Which means I'm due in 3 weeks, for what that's worth. Pretty weird.
New phenomena:
- What I'm wearing seems to determine whether I get the "Wow, you're huge!" comments, or "You look great, you're so small!" comments. The other possibility is that the people in the second category are lying, because they're always women, but that's okay (I love them for it).
- The baby gets the hiccups. Really weird.
- People, particularly Mr. B, are now concerned that I could go into labor at any second, so I have to be careful. If I say "ouch" because the kid has kicked me particularly hard, everyone in the room gets very attentive. If I flinch at work, my coworkers go into High Alert. It's very sweet, and absolutely hilarious.
- Swollen everything, all day long (as opposed to before, when I just had swollen ankles in the afternoon). Pretty uncomfortable, but also highly amusing: I can make fun patterns on myself. Being swollen means that I get "pillow lines" and marks really easily - so if, for example, I rest my legs on a chair with waffle-pattern fabric, then when I pick my legs up they'll also have a waffle-pattern. It's like being made of silly putty (silly putty! silly putty! silly putty!).
Things My Son Said Today
Davis and I sat on my Big Comfy Chair today. I leaned it back, put up the footrest. My feet reached the rest, and Davis's feet stopped just past my knee (it used to be they wouldn't reach the edge of the seat).
"I need more woom, Daddy."
So I tipped myself to one side, squeezing into the corner so he could fit. This, too, is relatively new. In a few months, or a year, or an eyeblink, we'll be fighting for the chair. I stopped fighting my Dad for the chair when I realized that his pocket change always fell out when he reclined. From then on, I would let him have the chair, and I would scrounge for loose change.
I think I'll buy a second chair.
"We're making a ten, Daddy!" Davis was all delight and surprise. I asked him to repeat that. Twice. And again. "Yeah, a ten. I'm a One, and you're a Zewo." This is funny, and I laugh, but a bit uneasily: I am the Zero. Davis said, "there's a zewo on your shirt." He pronounced it more like "shut." I saw nothing, but maybe that was the joke.
Later tonight, I tucked him into bed; the sheet tightly fitted to his body. He laid on his back and said something that I didn't quite understand, ending with "can't get into his cave." I noticed he was trying to push his hand under the sheet. I asked him what he had said.
"Teke can't get into his cave!" It rhymed with Becky. I said it out loud. Did I have that right? "Yeah, Teke!" And how was that spelled? "T-E-K-E! Teke is my weft hand."
His right hand was "Medi." Like Betty. But funnier. I am a little afraid to ask him to name the rest of his body parts. But, for the record, his little sister's giant plush cat is now called "Mr. Cellphone."
"Webster" is the kitchen trash can.
"I need more woom, Daddy."
So I tipped myself to one side, squeezing into the corner so he could fit. This, too, is relatively new. In a few months, or a year, or an eyeblink, we'll be fighting for the chair. I stopped fighting my Dad for the chair when I realized that his pocket change always fell out when he reclined. From then on, I would let him have the chair, and I would scrounge for loose change.
I think I'll buy a second chair.
"We're making a ten, Daddy!" Davis was all delight and surprise. I asked him to repeat that. Twice. And again. "Yeah, a ten. I'm a One, and you're a Zewo." This is funny, and I laugh, but a bit uneasily: I am the Zero. Davis said, "there's a zewo on your shirt." He pronounced it more like "shut." I saw nothing, but maybe that was the joke.
Later tonight, I tucked him into bed; the sheet tightly fitted to his body. He laid on his back and said something that I didn't quite understand, ending with "can't get into his cave." I noticed he was trying to push his hand under the sheet. I asked him what he had said.
"Teke can't get into his cave!" It rhymed with Becky. I said it out loud. Did I have that right? "Yeah, Teke!" And how was that spelled? "T-E-K-E! Teke is my weft hand."
His right hand was "Medi." Like Betty. But funnier. I am a little afraid to ask him to name the rest of his body parts. But, for the record, his little sister's giant plush cat is now called "Mr. Cellphone."
"Webster" is the kitchen trash can.
Timing is everything...
This is probably not going to be as funny in the retelling, but...
This morning the radio alarm went off, and Mr. B hit snooze. We were lying in bed, dozing/waking up, stretching...I have a hard time getting out of bed in the morning now. At one point I stretched, and sighed, and said: "But it's so hard to get out of bed..."
Just then Mr. B's alarm went off again, and Madonna (in "Open Your Heart") sang: "It's not that hard - " before Mr. B hit the alarm again.
