Friday, June 7, 2013

Lettuce vs. Potatoes

Dear Internet,

Is it really already Friday?  Where did my week go?  Surely walking the dogs, working and sleeping couldn't have gone by this fast?

Every week, when I read what food the internet tells me the baby is, I ask Mr. Adventure to guess.  This week, when I read that McCloud is now the size of three, medium-size russet potatoes, Mr. Adventure said that is cheating, because it is three pieces of food.  So, I found another site that compared el bebe to a head of iceburg lettuce.

Iceburg lettuce is disgusting.  And really only good for tacos.  So, for your 26 week recipe, make some tacos.  I normally use Smart Ground, because I don't eat beef.  Or pork.  Or lamb.  Or foods that are genetically modified.  Or lots of other things.  I also tend to make up my own taco spices, which involve me dumping a ton of cayenne and cumin and hot sauce into a skillet with my smart ground and grilled onion and garlic.  I think I might make tacos for dinner.

If you prefer to go the three potato route, I like to take a cookie sheet and pre-heat the oven to ~350 (or 300 on my oven, since it came with my house and is a total POS (not to be confused with the POS systems in most bars and restaurants, though the one in the bar I used to work at really lived up to it's name)).  Then spray your sheet with cooking spray, wash your potatoes, slice them super thin (you can peel them if you want, but I have better things to do than peel potatoes.  Like take naps) then spread them out evenly across your cookie sheet, spray the tops with cooking spray, and sprinkle with salt and pepper.  Then put them in the oven until they are cooked how you like them.  I have no idea how long this takes, but I don't think it takes more than, like, 15 minutes.  I tend to forget to set the oven timer, or even note what time it is when I put something in there.  I just trust that my nose will smell whatever it is I'm trying to cook before it burns.

My mother emailed me and asked me if I want her to come out for the birth.  I know she had 5 kids and is super experienced with baby-having, but I don't want anyone at my birth.  My dad asked if I wanted him there, too, and told me all about how he delivered me.  (Both of my parents were in the Airforce, my dad was a med tech and my mother was a nurse).  I may have said this before, but it's not like it's my sweet 16 or my first band concert or a play I'm acting in or something.  I don't want anyone there.  If I could just have me and my midwife, I would be stoked.  I would prefer Mr. Adventure wait outside, pacing back and forth in the waiting room, smoking cigars and drinking bourbon, kind of like what Rhett did in Gone With the Wind when Scarlett was having Bonnie.  Luckily, I don't think most hospitals have velvet carpeting in the waiting rooms, so we wouldn't have to worry about Mr. Adventure burning holes in it like Rhett did.

That said, No.  I don't even want anyone to visit me in the hospital.  I mean, I have a house.  People can visit me there, when I'm not closing all the blinds and curtains, locking my doors, turning off my phone and pretending to not be home.

The internet also suggested I start asking myself certain questions in order to write up a birth plan and start planning what I need for the hospital.  One of the questions was something like, "Do you want a mirror so you can watch the baby crowning?"  Um, no.  No I do not.  That is, quite possibly, the last thing I want.  Actually, the last thing I want is a crows of people in the delivery room.  The second to last thing I want is a mirror to watch that shit getting stretched the f out.  Jesus!

One of my incredibly lovely and talented friends gave birth to her son about two years ago.  She did a home birth and I remember her calling me and telling me she was going to have her baby on the toilet.  Twenty minutes later, she called me back, crying, saying, "I don't want to have my baby on the toilet!"  It was hilarious.  And sad.  And really, really funny.  Anyway, I guess post-birth, her midwife told her not to look at her lady parts.  She suggested avoiding it for at least six weeks.  Just like Ringo proclaimed himself to be a "born lever-puller" in the Yellow Submarine, this friend of mine just couldn't resist looking.  She told me after that she wished she had taken her midwife's advice.  I learned a long time ago that once you see something, it cannot be unseen.  When I think of this, the first thing that comes to mind is goatse.  I was caught off-guard and tricked into looking at it, and I will never be able to unsee it.  If you do not know what goatse is, you are lucky.  Do not google it.  No matter what you do.  Seriously.

Okay.  That is all.

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