Where we get...nowhere

After months of isolation from her team, my boss finally was re-assigned to her previous post...on Fridays. The poor thing is still expected to run a million task forces the rest of the week. So this is good news. Sort of.

At the very least, it enabled me to make a lunch date with her this week (from an invitation sent two months ago) to discuss my options after the baby. We started out talking about how the team had been in her absence, how she was doing, how I was faring, and so on. Then she told me I'd been promoted. All good, even great, things.

But then I asked about the potential for part-time work. Here the clear communication began to falter. My boss honestly explained that the company was undergoing some very large changes and that there was no telling if there'd be any open part-time positions (already quite rare) in six month's time.

The good news is that she didn't deny me outright because of my lack of tenure. The bad news is that I've no clear direction in which to move. I still don't know what I'm going to do, which makes it nearly impossible to go about finding daycare. And all the quality establishments and decent nannies have long waiting lists.

Will I be employed in 2007? Will I be at home?

It's funny that I'd find myself in this position. I'm a Type-A personality, a planner. I applied to one high school. One college. One graduate program. I set my sights and I move. But for the first time I have no plan. And it's scary. What does this mean for me?

Surprisingly, it hasn't sent me into a total panic. But it sits darkly curled up in the back of my mind whispering. And I feel more than a little lost in this place.

Holiday spirit? Or pity?

I woke this morning at 2:45 for a typical bathroom break. As baby gets bigger, my bladder has less room to spare. But instead of slipping back into sleep like normal, I found myself wide awake. For hours. I tried every position and relaxing thought but nothing worked. I only scraped together maybe another hour-and-a-half of sleep.

So this morning I stopped by Starbucks for a much-needed cup of decaf. I hoped that just that smidgen of caffeine would help keep my eyes open a little longer. One decaf non-fat peppermint mocha later, I began backing up the Jeep. Then, THUD. A little black Camry had parked illegally behind me, and I hadn't given it wide enough berth.

I pulled back into my parking spot and got out to look at the damage. A paint scratch on the Camry, with the Jeep sporting a crack in the paint on the bumper. Shit. Shit. Shit. I found a sheet of paper and wrote down my insurance information, waiting for the car's owner to return.

Someone must have gone into Starbucks and mentioned the fender-bender, because a cute young girl popped her head out and eyed her car.

"Is that your black car?" I asked. "Because I just bumped it. I'm so, so sorry--I scratched some of your paint. With this silly stomach I can barely turn around and I didn't give your car enough room. I've written out all my insurance information. I'm so sorry!"

Maintaining the most pleasant demeanor, she walked over to look at her bumper. "Don't worry about it!" she said. "It's nothing!"

"No. There’s a scratch and it's all my fault. Please, I've all my information, please take it."

"You've bigger things to worry about," she responded, motioning to my bulging belly. She smiled, shook her head at my offered paper, and turned around and walked back into Starbucks.

Stunned, I got into my car and began to cry. God bless that sweet girl. Whether holiday spirit or pity on how pathetic I must have appeared, she gave me a break on a day when I really needed it. May we all keep that attitude this season!

Just another holiday weekend

Was at the Emergency Vet's till 11:30 last night because there was blood in Cassie's urine. It seems she has a very nasty UTI and we need to be on the lookout for kidney stones. Poor thing. And poor me, who almost fell asleep in the waiting room.

Then we slug it home only to find a beheaded mouse in our office. Ketchum, it appears, has been doing his job.

So a $200 vet bill and mice. The Banker looked at me and in uncharacteristic calm laughed, "If it's not one thing, it's another."

We've been focusing on the saying: Plenty to think about, nothing to worry about. Maybe it's slowly taking hold?

So ill-prepared

Friday marked the 24th week of pregnancy, or six full months. And everyone in the family agrees that the time has gone by so quickly. I agree and disagree with this assessment--in many ways it's gone fast but there's still so much time to go.

