Moving Day

Because I am flaky and easily bored, I have decided to move the content from this blog over to the other blog I "own." I know I risk confusing, alienating and losing millions of followers, but, it's a risk I am willing to take.

You can find all your favorite Baby Pork Chop Blog content over at http://torissimo.blogspot.com/

Thanks for reading...I hope you will migrate with me!

Oh and by the way

You have probably noticed that I'm messing with the format again. Please bear with me, all two of you.

9cm to go

Good news from the doctor yesterday. I'm a centimeter dilated! Which means nothing. But it gives me some hope to cling to. Now if only I had some sign that this cold might end soon, too...

38 Weeks: The descent into madness

Do you see these lists? These are the lists of a crazy person. A crazy person who was up at 5 a.m. yesterday, vacuuming the laundry room and washing baby clothes. Sterilizing baby bottles that might see some action a month from now. Maybe.


But look, my little fashion maven's closet is pretty well in order.


I wish I could say the same for my closet. I got as far as taking everything out of it before I lost my momentum and needed a rest.


Oh, and here is my hospital bag. Yeah, probably going to want to get hopping on that one.

I cried today because the cat wouldn't stop meowing at me when I was trying to make myself something to eat. Husband reminded me of some study that said cats make the same noise as newborns to make humans feed them, and assured me that I probably only cried because I'm so hormonally geared to be sensitive to crying now. I think it was nice of him to say, but probably I cried because I am just that crazy.

I'm beginning to get miserable enough physically and mentally that I get why women just want it over with at this point. I think I'd be fine going the two weeks to my due date, but after that ... I don't want to think about it.

Mother's Day is a good racket

I had intended to bitch and moan about the stupid head cold that is robbing me of my last days of pregnancy in this post - but my inaugural Mother's Day was so great that I feel like too much of a brat doing that.

But I will just state, for the record, that this cold has been rather unpleasant and I hate it.

Enough about things I hate. On to things I love. Like Husband. Have I mentioned that he is the best ever? Not only did he make me pancakes, but he went to Starbucks and got me coffee cake. So I started my morning with the coffee cake course and moved on to the pancakes and bacon course.


He also got me flowers and presents. Here is the awful photograph I took of what was waiting for me when I got out of bed.


I blame the off-center crookedness on the fact that my equilibrium was so off from my ears being totally clogged that I was listing to the right all day.

I also got presents from my parents and my sister, and cards and texts from friends. Random strangers wished me a happy Mother's Day. What a racket! A whole extra day where people have to be nice to you and do what you want. Totally right up my alley.

I felt that one

Looky, kids, you know what that is? That's a contraction! Not a very good or efficient one, but one that you can feel nonetheless. I know this because I saw that little spike on the bottom there just as I was thinking OW OW OW.

I got hooked up to the fetal monitor on Wednesday because Little Miss decided she wanted to sleep all morning, which caused me enough concern that I gave in and called the doctor, and the doctor had me come in for a Non-Stress Test. Of course she woke up in the car on the way downtown and was perfectly fine all along. Of course my doctor had to go and deliver a baby in the middle of this, so my 20 minutes on the machine turned into an hour and twenty. But better to be safe than sorry and all that.

It was kind of cool to get hooked up and watch the contractions go by, especially once it was established that the baby was fine and dandy and behaving entirely appropriately for a TERM FETUS. The actual painful knot-below-the-belly-button ones come a little more often now, but not so often that I don't have to remind myself every time that that's what it is. I often wonder at first why I'm getting a tummy ache. Uh, doi.

So basically now we just wait. I have wrapped up most of my loose ends, but I do still need some stuff - like bathing supplies. I have no baby bathing supplies. This may have something to do with my subconscious desire to avoid bathing the baby until she is a year old. First bath just always looks so horrible for everybody involved.

For the most part though, I think we have enough stuff and books and internet access to keep the kid alive were she to be born this afternoon. However I hope she'll hold off at least two days - Husband has big rowdy plans tonight and I really would rather not be The One With That Drunk/Hungover Guy on the L&D floor.

36ish Weeks

Yesterday marked 30 days left until my due date. Tomorrow marks 36 weeks completed. So I figured today was a good day for some comments and observations...

It is getting more and more difficult to get comfortable. I find myself dreading bedtime, because even though I am sleepy, I know the whole night is going to be one uncomfortable suckfest.

The (possibly?) good news? I appear to be adapting a sort of newborn schedule. I am up every three hours to pee. Which reminds me. You know what you probably don't really want to eat when you're nine months pregnant? Asparagus. Asparagus pee at 12, 3, and 6 AM really starts to grate on your nerves.

Which brings me to eating. I am not enjoying the eating anymore. It's not the whole baby's-too-big-stomach-is-crushed scenario - I ate through that phase like a champ. It's just, I don't know, I'm not hungry anymore. I find myself eating because I have to. I think I'm still eating more than I used to, I'm just not quite at the I-must-have-two-french-dips-for-lunch level I was a few months back. It depresses me, because I love eating. I love it the most.

And I keep having random bouts of nausea! What's up with that?

This weekend is my baby shower. I am very excited and glad that the day is finally here. I remember vaguely when we were looking at dates a few of my mom friends saying May 1st might be a *little* late - and me shrugging it off that I was sure it was fine, it's four whole weeks from my due date, after all! Now that we're here I see what they meant. I figure I will be very busy next week, getting everything all finalized, and then I will sit on my ass watching my stockpile of 16 and Pregnant episodes until I go into labor myself.

Happy Birthday Dear Work Pants...

There was SO much work getting did around the house this weekend that the work pants have been declared dead. Yes my friends, get ready. The Big Reveal is upon us.

My husband really IS the best. I mean it. He was promised a birthday weekend of fun and last hurrahs, and instead he worked his butt off to get that nursery finished. Which is why I am glad I have better presents for him than new work pants.

A pretty nice little Saturday, actually

We hit up Home Depot for the closet system for the nursery. Ran out of time for Bed Bath & Beyond, though.

Ah, I can't go to Home Depot on a weekend without thinking about Old School and feeling a little bit lame, like some prior version of myself is laughing somewhere. The one with the hangover and the inexplicably inside-out pants.

Then again, I've also found myself with Dogwood envy. What I mean by that (in case you yourself are cool and have no idea what I could possibly be talking about) is that I have a rather sickly Dogwood tree in my front yard, and when I see someone else with a beautiful vivacious one in their yard I am jealous. So maybe a trip to Home Depot is the least of my worries.

These are the sorts of interests (errands, botany) that I attributed to middle age a decade ago. So was I just ignorant back then, or have I settled into a middle age groove without realizing it? Don't answer that.

34 Weeks

Two people told me this week that I don't look like I could possibly make it another six whole weeks. This caused me anxiety at first, until I remembered that people are always saying this to pregnant ladies and it is just code for "my GOD you are big as a house."

But really, the fact that the baby is medium-well at this point just blows my mind. Only three more weeks and I'm - or she's - full term.

I had a mild scare today. I was chatting away at Husband on the phone when suddenly my vision went blurry. It went from "huh, that's weird, I feel like I'm looking through water" to "OH MY GOD IT'S GETTING DARK I'M GETTING SLEEPY IS THIS DYING?!?!" over the course of a half an hour or so. My OB had me go to my regular Doctor who had me see the Opthalmologist - sending me down the hallway with a reassuring "I'm nervous that you've thrown a clot." I had time to wait then, visualizing the imminent emergency C-section, the coma into which I would surely slip, and the tearful bedside vigil of my friends and family.

