Maybe I'm the problem.
I just sent what felt like a Dear John email. I feel like crap, crying all over the place. But I had to be honest - right?
I liked pretending everything was fine better.
Stuff and Nonsense of My Own Invention
I just sent what felt like a Dear John email. I feel like crap, crying all over the place. But I had to be honest - right?
I liked pretending everything was fine better.
Things are going really well.
Writing gigs at two major websites, plus other freelance stuff. (It would be nice if more of these things paid, but still - I am writing and someone is reading it.)
Madly in love with my husband.
We know some really amazing people who call us friends.
Did I mention the baby?
My hair and eyebrows are phenomenal.
(In no particular order.)
So why do I find myself crying and inconsolable about once every 48 hours?
There is some bad.
Our apartment sucks. If you've been here and like it, keep your mouth shut. You don't have to live here and I am really fucking sick of being made to feel guilty for hating it.
My husband is a top executive at a major motion picture production company, and he barely makes enough money for our expenses, which are not extravagent. We have way more credit card debt than is acceptable. I don't seem to be capable of bring in enough to make a difference.
Some bad shit has happened in the last several months, like, um, losing almost all of our local friends. (Don't ask me to elaborate. There's a reason I haven't written about it thusfar.)
The car is the wrong color and the computer might be a lemon.
But it doesn't outweigh the good, because the good is so good.
I know that it's hormonal. What I don't know is how to make myself feel OK.
Other than ice cream, which OHMYGOD REALLY WORKS. Naysayers, go away.
Also, copious amounts of Rescue Remedy and a massage this morning that we can't really afford but I don't care because I feel like jelly.
But man - I was not ready for this. Physical woes I was prepared for. So of course I have had pretty much none. But I am on an emotional rollercoaster and I think it goes upside-down and I don't do upside-down rollercoasters.
Today I met a friend for coffee.
I bought a book for Will. (But it was on the $2.99 table.)
I got my eyebrows waxed and my bangs trimmed.
I bought a skein of really luscious yarn (alpaca, silk, cashmere).
I ate lots of leftover Thai food.
I talked to my father till we both nearly fell asleep on the phone.
I bought Water Buffalo yogurt and organic ingredients for hummus.
The car hit 300 miles.
Tomorrow I go to a gathering at the home of my midwife's assistant/doula and meet other clients (e.g. pregnant women and moms). This is the intended destination of the hummus.
Then I pick up Will at the airport.
We might go out to meet friends in the evening.
My to-do list sits untouched and grows longer. But I am so content. I don't want to disrupt that.
Well, it does if you nominated yourself back in November.
This year (er, last year?) I have decided that rather than assigning each blog its own category I will simply name you all Best Blog and allow you to fight it out amongst yourselves.
You have three Award choices, which you may display on your blog if you like.
Because of the writing I do for Creature Corner, I am on a lot of mailing lists. Upcoming movie announcements, press day invites, that sort of thing. So I get non-horror emails a lot, because what PR company is going to take the time to target a more specific group than internet movie sites?
But this is just too funny:
Please let me know if you are interested in featuring The Best of the Electric Company DVD on Creature Corner.
23 weeks. That means that Froggy has been growing for 21 or 22 weeks (depending on which time, er, took). Amazing.
I ordered some Thai food about ten minutes ago, because Froggy misses Daddy and I am in no condition to leave the house. (OK, I just need a shower, but I'm working.)
I forgot to ask them not to send any Thai iced tea, which may have been an error because how can I have it in the house and not drink any? Oh dear.
UPDATE: They sent two, the sadists. I guzzled about a fourth of one and then dumped the remainder down the sink. Then I ate four servings of everything. Deeee-lish.
Mindi asked me why I've used the three names this blog has gone by over the years. I thought I'd post my answer (expurgated) here.
Sick Boy: My Life as a Good Girl was sort of a joke. It was a reference to Will, and a Social Distortion song about a bad boy.
Scratching at the 8-ball is from another Social Distortion song, probably my favorite, called "Bad Luck." The song is about, um, exactly what it sounds like. If you scratch at the 8-ball, you automatically lose in pool, usually after being one shot away from winning. Seemed like an apt description of life in general (not necessarily mine).
