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

I don't think Samantha ever made it, either

At long last, it is here. The last day of NaBloPoMo.

I have to say, this year I disappointed myself. The first time around, I did a good job of writing about a variety of different things: sharing stories from my childhood, creating Tragic Love Friday, initiating the cheesy love song swap, blah blah blah. This year saw no such variety from me--it was pretty much all baby, all the time.

Then again, I'm about to have a baby. And that's what I think about. All the time. Surely you understand.

Today was one of my final days at the office, and even though I spent most of it cleaning out files and meeting with coworkers who'll be taking over my core duties while I'm on maternity leave, this whole experience still doesn't seem quite real. It reminds me of the years I spent in Girl Scouts when I was a kid, and every year our troupe visited a local pumpkin patch for a day of fright and fun. I'd never been to a pumpkin patch before, and the month leading up to the event I was always so excited I could wet myself.

(And sometimes I did.)

(Just kidding.)

Anyway, every year something happened that prevented me from going on the trip, and it was always my own fault. One time it was because I'd mouthed off to my mother the day before; the year after that, my sister and I were caught fighting in church THE MORNING OF. By the time I got my act together, I wasn't in Girl Scouts anymore. My pumpkin-patch ship had sailed.

Where am I going with all of this?

It's like the birth of this baby is some wonderful event being dangled in front of me like cheese to a mouse, an event so wonderful that it's too wonderful to actually come to fruition. Like I'm going to do something stupid--say, trip on a crack in the sidewalk or drop a coffee cup on my belly--and Freka will never be born. It's hard to comprehend that I will go into labor, that she will come out, that I will hold her in my arms and become a mother for the first time.

Her clothes are washed. Her room is ready. She has Christmas presents for her stocking and even one for under the tree. We've got enough newborn and size one diapers to last us the whole winter (or at least the first two weeks). What Luke and I don't have is a firm grasp on the notion that this baby, our baby, is actually coming.

But when she does? It'll be so much better than a romp through a pumpkin patch.

Preparing my nest; also, let's count how many variations of "damn" appear in this entry

I think depression and nesting are in the same boat. As in, they're both terms that get tossed around way too casually and far too often.

For example, a person might feel sad for a couple of days, maybe a week even, and label themselves as depressed, when really it's a condition that doesn't apply unless that sadness stretches on for weeks at a time, preventing said person from completing normal, everyday tasks. In high school, I thought listening to mix tapes of easy listening love songs and prank calling my ex-boyfriend meant I was depressed, when in reality I was just a big fat loser with no life. Sad? Yes--on many levels. But depressed? No.

Same thing with nesting. Just because a pregnant woman vaccuums her rugs or washes a sinkful of dishes doesn't mean she's nesting. Maybe she's always been a neat freak. Maybe she's releasing pent-up energy. Or maybe, just maybe, she's simply cleaning her damn house.

Lots of people think I'm nesting, but I think I'm just doing what I always do: meticulously preparing for a significant life event. I did it when Luke moved in. I did it again when we got married. And I did it once more when we upgraded our apartment. It only makes sense I'd want things in order before we introduce a new human being into our home.

That isn't to say the nesting instinct doesn't exist. One of my company VPs relayed a story about his wife pushing him out of bed at twelve-thirty in the morning during her last month of pregnancy insisting he take out the trash. Our sales director told me that days before his wife gave birth to their first child this summer, she was on her hands and knees scrubbing their floors even though she'd just mopped them the day before. To me, those are signs of nesting--irrational yet uncontrollable urges that must be satisfied NOW because OH MY GOD, THE BABY IS COMING.

I have not reached that point yet. Luke and I have made countless trips to the grocery store to stock our pantry and refrigerator, and yeah, I make sure all the dishes are washed and put away before bed every night (what woman wants to come home from the hospital to cereal bowls crudded with dried-up Raisin Bran?), but in my non-gestating state, that wouldn't be anything unusual. I'm almost hoping I do something crazy like get up at six in the morning to dust all the pages in my books, just to know what it feels like. And if I do, I promise, Internet, you'll be the first to know.

Anyway, I'm not really feeling the Q&A stuff tonight, so instead, I'll just present another round of... 

Project Freka: Prenatal Edition

• Write thank-you cards for shower gifts
• Purchase life insurance
• Create will-like document to secure guardianship and general well-being of Frema-Useless Clutter offspring
• Start Roth IRA for Luke (because if we don't now, we never will)

How naive am I for thinking there's still a chance we can fit this one in?

• Complete application for private student loan consolidation (who wouldn't mind saving thirty bucks a month? Not me, that's for damn sure!)
• Wipe down bedroom blinds (ours, baby's)
• Clean car (wash exterior, disinfect/vaccuum interior)
• Fill out engagement book (because really, enough with the procrastinating already)

I'm crossing this out because it ain't gonna happen. Handwriting anything these days requires a special focus I just don't have anymore. Maybe postpartum.

• Order wedding pictures from photographer (for reasoning, see above)

This one's off because I want to wait and see how the first couple of months of my temporary unemployment go before spending hundreds of dollars on something that isn't a breast pump or a car seat (hot damn if we don't already have to investigate the next size up). If we have money near the end, we'll place an order.

• Print recent family photos and sort them into albums, seeing as eight weeks from now I'll be mostly preoccupied with somebody else's eating, sleeping, and pooping habits

Even though it's actually doable, this bad boy's gone, too, because I don't want the pressure.

• Renew domain registration and TypePad account
• Burn TLF soundtrack for Audrey out of gratitude for her mad summarizing skillz (I totally intended to create a kick-ass play list for the sequel, but...well...I didn't)
• Organize baby's room/assemble baby gear

Our rocking chair was finally picked up by the upholstery shop owner on Wednesday morning, and after offering profuse apologies for not doing so last week, promised to have the whole thing done by this weekend. I did not complain. The stroller, play yard, and swing still need assembling, but I'm not concerned. Like I said last week, we don't plan on taking any big family outings during the first few weeks of Freka's life that would require toting her around for long periods of time (and if we did, we inherited a Baby Bjorn from my brother- and sister-in-law that'll work just fine), and the play yard isn't as necessary for the first few months, so as long as we (read: Luke) can get the swing put together this weekend, life is good.

• Research nursing bras/camis
• Prepare and freeze several meals for easy reheating during baby's first few weeks
• Explore cheap birth announcement ideas
• Purchase and wrap Christmas presents
• Find a pediatrician
• Install, inspect car seat

Done! Luke and I both visited a local fire station this week to have our car seat and bases inspected by a certified car seat technician, and all I can say is these inspections should be required of every parent with a driver's license and an automobile by law. BY LAW. It's amazing to know how easy it is to create hazardous traveling conditions for your child.

