Tuesday, October 31, 2006
I just went and bought a book and I plan on reading most of it this afternoon and this evening (while I am hiding my no-candy-having self from the neighborhood children).
I will probably also spend some time staring at Rossby and letting him sleep on my lap and memorizing his smell and how soft his head is. I hate that he is going to be sad and jealous for a while.
I need to go to Walmart/newTarget and buy a giant pair of pajama pants for the hospital stay. Originally I was going to wear just hospital gowns but many of my professors and other people I don't want looking at my bare butt have said they're going to come visit us and I don't want to be confined to my bed. And it's November. Not the right weather for a cotton nightgown with no back. Maybe I'll also get some lip gloss and mascara (for the few eyelashes I have left--little known pregnancy symptom) so I don't frighten my visitors/look haunted in our first family pictures. Ooh and need to buy ponytail machines (hair ties).
I should pack the hospital bag. I have tempted fate long enough.
If I still have time I'm going to take care of a few things I've always wanted to do but won't have time for right after Charlie is born. Like learn Hebrew, perform in a rock opera, meet Condoleeza Rice, and learn to swing dance (or maybe I should just take care of the giant mystery stain on the family room carpet so my parents don't think I live in filth. Actually there are a number of things I could do that fall into the category of "leading people to believe I don't live in filth" like vacuuming the cobwebs in the corners and de-funking the dishwasher, but it's MY 30 hours! Mine!!).
OK, I should go ahead and post this so A doesn't think I've gone into labor. And I should get started on my list (I hear Hebrew is quite a complicated language). See you tomorrow. Unless I'm at the hospital. And in that case check back for pictures.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Stinking Today Show just had a segment about how educated women are choosing to have large families. And now they're talking about new fall dresses, all of which are designed for perfect looking women. So now I'm not only supposed to do this pregnancy thing five more times, I'm supposed to have a perfect fall dress body when I drive all those kids around in my minivan. Betty Friedan would have a heart attack.
Back to work. And by work I mean resisting the urge to make and eat an entire pan of Pillsbury Cinnamon Rolls. Mmmm cinnamon rolls.
Friday, October 27, 2006
As usual I tricked him into getting into the car by acting really excited and saying "Wanna go for a ride in the car?!" "Oh boy do I?" he replied, flinging himself at me while I tried to put his harness and leash on. As soon as we got out of the car at the vet's he pulled his normally adorable but not when it's 40 degrees outside and the wind is blowing like 30 miles per hour, you-can't-fool-me-anymore-I-know-exactly-where-we-are leash pulling trick where he arches his back and tries to escape (which, I tell him every time, will only result in him living with another family who is not as receptive to 22 pound dogs who snore and run in their sleep sleeping in their bed, under their down comforters).
I wrangled him inside where I had to yell to the receptionist (because if I get him too close to the counter he will pee on it) "I'm here to have Rossby's nails trimmed and anal glands expressed!" Receptionist: "ANAL GLANDS?!" Me: (now shouting over the rucus caused by Rossby interacting with the other dogs) "Yes, ANAL GLANDS!!" While sitting on a bench waiting our turn the girl next to me told me what an adorable dog he was. I said "Thank you!" and smiled and then looked down and scolded Rossby for trying to eat what looked like cat poop stuck to the leg of the bench. Then the technician, who LOVES Rossby, came to get him for his "little procedure". More back arching, more pulling, me cheerfully telling Rossby what a good boy he is and please go with the nice vet they're not going to kill you will you just RELAX PLEASE!!! Usually the only way the TWO of us (fully grown adult women) can get him (22 pound Jack Russell Terrier) to go to the back is for me to trick him by walking alongside them and the vet closing the door at the last second.
After about ten minutes I heard the technician coming down the hall with Ross saying in a strained-cheerful voice "You don't like to have your anal glands expressed do you? No you don't. You don't you don't you don't. You want your mama? Your mama? Oh I know you do! You're all done. All done big boy! You were such a good boy!" It just kills me how nice they are to him knowing that he probably tries to maul whatever poor technician has the unlucky job of treating him (I've witnessed it a few times, but mostly I know this because they always look really battle weary when they bring him out. Plus, how would you react if someone tried to express your anal glands?). The technician brought Rossby to me and handed me the handle of his leash. "Man, he really hates that doesn't he?" then added "Oh, I think he peed on his leash."
