Mooo

I tried the new breast pump out today. I thought it would be hard and take some time to figure out, but I didn't even read the instructions. I hooked everything up, pushed the plastic baby-lips up against my nippies and let 'er rip. The motion is designed to mimic sucking, and it actually feels very similar. You can adjust the speed and the suction and I set it up so that it kinda felt like Charlie. And? It sounds EXACTLY like milk from a cow going into a bucket. No lie. Apparently my body is not shy about producing milk (I guess I could have guessed that based on my earlier experience of sporting milk stains everywhere I went) in any manner, baby or no. Ryan is feeding Charlie now with the bottle, which he seems to like ok. The milk comes out VERY fast, so I think we're going to go get a slower nipple tomorrow. He finished all eight ounces that I pumped and I really hope he's full so I can pump some more and have extra (for when I make a run for Mexico later this week! Mwa ha ha ha ha).


He's also going to try his new Bum Genius diaper tonight stuffed with two absorbant inserts. Hopefully it will go the distance during his long sleeping stretch (about 6 hours usually) and wee wee will not leech up the back of his shirt like it has in the past (nothing like picking up a pee soaked baby at 4 am, poor kiddo).

Below is a picture of Charlie in his new big-boy two piece dinosaur pajamas (from Nana and Papa Ed) and his Trumpette socks-that-look-like-sneakers from Santa. So cute I can't stand it.


We're home tonight after a great trip to Austin and Dallas to see our families for the holidays. Happy New Year everyone!!

Merry Christmas everyone! Charlie had a good first Christmas complete with family traditions despite his absentminded parents. During Christmas Eve dinner we realized that church started at 7:00 and we only had two minutes to get there. Ryan even had to drive us there because of the single glass of wine I had with dinner (nine months of abstinence from alcohol has turned me into a very cheap date). So we arrived ten minutes late in jeans and sneakers with no diaper bag (and no nursing pads I realized towards the end; thank goodness I had my coat to cover up the wet spots). I spent most of the service in the back doing the new-mom aerobics, bouncing and jumping back and forth from foot to foot. An understanding grandma held the program for me so I could participate in the service (although it wasn't really necessary, most of the responses and readings are long committed to memory). If the service hadn't ended when it did I was going to have to ask the mother of the only other baby there for a diaper (and that baby was six months old)! We took Charlie up to the front during Communion and he was blessed by the minister. That was really special. When we got home we opened presents with my aunt and uncle and cousins and my sister and brother-in-law.

Christmas morning we opened our stockings (Charlie's was full thanks to an eleventh hour trip to CVS to pick up more stocking stuffers). Charlie got a set of toy keys, a bottle (for daycare which starts in like a week oh my gosh!), some lotion and bath stuff, and some more Nuks. Ryan's favorites were the jelly beans and raisins and my favorites were the super high fiber chocolate chip cookies and leave in conditioner/shine enhancer. Ryan was so thoughtful with his Christmas presents. He even gave me a gift certificate for another haircut at the place I mentioned in a previous post!

We had Christmas dinner last night at my aunt and uncle's house. There were about sixteen people around the dining room table for beef tenderloin, green beans, sweet potatoes, carrots, and twice baked potatoes plus wine and dessert. What an amazing meal!! And great company too.

Today we went back to the Alamo Drafthouse to see "We Are Marshall" at the Baby Day showing. Charlie was perfect again, sleeping most of the time and then eating towards the end of the movie. Here's a picture:

County Comes to Town

Today my grandma and Charlie and I went to visit my sister, who is tiny and adorable and training for a marathon, at the Starbucks where she is a manager. Charlie looked sweet, in white footy pajamas with a print of multicolored animals. I looked like a Katrina refugee fresh off a twelve hour unairconditioned bus ride to Houston in baggy (yes! Baggy! Like sliding off my butt when I walked. Isn't it wonderful?) black maternity pants and a gray "Texas Tech Mechanical Engineering" t-shirt with two half-inch holes in the back. And did I mention that I forgot my hairbrush so I haven't exactly been keeping up with the maintenance?

The three of us walked into the store, Charlie in the stroller. My sister, K, came out and showed him around to all her employees. My grandma and I ordered drinks and visited with K and then left. I'm sure at this point that I still seemed pretty normal, if a little disheveled and pudgy. We pulled out of the parking lot and had driven about fifteen minutes down the road when I pulled into a bank to use the ATM to get some cash my my had asked for for K. My grandma said that we were supposed to give it to her today (different people get different details of the story). So back we went to Starbucks.

By this time we didn't have enough time to get home before Charlie's next feeding so Grandma and I decided to stay for lunch at K's store. After we split a (really really good) sandwich, some chips, and a cookie it was time for Charlie's lunch. I asked K if it was ok to feed him there and she said "Whatever, I mean it's the law right? (read: eech! You're going to take your boobs out in my store you freaky hippy?)" Anyway, he was hungry and by this point it was too cold to feed him in the car and it was raining. So he ate in Starbucks and it was no big deal. (Have I told you how heartbreakingly adorable he is? I just can't believe it sometimes) Before we left I changed him on the bathroom floor (ewww!) using a changing pad fashioned from the Lifestyles section of the newspaper and a few cloth diapers. I also washed his hands with a wipe afterwards just in case.

The worst concievable movie experience you will ever have

Charlie and I are in Austin staying with my parents while Ryan stays in Lubbock to get some work done. We are having a nice time. Charlie is getting lots of attention and there is always an extra pair of hands around to help me. For example, as I write this Charlie is asleep in my Mom's arms. She is also asleep. So is my Grandma next to me. We had a big day driving to visit some cousins of my dad who live a couple of hours away for lunch. Tonight we gave him a bath in the sink. He loved it! Here's a picture:



After the bath I weighed him... Are you ready for this? He weighs FOURTEEN AND A HALF POUNDS! Guess the breastfeeding is going well! He's almost out of his first set of cloth diapers (the prefolds and Bummis covers. he grew out of the Kissaluvs a couple of weeks ago when the front of the diaper ceased to cover the most important part of his diaper area) which were estimated to last about six months. He turned seven weeks old today! I guess I should stop taking those human growth horomone shots they give cows.

On Tuesday Charlie and my sister and I went to "Baby Day" at the Alamo Drafthouse movie theater in Austin. The Drafthouse is so cool that I will never go to another movie theater again. It is a brewhouse and restaraunt in addition to being a movie theater. It was built in an old movie theater where I went on my first date (Forrest Gump, freshman year of high school. my mom drove to, his picked up). It's much nicer now, there are tables in front of every row of seats and waiters will bring you a bucket filled with longnecks. On Tuesdays they have Baby Day where babies are allowed in for the matinee show. The poster says "Conceivably the worst movie experience you'll ever have" and features a picture of a really angry looking baby.

It was fun walking into the theater with all the other wide eyed mamas eager for a couple hours of beer drinking and movie watching with their little ones (I didn't get a beer, mostly because I didn't want to spend the money. Only a little because it was Tuesday at noon). Charlie and I decided to see Borat. I think it's important for him to learn about other cultures. There were only two other families in Borat. They both had little babies. Probably the families with older babies were afraid their kids would learn new words from the movie, like "vageen".

The other cool thing about the Drafthouse is that it is the site of the start of my love affair with grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches. They do it right, with basil mayo and buffalo mozzerella (cheese that is out of my price range normally). Mmmmm mmm good. I chased it down with a couple of glasses of iced tea and a large piece of chocolate cake. All my favorites!

