Full term

Today is baby's due date, but she's still camped out in my abdomen. Some reflections on this pregnancy as its days are numbered...

How completely different-feeling to carry a baby that isn't footling breech! (Still love Chuck Norris facts, though.) Aside from the weight loss in the 1st trimester and major indigestion throughout, this has been a very comfortable pregnancy. No bowling ball embedded in my ribcage; just a bowling ball flattening my bladder into a prolapsed pancake. Because my thyroid was under control beforehand this time, I did not have to take a ride on the hormonal roller coaster. And I've gained a less weight, ranging between 20 and 25 pounds depending on how much edema I'm rockin' on any given day. Gotta love having elephant legs.

I did need maternity clothes with this pregnancy, and started to need them early on. Almost everything was given to me secondhand from friends or was purchased at the thrift store near my house. I bought a couple of new Liz Lange shirts at Target, and the quality:cost ratio is very disappointing.

Although we found out baby's gender and chose a name for her early on (so we could tell Mo what to expect), I'm still inclined to think of it as an "it" until it is out in the world and alive and screaming. I felt that way last time, too. It's a defense mechanism. So many things can go wrong, even up to the end.

But seriously, she needs to get the hell out of my belly. Like now. Pregnancy has fully lost what little charm it had.

Also, we're planning to let our family know when baby arrives, but we're keeping it off social media until we're headed home from the hospital. (PLEASE be polite and do not post our news publicly until you see that we have posted something first!) Last time I was bombarded with phone calls and visits, and I've gotta tell you that was really difficult for me. I had had major abdominal surgery, and it was the first time I was ever hospitalized for anything in life. I was trying to figure out breastfeeding with a jaundiced baby who wouldn't gain weight. And I was suffering serious sleep deprivation. I let the pain get way ahead of me before starting any drugs, and I was fearful that the baby would evaporate if I closed my eyes. I think I maxed out around 36 hours before Robb started acting like a bouncer for me. I'm hoping the hospital can be a little more peaceful this time around. Well, as peaceful as the hospital can be...

"Chuck Norris can gargle peanut butter."

Um, I'm getting sidetracked.

Oh, right, the old wives tales. So I'm NOT drinking castor oil. Too gross. And evening primrose capsules seem like a bad idea. But I have been sitting/bouncing on an exercise ball and taking long walks around the neighborhood. Also I ate a whole fresh pineapple per my friend Brenda's recommendation. Do yourself a favor and never eat a whole fresh pineapple: it changes the acidity of your poop and makes you want to sit on an inflatable donut for a few days afterward.

Robb's out fishing this afternoon because it's a beautiful day, and he realizes his free time is going to take a major hit in the near future. Mo has a headcold and is watching "The Cat in the Hat" downstairs. And I'm sitting here trying to use Jedi mind tricks to induce labor. Wish me luck!

Snowing again...not like that's news

Dear winter storm Titan,
Let me start by saying I'm sorry that we're just not as excited about you as we might have been in December. It's been a busy season. If you want to get our attention you will have to give wedgies to puppies or learn to tap dance. It's not your fault, but you are really late to the party. So move along now, honey. That's quite enough.
Sincerely,
Me

Today we are actively being snowed in. Again. Again again. Last I checked they expect us to get 8-12 inches and not climb out of the 20s. I have a little activity planned for the morning. Mo and I are slathering some pine cones with peanut butter and rolling them in bird seed. Please note we collected the pine cones Saturday morning when it was 50 degrees and sunny. We are going to hang all the pine cones from a stick and then suspend the stick from the big hook outside the kitchen window. Then we can watch the little birds feast. And we'll watch to see how long it takes our friendly neighborhood squirrels rip the whole thing down. Usually quite acrobatic and providing at least several minutes of entertainment. They are efficient little rascals. Then maybe we'll bake cookies and watch movies and shovel as little as humanly possible. I mean, it's supposed to be 80 by Thursday, right?

Note to self

Sorting through some loose papers I found a scribbled note:

"Stolen thunder, hidden butterscotch."

It must have been important, and it's certainly funny, but what does it mean?... Oh, right, it was this. And what it means is that I need to clean out my desk drawers more frequently.

