Bursting Birthday Bellies Bring the Battle to Cauliflower Kickin' Giraffes

In Week 26 of the gravid gad about gaga-googoo, the cup of sugary sweet suffering was tipped across our waddling woman's tender lips, even while Lord (W)right celebrated a long secret victory over fundamental engineering dragons in the far lands of Northgate. Elaborate (fast and very furious) birthing plans were formed in the lair of the spiny cuke-zuke soda, and motherhood contemplated in an icy respite of air conditioning. But mostly, the orange dextrose of doom and another week ending in (tidier) bloodshed. 

In Week 27 (the border week that may or may not be THIRD TRIMESTER - AGH), buttons are less pressed and more popped. Frothy heads of cruciferous cute kick (and then some) into turbo. Victorious results are announced from saccharin battlefields. Birthday spirit quests engaged upon by our hero take him to far off lands and up simmering volcanoes, while our mom-to-be seeks comfort in California cups and the glare of the welder's torch. The great Three-Four is conquered by the elder Wright with loads of baby toys and a side of diabetic coma!



Snipped out Snippets from a Gmailamaggedon of Minutes

Well gmail was in a feisty mood this morning. Quite wanted to play a game or twenty with me for which I was helplessly ill-prepared. And during which I lost my draft of the Whatcom Collaborative Professionals Minutes (including all meeting notes). I was planning to polish these off this morning, but will be waiting to see if I still have the original notes on my ultrabook at home. In the meantime... a teaser of what Adella's been up to reconstructing this morning. 

WCP XTREME ATONAL VERITY SMACKDOWN - V/XI/MMXC at XII noon, Whatcom Superior Arena, Juvenile Loft. 

Ready for Action: Rowdy Roy, Kickin' Kira with manager, Lord Jared), Pamela the Hammer, Krazy Kathryne, Adella Volcano Wright, Laura Baby-Tears W., Mad Mimi M., Shannon the Cannon M., Screamin' Sandy V., and Betsy The Bod B..

Out on medical leave after last month's crazy cage-match: Rob, Leon , Pat , Sandra . 

Lilly livered larrikins who presumably just couldn't take the heat: Kathy, Penny,  Patrick, Chris. 
Special guest stars: Dwayne the Rock Johnson! (he was very quiet and mostly just hid in the corner in a tooth fairy costume - but his eyebrows said it all)​

​​12:00 p.m. 

​As promised for months, this was the major meeting of the Titans: Baby-Tears in one corner and Rowdy Roy in the other. Constructive feedback was what the Rock was cookin' this May (and some burgers, but those are more for Memorial Day)! The quiet smack talk and endless video skits had gone on ​long enough. It was team to get this team open and comfy with a deluge of construction beam strength TRUTH BOMBING. 

​But first, as music blared and title sequences ran, the weigh in, the equipment check, the pre-taping, and that last minute choreography. ​

Volcano Wright was pushed out of her third trimester size/weight class back to the middleweight three or four months. No fights for her tonight. She was benched and in a rage full of magma, she retreated towards the hibernal caverns of the Ice Palace, far from the maddening roar and crowd of warm-but-not-boiling blooded individuals. Still in range and still watching on the big monitor, she tried to keep notes, but the one-two of a Lord Jared tractor beam of cute plus an internet baby shiatsu (causing some very untough giggling at a strong kick or two) made the recollections hazy and not entirely as accurate as those pretaped sequences on air. 

Baby-Tears seethed with preparedness for this bout, crowing loudly of her baby scaring happy-faces and tried to start something with Lord Jared, who could not be shaken from his happy dazed grin of adorable gloom. The hand clapping and slamming sent waves through the crowd and all were floored. He would not be fighting that day, but his might would be heard!


...

Pam wanted to note for the record that our continued Manichean distinction between litigation and collaborative is artificial and overly simplistic. As one who does both, she feels that she often must be just as reflective in her representation of clients outside of the container. Perhaps more so, as she is comprising the entire container for one individuial, and there is risk of her own views/triggers/reactions to the case dominating the clients' own best interests. 


In fact, contrary to prior assertions, that battlefield mentality and lack of teamwork with attorneys is overstated in her opinion. For her, she starts all her litigation/conventional cases by staging a camp-out in the other attorney's office. They talk, they laugh, they braid hair, and they sing songs together. Late in the evening - while munching s'mores - they channel through their empathy drum circle to experience the other attorney's deepest childhood traumas. And usually, they exchange an organ to bind them together in this case for all eternity. When a case goes to court, she starts each hearing with a group huddle for her and the other side and both parties, in which they chant and count-down and cheer for happy outcomes all around. Then afterwards, they all go on a spirit quest at Great Wolf Lodge and symbolically slay their inner fears during an elaborate team-building exercise involving blindfolds and pointy sticks before hitting the water slides and getting a pina colada. 
...

