Booked Face

Hrm. I just opened an account on Facebook, and I think I made a mistake by doing so. It's depressing to see how many people are in contact with people that I know, because I've wanted to get in touch with some of them for a long time. It makes me think that they must not have wanted to get in touch with me, since they could have . . . . But oh well. Mom always meets my complaints about not having any friends by saying that I need to make more of an effort. But how much effort am I supposed to put out? Is there a point where I say, okay, Sally's not investing anything in this relationship, so it's over?

A Holly Jolly Christmas

What a fun Christmas we had! I'm really really glad that we decided to drive down through the night, so that Abby's sleep schedule wouldn't be messed up. She slept pretty much the entire way. Of course, it wreaked havoc with our sleep schedules, but since there were plenty of people to pawn Abby off on, we got to take a nice nap once we got there. And then she slept through the night every night. And took good naps during the day. We have the most amazing baby ever.

I was really bummed when Regis told me that we'd have to take off the day after Christmas, since his mean ol' boss wouldn't give him any more time off. I LOVE going back to my parents' house, especially when all my siblings (sans missionaries, although we did get to have a chat with Court) will be there. It was great to laugh with everyone, to play Mah Jong together, and to eat clam chowder in a bread bowl. Oddly enough, we didn't watch any of our traditional Christmas movies. No Scrooge, no It's a Wonderful Life. We did snicker while the little girls watched the Barbie version of the princess and the pauper. Gag me with a fork.

On the way back we drove during the day, and Abby slept nearly the whole way again. I was worried that this meant she'd be awake all night, but she slept most of the night as well. I'm glad she did, because (surprise surprise) a lot of germs got passed around at our Christmas gathering, and she and I are both a little sick. She is just so amazingly good, though. Still cheerful even though her little schnozz is all stuffed up.

Yesterday I was struck by how intelligent she is. Yeah, I know, she's only 4 and a half months old, but it's amazing to me how much she seems to understand. I put her on her stomach to give her some tummy time on her new playmat that Grandm--er, Santa gave her, and rolled her onto her back when it seemed like she was done. (She loves her new playmat. It's got tons of jungle-y toys on it, and even I think they're cool.) I guess she wasn't actually finished, because she kept trying to roll back over. She's SOOOO close to getting it, and after a few tries she starting fussing because she couldn't quite make it. That might not sound extremely smart, but going from being a lump to understanding that she can roll herself over is pretty impressive to me.

And Abby must have been at the top of Santa's "Nice" list this year, because she cleaned up on Christmas morning. Even though she wasn't awake to see it. :)

Morning Giggles

This morning, I handed Abby a toy to play with and turned away for a minute to sort through some stuff. I heard a little "uh!" and turned back to find:

I burst out laughing. She wasn't upset at all, just confused. Probably wondering why Mommy was laughing so hard.

She's been so fun lately, giggling when we blow on her belly and when I do my famed walrus impression.

Bucket of Blood

So, what do you do when your infant starts spitting up blood?

Always a delightful experience, I'm sure. Bucket decided I needed that particular experience the other night (of course, it would be on Sunday, at 9 pm). At first, I figured she had just scraped the roof of her mouth a little with her thumbnail, since she's started sucking her thumb. However, when she spit up quite a bit a few minutes later, I decided it was time to call the doctor. We headed over to the hospital, where the after-hours pediatrician's office is. I was worried, but very nice and calm up until we actually got into the office, where I promptly started bawling. I wonder if they could tell I was a first time mom?

Happily, Napoleon's sanguinity was justified, as it usually is. Since Bucket appeared fat and happy (11 lbs 9 oz--wabba dooba!), and was in fact having a great time sitting on Daddy's lap, the doctor suggested it was probably a problem with me, not her. I do remember a weird pain when she was eating earlier in the day, so we think she probably just got a little something extra with her milk. I guess we should have dressed her differently for Halloween: she's a vampire!