There was no clot. I ended up being diagnosed with an optical migrane, something that apparently I can expect to have happen again. Hurray! Here's to hoping they stay of the optical variety and that I don't suddenly develop real migrane headaches - just to make the last six weeks more enjoyable than already promised.

At least I don't have hemmorrhoids

Some random things I wanted to tell you about:

1. The nursery is getting closer to done. My vision may have been a little on the grand side - at least for my personal handyman skills. Luckily I have generous helpers. I can't wait for the big reveal.

2. My sister's puppy was over today. She weighs approximately one pound, 14 ounces. My 18 pound cat Meester spent the whole day hiding from her. This does not bode well for his reaction to having a baby in the house.

3. Baby girl has spent the past 24 hours or so throwing 'bows into my left side. It feels like I swallowed a chicken wing bone. Not really very cool.

4. Speaking of not very cool, I am not entirely convinced that I will make it through the duration of this pregnancy without dislocating my right hip. Every single time I get up from sitting or lying down and put my weight on it, it totally buckles. I limp and hobble to the tune of my husband's laughter. We'll see if he's still laughing when my leg snaps off, shoots across the room, and hits him in the face.

5. The second couple from our birth class to have their baby had their baby the other day. There were only nine of us couples in the class to begin with. It has occurred to me that I might actually give birth to a baby as well.

33 Weeks

My 33rd week is now complete. It was kind of a bummer.

I had another one of those mood episodes. I pouted and I cried and I felt miserably sorry for myself, but I couldn't help it. It was all hormones I swear. It culminated last night in my crying hysterically over the news report of the death of that oil-well firefighter guy Coots Matthews - but not because I found it so sad. I was crying because I thought his name and life story were hilarious. I didn't FEEL like laughing, I wanted to be SAD. How dare his story cross my consciousness and interfere with my pout.

Anyway, Husband got me some Taco Time for dinner and I got over it.

I saw my OB today. I gained another 5 pounds over the last two weeks. You know, at this rate, 200 pounds is not out of the realm of possibility. That would be so awesome. I would totally take a picture and ask all the time, "hey, remember when I used to weigh 200 pounds?" Spoken like a true asshole, I know.

Anyone for a Mayonnaise Sandwich?

See that totally unappetizing picture? That's my lunch. An egg salad sandwich.

Big deal, you say. It's the week after Easter, everybody's eating egg salad.

True as that may be, this sandwich IS a big deal for me. Because it is the first egg salad sandwich I have ever had IN MY LIFE. I will give you a moment to recover from the shock surely caused by that statement.

So how did this come about? I'll tell you. For the first 31-and-a-half years of my life, I would not go near the stuff. I would (very politely) say I would rather die of starvation than ingest that stinky, yellow, blobby goo. But for some reason the last time I had a hard boiled egg on a salad, I thought to myself, hmm ... maybe egg salad would be good.

Because a pregnancy craving has yet to lead me astray, I decided to go for it. We ended up having a glut of eggs this week, and it seemed fated. Here are my tasting notes.

• Is it supposed to be so mushy? Or did I use too much mayonnaise? I had the overwhelming feeling I was eating a mayonnaise sandwich, which is not really a good thing in my book.
  
• I didn't have an onion started, and I wasn't about to get into the whole chopping process just for a stupid egg salad experiment. I was also lacking celery. I think I would enjoy it more with the addition of those crunchy elements. (See "Is it supposed to be so mushy?, above)
• I went rogue and added some mustard. Also some dill. But mostly too much salt.
  
• I ate it on white bread because I had some in the freezer, and because everyone I've seen eat egg salad eats it on white bread. I think this was a mistake. I think I would go wheat next time, if not caraway rye. Oh, how I loves me some good rye bread.
• I put pickles on the sandwich in addition to on the side. This may have contributed negatively to the salt factor, but definitely helped with the mush factor.

Overall, I wouldn't go so far as to say that I like egg salad now...but I wouldn't say I think it's the most vile thing possible, either. Yeay me! Trying new things! I deserve a cookie.

C is for cookie, and cookies are for me

I had an uncontrollable urge for cookies today. I had to have them. And, even more so, I had to have some cookie dough.

I specifically wanted Toll House cookies. I wanted them just how I remembered them from childhood. When's the last time you had a Toll House cookie? I can't remember at all the last time I bothered to make chocolate chip cookies from scratch. It's unfortunate too, because the real thing is WAY better than stupid break n' bakes. Which is something I know full well - but laziness often wins. Stupid.



I didn't eat too much raw dough, I promise. And I asked the eggs if they had salmonella and they said no.

32 Weeks

My due date is eight weeks from today. Go ahead and freak out a little bit, I sure did.


There's a preview of her little Chopita face. It's blurry and you have to try and look through it kinda like one of those 3D posters to see it, but there she is. The disfigurement looking thing between her eyes is actually placenta (or maybe just uterine wall, I can't remember), and you can see how she is holding the cord to her mouth. Either she's quite the little snuggler or she has her momma's appetite.

In other news. The other day one of the cats stepped on my belly particularly hard and Chopita decided to head for the hills. By head for the hills I mean she curled herself way deep and low in my belly. I am getting jabbed with one body part of hers or another all the way over in my left hip. It feels like a foot. I am not going to be pleased if that cat made my perfectly well-aligned, head-down baby go breech. Although I guess she's got plenty of time for another flip.

Random Thoughts

Because writing out a whole (semi) coherent post just sounds waayy too exhausting.

I'm beginning to wonder if I want one of those belly bra things. I like having spandexy material over my bump. Usually it comes in the form of the top of my maternity jeans or else in a stretchy Target camisole I have been wearing 9 days out of 10. A lot of times both. I'm carrying low and I find if I support myself from underneath my back feels momentarily better. So belly bra. Maybe.

Speaking of maternity jeans, I have just about outgrown my favorite pair. The full panel top has turned to a demi. That gives me a very unflattering seam line across the middle of my belly. Not a fan. So now the question is, how much more money do I spend and on what? I just invested $26.99 in a pair of sweatpants. That may just about do the trick, I don't know.

What else is comfortable? Giant t-shirts. The sort that you get free with purchase or used to be your dad's or whatever, that are always some sort of boxy "large" that was only ever good for sleeping in. Now they fit snugly around the belly and are great for lounging about the house.

What's uncomfortable? Going to the store and buying three half gallons of ice cream. Here's how that went:

Checkout clerk: "Big plans tonight?"
Me: "Nope."

Followed by fifteen seconds of awkward silence until he told me the total, I signed in the little box and then forced myself to look him in the eye and say thank you before scurrying out the door before I saw anyone I knew. Aw, I just love being a big pregnant cliche all the time.

31 Weeks

It feels like we're entering Official Baby Season. My due date is only nine weeks away, and I will be considered full term (or "in dates" as the cool kids say) in just six. With the way time has of flying, I'm sure my neck will just about snap with how quickly this next month or two goes.

