As the thirty-fourth week wends its way through, A fiery fourth leads to toxic air and epic battles with peas, bulbs and spousal tolerances. Boys in spandex begin the final hurdle to Augustan birthing bashes, and legs and lungs are roundly told to shut up! Loaves of melon approach their legally educated dates o'birth and date nights revived with a Mexican hat-dance through communicative curiosities.
Hawt as Hades in Mid-July If Hades were a typical temperate climate having a record breaking hot spell...
Well after a wallow in the whacky week o'heatwave, it's still infernally warm. Steamy appears to be the new normal. Today is predicted to be another apex of bleckiness, followed by a day or two of respite followed by a Sunday-Monday one-two punch of torpid terror.
Needless to say, I'll be spending my next weekend in Chicago where they've apparently had the audacity to (1) steal our typical Juneuary (2) complain about it being cold and overcast. Fools!! Except I'm not really up for flying. So instead, I'll be spending it in front of some combination of air conditioning streams, fan frenzies and intermittent cold showers. Hopefully somewhere where the Tour de France can be playing without significant overheating on my very excitable behalf.
Yesterday was warm by most standards, but cool by our new normal. It "only" got up to 84. Actually maybe even just 82 or 83 by our house. That is, yes, 15 degrees warmer than average, but shy of a record. And, I'll admit that it did feel much nicer than it has often been wont to do recently.
This turned out to be quite the blessing. We/I/Andrew/it's-complicated had forestalled a Tuesday date-night on the theory that Tuesday was the day I would most like to be in the house hanging out (our coolest day, reaching just about 80).
And my brain had been spinning and churning all of yesterday trying to brainstorm appropriately air conditioned restaurants for the upcoming evening.
Through some mix of poor luck and maybe the upswelling of Canada Day celebrants, traffic was wretched on Mr. (W)right's drive home. He got back closer to 7 instead of the expected 6:15. This meant I was fairly over the whole idea of having an evening ahead of me. And my suggestions of a Bar and Grill that had a passable salad and reliable a/c did not seem to be sticking to the wall. Possibly for either of us. I can never tell when we're trying to be sensitive to each other's desires and when we're subtly trying to express our own.
I think I eventually sussed out that Andrew had been nursing an urge for an enormous burrito. This being based on his suggestion that maybe a Mexican restaurant might have a/c as well. And on his tentative suggestion the night before that we eat at Casa. Well two nights before, he mentioned Casa and the possibility of eating outside.
Flashback: The night of our forestalled date-night, Andrew said he'd just as soon eat at home. That was after I'd misunderstood a question about whether I still wanted to eat at a restaurant indoors. In response to this question about whether I still wanted to eat out-indoors, I said staying home would be fine with me... I guess he didn't really mean he'd just as soon stay home as much as it sounded like I'd just as soon stay home and he'd wanted to eat outside... soooo we could eat at home. I actually had realized I misunderstood his originally question and already clarified that we could eat outside so long as it was in the shade, but that was before. he said he'd just as soon eat at home and I manically set about microwaving some kind of dinner with fifteen minutes until his arrival.
Communication is complicated.
Flash-forward again: Since it was late and hot, I was ornery. The usual Mexican Restaurants were either fairly warm or would take too long in my intransigent opinion. The thai place wasn't that cool and we'd just been there. But yeah, I was getting the feeling that either he didn't really want to eat at the Bar and Grill or secretly thought maybe I didn't really. Andrew was starting to suggest we just go home and he could microwave something when I decided action needed to be taken lest our date night be shredded and tattered. So, I said we could try Casa and if it was gross, we could get the food to go.
It was gross. Inside. But outside was shaded. And - while still a bit warm for me - there was a breeze. And it turned out to be a pleasant dinner. And he owned that he had missed his huge San Francisco burrito experience on his trip last weekend. So I think that was really where he wanted to eat all along but - in typical fashion - was afraid to just say because lord knows what a pregnant lady might do in response to an actual expression of desire!! And I got to eat jicama. So it all worked out in the battle of "I wanna do what you wanna do... except not that if that's what you wanna do... is that really what you wanna do?"
