Happy Fourth of July!

To celebrate Junior's independence, her new blog is up and running. It's still in its infancy, much like JR, but it was time to cut the cord.

Thank you to everyone who has read DIY, and I hope you enjoy the new blog.

Jellybean Mama

Because I Can

I know this is just wrong. I can't help myself. If I'm going to be kept up at night, this is the payback. Man, she is going to HHHHHAAAAAATTTTTEEEEE me!!! She's already developed this very tolerant expression when I'm doing something stupid (such as dressing her in a sailor suit and giggling to myself, for example).

She's such a good baby. I can't get over it. It's totally ridiculous.

My parents leave Saturday. I am panic-stricken. I have to somehow manage to keep her alive all by myself.

My mother says I need to stop buying stuff for her. I am afraid she's right. I have taken all my previous bad shopping habits (clothes, electronica, hair products) and simply converted them to Baby (8 million pink sleepers and smocked dresses, a baby MP3 player, hair bows). I must get better about saving. Especially since I'm seriously thinking about making my boss cry by taking an extra two weeks of STD at the 66% rate. I am freaking out about the whole going-back-to-work thing. THANK GOD I WORK FROM HOME. I don't know how people leave little teensy babies to drive to crappy jobs (like the teenage girl who checked me out at TJMaxx who has a 7 month old).

This whole motherhood thing is just crazy. What the heck was I thinking? Man, am I an idiot.

Jennifer Jillian Jellybean, May 21st, 2008 3:31 am

Enjoy the (Internet) Silence

Well, folks, it’s been a heckuva ride, but as of today I am going out on Mat Leave and therefore likely shan’t be blogging for a while. Plus my family is about to descend upon me, and there isn’t room enough in this chair for me AND my mum, who will be instantly attached to my elbow (but in a good way this time). PLUS my office will become my brother’s bedroom, and god knows I won’t want to come in here for that whole time.

I promise to keep good notes about the whole birthing process and share them before Junior leaves for college, but whether that’s on this site or a new site or her personal site or the back of a dirty napkin, who knows. Thanks for reading and feigning interest in our little lives and for all your happy thoughts and well-wishes. Right back atcha.

If you’ve already contacted me to be sent notification of any sort of shiny happy new site, you’ll be automatically added when that happens. If not, well, you shall be soundly whipped for your procrastination and will miss out on DIY Mothering – How I Ruined Junior’s Life in the First 10 Minutes.

So, uh, stop checking this site. Go and do something. Drink more water and finish troubleshooting that issue. Get gas before it goes up another dollar. Refinish that piece of furniture that’s been bugging you. Find another crazy single woman about to make the same mind-boggling mistake I mean decision as I did and tell her to adopt instead, because, seriously, 40 lbs – lame.

See you around the interwebs!

Take What You Can Get

Well, it’s shaping up to be a nice quiet mid-week day. My Cassette to MP3 converter arrived yesterday afternoon, so I got to install and play with new technology. It’s pretty darn cool, although it was a little emotional to listen to some of the tapes I haven’t played in 10 years, since back when I was working in daycare, and I got a bit misty-eyed thinking about playing the songs for Junior. Now I just need some sort of MP3-playing nursery device.

I also learned how to stream photos and music to my friend Tivo yesterday, which was kind of cool. I had a little disagreement with the server but we got it worked out. It’s awesome with my surround sound. I need to do that when I’m in the kitchen cooking. Now if only Tivo would stop arbitrarily recording old episodes of ‘That 70’s Show’. No one needs that.

Since my parents will be here day after tomorrow I started finalizing house-guests-are-arriving- type stuff. I borrowed an air bed for my brother to sleep on and wiped an old laptop so he can play online poker or surf for pron or do whatever boys his age do in the privacy of my office (since I won’t be using it again for work for quite some time, huzzah!). I snuck into my friend D’s house and took her coffee maker, since my parents can’t live without their scientifically computed regular-decaf blend every night after dinner and I am trying to minimize the stress as much as I can before they get here. Maybe I’ll child-lock all the sports channels while I’m at it. I've got a list of activities planned for the first few days they're here that I'm hoping will be called on account of labor, but better safe than trapped in the house watching my mum polish my tea kettle and my dad try to engage me in a political discussion.

My breakfast nook lights were installed yesterday, so that should be the last thing around the house I have to spend money on for quite some time. Uh, other than an entranceway table of some sort. So, house done, laundry up to date, guest rooms ready, going crazy at ‘work’, tired and sore and cranky. Only two more days online, so enjoy this tiny bit of entertainment while you can! I am again getting panic attacks at night about the reality of having a baby. Maybe my heart racing will induce labor. I started on the Fenugreek so I'll let you know about that.

Baby's Big Fat Head Seen from Space

I had my first dream/nightmare last night about going into labor. Luckily it wasn’t about the actual labor itself but about the arguably much worse trauma of getting organized to leave for the hospital. It was VERY similar to that dream where it’s the morning of the first day of a new school year and you don’t know where any classes are, or what your schedule is, or where you have to register. I guess going into labor is a lot like that – you don’t know what you’re doing and despite the fact that there are all kinds of official people there to ‘help’, they are of no use to you. And you never have the right text book.

I had my 40-week appointment this morning (erk!) and the doctor basically said the same thing as last week – big fat baby, big fat head, no change, you’re going to get torn a new one if you don’t go ahead any make my life easier by just scheduling the c-section. *sigh* I also like to be told that I need to worry about the long weekend. God forbid I interrupt someone’s camping trip. Then I fought with my HR Benefits person because I can't just start STD next Monday because I say so; I'd have to have a doctor say so. After the hassle of getting the FMLA paperwork filled out (plus the OB/GYN office charged me a $10 fee! F***ers!), I asked her if it wouldn't be simpler to take the week of Sick or Vacation next week (at the beginning instead of the end of my leave time). But no, she wants me to call her after next week's appointment. Argh.


The seriously GREAT news is that my parents have decided they’re done with waiting as well, so they’re just going to plan on packing up the car Thursday and heading this way for Friday. Which is awesome, because I’ll probably be sitting twiddling my thumbs all next week, and now I’ll have company to keep me occupied. Plus I have been dying for 6 months to have my mother here, and hopefully she’ll arrive in time to feel this crazy baby in utero and mock my hugeness. And push me around in some sort of cart.

While I may not be dilated or effaced, my Bishop’s Score for irritability is 100%. I am mean to everyone without prejudice, and flipped off someone who honked at me for the first time in my whole life. I figure at my current weight I can take ANYONE, so good luck trying to yank me from my vehicle. My patience is stretched and thin, and my tolerance has dropped. So while Junior might not be ready, I am. For some stabbin’. I bought some Fenugreek and Black Cohosh and just may be ready to try jumping jacks. And knitting needles.

Working Girls

Well, not milk, yet, but at least, signs of colostrum. Huzzah!! My cute little pump arrived yesterday so I spent some quality time playing with The Girls last night. Uh, don’t read any further if you don’t want to hear a whole lot more information about my breasts. Sorry, that warning may have been a little late. Anyhow, I’m not quite coordinated enough yet to juggle doing two at once, but I did one at a time for about 20 minutes each AND STUFF CAME OUT!!! Like, the teensiest tiniest hint. But still. As most of you know, I had breast reduction surgery my senior year of college and I’ve been worrying pretty much daily about my ability to breastfeed ever since. This gave me an amazing amount of hope and reassurance. Put those girls to work!

I obviously did NOT, however, immediately go into labor, which is kinda secretly what I’d been hoping for. But it’s a start. And maybe it will help toughen up my nips prior to the Little Heifer being attached? I dunno. My next plan of attack is fenugreek. Used to increase milk production it also has been proven to stimulate uterine contractions. And, uh, I really really just love fenugreek, so if I smell like maple syrup it won’t bother me one bit. I refuse to do the castor oil thing because, ew. Pooing my pants for three days isn’t as nice a side effect as the smelling-like-maple-syrup thing. Step Three in my Secret Plan to Induce Labor Without Walking will be to get a pedicure some time this weekend – apparently there’s a magic spot somewhere around the heel that, when rubbed, will make a woman bark like a dog. No, wait, that’s from ‘Scrooged’. The magic spot rubbing will supposedly bring on contractions. Eh, even if it doesn’t work, pedicure! Rub my nasty scratchy heels, lady! Soak those swollen Fred Flinstone feet!

