stealthpunch
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
You Got Me Living Like a Desperate Youth
Alright, so I think it's official. I'm now writing to an audience of one. Me. It's cool, it was bound to happen given my infrequent posting. Countries have been overthrown and reinstated between my entries. Babies have been gestated and born. So I'll just meander along aimlessly here, kind of talking to myself.
So now I will tell the birth story of Baby E in August. From now on Stealthpunch Junior can be Baby B and the new baby can be Baby E. I don't know why I'm still so interested in privacy since the internet knows everything already anyway, but B and E it'll be.
It was, thankfully, a very straightforward birth. Everyone I know in life again thought I was crazy for wanting to give birth not at a hospital, but at a birth center. I was too chicken to have a homebirth, and also practical really since the closest hospital to our tiny town is half an hour away, plenty of time to bleed out and die under worst-case circumstances. Yes, I know, it doesn't make sense since I'm a crazy hypochondriac in every other aspect of life that I should want to do it outside of a hospital, but for whatever reason I'm totally natural and mostly calm about birth. I believe it's what my body was built to do from an evolutionary standpoint, and doing it the first time showed me that my own particular body is pretty okay at it. So anyway, everybody thought I was crazy and worried about me the whole time.
Timeline: I had the baby Sunday morning at nine. On Friday Gray's parents came to visit, and at night they babysat Baby B while Gray and I went on a date to the awesome Macaroni Grill and then to nearby Borders to check out the latest books. This is the kind of date we like: we stuff ourselves with starches and carbohydrates and then we read. (Really what I think it is is a nostalgic throwback to when we were really poor in Burbank pre-kids and we would go to Barnes & Noble on Saturday night and read books and magazines and not buy anything.) So we go to Borders, we do our reading, I celebrate the fact that we have some cash now by buying a decaf latte (not non-fat, because I am 39 weeks pregnant and eat whatever I like at this point), and then we go home at 12:30am. I go to the bathroom and there in the toilet is -- well, I'll spare the details and just say some minor evidence that things are starting to happen. I go to sleep.
The next day, Saturday, is business as usual. We take Baby B to gym class and everybody there says "You look really pregnant!" and I say back, "Yeah, getting close!" So then we get coffee, more people comment on my largess, and we go home. I sit around. I go to the bathroom and find more evidence. I eat lunch. I start to feel some contractiony stirrings. My in-laws, who were going to leave, now decide to stay.
A quick aside to talk about the mind-body connection. My first birth was 28 hours long. This was due to the fact, I believe, that I could not imagine holding a baby in my arms. I think I totally hung myself up by being emotionally un-ready to have a baby, which was sort of driven home by my midwife and doula at the time saying, "Imagine the first time your baby smiles at you!" in order to get my labor going faster, and it just didn't work. I couldn't imagine it because it seemed totally foreign and unreal. So this time what was hanging me up was the fact that I didn't know what we were going to do with Baby B when I went into labor. Some friends offered to let us drop him off -- if they weren't working. Our neighbor offered to take him in the middle of the night -- if she was in town and not travelling. There was no set plan, and it made me nervous. So I think the fact that my in-laws were here in our house staying with us did the trick. Brain told body "go do it, Baby B is safe," and body did it.
So around 8pm the contractions are getting a little more noticeable, but I can eat dinner, and I can joke around and make conversation. I call my midwife to tell her stuff's happening, and she tells me to get some sleep. Ha! I say, but I manage to sleep until midnight. Then I think maybe my water breaks. I'm not sure. I call the midwife again and she has me do the water breaking test which I never knew about, which is to lay down flat for half an hour, and when you stand up if water gushes out then your water has broken. If not, then it hasn't. And this is important for me because I'm group b strep positive, and the 24-hour clock starts ticking once your water's broken. Baby needs to come out before the 24 hour mark or the risk of infection shoots up. So I lay down for half an hour, Gray puts a chux pad on the floor near the bed, and I stand up. No water comes out, but what does come flying out is a fist-sized liver-looking piece of my insides that bounces off my leg and onto the chux pad and onto the baseboard leaving bloody red Mr. Hankey-sized plops everywhere it goes. I freak out and start dancing around, going "Should we call 9-1-1? Can organs fall out of your vagina?" and Gray doesn't even care how abnormal this seems, he's gotten busy trying to clean the splotches off the baseboard because he's an OCD clean freak. So I punch the midwife's numbers again and tell her that I'm dying, and she goes, "No, no, it's totally normal, it's just your body getting ready." Normal. Next trick I'll do is make part of my intestines come out my nose.