• Pack hospital bags

I can't believe how quickly time is flying by. I have a couple of work meetings tomorrow and Monday, but other than that I'll be "on call," working from home through next Friday. I've decided to begin my maternity leave on Freka's due date (December 10, if that hasn't been grilled into your brain already) whether she's here or not because dammit, I am Done, and my practice will recommend induction at week 41, anyway, and I can't imagine not taking them up on it. Even though, in my heart of hearts, I still think this girl's coming early.

Please baby girl, come early. Momma's begging you.

Unless she decides that blogs are bogus; that I CAN'T get behind.

First of all, mad props to Molly and her pinch-hitting for me yesterday when I was a mere fifty minutes away from blowing NaBloPoMo four days before crossing the finish line, thanks to a ill-timed power outage. I loved reading your guesses (though some more than others--I'm looking at those of you who chose dates AFTER December 10); keep them coming!

In the meantime, I'll keep the Q&A stuff coming with a goal of wrapping things up by Friday. Roxanne wonders:

What is one of your hopes/dreams for your new little one?

Oh, goodness, that's a biggie. There are so many things I'd love to see her do: find a passion. Excel in school. Treat her body with respect. Raise a family of her own. Give back in return for all that she's been given. Live a relatively debt-free life (though a few student loans and a reasonable mortgage won't kill her). Luke is hoping she'll attend Purdue and go on to become a marine biologist (hence the Sea Life bedding theme).

In the grand scheme of things, though, I just want her to be happy. I know she'll have hard times, I know she'll have to fall on her face every now and then, but as long as she's grateful for the path she's on, I'll do my best to be supportive and keep my mouth shut about her choices. 

What is one of your greatest fears for little Freka?

This may sound silly, and I'm sure I'll change my mind once she's here, but right now I don't have any fears. All I can think about are the various ways Luke and I hope to give her the best life possible, and how excited I am over imagining her experimenting with sports, reading her first Nancy Drew book, attending her first sleepover, and leaving out milk and cookies for Santa.

Katie asks:

If there was only one language that you could speak/write for the rest of your life, and English wasn't an option, which would you choose and why?

I took two years of Spanish in high school because everyone on my dad's side can speak Spanish and it's one of the most popular languages in the United States. However, my second choice would've been French, because how cool must it be to speak French? So yeah. French. 

What's your favorite cocktail?

I haven't indulged in alcohol since February, back when Luke and I knew we wanted to start trying for a baby, and I really haven't missed it, so my memories of drinking are distant. I do love a good amaretto stone sour, though, and red wine, mostly because it makes me feel grown up at parties.

Sorry for the brief answers, but it's hard to concentrate today, seeing as my doctor's appointment this morning revealed that I'm a centimeter and a half dilated and fifty percent effaced!

Hear that? My cervix is cooperating. Freka is showing (small) signs that she wants to ditch my uterus and meet her mom and dad. That's my girl!

Your mom has control of Frema's blog!

Howdy all! 

Molly here (ahem, shameless self plug, ahem.)  I'm taking a quick break from NaBloPaintMo over in my world to post for poor Frema, who is not only endlessly dedicated to the love of all NaBloPoMo, but also stuck at home gestating away without power, without Internet.  Thankfully, she is not without cheesecake.

At almost midnight, nearing the end of a month-long blogging spree, what's a girl to do?  Why she calls on her pal for a quick post, that's what. 

Of course, each time she calls, I answer the phone with an excited, "Areyouinlabor?"  Because friends, (I can call you that, yes?) I'm dying for that phone call already.  And I can tell that you are also.

So while Frema's in the dark, let's place a few bets.  What day and time are you calling for Freka's birth?  I'm calling December 6th, 8:19pm. 

The winner gets the baby.

Oh, wait.  She'll never agree to that. 

The winner gets the I Called It, Bitches title.  And THAT is something for your resume. 

Braxton this, Mr. Hicks; also, the episode where Brandon met Emily in San Francisco was also a Turkey Day one, right?

Long day, people. Long day. And because of it, the 38-week photo shoot is lacking, I think.

But don't worry. Frema finally found her happy face!

I'm working on it.

Tonight, Luke and I had a fun time trying to time my latest round of Braxton Hicks contractions, which were (sometimes) strong enough to inspire my breathing exercises but never regular enough to merit real concern. I did get one hell of a foot massage out of the deal, though. With lotion! Bath and Body Works lotion! Such a lucky woman, am I.

Continuing with the Q&A goodness, Jenny asks: 

Have you been watching The Office this season, and if so, what do you think so far?

Luke and I have been huge Office fans ever since we discovered the show during its season two run; every episode is guaranteed to withdraw at least one heartfelt guffaw from each of us. Michael's stupidly painful (yet unfortunately, still very boss-like) antics! Toby's depressing life! Dwight's cousin Mose! It's all too much!

At the end of season three, when it appeared that Jim and Pam were attempting to make a go of things, we both cheered. And at the beginning of season four, when we saw their relationship wasn't going to dominate the show's entire story arch, we breathed a sigh of relief. But now? Now, I'm not sure how I feel. The show is still very funny, but at this point it's kind of...I don't know...slow? The Dwight and Angela break-up is interesting, but it's not picking up fast enough for me. Jim and Pam are adorable, but I'm getting some very strong "Ross and Rachel season three" vibes--you guys know what I'm talking about, right? When Rachel went from being a waitress at Central Perk to a fashion executive at Bloomingdale's, and Ross got all iffy, and now Pam's trying to shed her receptionist shell to pursue leads in graphic design, and Jim's all iffy? Branch out a little, NBC writers, is all I'm saying.

What is your favorite Mexican food/Italian food?

This may come as a shock to you guys, but I'm a picky eater. I know! Despite the Mexican genes I've inherited from my father, it's a miracle I even eat tacos. I do, though. They're very good. But steak fajitas are the best.

As far as Italian food goes, same thing. When Luke and I go to places like Olive Garden or Macaroni Grill, I usually get either spaghetti (with sausage, yum) or pizza. If it ain't broke, don't fix it, am I right?

I think I'm right.

What is your favorite (or strangest) Thanksgiving memory?

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays because the focus is so simple: family and food. No worries about decorations or presents, and most everyone gets to enjoy a lovely four-day weekend without having to lose a vacation day. I can't ever remember having a bad time. Memories that stand out include a broccoli fight shared between my mom and one of my aunts when I was eleven and the first time Luke and I spent it together in 2005. Prior to that we were usually apart for the actual meal on the actual holiday, so finally being able to share that with him was extra special.

If it's strange you want, I also have a lingering memory of a Beverly Hills, 90210 episode that aired on Thanksgiving, probably when I was in middle school. I never did see the whole thing, but Brandon was hanging off a cliff. Anyone care to fill in the blanks for me?