Yesterday was pretty awesome and tomorrow will be even better. I did end up going to the spa open house and it was pretty decent. They had some Dermalogica free samples which was very cool, and convinced me to spend a zillion dollars on additional must-have items, which was uncool, and I got not one but two mini-massages which was heaven after that night of back pain. My friend C. went with me, and since she likes to throw money at stuff to assuage her guilt ended up pre-paying for a pre-natal massage for me, scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. Which will ROCK. She feels bad because she’s out of town for the next two weeks and will miss out on Junior’s arrival, so I scored. Also, my handyman comes tomorrow to hang the breakfast nook lights and install the screen door, and it’s always pleasant to stand around and stare at him. And, uh, get things installed.

It's Week 39 - Do You Know When Your Baby Will Arrive?

After being up last night for two hours with Braxton Hicks in my lower back, I told my boss today that if I went past my due date I was going to take off work early. My exact words to her were, “I’m climbing the walls and just getting worse, and I’m worried that I’ll be asked a question on a conference call and I’ll say ‘I like apples’”. She was a little confused by my example because, well, she’s a grown-up, but the good news is, she was very cool about it. The bad news is, well, tighter budgeting for me, but at this point I would take that last week off without pay. 66% isn’t that bad. So seven more days of work at the most, I can cope with that. It gives me a date to hold onto. Again, not complaining here, things could be way worse and I could be on bed rest or trapped without a car or trapped under a car or whatever. So don’t get me wrong, I’m very grateful I’m as mobile as I am and not in excruciating pain every second of the day. I’m just, well, ready. And people need to stop telling me to walk. I’ve never felt less like walking in my entire life. I’m counting on the newly ordered pump to get things going a la the very unsexy electric nipple stimulation. And I thought my Friday nights couldn't get any more pitiful.

I had a dental appointment yesterday and stocked up on the next few weeks’ worth of Invisalign trays. I love my dentist – she told a great story about how when she was in labor she wanted every drug they had available, which opened the way for me to make a chloroform joke, which I always appreciate . Plus she kept saying, ‘You just look so darn CUTE!’ and told me my highlights were fantastic. And then she offered to do some plaster casts of Junior’s hands and feet with their dental molding, which is freaking awesome. They wouldn’t let me leave the office until I had promised at least 4 separate people I would bring the baby in like as soon as she had been weighed and suctioned. Such a popular child already.

The weather is heating up and all I want is for the local swimming pools to be open. I don’t care that small children and the elderly would run in fear if I was to be seen in a bathing suit. I just want some sun and some weightlessness. Coach is going to bring the Wii and the Mario Kart over this weekend for some distraction, which will be fun. Even better, she’ll bring her brother, who will cut my weeds. I mean grass. I have given up on the gardening, I just really don't care any more. I half-heartedly spread some grass seed but it can tell I don't have high expectations so it's striving to disappoint.

Tonight there is some sort of event at my local spa where they have hors d'oeuvres and show off new products and give mini-massages and facials. I think I'm going to go so that I can get out of the house and do some of that new-fangled walkin' everyone is speaking so highly of. At the very least I'll be able to do some old-fashioned spendin', which should make me happy.

Still Crazy After All These Months

So I keep coming up with all these awesome things to blog about, but it’s at like 11 pm and I’m nowhere near a functional laptop or pen or chisel and stone tablet. I end up forgetting what brilliance I had composed in my head and writing about, like, my terrible eating habits. Sorry. You deserve better. And Junior deserves less corn dogs and more bright green veggies.

We’re getting down to crunch time, and the show is finally getting on the road with some thinning, although definitely not in my midsection – I gained 4 lbs between last week’s appointment and today’s. I wouldn’t have thought that was medically possible without ingesting lard sandwiches and cake smoothies. Mmmm… cake smoothies. Anyhow, I found out my practice will induce if I haven’t shot out Junior by week 41 which is in -18- days if you aren’t compulsively counting like me.

I am utterly and completely useless at work, I’m irritable with the nice strangers who want to talk to me even more because of the conversation-piece-belly, and I AM GOING OUT OF MY MIND. I can’t be any more ready than I am, and there’s only so much Baby Story one person can watch. I had to drop Battlestar Galactica because I’m not smart enough to watch it right now (plus I don’t have anyone else to talk to about it, and it’s really a watch-and-discuss type of show, I’ve learned). The scrapbook is as done as it can be without me photoshopping in someone else's baby. I'm not allowed to buy anything else. I'm not allowed to hang or paint or install or organize anything else. People who aren't prepared are dropping babies like crazy, but Junior is taking her sweet precious time AND IT'S KILLING ME.

Happy Cinco de Mayo – please have a drink with some salt and some lime for me. The commercials for the summer beers are starting to come out, and I drool every time – and I’m not even a beer drinker. I just need to hold it together a little longer…

So I Definitely Ought to Have More Super Powers

37 weeks tomorrow. To the medical profession, that counts as full-term. That is FREAKY.

I’m starting to really feel the weight of the Little Heifer in my back and in the fouchacha region. My friend A. has been really good about picking me up and taking me places where she knows I’ll walk around a lot, like The WalMart. But for the first time the other night I actually stopped and looked at the scooters and thought, ‘Yeah, bring on some of that sweet motorized cart action’. The greeter asked me my due date and told me she didn’t think I was going to make it to May 16, which I just never get tired of hearing. And she commended me when we left. I love to get accolades for shopping! A. just rolled her eyes, but I could tell she was jealous that no one commented on her terrific walking-around-the-store skills. The fat baby so enjoys spending time on the right side of my body that I have more stretch marks there now, and I've given up and accepted sleeping on my left side. I use the word 'sleeping' very loosely.

My latest fear, which I’ll share only with you, dear readers, is that Junior really is a boy and has just been hiding it a la The Crying Game. All those little smocked dresses, argh, it would break my heart. I’ve had several dreams where she was here and was of the male persuasion, but they can’t be trusted since in last night’s she/he was 6 months old and was singing along to the radio. Rapping, to be exact. My dreams are really screwed up lately.

I’m looking forward to the weekend – tomorrow afternoon I’m going to take some hooky time and go sneak out and see ‘Baby Mama’, which I’ve been breathlessly anticipating since I first heard it was coming. I have a total girl crush on Tina Fey. Then I’m going to spend some quality time scrapbooking and getting my flower seedlings and herbs planted, since I’ve put it off way too long. The scrapbooking is a teensy bit bittersweet, since I wanted to have a few pages about Junior’s biological father for her, so I spent a few hours going through old photos of Quiet and compiling a list of basic facts I figured she’d want to know (where he went to school, what time he was born, stuff I don’t even know about my father). I really hope we don’t ever lose touch so that if/when she has any unanswered questions I can ask him. I hate to think that one day she’ll ask, like, what his shoe size is and I won’t know and it will be terribly important like for a school project or a loan application and she’ll hate me. Even more.

In weight gain news, I am almost the same weight as Hellboy, apparently, but a foot shorter. So that's distressing.*

*Last week's EW had a feature where they lined up this summer's super heroes by height and weight. Like, Iron Man (which I cannot WAIT for!), and the new Hulk (who cares?). It was extremely upsetting for the Volvo-sized pregnant women.

Which of These Things Is Not Like the Other

Is it odd that my sister and I both took pictures of our lunch for our blogs the same day last week? (mind you, she was less lazy and actually POSTED her picture, while I got distracted and didn't get mine up until today. Quiet would be so disappointed in me.) I like the picture comparison - she's usually much more of a vegetarian than I am, yet my lunch totally kicks hers. Except that you can't tell from the picture but the plate is weighed down by the 14 lbs of peanut butter and grape jelly on that white bread sandwich. At least it's that pretend white-wheat. And, uh, also hers didn't include cake, so perhaps I lose some points there. In case you can't tell, mine is the one on the left. Compulsive and at the same time, white-trash (I like my food organized and not touching, and I love the TV-dinner look).

Today I had my 36 1/2 week appointment and another ultrasound. The ultrasound was SOOOOO disappointing (couldn't really see much because Junior's precious little nose is crammed right against the placenta), and my Little Heifer is estimated to be 7 1/2 pounds. Mostly in the cranial region. Yes, the tech told me my big fat baby has a big fat head. I wasn't really surprised, that's how we like to grow 'em in my family. But almost 8 lbs already?!! That makes me want to add Dial-an-Epidural to my cell phone phone book. I also had my first fisting I mean internal exam. No dilation or effacement or any other fancy birthin' terms are happening yet. Which can mean either she could be born in another month, or this evening (because doctors still just don't know all that much besides how to apply the leeches).

