39 weeks and 98 degrees

on 29 June 2008

Well, blame Whimsy.

She wanted another damn picture of the belly that will take over the whole damn universe and here it is.

I'm calling this the cats edition because that cat right there, The Leike--she howled the entire time that the Husband was taking these pictures as if to say, "Dude, the belly is blocking my sun, man!!! Move along Big Round Woman!"

There was another one with the Agnes in it but my face is all red and sweaty from post nap and it's just not that flattering to be 39 weeks pregnant when it's 98 degrees outside. "One is in a constant state of inelegance" (and if you can name who said that I will give you a big fat shout out).

That t-shirt is one of the last that still "fits" me and the pants are a recent acquisition of The Wife's nursing/postpartum line and that's just how excited she is to be POSTpartum, she's already busted them out. As you can see we're blaming the Boy for straining the confines of conventional maternity wear. The doc at my last appointment estimated that he's veering towards 8 pounds which doesn't sound like much (it's one half of the Leike), but that veering towards 8 pounds is cooking me from the inside out.

Just for comparison, here's how far we've come:
The belly 12 weeks pregnant.
Ahhh, the good ol' days. I could wear normal pants. I could sleep on my back without threat of brain damage to my child. I could roll over in bed without causing a minor event on the richter scale. I could go longer than 2 hours between bathroom visits. I could basically eat whatever I wanted in whatever quantities instead of minimeals of bland bland bland food.

In case you haven't noticed, we're quite eager for this boy to come out and be an independently functioning member the family. It's a tough call who is more impatient, the Husband or myself. The Husband keeps rubbing my belly and saying things like "Come out and play Boy!" And I keep rubbing my belly and saying things like, "If you want any more ice cream you have to come out and grow up! I'm not giving you any more you cheeky little freeloader!"

I know. It's a toss up who the crazier parent is at this point.

I've got nothin'

on 27 June 2008

So after 3 weeks of weekly doctor's appointments, my conclusion is this:

I've got a really uneventful uterus.

You may all now go back to your regularly scheduled programming. I will update when I have something more entertaining, enlightening, or exciting to write about. For now...just know, I have one very uneventful uterus.

And one baby who is free-loading at this point. I wonder if I should consider cutting off his nightly ice cream?

Abraham and Isaac

on 24 June 2008

I've been thinking a lot about Abraham and Isaac lately. I'm not sure why. It could have been The Gift of Asher Lev that brought it back to my mind, it could have been the impending parenthood and of a son--no less, it could have been the great exodus of friends from our church as people graduate and take jobs and move away, I'm not sure, but for whatever reason, I've been thinking a lot about Abraham and Isaac.

I was thinking about Abraham and Isaac again this morning while I was hunkered down into my bowl of Kashi. And I realized something. I have never been a happy person. I find myself distrustful of happiness. I think because I feel certain that we all will be required to sacrifice that which we love most at some point and in some way, and so by being unhappy, by not loving people or places or things I protect myself from the inevitable misery of sacrificing those people, places or things.

I was terrified of marriage--not only for the commitment required, but because I felt certain that having acquired that level of happiness, I could not possibly survive if I were required to sacrifice it. It's been four years and I still have this tiny knot of fear in my heart that something will happen, that I will lose this carefully constructed and protected corner of happiness.

Similarly, I suppose with children. I find myself suspicious of children. They are sticky, germy, wiggling creatures, and yet, people LOVE them. I love them. We endure the discomfort of pregnancy, the pain of labor and delivery, the inherent miseries of parenting them and we do it over and over and over again. My only conclusion is that there must be some joy, some starlight in there some where. And yet. How many parents lose their children? How many are sacrificed to the fates of illness and accident? How does one survive that kind of loss?

I think of Abraham and Isaac, of how many decades this one man waited to have a child and when he finally did he was asked to sacrifice him. I think of what he must have thought walking down that road, not knowing that God would provide a reprieve for him. And I wonder how any of us are ever content in our happiness. How do we ever move past the fear of losing that small corner of contentment that we've worked so hard to build?

