"Clay Sculpture Night At Prenatal Class"

Really, the title does say it all. Last night, at prenatal class (#3/8, we brought the snacks), we learned some pain coping mechanisms, some physiological things about the act of birth, and we made clay labyrinths.

Sorry, labORinths. (Their spelling.)

Now, I know some of the women in the class are embracing this wholeheartedly as a paradigm to encompass their experience of becoming a mother, but I sadly could not subscribe to the idea of tracing the labyrinth as a metaphor for anything. Yes, it was a little diverting. I guess I'm just not that New Age. I was filtering out the mumbo jumbo & having fun getting OCD with the clay. I let the man roll the clay flat & create the shape, but I was in charge of finishing. The man got the trimmed bits off of the edge & made a baby out of it. And also the occasional sotto voce smart ass remark.

I wrapped the baby in moist paper towel & the labORinth & the baby up each in saranwrap. Now they're sitting safely in the microwave, and we are so going to kiln those. I think the labORinth may have more of a future as a trivet than a device for labor.

The pain coping things were good though - there's lots of good information wrapped up in the emotions. What I'm finding most interesting is how everyone else seems to feel about the whole thing - there's a ton of FEAR out there, my goodness! And not just little fear, but big, monster hiding under the bed, world is going to END fear. And some of the ladies in my class should be really congratulated because they're taking steps to deal with & confront their fears.

Of course, scheduling an elective caesarian is also taking steps to deal with fear. And really, who am I to talk? I'm afraid of goldfish.

All right, the kid has just given me the series of kicks that I interpret as "You've been sitting up way to long, Mama, go lay down because I like the night life, I want to boogie."

Why so stabby? Well...

If I ever catch or hear of ANY of you not offering your seat to a pregnant lady, especially a pregnant lady with mulitple bags, on the extremely crowded early morning train, I will skin you alive with a pair of baby nail-clippers.

Which I guess isn't exactly stabbing, but still.

I love the color.

I really do. I've got the paint swatch in my purse, & I stop in to the baby's room at different times through the day to see how the color looks in different lights. We still need to get a mattress for the crib, of course. And a baby monitor. I'm mulling my options for nightlights too. And there's some furniture that I want to grab from Ikea as well.
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Some, perhaps all, maybe even those & MORE! things are scheduled to be accomplished on Saturday. I was leaning towards having individual after-work missions, & gathering things an item at a time. However, the man voted to "just do it Saturday". So we're going in for the mass item hunt - we'll be stampeding baby accoutrements over the edge of the nearest cliff, we will. I wasn't sure it was a good idea, but as a) he agreed to go shopping & b) agreed to go shopping, I'm just going to go with plan "Buffalo Jump".

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And of course, here is a picture of the baby's room - in the interests of keeping the suspense going for Mom & Dad, we've taken camera technology WAY back, & carefully removed the color from each & every pixel in this image. (Well no. The man set the camera to black & white. He actually showed me how to do it to, but given my brain's state these days, I'm pretty sure I'll just get him to do it again, as opposed to me getting lost in the maze of options & setting the camera so it only responds to Portugese. Or something.)
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But I digress! The baby's room, ta-dah!

I really do love the color. I like it in the morning, & in the afternoon - I like it in the evening, underneath the moooon....

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I haven't sat in the chair & rocked my belly yet though. I'm saving that for a day when I need a treat.

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Speaking of treat, we began pre-natal classes last night - we had worked ourselves into a frenzie of hippie paranoia about the whole thing. Oh my god, we said. Eight classes at two & a half hours each? My god. Initial portents were ominously drum circle - our first task (after name tags, which I was glad of - like I'm going to remember ANYONE's name) was to "take some pastels & do a quick sketch of what our image of labour is".

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I carefully avoided Pat's eyes, & thought "Crap! I paid for these! I signed us up! Crap!"*. We each drew pictures & then journalled briefly about what the image meant to us.
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Neither of us wrote "Strike ONE against team hippie." Turns out this was a wise choice, as we turned them in at the end of class.

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Thankfully, the whole thing improved, & my man even said "That wasn't so bad." It really wasn't. Stay tuned, I'll be sure to let you know what we do next week.

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I'm going to go & see if I can teach my serger Portugese. Actually, it's more likely to teach ME Portugese - there are languages in the manual that I don't even recognize. Could be Aramaic, for all I know.

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*-And today, I read a blog that made me feel MUCH better about my goofy prenatal class - check it out; she's a Brit & does swear some, be warned.

http://yetanotherbloomingblog.blogspot.com/2006/10/hippies-at-three-oclock.html

Holy Cat, A New Post!