Gray just looked over and said "Are you writing a novel?" The answer seems to be yes, so more soon. Goodnight.
¶ 9:57 PM 2 Comments
So now I will tell the birth story of Baby E in August. From now on Stealthpunch Junior can be Baby B and the new baby can be Baby E. I don't know why I'm still so interested in privacy since the internet knows everything already anyway, but B and E it'll be.
It was, thankfully, a very straightforward birth. Everyone I know in life again thought I was crazy for wanting to give birth not at a hospital, but at a birth center. I was too chicken to have a homebirth, and also practical really since the closest hospital to our tiny town is half an hour away, plenty of time to bleed out and die under worst-case circumstances. Yes, I know, it doesn't make sense since I'm a crazy hypochondriac in every other aspect of life that I should want to do it outside of a hospital, but for whatever reason I'm totally natural and mostly calm about birth. I believe it's what my body was built to do from an evolutionary standpoint, and doing it the first time showed me that my own particular body is pretty okay at it. So anyway, everybody thought I was crazy and worried about me the whole time.
Timeline: I had the baby Sunday morning at nine. On Friday Gray's parents came to visit, and at night they babysat Baby B while Gray and I went on a date to the awesome Macaroni Grill and then to nearby Borders to check out the latest books. This is the kind of date we like: we stuff ourselves with starches and carbohydrates and then we read. (Really what I think it is is a nostalgic throwback to when we were really poor in Burbank pre-kids and we would go to Barnes & Noble on Saturday night and read books and magazines and not buy anything.) So we go to Borders, we do our reading, I celebrate the fact that we have some cash now by buying a decaf latte (not non-fat, because I am 39 weeks pregnant and eat whatever I like at this point), and then we go home at 12:30am. I go to the bathroom and there in the toilet is -- well, I'll spare the details and just say some minor evidence that things are starting to happen. I go to sleep.
The next day, Saturday, is business as usual. We take Baby B to gym class and everybody there says "You look really pregnant!" and I say back, "Yeah, getting close!" So then we get coffee, more people comment on my largess, and we go home. I sit around. I go to the bathroom and find more evidence. I eat lunch. I start to feel some contractiony stirrings. My in-laws, who were going to leave, now decide to stay.
A quick aside to talk about the mind-body connection. My first birth was 28 hours long. This was due to the fact, I believe, that I could not imagine holding a baby in my arms. I think I totally hung myself up by being emotionally un-ready to have a baby, which was sort of driven home by my midwife and doula at the time saying, "Imagine the first time your baby smiles at you!" in order to get my labor going faster, and it just didn't work. I couldn't imagine it because it seemed totally foreign and unreal. So this time what was hanging me up was the fact that I didn't know what we were going to do with Baby B when I went into labor. Some friends offered to let us drop him off -- if they weren't working. Our neighbor offered to take him in the middle of the night -- if she was in town and not travelling. There was no set plan, and it made me nervous. So I think the fact that my in-laws were here in our house staying with us did the trick. Brain told body "go do it, Baby B is safe," and body did it.
So around 8pm the contractions are getting a little more noticeable, but I can eat dinner, and I can joke around and make conversation. I call my midwife to tell her stuff's happening, and she tells me to get some sleep. Ha! I say, but I manage to sleep until midnight. Then I think maybe my water breaks. I'm not sure. I call the midwife again and she has me do the water breaking test which I never knew about, which is to lay down flat for half an hour, and when you stand up if water gushes out then your water has broken. If not, then it hasn't. And this is important for me because I'm group b strep positive, and the 24-hour clock starts ticking once your water's broken. Baby needs to come out before the 24 hour mark or the risk of infection shoots up. So I lay down for half an hour, Gray puts a chux pad on the floor near the bed, and I stand up. No water comes out, but what does come flying out is a fist-sized liver-looking piece of my insides that bounces off my leg and onto the chux pad and onto the baseboard leaving bloody red Mr. Hankey-sized plops everywhere it goes. I freak out and start dancing around, going "Should we call 9-1-1? Can organs fall out of your vagina?" and Gray doesn't even care how abnormal this seems, he's gotten busy trying to clean the splotches off the baseboard because he's an OCD clean freak. So I punch the midwife's numbers again and tell her that I'm dying, and she goes, "No, no, it's totally normal, it's just your body getting ready." Normal. Next trick I'll do is make part of my intestines come out my nose.
