Unreasonable Hostility

I hate skinny young women. They should be locked up somewhere and the key thrown away.

I recently discovered this hidden well of hostility during a shopping trip to the mall. Every time I saw a PYT in a skimpy outfit, it was all I could do not to reach out and smack her. For every group of giggling teenage girls I encountered, I wanted to throw a bucket of paint on their immaculate hair and outfits and cackle manically. And don't get me started on the ones who display a g-string hanging out of their tight jeans.

I'm not proud of this new hostility. I'm not even sure where it's really coming from. Six months ago, I WAS a skinny "young" woman. Now, I waddle when I walk.

And I know weight gain is a big part of pregnancy. But I guess I didn't realize just how much the weight gain would affect EVERY aspect of my life. I'm clumsier (I seem to drop everything I pick up), I'm slower (it takes me 5 minutes to get out of bed), I'm intellectually dimmer (it took me a full minute to remember my husband's name). Bending over is unwise, if not impossible at times. If I drop something, chances are 50-50 I will be able to retrieve it without Big Dave's help. The cats are no use in this department. They just sit and stare at me, mocking me. I can see it in their eyes. Oh, yes, they love to judge me now.

I used to be full of get-up-and-go and rush around to finish the day's tasks. Now I consider it a day's success if can get even one task completed.

But the really strange thing is, honestly I don't mind. Yes, it bugs me a little, but it's not a huge factor in the dailly scheme of things. Because when I feel baby punch and kick, when Big Dave puts his hands around the bulging belly and says, "Hey you in there. You better be nice to your mama!" I know this is all for something bigger than myself or Big Dave. And come July, we'll be introduced to that "something" and see that all our efforts have paid off.

Besides, I know that in 10 years or so, most of those girls will be in the same position I'm in now. And that makes me smile. And cackle. Possibly even chuckle.

Do you think that makes me a bad person?!?! : )

You know it's not going to be a good day when...

1. The maternity underwear you bought only 2 weeks ago no longer fits. How is THAT possible?
2. You pull on your pants, and discover a huge rip all across the backside.
3. Morning sickness subsides only to be replaced by heartburn and headache.
4. Someone left the nursery door open, and the cats have pulled out all the baby clothes and spread them across the floor. No reason. Just because they could.
5. The cats are using your nursing bras to help pad their beds.
6. You try to prepare breakfast only to drop the toast, butter, jelly, cereal, milk and OJ on the floor.
7. You stare at hubby for a full minute before you can remember his name.

(SIGH) Some days are just not worth getting out of bed for. This is one of them.

Conversations with Baby-To-Be

As I progress week by week in this journey called pregnancy, I find myself reading up on the developmental stages of the kid. It's amazing how fast it has grown, and will continue to grow in such a short amount of time. According to the experts, it can now hear and feel outside stimuli. It can basically experience what I experience, only on a much smaller (and quieter) level. So it can hear our voices, it can feel our touch (when Big Dave pokes at the belly), and it has preferences as to food and drink choice.

As interesting as this may be, this is where some problems come into play. Because what I want is not necessarily what the kid wants, and vice versa. Come breakfast time, the kid demands orange juice. Problem: orange juice gives me heartburn. But kid doesn't rest until OJ is forthcoming. Result: I suffer heartburn for a few hours.

So, being the logical and rational person that I am (stop that snickering, please), I decided to try to reason with the kid. I talk to it. I try to make it see my side of the story. I explain calmly and carefully the reasons behind my decision. A typical conversation goes something like this:

ME: Hey, you. We need to talk. (I either poke or rub the belly as I talk)
KID: (KICK)
ME: I know you are wanting some ice cream, but right now I think we need to eat some fresh fruit. It's healthier for us. We need the vitamins and nutrients.
KID: (HARDER KICK)
ME: In order for you to grow stronger and healthier, we need to eat good food. Ice cream is not good food.
KID: Stillness, at first, then (PUNCH).
ME: You can be mad all you like, but we will not eat ice cream. How about a nice apple instead?
KID: (HARD KICK TO TENDER STRETCHING MUSCLES)
ME: That's not a very nice thing to do to Mommy. Stop that.
KID: (HARD PUNCH)
ME: I mean it. If you don't settle down, you'll never get ice cream again.
KID: Movement stops.

