Monday, January 26, 2009

Snow Globe Day

As a general rule, I hate snow, as it so rarely snows on a day where I'm snug as a bug in rug at home with a full pantry and refrigerator and with nothing to do except read a book and gaze out the window and nowhere to go except maybe the couch for a nap. Snow usually means a longer commute, sludge-splattered shoes and pant legs, treacherous walks through parking lots and along sidewalks (compounded this year by my 15-pound basketball-sized uterus and its contents), shoveling the driveway (thankfully, not this year), salt-caked car, and all the other various and sundry wintertime complaints.

Today, however, as I watched it snow from a colleague's office (we had meeting, it's not like I just set up shop in there strictly for snow gazing), I was smitten. The sun was just barely poking through, illuminating the snow so it looked like sparkles falling to the ground. I felt like I was standing in a snow globe! And, because the snow is so dry and the temperatures so cold, the individual snowflakes kept their form as they stuck to my car when I ran errands over lunch! And then I was reminded of how amazing snow is - gazillions and bajillions of tiny individual unique snowflakes banding together to form a blizzard! What amazing teamwork skills! Also - playing in the snow can be fun, as evidenced by the sad little snow castle C built on our front porch (directly at the entrance, strangely enough, so I assume if I look hard enough I'll find the frozen moat)! Snow doesn't have to be yucky! Yay!

Anyway, it was a little magic to brighten what turned out to be a not-so-crappy-after-all Monday! For those of you here in Lincoln, I hope you got a chance to see it!

Friday, January 23, 2009

Shot in the Ass and Other Thoughts for a Friday

I got my first shot in the ass today. I had the distinct pleasure of spending the entire morning at my OB's office for a more comprehensive glucose test (I failed the glucose screen last week but thankfully passed today's test, so no gestational diabetes for me). Somewhat unexpectedly, the nurse also gave me the much anticipated Rhogam shot, designed to prevent Starbuck's potentially Rh-positive blood from poisoning my Rh-negative self (my blood type is technically "Rh-positive weak D variant," which means I'm treated as Rh-negative while pregnant even though as a blood donor I'm considered Rh-positive, so there's your hematology lesson for the day. Translation: more evidence I'm a freak of nature).

For reasons I will never completely understand, the nurse handed ME the pre-filled syringe with the capped needle and asked ME to read off the lot number for her to record in my chart.

OMG, if I had mad knitting skillz, I could have knitted Starbuck a frakking sweater with that needle! Or used it to pole vault! Or attached a flag to one end and staked a claim on the moon! Or harpooned a whale (which, admittedly, is not too far from what the nurse did to me)!

She later admitted to me that it was a pretty big needle, but she doesn't tell patients that until after she's administered the shot. Because, you know, clearly I didn't see the sheer ginormousness of the needle WHEN I HELD IT IN MY HAND!

At least she was gentle.

In other news:

Glucola! Perks! Up! Fetus!
The effect was not unlike my drinking a grandenonfotnowhipmochaforKim...back in my coffee drinking days, of course.

Cute shoes do not prevent stinky feet.
Stinky feet can stink up a small sedan in record time when cute shoes are kicked off after collecting several inches of snow inside, and then driver of the small sedan turns the floor heat on high, blowing the stench of the stinky feet directly into the pregnant driver's incredibly sensitive nose. Barfo.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Ahhh...India!

I have been mildly obsessed with India since late 2000 when I began working at the Oklahoma State University Graduate College directly after graduating from K-State. OSU received several hundred applications for admission from candidates living in India, and I had the distinct pleasure of reviewing their academic credentials to determine whether they had the equivalent of a U.S. bachelor's degree.

I never knew someone could grow up and do that job.

Needless to say, I got to know many of the students who arrived at OSU, including my friend Muthu (Moo-Thoo) who was both a student of C's and a graduate assistant in my office. Muthu welcomed questions and discussion about his country and his customs. While at OSU, C and I attended Diwali Night, a celebration of Indian culture timed with the major Hindu holiday of Diwali (aka Festival of Lights). We enjoyed great food (yes, I actually love Indian food), wonderful costumes (pasty white Americans can't always get away with wearing a purple tye-died churidar as part of their regular wardrobe), and excellent entertainment, including a memorable skit in which the participants often uttered the phrase "Ahhh...India" (sounds like "Ahhhh...Eeen Dee Ahhh") as though it were a breath of fresh air.

It's now a permanent part of the C/Kimmygoat family lexicon.

Fast forward 8 years later - C decides we need to explore some Bollywood movies - Hindi-language films based in Mumbai (or what the English called "Bombay"). He ends up selecting something entitled "Heyy Baby" which was an absolutely terrible movie...think Three Men and a Baby combined with excessive singing and dancing as in Mamma Mia. Horrendous. Thank goodness, Muthu came through again with excellent recommendations and explanations of some of the more unusual aspects of Indian cinema. Turns out most Bollywood movies are primarily in Hindi with a little English thrown in (apparently this is how the city dwellers speak), so you need to be comfortable reading subtitles. Lots of them also include one or more song and dance routines (yes, think musical) which absolutely crack me up! Undoubtedly, some of the more subtle cultural and language references are lost in translation, but we've really enjoyed these films.

Which leads me to explaining to you why you should see Slumdog Millionaire: gripping story, music, cinematography - definitely Oscar-worthy. Also, there's an actual and somewhat unexpected song-and-dance number.

And now I'm hungry for some naan and mulligitawny soup. Ahhh...India!

Sunday, January 18, 2009

I Heart USPS!

How much do I love the United States Postal Service?!?!

