‘So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called’
Ah, names. I’m so screwed.
So Julia Roberts and I were on about the same timetable for our pregnancies, which made me stupidly fascinated by hers. I’ve been surreptitiously watching the wires so when she finally had the tykes, I had to know “what she named them”:http://buzz.yahoo.com/buzz_log/entry/2004/11/30/0400/.
Am I the only one who doesn’t think Phinnaeus and Hazel are weird? It’s not like she named them, oh, I dunno, “Prince Michael and Fifi Trixabelle”:http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A20962-2004Nov29.html. In fact, Hazel would be on our short list if we were having a girl. [Damn you, Julia, for beating me to the punch].
I like Phinnaeus, too, though I would pick a slightly different spelling. I’m all about the old-timey names. But knowing my luck, everyone else will be on the old-timey-name bandwagon by the time Beaner is born, having backlashed against “all the parental cruelty”:http://www.notwithoutmyhandbag.com/babynames/ that is so au courant, and I’ll be pissed.
So a nice, plain, boring name it shall be. Once we think of it.
But even that may not get us off the hook. When he’s a teenager [may God help me, one day I’ll have a teenaged son. Jesus Christ.] he may decide to “weird it up himself(snopes.com)”:http://www.snopes.com/racial/language/names.htm.
bq. In April 1994 Peter Eastman Jr. changed his name to Trout Fishing In America. The 17-year-old from Santa Barbara figured it would be cool to name himself after a book he liked. Rumor has it he goes by “Trout”.
No relation, by the way.
I swear. How did millions of people before us deal with all the pressure? Is there a baby-naming service I can call? Or should I just call him Wolf Blitzer Eastman “like I planned”:http://www.supamb.com/supafine/archives//000258.php?
Back in the USSR
This’ll be brief, because it’s fricking cold in this house and I want to go take a hot shower.
The weekend was terrif; the baby shower was awesome; it was great to see everybody again; tryptophan is my new favorite drug.
The drive home, which we made at 4:40 p.m.-12:30 a.m., was hassle-free and easy. Turnpike workers still on strike. We saved quite a bit of cash on tolls.
Sunday, we did laundry and swept the leaves off the porch [only one and a half crickets so far] and went grocery shopping and then went to Home Depot, our new favorite store.
And last night I went to bed at 9:30, and I woke up at 8:20, and I think that most of that was actual sleep, so I feel good.
And here it is Monday.
Good bread, good meat, good God, let’s eat
This is the portion of the program where we all bow our heads in praise for my brother’s girlfriend Ashley, who brought me such wonderful baby things in such copious quantities that it really is like a dream come true. And yes, I was dorky enough to say that out loud.
I made everyone in the house sit and watch as I went through the duffel bags, one teeny-tiny item at a time, and cooed over everything. She has excellent taste and a big heart.
Turkey dinner yesterday was phenomenal, of course, and soon I will be posting a photo of the image that appeared on my sister’s dinner plate. We’re thinking of selling it on eBay.
Later in the evening Iain, mom, dad and I watched two episodes of ‘Whose Line’ and then went to bed, where I stared at the ceiling for about five hours enduring baby kicks.
This morning we ate homemade cinnamon buns, and then Mandy came over for a little two-person baby shower at the aforementioned Beaner’s. She gave me a hand-quilted quilt her mom made for me [her mom is practically my mom] and I cried a little in front of the other coffeehouse patrons, but didn’t really care. Then we had the missing-purse fiasco also previously mentioned. I had turkey soup for dinner, closely followed by a can of Mountain Dew [highly, HIGHLY stupid of me] and several cups of Chex Mix. Then we had a massive game of Trivial Pursuit, wherein we bent the rules enough so that Iain and I read all the questions and were allowed to “freelance” as contestants when we got questions we knew. I can’t remember who won.
And I tried to nap and then I petted the dog and everyone played Scrabble and Iain almost won and then I wrote a dumb blog entry and then I wrote this one, which isn’t much better, and now I should reallllllllly be thinking about trying to go to sleep, because no TV and no beer make Homer something-something.
And then I cried.
Mary Beth would like to apologize in advance for the following post. She’s extremely sleep deprived and not a little retarded as a result.
Nearly had a heart attack today. I lost my purse between the coffee shop [which was called Beaner’s, I shit you not] and my folks’ house.
Trekked back to Beaner’s, but they didn’t have it. It wasn’t in Mandy’s car. It wasn’t, her husband said, at her apartment. Which means some coffee-drinking suburbanite stole it and all the valuables within, including — but not limited to — the iPod, the wallet, and the tres-important car keys.