Gray just looked over and said "Are you writing a novel?" The answer seems to be yes, so more soon. Goodnight.
¶ 9:57 PM 2 Comments
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
With the Magic of Your Smile You Make Me Humble
I've had this open on my desktop for like three weeks, and since I don't have even two minutes of free time anymore -- nobody told me that having two kids like quadruples the workload -- I'm going to just hit the publish button and prove to you that I'm still alive. And what's that? You say I said "two kids"? That's right. I done went and had another baby and survived it. Let me tell you all about my semi-fast labor (not superfast, but definitely faster than the first 28-hour marathon), but let me do it another time. I feel like not posting this has been a roadblock to writing in general, so I really am going to just hit the publish button and get it out of the way.
(Everybody is saying, "She looks just like you!" to which I say, "Thanks for thinking I look like a scrunchy old man!") ¶ 10:40 PM 0 Comments
(Everybody is saying, "She looks just like you!" to which I say, "Thanks for thinking I look like a scrunchy old man!") ¶ 10:40 PM 0 Comments
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
A Kiss, A Cry, Our Rights, Our Wrongs
The friend who I keep writing about is pregnant, and it's like a switch was flipped. In fact, it's probably why she came to our party, because she was a little pregnant at that point and feeling like she could stand seeing some bellies. So maybe I'll talk to her about it in a few months when she gives birth and get her side of the story. Maybe it will be interesting. Probably it will be just like we all thought.
==
Gray just asked me what my plan is for when I go into labor (1.5 weeks away is due date.) I said, "Maybe I'll go to Amoeba Records" (which is in the Haight and kind of close to where I'll deliver), and he goes, "But what if your water breaks there?" and then said, "Doesn't matter, I'm sure they've seen worse. Like an exploding hobo." Now all I can think of is a homeless person standing in the middle of the store erupting all over everything. True that water breaking would be a walk in the park comparatively, but still maybe not fun for me and grose for everybody nearby.
==
I've nothing new and interesting to share, I'm just totally consumed by the fact that I'll be giving birth in probably a week. There's no way around it, you know? I have a giant belly with a baby inside it, and she's going to come out whether I'm ready or not. It's nice how I get increasingly more and more crazy as the time wears on, though. Like I can't spell, I can't remember words, I'm kind of spacey and dumb, I think that I'm pregnant with twins because I'm measuring 3 weeks ahead even though I've had three ultrasounds and a CVS, I constantly think labor is beginning because of practice contractions... it just goes on. I downloaded a contractions iPhone app yesterday which should be fun when it finally does start, though.
My midwife is a good storyteller. She's not shy about talking about her craziest births, which may or may not be a little violation of patient confidentiality, I don't know. She kind of also tramples the unspoken midwife rule that you aren't supposed to tell scary stories to moms-to-be, too, like you need to keep them thinking positively instead of dwelling on the bad stuff. She talks a lot about the bad stuff. All I know is that I don't want a 28 hour labor like last time, but I also don't want a three hour labor that ends with me running into the place from the street, having a contraction, and delivering the baby on the floor. Yikes.
And the latest crazy thing I have to worry about is that there's a giant sort of biblical red tide going on in the ocean locally right now, and they're releasing warnings right and left saying "Don't eat shellfish caught in the red tide!" and what did I have for lunch yesterday? Shrimp. I keep trying to call the restaurant where I got the food and they aren't answering, which makes me think they were fishing locally and they're guilty and running from the law. And meanwhile I'll be dead from some toxic neurological explosion. Kind of like a hobo in the middle of Amoeba.
¶ 5:33 PM 0 Comments
==
Gray just asked me what my plan is for when I go into labor (1.5 weeks away is due date.) I said, "Maybe I'll go to Amoeba Records" (which is in the Haight and kind of close to where I'll deliver), and he goes, "But what if your water breaks there?" and then said, "Doesn't matter, I'm sure they've seen worse. Like an exploding hobo." Now all I can think of is a homeless person standing in the middle of the store erupting all over everything. True that water breaking would be a walk in the park comparatively, but still maybe not fun for me and grose for everybody nearby.
