I Hate Cliches.

But writing that kind of makes me want to make a movie called Clichéte.  I'm not sure what it would be about yet, but I will get back to you.

So, I hate clichés.  More accurately, I hate living out clichés.  And this need to pee all the time is getting out of control.  In the 8 hours that I was trying to sleep last night, I got up to pee four times.  I was really thirsty, but I didn’t drink any water because I was hoping that would curb the need for frequent restroom breaks, but no.  I’m considering packing a pillow into the bathroom and just sleeping on the toilet.

Not really.  I would probably fall off.  And bathrooms have lots of sharp corners.

At 34 weeks pregnant, I have no idea what food size the baby is any more.  I am getting conflicting information.  One website says the baby is the size of a cantaloupe, and maybe that’s the case.  If so, you should eat a cantaloupe.  In honor of faux-infant cannibalism.  Or something.

I discovered this website over the weekend, and it is probably the weirdest pregnancy week-by-week website I have come across yet.  So, here is a link, for your enjoyment. 

What else?  

I received a check for $110 in the mail yesterday.  That was exciting.  I’m glad I don’t have to argue with the birthing class instructor over my refund any more.  The actual class I am taking starts next week and is set to run for four weeks.  Will the baby stay in until I have completed birthing classes?!  Stay tuned to find out…

My super fancy dress fit me perfectly at the wedding.  I looked so smoking hot, I kind of wanted to take myself into the bathroom and have my way with me, but I refrained.  I didn’t get any pictures, though.  I wore the Erin Wiggle dress in black from pinupgirlclothing.com, with my favorite pair of black Fleuvog open-toe heels and my giant black sun hat with gold trim.  I looked fancy.  And the wedding was short.  I like that in a wedding.  The last wedding I went to was a traditional catholic wedding.  Catholic weddings are not known for their brevity.

I saw my midwife yesterday and asked her a ton of questions.  I finally got the results of my glucose screen back.  My result was 139.  The cut off is 140.  She said all that matters is that I passed and that the rest of my results looked good.  Next up is the Strep B test at 36 weeks.  She told me to study hard to make sure I pass.

I asked her again about alternatives to erythromycin, and she said there aren’t any.  I guess doctors used to put silver nitrate in babies eyes after they were born, which is way more harsh.

I asked her about tearing or needing an episiotomy.  In the past 27 years, she has had less than ten patients tear while birthing vaginally, so that’s exciting.  She also said she wants me to come to the hospital as soon as my water breaks, but I’ve read that labor can take a really long time to get going even after the “membranes rupture.”  So, as long as I test negative for Strep B, I figure I will hang out at home for a bit anyway.  Just to be an asshole, I guess.  Because I don’t want to be at the hospital forever.  I would rather give birth in the car on the way to the hospital than be stuck there in labor for 12 hours.

I also asked my midwife about complications related to having had a LEEP when I was 17.  She said that it is possible that the cervix won’t dilate enough and that she would have to manually break up the scar tissue.  I guess that is as painful as it sounds because she said most of her patients that need to have that done end up getting an epidural.  I had a hard enough time at the dentist when they numbed the roof of my mouth, I can’t imagine letting them numb my legs at the hospital, but I guess we will see how it all plays out within the next month and a half or so.

Since I want a natural birth and we are having Mr. Hamburglar McCloud in the hospital, I have been reading a lot and I found this super awesome book called Homebirth in the Hospital.  I just checked it out from my local library.  It’s full of women’s birth experiences in the hospital, compiled by an OB who is all about natural birth.  My favorite so far is the Brazilian woman who, every time she pushed, would say, “Baby Wants Out!”  And I prefer the stories in this book to the ones in Ina May’s Spiritual Midwifery.  I mean, birthing from within and all that is great, but it’s all a bit too New Age-y for me, and I used to go to Rainbow Gatherings as a young adult.  So, if something is too hippy for me, that’s saying something.  Though I am planning on burning nag champa and anointing my baby with patchouli just after he is born.  (Not really). 

I can’t wait to be at the beach on Friday!  I was trying to find someone to go on my trip back west with me for the long weekend, but I’m kind of glad no one can come.  I think it will be nice to take one last solo road trip before I become a mother.  I’m going to install the car seat before I leave, just in case McCloud decides to make an early appearance.  If he does decide to come early, hopefully he will at least wait until after my day at the beach. 

And I have heartburn.  Still.  Or again.  I don’t know.  And I found this disturbing image that pretty accurately sums up how I feel.

Mr. Adventure is supposed to finish the floor in the nursery while I am out of town this weekend.  I think he will.  He likes to do nice things around the house when I go out of town.  We’ve both been enjoying (and been slightly freaked out by) the amazing acrobatics of my moving belly.  It’s weird when people can see your stomach moving from across the room.  His kicks and punches are pretty strong, but he hasn’t punched me anywhere tender yet, so that’s nice.