Algo Nuevo

As you may have noticed, I've changed the names on my blog. I'm not sure exactly why, but in deference to the Society for the Prevention of Abuse of Me (SPAM), I thought I should probably not put our real names out there for everyone to see. I read a few blog posts recently that warned of the dangers of using real names and allowing people to see pictures of your kids, since there are so many sickos out there. I've changed the names, but I'm not taking the pictures off. I don't want anyone using the pictures of my baby for anything disgusting, but I'm not that worried about it for the same reason I'm too ashamed to put up a visit counter: I really don't think there are too many people who come to this blog. I'm pretty sure that everyone who does is someone I know or someone whose blog I visit, and I'm not too concerned about you guys.

So enjoy reading about the adventures of Napoleon and Josephine, and our daughter Bucket. We really do call her Bucket, usually prefaced by things like Fuss and Snuggle. If you don't like the pseudonyms, take comfort in the fact that they may be temporary. I might not like them either.

Slingin' Baby

In honor of Court's birthday yesterday, Bucket and I put on the spiffy authentic Indonesian sling he gave us for Christmas and took a walk. I had tried it a couple of times before and she was definitely not happy being slung, but she took to it pretty well yesterday, I'm sure in consideration of her dear uncle. We did it again today and she fell asleep, so it's apparently pretty comfortable. It's nice because I can carry her around and still have my hands free, although I'm still not entirely convinced that she's not going to fall out, so I am frequently readjusting the fabric and reassuring myself.

We walked over to JoAnn's to grab some cutesy wutesy stickers as promised, so Amber and Glade, here are your choices:

Let me know which one you want. (The one in the middle is glittery too, just not as much as the two side ones.)

My Sweet Baby

No really, she's delicious. I keep seeing advertisements that say "Keep your baby delicious all day long!" Sounds good to me.



I'm wondering how she went from this . . .

. . . to this!

Heartbreak Hotel

I'm down at the edge of Lonely Street . . .

Okay, so after I decided on that title for this post, I realized it doesn't work: my baby didn't leave me, my hubby did. But don't worry, he's coming back. Tonight, in fact. Me and Bucket have been . . . well, frankly, we've been doing what we do most days. I just haven't been able to look forward to Napoleon coming home in the evenings. He's been off in North Carolina at a job interview, being wined and dined (or at least the latter) by a big financial company. I've been reading up on the area, since we might actually be moving there soon.

It didn't occur to me for an embarrassingly long time that North Carolina is in the South, very much so. And by South (with a capital s) I mean the seceding, grit-eatin' part, which to my mind does not include Florida. When it finally came to me, I thought "Holy cow, can I live in the South?" But within a few days I'd convinced myself that the South can't be all THAT different.

Enter the internet.

Yikes. Apparently there's this big North v. South feeling in North Carolina. Have you heard of the War of Northern Aggression? Yeah, apparently they're still not over that. Except now, instead of "You jerks, you're trying to take away our slaves and our states rights," it's "You jerks, you're bringing your rude Northern ways (which apparently include cell phones and yelling at your kids--who knew?) into our sweet Southern hospitable realm and jacking up the price of housing." Um, wow. So now I'm wondering if there's some big East v. West feeling as well. I'm from California originally, and I love the western part of the U.S. I've always described the east as a "nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there." Are they going to hate me?

The thing is, I probably wouldn't know it if they did. I didn't even know there was a big rivalry between southern California and northern California until I came to BYU. Ha! And I think it's ridiculous.

Ouchie

There's nothing like getting your baby immunized to make you feel like a rotten scumbag.

If I knew of something she wanted, I would totally go buy it right now. I'm wallowing in guilt. It's probably a good thing that she's not a material girl--for now, I've got everything she wants.

Honestly, why don't medical places treat people better? I think a sucker would have made me feel better about making my poor innocent baby cry. Or how about a sticker? It could say something like "I'm a Good Mom: my baby's immunized!" or "I Helped Prevent Polio!" Or how about one for the baby that says "Be Nice to Me, I Got Shot"? Please add your most clever sticker phrase in the comments. If it's REALLY clever, I'll send you some stickers. Seriously. Cute ones.