And I'm going to need every bit of those four months. The Banker and I haven't had any success finding a nursery set--every set we love and ask to order has been discontinued. It seems the end of the year is the time for companies to dump their designs in preparation for the rollout of new design lines. Except those new lines don't roll out until late January--even later for some companies--which doesn't leave the requisite two months for ordering and shipping that we'd need. So we're torn between settling for a set that can get here before March or waiting to see what the new designs have to offer, even if it means a delivery date far after the little one arrives. (Which is not as drastic as it sounds, since the first few months the baby will be in our room in a pack-and-play or bassinet.)

And the whole registry thing? Nope. Not done that, either. Registering for baby items is a far cry from registering for a wedding. When you marry, you like the looks of something, you zap it into the registry. But baby items come with all sorts of inherent responsibilities and fears. Is it safe? Is it of the highest quality? Will it help in the baby's development? Is it necessary? And the ever-important: Will the baby even like it or will it only serve to piss off that little one?

To be honest, I'm not even sure where to begin. I've talked with a few moms and purchased a book, but still doubt I'm ready to enter the mammoth halls of Babies R Us. So I welcome any advice on the can't-miss items that simply must be on our registry. Please. I don't think I can avoid this anymore!

Hmmm...

You Belong in London

A little old fashioned, and a little modern. A little traditional, and a little bit punk rock. A unique woman like you needs a city that offers everything. No wonder you and London will get along so well.

What City Do You Belong In?

Stupid people

In my (relatively) short tenure as a pregnant woman, I've been repeatedly shocked by what people feel they can say or do to those who're expecting or have newborns.

Just yesterday The Banker and I were in the doctor's waiting room (for 45 minutes!!) and I watched as a young mom settled in a chair with her newborn in a carrier at her feet. An older, tackily attired woman across the way began to make conversation with the young mom, peppering her with questions that ranged from, "What's her name?" and "How old is she?" to more personal assaults that included, "Will you be returning to work or do you get to stay at home?"

The young woman looked exhausted--she had an infant, who wouldn't be?--but she weathered the onslaught kindly. The questioning continued for well over half an hour. At one point the older woman got up from her seat across the way and sat down in the seat next to the new mom, even though there was a diaper bag there.

And then I heard the line of questioning that almost made me scream. I didn't quite catch the first question, but the mom's response was unmistakable: "Her father and I broke up when I was six months along." That stupid cow! I couldn't believe she'd asked such an incredibly personal question. But rather than be ashamed, she continued on, asking, "Has he been in contact with the baby?" I watched the mom shake her head in an exhausted "no."

I wanted to jump in. I wanted to save the new mom from the terrible questions, but I didn't want to make a scene and further embarrass her. So I did nothing but sit there and fume. I imagined throttling the big-haired idiot in her too-tight culottes.

While I've never had to endure such extended torture, I've been on the receiving end of several idiotic comments from coworkers.
Are you sure you're only that far along? You look bigger than that.
Wow! How can you possibly get any larger?
Whoa! Those things have gotten really big!

Don't know exactly what to say to a new mom or mom-to-be? Here's a clue for the clueless:
* Don't mention my size. Tell me I look good, even if I'm not going to believe you.
* Don't ask if I'm coming back to work. I don't know yet and that's no shortage of stress for me. Plus, it's probably none of your damn business.
* Don't ask if I'm breastfeeding. Unless I whip out a nipple and offer you a drink, consider that a private matter.
* Don't assume there's a partner involved unless I mention one. Single parenting is tough enough without nosey assholes.
* Say POSITIVE things about me, the child, the world at large. There's enough stress and fear going around--don't spread more shit.
* If you're a stranger, don't ask 20 questions. In fact, limit yourself to two. Then back off. New moms are probably appreciating the short-lived calm. Don't fuck it up.
* If you're a stranger, don't touch me or new little ones without express written permission, a drug test, and a 10-day waiting period.

I realize that people most often have the best of intentions. I really do. But some common courtesy, respect for personal space, and thinking before speaking isn't too much to ask. Or at least, I hope not!

Secrets, secrets

One of my nearest and dearest friends has been hiding a secret from me.

For twelve long weeks.