I had a dream the other night that labor only lasted an hour and a half.  It was awesome.  Maybe that dream was premonitory?  My QC officer had a dream last night that I was wearing a deep sea diving mask (to ensure I had enough oxygen) while I performed a c-section on myself.  The doctors weren’t being helpful and she was very concerned and saw that my oxygen supply had been severed, so she reconnected it for me.  I told her I would be sure to pack an oxygen tank and a diving mask into my hospital bag, just in case.

And I think that’s all.  Beach and baby shower fun in Western Washington this weekend!  Yay!  Maybe I will even find my camera and take some pictures.

A Rant (as a pet owner and mother-to-be)

This has been bothering me for weeks and people I talk to on a regular basis are pretty familiar with this rant, but I'm not sure that you, the internet community, are aware of my feelings on this, so here we go.

I love craigslist.  I use it to buy and sell things, give things away and find free stuff.  My super fancy Hushamok Baby Hammock?  $200 on craigslist.  They are $500 new.  That's a good deal.  And I love the free stuff on craigslist.  Both of my dogs came from craigslist.  That's how we learned that Rupert, our German Shepherd mix, was about to be murdered.  He was 13 weeks old and 300 miles away, but we went and got him and I'm glad we did.

When we chose to adopt both of our dogs, we made a commitment.  They are part of our family.  So all the craigslist ads that I've been seeing the past few months for free dogs are starting to piss me off.  Not all the ads make me angry.  Some are sad.  Like, "My mom passed and we can't take her dog, looking for a good home" or whatever.  The ones that get me are the ones that say things like this:

"Stanley is a brindle colored Olde English Bull Dog. Not neutered. He is house trained and loves to ride in the car. Very friendly loves people, kids, and other dogs. We are moving and having a baby, and don't have the time for him. Rehoming fee will apply to ensure good home. Interested call or text..."

And

"I Got a 3 month old dog 3 months ago. So now he's about 6 months old. Then I found out that my wife and I are pregnant! I love this dog and he had the cutest face! But I just don't have the time to take care of him, the way I want and that he deserves. The new baby is going to take up time and space, so we need a good home from him. He is great around other Dogs and kids! And so young enough to be trained. We call him Jax!"

These are just two examples I pulled from our local craigslist.  But here's my take:

Fuck you, people who are getting rid of dogs because you're having a baby.  I'm having a baby and do you know what I've been doing?  I've been training my dogs.  They've grown up around young kids but haven't spent a lot of time with infants and Rupert likes to bark when babies cry, so I've been exposing him to infants so he can get used to it.  I walk them with the stroller so I can still socialize my baby to his sorroundings while exercising the dogs.  I am trying to make them as prepared as they can be before the baby comes.  I've become stricter about jumping.  I love that they are excited to see me when I get home from work, but I don't want them jumping on me when I have a baby, so I am training them hardcore not to do that.  Our younger dog is a Rottweiler mix.  He really likes to put his mouth on things.  He has been learning that human bodies are not one of those things, and the lessons have been getting stricter.

I think dogs and kids go together.  We want to move out of the country in a few years and were looking at Korea.  I found that Korea has a 6 month quarantine period and large dogs are looked at as food over there.  So, instead of thinking about how to get rid of my dogs, I started looking at other countries to move to.  We made a commitment to our dogs when we adopted them, much like I am making a commitment to this baby.  We are a family and, according to Lilo and Stitch, family means no one gets left behind.

I'm curious... what are these people going to do if they choose to have a second child?  Or a third?  Am I going to start seeing ads on craigslist that say something like, "Toddler: Free to Good Home... My wife and I love this little guy, but with a new baby on the way, we just don't have the time to care for him the way he deserves.  He's free to a good home, comes with a food bowl, clothes and a leash!"

Sometimes, I wish it were legal to light people on fire.  And not in an encouraging sense.

WTF is a durian? And how did I get so pregnant?

Well gang, it seems that with 7 weeks to go, things are okay.  I found a pediatrician, I got into a birthing class, I talked to the woman from the birthing class I was going to take but am not, my midwife decided that she likes me so much she wants to see me every two weeks and I am going to Olympia at the end of next week to bond with my fellow geoduck brethren and have some baby shower fun.  And go to the beach.  The beach is nice.

