I'm still here

Hey everyone:

Sorry I haven't posted for awhile...I've been a bit busy taking care of our daughter, Brynn Hope Craig since she was born via C-Section on December 1st. Now that things are starting to settle into some crazy new form of normal, I promise I'll be posting more often again.

Right now though I've got to go change a diaper...and I can't help but to wonder what colour of the rainbow she's producing today. Ug!

Week 41 (sigh)

Guess what everyone?
I've got news.
You'll never guess in a million years.
I'm pregnant!

Well...technically it isn't news except that it is a bit surprising that I'm still pregnant. Still. Somehow that word echoes when I type it like I just yelled it into the Grand Canyon: STILLstillstillstillstillstillstillstillstillstill.

My stupid smug websites are trying to tell me I'm probably not actually late but that many women are just given the wrong due date. I hate to say it (well no, actually I don't hate it. I love it because I love being right...) but NOPE. That doesn't apply here. I can say with 100 percent certainty that Bug is late and I'm STILLstillstillstillstillstillstillstillstillstill pregnant.

The "good" news? I found out today I'm having a couple of contractions per hour. Hopefully that means we'll be in the hospital any time now...before I'm induced on Thursday.

Today is Bug's Due Date...

This is a picture of a Gary Larson Far Side cartoon with the caption: "The Bluebird of Happiness long absent from his life, Ned is visited by the Chicken of Depression."

I realized today that poor Ned looks like an overly pregnant woman struggling to get out of bed.

What, you ask, did we have for supper tonight? Chicken. Seemed appropriate somehow.

Day 4719 AKA week 39 plus 5 days

So...for all you people who are calling and texting on a daily basis here is a hint: THE BABY HAS NOT YET COME AND NO, YOU COULDN'T POSSIBLY BE MORE SORRY ABOUT THAT THAN I AM RIGHT NOW.

I hurt in places and ways I never thought possible (think pelvis meets baseball bat in high speed collision + lower spine twisted into a pretzel with a sprinkle of headache and you get the idea).

I sleep once in a blue moon and I've seen more infomercials than I care to count as a result.

I've discovered the joys of Zantac and the impossibility of eating properly when your stomach is being compressed by a baby the size of Godzilla.

Quite frankly, I don't give a shit what Baby Center has to say about week 39 but if for some reason you do, here's the link. Apparently, they want me to take comfort in the fact that only 25% of women deliver on or before this week. Not really comforting. The 3d website is ok but again, it is trying to reassure me that it isn't at all abnormal for women to carry their babies longer than their EDD.

Quite frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.

Would Someone Take this %^#&ing Cork Back?

I'm ready.

I'm soooo ready.

I've been ready now for quite awhile and no, by that I DON'T mean I've got my nursery all pristinely painted and staged like a magazine shoot - I mean I'm ready to scream at the top of my lungs at every passerby, "I'M READY FOR THIS CHILD TO BE BORN. DO SOMETHING DAMMIT!"

Scott and I are still in the middle of organizing our nursery but there's nothing that can't wait until after the baby makes her first appearance and to be quite honest, I'm more than happy to do all that crap later...more than happy - YOU HEAR THAT KIDDO? WE ARE MORE THAN HAPPY SO GET YOUR BUTT IN GEAR ALREADY! I think poor Scott is almost as anxious as I am for this to be over because he's so worried about how I'm doing that he can't get any sleep. When I roll over, he wakes up. When I wheeze, sneeze, snort, or snore he wakes up. When I take 10 minutes to lever myself out of bed each of the 16 times a night I get up to go pee he wakes up. No matter how careful I am or how quiet I am, anything I do besides sleeping quietly wakes him up.

Both of us are supposed to be enjoying our last peaceful nights of sleep for the next few years right now but instead we both seem to be doomed to stare at the ceiling formulating grocery lists in the dark. Well...to be honest I sometimes formulate grocery lists and the rest of the time I think about shoes and what movies are in the theatres or new on Bluray. What a wild child I am these days, hey?

38 Weeks

I'm beginning to wonder in all seriousness if it is possible for a baby to burst out of her mother's stomach a la Alien 'cause the way my belly feels right now, I swear that's going to happen any friggin' second. My kid feels huge and I'm 99% sure my skin can't possibly stretch any more without exploding.

I love you Bug but what the hell? Mommy kinda needs her stomach for later and you're not exactly helping things here.

Needless to say, at 38 weeks I'm hoping that my child is born soon. Soon soon. I mean like 5 minutes ago soon, not next week soon. Of course, my impatience is mostly due to my desire to meet my child, but it is also rooted in the fact that I'm having serious problems doing things like sleeping, eating, breathing...you know...life's little luxuries.

The 3D pic and blurb spends much of this week cataloguing the various forms of grossness I have to look forward to over the next few weeks: mucus plug, bloody show, meconium, diaper blowouts and projectile vomit. Read this blurb at your own peril although as a consolation the picture is rather cute.

The Baby Center website seems to be labouring under the false impression that girls weigh less than boys in the womb. Pfft. It is obvious my child and my mother's gaggle of overly large infant girls weren't used to generate that ridonculously misleading generalization. Anyway, they have very little substantive to say this week but that isn't really surprising...Bug is now fully cooked and we're just waiting for her to realize it.

Wait! Did you hear that? It was the kitchen timer screaming "DING" hoping against all hope that it was loud enough that my child heard it. Yes Bug, that noise means you can come out now. Now now, not next week now.

Dear God child, realize it already. Momma can't take too much more of this.

Sleepless in Vancouver

It is 3:56 AM and I'm awake.

It is 3:56 AM and I'm awake.

Oops. Now it is 3:57 AM and I'm STILL awake.

Someone kill me now.

The lesson: Don't eat an overly large plate of spicy Indian food when you're 9 1/2 months preggers. It doesn't end well, trust me...I'm so tired I'm seeing double but the nausea and heartburn are making it impossible to lay down, let alone sleep.

Have I mentioned how tired I am? whiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.

37 Weeks: Seriously, Are We There Yet?

Hey everyone. I'm late this week. No, Bug's not late, I'M late - late making this posting and you know what? I have no excuse. None, zip, squat, and nada. Quite frankly, I've just been enjoying my first couple of days of mat leave so much that I just forgot. I've had one verybusydayrunningaroundtryingtogetshitdone and one day of doing...almost...nothing...and...lovin'...every...minute...of...it. Ahhhh heaven.

