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.

Easter Weirdo

Last weekend, while "Eastering" in my hometown, my husband and I had the the privilege of spending our nights, due to a lack of sleeping spots and my VGP's ( very generous parents ), in one of two hotels on the edge of town.
We chose THIS particularly motel over the other because it is the newer of the two- and while it doesn't have a swimming pool, it is "nicer", if you will. And while it is "nicer, if you will, it is STILL a hotel. So it was no surprise to me that my very pregnant self awoke wide-eyed at the hours of 2, 3, 4, and then could never really quite fall asleep again. And BEING that it is a hotel, and I didn't want to deny both myself AND my husband the opportunity of sleep, I did my best in the wee hours to occupy myself with "things to do". Like reading with the booklight I got from my SIL ( thanks Jen, LOVE the snuggie it came with as well, and BTW- there is a snuggie pub crawl this weekend in Chicago... I am guessing that if I was properly snuggied- no one would guess I was preggers??? ) . I digress.
I read, I meditated? I think. I made mental lists and I stared at the clock. I played games like "close your eyes and see if you can calculate a minute"... and then opened them to see how I fared and would be sad that only about ten seconds had passed. I was bored. On morning two, having had enough of the folly- I gave in and opted to use the work out facilities. Which consisted of a tread mill and a weight machine in a room the size of a small bathroom. But it certainly did the trick.
The advantage of the "gym" was it's view. I was able to stare at the people walking past to either check out or dine at the free continental breakfast. And since there were only about six cars in the lot- this left a lot of down time, but still, who else stays at a hotel on Easter morning and is up at five, the people just HAD to be of interest. And they were. The "dog" sisters- two ladies in matching air brushed t-shirts of three dogs- each dined hungrily on a cake donut, bowl of cereal and a some orange juice. And they prayed before they ate. The "trucker"... the plain looking guy who drank coffee and read every corner of the paper... and then there was the "weirdo". The weirdo that has led to the writing of this post, because for the life of me, a week later, I cannot shake him from my head, and I just HAVE to share.
When he initially walked past- I thought very little of him. He was dressed in jeans and a normal looking t-shirt. No creepy greasy hair or coke bottle glasses or gold teeth. He DID have a stuffed animal, something like an old rusty Eeyore- but I assumed his wife and two year old would be soon to follow. No one followed. I waited- but no one followed.
When I finished up my work out, I helped myself to the free continental breakfast where I had a closer look at the "weirdo"... there he sat, at a table by himself, with the stuffed animal propped up on the table and it's own cup positioned carefully in front of it.
I tried not to stare as I gathered up my own coffee and cereal and newspaper, but curiousity, as I have mentioned before, has killed this cat MANY times. And while I was curious, something about it also frightened me. I chose to sit in FRONT of him, so I would not be able to see if he was staring at me. And while this may have defeated the purpose of my Easter morning spying, I am STILL 7 months pregnant and had just engaged in physical activity and food was, well, let's just say- inHALED.
As I ate and caught glimpses of him between bites of Raisan Bran, it became evident to me, that yes... this apparition of a normal man was just that. He was a closet WEIRDO! He actually had his "pet" set up to watch TV with him and was offering him bits of drink from his own special EMPTY Eeyore cup, while he snacked on his bagel and drank his coffee.
When I was solidly convinced that Eeyore was a special and very real part of this guy's life, I began to shiver as thoughts of roadside death crossed my mind. My fear outwieghed my hunger. JUST kidding- my fear caused me to gather my food and scamper back to my room as quickly as my wobbly butt and arms full of food and styrofoam cups of coffee could safely carry me- which really wasn't all that fast- but you know.. I tried to have my move on.
Anyway- even though the man wasn't technically doing anything WRONG- I still wanted to call the police. Instead I just woke my husband. He was not impressed.
All I can say is beware of regular looking men dining with stufffed pets. Something tells me there is MUCH much more to the story.

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.

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?

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?