Pictures? We got your pictures right here.

All of these are from day 2 (today, 6/29), except the last picture, which is from the birth day.


Ruby's first bottle (sugar water, to facilitate the pooping):

This is about four hours after the Ruby was born. I think she was still in shock.

Ruby Emma d. G.

That's right dear readers, Preggers is now a Mama. At 12:44 p.m. on June 28, 2007, Michelle gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby girl. Ruby weighs 8 lbs and 14 oz, has a full head of hair, and beautiful eyes (a hazel/blue mix).

--The Daddy

This is LAME.

The contractions had ratcheted up to being 5-7 minutes apart for a little while earlier this evening, but now they've slowed down again, coming at about 10-15 minutes apart. LAME LAME LAME.

I mean, it's not like I enjoy the pain (which is eye-crossing at times, by the way). But I'm all about just doing this damn thing. Let's power through. Let's get this done. I have (had, really) some great momentum going, and I'm ready to go to the hospital and see where I'm at (I'd love it to be 7 cm -- but I'm quite sure that's wishful thinking).

I'll post again when we go to the hospital (either my water has to break or my contractions have to be 5 minutes apart for over an hour), but at this rate... that'll be, like, never.

I'm in a tiny bit of labor.

The contractions that put me in such a pissy, bitchy mood yesterday never fully went away. All night I watched Seinfeld dvds while W slept (bastard!), getting up when the contractions would hit and trying to doze between them.

This morning they were anywhere between 20 and 40 minutes apart, and now we're at about 15-20 minutes apart. I'm predicting we're at the hospital sometime tonight, and the bean arrives sometime on 6/28 (which is a number I'm fine with -- I don't like odd numbered dates for some reason, even though I was born on one).

To confirm my prediction, here is the bean's horoscope for today:

"CANCER (Jun 23 - Jul 23) When the moment is right, when the opportunity is present, when the time has come, when the stars are aligned, when push has come to shove, when... well... when all the correct conditions have been fulfilled, you'll know. You're not waiting long at all. Indeed, you may well find that, within the next few days, you have begun to turn your corner, cross your Rubicon, find your flow, get into your stride and hit your target."

Y'hear that, beanie? "PUSH comes to shove." I push. You shove out. And hurry up, because a) contractions hurt like a bitch, and b) there's a whole mess of people out here psyched to meet you.

The Bean's Room

With much help from Pat and Lacey in finishing up the last little bits, the nursery is done, yo.

The bean's library (most of which was given to her by her Aunt Nikki for my shower -- no joke, like 50, 60 books), and the all important Bob's Big Boy piggy bank and Radiohead lullaby album.

Wade, nosing in on my picture taking.

It's important to properly and clearly label containers.
Lu, enjoying the new carpet.
Me, officially nine months pregnant, with Kermit, who thinks this is just the best room ever. The crib? Looks like a giant cat bed as far as he's concerned. The changing pad? Another cat bed. Rocking chair? Cat bed.

The two last things to be done in the room are hanging some sheer white curtains in the windows (currently being hemmed by seamstress extraordinaire, Pat) and hanging the mobile (shown here, but we're still waiting for it to be delivered).

D-Day.

Dunh dunh DUUUUUUNH!

It's here. June 26. As the counter on the side says, Countdown to the Bean is 0 days, 0 hours, 0 minutes, and 0 seconds. And yet...

I won't be having any babies today. I will, however, take back my prediction of a 7/1 delivery. It's going to be much sooner than that. How do I know? Well, for one thing, I've had contractions pretty regularly -- though not regularly enough to be called "active labor" (that would be 12 times in an hour, lasting 1+ minutes each) -- for the entire day and previous night. Also, I went to the doctor again today, and while I was STILL at 1-2 centimeters, I was 80% effaced this time, and the doctor said that he thought it'd be only a few more days. And I have pretty much lost all my squash**, so it had better come soon, otherwise I'm going to alienate every person I know. (Like I'm sure I nearly did today with my howling temper tantrum at lunch. I was literally sobbing, shaking my fists, and stomping my feet. My mom nearly peed she was laughing so hard.) There's just so much going on, and most of it is not of the calm, simple, quiet nature that I find I require right now. Everything just feels very chaotic and hot and noisy. It became too much for me, and I wigged. I'm not proud.