The Baby Center update is here and it talks about something I'm sooo not looking forward to: meconium - aka: baby's first poo (BFP). According to my secret, highly qualified sources, meconium is like tar...or gum...or that crappy glue they use to seal plastic together that inevitably balls up stickily all over your clothes. Yeah, so I'm fully expecting to have one helluva visceral reaction to that...imagine it: poo you need a spatula and nail polish remover to clean up. You know, there just isn't a facial expression on Google images that does my feelings on that subject justice. Gah!

The 3D pic and info can be found by clicking on this link. Happily, although there is a reminder to pick up diapers, there isn't one reference to BFP or any of its attendant grossness. Hey, if you're looking for something rather trippy to do, just take a look at the 3d pic for this week and then click on the 7 week one on their 40 week calendar. Hard to believe that my "little" Bug (and I'm using that term to indicate she's smaller than a Mac Truck) was once a little Shamoo weighing less than a gram. Kind of boggles the mind (for me at least) since she's now able to push my insides around like nobody's business. I seriously think she's got a grudge against my hip joints and the right side of my rib cage. What they ever did to her will probably remain a mystery for the ages but I have my suspicions....

Thirty Six? Already?

Hey all. Yesterday I hit 36 weeks (or 9 months for those not used to "preggo lingo") and it felt like a really busy day. I went to see my OB in the AM, sashayed home and puttered around for a couple of hours before heading to St. Paul's where I had an ultrasound (yes, another one). After this, I headed home, chugged some hot chocolate and curled up on the couch for a 2.5 hour nap. I know, I know...I work myself too hard. That's just the way I roll.

Of course, not satisfied with my monumental accomplishments for the day, I rolled off the couch just in time to go to supper with Scott, my sister Heather, my brother Cullen, and his girlfriend Christine at a restaurant called Hell's Kitchen (good pizza, mind-numbingly good poutine, robotic waitresses and just generally horrible service). Apparently, it is now considered good service to lecture your patrons about the impossibility of ensuring their meal won't be contaminated with shrimp after they've told you they have an allergy. Who knew?

So I had a very exciting weekend (I'll talk about that in another posting) followed by the whirlwind Monday I just described (cough) and that's my excuse for posting this update a bit late (cough cough).

The Baby Center update on Bug's progress is here and, like a couple of weeks ago, the average weight measurement they give is quite low compared to the estimate I got yesterday during my ultrasound. Apparently, Bug is on pace to walk out of the womb already bitching on her cell about traffic and the price of a good pair of Jimmy Choo's but that's another story. Also, the 3D pic and info are here.

Hard to believe that if I was to carry Bug to full term, I'd have another 27 days to go 'cause on both of these websites the babies in their pictures look pretty darn developed to me. Of course, my OB told me that Bug is fully "cooked" so this bun can come out of the oven any time now with no worries.

Livestock and Lingerie

Once upon a time, I was small enough to fit into items that can be classified as lingerie.

These days, I feel a little nostalgic when thinking about those times (and so, I suspect, is Scott).

Thankfully, I haven't had to retire all of my delicates in favour of their larger counterparts or (gag) granny panties but my bras have definitely moved from specialty sizing to "you gotta be kidding me" novelty territory. Embarrassingly, when my father saw one of my current contraptions, he offered the opinion that it could be used to float us all to safety in the case of a tsunami. Funny, dad, reeeeeally funny.

Awhile back, I ended up on the Victoria's Secret email list, which I don't mind under normal circumstances. I have been known to make the occasional run for the border so I could stock up on various items (all lawfully claimed with the appropriate border authorities, I swear) but these days it seems these emails are coming at a rate of a couple per day...a rate that borders on harassment.

I am starting to wonder if someone at V.S. has some CIA style tracking system that determines which of their clients are preggers so they can send taunting emails to those of us who are "blooming" into motherhood (in other words: "gettin' fat") 'cause it doesn't matter how great you look during pregnancy, you just can't pull off a V.S. outfit when you're 9 months pregnant quite the way you did before you started showing.

You hear that Heidi Klum? Even YOU probably looked like shite in your lacy bra and butt floss undies when you were 9 months pregnant! And you know what? I can rest easy in the knowledge that you a) don't know me; b) couldn't give a crap about what I write; and c) won't exactly be falling all over yourself to respond to this challenge to your pregnant hotness. No one can or will disabuse me of my self-serving notion that Heidi too suffered from cellulite and edema at this point in her pregnancy. Aaand somehow that makes me feel so much better.

I know it sounds a bit paranoid but every time I see a notification in my email box from Victoria Secret, I picture some faceless ass hat cackling as they consider the emotional effect of these anatomically impossible models being shoved in my face. Note to self: learn computer hacking techniques. Send V.S. a little viral "something something" as a thank-you-very-effing-much for reminding me on an hourly basis that I am - for now - a fat, gravid cow.

Yeah, yeah, before you all start writing the obligatory messages assuring me I'm wrong on that point, just let me clarify: I'm a fat, gravid, glowing cow.

Moo

Pregnancy Etiquette: Three Rules to Live By

1. Never ask a woman if she's pregnant or assume she is unless you are 100 percent sure.
The reasoning behind this: believe me, you don't want to guess wrong.

2. Never, EVER touch a pregnant woman's belly without asking permission unless you know her pretty damn well. I have no problem with close friends and family rubbing the Buddha but everyone's boundaries are different. Hell, I've had complete strangers touch my stomach and it was only through a supreme act of self control that I didn't completely flip out on them even though I know they meant well.
The reasoning behind this: personal space is personal space and everyone is entitled to it.

3. NEVER, EVER, EVER ask a pregnant woman if she's expecting twins, no matter how big she may appear to you unless you are seeking an alternative to suicide by cop. This happened to me today and I'm not even that bloody big. I'm big, but not crazy big. At the very least, I deserve to be canonized for not ripping this eejit's stupid smile right off his face. Here's the Pope's mailing address for you to send your letters of support: His Holiness Pope Benedict XVI 00120 Vatican City, Italy, Europe.
The reasoning behind this: is obvious.

Health Warning: Pregnancy Boards CAN Cause Diabetes

OMG. I was wasting some time here this morning (a work situation arose I really don't want to talk about because it makes me feel rather homicidal) and I decided to check out the "What to Expect When You're Expecting" website's blogs and posting boards for women due in November.

Holy. Effing. Crapah!

