Uppercase Woman

Dangerous & Stupid

Yesterday was a bad day. I'm suffering from a horrendous case of laryngitis that refuses to go away (I've suffered from chronic hoarseness off and on my whole adult life, primarily as a side effect of acid reflux). Dr. Mama gave me a script for "the little purple pill" to help combat both my current reflux issue and the current hoarseness (I do believe it's caused by a lingering cold as well, cause Charlie has some of the same symptoms).

Naturally, my evil giant HMO doesn't want to pay for "the little purple pill" and would rather pay for "Class C drug that will kill the baby." I spent most of the day on the phone with Dr. Mama's nurse, my pharmacy*, and the evil HMO.

I ended up yelling at the HMO people, but because I have no voice, I had to yell while WHISPERING. So my charges of "You people are trying to kill my baby!" lost their power since I could only whisper.

Eventually, I decided the proper response was to burst into tears.

I felt pretty down after that, but a hot chocolate (and a 3 Musketeers bar) plus instant messaging with Moxie cheered me up immensely. Plus I registered for the fucking cutest Classic Pooh stuff at Target. That helped too. Although they are currently out of stock on the stuffed Piglet, which is sooooo not acceptable.

*I'm very excited about finding a fabulous non-chain local pharmacy. They think I'm weird, though, because I called them first and asked if they dispensed Emergency Contraception (ironically, the store is staffed by Catholic school girls, but so is every store in my neighborhood); when they said that wouldn't be a problem, I said "Great! I don't need any. But how do I tranfer my prescriptions to you?"

______________________________________

I thought a fun topic for today would be "Dangerous & Stupid." I've been discussing some of the things I've done in my life that would fall into that category with some of you via email. I thought I would list my top three things here. And yes, they are ALL from back when I was drinking...

1. When I was 15, I went with my boyfriend and FIVE of his friends to the x-rated drive-thru movie theater. We saw Insatiable II, starring iron-necked Marilyn Chambers. They had to sneak me in because I was underage (and yes, none of them were under 18). I hid under their legs in the backseat. I tell you, you have not seen a porno movie until you see an erect penis on a movie screen that is bigger than your house. Luckily, the guys all spent the whole time guzzling beers and paid me no mind. It could have been very, very bad.

2. That time I got in the car with strangers... Jesus, this one was bad. So my roomie Sara (no, not Sarah, the one before Sarah without the "h") and I went out drinking with this guy Joe, who was a buddy of my high school boyfriend and Sara had a huge crush on him. Ahem. As we left the bar to go back to our car (actually, my mom's car. Sorry Mom!), these guys in a souped-up old GTO or something pulled over and asked us if we knew where they could cop some pot. We were trying to tell them, but they were from the suburbs (Jersey) and didn't understand the directions. Next thing I know, Joe is getting in their fucking car. Joe was from New York City, and had no idea where we were, but he insisted we get in too. Which we did. So off we go to the Badlands. We finally find a dealer, who hands these idiot Jersey boys a sample... and the idiot Jersey boys take off and drive away. The dealer and his friends chased the car; one of them was actually hanging from the window. Shots were fired in our direction. The Jersey boys were hooting and hollering and very proud of themselves. Sara and I were screaming at them to let us out of the car RIGHT FUCKING NOW! The Jersey boy that was driving reaches under his seat and pulls out a sawed-off shotgun. Points it at us in the back seat and tells us to shut up. We both freak the fuck out and start yelling more intensely, at which point the guys slam on the brakes and open the door and begin tossing us out of the car. My left foot was barely out of the car when they drove off. Ironically, they dumped us right in front of where we'd parked our car. We went back to our place and drank my mom's entire bottle of Irish Bushmills (again, sorry Mom!). What a night.

3. Back when I was a slut (don't you love sentences that start out that way?), I rarely if ever went to the home of the guy I'd picked up. I usually brought them to my house, where I made them meet my dog. If she didn't like them, I made them leave (and yes, that happened several times. The guys were always shocked). But one time I met this Italian dude and went to his apartment because it was near the bar. We got there, and he had NO furniture. Seriously. None. A sleeping bag on the floor. I should have left, but I didn't. The guy turned out to be a dud; he was terrible in bed. So I left, and went back to the bar. And, um, I picked up someone else. Yikes. Those were the days!

So, what are your top three?

BORING!

So I feel like I've become the most boring person ever.

