Tuesday, November 25, 2008

It's the Economy, Stupid

I have heard that the tanking economy is hurting the business of professional Santas this Christmas season. Apparently, fat, jolly men with beards are having a hard time finding gigs as people and corporations cut back on personal Santa appearances. For cheap, I am willing to offer Bobo's services up. I think his pointy little ears make him look elfin (or is that elfen?). Either way, I think his ear is cute, even if a wee bit pointy.

Friday, November 21, 2008

Bobo is a Boy

All the ultrasound techs were right. Bobo is a boy.

He's a great boy too. I had thought that the scheduled c-sectioin would be very convenient but I was certain I wouldn't get much sleep the night before wondering about it. Fortunately, Bobo came on Sunday instead of Monday rendering my fears moot. I started bleeding Sunday morning. I woke up in a pool of my own blood and woke my husband up, called my doctor's office (come right in to L&D) and then my mother-in-law to come sit on our child. She got there fast (and I don't think she washed, dressed, or brushed).

It was quick, quick, quick from there. I got to the hospital about 2 minutes before 7 am on Sunday morning, and Bobo was yanked from me (screaming his fool head off) at 9:11 am. I was relieved. Chuckles was not born breathing, let alone crying, so the cries, although they were frantic and make a mother's heart ache, were music to my ears. His Apgars were excellent (9 and 10) and the nurses mentioned that the neonatalogist who saw us rarely gives out 10s in case something happens later the parents don't feel misled.

My husband went with Bobo to do the bath, Vitamin K, eye goop, weighing stuff, and I went to Post-Anesthesia recovery. Then, I was off to my private room to wait to see my baby (during the lull, I made a few phone calls and boy were people surprised since this was a day earlier than planned and I guess I sounded coherent only 2 hours later). Unlike with Chuckles who was whisked away in a hurry, I got to see Bobo in the operating room. We even took some pictures of a nurse hanging a baby over my head.

Epidural/Spinal anesthesia often causes a dip in blood pressure. Since I run toward cadaver all the time, mine of course, dipped. I wasn't worried. Neither was Tim the nurse anesthetist at my procedure. He said if I had come in with normal blood pressure (120 over 80, maybe) and he saw the numbers I was putting up (88 over 44), there would be cause for concern but with my history, we'll just give you a little something for that, no worries.

It took a team of people laying on my stomach and pulling from the bottom to get Bobo out and all they said was "big head!" (so c-section is a winner!). Bobo is on my lap right now wearing the outfit my husband wore home from the hospital 34 years ago this week.

I'm also printing the birth announcements from one of the other computers here in our bunker (somehow our family room went from romper room to mission control with the addition of a 1950s-era filing cabinet and two new laptop computers). I spent the early afternoon in a sunny window trying to snap a birth announcement-worthy photo of Bobo. Flash makes baby squinty so I use sunny window and no flash on Macro setting in case you were wondering.

Everything is OK. The nurses at the hospital always make threats about how you have to feed your baby formula or the pediatrician won't let him go home, but I stood firm this time (notso with Chuckles as I didn't know any better) and everytually, the weight loss tapered off and poppie and wet diapers started coming. No biggie, but scary the first time around, I assure you. Second time is easier, I guess. I should tattle on the nurses, but frankly, I don't care that much now that we're home and thriving.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Two photos, one story

So, I'm pregnant. 39 weeks today, as a matter of fact. This photo here was taken at about 37 weeks when I started swelling. I had to wear shorts with my pressure stockings because otherwise I was too hot. As for why I had to wear plaid shorts with a striped top while wearing anti-embolism stockings, I cannot tell you, but see also, I'm pregnant. And as for why my husband felt the need to take a picture, well, he's a gem. My embarassment is your gain.

The next photo can be filed under "Pregnant Women Do Stupid Things". After looking at the above photo with my ill-advised short hair, I noticed that when they cut all my hair off, they took off all the sun-lightened blonde parts. Then, I remembered that on Monday, people will take a lot of pictures of me. Sure, I won't be the star of the pictures, but I'll be in them, and I will see them for the rest of my life. So, on a stupid, stupid whim, I decided to frost/highlight/tip my hair. I spent a very long time pulling my hair through a bonnet, or cap. Here's a tip...have a friend do it for you because figuring out how to use the hook in a three-way mirror to get the back of your hair is a bitch. Also, if you are pregnant, do not do it.
So, after an hour of pulling my hair through (hint, the hook part faces down toward your skull), I put the peroxide mixture on, put a plastic bag over that mess and went to wrap Christmas presents. I glanced up into the mirror a while later and let out an audible eff-you-see-kay (if you know what I mean). I was reverse skunked, but the light parts were the color of straw. I washed the whole concoction out and then proceeded to shower while consoling myself with the fact that it would only be a week before I could do corrective coloring. I called a friend. She laughed (rightly) at me. What kind of person frosts her hair for the first-time ever while hugely pregnant? A stupid one, that's what kind. So, this very good friend caught her breath long enough to ask me to cough, laugh, cough, take a picture. So, I moussed and blow dried and came up with this.

And really, it's not that bad. Do you even think my husband will notice?

Sunday, November 09, 2008

Where do babies come from and other tidbits from my life

My child is no longer a baby. I stood in the kitchen today listening to him playing by himself in the other room.

