Our regularly scheduled programming
If there is one thing certain about the hours of approximately 2-5 a.m.: there is not jack on television. Unless you count the episode of Celebrity Fit Club 2 that I've already seen twice this week, and it premiered last night. Oh, and Girls Gone Wild commercials.

Dad just took the baby out for a ride in the stroller. He figured I could use a break, as today was my first day on my own at home. It went fairly well, actually. I even squeezed in a two-hour nap.

But I am wearing jeans that have TWO fresh pee stains on them. I figure, why bother to change them?

I'll leave you with a couple of pics before I am summoned to open the Milk Factory for business once more...



Yes, I am a long, long way from MILF status.



And our first family photo. He has on the cutest outfit EVAH in this picture but you can't see it.

When Domino met Daniel ...




Greetings from the Land of Little Sleep. The first night home from the hospital was the easiest, by far. We had a few three-hour stretches where everyone snoozed. Night two was the night of peeing and pooping. We had to wash our sheets, down to the mattress pad -- twice -- during the night. I had been feeding him in bed and he'd let loose during feedings. Smaller diapers were promptly purchased the next day, as he is too tiny for even size 1.

Last night he was ready to par-tay all night! We didn't get to bed until after 3, then woke up at 4, 5:30, 7, 8, and then we slept until 11. He just now went back to sleep.

Overall he is a joy, though, I wouldn't trade this for anything in the world. He is really starting to take shape... his hair is growing, his skin is becoming less wrinkly, and his little cheeks are actually becoming a little bit pudgy! He looks less like Verne Troyer and more like a miniature version of my husband. People are telling me that he has my eyes, but I just see my hubby when I look at him. Except his toes. He definitely has my toes.

The cats are adjusting pretty well to him. They both come and stand guard when he is crying. Both have been sleeping near the bassinet at night. Molly came up on the bed and gave his little head a kiss; Dom has been much more tentative (see above). But I think they both realize that their new role in this household is as protectors.

While I have a moment of free time, I think I'll go see who Kaysar nominated!

More to follow in baby land...

Daniel, you're a star
Meet the artist formerly known as Doodle.



Daniel Evan was born Monday July 18, at 7:06 p.m. He weighed in at 6 pounds, 9 oz, and is 21 inches long. I was expecting him to be much larger but he is really quite a wisp! He has long skinny arms and legs.



I must sing my praises to the epidural. Without it I don't think I could have done it. I had horrible back labor for the first few hours and once the epidural went in, I felt nothing, not even the pushing at the end.

We're home from the hospital and trying to get adjusted. I'll post more soon but I wanted to let everyone know that we're here, healthy and happy!

The end is near
I'm scheduled to be induced on Monday morning. I went to the doctor today and it seems that this baby doesn't want to be born anytime soon, at least not without some assistance. They don't want him to get too big.

I'll need all kinds of good vibes being sent my way on Monday so please keep me in your thoughts! Hopefully I'll be back with you next week to share my good news. :)

Take care everyone!

Past due
This is CLEARLY my husband's fault.

I abhor procrastination. I have never been late to an appointment, never turned in a term paper late, never waited until the last minute to do something.

If you give me a deadline, I will make sure that I am two days early. Or if it's due at 5, you'll have it from me at noon. That is how much of an anti-crastinator I am.

So obviously this baby does not take after his mom when it comes to due dates. If he thinks he's not going to be reminded of this constantly throughout his life, he is sadly mistaken.

Zoinks!
I just went over to Hamster Time and there are SEVENTY-TWO pages of recaps. I think I last left off around, oh, I don't know, page 5?

There's no way I am ever going to be able to catch up.

Can some kind soul please tell me the essentials of this past week? E.g. who should I be hating, who is likely getting voted off, who has had meltdowns, etc.?

Boob
I just used the phrase "above the boobline" in a business conversation. As in, "You want me to crop your photo above the boobline?"

The only reason I phrased it so bluntly is because the client I had on the phone said, "Can you crop it so it doesn't look like my boobs go down to my stomach?"

I feel so ashamed of myself.

Lunch trauma
When your days of freedom are numbered and you've been on a restricted diet for six months, lunchtime at work tends to be a cherished event.

Today for me was no exception. I had leftover eggplant parmesan from the Macaroni Grill, where I dined Saturday night. The eggplant was awesome and I was looking forward to eating the rest of it today. (By the way -- a co-worker told me that eggplant induces labor. After eating it three times in the past week, I can say with certainty, IT DOESN'T.)

I heat up my lunch in the microwave and take the first bite. Hmm, I think. This seems a little bit chewier than I remember it. Maybe I over-nuked it. I take another bite and realize... it's freaking VEAL!

I don't eat veal. It skeeves me in the same way that eggs skeeve me. I can eat eggs as long as I don't think about what they really are. But veal, it's too hard for me to swallow, literally and figuratively.

So I enjoyed a delicious 6" turkey sub from Subway. A sketchy guy with huge cuts on his lip made it for me though. If I hadn't already been desperate, I may have refused to eat that, as well.

Then I found out that about five minutes after I left the kitchen to go to Subway, another department brought up four huge trays of subs, salads and cookies that were left over from some seminar they had.

It's just not my day, I guess. Not where food is concerned, anyway.

Surreal
I'm getting ready to watch the premiere of the new season of "The Surreal Life" on Vh-1. I just want to say that the only reason I'm watching is because Balki Bartokomus is going to be on. Oh, and Omarosa, I guess. Really, this show hasn't been good since season one.

Just a couple of pictures ...
First of all, pregnant me, fresh out of the shower and looking lovely... this is from a couple weeks ago.

And Uncle Dom awaits the arrival by making sure the changing table pad is nice and soft. He wouldn't let me practice swaddling him, though. The teddy bear pictured was a gift from the receptionist at work. Isn't it cute?

The tide has turned
I'm still babyless with one week to go. A curious phenomenon has occured at work: instead of everyone asking, "Oh, when are you due?" they are all asking, "You're still here?!?"

I can't even tell you how many times I said, "Yep, still here," today. I changed it up ever so often with a "Still hangin' in there."

In a shocking turn of events, Bad Lady got Doodle a gift. I guess there is some good in her sometimes.

Progress report
No baby yet. In fact, maybe not even this week. I saw a different doctor this morning and he wasn't as gung ho about inducing labor as last week's doc. So they are going to let me go and see what happens. I'm kind of disappointed, mostly because that means I'll have to be at work all week. And plus I had built up Thursday as the day when this would all finally be over, and when I would cease to be myself and instead become SOMEONE'S MOM. But for now, I'm hanging in there, so to speak.

Hope everyone had a fantastic fourth! I had a good one, despite the fact that my poor little Dom hid under the bed for most of it. My neighbors, they like the illegal firecrackers.

Adventures on the Ohio Turnpike
Part of the peril of driving home from work on the Ohio Turnpike during the summer is that my exit also happens to be the exit for a major outdoor concert venue. Throughout the summer, I am treated to an extra half hour to an hour of drive time home whenever a concert rolls into town.

Last night, I spent about 45 minutes trying to exit the turnpike with several hundred Tom Petty/Black Crowes fans. I didn't know what concert it was until I got home and checked the newspaper to find out what gene pool had driven from Cleveland to get to my little neck of the woods, but I usually like to guess. Last night's crowd was 20 something, frat boy-esque, and also had lots of 20 something blonde chicks in tight shirts and jeans. It was, frankly, a crapshoot. I was leaning toward a blah, innocuous-type pop band such as Three Doors Down. If I see frat boys in tye-die, I know it's either Dave Matthews or some sort of Phishlike band. If I see pickups, Confederate flags and W stickers, I know it's a country performer.

Anyway, in my 45 minute wait on the turnpike ramp, I must have seen about 15 frat boys get out of their cars to pee by the side of the road. They'd all do the same thing. They'd jump out and run about 50 yards closer to the exit ramp, then divert into the woods -- barely. There would be a row of peeing boys all along the side of the road. Then they'd zip up and run back to their car, which by this time had just about caught up with them. In my pregnant, constantly-peeing state, I was hurting, but not desperate enough for a road pee.

My greatest moment of humor was pulling up to the tool booth, where one of my usual booth workers, who I like to refer to as "Mr. Friendly," was collecting. In the adjacent booth, a large bus, painted black and full of 20 somethings, had pulled up. They were blasting some old Poison song and singing along. Mr. Friendly, who in the four years that I have been driving home on the turnpike has maybe grunted out two words to me, gave me a look of "can you believe this?" I really feel like we bonded.

Dear Canada,
Thank you very much for Michael J. Fox and the Barenaked Ladies and ... some other stuff.
Happy Canada Day everyone!

Love,
Kat

P.S. Sorry about hockey season this year.

Pet peeve #45521
One thing I will not miss about the office while I'm gone on maternity leave: Bad Lady eating her yogurt. She eats it at the same time every day, and every day she scrapes her spoon on the little cup, trying to get at every last bit of yogurt in there. The spoon scrape, it makes me nutty.

Stir it up
I don't know about you, but when my doctor says to me as he is about to examine how dilated and effaced I am, about the last thing I want him to say to me is, "Do you want me just to check you and tell you where you're at, or should I check you and stir things up down there?"

But that is exactly what happened to me this morning. I was completely taken aback and thus, reverted into Beavis mode. "Uh... what?!"

Then he explained something that I'll spare you the details on, but basically he could move my labor along TODAY if I wanted him to. He also shared with me that he could do it and not tell me and I'd never know. Yeah. So I feel fully confident in him now that he's about to reach inside me to investigate.