The shower Saturday was totally awesome. Lots of smocked dresses, which totally thrilled me. I set up the Pack 'N Play last night and can't stop glaring at it whenever I pass by - it really freaks me out, and I don't know why. Signs of baby slowly creeping throughout the rest of the house makes it more real? The P'nP signifies that the shower has happened and it's less than a month til my due date and at some point I'm going to have to set a small child in it, which is utterly paralyzingly terrifying? Who knows. I also realized last night (a little late in the game, much like all my Junior realizations) that in a few months The Nanny, a stranger, is going to be at my house. My new house. The one that is just starting to feel like mine. A stranger, here. With my baby. ERRKKK!!

Quit Crushing the Baby

Good morning, and welcome to Tuesday. Only four days til the Shower! Today’s weather will be cool and sunny, with limited chances of my extra bags of garbage possibly being picked up. Later on in the day we expect to see salads and fresh fruits, since I had fried chicken for dinner last night. Again. And a piece of cake. Omg, did I tell you my newest Kroger sells slices of cake? It’s brilliant, and totally hit the spot for the hummingbird. I got some sort of Italian Crème and a Coconut, but they also had Chocolate and Red Velvet and like two other kinds. $1 for two slices. Just right for two servings for the unwed mother. Because, uh, I also had it with ice cream, my own private un-birthday party. Don’t judge me.

Our headline story is the fact that I am still stomach sleeping, despite my rather advanced girth. I just cannot deal with this side thing. I try, I swear, but at some point I roll over to the position I’m most comfortable in – arms pinned underneath me, leg propped up, quite stubbornly on my stomach. On Junior. The 83 articles I’ve read this morning on the internets tell me that it’s ok, that my body would tell me something was wrong or I’d become uncomfortable long before I hurt Little Heifer. It still worries me. I started poking at her as soon as I was awake, to make sure I hadn’t committed mattress-ide (get it? Too early for lame comedy?). There were some sleepy half-hearted pokes back in return, so I guess she’s still mostly ok. Like I always say, it’s better than doing crystal meth.

The big fat baby and I hung some prints in the living room/dining room last night, in part to hide the ugly paint job that I need to ignore until post-baby and mostly just to balance out the rooms. But it made me really want to get curtains for the dining room, so I might go do that tonight. I swear, it’s got to be the nesting, because even when I move I’m not normally quite this crazy-compulsive about getting everything settled. And the cleaning up after myself! So bizarre. I am apparently tortuously bothered by the idea of leaving for the hospital in the middle of the night and having the pillows on the couch slightly mussed.

Enjoy Tuesday and what it brings for you. My domain change looks like it finally went through so I’ll be able to go work on the other site, huzzah!

Green = Healthy

It’s Monday, and that means I’m tired because I spent the weekend doing errands and stuff around the house like a crazy person, and then Junior refused to let me sleep last night. The garage got organized, which was awesome, and I did zero cleaning, which was less awesome. I also spent like $782 at Target on some curtains and the new Magic Eraser with Febreze. Frickin’ Target. I made another post-baby freezer meal (Spanish Chicken ‘n Rice) and had a nice outing to the Farmer’s Market, which resulted in Spinach Strawberry Salad for dinner last night. I can’t believe strawberries are already in season, I’m so not ready for that.

Saturday afternoon I drove around with the girls looking at houses (no, not for me, for once), and encountered the out-of-control pregnancy foot swelling for the first time. It’s bad when flip flops cut into your gargantuan feet. I had total cankles, which was uncool. I put ‘em up when I got home, but they weren’t better until the following morning. I got tired out sooooo quickly, and it started to hurt when I’d just, like, walk. I think confinement is the only answer.

Today’s I-got-suckered-in-again new food item review is the Canada Dry Green Tea Ginger Ale. Now, some people might think this sounds disgusting, and I was a little bit worried. But I love their Cranberry Ginger Ale so figured I’d give it a shot. I was pleasantly surprised – it was light and refreshing, plus filled with the awesome power of antioxidants and Vitamin C and will also wash your car or something. It made me feel slightly less guilty about drinking a soda beverage while preggers (because, let’s face it, I just don’t like water and this is slightly better than Pepsi), however, it still has a pound of sugar in the form of the evil Corn Syrup of Death. I also can’t decide if I like it just because I’m pregnant and Junior is screwing with my taste buds, or if I’d like it while a rational non-pregnant person. Regardless, a lovely summer carbonated sugar drink.

Only five days til the Baby Shower!!!

I’m a Nerdy Girl and I’m OK

Today I spent a large portion of my time preparing for Junior’s arrival in a very special way. While other less gadget-inclined knocked-up women are busy making CDs or iPod playlists or, god forbid, mix tapes, I am loading up the ol’ family PSP. I realized that it was truly the ideal device for labor, other than the epidural pump – it can hold like a gazillion songs (and can either be on speaker or listened to through earphones, unlike an iPod), photos ('focal points'), plays some pretty nifty games, and, best of all, I installed Tivo Desktop and the converter program on my PC. So I can transfer recorded movies and TV shows to my handheld lover. Which is really, really sexy. I think I might actually go and buy a couple UMD movies, too, just to spoil myself. Do you think ‘Superbad’ is too inappropriate for L&D?

In fun and charitable household news, I donated a bunch more clothes, some appliances, and some furniture to the NC Children’s Hospital. They had left me a note last week that they were doing a pickup today, which was nice and easy, just the way I like my acts of charity (requiring little to no actual effort). The kindly man driving the truck, however, asked me how my snake problem was. SNAKE PROBLEM?! I thought I’d heard him wrong, but no, he said he’d heard from other people in the same neighborhood that the houses near water had problems with black snakes, copperheads, moccasins… and since I had the gulley in the backyard… I was incredulous. Then I laughed my head off, because, really, snake problem? That wasn’t in the real estate listing. I’d be my usual unconcerned self if not for the prospect of Junior, my poor Little Heifer, getting her tantalizingly tender veal-like flesh nipped by some sort of incredibly poisonous critter. Do fences keep out snakes? The gulley really is kind of sharply inclined, so they’d really have to work at getting up into my yard. No, seriously – snakes? Better than huge man-eating spiders, I say. Snakes I can deal with. A hoe makes very short work of one. But how ridiculous. Thank god I worry only about trifling matters.

Happy Friday, everyone. Tomorrow I finish emptying boxes out of the Dining Room and install some organizers in the Garage, then it’s off to beautify myself with a cut & color in preparation for my BABY SHOWER!!! next weekend.

D'OH!

The reason I didn't have cold water? I, uh, hadn't turned it back on.

No, really. This is how painful it is to be me right now.

But my precious handyman made my Nursery less flameable, moved my TV, and looked pretty doing it. So I'm happy.

Failure to Lurch

There are few times when I throw down the gloves and whole-heartedly admit defeat. However, pregnancy has taught me many lessons lately, and awareness of my limitations is just one. My limitations are both physical and mental, it seems. Lying under a sink 8 months pregnant was just plain stupid, I can admit that now, and the nightmare I had last night about said sink exploding and water spewing everywhere was just what I deserved. Also, I don’t seem to have any cold water, just hot, so despite the apparent functionality things aren’t what they seem. I'm going to try to run the dishwasher here shortly, which should be hilarious.

My only other stupid to-do item was to install two little harmless dimmer switches, one for the Master Bedroom and one for the Nursery, the two places where I would want to make sure Little Precious knew it was always quiet time. The Master went ok, except that there’s an odd hum coming from the fixture that I find a little disturbing since I sleep directly underneath. The Nursery, on the other hand…

First of all, understand that in order to ‘do this right’ and not send tasty piping-hot electricity through Junior, I had to flip the breaker switch in the control panel in the garage. So I did that. I then hauled my enormous derrière upstairs to take out the existing light switch and realized that the ceiling fan and light were on the same switch. Hm. I wrestled the wires out, breaking off a piece in the box in the process, and decided that maybe I could just hook up the new switch without the fan wire. So I tried this, and went back to the garage, where the breaker wouldn’t flip. So back upstairs I went, and tried to undo what I had done. However, since I had left a nice little piece of copper wire in the original box, I couldn’t hook it all back up. So I tried doing it without hooking up the fan. Back down to the garage. Back upstairs. Didn’t work. So I next decided to use the box I had taken from the Master bedroom. Hooked everything up. Back down to the garage. Back upstairs. It worked, then blew the breaker. I thought I might have switched the wires, so I made a swap. Back down to the garage. Back upstairs. Didn’t work. Switched the wires back and tried once more. Back down to the garage (you’re starting to get the idea, aren’t you? I also want you to realize just how steep my stairs are, and that I have 194 lbs of dead weight out front), back upstairs. Starting to really sweat despite the AC keeping my house a pregnancy-comfortable 67 degrees. Anyhow, it worked again, then blew the breaker again, so I tore the damn thing out and decided to leave it and call my favorite handyman. I went back down to the garage and flipped the breaker one more time so I’d at least have hall lights, but at some point it blew again, so now I’m worried that I’ve done real damage. Plus I’m mad at myself for being an idiot and not being able to do something so simple. AND I have to call someone to fix something really simple, so I feel like a helpless girl, which I despise. And I wished I was dead because I was so exhausted and I had a couple contractions in there somewhere and my back was killing me.

