Natalie learns to play patty-cake

This bear is one that Natalie's Auntie Bev gave to her. It plays patty-cake with you and claps its hands while it chants the familiar rhyme. Apparently, Natalie really wanted to get in on the action. She tipped over the bear and began beating it happily. Funny stuff.

Utterly Exhausted

Keith and I are vowing not to go anywhere next year. I'm sure we'll recant that statement, but after driving all over SoCal and back again with a baby, we're not relishing the prospect of doing it again during our short two-week break. This is compounded by the fact that my birthday is tomorrow and we're going back to San Diego to see John Mayer (FANTASTIC birthday gift from Dad & Yvette).

Don't get me wrong. I don't mean to complain. I'm just sayin' that we're tired. Really, really tired.

In other news, Natalie danced for the first time today and she's been giving hugs for the past few days. Totally and completely awesome. Love that little Bean.

My Review of San Diego Chargers Womens Custom Short Sleeve T-Shirt

Originally submitted at NFL

You'll look great supporting your favorite team in this curve-hugging women's custom short-sleeve cotton t-shirt. It's fitted to accentuate your feminine shape and designed with your choice of personalized heat-sealed graphics on the chest, back, and sleeves.

San Diego Chargers Womens Custom Short Sleeve T-Shirt

Pretty design, but fits small

By Chargers Fan from Yorba Linda, CA on 12/22/2009

 

4out of 5

Pros: Shows Off Team Pride, Stylish Design, Authentic Look

Best Uses: Anytime, Around Town, At The Game

Describe Yourself: Sports Enthusiast

The shirt looks amazing, but the fit is very tight (I bought a medium thinking it would fit like my other medium shirts). The material is pretty heavy, which is nice, but it is also not terribly stretchy. Since they don't allow you to return personalized merchandise, I want to warn other buyers to buy this product bigger than you might ordinarily order.

(legalese)

Grammar Rant

It's the holiday season and that's the usual time for apostrophe nonsense. As such, I'm here to set those offenders straight. Yes, it's snarky, but I'm an English teacher at heart and feel the need to make our fellow Americans look smarter, if at all possible.

Apostrophes are used for various purposes, but most often to indicate a contraction (as in don't for do not) or ownership (Is that Sharleen's sweater?). Recently, I've been noting that people are using contractions broadly to indicate several of something. Please note that apostrophes are NEVER used to make a noun plural, including last names. See my examples of correct apostrophe usage below and feel free to use this rule all year long.

Apostrophes used in ownership

We're going to Melanie Carmona's house for dinner.

OR

We're going to the Carmonas' house for dinner. (note that since there are several Carmonas, I've attached an apostrophe to the end)

We're not going to Tiger Woods' house because he was a philandering idiot and now is facing an ugly divorce. (note that since Tiger's last name naturally ends in an s, I've added an apostrophe at the end to indicate he owns his house. This is more common than the Chicago style of adding an apostrophe s, but that is technically correct, as well)

OR

We're not going to the Woodses' house...

Correct use of plurals

Merry Christmas from The Carmonas!

The Carmonas wish you a Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas! Love, The Carmonas

OR

Merry Christmas from The Woodses! (I know that looks weird, but it's technically correct. If you don't like that option, you can do this: Merry Christmas from The Woods Family)

Natalie Meets the Mouse!

Yesterday was our first family trip to Disneyland. We aren't sure yet who was more excited: Natalie, Mom and Dad, or Auntie Ali (though I think Ali edged the rest of us out by traveling all the way up here solo after spending the last two months all over the country and away from her husband and home!).

We had a blast watching our little wunderkind bright-eyed and amazed at all of the Christmas-y decor at the park and waited for a whopping 45 minutes to ride "It's a Small World". That was a successful first ride, what with all of the visual and auditory stimulation. Natalie was a tad overwhelmed looking from side to side--and even at the ceiling--while the songs rotated between the traditional song to Jingle Bells to Deck the Halls. Still, I think she liked it.

We're looking forward to going back soon!

Mr. Crab's Stand-up Show

Natalie's first day of Disney fun culminated in her usual bath time routine...except for Auntie Ali's new bath character "Mr. Crab". Imagine our surprise when Natalie found him the most hysterical event of the day!

Reading is FUN!

Natalie and I spend lots of time on the floor playing with toys, but we also read quite often for a baby. Of course, she usually likes to put the books in her mouth, but no matter. She'll learn from a very young age that reading is tasty, er, educational and enjoyable. Here she is, only 7 months old and enthused beyond belief about her books. We're so lucky.

Foof Land

We noticed right away in the hospital that the only way Natalie was calm was when she was sucking on Keith's finger. It's not always convenient to have a child sucking on your finger, hence we all developed a quick and easy love affair with the "foof".

Side-note: Keith has always called Natalie's pacifiers "foofs". I think he heard Anna and Julia call theirs "fuffies" and tweaked the term. (Anna and Julia hail from Keith's cousin Brian and his wife Toni, who also watches Natalie while I'm at work.)

The upside of having a foof around is a tranquil, peaceful child. She sleeps more soundly and doesn't fuss as much in her carseat. The downside is that she's a shameless addict. As Keith would say, "Natalie + foofs = true love." This means that every time she loses her pacifier, she becomes a madwoman in a single-minded pursuit to retrieve it. Unfortunately, she never understood how to do that and would call on us to assist...at 3:00 in the morning. That is, until now.

Yes, folks, Natalie has found a new talent. I've read about it in all the books and am reaping the benefits of following that advice. Here's how it works:

Foof Land

We re-designated her crib "Foof Land", littering it with no fewer than half a dozen pacifiers each day.

The Reconnoissance Mission
When Natalie awakens after losing the original foof that she had at the start of her nap/sleep, she rolls over and sweeps at the mattress. Locating several foofs at a time can be problematic, but she usually settles on one and brings it to her fishy-lipped mouth.

The Eagle Has Landed!

Twirling the plastic (sometimes only with one hand!), she'll play a round of what we call "foof games" to figure out which way it belongs in her mouth. When she's still sleeping, this doesn't last long and always results in a correctly-seated foof. When she's awake, this process becomes playful and often involves more than one foof. As you can see in the picture (I had to take a picture of the monitor, lest I disturb the foof games today), she has one in her mouth and is examining another. This was after she had tried out four others.

You know what they say: practice makes perfect. We are SO pleased with our sweet wunderkind and her sleep-saving tricks.

Lots of Snot

Yes, phlegm is an unwelcome visitor in the Carmona household and Natalie has not only learned about viruses, but she also learned that "sharing is caring" this week. Namely--she shared her cold with me. Fun.

Life with an illness before child:

Rolling over at the sound of Keith's alarm, I would create a happy, soft, warm nest of pillows in the dead middle of the bed, give a dramatic cough or sniffle, and settle back to sleep--sometimes for hours. The cats loved when I stayed home. They'd get loads of attention from me because I'd be the stationary (temporary) cat-lady.

Taking sick days was a rare occurrence, but when it happened, I'd curl up on the sofa and watch my DVR'ed shows, channel surf, catch up on emails, go online, or even read a whole book front to back. While it sucked to be sick, it was almost relaxing.

I would baby myself (pardon the pun) and require Keith to shower me with attention (don't worry--I always reciprocate when the tables are turned). I'd take loads of OTC medicine and relaxing baths, turning in early for the night.

Life with an illness WITH child:

I wake up at the same time I usually awaken, sometimes after being up half the night with Natalie (suctioning, nursing, calming, and putting baby back to bed). This is usually around 6:00 a.m. Sometimes earlier, sometimes later. Like 6:15.

I get ready just like any other day. If I don't shower now, I might not get a chance. Plus, my throat is closed and pained, and my sinuses are clogged. The steam might help and with no medicine, over-the-counter or otherwise, I'll take what I can get. Of course, this shower has to be quick; no baths today.