Through the Looking Glass was perfect because I wanted to reinvent the blog a little bit. I changed the template and made it a little bit more of a reflection of me. Also, I adore Alice in Wonderland.
And there you have it.
I think Will and I are going to need to think about getting a third vehicle - not because there's any way for us to drive three vehicles at once (if you know of one, let me know) but because we need a German-made* automobile to go with our Imperial Mazda and Fascist Vespa. I'm thinking a pick-up truck.
*Oh all right, I mean NAZI.
(To which I say, Ha! Like you could take it off while you're gone.)
I got out of bed at 6:30 this morning. That is very very early in the morning. I don't care for it. Especially when I am getting up to drive my husband to the airport. It is only for four days, but I am a needy, co-dependent sort of person. Also: pregnant.
Last night we lay in bed talking and smooching (interest in trying to have sex around my physical deformity was nil) and froggy started to kick like crazy. I could again feel it from the outside and I put Will's hand on my belly.
Can you feel my heartbeat? It will be only that strong, but off-tempo. Did you feel that?
I don't know. Maybe. Did it kick there?
Yes. That's your baby.
There. That was nobody's business, was it? And yet, I shared it with the whole internet. I must be lonely.
Diane comes next week for our 24 week checkup. According to some website or other, the baby is nearly a foot long. I look at my belly, huge though it is, and cannot imagine that much baby fitting inside. (It seems that Froggy doesn't think there's enough room, as I've been getting thumped too high up in my abdomen. I think this means s/he is headbutting the 'roof' of my uterus and it is echoing through my intestines. Ewww! And also worrying, as froggy has about seven pounds to gain. That's eight hundred percent growth.)
And now, I want a nap.
But instead I'm going to keep talking about baby stuff.
I seem to be missing the part of my brain that fears birth. I hear from other women that it is "nothing but pain," that our bodies are hardwired to forget so we'll do it again, that it is indescribable...and the last one is the only one that makes sense to me. Of course it is indescribable, it is unlike anything else that our bodies do. Look, I know I'm talking out of my ass here, having never had a baby, but I just don't believe that something necessary for the survival of the species would be designed as pain. Will pain be part of the process? Probably. My body has never moved its parts in the way it will for childbirth. My parts are stubborn. But they're designed to do this. [rant about other women's experiences deleted because it was unfair] Do I think this will be easy? No. But I am not scared, either.
After a great deal of nonsense and last minute scrambling, my husband will be leaving from Burbank (assuming they resume departures) first thing Wednesday morning and flying to Utah where he will spend some time in the freezing cold and maybe see some movies. Since the plan was made too late for me to arrange to go with him, I of course assume that he will indeed be spending four days hanging out with his pal Bob Redford while I sit at home and cry.
I had come up with a brilliant plan to travel to Seattle while he was at Sundance, but that too has become impossible due to the Can't Get Their Act Together nature of Will's employers. (To be fair, they're in pre-production right now.) Even if I can't go this time, though, it seems that flights can be found for around $150 which is not that much all things considered. I mean - Seattle! They have Katherine and Mindi there! And a fish market! And coffee! And rain! And that is actually everything I know about Seattle! So I'm thinking of trying to sneak in a visit sometime in the next two months or so, if that is agreeable to everyone involved.
In other news, my dream of becoming a Metroblogger may be coming true. Stay tuned.
1. Spot hilarious bumper sticker.
2. Snap photo of said bumper sticker.
3. Post photo to blog.
4. Use non-sequitur (but topical!) title for post.
So. Just so we're clear - the "Stop Mad Cowboy Disease" thing is HILARIOUS. Brokeback Mountain is a movie based on a very good short story and starring two of the hottest guys on the planet, which I have not yet seen but have been fielding ridiculous jokes about for weeks.
Our friends Ted and Laura are having a baby. I am almost as excited about this as I am about Froggy. (In a case that proves kismet exists, they call their bean Toad.)
Ted was in town this weekend and over the last couple of weeks I made some stuff for him to take back to Chicago.
