junglebetti

party 'till ya puke

2007-12-31T22:42:00.001-05:00

2007 has been the best year of my life.

I'm not out partying tonight, but at 5.5 weeks old Adeline somehow knew how to capture the spirit of the holiday.

I hope to write about our Christmas holiday spent at my parents house, but realize that I still haven't written Adda's birth story - in time I'll get better at typing while nursing and will be back to posing paragraphs on a regular basis! (Haaaaaa)

3 weeks old, and Mommy is getting more sleep!

2007-12-13T18:35:00.000-05:00

Adeline had a very good sense of humor about me attempting to take a professional-ish Christmas photo to include in this year's batch of cards, in fact, I got bored and cranky before she did!

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

In other news, we've stumbled into a mostly reasonable nighttime/sleeping arrangement; she spends one or two 1-2 hour stretches in her bassinet, 1-2 hours nursing on the couch watching Netflicks (we're working through the original StarTrek series - fantastic bleary eyed/minded viewing) and the rest of the night cuddled up against me for easy boobie access. Mr Hubby is not particularly comfortable sharing the bed with our 7 pound daughter, so he usually retreats to the guest room, taking the dog with him. Bwaaa haaa haaa more room for me and the cats!!

warning: strange tangent ahead . . .

I have no problem with sleeping with such a tiny person; once upon a time (in college) I had fantastic tame pet rat who I often let sleep with me when my drafty rental house got chilly. (She spent at least 50% of her life out of her tank, and was nice enough to do 90% of her doodies in her tank - yeah, I put up with random rat shit . . . . ewww) She preferred to sleep on my pillow nestled against my neck, but would go under the covers if it was insanely cold. She met an untimely end (via dog attack) and I decided that my rat training/tending days were over, although Ramona was a lovely creature to spend time with. Keeping an intelligent rat happy is similar to caring for a puppy, and given the relatively short lifespan of a rat, it is difficult at best to say goodbye to such a committed companion.

Anywho . . . I've got a knack for being spatially aware in my sleep, and never rolled onto my pet rat, or any of my cats even when they were tiny heat-seeking kittens. I am confident that my daughter is safe in bed with me, especially since she can't begin to scoot past a baracade of pillows at this point in her development.
Any advice on getting through nights with an infant??

No grandparents in the house. . . .

2007-12-09T09:15:00.000-05:00

I think I'm spoiled; up until this morning, since the day Adeline was born (17 days ago) I have had at least one of my parents or my mother-in law at the with me narly all the time. Mr. Hubby has been home all day, but tomorrow he may return to work, and I must admit that I'm nervous about spending all day alone with Adeline. I've spent lots of time with babies, but never such a young baby and for such a long stretch of time - and certainly not while sleep-deprived.

I know that everything is going to work out just fine, but damn. . . . it's a good thing we're crazy about each other.

~ * ~ * ~

I do plan on posting Adda's birth story someday, my excuse for not doing so already is that it is tough to type one-handed while nursing an infant, and the fleeting prospect of catching a nap is far more attractive to me than spending time online.

Since I haven't visited blogs in forever, I'm out of the loop - how the hell are you??

1 week old

2007-12-01T16:50:00.000-05:00

I can't begin to describe how much I love this kid.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Until I started living with and breastfeeding an infant, I never understood why a baby under 6 months old would possibly need a bib; now I frequently call Adeline "milkface". Oh the spectacle . . .

my daughter

2007-11-26T15:26:00.000-05:00

Adeline was born on Thanksgiving morning at 7:55am, she is very healthy and also sweet enough to sleep for more than two and a half hours at a stretch.

I'll post more details in the next few days; baby and my family are keeping me a very busy gal!

patience and optimism . . .

2007-11-18T21:46:00.000-05:00

This is a very recent photo of Suki, who was given the command "wait". She is the most optimistic creature I have ever had the pleasure of spending time with; in Suki's world, "wait" usually means something good will happen if she'll just settle down and be patient for a little while.

That said/typed, still no significant progress on the labor front. My right hip feels like it doesn't fit my hip socket properly, but don't think that's a particularly useful trait at this point. I can't walk on un-carpeted surfaces barefoot without my feet absolutely killing me, although this suggests that my ligaments are loosening up, it gets me no closer to having anything vaguely resembling regularly occurring contractions. Also? I had a crazy-ass dream a few nights ago where I realized that getting a baby out of your body is like pulling a cash drawer out of a register - you can yank and yank, but if you don't pull at the correct angle, nothing useful happens. (If only childbirth were so easy!!!)

I'm trying my damndest to stay in a positive frame of mind, and am happy that I didn't go into labor last night: my parents spent the night at my house, and my midwife was out of town. I'm sure I would have gotten along just fine with the OB on call, and would have found an advantage to having my parents present for early labor, but I can't help but to be relieved that nothing happened. I would prefer to moan around my house for a while before getting my parents involved with labor - it could take a looooooong time, and I really don't want them to have to endure false starts, or sitting/pacing for a hoursandhoursandhours while my body figures out what to do.

Since that scheduling hurdle has been jumped, I'm having trouble trying to find an advantage to not being in labor RIGHT NOW. I suppose I could try to get excited about having more time to get more housework done, or figure out my Christmas card list, but I'm having a hard time feelin' it.

Days like this, I wish I were more like my dog.

40 weeks pregnant: the waiting game

2007-11-14T18:30:00.000-05:00

What better distraction than to get a new digital camera??

It has been the best/worst timing ever that my old digital camera died; I really don't have the "play" money for a non-necessity, but a camera becomes a necessity when there is a baby on the way! I purchased a Canon PowerShot SD1000 yesterday, and so far have been very pleased - it has far more bells and whistles than I probably need, but takes much better indoor shots than my previous camera ever could.

Zachary has laid claim to the baby's Moses basket, it is going to be very interesting to see his reaction when there is finally an infant sleeping in it! Although Suki-pup is younger than Zachary by several years, Zachary has always been my baby - he weighed less than a pound when he found me, and I got to bottle feed him for a few fantastic weeks before he was mature enough for kitten chow. I take it as a very good omen that he is so happy to spend time in the nursery; I like to think I did a good job caring for him as a infant. When he was a few months old and looking much studier, several friends of mine admitted to me that doubted that he would survive - it seemed that most of his weight was parasites. Even in his weak state, he earned nicknames like "Beam of Sunshine" and "PencilNeckMcPooperDoo" by oozing happiness, thankfulness, and stubbornness from every tiny ounce of himself.

I've been told that my baby is going to be on the small side, and rather than wonder if small = unhealthy, I'm feeling just fine about it, with many thanks to Zachary.

* ~ * ~ * ~ *
Addendum: In response to Alie's comment
I had forgotton about Zachary's little "kiss kiss SMACK" incident! In his defense, he -was- provoked!! Alie loves the squeaky sounds that Zach makes when he's good and ticked off, so she had been taunting him for a while. She thought she'd try to make up with him by picking him up like an infant (which he generally likes) and offering up her face for some licking (yes, he likes to lick/groom faces, especially if you have facial hair). Zach gave her two feeble licks on the mouth then stopped - Alison raised her head to say "oh, is that all?" and Zach punched her face (claws not out, he's a gentleman) as hard as a 13-ish pound cat possibly could.

haiku and hostility

2007-11-05T17:00:00.000-05:00

First, I must tip my hat to Chris of Rude Cactus who has graced the blogosphere with 191 Monday morning haiku. His was the first blog I read regularly, and I quickly became hooked on his wife's blog also. By providing examples of how well-written blogs can be, I was ultimately inspired to start my own blog. Blame them for this blasphemy!

So, on to blah blah greatest compliment is imitation, blah blah, I'm compelled to share:

Director Spielberg
creative genius my ass
my pregnant dreams trump

Shortest version possible: I was hired on by a crazy Mr. Burns-esque art collector for a high-pay job with super benefits and permission to bring my (yet unborn) baby to work. Fast forward to me realizing that the reason I was hired is that my crazy-boss-to-be is actually some sort of cult leader who is after my unborn baby, because he somehow knows that my baby will be the ideal combination of perfect flaws. (Made sense in dreamland anyway . . .) I could bore you for hours by describing the office/compound and the works of art it contained - weird shit, my friends . . .

When I woke up, I felt how Rambo looks. Lord help any prowler dumb enough to enter my home, there would be nothing left but a pile of hamburger-esque goo, and me calmly picking my fingernails clean - I've had my share of hissy fits, but nothing compares to the outraged/angry/focused/deadly mindset I was in.

I wandered around the house, cuddled the dog and all three cats, ate cereal, and talked with Mr.Hubby (who was thankfully awake at the same time) for nearly an hour before I could even attempt sleep. The dreams that followed were about overthrowing the evil art collector/cult leader while trying not to give away that I had figured him out.

SO, apparently my brain is effectively getting into "protect the baby" mode?

now we're getting somewhere . . . .

2007-11-01T16:54:00.000-04:00

Guess who gained two pounds within 7 days - again! The victory dances I boogied over gaining 3 pounds in four weeks seem so silly now . . . and to all the schmucks who previously told me how *tiny* I seemed - BITE ME.

And for the discusto report: 75% effaced, but still at 0cm (shut tight).

As to the baby? Just like Mama, still partying like it's 1999: no shortage of hiccuping and squirming.

I'm thrilled to report that the head is . . . engaged.

Oh I crack me up . . .

my first wimpy Halloween - 38 weeks pregnant

2007-10-31T15:04:00.000-04:00

Normally, I'm a big fan of Halloween, but I'm not really feelin' it this year.

Too warm out? Too pregnant? Too tired? Who knows.

I dashed home over my lunch hour today to feed my critters and managed to carve a pumpkin without carving myself. I will offer this warning: ALWAYS WEAR SHOES WHILE CARVING A PUMPKIN. I accidentally dropped a very sharp knife on my foot, and was very happy to be wearing fuddy leather shoes.

I am going to hand out Halloween goodies (fancy pencils, stencils, and stickers - childhood obesity is becoming an epidemic, people!) but may lame out on the costume front. I look like a fashion-sense-less geriatric today in my black humpty-dumpty pants (that are are tight at the ankles and are oh-so-slightly too short), shapeless size XL orange t-shirt and black cardigan - did I mention fuddy black leather shoes? Making things more fashion-tragic, I desperately need a haircut, need to tend to my eyebrows, and I put on navy blue socks instead of black this morning. I should be happy that my hairy legs are covered up, but instead I feel like a bloated, cranky eyesore.

Let's move on to happier days, shall we?

As a child, when I returned home from trick-or-treating, my sister and I had to turn our candy in to the family stash if we wanted to collect our "Great Pumpkin" presents. The Great Pumpkin visits while you are out treating, and puts a small-but-cool present on your pillow - like a big box of crayons, lip gloss, a new hairbrush/comb set, a sticker book etc. Mysteriously, the Great Pumpkin present was ALWAYS wrapped in white tissue paper and orange yarn, and had handwriting -just- like Mom's.

Pretty sweet deal once you figure out there was no way in hell Mom was going to let you keep your candy anyway! She had a knack for doling out the candy generously enough that you never felt short-changed, and yet there were many Christmas where Halloween-harvested candy found it's way into the celebrations.

Anywho, Happy Halloween all!

blips and bloopers: 37 weeks pregnant

2007-10-25T17:18:00.000-04:00

Long time no type, eh?

All's well here; (at the extreme risk of grossing you out) my cervix is still in lock-down mode. Gozer isn't going anywhere anytime soon, which is good because both my doula and my mother are going to be out of town this weekend!

* ~ * ~ * ~ *

Two weeks ago, my family hosted a couples baby shower, where most everyone wore a Halloween costume of some sort. Hours before Mr. Hubby and I were going to leave our house, we told our dog Suki "car ride to Grandma and Grandpa's house for party".

BIG MISTAKE

Suki immediately trotted over to her collar and leash, and upon, hearing "no, wait" she went to her window perch and looked outside, presumably to see if Grandma and Grandpa were in the driveway. Fast forward half an hour to Mr. Hubby being in one bathtub and me in the other - Suki barged in each bathroom multiple times to give us exasperated sighs, and ultimately settled on wandering the hallway whimpering and crying. As cruel as this may seem, listening to a beagle/Japanese chin pout is actually very funny. Perhaps we could have gotten away with not immediately delivering on the promise of a car ride, or a party, but adding Grandma and Grandpa was going too far.

When we arrived, we decorated the house in black, orange, pink, and light blue, which may sound hideous but is fantastic for a Halloween-themed shower. True to family form, it was a fantastic party; a fire pit in the backyard complete with hot dogs and marshmallows, beer and wine for the guests (I rocked the root beer), an ecstatic Suki-pup wandering around off leash (we were confident she wouldn't wander far from a party involving food-mooching opportunities), and relaxed conversation.
My smartie-pants brother-in-law modified the "guess the baby food" game by adding copious amounts of food coloring to the jars - purple infant mac&cheese is more disgusting than words can describe.

Absolutely everyone we invited at least stopped by for as long as their schedule (or tired toddler) would allow. None of the men present (other than Mr. Hubby) had ever attended a baby shower before, and I was especially glad to demonstrate that there is no need for baby showers to be stuffy, boring-as-hell affairs.

That evening, Mr. Hubby returned home so he could get to work early the next morning. My sister, brother-in-law, Suki, and I decided to spend the night at my parent's house - all of us were too tired to consider driving over an hour to get back to my house. Given the hissy-fit that Suki threw earlier, I should not have been surprised that I was rejected at bedtime; she chose to sleep between my parents - diagonally, because they were either too naive or too charmed to stop her from hogging the bed.

The best part of the past two weeks is that I was able to spend two days with my sister Alie and my brother-in-law. As if throwing a shower wasn't enough, the woman helped me clean my fish tank! And it was her idea! Talk about love.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Last Friday, a friend of mine from work hosted an office baby shower for me (yes I've had _three_ total). It was sparsely attended, but I had a very good time regardless. I think/hope the problem was that we gave people paper invitations in their mailboxes, rather than emailing them. I knew that a few people had schedule conflicts that afternoon, but did expect more than three people (out of 12 invited) to show (6 attendees total, counting me, the hostess and her adorable 3 year old son). I did receive a very apologetic email and gift from a gal who thought the party was this Friday, a explanation and gift from a gal who had an appointment at the same time, and a apologetic explanation from a friend of mine who has a very young child (she's completely not allowed to gift anything to me since I've already received an absolute glut of gently-used baby supplies from her).

