girlfiend

Less than a week before my due date and this baby’s going nowhere. I’ve been trying to convince my body that I’m nesting by cleaning the house, organizing and washing tons of baby clothes. It’s not working. At my last appointment the doctor rather painfully checked my cervix, shook her head, and said, “Sorry. No changes. The baby’s still floating. I can’t even tell if your cervix is any softer than last week. I don’t think you’ve had any contractions.” As far as I know she’s right. Aside from the real or pre-labor kind, I haven’t even had any contractions of the Braxton-Hicks practice variety. Since I’ve never been afflicted with menstrual cramps I have no idea of what they’d even feel like, since that’s the only analogy (besides a belt being tightened around my uterus) that I’ve been offered. When I started feeling the sharp, stabbing pains in my cervix around the time we were in Florida I thought those might have been contractions, or at least meant that the baby was heading towards the exit route, but clearly I was mistaken.

My official due date is March 5 and unless my health should take a turn for the worse my doctor won’t induce until 42 weeks, which would be March 19, our wedding anniversary. Well, it probably wouldn’t be March 19, because that’s a Sunday, so March 20 would be more like it. In which case why not wait until March 22, my birthday. I feel like I’m going to be pregnant for the rest of my life. Three weeks is an awfully long time and this kid’s not getting any smaller.

My next appointment’s not until Wednesday. Today I’ve got an appointment with a pediatrician and I’m going to clean the baby’s room which Boyfiend and his dad finished last night. It still has no furniture besides a changing table, but it’s painted and the border is up. Then I can move all of the baby items from the living room upstairs- they say walking up and down stairs is supposed to get things moving- and vaccuum the living room for the first time in what feels like months (but has probably only been 2 weeks.)

For the first time during this pregnancy I just watched TLC’s A Baby Story. Of course I sobbed uncontrollably and they were showing an easy, medication-free, midwife facilitated second birth. I’ve also been checking in at my creepy message board religiously, especially now that everyone’s starting to have their babies early. Every birth story, no matter how white trash, makes me cry.

Everyone (my mom, my boss, boyfiend, etc.) was guessing this baby would be early. I’m thinking they were wrong, but the little peanut’s got less than a week to make an on-time appearance. So when do you think s/he’ll come? Take a guess in the comments. Maybe Mix will start a pool.

I’m not the praying type, nor am I the cheesy hippy good vibe type, but I am sending as many positive thoughts as I can to Erika, Jay and their little Snazzykitty, Samson Daniel. Erika’s getting induced today and her little boy is going to need major heart surgery soon after birth, so send her some pain-free, easy delivery vibes, and keep their family in your thoughts.

Boyfiend just said, “Whoa, he’s holding her by the vagina!”

I can’t tell if the comment on my last post asking if I had a plan for taking the weight off postpartum was a genuine question, or just a bitchy way of reminding me I’ll have more than 50 pounds to lose in a few weeks. I’d love to pretend that I have a plan, but right now, aside from the immediate 10 pounds of baby and water weight, I don’t know how I’m going to get rid of it.

I was in insanely good shape before I got pregnant and though I’ve slowed down considerably, I still haven’t stopped working out. I doubt that once the little peanut’s here I’ll be able to work out with the same intensity and commitment as I once did- at least for the first several months, but I’m pretty sure that Mommy and Me Yoga will be in my future, and I’m positive I’ll take advantage of the free babysitting at my gym. Also, I’m a pretty healthy eater. Ask Boyfiend- almost a week later and that enormous box of chocolates is still more than half full.

My biggest concern is that aside from the belly, a bunch of weight has settled on my thighs. I don’t like the feeling of my thighs rubbing together when I walk and I certainly hope it goes away quickly. The least of my concerns is the weight that’s settled in my boobs. The books say you generally gain a pound of breast weight. Considering I started out as a 32 B and just had to buy a 38 D, I’m pretty sure I may have that one pound average beat.

The next weigh in is tomorrow. I’m afraid to look.

Not a whole lot going on this week. Work the past two days has been uneventful. My boss, after getting a good look at my bigass belly decided that I was no longer working downstairs, so my latte making days are officially over. I’ll probably work up in the office for the next few weeks to keep myself from obsessing over the fact that this baby will probably never want to leave my uterus, but I won’t be on my feet there any more.

I went to the dentist on Valentine’s day, which was an absolute pleasure. Nothing like having your mouth numbed before a nice dinner out. Boyfiend bought me an enormous box of chocolate because he loves me.

What I find most interesting about that picture is that you can hardly tell I’m pregnant. Now compare it to this one.

