Here's that creepy baby ticker again...
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Nino is coming!
A+ Mama
The baby is due in two weeks. Two weeks! I can’t believe how close I am to officially becoming a mother. This is unbelievable! Because Nino is so close to being born, I’ve begun my weekly visits to the doctor. I went yesterday and found out that I am 80% effaced and a whole centimeter dilated. This pretty much means that Nino could be born before his due date, on his due date, or after his due date. Lovely. I was kind of thinking it would be anytime now. I've been kind of hoping that it would be any time now. I recently bent over really far to pick up a pencil at work. I've been worried ever since that, despite the reassurance from my doctor that I'm a complete nutcase, I squashed Nino's head. I need to meet this baby and see whether I've squashed his head or destroyed him in some other way. I need to meet him and find out who this little joker who's been playing around with my guts for so many months actually is.
I feel ready for many reasons. I mean we have all of the baby stuff. We have a plan. We are dying to meet the kid. But there are still so many things I wanted to have done by now. I mean I have all of these character flaws I meant to fix before El Nino Extremo Birth Extravaganza ‘08/’09 began. I even have a list, you guys. For instance, I am going to be a mother in approximately two weeks but I have yet to mature to the point of being able to take a dump in a public restroom. Can you picture it? I’m potty-training Nino. We’re at Target buying some pre-cut melon when he tells me he needs to go ploppies. I take him to the bathroom and he says he feels weird about going because there are people around and it is dirty, and going ploppies is something he prefers doing in the comfort and privacy of his own home. In order to prevent him from shitting his pants, I’ll have to tell him that when you gotta go you gotta go or else you’ll get diverticulitis and polyps and die.
I am already learning that one of the biggest parts of being a parent is being a total hypocrite. I am realizing that I can’t change my personality in order to be a good mom, instead I’m just going to have to lie a lot. I’ll start by hiding any of my report cards with an average lower than 3.9 (not that I keep my report cards or that there are many that fit that description). I’ll destroy all photographic evidence of me engaging in any of the following: public nudity, intoxication, chain smoking, bar fights, etc. I’ll force my friends to forget all unsavory tales of me and threaten Fran out of recalling the many objectionable phases I went through during our courtship including but not limited to the box wine years and the several months I spent beginning every sentence with “who do I gotta blow around here to... (insert "get some Captain Crunch","get a ride to the swimming pool", etc …). I’ll even learn to go number two in public restrooms, or at the very least, stop giggling when I know that that is what other people in the restroom are doing. That way, when I force my children to excel beyond mediocrity, when I forbid underage drinking and deem it punishable by groundation and limb removal, when I preach humility and grace over belligerence, and when I force my 2 year old to poo at Target, I’ll have something with which to back it---a flawless past—a history unmarked by sin. I can only thank everyone in advance for the continued support.
I feel ready for many reasons. I mean we have all of the baby stuff. We have a plan. We are dying to meet the kid. But there are still so many things I wanted to have done by now. I mean I have all of these character flaws I meant to fix before El Nino Extremo Birth Extravaganza ‘08/’09 began. I even have a list, you guys. For instance, I am going to be a mother in approximately two weeks but I have yet to mature to the point of being able to take a dump in a public restroom. Can you picture it? I’m potty-training Nino. We’re at Target buying some pre-cut melon when he tells me he needs to go ploppies. I take him to the bathroom and he says he feels weird about going because there are people around and it is dirty, and going ploppies is something he prefers doing in the comfort and privacy of his own home. In order to prevent him from shitting his pants, I’ll have to tell him that when you gotta go you gotta go or else you’ll get diverticulitis and polyps and die.
I am already learning that one of the biggest parts of being a parent is being a total hypocrite. I am realizing that I can’t change my personality in order to be a good mom, instead I’m just going to have to lie a lot. I’ll start by hiding any of my report cards with an average lower than 3.9 (not that I keep my report cards or that there are many that fit that description). I’ll destroy all photographic evidence of me engaging in any of the following: public nudity, intoxication, chain smoking, bar fights, etc. I’ll force my friends to forget all unsavory tales of me and threaten Fran out of recalling the many objectionable phases I went through during our courtship including but not limited to the box wine years and the several months I spent beginning every sentence with “who do I gotta blow around here to... (insert "get some Captain Crunch","get a ride to the swimming pool", etc …). I’ll even learn to go number two in public restrooms, or at the very least, stop giggling when I know that that is what other people in the restroom are doing. That way, when I force my children to excel beyond mediocrity, when I forbid underage drinking and deem it punishable by groundation and limb removal, when I preach humility and grace over belligerence, and when I force my 2 year old to poo at Target, I’ll have something with which to back it---a flawless past—a history unmarked by sin. I can only thank everyone in advance for the continued support.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Maxy in his younger days on a boat trip at Bear Lake. He liked to feel the wind in his ears.My brother Kees called me last night while Fran and I were in our birthing class. I missed the call but I returned it when the class was done and he had some pretty crappy news for me. It turns out my dog died yesterday. I call him my dog, but he was actually a family dog and he lived with my parents. I’m kind of a sap when it comes to dogs in general, even the stinky biting ones. I tend to believe that they are all little angels put on Earth to remind people to not be such assholes. They love unconditionally and they are the sweetest companions a person could ever ask for. Maxwell Bentley Warner was one of the all-time best and I’m broken-hearted to say the least. I feel bad for Kees having to listen to me ball my head off at hearing the news but by the end of the phone call, we were both crying pretty hard. It isn’t unusual for Beagles to live 10-15 years. Maxy was 12 so he had a pretty good run. Apparently he started having uncontrollable seizures Monday and on Tuesday it was bad enough that my dad thought it was time to put him down. He didn’t contact Kees or me beforehand to let us know Maxy’s health was deteriorating or that he intended to have him euthanized. I will assume he had a good reason not to although I wish he had. I would have liked to have been there. I feel content in knowing that Max knew how much I adored him. I spoiled him with lots of love and affection whenever I saw him which was pretty often these last few months. Rest in peace my little doggy. I’ll miss you.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Freud is saying "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, but I'm always just a dildo."Was it Sigmund Freud who coined the term “penis envy”? I’m just wondering because whoever did is a total dildo. Hello!!! I’m growing a baby in my uterus and what do you have?.... a couple of nards and a weener? BFD, dude! BFD. You go ahead and have fun NOT growing new life inside of your body. I’ll in the meantime marvel at the sheer awesomeness of my vajayjay. Suck on that, Freud.