Other new things (in reverse chronological order):

1) A new color in the baby's room. The man painted it today, & it covered - in one coat! - the noxious picky/mauvey/purple the previous owners had painted it for their little girl. Now, I'm not going to say what color we did pick... but it's very vibrant & I'm pleased by it. But don't assume we're having a boy just because we painted over the pink. If we have a daughter that wants that pink, then we would certainly support her in that. Of course, that particular shade of pink would require a direct request, pleading, etc.

2) New kitchen appliance - waffle iron. Screaming waffle iron, actually - I'm not sure where steam is escaping from, but it consistently creates a high pitched whistle that makes it seem more like I'm boiling lobsters that cooking waffles. I'm sure the waffles don't enjoy it any more than the lobsters, it's just that they're not usually so vocal about it.

3) The last trimester! Yes indeed, time flies when you're gestating. It's been going splendidly. I'm beginning to be exceedingly curious about the Fishy, & what color his eyes will & hair will be, & what kinds of personality trais she'll have from me or her dad or nowhere in particular ("My family doesn't do that!" "Don't look at me - neither does mine!")

3) New Year! Yes, it came, it went, we went out for a marvy supper where people kept missing the fact that I was pregnant. Maybe understable in dim lighting with a front view, but if you catch the side view in a well lit bathroom, it's pretty hard to mistake the bump for "Oh my, that poor woman has already filled up on breadsticks!"

Of course, you REALLY can't miss it in when I'm my pjs. After a big meal.


4) My new job - I am (apparently) the hostess of the All-Night Dance Party, starring Fishy Robinson doing his interpretaion of soft shoe tapdancing, the electric boogaloo, the slide, the shuffle, the charleston, and pretty much everything else, too.

5) Xmas! Xmas had many fabulous things, with most of my arm waving being elicited by the team of co-cahooters, Pat, & Sarah & Coreen. Sarah & Coreen got me a Kitchenaid mixer, & Pat got me a Pfaff serger!!! If you are even the least bit foggy about either machine & what wonders it possesses/can accomplish, please feel free to call & listen to me burble. Assuming that I quit making waffle batter or sewing polar fleece for long enough to answer the phone, that is.
Other good Xmas-ey things - the man got a router, with bits & books too. And he got a case of his favorite blueberry jam, too. So now I can make scones guilt-free ("Do you know how far we have to drive to get more of that????"). And I did. Using the mixer. And they were tasty.

6)My birthday - yes indeed, I'm now all of thirty years old. The kid removed the "drink to celebrate not being any wiser" option for my birthday, so I endorsed the "If one dessert is good, then two would be better, & three would be totally awesome!!!" plan. (Staggered over 8 hours, of course. With a fantastic meal at the Osteria de Medici interspersed as well.) The kid approved, although the next morning was quite quiet. I was a little concerned, & then realized awww, the baby's having it's first sugar hangover! Awwww!

7) The kitten's first Xmas tree - I'd forgotten that any cat's first Xmas is accompanied by sever beating until said beastie realizes that although that may LOOK like one big, sparkly cat toy, it is NOT FOR CATS TO TOUCH. No real disaster - & I suppose it is good practice for next year, when we will need to tie the tree to the ceiling.

And that's all that I can think of - and I'm hungry now, to boot. So, prepend the notes above with "supper", & that's me, caught up until 6:09pm.

Things That Came Out Of My Mouth Yesterday:

Whilst chatting with Lisa, my coworker, in the morning, I mentioned that Pat was out of town until Thursday afternoon.
L: "Where’s he going?"
K: "He’s driving up to… uhhh.. uhh.. um… Big town, *point*, Regina, no, umm."

Lisa is watching me as I flounder.

K: "Uhhhh...ah, uh..."

Lisa is blinking in disbelief.
K: "Edmonton! He’s going to Edmonton!"
L: "Oh my god."

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That afternoon: "Trick-Question" Lisa asks how long Pat & I had been together.
K: "Umm. Uh. Um."

L: "Oh my god."
She even tried to trigger my memory - counting Xmases, etc… nothing. I had to call Pat & ask him. 2003. That’s how long we’ve been together.

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I was also ranting to a coworker who has several children, & is in the "my wonderful grand-baby!**" stage of life.

K: "Why did no one tell me that pregnancy involves so much farting???"

C: *GALES of laughter*

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So. Be aware. I am neither as smart nor as tactful as I used to be. I suspect that the man has already noticed & is just not saying anything. Wincing, maybe, but not commenting.

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*Lisa would like to note that she was not asking trick questions. I have to admit that she wasn’t; it was a perfectly natural conversation. UNTIL MY BRAIN GAVE OUT!

**Lucky woman. She's more than paid her dues.

Hm. Interesting.

Well, today was Day 1 with the new bra. There was (thankfully) no Tony Sporano, Bettty Page, OR Sears Catalogue ca. 1954.

Instead, it put me in mind of walking somewhere as a very small child, hand in hand with my grandmother.

Why? Who knows. Maybe it was that feeling of unconditional, yet slightly old-fashioned support.

