Monthly Archives: December 2004

Twitch, twitch

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Boy-oh-boy were those five cups of coffee a huuuuuge mistake this morning. I don’t know why I thought I could handle the caffeine, especially after about six months of abstinence.

It’s been about 12 hours and I still feel jittery and nauseated, and of course I can’t sleep.

So instead I can tell you about the department holiday party we had today. It was at Kelsey’s Restaurant and Pub in Ellicott City. Very nice Irish place, wonderful French fries. Can’t comment on the Sprite quality this time because I just had water, but I’m sure it was top-notch.

Anyway, there was a Chinese gift exchange; I got lace-trimmed fancy silver coasters. There was also a surprise baby shower for me, complete with wonderful presents and a fabulous ice-cream cake. [If I had known there was going to be cake, I would have skipped dinner, it was that good. I wish I were eating it right now.] It was great seeing everyone from the other offices ‘cause they’re such a hoot and I see them so rarely anymore. A good gang, and generous: this baby is going to be very well turned-out, if he ever comes out.

But due to the coffee [or something else?] I felt first-trimester nauseous all day, up to and including this very moment. The miraculous power of Tums is having no effect on this. I had to lay down immediately after I got home [after battling Braxton-Hicks and Beltway traffic for over an hour] and haven’t been vertical since, except for peeing. And my calf muscles are tense and sore. And my lower back hurts. But who’s counting the days, huh? Certainly not me, oh no.

Tomorrow is weekly check-up day and Iain took the day off to come with. After, it’s the office potluck and a few hours of work, and then it’s the weekend, thank goodness. We’ll be erecting ye olde Christmas Tree and hopefully spending a lot of time sleeping.

Nesting instinct has completely worn off in the last day. I can’t be bothered to do dishes or put anything away. Standing and breathing at the same time is just too much work. In fact, typing this entry is exhausting me, and I think I’m going to go lay down again.

Maybe this time it’ll take?

A boring post about the latest restyling

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Hopefully you can see the new look I gave to the blog. I’ve spent the last two weeks trying to come up with a new design that’s kind of Christmassy, in light of the holidays and because I was sick of looking at the old pumpkin design. I came up with a couple, but they didn’t make the cut, because they were a little too weird and monochromatic.

This morning I woke up and tried this instead. Hopefully, what you’re seeing looks like this:

new wreath design

If it doesn’t, try emptying your cache or reloading the page. Or buy an eMac and open the page in Safari. That always works.

Anyone want to start a pool?

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As I type this, my abdomen is undulating in an entertaining manner. I’m going to miss being kicked from the inside, I think. Plus, I hear it’s a lot easier to take care of a baby who’s in utero. Heh.

Thirty-eight weeks down, two to go. This sucker could pop at any time, though I’m sure he’ll take after his Maman and show up way late. I’ve never been one for punctuality, ‘fraid to say. But I guess that would be OK; I seem to have reached a strange sort of plateau of pregnancy discomfort. I’m so used to waddling around, and only wearing the one pair of pants, and waking up thrice nightly that it’s almost routine.

Ever since I had that rollerblading accident in 1998, I’ve always said that it’s amazing what the human body can get used to. Back then, I got used to having no front teeth, and chewing on the side, and I even was able to talk without lisping after a while. And then I got my dentures, and got used to that, and then I got the implants, and got used to that, and now I forget that some of my teeth aren’t even mine. I guess I just finally got used to having this bun in its oven.

Don’t misunderstand, however; the earlier Mr. Beanie makes his debut the better, in my opinion. He’s about as cooked as he’s going to get, and I want to meet him, dammit. But I can wait another week or two. Just not any longer than that. :)

*Putting the X back in Xmas:* Thanks to my elevated nesting hormones, almost all my Christmas preparations are complete. I spent the weekend baking and stamping the last few Christmas cards and making the Christmas presents and cursing violently at a foiled attempt at holiday candy. My adopt-a-family present was purchased at least two weeks in advance, as was the office Secret Santa gift.

It’s kind of weird. Never in my life, save for that semester during 10th grade when I was bored and grounded, have I been so damned prepared for something. WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING TO ME?