I did a little survey of my blog entries since I got pregnant. Here are the results:

38  entries about the pregnancy
10  entries about the pregnancy AND another topic
27  entries NOT about the pregnancy
_______________________________________
75 Total Entries

.
.
.

All I can say is, if it weren't for James Frey, the death of some pets, and George Bush, this would be a pregnancy-only blog. And as a former infertile, I just can't cotton to that.

But MAN. I thought being an alcoholic made me self-centered. But being a pregnant alcoholic I have become the largest navel-gazer in the universe.

I can't really help it; I mean, the pregnancy is on my mind constantly, obviously, and more and more since the baby started kicking me on a regular basis. It's hard to not to be so narrowly focused.

But other cool things have happened to me lately. And I keep meaning to write about them, and I don't. I can't tell you why, other than the fact that non-pregnancy things just drift into and out of my head with no staying power whatsoever.

Sigh. I'm getting bored with myself.

I need some inspiration. Should I tell you about the little girl I had a great talk with at church? Or what happened recently at a meeting that totally knocked my socks off? Or should I review that last couple movies I've seen (I keep forgetting to do that)?

To kick off yet another attempt to discuss non-pregnancy things, here is the latest meme from Sarah via Tommy Barbella...

__________________________________________________

Have you ever? Game:

Taken a picture naked?  Fuck NO.

Made out with a member of the same sex? Not really. A few kisses here and there.

Danced in front of your mirror? Yes.

Told a lie? Only every day for twenty-five years.

Gotten in a car with people you just met? Now, THAT'S a story...

Been in a fist fight?  Oh yeah. Beaten up by chicano gangs in middle school in Albuquerque.

Had feelings for someone who didn’t have them back? Um, yeah. Hasn't everyone?

Been arrested? Kinda. I got put in jail for a few hours as a kid to try to scare me straight after I stole a car at 13.

Left your house without telling your parents? Actually, no. My mom and I always lived in places that were too small for me to sneak out of.

Ditched school to do something more fun? Only once or twice a week in high school.

Slept in a bed with a member of the same sex? Yes. Sarah, in fact.

Seen someone die? Not a human, but I saw my mother's husband a few hours after his death.

Kissed a picture? Yes.

Slept in until 3? Those were the days...

Laid on your back and watched cloud shapes go by? Absolutely.

Played dress up? Sure. It was called my 20's.

Fallen asleep at work/school? Yes.

Felt an earthquake? Yes, once, a mild one in Albuquerque.

Touched a snake? Yes, I love snakes!

Ran a red light? Today?

Had detention? Puh-lease.

Been in a car accident? Lots of small ones.

Pole danced? No. But I considered in my youth finding one of those bars that specializes in plus-sized strippers (yes, they do exist) and trying it out.

Been lost? In what way?

Sang karaoke? Yes, but only cause Sarah made me.

Done something you told yourself you wouldn’t? Again, today?

Laughed until something you were drinking came out your nose? Not nearly often enough.

Caught a snowflake on your tongue? Oh yeah.

Kissed in the rain? Not nearly often enough.

Sang in the shower? Of course!

Got your tongue stuck to a pole? What, you haven't seen A Christmas Story? Of course not.

Ever gone to school partially naked? No, not by my standards. My mom might disagree.

Sat on a roof top? yup. Went to an awesome rooftop party once in an abandoned office building...

Played chicken? With a car, with a bike, on rollerskates...

Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on? Nope.

Been told you’re hot by a complete stranger? Yes. Usually garbage men.

Broken a bone? Yes, my left arm twice and my leg once.

Mooned/flashed someone? In highschool, on a trip to the Detroit Art Museum, I flashed a bus full of marines. Ahem.

Forgotten someone’s name? Yes, it takes me forever now to remember someone's name.

Slept naked? Only every single night. Except when I slept with Sarah. Heh.

Blacked out from drinking? At least once a week, back in the day.

Played a prank on someone? Yes.

Felt like killing someone? All the fucking time.

Made a parent cry? Only about a million times.

Cried over someone? Oh yeah.

Had sex more than 10 times in a weekend? Yes...sigh.

Had/Have a dog? Three... Hugo as a kid, Misty after High School, and Hammer now. Fostered a few others in there too.

Been in a band? Yes. We totally sucked.

Drank 25 sodas in a day? Change that to beers and now we're talking.

