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 word...it'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.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Aha, I remembered
What I meant to write last night...things you should never do and/or say to a pregnant woman. Mine eyes hath been opened and mea culpa if I have done any of these to anyone else. Bless them for smiling and pretending like nothing was wrong.
-Never touch a preggie belly, especially a stranger's, unless you have permission to do so. Creepy. It's still my body. I wouldn't want you touching it if I wasn't pregnant, so why would it be okay now? My personal space bubble still surrounds me. Darn kids at school think that I don't mind. It's almost creepier when teenagers do it. What's their deal?
-Never make jokes about a pregger's size. I know I'm the size I am. It's not exactly funny to have skinny people laugh about it. Let me make fun of myself by myself. Men are especially good at this. This is just another clue that they are often inferior in mental quality and capacity. Think about it boys--do girls like to be laughed at about their size?
-Never assume that it's twins. This rather goes along with the last rule. And quit the joking that it will be twins. Again, this is always a guy thing. Seriously, what are you possibly thinking, boys?
-I don't need to hear all of your pregnancy stories unless I ask. Really. This one is generally aimed at older ladies who are for some reason feeling the need to re-live their own pregnancies vicariously through mine. But then again, it's way worse and creepier when my (male) principal decides to tell me all about his wife's very personal problems with her pregnancies. He's definitely lacking some serious ability to filter information.
-Advice is great and fine in context. Random advice gets old and preachy.
-It's great that you care, but you really don't need to ask how I'm feeling (which is inherently different than the proverbial question, "Hey, how are you?" that everyone asks everyone and really means nothing) every day / every time you see me. I think this is more of a personal pet peeve; like I'm going to go into detail about my itchy skin and nose bleeds with random work colleagues.
-Really, no need to help with names unless we're talking about it (again...it's the whole context issue). We're good. And, my fetus doens't need another nickname. When you have a parasite attached to you, sucking up your nutrients, preventing you from sleeping well, and causing you to avoid the smelly grocery stores like the plague, then you really have earned the right to nickname it whatever you so desire and all will be fine.
This sounds like I've been harboring a lot of irritation. I even sound a bit maniacal. Maybe my next post will be something a bit more lighthearted--evolution of a mouse (really, I will post about this someday) or private/public schools: pros & cons. Suggestions?
-Never touch a preggie belly, especially a stranger's, unless you have permission to do so. Creepy. It's still my body. I wouldn't want you touching it if I wasn't pregnant, so why would it be okay now? My personal space bubble still surrounds me. Darn kids at school think that I don't mind. It's almost creepier when teenagers do it. What's their deal?
-Never make jokes about a pregger's size. I know I'm the size I am. It's not exactly funny to have skinny people laugh about it. Let me make fun of myself by myself. Men are especially good at this. This is just another clue that they are often inferior in mental quality and capacity. Think about it boys--do girls like to be laughed at about their size?
-Never assume that it's twins. This rather goes along with the last rule. And quit the joking that it will be twins. Again, this is always a guy thing. Seriously, what are you possibly thinking, boys?
-I don't need to hear all of your pregnancy stories unless I ask. Really. This one is generally aimed at older ladies who are for some reason feeling the need to re-live their own pregnancies vicariously through mine. But then again, it's way worse and creepier when my (male) principal decides to tell me all about his wife's very personal problems with her pregnancies. He's definitely lacking some serious ability to filter information.
-Advice is great and fine in context. Random advice gets old and preachy.
-It's great that you care, but you really don't need to ask how I'm feeling (which is inherently different than the proverbial question, "Hey, how are you?" that everyone asks everyone and really means nothing) every day / every time you see me. I think this is more of a personal pet peeve; like I'm going to go into detail about my itchy skin and nose bleeds with random work colleagues.
-Really, no need to help with names unless we're talking about it (again...it's the whole context issue). We're good. And, my fetus doens't need another nickname. When you have a parasite attached to you, sucking up your nutrients, preventing you from sleeping well, and causing you to avoid the smelly grocery stores like the plague, then you really have earned the right to nickname it whatever you so desire and all will be fine.
This sounds like I've been harboring a lot of irritation. I even sound a bit maniacal. Maybe my next post will be something a bit more lighthearted--evolution of a mouse (really, I will post about this someday) or private/public schools: pros & cons. Suggestions?
