Any day now

Dear Future Me,

I realize that it's customary in a mommy blog type of post to address your post to your born/unborn child. However, since I'm sure my son will have absolutely no interest in this information at any point in his life, I am addressing it to my future self.

Time is moving so quickly, and I know that in a few days, I'll have totally forgotten the sensation of what it's like to be pregnant. I'll be so caught up in the new reality of having a newborn and an almost-4 year old. Two kids. Holy crap. Whose idea was this anyway?????

So here's a brief update/reminder about what this pregnancy has been like for me.

My total weight gain has been just shy of 20 pounds. This is not too shabby, I'm told. I'm also told, repeatedly, how great I look, how small I am, how it doesn't look like I'm as far along as I am. And trust me, I LOVE IT. This is probably the last time in my life I'll have such a fuss made over me and the way I look.

I am carrying low, all in the front. My belly button has caved in on itself and I worry that it may create a sucking vaccuum that will absorb my entire body.

My diabetes is in check through a glucose supplement. During the day, I experience sugar crashes, which I quell by various means, including the consumption of little pieces of Dove dark chocolate that I stash in my purse. And maybe Jelly Bellies. I also have been indulging in low-carb ice cream. I am so grateful to live in a time where there is such a wide and tasty variety of ice cream that doesn't make me feel guilty for eating it. Even a few years ago, when I was diabetic and pregnant with Doodle, there was one brand of low-carb ice cream, a few flavors, half of which tasted like crap. Thank you, Breyers, you have been my favorite this time around.

I am supposedly anemic, and have been my entire life, unbeknownst to me. But ever since the diabetes was discovered, I haven't heard another peep out of my doctors about it. Guess it's not that great of a concern. I'm still taking my iron supplement though, as directed.

Emotionally I am about as all over the map as one could get. I'm excited and anxious to meet this new little one. I am scared as hell about having two kids to juggle and love and attend to. I am frustrated because the house isn't ready. I am nervous about the birthing process, in particular, the possibility of having a c-section. I am dreading the exhaustion. I am looking forward to being able to sleep on my stomach again. I am sad that these next few days may be the last time I feel the strange, wonderful and somewhat terrifying sensation of a living being moving inside of me. I am craving an entire bag of Red Vines, chased with Cheetos. I cry at the drop of a hat. Note to self: do not watch Disney movies while pregnant. Especially if the movie in question features the death of an animal, animal's parent, animal's spouse, or any kind of parental tender moment. I'm looking at you, Nemo!

And of course, I'm having the normal fears. That something might be wrong with the baby. He has an extra head, perhaps. Is that normal?

I feel like I've been pregnant for so long that I no longer know how NOT to be pregnant. What will it feel like to wear my regular clothes again? My elastic waisted pants are so comfortable, I just may never go back to button-down jeans.

And just a few words about Doodle. Oh, this kid is already giving me heartache about the baby. Yesterday he announced that he didn't want to be a big brother. Sorry, Charlie. He's been having temper tantrums, mostly directed at me. But at night, he wants me to cuddle him when he goes to bed. A few weeks ago, the goodnight cuddle would last, at most, five minutes. I had things to do - showers to take, Tivo to catch up on, STUFF. Now I'll find myself lingering in there until I almost fall asleep, just because I feel like this time is his, what little of it is left. And because I know this time where he wants me is also waning. I want to savor the quiet hum of the humidifier. I'll lay there, staring at the back of Doodle's head, his perfectly-shaped ears, and try and appreciate the moment for what it is.

To have heard me tell it, this has been the world's most difficult pregnancy on record, but I realize that to have the privilege of carrying a child is something not every woman gets. And for that I am blessed. And for all the headaches, the pinpricks, the non-stress tests, the iron supplements, the - yes I'm going to say it - stool softeners, the result of having a healthy son is worth every moment I suffered.

Just a couple more days ...

INAPPROPRIATE

Men: it is NEVER, NEVER ok to remark on a woman's weight, even when she is pregnant. I have found that a couple of men, business colleagues, have thought it was funny to say something to me along the lines of, "Wow, you're putting on weight!"

