I can't blog without a computer.

W has the laptop with him in Ontario, CA, taking the bar on it, which leaves me blissfully disconnected from the world (except for my phone and cable TV) at night. It also, unfortunately, means mama no bloggy... til Thursday or Friday.

Damn W and his damn career. Such a hassle this guy.

Little Kickapoo.

Had a very relaxing, unproductive weekend. Normally that would get me all riled up , but I refuse. Suck it productivity.

On the preggers front these days, the little girlie is kicking/punching/head-butting up a storm. The feeling is hilarious, and I'm still struggling to describe it. Like champagne in my uterus? Like someone thumping my abdomen for ripeness, but from the inside? Like a severe case of gas that just won't go away?

Regardless, it's fascinating. A truly singular experience--and you can't say that about many things in life anymore.

But--since this is The Complainy Monologues and I am me--feeling something move around inside of you is also disconcerting in the extreme. It sort of brings to mind (and I never thought of this before I got pregnant, but maybe I should have) "Invasion of the Body Snatchers." I'm a flipping pod person. All this moving and grooving by the bean makes me remember (realize?) that I'm just a host, a vessel.

W says I make it sound like the bean is going to burst forth from my hoohah like in "Aliens." I think he's just jealous.

Speaking of the hubs, I do call him over when ever the kicking is going on, but either I've got too much "insulation" between my womb and his hand or beanana is still too small. He can't feel it quite yet. (BTW, send as many smart vibes as you can spare his way as he takes the California Bar this week.)

So for now, when the bean goes nuts, I just smile (95% of the time, and freak out the other 5% because it's just too weird to have another person inside of your body) and worry about smushing her when I bend over to tie my shoes.

****

Postscript: W totally felt her kick last night before we went to bed! Three times! I think she was amped because "The Departed" won.

Time Warner, you are seriously cramping my style.

So our internet's been down at home and will be until tomorrow, hence the radio silence. And yet I'm jonsing for some bloggity blog blog, so here I am, posting from work. (Eek! So bad!)

Several things are blowing my mind right now:

• My regular, hormonal breakdowns are always (literally, always) about some combination of the same six things: global warming and the polar bears, my house being dirty, my pets being dirty, not having anything to wear, not having any laundry done, and global warming and the polar bears again. So this news definitely warmed my heart (pun unintended):
  Australia will start using compact fluorescent light bulbs exclusively. Let me get on a teeny tiny soapbox for a minute here and let everyone know how easy this is. I bought 24 of these in bulk at Home Depot and it took me less than 15 minutes to replace all the bulbs in my house (they're also at Wal-Mart, Lowe's, and Amazon). That's it; two very small steps meant I was using 80% less energy and won't have to replace my light bulbs for 5-10 times the usual length of time. And the CF light bulbs have a nifty spiral shape that is just cool. OK, that's it, I'm putting away the soapbox. And making sure to switch off the light in the soapbox closet before I close the door.
• Apparently, limiting myself to 12 ounces of fish per week is now a BAD idea. Honestly I just can't keep up any more. To sum up, Preg Nancy eating more fish = smarter bean. Smarter as in remarkably smarter. As in, I have to go make some salmon for dinner or my kid might fail Play-Doh. (Though there's still this concern over mercury... Again, it's all very stressful. You need a frickin Ph.D. in multiple sciences to get pregnant these days. I think the lesson here is, don't dispose of your thermometers in the ocean. Or something.)
• We bought a car! We have a brand new used Subaru Forester that I refuse to call an SUV. It has average gas mileage (sigh, it's very hard to be responsible for the polar bears when you have a mastiff and a 6'4" husband that can't fit in the electric golf cart you'd like to drive), BUT I must say that I do like driving it. Smooth ride, not too big. And I feel like Thumbelina in it compared to my teeny tiny coupe that even I filled up.
• La Bean is kicking! I mean, it feels like itsy bitsy bubbles going "bloop" and "ping" against my insides (W said it sounds like I have the guy from Police Academy in my uterus), but they're consistently in the same spots so I know they're kicks and punches. W asked me how I know they're not just gas bubbles, and it's because... well, they're not productive, if you get my meaning. I'd been starting to get a little nervous because not much was happening down there, so I'm thrilled to be getting some action. And it's kind of fun, like getting tickled from the inside. I'm sure later on it'll feel more like getting kung-fu'd from the inside, but for now, good times! Viva la bean!