I eat the apple, but all the while feel kicks, punches and otherwise distracting movement from the kid. After a couple of hours of constant movement, I give up.

ME: Ok, if I give you some ice cream, will you let me have some peace and quiet?
KID: (Quiet as a church mouse)
ME: And you promise to remain quiet for several hours? No kicking, no punching, just quiet?
KID (Silence)
ME: All right, I will eat ONE scoop of ice cream. One scoop for at least 2-3 hours of quiet time. That's the deal. Agreed?
KID: (One small, barely felt punch)

There is no doubt in my mind -- this kid is all me.

Poor Big Dave.

Baby Naming Contest

A debate has been raging at our house for the last month or so, and it looks like we'll need your help to bring about a peaceful end.

We have not been able to agree on a boy's name for the kid. We have had several discussions about this, but they usually end with Big Dave proclaiming, "We shall name him Thor!" (or Odon, or Olaf, or Hercules or Osiris or some other ancient god-like name) He usually follows this announcement with a very evil and admirable cackle. I then produce a deep, long-suffering sigh, and say just one word - "VETO!", indicating my displeasure with his idea.

We have a girl's name all picked out, but for some reason, we cannot find common ground on the boy name. So, being the good TV-watching, capitalist Americans we are, we decided to transfer the responsibility to someone else - and that someone is you.

We are holding a baby-naming contest. We are inviting you, dear reader, to suggest a name for Baby-To-Be that might be agreeable to both Big Dave and myself. And here are the guidelines for name suggestions:

1. The kid's middle name will be David, so whatever first name you choose to submit, make sure it sounds good paired with David.
2. Forget the common names like Michael, Peter, John, etc. We're looking for something less traditional, more unique (but not so unique as to be weird)
3. It should be fairly easy to pronounce and/or spell. We don't want the kid to have a lifetime of explaining his name to strangers/child psychologists.
4. Big Dave has already suggested Eziekiel, Malachy, Jebbediah, and various other Amish/Old Testament names. They have all been vetoed, so please don't encourage him by suggesting them again.

The winner will receive a surprise gift, as well as our profound thanks and admiration. The winner will also have bragging rights and the honorary title of "uncle" or "auntie". And you will have my gratitude to finally put this debate to rest, and to keep Big Dave from suggesting any more names like "Happy Gilmore", "William the Conquerer" or "Little Willy".

I beg of you. Make him stop.

Battle of the Bulge

At our house, the same thing happens every night.

Big Dave and I settle down on the couch to watch some DVRd shows. One by one, the cats jump up on the couch to join us. And one by one, they slowly meander their way to lay on top of my stomach, as they have always done. The problem is that the stomach is already occupied by baby-to-be, and can't have any additonal weight on top. So I push them off. Go back to watching the show. The cat settles at my side, seemingly happy to just be near. I become engrossed in the show again. Cat slowly inches back on top of the belly. Cat gets pushed off again. Cat gives dirty look. Walks over to Big Dave and settles on his stomach, but keeps eyeing my bulge. Big Dave and I go back to focusing on the show. Ever so slowly, millimeter by millimeter, slinks towards my stomach again. By the time the front paws are resting on my belly. Big Dave takes action. He goes to the kitchen, opens up a can of cat food. The cats, recognizing the sound of canned food, make a mad dash for their bowls in the garage. Once they have been herded into the garage, Big Dave closes off the cat door, effectively locking them in for the night. Ah, peace at last. We go back to the couch.

Koda the 67-pound Wondermutt wanders into the room and starts eyeing the warm, inviting belly....