Thank You, Thank You

Last Sunday night I finally finished writing the thank-you notes for the baby shower. I had had to do most of the writing at night after work, which wasn’t fun. Personalizing them took forever. I also didn’t want to waste any cards, so I had to do a rough draft for each one first and then carefully copy it onto the card. It took many days to do them all.

And they weren’t done yet, really. It wasn’t until Thursday that we got all of the addresses and dealt with all the spelling inconsistencies found in our address book. Jesse should be Jessie and Araci should be Aracy. And what of Piadad? Well, that may be how everyone has been spelling her name, but it is clearly not how she spells it herself. If only her handwriting were clear enough for us to be sure what the right way is. Then there are all the Marias who go by other names. Talk about confusing. With Faithful Reader’s help, I addressed the cards as best I could and then he mailed them for me. I felt a huge weight lifted from my back.

Writing thank-you notes is a real pain, but I am sincerely grateful for all of the gifts. Baby got a lot of stuff that he needed and buying it all ourselves would have been much more painful than writing thank-yous.

Thank you, thank you!

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The Cats Are Free

We let the cats free last Saturday so the nursery could be painted.

Zoulie, traumatized, has spent most of her time since hanging around the top of the stairs, crying for attention, hiding where possible. On her first day of freedom, she wedged herself in the space between the wall and the mini fridge and could not get out. Pathetic.

Mojo is so happy that he trills and rubs against my legs every time he sees me.

Peeps doesn’t seem to trust her good luck, but rather runs away every other time she sees me, perhaps worried that she’ll be thrown back into her prison.

Two out of three of them clearly prefer the dusty, cold cement floors of the unfinished downstairs to the warm, comfy carpet of their old home. Cats are stupid that way. They’d rather be uncomfortable if it means they can do as they please.

As for their old home, it was FILTHY. Vacuuming hadn’t really been a possibility when all the boxes were in the room. Once they were removed, you could see the film of cat hair that lay upon the exposed parts of the carpet. Litter abounded and the smell of cat was unbearable. I went in there armed with a vacuum cleaner with a dirt sensor, and I did not come back out again for at least a half an hour.

What have they done with their new home? Well, we’ve already learned that they cannot be trusted with a loose bag of trash. Shredded. We should have known that, given how Peeps always tips over any waste-paper basket she finds. I guess she just loves trash. They also cannot be trusted to stay out of the sink. There are paw marks all over the kitchen. They have all, I am sure, discovered the dirtiest parts of the house and are conscientiously spreading the dirt around more evenly. That is how much they love us.

The cats are dirty but the nursery is clean and almost ready for Baby!

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37 Weeks

I’ve fallen behind on blogging again. Today actually marks 38 weeks, but I don’t want to omit a post about the milestone that was 37 weeks. It was the week that baby was finally considered full-term, when he could have popped out at any moment and hollered at the top of his fully-formed lungs.

A milestone it may have been, but it was a scary one. With every cramp or Braxton-Hicks, I wondered, is it time?

Is it time?

Is it time?

Still waiting, still wondering…

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Until Next Year

My mom usually gets me a big basket of Easter candy, but not this year. She knew I was pregnant and that babies don’t need a lot of chocolate. She did get me a bag of Cadbury Mini Eggs, though. Those are my favorite.

I had to behave for Baby’s sake. It was hard limiting myself to only a couple of those delicious sugar-shelled eggs per day, especially knowing that every passing day gave Faithful Reader more time to dip into the bag, and dip he did. Yesterday, I opened the bag and there were only two little eggs left. I love my Faithful Reader so much, chocolate thief though he may be, that I saved the last one for him. He ate it, and now only an empty bag remains. The bag smells so sweet and yummy that I almost don’t want to throw it away. I will, of course, but first I must say good-bye.

Good-bye, Mini Eggs. Until next year, when I will eat as many of you as I want!

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My Own Reward

I’ve never believed that tripe about virtue being its own reward. To me, one of the saddest things about this world is that if you don’t get things done, eventually someone will come along and tell you what a lazy and/or incompetent ass you are, but getting things done usually doesn’t earn you so much as a thank you. There’s always criticism and rarely approbation.  That’s why we have to make our own rewards.

It was a long day for me. I started working as soon as I got up. After working a full day, I went downstairs, cleaned and unpacked in the kitchen, and did a couple of loads of laundry. Then I made and ate dinner, which I followed up with a long session of thank-you note writing. It’s after 10:30 now and I’m only just now taking a break. Does anyone say, “Good for you, and you did it all while hauling around a growing baby!”? Of course not. And that’s why I found my own small personal reward for the day, buttered raisin-bread toast. Yummy.

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36 Weeks

I spoke to my brother on the phone a few weeks ago. We see each other a couple of times a year, but never call each other, so it was unusual, but a nice surprise when he called. We chitchatted for a while, even about some things beside the baby, but the baby does have a way of making itself topic #1. During our talk, my brother likened a pregnant woman’s bellybutton to a turkey timer. I thought that was funny then. Now I think it’s almost a little scary, because if it’s true, then this turkey is just about done.