I'm not writing about this to pout, but rather to point out how fantastic pregnancy hormones have been to me lately: under normal circumstances, I would probably feel stood up, unliked, ignored, whatever - but instead, I simply don't give a crap. I do feel bad for the hostess who put time, money, and effort into throwing a party for a bigger group, but as it turned out, I got to really visit with everyone there and had fantastic leftovers to take home that evening.

* ~ * ~ * ~ *

On Saturday, Mr. Hubby and I go to be stats-takers for my derby girls. This was the first home bout I have attended without being the volunteer coordinator. I thought that I would feel disconnected, or less "important" to the bout production, but I *loved* every minute of it. Three 20 minute periods go by in a blink when you're keeping track of who is on the floor and what they're doing at any moment. My teammates played a phenomenal game, and lost by two points, which is a ridiculously close margin for roller derby. I'm convinced that they would have won if there were a few more minutes left on the clock.

* ~ * ~ * ~ *

These days, besides continuing to work full-time, I've been keeping myself very busy getting ready for the baby to arrive. I visited a lactation consultant today and bought new parts for a gifted (used) breast pump. Yesterday, I started packing my hospital bags, and my project for this weekend is to make sure I've got all the baby toiletries/medicines/gear I need so I don't have to send people out on errands once we're home from the hospital. (Okay, slightly fewer errands . . .)

And, I kid you not, at this moment I'm getting fantastic mommy practice:
as I type this, my friend's 5.5 month old is draped over me, fast asleep. What particularly cracks me up, is that she has to straddle my belly in such a way that her foot visibly moves when my baby delivers a good kick.

Ukulele bliss

2007-10-12T09:21:00.001-04:00

This is the Ukelele Orchestra of Great Britian playing the theme from "The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly".

My fellow farkaholics have probably seen this already, but I feel compelled to share this with everyone else - I got a full body buzz from it. As a reference point, I've been known to tear up at the sound of a badass pipe organ, visibly twitch at the sound of poorly-tuned instruments and quite possibly take music too seriously.

On a personal note, I still prefer my younger sister's rendition of this theme, which she played maaaaany years ago on an oversized plastic bendy straw while sitting by a campfire - I'll never forget it. Love you very much, Alie.

nearly 35 weeks . . . .

2007-10-09T13:54:00.000-04:00

It used to be that every contraction caused me to panic a little:
"Not yet! Too soon!"

My current attitude?
"Bring it ON baby!"

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

This weekend, my sister and parents are throwing me a baby shower in my hometown: we've invited couples, encouraged people to BYOB (and will have some available), we plan on roasting hot dogs in my parent's backyard fire pit, and best of all I was just told that it is a costume party!

The invitations my sister sent out specified that the costume part was to be a surprise, but then figured that Mr. Hubby and I would be bummed to be the only costume-less people there, and we might be suspicious of all the Halloween decorations early on.

Now I'm SUPER impatient! I LOVE Halloween parties!

It is such a relief to have something to focus on other than chronic heartburn!

Happy 4th Anniversary, Mr. Hubby

2007-10-04T10:29:00.000-04:00

even in the scariest of times, we laugh together

yes, even the Pastor was cracking up, so much for a solemn service!

we continue to be patient with each other
Marraige isn't always pretty, but it's absolutely worth every effort!

I am so happy to share my life with you!

Mr. Hubby's suit was black, not dark blue as it appears in this picture,

and yes I am an Amazon. Fear me.

We must prepare for the coming of Gozer

2007-09-25T13:09:00.001-04:00

My unborn child has a derby name already: "Gozer the Destructor".

I actually chose that name for myself, and was briefly registered under that name, but later decided that the reference was a bit too obsuse for the general public, and I wasn't sure how I felt about being called "Gozer" on a regular basis.

For anyone still not in on the joke:

"Gozer the Traveller; he will come in one of the pre-chosen forms. During the rectification of the Vuldronaii, the Traveller came as a large and moving Torb. Then, during the third reconciliation of the last of the Meketrex Supplicants, they chose a new form for him -- that of a Giant Sloar! Many Shubs and Zuuls knew what it was to be roasted in the depths of the Sloar that day I can tell you!"

In my warped little mind, I thought it would be very funny for Gozer to take on the form of a badass roller derby girl.

Just a few weeks after taking on a new name, I found myself several weeks pregnant, and it was decided that this upcoming baby indeed WAS "Gozer the Destructor", in that he/she destroyed my derby season.

Anyway, Gozer attended his/her third in-utero bout this weekend, and is making quite the bulgy appearance as I do my damnest to get one of my gals ready to get back out onto the floor and knock some bitches down.

Compare that to how I looked on March 24th, the day I found out about Gozer's imminent arrival. (I'm in the red shirt, showing off a flat belly).

ANYWAY - only 7 weeks to go! I am (sadly) done volunteering for my derby league's bout production committee so I can concentrate on getting things squared away at home and at work before baby arrives. So much to do, so little time . . . but I keep reminding myself that I'm a box of preemie diapers away from "just fine" if baby decides to make an early appearance.

'cause I need to watch a happy dance . . .

2007-09-19T09:13:00.001-04:00

I sincerely hope you've seen this video before - I find it's a great help when I'm in a funky mood.

horomonal much?

2007-09-17T11:41:00.000-04:00

Saturday afternoon - I was happily chatting away while on a van ride, describing my relationship with my dog Suki: "I think one of the reasons [Mr. Hubby] and I are so crazy about Suki is that she seems to be a good representation of our collective personality: slightly spazzy, incredibly optimistic, moderately well behaved, and fun to be around".

I still consider that to be true, but the flip side is that I can nosedive into anxious funks then have trouble climbing back up. I get frustrated, impatient, demanding, and am likely to hand out pot-meets-kettle criticism, then follow that up by feeling rotten for handing out criticism.

Sunday afternoon - I got pretty snitty with some of my roller derby bout production committee pals via email; it was simply a matter of me being out of an information loop, but since I was missing that particular bit of information (no Betti, the sky is NOT falling) things got mighty ugly in the land-o-Betti.

Since I can't skate, I take my role in derby production (perhaps too) seriously. I thought that my lack of action/attention had allowed for a big problem to develop, and since I had previously failed at my feeble attempt to drop out of my production position, I rapidly fell into "Crap! I KNEW this was going to happen, I can't keep up with everything!!" mode. That turned into "the bout will suck and it's my fault" which turned into blind panic, (oh so not fun, especially while 7 months pregnant) which turned into anger, which turned in nervous exhasuted wreck who sleeps badly and dreams of spreadsheets and pre-bout setup gone wrong.

Mr. Hubby has seen me fall into this mode many times before, and responded by turning off a football game and fixing me meatloaf - I've known for him 8 years now, and he still makes me swoon. Without Mr. Hubby's intervention, I'm sure I would have been much more anxious for a longer period of time.

Lucky for me I don't have the attention span (or energy) to stay angry about anything for very long. Especially because there is no problem to solve, I'm feeling much better. I kind of feel like a little kid who has become completely exhasuted by throwing a temper tantrum. I think I'm a nap away from just fine, and when this upcoming derby bout turns out to be a raging success I'll be back to Suki mode.

Derby Fever!

2007-09-13T15:05:00.001-04:00

So I'm supposed to be working on my birth plan right now, my "Childbirth and Parenting Education" binder is across my lap, I've got food and water within arms reach, and all I can think about is DERBY. I have not been on wheels since FEBRUARY, people!

My gals' second home bout is next Saturday, and I did a piss-poor job of stepping down as volunteer coordinator, so I've been busy busy busy - I'm also studying for my childbirth class, overhauling my neglected home filing system, altering the space-time continuum, and doing massive amounts of data (re)entry thanks-very-little, stupid hard drive crash!

Peh . . . . I'll quit whining . . .

THE POINT of this post is to direct you to this website, which currently boasts some photos of my beee-yuuu-ti-ful teammates.

I can't believe how far we've come since the beginning of 2007!

Whoa . . . resuming whining - I don't know that "teammate" is the proper noun to use since I have not been a skating member of the team for quite some time now. Gah! Identity crisis!! To be made much worse by the fact that I certainly CAN NOT fit into my old derby clothes; what the hell will I wear to next Saturday's bout?

drafting up a "birth plan"

2007-08-29T09:57:00.000-04:00

My birth plan at 3 months pregnant:

By 5 months pregnant, I decided that I would require minions.

With only 11 weeks to go before my due date, I'm taking things a bit more seriously and am feeling a little more selective as to how my "ideal birth experience" would go:
it involves bringing James Doohan back to life.

My "Actually takes place on planet earth in the year 2007" plan isn't going as well, but Mr. Hubby and I have come to a few conclusions:

Professionals can take care of the damn cord - neither of us particularly like cutting raw meat, much less pulsating meat attached to me.

Along those lines, they can keep the placenta. It never occurred to me to throw a meatloaf against the wall to see what pattern it would make, so placenta-prints are not for me. Also? I've participated in enough culinary disasters that I'm not going near that thing with a fork.

Since I deprived Mr. Hubby of finding out if we're having a boy or girl, he will be the first person to tell me the baby's gender, even if it involves putting muzzles on everyone else who is present.

The post-birth eye drops can wait an hour - not that I think my kid will have any trouble seeing my (newly) ginormous dark nipples, but I imagine I wouldn't appreciate a bunch of blur-inducing crap in my eyes after a journey that rough.

Unless my kid is in obvious need, no snot sucker will be used, a little hacking and some time at tit central station will sort things out just fine. Most videos I've seen, professionals swoop in as soon a the nose and mouth are visible: "Welcome to the world sweetie, lemme jam a rubber nozzle up your nose and down your throat"

So, I know I've got lots of work to do . . . and yet I'm still stuck on the idea of just beaming the kid out.

* Achoo! *

2007-08-23T10:14:00.000-04:00

*warning*
whiny-ass post

Under "normal" circumstances, I am not a person prone to colds. I recently threw away cold medication because it expired over a year ago - and only four doses had been taken. And I highly suspect that two of those four doses were taken by ailing friends.

Yesterday, I was somewhat relieved to be told by my midwife that I'm "allowed" to take Sudafed products and use medicated chest rub (aka Vick's Vapo-Rub). Until then I had been battling my cold symptoms by attempting to create a storm system within my bedroom: AC pumped up to 75 degrees (yes that IS cold, you weirdos!), small fan blowing directly at my face (otherwise I feel like I'm suffocating), and a humidifier chugging away on the opposite side of the bed. The irony is that it is SUPER humid in the Mid-West this time of year, but my need for cold air "dries out" my house to 65% humidity (again, yes, that IS dry).

Helooooooo, my blog name is JungleBetti; my home is full of pets and houseplants, and I thrive in warm-ish temperatures with high-ish humidity levels.

Anywho, being "allowed" to take medication while pregnant and feeling confident about taking medication while pregnant are two entirely different entities. I stressed the hell out over smearing myself with generic Vaop-Rub (what the hell does Camphor do to a fetus?!) and ultimately taking some Sudafed. I was in tears last night as I swallowed that fateful pill, but it was that or be awake ALL night - I simply don't know how to fall asleep while breathing through my mouth, and coughing spasms would have woken me up even if I could figure it out.

So now I have something *new* to add to my list of things to feel guilty about.

I'll share an abbreviated version of my "not a good mom" list:

Had a Killian's-fueled St.Patrick's day before figuring out I was pregnant.

Took an "Aleve" before roller-derby practice before figuring out I was pregnant.

Forgetting to take all my pre-natal vitamins on a fairly regular basis.

Chronically eating Blueberry Toaster Tarts instead of blueberries and yogurt.

Ingesting god-knows-whatever chemicals make up Sudafed and Vapo-Rub.

In non-pouty news, the kid is still squirming away, and that makes me feel a bit better.

a rare sighting

2007-08-13T13:27:00.000-04:00

Back in mid-July, MadameD asked me how short my hair was. This got me thinking *again* about my inclination to not post photos of myself. Under past circumstances, my conclusion would still be "no photos of friends/family/me on my blog". My past reasoning would involve the BoogeyMan and the fact that I visit plenty of photo-less blogs and find them very interesting.

And now a baby is on the horizon, and I can't actually imagine writing about my baby without posting photos of him/her - I can't stop myself from posting cute photos of my dog!

To finally get to my point: I'm slowly warming up to being less anonymous. I may never post a non-muffled image of myself, I like hiding behind my jankedy alterations.

This photo was taken in October of 2003, minutes before I married Mr. Hubby. I have the same haircut these days, and other than a small-ish baby bump, look the same.

Yes - my eyes ARE closed . . . that way you can't see me!

Early Nursery Pics . . .

2007-08-10T12:55:00.000-04:00

At long last, I'm happy to show off a mostly empty, finally painted nursery!

This is the fantastico star blanket that Madame DeBarge made.
It is by far the coolest thing the kid has received; I'm grateful to have a car seat/stroller, a crib, and a metric ton of baby clothes - but this is the kind of thing you try to keep forever!

I have been hiding this blanket from all my pets, who have a knack for trying to take ownership of my favorite items (or anything I pay too much attention to, possibly depriving them of attention for more than three minutes). To their credit, I have purchased used knit baby blankets from garage sales for them to nap/shed on in the hopes that they spend a little less time shedding on my furniture. As you can see, Suki wasted no time whatsoever in trying to lay claim to the forbidden baby blankie - other than moving the frog hamper over to conceal my painting error, this photo was not staged, no cookie bribery was involved.