More when Time Warner gets it's sh!t together.

The beanbina and a VDay that didn't suck.

Last bit of news from the doctor's office: The beanbina currently weighs 14 ounces, and is x centimeters in length (for the life of me, I can't remember--I'm already failling as a mama!). And both measurements are exactly in the 50th percentile, which was the same case with her heartrate at my last appointment. Of course, this news sent W and I into gales of laughter. Immediately the jokes started: We are going to have the most average child ever born. She'll come out and just say, "Hey." Decent looking, a C student, alright at sports. No great shakes. (Before you post with loud protestations--of course she'll be singularly spectacular, I have no doubt. But at 8:45 a.m., this is what you get humor-wise at the OB/GYN.)

In other news, mad props to W for making VD just lovely this year. I woke up Wednesday morning in a fine mood--until I heard a report on NPR on climate change and how we're all going to die but not before a very many animal species do first. Can we all guess what happened next? I burst into tears, of course! (Good to know that the cryfests aren't limited to the evenings, eh?) I started freaking out that I should start a recycling progam at UCLA (not just my office or my department, but I felt sudden responsibility for the whole damn university) because we don't have bins for plastic and cans in the buildings. I really should have been ironing a shirt to wear, but damn it, I have my priorities. Ignoring the fact that UCLA serves something like 50,000 people and recycling isn't directly linked with global warming, I couldn't shake myself out of this heightened emotional headspace. Wade offered to drive me to work so I wouldn't be late, but I pointed out that would only contribute to global warming.

Cut to crappy rest of the day, poor nutrition choices, bad mood, blah blah blah. I can only think that my emotional stamina these days is comparable to that of a two-year old's--like, I was so worn out from the excitement of the day before that I was overstimulated and fussy? Who knows. I booked myself a massage to deal.

When I got home though... my darling dear had (not breaking the standing "no gifts for VD" rule that we established years ago) cleaned the house, changed the sheets, done the dishes, and done the laundry (not a small task when you have a dog that can dirty your clothes from a distance of 10+ feet--those slobber slingers are farreaching). AND, bought fresh flowers (picked out himself--including purple hyacinth, my favorite), cut them and put them in water.

What did I do when I walked in the door and saw what he had done?

Mmhmm. You know I did.

I started crying.

Happy tears, but nonetheless, I am a fountain. The bonus? Not only did I have a clean house and a sweet hubs, but I still got to go have my delish prenatal massage. Mmm, you work those acupressure points, Ken!

Lastly, it's supposed to be super warm here this weekend. For those of you in colder climes, I share this news in an effort to let you live vicariously through me, not to rub your cold, sniffling noses in it. And W and I are going to kick off a beautiful three-day weekend (halle-frickin-lujah!) by belatedly celebrating a VD night out with some Korean BBQ and 80's video games. Neither place we've been to yet, and factoring in my nightly 9 p.m. slump (sometimes slump-cum-breakdown because I'm just that predictable), I think we're in for an adventure.

Meow it's your bithday.

To Kermit, on his 13th birthday, a song:

Meow you for being a friend
Traveled down the meow and back again
Your meow is true
You're a meow and a confidant

And if you meowed a meow-ty
meow-ted everyone you meow
you would meow the biggest meow would be from meow
and the meow attached would meow,

'Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow!'

Better start buying lots of blue things....

...because our baby girl is going to love the color of the sky and the ocean.

Yeah, you read that right. It's a girl.

People, don't question a mother's intuition. That's all I'm saying. I felt girl, and it was a girl. We, of course, would have been ecstatic either way, but I would have definitely been surprised if it was a boy.

So exciting! Some pictures...