Obviously, they know I'm pregnant, but that is dangerous territory. You could as much as look at me the wrong way these days and I'd burst into tears.

Another man, upon seeing me for the first time in a while, gestured toward my pregnant stomach and said, "What's this?"

It's the result of a nine-day Cheesecake Factory bender. What do you THINK it is?

Unfunnier still: elevator cleaner guy (what is UP with this?) says to me today, as I get into the elevator, "You're chunking up!"

Meant to be a joke, but hella offensive. My response was, "Wow, just what every woman wants to hear." Then he said he was joking, but ... ew, dude.

It is also never appropriate to ask a stranger when the baby is due - this rule applies to men and women. Do you REALLY want to take a chance that there is, in fact, no baby, and you have just drawn attention to a woman's greatest insecurity? My general rule is to wait for the person to bring it up, and THEN comment.

Beware, the flu of swine

I hope I'm not being naive, but I am not concerned one whit about the swine flu or H1N1 virus or whatever we're calling it today.

Yes, I have a small child and perhaps if someone at his school contracted the virus, I'd be concerned. But right now, it's not something that is keeping me up at night.

However, there are certain people I work with who are consumed with fear about this particular illness. One went so far as to send an email to HR, begging them to make people stay home who exhibit ANY signs of illness. (Which I am sure she intends to use as leverage to stay home herself). Another infamous germaphobe at my office has some anxiety ab0ut the disease, as well, and when the day comes that she shows up wearing a surgical mask over her face, I will not blink.

I am glad that the powers that be seem to be taking the necessary precautions to prepare for the disease, sh0uld it intensify. Until that time comes, I will proceed as normal with my life - with maybe a slightly heightened sensitivity to hand-washing.

Quick poll

If you had a co-worker whose personal cell phone went off, I'm not exaggerating, 30-40 times a day (and that's just when I'm counting), would you:

A) Politely ask them to set their phone to "vibrate"
B) Ask HR to politely ask them to set their phone to "vibrate"
C) Wait until they go to the restroom and destroy the phone with a jackhammer

NOTE: The phone went off twice while typing this poll. And no, it's not Bad Lady's phone.

Jack Bauer to the rescue (a work in progress)

This past weeks’ pirate situation off the coast of Somalia had me thinking: if they just had Jack Bauer with them, the whole thing would have been wrapped up in a matter of a couple of hours, tops – with some side plots thrown in, too.

How would Jack Bauer be able to invervene and save the day during a pirate crisis off the coast of Africa? Any of these scenarios seem entirely plausible:

1) A mysterious man (Jack Bauer) has been on board the cargo ship, keeping to himself and staying in his cabin. He is being transported to Africa for an unknown mission, and the crew members know better than to ask. Once the pirates seize the boat, Jack springs into action from inside the boat.

2) Jack is helicoptered to the scene (because he just happens to be in Somalia), rappelling onto the lifeboat (miraculously avoiding heavy gunfire), and taking out all the pirates.

3) Jack arrives on-scene via submarine.

This got me thinking: what other situations could use a little Jack Bauer?

SCENE: an office. Woman (played by me – hey, it’s my skit) is standing by copy machine. Paper goes in and does not come out.

WOMAN: Can someone help me fix this paper jam? I have a presentation in ten minutes and I need to make these copies!

JACK BAUER emerges from a cubicle.

JACK: I’ve downloaded a schematic of the copy machine onto my PDA. According to this, the paper jam should be located in the alpha quadrant, right below drawer B.

The PDA starts beeping as if an alarm is going off.

JACK: It looks like someone has been tampering with this machine.

OTHER CO-WORKER walks past the copy machine. JACK slams him against the wall while gripping his shirt collar.

JACK: (barking) WHO USED THIS COPY MACHINE LAST! THERE’S A PAPER JAM!

OTHER CO-WORKER: (crying) I don’t know! I don’t know, Jack! It wasn’t me!

