Things and some stuff (32 weeks).

My boy (or girl) has a bony behind. This is, I know, to be expected; nonetheless, I can't help remarking upon it as it has been poking out of my belly for a few weeks now and as a result I often find myself rubbing my baby's butt. (Uccellina gave it a feel last night and should be able to confirm.)

Yes, folks, 32 weeks pregnant and all I can come up with to discuss is my child's ass. I assure you, it is a far more engaging topic than the game we play daily, "grab mommy's bladder and twist until she cries � or at least pees." Just wait till the baby is born. Oh, the posts I'll write then...

Gratuitous belly picture:

As it was taken after a screening of The Notorious Bettie Page, I feel fat and hate my clothes. (The movie is not out for another couple of weeks. My review will be published next week.)

Some things I've been reading:

• Diablo Cody falls off the stripper poll. Gracefully.
  
• My husband is grumpy and wants to know your weekend plans. Obey him.
  
• You can demand Wil Wheaton, though I think "demand" seems a bit rude.
  
• Scroll down to "Spam of the Day" at the bottom. Trust me.

That's it for now � can't have anyone thinking I am more than vaguely literate!

xxoo

Picture Post

As part of our work�in�progress house rejuvination, I now have this gorgeous workspace:

The little pink bag contains knitting notions.

This is my temporary wedding ring:

Personally, I believe it looks like an alien head. Garnet antennae!

And these are some of the diapers my mother has sewn for us:

Will thinks they look like robots, which I guess works well with my ring...

Wait. What day is it?

Dear Universe,

Was yesterday April Fool's Day? Did I get confused? I thought it wasn't till Saturday (when I will be getting the biggest April Fool at LAX in the form of my sister), but yesterday had all the tell-tale signs.

Three separate offers came in. You can imagine, Universe dear, that three offers in one day is unheard of for a lowly freelancer who hasn't much hope of going far. I worried about buying new clothing, and got an email from M containing a proposal. Mere hours after I was fretting over the cost of the wireless router I want, I got the opportunity to review a movie I'm dying to see anyway for a publication with good readership in an area I'd never reach otherwise. And my contract will be renewed for the editing job I've been working at.

You might say I'm too busy. It's wonderful. I feel a sense of accomplishment, my husband is proud...

So, Universe, what's a girl to think? Did I rack up so much good karma that it couldn't all wait until the next life? Is the other shoe going to drop momentarily?

Please. 'Splain.

Love,
me

Can't sleep, clowns will eat me.

I've been up since about four. I wake up every night to pee, and have varying degrees of success falling back to sleep � but I generally am successful, as long as the sun is not yet peering in the window. Last night (can I say "last" when it is still technically going on?) I woke up sometime between midnight and one, and again at four. It's the second one that gets you. After laying in bed, tossing and turning, for about an hour, I decided to get up before I woke up Will. And now here I am, reading blogs because I am really not together enough just yet to answer my emails.

In other news, last night the State of California bailed my ass out. We only filed our taxes a week ago, but our return appeared in the bank yesterday right around the time I miscalculated our groceries and would have put us into overdraft by 99 cents (incurring a $25 fee and making me cry). Yay! Now we can have fabulous non-essentials like haircuts and something semi-precious for me to wear while my wedding rings are too small. Oh, and also doctor visits and food. (It seems unfair that we are struggling even with my income added to the kitty. I should register a complaint.)

It seems to be light out now. How charming. I had a friend named Andrew many years ago who always got up early in the morning, no matter how late he'd been up. He didn't want to sleep through anything, only he said it much nicer than that. I always thought it was lovely, but now I'm not so convinced. I guess this is practice for the baby. So that's all right, if a bit frustrating because why can't I get some sleep now while I still can?

In still other news, I found out yesterday that two of our favorite people on the planet married each other last month. I feel that I ought to knit them something...any suggestions?

Pop: meme

What's the population of the place you think of yourself as being from vs. the place you live now?

(You can find population information here)

Hometown:
New York, New York: 1,487,536
Woodstock, New York: 4,827

Currently:
Los Angeles, California: 3,485,398

All are as of 1990, which skews the results slightly as it makes the former accurate and the latter less so.