Note to self: paint chips lie. Yellow paint is always much more vibrant and bright on walls than you can possibly imagine. I was actually considering getting an even more intense color of yellow - thank goodness I opted for the slightly more subdued color! In person, the color resembles watered-down orange juice, and the dresser is the color of butter. Given that the wine-red carpet was not going anywhere, I'm quite pleased with how this turned out. All the same, I hope the yellow seems less intense once I've got more baby stuff moved into the room.

I had goldenrod/yellow shag carpet in my room when I was little, and one of the walls had fantastic gaudy yellow/gold/orange/brown flowers and vines on a white background. I can only guess that's why I'm inflicting this color scheme on my future baby?

Do you remember how your room was decorated when you were a tiny kid?

2069.11 miles safety zone

2007-08-07T11:42:00.000-04:00

For ONCE, I have found reason to be happy that my sister is living over two thousand miles away from me. She'll have a hard time kicking my butt from such a distance!

On Sunday night, I promised her that I would take a belly photo of myself and email it to her. . . . and I haven't done it yet. Now that my derby league's first home bout is over (WE WON!!!) and one of my shouldn't-be-my-problem tasks at work has been delegated to someone else (HOORAY!) I really don't have a great excuse for my tardiness.

Now that I think (type?) if it, if she were within butt-kicking distance, she's be able to see my belly and this wouldn't be an issue.

Regardless, I'm being a slacker - but a slacker who is finally done painting the nursery walls and is slowing moving baby items into the nursery in a feeble attempt to bring the rest of the house back to "normal".

At the risk of being a huge liar, I'll post some belly and nursery pics (including the blakine from MadameDebarge) later this week.

* * *
Tomorrow, I am going to the ______ State Fair with my parents, where I plan on eating the worlds finest pork burger sandwich, corn on the cob, a chocolate milkshake, a portion of elephant ear, and other fantastic carnie food. I also aspire to take at least a dozen decent photos and not pass out from the heat, but I'm mostly focused on fooooooood these days.

I'm alive!

2007-08-01T17:18:00.000-04:00

Just wanted to convince you that I'm alive and mostly well; these days I'm feeling more like Frankenstein's monster than the lively doctor, but I'm sure I'll be in better shape soon.

I've been revisiting exhausted-and-nauseated land lately, and boy it seems to suck worse the second time around! I made a whiny call to my medical office and was told to stick to bland foods, extra liquids and plenty of rest - talk about "DUH!!" advice!

I was actually insulted that I wasn't told to at least pee in a cup - but apparently none of my weird-ass symptoms add up to anything to be concerned about, I'm assuming because "the kid"/"Gozer"/"Baby Rampage" continues to use my uterus as a private mosh pit. My midwife was out of the office, and apparently the male OB/GYN who took my message didn't understand how creepy it is to feel like your unborn child is kicking you IN the cooter? I damn near expected to see a tiny foot sticking out!

* * *

When work slows down a bit and I'm less obsessed with sleeping non-stop I'll get back to visiting all my bloggie friends. . . . what's new with you anyway??

IN SUPER FANTASTIC NEWS:
Madame DeBarge sent me the most fantastic baby blanket EVER and I am both rude and a lame-ass fool for not having posted a photo of it yet, much less written her a thank-you.

IN OTHER FANTASTIC NEWS:
My roller derby team has their first home bout this Saturday. I'm really looking forward to the spectacle, and really looking forward to getting my life back for a little while afterwards. "Volunteer Coordinating" is not for weenies, and possibly not for somewhat-sickly pregnant women. I've had a ball being so involved with the league, but hope to high heaven that getting the next two home bouts arranged is much much easier than this!

. . . and some coffee for my pregnant homies . . .

2007-07-18T09:23:00.000-04:00

If you're able and inclined, drink some coffee on my behalf; _fresh coffee_, no fake creamer (eeeew, I swear that stuff is made of plastic), with a couple heaping spoonfuls of hot cocoa mix, and a little bit of vanilla soy milk -or- regular milk if you're feelin' drastic. Drink LOTS of this coffee for me - hell, go to Starbucks and see if they'll sell you a gallon at a time.

I'm still holding tightly to my "no caffeinated beverages while pregnant" rule, for reasons even I don't understand . . . wait, perhaps it's because my baby already kicks like a squirrel trapped in a sock? I don't want to accidentally trigger seismic activity in the Midwest? I'm already a bundle of nerves? I might fall off the wagon big-time and find myself throwing back multiple shots of espresso?

(That said - I'm still enjoying the occasional tiny serving of chocolate, blissful, sanity-granting chocolate . . .)

Why the fiending for caffeine?
My to-do list rivals the King James Bible in both length and complexity.

I may go into more ranting detail at a later date, but I'll try to summarize: I'm fighting multiple fronts:
WORK - multiple deadlines, far too many irons in the fire, not enough energy (still!) to put in full 40-hour weeks.
HOME - I need Mary Poppins, Martha Stewart, and a carpenter, STAT.
DERBY - "Volunteer Coordinator" is taking up waaaaaaaay more time and energy than I anticipated, but damn I love being involved with bout production.
FRIENDS - Some people need me more than before, some people are offering less support than before, and others are showing interest in becoming more involved, and I just don't have as much spare time as I'd like to invest in them.
FAMILY - Love 'em dearly, I'm getting tons of emotional support, I wish they were more physically present to do my evil bidding -I mean- help around the house.
BABY SHOWERS - I love parties, but don't like being the center of attention. That means I have to be on my best behavior, stay polite in the face of stupid comments, stupid circumstances, stupid people . . . blah blah.
ETC ETC ETC

In short (too late!) I need a couple days off just to putz around my house, sort stuff, pitch stuff, and re-set my brain. Unfortunately, those couple days just aren't available. Bleh.

IN OTHER NEWS: My blog-photo is no longer inaccurate; I've gone back to my old haircut! Until yesterday, I had enough hair to put in a twist, french braid, or ponytail, and my bangs were long enough to be tamed by a well-placed barette - it was low-maintenece and cost nothing to keep up, but I was starting to get ponytail-induced headaches nearly every day. I've found pregnancy to be heavily spiced with aches and pains I can't do a thing about - so I consider a drastic haircut to be a minor sacrifice.

Less bitching and moaning in my next post folks, thanks for enduring!

21 weeks pregnant - guess what baby is doing?

2007-07-05T15:24:00.001-04:00

I suppose it would be presumptuous of me to bring a tiny gi and yellow obi to the hospital with me . . .

*non-martial arts geek translation: The kid is going to be ready for a martial arts uniform and a yellow belt, signifying having tested out of beginner's white-belt rank.

too ticked off to think of a witty title

2007-07-02T13:31:00.000-04:00

I recently ranted about my computer crashing and shipping my harddrive to data-recovery specialists in California; I was willing to come up with up to $2000.00 (pulled out of my ass, I suppose) to pay them to GET MY DATA BACK.

my data =
- unreplaceable photos of my adorable nephews
- unreplaceable photos of happy times
- unreplaceable photos of pet antics, etc etc
- a FREAKING MASSIVE music collection, carefully sorted, rated, and categorized - I could hit "play" and not hear the same track twice for two weeks straight.
- tax records
- blah
- blah
- blah

The name of said doom is "Head Crash"
my harddrive was physically scraping data off of itself - this particular mechanical failure only occurs in about 10% of hard drive crashes, and always ends in the same prognosis: unrecoverable data.

The bright side is that this happened BEFORE the baby arrives.

I'm hanging on to that thought to stop myself from freaking the hell out.

introducing . . .

2007-06-27T16:12:00.000-04:00

My unborn kid's profile, with right hand bonking forehead.

Between the pointy nose and the "oh DUH!" gesture, I'm sure it's mine.

Other details:
- I was relieved to see a normal spine, ten fingers and ten toes.
- The kid appears to have wide feet (like me).
- Either the kid is slightly small, or I'm closer to 19 weeks pregnant instead of 20. I'm hoping for small!
- Mr. Hubby is a bit honked off that I didn't change my mind and try to find out the sex of the baby. I told him that he can be the first to tell me the sex of the baby after it's born.

20 weeks to go

2007-06-26T14:49:00.000-04:00

junglebetti-trivia-buffs already know of my photo-posting-paranoia; I admire people who are comfortable with posting photos of themselves and their families on the internet, but I'm still convinced that the boogieman/stalk-o-monster will find me if I do so myself. Or maybe I'm just too damn vain for my own good.

In any case, I've come to a compromise that was inspired by how bad my hair has been looking lately, how kind my coworker was to take the time to coax data off of my digital camera then copy it for me, and the chaos involved in getting Mr. Hubby to snap these photos before dashing off to work.

With no further fanfare, I present you:

Sexy, no?

fuming

2007-06-25T11:11:00.000-04:00

Just a quick public rant:

I've kept up a positive attitude about my crawlspace needing major repairs, even to the point that I was still considering making some improvements to the inside of my house before the baby arrives. I'd figure out the ca$h end of the equasion somehow - I'm a smart, creative gal in control of my finances . . .

I've hit ANOTHER roadbump and am having a hard time staying even keeled about it, because it is, in part, my fault for tempting fate.

I've never backed up any data on my home computer.

My harddrive died.

I have thousands of photos (dating back to 2002) and two weeks worth of music on that computer. There is a POSSIBILITY that specialists can retrieve that data for me but it is going to CO$T me. IF I had purchased an external harddrive, this wouldn't be as big a deal - I'd still need a new computer, but wouldn't have the added you're-a-dumbass data-retrieval fee added to this disaster.

My excuse for not backing up my data?
My computer was less than a year old.

BACK UP YOUR FREAKING DATA!!!

Smooches,
Betti

** UPDATE **

I had FIVE days left on my original coverage plan! At least the price of replacing the hard drive is covered - I'm still responsible for the data retrieval fee, but every little bit helps . . .

yo-GAAAAH!

2007-06-22T14:23:00.000-04:00

How's this for a sentence I never thought I'd type?

Yoga completely kicked my ass yesterday.

I made a point not to over-exert or over-stretch myself, but I became overheated and lightheaded to the point that I sat like a lump on my mat and watched other (bigger) pregnant ladies assume various poses. PeacefulMama usually only teaches on Saturdays, so I was being taught by SilverMama, a middle-aged woman so calm and nurturing she could surely talk the craziest cat out of the tallest tree -or- assist a laboring mother through a drug-free birth.

True to my spazzy form, the first time I took a yoga class from SilverMama I did a klunky job and referred to sciatic pain as "that pain in my ass" and followed up that impressive display of tact by not being able to stop myself from grabbing the foot of the woman in front of me. We were balancing with one knee on the ground, the other leg stretched out straight behind with either both hands on the mat or one hand (opposite of stretched leg) reaching out. Her foot was right there! My hand was right there! I (accurately) judged that the gal wouldn't mind; she chirped at me in a friendly sarcastic voice "I'm trying to concentrate on yoga" and I panted back "I'm helping you concentrate!"

SilverMama seemed less than thrilled with my clowning around but continued to be patient with me. I was relieved when she actually seemed happy to see me return to her class yesterday.

But back to whining.

Although my midsection doesn't look very big, I feel immobilized by it; I can only guess that my ligaments have lots of stretching to do still. The best I can describe, it is like being Thanksgiving-afternoon level stuffed full of food, but add a horribly hollow hungry feeling with a dash of heartburn AND random stabby pains most likely to be triggered by *daring to* twist one's torso or sneeze without lifting up one or both of your knees first.

I know that stretching will help in the long run, but in the short term, I think I'd be more comfortable couch-surfing with my pets.

When I returned home, I ate some leftover pasta, had a bowl of cereal for dessert then flopped in my recliner for a while in the hopes I could avoid slamming myself with heartburn by going to bed at the rock-n-roll hour of 8pm. Taking into account several bathroom breaks, a few snack breaks, and gathering my thunderstorm-paralyzed cat to hide under the covers with me, I didn't get out of bed until 8:15 this morning - and I STILL think a nap would be fantastic.

Over 20 weeks to go folks - I don't think I'm going to become more graceful (physically, mentally -or- socially) any time soon. This is gonna get interesting.

19 weeks

2007-06-19T15:30:00.000-04:00

Not understanding the true sucky qualities of early pregnancy, I formulated a plan 13 weeks ago:

1) I honestly thought I'd have the kid's room cleaned out, repainted, and ready to fill with baby schtuff by the time I was half through my pregnancy.

2) I would have money saved up by now to pay all my hospital (birthing) bills so I'd have one less thing to be concerned about while recovering from the birthing process.

HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

Instead, the computer room remains a computer room, although much of the contents have been dispersed all over the rest of the house in a random manner. The bookshelves I planned on building by now haven't even been drafted up - I do know I'm using knotty pine with a linseed oil finish, that counts for something, except that mental plans don't hold physical stuff. Although I've hauled a few carloads of crap out of the house, it seems that the house is more cluttered than ever.

Peh. Money? It seems that soon as we tightened the 'ol budget belt we had more repairs than usual to make and new expenses began cropping up, drastically slowing the saving process. My most recent bitch is needing to spend $$$ on the crawlspace of my house, apparently they built 'em dumb in '78. Good news is that we don't have a mold problem yet, bad news is that the situation won't fix itself. If we knew for a fact that we were going to move away from this house in the next 5 years (not likely) and would definately find starry-eyed-newbie-dumbass-first-time-homebuyers (like we were) to purchase our house, we could let the situation fester. I guess it is important to focus on the positive; at least when we DO sell the house someday, we can say "crawlspace renovated in 2008". Sexy selling point, eh?

I highly doubt that I'm going to accomplish my stated goals within the next seven days, so I'm recalibrating my goals instead. Any suggestions??

"Average" never sounded so fantastic

2007-06-14T17:05:00.000-04:00

A normal fetal heart rate usually is between 120 and 160 beats per minute, the average rate is 140 beats per minute.

At 18 weeks gestation, I don't know much about my baby, but I DO know that (at least this afternoon) the kid has an average heart rate. I'm surprised at my reaction: I'm PROUD - as if the kid is accomplishing something by not having a fast or slow heartrate.

Perhaps I'm well on my way to developing a snobby "my baby is supreme" attitude, or more likely, I'm very relieved to know that things seem to be going well in uterus-land.