These chicks have got to get a life...they end each post with a veritable waterfall of banners and pictures photoshopped to the gills with cutesy sayings. Most of their entries were made up of 5% badly spelled one-liners like "You godda be joking me!" and 95% stupid banners. This sampling isn't the worst by far and it doesn't even come close to the number of banners some of these preggo crazies have following each and every posting.









































I can appreciate how excited these women obviously are about their pregnancies (since I'm pretty frickin' stoked about Bug), but do you need 10 or more sparkly, animated, diabetes-inducing banners to express that joy? Call me crazy but I think just one might suffice...

Thirty Five

Today I hit the 35 week mark...aand I'm now 35 days away from my official due date. I feel like I should go buy a lotto ticket with the number 35 on it or something but I'm sure I'll forget all about it before I could make it to the store. Happily, I remember that I do NOT have 35 days of work left (8 of those left, including today ... cha cha cha!) so that's where the numeric coincidences end.

Baby Center's update for this week can be found here. A few things they mention that aren't accurate for me: Bug is estimated to be larger than the average (and taller), my belly button hasn't popped out although it is looking rather strrrrrrrretched these days, and I'm no longer breathless because Bug has dropped. The 3d pic and blurb are here and happily, this week my 'puter is letting me look at the picture. awww so cute.

Sigh. Today is a Monday. And, despite an earlier post when I said I no longer resent Mondays, I find myself resenting the hell out of this one. Of course, that may have something to do with my lack of sleep (now becoming chronic) rather than the day itself. Bug has now officially decided that she likes the night life and she's got to boogie...on the disco round, oh yea (and yes, that's me quoting song lyrics) Unfortunately, Bug isn't afraid to express that love of all things nocturnal in the form of dance...painful, prolonged dance that can - for some perverse reason - only take place between the hours of 10pm and 3am.

I'm quite literally sitting up at night hoping those disgusting internal popping noises I hear while she's tripping the light fantastic aren't my ribs breaking. I know that sounds like an exaggeration...but it isn't. It really, REALLY isn't. I'm going to spend my lunch hour today curled up on a loveseat here at work while hoping to God that Bug is so worn out from last night's exertions that she'll actually let me rest for a bit.

Are We There Yet?

I keep telling myself, "Today is just one of those days. Tomorrow I'll feel 100% better."

Over
and over
...and over again.

And has all this positive thinking helped? Not one everlovin' bit.

I feel nauseous, my back hurts, I'm exhausted, and my head hurts. Boo frickin' hoo, right? It comes with the territory and I know that. I know I'm supposed to suck it all up just be so excited about the joys of impending motherhood that none of this stuff gets me down but to be honest...I'm having a bad day and since I'm home alone all night, I've only got you to whine to via the miraculous interweb. (could be worse, I could be dialing your number to perform a maneuver known as the telephonic whine)

I spent an anxious couple of minutes wondering if all this was actually labour but I sincerely doubt that. All the same, I'm left to wonder....

Wheeeeeeeeen is this going to eeeeeeeeend?

I know I'm not technically ready for Bug but to hell with it! Come on down, kiddo!!!!!

Anytime now.

Eh-nee-ti-emah! Kuhum ohn dowan lihttel wun kaus yer mahmah whants tah meecha.

Where's that &%#ing Cork?

I've been wandering around now for about a week and a half to two weeks feeling like Bug is going to drop out of my va-jay-jay any moment. Sometimes the feeling is so strong, I find myself clenching my pelvic muscles in an irrational attempt to ensure I don't give birth standing on the skytrain platform or waiting in line at the grocery store...like Bug would suddenly make her debut without any of the normal fanfare otherwise known as labour pains. I know, I know...me so cwazy.

I simply can't help it though. I find myself wishing for something fantastical like a uterine cork I could insert at the beginning of each day to keep from feeling this odd and often uncomfortable sensation that my kid is going to end up dangling from me like a mitten on an idiot string while I wander around in public begging for sterile scissors. According to the Baby Center website, this is a common sensation for women who are 36 weeks along but I've been feeling this since week 32. (Trying. Not. To Panic. Now.)

I'm beginning to wonder if my child's height and weight (let's just say she's pretty tall and her estimated weight left me in a major funk over the weekend) has made her drop even sooner than normal and if that will translate into an earlier delivery. With my luck, it won't, but given how uncomfortable a sensation this is I can't help but to hope I end up giving birth soon after week 36 just so I can loosen the pelvic clamps just a little bit.

34 weeks Plus a Smidge

Sorry everyone, the turkey coma (and holiday Monday) made me forget that yesterday was time for my week 34 update.

The Baby Center update for this week is here and yes, it is really for 34 weeks. When it talks about a baby being born at week 35, they really mean "while you are in your 35th week" which is apparently where I am right now: I've completed 34 weeks and I'm now in my 35th. Confusing, n'est pas?

The 3d pic and info can be found by clicking here. I hope this link works better for you than it is for me today (I seem to be giving my computer the heeby jeebies so it won't load up anything fun like the 3d baby picture). From what I remember, it shows the baby head down now because by this time most children have moved into their birthing positions (ideally, head down, backwards). Bug seems to be a bit more anxious than the average because she's been head down for weeks on end already. Before the grandparents get all excited, just note that this doesn't mean we need to start boiling water or anything...just that she's a keener (like her mother) and highly physically co-ordinated (...most definitely UNlike her mother but thankfully, like her father). Unfortunately, she's in what's called a posterior position which means she's facing forward (looking at my belly button) which is far from ideal since it can cause back pain, back labour, and premature amniotic sac ruptures.

I went in on Friday for an ultrasound - probably my last before Buggero is born - and although she wasn't in the mood to pose for family photos, I did get to see some pretty cool stuff. I saw her take a practice breath which is where she takes amniotic fluid into the lungs using her diaphragm, I saw her kicking the crap out of my ribs (oof), and then I saw her cry. The sonographer had to push her head out of the way so she could get some pictures of my cervix and apparently Bug wasn't amused. She put on the most pissed off expression I've ever seen on a child and then made faces we were sure indicated she was having a rocking good cry, albeit a silent one. I then spent the next five minutes torn between wanting to cry myself and marvelling at how cute she is even when she's probably plotting something involving horrific DIAPER BLOWOUTS in my future.

The Hospital Bag

Apparently (according to the pregnant woman's bible called "What to Expect When You're Expecting") it is time to pack my hospital bag "just in case". A hospital bag has all those things the hospital can't or won't bring in to ensure the comfort of its patients...you know, like something to wear that doesn't show off your butt crack or a toothbrush that won't scrape the enamel off your teeth.