Scush needs entertainment during the blow-drying of my hair, so I sing (with ultra-sore throat) The Wheels on the Bus (Go Round and Round...), making up lyrics to elongate the song whilst sweeping mucus from under my nose and simultaneously applying a scant amount of makeup, just in case I have to show my sleep-deprived and sick self in public (scary!).

After I dress--sometimes in the same pajamas (with clean underwear, thank you)--, I head downstairs and maybe eat breakfast (or maybe not) before feeding Natalie and then entertaining her until her first nap of the day. The regular schedule commences, with added nursing for sick Bean. Mommy = Clara Belle Cow, especially when child is ill.

Maybe I'll have 20-40 minutes of rest while baby naps, but this is interrupted often by bouts of crying, coughing, and sneezing--by the baby, not the mom. I go upstairs to calm the girl and (fingers crossed!) get her to sleep some more. When it's apparent that she is not going to continue rest, I bring her downstairs to play/nurse/fuss. When she's ready to eat, I nurse her until she inevitably falls asleep on me and I have to urinate. Every time without fail. Murphy--I live my life by your law.

Repeat until Keith gets home from work.

After baby goes to bed (and the three loads of laundry are done and the dishwasher is cleaned out and the house is picked up), I'll have glass of wine to take the edge off. Keith, bless his heart, is the chef and he makes dinner for me even when I'm healthy. Sigh. Lucky much? We'll watch a little TV, talk about our day, and then turn in at the usual time. I pump (as usual) and turn in, hoping for a few straight hours of sleep before Natalie awakens screaming with snot pouring out of her head. For now, it's peaceful.

Baby's First Cold

And it's rocking our world. No sleep--AGAIN--even after all that teething. And the poor thing can hardly breathe enough to eat. Thank GOD she can breathe through her mouth, now. Too tired to write more. Will report later.

Sigh.

Some things I know about parenting so far...

1. Sleep is not totally necessary for survival. It is lovely, but one can survive on very few hours of sleep.
2. My baby's smile/laugh is all I need for a quick pick-me-up.
3. My DVR is really full. Like, more full than it's ever been and I even deleted a bunch of season passes. Seriously.
4. Wine helps.
5. Squishy thighs and baby parts are super fun to squeeze. (But don't squeeze them too hard.)
6. Other parents (yours truly included) are very judgmental as to HOW they believe a child should be raised.
7. Books can explain/teach a lot, but not everything. Some of it is just art and love.
8. "Me time" flies out the window when you have a kid. (I remember my child-less life with fondness only because I remember what it was like to do whatever, whenever.)
9. Breastfeeding is one of the hardest parts of being a mom, but also one of the most rewarding.
10. Did I mention wine?

Optimism Prevails!

I guess having positive thoughts DOES work. The last two nights have seen our darling daughter sleep through without even a meal! Last night, she didn't even call us into her boudoir to soothe her. Rather, she slept a blissful 11+ hours. Ahhh...

Of course, even with our bout of optimism, I would be remiss if I didn't mention that we're aware that things can change in the blink of an eye. Tonight could be one of "those" nights, but we'll just relish the memory of the past few.

Oh Whiny One

Well, we're still in the teething stage, but Keith and I are optimistic that the first tooth will pop through any day. Our Natalie is such a good-natured baby; sometimes she'll be fussing and, through her tears or cries, she'll smile at something we do that amuses her. What a cutie. Love that girl.

We recently took pictures out on the front lawn before the time change on Halloween. Oh, and she is so cute it's scary. : )

Teething Troubles and Spooky Symptoms!

So I guess our daughter has found a culturally appropriate time (the end of October) for having tooth issues (New Moon in the Twilight saga, a story about a vampire's star-crossed love with human, is one of the most hotly anticipated films of the season). We are quite convinced that she's teething. Here are the reasons:

1. She drools. A TON. Okay, she has been since she was nine weeks old, but it hasn't gone away and if anything has only gotten worse.
2. She refused to nurse yesterday. This rarely happens, but is usually caused by a nasty inner ear infection or teething. She has no fever, has not pulled at her ears, and happily took the bottle, so the former is probably out.
3. She's super fussy, a behavior that hasn't shown itself since she was a newborn.
4. She stuffs anything and everything into her mouth.
5. She's fond of frozen washcloths and pacifiers dipped in cold water.
6. She's up all night, and not in a "let's party, I'm fun" good way. In fact, we FINALLY got her sleeping through the night, our sleep deprivation is FINALLY at bay, and this happens. Ugh. Seriously? Seriously.
7. She'll go from happy to crying hysterically in the blink of an eye for what seems like no reason.

We knew it would happen sometime, so I guess it's nice of her to begin her shenanigans on the weekend. As I finish this post, it's Halloween night and while it's been touch and go all day (very short naps, painful feeding sessions, etc.), she's been down for more than an hour with no wakefulness. That morning walk to CVS for every teething remedy known to man might have helped, but only time will tell...

At this point, we're praying to all the gods, crossing our fingers, drinking some wine, and doing a sleep dance (if a rain dance exists, surely a sleep dance does, too). Wish us luck.

Why is it...

...that new parents (okay, so I'm just speaking for me) feel about 96 years old? My joints creak when I move, my limbs ache, and I'm tired and ready for bed by about 8:30. Let the good times roll!

Ahhh...

Thanks to my biological sister (Ali) and my sister-from-another-mister (Leen), I was able to find and fix the typo in my really long blog entry about Natalie's birth. Thanks, ladies!

Natalie's Birth Story

It's high time I did this, and everyone tells me that the longer I wait, the more memories that drift off into Never-Never Land. So here goes...(and it's a LONG one, so prepare yourself! Oh yeah, and there just might be some TMI [too much information] alerts, so prepare for that, too!)

May 8-10, 2009

We (Judi, Howard, Mark, Sundey, Ali, Jack, Keith and I) traveled to my dad's vacation house in La Quinta for Keith's birthday. Keith came home from work early so that we could make it there in time for our 7 p.m. dinner reservations. Unfortunately, while my dad and Yvette were en-route to the desert to join us, he came down with a terrible fever. They turned back; this was the right decision, as he was diagnosed with a nasty kidney infection and ended up hospitalized for several hours hooked up to an IV with both fluids and antibiotics. This was all whilst we enjoyed an opulent dinner including a steak tartare appetizer (fancy!) in a private room at the Hideaway.

The weekend was amazing. The boys golfed and the girls sunbathed in the backyard--the

weather was pristine and the pool a perfect temperature. I even felt comfortable enough around my family to sport my pre-pregnancy Chargers bikini! Don't believe me? Check out the pictures (Ali made me). The only thing that was slightly off about the weekend was me. My emotions were similar to those of PMS: I was incredibly sensitive and taking offense to totally benign statements. I even snapped at Keith and then dissolved into tears! This was certainly strange, but I chalked it up to increasing hormone supply in relation to my last month of pregnancy. Fortunately, I was able to bounce back and enjoy the rest of the weekend. Funny enough, I spotted Yvette's doggie pee pads in the master bathroom and snagged a couple of them hoping that (if properly placed on my side of the bed) they might save my mattress in case my water broke.

May 11, 2009

Monday was a flurry of activity. I did all of the laundry from our trip, cleaned out and put away my bag, and picked up the house. Come evening, I noticed that I had menstrual-like cramping. This was no different from my "irritable uterus" symptoms, though, so I figured it was just a relapse of some sort. They hung on all night long, never waning or intensifying, which was annoying and painful, but again, not necessarily a big red flag of any sort. I went to bed wondering when I'd meet my daughter. I just didn't realize it would be so very soon!