At 33 weeks, one site told me that the baby is the size of a pineapple.  But he was the size of a pineapple last week or the week before.  So maybe this time it’s a bigger pineapple?  A genetically modified pineapple?  I don’t know.  So, after conducting further research, I found that young Mr. McCloud is the size of a durian.  What is a durian, you ask?  Good question.  I had the same one.  Apparently, a durian is the “King of Fruits” or something.  Like Elvis was the King of Rock and Roll.  So, now we will name the baby Elvis Hamburglar McCloud McWhatever.  Probably not, but still.  Apparently, durians smell weird, too.  They are from Southeast Asia, so maybe that weird smell in the produce department of Uwajimaya is the smell of the durian?  From Wikipedia:

The edible flesh emits a distinctive odour that is strong and penetrating even when the husk is intact. Some people regard the durian as pleasantly fragrant; others find the aroma overpowering and revolting. The smell evokes reactions from deep appreciation to intense disgust, and has been described variously as almonds, rotten onions, turpentine, raw sewage. The persistence of its odour has led to the fruit's banishment from certain hotels and public transportation in Southeast Asia.

My coworker's dad brought home a durian once, and his mom wouldn't let him bring it in the house because it smelled so bad.

Now I bet you are asking yourself, “But what recipes are available for preparing a fruit that sounds so amazingly delicious?!”  That is another excellent question!  And, since it is summer and it is hot, I am going to suggest making a durian ice cream.  In this blog, she has not one, but THREE durian ice cream recipes!  Including a vegan one!  Your homework for the week is to find a durian.  Then, for next week, make all three ice creams and let me know which tastes the best.  Then I will buy a durian, promptly forget why I did so, leave it on the counter for about three weeks, then throw it away.  Because that’s what happens.  Oh!  I have some green beans in my fridge I should probably cook tonight…

We painted the ceiling in the nursery.  Now we just need to stain the floors and find some sort of molding for the room, because the people we bought the house from seem to have hated molding.  There isn’t any on the window sills or the floor or anything.  Except in the addition, but even in there the trim is ugly.  I’ve been staring around my house, noticing all the things I hate about it lately.  The thing I hate the most has to be the terrible wood accents, so, in the guest bathroom, I ripped them all out of the walls.  Well, I unscrewed the screws in most of them, but one of the hand towel rack screws wouldn’t come out, so I physically ripped it from the wall.  My mentor says I’m nesting.  I just thought I was channeling my inner Incredible Hulk.  There is a wooden toilet seat in that room.  WTF?

The pediatrician I found is awesome.  He is about a mile from my house and he laughed at my joke about babies using intravenous drugs.  Also, I was late to my appointment because I went to their old office and they had moved two weeks before and I was all anxious because of traffic and being late, but he still saw me.  The staff were super friendly and after about a minute of talking to him, I was totally calm again.  He didn’t make me feel rushed at all.  He answered my questions and wasn’t a douche.  And he has three boys, so he knows about raising boys.  The only downside is that he has a soul patch.  Soul patches are the lowest form of facial hair.  If facial hair were Dante’s 7 circles of hell, the soul patch would either be the seventh circle or not there at all.  I’m not sure.  A Hitler moustache is better than a soul patch.  But, aside from his terrible facial hair, he is amazing.  And I feel good about it.  And, if his facial hair becomes an issue later on, I can always change pediatricians.

Changing doctors is easier than changing birthing classes.  The woman that runs the Confident Birthing class is a terrible human being.  Maybe her class is amazing, but I kind of hope something terrible happens to her.  It has been two weeks today since I was supposed to go to the first class but discovered it didn’t work with my schedule and canceled my enrollment and blah blah blah.  The woman told me she would figure out my partial refund and get back to me.  I called her on Friday to see where she was at in sending me my money (the class was $175).  She said she has been busy and would get it sent out to me soon and I gave her my address.  The conversation went something like this:

Me: Just to be clear, you are sending me $110, correct?

Her: Where did that number come from?

Me: It is the $175 class fee, minus the $65 non-refundable deposit.

Her: Typically, if someone delivers early and can’t finish the class, I refund them $10 per class.

Me: That’s nice.  But I didn’t attend any classes.

Her: I can send you the book, too.

Me: I don’t need the book.  And the only thing I signed was a recognition of a $65 non-refundable deposit.  Since I didn’t attend any of the classes, I should get the rest back.

Her: I will get your check in the mail.  Good luck in your birth.  <click>

So, there you go.  She was planning on sending me $70 out of $175.  I mean, she made $65 for doing nothing.   She’s a local doula, too and does prenatal massage.  I’ve been trying to find somewhere online to write terrible reviews of her (as a person.  I know nothing about the services she provides), but couldn’t find anything.  So, I told my midwife about my experience and told her she should stop referring people there.  Now I am taking Intuitive Birth through the hospital.  It only costs $60 for four weeks of class and the class ends at 8:30 p, not 10pm, so that’s nice.  I wonder if and/or when I will get my money back?  I think I will email her again today if my check isn’t in my mailbox when I get home from work.