OK. Fine. This is a baby blog.

Last night I dreamed that we had the baby. It was so cute and sweet and wonderful! I woke up sad because I still have to wait.

Then I took a shower and these pictures:

They're both blurry, and I know you can't really see anything in the second one but it cracks me up. And when I laugh, you laugh. I forgot to take pictures at 31 weeks, so this is 31 and a half. The dress I'm wearing isn't maternity at all � I wore that all last summer, in fact. When I was packing up my clothing I tried it on for a gas and was shocked to find that it fit and was even cute. Not pictured: my hairy legs.

This is what happened a couple of weeks ago:

Yes. My fingers got fat. I am very sad.

And these are some pictures of the spider that was living behind my old computer and scared the living daylights out of us both when we tried to move it to clean:

Will was very brave and caught it, and I was very brave and took it outside where I shook it off the envelope we'd caught it on. Will is convinced it will come back to have its revenge on us. That is a penny in the second picture. It was dark brown with no markings. Er, the spider, not the penny. That was the usual color with the usual markings.

Emotional Weather Report

Yesterday we watched Undeclared on DVD until I had a near-nervous breakdown for some reason or other. Something about the college setting really upset me. Let us not speak of it.

Today we tackled our ongoing project of packing up everything we own that isn't needed to feed, clothe, or entertain us. Due to my seething hatred of this apartment and our inability to move until we know where Will is going to be working next, we've decided to turn the loft into cold storage (only not, you know, cold). The process is turning out to be very interesting. It is amazing how little I, the bossy perfectionist, care about how much of anything is done when I am pregnant and overexerting myself.

Downstairs, while far from emptied of unnecessary things, is already looking fabulous. I mean, OK - messy. Messy! But so much better and less cluttered already. Now we need to get boxes. So many boxes. Have I mentioned before that we have at least one thousand books? We have. Oy. Vey.

I don't remember ever being this tired physically. I have a very low capacity for this sort of thing these days, and while Will did most of the heavy lifting and carrying, I pitched in enough that at one point I became convinced that if I moved one more inch I'd go into premature labor and that would be the end of that ("that" being pretty much everything that is good in the world). I felt much better after I sat down for a bit.

When it was over (for the day), I ordered Thai food while Will filled up the footbath. Then he beat Lego Star Wars, which may be the greatest video game of all time. Now we are just trying to stay awake until at least, say, 9:00.

And listening to Tom Waits.

The end.

I wish I had prehensile toes.

Because it turns out that without them it is pretty much impossible to knit and read at the same time.

Knitting: shrug (I was three inches from finishing it when I frogged it yesterday because I decided I wanted it bigger).

Reading: Anne of the Island courtesy of Simon.

Life Won't Wait (a post full of digressions)

In my quest to have more music on iTunes than my husband does (since it is my computer and all), I have been ripping CDs this morning. Among them, Rancid's ...And Out Come The Wolves, which I purchased in 1996 or maybe even 95. I brought it with me when I went to college in 1997 (if you are weird and tracking my life, I deferred for two years before giving up and attending for considerably less than that). It was on the shelf over the built-in "desk" in my dorm room second trimester when I got a boyfriend. So was Bush's 16 Stone, which I carefully kept hidden until he married me. But nevermind that.

We'd been "seeing" each other (that is such a funny euphemism) for a few weeks, or maybe a whole month, when he looked through the CDs, selected Rancid, and said, "Can I borrow this?" I found the question startling. First of all, we never spent time in my room (freshman girls' dorm), always his (upperclass coed and further off-campus), so it just made sense to bring the good music. Second, what's mine is his. Why would he ask to borrow?

I don't think I was one of those girls, the ones who plan their wedding on the first date and become creepy and stalkery. I don't think I was. I'd never exhibited that sort of behavior before, to be certain; in fact, I'd been rather withdrawn from my prior boyfriend, Eric, who wanted to be much closer than I was comfortable with (I actually refused to have sex with him during the two months or so that we "dated" because he told me he loved me and I didn't love him*). It's just that I knew this was it. It never occurred to me to behave as though it were anything else.

And that is my whole story. Boring!