In other news,
When I asked my midwife how busy she was in the middle of November, a flash of panic crossed her face. So I got more direct "What's the likelyhood that you'll be there when I give birth?" From her answer, I got the impression that she will be there, but she may be running between many rooms at the hospital. Eeeep!

I nearly spiraled into pout-mode to think I might be sharing my midwife and won't get all her attention, but instead I came to a solid decision that I'm going to hire a doula to take care of me during birth.

A qualified person will:
help me feel safe
boss me around if neccessary
not mind if I scream at her
be great at massage
have a sense of humor
and not mind if I accidently puke on her

aren't I professional?

2007-06-13T14:47:00.000-04:00

Yeah . . . so I just got off the phone with my sister (as I sit in my cubicle at work, 'cause I'm a SINNER like that) first laughing like a goon as a told her about a ridiculous dream I had (involving her as a child) and then irritably using a variation of the "F" word to express my displeasure that I'm going to spend (less than?) 2.5 days with her during my entire pregnancy.

I followed up that classy recommendation-letter-builder by taking a call from my husband, who like the sweetheart he is, likes to offer me analysis and peptalks when I'm discouraged - except that I was not in the mood to hear it, and had to repeatedly chant the phrase "I'm done talking about this, I'm done talking about this" with an increasingly irritated and increasingly loud voice.

Normally I'm moderately good about keeping personal calls short and professional, but I reeeeeeeeeeally blew it today. Mysteriously, no one has asked me to assist them with anything, and I suspect that no one will for quite some time.

ultra$ound

2007-06-12T18:42:00.000-04:00

Today I found out that my health insurance will not cover the cost of an ultrasound - and that an ultrasound costs more than $300.00.

Craaap - this whole "saving money for baby" gig is turning out to be tougher than I anticipated.

I'm going to discuss the *possibility* of not having an ultrasound with my medical professionals; I need more information before I can make a solid decision. I have friendly aquaintences with women who did not have ultrasounds while pregnant, and they didn't regret it - but I don't know what criteria they based their decision on.

I decided to cut all caffiene out of my diet when I found out I was pregnant because, although small amounts of caffiene don't *seem* to hurt the unborn, no doctor or nurse is going to tell me "Miss, you really MUST consume some caffiene!"

Since there are suggested limits to the number of ultrasounds you expose your unborn child to, does that imply that the are possibly damaging, or at minimum disturbing the unborn? Would a medical professional tell a pregnant woman who was not experiencing any suggestive symptoms that she MUST have an ultrasound?

Guess I'm going to find out on Thursday.

P.S. I was already "iffy" on non-necessary ultrasounds before finding out about the $$$ involved. I'm more interested giving my kid a healthy start, and I'm all too aware that the accepted norm is frequently not the healtiest option.

pink or blue . . . pink or blue?

2007-06-11T11:30:00.000-04:00

I'm really not sure I want to know the sex of my unborn child. I've heard so many "they thought they were having a girl and then their baby boy was surrounded by pink for months" stories, that I have to wonder if it is worthwhile to try to find out. I also cringe when I hear people speak of unborn babies as if they know what their personality traits will be; "My feisty little guy . . ." "My stubborn little girl . . ." What the hell? Can in-utero kicks be translated like Morse code?

Also? I like magenta (duh), but I'm not a big fan of pink.
As a tiny tot, my *favorite* outfit was colorful sneakers, blue jeans and a red turtleneck. My favorite dress was grey with horizontal red stripes, and I threw my first prissy hissy fit in kindergarten when (during a birthday party) someone accidentally spilled my raspberry sorbet punch all over it: my dress is soggy and perhaps ruined, AND there is no extra punch to refill my cup?! I think I was given a cup of orange juice as a consolation prize. But I digress.

I'd like to avoid pink frilly presents. I've been told I should just state my preference to anyone who might buy presents for the baby, but I'm not sure that would be effective, and I'm not so bold (or wealthy) that I could reject presents for the baby.

On to "boy" stuff. It seems to me that tiny boys are doomed to look like little sportsnuts, little hunters, or little business men. Projecting a "manly man" image onto a non-verbal, diaper-bound, breast (or bottle) feeding individual is a very very strange concept indeed. What's next, little toupees and bibs that read "future Viagra user"?

So I've sorted all the baby clothes that have already been gifted to me: the "neutral" stuff is already in a dresser, and I have separate bags of "boy" and "girl" stuff.

I guess that means, at the moment, I'm choosing yellow and green.

a day of extremes

2007-06-10T10:35:00.000-04:00

I may be developing an addiction to yoga - yesterday at 10am I found myself at back on the mat, listening to PeacefulMama's instructions as her baby boy (YogaBaby) happily gurgled at us from his pillow perch nearby. You'd think it'd be disrupting to have a three month old in class, but so far he's been nothing but a happy focal point that occasionally needs to be fed. I stayed nearly an hour after class, enjoying not being surrounded by projects I should be working on at home (nursery? what nursery?). PeacefulMama, YogaBaby and I just lounged around and swapped stories. Since she usually only teaches on Saturday, I'm feeling really good about the classes I took with her earlier this week, and looking back am glad I had a stumbly start: to know me is to endure my often-stumbly social skills, I am a foot-in-mouth guru.

I then drove to the location my rollergirl friends were preparing themselves for a photo shoot; they've got bouts coming up soon and need to look sassy in the programs. I was happily greeted by many people I've slammed into and been slammed by, and was laughed at for my baggy pregnancy shorts since I still look like a kid playing dress-up when I wear maternity clothes. I intended on taking a quick "what do you need me to pick up for you" order then return in my old derby shirt so I could sneak into a group photo, as "support staff" on home bout days.

My day took a nosedive and didn't get back to "good" until much later in the evening.

To summarize,
I was stranded at the mall for hours becuase my ginormous light blue 1990 model land-yacht of a car needed a new battery installed, which turned into also needing a new starting mechanism, which means I've now spent over $600 on my vehicle while I'm supposed to be saving up baby money.
I arrived to the group photo incredibly late; I also had aspirations to have makeup on and my hair fixed, especially because everyone else was looking freaking fantastico, but I looked about as sexy as a pork chop since there was no time for me to slap on any eyeliner, much less actually do my hair. I did manage to get some lipstick on between photo 1 and photo 2, but it was of little consolation to me.
Two friends of mine (one I've become very attached to over the years, one I hope to get closer too soon) have been in really poor health lately, and are not getting better yet. I want to DO something about it, I want to fix their problems, and I can't. I'm encouraged that yet other friend of mine is on a steady path to recovery from her own health issues, but I won't be a completely happy camper 'till everyone has the energy to make it through a gentle day.

Then my day returned back to happy; I spent the evening at a pitch-in barbeque with Mr. Hubby, my dawg, friends I hadn't seen in many months, and friends-of-friends who were fantastic company. The neighborhood cats were very entertaining, the weather was gorgeous, the bugs weren't biting, and I ate and ate and ate and ate . . . . I hope that I'm actually on my way to gaining some weight on the kid's behalf - if I get another "you lost weight?!" speach from my midwife I'll be disappointed.

Mr. Hubby headed off to a birthday party and I headed to bed with the dog and a "so you've got a baby on the way" book - before falling asleep, I *think* I felt the kid move, but it may have been food gurgling around?

are you calling me an elephant? / return to yoga class

2007-06-08T12:28:00.000-04:00

On Wednesday morning, I reminded Mr. Hubby that he needed to tell his supervisor at work that he'd be taking a half-day's vacation next Thursday so he could go to my 18-week prenatal appointment with me.

"Oh, she's at home on bed rest, problems with blood-pressure I think".

I know that his supervisor is pregnant, but don't know how soon she's due: "That bites - how far along is she?"

"Um . . . I dunno . . . like 45 to 48 weeks?"

I grabbed the nearest door frame for support - my sweet, good-natured, talks-to-my-belly Mr. Hubby doesn't know how long human gestation takes? "Honey, that's impossible - most people give birth by 40 or 41 weeks . . . do you know how far along I am?

"15 weeks?"

I was relieved that he was close, but a little ticked off that he didn't know: "Nooooo, that was two weeks ago - besides, I have week numbers written on our dry-erase calender!"

"I wondered what that was all about . . ."

* ~ * ~ * (Elephant gestation takes 22 months) * ~ * ~ *

I planned on attending a water-aerobics class after work yesterday but left my towel and bathing suit on a table in my garage . . . oh garage, I used to sit in you all the time drinking vodka-ed generic lemon-lime soda and playing cards or darts . . . but I digress.

I mustered up the nutz to go back to prenatal yoga, and got there early enough to talk to a childbirth educator about the best way to bring Mr. Hubby up to speed; she had a good-natured laugh about it and reminded me how abstract all of this is for someone who isn't experiencing any symptoms, and that between watching me change shape and taking the childbirth class with me he'd be in great shape by "birth" day.

1) Thank goodness Mr. Hubby isn't the only pre-daddy goober on the block.

2) Hey waitaminute . . . I have changed shape already . . . these inflata-boobies and pooch belly are new - do I need to carry a "before" picture?

While I was gently mocking my husband, the yoga instructor arrived with her three-month-old boy - and she seemed genuinely amused with my ranting request for emotional support. . . did I detect a spark of snark in her also?? I told her that I enjoyed my first class, was surprised at how inflexible I was, and that my previous forms of exercise have been roller derby, water aerobics, and (years ago) martial arts - so I was having a little trouble getting use to being quiet and still as a form of exercise. Then I bit the bullet: "And I wanted to apologize for acting like a smart ass, I shouldn't have been disruptive like that".

Her face went blank.
Crap.
"Wha . . . OH - you were fine, I encourage a sense of humor in class".

The heavens opened and it became clear that I was going to get along with this dreadlocked peacefulmama after all.

Perhaps to humor me, I did not hear the phrase "heart light" during yesterday's class, instead she said "let your chest shine out" during an appropriate pose. Also? No "I'm surrounded by strong women" affirmations - in fact the talkey-break in class was about making me sit down for a while 'cause I looked (and felt) like I was going to faint. Followed by a speech (directed at me) about yoga not being a competitive sport, and that especially while pregnant it is important to respect your body's boundaries.

Normally? I would have been sad or ticked off to be singled out.
Perhaps it was the light-headedness, perhaps it was the endorphins, but I didn't care. I sat there like a bewildered child and just took it in.

After the rest of class had cleared out, she apologized to me for singling me out like that, and said that another new participant also needed to hear that information, but she didn't want to potentially embarrass her by getting direct with her. AND she went on to say that she had fallen victim to her own stubborn over-achiever streak and injured herself while pregnant because she didn't honor her own limitations. As if I wasn't already feeling 100% better about everything, she timidly asked me to keep an eye on her baby for a while so she could use the bathroom before driving home.

And now to convince you that I haven't already morphed into a kumbaya-singing mess-o-horomones, I'd like to call attention to a fantastic comment I received from Min yesterday:

I think the next time your Yoga instructor says "I am surrounded by strong women" you should respond with "knock the b*tch down". I would think that would be very therapeutic.

I think I've found my birthing phrase folks - most people choose something along the lines of "ohm", "peace", or "I trust my body".
My most likely candidate at this point is.
"knock the bitch down"

Thank you, Min!

I hope my doula understands.

perhaps my "heart light" needs new batteries?

2007-06-06T15:28:00.000-04:00

I attended my first prenatal yoga class yesterday afternoon, and discovered a few things about myself:

1) I'm *mostly* inflexible.
I have a few idiot-savant joints in my body, but that's where my stretchy-talent ends. The yoga instructor said "now flatten your palms out on the mat" and my fingers were dangling several inches above, with no chance of even swiping the mat.

2) I'm a giant smartass and really need to learn how to behave.
I'm assuming that a normal part of this prenatal yoga class is for the instructor to say positive birth-related "affirmations" to the class, to rev them up for labor. This is new to me, caught me off guard, and I was really afraid I'd start giggling at the relative crunchy granola-ness of it all.
I managed not to giggle. Score.
- and yet -
When the instructor repeated the phrase "I am surrounded by strong women", I heard myself mutter "well, smell isn't everything" loud enough that everyone could hear me.
Now I HAVE to go back to her class so I can apologize for acting like a brat.

(Before yesterday, I probably already secured my spot in the "unenlightened" section of hell - I am the same gal who while sitting in the front row of church snuck tic-tacs to my friends after we took our first communion)

3) I really miss roller derby practice.
My favorite phrase from roller derby practice is "knock the bitch down!" - it gives you a rush and the confidence to purposefully slam yourself into another human being while trying to keep your wheels beneath you.
The phrase I heard repeatedly in this yoga class was "let your heart-light shine out".
Umm . . . I'm attending class because I'm yoga-curious, my ass hurts, and my new-mother friend at work loved it.
To quote Stan and Kyle from Southpark, "I'm all about peace and love and all that hippie stuff" - but I was not prepared for that phrase. I was concentrating on not falling on top of another pregnant woman, and now I had to concentrate on not smirking too?

In closing:
I've got to continue with this yoga-gig, 'cause I'm about as flexible as toast and I fear that I will physically shatter during labor. I've got to scrub out the Beavis&Butthead/Seinfeld/snarky part of my brain for an hour at a time a few times a week, and not be close-minded. I already admire many things about the yoga instructor, and already like many of the participants - there is something very fun and very funny about being surrounded by other pregnant women. Good griefy, this is gonna be tough.

IN OTHER NEWS:
I received two HUGE bags of baby clothes last night and resisted the urge to dress my pets. I'm going to sort the the clothes by neutral/boy/girl then size so I can pack all the neutrals into the kid's dresser and have the other stuff either ready to pack or give away.

by any other name . . .

2007-06-05T15:16:00.000-04:00

My bloggie friend Alfredsmom recently asked me how Mr. Hubby feels about my plans to give our baby my maiden name.

First, I'll offer an explanation as to why I chose to keep my maiden name.

