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??

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.

perhaps my "heart light" needs new batteries?

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 . . .

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

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?

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

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?!?!?!??!
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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!
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ursula - 2007-05-15 21:31:58 I missed the "Hi, I'm pregnant," post. So, congratulations!
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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!
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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!

instagoober: just add rum

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?