What're you lookin' at? | Ramblings from a self-proclaimed yada yada yada...ist

Frageelay

Nice of me to post again before 2008, eh?

I wasn't lying in my last post; things are much better, but it's still overwhelming, trying to work your schedule around a tiny human being who eats and relieves herself every couple of hours and doesn't much care for being out of your arms. Plus, I don't know if it's postpartum hormones or just a natural reaction to this huge change that's happened to our lives, but I find myself weepier than ever. Kara's umbilical cord stump fell off the day after Christmas, and Luke and I were relieved to not have to manuever around it during diaper changings. Once she was cleaned up, I said to her, "That's what connected you to Mommy all those months," and the next thing you know I was crying into my hands. Suddenly it felt like things were moving too fast, she was growing up too quickly, and I was scolding myself for doing things like wiping down the toilet or attempting to update this blog when I could've been banking precious snuggle time with this little person who would one day refuse the comfort I can so easily offer her now. I had the same epiphany the following afternoon after rocking her to sleep. Luke came into her bedroom and found my eyes dripping all over my poor baby's head.

I've never felt so vulnerable or been so paranoid as I have since Kara's been born. When Ryan came to visit for Christmas, I had to be the one to transfer the baby from the bassinet to her auntie's waiting arms, even though my sister is almost twenty-two years old and perfectly capable of picking up a newborn all by herself. I forget to offer her to visitors because I'm having such a good time holding her myself. It breaks my heart to hear her cry, even if her only grievance is the too-cold touch of a diaper wipe. Hell, I'm even afraid to leave the house without her, not because I don't trust Luke wholeheartedly but because I know how much I'll miss her.

I haven't been this afraid of love for years, not since Luke and I first started dating. But this...there are no words to describe what it feels like to love your own child. You know that saying, "It's different when it's your kid"? It really, really is.

Speaking of cliches, there's a second one that's also rung true for me, and it relates specifically to my breastfeeding struggles: "You have to do what's best for your family." And for this family, the best thing has been to stop trying to breastfeed. Kara is still getting my boob juice, mind you, as I pump every two to three hours, but I haven't put her on the breast since the wee hours of Christmas Eve.

I read that last sentence and feel like I should feel like a failure. I'm well aware the initial weeks of breastfeeding are a learning period for both mom and baby, and things probably would've gotten better if I'd kept at it. Throwing in the towel after seven days doesn't seem like I gave it much of a chance, especially when I think about how passionate I was about trying to make this work.

Then I reflect on the hours I spent crying because I couldn't get Kara to latch, because she'd take my nipple just long enough to spit it back out, because her gums would bear down hard on my aerolas, and I think there were a lot of minutes in those seven days where both of us were miserable, and I'm slowly finding out that more often than not, it's the passing of each of those minutes that ends up wearing you down. Ironically, the days go by much, much faster.

Anyway, even though it's more work for me, what with having to pump and bottlefeed, this new plan overall has been much more manageable. We're still supplementing with formula because I'm only producing about an ounce and a half during each pumping session, but I feel good that she's getting all the milk I have to give. We have our two-week well-baby visit in a couple of hours, so we'll check on her weight then, but I already know we have a happy, healthy baby, and truly, that's all that matters to me now.

As we make our way into a new year, I've been struck with how content I am, despite the wild card hand of emotions I'm wrapped up in. For the first time, I have no list of improvements to work on, no major goals to accomplish. All I can think about is how lucky I am, how complete I feel, and how wrong it would be to want for anything when I've clearly been given so much already. If Luke and I never leave this apartment, if I never finish those damn photo projects, if I never get more than three hours of sleep in a row ever again, I'll still consider myself the happiest woman on Earth.

It's a wonderful life

All is well.

Since my last entry, an incredible sense of calm and well being has covered Luke and me like a blanket, which has made these last couple of days the best ones since Kara's birth. I'll tell you about it soon enough, but for now, all I want to do is revel in how blessed we are and how thankful I am for everything God has given us.

Most of the members of my family have been too sick to make the trip to Indy, so it was extra special that my sister Ryan drove in from Chicago to spend Christmas with us. Newly married and desperately missing her army husband, who's currently in Germany awaiting February deployment to Iraq, a little baby fix was just what she needed to get through the holiday.

