Not So Great At This Pregnant Thing August 27, 2008

We had another midwife appointment recently, which was notably less uncomfortable and stressful than the last two. Mostly we just sat around and I asked random paranoia-driven questions and the midwife answered them. Although, my mother and the Internet (my two favorite sources of knowledge) do NOT agree with her answers, which leaves me in a quandry.

Me: “So, I teach, like kids? And they have lots of germs. All the time. And usually I just take Airborne every day to keep from getting the cholera from them. And school is starting soon! Is it okay for the baby if I still take it? Cause I heard that maybe there was too much vitamin C…”

Midwife: “That’s silly! Vitamin C is water-soluble! You can just LIVE on vitamin C and be fine!”

(okay, she maybe didn’t say it QUITE like that)

 

Mamma: “No. Don’t take it. Take this other stuff instead.”

 

Internet: “Overdose of vitamin A when taken in combination with prenatal vitamins! Linked to fetal defects! Danger! Danger!”

 

Me: “Cholera?”

 

And then the midwife chased my baby around my abdomen with the Doppler wand, commenting on the STRONG heartbeat and the AMAZING active-ness of the baby. And I sat there, trying very hard to look like someone who was impressed with the strength and agility of her unborn child, and not like someone who had downed a McDonald’s iced coffee on the way to the appointment.

 

Whoops.

 

Search Engines Run Amok. Amok! Amok! Amok! August 21, 2008

I was about to write a short post about how moody and crabby I am today (also yesterday and the day before, etc.) and how I’ve probably guaranteed that my baby will be born surly and mean, what with all the hateful thoughts I have been thinking at everyone. Except for Joey, because I say them (mostly) out loud to him. And how I have soooooo much to do, and it is sooooo late and I have to get up soooooo early. But I can’t go to bed, no, because I must wait for a load of laundry to cycle through. Because it has sat mildewing for an unforgivable length of time, and must be attended to NOW.

 

But I happened to locate the link to search terms that have brought people here to my blog. And I happened to read all of them. And they happened to be…really weird. What the heck, Internet? But it was amusing, and we’re going to take advantage of this upswing in my Pregnant Hormone Roller Coaster of Doom.

So. Here are some of the more interesting terms, complete with witty commentary.

 

lucy the valiant: so far, so good. But wait!

skinsuit poop: Oh. My. Lord. FOUR people have searched this term! Probably more now that I’ve come out and said it here. Erm, if such a search has brought you here, please take a moment to feel judged. Because you are weird. A lot. Also, Search Engines: Why? How? I have never even CONCEIVED of such a term before just now, let alone blogged it.

victorian school days: Ah yes, those idyllic days. That, again, I never write about.

“diva brat”: Guilty as charged

colin firth: at least it has nothing to do with his sexual orientation

steak: there are a LOT of variations on this theme, and I can’t be bothered to rewrite all of them. Suffice it to say this includes ‘big steak’ , ‘pictures of steak’, ’steak is it good for pregnancy’ and many more. One post, and suddenly you get labeled as a steak blog. Don’t box me in with your categories, people. I am a free spirited blogger! I will not be restricted! Although, steak…yummm..

cool police pics: Where?

lucy’s blog lease lost cry’ : I WOULD cry if I lost my lease. And I would blog about it, too! You know me so well, Google.

valiant r type for sale: Is this a thing like a car we’re talking about? I know there’s a car called a Triumph. Or a personality type. Like, you can be a Type A, I know that. Maybe you can be a valiant Type R. Only, you should probably develop this within yourself, rather than trying to buy it on the Internet.

“maya” “cat” : OMG, someone is stalking my cat!

don’t make me go ghetto on your ass: Because I say this. All the time. Or at least, I will after I tell Joey that someone found my blog by searching this phrase.

just to be safe:  Baby, you have to give the nice Internet a little more information than that. Just a smidgeon.

hearing baby’s heartbeat at midwife appt: A term actually related to something I wrote about! I was about to give up all hope!

lucy the valiant blog: OMG someone is stalking my blog! Oh wait, we like that. We call those people ‘readers’. We get one or two every few years around here.

child star ‘the valiant’: children in Hollywood are now so exploited as to have NO NAMES whatsoever, simply descriptive titles. ‘the valiant’ co-starred in several movies with ‘the bratty’, ‘the adorable’, and ‘the vaguely creepy’. Watch the E! Hollywood Story to find out where they are today!

a badass: If I have to take ‘diva brat’, I’m going to claim this one as well. Although it is only accurate if my Hulk of a husband happens to be nearby, so it probably shouldn’t count.

catfights declawed: sounds boring, but is probably still illegal.

police outrun: I’m sorry that you found no useful how-to guide on this here, if that’s what you meant. Alternately, yes. They generally do.

lame cat after declaw: eh, this particular cat was pretty lame BEFORE declaw as well. Not much has changed.