Or I could be crazy.

Time will tell :)

Trauma. Trauma trauma trauma.

Okay dad, you might not want to read this, because this post is all about bras. My bras. And it's a LONG post too. I wonder if this is part of becoming a mother - an extended post on bras is the first step on the slippery slope to discussing, with excitement, my child's stool. (And if you think I'm talking about furniture, I won't correct you. YET.)

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All right. Today's Traumatic Pregnancy Experience was bra-shopping. Backstory - my favorite bra comes from Victoria's Secret. I import my bras. Yes I do. Or I will make arrangements with people (my husband, friends in Edmonton, random travelers) to bring me home bras from their vacations. Early on in the pregnancy (like, 11 weeks?), I got a fave in a larger size on spec. I hadn't realized that I had been wearing that bra nonstop for the last, umm, while, until it clicked that I hadn't laundered it since it had come home from the store.

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Of course, my horror at that moment centered on the fact that I'd been wearing an item of clothing - an INTIMATE item of clothing - without washing it for at least a month. Maybe two. *shudder* Another step on a different slope, I'm sure... So I washed it.

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It wasn't until I was at work the next day that what I'd done started sinking in. Or should I say sawing in? My new favorite bra (NFB) was still damp, so I had just thrown on my old favorite bra (OFB)...

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The OFB had obviously been brooding in the basket system I use for my knickers. "Look at her!" it would think. "She's wearing THAT ONE again!" And while I cavalierly ignored my OFB's emotions, it began to hatch a plan. A cunning, fiendish, PAINFUL plan.

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At approximately 9 am, after I had been wearing the OFB for approx 2 hrs, it began to be uncomfortable. At 10 am, the OFB began to try to cut me in half, like some misguided & sadistic stage magician. At 11:45, I hightailed it to several bra stores, with well-endowed bra-wise coworker in tow, in the hopes of finding a new bra, a different bra, just some kind of bra that was not cackling in glee every time I inhaled.

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I didn't find any that day. I did try on at least 47 bras, ranging in price from the clearance rack $3.99 special, to the "I didn't even care, if it fits I'll buy it." Styles varied from skimpy to nursing to matronly. It was like the life cycle of the western woman, I tell you. And of course, nothing fit. .I realized that I didn't know when the Titty-Fairy was going to stop by again either. So I decided to buy a back extender, tough out the day, & not buy any more bras until the NFB was beginning to be uncomfortable.

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Thursday morning, I finally couldn't deny that yea, my cups were runnething over. And not just in a beguiling cleavage way. No, there was underarm boob-spooge too. .And so today, today I bravely set forth to Wal-Mart to find a new bra. Maybe two, one in black, one in white? Not too expensive, because really, that Titty-Fairy, she's a sarcastic woman on the OFB's payroll, & if I spent too much on the bras, I was guaranteed a growth spurt in no time. I knew that Wal-Mart would not be like VS, but that would almost maybe be okay - at least there would be less pink, less chrome, less expectations. I was doing pretty well with the whole endeavor - I selected several handfuls of bras, & with laden arms went over the change rooms. And then it all fell apart...

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Wal-Mart Lady #1: "How many items do you have?"

Me: "I don't know, there's, um, well..." The bras, of course, had wound themselves into a knot around my hands, the hangers, & themselves. It was like a Gordian knot with support & underwire.

W-ML#1: "You can only take six in the change room at one time. How many do you have?"

Me: "I have, well, I have, erm.." The bras were resisting any attempt to fall into rank & file to be counted.

W-ML#1: "Here. " The lady points me to a change room, and then stood over me to ensure that a) I counted the bras & b) I took no more than 6 in the change room. (Impressive, considering that she was at least a foot shorter than me.) The change room had no bench, no shelf, no welcoming hooks... The Gordian bra released one hand, so I tried to start counting them out. I was flustered, & had hoped that Wal-Mart would have some kind of counter I could set the bras, my purse, & my bag full of maternity panties on... but no. I tried to set down my bag, my purse, & my winter jacket. I tried to hang half the knot onto the tiny hook on the outside of the door, in order to free up, well, my arms? My ability to count & untangle knots? Of course, the hooks had been paid off by the OFB, and thus that knot of bras hit the floor. So did my jacket, my purse, & my bag. In a flush of irrational rage, I dumped the other half of the bras on the floor.

W-ML#1: "You use hook!"

Me: "I'm pregnant & I need a new bra & I don't know what size I am anymore and..." Of course, during this sentence, I had sunken to my knees to try & count the bras that I had just willfully strewn on the floor. Once I was kneeling on the Wal-Mart dressing room floor, the enormity of the moment hit me, & I dissolved into tears. (What enormity, you ask? I'm pregnant, I'M enough enormity at any given moment.)

W-ML#1: "Oh, oh, oh, are you ok?"

