Blood Glucose Test - Check!

A few hours ago, I crossed an important item off my prenatal checklist: the blood glucose test. This is the test that checks for gestational diabetes. You have to drink a sugary concoction and then, after waiting for an hour or two or four, your blood is drawn. The lab then checks to see how well your body handled the sugar.

For the sugar drink, the phlebotomist offered me a choice between "Orange" and "Fruit Punch" flavors. I chose Orange. The phlebotomist gave me a horrified look, so I asked which flavor is better. "Fruit punch!" she declared, so I switched my request. She brought me a plastic container filled with clear liquid. It had a funny tang. The phlebotomist told me I had five minutes to drink the entire thing. I gulped it down in less than a minute. The phlebotomist was not impressed.

Now, if you search online, you will find no shortage of complaints about the blood glucose test. People write about the sugar drink as if it is some foul funk concocted in the depths of hell. It's not. In college, at parties, the fraternities served "beer" and that shit tasted like some foul funk brewed in the depths of hell. But did people whine? Well, yes, but we still chugged that shit as if it might bestow immortality, fame and wealth on the drinker. I have a point I'm trying to make here, but my pregnant brain lost it. 

Pregnant ladies sometimes have to wait two or four hours before having their blood drawn. I just had to wait for one hour, which I happily spent reading.  They also sometimes need to fast before the test. My doctor just asked me to avoid sugary foods before the test and to brush my teeth without toothpaste. During the one hour between imbibing the sugar drink and having my blood drawn, I could not eat or drink. Big deal. One lousy hour. After the test, I rewarded myself with  a bagel. It was delicious. 

A lot of pregnant women complain that the sugar drink makes them feel dizzy and nauseous. I have suffered from plenty of nausea during this pregnancy, but I did not feel a twinge of nausea during the test. Maybe my stomach is weird. After all, I still puke almost every day. Maybe my body was trying to be nice: I experience excessive puking throughout pregnancy, but hey, at least I feel fine during the blood glucose test!

Now that I've checked this item off my To Do list, I feel as if I am in the pregnancy home stretch. The third trimester is just two weeks and two days away (not that I'm counting or anything). I can do this!

My Doula Thinks I'm Lame, And I Really Don't Care

As I explained in yesterday's post, I don't actually have a doula. I did, however, attend a prenatal yoga class that was taught by a doula, so I like to pretend I have a doula-by-association. Also, for purposes of this post, "doula" just sounds cooler than "yoga instructor."

At the beginning of every yoga class, the doula asked a question like, 'Have you had any weird pregnancy symptoms?" or "Have you picked the baby's name yet?" Then we went around the room, introduced ourselves, and answered the question.

One week, the doula asked, "Who is going to be present with you during labor?"

Most of the students answered, "Just my husband." One student responded, "My husband and my mom." (Her mom is a labor and delivery nurse.) I was the last person to answer the question, so when it was my turn, I said, "My husband and a big stack of DVDs."

To my response, my doula-by-association said, "Okaaaay." From her tone of voice, I could tell she was really saying, "How lame. Who on earth would want to miss out on the amazing miracle of labor? Courtney, please, you should be embracing your every contraction and celebrating every wave of pain that racks your mortal flesh. Don't space out and watch a movie! Only lame weaklings watch dvd's when they are in labor."

Yeah? Well, maybe I am a lame weakling, but I don't care. I have no idea what I'm going to be like when I'm in labor. I might be very chatty. I might be very quiet. I might want to scrub the kitchen floor. I might want to take a shower, bake some cookies, do the Hustle and take another shower. And yes, I might want to watch a movie to pass the time.

I know I'm not alone in this desire because the labor and delivery rooms at our hospital are equipped with blu-ray players. Since the thought of being able to watch a favorite movie comforts me, I have filled my hospital bag with an ass shit ton of DVDs and Blu-rays. (I'm sorry, I don't know why, but lately I'm obsessed with the phrase "ass shit ton.")

In case you are curious, these are the movies that have secured a place in my hospital bag:

- The Avengers: I specifically bought this for labor and told Nathan we cannot, under any circumstances, watch it until the contractions start. I can't wait to see Hulk smash.
- Beetlejuice: An old favorite.
- Inception: I could watch this movie every week and never tire of it.
- Despicable Me: The minions and Gru always take me to a happy place.
- Clueless: As if! This will satisfy any desire I have to watch a chick flick without making Nathan puke.
- Napolean Dynamite: If this does not distract me, then I'll know it's time for the epidural.
- Seabiscuit: Although my favorite race horse is Secretariat, this is my favorite movie about a race horse.
- The Back to the Future trilogy: There are no words to describe my love for Marty McFly and Doc Brown.
- Julie & Julia: I love me a good cooking movie. And I love me Meryl Strep and Amy Adams.
- Pride & Prejudice, the Keira Knightley version: On the one hand, I will be the one in labor, so if I need some Jane Austen, Nathan is just going to have to deal. On the other hand, I love my husband, so I'm not going to subject him to the longer BBC Colin Firth version.
- The Muppets: Jason Segal, Amy Adams, and Kermit? If the opening dance number doesn't make you smile, then I'm sorry but you have no soul.
- Sideways: Not only is this movie amazing and hilarious, but it involves lots of beautiful wine. I have not had a drop of wine since June. Two weekends ago, I sniffed my cousin Julie's glass of Chardonnay and oh my god, I wanted to die, it smelled so good. Maybe this movie can inspire me to get through labor so I can celebrate with a glass of something bubbly.
- Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves: Confession: I asked for this movie for Christmas when I was in junior high school. My parents assumed I had a crush on Christian Bale, but actually, I had a huge crush on Kevin Costner.
- The Truman Show: This movie is one of my all-time favorites but I haven't seen it in years. And holy crap, Paul Giamatti is in it? Oh shoot, I so want to watch this movie now. Must... exercise... self-control....
- Master and Commander, The Far Side of the World: Because sometimes a girl in labor needs some Russell Crowe, and we just watched Gladiator in January.


Notable omissions:
- The original Star Wars trilogy should be first on the list, but I don't own the DVD or Blu-ray. And I refuse to buy it until the powers that be release the Blu-ray of the original version, before George Lucas screwed it up by adding new scenes and special effects. If I have to watch the fake CGI Jabba the Hut while I'm in labor, I'll kill someone.
- I'm leaving the Lord of the Rings at home because despite my love for hobbits and dwarves, I can't handle Samwise Gamgee while I'm in labor. He's just too earnest and genuine.
- Many chick flicks did not make the cut because if I see Nathan smirk at Bridget Jones or Lucy Honeychurch, I will hit him until he cries like a girl.
- I am also leaving behind anything that will make me cry, e.g. The Hunger Games, The Dark Knight Rises and Moulin Rouge. (As for Moulin Rouge, I know I'd end up throwing Nathan out of the room during the first musical number.)

Hopefully I will not have time to watch even half the movies in my hospital bag. But, if the Universe has decided I need to have one of those epic marathon labor sessions, I am prepared!

My Doula's Favorite Breathing Strategy

For those of you who don't know, a doula is a labor coach/advocate/support person. I don't actually have a doula.  Although I know people who loved having a doula's support during labor and delivery, that's just not my style. A doula would annoy the crap out of me and make me feel unnecessarily self-conscious. (And I might get arrested if I punched her in the face.)

So technically, for sanity reasons, I myself do not have a doula. But for several months, I went to a prenatal yoga class that was taught by a doula, so I feel like I had a doula-by-association (or something like that - I'm sure my dad can think of a better phrase than my feeble pregnant brain).

I generally loved my doula-by-association and her yoga classes. At the beginning of every class, the doula led a mediation and taught breathing techniques that can be used during labor. I'm not really good at sitting and breathing, especially if a spandexed-and-hennaed yogi is telling me to quiet my thoughts. But it was very relaxing to practice the doula's breathing techniques, and her strategies for dealing with labor pain made sense.

Usually.

One time, the doula spoke about her personal experience with labor. She gave birth to her daughter sans medication. Tangent/rant: the doula would say she gave birth to her daughter naturally, but I'm sorry, I refuse to perpetuate the misuse of the phrase "natural childbirth" because it implies that childbirth that involves medication is "unnatural" and that's just a big pile of bullshit. Do we call it "natural pneumonia" or "natural meningitis" if you decide to forego the antibiotics? Of course not, we just call that "stupid." Not to say that you are stupid if you decide to breathe your way through labor, but don't tell me I'm being "unnatural" if I get an epidural.

Anyway, the doula had an unmedicated childbirth, and she told my yoga class that she got through her labor by "observing her contractions." She regarded labor as a learning process whereby she could study and learn more about the contraction. Every time she had a contraction, she breathed quietly and thought, "Oh wow, this is a contraction... this is what it feels like to have a contraction... it is so amazing what the female body can do..."

This strategy worked for my doula - and wow, more power to her - but I highly doubt it will work for me. Nathan and I went to a labor and delivery class last month that was taught by another doula. Tangent/rant: we feel like we were conned, because the class was taught at our hospital, so we were expecting a non-doula instructor. But what do we know? Apparently half the population of Southern California are practicing doulas.