 

 

Now admit it. You are enjoying a much better mood after that, too! Skinsuit poop!

Generation Gaps August 18, 2008

You ever notice how sometimes completely unrelated conversations seem to have themes? I know you wouldn’t think so from this post, but generally I go months and months without thinking or caring about which celebrities are gay and which aren’t. Really.

Last night I was sitting around with Kanga and my mamma, discussing various things and watching the end of The Notebook. Which, by the way, should NOT be played on TV with commercials. You get to the sobbingly good parts, only to have them interrupted by stupid commercials for laundry detergent. Not okay.

Kanga: (watching the elderly Noah and Ally slow-dancing) “They are so cute together!”

Me: *sigh* I love this movie.

Mamma: “He’s gay, though.”

Kanga and I turn to look at her. “What? James Garner? No he isn’t!”

Mamma: “Yeah, he is. He’s one of my favorite actors, though.”

Me: “But he isn’t gay! Why do you think that?”

Mamma: “Oh, I remember hearing about him coming out a long time ago, or something like that.”

Me: “James Garner is not gay.”

Mamma: “He is too!”

Me: “I’m Googling this.”

Kanga: *giggles* “Google Search: Is James Garner gay? Oh, no! You’re thinking of Rock Hudson! HE’S gay.”

Mamma: thinks about it for a minute.

Me: “Yeah, and you got it confused in your head because James Garner had that detective TV show where he was named Rocky.

Mamma: “No, his father’s name was Rocky – he was Rockford.”

Me: “Right, the Rockford Files. And James Garner isn’t gay.”

Kanga: “Rock Hudson sure is, though.”

I Googled it, just in case, but found no evidence to back up my mother’s slander. This is probably what a staff meeting at a tabloid sounds like, only before the misunderstanding gets untangled, we would have already published three sensational stories and some grainy photos.

 

 We were (later)  talking about a movie we had watched earlier, and it reminded me of a song from Rent.

“Have you guys ever seen the movie Rent?” I asked.

“Huh?” “The movie what?”

“Rent. Like, pay the rent? No?”

“Is that a movie?” asked my mamma.

“Well, really it’s a play, but they made a movie of it. Anyway-”

“Is it good?”

“Um. I guess it depends on how homophobic you are.” I say, never knowing what these mothers of mine will draw the line at.

“Oh.” They said.

Kanga: “I’m not homophobic.”

Mamma:”No, me either. Unless, you know, its in relation to someone I know. Because then….”

I blink several times. “So… kind of, you ARE, then.”

“Well, yeah! But what I meant was, not so much that it would bother me in a movie.”

“Okay, well it’s not like Brokeback Mountain or anything…”

Kanga: “I didn’t see that one, what’s it about?”

Mamma: “Oh, I wouldn’t see that one! It’s supposed to be a Western. Only the cowboys? Are gay.”

Me: “I’m sure you wouldn’t like it.”

Mamma: “But it had Heath Ledger in it. He’s not gay.”

Kanga: “Who’s that?”

Mamma: “Oh, you know, the one who just died.”

Me: (quickly, because I had a horrible vision of Kanga getting Heath Ledger confused with Bernie Mac, and the conversation -not to mention the visuals- that would ensue) “The really handsome blonde guy? From A Knight’s Tale?”

Kanga: Oh. Him? He played a gay cowboy? And then he died? Huh.”

 

Also.

Some of us went to see Mamma Mia the other night. While watching Colin Firth dance shirtless in Aphrodite’s Spring with that cute Greek guy, my sweet, somewhat sheltered friend  leaned over and said,

“You guys? You think maybe that one dad could be gay?”

Possibly.

Attempting to Tame Chaos August 13, 2008

I know school is going to start soon when I start having Those Dreams. The ones where I’m writing something on the board for my students to copy on the first day of school. Only I’m writing it in shaky five-year old writing that even I  cannot read, and my dry erase marker is running out of juice, I’m mis-spelling everything, having to erase and re-write over and over, smudging anything I’ve successfully written already. And mysteriously, things appear on the board in someone else’s (very legible) handwriting, which would be great if only those things had anything to do with the lesson I am attempting to teach. Meanwhile, of course, the students behind me are behaving terribly. Also, the copy machine down the hallway has burst into flames.

 

Yeah. I totally did not make that up. Its always such a relief to wake up from Those Dreams.

 

And no, I have yet to forget how to write in real life. Or, for that matter, ask someone calmly if the copier is supposed to shoot flames like that, and then walk serenely away to deal with problems of real importance.