12:45 p.m. - THE BELL RINGS, FIREWORKS BLARE, AND LAURA EMERGES FROM THE BACKSTAGE WEARING A FEATHER BOA CAPE AND SWINGING A BOA CONSTRICTOR. She points her finger at Rowdy Roy, shaking her head and says "I've actually been thinking about this all morning and my stomach is in a knot, but I think there are some cases where maybe I should have debriefed with you earlier and I just wasn't sure if what I was feeling was me and I needed to process it first. Would you be open to some feedback???" The crowd gasped and the referees whistled madly begging them to take it into the ring. Rowdy Roy shouted back (in surprisingly low and soothing daddy timbre that cooed with Jared's fist slamming) "I am ready for feedback and I appreciate your honesty. I may have a piece for you as well." 

*** Dwayne Johnson hopped through in a pink tutu with a tooth fairy tiara and the referee officially called the match a draw ***



Cauliflower Sniffer Passes with Flying Colors!
I'm now at 27 weeks! It appears that there is disagreement as to what constitutes a trimester here. Most of the sites say this is the beginning of the Third Trimester, but others have claimed this is "the last week" or even  "the last two weeks" of the Second. I'm either taking finals or reading my syllabus, I really couldn't tell ya. But that last sugar test really ought to count as the Second-trimester baby final exam. Guessing that LABOR is the Third Trimester final.  

I have no idea, but I do know that my little Fonzarelli is growing more opaque by the minute. And that her head is getting bigger. All that loving chatter from her adoring parents (ok, mostly her mother - Andrew still feels super awkward about having in depth conversations with his wife's belly button for some reason, and has yet to attempt the singing or reading that all the pregnancy sites keep exhorting daddy-to-be to do), no doubt. 

And I do know that regardless of which trimester I officially fall into, two things are pretty clear: (1) There's now and 85%-90% chance she would survive if born today, (2) I'm totally in for a major resurgence of all the "joys" of the First Trimester and should already be aching and fading. 

But first, some superlative news: I do not have to take the three hour glucose test. I passed the first one with flying colors and a very low (low is good) number. I also came back low for blood count (low is less good), meaning the one-a-day iron I am taking is insufficient and I'll be expanding out to twice a day with vitamin C. Oh boy!!! Lucky me!! Because iron doesn't have any side effects that echo those of pregnancy discomforts already experienced. 

Still, the first result (and all the other good ones) outweighs the first by a fair fathom. Also, I later realized that I had been taking an iron supplement intended to be more like two-a-day than one. Which made me feel better and stupid all at the same time. 

And onto the produce round-up. As before, the produce metaphors are fading a bit, since the baby is now just kind of conceivable "premature baby" sized. At about 14-15 inches and just over 2 pounds, she may still lay claim to being: 

(1) A Head of Cauliflower. Ghostly albino crucifer, how I adore you!
(2) A Head of Broccoli. I sense a theme here. Does this mean she has crazy-curly hair and/or leafy green stems? 

She may also soon weigh as much as a bag of flour or sugar! Probably all that sugar that I took for the glucose challenge, in fact. 

But never fear, she's likely to grow an entire inch this week, the most she will likely do until puberty. My poor, basketball-sized uterus! She's already been karate kicking her way out of all the corners of her little chamber. It's going to get serious soon. Hope she isn't too claustrophobic, but I definitely get the sense she could use a little more space. As could I, but my skin only stretches so much at a time and it is pretty taut right now over my belly. 

But all that bumping - aside from merriment and hiccuping and general vandalism - is going towards something I hear. She is slowly moving into the "locked and loaded" position that will inevitably exert pressure in my pelvic region, but will also signify preparedness for her grand entrance into this world. 

And I'm not crazy (based on one minor quirk amongst many, at any rate). She does get more active whenever I lay down. I guess all that moving around I do during the day feels like rocking to her, so it lulls her to sleep. When I stop, she stirs and then all belly-hell really does break loose. 

Towards her increased viability, she now has the circuitry to regulate her own breathing and temperature (and the fat stores are adding up to help with that - that and the "lessening the creepiness of a transparent pinkish wrinkle-baby)

And her tastebuds are strong. Very strong. A newborn's are stronger than an adult's, and they can actually sniff their own mother's milk distinctly from other breastmilk. Creepy basset-hound babies!

And for me? Well one more month of once-monthly visits before things amp up to twice a month and more invasive. I'm promised that all the fun symptoms I've been having will increase, while some of the old favorites are just on the cusp of resurgence. In fact, the waves of morning nausea and the increased fatigue are already sharing a bit. The bladder is getting even more teeny tiny and squeezed as baby discovers it for a trampoline. And I am that much more inclined to be a PITA in public, as I'm so delicate and hormonal with everything that prior standards of politeness no longer hold me back quite as much. 

I'm also promised an increase in the - to now - occasional charlie horses I've been waking up with, more aches, more pains, more swelling, some really interesting pressure points and nerve pinches, a huge appetite surge (good as I have thus far only gained about 10 pounds which is about half of where I'd theoretically like to be) and an energy crash. 

