Sooo tired…

My new hobby is sleeping. I get about ten hours a night, and then take a two hour nap in the afternoon. And the rest of the time I think about how great it would be to be asleep. Snarky comments about how I better enjoy my sleep now while I still can will not be well received. You know what your mom said “If you don’t have anything nice to say…” The good news is I only have one more day of work. Wednesday Ryan is “forcing” me to buy a book and go to the coffee shop to relax. Yay for the best husband in the world!! Wednesday night we go into the hospital where they will start coaxing the little guy to come out. I’ve been promised a sleeping pill (!!!) and “any kind of pain reliever I want.” I want Codine. Codine makes me forget I have hands.

Stinking Today Show just had a segment about how educated women are choosing to have large families. And now they’re talking about new fall dresses, all of which are designed for perfect looking women. So now I’m not only supposed to do this pregnancy thing five more times, I’m supposed to have a perfect fall dress body when I drive all those kids around in my minivan. Betty Friedan would have a heart attack.

Back to work. And by work I mean resisting the urge to make and eat an entire pan of Pillsbury Cinnamon Rolls. Mmmm cinnamon rolls.

Mr. Charming Goes to the Vet

You would think after what happened to me at the doctor’s office yesterday that I would have more sympathy for Rossby, but I don’t. If you’ve ever had a certain kind of male dog, then you already know about regular trips to the V-E-T to have their anal glands expressed. In my family we do this about once a month. Or if, like this time, we get distracted because there are a trillion other things going on, we go when he starts rubbing his ass on the carpet and acting really pitiful and mopey whenever he has to poop.

As usual I tricked him into getting into the car by acting really excited and saying “Wanna go for a ride in the car?!” “Oh boy do I?” he replied, flinging himself at me while I tried to put his harness and leash on. As soon as we got out of the car at the vet’s he pulled his normally adorable but not when it’s 40 degrees outside and the wind is blowing like 30 miles per hour, you-can’t-fool-me-anymore-I-know-exactly-where-we-are leash pulling trick where he arches his back and tries to escape (which, I tell him every time, will only result in him living with another family who is not as receptive to 22 pound dogs who snore and run in their sleep sleeping in their bed, under their down comforters).

I wrangled him inside where I had to yell to the receptionist (because if I get him too close to the counter he will pee on it) “I’m here to have Rossby’s nails trimmed and anal glands expressed!” Receptionist: “ANAL GLANDS?!” Me: (now shouting over the rucus caused by Rossby interacting with the other dogs) “Yes, ANAL GLANDS!!” While sitting on a bench waiting our turn the girl next to me told me what an adorable dog he was. I said “Thank you!” and smiled and then looked down and scolded Rossby for trying to eat what looked like cat poop stuck to the leg of the bench. Then the technician, who LOVES Rossby, came to get him for his “little procedure”. More back arching, more pulling, me cheerfully telling Rossby what a good boy he is and please go with the nice vet they’re not going to kill you will you just RELAX PLEASE!!! Usually the only way the TWO of us (fully grown adult women) can get him (22 pound Jack Russell Terrier) to go to the back is for me to trick him by walking alongside them and the vet closing the door at the last second.

After about ten minutes I heard the technician coming down the hall with Ross saying in a strained-cheerful voice “You don’t like to have your anal glands expressed do you? No you don’t. You don’t you don’t you don’t. You want your mama? Your mama? Oh I know you do! You’re all done. All done big boy! You were such a good boy!” It just kills me how nice they are to him knowing that he probably tries to maul whatever poor technician has the unlucky job of treating him (I’ve witnessed it a few times, but mostly I know this because they always look really battle weary when they bring him out. Plus, how would you react if someone tried to express your anal glands?). The technician brought Rossby to me and handed me the handle of his leash. “Man, he really hates that doesn’t he?” then added “Oh, I think he peed on his leash.”