Chuckles as 1 person: That's not your truck; that's my fire truck.

Chuckles as a second person: No, it's mine. Give it.

1: Hands off my truck.

2: You are not very nice. Share with me.

1: I am not your friend.

2: Mine.

And so it went for quite some time. It was cute. And he did not at any point start beating himself up to get the fire truck from himself, so he's not a future mental patient.

He is also no longer a baby because "buyed" has turned into "bought" and "taked" has turned into "took" or "has taken", depending on context.

Babies are made of every last little bit of patience I had mixed liberally with leftover Fun Size Halloween chocolates. So, I am a wee bit cranky but sweet.

What's for dinner?

As part of our ongoing and continuing periodic feature, I will now tell you what I ate for dinner.

Tuesday (my first day of maternity leave and day I voted and painted): Crock Pot Roast and salad

Wednesday: Homemade Creamed Chipped Beef (made with Carl Buddig brand luncheon meat)

Thursday: Leftover pot roast

Friday: Homemade banana muffins for breakfast courtesy of Chuckles who "needed" a muffin. Ham and cheese quiche with a spring mix salad fixed with mandarin oranges and a pomegranate vinaigrette dressing (sugar, basil, pomegranate vinegar, water, olive oil) AND French Silk pie from Baker's Square for dinner. The first thing Mr. Long-Suffering said when he got home was, "Someone put fruit in my salad." Not, "Hi honey, I'm home." or even, "Gee, that smells good." But "Someone put fruit in my salad."

Saturday: Weekend Waffles for breakfast. Pecan crusted chicken, tomato bisque, and seasonal hearty vegetable from Scarborough Faire for dinner AND later at home, French Silk pie. Child spent the night with Grandma.

Sunday: Mr. Long-Suffering's awesome reward French Toast for breakfast (he makes it for me when I have been very good). For dinner, rosemary roasted chicken (with garlic), mushroom wild rice (wild rice, brown rice, mushrooms, white sauce, hint of black pepper and salt), assorted frozen veggies, a (hopefully) good cranberry dish (I was out of one of the ingredients and tried to sub something else in), and two pumpkin pies (since after that, the French Silk was all gone). One of the pies got a homemade pat-in-the-pan oil crust (1-1/3 cup flour, 1/3 cup oil, 1/2 tsp salt, 2 T ice cold water) and the other got a Meirco brand store-bought crust that contains hydrogenated lard. Ewwww. Oh, and whipped cream, because you cannot, by law, have pumpkin pie without whipped cream.

And now for more of our regularly-scheduled programming:

Right now, I am listening to Mr. Long-Suffering explaining that the Chicago Bears are not "in a time out" but are "taking a time out" because Tennessee is winning and something about the clock running out, but they didn't do anything wrong or get put in a time out. And I am listening to this while eating a Fun Size Heath bar. Baby likes toffee.

I am 38.5 weeks. I have less than 8 days to go. I have gained just a hair less than 40 lbs, but I swear it's all baby. Maybe a record breaker, this one. Or not. I'm still really shamefully energetic and am planning on raking leaves tomorrow. I'll let you know how that plan goes.

Wednesday, November 05, 2008


OK, now that I got that primal scream, sigh of relief out, I guess I have some things to tell you.

  1. I'm nesting, and it involves cleaning. It's scary. I don't like cleaning and yet, I cannot stop.
  2. Mr. Long-Suffering is also nesting. For him, it involves having contractors come over and give us estimates on attic insulation. That is fun.
  3. Stanley Steemer was here today and now my carpeting is not a great source of embarrassment and shame. It's a small source, but not a great source.
  4. I went to work on Monday and will not return until April. helllllo Maternity Leave.
  5. I went on a huge play date today with women from some church. We were talking about infertility, and I just said that I didn't think higher order multiples were a good idea. I did not suggest selective reduction. I just said you could cancel a cycle with too many good follicles. And they looked at me like I had multiple heads. Perhaps the church-y people like to have 6 kids at a time. Oh well. Other than my obvious social blunder the time went well.
  6. The date and time of my surgery are set. 10 am on the 17th. That's 12 days from now. Wow.
  7. I am 38 weeks tomorrow. I am term. I am grateful.
  8. I voted. Line took 1 hour 20 minutes. It was OK. I hung out with my neighbors. Just as in the primary, I voted for Mike "The Waiter" White. He lost. I have no idea what his platform is, but I was worried about a potential mob hit if I didn't vote for The Waiter.
  9. Do you know what has irritated me in the last few weeks? People who said that people wouldn't vote for Obama because of the color of his skin. What about all of us who would not vote for him because of the content of his character? Obviously, I did not vote for Obama. He stands for pretty much everything I don't stand for (progressive taxation, income redistribution, pulling out of Iraq on a fixed timeline, nationalized health care...in fact, government interference into health care, purposely limiting exploitation of our country's natural resources...Drill, Baby, Drill, government interference into free markets, social safety net, etc...I think you see where I am going...right down Libertarian Way to the corner of Strict Constructionist and Individual Liberty). Mind you, the current incarnation of McCain is no better. Go Libertarians! Unite!
  10. And I painted our foyer and hallway. It feels good to accomplish things.