We got back into the car where Rossby looks at me like "Where are we going now?! Can we go to Sonic? Hey my butt feels a lot better!" I wish I could freeze this association in his mind--vet=feel better, but instead we start off fresh with vet=abject terror every time we go. Every time. And I usually take him. Last time, Ryan came with us and Ross was a perfect little angel the whole time. I don't get it.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Last night, despite being totally exhausted, my brain would not calm down enough for me to sleep. I had to get up and work on removing bad data from my hurricane database for a couple of hours before I was able to face my bed again. Although I know logically that it's not true, some combination of my horomones and subconsious have been telling me that I have one week left to do everything important that has to be done before January--plan Charlie's Christening, just when the #$%# am I going to go Christmas shopping, find a way to disarm North Korea.
(Actually I would be a little less concerned about my own mental state if I was up at night worrying about North Korea or Iran or even freaking Congressman Foley)
But instead I lie in bed awake obsessing because we haven't picked God-parents yet and we don't have a Christening gown yet. I settled the date for the baptism with the church, (MIDDLE OF DECEMBER, BRAIN, CALM DOWN!!) yesterday, so I had it on my mind when I went to bed. When I complained that the boys' Christening selection in Lubbock was limited to miniature white tuxedos and full-on Pope outfits (a little much for our Methodist church) my mom said "Oh honey you were baptized in a white Gerber t-shirt and a diaper." I want to scream "I KNOW I'M BEING UNREASONABLE BUT I JUST CAN'T HELP MYSELF!" I even have the Christening outfit all picked out online and all I have to do is push "Add to Cart" and the matter will be settled.
Meanwhile, Ryan, the voice of reason thank goodness, keeps telling me how much time we have and not to worry, but my brain doesn't respond to reason anymore. It responds to to-do lists with check marks. It's like I have some biological need pushing me to do things for the baby. It's frustrating to have no control over your own brain. I'm sure it's even more frustrating to Ryan who has to be wondering what happened to his laid-back wife and if she'll ever come back again. Watch out, you never know where the OCD will take me next. Obsessive cleaning? Manic midnight baking?
Deep breaths. OK. Back to my to-do list.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
One week and one day to go!! So excited. So excited!!
Monday, October 23, 2006
Number of cookies consumed: 3 (1 chocolate chip, 2 peanut butter)
Number of scones consumed: 2/3
Number of items purloined from bedroom by bored puppy: 2, both of my slippers
Number of those items that have since been moved closer to me because I failed to react the first time: 1
Water bowls almost overturned as an attention-grabbing measure by bored puppy: 1
Number of times I've almost gone into labor because I was concentrating on something and Rossby started barking hysterically: 2 (postman and UPS guy)
Number of dead pigeons in backyard preventing release of bored puppy from the house: 1
Number of dead pigeons that will be removed by me: 0
Also, we had an ultrasound this morning. The technician tried to be polite--"Ummm, has he been measuring big?" The doctor was not so tactful--"Wow. 8 pounds 4 ounces. Do you have a c-section scheduled?" Three people asked me when my next appointment with Dr. O was. Translation: "We need to address this giant baby issue in a hurry or you're going to be permanantly disfigured." Anyway, everything looked really good. His heartbeat was 161 bpm and he is in the correct position for delivery. We didn't get a good look at him but it's ok because we only have another 10 days to wait!!