I am meeting with a lawyer this week to update my will.  My old boss paid for us all to have wills done when I was 25.  I didn’t own anything at the time and I made my best friend from college and my favorite ex-boyfriend the executors of my estate because, well, I didn’t know what else to do.  But now, I own a house and there’s going to be a baby and what if Mr. Adventure and I both die?  We need to make arrangements for the wee one.  Yet another benefit of working for The Man is the EAP.  Because it’s a CLC or something, I get a free 30 minute consultation with a lawyer, and a 25% reduction on all additional lawyer fees and services.  The last time I actually hired a lawyer was when I got into a car accident when I was 20.  So, it seems I see a lawyer about as often as I go to the zoo… once a decade.

What else?  I am going to an outdoor wedding on Saturday.  It is hot as balls here and I think having an outdoor wedding in a desert state at the end of July is a form of torture.  Doubly so in my advanced state of pregnancy.  So, I am bringing my hand fan and I may or may not be naked by the end of the ceremony.  The dress I am planning to wear fit me a couple of weeks ago when I last tried it on.  Keep your fingers crossed that it still does!  I have two back-up dresses in mind, just in case my first choice doesn’t work out.  The third choice will definitely fit, but it shows a lot of cleavage.  An inappropriate amount for an afternoon wedding.  Or whatever time the wedding is.  (I don’t know where I put my invitation, but I bet someone knows what time it starts!).

I go back to the midwife next week.  I mean, I just saw her last week, but I guess since we’ve been seeing each other once a month for so long now, she just can’t stand to go that long without seeing me again.  I understand.  I would feel the same way.  I’ve been working on my fancy birth plan checklist thing that she gave me.  We’ve decided that we are going to go for the Vitamin K shot for the baby.  We aren’t circumcising, so I didn’t think it was necessary, but after doing a bunch of research, I learned that they give the Vitamin K shot to help prevent possible brain hemorrhaging.  Baby brain hemorrhage disease is pretty rare (less than 1%, I think) but shoving your head through a birth canal is probably pretty intense and I would feel really bad if my baby died or had brain damage because I didn’t get the shot.  So, there’s that.  I’m going to wait on the Hep B because Hep B is part of the vaccination pack at 2, 4 and 6 months, so babies don’t need it at two minutes after being born, unless the mom has Hep B.  And I am still on the fence about the erythromycin eye ointment stuff.  But that is just because Mr. Adventure is allergic and I’m not sure if the baby would be allergic.  Either way, I would feel like an asshole if my baby went blind because of something I did or did not do, so now I am looking into alternative eye ointments.  I’m also planning on going all natural and laboring at home as long as possible before going to the hospital.  And I received a piece of great advice from my old neighbor.  Her aunt is an L&D nurse and told her before her daughter was born that if her water breaks at 11:00p, wait until midnight to go to the hospital because it will save you from being charged an entire extra day in the hospital.  That’s the kind of advice I’m looking for. 

I can’t wait until next Thursday when I drive to Seattle, Olympia and Portland.  It will be nice to have a mini holiday and go somewhere that isn’t blazing hot for a few days.  Maybe I will even float the Clackamas or the Sandy before I head back East.

Oh!  We’ve decided that we are going to try to teach our German Shepherd mix a new trick: Rock the Baby.  We have the hushamok baby hammock where we are planning for the baby to sleep for the first couple of months.  I want to find something that weighs about ten pounds to put in there, then I am going to work on getting Mr. German Shepherd Mix to nose the hammock part with the command, “Rock the baby.”  Keep your fingers crossed for me that it works out!

And there you have it.  That is all.

'90's slang, jicama and the word "Slizzard"

32 weeks pregnant, yo.  And, based upon my use of the word "yo" it appears that 32 weeks is a good time to revert to '90's slang.

Speaking of slang, I was at the gas station by my house the other day and I was chatting with one of the ladies that works there about how one of my coworkers and I teach another coworker a new slang word every week.  (Last week, it was GTFO, less of a word and more of an abbreviation, but still).  Then she told me one of her friends purchased her a hiphoptionary and she was trying to learn a few new words a week.  Like the word slizzard.  According to Ke$ha, slizzard means getting super drunk or something, but in the hiphoptionary it means skeez.  I think I may need to add the hiphoptionary to my baby registry.  And maybe the Jive Bible.  I've wanted to learn jive for a long time, but I'm starting to think the jive bible may be a myth.  Maybe I should just stick with the 90's and find an Ebonics bible instead?

We are no longer taking the 7 week birthing class I signed us up for, and I'm waiting for my refund.  The class, which I thought ran from 6-9p, goes from 7-10p.  I work at 5:30 in the morning, and staying up until ten pm was a feat before I was pregnant, now... not gonna happen.  And that lady sucked.  Hopefully she just sends me back my money and I don't have to argue with her about it.  And now, I need to find a new birthing class.  Or maybe just read a book or something?  I don't know.  But I'm open to suggestions!