*Help me, baby Jebus:* Taking suggestions from the peanut gallery on the following questions: 1. Good childcare options in the Northeast Baltimore area? 2. Good ideas for what to do with 17 pounds of half-ripe oranges? 3. Good names for a boy?

“Why, you scumbum!”

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My new favorite movie is “Smokey and the Bandit.” Pure, pure genius. The Snowman reminds me a little of my father-in-law, and Burt is hunky and mustachioed as ever. Whoooo!

The house smells interestingly of Worcestershire sauce, burned pretzels and Velveeta. Looks like I’m going to have to revise some Christmas plans of mine …

Here’s a birthday shoutout to Emily and Natasha, a terrific couple of sisters. Go live it up.

You’re too kind!

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Wow. Bitching on one’s blog really does work. Yesterday, I had complained that everybody was taking my pregnancy for granted and not allotting me enough sympathy and just generally was curmudgeonly.

Well, between the small-town officewarming last night [“You look terrific!”] and errands today [“When’s the big day, sweetie?”] I have gotten tons of warm smiles and happy glances. Perfect strangers have been very kind and interested in the upcoming arrival, and one woman even scrutinized my face, right in front of the peanut butter display, just in case I’m on TV for having the first baby of 2005.

I take back all those nasty things I was thinking about humankind.

There was something in the air that night

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Back in the olden days when I was in college, like four years ago, my girlfriend Carrie and I used to go out to Drag Night, which was the Tuesday night drag show/dance party at a local club. After a while [read: a few beers], we’d both decide to cha-cha, no matter the song — be it ‘Pussy Control’ or ‘You’re a Superstar’ or whatever rap classic the DJ deigned to play. Beware the spontaneous Latin dancing, because it takes up a lot of dance floor, especially when we started throwing in touches like full spins and leg kicks.

But it was grand fun, even moreso with a Bud Light longneck in one hand and a Camel Light in the other. Sometimes a cute gay boy would come over and try to learn the dance [but usually they were just making out with each other].

Well, this morning, in the shower, I found myself singing Abba’s ‘Fernando.’ Next thing you know, it’s impromptu Latin dance time, and I’m doing the cha-cha as I lather-rinse-repeat, and suddenly I realize just how old 25 can be.

I mean, seriously. Abba? In the shower? Somebody shoot me.

Cervix with a smile

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At long last, I have time to blog! I am not sleeping, showering, or at work. Iain is not using the computer to type up a unit test, and we are not watching the Simpsons. I’m not on the phone or eating dinner. It’s blog time, everybody!

I’ve been wanting to write long, introspective posts for like two weeks now, and keep coming up with topics I want to write about, blah blah blah, but it seems like there are zero hours in the day for things I want to do. Until today, when I have two hours before an officewarming party. Hence this long and boring foray into my life. Shall we begin?

Christmas: I am fucking excited for this holiday. I already have two-thirds of my cards done and half the shopping done. I’ve been collecting recipes and setting out decorations. And my December bible is this: Martha Stewart’s Holiday Planner [web, pdf]. Mmm, mmm, mmm … no one does anal-retentive scheduling like my Martha. I have it printed out, in color, and hanging on the corkboard in the kitchen so that I always know what I need to do this week to be happy and productive. It’s so lovely, you don’t even know.

Nest much? Speaking of anal-retentive, I made two ham-and-cheese casseroles from [practically] scratch yesterday — one for dinner, and one for the freezer. Motherfucking domestic, I’m telling you. I also cleaned all the bathroom grout with a toothbrush, vacuumed the ceiling, and Windexed everything in sight. The baby’s room is clean and organzied, with all 125+ pieces of baby clothing sorted into size, shape and purpose and then washed, folded and put away.

Goddamn. Is it any wonder I feel like I have no time to blog? I think Iain’s OCD is rubbing off on me.

Unleashing the awesome power of applesauce: So we made it almost two years without the crutch of television. However, I must confess that watching double episodes of The Simpsons has become a nearly-nightly ritual with dinner. But at least I still mute the commercials.