Blessings and Cursings

Don't worry, there are no swearwords in this post. At least not yet, but since this is only the second sentence . . . . Bucket's blessing went well, even though Napoleon's family was grossly underrepresented, due to a yucky attack of the flu in the Logan side of the family. I very much appreciate the fact that they didn't want to pass it along, especially since there were old people and lots of little kiddos, but it was still a bummer that they couldn't be here. Bucket slept through most of the actual blessing, but she did hand out some smiles during the evening. We had yummy pizza, and a good time.

The family reunion was also fun, even though we only made it to the evening activities. It's always nice to see family. We took a couple of cute pictures of Bucket and her cousins. We also got to hang out with my parents the rest of the week, including on a wacky Halloween cruise down the Provo River--VERRRRRY cheesy. I don't recommend it.

Something not so fun happened on Saturday: getting out of my parents' car, I opened the door too wide and dinged the car next to it, which just happened to be so new it didn't even have the plates on yet. Yuck. It was a pretty bad ding, and I felt really rotten about it, so I ended up leaving a note with an apology and my phone number on it. They called today and said they are going to get an estimate. I was hoping, since the car already had a few little scratches on it, that they would just let it go, but I guess if someone else was going to pay for the ding they did on my new car (jerks) I'd get it fixed too. Unfortunately for me, nobody owned up. So I get to pay the price for honesty and just hope these people pay it forward.

Random Snapthoughts

Well, you can all stop worrying about me: the repair guys came, spent about four hours plodding in and out of my house carrying various sizes of drywall, stinking up the place with paint, and blocking my bathroom. It's a darn good thing they didn't come when I was pregnant. Bucket was pretty good through it all, in part because she spent most of it outside. She loves being outdoors, which is tragic because we live in Utah, and even if she could stand the cold, her mama is a California girl and can't. To me, 75 degrees is cold. And oh look, the average high temp for where we live is BELOW 75 for eight months of the year. Yes, that is the average HIGH temperature, as in the highest point it hits sometime during the day, meaning the rest of the day is usually a lot colder.

Napoleon wonders why I don't want to live in Utah.

What was I talking about again? Oh yes, repairs. It looks like it's all done, and ok.

My folks are coming into town this weekend, for a family reunion and Bucket's blessing. It will be neat to have so many of us here for her blessing. Fun, but stressful. Does anyone else get stressed out when family comes to town? I can't really find a good reason for it. We have a little apartment, so we don't have to host everyone, although we've had people stay with us several times. Dad usually takes us out to eat somewhere nice, which is a fun treat. Nobody in my family is a compulsive liar, overtly manipulative, unbelievable obnoxious, or otherwise really difficult (unless it's me, I guess!). I think we're all pretty fun to be around, so I'm not sure why I always get stressed out when we're all together. I'm wondering if it's because I feel like I have to prove myself, that I'm all grown up now and not the silly little girl I used to be. That's hard, because I get stressed and therefore overly sensitive and more apt to cry when I hear something that I perceive as criticism, which makes me feel immature . . .

I still find it hard to believe that they let somebody like me just walk out of the hospital with a brand new baby. Okay, technically they don't, because they made me sit in a wheelchair, but that's not the point.

We're taking Bucket to get some photos taken today, by a friend of mine who wants some baby pictures as examples for her photography business. I sure hope Bucket has been saving up all her good behavior for Heidi, because she sure hasn't been wasting it on me.

I remember asking my mom, when I was in high school or thereabouts, "What if you love your kids, but you just don't like one of them?" Her answer, which I still have to chew on every so often, was "Then you need to repent."