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Friday, October 20, 2006
Plans for the weekend include a yard sale at our church, maybe "Octoberfest" at a Lutheran church in the area (research?), and straightening up of the house (I'd say "cleaning" but that would involve chemicals and stuff and possibly bending over and/or squatting, so no, although maybe it's time to clean out Charlie's bathtub where last weekend we washed both Rossby and the floormats from my car). Oh and I guess I'll be making cookies. Last night while he was doing dishes, Ryan exclaimed "Huh, the cookie tub is clean!" in a voice just loud enough to penetrate the decongestant fog and my rapt attention to ER. Which really means "empty". Which means "Beck, will you please please please make more cookies?" He wants snickerdoodles. I want chocolate chip. I think I'll make both. And maybe some peanutbutter too. Wow I like cookies.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
But that was all before Sunday. On Sunday afternoon my friend A came over to help me organize the nursery. I'm not sure how the arrangement was made, but I think she saw my thousand-yard stare when she asked about the nursery and when I was unable to respond she just said "Why don't I come over on Sunday to help?" and when I continued to hyperventilate she said "I'll call you after church OK?" She arrived at my house and sprang into action. "First let's take all the tags of the new clothes and start a load of laundry." I obeyed, grateful to have someone tell me what to do. "Are these books staying in here?" she asked, referring to the wire shelf containing all the books we don't need to keep but haven't taken to Goodwill yet because we might need them someday/it was a gift from someone I never liked/lost touch with five years ago. Ryan brought boxes and the books were gone. We worked this way for about two hours and the nursery was transformed into the room I had always hoped it could be. The clothes and blankets have all been washed, dried, folded, and put away. The crib has a freshly washed store-germ-free sheet on it, and the strollers have been folded and put away. You just might be able to fit a baby in there now. The whole time we were working, Ryan was cleaning up the kitchen and family room and now I can enter my house without the aid of prescription anti-anxiety drugs.
We have started packing for the hospital. It's hard to pack for the hospital because everything on the list is something you need every day. For example your toothbrush, shampoo, and moisturizer. They also say to bring a comfy pair of pants to wear home, which is hilarious because I only have one pair of comfy pants and I wear them every day. The baby is packed. He has four diapers, a diaper cover, a t-shirt, a pair of socks, a hat, and a blanket. We have four Dr. Peppers, a bag of Kit Kat bars, three clean shirts for Ryan (including one flannel shirt my mom once referred to as "his Papa shirt"), and a Chapstick. So at least we'll have enough junk food and well moisturized lips when we're coming home and I'm wearing a hospital gown and hospital issued mesh underpants (and maybe Ryan's "papa shirt" if I'm lucky. You know, to keep my back warm where the hospital gown gaps). I plan on addressing the hospital bag issue this weekend, but if something happens before then, I will be calling one of you in-town friends for help.
Monday, October 16, 2006
This picture is Rossby after I woke him up this morning. Rossby prefers our 300 thread count sheets to his own Target dog bed and hand-me-down dorm comforter. Actually he was in his own bed last night until "someone" accidently woke him up by throwing a pillow on top of him in her sleep.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
I love fall. Love it. And today it is definitely fall. It's overcast and cool(in the 40s) and windy. Fall makes me happy. It makes me want to drink cafe au lait in a warm coffee shop and read a nice novel (or in the absence of a nice one, a really heartbreakingly sad one that "OMG you just HAVE TO READ IT!!"). And I don't know if it's because I got a good night's sleep last night (I'd make a comment about Benadryl here but I think some people might find my affection for it slightly alarming), but today has been a good day. I magically woke up without my alarm clock (which appeared to be going off even though it wasn't making any noise...stinking adjustable volume control) just in time to get ready and get Ryan to school with enough time for him to get me some fancypants resume paper and get to his meeting. Then I went to my doctor's appointment where, remembering a comment my mom's doctor once made about how the worst thing she's ever smelled was a patient's feet and considering I was wearing that one pair of shoes that makes my feet smell absolutely awful, I very cleverly snuck two moist towlettes out of the ladies room and used them to wash my feet off when I was asked to take off my shoes before the appointment. The appointment went well, the kiddo has flipped over (which is good for him, bad for me--read: intense bladder pressure, hard to walk, impossible not to sit with legs splayed out like a man)and his heartbeat sounded good. My doctor insists on having a large Sonic drink visible on her desk for every one of my appointments. Whatever.
The best thing that happened today is that I finished my application for the college in Austin. I had to just suck it up and remember that everyone sounds like a big dork in their cover letter. And I sorta managed to force my tired brain to be creative and came up with (what I hope is) some interesting stuff for my teaching philosophy statement. Then I printed everything out on fancy resume paper and overnighted it to Austin. Now I just have to forget about it and hope all my letters of reference and transcripts make it and get matched up with the right application. And I still need to rent "Luther" and learn about German beers just in case I get an interview. But that sounds like an activity best left for the postpartum months. S, C, J, A? Be expecting my call for "Lutheran Nite at the Edwards".