*When Eric said, "I love you," I replied, "I know." I don't know if I am really mean or what, but I still find it dreadfully amusing.

On second thought...

We may be able to keep South Dakota. At least parts of it. Cecilia Fire Thunder, the President of the Oglala Sioux Tribe on the Pine Ridge Reservation, noticed what an asshole the Governor is, and promptly announced her intentions to open a Planned Parenthood on reservation land, where the state has no jurisdiction.

Thanks to Alex for the (second) link.

Quote of the Day

Miss Snark, the literary agent: "And publishing is not filled with people who are up to the moment on much of anything. Publishing is filled with people whose idea of a rollicking good time is to read a book. How very...well...Edwardian."

Spam of the Day

From: Your Dreams
Subject: Have the things you dream about.

To which I say: NO THANK YOU! Good god, can you imagine?

Someone's been editorializing on wikipedia!

Just don't ask why I was at that page in the first place...

Oh, I see how it is.

Monday just came late this week. Fuck-a-doodle-doo.

What I am forgetting?

People are starting to get a little pushy (in a nice way!) about buying crap for the frogger. They want a wishlist. I have one, but it is dreadfully incomplete. In fact, it is mostly really awesome sets of wooden blocks that mama and daddy want to play with...

So please check out the post I made last month and let me know if you have any suggestions for additions (or specific brands, etc.).

xxoo

Through the Looking Glass: baby things.

What day is it?

It can't be Monday.

Monday is my day that nothing ever gets accomplished. Monday is the day of sulking and procrastinating and being irritated with the world for taking Will away after a nice weekend of domesticity. Monday sucks.

Today I helped Will wash three loads of laundry.

Today we got our taxes done. (We'll be getting a decent refund, yay!)

Today I packed the rest of my un-pregnant clothing and all of my impractical shoes. (This is a project I started yesterday.)

Today I have already put in four hours of work.

Today I made reservations for Friday dinner, confirmed an appointment tomorrow, and balanced the checkbook.

It can't be Monday.

At least I haven't put away all of the clean clothes yet. That would be a sign of the apocalypse or something.

My name is Annika and I have a problem.

So, I am working. It is totally non-stressful work, almost fun. In fact, at the moment I am compiling a list of links on assorted topics under an umbrella subject that is actually quite interesting to me. So I am basically being paid to look at the internets. HEARTBREAKING, right?

And yet.

All I want to do is get back to the shrug I am knitting. I am practically in pain because I can't knit right now.

Help.

Breaking news!

I had a burrito.

30 weeks. Random.

I read somewhere that a growing fetus is the most active between 24 and 28 weeks. Froggy, ever the little rebel, is out to disprove that theory � with a vengeance! I have been subjected to non-stop movement for the last week or so. Non-stop! With the exception of small portions of yesterday and this morning, when I assume s/he is gearing up for the next barrage.

The cutest is when frogger pushes upward and I can feel a bitty knee poking up. Of course, this also makes breathing harder for me. But still � so cute! Also, when I press down, froggy pushes back. I picture him (or her) yelling, "Get out of my house!"

Pictures!



In other news, remember before my clothes shrunk?

My sister and I both decided it was unacceptable to give up on her visiting before the baby makes an appearance. We're looking at flights. Yay! (I figure that anyone who visits after froggy's arrival is not coming to see me or Will. I am selfish and want some attention for myself, damn it.)

I WANT A BURRITO. I curse the respondents to my last post for putting the idea in my head. Incidentally, I still don't get the receiving blanket thing. I think my problem is with the name, even though Allison explained it nicely for me. Regardless, I think they will be the perfect project to get my ass in gear with the sewing backlog. Nice, straight lines should get me back in the swing of things. Time to visit the fabric store! OK, actually, time to find a fabric store. I am less than enraptured with JoAnn.

The end.

Very important baby question!

What the HELL is a receiving blanket? I have tried everything I can think of to figure it out. Dictionaries only tell me that it is a lightweight blanket used � get this � to wrap up the baby. But everything I read, especially "must have" lists, mentions these things as though they are indispensable child-rearing tools. HELP! Please tell me why these things are so special and what makes them different from any other blanket.