So I cried and I cried. I hadn’t had food in the three hours previous and I was running on four hours of sleep and I thought I was going to be stuck in Ohio forever.
So I then made the forty-mile round trip back to Mandy’s to check her apartment again, and the Lord smiled down on me and returned my purse to me, and now I have to perform various good deeds because I promised the Virgin Mary and St. Jude I would. Good night.
It’s snowy in Cleveland, but it’s sunny in my heart
Dear Internet:
*Tell me:* Shouldn’t all of your socks be white and match? My sister doesn’t seem to understand this. I’ve tried to explain this to her but it’s not sticking.
*Other strange things:* The absolutely rockin’ PA toll-takers who struck, ensuring that we save more than six dollars in tolls. Rock on! Fight the Man! The one-eyed garbage collector at the Stony Ridge rest stop; the Amish people driving the car; the snow in Cleveland [OK, not strange, but it’s been a while], and the annoying Mazda driver who refused to pass the truck. Ahh, the Midwest — land of Contradictions.
*P.S.* Internet, my sister Katie says hi, and that you have bony hands.
It’s still not time for dinner, and the Lions are losing. This makes Mama MB cranky …
Gracias
Hope you’re all having a happy Thanksgiving. This year I’m giving thanks to Iain for being the best husband I could hope to have — we see eye to eye on everything, and I know that he’s going to be a terrific dad. These last few months in the new house have been fantastic, too — all our new rituals and routines, planning the remodeling we’ll never have the money to do, racing the baby stroller around the living room …
Best of all, we’re going to have a baby, and that baby is going to be so smart and so cute and so damn well-adjusted, and I’m thankful he’s going to have such a good, upstanding dad, who’s going to take him camping and teach him about Led Zeppelin.
We’ve got it so good, babe. Thanks.
My brain says Let’s Go, but my body says Don’t Move
Ah, another gray, foggy Baltimore day. Our entire quarter-acre property is blanketed in six inches of wet oak leaves, which of course makes a glorious breeding ground for CRICKETS!
I’m trying not to panic. I know from experience — experience being last Sunday — that trying to rake leaves at this advanced state of pregnancy is an exercise in masochism, not to mention futility. So I’m just gluing myself to the window, watching as each additional leaf floats gracefully to join its brothers and sisters. I think I will have to sweep the porch, though, or Thanksgiving in Ohio will consist of me going “The leaves! The leaves! Why didn’t I sweep the leaves?!” And then trembling at the thought of our house being full, floor-to-ceiling, with crickets upon our return home. Scary.
Anyway. Because we have no choice, we are leaving for the drive westward this afternoon after school lets out. Traffic is anticipated to be murderous. Combine that with my need to pee every hour and a half, and I think I’m going to have to pack some diapers. It would be my preference not to drive so far this late in the game, but turkey and a baby shower are pretty good inducements.
I have many important tasks to accomplish today before we go: Getting an oil change, purchasing more prenatal vitamins and wonderful minty Tums, packing the bags, remembering to pack the camera and a cooler of travel food, and some other things I can’t remember but which will hopefully come back to me.
Suppose I ought to eat breakfast and get started on that, then. Guess that means I have to haul my butt outta this chair. Do I have to?
Silver lining, man
House is clean, laundry is a-whirling, “Mean Girls” has been viewed [two thumbs up], shower has been taken, and crickets are nowhere to be found.
Plus Carol says you can buy Faygo online.
Damn good day, I think! And now I get to eat steak and potatoes!
Like sands through the hourglass …
Because I might, for some reason, want to remember what it was like to be me at eight and a half months pregnant, I am going to to document a 24-hour span.
*12 a.m.* Nudge Iain with my knee because he is snoring again. Take care not to knee him in the balls, because he hates that.
*12:45 a.m.* Can’t sleep, so might as well pee. Glower into mirror. Notice how crappy I look. Enjoy the feel of the bath mat under my toes, because it sits right in front of the heating vent and is all warm’n’toasty.
*3:30 a.m.* Wake up to pee again. Never even noticed I had fallen asleep.
*5:23 a.m.* Iain hops out of bed, heads to shower. I immediately claim full possession of his pillow and add it to the four that are currently supporting various parts of my body. Groan, because I have to roll over, and it takes at least 15 minutes to flip my sea-cow ass over and rearrange pillows.