I recovered by going to the movies (alone). "Oceans 13" didn't suck, which was a nice surprise, and then I came home, took a bit of a nappy-poo with my pup, and sat in my very zen, very cool nursery and just admired the quiet.

As I'm noticing right now, how much squash seems I have to be inversely proportional to the intensity and frequency of my contractions. I'm having some very fun ones at the moment (keeping in mind that these are probably only like a 2 out of 10 on the contraction pain scale), and we're having a blip about getting dinner, and the two together make me want to hulk out.

But I will not wig out. I will just breathe. In and out, Michelle... In... Out...

**Squash [skwawsh] (noun): The buffer that allows you to interact with the regular world without letting small, inconsequential annoyances bother you. (Antonym (sort of): Squashless (adjective): When one lacks the buffer of squash and is affected deeply by those small, inconsequential annoyances.)

Any day now...

So this is a weird time in pregnancy. You know that any minute, you could be on the no U-turn road to mama-hood (you know, more than now). And as a result you go about living your life, la la la, not a care in the world... until you have a contraction. Braxton Hicks contractions are coming pretty frequently -- though not regularly -- at this point, so three, four, five times a day, you're wondering, "Is this it?!?" and then "Do we have everything? Are we prepared? How much time do we have?" and so on and so on.

That means that several times a day, you cycle from totally calm to totally ON and LET'S DO THIS! in five minutes. Such a weird combination of limbo and roller coaster every day.

The good thing is, I think we're ready. The "Labor Really Slow," "Labor Slow," and "Labor Fast" mixes are loaded on the ipod (LRS = ambient, yoga type music; LS = happy, slow pop; LF = upbeat, energizing pop). The bags are packed. The nursery is 99.9% done (pics to come -- it's crazy cute). Diapers and wipes are at the ready. All baby products (of which I'm pretty sure we have one of everything ever made for a newborn human) are out of the box, washed if necessary, and put away. Extra meals will be made and frozen this week. Fluids are being consumed like crazy. Mani and pedi will be gotten today. And... I don't know. More rest? I'll go see a movie? Like I said, a weird time.

Whatever happens, I'll keep you all posted and let you know when Preggers in La La Land becomes Mama in La La Land. Happy Monday, all!

Addendum

I was reflecting on that last post after I wrote it, and I'd like to add two things.

#1) To help with pain management during labor, we considered using a doula, but after that last one asked me if I'd be able to orgasm in front of the various loved ones that we were thinking would be in the room... I realized that there was a good chance that I would feel very weird just letting loose in front of a stranger. Also, I'm not sure what the cost of a doula is in other parts of the country, but out here it is steep. So weirdness + cost = no doula. That could be a big mistake, but we'll see. When I get nervous about it, I remind myself that the doula is not a pain medication. I'll still feel the contractions if we hired one, I'd just also have a strange lady holding my hand and playing with my nipples.

#2) Rereading that last post, I realize that I probably came off as terribly self-righteous (as I'm sure I usually do when I rant about the environment or stuff like that). Here's the thing, avoiding chemicals that I purposefully put in my body is definitely wise and admirable. Do I still use non-organic, unnatural beauty products? Hell yes (I go for the $10 manicure -- you think for that price I'm going to get formaldehyde-free nail polish? Doubtful). Do I drink nasty chem-ridden sodas? Yes (though not really since I've been pregnant). Do I use too many plastic products? Yes. Do I eat foods with preservatives? Yes.

I guess my point is that I may purport to be this whiz-bang organic gal, but really, the most I could say is that these are goals that I pursue. I still don't want a damn epidural, but I'm certainly don't mean to come across quite as sanctimonious as I think I do sometimes.

