Spam

Dear Phisherman,

"Look BIGGER this coming new year with these trial pills"???! Do you realize who you're talking too? Have you not heard the news? I don't need no stinking pills, I'm growing a baby and have no trouble "looking bigger," you. . .you. . .you. . .JACKNUTS!

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Party like it's 1999

Ten years ago tonight, I was at my friend S' parent's house out on Long Island for a huge house party to celebrate Y2K. Remember that? We were so afraid that the computers would crash and the world would end? I ended up going to sleep early with a migraine, whoo. hoo.

Ten years ago, I was a pack a day smoker of Camel Lights.

Ten years ago, I had no romantic prospects, and wondered if I would ever get married.

Ten years ago, I lived in Boston.

I can't believe how much has happened in the last ten years, and I don't even know how to write about it, but I'll give it a shot.

In October of 2000, I quit smoking and except for a few slip-ups here and there, I've been relatively smoke free.

In July 2001, my friend S told me that he would pick me up in any city with a major airport west of the Mississipi. And with the Dixie Chicks' "Wide Open Spaces" playing in my head, I bought a one-way ticket to Denver, CO with only a couple of hundred dollars to my name, no apartment, no job. I didn't even have a sleeping bag, and when we camped in the Rocky Mountains, I covered myself in clothes to keep out the cold.

On August 5, 2001, we drove on I-80 into the San Francisco Bay Area.

The day before Thanksgiving 2001, I took a one-day temp job doing data entry on a bankruptcy case and the course of my life changed dramatically. It was a start-up made up mostly of temps, who set up camp on one side of the floor. Everyone was pretty nice, except for this kind of creepy guy who didn't really talk.

On July 5, 2002, I had my first date with that creepy guy, who turned out to not be so creepy after all.

In November 2002, I got my first job with health insurance, at the company that had brought me in for one day.

On April 8, 2004, I accepted Josh's (creepy no more) marriage proposal.

In October 2004, I celebrated my smoke-freeness by walking 60 miles over three days to raise money for breast cancer. I also got a new job in solar, working for the utility whose 2001 bankruptcy got me that one-day temp job.

On July 2, 2005, Josh and I got married in Healdsburg, CA.

In December 2005, we went to Hawaii for the first time (Kauai) for our honeymoon.

On November 15, 2006, I had a miscarriage. After crying our eyes out, Josh told me this: "First, we know that we're fertile, so that's good. Second, if we have a kid anytime in the next couple of years, we wouldn't have had that baby without this miscarriage, and I bet we wouldn't be able to imagine life without that baby." Truer words were never spoke.

On October 2, 2007, we welcomed Jacob Prewitt Henig into our lives and I can't say enough about that.

In April 2008, I took on a $50M project to bring more solar to low income apartment buildings in Northern California.

On March 22, 2009, I challenged my fears and ran a 5k.

Sometime in May 2009, we made Keiki.

10 years ago, I was at a party. Tonight, I'm eating Thai food with my husband while we watch "True Blood" and our son sleeps in his crib, and his sibling dances in my belly. No cigarettes, one glass of wine, and when I go to bed early tonight, it will be with much happiness.

And there you have it, Internet. Looking forward to the next 10 years.

Spam

Dear “Sweetsugarlips,”

You just turned 18? Congratulations! Oh the places you’ll go, the people you’ll meet. You can vote now, good for you!

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

34 Weeks: Stats & Cantaloupe Brain

BP: 102/72
Fundal Height: 36cm (36 weeks)
Weight: +1 (I TOLD you it was the cookies!)

In the great VBAC/C-Section debate, we are undecided. Low BP is a good sign that I won’t have preeclampsia, a form of pregnancy induced high blood pressure, which can only be relieved by delivery, which would mean C-Section (no inductions, remember?). I’m still measuring 2 weeks ahead, but that is steady from the last few visits, so the good sign is that baby is not continuing to grow faster than my birth canal would like.

The longer I stay in the middle zone, the more comfortable I get with either type of delivery. I have moments of really wanting to power through a med-free vaginal birth, but that seems like an extreme fantasy. What does feel good is that I’m doing what I can to stay healthy and so far, my body is cooperating. We’ll see how these last few weeks go, but for now I’m still enjoying this middle place.

Evidently Keiki is the size of a cantaloupe this week, and my own melon feels a little mushy inside. This week I’ve had a serious case of nesting. Nesting plus Monkey Brain plus 3rd trimester pregnancy fatigue makes for an ugly scene.

So far, we have Jacob’s new bed and a bigger dresser for the kids (KIDS!!) to share. We hung curtains after having a jury-rigged budget situation that looked like a sheet hanging over one window ever since we got our new windows in October. A new faucet to replace the old one from 1972 that was so low that as long as you didn’t put dishes in the sink, it would be just fine. And as long as you didn’t move the spout in any way, it wouldn’t spit at you. A new showerhead, bath spout and knobs means that we can turn the shower on and off without fear that one might fall off again and we’d need to use the pliers to turn on the bathwater.