1) My father immigrated here from England as a young man, leaving his birth family behind. His older brother has two sons and three daughters, so the family name (ahem, one VERY common to England) is continuing on that side of the pond with no problem. I foresee my (handsome) male cousins' (handsome) male offspring having _no_ problem starting their own families.
Meanwhile, my father has two daughters, and my sister chose to take her husband's name when they got married. If I took on my husband's name, the "stateside" lineage of my father's family would lost, name-wise. And that would be a bummer.

2) Ever since I was introduced to the concept in my first anthropology textbook, I've been enthralled with the concept of matrilineal descent. It makes more sense: in this topsy-turvey world, when a child is born, one can always be certain of the mother's identity but not the father's. From a less clinical standpoint, it honors women's unique role in society, and I'm all about keeping women from under the collective male thumb.

3) I wasn't comfortable with changing my name in response to marriage. I really like my name, I find it melodic, and am comforted by the history attached to it. My official legal and spiritual union with Mr. Hubby changed many things about my life, but I really feel that as a woman, sharing the rest of your natural life with someone does not require that you change your name. Genetically, he "belongs" to his family, and I to mine.

* ~ * ~ * ~ *

On to tackling "what last name does the baby get"

I can't offer as organized a solution, I've come to my conclusion through my own bizarre logic and by carefully sorting my emotions. THANKFULLY, Mr. Hubby is completely comfortable with his progeny having my last name, and is honoring my wishes. Our offspring are no less "his" by having "my" name, and I'm the person putting myself in physical peril in order to bring our offspring into the world. (So nyeeeeeh)

(Besides, anyone who has ever met Mr. Hubby will likely recognize his (even newborn) child in an instant; between the two of us, we're in for an atypically cute kid with a big forehead, big eyes, a pointy nose, a goofy grin and probable lack of shyness.)

PROBLEM: If I were really diligent about swaying western tradition towards a matriarchy, (or at least help the concept seem more common) I would do a metric ton of research and sort though all documents possible to trace back to my earliest female ancestor possible. Except that most of those gals have their father's last names, and then you fall into the "are you really my daddy" quagmire all over again. What if my search takes a wrong turn because great grandma somebody had a thing for hunters?

POSSIBLE SOLUTION: Legally change my last name to "Eve".
-except-

I don't feel _that_ radical about it. I figure I'll see if I can start something with this generation and let my son or daughter come to their own conclusion. Perhaps I'll just piss off genealogists, perhaps I'm contributing to honoring women in our society. Who knows.

ON A SEMI-RELATED TANGENT:
I've played a HUGE part in naming all of our collective pets, and struck gold every single time. I'm very pleased to introduce you to my girls, Suki and Lydia.
(Please excuse my crappy camera)

Suki is "guarding" her kitty-sister from thunder. Lydia is terrified enough of storms to put up with being subservient to the dog - later that evening chaos resumed.

party 'till ya drool

2007-06-04T15:15:00.000-04:00

I attended my first baby-attended baby shower on Sunday afternoon. The 4 week old guest-of-honor peacefully nursed and napped through the festivies, and her 6 month old cousin (a Gerber baby doppelganger) was happy to offer free dental inspections to anyone who was interested. As improbable as it seems, neither tiny girl cried during the three hours - I'm sure it was a baby ploy nefariously, psychically orchestrated by my own gestating spawn . . . "stage one of breaking in Mom: give her the unreasonable impression that an afternoon with an infant is a leisurely affair"

I'm not sure what stage two involves just yet, but I'll keep you posted.

Or perhaps this _is_ stage two and stage one is related to the fact that most bland-tasting foods make me want to gag, but I seem to have no trouble eating spicy/greasy/wierd foods. For instance: I'm hungry. I'm staring at saltine crackers and a jar of peanutbutter, and shudder to think of the pasty taste. I'm also giving major consideration to ordering out General Tsao's chicken or trying to bribe a coworker into picking up Indian food for me.

Yet another recent mindbend is now anytime I hold a baby, I immediately think to myself "Is this a playdate? Would the kid be jealous to know that another baby is pawing at my breasts?" As a (lack of) sanity reference point, I am convinced that my unborn kid and my cat Michael are well acquainted already - how could they _not_ be when Michael so carefully drapes himself over my stomach during purr-fits?

But I digress. My point is to say that baby-attended showers are far more fun than regular baby showers. My fantastico Mother-in-law is hosting a shower for me next month in Mr. Hubby's city-of-origin, and I'm very excited about it. But now I'm giving consideration to having a baby shower in my own town-of-origin after the kid is here. . . . which will probably cause as much scandal as the fact that I kept my maiden name and plan on giving my last name to my offspring.

Any thoughts or opinions??

In other news: I was given a metric ton of pregnancy clothes by baby-of-honor's mother and would like to thank her by bringing over food, but know that her husband is a fantastic cook, and I'm paranoid that they wouldn't really enjoy my cooking. Other than free baby-watching (which I've offered and will be taken up on) what is a good (non-budget-bruising) way to show thanks for such generosity?

shades of green

2007-06-01T16:26:00.000-04:00

If I were more open, this blog would be gussied up in shades of green, at least until I can get my head out of my arse.

If I could successfully, permanently "turn down the volume level" of one particular emotion, it would be jealousy. I drive myself batshit crazy with it, I was awake from 2:30am - 4:30am and could think of little else.

I've just finished devouring two books, "Baby Love" by Rebecca Walker, and "Operating Instructions: A Journal of my Son's First Year" by Anne Lamott. I use the verb "devour" because it took me three days to finish both books and while I was reading them, I felt nourished by them. These days, I find great relief to read about other women having less-than-calm reactions to pregnancy and infants; I feel much less isolated by pregnancy, I can at least hope that I'm gathering useful information, or perhaps it boils down to just being a fantastic distraction from life.

Anywho.
As much as I was loving the authors as I read their books, I was also seething with jealousy towards them.

Which makes me a horrible person.

Rebecca Walker has endured a naaaasty relationship with her own mother.
My relationship with my own mother hasn't been shiny and perfect, but we're absolutely crazy about each other, and love each other unconditionally.

So why is my heart so black that I think she's got it easy because she can afford to travel and doesn't have a paper-slinging job to report to five days a week?
Why am I bothered that she spent her pregnancy eating organic salads while I don't have the means to buy only organic food?

It gets worse.

Anne Lamott is a sober recovering alcolohic and a single mother eeking out an existance as a writer by the grace of God, and because she's developed a fantastic support network. (It must also help that she seems to have a fantastic sense of humor)

(Hoo boy) I actually found myself jealous of her strong faith (!), and worse yet, I had to stop myself from counting up how many people regularly stopped by her apartment to help her care for her son. It seems that she is close friends with a cast of thousands! Where do I sign up for that? I've been blessed with happy, stable relationships with my family, my husband, and several close friends - and yet I found myself wondering "are there enough people to bail me out when I need them?"

No pity party fuel here, I think it's more along the lines of me needing more a little more sleep, a change of perspective, and/or a break from bouts of morning sickness.

All the same, I'm nearly ashamed to look at the books I so recently enjoyed; I'm going to pack them away until someone else is pregnant and needs them. Maaaaaaybe I'll find that I'm not the only person neurotic enough to harbor even temporary jealousy towards authors of baby/pregnancy narratives.

reunited with rollergirls and other goodies

2007-05-31T15:15:00.000-04:00

As previous posts suggest, Wednesday was not a fantastic day for me.

I can't help but to wonder if I brought some of the misery upon myself by "overdoing" the weekend (gasp! I actually attended a barbeque, helped clean the house, and hauled crap off to Goodwill!)

Tuesday was rough at work (nausuea. backaches, exhaustion) but I stuck it out like a trooper. My prize at the bottom 'o the cereal box? When I got home, I was THRILLED to see a huge diaper box waiting on the front porch for me!

My brother-in-law (Mr. Hubby's side) and sister-in-law packed it full of the most awesome hand-me-down harvest of pregnancy books, infant clothes, accessories, and toys I could imagine. I’ve had so much fun unpacking and repacking that box – I’m determined to put fresh shelf paper in “the kid’s” dresser before filling it with goodies. I presented one of the tiny onesies to Suki (my 2yo 15lb Japanese Chin/Beagle mix) for a sniff-test and she had never looked more puzzled by anything in her life. I’m hiding all the booties away ‘till there are tiny human feet to occupy them, for fear they turn into pet toys, and because I’m very very tempted to put them on Suki and watch her march around looking bewildered by her own paws. Oooooh, having typed that, I wonder if any of the baby clothes I have now would fit my cats?

Later Tuesday evening I attending a rollergirl’s 40th birthday party; her husband rented the entire rink so every person there was a birthday guest. It was very very strange for me to see how much my teammates have improved - time didn't stop without me? And even stranger was not skating myself - both my regular doctor and my midwife are against me rollerskating for fear I take a hard fall. . . my "but I'm trained to fall properly!" argument is received by deaf ears. I figure if I'm not going to allow myself something as probably harmelss as Diet Coke, I really should stick to the whole "no skating allowed" gig. I actually managed to not be jealous of their mobility (perhaps I was afraid I had forgotton how to skate?) and I cheered people on instead.

I had a good time catching up with many people for the first time in 10 weeks, and may let myself get roped into becoming a “volunteer coordinator” for our local bouts. I'm just afraid of succumbing to "helium hand" (over willingness to volunteer for tasks) then find that I'm too sick and tired to do a decent job. At minimum, I think my derby team needs a visibly pregnany cheerleader to waddle around for drama's sake.

The only minor bump in the evening was that out of the blue, one of my teammates said "whatever you do, if it's a girl, don't name it XXXXXXX". I was perplexed because I had no recollection of telling her that was #1 on my girl-name list. She went on to say, "My sister-in-law named her girl XXXXXXX, and since it is one of the most popular baby girl names I'm just sure she's going to be completely confused once she hits pre-school . . ." I responded by blushing and stuttering something along the lines of XXXXXXX being one of my top-five names. Just a few moments before, another rollergirl did a really bad job of hiding absolute confusion at my #1 boy-name. So I'm thinking it'd be a good idea for me to shut the hell up about what I may or may not name this spawn?

Forgetting that I am indeed quite pregnant and now a giant wuss, I made the horrific mistake of not leaving the party until 9 getting to sleep until 11 “on a school night” which surely contributed to my hideous Wednesday. Shame on me for attempting such badassitude. :)

in case you were wondering . . .

2007-05-30T21:47:00.000-04:00

If you eat low-sugar apple oatmeal with plenty of milk and follow that up with a big glass of water and follow that up with a "oh Mr. Hubby, I'm so glad you take good care of me" teary fit on the couch which prompts a snotty coughing fit, which in turn, prompts gagging, you too can make a moderately gross discovery:

Apple oatmeal, bile and water kinda taste like alcoholic cider!

And that's the happy part.

I also discovered that said oatmeal concotion jammed into one's sinuses is quite difficult to remove.

Years and years from now, I'll have a sinus infection requiring an exam by a prominent ear, nose & throat specialist who will write a groundbreaking medical paper involving discovering a chunk of rehydrated apple deep in my nasal cavity. Or perhaps said apple chunk will be as useful as penicillin, and I'll startle the medical world by never enduring another head cold in my entire life.

Having left you with that gem o' information, I'm off to bed.

some days, it's a challange to take care of myself

2007-05-30T17:54:00.000-04:00

Today I have vacillated between feeling totally inept and like my own (baffled) commentator. These elements of emotion are not polar opposities, but do make for an interesting jumble.

For instance:
INEPT - This morning I was apparently mistaken to think I could get away with eating cold cereal with 2% milk (instead of protein-heavy eggs and cheddar cheese) before taking a hot shower. I was (of course) all shampooed up when I realized that (1) I felt like I was going to faint and (2) no one was home to hear me fall in the tub.
COMMENTATOR - The best I could think to do was to order myself around in the hopes I'd annoy myself into not fainting: "Alrighty, feeling faint? Best to make that water cooler and get the soap off, then you grab a towel and lay down in front of a fan, yep, she's just overheated".
INEPT - My pets have gotten really good at swooping in and taking care of me (as much as they are able). I sort of came back to reality laying on my bed with sopping wet hair and my cat Michael loudly pestering me for cuddles/ shouting in my ear. It seems that he's absolutely desperate for my attention/affection whenever I feel like hell, I don't know how many times in the past few months I thought I might accidently throw up on him. If he were a person, he might be an EMT, a crisis counselor, or one of those people who specialize on getting suicidal people off building tops.
COMMENTATOR - "okay, the cat is telling you to wake the hell up, perhaps you should try to get your ass to work".

So I got myself to work, physically clean and mostly presentable, and sat behind my desk looking not-TOO-miserable for three hours before deciding that
(SILENT) COMMENTATOR - going back to bed is not a luxury, it was what the baby wants me to do
INEPT - yes, budget be damned, I was going to allow myself to be bossed around by my fetus, buh-bye office.

I scooted home in my 1990 boatmobile,
INEPT - someone remind me to buy some gas and have the transmission looked at,
COMMENTATOR - giving myself distance-to-bed milage reports all the way.

After feeding my pets their lunch I was faced with a now-common problem;
INEPT- I knew I was hungry but absolutely nothing sounded good and I sure as hell didn't have the energy to cook anything.
COMMENTATOR - "Seek and ye shall find" 'Cause yes, I do become (perhaps inappropiately religious when I'm frazzled).
And behold, frozen Jimmy Dean sausage sandwiches were delivered upto me. I added sharp cheddar and brown mustard, and was quite pleased with
myself.

- Lots of pet-assisted napping -

Time to feed the animals again and
INEPT - "oh Lord, no one is here to feed ME, and I feel like crap again"
COMMENTATOR - "Seek and ye shall find . . . instant oatmeal"

Then a gently fantastic thing happened: as I was sitting in my sunroom eating my oatmeal, waiting on Suki to finish her buisiness in the dogrun, I heard I little girl singing her little lungs out. She was so unashamed and her voice so high-pitched that she couldn't have been older than 8. I couldn't judge how far away she was, and couldn't see her anywhere, but must assume that she was belting out at top volume. Although I didn't recognize most of the many songs she sang, I admired that she just kept plowing through song after song with varying ability to stay in tune. Finally I recogized "The Star Spangled Banner" and had to stop myself from roaring laughing when the lyrics turned to "Blah blah blah blah blah" and abruptly ended at "for the laaaaaand of the" because she had musicially cornered herself; only a mosquito could hope to hit the "free" note.