Saw the doctor today. I'm seeing her every two weeks now. I have gained three pounds since my last visit, giving me a total of 30 overall. I broke into the 160's today, which means my goal of 175 is attainable with a little extra effort. The ginormous bowl of restaurant chicken alfredo I had for lunch after my appointment was probably a step in the right direction. Boy do I love eating. It's going to be sad when this is all over and I have to be all "reasonable" again.

Chopita has discovered that my short ribs make for an excellent foot stool. I am constantly rubbing my right side in a way that makes previously pregnant women (ie mothers) point and laugh. She's doing lots of good movement that is both visible and-um...feelable from the outside. Husband was so excited to finally get to feel her kick a few weeks ago, but now he just kind of makes a kind of nauseous face when I hold his hand to one protruding body part or another. Preaching to the choir, buddy.

Oh. Want to see her face? Tune in next time. :)

Crap.

So about a week ago, I was minding my own business, sunning myself and reading a book, when all of a sudden there was such a commotion in my belly that I almost barfed. I made some sort of gagging/yelping sound which caused my dear husband to look up from his own reading and toward my vibrating jello-mold of a midsection. "What just happened?" was his rather casual inquiry.

I don't know exactly what happened. I can tell you it felt like baby girl channeled her future teenage self and gave me a big gah, whatever!, a turn on the heels, and a slam of the bedroom door. All within the confines of my uterus. It was as big of a movement out of her as I have felt, and one that frankly I hope I don't feel again. It was gross. The fact that I was in my giant purple pregnancy bikini and therefore had a relatively unobstructed view didn't help any.

Point of story is that ever since that incident, I have been able to feel her much more clearly. It's almost like what I felt was her turning into a tiny little Incredible Hulk and now she's in there all green and muscle-y. I can feel her little heel dig into my right side when she stretches her legs, and I can feel what I thought must be her head or her butt pushing out to the left of my navel. I can actually cup my hand around it and move her around. It's crazy.

So I tell this to the ultrasound lady, so she moves the wand over to check it out. "Oh yeah!" she says, all enthusiastic, "that's her shoulder!"

Ummm. Excuse me WHAT? That big thing I thought was a butt? That big pointy thing I can grab from the outside? That is a FRIGGEN SHOULDER?

Sweet Jesus. The girl has hulk shoulders. I've mentioned that I am attempting a natural childbirth, right?? Do you have any idea how idiotic that sounds now? How suddenly disappointed I am that she's all head down and good to go and not some impossibly-positioned breech baby that I can just call up the hospital and schedule to be removed from me?

I guess the silver lining is that I can only feel ONE shoulder. So there's hope. But suffice to say I'm feeling a little wary about going any further with this whole "let's have a baby" thing.

Getting Back to ... Normal?

I apologize for my extended absence, to those of you who might have noticed. We took a vacation last week and although I had my laptop with me, I figured I should try and be present in the moment rather than sitting back and blogging about it.

So here I am, fresh from a week in the sun, but not so much feeling rested and peaceful or whatnot. Something happened last week - some sort of crazy hormonal earthquake - and I have been feeling a little down in the dumps ever since. I think it's beginning to pass, and no one is more grateful than Husband. He is not used to having a wife who cries because he is not being supportive enough when he says something like "hey, don't worry about it, it's no big deal," especially when it really IS no big deal.

He's also not used to a wife who cries over a make-believe stockyard scene in a made for TV movie and then mopes all the way through a nice steak dinner. For reals.

But it's getting better. I really do feel like the hormonal floor just fell out from under me there, and now I'm getting back on my feet. Self-medicating with red velvet cake and ice cream seems to be helping greatly - I highly recommend it if you're feeling low yourself.

My daughter is difficult - Imagine that.

Today was The Big Day - I had my 3D ultrasound appointment this morning.

Only problem being the fact that Chopita is clearly her mother's daughter. Girl has her own agenda.

Baby Girl is, in fact, a baby girl. We got another really clear shot of her privates and nothing has sprouted there since January. I've got a crystal clear 3D image of her labia that I will save for showing her friends some day when she is being an obnoxious tween.

Seeing her face was a bit more problematic. She has her head wedged deep down in my pelvis. The ultrasound tech gave me a concerned look upon seeing this positioning and asked me, "is she hurting you?" Um, yeah. The answer to your question is YES. So now I have an explanation for the crippling hip pain I've been feeling on my right side for the past few weeks. It is my sweet daughter, putting all of her weight on my hip joint.

Besides the fact that she is balled up in the corner, it was difficult to see her because she was sucking on the umbilical cord. That was pretty cute. She was holding it up to her mouth and gumming it, and then she licked it, and then she kind of dropped her arms down, rolled over, and curled up like it was time for a nap. We never got to see her whole face, because she was totally rammed up against the placenta. The ultrasound tech said that lots of babies like to snuggle their placentas. Another cute-slash-kind of creepy thing.

Sooo long story shorter, no good pictures today, but we were invited back for a redo- hopefully in another 12 days she will feel more like humoring her parents. In the meantime I have to pay super close attention to what I eat that makes her active and be sure to eat lots of it before my appointment. If I have to have ice cream for breakfast, so be it.

I shoulda known better than to go to the dentist

I got diagnosed with my first pregnancy complication yesterday: Pregnancy Gingivitis.
Basically this means that my mouth is a cesspool of nasty gum eating bacteria.

Yummy! Who wants a kiss?

I guess my Sonicare toothbrush lulled me into a false sense of security. Kind of disconcerting I hadn't noticed that my gums are swollen and bleeding.

I was given a very stern flossing lecture by the hygienist, who showed me how to do it just in case the problem was actually that I didn't understand the concept. Then the dentist came in and cheerfully told me that the pregnancy gingivitis usually clears up all on its own around the same time the pregnancy does.

Ha! Did you hear that, Hygienist? You'll never make me floss.

I most certainly did not...

...order $50 worth of Chinese food for myself tonight.

Why, what gave you that idea?

Now if you will excuse me, I really must be going. Something tells me I want to be sure to take my wedding ring off before I fall asleep tonight.

P.S. one of the cats stole a fortune cookie and broke it open. His fortune said something about being ready for an exciting opportunity. I'd say he had already found it.

28 Weeks

Nothing much new to report, other than one more week of pregnancy completed. Only, oh, a zillion and a half to go.

I'm sure I'm a few pounds heavier and a few inches bigger around, but I haven't bothered to do any research in those areas. I have just continued to eat unreasonable amounts of moderately healthy to unhealthy foods and assumed the inevitable.

I bought a purple bikini today. I got a raised eyebrow from the Target checkout lady when I told her that yes, the bikini was for pregnancy wear. I did not care for her look of disapproval. In fact, I'd say she deserved a raised eyebrow from ME for daring to ask me my intentions in the first place. I should have just given her a big fat NOYB, but I am far too sweet and lovely of a person. Ask anybody.

Oh yeah, and there is one other thing. The baby is named. No, I'm not telling you what.

A New Way to Hurt...Oh Joy.

I think I almost died today.

How's that for melodrama? Are you on the edge of your seat?

I was driving home from a very pleasant lunch date. I was on the freeway, singing along to whatever was playing on my iPod. I had my foot on the gas, and I was going probably close to 70 and still accelerating. My lane, an exit lane, had just opened up clear ahead of me. But then, before I knew what was happening, some lady in a white car pulled in front of me. Going 40. I only had time for one thought: Fuck.