And then I burst into tears.

falling down is also a gift: her next game was called "Princess Robot"

I'm not sure when I last wrote about little Annika in Chicago, so I don't know if I've mentioned that her insurance company stopped paying for her care last month. Her bills for November and December went through in January and were therefore applied to 2006, meaning she reached her yearly coverage (a million dollars) almost immediately. Moreena and J�rg fought the decision and have received wonderful news, mentioned in the lovely post linked to above.

Hahahahahaha.

My father sent us a print of a picture from our wedding (the one at the top right of this page, in fact, but closer to eight by ten).

Will: Aww, look at how pretty and skinny we were!

Me: Uh-huh.

Will: Look at that pretty girl on my arm!

Me: Oh, I was not.

Will: Look at how small her breasts were!

Me: I am setting you on fire with my brain.

In which I tell you about my weird dream.

So, I was part of a sketch comedy/improv troup. I was the new girl. I was also, in this world, not utterly terrified of improvisation. Which is crazy. But I digress. The pseudo-leader was this awesome chick who at times was Heathervescent (makes sense, had dinner with her and some other blogging.la folks last night) and at times Jennifer Dziura (makes sense, I guess, she's a comedienne). There was another chick and two guys. I had a massive crush on one of them. The dream kept going back and forth on whether Will existed in this universe. Now here's the weird thing (you know, other than all that weird stuff I just described): you know how you feel different when you have a crush? I didn't � I felt just as I do when Will is around. I figure this either means that I still have a crush on him (aww) or that I forget what it is like to have a crush (awwww). BUT � when I was dream-flirting with dream guy (you know, we were doing that thing where you're talking and you stand really close and fidget because you kind of want to touch the other person), I got a serious rush. Like, my face was hot and I was trembling. It felt so real, which in turn felt so weird. I mean - hello, dream!

This is the abrupt end of this entry.

I weigh 165+ pounds.

(Pictures were taken last Thursday; weight two Fridays ago. Anything may have changed.)

Pet peeve: nouns as verbs

People!

There is no such thing as journaling.

Likewise gifting.

You write (in) a journal. You give a gift.

Nero Wolfe is shuddering in his grave (if indeed he be dead).

EDIT: Alex points out my lack of originality. I thought that was deja vu I was feeling...

Now that everyone else on earth has posted this link

(thereby scaring me out of my wits multiple times)...

I for one welcome our furry underlords.

This just in: I am a freak

So, I don't go to a normal doctor anymore. This is partly because I am pregnant, not sick, and wish to be treated accordingly. This is also partly because when I did call my OB/Gyn when I had implantation spotting and thought I was miscarrying, the nurse was abusive. So it is safe to say I will never call or go there again. Prior to pregnancy I had yearly girly exams but had not seen a general practitioner in a while.

Anyway.

Will hadn't gone to a doctor in about seven years until today. His reasons are less specific than mine. He went because a clean bill of health would be a nice way to start out fatherhood.

Because Will's employers are rat bastard cheapskates, his thousand-bucks-a-month insurance that I can't afford to be on does not cover yearly checkups, only doctor visits for specific ailments. For this reason, Dr. Wu (you can't make this shit up) asked him to name a complaint, any complaint, so she could bill accordingly. (This becomes about me in a second.) He decided on unexplained weight gain � so-called sympathy weight. Among other things, she asked him what sort of food cravings I've had. He told her about my obsession with steamed fresh (organic) vegetables. She said she had never, ever heard of any such thing.

My parents raised us on rice and beans and tahini and (soy) sauce and lots of good veggies. Bread was whole wheat and baked at home, and we usually ate it with sweet cream butter or olive oil or all-fruit jams. We had almond butter instead of peanut butter. I clearly remember the few times I had dairy products (other than butter). I like carob for a sweet treat.

I'm not some sort of food saint (full disclosure: I just ate two croissants with jam and an ice cream bar). I love fried foods and dairy products. The former give me heartburn right now, but for a while I was eating ice cream daily. I eat bread made with white flour all the time. Et cetera.

But while gestating, I crave vegetables.

In which I listen to my first podcast.