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Now would be a really super time for my brain to come back from the little vacation it's been on for the last six months. My job application for the college in Austin is going to arrive at their Human Resources department in no fewer than SEVEN pieces. The first four are letters of reference. Why are there four and not three as required by the job posting? Because Becca is a little stressed out and overreacts when an email about a letter of recommendation goes unanswered for more than three hours so calls another professor who says "No problem, I'll have it in the mail tomorrow" even though it is Saturday (I could kiss you on the mouth for that Dr. D, just kidding, but not really) and about 45 minutes later the original professor sends you an email saying he'd be "Glad to do it!" (Thank you Dr. P) so now I have an extra letter but am too mentally exhausted to actually do anything about it. The next two pieces of mail that will be received for my application are my undergraduate and graduate transcripts (which hopefully won't reflect that I failed one of the classes I'm applying to teach the first time I took it but they probably will so I'll need to come up with some kind of "growing experience" crap in a hurry if against all reason I am offered a job interview by this place). The last item to arrive (making the first six pieces of mail all the more mystifying) will likely include my actual application, cover letter, and teaching philosophy statement (which, don't get me started on that damn teaching philosophy statement). All I have to say is thank goodness I'm applying at a liberal arts program because engineers would have a heart attack if they saw how disorganized I was. I pointed that out to my Mom who said "Ooh, I'll buy you your first pair of Birkenstocks! Can I have all your unused razors?"
They say when you are pregnant you are eating for two. That is a lie. You are only allowed an extra 300 calories per day, which is five Fig Newtons and a glass of milk (for most, for me it is an entire plate of cheddar fries with ranch and a milk shake). I think the real truth is that you are using your brain for two people and Charlie has a heck of a lot more important job to do than me--he has to grow LUNGS. Which means when it comes to remembering that there are groceries in the car and writing goofy statements about my teaching philosophy, I am out of luck. Oh well, Vince Guaraldi's "A Charlie Brown Christmas" is playing on my iPod and now it is impossible to sound angry in this post.
I'm off to make a basket of muffins for the people at the registrar's office who somehow have already sent my transcripts to Austin despite my inability to get the request in any earlier than YESETERDAY AT SEVEN PM.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
I haven't posted a good preggo rant lately and I've noticed some amusing things about myself so I thought I would share them with you in this top 10 list:
Top 10 "Funnest" Late Pregnancy Symptoms They Don't Tell You About in Birth and Babycare Class
10. You put on all your clothes and put on a pair of socks and notice that you have on green socks and a red shirt and the thought of changing them is so exhausting you decide just to work from home today so no one can see.
9. You injure yourself participating in one (or each) of the following activities: Closing the refrigerator door, putting on underpants, picking up a coin off the floor, or standing in line at the post office
8. Your loved ones are on alert whenever you are in public, ready to placate you with baked goods, rides home, naps, and Benadryl
7. You have to really work to not use the "F" word twice in one sentence
6. You have erotic dreams about drinking coffee
5. You defend your team's quarterback (who threw two interceptions in a row during the last game, both resulting in touchdowns for the other team) because "Come on guys, he's just a kid! Sheesh why does everyone have to be so mean?"
4. You say things to your husband like "Oh, you still want two kids? Well I hear it's surprisingly easy to adopt children of another race."