As for my own spouse, I can't tell you how mesmerizing it is to watch him with our daughter. He's so gentle with Kara, so enamored with her, and I honestly don't know what I've done to deserve such unconditional love and support. This last week has been the most exhilerating and terrifying one of my life, and he's been right by my side the entire time, holding me when I cry and telling me what a good job I'm doing when he's not washing bottles, refilling my water glass, and reminding me to take my pain meds. I couldn't ask for a better life partner or a more loving father for my baby.

I look at these two people and wonder how I ever lived without them.

Merry Christmas.

The title of my next post will be original, I swear.

Fumbling towards ecstasy

Not that you could ever get tired of seeing photos of me in all my bedridden glory, but it's finally time to give the (very patient) Internet a quick update on life in the Frema-Useless Clutter household.

First of all, thank you all so much for the wonderful comments you've left here these last few days. As you know, it took a little bit of coaxing for my firstborn daughter to enter the world, and it wasn't until Thursday night that Luke, Kara, and I came home from the hospital. I finally had a chance to read through them yesterday, and it truly warmed my heart to see how happy everyone is for my newly expanded family.

We're doing OK. This whole week has been one big rollercoaster of emotions, thanks to my first bout with major surgery, sleep deprivation, breastfeeding snags, and postpartum hormones. Luckily, we've had access to a wonderful medical team and an electric breast pump, though Luke and I are spending one hour out of every two preparing bottles, entertaining Kara to keep her awake long enough to eat, and sneaking in a bit of sleep ourselves.

(By the way, say hello to Ameda, my new BFF. She's a bit of a loudmouth but overall quite respectful of my nipples. Definitely a plus with any girlfriend.)

(Also, please no assvice, well-meaning or not, about our decision to supplement, unless you're our pediatrician, in which case, we got our first dirty diaper last night since Wednesday, thank you so much for all the time you spent with me on the phone yesterday.)

Some of the highlights of my week--the good, the bad, and the ugly--in bullet form. You're smart enough to discern which is which.

• Enjoying a final dinner out on Sunday to bid farewell to our carefree, DINKy lives
• Thinking about the next morning's induction later that night
• Learning that my sister Samantha and Molly would be with Luke and me at the hospital
• Deciding to get the epidural. I went comfortably without for a good five hours, but hot damn, did I need that epidural
• Being told about my likeliness for a c-section
• Sobbing uncontrollably when the doctors pulled the baby out and I heard her cry
• Feeling her skin on mine and watching her face when she nursed for the first time
• Eating lunch on Tuesday after thirty hours of nothing but ice chips and Lifesavers
• Devouring seventy billion strawberry shakes courtesy of the hospital's all-hours room service, which made the best deli sandwiches I've ever had
• Trying to pee after my catheter was removed
• Learning that all of Kara's meconium had passed by Wednesday afternoon (warning: there's a picture of it on that link)
• Spending seven hours on Wednesday night trying to console a very hungry daughter with my breasts and having her repeatedly spit me out before tearfully deciding to supplement with formula
• Spending the following five hours unable to calm myself to the point where I almost couldn't breathe
• Allowing a lactation consultant to aggressively jam a handful of my boob into the baby's mouth
• Seeing Kara in her coming-home outfit
• Coming home
• Luke's changing diaper after diaper with no hint of poop
• Taking my first shower, which didn't go down until Friday morning
• WEARING NON-PREGNANT SHIRTS, OH MY GOD
• Coughing, laughing, sneezing
• Snuggling my baby in my mother's rocking chair
• Having Kara spit me out again and again late Friday night and feeling in my heart that the decrease in her wet and dirty diaper count was due to my inability to properly latch her on
• Frantically trying to work the breast pump while Luke fed Kara formula
• Mastering the pump later that morning
• Talking to our pediatrician on Saturday afternoon and not remembering what day it was
• Hearing Luke cry "Good girl!" upon finding that magical poop Saturday night
• Watching my husband in action with the baby we made together and seeing him take such good care of me
• Knowing we'd all be OK in the end

Right now, I'm in a good place, taking things one day at a time and trying not to get too ahead of myself in terms of goal setting. Kara is thriving. Kara is beautiful. Kara is so wonderful she makes my heart hurt with love. That's all that matters.

That and baby pictures.

She's here!

Boy, you guys are a tough crowd.  When Frema appointed me Official Blog Updater (for when I arrived home tonight, that is) I suppose we might have mentioned that I'd be staying at the hospital with her.  All day.  Without internet access.  Until I arrived home, which was two and a half hours North of where this precious baby was born tonight.

