Friday, February 27, 2009

Questions about little bean

Teenagers, in their utter wisdom, have some ridiculously funny questions to ask me now. Alas, I see through their squirrely plans to distract me from the task at hand. But they still slip in a few once in a while, when passing out papers for example. Here's a sampling of some recent ones:

How is she feeling doing today? (Um, I don't know as she understands how to communicate with me yet.)

Does she like Mexican? (why not)

Can you still see your toes? (sure, they're right here (as I lift my leg into the air and pointedly look at my pointed appendages))

Do you just want to eat a lot? My mom told me that you don't when you're pregnant. (that one's a little more complicated...)

Can you make her kick? (can I make you do your homework? equally futile)

Talking with other women can be scary anymore. But I want to learn about other peoples' experiences, cause seriously, I'm going to have to go through it, so why pretend that nothing like that could happen to me? Scary may not even be the right's oh-wow-I-never-thought-of-that moments when I hear other labor stories. Ultimately, I do want to know, but still, it just gives me conflicting feelings. I'm excited, but also not at all. It's exciting to pick out cute little outfits and put duckies on the walls. It's realistic to get tips from trustworthy sources about feeding and labor. It's fun to get some attention. It's completely annoying to have other women treat you like you're incapable of anything as simple as holding a door just because you're pregnant. It's great and truly awe-some to sit here and feel little kicks. It's dreadful to think of being so intensely uncomfortable. And really, I'm not so sure that it's my whole personal space issues that makes more more uncomfortable than the impending pain. You can always take an epidural to ease the physical discomfort, but there's no shot to allay the physical discomfort of being poked, prodded and tugged on.

My shining pregnancy moment came a few weeks ago when Ben & I were talking about something having to do with the upcoming labor, probably the cost of a hospital stay and what insurance will (and will not) cover. In my utter genius, I suddenly realize that I'm going to miss at least 2, maybe 4 baseball games while stuck in a hospital. The hospital surely won't accomodate me and get a subscription to the special all-Braves-all-the-time tv package. I'm going to miss nearly a week of priceless, important Braves games! Assuming she's on time (big assumption, I know), that means that I could miss the entire Braves v. Cubs series. I'm so abnormal; I'm not worried about losing sleep at night, but I am concerned that I'm going to miss a few baseball games. Really, who decided that I was ready to nurture this little parasite?

I'm really dreading diapers, too. Oh, and vomit.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009


I don't even really know what the point of the last post was.

Comfort Zones

Happy surprise: I thought that I had to do a week's worth of reading tonight for my class tomorrow night. But, since I've already done 2/3 of the reading, I think that I shall blog instead. Nothing like doing things in order of importance! I actually started this post last night, but then went to put my little computer to sleep and it decided to shut down instead (stupid instant updates) and I didn't save anything. So here it is again. Hope it's worth something the second time around. (I enjoy using fragments; really.)

So the whole point today centers around how issues of my personal space and comfort zones have come up repeatedly in the last few days. This isn't just the whole hey-I'm-pregnant-but-that-doesn't-give-you-any-right-to-just-touch-my-belly-without-asking rant from a few days ago. But, that is part of it, absolutely. Pre college, I thought that I was normal and never really questioned such issues; I still want to think that I'm normal and that others are somewhat creepy how they seemingly have no concept of personal space. Yet as I think about this, I keep hearing my mom say things like, "Be nice...there's nothing wrong with that." Why is it that I've never been able to communicate my space issues with others--mom, Ben, mother-in-law, anyone? Usually, I fall back on the more comfortable via less confrontation strategem of non-verbal cues; surely, they'll understand what my body language is saying and back off. That never works! Argh.

I have space issues in many ways. I seem to live in a bubble of self-constructed comfort zones and have some internal infrared laser radar alert system that goes off the moment one of these zones has been breached. Don't get too close to me! I don't want you to know that I haven't brushed my teeth today!! What are you doing?!? I haven't read my newspaper yet today and you're ruining the fresh, crispness of it!! (an odd one, but true) Stop! Please ask me before you just open my freezer. Wait! Don't ever assume that you can put things in my closet... Incosequential, I know. But gratingly, disastrous-to-my-mental-psyche, annoyingly, can't ignore the niggling bugginess that it gives me, horrid. Why does it really matter if Ben opens up my morning newspaper before I get to it? Is it really a big deal that the mother-in-law puts a carton of ice cream in my freezer or gets into my coat closet without my permission? Now that I have a house, why does that mean that my personal space has expanded from one 10x14 bedroom to a 1200 sq. ft. house? It's really not fair to people around me.

This must be why I'm such a homebody. I have no comfort zone that I love more than my home, wherever that is, and I'm always comfortable there. At this point in the post, I'm amazed that I found someone else who really seems to fit so well into this niche that I have created for myself. Why does it seem to work with Ben but not with others? I love these other people, too. Maybe my cat is more of a valuable teaching tool than one might think. At this point, she's taking over my keyboard as I'm trying to type. It's just a message to say, "Let it go; space is relative. Cats have no space issues, and we get along tremendously."

What must I have been like in college, in a communal living environment? If you knew me then and/or lived with me then, I feel for you. But then again, we all seemed to be somewhat neurotic in our own ways. ;-)

Instead of a quote today, here's a challenge: How many adverbs can you use in one sentence? Something that I wrote earlier made me think about it. I'm just curious; I've not tried to see how many I can do and still make a coherent thought.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

non sticky pans can love the environment too

Kitchen equipment really seems like a big investment to me. It was actually easier to buy an entire bedroom set than it was to pick out the aforementioned potato ricer. Go figure.

Finally, we decided that our teflon (go MC grads!) pan/s should be replaced, which is kind of a bummer cause who wants to invest in new pans and they're not even 4 years old yet. But as it turns out, skillets by themselves aren't terribly expenseive enough to be unafforadable. And, one of my favorite sanctuaries in Kokomo (and really, I'm not kidding about this), Bed Bath & Beyond is always sending out coupons for %s off. So, why not? I picked out a new skillet for us. And it's environmentally friendly! It really rocks!

AND it's super non sticky, so my morning egg & cheese bagel is uber-goober easier to make and clean up! Suddenly, I feel up to the challenge of crepes...and just in time for Amy-tries-to-make-the-most-coolest-most-romantic-meal(s)-and-who-cares-how-much-she-spends-on-groceries-just-for-this-one-day day on Saturday.