Booties from Stitch 'n Bitch Nation:
Hat from Last Minute Knitted Gifts:
And washcloth from, um, a gauge swatch:
I was driving home on Friday when I saw the following at a red light:
Just got this from my father:
TheStar.com - Snake, hamster inseparable zoo pals
Earlier this evening, Froggy was kicking so hard that I could feel it from the outside (hand on my belly). Will was home, but stirring risotto, so I went to him. Of course when I was standing Froggy refused to comply, and then we ate dinner and now s/he is in a food coma or something. I am typing with one hand while the other feels around on my belly, getting false positives from my pulse (that thing is all over the place) as I get increasingly annoyed. Dance for mommy! (I mean daddy.) Now!
Serves two hungry people (and obviously more than that if less hungry or if serving other food as well).
You will need:
one package ravioli (the fresher and more homemade, the better, but any will work)
four roma tomatoes
1/2 cup canned tomato sauce (pizza sauce is great)
2-4 cloves garlic, chopped somewhat finely
good olive oil
vodka (generous splash, say 1/3 cup)
cream or whole milk (about 1/3 cup), room temp or warmer
Cut Romas in half and squeeze out seeds. Place in saucepan and just cover with water. Bring to boil. When skins begin to separate, drain, leaving a little water (and trying not to lose any tomato bits). Peel off and discard skins. Place back over heat and break up tomatoes with fork or wooden spoon or any other utensil you like. When the water is cooked off, add a generous amount of olive oil (2 tablespoons +) and the garlic. Cook for a few minutes and then add the canned sauce. Cook for a few minutes more. Add a little salt. Pour in the vodka and cook it down for a few minutes (you want it to stop smelling like booze but stay more liquid-y than it was before you added it).
Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add a handful of salt and generous splash of olive oil, then add the ravioli. Stir, bring back to boil, cook according to package instructions (usually about 7 minutes).
Drain the pasta and remove the sauce from heat. Stir the cream into the sauce, then add the ravioli. Delicious!
I've been reading the comments at Julie's A Little Pregnant post "One and only" which deals with the pros and cons of having more than one child (particularly if you went through hell to get the first one). The whole thing is worth reading, but that is all you need to know in order to keep up.
I got to thinking about my own experience. I am the older of two children, both girls. We were quite close till we were about 9 and 6 (the year we started school and our parents divorced, not in that order) then grew apart and fought more and more as time went on. Did I mention we also got a step-sister that year? She is my sister's age and they shared a room while I had my own. Sometimes they were an unstoppable duo, sometimes they fought like cats and dogs and one of them would defect to my company. (Incidentally, I have never seen cats and dogs do more than hiss at each other.) My sister moved in with an aunt when I was about 16, then I moved out at 17, and we didn't see much of each other for about five years after that.
I have never wanted to be the parent of an only child. I don't have very good reasons for it - or I should say, concrete reasons; the ones I have might turn out to be good if I would just think them out a bit. I dislike a lot of the only children I am acquainted with, but then, I dislike a lot of the people I know, many of whom have siblings. (That one? Not good.) I couldn't deal with losing a child and not having any others. (Paranoid and creepy.) I love seeing siblings interact (even when they are hitting each other over the head with the telephone, though maybe not quite as much), and don't want to miss out on that. (Better.) Likewise, I wish for my children to have someone that close. Someone who can fill in the details on a dim memory. (Still pretty good.)
My sister wrote in her journal about the sewing she is doing with her new machine. I left a comment jokingly suggesting that I send her the patterns and let her deal with making Froggy's diapers. She said she would love to. This just after I was worrying about how little time four months really is.
I want my baby to have someone who s/he might not always like, but always loves and can always count on to surprise him/her.
I also want lots of little people around for my benefit. I like to see siblings interact with each other, and I also like to see children interact with the world. Plus, if there was only one, s/he'd be sure to get sick of me sometimes, and there wouldn't be anyone else to go play with. (Clarification: I meant for me to go play with.)
It also occurs to me that it isn't fair for one small person to be outnumbered by two big people and therefore we should have at least two (any outnumbering of the adults is our own fault).
Of course, I am largely convinced that four is the perfect number. Because I am insane. (Or maybe because two doesn't sound like enough and three sounds like someone gets left out most of the time. But I think maybe I should have the frogger and then see how I feel.)
As soon as Will gets home we are going to pick up our new car.