==
I've nothing new and interesting to share, I'm just totally consumed by the fact that I'll be giving birth in probably a week. There's no way around it, you know? I have a giant belly with a baby inside it, and she's going to come out whether I'm ready or not. It's nice how I get increasingly more and more crazy as the time wears on, though. Like I can't spell, I can't remember words, I'm kind of spacey and dumb, I think that I'm pregnant with twins because I'm measuring 3 weeks ahead even though I've had three ultrasounds and a CVS, I constantly think labor is beginning because of practice contractions... it just goes on. I downloaded a contractions iPhone app yesterday which should be fun when it finally does start, though.
My midwife is a good storyteller. She's not shy about talking about her craziest births, which may or may not be a little violation of patient confidentiality, I don't know. She kind of also tramples the unspoken midwife rule that you aren't supposed to tell scary stories to moms-to-be, too, like you need to keep them thinking positively instead of dwelling on the bad stuff. She talks a lot about the bad stuff. All I know is that I don't want a 28 hour labor like last time, but I also don't want a three hour labor that ends with me running into the place from the street, having a contraction, and delivering the baby on the floor. Yikes.
And the latest crazy thing I have to worry about is that there's a giant sort of biblical red tide going on in the ocean locally right now, and they're releasing warnings right and left saying "Don't eat shellfish caught in the red tide!" and what did I have for lunch yesterday? Shrimp. I keep trying to call the restaurant where I got the food and they aren't answering, which makes me think they were fishing locally and they're guilty and running from the law. And meanwhile I'll be dead from some toxic neurological explosion. Kind of like a hobo in the middle of Amoeba.
¶ 5:33 PM 0 Comments
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Blown Away Our Four Leaf Clover
All right. After six weeks of polling i've gotten four really good friendship-fertility-sensitivity comments; one here, two on facebook, and one in real life. The definite consensus is that I need to back the F off and let my friend stay away from me and deal with my pregnancy on her own terms and in her own time. I had a feeling this was the right answer, and I'm just going to have to learn not to be selfish about it like I've been this time.
But she came to our fourth of July party when I didn't think she would. It was the first time I'd seen her since I think January, and she mostly avoided me but did hug me and say "Wow, look at you!" and that was that. Her husband is ignoring me almost equally, and I don't know if that's because he feels it like she does or if he's just being on her side.
So I'll wait and see how it goes. I hope they'll want to be friends after we have the baby, that maybe it is as some suggested that she can't be around me while I have a baby in my belly, that it's that fact that keeps her wanting to stay away, and that she'll be okay with things after the baby's born. I'll be patient, I don't think my feelings are the most important in our scenario anymore. Now my major emotion is feeling bad that I'm causing her to feel bad, that I've got something going on that she wants more than anything in the world.
--
I'm 33 weeks, which means 7 weeks to go. I'm enormous. Some people have told me I barely look pregnant, which tells me that I must normally look like a giant humongous tube, so it's not a compliment to say such things. Probably telling me I look extremely pregnant is the better way to go. I'm starting to get a little fearful, which is no good for anybody. I'm scared my labor will be too long again; I'm scared my labor will be too short. I'm scared I'll have a weird complication at the birth center and die. I'm scared I'll have a stroke or get a migraine during labor. I'm scared the baby is too big. I'm scared I haven't been working out enough (read: at all) and won't have the stamina for natural childbirth again. I'm scared I won't remember how to do it. I'm scared that my inlaws will come to watch Stealthpunch Jr. when we go to the birth center and then they'll be mad when we kick them out when we get home in order to bond with the new baby. I'm scared Stealthpunch Jr. will be upset that there's a new baby in his house. What I'm not scared of is that we won't have enough girl baby clothes, because the amount of clothing donated to us from friends has been astounding. If you need baby girl clothes in about a year, just ask.
I've been listening to the hypnobirthing relaxation CD every night, and every night I fall asleep before they get to the secret message that will make everything okay. It goes, "And if you start to feel afraid, ...." and then I wake up right after they've said what to do. So I still don't know. I guess I should listen to it during daylight hours when I'm not exhausted, but not while I'm driving, just in case.