First day of winter and it's 70 degrees here

In no particular order:

The Rainbow Loom is not the season's hottest gift; marketers at craft retailers are trying to trick you. [I stand corrected.] Children really like stickers and chap stick and glitter.

The motherboard in our desktop decided to retire for a long winter's nap. Sad face exclamation mark. As it was home to the downloaded music, the mix cds will all have to wait until we've moved the hard drive into a new host.

Robb was in the right place at the right time this morning. He found an extension ladder at a yard sale for $25. /Score! It looks like our gutters might get cleaned before the new year after all.

We've had a problem with aggressive teens using our side yard as a short cut into the neighborhood behind our house. They stole some things from Robb's truck. And dropped an f-bomb on him one day when he caught a dozen of them walking casually around our house. While he was holding Mo. Not cool. Robb said, "Excuse me? And the kid said, "You heard me, OLD MAN, f*ck you." Grr. That was a couple months ago. Today I saw two of them carrying skateboards cut around the truck, so I said, "What are you doing in my yard?" They looked at each other and laughed, so I shouted, "HEY A**HOLES!" out the front window. They continued on their merry way, a little faster but undeterred. I forgot to shake my fist. Next time...

I was feeling pretty festive and generous of spirit until then. Hmmpf.

Mo is a terrible eater right now. She demands processed meat (bacon, pepperoni, sausage) and uncooked noodles (spaghetti, ramen) all the time. How do you get through these phases of lousy toddler eating habits?

Robb's giant kidney stone will live to fight another day. It was so fearsome that the lithotripter broke on Thursday. We'll try it again in January.

I wore flip flops to walk the dog just now. Happy first day of winter!

Losing my sense of humor

This is me around 6pm every day. After 12 hours of childcare, Homey don't play that.

YARD SALE SUNDAY

I like to tease Robb that he becomes a carnival barker, a crazed used car salesman, a wheeler-dealer maniac whenever he hears the distant drums of a yard sale a'brewin'. If you've seen him in action, then you know what I'm talking about. But I think I have caught yard sale fever, too. I created a Facebook event and encouraged the multiple families participating in the sale to post photos of big items to entice buyers and generate excitement about the event. We've been in touch with someone locally known as "the yardsale queen" who is supposed to be promoting the sale on her website. Also I made this radioactive sign that can stop and redirect 60 mph highway traffic. And now I'm mentioning it on the blog. Maybe I should make some fliers for work????

Hi there

Saturday morning I was surprised to find myself home with only the dog, a rare luxury to have the place all to myself. I took an indecently long shower and decided to get dressed like a human. I snapped a photo memorialize the occasion, in case I never get dressed like a human again. I purposely did not make the bed. And I promptly poured coffee down my shirt. Undaunted by the spill I marched out into the world and after accomplishing my sole errand--a brief trip to the hardware store--headed home where I realized that I could accomplish very little around the house dressed like a human. So back into sweatpants I went for laundry, dishes, more coffee, etc.

Down the rabbit hole of folly

Since I've confessed my crush on Royal Wood, I will also confess that I noticed that he's wearing a wedding ring, and I was curious to see the hussy who landed him. I began my investigation. Her name is Sarah Slean, she is also gorgeous, and...



...



...and now it is now possible I have a bigger crush on Sarah Slean than on Royal Wood. Wow. Talk about a power couple. They're the whole package and then some.

The new camera finally arrived...

...and let me just tell you: we are psyched.

Down low too slow

Robb dislocated a rib on Sunday. We didn't know what he had done to himself, only that his side was getting more painful as the week progressed. So he saw the doctor today. He'll start anti-inflammatory meds tonight and probably spend the next few nights sleeping in the recliner. In the meantime I thought I'd post a catchy little song about the injury. Since he hurt himself....(wait for it)....slapping someone five at a Ravens game. Too soon?

Robb folding laundry says to me

"For a minute there I thought these were your pants, and somehow I shrunk them horribly!"

Daily meditation

"Finish every day and be done with it. You have done what you could; some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; you shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense." -- Ralph Waldo Emerson

S.O.S.