I had a split-second worth of consciousness of the fact that I should do something besides just slam on the brakes. That I should try to pull around in one of the other lanes. But I didn't have the reaction time for that. I didn't even have the time to check my rearview and see if there was someone behind me. All I could do was slam on the brakes. And all I can remember about that moment is the rear end of the white car stuttering toward my face as the anti-lock part of the anti-lock brakes kept me from sliding right into the back of her.

Lady in the white car, meanwhile, had no idea that I had just avoided barreling into her and ruining her day. She proceeded to make her next lane change, still at 40, and hold up that entire lane of traffic, oblivious to everybody else on the road.

I was shaken up, and thought to myself, wow, I probably just avoided really hurting myself. That would have been a bad accident. And then, it hit me.

I could have killed the baby.

Ugh - sniveling, crying, hormonal pregnant lady, coming through. That was the first time it really hit me, how responsible I am for this little life and how unforgivable it would be for me to hurt her out of my own carelessness. I mean, I knew it before on an academic-sort of-logic-based level, but this was the first time I really felt it in my gut. And it hurt. YECH it hurt a lot.

So, yeah. Glad I have that to look forward to feeling for the rest of my life. If you need to find me, I'll be the one driving in the right lane going 55 with my hazards on and my baby on board sign.

The Blah-Blechies

I don't know about the rest of yous, but when I spend a day sitting on my ass I usually feel great for the first eight hours or so. Then it's all downhill.

This is the situation I find myself in today. Not that I was without accomplishment. Just that there was not so much physical, moving type activity.

The movement thing is a Catch-22. My dainty little hips are so delicate these days. It's like they are on a very specific step-taking count and if I dare to take one step over, KA-BLAM! MY LEG DISENGAGES FROM THE SOCKET. Or at least that's what it feels like is gonna happen. So I feel awful if I move too little, awful if I move too much. I was limping when I went to bed last night, and I was limping when I got up this morning. Therefore I figured I had better take it easy today and do most of my baby-shopping legwork online.

So what did I accomplish, you ask? Well, I ordered a gliding ottoman to match the Dutailier glider I was lucky enough to get for free. Free glider = way better than $700 glider, which was the asking price for the other one I was wanting. So I spent $279 on a fancy little padded gliding footstool with the handy nursing stool option and called it good. Can you believe they charge that much for ottomans, by the way? Highway robbery. But a good $30 less online than I was quoted in-store for the same thing.

I also pulled the trigger and ordered a dozen Rumparooz Lil Joey diapers. I am becoming more determined to cloth diaper my child with every person who tells me I'm crazy and/or stupid to try. Oh wait, that's just my mother. Anyway, the Lil Joey's will be our "going out" diaper, for when we are in the company of those who think we are crazy and cloth diapers are too much work. At home I think we'll probably stick to prefolds, fitteds, and covers - at least until Little Miss learns to roll over, sit up, and do all those other pesky things that make diapers less effective at poo-trapping.

Ooh! Ooh! And last thing - I scheduled a 3D ultrasound appointment! I had been on the fence, but we decided to go ahead and do it. I'm thinking it's one of those things that is just cool enough to overcome the slight creepiness factor. I'll let you know if I was right next Friday.

Trimester 3: In like a lion, out like...well...

Okay, so technically my third trimester started Thursday (according to my iPhone), and technically it's not March until tomorrow. But all things considered, I think the whole "March comes in like a lion, goes out like a lamb" thing is perfectly a propos to my situation. If by "out like a lamb" you mean big and puffy and bleating a lot, which is how I envision myself in 30 days time.

The lion part? Let's just say the ol' Tagamet HB that the nurse recommended I give a shot before getting a prescription for the real stuff is not going to cut it. I need the hard drugs. Stat. I can't eat anything, at any time of day, without creating near fatal levels of acid reflux. I'm dying here. I woke up every night this past week choking on stomach acid. It was so bad Friday night that all day yesterday I had that lump-in-your-throat feeling, the one that hurts extra bad when you think too hard about why your throat hurts (festering acid burns) and makes all food and drink completely joyless, if not painful, to consume. Seeing as eating is all I've got, I take this very, very personally.

Oooh, and also, I had my very first hormonal nervous breakdown! Yeay! You know, I was so even-keeled up to this point that I was worried I would miss out on this great pregnancy side effect completely! I'm so happy that it looks like I am going to get to experience the pregnancy psychosis after all.

It was all because Mo left on a business trip. For a week. That I'd known was coming for at least a week. Now, keep in mind that in our time together I have sent him off TO WAR. Multiple times. Into Iraq and Afghanistan. Not knowing when exactly he would be home. Not knowing when exactly I would hear from him either via phone or email. I drove him to get on the plane for a FOUR MONTH deployment to the middle east and managed to keep a smile on my face the entire time. Kissed him goodbye and said "I'll see you when you get home!" and didn't even cry as I drove away. Um, fast forward to pregnant Tori, sobbing face down on the couch because he was GONE and I wouldn't hear from him until he GOT TO THE AIRPORT TWENTY MINUTES LATER.

Now, I feel comfortable blaming this episode on hormones because there was a part of me in my brain that could step back and say, "wow, you're really losing it. And really for no good reason. This must be the hormones talking." And eventually I was able to recover - and even be my chipper self when he called to check in on the unstable woman he'd left behind.

Good times.

When I'm overwhelmed, I stay in my pajamas all day

I think I need to move my (very important) Blog Reading Time to the afternoon. Reading blogs with my morning coffee tends to turn into reading blogs at noon in my pajamas and still not having eaten.

I've noticed that when I put off my blog time until the afternoon, I'm much more discriminating. I'm skimming, I'm avoiding long link-following tangents. I read what I care about reading and I move on. Not sure why it's different, but it seems like it is.

And, if I read my blogs in the afternoon, I would avoid seeing things like this until after I had actually accomplished something with my day. As it stands, I read this particular post mid-morning and it stopped me dead in my tracks. At first I was inspired - the author of this post designed her nursery after a favorite tank top. I picked my color palette from a favorite pair of pajama pants. But inspiration was quickly overtaken by panic and stress. The woman bought balsa wood and painted it in a coordinating color and drilled holes in it all to MAKE BACKGROUNDS FOR THE LABELS SHE WAS PUTTING ON THE BASKETS TO HOLD DIAPERS. At this point, I am totally sweaty and on the verge of tears. How am I ever going to get any of this done? I've never even drilled holes in ANYTHING.

So basically I have total deer-in-the-headlights-itis. I had big plans to get the 1982 bathroom all repainted. When I needed a break from that, I was planning a trip to the baby furniture store to price out gliders. Maybe see if they have any mattresses or covers that will work with my bassinet. Instead I'm sitting here in my pajamas, eating M&Ms.

I know I'm overthinking this one. I have put together many a decent looking room totally by accident, and on a rational level I'm sure this nursery will be no different. But on an irrational level, however well I do or do not put together the nursery reflects how much I love the kid, or how good a mother I will be. I know that's asinine, but it's a feeling that's there somewhere. Maybe now that I've acknowledged it out in the open I can move on. Just buy some damn paint and get on with it.

An Important Retraction

I would like to recant my previous statement about Husband's work pants.

It is, in fact, untrue that they are acid washed. They are simply a very light wash denim. One that is supposedly very much back in fashion.