I was a good kid, I swear

For a while there, it looked like today's was going to be another bullshit entry--Luke and I woke this morning to find our wireless modem had no signal, and after a phone call to AT&T's tech support line, we learned it had indeed met its maker. At first we thought we'd have to wait a few days for a replacement and made plans to crash Luke's work (which is fewer than ten minutes away) and publish obligatory placeholder entries for NaBloPoMo, but since the modem had outlived the initial one-year warranty, we were free to hit to Best Buy and spend ninety dollars on a new one instead. Which we did, which is why I'm able to type at you from the work computer in my living room sated with Oreo pudding and Sara Lee cheesecake instead of an empty office building with no windows and probably no snacks.

Anyway, today was busier than yesterday--there was church to attend, Mexican food to feast on, errands to run, computers to reconfigure, and a little napping on the couch to do in between reading pages from The Big Book of Birth, a book I've really come to enjoy. It was tempting to post another quickie update, but you guys have been very patient and deserve better than the crap I've been slinging lately. It still might be crap, but at least not for a lack of trying.

...And on with the Q&A. Wilddreemer wants to know:

What is one thing you did as a child you hope your child doesn't do?

Take one of my shitty diapers and wipe the contents on the walls. Scoop handfuls of applesauce from the jar and eat it with my bare hands. Wet my pants during fourth grade math. "Accidentally" poke my sister with a nail file. Prank toll-free mental support hotlines under the guise that I was a thirty-something corporate professional whose husband just had been caught in an affair with his administrative assistant. Kiss boyfriends in deserted alleys to avoid getting caught by my parents. Scribble in library books. But the worst thing I ever done--I mixed a pot of fake puke at home, and then I went to this movie theater, hid the puke in my jacket, climbed up to the balcony and then, I made a noise like this: hua-hua-hua-huaaaaaaa--and then I dumped it over the side, all over the people in the audience. And then, all the people started getting sick and throwing up all over each other. I never felt so bad in my entire life.

Wait, that last one was Chunk. My bad.

What is the one thing you are looking forward to doing most after finally having the baby, ie. drinking coffee, touching your toes, shaving your legs?

I've never been fond of coffee, I don't care much for my toes, and with careful (albeit uncomfortable) manuvering, I've been able to maintain normal leg-shaving activity, so those are out. So what I do miss? Sleeping on my back. Grooming my lady parts; hell, being able to see my lady parts without assistance from a mirror. Eating cold lunchmeat without fear of poisoning my unborn child. "Enjoying" my husband. Wearing clothes from New York and Company instead of Motherhood Maternity. I'm so excited about banishing my maternity wardrobe to a tupperware bin in our storage unit until it's time to do this all over again.

As much I as look forward to those things, though, I've surprised myself with the realization that, once this is over, I'll actually miss being pregnant. The first trimester sucked major ass--just thinking about all that morning sickness makes me nauseous--and with the exception of our ultrasound and some moderate fetal activity, the second one wasn't much to write home about, either. But the third trimester.... This is where I feel like I've really come to know my baby, experiencing her sharp jabs and gentle, wave-like rolls, rubbing my hands over the protuding shoulder or elbow or whatever the hell happens to be poking me at the moment. This is where Luke and I can talk to her and she can recognize our voices. This is where I know she's safe all the time, where nobody can get to her without my permission.

This is my first real glimpse at motherhood, and I cannot wait for the rest. 

This is what happens when you wait until an hour before midnight to post for NaBloPoMo

You skip out on writing a legitimate blog post two days in a row. Three if you're not into baby pictures.

I swear, I didn't intend for this to happen. I had great plans to answer questions from my Q&A--questions I bugged you for almost two weeks ago to help me provide fresh content in spite of the writer's block I knew would eventually plague my brain. But alas, it's been a lazy day, what with it being the day after the day after Thanksgiving, and Luke is sick with a cold, so we've spent the entire afternoon glued to the couch, which doesn't exactly get the creative juices going. Plus, I didn't publish my first Parents entry until Thursday, which meant I had to post yesterday and today to meet my three-updates-per-week requirement, and I hate to sound like a sell-out, but since that blog can pay for insurance premiums and eye exams, that one gets first dibs on any quality content I may produce these days. Lucky for all of us, tomorrow is another day.

Now, if you'll excuse me, there's a husband in my living room in dire need of some TLC. Also, possibly ice cream.

Will be even more thankful when NaBloPoMo is over

...because tonight? I've got nothin'. At least, not for this site. I do mention a fun birth story contest on my other blog, though. Go read that one.

Thankful, so thankful

Both for what I have and what's to come.

NaBloSickofthisO

OK, is it just me, or is the Internet not as enthusiastic about NaBloPoMo this year? Last November, everyone seemed more inspired to write; now, it's often just an obligation, something to do when we'd rather be lying on the couch waiting for the two-hour, sure-to-be-awesome episode of Deal or No Deal. (Or is that just me?) Plus, the tingling in my left hand has become so bothersome that I'm now sporting a wrist brace, which makes typing extra fun.

In other words, let's just get this entry over with.

Project Freka: Prenatal Edition

• Write thank-you cards for shower gifts
• Purchase life insurance
• Create will-like document to secure guardianship and general well-being of Frema-Useless Clutter offspring

Like I said a few days ago, on Sunday night I finally purchased Suze Orman's will and trust kit, even going so far as to complete a durable power of attorney for health care form that only needs a few signatures to be official. The kit is easy to use and designed to make sure you're meeting the legal guidelines required by your particular state, Suze herself walks you through each process with her lawyer (the one who helped her create the kit), and the documents can be updated any time. However, I'll be holding off on finalizing anything until after Freka's born. There are two reasons for this:

- The will template asks several questions about children that we can't answer properly until the baby is actually here, and I don't care to create a document that'll outdate itself in just a couple of weeks (or days, dear God please let it be days).

- All of these things specifically ask for the mailing address that appears on my driver's license, which still features info on our old pad next door. I would've have it changed it by now except I'm terrified the Bureau of Motor Vehicles will require me to list the current amount of tonnage attached to my belly, which is thirty pounds heavier than my pre-pregnancy weight. Again, I'd rather wait and do this stuff until our official documentation can feature up-to-date information (not to mention a weight that wouldn't make me cry under non-gestating circumstances).

So, because there's nothing else I can really do at this time, I'm crossing this bad boy off my list. Go me.

• Start Roth IRA for Luke (because if we don't now, we never will)
• Complete application for private student loan consolidation (who wouldn't mind saving thirty bucks a month? Not me, that's for damn sure!)
• Wipe down bedroom blinds (ours, baby's)
• Clean car (wash exterior, disinfect/vaccuum interior)
• Fill out engagement book (because really, enough with the procrastinating already)
• Order wedding pictures from photographer (for reasoning, see above)
• Print recent family photos and sort them into albums, seeing as eight weeks from now I'll be mostly preoccupied with somebody else's eating, sleeping, and pooping habits
• Renew domain registration and TypePad account
• Burn TLF soundtrack for Audrey out of gratitude for her mad summarizing skillz (I totally intended to create a kick-ass play list for the sequel, but...well...I didn't)
• Organize baby's room/assemble baby gear

Our rocking chair is presently awaiting pick-up from a local upholstery shop owner, who's confident he can have it ready for us by my December 10 due date. Other than that, all we have to do is assemble the stroller, play yard, and swing, and of the three, the swing is probably the one I'm most concerned about, seeing as we don't plan on taking any big family outings during the first few weeks she's here and we already have the crib and bassinet ready to go, so the play yard isn't as necessary right now.

