Tuesday, August 26, 2008
I'm happy to report that Nino got a clean bill of health today. The ultrasound was at 9AM so I skipped my daily morning OJ in hopes that he wouldn't be so wiggly. Sure enough the martian was just floating in his little womb cave ready to be ultrasounded. It took the doc 2 seconds to find the thing he was looking for--a bubble in the tummy indicating the guts are growing normally. Woohoo! Nino has a belly.
Monday, August 25, 2008
This is pretty much how I picture Nino except instead of a branch, he's dangling from my pancreas."Hey! What’s going on out there?!!!"
Okay so this baby is moving around like a wild mongoose downed 6 slurpees. There is nothing comparable to the feeling of Nino moving around and kicking the crap out of my insides. The day I knew that the flutterings I felt, truly were my little martian moving, I was elated. It was after hours at work, and I was alone. Suddenly I felt the teeniest little tap tap tap. I stopped typing the email I was working on and sat completely still. There it was again TAP TAP. “Yeah that’s not coming from the fart factory” I thought. “That is my baby.”
I didn’t feel him again for a couple of days, but now it is a daily occurrence. He kicks all the time and a few days ago, Fran and I were lounging on our King’s chair. The King’s chair is our main comfy sitting surface. It isn’t quite as big as a loveseat, but it is bigger than a recliner. Anywho, there we were all squished together in the King’s chair and I tell him “hey Baby be kickin.” I didn’t actually think he’d be able to feel the kicks on the outside of my body yet, but he immediately put his hand on my belly to check. And you wouldn’t believe how hard Nino kicked. It was like he wanted to impress Dad. It went from tap tap tap to BAM BAM BAM! “Yeah, you feel that? I’m strong as hell ya'll!”
This of course was one of the most excellent of moments.
We had our ultrasound Friday. I’d post pictures but we only got a DVD recording and I’m completely in the dark about how to create stills from it. I’m sure you guys don’t want to see the whole damn thing either. I mean, I’ve watched it thrice and plan to watch it another 16 times, but I'm guessing it would be kind of boring for the folks who aren't actually related to us. If I figure out how to post a short version, I will. The ultrasound doc tells me Nino is growing exactly as he should and that all of his stuff seems to be developing fantastically. There are a couple of things I need to go back for since Nino, the break dancing little monkey, wouldn't stop long enough for us to check everything. I'm going in tomorrow to follow up. Hopefully I don't cave and accidentally ask the tech to tell me the gender. Fran won't be with me this time to keep me in check. Wish me luck.
Okay so this baby is moving around like a wild mongoose downed 6 slurpees. There is nothing comparable to the feeling of Nino moving around and kicking the crap out of my insides. The day I knew that the flutterings I felt, truly were my little martian moving, I was elated. It was after hours at work, and I was alone. Suddenly I felt the teeniest little tap tap tap. I stopped typing the email I was working on and sat completely still. There it was again TAP TAP. “Yeah that’s not coming from the fart factory” I thought. “That is my baby.”
I didn’t feel him again for a couple of days, but now it is a daily occurrence. He kicks all the time and a few days ago, Fran and I were lounging on our King’s chair. The King’s chair is our main comfy sitting surface. It isn’t quite as big as a loveseat, but it is bigger than a recliner. Anywho, there we were all squished together in the King’s chair and I tell him “hey Baby be kickin.” I didn’t actually think he’d be able to feel the kicks on the outside of my body yet, but he immediately put his hand on my belly to check. And you wouldn’t believe how hard Nino kicked. It was like he wanted to impress Dad. It went from tap tap tap to BAM BAM BAM! “Yeah, you feel that? I’m strong as hell ya'll!”
This of course was one of the most excellent of moments.
We had our ultrasound Friday. I’d post pictures but we only got a DVD recording and I’m completely in the dark about how to create stills from it. I’m sure you guys don’t want to see the whole damn thing either. I mean, I’ve watched it thrice and plan to watch it another 16 times, but I'm guessing it would be kind of boring for the folks who aren't actually related to us. If I figure out how to post a short version, I will. The ultrasound doc tells me Nino is growing exactly as he should and that all of his stuff seems to be developing fantastically. There are a couple of things I need to go back for since Nino, the break dancing little monkey, wouldn't stop long enough for us to check everything. I'm going in tomorrow to follow up. Hopefully I don't cave and accidentally ask the tech to tell me the gender. Fran won't be with me this time to keep me in check. Wish me luck.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
My mama told me, you better shop around….