I'm not worried about labor and delivery. I'm not afraid for myself. I have survived hard things. I can survive this. I'm worried about the Boy. I'm worried that after coming so far with this little piece of life that something will go terribly wrong. I'm worried that there won't be a reprieve for me at the end of this long road. I worry for the Husband who I know is worried about the Boy too. I worry that after all. After the wait and the preparation and the excitement that we'll be asked to sacrifice this little piece of happiness before we really get to experience it.

I know. I am a pioneer in paranoia. I am officially worried about losing a happiness I have not yet acquired.

I wish I were a braver person. I wish I could embrace life and the world for what it is without fear. I wish I were bolder in telling people that I love them before they leave. I wish I had the courage to be happy. Or at the very least the courage to set aside my cynicism and be grateful for the moments of happiness. For what they are. Rather than wishing them to be what I would make them.

And Now we Wait

on 23 June 2008

So I've had a couple of uneventful doctor's appointments. I have refrained from telling you about them because they sound grumptastic and depressing and also boring. And This Fine Girl is trying so hard to keep her boy in whilst I am trying to evict mine that I just couldn't bring myself to complain.

So instead, I present you with a list of places I could have gone into labor this weekend but DIDN'T.

  • Borders
  • Kroger
  • WalMart
  • Golf Galaxy
  • Old Navy
  • Pet Supermarket
  • Barnes and Noble
  • Church
  • Burnstopia
Alas. My body isn't the least bit interested in labor at this point. The boy--he is his father's son and he's comfortable. So I suppose that means he'll get here when he gets here. I was vaguely hoping he'd arrive early and save me from some of the piles on my desk. But as it is I have only 9 days of work left. 9. Days. Of working...and then leave starts and I will actually be able to nap and put my feet up and do the things that everyone at work keeps telling me to do but I can't very well do at my DESK.

In other news, I got to hang out in bookstores this weekend. Bookstores, those meccas of peace and loveliness. Those places of good smells and rows and rows of promise. I picked up 3 new paperbacks** for once the boy gets here and I'm sitting with a newborn for hours...but one of them I have begun already and I must say--it's deliciously summerific.

I had a small epiphany this weekend in those meccas of joy that are bookstores. Summer reading has a very distinct flavor for me. I tend to read big thick books (the closer to 1000 pages the better) and I tend to check in to historical thrillers, which I normally never ever go for (I like 19th century novels or impressionistic post-modern crap that no one else really likes). 3 summers ago it was Star of the Sea by Joseph O'Connor which was AMAZING. 2 summers ago, well, I'm embarrassed to name the book that I could.not.put.down.to.save.my.life. And so I won't. Last summer it was...well, also an embarrassing and very VERY popular novel that has since been made into a move. This summer it's The Meaning of Night by Michael Cox. I'm 100 pages in and it's just as AMAZING as Star of the Sea. I can't wait to see what happens. This is one of those odd phenomenons that only happens in summer--like the solstice or strawberries and the inescapable sweetness thereof.

So in spite of all my efforts this weekend, I am back at work. Plugging away at the piles and piles of worky work that have taken over my desk in lieu of my impending absence. In other news, one of my more demanding professional types is out sick so I may just find some time this afternoon to sit and read rather than working on the worky work piles...since my body isn't interested in labor, I'll just use that as an excuse to put off until tomorrow what I should be working on today. MwaHaHA!

**For those interested, the other two books were The Used World by Haven Kimmel and Divisadero by Michael Ondaatje (I've read everything this man has published--he's one of my favorites)

Pregnant Catering--High Comedy

on 19 June 2008

You will all excuse me please while I NOM NOM NOM on some delicious falafel and hummus and oh my goodness-date baklava from Mediterranean Deli.

You all remember, I'm sure, my absolute loathing of all things party related? Especially the catering bit?

I have never laughed so hard at a catering experience, as I have now laughed at this one. Here's the story.

So, yesterday one of my professional types sends me an email from the airport in Hawaii from whence she was returning and asked me to arrange for catering for a lunch for 20ish people TODAY. Now, I hate catering under normal circumstances with a week to make decisions and brace myself for the unpleasantness of the whole affair but 1 DAY!?

Alas, I have only 2 weeks left of work (unless my Boy is very punctual--which, dude, he's his father's son, if he's comfortable, there's no moving him until he HAS to) so I took it on the chin and said, "Sure. No problem." I make the phone calls, make the choices and order the food. It helped tremendously that I was ordering from one of my favorite restaurants in town.