And anyone who's seen the state of our kitchen recently (and the coffee stains dripping down some of our walls to coordinate with the carpet splatter) will know that the clumsiness thing is still in full force. 

And I'm supposed to start freaking out. More or less. Or at least getting shiznat done. Making the nursery nursable. Getting the carseat installed. Taking classes on breastfeeding. Choosing pediatricians. Touring hospitals. Taking labor classes. Kissing my quiet solitary self-indulgences goodbye, etc. etc. But then of course, well... as one site so helpfully put it... 

"After you get all that under your belt, go ahead - relax and enjoy this time… when you’re not nauseous, constipated, running to the toilet, or just plain wiped out."

And enjoy I shall. Stag this weekend as our babymoon is kind of separating itself into two separate excursions. Travelling is just so not my thing right now for the reasons above. And Andrew really really really wants to make something of his obligatory volunteer Sunday in Enumclaw (a ways away and a team responsibility). Since he'll be down there, he decided he'd like to bike Mt. St. Helen's once before the baby explosion. And it actually is his birthday weekend so I think it's a fine time for one last (or near to last since he has several races and family events) hurrah. So he'll take our proposed outing and I'll take a very needed staycation. 

Of course I seem incapable of sincerely expressing my sentiments of affection without making him clinch a bit with some kind of guilt-thing. Maybe I overread, but I do tend to effuse when we're likely to be apart for a while regardless of who is leaving whom, but I do think he's got some narrative in his head that he is abandoning me! Which you know, I have also said that I'd like for us to carve some time out together in these last hectic months and I'm pretty big on that. But still. That's not really my feeling at this point. My feeling is "gee, I'll miss you while I'm at the welding rodeo and having lunch with friends and collapsing on the couch, and we will definitely have to plan something next weekend because being apart reminds me how much I like our little together! But in the meantime, I GET THE BED TO MYSELF AND CAN MAKE THE HOUSE AS COLD AS I WANT WITHOUT GUILT!! WHOOOO" Basically. 

Also my feeling? Giraffes CAN DANCE!!! I love this book! It's my first infant cardboard book. Off my registry and purchased by a wonderful long distance friend of mine along with some other fabulous goodies! The moral? If you have the right music anyone can dance! Fonzarelli agrees wholeheartedly. 



More than Medium, Rare, and Weld Done

The bike-and-chain and I are off the chain this weekend. He is having his version of our "babymoon." He is doing so by driving several hours to the middle of nowhere after work, spending all day trying to kill himself with a bike on top of a volcano, and then driving several more hours to another godforesaken place so he can "corner marshall" at a road race ... and drive a few more hours to get home lateish on Sunday ... TOTALLY REVIVED and energetic for the work week. Or something. I - for my part - am having a babymoon staycation. The ultimate pre-motherhood experience of living alone.

So far so awesome. I spent all last night on the couch with a book before spreading out entirely across the tempurpedic - fans blazing through the house to chill my beached baleen bod for one of the more restful nights of ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ in a long while. I rolled out of bed this morning for a shower and laundry. Went to Winco and Freddy's, made Kefir cheese, had breakfast at Old Country Buffet, took a walk at the Harbor, and checked out... 





The WELDING RODEO. Yippee Kayee Mother of all Huge Metal-Working Professions! 





The theme is Fire and Ice, apparently. Also "big metal stuff" The welding rodeo always makes me want to quit my dayjob and go to welding school. Forget that I'd kill myself in seconds with all those blowtorches and lethal objects. Welding is neat!

Anyways, not quite sure what the plan is for my post-welding blitz but it probably involves cleaning up after myself a bit and then... hmmm mad orgy at Adella's. No not really. Please Happy Quiet alone time is nice... Maybe the Amgen Tour of California. That's recording quite happily at mi madre's home. And maybe a little bit of navel gazing... 





I'm practicing for being a mom, and releasing several videos of my child in which very little happens because it all happened a few minutes before or after I pressed "record" - but look, little bumplettes! Now I just need to add narration in which I keep encouraging my belly to move and bump out. But really, this is just a taste of the belly-dancer awesome moves she's helping my accomplish all the time. And a taste of "what Adella does while waiting for the doctor for long stretches of appointment time." 





Bye bye Birthday Belly Bursters

Well, we're nearly dead, obviously. My husband turned 34 yesterday. In other words "mid-thirties" which - to a teenager - is like middle-aged antediluvian totally unhip fossil. And I shall follow afoot upon my 33rd birthday sometime around my ascendency to parenthood. Appropriate really. Parent = old ... so... Although 33 is really kind of an uncertain not-quite-mid-thirties number. Thirty four is far more definitive. 

Andrew apparently made life difficult for all the well-wishers who would presume to celebrate his birthday. He has no qualms about getting older. It may eventually force him into a different racing category, but that could be a blessing since the next age up tends to have a higher concentration of skilled cyclists instead of merely gonzo crazy powerful (dangerous). He does, however, seem to be ambivalent about these sorts of things and typically utilitarian about gifts. His "what you should give me" approach has always been "what piece of bike/running equipment do I need?" And he currently doesn't need anything really. 