May 12, 2009

At 2:55, I awoke to the strangest sensation: hot water flowing from me onto my mattress. I leapt from the bed and called to Keith, "Holy cow, hon! I think my water just broke!" He awoke with a start while I assessed the situation over the toilet (well I wasn't going to ruin the carpet or my bed!).

I remember the sound of him fumbling for his glasses as he stumbled into the bathroom asking, "Okay, I have to ask, are you sure you just didn't pee?" Now high on adrenaline and fighting a quivering chin which was now bordering on quaking (shock was setting in), I laughed off his question and told him that this suggestion was an absolute impossibility. Natalie was on her way today. I think that deep inside, Keith knew that but was so shocked he had to ask. He ran around the house while I directed him ([TMI alert!] from the safety of the bathroom--after all, my water was still flowing!) through packing our bags. Yes, we were hopelessly underprepared for this trip, but had talked about it on countless occasions. I believe the conversation, every time we had it, went something like this:

"Honey, we need to pack our bags."

"Yes, we do."

Which was always followed by something like, "Why don't you do that today?" or "Let's do that this weekend." Procrastinators unite!

Needless to say, the bags stayed safely stowed in our guest room, empty and waiting. Fortunately, I have the greatest husband who is willing to happily run all over the house, gathering things for me (yoga pants!) and Natalie ("No, not that onesie. Get the other, cuter one.") without judging. Meanwhile, I was on the phone with the doctor on call and discovered that while I needed to make my appearance at the hospital soon, I was free to shower and make myself as beautiful as one can at four in the morning while in labor. Heh heh. The thought of a warm shower prior to the pain I was about to experience sounded like a great idea, so I gladly hopped in while Keith packed up the car with everything we'd ever need for the birth of our child (and more).

I calmly (contractions hadn't started yet and those menstrual-like cramps were blissfully absent at this time) blow-dried my hair, put on some light makeup (yes, I'm vain, and darn it, I wanted to look semi-good in those post-birth pictures), got dressed, and headed downstairs. I found Keith in the garage, struggling to re-install the car seat base over a humongous exercise (aka "birthing") ball. I watched him for a minute, hurling constructive suggestions at him, when suddenly, the cramps returned...with a vengeance.

Suddenly, my blase relaxation over getting to the hospital eventually was overshadowed by an immense need to have drugs immediately. Keith, however, was single-mindedly pursuing this venture with newfound passion and zeal. He foisted the blue ball at me through the passenger door with a terse, "Take this, will you? I've almost got it!" I channeled Godzilla and muttered something about getting to the hospital NOW. He quickly scrambled to finish the seat and off we went. [By the way--the drive to Fullerton from Yorba Linda is a relatively short one (at 4 a.m., it should be about 10-15 minutes), but when you're having contractions that are two minutes apart and horrendously painful, it feels like at least an hour.] Quick shout-out to ContractionMaster on the iPhone. Yes. There's an app for that, too.

We arrived at the hospital and searched for a parking spot close to the door; I was in labor, after all. Leaving everything in the car, Keith accompanied me to the brand new labor and delivery floor of the hospital. Fortunately for us, it was really early in the morning and we were immediately helped. My nurse, Jen, funny enough, was the same wonderful woman we had helping us during our first stint in the hospital when I began having pre-term labor pains. She noted how much pain I was in, remarked that everyone is different and yes, it was normal for me to be having contractions two minutes apart, and told me that she'd page the anesthesiologist as soon as possible. Yippee.

In the meantime, adorably perky and all-around great gal Nurse Jen came in, examined me (ouch, ouch, OUCH), and determined that I was not dilating enough after my water broke. She told me that they'd have to start Pitocin (a synthetic form of oxytocin, a natural hormone that hastens labor. Ironically enough, it's the same that creates that feeling of butterflies in your stomach when you fall in love and is generated each time your baby nurses. Crazy thing, that science). This was my biggest fear, by far. I had heard horrible things about Pitocin: most notably, it would make my contractions far worse and push them even closer together. At two minutes apart and with me in pain already, I wasn't relishing the idea of this. Still, when you're literally tied to the bed (with IVs, not restraints...give me some credit!), you don't really have a choice, now, do you?

They offered to give me "something to take the edge off" prior to an epidural and I thought, What the heck? I should go for it. I will only experience labor once or twice, so I might see how much pain I can take before submitting myself to the epidural. Stupid, stupid girl. But now, I have the gift of hindsight. Next time, I'll be entering the hospital, lifting the back of my shirt, and demanding them to give me heavy medication prior to donning a gown. Apparently, the "edge" to which they were referring is much more slight than the pain I experienced. My pain was a hungry, evil, drooling prehistoric beast, ready to swallow whole the idiot who dared to come into its path (me) whereas the drugs were out to tame something more like a slightly miffed platypus. Needless to say, I was not helped by either injection (yes, I asked for a second).

By now, the anesthesiologist (paradoxically both my most treasured and yet least favorite hospital staff member) had determined that I had the lowest pain threshold she'd ever seen; yes, she even remarked this publicly to all of the inhabitants of the room in what I remember as a snarky manner. (Given the circumstances, I will admit that I was probably taking things personally, but the declaration itself, regardless of tone, was unprofessional either way you cut it.) I wasn't amused, nor was I ashamed. We all have our own birth experience and dang it, this is mine. Now kindly inject some sort of elephant tranquilizer into my spinal cord, if you please.

Ahh...sweet relief! I was visited during what I like to call the "Lake Wobegon" period of my labor by everyone on both sides of the family: Dad, Yvette, Judi, Howard and Mark were all granted the green light. I also napped (yes, actual sleep!) while Ali, Mom, and Keith floated in and out of the LDR (labor/delivery/recovery) suite. After a cursory examination around 2:30 p.m., Jen declared that I was at 9-10 centimeters and might be ready to start pushing. She wanted to wait until I "felt like pushing" before we started though. To which I replied, "Um. I'm numb. Am I supposed to be feeling anything?" Apparently, even with an epidural, you still have the urge, so I waited for something to happen. Wait. What was that? A slight pain in my right side, similar to a runner's cramp but lower ebbed and flowed with each contraction. As I continued through labor, these cramps began to increase in intensity, but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. So when Jen came to check on me around 3:10, I explained this feeling and she seemed convinced that we could try and see where the pushing got us.

Try we did. Without including scary details (and from what I remember, they are scary, but I hear that you're supposed to block them from your memory so that you will want to have another child some time in the future), I pushed like a champion for the next thirty minutes. Simultaneously, that strange pain was creeping in more and more with each series of pushes. At one point, I rested my hand on the top of my belly and burning hot shards of glass coursed through me. I gasped in horror as I tried to articulate to Jen what had just happened. She clarified that at this point in the process, the uterus has been contracting for so many hours that the merest touch can send someone up a wall...like me. Oops. Wish someone had told me before. Wait. Isn't my epidural supposed to be protecting me from little mishaps like that one? That is the general intent of an epidural but mine was rapidly wearing off from the top of the uterus down. When the doctor cruised in to play "catcher", I was huffing and puffing in major distress, hoping I was strong enough to actually go through with this (Ha! Like there was any other option?).

TMI ALERT!! Read on at your own risk. I've edited this to make sure that it's not too graphic, but I am telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

Dr. Buchanan was on-call, so he would assist me rather than my actual doctor, Dr. Henderson. He popped in after Jen summoned him and was extremely supportive. What seemed like 24 hours (but was really only about 15-20 minutes) later, I saw my husband's face light up. Apparently, the head was crowning. I thought I'd experience that feeling and know,

without a doubt, that this was happening. Not so. Even though I could feel the pain of birth, I was so in the moment that I had to look at my husband's face (and doctor's and mom's and sister's) for confirmation. Once again, I did not feel the episiotomy that Dr. Buchanan humanely performed (after about five series of ineffective, but heartfelt pushes), and finally, Natalie had a peek at the world. She must have liked it because the rest of her followed with just a few more pushes.