Perhaps second-trimester nasuea/exhaustion has caused me to go overly introspective, but I was reminded that sometimes when things get stumby, "blah blah blah" will sufflce.

stumbling out of the first trimester. . .

2007-05-29T20:10:00.000-04:00

Now that I'm safely out of my first trimester I look back at it with a sneer. So long, sucker!

There were many moments of happiness;

hearing the kid's heartbeat,
LizTheBabycatcher said "It's officially not the Flu!" I nearly cried with relief, then immediately thought of my MaineCoon cat, Zachary, when he marched into my life like a stubborn beam of sunshine: parasite-riddled, weighing in at a whopping 10 ounces, and purring like a lawnmower. Before you judge my sanity, I must point out that Zach was/is extremely cute, and I got to bottlefeed him for two weeks, waking every three hours during the night to be sure he didn't become dehydrated.

bonding with Mr. Hubby even more deeply than before,
good griefy, we've been through alot together, but never anything like this . . . I'll spare you the rest of the "how do I love Mr. Hubby, let me count the ways"

realizing that I genuinely like my midwife,
LizTheBabycatcher gave me a short bout of hell for consistantly loosing weight. It took some convincing from both Mr. Hubby (who is brave enough to attend pre-natal appointments) and I that indeed I have been eating as much as I can, and no I'm not afraid of gaining weight. I was nasueated at least 70% of the time, not setting the stage for snack cravings . . . I didn't mention it, but the absence of drinkie-poos probably changed my usual caloric input significantly; ya don't get chubby drinking water non-stop.
Also, she's given me no flack for not wanting the "ohmygawdwhatdiseasedoesbabyhave" test that is famous for both false positives and false negatives, the follow-up test involving a giant needle sucking fluid out of my uterus - NO THANK YOU VERY MUCH, I'd be happy to give birth to a frog at this point.

figuring out how to swoop my uterus from left to right by contorting my belly,
"Lump baby to the left, lump baby to the right, lump baby to the left . . ." until Mr. Hubby accuses me of teasing the poor child in utero.

disowning myself of my breasts
They don't look like the boobies I was issued by the boob-fairy, therefore they are not my boobies, therefore I don't forsee any shame in swinging those suckers out to feed a hungry child. "Oh, mine were much better looking, I'm just borrowing these 'till the kid is done with them . . . I imagine there's a booby-claim-hotline or something that will help reunite me with the boobs I had pre-pregnancy"

etc. etc. etc.

What I find easier to remember about the first trimester is feeling worse than the worst hangover I've ever had in my entire life, and said hangover lasting for approximately two months straight with the longest stretch of "I feel normal" lasting approximately 3 hours. Added bonus of extreme isolation, because feeling 15 seconds from either falling asleep or puking does not make for a fun play date (I had to stay home if I wasn't being paid to be someplace). Added bonus of occasional mild panic attacks, weepy fits, angry fits, ohgawdmyboobieshurt, and marveling in horror that anyone ever have a second child - who can chase a toddler when it's damn near impossible to take care of yourself?

So there. Nyeeeeh.
My very unpopular attitude towards early pregnancy.

APPARENTLY, pregnant women aren't allowed to bitch about being pregnant; I received more scorn than sympathy whenever I was honest about not enjoying myself.

To those individuals:
I'd invite you to bite my left tit, but it seems to have been replaced with someone else's leftie . . .

Testing . . . Testing . . .

2007-05-25T18:23:00.000-04:00

I've begun the process of gettingthehellaway from diaryland.com; the consant "see ___ naked", "buy cheap precriptions", "buy knockoff purses!" spam to my comments section was driving me absolutely batshit crazy. I'm a big fan of bats and the compost-enriching elements of guano, but really . . . at 15 weeks pregnant, any annoyances I can easily squish away will be squished away, and without regret.

To all of you who were kind/bored/insane enough to care about my old blog and take the time to leave me comments, THANK YOU from the depths of my over-inflated ego. In fact, I'm dragging all my old comments over here, 'cause I'm vain like that.

In other news:
I hope to have this place spiffied up soon, please excuse the "choose a template"-ness of it all.

Smooches,
Betti

Mother's Day - and the kid won't be here for 6 months!

2007-05-14T17:35:00.000-04:00

Schnickies I got spoiled this weekend!

Quick(ish) rundown:Last weekend was Mr. Hubby's 39th birthday, which we spent at my parent's house and HIS parents drove nearly 4 hours to join us for dinner. Our parents haven't spent time together since October 2003 when we got married, and I think everyone was relieved with how mellow the evening was.

I felt that Mr. Hubby needed to have some sort of not-parent-related celebration of his birthday, but knew I couldn't host said celebration since I turn into a nauseated cranky bitch at approximately 9pm every night. SO, I decided to do the next best thing and made plans to go to my parent's house over the weekend, so Mr. Hubby could have people over and be as noisy as late into the evening as he liked.

As it turned out, he had three friends over and grilled out copious amounts of meat, drank beer, and played card games. Much tamer than I expected, but at least he didn't have to worry about taking care of me for over 24 hours. If you've ever taken care of a first-time first-trimester pregnant woman, you'd know that being off the hook is quite a treat.

On Saturday, my Mom took me to a FANTASTIC deli in "Capitol City" where we split the largest reuben sandwich known to man. Then we nosed around Big Lots, because regardless of income level, I love going to Big Lots - it's GhettoFantastic. Then off to WalFart to pick up a few odds and ends and to snear at their abused garden center plants. My mom bought me a very cute peasant-looking shirt and khaki shorts from the maternity section. I knew that pregnancy would change my life for ever - I didn't think that would extend to being happy to own clothes from WalFart.

A mere two hours after eating a ton of corned beef (gee - remember my nearly meat-free days?) I was ready for more food, so we headed for McDonald's for a snack. (Again, Mom paid). THEN, we went to Meijer, which is a little like a super-Target, but has better sale sections; I purchased THREE maternity tops and a pair of (ugly) maternity slacks for a total $20. Big thumbs up to the retail gal who told us about the clearance section when we asked where maternity clothes were located!! Mom bought a pair of Dr. Scholl's sandals for herself, and bought a pair for ME; the excuse being that I'll need comfortable, adjustable sandals to accommodate my swelling feet later on.

See what I mean about being spoiled?

We then went to a nursery to pick up the rest of the bedding plants mom needed for her planters. This one was well ventilated and didn't smell like fertilizer so I was a very happy camper.

When we finally got home I (gasp) ate a snack then fell asleep on the couch for nearly an hour. I woke to the smell of meatloaf in the oven, and I got to watch "Addams Family Values" on satellite cable - bliss.

On Sunday, I slept in a bit and attended a 10:30 church service with my parents, followed by lounging on their back deck with their/my cat Samantha.

Then we were off to my favorite buffet restaurant off in a tiny little town; they serve the best fried chicken and mashed potatoes on the planet, the salad bar is great and full of church-lady concoctions, all the other veggies and meats are great (although who has time for roast beef or ham with chicken like that around?) but perhaps my favorite part is the dessert table. I'm convinced that they have a fleet of elderly church ladies selling pies and cakes to them, the sugar-cream pie is phenomenal but the crown jewels are rhubarb pie and gooseberry pie so tangy that you need a tiny blip of vanilla ice cream on top.

Mmmmm. Can you tell I'm just a wee bit obsessed with food these days? I've had to force myself to eat so much high-protein food lately that I was in seventh heaven to treat myself to a small slice of gooseberry pie . . . I need a gooseberry bush of my own!

When we got home I gave my mom a pedicure. Sounds a little strange, but I've been giving her pedicures since I was 13; I'm good at it, and nothing gets you off the hook for past infractions like granting someone pretty, well-pampered feet. I also seem to recall phrases like "well, it'd be okay for you to _______ if you can do my toes this afternoon . . ." Besides, I remember from my childhood that my Dad isn't particularly good with nail clippers.

While I was tending toes, my Dad was busy washing the outside of my ginormous old car. I caught up with him in time to vacuum the inside of my car while he tended to all those weird vehicular details that only Dads notice.

I returned home to Mr. Hubby before dark, and he helped me with a freelance project before helping me make rice krispie treats as a thank-you for my coworker who gave me a grocery bag full of maternity clothes.

I can't and won't use this weekend as the standard for all future Mother's Day celebrations because I'm all too aware that I was spoiled absolutely rotten by both Mr. Hubby and my parents. Obvious thanks to those who actively 'poiled me, and a big smooch to "the kid" who is making all of this possible.

Perhaps we can work out some sort of arrangement that involves less nausea and exhaustion on my part and serious 'poilage on your part after you're born?

COMMENTS (harvested from old account)
nikki - 2007-05-14 15:12:09 She's alive!!!! Isn't getting spoiled the best?!?!?!??!
-------------------------------
MDB - 2007-05-15 02:11:56 Dude. I want your mom. Though, I must admit, mine's pretty awesome. And I might be getting to see her again this summer, which really WILL spoil me. Go look-I got pictures up!
-------------------------------
ursula - 2007-05-15 21:31:58 I missed the "Hi, I'm pregnant," post. So, congratulations!
-------------------------------
alfredsmom - 2007-05-16 11:57:37 Glad you posted, I was getting worried about you! Sounds like an awesome weekend. Ive been to a Meijers before (in MI and OH). They are pretty cool. Come on over to typepad!
-------------------------------
Alie - 2007-05-17 23:47:02 S-P-O-I-L-E-D yeah! that's meeeee! Just kidding, really gald to hear you had a rockin day!

hello, hello again, shaboom and hopin' we'll meet again

2007-04-15T15:46:00.000-04:00

Note: this post title made more sense when I was using a less-than-fantastic blogsite and I ended this rant by asking the blog-o-verse to help me relocate to greener pastures . . . I was exhausted and nearly ready to give up on blogging entirely.

With lots of help from Mr. Lee, a great portion of the universe has been told that I am pregnant. Fair enough, he was the third person I told - he would have been expecting me to be ready to go to watch a roller derby bout, and I needed to be told by a test that _didn't_ come from the dollar store that the "two-stripe" news was for real.

* Take note: Dollar store pregnancy tests _do_ work just fine, but are less sensitive than more expensive tests. If you want to know if you're harboring a hitch-hiker ASAP, plan on spending more than a buck to find out.

First, I called up Mr. Hubby, who was out of town, spending time with his family - I felt bad that he wasn't there the moment I found out; I was expecting a negative response! I just wanted clearance for a Saturday night of beer and roller derby spectatorship!!
Second, I called up my parents, who are estatic. I would have preferred to tell them in person, but I was home alone and understandably rattled - as if I could wait!
a side note: I should also mention that my status daughter has changed a bit, to my perception, I am now she who carries our first grandchild, and am forbidden to curse because "Sweet Baby doesn't need to hear that!".

Third, I called up Mr. Lee and said "I'm running late getting ready to leave, please go buy me a pregnancy test that costs more that $10." He sounded like he was gonna wet himself laughing at me. He quickly arrived with at $13 test that looked like it could diffuse a nuclear bomb, strawberries, and a fruit smoothie.

I decided to stick with my plans to attend the roller derby bout so I would have something to think about other than my entire life changing. I planned on telling my derby friends _after_ the bout was over, since it is important to watch other teams play in order to learn what to do and more importantly, what NOT to do in a bout situation. Mr. Lee was sitting at the opposite end of some bleachers and my friend Tony questioned our atypical tardiness "Oh, she's pregnant" was his reply, followed by a chorus of "what!?" and "Huh?!?". As I told my fellow derby girls who didn't over hear that blip of news, their faces vaccilated between shock, glee, and horror. "You can't skate!" was the most common response, followed by "ohmygawd, I completely slammed into you last week, I'm so sorry!"

So within a few hours, my family, my husband's family, and my derby friends knew - and I was desperate to stop the news from getting any further because I was convinced I'd jinx my hopeful future baby.

My logic? We'd been "not not trying" to concieve for quite a while and nothing was happening, so I was overjoyed to focus on being a derby girl instead, and gave little to no thought to conception. My ovaries were ingoring me, I could ignore them right back! As soon as I really got my skates under me, was well on my way to fufilling all WFTDA bouting requirements, and had all the equipment I needed . . . ta daa! Time to hang up the skates. In my mind, a logical extension was "as soon as everyone knows, I'll lose the poor kid and have to tell everyone about that".

I'm no longer afraid of miscarrying, although I know it is a very real possibility, first time through and all. Now I'm far too busy concentrating on trying to stay awake and keeping up my yakk-free streak. My new mantra is "13 weeks . . . . midwife says I'll feel better at 13 weeks . . . ." I hope the next four weeks fly by quickly, if it weren't for that pesky full-time job of mine I'd just attempt to sleep through the next month.

I broke the "official" news at my parent's church on Easter Sunday, I was walking around looking like death w/ inflated boobs anyway - I doubt I could have fooled anyone. In fact, I was called out by my kindergarten teacher; I abruptly sat down in the middle of the world's longest prayer, and hit my head on her hymnal behind me. Mr. Hubby and my mom both looked like they were going to leap out of their skin until I indicated that I was just tired, not fainting. After the service, I turned around and said "so . . . I've got some interesting news" and she just laughed at me "Oh, you're pregnant!"

I intended to send out a swarm of emails on Sunday night and on Monday, but instead spent all that time sleeping, sans quick trips to the kitchen and the bathroom. Ever slept for 15 hours in less than a day? It's wieeeeeeerd, and leaves you wanting only more sleep.

Short version: I hope I don't deliver early so I can be a pumpkin for Halloween. Kiddo will be here before Thanksgiving and I really hope I'm up for turkey, cranberries, and stuffing by then!