Invasion

Our condo has problems. Last year, when we still liked our upstairs neighbors, :) I noticed there was water dripping down into our water heater closet. Not good. I ran upstairs and told Miriam, who got the property management company to send over a plumber. This guy was obviously not very smart--he insisted that the leak was not coming from the second floor, since there was no damage in their closet, but from the third, and then tried to distract us by cooing at Miriam's baby. Since I am not a plumber, and my landlords (my parents) live far away, nothing happened on it after that. However, the leak continued to get worse, and finally my dad decided something needed to be done. He called the property management company again, who sent the dippy plumber again, who gave the same report. Dad was not fooled--he grew up as a plumber, helping his dad--a plumber. He called in another company to take a look, who reported that not only was it coming from the second floor, but there was also mold growing in our closet. Joy. He estimated that it would take a week and lots and lots of money to fix it all.

The managers of the condo above us balked at his estimate, and wanted a second opinion. They invited a carpet cleaning company to come look. He estimated several hours and much less money; however, it sounded to me like he was a bozo and was planning on doing a lick-it-and-hope-it-sticks job. I am SOOOO not excited about this. I have a new baby, whose schedule is still not fixed, and they want to come over and spend lots of time doing construction in my small apartment, making noise, creating dust, and probably screwing stuff up. If they do a lousy job, Dad will just make them pay for someone else to do it right, which will mean more people tramping through my apartment, more dust and noise and irritation. I wish I would have gotten this taken care of earlier, but it was really out of my hands. I'm also irritated because of my lack of knowledge. I had the same problem when our car was broken--I have this vague idea that I'm being ridiculously overcharged and cheated, but since I know nothing about cars (and not very much about plumbing), I can't really do anything about it. I guess this is one of those cases where you're just supposed to trust the experts.

However, although I don't know much about plumbing, my dad does and my uncle does, and they both think this carpet guy is up in the night. My husband did construction for a year, and he agrees that there's no way he can replace the things he says he will for the price he quoted. So none of this bodes well. Can I go home now?

Nobody is Perfict

My poor baby has broken out in lots of zits. This does not bode well for her teenage years.

She definitely looks like Napoleon's side of the family, although I can't really explain why. I think it's something around her eyes and nose. I love her profile, even with her little pimples.

I really haven't been doing very well with Thank You cards, so Miriam, I hope you don't mind an online one. You're the only one who gets a picture with yours. :) Doesn't she look cute? We really do love the little outfit. And I would LOVE to come visit you, especially since it's starting to get cold up here. (Napoleon doesn't feel it, but he never does. I wear about six more layers than he does in the winter.) I'll have to find some free airline tickets somewhere, or suck it up and drive.

Bucket's belly button glop finally came off, so we can finally bathe her. She really likes being squirted with warm water, but she's not too fond of just being wet. I'm sure it's because it's getting cold (See, Napoleon? Bucket knows it too.). I'm so glad she hasn't lost her hair yet.

Sniff sniff

I smell like baby.

Naturally, I've been reading lots of stuff on kids recently. What do you think of piercing babies' ears?

I think it's sick. I understand that it's "cultural" in some places. So is infant genital mutilation. In fact, that kind of amounts to the same thing: you are inflicting pain and a permanent physical mark on a child because you think they should look a certain way. Makes sense? No.

I'm not opposed to pierced ears. Mine are pierced. I chose to have them pierced, when I was about 10. I'm opposed to hurting kids for stupid reasons.

Wow, a Whole Month

Today is Bucket's official one month birthday. I'm tempted to make cupcakes. Cute little pink ones. I decided last night that it was getting too cold to let her sleep nekkid, so I put her in little footie pajamas. They were huge on her, but man did she look sweet. (I didn't really let her sleep naked--we wrapped her up in blankets. But it is getting too cold for that, I think.) She still doesn't fit into any of her newborn onesies, but she is filling out a bit. It's funny to see her in the 0-3 month clothes. I bet she'll be wearing them until she's about 6 months old. I really like a lot of the clothes she's gotten as presents. She's going to be such a stylin' little girl.

Napoleon has started school again. I think this semester is going to be really stressful for him. Partly because he's working half the time, and partly because his classes are really stinkin' hard, and partly because I can't handle caring for Bucket all by myself. As it is, I don't eat until around noon. I was never a morning person in the first place, and it's even worse when I have to wake up every three hours or so. This is why I HATE 8:30 church. I don't think anything should start before 9 in the morning. It's indecent.

