Pregnant Woman Are Smug

I have really mixed feelings about the song. . . it's funny sure, and I laughed at things that have come out of my own mouth in the last 24 weeks.

It also brought up some very frustrated feelings I have towards a large group of people that I would have called friends up until this last Christmas. A group I partied with, marched in protest and in celebration with. A group that I once identified with.

I think that it's unfair to make woman feel guilty about their giving you the answers you want to hear because. . . as was pointed out. . . you ask to be polite but you don't actually care.

Of coarse I am going to tell you that vomiting 3 times a day for 3 and a half months was totally worth it and not a problem for me at all. . . If I were to tell you that I hated every moment of it I would receive looks of accusation. . . as though I didn't love my child as much as I should just because vomiting is unpleasant. If not that then you would think I was just whining and complaining to get attention.

Of coarse I am going to take a tiny jab at the triviality of your life when hurtful words like 'breeder' are being thrown around, and I've been taken off of the party invite list because I can't possibly be an Ani Difranco loving feminist and a mother at the same time. And when the news about these new changes in my life were met with looks of pity and hesitant half hearted congratulations, I felt forced to downplay my very close and fulfilling relationship with the father of my child so as not to bring further looks and eye rolls from the room. If that isn't trivial and meaningless, then I don't know what is.

I am over the moon happy about the changes in my life. . . And I think that it is hurtful and petty that there were people in my life who couldn't get over themselves and the stereotypes that they claim to hate and yet fulfil with every breath in order to be happy for a friend.


Elmo. . . The Little Red Monster I Would Love To Hate

I have recently started a job which involves the care and entertainment of a 13 month old. For a number of reasons I thought this would be a good idea. 1) I figured hanging out with kids playing with toys and napping all day would be a fun and easy way to earn a little extra cash. 2) It has been a few years since I have had any sort of responsibility for the well being of a baby, and seeing as how I am only a few month away from going full-time, I figured I could use the practice.

The first 2 days with this baby were awesome. He smiled and laughed and danced to my silly songs, he ate all of his lunch and snacks without any fuss, napped without fuss and on a schedule roughly matching my own napping schedule, and even happily put up with my trying to remember how to change a diaper.

On the 3rd day the baby gods created separation anxiety.

I used to be under the assumption that if a small child screamed and cried at the sight of their alternative care giver it was a sure sign that, at best, said caregiver was not a good match, or something much more sinister was going on.

As it turns out, children are much smarter than anyone really gives them credit for and will eventually come to the following logical conclusion:

You being here + My Mommy putting on makeup and work clothes = My mommy is leaving

This morning, after 2 easy and uneventful days I was feeling very confident as I let myself in and said good morning to the little boy running about the living room in his pajamas.

Upon seeing me he started to scream, and I tried to console him. He screamed louder. His mother explained what was in the fridge for lunch, gave him a hug and kiss then left for work. He had a complete and utter meltdown at the front door.

I sang and danced and enthusiastically built a block tower showing him how fun it was in an effort to distract him.

He screamed louder and kicked over my tower.

I tried picking him up and hugging him in an effort to comfort.

He screamed and smeared snot all over my shirt.

I tried encouraging him to eat his feelings away and thus creating poor eating habits by feeding him yogurt to calm him.

He screamed and threw a spoonful of yogurt at my face.

I finally resorted to something I promised myself I would never resort to with any child, especially not my own in the future. . . I turned on the television.

He stopped screaming, for some reason took an empty milk jug out of the recycling bin, and sat, finally quiet, in front of the television for the next 23 glorious minutes.

Thank the Lord in heaven for Elmo.

I didn't even try to take away the milk jug, deciding that it would be better to simply count my blessings, enjoy the quiet, and admit that maybe the television wasn't so bad after all.

I still think that too many children in our society watch way too much TV, and that it is so easy for parents to fall into the routine of letting them simply because it's an easy way to get a few minutes peace. . . But I am no longer intending to cut television out of my child's life completely.


Lessons I've Learned in the Last 48 Hours

1) Reading outside in your fancy new deck chair in your sexy chunky fashionable sunglasses for three hours without changing position in the slightest does not make the most even sunburn in the world.

2) If you use your hard earned tax return that was WAY more than you thought it would be to buy your partner a fancy new barbecue instead of paying down your debt like a responsible person would have and call it an early father's day gift, the baby gets the credit from that moment forward, there is simply no convincing him otherwise.

3) One should refrain from laughing at jokes about cars when the next words out of your mouth will inevitably prove that you are a silly hippie who doesn't know the first thing about any form of transportation that is not your dirty smelly hippie feet. . . It will only cause embarrassment.