And when I say we, I don’t mean me. I mean that my brother Ben put up the curtains, and Josh found the plumber, and I frantically added items to the Honey Do list. And since I can’t do much with this big turkey (cantaloupe, my A$$!) strapped to my belly, I sit frustrated by my lack of physical ability to help while my mind goes on, listing all the things we “need” to do.

You see Internet, when pregnant with Jacob, we pretty much had everything set long before he was born. We both had the anxiety that drove us to get the crib, wash the clothes, install the car seat. That was before we had a little person who wants to play Legos instead of letting you read car seat reviews. That was before poopy diapers and bath time, and one more reading of Chicken Bedtime is Really Early took precedence over buying Dreft to pre-wash baby clothes.

With Keiki, our mantra has been, “Oh, we have everything, we just need a new car seat.” While this is true for the most part, we still have to get out the Moses basket, wash the newborn clothes, find a place to store them, and be ready. And Keiki could come in as soon as three weeks. THREE WEEKS!!!! It doesn’t help to get all bent out of shape, but what can you do when you are 8 months pregnant and can’t walk off your anxiety without Braxton-Hicksing yourself into submission? Well, you make a big list of stuff to do and spew it at your spouse. Honey, I’m sorry you married a crazy crackpot who may be crazier by the minute.

At the end of the day, we do have everything, I just need to get to the pool or something and burn off the nervous nesting energy. Although I must say, our new drapes look quite lovely, and I can’t stop washing dishes with our shiny new faucet.

Monkey Brain

Dear Self,

If you call the faucet a sink ONE MORE TIME, we are through, Missy!

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Spam

In Re: I sent you a deadly animal

Dear Phisherman,

Actually? You sent me a DEAD animal. On Christmas Eve. Thanks for nothing, Bub.

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

To the dead rat in my holiday crate

Disclaimer: This is a true story about finding dead rats in my garage. For those of you readers who may be disgusted by this (I am when I think about it) and never want to visit my house, please remember that we all have the equivalent of a long-dead rat somewhere in our lives. And if you don't, you’re either in denial or we can’t be friends because you are too damn perfect.

Dear Willard,

As I searched through my garage on Christmas Eve, looking for Josh and my stockings, I stumbled upon a crate full of holiday decorations. At first I was excited (paydirt)!

And then I saw the droppings.

And then I saw grey fur.

And then I ran in the house and said to my husband, “There’s something that I’m afraid to look at.” And God bless him and the United States of America, he confirmed my nightmare as I stood convulsing with the heeby-jeebies on the threshold to our kitchen. And then he removed you, and threw away the crate and everything. He said your corpse was light; you had probably been there for a long, long time.

I know that after we had the exterminator run you and your kind out of our attic and garage last April, we should have done a full clearing and shop-vacced the crap out of our garage. But then spring turned to summer and early pregnancy, and morning sickness, and blah, blah, blah Monkey Brain, and since there was no more scratching in the walls or on the ceiling, we kind of forgot about you and yours.

And then, Josh found the baby rat dead in a box by our underused Bowflex (Really, universe? You think I’m going to work out in that space without having panic attacks?). And then we cleared out some garage space and found a crate with evidence of you and your family. Clearly you were hungry if you felt the need to eat half of my heating pad. And while I appreciate how easy you made it to sort through that crate (EVERYTHING IN THE TRASH!!!), we didn’t have the energy to go through every crate and box that has been sitting in our garage since we bought our house in July 2008.

And then, the Christmas spirit had to take hold of me and I wanted to find those damn stockings. I’m really glad they weren’t in your crate; it would have sucked to throw out my mom’s hard work.

I hope it wasn’t long and painful. Josh and I have been wondering, were you clocked by the rat trap near our water heater and then wandered around in a daze until your little body just curled up and died? Please tell me that there are no more of you, because there is a baby tub on a high shelf that I am really scared to pull down.

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

It's the end of the sleep as we know it

While the impending arrival of Jacob’s sibling will certainly put a wrench in our sleep, Josh and I have made a conscious choice to alter our ability to get a good night’s sleep for the next, oh, lifetime. This weekend, we purchased and assembled a bed for Jacob. WITHOUT BARS.

You see, when your child is in a crib, you know exactly where they are. And once they are past the SIDS stage, and you keep the knives out of reach, they are pretty much as safe as it’s gonna get in their little wooden cage. That is, until they pull off their diaper and smear poop on the wall and maybe eat some of it, but that only happened once, I SWEAR.

At first, he was not impressed and did NOT appreciate our messing around with his room without a toddler change management permit. We tried to win him over with talk of a “big boy bed,” but he couldn’t care less. This is one of the many things about Jacob that I love. He sits there sucking his thumb, fiddling with his ear, never trying to crawl out of the crib, never wanting to be bigger than he is. I need to remember to savor this when he wants to drive at 13 and get married at 30 (just kidding!).