Not Good

Today was a bad day.
It didn't start out bad. Bucket woke up at around 6, which is when Napoleon gets up, so I got to see him off to work. I fed Bucket and had a hard time getting her back to sleep. She slept until 11, which is when I finally woke her up to eat. She was pretty cheerful after she ate, and smiled a lot. I may have even got her smile on camera. We went for a nice walk outside, looking at the sky and the trees and the grass and the funny men trying (and failing) to fit a huge couch through a doorway. Usually, Bucket's good for about an hour of happy awake time before she gets tired and falls asleep again. NOT today. This is where it gets bad. I brought her inside, thinking she'd want to sleep soon. She absolutely refused to sleep. Didn't want to be held, didn't want to be laid down. All she wanted to do was cry and cry. She likes to be bounced. I bounced her until my arms were about to fall off, but she was still unhappy. I tried feeding her off and on, but she really didn't seem hungry. She stayed awake until Napoleon got home for lunch, at about 2:30, at which point I burst into tears and handed him the baby.
She is such a daddy's girl. He said, "Calm down, Bucket." She stopped crying. "Go to sleep." She immediately looked sleepy. "Close your eyes . . . close 'em more . . . more . . . " And she was out.
Sometimes life really isn't fair.

A is for . . .

Here's Bucket on her Alphabet and Animals blankets, made for her by her great-grandma and grandma. It's weird for me to think that she not only has both her grandmas, but four great-grandmas as well. My mom's mom passed away long before I was born, and all my great-grandmas were long gone by the time I showed up. (Careful readers may wonder how Bucket has four great-grandmas if my grandma passed away: Grandpa remarried, and I was pretty far along in life before I realized Grandma Anne wasn't a blood relation. She has always been very loving and attentive.) I will have to take some more cute pictures of my little girl. We've been trying to capture her smile, but it remains elusive. She only smiles while she's eating or sleeping--yet another example of how she resembles her dad, by sharing his favorite activities. :) We're still waiting for her yucky little umbilical cord stump to fall off. I hope it happens soon, because she needs a bath. Trying to sponge-bathe a squirrelly little baby has not gone all that well.

Who Needs Sleep?

Bucket discovered her hair the other day. She found out how fun it is to play with, and grab a fistful, and . . . that was where the fun ended. Silly goose. She's been so much more alert these past few days, and she actually looks us in the eyes sometimes. I've had fun laying her on the quilts her grandma and great-grandma made for her, and watching her look around and try to lift up her little head. She's surprisingly strong--babies aren't as fragile as I used to think they were.

She was quite the little twit last night, which was all the more painful because I'd just been bragging about what a good sleeper she was. Luckily, my earlier predictions were correct: Napoleon sleeps through everything, unless I joggle him awake and beg him to try and calm her down for a while. That's usually not very effective, because generally Bucket wants to nurse again and her dad is just not equipped for that. Oh well. Who needs sleep?

Yawn

I am sooo tired. (I'm sure everyone's shocked.) My mom's been here helping out, which has been WONDERFUL. I am amazed that anyone can have more than one child--I can't imagine trying to take care of a baby AND a toddler and still exist myself. The fact that she did it while going to law school just floors me. Mom asked today if I wanted her to stay another week. Errrrrrrrr. Massive indecision. Yes, I would love for you to stay here another week and take care of making dinner and holding the baby when I'm about to fall down and burst into sobs. However, there's Dad and Coral to consider, and a whole bunch of little twits that are waiting for you to go teach seminary. Not that I really care about the little twits, but I know it's one of your responsibilities. Decisions, decisions.

Not that anyone's asking, but I think breastfeeding is WAY harder than labor. Maybe because you don't get an epidural. :)

Awwww . . .

Wow. It's been five days.

She's so cute. I joked with a lot of people that I was scared I'd have an ugly baby. No way.