3. You're so out of it by 9 am that this is the best you can do for a journal entry
2. Oh who the hell cares
Monday, October 9, 2006
**EVERYONE, INCLUDING ALL BABIES INVOLVED, IS OK**
Saturday started out to be a really really good day. We both slept late and had no plans for the whole day so after a breakfast of chocolate chip cookies and milk we drove to Lowe's to buy fall plants for the front garden. You'll be happy to know that we actually stuck to plants this time and didn't come home with any new light fixtures. On the way home we decided to check out the new Target (ooh, exciting) and then run to Sonic for gardening refreshment before going home to plant the garden. We were almost to Sonic when this dumb guy (see "all drivers in this town are out to kill me") came to a COMPLETE STOP in the right lane because there was a dog standing on the grass BESIDE the road (where the speed limit is 50 mph, did I mention?). I slammed on my brakes and was able to stop just short of his car. Ryan and I were just taking a deep "well that was close" breath when we heard squealing tires and were hit by another car from the back. I stayed in the car while Ryan got out to make sure everyone was alright. While Ryan was talking to the guy in back, Mean Jerk Guy (from the front car) jumped out of his car, came back and started screaming (screaming) at me about tailgating and speeding and being irresponsible (keep in mind that I DIDN'T FREAKING HIT HIM) and how he was "from the Northeast and we don't take any shit!!!!" Ryan finally got everyone to drive around the corner onto a less busy street so we didn't all get hit again (and it's the law in this state) where Mean Jerk Guy got back out of his car and continued yelling at me until I said (in a forceful but not yelling tone) "I didn't hit you, he hit me and pushed my car into yours." This only made Mean Jerk Guy madder and now he was yelling at Nice Guy (in the back car). Ironically Mean Jerk Guy was yelling at Nice Guy about how he should be more careful because he hit a pregnant lady and I wanted to say "Well he had no idea who was in the car and that was an accident. What's your excuse for screaming at a pregnant lady for 10 solid minutes?!" Ryan called the police when Mean Jerk Guy started making bodily threats at Nice Guy and Nice Guy's family. Thank goodness they came quickly. According to the cop five police cars were coming originally because they got so many calls from people in the neighborhood about a fight about to break out and they just assumed it was a bunch of drunk Tech fans. After Mean Jerk Guy left the cop said "He kept saying he was from the Northeast. I told him not to be coming to Texas and causing car accidents." The cop was really nice and even checked our car seat for us before we left (although I think being rear ended is a pretty good test of a carseat). My car has a small dent on the lid for the trunk, but it still opens and closes and latches and keeps water out of the trunk, so it's not that big of a deal. I'm going to take it to the shop today because every time I see the dent it makes me mad. Not at the guy who hit me, but at Mean Jerk Guy. Ryan and I continued to Sonic and then planted our garden and had a very nice afternoon together. I will not write about the Tech game because writing about the wreck has gotten me plenty riled up for one day. You can read about it for yourself at pullyourheadoutofyourassTech.com .UPDATE: That tiny, infuriating dent in my trunk is going to cost someone (not ME thank goodness) $1200 to fix. Yes. A dent that occupies less than 5% of the surface area of my car is going to cost more than 30% of the car's resale value to fix. I wonder if they would just give me a check. I could decorate the dent and turn it into pop art and refer to it as "Denty". I could really use $1200 and really, does anyone expect an almost 7 year old car with 85000 miles on it to look perfect?
Also, I called my doctor today and was scolded for not going to the emergency room after the stupidest-wreck-ever even though I tried to explain just how much of a non-issue the whole thing was and that Charlie has been moving around well ever since (and has even started a really adorable habit of playing soccer with my ovaries) and I haven't had any "weird symptoms" that would indicate something had gone wrong. This after being brushed off in the second trimester when I had a massive can't-lift-head-from-pillow headache for three days (OK it DID turn out to be sinus congestion and I WAS overreacting by making hourly checks of my hands feet and face for signs of swelling because I was SURE I had pre-eclampsia). Sheesh, I can't win.
Friday, October 6, 2006
Did I mention that I tried to be a hero last night and didn't take my nightly Benadryl (pink preggo crack) so I wouldn't have to go to the store today and be subjected to a criminal style interrogation so I can buy more? Bad...sniff...bad...sneeze...idea. Bad. I think I might be allergic to our bed. I'm pretty sure there is a meth lab in the apartments down the street from me (but it really is a lovely neighborhood, Mom, very safe for babies) and I'm hoping one of them can hook me up with some Benadryl without the four hour time committment required by CVS.
Monday, October 2, 2006
I need your help. I would like to read a really good book during this last month of pregnancy as my last act of intellectual snobbery before I start using all my brainpower to figure out the whole breastfeeding/nurturing thing and whether I've had a shower this week or not. To clarify, "good" means nothing that can be bought at the grocery store and nothing that has the words milkmaid, stallion, fantasy, or pleasure in the title. The genres I like most and read most frequently are biography/memoir, novels (not romance), nonfiction (womens'/family issues, personal finance, science), and theology. Leave comments with your suggestions. Thanks in advance!