Up until that very moment I was ready to get this child out of me and be done with it. But hearing that I could go into labor tonight or tomorrow caused a bit of a panic.

"Uh, no thanks," I said nervously. "Maybe next week."

It's looking like they are going to admit me next Thursday night and start the induction (inducement?) process. Right on time for the Big Brother premiere! But it looks like the actual birth would take place next Friday, the 8th. Mark your calendars, Doodle's almost here!

Nesting
Here's photographic evidence that I'm in full-on nesting mode. This is me and my trusty assistant, Dom, working on putting the knobs on the baby's changing table. You can also see the rubble which is the aftermath of my baby shower a month ago.



Also for your viewing pleasure, here are some pics of some of our flowers in our backyard at the moment:



And another one:

Tech support
Wow. Two posts in one day. It's just like the old blogging days!
Anyhoo, this is a venting type post, because I have been getting dumb phone calls all day.

I sent out an e-mail to most of the company, indicating that there are some new files available for download on our Intranet site. I dumbed it down as much as possible, knowing that most of the people are not computer-savvy.

Well, apparently I didn't dumb it down enough.

Part of the e-mail that I sent indicated that these files can be opened and edited in my most-hated program ever... Publisher. Publisher is grand if you're not a graphic designer. But if you are, Publisher is the bottom of the barrel. So... phone call #1:

Caller: I'm downloading the file and it won't let me open it.
Me: What does your screen say?
Caller: It is asking me to save it.
Me: There's not an option to open the file?
Caller: No.
Me: (thinking) Are you at the office or at home?
Caller: At home.
Me: Do you have Publisher at home?
Caller: No.
Me: It's a Publisher file, so you need the program, Publisher, to open it. The office has Publisher.
Caller: You mean I have to go into the office to do this?

...........................

Also included in my e-mail were walkthrough instructions on how to actually find our Intranet site and how to log on. This was the part I really tried to dumb down. I explained that the dialog box would ask for you to log in, and that your login was yourname@ourcompany.com, thinking that logic would dictate that instead of typing "yourname", the recipients of my e-mail would actually type in their own names. Then I explained that the password would be the same password they use to log on to their computer. Call #2:

Caller: I keep typing in yourname@ourcompany.com and it's not working.
Me: You mean you're typing in your name at our company dot com?
Caller: Yeah. yourname@ourcompany.com.
Me: You mean, your name, Jane Smith, at our company dot com?
Caller: Oh! Is that what I have to do?
Me: *slapping forehead* Yeah. So you should be all set now. Did it work?
Caller: What's the password?
Me: Your password that you use to log on to the computer.
Caller: Oh. What's that?
Me: I don't know your personal password.
Caller: Oh. THAT password!

..........................

I honestly don't know how a tech support person can listen to calls like that all day long. Because those two nearly sent me over the edge.

Coming to terms
Sorry for the lack of posts. I suppose I should just throw something up here every couple of days so no one wonders if I've gone into early labor. I haven't.

However, I am, as of today, officially full-term! I'm at 37 weeks. The doctors tell me that Doodle is about 6 and a half pounds now, which is about average for how far along we are. They also are considering inducing me in about two weeks if it hasn't already happened by then. But they are definitely not letting me go past my due date.

So that's where things stand with the baby!

It's funny, I'm in that phase right now where I'm just ready to get it all over with. But at the same time, I'm hanging on to these last few days of non-parenthood for all they're worth. I took a day off on Tuesday and halfway through the day I realized that this would be my last day off where I was alone. At least until he's in school. There are a lot of "lasts" that I'm ticking off in my mind as we get closer.

In the meantime, I'm trying to distract myself with such horrible television as "Hell's Kitchen," "Real World Austin", and of course, "Hit Me Baby 1 More Time" (how bad was Wang Chung last week?) I'm also reading Tom Wolfe's "I Am Charlotte Simmons" which actually isn't too bad. I'm trying to finish all 2,000,0000 pages of it before I have the baby and I'm about 3/4 of the way through. My husband bet me that I couldn't finish it, so guess what? I WILL. I will, even if I am finishing it through phase three of labor.

And now, I'm off to lunch at Chipotle. Chicken fajita burrito bol, here I come!

Jacko
So Michael Jackson was found innocent. I apologize if someone has already made the following joke, but if not, then I take full credit for it: Now that he's been found innocent, Michael will be free to look for the real molester.

I know that the mother and son who were accusing him of molestation were really sketchy at best. And that the jury found no "smoking gun" that pointed them in the direction of Michael's guilt. But I still feel like somethin' ain't right with Michael. I mean, I would NEVER in a million years send my son to Neverland to be alone with Michael. Would you?

Whoo-hoo!
Major presentation #3 that was set to take place on Wednesday ... cancelled! Unfortunately it's due to the death in the family of one of our big guys, but still.

And it's not going to be rescheduled anytime soon. If it does, I will most likely be on maternity leave anyway!

Speaking of... I was in the doc's office this morning for my weekly non-stress test and the doc told me that I am having contractions. I can't feel them yet but I guess they're starting. I'm about halfway between a WOOT and an Oh Shit on the excitedness scale.

At least that's overwith.
I'm back from the hell that was the childbirth education class. After 12 hours of movies, pamphlets and breathing techniques, I have decided that if it were up to me, here is my preference, in order, for how little Doodle will arrive into this world:

1. Scheduled C-Section.
2. Scheduled induced labor, with admininstered pain medication injection.
3. Scheduled induced labor with epidural.
4. Natural labor with administered pain medication injection.
5. Natural labor with epidural.
6. Natural labor with no medication.
7. Natural labor with pain meds which ends in C-section due to complications.
8. Natural labor with epidural which ends in C-section due to complications.
9. Natural labor with no medication which ends in C-section due to complications.

So, if my friend Karma has anything to say about it, I'd say I'm in for:

9. Natural labor with no medication which ends in C-section due to complications.

I'm thinking this would be the worst possible option because you've done the whole labor thing, probably for upwards of 12 hours, and then you have to go through surgery on top of that.

Before the class I was all about the epidural. There was not even a question in my head about it. But now that I have seen, with my own eyes, the needle and the tube that goes into your back, I'm not so sure anymore. I think I'm going to try and just go with some other sort of pain medication. Ideally I think I would prefer a C-section from the get-go and just skip the labor part entirely.

I was really hoping that these classes would give me, and my husband, the confidence needed to feel good about the birth and its aftermath. But if anything, it has made us both even more freaked out and apprehensive about the whole process.
I got teary-eyed a couple of times this weekend. One time was while we were touring the special care nursery. There was this TINY baby in there in an incubator and he was the cutest thing I have ever seen, I just felt so horrible that he was so small and in there by himself. I wanted to go and stay with him and hold him.

The second time was tears of sheer horror during the birth part of one of those videos. The woman was screaming in pain, it was too much for me to watch.

There were some good parts to the classes...

I feel better about what happens when we go home with the baby. I think I have a good handle on how to feed, how to diaper, how often they should sleep (about 16 hours a day -- yeah right), how often I should sleep (never), how to bathe him, how to take care of his cord stump, etc.

It was interesting to me to see all the other moms-to-be in the class. There was another gestational diabetic, there were staunch natural childbirth advocates, there were epidural freaks, there were pro- and anti- breastfeeding women, there were clueless dads, there were dads who knew their stuff. There was a Richard Hatch lookalike dad who pontificated on how "amazing" it was that a baby could come out and start breathing on its own right away. He was truly astounded. Another woman obsessed that someone would come in her room and take her baby and did that sort of thing ever happen in this hospital. "Yeah, on Days of our Lives," I said under my breath.

Once again I was probably the smallest woman in the class belly-wise, but there was only one woman in the class who was due before me (and she was having contractions during the class).

If it's any consolation to any woman out there, I did develop severely swollen feet today. Yes, Teem, I too have cankles now. My feet are elevated but the cankles aren't going anywhere.

Ah. Only five more weeks.

I'm sure that when the big day comes I'll be such an emotional wreck that I won't even remember the pain (or will I?), and the only thing that will matter is that my son arrives into this world and that he is OK.

Right now though, I'm on information overload.

Parenting for dummies
I'll be spending most of what is supposed to be a gorgeous weekend inside of the hospital for a crash course in childbirth.

My husband is begrudgingly going with, even though I think he would rather have a root canal while simultaneously having his leg amputated.

And I still haven't told him about the whole "bring two bed pillows and a blanket to sit on" part. I don't think I will spring that on him until we're in the car and it's too late for him to bail.

I really hope they don't show a video. I'm pretty sure they will, though. I know what end of me the baby is going to come out of -- I don't need a demonstration! In fact, I don't even want to know anything that is going on down there while I'm in labor. Just get the baby out of me and tell me when it's over, that's my philosophy. And my husband would concur with that statement, I'm sure.

I'm pretty sure we're going to be the "bad" couple at this class.

Hit me baby
So I'm sitting here watching "Hit Me Baby One More Time," that show where a bunch of one-hit wonders from yesteryear performs their popular hit and then puts their spin on a current song. I really hope that Rob Van Winkle wins the competition this week.

This show is pretty cheesy but it's kind of cool to see all these has-beens back and performing. And the host? More annoying than Ryan Dunkleman.

Edited to add: Never mind about Rob Van Winkle.

Down with OPC
There's this Other Pregnant Chick at work. I never really talked to her before we both became pregnant, but now I feel obligated, whenever I see her, to ask about how she's feeling and make general mom-to-be small talk.

