Saturday, March 28, 2009

Maternal Affairs

"Having a baby" is in full effect around here. The spare bedroom/ boxing arena has been completely upended, creating waves of distress throughout the house, including the kitchen, living room, and bedroom. And let's not even talk about the dining room, where all of the furniture, games, movies, clothes, tools, dishes, etc that no longer get to stay in the house have temporarily landed - looking very much like a Japanese style yard sale. In other words, a ton of random shit in a very, very small space.
The good news is that it should all be gone within a week or two, leaving us with a normal dining room again, well, except for the treadmill taking up the one half of it. We are even considering removing the dining room table altogether and purchasing a futon to shove in there for any overnight guests we may have ( MOOOMMMM!!! ) once this baby gets here.
In the meantime, to maintain my sanity I have decided to "take up" something new. A highly recommended pre-natal water class. Before officially making my decision, I figured I better try on the bathing suit. And after staring at my body for no less than ten minutes in the borrowed maternity swimming suit, I figured I shouldn't let it get to me and went for it. I must say, it was one of the best hours of my life. To feel weightless was unreal. Beautiful. Comfortable. Relaxing. There are only three of us ladies in the class, and we became fast friends. When telling a co-worker about it the next day she said, "rub a dub dub, three men in a tub".... and then put her hand over her mouth. A day later she squelched out an apology thinking my ego/ butt would be offended. I don't really care. I just can't wait for the next class.
Plus, that comment was nothing compared to the male co-worker remarking I looked liked I belonged in the Macy's Day Parade as one of the balloon floats. I would have responded back just as smartly had it been someone aside from my boss! Sigh. I keep waiting for this "treatment" I have heard so much about. The one where strangers give up their seats and open doors and wave you through the line.
Not so much for me.

Monday, March 16, 2009

Baby Class Numero Uno

It is 6:27 PM. We are leaving in N-8 minutes. We are headed to the hospital for our "orientation". And while I am dreading it, I am also looking forward to it... in a way. I have seen it played out on TV so many times that I feel like I already know how it is all going to go. I have been warned by my experienced friends that the "commoners" who are taking the class with us will not have the first clue how to follow directions... so when the instructor says "save your questions until the end" they will snicker at all of us and raise their hand up half-way and talk while doing so so that the rest of us will be forced to undure the Question That Was Supposed to Be at The End.
I am tempted to bring along my book but figure that might be deemed rude... and wouldn't want to embarrass my husband.
I felt the same way when I headed off to traffic school for my first time. I knew the experience itself might be somewhat dreadful, however, curiousity has killed this cat many, many times, and I am always up for doing everything at least once... besides... I am "supposed" to be excited since it's about our baby, right?
Since the class runs until 9 PM- which is bordering on past our bed time, I am guessing we will be feeling a little ornery by the time it's all said and done. I predicted to my husband they would save the tour for last... otherwise we would all bolt. We will see how it goes.

PS- As predicted, the tour was saved for last.... however- our v. wonderful instructor believed firmly in the art of swiftness. Nary a question was answered until the v. v. end and she promised us an early exit, which she followed through on ( I REALLY wanted to get home to watch the season finale of the HILLs... Priorities people.. priorites!) Her knowledge was vast and her answers concise.
Also, was it any surprise when a lively looking gal asked me from across the room, "HEY! Aren't you the LORI that was my college roommate my Freshman year at SIU??? " Hmm. well, yes, now that I take a good look at you, yes I AM that Lori. After recovering from some initial shock and then MORE shock as she led me through some mental math calculation putting us at 16 years absence- I began to relax and enjoy her company. So who said this might be boring?
As I exited with my old roommates business card, my packet of hospital information, and more cord blood connections than I thought possible, I breathed in the warm night air and relaxed in the knowledge that we just might be able to handle this.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

Coffee Pot Wars

Introducing: ON your left, the Stainless Steel Mr. Coffee 10 cup Carafe auto coffe pot. ON your right.... 1980's relic Black and Decker Space Saver- No frills with a 12 cup GLASS carafe....

I must admit, I have always appreciated, given the right time and place, a healthy dose of competition. Growing up in a children-filled neighborhood, games were aplenty and winning occurred every day, along with losing. It IS more fun to win, but I learned early on that the enjoyment of playing the game, regardless of said game's outcome, was the real prize.

As I grew up, it became evident to me that there are many people out there that possess a fierceness to win. And unless the "game" is taking place in some sort of sports arena, I do not want to win so bad I will poke your eyes out, therefore, these people scare me.

And you know who the fierce folks are! Heck, you know who YOU are. Your desire to have more KIDS than me, your desire to make more MONEY than me. Your desire to have a nicer car, find a better deal, get more attention, have a cleaner house, cook a better burger. Doesn't matter, you want to win and it's women like you that kept me a very safe distance from trying out for any and every competitive reality show out there. I have NO desire whatsoever to compete in that manner.

As I mentioned previously, however, I do like to see a game. And even more so.... a winner. Particularly when the results affect virtually no one. For example- two ants on a sidewalk trying to get to the leaf first? Game. How many times I can throw my undies from across the room into the dirty clothes basket before I miss? Game. How much water can I put into the bathtub without it spilling out? Game. But today's game is the kind of game that really geeks me out.

Our coffee pot has not produced a good cup of joe in months. We told a friend about our dilemma and he gave us his old ( very very old ) coffee pot to try. So this morning- as I blog away- there are TWO pots of coffee brewing.