Some wonderful person made this for us for Christmas. Er, we are not certain who that person is, but we are certain that he/she is wonderful because everything this spice rub touches ends up tasting exactly like Stovetop Stuffing. As Martha Stewart says, it's a good thing. Trouble is we are already two-thirds of the way through the jar. Please, wonderful person, please we must have the recipe. It's the only way I can trick Robb into eating beans and rice.

Remember the good times...

...I tell myself because right now we're living in a little place I like to call Molar Town. As much as I want to zip off to OC alone for Paint Snow Hill--and I really really do--there's no way I could leave Robb alone with a teething toddler for a weekend. He would be ready to check into the loony bin by the time I got home. At this moment one molar has fully erupted, and the other three are all coming in at the same time. Poor little Mo. In the meantime here are some photos of our girl from the past two weeks: the playground, Easter, and playing outside. The orange bonnet was mine when I was a little girl. I think Barbara Streaker, my namesake, made it.

















Many of my photos look like this last one because Mo's such a busy lady these days. By the time I get the camera ready she has already moved on.

Thousands of finches

Each morning after Mo's been fed I wander into the kitchen in search of coffee. With the sounds of music and playing drifting down the hall I stand at the sink and sip. Just outside the window winter's cold blast surprised the hydrangea and made her drop her dress. Sheltered amid her naked elbows is a fat bird I have not had the presence of mind to photograph. He is two shades of grey: charcoal back and wings, lighter grey belly. Sometimes a mating pair of cardinals joins him in the sticks. I pointed him out to Robb and wondered what kind of bird it is.

"It's a finch."

No, I don't think so.

"Trust me, there are thousands of varieties of finches." That is probably a true statement if you add "in the world" to the end of it. This is another case of Mr. Science trying to bully me with his credentials when he's pulling something out of his ear. And if the topic wasn't birds he might have pulled it off. But he was trying to buffalo a girl whose favorite childhood book was the Peterson Field Guide to Eastern Birds. I'm pretty sure my bird friend is either a bunting or a junco.

I returned from walking the dog and told Robb to check out the finches I saw on the walk. He leaned in close to the camera to see.



"Those are some really big finches."

Facing fears

When Maureen was born Robb's friends who live in Indiana sent us gift cards for Schwanns food delivery since they could not bring a meal to us themselves. It was thoughtful and generous of them, to be sure. Except for the fact that for the past 15 years I have lived in mortal fear that one day the Schwanns people will get their hands on my contact information. Some people are afraid of spiders; I am petrified of Schwanns.

Have you ever wondered what happens to all the mercenaries when wars end: Schwanns recruits them to be delivery drivers. Their sales reps are vicious stalkers. They sneak catalogs into your mailbox. They email you about special offers at 2am. They urge you to accept delicious samples. They will not take no for an answer. Ever.

It's ridiculous, really, to be fearful of a food delivery company. Right? Maureen was born in January, and it was sometime in October that I worked up the courage to look at the Schwanns website and contemplate placing an order. After several days of deliberation, I made some meal selections.

I nervously asked Robb what he thought about ordering, but he could not have been more cool about the situation. "Whatever you want to get..." Frankly it's exasperating when your partner calls you out on crazy behavior. Not that he called me out on it, but he was acting like dealing with Schwanns should be no big deal. Of course it's a big deal: once they have us in their clutches they will never let go! We have a responsibility to protect the baby from aggressive consumer shenanigans.

I was relieved to see that food could be shipped, so there was no need for a terrifying Schwanns rep to come to our home. Whew. I clicked the button to continue. If I had the food shipped I would have to pay by credit card. But I have gift cards! I scoured the site frantically Crap! There was no way to redeem gift cards online or over the phone. All purchases with gift cards had to be made in person with a delivery driver. I flippin' knew it! We would not be able to pull this off without incurring the Schwanns sales pitch.

I relayed this information to Robb, so he could share in my outrage. But he shrugged. Fine, I'll show him how scary Schwanns can be. I scheduled the delivery for a window of time when I would be at work, and Robb was home watching Maureen by himself. Then I told him what I had done, so he could be exasperated with me. But he said, "Okay."

Seriously? No reaction at all? That man really knows how to push my buttons.

