Nestin'

To make up for my neglect here, I'm doubling up and posting twice in one day... can you tell I'm an all or nothing kind of gal?

So I've been nesting. Cleaning, cooking-- I've got sugar-free spelt banana bread cooking in the oven and beans simmering for bean burgers on the stovetop. I think there is only one room in the house that I'd be really embarrased to have anyone in should we have an incident that brings unexpected company. I have never felt so much like an animal as I have lately-- knowing that these domestic urges are the product of hormones beyond my control. I can almost see myself flitting out to the yard to collect leaves and branches, carrying them back to the house in my teeth, where I proceed to fashion them into an actual giant nest. It could happen.

Also I was driving today and that Five for Fighting song, 100 years came on and I burst into tears. What am I becoming?!? I think what got me about the song, besides just the unpredictability of hormone surges, is that for the last 34 & 1/3 years it's pretty much been all about me. Not that I'm a completely selfish person, but, well, kinda. Now there's going to be someone else to think about, someone completely dependant on us to steward him through the beginning of his life. As happy and exciting as this whole thing is, there's a bittersweetness about giving up my previous life for this new one. I'm like this about all life changes-- I tend to be very sentimental and have a difficult time anticipating major life shifts. Then, once the shift happens, I'm always okay, and in fact usually better. But the anticipation is a struggle for me. It's a good thing I married an optimist-- as my dad once said "Scott has such a sunny disposition. And you occasionally do, too."

Rant for the week: Sciatica. It sucks. My back hurts and my leg is numb most of the time. Although as a friend pointed out, perhaps the numbness will continue, and perhaps head a bit north, and serve as a natural epidural.

Rave: Dexter, season two. I enjoyed season one, but I think I was still mourning the end of Six Feet Under and couldn't detach David's character from Dexter. But season two rocked. Not as gory as season one, either. Likey.

Into the Mystic...

Scott and I went away for our "babymoon" this weekend. It was a quick trip but just what the psychiatrist ordered. We headed down to Mystic, Connecticut-- we wanted to go somewhere not too far but not too close, where there'd be a handful of things to do, and Mystic fit the bill nicely.

Fortunately, Scott and I travel really well together. Our idea of a good vacation day is some good food cooked by other people, then a few hours of exploring, followed by a few to several hours of napping/reading. Then back out for dinner. It was very low key-- we visited the aquarium, which was fun-- I did notice we were nearly the only people there without kids (kids on the outside, that is). The highlight for me was the sea lions. The lady sea lions made these crazy belch-sounding noises and I just laughed and laughed and laughed.

I also noticed the new, intense way that we were watching other peoples' kids. The toddlers in the Mexican restaurant that once would've been an amusing distraction were still cute, but also kind of like watching a science experiment. We both seemed to especially notice the little boy kiddos, since that's the variety we're getting this time around. I guess we are becoming parents. Pretty weird stuff.

We also went to see Bill Maher's "Religulous" which was quite amusing, though the end seemed a bit on the dark side.

Mostly we just laughed a lot and enjoyed the change of scenery and the relaxing weekend. Scott's been working really hard lately in his new position at work, so I was really glad we could sneak away.

Unfortunately last night the cat kept us up with a lot of barfing and death howling. I guess it's good practice, right? Although as Scott said, hopefully our little guy won't be vomitting up stinky cat food in the middle of the night...

I've again been delinquent in here... things are just kind of flowing along, without much event, so I haven't posted in awhile.

I was a little disturbed this week at my prenatal yoga class when the instructor started talking about the "ring of fire" stage of labor. And something about getting part of her vajeyjey clipped. The woman next to me--also a first-time mom-to-be--and I just looked at each other like "what the ef?" The instructor, sensing our panic, tried to sooth us by saying it was "more like an Indian rug burn." Then why do they call it the Ring of Fire? It sounds like something out of the Hobbit-- "And you must now pass through the Ring of Fire." I thought prenatal yoga class was supposed to help with stress reduction?!?

Watched the debate last night-- I have to say I was hoping it would be a little more ridiculous. Although does anyone in America really think it's a good idea to have another person in the White House who can't pronounce nuclear? You betcha', bless your little heart. And where did that accent come from? I'm from Alaska, and I'm pretty sure I don't sound like that...

Anyways. Going for sushi (don't worry, I don't eat fish of the raw or cooked variety) and improv tonight-- should be fun.

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.