My list so far:

1. Buffy the Vampire Slayer poseable action figures (hours of fun there, folks!)

2. Glow in the dark "I love Donny Osmond" t-shirt

3. A portable Ipod dock that will constantly blare music by Korn, Disturbed, Linkin Park, Nine Inch Nails and the Robot Chicken song punctuated by Jingle Cats classics. (You haven't lived 'til you've heard "Hava Nagila" belted out by a thousand cats)

4. 14 pillows decorated with pictures of kittens from I Can Has Cheezburger

5. A set of Star Wars bedsheets so Bug can be born in style

6. A case of Chef Boyardee Ravioli to share with guests

7. A band saw 'cause you never know when you're gonna need one.

Other than these necessities, I'm unsure what I need to pack.

Oh well, I'm sure it will come to me eventually...like when I'm about to push and I suddenly realize I really do need that lash plumping mascara or that my scrubs are making my butt look big no matter what Scott told me earlier.

That OTHER Countdown

16.

16 more days.

16 more days of work.

16 more fantastically exciting days of workworkworkedywork before I pack up my crap and head off into the sunset for whatever amount of rest and relaxation I can squeeze in before Bug is born. (of course, I know that may amount to very little time or no time at all depending on when she decides she's blowing that popsicle stand I call my uterus but that isn't dampening my enthusiasm one little bit.)

Am I excited about the prospect of some time off before tackling motherhood? YOU BET YOUR ASSES I AM! I always knew I would be excited by the prospect of a bit of time off and then the 1 year I can spend getting to know my firstborn but there aren't even words to describe how effing excited I am. Really, at this point, it feels like I'm 6 years old and I'm counting down to Christmas. Every day, I cross off a day on my calendar with all the excitement of a kid getting to take yet another chocolate out of the Advent Calendar.

I'm looking forward to sleeping in, watching tv, taking walks anytime I want, reading, reading, reading, and then folding and refolding all Bug's cute little clothing while chatting happily away to her in my belly without any fear of people thinking I'm crazy.

I can't wait. 23 more sleeps.

33 Weeks - 49 Days To Go and Counting

Ah...Monday. It used to be a day I dreaded. I was one of those people who always had a serious case of the blahs for at least half of Sunday (because I was anticipating Monday's arrival) and the entire 24 hours of the day itself. I resented Mondays because Mondays meant I was losing my freedom and returning to the workday grind. No sleeping in. No leisurely strolls or friendly brunches. Nothing but workworkwork.

Why now do I feel pretty damn good when I come to work on Mondays? I don't wake up with a scowl. I don't growl at my cats or kick little old people on the bus just for the savage joy of watching them stumble (well...I never actually kicked the old people, but there were days when I seriously considered it because some of the Geritol Gang are just rude. And pushy. And annoying). These days I get up on Mondays and it is just another day. I head to work...plod through my day...and I don't feel angry about it. PROGRESS! (cue singing birds, rainbows and frolicking kittens)

How did this happen to me? I'll tell you how...I'm pregnant so our weekends aren't filled with party invitations followed by hazy booze-fueled bouts of silliness followed by a late morning wake up call and a trip to our favourite brunch place followed by a lazy family nap. Noooo. Our weekends are hectic, expensive, and depressingly utilitarian for the most part.
Laundry? Check.
Dishes? Check.
Groceries? Check.
Paint? Ummm...soon?
Crib, stroller, car seat, glider chair, baby clothes, diapers, changing table, diaper cream, baby tub, dresser, SNOT SUCKER, etc etc etc? ... ... ... ... (followed by the sound of a door slamming as Leigha and Scott run from the room to hide their shame)

Yeah, that pretty much describes our weekends in a nutshell. We're hitting the panic stations just in case our child fails to take after her perpetually late parents and actually makes her debut early. I admit, there is little chance of this but we're determined to be prepared. Are we done yet? Are we even close to being done? Not a friggin' chance. There are a million and one things left we still need to do, buy, move, paint, pack, donate, organize, clean, etc. before we can sit down and start feeling even remotely ready for what is to come.

In other words...we don't look at all like these two jerks I found while surfing the web looking for my weekly Baby Centre update. I noticed the picture on the 33 week intro page is of this calm looking couple who are obviously happily anticipating the arrival of their baby without a care in the world. Tra la la-de-dah. Isn't life just sooo wonderful for these two smug SOB's? Since Scott and I are NOT looking anything like these two, I feel like pulling out the handy dandy sniper rifle, hunting these two down and using them for target practice just because they've made me feel so inadequate. Justifiable double homicide, people, and I should know...I'm a lawyer.

This seems to be more in line with how things are in the Worth/Craig household right now and I'm apparently not the only one feeling the heat. Scott seems to be on his way to a full blown meltdown too.

Fun Fun Fun.

So before I degenerate into a beebling idiot, here's the Baby Center update and the 3d update and blurb can be found by clicking here.

The Eeeeew Factor

So I just couldn't help myself...I googled "SNOT SUCKER."

Aaaaaaand now I know why Carrie Bradshaw hadn't uttered that phrase on camera during the entire 6 seasons and 1 theatrical release of Sex in the City despite the fact that some of the characters had children during that time: let's just say I don't think it would be a Mr. Big magnet. In fact, I think it safe to say that Chris Noth's character would have run for the hills and never looked back had Carrie ever dared utter those those two magical words or waved one in his face with an explanation of what it was designed to do.

Meh.

"SNOT SUCKER" and the phrase "DIAPER BLOWOUT" (which means exactly what it sounds like...*shudder*) have been cropping up often for me lately and quite frankly, I'm not happy about either. But now...I have you to suffer those images right along with me and misery loooves company people so start sufferin'!

32 Weeks Preggers

Ok. I'm officially in my 8th month today and the sky hasn't fallen so I'm in a miraculously good mood right now. This sunny outlook on the day is especially unexpected given my extreme lack of sleep last night, being in a natural gas regulation hearing right now, and the fact that much of the work I've done over the last couple of weeks to cover my boss' ass has today been attributed to one of my male coworkers. In other words, it should be the perfect storm of crappy days but for some reason I'm not feeling like committing homicide.