Me: "I don't know what size I am anymore... I... *sniff*"

W-ML#1: "It's okay, just take six in at a time." (Exit stage right.)

Me: "*sniff*. *sniff sniff*."

Wal-Mart Lady #2: (the heavy) "Is there a problem here?"

Me: (close to a wail) "I'm pregnant & my bra doesn't fit & I need a new one & I don't know what size I am & there are no hooks & I know I only can take in six and...."

W-ML#2, accurately assessing that I am not a violent threat, attempts to reassure me. "That's the great part about being pregnant, isn't it? Getting bigger?"

Me: *blink*

W-ML#2: "I mean your boobs, right? Getting bigger? Isn't that great?" (Yes, she actually said that. Out loud. In the change room. Of the Wal-Mart.)

Me: *sniff* "Yeah." (Same tone of voice that I used to use when listening to Mom put some trivial world-ending thing into perspective.)

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(Somebody hit that little dingy bell they use in boxing, eh? )

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Round one: I had 27 items in that first round. (The speed elimination round.) That was actually 31 bras, because I so counted the 2 three-pack sports bra as one item. Bras, 28 failures. Kourtney, 4 maybes.

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Round two: I collected 8 boxed bras, & another 9 hanger bras, in addition to the slip & the 4 maybes from round one. W-ML#2 was very sympathetic, & gently informed me that boxed bras had to be taken out before I could try them on. (I didn't even realize that that's an ironic statement until just this second.) She let me pile my "keeper" items in her little workroom, AND she let me take all 9 hanger bras in at one time! AND she unboxed the boxed bras for me, because "I was alone." She was right. I was alone, alone in the valley of the shadow of breast. Bras: 15 failures. Kourtney: 1 yes, 1 maybe.
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Round three: Further refinement. Attempted some nursing bras. (Wal-Mart has a WAY better selection that Sears!) Bras: 6 failures. Kourtney: 1 bra, 3 soft sports-bra type things, & an overwhelming sense of shame. Some poor Wal-Mart minion is going to have to put the rejected 54 bras back..So the bra - it's not too bad, really. (Realizing of course, that my standards have slid dramatically in the last 6 hours.) It's black, has wide shoulder straps, the ribcage is secure, features some lace, & my girls, well, they are not excessively bullet shaped. It is the first time in my life I've ever worn a bra that is even remotely like this, and honestly, it's still in its box, lying on my bed. I'm intimidated. My only comfort is the new bra is going to scare the bejeebers out of the OFB. I've got the mafioso Bettie Page of bras, I do.
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And with luck, I will be able to channel Bettie Page more than Tony Soprano OR the Sears Foundation Garment section circa 1954. I'll let you know.

Oh look, a computer monitor!

How shockingly similar to the rest of this week!

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It has been a busy week at work. Which is very nice, but after slaving over a hot computer all day, it does sort of short-circuit the desire to come home & hit the ol' keyboard again...

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The weekend was wonderful, chock full of meat & little girls. Actually, it was little girls, meat, little girls.

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Sound confusing? Well, the man & I whipped home to pick up one half of one cow & one half of one pig that Dad had cut up into assorted pieces for us. Every time I turn around these days, I find more adult questions that I know the answers to... "How do you want your pig done?" "Well, pork chops are so thick, roasts are so big, side pork please, & extra meaty ribs, trim is breakfast sausage." Amazing. So that was the meat.

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The little girls were A's - Z, D, & L were at Mom's, and yea, verily, they made a joyful noise unto the heavens. L was very huggy, in bewteen running around & around & around, D was quite taken with brushing & styling my hair (*wince*), and Z was kicking back all cool like. I think the man saw/heard them all & thought "Let's have at least six little people! So we can get twice that noise!!!"*

This one is still being quiet, volume-wise, but is starting to make his presence known. The occasional gentle little flutters are turning into more regular nudge-like movements... and out & out pokes can't be far away. That's okay, according to my little update book, she weighs one pound this week! Amazing! I know my belly has certainly pushed itself into the world the last couple weeks - I blame the get fat weekend. Or maybe the kid. I'm really quite pleased with my belly. Yesterday, I took my belly button ring out, which I'm sure relieves Mom - she winces every time she sees it. So now, I have a naked & expanding belly button.

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Pictures will be posted over the weekend - it's Pat's Xmas party in Edmonchuk, so I may even remember to get a photo of myself in my fabulous & pretty Xmas dress! With my fabulous & pretty husband! (AKA: the father)

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PS: Speaking of fabulous, the beef roast that the man did in the slow cooker was fantastic. Tender, tasty, awesome. D, can you please pass the good word on to Dad?

*-Ha ha ha ha ha.

Get down! Get funky with your fat self!