They say you forget. And with it being October 19 as I write this, they're right. I have forgotten the finer points, but I remember feeling a great injustice as Keith oohed and aahed over our baby at her weighing and measuring. Why? Because I was being stitched up like a Thanksgiving turkey with NO drugs. Pain much? Add to that the mammoth amount of hormones coursing through my body and you've got a pretty hysterical woman. Fortunately, I'm a cool cucumber in these types of situations (like I've been through them before, right?). I just kept dialogue flowing with the rest of the room, listening for the "10 fingers, 10 toes" verification, and, when I felt that too much time had elapsed, demanded my damned baby! Um, hello? Everyone else is benefiting from all of my work. Let's reward those who most deserve it, hmm?

When that little, helpless, squishy pile of sweetness was placed on my chest, I was

overcome with so much emotion. She was (and is) a gift. I cannot express how I feel because it has grown exponentially since that day, but I know that I felt more than I have ever felt before. Like the Grinch, my heart grew three sizes that day. I think the same happened for Keith. He was smitten then and is definitely more in love with that pudgy thing every day that she uses her feminine wiles to draw him in.

Life is good.

I need to blog!

Okay, so what? I have a baby and I think I can just leave my blog to rot? Sheesh. What a cop out. I'll get blogging soon.  I know you're dying to hear about Natalie's birth, so I'll get on it when I have a free moment...in between eating bon bons and getting facials.

Update

Well, I have a side-stitch that would rival any marathon runner's, so I figure I've done my part to be productive today. Trips to the Carmonas' house (to let Jackson out--this time, only #1 folks), the grocery store, back home to put away groceries and measure light in kitchen, Bed, Bath, & Beyond (for Natalie's room), and Home Depot (for the aforementioned fluorescent light), and then home again to put it all away (including installing the lightbulb) made me feel like I had earned my keep for another day.

Well, considering that I'm currently typing one-handed due to a rather large male feline on my lap, I'm off.

Justification

I'm nine months pregnant now, so I guess it's okay when I say that I intend to do a lot of things in one day, but then only do some of those things...right? That is to say, I've been somewhat productive in small bursts today, but have also sat on the couch watching DVR'd shows and "internetting" for several hours. I suppose that most people, upon having a watermelon tied to their abdomen (with no ability to remove it, of course), would be quite lazy, as well.  I even lack the motivation to shower or dress myself in anything other than the clothes in which I slept.

Okay, now that I've read that back, I feel the need to stop justifying my laziness and get some more crap done. Look out world: here I come.

Poop Patrol

Today, Judi requested that I go over to let Jackson, the Carmonas' adorable golden lab, out to pee.  I wanted to do one better than that, so I decided to take him

 for a walk. He's usually very good with me on the leash and we haven't had one of our buddy walks in a long while. It's a beautiful day, too. But while I still love my sweet "rental-dog", he sure did throw me for a loop today.

I let him out first to pee and/or poop and he just looked at me like, "So? Are we leaving?"  I supposed that he didn't have any 'business' to do, so I clipped on the leash and set out on our way.  As soon as we got all the way up the street (and I do mean UP in the literal sense of the word), he gave me that look.  You know the one.  There was no way to stop this act anymore than one could halt the waves in the ocean.  And let me tell you--it had to be at least three days' worth of 'business'.  

Oh Jackson.  

So this pregnant woman waddled her way back down to the Carmona homestead in search of plastic bags. There was NO way I'd leave that on a neighbor's lawn, no matter how far away they live.  We maneuvered our way back up to the house--by this time, I was panting and we'll say 'glowing'--so that I could pick it up. Amazingly the poop fairy hadn't come. Dang.  

To my credit, I didn't gag once, and luckily, there was a trash can nearby so that said 'business' didn't have to accompany us on our walk.  Perhaps this stint is just fate's way of getting me--the ultimate super prissy girly-girl--to acknowledge that I'll have to deal with so many more bodily fluids in the near future...

I hope he's happy.

Dinner with friends

We have been out to dinner twice this week with friends we haven't seen in a long time. It's SO nice to catch up, isn't it? Truly, I miss the laughter most. As we embark on our new journey with a child, we'll have to remember that these are important to fit in every once in awhile.

Quick Poll

Oops. I accidentally typed "would you'd rather" and meant to type "would you rather".  For the self-proclaimed grammar Nazi, it's even more frustrating that once someone votes, I can't edit the poll.  

Forgive me?

The Wonders of Womanhood, part VII

Lest I sound like a super-complainer, I've been trying to deal with the little (okay, rather large) symptoms I've been dealt during my last trimester. But alas, 'tis time to share again. If I get too whiny, please feel free to stop reading at any time. I do feel, however, that there is one person out there who will read my post and be able to commiserate and even be comforted by the idea that there is someone else in their particular boat.

Without further ado, here are some of the finer points of pregnancy, months 7-9:

Carpal tunnel

Oh joy. I was taken out of work and rather than sit around watching TV the entire time, I decided to become more productive. I've always wanted to learn how to crochet, so I bought some books and yarn, signed up for a class, and set out to achieve my goal. Little did I know that my blanket project (pre-class), which seemed much more difficult and painful on my hands, might scar me for life...or, at least for the remainder of my pregnancy (let's hope). 

When I arrived at Tall Mouse with my tightly stitched blanket and gnarled hands, my adorable British instructor, Brenda, informed me that I had been doing the most basic stitch--a slip stitch--the entire time. While this does result in a very tightly woven material, it is not kind on the hands at all. She gave me a quick tutorial on the varied crochet stitches I could use and got 

me started on a proper baby blanket, complete with pattern and everything! To the left, you'll see our cheeky girl-cat Cleo sleeping soundly in the crib on top of my blanket during the chair rail installation. Apparently, she is quite the Princess, too, and wanted us to be fully aware of that fact.

Well, being that my doctor had put me into a quasi-bed rest situation, I was a woman on a mission. If I couldn't do the dishes, clean the house, etc., by God I was going to finish this blanket in record time. I crocheted like a maniac, somewhat possessed by my newfound talent. Yes, there are some imperfections, but my first creation is wonderful and I'm incredibly proud. Of  course, once I finished (in record time, I might add), I began to feel some pain in my right hand. Now I'm a product of those swollen joints I had read about and scoffed at on the message boards: "Ha ha ha!" I would proclaim in my head triumphantly. "I may have cramping, frequent contractions, and fainting spells, but I'll never get this 'carpal tunnel' thing from which you suffer. Ha ha ha!" Famous last words. 

In fact, I was going to post more, but typing is one of those tasks that affects said joints. So I'll have to update you with more maladies later.

Good news!

We had a doctor's appointment last night and because I'm at 34 weeks, the doctor has given me the okay to get up and move around, regardless of contractions!  YAY!  Of course, my wish is for her to make it to at least 38 weeks (or preferably past Keith's birthday).  She'll come when she comes, right?  

And at least I know she's healthy!  This little cheeky monkey has been so active during the last few days. My abdomen has been a flutter of activity, from rolling, to hiccups, to what feels inexplicably like the macarena... Dr. Henderson was outright giggling as he tried to find her heartbeat, only to be met with the swooshing sounds of her water-baby antics. When he did discover it, he noted that it was fast because she has been so active. Love that baby girl! The Princess sure keeps us entertained.

Home Improvement

Keith has been joking with me that I'm in a total nesting stage 

right now.  I'm sure it has nothing to

 do with the fact that I'm out of work and not able to do much, so all I can do is watch boatloads of HGTV and dream about the various renovations we could do around here prior to the arrival of our first child.

