Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Hands Off!

I got felt up today.

I suppose I should clarify: I received my first unsolicited pregnant belly pat today.

I patted the offender's belly right back and sweetly (and, surprisingly, calmly) said, "Please don't touch my belly." The patter is (and remains) a well-respected colleague and friend who certainly intended no harm or offense towards me or Starbuck. I was not angry, just a little uncomfortable and surprised by the behavior.

What makes people think that patting a woman's belly is acceptable when she's pregnant, but perhaps a bit too personal when she's not? Other body parts visibly expand during pregnancy, yet regardless of the contents of one's uterus, boob honking and grab-ass remain taboo, primarily because of their sexual undertones. However, isn't there something a wee bit sexual about a pregnant belly?!?!

Other than my own belly, I've only touched one other pregnant belly that I recall. The belly's owner was a woman who babysat me, and I distinctly remember her asking her daughter and me if we wanted to touch her belly because the baby was so active. I did, and I remember it being simultaneously weird and amazing. More recently, I witnessed one colleague ask another if he could pat her very pregnant belly, and she agreed. I appreciated his asking her first, but it seemed awkward and inappropriate, and not just because we were at work.

All I'm asking is that other people respect my personal boundaries. Unsolicited belly patting is not a God-given right, regardless of who you are. Pregnant women, myself included, already deal with a wide range of negative self-image issues; inappropriate touching drawing attention to those issues is both embarrassing and disrespectful.

Friday, November 21, 2008

Fashion Advice, Please?

I'm in the market for black below-the-knee boots. I've always been very adamant about purchasing leather "dress" shoes rather than FauxLeather, Pleather or any other synthetic material. Not that I have incredible fashion taste, but I can usually tell whether a shoe is leather, and I prefer the look and wear of leather shoes, and they tend to be made better. After all, although I'm not a big beef-eater, once you kill the heifer/steer/whatever for its meat, you might as well be German pioneer about the whole damn thing and use as much of the leftovers as is humanly possible.

Thus, I have never felt guilty about wearing leather.

Did I fail to mention that I'm cheap (in the German pioneer tradition), and that I find spending more than $100 on a pair of shoes a wee bit frivolous? Needless to say, I'm struggling to find a cute, low-heel, black boot even close to my price range. Plenty of synthetics in that range, but the cutest leather boots I've seen online are at least $150.

So, Internet, tell me what to do? Suck it up and buy a cheap synthetic, or suck it up and buy the real thing?

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

My Belly Button

My belly button has never been much of a "button," but rather, a deep, dark cavern presumably ending mere cells from vital internal organs. Deep enough, in fact, that I'm not sure I have ever touched the back of it with a finger. Out of sight, out of mind. Slowly but surely, my growing PG belly has ever so slightly nudged my Inny into The Light, and now I can touch its back wall. I've even been able to clean it (I'll spare you the yucky details - BARFO), and checking for belly button scum buildup has quickly become (an enjoyable!) part of my personal hygiene routine. Who knew!? I'm obsessed with it now, and I'm anxious to see whether it will turn itself inside out before Starbuck makes his/her arrival. Stay tuned.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Beaver Moon

As I pulled out of the parking garage this evening (thanks, Susan, for loaning me your prime spot while you're on maternity leave!), I couldn't help but notice the beautiful full moon rising in the east. GORGEOUS. However, C and I giggled uncontrollably when our local weather-guesser's graphic suggested that we enjoy the "full beaver moon."

I briefly contemplated giving C a full beaver moon. Fortunately for him, I'm not terribly agile these days.

And, yes, we do routinely store our minds in the gutter.

Instead, I Googled the term . According to Wikipedia, every full moon has a special name depending on the month. The Native American name for the November full moon is the "Beaver Moon," and in December we will experience the aptly-named "Cold Moon." I'm just glad to know our local weather-guesser is not a perv.

Sunday, November 9, 2008

Cake Wrecks

For stitch-in-your-side, cannot-catch-your-breath funny, I highly recommend checking out Cake Wrecks. Also, there's cake.

16 Weeks

Well, there it is. My belly at 16 weeks.
And seriously, the wall in our living room isn't THAT pink. I have STANDARDS, people. Let's see how much luck YOU have picking out paint colors for your new half-built home in 2 hours or less while your realtor politely hovers over the tense conversations between you and your Dearly Beloved. My advice: step away from the "Doeskin" at Sherwin-Williams. It doesn't photograph so well.

Saturday, November 8, 2008

My Magenta State

The Omaha World-Herald reports that Barack Obama won a single electoral vote in the 2nd District of Nebraska (Omaha area). Nebraska is one of two states (the other is Maine) that can split its delegation. I am surprised this story hasn't received more attention from the national media; in fact, CNN still shows all of Nebraska as a "red state."

Just doing my part to turn Nebraska purple...one vote at a time.

Friday, November 7, 2008

I'm an Anti-Dentite

I have always wondered about the dentist's role in a routine cleaning exam. You spend 95% of the time with the hygienist who cleans your teeth, and she usually tells you whether everything looks OK before the dentist arrives. She leaves, and you lie in the chair (at a 45 degree angle with your head way below your feet) for 15 minutes while the dentist does his dentist-ing. He eventually meanders in, reviews your chart, looks in your mouth, maybe dons some gloves (if you're lucky) to poke you in the gums with a sharp instrument, declares you clean, and promises to see you in 6 months. His "exam" (yep, those are Air Quotes) generally takes 2 minutes or less.