This week, depending on which website you look at, Hamburglar McCloud is now the size of a large jicama, or four oranges.  I don't really like jicama.  But, I found a recipe for an orange and jicama salad with avocado... I thought the avocado was a nice throwback to earlier in the pregnancy.  The recipe calls for three oranges and a medium jicama, but I bet you could step that up to four and large if you really want to be true to your 32 week fetus comparison cannibalism meal plan. 

What else?  I started a Twitter account.  I'm really bad at it.  But, if you want to follow me, it's @SnarkyPregnancy.  I think I may be too elderly to understand the nuance of the hashtag, though.  I wonder if I could enlist some of the high school kids in my neighborhood to train me in the art of twitter?

I keep thinking about how there are bones and brains in my belly and it is kind of freaking me out.  I mean, it would make sense if I were a zombie, but I'm not... yet.  Or even a pregnant zombie, like in the cinematic masterpiece, Stripperland.  (If you have not seen this film, I highly recommend it.  But only if you're into camp).

Also, I am turning 1 billion seconds old this October.  It's the end of an era.

And I still haven't heard anything about my glucose screen, but I see the midwife on Wednesday, so maybe she will tell me then?  I kept meaning to call, but I kept forgetting.  Oh, well.  And I still hate pediatricians.  I met one last week whose eyes were very close together.  And he was telling me about all the great practices all over the city that are not the one he works in, so there's that.  And I asked him if he has kids and he said yes, a son.  When I asked him if his son was cute, he said, "People tell me that he is, but I think that's something people just say.  I'm not really in a position to make that kind of judgment."  WTF?  I have determined that the pediatrician for me is going to be the one that laughs at my joke about hepatitis B vaccination of a newborn.

I had my series of hep B vaccine when I was 15.  Then a booster when I was 25.  I still do not have hep B.  In case you were curious.  So, I've been asking pediatricians if they feel the hep B vaccine is necessary for a newborn.  Then I tell them that I don't want to vaccinate el bebe for hep b right away because 1) birth is traumatic enough and 2) he won't be having sex or using IV drugs until he's at least 5.  That's normally the point in the interview that I get A Look.  But c'mon, it's hilarious.  And also, the side effects of the hep b vaccine include fever and loss of appetite.  If the hospital staff is all about getting the baby to latch on and start eating before you get to go home, then why would you want to give a newborn a drug that would make him or her not want to eat?  And possibly develop a fever?  Is it some sort of a racket to get new parents to spend even more money on hospital bills?  Probably.

Also, I'm getting our younger dog neutered next week and I feel really bad about it.  Our older dog is neutered, but now I'm pregnant and we a re not planning to circumcise so it just seems mean to neuter the dog.  But, I grew up watching Bob Barker on the Price is Right, so I am doing what Bob would have me do.  But I still feel guilty.

That is all.

Dude looks like a lady (or: Gender swapping baby dreams)

We all know that Hamburglar McCloud Grimace Mcwhateverstein is a boy.   That was confirmed by my own eyes and by the attitude of the ultrasound tech at my midwife’s office.  Dude is a dude.  (Or, almost.  I mean, I think early this week I said he was a pineapple.  So maybe he’s a pineapple dude?  I don’t know).  However, I had a dream earlier this week.  And it was weird.  My dreams are typically weird, but they tend to be awesome weird.  Like the dream where I was Xena and the day kept repeating itself and I had to fight all these ninjas.  It was awesome.  Or the dream I had junior year in college when I was working on a team project doing a comprehensive analysis of Soap Lake in Central Washington State.  The theme of the dream was “Where is the key to Soap Lake?” because our geochemistry professor had stolen all of the data and was keeping it locked up because he was a spy.  There was a lot of adventure and action and explosions, culminating with one of my team members commandeering a helicopter to rescue us, just when we had acquired the key and it looked like we were going to die.  In real life, that old lab member of mine actually got his pilot’s license and flew helicopters for a bit… and grew a rather impressive beard akin to the beards worn by the fellas in ZZ Top.  But, back to the baby dream…

So, I was sleeping the night before last and McCloud was born a boy.  I think.  But at some point in those first few weeks, he became a girl.  But it’s not like his penis fell off or anything traumatic like that, it was like he was always a girl.  That led dream me to question Mr. Adventure about the gender of our baby at birth and it was all very confusing.  There were other parts of the dream, too, like something to do with flood irrigating our farm or something… I don’t know.  All I know for sure is McCloud became a girl and we changed his name to Edison, as in Thomas Edison, which seems kind of douchy to me since Tesla’s birthday was just the other day and, if McCloud was a girl, I was going to push that we name her Tesla.  So maybe it was some sort of representation of Edison stealing so much from Tesla, even the name of my gender changing baby?  I don’t know. 