JACK: (takes a pen out of his pocket and holds it menacingly at the man’s throat) Come on! I saw you over here five minutes ago! You know something!
OTHER CO-WORKER: I swear I don’t, Jack … don’t make me call HR again!

JACK: Listen, we have TEN MINUTES to get this paper jam out of the copier. So you’re going to do what I say … NOW!

JACK releases his grip on OTHER CO-WORKER, who recoils from JACK. While this confrontation has been going on, WOMAN has moved between the two men and calmly opens up a side drawer on the copy machine, sees the rogue piece of paper, and delicately removes it. JACK’s PDA blips to inform him that the paper jam is now removed. OTHER CO-WORKER exits to the right, quickly.

WOMAN: Thanks for your help, Jack.

JACK: Any time.

OTHER CO-WORKER is seen at desk, composing an email.

OTHER CO-WORKER (to himself): This isn't over, Bauer! This is the last time you're going to bully me around this office!

Familiar "24" clock ticks, signifying commercial break.

A grey matter
Because I often like to post my facebook/Twitter status as a song lyric, I was looking up the lyrics to Seal's "Kiss From A Rose" before posting today. I wanted to make sure I had the exact wording, because GOD FORBID I get it wrong.

No, not THAT seal.

So you know when you realize you've been wrong all these years about a favored lyric? How it totally changes the song for you? You know, "Excuse me while I kiss this guy" ... oops!

Did you know that Seal compares you to a kiss from a rose ON THE GREY?

I always thought it was "on the grave." It made sense to me. Like a rose that has been left on a grave. It's a beautiful rememberance of someone who isn't there anymore. I don't know. It worked.

What the hell is a rose on the grey? Further, what is the grey?
Like, grey matter of your brain?

The Pocket Sniffer

Dear Pre-School: let this be a lesson to you -- never, NEVER, under any circumstances, schedule school picture day on the same day my child is slated to go swimming.

Picture Day was a couple of weeks ago. Mistake #1 was mine. I had a nice sweater and khakis picked out for him to wear. But I gave him the option of wearing his "outfit" -- seen below -- a blue and black track suit and hoodie. Which do you think he chose? I decided not to push it. After all, the "outfit" is a good representation of who he is right now, at this moment, at this age, and several years from now, I will be glad I let him make that choice.

However.

He also left the house wearing his red "Lightning McQueen" ballcap, as he is wont to do on many days, particularly if it's raining (because god forbid he get rained on -- the horror!) No big deal. He usually takes it off when he gets to school, and puts it in his cubby.

The rest of the story goes:

That morning, as happens on every morning, the pre-school teacher got the kids ready to go swimming. They all got their suits on and were ready to head to the pool. The director of the school came and said that the photographer was ready for the pre-school group, so anyone taking pictures had to get re-dressed and come with her.

Now, you have to understand that Doodle LIVES for swimming. He goes Monday and Wednesday, and on those mornings, the first words out of his mouth when he wakes up are usually, "Mommy guess what? I go swimming today!" So, this was about the point where Doodle went batshit crazy. Amidst tears, he got dressed again and insisted on the Lightning McQueen hat. No amount of bargaining could convince him to take it off -- the school director said she tried.

But even after what was deemed a king-sized meltdown by all parties present, Doodle managed to take a pretty cute picture. See for yourself. I think this is going to be one of my favorites when I look back on them after he has grown up. This is my little man, with a sparkle in his eye, still able to muster a smile after being denied one of his favorite activities.

Note: That afternoon, when asked about picture day, Doodle also said he didn't like the bunny, because it kept "sniffing his pocket." The bunny in question is the black one. No word on what was in his pocket.

I got the diabeetus

Last week was my 28 week glucose test. The results came back and my sugar was at 201. It should be around 100. Yep, I got the diabeetus again. Last time I was pregnant, they diagnosed me with gestational diabetes around week 11 or 12, with my initial blood test. This time around, I thought I was in the clear. Everything was coming back normal. But then I drank that damn orange pop and here I am, on serious carb withdrawal.