• Research nursing bras/camis
• Prepare and freeze several meals for easy reheating during baby's first few weeks

OK, we didn't actually prepare anything yet, but we did stock up on some frozen pizzas and crock pot dinners to have on hand for those times when we're too tired to do anything more complicated than turn on the oven or plug in an appliance.

• Explore cheap birth announcement ideas
• Purchase and wrap Christmas presents
• Find a pediatrician
• Install, inspect car seat

I seem to be playing phone tag with someone from our local fire department, but at least we're making progress.

• Pack hospital bags

Last time I provided an update, Molly left a comment asking if I thought we'd be able to get to any of the photo projects on my list. Honestly? I don't know. The wedding photo ordering may have to wait since that'll likely involve a couple of hundred dollars, but printing out our favorite family and friends pictures from the last few years shouldn't be that big a deal. I also hope to fill out our engagement book, but with my new hand problem, all that writing might be too much for me right now. I'm already worried about Monday, when I'm supposed to transcribe notes for a story at work, so I'll just take it one day at a time and see how it goes.

These things aren't on the list, but I'm pleased to say that Luke finally got his flu shot, I've completed all grading duties for my adjunct teaching gig, and the two of us have a meeting scheduled for this Friday at eleven o'clock with the pastor of the church we've been going to so we can talk about Freka's baptism. Things are really coming along, and I feel like I can finally start to relax.

Which I will do in exactly twenty-four minutes with Howie Mandel.

...And now I hate Chase

Luke and I were in Target tonight, cart filled with various household and grocery items, when our credit card was declined. Twice. In a store we drop money in almost every freaking day. After almost four years of being a faithful card carrier. Two days after receiving a bank statement that confirmed our most recent Chase payment had cleared just fine.

Man, was I pissed.

The first thing I did when I got home was call the customer service line, which put me on hold for about fifteen minutes before spending another ten verifying my last five purchases. When I finally got a hold of a "customer service advisor," I was told that an Internet charge of $52.99 had been randomly flagged as suspicious activity, so Chase decided to decline it and all other purchases until they could be verified by the primary card owner.

Apparently embarrassing said card owner when she's trying to pay for frozen pizzas, cough drops, and Raisin Bran is considered a more humanistic approach for handling such matters than, say, CALLING THE DAMN CARD OWNER.

Of course, when I tried explaining this to my "advisor," all she could do was run circles around her script, apologizing for the inconvenience and informing me the card could now be used freely.

"I'm not sure I want to use the card anymore," I said. "My husband and I are lucky we had another one on hand or we would've had to leave more than a hundred dollars worth of groceries behind."

"I'm very sorry for the inconvenience, ma'am. But let me reassure you that the card has been reactivated and is now available for use."

"But the purchase you declined was legitimate and no different from any other charge we've made in the last few months. That was a charge meant to keep our anti-virus software up-to-date, and you just told me that we now have to set up that account all over again. My computer could already be vulnerable because of this."

"Yes, ma'am, and I'm very sorry. But let me reassure you that the card has been reactivated and is now available for use."

"But I'm not sure I want to use it. How can I be sure that Chase will honor my purchases?"

"Let me reassure you that the card has been reactivated and is now available for use."

"I hear that, but I'm not sure I want to use it."

"Well, ma'am, that is another matter."

"...."

"Thank you, ma'am, for calling Chase. Have a nice day."

Click.

Yeah, you, too, effing bastards.

At least Sallie Mae.... Aw, hell, she sucks, too, because I received a letter on Monday stating the paperwork I faxed in for my private loan consolidation application was incomplete, but when I placed a call to customer service, my records were completely up-to-date and my application was pending approval. I will say, though, that the woman who took my call was nice enough to place me on hold while she contacted the processing department personally to make sure everything was OK instead of passing me off to someone else.

The only thing worse than a pissed-off customer is a pissed-off customer who's too pregnant to see her own crotch. The next corporate giant to ruffle my feathers will be in for a real treat. That I can promise you.

If this baby were a turkey, she could feed the whole Brady clan. I'm sure of it.

Seriously. Spouses, kids--the whole shebang. Lucky for me they're not into cannibalism. Also, that they're fictional characters who don't celebrate Thanksgiving together in real life. Or possibly at all. Really, who's to say?

I'll stop blabbering now and just show you the damn belly shot already.

I'm trying to maintain a zen-like attitude regarding Freka's due date, trying to convince God and myself that I'm perfectly OK with the baby deciding on her own when it's time to join the mother and father who have so earnestly prepared for her arrival, but my hands are starting to go numb. Climbing in and out of bed is no smaller a feat than nabbing a gold medal in the Olympics, and a full bladder reduces my stride to an off-kilter duck waddle while en route to the john. Sugary drinks and cereals aren't as easy to digest anymore (though that hasn't stopped me from eating all the Smarties I can get my hands on), and it only takes about twenty minutes of activity for massive swelling to attack my legs and feet.

When I dwell on all of that, I pray my daughter has mercy on her poor momma's physique and makes her debut on December 1. This will allow me to finish out one more full week of work and also keep the inscription featured on the stuffed elephant gifted by my sister and her husband--"Baby Dunscombe December 2007"--nice and relevant. Plus, it's a Saturday, so people would be able to visit us without sacrificing their vacation time.

See how thoughtful I am? Hopefully, Freka will follow suit.

Even though there are several items on my prenatal to-do list that are far from being crossed off, I feel closer and closer to being as ready as I can be for this baby to come. I graded the majority of my students' final papers tonight (only stopping because I lost most of the feeling in my left hand) and plan to do the rest tomorrow. I'll also tally their final letter grades and mail them to the registrar's office on Wednesday so that I'm free and clear of all academic responsibility come Turkey Day. Luke and I have been pretty good about keeping the apartment in order so that we're not faced with a sinkful of dishes in the event that labor takes us completely by surprise, and except for a few family-style frozen dinners, our fridge and pantry are pretty well stocked. Pretty soon, there'll be nothing to distract me from willing this child out of my body.

In church yesterday, when revealing my due date to a well-meaning parishoner, she laughed a little and said, "That was my due date with my first. She didn't come until December 19."

At this point, I hate those remarks even more than ones about my belly. Another month of no baby? Of heavy panting just from rolling over in bed? Another month of WORK?

Somebody, ANYBODY, hand me a tissue.