Borat was hysterical. I have never, ever laughed so hard at a movie in my life. I had to put Charlie back in the stroller because I kept waking him up laughing. It is wildly inappropriate and politically-incorrect so don't say I didn't warn you. Don't see it with any relatives you wouldn't talk about sex with for example. Or any relative of an older generation who you would one day like to look in the eye again. Charlie was a good boy. He slept a lot and when he woke up I fed him right in the theater. (Charlie got further than that first date guy did in that theater!) Taking my shirt part-way off in public is becoming shockingly easy. Looking forward to Mardi Gras!

Soundtrack for my Day

I'm making an effort to not keep the TV on all day long anymore because really, I don't want Charlie to be desensitized to the loud fighting rednecks on Divorce Court or to start making statements in the form of a question. This means that I must keep my iPod playing continuously to keep from totally losing my mind. It also means that Charlie gets to witness my incredibly bad singing and dancing which, yesterday on a couple of occaisions, caused him to stop fussing and stare at me in horror (Momma, we both know that's a rolling pin so stop using it as a microphone already, gaa!).

9:00 AM Feed baby and bathe babywitty-ish Today Show banter (I have to watch the Today Show, what am I a caveman?)

9:30 AM Load of laundry #1 (mine)
silence... GAA turn on the music QUICK!!

9:40-11:00 AM Straigtening guest room for my parents (including cramming all prepregnancy clothes into a box as I chastised myself for eating cookies for breakfast OMG these are NEVER going to fit again what the hell is the point. contemplate loading all offending clothes into car and taking them to Goodwill. decide Goodwill is a bad idea, would rather live in dream world where skirts that haven't fit since I was nineteen will one day magically fit again despite the wild changes my hips have gone through for a little while before throwing them all out the window of my moving car in a fit of rage)
iPod mix: Rent soundtrack, Flogging Molly

11:30 AM-12:30 PM Read paper at Coffee Shop, utter constant silent prayers that baby stays asleep
Coffee Shop Christmas mix (music plus caffeine plus "me-time" puts me in cheerful can-do holiday mood)

12:45-1:30 PM Pick up new birth control prescription (which could turn me into a scary bitch just in time for the holidays... decide to wait until Monday to begin taking prescription so my mom doesn't stage some kind of intervention regarding my wild behavior at Charlie's Christening on Sunday) and grocery shop (if buying egg nog, cheese, and vanilla frosting qualify as "groceries". Mmmm cheese and egg nog)
Christmas Muzak provided by grocery store, remain in chipper holiday mood until I get to the parking lot which... yeah. Let's not discuss that damn parking lot.

1:45-2:00 PM Load washer with load #2 (Ryan's), move load #1 to drier, fold diapers that have been sitting in drier for almost three days. (more silent "baby stay asleep" prayers)
Bruce Springsteen and Flogging Molly on iPod

2:00 PM to present Straighten up house for parent's and in-law's visit and brunch (Mother of God this place is disgusting. Who's the genius who thought it would be good to have people over? Oh right, that was me) on SundayBen Harper, Eric Peters, Santana, and Fiona Apple on iPod mix

I think Charlie's little growth spurt (read: FOUR LONG DAYS OF NEAR-CONSTANT HUNGER) is over thank goodness. So he *should* be pretty calm this weekend. Think happy thoughts stay calm babies are supposed to cry it's what they do he's really not bothering us I promise why don't you lay down for a few minutes while I hold him really some sleep will do you good are you sure you didn't start that new birth control yet because OW OW OW OW OW those are my eyes!!! Actually, he is starting to get kinda pudgy and really really really freakin' cute and OMG you can't imagine how big he is (tawk amongst ya'selves). Alright. Guess I should reward him for taking such a nice long carseat nap by giving him something to eat. Have a good weekend everyone!!

Ohh, he needs food!

Charlie is having a growth spurt. According to KellyMom (www.kellymom.com): "During a growth spurt, breastfed babies nurse more often than usual (sometimes as often as every hour) and often act fussier than usual." I would like to add to that description Wikipedia style by saying "During a growth spurt babies will have a period of sound sleep lasting twelve hours or more during which you take his vital signs every hour or so because no baby could possibly sleep this much. After the period of sleeping the baby will be awake for approximately forty-eight hours and his behavior will be marked by extreme crankiness, cat-like shrieking WHILE feeding, and an insatiable appetite."

So because I am slightly retarded, I did not realize that Charlie was having a growth spurt until this morning. Last night we took him to a concert and party at our church. The concert began at five and he was due to eat again around five thirty. When we arrived he was fussy and I had the sling so I went ahead and fed him in the church during the concert. After about ten minutes I tried to switch him to the other side and he began making this scary cat noise at the top of his lungs because he was so starving he couldn't possibly stop eating for thirty seconds while I moved him over. I got him out of there in a hurry. I spent the remainder of the concert standing in the back with Charlie in the sling frantically swaying back and forth and patting his bottom so he wouldn't start screaming again. He stayed calm long enough for me to eat a bowl of soup and some cookies at the party and then started up again. We got a picture with Santa and then left. Thank goodness Santa knew to have the pacifier ready. Here's the picture:

My hair was driving me absolutely crazy. I had decided to grow it out because I thought it would look less like mom-hair and it got really long (and split-endy and tangly). But I was never meant to have long hair. I had a coupon from a friend for ten dollars off a cut from the girl she goes to at this place over by school I went to once a long time ago, so yesterday I made an appointment for seven and Ryan met me and took Charlie so I could get a haircut. I sort of remember this place being pretty nice and that the guy did a good job, but I was blown away by how great the whole experience was. After I sat in the chair and told H what I wanted done with my hair (shorter, much shorter, easy to take care of... like wash and go...I don't own a blow drier, no really...did I mention I have a one-month old? oh thank you! it's a boy... Charlie...yes, really no blow drier...because it makes my hair puff up like a tumbleweed), she offered me a selection of beverages. When she returned with my hot cup of Chai Tea she said "Wait here for a minute, my assistant will come and give you a head, neck, and shoulder massage." Oh my it was fantastic. (Normally I get my hair cut somewhere that costs like eleven dollars and usually I get them to wash my hair first and hope they use really hot water and are a little rough because it feels soooo good when people wash my hair for me. But this was better. Way better) After the head, neck, and shoulder massage they took me to the hair washing sink. The chair had a footrest. And a padded place for your neck. I was beginning to care less and less how much this haircut would cost. In fact I completely forgot that we live on a budget at all and decided that this should be a weekly event and what the hell while I'm here why don't you do my toenails too? So then, after about an hour of a level of luxury never before imagined by me, we got to the hair cutting part. H sat on a stool and very carefully cut the back of my hair to the right length. Then she made sure I was happy with it and cut the rest of my hair. She did neat things that make it curl under and look nice and applied a bunch of products (AND she told me she cut it so that I should be able to recreate the look just by washing it and letting it dry. No blow drier!) and somehow managed to totally defy my DNA and make my hair shiny and swingy and exactly how I've always wanted it to look. H will you marry me? Because I really need you to come live in my house and let me be your apprentice so I can look like this all the time. I gave her an embarrasingly huge tip (in lieu of washing her feet. This was an entirely new level of gratitude. Do you know what a head, neck, and shoulder rub means to someone who's spent the last month covered in breastmilk? I could weep with joy just thinking about it).