But back to today. I actually am going to one of the Mexican restaurants today. For a lunch with our erst-office-mate Leslie. At El Albanil, because mombossa actually called ahead to the two closest options and ascertained their typical a/c settings and the consistency of air conditioning. El Albanil keeps theirs at 70 all the time. El Agave keeps theirs at 72, but it's very powerful so they intermittently turn it off when people get cold. We thought consistent was maybe a better call for Miss Flame-Ears Mc-Hot-Flash.
And a/c is important because it's already HAWT out this morning at 7 a.m. Right on par with the average "high" temperature for this time of year. And rapidly rising. We should definitely be bursting some records today. The excitement, I assure you, is palpable. Ok, more like dreary eyed and worn out with the relentlessness of it all.
But in happy-dance news, we entered final papers in the case that would otherwise be a week out from trial. What a journey. What an exciting last run to the finish line. What a relief! Truly a miracle.
Happy Thursday everybody. Stay cool hep cats. I suggest tons and tons of ice.
Cabo-Cantaloupe Creature and the Cheese-Wax Wonder Thirty-Four and not too many more!
Thirty-four weeks! That's three weeks from term labor. Six from my "due date." Two months, perhaps, from my "OH MY GOD GET THIS THING OUTTA ME"
Actually, I just scheduled myself for an online CLE (continuing legal education - required educational units required to remain in good standing with the Bar) on July 29th. My sister and nephews will also be visiting at that time. So there we have it - odds are excellent that the belly beast will be making her grand appearance on the 29th!
I'm just glad she might be planning to wait a while longer. At thirty-four weeks, she's quite the rollicking omnipresence, but I like it that way for now. I'm glad that babies born after this point tend to do as well as babies born at term (after a short stay in neonatal), but let's not repeat that too loudly to her. Term is just fine with me.
At this point she is most likely to be depicted as:
1. A Cantaloupe - Again! But bigger than several weeks ago when she was presumably a very small cantaloupe.
2. A loaf of bread - Oh dear. Paleo, gluten-free friends, it appears you cannot touch my little fetus. You might want to avoid my belly for fear of cross contamination. Hopefully she remains unsliced for the rest of the term.
In other words, she's probably a bit shy of five pounds (getting nice and plump and smooth finally after being a shriveled transparent rat for some time), and up to 18 inches long. She's still developing, dreaming, reacting, etc. etc. and almost ready to sustain herself entirely on her own. Well except for that whole "fourth trimester" phase where she's on the outside but completely helpless and dependent on mommy who's having her very own "fourth trimester" of weird hormonal and physical tempests... But closer to birth-acceptable by the hour.
Her luscious lanugo body-hair has mostly been replaced with a waxy cheese-coated vernix all over her adordable little melon-body. And she's forming her first memories - start the fund for psychiatric care!
I am also bigger. Well parts of me. From curiosity, I actually measured myself last week. My hip measurement is slightly lower than it was. My chest is up a bit. My waist is virtually gone. Most of my other measurements are the same or smaller, but then there's my belly that takes all those little losses and adds to them with a steep jut. Although funnily enough, my chest measurement is still two inches larger than my widest belly point. Largely, I assume, because my belly is very pointy while my ribs are wide all the way 'round.
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| At ten weeks |
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| At 23 |
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| At 29 |
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| At 34.5 |
I'm told that she'll drop soon. Not a record or anything. She'll just take her head from "downward facing dog" into "pelvic plunging premie." I assume that this will allow her better purchase to continue kicking my ribs while also rendering my pelvic area completely numb or deeply in pain. She's sweet that way.