The more things change...

...the more the stay EXACTLY the same.

I am still 1.5 cm dilated and 50% effaced. I thought not much had changed in the last week, but nothing has changed in the last week. So much for my mom's theory that I was ready to pop yesterday.**

Frankly, it's fine by me. I'm feeling much, much better these days (again, thanks to sleep and my glam new wrist braces -- on both arms!), I get to go see the Police, more things can get done around the house, and excruciating pain is still a bit further off.

Speaking of horrific pain, loads of people have been asking me what my plan is as far as pain management during labor goes. Wade and I are committed to an unmedicated birth (we've learned that it's taboo to call it "natural childbirth" these days -- it implies that if you or other birthing mothers choose to get medication, it's then "unnatural"). I totally don't judge those who get medication (and who knows? there is a decent chance that I'll get to 8 cm and decide that somebody had best get that anesthesiologist in here before I start speaking in tongues), but in my nonpregnant life I'm not a big fan of pills or meds. I may take some Tylenol or Advil if something is really bad, but in general, nah. I just feel like there's enough crap I take in from my environment (especially out here in LA where I'm breathing in the output of 5 million cars every day) without me putting more chemicals in. So I try and eat organic, I filter my water, and I try not to take too many pills.

Plus, an epidural goes into your SPINE. A NEEDLE IN YOUR SPINE. Does that not freak anyone the hell out? I'm getting the wiggins just thinking about it. Again, I may actually get to the part where I'm shaking and nauseous and scream for some meds, but at this point I'm totally not into it.

So how will I (we, really, because Wade is my partner in all of this) manage the pain? Breathing, massage (dude, my sister-in-law, Lacey, is a licensed massage therapist -- could I have planned that better?), various relaxation techniques and labor positions, support from loved ones, fun things for the whole family to try, and frankly, a LOT of endurance and stamina.

And I feel like this time leading up to labor is even more important than what I do during labor itself. I'm really lucky that I have these weeks to rest up. I've read that the three biggest obstacles in "unmedicated" labor are Fatigue, (lack of) Fluids, and Fear. That means that I'm taking my time with things now, resting up and sleeping a lot. I'm eating loads of watermelon and drinking tons of water and coconut water (nature's Gatorade, and the tastiest thing ever!) to keep myself super, super hydrated. And, probably most importantly, I think about labor a lot and remind myself that what I'll be feeling is totally good, all-natural pain. That pain will not mean something is wrong, it will mean that my body doing exactly what it is programmed to do, what generations and generations of women's bodies have done before mine. I will remember to just get my brain out of the way of this sort of incredible performance and not be afraid to engage in the entire experience. (Damn, I sound like a yoga instructor or something.)

Of course, as I said before, this may prove too ambitious and I'll decide a needle in the spine is preferable to passing out, but I don't think so. I'm pretty committed to this.


** Speaking of my mom, she would like me to clarify from an earlier post that I was actually breastfed for four or five months, not three as I stated. Whatever. Apparently, however long it was, my sister was breast fed a month longer. And guess what? Nik is about 3/4 of an inch taller than me. I'm just saying.

39+ weeks update... ish.

I was going to go do this whole update post tonight, like "this is where you're at" and "this is where your baby's at." But pretty much every site said the same thing: the baby's nearly done, no more lanugo, fingernails are long, the kid's getting fat, yada. And for the ladies? (Continued) heartburn, (continued) constipation, nesting, yada. So um, that's all kind of boring right? I think a more fun and informative update will be to just wait to see what the doc says tomorrow. I'm guessing 2 cm dilated and maybe 60% effaced -- in other words, I don't think too much has happened since last time.

As for due dates, I'm calling 7/1/07 (LONG after my date with Sting). W also says 7/1/07 (look at us being simpatico! I didn't even tell him my guess). Any other predictions?

Updates from the doctor tomorrow...

Onesie Twosie

My best friend from/since fourth grade, Joey, gave me one of the greatest shower presents I've ever even heard of. It was classic.