My mom and I went baby shopping this weekend at Babies R Us---the warehouse of baby crap. It was pretty fun if not a bit overwhelming. Fran didn’t come as he was getting his hair cut—not short and sexy though, as he is still growing his lustrous Michael Bolton locks for Halloween--- 3 months from now…Bah!
Times have sure changed since I was a kid. I’m pretty sure when I was a baby, parents just bought a wicker basket and some diaper pins to prepare. Now-a-days you have to basically set up a home gym for baby. You have the bouncy seats, the pack-n-plays, the 76 stroller varieties, the baby-packers, and my favorite…the giant stationary baby circus seats (don’t know what theses gizmos are actually called---but they look important.)
Picking car seats, playpens, high chairs, etc., is crazy-hard. My brain just keeps thinking “kay, what crib is going to be the least likely to kill my baby…hmmm”. I have no clue where to start. I have to trust that I won’t buy the exact crib that will be recalled in 8 months, or the highchair that collapses on its inhabitants. My pregnancy brain prevents my logic functions from working and Trude is in soon-to-be grandma world so we weren’t a very effective pair. I didn’t purchase anything as I could not, for the life of me, make a single decision. We were completely distracted by all things baby, and the vastness of the baby-crap warehouse confused us. We needed to get the hell out, and fast! but when we were ready to go we tried to exit through the entrance. We seriously stood there waiting for the automatic doors to open for like 8 minutes before we realized it. Sheesh.
So if it is that difficult for me to find fucking crib bedding, imagine how difficult it is finding a daycare. After figuring in our incomes and the cost of daycare these days (for babies plan on between 750 and 1000 per month) we’ve decided it’s worth it for me to work. Because Fran’s schedule is kind of strange, he’ll be home during the days a lot, which is fantastic. The problem is, if you need a daycare, you pay for it fulltime. It sucks but it’s a fact of life. So even though the Martian will spend about 70 hours a month at daycare, we’ll pay for more than twice that. We could get a nanny for less, which we’ll probably do when we buy a house….IF we can find someone worth hiring who will work around our schedule…Bah!
Tomorrow is my first scheduled tour of a daycare downtown. If I walk in and experience any of the following, I’ll walk out:
Smell poo or pee
See dirty babies
See wandering Ninos
Hear incessant crying
See rotting foods
See dirty toys
See lazy workers
Smell poo or pee
Smell poo or pee
OR
Smell poo or pee
My mom and I went baby shopping this weekend at Babies R Us---the warehouse of baby crap. It was pretty fun if not a bit overwhelming. Fran didn’t come as he was getting his hair cut—not short and sexy though, as he is still growing his lustrous Michael Bolton locks for Halloween--- 3 months from now…Bah!
Times have sure changed since I was a kid. I’m pretty sure when I was a baby, parents just bought a wicker basket and some diaper pins to prepare. Now-a-days you have to basically set up a home gym for baby. You have the bouncy seats, the pack-n-plays, the 76 stroller varieties, the baby-packers, and my favorite…the giant stationary baby circus seats (don’t know what theses gizmos are actually called---but they look important.)
Picking car seats, playpens, high chairs, etc., is crazy-hard. My brain just keeps thinking “kay, what crib is going to be the least likely to kill my baby…hmmm”. I have no clue where to start. I have to trust that I won’t buy the exact crib that will be recalled in 8 months, or the highchair that collapses on its inhabitants. My pregnancy brain prevents my logic functions from working and Trude is in soon-to-be grandma world so we weren’t a very effective pair. I didn’t purchase anything as I could not, for the life of me, make a single decision. We were completely distracted by all things baby, and the vastness of the baby-crap warehouse confused us. We needed to get the hell out, and fast! but when we were ready to go we tried to exit through the entrance. We seriously stood there waiting for the automatic doors to open for like 8 minutes before we realized it. Sheesh.
So if it is that difficult for me to find fucking crib bedding, imagine how difficult it is finding a daycare. After figuring in our incomes and the cost of daycare these days (for babies plan on between 750 and 1000 per month) we’ve decided it’s worth it for me to work. Because Fran’s schedule is kind of strange, he’ll be home during the days a lot, which is fantastic. The problem is, if you need a daycare, you pay for it fulltime. It sucks but it’s a fact of life. So even though the Martian will spend about 70 hours a month at daycare, we’ll pay for more than twice that. We could get a nanny for less, which we’ll probably do when we buy a house….IF we can find someone worth hiring who will work around our schedule…Bah!