The Baby Center update can be found by clicking on this while the 3d picture and information page can be found here. I'm a bit worried by some of the stuff mentioned in the 3d blurb though...like what the hell is a "snot sucker" and do I even want to know what it looks like??? Quite frankly, I'm a bit scared to Google it because it sounds horrible and more than mildly disgusting. Can't I just skip that and have the pediatrician do whatever that entails? Maybe Bug will be a child prodigy and just blow obligingly when I ask her to? On second thought, I don't want to waste her allotment of extraordinary characteristics/abilities on blowing her nose at birth so scratch that.

Eeeeew! I'm grossing myself out by talking about something called a snot sucker and I don't even have a clue what the hell it is. Just the fact that I have to type that phrase - "SNOT SUCKER" - makes me feel like I should just give it all up: throw out my makeup, put my hair up in a messy pony tail, buy those mommy jeans and slip behind the wheel of that shiny new minivan where I can sing "The Wheels On The Bus Go Round and Round" until the day I die.

This is hardly the glamorous "Carrie Bradshaw" life I envisioned when I was younger, you know? I bet you could watch every damn episode of Sex in the City and not once hear the phrase "SNOT SUCKER" uttered. Not once, I tell you!

Holy Crap. Reality Hits the Fan! (Part 19)

Tomorrow I'll be officially in my eighth month.

I'll be in my 8th month and already people are always saying stuff like: "oh you must have everything ready for baby now, hey?" or "you must be close to finished her nursery now, right?

umm...

well...

(blush)

Oh who the hell do I think I'm fooling? I suck, ok? I suck! I suck!
EYEEEEEE SUUUUUUCK! *shamed sob*

My nursery-to-be still looks like a bomb loaded with loose paper went off in it (although the paper fallout is far less than it used to be...)

Sadly, if I went into labour right now, Bug would have nowhere to sleep, nothing to wear actually purchased by her parents in anticipation of her impending birth, and her father would be forced to run out to an all night pharmacy to stock up on the diapers, bum wipes and diaper cream (etc, etc, etc) just so she wouldn't be left lying naked on the corner while both her parents try to figure out how to install the damn car seat we just bought yesterday. (for the edification of the expectant grandparents: behold! Here is the overly expensive safety device we splashed out for yesterday that will protect your granddaughter. Nice colour, hey?)

I guess I could always distract Bug from the harsh reality that her mother is a disorganized loser by dangling the sales slip showing that I did actually buy a crib in front of her although I'm not sure how comforting she would find that once she actually needed somewhere to sleep.

Believe me, I know that things gotta change but just in case I needed an extra kick in the pants, tonight the gods arranged for one but good. Scott and I went for a nice leisurely walk earlier this evening and a couple of blocks before we made it home, I was doubled over with Braxton Hicks and pelvic pain. I knew it was nothing...but it made me think.

This. Kid. Could. Come. At. ANY. Time.

Gottacleanupthenurseryrightfrickennowdammit!

No time to write...feeling the need to organize things. And paint things. And buy things. And...

Taxi Cab Confessions

On Friday, I got up earlier than usual to make sure I would be early to the 2 procedural conferences on my schedule that morning. You would think that might translate into an easy and leisurely trip into work but no. Apparently, I'm getting slower the farther along in this pregnancy I go and on top of that the transit angels just weren't on my side that morning. After watching a couple of buses blow by my stop without even slowing down (full of annoyingly keen students on their way to UBC, I'm guessing) I gave up and called a cab.

Then I thanked the gods (prematurely, as it happens) that my cab came in relatively short order because by that point I was teetering on the cusp of irreversible lateness. I hopped in and the ride from hell began...

1. The cabbie was very fond of every form of offensive joke known to man (oh joy!)

2. The cabbie, after apparently exhausting his store of "jokes", decided it was time to enlighten me about the goings on in his life last Saturday night...which apparently included being charged with a well-deserved DUI. He then went on to describe how he was driving me to my hearing without actually having his driver's licence because it was seized.

3. Then, he apparently felt it was important for me to know that this was his second DUI and that he had also had a major brain surgery recently that had really played havoc on his personality and "stuff". (I'm guessing the "stuff"part includes his ability to keep facts probably not intended for public consumption to himself)

4. During the course of this ride, the cabbie's driving deteriorated from "marginally ok" to "Holy shit, I'm gonna die!" so that when I got out of the cab, I was shaking and sweating from the effort it took to keep from crying the whole way across the Cambie Street Bridge.

Then, as I paid him, he had the nerve to look pissed when I only tipped him the difference between what I actually owed and the next round dollar up.

Needless to say, I took public transit home and felt damn lucky to be doing so. No stress, no tears, and most importantly, no questionable taxi cab confessions. Ahhh, pure bliss.

Conversations with Bug

I was zoning out on my way to work this morning and I realized that I was unconsciously rubbing my baby bump...again and I began to wonder why I've been doing it so much lately. All the sudden I had an epiphany: I'm doing it to try to connect with Bug. It is kind of like I'm having a one-sided conversation with her...a silent monologue of touch.

Sometimes I'm saying hi and letting her know that I'm thinking about her.
Sometimes I'm trying to let her know that I'm here to protect her.
Sometimes I'm trying to soothe her so she'll feel better about staying where she is for another couple of weeks and other times I'm asking her to just move a bit so I know she's ok.
And other times, I'm just telling her over and over again that her mom loves her.

Since I'm the kind of person who wanders around the house talking to her cats (don't worry, they don't answer back...MOST of the time) I have no problem doing the same with Bug in private. However, since I spend so much of my time at work and on transit, I'm thinking this mother/daughter chat by touch is pretty cool with the bonus that I don't look crazy in public.

31 Weeks

I was planning on doing at least one more posting over the weekend but our internet router decided that it had had enough of the poor working conditions at our place and quit. Sadly, quite a number of electronics that have spent any amount of time in my company lately are now either on strike or they've come down with a serious case of Alzheimers. Perhaps we should offer health benefits?

My cell phone has decided that I now merit my own time zone: BC + 30 minutes (which, given my size, I have problems disputing). If this was a one time glitch, I would have found it mildly funny, but every single time I correct the time, my phone goes into a sulk and then changes it back when I'm not looking. My clock radio screams and goes off channel when I dare touch it and my ipod is now just plain ignoring me most of the time when I try to use the touch wheel. Why shouldn't my router join in on the "fun"? Sigh

I've always had some effect on electronics (batteries in watches die quick deaths, radios get louder when I am nearby, etc) but lately the problem has gotten so much worse. I'm beginning to wonder if Bug is going to be like me and if the two of us are what is causing these additional or accelerated glitches. I'm just glad my computer here at work is still working (although that may be because our IT dude recommended I place the tower as far away from me as physically possible when he first realized my effect on electronics).

