Happy Halloween everybody!
Candy eaten today (FINAL TALLY):
4 Heath bars
1 pack of Nerds
5 packages of Twizzlers (2 per pack)
2 pieces of Laffy Taffy
1 pack of Bottle Caps

Strike three
Add me to the list of people who think that something needs to change with regard to the time and duration of the World Series. Something is seriously wrong when I watch part of the game, go to bed and sleep for several hours, wake up in the middle of the night to feed the baby, and the goddamn game is still on. Not to mention, after being up for about an hour and going back to bed, the game still wasn't over. I can't imagine how pissed I'd be if my team was in the Series. How can anyone stay up to watch those games?

Pissed
Houston, we have a problem.

So, the other night, we're getting the baby out of the tub, and I reach into the laundry basket of clean clothes which I brought up from the basement that morning. (Sidebar: I am not a good laundry folder. My idea of folding the laundry is making sure that nothing that can wrinkle gets left in the basket. Otherwise, I bring the basket upstairs and leave it where I can just go root through it and take out what I need.)

The sleeper that I grab out of the basket is a bit damp. I assume it didn't get fully dry in the dryer. So I reach back in and fish out something else. This time, I feel that there is something completely soaked in there. I pull out a burp cloth that is saturated... and yellow. And smells like pee.

Ew.

Yep, one of the cats took a leak into the baby's laundry. The question was, which one? Neither of them has ever done anything like this before, and both were often seen in the baby's room acting suspicious. I was kind of hoping it was Molly, though, just because she already has no redeeming qualities, so this would just be another one to add to the list.

So that entire load had to be washed again, although a couple of things that were really soaked in pee just went into the trash.

I was really upset about the whole thing and my husband tried to convince me that whoever it was probably just mistook the laundry for the litterbox (I wasn't buying that for a second.)

The next day, my husband was just home from work with the baby and in his room, changing his diaper. Dom was poking around in the baby's room. He got into the baby's plastic bathtub, scratched around in there, and then, right in front of Owen, squatted and took a leak in it.

The suspect has been apprehended. The question is, why is he doing it? Is he striking out against the baby? Or does he just have a bladder problem? Either way, I'm not pleased with my little black and white friend.

Party time
We were brave souls this weekend and ventured out to a party this weekend with Daniel in tow. It was about a 40 minute drive away, to boot.

He did fairly well for about two hours and then had a total meltdown, at which point we had to excuse ourselves. Our hostess is about 8 months pregnant, so our presence at the party was, more than anything, to give her a taste of what her life will be like in three months.

The best thing that happened at the party was when one of the guests' four year old son demanded that the lights be turned off, that a flashlight be shone upon him, as he performed a rap in front of everyone. He flawlessly executed a performance of the first half of the Beastie Boys' "Paul Revere" as his dad looked on proudly. It was truly awesome.

Oh, be-hive
My child right now is one giant hive. And I am FREAKING out about it! It started yesterday, the day care called and had noticed a red spot on his face after getting him up out of his crib, but it then spread all over his face while they were feeding him.

By the time I got there, the marks on his face were gone, but when I got him home I noticed huge hives with white bumps all over his chest and arms.

This morning he had a second outbreak that I noticed when I got him up this morning.

Then he had a third outbreak at daycare while getting his bottle.

My husband is taking him to the doctor right now but I am about to have a heart attack here... what could be causing it? It's probably not the formula, although most of the outbreaks have occurred while he was eating (not the one this morning though -- I nursed him from the time he got home last night until we left for daycare this morning!). We did laundry last night, and gave him a bath, so it's probably not detergent. And besides, it's the same stuff we've always used.

I'm seriously trying not to wig out here. Does anyone have any experience with hives and their causes to give me some ideas of what the hell might be going on?

I know I'm going to get some unintentional hits on my blog with this post, but...
So last night, my husband and I are watching one of the many episodes of Rome that we have backlogged on our DVR. At some point, I pass out on the couch due to sheer exhaustion because, oh, I don't know, I have a child who refuses to sleep through the night?

When I wake up, the episode is over, so I drag my weary butt off the couch. My husband is in the kitchen. "When did you pass out?" he asked. "The last thing I remember was when Marc Antony was going to Atia's house," I tell him.

"So you missed the sex slave?"

"Huh?"

"The sex slave," he tells me. "He had the biggest wang I've ever seen!"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I missed that," I said.

"Yeah, you'd remember it."

