Through The Looking Glass

I have been so uncomfortable the last several nights that I now find myself afraid to go to bed. If I stay up then it is OK that I am not asleep, because I wasn’t supposed to be in the first place. You see? I am as logical as a cuckoo.

We washed all of the diapers yesterday. More are coming, but things are all set for now. They already take up an entire (large) dresser drawer, and I am expecting a dozen more fitteds in newborn size alone. Plus I’ll need room for the covers. And doublers. And wipes. Oy! Must look harder for a dresser that’s just for baby stuff. (I think I’m just going to scour craigslist and look around for yard sales. Anyone have a better suggestion?)

All the ice I’ve been craving is finally causing problems – my teeth hurt now. Damn it.

The baby was so squirmy last night that we had to leave a party quite abruptly because it hurt. I am beginning to doubt my own judgment and wonder if the pain is indeed my little break dancer and not early contractions.

Notes from the (now weekly) midwife checkup:

It turns out that I haven’t actually broken 180 yet, but I am very close. Almost 13 stone, my normal being 8.5 stone. (Do I sound very British?)

Far more interesting: at 34 weeks, my uterus measured 33 weeks and the baby was about four and a half pounds; at 36 weeks my uterus measures 37 weeks and the baby five and a half pounds. I think this change is partly just because the baby has moved forward considerably, making it easier for Diane to palpate (I think that’s the word) my belly. It is also clear that froggy is bulking up. Diane also confirmed that my intestines seem to be front and center, explaining the difficulty I’ve been having finding the baby’s heartbeat.

me: Oof.

Will: Is the baby giving you trouble?

me: Well, between that and some mild gas…

Will: At least it’s mild.

me: Not for long, I had falafel and hummus for supper.

Will: And you’re having Mexican for lunch!

me: You know, to the casual observer, it must appear that I just don’t like you.

Last night…well, perhaps my husband’s drunken recounting will be more interesting than anything I could write: oslowe: L’absent

Also I got an invitation to my own baby shower. Only it is a “fiesta.” Doesn’t that sound exciting? I am holding out hope for a pinata. PINATA! (If you are my friend and live in LA, don’t delete the evite from Saria, OK?)

Skylab just looks like any old object in orbit. I expected it to look…I don’t know, special. I’ve seen Dogs In Space three dozen times.

April was the month that I was incapable of meeting deadlines. I made one on the third of the month and everything since then has been late, due (alternatingly) to my slowness and technology’s utter failure to cooperate.

On the plus side, yarn sale at my favorite store. (How this can be good when money is tight is beyond me, but it just is.)

The end.

Real Life Super Mario | Buzz Patrol

(with thanks to BigEvil)

Eros Guide Erotica Magazine – erotica news, articles, sex events and more from around the world.

My review is, I just noticed, featured on the front page for a second issue in a row. This makes sense, as the movie’s opening date was between publication dates and actually closer to the second. Wouldn’t it be nice if I got paid twice, too? But I do love the exposure (pun intended).

Sadly, I am still waiting to be In Demand.

In one more week I will be able to safely (and legally) deliver a baby at home. This is so mind-blowing that I am having difficulty even comprehending that there is a baby in here at all. Maybe I just, um, overate! A lot! For the past eight months! You know.

Actually, Will and I were both born two weeks “early” (though at eight pounds for me and seven pounds 10 ounces for him it seems silly to split hairs), as was my sister, so we could actually be a family of three quite soon.

To which I say: I’M NOT READY. Let’s aim for 41 weeks, five days, OK?

Click:

(second picture) (third picture)

In the second picture you can see the shelf that froggy’s butt forms. My arm/hand is resting on it. In the third picture, you can see how low my belly is dipping. I understand this will seem like nothing in a few weeks.

Almost there…

A few minutes ago I had to go downstairs to collect a package from the mail carrier. I took the elevator back up, something I rarely do (it’s amazing how unappealing stairs are when there is this much pressure on your pubic bone). Already in the car were a small boy (age 4 or 5 I’d guess) and his father.