UPDATE: I'm in love with this thing. It's sooooo sexy.
That Darn Big Check just emailed me again.
I posted this at Buffyguide, where the computer savvy live, but it can't hurt to ask here (especially as it will only live for 24 hours there).
As I believe I've made perfectly clear over the years, I am something of an idiot when it comes to electronics. Robots frighten me. Computers are smarter than me. You know.
I am preparing to switch over from Windows to Mac. (I won't hear any arguments for either side; I have already made up my mind.) I wish to transfer my files from the Dell desktop (as well as two older PCs that are just sitting around) to an external harddrive, and then copy some of them onto the iBook I will be purchasing soon. Is this possible? I mean - can the external harddrive be formatted in such a way that it will be compatible with both operating systems? (Somehow I think maybe I'm not as stupid as I think, if I know enough to even ask.)
I could also use advice on brands, etc.
(And by the way, I am pretty sure mine are up to a DD now. Yay.)
There are billboards all over town, and presumably the world, that read "Babies were born to be breastfed." I hate these billboards.
First of all, DUH. All mammals breastfeed. Why would humans be an exception? It is basic biology. Way to state the obvious, Einstein.
Second of all, OH MY GOD. Could they be any ruder to adoptive mothers? Or, for that matter, all moms who cannot breastfeed for whatever reason? Look, I am VERY pro-breastfeeding. VERY. But even I can think of a slew of reasons that breastfeeding might be impossible. And don't give me any of that "some adoptive moms lactate" stuff, because they are the exception and also a lot of adoptive moms have full-time jobs, just like the biological ones. Plus, sometimes you just get a baby who refuses the tit. Will was one such baby, but I'm not insinuating anything.
Third and last of all, the billboards are sponsored by something-or-other.gov. Did you catch that? DOT GOV. That's right, the fucking government is telling us how to raise our babies. Because they, of course, know better than mommies.
Will is playing Star Wars: Battlefront II, which he got for his birthday. He is on Hoth, in story mode, which means he is a clone/storm trooper. A rebel says something like, "They have AT ATs!" Only she spells it out. "A.T.A.T.s," or "Ay Tee Ay Tees." Um. THEY ARE CALLED AT-ATs. Like the word "at" twice. Or even "@." What's next? "Oh no, they have El Ay Ess Ee Ares!"
Stretch marks? Check.
p.s. if you don't know what colostrum is and are not into babies and what they do to our bodies, you'd probably be better off staying in the dark.
p.p.s. this is all actually v v cool, but weird and a tiny bit frightening.
p.p.p.s. my first p.s. probably got your imagination going and I bet whatever you're imagining is way grosser than the real thing.
We ate all of our meals out today. Are we bad people? (Probably.)
We went, out of a sense of duty to comparison shop, to a Honda dealership. Conclusion: YUCK. The new Civic is awful. Now we must cross fingers that Mazda can get the car I (we) want with the options I (we) want in the color I (I) want. Toes too. CROSS EVERYTHING.
Will bought me some more maternity clothes at Baby Style, the normally super-pricey mommy store (they were having a sale). I am up to a size large. At five months. In most items, the mediums did fit, but clearly would not for long. I made him buy me an extra t-shirt and the world's cutest onesie to qualify for the free striped diaper tote. Would anyone like to enter a betting pool as to how soon it will become a knitting tote? (Extra credit to anyone who can suggest a practical knitty usage for the insulated bottle holders.)
We celebrated Will's birthday with two other couples this evening. Dinner (which they insisted on paying for) and then beer and wine and Cannibal Pygmies in the Jungle of Doom which I won entirely by accident.
I am so tired I could fall over on my keyboard.
For the terminally curious (not to mention posterity), here are two photographs of my 21-weeks baby belly, with and without modesty.
Obviously modesty is substituted for blurriness. When will I learn to hold the camera still by anything but a fluke? Oh well.
Clearly my belly is HUGE this week. I have a confession to make: I cheated. The photo is taken at 20 weeks, 6 days, immediately after positively gorging myself at the Electric Lotus. (It was actually a business meeting, but being pregnant lets me get away with all sorts of bad manners.) So I was really full. To show how much of the belly is actually baby, I re-developed the second picture using a special x-ray process:
Enjoy my car. I'm not looking for it anymore*. If you abandoned it, I hope you're embarrassed (though perhaps it was wise, as State Farm probably has better lawyers than we do).
