Monday, April 28, 2008

Audi 5000

My belly button is about 5 seconds away from transcending its terrestrial boundaries. (I can say that since I'm already pretty much the size of a small planet.)

It has an aspect of shock and awe. I like to imagine it smeared with camo grease, muttering, "The horror. The horror." 

It also looks a bit like a prim old biddy whose rear end has just been pinched. Maggie Smith in Room with a View, maybe.

Or a baby chimp keening for a banana.

I'm terribly sorry, belly button, but it can't be helped. 

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

lullabye and goodnight

Poor you.

That's right.


After a days long pity party, I'm feeling magnanimous and sympathetic toward you. That is, if you are among the blissfully ignorant throngs who regularly and/or easily get a good night's sleep.

You squander your blessings. You dismiss your bounty. You neglect and even abuse the gifts given to you. Some of you even have the gall to tell me that you're jealous of me because I can - read: HAVE TO - squeak by on 5 or 6 hours a night most nights.

But you, poor deluded masses, have no idea ...

You cannot fathom ...

I'm telling you, it is inconceivable to you ...

The triumphant surge of happiness rushing through my very core, the celestial pleasure, the transports of joy I experience on those rare mornings when I arise feeling well rested.

Poor you.

Monday, April 21, 2008

takes a licking ... and collapses into a puddle of tears

How many licks does it take to get to the primordial ooze at the center of a "zen" imbecile?

We thought we take some time on the Sunday before her 38th birthday to find out!


Lick #1: A few days of sleep deprivation.

Lick #2: A shopping excursion alone because her husband has to work and she likes to pretend that she doesn't need female company for such things.

Lick #3: Said shopping excursion requiring a visit to one of those sprawling suburban strip mall complexes.

Lick #4: Said sprawling suburban strip mall complex happens to be the portal to Hell known as Brodie Lane where all U-turns are illegal. There are NO street numbers posted anywhere so unless you're intimately familiar with the shopping complex, you cannot make a surgical strike at the store of your choosing. It appears that this River Styx of a four lane blacktop is designed to force you through a labrynth of chain stores guarded by phalanxes of monstrous SUVs in hopes that you abandon all hope of escape and decide you simply must also stop at Michael's, World Market, Barnes&Noble, Ross, Circuit City, LinensNThings, Home Depot ... OK I'll stop now ... on your way to Babies R Us.


At this point in our experiment, said "zen" imbecile's veneer has been reduced to a fragile crust. And she has been reduced to inane screeching at traffic impediments.

But because we are true scientists, we will resist the temptation to bite and continue with a few methodical and well-calibrated final licks.


Lick #5: Cram a bowling ball into her abdominal region and have her complete all the above in this condition.


Extraordinary, ladies and gentlemen ... she's hanging tough.


Lick #6: Have her watch a 60 Minutes episode in which a Special Forces Marine stationed in Afghanistan collapses into tears while recounting the heroics of his squadron.


Ta da!

Six licks.

Thursday, April 17, 2008

he says, "hello!"

I have a baby inside of me.

You're probably thinking "Well, duh. That's what happens when you get pregnant," and, you know, fair enough but ...

I mean, seriously ...

There's a baby in there.

Like, in there ---> ( @ )

A baby. Wiggling around and shit.

I can feel him moving. If you timed it right, you could feel him moving too. A living being, inside of me, is using my uterus as his own personal bouncy bounce. It's fucking crazy.

I hate to say that he's kicking. That's the standard protocol but my god the variety of motions he's tried inside me conjure images of an entire cartoon universe:

* scritching out a tick mark on the walls of his prison to note the passage of time.
* doing a soft shoe routine
* practicing tai chi
* shadow boxing
* tinkering with a peep hole in the belly button region
* knitting
* swimming laps and especially doing flip turns
* sproinging off every wall in the room like Ricochet Rabbit
* throwing a temper tantrum on my cervix

Pregnant women habitually rub their bellies. I can't speak for anybody else, but, when I'm doing it, I'm just trying to find the next place he might bust a move.

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Things a Child Should Never Hear - Abridged

Ah Ruth, I could write volumes (VOLUMES!) on this subject. I have a lifetime's supply - creeping up on 38 years worth - of unpleasantries to share. Thankfully, you've hemmed me in with your own five short but fine examples.

(Alot of these are actually multi-sensory experiences.)