There are different ways to cope with this. You can recognize that when you ask for input on a gift, your intention is to honor the wishes of the wishes and to get them something they actually want. And then, you go along with the suggestion he gave. This would be the strategy of his father who took Andrew's command to buy things off of our magnificent baby registry. 

Or you can embrace the fact that really celebrating another person isn't all that much about them and you'll damned well make an occasion of their event under the guise of "for you." Even if it kills them!!




Not saying I went the latter way, but... I always do! I spare him the agony of "what do you want?? Plan your perfect birthday for me to give you!! NOW!" I just do my own thing. Since it typically involves shoving candy and treats at the man until he is type-two diabetic, he doesn't seem to complain. And it hones my hiding skills, since surprise is part of the fun.

Well I enjoyed Andrew's birthday anyways! It was just breaching warm in the house, so I may have required all other residents to wear parkas in the face of several strategically placed fans and an upstairs a/c. I swear, the room was 68 degrees after all those machinations (according to several different thermostats - and this is a compromise because I would prefer 64 at this point), but everyone around me still seems to end up in sweaters and jackets, while I'm in a tank top fanning myself. I can't help it. I'm producing heat for two boiler ovens apparently!

Since Andrew had been intransigent with others requesting advice for gift-giving, I reserved some of our birth registry gifts for a grand opening orgy. Of course many of them were fabulous gifts from Andrew's father (off our registry, but specifically birthday marked). But a few others that had been so nicely wrapped that I couldn't just open them myself without some ceremony. 







And we finally got our netflix fix. It's supposedly an evening ritual for us to watch either Buffy or Angel (one a night) in our ongoing Whedon Cross-Over Completion quest. But with Andrew's grand trip this weekend, and with his having gone on a mountain bike ride after work on Thursday and date night the night before, it's been nearly a week since we did so. This week won't be much more buffyversifiable. Tomorrow's date night and today is another mountain bike ride after work. Really just falling behind here. Not going to say I missed Buffy more than my husband here during the weekend, but... well... you know. 

And today is nobody's birthday to my knowledge, although I'm sure Facebook or Gplus will correct me of that assumption. But I'm tapped out on the celebrating for a while. 

This week is a big week for the wee little Fonzarelli. She's going to grow an inch and she has definitely stepped up her baby jiu jitsu. My mom even saw it from across the desk when my stomach started going all belly-dancers-wish-they-could-make-those-weird-ripples. She affirms it exceeds anything a video can imply. Kicks and punches and elbows, sure, but more fascinating are the ripples that show movement but a more gradual shifting kind. I think the little home environment is getting cramped, and she's desperately trying to move around to a comfortable position. 




Anyways, she bursts, I burst. Or I feel like I might. My stomach is so stretched that I feel like I might literally pop like an overinflated balloon if I take a deep breath. And my belly button is flat as a pancake and super sensitive to any contact. These last two months are going to be interesting... I may need to actually buy maternity clothes here. Or just go with the "hiding it until I can be shuffled off to a convent mysteriously for a few months and then return as if nothing had happened" look that is admittedly quite comfortable: 






Pina Zuccharelli and the Orange Potation of Peril: Glucose Challenge 2015!

In Wild Week 25 of Gestational Gallivants, new steeds of note were dejuked and set on their way with the help of a minor panic attack and (W)right alliance against all odds and car-sales trickiness. The viaFonz got a little more viable, as the red wrinkly ratling rutabagaed out to the Cantaloopy Groove in Ms. (W)right's bursting belly. Weekends crunched and final DINK time threatened by the rush of summer thrills and obligations. Minor vertigo ensued, and blood, in the end, spewed. But just shy of medical concern. And the carrying carried on... all the way to...

Week 26! In which the final trimester looms and daunting gauntlets guard the way. Fundamentals of Engineering reveal secret quests and saporous victories! Birthing plans are hatched more faster and furioser than Vin Diesel's souped up ride. Babies cuke-zuke all the way to spikey soda. All leading up to the long-feared (hopefully) final trial of Tri-Two: The Glucose challenge 2015!  




Toasty Toes Titter and Totter A view from the tip o' the old toes towards the weekend

The unsightly boil that was Monday has burst, oozing all kinds of work-puss, and with it a certain relief. The week endues itself in promises of weekend wonders. The rest of the work slog suddenly seems manageable. Until next week at least! We perch on our highest pointes to glimpse the looming break: weekend! And a mellow one at that. At least one of the mellower ones I'm promised for roughly... the next 18 plus years of my life (give or take). 

Finally, the mysterious curtain on Mr. (W)right's bike dungeon and roaming shenanigans may be drawn: He was taking a big fat professional test!


 This thing is called the Fundamentals in Engineering.  It is a six hour test that comprises the first step towards a valuable certification called the PE (professional engineer, not phys ed). In many projects a PE must sign off on final plans, so it is a coveted certification. To attain this acme of awesome, those who pass the FE exam become EITs (engineers in training), which doesn't mean a whole lot except that they have a neat certificate and are cleared to eventually reach the next step. They then get to fill out some long application demonstrating 8 years of work as a good representative engineer candidate and then take an even longer, more specialized test. 