All right. My fat self, with a belly picture from Nov 8th - I swear, it's grown since then:
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Hm. Or maybe not. The picture, I mean, not the belly. I spent all of my patience today at work, resisting the urge to throttle ______ in the name of _____, because really, it's a bit far to expect that I will be contect with ______ after ______. Because of this, no belly picture today, but instead, the only picture that the interweb & my computer seem to see fit to upload.

One of my favorite photos from all weekend. Sarah working her rolling pin magic on gingerbread dough (batch 2). The fat weekend was wildly successful, chock full of sugar, spice, & everything nice. Also, some martinis for my girls. (And by that, I mean Liana & Lisa & Coreen. Not some reference to my chestal area. I talked enough about them a couple posts ago. And also, I think I will be talking about them again sometime soon. But not today. No, today is pure, clean, good old fashioned Betty Crocker. With some martinis. But not for me. I drank 8-10 glasses of water a day & juice & milk.)

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Huh. Still no luck with the images. Oh well, another day... Here, as a sop, is a brief & incomplete list of the fat weekend's production:

2 batches nuts & bolts (Donna's recipe, tweaked)

2 batches nutty choc chip cookies (Kourtney's recipe)

2 batches "dad's" choc chip cookies (Herman's recipe)

2 batches sugar cookies (Chatelaine ca 1965, slightly tweaked)

1 batch gingersnaps (Gramma Rouse's recipe)

1 batch gingersnaps (someone Sar know's recipe)

1 batch peanut butter caramel squares (Donna's recipe, but I suspect a creation of Satan or at the very least some nefarious Bond villain)

1 scone (mom's recipe, tweaked)

1 batch pecan praline shortbread (Bev the exec admin asst's recipe)

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Also, last night, window cookies for Dad.

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I feel like I'm forgetting something in the list, but after so many hours of bake time, it all blends into a bit of a blur. And speaking of blur, it's time to sign off! Later, with hopefully more pics.

It's Starting...

This is just the beginning.

The beginning of a wonderful, wonderful thing...
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The Get Fat Weekend: Bakin' One For The Team. When Sar & I do all of our Xmas baking.
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Stayed tuned for more images, descriptions, recipes, & reviews... (Incidentally, people at work still are coming up to me & saying "You're preganat? What?" in a sincere way.) And I've been scolded to eat more vegetables, but not that I've gained too much or too little weight. We'll be working on that over the weekend. Recipes include pecan shortbread, gingerbread men, sugar cookies, nts'nbolts, challah bread, popcorn balls, etc etc.

Awwwwwwwwww....

Is the baby cute? YUP!
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We know that for sure, and also - WE KNOW! WHAT THE BABY IS!!! (APART FROM CUTE!!) And Pat & I are so excited. Not that we weren't before, of course. Don't worry, I'm not going to spoil it by telling you over the Internet!
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PLEASE NOTE: My parents DO NOT WANT TO KNOW WHAT THE BABY IS. DO NOT SAY ANYTHING TO THEM IF YOU KNOW THE FLAVOR OF BABY.
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And now! To the adorable baby pics!

The above is the traditional 2D. Below is the 3D - it reads back from the surface, instead of reading the density of various parts. So above, the bones look white, liquid is black, etc. This is the baby's face.

It was really fascinating. And educational. I learned way more from our private ultrasound appointment (even discounting the boy/girl info) than at the other ultrasound. And now we have a video - of Sim (Symbiote) the Fish Robinson swimming around!
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Man, what an active baby. I saw it, I can feel flutters now, and they're growing more insistent. I'm not sure how long until the baby will graduate from "flutter" to "shove".
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And, like the last image from the ultrasound was labelled,

"GOOD BYE FOR NOW!"

a-hem. Presenting the cravings variety hour...

To open, may I present, Calendar Girl!
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I love, I love Old Dutch ketchup chips.
Yeah……. Ketchupy chips.
I love, I love Old Dutch ketchup chips.
Each & every chip in the bag.
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On Monday, well then there’s ketchup…
On Tuesday, well you know there’s ketchup too..
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And our headliner, the Police, singing Roxanne!
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Ice cream... You don’t have to put on your lid tonite,
You’re almost empty, you won’t go back to the fridge tonite.
Ice cream... you don’t have to put on your lid tonite,
Get all cold & frostburnt, you don’t care if it’s wrong or right.
Ice cream... You don’t have to put on your lid tonite,
Ice cream... You don’t have to put on your lid tonite,
Ice cream... You don’t have to put on your lid tonite,
You don’t have to put on your lid tonite,
Ohhhhh.
Oh so sweet & fudgey…
Even though you make me pudgy… I have to tell you just how I feel,
I’m won’t share you with another boy.
You know my mind is made up,
To lick the ice cream in the bowl up
Told you once, I won’t tell you again,
I’m going to buy another pint.
Ice cream..
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On the off chance that you were overwhelmed by my subtlety, I think I’ve finally had some pregnancy cravings. Ketchup chips, vanilla yogurt, chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream & frozen or thawed popcorn balls are all on the list. Also, porridge for breakfast & egg&bacon on brown toast for the second breakfast of the day. The man thinks I'm turning into a hobbit!!