I recently sold an item on eBay and made the mistake of hand-addressing the package. I *think* I wrote down the wrong ZIP Code, because when I compared my USPS receipt and the address on eBay, they were exactly one digit off - 01000 vs. 02000 - which meant I didn't even have the right state! As a dutiful eBayer, I immediately alerted the seller to the discrepancy and refunded her shipping fees.

And yet, the package arrived and within the 2-3 day timeframe for Priority Mail.

BRILLIANT! (USPS, not me.)

Also, I can't get over how simply amazing it is that USPS delivers mail to my home 6 days a week! For free! So clever! C and I often argue (jokingly, of course) about who *gets* to bring in the mail, and more often than not, the mail carrier hasn't made it but three or four houses past ours when we run out to get the mail.

I love mail!

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Honing the Intuition

I had my very first OHMYGODMYBABYISDEAD moment today. Everything is fine, no one around these parts is dead, the fetus boy currently known as Starbuck has an absolutely normal heart rate in the upper 140s to lower 150s, and the only person making me feel like an ass is, well, me.

Yesterday and today I noticed a significant decline in the frequency and intensity of Starbuck's movement. I have an OB appointment on Thursday (and no, I'm not looking forward to beginning my glucola fast at 6:15am) and figured I'd ask about what's considered "normal" fetal movement (the books are very vague about this kind of thing). But as today wore on, the more it bugged me, and knowing that my OB is off on Wednesdays, I decided to call the nurse to see if I needed to be worried. She was incredibly reassuring and shared great ideas and advice (have I mentioned how much I LOVE nurses, especially this one?) all without making me feel like a rookie idiot. She said I could stop by the office *anytime* for quick heartbeat check and invited me to stop by before she left at 5pm. I left for the OB's office about 10 seconds after I hung up the phone. She wouldn't recommend it unless something *might* be wrong, right?

Of course, everything was just fine, and I even got a few minutes with the doctor who assured me I had nothing to worry about. The only damage - my pride.

It's so rare for me to follow my intuition/heart/whatever over my mostly-reasonable and logical mind. A small part of me is surprised it took me this long to FREAK OUT, even though I'm usually pretty calm, collected, and even-keeled.

I keep reminding myself over and over that I'm not the first woman in the history of the world to be pregnant. People do this every day, and have been doing so for quite a long time, and while it's totally weird and smelly, the system seems to be working out well for civilization. Perhaps the biggest reason I didn't want to learn Starbuck's sex was that I would be the first woman in my lineage to have the inside scoop (assuming of course I'm not a direct descendant of the Virgin Mary). Not knowing served generations of women well - why am I any different? That's been my approach to Starbuck's upcoming birth (and yes, it just recently dawned on me that he anticipates making a run for it directly through my nether regions). Chances are, if I choose to medicate, I'll most likely be the first in my lineage...which is OK, but again, they figured it out..so what's stopping me from going au natural, especially since I'll be surrounded by state-of-the-art equipment and highly-trained medical professionals?

For the record, with regard to pain medicine, my official stance is wait-and-see.

And yes, I think Starbuck is waving at all of you right now. At least he waited until after we got home from the OB's office to begin the show. He might be Gifted, etc...but I think he also might be a wee bit stubborn. I clearly had nothing to do with that.

Thursday, January 8, 2009

Pregnancy Yoga

After discussing my sore hips and back with my OB's nurse, she suggested yoga. I'm way too self-conscious and cheap to join a health club or organized class, so I thought I'd try out a pregnancy yoga video. It arrived this afternoon, and I've already completed the 45-minute workout. I liked it a lot, but we'll see how I'm feeling tomorrow. Deep and rhythmic breathing is part of the workout, and done right, it can certainly aid stretching and relaxation. Unfortunately, it's incredibly difficult to relax when you're inhaling the nastiest smelling farts your ass has ever produced.

Just keeping it real, folks.

Saturday, January 3, 2009

24 Weeks

C's impression of Starbuck and me at 8:30 this morning (note the romantic can of Pledge and dustrag in the foreground reminding him to dust this weekend):

In addition to C, I've been sleeping with Gumby for awhile. Gumby is a body pillow that keeps me comfy when I sleep and enables me to convince myself that I'm almost (but let's face it, not really) sleeping on my tummy, which but for the past 24 weeks, has been the single most comfortable sleeping position of my entire life. Gumby was so named because its accompanying clearance rack pillowcase is the same color as this:

I arose at 7:15 this morning, and by 8:00 had finished breakfast, read the news, checked email and blogs, and begun cleaning the dining room. I heard C get up once to use the bathroom and again when he took a shower. He told me later he thought I was still in bed with him, so he was very careful to close the door quietly and not turn on the bathroom light with the door open. Apparently, he didn't figure out until AFTER his shower that Gumby wasn't me. C is no idiot, and he's well aware of my bitch tendencies when awoken unexpectedly, so it was wise of him to proceed with caution. Yet, I notice at least three things missing from the top photo that make it obvious the lump in bed is not me:
  1. No Medusa-like hair
  2. No legs
  3. No foul breath emanating from the pillow region
<content edited because C was embarrassed by the original post>

Here's the REAL Starbuck and me just after we polished off two bowls of homemade chicken and noodles (which is not the same as chicken and noodle soup):

Not sure if you can tell this from outward appearances, but this little guy is sitting LOW LOW LOW. I rarely feel him above my belly button, where, according to the books anyway, he's got a couple inches of real estate. Lately, he gets riled up every evening around 9pm and makes weird belly undulations. He's rather amusing...until he kicks me in the pooper.