I don’t get no respect: I’m seriously starting to get pissed. When you see a nine-months-pregnant woman waddling down the street, or grimacing in pain, or stopping to catch her breath, let’s give her a little sympathy, shall we? Do not race past her to take the primo parking spot, or honk because she’s taking a while to get across the street. Jesus Christ.

And! She already knows she’s hugely gigantic. The wrong thing to do, Mr. Orange-Striped Pants Target Shopper, is to whistle and exclaim “Holy hoosegow!” while standing directly in my way. Do you think I haven’t noticed this giant, distended 30-pound belly? Have you never seen a pregnant woman before? This shit is hard work. And I was in a bad mood already before I saw your hideous pants. Besides, I’m not so sure your wife appreciated the whistle.

God. It’s really hard to sustain a happy mood anymore. Thinking about Hoosegow Man, and certain other idiots of my acquaintance, has made me all grumpy again. Let’s segue into something cheerier, if not wayyyyyy too personal …

Let’s get effaced: Went to the doc again this morning [a now-weekly event] and was poked and prodded. I’m officially full-term this week, though it’s three weeks until the due date. The happy news is that Beaner is already in firing position, head down and ready to go, feet somewhere up around my shoulderblades. Plus! Plus! I’m dilated a little bit. Technically this doesn’t mean anything, but un-technically it means he’s already thinking about getting the hell out of mama, and mama is really fucking glad about that.

I wish I had some pregnant friends. I feel like I’m the first person in the universe to have a baby.

Pregnancy autism: Someone will no doubt remind me that I am in no way the first person in the universe to have a baby, and that such lengthy pity parties are boring. To which I say: If you had a tumor the size of a microwave sticking out of you, you’d probably mention it once or twice.

But I did realize the other day how incredibly narrow my world has become. I have very little clue what’s going on with anyone or anything other than Iain or myself. I’ve only been reading, like, three blogs of late, and only on a semi-regular basis, with the exception of Dooce, which I’m suddenly obsessed with, because of the whole baby thing. I have no clue what’s been in the news, and it’s been quite some time since I made a long-distance phone call. It’s like my brain just can’t contain all this La Leche League information AND critically analyze George Bush’s cabinet at the same time. Christ, I can barely finish a novel any more.

I’m praying that I get these things back after the baby’s born: My old figure, or something approximating it; my previous alcohol tolerance; and my interest in current events.

So if you’re feeling neglected, I apologize, and if you’re feeling like I whine too much about being pregnant, then fuck you, well, I apologize for that, too.

Interesting. I started this post trying very diplomatically to write about something other than the bee ay bee why, but we can see how quickly that plan disintegrated. Proves the rule, I suppose. But now, it’s time for me to primp for the officewarming, as much as a lady with child can primp. Guess that means more mascara!!

I shall return, hopefully by the end of this week, with a new design for Supafine.

Until then —

This post brought to you by: July, July! from the album “Castaways And Cutouts” by The Decemberists. Ha.

Pass the potatoes, please

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Sigh … remember Thanksgiving 2004? Wasn’t that terrific? Boy, I wish I had some photos to remember it by — OH, WAIT! I DO! Such as this Thanksgiving miracle, wherein a holy image of a circus seal appeared on Emmy’s plate.

The Croissant

But wait, there’s more! Who could forget:
Dad and Ry-Guy
Gundy the wonder dog
Random hungry teenagers
My baby shower [complete with Pollyeye’s breadsticks]
The whole fam-damn-ly [including a member of the witness protection program and two sibs you don’t see too often].

Ahh … what a wonderful trip down Memory Lane. Hard to believe it was so many days ago … but I swear, I’ll never forget it.

Pregnant prima donna

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Been too swollen, tired, sore, bruised and out of breath to blog. Hands like sausages. Feet threatening to burst through shoeleather. World’s largest belly straining the limits of every last article of clothing. Bladder can only withstand 15 minutes of inactivity before forcing me to the loo again. Hair a frizzy mess. Sleep once again impossible. Brain not functioning at full capacity. E-mails forgotten, schedule a hazy blur, work a bitter joke.

Tendency toward self-absorption rather frequent, if you haven’t noticed.