Alright, Ryan and I are going to watch "Click" with Adam Sandler and eat homemade-ish cookies. We just got back from the Candlelight festival at the Ranching Heritage Center. Charlie was perfect, slept in the sling the whole time (he was wrapped in about ten layers of fleece) and now he is asleep in his crib. Gooooooooooood boy!

I'm a freak

Today Charlie and I went to the coffee shop for a lovely hour and a half of reading and tea-drinking (and some serious carseat sleeping) followed by a walk around the neighborhood. My reading selections included American Baby and BAMS (a meteorology journal). Sometimes I feel like my old self and am eager to get back to working on my research and dissertation and I want to look for a high stress career oriented job for when I graduate and I FEEL like a student and all that crap. Then there are times when I'm pushing Charlie in his stroller or holding him on my chest as he sleeps when I think I can't possibly do any of that because how can I possibly leave him with strangers and I don't want to miss a single minute of his baby-ness and for that moment I don't care about finishing school or what anyone thinks or anything. Anyway I oscillate between those two points of view ten or twelve times every day which I'm sure you can imagine is a little hard for those around me to keep up with. It's also making it quite difficult for me to complete a cover letter that I am working on for another job in Austin. It goes something like this right now:

Dear Mr. Employer:
I am writing to express my interest in the blahblah position at Blahblah Company. I think you'll find my qualifications to be right in line with what you are seeking. I have five years of experience doing data analysis work with full-scale hurricane data along with excellent organizational skills. For example I can do a load of diapers, my laundry, and my husband's laundry all while breastfeeding my infant son. Of course sometimes the folding and sorting has to wait if the little angel falls asleep on my chest. Further, I think my strong work ethic and attention to detail would make me a great addition to Blahblah Company. Please don't hesitate to contact me with any questions.
Sincerely,
Becca Lastname

Oh yeah, and Ryan and I visited Charlie's childcare place on Monday (three days a week, remember?). It seemed very nice and they all loved Charlie and were nice to him and they a bunch of freakydeaky punks who get to play with Charlie all day while I sort through six years of hurricane data (whatever) to please an advisor who will NEVER BE SATISFIED (whatever. whatever). J? If you're reading this? My ONE MONTH OLD is easier to please than you!! On the plus side, Charlie will probably spend a lot less time sleeping in his carseat than he does now. And he'll learn better words there than he does at home with me (who overreacts to everything). Which is good because no one wants a baby screaming "WHY THE HELL CAN'T YOU USE YOUR TURN SIGNAL!" at Grandma's house. So, see? Childcare? Good. Very good.

Antecdotes

Yesterday the three of us had lunch at Moe's with two of Ryan's friends from work. Charlie was really good and slept the whole time we were there. After we were done eating a woman who had been eating nearby with her three kids came over to ask about Charlie (her youngest looked close in age to Charlie). She asked the standard questions "How old is he? What is his name? How is he sleeping?" and then said "Could you watch mine for a second so I can take the older kids to the bathroom?" Um, sure, no problem. I guess when you have three kids the qualifications for a babysitter are less strict. Like if you have a baby that appears to be clean and fed, you can babysit my kid. Even if I don't know your name or anything about you. Crazy.

We took Charlie to church and Sunday School today and he did really well. He was quiet all through Sunday School except for his usual seagull noises that made everyone smile. I fed him in the nursing room and took him to church. He was pretty good but really squirmy. I was able to maintain my composure until during the Lord's Prayer when he took his hand off my necklace and jammed his fist right down my cleavage. When his face started getting all red and squishy Ryan took him out to change his diaper. Ryan made lots of friends in the nursery and was full of information when we had lunch afterwards.

At lunch we discussed who we wanted to pick for God Parents (yes we are slackers who procrastinate). At one point Ryan said "What about X and X?" I looked at him curiously. "What?" he said. I replied "They're both women. They'd be God Life-Partners not God Parents." Haha, we could have a very progressive baby with his God Mommies.

Why was this so much fun for me?

Our little Texan is not a big fan of snow.





And because it is only noon and I am SO BORED. Can someone come pick me up in their snowplow and take me to the coffee shop?

It's WINTER! Who knew?

So they said we had a 20% chance of flurries last night. And then it kept changing to 30% and then 60% and then 90%/Snow Advisory/1-3 inches of accumulation. And, well look.



And it's still snowing. It's pretty! And since I won't be leaving the house (Ryan has forbidden it. AFTER he drove all the way to work.), I'm still in my bathrobe. And I haven't had a shower. Unfortunately not leaving the house also means I have to make my own coffee. And I won't get to enjoy the baby-soothing benefits of rides in the car. The carseat has magical qualities.

Charlie doesn't seem phased by the snow.


Charlie says "It's good to be a gangsta."

I want to take him out in his full body fleece coat thing to take some pictures, but then I would have to put on pants and maybe even take off my cozy bathrobe. Meh.

Something is wrong with me

Clearly, the rational part of my brain was delivered with the baby. Ryan called today from work to tell me he stopped by the church where Charlie will be staying three days a week during the day so I can go back to school (THREE FREAKING DAYS). As he described how nice the room looked and how there are only three babies per teacher and how they are certified by the state I could not stop crying. In fact, I can barely even tell you about it. In every other area I am still my old cynical self (like changing the station whenever that damn Christmas Shoes song comes on the radio and getting more worked up over a Tech first down than well pretty much anything that is supposed to make normal people feel all warm and fuzzy. Except for patriotic music on the Fourth of July and the part where the veterans stand up when they play their song? Yeah, don't get me started).

It will be great for him. He'll make tiny friends and learn things from his teachers and all that (and get all his major infections before he reaches one year old. Poor sweet innocent little baby what is your mama doing to you?). I love the idea that he'll be a little independent (forget who I am) and have some new experiences (hang around with the wrong crowd of no good hoodlum babies who will introduce him to cigarettes). It's just the thought of dropping him off with strangers and then walking out and going to work that is a little terrifying. Please leave supportive comments.

So I figured the best possible way to handle the stress the mere thought of taking Charlie to childcare (part time three days a week oh my gosh what the heck is the matter with me snap out of it!) was to drink a Peppermint Mocha from Starbucks and eat a giant chocolate chip cookie. Charlie got lots of compliments at Starbucks because he was fast asleep in his stroller (mostly because of the bumpy sidewalk outside but also because he is a perfect little baby [who turns me into a sappy pile of mush. but at least not a pile of mush covered in breastmilk anymore woo hoo!]). [And no, I am not cheating on the coffee shop because I had a gift card from my sister who is the manager of a Starbucks so it totally doesn't count plus the coffee shop is far away and not right next to the grocery store] Mmm, I am enjoying my Peppermint Mocha. On a completely unrelated note, I've decided that post-pregnancy "curves" are sexy and should be cultivated.

Finally, Growey McEats-A-Lot has outgrown the Christening outfit I found for him. Sigh, back to the drawing board.

Things that are annoying (and not annoying)

#1 Target Online Photolab
Not only do they not have their own website (and make you sign up for Yahoo Photos), they don't offer 3.5 x 5 inch prints. So my really awesome Christmas card idea will be more difficult because the cards I bought and pre-addressed are too small for a 4x6. Our solution is to use a less perfect picture of Charlie that Ryan will then hand crop using a paper cutter at school. Also, the nice new Target by our house is not on the list of available stores for pickup, which means I have to go to the old Target on the other side of town. The Target where you almost die trying to enter the parking lot because you have to cross three lanes of traffic instantaneously after getting off the freeway. Get ready for a vocabulary lesson Mr. Charlie.