But now you'll forgive all of the madness and waiting, won't you?  Because I've returned with pictures!

When I arrived today, I was excited to see my dear friend in her normal character.  Is this the perfect Frema Does Childbirth picture or what?

Of course, then the medical staff went and ruined all the fun with a pretty good Pitocin drip, and I've never seen Bree more focused, or in more pain.  She was wonderful, and Luke was an incredible support, but dog-gone if she wasn't in some pain.

And then, well, the drugs came.   And all was right with the world again.

By 2pm there was cheer and double foot rubs and full effacement and eight good centimeters of dilating.  We thought for sure baby Freka was well on her way to catching the five o'clock news.

But as things sometimes go, progress came to a screeching halt and the baby decided things were a bit cramped, but mostly comfy inside.  And she stayed exactly where she was comfortable throughout almost fourteen hours of labor, until approximately 9pm, when the doctor assured Breain and Luke that the only way this baby would be coming out would be through a c-section.

This was definitely the low point of the day, when they wheeled our girl(s) off to surgery. 

(Luke, your gown's open, pal.)

(Snicker, snicker.)

Thankfully, the low point was followed closely by the highest point.  This is who returned to the room, just an hour later:

An amazing family of three.

At 9:50pm, Miss Kara Leigh arrived, weighing 11 pounds, 4 ounces, and measuring 22.5 inches long, with a smirk on her face and the sweetest chubby cheeks you've ever laid eyes on.

Which should leave no room for questioning the need for a Cesarean Section.  My word!

Congratulations, friends.

The end is near.

Well, it looks like we'll need that induction after all. Freka appears quite content to remain in my uterus, thank you very much, so tomorrow at 7:30 a.m., Luke and I will head to the hospital and see what we can do to persuade her to join us.

It's been a weird day, and more than a little unnerving to think about having to jumpstart a process so intimate and normally so intuitive. I'm sure the baby would've come on her own eventually, but the longer she stays in here, the more on edge I get, wondering if her activity level is normal, if my placenta's still taking care of her the way it should, if her ever-growing body is going to fit through my wee-by-comparison vagina. I never thought I'd need an induction, but I still feel good knowing that I didn't rush into things the minute my due date passed and that I gave her some more time to get with the program. Now, though, her lease is up, and Momma wants to collect what's due.

Until then, it's time to clean up and go to bed. I've got a big day tomorrow.

(By the way, let's all give three cheers for Molly, who has moved Heaven and Earth to be able to come to the hospital tomorrow and see my baby. She's being charged with the very important task of updating this blog with pictures and news once she gets home, so be sure to be nice to her.)

Not so much with a baby yet.

Just in case anybody's checking in on Blogland this weekend, I wanted to post a quick no-baby update. There's been breakfast at my favorite pancake house, the purchase of new gloves, a wonderful steak dinner prepared by my husband, LOTS of eager phone calls, and a little bit of snow, but nope, no baby.

As you were.

My child is a medical marvel

"I honestly don't know what's keeping this baby from coming out," said my doctor this afternoon after my latest cervical exam. Dilation is almost five centimeters, while effacement is steady at seventy percent. A non-stress test revealed Freka's strong heart beat and contractions six and a half minutes apart lasting sixty to eighty seconds long. Go, body, go!

My original plan was to schedule induction for Saturday morning if Freka hadn't arrived before then, but it turns out my practice doesn't "do" them on the weekends, so we're penciled in for Monday at 7:30 a.m. However, my doctor said that at this point, if I were to show up at the hospital, nobody would turn me away.

I'm well aware that my gut feelings haven't amounted to much these last few days, but I really don't think I'll make it to Monday morning. Until then, though, Luke and I will continue our going-out-to-dinner streak (I'm in no hurry to mess up our perfectly clean kitchen), watch movies, and rest up as best we can for the job ahead. Also, we'll be keepng a close eye on the weather, because Indianapolis is slated to receive six to ten inches of snow this weekend. Of course.

I feel good about where things are and how I'm progressing. The gals at the front desk were impressed that I was already so far along and predicted a fast and easy labor for me. "I bet you'll show up at the hospital ten centimeters dilated and ready to push," the receptionist said.

Works for me.

I'll keep you posted.