Here's a profile shot of the little girlie:

What is commonly referred to as "the money shot" (or, how you can tell she's a she--nice arrow, right?):

Another profile:

And, another profile:

Her foot (she's kickin' it old school--like Hang Ten):

Boy or girl?

After some delay, we will FINALLY find out the sex of the bean tomorrow morning around 9 a.m. I'll post as soon as I get back to work.

In the meantime though, I thought I'd give old wives tales and common wisdom one last shot and see what they say about what's in my belly. Following are 38 different ways I can tell before tomorrow if the bean has a vagina or a penis (courtesy of ivillage.com). For the record, without this little checklist, I'm still feeling girl.

It's a boy if:

• You didn't experience morning sickness in early pregnancy. OK, so far so good. One tally in the boy column.
• Your baby's heart rate is less than 140 beats per minute. We're right at 140, but technically, no.
• You are carrying the extra weight out front. Um, not really--more up and down.
• Your belly looks like a basketball. NO (thank god).
• Your areolas have darkened considerably. That's nunya bidniz (but for the sake of this scientific experiment, no, they're still regular areola-colored).
• You are carrying low. Again, sort of more up and down than low.
• You are craving salty or sour foods. Sometimes yes, so I'll give this one a point.
• You are craving protein -- meats and cheese. Eh, not so much.
• Your feet are colder than they were before pregnancy. Nope.
• The hair on your legs has grown faster during pregnancy. Nope--softer, which is weird, but not faster.
• Your hands are very dry. Yes! As a matter of fact, they are quite a bit drier lately.
• Your pillow faces north when you sleep. Huh? This matters? Does it matter if it faced one way when I conceived and a different way now? To answer the question though, yes. Weird.
• Dad-to-be is gaining weight, right along with you. He says yes, I say no. I'll give it half a point.
• Pregnancy has you looking better than ever. Hmm, yeah, not so much.
• Your urine is bright yellow in color. Actually, it's just regular yellow. So, no.
  
• Your nose is spreading. What does this even mean? I guess that means it's a no.
• You hang your wedding ring over your belly and it moves in circles. Wade dangled my wedding ring on some floss, and sure enough--CIRCLES!
• You are having headaches. This is pretty vague, don't you think? I mean I've had headaches, so I guess it's a yes, but I mean, they're not daily.
• You add your age at the time of conception and the number for the month you conceived and the sum is an even number. Yes, we get 30 with this fun algebra problem.
  

BOY TOTAL: 7.5

• You had morning sickness early in pregnancy. Yay for no morning sickness!
• Your baby's heart rate is at least 140 beats per minute. Again, right at 140, but yes on this one.
• You are carrying the weight in your hips and rear. As Sir Mix-a-Lot once said, I look like one of those rap guy's girlfriends. And it is awesome. Yes for this one.
• Your left breast is larger than your right breast. This is again, one of those things that I feel weird in sharing, but YES! Yes it is bigger. This very random but specific "test" is enough by itself to make me think that it's a girl.
• Your hair develops red highlights. Mom just mentioned that it looks a bit darker, but I haven't seen any red.
• You are carrying high. I think so... I'm not all that big yet, so it's hard to say where "it" is, but I'll give this a yes.
• Your belly looks like a watermelon. Again I submit a "huh?" I guess they mean an up-and-down watermelon. I'm going to say no to watermelon belly though.
• You are craving sweets. Sweets, salty, sour, bitter... why are we dividing the foods? Shouldn't we be bringing diverse groups together into one big, delicious group that I can crave and eat constantly? (Um, so yes.)
• You are craving fruit. Some--like strawberries, for sho. I'll give this a yes.
• You crave orange juice. YES! Weird because I could care less about it before.
• You don't look quite as good as normal during pregnancy. OK, I promise I'm not fishing for compliments here, BUT... it's true. I really haven't looked as good. This past week or two it's better, but for the last few months, I've looked pretty washed out. Dark circles under my eyes. Limp hair. Just in general, like a B- version of my usual self. Apparently this fun gem comes from the old wives' tale that baby girls steal their mother's beauty. Ain't that sweet.
• You are moodier than usual during pregnancy. Holla! (Grammy, that means yes.)
• Your face breaks out more than usual. If by "more than usual" you mean "daily," then yes, I totally agree with this one.
• You refuse to eat the heel of a loaf of bread. I don't know, not really. Weird.
• Your breasts have really blossomed! "Blossomed" is a pretty word, isn't it? It implies delicate flowers, floating in the breeze. "Blossomed" does not convey the two bowling balls that I now carry around on my chest every day. But for the sake of argument, we'll say yes.
• Your pillow faces south when you sleep. Nope, north.
• Your urine is a dull yellow color. Gross. My pee is like sparkling gold, freshly mined from the Rockies. Not really. Like I said before, just normal pee-color.
• You hang your wedding ring over your belly and it moves from side to side. Nope.
• You add your age at the time of conception and the number for the month you conceived and the sum is an odd number. Nope.