In other news, there is a hospital in Zimbabwe that charges women $5 for every scream they let out during childbirth. So that’s pretty awesome.  The article breaks down the economics of the country, saying that the GDP of Zimbabwe is $500 per year, the average income per person is $150, birth in a hospital costs $50…  So, on top of spending a third of your annual income to give birth in hospital, you’re charged a screaming fee which could add up pretty quickly.  I wonder what counts as a scream?  Is there a certain decibel a lady has to reach before she is fined?  Or is it just making any noise that is louder than a normal talking voice?  “Please use your library labor screams, ladies, or I’m going to have to fine you…”  I’m picturing a librarian that looks like Janine Melnitz from Ghostbusters saying this.

I’m super lucky to have insurance that is paid for by The Man.  But, maybe if I didn’t, Mr. Adventure would have been more on board with my desire to birth at home.  But then if there were major complications and I had to go to the hospital… I would probably end up having to pay at least a third of my annual income.  Hospital shit is expensive, y’all.

That is all.

Pineapples, vanity and a sudden need to pee. All the time.

Man, I'm awesome.  (And incredibly humble in my awesomeness).  I have a super sore throat and stayed home sick today.  Science will have to press on without me for a day.  What am I doing with my sick day, you ask?  Well, I am doing some much-needed laundry, taking lots of naps, listening to the Magnetic Fields and doing very important delivery and post-partum research.

I've established that my delivery room is not going to be a party place.  No mirrors, no people, no lights... but that doesn't mean I won't necessarily welcome a post-delivery photo op with young Mister Hamburglar after he is all born.  The question is, which make-up will stay on the best during delivery?  Now, I'm not the first one to ask this question.  After careful research, I found several blogs and articles about how to look your best after 12+ hours of labor.  I'm sure I won't care at the time how I look, but I will care this time next year (or in ten years) when I am finally putting things into the baby book my coworker made for me.  I realized that I already know how to wear make-up that will resist sweat and swimming, so I stopped my research.  I don't wear powder or foundation anyway, so all I really need is some concealer for the dark circles that grow more and more pronounced around my eyes as the weeks press on and some waterproof liquid liner (mine comes from MAC) and mascara... and we're good to go.  I don't need to worry about moisturizer because I will not be in the sun, so I don't have to worry about protecting my face from the sun's rays.

The other bit of research I was doing?  Looking into how soon after delivering I can start exercising.  I know.  I've never really exercised in my life, unless walking regularly and doing yoga when I first started college count.  But I am a horrible person.  I saw a young woman the other day with her partner and their recently born baby.  She was wearing a very tight shirt and I couldn't help but stare at her stomach and ask Mr Adventure, "Is that what my stomach is going to look like after the baby is born?!"  He told me yes.  And I don't want that.  I mean, it's okay for a while, but I don't want to have weird hang-y stomach forever, you know?  And so, a desire to exercise has been born.  And, for those of you who are curious, The internet says six weeks for anything more than walking and stretching.  And it's even longer if you have tearing, an episiotomy or a c-section.

Speaking of medical things, I found a pediatrician I don't hate yesterday.  And his moustache is very impressive.  The only thing I don't like about him is his insistence that the baby stay in the hospital for a full 24 hours after birth, even if he is born a-ok.  I don't like the hospital and would prefer not to deliver there at all, then I wouldn't have to worry about how long I'm going to be stuck there.  But, you know, compromise and communication are the keys to a successful relationship.  Or something.  Maybe I will have better luck with a family doctor?  Two more interviews to go this month and I still have some time to decide.

At 31 weeks pregnant, I have to pee.  All the time.  Since I've had a pretty easy pregnancy so far, it's the little things that irritate me.  Like the fact that I am way more easily irritated than I used to be, the feeling that I have to pee all the time (even when I don't), and the tears.  Over weird things like being out of coffee at work, my advisor for my grad program only ordering dishes with pork and beef for our graduation dinner, Mr. Adventure looking at me weird for not understanding something he said...  I don't like it.  What I do like is pineapple.

This week, McCloud is the size of a pineapple.  I wonder if he has pineapple style hair going on?  Mr. Adventure asked me yesterday if we can not give our son a mohawk.  I responded in the affirmative, proclaiming that child mohawks are too mainstream and we are going to go with a more classic high and tight cut, the Beaver (from Leave it to Beaver) or, the classic, Dennis the Menace look.  Also, we have an acquaintance who has a seven year old, and that kid is a dick.  He also has a mohawk.  So there it is.  Man.  I hope my kid isn't a dick.  And I hope if he is, I am not in denial about it and do something to curb his dickishness before it gets out of hand.  When I used to work in a bar, I worked with a bartender who would tell me stories about his mom and all the wonderful things she would say.  The only line I remember is, "Everybody likes a piece of ass, nobody likes a smart ass."  I hope to one day be able to say those words to my own son.