Anyway, so I called the guy and explained the situation and he keeps murmuring, "Yes, yes we do that..." and finally I apologized for the late notice and not really knowing what was going on and he says, "You do not worry! I make a beeee-yooouuu-ti-ful lunch for you!" At which point I crack up laughing and thank him and go on my way.

So today comes. And I'm here a work work working away because work is working the last drop of workiness out of me and the catering delivery man calls. It's a different guy than I spoke with yesterday and he's lost. He's on the wrong street looking at the building next to ours, and I'm distracted from all the work. So I tell him just to veer to the right--which he can't do because that would be on a SIDEWALK. I hang up the phone and realize what I just said to this poor man so I get up and schlep my 9 months pregnant self outside and flag him down.

He pulls the van up on the curb and (there is no other word for it) GAPES at me. He gets out of the van and I apologize for giving him awful directions, I give him better directions and tell him that I will meet him on the other side of the building if he'll just drive around the block and he looks at me, looks at the belly, looks back at my face with this very CONCERNED expression and says, "Ok. But DON'T HURRY." And I chuckle and say that I'll be very careful!

At this point, I laughed myself up the hill, into the building and out the other side. He was just pulling up and loading the platters and trays onto a cart and he kept saying, "No! Don't lift, I will lift! Don't hurry! I will take care of it!" So I let him. The kid could not have been more than 19, I have no idea where he learned about pregnant women but where ever it was, they seriously scare the crap out of him.

So we make a couple of trips in and he helps me set everything up and I'm looking at the spread--most all of it is familiar because the Husband and I have eaten there A LOT. Baby has craved falafel throughout the pregnancy. Anyway, I was pointing to one of the sauces that I didn't recognize and I asked him what it was and he looks at it and looks at me and says, "This very hot sauce, YOU DON'T EAT IT." And I crack up laughing again and tell him the truth--I'm pretty ready for this baby to get here, I'll try anything. At which point, "He groans and says, "I can't watch."

He left me the invoice and promised to come back at 4pm for the platters and such and he was so charming and funny that I could have hugged him right there, but I think my very presence was kind of scaring him so I didn't.

Before I left to go back to all the work work working, my professional types insisted on me taking a plate back to my desk before the students and everyone went to town on it...which, I usually wait until everyone else has eaten before availing myself but they wouldn't let me go without taking food so I did and it was de-lic-ous.

Childbirth Class: The Finale

on 18 June 2008

Last night was our last childbirth class.

We got a certificate. That the Husband wants to hang in his cubical. Or maybe on the office wall for the Boy to see, that yes, his parents were qualified to bring him into this world. HA!

It started off nicely enough, everyone inquiring how I was feeling as I come hobbling into the room. I try to stand up straight and not limp and not show weakness--I don't want to scare these girls that, "Yes! This debilitating pain, the aches and sore muscles are coming right at you and you can swerve but they'll get you all the same!"


We reviewed stage 2 of labor in gory detail. And after several conversations with my sisters I wonder why anyone has children EVER. There is NO good way to get them here. It's all loaded with pain and blood and misery and then the RECOVERY is loaded with MORE pain and blood and misery.

We got into different laboring positions for another round of practice. The Husband had a lovely tennis ball for applying counter-pressure on my back and I had just finished teasing him about the nurses frowning on rogue tennis balls in L&D when (of course) he dropped it and went off chasing it while I laughed until I snorted into my pillow. We are not mature enough to become parents.

We then practiced some pushing positions. It's a good things I knew going into pregnancy that I was checking my dignity at the door and would pick it up with the baby on the way out. Some of these are just...well...my grandmother would say they're just not lady-like. At one point there were 8 couples, all of the women lying on their sides with their legs curled up to their chests and their husbands hiking the top leg up above their head.

The instructor comes over to us to try to curl my legs closer around my belly and I grimace and say, "Um. I'm sorry, but here at Burnstopia we don't bend like that any more...the muscles have gone on strike." At which point she's so sweet and sympathetic and pets my head and says, "I know. It'll get better." And I wanted to cry and also hug her and beg her to be my doula. The upside is that everyone in the room was laughing at the nature of this position. EVERYONE. The Hippies, the High Strung Couple, and everyone in the middle--there are few things in the world so equalizing as the humiliation of childbirth.