GIST #12 of 365

1) As the pictures in the previous post indicate, our 20 week ultrasound went great. although our doctor hasn't reviewed the pictures yet, everything looks normal and healthy. And even though it turns out that my 'gut instinct' was totally wrong, I am absolutely ecstatic that we are having a little boy!

2) I know I've mentioned it already, and it's kind of old news but. . . I can use my own shampoo without gagging!!!! What a relief after 5 months of smelling like Das Piper. . . Who smells great by the way. . . It's just that I am a woman, and my fruity blend is much more feminine.

3) I have everything I need to start my balcony garden. . . Now I just need a nice warm and sunny day to do it outdoors because I am a huge klutz who doesn't feel like cleaning dirt out of our white/apartment coloured carpets. Better to make the mess where I can just push it over the edge of the deck and let the downstairs neighbours deal with it. (Having not yet put a face to this mysterious downstairs neighbour, I can do these kinds of things with little guilt.)

4) Tums

5) I made some fun wall art for the baby's room! Aren't I a crafty mama? crafty Papa (Das Piper) cut the shapes for me from some scrap wood, and with a little bit of paint and glitter I turned them into some pretty snappy dragonflies if I do say so myself. There are a few little baby dragonflies in the works as well, so here's hoping our baby doesn't get his daddy's sissy fear of bugs cause there will be a whole family of them right above his crib.


Hello Baby!

Thank you for finally turning around and letting us snap a couple pictures. I half expected to see little hands in front of your face gesturing rudely just like your daddy when the cameras come out.



Hahahaha, Hahahaha, Hahahaha. . . . I F****ing told you so!

On a recent 'shoot' in the Vietnamese jungle, Bear Grylls nearly sliced his finger off while doing something stupid with a bamboo shoot.

Here's a picture of the carnage.

Bear Grylls himself had this to say about sustaining an injury while out in 'the wild' on his blog:

"I also sliced off the tip of another finger which bled like nobody's business, but the raw flesh is covering up now slowly. Dank, damp jungle conditions are bad for such injuries, trust me!"

I would love to trust him about that, except that the sentence before that one tells us how his production team flew him back to the UK to see a doctor. . . That's how bad ass ex RAF guys survive an injury in the jungle.

Thank you Bear Grylls for proving my previous point. . . Your survival methods are idiotic, and taking risks the way you do will get you hurt. which in an actual honest to god survival situation, can be the difference between life and death.


GIST #11 of 365

1) I got new clothes at the clothing swap! Thank you Abigail!

2) Our friend's new baby got new baby smell all over me. Congratulations guys!

3) The new Star trek movie wasn't nearly as bad as I expected it to be. . . In fact, I found it quite interesting. . . And hilarious.

4) When I hit a very frustrating snag in the video game I've been playing almost all week, Das Piper brought me cake and helped me figure it out. . . he is so sweet.

5) Comfy PJ's at the end of a long day.


Dear Firt Born:

There are many many things that I would like to tell you.

At this particular moment, many of them have to do with getting you to stop moving around so much cause I am not used to it yet and it's making me feel kind of sick. You haven't listen to me say it out loud, so I doubt you will listen to a letter you can't read yet.

What this letter pertains to is mother's day. . . I know I know, it's kind of hard for you to pop out to the mall and get Daddy to buy me something pretty, you're off the hook for this year. . . This letter isn't about what I would want you to buy me, at least, not really, well, sort of. It has to do with advice on how to make mother's day easy on you.

That advice is this: Don't set the bar too high.

You see, that's what your Uncle Geekface and I did last year. Last year we spent a good deal of time filling out forms and finding appropriate ID in order to change our legal names to include Baba Jam's last one.

It was great! We simply included copies of the legal forms we'd filled out in the Mother's Day card we bought her and took her for breakfast at a restaurant that was inexplicably Baba and Guido's favourite at the time.

There were tears and hugs, and more tears, and Uncle Geekface and I had officially recognized all of the hard motherly type work that Baba Jam had done over the past few years.

The problem is. . . How does one top that?

Something tells me that no amount of flowers or jewelery (not that I can afford any of that) is going to get anywhere near the awesomeness of that mother's day gift.

Don't get me wrong child. . . Any gift from you would be loved and appreciated by me. As I am sure Baba Jam would love and appreciate anything I come up with now. It will not matter to me, but I know that it will matter to you, just like it matters to me now that I find something nice.