She gave me these:





How great are these? She made a onesie for each member of the family! Granted the ones of me and W are slightly scary (actually, the one of Wade is downright terrifying), but still, who finds something that actually says "Happy Bean Day"?

In addition to the homemade outfits, Joey also gave me loads of plain white ones, several different colors of dye, and lots of iron-on transfer sheets to make the bean even more cutsie-pie onesies. So what did we do this weekend? Uh huh. We got crafty. (And yes, I almost linked to a youtube video of "She's Crafty" by the Beastie Boys, but I refrained.)

Wade agreed that this attempt at tie-dyeing inappropriately highlights her nipples (totally inadvertent, I assure you--though there is another weird tie-dye ring right on her butt on the other side).

Joey hard at work in the sweat shop.

Me, trying to un-tie another tie-dye attempt (which should have been titled, "My mom tried to tie-dye my onesie, but it turned out like this").

Another creative dyeing attempt. This will be the bean's outfit to her first L.A. Galaxy game.

The finished product, drying. Kind of looks like a row of Tibetan prayer flags, no?

A totally fun afternoon. Now I have to go find some cute images on the web to iron on, but I think the bean is totally set for one-of-a-kind, hand-made personal loungewear. Thanks Aunt Joey!

The Calvary Has Arrived!

Today my sister and my mother- and sister-in-law came in town to await the Beanie's arrival and to help my sorry ass out. My sister did two loads of laundry for me and emptied the dishwasher, and Pat and Lacey walked poor neglected Lu for me. Don't you wish you were pregnant so nice people would come over and do your work for you?

Nik also brought her dog Sammy with her, and--DAMN IT!--I missed the part of the afternoon where Sammy sniffed at Kermit and Mr. K went apeshit and attacked Sammy (who apparently squealed like a pig at this onslaught from my three-toothed, declawed geriatric cat). Then Kermit ran over to Lulu, who was on the other side of the room minding her own business and cornered her, pawing and hissing at Lulu's face. (Poor Lu was probably all like "What the hell is this? What did I do?") And then Kermit sprinted across the room again to run up a chair back on his way to attack Aaron, Nik's boyfriend. Aaron apparently got so freaked out, he rolled up the Newsweek he was reading to defend himself, but then K ceased and desisted. Oh dear. I nearly peed my pants when I heard this story. Even now, I'm chuckling to myself like a crazy person.

All that to say though, good laughs + loved ones letting you rest up a bit = a very nice day. I highly recommend it.

Undah Preshah

OK, cue the music. Again. (Um, apologies for the random video. I care about unemployment as much as the next person, but this is weird. I just wanted the song, and I don't know how to link to just the music. Anyhoo...)

So I'm sitting here on the couch at 4 a.m., watching Emeril, balancing this computer on what's left of my lap because I can't sleep. I have a few things on my mind, and how better to deal with them than air them publicly? So dear friend blogosphere, would you like to hear them? OK, let's do it.

1. This carpal tunnel thing has become the bane of my existence. I now wear wrist braces 24 hours a day (literally--all night long too) and even typing this little bit so far makes my hands tingly. But frankly, I don't give a shit any more. I had all these good intentions to blog and write and edit and budget on spreadsheets during time and I haven't been able to do any of it. I have all these great blog topics too: "Do you Doula? (Cause Me? Not So Much)" and "Diapers--The Evil Necessity" and posts on my grandmother and dyeing onesies and pictures of myself and the nursery and ALL KINDS OF DAMN STUFF. And now? Nada because apparently this CPS just keeps on keeping on until I deliver and start purging some of this excess fluid from my body.
2. Poor Lulu has been getting the shaft lately. Wade has been working longer hours lately in preparation for having to take time off... who knows when? (That's another stress. I can totally see the benefit of a scheduled c-section at times like this. Relatives could plan around it, workplaces could be told solid plans... it's just brill minus the invasive surgery and long recovery time.) And b/c W's working more, I'm walking Lu twice a day... except twice a day ends up being a lame-ass stroll in the morning and then me sitting on the couch in the evening promising that any minute now we're going to go for a walk. It also doesn't help that we have THE most finicky dog on earth who will walk with all of two, maybe three people. So when my mom offers to walk her, Lu will go about 50 feet with her and then just stop. And frankly, if a 160 lb. dog doesn't want to go somewhere, it's pretty hard to convince her otherwise.
3. NOTHING FITS ANYMORE. No matter what I put on, my top and pants don't quite match up and I'm left exposing a three-inch swath of belly to the world. OK, I have a few things that fit, but they're not cute and I don't feel cute in them. I don't need that crap right now.
   