 

Weird anxiety dreams aside, my absolute favorite time of the year is upon us. I LOVE autum – the feel of the light and the weather, and how everything is crisp and organized and full of possibilities. So, by extention, I also love August, the month of getting everything crisp and organized. I make lists, charts, plans, more lists. I really love making lists. I’m still feeling queasy, but a lot better now, so I feel like I can get our apartment in order. I have a hard time separating my job from my life, I guess because I love my job, and because so much of my time and family is wrapped up in my job. So getting up this morning and doing laundry and spot-cleaning the carpet felt like steps toward the end goal of us being organized and together, able to focus, able to be good teachers, able to be less and less crazed with every new year we have of being adults.

 

I’m not the best housewifely person in the world, even though I really do love domestic things. I made dinner last night, but the dishes were left out all night. I do the laundry, but it sits in the washer too long and sours. The once beautiful plants on our balcony have died a cruel and unusual death ever since I got pregnant.

And I’m good teacher, but my classroom gets messy. I procrastinate on big important things and then end up rushing and freaking out and just barely getting them finished at the last moment.

 

Still, I carry on. I clean up the mess, or finish the project, and vow to do better next time. And I do. A little bit at a time, but I think I’m making progress toward being more organized, more tidy, more responsible, more disciplined, more grown-up.

 

When Joey and I went to get his books for this semester, I found this at the college bookstore:

 

 

Yes. A student planner. They gave us these at the beginning of each school year at my college, and I loved them.  Except the last year, when they got cheap and gave us really useless, teeny-tiny planners. But ever since I graduated, I haven’t been able to find a planner that I really meshed with. If it is possible to actually mesh with a planner. I have all my old planners from college in a box somewhere, and they are the most accurate and detailed ‘journals’ a girl could ask for. But whatever. I found this one, and it is perfect and I love it, and it is yet another step towards beating back chaos.

 

Next? I’m going to cajole Joey into both throwing away all the dead plants AND taking me to get some chrysanthemums and pretty pots to put them in. Which I promise I won’t kill with benign neglect. Honest. “Water plants” will be written in my planner at least once a week.

Not Coherant Enough For a Title. Or Else, I Can’t Remember What I Just Wrote. August 11, 2008

I had just entirely more fun than I could handle yesterday. By ten o’clock last night, I was shaking and feverish, and falling asleep sitting up, stumbling around and wimpering.

 

 Would you like to know what incredibly strenuous activities I participated in?

 

WELL. I went to Whole Foods with my mamma and Scout*, where I proceeded to actually WALK down several aisles, and move  small items from their places on the shelves to my cart.

Then we stopped by the school where I exhausted myself by moving several piles of papers into more orderly stacks, wiping down some desks with a Chlorox wipe, and watching my mother vacuum and re-arrange the desks under my direction. I know! I shouldn’t push myself so!

Next I had part of a pizza from Schlotzkys, which I promptly threw up. My vomit-free streak starts over now! And then I had a nap.

THEN I really went overboard; I went to a friend’s house and sobbed my eyes out for two hours watching P.S. I Love You. Which I have been putting off even though I think it looks great, because some of my greatest and most anxiety-attack inducing fears are embodied in that movie. But it was truly a wonderful movie, just exhausting.

Next was some MORE strenuous sitting, while we went to watch a soccer game outside and eat ice cream and brownies.

By the time I got to Kanga’s house, I needed two Tylenol and a cold washcloth over my eyes for fifteen minutes to recover.

Halfway through a game of Spades, I had to give up the ghost. And I love me some Spades. I fell sound asleep at Kanga’s table (more comfortable than it sounds) until Joey finished cleaning up some mess he had made.

 

I believe I got pregnant about two hundred years late. Clearly I belong in a four-poster bed for nine months, careful not to tire myself out with too much needlepoint or correspondence. I am quite obviously a very delicate Victorian hothouse blossom.

 

I just better get over it before school starts. Because it is really and truly irritating the spit out of me to get over-tired so easily.

 

In non-crabby news, we finally heard the elusive baby heartbeat! Not yesterday, though. Last weekend actually. I just couldn’t manage to work up the energy to tippity-tap my fragile fingers over the keyboard until recently. This really should have been a Big Important Post Of Its Own, shouldn’t it?

 

O my child, you are only the size of a very large lemon, and already I begin the long journey of Failing Motherhood.

 

Actually, I started that probably when you were more the size of a grape. I’m sorry!! The prenatal vitamins make me hurl! I TRY to take them, but how long do they really stay in there, anyway? And also, I completely forgot I couldn’t have hot dogs until mine was already on my plate, blackened to perfection, smothered in ridiculous amounts of mustard and relish, looking soooo delicious. I ate two. Go ahead and sign up for therapy, I UNDERSTAND.

 

So. Heartbeat. Yes.