Shot a gun? A b-b-gun, and once a rifle.

Good Things

Lots of good things of late...

The return of Everwood. Two full hours of Everwood last night. My teen-soap-drama requirements are now overfull. PLUS it included excellent discussion about the role of Planned Parenthood and differing opinions about that role. Really AWESOME. And man-- Ephram is playing the piano again! All is well...

You guys. While I am overwhelmed and flattered by y'alls desire to get that link to my baby registry and buy me stuff, I feel a touch conflicted. I mean, it's not like I got you all anything! However, Sarah has offered to field all such requests and has some diabolical plan up her sleeve. So if you feel you must do something, email her and she'll hook you up with whatever it is she's doing. And I know at least one person sussed out the registry and got something already! Sneaky... before anyone else does that, I am no where near being finished with the damn thing and will probably change about a million things in the next couple weeks. So wait, I beg you! If you must do something, you can always give a donation to the Preeclampsia Foundation. That would rock my world too.

Don't send check to Cecilia Fire Thunder! As awesome as she is, Planned Parenthood is actually planning to NOT GO ANYWHERE in South Dakota  and is fighting the abortion ban tooth and nail. So sending checks is premature. Sorry about that. We all just got all excited, I guess. Instead donate to help fight the ban here.

Last but not least...my appointment today with the fabulous Dr. Mama.

A few weeks ago, I got some terrible news. I didn't publish it here, because I wanted to speak with Dr. Mama first...he's leaving the practice. When I first heard of this, I was told that he was leaving on June 10--three weeks before my due date! Panic ensued.

But while he is leaving, he's not going until June 30 (Sarah, you can stop being mad now!). So he will be there to deliver our baby.

Lots of new info today... my blood pressure is starting to creep up a bit (150/80 today), so he's increasing my BP meds slightly. My keytones are fine still, and I actually lost three pounds in the last few weeks (I think because I am no longer obsessed with orange juice). The baby sounds good, my uterus is the right size and everything there is good. Whew!

He also told me he doesn't want me to go beyond 38.5 weeks because of my blood pressure. Which means somewhere in the week of June 19th. Which excites me beyond belief, I must say (mid June sounds so much better than early July to me). He's also hoping for a vaginal birth, because, as he put it, he's "greedy." We talked about a couple of things regarding the birth (ack!) like the fact that I would like to avoid forceps (Charlie's right shoulder was permanently damaged by forceps used in his birth, and a woman I babysat for actually had her entire wall of vaginal muscles ripped by forceps, causing her husband to say she was too "loose" and start having affairs). Dr. Mama swears that he's absolutely great with forceps, so we shouldn't worry, but he will of course honor our wishes. Also, I don't want an episiotomy if at all possible (it's been proven over and over again women heal better from tears than from cuts--plus there's that creepy history of sewing women back up to be "tighter" to improve the man's pleasure--ick); he doesn't do them. So we're good. We told him our birth plan (GET BABY OUT ALIVE) and he agrees completely.

All in all, an exciting OB visit.

I know it would be a bit early, but we'd love the baby to come on June 6th. Cause then the baby's birth date would be 6-6-06. Heh. And when anyone asks what the kid's sign is, we'll teach them to do this...

26 Weeks!

I am shocked, I tell you, to be 26 weeks pregnant. Each milestone we pass--the first day of spring, viability--I just can't believe that I'm still pregnant. What a miracle.

I'm actually finding myself beginning to feel a bit, er, worried nervous anxious fucking panicked that there might, in fact, be a baby.

A real live baby. A screaming, crying, afraid-to-nurse-off-my-giant-boobs, pooping and peeing BABY.

Right.

Of course, there will also be a smiling, giggling, toe-sucking baby if all goes well.

I didn't realize how little faith I actually had in this pregnancy until I began passing these milestones and finding that I'm focusing less on the pregnancy and more on the actual BABY. I'm finding myself ever-so-slightly shell shocked (in advance) at the prospect.

Charlie and I decided on the spur of the moment to go on over to GIANT BABY HELL STORE not to far from our little urban-esque suburb. When we leave our little village, we immediately descend into what Charlie calls the "Mallish Hellscape" and because of the freakishly huge number of children we see people with (we think the large number of offspring people have is because we are actually in a very Catholic area, judging by the number of green-wearing drunks we saw on St. Patty's Day--oh, and the fact that there is a Catholic Church and school every two blocks around here) "The Hatchery."