4. I can't think of anything but baby. I would LOVE to be able to just let my mind wander on to something that is non-baby related, but I literally cannot think on one thing that the baby does not intrude on.
   
5. It seems to be a stressful time for a lot of people around me too. People are dealing with moving, medical issues, moving again (my poor sister just moved from her home of seven years and her career of two years). Just a lot of ancillary stress. Their stress abuts my stress, therefore bringing the property value of the whole stress neighborhood down.
6. Global warming and more specifically, people who just sit in their damn cars, letting them idle, having whole conversations, taking naps. For some reason, this seems to be a much bigger thing out here in LA then anywhere else I've lived. And every time I see someone doing this, I get mad at them and then mad at myself because I lack the balls to just go knock on their window and say, "Hey, you know how many miles you get to the gallon when you idle? Zero. You get zero mpg. SO TURN OFF YOUR DAMN CAR." And since drivers in LA are a-holes in general, even if I was nice about it, I'd probably get a big "EFF YOU" for my trouble.
   
7. The end is near. I mean, I'm in week 39 as of tomorrow, in-laws are coming, I'm huge and pretty much all baby at this point, my practice contractions are getting more intense--all signs that the time is almost here. BUT I'M NOT READY YET. Logistically, I still have about a page left on my to-do list. Emotionally, I'm still having trouble wrapping my head around being a family of three and the fact that in a few years, someone's going to be telling me I'm not their best friend because I don't let them drink root beer on their morning cereal. And then a few years past that, that same someone is going to be asking me about sex and where she came from. And a few years past that, she's going to be screaming that I don't understand anything and that Joe Shmo is the love of her life and that I've never been young like her and that I would never understand her or love or life or anything. AWESOME.
   
8. I had three baby showers (one of which had 60+ guests), which means I have so many thank you notes to write still. If you sent us something and haven't received one, please be patient with my disabled wrists and know that I feel AWFUL about the fact that I haven't gotten to yours yet. It's coming, I promise. (Oh, and if you've emailed me or called lately and are expecting a response, just keep your panties on. It'll be a while.)
   
9. New Orleans is still an f'in disaster area. Literally. How depressing is that? Two years later? What a frigging mess.
   
10. For the last four months or so, I was loving pregnancy. I felt great. I was having fun with it. Now? I'm tired. I'm just damn tired. I'm over it. Stick a fork in me, I'm done. I'm done with being kicked and pounded from the inside, tired all the time (although I hear this nasty rumor that that doesn't really get fixed), emotional and hormonal, fat, whiny, bitchy, blah, blah, blah. So while I'm not ready for it to be over, I'm totally ready at the same time. Excellent consistency of emotion, Mich. Well done.

OK. I feel a bit better. I really do have fun things that I'd like to post about, but what would my blog be with out one last (maybe) encore of The Complainy Monologues? I'm going to watch the end of Iron Chef now. Only two hours until the Today show and I can watch Al chortle his way through the morning, Matt sexy his way through some interview or another, Ann be more elegant than is expected for a morning show, and Meredith cackle her way through menopause.

Good night/morning all.

Damn. I'm tired, yo.