Once the bed was set up, he came in again and loved it. He rolled around and played “sleep,” directing me to “Take you glasses off, Mama,” knowing that if I’m wearing my specs, I’m not really sleeping.

This is the end of an era. Once he is fully sleeping in his bed (we are in a slow transition starting with weekend naps and building up to week nights), there is nothing to stop him from getting out of it, other then abject fear, and I still want to save that parenting technique for a rainy day. So we’ll have to lock the baby gate, close the doors and hope he doesn’t learn to climb up to the high shelf that stores the bathroom chemicals while we snooze away.

Sometimes, on the weekends, Josh and I sleep through Jacob's initial wakings and he falls back asleep. Those days are long gone, my friends. A new day will come soon when I will wake up with a little toddler face near mine, and who knows how long he’ll have been there, my three foot stalker watching me sleep. And after I stop hyperventilating, he’ll say, “You awake?” and I’ll see that it’s 5:30 am, and I will have to be awake, won’t I?

Spam

Dear Phisherman,

“Harddrill her today?” If “her” is my living room wall and you are willing to come hang my new double-curtain rod, count me in!

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Pillow Talk

"You know, I kind of understand how Edward feels about Bella. The uncontrollable attraction and obsession, just being totally drawn to something."

"Is that how you feel about ME?"

"That's how I feel about cookies. . ."

Spam

Dear Brandie,

Yes, I did get your e-mail, but I’m just not going to respond, so please stop. Listen Brandie, you’re a fine girl. What a good wife you would be. But my life, my love and my man, is Joshy.

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

It's beginning. . .

This is as close to a White Christmas as we are gonna get in the Bay Area

. . To look a lot like. . .

Christmas!

Jacob’s Other Family

Every weekday, Josh drops Jacob off at daycare, where he is loved, loved, loved. And while I am grateful that he gets another form of parental attention in addition to all that Josh and I provide, there are moments.

Sometimes, when I think about daycare, I can certainly empathize with Fundamental Latter Day Saints (FLDS) co-wives and their potential jealousy.

Spam

Dear Phisherman,

You sent a glitter to me? A real live glitter? I'm all about the Christmas bling, but I didn't buy anything for you, and as a WASP, I can't receive a gift without returning the favor. Thanks all the same.

33 Weeks: Pineapple Dreams. . .I Wish

Well, I’ve rallied a bit since last week. I can’t do too much, but I don’t feel like I’m going to fall over. I can’t walk far, so I’m looking forward to working from home in a couple of weeks and hauling myself into the nearest YMCA pool for some weightlessness.

The main thing this past week is that I’m no longer sleeping through the night. I never really sleep through the night while pregnant, waking up every few hours to change position or pee. But lately, I actually wake up and can’t get back to sleep. This feels like Mother Nature’s way of preparing me for the caring of a newborn, but don’t you think I should be stockpiling sleep while I can, and not stripping it from me in advance? Oh Mother Nature, what a cruel mistress you can be!

Monkey Brain

Seen on Facebook in reference to a friend’s homebrew video:
“Try dry hopping the finishing hops or don’t steep it as long.”

Dry hopping? Finishing hops? Long Steeping? Is this some sort of fertility treatment for bunnies? My monkey brain is going in rapid circles like our old dog Maggie when she was ready for a walk.

So. Much. To. Comment. On. Monkey. Brain. Exploding.

Monkey Mama

Sometimes when Jacob wakes up, he’s peed out of his diaper and his jammies are a bit wet, so after I plopped him on the floor recently and found my own shirt a little moist, I shrugged it off. I SHOULD have changed him right there and then, but my belly was already squealing, and Daddy was nowhere to be found. Lifting him again was just not an option. What’s a little wetness among friends, right? He’d get changed soon enough.

Onward we went, into the kitchen for a little chocolate soy milk and Gorilla Munch (Gilla lunch!) cereal. A few minutes into breakfast, I noticed some water spots on the kitchen floor. Huh? There’s no milk with the Gilla Lunch. Then I notice that Jacob, still in his feety pajamas, is sloshing around the kitchen. How are his feet wet? And then I go in to check the front of his diaper, and all I get is a feel of little toddler penis through his jammies. I should not be feeling little toddler penis, I should be feeling crinkly full diaper. Did Daddy FORGET to put the diaper on last night? I’m still dazed and confused, not seeing the reality in front of me.

And so I strip my kid, right in the kitchen, and somehow, Jacob has made his way into his bottoms (which snap to the tops, making it very difficult to get little hands down the pants) and pulled down the front of his diaper. I’m both shocked at my pee covered son, who has no sense of self-consciousness, and kind of amazed at the MacGuyvering skill that allowed him to do this to himself.