How I could be so insensitive as to call those jeans acid washed, I cannot explain. They are simply light wash, tapered leg cK jeans from the 90s, and for me to suggest otherwise was completely irresponsible. I did not realize how devastating this miscomunication of fact would be and I am glad to set the record straight.

Poor sweet Husband. He's really quite stylish.

You know, I might just be pregnant

I stopped into my local neighborhood drugstore this afternoon for some Pepcid AC and two bags of Easter candy.

On my way home from pilates.

Yeah, and I busted into the Reese's Eggs on the 1/2 mile drive home.

This explicitly pregnant lady behavior led me to have my first public pregnancy conversation, when the cashier looked at me while ringing up the lady in front of me in line and said, "so when ya due?" The three of us ladies proceeded to talk weight gain and baby size for the duration of our transactions. Cashier lady also told me that having a lot of heartburn means the baby is going to be born with lots of hair.

I think it may also mean that mom should lay off the chocolate.

Split pea thoughts for next time

1. Try not to include little hambones easily mistaken for potato chunks.

2. Use a waxy variety potato next time; Russet turned a skosh mealy.

3. Add a chopped carrot along with said waxy potato, post blender.

4. Take Cook's Illustrated's advice and use ham steak instead of ham hock - I don't really enjoy the scent of bone in my soup. Plus some of the meat that comes off a hock is pretty nasty.

Here is the recipe for my concoction. I just had some for lunch with a 1/2 a grilled cheese, and you should, too.

Split Pea Soup a la Porkchop
adapted from several sources

1 C chopped onion
1/2 C chopped carrot
1/2 C chopped celery
2 T butter
1.5 LB smoked ham hock
1.5 C split peas, rinsed and checked for rocks
2 t dried marjoram (or 1 t thyme and 1 t oregano)
1 bay leaf
8 C water
1 chunked up potato
1 chunked up carrot
1/2 C leftover mashed potatoes (optional)
salt and pepper

In a large enough soup pot, melt the butter over medium heat. Add the chopped veg and sweat until soft,maybe 10 minutes. Add the ham hock, peas and herbs and stir. After a minute or so, cover with the water. Bring to a boil and simmer, stirring occasionally, until the ham is falling off the bone and the peas are mushy. A little over an hour, in my case.

Remove the ham to a cutting board and find the stupid bay leaf - remove it, too. Take half of the soup and either blend in batches in the blender or use a hand blender to puree until bright green and smooth. Return to pot with the unblended half. Add your chunked up veg and the mashed potatoes (if using) and continue to simmer until the potatoes are cooked through. In the meantime salvage what ham you can off the hock and return it to the pot as well. Taste and season with S&P.

I would recommend making this the day before you actually want to eat it - it tastes best if you refrigerate it overnight and reheat it the next day. Makes about 10 cups of soup.

26 Weeks

Today marks 26 weeks, aka 14 weeks to the due date, aka two weeks from bi-weekly doctor appointments, aka the last week of my 2nd trimester. Eeek!

Needless to say, we're transitioning from "casual baby prep" mode to "oh crap we gotta get ready for this baby" mode. Considering I just had a friend give birth at 36 weeks, I've realized I should probably try to get all the basics taken care of by more like mid-April than mid-May.

Physically speaking, I'm starting to get big. I know I keep saying that, but no - FOR REALS now. My belly measures 40 and 1/2 inches around, and I'm up twenty pounds from where I started - I've crossed the 150 pound threshold for the first time in my life.
I don't feel bad about the weight. I know I'm a girl and I'm supposed to worry about it, but I just don't. To me, I'm pregnant, and it's a golden opportunity to eat what I want and gain whatever I gain and just not give an eff. Harumpf.

This week in food:


I got my soup made. I realize that this photo is not appetizing even if you love split pea soup, and that if you hate split pea soup this might be the most revolting image you have ever seen. But I did not really have the time, patience or marbles required to style soup attractively, so it is what it is.

(I'm not making that up, by the way. Food stylists use marbles to style soup. To hold up the carrots and potatoes and what not so they don't sink to the bottom. Fun fact!)

Anyway, soup made and delivered to Grandpa. It's a good batch, if I do say so myself. My secret weapon for velvety smoothness was a 1/2 cup or so of leftover mashed potatoes.

Fajitas for dinner. Just in case you were wondering what I've been stuffing my face with lately. My preferred fajita ratio is one small onion to two bell peppers, one chicken breast and one can of black beans. That allows the two of us to stuff ourselves with a couple of lunches worth of leftovers. You wouldn't think it with only one chicken breast, wouldja?

This is my latest craving. Green salad with garbanzos, hard boiled egg and cheddar on top. All dressed with some Italian style dressing. I've had one for three days straight now.

No Soup

This is as far as my split pea soup project went this weekend. That is not to say, however, that I was not productive. I just changed projects midstream.


We decided to finally get the kitchen painted instead. Here is an action shot of Husband, vacuuming out the underbelly of the range. I would like to make a point of telling you that he does not regularly wear acid washed cK tapered leg jeans. These are his "work jeans," and any time he puts them on, I know that a project is going to get DONE.

I don't know if it's the nesting instinct kicking in, or just me getting older and more finicky, but I have never in my life been so excited about pulling a range out from the wall and scrubbing it down. I focused on that puppy like I'd taken a handful of Adderall. I also cleaned the top and back sides of the fridge, so long as we were pulling major appliances out from their spots and all.

Before

After!
(Good job picking up before taking the stupid photo, right?)

I love, love this color. I am a big fan of mossy greens. This one in particular is a Behr paint called Lucky Bamboo. I wanted to do something to perk up the wood, and I think that I did it. I can't say that this kitchen is really my taste, but I've been much happier since I decided to go with it's traditional vibe rather than fight it. It's cheaper that way, at the very least.

We (Husband) also painted the hall bathroom...but I'm not posting any pictures of that because I still HATE it. It looks like something straight out of 1982. I don't know what I can possibly do to fix it, short of ripping out the pink formica vanity with my bare hands.

25 Weeks, if you're counting

So I had it planned out that my post for the day would be all about stats. I was going to tell you my weight and circumference and even post a picture...but best laid plans - blah, blah, etc.

Instead of posing for my glamour shots yesterday, I sat in the ER with my grandfather. He's okay - at least for a guy who is 89 years and 10 months old. Who suffered a severe head trauma. Oh yeah, and then a broken back. Oh yeah, and sepsis. All within the last five months. He's in the hospital under observation and should be going home in the morning.

Combine that with the dreary, rainy weather we're having and I'm ready for a comfort food project. One that my grandfather likes, and that will occupy my mind for a while without making me stand over the stove constantly.

I'm thinking Split-Pea Soup.

I went on a split-pea soup rampage a couple of years back, and could never find a recipe that I liked as well as the Campbell's Chunky version. I feel like I can never get it as velvety as I would like it.

Since none of the food bloggers I follow seem to have any ideas, I'm hunkered down with my cookbooks, which is really a way I like to be anyways. I'll let you know what I figure out.

I am a fire breathing dragon

I may just be about rounding that corner. That corner between "hey, what's the big deal? Pregnant is easy. I think I'll have eight kids" and "oh my god this sucks I hate it more than anything get this thing OUT OF ME."

Maybe.

My complaint today is that my acid reflux is out of control. I should have seen this coming, and in fact I did. But it sucks nonetheless.