This is the second day of my diabetic diet, and let me just say, IT SUCKS!!!!!! Sucks sucks sucks sucks sucks. I've always been a "want what I can't have" kind of girl, and let's just say that I never met a bag of potato chips that I didn't like. And I've been indulging myself with candy and ice cream during this pregnancy because I've basically felt like dog crap the entire six months so far. Somehow, gnawing on a celery stalk just doesn't have the same theraputic effect.

But I will sacrifice my sugar and carbs for the good of this baby. And I figure this gives me plenty of ammo right off the bat for when he's older and I get to infuse some mom-style guilt onto him. Right after I finish off a pint of Ben & Jerry's.

Justify My Love

(Note: Writer Diablo Cody really stole my thunder on this one. Her essay on the same topic appeaared in this week's Entertainment Weekly. But, at least I'm in good company.)

I guess I must be lame.

I have never worked a pole, danced drunkenly atop a bar, made out with another girl while dancing drunkenly atop a bar. All my clothing more than reasonably covers areas which should be covered, all of which areas are silicone-free. I do not own an eyelash curler, nor would I know what to do with one if I had one. As far as I know, I've never thrown a drink at anyone. I've never entered a wet t-shirt contest. And I'm not blonde. Naturally or otherwise.

I would most certainly be categorized into the "lame" bus. These factors alone would make me a sure-fire thing to NOT appear on the show "Rock of Love Bus," but let's say for some reason I had a desire to date (if that's what we're calling it) former Poison front-man Brett Michaels, along with several other girls who absolutely have experience with at least one, if not all, of the above list of my "nevers." All of us. Simultaneously. Swapping fluids. With him, and when he's not available, with each other.


Damn ... I almost wore this exact outfit to work today.

And I admit it ... all of this? Is FASCINATING to me. I can't get enough of it. "Rock of Love Bus" on Vh-1 is the only show I tivo and watch the same day. Then I lament the fact that I have to wait another week for the new installment.

I didn't watch the prior seasons, but I may go back and do so now that I have gotten on the Bus. It's a feel-good show. Feel-good in that it makes me feel good about myself, my life, the way I behave in public. I have never made the acquaintance of any girls like these girls. I wouldn't even know where to find girls like this. And for that, I am glad. Big hair, big boobs, big makeup, big personalities, big problems. And this ain't The Bachelor. These girls are vying to date an aging rock star, who himself is manufactured out of silicone and synthetic hair. This entails life on the road, complete with groupies throwing themselves at Michaels at every turn. And this is AFTER one of the girls beats out all the others who have made out with, slept with, grinded on, done pole dances for Brett.

Sounds like the ideal cornerstone for any successful relationship.

The "competitions" within the show all exploit the girls' assets, their ignorance, and their willingness to down several shots of whatever alcohol is available and try and impress Michaels. Often, Michaels sits alone in an observation room, viewing the girls in action on a hidden camera. Sometimes his criteria for who does well in a competition is whether or not the girl in question looked hot while performing the task. And sometimes that's all they need to be saved.

The winners of the competition get to go on a one-on-one (or three-on-one, whatever) date with Brett. Brett may make out with all three of the girls on this date. And everyone seems ok with this. It's part of what they signed up for. Until they go back to the bus in a drunken rage and cry about how horrible it is to see Michaels with the other girls and how they want to go home. And then pour an entire jar of salsa into another contestants' bag because you THINK she talked smack about you. (Did I mention how deliciously catty these girls are??) Then, the next day, they're back up on the bar or the pole, hoping Michaels chooses them to continue to "rock his world." Mama would be so proud.

And despite that, there are actually a few girls who I am rooting for. Girls who aren't larger than life (well, except for the parts made of silicone). But do I really want them to "win" the show? Do I want Brett to pick the nicest, sweetest girl? I honestly don't know. Is that a prize or a punishment? Is it something you want to tell the grandkids one day?

Oh hai

Coming soon ... actual posts!

Couple things happened ... first ... it is WAY more easy to think of witty one-liners to put in a facebook status update than it is to come up with a whole post. I plan on changing that. Second ... I got knocked up again. Doodle is getting a brother this summer. But you knew that, right? Because you've also got the facebook addiction.