And that was it. We talked about newborns and what they look like (read: Alien) and some nursing techniques and then we got our certificates and headed home.

On the upside. Last night was the full moon and more babies are born around the full moon than at other times in the month. The downside is: many contractions but absolutely no rhyme nor reason to any of them. So, meh, whatever. He'll get here when he gets here...

Father's Day 2008

on 15 June 2008

When we were first married, I know that the Husband was less than thrilled about he pseudo-Sara Lee (ready-made) family he was marrying into. 1) He's allergic to cats. 2) He grew up with dogs so he's more of a dog person. Especially dogs that live outside. In a yard. At someone else's house. So I know, even though he never said much about it, that he was less than thrilled to become the step-"parent" of two plum-full of attitude cats.

But, like I said, he never said anything about it. It was a strange and difficult adjustment. I have alternately worried about his shortness of temper with them and their antics; and laughed until wheezing at some of his behavioral modification methods. The Leike was a particularly hard sell. She's sort of a one-person kind of animal and anyone other than that one person she treats with open disdain at the very least and hostility is fairly normal.

But look at this. 4+ years later and Bed Sweet Bed is all the sweeter for our little family. The above is usually their nightly ritual, but apparently it works for napping as well. As of today, these are still the only babies in Burnstopia. And since I know their world is about to change for-ev-er, I can't quite bring myself to interrupt their Husband-Love-Fest.

Happy Father's Day, Babe. At least we haven't screwed up the cats.

Sketches 2

on 13 June 2008

The Husband likes to putter in the mornings.

I am very much a, get up, get going, get things done, so that the day goes, and I can come home again kind of person. But the Husband, he putters.

He lays in bed for a while.
He checks his email.
He cuddles the cats.
He reads fark.com.
He cleans the cat box.
He follows me around to hug and cuddle and rub the belly.
He sits at his desk and thinks of things he doesn't want to do during the day.
Eventually he gets in the shower and attempts to make progress, by which point, we're already running late.

The other morning I was basically ready and gathering up the stuff I needed to take to work and he picked up the howling Agnes and cradled her in his arms all the while talking about his sweet baby Agnes (while she wriggled and attempted to free herself from his overly zealous embrace). And I looked at him and said, "Um. Are you going to do that to the Boy when he gets here?" And the Husband (with his face in Agnes' belly fur) replied, "As long as he'll let me."

And I think I fell a little bit more in love with him than I was before.


on 12 June 2008

So, I woke up this morning and got ready as usual.

I was sitting in our rocking chair whilst the Husband was sitting on the futon checking his email.

Suddenly this loud ROAR escapes from my midsection. And by "loud" I mean that both cats were startled enough to jump and the Husband looked at me and raised his eye-brows in amazement and disbelief.

All I could think to say was, "Hmmm. I think I might have some breakfast." So I did.

The Birth Class that Wasn't

on 11 June 2008

Yes, I know you have all been waiting patiently to hear all about our Birth class exploits, and what I have for you will surely disappoint, but here we go.

Yesterday's class was all about pain relief and c-sections. I have a lot of opinions about these two things and have taken A LOT of grief about my opinions on these two things.

So I'm a-just gonna keep those to m'self.

Anyway, Hippy Woman managed to restrain herself for the most part. The High Strung Couple kept looking at each other as each variation on pain modification was mentioned and smiling and nodding and saying, "Epidural!" with this overly-cheery tone in their voice. One couple looked as if they would just like the epidural to be given to them NOW and the rest of pregnancy be damned. What surprised me was how many women had no idea how an epidural worked, and that they wouldn't be able to get up and move around--in spite of hearing the instructor AND a video tell them that epidurals necessitate catheters.

Anyway, moving on. Our instructor then set up the conference room as if for a c-section and asked one of the Fathers to volunteer to have a c-section performed on them and Hippy Man volunteered--which rather endeared me to him...he's really a good sport and was very, very funny. He put on the pink gown and the fake baby and lay down and let our instructor do all manner of things to prep him for the surgery. The room quickly filled up with the other class members representing the various techs, nurses, surgeons, med students and doctors who would all be present--until there were only 3 or 4 of us sitting down--myself included.