I think I saw Greg's wife on an episode of Murder, She Wrote when I was wrapping presents last week

Talk about a productive Sunday! Luke and I kicked things off by going to church for the first time since Easter and initiating talks with the pastor about baptising Freka in the Episcopal tradition. Long-time readers will remember that we come from different faith denominations (Luke grew up Methodist and I was raised Catholic), so neither one of us were sure how to go about preparing our baby for life in another religious community. The pastor was very easy to talk to and promised to get in touch with us sometime this week, which is good, because I can't stop obsessing over whether or not we're supposed to designate godparents for our child. Does anybody know how Episcopalians feel about this?

However, we did learn that the church's next scheduled baptism is January 13, so apparently we can get a head start on our invitations. Yikes.

This evening, I finally downloaded Suze Orman's will and trust kit (will share more details when I post my next Project Freka update, presumably this Wednesday), and Luke and I decorated our apartment for Christmas--nothing fancy, just the tree, stockings, and a festive tablecloth, but the place already has a much warmer feel. Holiday CDs have been dusted off, we're already going through half a gallon of eggnog a week, and my VHS copy of A Very Brady Christmas is ready for a spot in our rotation of seasonal movie staples, which currently include It's a Wonderful Life and Elf. Luke is less than eager to witness Mike and Carol spend perfectly good vacation money on plane tickets for the kids, their spouses, and their spawn, not to mention their poor treatment of Alice, who they allow to serve them breakfast in her FREAKING UNIFORM, even though she's no longer pulling in a paycheck.

Valid points, yes, but I still say bah, humbug. He clearly hasn't consumed enough eggnog.

I wanna rock with you, baby

Seeing as this baby is just about three weeks away from her scheduled arrival, I've been starting to panic a bit over all the things Luke and I still have yet to do. My biggest priority of late: reupholstering the rocking chair my mother gave me years ago, the same rocking chair she used to lull me (and eventually my four siblings) to sleep. I can also remember being thirteen and sitting in this chair when my youngest sister, Donna, was born, pushing my feet against the carpet and moving in time with her breaths for hours.

To say this chair has special meaning to me is a gross understatement.

Another thing that can't be underestimated? The horridness of the fabric.

Here's the front, in all its mismatched-patterned glory:

The brown plaid is what initially covered the chair almost twenty-eight years ago. The questionable green-pink-blue concoction is thanks to my mom, who swears this once complimented the rest of our living room furniture. I wish I could believe her.

Here's the back:

I think we can all agree, it's time for a change.

For months, I've planned on doing this. I've had visions of reupholstering this precious childhood heirloom with a rich, creamy, neutral fabric, allowing the chair to match the decor of any room it might find itself in, which right now happens to be the baby's room. I knew it could be done--after all, my mother had the same itch herself once (probably in the mid-eighties, judging by her color choices). Her solution? Nail the fabric to the frame for the front and back and sew up the cushion. I figured I could do at least that much and didn't give it another thought until fall, when I realized this project wasn't going to complete itself.

The nails didn't seem like such a good idea then.

But staples! We could staple the fabric and thus avoid bludgeoning our fingers. Problem solved (read: problem shelved for another couple of months).

Which brings us to the present time.

Every weekend for the past three weeks, I've expressed to Luke my desire to PLEASE LET'S GET THIS CHAIR DONE, OH MY GOD, and every weekend it slips off the radar as we wash dishes, fold clothes, and make yet another mad dash to Babies R Us. Finally, this morning, I told him enough already. This baby, she could come any time she wants, and it would be more helpful to finish this off before I'm breathing through contractions on the way to the hospital.

This afternoon Luke removed the second layer of fabric from the front of the chair, after which he realized that staples might not be the smartest solution, either, as they might be just as hard to hide as the nails were. Carpenters we are not, people.

We first googled "upholstery shops Indianapolis" with the intention of purchasing better materials with which to attach new fabric. Then I was calling businesses and requesting quotes and suddenly we were driving through downtown to meet with the only shop owner with Saturday operating hours. It's all a blur now, but the bottom line is that handing the problem off to a professional will ensure us a quality job, not to mention completion before Freka's due date, so that's what we're going to do. If I were even half as crafty and resourceful as a certain domestic goddess I know, I'd vow to save the money and find a way to do this ourselves. But you know what? I'm not that crafty. I'm not that resourceful. I'm almost thirty-seven weeks pregnant, is what I am, and holy cow, do I not want to deal with this damn chair anymore.

Now I can finally dedicate my time to finishing a project more up my alley. Like wills! The fun, it never ends around here.

OK, so maybe I'm a little sad

So I went to class last night and accomplished everything I set out to do: return old papers, collect new ones, take a vote for the top three student blogs (winners got extra credit), touch on money-making opportunities available in the blogosphere, and wrap things up with a discussion about blogging overall.

Except that last one happened not so much seeing as my students just wanted to get the hell out of there. I dismissed them after forty-two minutes.

I'm sure this makes me a big dork, but I was really hoping to facilitate a thought-provoking dialogue about what they gleaned from blogging, info they were most surprised to learn, their guestimates on how the medium will (continue to) affect other societal niches, and what they hoped to do with their own blogs long term. And there was a little of that, but getting my questions answered was not unlike pulling teeth, which, I'm not stupid, it was the last day, they knew they could end class faster by keeping quiet, but still. I've really liked having flesh-and-blood individuals in my life to jabber on about the Internet phenomenon that's had such a huge impact on my life. I'll miss that.

And I'll miss them. Some of these guys really were a lot of fun to have in class, and most of them were quite gracious to me while I struggled to find my academic groove. Knowing I may never see them again tugged on my heartstrings a bit.

Luckily, afterwards I was able to console myself at Maia's, where we feasted on two servings of chocolate fudge pudding apiece. That was definitely a good thing.

You know it's a good day when Frema busts out the liquid foundation

Tonight is the last session for my blogging class at Saint Joe. Thirteen weeks have passed since the first time I took my place behind the front desk and wondered how in the hell I was going to fill up two and a half hours when all I wanted to do was curl into a ball and die. I was nervous about not sounding smart, afraid that either my students would withdraw upon hearing the logistics or stick it out and laugh behind my back. To be honest, I suspect a few of them actually do that, but I did it to some of my professors, too , so I guess it's just par for the course.

When I first learned I was pregnant, one of the first things that came to mind was this class. I knew I'd be cutting it close in terms of my due date, and I worried it would be too much for me to handle. Now that I'm on the other side, though, I'm so happy I stuck with it, because even though it's been time consuming and hard and more than a little frustrating at times, it's also been a lot of fun. My students are very interesting people, and I've loved discussing their views on all the different blogging topics we've covered--when they actually decide to talk. It was also a great distraction when the less-than-stellar aspects of gestation started to take its toll and all I wanted to do was curl into a ball and die. Again.