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Points I've pondered lately
I'm really glad that the people whom I work with are by and large enjoyable people to be around. But it's going to be a long 4 months of tirelessly not original jokes. Oh look at her--eating two cookies since she's eating for two! Ha! I didn't see you there but then you turned sideways and whoa! Oy vey.
It was fun yesterday to get my checkup and have an unscheduled ultrasound. Without a monstrously full bladder this time, it kinda felt good, like a bit of tummy massage. A nice dark room, only me and the doctor, beautifully clear pictures of the little one made for about 5 minutes of happiness. Apparantly my doctor got a new 3-D ultrasound machine and wanted to try it out, so I got lucky and got to be the guinea pig. We have a little 1-lb. 2-oz. bundle of baby love at the moment. I used to think and kind of still do in a naive sort of way that how I eat now may or may not influence the dessert addictions of the little one in the future, but the way I've been gnoshing on all that I love unrepentently (i.e. several forms of chocolate and sugar), I apparantly don't care anymore. Not quite true, I do care, but I just feel all blubbery on the inside with the thought of not being able to relish in my indulgences. I don't know what kind of motivation I'll ever need to even try to give up my love of sweetness, but apparantly the impending possibility of an extra 60+ pounds doesn't even phase me.
I only have one sweatshirt left that I can still zip up. Even though you know that you're going to be gaining weight and it's a good thing to gain weight and you want to look all cute and round and preggie, it still goes against everything that society tells females we should be. I say goodbye to each piece of clothing one by one that I can't really fit into or use comfortably anymore. It's not like I shouldn't be able to wear this again, but it almost feels like putting away your former self permanently. Maybe that will be my motivation later on...maybe. (Should I note the fact that I'm eating another brownie...mmm and warm...while typing this??)
We have an incredible expanding bed. It's like the Weasley's magic car in the Harry Potter series that doesn't change size on the outside but has an unlimited amount of space on the inside. I remember, ah so fondly, the days of yore when I could sleep on my back and the bed didn't always seem big enough for both Ben and me. Now that I have to sleep on my side, which isn't at all as easy or comfortable as this typically-a-side-sleeper thought that it would be, we've found out that our bed can comfortably (ironically) accomodate not only Ben and me but 2 cats (suddenly they both want to cuddle all night, not just the little one even though she can be more compromising than her fuzzy counterpart who is twice her size) and a huge body pillow. Add in a comforter and a couple of additional blankets and it's veritably womb-like. Maybe that's why the little one was all scrunched up yesterday instead of stretched out...taking after her parentals.
Ben's been really super nice to me lately more often than not. I swear that the nice guy that I married got nicer. He swears that he's the same. I like it.
I really really like the fuzzy orange Weight Watchers mascot--the motivation guy. I also like his theme music.
I know know what kicking feels like. That's a warm fuzzy moment.
My memory is horribler than normal, which is why I just forgot what I was going to write. Sigh. I can understand other side effects. But, I don't understand this one.
"The only true happiness comes from squandering ourselves for a purpose." William Cowper (an homage to my Romantics class for this semester even though no one will get this but me)
It was fun yesterday to get my checkup and have an unscheduled ultrasound. Without a monstrously full bladder this time, it kinda felt good, like a bit of tummy massage. A nice dark room, only me and the doctor, beautifully clear pictures of the little one made for about 5 minutes of happiness. Apparantly my doctor got a new 3-D ultrasound machine and wanted to try it out, so I got lucky and got to be the guinea pig. We have a little 1-lb. 2-oz. bundle of baby love at the moment. I used to think and kind of still do in a naive sort of way that how I eat now may or may not influence the dessert addictions of the little one in the future, but the way I've been gnoshing on all that I love unrepentently (i.e. several forms of chocolate and sugar), I apparantly don't care anymore. Not quite true, I do care, but I just feel all blubbery on the inside with the thought of not being able to relish in my indulgences. I don't know what kind of motivation I'll ever need to even try to give up my love of sweetness, but apparantly the impending possibility of an extra 60+ pounds doesn't even phase me.