So please. . . As to not stress yourself out, stick to handmade paper flowers and silly cards, you and Daddy can take me out for breakfast and no one has to be stressed out about it.

I love you;


P.S. Let the record show that It is totally unfair that Uncle Geekface is currently out of the country and off the hook. . . The only thing he has to do to make Baba Jam Happy is come home safe bearing some cheep trinket from the airport in Rome.


I am A Whiny Bitch!

If it's not one thing it's another!

Now that the morning sickness is gone, and I am finally able to eat and smell whatever I want, its the feeling of tightness and movement in my abdomen is sending me heaving.

I don't know if there is some kind of growth spurt going on, or if this kid had learned a new stretch and roll technique, but if I feel as though my internal organs are starting to feel the squeeze. . . Which I suppose is exactly what is happening.

I listen to mother after mother telling me what a magical and amazing time their pregnancies were, about their awesome pregnancy skin, their great pregnancy hair, how great they felt, and it makes me feel like I am somehow doing this wrong.

Is there something wrong with me? Will I somehow be as inadequate as a mother as I am a pregnant woman?

These thoughts are all totally insane and unfounded. I know that on some sane level of my mind that is surprisingly unaffected by hormones. But they're there none the less, and they're hard to shake.


GIST #10 Of 365

1) On Friday, I finally got to eat the lava cake that I had been craving. . . Thank you Cathedral Village Free House! It was like heaven on earth.

2) My doctor's appointment went very smoothly. . . Except for the part where the baby wouldn't hold still enough for the doctor to get an accurate heart rate reading. . . Is it surprising to anyone that the offspring of Das Piper and I is already being difficult?. . . I didn't think so.

3) I got a new bathing suit! Had I known that one could get a two piece bathing suit that was long enough for a monstrous torso, with enough room in the chest for fabulous, gigantic breasts, just by shopping at a maternity store, I would have done so years ago!

4) The Wailers. . . as in, Bob Marley and. . . ya know, those guys? . . . They're playing at this years folk fest! Isn't that cool?

5) I ran into Schmutzie and the Palinode. Even though I was too dumb at the time to make any real conversation, it was good to see them.


The Smell

I am not trying to pass myself off as a Seinfeld fan or anything. In fact, I don't think I've ever watched a whole episode all the way through. There's something about hearing the same joke over and over again for a whole 30 minutes that just looses me after 10 at the best.

I do seam to remember an episode about a smell though, a smell so bad that no amount of washing can rid the world of it. A smell that clings to everything that it comes into contact with and follows people around to haunt them like so many ghosts of Christmas whatever.

The hallway in my apartment building has been infected with such a demon smell.

At first I thought it was just me being, ya know, my pregnant and over dramatic self, after all, Das Piper didn't need to hold his nose and run from front door to apartment door, and as far as I could tell, neither did any of my neighbours.

But now my smeller is starting to calm down, I can open the pantry without gagging from the smell of canned goods, I can be in the same room as someone drinking a coffee, I can go to the grocery store, and even use my own shampoo!

With all of these good signs from the smell world, I decided to take on a chore that I had recently been leaving to Das Piper as to minimize my exposure to the hallway of smelly doom.

I did the laundry.

I stood at the closed door of my apartment for a long time, basket of dirty towels and the laundry detergent in one arm, my other hand on the door knob, mentally following the path I would take from there to the laundry room.

I got about four steps before I started gagging. I had to grab my nose and complete the loading of the washing machine, opening and pouring of the detergent, and the counting of the change, with one hand while my other one squeezed my nostrils shut and my mouth gasped for breath. (I swear the smell is so bad I can taste it too)

When I got back from the laundry room I heaved a sigh of relief, Moving like I always do to the balcony door to breath in some fresh air. That's when it hit me. The Smell wasn't gone, I could still smell it, and I was still gagging. It was attached to me, It was clinging to my sweater like a freaking baby koala bear!

I managed, half an hour later, to switch the load from washer to dryer, and an hour after that get the laundry back to the apartment. . . But it took an hour of scrubbing and two hair washes before the smell finally left me.

I've lived in apartments before, and I've experienced some pretty funny smells outside of neighbour's doors when they're cooking. Not to mention the musty wet smell that every lobby or entry has in the winter when boots track in snow and dirt and salt and sand from the streets. And there was the idiot on the second floor of my last apartment who never cleaned their cat's litter box. But this smell is something else. This smell is like something crawled under the carpet and died there. This smell should be harnessed by the military to be used against enemies or some such thing. This smell is just plain heinous in any and every way you can imagine.

I just wish I knew how to get rid of it so that I could demand the building manager do so.