right now...) but in the early days of my pregnancy, almost nothing sounded good, so I decided to loosen up and experiment with allowing myself a little honey or sugar now and again. I called Scott on his cell phone-- I could actually still hear him in the driveway-- but he didn't pick up so instead I went downstairs to make some Rice Krispy Treats-- a wheat and dairy free treat!

When Scott got home to see the glistening marshmallow goodies fresh from the pot, he laughed and laughed at me and my hormone-driven cooking spree... but he took a break from his hilarity to eat some.

So all is well around here, despite a rising grocery bill. Other than having a cold the past few days, my energy level has been good and I'm definitely enjoying this 2nd trimester. And we watched a news spot on the new birthin' center at Mercy last night-- pretty swanky. If not for the whole having to give birth thing, I'd be hanging out there all the time...

Names

Now that we know we’re having a boy child, the question of the day is “have you thought about names?” This question led me to ponder the stereotypical life cycle questions posed to and by stereotypical, middle-class hetero Americans. Not that I mind these types of questions—on the contrary, I ask them frequently myself. Most of them actually have the potential to be quite profound—if the inquisitor truly wants to hear the answers. Just for fun, I’m also going to interject the questions/comments I actually want to ask instead…starting with, say, an elementary school aged child…

“How’s school going?”
Do you ever wet your pants in gym class?
“How does it feel to be ten years old?”
Isn’t it time you stop picking your nose?
“Are you enjoying high school?”
Are you one of the cool kids, or not-so-much?
“Do you have a boyfriend/girlfriend?”
You’re totally doing it, aren’t you!?
“How’s college?”
If you don’t stop doing it all the time, you’re going to flunk out!
“What kind of career are you thinking about?”
No one’s going to hire you if you don’t stop picking your nose.
“So when are you going to get married?”
Am I going to be invited? Do I have to buy you something? Are you doing it a lot?
“How’s married life?”
Are you still doing it?
“Are you going to have kids?”
Did you know you have to do it to have kids?
"When are you due?”
You guys do still do it!
“How are you feeling?”
Are you still able to do it?
“Is it a boy or a girl?”
Either way, I really hope it doesn’t look like your husband.
“Have you thought about names?”
Please don’t name your child that.
“Are you going to have more kids?”
Are you going to keep doing it?
“Where are your kids thinking about going to college?”
Don’t you think it’s time they stopped picking their nose?
“Have you thought about retirement?”
You’re getting up there, aren’t you? Are you still doing it?
“How was your colonoscopy?”
Did the doctor wink at you? Was there poo? Did you like it?
“So do you have any grandkids yet?”
That means your kids are doing it!
“Have you thought about downsizing?”
You’re really getting up there. You should start giving away stuff. Could I have some of it?
“How was your surgery?”
Am I in your will? Could I be?
“So do you have any great-grandkids yet?”
What’s it like to be so old? Do you know who I am? Are you still doing it?
Hello?
Helloooo?!? Uhoh…

I’d now like to apologize for the disturbing keyhole into my psyche. If you didn’t know already, I’m a twelve-year-old boy trapped inside a 34-year-old pregnant lady.

We have thought about names. We’ve been calling our little fetus Max for a few months, although we’re not sure if that will be his post-gestation name or not. My in utero name was Fergie, which I recently found out was a salute to Ferguson Jenkins, an African American baseball player. I tried calling Max, Fergie Jr. for a few days, but it didn’t really stick.

Names are hard. Scott and I both like the idea of using family names, but we can’t agree on any. And there’s a part of me that really likes the idea of giving our little one a fresh name of his own, with nothing to live up (or down) to.

