Friday, March 30, 2007

At the request of a couple long distance friends, who clearly don't believe me when I tell them that I haven't yet reached the beautiful and glowy stage of pregnancy, here it is. Photographic evidence that I am just as big right this second as it took me 18 weeks to get to last time.

I've said it once, I'll say it again. It doesn't seem fair that I should have to lumber around and say goodbye to my feet before I get over being nauseated all the damn time.

But for the record, that's not why I look so morose in this picture. I cropped out my neurotic dog, who was whining about something imaginary at my feet. I would have left her in the picture, but her eyes were doing that satanic green glowy thing. And that's just creepy.

I'm pretty sure this was taken on 3/20, by my cruel husband who doesn't believe in giving a girl a heads up before he starts snapping. Although, in all fairness, the ones I did pose for aren't any better.

Le sigh.

Friday, March 16, 2007

Last night began the first of many conversations Mr. Golightly and I are likely to have about the important task of naming our future child. If it’s anything like the last go around, it will start off kind of humorously, and then by about 36 weeks I will be so mad at him over his flip attitude toward the whole process, that I’ll be threatening to name our child “the next thing that comes out of your mouth.”

Sweet Pea was almost named Captain Tennille Golightly.

Honestly, I don’t even know why I brought it up last night. Except that I didn’t feel very good, but didn’t want to go to bed. So I drug the baby name book off the shelf and started in the boys’ names section.

There are so many more names NOT to choose than there are suitable monikers. Like, Derby for example. Or Gomer. Or the seemingly acceptable Aubrey. Which just kind of sounds girly until you read that it means “Elfin Helper.” What kid stands a chance of making it through grade school unharmed if you pick a name that not only sounds wimpy, but MEANS wimpy?

I made it through the R’s (it’s not a very big book) jotting down anything that sounded like it might work. You have to have a lot of choices when your husband gets a testosterone rush off of his veto power. I showed him the list and this very predictable conversation followed:

Mr. Golightly: “NOAH…Go and build me a shed. Make it 20 cubits by 40 cubits, and put two of each garden tool inside of it.”

Clover: “There is nothing wrong with Noah. I like Noah.”

M: “I know. It’s just that I’d have to talk in my God voice all the time. Levi is out. I knew a bad Levi once.”

C: “You did? Who?”

M: “Just this guy. He was bad. VETO! What does that one say, I can’t read your writing…”

C: “Foster.”

M: “Foster?”

C: “Yeah, I just wrote down anything that sort of sounded appealing.”

M: “Foster? VETO! Oh, you still like Luke huh? LUKE, I am your FATHA. (Darth Vadar Breathing.)”

C: “But you would be, his father. So it works.”
M: “Hmmm. Maybe. Why are we looking at boy names, you said it was a girl?”

C: “It’s just a hunch, I don’t know that for sure or anything.”

M: “You said you were a ‘girl factory.’ (Pause) Ely is Ok. Aaron is a VETO. So is Jamison, that would be too weird, because of Jamison.”

C: “I thought maybe it would be a nice tribute. He’s a good friend, and I like the name.”

M: “True, but VETO!”

It’s a good thing this baby is a girl.

And now onto more depressing news.

Anyone remember last spring when I posted about the jerk who left the anonymous threatening note on our door about our nuisance of a barking dog? Well, he’s at it again. Only now we know who he is. He’s mostly gunning for my neighbor this time, but I’m getting lumped in because of ONE DAY, almost A YEAR AGO, when my dog had to go outside for the afternoon and whined – not barked – whined at our back door.

He is clearly unstable. For one thing, the only time the damn dogs bark is when he stands at their shared back fence on a ladder and yells obscenities at them. I’ve witnessed this in action several times. He also throws rocks at the dogs, and what do you know, they bark at him!!

Rumor has it that his neighbor on the other side is considering taking some legal action, because in the process of throwing rocks at that neighbor’s dogs, crazy man has hit the house a few too many times and caused some damage.

But in the meantime I’ve got a crazy person threatening my dog. (And my poor neighbor, who is only 21 and freaking out about this crazy man appearing at her fence at all hours of the day yelling obscenities and saying things like, "You know what happens to dogs who bark don't you??")

Ah…happy spring.

Thursday, March 15, 2007

When did I turn into that cartoon character Maxine, with her saggy breasts and her general hatred of the entire universe? Oh, right, the day someone took my hormones and my stomach and strapped them in for a ride on the never ending tilt-a-whirl.

Things that are pissing me off right now:

1. Max and Ruby. I know I’ve ranted about those bunnies before, but seriously. WHAT GIVES??? Where are their parents, and why are they so nice to each other? Can’t they call each other names and lash out with some fur pulling like normal siblings?

2. What to Expect when You’re Expecting and the Best Odds Diet. I know better than to even read that book. But the other day I drug it out to see if it would give me any advice about what to do for constipation (romantic, yes?), and of course their advice was all about fiber and fluids and getting plenty of rest. And then there was this paragraph about how some women experiencing nausea had luck drinking hot water with lemon juice – BUT NO SUGAR. IF YOU EAT SUGAR YOUR BABY WILL HAVE FINS AND YOUR ASS WILL EXPAND TO THE SIZE OF RHODE ISLAND. And the second I read that my head exploded and I ran to the kitchen to eat brown sugar with a spoon. Azzhats. If the puking lady wants a Country Time Lemonade just freakin’ give her one. And then back away slowly before she uses that bottle cap as a weapon.