The worst part? The part that goes on my list of embarassing mother acts? I scooped up the naked boy, and with an eye on the clock and not enough time for a bath, gave him a sponge bath with Baby Wipes and put on his nice Christmas outfit and sent him off to Josh’s school for the day. Smelling a bit like pee. Where, oh where, is my handbasket?

Spam

Dear Tri-Cleanse,

I don’t need to fight holiday fat because I have a big Christmas goose growing in my belly. Thanks for the offer, but I think giving birth and the subsequent emptying of my uterus will be enough cleansing for me.

Sincerely,
Monkey Brain

Monkey Brain

“When I ask you this question, you are supposed to say, ‘What’s that over there?’”
“Okay.”
“How many ADD kids does it take to change a lightbulb?”
“How many?”
Sad face. “You’re supposed to say, ‘What’s that over there?”!!!
“Oh yeah.”
“How many ADD kids does it take to change a lightbulb?”
“What’s that over there?”
“Wanna ride bikes?”
If you ask me, I think that the fact that I said “How many” instead of my given line was a better demonstration of ADD.

Monkey Pic

This is what happens when you want to eat your dinner in peace and happen to leave the baby gate open and don't question the fact that the toddler has been silent for 3 minutes. 3 MINUTES! And this was a full roll, I'm talking 267 sheets of 3-ply, quilted softness.

I Don't Think You're Ready, For This Belly

Here you go, reader, a nice preggo picture. I've always hated having my picture taken, but this was a good hair day, and my outfit is quite pregalicious.
My expression here is pretty much the same one that I had in my Kindergarten photo. My mom was at school that day and when she found out, she marched me back to the photographer and made them take it again. When the proofs came back, she actually liked the pouty face so much that she ordered a whole set of them. Score for sullenness!

Monkey Cook: Garlic Bread w/Cheese & Parsley

If you like garlic as much as my friend P, you will love this recipe. This is yummy, easy, and fit for two or a crowd. This recipe serves 2.

2 wide slices crusty bread, like focaccia or ciabatta (I used Acme Herbed Focaccia slab, but for some of you, Berkeley may be too far to go)
2-3 T butter*
5-6 cloves of garlic, grated (I actually used Trader Joe’s frozen garlic cubes)
3-4 T chopped flat-leaf parsley
3-4 T grated parmesan cheese (optional)

In a small skillet or saucepan, melt the butter and garlic on low heat until the butter is half melted (you don’t want it to burn) and then turn the burner off. Stir the mixture until it is like a paste.

Spread the paste evenly on each slice of bread (don’t be stingy!). Sprinkle each slice with parmesan cheese & parsley.

Broil the toast for about 5 minutes, until the top is slightly brown. Eat, repeat. As mentioned, this can be multiplied for a crowd as the measurements are not so precise. If you are looking for specifics, sorry bout that, this is a real Monkey Brain recipe!

*To counteract the butter, I paired this with a simple chopped salad: romaine parsley, grilled chicken breast, balsamic vinegar, and about 1T of parmesan.

Monkey Brain

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.

It's been, well, it's been a while since my last confession, which was probably sometime in the early 90s in the chapel at Kent School. And it was the open confession of the Episcopal Eucharist, not a one on one. . .

Anyhoo.

I've been trying to represent San Francisco values, but tonight, I bought blueberries.
Non-organic.
From Chile.
You see, Jacob really likes blueberries, and they're not in season. The thing is, Josh and I are leaving him for a babymoon, and well, the kid's gotta have some comfort.

Whatchu Talkin' Bout, Willis?

Why Won't the Modeling Agencies Return My Calls??

32 Weeks: Jicama Baby, One More Time

I know, citizen's arrest, Pun Police. I just couldn't help myself.

Over the last two days, I've been hit with a tsunami of third-trimesterness like nobody's business. I went for a 20 min walk with a co-worker at lunch yesterday, and had a tight, painful belly for the rest of the day, completely worthless by the time I got home. Also, during my afternoon meeting, Keiki had what felt like a demonstration of Elaine Bennes' dance moves, only at hyper speed, causing me to exclaim and freak out my fellow meeting attendees. Keiki is kicking like mad and getting hiccups (which is still cool and not yet annoying), head-butting my cervix and causing lots of chaos in my belly.

I feel woozy and exausted, and right now it feels like I could pass out, but I'm not that sleepy. This does not bode well because I have 8 more weeks, and I need to rally somehow. I haven't exercised since last Sunday, so I'm hoping to get to the pool and get some energy back.

Right after I typed this last sentence, when I thought I might fall face first onto the keyboard, Jacob ran into the room, freshly escaped from the bath and his towel-wielding father, completely naked.

"Naked little boy!" I said.
"Naked little boy! Naked little boy!" he aped as he climbed onto the snuggler to greet me. Recaptured and burritoed into a towel by Daddy, he cried out, "Bye Mama! See ya tomorrow!" and I feel like a car battery that's been given a jump start. Thank Heaven, for little toddlers.