Does it even make sense that I listen to a podcast on my computer rather than an iPod?

No matter.

I listed to Radio Free Burrito, Wil Wheaton's podcast, episode six, on iTunes. Because iTunes alphabetises, instead of going to episode seven, it went to the next 'artist' on the list. Episode six ended with a clip from the Blondie song "Atomic," which is featured on Wave103 in Grant Theft Auto: Vice City. The next song? "Sadame" from Tenshu: Wrath of Heaven. Needless to say, I was confused.

Radio Free Burrito is quite good, by the way, though I suppose not terribly interesting for anyone who does not like Wil Wheaton. (I don't mean TV's Wil Wheaton; more like Wil Wheaton the blogger and writer. Yes, I know they are technically the same person.)

Happy Chompo to Frances!

And to K also!

Twenty-five years ago � a quarter of a century in your earth years � my sister came into the world. Well, she came into Canonsburg, Pennsylvania, which is close enough. I probably tell this story every year. But, you know, until froggy comes, hers was the only birth I've participated in that was not my own. I cut her cord. Needless to say, she has the cutest bellybutton on the planet. After she was born my father and I walked to the corner to get a newspaper. I told the man running the stand all about the placenta. Poor man, I do believe he was traumatised by the site of a not-quite-three-year-old describing such a thing.

But this is about K. Happy birthday, original Tiny Dancer. Your namesake is choreographing a celebratory interpretive dance based upon the music of my intestines. It should be good and gross. In the meantime, eat some cake! It is good for you on your birthday.

expectant melancholy

No one in my family is going to see me pregnant. I am not saying this to complain or be passive-aggressive toward those family members who read this blog; I don't know how I feel about it. It is just something that I realized today. My mom will come out in June when the froggy is tiny and new. I think she is bringing Melanie with her. This is a most lovely plan, as I helped to raise Melanie's babies when they were small. My sister will visit, I am not sure when. (She was originally going to come out before the baby's arrival, but it isn't going to work.) My father I will see when we travel to New York with the tiny baby for my reunion in July.

I guess I am a little sad about it. My family is three thousand miles away. Most of my friends are not local. I don't seem to be able to get New York and Seattle and Austin and Chicago (among other places) any closer to me. It's not for lack of trying! The local friends I've got are fantastic and I have many wonderful acquaintances too but sometimes I wish for a Katherine or a John and they are just not here. Realistically it is only Will that I want on this journey with me, but part of me wishes we had what I know we don't need. When we had nosy interference it drove me batty but a part of me would like the stupid little things like baby showers that we won't have because we choose fewer, deeper (and incidentally further apart geographically) friendships over the convenient.

We have a mini-break coming up soon. I think I really need it. Friends are getting married in Santa Barbara and we got a room at a hotel with a 2-night minimum. I am considering the pros and cons of a maternity swimsuit (I haven't got one now because there isn't a heated pool I can use). I am wondering if I can finagle one of the add-on spa treatments. I am thinking a lot about food and all the places to eat it. And I am also thinking that this will be our last trip without a baby. Can you imagine? We will have a baby soon. I know I frequently mention this as though I only just realized, but it is still so amazing to me. I have wanted this for so long.

I hate Fox and wish they would die.

X-3 is opening the day after my due date.

EDIT: You can watch the trailer here.

A parable.

You have a girlfriend. She's a moody gal, but very generous. You become indebted to her, and rather than deal with it you break up with her. She is angry but moves on.

Months pass. You ride your bike past her house to see if she's home. You drunk dial her. You make sure everyone who has ever met her knows what a BITCH she is.

You wish she'd call.

Here's some unsolicited advice: leave her alone. She's got enough going on without your interferences into her life.

28 weeks: addendum

For those keeping score at home, I've taken my measurements.

As of yesterday, which is officially 28 weeks, 3 days:

boobs - 101 cm (39.5 inches)
"waist" - 91 cm (36 inches)
belly - 99 cm (39 inches)
hips - 107 cm (42 inches)

I seem to be about the same size around at every measurement point. I find this very funny.

I've really let myself go (28 weeks)

Pictured: Me & froggy, dolled up for an Oscar party at which we lost the ballot by quite a lot due to not having seen any of the movies and also in part to not caring.