And of course more of the same: HOT (rarrr, I so sexy sexy with my protruding omphalos); wiped-out; fatigued; blurry eyed; dry-eyed; bleary-eyed; did I mention hot?, suffering from all kinds of novel back, leg, hip and sciatic pains; swollen; heartburny, occasionally nauseous; and thoroughly distracted with a lingering sort of anxiety on top of some very gregarious hormonal emotional swings.
I'm awesome, in other words.
Actually, I am getting used to most of all of the above and feeling pretty much ok to focus on the nifty parts of pregnancy. I'm not quite incapacitated just yet, and can still move around with an added dose of caution. Still taking the stairs, walking on the treadmill, and doing my usual errands. And enjoying my little interactions with the increasingly distinct personality destroying my once-beautiful abdominal muscles.
I imagine that if the heatwave were to mellow, I might be feeling pretty great.
I am advised to consider reducing my working hours or even starting maternity leave early, but considering the whole "work is beautifully air conditioned" thing, I'm far less inclined to even entertain it just yet. Especially now that the pending trial has been completed and is off!
I'm not quite yet on track with preparations as they have been advised. My hospital bag is half-packed. The furniture in various parts of the house still needs to be wrangled and placed appropriately in baby-accessible areas, possibly after assembly.
And we have yet to indulge Andrew's suggestion that we (I'm hoping that mostly falls to him, because he's good at this sort of thing) make an "elevation profile" for the birthing process. He suggested it. I scoffed. I changed my mind. Now I'm apparently more obsessed with the idea than he is. Hoping we might get into that at some point. Sounds like a great educational venture anyways.
I should also be installing my carseat and creating a phone tree for when I go into labor. Trees are nice. They provide shade. That's about as much thought as I've put into that.
For today, though, I'll just try to enjoy the last vestiges of a preternaturally cool office. Then I'll flit from place to place trying desperately to stay cool daddio. Going to be scorching on Sunday so gotta save up any cool I can.
Sweltering Cycling and Big Bassinets
It's on! Le Tour has Grandly Depar(t-is-silent)-ed!! With a time trial. Which kind of worked. And more importantly, the NBC commentator box is now fully fleshed out with the following avalanche of awesome: Phil and Paul, random announcer dude who always is there and isn't a cyclist per se, Christian Vandevelde, Bobke, and - SHUT UP LEGS! - Jensie Voit. Dream team. Christian is manic. Bobke is Uncle Festery, Phil and Paul are adorable, announcer guy is an acceptable straight man, and Jens can barely be understood but you know he's saying awesome stuff when he gets into it and doubles down on his prediction of the day.
It was a good morning send off to our guys, killing themselves in 90+ degree heat out there in Utrecht. And for our own benefit, the weather actually didn't quite soar up to the anticipated heights yesterday... that was yesterday of course. Today is starting off nicely, but I feel like we got our little respite and it really will be skyrocketing once the nice morning cool wears away.
But in the meantime, it appears, I've finally blown my husband right out of the bedroom with all my air conditioning and fans and whatnot. Not so different than the last several nights, but he definitely either stayed in the basement or moved to the basement last night at some point. All I know is that I woke up at 3 a.m. and had the bed entirely to myself.
I didn't flop out fully to my dominant position, since I was uncertain if he'd return. But he did not. So when I officially woke up, I opened all the windows and blasted two fans from the window directly towards the bed. It's nice and chilly up there now for the first time in ages. The damned room holds onto heat like nothing else, so even with the a/c on, it's often the warmest room in the house by morning. Granted, all the other rooms in the house have had fans rolling all night in front of open windows... for a brief spell. To get the cold air in before we lock it in for the day.
Yesterday we had several little skirmishes over and with the household. Our major objective was to figure out how to make the air conditioning placement a little less slapdash. It's currently teetering on our dresser, which has to jut out into the room at an angle to accommodate the a/c breadth. Andrew wants a little table to put it on instead. I want to ensure at all costs that the bassinet can be placed next to my side of the bed in a way that allows the air conditioning (1) to reach me (2) without turning our baby into a popsicle. I am very, very protective of this goal (possibly it serves as one of those symbolic totems of my anxiety about the coming childbirth, I don't know). Andrew is very certain that the table is the key to everything else.