I can't really complain, either, because I am doing nothing to mitigate the damage. I could be wrong, but part of my problem could be the three brownies and two heart shaped box chocolates that I ate between 3pm and 7pm yesterday. Followed by a big bowl of spaghetti and meat sauce and salad with spicy Italian dressing. Followed by my daily quart of ice cream.

Let's see, I vaguely remember a conversation with my doctor a few years back, where he told me I had a choice: either take the daily Prilosec for the rest of my life, or cut out all alcohol, coffee, chocolate, tomato products, and dairy. Since I'm not an idiot OR a martyr, I picked the Prilosec.

But the trouble with pregnant is that you can't take Prilosec. So here I am, woefully eating three out of four forbidden foods at any given time and trying to control the pain with a couple of chalky Tums.

Let's just say that either I'm going to learn my lesson and start eating a little more intelligently, or I will become a REALLY cool case study for the future generation of medical students. The Lady Who Could Actually Breathe Fire.

Or else maybe they'll make an episode of House about me. That would be rad.

The sugar betes

Yesterday was the big day, the day of reckoning. I had my monthly doctor's visit and had to drink the glucola.

What's glucola, you say? Glucola is kind of like thick, flat orange soda. At least mine was orange flavor. It is sort of like hummingbird food for pregnant ladies, designed to spike your blood sugar so they can see whether or not your pancreas is still feeling cooperative.

The only listed side effects of glucola are nausea and vomiting. Terrific, I said, I wonder if the test works if you vomit bright orange vomit everywhere before the hour between drinking and testing is up. Husband said he was guessing not, which led to my next question - how the hell did they think they were going to convince me to drink it AGAIN if such an event were to occur?

Luckily, there was no vomit. I did feel high on the car ride to the doctor's - totally couldn't follow the simple conversation we were having (no idea what it was now). I felt slightly nauseous, but not nearly as bad as back in the days of morning sickness.

AND - I got my blood drawn sitting up, like a big kid! Usually I have to lie down.

So now we wait. I am living in fear that the phone will ring and the nurse will tell me I failed the glucola test and have to take the next one. That requires fasting. That requires multiple blood draws and more glucola. Yesterday I had to "fast" for an hour and a half before I drank the glucola, and I thought the wait between then and when I could get to Burgermaster after my appointment was going to kill me. A 12 hour fast followed by three hours of glucola and blood draws MIGHT actually do me in.

The Quick and Dirty

Clockwise from top left: Cook's Illustrated, Mama's Minutia, Betty Crocker

All right. I apologize for the delay. Before I lose the attention completely of the three people on Earth who actually care about the results of this taste test, I will give you my quick and dirty low down. My well written, publication worthy piece will have to wait for the end of round two.

The Betty Crocker Box Mix: The easiest to make by far (duh) and the texture most favored by tasters. These babies were eight minutes from box to oven. They had the pretty shiny top that everyone seems to appreciate, but I noticed if you touched the shiny top the sensation was not of hardened sugar like on creme brulee, but grease. These brownies are super greasy, which seems like chewiness overkill - they want to be so sure that the texture is ooey-gooey-chewy that they load up on the fats to excess.

My takeaway impression: ooey-gooey-chewy for sure, but also greasy and more sweet than chocolate.

The Mama's Minutia recipe: This one was the next easiest to make - I liked the stove top part of the process. I felt like I was making candy, and it was sort of like candy making - when the dough got shiny and balled up on itself, it was ready to go. These took about 20 minutes from start to oven, not too shabby for a from-scratch treat. I made them with unsweetened cocoa powder, and they were VERY chocolatey. Almost too chocolately. But in a good way. They were also very dense, and so their chewiness rivaled the box brownies, but they lacked the top sheen - surprising because the dough itself was very shiny going into the oven.

My takeaway impression: I really want to make these with dutch process cocoa and see how they turn out. Also, if you put half the pan in the freezer so you don't end up eating too many, but then you go and take one out of the freezer and eat it because you're out of fresh brownies? Heaven. I can't believe I've been eating brownies for thirty years and never knew they were better frozen. Thanks a lot to Deb of Smitten Kitchen for pointing this out (and also for posting the brownie recipe in the first place and starting this whole snowball rolling).

Cook's Illustrated recipe: As expected, this was the fussiest to prepare, but still really didn't take too long. About 25 minutes from start to oven. I must admit that because I am sort of immature and tend to rebel against overly authoritative instructions, I didn't follow this recipe to the letter. That makes me a bad scientist, and calls the validity of this whole exercise into question.

Here's what happened. I failed to find dutch process cocoa in any of three stores (since when is it so impossible to find?), but I did have some cocoa mix that was dutch processed cocoa plus sugar, which said you could use in the place of cocoa powder if you reduced the amount of sugar in the recipe proportionately. Fine, right? Well, I'm not so sure. These Cook's Illustrated brownies were SO CLOSE to perfect, I HAVE to make them over again with the correct ingredients and see what happens.

Except I am going to change one other little thing also...the recipe calls for two teaspoons of instant espresso. Two OPTIONAL teaspoons. That much espresso gave the brownies an almost bacon-y, smoky flavor that I can't say is really what I'm looking for in a brownie. I think when I make the next batch, I will reduce it to one teaspoon.

Oh, another fussy Cook's Illustrated thing I didn't do, but probably should have. They called for lining the pan with foil and removing the brownies after 10 minutes of cooling, so that the heat retained by the Pyrex pan wouldn't overcook them. I didn't go through the whole foil sling making process, because I didn't do it for any of the others and I was trying to make all things equal. The brownies did get a little overcooked, however, and the texture suffered. I can tell from the vast improvement in texture of the frozen version that the foil sling is an important measure.

My takeaway impression: Near perfect. I can't wait to remake the recipe with the right cocoa-to-sugar proportion and the reduced espresso powder. Frozen version almost impossible to resist.

Brownie Hangover

The Great Brownie Experiment of 2010 is underway, and Phase 1 is complete. I woke up today with what can only be described as a brownie hangover - a theory proven by the fact that the only cure for it was hair of the dog. A few little half brownies after my breakfast cereal and I was fine.

Going in I was not expecting a Phase 2 to be necessary - but upon tasting the completed brownies I knew immediately that more tests were in order. I think that it is possible-through hard work and dedication- to create from these two brownie recipes The Greatest Brownie Recipe of All Time.

I have lots of details to share from Phase 1 - notes, pictures, you name it. But I think it's too soon to take my research public.

An old lover has returned

I know, I know. You're here for the brownie report. While I'm slaving away, baking in the name of science, please go ahead and read this post and let me know your position on the local/slow/hippie food movement. Brownies tomorrow, I super swear.

I received an email the other day with the subject line "time for a new beginning." Apparently, Full Circle Farm found out about my new and passionate affair with Amazon Fresh, and they want me back.

Full Circle Farm is a Seattle area CSA program that we participated in for well over a year. I decided to suspend my subscription early in my pregnancy, when the idea of trying to figure out what to do with a box full of produce every week was way too overwhelming for me to handle (this would be the chicken fingers era). Plus, it seemed like a good way to shave $30 off my weekly food bill. The variety was nice - but when I could get by on a basic produce selection from the store, without having to figure out what to do with dandelion greens for the third week in a row, it seemed like the right choice.