I know these general things about her:

• She is not as far along as I am.
• She was sick every day throughout her first trimester and into her second.
• She sometimes parks in the spot that I SHOULD BE PARKING IN, AND I SECRETLY HATE HER FOR THIS.
• She is not finding out the baby's sex beforehand.
• She is WAY bigger than me. And for this, I feel a little bit gratified.

However, she knows things about me that I'm not sure how she knows. Like today, for instance. I run into her in the hallway and she says, "So what do you have, six more weeks?"

Um, yes, six to be exact.

SHE KNOWS HOW MANY WEEKS ALONG I AM! Not even my good friends probably know that I have six more weeks. They probably know mid-July, but not the exact weekly breakdown. Weird. Borderline stalkerish.

You may think I'm just being ridiculous, but take these nuggets into evidence, as well:

About a month or so ago, a random co-worker ran into me and said, "I was talking about you last night, were your ears burning?" Turns out she and Other Pregnant Chick were conversing about my blood sugar problem, which I did not tell her about, nor did my co-worker know about up until that point.

A few times, I've eaten lunch in the kitchen and OPC will come in and sit down at the table directly next to mine, in the seat directly behind me, and just kind of hang out there for a while. Sometimes she'll chime in if the conversation is baby-related. Makes me a wee bit uncomfortable.

Another co-worker recently told me that she and OPC were talking about how it isn't fair that I am still wearing cute maternity clothes and that OPC is already huge and bloated and swollen like a sea cow (my words, not hers btw -- I just wanted to say "sea cow").

And, early on in OPC's pregnancy, which has nothing to do with me, but it will still tell you how amazingly weird she kind of is, she and her husband created a Power Point presentation using the baby's first ultrasound picture and e-mailed it to people here at the office. I wasn't one of the lucky ones at that point, but I did get to see it, thanks to someone who WAS on the receiving end of that very disturbing e-mail. It had arrows pointing to the little fetus dot and everything, with quotes like, "Mom says I'm making her sick!"

The day -- no, the nanosecond -- that I do something like this (other than posting scads of baby pictures on my blog, because you KNOW I'm going to), please commit me to the nearest mental institution. Don't try to blame hormones. That's just plain CRAZY.

So I feel a little weird sharing more details with her. I feel like she has an Excel spreadsheet in her office and is now plotting my baby's weight (I made the mistake of telling her that he was about 5 pounds now), length, possible hair color, etc. and will show me, with pie charts, the next time I see her.

OK, maybe not. But still. She knows how far along I am.

More parent practice
Thanks, Molly.

In a few weeks, your disgusting hairball that you deposited ON OUR BED, which soaked through to the mattress pad, is going to seem like small potatoes. The minor shit fit that I threw in relation to the hairball and the staining of the sheets and the doing of the laundry will also seem quite minor.

But thanks for keeping me on my toes.

Revelation
Last night I attended a breastfeeding class at the hospital where I plan on giving birth. While I learned a lot, such as how long you can store breast milk in the refrigerator or freezer, or how to tell that the baby is hungry, I also realized something about myself.

I am definitely not mature enough to sit in a room where someone uses the phrase "inverted nipple" and not be able to make a face.

No kidding
So I'm sitting here trying to design the cover of a brochure I've blown off since, um, I don't know, April, and randomly this thought came to me. What the hell happened to Kid Rock? Where'd he go? Not that I miss him or anything. He just kind of fizzled out. I think I thought of him because I heard that gawdawful song he did with Sheryl Crow on Bad Lady's radio.

Obviously I found it so important that I had to post it. Either that or I just successfully avoided designing this brochure for another five minutes.

Not. Cool!
Kindly Old Granny Admin (KOGA) is most recently noted in this blog as a co-conspirator in the pickle controversy. However, she is also known around the work circles as sometimes blurting out completely inappropriate things to the wrong people in the wrong situations. She's old. It happens.

Example. In a staff meeting, we're talking about marketing ideas and one of our upcoming presentations. KOGA comes out with, "I think we should have [CEO] dress up as a leprechaun!" And she was dead serious. Everyone got really pensive and quiet and there was no eye contact in the room.

OK. So today, we're all in my boss' office and he's showing us some TV commercials that our parent company has run in the past. One of them involved cavemen (no, it's not Geico (or is it Aflac?), but those are my favorite commercials on TV, especially the one where they're in the restaurant and the one caveman is like, "Nothing for me, I don't have much of an appetite." Digress!) As the caveman commercial is on, [Son of CEO]'s assistant comes in and starts to watch the commercial. The cavemen are on screen, doing cavemanesque things.

KOGA turns to [Son of CEO]'s assistant and says, again dead serious, "Is that [Son of CEO]?"

Seriously. She thought it was him dressed in the caveman outfit.

To the assistant's credit, she was like, "No, that's his brother that they keep locked away in the attic."

But oh my God. Talk about uncomfortable. And hilarious.

Holy matrimony!
OK, who else besides myself wasted two hours of their lives watching the famewhore spectacle that was Rob and Amber's wedding? Although I must give it props for being better than Trista 'n' Ryan's wedding a few years back.

I think I caught the whole two hours, but I must have been in the bathroom during the "prenup" segment. Right?

Holy Idols!
And speaking of two hours of your life you'll never get back... who's planning on sitting through the entire Idol finale tonight? I am definitely more of a Bice fan than an Underwood fan, but I can't say I'd buy either of their records, so good luck to both of them, I guess.

The only reason I'm even considering tuning in (other than the fact that I HAVE to know who won) is to see what they could possibly do to make the show interesting.

And what happened to Anwar's dreads? He went for the Lenny Kravitz look. I'm not sure I approve.

State of the pregnancy: month seven and counting
So I see it's been a while since I posted. As a major presentation looms on the horizon, I haven't had the blogging time that I usually do. Not to mention that the weeks are flying by in anticipation of little Doodle.

My baby shower was this past weekend. It was a ton of fun but it really wore me out. I never knew that opening gifts would be so difficult! Not only to muster up enthusiasm at the 89th onesie that was unwrapped, but the physical stress of it all.

Highlights of the shower included my grandma telling my husband's grandma all about my ex-boyfriend and how much she liked him, my mom barely containing her annoyance at my grandma (divorced parents; grandma is dad's mom; mom hates dad and much of his family), and of course, my grandma attempting to whisper to me, but failing, that I should name Doodle after my father. (Wouldn't that go over well with my mom!?) Oh well. My grandma is 85, she's entitled to be a bit outspoken, I guess. I hope at 85 I'm blissfully unaware of my own eccentricities.

Doodle's room is jam-packed with goodies now. I tried to straighten up a bit in there, getting all the baby clothes folded and all the tags cut off (haven't washed anything yet -- can't muster up the energy for the task). The cats are exploring all the boxes and bags and are a little apprehensive, understandably. Molly, in particular, was really put off when all this new stuff arrived into the house on Saturday. Dom thought it was a great adventure. Oh, if they only knew what's in store for them.

This morning I had an ultrasound and found out that Doodle's estimated weight is now approximately 4 pounds, 14 ounces. Which is a little bigger than average but not by much. So we're still doing well. His little face has filled out and doesn't look nearly as alien-like as it has in the past. We saw him grab his little foot, which was adorable. I had a non-stress test scheduled but my ultrasound results were so good, the doctor canceled it. And although my sugar levels are getting higher, I'm still spared from having to take insulin.

As far as the changes in my body, there's no denying that I'm carrying a child anymore. Just within the past week, strangers have been asking me when my baby is due. I'm entirely in maternity clothes now, with the exception of a few large tees and sweatshirts that still fit. My back gets sore every day (at least during the week) around 4 and continues until I go to bed. Last night it was too sore for me to stay up and watch the "24" finale. I had to DVR it and I went to bed around 9:30.

But overall, I'm fine, Doodle's fine, and as the days tick down I'm both excited and scared a little bit more each day. The months have gone by quickly, but now that I have a little over seven weeks to go, I'm hoping that time slows down so I can enjoy the waning moments of life as I know it.

Naughty, naughty
I just ate FIVE Doritos. Wheeeeeeee!
I'm out of control!

Seriously, some of the girls in the office have this HUGE bag of Doritos that is stationed up on top of the wall between their cubes, and so it's above eye level. It taunts me.

Finally, I went over there and said, "Hand over the Dorito bag and no one gets hurt."

Ah. Nacho cheesy goodness.

The battle of the over-zealous grandmas
One thing is becoming abundantly clear as my due date approaches: there is a competition underway.

It hasn't been stated, but it's been hinted at, alluded to, and executed behind closed doors, or at least in the aisles of Toys R Us.

It's a game of granny oneupsmanship being waged between my mom and my mother-in-law. Who will be the best grandma? The most loved? The most capable of spoiling the yet unborn prince?

It's neck and neck right now, but my MIL may have taken a lead over the weekend...

Mom?
-Hosting my baby shower (and paying for it) (it's this weekend by the way) (oh crap)
-Offering to buy the crib and changing table (and calling me daily to see if I picked anything yet) (I haven't)
-Rounding up all my baby blankets and other items that are still useable from my baby stuff (and washing them) (twice)
-Commented to me on Friday: "[MIL] is a good person. She's going to be the babysitting granny. (long pause) I want to be the babysitting granny."