At one point during the labor and delivery class, the doula passed around wooden clothes pins, had us clip the pins to our ear lobes, and guided us through some breathing exercises. I spent the entire exercise thinking, "Holy crap, this clothes pin really, really hurts. Can I take it off? Shit, everyone else still has their clothes pin on. Even my husband is doing this lame ass exercise. Traitor. I can't believe we're inflicting pain on ourselves. I am learning nothing. Am I breathing right? Holy shit, this really, really, really hurts. I hate everything."

Since I could not handle the clothes pin exercise, I highly doubt I will be able to get through labor by simply "observing my contractions." I intend to go with a completely different approach. Rather than observe and study my contractions, I am going to do everything in my power to ignore them. I will breathe and pace and sit on the birth ball (yes, we have a birth ball!) and do whatever it takes to distract myself from the pain. And Nathan will rub my back and brush my hair and tell me I'm beautiful and do whatever he can to help me forget the contractions. Some people might be curious to experience a contraction, but I do not have that sort of interest in pain and suffering. I'm just interested in getting to the good part, when Baby Girl joins the world and draws her first breath. I don't need to experience a Middle Ages-style labor to revel in my daughter's birth.

And does anyone actually think that women of earlier times were delivering babies by so-called "natural methods"? Shit, no! They were probably drinking booze and laudanum until they passed out.

A Cardigan for Baby Girl

Yesterday, I finally put the finishing touches on a cardigan I've been knitting for Baby Girl:

I finished the cardigan a few weeks ago but needed buttons. There is a fabric store in West Los Angeles that has the most amazing button selection, but yeah, I didn't have the energy to make the pilgrimage. I decided to visit our local JoAnne's instead - except I kept delaying that outing as well, again for lack of energy. Finally, after lunch yesterday, I managed to drag my pregnant ass to JoAnne's and was rewarded with these sweet bunny buttons:

The pattern for this cardigan is in More Last-Minute Knitted Gifts. It's the first pattern I tried from the book, and I pretty much want to knit everything in the book. The cardigan was relatively easy to knit but it was a learning experience. It's been a long time since I knit something more complicated than a blanket or scarf, and I thought I could knit this cardigan while watching television. BIG EFFING MISTAKE. I was 90% done with the cardigan when I realized I had done something ass-backwards that could not be undone. This mistake was entirely my fault and I had to unravel the entire sweater and start over.

Fortunately, baby sweaters are so tiny it hurts, so starting over is not such a big deal. But seven or eight years ago, I was a crazy perfectionist. If something like this had happened, I would have cried and raged at myself and buried all of my knitting supplies in the back of my closet. I would not have touched my needles for at least a year.

But I've grown up a lot and become much more patient with myself. When I realized I had totally effed up Baby Girl's cardigan, I shook my head, laughed a little, calmly frogged the project, and happily started over. Maybe this is just a sign that I'm getting older and wiser. Maybe it's the pregnancy hormones. Or maybe it's the fact that I haven't had caffeine since before I got pregnant. But I think it also has something to do with cooking.

I've been cooking more and more over the last decade, and cooking has taught me a lot about mistakes and improvisation. If you cook enough, you will ruin your fair share of dishes and that's okay. At least twice a year, I completely ruin dinner and Nathan has to run to McDonald's for burgers and that's okay. Sometimes the roasted asparagus is a little too salty or the cookies are a little burned, but hey, that's okay. Cooking has taught me to be patient and kind to myself when I whip up a kitchen disaster. Lucky for me, that patience has spilled over into the rest of my life.

Whew!

Until recently, I was able to "exercise" in a way that actually resembled exercise. But in the past two weeks, my belly has gotten so big, I am lucky if I can waddle around the block. For example, before writing this post, I took a 15 minute walk around my neighborhood ... and I feel like I deserve a parade and medal.

Thank God we are enjoying lovely warm spring weather in Pasadena, because tying my sneakers has become virtually impossible. I'm all about slip-on shoes these days - even if that means wearing my lime green Crocs in public:



Getting a photo of my feet is an exercise in balance and patience.
 

Ordinarily, I only wear these Crocs at home, but these days, my belly, aka The Circus Sideshow, gets all the attention. No one is paying to my footwear. Just look at my shadow:

If you listen closely, you can hear my shadow
laughing at me.

No matter how big my belly gets, I am determined to keep moving (even if that means waddling around the block in slow motion). Movement keeps me feeling healthy and energized. I used to go to a prenatal yoga class that made my body feel like HEAVEN. But last Tuesday, I went to class and discovered my body could no longer handle the poses. I thought I was going to die as I tried to contort my body into a floor pose. I kept toppling over, so I bailed early and left class during the break. Sometimes, you just need to listen to your body (or, in my case, sometimes I just need to listen to my belly, which was saying, "Screw yoga, let's get a vanilla shake.")