So yes, nesting kicked off last week with a formal garage cleaning, purging of all things electronic to the recycling event, a massive trip to Goodwill, and completion (well, almost!) of Princess' room.  Keith did all the heavy lifting, furniture moving, and most of the ladder-climbing (I had to help with the ceiling fan because I like to think that I channel Bob Vila's spirit when it comes to wiring).  Pictures will come soon once all of the work is done.

Today, we continue the process with Larry, our handyman, taking some of the heat off of my poor husband. The first picture you'll see is a sample of the four new lights we had installed (one by the front door, this one by the back door, and two on either side of the garage).  The second picture is of the backyard concrete slab where we used to have three very unsafe and rusty patio studs for a nonexistent patio cover (guess the old owner took it out but never replaced it). We had Larry saw down the studs and now, aside from some slight discoloration, we can actually make use of the space again! With a baby coming very soon, it seemed like an opportune time to take care of this.

With Keith taking a large amount of his spring break (and now his weeknights after working a good 11-12 hours) to do handyman tasks around the house, check writing never felt so good!  He returned home last night at 7:20, made me a healthy dinner, cleaned it up, and then retired to the garage to paint the chair rail that will be going up in Princess' room today.  He's got to be exhausted.

This is an online conversation between three ADULT women about to give birth

No, I'm not kidding.  (Now you'll understand my next post about being a grammar Nazi.)

Mom A:

Okay i think im geting contractions again but im not feeling pain so im assuming BH's but i was wondering if when anyone else gets them either real contractions ot BH's if their heart races and the feel the tightening up in their chest and you get like a hot flash and its almost like its taking the breath out of you..

Then all of that goes away as soon as your stomach isnt tight anymore..  Does this happen with anyone else or am i completely weird and alone in this.. lol

Mom B:

See if they get closer or you start having pain agin.  When are you due to take your med agin?  Then call in the morning and talk to doc.  Sometimes you have to get kinda agressive with the nurses.  Not mean but agressive.  If that makes since.

Mom A:

I hate going to L&D they moniter me for 6 hours almost then tell me okay your fine you can go home now..Yeah i think ill just wait to see if they get closer or call L&D and talk to a nurse there and see what she says.. 

Mom C:

Good idea! And I would do what the other mama's are advising too, but stay calm, your doing all the right things and that is what's best for baby :)

Grammar Nazi

Admittedly, I am completely persnickety when it comes to all things grammar, but some things annoy me more than others. Here are a few that I see BLATANTLY misused over and over again in our society:

• lose vs. loose -- No. You did no loose your cat or your purse, unless you pulled them until they stretched much larger. And that would be cruel.
• overused apostrophes -- When you add one of these bad boys plus an s to a word, you end up with POSSESSION, not plural.  So no, I would not like to go out for drink's and do not want to be wished a very merry Christmas from the Smith's. 
• Your and you're -- Don't you want to sound as smart as you think you are? When you're smart, your writing reflects that.
• Their, there, and they're -- There are three women talking in the previous post. Their grammar and spelling skills leave a lot to be desired.  They're annoying.
• Super DUMB spelling mistakes -- Look it up. You're an adult.  You can spell words like tomorrow and definitely correctly.  Be a ROLE (not roll) MODEL for our young generation, already!
• I'm sure there are more examples that frustrate the heck out of me, but I'm winded from all of this ranting. I'll have to write more later.

Regarding my more recent post with the moms talking: 

• Yes those mamas are nice, but they're not, nor will they ever be, "mama's".
  
• Spelling Lesson #1: again, not agin
• Spelling Lesson #2: aggressive, not agressive
• Spelling Lesson #3: sense, not since (at least the way you wrote it)
• Contractions aren't just for those who are pregnant or about to give birth! They're great!  They always involve an apostrophe, which is a special little symbol to let the reader know when you're shortening two words (like I am becomes "I'm").
• You're and your are not the same word. For instance, if you want to encourage someone, you say, "You're doing well!" and if you want to acknowledge someone's thanks, you say, "You're welcome."  Your is possessive.  It means you OWN something.  For instance, I might say, "Your intellect is clearly suffering from lack of grammar knowledge. This could be helped if you went back to elementary school."

GREAT news!

I just got back from my doctor's appointment and am happy to say that I get to go back to work tomorrow! We're all flabbergasted; several people were convinced that I'd be on bed rest for the remainder of my pregnancy. Nope! Turns out my uterus is as fussy as I am. Technically, it's "irritable" (it puts me through hell in preparing for this baby), but it's not "productive" (my cervix hasn't made any changes).

Way to go irritable uterus! NO more worrying and NO more bed rest for me! Yippee!!!!

Now I've got to go make dinner for my husband.

BTW--if you're interested, apparently there are support groups available for those like me: http://www.irritable-uterus.com/

Ta-Dah!!! The Big Reveal!

Yesterday, Keith worked a full day and then did a whirlwind six-hour round-trip to San Diego for a college basketball draft he does with my dad.  When he returned, he couldn't help NOT putting things away in our new closets.  I did my best to help put my things in drawers while he fetched them from the other room, but after the second contraction (yes, you heard me--yikes!), I threw in the towel.  There are still some odds and ends that need to be done, but we couldn't be more pleased!

Here is the final product:

Work in Progress

The AFTER shots

My new closet (formerly, Keith's ridiculous closet):

Keith's new closet (formerly my less ridiculous closet):

My new wardrobes (Keith, the wonderful one, allowed me to have more hanging space here in these new and pimptastic wardrobes that take the place of our mismatched dressers. I'd say it's a major improvement!):

I promise to take more pics once all of our clothes have a space.  I'm amazed that my clothes (I'm guilty of having WAY more than one girl should) are actually fitting in this new closet arrangement!  Wow.  Who knew?  Of course, I think it's high-time to do some more pruning and weeding for Goodwill...

Purging

Remember that post about how much crap we humans can acquire? Well, I'm proud (and ecstatic) to report that my wonderful husband and I have taken major steps to downsize in this area. (As I write this, I am ignoring our garage, which has a lot of crap in it and several passageways cleared for foot traffic, rather than actual cars.)

For Christmas last year, we identified one of our greatest needs: our master bedroom closets. (You may remember back in January that I mentioned this remodeling job.) Keith's is atrocious; it is encumbered by a huge HVAC soffit and has a ginormous section shoved into a corner that isn't even accessible, given that there is a wall blocking it. Lovely. Mine is a straight-shot reach-in closet that takes up the better part of one wall of our master. Not pretty, but functional nonetheless. Thanks to Dad and Yvette, our Christmas gift was about to be realized! Except it would take a little longer than we thought...

For a month and a half, we contacted and met with various contractors and handymen, all of whom gave differing suggestions on what we could do with the space. At one point, we were even considering removing part of our fourth bedroom and converting the space into more closet space for the master. While potentially great for us, this would be suicide for resale value. Add that to the conundrum of where to put kid #2 when he/she comes along and you've 

got yourself a bad solution.

Enter John, the owner of Yorba Linda Remodel. I have never met this man before, nor do I have any personal connection to him. Yet when I invited him in for a free estimate, he was the most honest businessman I've ever met. He and his wife were also in the position of having their first child together and he totally understood the need for a growing family. In addition, he was extremely realistic, pointing out the flaws of trying to change the infrastructure of our imperfect master; in short, creating a walk-in closet would encroach on our already small space and not do much of anything for storage solutions. He actually (gasp) recommended going with a company like California Closets, a company with which he had no personal experience, but about which he has had clients rave for years. Color me surprised. I thanked John and sent him on his way with the assurance that if we ever had any remodeling needs, he'd be my first phone call.