Indolence is Bliss

At least, that's my theory. That also explains why there are no pics in today's post - I'm too lazy to go & get the camera.

Nothing too new other than the snow (boo!) & the little radiant electric heater that the man got me for the basement (yay!).

Also, we've officially reached the halfway point - and my belly still looks tiny, compared to most pregnant people I see. On the other hand, people are wearing winter jackets, so to look pregnant under a parka you really REALLY are!

The entire world seems to have turned into a kind of sociological experiment for me. Witness the gym - I've been swimming since I can't con myself into 'enjoying' the rest of the gym. Swimming lengths, however, I do like*. And the change room is such a wealth of parenting examples! There's the mom who's helping her little person figure out the numbers on the combination lock, the other mom who lets her kids pick whichever locker they want ("Remember, 94. 94.") She's got to have some fun after lessons, as she had three little kids, & there was no logical or sequential order to their choices. Those moms both seem cool, & their kids seemed to be having fun.

Today I ran into the first mom who gave me a cold prickly, which was surprising. I was just in the process of getting dressed, & while I will shower nekkid freely, I'm not one of those lounge-around-the-change-room-air-drying-my parts-for-hours people either. Once I'm out of the shower, I'm under my towel. Or, various parts of me are as I struggle to dry off, get dressed, & keep my sodden hair from soaking me, my clothes, etc. Today, I quit swimming early, driven out by the kids in swimming lessons. Who knew that a six year old built like a twig could make that much of a splish Splish SPLASH in the lane next to me?

Anyways. So I had showered, dried off, lotioned up my belly, & had gotten into my pants, & just stuffed my hair into a towel. I was pretty much ignoring the moms & tots wandering through. As I was struggling into my tank top (darn wet skin! always so sticky!), I noticed the mom at the far left of me take her son's face by both cheeks & pointedly turn his head away from me.

Now, I've enjoyed/been plagued by my share of prurient** glances, and let me say: this kid, who was maybe 4 1/2 or 5, was simply looking at me because I was the only thing moving in his line of vision. There wasn't even curiosity about my boobs.

And the mom's body language didn't say "now junior, we've talked about no staring in the change rooms", it said "that shameless hussy! look away! scarlett woman at 3 o'clock!". I felt sheepish at first, and then offended, and then perplexed. And also defensive - I have a wedding band, see? And a pregnant belly, see? I can't be a smoldering vixen of evil!***

And really, what's so wrong about boobs? Netween babies & grown men, I'd say over half of society is fixated on them. My only wish is that augmentation was not so needed/desired by society. And if the little boy is curious about boobs, why, he can go & find out where any healthy prairie boy should go - the Sears catalog.

Also, if his mother is so upset over female nudity in the female changerooms, then why in mercy's name didn't she use the mother/son changeroom?**** Are there more boobies in there? Bigger boobies? Boobies that make eye contact? Who can say.

All I know is: 1) she threw a little rock in my mental pond, & 2) I need to start thinking about this early: if the Fish is a boy, how boob friendly should his life be? Should I have a parade of strange (ie: not mine) boobs coming & going before he's three, so he's all jaded about them (at least until the hormones kick in)? Or should he only go to the pool with his dad, thereby only being exposed to man-boobies, which in my opinion are far more psychically scarring, as they have hair! Chest hair is fine, man boobs, whatever, but hairy man-bobs- aieeeeee!!!

Well, now that I've used boob just about as much as Dooce does, I should sign off & go & raid the Halloween candy. Nighty nooties.

*Once I get the ratted rubber swim cap on - aiee!
**Prurient - having, inclined to have, or characterized by lascivious or lustful thoughts, desires, etc. Opposite of prudish. Which was his mother.
***Except on weekends. And it's Monday today.

****Look what has happened to me!!!! I began a sentence with a conjunction! Horrors! Look away, Susan & Coreen!

Skulls, Mysteries, Pumpkins, etc.

Heya! So... Pumpkins, aka jack-o-lanterns:

L-R in order, Pat, Kourtney, Coreen, & Michelle.

And one more from Pat.
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Mystery?

Does my belly look smaller than last week? Pure optical illusion, if it does...
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Skulls?

I'm pleased to introduce our sweet baby. He looks like a skull because his bones are starting to calcify, & that reads better than soft tissues do. Here's a side view, with her little arm tucked up by her head...

And a back view - is that dorsal? Anterior? Posterior? Luckily, while I've never taken an anatomy class, some of YOU have, so there. Maybe you can see his zyphoid process or somethin'.