I also went swimming a few times in February. By "swimming," I mean "clutching a kick board while jogging my feet underwater." When I was in the pool, I felt light and free. But then, at the end of the swim, I always had to get out of the pool... and the force of gravity made me feel like I weighed 1000 pounds. Let's just say I have a good idea what a walrus must feel like as it heaves its body to shore. Regardless, I won't be swimming again until the summer. It's too much of a production to "shimmy" into my maternity swimsuit, drive to the pool, claim a lane, etc. etc.

But I can waddle, so waddle I will until Baby Girl is ready to make her big debut. Hopefully my belly won't scare any of the neighborhood kids. 

I Stayed Awake Past My Bedtime!

Last night, Argo won the Academy Award for Best Picture. I predicted this last October. Excuse me while I take a moment to gloat and bask in my psychic powers.

In even more exciting news, I stayed awake past 9 p.m. and watched the entire Oscars, from start to finish! Okay, we didn't watch the entire show. We recorded the show and then Nathan skipped over the boring bits (of which there were many). But the important thing is that I saw Ben Affleck's acceptance speech live, and folks, I have not stayed awake past 9 p.m. in MONTHS. If I'm awake past 8 p.m., that is a miracle deserving a parade and fireworks. But 9 p.m.? I didn't think it was possible!

Thank you, Seth MacFarlane. You were an entertaining host and you kept this pregnant lady awake waaaaay past her bedtime. Now, if only Mr. MacFarlane could do something about my uncontrollable pregnancy thirst... (Seriously, folks, I guzzle water all day and all night, but the more I drink, the more my uterus demands.)

My Dumbass Pregnant Brain

My cousin Emily is also pregnant, and as she likes to joke, we are basically "operating at stoner capacity." Lately I feel like Jeff Spicoli from Fast Times At Ridgemont High. Here are some of my favorite "pregnancy brain" moments from the past few weeks:

• I went shopping and bought some stuff for Baby Girl. About 45 minutes later, as I was driving home, I had a nagging suspicion that my shopping bag with Baby Girl's goodies had not made it into the trunk of my car. Sure enough, when I got home, I confirmed that the shopping bag had indeed been lost at some point during my shopping excursion. Fortunately, after several phone calls, I located the errant bag and the store was happy to hold it for me. And now I shop almost exclusively online.
• I left my yoga mat at the yoga studio and had no idea my mat was missing until my next class. Fortunately, some kind soul had turned my mat into the Lost and Found.
• I only wash my hair every few days (if not every four or five days). With my limited energy, I can't be drying my hair every day or two! I washed my hair this past Monday. On Tuesday, I told myself, I don't need to wash my hair, I washed it yesterday. About 30 seconds later, I was in the shower, applying shampoo. Doh! Then, when I was drying my hair, I realized I had forgotten to rinse out my conditioner. Are you freaking kidding me?! As a matter of principle, I refuse to wash my hair until tomorrow morning even though it feels a little gnarly from the excess conditioner. (Le sigh).
• Just yesterday, I decided to assemble our Diaper Genie. It looked easy enough. According to the directions, I literally needed to snap Part A into Part B, and voilà, we'd have a functioning Diaper Genie. But my feeble pregnant brain could not handle this task.
• Last night, as we were cleaning up dinner, Nathan asked if the dishes in the dishwasher were clean or dirty. I assured him that the dishes were clean, that I myself had run the dishwasher just that morning. I was 110% confident the dishes were clean. Nathan started to put the dishes away ... and suffice to say, they were not clean.
• Last but not least, the Shift key on my laptop has been acting up. Nathan asked me, Are both Shift keys broken or is it just the one you normally use? I paused for a long time and finally said, My laptop has two Shift keys? My third grade computer teacher would be so disappointed!

My Favorite Pregnancy Purchase (So Far)

I cannot say enough good things about this gizmo:

 

It's the Ez2Care Aluminum Reacher and every pregnant lady needs at least one. My bump recently got to the point where bending over is a challenge; and once it became a challenge, it felt like I had to bend over at least a thousand times a day to pick something up. Nathan is a saint and helps as much as he can, but he's not always home. And if my shoes are on the floor, I can't exactly wait eight hours until he gets home from work and can pick them up for me.

This is where the Reacher comes in handy. It is glorious. I mostly use it to pick up socks and shoes, but it picks up almost everything I need. I love it soooo much, and I can't believe no one suggested I buy one. I have received so much advice from friends, relatives, books and blogs, and no one ever thought to say, "Hey, when your bump becomes huge and cumbersome, get yourself one of those arm extender thingees." My husband had to think of this idea (while he was picking up a ball of yarn I had dropped for like the twentieth time that evening).