Then we both realized what I said, and what the radio said, and I couldn't stop laughing. Of course, it doesn't take much to send me into giggles these days...
This morning the radio alarm went off, and Mr. B hit snooze. We were lying in bed, dozing/waking up, stretching...I have a hard time getting out of bed in the morning now. At one point I stretched, and sighed, and said: "But it's so hard to get out of bed..."
Just then Mr. B's alarm went off again, and Madonna (in "Open Your Heart") sang: "It's not that hard - " before Mr. B hit the alarm again.
Then we both realized what I said, and what the radio said, and I couldn't stop laughing. Of course, it doesn't take much to send me into giggles these days...
Friendship
I got this at work today.
Our great friendship
When you are sad -- I will
Help you get drunk and plot revenge
Against the sorry bastard who made you sad.
When you are blue -- I will
Try to dislodge whatever is choking you.
When you smile -- I will
Know you are plotting something
That I must be involved in.
When you are scared -- I will
Rag on you about it every chance I get.
When you are worried -- I will
Tell you horrible stories about
How much worse it could be,
Until you quit whining.
When you are confused -- I will
Use little words.
When you are sick -- I will
Tell you to stay the hell away from me
Until you are well again.
I don't want whatever you have.
When you fall -- I will
Point and laugh at your clumsy ass.
This is my oath....
I pledge it to the end.
'Why?' you may ask.
'Because you're my friend!'
Friendship is like
Peeing your pants:
Everyone can see it,
But only you can
Feel the true warmth.
Our great friendship
When you are sad -- I will
Help you get drunk and plot revenge
Against the sorry bastard who made you sad.
When you are blue -- I will
Try to dislodge whatever is choking you.
When you smile -- I will
Know you are plotting something
That I must be involved in.
When you are scared -- I will
Rag on you about it every chance I get.
When you are worried -- I will
Tell you horrible stories about
How much worse it could be,
Until you quit whining.
When you are confused -- I will
Use little words.
When you are sick -- I will
Tell you to stay the hell away from me
Until you are well again.
I don't want whatever you have.
When you fall -- I will
Point and laugh at your clumsy ass.
This is my oath....
I pledge it to the end.
'Why?' you may ask.
'Because you're my friend!'
Friendship is like
Peeing your pants:
Everyone can see it,
But only you can
Feel the true warmth.
Mommy, why does Daddy drink so much?
Well sweetie (In that patronizing Mommy voice), your Daddy's a lawyer and he has conversations like these on a daily basis.
Client: I want a trial!
Me: We have no evidence or theory to disprove the State's case. A trial is not in your best interest.
Client: Still, I want a trial. I want my day in court.
Me: It will be a bad day.
Client: *Snicker* Maybe for you, but not for me.
Me: You realize at the end of that day, I will be going home and you will go to prison.
Client: How come I have to go to prison?
Me: Because the state can prove that you committed a crime.
Client: Well, disprove it.
Me: We have no EVIDENCE!
Client: Why should that stop you?
Me: *Sigh* (to myself) And I applied for this job.
Client: I want a trial!
Me: We have no evidence or theory to disprove the State's case. A trial is not in your best interest.
Client: Still, I want a trial. I want my day in court.
Me: It will be a bad day.
Client: *Snicker* Maybe for you, but not for me.
Me: You realize at the end of that day, I will be going home and you will go to prison.
Client: How come I have to go to prison?
Me: Because the state can prove that you committed a crime.
Client: Well, disprove it.
Me: We have no EVIDENCE!
Client: Why should that stop you?
Me: *Sigh* (to myself) And I applied for this job.
How my Recycling Can Wheel Was Stolen, and How I Got it Back
This is, I swear, all true, despite the surreal nature of the whole thing.
On Monday (trash day), for the first time, I put out my brand new, supplied by my garbage company for a mere $2 per month, industrial-trash-can-sized recycling bin. It is green. In it, I may place all of my recycling, mixed up, with no sorting whatsoever (woo-hoo!).
Later that morning, as I was preparing Sara's lunch, I glanced out the window and noticed a pickup truck slowing in front of the house. Moments later, a man got out and, as he appeared to be heading toward our door, stopped and picked up something from the grass. Another glance a moment later confirmed he was headed for our front door, where, in extremely broken English, he asked if I needed mulch and handed me a card. Although I didn't need mulch, and said as much, I did take the card.
Fast forward about 10 minutes.
Noticing the diapers needed taking out to the trash can, I decided to combine the trip with the necessary chore of dragging both the trash and recycling cans up from the curb. There was only one small problem.