Seen & Heard

“Do you want a little brother or little sister?”
Silence.
“Do you want a girl baby or a boy baby?”
“Or. . . how ‘bout a Mommy?”
“Well, we already have a Mommy.”
Keiki is sooo going to rock his world.

Spam

Dear Phisherman,

Do I want my meaty lever to go up and forward all night? Erm, no thanks, we’re having veggie burgers at the Henig household tonight.

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Monkey Brain

“If I have a vaginal birth, will you get me a Push present?”
“Mmmmm. . . Probably not.”
You are VERY lucky that you’ve been doing a lot of dishes lately, buddy.

32 Week Checkup Stats

BP: 113/62
Fundal Height: 34 cm
Weight: +5lbs (3 of which are the direct result of baking six dozen cookies and subsequent swap for other even more delicious cookies yesterday)

I happily have not much to report, I didn’t even have questions for my OB! Blood pressure staying low is really good, and while the fundal (heh heh) height is still a couple of weeks ahead, the fact that it has remained steady is a good thing. Next visit should be the same, but week 36 I get a cervix check, which will tell us what’s going on down there.

This afternoon, I felt one of my favorite third trimester experiences for the first time (this go around): fetal hiccups!

Gleek

Sue-ism of the week:

"Bring it on, William. I am reasonably confident that you will be adding revenge to a long list of things you’re no good at. Right next to being married, running a high school glee club, and finding a hairstyle that doesn’t make you look like a lesbian."

Oh, Sue. I’m going to miss you during Winter Break. . .

Grateful

I was watching a recent episode of Oprah, featuring writers Nicholas D. Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn, authors of Half the Sky, and it broke me wide open.

They featured the story of Prudence, and African girl experiencing complications from pregnancy. After being driven 75 miles to the nearest hospital, she went untreated, and the fetus died and began to rot inside her. She received a blood transfusion from Kristof and his cameraman, and still, without antibiotics an infection raged through her body.

I tell myself that 100 years ago, I may have died giving birth to Jacob, and whatever my feelings and issues with that experience, both I and my baby are healthy and well as the result of good medical care. I forget that it’s not just 100 years ago, it happens every day in countries that do not have access to the basic medical care that I take for granted.

I know that the plans that I’m making for Keiki’s birth, the emotional work that I am doing to get over my last birth experience, all this time and emotional attention, is a luxury. I don’t mean to belittle my journey, because while it is comparatively luxurious, it is still mine. I just want to also acknowledge and express how grateful I am that no matter how the next few months go, I have access to a wealth of resources and care, and for that, I am blessed.

Spam

Dear Phisherman,

Too little, too late, my friends. How is 80% off Pfizer going to help me when I don’t take Ritalin? In case you haven’t heard, my eggo is preggo, so I’m off the stimulants.

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Monkey Brain

Do you ever look at your kid's toys and feel the urge to sweep them all up and give them away, just to avoid the Sisyphean task of putting them away each night? Erm, me neither.

Letter to a New Mom, vol. 1

Dear S,

This week, you were introduced to motherhood and all the joy and madness that it entails. You are the newest in the late 2009-2010 baby boom, and baby Max is beautiful.

One of my favorite memories of you is from sophomore year. You taught me that before you have a baby, your cervix is soft, like the flesh at the tip of one’s nose, and that after, your cervix is hard, like the front of your chin. You kept mixing up “cervix” and “clitoris,” so to demonstrate, you kept poking your nose and then your chin while saying “Cli-tor-is,” in a high, sing-songy voice. So welcome to the world of hard cervixes and soft bellies (your body will return, I promise), sleepless nights and exploding poop, drool and sloppy kisses.

I hope that giving birth to a three month old has the same benefits that it did for me: longer sleep sessions. May your little tank give you at least 4 hours of rest once in a while, and may your boobs remain chafe-free. I love you and can’t wait to meet Jacob’s newest friend.

Love and kisses,

Monkey Brain

Spam

Dear Snoring Solution Site,

Have you bugged my house? How do you know that my hubby has a cold?! YOU PEOPLE ARE EVERYWHERE!!!!

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Spam

Dear Phisherman,

I don't know, having a big beast in my pants sounds quite dangerous. And frankly, I don't see how it could make me a beast in bed. I mean, sometimes, Jacob likes to bring in his lion or tiger from his Fisher Price alphabet menagerie, but I think that's all our bed can handle. Gosh guys, do you think we're living on the African savanna here or what?

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Eight Crazy Nights

This Advent season, I’ve been introducing Jacob to some of my Christmas traditions, like a Christmas tree, Advent calendar (chocolate!) and Advent wreath and candles. He’s most intrigued by the wreath and candles, which he likes to blow out every night and sing “Happy Birthday.” The first time I impulsively inserted “Jesus” in the final refrain, and it’s kind of stuck. With all the Jesus happening in our house, I think it’s only fair to inject a little Jewishness into the scene.