So the lesson for today, kids, is to NOT DO ANYTHING THAT ISN’T POSITIVELY NECESSARY when you’re eight months pregnant. Because I didn’t learn from my horrible afternoon. Nope, I decided I had to start post-baby cooking, and made a double batch of enchiladas for the freezer. It wasn’t until AFTER that, at 9 pm, that I really and truly wanted to die, so I had a little hormonal self-pitying cry and took a bath and put myself to bed.

Today’s project is to switch out my television sets, but I swear I will wait until the handyman gets here and see if I can throw some money at him so he’ll do it. And then that’s it, absolutely, I promise. I’m all unpacked so there shouldn’t be any more lifting or bending. Maybe one or two more curtains/blinds to hang…

Starting to Mean Business

Phrases I hate to hear – “Let’s schedule you for an ultrasound at your next appointment since the baby seems to be measuring big’

This weekend was all about Coach’s birthday (saw 'Leatherheads', don't bother, two affable guys don't make a right), and unpacking, unpacking, unpacking. I finished setting up the Nursery, Guest Bedroom, and my room. The Office is done. I destroyed the kitchen sink (decided to be a smarty and change out the faucet, so now everything is in pieces spread all over the floor because I bought the wrong connector tubes. Who needs water in the kitchen anyhow?), the Living Room is mostly done without the further addition of shelves or magical cabinets or a free flat screen, the Dining Room just needs the tools cleaned out of it since it’s workbench central right now, the Garage is done thanks to Coach’s manual labor breaking down boxes, and, well, that’s about it! Bathrooms are as done as they’re gonna get without being painted, and I bought some flower seeds to start for the front yard. If I can just get the faucet finished off and the dimmer switches installed I’ll have completed my little compulsive move-in checklist, huzzah!

The best part was that I got to play with the car seat/stroller. I had purchased the Graco travel system from Craigslist (it was brand-new in the box, before you yell at me for buying something so important second-hand). It was one of the things I hadn’t let myself open, as a treat for unpacking, and it was worth the wait. The stroller is really light-weight, and the wheel swivel radius is awesome. Everything folds and locks and opens etc. like butter. I put the car seat base in the car backwards immediately, but got it figured out and all fixed up so Junior has less of a chance of going splat. My Vibe has the LATCH system (really cool, marked on little tags sewn right into the backseat!), which believe it or not was a consideration when I bought the car five years ago (hey, I’m a planner, what can I say). It is WEIRD to drive around with even just the car seat base in the car. But I like to be prepared.

I had my new practice appointment this morning where I had to sit through all the same questions I answered at UNC when I first got pregnant, which made me crazy. And, uh, the nurse pissed me off so I got really defensive and blotchy. Basically she was just really confused when I said I had self-inseminated; I explained I did it myself, at home, with a known donor. She was like, ‘You mean this was a UNC-assisted program?’ I said, no, I did it with a cup and a sterile pipette tube all by my little ol’ self. She then blew me away by asking, ‘Oh, so there’s a special kit you can buy?’ *sigh* I guess that it isn’t that common, but this was a medical professional - I felt like saying, ‘Why, yes, actually, I just walked into CVS and got the Knock Yourself Up In a Box! It was a snap!’ So apparently I am still a little sensitive about the whole thing. The doctor was decent, a nice young female blonde. I got tape-measured for the first time and she felt like Junior was a little further ahead/bigger than she should be (plus UNC didn’t actually send any of the labs or ultrasound results) so she ordered an ultrasound for my next visit. YES! I know that my sister N. would be scandalized, but I am thrilled. I’ll get to see Junior at 36 weeks. Don’t convert that to months or you’ll barf like I just did. They better not be setting me to up be induced or schedule a c-section, because I’m not falling for it, I don't care if they do tell me she's like 10 pounds. She is growing like a weed though – I’ve hit 30 lbs gained. So much for managing that. I startled the nurse because I laughed out loud when I got on the scale and saw the number. That means no more delicious and heartburn-y fried chicken for Little Heifer, I mean baby.

My Blog May Be Boring But at Least My Family is Still Weird

I guess this is what happens when I no longer live with emotionally wracked gay men any more – my life becomes unexciting and my blog will soon be totally unreadable except by people who own Bedazzlers and think that small dogs (other than Jack Russell terriers, obviously) are cute. My big adventure for today was finding my nearest Kroger, since Food Dog was a bust and I’m really pretty store-faithful to the Big K (uh, unless they have a store-brand soda named ‘Big K’, which I think they might – I would never drink that). Anywhoodle, I was a little worried because my new Kroger is in a bit of a rough section of town (translation - I was the only white girl in the store). That’s never bothered me, though, and my new Kroger is NICE! It’s very spacious, and well-stocked, and although it does not have the aforementioned Windmill cookies it DOES have Stewart’s Orange Cream Soda, so it’s forgiven. I also got called ‘Honey’ a lot, which I always like, and more strangers told me that I was huge and was going to go into labor any second, which I do not. And I bought a dozen eggs. Easter Crème Eggs. They’re on clearance for like 19 cents, I can’t cope.

I got a package from an Aunt and Uncle yesterday that made me cry. I’ve never thought to put a gift bag full of stuff in a Fed Ex mailer. It was awesome, all ribbons and shredded tissue. There were a ton of awesome presents for Junior (the cool baby photo album, some teether-type toys, a bunch of onesies and sleepers and socks), a Target gift card, and a check. Ask me how much the check was for. $38.88. I sat and stared at it for like ½ hour, and finally had to call them. The significance of the number? None whatsoever. My uncle ‘just likes eights’. Poor Junior. She’s got nothing but crazy genes on both sides. But the thought was unbelievably sweet, especially for family I’m not all that close to, and then the same Aunt emailed me today to remind me that my family all loved and supported me and that I could always ask for anything, which just made me cry all over again. So I’m feeling less depressed and more oh-yeah-I’m-really-very-lucky. Oooh, and I got baby schwag! I went to the pediatrician orientation last night (bo-ring!) and they gave out Similac diaper bags loaded with haul; cans of formula, bottles, bottle insulators with ice packs, samples, coupons. The orientation itself was pretty lame (although nice to know they have Saturday and Sunday hours, and always have advice nurses 24/7) and I was the only singleton there with 8 married couples, but hey, free stuff!

In ‘OMG I CANNOT LIVE ANOTHER SECOND WITHOUT THIS EVEN THOUGH I’M POSITIVE IT’S A PIECE OF TOTAL CRAP!’ product endorsement news, this is the newest lame-ass item that I’ve seen an infomercial for and will die unless I buy it. Except that it’s like $80, which is too much for even me. So I see a commercial and freak out and glare at my filthy floors which couldn’t possibly be cleaned with anything else, and then 10 minutes later I’ve forgotten about it.

And, finally, it’s FRIDAY! A week of pretending to be doing work while being sick and trying to unpack stuff and having molasses for brains takes its toll. Tomorrow is Coach’s birfday, which is very exciting. And my chore list for the house is to finish unpacking my bedroom (including the closet, ugh), break down some of the Box Fort I’ve built in the garage, and hang some accoutrements (curtains, shelves, etc.). The nursery I pretty much finished yesterday, and the guest room at 2:30 am (seriously – I had insomnia again and figured I might as well do something constructive), so I’m in pretty decent shape. Monday is my first appointment with the new OB/GYN and I’m going to pre-register at the hospital – exciting!

April Fools

I checked two things off my Junior to-do list today. I finally went and saw a lawyer, which was way less traumatic than I thought it would be (mostly because he looked like NPH), and I called a pediatrician’s office. I’m glad I called the doc today, because they do Orientations the first Thursday of every month, which means tomorrow! I guess I go in and get shown around and hopefully meet a couple doctors. Whatever. I’ll have something to put on all the forms I’ve been having to fill out, which is all I care about. Don’t get me wrong, it’s important that Junior have a good doctor, but there are good docs and bad docs everywhere. At least at the practice I’ve chosen there’s a lot of selection, and the receptionist seemed nice.