Today, however, was an exception for me, as the dentist wasn't even in the office (at least I knew this before the appointment), and thus, I received no half-assed cursory exam...which begs the question - what do dentists do? Granted, I've had some cavaties filled and a few teeth pulled, and the dentist is the one administering the novocaine, operating the drill, or wielding the pliers, but you can't tell me they spend ALL of their time every day filling cavaties and pulling teeth. I always had to go to a "special" dentist for braces and wisdom teeth, so we know the regular dentists aren't spending their time on those tasks.

Maybe I'm just in incredible oral health, so tell me, what does your dentist do?

Monday, November 3, 2008

Wild Ride

When I introduced you to Starbuck (that's the temporary name we've given Baby B), I had high hopes of regularly regaling you with fascinating stories and commentary on pregnancy. Instead, you've gotten spotty posts at best and unfortunate mental images of shirt strings in butt cracks. While I admire Emily for her second annual commitment to NaBloPoMo (although, granted, not everyone needs a distraction from their dissertation), I simply lack the energy and creativity to participate this year.

So far, pregnancy has been pretty boring (no complaints here). During the first trimester, I had just about every symptom in the book (except for pica), just not at the same time. Some have persisted, some have waned, but aside from the hunger, those that have persisted are not particularly blogworthy (really...constipation is uncomfortable for all of us). Sharing the news with family and friends was great fun, but it's old news now. Ultrasounds are fascinating, but the last one is nearly a month old, and given the amount of growth we saw between the 9-week ultrasound and the 12-week ultrasound, it's hard to imagine what Starbuck might look like in a 15ish-week ultrasound, and we don't have another one scheduled until mid-December. I'm sure the kiddo is moving around in there, but he/she hasn't thrown any obvious jabs to the kidneys, so I'm probably mistaking the Miracle of Life for gas.

Funny...C was just reading the first sentence of the previous paragraph and he laughed out loud and said, "what about the kitchen floor and the crying on Friday night?" And I said, "well, I'm about to get there." So here I am...with the boundless fluctuating hormones (you think the stock market is bad...ha!). This story is only BARELY funny today.

All day Friday I had a headache. I had a meeting over lunch, so grabbing some Tylenol from home was out of the question. The first aid kits at work were stocked with oodles of aspirin and ibuprofen, but no Tylenol. I finally resorted to drinking a Dr. Pepper midafternoon, hoping the caffeine would tide me over until I got home (it only kinda worked). Once home, I decided to take a nap (with Tylenol!) until it was time to turn on the lights for trick-or-treaters (6:30ish). At 6:15 (no exterior lights on), some dumbass kid and his dad rang the doorbell (did I mention the sun was still shining?) and woke me up. No candy for you!

At that point in the evening, my head still hurt, and I made the executive decision to forgo celebrating Halloween with the local ghouls and goblins. I COULD NOT DEAL. We turned off the living room lights, and I crept to the kitchen for supper. Although hungry, nothing really appealed to me. I finally decided on a bowl of Raisin Bran. I poured the cereal, spread a teensy-weensy bit of sugar on top, and reached into the refrigerator...only to find that WE. WERE. OUT. OF. MILK.

I fell to the floor, sobbing in agony and hunger. NO MILK. How could I go on?

C finally came downstairs after an ETERNITY to find me still sobbing uncontrollably. Although my memory is hazy, I believe our conversation went something like this (I'm sure C's version of events is different than mine):

C: What's wrong?
Me: We're [gasp] out of [snort] MILK...[wail...]
C: Do you want me to go to the store to buy some milk?
Me: NOOO. I'm [sniffle] hungry nowwww...[more uncontrollable sobbing]
C: Kimberly. LOOK AT ME. You need to look at me if we're going to deal with this logically.

The sobbing intensifies exponentially. I hide my face.

C: [panicked] Tell me what to do. I'll do whatever you tell me to do.

We eventually agreed that he could heat up a can of soup for my dinner. I spent the rest of the evening in bed, alternating between crying about how pathetic I am and reading a new pregnancy reference book. Undoubtedly, much of the evening's events were inextricably tied to the fact that I slept very little the week before (waking at 2am one night; peeing every 2 hours another night; struggling with my new body pillow several nights). I am happy to report that I got a great night's sleep on Saturday/Sunday (that extra hour helped) bolstered by a 2-hour nap yesterday. Even better - I felt great today! Woo hoo!

Bottom line: the hormones appear to be back in whack...for now, anyway.

Snaps to Soul Fusion!

I'm a winner! Woo hoo!

I urge you to check out Alyssa's blog - 10019 Musings. While I don't know Alyssa in real life (which implies that the blogosphere is not real, and now I'm faced with too many existential questions), I greatly enjoy keeping up with her life in New York City. Like me, she's an attorney, though unlike me, it seems she actually has been inside a courtroom.

Thanks, Alyssa! I can't wait to go shopping!

P.S. Does this mean I should bribe ya'll with a contest? Hmmm...