Dude. Again, someone please remind me that just because I'm home all day long does not mean that I have to GO all day long. The car was taken in for a check-up, Lu was taken in for a check-up, unwise purchases were returned, Lu was walked twice, Kermit was chased down from the roof of the garage, nearly all the laundry was done AND folded, and I guess I'm nesting, because I also cleaned the floorboards. Oh and we went to the OB/GYN. Again. Seriously, I should just get a zip-line that goes across town I'm going there so much.

At the doctor they checked where I'm at uterinely. For the record, as of today, I am 1.5 centimeters dilated and about 50% effaced. (As the doctor put it, I'm half-ripe now, but I need to be ripe as a peach to deliver. Mmm, colorful.) But 1.5 cm and 50% effaced seems like a lot, doesn't it? It's thanks to all those big-time practice contractions I've been having. The doctor said that I'm on track to deliver around my due date or a few days after, but my mom nearly crapped her pants when she heard how far along I am. She thinks I'm coming early. All I have to say is that this baby WILL NOT ARRIVE before I go see the Police at Dodger Stadium on 6/23. I will cross my legs very hard if I have to, but I'm going to watch those old boys jump around and sing my favorite songs no matter.

Anyhoohah, I'm beat from all the running around and the doctor poking around in my pu'unene. Night all.

Vacation... All I ever wanted...

Greetings from the lovely land of maternity leave! It's great here. About 73 degrees, breezy, lots of fun stuff to do... like wait around to push a watermelon out of my vagooj.

If that came out snarky, I actually didn't mean it to. I'm loving this! Seriously, when in your life do you have to go on vacation and sit around and do nothing? Of course there stuff to do -- I have a two-page, single space list that is only the tip of the iceberg -- but that's all self-inflicted responsibility, not someone asking me to edit a spreadsheet for the 19th time. I'm self-managed right now. YAY!

There's only one small danger in this whole self-management thing: I was exhausted last night. With no set schedule to follow, I just sort of went the whole day. I have to remember that this is also a time to rest up and gather my strength for the aforementioned watermelon pushing.

I did take a small break yesterday when Lu and I went to the park and sat around and people (and squirrel) watched. Seriously, no book, no phone, no ipod. No nothing. Just sat there and stared off into space for almost an hour. I need to follow my dog's lead more often. It was glorious and totally recharged my batteries. And I ate lunch and cleaned up with Star Wars on in the background ("A New Hope," on HBO in the middle of the day -- it was like my birthday all over again!).

The other great thing about maternity leave? Blogging. All. the. damn. time. I've been a naughty blogger lately (partly due to my new friend carpal tunnel syndrome -- seriously, what the hell is this? It is easily my least favorite part of pregnancy so far. The pits.), but that's all about to change. Look out world, I'm ready to blog!

So yeah, I'm totally digging this whole maternity leave thing, and I'm fine fine fine with the bean coming as late as she wants. When else is someone going to pay me to sit around, relax, and get stuff done around the house? And get a facial and mani and pedi? And nap? And play with my dog? And I guess my cat too? Not so much ever. So beanie, you just chillax in there, little girl. Take your time.

It's the final countdown!

Cue the music. We're at t-minus two weeks, people.

Happy Birthday to Me!

So I was all pissy and whiny about my birthday, but it ended up being really fun. First, Friday night:
Wade, Nik, Russ, Joey and I went to someplace that I used to frequent A LOT when I was a kid and that still brings on waves and waves of childhood and LA nostalgia. Great burgers, and Friday nights are classic car night. I mean, could it get better?

Us with Bob himself:
I know, I know... why do I keep wearing that damn shirt?!?! I'm just lucky Bill's in Italy so he doesn't have to see this travesty. (I look better later on, keep scrolling.)

The classic cars:

There were also quite few cars that I'm not sure would classify as "classic" or "cars" -- like an Indy-type race car, a 1989 Impala (granted, in great shape, but still, classic?), and quite a few scooters.

Saturday morning started with brunch at my mom's -- featuring my favorite breakfast items: bagels with cream cheese, lox (sniff, I can't have those; v sad), capers, red onions, etc. And my latest food craving and obsession: WATERMELON. Oh dear god. It is the cool, sweet nectar of the gods. I think I've eaten my body weight in watermelon in the last few weeks.