We got back into the car where Rossby looks at me like “Where are we going now?! Can we go to Sonic? Hey my butt feels a lot better!” I wish I could freeze this association in his mind–vet=feel better, but instead we start off fresh with vet=abject terror every time we go. Every time. And I usually take him. Last time, Ryan came with us and Ross was a perfect little angel the whole time. I don’t get it.

nothing to report

…although that might change after what they did to me at my OB appointment this morning. I’ll spare you the details, but I made what Ryan described as “the most horrible face he’s ever seen anyone make” while they were doing it and as soon as the doctor was out of the room Ryan ran to me and hugged me tightly. Ryan said he was proud of me for not saying to Dr. O “So now are you going to baste me and put me back in the oven?” Everything is still “go” for next week. We will go into the hospital Wednesday night to get everything started and hopefully sometime Thursday we’ll get to meet the little guy.

Last night, despite being totally exhausted, my brain would not calm down enough for me to sleep. I had to get up and work on removing bad data from my hurricane database for a couple of hours before I was able to face my bed again. Although I know logically that it’s not true, some combination of my horomones and subconsious have been telling me that I have one week left to do everything important that has to be done before January–plan Charlie’s Christening, just when the #$%# am I going to go Christmas shopping, find a way to disarm North Korea.

(Actually I would be a little less concerned about my own mental state if I was up at night worrying about North Korea or Iran or even freaking Congressman Foley)

But instead I lie in bed awake obsessing because we haven’t picked God-parents yet and we don’t have a Christening gown yet. I settled the date for the baptism with the church, (MIDDLE OF DECEMBER, BRAIN, CALM DOWN!!) yesterday, so I had it on my mind when I went to bed. When I complained that the boys’ Christening selection in Lubbock was limited to miniature white tuxedos and full-on Pope outfits (a little much for our Methodist church) my mom said “Oh honey you were baptized in a white Gerber t-shirt and a diaper.” I want to scream “I KNOW I’M BEING UNREASONABLE BUT I JUST CAN’T HELP MYSELF!” I even have the Christening outfit all picked out online and all I have to do is push “Add to Cart” and the matter will be settled.

Meanwhile, Ryan, the voice of reason thank goodness, keeps telling me how much time we have and not to worry, but my brain doesn’t respond to reason anymore. It responds to to-do lists with check marks. It’s like I have some biological need pushing me to do things for the baby. It’s frustrating to have no control over your own brain. I’m sure it’s even more frustrating to Ryan who has to be wondering what happened to his laid-back wife and if she’ll ever come back again. Watch out, you never know where the OCD will take me next. Obsessive cleaning? Manic midnight baking?

Deep breaths. OK. Back to my to-do list.

Still Nothing to Report.

I love love love working at home. I used to think it would be boring and lonely, but those are actually good things. Boring and lonely are code for productive and free from unwanted remarks about how I look (which is huge. Really freaking huge.). Unfortunately I have to leave in a little while to attend a seminar I’m interested in about remote sensing and damage documentation. Since the one shirt I still look OK in has a large Frappachino stain on the front I will be wearing my “Episcopal Athletics #88″ shorts and one of Ryan’s XL tshirts. Because people are either going to say I look great (which is a bald faced lie that I appreciate very much) or that I look huge. And it doesn’t matter what I wear. And I feel crummy. Because if you forget to take your heartburn medicine and eat dinner at eight o’clock at night, scarfing an entire taco plate including rice and extra tortillas is a really bad move. Bad. Did I mention that my ankles are wider than my feet? It’s so interesting! I can feel them slosh when I walk too. I call them my club legs.

One week and one day to go!! So excited. So excited!!