Since leaving FCF, I have regained some (but not all) of my kitchen enthusiasm. But I stick to the basic salad and side veggies that we usually eat without venturing out. I order them from Amazon Fresh, and they come with the rest of my groceries. They may or may not be grown 45 minutes from my house, but they ARE organic and reasonably priced.

Unfortunately, all the 'food morality' stuff out there has really gotten to me. Long gone are the carefree days of the past where I could buy whatever was cheap and tasty with a total lack of regard for where it came from. Now I have to think about it, and shop according to my conscience. And what my conscience tells me is that I should be spending my food dollar as locally and as small as possible - meaning I SHOULD be buying my food from the little farm co-op down the road, not the corporate goliath. It's strange that it's taken me as long as it has to come to this conclusion. My parents spent half their lives building up their own business; so how could it not occur to me to support other people in similar endeavors?

So according to my own values, I should be buying my produce from the CSA program, my dairy from the milkman, and my meat from a butcher. I should be willing to spend a little extra money to support small business and local food. I should quit telling myself that Amazon Fresh counts because it is a local company, technically.

But will I? Only time will tell. Full Circle Farm does not deliver ice cream OR oreos. That's a big dealbreaker in my book.

Watch this space

Friends, over the next few days, one of the most important experiments in the history of pregnancy will be conducted.

Whether you are pregnant, have been pregnant, hope to be pregnant, or know a pregnant, formerly pregnant or eventually pregnant woman, the results of this super scientific study are of the utmost importance to your health and well being.

And I am pleased to tell you that I am HBIC* of this experiment.

Over the next few days, I will be baking three different types of brownies - one box mix and two different recipes which purport to be Just Like Boxed Only Better.

I will bake, I will taste, I will compare and contrast, and I will report back. I feel a grave obligation to journalism, to science, and yes, to pregnant women everywhere.

Stay tuned. This should be awesome.



*That's Head Bitch In Charge. I hear Martha Stewart has it on her business cards.

Madness, I tell you

Take a look at all this food, would you? Can you believe it was ours for just $16.90?

Husband and I decided to hit up our favorite neighborhood teriyaki joint for lunch today. I love it so because you get eight pounds of food for eight dollars, and that includes my upgrade to brown rice and all-white meat. And don't forget the refreshing cucumber salad, the health benefits of which are extolled all over the walls of the restaurant (just don't ask me exactly what they are, I'm not quite sure).

This is my plate. You can observe that it is respectably full, lunch appropriate portion.


This is the take-out container after my serving was removed. You can see that the dent made was pitiful. These leftovers filled a 4 cup tupperware to the brim.


Here is Husband's "It's not THAT spicy" Spicy Teriyaki that I found to be plenty spicy, thank you. You see that you get even MORE meat if you are not a chicken hooter snob like myself. He decided to eat an inverse proportion to my own, and saved about a plate's worth.

Now I know, 17 bucks for lunch isn't *technically* anything to write home about. But considering I am going to get three meals out of my $8.45 investment, I'm pretty happy. Plus, it is a much healthier option than your typical fast food treat - we could have spent that $16.90 at Taco Bell instead, after all.

It all makes sense now

I just spent the past hour or so rifling through my cookbook collection, trying to find an alternate shoofly recipe, maybe see how the pie works, maybe figure out where I saw it in the first place.

The only place I could find it was in Richard Sax's Classic Home Desserts. Under "Coffee Cakes."

I love it when an obsession comes full circle.

At least my glucose tolerance test isn't for another week

Behold, the sweet syrups section of my pantry.


I have been thinking about doing something with these syrups for a while now, and yesterday the perfect opportunity presented itself. One Ms. Jennifer Jo (the artist formerly known as Mama JJ) posted an entry to her blog about shoofly pie, and queried her readers as to whether or not they were fans.

I was without a formal position. I had never tried shoofly pie, or even heard of it, until I saw a recipe for it in one cookbook or another a couple of years back. I was intrigued, because it sounded to me a lot like pecan pie minus the pecans - and I've always thought pecan pie would be better without the nuts in the way. But Mama JJ - Jennifer - posted a recipe for what she calls shoofly cake, and said try it, see if you like it. So I did.


Holy sweet mother of all things that are holy and sweet. Did I like it? I became instantly obsessed with it. As a matter of fact, my first conscious thought upon waking this morning was SHOOFLY. I had two helpings last night and it's all I can do not to eat more right now. Any time I'm in the kitchen I end up standing over the stove, staring at it.

You make it by making a kinda sorta crumble topping, only that part is the crust. Then you pour a mixture of your sweet syrups, egg, boiling water and baking soda (science!) over that, and top it off with a little more of the crumble mixture. Then it begins to look and smell exactly like a 9x13 pan full of Guinness, which I considered a very positive omen at that stage of my little experiment.

In her recipe (click that link up there), Jennifer calls for 1 cup of light Karo and 1 cup of molasses, but says that you can play with that ratio according to your love/hate of molasses. I like molasses-y things, but I was also in possession of two rather old, rather empty bottles of Karo syrup, one light and one dark. To use up the bottles, I ended up with about 1 1/4 cups of Karo (more light than dark) and 3/4 cup of molasses.

The end result was perfect. It was less sweet than I expected, which is actually a good thing. It's the sort of thing where the flavor in every bite is so exquisitely nuanced - thanks to the molasses - that you cannot wait to eat the next bite (or the rest of the pan, for that matter) to get to more of those little sneaky flavors. And the textures. The slightly crunchy little crust layer, the ooey gooey, almost batter-y middle and the more cooked top...heavenly. It reminds me of brownies without the chocolate, if chocolate were something awful you were looking to get rid of in the first place.

So do I like shoofly cake? Um, yeah. I am smitten.

23 Weeks

While yesterday I announced I was four months from my due date, today I am here to tell you that it's technically 17 weeks. Can we all just agree that we need to have some ruling board lock themselves in a room and not come out until we have one, unified, universal system of time-keeping in pregnancy? It's just ridiculous. I mean, yesterday was 4 calendar months until my due date, today marks 17 weeks until my due date, I'm considered 5 months pregnant, but I'm in my 6th lunar month, it's the beginning of week 24 but really let's call it week 22...too many answers to the same effing question, in my opinion.

*Deep breath* ... Anyway...I am 23 weeks pregnant today.

Supposedly the baby is now the size of a mango. All I can think of is Chris Kattan in his gold lame' skirt and beret. Picturing this inside of me is rather unsettling. Although I must say if my little Chopita ever gets into a slap fight with J-Lo, I'll be pretty proud.

Everything I'm reading now about my body is getting very ominous, from a vanity perspective. I have been warned that the baby is about to quadruple in size and that stretch marks are imminent. So far so good there - through some combination of water consumption, body oil and genetics I have avoided them so far. Of course, I have also avoided having some wiggly four pound alien in my belly so far, so who knows what will happen.

Speaking of wiggly four pound objects, my breasts are completely out of control. I have gone from a nice, manageable borderline B/C cup to an F. EFF. Yes, my bra size is now 34F. When I say this to mothers who have experienced the horrors of Milk Coming In, they shudder. They shake their heads and regard me with pity. I think I had better pay special attention to the section in the breastfeeding book about What To Do if Your Giant Oversized Breast Is Suffocating the Baby.