Every pregnant lady should receive one of these the day she starts her third trimester. It's a life saver. And I imagine I'll keep using it after Baby Girl arrives. Rather than bend over while holding a newborn, I'll just use my Reacher to clean up the floor. Screw Gandalf's wizard staff. My magical weapon of choice is the Ez2Care Aluminum Reacher.

A Little Serenity

I realize that some of my pregnancy posts might seem bleak. I don't mean to be bleak! Physically, this pregnancy has fallen on the tough side of the spectrum. But mentally and emotionally, I'm doing great. I feel calm, serene and happy. I don't know if it's the pregnancy hormones or all the vanilla milkshakes I'm drinking, but I feel very content and peaceful.

I probably don't say this enough, but I am very excited for Baby Girl's arrival. I am thrilled that she is healthy and thriving. I have some discomforts and dietary restrictions, but they feel like good learning experiences. This pregnancy has made me a better woman.

Alas, it's not very exciting to write about contentment and peace. When I sit down at my laptop, it's much more interesting to write about puke and building pillow forts for my back. That's the sort of writer I am, and there are not enough vanilla milkshakes in the world to sand away my edges.

When I complain about yakking or not being able to tie my shoes, that's just me indulging my darker sense of humor. I'm not swimming in despair. On the contrary, I am glowing with joy. Even when I'm tired and sick to the stomach, I mainly feel positive and blessed.  

Okay, that's enough sappiness from me. Excuse me, I need to go find something to be cranky about.

Pregnant Lady Musical Chairs!

As a child, musical chairs was my third favorite birthday party game. The piñata was my favorite, and Pin the Tail on the Donkey a close second. But musical chairs was pretty bad ass - unless you were one of the first kids out. Then it sucked.

Now I play musical chairs every day - except there's no music, prizes or cake. The rules for Pregnant Lady Musical Chairs are very straightforward: wander around your house and look for a comfortable spot to sit. This might sound easy, but there's a twist: the most comfortable place to sit is an ever-shifting variable that changes with my pregnant back's whims. Sometimes it's the armchair in the living room; sometimes it's the glider in the future nursery; and sometimes, it's not even a chair at all but it's the couch, bed or the floor. You have to find the most comfortable place to sit before the music stops, or your back will demand an evening with an ice pack.

For several weeks, I had mastered Pregnant Lady Musical Chairs: the leather armchair in our den was the place to be. But a few days ago, my back revolted and demanded a chair with a harder back. I had to improvise and wheel our office chair into the den. This worked, sort of, but Monday afternoon I discovered that our outdoor rocking chair is even better than the office chair, so I had Nathan bring it into the living room. (I swear, I could hear my pregnant belly laughing when I considered dragging the chair into the house myself.)

So now our living room looks like this:

Well, I was going to include a photo here, but either Blogger or my laptop is being a little bitch, and not letting me upload a photo. Grrrrr... Please use your imagination - just picture a living room that has been hit by a tornado and you'll get the idea.

Does the living room look tragic with an outdoor rocking chair? A little. But do I feel like a genius for winning the latest round of Pregnant Lady Musical Chairs? Absolutely. Besides, this game is preparing me for motherhood. I'll have to adjust our decor as Baby Girl learns to sit, crawl, stand and walk. Breakable objects will have to move, outlets will have to be covered, and baby gates will be installed. Pregnant Lady Musical Chairs is just part of the adventure called motherhood.

Pregnancy Q&A

The New Year started on Tuesday, but my third trimester started on Wednesday, and for me, that feels like the bigger deal. I thought it might be fun to do a little Q&A with myself and take stock of how my pregnancy is going.

Do you have any cravings?
Vanilla milkshakes, milk, bread, and cheese.

Any anti-cravings?
If I walk near the seafood counter at my grocery store, I want to die. Also, I have to avoid acidic foods, or else I throw up. That means no tomatoes, onions, chocolate, etc.

When was the last time you threw up?
About four hours ago.

Are you sleeping well?
Well enough. Every night, I build a "pillow fort." First, I stack four pillows against the wall to lean against. (If I lie down in a flat position, I throw up.) I put a fifth pillow under my knees, and then I position a sixth and seventh pillow on either side of my body, like big pillow armrests, except they are more like "tummy rests."

Is Baby Girl kicking a lot these days?
Tons, but it doesn't hurt. 

If you could use one word to describe Baby Girl, what would it be?
Feisty!

Does she have a name?
Yes, but only Nathan and I know her name and we are not telling anyone else until after she is born.

Is her nursery ready?
Good God, no. But we do have her crib. It's in a box, and the box is chilling in our living room.