The consultation with the lawyer was brief and free due to my work legal plan I joined. The paperwork to terminate Quiet’s rights will not be either of those things. $2500!!! That’s ridiculous. I hate lawyers, even if they are very young and very cute and say ‘y’all’ a lot. Basically the advice I got was instead of filing a Voluntary Waiver of Parental Rights right after Junior’s birth, wait six months and file a Termination of Rights, which is much more serious-sounding and supposedly more binding. It seems a lot like Abandonment to me, which I guess it kind of is, but it still bugs me. Basically Quiet will have zero contact with Junior in any form for ½ year (which is in line with what he wanted anyhow), I’ll file a petition, there’ll be a hearing (which he purposefully will not attend), and I’ll have to go to another hearing to sign some stuff and that will be it. NC has next to no case law on something like this so my little precious lawyer is going to pull NY and CA files (slightly more progressive than the South) just to be sure, but he couldn’t think of anything else I needed to do/not do.

Also, I forgot to post that I had my first Braxton-Hicks, or at least the first one I could feel. As you know from my incessant complaining I have had the croup so was working from bed one day last week trying to rest up before the move, and all of a sudden I got this weird pinch-y cramp-y feeling. Shifting position didn’t help, so I stood up and walked around a bit, then finally ended up bent over the end of the bed holding the footboard. It only lasted a couple minutes, and didn’t really hurt (more just a discomfort). It was very exciting. I didn’t think for a minute it was a real contraction though, which I thought about later a little nervously. I’m so sure that I’ll go past my due date – what if I don’t? What if I don’t take those early ‘real’ contractions seriously? It sounds like something stupid I’d do. People say that you know when it’s really starting, and I’m relying on all the pre-labor warm-up activities my childbirth instructor told us about (like the show and the plug and the trots, all the niceties). I’m just starting to get a wee bit nervous since I was watching ‘Deliver Me’ again last night and the woman was 8 weeks from her due date, and I thought, ‘Man, that’s not long at all’ and then realized I was SIX. Ridiculous.

'C' is for 'White Trash'

I went adventuring to the local groceteria Sunday evening. I didn’t have very high expectations since it was one of the local chains that usually fails to deliver, unless you are purposefully shopping for rancid meat and wilted produce. It’s the kind of place you only ever want to buy canned goods, and even then you better check for dents and dates. I figured since it was less than two miles from my house it would be a good only-in-case-of-emergency stop. You know, for like, milk.

They didn’t have milk.

Ok, to be fair, they had their store-brand milk, but they didn’t have anything less shady. Or, more specifically, anything less lactose-y. Maybe because it was a Sunday and they stock on Mondays? I dunno. So I was forced to buy some of their questionable bleach-and-hormone 2%. I hate milk in plastic, is that weird? I use plastic cups for EVERYTHING in my house, except milk. Yet the Lactaid is in a carton, which is technically coated in plastic and not much better. I make no sense at all.

On a positive white-trash-diet note, they DID have the cookies I’ve been looking for since becoming pregnant. Some backstory here…
In the olden times, when I was a tween before we even knew to call them that and we didn’t dress like prostitutes, I babysat for a farming family up the road. They raised cattle and corn and dirty cross-eyed children, five to be exact (children, not crossed eyes. You think I'm joking? It's sad to see a two-year old in an eye patch). So they didn’t have a lot of money for frills like store-bought clothing or fancy store-bought heat. Congealed bacon grease was considered a condiment. Honey-and-margarine sandwiches on Wonder bread were the healthy alternative to their all-beef diet. Anyhow, they always had these cheap cookies that, to a girl raised by hippie organic-food fanatics, were heavenly. Archway makes them here, apparently, but I’m sure it was another company when I was a kid in Northern Ontario. If you aren’t familiar with them, their signature cookie is the ‘Windmill’, but they also have a delectable raspberry-and-oat-ish soft chewy cookie that I, uh, just ate four of. Like I said, for no good reason I’ve been craving them and apparently the Food Lion across the street is just crappy enough to deliver. Eh, who needs clean milk?

You Deserve Better, But This is All I Got

I moved. Moving sucks. Friends were great. Can't sleep. New house isn't home yet so it's weird and I've got those bastard nighttime pains, plus I bend with my baby instead of my knees so I am sore mostly everywhere due to my own stupidity. And I still have the croup, so the sound of my own breathing makes me want to stab myself. It's done nothing but rain. Hasn't helped my massive depression and overwhelming self-pity. Monosyllabic due to crippling malaise and numbing tired. Too stupid to talk pretty. Haven't washed hair in days. Send rescue dog with barrel of tequila and muumuu (no, really, that's how it's spelled, I had to look it up). On second thought, hold the tequila a few more months so people don't freak out. Mmmm... sweet alcoholic oblivion, how I long for your oft-regretted embrace.

I've Changed My Mind, I'll Take Your Pity

I can’t remember if I’d previously mentioned my disdain for the way people were starting to treat me (like a huge stupid pregnant person, which of course is deserved, since I can’t even remember whether I’d posted about it before). That all changed on my return from Boston, when I was almost in tears from flight delays and the nice attendants asked if I wanted to pre-board. Pre-board?! Of course! Who doesn’t want to pre-board, especially when they have to ask for a seat belt extender. The bigger I get, the more people worry about things like a little walk from the parking lot. Drop me off at the door? Sure, thanks! Give me a discount on my microwave install? I’ll take it, I’m just a poor single mother! I feel a little guilty, but since I know it’s very fleeting I think I will relax and enjoy the special treatment. I have to be careful though, because the next obvious step is a rascal.

We closed on the house(s) yesterday, miracle of all miracles. There were all kinds of crazy behind-the-scenes antics on both sides that made it touch-and-go (I came frighteningly close to ending up in a hotel for a week with my stuff in storage), which was awful, but we all got through it and all I wanted to do was sit in the parking lot outside the lawyer’s office afterwards and cry. Everyone keeps asking me, ‘Aren’t you excited?!’ No, actually, I’m not. I’m stressed, and I’m sick again (damn Boston!), and I’m heartbroken, and I’m scared. This is not a fun happy move for me. I’m leaving a beautiful house where I had and lost my two best friends in the world. I’m exhausted from packing and lifting and cleaning and I feel guilty because I know I’m doing too much or bending with my fat instead of my knees. All I want is one good night’s sleep, because that would cure everything, but insomnia and leg cramps and hip bruising and the pee schedule say ‘nay’, so I’m in this permanent blur of tiredness and burning lungs and hacking cough and achiness. Wah! If I call in sick to work again my boss will probably fire me. And then I’ll have to live on the pogey and be a true unwed mother statistic. Omg, so awesome. Do they still have food stamps and government cheese?

After Saturday the Loud and Quiet chapter will be mostly closed. I’ll probably have to meet up with Quiet once more to sign some legal paperwork for Junior, and we’ll have to swap docs next tax season for the mortgages, but otherwise I guess there’s no reason to stay in touch. After all those months of agonizing over what was going on, Quiet never did let me know whether he thought the friendship was worth saving, so I assume he’s going to put everything that happened with me behind him and not look back. Loud is probably delusional enough to think that we could be friends again at some point since he has never understood how deeply and permanently he damaged me, but we all know I need to stay away from that. So the whole thing is just, uh, sad. Cutting ties is never fun no matter the situation, especially when you feel like it wasn’t your choice. But such is life. It hurts me to see them.

I had my final UNC appointment, Junior is still head-down and gaining 14 lbs per week. I need to hurry up and find a pediatrician for the poor little heifer.

I (Still) Hate Hippies

I had my childbirth class this past weekend. It was pretty much what I thought it would be like, but with less sitting around on pillows practicing breathing, and more scary pictures and videos with sweaty gushy women. My awesome and supportive coach, Cousin J., jumped about 3 feet in the air when the instructor whipped out a particularly offensive perineum photo. I don’t know why these models can’t shave.

There wasn’t a whole lot that the million books I’ve bought and interweb haven’t told me already, but there were a couple little things that resonated. One was a reminder that we (and I took this to heart) need to shut off our ‘thinking minds’ during labor and trust our instincts. As someone who likes to have all the answers, be prepared, be focused – that’s probably the best thing someone could have said to me. Relax. Breathe. Trust yourself. Don’t overthink and panic and get all worked up! Although yes, I am definitely more nervous about the realities of labor now, I feel more comfortable about what to expect and my ability (or, rather, my body's ability) to cope.

