party 'till ya puke

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!

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. . . .

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

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

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 . . .

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

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

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 . . . .

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

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

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

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 . . . .

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

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

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 . . .

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?

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!

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"

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! *

*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.