Yup, it seems that my best friend is expecting her second child and is only a mere two months behind me in terms of due dates. Her big day? May 13, or Mother's Day. How she managed to keep the secret so long, I'll never know. She already has a red-headed munchkin who's not even 2 yet. And I thought my hands were going to be full!

So even though she's not a blog reader, I just have to say, Congrats Jess!!

Halloween Party

One of The Banker's many charities hosted a Halloween party tonight. As it turns out, they don't make costumes for pregnant ladies. The outfits at the store consisted of naughty nurses, slutty cats, naughty nymphs, and so on. Since I won't be showing my midriff this year, nor will I be tempting trick-or-treaters with a glimpse of my behind, I had to improvise. So this was my costume:



The get-up was a huge success, with many of the 2,200 party goers exclaiming how much they enjoyed it. Complete strangers asked to take my photo, and one drunken co-ed ran up and excitedly rubbed my belly and yelled how cute I was--much to my shock--before racing off.

A drawback? After hours of wearing the green mud mask, my skin has the slightest tinge of green in some areas. Just in time for the little trick-or-treaters!

Some icky business

When I was in college and working at the local paper, one of the crappy jobs I had was to write obituaries. It was really awful stuff, something that made me feel uncomfortable, sad, and depressed. Even today, I hate reading the obit section and rarely do so. So it was with some trepidation that I logged on to have my own obit written for me. And here's what I got:

'What will your obituary say?' at QuizGalaxy.com

Sick and tired

White spots on the back of the throat. Throbbing sinuses. Snotty nose. Sheer exhaustion. I was all ready to post about our level II sonogram complete with baby sitting cross-legged (seems he/she wants his/her gender to remain a mystery as well!), but now have no energy to do so. And there's so little I can take to run the infection out of my body. I pray this little bit of misery is over soon!

Where I've been...

I know! It's pathetic. I missed my blog-aversary post, my birthday post, and I've been uselessly quiet for awhile. So where've I been?

I've been to the doctor after a scare and was rewarded with the most detailed sonogram pictures to date: a living, beating soul within. Bent legs and a thumb aimed right to a tiny mouth. And the jarring, wonderful realization that there's a baby in there.

I enjoyed a quiet birthday, though subdued may be a better description. Such a different type of year and such a different type of celebration! And I wasn't in denial about my age change this year. I feel older.

I organized and hosted a neighborhood block party. When The Banker and I first moved into our neighborhood four years ago (before leaving within months for Chicago), a lovely older woman had a breakfast to introduce us to our neighbors. The dear woman has since moved on, so no one really had marked the coming of new faces to the block. Deciding to change that, I gathered a dozen or so neighbors for a fun potluck. By all accounts, I think it was a success.

And amidst this busyness, I've been trying not to feel overwhelmed by my options. Will I be able to work part-time for my company, or will I have to find an alternative work schedule somewhere else? What classes will I need to cram into my third trimester? And where to begin with all the choices in car seats, cribs, and strollers? To birth naturally or succumb to the allure of pain management?

I've been thinking about how nice a vacation would be, even though it's only been a month since we returned from England. There just doesn't seem to be enough time or energy to tackle all these issues.

The romance of pregnancy

With just days to go before my birthday, I felt the oddest sensation--much like a marble rolling just slightly back and forth for a mere second or two at the lowest point of my bulging belly. Now the question remains: Was it the baby moving or gas?

Sigh. Pregnancy is really sexy, huh? ;-)

Sad, but true

I've never before understood when people would sigh and sheepishly say, "I totally forgot it was my birthday." I mean, as a kid, you knew the months, days, and hours until your big day--the one spot out of the year where things truly revolved around you. You'd hinted at all the presents you wanted, decided on a party and guests, and even specified what kind of cake would be adorned with candles.

But as you got older, the celebration changed a bit. Fewer cartoon characters and more beverages. And yes, no party favors, unless it was one helluva hangover. But nonetheless, you were well aware of your birthday's place in the calendar, and festivities were appropriately planned.