Smurfed up
Did anyone see this Smurf video where the Smurf village gets bombed? Talk about disturbing. I learned about it on -- where else -- Best Week Ever.

You can see the video here, although it's a bit grainy.

Seriously, maybe I'm a little sensitive here, but I think this is borderline traumatizing.

Skillz that Killz
I know that I have skillz when people know to come to me when there's an important task to be performed, such as Photoshopping our Controller's head onto a Halloween costume ad that appeared in the newspaper, that said, "accountant by day... pimp daddy by night!"

P.S. Bonus points to anyone who can name what movie my title is in reference to. It's another movie I DVR'ed recently and watched in the wee hours of the night in small increments. And one I never thought I would think was funny, but was damn hilarious.

One of those days
So, last night, Daniel woke up at 2 a.m., which is his usual mid-night wake up time. I got up, groggy-eyed, and fed him while watching the beginning of Shaun of the Dead, a movie I put on the DVR last weekend sometime and that was taking up valuable space. Around 2:25, Daniel was sleeping in my arms, and I had become absorbed into the movie and was forced to turn it off and put us both back to bed.

Unfortunately I had an opportunity to continue watching at 3, when Daniel started crying softly in his crib again. And also unfortunately, I hadn't even fallen back asleep yet. So I popped back up was awake for another half hour or so getting the baby back to sleep.

At 4, he woke up AGAIN. So I was able to finish watching the movie (which was actually really amusing) before laying him back down, though he was still kind of half-awake, at almost 5.

When I went back to bed, now utterly exhausted, Dom decided that it was time to cuddle, so he crawled up between Owen and I and began chirping loudly and batting at my face with his paw until I petted him. I tried to pretend to be asleep but it didn't fool him.

About 5:15, guess who was awake again? And smiling brightly at me when I returned to retrieve him from his crib?

He went in his swing; I crashed on the couch. I think sometime after 6, I finally fell asleep. At 7, my husband came to say goodbye as he left for work and I remember thinking: must ... get ... up... the next thing I know, it's 8.

I mad a mad rush to get ready, feed the baby, change his diaper (whereupon he peed all over himself and needed a full change of clothes) and made it out of the house at 8:45.

I start work at 8:30. And work is about a 40 minute drive from my house. Luckily, I still made it here before my boss, so he was none the wiser.

Paranoia
Last night I had a dream that my boss handed me a tally sheet of exactly how much time I spent on the Internet and how many personal e-mails came into my work account.

It was a little too accurate.

Especially in the past couple of days since he has been away on business, I would barely classify the things I've done between the hours of 9(ish; it's hard to get to work on time these days!) to 5 as working.

And so it begins
My child is not even three months old and already he has his first fundraiser for school.
So, who wants to buy some frozen cookie dough?
*crickets chirp*

News ticker
There was an earthquake over the weekend?
Mudslides, too?

I swear, if it's not on Best Week Ever or The Soup, I don't know about it.

It sleeps two
The crib is all put together (with minimal four-letter words), the bedding is all in, and the Babe has spent two nights in it. Actually =since he was sick, he spent half the first night in the crib and then fussed every time he was put down, so he spent the second half of the night in his swing in the living room.

However, as with every new object that comes into the house, Domino seems to think that this crib belongs to him. Therefore, he has a very high, soft new bed. So the spray bottle has come out. And he's been sprayed several times.

So last night before going to bed, my husband decided to go in and check on the Bankster. Lo and behold, there were two sleeping babies in the crib...

Maybe my grandma was right about the whole "sucking the breath away" thing... I am going to keep this developement on the down low.

Chillin' in the crib
My crib came in!!! WOOOOOOT!

I ordered the crib back in the beginning of June, in what I thought was plenty of time to have PRIOR to the birth of my child. (July 18th for all keeping score at home).

Between now and then, the store has changed owners, and has also been sued by the state.

In fact, just yesterday, I filed a complaint with the state, as well, as I had reached my wit's end with the company. (Which shall remain nameless, but rhymes with USA Scabie.)

And so I was quite surprised when I came home yesterday and played the message on the answering machine saying that my crib had finally come in. They must have known that I was getting on the lawsuit bandwagon.

Now my son will have room to spread out, instead of being crammed into his bassinet. This will enable him to perfect the act of rolling onto his side, which he is slowly practicing. Once he gets the hang of it, WATCH OUT.

I'm so stoked that the baby's room isn't going to be a junk heap anymore. I'll post pics when it's done.