Meanwhile back at the ranch…

Now that Ryan and I have secured internet access for ourselves on the up and up (it started getting too hard to climb the tree in the back yard with the laptop and cup of coffee and notebook and pen just so that I would have internet access) I can work from home. So that’s what I’m doing today. I am all set up at my new desk (which is really the kitchen table pushed into a corner by the kitchen). Here is a summary of the day’s events:

Number of cookies consumed: 3 (1 chocolate chip, 2 peanut butter)
Number of scones consumed: 2/3
Number of items purloined from bedroom by bored puppy: 2, both of my slippers
Number of those items that have since been moved closer to me because I failed to react the first time: 1
Water bowls almost overturned as an attention-grabbing measure by bored puppy: 1
Number of times I’ve almost gone into labor because I was concentrating on something and Rossby started barking hysterically: 2 (postman and UPS guy)
Number of dead pigeons in backyard preventing release of bored puppy from the house: 1
Number of dead pigeons that will be removed by me: 0

Also, we had an ultrasound this morning. The technician tried to be polite–”Ummm, has he been measuring big?” The doctor was not so tactful–”Wow. 8 pounds 4 ounces. Do you have a c-section scheduled?” Three people asked me when my next appointment with Dr. O was. Translation: “We need to address this giant baby issue in a hurry or you’re going to be permanantly disfigured.” Anyway, everything looked really good. His heartbeat was 161 bpm and he is in the correct position for delivery. We didn’t get a good look at him but it’s ok because we only have another 10 days to wait!!

Thoughtless remarks welcome here!

I’m going to assume that my belly hypnotizes people, causing a Tourette’s-like condition where they blurt out whatever is on their mind before they have a chance to run it through the old common-sense-o-meter. For example this morning I was walking down the hall at my church (returning to Sunday School from the bathroom if you can believe that) when I saw a friend coming the other direction. When the friend saw me she puffed out her cheeks and started walking with an exaggerated waddle, then laughed hysterically at her own little joke as she passed me. She didn’t even say “Hi!”!!!! Just paused long enough to point out that I am giant and walk like some kind of freakish pimp-gorilla combination and then she was on her way. Example number two happened yesterday. A friend of a friend who I’d met about five minutes earlier asked if I was planning on being induced (is it really appropriate for strangers to ask my plans for my uterus?). I sensed something in the way she asked that told me I should just lie so we could continue having a nice lunch, but I am dumb, so I told the truth. “Yes, I am,” I replied “because the baby is big.” She made an awful face and said “Oh! Well I hope you go into labor naturally before then because induced labor hurts SO MUCH worse than natural labor. I just don’t know why they induce anyone. I mean, ultrasound weight estimates are wrong all the time, I’m sure your baby only weighs about 7.5 pounds.” Then looked at me expectantly, as though I should be thanking her for her sage medical advice (which was based on five minutes of casual chit-chat over German sausage and potatoes). Instead I smiled and said “Well my parents have already bought plane tickets, so…” Needless to say, THAT conversation was OVER. Guess Scary McScares-a-lot can’t take a joke. I think I will stay inside for the next week and a half. I don’t know how much longer I can be polite

Nothing to Report

No new symptoms to report. Nothing to indicate this weekend will include anything out of the ordinary. I do have a cold though. That is no fun. Especially because I can’t take any of the really good meth-lab cold medicine that makes you forget your name and what year it is. And this particular cold is mocking the one decongestant I am allowed to take. So I have been spending a lot of time lying on the couch under about twelve quilts letting Ryan be really really nice to me without feeling guilty (and drinking plenty of fluids, Mom and Papa). Daytime TV is boring, so after I completely destroyed the kitchen (that Ryan cleaned last night) trying to make a scrambled egg sandwich with the wrong type of frying pan (egg pieces everywhere. hopefully I will beat Ryan home and can fix it because the kitchen really was beautiful this morning) I ventured out to the coffee shop to try to get some work done.

