Appointments

I am not so sure how the pregnancy empathy stuff works for the husband, but my sweetie has been waking up in the middle of the night to pee right along with me. This means neither of us are getting a good night's sleep- and last night, when I woke myself up by snoring... ( NO idea how that works ), I went straight to the couch to maintain as much damage control as possible. Needless to say- it was a restless night and very little sleep was to be had. If it weren't for all the acetametaphin scares, I would have been deep into a Tylenol induced slumber- however- all the news shows have me concerned about my liver. I guess.
So today will therefore be tackled with bags under my eyes and quite honestly, I am getting to that tail end of pregnancy where I could really care less. Yesterday, in fact, I found myself wrestling over weather or not to wear sweat pants out in public and a pair of UN-matching flip-flops. If you know me at all, this is INSANE, as I even match my flip-flops with my jammies just to run outside to grab the mail. But I didn't... wear the sweat pants and unmatching flip-flops that is. I suffered through a pair of knee-hugging black capri's and an un-ironed t-shirt that slid up and showed my belly. A declaration of carelessness. It was very liberating until I caught a glimpse of myself in a window. Not so much fun then, as the tugging and pulling became distracting while I was trying to focus on the most important thing in my life right now, which is food shopping.
At any rate- today- ahhh... today. It is appointment city for me... starting off with a routine Dr. visit. Next will be the chiropractor for a leg massage- and yes it is fantastic ( last time the foreign masseuse took one look at my calves and asked, "Ahh! Too much high heels?" ). Lastly, and most importantly will be the salon- where I will sit for two hours straight while undergoing a cut and color that will leave me looking, or at least my hair, like I sorta care about myself. Which will be a good thing, since it's not evidence by my skin, clothes, nails, or basically ANYthing else.
In the meantime, I have begun poring over my Weight Watchers materials and cookbooks- in an effort to get myself geared up for the "diet" that will begin taking place just as soon as I can get my bearings. I can't wait to own my body again!

Our Last Date

Whew. After two long weeks of worry and concern and maybes we got some confirmation last Thursday suggesting that all was fine after all and thank you very much modern medicine. As a result, instead of being induced on Thursday afternoon, my husband and I came home from the specialist and crashed. As in stumbled into the condo and onto horizontal surfaces and slept all day. Obviously the scare and the drama of baby ills wore us out.
By Saturday morning, when we were done being thankful to the world and catching up on rest was no longer a necessity, we started to become slightly... I hate to admit it, bored. Since we had been under the impression that we might be in the hospital with a child this very day- all plans had been previously either not scheduled or canceled. We muddled through the day with some fishing and movie rentals, but ultimately, I could not help but think of the advice I have been so frequently given, "Enjoy your time now, while it lasts."
After about the 25th time I caught this thought running through my head, my mind began conjuring up ideas, and before I knew it, our "last date" was born. My husband, equally bored, thought this sounded alright as well, because there was really no way we could have another fishing/movie day...
So yesterday, in what I consider to be a day with the absolute most perfect weather available, off we went to the Graue Mill and dinner after at our favorite restaurant, Francesca's.
Because the Graue Mill is on our route to our specialist's office, we have been increasingly intrigued as to the park's offerings. Historic websites generally do not do justice, as was the case for this nifty little spot- complete with scenery, a museum, walking trails, and your overly informed and interested tour guides. But it was gorgeous and interesting and very pleasant.
Our dinner was excellent as well, as we knew it would be. Luckily, a Christmas gift card awaited us and therefore, the large bill at the end of our feast did nothing to squaush our spirit.
Upon arrival at home, I felt satisfied with our "last date", espeically considering that neither my husband nor I are much for "dates"- it was a nice day.

Wait... Is the End Near?

Since I am hearing all sorts of things regarding my delivery date- one being that I will be induced at 37 weeks, which lands Thursday- and I am taking my computer in today for a week's long work worth of maintenance- this may very well be the last post I manage to squeak out before the BIG DAY.
The house is coming together- and while I have managed to throw out most junk I have managed to accumulate over the years, we are still quite "full." In addition, my Mom is here for a two day visit to help me whip some last things into shape, as well as her trial run on the dining room-turned-spare-bedroom-futon and after the first night agreed we should go to Kohl's to buy some "eggshells", which we are preparing to do now.
The husband is fortunately taking off of work on Wednesday and Thursday as well, meaning yet another extra pair of hands either around the house to help or if all is complete to at least... "hang out with me" during my last few potential free days.
I do not feel anxious, excited, or worried at the moment. I feel mostly reflective, but not in a sentimental way- more like in a I-Am-the-CEO-of-the-Company-and-Where-are-We-at? kind of a way. I wouldn't want to head into child delivery without plenty of toilet paper, dish soap, and peanut butter on the home front...Organization Station.
I guess this means that I am ready- so weather or not I am waiting until the end of the week or waiting until the middle of next month- all is well and good. I will do my best to keep you posted!