MIL?
-Went crazy buying shower party favors and table decorations. I went with her on Saturday to pick stuff out. Sunday she made a second trip and bought MORE stuff(without me) (oh Lord)
-Bought our two carseats (but not the ones I registered for)(grr)(oh well -- beggars can't be choosers!)
-Also bought a Boppy pillow (not off my registry again, causing me to scramble to figure out where I had registered for it and try to delete it so I wouldn't get duplicate Boppies)
-Also bought a children's book for "Grandpa" to read to young Doodle (prompting my FIL, an English teacher, to open it and read aloud: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...")(The End. NOW GO TO BED!)
-Also bought six HUGE stuffed animals that she wants to use as centerpieces at the shower (but really they're for the Doodster)
-Commented to me over the weekend: "Let me know if I get too out of control with this stuff."

As the weeks go on, I'm sure it's only going to get worse. Especially after he's born. I can just see it now... my mom will be overcome with jealousy because she lives farther away. Jealousy will lead to anger. Anger will lead to hate. (Sorry, I'm gearing up for the Star Wars premiere this week.) My MIL will continue the unabashed spoilage and my mom will have no choice but to follow suit.

So, when do you think they'll calm down? When Doodle's in college?

Poll
I'd like to point out that there is a new poll up. Now it might seem like a no-brainer (July 6 is before July 14; therefore, BB6 premiere will happen first), but due to the gestational diabetes there is a chance that I'll either be induced early or have a scheduled C-section before my due date if Doodle becomes too large. As of two weeks ago his estimated weight was at about 3 pounds. If he becomes in the 8 or 9 pound range, he's coming out, no matter what the calendar says.

With that knowledge in hand, go vote!

Out of time
My watch stopped working. I noticed it this morning. It must have stopped last night, at approximately 10 minutes until 10.

I'm one of those people who feels naked without a watch on.

So, despite the fact that I know that the watch doesn't work, I'm wearing it anyway. And I have looked at it at least six times today.

Is that mental of me?

PickleGate
Some of you may remember that a very kind co-worker brought me a jar of pickles and I was elated. Every afternoon I'd delve into our work fridge (which is small and just houses the lunch items of my 7-person department) and have one, maybe two, in a little bout of afternoon indulgence.

I was in the office over the weekend (yeah, it's that time again) and I decided to take a pickle break, but to my dismay, the pickle jar up and disappeared. It was gone. Gone!

Now I've heard that pregnant women can be absent minded, so I thought that there was a chance I'd left it somewhere. But after wracking my brain I couldn't remember doing such a thing. I always grabbed one out of the jar and then immediately put the jar back in the fridge, mostly so the garlic and dill aroma didn't travel too far in the department.

I was pretty much over it on Monday when I came in to the office, but one of my co-workers decided to ask Kindly Old Granny Admin if she knew anything about the pickle jar's disappearance.

Turns out, on Friday, while I was at lunch with three other co-workers, Bad Lady (of course!!!) went to KOGA and told her that the pickles had "been in there a long time" and "looked bad."

So KOGA threw them out.

Now, a few things are wrong with this scenario.

First, Bad Lady sits right next to me. Either she's really dense (OK, she is) or couldn't smell or see me eating a pickle every day. Not to mention, PICKLES DON'T GO BAD. They're pickled.

If the smell was bothering her or something she could have just said something to me. But I think that she purposely waited until I was gone to dispose of the jar. She's just shady enough to do something like that.

Anyhoo, KOGA felt so bad that she threw away my pickles that she went out and bought me a new jar. How cute is that? The new jar has a note taped to it that says "Please don't throw me away!"

One of my co-workers wanted to write "This means you, [Bad Lady]," on it, but I wouldn't let her.

I'll just make sure that I breathe pickle breath on her every time I indulge from now on.

Pitching in
In preparation for the child-to-be, the J. household is currently in a state of chaos. A partially-finished baby's room still houses all of my clothes, a large futon, and, until recently, the cats' bowls. In fact, this room was known as the cats' room for the first year and a half that we lived here. No mas.

It's hard to tell if the cats know what's going on. Dom has been a little bit more tentative when he crawls onto my stomach, and has encountered the baby giving him some swift kicks when he has tried to lay on me. But he looked around to see if there was a hand, or perhaps a mouse, to blame, rather than drawing the conclusion that the terror lies within.

Molly, on the other hand, still tries to knead on my stomach. So I'm not sure she's clued in to the situation.

However, both cats have become very adept at what I call "parent practice." This involves both of them roleplaying as small, misbehaved children. Recently, for no apparent reason, Dom jumped onto a coat tree, toppling it over into my husband's dresser, which then sent the small TV on top of the dresser flying toward the edge. Quick reflexes on my part saved the TV from disaster. Both of them are constantly on each other, chasing each other through the house. Molly will bitchslap Dom with no provocation whatsoever. Dom will jump onto the kitchen table and start eating crumbs off a dinner plate, or stick his face into my milk glass. Dom is also back on his kick of bringing stuff up from the basement in the middle of the night. Right now it's limited to towels and washclothes, but I know that underwear aren't too far off in the future.

And Molly, bless her little pathetic heart, barfs at LEAST once a week now.

But for all the trouble they have been getting in to, Dom at least has been pitching in to help. Why, just the other day he helped me put sheets on the bed:


And he also helped me put some laundry away:



So, really, I can't be mad at him.

Plus, no matter how much he and his female counterpart misbehave (or, in Molly's case, how much she hurls), they're still my babies.

For a couple more months, anyway.

I scream, you scream
You can go ahead and hate me if you want.

Here I am, in the home stretch of this pregnancy, and I still am at a net LOSS as far as my weight. I'm right about at my pre-pregnancy weight, and in the past month have only gained a pound.

Which means that I'm doing really well with watching my sugars and yadda yadda.

But that still didn't stop me from having a partial meltdown last night because we walked through the grocery store and I WANTED TO EAT EVERYTHING I SAW. Particularly ice cream. I would really like an ice cream sandwich, you know the kind that has chocolate chip cookies for the sandwich part?

Once this baby is born, ain't nobody going to get between me and one of those bad boys. With a root beer float as a chaser.

Hmm...
It's starting to make sense to me now why Scott stayed last night and Constantine went...

Check out the site here.

New poll
I apologize for the previous post, which contained the worst pun and the longest run-on sentence I've ever written. Ah well.

Because it's obvious that the people had spoken long ago over the Bo vs. Constantine debate, I have posted a new poll, this one dealing with Survivor. If I remember, I'll change it each week to reflect who's been booted. But right now you can take your pick from any of the remaining contestants. So have at it.

Pickled pink
Am I the luckiest girl in the world or what? A coworker brought me an ENTIRE JAR of pickles today. I ate two already and I think I'm going in for a third!

Later this afternoon I have an ultrasound and I'm also getting a shot (hopefully not in the ass). So either this evening or tomorrow I'm going to post a state of the pregnancy address, depending on how lazy I am this evening.

The only other thing I have to say at the moment is that I am still shocked and awed over last night's ouster of the pouty Constantine. Don't get me wrong, I'm still rooting for my local boy Scott, whom I know doesn't have a snowball's chance in hell, but I was utterly floored that Scott was not in the bottom three last night, because I thought for sure he was gone. Him or that Federov punk. But not Constantine. I thought the Greek wonder rocker was a contender to win it. Now I'm pretty sure that Carrie Underwear is going to win and that does not please me whatsoever. Because she sings BOTH kinds of music, country AND western! Once Scott goes, which, if we're all being honest, should be next week, I'm throwing my support behind Vonzell. And then none at all.

The long and short of it: vacation
While I enjoy the last few hours of my vacation (back to work tomorrow), I thought I'd recap last week's festivities for all those interested.

First, I'd be remiss not to mention the Maroon 5 concert. Which would have been good, I think, had it not been completely ruined by the two drunk guys in front of us. We had good seats on the floor, maybe 20 or so rows back, right in the center. The drunk guys were in their 20's, and at first, it appeared that only one of them had been imbibing too much. This guy was a cross between Survivor contestant Gregg and Survivor/TAR contestant Boston Rob, but uglier:



Anyhoo, this dude took it upon himself to start grinding on some late 30-something women at the end of his row. And when I say grinding, I mean full-on gropage. It was disgusting. And, as this was occurring right in front of me, I had no choice but to stare at it in disbelief.

So while Drunk Dude #1 is getting his groove on (and I'm still not sure whether the women were into him or not -- they were pretty trashed too), Dude #2 keeps trying to signal his buddy. I'm thinking that maybe he realizes that his friend is too wasted, and needs to get a hold of himself. But then, all of a sudden, Dude #2's standing there, and then the next second, he collapses to the ground.

"And I thought he was the sober one," I remarked to my friend, Amy, who was the other witness to this horror.

So I guess it was an interesting show, if anything. The worst part was after the show when we saw Drunk Dude #1 and #2 get into a car, with Drunk Dude #1 behind the wheel. We got their license plate, but didn't call the police. I wonder if we should have.

Tuesday morning began bright and early. Especially for me -- I didn't sleep a wink. We had to be ready to be out the door at 5 a.m. My contact lenses burned when I tried to put them in, so I opted for my glasses. Wearing my glasses in public has always made me feel self-conscious, and added to my sleep-deprived state, along with my feeling of apprehension toward flying, I was building toward a mini-meltdown.

Meltdown level was achieved when, in the security line, I was stopped for having an expired driver's license. Oops. It's been expired since January. What this entailed was me going back to the ticket counter and getting "EXPIRED LICENSE" written all over my boarding passes, and then being submitted to what my husband jokingly referred to as a "buttcrack search" when I went through the security line again. I got wanded, and then a female security guard gave me a thorough pat-down, thorough enough for her to feel that I had a baby inside of me and congratulate me. It really wasn't a big deal, now that I look back on it, but at 6 a.m., while I was wearing my glasses and tired and scared about the upcoming trip, it was too much. I fought back tears and also fought back the urge to tell my husband that the trip was off.