Anyway...so here we are: 31 weeks along. The Baby Center's update this week is ho hum but it does have a pretty good picture showing roughly how big Bug is...no wonder my stomach is as hard as a drum and I'm constantly running for the bathroom! I'm surprised the kid can move at all in there! The 3D pic and blurb are here but again, I'm not blown away by the amazing info. I read my "What to Expect When You're Expecting" week 31 update this morning and there was at least one thing I remember thinking was cool...but do you think I can remember what that was? Noooooo, not a chance. Gah!

Bug and I are doing well. I'm feeling pretty good most of the time if you don't count being tired, having a sore back, feeling like my pelvis is being pushed down to my knees, and the almost constant sensation that my hips are being pried out of their sockets.

I know it may not always sound like it, but for all my bitching there really is nothing like this whole experience...I wouldn't trade it for all the ibuprofen in the world (which is - these days - saying a LOT).

Prenatal Lessons from Classical Roman Poets

Scott and I attended our first prenatal class last night. Each Thursday for 5 weeks straight we're heading to St. Paul's for a 2 hour birthing primer. I wish I could say it was going to teach me how to survive this process intact, but given my current physical state I'd say that train has already left the station.

I had the impression that we were going to be sitting on the floor practicing breathing or watching a graphic birthing video but overall it was pretty damn benign. We learned about the various phases of labour and a few natural pain management/relaxation techniques, ate some chocolate puffed cereal squares, got to know our classmates a bit, and that was about it.

My worst moment came when I realized how incredibly tight a space the pelvis is. The nurse took an unrealistically small doll and a skeleton's pelvis to illustrate how the baby travels from the uterus to the outside world and boy, was it a tight fit. I almost asked for my epidural right then and there.

So where was the drama? The images of panting women and the blood, sweat and screaming? Just between you and me, I bet that last night there were any number of women labouring away up on the third floor in the maternity ward cursing the prenatal class they attended just weeks ago because that smiling, perky little nurse teaching it sold them a bill of goods about the joys and rewards of natural child birth without showing them the grim and gory reality. Pfft! Suckers.

Can you tell I'm suspicious of this whole process?

Personally, I think Virgil was a bit off in the Aeneid warning us all about Greeks bearing gifts. My advice? Beware of nurses advocating natural childbirth who ply you with chocolaty snacks.

Butter Chicken Negates my Self Control...Again.

I hate to admit it, but I think I might be guilty of buying into a pregnancy stereotype because I honestly expected my 3rd trimester to be even more about food than the 2nd was. I imagined I would be a hearty eater right up until the last month or so when (presumably) my innards would be so cramped by my uterus that eating would become more of a grudgingly performed chore than one of life's little pleasures. After all, I thought, why wouldn't that be the case? Bug is now around 3 pounds (give or take) and I know she's supposed to at least double that before she pops out in that short and painless fun-fest otherwise known as labour and birthing. Hey, I don't know what your birthing experiences were like or what you've been told by women who've gone through it, but MY labour and birthing will be EXACTLY as I've just described it or my OB will be forced to figure out another way of breathing after I rip out his lungs.

So if I'm 9 weeks away from my EDD (estimated due date) and Bug isn't anywhere close to what will be her full size at birth, it seems reasonable to expect I will need to be able to eat a fair bit right now, hey? Well surprisingly, that isn't the case. Over the last week, I've found that if I take the noshes I manage to choke down during the day and add them up, they don't compare to the total daily volume of food I was scarfing down so easily just a couple of weeks ago. If I try to eat more, I suffer. Whooo Boy, do I suffer! Let's just say Tums became a 5th food group until I figured this out.

So why is this an issue? Well...I was actually doing pretty well adjusting to the necessary change in my eating habits until I bumped into my old nemesis - butter chicken - today at lunch. My good friend Pat and I met up for a midday meal at our fave Indian takeaway joint and I completely lost my head. I ate about 4 times more in one sitting than was advisable. I just couldn't help myself. I went with the best of intentions but when I got that plate of butter chicken and that big hunk of naan (Indian flat bread) in front of me, I went into a kind of trance and ate every bloody bite. Doh! Now? I'm "sitting" here at my desk (hunching is more like it) wishing with every fiber of my being that I was able to just fast forward through the rest of my day because I'm in so much pain I can't even sit up straight.

Strangely enough, they don't make Tums in "idiot strength" so I'm afraid I'm stuck with this until further notice. It should make my visit to the dentist tonight a real joy.

Week 30

Hooo boy! Is it that time already? I'm now 30 weeks along (or in my 31st week as Scott felt compelled to point out...thanks for that, Scott).
30 weeks.
30.
The big three-oh-my-friggin-gawd-why-the-hell-did-I-sign-onto-this-for-and-how-do-I-get-off-this-train week?
Yup. 30 weeks and the fear of giving birth to a full sized baby (or - cringe - oversized) is now in full swing.

Ahem...well the calendar don't lie so here's the updates for this week: Baby Center is here and the 3D preggo picture and info can be found by clicking here. Again, I refuse to subject you to the Visible Embryo's "artwork" but I did learn by reading the info there that Bug's irises are now pigmented (blue until well after birth and then we'll see). Other than that, everything they have to say is covered by the other blurbs.

Bug is doing well. She's getting very strong (ouch! ooof!) and more than a bit crowded these days if the amount of fidgeting she's doing is any indication. Also, now when she "fins" it is more like watching someone trying to stretch their way out of a plastic bag.
Weird.
Funny.
And sometimes, if you happen to be the plastic bag, not overly comfortable.

I'm not sleeping all that well but that could be due to any number of things, including Bug's little late night/early morning forays into interpretative dance. Since she actually seems to be a good little sleeper for the most part, I shouldn't complain...although I apparently just did.

I'm not quite sure why but suddenly I'm absolutely crazy about milk. I've always liked milk, loved it even, but these days I can't get enough of the stuff.

My Newly Dulcet Voice

Scott was away this weekend drinking copious amounts of froo-froo beer and playing golf with his buddies over in Victoria. Me? Well I spent the weekend running errands like buying a crib, matching paint swatches with the furniture we have yet to receive, buying maternity clothing that is suitable for fall/winter and shoes that will fit the snausages I used to call feet. It didn't quite fit the "lolling around eating junk food and watching chick flicks" weekend that I had originally planned, but them's the breaks.