How is your energy?
Inconsistent. Some days I'm fine until about 8:30 p.m., without any naps. Other days, I craaaaaash at 3 p.m. and need to nap for several hours before I can stagger into the kitchen for some "dinner." On those days, "dinner" means something like a spoonful of peanut butter or a handful of cereal.

How was the glucose tolerance test?
Totally overrated! Everyone complains about how nasty the glucose drink is and how the test made them dizzy/nauseous. The drink tasted like soda with a slightly funny aftertaste, and I was able to guzzle it down in less than a minute. Then I sat and worked on a cross-stitch project while I waited for my blood test. I never felt ill. No problema.

Have any ordinary tasks become difficult?
Tying my shoes! Thank God for my Uggs. I can just slip them on and I don't have to worry about socks or laces. But, my Uggs do not offer great support so I only wear them if I'm walking a short distance. If I'm walking any significant distance, I suck it up and put my running shoes on.

Are you carrying high or low?
I have no idea. I just know my belly is big.

Do you have any plans for what you want to eat after Baby Girl arrives?
A ham sandwich! The ban on deli meats is the worst. I want a ham and cheddar cheese sandwich on sourdough with mustard, onion and tomatoes with a can of Coca-Cola.

An Update About My Novel (And Some Notes About My Tush)

Is it possible to break your left butt cheek? And if so, what happens next? Can you get a cast for a single buttock? 

Needless to say, I'm typing this while sitting on a heating pad. If you see my dignity, please tell it to come home. I'm not angry, I promise. It's just I have to burp so much these days, and it's getting difficult to go to public places without humiliating myself. I feel like I need to live in a t-shirt that says: "Please excuse my burps and/or farts; I'm pregnant and my body has officially abandoned its last shred of honor."

In other news, I've finished my first round of major revisions for my novel and sent the latest draft to the printers. Woot woot! (By "sent the latest draft to the printers," I mean I emailed a copy to Nathan so he can print it for me. Such a sweet husband.)

My sister is home in Los Angeles for her winter vacation and I'm giving her the current version to read and critique. She is going to be my first reader! I am both exhilarated and terrified to pass my infant novel into her hands.

The first draft of my novel was 437 pages long with 194,092 words. After some serious revisions, the second draft is 343 pages long with 144,243 words. WHEW. If I could diet like I can revise, I could lose this pregnancy weight in about three weeks.

I worried in this post that I abused the words "just, then and now" in my first draft. I used those words 808, 550, and 654 times, respectively. I tried to slash these words out of my novel, but the word "just" still appears 515 times in the second draft (kill me). The word "then" is down to 377 appearances (sigh) and "now" is used 491 times (effing aye). Maybe my sister can help me with this little addiction. Probably not.

But here's a notable improvement: I used the word "pumpkin" only seven times in the first draft; but in the second draft, that word appears eight times! Unfortunately, the word "cranky" is down to three paltry appearances in the second draft (after being used four times in the first).

However, and I am being deadly serious, I would delete the words "pumpkin" and "cranky" from my novel entirely if I could think of a title for the damn thing. I thought the title would jump out at me as I reread and revised, but no such luck. If Santa Claus would bring me a title for my novel, I would be a very happy writer on Christmas morning.

Happy Halloween!

I really should have some photos for your today. It's Halloween, and this blog is called The Cranky Pumpkin. You'd think I'd have some pride and would have prepared a collage of pumpkins dressed up in clever costumes. But I have no pride, so no clever photos for you - muhahaha!

I love Halloween, but this year, I am mostly concerned about how I am going to avoid all the candy. Baby Girl is not too keen on sweets. In fact, she hates them and only tolerates them in small amounts. If I eat a miniature chocolate bar, she will ignore my transgression. Sometimes, I can even get away with eating two miniature chocolate bars (but only if they are reeeeeaaaaalllly miniature - like Hershey Kisses miniature). But if I get greedy... well, let's just say that if my vomit bowl is not handy, there's going to be trouble.

Normally, on Halloween, I raid the candy bowl as often as I please. That obviously cannot happen tonight. In the absence of chocolate, I need a new way to entertain myself.

Would it be cruel if I made the children dance for their candy? (And for anyone over the age of twelve, perhaps a song and dance number would be appropriate.)

Stuff I Did Not Know About Babies

Now that I'm pregnant, I'm discovering I had a lot of misinformation about babies. For example, did you know babies cannot do long division or tie their shoes? But seriously, I've had to reboot my mind about a few things:

1.  Babies sleep on their backs: This is relatively new. When my sister was a baby, she slept on her stomach; but since the 90s, experts have determined that babies should sleep on their backs to reduce the chance of SIDs. (Random story: my mom ran to the grocery store while my baby sister was sleeping. My brother and I decided to check on the baby, and we could not remember if she should be on her tummy or back. So while Mom was gone, we kept flipping Katherine from her tummy to her back, every 30 seconds, like she was a rotisserie chicken. She slept through the entire thing.)