I only have one sweatshirt left that I can still zip up. Even though you know that you're going to be gaining weight and it's a good thing to gain weight and you want to look all cute and round and preggie, it still goes against everything that society tells females we should be. I say goodbye to each piece of clothing one by one that I can't really fit into or use comfortably anymore. It's not like I shouldn't be able to wear this again, but it almost feels like putting away your former self permanently. Maybe that will be my motivation later on...maybe. (Should I note the fact that I'm eating another brownie...mmm and warm...while typing this??)
We have an incredible expanding bed. It's like the Weasley's magic car in the Harry Potter series that doesn't change size on the outside but has an unlimited amount of space on the inside. I remember, ah so fondly, the days of yore when I could sleep on my back and the bed didn't always seem big enough for both Ben and me. Now that I have to sleep on my side, which isn't at all as easy or comfortable as this typically-a-side-sleeper thought that it would be, we've found out that our bed can comfortably (ironically) accomodate not only Ben and me but 2 cats (suddenly they both want to cuddle all night, not just the little one even though she can be more compromising than her fuzzy counterpart who is twice her size) and a huge body pillow. Add in a comforter and a couple of additional blankets and it's veritably womb-like. Maybe that's why the little one was all scrunched up yesterday instead of stretched out...taking after her parentals.
Ben's been really super nice to me lately more often than not. I swear that the nice guy that I married got nicer. He swears that he's the same. I like it.
I really really like the fuzzy orange Weight Watchers mascot--the motivation guy. I also like his theme music.
I know know what kicking feels like. That's a warm fuzzy moment.
My memory is horribler than normal, which is why I just forgot what I was going to write. Sigh. I can understand other side effects. But, I don't understand this one.
"The only true happiness comes from squandering ourselves for a purpose." William Cowper (an homage to my Romantics class for this semester even though no one will get this but me)
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
gadgets
I have a crush on kitchen gadgets, appliances and bowls. When I recently found a $20 gift card for Bed Bath & Beyond that I received for Christmas 2 years ago (thankfully, they don't expire), I was in a lovely state of happy planning. What to get? What to contribute this toward? What to add to my collection that Ben swears is too big as is. I only have 16 varying sizes andy types of mixing bowls. How could that possibly be too many?
I literally spent 2 or 3 nights last week searching through their internet site (after making an actual trip to the BB&B store) in hopes of trying to decide on what to spend my newfound wealth. Even more problematic, the online shop now carries all sorts of things (i.e. baby items) that it doesn't in the store itself. Indecision reigns supreme with me sometimes.
However, I finally found a gadget that I've been wanting for 2 years at least, and it was around $20 exactly. (In fact it was $18 something after the 20% off coupon that I used, forcing me to purchase a $4 bar of awesome crunchy, dark, Lindt chocolate (with a mousse filling...mmmm) to use up the rest of the card.) So I used my dishwasher safe potato ricer last night to make mashed potatoes. Mind you, all of the food network chef-ies claim this tool is essential to make the best mashed 'tatoes ever, so with some amount of faith, I gave it a go. Oh My Mashed Potato Goodness. So good. So good. So GOOD. I'm a potato ricer believer.
"Preach not to others what they should eat, but eat as becomes you, and be silent." Food for thought. Epictetus
I literally spent 2 or 3 nights last week searching through their internet site (after making an actual trip to the BB&B store) in hopes of trying to decide on what to spend my newfound wealth. Even more problematic, the online shop now carries all sorts of things (i.e. baby items) that it doesn't in the store itself. Indecision reigns supreme with me sometimes.
However, I finally found a gadget that I've been wanting for 2 years at least, and it was around $20 exactly. (In fact it was $18 something after the 20% off coupon that I used, forcing me to purchase a $4 bar of awesome crunchy, dark, Lindt chocolate (with a mousse filling...mmmm) to use up the rest of the card.) So I used my dishwasher safe potato ricer last night to make mashed potatoes. Mind you, all of the food network chef-ies claim this tool is essential to make the best mashed 'tatoes ever, so with some amount of faith, I gave it a go. Oh My Mashed Potato Goodness. So good. So good. So GOOD. I'm a potato ricer believer.
"Preach not to others what they should eat, but eat as becomes you, and be silent." Food for thought. Epictetus
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