It's Mr. Coffee in a stainless steel carafe VS. Black and Decker under the counter with a glass carafe. Who will the winner be? Not sure. According to my research- good coffee is predicated by extreme heat. Our Mr. Coffee has yet to demonstrate an ability to really "heat things up". I gave Black and Decker a cleaning con trial run last night and 'ole boy was HOT. However- he has no auto timer NOR does he sport auto shut-off. As I hear the duo brew drips pumping in the other room- my mouth salivates for the first taste. Results will be posted later on when the husband decides to rise and drink.

Things have not been this exciting around here in a long time. Let the games BEGIN!!
PS- Taste test was relatively uneventful. A winner was decided almost instantaneously by moi, however- the husband 100 % backed me up within mere seconds of his swigs. I must say-- shockingly- the 1980's Black and Decker Space Saver dripped out some DELICIOUS tasting brew- Now the new delimma? How will I remember to turn it OFF every time I use it?

Saturday, March 7, 2009

Peaks and Valleys

Friday morning, at 21 weeks pregnant, I finally made it into the Doctor's office for my 20 week appointment( who can blame me for canceling the one on Wednesday after already having spent six hours in the ER? ). Six hours in the ER you ask? Oh, no biggie- just a FENDER BENDER that caused me to lose one day of work officially and then another unofficially in which I pretended to work but really spent the day on the phone with insurance/adjustors/car rentals blah blah blah. And after absorbing the depth of what happened , and getting all test results back clearing us of any concern, I realize that in the truest of Lori fashion I had managed to topple the apple cart exactly one day after I sent out an e-mail to all of my nearest and dearest, bragging about my luck these days...

Anyway- back to that appointment Friday. And I knew what was coming. I saw the scale. It was a big one, the kind they use to weigh folks who have really overdone it. I think someone flipped on Jaws music as I approached it. I whipped off my shoes and contemplated discarding my jewlery as well, because it could weigh a pound or two, right?

I inhaled deeply and hopped on and before I could even consider what an acceptable weight gain might be, a very large and UN-acceptable number showed up on the screen. I may have screamed, but I am not sure. I did ask the nurse for a piece of paper to write down this number. It was so large that I figured I would accidently black it out. Total weight gain at 21 weeks ? TWENTY POUNDS. POUNDS! I said POUNDS! I have now reached a weight I have never reached before. Let's not forget I still have 19 weeks to go AND I am only supposed to gain a grand total of 25 pounds. Doing the math, I am seeing that this is not all adding up properly. Not adding up properly at all.
I managed to make it through the remaining parts of my exam, and bleary eyed- drove from there to the school to teach the second half of the day. As I entered the building in a daze, a few co-workers stopped to ask me about the accident. "Accident? What accident? OH! THAT accident! Yeah, I am fine." In mind that was Wednesday's crisis. And since we have moved on from that- we currently now have some other fish to fry... like the size of my ass. And when I say other fish to fry? It makes me salivate. Fish and chips sounds fantastic.

The accident will be covered by insurance. There are no injuries. Cars can be replaced with just a few phone calls, really. But 20 pounds? Unlike the "accident", this mess was created by weeks of poor decision making as opposed to a more acceptable flash of poor judgement. And eventually I know it will take months to remove. Sigh! Isn't life just a series of peaks and valleys?

Monday, March 2, 2009


It seems like just yesterday when I was standing in a group of about 2oo other women, holding hands and banners and walking the streets in protest. We were supposedly "taking back the night", a feminist effort put together to lessen the frequency of rape and crimes in the wee hours towards women on our college campus.
I remember feeling sort of awkward. I remember thinking this might be the beginning of many a protest. This might be the start of my feminist self. This might be the point in life when I channeled Gloria Steinem and began to speak from pulpits with passion. It really was none of those. Except awkward. The protest wasn't really my thing. I didn't really care for the "group" mentality. I didn't care for the loudness. I couldn't stand the stares. I figured it would be more up my alley to write a letter to the paper. Which I never did.
I never gave up on the idea I was a feminist, I just chose to not make it an issue, I suppose. And as I wheeled my cart out of the grocery store and into the lot, I wondered if I looked like a feminist. With my white jacket and purple purse and my pregnant belly, and cart full of foods. I wondered if I was still a feminist. In a flash I reviewed my self and thought of the one hundred percent conformity in my life to everything traditional with surprising ease.
I like it that my husband puts gas in my car for me. I like it that he doesn't have me get beer as the liquor store is "no place for a lady". I like having my nails done and shopping all day and wearing cute heels. I like complaining that I "had to change my name". I like it that my husband starts my car in the mornings so that I don't have to be exposed to the elements for too long. I like to begrudgingly clean the house and mumble to myself that I am the one always cleaning the house. It seems as far as feminism is concerned, I jumped ship the second my husband and I started divvying up the parts around here.
I suppose I could argue that if I WANTED to be the one that took on some traditionally male roles, I could. I could take out the trash and manage the recycling and trade that with the grocery shopping. But for what? So we were both miserable doing our chores? I could give up on my female looks and wear birks and tees and cut-off denim, but that sounds like hell, too. Nor am I remotely interested in participating in any more of those ridiculous protests.
The bottom line is that I am happy doing whatever it is I am doing. I don't really care how it looks or what the label is- as long as we have our well-oiled machine in working order around here.