Things got underway on Thursday. I was supposed to go in to the hospital so they could administer some gel to get my cervix to ripen. They wanted to do a dose in the afternoon, send me home, then another one in the evening, and then start the Pitocin Friday morning. Ha! Fat chance. After the first dose, I started having contractions, and after watching for an hour or so, they said I wasn't going anywhere. Things progressed pretty quickly, and my contractions were coming so strong and long they actually had to give me something to slow them down, since the baby wasn't taking them very well.

I think I had kind of hoped I wouldn't have to have an epidural, just to be tough. But man oh man, the guy that put it in was one of my favorite people. I was a lot happier after he came to visit.

I started pushing at 1 in the morning on Friday, and she was here 40 minutes later. I didn't get to see much of her, since she'd inhaled a lot of fluid and was whisked away to the NICU. They brought her back a couple of hours later with an IV in her head--poor baby! But she's doing fine, sleeping well and looking cute. I love it when she smiles in her sleep. She has a head full of black hair that's fun to play with.

Reeeeaady, Seeeeehhht . . .

Whine, whine. I'm still pregnant. Friday the 3rd came and went, with very little excitement. I had another appointment today, at which we learned that my cervix is not very good at discerning my wishes. (When I say dilate, I mean DILATE, dang it!) So now I'm scheduled to be inducted into the world of Mommydom, on Friday the 10th. I'm kind of bummed about that, since from what I hear, being induced is no fun and makes things more painful than a "normal" birth. Greater risk for a C-section, and all that. Boo. But on the bright side, at least we know the baby will sure be here by Saturday. This whole episode has a definite ending!

We had lots of fun Saturday night hanging out with Miriam, Ryan, and Ava, and some of their friends. Miriam was right: Shoots is my new favorite restaurant. Yum yum. It's kind of like P.F. Chang's, except maybe not so full of itself. I prefer the atmosphere of PFC, I think, but I definitely like the prices of Shoots better. :) Ava was hilarious. She makes very funny cute little noises, kind of like a mix between baby and lamb. People keep asking us "Are you ready for this?", particularly when someone's child is being especially rambunctious. Well, no, we aren't, but good thing nobody gives birth to a one-year-old, huh?

Sweet Tooth and Stripping

I want to know why my OBGYN's office doesn't have candy. I mean, c'mon, even some dentist's offices will give you a sugarfree lollipop if you're good during your appointment. And they just stick things in your mouth. I really could have used a candy yesterday. For starters, they lost my chart (verrrry impressive) and then I had to wait, half-dressed, lying in a very uncomfortable position, for the doctor to come. So he could check my cervix (ow) and then strip my membranes (freakin' OW!). And I was SUCH a good girl. No swearing, no kicking the mean man in the nose, or anything. I think I deserve a lollipop.

As far as baby goes, things look good. Her head's really low. I'm about 75% effaced. If I haven't gone into labor by next Friday, they're going to induce me by the next Friday. So apparently, come heck or high water, I'll have my baby in two weeks.

Locked and Loaded

Now that I've discovered that someone actually reads my blog, it's much more fun to write in it. (Hi Miriam!) Tee hee. It also helps that I've quit my job and am sitting at home with nothing much to do but wait for the killer contractions to set in. Speaking of contractions . . .

Napoleon did something really good at his job last month, so his boss gave him a nifty bonus: "go take your wife to a nice restaurant, and I'll foot the bill up to $50." Eeeexcellent. The sad thing is, we had to do some serious thinking about how to spend that much. :) We ended up going to Chili's and getting drinks and appetizers, which we NEVER do, along with nice expensive entrees, and a dessert! Yee-ha, livin' the high life. My lower abdomen had been hurting all afternoon, but figured it was just a normal pregnancy symptom. We gobbled our yum-yum-yummy dinner, or rather, what we could of it: we ended up taking home four boxes, including the entire dessert. (I used to not be a fan of buying dessert at restaurants, since it always seems so expensive. But the last two times I've gotten it, the desserts have been HUGE and really really yummy! Plus, Chili's packed all the parts separately, which meant we assembled the dessert at home later so it wasn't all mushy and mixed together. I'm converted.)