It still took FOUR tries before we heard the darn thing. The midwife actually had to internally push my uterus up (closer to the surface, I assume) in order to get a clear thumpity-thump-thump. Which was a huge relief, because she said she needed to do this in order to make sure the baby hadn’t “stopped growing”. Which didn’t fool me for a minute, I KNEW that what she meant was “stopped living”. So there has never, ever been a more comforting sound in the whole world. And then we sat and listened for a minute, and it was all very strange because for the first time, I really BELIEVED that all this bizarre, mad-science-sounding, tadpole-alien-lizard- looking information that I’ve been reading about? Is actually happening. Inside my body. There’s a PERSON in there.

 

So it’s cool that I’m a delicate blossom who can’t stay awake for longer than four hours at a time, and that four days without vomiting is a major accomplishment, and that the very thought of chicken makes me want to die, and that I’m so hormonal that I have no problem scolding strangers who litter or get in my personal space, but I will cry if you look like you might be THINKING that my shoes don’t match my outfit.

It is so worth it.

 

 

*Scout is my new name for my little baby sister. From To Kill A Mockingbird? Because she is very small and fiesty, and at the tender age of three and a half (we can’t get her to say ‘almost four’ no matter what we do) she is quite literally teaching herself to read. Also because every time I reference To Kill A Mockingbird  I get a free pass to think about Gregory Peck in the movie. And he is beautiful. We watched Roman Holiday a few days ago, and I may have remarked to my mother that I don’t think it would have been possible to have lived during his screen career and not been madly in love with him. Not like eye candy, no. Like love.

 

 

 

Need I say more? Even though I just found out his first name was Eldred and that he played Captain Ahab, and I REALLY HATE Moby Dick. It doesn’t matter!

Having My Cake & Eating It: Don’t Argue, I’m Pregnant. August 10, 2008

 

 

I’m writing this entry sandwiched between working furiously on some lesson plan stuff and a much-needed trip to Whole Foods. And excuse me, HOW is it August 10 already??? Does the calender not realize that not only do I have a million things to do before school starts, but my morning sickness seems to have been replaced almost entirely with what I can only describe as narcolepsy?

 

Although let me just take a moment to say: Four days without throwing up once. The sun is shining and the birds are singing, God is smiling upon me.

 

But. I went to my nice little teacher conference, and it was very Fun and Educational and Inspiring. And to all intents and purposes, it gave me an Existential Crisis. I will now stop Capitalizing Things. Ahem.

You would think that being inspired and excited, and having a thousand ideas for my classroom would just be good and uncomplicated and all. But I spent the first half of the conference going between frantically writing notes and pouting because, Crap! I won’t be teaching much longer!

 

And then a Fabulous Co-Worker, who could seriously solve any problem in the world (and this is quite a statement coming from me, for I am a notoriously persistent problem-haver, with untold skills in taking your solution and turning it into an even bigger problem) suggested a way that I could teach full-time and have the baby nearby or with me all day. The jerk. The co-worker, not the baby.

 

And the problem with THAT (see how I just did that?) is that I have always been firmly in the Stay At Home Mommy camp. Not so firmly that I think mommies who work are bad and evil, or anything of the sort. But firmly enough that I have never really considered any alternatives. I made it very clear to Joey when we got engaged that this was a HUGE priority for me, and he agreed.

 

Loving my career was never actually in my life plan, strange as that sounds. Having  a career wasn’t, either. I chose to major in education because I already knew I liked working with children, but mostly because I thought it would be good preparation for motherhood whilst I pursued that all-important MRS degree.

 

Am not exaggerating. Ashamed, but not exaggerating.

 But then I got into my education courses and my practicums and hands-on experiences, and further into educational theory and psychology, and those delicious hypothetical discussions of what would you do if x happened? And lesson plans. The list could go on and on, but the bottom line is that to my guilty surprise, I realized that I had accidentaly picked a major that I passionately loved. And I threw myself into it, whole-heartedly. I seriously love teaching. It hardly seems fair to note that I got married two weeks after graduation, but that’s how it happened.

 

 Karmically, I think this would be a more balanced story if I devoted my life to teaching in impoverished and exotic locales, never married, and was modifying behavior and imparting knowledge with my dying breath. Which was my plan, actually, until I met Joey.

 

So cool, I love teaching. But I also know how draining and exhausting it can be, so I thought my original plan of being a stay-at-hom-mom was a pretty good one. Until I realized that I Just. Can’t. Give. It. Up. Somehow it became a huge part of me. In the ongoing theme of having my cake and eating it too, I’m going to try this.  And if it isn’t an absolutely wonderful way for my baby to be raised, we’ll just make a different cake. Or something. Insert clever cake-metaphor here.