The instructor started to describe the procedure and I started rocking back and forth in my seat chanting quietly, "We're going down, we're going down, we're going down and we're all gonna die." There are few things so frightening to me as surgery...it's just so unnatural. All your internal organs out there for DISPLAY and in the AIR which is NOT where they belong. And your arms and legs all tied down and the tubes and the wires and the machine that goes "BING!" and everything. I was working myself into a fine state of panic when...class ended.

The instructor was good enough to offer to show us the c-section clip from the film we've been watching all along, after class for those who are interested. And guess who was not interested? ME! And guess who was very interested? The Husband! So guess which one took one for the team? That's right. ME! So we stayed, in spite of my mortal terror, and watched the film, which wasn't nearly as graphic and gruesome as the c-section I watched later on that night on the Discovery channel--OF MY OWN FREE WILL--because I am neurotic and love to freak the hell out of myself, apparently.

In other baby-related news, that ticker is seriously freaking me out. I might have to take it down...I don't know that my nerves can tolerate the daily, ticking, time-bomb that my body has become.

Right, then.

on 09 June 2008

Yeah. I have a blog too.

Last week was a loooooong week. Some of the professional types seem determined to grind me into dust while squeezing out every last living drop of workity work from me that they can. The result was that by the time I got to the weekend I was tapped out and exhausted and miles to go before I could sleep. And people? It is 100 degrees outside. 100. In June. JUNE! We have all summer still to go and I am going to spontaneously combust.

My goal was to get all the of the hard-core chores done (like cleaning the carpets etc) so that for the next 3-5 weekends until the boy arrives we can just take it easy. The Husband kept saying, "There's too much to do, we can't get it all done." Little does he know. The one way to get me to do EVERYTHING is to tell me it can't be done. I'll do it all just to spite you! So I did. And oh, how I have paid the price.

My bones, they are throbbing.

And there is no 36 week belly pic this week because I would not hold still long enough to take one.

The secret to getting so much done? Keep moving--I've learned this from watching children--as soon as they stop they realize that they're tired and they start to fade fade fade. Pregnant version of the Wife works in much the same way, so I keep going from one project to the other and I don't stop until everything is done. Voila!

Anyway, I'm back at work and my "To Do" list is 8 miles long and my only compulsion for doing it is that they are having a big ol' shower for me on Friday the 13th (how awesome is that? So fitting given that parenthood is the most frightening choice I have ever made--also I think a hockey mask might come in handy...I've heard tales of projectile poop that would make protection seem like a reasonable choice) and I know I won't get much done that day between a doctor's appointment in the morning and CAKE later on, I'm chalking the day up to spent.

I've pretty much given up hope of not gaining too much weight--I've switched from ice cream to frozen yogurt but the Oreoes? They are my friends...in addition to cold watermelon, peanut butter m&ms, full fat yogurt and toast with butter and eggs. The result? skyrocketing blood sugar and weight. I continue to tell the Husband that the days are numbered and we are returning to our normal healthy routines of healthy food and EXERCISE. He looks at me with a pained expression in the hopes of incurring my sympathy--but lo, there is none.

The Hippies that Ate our Birth Class

on 04 June 2008

Now, before I commence the telling of this tale, I feel the need to preface my remarks.

The Husband and I consider ourselves to be moderately hippy in our tendencies. We conserve, we recycle, we're making some rather hippy choices with regard to the birth and rearing of our young. I am the token vegetarian at any family gathering, the Husband is against drilling for oil in the Alaskan wilderness and I hate whalers, I don't care what ethnic tradition you come from. But we don't belong to Greenpeace, the Sierra Club or PETA--not yet anyway. (Sorry, but I have to keep the families guessing!)

But these people redefine HIPPY.

They're nice enough, I think. Annoying beyond the telling of it in human speech, but I suppose deep deep DEEP down under all that annoying-ness they're probably nice enough people.

These people came into Birth class on the first night and described their expectations of birth as, "I don't want to have a plan, I just want it to happen. I want it to be calm and peaceful and not stressful in any way. I don't want clocks, or timers, or monitors or anything, just calm and peace."