If you haven’t already had enough dialogue in this entry, here’s a sample of our name discussions:

Me: How about Sawyer?”
Scott: Maybe if it didn’t reflect your crush on the dude from Lost.
Me: I’m totally over that. What about Finn?
Scott: Too Irish.
Me: But you’re like, 90% Irish!
Scott: How about Benson?
Me: Like Robert Guillome?
Scott: Kale?
Me: I sort of like that.
Me: Could we name him Casey?
Scott: Too sporty.
Me: But you’re super sporty spice!
Scott: I still sort of like Max. But I don’t really like Maxwell. Or Maximillian.
Me: Same here.
Scott: How about Mad Max?
Me: Beyond Thunderdome, baby.
Me: How about Kale?
Scott: No, that’s a vegetable.
Me: But you just suggested it!
Me: How about Erico, after our kitty Erica?
Scott: Why would it be Erico and not Eric?
Me: Oh, yeah. Good point.
Scott: How about Kale?
Me: Sigh...

So, no names yet. We might just pick a few and wait to see what the baby looks like. Should we put BloodyMcgooerson on our short list?

In Between

When I go almost a week without writing in here, not only do my fans get outraged (sorry Mom) but I end up with a million random streams of things I want to write about. So it's possible that I'll get a tad tangential here.

I feel really in-between today. The weather this week has vascillated between tank top weather and sweater days. Leaves are starting to fall but the other day in the cemetery, the maintenance crew was all shirtless. I'm smack dab at the 20 week mark of my pregnancy, and I'm right in-between having an obvious baby bumb and just looking a bit portly.

The "master list" that I started last week--cataloguing all the small and large things that we need to get done seems to keep getting longer. I am circling around the sad realization that that's life-- there will always be a lengthy list of things to get done. In fact, in about 5 months, there will be all sorts of new things that have to get done in between all the usual mundane life tasks. This realization comes as very disturbing news to my somewhat secret fantasy that eventually, someday soon, I'll get everything done that needs to be done and I can live out the rest of my days watching television and reading. I am inherently a lazy soul, and while I have come to some sort of peace around that (which is not easy living in a culture that prides itself on long, hard hours of work, and descending from parents who both have very strong work ethics), I still struggle with all the stuff that needs to get done.

I realized the other day that the answer is not to make my life less busy-- I actually have done a nice job at setting up a life where I have the extra time and space that I need-- it's about making better use of the time I do have. In my frenzy of vomiting, moaning, and sipping juice this summer, I stopped my practice of daily journalling. This morning writing allows me to remove the top layer of crud in my brain so I can function at a higher level. I also stopped my halting attempts at meditation. So I'm working on reinstating these habits so that when I do have hectic days, I can breathe a little in between.

So on a totally other note it's Scott and my fourth anniversary today. Four years ago today we stood encircled by our favorite people and made some promises to each other. It rained just long enough to halt our plans of wedding outside, but just after we finished our ceremony, this amazing golden light brushed down on us. It's all kind of a blur-- one of my favorite parts was when we passed our rings around for our guests to bless, though I don't really remember what anyone said-- but it's a lovely blur.

Off to celebrate.

Dude, there's a dude in my belly! I'm still trying to get used to that. As Megan pointed out, I am practically a hermaphrodite for the time being. Pretty crazy.

Of course, this means we have to navigate the hot button (so to speak) of circumcision. I feel that it's a little barbaric-- most of the old reasons for circumcising males have proven unnecessary. One of the common arguments for it is cosmetic. I agree that they look weird to many Americans-- but it's definitely a cultural thang. It's kind of like if, right after birth, newborn elbow skins were removed and replaced with paisley blue corduroy. (Which might be kind of cool... I really like corduroy!) It would seem crazy to outsiders, but it would be the norm once established. Naked elbows would be unsightly, causing small children to cry and parents to shield their children's eyes in horror.

So those are my thoughts. But I'm leaving this one up to Scott. I figure I have to pick my battles, after all.

P.S.

I just wanted to congratulate myself. It's been several days since I've written about either my cat or Sarah Palin on here. Go me!

Inny or Outy?

We had our "big reveal" ultrasound this morning-- our little one is healthy and wriggling around like nobody's business. And my instincts were right...it's a boy!

