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:
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