My own foolish talk has got everyone thinking that the baby is going to be born early. At the shower, I said that I felt like I was so big that I wouldn’t make it all the way to my due date. My mother latched on to that idea. She called me earlier this week because she thought I had a doctor’s appointment and wanted to know if the doctor had said anything about the baby coming early. Now my husband’s getting in on it, too. After admiring my belly out in the full sunlight, he said, “There’s no way you’re going to carry that for another 4 weeks!”

I am carrying large, it’s true, but I don’t know that there’s any statistical link between carrying large and early childbirth, except maybe in the case of twins. Knowing my luck, I’ll have to carry him an extra two weeks, which would bring us into the hot months of July. Eesh. Well, it’s not like it’s my call. I’ll just have to wait and see what happens. I just hope he’s born healthy, that’s all.

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Insurance Woes

I got some bad news today. I asked how much it would cost to add my baby to my health insurance. I am still stunned at the answer. He will cost almost as much per month as a car payment and he will double my already astronomical deductible.

Is it any wonder there are so many Americans without health insurance?

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35 Weeks

It started at 2:00 with the need to pee, then it was the neighbor’s barking dog, then my own yowling cat, and then finally an excruciating pain ripping through my stomach, and that is why I am awake at just about 3:30 in the morning. I thought for one scary moment that the pain might be labor. It wouldn’t be too unusual to give birth at 35-and-a-half weeks. But no. I think it’s just my digestive system telling me how unhappy it is.

Well, join the club, I reply to it. It is making me unhappy, too.  The only solution is to mollify my stomach, because no matter how hard I fight with it, it will always win. I don’t know what pissed it off so much, but I think I know how to make it more forgiving of my occasional transgressions. It’s time to get back to my early-pregnancy diet, which included a high-fiber breakfast, a high-fiber nighttime snack, lots and lots of water, my prenatal vitamin at the roughly the same time every night, and no iron pill. I’ll get back on the iron once everything else is sorted out.

And my Faithful Reader, whom I love so much, had better keep his filching hands off my fiber.

Isn’t my digestion a lovely topic for Week 35? But it gets even better. I’ve also got sore, swollen hands and feet, and I still can’t sleep.

Since my baby shower was on Sunday, it technically ought to fall under Week 36, but I’m going to tell you a little about it now anyway, because it was a good thing and good things are good to think about. My friend K— came up from D.C., which was crazy but wonderful of her. My Mom and other friend K— came from CT. Two aunts came down from MA. It was great to see them all. But it was Faithful Reader’s family and family friends who filled the restaurant and who are largely responsible for the magnificent mountain of gifts.

The turnout and amazing display of generosity made me realize just how much love this baby has waiting for him out in the world. He’s a lucky little guy, and I am lucky to be his mom.

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Mystery Flower #9

I haven’t been able to take my regular walk lately, so I offer you a Mystery Flower from last spring.

mystery-flower-9

The Mystery Flower is the red stuff seen here in one of my wildflower bouquets. It was growing sporadically in the lawn of our old apartment building. In some neighborhood lawns, it had completely taken over.

I think in small quantities this flower is almost attractive, but I’m sorry to say that it makes lawns look horrible. It is, therefore, a plant most homeowners probably don’t want to see. My guess at its identity is in the comments.

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34 Weeks

My biggest difficulty at 34 weeks is the muscles in my belly. They tighten as I walk and it’s extremely uncomfortable.  To stop the tightening, I must either slow down to a crawl or hold up my belly, neither of which is really practical. My doctor says the tightening is normal and that the options are to live with it or buy a maternity belt. A maternity belt supposedly takes some of the pressure off the abdomen and back, but with only a few weeks of pregnancy left to go, I don’t feel inclined to spend the money. I guess I’ll have to live with the discomfort.

One bad thing about walking slow is that it means more time spent on my feet, which are also starting to feel the strain. I can’t stand for long periods of time. It should be noted, though, that while I feel every ounce of this pregnancy and gravity’s cruel response to the weight, I have not yet started waddling. I’m proud of my still-normal stride.

The Sunday before last, we went to another birth class. This one was called “Caring for You and Your Infant.” We learned how to swaddle a baby, which was a worthwhile lesson, and we picked up some tips for minimizing the pain during my recovery.

One thing I didn’t appreciate about this class, or the one before it, is that they sang the praises of nursing while simultaneously setting us all up to fail at it.  They told us how difficult it is, made us worried about getting a proper “latch,” suggested that we contact a “lactation consultant.” Talk about making a big deal out of something very basic! If human beings weren’t capable of breastfeeding naturally, the race would have died out a long time ago. Enough talk of failure. I have every intention of nursing my child and I’m not going to worry myself silly before even giving it a try.

Now, since tomorrow marks 35 weeks, I’m going to stop this post here and save something for the next installment.

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