GIRL TOTAL: 11

So clearly a girl right? I mean, considering I dreamed it was a girl, on top of all this? I'm tired now, so not really caring so much at this moment. We'll just find out in the morning. See ya then, beanie.

Picture time! Picture time!

I know, I know: I've been quite remiss in the picture posting. My bad. But here are some in the hopes that I make up for my previous lack of photos. This is me, 4 1/2 months pregnant. For the record, the first two are at 20 weeks (ish) and the second two are at 21 weeks (ish).

Here's last weekend, just prior to washing Lu. Does she sense the impending hosing? (She looks like she senses something alright.)

The good thing about a big dog? I can use her as a bench if I get tired. (This one looks like I have some serious beer belly, no?)

From this afternoon: me and mama, just prior to a lovely day at the Melrose flea market and a yummy lunch at Hugos. Such a nice day. Picked up an original "Bambi" movie poster (from the 1966 re-release) for the bean's room.

And me and my, um, "better half." Poor thing has been studying 24/7 for the California bar. This actually may have been the only sunlight he saw all day. I locked him back in his cage just after this picture was taken.

So there I am. Some days I feel huge, some days, not so huge. The thing that I find the coolest so far about being pregnant is the way my belly actually feels. It's kind of remarkable because you can tell that my ab muscles are still on top of all my organs, etc. Not sure what I expected my belly to feel like (a bowl full of jelly?), but even up high near my ribs, it's quite firm. (Lower down, we've covered all that firmness with that serious insulation. You know, to keep the bean warm.)

And last but not least, a bonus picture. This is my DREAM COME TRUE. Seriously.
Yes that's my hand on the side, and maybe I had to hold Kermit there until just before the picture was taken, maybe I didn't--who's to say? The point is, he stayed there for nearly 20 seconds.

Good week.

Earlier this week, I was on the phone with my sister, just chatting and catching up, and she asked, "Are you OK? Every time I talk to you, you sound great, but when I read your blog, you sound like you're so depressed." All I can say about the discrepancy (and I totally acknowledge that there is a discrepancy) is that this is my outlet--I don't have a diary or some alternative blog where I'm posting my "real" feelings. Add that to the fact that I am a complainer--if something bad is going on, I'm not quiet about it. My dad was a stoic, and my mom is pretty good about just letting things go--her favorite thing to say when the crap hits the fan is, "It is what it is"--but not me. If this is my stage, chances are the show for the evening is going to be "The Complainy Monologues." But hearing my sister worry a bit made me realize that others who read this--and don't talk to me on the phone everyday--might be left with the impression that I hate everything about pregnancy, life, etc.

Honestly? Not hating the pregnancy so much.

It has definitely been rougher than I expected, but I think that's due to my possibly skewed expectations about how magical it was going to be (Joey and Wade, you both can testify to my having exaggerated expectations about how easy things will be; reality tends to be a bitchy mistress for me). So I guess all I wanted to say is that while I may paint a dire picture on occasion (or on a regular basis), I'm really pretty OK with this whole pregnancy thing. Still though, don't expect to read about how great pregnancy is and how great I feel. I mean, PLEASE--who am I, pregnant Polly-frickin-anna?

Except this week? This week I did feel great! YAY Polly-frickin-anna!!!