I'm glad we didn't plan it in advance because I didn't have any time to worry about it. It was a rainy day, so it seemed perfect.

The first hurdle was that I absolutely insisted on getting one of those "expectant mother" parking spaces. The first one we saw become available was taken by people who were obviously NOT expecting (they were roughly 105) but I guessed that they mistook it for a handicapped space. After waiting a moment we finally got one, which felt like some sort of victory for this infertile couple.

We sat through the spiel, got our gun, and went to it.

Last time we actually arrived at the store with a clue. I guess I was thinking that it would be simple for us, since we'd done it before, but it turns out if you aren't having twins, you have about five million strollers and car seats to choose from and we were paralyzed with indecision. I tried to remember what I've read, what everyone has said. I think we made good choices, but honestly? Who the fuck knows.

We mostly did big stuff (including stuff NO ONE is actually going to buy for us--like the glider and ottoman for big asses that was $500 but GODDAMN it was comfortable). After about an hour and a half, I found myself beginning to fall asleep on my feet, which usually doesn't mean I'm tired but that I'm in emotional shut down and need to stop.

I think we'll do the rest on line rather than go back there. That many pregnant women at once isn't good for me.

It's so weird to act so--so--so fucking normally. I feel like I should wear a sign that says "Don't congratulate me, this pregnancy probably won't make it" when I'm in a store like that (even though I think this one is going to work out). It might stop the false cheerfulness of the store clerks and the knowing smiles I get from the other mothers (who, by the way, were all at least ten or more years younger than I am, and often had other children in tow).

Because I'm not like those mothers. I'm really not.

Sigh.

Anyway. It's done. Sarah's working on the shower (another normal thing) which is looking like it will be quite a party.

I can't quite believe all this is happening.

____________________________________________

On a totally different note, you've probably already heard about the absolutely kick-ass and amazing Cecilia Fire Thunder, the President of the Oglala Sioux in South Dakota. She has offered up her own private property--on the reservation--to build a new Planned Parenthood.

Because of course a Planned Parenthood on the reservation is beyond the jurisdiction of the new South Dakota ban on abortion.

Take that, fucktards.

If you are interested in helping, here are some snail mail addresses to send contributions (thanks to Bitch PhD for the links):

Oglala Sioux Tribe
ATTN: President Fire Thunder
P. O. Box 2070
Pine Ridge, SD 57770

or

ATTN: PRESIDENT FIRE THUNDER
PO BOX 990
Martin, SD 57751

For donations specifically for the Planned Parenthood clinic, make checks out to OST Planned Parenthood Cecilia Fire Thunder. General donations may be made out to the Oglala Sioux Tribe.

Art Horror

According to the pregnancy ticker Sarah has placed on her blog (because I am so not a ticker kind of gal), I have 99 days left in this pregnancy.

I do not understand how this is possible, as I have been pregnant SINCE THE DAWN OF TIME.

Ahem.

Luckily, I have good friends that want to distract me. Like my friend Nancy, who sent me this link.

And this one.

Now, please excuse me as I go and claw out my eyes.

Skin

Boy, that whole "False Advertising" thing is spiraling through the blogosphere, ain't it?

I asked Charlie what he thought about it; perfect man that he is, he was appropriately outraged. We talked about the fact that he was a natty hat-wearing, boozing, smoking, widely published poet when we met (he's had 200 poems appear in over 100 different journals), and now he's a baseball cap wearing, sober, non-smoking dude that's into photographing freight trains. Was that false advertising? After all, I married a drunk for fuck's sake. Should I get my money back now that he's sober?

It is true that I struggled a bit during his transition from poet to rail fan, but I adjusted. He's certainly accommodated me. After all, I was a slutty, smoking, boozing poet when we got together. Hell, I was an atheist! And now I go to church every week!

People evolve, folks. We do not stay the same.

Now, if he becomes a Republican, we'd have a serious problem. Heh.

________________________________

Just want to take a moment to say goodby to another pet; my friend Jo-Ann's dog Phelix has developed throat cancer and is being put down today. Keep her in your thoughts, would you?

Phelix was a beagle mix that was rejected as a lab animal because he didn't have the genetic abnormality he was bred for. Jo-Ann has taken him all over the country, and he's been by her side for fifteen years.