So we headed home in our jolly, stuffed state. I don't remember what else we did that evening, probably because I developed a fever and chills, and basically felt like I had the flu. I know we went to the grocery store and the pharmacy, because we came home with a (pretty nifty) thermometer and found out I had a fever of 100.3 degrees. Yick. I was sent to get ready for bed, which, unfortunately, includes brushing my teeth. I should've known better. Goodbye, Chili's. I love my Napoleon. He insisted on doing the cleanup.

I slept probably a total of 3 hours that night, in 10 minute spurts. Ahhh, so restful. Napoleon went to work, and when he came home and found out I felt no better, he prodded me into calling the doctor, who told me to go to Labor and Delivery. Apparently, "constant lower abdominal pain and flu symptoms" is also known as "periodic contractions and labor symptoms." Oh. Good to know. They hooked me up to the contraction-and-fetus-monitoring-machine (which I would like to have one of at home), and when I could see the contractions on the screen, it was a lot easier to tell that the pain really was coming and going. Every 2-4 minutes. The kept me there for an hour, then booted me out and told me to come back when my contractions hurt too much to talk through. But first, they offered me morphine. Heh heh heh. Um, no thanks--I think I'll wait for the heavy-duty drugs until these contractions actually hurt. How's that sound?

So that's why I'm sitting at home, trying to figure out how to rearrange our stuff so that we can fit in the baby's stuff and the baby. My baby shower is set for Saturday, so I'm also trying to get the baby to agree to wait until at least then to make her first appearance. My parents are trying to get me to tell her to wait for another week, since they're on vacation all over the East and having fun. Napoleon is telling her to hurry and come out, because he's ready to hold the baby. I think I'll stick with Saturday. :)

Phil: Agent 003

I have a new car. Mmmmm. And it gives me road rage.

How, you might ask, do starving students afford a NEW car? Yes, new new new, not new-to-us. It had about 30 miles on it when we brought it home. Nice '07 Sonata, deepwater blue, with leather seats. I named him Phil. He's my graduation present from my parents, who are deeply concerned with the welfare of their children and therefore dangle the carrot of a new car next to those of parental approval, greater earning potential, and bigger smarternessness (oops, looks like I only nibbled that one). So, after three and a half years of intellectualism, I've been rewarded with my pretty car.

Napoleon is always very whole-hearted. We did lots of research about safety ratings, mileage, true cost to own, yadda yadda yadda. It's a good car. And it's got some REALLY good warranties. That was a big selling point for me, since our &^#@* Kia had barely lost its second-user warranty when it decided it was time to crumble to dust. I never liked driving the Kia much anyway, since it was a manual, and I liked driving it even less with the Check Engine and Airbag warning lights on.

So now we have Phil. Napoleon recently read an article (like this one) which said that people who name their cars are more likely to have road rage. I'm not sure if that's the reason, but something about this car makes me fiesty. I live in constant fear of my carport neighbors (who I'm not fond of anyway) dinging Phil's beautiful blue sides. I snarl at reckless drivers on the freeway. I nearly told off Br. Johnson after we gave him a ride home and he shut the door too hard. I have nightmares about teenage punks keying my car. And I try to beat everyone else off the line. This could be bad: what will I do when I have a little tyke who spits up, flings full sippy cups, and crumbles crackers in the car for entertainment?

At least I can enjoy having a nice clean car for . . . two more weeks?

I'm HUGE!