(Terrifying, I know.)

1) Mom giggling, "Oh Bill!" and elbowing my dad in the ribs while waggling her eyebrows at him as a girl with very large breasts passes us.

2) At Kurt's very first visit to my parents' home, Mom standing up to fetch something from the kitchen and farting in his face as she does.

3) In my grandmother's nursing home, after she has asked if she can go out shopping, Mom asking the doctor to evaluate the possibility like so: "We know that her health is very fragile and that she shouldn't be exposed to any kind of risk unless it is absolutely necessary. Do you think she'd be in any danger if we took her out like that?" and then gesticulating wildly to the doctor behind my grandmother's back that the answer must be, in no uncertain terms, "No."


Me: Mimi (other grandmother) asked me if Pop had cancer.

Mom: What did you tell her?

Me: I said No. I mean technically he doesn't have cancer anymore because they removed it yesterday. Also, I don't like the idea of outing my parents as liars to my grandmother. Why the hell didn't you tell her?

Mom: That's a pretty good answer. I wonder how she figured it out.

Me: She told the nurses he was getting his prostate removed and they said the only reason they'd do that would be if he had cancer.

Mom: Hmmm.

Me: Why DIDN'T you TELL her!?!

Mom: We didn't want her to worry.

Me: So you stuck ME in the incredibly awkward situation of having to lie to my grandmother so that you didn't have to deal with the consequences. You could've at least told me what you were up to.

Mom: I'm sorry. You know how your grandmother is.

Me: ...

5) The next day, hearing my grandmother say "If your father dies before I do, your mother will put me out on the street."

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

love - for the vertically inclined

I've been thinking alot about love lately. Love and Kurt. They go hand in hand. Which is handy since he's my handsome man.

Being an imbecile, it just dawned on me today that all that thinking was leading up to ... today.

Our second wedding anniversary.

I tell him stuff like this all the time so I'm taking today to tell the rest of you, whoever you are.

Except that I don't quite know what to say or how to do him/us justice.

It feels like I flung myself off a cliff when we met and it isn't exactly that he's caught me but he took the leap too. We're falling together, singing and laughing (and crying) (and everyonceinawhile shouting) all the way to the end.

Monday, April 14, 2008

Pregnancy Mountain

The first six or eight weeks of my pregnancy were filled with wonderment.

That is, I kept wondering whether the piss test was wrong. I'd heard all these stories about women who "just knew" and other women who started throwing up on day 1. For me, other than not getting my period, everything seemed completely normal for the first half of the first trimester. I thought, "This is gonna be a breeze."


It wasn't until I made that first OB appointment that nausea, exhaustion, insomnia, and fear slipped into my bloodstream along side the hormones my uterus manufactured to help baby grow. The next eight weeks were pretty miserable. I spent most of them on the sofa, eating Saltines, drinking Topo Chico, and asking Kurt to get things for me (mostly Saltines and Topo Chico). In my car on extra long lunch breaks, napping, eating Saltines, and drinking Topo Chico. At work, trying really hard not to talk about how sick I felt. In bed praying that all this misery wouldn't be for naught. After all, 25% of pregnancies end in miscarriage in the first trimester.

Finally we emerged from the first trimester tunnel right around Christmas. Second trimester was a breeze. Fascinating. I remember thinking on a daily basis, "The most interesting thing about being pregnant is ... "

I hope you don't think I'm going to tell you about all the things I found interesting.I should've written them down at the time because, now that I'm fully entrenched in the third trimester, I remember none of them.

No, wait, here's one: It was fascinating that I didn't seem to mind watching my belly grow and my wearable wardrobe dwindle.

The third trimester has been marked by more growing of belly and more dwindling of ... well pretty much everything else. Almost everything that seemed important to me including energy, mobility, self-sufficiency, focus, intellectual capacity, and emotional reserves. Putting on my shoes is difficult. Picking up things that I drop is difficult and that's a real problem because I'm a clutz.

I've had about eight Come to Jesus meetings with myself lately. While the topics might range far and wide from career to chores to friendship to family, they all start the same way: "You cannot keep this up. You have to choose carefully what you're going to work at and what you're going to let slide."

Sometimes it feels like I'm going to slide all the way down Pregnancy Mountain, but it also feels like that might be the only way I'll survive the trip.

PS: I tag Ruth with the tag from below ... five things about you that other people might consider lame.