We had such a horrible space in which to design, but Bonnie over at CC really did work her tail off for us.  Three weeks later, we're finally getting installed on Monday (it feels like it's been forever to someone who is notorious for instant gratification, but I realize that it hasn't).

In preparing for our new arrival (no, not the baby yet!), Keith and I had some major work we had to do. Over the past three weekends, we've cleaned out the baby's closet, the guest closet, and done some more pruning of our own--we're usually pretty good about weeding for Goodwill a couple of times a year, so this wasn't too difficult.  

Keith and Jack, my wonderful bro-in-law, also cleaned out the entire gym and transformed it into our guest suite.  Since I'm not allowed to do any heavy-lifting, Keith even put up all of the wall trimmings!  I did some minor demolition, ridding the room of its bright blue metal horizontal blinds (no tears here!) and hanging a gorgeous set of brown drapery panels that we already had from our previous office in Irvine. Bonus! No money spent! The result is a zen space that Ali and Mom have already enjoyed immensely. They both agree that the new room is lovely enough to come visit frequently once Princess arrives. Joy!

This weekend, I'm still on modified bed rest and can't do anything to help. Fortunately, I have a handy hubby who was able to move everything out of both closets in record time and do demo. He's set to spackle and paint tomorrow, readying the space for our installers. It just pleases me to no end to see both closets totally empty and ready for their makeovers. I'm a long-time devotee of HGTV, so I feel like this before and after will be extra-special for me!

By moving the entire guest room into the front bedroom, Princess' room has also been totally cleared and is now ready for decorating...that is, until all of our closets were dumped into the empty space. But no fear, we'll be filling our new, organized space with these things again on Monday night. I can't wait!!

A message to our over-the-fence neighbor

Hey there neighbor! We've since forgotten your name, as you live over our back fence and we haven't seen you since the day you offered us any citrus fruits that fell into our back yard. Sorry about that.  But I wanted to say that your kindness has not been forgotten.  This is why it is difficult to write you this today.

You see, you, like many Yorba Linda residents, own a motor home.  Motor homes are large, hulking beasts that, unless one has a behemoth garage, usually reside along the side of the lot. Yours is no exception.  While I don't relish the view up to the gloriously green hills by way of your atrocity, I forgive you this "on the road again" passion.  I'm sure that motor home has provided you and your family with wonderful memories across this great nation.  I don't begrudge you that.  However, I do have a small bone to pick with you regarding your care and maintenance of said vehicle.

Throughout the rainy season, we would watch as you scurried to the top of that tan-colored roof to stretch a tarp over the top.  I remember thinking upon seeing this for the first time: Wow! That guy is committed to keeping his possessions in good repair. I wish I had that kind of commitment.  That is, until I saw the color of the tarp.  Don't get me wrong; this particular shade of blue would not look at all out of place in, say, Santorini, but here it is just a plastic eyesore.  

I had to keep myself in check; this guy sweetly shares his oranges and lemons with us (none of which have ever fallen into our yard, but whatever) and seems to put this ugly monstrosity up only when it rains...which is close to never in Southern California, right?

Wrong.  Now that we've lived here for almost two years, I am coming to the realization that our friendly neighbor has had it with the climbing.  This blue tarp stays up nearly 24/7.  

Possible plans of action? Finding a large tree to transplant, sneaking over to his house in the middle of the night to covertly steal it (tarp or motor home or both), um...yup...that's all I've got.  So if you have any bright ideas, I'm in the market for one.

What the &%!@ ?????

So I had on and off cramps for two and a half hours on Friday morning...like menstrual cramps.  I had them in the beginning of my pregnancy during the first trimester and remember it being totally normal; your uterus is expanding and this is part of it.  That's why they feel like your period. It's your uterus moving around and making room for the new addition.

I thought about calling my doctor, but wasn't really alarmed until I spoke to a teacher friend of mine who was incredibly concerned. She and her sister-in-law have both had pre-term labor and this is the first symptom, so she urged me to call right away.  I went to work, putting in a call to both the 24-hour nurse line (they told me to call my doctor, but his office doesn't open until 8:30) and then my doctor.  A few hours went by and my cramps, while subsiding greatly, were still intermittent throughout the morning.

During second period, I received a phone call from Dr. Henderson. I had to silence the phone (I was teaching, after all!) and call him back the second break started.  His message did not comfort me in the least, as it intimated that I was in grave danger.  Greeeeat.

Because he was in a room with a patient, Dr. Henderson asked the nurse to keep me on hold, as he needed to speak with me as soon as possible (did I mention the grave danger part?).  The minutes ticked by as I watched the clock tensely, knowing that the bell was due to ring any time.  As the bell rang, I heard his voice on the other end. Can we all say, "Murphy's Law?"  Oy vey.

He was all business: you're checking into labor and delivery immediately. We don't mess with pains like these, especially after you've told me that the pain wasn't very extreme.  

Okay. Here are immediate thoughts in my head: Uh...I've got a room full of students streaming in and no sub to speak of.  I also have bitchin' lesson plans with awesome amounts of technology--both of which are so much better when delivered by moi, rather than a sub.  Oh 

well. I gotta do what I gotta do.

I called the office and freaked the hell out of our amazing secretary, who informed me that the administrators were conveniently off-site and that she'd find someone with third period prep to send down to my room as soon as possible.  Enter Debi Storing, my savior, who enabled me to call/text my husband to come get me and mother-in-law to come bail me out of my classroom until a sub could show up.  I have an awesome local support system, don't I?

I'm going to bypass a lot of this, as it gets somewhat monotonous.  Let me break it down.  Keith and I spent over four hours in the Labor and Delivery ward where I was hooked to monitors for both the baby's heartbeat and my contractions (of which there were none).  Finally, after a urinary infection test (negative) and a shot to relax my uterus, we were sent home to rest all weekend.  In other news--Ali came up early; hospital nachos were eaten; her hair was shorn a bit more than she may have liked, but it was cheaper than $300.

They sent me home for lots of rest and water (that's a theme here, so get used to it) and told me to call my doctor if the symptoms continued.  On both Friday and Saturday nights, that's just what happened.  So, I called on Sunday and Dr. H told me to report to his office at 9 a.m. the next day.  Fast forward to sub plans and a ton of tests (all of which turned out GREAT!) and you've got my three-hour appointment. I was told to go home and call if the cramps returned.

I drove home by way of Yogurt Mania!, my fave fro-yo shop.  As I pulled out of the parking lot with my tasty treat in the cup holder, cramp #1 hit.  Pulling onto our street, cramp #2 surfaced. Fun times.  More followed, and this morning, more yet.  I put in a call to Dr. H, per his instruction, and was directed once again to the L & D ward for the FFN (fetal fibronectin test). Keith, bless his heart, picked me up and drove me there while I tried to hide the fact that I was quivering like a cold chihuahua inside.  Even though I bet him $5 that the test would be negative, I was still nervous that I might be experiencing some strange pre-term labor thing.  Lo and behold, after sharing three hours and a passable lunch of hospital roast beef, we heard the news: negative.  The doctor's official instructions: drink more water.  No, I'm not kidding.

So here I sit, two cramps later (I'm tracking them), wondering what the hell this all means.  It's annoying and frustrating, but I guess we're doing all we can to keep the princess safely encased in my warm little womb.  

AI redemption

I was right. I loved Danny last night, but am waiting to watch tonight's group until my husband can enjoy (and heckle) with me.  Hee hee...

American Idol

For the first time in years, Keith and I watched the AI auditions and fell in love with the show again. Mercifully, the producers highlighted the wonderful talents and limited the "self-indulgent" (thanks, Simon) clips of horrific singers with tacky costumes.