I'm now pretty solidly in maternity clothes and t-shirts that used to be too big for me to wear in public, and I think I have about all that I need to get through the duration. I tried to buy a bunch of cheap t-shirts, cardigans and sweatshirts so that I could layer according to the weather. I had to buy cheap because the budget was blown on the miracles of engineering that are my two new bras. The one thing I still want to buy is a new pair of slip on shoes, seeing as getting to my feet is already slightly uncomfortable sometimes.

The best part? I feel Chopita move all the time now. The worst part? I feel Chopita move all the time, and she's getting deliberate. Lately it feels like she's been punching me in the cervix. It's uncomfortable. I have tried bargaining with her - hey kid, stop punching me in the lady bits and I will let you wear mascara in high school - but apparently that's meaningless to her now. I'm looking forward to telling her how she blew it later on.

T minus 4 months

Four months to go until my due date. That seems both exceptionally far away and mind-bogglingly close.

What was happening four months ago? September 27th. My calendar shows that it was my mother-in-law's birthday and that the Seahawks played the Bears. I had known I was pregnant for almost two weeks. It was still scary (scarier, anyway) then, and I was prone to waves of nausea. I think I remember eating a cup o' noodles in the car on the way to that football game. It was the first one we drove to, rather than take the bus, because there would be no risk of drunkenness. My grandfather was in the hospital, and we stopped by on the way to say hello.

Well, with that perspective, the baby seems farther away. All of that stuff seems like an eternity ago. But maybe that's just because it was an entirely different head space. My pregnancy was still a secret at that point, not to be revealed for another few weeks. The fall that sent my grandfather to the hospital set off a busy chain of events, which included Husband and I flying to Phoenix to drive home with my dad. Yes. You heard me. Two day, marathon road trip with a secret, fresh pregnancy. It was as fun as it sounds.

So now that I'm firmly in baby mode, and couldn't hide it if I tried, maybe it will go faster. Things are going to start happening quickly. Our birth class starts four weeks from tomorrow, and will occupy our Thursday nights until the middle of April. I have a doctor's appointment on Tuesday, another one four weeks later, and then I start going every two weeks already. Granted, four weeks is still four weeks, and thinking back four weeks to New Year's...THAT even seems like a long time ago. The ultrasound where we found out it was a Chopita was that week! It seems like we've known she was a girl for an eternity.

Whatever. As slowly or quickly as it goes by, there's still a lot to do. Like all that baby registery stuff I was going to get done after Christmas? Yeah, I think there are one or two items on there. I still need to register for (more) classes, and of course do the physical setting up of the nursery. It's nice to start the concrete action portion of this pregnancy, rather than living in abstract concept land like I have for the past five months.

The Spite Pee

Rocco, dog of the house, has earned himself the right to sport a diaper every time he's left home alone. He earned this special privilege through his tendency to spite pee.

Spite pee you say? Never heard of it. In fact, you probably heard from the dog whisperer or some such expert that it doesn't exist. No bad dogs, just bad owners. Etc.

But I am here to tell you - and I am sure that there are other owners of little terriers out there who would back me up if they were among the seven readers of this blog - spite pee totally exists.

Today, for instance. I needed to run off to the strip mall and do strip mall things like mail stuff, get some coffee at Starbucks, eat teriyaki, get some shoes cobbled, take a karate class...well, not really. But I did have errands at the neighborhood commercial center. I figured I would be gone an hour at most, and seeing as Dog had just been O-U-T not an hour before, I thought it would be a better use of everyone's time (mine especially) if he just waited until I got back to go out and pee. So I strapped his little denim diaper on and went on my merry way. Came home not even 45 minutes later to a soaking wet diaper. WTF, dog? See, that was a spite pee. It wasn't that he needed to pee SO BAD, it was that I didn't let him out the door with me when I left. Spite pee.

He then totally threw me off my game by proceeding to go outside and taking a dump, a feat which is always rewarded with a potty treat. So now here I am, with this belligerent little dog who just spite peed me, kicking up the grass like a bucking bronco - because he knows I owe him the cookie despite what he did in his diaper, because of what he JUST did in the yard. Well played, sir, well played.

I guess I will just consider it free parenting lessons and move on.

Things currently distracting me from blogging about my pregnancy, volume 1

I agreed to play model for a friend this week. She is an exceptionally talented color stylist and has been in charge of my hair for eons. She needed me to sit for her apprentice's "red" test, which is one of four tests the apprentice needed to pass to graduate from apprentice to stylist, I gather.

Now, I'm not saying that the apprentice did a bad job by any means. I think that she passed the test handily. The only trouble is that I have been left looking like the president of the Twilight Fan Club. I didn't realize quite how pale I have gotten until my hair went from a lovely copper blonde to teen angst red. It's not entirely unflattering, it just makes me jump every time I pass a mirror. And feel like I should be buying cigarettes for a quarter each off my fellow Denny's patrons and writing bad poetry while I drink coffee with three sugar packets per refill. Or brooding over some cute vampire or werewolf or whatever. I only read the first book, I don't really know what I'm supposed to be doing. All I know is I am some buffalo plaid, black skinny jeans and a pair of vans away from being Kristen Stewart.

At any rate, it should be all better tomorrow - I have an appointment to get it fixed. Unless you think I should just run with it...anyone?

The rest of the Pork Chop family

I figure maybe it's time you meet the rest of the gang.

The human male in the photo is Husband, otherwise known as Father of Chopita, otherwise known as Mo. I refer to him as Husband not to cloister him in anonymity; rather, it's what I call him. He in turn calls me Wife. I think it started as a joke sometime after our wedding - the novelty of being husband and wife made it funny. Now it's habit. I don't plan to start calling him "dad" or answering to "mom" once the kid is here, but I guess it could happen. I just don't see myself answering to "mother" when it's just the two of us in a Denny's 30 years from now. Anyway, that's Husband. He is handsome and funny and wonderful and manages to be perfect at least 85% of the time.

The cat on the table is Meester, given name Mack. He is going to get his own post eventually, because he is Alpha Pet and the recipient of 98% of my affections. I have already started to worry about how he will react to the baby and how our relationship will change. That may sound crazy, but it's true. He is 17 pounds of big male cat and he bosses the rest of us around accordingly.

Cat with his back to you is Womper, given name Jack. We started calling him Womper because his little canine teeth stick out of his mouth like a vampire...somehow it bastardized to Womper. He's more of a standard model cat than his brother, spooking easily and barfing on a regular basis.

The dog is Rocco, usually referred to as Dog. He only outweighs Meester by four pounds, and that combined with the fact that he was threatened within an inch of his life if he got near the cats when they were kittens means that he is totally their bitch. Womper tends to be nicer to him than Meester, who will usually swat him for no particular reason whenever the opportunity arises. Rocco is nine years old and either very, very good or very, very bad depending on the day you catch him. He's usually good for some sort of entertaining shenanigans, anyway.

So that's it - the family to which little Chopita will be born. I'm really hoping that I don't feel the way I hear some people say they feel, that once the baby is born the pets fade into the background as "just pets." It breaks my heart to think of the dynamic changing that way. We've been this little family for over three years - we got the kittens about a month after our wedding. I still remember getting up early to go see them in their little kitten nursery, locked away from dog jaws. I didn't mind at all scooping their little kitten poop or cleaning up their food mess, I was just glad to spend time and get to know them. I'm guessing that's going to be kind of what it's like to have a baby, right?