--
Tomorrow night is Tears For Fears at the Saratoga Mountain Winery. I have only average seats and not really good seats for the first time in several years, so I won't be able to send subliminal messages to Roland eyeball-to-eyeball. It'll be great to be there, and I'm just crossing my fingers that Stealthpunch Jr. goes to sleep and doesn't cry like a maniac like he has been for the past two weeks while his Grammy and Grandpa babysit him. The other night his Nana and Papa watched him while Gray and I went to see Bruno (don't see Bruno if you have even an ounce of prudishness in you) and it was tough. It's all because he's transitioning to a big boy bed from a crib, and there are lots of issues involved. Next up on the too many changes list: potty training, going to pre-preschool 2 mornings a week, and getting a baby sister.
--
Now I have to go re-stock the refrigerator with beer. Two New Jersey cousins are here, ages 23 and 20, and tonight they drank a 24 pack of the Sierra Nevada I was saving for the second I am no longer pregnant. When they started asking about after dinner drinks I feigned ignorance because there's no way I'm sharing the good stuff. I won't be pregnant forever.
¶ 10:58 PM 0 Comments
But she came to our fourth of July party when I didn't think she would. It was the first time I'd seen her since I think January, and she mostly avoided me but did hug me and say "Wow, look at you!" and that was that. Her husband is ignoring me almost equally, and I don't know if that's because he feels it like she does or if he's just being on her side.
So I'll wait and see how it goes. I hope they'll want to be friends after we have the baby, that maybe it is as some suggested that she can't be around me while I have a baby in my belly, that it's that fact that keeps her wanting to stay away, and that she'll be okay with things after the baby's born. I'll be patient, I don't think my feelings are the most important in our scenario anymore. Now my major emotion is feeling bad that I'm causing her to feel bad, that I've got something going on that she wants more than anything in the world.
--
I'm 33 weeks, which means 7 weeks to go. I'm enormous. Some people have told me I barely look pregnant, which tells me that I must normally look like a giant humongous tube, so it's not a compliment to say such things. Probably telling me I look extremely pregnant is the better way to go. I'm starting to get a little fearful, which is no good for anybody. I'm scared my labor will be too long again; I'm scared my labor will be too short. I'm scared I'll have a weird complication at the birth center and die. I'm scared I'll have a stroke or get a migraine during labor. I'm scared the baby is too big. I'm scared I haven't been working out enough (read: at all) and won't have the stamina for natural childbirth again. I'm scared I won't remember how to do it. I'm scared that my inlaws will come to watch Stealthpunch Jr. when we go to the birth center and then they'll be mad when we kick them out when we get home in order to bond with the new baby. I'm scared Stealthpunch Jr. will be upset that there's a new baby in his house. What I'm not scared of is that we won't have enough girl baby clothes, because the amount of clothing donated to us from friends has been astounding. If you need baby girl clothes in about a year, just ask.
I've been listening to the hypnobirthing relaxation CD every night, and every night I fall asleep before they get to the secret message that will make everything okay. It goes, "And if you start to feel afraid, ...." and then I wake up right after they've said what to do. So I still don't know. I guess I should listen to it during daylight hours when I'm not exhausted, but not while I'm driving, just in case.
--
Tomorrow night is Tears For Fears at the Saratoga Mountain Winery. I have only average seats and not really good seats for the first time in several years, so I won't be able to send subliminal messages to Roland eyeball-to-eyeball. It'll be great to be there, and I'm just crossing my fingers that Stealthpunch Jr. goes to sleep and doesn't cry like a maniac like he has been for the past two weeks while his Grammy and Grandpa babysit him. The other night his Nana and Papa watched him while Gray and I went to see Bruno (don't see Bruno if you have even an ounce of prudishness in you) and it was tough. It's all because he's transitioning to a big boy bed from a crib, and there are lots of issues involved. Next up on the too many changes list: potty training, going to pre-preschool 2 mornings a week, and getting a baby sister.
--
Now I have to go re-stock the refrigerator with beer. Two New Jersey cousins are here, ages 23 and 20, and tonight they drank a 24 pack of the Sierra Nevada I was saving for the second I am no longer pregnant. When they started asking about after dinner drinks I feigned ignorance because there's no way I'm sharing the good stuff. I won't be pregnant forever.