Other than missing Scott, my main problem this weekend was exhaustion and insomnia. Although I was running my ass off all day, every day, I was too discombobulated by Scott's absence to actually sleep so I was up waaaay past my bedtime on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights.

My poor cats were also apparently suffering a bit of anxiety with Scott gone. Essentially, when I was home, I had 2 cats glommed on to me like Velcro OR 2 very whiny cats trying to figure out where I was so they could re-glom. Most times, this would be heaven for me but as the weekend progressed I was getting more and more tired which translated into a frightening dip in my tolerance. I still loved the cuddling but the whining? Not so much.

6:30 AM Sunday morning. Neelix decided it is time for me to wake up so I could a) pet him until he melted into a puddle of cat slobber and then b) feed him. We spent the next hour engaged in an epic battle of wills that ended in me screaming "SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUUUUUUUUUP!". Not very mature, I know, but it felt remarkably satisfying at the time.

Usually, that's where things would stop because Neelix is no dummy...he knows if I'm shrilling obscenities at him, it is time to be quiet for a little while but this time my tirade ended up affecting someone other than just him. Poor Bug had apparently been happily snoozing away because when I yelled at Neelix my stomach convulsed and then she began a series of painful internal gymnastics I'm sure were intended to be the fetal equivalent to a stern talking to.

I felt awful, first for scaring her and then for yelling at my cat so I immediately got up, fed the cats and petted Neelix while he happily chowed down and then shlumped back up to bed where I spent the next 45 minutes talking softly to Bug and reading her a couple of bedtime stories as an apology.

The moral of this story? I now definitely have to watch how I express myself because I don't want to upset my little passenger. Don't expect me to turn into Mother Goose or anything but now when I tell people off, I'll do it using my best dulce de leche voice on low volume. That way, people will have to lean in to hear me sweetly tell them where to go and what to do to themselves along the way.

Trials and Cribulations

I am now the proud owner of a piece of paper that says I spent an overly large sum of money on a crib that I may or may not actually receive prior to giving birth to the child said crib is intended for. My version is off white.

Has anyone else noticed that there's a pattern developing here of Scott and I buying furniture only to leave the store with vague promises of delivery weeks or months in the future? Just once I'd love to hear that they have it in stock and it can be delivered immediately...

I've also added a pic showing the bedding we bought last week although I can guarantee Bug's room will NOT end up looking like someone vomited pepto bismol all over the walls like in this photo. And do you see what I mean about the baby accessories? Good God! Everything in this bedroom is so matchy matchy that it makes my eyes itch. Ug! If you want to see a bigger version to look at the actual bedding rather than all the other distracting crap, just click on the picture and it should come up.

Oh, What a Tangled Web We Weave...

I tend to cherry pick which societal rules I follow because I find so many of them rather stupid. (Yes, I'm one of THOSE people) I don't mean that I chose not to recognize the law or the golden rule or whatever. I'm talking about those rules that force us to say or do things we don't mean. I refuse to be forced to do stuff simply because some stuffy Miss Manners type with a stick up her ass way back when decided it was more important to appear perfect than to actually be genuine in what you do and say.

I also tend to ignore those societal rules that require us to lie. Generally, I suck at lying. No, really, ask anyone I've tried lying to and they'll back me up on this one. Mom? Scott? They pretty much laugh in my face when I occasionally give it a good old college try because it is apparently most often a pathetic exercise in futility. Needless to say, that's plenty of motivation for me to avoid situations where I am required to tell lies, even those little polite ones. I prefer approaching things the Worth way: silence, suppression and complete avoidance. In other words, I'll do whatever's necessary to keep my yap shut although I have been known to throw caution (and good sense) out the window on occasion by blurting out the awful truth (most definitely NOT the Worth way). Again, needless to say, I try to keep that to a minimum since it rarely ends well.

So how is this an issue for me these days? Well now that I'm showing, I've noticed I'm a mommy magnet. Complete strangers with strollers (or snuggles or Baby Bjorns) seem to gravitate towards other strangers with pregnant bellies. (Let's just call it "Leigha's Law of Maternal Gravity") People who would have never even said boo to me before are now lulled into a relaxed and friendly state by my big belly so they often start "stranger chats" with me. Nice, right? I kind of like it for the most part but what I've realized during these exchanges is that I'm expected to use that opportunity to gush about how incredibly cute their little one is, whether he or she truly is or not.

In other words, I'm expected to say something which I may or may not mean. eep!

How difficult is this, really? Honestly, in most cases it isn't difficult at all because I find babies the most fantastically cute things in the entire world BUT there are exceptions to every rule. I've come across a few babies in my life that seriously looked like a cross between Danny Devito, Rodney Dangerfield, and Mr. Magoo and therein lies my dilemma. Oh don't go rolling your eyes and thinking what an awful person I am...you all know you've seen kids like that and don't try to tell me you didn't walk away muttering to yourself, "oh now, THAT'S just unfortunate!" See? Not so evil now am I...just unfashionably honest.

I also know there are at least some of you who are thinking, "well just don't say anything in those situations then, duh!" Ah, if only it was that easy, my friends. If you say that, then you obviously don't know about "The Code." Apparently, once you are or are about to become a mother, The Code begins to apply and SOCIETY BEGINS TO DEMAND THESE LIES, DAMMIT and god help you if you buck The Code.

I am now seriously conflicted about how to deal with this inevitable encounter with a mom / ugly baby duo. I can tell you right now that this will not be one of those situations where I bite the bullet and tell it like it is. No way. Nope. Never. NEVER EVER EVER. Who could seriously look any besotted mother in the eyes and tell her that her beloved child is the most unfortunate blending of genetic smegma that you've ever seen? Not this little black duck.

There are a million and one reasons not to tell the truth in this case and I, for one, am perfectly happy to push the truth waaaay down, never to emerge. But can I always keep my yap shut? Will I always be permitted to do so? Probably not, but if at all possible I will try because I don't want to lie or (even worse) tell a poorly executed one. In the meantime, I'm going to work on developing a sentimental blind spot in the hopes that when that duo do come along I'll be prepared. Hey, if I have to practically sell a piece of my soul to pull off a kindly fib like that so the mom walks away none the wiser, I would count it a price well paid.

You are all, of course, NOT expected to gush about my little Bug since I don't want to subject you to the crappy etiquette rules I spent most of my life trying to circumvent but since I know she's the most beautiful child in the entire history of the world, I'm not overly concerned about uncomfortable silences in our future.