I waited at work for Robb to call and give me play by play about the Schwanns delivery. And I waited and waited. Until I couldn't take it anymore. I was sure that Robb had been tricked into some kind of evil subscription program, and I would arrive home to find he and the baby buried under a mountain of individually vacuum packed frozen steaks. My imagination ran wild. I called home.

"So? What happened?"

"The guy came around 2."

"What? The window was supposed to be between 11 and 1. Did you ask why he was so late?"

"I didn't ask. The guy was nice."

Uh oh. "What all did you get?"

"Whatever you ordered."

"That's it?"

"Yeah."

"Was he really pushy?"

"No. He left a catalog and said he'd be back in our area in two weeks."

I was baffled by Robb's experience with the Schwanns man. It simply didn't fit with my recollection of crazy Schwanns sales people. I mean, the guy I remembered who delivered to some of my coworkers when I was in college, he was relentless. A giant rat terrier with a refrigerated truck. It didn't add up. Maybe I had been wrong all this time to be fearful of Schwanns.

And then several days later as I scrolled through the caller id I found this:



It was THEM!

Holiday house of horrors

(before)

1. Overheard in the hardware store:
Daughter: Dad, we need to get these!
Dad: No, we have plenty of Christmas lights on the outside of the house.
Daughter: But that's the whole point of Christmas.
Dad: What? That's not the point of Christmas. Who was born on Christmas?
Daughter: Ashton Kutcher.

2. I did a lot of online shopping this year and discovered that the sound of packing tape being ripped off of packages really frightens Maureen. Then it should not have surprised me that the sound of packing tape being applied to outgoing holiday packages freaks her out as well. Had to do my mailings in the middle of the night.


(after)

3. Also, Santa Claus is scary.

If I had a million dollars

I'd buy you a green dress, but not a real green dress--that's cruel.

Nah, if I had a million dollars I'd go on a shopping spree at Anthropologie. Instead I daydream about reverse engineering these sundresses. But I wonder why are sundresses featured so prominently in the middle of December? Hmm...could it be that they want us to wear leggings with them? If I have leggings in my wardrobe then you can rest assured, Anthropologie execs, that they are no longer happening. Nor is the word "happening."

Portrait of the artist as a refugee

This week was E. Vent. Ful.

First, you heard about the earthquake, right? A 5.8 in Virginia last Tuesday. I was standing in the kitchen shaking my fist at what I thought was a convoy of construction trucks driving by our house because they have an uncanny way of knowing exactly when Maureen is napping. But then the noise changed and sounded like a very strong gust of wind except when I looked outside it wasn't windy. The grandfather clock started chiming loudly, the way it does when you walk past it too heavily. And the lantern hanging over the sink began to swing back and forth. My stomach went all queasy, and I realized we were having an earthquake. Mo slept through it. Robb was sitting at his desk on the boat, but it sloshed the water in the creek and shook the floating dock enough to bounce him around in his chair.

Second, NOAA sent Robb out of town Thursday to help with the hurricane response in Norfolk. Making new surveys of ports after natural disasters is part of his job description. He simply had not been called upon to respond in an emergency until now. Whoosh, off he went. That same day there was an aftershock of 4.5.

Third, without my usual childcare provider--Robb--I was unable to go to work on Friday and Saturday.

Fourth, I panicked about being home alone with a baby and a dog in a hurricane. So I packed up my show and went on the road to Mom's house where I would be safe from the long soggy arm of the storm. They were calling for 8 inches of rain at my house. Walking the dog in that nonsense is bad enough because Sukey refuses to relieve herself in inclement weather but begs to go out constantly, but trying to do it with Maureen in tow in a monsoon... I don't even want to figure that out. Mom has a fenced yard. Problem solved.

Fifth, Mo and I had a nice visit with Aunt Julie on Friday morning. Coastal Hospice ordered all of its patients to evacuate the Ocean City area well in advance of the storm. She and Uncle Rich came to stay at Paul's house. She looks astonishingly like a Brigham. That is to say she has my great-grandfather's thinness and sharp features and nearly has the height. Since I was little Julie always had more meat on her bones, and she resembled the Bealls more. But now she looks like Sissy except very tired. She was glad to see Maureen. And I was glad to see her glad.