Anyways, Andrew took the first test. After a whirlwind weekend and a half of heavy studying (to complement some intense day work several months ago before he'd signed up), and a brutal trek to the Seattle testing center. He didn't want it getting around that he was planning to take this test just in case he didn't pass. But yesterday he found out that he did indeed pass. I've landed myself and EIT baby!

WHEEEEE! I'm relieved that there's that 8 year requirement. Some of it can be eaten up by schooling, but it does mean we're a few years out still from that 8 year mark. Which might give the little Fonzarelli some time to grow and bond with her daddy before the next time he needs to lock himself in the basement (for something other than his training calendar, bills, random internet addictions... etc. etc. but those are qualitatively different) and go AWOL for a week. 

Appropriately, yesterday night was our date night, so we got to celebrate his success with some tasty Mexican meals right in time for Seis de Mayo. My new go-to Mexican restaurant, El Gitano, gives guacamole instead of cheese with their black bean tostada. Major score for them in my book!

For my part, I have yet to pass my upcoming test - the "glucose challenge" - which is coming up next week. But for the next few days, blood sugar may fall where it may and nobody will be the wiser! And Andrew gets to finally mention that he took a test. And oh by the way, he passed!

Cuz he rocks like that!





Kick up the Zuke-Box!  26 weeks and tata to tri-two and the six month mark

Uh oh, belt those seatbelts (comfortably below the bump and as far back from that airbag as possible): we've almost reached the FINAL LEVEL. Week 26 is the ultimate rounding out (haha) of the sixth month, and that means next week I'll be dipping a swollen dried out toe right into the legendary third trimester. DUN DUN DUUUUUN. 

Pre-term labor! Preeclampsia! Penguin whale waddling! All kinds of things to start looking out for soon. 

But for now, let's just weigh the produce and check in on the little Fonzarelli baby. She is now one of the following: 

1. A scallion bunch. Sounds very dashing. Rapscallionly rogue and all that. Another mild allium. And, hey, if you put the stems in water, they continue to grow for you. Like a baby in amniotic fluid? Food for thought. 

2. A liter of cola - Oh great. Getting all ready for the glucose challenge, and I've got a carbonated sugar bomb in my belly already? Although with all that zip-fizz popping and sloshing in my belly, I'd believe it. 

3. A zucchini - Summer must be coming! Time to have an overabundance of zukes from neighbors and friends with gardens. Why not have a zucchini Fonzarelli to go with it? 

4. A small pineapple - Hopefully not nearly so spikey, but we do like pina colada and long walks on the beach. Or do we? I forget.

5. An english cucumber - Tut tut ol' chap, I've got a limey in me belly! Zukes or cukes, apparently we're going with long and green phallic symbols today. Am I sure it's a girl? Still have boys names on standby should the next ultrasound herald our ultrasound technician's previously promised early retirement. 

As for the little Zuccharelli, her eyes have now been opened! And they are baby blues, just like the song. That may change. I forget the Wright/Gelfand genetics so can't remember if there's recessive blueness in my brown-eyed beau's blood (well DNA, but that's less alliterative). 


 Oh and she's got hair! Wild crazy cowlicky hair getting all greasy in that amniotic bath. 

Her immune system is now soaking up all my antibodies, while she makes kissy faces and practices sucking on things. Mostly her thumb, although from the last ultrasound, I can imagine her toes are getting in there too. 

And as I round the round-ligamental corner towards final trimester, what's in store for me? 

Much of the same, but more of it. Lower back pain is definitely something I've started noticing. I'm promised rib pain is coming, along with a resurgence of heartburn and indigestion and other fun GI excitement. If one more site tells me that I can relieve pregnancy related constipation by "eating more fiber, drinking water, and moving more" I may break the internet. (Note to internet: I eat about 90-100 grams of fiber a day, various fermented foods and probiotics, walk 3-4 hours regularly, and have so much water that my OB recommended mixing in electrolytes... but thanks for the obvious; and no, no I am not gluten or dairy intolerant; nor do I eat refined carbs of most any kind... just sayin') 

My blood pressure is due to increase slightly, which is not a horrible thing since I currently have a BP of "mostly dead." And - not a shocker - my skin is going to remain dry and itchy (er arid burning sandpaper?) for a good long while. 

It's apparently time to start thinking about whether I want a birth plan!! Turns out that 54% of birth plans are thrown by the wayside upon hitting the delivery room, but that's not horrible odds I guess. So here's my plan so far: 

1. We will watch the entirety of the Fast and Furious series together on the laptop while I am in early labor (guessing there will be time, but if not, there are a couple we could skip)

2. GET THIS THING OUT OF ME!!!! 

3. Ok, put it back in, I have no idea what I'm doing and she was safe in there!!


I guess I should also be due for a major bout of nesting. I think roosting is still my preference, but they're close right? 