I'm getting a Mazda3. Sucker!
Rot In Hell Love,
*All right, I was never doing any of the looking.
This has not been decided for sure yet, but is looking likely. Mainly because I will cry if I can't have it.
This is a poorly lit picture of our goregous Christmas trees, taken just before we dismantled them until next year.
They were purchased with just a small amount of pain, and decorated on Christmas Eve by Will and his mother.
Because we bought them late, I was unprepared with decorations. Next year we will have more dainty things to decorate with, as the large glass balls felt overwhelming.
According to dictionary.com a sunroof opens and a moonroof is just a fixed window. However, I am not convinced this is true across the board; the Mazda had a "Moonroof Windscreen" (or something like that) as an option, and I tend to think that implies the option of opening the, er, skylight. (Also, on further inspection, the Moonroof is listed as Power sliding-glass moonroofwith "one-touch" open feature. If that doesn't mean it opens, I am a horse's ass. And also illiterate.) So there is, in fact, no difference. Just like boys and girls, or pirates and ninjas.
OK, more like three days plus lag time, but I don't know any songs like that.
If our car is not recovered by Wednesday (or Thursday, depending on when they started counting the 30 days), State Farm will "total" it and cut us a check (after paying off the bank, who would still own it for the next 9 months or so).
So naturally I am shopping for a new
toy family car. (And hoping recovery doesn't happen - who wants a car that criminals have been playing with for a month? Yech.) We went to the Mazda dealer first, since that is what we lost and we liked it. Also I have been harassing Will about trading our car in for a newer, larger model anyway. For the baby. Natch. And of course I knew just what I wanted, though I attempted to play it coy when confronted by Man Who Wants To Take My Money (aka John, the salesman). I have never been able to pull off coy, and only succeeded in confusing the poor dear as to whether he should talk to The Husband or the twit who one second understood engines and the next was pondering what color would go best with baby accessories (not really).
I have my eye on the Mazda3 in the 5-Door, or hatchback, variety. This is not your mother's hatchback. It is sexy. Also its dashboard lights up like KITT and it comes in orange. (Go to MazdaUSA.com to see the car, colors, and options.)
We are probably going to check out Hondas and Toyotas too. I mean, if we're going to spend this much money, I would like a hybrid to be in the mix (I doubt we can afford the Prius but the Civic is a possibility).
But I drove that Mazda3 and I really want it. The question is simply what sort of transmission we ought to get - I like sticks, but Will can't drive them (though I suspect it would take him only a few hours to learn), and while the automatic has a "Manual" mode, it also costs a grand. I NEED THAT MONEY FOR A SUNROOF.
Then go see Hostel! Or at least read my review at Creature Corner.
I've had Photoshop Elements using up a large portion of my hard drive for several years now, and thought it was about time I learned to make an animated GIF. As you can see, the belly hasn't developed overnight - I've been poking out for quite some time and it's progressed quite naturally. (A silly woman did tell me yesterday that I don't look big enough to be nearly five months pregnant - I can only imagine she meant it as a somewhat retarded "you're so skinny" type compliment, but what a ridiculous thing to say.)
Anyway, this is my belly, shown at 15 weeks, 16 weeks, 17 weeks, 18½ weeks, and 20 weeks. Also included, FREE OF CHARGE, is a blank-ish frame to show where the animation starts/ends.
I feel very clever.
My True Love Gave To Me
Twelve drummers drumming
Eleven pipers piping
Ten lords a-leaping
Nine ladies dancing
Eight maids a-milking
Seven swans a-swimming
Six geese a-laying
Five golden rings
Four calling birds
Three French hens
Two turtle doves
And a beer.
Today is 20 weeks by official counting methods (which I believe to be bunk, but close enough).
My pre-pre-baby weight was 120 pounds, and my measurements 36-24-36.
My pre-baby, post-smoking weight was about 140. I don't know my measurements, but I went from a size 4 to a size 8 and a size 34B to a 34C. I think my waist was about 27 inches at that point, but who knows.