The End Is Near

What is it? What did they eat? Or drink? The kids are OUT of their MINDS. It's total chaos here at the school. With the "Prom" finally behind us, Seniors out for the year, and only graduation and finals in front of us, there are fewer and fewer things to "dangle" in front of the students to bribe them into behaving.
This year it's particularly stressful for me becuase I feel torn between tying up my regular end of the year loose ends and preparing sub plans for the Fall when I will be knee deep in diapers and late night feedings. And while the sub can always call me, every additional detail written down in the "binder" is one less phone call to answer when I will truly NOT care at all.
And it's unbelievable to me that somewhere in the weekend, squeezed between my very last, and thank-you-very-much, bountiful baby shower and a retirement dinner at an incredibly fattening and SO-HOT-I-WAS-SWEATING-WHILE-EATING Japanese steakhouse there was a wonderful Spa Day complete with the sisters, Mom and Grandma that was absolutley splendid. Well, splendid except for my facial girl, and while she was quite nice, she did use me as a sounding board to clairfy her marital problems. But that aside... the Spa Day itself was over the top great.
And even when my massuese and I were laughing at my huge body on the tiny table and how it was cumbersome to move and my boobs kept flopping out of the sheet ( sorry people, these things are new to me.... I haven't exactly figured out how to exert control over those babies yet.. ) it was mah-va-lous.
If only I could have bottled me up some of that Spa Day to sip in doses this week. Sigh. Only five more pregnant days of school.

The Squeeze

I have never been one that can appreciate the pomp and circumstance of routine and attention. I dreaded my graduation from high school, didn't attend my graduation from college, anxiously awaited my wedding showers and feel no differently now that I am in the midst of baby showers.
I have had two thus far. One hosted by my "city girlfriends", the next by my "co-workers"... which doesn't sound fair because they are also my friends, and then next weekend, last but certainly not least, the "family" shower.
And while I feel like an elephant in a China shop at such events, particularly when I am the guest of honor, I have been doing my best to initiate, salivate, and gratiate all over the place so that everyone feels welcome, appreciated and thanked. And the fact of the matter is that I am very thankful.
When I initially created a baby registry, I nearly had a panic attack and had 911 dialed in on my cellular. Luckily, hearty Italian fair and a good dose of cheesecake alleviated the necissity for me to actually have to place that call... but it did result in some heartburn as well as a dose of insomnia. I had no idea I would need so much... STUFF. Not only was I concerned about where I would PUT the STUFF, I also didn't know how I was going to PAY for the STUFF. I had thoughts like.. ... Well, we could always spend five hundred dollars on the stroller we HAVE TO HAVE and I can lock it up with a bike chain to our grill. Or we could live without a crib, right? The kid can sleep in a nicely padded cardboard box? I know our child may actually not survive unless we buy him the "techno-euro-space-saver 5000" car seat, but will a used one from our friends be good enough?

Eventually, the insomnia led to some plotting, and the plotting led to some discussion, and the discussion led to some fighting with the husband which eventually turned into mature adult discusion and then ultimately to a "grand master plan". Which basically meant throw out everything you own and love and currently use, like the dining room table, and make room for baby. End of story. It has been working for us.

And so as the stuff rolls in, which again, I am very thankful for, I am realizing not so quickly that the "grand master plan" was not GOOD enough. Because the truth is our place isn't BIG enough. But we will make it work. Too bad someone I know isn't into Longaberger basket sales or they would make a killing off of me. Which has turned into my go to for "extra-storage solutions". Not Longabergers, per say... but BASKETS. I currently know a heck of a lot about what baskets are out there.
At any rate. The showers have been fabulous and my friends generous. More than I feel we deserve but we do appreciate it( really, I had to say that yet again). With most of the major items off of our registry purchased we have some financial breathing room. So really, I have no right to make any complaints. It's just if you come over and I ask you to sit in the crib for dinner, please understand we are just a tad bit tight on space.