#2 Dumb Sidewalks
Charlie and I went for an hour-long walk today. (Yeah, it was AWESOME. The weather was perfect and he slept the whole time and I wasn't sitting on the couch watching "Christina's Court") The only problem, and I've never noticed this before, is that the sidewalks in my neighborhood don't have ramps at the corners. So every time I got to an alley (about every 50 feet when going N or S) or the end of a block I had to lower the stroller off the curb then pick it up again on the other side. Fortunately this didn't phase Charlie who slept the whole time and is STILL sleeping in his stroller now. Yay!

Things that are not annoying? Lansinoh disposable nursing pads (aka diapers for your boobs). No more dripping! I even took the towels out of my bed. My quality of life (like leaving the house without "bullseyes" on my shirts and not smelling like spoiled milk all the time) is about to improve considerably. I am so excited.

Also not annoying? I live in a town where in one week you can have highs in the 70s, thunderstorms with hail, highs in the 30s, and a chance of "wintery mix".

Covenant Women's Spa-spital

Today Charlie and I went back to the hospital for a weight check (Charlie was weighed, not me). I felt like saying "He's a newborn, I promise!" when I saw the other (tiny, bald) babies there. Charlie now weighs 10 lb 7 oz up from his birthweight of 8 lb 10 oz. When they weighed him the nurse exclaimed "Ooh! This one's eating REALLY well!" As usual he showed his distaste for public nudity by peeing and spitting up on the scale. Other than that he was a little sweetheart and slept in his stroller while I talked to the nurses about my, um, nursing issues (am I going to be sleeping on towels forever? Are they supposed to get so full? Why the hell do they hurt so bad?).

Anyway, being at the hospital today and visiting a friend there last week made me realize how much I would like to move back in on a long term basis. Where else do you have babysitting, food, drinks, and fancy prescription pain medication available at the push of a button? Where else do they require nothing of you but sitting in bed and admiring your baby? Why did the food have to be so darn good?? I even had cable and a lake view! Home is nice, but a lot more work. No matter how many times I hit my alarm clock, no disembodied voice fills the room asking what I need. Sigh. We still have Charlie's little hat and shirt that he wore there. Maybe we can sneak back in. They wouldn't notice the giant baby in the nursery right?

Right now he is in his bouncer trying not to fall asleep. It's really fun to watch. He keeps kicking his legs as his eyelids get heavier and heavier and letting out just one tiny quiet "waa" at a time. He should be asleep soon. Then it's time to clean up around here a little because...ew.

Well I knew the day was coming...

Today Charlie and I ventured out so I could buy some jeans. I loaded a few pairs on top of him in the stroller and went into the dressing room. I wriggled into the first pair, zipped them up (feat of incredible strength), turned around to see how they looked in the mirror, and that's when I saw it. I am officially that girl who leaves the house with a giant spitup stain on her shirt. It added a nice symmetry to the stain left by my constantly leaking right boob.

Anyway, I found some jeans that go on and zip, but it's not the best I have ever looked in a pair of pants. Jeans are a cruel reality check for someone like me who has spent the last 2.5 weeks admiring myself in the mirror thinking "DANG that belly went away FAST I wouldn't be surprised if I actually wear a size SMALLER now." It's easy to think that way when you are not pregnant but continuing to wear maternity pants. Besides, it's not the belly that's the problem, it's my legs and butt and other body parts that have absolutely nothing to do with nurturing a fetus and that only got huge because I couldn't keep my hands off the cookies.

Anyway, I have to go because the baby is awake. Ryan-the-best-husband-there-has-ever-been is on his way home and is bringing me Caffiene to stave off my withdrawl headache. My sister and brother-in-law and parents are on their way here too. I also have to make brownies to cover up the breastmilk/poo/sweaty dog/mystery-garage-smell smell we have going on up in here.

Girls! Girls! Girls!

Since today would be the first time Charlie and I met my new best kid-having hippy friends at La Leche League, I wanted to make a good impression. I gave Charlie a bath, put him in his cute frog diaper cover and a sweet blue sleeper, put on a nice skirt and sandals (wanted to fit the part of the hippy La Leche League stay-at-home-mom), and left early so I could be sure to get there on time. I even remembered to write down the address and room number and take it with me. I was the picture of organization and inner poise.

Well about halfway over there a whole lot of "La Leche" started soaking through my shirt and all that inner poise went right out the window. First, I made a wrong turn (how? How how how? The meeting was at a church I attended for OVER A YEAR). Then when I arrived at the church and parked at the west end of the building (as instructed) I found the door locked. I struggled getting Charlie into the sling (had to be the sling because my new attachment parenting hippy friends would frown on Charlie being confined in a car seat plus it covered one boob, not the one with the most noticable wet mark, but better than nothing) because it was windy and my skirt was blowing around my head and I was flustered because I was late and gosh isn't it great that kids don't start repeating the things you say until they're a little older? So with Charlie nestled into the sling in a very uncomfortable looking position I set about finding an unlocked door. I finally found one about nine miles away from my car and went inside where Charlie suddenly realized just how uncomfortable he was and began protesting loudly. I dropped my handbag, pulled him out of the sling, wrapped him in a blanket, then did a deep kneebend to retrieve my handbag and went looking for the classroom. The classroom was pretty much just opposite the locked door from my car.

Everyone there was SO nice. And they all loved Charlie. There was another small baby there (who had the same rocker hair as Charlie) and several other kids and toddlers running around and eating pieces of fruit (organic, free-range fruit I'm sure) while the mamas talked breastfeeding (and breastfed their babies, I was disappointed Charlie had just been fed because I could have joined in). We broke into small discussion groups and I was paired with the other lady with the newborn. When the leader came over to ask us how we were doing I noticed that the other newborn mama spoke in the same kind of crazed "I'm laughing and smiling so much because if I don't I'm going to start crying again." tone that I have been using off and on since Charlie was born.

Charlie was perfect. He slept the whole time in the blanket my friend S made him and I was so proud of him (he was most certainly the cutest baby there). Everyone told me I was doing a great job because he was gaining so much weight and gave me some tips for preventing pain. They learned our names and praised Charlie's new chubbiness. They even invited me to their holiday pot luck dinner. I like my new friends. Please don't tell them that Charlie is currently sleeping in his car seat. Or that we have a crib for him to sleep in at night. Or that we eat red meat.

The official Christmas stocking arrives!!

Charlie's Christmas stocking came in the mail today. My aunt, B, has been making them for every new family member since before I was born. I used to help my mom make the decorations with felt and sequins occasionally as a kid. This year we had two additions, Charlie and my brother-in-law, N. Now they are both official family members. I am SO excited. Thank you, B!!!!!

You made me sad.

If anyone else has any comments to make about my academic progress, I have only one thing to say to you:



He is so much better and more important than any degree could HOPE to be. But I am going to finish just to spite you.

Why not, we're the parents right?