I had a doctor’s appointment where I was told that while my cervix is still softening (good), I’m not dilated and the baby’s not yet engaged (bad). It’s still floating, which the doctor learned by moving it’s head around during an internal exam. Yes, the doctor, with her hand inside of me, moved the baby’s head. I’d feel violated, but I know far worse is coming.

My due date is in just over two weeks. It can’t come soon enough. I’m forgetful and clumsy and have lost whatever grace I used to posess. Yesterday I spilled an entire 12 ounce cup of hot chocolate on my leg and foot. I looked down, and realized there was no way I’d be able to bend over to clean it. So I dropped some paper towels on the floor and left the rest. Hopefully it won’t stain my pants or shoe too badly. As much as I’d like to give the baby all of the time in the world to finish growing and practicing breathing and whatever else it’s doing in there, I’d also like to get my body back. I hurt and my feet are no longer recognizable.

The baby’s in the 40th percentile, which means it’s not all that big. So where the hell did that 50 pounds of belly come from?

I live in the outskirts of the city, and my particular neighborhood is primarily working class and residential with one long, main street of stores. Many of the stores are pretty crappy- a few dollar stores, a 7-11, Dunkin Donuts, Payless, a Subway, a check cashing joint, nail salons, pizza places and hoagie shops. A few are old-school- an Italian bakery we love that also serves cappuccinos and lattes, barber shops, small luncheonettes, an independent paint store, a little carpet store, a shoe repair place, a travel agent and other places that look run down, but at least aren’t terrible chains, car dealerships or pawn shops.

Many young, good-looking people (much like myself and Boyfiend) have moved to the neighborhood in the past few years and are seeking to improve the area. A young couple owns an art gallery and instrument repair shop and there’s a new agey sort of gift shop as well. Of course there are a number of locals who are against improvement because they don’t want it to turn into another expensive artsy community. For a number of reasons, some which make more sense than others, people don’t want the neigborhood to be gentrified. So this coffee shop opened and people on a philly message board have been fighting it tooth and nail, complaining about the brand of coffee they’ve chosen to carry and how expensive it will be and saying they want everything to stay the same and they want the neighborhood to stay working class and the stores to stay crappy.

But the coffee shop is beautiful inside and out. It’s so pretty it looks out of place on the street and I just want more pretty places to open so I’ve defended the place on the board because in all honesty, the prices aren’t any higher than any other coffee shop- they’re actually cheaper than where I work- and if you want a cheap cup of coffee to go you can get one at the 7-11 or the Dunkin Donuts, or even at the little Italian bakery across the street.

Unfortunately, pretty as the place is, the coffee sucks. One day I got a latte and it was fine, but nothing special. The next day I ordered a mocha and it was undrinkable. I tried a bit of their regular coffee and nearly spit it out it was so bad. I certainly hope they get their act together. I really want the business to make it, so more people will open small shops and businesses that I’d like to frequent. But their coffee is horrendous. How on earth do you open a coffee shop without the slightest idea of how to brew a decent pot of coffee? My mocha was so weak and tepid, it was like sugar flavored bath water, but when I complained the poor boy making drinks thought it was because he added too much espresso. It saddened me to the core.

The other night, all night long, I dreamed of making lattes, and teaching them how to do it correctly. In my dreams I walked behind the counter and told them exactly what they were doing wrong, and exactly how many shots of espresso (two) should be in a 12 oz latte. I explained how to froth milk for a cappuccino and told them that macchiato and a latte are two entirely different drinks. If only I were brave enough to do it in real life.

A food cart not too far from my house recently moved into a new establishment. The proprieter, Big Daddy, has posted updates over at Philly Blog. Big Daddy has a bit of a caps lock problem, so every time I see the sign for the store, I immediately switch into my Big Daddy voice, which is basically me doing a lousy drill sargent impression. Lousy or not, I’ve been cracking myself up, so yesterday I shared my Big Daddy voice with Boyfiend. He liked it too.

Since we were in the middle of a snowstorm we didn’t have too much going on. With the video function on our new camera we recorded a commercial for BIG DADDY’S and another commercial to tell his fans he’d be OPEN DURING THE SNOW STORM. Which he was. We got breakfast there today. Delicious. Anyway, if you’re brave enough to view the video, which is not especially flattering (I’m not fat, I’m due in 3 weeks), you can see that I really know how to amuse myself.

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(This is my first attempt at posting video. If someone knows how I can upload directly to blogger and make the files a bit more user friendly I’d appreciate any advice.)

I updated with castpost (Thanks hOkie erin!), but the second file is still a link to a new page. Does one work better than the other? Since castpost won’t be free forever, I’m still looking for suggestions. Thanks!