Somehow this year was different. When The Banker mentioned my birthday next week I was caught off guard. I'd actually forgotten. How did this happen? It seems life has been so hectic, that the dates have slipped by unnoticed. Instead I'm focusing on things farther out. There's the Oct. 10th date--the date of my next big sonogram. And I'm waiting, desperately waiting, for the first movement I can feel. Now THAT would be a birthday gift! And of course, the can't-get-here-too-soon date that is March 10, or thereabouts, when the little one makes his or her big entrance. (Yeah, we've opted for surprise over painting the room blue or pink.)

By comparison, when people ask for gift ideas, the list is pathetically limited. No clothes. What fun is that when your frame is ever-expanding (too much for my mere four months, if you listen to my mom, who tells anyone who cares to listen)? No fun night out with drinks and friends. No energy and obviously, no drinking. Books are always a good choice, but few find that exciting. And the house needs work: a new dishwasher, oven and range, countertops. But that's a bit much to ask.

I guess part of me misses the excitement that birthdays held when I was younger. But I suppose my future is more about making sure that birthdays and holidays are memorable for a new generation. And that's not so bad. Although a drink sure would be nice. =o)

This and that

So where exactly did my vacation calm go? Yep, that holiday buzz has been replaced with the frantic pace of life. So where to begin?

Well, for starters Sister #1 and her husband made good on their pipedream of leaving town and abruptly did so yesterday. My sister quit her hotel job, her husband his teaching gig, and within the week the house was filled with boxes and general panic. I'm thrilled for them both--the two years The Banker and I spent out of town were wonderful, full of adventure and self-discovery--but we're sad to see them go. They were great fun to spend time with and it leaves me as the sole remaining daughter in town. What a loaded position that is!

Also, I began doing some digging at work into maternity benefits...and alternative work schedules. The Banker and I'd decided that after my three months of leave, I'd ideally go back part-time. Except the really big company I work for, while promising flexibility and employee-friendliness, apparently has some strict criteria for alternative work schedules. Specifically, tenure requirements I don't meet. It would help if I had a manager to go to bat for me, but my manager was just reassigned to another division and isn't due to return till I'm on leave. And the interim manager? She doesn't know me from Adam and even better, she's so close to retirement that she doesn't give a shit.

So where does that leave me? I still have a few people to talk to, in about two month's time, to determine if I really can't take on an alternative schedule. And then The Banker and I talk budgets, job options, and lifestyles. And I try to figure out what I want to do with my life. No biggie, right?

And to finish out the this-ing and that-ing, here are some more (requested) pics from our vacation...that blessed time that already seems so long ago.


Tower Bridge


Roman Baths in...appropriately enough, Bath


A view of pubs and towering castle in Scotland

Home again, home again

London was incredible. Bath, Lacock, and Stone Henge were beautiful. And Edinburgh was wet. Overall, it all was so invigorating, so refreshing, so much fun. It was really difficult to come home, though, and I begged The Banker for more time. Actually, I begged for a permanent change of address. Ever sensible, he made sure we made the flight.

But here's just some of what we saw:







I was so blown away by how rich the history was, everywhere we went. And the people were so kind, so accomodating. And even better? I felt great the entire trip. More later when I get caught up some more on my sleep, laundry, and such.

Two Days and Counting...

That's right, just two more full work days and then vacation begins! I feel like a kid at Christmastime. It can't come soon enough, and I know it will be over all-too-quickly. Few things make me out-and-out giddy, but travel is at the top of the list. (Followed by trips to zoos, amusement parks, a good adventure, furry creatures, nature walks, great wine and food, and a damn good book. Childish, huh?)

We managed to get tickets to see a Comedy of Errors at the Globe and Avenue Q while we're there. A day trip to Edinburgh and Stone Henge are also planned. Cross your fingers that all goes well--no travel headaches, stressful world events, or health issues.

I'm packing my crystalized ginger (thanks, MM!) and pray that a clear head, boundless energy, and a calm stomach accompany me on the journey. Here we go!!