I have never felt so enormous in my life. Napoleon, sweet man that he is, tries to assure me that the baby is huge, not me. That does not make me feel too much better--she will, after all, have to come out of me. And, amazingly enough, it should be quite soon. We're into once-a-week visits to the doc. The visit before last, they told me they were going to test for group B strep, which I was okay with, since I'd heard that it doesn't hurt. And it didn't, so all is jolly and well, until the doctor says, "okay, now let's see if you're dilated." Uh, ok. He checked, informed us that he wouldn't even call it 1 cm yet, you're doing fine, see you in a week, and walked out of the room. As soon as he shut the door, I turned to Napoleon and said, emphatically, "OW!" How come nobody told me that getting your cervix checked stinkin' HURTS? Thinking about it later, my guess is that it's kind of overshadowed by the whole labor thing. And, ok, it didn't really hurt that bad, lest anyone think I've no chance of surviving actual labor. But still, they coulda told me!

I think I can, I think I can . . .

This is month 7--I think there's less than 60 days to go until my first due date. Yes, I have two, because apparently I can't keep track of my body well enough to satisfy the doctors. That makes things fun when people ask when I'm due: "Well, either the third or the eleventh, depending on who you believe." I think my Dad has me down for the ninth. I'm kind of enjoying being pregnant, which I'm sure disgusts a lot of women out there. No, I didn't have bad morning sickness. No, I don't have a ton of ugly stretch marks. No, I don't have many cravings for weird stuff. I think my big belly is kind of cute. The problem is that I'm growing out of clothes, but I can't buy more because everything we own has suddenly decided to fall apart in ways that cost lots of money. Oddly enough, I still feel okay about buying my husband new clothes. Maybe I'm not all that selfish after all . . .

I think I've given a lot of people the wrong idea about how I feel about the baby. Let me be clear: I'm excited. I think it will be fun in a lot of ways. I've always wanted to be a mommy, and now I am. BUT: the idea of being the place where the buck stops scares the snoopies out of me. As I said, being a mommy has been my goal ever since I can remember. That probably stems somewhat from the fact that I had such a good mom. So of course, now I'm having heebie-jeebies about whether I'll be good enough. Sure, I thought about this kind of stuff before I got pregnant, but now that the day(s) are so close, I'm realizing that this is going to mean a lot of changes. I don't think I realized, when discussing children with my husband, that I, not WE, will be parenting this child. Yes, he's a terrific guy, excited about being a father, willing to help me with whatever. But if he's at school and/or work all day, that's not going to help me a whole lot. So yes, I sound nervous when I talk about actually having the baby. I bring up lots of concerns. That's because I'm scared.

Looooong time no see!

Ahem. Yes, I guess it's been a while since I've posted anything. I'm now officially a college graduate, in that I've got my diploma. I haven't actually opened it yet, but it's in the spare bedroom in its happy little "do not bend" envelope, waiting for me to get a frame and figure out somewhere prominent to put it so I can rub it in everyone's faces. Buwhahahaha! Okay, so that's not a good idea. It'll probably go in our bedroom, actually. That's where our marriage certificate is, so I guess the paper stuff belongs there. We're planning on making the spare bedroom (which hasn't actually been spared--it's kind of the office/junk room) into the baby's bedroom. Because I'm pregnant. Uh-yup. Pretty weird. So I'm supposed to be using all my spare time to clean out that room's closet, but who really wants to do that? And I've had to get a job. Ick. It's really hard for me to get up early, since I feel exhausted and nauseated, so we'll see how this whole 8 to 4:30 thing works out. I'll only have to keep those hours for two weeks, and then I'll probably go to part-time, just because I don't think I can handle sitting and typing in a room all day. Right now I spend lots of time on the computer, but that's different.
Napoleon congratulated me on getting the job. He said it's a confidence booster. I won't deny that it's nice not to get turned down. Job searching is hard enough; I hate when people write back and say, "Thanks for applying, but you didn't even make the first cut. Ha! Loser." Is that really necessary? All ya gotta say, really, is that you don't want me. That's all! But I suspect I'm somewhat overqualified for this job. It's data entry, after all, so if they had 10,000 monkeys and could convince them all to sit and type at a computer for 8 hours a day, they could supposedly ditch me and all the other semi-human people who work there. They sure didn't look very sociable. Makes me wonder if they have any office parties. I'd bet they'd be real bashes.