When I got on, the boy said, “You’re not my friend,” and moved closer to his dad. I was quite struck by this, because it was absolutely true. I am not his friend. He’s never seen me before. Plus, when I stepped on I momentarily stepped between them.

His dad said, “She’s got a baby in there,” and the boy became interested. “Open it!” he demanded, pointing to my USPS Priority Mail box.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

“Not in here,” I told him. “In here,” pointing to my belly.

“Open it!” he again demanded, this time moving forward and lifting my shirt.

“Not for three more weeks,” I informed him. “At least.”

As we parted ways on the third floor I heard his father promising him that I’d show him the baby when I got it out.

Boil a pot of water. Add salt and olive oil and pasta of your choice. (Note: choose fusilli.) Cook according to package instructions. Drain. Toss with olive oil, salt, and pepper. Using garlic press, add about half a head of fresh garlic. Then add a few more cloves. Don’t worry, no one is going on the prowl tonight. Serve immediately.

While this is happening, win bonus points by cutting the top off another head of garlic, drizzling with olive oil, and wrapping in tin foil. Roast in 400° oven for about half an hour. Take large slice sourdough bread, spread with butter (optional, but trust me – use the butter), and squeeze out roasted garlic over top. Pop into oven to melt butter and crisp bread.

Betties need love, too, so be sure to kiss her temples and refill her water glass. She takes lots of ice.

on moving

There are some very real reasons that we should move. I doubt I’ve made them clear because I don’t really care to think about it.

Everyone’s been so kind to me that I really don’t want to seem rude, but you just don’t (couldn’t possibly) understand: this apartment is HELL. People keep saying that I will have a lovely birth here, and I know that isn’t true. I may HAVE to give birth here, but I want you to understand why I am fighting it.

The building is unsafe and falling apart and management DOES NOT CARE.

I was mugged and carjacked and nothing was done to secure the doors or increase security so the other tenants would be safe. NOTHING.

Our roof leaked for a year, and not just drips but RAIN on our heads.

The downstairs neighbors play music so loud that our apartment SHAKES. The bass is so loud it could start a series of explosions.

The across the hall people are the in the hall people most hours – I think there are ten people living in one apartment, mostly kids, and the door always has pot smoke reeking out from under it and the Aerosmith music goes up to eleven and the kids run and shout and do their homework outside of our apartment. Oh, and once THEY called the cops on US for reasons unknown.

There is TRASH in the hallways.

Car alarms go off every five minutes. (That last one may well be true of any neighborhood in LA but it sure doesn’t endear me to this one.)

But? It is rent-controlled and we have been here long enough that for what we pay here we could barely rent a studio elsewhere. So time and time again circumstances have told us to LEAVE and financial setbacks have prevented it.

This isn’t nesting. It isn’t some fantasy about everything being perfect. It is a DESPERATE need to explore every option and try to get the hell out of here as soon as we can.

But I don’t deny that we have a nice shower here.

on co-sleepers and money and gifts

I am so uncomfortable with this whole thing that I have almost deleted my earlier post six times this morning.

I know that my friends are just trying to be helpful but I feel that there is some mistaken understanding that Will and I are dirt poor and can’t afford to have a baby, which isn’t true (either part – that we’re that broke or that you think so, unless you do think so, in which case there is a problem bigger than I am ready to address). We have food in the fridge, so much that I can’t find anything. We have the money in the bank right now to go buy a crib but I’ve planned to spend it on other things. We’re doing OK, just not OK enough to move and buy furniture – which, um, I don’t know many people who are. The real problem is that I suck at budgeting and planning.

But the point is that I am overwhelmed by kindness and a little concerned that people may have misunderstood my complaining as asking for something, which I wasn’t. I know I put the wishlist info up publicly, but I thought people might send a onesie or something, you know? But I guess I just have to deal with human kindness because it seems that someone has bought the co-sleeper. So, you know, I like all three colors. The green is especially cute.

I just don’t know how to feel about any of this.

diaper and sewing stuff

• knitted soakers

• wash all fabric
• sewn covers
• wipes
• asst. bits of cloth for spit-up or whatever
• mommy stuff: pads, upper and lower