Teaching has taught me a lot of things; I wouldn't be surprised if I ended up learning more than my students. Did you know that sitting in the back of the room doesn't make you're invisible? And those "discreet" eye rolls we used to share with our buddies when we thought the prof wasn't looking? Turns out, not so discreet after all, and boy, I bet that made the poor guy feel like an asshole.

Not that anything like that's happened to me. And if it did, I'm certainly not bitter.

Also, grading can be really, really hard, especially when the point total is low and the student is a pleasure to have in class.

In the long run, I know my sensitive nature is probably not cut out for teaching. However, I'd love to one day have a job that involves more interaction with young people. I'd laugh a lot more and waste a lot less time in meetings where my behavior consists mostly of nodding and smiling and feigning interest in the latest company PowerPoint.

I really enjoyed this experience, and I'm proud of myself for trying something new. I'll miss my students and my weekly sleepover at my friend Maia's house. But I'd be lying if I said I was sad. I've had an extra skip in my step all day long, because tonight is the last night Luke has to tape The Office for me. It's the last night I have to spend away from him before the baby comes. It's the last time I have to force myself to stay alert for the ninety-minute drive to Rensselaer. And tomorrow morning will be the last time I have to pull myself out of bed before seven o'clock to get started on the drive home.

I'm happy, and I know it. Clap your hands.

Soon to be listless?

Glory be, the end is near.

Work has finally slowed down, my Saint Joe class meets for the last time tomorrow, and this list feels much more managable. It's been two weeks since I last posted an update, and though I think I should have more to show for my lengthy hiatus, I'm still proud of myself for being able to wrap up a couple of the biggies.

Project Freka: Prenatal Edition

• Write thank-you cards for shower gifts
• Purchase life insurance
• Create will-like document to secure guardianship and general well-being of Frema-Useless Clutter offspring
• Start Roth IRA for Luke (because if we don't now, we never will)
• Complete application for private student loan consolidation (who wouldn't mind saving thirty bucks a month? Not me, that's for damn sure!)

I'm cheating just a little bit, crossing this one off, but all I have to do is fax some supporting documentation to Sallie Mae's main office, so I'm marking this puppy DONE. After playing phone tag for almost an hour with the automated Fembot on Saturday, I finally reached a real, live person who walked me through the pre-approval process (again), and today I received an e-mail confirming my status. I've already signed the application electronically, so once I fax the paperwork, I'll finally be on my way to saving that blasted thirty bucks a month. This was a huge pain in the ass, but it's oh, so worth it to owe that much less to Sallie Mae.

• Wipe down bedroom blinds (ours, baby's)
• Clean car (wash exterior, disinfect/vaccuum interior)
• Fill out engagement book (because really, enough with the procrastinating already)
• Order wedding pictures from photographer (for reasoning, see above)
• Print recent family photos and sort them into albums, seeing as eight weeks from now I'll be mostly preoccupied with somebody else's eating, sleeping, and pooping habits
• Renew domain registration and TypePad account
• Burn TLF soundtrack for Audrey out of gratitude for her mad summarizing skillz (I totally intended to create a kick-ass play list for the sequel, but...well...I didn't)
• Organize baby's room/assemble baby gear

There's a few reasons this item is still considered active; while all of the initial baby essentials (bassinet, crib, changing table) are ready to go, we still have the baby swing, play yard, and stroller to deal with. Plus, I'd like to replace the fabric on the rocking chair my mom and dad gave me a few years ago because the fifteen-years-old pink-and-green pattern is totally freaking me out. We have the fabric; we just need the time. And the motivation. I hope both will come into play this weekend; otherwise, I just might succumb to a two-day sob fest over missing my sister's post-wedding wedding shower on Sunday.

• Research nursing bras/camis
• Prepare and freeze several meals for easy reheating during baby's first few weeks
• Explore cheap birth announcement ideas
• Purchase and wrap Christmas presents

Done. Done done done done DONE. Every present purchased, every present wrapped while feasting on back-to-back episodes of Murder, She Wrote. I snagged the first season more than two years ago and still have yet to make it through all three discs, but I'm OK with that. Jessica Fletcher's wiley antics deserve to be savored.

• Find a pediatrician

Also done. Over the last two weeks, Luke and I interviewed four pediatricians and have decided to go with doc number three. It feels good to know we made a conscious effort to find the best physician for our baby--someone who'll look out for her best interests and respect our wishes the best he can.

• Install, inspect car seat
• Pack hospital bags

There are a few things not this list that really should've been added--contacting the church where we plan to have Freka baptised, buying and addressing Christmas cards so all that's left is to stuff them with birth announcements--but rather then overwhelm myself, I'm just going to keep chipping away at what's here until every single item's been dealt with. At this point, though, I'm most concerned with drafting our will and inspecting the car seat bases currently strapped into our back seats. Everything else can be dealt with postpartum.

Holy shit, we're having a baby.

One little story before I sign off: I was interviewing a new hire this afternoon, and we chatted a bit about my upcoming maternity leave and Luke's stay-at-home dad plans. The employee was an older man, so it threw me off when, at the end of our conversation, he said, "So, I guess that means you'll be bottle feeding?"

"No," I replied, but then I stopped, not knowing how to finish my thought. I couldn't bring myself use the word "breast" around a man I'd just met twenty minutes ago, no matter how innocent the context. "Well, since I'm going back to work, we'll eventually be using a bottle to feed her, but..." And my voice trailed off, hoping he'd get the point.

So, to answer TasterSpoon's question from yesterday, the mix of busy bodies ranges from repeat offenders to those who haven't even received their first paycheck yet. Lucky me.

Drop it like it's hot? Not yet.

So I had my 36-week check-up today, and things are peachy keen. My overall weight gain currently stands at twenty-seven pounds (speaking of which, a woman at work actually had the gall to ASK for my "number," how ballsy is that?!), Freka measures in at around 37 centimeters, and my blood pressure, sugar, and protein levels are marvelous. I told my doctor about the intermittent cramping I experience in my fingers throughout the day, and she attributed it to swelling, which she noticed slight traces of in my face, hands, and legs--totally normal at this stage in the game. We discussed the logistics of my birth plan, talked shop about pediatricians, and laughed over all the conflicting advice I've received about the baby's gender and positioning of my uterus. Which means that no, I've not dropped yet, and in fact, I may not drop until right before I go into labor, but either way, it'd be a better use of my time to pay attention to the irregular contractions I've been having as of late. Good call, Doc.

In other news, a big thanks to all who took the bait for my Q&A teaser. Here's a burning question from The Ambitious Mrs:

Are there any traits about yourself or your husband that you're hoping your baby really will or will not inherit?

If we're talking physical traits, Luke and I are both plagued with poor vision and temperamental complexions, and I'd love it if Freka didn't have to bother with contacts, eyeglasses, and routine visits to the dermatologist. When I was a kid, my poor mother, who was blessed with beautiful skin, didn't know what to do with me; I often received instructions to lay off the candy and chips, and she wasn't above steaming my face with a hot wash cloth and squeezing out the blackheads herself to ward off my acne (are you gagging yet? Because I sooo was just typing that, God bless my mom's dedication) (your mom's dedicated!). It wasn't until years later that she recognized I could've used some medical attention, but at least my siblings have had a much easier time of things. Luckily, I'll be prepared to handle this with my own children, but if they could skip that trauma altogether, that would be fabulous, thank you very much.