(Side note: I went today to renew my license. Despite the fact that I did my hair and makeup immediately before making the five-minute trip to the DMV, they still ended up making me look like a career criminal in my photo. And I was followed by a cop for most of my trip from home to the DMV, which would have been just my luck to get pulled over.)

However, after that, it was smooth sailing. All of our flights were on time, our layover in Phoenix was short, and we landed in Vegas at about noon Vegas time. Plenty of time to gamble. We checked in to our hotel room at the Tropicana and headed into the casino, where I immediately lost the majority of my gambling allowance at the quarter slots. I made some of it back at the blackjack table, but then ultimately lost everything that I had set aside to gamble with. After the dismal gambling afternoon, we headed to our hotel room to shower, and ended up napping for about three hours. The lack of sleep had finally caught up to me. But the nap allowed us to get a second wind and head back out for more gambling. We went to the Luxor for a short period of time, and then ended up at the MGM Grand, where my husband actually won back what he had lost and more by playing single-deck blackjack. After that, we were spent, and called it a night.

Wednesday we ate breakfast and then headed back to the airport to catch our flight to Burbank. We landed in California at lunchtime, rented our car for the week, and began our adventure to find our hotel. The route took us through some of the sightseeing spots, such as Warner Brothers studio, Hollywood Blvd., and finally the Sunset Strip, which was where our hotel was located. We walked around the surrounding area by our hotel, and finally settled into a small pizza shop across from the famous Viper Room bar (R.I.P. River Phoenix). After that, we decided that we should just drive to Anaheim to find the ballpark, and if we got there early, we'd just drive around that area and check it out. It was about 4 at that point; the game started at 7.

Thus began our introduction to the infamous L.A. traffic. Holy crap! Our Mapquest route said that the trip was about 37 miles from our hotel and that it would take about 48 minutes. Yeah. We got there a little bit after 6. Traffic was at a standstill almost the whole way there. I'm sure a lot of that had to do with rush hour, but if I could have had a drink when I got to the ballpark, I would have had to have several to calm my frayed nerves.

Our seats that night were in the very last row of the stadium, behind home plate. Good views, but far away. I was impressed with the ballpark, and also by the Angels fans. It felt like being back in Jacobs Field in the mid-90's when the Indians were good. Not surprisingly, the Indians lost Wednesday's game, 1-0.

Thursday we had nice weather (it was in the 60's and a little breezy for the entire trip) so we decided to take a drive out to the beach. We followed our map and got on Pacific Coast Highway (PCH to the locals) and decided to go to Venice Beach. Interesting place. All kinds of people were there. I can imagine that when the weather is really nice, this place is quite crowded. The beach itself was pretty much desolate. I wanted to at least stick my feet in the ocean, so we went to the shore. The water was freezing cold so my stroll in the water was short-lived. I found a sea shell that I was going to take home as a souvenir, until I realized that the owner of the shell was still living inside of it. I put him back in the water instead. We had lunch in a little cafe on the boardwalk there and enjoyed the freakshow quality of some of the locals.

We headed back, and decided to get an early start to Anaheim for the second of our games. This time we got to the stadium around 5, in time to watch the Indians batting practice. We had awesome seats, front row along the first base line, a few feet from the foul pole. Before the game, we had tons of guys around us with their gloves, hoping to catch a foul ball. No one was disappointed. Tons of balls came into our section. My husband even caught one, but gave it to a kid who was standing near us.

Oh yeah -- the Indians lost this game too. We were winning until the 8th and 9th innings. But in typical fashion, we found a way to blow it.

Friday... it was chilly, cloudy, and rainy. So much for our plans to spend time by the pool. (We went up to check it out anyway -- it was on the roof of our hotel -- but HBO was filming an episode of the show "Entourage" and there were people everywhere, so we made a hasty exit.) Instead, we went up to Hollywood Blvd. and walked around. We went to the famous Chinese theater, and the Hollywood Wax Museum, and I was attacked in front of the theater by an in-character Chucky doll (played by a midget). Not cool. Darth Vader was pretty sweet, though.

Friday evening we had the Josh Rouse concert, so we went out to eat and then got to the club. It was a good show, and I felt really at ease there. I was worried that I would be underdressed compared to the L.A. chicks, but I think we blended in really well.

And then Saturday, we came home, exhausted, and arrived into Cleveland to the sight of a plane being de-iced. A freaking snowstorm. "Welcome back to reality," the pilot said over the P.A. system. Yeah. Ha. Except, by that time, I was ready to be home and sleep in my own bed and see my kitties.

What I'm not looking forward to, now, is going back to work. Hopefully the next two 1/2 months will go by in a blur. And then my vacation-but-not-really-a-vacation starts... my summer break while I'm home with a newborn son. Talk about a reality check.

Back to reality
I'm back, did ya miss me?
The trip was great. The weather was in the high 60's, low 70's, a little breezy, but after returning home to find snow, it was quite nice.

I have uploaded some pics here if you'd like to see them.

Update: photo has been removed because it was screwing up my page. You can still click the links to view my photo album.

A few more things before I go...

• I dislike Jack Black. A lot. But I watched the movie "Envy" over the weekend and thought it was pretty good. Not because of Jack Black, though. Walken. Christopher Walken. He was awesome in this movie, and for that reason, I recommend it.
• It made my day today to have the opportunity to bust Bad Lady. She wasn't here on Friday (for reasons that are still unknown), and when the time sheet went around this morning, lo and behold, she didn't mark that she was out. Mistake? Highly doubtful. If this was the first time it happened, I would just mention it to her that she forgot. However, this is a regular occurrance. She frequently will take half days and not mark them. (I usually mark them for her, though, because I'm sneaky and passive-aggressive like that). Today, however, since it was a full day, I just went in to my boss and pointed it out to him and let him deal with it. Whee!
• I'm going to Maroon 5 tonight, forgot to mention that. I'd say something about Adam Levine here but there's a minor chance that my husband may read this and I'd get in trouble for sure. But would I kick him out of bed for eating crackers? Mmmno.
• NBA playoffs start this weekend. Go Cavs! Except, oh wait. They probably won't be in 'em. Hey, looks like that Usher hand signal wasn't so lucky after all.

California, here I come
This is my last day of work before I leave for vacation. Tomorrow at 7:45 a.m., we fly into the great city of Las Vegas, Nevada, for one fun-filled day of gambling, losing all our money, and then laying by the pool if it's warm enough. Wednesday, we fly into Burbank, California and will remain in the southern Cali region until Saturday. During that time we'll take in a few Indians games (they are playing the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim), do some touristy stuff, and celebrate our two-year wedding anniversary.

I am a little apprehensive (ok, who am I kidding -- I'm a LOT apprehensive) about flying, especially since my doctor seemed not too jazzed about it. I'm at 27 weeks and they strongly discourage flying after 28 weeks. So I'm right on the cusp. I don't think anything will happen, but I'm never going to forgive myself if it does.

But, once the flight is out of the way, I'm sure I will enjoy myself.

I'll be back for your blogging pleasure sometime soon. With pictures, to boot.

See, now I probably would have just eaten it
First there was Scott Savol. Now, Cleveland can be proud of its latest pseudo celebrity, Nang Duong. If you haven't heard, Nang was eating a bag of Cheetos and seems to have found Jesus inside. But just his legs -- which means, folks, that THE REST OF HIS CHEETO BODY IS STILL OUT THERE. Oh, the horror!

So he did what any rational human being would do... he put it up on EBay.

I think a search party must be dispatched immediately to find the rest of the Cheeto Jesus. I'll go check my vending machine right now.

The worst part of this story? He'll probably make about 50 bucks on the cheeto legs from some sucker. That's enough to buy, like, a whole bunch more bags of Cheetos.

UPDATE: The eBay listing can be found HERE. Hurry! Only one day left to bid!

Thursday, 9:18 a.m.
Bad Lady has already received THREE personal calls this morning.
Not that this is out of the ordinary, but the RAGE is building inside of me.
Good thing I leave for vacation in a few days. Are you going to miss me???

I hereby lay claim to all names within...

Kat's Aliases

Your movie star name: Chips Brooks

Your fashion designer name is Kathleen Belfast

Your socialite name is Christ Vegas

Your fly girl / guy name is K Jam

Your detective name is Giraffe Beaumont

Your barfly name is Cookies Wine

Your soap opera name is Andrea Carroll

Your rock star name is Skittles Gazelle

Your star wars name is Katdom Jamkei

Your punk rock band name is The Tired Spork

She's gone ... but they're back
My favorite part of American Idol last night? Why, it was the appearance of Hall and Oates in the audience, of course. Jamming TO THEIR OWN SONG. It takes balls to do that. And while Hall is still looking good, I have to say that time has not been kind to Oates.

My predictions for the bottom three are Nadia, Anthony and either Bo or Scott. Probably Scott. Although at my household, we did our part to vote for the local boy, that is for sure.

Now the scuttlebutt is that Anwar is gay, and that this will negatively affect his votes. What. Ever. I think that Anwar needs to be the lead singer of a modern era Kool and the Gang. Wouldn't that rock? Well, I think it would.

Quick, someone call Webster
I'm not positive, but I think I have coined a new word. Probably not, because it's not that original, but it makes me chuckle.

The word is gigundies. As in, gigantic undies. Also known in some circles as granny panties. They are the most hideous of the underclothes, large swathes of unsexy material in sizes the good Lord didn't intend. The kind you buy at Target in 8-packs for $6 that come rolled up in a plastic bag like socks sometimes do.