And my belly button, incidentally, is uncertain what it is. It's often a very shallow innie still, but when I lie down in a certain way or pull the skin back to apply lotion, it's comin' out and I'd better get the party started. This is exciting. Like a landmark of some sort. Or at least something over which to obsess. 

And this week, I plan to cherish the fabled wonderful second trimester, before hopping forward into that terrifying last stage. Happy Friday all! May your last day of this week echo the sweet savory goodbye and hello of time in transition!







Mee Oh My Partial Ameri-Mommy's Mania

It's MOTHER'S Day on this side of the Atlantic. A holiday derisively dismissed as a "Hallmark holiday" by my mother right up until she sends me and my sister thoughtful Mother's Day wishes. To which I must counter with threats to purchase exotic and easily killed plants for her to kill in honor of the occasion of her having born and subsequently raised me. 

It's not a full-on-Mother's Day for me just yet, but it's kind of like my first half-Mother's Day. Half a mom, because I have definitely undergone some major transformations - physical and cognitive - as a result of this little creature kicking it up in my belly. It is surreal to fathom how much I can love something I have never met and which has virtually no personality. I blame some mix of egotism (just because I must) and biology for that. I also have found myself equipped with this highly honed baby/pregnant-woman radar, which makes me acutely aware of all young children and infants within a fifty mile radius. 

But not quite a mom, because the real huge final shifts that happen at birth, the years of earning it with selfless love (knock on wood) and unquenchable patience (knock harder on wood) and a modicum of grace and humor in the maelstrom (pound a fist through the wood you are knocking so hard) are still a long ways off. 

As such I've forgiven Andrew for not greeting me this morning with roses and chocolates before squiring me away for brunch on a hot air balloon with ponies! Next year, of course. 

No, really, I actually have the best two "almost mom" gifts of all already assembled: a hooked up a/c in the bedroom and a fully assembled halo bassinet side sleeper. Courtesy of Mr. (W)right-and-then-some. The bassinet will have to battle with the a/c in terms of placement in our new set up. Currently the a/c is about one foot away from my head if I'm laying in bed. Perhaps occasionally creating some odd discomfort of being simultaneously hot and freezing at the same time. I still have some sorting out to do on that note but it's great to have it fully attached and functional. 

To continue his mother's day celebrations, he'll be unpacking his study a bit more, possibly doing some bills (hasn't since he moved) and hopping off on a four hour bike ride! And then calling his mom. 

Me, I'm going to honor my mother by not buying her a Hallmark card, but by joining her for a walk at the likely way-too-warm harbor. Stupid summer weather and Pacific Decadal Oscillation and stuff. Hiss. 

But i have a/c for my return! And in my car!

Being a half-mom is awesome!!






Bouncing Bassinet Bears and the Evolving Nursery

At this point, I think the little Fonzarelli may be acquiring more swag than her parents (ok, ok, not if you count Andrew's bikes and his fifty bajillion shoes - but maybe her mother). A fully decked out and seasonally coordinated wardrobe, two bouncer/swings, two car seats, a wrap-carrier, a pack and play for the office, a bath, a kick ass diaper bag, a humidifier, billions of blankies, a boppie, and a hella-awesome (retro-chic linguistic fabulousness) Halo bassinet. The bassinet was our first baby item acquired, but it was mostly lolling about the baby-room in pieces until this weekend.

Now it hath been assembled. Our various baby items have been populated with stuffed animals. All is well. Baby has a pretty high chance of survival if she were born today (granted, she'd be born a wrinkly pinkish rat with a high risk for developmental disabilities and behavioral disorders, but you know... alive), so it's good we're inching towards some simulacrum of preparedness. Even in the haze of being completely and totally unprepared.

This weekend was a near unicorn of a weekend: no races, no trips, and only a 4 hour ride for Mr. (W)right. I daresay, we actually had some time to actually see each other. Although, not an overabundance since all those other events have pretty much set both of us (but more Mr. Wright) behind on the day to day stuff, and we're in a flurry of catch-up whenever there's a moment of downtime. Hence the bassinet. Hence some progress on the bike dungeon. Hence the flirtation with actually dealing with a month of Mr. Wright's mail (maybe next weekend... wait, no... he'll be on some adventure bike trip all next weekend... maybe in July? Of 2025??). Hence the newly installed air conditioning unit.

Just in time for some hot days! Phew. Except it still hasn't quite been optimized. We're in that odd transitional phase, that bit where days are hot and the rooms start retaining heat like mad, but where most nights the cool lost from closing a window (and barring the gelid breeze past midnight) far outweighs the cool revived from a simple air conditioning unit. One drawback of our new bedroom versus the old is that there is no overhead fan to disperse the air conditioning. So I'm definitely still experiencing localized COLD with an otherwise stuffy room. Since evening runs far later than my bedtime before the night gets cold, it's a struggle to decide whether to let the room get really stuffy with the a/c running and a window closed. OR to go to sleep in an oven with the window open and the knowledge that it will cool things down immeasurably for a few more weeks until summer warms up those nights too. 