By comparison, dealing with glasses and contacts isn't nearly as big of a deal, but I remember the types of frames I was drawn to a kid, so all I can do is pray that little Freka demonstrates better taste if she's subjected to the fate of her parents. Seriously, have you seen my blog banner? It was bad, folks. Really bad. But as Luke pointed out, my father--the one who took me to all of my appointments--was brave enough to let me choose my eye wear, and lil' Frema liked having that say. After all, it was my damn face. Doing the same thing for Freka is the least I can do, if it comes down to that.

Physical traits I hope she does inherit? My thick hair and Luke's ridiculously long lashes. A few inches of her dad's height wouldn't hurt, either. Man, would she be a knock-out.

In regards to intellectual traits, we plan to do everything in our power to encourage a love of reading in our children. I also hope they have a passion for education. And blogging, but all in good time, my pretties. All in good time.

Could I BE any more unattractive?

What can I say? Frema and 36 weeks pregnant are like oil and vinegar--they just don't mix.

The comments continue to come at me from all sides. All I can do is grit my teeth and plaster a clearly forced smile on my face.

Random Bitch at Mimi Maternity, Who's Obviously Still in the "Cute" Stage of Pregnancy: "Is that one in there or two?"

Sales Clerk at Finish Line, Who Felt the Need to Shout This at Me From Halfway Across the Mall: "You're due any day now, right? With a boy?"

Overly Perky Mall Cop: "Four weeks to go? Are you sure?"

Waitress at Squealers: "You've got to be having a boy."

Client Services Manager at Work: "Oh, no, that's a girl, alright. And she's definitely dropped."

I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow morning, so we'll soon see about that last one.

Also, is now too early to start taking bets on when Freka's going to come? Because I am SO done with this gestating thing.

Coffee talk, revisited

Except I don't drink coffee, and we don't talk. It's more of a read-and-type relationship we've got going on here. But whatever.

To help pass the time during NaBloPoMo, Jessica of Kerflop is hosting a Q&A series over at her place, and seeing as it's been almost a year and a half since I've done anything similar, I thought it'd be fun to see what my readers are curious about these days. But please, nothing of the "If you were a crayon, what color would you be?" variety, because those types of questions kind of make me want to pull my hair out strand by strand, and I can't imagine you guys would be terribly interested in the answer, either. On the flip side, remember that my parents-in-law read this blog; in other words, tread lightly with the sex stuff. Not that I'm saying it's off limits. Just use common sense, is all.

(Because women entering their ninth month of pregnancy are all about the marital love. Ha!)

Anyway, to avoid repeats, here are links to all the Q&A entries I've written:

Stripped, Part 1

Stripped, Part 2

In which I talk about my favorite childhood book

In which I touch briefly on past relationships

In which I blabber on about birth control and religion

In which I share my spinach dip recipe

In which I'm forced to contemplate a childless life

In which I reminisce about college

In which I reflect on my family

In which I'm given two reasons to babble about All My Children (with pictures!)

I'll accept questions until Tuesday before lunchtime and hopefully post answers to the first couple during lunch. Remember, the quality of this Q&A lies with you! Do not disappoint a very pregnant Frema!

Why I hate Sallie Mae: A play in one act

Setting: Saturday afternoon, Frema-Useless Clutter household. Frema decides to get all ambitious and FINALLY tackle the dreaded private loan consolidation application currently plaguing her prenatal to-do list (for which an update will definitely be provided tomorrow, in case anyone cares).

Frema logs on to Sallie Mae's Web site. Learns her application has been withdrawn due to inactivity. This makes sense, seeing as she hasn't touched the damn thing since September.

Frema: Ah, fuck.

Visits the Mae's Contact Us page to locate the phone number reserved for private loan consolidations. Calls number.

Sallie Mae Fembot: Welcome to Sallie Mae, champion of higher education! To request a new loan, please press one. For information about your account, please press two. To report trouble accessing our Web site or to request a paper application, please press three. Para mas informacion en espanol...

Frema: presses two.

Sallie Mae Fembot: Thank you! Please enter your account number.

Frema: enters account number.

Sallie Mae Fembot: Thank you! For security purposes, please enter your five-digit zip code.

Frema: enters five-digit zip code.

Sallie Mae Fembot: Thank you! One of our representatives will be with you shortly.

A few seconds pass.

Sallie Mae Fembot: I'm sorry, all of our representatives are currently assisting other customers. Please wait on the line and someone will be with you shortly.

A few more seconds pass.

Sallie Mae Fembot: Let Sallie Mae call you back in approximately six. To. Eight. Minutes with our call-back feature. You won't lose your place in line! To learn more about this feature, please press one. For other options, please press two.

Frema: doesn't trust that she won't lose her place in line. Presses two.

Sallie Mae Fembot: To hear a description of a call back, please press one.

Frema: waits to receive other options.

Sallie Mae Fembot: I'm sorry! Your response was invalid. Please try again. To hear a description of a call back, please press one.

Frema: REALLY does not want to hear a description of a service she has no desire to use. Presses zero in an attempt to reach operator.

Sallie Mae Fembot: I'm sorry! Your response was invalid. Please try again. To hear a description of a call back, please press one.

Frema: ...

Sallie Mae Fembot: I'm sorry! You've reached the maximum number of invalid responses. Please try your call again later. Good-bye!

Frema: Noooo!

Dials number again, a little too roughly for her index finger's liking.

Sallie Mae Fembot: Welcome to Sallie Mae, champion of higher education! To request a new loan, please press one. For information about your account, please pr--

Frema: presses two.

Sallie Mae Fembot: Thank you! Please enter your account number.

Frema: enters account number (again).

Sallie Mae Fembot: Thank you! For security purposes, please enter your five-digit zip code.

Frema: enters five-digit zip code (again).

Sallie Mae Fembot: Thank you! One of our representatives will be with you shortly.

A few seconds pass.

Sallie Mae Fembot: I'm sorry, all of our representatives are currently assisting other customers. Please wait on the line and someone will be with you shortly.

A few more seconds pass.

Sallie Mae Fembot: Let Sallie Mae call you back in approximately two. To. Three. Minutes with our call-back feature. You won't lose your place in line! To learn more about this feature, please press one. For other options, please press two.

Frema: is pleased to learn her wait time has been cut in half since her last phone call but still refuses to press one. Does nothing.

Sallie Mae Fembot: I'm sorry! Your response was invalid. Please try again. To learn more about our call-back feature, please press one. For other options, please press two.

Frema: prays for a representative to interrupt her interchange with the automated voice-message system from Hell.