Tomorrow is my first scheduled tour of a daycare downtown. If I walk in and experience any of the following, I’ll walk out:
Smell poo or pee
See dirty babies
See wandering Ninos
Hear incessant crying
See rotting foods
See dirty toys
See lazy workers
Smell poo or pee
Smell poo or pee
OR
Smell poo or pee
Monday, August 18, 2008
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Do YOU know the date of your last menstrual period? Well...do you???
If someone asks me that question one more time I’m going to start flinging poo. Seriously, it’s like this standard-of-care question that every single medical person you encounter must ask 67 times each. Then, their grandmother has to ask you and then just for good measure their first cousin’s roommate must follow-up by email to determine the exact fucking date of your last menstrual goddamn period! We know the due date based on all kinds of measurements and tests and ultrasounds---January 7. Let’s move on with our lives now. The first 80 hundred times I was asked for the period date I explained that it was likely the first Thursday of April. I knew it wasn’t yet the weekend but that it was almost the weekend…I think. Sheesh. Then I made up a date and stuck with it, but now whenever I go to the doctor and the lab person, the FedEx guy, and your mom asks “So when was the date of your last menstrual period?” I say “Hmmm, I can’t really tell you that until you tell me the date of the last time you pulled your head out of your ass and checked my fucking chart. Kay thanks.”
If someone asks me that question one more time I’m going to start flinging poo. Seriously, it’s like this standard-of-care question that every single medical person you encounter must ask 67 times each. Then, their grandmother has to ask you and then just for good measure their first cousin’s roommate must follow-up by email to determine the exact fucking date of your last menstrual goddamn period! We know the due date based on all kinds of measurements and tests and ultrasounds---January 7. Let’s move on with our lives now. The first 80 hundred times I was asked for the period date I explained that it was likely the first Thursday of April. I knew it wasn’t yet the weekend but that it was almost the weekend…I think. Sheesh. Then I made up a date and stuck with it, but now whenever I go to the doctor and the lab person, the FedEx guy, and your mom asks “So when was the date of your last menstrual period?” I say “Hmmm, I can’t really tell you that until you tell me the date of the last time you pulled your head out of your ass and checked my fucking chart. Kay thanks.”
Monday, August 4, 2008
I'm not one of those girls who picks up the babies all over the place. It's not that I don't like the babies but I just can't hold them. When I say babies, I'm talking about the teeny teeny teenies. I'm talking about the ones that are so small and raisiny they could fit into a Kleenex box. They scare the bajezus out of me. Whenever I'm at a family gathering and there is a new peanut to behold I run for the hills because I'm afraid I'll be expected to hold it and then if I decline the invitation, everyone will find out I'm the freak of nature who doesn't like to hold babies. Once the kiddo's are 8 or 9 months old and they get all fat and jolly, they're so cute I could chew their little heads off. I have no problem with infants when they are a little less fragile. Otherwise I've been known to use the following excuses when asked if I want to hold the baby:
"Oh, I'd love to, but his skin could still rub clean off. I mean I'm just not comfortable with that liability."
"Oh, I'd love to, but just as I sometimes pee accidentally when I sneeze, I tend to crush baby bones as well. I feel a sneeze coming on, soooo....."
"Uhhh, nah. Babies smell fear, and fear tends to make them poo, so nooo. I'm just saving us all from a gigantic poo mess. Thanks though."
Naturally, I'm a little concerned about this whole "being maternal" thing. All of my wonderful friends and my baby daddy say that I'll take to motherhood like a fish to water; that with a little practice I'll get it down pat. I'm crossing my fingers of course but in the meantime thank goodness Franny is extra maternal. He is going to be an amazing dad. Kids just gravitate toward him. Seriously, he looks like a scary hippie RoboCop, but kids just love him. He'll just be walking down the street and hear "UNCOO FWANCIS!!!!" and then tons of poopers are stuck to him like little magnets to a giant refrigerator. I'm depending on him to do the holding, and the cuddling and the breastfeeding until I am positive I won't accidentally kill Nino. I'll change diapers. I'm not squeamish.
"Oh, I'd love to, but his skin could still rub clean off. I mean I'm just not comfortable with that liability."
"Oh, I'd love to, but just as I sometimes pee accidentally when I sneeze, I tend to crush baby bones as well. I feel a sneeze coming on, soooo....."
"Uhhh, nah. Babies smell fear, and fear tends to make them poo, so nooo. I'm just saving us all from a gigantic poo mess. Thanks though."