Anyway, more to come very, very soon. I promise.




Yes, I am making that face on purpose. That is Daniel's "big crazy" face, which is usually made by a cartoon character to indicate their displeasure at a situation.

My technique needs improvement
Can someone please tell me how a parent, particularly a parent who spent much of her college career memorizing and reciting key quotes from Beavis and Butt-Head episodes, is expected to keep a straight face when bathing her child, and her child passes gas in the tub, looks down at himself in horror, and says, "Mommy, my butt cheeks just made a noise?"

Tell Me At Which Point I Should Worry

Doodle's been talking a whole lot of nonsense lately:

1. A few nights ago, he made this declaration: "Mommy, you're a lemon."
Lemon? Like, I'm a bad car whose warranty ran out sometime during the Clinton era? "And what are you?" I asked him. "I'm a bump."
Mmmmmmmkay.

2. This morning, Doodle informed me that Gabby, a girl in his class, doesn't like him. When asked why not, he said, because he's Batman, and he chases her and shoots at her and makes her scream. Why, because she's Catwoman? Does Batman make a regular habit of chasing innocent civilians?

Who knows why he says what he says ...

Just wondering
Does anyone else have blackouts where they go on amazon.com and order stuff, and then you can't remember if you actually ordered it or if you stopped yourself before it's too late? Or is that just what happens to me? I know that yesterday I went on amazon twice, and I don't recall the results of my visit. And I'm too lazy to log into my obscure hotmail account to find out. I guess I'll be pleasantly surprised when my stuff comes in the mail.

Go Blue
I know I'll get some guff for this photo, being an Ohioan and all, and for submitting my child, who doesn't know any better, to wearing the much maligned maize and blue, but ... HOW CUTE IS THIS???

Seasons change
I am on hold with FedEx right now and they are playing Christmas music. Jeepers!
Today also marks the first day I have had to break out the nylons, or hose if you prefer, since spring.
I am not pleased with either of these developments.

Buy the book
Last evening, I took Doodle to the library to return our week's batch of movies, including the heinous, disturbing film "The Brave Little Toaster." The parking lot was packed. Unusual for a Thursday night.

When we got up to the children's room, I noticed some activity in the adjacent meeting room ... a book sale!

I should explain that one of my many quirks is that I love to own my books. I love libraries, don't get me wrong, but there's something about knowing that my favorite reads are stacked away on my shelf for safekeeping that just does it for me. I do love indulging at Borders, but even better is amazon. I can't be trusted online! Used books! For cheap! It's a dream come true.

So when I saw the book sale beckoning, resistance was futile. Too bad my child couldn't be contained. I could have stayed there for an hour, browsing the titles. I did, however, manage to pick up some VHS videos (yes, we still have a VCR, along with a DVD player) for a dollar apiece, including the much-loved "Toy Story" and some other Disney titles. When I paid ($5 for my bounty) I learned that Saturday is a megasale where you can fill a bag for $3.

I'll admit, I can't stop thinking about it. It's just such an exciting prospect for me to come home with a SACK of books for that little amount of money. I was thinking that I'd just load up with a bunch of random stuff, like a grab bag, and then read everything regardless of what it is.

I'm going back. Without the child. Try and stop me!

I wish
Doodle wanted to say up for a few extra minutes and watch TV with me. I've pretty much eliminated all the shows off the DVR that are watchable with Doodle. There's "Heroes" (too violent, weird), "Entourage" (too many f-bombs, nudity), "True Blood" (too vampirey). Right now the only show that I have DVR'ed that we can watch with Doodle in the room is "Project Runway." I'm several episodes behind on this show, so the one I punched up last night opened with Chris March parading onto the runway in full, towering drag ... that, too, got turned off.

So I happened to have recorded an episode of "Austin City Limits" featuring John Mayer. I decided that was ok to watch, despite the fact that my husband was also in the room and he was probably suppressing the urge to throw a boot through the television. I believe he is of the mind that Real Men Don't Like John Mayer, and his point probably has some validity.