I have felt so much more even-keel than usual, and--thank god, FINALLY--had the wherewithal to deal with life's little bumps and lumps (I had been seriously deficient in wherewithal lately). Except for one day where I hadn't gotten a good night's sleep the night before, I was well-rested and good-tempered during the week. So let's have a standing O for vitamins B6 and B12 (my big-time BFFs from the new brand of prenatal vitamins I'm taking), days that were 70 and sunny (and there were a few this week), the 8+ hours of sleep that I made a priority every night (9 or more is even better), and the pregnancy hormones that seem to be taking a vacay from making me insane.

And one last thing that has made a difference (though you may think, as my mom said earlier today where we chatted about this, "Really? It took this long?"): I think I'm finally over the shock of getting pregnant.Yes, I know, it's been nearly four months since I found out. But when we did find out, Wade and I were still unpacking from DC. A few months prior, we'd even discussed (for, like, five minutes) not having any kids. Four months ago, we were not in a "let's have kids" place. Now? Well, now we are.

So all in all, not too shabby a week.

Oh, and one more thing that made this week good (y'know, besides "Lost" being back on)?

Um, yeah. Those are curtains. One panel on each side. And if it was daylight, you'd notice a minimum of light coming through. Because they're blackout drapes.

Progress has been made--FINALLY--on drapery-gate.

(Please ignore the fact that the left panel is slightly higher than the right, or that, on the whole, the curtains are a few inches shy of the window sill. No seriously, ignore it. Or I'll hurt you.)

TWENTY.

Hello all from the downward slope of the pregnancy mountain. Pretty much looks like the upward slope. Maybe it's more of a plateau?

My twentieth week passed as of Tuesday, and who are we as a society if we don't honor our milestones? So, here and now is a summary of how the first half of my pregnancy went. Cue the Ennio Morricone music.

THE GOOD

• The having of a baby in 4 1/2 months.
• The thought of the baby growing in me (hello in there!)
• Sometimes I look cute in maternity clothes.

THE BAD

• The moods! The moods. The moods. I started taking a different brand of prenatal vitamin that has a ton moer B6 and B12 this past weekend, however. Coincidentally or not, since taking them, I have felt much better and even-keel. Maybe they're helping? Maybe those wacky Scientologists got it right after all--vitamins do cure all problems. I'm ready for my audit, Mr. Cruise!
• The fatigue. I've talked about this to death. I'm tired of talking about it. Just in case we all forgot though, I'm tir... zzzzz.....
• My uncomfortably gigantic boobs and the torture devices bras that I have to wear everyday to contain them.
• Related to the boob issue, my body in general is often uncomfortable--especially by the end of the day. My mom keeps telling me I should wear cute, fitted t-shirts and tops to show off my belly (I think she's jealous because in 76 and 82, her options were limited to tent-shaped clothing). But here's what I realized: when you're pregnant, not only is your belly bigger, but you're slightly more swollen all over (or at least I am). That means that almost everything you wear is constricting in some way: big elastic bands on your pants, the sausage casing Belly Band that can go over regular pants to hold them up, the damn bras, even your socks can dig in to your ankles. The very last thing I want is some clingy fabric on more of me. (That said, I wear clingy tops all the time because Mom's right--they do look cuter. What can I say? I'm a slave to style.)

THE UGLY (or in this case, the weird)

• Digestion fun: It's either super fast or super slow. Good times.
  