Not that I would know, or anything. *cough*

Picture time!
I have mastered the digital camera. Well, not quite mastered it, but at least I know how to use it, and that's a start.

Here's a decent shot of my elusive cat, Molly.


The progress in the baby's room is as such:


Dom in his favorite spot in the house: inside the bathroom on the rug.


And finally, a shot of me that my husband took today while I was waiting to get on the computer.

Arachnophobia
I've gotten pretty good at the "peeing in the middle of the night" routine. I can get out of bed, walk to the bathroom, close the door, pee, wipe, wash hands, flush... without turning the lights on and without, for the most part, opening my eyes. I occasionally crack one eyelid to check and see where the toilet paper is, but other than that, I barely need to break out of r.e.m. mode.

However, last night, I was mid-pee, when I remembered that there had been a spider in the bathroom. My husband was all "don't kill it -- spiders eat other bugs." So I left it alone, even though it really creeped me out to be sharing a private moment with an eight-legged freak. As long as I could see it on the wall, I knew it wasn't, for instance, about to drop onto my head.

Not true in the middle of the night in the dark.

I mean, it could be anywhere. It could be on the toilet seat. On the toilet handle. On the light switch. It could be inches away from my face.

So I did what any rational human being would do. I didn't flush, and I didn't -- gasp -- wash my hands, and very cautiously opened the door to get out and go back to bed.

Just 'cuz, that's why
My husband asks me last night, "What's the difference between body cream and body lotion?"
So I try my best to explain that body cream (and we're talking about Bath and Body Works products, here) is thicker, and in most cases, stronger smelling, and that the lotion is smoother and not as strong scented.

Then came the million dollar question, to which I had no answer: "Why do you need both?"

State of the pregnancy: month five
Things are rolling right along in Doodle Land. He's a kicking, punching little nubbin of a child, all of 1 1/2 pounds big at the moment. He has all of his fingers and toes, which he wiggles and waves. And, inexplicably, from the ultrasound pictures that I have of his little face, both my mother-in-law and her mother (my grandmother-in-law?) said he looks like me. I'm not sure whether to take that as a compliment or not at this point, as he looks like a small, skeletal monster to me.

We have decided on a first name, but due to a quirk or perhaps to superstition, I refuse to refer to him by that name, probably until he's born. I call him instead by many other names. "Little guy" is one; Doodle is another (although that doesn't leave the confines of this blog). His working name is Doodle Schmedlap I. Middle name is pending. That may actually be my next poll.

As far as how I'm doing -- does anyone still care? -- well, I'm doing allright. My sugar is regulated through diet at the moment, and although my doctor keeps threatening to put me on insulin, I've eluded that dreaded day so far. (Today I ate a marshmallow egg. It's Easter! I think Jesus would have wanted me to.)

I thought that food cravings were over in the first trimester, but here it is, almost the sixth month of my pregnancy, and I'm craving all kinds of stuff. Most of it is food that I'm not allowed to eat due to the diabetes, such as ice cream, Oreo cookies, and other junk food. But the number one item I'm craving lately is milk. I could drink gallons of it! I've gotten up in the middle of the night just to drink a glass of it. I seriously go through about a gallon and a half a week, just by myself. I guess I'm drinking it to ready myself for producing it? Oh, and speaking of that, the milk factory hasn't really kicked into gear yet, but my husband has already started to referring to my "teat" -- which makes me feel about as sexy as a dead mackerel.

I have given up on "What To Expect When You're Expecting." That book, while informative, also scares the crap out of me. I read the "five months" chapter this weekend, and on Saturday night, I was terrified to sleep. I normally sleep on my back and then eventually roll over to my right side. Well, apparently the LEFT side is the proper side for sleeping on. All other sleeping positions either squish vital organs (his or mine, I'm not sure) or slow his heart rate down considerably. So then I'm up worrying about that all night. Thanks.

Also, the whole childbirth thing. I want to know the basics. What I don't want to know is everything else that could possibly happen and/or go wrong. I don't need to worry about that in addition to the myriad of other things I have on my plate at the moment!

Overall, I'm doing well though. I still, at five plus months of pregnancy, weigh less than I did pre-pregnancy, so that's a good thing. And all indications are that Doodle Schmedlap I is developing according to schedule, so that's an even better thing.

We have a weiner
OK, now I know that I am judging a book by its cover here, BUT:

My question of the day is this. What ideas were rejected before Fox said yes to the new series "Life on a Stick," which is seemingly about people who work in a hot dog store? The show is set to premiere tonight. I can safely say that I won't be watching.

EDITED TO ADD (In caps lock, leaned over mode -- tm GT): SURVIVOR IS ON TONIGHT. NOT TOMORROW. ADJUST YOUR TV VIEWING SCHEDULES ACCORDINGLY.

Oopsie
Well, he's done it again. This goes up there with getting stuck in the elevator twice, hitting one of our VPs with a gigantic divot at the company golf outing, shooting himself in the eye with a rubber band, and showing off his tai-chi moves in front of my boss' office when my boss was with a client.

Today, IBL ate New Girl #1's lunch. Both were in brown bags, so he must have grabbed the wrong one. But, IBL has the same lunch every day. His wife packs it for him. So you'd think he would have noticed that his lunch was a little different. He did, but thought that his wife had made the mistake. It didn't occur to him that maybe the mistake was on his end.

It all ended up ok, because me, NG1, and another co-worker went to Chipotle and got burrito bols. Of course, mine was bereft of rice, but it was still yummy.

Dear CVS Pharmacy,
It would be really helpful if, the next time I came in, you could be a little quicker with getting my prescription ready. Because, in the 25 minutes it took you to put a bottle of vitamins in a bag, I...

• Scoped the sugar-free candy aisle. Sugar-free Creme Saver anyone? They are kind of chocolatey. *horks*
• Snagged a lipstick that I definitely didn't need. I have enough Clinique free sample shit to last a small lifetime.
• In the process of scoping out the lipstick, saw a ginormous bin of "clearance" beauty items. After fishing through the bin, I came up with THREE shades of nail polish that weren't too hideous. Because the 5234212 bottles of nail polish I have at home just weren't enough.
• Speaking of nail polish, they had O.P.I. there! Score! I picked up a bottle of that, as well.
• Tortured myself by circling back to the candy area, and checked out all the Easter candy that I won't be eating this year. Do you think they make sugar free Peeps?
• Got the only useful item of the whole shopping trip: a bottle of Pepto-Bismol. We ran out several months ago and it's always good to have around the house.

I know that every extra minute I spend in your store results in more profits for you, but I think we can work together for a better solution. Let me know your thoughts.

Sincerely,

K

Fun with the digital camera
OK, so I still haven't taken the time to learn how to work the digital camera, but fortunately, my husband has. Here are a couple of shots I thought I'd share with you:

First, the infamous Domino:


And look! Crocuses! Crocii! In our backyard! This past weekend!

M.I.A.
Missing: one Sharpie.
Looks kind of like this:



Last seen Friday, approximately 4 p.m. standard time, on my desk.

Quite honestly, I have no hope of finding it. My desk looks like fifteen bombs have gone off.

Oh mama
This weekend, my mom and I had little bonding excursion. Destination? Maternity clothes-o-rama. I'm at that stage in my pregnancy where I'm not quite into the full maternity gear, but I do need a few key pieces to work in to my wardrobe.

The store we went to had three mini-stores all wrapped into one fun package. There was the upscale clothing store, the mid-range clothing, and the low-end stuff. We, and most everyone else, which included every pregnant woman in northeast Ohio and her mother, were in the mid-range section. However, since all 89 of us were hovering over two racks of clothes, I decided to venture into the other areas of the store to see what they had to offer. Here are my findings:

Upscale clothing section
Features: $150 jeans (and ugly ones at that) and Paris Hiltonesque frilly frou frou short short skirts. Tiny tops for tiny pregnant people.

Low-end clothing section
Features: Tops that can only be described as "frocks" in a variety of colors found under your local big top and usually modeled by someone named BoBo or Chuckles.

So I ended up back in the mid-range area, and made out pretty well with two pairs of not-too-hideous slacks, a jacket, two blouses and a t-shirt.

While I was in the dressing room, I noticed they had a velcro strap-on stomach that you could use to project what you will look like with a full pregnant belly. I declined to use it on the grounds that it was skeevy.

Then, just on a whim, I decided to look at the maternity bras. Too scary. I couldn't deal with it.

All in all, a harrowing experience, to be sure. I'm not sure who was more exhausted by the end of it -- my mom or me.

At least it's over. I don't have to go back. Until the era of Doodle the Second, that is...

I.D. #18294039-2
I often poke fun at my husband for doing or saying something nerdy, such as geeking out on an episode of Star Trek: Next Gen or telling me about a dream he had in which he calculated the angles of an isosceles triangle. I tell him that he is showing his Nerd I.D. card.

But I have a deep, dark secret that I have been trying to hide for a long, long time.

I, too, am a nerd.

My Nerd I.D. card was scanned and read during my presentation, thus outing me to the people from whom I most want to protect my nerd-dom.

During the show, I was linked, via headsets, to all of my co-workers who were involved in the show, my boss, and the techie guys from our staging company who were working the lights, audio, cameras, etc.

One of the awards that was given out for the show is for offices that meet their objectives during the year. Usually our offices go all out if they know they are getting the award by wearing hats or buttons or costumes of some sort. This year was no exception. One office, upon receiving the award, brandished glow-in-the-dark lightsabers and formed a sort of lightsaber gauntlet that their office manager had to walk through.