Phelix stayed with us a few times, and he was a delight. He and Hammer got along well, with one exception: they would eat each other's food and not their own for some reason. It was hilarious.

Goodbye, Phelix. Hope you'll have a great time in doggy heaven...

_____________________________________

So, I'm having a weird series of skin things at this point of the pregnancy. All the references I can find about skin changes during pregnancy seem to mostly discuss skin tags, "itchy" skin, stretch marks, and PUPPP.

I've got the skin tags, mostly on my neck. I've got the itchy skin (although lots of baby oil gel after showering helps). I came into the pregnancy with stretch marks, so I have yet to get more of those (the benefits of yo-yo weight gains and losses!). I don't, apparently, have PUPPP.

What I do have is the crazy-ass freckles. They are worst on my inner thighs. They spread further and get darker every day. My thighs look like a fucking giraffe. I also have them under my arms, and below my breasts.

My nipples are a deep brown. And apparently that's not good enough; the freckles spread out from the nipples nearly to my cleavage. If they keep getting darker, I'm going to have entirely brown boobs. Seriously.

Also, I have begun shedding. Everywhere. My skin is peeling off like I've been sunburned. It's freaking me out.

Lastly, and best, I apparently have a pox on my right lower arm (taken with my camera phone, so forgive the angle and poor quality):

It starts a few inches below my wrist and goes all the way around to the elbow. It's lovely, I tell you.

Pregnancy is mother fucking WEIRD, people. Seriously. What's next?

Jumble

I have about a million things I want to write about, so this post is going to be a big mess ranging from the cool to the mundane to the annoying to the devastating. Ready?

First off, I'm excited to tell you that there is a new pregnancy book out there that doesn't totally SUCK ASS! Isn't that awesome? A while back I got an advance copy of the new book Frankly Pregnant by Stacy Quarty with Miriam Greene, M.D.

Stacy Quarty runs the bulletin board FranklyPregnant.com and the doc is the gal that delivered Miranda on Sex & The City (apparently, she's not just an actress!).

The book is very much like a pregnancy blog, actually. She goes week by week journaling her second pregnancy, sharing all her symptoms and adding lots of anecdotes about her girlfriend's pregnancies. The doc interjects at various points her opinions and experiences as well.

Overall, it's a nice read. It's not as preachy and dumbed-down as "What to Expect" (gah, I hate that book), not as snarky and snide (and falsely confiding) as "The Girlfriend's Guide to Pregnancy," and more personal than "Your Pregnancy Week by Week" (which, incidentally, is the only other one I don't hate, although I'm not overly fond of it).

She does have a slightly annoying tendency to call hormones "horror-mones", but it's easy to ignore and she knocks it off as the pregnancy progresses. My only other complaint is that I would LOVE to see a book written about pregnancy that doesn't admonish women for their weight gain. She speaks frankly about her own (which does exceed the recommended amount) but at one point accuses a friend of eating like a "heifer" during her pregnancy (serious ug).

Overall, though, it's really pretty informative and fun to read. So there you go!

______________________________________

Random Note: This article explains a LOT of what the fuck is going on with the Sopranos. Thanks to Melissa for the link.

______________________________________

Meira asked me if I was going to write about the spat of blog entries that have sprung up saying that if you get fat during a marriage it's "false advertising" and the spouse has a right to be angry about it. It looks like the discussion originated here, then moved here and here.

I've just finished reading all the posts, and my first reaction is that NONE of the women discussing the issue are actually what I would call fat.  The post-initiator is thin and feels it's her responsibility to stay thin both for herself and her husband. The second woman is weighing in at a whopping 155lbs (I think my left leg weighs close to that) and used to be 110; she now feels really good about herself and is physically fit, but her husband finds her unattractive enough to not invite her to his office Christmas party (to which I say, compassionately, FUCK HIM). Tertia was discussing a friend who needed to lose about 20lbs, whose husband is bribing her by offering to buy her a whole new wardrobe if she lost the weight (Tertia was appropriately horrified at the bribe).

I feel, on the one hand, that I can't really have an opinion about any of this stuff because all of these women occupy a world I know nothing about--the world of being average weight.  I feel sad that they are all spending so much time even thinking about this subject when the world if full of other things to worry about.