I have to admit that even though I've felt it was a boy almost from the beginning, that if I could choose which gender we were having, I'd have chosen a girl. I know it's not that cool to say that, that you're supposed to just want a healthy kiddo, and that is the most important thing. We were trying for awhile to have this baby, and we're both so happy about it. But yes, I had a little wash of disappointment at first. I don't get my little MiniMe this time.

Scott was soooo happy though. He's already dreaming about shaping our baby into a little golfer, and though I'm not really sure I can handle more golf in our lives, it makes me happy to see him so excited. And when I think of what he must've been like as a little boy, and that this little boy will have some of those traits, I melt a little.

And I'm so relieved that everything inside this little kid is exactly the way it's supposed to be-- I'm such a worrywart, I was sure that our baby would have Down Syndrome, a cleft palate, spina bifida (sp?) and that really gross awful thing where the baby's born with the intestines on the outside... but none of those appear to be problems. And things I hadn't even thought to worry about, like club feet or lobster hands, were also not issues. We both watched in awe as the technician showed us the chambers of the heart, looked down into the brain, and of course-- the weiner! (The also tech told us a funny story about another tech who works there. Every time people find out they're having a boy, she tells them it has the biggest penis she's ever seen--which never fails to puff up the father with pride.) Yea!

It is still the weirdest thing to believe that Scott and I made a little wiggle worm that shares both of our dna and currently lives inside of my stomach. I keep trying to comprehend it and I can't quite get there.

After the ultrasound I headed to my first prenatal yoga class, which was great. I've never been super flexible, but after being so sedentary the past few months when I was sick, it felt really good to stretch these ole muscles out and to just breathe. There were four other women in the class, and we're all having boy except one woman whose not far along enough to tell, so that was cool.

So all is well here with us, and we're feeling pretty grateful tonight. I keep practicing saying "son." It still feels kind of weird, like referring to Scott as my "husband" when we first got married. It takes time to sink into the word and get cozy in it. I should figure out a way to scan our ultrasound photos so I can post them here...

I'm feeling grateful today, and also a little agitated-- an interesting juxtaposition. Grateful because my work is picking up a bit, which nicely coincides with me feeling more energetic. Grateful that it was so slow during the time I felt the worst-- makes me feel like the universe is taking care of me. Good stuff.

Agitated? Not sure why. I'm taking advantage of blaming all my moods on hormones these days-- why not, right?

We had a good weekend. Scott unexpectedly came home early from golf Saturday morning, so we got to enjoy some precious weekend snuggle time. A visit to see our new niecey passed the early afternoon, and then it was clearly nap time (for us, not niecey).

Sunday, my dad sweetly made us brunch-- my parents actually make us brunch almost every Sunday that they're in town. Not just like scrambled eggs and dry toast, either, but fancy brunches. Eggs benedict is their speciality. My mom was out of town visiting the Aunties, but Dad still put together a delicious spread. Scott and my dad, who usually mystify my mom and I by talking about golf for hours on end, were gracious enough to occasionally turn the conversation to other topics. A good time was had by all.

I took a walk afterwards-- and was thrilled to see about seven turtles sunning on the turtle log at the cemetery. I may have written about this before on here, but I've kind of become obsessed with turtles this year. Before I knew I was pregnant, when the now orange-sized kiddo was the size of a poppy seed (they always compare the size to food-- yummy baby!), I found a tiny baby turtle not much bigger than my thumbnail. He was ever-so-slowly crossing one of the dirt roads and I worried he'd get stepped on or run over, so I scooped him up with a leaf and delivered him to the turtle pond where I assumed he'd find his parents who must be searching for him. Afterwards, I realized I probably should've either let him be or just moved him into the grass by the road-- what if his parents were in another pond, or in the grass he was inching towards? What if I unwittingly plopped him down by the pond of the rival turtle gang? Hopefully this doesn't say anything about my poor maternal judgement, but we shall see!