Once she got through the gauntlet, one of the lightsaber-bearing people, who happened to be an African-American male, escorted her to the stage.

Over the headsets, one techie asked, "Who's that guy?"
And another techie responded, "I think it's Mace Windu."
And I let out a hearty, "HA!"

Mace Windu, pictured below, is a Jedi played by Samuel L. Jackson in the new Star Wars movies. Did YOU know that? No, why would you? You may have known that Sam Jackson was in the Star Wars movies, but probably didn't know his character's name. Yeah. Well, I did.



It probably went over my co-workers' heads, because no one said anything to me about it. But the techies now know that I, a chick, not only understood their obscure Star Wars reference, but that I laughed at it. I can barely live down the shame. So the next time I rip on my spouse for his nerdiness, I'll have to remember my moment of nerd glory.

Sign of the cross
So, how 'bout my mom?
I'm just talking to her, and I tell her that I'm going to the Cavs game tonight.
She asks, "Are you going to do the Usher hand signal thing?"
She refers to this:



Usher, who is one of the new part-owners of LeBron and the boys, was featured above the fold on the front page of today's Plain Dealer, demonstrating the new "Go Cavs" hand signal.

I told my mom that I'd wait and see if the urge struck me.

Idiot proof
During lunch today I noticed a warning on my bag of Cheddar Cheese Quakes, which are Quaker brand mini rice cakes that if you pretend really, really hard, kind of taste like Cheetos. The warning was this: "Do not put in toaster or microwave."

Now you KNOW some idiot had to have done this for them to have to put a warning on it. My question is... what happened? Now I'm kind of curious. Did the rice cake explode into smithereens? Did it inflate to giant size as a Peep (ah, 'tis almost that time, you know) would?

Puzzling. I almost want to try it. But then, if I destroy my microwave, I'll have no one to blame but myself. I was warned, after all.

The nose knows
Last Thursday, as I am getting ready to leave for the hotel, Incompetent but Likeable comes over to my desk and says, "Good news, Kath! I got a nosebleed today."
"How is that good news?" I ask.
"Well, I only get nosebleeds when the seasons change. I get one when the season changes from fall to winter, and I get another one when it changes from winter to spring. So spring must be coming!"
"Oh, OK," I say.

On Friday, at the reception after the meeting, the crowd parts like the Red Sea and IBL comes charging through, his hand clutching his nose. "I got another one, Kath," he says as he passes by.

I can almost hear the birds chirping and see the flowers blooming now.

Bad Lady Quote of the Week
At our presentation on Friday, BL was sitting with New Girl #1. One of our office managers came up and was talking to our boss. NG1 asked BL what the person's name was. BL responded, "Oh, that's _____. She's a real bitch." NG1 said, "Really? Well, who of the managers do you like working with?"

BL's response: "None of them. They're all bitches."

And hence she continues to live up to her name.

Hunka hunka burnin love


Here's me (right), a coworker, and Elvis. This was the aftermath of my presentation on Friday, which, by the way, went swimmingly!

But it also has provided me with about a week's worth of blog fodder. So I'll go slow rather than vomit out a rapid succession of posts. I want you to savor each one.

In any case, we have much more important matters to attend to. Mario dropped out of American Idol? What the &#$#*(!@!!?

Days until major presentation #2: 2 (but I'm leaving tomorrow to go to the hotel to wait and wait and wait for the torture to finally end)
Current blood sugar: oh, was I supposed to check that today?
Stress level: surprisingly, not too bad
Odds that BL will screw something up at aforementioned presentation: I'd bet my years' salary on it
Odds that I will have to quash the urge to deal physical damage to BL sometime over the next 48 hours: come on, do I even need to answer this?
Purchases made on I-Tunes today: one. Josh Rouse's new CD, Nashville.
Predictions for tonight's AI boots: Janay, Linsday, Scott (sorry homedawg), and Travis.

Stuff
First of all, it's my kitty, Dom's, birthday today. He is three. In cat years I'm not sure how old that makes him, but he's still my baby. For his birthday, I gave him the plastic milk jug ring off a new gallon of milk this morning, and that will about do it. I'm sure a few treats might come his way later on this evening.

Progress was made in the baby Doodle's nursery this weekend. I was in my new favorite store, which is a place I never thought I would set foot in -- Burlington Coat Factory. Who knew they had all kinds of other shit in there? I needed a new dress coat for work, and wanted a cheap one, and then I saw the huge baby section and made a beeline. I scored some really cute decorative stuff, as well as some onesies and some washclothes and some other things that were on sale.

I got curtains at Tarjay, on clearance no less, and put those up in the room. So it's starting to come together! Now we just need all the furniture and Doodle will be arriving in style.

I'll take a picture of the progress once I locate and learn to operate our new digital camera. I promise.

News of the weird
Lobster, anyone?

Here, kitty kitty

Tanqueray and Tonic is my personal fave

That's gotta be some stank!

What's wrong with this picture?

I found this photo on MSN in their Survivor article. See anything, um, odd about it?
Hint: there is more where there was once less.

Curse you, Blogger
Another fine post eaten by the Blogger monster. It contained the word "whilst" and everything. Its main purpose was to tell you some interesting things that I gleaned from People magazine last night while sitting in the hair salon with tinfoil on my head (this is the point in the eaten post where I told anyone who was thinking that a pregnant woman shouldn't have her hair colored could go pound salt).

Here is what I learned from People, re: the American Idol contestants:

-Bo Bice's real name is Harold.
-Nikko Smith's dad is baseball Hall of Famer Ozzie Smith.
-Amanda Avila once sang backup for Smokey Robinson, and also went to high school with Josh Groban.

There, aren't you glad that you know these little nuggets?

I'm not too sad that we said so long to Celena, and aloha to, well, Aloha. I thought Janay "Hit Em Up Style" Castine was a goner, but, what the hell do I know. The guys who left were my picks to leave, as well.

Got to hear baby Doodle's hearbeat this morning, the poor little fella had the hiccups. I thought it was cute though.

In like a lion
The snow came, and has decided to stay for a while. But still, no one can tell us how much accumulation to expect. I had a shit ton of snow on the car (that's a technical term) this morning, but the roads were fine. I was expecting a slip 'n' slide ride to work. But I got here only nine minutes late, which is pretty good for me. I was surprised to see BL here, because her new policy is that if one flake of snow falls, she either shows up at 11:30 (or thereabouts) or doesn't come in at all.

Well, I was firmly in the Constantine camp until last night, and now I'm a believer in Bo Bice. But my favorite, I would have to say, is Anwar. I am predicting that Joe and that other dreadlock guy will probably go home, or perhaps my Cleveland boy Scott. As a whole I dislike the girls, particularly that annoying Brooklyn girl.

Last night I had a dream that I was in a candy store asking for sugar-free candy, and there was only one little bag of candy in the store and myself and another girl almost got into fisticuffs over it. I think this dream is representative of my much larger, real-life issue, which is, god dammit, I want some freaking sugar and carbs, and I want it NOW!

Hence, I have decided that after I have this baby, and I get the "all-clear" from my doctor, I'm going on a huge sugar binge which will include at least a quart of chocolate ice cream, an entire package of Oreos, a bag of Skittles, and then onto the carbs -- a medley of chips, Doritoes, Fritos, or anything else that gets in my path.

Yeah, I'll probably keel over dead afterward, but it will be, like, sooooooo worth it.

Days until major presentation #2: 12
Current blood sugar level: 107
Times visited Pottery Barn Kids online today: 2
Number of items ordered: 1

Due to the impending snowstorm du jour, I have decided to boycott working today. Well, at least for the moment. There are much more exciting things to do, such as reading blogs and looking for baby stuff online.

Plus, I'm not in such a panic state for this presentation as I was for the last one. So even though the clock is ticking, I'm not sweatin' it. The work will get done. Just probably not today.

Alert
Snow, it's a-comin'. Nobody knows when, or how much, but it's on its way. Probably by the evening rush.

Nothing aggrivates me more than the weather forecasters when they don't exactly know what's going on, but still have to say something, so they make shit up, and make the storm seem like it's going to be ten million times worse than what it actually turns out to be.

So I could either be driving home through a blizzard or a flurry. Good to know.

In other news, I saw Anchorman last night and was hugely disappointed. I expected it to be stupid and funny. It was just stupid.

The results are in...
And I am happy to report that I, and three other people... were right! It's a boy.
Everything appears to be normal, and he had all of his limbs, which was my main concern. Not only that but he was showing off for us, bouncing around like a crazy person the whole time.

New poll
There's a new poll up. This time you're picking your favorite American Idol rocker dude. As with AI, you can stuff the ballot box this time and unfairly skew the results... so rock on.

Big day ahead

So... most of you think it's a girl. Myself and three others think it's a boy. We will find out today during the 4:00 hour! And then, after the flurry of phone calls and mass e-mails, I'll post the answer here.

I'm starting to spaz out.