We'll be getting a table some time today. He's measured.
The other mini-skirmish took place earlier. Andrew has claimed the basement, of course. I've claimed the bedroom, it appears. Given our temperature preferences, one might say that we've illogically ignored the heat-rises theory and left me in a frosty upstairs and him in an oddly warm downstairs. But whichever. Air conditioning has been installed. Claims have been staked.
This leaves the ground floor as our buffer zone, a mini-Kashmir in the Wright temperature set-tos. Let the battle ensue. We have differing philosophies about "the lights." I tend to have fairly sensitive eyes and can more or less mole around somewhere in crepuscle and gloom. Basically, I may engineer the entire ambience of our daily lives around "living in an underground cave." Andrew was made to roam deserts and prefers glaring interrogation-style spotlighting.
We typically have managed compromises. But recently one must add to it my belief that lights increase the heat (recalling that I cannot handle heat and have mostly won on the "pregnant wife is insanely hot all the time and will insist on turning the home into Antarctica" battle). I'm not totally nuts. The days where the lights have been left on, the room has gotten hotter. It's probably a minimal effect in the scheme of things, but I do also refuse to run nearly any unnecessary electronics or appliances during the day. And Andrew refuses to use energy efficient bulbs, because he doesn't like the way they make things look.
Yesterday, we were both holed up in our respective territories, but every time I came downstairs, I would turn off every light (and there were many of them) on the ground floor. When I returned (I do need things from the kitchen), they would all be on again. I would turn them off, Andrew would turn them on... it was a nice little dance even if we didn't even see each other!
Anyways, today will be more of a joint effort to figure out the bedroom. We'll have the table. And from the table, there can be a jenga game of pieces and logic puzzles to figure out the a/c and the bassinet and the bed and the dresser and oh my oh my... I'm also hoping to rope the fella into helping get the carseat into my car. I figure once that is in - and thus we have a car from which the hospital would allow us to depart with our newly born child - I'll feel a lot less anxious about the early surprise.
But first, to the Le Tour for another round of sweaty guys in spandex!
Frigidity Follies and the Hormonally Harrumphy Day
We've reached a cease-fire(-ears) in the climate control battles. At least for now. As of last night, Mr. (W)right was able to return to the bedroom without being blown away by an a/c cyclone. I was able to sleep in that same room with only minimal exploding head heat. Much of this probably was circumstantial as much as anything, but some of the movement of items around the room may have helped. I'm pretty sure that the biggest help was moving the supplemental fan from the foot of the bed to the floor by my side of the bed. The temperature is less of a concern for Mr. (W)right than the breeziness, while "breeze" at least gets the cold air from the air conditioner to actually get closer to my flaming face.
He also moved the air conditioner onto the long-promised little table. This action is aimed at keeping the air conditioner hose as straight and unkinked as possible. I'm not sure why this was such a goal of his, as it does not seem to have made a smidgen's difference in effectiveness of the unit, but I'll buy there's some efficiency trade-off involved somewhere along the lines. It was very important to him. If it's just a small efficiency trade-off, I'd rather seal the window better and clean the filters regularly, but whichever helps. And it is vastly superior to having the dresser jutting out at a strange angle.
My priority has been and remains ensuring that the baby bassinet would fit in the proper semi-co-sleeping position in such a way that the air conditioner could both (1) still reach me, since I'm the big ball of bed-fire here, and (2) not go directly through my little snow baby to get to me. I repeated this priority several times, in various ways that may have made me sound anti-table, but really, it was just that I wanted to make sure the bassinet part was ensured.
I'm not 100% convinced that this goal is achieved, but Andrew felt it was very important that we have the table for the a/c first. I'm just happy the bassinet is in the bedroom at this point. And, well, we did move the a/c around a bit at the end so that it faces me more. This inevitably results in our imaginary bassinet baby getting blasted with cool air in the meantime, but sometimes it's hot enough that you just say "sorry imaginary bassinet baby... get a sweater."