Plans for the weekend include a yard sale at our church, maybe “Octoberfest” at a Lutheran church in the area (research?), and straightening up of the house (I’d say “cleaning” but that would involve chemicals and stuff and possibly bending over and/or squatting, so no, although maybe it’s time to clean out Charlie’s bathtub where last weekend we washed both Rossby and the floormats from my car). Oh and I guess I’ll be making cookies. Last night while he was doing dishes, Ryan exclaimed “Huh, the cookie tub is clean!” in a voice just loud enough to penetrate the decongestant fog and my rapt attention to ER. Which really means “empty”. Which means “Beck, will you please please please make more cookies?” He wants snickerdoodles. I want chocolate chip. I think I’ll make both. And maybe some peanutbutter too. Wow I like cookies.

I get by with a little help from my friends

Until Sunday, the sight of the nursery was enough to start me hyperventilating. For some reason it is still quite abstract, this huge change that is coming just two weeks from Thursday. And the messy nursery was stressing. me. out. I had no idea what to do with it. The crib was full of baby-strangling plastic bags full of fliers and free samples from the hospital. The closet was bursting with shower gifts, my wedding dress, and two bridesmaid dresses that will NEVER be used again. There were THREE strollers blocking entry to the room except by highly technical Mission Impossible style climbing moves. And none of the new clothes, blankets, or sheets had been washed (oh my gosh I am going to break the baby by exposing him to evil store germs). And the only thing anyone can think of to say to me lately is “Well you must be getting excited, are you ready?” To which I want to reply “NO, I am not f$%#ing ready! I have finally regained the ability to work on my research, the nursery is a wreck, and just HOW DO YOU PREPARE YOURSELF TO WELCOME A NEW HUMAN BEING INTO YOUR HOME ANYWAY???” but instead I just smile politely and say “I hope so! Heh heh heh” while displaying my double crossed fingers.

But that was all before Sunday. On Sunday afternoon my friend A came over to help me organize the nursery. I’m not sure how the arrangement was made, but I think she saw my thousand-yard stare when she asked about the nursery and when I was unable to respond she just said “Why don’t I come over on Sunday to help?” and when I continued to hyperventilate she said “I’ll call you after church OK?” She arrived at my house and sprang into action. “First let’s take all the tags of the new clothes and start a load of laundry.” I obeyed, grateful to have someone tell me what to do. “Are these books staying in here?” she asked, referring to the wire shelf containing all the books we don’t need to keep but haven’t taken to Goodwill yet because we might need them someday/it was a gift from someone I never liked/lost touch with five years ago. Ryan brought boxes and the books were gone. We worked this way for about two hours and the nursery was transformed into the room I had always hoped it could be. The clothes and blankets have all been washed, dried, folded, and put away. The crib has a freshly washed store-germ-free sheet on it, and the strollers have been folded and put away. You just might be able to fit a baby in there now. The whole time we were working, Ryan was cleaning up the kitchen and family room and now I can enter my house without the aid of prescription anti-anxiety drugs.

We have started packing for the hospital. It’s hard to pack for the hospital because everything on the list is something you need every day. For example your toothbrush, shampoo, and moisturizer. They also say to bring a comfy pair of pants to wear home, which is hilarious because I only have one pair of comfy pants and I wear them every day. The baby is packed. He has four diapers, a diaper cover, a t-shirt, a pair of socks, a hat, and a blanket. We have four Dr. Peppers, a bag of Kit Kat bars, three clean shirts for Ryan (including one flannel shirt my mom once referred to as “his Papa shirt”), and a Chapstick. So at least we’ll have enough junk food and well moisturized lips when we’re coming home and I’m wearing a hospital gown and hospital issued mesh underpants (and maybe Ryan’s “papa shirt” if I’m lucky. You know, to keep my back warm where the hospital gown gaps). I plan on addressing the hospital bag issue this weekend, but if something happens before then, I will be calling one of you in-town friends for help.

OK I have a confession to make.

Good Morning!
Originally uploaded by ryanandbecca.