The couples in the class were mostly hippies like the instructor, but since they all bathed and wore deodorant and there was at least one hot husband it was bearable. My favorite was the little precious sitting next to me, with her piercings and her fiercely independent I-don’t-even-own-socks Hot Topic hubby. She gagged at the picture of various baby poos. She’s going to suffer a lot. I have never seen someone almost burst into tears during an innocuous role-play exercise.

The instructor was pretty decent and gave a reasonably fair two-day spiel, considering she’s a doula and thinks that any medical intervention is the same thing as willingly handing your baby over to Satan. To eat. I learned that the hospitals in my area apparently don’t do the walking epidural anymore, which is a bit disconcerting since that was my plan. And also, I shouldn’t get into the bathtub when I go into labor because full water immersion will actually slow down contractions. No one wants it to last longer than it has to. We got a binder filled with propaganda I mean useful info on stuff like TENS (no way in hell!), acupuncture, magical pixie-made herbal teas, etc. and a take-home tube sock. Seriously. You have to guess what it’s for. It’s not for the husbands, so get your mind out of the gutter.

It’s weird because I walk this fine line between scoffing at hippies, and being intensely distrustful of the medical community. I think pitocin is just as evil and as equally ridiculous as hypno birthing. On one hand, I do think that a birthing ball will be a cool thing, and liked that she had us practice saying ‘No means no!’ in case pushy nurses tried to force IVs and monitors upon us. On the other, if that monitor becomes necessary, I want it there and I want it ready to go in a hurry. One of my favorite exercises was when she set up different stations to practice labor positions; I never thought that being on my side would be comfortable, but it turns out that’s now at the top of my list. I was also interested/nervous to hear that working on my semi-reclined chaise is about the worst thing I could possibly be doing, since it’s slyly encouraging Junior to flip the wrong way from the Happy Birth position she's currently in, so I need to spend the next two months locked in a full upright position to keep her head-down.

Speaking of the little devil, she’s really stretching out – the latest kicks are right under my breastbone, and I can definitely tell when it’s a sharp little heel. She’s also awake more often, or at least moving at very specific parts of the day/night more forcefully, causing me to mumble out loud angrily through a mouthful of pillow, ‘Calm down, you!’ like a crazy person.
So I’m still sleeping fine in my two-hour shifts, my health is still good, and despite the fact that dinner last night was a full bag of Salt and Vinegar potato chips and a 7-Up, I haven’t ballooned up too badly. The flight to Boston this morning was ok, although I realized it was my last air travel EVER as a non-mother and I got a little weirded out. I feel pretty competent about the move next week. My boss is awesome. We’ve got all the inspection repairs completed for the house sale and the walk-through is Wednesday. And I have a massage scheduled for this weekend! Happy Easter, indeed.

The Beginning of the End

Well, folks, as we careen drunkenly towards the end of March, the beginning of spring, and lurk alarmingly closer and closer to DD day (Due Date day, of course, although that probably is the size The Girls will be by then), DIY Pregnancy must, inevitably, close its doors. This blog has been about attempting to GET pregnant, and not the joys and hilarious pitfalls of actually HAVING an evil little being of the female variety to suffer a variety of indignities upon me. Therefore, I will be closing up shop and setting up a new business at an as-yet-to-be-decided interweb location. For various quirky and self-protective reasons I won’t be posting the new site information here, so if you are one of the three members of my loyal yet likely mentally unstable readership who is interested in continuing to follow Junior’s adventures to actually being born and dealing with me as a mother, leave me a comment or send me a message or write a note on a piece of paper and throw it over your left shoulder into your fireplace at approximately midnight on the first of April (make sure your fireplace is not lit, and that you notify me of your address so I can break into your house and retrieve the note).

While it has certainly not been the journey I expected, I don’t think anything like this ever really could go according to plan. Especially not with the kooky approach I took to getting here. I appreciate everyone’s support and feedback over the past year, and am grateful that I had the opportunity to vent and share and otherwise inundate you with my minutiae. I wish you all the best, especially if you are going through anything remotely like this yourself, or even if you’re just a bored 12-year old who is blocked from reading anything better. There may be a handful of posts left in me before this site is rendered void and becomes historical fiction, but I hope if I have done nothing else, I have trained you to set your expectations low.

Good night, noises everywhere.

Mom-to-Be and Junior, onwards and upwards
(er, hopefully downwards, actually, at least for Junior in the upcoming weeks)

AAARRGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You know the First Choice house? The one that I lost to the other folks whose offer wasn’t contingent? Their financing fell through.

My First Choice house is now available. Exactly one week after I can do nothing about it.

WHY WOULD MY AGENT TELL ME THIS????!!!!!!

Does she really hate me that much? Is it because she showed me 37 perfect houses that I refused, based on the fact that they had plastic shower curtains in the master bathrooms and I freak out when a plastic shower curtain touches me?

Ok, so maybe I deserve that. But, oh, ouchy ouchy ouch ouch. I hate buying a house.

My Petit Chou

Today Junior is roughly the size and weight of a petit chou, or little cabbage. I have gained an alarming additional 4 lbs in the time it took me to write this post, and she's still going to pack on another 3-6 lbs in the upcoming weeks. I have started with the back pain, and last night fell getting into the tub. Yes, getting into the tub, as opposed to getting out of the tub (I would've felt much smarter if it were the other way around). I put my foot in, my foot decided it didn't want to hold up my weight on the slippery tub bottom, and I slammed my other leg into the side of the tub catching my huge fat balance. Of course I'm going to fall the very first night the guys move out, I'm sure I'll have all my terrible accidents now.

In only vaguely related news, do you have any idea how many relative strangers have said the word ‘vagina’, it all its forms and variations, to me lately? In addition to the belly that people uncontrollably want to pat, I am a magnet for birth stories, no matter how horrifyingly descriptive or medieval or, uh, filled with naughty words. My mortgage broker, for god’s sake! I don’t need to hear that word from him when we’re clearly suppose to be having a very professional conversation about the state of my finances!

In 'Well, At Least I Got Out of the House' news, I went to a consignment sale last night that was suppose to be huge and awesome and fun. It was huge, but I also thought a lot of stuff was overpriced and kinda junky. Who are these people buying strollers that look like they were run over by a mini van in the driveway? And that shaky lopsided baby seat? Put that down, lady. There are things in this world that I definitely scrimp on (I bought a ton of $1 towels and receiving blankets and onesies), but something that contributes to Junior’s safety ain’t one of ‘em. The place was jam-packed with enormous sweaty bargain-hunting pregnant women, which scared me a little. And the room was hot, and I hadn’t eaten dinner, and I’d had a very long day without any sleep the night before, so I was grumpy. I picked up a couple really cute things for my niece, and some old Sesame Street books that I remembered from my childhood, and not a whole lot else. I went home, had a pear and a handful of grapes, and went to bed surly. The pee schedule has magically settled into a perfect every-two-hours, which suspiciously resembles a baby’s feeding schedule, and makes me want to bitch-slap Mother Nature. Although I never would have thought I could function with being woken up constantly, it seems I am doing it thus far, albeit without a screaming newborn.

Today I called the lawyer to make an appointment to discuss Junior’s dubious parentage and the mysterious Voluntary Waiver of Parental Rights document. I actually giggled when I had to explain to the receptionist what, exactly, type of Family Law I needed a consultation for. I’m very excited and grown-up feeling about it all, and I am sure Quiet will be very relieved when he hears that I have the appointment for the first week in April. Look at me! I’ve got a lawyer! I’m going to have a will and a living trust drawn up! I’ll have someone to fight my speeding tickets! I was so proud of myself for finally calling that I got on a scheduling roll and confirmed appointments for the Master Bedroom and Nursery to be painted in the new house the afternoon I close (shh, don’t jinx it), and the carpets to be cleaned the Friday afternoon before I move in. I can’t wait to hear what the douchebag sellers say about my inspection report requests, which were extremely reasonable but they'll probably balk on.