I know that I plan to lose weight after I have this baby, but primarily because I feel like shit when I'm this fat and out of shape--Charlie, amazing fucking man that he is, love me AND wants to fuck me no matter what I weigh. I don't get it, but he claims it's because he thinks I'm hot. WHATever. If Charlie ever mentions my weight, he always interjects about his own (skinny as he is, he thinks he has a touch of middle-age spread) and mostly we discuss getting back into good physical shape without putting a poundage on it.

Truth is, as Meira pointed out in her email to me, not all of us have control over our weight (the first blogger claims that we can--in fact, she discounts the idea that a man getting bald is similar to a woman getting fat). I was fat when Charlie and I got together (I actually asked him if it was a problem, cause all the other women he'd been with were tiny and he said, "Well, I felt you up pretty good in the car, and WOW"), but the first time I ballooned up excessively it was because I was taking huge doses of steroids for a serious lung infection. Then it was comfort eating in the early days of sobriety. Then it was comfort eating after losing the boys. Between each "balloon" episode, I would manage to struggle and diet my way back down to my "normal" adult weight, close to what I was when Charlie and I got together.

Truth be told, I think dieting is actually the base cause of my fatness. I began dieting before I had my first period--at 11 years old. In the 26 years since then, I have spent at least twenty of those years dieting. And where did that leave me? Skinny and healthy? NO. Fat and miserable. Dieting is effective only for those that have fifteen or twenty pounds to lose.

My goal after this baby is to eat what feels good--not emotionally good, but physically good. I don't plan to diet ever again. I absolutely DO plan to spend a huge amount of time regaining my physical fitness. I have come to accept the fact that I really don't care about the number on the scale as much as I care about feeling good. And right before I began taking fertility drugs, I was in great shape (hiking, working out at the gym, biking and spinning, yoga, etc) and felt awesome. Looked good too.

So I guess, ultimately, that I wish that all women could come to this place in their lives--the place the second poster feels about herself. Loving and living in our bodies and enjoying our strength and grace, no matter what the scale says.

Ah, like that will ever happen.

____________________________________

It's 2006 and yet, this still happens. Saddest thing I've read in a while.

Viva la unrestricted access to abortion! Down with the forced-childbirth trend this country is taking!

Sigh.

Thanks to Bitch PhD for the link.

____________________________________

I think that is all. I'm sure I've forgotten something...

Monday, Monday **UPDATED**

Yesterday I went to a birthday party for Elise's daughter. Miss P is now three years old, and looked overwhelmingly adorable in a beautiful dress (which she totally knew and hammed it up like crazy). Lots of other kids were there, including both of my friend's Jo's kids, plus a ton of other kids from Miss P's day care.

All of the children there--and it seemed like there were a million of them--have been born since Charlie and I began trying to start our family. It's a humbling and somewhat sad thought.

As glad as I am that I am pregnant now, I still feel so much loss and regret from all these years of sadness and loss and struggle. I am looking forward to getting off this merry-go-round of misery that is infertility. I really am.

This baby better survive.

______________________________________________

We have another ultrasound today, scheduled for four minutes after the arrival of spring. That has to be a good omen, doesn't it? Hopefully the baby will share its sex today; it's my understanding that it gets harder to see the sex via ultrasound as the baby gets bigger because the baby has less and less room in there. I'm surprised how much I want to know.

______________________________________________

My stomach has grown so much in the last two weeks it actually seems rather insane. It now extends out further than my massive boobs, which is really saying something. If I have to go the full 40 weeks, I'm going to need some sort of mechanical apparatus to carry my stomach, like a backwards forklift or something.

The baby is moving all the time, and it's just so damn nice to feel it. I can't believe how reassuring it is. It's still the oddest thing I've felt. Charlie felt it once (there's a lot of flab for him to feel it through) and he leapt away from me yelling, "That is so WEIRD! It's like a finger inside poking at me!" Which was hilarious. Sarah felt it once as well; her daughter tried to feel it but ended up mostly shaking my belly trying to get the baby to move. Wisely, the baby held still.

__________________________________________________

There's been a lot of stress here. There is always the underlying pregnancy stress, you know, constantly wondering if something is going to go wrong, how to deal with it if it does. I've been breathing easier since we crossed 24 weeks, but Tertia's recent post reminded me that viability is not a guarantee. So now I'm back to feeling stressed.