2.  No blankets in the crib: I thought babies slept with piles of blankets and stuffed animals. Not so. To reduce SIDs, they sleep on a hard mattress. If it's cold, they can be swaddled or can sleep in one of these, but no blankies! Until baby is older, blankets are for strollers, car seats and tummy time, and stuffed animals are for bookshelves, couches and the hat rack.

3.  No cute bumper for the crib: Every magazine, catalog and blog shows cribs with cute bumpers. But bumpers are a suffocation hazard! Why are these things even being sold? Do people actually put a bumper on the crib when baby wakes up and then take it off when it's sleepy time? There is no way I'll be doing that, thank you very much. Sorry, Baby Girl, but no cute bumper for you.

4. Baby walkers are death traps: My baby sister whizzed around the house in her walker (it was similar to this gizmo). I can still hear the sound of her walker racing down the wood hallway (and the sound of our mutt Frazier chasing after her). My parents were very concerned with our safety and health, and the walker was considered a safe toy. But now, although walkers are still available, they have fallen out of favor. Babies should play in something stationary instead, like an exersaucer or jumperoo. In the interest of keeping Baby Girl out of the ER, we will be banning all walkers from the Cranky Pumpkin household.

Sorry for all the recent pregnancy and baby posts, but it's the biggest thing on my mind these days. (Well, that, and how many more pumpkins I should buy before Halloween.)

Alfred Hitchcock's The Strollers

Earlier this month, I started putting our baby registry together. I thought I was being a nerd and starting waaaaay too early. Baby Girl is not due until late March! It's only October! There is plenty of time to figure out what stuff we need for the little lady.

Talk about being a naïve dumbass fool.

Look, I know the baby does not need much when she is born: a place to sleep; some clothes; a car seat so the hospital will let us take her home; and a way to feed her. Diapers would probably also be nice since I hear newborns poop a lot. But most everything else can wait. Baby Girl is not going to care if we've already bought a stroller and swing.

But it's so much easier to figure out everything now. Do I really want to be researching strollers when there's a newborn itching to be cuddled?

So I started our registry, and holy crap, it's over-freaking-whelming. I blame the internet. For example, take baby tubs. In a pre-internet world, I would have just gone to the store and picked out the cutest one. But now there are hundreds and thousands of reviews online; and if I don't research the baby tub options, I am a heartless evil mother.

Between Consumer Reports and Amazon reviews, it took me about 45 minutes to pick a baby tub. AND IT'S JUST A FREAKING $30 OVERSIZED PLASTIC BUCKET. I'm pretty certain my parents bathed me in the kitchen sink. Hopefully the tub I picked is a good one that will last until Baby Girl is ready for real baths; but if not, we can order something else from Amazon and the Earth will probably keep spinning. 

Despite my angst, planning the registry and checklist for baby has actually been pretty fun and easy. (Please note: not everything on the checklist goes on the registry. There is no way I'm registering for Butt Paste, thank you very much.) There's something very satisfying about choosing the cutest activity gym for Baby Girl. But there are a few big decisions that require a lot of thought and research, and I can't just rely on my Cute Radar.

Right now, the stroller is the bane of my existence. There are so many options, and everyone has a different opinion. At the end of the day, we need a stroller that is (a) safe for Baby Girl and (b) easy/comfortable for us to use, but finding that Dream Stroller is easier said than done.

Last week, I went to Babies R Us to test drive strollers. A few of the strollers were very comfortable to push but I just don't know. Would they be easy to load into the trunk of my car? Will Baby Girl be comfortable? Do they have cutting edge ergonomic designs that will keep my back young and feisty? Is the basket big enough for a diaper bag? Will the stroller handle curbs and dirt paths okay? WHERE IS MY MOTHER? I just wanted to curl up in the fetal position and suck my thumb until the Stroller Gods descended from heaven and pointed the way to the Holy Grail of Strollers. Instead, I checked out the toy aisles and picked out Baby Girl's first toy dinosaur (more on that in a future post).

The night after my Babies R Us excursion, I dreamed about strollers. This was not a happy dream that involved me frolicking in a field of daisies with my Soulmate Stroller. This was a nightmare with sinister strollers lurking in alleys and parking lots, waiting to steamroll me. Think Hitchcock's The Birds, except instead of birds, Tippi Hedren is being chased by a flock of demon strollers. (Did I get that analogy right? I've only seen about 30 minutes of The Birds because I am a wuss and cannot handle scary movies.)

I thought bathing suit shopping was the worst shopping experience a female could possibly endure. Talk about being a naïve dumbass fool.