A completely hypothetical thing that could have occurred today in my office
Boss: K, have you posted those documents to our web site yet?
K: No, I haven't had a chance to, I have about ten million other things to do [I'm not nice to him anymore, and am blaming it on hormones]
K: *goes to lunch*
Boss: *sends out all-company e-mail saying that the documents have been posted*
Random people in the company: *call boss to ask where the documents are because they can't find them*
K: *returns from lunch*
Boss: (as K is putting her coat away) K, I thought you sent those already.
K: [RAGE RAGE RAGE] No, not yet, I told you that before I left for lunch.
Boss: Oh. I thought maybe you had done them by now.
K: [RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE] I was at lunch!
Boss: Oh. OK. Not a big deal. So when do you think you can do that?
K: *resists urge to go batshit crazy*

The eagle has landed
Well, don't let me ever say my job is boring. Today's journey brought me to a costume store, where myself and a co-worker both tried on an eagle head. Not the body, just the head. Apparently the body was nowhere to be found. My coworker gets to be the eagle for our meeting in March. Let's just leave it at that. It's too bizarre and too long to explain. But I did want everyone to know that I tried on an eagle head. Had I brought along the digital camera, I would have taken pictures.

I see London, I see France
So I'm in the doctor's office yesterday and I'm on the table, and they've got one of those baby heartbeat monitor things over my stomach. I am supposed to be listening to the "whoosh whoosh whoosh" sound that my baby's heartbeat is making but all I can think about is the fact that I'm wearing hot pink flowered cotton underwear and everyone in the room can see them.

Whoops
So I'm sitting at my desk with my headphones on. I've had them on for maybe ten minutes, after watching that disturbing Numa Numa video on Tuna's blog.

But it occurs to me after ten minutes, I have the headphones on, and I'm still hearing Bad Lady's radio.

And then, even after that thought occurred to me, I kept the headphones on. Sometimes, if people think you're listening to music, they'll leave you alone. Or they'll say stuff they think you can't hear. Either way, I'm golden!

By the way, please vote in the poll if you haven't done so already. Seems that most of you think that I'm having a girl! The polls will close on Friday right before my ultrasound so cast your ballot soon!

Yay!
The day has just taken a turn for the good. We're getting takeout from P.F. Chang's! After the two bites of double pan fried noodles, I'll be at my carb limit for the day, but, you know, whatever.

Survivor Post-Show Analysis
It's too early for me to figure out who I like and who I don't. The women all seem the same to me so far, with the exception of hometown girl Caryn. Gotta root for the local gal. I think I like Coby, because what's not to like about a scheming gay man who isn't afraid to wear a pink shirt around his naughty bits?

About the bootees. Crazy Singing Lady HAD to go. If she had watched previous seasons of Survivor, she might have realized that Crazy Singing Ladies annoy the shit out of people, and they will not make it far in the game. (Well, ok, there was Lil, but did she sing? And crazy Granny Jan, did SHE sing? They both made it kind of far during their respective seasons. So scratch that. I know there was another Crazy Singing Lady in some prior season but maybe I've successfully erased her from memory.)

Jonathan was a cutie, but probably dumb as rocks. Oh well.

Jolanda was a huge target. Sure she was strong physically, but it was her strong personality that was her downfall. Say it with me, Jo -- under ... the ... RADAR!

And poor dumbasses who lost their flint. I hope that they can unearth it from the ocean next week.

Also, my husband has made his prediction for the winner... he picked Chris for the final 2 last season after watching the premiere with me. So this year, he is going with... Ian and Caryn. And Coby as a possible third. We'll see if he's right!

Poll
The poll is up. Thanks to Green Tuna, I ganked her poll idea and now you can make your voice heard: will baby Doodle be a boy or a girl?

Doodlerific
So you want to know about the Doodster, eh? S/he is making his/her presence known, that's for sure. Within the past week I have started to feel the movement. It's a trip. At first, I thought that I had eaten some bad Taco Bell, but then I remembered, I can't eat that crap anymore.

Due to my dietary restrictions (read: carb crackdown), I have LOST about six pounds in the past 2 1/2 weeks. This has allowed me to continue to get away with wearing non-maternity clothes, much to my co-workers' jealous dismay (ha ha). I still hate walking on the treadmill, but I do it faithfully every night while watching Days of Our Lives.

Next Friday we hopefully will find out if it's a boy or a girl Doodle. I am getting a distinct boy-vibe. Maybe it's because I can belch like Barney on The Simpsons now. Perhaps I'll have a poll and we can all take bets. I'll work on that...

But enough about me. Bad Lady made the receptionist cry yesterday. Apparently she was expecting -- of all things -- a personal call, and went up and told our regular receptionist that even if she was on the other line, to break in and tell her she had a call, but NOT TO SAY WHO IT WAS. We have a new receptionist who comes in during the lunch hour, and she's only been with us for a week. So she was on duty when the fateful call arrived. And naturally, because it's all she does all day, BL was on her phone. New receptionist broke in, and said, "Bad Lady, Dr. Soandso is on the phone."

Now the only people within earshot are me and New Girl #1, and I either wasn't at my desk or didn't hear, nor would I have noticed or cared if I had, and New Girl #1 probably doesn't give two shits about Dr. Soandso, either.

But BL was so incensed that she charged up to the front desk and bitched out the new receptionist about how that was a personal matter that she didn't want broadcast. Which caused the new receptionist to break down into tears. Nice work, BL. Another fine job.

She also had another client complain to my boss about her yesterday, which pissed her off further. She came over to me to whine about it and was incredulous about it. "They complained about me. About ME!" she said to me, gesturing at herself as if she was wearing a "Citizen of the Year" medal. I could barely keep a straight face. Now that I'm sort of in a leadership role, I have to try and be nice to her. It nearly killed me.

I recovered, though.

V-Day aftermath
We did nothing special for Valentine's Day. I mean, as far as the traditional roses and chocolates and expensive dinners, we did none of that. We did, however, grill out big ass steaks. We ate at our kitchen table with a romantic centerpiece -- a sleeping black and white cat (someone seems to have perpetually allowed Dom to lick the milk out of his cereal bowl in the morning, thus now the cat thinks he can hop up on the table whenever food is being served). After dinner, I watched "Trading Spouses" while my food digested, and then hopped on the treadmill during "24". My husband passed out on the couch due to overconsumption of both steak and wine.

By the way, non-blogger people: comments have been revamped, so y'all can comment your pretty little asses off, if you felt like it.

Current blood sugar: 80
Days until presentation #2: 25
Days until ultrasound: 11
Days until Survivor premiere: 3

Well, the worst is over. It was a hectic, stressful couple of days, but I made it. And we put on a great show. I didn't sleep much the night before, and I knew that I had reached a point of utter exhaustion when, during a "dance break" in the show, I found myself bopping my head to the "Macarena" while I watched in horror as people in business suits gyrated on stage.

Now I have another month to put together another show. I feel a lot better about this show because it's in town, and it's in my comfort zone. That doesn't mean I won't be freaking about it, however. Be warned.

Forgot to mention...
I think I may have neglected to mention that Bad Lady is not going on the trip. She was originally slated to go, and we were all riding together. I owe one of my co-workers BIG TIME for convincing my boss to leave BL behind in favor of bringing one of the new girls so that she could gain the experience of doing one of our shows. Translation: no one wanted BL along for the ride.

So at least that's one positive thing about this trip tomorrow.

By the way, I'm still at work. Waiting for changes. At 6:30. La la la.

Current blood sugar: 98
Days until major presentation #1: 2
Days until major presentation #2: 31
Days until ultrasound: 16
Hours until I leave for Pittsburgh: 24
Sanity left: none

Today could either suck worse than anything has ever sucked before, or it could be easy. Just depends on forces beyond my control. I'm essentially done with the show. But I have a feeling that we'll get a lot of last minute changes today, hence the suckage.

Wish me luck...

Go shorty, it's your birthday
Today is IBL's birthday. I got him a card, which he liked, and which I liked too (see my previous post about buying birthday cards). The front said, "If we were monkeys, I'd wish you a five-banana day." And it had some cute monkey drawings on it.

And, in honor of it being his special day, I interrupted my phone conversation after the third time he popped his head into my cube to ask me a stupid question. Any other day, I would have waited until at least the fifth time.

Crimes against humanity
Somehow, some way, Bad Lady has gotten a hold of the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack. And is playing it. Loudly.

Prior to today I had nothing against the Phantom. In fact, I have seen it on Broadway and bawled my eyes out like a baby (this was the famous high school trip where I got a Saturday suspension for smoking a cigarette in my hotel room). But for the love of Andrew Lloyd Webber, I cannot tolerate it coming out of Bad Lady's speakers! I just can't!

I suppose I should be grateful. This certainly is a nice respite from the Pina Colada song, Celine Dion, and every Top 40 hit Lionel Ritchie ever had.

Current blood sugar: 101
Days until major presentation #1: 9
Days until major presentation #2: 37
Days until ultrasound: 23
Stress level: High

So the best we could do in Cleveland was a mime. (Mime!)
Actually I thought Miracle Boy was good in a Clay Aiken wannabe sort of way.

IBL keeps asking me the same question every day regarding some way-in-the-distance deadline project that hasn't even crossed my radar screen, and this morning I was snippy to him. I feel kind of bad. It still doesn't beat the conference call from yesterday where my boss blew up and told someone on the other end of the phone to "stop dicking around," among other things, which culminated in an abrupt termination of the call (on the other end).

Hee.

P.S. Eff you, Punxsutawny Phil.

Current blood sugar: 98
Days until major presentation #1: 10
Days until major presentation #2: 38
Days until ultrasound: 24
Stress level: High

Cleveland American Idol auditions air tonight. You can bet that I'll be watching.

This diabetic diet thing isn't so bad. I've lost about three pounds (not so good in pregnancy, but I could stand to lose the weight!).

If I'm a little scarce on the blog, it's because I'm working on some HUGE presentations for work. Putting in the late hours, and the days are going by in a haze.

I'll be back to normal soon! Hopefully!