¶ 10:58 PM 0 Comments
Saturday, May 30, 2009
When Out of A Doorway the Tentacles Stretch
I need someone to talk me out of being a jerk. We have a group of friends up here who are all Gray's childhood friends, so I inherited them as friends when we got married and then their wives as friends when they got married. And they're all pretty good friendships, like I go out with them sometimes without Gray and everybody gets along. There are four couples, five counting us. Four out of the five couples have kids - two have one, two have two, so half have already had a second child. The fifth couple doesn't have kids and they've been trying since the second they got married three years ago. Everybody in the group knows about their infertility issue and is sensitive about it, unlike one of their other friend-couples who got pregnant just by looking at each other on their wedding night and likes to tell the story of how freaked out they were over and over as the wife pats her round belly. So we're all mindful. When I found out I was pregnant I told the husband separately and asked him how to tell his wife, my friend, about it, and he goes, "Don't do it, I'll do it, and I'm so glad you came to me first." She's been known to avoid kids parties, and I'd heard that she cries when she finds out other people are pregnant. On the flipside, they've hosted a bunch of shindigs at their house since we've moved here and everybody's kids are always there and she seems to be fine.
So I kind of waited for her to send me an email saying hi and congratulations or something vaguely acknowledging, but after a month of silence I asked him if he'd told her and he said yes, so I know at least that she knows.
But now that two and a half months have passed and I haven't heard from her and she keeps ducking out of all the things that the whole group does together (last weekend big picnic, she didn't go and was "at home relaxing") I started to get mad. I didn't want to feel it and I felt like an a-hole for feeling it, but couldn't stop. To another friend in the group I said I was bummed that she seemed to be staying away from things because of me and my belly, and this friend said, "I might do the same thing. I wanted kids so bad and if I couldn't have them I'd probably need to be as far away from visual reminders as possible."
I'm still feeling mad. I'm feeling like if she can't say congratulations to me and be around me, when she knows I'm not going to talk about baby stuff and will 100% have her feelings in mind when she's in front of me, then we aren't really friends. And after the picnic I heard her husband invite one of the other friend-couples back to their house for dinner. But not us, and in the past we definitely would have been invited too.
Maybe this is all non-sympathetic whining on my part. It's just that even when we had a hard time getting pregnant the first time (granted, 10 months is not 3 years, but it felt like a longgg time) I never begrudged anyone their joy and never avoided them and would never have not said congratulations or made them feel bad for what's such a happy time.
I'm pretty sure that I'm not being understanding enough. But I'm also pretty sure that if this continues for the next 3 months I don't think I can be friends with her in the future. If anybody's got infertility experience and you think I'm being a jerk, let me have it.
¶ 12:07 PM 1 Comments
So I kind of waited for her to send me an email saying hi and congratulations or something vaguely acknowledging, but after a month of silence I asked him if he'd told her and he said yes, so I know at least that she knows.
But now that two and a half months have passed and I haven't heard from her and she keeps ducking out of all the things that the whole group does together (last weekend big picnic, she didn't go and was "at home relaxing") I started to get mad. I didn't want to feel it and I felt like an a-hole for feeling it, but couldn't stop. To another friend in the group I said I was bummed that she seemed to be staying away from things because of me and my belly, and this friend said, "I might do the same thing. I wanted kids so bad and if I couldn't have them I'd probably need to be as far away from visual reminders as possible."
I'm still feeling mad. I'm feeling like if she can't say congratulations to me and be around me, when she knows I'm not going to talk about baby stuff and will 100% have her feelings in mind when she's in front of me, then we aren't really friends. And after the picnic I heard her husband invite one of the other friend-couples back to their house for dinner. But not us, and in the past we definitely would have been invited too.
Maybe this is all non-sympathetic whining on my part. It's just that even when we had a hard time getting pregnant the first time (granted, 10 months is not 3 years, but it felt like a longgg time) I never begrudged anyone their joy and never avoided them and would never have not said congratulations or made them feel bad for what's such a happy time.
I'm pretty sure that I'm not being understanding enough. But I'm also pretty sure that if this continues for the next 3 months I don't think I can be friends with her in the future. If anybody's got infertility experience and you think I'm being a jerk, let me have it.