So I was sad to watch tonight and have the following thought:  Did anyone else watch the first 12 singers and fall asleep? Okay, so I've only seen half of them, but so far, I am bored and/or horrified by how much I don't like their song choices (eeek Stevie Wright and Jackie Tohn!).  Let's hope it gets better from here. I absolutely LOVE Danny Gokey, so I hope I'll love him tonight.

the Wonders of Womanhood, part VI

Crappy Immunity

Many moons ago, back in the infancy of my pregnancy, my wonderful mother-in-law, Judi, set out to create a family trip combining two loves: the sea and wine tasting. Yes, Lucas & Lewellen (a fabulous winery in downtown Solvang) was hosting a party of about 66 like-minded folks on Carnival Cruises for a 3-day venture to Ensenada and back; thanks to "Mrs. Amount", Keith and I got to join in on the fun!

Fast forward five months...

It's early February. I'm just at the fun part of gestation, when the belly is here, but it's not so big that I can't touch my feet or do simple tasks without grunting (okay, well, most of the time that's still true). In fact, I am just at the point (23 weeks) before Carnival cuts off its access to prego mamas like me. I jumped through all of the hoops (getting letters signed by the doctor, packing, taking personal days on either end to assure leisurely travel, etc.) and looked forward to our short getaway. Enter Friday, 2/6/09: the day the germs invaded.

I awaken to the soft purr of two cats cuddling with me, happy that I don't have to go to work but can sleep in--a rarity. Unfortunately, my husband needs me to print out boarding passes and such because he's going separately. My feet hit the floor at 6:03, but again, I'm not complaining because I've still got the morning off...until I see my email alerting me that the doctor's note I got a week ago will not be sufficient for Carnival and that, on THE day of the cruise, they need a special form signed. Rats.

Wait. What's this? Cough, cough. Hmm...that hacking sounded ominous. Bah. It's nothing. I'm fine.

There's nothing I can do until the doctor's office opens at 8:30 anyway, and now I'm up, so I go downstairs to make myself breakfast. While the water for my tasty Chocolate Malt-O-Meal (yum!) boils, I go about unloading the dishwasher. As I pull the handle, I smell something somewhat mildewy and foul. I begin to pull out the dishes, but notice that they all have a strange film on them. They look clean, but this is strange. I look a little closer and realize that my dishwasher has flooded and the dishes were sitting in still water. Lovely.

An hour and a half of baling water out with a combination of sponges and various kitchen tools, my delicious breakfast tastes like the paste I vaguely remember sampling in kindergarten. Still, it's only 7:40 and I still have some time to enjoy before we set out for Mexico. I call Judi and Howard to ask them if I can fax the doctor's form from their house. No problemo! I head over (cough, cough, coooooouuuuuuuughhh!) and trudge through the rain and back, vowing to go to the store, but losing resolve to come home instead. I watch Grey's Anatomy, call the doctor to assure that he got the fax, arrange to pick up the original letter he signed (which Carnival never asked for anyway--ugh!), and then watch Private Practice. Loafing is fun. Cough, cough, cooooouuuuughhh, cough, hack hack. I hoist myself up to get ready and go run errands: grocery store, pick up doctor's letter, drop off key with Kristen for kitty-babysitting, and back home to pack. All chores are punctuated with hacking and coughing of various lengths and magnitudes.

Um...what? This is not fair. I have had to deal with a lot today--on my day OFF--and I don't enjoy a visit from the lung cookie fairy, thank you very much.

Fast forward to our fun-filled vacation; albeit, it is rainy, but we still manage to make the most of our excursion. Each day I awaken, my virus takes a new and exciting turn. Here's the kicker: I can only battle these wonder-germs with Benadryl (one pink pill at bedtime does not a clear sinus make), Robitussin DM, and Ricola cough drops. This is akin to trying to disarm a bomb with nothing but chewing gum and a Q-tip. Really. Now I know that MacGuyver could do it, but I am hardly as talented. I even miss the festivities all day Sunday--the only dry and sunny day of our trip at sea--so that I can sleep and read in bed. On a cruise! And I can't even drown my sorrows away in yummy wine...on a WINE-tasting cruise excursion. Oh the humanity.

Thus, I sit tonight, aching, hacking, sniffling, sneezing (big, offended-cat-jumping-off-the-couch sneezes) and wondering if I'll need to take another day tomorrow to get well. Hey Princess, I know you're worth it, but this just sucks.

25 random things about me

I wrote this for Facebook, but it's such a work of art, I thought I'd post it here, too. Sorry for being totally redundant if you've already read it there. 

1. I truly believe that most things, even painful things, work out for the best. 2. I have aspirations to become a professional novelist, even though I fear that I don't have good enough ideas or the skill to succeed. 3. I'm a natural introvert, but my job, sister, and husband help me to be extremely social. 4. Sometimes, I get absolutely CRAZY and must organize a drawer or cabinet (and sometimes I go mental and do both). 5. I love a reading a really good book. 6. I have a hard time napping, even when totally exhausted. 7. I like to believe that most people have the best intentions. 8. Ants freak me out. If I have to clean them up, I have to shower immediately afterward or suffer that "itchy" feeling all day. 9. Crafty things are good in theory, but I'm way too lazy to do all that. 10. I worry that I won't be good at feeding my child because I lack the cooking gene. 11. Listening to the rain fall outside is one of my favorite sounds. 12. Bob Vila and I have a little in common; I'm kind of handy around the house. 13. My house is my sanctuary. 14. I hate packing and unpacking, but love to travel. LOVE it. 15. A little thrill goes up my spine when I play slot machines. Ooooo...pretty colors. Fun sounds! 16. My husband is the most random, wonderful person. I'm very lucky to have him. 17. There's a wind tunnel effect through my backyard. When it's windy, the noise makes me shudder and cringe. 18. I talk to my mom and sister on the phone daily. This earned me the title, "Cell Phone Girl" from my hubby. 19. I always thought I'd move out of Southern California, but here I am. I can't imagine moving away from our families. 20. Cats are a crucial element to my mental health. 21. Disneyland is my happy place. I just wish it was a little less crowded. 22. I recently connected with several high school friends, some here on Facebook, and it has been one of the greatest experiences. 23. When I was young, I picked every grain of sand off my towel at the beach. I'm still kind of persnickety now. My husband calls me fussy. 24. Conflict freaks me out. I'm a pacifist, sometimes to a fault. 25. A few of my favorite things: candles, hot chocolate, the smell of campfire, animals, spa days, my own bed.

Worst night's sleep EVER.

For the past few months, I've had some slight insomnia.  I can fall asleep on the couch during the day and nap like a child (something I have never been able to do), but when it comes to actually going to sleep at night, it takes awhile.  So last night, I was going through my nightly ritual to aid me in falling asleep: reading quietly while Keith slumbered peacefully next to me.  This worked, and I fell asleep around 11:10.

I awoke at midnight to the sound of what I imagine to be a 1920s machine gun. Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!  As my weakening abdominal muscles rustily pulled me up, I was certain that I would have to call 911 for some hapless soul who had been mowed down in our usually tranquil suburb. I rushed to the window, looking for signs of a speak-easy or Bonnie and Clyde when I heard Keith's voice from behind me. "Firecrackers," he pronounced drowsily.  

My heartbeat returning to a somewhat normal pace, I crawled back into bed and willed myself to go back to the REM sleep from which I had been mercilessly torn.  Enter Cleo.

Let me first explain that we have two very different cats.  In coloring, they are nearly the same because they are litter-mates, born of the same parents.  Both are black with white "tuxedo" elements, such as bibs, tummies, and paws.  They also both tend to run from large groups of strangers.  This is where the similarity ends.  Tony, our boy, is huge, weighing in at roughly 14 pounds, while Cleo, our girl, is a petite 8.  He tends to meow only when he is hungry or wants something (like cuddles), whereas she yowls all day and night just to hear her own voice.  They even differ in the way they give love.

