I am a delinquent blogger lately, partially because my brain seems to be taken up almost entirely with “BABY BABY BABY” these days and I didn’t want to bore those of you out there to whom this would not be particularly interesting, and partially because I was working like crazy in March to finish up a bunch of projects so I could start my maternity leave. I did finish them, and am a lady of leisure until such a time as the baby decides to make her appearance, but I finished up my last project and immediately came down with a cold, and spent most of my available blogging time last week moping about the house, watching old episodes of Mad About You that I had planned to save for after the baby’s arrival.
On the “BABY BABY BABY” front (speaking of fronts, mine is HUGE) I was full term last week and am now in that uncomfortable, exciting, and terrifying no man’s land between fully-cooked-baby and fully-delivered-baby where you do loads of tiny laundry and try not to panic because in less than a month, there will be one of those baby things LIVING IN YOUR HOUSE. Mike is, of course, completely zen about all of this, and helps me off the couch and checks to make sure I haven’t gotten stuck in the bathtub and takes care of yardwork while I drink juice on the deck. I am generally astounded by how he manages to keep his wits about him in the face of what is about to happen, but this is not new behaviour for him and one of the many reasons why I married him (i.e. so that things continue to get done around the house while I sit on the couch under a pile of cats and daydream about eating raw cookie dough with a glass of wine on the side).
We had our first prenatal class last night, and in amongst all kinds of useful information was this little gem: apparently conventional wisdom in the 1980s recommended that a woman approaching the end of her pregnancy always carry a jar of pickles with her wherever she went, so that she could smash the pickle jar on the ground and alleviate any potential embarrassment if her water were to break in public. I … can’t quite figure this one out. Unless you were at a grocery store or a church picnic, wouldn’t a broken jar of pickles suddenly appearing on the scene raise more questions than it would answer?
The weekend that just passed was a long weekend, so we escaped for a couple of days to the Niagara area for what I guess you would have to call a “babymoon” even if you hate that expression, which I do. The hotel we stayed at, which we have stayed at several times before, was lovely, although I was woken up early on the first morning by our next door neighbours, who (I am trying to be charitable here) must have been deaf TV enthusiasts excited to find a quiet wing of a hotel in which to throw themselves into their beloved pastime with wild abandon. The only other problem with the hotel was that a lot of the hallways were lined with full-length mirrors, so I had no choice but to admit that I have finally started to waddle, but that realization was offset by the joy and relief of floating around weightlessly in the hotel pool twice daily, and the delicious indulgence of paying a nice lady in the spa to paint my toenails a ridiculous hot pink colour that I can’t stop staring at. (more…)
I have been finding Facebook to be an invaluable resource when it comes to answering the myriad of questions Mike and I have about this whole parenthood thing, and we have crowdsourced solutions to a number of topics, including whether a rocking chair is really a necessity in the nursery (verdict: it is) and how much time Mike should plan to take off when the baby arrives (answers ranged from a couple of days to actually going back in time to pick a different career so he could have the entire summer off with pay). Last night I posted an innocent question about laundry (namely, how such tiny creatures could produce the mountains of laundry I keep hearing about) and, at time of writing, there are now 18 comments on that thread, all dealing with poop in some way. (more…)
I have a dentist appointment on Wednesday afternoon. This appointment is the inevitable consequence of two previous appointments I cancelled at the last minute (the last one while trying to act all nonchalant while really I was choking back tears and wishing I had gotten the nice receptionist, the one with the soothing voice who never acts inconvenienced and never makes me feel bad about rescheduling) and I’m really going to go this time, I swear, because I have a chipped molar that could probably use some attention before it needs some sort of treatment I can’t even consider, and I want to make sure I get my teeth cleaned once more before the baby comes and I can figure out a way to use her as an excuse to keep me from their office for the rest of my life. (more…)
I had a long, stressful dream last night that I was racing through the mall, desperately trying to outrun Darth Vader and a small but ruthless team of storm troopers, all of us in pursuit of a diamond hidden in a painting. I got to the kiosk first, figured out which painting the code was referring to (a cheesy landscape featuring a lighthouse with an actual blinking light), dug out the diamond (which was, of course, hidden in the canvas around the apparatus that made the light blink), and escaped — just barely — with my life.
I … do not feel refreshed and rejuvenated this morning.
I came up with what I feel is a failure-proof business idea the other night, and I am going to share it here, and you are welcome to use it as long as you give me full credit and 75% of the profits, which are sure to be huge. This idea came to me as I was reminiscing about various massages I’ve had in the past, and thinking of how a massage always leaves me in such a perfect state of relaxation that when the massage therapist murmurs to me that our time is up but I can take all the time I need to get up and get dressed, I am forced to ignore her instructions and bound up almost as soon as I hear the latch click in the door, lest I fall into so deep a slumber that I completely forget to get up and get dressed at all and they are forced to knock on the door 25 minutes later, at which point I’d have to scramble to get dressed and slink sheepishly out to the reception area, where they’d have to charge me for an extra appointment because the room had been unavailable for the next client. (more…)
Mike and I just got finished making these cookies to bring to the New Year’s bash we’re attending later this evening. One of the major downsides of being pregnant is that it takes a lot of the fun out of baking, namely because eating raw cookie dough is now on the List of Forbidden Activities. I think I miss it even more than I miss alcohol, or good cheese, taking a hot bath, or going an hour without feeling some sort of stabbing pain in my ribs, so I’m sure you can understand my impatience to sample one of the cookies right from the oven. I managed to let them cool for a whole FIVE MINUTES and then wandered into the kitchen as Mike was moving the first batch onto a cooling rack. (more…)
I’m currently sitting on the living room couch, with Norton the Cat curled up on top of my legs (he likes that spot because it’s on the other side of my laptop, so he gets extra warmth from the heat being spit out the back of my ancient, overheating computer) and with a perfect view of the perfect Christmas tree. I think that whole process — donning warm clothes and ridiculous accessories, driving to the tree farm, finding the perfect tree, cutting down the perfect tree, loading the perfect tree into the back of our car, dragging the perfect tree into our house, and then decorating it and discovering that it really IS the perfect tree — might be my favourite part of the Christmas season. (more…)