29 Weeks or Hie Ho, Hie Ho, 76 Days to Go

This pic is off the internet showing a baby that is 29 weeks along.

The Baby Center update (as sparse as it is) can be found by clicking on this link and the 3d rotatable picture and info is available for your viewing pleasure if you click on this. I know I usually post the link for the Visible Embryo website but since the visuals remind me of movie posters from "Night of the Living Dead" or "28 Days Later," I'm just going to leave that for now. Besides, the only cool stuff from that website indicates that Bug now has hair on her head (not lanugo) and her bone marrow and brain stem have now developed enough that they are operating as they should (producing red blood cells, regulating her body temperature, etc).

So what's up with Bug and I? She seems to be having a grand ole time swishing around in my uterus, blissfully unaware (or uncaring) of how difficult that can make it for me to get a good night's sleep. Most nights she's pretty good but last night she seemed to be as restless as I was and her movements were strong enough and painful enough to keep me awake or to wake me. Given how much I love my sleep, you would think I would have been a wreck half way through the night but I just can't seem to get upset when the reason I'm heading for sleep deprivation is that she's performing her little internal gymnastics. I know, I know...I'm already putty in her teensy little hands.

However, even without Bug's little nocturnal tumbling routine, last night was a bit rough because every time I moved to relieve the painful pressure point on my left hip my stomach would clench up, making me feel like someone was jabbing me in the gut with a hot poker. Being the magnanimous person I am (as I am sure you are all aware), I was expending a mighty effort to keep from screaming, grunting or crying so as not to wake up Scott but he's so dialed in to how I'm feeling these days he woke up every bloody time anyway.

So, I spent a ridiculous amount of time and energy last night awake smiling like a besotted eejit while our daughter pummeled my internal organs or in the throes of pain quickly followed by spousal guilt. Ah, c'est fun!

The Financial Hemorrhage has Begun...

On Friday I came to my most shocking realization yet: we've got about 10 weeks (give or take) to get our house and our lives in order before Bug comes and that, my friends, just isn't very damn long!

I know it sounds like I've spent more than half this pregnancy being surprised by the obvious, but for some reason I just can't help it. Every single time I think about certain things I'm struck by how scary and wonderful having a baby is, how unprepared I am and how incredibly excited and twisted up I am inside. You know, my typical self, but the bonus pack version NOW WITH 50% MORE CRAZY!

So with this realization came a renewed push to "take care of business" - aka buy the basics. Scott and I have been putting this off for quite some time. At first, we justified it by saying we wanted to wait until after a certain point to make sure that everything was going to be ok. Then, just when we thought we were in the clear, things got a little NOT ok so we used that to justify further procrastination. Mind you, we knew at the time that it was poor tactical thinking but it sure helped our sanity to wait until things settled down before dipping our toes into the baby shopping pool.

The problem is that now we're about 10 weeks away from D-day (Delivery Day) and Scott and I have bought exactly squat for Bug besides a cute little cloth doll (see pic in my Aug 1st post here). I imagine just about everyone reading this is thinking we're nuts but fear not, we've now fully immersed ourselves in the very scary (and ridiculously expensive) world of baby crap. Car seats, strollers, furniture, clothing, and...accessories? We need to accessorize our child? We need accessories to have a child? To care for a child? To keep ourselves from looking like idiots while fumbling around trying to figure out what the hell we're doing with our child?

Apparently so.

And what a bloody racket baby stores are running! They are like the bambino mafioso.

You need a stroller? Have we got the one for you...however, you'll probably have to sell your firstborn in order to afford it...

Oh you like that convertible crib? Here's the form to take out a second mortgage on your home...

No, this doesn't come with ANY of the features we have on display. Those will cost you an arm and a leg but we do have a special going on this week...you get to choose: right or left...

I swear, if I win the lotto, I'm going to set up a baby store. It is quite literally a license to print money and maybe THEN I could afford some of the junk we saw on sale this weekend. Gah!

Some good news? Well, we bought the cutest crib bedding AND I'm pretty sure we found her a crib we like with a price tag that didn't send us both running for the TUMS. Oh happy day!

Sir Walter's Legacy

I was riding the skytrain home yesterday when I realized something...all but one of the people who have offered me their seats on transit since I started getting noticeably preggers have been men.

All but one!

I realize that this post shows how much things have changed for me over the last few months. A couple of months ago I laughingly wished that someone might someday give me a seat on transit and now I actually have the gall to complain when - on occasion - I'm forced to stand.

My, my...somebody thinks she's more special than the rest of you now, doesn't she?

You have to admit though, it can't be a coincidence that the "offerers" are almost all from the same demographic - mature men. Absent from this gallant group? Teenagers, men under 30, and - surprisingly enough - women of any age.

I kind of understand the teenager thing because I'm not so old that I can't remember what a completely vacuous idiot I was back then. I was so wrapped up in my own little daily dramas (What do my friends think about this or that? Does this boy like me or my best friend? Does this outfit make my butt look big? You know, all the earth-shatteringly important crap that makes the Dalai Lama look like a poser) that I just didn't have room left in my pea-sized brain for ridiculous social niceties like politeness.

Men under 30? I'm not quite sure how to explain this one except perhaps to note that men mature so much slower than women. Maybe before they hit 30 they are still stuck in the teenage stage where nothing much makes an impression because they are too busy stewing about such mammoth issues as "what is the correct amount of hair gel to get that 'Edward Cullen' hairstyle the girls all seem to like without having it go all crunchy?" (Twilight movie reference for all you out there who aren't into vampires.)

Women though? Quite frankly, I'm baffled, befuddled, bewildered and bemused. (and apparently overly fond of synonyms for confused that start with the letter "B") Why? Well, there isn't a woman out there that is completely clueless about the discomforts of pregnancy, either through firsthand experience or via someone they know who clued them in and yet when I walk onto a bus or the skytrain suddenly every woman there finds their phone, grocery list, knitting, shoe laces or split ends the most fascinating things in the entire world. So fascinating, in fact, that they won't even look up if (and when) I accidentally step on their foot...and I know this from numerous instances where that has actually happened (remember...I can't see my feet, let alone anyone else's...)

Why do women always wait for a Sir Walter Raleigh to throw down his cloak for the damsel in distress instead of doing it themselves? What ever happened to feminine solidarity?

This realization has opened my eyes so never again will I let a pregnant woman stand without offering her my seat (you know, provided I'm not pregnant, tired or completely busy counting my split ends.)