3. Didn’t I just shave my legs the other day?

4. Watermelon need to get in season RIGHT NOW. And the produce manager at Albertsons who allows those mushy flavorless imposters to parade around in watermelon rinds needs to be fired.

5. My phone has a stupid ring.

6. Confidential to the lady with the Caprice who parks next to me every day. Your car is disgusting. Clean it. You are going to die young if you eat as many French fries as your front seat indicates. Knock it off. And you need to learn how to park that damn thing between the yellow lines. Stat.

7. Mr. Golightly needs to understand that when I say I’m going to lunch, I mean that I need to eat something in the next 90 seconds or bad things will happen. Bad, bad, things. Instead, he gives me puppy eyes and holds up two fingers to indicate that I should wait for him because he is wrapping up his never ending conference call and if I could just be patient for two minutes he could accompany me to the sandwich place. And because I am a sucker I fall for this every freaking time. Even though two minutes turns into a span of time long enough for me to write down no less that 7 things that are pissing me off right now.

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

I had forgotten about the dreams. The progesterone fuled epic dramas, comedies and musicals that play out in my head every night are a bit mind boggling. Not to mention the steam factor. So maybe they are more like full length feature porno films playing out in my head every night. Complete with decent plot lines, amazing wardrobe choices, and detailed sets.

Last night I dreamt about my Grandmother’s house. Not unusual. Most of my dreams are set there for some odd reason. This dream involved me very virtuously rejecting the affections of a lonely golf pro. He was hot. And persistent. So I’m not sure why I was being such a goody goody. I mean, it was just a dream.

The night before that I dreamed an entire SNL-esque musical skit about a girl who wonders if her skirt makes her butt look big. There were swirling lights, choreographed dancing, lyrics that rhymed, and 3 part harmony. Hello…I can’t dance and I barely read music. How come I can dream in three part harmony?

The one that really takes the cake though is from last week. I dreamed that I was a college coed in a weird time warp where we dressed like it was 1940, but IMed each other and talked on cell phones. My name was Carol, and I was enrolled in some kind of summer institute that seemed a lot like ritzy sleepaway camp. There were picturesque mountains and streams. Fields full of flowers, a lodge, etc. And I was there with a group of friends who looked like they jumped straight out of a scene from a WWII film. We did things like stroll around the lake in our Mary Janes while we carried our books close to our chest and giggled about boys.

Enter Kel. Kel is one of two boys who were attending our summer institute on exchange from another university. Kel, who resembled Mr. Golightly everso, was the heartthrob of the summer. All the girls were swooning over him. I wasn’t so impressed, until one day I happened upon him stocking shelves at the on-campus grocery store. I was buying milk in a glass bottle (?!?) He struck up a conversation and asked me if I’d like to have dinner. I said yes. Afterward he walked me back to my conveniently private room, located on the opposite side of the romantic moonlit lake.

(Is anyone gagging yet? I know. It’s like I’m channeling Danielle Steele.)

So we get back to my room where a long lingering kiss turns into bodice-ripping-heart-pounding-up-against-the-wall-sweaty (ahem, this is a PG blog.)

And then, sadly, Kel leaves the next day to return to his regularly scheduled life at a university far far away in the city. And I return to my mundane existence as a college student and employee at my nature preserve/university somewhere in the southern hills.

Cut to me sitting in some kind of staff meeting (with a bunch of people I actually used to work with), when suddenly the door flies open and this guy Brian (who I really did go to High School with) bursts in and says, “Carol, I just got another IM from Kel. He wants to talk to you. Really Carol, you’ve just GOT to tell him about the baby.” At which point I stand up to reveal a sizeable belly bump and excuse myself from the meeting. I go down the hall to the computer in Brian’s office and have an IM exchange with Kel that goes something like,

Carol: Hello

Kel: Where have you been? I’ve called, I’ve emailed…

Carol: I know, I need to see you. Can I come this weekend?

Kel: Of course, I’ll pick you up.

And the next thing you know I’m driving around in a golf cart with this girl who is a composite of about 5 of my girlfriends, and she’s also pregnant. We are maternity clothes shopping for my trip. The clothes are exquisite.

(Seriously, can you believe this? It lasted for hours. At one point I even got up to pee, came back to bed and picked up right where I left off.)

Ok, so cut to me in this very 1940’s esque train station, wearing a hat and a long raincoat. Kel sees me and runs down a long hallway, sweeping me into his arms. Of course, when he hugs me he feels the pregnant belly and freezes.

I KID YOU NOT, there was a close-up of my terrified face, and time stood still while I waited for Kel to recoil in disgust or fear. But no, (que musical swell) Kel steps back, drops to his knee and kisses my belly. Choking back tears he says, “It’s mine?”

