Am I letting my readers down when I just ramble on with various complaints? How about when I complain AND I fail to post a photo? Lame. I know.
My ever-expanding belly is starting to hurt more and more, probably due to my time spent in the garden, squatting and weeding like a crazy woman. (Has anyone read "The Good Earth"? I'll pop a baby out while I"m in the field... no problemo.)We seem to have been plagued with this kind of onion grass that has taken over the yard, and since it's really just a bunch of tiny bulbs run rampant, I have to dig it up and do my best to clean it out. The worms I find while digging are immediately handed over to my fellow gardeners Ruby and Eloise, who then proceed to torture them by flinging them in buckets of water and splatting them onto their jungle gym. Eloise just can't get enough of worms... she says, "ooooh. I just love these little guys. Hi wormy worms. It's Eloise. I'll take care of you..." while she holds them and inspects them close to her face. Despite what I tell them about how valuable worms are to the garden, and how worms don't like to be hot and dry, they can't help but torture them. I guess it's cute.
Anyway, my fantasies of having a mini vegetable garden (with about 5 different veggies) have almost disappeared - the onion grass weeds being one reason for disappointment, and Myles' schedule being the other. If I just had my Manservant around he could dig up the shitty weeds for me - but he's more or less absent. Did I mention that during the month of May he's going to be "Q 2"... Doctor-speak for EveryOtherFuckingNightSpentAtTheHospital? He tells me that you actually get to sleep when you're on this Pediatric Surgery rotation, so when he's post-call he won't have to be sleeping. I know the truth to this though. Q 2 is just plain horrible - sleep or no sleep. I'm so sick and tired of my nights alone... and my mornings alone! I would pay large sums of money to have Myles next to me in bed every morning... and then he would get up and make me a big pot of coffee (yes folks, this pregnant lady drinks lots of caffeine) and he'd make the girls breakfast. Oh, and he'd do the dishes and some laundry before I even emerged from the bedroom.
But wait, back to my belly. Everyone I encounter likes to say, "Oh, you're carrying out front. You're SO having a boy", or "Your face hasn't changed. You're having a boy." Or, "I totally sense boy-vibes". Or "Your skin looks great. You're having a boy." What the fuck people? Don't they know there's no truth in any of that garbage? It's killing me.
Maybe it annoys me because I feel like I'm carrying a boy around... but not because of any of the "Old Wives" crap. It just feels kinda boy-ish. It stretches around and kicks up a storm at all hours. It's not shy. Anyone who wants to feel it move can feel it move. No hiding. But then again, what do I have to compare this pregnancy to other than my crazy twin situation? Of course it's going to be a different sensation all together.
I'm pretty sure I've been having some of those Braxton-Hicks contractions here and there, but doesn't that seem kinda early? I can't tell. I guess I only have 9 more weeks, which in the mind of a pregnant woman feels like an eternity.
So in the meantime I'm obsessing over buying a vintage letterpress. It's really silly but serves as an excellent distraction - and once I purchase one, then I can let it sit and collect dust just like my "Must Have" sewing machine. I say that only because my family constantly pokes fun at my capricious hobbies. The only reason we don't have a pair of egg laying chickens in our yard is because my parents laughed at me over and over again when I started spewing my poultry facts at them. Occasionally though I don't care what anyone says and I just jump into stuff for no reason at all. But the letterpress thing has purpose! It's a long-overdue necessity for a crafty beeyatch like myself.
I'll be sure to post pictures if I manage to get the model that I want. And then you can all call me up with your business card requests.
Friday, April 13, 2007
What will I do if this next baby is a boy?
Monday, April 02, 2007
So much of my life has turned back in to basic survival skills - those skills that got me through a couple of winters in Burlington with little babies - counting hours, killing time, reminding myself that things will get better if I'm just patient and make it to bedtime. Ruby and Eloise are tremendous and easy and this pregnancy is a breeze - but the baby is a MOVER. Considering that my uterus was stretched out with 12 pounds of baby before, Pickle has plenty of room to torment me at odd hours. My best description would be trapping a rodent in a pillowcase... and well, swallow that. A rodent noodling around in your abdomen! Pickle wakes up with Myles at about 4:45 AM and doesn't quit moving until I start walking around downstairs. I don't sleep anymore and I have 3 more months of this business. Either I have severe sleep depravation or a case of the nasty hormones right now.
Example: my late afternoon sticky-ass burning hot vanilla latte slides off the dashboard when myles accellerates out of a parking space -and it splashes all over my legs and feet. Suede shoes and freshly painted toenails covered in crap, car mat and floor soaking... I manage to make it home without really losing my shit, but then I go to get a pair of fresh jeans out of the dryer. Ugh. They barely zip up - or better yet - they barely fit over my thighs. I am a fat beast. Mortified that I have gained so much weight in the last 2 hours, I resort to the bathroom where I whimper and sulk and want to scream. All I want is the fucking latte.
This being said, I'm embarassed that this blog was supposed to concern Ru and El's monumental third birthday. Perhaps I'll redeem myself in another post!