¶ 12:07 PM 1 Comments
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Prepare For the Best and the Fastest Ride
May miracles never cease -- I just set up a new mail account on my Mac and it worked. Lately things aren't so easy on the easy Macintosh, so I feel like I should get a trophy or a plate of cake or something.
After I wrote the last entry, we hired our babysitter and went out for dinner (Macaroni Grill, fattening and delicious) and to a movie (Observe and Report, stupid and lame) and the baby was still alive when we got home. Dang, it's hard to trust other people. Maybe when he's older we'll feel more secure about him staying with a sitter because he'll be able to tell us if they stick him in a dark closet or feed him beers, but for now it's nervewracking. And yet it was so nervewracking that we did it again two weeks after the first time, when we went to dinner (Carl's Jr., because we ran out of time) and saw a movie (Star Trek, pretty good overall) and had a nice time. Dates are good, I guess. But how important are they, really? When we were on them all we did was talk about Gray's lack of job and the baby back at home, so it's not like it was especially unique or revitalizing or anything.
The latest is the whole preschool issue. I always laughed at waiting list preschool people, but now we're some of them because there aren't enough to go around in our area. I'm also thinking about putting him in daycare (which is more like pre-pre-school) for two mornings a week before the new baby comes (3.5 months away) and this preschool business is all anybody wants to talk about in the mother's club. It's preschool. I don't think that the place we choose will determine the course of his life like some people seem to. All I remember of mine is that we sang Frere Jacques and played in the sand, so really. How much should I stress about it?
Because I have a father who grew up during the Depression (he's 81, whereas Gray's dad is 63 for comparison), all that save and don't spend stuff was fully ingrained in me and still sticks with me even though I've tried to to be a good American and spend some money once in awhile. So what do I do the second Gray gets laid off? I start selling stuff on ebay in order to hoard money. And it's been awhile since I've done it, and I've forgotten what a pain in the ass it is. I sold six things, and only three people have paid, and two of them are foreigners (Germany, Australia) who have picked whatever random amount they felt like to pay me for shipping to their far-off land, which will probably be too low. Somebody else wants a tracking number for a $5 item, and it's just such a pain. Nobody behaves normally there. Stupid ebay.
So Facebook always reveals funny things, and the funniest thing lately is that I'm friends with an old boyfriend (who has gotten really fat) and someone wrote on his wall: "I see you got married to X. Are you guys still together?" Normally a pretty rude thing to write, right? But fitting for a (formerly, at least) wandering cheater such as he.
On pregnancy: I am really obese and uncomfortable and still have a long way to go. Nothing fits, my boobs are huge and uncomfortable, I keep worrying that my belly fat is peeking out from under my shirt, and I get winded when I climb stairs. Man, the injustice. At least I don't have gestational diabetes, but I have to drink a grose iron drink because I'm anemic. All of the babies I cook in my belly like to sap me of iron. This one did, too.
¶ 12:16 PM 0 Comments
After I wrote the last entry, we hired our babysitter and went out for dinner (Macaroni Grill, fattening and delicious) and to a movie (Observe and Report, stupid and lame) and the baby was still alive when we got home. Dang, it's hard to trust other people. Maybe when he's older we'll feel more secure about him staying with a sitter because he'll be able to tell us if they stick him in a dark closet or feed him beers, but for now it's nervewracking. And yet it was so nervewracking that we did it again two weeks after the first time, when we went to dinner (Carl's Jr., because we ran out of time) and saw a movie (Star Trek, pretty good overall) and had a nice time. Dates are good, I guess. But how important are they, really? When we were on them all we did was talk about Gray's lack of job and the baby back at home, so it's not like it was especially unique or revitalizing or anything.
The latest is the whole preschool issue. I always laughed at waiting list preschool people, but now we're some of them because there aren't enough to go around in our area. I'm also thinking about putting him in daycare (which is more like pre-pre-school) for two mornings a week before the new baby comes (3.5 months away) and this preschool business is all anybody wants to talk about in the mother's club. It's preschool. I don't think that the place we choose will determine the course of his life like some people seem to. All I remember of mine is that we sang Frere Jacques and played in the sand, so really. How much should I stress about it?