I had the hospital tour yesterday, which would've been more fun if the volunteer had actually shown up and we hadn't sat and waited 1 1/2 hours for them to drag out a disgruntled hearing specialist to show us around. The hospital has its pros and cons, of course (no free doula support, labor and postpartum aren't the same room; rooms are nice and have wireless and DVD players, hospital is 467 miles closer to my new house). I wanted to make out with the smart woman on the tour who thought to ask if we had control over the temperature in our postpartum room (answer, 'Yes'!), since nothing is more important right now than maintaining a nice 37 degree environment for the little hotbox inside me. There was actually frost outside yesterday morning, and I had slept with the windows open again. Thank you again, Jesus, for not letting me be pregnant in August in NC.

This weekend - the Childbirth Class!

Fridays are for breathing a sigh of relief

I bought a house. I hired a nanny. It was terrifying.
Not buying the house, that’s old hat, it was the nanny hiring that did me in (although, let me tell you, the douchebag sellers have left a trail of debt that is affecting me in all kinds of painful and irritating ways. Time Warner, I loathe you).

So yes, my sister was right, it’s a terrible experience to go through until you talk to the person who you know you feel good about. Nanny B. is awesome. Ask me what she did on Spring Break when she was in school. Yes, she would go to Honduras and volunteer with orphans. That’s so crazy! I am making the tragic mistake of hiring a very young and cute nanny, so I will have to make sure that no future boyfriends ever meet her. Interestingly, she reminds me of my sister’s nanny – maybe there’s a type? She’s little and athletic and has cropped dark hair, very stylish. She was very comfortable and at-ease during the interview (as well as on-time, and sporting a resume). And she’s fine with driving out to my house in the middle of nowhere if, and get this, she has permission to take Junior on outings – apparently, other people she has nannied for wouldn’t let her leave the house! So crazy. I was like, ‘Heck yeah, I expect that! You’ll have a museum allowance and I’ve already found the two closest swimming pools, and you’ll have to take her to all those baby beauty pageants…’

Nanny B. is expecting her first, a boy, two weeks before Junior is due, so the timing is great. Junior will have a little playmate, and Nanny B. will be able to tote her kid along to work, so it works for both of us single gals. I am a little stressed about the taxes and such, but I’ve been doing some studying and I’ll do some more, and I think I’ve got a handle on what I’ll need to do. At least I don’t have to pay Canadian taxes! The initial reaction I keep getting from people is funny. They ask how she’s going to take care of two kids. Uh, people have twins all the time. And if she was in a home daycare, the alternative, there’d be at least 2 or 3 other children there – more in a regular daycare. So I’m not worried about that at all. She seems very eager and flexible and easy-going, and can do nights when I have to go to Boston, or pickup other babysitting hours outside of the regular schedule if I ever get my groove back, so that’s cool. Despite the fact that she is a TOTAL stranger, I have absolute confidence in her, which is weird. I’m still going to check her references and do the background check and all that stuff like a good little employer, but I’m really hopeful that I’ve got my gal.

It’s been a while since I’ve posted because of all the house craziness. There is a trench in the yard that fills daily with the rain we’ve been getting, and the estimates are around $400. Blech. The guys move this weekend, so that should be hilarious. I’m going to a Lemony Snicket book signing tonight, which would be more exciting if not for the pouring rain and the potential outside line up. I get to have my haircut tomorrow! (I love my hair stylist, I’ve been with her for I believe 7 years now). It’s Friday! I’m irritated because the dillhole that is Loud, who was going to sell me the washer and dryer, now seems to be stomping around preparing to move them. Le sigh. And as for Junior…

30 WEEKS. Crazy. Something has triggered in my body that has cued all the abdomen/stomach pain receptors to constantly be set for ‘Ouchy and Tight’ or ‘Sore and Crampy’. I am really, really feeling pregnant now. It’s like I’ve always just bumped into something hard, is the nearest I can describe it. Of course, all the weird bending and stretching and lifting I’m doing trying frantically to get ready to move in a few weeks isn’t helping. I tried a 2-pillow comedy routine in bed last night, which seemed to help a bit and I made it almost to 4:30 am. This is the real reason pregnant women are always rubbing their bellies – to try and get some relief. It just hurts. And so much further to go, and she ain't getting any smaller! (uh, knock on wood). Junior is banging around the pots and pans and I’m just trying to find something appetizing to eat that isn’t a Banquet frozen Mexican dinner.

Omg, speaking of my white trash eating habits, I bought an Orange Crush cake. At the Wal-Mart. Isn’t that AWESOME?! I had two pieces and I’m trying to force myself to throw it out, because despite its deliciousness and the little hummingbird’s enjoyment of it, even I am put off by the blinding chemical aftertaste. But don’t worry – I learned that Sara Lee makes mini pies. Perfect for two servings. In cherry.

Starting the Day With an Orange Soda

As much as I like my sugary snacks and drinks, chugging a nauseating orange-colored flat-tasting beverage at 7 am just ain’t cool. The first few sips yesterday morning, when I was thirsty from peeing SIX times in the middle of the night (god bless poor Quiet who tries to sleep in the room below), were ok. The rest was just, well, if I hadn’t been so worried about ruining the test by barfing I probably would have.

So I waited on pins and needles to call the Nurse’s line this morning for the results, and it was GOOD!!!!! The magic Wilford-Brimley number to beat is 140, and my results were 114. Again, this is me, thanking whoever that everything has gone so well with this pregnancy. And this was the last milestone test, I believe, unless they do an ultrasound at 32 weeks. I let the Doc know that my next visit would likely be my last due to the move, and he was very nice about it – he said to let the receptionist know and they would copy all my paperwork for me so I could carry it with me, which is awesome (although I’m pretty sure they’ll charge me a zillion dollars to do it). I thought I would have to have another appointment in two weeks, but he said a month was good. My blood pressure is terrific, and Junior is currently head-down, which means that the pain under my ribs may very well be a little foot kicking the crap out my gall bladder or whatever the heck is under my right breastbone. I told the Doc about the horrible tearing pain when I roll over in bed (or stretch out my legs, or thrash my arms around), and he didn’t seem too concerned so I’m not worried.

There’s definitely a lot more noticeable movement. Noticeable as in, visible to the naked eye-on-the-outside. There have been some bumps and ripples that have jolted my laptop, and I’ve had to order a more comfy padded lap pad since the current one, while doing a great job of keeping the heat off, is sharp and pokey. Yes, I wouldn’t have this problem if I sat at a desk, but I also wouldn’t be able to have my feet up, would I? (that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it). I made the visit-to-the-doctor-visit-to-the-dentist on the same day mistake again, and Junior did NOT like the sound of that drill starting up. I got the Invisaligns re-attached, and man, are they TIGHT. I guess the company is serious about moving my teeth.

In house news, I officially have until this Sunday to find a place. Seriously. After that it will be too late for financing approval. Plus I am already finding an issue getting people to close on the 26th when/if I find a house that is occupied. THIS SUNDAY. FREAKING OUT. It looks like the guys are planning to move on the 10th, which is good because there won’t be any chaos with all of us trying to move at the same time, but bad because I will likely lose a washer/dryer and be smelly or homeless at a Laundromat or begging at friends’ doors for the rest of the month.

I broke down and made an appointment to interview another Nanny Saturday morning. I realized that a part of me has not yet accepted the fact that at some point in the next few months there WILL be a baby and it WILL require care, and ignoring these facts is not helping any. I will not magically win a zillion dollars so that I can just be home with Junior, nor will a Nanny magically appear on my doorstep. Um, I mean at the door of my van down by the river, since I'll be homeless.

The Nanny Diary

This is a hard post for me to write, because as you all know, I don’t like to admit failure. Much like the first 8 months of trying to get pregnant, it’s frustrating for me to have a task set that I can’t deliver on. Right now I am falling down on at least two things; finding a house, and finding a nanny.

I went out again yesterday with my agent, and saw a lot of ‘definite no’s’. There was one ‘maybe’, but I’m not 100% sold on it. But is that because of real barriers to what I want, or just because I can’t let go of the other house I lost? What happens when I finally do make a decision, and the house has another offer, or I’ve run out of time? The house itself is ok – not that pretty on the outside, but a nice layout; lousy location, but reasonably convenient; priced ok, but full of the current owner’s stuff, so they’d have to have time to get packed and get out. The kitchen is on the small side, but the master is nice and the office is fantastic. I JUST DON’T KNOW (this is me, now breathing into a small paper bag).