And I, ever the leading lady, reply, “Either that or we have to name him Jesus.”

So we are both crying, and he’s kissing my face and saying, “Marry me, you’ve got to say you will!” And then we go back to his apartment and make sweet sweet love. (Bonus! Twice in one dream.) Afterward, we are lying there in the soft glow of sunset, and Kel says to me, “Oh, by the way, I’m really rich.” And I’m all, “Wha? You work at the grocery store.” And he says, “Not really, I developed a technology that allows stores to track their inventory on handheld wireless devices. I was just testing it out this summer. Microsoft bought my patent for $40 million.”

And then I woke up, and half expected to see the credits rolling above my bed.

Is that not totally unreal? Would Freud have a heyday with me or what? At least it’s not like my friend T who had dreams all through her second pregnancy about doing the nasty with the little old guy from the Monopoly box.


Thursday, March 01, 2007

It’s time to make an official announcement I suppose.

I feel like hell. My pants don’t fit. I’m gassy, and for the love of GOD, please don’t anyone mention food products coming from cows, pigs, chickens, fish, lamb…anything but vegetables and fruit really. Watermellon is Ok. You can talk about watermelon. Mmmm…watermelon. And lemons. Oooh, tomato soup. Ew. No. Scratch the tomato soup. That was Tuesday.

Yeah. You guessed it. I’m pregnant.

If you are one of the people in my life who deserved to hear about this from me, perhaps in a phone call, or a face to face visit. I’m sorry. Really. But it’s my second pregnancy. And I feel like crap. Did I mention that? So, pretty much, I just wanted to be able to whine about the craptastic parts on my blog. And in my hormotional state, that’s taking precedent over cutesy announcement type messaging. So, consider yourself technologically savvy. You heard about my kocked-upedness in the blogosphere.

Besides, if you’d gotten a call from me you’d probably be wondering if I was even excited or happy about this joyous news. I assure you. I am. We are. Sweet Pea especially. It’s just that, and I may have mentioned this, I’m not feeling so hot. I’d describe it in greater detail, but that would make me dry heave into my garbage can. And I think my co-workers are getting at tich tired of that bit. Soooo…

Uh, the details are that I’m nearly 7 weeks along. I know, that’s like a hiccup in the grand scheme of things. And those of you who know my history are probably a little surprised about my spilling the beans so soon. The thing is that I’m not very good at keeping secrets anyway. And, have I told you yet that I’m experiencing some nausea? Well, I am. So in addition to my lovely pallor and irregular behaviors (i.e. covering my nose and mouth and running away from anything with a scent. Except lemons. Mmm…Lemons….), I’m wearing these ridiculous grey terry cloth wristband thingys that are supposed to help with the nausea. They are an acupressure thing, and I’m not sure if they work but I’m sure as hell not taking them off to find out. Anyway, all of those above things make it obvious. And so one by one people start to figure it out. And then it’s like you have to tell Mary because Lucy knows, and if Mary knows then she might tell Alice who would be hurt if she didn’t hear it from you, and blah blah blah.

So again, here it is for all the world to see. I’m pregnant. Woo.

Here are a couple of things I’m noticing about pregnancy, part deux.

My stomach heard me tell my mother on the phone that I got two pink lines. At that exact moment, there was an audible sigh and my body from the shoulders down assumed the exact shape it took about 18 weeks to get to the first time around. Things that had regained some perk are now sagging. Things that had gotten toned are now flabby. Things that were as flat as they were going to get now look decidedly Easter Egg shaped. My doctor says it’s about your bowels being all messed up and muscle memory. I concur. My bowels are in fact, all messed up. And my muscles did a little dance of joy at the memory of getting to hang it all out.

Mr. Golightly is a lot more sympathetic to the morning sickness thing. I think this time around he realizes the long term impact this is likely to have on his sex life. And so he wants to make sure that in nausea free moments I’m looking at him lovingly. Just in case. Not a bad strategy really. And at least we’re both pulling for some nausea free moments.

There is a small person who is not at all concerned with making sure I am feeling pampered and well rested in my delicate condition. I worried about this going in, but was somehow distracted from focusing on what a challenge it would present. I was also not aware that said small person would be filling the role of Early Pregnancy Commentator. Announcing things like, “Mommy, you made a stinky smell like poop.” And, “Mommy is the baby in your tummy making you throw up? Go put your bracelets on and feel better.”

The thought of twins was mildly frightening last time. Now I have terrifying dreams about nursing two giant babies with full sets of teeth.

Speaking of twins. Sweet Pea has made the prediction that she is going to have sisters. Two of them. She also thinks that she can communicate telepathically with our friend Sadie. I asked Sadie if she’s been having any obscure dreams or random thoughts involving mac and cheese and Disney Princesses, and she says no. So let’s all hope that Sweet Pea is not going to have to start the Psychic Friends Toddler Network.

(Oh, and I had an ultrasound and at first glance there only appears to be one little lima bean in there. One tiny little lima bean with an awful lot of power over my hormones.)

Anyway. There you go. There will be a new person in the universe sometime around mid October. And given the prototype, we’re expecting great things.