We were very poor examples for Charlie this morning. It started when we slept too late to go to church (which starts at 11 did I mention?). That couldn't really be avoided because Charlie was feeling extra chipper and alert between three and nine in the morning and needed help with his Calculus lessons, so we were tired. Since church was out, Ryan and I took Charlie to Sonic for brunch. I had the breakfast toaster sandwich and Ryan had the Super Sonic BreakFeast Burrito and we both got large caffienated beverages (Ryan Dr. Pepper and me tea). We sat in the car as a little family for about an hour enjoying our brunch and listening to songs on the iPod. We've started developing Charlie's ear for the classics. He is developing a taste for Van Morrison, The Beatles, Simon and Garfunkel, Willie Nelson, and Johnny Cash (and Greenday and Kanye West and Flogging Molly). After we finished our sandwiches, I said "Want to get an ice cream cone?" To my surprise Ryan shrugged and said "Sure!" and started burrowing through the cupholders for change. I said "Why not, we're the parents now!!" And shoot, it was noon somewhere! Man it was great. I realized last night that Ryan and I were making an effort to be extra polite to eachother, which is good, but I really missed the ease of our pre-child relationship. Turns out it's still there, just covered by a layer of fatigue and breastmilk.

[Which, I'd like to thank C from La Leche League who I spoke to on Friday and who told me that some babies can nurse lying down (her kids learned to do it at 3 and 6 weeks, Charlie's advanced like that). Greatest trick EVER. Not only did it NOT HURT for some reason, Charlie took to it like a duck to water. That kid could nurse standing on his head. He does not care how the food gets to him, he just wants FOOD and he will suck on anything (arm, neck, wrong part of boob) to get it (I have a nice hicky from this. Ryan's jealous.). Anyway, C from La Leche League? Be expecting an awkward gift of wine and chocolate from me at the next meeting. Signed, SoreNips224.]

This week is Thanksgiving! Charlie's first holiday (except Veteran's Day and Election Day)! I can't wait to teach him all about the Mayflower and Plymouth Rock and the Pilgrims and Indians and the hard winter and the stuffing and pie and turkey and mashed potatoes and pie and green bean casserole and pie. (Did anyone watch that Food Network show where they used leftover green bean casserole to make a fancy meal with portabello mushrooms? Becaaaauuuussseee...obviously that woman has never experienced the exquisite joy of eating cold green bean casserole out of the tupperware standing up by the open refrigerator door in your undies in the middle of the night.) Anyone know where I can find a secondhand Pilgrim costume (including shoes with buckles preferably) in size 0-3 Mo?

Mr. Floppy Head

I am a ball of raw emotion...

Charlie is asleep, peacefully, in his crib. He's actually asleep, he's not red or grunting or squirming or making adorable seagull noises like he was when I said enough is enough this morning and put him in his crib so I could take a shower (new house rule: If you cover my entire abdomen and forearms with breast milk you do not also get to prevent me from cleaning it off). I worked hard to get him to sleep in his crib so I could get some things done around the house. And now I miss him. A lot. I want him to wake up and play with me (even though the only game he knows is "I'm going to scream and you guess why"). I did get a lot done though. I did a load of laundry and straightened up the living room (we have a professor and his wife coming over tonight to bring us dinner, the least I could do was make a neat pile of the twenty-seven burp cloths adorning the floor of our family room). I can't wait until Ryan comes home so I can show him how calm I am! Oops, not asleep anymore.

Does anyone else find it troubling that I don't know what the heck I'm doing?

Charlie is asleep. Finally. After an entire morning of making up goofy songs, dancing around with him, and trying to get him to take a pacifier, it was a freaking wet diaper. And now he is sleeping after half of a feeding because after all that squirming around and crying he was way too exhausted to keep eating after the first side. I'm not sure what the half a feeding thing means for my afternoon, but I don't think I'm going to get to go show him off at the coffee shop like I had planned. Which is no problem because I have tons of yummy leftovers here and a new Glamour magazine to read. And a shower would be really super. I'll try to post some new pictures sometime soon too.

Drip Drip Drip

Post Partum Fun
Originally uploaded by ryanandbecca.

Just when you think you're body is getting back to normal (see photo of me wearing a size MEDIUM shirt), your girls go crazy. I don't think this part is supposed to last for too much longer (I hope), but it sure is hard to get used to. I have figured out that all it takes is for me to LOOK at the baby for things to get going. He doesn't even have to be awake. It's bizarre.

Charlie is doing really really well. He sleeps a lot and is quiet when he is awake. He wakes up to eat at night and then goes back to sleep. We've been so lucky. He is still has the coolest hair ever.

On Sunday we took Charlie to church. We sat in the very back just in case, but he slept peacefully the whole time even through all the standing and sitting and singing and congregational responses. He made lots of new friends (look with your EYES don't you know it's cold and flu season! Oh gosh listen to me) and several of our friends and one of the pastors came up to meet him while we were there. After the service he got a little antsy so I took him to the nursing room to give him lunch.

I know what you came for is baby pictures and if you click on the word "ryanandbecca" below the goofy picture of me you will go to my Flickr site where there are new baby pictures. Enjoy!

Greetings from Post-Partum Fun Town

Sporting his cool shark pants
Originally uploaded by ryanandbecca.

Despite the sarcastic title to this post we are really having a nice time together as a family. Charlie is eating really well and I am feeling great. And with my parents here and Ryan home from work, this house is running more smoothly than it ever has. We haven't run out of clean plates or cereal bowls once and no one has eaten leftover frosting for lunch yet.

Yesterday we took Charlie to the pediatrician for his weight and color check. After we checked in they told us to strip him down to his diaper and wait in the waiting room. We ended up waiting for a long time (fortunately we brought Charlie a blanket, he hates being naked. Hates it.) and Charlie slept like a little angel the whole time. I smiled proudly as other parents smiled when the saw him.

Finally the nurse called us back for his checkup. She called "Charles" and it took me a minute to figure out they were calling for us. To give you a clear picture of my mental state during this visit, you should know that I am still on Codine and it was almost lunch time and I was awake only by the grace of the two cups of coffee I'd had that morning. Even checking in was a huge challenge. Questions confuse me. And there were a lot of them. Hard ones like "Baby's name and birthdate?"

As we walked down the hall to the weighing room, Ryan the proud Papa strutting along with his son in his arms, me limping down the hall clutching my handbag and Charlie's carseat, diaper bag, sleeper suit, and sweatshirt, the nurse asked more hard questions like "How many dirty and wet diapers do you change each day?" and "How many times does he eat a day?" and "How are you feeling?" By the time I got to the weighing room I was totally flustered and unable to think. More hard questions "What color is his stool?" Ryan's been changing the diapers. I have no idea. Ryan answered "Um, kinda dark, I guess?" "Dark like what? Is it yellow?" Me: "I HAVE NO IDEA WE'VE BEEN OUT OF THE HOSPITAL FOR A DAY AND A HALF AND THIS IS ALL JUST A LITTLE BIT NEW TO ME WOULD YOU PLEASE JUST LEAVE US THE F$%# ALONE?"

Actually I didn't get to say that because Charlie interruped us all by peeing on the scale when they took his diaper off. And then pooping. And then spitting up. It was awesome. Ryan said "THAT is what color his stool is." That was awesom-er. If I wasn't so mortified I would have high-fived him and said "Boo-yeah!!"