On Saturday I interviewed my first potential nanny. On paper she’s great – good experience, a mother of a 17-month old, able to come to my home, literate and friendly. It was really tough to talk to her once it hit me that this was the person who might be responsible for Junior’s safety and well-being. It didn’t help that I had watched a local nanny cam expose on the news the night before, so I was all freaked out about that. In person Nanny X was very nice, and friendly. She was also 10 minutes late, which set me off right out of the gate (I’m a punctuality freak, in addition to all of my other Type-A charms), had her car seat in the FRONT SEAT of her car (she said it was because they had picked up some furniture or something, which is valid but wouldn’t you have moved it back for an interview like this?), talked non-stop about random things (didn’t directly answer some of my questions), and most of her answers about her experience were stories about her daughter. It’s nice that she’s a dedicated mother, but it certainly didn’t reassure me any that Junior would be her priority.

Now, I know that the person I hire isn’t going to be me, or do things the way I do them. And I know the nanny isn’t going to be perfect, and isn’t going to have every single quality I am looking for. I am having to work with so many different factors (location, availability, salary/benefits requirements, experience etc.) that it’s going to be tough to satisfy the list. But how can I trust my instincts and judgment if NO ONE will ever measure up? Am I being too tough? (the answer is ‘yes’, I know, but what is ‘too tough’ and what is ‘giving up and settling for someone who is going to pinch the baby when you’re not looking’?).

My sister has found the perfect nanny, which is awesome for her but just makes me think that Nanny X isn’t the right one, since I wasn’t leaping out of my seat to get her to sign a contract. I just worry that I won’t have that reaction to anyone, and I’ll miss out on a truly decent person in my quest for Junior’s Perfect Caregiver, who doesn’t even exist. And I really wasn’t expecting how emotionally tough it would be. Someone else. Who will take care of Junior. A stranger in my house.

To cheer myself up I went to a kid’s consignment sale at a local church, which was AWESOME. I got approximately one gazillion outfits for like 12 cents. And the stuff was nice, great quality, very fetching, and the people were really nice (I love church volunteers, I can’t help it, I could’ve stood and talked to them all afternoon). I am now really, seriously, officially cut off from buying any more clothes for Junior. I picked up a little pair of black patent shoes, which was the only ‘must-have’ wardrobe item remaining, and I now have enough stuff for an hourly outfit change the first six months of her fashionable life. So I’m done. Cut off. Nothing else!

Also, start the judging because I ate a Fish Filet sandwich from McDonald’s yesterday. I was horrified. I ate it in like 15 seconds, barely breathing between bites. I think it was gone before I pulled all the way out of the drive-through. I haven’t had a Fish Filet since I was 85 years old and needed some fish and Sanka after Bingo. No, seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever ordered one in my whole life (who the heck would order fish at McDonald’s? My grandmother and pregnant women, apparently, are enough to keep it on the menu). I guess it gave me what I needed, though, and it was probably slightly better than a rack of ribs or a whistle dog*. I also invented a terrific spring cupcake – Angel food with lemon buttercream frosting. If I hadn’t been lacking in eggs I would have also made some lemon curd to fill them, but as it was they are light and delicious and hit the spot. I think I shall go have one now.

*Whistle Dog – A delicacy served in my high-school cafeteria, I was unable to find the origin of the name but it is definitely a Canada-ism. A hot dog is cooked, split down the middle, and a cheese slice is melted into the split with a piece of cooked bacon. It’s the most delicious thing in the whole world, and possibly the LAST thing I should be eating while pregnant other than a raw shark sandwich with brie and tequila.

Trying to Think Positive Thoughts

I got the call last night that the sellers of my potential new pretty house accepted the other offer, one that wasn’t contingent on the sale of a burden of a house. I can understand that. I don’t have to be happy about it, but such is life in the real estate fast lane. F***ers.

So with one month til closing I am back to square one. I spent a few hours last night perusing listings for something new and wonderful and perfect until my head split open and I crawled into bed to hide at 10 pm. I found a lot of ‘maybes’. I know that everything happens for a reason, what was meant to be, blah blah blah. But I really, really liked that house and I’m too disappointed to even really fully cope with it. I’ll just push on. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

I don’t know if it was because of that or the migraine I ended up with, but I had all kinds of horrible nightmares last night. The first few were all about looking for houses, but it was like taking an exam or something in the dream. After those, I had monster dreams. You know the kind – something unseen and horrible is chasing you. It was really graphic though. It started out I was swimming in a lake, and there were little nasty bite-y things in the murky weedy water. Then I was in a pool in a hotel, and there was some huge creature plucking people out and eating them – I kept trying to stay submerged so it wouldn’t see me, and at one point I had to shake someone off me to save myself and he got taken. It was awful. Then the dream shifted and I climbed out of the pool and ran down a hallway, and when I turned around I could see through the huge window at the end of the hall an enormous reptilian eye watching me, and then a massive arm crashed through the side windows and started sweeping around grabbing people, Godzilla-style. It was terrifying. The dream shifted again, and the arm turned into a dozen or so barely smaller reptiles, a cross between huge crocodiles and velociraptors, which were unbelievably fast and started snapping up everyone. I ran for a bank of elevators and pushed all the buttons, but I could hear the creatures coming and knew I couldn’t wait. I started running again, and was desperately looking for somewhere I could hide that they couldn’t get at me, but I was hugely pregnant and was slowed down, and didn’t stand a chance. I got so scared I woke myself up in a cold sweat. So, uh, that sucked.

Today I’m doing my best to crawl back from the edge, despite the gloom and the headaches and the rain and the bad things pressing around me in my head. All the repair estimates are in, and are reasonable, so we’re moving forward with getting everything fixed and everything should still be good with the sale. Junior was CRAZY last night – here I’d been a little worried because I hadn’t felt much movement lately. Apparently it’s all been happening while I’ve been asleep. Last night she took my keys, went and picked up some friends, and they all came back and made popcorn and had some sort of rave in my uterus. I couldn’t believe the hijinks. But believe me, I was reassured. The guys finally got their loan. I haven't been fired yet for my lack of work focus.

Hopefully things will go well with the potential Nanny tomorrow, which would be one more thing I could check off my list. And maybe I’ll end up finding the next perfect house. And hey, it’s the weekend, right? The nice cleaning people are here mucking out my tub, which I’ve been pretty much living in, and the window repair guy said he’d be by shortly, so there’s a hubbub of activity that is pleasantly distracting. I’m going to shotgun a Pepsi and some Tylenol and see if I can’t get a little burst of energy and go to the grocery store, my favorite Friday afternoon activity. I hear there are Cadbury’s Easter Crème Eggs there. I have no problem being the kind of person who solves the issues of the world with a little chocolate right now.

Debbie Just Hit the Wall

I had a little mini-breakdown yesterday and was looking at why I hit the wall, and came up with this list. It's stuff I did yesterday. It makes me feel a little better. JUST BREATHE.

1. Made appointment for Saturday morning to interview potential Nanny. Draft interview questions.
2. Follow up on house offer (there's another offer on the table, the sellers are out of town, argh)
3. Get estimates for painting Nursery and Master in new house before I move in
4. Follow up with Loud and Quiet on contractor status for their stuff
5. Follow up with contractors for my stuff
6. Make appointment for Rex hospital tour Monday, March 10 at 12:30
7. Do job (a million conference calls, finish report)
8. Cry from stress then give up and take short nap to try to shake headache
9. Attempt to schedule birthing class around coach’s packed schedule; frustrate coach, frustrate self, frustrate class instructors
10. Update packing list with completed items, new to-do items, and revised dates
11. Calls with agent (5)
12. Reschedule hair appointment due to conflict with March birthing class
13. Cancel shopping expedition with friend due to Nanny interview conflict
14. Confirm cleaning crew for 12-2 Friday
15. Post Conference cancellation due to move
16. Call new potential OB/GYN to see what I needed to do to become a patient. Call UNC to get medical records released to new OB/GYN for their review and consideration. Fax completed paperwork for release. Schedule follow-up to verify records were sent/received and make first appointment. Start to research pediatricians local to (potential) new house.

I have about 4-6 documents I'm updating daily to try to keep on top of everything, plus my Outlook calendar. I've got a packing list, a repairs list, a Word calendar, a work Open Items list, and a Junior document. It's making me crazy. There is still no word on the offer I put in on the other house. I spent 20 minutes today apologizing to our agent, who had to spend an hour with Loud and was ready to drop us as customers.

On an 'awwww!' side note, I had my first holding-Junior-in-my-arms dream last night. It was VERY cool. I was at the hospital, and all my friends and family were there, and she was very cute (although I still called her ‘Junior’, which was funny). I remember how I felt in the dream – filled with love, and thrilled she was finally here, and protective, and proud… it was awesome. I woke up and was like, 'Ok, bring it!' *sigh* Still so long to go.