Cracked Up

The week? Highs and lows, my friends, highs and lows. Crown fell off- which led to an emergency dental visit. Twice got to work and had forgotten something at home and had to turn around and come back and get it (pregnant brain, anyone?). Got lost taking the behavior disordered students to the Museum of Science and Industry. Behavior disordered students tried to UN PLUG HUGE displays and dismantle large computer systems while AT the Museum of Science and Industry. Had to turn in my FMLA request ( and for those of you who DON'T know me- this is, to me, a commitment... and you can guess how well I managed THAT...). Had our friends over for pizza and while I was looking forward to their visit I had ulterior motives of confirming and negotiating our child care needs for next Fall... ( mission accomplished, and I will not brag, at this moment, about our extremely fortunate set-up- but let's just say the price is beyond reasonable). This amid a night class, a switch to 4:45 am work outs, a Dr. appointment, swimming class, groceries, dinner, and laundry- and the kids not even HERE yet!
OF course, me being me, and me being PREGNANT me to boot- this led to a melt down of sorts last night. While listening to my phone messages at the tail end of our evening ( and a good hour or so post normal bed time ) my husband gently hugged me in the most loving of fashions. His hand slipped dangerously close to my behind and while I normally would giggle and squirm I instead roared at him at the top of my lungs the obvious..., " DON'T DO MY CRACK!", poltergeist style. After my eyes rescinded back into my head I looked at him and we began to giggle hysterically.
Actually, we were laughing so hard we had to sit down on the couch so as not to fall over. WHILE laughing so hard, my body emitted a disgusting and embarrassing series of uncontrollable farts. And of course, while my husband began to laugh harder, I suddenly, to his shock, became irate. Next poltergiest moment enter here, ( Poor, poor husband) " WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING AT ME?"... and then I exited stage left, ran to the bedroom and began to cry hysterically.
And while I knew this was in-SANE... I could not stop the eMOTion. Luckily for me the very patient husband was there to comfort me back to reality... Needless to say, the last 20 minutes of my week very much emulated the week in general.
I slept heavily and am already not sure that was really ME last night. However, considering my husband's walk on eggshells approach towards me upon waking confirmed that yes, it had to have been true.
Eight more weeks, people... EIGHT more weeks.

Farter Starter

My body is turning against me. Really. It hates me.

Somewhere between my first bra and the braces coming off, I figured out that farting in public was way taboo. By the time I was a full fledged teenager I was most lady-like in gassy situations and seldom recall a situation where I was emabarrassed by any kind of flatulence. In my twenties I somehow basically lost the ability altogether. By my 30th birthday, I lit an additional candle on my cake to commemorate a decade of fart-free-living. More or less.

In the three years my husband and I have co-habitated, I have essentially been fart-free. He's not heard a peep nor has he sniffed a smell. I have managed to convince him AND myself that I no longer fart at all. Now, mind you, we all know that is impossible, but I have worked hard at learning to conceal what some might consider a deadly weapon.

Suffice it to say, since I have become pregnant, that has all changed. And against my will, of course. Because I don't think an hour has gone by where I have NOT farted. Actually, if I could figure out a way to harness all of the gaseous energy I am creating I could seriously make bank. Seriously.

And the worst part is not admitting that I have turned into a fart fest- but that I no longer have the social skills needed to handle these "touchy" situations in public.

Take for example the other day. A co-worker and I ran into each other in the stairwell. We talked for several minutes and then I felt it. I did my best to keep it "quiet" so as not to interrupt our conversation... but I knew within seconds that while you could not hear what I had done, that was certainly other "evidence". Luckily for me it's Spring in the high school, so she immediately confused my body's hatred for me as a Senior prank, "Eww, another stink bomb- I am outta here!". So, I managed to escape blame free on that one. However- the embarrassment has been haunting me.

Last night at dinner, I was chatting with my husband at the table. He said something funny and when I busted out in laughter I also busted out in sing-songy fart. I didn't know what to say- or DO. So I of course did what any 35 year old would do, I ran into the living room and hid from him.

And while I am most certainly "out of control", I don't want to create a "reputation" as a liar OR as a farter- so I am trying very hard to manage moments like these with grace and consideration.

I cannot believe I have almost three more months of this! Please someone, tell me that AFTER I deliver this baby that certain "things" will go back to SOME sort of normalcy? Either that I will have to get THIS :

tatooed as a tramp stamp on my back.

CHUGGA chugga CHUGGA chugga

So as of yesterday, I am officially NOT going on bed rest or having a C-section. ALSO, as of yesterday, I am officially scared shitless, four and a half ponds HEAVIER, and absorbing the fact that there are no drugs to take for my increasing restless legs.

At 28 weeks along, I have a 140 beat per minute and 2.some small number pound baby, and a perfectly normal cervix length. Um, gee thanks? I always thought my cervix was perfectly normal.