The car is another stresser. It took Charlie four different trips to three mechanics to finally get a diagnosis--a failed wheel bearing. It was driving him crazy, and his reaction was driving me crazy (I'm not the most tolerant of his anxiety. I have issues. Ahem. And I haven't been going where I need to go to work on them much lately ). It's at the shop today and hopefully this three-week car drama will end.

The last thing on the list is Charlie's mom. She suffers from Alzheimer's, and appears to be getting worse. She's called here roughly 20 times in the last three days, usually about the same things. Charlie is amazingly patient with her, but I know it's wearing him down. Her home care aid hasn't been available and the extra burden on Charlie is almost too much (his mom does really well as long as nothing deviates from her routine--the care aid being unavailable, plus our car being at the shop, really screws up the routine). He's going to speak to her doctors about increasing her medication, but that has issues too (on a higher dose, she had panic attacks).

It's all just a lot.

______________________________________________

Last night Charlie and I watched the first hour of a video-taped birth class Chantal has loaned us called Labor of Love. The woman talks so fast, and goes from subject to subject so quickly that I found myself getting sleepy in self-defense. Hence only watching an hour of the five hour show.

But thank god I did watch it--because now I know what my uterus is!

Thank you, Chantal, for sparing me having to go to an actual class and be told what my uterus is. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

______________________________________________

If I find out the sex, I'll post it this afternoon. Don't hold your breath, though. I feel pretty sure this baby plans to keep that information to itself.

______________________________________________

On a non-Cecily note, anyone watching the Sopranos this year? Um, so do you also think it totally sucks?

**UPDATED TO ADD**

Ultrasound went great. Baby is looking really huge--to me at least. All aspects of growth were perfect. All is well.

The tech couldn't see the sex at all (at one point, the baby literally moved it hand in front of the groin area) but the doc looked and said, "I don't see any boy parts." But the tech says he says that to everyone, and he didn't see any girl parts either. So...we still have no fucking idea, but we're leaning 60/40 towards a girl.

All Is Well

Sorry I haven't posted--been busy at work and haven't been able to get the computer to work at home (my job has temporarily loaned me a laptop and I can't get the wireless router we got to work and it's taken me until today to crawl around on the floor looking for holes to run an Ethernet cord up from the basement--not like you care or anything, I'm just saying what's been up).

I'm fine, baby is fine, but things we need, like the car and the blood pressure monitor, and of course the wireless router/wireless card thingy, are all shitting the bed and not working. It's really pissing me off.

The car, which has been rattling ominously for a couple weeks (but only when Charlie is alone in the car, making him feel insane) finally began howling in agony and is at the shop. The blood pressure machine either freezes up on a low number or just gives an error message. When it does work, it gives insanely high readings--I got a 160/110 reading which scared the daylights out of me, but I'm sure it isn't that high (it's hard to explain, but I can tell when it's going to be high--my arm hurts more and stuff). We'll get a new one today and maybe check my BP at the drug store too.

Grrrr. I hate being annoyed.

Anyway.

It's been very hard to not update on the pregnancy this week, I must say. I'm grateful for my big work projects, actually--they've been a great distraction.

Last question I'll answer this week come from Maia who wants to know what I'd do with a BILLION dollars.

First off, I can't even fathom a BILLION dollars. I mean, we can barely afford to fix the goddamned car, so... But if I had that much money, this is what I'd do, in random order:

• Buy a new fucking car, probably an SUV hybrid
• Pay off all our debts
• Pay off my mom's debts
• Pay off Sarah's debts
• Hire Elise's husband to manage the money since we're clueless about it (pay him enough that he could pay off their debts)
• Give my church a huge endowment and a capital gift so they could fix things
• Give the poetry journal I help edit a huge endowment
• Buy Charlie a tourist steam railroad
• Buy a big house with a huge horse barn and then buy a horse for everyone I know
• Adopt at least two other dogs
• Give lots of money to the local Wildlife Rehabilitation Center (I briefly volunteered there, it was awesome to get to feed orphaned baby squirrels and stuff)
• Probably fund a couple local animal rescue groups
• Buy Charlie an old car made out of metal
• Create a foundation that gives grants to writers that have NOT gotten MFAs (yes, I have a prejudice against a lot of MFA writing programs--sorry)
• Travel
• Travel more
• Buy a modest house in the mountains near here
• Buy a house at the shore, probably in Delaware near Rehobeth

So, what would you do?

Baby update next week. Promise.

Sigh...