Sixth, I fell on the stairs a Mom's house on Saturday afternoon. Mo was in my arms, and I missed the last step. I've walked up and down those stairs about five billions times in my life, so why would I now miscalculate the number of steps to the bottom? That information is a muscle memory. It's like knowing when to kneel, sit, and stand in a Catholic worship service. It's practically hardwired into my DNA. In the split second before my foot turned under and was crushed under the combined 200 pounds of us, I thought, That wasn't the last step, and then we tumbled down onto the tile. I managed to tuck the baby in like a little football. She was startled by the impact but not hurt. Thank goodness. We went to the emergency room, I had x-rays, and the doctor told me I broke my foot. A nurse splinted it and sent me home with crutches. The baby was an angel for the three hours we spent at the hospital. We all went home in the pouring rain.

Seventh, the hurricane cometh. No damage at Mom's house. And around 10pm we heard a large tree go over, but it was in the woods and didn't hurt anything. We lost phone, internet, and tv in one of the surges. Robb's parents in Howard County lost power, as did George and Chere near Baltimore. At our house at Fig Point a rain gutter came loose. But other nearby neighborhoods in Southern Maryland did not fare so well. Lots of trees fell on houses. A swath of Maryland from St. Mary's, Calvert, Anne Arundel, and Baltimore Counties is still in the dark. Including our house where electricity is not expected to be restored until Friday. Robb is sailing home tomorrow to take stock of the situation at the house. Mo and I and Sukey will remain here until we have electric again.

Eighth, I had a freezer full of pumped breast milk. A three week supply. It was my insurance policy against illness, injury, and intoxication. Gone. Justlikethat. I need to stop thinking about it now because I might start blubbering on Mom's laptop.

Ninth, I went to see an ortho on Monday. The ER doctor mis-read my x-rays. My foot is not broken. Halelujah! I have a sprain and a walking boot and no crutches!

Tenth, this week Maureen sprouted two front bottom teeth. One day nothing, the next day teeth were poking out. Crazy! She is so close to crawling it's not even funny. She gets up on all fours and rocks and kind of tosses her torso forward. And she discovered loud. She says, "huhhhHAAAAGHTH!!!!!!" It sounds like she might be gagging to death, but she looks terribly pleased with herself and amused while she's doing it and afterward. I made the sound loudly back at her, and she started to cry. Apparently when she does it it's hilarious, but when I do it it's terrifying. So now I mimic back quietly. The queen approves of this modification. When Robb called tonight I told him how she loves the barnyard sound effects that Gramma Lizzy adds to one of her bedtime stories.

Oh, and that Maureen said her first two words. Robb feels like he's missed all kinds of Mo-isms this week, so he asked breathlessly, "What were they???"

"Go 'Skins."

He paused, and in his best stop-teasing-me-voice replied, "They were not!"

Here I come to save the day

Yesterday this man said to Mo, "What a big boy!" She was wearing her Mighty Mo onesie outfit. But I guess that male superheros are partial to spandex, so I corrected him. Whatever, no big deal. I'm not uptight about people mistaking her gender.

"Oh, a girl." He smiled at her and then to me, "And you're the grandmother." Not in the form of a question.

Are you kidding me? Clearly this guy was smoking crack.

This reminds me of the childbirth class we took. It was an all day Saturday affair in a classroom in the basement of the hospital. As a warmup we had to get to know the couple next to us and then introduce them to the class. The kids next to us--and I say "kids" because they were 20 and 21--were very nice. The girl looked just like Luna Lovegood from the HP movies.

We chatted with them for a few minutes about the usual stuff. How far along are you? Boy or girl? Have you thought of names? But when Robb mentioned that this was our first child, you should have seen the shock on their doughy little faces. To them we looked like Old Mother Hubbard and Father Time. Definitely too old to be giving a dog a bone, if you know what I mean.

Biologically speaking yes, I could have grandchildren at 33, and Robb's grandchildren could have drivers licenses. But I don't, and Robb's grandchildren are still in elementary school. This is our baby. We took our sweet time. Tomorrow is the 10th anniversary of our first date. And maybe that means I get called granny once in a while.

But it was probably my fault for taking a shower and changing out of my spit up shirt. I lost my new-mama-street-cred.