Tony has always been what I've called a "Gumby-cat"; he allows you to put him into nearly any position and stays there purring.  His zaftig 15 pounds aside, this makes for a comfortable cat and human, resulting in happy symbiosis.  We are quite convinced that Cleo, on the other hand, dips her feet into buckets of concrete before pouncing us.  Each step she takes on our bodies feels like a sumo wrestler on stilts has invaded our bed.  I have tried time and time again to make her more like that Gumby-cat, but the more I try to position her, the stiffer she becomes.  I have learned that it's easier to just let her find a comfortable place to lie down, no matter how long this takes.

Last night, it took a good long while.  Cleo, ever the persnickety one, decided that she wanted to be as near to my head as possible.  She traipsed around, pointy paws landing on my skull, chest, and abdomen, trying to find a spot that would be sufficient for her needs.  When she finally settled on one, her body completely covered my nose and mouth (hardly a good situation for me). As I pried her off of my head, two totally over-reactive thoughts occurred to me: 

1. Do I have a brain tumor? (No kidding! Scientists have found that cats and dogs often sniff at the site of a malignant tumor, finding it long before symptoms present)
2. What if my cat suffocates my baby by trying to "cuddle" with her?

Eeeek! Neither of these thoughts acted as the sheep jumping over the fence that I desperately needed in the night.  I tossed and turned, fending Cleo off of me and wondering if I was going crazy.  Certainly this small cat could not be coming back for more as I tossed her unceremoniously off the bed, right?  Wrong. Here she was, over and over, crowding at my hair with her itchy whiskers, pummeling my neck with those cement paws, nuzzling me again and again! 

Here is what I would say if she could understand English:

Oh Cleo. I love you more than you could ever know. I adore your idiosyncrasies: your sweet fuzzy mustache (see the picture), your adorable singing in the morning, and even those unbelievably hard paws.  But please, I implore you, come cuddle in an appropriate place quickly and without trying to kill me. Please.

I even tried to reason with her at one point, but it only served to awaken Keith, who loudly pronounced, "Huh-tum!" (I'm not sure what that means, but I think it can be translated into the speech above.) So I returned to the repeated flinging of this small, albeit muscular, cat to the end of the bed and she continued to return to me.  Finally, I caved. I needed sleep. We had been at this for nearly two hours. I picked her up and looked her in the eyes. We needed to have what my colleagues affectionately call a "Come to Jesus" meeting.  At this point, I was stern and undeniably in charge.  She met my eyes and knew I meant business.  I hurled her to the end of the bed for the last time and I heard as her heavy paws thumped the carpet below.

Now, one would think that this was a victory.  Yay!  I have earned sleep at last!  But rather than relish my win, I just lay there feeling guilty.  My poor kitty just wanted to cuddle her mom and here I was banishing her to the cold floor.  

Eventually, I did fall asleep again and after four hours of uninterrupted rest, I awakened to that damned cat snoozing on my head, paws entangled in my hair.  Sheesh.

The Wonders of Womanhood, part V

Laziness

I'm still sitting after hours of doing this all day. Albeit I did work on the Galapagos/Ecuador photo album for about three hours today, but that was also done sitting on my ass.

I know I need to get motivated. I understand that there are people waiting for me over at Keith's parents' house. My brain is logical and comprehends the fact that showers are enjoyable occurrences (especially for clean-freaks like me), but showers are followed by the inevitable: at least 30 minutes of "getting ready" activities, such as slathering on massive amounts of lotion (pregnant women have horrifically dry skin), blow drying hair, putting on makeup, dressing, etc. I look forward to none of this.

Which brings me to my next point; I have often wished for one of those machines they had on The Jetsons. Do you remember that old school Hanna-Barbera cartoon? (By the way, don't Google this to find photos and think that you're going to get squeaky-clean nostalgia. I just saw some pretty sick stuff looking for a photo to post here. Consider me grossed-out.) Anyway, toon porn aside, Daughter Judy used to get ready in the morning by stepping into this awesome machine which would do everything for her in about 10 seconds. She'd step out on the other end and be magically transformed. That sounds like a great invention right now. I can only imagine how wonderful it will sound when I actually have a baby, too.

So what's my excuse right now? I have a hundred (I worked heinous hours last week, have to get up at least three times a night to pee, this is the only time I have to relax during the week...), but overall, I'm thinking that kicking thing inside of me is probably the best one.

the Wonders of Womanhood, part IV

Fatigue

Too...tired...to...write.

The Wonders of Womanhood, part III

Clumsiness

First off, let me start by saying that my friends and family will tell anyone who listens that I am one of the clumsiest people in the human race. I once hurt myself by stabbing my face with a hanger while putting clothes away and most of my broken bones were without good reason. For me to talk about a higher level of clumsiness, it has to be fairly significant.

Fortunately, my clumsiness seems limited to fluids for the time being. In fact, it allowed me to spill four beverages in one week. The first two were pretty tame: water glasses knocked over at my bedside—a common mistake for normal, non-pregnant people I’m sure. The second two, however, were absolutely grandiose. We’re STILL cleaning up from them. Here they are in all of their gloriousness.

Spill #1: Fruit Punch Slider

To make drinking the vast amount of water I need more palatable, I purchased several boxes of Crystal Light individual packets. During this action-packed lunch, I proceeded to mix my drink and take one sip before sweeping the glass three feet into the air. As the red liquid floated gracefully in the air (this was one of those slow-motion moments), I cringed and accepted my fate. Thank GOD I had a fellow teacher whose wife is two months more pregnant than I am in the room. He was more than happy to help me to sop up the mess and didn’t even laugh. This is a man who completely understands.

Spill #2: Diet Pepsi Explosion

This second event was even more dramatic and inexplicable than the first. I went out to get one soda—ONE soda—from the garage. As I took the five short steps over our tile entryway from the garage door to our family room carpet, the mutinous Diet Pepsi slipped from my hand and, much like a cat, landed squarely on its “feet”. Here’s where the feline analogy ends. While a cat lands on his or her feet and is saved from a quick and certain death, my Pepsi was not so lucky. Apparently, a can explodes on impact.

I think it would still behoove us to call CSI crew to help us find the extent of the damage. Soda splashed up both front doors, into the plantation shutters in the foyer, over the banisters and stairs, up all neighboring walls, and into the family room carpet. In addition, my clothing needed immediate laundering. After some choice expletives, my husband calmly provided the same service, fetching multiple rags and, without condescending or laughing, helped me clean up the massive mess.

The Wonders of Womanhood, part II

Memory Loss

Also known as "pregnancy brain", this symptom caused me to lock myself out of my classroom yesterday.

Allow me to explain. Upon reaching my room after a meeting, the custodian kindly held my door open for me after vacuuming. I gathered my things and left, realizing that he had already locked my door. Great! Thanks, Francisco, my heart sang gratefully as I traipsed out the door toward my car, ever so appreciative that I did not have to juggle keys and my belongings this evening.

Skip forward to this morning while I stood at said door and rummaged fruitlessly for my keys as the realization dawned on me. I locked myself out and left my keys in my room. Ugh. This is so inconvenient. No matter. I'll simply find Francisco and have him let me in. That most certainly worked, but my keys were nowhere to be seen. I tossed my desk and then room for my keys for 10 minutes to no avail. Shit! I thought. I probably left them in my other coat. Crap! The Superintendent is visiting today and the staff is stressed and I have to go bother the office staff with borrowing keys today? Not good. Add more stressing and looking for an additional five minutes. Then, after giving up and typing a few emails, my keys appeared (magically) underneath my sleeve. NO. I'm not kidding. This, folks, is pregnancy brain. Welcome to my own personal brand of hell.