• Broken blood vessels. I have so much extra blood in my body right now, I'm bursting at the seams! Honestly, I have about 20 tiny, tiny, tiny broken capillaries on my neck, chest and hands right now. If you don't look closely, they just look like red dots. Much worse are the ones on my face! I have four tiny ones, and then one really nice sized one on my nose. ON MY FREAKING NOSE. It was a one of those tiny broken blood vessels before I got pregnant--now it's grown so large it makes me look like an off-center Rudolf. UGH. I could take care of it with a quick visit to the dermo, but who has time or energy to do that? It's a vicious cycle: the pregnancy makes me need certain things, but the pregnancy saps any extra energy to get those things done.
• I'm extra sweaty. Apparently just one of those fun your-body's-working-double-shifts kind of things. And yet another thing that makes being the new girl at work fun.
• This one's odd, so if you're turned off by bodily function talk, don't read it (though really, should you be reading a pregnancy blog at all?): I often have weirdly cloudy pee. There I said it. I broke the taboo, and now we're talking pee. I chalk it up to the fact that my pee is not just carrying out my waste anymore. I guess the bean needs to push the "take out the trash" button every once in a while too. Way to keep up the house cleaning, bean. I expect you to have the same kind of attention to your room.
• I have developed this bizarre cowlick from all the extra hair I'm growing. (Did you know that? The extra hair? It's true: you're hair gets all thick and lustrous when you're pregnant and then all that extra falls out once you've had the baby. Like sleepless nights, a saggy body, and post-partum depression aren't enough. July and August are going to ROCK!) Yeah, so those little baby hairs that grow along your forehead have now, on me, mutated into a freakishly spiky puff. I tried to capture it on digital film, but it didn't work. Just know that on the right side of my head, I'm sort of... askew, hair-wise. But at least it balances out the glowing broken capillary on my nose, on the other side of my face.

Last thing that I want to say about this is that obviously, my "good" list is not nearly as extensive as my "bad" and the "weird" lists. Suffice it to say, pregnancy isn't quite the joy ride that I thought it would be. Added to that is the "SURPRISE!" factor--reconciling the complete and total reality shift that a baby entails. I'm not sure if I mentioned it here before or not, but the feeling I had when I found out I was pregnant (on October 19, in case you were wondering) was only comparable to how I felt the day my dad died. NOT AT ALL because finding out made me sad in any way (as if "sad" can capture the feeling of losing a parent). It was just that there are so few actual life-changing moments out there, and this was one of those. One of those moments when you realize that really and truly, things will be 100% different from here on out.

So yes, it's no secret that I have not enjoyed pregnancy the way I thought or would like, but tonight I had a little reminder that that's OK, courtesy of "Scrubs." Yes "Scrubs." As I was sitting down to write this, I heard one of the characters say, very distinctly, "Don't be afraid of hard work. Anything in life that's worth having doesn't come easy."

Well OK then, Dr. Kelso. Message received.

Part two of the 20 week round up tomorrow (or the next day, depending). And really, pictures. Promise.

Musings.

So what to write about? The disturbingly aggressive right wing? How this weekend saw YET ANOTHER FULL-ON EMOTIONAL BREAKDOWN on my part? Drapery-gate? How Wade and I made some guy have a seizure at lunch the other day? Hmmm... how about all of those?

The disturbingly aggressive right-wing: At last week's anti-war rally in Washington, DC, Moriah Arnold, who is only 12-years-old, was invited to speak in front of the thousands and thousands of ralliers. Moriah happens to be the daughter of a family friend, so I googled her to see if I could read what she'd said. In addition to finding a few snippets from her speech--she'd started a petition at her school to end the war and was sort of talking about that, about how Bush lied, etc.--I found this site. In case you don't want to click, here are the highlights: "Moriah Arnold...is an ignorant little b!itch," "Her parents should be slapped in the face with a wet bag of cement..." and my favorite from the comments section, "Someone give Al-queda this girl's street address."

Regardless of how you feel about the war--is this necessary? (Rhetorical, btw.) Honestly, seeing this kind of vitriol for a little girl made me ill. I don't know for sure, but I'll give righties the benefit of the doubt and say that I'm sure that some of this kind of commentary goes on on the lefty side of things, but from either side, it's disgusting. Blech. Moving on to...

YET ANOTHER FULL-ON EMOTIONAL BREAKDOWN: Indeed. As if Tuesday's cry fest while walking Lulu and Thursday's much worse work-meltdown weren't enough, I threw down some serious hormones on Saturday too. Saturday night's drama consisted of me not being able to do anything right related to curtain-hanging (more on that below, but know that there were major tears and self-loathing--Wade had to talk me down off our coffee table) then progressed to a much more pathetic display at a very cute, trendy Asian restaurant where I moaned and whined about not being able to have sushi, sake, white wine, beer, sushi, sushi, and sake again.