Not helping this was the fact that Doodle kept saying, "That's John Mayer, mommy? Is that your boy?"
"Yeah, he's my boy," I said, shooting a sideways glance at my irked spouse.
"Can we see him?"
"We're seeing him right now, on the TV."
"I want him to come to my house."
"Me too."

So money and he doesn't even know
Last night, I got called on the carpet for being cheap.

Doodle has picked up on the concept that in order for us to buy him stuff he wants, like toy cars, we need to have money. In his mind, getting more money is as simple as going to the money store and getting some. And then of course, instead of spending this money on things like car payments and mortgages and groceries, we would naturally spend it all on toy cars, and maybe the occasional Thomas train.

Lately, Doodle has been giving us a hard time about listening. He's a stubborn little Dickens, and wields his power like any good tyrant would. Particular sticking points include using the potty at home (he stays dry all day at school, but doesn't seem to mind sitting around in a soaking wet Pull-Up at home), and cleaning up his toys when he's done.

I got the brilliant idea that I would bribe my child with money to get him to clean up. I haven't stooped to bribing him to pee on the toilet... yet ... it just seems too messed up to pay someone for their bodily excretions. ANYHOO, when I told Doodle this plan last night, playtime was over, then and there. Money is the great motivator. Toys were put away, lined up, a stray snack bowl was put in the dishwasher, all while my husband and I sat on the couch in amazement, not lifting a finger.

When Doodle finished, we went and got his piggy bank. I opened my wallet and grabbed some random coins. It happened to be three pennies and a dime. "Here's four monies," I said to him. I mean, the child doesn't know denominations. My husband, however, calculated that this clean-up work had earned Doodle all of 13 cents and protested. "Give the child a quarter for god's sake!"

"He's THREE!" I screeched back.

So cheap old mom had to go back into her wallet and deposit a nice, shiny quarter into Doodle's car fund.

Ike, Ike baby
I live nowhere near a hurricane-producing coast. The worst Lake Erie does is throw several wollops of lake effect snow on my commute to and from work a few times during the winter months.

But regardless, Ike snuck up north and bitchslapped northeast Ohio yesterday.

We were fortunate not to lose power at home, but my inlaws and many friends were not so lucky. While I was at my inlaws' house for dinner last night, a large tree fell and took out their entire deck and tore down power lines. The tree missed their house by a couple of feet. And luckier still -- no one was outside when it happened. During nicer weather, we spent much of the evenings on the deck. Had the tree fallen when we were outside, there would have been nowhere to run.

I've never been one for storms. Some people like to watch lightning crack across the sky; my instinct is to cover my entire body in darkness so the flashes won't reach me. When I was little, I used to have an emergency bag of my favorite toys near me all the time in case there was a tornado so I could take it with me to the basement. I think only once did I ever have to take cover with this bag in tow.

This was, by far, the most eerie storm I've ever experienced. Never in my life have I been so afraid of WIND. I've never felt so vulnerable than when the snap of that tree sent my family into turmoil. Every gust of wind after that made me want to grab my child and burrow underground somewhere until it was all over.

And that was just here, in Ohio.

My heart goes out to the people who experienced the full brunt of this storm.

Wicked game
Here's the new game played ad nauseum in Sketch Factor central.

Doodle: (points to one of us) You're Buzz Lightyear. I'm Zurg. (Buzz's evil nemesis)

Whoever gets picked to be Buzz Lighyear: *shoots imaginary lasers at Zurg any number of times between 1-20)*

Doodle/Zurg: *shows no signs of taking damage from any of the laser fire and takes ONE shot at Buzz*

Buzz: *man down*

Doodle/Zurg: *cackles evilly*

A variation of this game is "You're Captain; I'm crocodile."
In this game, Captain Hook, usually played by my husband, is able to occasionally "hook" the crocodile, whose sole mission in life is to eat Captain Hook. The croc promptly disables the hook. The Captain's trusty underling, Smee, now played by yours truly, has to fashion a new hook for the Captain.