It was an interesting day of projects and paroxysms. After several weeks of being too busy to get to these sorts of things, the hubba-hubba hubby was utterly possessed with drive. We went directly from the Tour de France to Target for our table... and several other items. He hopped from that to the air conditioning unit. Then - before I'd even finished my "I'm not sure... seems like this still has the problem with the bassi..." inevitable statement of doubt - he had gone off and installed the carseat. It's making a weird noise when I drive, but I have no idea what carseats are supposed to sound like. Either way, it's in enough to now have the safety inspector check it out and ensure it will be safe for the little belly beast when she pops out).
Then he put together the majority of a diaper changing table, then he went on a ride and then he did laundry, and sometime in there he may have tried to do bills but instead installed Quicken and backed up all his computer files and then... well, then actually he crashed a bit.
Meanwhile, I stewed and simmered in my own heat and harry, with every pregnancy related cavil flaring up all at once. Heartburn, head burn, flaming ears, exhaustion, crying spells, headache, nausea, contractions (the incidental and sporadic kind), swollen everything, back agonies, hip agonies, pelvic twinges (of the unerotic variety), and very very itchy unhappy belly skin. Perhaps not the day for anything other than laying on a couch being fanned and fed bon-bons, but my cabana boys had the day off.
I went out for a while only to realize that when I'd set the a/c timer earlier, I'd actually set it to come on as fan. Thus I came back to a tornado of a torrid room.
And then of course, the a/c was in the wrong place for actually cooling me after the latest changes. A few tears were shed as I hovered about six inches from the a/c grill to cool my rubicund face. For good measure, I dropped several things; took a cold shower; slammed a door at some point in such a way as to maybe have caused a picture to fall over and all its glass framing to shatter and spread; got stuck (almost) behind a ladder that had been staged on the stairway in order to change a lightbulb (before being abandoned on the revelation that we didn't have replacement bulbs); had a minor battle with said ladder; pouted a while in the somewhat air conditioned room; started to come down as Mr. (W)right came into the room to read next to me; fidgeted madly in a vain attempt to actually sit comfortably atop my increasingly achy everything; and... eventually...
A very Wright moment. Andrew had decided to go from reading to napping when the event occurred. I had come upstairs with a bowl of frozen peas to tide me over until dinner. Within seconds of ensconcing myself into some pillowy semblance of comfort, I managed to knock them all to the ground. For dramatic effect, I added a loud earth-shattering scream with several untoward imprecations upon various gods and ethereal entities.
Andrew - not quite opening his eyes - roused on the fourth or fifth @#& to faintly ask if things were ok. At this point, I was on my hands and knees bemoaning the far reaching roll of your average pea. Many had scattered across the room and niggled into the furthest crevices of the bed and dresser. In a surly and despairing voice I wailed that I'd dropped the friggin' peas!!!
Satisfied that our lives were not imperiled, he plonked into a placid slumber. Still cursing, I retrieved a broom and a vacuum. And my hubba-hubby slept on peacefully through several more bouts of lalochezia, some cacophonous clunking of broomstick against every item of furniture in the house, a few slammed doors, and a long bout with the vacuum.
And this is why the baby will be sleeping on my side of the bed... so I can knock her over and scatter her across the floor like a bowl of peas. No, wait, I don't think that was where I was going with that.
Things mostly improved after that point, although my heartburn was epic and my fatigue was mounting in direct competition with my general overheatedness. Andrew eventually roused for a somewhat hurried dinner (I was not feeling the whole being downstairs vibe that evening) and we watched one of the final episodes of Angel. I think there are two or three left to go, although we'll be taking a break from them in the evenings to watch replays of the Tour de France this week.