And yes, the final mystery - he, she, whichever the baby is, it's a shy & stubborn baby & wouldn't let us see. Doesn't she realize I'm going to be... erm, WE'RE going to be changing a lot of diapers, & he can't keep it a secret forever????

What I've Been Working On Lately

Interesting fact: if a newfie asks you "Who Knit ya?", there are not inquiring about your fabulous sweater/toque/scarf/etc... they're asking who your parents are.
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Because of that, I find amusement in contemplating how many kntting projects I've got in various states... scarves, hats, mitteny things, blankies, sweaters, bags... in varying states of contemplation, request, rework, beginning & completion.
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I (finally) finished Pat's sweater - it's nice & roomy for wearing to football games:

And I dyed the plain merino that I bought in New York:

And then there's this:

Last night, I realized I was behind in belly pics, but I waited until today, as we'd just finished a big turkey dinner. (I didn't want to alarm anyone when my belly suddenly got smaller...)

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Off to a warm (not hot) bath now!

Salmon to Watch Over Me

I used to send postcards to Sarah that were all from her imaginary lover, Raoul. Raoul was also the father of Coyotito, their imaginary child. Over the years, Raoul traveled around the world, professing his love from afar, & Coyotito got really good at soccer.

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The first postcard in the series was particularly entertaining for two reasons. One, the image was of a salmon in a bonnet pushing a baby carriage. Two, I sent it to her when she was living in E______ with her parents. Her mom would pick up the mail on her way home from the library, & Sarah would usually end up at home a bit later. One afternoon, Sarah got home to a slightly frosty interrogation.
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"And who is Raoul?" queried the mother of all mothers. (Or should that be the Mother of all Mothers? If you've met Sarah's mom, then you'll know what I mean.) (And don't get me wrong, I love Sarah's mom.) To this day, I still don't know if Sar's mom thought the whole thing is as funny as we did.

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Have you guessed the secret word in the above ramble yet? It's SALMON!

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We were in Salmon Arm for the long weekend, to join the rest of the extended family in celebrating Gramma & Grampa's 60th wedding anniversary. The date isn't actually until Nov. 19th, but at 59 years, 10 months, & 29 days, they've got me beat solid. As much as I try, I just can't imagine being married for twice as long as I've currently been alive. And I'm very happy to be married. It's just to be married for so long... wow. It was wonderful to see everyone, and we took some great photos, but they're all of family so I'm not posting them because I know I don't mind my pic on my blog, but who can say about anyone else's feelings.

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The other thing we took pictures of was the salmon run! It was pretty astounding. And, contrary to my fears, I was not skeeved out by the fish - they were fascinating, although the dead ones smelled very very very bad. And I'm not posting the photos the man took because I don't think I have enough strength to overcome the gravitational field of the couch when I walk past it to get the camera. Instead, courtesy of the intarweb, here is a picture of two salmon at the culmination of their run, when they quit running & instead swim very hard to stay in one place. The good looking salmon is the girl.

You can't tell? They're both girls, actually. The boys have these bizarre hooked jaws/snouts. (Can a fish have a snout?)

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Actually, yes, at least one can. The Fishy-Baby is now about the size of a large avocado (bigger than a pear), and his little nose is finished growing. He's working on toenails this week.

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I'm going to go & work on an experiment involving my gravitational forcefield joining that of the couch, & also possibly dessert.

AMAZING! GIANT APE DAMAGE REPAIRED!

Well, here we are still in NY. I only wish that we'd been there as long as it's taken for me to post about it... New York was so great.

I took lots of photos of Pat, but I'm really beginning to suspect that he doesn't like having his picture taken. This is one of the better of him, atop the Empire State Building...

Of course, he might have that look on his face as a reaction to the line up we were herded through.Obviously, I've got more patience (or experience) with lines - I'm smiling.

Although, it did take three shots before Pat got one of me not blinking. And here's the city, smiling pretty for it's close-up...

For New York, this shot is actually the equivalent of taking a picture of Pat's left eyebrow. I took a series of photos left to right, but can't stitch them together to post, so, like the Fishy video, you'll just have to wait!

NY, NY

Right! Back to blogging! I've been terribly lax, I know. (Not LAX, although I've been there too. Just not recently. And I bet Sarah is the only one who laughed at that.)
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At any rate, there has been a plague or virus or flu or virulent something raging through my coworkers, so for the bulk of the past week, I've been busy being myself as well as a couple other people. And today? Well, today I am at home, trying to sleep off the galloping crud & working "intermittently", as I phrased it in my email. I'd better not get really sick - yesterday was bad enough. Sinus/migraine things suck when you're drug free.

