This is Your Brain on Baby

I could list all the annoying questions about my pregnancy, or questions that become annoying just by virtue of their frequency, but that's no fun.  I've learned that there are equally annoying answers that I give to a lot of said questions.  Now that's fun.  I can't say that I get why these answers are wrong, but let me tell you, they are. 

First, everyone wants to know when my last day of work is.  My honest answer is (1)when the baby comes,(2) or when I can't do it anymore, (3) or I don't know, because all of those are the same answer in my mind.  This is the part where men look at you like they might be called upon to deliver your child, thus seeing your business end and possibly having to fashion a tourniquet out of their belts/shoelaces.  If only things were going to happen that quickly. 

Another one I get a lot is whether we plan on having more children.  My brain can't really process this one.  At this point, I'm not sure that I'll ever have this baby, so I don't know where I'd put another one.   

People also ask how I feel a lot, which is really sweet and I appreciate it.  I said this in my last post, but I tend to err on the side of less information, just out of courtesy.  Sometimes, though, I think this is irritating to people. Women, especially.  I just don't really have the words to describe it, which is mostly because I feel pretty good.  If I had to though, the end of the third trimester is kiiind of like...being a capsized turtle with the appetite of a fourteen year boy.

Another one I get a lot is whether or not I plan to have an epidural--the obligatory "birth plan," as it's called in my baby books.  My plan is to not be pregnant anymore and whatever way that can best be achieved is the plan I'm signed up for.  Honestly, I just don't know.  I've never had a baby!  If I need an epidural, I'll get one.  If not, maybe not.  So many factors go into it, that the question to me is, how does anyone ever have a plan?  As you might know, I am a planner.  I set aside time to plan.  I love a plan, but I'm not about to tell the nurses and doctor what my "plan" is.  That's like when my clients start telling me about what they found on Google to get their case "squashed."   Sir, let me be the lawyer before you talk your way into stripes and plastic sandals.  I don't want to end up with the labor and delivery equivalent of plastic sandals.

I guess that's what it boils down to. I just don't want to end up with prison sandals, you know?

37 Weeks and 5 Days...

Because now I count hours and days.  I'm in my 38th week.  Are you tired of hearing about my pregnancy?

Shut up.

I'm just kidding. 

I'm not kidding. 

I'm starving. 

Why is it 900 degrees? 

Where did I put my mind? It was just here.

Why are there never any cookies?

Here's some Aristotelian Logic for you: I am pregnant. I have always been pregnant. I will be pregnant for the rest of my life.

I wish that I was intuitive enough to think that I know when he'll come, but I have no clue. Every night when I go to bed I think he's coming soon, and every morning I think he may hang in there through the end of my twenties. Even though I think I've probably got another couple of weeks, when other people suggest it, I have to fight the urge to bare teeth. Truthfully, I don't whine that much except to you, three readers, and to my ever patient husband. I may look like a marshmallow and feel like poo, but I'm still hanging on to my pride, by God! When people ask how I feel, I usually say that I feel great or that I'm a little tired. In the grand scheme of things, those things are true. Besides, no one wants to know that my hair hurts...that I had an existential crisis during breakfast...that I'm doing rain dances for contractions...that I'm scared to death sometimes...that I'd hurt someone for a strawberry pop tart...or cherry...that I can't remember what it's like to button pants. But, you know, I can't complain : )

35 Weeks

    Okay, I'm saying Uncle to pregnancy.  It got me.  I've had a pretty easy time, but I am still dunzo.  I feel terrible saying that because I've managed to avoid almost every bad pregnancy symptom in the book.  No heartburn, hemroids, constipation, insomnia, nausea, skin problems, etc.  I know, right?  I hate me too.  Even still, I'm worn out.  My energy level hasn't been that big of an issue since the beginning, but I'm definitely slowing down now.  I've gained around twenty two pounds and I don't think I want to add another ounce to carry around.  I attribute my easy time to ninety-five percent luck and five percent refusing to take it easy.  I've stayed too busy to think about how I'm feeling.  I don't want to slow down and I definitely don't want to be the whiny pregnant girl.  I don't like her. 