Decisions, decisions. I do think that once we move the a/c to higher ground (I'm thinking this would move it out of the way of my new co-sleeper and increase the dispersal of cold air to the rest of the room), the situation might improve. But until then, I think I may be just taking a midnight trip to the window and adjusting appropriately. 

In the meantime, I'm pleased as a peppy petulant punch that there are clouds in the sky this morning. Especially before my unpleasant engagement in the boiler room where we hold our collaborative law meetings (ugh). A little fan can only do so much and that place is wretched in winter. Words cannot live up to its summer incalescence. 

And pretty a-ok with the so-far of my Monday. Fingers crossed things stay that way and this is the start of a beautiful weekend. For me and for all! Happy Monday!





Challenging Glucose and the Orangey Doom

Well today is going to be an attempt as a semi-live blog with a few updates through the day. But to start off the merriment, today is the putative day of my oh-so-exciting Glucose Challenge!!! Next I'll be doing the OB-Mud-Run and Urban Hospital Marathon? Something like that. As briefly explained, I chug a metric crapton of dextrose, abstain from eating/drinking/chewing gum/breathing for the next while, then get my blood tested exactly an hour after the original chug. My numbers will then reveal whether I should take a more definitive test of total torture, or rest easy that I'm extremely unlikely to have GD. 

Let the fun commence:

May 11th - Evening - Despite my instructions saying nothing about this, I continue to wonder if my dinner should be different in any way shape or form. I don't want to game the test, but it's also infamous for false positives or "slightly elevated numbers" that consign one to the damnation of the 3 hour test that shall not be spoken of. And the internet is confusing. Some people are lo-carbing it for eons. Others are fasting. Others still are jamming jelly donuts down their pates a half hour before the test starts. Seems like different doctors give different instructions as well, which is maddening. Mine is a nice equivocal "You don't have to fast before this test, but it is probably best if you don't eat or drink anything a couple of hours before the test." A couple? Now I know that's code for two, but it's also code for "twoish, but we don't want to be prescriptive so... do whatever you want... guess!" Drink anything? Like water? Can I not have water?? If I don't have water, I will be dehydrated and my blood won't come out... But ok, regular dinner tonight. Screw it. 

5/12 Begins...

4:45 a.m. - (yes I get up early - that's part me and part the fact that I get up before my commuter husband to make breakfast etc. and this has been shifting my schedule ever earlier). Flopping downstairs in a fog. Lo-carb breakfast? Or high protein? Or should it be high fiber? What will deal with that sugar bomb and leave me less sick the best? 

4:50 a.m. - Eggs. Everyone says eggs. I like eggs. No fiber though. I worry about no fiber given my ornery digestive system and the fact that I'm just surviving on about 100 grams of the stuff a day. Ah well. One test. 

4:55 a.m. - Not enough eggs! Ack. Andrew's two and then... some hardboiled. But I want something cooked. Crap. 

5:00 a.m. - Start mixing together Andrew's hot cereal. Must avoid mindlessly eating half of the bananas and dates I am chopping up to add. Do not sample. No sampling... 

5:01 a.m. - Coffee! Must start the coffee or Andrew will never wake up! What should I have? Is lemon water too carb-heavy? Maybe roiboos. 

5:10 a.m. - Ok, ok, I'll make my little pudla pancake thing but without the grain flour. Um... so one tablespoon of vital wheat gluten... How about two of flax. Flax has carbs. Huh. But they're mostly fiber. Ok, I want fiber, I don't care. And, uh, all that stuff about flax maybe having lignans that are bad for the fetus? Two tablespoons for a girl baby, meh. Good enough. I think. Doesn't flax improve blood sugar for diabetics anyways? Sure. Whatever. Overthinking.

5:15 a.m. - Phew coffee is ready and the Andrew-beast is stirrable. 

5:20 a.m. - start oatmeal; mix up flax, gluten, and spices (cumin, cayenne, ginger, turmeric) with some water and let sit for a few minutes before pouring the liquidy goo onto a plate and nuking for 1 minute. Flip and wait to repeat until closer to actual breakfast time. 

5:30 a.m. - My quotidian surge of residual morning sickness surges and wanes. Man, I hope I don't throw up. Then I'll have to do this all over again. 

5:35 a.m. - Food is mostly ready and Andrew has been downstairs for a few minutes in shocking rout of typical behavior. Another minute for the flax/gluten, peel an egg and we'll call it breakfast. 




5:50 a.m. - Ok twitchy  husband senses something in the air. Despite typically only being halfway through breakfast by the time I start leaving at 5:55), he's putting his dishes away and heading to the bathroom. I halt him for our goodbye rituals and then open all the windows so he can return to a frigid living room. Because that's love, baby. Despite a warm forecast, I abstain from turning on the fans for him. 