If the stair climbing doesn't do it, Carol's sexual innuendos will

I was so sure it was going to happen last night. The contractions were coming every fifteen minutes or so, Luke and I walked around our apartment complex to jiggle the baby up, and I bounced my ass off on the birthing ball; plus, ten minutes before bed I proceeded to have a nesting panic attack so severe that Luke mopped our floors and took out the trash for me. At midnight. Because suddenly everything seemed filthy.

This morning we woke up and took another walk. I vaccuumed the shit out of our apartment, bleached our sinks (wearing gloves, don't worry), and did several laps on the stairs in our building. When Luke comes home for lunch, we'll do some more walking, but in the meantime, I'm watching A Very Brady Christmas in hopes that the awfulness of the dialogue, wardrobe, and continued abuse of Alice (if she's really a houseguest, why not encourage her to get out of that damn uniform?) will be enough to make Freka want to flee the confines of my uterus before the ending credits have a chance to roll.

Seriously, this movie is terrible. Between Carol's thinly veiled "let's do some business together" sex talk, Mike's pairing of a watch and a bracelet on the same wrist (I really can't stand jewelry on men), Greg's selfish wife (who refuses to visit the Bradys for the holidays this year because her favorite aunt will be in town, EVEN THOUGH they've been to her family's house for Christmas the last two years), Marcia's whiny, jobless husband (who has no qualms sharing their dismal financial state in front of their two bratty kids), and Peter's willingness to sleep with his boss but not make her an honest woman because she makes more money than he does, I haven't a clue as to why I look forward to watching this drivel year after year after year.

But, God help me, I do.

Still hopeful for today

Luke and I were married on May 12, so I think December 12 would be an excellent birthday for our first child, don't you agree?

Obviously, still no baby yet. Contractions are coming, but they're not very long or close together, so I still haven't bothered to time them. My guess? Freka is just as psyched as I am about this week's three-episode block of Deal or No Deal, and she's not coming until the last one airs tonight. And really, who can blame her? Howie is awesome.

So. Happy.

Let's hear it for Freka and my cervix, the latter of which, according to my doctor, is almost four centimeters dilated and 70 percent effaced!

My 40-week appointment was this morning, and I walked away from it feeling much better than when I came in. My total weight gain to date is steady at 35 pounds, the baby's heart rate is strong at 160 beats per minute, her head is sitting low in my pelvis, and my uterus is measuring in at a whopping 43 centimeters. Upon hearing that, I shot a worried glance at Luke and asked the doctor to estimate the baby's weight. In her opinion (which, yes, I know it's only an opinion), about eight pounds. Whew.

Things are going well, though she did say there were slight traces of protein in my urine and asked if I was experiencing any headaches or blurred vision. "None" to the first, and "occasionally I see spots" to the second, but other then that and the swelling in my hands and legs, I'm peachy keen. We talked about induction, and I said I wanted to give Freka some more time to do things on her own. Both of us were impressed with the progress I've made in the last eight days, and I don't want to interfere with that when there's no medical reason to do so. We scheduled an appointment for Friday afternoon, at which time we'll do a non-stress test to make sure the baby's still thriving. If necessary, I plan to induce on Saturday.

It feels so good to know my body's doing what it was designed to do and that my baby really will be here any day now. In the meantime, I'm going to clean up, rest up, and think good thoughts about labor and delivery. I can do this. My body was made to do this. My baby has to come out. These are all good things.

Once again, to quote the great Amalah...

Hello, due date!

Good-bye, due date!

When Luke came home from work this evening, I held it together for approximately eight seconds before bawling into his shoulder over how nervous I was about labor and how I did NOT want to read another baby book until I actually had a baby to deal with at home. I started What to Expect: The First Year yesterday, and while it's been a great read so far (I really have no idea why the What to Expect series gets such a bad rap from the Internet. The authors are always talking about the wide range of normal that exists both in pregnancy and in babies, and I've found them to be very comforting), my brain needs a break. The last thing I want to turn into is That Mom who runs to her stash of parenting guides every time she has a problem, and yet in the last few months, I've read two books on breastfeeding, delved into two baby's-first-year manuals, finished The Big Book of Birth (which I just might review on my Parents blog one of these days), and breezed through countless magazines from my ob/gyn's office. And that's in addition to all the regular pregnancy stuff. Being prepared is one thing, but at this point, it's safe to say that I am literatured out. Tomorrow I'll go for something lighter; perhaps a hardcover Nancy Drew.

If I'm still at home, that is. I've been having more regular contractions since before Luke and I went to dinner (thank you, spinach dip?), though I still haven't timed them. I'm almost afraid to, like I'll jinx my progress or something.