Unlike my frenzy of decorating and tree trimming and humming of Christmas hymns, Josh is pretty neutral. He’s neither repelled by all the Jesus around here, but he’s not running out to get a menorah either. So mainly this Jesus guilt is all me. I want to model inclusivity to Jacob, and make sure that he understands where he comes from on both sides, and the best way that I know how to do this is through tradition.

While I grew up in a town where we had a lot of Jewish friends and got a taste of it, I don’t know all that much about Jewish cultural traditions beyond some Yiddish and that our family friend A’s potato kugel on Christmas is one of the best things I ever tasted. So, I’m starting with what is familiar and comfortable to me: food. While I have ambitions of brisket, I’m trying to be realistic about my current energy stores.

Thus, I present to you the Henig’s Hanukkah 2009: Eight nights of latkes. Basically, I’m going to do my best to create some Jewish sides over the next eight days as an entry point for Jacob and myself. I’ll mainly stick to latkes (potato, zucchini, carrot and yam, oh my!) and mix in a potato kugel and veggie kugel for fun. We won’t be doing 8 presents or the lighting of the menorah, but this is a starting point for me to help honor Josh’s ancestry.

As I’ve mentioned, Josh’s grandparents were the only surviving members of their family. Without them, I would not have the family or life that I have right now, and I am so grateful for that they made it through and created the family that exists today. I’m not going to diminish my own background and traditions, but there is plenty of light to shine on each of our worlds, and if anything, celebration of light is what this season is all about.

Third Trimester Tired

Last night, 7:45 pm:
“Are you going to sleep right now?”
“Yes, I’m sooooo tired. Will you get me my phone/alarm clock?”
“Sure.”
“And my night guard?”
“Yes.”
“And can you find a way to go pee for me?”
Silence.

31 Weeks: Would you like some caviar to go with that placenta?

Babycenter.com: 4 navel oranges? That’s all you got?

This week I’ve been thinking about the whole birth plan, which is slowly coming together. One part of our birth plan is to limit hospital visits. When Jacob was born, I thought that I would want visitors, and we pretty much had an open door policy. In retrospect, my inherent self consciousness (uh hello, no shower, flimsy gown, no bra?!), dealing with a uterine infection and the accompanying fever, as well as recovery from abdominal surgery was so overwhelming, that dealing with visitors was sometimes too much.

At the time, I was too overwhelmed to acknowledge that or do anything about it. This time, I’m trying to make some decisions in advance so I don't need to think about them in the moment. There is also the added visitor limitation of our hospital due to H1N1.

Everyone has their own comfort zone and preferences. For example, my walking buddy, F, is from the Dominican Republic and they have very different customs that make a WASP like me cringe. She was telling me that births in the DR are huge family events. Folks sit around the birth room for the entire hospital stay, eating, drinking, socializing, and celebrating. Visiting hours are ignored, and Mom and baby have little to no privacy or alone time.

My favorite story of F’s begins like this: “This one time, I was catering a birth, and there was caviar. . .”

Catering a birth? CATERING a birth? CAVIAR?! I can just see the doctor delivering the placenta while the F sets up the Belgian waffle station in the corner. To each their own, right?

Spam

In Re: Are you a wine fan?

Dear Zagat Wine,

Yes please! (in 9 weeks or so)

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Monkey Brain

Don't waddle, don't waddle, don't waddle, don't waddle, legs together. . .

Maybe just a little bit. Just a tad.

Oh, that's soooo nice. . . .

QUACK.

Monkey Cook: Asian Beans & Greens

I am a very experimental chef. I love reading cookbooks, but have a hard time sticking to the true directions (um, Monkey Brain?) In my early cooking days, this had somewhat disastrous results, but after a cooking class and many episodes of the FoodNetwork and Rachael Ray, I’m getting the hang of things. Josh is a very good eater, but also honest enough with me about my creations. This is a recent play on “Beans & Greens,” a classic Italian Dish, but it’s an Asian twist, and it was a success so I thought I’d share it with you. It takes 30 min or less to prepare, and very comforting on a cold winter night.

Asian Beans & Greens w/chicken sausage
1T Sesame Oil (canola would work as well)
2 small yellow onions (about the size of tennis balls), or 1 big one, halved then thirded (is that a word? Basically you want larger slices like you see in Chinese food)
3-4 cloves garlic, minced or grated (add as much as you want if you love garlic)
1 large package Trader Joe’s Southern Greens Blend, or about 8 cups of chopped dark greens like kale, mustard or Swiss chard
1 can black beans
10 Aidell’s chicken teriyaki sausage (3-4 sliced chicken apple sausage links will work just fine as well, as would tofu)
1/4c teriyaki sauce or marinade (I used Soy Vey Brand)
1-2 c chicken stock
1 package ramen noodles (if you don’t have these around due to early pregnancy cravings, any pasta will do or even rice. I would estimate this recipe calls for 2 cups pasta or rice, but you could add more for sure)