Changes

There are so many changes this new, unexpected state has wrought on my body and my life in general. Today I start my 11th week, but I'm already firmly in maternity clothes. If you were passing me on the street you'd think I'd either totally let myself go, or I done got myself knocked up. My once-flat stomach is firmly, undeniably pooched. My gawd, I'm going to be a whale. After years of careful weight monitoring, watching the scale creep upward is truly difficult.

And my chest, never meager to begin with, has rocketed past the Ds into what I call the Es. For flippin' ENORMOUS. I feel like Dolly Parton, and every time a male head swivels, I feel dirty--instinctively putting my hand to my stomach as if to shield the baby's eyes from disgusting men. The Banker, not mincing words, has even taken to shaking his head. "They're huge," he sighs. "I'm not gonna lie."

And I can't even look at a piece of meat or fish without every ounce of me quivering in repulsion. Red Lobster commercials send me into fits. I want carbohydrates, thank you, and a never-ending supply. Bagels, pasta, mashed potatoes, yes, yes, and more. The organic produce I paid out the ass for? That's the sort of thing I vomit all over myself when I'm about two minutes from work, forcing a 15-minute drive home in my own spew to clean up and change.

Oh, and yes, that kick-ass trip to Peru planned for two years? That has to go by the wayside. I'm admittedly crushed. Despite my joy over our surprise, my family and friends knew what that adventure meant to me. We've promised ourselves to re-book the trip in a few years. If the travel company ever returns our funds, which is what that insurance thing was supposed to be all about.

The Banker and I did agree to take a sloppy seconds trip. We booked our tickets about two weeks ago...to London. I think the universe is laughing at me, denying my travel-starved body any sort of vacation. We’re slated to leave on Aug. 31st and are in wait-and-see mode. If there's another terrorist attack or plan uncovered, we'll eat the money and cancel. And I think I'll begin to climb the walls in frustration. That or eat a pound of mashed potatoes.

A tentative return

The Banker and I met at the doctor's today, medical records in hand, both a bit nervous. We'd reason to be. We were meeting my new doctor for the first time. And we were anxiously awaiting some answer, some sense that everything was going to be okay.

The new doctor was friendly, young, knowledgeable and very approachable. She went through the litany of precautions and concerns and admitted that it may be too early to find what we were looking for. Nevertheless, she took the electronic equipment and began circling it over my belly.

Then there it was. Finally. A rapid-fire heartbeat. 168 beats a minute. The doctor grew animated and couldn't help gushing, "So strong! This means your chance of miscarriage drops to one to two percent."

After the weeks of stress, illness, pain, and panic-inducing spotting, she gave us the hope we'd been waiting for. That this new little one may be sticking around for the long haul.

My Absence

It's been awhile, I know. I just haven't exactly known how to approach my blog given the latest set of circumstances. My life was turned upside down over the holiday weekend, and I'm spending the better part of my time accepting and trying to nurture this change. I don't yet know if it's permanent. I do know that if it is, it will forever alter my life. So I'm not ready to write about it. It's too new, too uncertain. But I'll be back, I promise. I just need a little bit of time, and if you have them to spare, some happy thoughts and prayers that all goes well.

Where things don't go according to plan...

Well...let's see. Since my Dad is in Canada fishing, he sent his most trusted colleague out to look at the house to give it a once-over before we made an offer. He thought the roof needed work, spotted mold in the basement (as did The Banker), and said that the house was shifting a bit (as does any house--but perhaps a bit more than normal for a home only 20 years old). He said he thought the house was overpriced and would need some work.

Then, The Banker pulled some comparison sales in the neighborhood as well and determined the selling price was too high. So we offered $40,000 below the asking price, no contingencies. The Banker said the owner seemed insulted at our offer (he designed the house and did much of the work himself...which explained why some of the crown moldings weren't flush, etc.).

So we're just letting our offer hang there, awkwardly twisting in the muggy air. So we'll have to see. The owner WAS asking too much. And because of how the house was situated on the property, it couldn't really be expanded, should we need more space. So the questions still linger. Isn't the house a little TOO close to the property line? Is it too small? Is there a better house out there? Or are we being too conservative in our offer? Will we regret playing hardball? The doubts have begun to creep in...