If you're in a pineapple state of mind, I have two things I like to do with pineapple.  If you're in a dinner kind of mood, I recommend kabobs with chicken, pineapple, onion, red bell pepper and green bell pepper.  Marinate it in lime and cayenne and garlic or chili garlic paste or whatever you like.  Place the chucks of things on skewers and throw that shit on the grill!  If you are in the mood for the easiest dessert in the world (or one of the easiest desserts in the world) go buy a box of angel food cake mix and a 20 oz can of crushed pineapple.  Preheat the oven to 350.  Pour the angel food cake mix in a bowl.  Then empty the entire contents of your crushed pineapple can (juices and all) into the same bowl.  Mix it together until it is all moist and of an even consistency.  Witness the magic of the acid-base chemistry that is occurring in front of you.  Then, spray a 9x13 pan with cooking spray (or not.  It doesn't really matter) and empty the contents of your bowl into the pan.  Put it in the oven on a rack in the middle and bake it for 20-30 minutes.  After it cools, if you want to make it fancier, serve it up with some cool whip and strawberries or just eat it without anything.  It's delicious either way.

I'm hungry now.  But if I stand up, I will only have to pee.  Or feel like I have to.  Waaah.

That is all.

I dream of day care...

I have been calling and scheduling interviews this week with pediatricians and day cares.  The two things I learned are that most of the staff in pediatrician offices are assholes and day care is expensive.  The nice thing about working for The Man is that I have super awesome benefits, like the benefit of paying for daycare pre-tax.  That’s nice.  Because shit is EXPENSIVE.  Average around here is $175/week for full time care.  I found one that was $75 a week, but the woman told me they only take one infant at a time and tend to have about 20-25 kids with two staff members.  Um… no thank you?  I also found a Montessori school that does infant care for $550/month full-time and $450 part-time.  Most of the rates at these places drop when the baby turns two.  If only I was still in Latin America.  I could find a nice ninera for waaaaaayyyy cheaper.  Or an amazing one for the same price. 

I think all these conversations with day cares are what led to the weird dream I had on Wednesday night.  In my dream, I had gone to check out a day care which wasn’t particularly special or nice.  It was in a woman’s home and she told me the cost was $1000/month.  Even dream me thought that was ridiculous.  When questioned about her exorbitant rates, the woman responded, “We’re the whitest day care in town.”  Dream me said, “Excuse me, did you say whitest?”  And the woman replied, “Yes.  We don’t allow colored babies in here.”  WTF?  Colored babies?  I think that is the dream that woke me up on Thursday morning.  So, yeah.  I’m dreaming about expensive, racist day cares.

Next week I am going to check out the day cares I called this week to see if I like them.  I’m hoping the Montessori school is super awesome.  Or that my dad will decide that, since he is now retired, the only thing that could possibly bring him joy is providing childcare for his grandson.  For free… or for really cheap.   

Now all I can think about is my step-sister’s racist dog from my childhood.  His name was Max and he barked at black people. 

I have interviewed two pediatricians so far and I have four more slated for this month.  The first two were recommended by coworkers, and I hated both of them (the pediatricians, not the coworkers).  I would like to find a pediatrician or family doctor that I love as much as I love my midwife.  So, I have started selecting pediatricians to interview based upon random things.  I am interviewing a guy on Monday based upon his impressive moustache and proximity to my house.  On Wednesday I am interviewing one because he went to medical school at UW in Seattle and he has only been practicing for about 3 years.  I’m hoping that his relatively newness to the field means that he is not a pretentious, jaded douche bag.  I guess I’ll know by next week!

Also this month are a guy that the receptionist in my chiropractor’s office says is amazing and a family doctor who is 15 miles from my house, but allegedly really good.  So, we’ll see.  I’m hoping to have shit figured out by August 1^st.

In other news, I was doing some internet research on things I should know about having a baby boy.  The big one seems to be to make sure his junk is pointed down when you put on his diaper, otherwise everything will get peed on except his diaper.  And babies get erections.  I did not know that and am glad I have been warned in advance.  And when they get older they pee everywhere.  One of my coworkers told me about her son, 4 or 5 years old at the time, standing at the top of the stairs, peeing.  He was trying to see if he could make it to the bottom of the stairwell.  I guess I can’t really blame him.  I would probably do the same thing, provided the opportunity and necessary equipment.

That is all.  Happy belated birthday, USA, and happy weekend to all (three) of you!