I'm still feeling sad about Mr. Cisco... Charlie had made up a song for him (and Sarah's daughter added verses) that we used to sing while camping and it's been in my head since yesterday...

They call him Mr. Cisco
He's a little freak
They call him Mr. Cisco
He'll be staying here at week
Mr. Cisco
doo doo de doo
Mr. Cisco
doo doo de doo...

Sigh. I'm done with grief. How about you folks?

___________________________________

So, I figured I'd work on answering your questions!

Jane asked what music I listen to. Well, I have to say one of the best things about growing up is that you get to listen to whatever you want and not explain it to anyone! It's awesome.

Mostly I listen to a local public radio station that plays adult alternative music (commercial free! I can give you the link to listen on line if you ask in the comments section). On that station I'll hear anything from Richard Thompson to the White Stripes to Judy Collins. You just never know, and I love that. This station is also very active in our local music scene which is awesome.

Other than that, I'm enjoying my new Dolly Parton CD, and Charlie and I are working on a karaoke version of "Jackson" by June Carter and Johnny Cash. I am really into Johnny Cash these days.

Rachel and Jennifer asked for more stories about Hammer, The Best Dog Ever™. Hammer, aka Bubba (we actually call him Bubba way more than we call him Hammer; also, Bubbaliscious, Bubbaloo, etc).

I found the Bubba six years ago (on March 1st) as I was driving to work one day. We have a rule; we do not stop and rescue animals that aren't actually injured (hey, with up to seven cats and a dog at some points, I had to stop somewhere). I saw Hammer coming out from behind a dumpster and I have never--NEVER--in eight years of vet medicine--seen a dog so emaciated in my life. In fact, I've seen dogs on that Animal Cops show that have starved actually to death that looked healthier than Hammer did that day.

I stopped the car, and called him. I was sure he'd be completely feral and run away, but he took one look at me and came right over with the sweetest look on his face. I gave him all the food I had--two ounces of cheese (hey, I was on a diet that week)--which he gulped down gratefully. I lifted him up--he weighed barely 55 lbs--and put him in my car.

I didn't know what we'd do with him; we'd lost Misty, the dog I'd had for sixteen years, just a few months before and were actually looking forward to being dog-less for a little while. I took Hammer to the nearest SPCA; they took one look at him and said he'd have to be put down because he was a pit bull. Then I took him to work and convinced a male colleague to come meet the dog (to make sure he didn't hate men). Hammer greeted everyone happily, although he was clearly exhausted, and was now releasing little cheese farts every few minutes.

I called Charlie and told him to meet me at the vet, and took Hammer to my vet. Marty, my vet, said Hammer was probably just a few short days from death. He was uninjured other than the emaciation. We got some cans of a mild but high calorie food and took him home.

Hammer was so weak that we had to lift him to take him outside or help him eat. It was so sad. But he ignored the cats completely, and just stared at us with utter devotion. Initially we discussed trying to find him a home, but by the end of that first week it was clear he wasn't going anywhere.

Bubba gained five pounds a week. When we took him for walks (once he got strong enough) people actually crossed the street to find out what we'd done to our dog. He looked bad for a month. Then for a little while he looked a bit like a boxer; you could no longer see his ribs, but he was still thin. At that point we were able to get him neutered (very, very important to neuter dogs--unfixed male dogs are nearly eight times more likely to bite. Plus there's that whole 35,000 animals a DAY are euthanized in the US because they don't have homes thing).

By the time we'd had Hammer three months, it was clear he was a giant. His chest swelled out until he looked like a barrel with legs. Now he's just over 100lbs (winter weight--normally he's about 95) and healthy as could be. The only evidence of his emaciation is in his front paws; he lost some muscle mass there permanently and now has "flat paws."

He came pre-trained; he was completely housebroken, and he knew "sit" and "lay down" and even "Get out of the kitchen!" We really lucked out.

His name came after we'd had him about six weeks or so. Charlie mentioned on a walk that Will Smith was on his way to becoming the new MC Hammer, and at the word "Hammer," the Bubba whipped his head around (his giant hammer-shaped head). We tested this many more times and it was clear that this was close to his name and it stuck. The Bubba thing came later and I can't tell you how.

So, that's the story of Hammer, The Best Dog Ever™. And I think I'll leave it at that and answer more questions later.

Oh--and tiny baby update. It's all good. Heh.