In other stunning news, I actually made us dinner tonight for the first time in months... I almost don' t dare say it, but I believe I may have finally landed in that second trimester, honeymoon phase of pregnancy...

Week in Review

I've been neglecting my lil' blog.

Here's what's new (or not so new):

• I'm still obsessed with Sarah Palin. I'm not entirely sure why. I found her to be very well-spoken at the Republican National Convention which disturbed me greatly. I predict that if McCain doesn't win the primary, that Governor Palin will end up hosting some sort of righty talk show and win all sorts of commercial endorsements.
• I've felt really good this last week. Last night and today have not been great nausea-wise, but I'm still grateful for this past week. I left the house many times. Yea!
• Next week we get to find out the gender of our little one. I'm still thinking boy, Scott's still thinking girl. I can barely wait. I admire those who can endure the suspense and not find out until the birth. I am not one of them. 19 weeks seems plenty long to wait!
• Juice is my new favorite food. It's helped me through many weeks of ailing, and though I'm feeling better, I can't seem to put down the juice. Faves of the week: tomato juice, and Odwalla OJ (not together!). Apparently the lil' kiddo is a fan of vitamin C.
• At the recommendation of supportive friends, I'm beginning to scribe a list of all the things that need to be done in the next several months-- the things that thus far have just floated around in my head, jostling me into a sweaty panic at 2 a.m. in the morning. Things like enlisting someone to help rid our floors of stale cat vomit detritus, clean the garage before winter (we're procrastinators and must start early!), and start asking parenty people what their favorite books were on labor (!!%*$^!) and child rearin'.
• I'm still waiting for my pregnancy glow and cleavage to arrive. If I may return once more to my Sarah Palin obsession, did you see her pregnant daughter and her hockey lovin' groom to be on the stage at the RNC? Holy boob fairy. The funniest moment though, was when her youngest daughter licked her hand like a cat and ran it through her baby brother's hair. Priceless.

So that's what's been going on around here. Not terribly exciting, but it keeps me entertained!

So right after I posted my last little ditty, I read that Sarah Palin has now announced that her daughter Bristol is indeed 5 months pregnant now. I am entirely confused. My profusest apologies to the Palin family. ; )

Nevertheless, I will continue to shield my indoor cat from the public eye, and will not pressure her to marry the tomcat that impregnated her.

Here is a picture of her in which I have strategically placed a pillow to hide her blooming midsection.

I grew up in a pretty political family. Both of my grandfathers served in the Alaskan legislature, one for over two decades if I recall correctly. For some shameful reason, however, I have never been very political. I vote, and I care deeply about the very scary current state of the world. But I'm not one to watch debates or know the middle names of the candidates or how they stand on certain issues. Instead, I employ the admittedly dangerous technique of either liking or disliking the "general aura" of the political candidates.

But I have to admit I'm obsessed with Sarah Palin. Partly because she's the governor of my home state, who suddenly and unexpectedly has been chosen to run for the office of vice president alongside John McCain. But mostly I'm obsessed because there's a nasty rumor that's been circulating since her son was born last spring-- a rumor that says she's actually the grandmother of the child, and the real mother is her teenaged daughter, Bristol. I try not to gossip, I really do. But there's something explosive about this rumor, and there's some convincing "evidence" to support it. I first heard the rumor from my mom after the birth last spring-- at that point no one outside of Alaska gave a bear's bum about it. But the drama is starting to circulate on the internet, and I'm predicting a very public investigation in the weeks to come.

I won't go into the specifics here of the reasons people think this rumor may be true-- I'll leave you to google it yourselves. Some people say it's no one's business, and some say that if it's true, it was noble of her to protect her daughter. I agree with neither, but that might just be because she's a right winger and I think it takes enormous balls to try to pull off a soap opera stunt like this off while you're in public office... if it's true.

Either way, it should be an interesting story to follow.

By the way, I'm not really pregnant, I'm just pretending to be to protect my teenaged cat. You can see in the photograph above that I'm trying to conceal her baby bump.