The recycling can was missing a wheel.
" ahh" I thought. That thing the man picked up was a wheel. Well, maybe he placed it in the trash can.
Nope.
In the recycling can?
Nope. In the grass or flowerbeds somewhere near the house?
Nada.
So, I return inside, find the card, and call the number scrawled on it in nearly illegible, running-out-of-ink ballpoint pen. What I get on the other end sounds like a conversation in Spanish between two people who have accidentally left their cell phone on without realizing it. All of my shouting "hello!" "OLA!" into the phone is to no avail. I dial again. I get the SAME Spanish conversation, and realize it must be a recording.
While I am listening, a caller beeps in on call waiting, and when I answer it, it's mulch guy! Yeah!
Except, he has no idea what I'm saying when I ask about the wheel. He doesn't understand English.
After much shouting (like THAT'S gonna help with comprehension) and the use of the words "mulch" and "house", I get him to agree to come back, and give him the address. 10 minutes later, he pulls up and I'm waiting out front. I ask about the wheel.
Nothing.
I point to the recycling bin with no wheel and make round motions with my hand.
He says "trash?"
I say "where is it?"
He walks to the back of his truck, pulls out my wheel, and hands it to me.
I put it back on the recycling bin. He drives away.
On Monday (trash day), for the first time, I put out my brand new, supplied by my garbage company for a mere $2 per month, industrial-trash-can-sized recycling bin. It is green. In it, I may place all of my recycling, mixed up, with no sorting whatsoever (woo-hoo!).
Later that morning, as I was preparing Sara's lunch, I glanced out the window and noticed a pickup truck slowing in front of the house. Moments later, a man got out and, as he appeared to be heading toward our door, stopped and picked up something from the grass. Another glance a moment later confirmed he was headed for our front door, where, in extremely broken English, he asked if I needed mulch and handed me a card. Although I didn't need mulch, and said as much, I did take the card.
Fast forward about 10 minutes.
Noticing the diapers needed taking out to the trash can, I decided to combine the trip with the necessary chore of dragging both the trash and recycling cans up from the curb. There was only one small problem.
The recycling can was missing a wheel.
" ahh" I thought. That thing the man picked up was a wheel. Well, maybe he placed it in the trash can.
Nope.
In the recycling can?
Nope. In the grass or flowerbeds somewhere near the house?
Nada.
So, I return inside, find the card, and call the number scrawled on it in nearly illegible, running-out-of-ink ballpoint pen. What I get on the other end sounds like a conversation in Spanish between two people who have accidentally left their cell phone on without realizing it. All of my shouting "hello!" "OLA!" into the phone is to no avail. I dial again. I get the SAME Spanish conversation, and realize it must be a recording.
While I am listening, a caller beeps in on call waiting, and when I answer it, it's mulch guy! Yeah!
Except, he has no idea what I'm saying when I ask about the wheel. He doesn't understand English.
After much shouting (like THAT'S gonna help with comprehension) and the use of the words "mulch" and "house", I get him to agree to come back, and give him the address. 10 minutes later, he pulls up and I'm waiting out front. I ask about the wheel.
Nothing.
I point to the recycling bin with no wheel and make round motions with my hand.
He says "trash?"
I say "where is it?"
He walks to the back of his truck, pulls out my wheel, and hands it to me.
I put it back on the recycling bin. He drives away.
Fun Pregnancy Symptoms
For a while now, I've been counting how many pregnancy symptoms I haven't experienced - it's a shorter list than counting the ones that I have experienced. There are all kinds of fun things to experience, like morning sickness, leg cramps, (permanently) bigger feet, swollen ankles, etc.
Anyway, here is my new, updated list of pregnancy symptoms that I have not had the pleasure of experiencing yet:
Anyway, here is my new, updated list of pregnancy symptoms that I have not had the pleasure of experiencing yet:
34 weeks and counting...
Two not-so-startling realizations:
1. As much as being pregnant sucks (well, it does.), this baby is a lot easier to take care of on the inside than he will be when he's on the outside.
2. Um. Hm. There was a second thing, but I've forgotten it. No one who has had a conversation with me recently should be surprised by this.
Happy Friday, everyone.
1. As much as being pregnant sucks (well, it does.), this baby is a lot easier to take care of on the inside than he will be when he's on the outside.
2. Um. Hm. There was a second thing, but I've forgotten it. No one who has had a conversation with me recently should be surprised by this.
Happy Friday, everyone.
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