People are calling me, full of excitement about the new little person that's about to enter our lives, eager to measure my own barometer of Happy!, and I feel like my reaction disappoints them. I'm not chirpy, I'm not eager, I'm not even impatient anymore. Freka can wait a few more days if she wants to. Hell, I'm not going anywhere.

Here it is, folks. Forty weeks in all its glory. Here's hoping I don't make it to forty-one.

If I knew she were coming, I would bake a cake

Well, Luke would bake the cake. We've got a box of Duncan Hines banana mix and container of cream cheese frosting in the pantry, and I'm not afraid to (ask him to) use them.

As you can tell by the fact that I posted this entry, Freka has yet to make her debut. We spent the weekend running errands, picking up the apartment, and wondering when she might want to get things started. Yesterday was nice because it was the first time in almost a week that I ditched my glasses and product-free hair for contacts, mousse, and even some pressed powder. It felt good to actually get ready for the day, which started with church and ended with waffles two hours before bedtime.

If we're not at the hospital this evening, we're going out to dinner to take our minds off the whole baby-not-coming-yet thing. I'm thinking spinach dip, chicken fingers, and a very rich dessert.

I wish I had more interesting things to tell you, but the closer I get to giving birth, the harder it is to concentrate. I'll try to post an updated belly shot tonight, after I've had my Deal or No Deal fix. Watching the rise and fall of greedy contestants over the course of the next three days is the only coping technique I've got.

Come out, come out, wherever you are

Last night I had a dream that Freka had been born, and she was absolutely beautiful. I dreamt that I had brought her home from the hospital ("home," in this scenario, being my parents' apartment in Chicago), and I was the only one up, and she was so alert and happy, and I propped her up in her car seat on the couch, only the angle was wrong and she fell out. Alone ten minutes and I'd already broken my daughter.

Vacation has been low-key. Showering, dishwashing, blogging, reading, dozing, watching Judge Judy after my stories have ended, counting the minutes until Luke gets in from work. The closer we get to my due date, the more I'm apt to think the pack of newborn diapers we bought will be obsolete. Good thing we have THREE packs of size ones.

My mother still thinks the baby's a boy.

One of my favorite doctors is on call this weekend, so it would be really nice if Freka chose to get things moving today. Hear that, sweet girl? REALLY NICE.

I still say the carrot-stealing bastard got what he deserved

This baby is taking her time.

I know, I know, I'm not even past my due date yet, but I can feel it. The Braxton Hicks contractions that seemed to be coming so frequently two weeks ago seem to have disappeared almost completely, and I can practically hear my cervix taunting me with all the non-dilating it's probably doing. My 40-week appointment is scheduled for Tuesday at 9:45, and in my heart, I know that Luke and I will be there. Blah.

How 'bout we answer some questions today, eh?

Professor Art Nerd is dying to know:

Who is your favorite artist, or artistic period, or work of art? What do you like about it? (I'm not judging, honest, it's just a question I always ask)

Oh, Lauren, I'm sure my response is going to diappoint you, because while I have a huge appreciation of art, my actual art knowledge is scant. I can tell you I love the Saturday Evening Post covers created by Norman Rockwell, which will be gracing my calendar for 2008, and there's a matted photograph of autumn leaves in my living room that I purchased at a local craft show a few years ago when I lived in Rensselaer and worked at Saint Joe. Other than that? I'm useless. I love the Post covers because of how well the images reflect all the coming-of-age situations that seem to happen in a typical American's life, and fall is my favorite season, so the leaves photo reminds of me crunching through parks in my hiking shoes with Luke, something we used to do all the time. That's one of the things I can't wait to do again in my non-pregnant state.

What is the book you most look forward to reading to Freka?

Now HERE'S a question I can get behind, mostly because I was a reading fool as a kid, and one of the biggest things that excites me about having a daughter is being able to share my favorite childhood and young adult books with her. Baby-sitters Club. Nancy Drew (both the original hardbacks and the paperback Nancy Drew Files). Sweet Valley High. Anything by Judy Blume and Paul Zindel. It's not that boys can't read these books, but do they? No, not usually. And even though I tried, I could never get into the Hardy Boys; they were only tolerable when teaming up with Nancy, Bess, and George in those random mystery thrillers that came out every few months.