As we walked out of the Dr's. office, I felt a pang of excitement drenched in deer-in-headlights-fright. No turning back now. As I head into the last trimester, I keep hearing the words of my girlfriend who delivered her OWN son exactly one month ago, "Welcome to the worst three months of your life." Pause. "But it's worth it!". Really? I will try to remember that as I lay my very big fat ass on top of the shoebox sized air conditioning vent and pour ice water over my head and rub soothing ointment on my chaffed rubbed together thighs while laying in my hugungous maternity underwear and the Mr.'s tank top.

And while the maternity undergarments ARE huge- they are so ridiculously cozy- I don't know what was holding me back. Maybe it was the advice of yet another new friend/Mom. "Just prepare yourself upon opening the package for a Shallow Hal type of moment." And I did, and it was. The pained look that discreetly crossed my VSH's ( very supportive husband's ) eyes told me everything I needed to know. I am now a utility. A cargo ship- a box car- a shopping cart even.

I am relieved to hear that my life can and will be, for the foreseeable future, anyway- carrying on. The month of May is chock full with two night classes, two weekend getaways, and three showers. And what better month for a shower aside from May? It is the momnth of last hurrahs before I am imprisoned by the heat and my oversized belly and then of course by a child. I have every intention of making it good.

Like... It's Been Forever!

Becuase THIS seems to be so popular, and since I have been horrible about blogging lately, I figured I would kill two birds with one stone.

A) Four places that I go to over and over:
Domincks, work- specifically- to my desk in the basement... ew, Target, and my new favorite store- Kohl's- because the one by me just got remodeled and it's fab.
B) Four people who e-mail me :
Don't worry about it.
C) Four of my favorite places to eat:
Home ( fer real), at the Cellar ( a steak house in Geneseo, IL ), Places with white linen napkins( if I am lunching with my friends), and Francesca's.
D) Four places I wish I could be right now:
IN THE WATER- ( 6 months pregnant and the bouyancy is great), with my parents at their home ( I am not looking forward to the three hour drive- see previous item RE: pregnancy), Shopping for myself ( For shoes and accessories-naturally), in a magic place where my house is clean and my body looks fabulous and I get to walk around comfortably in a bikini sipping cocktails and getting spa treatments.
E) Four people I'm sure will respond:
I hate this question.
F) Four TV shows I watch:
Real World- EVERY SINGLE SEASON EVER, The Hills, Survivor, House Hunters

In other very important hold-your-breath-news, I bailed on my Facebook account. The pressures were mounting and after getting an e-mail from a guy from my third grade class I did what most other respectable persons would do, I deleted my account. Now, mind you, I don't go to my "reunions" and when I am "home" visiting, I would willingly knock down a tuna can tower in an effort to conceal my identity and to dodge an old classmate at Fareway if need be. I prefer my anonymity.
I know I know- I have heard of the security measure- but really- just e-mail me through my e-mail? Ya know? It's just like Facebook only I don't have to add a bunch of security measures and deny friendships to people I don't really like that much. Just saying. With regular e-mail and can secretly dislike you from afar and not so.... In Your Face...

My house recieved the royal cleaning while I was on Spring break last week- we are talking washed curtains and dusted ceiling fans here people. This was the big time. In preparation for the baby I decided to try to slowly but surely kill myself by trying to do a month's work of neglected house work in three days. I must admit I did pretty good- but by Thursday evening had not slept more than 9 hours in three days and was feeling a lot of tightening in the belly--- I laid down pretty much the rest of the weekend. I have made myself a mental promise to be a little more balanced from here on out. As a reward for my new promised plan ( or maybe just because I am looking for an excuse), I am getting myself a new pair of shoes. And since I do not buy new shoes often, this is what I deem a "production"..... I have perused Piperlime to Zappos, J. Crew to Target... nary a brown wedge sandal is out there that I don't know about.

Either way, it's time to pack for my Easter weekend away- the parent's house AGAIN!- what can I say, I like it there....

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.

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.

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?

My Oscar Party

It's all so relative. Lately, I have been making a little more effort to take care of myself, hair cut and colored, renewed subsrciption to US Weekly- even though we are on a tight budget. Finding some maternity pants that actually FIT ( was someone going to tell the 5 foot 8 girl that they don't make maternity pants in "LONG"??) . And buying myself some new Urban Decay eye shadow. To put in the pocket of my new purse. Yep. New purse, too.

And to me... this is "ape-shit". Like... totally crazy spending on myself that is super duper not needed. But admittedly, makes me feel so much better. Really, it does. When I walked into my condo with my new purchases yesterday, I was actually giddy like a school girl.