Which, ok. I can understand that. I also want it to be a calm environment. So, I didn't share the Husband's overwhelming loathing for this couple from the beginning.

The next week we were practicing pressure points and counter-pressure massage techniques. And the Hippy Woman would NOT stop whining! "I don't like this music. I don't like the way that feels, we always use this other pressure point." To which our instructor replied, "You may want to stop that because that pressure point can induce labor to begin and you're only at 30 weeks."

And that's when I thought that the Husband's head would explode.

This week it was my turn.

First of all. Hippy Woman is in a room full of pregnant women. We're all in various stages of discomfort and none of us make a big deal about it. It is what it is. (Sorry, Whimsy, I know you hate that expression but it's perfectly apt in this moment.) Anyway, and not to sound all melodramatic here BUT--as the woman closest to my due date, I have dibs on the MOST uncomfortable woman in the room. So, last night, Hippy Woman spends the entire 2 hours squirming around and pushing on her belly and sighing dramatically about "Oh woe is me! I am SO uncomfortable." And she's sitting in the front of the room. There's no way to NOT look at her and wish that she would melt into a puddle on the floor.

So we proceed to talk about back labor and moving the baby into the correct position and the movements that we need to be doing now so that our babies take the path of least resistance and her hand keeps snapping into the air and she wants, "NUMBERS! I need a number! How many squats? How many stretches? How many stairs? How much swimming?" And I look at the Husband and he looks at me and says, "I thought she 'didn't want a plan'? and now she needs a NUMBER?" And I'm trying to laugh it off but she's really annoying me now.

We then move on to practice different laboring positions with clothes pins clipped to various body parts to try to simulate pain (some of them are pinch-ier than others, I will acknowledge). Anyway, so we move through three or four different positions and our instructor is timing each simulated contraction and we finish the exercise and Hippy Woman's hand snaps into the air AGAIN with, "How long was that? How long will contractions last? I need a NUMBER!" At which point I'm thinking, "Get out. Get out now, because if you have to time every living contraction, expecting it to end on your schedule, you're not going to make it." So, our instructor (who has immortalized herself as the most patient woman in the world) informs her that the contractions will last anywhere from 60-90 seconds and Hippy Woman's response is, "They won't be longer than 90 seconds? Ok. I just need to know what to expect."

Maybe someone should explain it to her that expectations are another form of PLANNING.

And I'm Tagged

on 03 June 2008

So, the Marvelous Sarah at Los Bradleys tagged me with this meme and I've been putting it off, but since I have nothing sitting on my desk to be done right now I thought I may as well do a week's worth of updates in one day! Wooo.

So here we go:

1. What were you doing 10 years ago?

10 years ago would have been June of 1998. Hmmm. I had just gotten out of a disastrous relationship so I was very enamored by my freedom. I had just adopted the Leike and was spending a lot of time with her at the vets office. I was in school, at a local community college--which means I was probably working on my last play and getting ready to transfer to the University of Washington. I was fairly certain that I was never getting married because of the aforementioned disastrous relationship--if that was what marriage was like, I wanted no part in it.

2. List 5 things on your "To Do" list:

  1. Get ready for the Boy
  2. Finish thank you notes
  3. Finish reading a couple of books
  4. Steam clean the carpets in the apartment
  5. Prepare a lesson for Sunday
3. What snacks do you enjoy?
  • baby carrots
  • pears
  • roasted almonds
  • yogurt
  • oreoes...mmmm, oreoes.
4. What would you do if you were suddenly a billionaire?

Oh dear. I hate money. I really do. In truth, I'd probably go to the Husband and tell him to take care of all of this nonsense because I truly couldn't cope with something like that. Knowing the two of us, we'd probably allocate chunks of it to friends and family, we'd probably buy a house. Not a big house, because we don't like big houses--something cozy and old fashioned but with a really cool kitchen and a wrap around porch. I'd pay off my student loans. And we might buy a second car...maybe a hybrid or a Subaru. Beyond that we'd invest a good portion of it so that I could write and we could travel and afford a really good education for our children. We'd probably donate chunks of it to various charities that we both enjoy and would support more now if we could.

I really don't like this question...moving on.