Some of you guys might be thinking "I haven't seen Linds in a while. I wonder what she's been up to these days. I bet she's real busy bustling about town preparing for the birth of her baby. I bet she's reflecting on the days of her youth and writing memoirs. She is probably doing a lot of baking and knitting." It's actually quite the contrary ya'll. I've provided this little clip to give you some sense of what I spend my time doing these days. Me and this hamster know how to kick it.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Friday, December 5, 2008
If you don't have anything nice to say...
...you can shove whatever you do have to say up your butt and cork it!
Don’t share your horror stories with a first time pregnant you guys. Honestly. I don’t understand why it the first instinct of just about everyone I meet to tell me about their 48 hour torture labors, the horrible beyond belief back pain they suffered, their ass hat doctor who ended up actually being a janitor, or about how their friend's cousin’s roommate accidentally birthed her own lung. I don’t see how anyone could think this would be appropriate information to share with a pregnant woman.
I realize that childbirth is not a walk in the park for mom OR baby, you know? I mean a baby is making its way out of a vagina. I’m not expecting it to be like cracking open a peanut, or buttering fucking toast. Regardless of how unpleasant one’s experience may have been though, it is never a good idea to talk about it with someone who is preparing to bring their child into an already cold and cruel world. Duh.
I’d recommend not inquiring about a person’s birth plan-- i.e. “I hope you'll be using a whole lotta drugs!!!” This is none of your business. If the pregnant volunteers information about how she intends to give birth, act like whatever she says is the best idea you’ve heard in your entire life, even if she wants to do it on a mountain top with only Sherpas to help. Remember you are dealing with a pregnant person. Just agree. The pregnant is always right. Trust me. You don’t want to get smacked.
Fran and I have been taking a hypno-birthing class which is proving to be amazingly helpful and calming so far. The idea is to manage your own pain for as long as you can by using meditation and hypnosis along with special exercises and movements that help the baby find its way out and keep you comfy. We’re about half way done with the class and I have to say it’s been useful. Fran is going to be a fantastic birthing coach and I’m going to be an amazing baby pusher-outer. Even if we forget everything we’ve learned by the time test day comes, we’ll at least have had the experience… Hippie hypno-birthing class= Good times.
The horror stories I’ve heard so far have not terrified me, they’ve irritated me. I don’t know what to expect, but I do know that babies have been coming out of vaginas for a looooong time. It’s normal. It’s not a sickness. The way people talk about it you’d think there would be a huge market for sterilization. But there isn’t because birth is doable. It’s doable and I’m not scared. In considering all of the crazy and miraculous things my body has done already, A.K.A. growing an infant, I’ve become positive that I can birth one.
Don’t share your horror stories with a first time pregnant you guys. Honestly. I don’t understand why it the first instinct of just about everyone I meet to tell me about their 48 hour torture labors, the horrible beyond belief back pain they suffered, their ass hat doctor who ended up actually being a janitor, or about how their friend's cousin’s roommate accidentally birthed her own lung. I don’t see how anyone could think this would be appropriate information to share with a pregnant woman.
I realize that childbirth is not a walk in the park for mom OR baby, you know? I mean a baby is making its way out of a vagina. I’m not expecting it to be like cracking open a peanut, or buttering fucking toast. Regardless of how unpleasant one’s experience may have been though, it is never a good idea to talk about it with someone who is preparing to bring their child into an already cold and cruel world. Duh.
I’d recommend not inquiring about a person’s birth plan-- i.e. “I hope you'll be using a whole lotta drugs!!!” This is none of your business. If the pregnant volunteers information about how she intends to give birth, act like whatever she says is the best idea you’ve heard in your entire life, even if she wants to do it on a mountain top with only Sherpas to help. Remember you are dealing with a pregnant person. Just agree. The pregnant is always right. Trust me. You don’t want to get smacked.
Fran and I have been taking a hypno-birthing class which is proving to be amazingly helpful and calming so far. The idea is to manage your own pain for as long as you can by using meditation and hypnosis along with special exercises and movements that help the baby find its way out and keep you comfy. We’re about half way done with the class and I have to say it’s been useful. Fran is going to be a fantastic birthing coach and I’m going to be an amazing baby pusher-outer. Even if we forget everything we’ve learned by the time test day comes, we’ll at least have had the experience… Hippie hypno-birthing class= Good times.
The horror stories I’ve heard so far have not terrified me, they’ve irritated me. I don’t know what to expect, but I do know that babies have been coming out of vaginas for a looooong time. It’s normal. It’s not a sickness. The way people talk about it you’d think there would be a huge market for sterilization. But there isn’t because birth is doable. It’s doable and I’m not scared. In considering all of the crazy and miraculous things my body has done already, A.K.A. growing an infant, I’ve become positive that I can birth one.
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