I have spent the last weeks barely existing. I have been sick. And being preggers, quickly realized there is very little you can do about the inability to sleep, drippy-to-the-point-of-gross nose, and massive soar throat that feels similar to cat scratch. But because I am taking some time off next year-I am doing my best to hoard my sick days, and as it's just a cold, well, I have been trudging to work laboriously- making do, and then coming home and collapsing on my couch. The laundry is stacking up. The floors are getting pretty... umm... gross. We are out of light bulbs. Dinners have been either sandwiches or frozen pizzas. I have been doing my best to keep up, but really, the walls are caving in.

One of my biggest crosses to bear at the moment ( and yes, grab a kleenex for this one-and here - grab one of mine- I have butt loads at the moment) is that my closet is out of control. Between my weight watchers pre-pregnancy "small" clothes, the " I am newly pregnant and in month three BIG girl clothes", my "regular clothes", my maternity clothes, and all of the loaner maternity clothes that need to be kept seperated in order to return them to their rightful owners, my closet is a cluster fudget of smock shirts and khaki cottons. In varying sizes. We have spilled over into the "boxing arena/ baby's room / second closet". It's chaos at best.

And my intention as of two weeks ago was to box bag ship and move everything out of my way- cleaning up my rooms and streamlining my dressing process. But since I haven't been well, this major task that requires patience, energy, thought, and organization has fallen into a hole of deep despair. So yesterday- when I was feeling better for the first time in weeks, what do I do? Shop. Not organize- but SHOP. I wanted to get out of the house. And I wanted some pants that fit. And now that I have my outsides all set up and ready to go- it's time.

Today is the day. Boxes are out and ready to be filled. Garbage bags are in full supply. Attitude is upbeat and motivation level is beeping off the charts. I do not promise to complete the entire task, but I do plan on muddling through a good start at least as I watch Angelina and Brad grace the red carpet. I mean, who doesn't want to clean the closet out while watching the Oscars?

The Soiled Egg Salad?

As I have indicated as much in previous posts, this pregnancy has left me hormonally challenged. Looney tunes. One step closer to forever alienating myself from sanity. I try to control it with walks, baths, reading, etc. But seriously? It's like a flip switches and instead of actually CALMING me the distracting activity generally just goes awry as opposed to staving off another bout of mouth over-use.
Most weeks, in an effort to save some money, as well as maintain our health, I try to make my husband his "lunches". It has become fairly routine and I generally make a big vat of something or other, like egg salad or pasta or burgers and he takes the whole big pot of it to work and portions it out there. I do not judge. He's a man and works in a man's world.
This past week, my husband requested egg salad. Since he stayed home sick on Monday, it was off to work he went Tuesday morning with a 2 pound casserole of egg salad and a loaf of his favorite whole-wheat bread. I sigh in relief as I see another week of lunches, done and out the door.
Tuesday evening, as per usual, I feel inclined to ask about the quality of this particular batch of egg salad, knowing full well that to him it tastes like all the OTHER batches of egg salad. "Good", he replies. I leave well enough alone. He thinks it's good enough to eat, which is good enough for me.
On Wednesday, I shockingly spy the empty caserole on our kitchen counter. Hmmm, I think to myself. Where did all of that egg salad GO? Moving on to other things, the egg salad left my thoughts as we danced around other more important matters, like the weekend and what's for dinner.... The only two things I really seem to care about these days. Later that evening, as things calmed down and we lay in "our" spots on our respective couches, I remembered to ask my husband what happened to all of the egg salad.
He replied, "Oh, I shared some with a guy at work." Generally speaking, my heart would melt at my husband's senstivity and kindness to others, but remember, I am hormonally challenged at the moment.
"YOU WHAT?". He quietly repeated himself, " I shared it with a guy at work."
I quickly find an opportunity to fling something onto the coffee table in an effort to demonstrate my irritation. Knowing full well, his eyes are fixed on me. "You are NOT pissed about that, ARE you?" he asks in shock.
"YES, I am, it pisses me off. Why can't he get his own lunches? He canceled on you last week, so WHY would you give him food? He's unreliable!."
I hear my husband mutter, " I can't believe you are mad about this. Whatever."
My mind is reeling with "JERK! What A JERK! Of COURSE I am mad! What a jerk. "
In order to avoid a blow out, I quietly turned back to my book. Within a few minutes, as my insides caught up with my brain, I mustered, " I think I hit a wall, I better get to bed."
It wasn't until morning that I really ingested what had set me so off the night before. Oh yes... as the room came into focus and my thoughts began to align, I recalled that I was angry at my husband for... Oh NO! I did it again! Shoot shoot shoot! Egg salad? Oh LORI! Why???
And ONCE again, we start off the day with an apolgy.
With each passing day, I love my husband more, never knowing previously the depth of his patience. His forgiveness comes before the apology. He doesn't hold it against me. If it wouldn't potentially piss me off so much I would buy him a vacation far far away from me, to reward him for his stability. Instead, I just wake and "sorry" and set things right in the world again.
With five more months to go... I am not sure how he's going to make it!