After the weigh-in was over we had to move him to another scale in the tiny room to clean him up and put his diaper back on. Ryan tried to stay calm and quickly take care of the diaper while I stood wedged into a corner behind the scale searching for things in the diaper bag and trying not to act out in exhausted frustration as the nurses brought a steady stream of sullen looking teenagers into the room (which seriously was about six feet square and contained two large infant scales, a sink, and another scale for bigger kids and adults not to mention about five fully grown adults and one very angry four day old baby) to be weighed. Charlie helped his mama by screaming in protest the whole time. Oh my gosh we have to go back there tomorrow for another check-up.

None of this matters of course because Charlie is the cutest, sweetest thing in the whole world. When he finishes eating and burping he goes to sleep on my chest and I could sit there for hours and hours and never move no matter what. When he is waking up he makes sweet squeaking noises and opens his eyes one at a time. When Ryan hands him to me he immediately turns toward me and tries to nurse. He's keeping his eyes open for longer now and seems to be focusing on things like faces when they are close enough. If you haven't met him yet, I can't wait to introduce him to you.

We're Home!!

He likes the bouncer. A lot.
Originally uploaded by ryanandbecca.

Thanks everyone for the nice phone calls and emails and blog comments you've sent to us. We are so lucky to have such a nice community of family and friends around us. Everything went really well at the hospital and Charlie is doing great. People have been asking about how it went, so I'll go into as much detail as I can now (before the little guy gets hungry again).

On Wednesday night we went to the hospital at 10:45 to start the induction. They put us in a delivery room and had us fill out a bunch of forms and gave me lots of hospital bracelets. I had five. I don't know what they were all for. They also hooked me up to a fetal monitor, contraction monitor, blood pressure cuff, pulse-oxygen sensor, and IV. I was basically confined to the bed at this point because of all the equipment. We spent the night there, me in the bed on all the monitoring equipment and Ryan on this futon thing they put in the room for the dads to use. After this point, the times get a little fuzzy. There was a lot going on and I spent a lot of time on Codine. So when I say something happened at 7:00, it might have been 5:30 or 8:00. Who knows. Anyway, at "7:00" my doctor came in to check me, break my water, and start the IV with the horomone that would start the contractions. I started getting really uncomfortable after that point because the contractions started to get painful. Dr. O said I should get on the epidural list right then because sometimes it could take a really long time. I wasn't too uncomfortable at that point, but it sounded like good advice, so I went ahead and put myself on the list (good advice. GOOD). By the time the anesthesiologist arrived about an hour and a half later I was VERY uncomfortable and very happy to see him. The contractions were about a minute apart and Ryan furiously rubbed my back through each one, but I was miserable. Later, when I knew how fast the labor progressed, it made sense that the contractions hurt so bad, but at that point I could only think that we'd only been at this for an hour or so and already they were nearly unbearable. So when the doctor came in to do my epidural I was very relieved. The epidural itself was painful, but TOTALLY worth it. I had to sit on the edge of the bed with my feet on a stool. Ryan held my shoulders and I held onto my feet tightly. I've never thought of my spine as a good place for a shot since they usually do it somewhere fleshy like your arm or hip and no matter how weird I looked pregnant, my spine never became "fleshy". Anyway, once it was in it would take about 30 minutes to work so I held onto a cold wet washcloth and Ryan's hand and we worked through each one. Ryan watched the monitor and told me when each contraction was peaking so I could relax. Finally the epidural was starting to make a difference in the way I felt and we decided Ryan should run out for something to eat because he hadn't eaten all day and things were going to get crazy later. After he left I called some friends and watched a little TV. The nurse came in and asked how I was feeling. I said "The epidural is working great every except my bottom. There I feel strong pressure every time I have a contraction" She said "OK I'm going to check you, then to see how far you've come." After the exam she looked at me and said "The pressure you feel, is it kind of like you need to poop?" I said "Yes, that's it exactly!" She said "OK, well all I can feel when I examine you is the baby's hair. I think you're fully dilated and ready to push." She went and got the doctor and they had me lay on my right side to get him to come down a little further and then the nurses transformed the room into delivery mode. Tables were covered with blue drapes, the infant warmer table was set up, instruments were arranged on tables. Someone asked where Ryan was and fortunately they said I could wait until he came back. When Ryan came back he was very surprised to see the room the way it was. I told him it was time to push and about ten minutes later we got started. I think by this point it was around 11:00 am. I was to push three times during each contraction. About halfway through, Charlie's heartbeat started dropping every time I had a contraction, so they gave me oxygen and set up the vacuum extractor to help gently pull him out. A few more pushes with the extractor and he was born. Dr. O put him on my belly and said "Here's your twelve pound baby!" He was perfect. He cried and cried and cried the whole time they were cleaning him up and checking him over and weighing him. When they were finally all done and out of the room I got to feed him and only then did he quiet down. He already knew how to eat!! So cool! Soon Ryan had to take him to the nursery for more checking and his first bath. He was so proud to carry him down the hall that he introduced Charlie to each of the nurses at the nursing station and everyone he met in the hall. When Ryan came back we uploaded pictures and updated blogs and sent emails and called everyone we knew. Since the labor was so short and the epidural was still working I felt AWESOME. Except for the whole legs not working thing I (felt like I could have) walked right out of the hospital and gone home to finish my dissertation. Eventually they came and took me to my post partum room in a wheelchair (getting into the wheel chair with sensation in only one leg required three people). Our post partum room was really nice with a comfy bed and a view of a lake. The brought me a lunch of a grilled cheese sandwich, fries, and chocolate cake (I know! It's like they'd met me before). The food was really good at the hospital by the way. Finally they brought Charlie in from the nursery and Ryan and I sat side by side in my bed and stared at him. He is SO COOL. Alright. This is getting a little long, so I'll write more in a couple of days about the post partum days and going home. Thanks again for all the good wishes and support!

Welcome Charles Hamilton!

DSC01940
Originally uploaded by ryanandbecca.

More pics at www.flickr.com/photos/ryanandbecca .

8 lb 10 oz

11:55 AM

November 2, 2006

Wasn't gonna post today but...

So five minutes ago I had nothing to post about, but since I live in crazy-town all that has changed. Normally I don't open my door for strangers when I'm home alone because invariably it's some nut-job from the Meth Lab Acres Apartment Community down the street wanting to use my phone to call their drug-addicted kid's parole officer (and don't you dare say yes even once because they WILL come back and it WILL be when you are sleeping). So when the doorbell rang I discretely glanced through the window and saw an unfamiliar car and decided not to answer it. Rossby, who goes nuts anytime someone rings the doorbell, made it obvious that I was home by barking wildly and running back and forth from the front door to the window to my hiding place in the kitchen. After about a minute the doorbell rang again. I looked again to make sure it wasn't someone I knew and retreated to the kitchen to hide. That's when the knocking started. It was obvious she was never going to leave and by this point I thought there might be some kind of non-parole officer related emergency so I scooped Rossby up and opened the door.

"I live on the next street over, I haven't been getting my bank statements, have they been coming here?"

"No, sorry" I replied thinking that would be a sufficient answer.

"Well I live on the next street over and I need my bank statements."

"If I see anything I'll be sure to bring it over" I replied.

"Is your last name Sullivan? How long have you lived here?"

"No, it's not, and we've been here about a year."