Naturally, I'm a little concerned about this whole "being maternal" thing. All of my wonderful friends and my baby daddy say that I'll take to motherhood like a fish to water; that with a little practice I'll get it down pat. I'm crossing my fingers of course but in the meantime thank goodness Franny is extra maternal. He is going to be an amazing dad. Kids just gravitate toward him. Seriously, he looks like a scary hippie RoboCop, but kids just love him. He'll just be walking down the street and hear "UNCOO FWANCIS!!!!" and then tons of poopers are stuck to him like little magnets to a giant refrigerator. I'm depending on him to do the holding, and the cuddling and the breastfeeding until I am positive I won't accidentally kill Nino. I'll change diapers. I'm not squeamish.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
What I lack in political savvy I make up for by saying "pubes"...
Just finished my daily lunchtime news perusal. I gotta stop reading that shiz you guys. It makes me nuts. Reading the news before Nino wasn’t nearly as disastrous to my mental health since I always figured I just had myself to take care of. You know, like if the end of the world came, I’d find a good view of the chaos on a mountain top somewhere with my favorite people and bid the planet farewell over Tequila. Now we’ll have the little one to worry about. Not only will we worry about his day to day life, but his future. We’ll have to teach him to care but stay joyful; to work toward change, but live well; to respect the planet the people and creatures, but refrain from becoming a stinky goalless hippie who follows jam-bands around the country trading Bob Marley tapestries for pot. This basically means that I’ll need to learn these lessons myself in the next 6 months to prepare for his birth.
Wish me luck.
Seriously though. I’m scared you guys. What is the world coming to, really? Did you hear about what George W. Douche did the other day? Well among about a billion other unsavory things, the genius concluded a meeting with other world leaders regarding pollution control and climate change by saying “goodbye, from the world’s biggest polluter.” Then he chuckled (“har har har dur dur dur dur”) at his joke and went about his day. He isn’t concerned about the health of the planet or that of the American people (duh) because he is pretty much counting on Jesus returning to Earth in a few years to save the super wealthy Texan Christians so they can keep being all prayerful and doing other Texasy crap while everyone else in the meantime will be sent straight to Hell for being poor. I’m not super religious or anything, but I’m guessing when Jesus does return, he’ll slit Bush’s throat with a spoon, force-feed him pubes, then kick him in the balls--hard. He didn’t have the pollution facts right anyway. China pollutes the planet way more than we do these days. Don’t pat yourselves on the back just yet though. China’s gotten worse but we haven’t improved in the slightest.
So long story short, I’m a little more nervous about the state of the planet then ever before and it's probably because of the Nino's pending birth. The president of the United States should be pretending things are improving and lying through his teeth about a plan, but instead he is blatantly joking about how nothing has changed or ever will. I’m hoping Nino is a Tequila person.
Just finished my daily lunchtime news perusal. I gotta stop reading that shiz you guys. It makes me nuts. Reading the news before Nino wasn’t nearly as disastrous to my mental health since I always figured I just had myself to take care of. You know, like if the end of the world came, I’d find a good view of the chaos on a mountain top somewhere with my favorite people and bid the planet farewell over Tequila. Now we’ll have the little one to worry about. Not only will we worry about his day to day life, but his future. We’ll have to teach him to care but stay joyful; to work toward change, but live well; to respect the planet the people and creatures, but refrain from becoming a stinky goalless hippie who follows jam-bands around the country trading Bob Marley tapestries for pot. This basically means that I’ll need to learn these lessons myself in the next 6 months to prepare for his birth.
Wish me luck.
Seriously though. I’m scared you guys. What is the world coming to, really? Did you hear about what George W. Douche did the other day? Well among about a billion other unsavory things, the genius concluded a meeting with other world leaders regarding pollution control and climate change by saying “goodbye, from the world’s biggest polluter.” Then he chuckled (“har har har dur dur dur dur”) at his joke and went about his day. He isn’t concerned about the health of the planet or that of the American people (duh) because he is pretty much counting on Jesus returning to Earth in a few years to save the super wealthy Texan Christians so they can keep being all prayerful and doing other Texasy crap while everyone else in the meantime will be sent straight to Hell for being poor. I’m not super religious or anything, but I’m guessing when Jesus does return, he’ll slit Bush’s throat with a spoon, force-feed him pubes, then kick him in the balls--hard. He didn’t have the pollution facts right anyway. China pollutes the planet way more than we do these days. Don’t pat yourselves on the back just yet though. China’s gotten worse but we haven’t improved in the slightest.
So long story short, I’m a little more nervous about the state of the planet then ever before and it's probably because of the Nino's pending birth. The president of the United States should be pretending things are improving and lying through his teeth about a plan, but instead he is blatantly joking about how nothing has changed or ever will. I’m hoping Nino is a Tequila person.
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