Roller Party

It's been a really long time since I have been roller skating. So when we got the invite to my nephew's first boy/girl roller party I immediately cleared the calendar in anticipation of the big event.. that is of course AFTER asking my doctor if pregnant ladies can roller skate... "Yes, " she said, "Just don't land on your belly." I figured I could manage that and mentally prepared myself for a broken wrist.
And last week, as I dragged through the school week, I used the roller party as my "light at the end of the tunnel". Enter Pink Floyd background music here with a dash of strobe lights. It got me thinking about the days of old, garnering rides to the "rink", making sure the battery pack on my red light-up visor was charged, seven dollars tucked into the pocket of my coolest jeans, the ones with the roller skate on the back pocket...
Screeech! Enter reality. What am I going to wear? Now, I know my GM ( generous Mother) bought me some exquisitely comfy maternity pants, including some hip jeans, well... as hip as maternity demin gets for me. However, when I sported said jeans to work on Friday, we ran into some "issues". As in, they won't stay on. They are too big. Way too big. Of course, this didn't become apparent until I was walking down the hallway during passing periods and I was quite sure that the "maternity" portion of my pants was hanging well past my deirrier. And being that my arms were full, led to some temporary panic. I made it to class but spent the remainder of the day seated behind my desk as much as possible. In the end, the idea of wearing these jeans roller skating, well, it would never do.
I went on-line and found that the closest maternity-carrying Old Navy was a good twenty minutes away, and so it became the "Saturday mission". Off I went, patient husband in tow, and within ten minutes I found myself some NEW jeans. Not nearly as cute, but with a little more staying power and illiciting a lot more confidence.
We arrived at the party right on time, and after waiting in line for no less than ten minutes, I finally had my skates. As I laced up dandy pair of beige and orange rentals, I inhaled the familiar scent of old, sweaty leather. Of course the first pair didn't fit. The ogre behind the skate rental desk begrudgingly gave me a new pair. Eventually, it was time to stand. After a good ten minutes of arm waving balancing acts, I felt back in the swing, and off I went, like it was yesterday. Around and around the rink I went, gliding with the wind in my hair. At least that is how I felt- I tried to ignore one comment "Are you sure you should be skating? You looked so wobbly out there! " I could have stayed for hours. Wobble or not.
In the end, I find that I still love roller skating. And all Junior High kids aside, it was still fun.

Maternity Pant Pressure

My waistline lately has been expanding. And apparently I am carrying this baby in my ass, because it's been wasting no time expanding as well. That being said, my pants are getting rather difficult to get on. Well, I can get them on, but unless it's appropriate to wear a poly/wool blend in a Martin cut around your knees, I can no longer really WEAR them in public.
I heard through the pregnancy grapevine to just by a "size-up" to get me through the first part of the second trimester. So I went ahead and did that. And the cuts of "pant" that previously did a fabulous job of concealing all my ugly jiggly bits are no longer really filling the bill. The butt and thighs are saggy while the waist pinches and tugs creating a spare tire that you would not even find in el supermercado. And since I previously bought tops and shirts that accentutated my previously flat belly, this will never do.
The next step in the process is/was the Belly Band. A tube top inspired stretchy fabric band that you pull on under and over your unbuttoned pants- giving them life by allowing you to safely WEAR your pants sans closure. I have worn it. I DO wear it. But when I spy the larger pants that fit without this garment I generally toss this belly strangler aside. It's all about the comfort. And it's right about these days where I wish that they made sweat pants out of denim and a cotton khaki so I could wear them as opposed to these other ill-fitting items.
And then of course, last weekend, my once again very generous Mother, took me to Younkers to try on and purchase my first four pairs of "maternity garment". My initial reaction was, "Wow, I am already not giving a rat's patootie about who sees me naked anymore." Second, "Those pants are sorta huge!" Third, "These pants are HEAVEN! My waste is FREE! FREE! FREE! And my butt is hugged nicely. No more sag!". I was determined to wear them immediately upon my return home.
And then... the part no one TELLS you about? The underlying pressure to avoid maternity pants for as long as possible demonstrating your extreme ability to not get fat in your butt and thighs during pregnancy. And I am falling for it hook, line and sinker. I have sported the most random of outfits in the last week. Stretching my creative juices and maxing out my clothes, especially all things made of cotton, or have a bit of give.
The cozy and cute maternity pants sit in waiting- practically begging me to strip off the tags and yank them on. And believe me, I have tried them on several times. And then in a surge of panic, plied them off as quickly as I pulled them on to opt for something a little "less" maternity.
But today, at 15 weeks along, I give. I am giving in. I am going to sport my maternity jeans under a big long bulky sweater as I lunch and brunch with my girlfriends. I didn't make it to the four month mark, which was my pressure-filled goal, but I can no longer take the pinching waste.
It will be terrific to plow through a breakfast plate of egg strudel and not have to excuse myself afterward for some private bathroom adjusting via tugging and pulling the belly band. And despite the fact that I didn't "make it", I am really not surprised, as I am a piggy anyway. And so it is.