My current weight is 153. My measurements are somewhere in the vicinity of 38-31-41 with a belly circumference of 39. My bra is now a 36D.
And here are some adorably blurry pictures of me, my chins, and the Big Bad Baby Belly:
Yes, those are panel pants. But aren't they cute?
Last night Will and I were talking about the frogger, as we are wont to do. I'd been thumped and exclaimed on it (something like, "Well hello, Froggy!") and Will asked if the baby had kicked. I said I didn't know what it was doing, maybe building a castle with blocks or at least rolling over. Then I admitted that I still think of the baby moving like a fish, even though it is all human-shaped now and everything. And then...and then Will said something so horrific that I can barely stand to speak of it. He said that he pictures Froggy as looking quite a bit like this on a spindly, wrinkly little body. Which, of course, is almost certainly accurate and now I will have nightmares for the next 20 weeks or so.
Since Thanksgiving or thereabouts I have been copy editing Mindi's manuscript for submission to agents. (Not that there were a month and a half worth of errors - rather, I worked as she revised and rewrote.) I finished the last of it yesterday. I feel so empty! Partly because it was a really great novel and now it's over; partly because it was such interesting work and my follow-up project (covering a non-fiction book) isn't looking so thrilling.
So you must all write novels for me to edit/proofread. My rates are low!
It is getting harder and harder to delete my junk mail, when every message offers an enticement such as "One darn big check for you." I mean - I would love to get a darn big check! We could have a series of delightful movies centered around the antics of "That darn big check." It would get into trouble all the time, but always be there for me at the end of the day! Maybe somewhere down the line, at sequel number fourteen or so when the studio bigwigs are greenlighting them without paying any attention whatsoever, we can have a hilarious situational comedy based around That darn big check and me accidentally switching bodies. We will of course both learn a valuable lesson. Or! Maybe it can get into the races and I can be the young girl jockey. Watch out, Liz! I will be twice as fabulous as you! But Angela Lansbury can't play my older sister. She was way too hot back in the day. (I would keep going but I've been sidetracked by the realization that Mickey Rooney was at one time in every single movie produced.)
That's me tonight! A complete flake. After a long and much-needed nap I made chicken and dumplings for Will and apple pie for me. The pie is delicious, but oh-so-tart! I, er, kind of neglected to put any sugar in. And I used Granny Smith apples! It's actually very tasty (South Beachers take note - a whole wheat crust would be loverly), but as an indication of my mental state it's not so good. (Though on an amusing note, I told a friend who happens to be bipolar how grumpy I am from this nonstop emotional rollercoaster, and he deadpanned, "Gee, I can't imagine what that's like." It was very funny.)
Sorry for all the short, whiny posts lately. That is what you get for saying you like the baby blogging - this is apparently part of being pregnant.
Now that I have (I hope) allowed sufficient time for packages to arrive at their destinations, I can write about my favorite part of Christmas: the gifts we gave. (If you missed it, a somewhat haphazard list of gifts received is here.)
Everyone received a gift bag. The idea was that it was something like a stocking, full of little goodies. Every bag had some candy, little toys, a little stachel of mulling spices, an ornament, and the 2005 Christmas Mix CD. Some bags then got coffees, while others received tea and scone mix (with clotted cream, lemon curd, and honey). One friend received a bag of assorted chocolates, as he is addicted. A couple we adore received a bottle of wine. Some people got handknitted items - primarily lacey little scarves in assorted colors and spa cloths with nice soaps. Folks with dogs got rawhide bones. A couple of bags had little airline-sized bottles of nice booze. Here and there was a CD or DVD or book.
It was a nice way to put gifts together (if a little stressful due to time constraints) and people seem to really like receiving them, so we may do something similar next year...or we may go with Will's feeling that cards will be plenty the first year with a baby in the house.
I cried myself to sleep for reasons unknown. Then I dreamed that I cheated on Will, and even the fact that it was with Jesse Dayton (so who could possibly blame me?) didn't make me any less sad. Then I had a school anxiety dream in which I hadn't even started my homework and had a special project (preparations for a funeral - wtf?) to do on top of it; I asked Eric Kutcher to be my project partner.