After brunch, it was a non-birthday event, but such a delightful treat: my very own VIRTUAL baby shower! How cutting edge and 21st century are we? (Granted, on our practice run, H and A had to instruct me on how to actually chat, but once I got that, I was golden.) One very amazing Ms. Chronicles invited some of my favorite people in the world (holla monkeys!) to an online, chat-enabled baby shower. We did it in a chat room (um, that sounds bad) and then posted pictures of ourselves in another space. Heidi had made cookies...

...that she sent to everyone the week before (yes those are boobs -- are you surprised? -- and yes they were delicious), and everyone took pictures of themselves eating a cookie and posted them online. There was trivia and advice/assvice too (Lora and H, your advice was excellent, thank you!). And there were presents! W and I had to open those during the shower and then post pictures of ourselves as we did so. A few highlights:

Ahem, I'm trying to type here!

Cracking up at some perverse train of conversation (for the record, as befits any gathering with this group of rapscallions, there was porn, whiskey, cursing, taking the Lord's name in vain, and scatological humor -- so typical):

Before the debauchery began:
Delish cookies!
Some of the prezzies:
All in all, just a fantastic time.

Top off that afternoon with a fantastic Italian dinner with the fam and W's dad Mike, who was in town for the weekend making everything that much more fun. And then a picnic (with Lu!) at the beach on Sunday? Forget about it. No, seriously, forget about it.

Next year, when I'm kvetching about turning 32, somebody please remind me that I frigging LOVED turning 31.

Really much better that I didn't...

...post much (any) this week. I've been sleeping pretty much none for the last few nights. I've always heard this happens late in pregnancy, but I thought it had more to do with being physically uncomfortable. I'm totally comfy, my body feels good (minus the carpal tunnel, see below); this is just wicked insomnia. And with no sleep comes one cranky-ass Michy pants.

If I'd posted yesterday for example, it might have looked something like this: "mutter mutter... Paris Hilton got out -- NO JUSTICE... grumble grumble... fat sausage fingers, can't even get my ring on... grumble grumble... frickin carpal tunnel syndrome... *#^%*&$ damn birthday, damn 30s... #^$%*! stupid NASCAR..."

So you see, much better to wait a day, get a bit more distance, take about nine hot showers, not sleep for another night and post something that's at least somewhat coherent and not like I let a crazy homeless person have the keyboard.

So yeah. I turn 31 tomorrow. Woo. Hoo. Here's why I'm not terribly excited (and if you knew me at all, you'd know that usually, I treat my birthday as a national holiday that must be observed by all around me with the pomp of Fourth of July, the frivolity of Cinco de Mayo, and the pure joy of Christmas):

• I'll be in my 30s. Turning 30 still had some tarnished excitement clinging to it. Anything in the 30s is just kind of... there.
• I never, ever, EVAH thought I'd say this, but I might be reaching my fill of being the center of attention. I may seem shy (or maybe I don't?), but I'm usually a glutton for being in the spotlight. But with baby showers and strangers approaching me on the street and everyone asking how I'm doing and if I need anything -- well it's just hell on earth, I tell ya. My sister pointed out that really it's the bean that's the center of attention, but until girlfriend can chill sans umbilical cord, it's still me that gets the focus.
• I'm tired. I'm all swoled up. I'm beginning (ha!) to get a little pissy. I am NOT feeling like a pretty, pretty princess (though, as of this afternoon, neither is Paris H. anymore, so that puts me in a MUCH better mood).

Yeah, and in addition to feeling a bit dazed by my birthday being here and me being all not myself to greet it, I seem to have swollen up like a door in the middle of humid summer. Forgive the clunky metaphor, but that's what I feel like. All of a sudden too. And with the swelling comes this delightful bout of carpal tunnel syndrome. Apparently the extra fluid presses on the carpal tunnel making it all tingly and painful. Who knew? Pregnancy just gets funner and funner, folks. Good times.