Special Delivery

Personally, I have a pretty weak stomach for all things medical, particularly those things which involve blood, urine, or feces. It makes me gag just thinking about it. And, if my brother and Father are any testament to my own weaknesses, we are all bona fide medical wusses ( SP? - I don't use that word much?? ) Even the mere mention of certain words could send any one of us into a tailspin of gag reflexes or a scared and worried laughter- like the word, ummm vagina? Or scrotum, or even "tissue". Yuckity yuck yuck YUCK. We lean towards the safe with more pleasant sounding synonyms, like privates, down there's, and "stuff". So knowing that..
While visiting my brother yesterday, the subject of "delivery" came up. Mostly because my brother was explaining how grossed out he was while accidently "glimpsing" childbirth before he wisely repositioned himself to a more discreet location. This, of course, was all meant to be some well-meaning advice to MY husband in regards to our own future delivery. As I saw my husband's eyes widen in horror at some of the details, I heard him mutter, " Maybe I won't even be in the same ROOM! hahaha! HAH!! ". My internal response... "Um, NOT. You will SO be there... watching me suffer and scream in pain! You don't have to ruin your "view" but you are nuts if you think I won't be riding on this delivery to get me lots and LOTS of sympathy over the next year, I mean 10 years, I mean FOREVER!! I NEED this ammo and you MUST be there to watch SOME of it!!
The subject then ventured into "safe" vantage points. And in all honesty, I am a fan of the "safe" vantage point. Why risk it? So my brother, once again falling into advice mode, began to explain like this. "If you are a vegetarian and you go into a butcher shop, you are validated that you shouldn't eat meat. If you love meat, and then go into a butcher shop and from then on cannot stomach meat, you will always wish that you had never gone into the butcher shop. Because some people cannot ever forget the visual. And you will not know if you are that guy until it's too late. So, bottom line, if you like steak, don't go into the butcher shop. "
It's only a man who could break down vaginal delivery into eating steak. I think I just puked in my mouth.

Excuses Excuses

There has been, obviously, very little blogging coming from me lately. I blame it primarily on two things. The first being an interesting, yet effective money saving venture and the other, well, the other being my new multiple personality disorder.
Because we received confirmation on Monday from the specialist that "everything looked great", the reality of our situation has settled in. And as we absorbed what the Dr. was saying regarding our potential future son, yes- he saw what he deemed a "protrusion", we have begun the task of cutting back, holding back, turning back and sitting back. In other words, we have turned the heat WAY down. Way WAY down. And have been using space heaters to toast our toes in our tiny condo. I think it's working, but at the moment, we do not have enough space heaters for EVERY room in the house, andI am afraid the room where our computer sits is a bit too cold for me most evenings. So, therefore, excuse number one, it's actually TOO cold to blog around here.
At the same time, I have recently discovered that around 7 O'clock, there is some raging evil girl that climbs into my body and vascillates between rage and exhaustion. She is mean, impatient, and does very little good except wait for the time to tick so she may fall into a deep slumber, putting everyone else around her at long-awaited peace. In other words, I have become my own worst enemy. And if it ain't done by seven PM, it ain't gonna happen. I get SO tired and SO hormonal, that I do my best to scamper myself off to the bedroom in order to maintain damage control. I feel SO sorry for my husband. I am sure as the clock nears 6:30 he starts to wish he were somewhere else. As the week has progressed and I have noticed this pattern taking full swing, I have proceeded with more and more caution each passing day. Bottom line? There is no way, with a 7 PM time limit, that I am going to spend my few pleasant hours left in the day blogging and after...well... after? Just go rent Psycho and you will understand. Not to mention I am scared to death of what my other personality might write. Seriously, she is EVIL!! And there you have it, excuse number TWO.
Now it is 5:47 AM, as I have decided that if I am going to blog it is going to have to be first thing in the morning. I pray that we get a new space heater soon and that this phase of pregnancy evaporates quickly.