COMMENTS (harvested from old account)
Autumn - 2007-04-13 16:45:01 Congratulations!!!
-------------------------------
Alie - 2007-04-13 21:53:43 Glad your blogging again! I was tired of checking your page and seeing that disguesting elvis tatoo. I of corse am estatically happy for you!!! Seeing as I will be and AUNT! That's right blogging nation! I'm outing myself as betti's sister. And can I just say what a kick-ass-fabulous-wonderful-wierd-outragesouly wonderful sister she is!
-------------------------------
Alie - 2007-04-13 21:55:13 Did I mention that she's wonderful? oh yeah and "super kewl" (insert Cartman voice)
-------------------------------
Madame D - 2007-04-13 22:17:01 Whooo! Of course, you know, this means that I'll have to make you a mountain of baby things. Because I have the time, the yarn, and nothing better to do. Congrats, and don't feel too bad about Mr.Lee telling everyone. I still hold a grudge against my ex for telling everyone who went through his line at work, which meant I only got to tell three people. Who were out of state. Whose numbers he didn't know.
-------------------------------
Mari - 2007-04-14 14:05:38 You'll have to buy a domain name, and then you can link something like blogger to the domain name- host the blog there basically.
-------------------------------
alfredsmom - 2007-04-15 11:06:05 CONGRATULATIONS!!! AHHHHHHH!!!!! AHHHH!!!!!!! AHHHH!!!! Wow! I suppose that explains the blogging hiatus. Of course, now you'll be expected to post even more and OF COURSE post belly pictures. PErsonally, I really like Typepad.Check it out.
-------------------------------
Denise - 2007-04-15 19:04:34 i agree with alfredsmom about typepad -- now, i don't know anything about this shit, but a buncha people i know who DO know something about this shit think typepad's pretty cool. and hey, it's what cuteoverload uses. c'mon! ....oh, and yeah....congratulations!!! thanks for the play-by-play of notification...i LOVE that shit. have a great time with it, and know i send my blessings along!
-------------------------------
nikki - 2007-04-16 10:47:34 Yeah! I've already congratulated you, but I will do it again! Congrats! I hope the early pregnancy ickies go away soon.
-------------------------------
Catazon - 2007-04-16 15:30:37 Congrats, and thanks for the great story about your first few weeks of pregnancy! One of my teammates is due any day now, and she can't wait to skate with us again. I use Wordpress for my blog and host it with a guy that does websites for librarians, lishost.org, but you can get a Wordpress blog at wordpress.com without paying the $10/month hosting fees.
-------------------------------
Denise - 2007-04-20 13:43:42i *just* got your title! life is but a dream, sweetheart!

Elvis Wednesday archive / Ministry of Truth

2007-04-13T12:07:00.000-04:00

**deviation from actual archive**

Folks, I'm gonna re-write my blog history: some of my "Elvis Wednesday" submissions were worth saving, and other were not. (Side note: Yes, I've read Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four multiple times, and I still find it to be one of the spookiest books ever written)

Perhaps I'm having moral issues with using photos from other sites?
Meh . . . probably not . . . there are some photos that will be dragged along to this location . . . but most will not be.

To get your "Elvis Wednesday" fix, I highly reccomend that you visit my esteemed colleague, Nikki, at http://www.emich.net/~nikki/blog/

I've bitten off all my fingernails!?

2007-04-12T18:55:00.000-04:00

I've come across my first *real* conflict with training for roller derby. Fortunately the conflict is not with my own body or any of my (fabu) teammates; the conflict stems from my urge to play in MUD.

Yesterday, my corner of the Midwest offered up weather PERFECT for stirring the compost piles and doing some preliminary vegetable-patch preperations. I've seen pansies placed in the ground around town, and I'm itching to part wtih $20 to plunk some down by my mailbox and up by the front stoop so I can enjoy some color. If I didn't have a meeting to attend after lunch then practice into the evening, I would have stayed outside until my overalls were damp with dew, my hands were numb, my nose was running, and the light had faded to the point I was paranoid of chopping unsuspecting worms in half with my garden implements of doom.

One aspect of my evening was the same: I was very tired, very sore, and very very happy.
On the minus side, my garden is neglected. On the plus side, I shared smiles, body slams, accidental pile-ups, and laughs with an extrodinarly friendly group of people.

I'm telling myself that I can only get away with derby for a finite amount of time. I hope that my yard can wait on me, I hope the vagrant bunnies still stop by to eat clover and don't mind the (potential) absence of salad bar. I hope my kitty-corner backyard neighbors don't think they've "won" because I'm not busy cluttering their pristine Cheml@wn view with my scruffy-looking experiments.

And I wonder why I've recently taken up biting my fingernails, when I haven't done that for years . . . .

I'm *considering* coming up with extra money (that I want to spend on more skating gear) to hire out someone to help my yard along a bit. The criteria being
1) little to no chemical use
2) unless it's edible, it's a native species
3) I'm helping rather than harming native critters
4) tomatoes. Lots and lots of them.
5) tidy-looking enough that my neighbors don't get shitty
6)
7)

I could go on forever.The point is, I want to do this myself and am afraid I'll end up being a ginormous hag to anyone foolish enough to work on my yard on my behalf.

Cruuuuudd . .

2007-04-09T00:34:00.000-04:00

um, someone explain to me how it's Thursday already?

I have _not_ been the devoted blogger I once was. I have a few excuses, but excuses are like assholes, everyone has one and all of them stink.

I suppose blogging has become "low priority" since I started training for roller derby, but I can't help but to think that I should keep blogging regardless of my schedule. I feel like I should continue to blah blah to the pseudo-anonymous void of the internet. As self-centered and vain as most of my entries are, blogging is a good way for me to hop out of my own head, out of my own little universe for a while and make a conscious effort to communicate with people in a passably normal way.

For instance, on Tuesday night, I attended a stretching class that was arranged specifically for my teammates and I. Since rollerderby is essentially controlled combat (yeah, I sell it as an endurance sport because I don't want people to form the opinion that I'm an angry person) we need to be able to recover from knocks and keep ourselves as limber as possible. All of us were learning to do rope-assisted leg stretches so there was alot of squirming and giggling going on with the occasional person sitting upright to watch what everyone else was doing. The instructor said something along the lines of "just wait until all of you can do these stretches in rhythm at the same time, it will be fantastic". Out of my mouth pops "yes, we'll be like starfish migrating across the ocean floor".

Bless the newbie laying next to me who started giggling at me! I wasn't trying to be funny, I didn't even intend to speak - that's just what was going through my head and it made (and makes) perfect sense to me.

I have been doing this since I was a little kid and only rarely have stumbled into an ugly situation because of it, but at the same time would really like to be better at engaging that between-brain-and-mouth filter that other people have or use more often than I do/can.
Not tragic, not really worth whining about, just trying to prevent foot-in-mouth-itis.

My question for you:What was your most notable foot-in-mouth moment? Did the the other person take it well, or were they ticked off?

COMMENTS (harvested from old account)
nikki - 2007-03-08 11:10:56 i have too many moments like those. in fact my foot rarely dislodges itself from my mouth.
-------------------------------
Alie - 2007-03-08 13:40:00 Too many to count! I have been working on my brian mouth filter a lot lately, kinda like a new years resolution. But I still love saying the things I think anyway! Oh yeah! I thought one of my students's anuts was her grandmother by saying "How nice *suzzie* your grandma came to watch you dance today!"
-------------------------------
Betti (me!) - 2007-03-08 14:51:26 Nikki, you must be great at yoga! Alie, that is _not_ the way to get repeat customers! :)
-------------------------------
nikki - 2007-03-09 09:07:32nah, i always fall over and land on my face.

mild injury #3 / some info about roller derby gear

2007-04-01T18:28:00.000-04:00

Derby-training injury #1 was in mid-January; I was attending an open skate session at my local rink and fell on my knees while not wearing knee pads, which resulted in a mild bruise beneath my left knee. No big deal.

Derby-training injury #2 has been an ongoing battle between my skate and the arch of my right foot - I've learned how to tape up my foot so it is no longer blistered/mangled by friction, my socks are now blood-less, and I don't have to pause mid-practice to adjust shifting bandages. Kinda painful in short bursts, but again, no big deal.

Derby-training injury #3 was definitely the most fun to acquire. Yesterday, we practiced knocking each other over via controlled bodyslam. Essentially you skate after someone (who is acting like a "Jammer", the person who skates laps around/past a cluster of other skaters) and try to knock them over (or at least slow them down) by quickly bumping your shoulder-thru-hip into their shoulder-thru-hip, avoiding using your head, elbows, hands, or anything below the butt to bump into them. I was knocked over at least three times and made very good use of my mega-dorky looking butt-pads and tailbone protector. However, I have nothing padding my upper arm from an unexpected shoulder slam. At one point, I happened to be practicing with one of our referees-in-training who hadn't figured out that you use the entire side of your body, _not_ just the bony part of your shoulder. I should mention that he's a very sturdy dude with very broad (and apparently bony) shoulders. So now I have a bruise on my arm, a few inches down from the shoulder. I have no complaint about the mild pain; my complaint is that the bruise is definitely not picture-worthy. Many derby-team web sites have a section devoted to pictures of injuries, I suppose because even as adults we like to show off our boo boos.

* ~ * ~ * ~ *

Speaking of showing off, I'm assembling quite a collection of (goofy) skating outfits. I find that I'm most comfortable training in:

a helmet and mouth guard - because concussions suck
wrist guards with cut-up socks as liners - I broke my right wrist back in '83 at a skating rink, and already spend time in wrist braces, duh.
sports bra or regular bra covered by tight tank top - protect the girls! Even if it means squishing them into oblivion!
long sleeved cotton top - so the elbow pads don't rub bonus sweat-absorbing qualities, and protection from being scraped by someone else's padding
cotton undies - animal prints or cartoon characters please! If I have to have my clothes cut off by a medical professional, I might as well entertain them in the process.
thick (footless) tights - so the kneepads don't rub, animal prints or stripes preferred
cotton bike shorts/tiny tight shorts/padded bike shorts - so my tights are more modest and I have something hold my butt pads in place and latch my tailbone protector onto.
(I have to mention that even if your tailbone protector is in its proper place, it makes you look like you dropped a giant load in your pants. Which is preferable to an injured tailbone, if that gives you an idea of how bad an injured tailbone can be).
-and- top off the three layers between my butt and the floor with a miniskirt (in a feeble attempt to hide my butt pads)
Of course I'm also wearing a pair or two of socks under my skates

Just wanted to shatter any possible illusions that I'm lookin' hawt, or even trying - I too have seen girls skate in thigh-high fishnets, tiny skirts and questionable undies. Although it's a very entertaining look, I don't think it’s for me -or- I'm too chicken to try anything like that just yet. I've seen too many photos of fishnet-print floor burns and wheel-shaped butt bruises to give much consideration to attempting vixen-on-wheels. At this point, I'd completely settle for not-disastrously-uncoordinated!

COMMENTS (harvested from old account)

Mari - 2007-03-02 13:30:21 I think you look really cute in your skirts/tights. Especially that pink striped candy look you had going on last sunday. I'm gonna do the fishnets when we're actually bouting. Over nice thick protective tights and with knee socks. Because, why not? It's fun and what other excuse to I really have to do that. But I'm all about these skirts with the built-in shorts. They look all sassy, but you can't actually show the world anything!

Madame D - 2007-03-04 07:18:41 Oh yes, I totally understand comfort/no pain vs. style. They can KEEP it!

nikki - 2007-03-05 09:49:35 mother fucking elvis on a stick! (love that line!)

(a belated) Elvis Wednesday: replacing curse words

2007-02-28T18:08:00.000-05:00

Hoo boy. I am apparently on a mission to make a neverending to-do list at work. Last pay period, I worked 44 out of 80 hours. I was either blissfully sleeping off a flu bug or spending time with my lovely sister so I don't regret my absense from the cubicle.

Apparently my cubicle wasn't feeling so amicable. Although I stopped by often enough to keep my plants and Betta (fish named Flipper) alive, my absence was noted.

There are tiny larve of some sort keeping Flipper company in his large glass vase and he's not looking his best. I'm going to have to find time to do a complete water change later on today, which is creepy because I don't have a spare fish bowl for Flipper to stay in while his vase is being cleaned. He swims in my giant mug/bowl I eat oatmeal out of. Also, I'm extremely paranoid that I'll lose him down the sink drain.

One of my peace lillies is now home to a swarm of tiny knats. I think I drowned out thier party pretty effeciently yesterday, but time will tell. My other peace lilly and Madagasgar Dragon Tree look forlorn. My spider plant has always protested living under flourescent lights, but looks really pale and wimpy now. I'll try to take some encouragement from 4 office plants who didn't seem to notice my absence.

I used my computer on Monday and didn't notice anything amiss, perhaps I was imagining the cubicle sabotage?

Nope. On Tuesday morning, before I could even see my deskI could hear my computer (that I'm pretty sure I turned off) whining like a cloud of mosquitos; a horrible, high-pitched EEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

Tech services swooped in to the rescue, and long story short, after 3 hours of tinkering (when I needed to be working to make deadlines) they've loaned me a temp computer and my harddrive is probably toast. I hadn't backed up my work, and I've got very little work stored on a shared drive. Losing 4 years worth of data? A very real possiblilty.

Fortunately, I was issued a new computer a couple months ago, and tech services has been too busy to wipe out my old hard drive, so at minimum, I'll get most of my data back, and will only
be missing the past few months worth of work.

The idea of loosing a few months worth of work is nearly enough to make me march into the local gay bar (cause the manly barmaid makes a strong mixed drink for $3.25) and announce "take me to your Rum". But, I'm keeping it in perspective, and decided to be creative rather than destructive with my rage.

At the same time, I'm on a mission to stop cursing, because it is neither ladylike, sportsmanlike or "rated G" to curse in a rollerderby situation. And since my team wants to sell lots of tickets, we want to be known for being family entertainment, as in not chanting "crap crap crap crap gonna fall" as you whiz around corners looking like a drunk moose on ice.