5. List 3 bad habits:

Only 3? Oh, have it your way:
  1. I bite the skin around my finger nails when I get really nervous. Sometimes I draw blood.
  2. I say, "I don't know" A LOT.
  3. I over-analyze everything to the point of paralyzing indecision.
6. List 5 places you've lived:
  1. Oak Ridge, Tennessee
  2. Port Orchard, Washington
  3. Seattle, Washington
  4. Athens, Georgia
  5. Durham, North Carolina
7. List 5 jobs you've had:
  1. Sales clerk in a music store (awesome, I got free concert tickets and went to music concerts twice a month for 2 years--my hearing will never be the same.)
  2. Temp. (also awesome, it's the perfect job for someone who gets bored easily.)
  3. Loan processor for a financial company. I was the youngest person they had ever hired and I only worked there for 9 months before quitting to go back to school. It was an extraordinarily depressing line of work.
  4. College Professor. Technically, I was a TA but I had full responsibility over my classes and my students so I say it counts. It was equal parts awesome and performing monkey.
  5. Administrative Assistant/over all camp counselor. There are days that are really cool, but then there are many MANY days that are not cool at all.
8. List 5 things that people don't know about you:

Ugh. There are things that people don't know about me and it should remain that way. Fine. Here are some of the lesser things that people don't know about me:
  1. I can live any where, but I hate small towns.
  2. I keep my degrees hung up in my bathroom--just as a reminder.
  3. I'm totally neurotic about my environment--if it's not clean and organized I can't think, I can't sleep, I can't work, I can't do anything until it's put in order.
  4. I know all the lyrics to an embarrassing amount of music. Now that I think about it, I have whole chunks of dialog memorized from various movies and television programs.
  5. I hate mirrors, they creep me out.

Now, that being said, I'm tagging Molly, Katrina, Whimsy, Emily, and Ginny RAE!

Points: they are highly over-rated

Since I haven't posted anything since Friday I thought that you'd all appreciate an update from our little, cozy corner of insanity.

The Husband? He is good. Really good. A little freaked out about the imminent arrival of the boy, but still good. We were in Bed Sweet Bed last night and I was getting the TAR kicked out of me from the inside so I rolled over and put the Husband's hand on my SPLEEN which was being obliterated by the boy (I swear, it's like he thinks he's PELE in there!) and the Husband? He laughed and laughed and calmly continued to read Harry Potter.

He's in Raleigh today doing something with state legislation about some bills that are up for debate that have something to do with funding for newborn screening. Do you like how I know about these things? Trust me, if it passes, I will know about it!

The weekend was fairly productive. The Husband helped some friends of ours move apartments which meant that I was free to clean and organize and putter around the apartment without anyone following me around telling me to REST. I got a lot done. But then, of course, it was too much and I spent all of Sunday laying around like an over-cooked piece of broccoli. We napped and watched a certain TV show, that will not be named because I have a reputation as an intellectual to uphold, and ate and napped some more.

Tonight's another birth class. I find it funny that between the two of us we have our couples who ANNOY us to NO end. Mine is the High Strung Couple, "I HAVE TO HAVE A PLAAAAAAN!!!" (Dude, I seriously want to look at her and tell her to unclench already--this is one thing in a loooong line of things that she can't control.) And the Husband? He's taken this intense dislike for the hippy couple from Carrboro. They are the antithesis of my dear annoying couple but they act like they're all special and should be catered to which annoys the dear Husband to no bounds.

For example: There are 8 couples in this class. 8 couples equals 16 people. Of those 16 people, ALL of us are delivering at the same hospital, the Hippy Couple is the only couple (the only 2 people) who are delivering at the local birthing center. EVERY time we go through any routine procedure our instructor gives us the scenario for the local hospital, and EVERY single time this couple raises their hand to ask "What about at the birthing center?" Even when the instructor has explicitly said, "I'm not sure how it works at the birthing center." It drives the Husband insane--which is actually fairly good entertainment. Last week, I worried he might set them on fire with his MIND.

So, who can tell what tonight will bring. We're both exhausted. I feel like I could happily curl up and sleep through the next 4 weeks and be perfectly content. The Husband will have been to Raleigh and back through traffic etc, so tonight could be the night that he SNAPS and tells the Hippy Couple to go have their child in a cave already and leave the rest of us in peace.

Pray for us sinners...