*5:40 a.m.* Wake up to see Iain’s face hovering over mine, telling me he loves me and to have a good day. I mumble the same back to him and close my eyes; hear the front door shut and his footsteps as he heads out to the truck. Fall back asleep.
*7:12 a.m.* Wake up, look at alarm clock, do some slow math: Have 50 minutes left til alarm goes off. Do rolling-over procedure and fall asleep again.
*8:02 a.m.* Alarm goes off. KML show is on. Hit snooze.
*8:11 a.m.* Alarm goes off again. KML still on. Hit snooze.
*8:20 a.m.* Alarm goes off again. KML still on. Turn off alarm. Struggle, using all of my arm muscles, to pull myself into sitting position. Sigh. Get out of bed. Stick feet into slippers. Open door, do cricket scan. Spot one. Scream.
*8:25 a.m.* Stomp into kitchen for empty applesauce jar and bottle of Raid. Attempt to first trap, then spray, cricket. Cricket goes buck nuts. Scream, hop, pant as adrenalin shoots to dangerous levels. Hurl dozens of nasty epithets at cricket as it hops under large, immobile piece of furniture. Say ‘Fuck it’ and hope he stays there til Iain comes home.
*8:30 a.m.* Eat Frosted Flakes at dining room table while reading a few chapters of whatever book I’m on.
*9:01 a.m.* Realize that must shower this very instant if I hope to make it to work on time.
*9:15 a.m.* Get in shower.
*9:30 a.m.* Get dressed. Drag comb through hair. Drop a few pounds of shed hair into wastebasket. Glower into mirror, notice how crappy I look.
*9:50 a.m.* Run to car, drive to work, listen to classic rock if I can find it, stupid talk radio if I can’t. Park at garage and waddle to office building. Stop to catch breath at foot of stairs.
*10:05 a.m.-6 p.m.* Work. Pee every 1.5 hours. Try to find comfortable sitting position. Try not to daydream about baby. Try also not to grimace as he kicks me, violently, repeatedly and often.
*6:30 p.m.* Return home. Ask Iain how his day was. Commiserate. Try to figure out what to have for dinner.
*7 p.m.* Eat pasta in front of Simpsons rerun. Swear to God will never watch TV again.
*7:30 p.m.* Brush teeth, don pajamas. Stare at profile in mirror with expression approaching horror. Get in bed with Iain. Finish discussing his crappy day. Try to explain strange dream I had. Think up goofy names for the baby.
*9 p.m.* Talk winds down; Iain says good night and goes to sleep. I grab my book and venture to kitchen for the day’s last bowl of Frosted Flakes. Spot cricket, scream; Iain comes to rescue; cricket is done away with and Iain goes back to bed.
*9:45 p.m.* Get back in bed. Realize have to pee. Get up, do business, eat Tums, brush teeth again, get back in bed, re-open book.
*10:30 p.m.* Put down book. Switch off lamp. Close eyes.
*10:32 p.m.* Iain starts snoring. Nudge him with elbow. He rolls over, stops snoring.
*11:38 p.m.* Fall asleep.
*12 a.m.* Wake up. Nudge Iain with my knee because he is snoring again. Take care not to knee him in the balls. Sigh.
A cricket a day keeps the sandman away
Oh, these dratted short production weeks — Too many publication cycles, too little time.
The upshot, though, is that next week is a short week, and I get to go home to Ohio and have a baby shower with my girlfriends and see the fam. The other downside is that we’re not having our usual giant Chosen Family Thanksgiving, which we’ve done for the last, oh, 15 years. This is going to be seriously strange.
Another $14 downt the drain: Off to Owings Mills to get my stupid car a stupid emissions test. I swear — Maryland is downright anal about charging you an arm and a leg to just to own a vehicle. When I got my driver’s license in Ohio, and then got a car, the total outlay [minus the cost of the car] was like, thirty bucks. No inspections, no yearly emissions testing. Just license, plates and registration. In Maryland, I’ve probably shelled out close to $500 or $600 just for the privilige of owning the damn thing — lien tax, transfer fees, inspection fees, emissions fees … You get the point.
Nostalgia: Things I miss today include Phil Hartman, Hurricane Isabel, a full night’s sleep, and the ability to get drunk.
I shall call him ‘Mini-me’: Still don’t have a real name for the Beans. Or daycare set up. Both of these things are hanging uncomfortably low over our heads. But we do have a miniature sherpa-lined flannel hunting jacket for him, courtesy of The Jen, and it’s ever so cute!
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