I am wearing the shirt that was destroyed in the laundry and a pair of size 8 (ha!) under-belly (ha ha ha!) pants. Froggy was NOT amused. About the pants - a stained shirt means nothing, really.

I am also wearing my latest scarflet, which is also the prettiest yet. I learned a new stitch for the bind-off. Close-ups to come.

In conclusion:

Possibly less than 12 weeks to go.

Jon Stewart is funny.

Oh my god I'm going to be a mommy.

from WWdN

Watch this video now. Wil Wheaton wants you to, and so do I.

YouTube - Real Life Simpsons Intro

Is this a computer problem or just a fluke?

Yesterday morning, Safari crashed and lost all settings and bookmarks.

Yesterday evening, Firefox did the same.

Today I noticed that iCal, which I just set up, has been wiped.

This is worrying me a teensy bit.

Stop hurting mommy!

The baby is more active than ever this week. Today I am convinced that I did something to excite Froggy - there is little else in the way of explanation. Perhaps s/he was reading over my shoulder about boating accidents and became agitated; maybe that decaf I have been drinking on occasion with little to no incident for some time now suddenly became too caffeinated; maybe last night�s dinner was Just That Good. I don�t know, but this constant movement (feels like barrel roles, pli�-relev�-grand jet�-demi-pli�!, and a full boxing workout all at once) is driving me nuts. And I love feeling my baby moving! So you can imagine how intense this is.

In other news...

Several of our former friends always held Will in higher regard than me. They thought he was smarter, funnier, more creative...it is really no wonder they are no longer our friends.

Except...

It just occurred to me that tests have proven them right.

Will is an A+ while I am only an A-.

Of course, that�s just our blood types. But still, I feel contrite. Schooled, even.

And finally:

A package arrived today containing the diaper-making supplies I ordered. Now I guess I have to actually start cutting and sewing.

Crap.

I haven�t used a machine in about 12 years. I�ve never used a pattern without help. My closest friend who can sew (that I�m aware of) recently moved to south Orange County. The next-closest is, um, in Texas.

Crap.

Wish me luck.

I submit to geek.

-----BEGIN KNITTER'S GEEK CODE BLOCK-----

Version: 1.1

KER++>$ Exp+ SPM+ Wood+ Bam++@ Den+ Cot+++Wool++Lux++ Stash(+) Scale+ Fin+ Ent? Lace>++ Flat++ Circ+ DPN++ Swatch(+) KIP++ Blog+++ SNB+ FO++ WIP+(++) Gauge(S)(DK)WB ALTCr>++Sw>+Wv-

------END KNITTER'S GEEK CODE BLOCK------

Found at knitty.com

the exception

(It was all I could do to refrain from being cute and writing "EX-ception," though of course my restraint is less impressive since I just had to tell you about it.)

So, you know all about my jealousy issues and how I am totally crazy and hate all of Will's exes and in fact all women ever. What I didn't mention is the exception to the rule: Yojo. Now, technically, she is not his ex. They never dated or whatever. They were friends who every once in a while had sex.

I met Yojo my first semester in college, and Will my second. Their "thing" was in the past at this point. Yojo stayed with me over that summer, and a few years later when Will and I were separated she and I were roommates. She is one of the best friends I have ever had. She or Will can bring up their past, er, indescretions, at any time and in any context and it never, ever bothers me.

I have no explanation for this uncharacteristic behavior on my part.

Living the dream.

I got an email today from someone called Dream Job, subject line "What's your ideal home business?" In addition to being terribly impressed at the correct usage of apostrophe and "your," I was amused because I am already running my ideal home business�or at least, I am off to a good start.

• I am doing copy editing freelance work.
  
  
• I am writing for three online publications.
  
  
• I have an online store for my knitted goods.
  
  
• I get paid to read screenplays.

All that AND I get to be a mommy soon!

A few months ago, a jerk who owed me money accused me of using people so that I wouldn't have to work. This was hilarious because I'd done him numerous favors while he was unemployed and I was working full time (from home). I can't read minds, but I bet he was jealous.

Hell, I'd be jealous if I weren't me.