And now, presenting...


Wait for it, wait for it ...



Still waiting....




And waiting ...





And waiting...






Dum te dum...




La la la la ....








*whistles*








That's right, it's the cutest baby picture EVER!
Thank you and good night.

Off the heezy fosheezy
I am laughing because in my junk mail, there are TWO message from a sender by the name of "I Pizzle." And Mr. I Pizzle is trying to hawk -- what else -- an I-Pod. But not just any old IPod, oh no. An IPod...

NANO!

Am I the only one who thinks that "Nano" is a funny name? Nano-nano-boo-boo, my IPod is smaller than yours...

Uh-oh
So I'm pretty sure that I'm the Uh-Oh Lady.

The Day Care Queen hath dubbed me as such.

I have noticed that said Queen not only has perfectly coiffed hair every day but also has diamond (or maybe they're faux) earrings in her already-pierced ears, and she is TAN. Like, tanning booth tan. Keep in mind she cannot be older than 18 months, because she's in the infant room at the day care center.

Anyhoo, she and I have this thing going. Every day that I come in, she gets really giggly and screeches, "Uh oh!" Then I say it back to her. She says it three or four more times and sometimes I answer back. So yeah. I'm the Uh-Oh Lady. I forgot to ask if she does that to everyone who walks in. Then I won't feel quite so special.

Bad mom
So, last night I did what I am sure is the first of many "bad mom" things to my child. He's had a little bit of a cough, also known as the Day Care Crud (tm Margaret). So yesterday I called his pediatrician and the nurse told me to a) run a cool mist humidifier in his room and b) elevate his head while he sleeps.

Cool mist humidifier? Check. We set that up and it was ready to roll for him.
Elevating the head? Um, yeah. So here's what happened.

I lifted up the (flimsy) mattress in his bassinette (his crib is still on back order, but don't even get me started on that) and shoved two towels underneath, creating a slope that Picabo Street would envy. Even though it looked odd like that, I asked my husband and he said it looked fine to him. So I left it that way.

I put little Banks in there (nickname has been shortened from McBanks) and he drifted off to sleep.

I heard him making some noise around 1 a.m. so I got up to check on him. Poor thing had slid down the slope and was now lodged diagonally in the bottom of the bassinette.

But he was still sleeping. So I left him there. My rule is, if the baby's sleeping, LEAVE HIM ALONE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.

When he woke up at 3, I took one of the towels out. So I'm not THAT bad of a mom, I guess.

Watch my back
I have a co-worker that I'd like to introduce you to. She shall hereby be known as Shady Backstabbing Wench Who Wants To Steal My Job. Shady for short. Guess why I don't like her?

Food rant
You know what I hate? When I get a bag of baby carrots and they're all slimy. It really skeeves me.

This coming from someone who ate a substance called chicken fries today. I mean, really.

Week nine photos


Phew! Nine weeks old!

He was born two months ago. It seems hard to believe that it's already been that long. The time has just flown.

Now he's starting to outgrow his newborn clothes, and he's already out of the newborn diapers.



This has been a week of firsts. First day in day care, first Browns game, and, unfortunately, first case of the sniffles. I've got them too. I had to vaccuum boogers out of his nose with the plastic bulb. He screamed bloody murder. I felt horrible.



Fortunately, he forgave me.

Here we go again
In case you haven't heard, the Spice Girls are back. Except this time it's different chicks and there are more of them and they're calling themselves the Pussycat Dolls. I made this discovery by watching MTV recently.

And it's official, I am too old to watch MTV now. I tried to watch the Video Music Awards and realized that, aside from Diddy (formerly known as P. Diddy, formerly known as Puff Daddy, nee Sean Combs), I knew absolutely no one. I knew none of the music, none of the artists. Oh wait, I knew Usher too. And Kanye "Media Whore of the Moment" West. But from there, I was completely lost.

That's OK, just a little farther down the dial is a channel that has welcomed me with open arms... vh-1. I swear, there is almost always something on that channel that will at least kill some time while I am feeding the baby. And if it's an "I love the 80's" or "I love the 90's" marathon, I have to force myself to turn it off otherwise I will watch six back-to-back episodes.

Yeah. It's pretty sad, come to think of it.

Damage done
I just snapped and went on an Amazon binge. I pre-ordered the season one DVD of Veronica Mars (yeah!!!), and also picked up a copy of one of my new favorite movies, which was on HBO non-stop while I was home on maternity leave: Big Fish. If you have just given birth to a son, it is not a good idea to watch this movie, especially if you are still hormonal. I cried no less than six times during this movie.