1. If cooking pasta, or rice, put a large pot of water to boil (or start your rice cooker). If using ramen, you can do that at the last minute.
2. Once pasta/rice is cooking, heat the oil on med-high for 1 min in a deep skillet, wok, dutch oven, or large pot. .
3. Sauté the onion & garlic until the onion gets soft, 3 min or so.
4. Add the greens in batches as they may overwhelm the pot, and toss the greens with teriyaki sauce.
5. Add in chicken stock in half cup increments with each batch of greens to help them wilt. Cover and simmer for 5 min, until greens have wilted down by half.
6. While greens are wilting, drain and wash beans (to get rid of some of the salt). Add beans to the greens.
7. Add in chicken meatballs, turn off heat, and cover pot.
8. Once pasta/rice is done, fold into the beans/greens mixture. If you did steps 1-7 before your kid got home, you may need to reheat the meal once he goes to bed.
9. Eat.

Serves 4, or 2 with leftovers for 1 if one of you is pregnant.

Spam

Dear "Mark",

I have to say that I disagree with your note. I don’t think that my life will be worthwhile if my penis grows a little. I think it would be full of confusion and major physical discomfort, seeing as I AM A WOMAN.

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Monkey Brain

Tonight, I was looking in our utensil drawer for a clothespin to use as a bag clip, and I found the remaining package of uncooked green beans from the last time I roasted some. Which was Saturday night.

Sometimes, I really miss Ritalin.

Offsides

It's totally normal for your in-utero kid to kick you around your hip bones, right? RIGHT?! I mean, there's no way that Keiki may have gotten loose? Or that there are TWO OF THEM??????!!

Spam

Dear Phisherman,

“Your staying pole will be like a magnet for gals”??? You are making my job so easy! Maybe you are reading my blog and enjoying your moment in the sun, basking the mockery of Monkey Brain?

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

. . .And After

Before. . .

Lessons from a Marriage, Vol. I

Ask most marrieds, smug, happy or miserable, and they'd probably agree that trust is one of the most important pieces of a good marriage.

So last night, when Josh said, "I'm going to cut Jacob's hair," I gave him the scissors and let him have at it. Oh the urge to Micro-mommy was strong, I tell you what, but I held back. I put aside the visions of Jacob looking like a Mr. Bigglesworth from Austin Powers in our Christmas pics, and went into another room.

The result? Short, very short. Maybe cut his hair dry next time short. But he's adorable, and Daddy did a very nice job.

To return the favor, Josh let me cut his hair this afternoon. Isn't one trust session enough?! But that's what marriage and parenting is all about, pushing through those comfort zones.

I am happy to say that Josh still has hair on his head and I did not snip off his ears, and my comfort zone is sufficiently stretched for one day.

Gleek

Sue-ism of the week:

"You wouldn't know if your Glee club is using your office to breed rabbits for pets or for food, and you know why? You are too busy chasing tail and loading your hair with product!"

Spam

Dear Phisherman,

Christian ministry courses? For serious? I mean, a couple of posts about church, and that’s what you come up with?

Judaism, Jew, Jewish. Israel. Take that, Spammers!

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

To the deceased spider in my kitchen

Dear Mr Spider,

My husband tells me he found you sneaking in from our garage this morning, and that your body (not including your legs) was the size of a quarter. A QUARTER! What the heckadeedoodle have you been eating, Mr. Spider? Those cereal bars are for Jacob! I'm sorry, I should be more sensitive. Of course, I of all people would house a spider who eats their feelings.

They say that where there is one, there are more nearby. Are you trying to send me into pre-term labor? This baby still has some cooking to do, so please send a message from the Great Beyond to any other friends nearby to STAY AWAY.

Know this spiders: we are bigger than you, smarter than you, and have access to large boots and chemicals and we're not afraid to use them.

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

30 Weeks: Return of the Cabbage!

Keiki, it looks like this week you are a plain old regular cabbage (Napa? Sonoma? Napa! Napa! Napa!). Ten more weeks and you should be here! I know this, not because I am clairvoyant, but my doctor and I have agreed that there will be no lingering in the hot tub for you, young (gender to be determined)!

Try not to come exactly on time, eh? Your cousin’s first birthday is your due date, and the double fun of a joint birthday may not be all that fun in a few years. As it stands your grand entrance may overshadow her first shot at real sugar, so you’ll have your work cut out for you.

Hear that? Oh, that’s God laughing his butt off as I tell you what to do. What am I thinking? You just do your thing little Keiki. Although if doing your thing means head-butting my cervix one more time (seriously, it’s like an ice pick!), you are totally grounded.

26 Months

Dear Jacob,

You are 26 months today! In the last month, you have turned into quite the little despot. I mean, you are still your wonderful little self, but it's interesting to see your "Terrible Two" side come out in full force.