Then I started crying at the restaurant. Repeatedly. I would manage to stop, take a racking breath, and then spot someone else dipping a spicy tuna roll in their soy sauce and it would start all over again. I belive some of the words that came out of my mouth were "I'm never getting pregnant again!" and "If only I'd known I was going to get pregnant, I would have one... last... meal." Oh yeah. That's normal and not overdramatic. Luckily the tidal waves of estrogen, progesterone, and crazyosterone have laid low since then. For now.

Drapery-gate: Ah, my -gates. There was Priceline-gate (2001, which also coincided with rental car-gate), finals-gate (2002), reunion-gate (2004), and now drapery-gate. Basically, anytime in my life that I royally screw something up and in turn it becomes an enormous kerfuffle, we call that "-gate". Drapery-gate is so-named not for it's enormity, but for it's duration. It's been 2 1/2 months, and I think we may be looking at several more.

Here's the short(ish) version: When we moved in, our landlord (who was actually the first person I told I was pregnant--Wade wouldn't let me tell anyone important yet) mentioned how his sister or someone had blackout drapes in her baby's room and how great it was because it made it so dark and peaceful in the nursery. Yes, I thought. Yes, I MUST have blackout drapes in MY nursery. From there, the dream was born. I specifically told the landlord that, during their pre-move-in renovations, I didn't want blinds installed. I was going to do a double rod with blackout drapes on one rod and sheers on the other. I was going to live the dream!

Even now, a few months into drapery-gate, I still have these lovely visions of me sitting in that room, a soft breeze blowing through the sheers, me and the bean in the rocking chair, communing peacefully (no crying to be heard or spit-up to be seen).... Do you think it's been an easy road to realizing that vision? NO!

First, I kept buying the wrong size drapes. Then, once I measured the window (yes, yes, I know, cart before horse--leave me alone), I didn't have time to get new stuff, so I had Wade return the old stuff, and I ordered new stuff at... jcpenny.com. YES, Penny's. I'm not a snob. They have decent home goods. When the stuff arrived, was it what I wanted? Of course not. How was I supposed to know what "pinch pleats" are? Or that if curtains say "48 inches" they don't really mean 48 inches--they mean two panels of 24 inches each. Whahuh? The intricacies of drapery physics befuddle me.

So we hunted down our local Penny's to return it all (because I could not stomach looking at the proof of my failure one moment more than I had to), ended up at the depressing, sketchy Fox Hills Mall on Saturday night, and that, gentle readers, was drapery-gate.

Of course now all I can think is, "Maybe I can make some curtains..." Brilliant.

Last but not least, the true and amazing story of how Wade and I made some guy have a seizure: Sunday afternoon, we stopped at Swingers to grab a bit of lunch in the middle of shopping for cars (ugh, another whole headache that I don't even want to go into). Truly awful service at Swingers that day. Like, we asked our stoner waitress for some water when we sat down, and she finally brought out the water when she brought us the check. Literally, she said,"Yeah, I totally forgot to bring this out earlier." Us: "Yeah." Her: "That's SO weird, right?"

Anyhoo... Midway through our meal, this 40-ish couple sat down a few tables away, and the lady lit up a ciggie. Yes we were outside, but it was nasty and illegal. Another couple actually got up and moved tables to get away from the smoke. Since I'm pregnant, I feel that I have the right to be militant about smoke near me. And, since we had our food in front of us, I was absolutely not moving. Wade asked me, "Do you mind if I say something to them?" Hell no, honey! Have at it!