I got something else but can't remember at the moment. It was all a blur.

Queen of the Day Care, part 2
This morning, the Queen was holding court once again in her high chair. The subjects looked on as they dined on a breakfast of Cheerios. As I approached the Queen, she tipped her sippy cup over. "Uh-oh," she said, and looked at me.

"Uh-oh," I repeated and continued putting my son's bottles in the fridge.

"Uh-oh!!!" she said again, looking at me.

So I picked up the sippy cup and put it back upright.

The next thing I knew, the Queen tipped it over again. "Uh-oh!" she said.

Now, Homey don't play that. So I left it this time. But then she started the "hi" chorus and the others chimed in.

I sense a pattern developing here...

COSTUME UPDATE: OK, so my mom is TOTALLY on board with the Halloween costume. But, the monkey is sold out. I must pick something else... the elephant is cute, too. A kitty, maybe?

All hail the queen
Today I met the Queen of the Day Care.

There she was, sitting high above her subjects, in her very own high chair, while the others all had to sit around a table. Her hair was perfectly coiffed. As I passed by her high chair to put Daniel's bottles in the fridge, she smiled at me and said "hi."

"Hi," I said back.

Suddenly, a chorus of "hi's" rang through the land. Her subjects, taking her lead, all greeted me with little baby smiles. I, in turn, said hello back to each of them.

It was pretty cute. Honestly, I think that this girl's mother must style her hair to get it to look that good. It looked like it was hairsprayed in place. And this girl is, at the most, 18 months old. I see beauty pageants and homecoming queen crowns in this girl's future. But for the moment, she'll have to just reign over the infant room.

P.S. Do you think my husband would kill me if I dressed my son in this? How about this? (Can you believe that is so popular, it's out of stock?)

My honest-to-God favorite is this one. I would never spend that much money on a Halloween costume. But ...

Grandma would.

So I e-mailed it to my mom.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation
What else does one do when one has a newborn baby attached to them pretty much 24/7? Watch lots and lots of TV. And so, I present a summary of what rotted my brain over the past two months ...

Kill Reality
FAMEWHORE ALERT! The premise: get a bunch of famewhore wannabe actors together (think: Trashelle) and shoot a really crappy horror movie. Film the ensuing hijinks.

Highlight:
Does Johnny Fairplay answer his own questions?
Yes.
Is it annoying?
Yes.
Is he more of an unlikeable person in this show than on Survivor?
Roger that.

Battle of the Network Reality Stars
FAMEWHORE ALERT, PART DEUX! A competition which pits famewhores against one another? Then it’s a sure bet that Mike “The Miz” and Coral are going to be there. Trashelle manages to eke her way onto this show, as well, as do some other perennial famewhore favorites, such as Mike “Boogie” Malin and Richard Hatch.

Highlight: Joe Schmo (aka Matt Kennedy Gould) is on the show, which prompts my husband to imitate his whining, “Whaaat is gooooing oooon heeeeere?” a la the “big reveal” at the end of the Joe Schmo show. I just think it’s funny.

Oh yeah. And the Wills from Big Brother are both on. (Dr. Evil and Nurse Gay).

AND!!!
Burton.
*drools*

Big Brother 6
Why am I still watching this show? It pretty much ended for me when Kaysar was voted off – again. I’m rooting for Janelle but it’s obvious that some other nimrod is going to win. Shallow, callous biotches are left on the show and I could care less. But I DVR’ed the entire series, so I’m sticking with it.

Being Bobby Brown
This is a recent discovery of mine. How could I not have watched this sooner? It is FREAKING HILARIOUS. Oh, Bobby and Whitney. They are teh funny.

Celebrity Fit Club
A bunch of overweight D-listers (see also: Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List) trying to get in shape. The biggest star is probably… oh hell, they’re all has beens.
You’ve got: Willie Aames, most famous for being on Eight is Enough, Charles in Charge, Bible Man (a super hero with a cape and everything), and … lots and lots of drugs. Victoria Jackson, who used to be on SNL when it was still good. Jackee, who was on the show 227, which I used to watch, naturally. Phil Margera, whose son Bam is a Jackass. Toccara, a plus-size model from the show America’s Top Model. Jani Lane, of the hair band Warrant, who at the beginning of the show was about one fifth of vodka away from death’s door. And, also, a man by the name of Gary Busey. I recognize him although I couldn’t tell you a single movie he was in, but I can tell you that he has definitely communed with visitors from outer space.