Because I have a father who grew up during the Depression (he's 81, whereas Gray's dad is 63 for comparison), all that save and don't spend stuff was fully ingrained in me and still sticks with me even though I've tried to to be a good American and spend some money once in awhile. So what do I do the second Gray gets laid off? I start selling stuff on ebay in order to hoard money. And it's been awhile since I've done it, and I've forgotten what a pain in the ass it is. I sold six things, and only three people have paid, and two of them are foreigners (Germany, Australia) who have picked whatever random amount they felt like to pay me for shipping to their far-off land, which will probably be too low. Somebody else wants a tracking number for a $5 item, and it's just such a pain. Nobody behaves normally there. Stupid ebay.
So Facebook always reveals funny things, and the funniest thing lately is that I'm friends with an old boyfriend (who has gotten really fat) and someone wrote on his wall: "I see you got married to X. Are you guys still together?" Normally a pretty rude thing to write, right? But fitting for a (formerly, at least) wandering cheater such as he.
On pregnancy: I am really obese and uncomfortable and still have a long way to go. Nothing fits, my boobs are huge and uncomfortable, I keep worrying that my belly fat is peeking out from under my shirt, and I get winded when I climb stairs. Man, the injustice. At least I don't have gestational diabetes, but I have to drink a grose iron drink because I'm anemic. All of the babies I cook in my belly like to sap me of iron. This one did, too.
¶ 12:16 PM 0 Comments
Sunday, April 26, 2009
All These Tapes In My Head Swirl Around
Stealthpunch Junior is two, and he's never had a babysitter. That is to say, we've never hired him a babysitter, or had someone watch him who wasn't related to him or that we haven't known for fifteen years. And Gray and I are notoriously bad at going out on dates -- like those books that say "Couples should go out on dates once a week after having children for their own separate alone time" would frown at us so hard their faces would stick that way. I think we've been out alone once together in the year we've lived here, and once when we were all staying with Gray's parents and once when we were all staying with my parents. So three times in a year. And we're still married. Take that, couples counselors.
But this is not what I want to write about. What I want to write about is sixteen year olds. We marched down the street to our neighbor's house, a neighbor who recently said, "My daughter would love to babysit for you," so we walked over to take her up on it. She wasn't home, so we talked to her parents, some nice people who look like they're about a decade older than us, say forty-five give or take a few years. Twenty minutes later the sixteen year old knocks on our door and we hang out and introduce her to the baby and we're all talking and about her babysitting him in the future, and she'll make our fifty dollar dinner and a movie turn into more like ninety, but whatever, the experts made us do it. So she leaves, and Gray turns to me and goes, "That's what sixteen is. Didn't you feel OLD?" and I said yeah I felt like a fricking grandma, and then he goes, "She could be your daughter if you had her when you were a senior in high school," and I go, No, I would have an almost twenty year old if I had her in high school. And then we kind of got depressed. And then I said, But didn't you feel like you have way more in common with her than you do with her parents who are way closer to us in age? And he said, "Yeah, totally." Does this mean that we're stunted somehow? That we have a Peter Pan thing going on? Or that we're of that Gen-X segment that just doesn't feel adulty no matter how old we get?
Also, Gray got laid off on Friday. So I don't know how we're affording this babysitter. ¶ 10:12 PM 0 Comments
But this is not what I want to write about. What I want to write about is sixteen year olds. We marched down the street to our neighbor's house, a neighbor who recently said, "My daughter would love to babysit for you," so we walked over to take her up on it. She wasn't home, so we talked to her parents, some nice people who look like they're about a decade older than us, say forty-five give or take a few years. Twenty minutes later the sixteen year old knocks on our door and we hang out and introduce her to the baby and we're all talking and about her babysitting him in the future, and she'll make our fifty dollar dinner and a movie turn into more like ninety, but whatever, the experts made us do it. So she leaves, and Gray turns to me and goes, "That's what sixteen is. Didn't you feel OLD?" and I said yeah I felt like a fricking grandma, and then he goes, "She could be your daughter if you had her when you were a senior in high school," and I go, No, I would have an almost twenty year old if I had her in high school. And then we kind of got depressed. And then I said, But didn't you feel like you have way more in common with her than you do with her parents who are way closer to us in age? And he said, "Yeah, totally." Does this mean that we're stunted somehow? That we have a Peter Pan thing going on? Or that we're of that Gen-X segment that just doesn't feel adulty no matter how old we get?
Also, Gray got laid off on Friday. So I don't know how we're affording this babysitter. ¶ 10:12 PM 0 Comments