This morning I went and dropped my car off at the body shop (see “stupidest thing ever”) and picked up my rental car. The rental car is possibly the only car ever created that could make my car feel large by comparison. But that’s not the point. The car has a CD player. I know I have an iPod that I consider to be an extension of my own body, but it is still novel to be able to shove music right into the dashboard. And there’s something calming about being limited to the fifteen or so songs on a CD that you just don’t get with the iPod (with my recent inability to make decisions of any kind, reducing the pool from 1500 songs to 15 is the brain equivalent of a trip to Canyon Ranch). This is how I found myself cruising along on the way to work listening to my church’s Christmas album. Now, to those of you who think mid-October is too early for Christmas music I say “You are a hater and I don’t care what you think.” Hark the Herald Angels Sing was playing as I left my neighborhood and I’d gotten through What Child is This? and Oh Little Town of Bethlehem by the time I arrived at work. When I parked the car an absolutely beautiful Christmas medly for organ and violin (arranged and performed by a husband and wife team at our church) began playing and guess what… Charlie LOVED it. He started dancing as soon as the violin started up and really got excited (just like me) when the organ came in. I’ve noticed this before during church. The kid has a thing for organ music and hymns. Can he feel the vibrations from the pipe organ or something? Does he somehow sense how happy the music makes me? Anyway, I couldn’t deprive him of just one more song so we sat in the car and listened to Ding Dong Merrily on High together and he didn’t once roll his eyes (at least I couldn’t see it if he did) when I tried to sing along (you know the words right? Ding dong merrily on high! Do do do do do dooo dooo. Lalalalalalalalalalalalala Hosanna in Excelsis! second verse, same as the first!). Oh we are going to have so much fun when we drive to Austin for Christmas (and by “we” I probably just mean “me” given Ryan’s lukewarm affection for Christmas music and singing in the car in general).

This picture is Rossby after I woke him up this morning. Rossby prefers our 300 thread count sheets to his own Target dog bed and hand-me-down dorm comforter. Actually he was in his own bed last night until “someone” accidently woke him up by throwing a pillow on top of him in her sleep.

Good Day

I love fall. Love it. And today it is definitely fall. It’s overcast and cool(in the 40s) and windy. Fall makes me happy. It makes me want to drink cafe au lait in a warm coffee shop and read a nice novel (or in the absence of a nice one, a really heartbreakingly sad one that “OMG you just HAVE TO READ IT!!”). And I don’t know if it’s because I got a good night’s sleep last night (I’d make a comment about Benadryl here but I think some people might find my affection for it slightly alarming), but today has been a good day. I magically woke up without my alarm clock (which appeared to be going off even though it wasn’t making any noise…stinking adjustable volume control) just in time to get ready and get Ryan to school with enough time for him to get me some fancypants resume paper and get to his meeting. Then I went to my doctor’s appointment where, remembering a comment my mom’s doctor once made about how the worst thing she’s ever smelled was a patient’s feet and considering I was wearing that one pair of shoes that makes my feet smell absolutely awful, I very cleverly snuck two moist towlettes out of the ladies room and used them to wash my feet off when I was asked to take off my shoes before the appointment. The appointment went well, the kiddo has flipped over (which is good for him, bad for me–read: intense bladder pressure, hard to walk, impossible not to sit with legs splayed out like a man)and his heartbeat sounded good. My doctor insists on having a large Sonic drink visible on her desk for every one of my appointments. Whatever.

The best thing that happened today is that I finished my application for the college in Austin. I had to just suck it up and remember that everyone sounds like a big dork in their cover letter. And I sorta managed to force my tired brain to be creative and came up with (what I hope is) some interesting stuff for my teaching philosophy statement. Then I printed everything out on fancy resume paper and overnighted it to Austin. Now I just have to forget about it and hope all my letters of reference and transcripts make it and get matched up with the right application. And I still need to rent “Luther” and learn about German beers just in case I get an interview. But that sounds like an activity best left for the postpartum months. S, C, J, A? Be expecting my call for “Lutheran Nite at the Edwards”.