Surreal Life
Has Vh-1 cornered the market on has-beens? (Well, no. See also: Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List) In this house, we have Omarosa (won’t she go away already?); Pepa, minus the Salt, of Salt-n-Pepa; Carey Hart, who is apparently a motocross dude who also dates Pink; Bronson Pinchot, better known as Balki Bartokomus from the 80’s series Perfect Strangers; “international model” Caprice, who I’ve never heard of; Jose Canseco, who, forgive me, but I actually like and want to read his book; and total psychopath Janice Dickinson, whose claim to fame was that she was the first supermodel. She can also claim that she and Gary Busey have probably gone bowling together on Jupiter.

What makes this season of the Surreal Life great is the constant catfights between Omarosa and Janice. It’s great.

Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List
I’ve never thought she was funny, actually she annoys me. Yet this has ended up on my DVR list, too. Like I said, at 3 a.m., when you’ve got a baby to feed, you’d probably watch this show too.

And if I ran out of things to watch, there was always an episode of Law and Order on. Or the Fresh Prince. I wasn't picky.

Ugh
I'm back at work.
IBL is already asking me when I'm going to do an ad that is due October 1.
*sigh*

Calling all techies
Where should I go to find a host for a free web site? Is there anywhere other than GeoShitties? Does anyone know of any good web hosting places? Let me know.

P.S. I am listening to the song "Easy Lover" by Phil Collins and Philip Bailey and I am not ashamed to admit it.

Alias
For as difficult a time as my husband and I had coming up with our baby's name, you'd think we'd use it every once in a while.

However, I can count on one hand how many times I have called my son "Daniel" when addressing him. Unfortunately, he has been born to the queen of nicknames. Just ask anyone I went to high school or college with; I love to come up with alternative names for people.

I'm starting to worry that my poor son isn't going to know his real name, given the host of aliases that he has already been given. Here is a brief rundown of the names he is called:

The Crankster. This was a nickname given early on, to refer to his alter-ego, the one who screams non-stop.

This evolved into Crankster McBanks. Which then got shortened to McBanks. And then that became a verb to describe the act of screaming non-stop. "Do I hear him McBanking?"

That has recently gotten shortened even further into C's McB's. Or, alternately, just plain McB's.

Other variations include Mister McBanks, and McBank-a-dank's.

But that's not where the nicknames end. I'll call him anything that comes into my head, which includes but is not limited to: Buddy, Champ, Slim, Chief, Captain (but NEVER Cappy), Monkey, Frog, Bird, Cutie Pie, Sweetie Pie, Baby Boy, Little Man, etc.

My poor child is going to grow up confuzzled.

Week six photos


It's hard to believe that six weeks have gone by since my son was born. He is changing every day. He is able to focus more, he recognizes his father and I and he smiles (and melts my heart each time) at us. He makes all kinds of noises, from a piggish grunt to a high pitched squeal. He's not crying as much as he was a few weeks ago, or if he does, it's for a good reason, usually. Now if we could just nail down the whole sleeping thing, we'd be good to go. I am reading such books as the Baby Whisperer and BabyWise and all sorts of other baby-related literature, but I did also manage to finish the latest installment of Harry Potter over the weekend.

A little less than two weeks and it's back to work. How am I going to leave this cutie at day care?

Moo
The trip to the office went well. Daniel slept pretty much the entire time, but woke up to eat, and then spit up while Bad Lady was holding him (ha!)

I was glad to see my co-workers, most of them anyway.

But the highlight of the afternoon was when my boss called me a cow.

The context: someone was holding my son, and I had gone to the bathroom and come back, and so he turned to look at me. My boss, who was standing behind me, said, "There's the cow!"

Mind you, he said this in front of his all-female staff plus a couple of women from other departments, so I have a full room of witnesses. I whipped around to glare at him and said, "WHAT did you call me?"

"What! I meant, you know, the milk."

"Remember in Pittsburgh when I told you I hated you?" I said a couple of minutes later. "This is kind of like that."

I swear, he is lucky that I have a sense of humor. Because another person might not have let that one slide. However, I am not going to let him forget it, EVER. He called me a freaking cow.