    Baby Locke seems to be enjoying the life aquatic.  He's gotten too big for his hijinks of a few weeks ago. Now he's more into doing a one-man hokey pokey.  But, you know, that is what it's all about.  According the doctor, he's droppin' it like it's hot, which explains why my Summer home is the bathroom.  Also, he's head down facing left/back, with his legs bent and kicking my lower left side.  I know that's hard to picture, so I'll put it this way, that moving protrustion on my right side is a tiny rear end that is womb-mooning you.  At the last ultrasound, the doctor commented on how long his fingers and his legs are and every time we tried to see his face, he'd kind of grimace and cover it with his hands and move away.  So, basically, I'm due to give birth to my husband in around five weeks.  I'm excited to have two of him!  Max has been kind enough to try out all of the baby gear for us.  He's been in the rocker, the crib and the stroller.   He's even tested a few toys to make sure they aren't a choking hazard.  That's love. 

My mom has threatened us all if I don't show her more pregnancy photos.  So:

This is from our trip to Vicksburg, before I got enormous.

We finished getting the nursery together.  I had more of a directorial role.  See above.

I think it turned out beautiful.

And then, the enormous found me.  This is yesterday:

You see, the hand helps you see where the baby is.  Why do we do this?

Afraid, with good reason, that he'll be diapered.

We're just not sure if we're ready.

On Naming

   In the last several months I've gotten an education on the very provocative subject of names.  I have to admit, I was completely ignorant of how strongly people feel about naming and, specifically, the names of children that do not belong to them.  That's not to say that there aren't names that I like better than others, but short of Pooter McPantstains, I can't really think of any names that I think are really awful.  In naming our child, I've kind of developed my own personal philosophy of naming, i.e. the qualities that are important to me.  Mind you, I don't think I've invented the wheel, or that other people should follow my thoughts, but this is what helped me decide on his name.

1.  Originality:  I must say, this was not a crucial factor for me and I realize that this makes me different from a lot of people of my generation.  I truly would have no problem with him having the same name as another kid in his class.  I can't understand why that's a problem.  In fact, I seem to fall in the other camp.  I don't want for him to lead with his name, if that makes sense.  I don't need for him to have a name that defines him, but hope, instead, that he fills his name with meaning on his own.  Afterall, I've haven't even met this guy and he's going to grown into his very own person, regardless of what the internet says his name means.

2.  Genetics:   I think we all imagine that our children will somehow be creatures of physical and mental perfection, but I think it's important to remember whose genes are in the mix.  If two very small people have a child, there is a strong chance that that child will be small.  It's cool.  I'm a shorty, so I can say these things.  If, per chance, your small child is a small boy child, perhaps it's best to avoid naming him Brutus. That's just an example for two tiny people, you know what you're working with.  Just a thought.

3.  Children (God willing) grow up to be adults:  It's hard for me to imagine that our baby will one day be kicking his legs outside of my belly, so I can totally relate to the fact that it's hard to imagine him being 6...19...60.  Even still, his name has to last him a while and, for me, it's important that he have a name that he can grow into.  Some names are cute, but will they be suitable for an adult?  On a related note, it has to be acknowledged that your child may go into any number of career fields and there are some names/spellings that just won't garner as much respect. 

4.  Teasing:  This particular aspect of naming is the most ridiculous to me.  When we first shared with people our son's name, which by the way is Peter/Pete, we got a few comments.  A few suggested that he will be made fun of.  Let me be clear about this.  Every child gets made fun of at some point.  If the worst thing my son ever gets teased about is his name then I will be grateful.  If you think that you were never made fun of, then one of three things is in play (1) you are too old to remember, (2) you were excessively sheltered, (3) or no one ever said it to your face.  I can't insulate him from other kids, nor would I.  My hope is that I can raise a resilient person who learns how to handle what comes at him.  AND (can you tell this makes me mad?!?) what child under 10 has ever heard Peter used as a euhamism for anything?  I would personally make fun of that child for such a dated insult.  Also, in a time when people intentionally mispell their childrens' names, make them up out of thin air, and borrow five syllable last names from imaginary aristocratic relatives, I think the playground will be filled with lots of little glass houses from which stones won't be thrown quite as easily.