6:10 a.m. - Hitting every light, but this KMRE all vinyl local station is actually pretty awesome. How have I never heard of it before? And someday my light will change... someday... so no more eating right? Not for "a couple of hours" Man. Sometimes tea on a light stomach makes me sick. But I need to drink something. Water? Naw, tea. Need tea. 

6:15 a.m. - Office = landmine of munchable highly sugary dates and apricots and fruits and even little chocolate covered pretzels for nibbling. Resist! Resist! 

6:45 a.m. - But really, drink nothing? I have to drink. I just have to. They can't mean water. 

6:50 a.m. - A couple of hours, ok, so ... let's say 7:50. But I should call the lab first. Because they might not have my order. Or they might have shut down from some ebola scare or lord knows. Would be better not to chug without knowing it will go somewhere. 

7:05 a.m. - Dare I treadmill this morning? After the drink? Dare I stir the stomach? When I can't drink water? Ah well. I've got time to consider. 




7:20 a.m. - better get the number for the lab. Loading the site I realize that apparently all of the labs except one (for urgent medical tests only) will be closed starting on Wednesday. I was originally planning to take this test on Wednesday. Holy crap! That could have been... yikes. So if this doesn't work today, I'm screwed. Great!

7:50 a.m. - on hold with the lab after an labyrinthine telephone process... does this bode well? OH OPERATOR! Yes! Yes my orders are in! Twenty minutes before I need it drawn. Or fifteen. Or let them know what time I need it drawn. Ok, I'm cleared to take it... do I really want to take it now? Yikes... 

8:00 a.m. - Ok when do I want to take this? The longer after eating the better, but the sooner I can be done and eat again the better too. Conundrum!!

8:17 a.m. - One last sip of water, blessed water! Oh I love you. And a bathroom trip and then I'll just do it. I'll go ahead and chug the orange beast!


8:19 a.m. - Uh oh, can't get the lid off. 

8:20 a.m. - Pop, alright, now or never... (or next week, so hopefully now then never). 




8:21 a.m. - Oh dear lord that is... ok, shades of childhood... what is this drink I recall.. not sunny d... hi-c? It's almost... I'm drinking my youth and it tastes kind of funky. Only 1/4 through? 

8:22 a.m. - I have five minutes so I don't need to drown  myself, but... can we get this crap over with already?? Phew!

8:30 a.m. - Must. Get. On. Treadmill. Don't know if it's kicking in, but I feel kind of funny. Must walk. Must!!

8:32 a.m. - This incline is too low and the speed is really slow... maybe a 9 incline... 

8:35 a.m. - .. Maybe 12... 

8:36 a.m. - Ok, they said I should be there fifteen minutes early, so I should be there twenty minutes early in case something happens and I want to be there at 9, then, so if Train B leaves the Chicago station at noon going 20 mph and Train ... wait, ok, um, I should leave at 8:50, but that means I should leave from here at 8:45, which means if I want to pack water and lock the door, I should ... Noooo don't make me get off the treadmill!!

8:40 a.m. - Alright, alright, must bring water. I'll probably be thirsty afterwards. Snack? Snack? Probably but what? Nothing portable that I want. Ok screw it. I'll deal later. Maybe chocolate. I'll throw some chocolate in my purse. Do I have my book? 

8:45 a.m. - Well I'm nearly down the stairs and it's too early and what if there isn't a line, then I'll just be sitting there waiting and that sounds unpleasant... um I'll go back up all the stairs to floor 13 and back down. Preferably quickly. 

8:53 a.m. - Well guess that took more time than I thought. Oh lord, what if I'm late and it's backed up?

8:55 a.m. - Um... notes to self (1) blinking is a thing we do, and (2) speed limit is 25, not 50. They do both have 5 in them, but are different. 

9:03 a.m. - Well, of course there's nobody here and now I'm early. I'll go to the bathroom first and check in at exactly 15 minutes 'til. 

9:05 a.m. - Wait, there was a urine sample for this too? Crap. Oh well, pregnant bladder. Should be good to go in another few minutes ago. 

9:10 a.m. - Not sitting. Don't care if they told me to. Not doing it. Stand awkwardly behind the other few people in the room with my book in one hand and phone in the other. Just in case something vital happens either with somebody I know or Anna Karenina. Got to keep that vigil! 

9:16 a.m. - Ok, they should call me back soon. Sometimes my veins are difficult. That would suck if they missed the window because they couldn't get a good one. Or not suck, as the case may be. I hope they give enough time for a little poking. They really should call me back... if they don't should I go up there and be a bother or... Phew my name!

9:20 a.m. - That wasn't even my good arm. Can't believe she got it on a first try. And surely they wanted more blood than that. Asking about it to be sure I'm told "oh yes, we're testing your blood for a lot of stuff" and am then handed a urine cup with several instructions on doing a "clean draw" that likely won't manifest. 

9:25 a.m. - Wow, I'm done. I don't feel weird. I never got nauseous or threw up. I feel kind of medium energy.

That was surprisingly not that bad

Unless the results suck and I have to take the three hour. Then I take it back!

Onwards and upwards towards treadmills and regular work days!