By this point I was getting really tired of this pointless conversation and was starting to tune out a little because she'd gone back to talking about how bad she needs her bank statements and how frustrated she is and how she's going to change banks if something doesn't change and Bitchy Preggo Becca is about to say "What does any of this have to do with me?" instead of what the Normal Becca was saying: "Uh huh. Yes that's frustrating. You should really call your bank." Then Rossby started freaking out. Thrashing. Wimpering. Everything. Bank statement lady said

"Well I'm sorry to have bothered you"

"No problem, I'll let you know if I see anything." said Normal Becca (still in control thank goodness).

Still holding Rossby I closed and locked the front door and turned around to see a pretty long haired calico cat in my living room. I don't have a cat. Rossby eats cats. Visions of horrific Animal Planet lion on gazelle footage filled my head as I stood stock still by the door still holding a now very excited Rossby. Quickly (faster than I've moved in months) I threw Rossby into the bathroom and closed the door (this was met by much whining and protesting from behind the closed door "Please can I eat the cat? Please? Mom?") I grabbed the cat by the scruff of the neck to get him out from under the dining room table but he got away and went even further under the table. Rossby by this time was pounding on the bathroom door and whining with all he had. I paused briefly to wonder if everyone's life is as weird as mine. I couldn't get the cat out from under the table because I pretty much can't even pick up a sock off the floor without a Herculean effort and getting the cat would require squatting and leaning and reaching all at the same time. Finally I got him to go outside by standing on the porch with the door open calling him and shaking my keys. I let Killer out of the bathroom and he has been frantically sniffing the carpet under the table ever since

Wasn't gonna post today but...

So five minutes ago I had nothing to post about, but since I live in crazy-town all that has changed. Normally I don't open my door for strangers when I'm home alone because invariably it's some nut-job from the Meth Lab Acres Apartment Community down the street wanting to use my phone to call their drug-addicted kid's parole officer (and don't you dare say yes even once because they WILL come back and it WILL be when you are sleeping). So when the doorbell rang I discretely glanced through the window and saw an unfamiliar car and decided not to answer it. Rossby, who goes nuts anytime someone rings the doorbell, made it obvious that I was home by barking wildly and running back and forth from the front door to the window to my hiding place in the kitchen. After about a minute the doorbell rang again. I looked again to make sure it wasn't someone I knew and retreated to the kitchen to hide. That's when the knocking started. It was obvious she was never going to leave and by this point I thought there might be some kind of non-parole officer related emergency so I scooped Rossby up and opened the door.

"I live on the next street over, I haven't been getting my bank statements, have they been coming here?"

"No, sorry" I replied thinking that would be a sufficient answer.

"Well I live on the next street over and I need my bank statements."

"If I see anything I'll be sure to bring it over" I replied.

"Is your last name Sullivan? How long have you lived here?"

"No, it's not, and we've been here about a year."

By this point I was getting really tired of this pointless conversation and was starting to tune out a little because she'd gone back to talking about how bad she needs her bank statements and how frustrated she is and how she's going to change banks if something doesn't change and Bitchy Preggo Becca is about to say "What does any of this have to do with me?" instead of what the Normal Becca was saying: "Uh huh. Yes that's frustrating. You should really call your bank." Then Rossby started freaking out. Thrashing. Wimpering. Everything. Bank statement lady said

"Well I'm sorry to have bothered you"

"No problem, I'll let you know if I see anything." said Normal Becca (still in control thank goodness).

Still holding Rossby I closed and locked the front door and turned around to see a pretty long haired calico cat in my living room. I don't have a cat. Rossby eats cats. Visions of horrific Animal Planet lion on gazelle footage filled my head as I stood stock still by the door still holding a now very excited Rossby. Quickly (faster than I've moved in months) I threw Rossby into the bathroom and closed the door (this was met by much whining and protesting from behind the closed door "Please can I eat the cat? Please? Mom?") I grabbed the cat by the scruff of the neck to get him out from under the dining room table but he got away and went even further under the table. Rossby by this time was pounding on the bathroom door and whining with all he had. I paused briefly to wonder if everyone's life is as weird as mine. I couldn't get the cat out from under the table because I pretty much can't even pick up a sock off the floor without a Herculean effort and getting the cat would require squatting and leaning and reaching all at the same time. Finally I got him to go outside by standing on the porch with the door open calling him and shaking my keys. I let Killer out of the bathroom and he has been frantically sniffing the carpet under the table ever since

Turkey and cheese on toast never tasted so sweet.

I am officially on maternity leave. Which is a really good thing because I don't think I could handle another meeting with my advisor J where I was having Braxton Hicks contractions (which are not supposed to hurt but they do!!) the whole time. (Me: "If you plot integral scale versus roughness length you can see that---oh shit hold on a second--phew ok, so you can see that the dependence of integral scale on roughness is not what we expected.") So I am now at the coffee shop enjoying a turkey and cheese sandwich on toast and listening to my iPod and writing to you with NO GUILT FOR ONCE. Now what should I do with the last thirty or so hours of life-as-I-know-it?

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.

Sooo tired...

My new hobby is sleeping. I get about ten hours a night, and then take a two hour nap in the afternoon. And the rest of the time I think about how great it would be to be asleep. Snarky comments about how I better enjoy my sleep now while I still can will not be well received. You know what your mom said "If you don't have anything nice to say..." The good news is I only have one more day of work. Wednesday Ryan is "forcing" me to buy a book and go to the coffee shop to relax. :) Yay for the best husband in the world!! Wednesday night we go into the hospital where they will start coaxing the little guy to come out. I've been promised a sleeping pill (!!!) and "any kind of pain reliever I want." I want Codine. Codine makes me forget I have hands.

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.

Mr. Charming Goes to the Vet

You would think after what happened to me at the doctor's office yesterday that I would have more sympathy for Rossby, but I don't. If you've ever had a certain kind of male dog, then you already know about regular trips to the V-E-T to have their anal glands expressed. In my family we do this about once a month. Or if, like this time, we get distracted because there are a trillion other things going on, we go when he starts rubbing his ass on the carpet and acting really pitiful and mopey whenever he has to poop.

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.

nothing to report

...although that might change after what they did to me at my OB appointment this morning. I'll spare you the details, but I made what Ryan described as "the most horrible face he's ever seen anyone make" while they were doing it and as soon as the doctor was out of the room Ryan ran to me and hugged me tightly. Ryan said he was proud of me for not saying to Dr. O "So now are you going to baste me and put me back in the oven?" Everything is still "go" for next week. We will go into the hospital Wednesday night to get everything started and hopefully sometime Thursday we'll get to meet the little guy.

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.

Still Nothing to Report.

I love love love working at home. I used to think it would be boring and lonely, but those are actually good things. Boring and lonely are code for productive and free from unwanted remarks about how I look (which is huge. Really freaking huge.). Unfortunately I have to leave in a little while to attend a seminar I'm interested in about remote sensing and damage documentation. Since the one shirt I still look OK in has a large Frappachino stain on the front I will be wearing my "Episcopal Athletics #88" shorts and one of Ryan's XL tshirts. Because people are either going to say I look great (which is a bald faced lie that I appreciate very much) or that I look huge. And it doesn't matter what I wear. And I feel crummy. Because if you forget to take your heartburn medicine and eat dinner at eight o'clock at night, scarfing an entire taco plate including rice and extra tortillas is a really bad move. Bad. Did I mention that my ankles are wider than my feet? It's so interesting! I can feel them slosh when I walk too. I call them my club legs.

One week and one day to go!! So excited. So excited!!

Meanwhile back at the ranch...