So, I present to you the ever-flexible phrase:"Elvis Presley on a stick"
As in

"Elvis Presley on a stick - it's cold out here!"
"Elvis Presley on a stick - my knees hurt!"
"Elvis Presley on a stick - my fishbowl has larve in it!"
"Elvis Presley on a stick - there's a knat condo in that potting soil!"
"Elvis Presley on a stick - that girl tries my patience!"
"Elvis Presley on a stick! Your fart smelled like cat poo!"
"Elvis Presley on a stick - I'm surrounded by nimrods!"

I'd present you with a clever Elvis Presley photo, but my failed harddrive ate it.
F*ckin' computer . . . .

COMMENTS (harvested from old account)
Madame D - 2007-02-28 23:23:17 Damn, I don't envy you cleaning up your language. My favorite all-encompassing term is "fuck!" right now, with the occasional "motherfucker!" thrown in. Not generally aimed at people, either. I tried once. Didn't really work.
-------------------------------
nikki - 2007-03-01 09:43:15 perhaps madame d, you could try "mother fucking elvis on a stick"?
-------------------------------
Catazon - 2007-03-01 09:45:08 I'll have to come up with a phrase myself, because I've started cursing a lot more now that MPOW has decided to block my league's website, houstonrollerderby.com. WTF???

instagoober: just add rum

2007-02-24T12:19:00.000-05:00

Schnikies.
THANK YOU to the tenth power goes to the folks I drank with last night; I had a fantastic time.
My memory is fuzzy as to how I earned my five bar crawl "points" . . . next time I hope to earn more and drink less.

One pint of Bass with dinner - no biggie
One rum and (diet) coke and a quiet bar/club - buzz approaching
One half a rum and diet at a loud bar (with an 80's cover band) - increased buzz, rightfully decide not to put on roller skates.
One rum and diet a tiny, cozy bar - baouirytarwoi tuaweiog farked up!

THIS is where one of my fellow roller girls in training swooped in, (assisted by our announcer) lead me by my arm to the next bar and suggested that I wanted to drink water. It felt fantastic to be the person being drunk-sat rather than the drunk-sitter, and I probably told her that at least 25 times.
But to reiterate:ThankYouThankYouThankYouThankYou . . . . .
I'm still puzzled as to how I went from mild buzz to total blitz so qiuckly. And I'm completely mystified that I'm not yakking and don't think I'm going to yakk.
I'm off to get ready for a two hour drive to attend a hillbilly festival with my family, so long as no one swings chicken livers under my nose I should be fine. . . . .
Question of the day: What's your favorite hangover remedy?

COMMENTS (harvested from old account)

X Libris - 2007-02-25 14:51:13 Alka-Seltzer. 1 package before you go to sleep (with a large glass of water). 1 package when you wake up (with another large glass of water. Works every time, I prommise.

nikki - 2007-02-26 11:29 i haven't had a hangover since before aaron is born, so i have no advice chicky. glad to hear you had a great time!

Madame D - 2007-02-26 22:12:29 I don't get hangovers, but what is good to do is drink a bunch of water before you go to sleep. Alcohol is a diuretic, and that leads to the headache in the morning.

alfredsmom - 2007-02-27 12:56:21 Taco Bell. :) And, Ive been meaning to say how intrigued I am about this roller girl journey you are on. I have never heard of this. Is there a website that explains it more?

if I could rewind time . . .

2007-02-23T13:02:00.000-05:00

. . . I would have weighed myself and measured the circumference of my calves, thighs, hips, waist, ribcage, biceps, forearms, and neck (why leave my neck out?)
I'm convinced that I'm drastically changing shape.

I wasn't at my physical worst a month ago (my physical worst was 7 years ago, perhaps more on that later . . .) but I was certainly in a "hey, what's up with my clothes getting snug?" slump.
Making this even more entertaining is going through this experience with lots of other rollergirls-in-training. It is not uncommon to hear "hey! Feel my ass! It's fantastic!" followed by "Damn! That is fantastic!" (I'm more of a "hey, check out these abs" gal myself).

I attended a short laps practice yesterday with badass-didn't-start-skating-till-30-years-old and another fellow newbie. Badass (and buff) speedy skater pointed out that my kneepads were smaller than hers, and followed that with "well, my legs are bigger than yours . . . um, I think all of me is bigger than you".

Under normal circumstances, the smaller woman would blush, internally gloat and say something along the lines of "oh, I've been dieting/working out/blessed with good genetics"
My response?"Give me a little time, I'll get big too!"

I want to have to buy bigger clothes because my muscles (NOT PUDGE) are stretching seams. I want to be the person that opens stuck jar lids - (sounds humble, but I have crappy wrists). I want to be the person that lifts tillers/mowers/whatever out of vehicles. I want to be the person who can rearrange heavy furniture without assistance.

COMMENTS (harvested from old account)
nikki - 2007-02-23 10:36:46 hey, i got a couch that needs to be moved. do ya think you could help?!?!?!?
-------------------------------
Madame D - 2007-02-24 19:15:57 I'll trade! For as long as I can remember, I've been the jar opener/mover/packmule. I'm actually glad that I can no longer easily pick up my child, making him walk.

postcard from the edge

2007-02-22T13:31:00.000-05:00

Dear Diaryland, (I used to blog there, this is my archive)
You suck. I'm so tired of all the spam that I'm tempted to ask for my money back. I am really not impressed.
regards,
Betti

Dear Readers,
I miss posting to this blog and reading your blogs. I'm hella busy now training to be a rollergirl and keeping up with my new responsibilities at work. Promotions are cool on payday, but on other days it can be a bit of a drag to have to constantly navigate unfamiliar territory. Well, not constantly, but I was really comfy in my old rut.

Super short update:
1) I think I'm getting stronger!
2) My skating has improved, and I'm still giddy about derby training.
3) Promotions at work are both cool and sucky.
4) All my pets are happy and healthy - hooray!
5) My sister RULES for helping me de-clutter my kitchen, talk about _love_.
6) I'm going to seriously flip the bitch switch if Mr. Hubby doesn't quit "cheating" in his quest to stop smoking cigarettes.
7) No really, it's driving me nuts. To the point that I'm telling the blogosphere about it.
8) I want to catch up with my blog-reading very soon, I feel very out-of-the-loop.
Smooches,
Betti

COMMENTS (harvested from old account)
Mari - 2007-02-22 11:20:42 Rollergirls drink tomorrow night! Open skate?
-------------------------------
nikki - 2007-02-22 13:22:43 glad to hear you are alive and well. go kick some roller derby butt!-------------------------------
Madame D - 2007-02-23 00:03:11 Doesn't he realize that the whole rollergirl thing is just going to make you more badass, and capable of kicking his still-smoking butt?
-------------------------------
Tony - 2007-02-23 09:36:13 Tell Mr. Hubby I'm going to come over and jam a pencil in his ear in his sleep if he doesn't cut it out. (This threat actually worked when he lived with me.) Crawl with you later!

a very strange experience

2007-02-17T12:33:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, my sister and I discovered that we are really starting to look alike. Perhaps since there is a 25 month difference in our ages, until now, we've NEVER looked alike at the same time. Our baby pictures are similar, but even a stranger could tell you which (squinty eyed, gummy grinned) baby would turn out to be me.

We've always sounded very similar, much to our entertainment - when we were in highschool we'd mess with guy friends by switching the phone back and forth between the two of us mid conversation and see how long it took the guy to notice the difference. 95% of the time it was giggling or not knowing the appropriate response to a question that gave us away, rather than our subtle differences in voice quality or lexicon. (Weeeeellll, my vocabulary may be a *little* bigger, but she's never struck with temporary stuttering or lisping like I occasionally am).

She's finally on her way from button/pug nose to pointy nose. I lost my button nose when I was 6, she was a thumb-sucker and smoshed her nose down constantly, perhaps altering the way her (childhood) nose looked?

I'd swear that her chin is starting to stick out like mine. Or perhaps she's getting buffer, loosing a little weight and that weight is being subtracted from her neck, causing her chin to look bigger??
Compliment of compliments, she wants me to pluck her eyebrows so they look like mine. Neither one of us is particularly gifted in the eyebrow department - we have anti-uni-brows; very little eyebrows in the middle whatsoever and not much to speak of elsewhere either. (I think I'll be lazy and take her to the lovely indian lady who does tweezers my eyebrows with string).

Since I'm growing my hair out and have dyed it a slighty lighter color of reddish-brown (usually if I bother to dye, I go to black-brown) even our hair looks more similar.

To add to the wierd-factor, when she takes her contacts out, she wears glasses almost exactly like mine.

We sat at my kitchen table last night just staring at each other, creeping each other out - it was very much like looking in a mirrior. Finally we decided that we had better watch a movie so we could look at something other than each other's faces because it was starting to get spooky.
We put a movie on in the den/guest room and next thing I know it's morning, I'm laying in bed with my (sleeping) lookalike sis and my dog is happily wedged between us. Thankfully Mr. Hubby had turned the TV off and took care of locking up, etc - I have no recollection of him trying to move me to bed, but I've been told that I talk a mean "just let me sleep right here" in my sleep.

(useless aside: I used to live in a spooky house where I was always mean in my sleep. Move to a friendly house, and now I'm no longer mean in my sleep - weeeeeeeeiiiird).

COMMENTS (harvested from old account)
Madame D - 2007-02-17 12:33:34 Man, I won't ever have that, because my sister? We have different dads. And look nothing alike. Period. My son, however, does look a bit like me, so maybe I'll succeed there.
-------------------------------
nikkki - 2007-02-19 12:01:12 i now have patty duke's theme song running through my head.
-------------------------------
alfredsmom - 2007-02-19 22:41:40 I have an idea! Why dont you post a picture of the two of you so we can see the resemblance? ;)

a quick(ish) post

2007-02-15T12:29:00.000-05:00

1) Yep, I'm alive and hopefully almost over nasty-cold-of-February-2007. I spent to last two days at home due to bad weather and feeling gross. I had the attention span of a knat, which is alright when you're mostly interested in sleeping all day. Also explains why I was such a space cadet at practice on Sunday and at work on Monday . . .
2) My apologies to the Wednesday-Elvis seekers, my home computer is frazzled by the task of uploading new photos. Again, I was interested in sleeping all day, not playing tech geek.
3) We _did_ lose electricity at our house for 6 hours on Tuesday, I must have slept through the first half hour or so. The crock pot was still warm, and thankfully, the water in our fishtank was still warm. I covered it with lots of blankets and the zebra danias and the snail colony survived. The live plants didn't seem aversly affected by the chill either.
4) I did lose some cactus plants but don't have the heart to put them out on the compost pile just yet. They still look alive-ish, but their innards are mush. Given that I have too many houseplants, it's not really a tragic loss, but is a bit of a bummer. Some of them were getting to be the size of submarine sandwiches, and I had raised them up from tiny little golfball-size cacti.
5) I skated last night (yeah, I know that people who are too sick to attend work from 8-5 shouldn't be well enough to skate from 7-9, but nyeeeeeeeh) and kicked some arse, at the expense of wiping out a few times. I learned the painful way that I was not wearing my hip pads in the right position. I don't think I did anything truly nasty to myself, but my left hip, and left shoulder have certainly felt better.
I'm feeling pretty badass about my injury because I earned it while trying to complete an intimidating task: skate 20 (or more) laps in 5 minutes. I wiped out about 2 minutes in and got back up quickly, then wiped out again after another 2 minutes and fell a third time as I was getting up from my second fall. In my defense, the floor was slicker than snot (something to do with cold temperature on the old basketball court floor) and I had no clue that I wasn't running behind. I managed 22 laps - happy dance!!! I still have to improve my "get around the turn quickly" technique so I can skate 5 laps in one minute, I missed that goal by 5(?) seconds. I didn't expect to make it, so I'm not particularly dissapointed.
I was so sad for another derbygirl who missed that goal by only 2 seconds, the look on her face nearly brought tears to my eyes. (I can be such a sympathetic wuss!) Later on, she did almost 25 laps in five minutes, so I know she'll succeed next time we're tested.
6) Gotta catch up on a metric ton of office work, probably won't have time to stop by other blogs since I'll be hanging out with my sister tomorrow. Hooray!!
smooches,
Betti

junglebetti

party 'till ya puke

3 weeks old, and Mommy is getting more sleep!

No grandparents in the house. . . .

1 week old

my daughter

patience and optimism . . .

40 weeks pregnant: the waiting game

haiku and hostility

now we're getting somewhere . . . .

my first wimpy Halloween - 38 weeks pregnant

blips and bloopers: 37 weeks pregnant

Ukulele bliss

nearly 35 weeks . . . .

Happy 4th Anniversary, Mr. Hubby

We must prepare for the coming of Gozer

'cause I need to watch a happy dance . . .

horomonal much?

Derby Fever!

drafting up a "birth plan"

* Achoo! *

a rare sighting

Early Nursery Pics . . .

2069.11 miles safety zone

I'm alive!

. . . and some coffee for my pregnant homies . . .

21 weeks pregnant - guess what baby is doing?

too ticked off to think of a witty title

introducing . . .

20 weeks to go

~~ fuming ~~

yo-GAAAAH!

19 weeks

"Average" never sounded so fantastic

aren't I professional?

ultra$ound

pink or blue . . . pink or blue?

a day of extremes

are you calling me an elephant? / return to yoga class

perhaps my "heart light" needs new batteries?

by any other name . . .

party 'till ya drool

shades of green

reunited with rollergirls and other goodies

in case you were wondering . . .

some days, it's a challange to take care of myself

stumbling out of the first trimester. . .

Testing . . . Testing . . .

Mother's Day - and the kid won't be here for 6 months!

hello, hello again, shaboom and hopin' we'll meet again

Elvis Wednesday archive / Ministry of Truth

I've bitten off all my fingernails!?

Cruuuuudd . .

mild injury #3 / some info about roller derby gear

(a belated) Elvis Wednesday: replacing curse words

instagoober: just add rum

if I could rewind time . . .

postcard from the edge

a very strange experience

a quick(ish) post

fuming