Anyway, to answer the actual question, the book I'm most excited about reading to Freka right now is the comprehensive collection from Beatrix Potter. When I was a kid, one of my aunts gifted us the entire series of stories, and my sister Samantha and I had a blast going through the little books. My favorite at the time was The Story of a Fierce Bad Rabbit, mainly because he got his naughty little cotton tail shot off at the end.

Brittany asks:

Have you ever had something stolen from you?

Hell, yes, I have. The neon-green scooter I bought with money I received for making my First Communion back when I was nine years old, and I'm still pissed about it.

That scooter was a big deal. I already had a bike; Samantha and I had received matching pink bikes from my Nana for Christmas the year before, each with their own names etched into the handlebar padding (mine was Pink Taffy). But still, I wanted a scooter. Don't ask me why.

A week or two after my First Communion celebration, my father took me to Toys R Us, and I picked out said neon-green scooter. He put it together for me as soon as I got home, and I fell in love. Between that and the bike, my feet almost forgot what it felt like to make physical contact with the sidewalk. (We were NEVER allowed to ride in the street, and I'm still amazed when I see kids that do. My mother would've killed me.)

The poor thing didn't last through the summer.

My parents might say part of it was my fault for occasionally neglecting to store the scooter in the basement like I was supposed to every night before going to bed. Our apartment had fencing around the yard, and a gate, but it was that criss-cross wiring stuff that anyone could easily climb over. Apparently, the temptation of the scooter just sitting there next to our staircase was too great for one of the local sticky-fingers, and one morning, it was just gone. I never saw it again.

Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure they stole my bike, too. Couldn't you just cry a river for poor 'lil Frema?

Deep thoughts from my first day off; also, in case it isn't obvious, no baby yet

Yesterday, while reading Marie Clare:

Christina Aguilera, I don't think buying a house qualifies as "nesting."

Will I ever be in a financial situation that can justify spending four hundred dollars on a purse?

God, I miss normal-people clothes.

While showering:

Hot damn, is this a pain in the ass.

While brushing my teeth:

Hey, our soap dispenser is almost out. I wonder which Bath and Body Works pump I should put out next: Country Apple or Warm Vanilla Sugar?

I really should floss. Tomorrow.

While watching The Parent Trap:

Uh, Susan? Telling your camp buddies that The Girl Who Looks Exactly Like You is the spitting image of Frankenstein doesn't bode well for you, honey. Also, you are a bitch and totally deserved to have the back of your skirt cut out at the Saturday night dance.

I wonder if Hayley Mills got bored acting with herself.

Maureen O'Hara was gorgeous. Does my generation even have a Maureen O'Hara?

Vicki was actually pretty nice to the girls until they submarined her.

Wasn't Mitch in The Shaggy Dog? I've never seen it, but still.

Am I the only person who remembers the sequel to this movie? Who was it that the divorced sister hooked up with in that one?

Mitch has every right to be mad that his ex-wife is prancing around in his bathrobe while he's meeting with his fiancee and wedding minister. Where the fuck does she get off punching him?

I bet the sex was pretty good.

Tom Skerritt.

Ben and Jerry, your Banana Split isn't bad, but it's no Chunky Monkey.

While watching The Sound of Music:

Did Julie Andrews ever have long hair? Mary Poppins doesn't count, that was totally a wig.

Captain Von Trapp is HOTT. HOOOOT.

I don't care if I'm a dork, I LIKE Maria's handmade dresses.

Liesel is so pretty. Look at those eyes!

Her shoes are cute, too.

I wish handsome boys delivered telegrams to MY house and then twirled me around in a gazebo in the rain.

When I was a kid, I always thought the German/Austrian conflict stuff was kind of thrown in after the second act, but really there were subtle clues throughout the whole movie. Damn network television and their edits for clouding my original impressions!

The adult dialogue in this movie is actually pretty clever!

I wonder what the age difference is between Maria and Captain Von Trapp?

HOOOOT.

"Climb Every Mountain" is the worst song in a musical ever, mainly because it's sung by an eighty-year-old nun.

Would a sixteen-year-old girl really enjoy helping out with a damn puppet show?

I remember when I wanted to be a nun. Good thing that didn't work out.

Poor Captain Von Trapp, having his homeland torn apart by Nazis.

HOOOOT.

Ready to rock

I did it! Today was my last official day on the clock at work. Until March 5. Presumably because I'm going to have a baby. I guess time will tell on that one.