Sallie Mae Fembot: I'm sorry! Your response was invalid. Please try again. To learn more about our call-back feature, please press one. For other options, please press two.

Frema: presses two to stall for time.

Sallie Mae Fembot: Thank you! Let Sallie Mae call you back--without losing your place in line. Sallie Mae--

Frema: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Sallie Mae Fembot: To take advantage of our call-back feature, please press one.

Frema: realizes her only "choice" is to take advantage of the freaking call-back feature if she ever wants to make any headway with this stupid application. Presses one. Provides name and phone number for Fembot, who assures Frema she won't lose her place in line. Adds the finishing touches on her latest entry for Parents.

True to Fembot's word, the phone rings two. To. Three. Minutes later.

Frema: Hello?

Sallie Mae Fembot: Hello! This call is in response to a request from Brea.In. Dun.scom.be. You are the next person in line. Please hold.

Frema: holds.

Sallie Mae Fembot: You are the next person in line. Please hold.

Frema: Yes, I see.

Sallie Mae Fembot: You are the next person in line. Please hold.

Frema: Got it.

Sallie Mae Fembot: You are the next person in line. Please hold.

Frema: Motherfu--

Sallie Mae Actual Real-Live Person, It's About Damn Time: Hello, thank you for calling Sallie Mae, this is Kim, how can I help you?

Frema: Hi, Kim. I tried to finish my private loan consolidation application this morning online and was told my request had been withdrawn. I'd like to get things started again, please.

Kim: Can I have your confirmation number?

Frema: gives confirmation number.

Kim: I'm sorry, I'm going to have to transfer you to our customer relations department. Please stay on the line and I'll transfer you right away.

Frema: No, wait, I--

Sallie Mae Fembot: Welcome to Sallie Mae, champion of higher education! To request a new loan, please press one. For information about your account, please press two. To report trouble accessing our Web site or to request a paper application, please press three. Para mas informacion en espanol...

Frema: bangs head against desk, explodes.

'Cuz I'm the queen of wishful thinking

FYI: Today's post is dedicated to Isabel, who's always on the ball when it comes to updating her many blogs. Isabel, you have my blessing to take the day off. I hear eating spinach dip can be a fulfilling way to pass the time.

Over the last few months, I've found myself constantly thanking God for all the good things in my life. Marrying Luke was one of the best decisions I ever made, and I'm reminded of that every day when he kneels down to tie my shoes, refills the prescription for my prenatal vitamins, flips load after load of dirty laundry, and understands when stress and fatigue wreck our weekend plans yet again. I can't remember the last time we took a walk through the park or visited an orchard or even did anything that wasn't related to preparing for this baby. Still, he refuses to complain. I think the man's incapable.

I'm thankful for a day job that allows me the option to work from home so I don't have to spend ten minutes rummaging through my closet for an ensemble that doesn't expose my belly. I have generous benefits and paid time off. And while I won't see a dime from my boss during my maternity leave, he's been completely supportive of me taking the maximum FMLA time in order to spend a few months focusing solely on motherhood. I'm thankful I earn enough to support my family so that Luke can be with our daughter full time.

I've been lucky to find additional work freelancing for Parents and adjunct teaching for my alma mater, which has allowed us to enjoy one last pre-baby vacation (a vacation that took place a lifetime ago, it seems), upgrade our living room furniture (my sister Samantha and her husband, Dan, can personally attest to the quality of our sleeper sofa), move into a two-bedroom apartment, pay off my car, and purchase hundreds of dollars worth of "must haves" for little Freka, all without running up our Visa bill.

I feel blessed to have such a supportive network of family and friends. I say prayers of gratitude for being able to conceive so quickly, sustain a healthy pregnancy, and receive quality medical care. I praise my daughter's insightfulness at arranging her birth to take place before the end of the year. Hello, tax credit!

It would be pretty hard for my life to get any better. I know this.

Yet, I see Samantha bask in the glory that comes along with thriving in a new work environment and I'm jealous. I watch my sister Ryan prepare to move to Germany with her new husband, imagine the adventures they'll have exploring a new country, and I foam at the mouth. I see my good friend delight in the comforts of her new home and succumb to violent bouts of house fever.

Luke and I are about to experience the biggest change of our lives. So why am I craving even more?

Maybe because it feels like I've been pregnant and anchored to this apartment for thirty-seven years. Maybe because the changes that accompany new jobs, new continents, and new houses seem easier to handle than those associated with a new baby. Maybe because all those things would have less of an affect on my identity than becoming a mom. I don't know.

Please tell me I'm not the only one to feel this way sometimes.

Nothing tragic about this!

People, I have an announcement to make.

Lil' Frema is finally going to have her day in the sun.

Yesterday I received an e-mail from Sarah Brown, creator of Cringe Book, (finally!) informing me that one of my submissions had been accepted for publication. The cringe-filled masterpiece is currently slated for a March 2008 release date.

My winning literary donation?

Randy would be so proud. Or totally creeped out. Or maybe he'd just feel sorry for the little girl inside of me whose rejected heart never completely healed.

That last one is the most likely scenario, seeing as last month somebody found my blog by searching for "Randy Wooten" in Google. Whoops.

Anyway, while the contributors won't see a dime of the advance money, Sarah did say she could snag me a copy of the book, and if the book tour stops through my city, she'd love for me to participate in the reading, so that's pretty cool. It figures, though, that my first published work would be written by my childhood counterpart. After all, she was the true brains behind Tragic Love Friday. What will part three be like without her "e" after "stomach" and her intuitive medical expertise?

(Speaking of TLF, are any of you still chomping at the bit about doing a part three after the New Year? Do you have ideas for potential storylines? I actually have something in mind for Jenna, who I just realized went through the entire sequel without getting any nooky at all. That will SOOO change for part three.)

It's beginning to look a lot like...your mom

In an effort to avoid lugging Freka through crowded city malls shortly after her birth, Luke and I have been spending the majority of our free time Christmas shopping. I've always loved buying presents, and even though we've had to downsize our gifts budget, it's still a lot of fun trying to find things our loved ones won't want to exchange after the New Year. Even though all that walking around usually brings on those sonofabitch Braxton Hicks contractions. Hey, it's for a good cause, right?

I'm sure it's because of the baby, but nevertheless, I can't believe how excited I am for Christmas to come. I've already expressed to Luke my wish to decorate our apartment on Thanksgiving, seeing as we won't be able to travel north, and this Saturday, while he's enjoying a Purdue football game with his dad, I will most likely be watching A Very Brady Christmas while wrapping all the presents we've accumulated thus far.

Despite all the new-mom kinks I'll be working through, already I know that the high I'll get from smelling my baby's head, having full-time support from Luke for the first two weeks after my discharge from the hospital, abandoning corporate America for three blessed months, and filling our modest little two-bedroom apartment with family and friends eager to meet the newest m