Help Boyfiend out. He needs a few suggestions for how to sell a boat-building class to his superiors.

I’ve spent the last two days making lattes, and my ankles sure do feel it. I really thought I’d have stopped working by now, but my part-time schedule is flexible enough that I can still handle it. My customers are as excited about this baby as I am. Whenever I have three days in a row off they get worried that I’ve gone into labor early. I wonder if they’ve been placing bets.

One of the new girls at work has befriended me even though I didn’t want to like her. I trained her to work the coffee bar and she was utterly useless, but as soon as she was on her own she did just fine. She’s young, gorgeous, lazy and sullen, but I think the lazy and sullen parts are an act. Blonde and blue-eyed, she looks like Cameron Diaz, only without the acne. (Actually she reminds me more of the Wakefield twins, for those of you who know what I’m talking about. 5′6 and a perfect size 6- which in today’s world would be a size 0 or 2- flashing blue-green eyes, sun-streaked hair, blah, blah blah.) Men at work are constantly hitting on her, despite her flat affect and looks of disdain. I’ll call her Jessica.

Yesterday Jessica said to me, “Some old dude was asking if you popped yet. I just stared at him. Then he asked why I had the number ten on my pants and I told him to stop looking at my ass. Later some woman asked me to make her a smoothie. I told her no, they were seasonal, but really I just didn’t want to. Your belly freaks me out.”

Jessica’s got a pet rabbit she doesn’t want. “I’m not mature enough for a pet. I’m twenty and I live at home. My ex-boyfriend gave it to me and now my mom’s sick of taking care of it for me. I can’t just get rid of it though, I have to find it a home.” (Imagine that. Someone who actually takes responsibility for an unwanted pet. What a novel idea.) For the past few months she’s toyed with the idea of finding it another home but because she’s young and has a social life she hasn’t gotten around to it yet. As fate would have it, after meeting our neighbor’s young daughter’s pet rabbit, Boyfiend thought he might want a classroom pet. So it looks like Jessica’s bunny may find a new home after all. I love when things work out.

Speaking of things working out, tomorrow I’m taking advantage of the gift certificate my sisters-in-law gave me for a maternity massage. I hope I don’t fall asleep in a puddle of my own drool on the table. I’d hate to miss out on such a luxury. Pregnant chicks need all the massages they can get.

You may recall that a while back I wrote about stupid misspelled names on the pregnancy board I frequent. While I never used the word stupid on the board, that’s what I meant when I tried to explain to the others why you shouldn’t name your kid Xtyna instead of Christina. Of course, because the women who contribute to the board are generally idiots, my character was attacked instead of my opinion.

The majority of the asshats on the board insisted that there’s nothing wrong with naming with your kid whatever you want, and spelling it however you want, because it’s your kid and if you want to combine the name Denise with Ellen and call your daughter DeEllyn, you go on with your bad self and name that kid whatever you choose. (Obviously it won’t impact your child later in life as evidenced by the newly elected Supreme Court judge, the Honorable Lybertee Syphyllis Jones.) Many people on the board staunchly defended their right to name their kid Catherine instead of Katherine or Elisabeth instead of Elizabeth, missing my point entirely, then proceeded to tell me that I must have been a terrible teacher, that there’s no such thing as a correct way to spell, and that I needed to grow up and keep my intolerant opinions to myself.

Anyway, while the thread has been largely ignored since it sparked its initial round of debate, occasionally someone new will add something or someone who was previously involved will get pissed off about it all over again. Every now and again some voice of reason will agree with me (one woman pleased me immensely by congratulating me on not backing down even though I unfairly attacked), but usually it’s some woman with her panties all in a bunch telling me what a bad person I am. For the most part, I’ve stopped responding.(I think out of the more than 130 replies to the topic I’ve contributed 7 of them.) But the other day some woman wrote something to the effect of, “Girlfiend, you sure do have a lot to say about names,but I never see you respond to anything anywhere else on the board. How’s your pregnancy going.”

Considering the more than 100 posts by my board nickname, I know I post all over the board in response to a number of different threads, so I wasn’t sure if the woman was genuinely asking or just being passive agressive. I answered her question, thanked her for asking, and asked how her pregnancy was going. Then I looked back at the thread and saw that this woman previously suggested (by suggested I mean said) that as a teacher I was judgmental, gossipy, discriminatory and immature. What a bitch. I should have looked back at the thread before repsonding and just told her to go fuck herself. Instead my comment that my pregnancy was going quite well sparked a flurry of comments by trailer trash hookers insisting that their sons Zachari and BiRon and daughters Emylee and Maysyn will thank them for their unique names some day. Right.