Discount this
Honestly. I was under the impression that Lee Iococa had kicked the bucket, like, ten years ago. Now he's been resurrected from the dead and is appearing in Crysler commercials out the wazoo. My vote for most annoying? Well, all of them, but in particular, the one with his red-haired granddaughter, or actress portraying his granddaughter.

What is the big deal with employee discounts anyway? Just another gimmick? It seems like one company did it and now they're all doing it. Whatever.

I'm taking the munchkin into the office tomorrow for the obligatory Oohing and Aahing by all the old biddies. I'm actually looking forward to it. It certainly beats my usual day, where the highlight is back to back Days of Our Lives and Passions.

Take my breath away
My grandma called the other night, all in a huff because my dad had showed her the picture of Dom (shown here, below). She was frantic that Dom appeared to be jealous and would get into the baby's crib and smother him.

I assured her that Dom pretty much ignores the baby, and that there was nothing to worry about. She didn't really seem too convinced.

So I think I am going to send her this picture to set her mind at ease.



I mean, just check out Molly's loving expression. She doesn't look like she's about to suck the breath away from my son, does she?

Oh wait, she does...

Splish splash
We had our first bath a couple of nights ago.
Obviously, it was not well received.

Bon voyage
God help me, I think I may attempt to take the baby out by myself in the car. Just through the Mickey D's drive thru. Wish me luck! I'm fixin' to eat some McSomethin'!

P.S. The good thing about being home on maternity leave? I have nothing better to do at the moment (while the baby is sleeping) than to vote for Kaysar.

Also, I'm pretty sure that I will not be getting the live feeds this season. I thought that maybe I'd be able to, but I'm only able to get on to the computer for an hour max per day at the moment, so by the time I answer e-mails, check my blogs, and my other regular sites, there ain't much time for recappin. Ugh. The word recap bugs me now because it's too close to "Cappy."

Vote for Kaysar or else.

Seriously. If Cappy walks through that door next week I don't think I could handle the rest of the season.

Vote early and vote often!

Tales from the bosom
Today, while I was breastfeeding my son, my boss called. At some point during the conversation it occurred to me that it was kind of funny that I was talking to my boss with my boob hanging out of my shirt. I didn't let him in on the joke, though. I missed the company's annual golf outing yesterday. Incompetent But Likeable usually organizes the event, and all the proceeds go to helping children with terminal illness. Each year, IBL makes a speech at the end, thanking everyone for attending and for their contributions. And he always gets choked up. My boss said that this year it was full-out water works. I'm sorry I missed it. There's nothing like a freaky bald man crying like a little girl. This year, IBL did not injure anyone with a divot, either, which disappoints me.

The doctor visit went well. Dan the Man is already almost 8 pounds! My doctor visit went well, also, I have been given the all-clear for my diabetes, and I am allowed to pretty much do whatever I want now. Yay. Have I mentioned that I have lost almost 20 pounds from my pre-pregnancy weight due to the diabetic diet? Kind of a nice side benefit, there!

This evening, my uncle stopped over with my grandma. Now, my grandma is known for saying inappropriate things with the best of intentions. For instance, tonight, I had to leave the room to breastfeed the baby. When I returned, she asked, "Did you feed him?" I said yes. "From the bosom?" Yep.

She also informed me this evening, and this is information I never, never needed or wanted to know or even think about, that she got pregnant with my dad the VERY NIGHT my grandpa got home from the war. When I nervously laughed, she continued, "Well, he had been gone for FIVE YEARS!" Yikes. God bless her.

Anyhow, I should probably be sleeping or something, as the baby is sleeping. Last night he finally gave me a reprieve and slept most of the night. Still waking up every two hours, mind you, but usually going right back to sleep after a feeding and a good burp.

As for everyone's advice about leaving him with one of the grandmas, I will definitely do this as soon as I get a good milk supply. Both grandmas are chomping at the bit for the opportunity for some baby alone time, anyway.

Pic of the week


My life is all baby, all the time.
Good thing he's cute!

Today was a little rough -- he cried all day long and nothing I did would make him stop. Then when he slept I couldn't sleep. We go to the doctor tomorrow, we'll see what she has to say about my little munchkin. It will be a big day, because it will be the first time I'm taking him somewhere in my car. It will also be the first time I've driven in weeks.

Anyhow, it was about two weeks ago at this time that he was getting ready to make his appearance on planet Earth... seems hard to believe. In some ways it seems like time has flown, but on the other hand, I'm measuring my life in hours rather than days right now so time has been dragging.

Please tell me it gets better soon!

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.