Oy. This has all been a bit harsh. I'm just tired. And frankly, I'm a little bored with being pregnant. I'm bored with talking about it, and I'm bored with thinking about it. But I'm too tired to do interesting things that would give me more things to talk about on this blog and in my life. It's a vicious, vicious cycle.

BUT! It's beautiful weather outside and I only have TWO! more days of work before my delicious maternity leave begins and someone pays me to sit around and wait to have a baby. So, OK! I can rally and be in a better mood just for those two reasons alone!

Oh, and I just plain don't like NASCAR. I think it's dumb and a waste of gas.

Preg Nancy updates from week 37

So much going on these days!

The visits to the doctor are coming fast and furious in this last month -- we go weekly now! -- and I neglected to give the highlights of the last visit. For one thing, I gained three pounds in a week. THREE POUNDS! I'm hoping the bean gained at least 2.5 of those. For the record, that puts my total weight gain at 36 lbs. so far, on track to hit the big 4-Oh. At this last appointment, the doctor pulled out the on-call calendar to let me know who would be working around the time I'm due (I see one doctor in a group practice, and there's no guarantee she'll be working at the exact time that I go into labor). She looked at a week after, and then a week before. And then two weeks before. And then I hear, "...and if you go into labor the weekend of June 8th..." WHAH HUH? Like in four days? Thanks, but no. No no no. That is far too soon. We reserved June 26, and June 26 it shall be. No sooner. Certainly not two weeks sooner! Last thing: as of tomorrow, I will be at 37 weeks and the bean will be full-term, meaning that she could come at anytime. She won't, because I'm raising a polite girl and she is cognizant and respectful of the of the aforementioned reserve date of 6/26, but technically, she could. (Next doctor's appointment is Wednesday, and they may start checking to see if I'm dilated. AAAAH!)

Another thing that's coming fast and furious: my Braxton Hicks contractions. ....Aaaand there's another one starting. What I thought were BHs before were just gas. Yeah gas. Suckit. How was I supposed to know what BHs felt like? But these are unmistakably uterine cramps. In some ways, I kind of love them. I feel like I'm working out for the big fight. Like Rocky: "It's the eye of the tiger, it's thrill of the fight..." A few days before labor, my uterus is going to run some steps and at the top, put its fallopian tubes in the air in victory.

One symptom of late pregnancy? I make no sense any more. I try to say things, put my thoughts into a coherent string of words, and weird stuff comes out. Last Sunday, I was talking to Wade and meant to say, "Thank god it's a three-day weekend." What came out? "La di dah, Monday's tomorrow." What? Or yesterday, Kermit was running around like crazy, and I meant to say, "Kermit's acting crazy." What came out? "Damn, shit bonkers cat." Really? Is that a thought? I mean, I know that these are words in English and that technically if you put a period on the end of them, I guess they make a sentence, but still... Ah well, no brain cells make for funny, funny comedy around the house.

Nursery is almost, almost done. There's been some debate on the bookcase front (I'm right, he's wrong) and we have one more picture that's being framed, but once those are resolved, I'll take some pictures and post them. It's super cute. We have excellent taste. The bean will be both stimulated and soothed by her surroundings.

And for those of you who've dedicated several hours of your lives trying to figure out the bean's name, I will say that some people have it right and some don't. And that's all I'm saying. (But I do applaud your ingenuity! Seriously, House himself would be proud of the investigatory work you all have done.) Last thing I'll say about this: I actually would tell the name (Wade's already been telling random people, like the grocery checkout girl, our cleaning lady, our laundry people), but I mentioned it early on to one person, and she totally slammed it. So for those of you who are upset that we won't tell, blame family friend X. She's the worst (and her kids' names are bloody awful, if you ask me).

Anyhoodle, besides the looming intense physical pain and the random spouting of gibberish, I'm feeling totally great. I think I'm finally getting the hang of this whole pregnancy thing.