These PreNatal Vitamins Smell Like Monkey Butt

Now that you know I'm pregnant, I can tell you about my prenatal vitamin adventures.

Before I got pregnant, I started taking chewable prenatal vitamins that I bought at Target. They were delicious and had all the nutrients that Baby would need. Most importantly, they were chewable.

I hate big horse pills. Always have, always will. I'm sure my parents could share some stories here about trying to get me to take my medicine as a kid. I would gag on my pills and beg for medicine in liquid form ... while my traitor brother could swallow not one but two Tylenol at the same time without water.

Once I was pregnant, my doctor said I could continue taking the chewable prenatal vitamins through the first trimester. Then, I had to switch to a prescription vitamin. She gave me a ton of different samples to audition. 

The samples were all big evil mega-sized pills, but for Baby's sake, I bravely sampled them all and chose the least offensive of the bunch. My doctor sent my prescription to my drugstore, and I went to pick up my new regimen of vitamins.

The pharmacy filled my prescription with a generic brand. Ordinarily, I am not fussy about generics. In fact, I embrace generic prescriptions because it's the same freaking thing for a fraction of the cost.

I took my generic prenatal vitamins home, opened the bottle ... and nearly puked. Of course, at the time, I was still living with a constant feeling of nausea. That very morning, Nathan had said, "Do you want to get bagels?" and I said, "Yes, I just need to go puke first." (True story.) But this urge to puke was something very different and had nothing to do with my hormone levels.

I nearly puked upon opening the bottle because the generic prenatal vitamins smelled like monkey butt.

I don't actually know what monkey butt smells like, but I don't know how else to describe the foul odor that assaulted my poor nose. Let's just say it was an evil vegetal animal stench that no one should ever have to smell. I would not wish these vitamins on the devil.

But I told myself to stop overreacting and forced myself to swallow a vitamin.

Things went downhill from there.

I touched the vitamin with my right hand, and I could not get the foul smell off my fingers for the rest of the day. I scrubbed and washed my hands, took a shower, and smothered my fingers with heavily scented lotions. No dice. I was like Lady Macbeth: Out, out, damn smell! But my right hand would not stop smelling like monkey butt. I could not keep my hand far enough away from my nose. I swear, the house plants wilted when I walked by.

The smell also haunted me whenever I burped. (Yes, okay, I'm pregnant and sometimes a pregnant lady needs to burp. Get over it.) I normally embrace my burps because they help release pressure in my abdomen, which is crowded enough these days with my growing uterus. But after I took the monkey butt vitamin, my burps tasted like monkey butt. All day. Every time I felt a burp rising, I wanted to cry.

I gave myself numerous pep talks. You can do this! You can handle these prenatal vitamins! You will get used to the monkey butt smell!

Two hours after I first swallowed the monkey butt vitamin, my spirit broke. I could not do it. No matter how much I love Baby, I could not stomach the monkey butt vitamins. I called my doctor's office and begged them to change my prescription to the name brand vitamin I had sampled.

My doctor's office obliged. The monkey butt vitamins only cost $20/month and the brand name cost $30/month, but I am happy to pay a $10 premium for stenchless vitamins. Hell, I'd be happy to give the pharmacy one of my toes to guarantee I never again have to touch or smell one of those evil generic vitamins.

I still have the monkey butt vitamins in our medicine cabinet. They might come in handy some day. For example, in the event of a Zombie Apocalypse, they can be used as chemical weapons against the Undead. Also, when my brother gets home from the Peace Corps, I'm going to dare him to swallow two at the same time without water.

And Baby Makes Three

I know, I know. I've been promising gator photos this week, and I have still not uploaded my Florida trip photos to my computer. Stupid, lazy Courtney. My apologies.

Since I don't have any gator photos (yet), I'll share some other fun news: I'm pregnant! Nathan and I are expecting our first child, a little baby girl, and we are over the moon excited. Her ETA is March 27th.

So far, I've only had one major pregnancy craving: Orange Juice. This is a slight problem, because OJ's acidity makes me puke. One time, during the first trimester, my OJ craving was so strong, I bought a gallon at the grocery store and drank the entire thing in less than 24 hours. Are you familiar with the scene in Ghostbusters where we first see Slimer, and he's attacking the hotel room service cart? That's what I looked like.

We don't keep orange juice in the house anymore! If it's in the fridge, I will guzzle it until I puke; because apparently I have lost all self-control where OJ is concerned.

Just writing about orange juice is torture. Now I have it on the brain and I WANT SOME RIGHT NOW OH MY GOD WHY DON'T WE HAVE SOME EMERGENCY OJ IN THE FRIDGE?

I think we can safely assume that Baby Girl is going to be obsessed with citrus.