Anyway, even though I was working from home, I still managed to get some things done: run to Babies R Us for the bazillionth time, wrap Luke's stocking stuffers and Freka's Christmas gifts, fold laundry, indulge on ABC soaps (I have no idea how daytime television will be affected by the writers' strike, but could this crap come at a more inconvenient time?), and down a few Reese's Christmas tree candies. I know! All before Luke came home, at which time we got chicken from Popeye's before banishing me from the apartment for an hour and a half because my wonderful husband wanted to treat the carpets with some type of foam cleaner, and he was worried about possible fumes harming the baby. I'm not complaining; I got to sit in a comfy chair at Books A Million and browse through parenting guides for most of the time, and since retail stores aren't libraries, I also picked up one of Suze Orman's older books to read, maybe even finish before the baby comes. (I also have a copy of Women and Money; we'll see which one I pick up first.)

Since I'm no longer getting vibes that Freka will be joining us anytime soon, I've been trying to figure out how to spend this newfound free time. I'm picturing long afternoons on the couch, alternating between saturating my mind with knowledge and spacing in front of the boob tube. I can already hear A Very Brady Christmas (which I've yet to watch this season, I'm so behind), The Sound of Music, and The Lord of the Rings trilogy calling my name. Also, now that both work and NaBloPoMo are over, I'm much more eager to blog again and hope to keep you guys updated on all the minute details of my now (temporarily) uneventful life.

One of those details being how insanely excited I am about our newly refurbished rocking chair. It was delivered on Sunday afternoon, and I swear, it felt like a totally new piece of furniture was entering our home.

Once again, the before shots:

...And after:

New fabric, new stuffing, a layer of polyurethane, and voila! An heirloom fit for my sweet little baby, an heirloom that's even older than I thought. I was under the impression it was purchased for my parents when I was born, but my mother said it actually belonged to her mother first, which makes me even more glad Luke and I shelled out the money to have it professionally redone.

I can't believe in just two weeks or less (please, dear God, let it be less), I'll be rocking my daughter in this very chair. Dudes, it's like, totally blowing my mind.

Seven days

When you're pregnant, hearing that phrase and knowing you still have a week to go before your due date is just as horrifying as that movie from The Ring.

Pulling the newest issue of Marie Clare from your mailbox, seeing an airbrushed, knocked-up Christina Aguilera on the cover, and comparing her obviously Photoshopped belly to your own runs a close second.

I had another doctor's appointment this morning, and while Freka is doing just dandy, my cervix is dropping the ball. Apparently, it's quite fond of being one and a half centimeters dilated; so fond, in fact, that it prefers to stay that way, at least for now. No additional progress on the effacement front, either. So it appears that my hopes and prayers for an early delivery were not meant to be answered. But that's OK. I still have plenty of baby-related things on my plate vying for my attention, and seeing as my last day of work is tomorrow, I should have plenty of time to obsess over them.

That's right. After all that bitching and moaning on my Parents blog regarding what to do about maternity leave, I talked with my boss this morning about using the last of my vacation time for 2007 to squeeze in some much-needed R&R, and he was totally on board. I'll work from home tomorrow to wrap up some last-minute e-mails, but I've already said my good-byes to everyone at the office, so the end, it is near. Vacation starts on Wednesday and carries through until next Tuesday; I'll officially start maternity leave on Wednesday, December 12, and return to work on Wednesday, March 5.This plan allows me to put my feet up a little and start my leave a tad later than expected, which means if the baby is a little off schedule I won't miss out on more than two or three days at home with her. Plus, I love the idea of returning to work in the middle of the week. Hopefully, it'll make the transition back into corporate life more managable.

I know a lot of you were real troopers who kept your professional noses to the grindstone 'til the very end, but this pregnancy has been busy enough, what with freelancing and teaching on top of my regular job, and I'm not ashamed to say that I want a break, thank you very much. Plus, since I'll continue to accrue time off while on leave (yes, I know how rare this is, and yes, I have it in writing from HR), there's no reason for me to martyr myself or hoard my vacation days for when I go back to work.

I'm going to call it a night for now, but tune in tomorrow, when I plan to show off my fabulously re-upholstered rocking chair and possibly answer some more Q&A questions. Oh, the suspense of it all!

P.S. Check out my husband's awesome new blog design. He drew the pirate ship himself!

P.P.S. In case you haven't already noticed, I'm giving myself a short reprieve from answering comments individually because holy hell, is my attention span shot. However, I will address any burning questions within the comments section itself. Thanks for understanding.