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Oh! And before I forget - Fishy & I had our first ultrasound last week. It was an early test for Downs sybdrome etc, & there's nothing for us to worry about. There is only one of him, & no, it was too soon to see if he's a boy or girl. He is however, an active little thing - waving his arms & legs, turning his head, dancing around, frustrating the ultrasound tech... It's like he was being stubborn. Now where would he get that from?
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Anyways, the next images are from NY - which I adored, loved, enjoyed, relished, & liked a whole bunch. We arrived Wed pm, settled into our little studio apartment, which had a fabulous location, full bathroom & kitchen, a/c, & great color. (The mysterious nocturnal swamp smell? Well, we blamed all the rain & taped the vent shut. No more smell = happy pregnant lady)

The apartment was very close to Times Square, which was incredible. I took a little movie of it, but a) I have no idea how to post a link & b) I don't know if you know how to view such a thing either. You'll just have to wait to see it in person. These pictures all start well above the head level, so you can't see how crowded it all was. Luckily, I just let Pat break trail through the throng, & snapped photos whilst drifting along in his wake.

Also close to our apartment was one of my favorite NY things - one of my favorite things lately. At any given moment, ask me what I want to eat, & odds are good that I will say:

PIZZA!

(I'm being responsible & eating all balanced & stuff & stuff. I just WANT pizza all the time.) We were also close to Central Park, which, on the map, looks like a little ocean of green in the middle of Manhattan. In reality, it is a LARGE ocean of green. Lots of trees, rocks, little lakes, pathways, etc. We saw a couple trolls under a bridge, but no dead joggers, which is what I half expected, from watching NYPD Blue, CSI New York, & all the other crime drama tv shows set there. There was also a sculpture dedicated to Lewis Carrol - and after a while in Central Park, it does seem a little bit like you may have fallen down a rabbit hole. The sounds of the city get completely drowned out.

I have a ton of other pictures, but I'm going to call that today's limit. Next time? Well, I will be illustrating exactly WHY my fears of fish (the gilly, finny, slimy ones) are well founded.

*Our Fishy has arms & legs & fingers & toes! How exciting! And he is almost the size of a pear, apparently.

Millinery (heart) Philly

All right, there was so much fun on so many days that we're going to do this a little bit at a time. First. Ten points to anyone who can define millinery, with a five point bonus for correct pronunciation...
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Need a hint? Here's sixteen:

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Milliner (mil-uh-ner): one who designs, makes, or sells hats for women. (Not to be confused with a haberdasher* (hab-er-dash-er), who deals with mens' hats & oddments.) You don't see hats much these days, so I just assumed that all the milliners had dried up & blown away, or whatever it is that mean little old English ladies do when they disappear.** This explains my delight when I found a huge selection of ladies' hats at the Burlington Coat Factory***. I was compelled to spend 20 minutes trying them on, & documenting the fun.
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I think, if the Queen mum were still alive & going to get remarried, this is the ostrich feather hat she would wear instead of a veil.
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This was a very tall, menacing hat. I loomed, in this hat. It almost made me into Samuel L. Jackson, I swear. Much too tough. This would be for one tough, but unhappy mother of the bride, or one tough mother about to make others unhappy.
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This hat? This hat for some reason made me think of a cupcake, with a protective dome to keep fingerprints off of the icing. Attractive? Well, not so much. But definitely chocolate.
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This was my favorite. Black, with the red satin band & brim, rhinestone... um, whatever... crawling up the side, & plumes of trimmed red & black feathers sweeping back & behind, & curling provocatively over the face. This, this is a hat that Bette Davis could have worn for the scene in Now, Voyager, where the transformation from frumpy cousin to stunning world traveller is revealed. (If only three months in the looney bin could do us all so much good.) Don't believe me & have no patience to watch old cheezy B&W films?
See what a great hat can do?

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Today: Hats! Tomorrow: I haven't decided yet!

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*I can't make this stuff up - the english language beat me to it.
**Wendy, the only milliner I've ever known, was a crusty old thing who would call people "Thingy" if she couldn't remember their name.

**Oddly, I saw no coats in the store.

We're Baaaaack....

And we're glad to be home. The cats were, amazingly, pretty good in our absence, although the kitten has figured out how to open drawers. This means that the next time you visit the house, there will be a new & challenging series of obstacles to get to the toilet paper.
Philly was way niftier than I expected - lots of cool stuff, fun people, cheap maternity clothes, & my GOD! The (free) food & the (copious & free) booze! I wasn't drinking, of course, but to avoid being swarmed by the older wives, who are currently experienceing baby-lust (kids are grown - no grandkids yet) we only admitted Fishy's existence to a few. Otherwise, I plead migraines. Pat had no such luck, & was stuck socializing & networking & all that jazz. All in all - I'd say Philly was a success.
New York was awesome! And amazing! And much friendlier & cleaner than expected. And tiring - we walked miles & Miles & MILES each day. Lots of rain there the first two days, museums, Central park, Broadway show, harbour tour, Empire State... took tons of photos.
More tomorrow... I'm going to go & enjoy being home with my husband!