5.  Pleasing the crowd:  It may take three licks to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop, it may take a village to raise a child, but it only takes one or two people to name a child, and those are his or her parents.  Everyone has the opportunity to name their own.  I don't know why people feel so strongly about the names of other people's children, but I've been on the recieving end of a few rude remarks from people I barely even know.  At first this made me think I was crazy, but then I started hearing from other people with all kinds of names for their children who had also be subjected to the World's opinion and commentary.  You truly cannot please everyone.

Say anything..

If for one day I said exactly what I thought---

-- I'd hear someone talking about money, or theirs or their famiy's status and I would call them a classless fool. I would also suggest that they learn something about their audience first, as that is never cute or interesting to me.

-- I would say, stop whistling. No whistling before 9am.

-- I scream for ice cream.

-- If you have to tell me how much you do and/how busy you are I'll question it. Oversell always makes me think the opposite. The more someone has to hear that, the more they notice when it's not the case.

-- Rinse and repeat previous statement.

-- You're welcome (in that childish way when people don't say thank you).

-- Oooh. Shiny.

-- I don't know Ms. Lott, but I'll give her the message.

-- Yes, I'm pregnant. Stop looking at my stomach.

-- Doo do do do do do Do do...(the theme from Doug)

22 Weeks

Today marks the beginning of week 22. So, 18 weeks left. I don't know why no ever tells you that pregnancy is 40 weeks...as in ten months. Maybe the "they" got together and decided that nine sounded more doable and that this little bit of misinformation might be helpful to the continuation of the species. Could be. At this point, it's gravy. I feel fine. I'm not enormous. (I'm a little enormous). I have more energy than I did at the beginning and, I suspect, a whole lot more than I'll have in a month or so.

He's been kicking for a several weeks, but this last week has been his own personal demonstration in the various angles from which the bladder can be kicked. It may not sound like it, but it's actually one of the most charming things anyone's ever done.

As of the last two weeks, my brain has gone into baby mode. I've been excited all along, obviously, but there was a literal switch. It's like this burst of energy that has no where to go yet. The normal, and perhaps helpful, thing to do would be to read some books about labor and such. But, the word cervix makes me squirrelly.

So, I've done the next illogical thing. I've made the baby a playlist. I can't sing, so I thought he might appreciate some music from various artists who can. I would totally post the songs where you could hear them, if that was a real thing. Is that a real thing? Google was no help, so as far as I know, it's science fiction. I mean, this isn't Assange Letters. Only Craig will think that's funny.

Here's my carefully crafted during all hours of the night playlist for the world's kindest, smartest, kickingest baby that ever gestated, orrr, The Baby's Playlist.

1. April Come She Will--Simon and Garfunkel
2. Dearest--Buddy Holly
3. Forever Young--Bob Dylan (the slow one)
4. Hearts and Bones--Paul Simon
5. Sea of Love--Cat Power
6. Angel--Sean Hayes
7. Go Ask an Old Man--Colin Hay
8. You Belong to Me--Carla Bruni
9. Lullabye--Jack Johnson and Matt Costa
10. Rejoicing in the Hands--Devendra Banhart
11. Danny's Song--Nicki Bluhm
12. Heartbeats--Jose Gonzalez
13. Into the Mystic--Van Morrison
14. Falcon Settles Me--Rogue Wave
15. The Sweetest Gift--Sade

Crime Kitty

Some call her Princess Patches, some call her "that cat."  Some even call her Chris, as there is a theory that she is the animal form of a shape shifting local homeless man.  This is, as  yet, unconfirmed.  To me, though, she is and will always be Crime Kitty, Vigilante Fugitive from Justice. 

Crime Kitty first appeared on the scene a few months ago, and by scene, I mean outside the criminal court building.  In the beginning, she was reticent, elusive even, leading one to ask, "Did you just see a cat?"  Sneaky little minx.  Today, though, she can be seen boldly nuzzling the air vents for court employees and handcuffed, escorted defendants alike to admire.  Regally, she'll stand and preen beneath the light pole.  Whimsically, yet with a touch of mystery, she rolls in the grass.

Crime Kitty has truly come into her own.

I've heard recently from a witness at the scene, that two women were seen trying to capture Crime Kitty.  Evidently, they were not aware that she is, in fact, the Vigilante Fugitive from Justice. Duh.  But, they were not ignorant for long.  She evaded their every attempt at capture.  The warrant was issued, but it will never be executed. 

Carry on, you felonious feline. Carry on.