And that returns us to the temperature cease-fire(-ears). Our imaginary bassinet baby is somewhat frostbitten, I was a little hot, but Andrew slept just-right. Or less uncomfortably than when he's in the middle of a wind-tunnel. I'll be seeing if I can get away with making the a/c bottom temperature cooler overnight.
And, I really was not so miserable yesterday as to recognize the incredible boon granted by the weather-gods. Yesterday was forecast to be splayed across the mid-nineties, but a cooler morning forestalled such spikes and left us shy of those nasty nineties. Too hot for me, but so much better than it might have been. Today, they haven't even issued a heat advisory. Which naturally means it'll be the hottest day of the year just for fun. And there's a faint promise of return to "normal" temperatures by the end of the week. Of course that's "normal for July" which is our hottest and driest part of the year. I have been robbed of my Juneuary almost entirely. But I will survive somehow. Truly. Madly. Deeply.
And in the meantime, we've got a/c positioned just how I like it at the office. So I'll happily wallow here for a good Monday work day. Might even do some work if I'm really motivated. Fingers crossed.
Weekday Wahoos, Mellower Mondays, and Trusty Tuesdays The Eensy Weensy Chillaxation
Miracle of miracles, it actually got below 60 degrees last night. I swear, I even smelled that slight dampness of an early morning dew as I shuttled through my window closing routine this morning. What wonders are these?
The sky remains hazy, hopefully more due to some cinereal cumuli and less to the ongoing wildfires around the county. Yeah, wildfires. A big one in Canada and four in Whatcom County. Despite all warnings, several broke out (related to fireworks from the sound of it) on the 4th and 5th. Some remain raging with little rainy respite in sight.
I discovered yesterday that the air had been fairly toxic on Sunday. Or, to quote the Washington Air Quality Advisory, "unhealthy." People were apparently supposed to stay indoors and huff only indoor oxygen. I like to think this explains some of the maniacal malaise from Sunday's little crying over spilt peas and door slamming adventures. Yesterday, the air quality was only dangerous for "vulnerable populations," which still includes me. I'd say it was definitely still a short-of-breath kind of day and grotesquely hazy. Today, it has actually been moved from red through orange and straight to green. Healthy! I can breathe when I'm outside again! Or so I'm promised.
Anyways, while being somewhat gross outside, yesterday was still a vastly easier day to navigate in my addled 34.5 week state. Perhaps it was the ubiquity of the air conditioners in all relevant offices. The fact that the haze reduced some of our early morning office warming. Perhaps, merely the fact that I'd gotten some oxygen back into my system. Whatever, I managed to continue taking it easier than usual, but feeling much less harried and hollowed out. That was even with a Whatcom Collaborative Professionals Board Meeting smushed in there in the middle.
And a wild little baby trying to break her way out of my achin' abdomen. I've been having a mad slew of mid-section discomforts recently which I can only attribute to the heat and the thrashing baby. Indigestion through the roof, cramps, and itchiness galore. But as long as my head stays cool, I seem to manage these things much better.
The treadmill feels less awesome. About three weeks ago, it started making this awful rattling noise. I tightened the belt. That made it worse. I loosened the belt. That made it better. But now it's back to a full on death-rattle. Three days before the service people are finally scheduled to make it out here. Glad not to disappoint them and all, but it would be nice if the darned thing would just work consistently. I feel significantly better when I can walk all day. Sitting and standing both put undue strain on my poor back. Which was tweaking out like mad last night while we were trying to watch Stage Three of Le Tour. I had to watch it from a variety of acrobatic positions - standing, leaning, on my head, hanging from the ceiling.
We may well be in that legendary "final stretch" and I may eventually be like all those other pregnant woman: so ready to have this thing outta me.
But for a while longer, I'll hope that random air quality nosedives and frisky weather is the culprit of all my chagrins. And I'll marvel as the little belly creature wreaks more havoc on my remaining abdominal muscles.
And I'll revel in Tuesday's nice overcast beginning. Oh normal weather, please come back to your Pacific Northwest. We could use you about now!
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