New Year

It is a New Year indeed. And as I packed up all of the Christmas decor, in preparation of the turning of the calendar, I could not help but surmise that chances are getting more and more likely that by next New Year, I could be cradling a six month old. I try not to shiver when I say that.
As my husband and I lay in bed this morning, we began to chat about where everything would GO. Like as in the Christmas decor I just packed up, and the boxing arena we so carefully put together. Or the clothes I have in the spare closet, and the boxes full of camping gear we have artfully accumulated with very little cash. I don't think either of us are quite ready yet to say goodbye to these "things", and my husband and I talked about how difficult it would be to take a tiny new baby camping. It will be at least 2010 before we get out the tent again.
Everyone tells me, the money and space will just exist when we need it and not to worry. But the list of necessities makes my stomach flutter. We have not even purchased our fold out bed yet- which is really the only option we can think of for overnight guests... namely my Mother who, if and when I do deliver this child, we will so desperately need.
Or the SUV my husband insists I have, even though to me it sounds extraneous. Because I drive like crap and Winter here can be difficult without four wheel drive.
I am not worried per say. I know babies can be raised without all the financial extras and turn out just fine. I know that millions of folks have babies without four wheel drive, and my Mom can surely sleep on the couch or blow up mattress. But these are the things that will bring us peace when we bring a baby into this world.
I have my 13 week ultrasound on January 5th. And because of the holidays and Doctor schedules, not only will I have ONE ultrasound, I will have TWO. One with my "regular" doctor, and then another with my "specialist", and no matter how hard I tried to schedule them at least a week apart, or even a few days, neither of them would budge. So...sigh.... it's TWO in ONE day.
Either way, I guess this means I will be "doubly" confident as we enter into our 14th week of the safety or our baby. As we bring in the New Year this evening, I will have a lot to think about. Including many what ifs and maybes. But it's all good. I am sure my biggest concern will end up being that I don't split out of my pants.

Life in General

Last year, when I was pregnant, and before the miscarriage, my cravings were met with an ambitious and chesire like grin. As a woman who was born with a constant weight battle, I finally got my free for all. That is until it was all said and done and I was big as a house and had to join weight watchers to lose it all. So THIS time, I have apporached pregnancy with much more caution. And when my friend Sonja gave me her Gabrielle Reese Pregnancy Work-out DVD, I accepted with unbridled delight.
Yesterday was the first time I got the chance to tune in. And because our DVD player is a piece of crap, and it skips, I ended up accidently holding positions for much longer than I should have. Not realizing that I would be holding it forever unless I manually fast-forwarded it. As a result, my arms are killing me. Today I will tuck the DVD remote in my sports bra for when I realize ten minutes have passed and my leg is shaking in pain.
While on the subject of pregnancy, I must say, I understand weird things happen. I have decided to have a blase approach and do my best to not give in to to whims of exhaustion, aches and pains and of course, feelings of vomitous disgustous. And even as my skin transforms into ailen like patches here and there, I am accepting. But seriously, when I awoke in pain last night due to a searing shot in my ear, I admit, I can longer conceal my gross out. The pimple on my EAR? has given me the creeps. I dont' GET pimples on my ear. I didn't even really think my ear had pores. I know it's just the beginning. But YUCK.
In other news, I am conflicted over the in-law Christmas Eve party. When I asked what I could bring I did not get a response. My husband then went to bat for me and demanded I be told what to bring. My husband then told me, "Bring whatever you want". Huh?
My family is organization station. I am not used to such a vast wonderland of food creation possibilties. While some would flourish in these conditions, I feel like it is a set up.
I nearly created a fight with my husband, demanding he tell me a dessert he would eat. His casual tone irritated me as I explained, " I want at least ONE PERSON to EAT WHAT I MAKE". OH! okay, he says, make apple cobbler then. And if things follow tradition as I suspect they may, he will be full from dinner and see me coming with the "dessert", and look like a deer in headlights with Twilight Zone squawks in the back ground. "NO!" he will think, "I am FULL, I don't WANT THAT! My wife will be so pissed if I don't eat it and tell her it's good. Fake smile fake smile, I would LOVE a piece honey! It looks delicious!" and I will smile and hand him his plate.
When it's time to leave I will look at my slaved over pathetic dessert and see the one chunk cut out of it. My MIL will try to usher me out the door with it, but I will refuse. "NO! YOU keep it, really!" and I will walk out to the car empty handed and be irritated that I didn't just "get an assignment that would have been eaten" when I initially asked. It is an effort in futility.
Overall, Christmas vacation is off to a good start. Today I am going on a girl's day to the movies and then out to a bar. I am slightly concerned about the bar, as one lady doesn't drink and me and the other girl are pregnant. I am not sure why we are even going there. However, it will be good to get out of the house with the girl's, even if we can only pretend to sip on cocktails.