So Wade, very nicely, turns around and asks, "Do you mind putting that out?" And, OF COURSE, these people immediately become obscenely belligerent. Here's how the resulting convo went:

Dude: "We're outside! You can't possibly be bothered by this!"
W: "Yeah, well my wife's pregnant, so we are."
Dude: "Come on man, don't be one of those anti-smoking Nazis! Don't be a Bush-loving fascist!" (which, by the way, is just what you say to a liberal if you want things to escalate quickly)
W: "Look man, it's against the law and it's disgusting. Could you just put it out or move away?"
Lady: "You know, you really should say something to a smoker before they light up. It's really rude to a smoker to ask them to put it out after they've lit up."
Me: (becoming unglued, fast) "Um, we are both former smokers. WE KNOW that it doesn't matter at all, so just PUT IT THE HELL OUT PLEASE!"
Dude: "Come on man, you're such a Nazi, man!" (Dude supplied this kind of background chatter throughout the exchange. All you could really hear anytime Wade was talking was "...Nazi..." and "...f**king George Bush, man!")
Wade: "It's illegal, dude. What don't you understand about that?"
Dude: "Who cares if it's illegal, man?! We're outside!"
Wade: "If you don't care about things being illegal outside, how about if I just come over and piss on your table? How's that? How would you like me to just URINATE ON YOUR TABLE?"
Lady: "Oh yeah, come on over! Whip it out! SHOW US WHAT YOU GOT!"

Awesome.

It pretty much stopped at that point. I think all parties involved were a bit uncomfortable with the direction the exchange had taken. But then, like a minute later, we hear Lady saying to Dude, "Stephen! STEPHEN!"

I thought Stephen/Dude was getting up to punch Wade in the nose, but we look over, and frickin' Stephen is having a no-joke, full-on grand-mal seizure. Stuff is being knocked on the ground, glass is breaking everywhere, just utter chaos... Stoner waitress was near us but, of course, completely useless, so I stood up and asked if he was OK. Lady said no, so I run in the restaurant (remember that I'm still surfing the hormonal waves) screaming "Call 911! CALL 911!!!" Everything short of flailing my arms in the air. No sir, no panicking over here.

By the time I got back outside, Stephen/Dude was fine, Wade had paid the bill, and we got the halibut out of there. Far too much weirdness at Swingers that afternoon.

As we left, I thought two things: First, did we make him have a seizure? (I decided no, we most definitely did not--even though it's a funny headline for this part of the post.) And second, if you have health issues and are prone to seizures, you probably shouldn't be a) instigating yelling fights, and b) FRICKIN' SMOKING.

It's been a while...

...and, apologies, but it'll be a bit longer. Promise will post tonight. Promise will post more regularly. Busy+tired=no blogging.

So ya had a bad day...

So this morning, within an hour of getting to work, I screwed two different things up.

That is honestly the very worst feeling in the world to me: to know that something went wrong, and it is 100% your responsibility. I think that's why I try so hard at work--simply because I really, really abhor that combination of embarrassment, frustration, shame and guilt that comes with the knowledge that you just goofed bad. (This morning was even worse because yesterday afternoon I'd received--and responded to--an email that detailed the situation that I ended up screwing up. Mid-afternoon pregnancy stupor strikes again.)

I took a walk trying to clear my head, not cry (hormones + drama = me overreacting). I tried to think of what my old boss and friend, Kim, would do. At work, Kim was unflappable. She had her priorities in order. She knew that work is just work. Did anyone die? No? Then it's going to be fine. (Kim, I'm paraphrasing here.) After my little WWKD pep talk and a few more deep breaths, I felt much better. I totally had a handle on things. I was in control!

I came back in and went to tell my supervisor what had happened. She laughed and told me it was totally not a big deal, and she was so nice and compassionate...that I promptly burst into tears.

Awesome. Totally, totally awesome.

She was really sweet about it, especially considering that I was not just crying but actually sobbing--racking, heaving sobs, only interspersed by me blubbering, "I'm just so tired and pre-e-e-e-gnant! I'm so-o-o-o-o sorry! I'm not usually like thi-i-i-is!"

Again, she was so nice. And I was such a mess.

*****

OK, I had to stop writing that last bit because I actually just started bawling again. Wade was bouncing his foot up and down, and I couldn't stand it any more, and when I asked him to stop, it came out as "WAH!" I just burst into tears. Again.

Man, I'm psyched to meet this baby. But, OH MY GOD, today I did not like being pregnant. I'm going to bed.