 

What was I going to write...?

Now that I am 30 weeks pregnant, I am becoming forgetful.  When I pointed out to Mr. Adventure that I am 75% pregnant, he looked at me questioningly.  I told him, “I mean, I could pass a pregnancy test, but I’m not going to ace it.”  Then some additional jokes were made.  When I told my boss that I am 75% pregnant, she told me she is pretty sure I am 100% pregnant, but 75% done cooking.

With the heat wave going on in the western U.S. Mr. Adventure has also made comments about not wanting the “bun in the oven to burn” and not wanting an “overcooked baby,” which I think is him mostly trying to get me to turn the a/c on in the car and let the car cool for a few minutes before I get in.

Speaking of overcooked baby, according to the internet, McCloud is the size of a head of cabbage this week!  It makes me wonder if the Cabbage Patch Kid preemies were born at 30 weeks?  Perhaps I should write to the manufacturer to inquire about this very important issue.  In honor of how incredibly hot it is outside, here is a recipe for cabbage rolls, delicious for summer and impossible to burn.  Whether you use a cabbage with a baby inside is entirely up to you.  I haven’t actually made this particularly recipe, but it looks very similar to the one I normally make and, considering the lack of remembering skills I am currently dealing with, I will probably forget a crucial ingredient if I try to recall my own recipe.  All I know for sure is that I add chili garlic paste to pretty much everything because, well, it’s delicious.  So, the recipe for Thai cabbage rolls for your eating pleasure.

My coworkers threw me a lovely baby shower on Saturday.  I had never been to a baby shower before, but my coworker who hosted has a darling eight month old son and a kind and adorable three year old daughter.  Her home is like something out of a magazine, complete with a turret in the master suite and a beautiful rose garden in the backyard.  She called it her “forever house” and told us about how her daughter will get married in the rose garden one day.  The food was amazing, the company was delightful… it was a very casual yet classy affair.  The hostess had three games we played and gave a prize of a scented candle to each of the winners.  The first game was a word find.  We had five minutes to find as many words as possible on the paper she gave us.  She also made several felt diapers, pinned together, that we pulled out of a basket and the game was “who has the dirty diaper?” Kind of gross, but not too gross.  The final game I thought was rather clever.  It was baby shower bingo.  Everyone was given a blank bingo card and had to fill in the gifts they thought I would receive at the party.  Whoever got “Bingo” first when I opened the gifts won the final prize.  In addition to two small bags of high quality hand-me-downs from a super handsome eight month old, I received some lovely blankets, a bouncy chair, glass bottles (which I am in love with.  I have some plastic ones, too, which Mr. Adventure states will be easier for El Bebe to hold before he develops his bottle holding muscles) and some great books and toys and clothes.  My two favorite books were Go the F**k to Sleep, and Mustache Baby!  I put the first book on my registry at Amazon, but the second was a hilarious surprise.  I think it will go well with the Cowboy Mustachifier I received.

Now I have a ton of thank you cards to write, but I have been having a hard time staying awake.  And I have been trying to think of the perfect hostess gift for my coworker.  She loves wine (possibly more than I do) so I was thinking a nice bottle of pinot grigio and this.   People seem to love it and I think the best gifts are things that people would never get for themselves, like truffle butter.  I think a gift for her wee babe is also in order, since he so generously gave me some of his old clothes, including a small stack of reusable peepee teepees.  For those of you unfamiliar with the peepee teepee, here is the link.  I’ve heard they aren’t all that great, my coworker said they didn’t really help, but we will see.  When I showed them to Mr. Adventure and explained to him what they are, he said, “I never thought of that!  The baby better not pee in my face!”  Only time will tell…

We still haven’t painted the nursery or stained the floor.  Apparently I was wrong when I said Mr. Adventure was done sanding the floor.  He still needs to do the finish sanding.  If we wait too much longer, I am going to have to tag in my support team to paint for me, because I won’t be able to stand close enough to the wall.  I’ve also been on houzz.com and found some really cool nursery designs and ideas.  I love this but considering neither the Mister nor I possess drawing skills, I think we are going to go with something a bit more traditional.  Like a sage green wall with a giant tree painted in one of the corners.  I was also thinking it could be cool to have an outer space wall.  Just one.  Because, um, space is rad.  I don’t know.  There is no base trim in that room, so Mr. Adventure has asked me to start looking at trim, but the thing is, I don’t give a shit about trim.  He seems to have an idea of what he wants, so why do I have to look?  I’m already interviewing day cares and pediatricians, do I really need to help pick out trim, too?  Babies don't give a shit about trim.

Okay.  It is snack time.  Remember to eat your cabbage, folks.  Also, I would advise against measuring around what used to be the smallest part of your waist.  It will only lead to tears.

That is all.