Now that Ryan and I have secured internet access for ourselves on the up and up (it started getting too hard to climb the tree in the back yard with the laptop and cup of coffee and notebook and pen just so that I would have internet access) I can work from home. So that's what I'm doing today. I am all set up at my new desk (which is really the kitchen table pushed into a corner by the kitchen). Here is a summary of the day's events:

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!!

Thoughtless remarks welcome here!

I'm going to assume that my belly hypnotizes people, causing a Tourette's-like condition where they blurt out whatever is on their mind before they have a chance to run it through the old common-sense-o-meter. For example this morning I was walking down the hall at my church (returning to Sunday School from the bathroom if you can believe that) when I saw a friend coming the other direction. When the friend saw me she puffed out her cheeks and started walking with an exaggerated waddle, then laughed hysterically at her own little joke as she passed me. She didn't even say "Hi!"!!!! Just paused long enough to point out that I am giant and walk like some kind of freakish pimp-gorilla combination and then she was on her way. Example number two happened yesterday. A friend of a friend who I'd met about five minutes earlier asked if I was planning on being induced (is it really appropriate for strangers to ask my plans for my uterus?). I sensed something in the way she asked that told me I should just lie so we could continue having a nice lunch, but I am dumb, so I told the truth. "Yes, I am," I replied "because the baby is big." She made an awful face and said "Oh! Well I hope you go into labor naturally before then because induced labor hurts SO MUCH worse than natural labor. I just don't know why they induce anyone. I mean, ultrasound weight estimates are wrong all the time, I'm sure your baby only weighs about 7.5 pounds." Then looked at me expectantly, as though I should be thanking her for her sage medical advice (which was based on five minutes of casual chit-chat over German sausage and potatoes). Instead I smiled and said "Well my parents have already bought plane tickets, so..." Needless to say, THAT conversation was OVER. Guess Scary McScares-a-lot can't take a joke. I think I will stay inside for the next week and a half. I don't know how much longer I can be polite

Nothing to Report

No new symptoms to report. Nothing to indicate this weekend will include anything out of the ordinary. I do have a cold though. That is no fun. Especially because I can't take any of the really good meth-lab cold medicine that makes you forget your name and what year it is. And this particular cold is mocking the one decongestant I am allowed to take. So I have been spending a lot of time lying on the couch under about twelve quilts letting Ryan be really really nice to me without feeling guilty (and drinking plenty of fluids, Mom and Papa). Daytime TV is boring, so after I completely destroyed the kitchen (that Ryan cleaned last night) trying to make a scrambled egg sandwich with the wrong type of frying pan (egg pieces everywhere. hopefully I will beat Ryan home and can fix it because the kitchen really was beautiful this morning) I ventured out to the coffee shop to try to get some work done.

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.

I get by with a little help from my friends

Until Sunday, the sight of the nursery was enough to start me hyperventilating. For some reason it is still quite abstract, this huge change that is coming just two weeks from Thursday. And the messy nursery was stressing. me. out. I had no idea what to do with it. The crib was full of baby-strangling plastic bags full of fliers and free samples from the hospital. The closet was bursting with shower gifts, my wedding dress, and two bridesmaid dresses that will NEVER be used again. There were THREE strollers blocking entry to the room except by highly technical Mission Impossible style climbing moves. And none of the new clothes, blankets, or sheets had been washed (oh my gosh I am going to break the baby by exposing him to evil store germs). And the only thing anyone can think of to say to me lately is "Well you must be getting excited, are you ready?" To which I want to reply "NO, I am not f$%#ing ready! I have finally regained the ability to work on my research, the nursery is a wreck, and just HOW DO YOU PREPARE YOURSELF TO WELCOME A NEW HUMAN BEING INTO YOUR HOME ANYWAY???" but instead I just smile politely and say "I hope so! Heh heh heh" while displaying my double crossed fingers.

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.

OK I have a confession to make.

Good Morning!
Originally uploaded by ryanandbecca.

This morning I went and dropped my car off at the body shop (see "stupidest thing ever") and picked up my rental car. The rental car is possibly the only car ever created that could make my car feel large by comparison. But that's not the point. The car has a CD player. I know I have an iPod that I consider to be an extension of my own body, but it is still novel to be able to shove music right into the dashboard. And there's something calming about being limited to the fifteen or so songs on a CD that you just don't get with the iPod (with my recent inability to make decisions of any kind, reducing the pool from 1500 songs to 15 is the brain equivalent of a trip to Canyon Ranch). This is how I found myself cruising along on the way to work listening to my church's Christmas album. Now, to those of you who think mid-October is too early for Christmas music I say "You are a hater and I don't care what you think." Hark the Herald Angels Sing was playing as I left my neighborhood and I'd gotten through What Child is This? and Oh Little Town of Bethlehem by the time I arrived at work. When I parked the car an absolutely beautiful Christmas medly for organ and violin (arranged and performed by a husband and wife team at our church) began playing and guess what... Charlie LOVED it. He started dancing as soon as the violin started up and really got excited (just like me) when the organ came in. I've noticed this before during church. The kid has a thing for organ music and hymns. Can he feel the vibrations from the pipe organ or something? Does he somehow sense how happy the music makes me? Anyway, I couldn't deprive him of just one more song so we sat in the car and listened to Ding Dong Merrily on High together and he didn't once roll his eyes (at least I couldn't see it if he did) when I tried to sing along (you know the words right? Ding dong merrily on high! Do do do do do dooo dooo. Lalalalalalalalalalalalala Hosanna in Excelsis! second verse, same as the first!). Oh we are going to have so much fun when we drive to Austin for Christmas (and by "we" I probably just mean "me" given Ryan's lukewarm affection for Christmas music and singing in the car in general).

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.

Good Day

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".

Ahhh, Charlie Brown Christmas... Happy soothing music that calms me down faster than Benadryl.

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.

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

Stupidest. Thing. Ever.

**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.

I refuse to get my hopes up...really...

So I've decided to send in an application for that teaching job in Austin. It's a really long shot, but I'm really interested in the job, so I'm going to try. It starts in August 2007, and that would be a really good carrot for finishing my dissertation too. Anyway, I'm having a lot of trouble not fantasizing about what it would be like to work there. I know there is no point in getting my hopes up becuase the only qualifications I have for the job are interest and a pulse, but I can't help but picture myself leading Charlie the kindergartener by the hand to his classroom at the Lutheran school on campus (he in his adorable uniform of course and me dressed smartly as neo-hippie college professor in a long flowy skirt and leather sandals; did I mention that I'm really skinny in these dreams too) before I go to the morning chapel service with all of my students. I talked it over with my advisor yesterday and when I said "I'm sure it's not what you had hoped for me..." he interruped me and said enthusiastically "No, I think it would be perfect. I think you would really like it there!" He told me it's like the Austin headquarters for Lutherandom and there is a seminary on campus. What a neat environment to work in!! I have this (totally inaccurate I'm sure as this is not Oxford in the 18th Century we're talking about) vision of having long theological discussions with my coworkers over dark beers after work/black coffee in the afternoon. So like I said, I AM NOT GOING TO GET EXCITED. Because there is like a one in ten million shot that my Methodist-with-no-teaching-experience-having-butt will ever be considered for the job. Seriously. But I'm still going to write my "teaching philosophy statement" today. And rent the movie "Luther" this weekend. And J said I could be a Lutheran in as little as three weeks at his church, so I better get started on that (just kidding...although...).

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.