Lately you have been very vocal about your likes and dislikes, which usually takes the form of you pointing at the offending individual and saying, "Go Ober Dere!" I have mixed feelings about this. Sometimes it hurts my feelings. Sometimes I like it when you prefer Daddy, which leaves me time to read Us or People magazine undisturbed. And sometimes I am so proud of you for expressing yourself and demonstrating your needs. I'm still learning that and I'm 34 years old!

In a couple of months you are going to be a big brother, and instead of kissing Mama's belly, you will be kissing a real, live, floppy little thing. Just try not to bop it over the head like you did a couple of weeks ago with your baby cousin.

Back to the whole "terrible twos" thing. Nights are getting more difficult lately. I know you are hungry but you won't eat anything; what happened to my tofu, avocado loving baby? How can you not like chicken noodle soup? And the screaming when I don't allow you to watch Shrek? And the running away when we try to get you into the bath? Do you really want to be the kid at daycare who smells like pee pee? I know you are a speedy little thing, but we will always catch you, just so you know.

Somehow, through the pregnancy hormones and general tiredness I have managed to keep you safe and alive, despite your somewhat maddening behavior (just eat the damn veggie burger already!) That's because you are suddenly a kissing, cuddling snuggly little bear cub, leading Daddy and me on ghost chases, hiding under the covers, and loving your polar bear/drums pajamas. You steal my shoes so I can't go to work, but then you say, "Have a great day!" and give me the best hug in the world.

Please know that even if you think I'm being mean when I don't let you rot your brain by watching Kung Fu Panda on infinite repeat, I am always on Team Jacob.

love,

Mama

Spam

In Re: Are you a stay at home mother?

Dear Glenda,

No, I’m not a stay at home mom. Listen lady, I’m doing the best that I can, and if that means I work and someone else helps raise my child so that we can live in a house in an expensive state/region, than so be it. I mean really, can’t we women just support each other instead of---

What’s that? Oh, you just want to help stay at home moms make some cash on the side? Oops, my bad. I’m a little pregnant and hormonal you see. . .

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Semantics

By my count, the house that I grew up in contained 24 rooms and 5.5 bathrooms, from the basement to the third floor, not including closets. In sharp contrast, I choose to live in a house that is less than 2,000 square feet (less than half of 20 Maple’s first floor alone) but that’s for another time.

Like me, my mother is a lover of words. So in addition to the usual words (bathroom, kitchen, bedroom, etc) the lexicon of my childhood home included a powder room, a front hall closet, back hall closet, vestibule, butler’s pantry, parlor and library. My siblings and I re-named these rooms by their use, so the “back hall closet,” which housed soccer balls, shin guards, tennis rackets and balls and other sports accessories was called the “sports closet.”

We are WASPs, so as you can imagine, this resulted in some fiery showdowns:
Mom: “Will you put your ice skates/cleats/racket in the back hall closet?”
Child: “You mean the sports closet?”
Mom: “Yes, the BACK HALL closet.”

Recently, my brother-in-law was looking for something in our house; let’s just call it a hoosywhatsy for the sake of this story.
Me: “Oh sure, it’s in the media room”
B-i-L: “You mean the tv room?”
Me: “Uh, yeah, the media room.”

Ahem.

Hello, Kettle? This is Pot. You’re black.

Genetics

Most would agree that Jacob is my doppelganger, so if it weren’t for his personality, I’d have some ‘splaining to do!

Countless times over the last 7 years:
Me: Do you even know what that(insert word/object here) is?
Josh: Yes!
Me: What is it?
Josh: silence. . .mumbles something indecipherable or rapidly changes the subject
Last Thursday:
Me: Jacob, can you say Thanksgiving?
Jacob: Yes!
Me: Go ahead, say “Happy Thanksgiving!”
Jacob: silence. . . .Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you. . .

30 Week Checkup: Heh heh, I said “fundal”

From now to the end, I’ll be posting some of my medical stats for my doctor visits. This is the type of information which will help me make the best decision about this birth (fully knowing that the final decision may be Keiki’s and not mine!), and maybe it will be helpful to some other women who are out there working on the same decision that I am.

Blood Pressure: 120/76
Fundal height: 33 cm
Weight: Wouldn’t you like to know?! Actually, no change from two weeks ago

The blood pressure is staying in the healthy range, and since high blood pressure is one of my C-Section predictors, it is helpful to know that my choice remains open.

The fundal height is basically the length of the uterus and gives us an idea of how big the baby is. So for today, Keiki is measuring at 33cm (length in cm should correlate to the number of weeks preggo), which is on the bigger end of things. This means that I’ll need an ultrasound in 6 weeks to measure the head and weight.

At 36 weeks with Jacob, his head was measuring 39 weeks and his weight was approximately 7 lbs, 4 oz., about the size of a healthy newborn. This is important information for me because if Keiki is the same size, than my VBAC viability goes down because right now I’m feeling pretty conservative and don’t want to risk having a similar birth experience that I had with Jacob.

Spam

Dear "Chris",

Thank you for the offer of a "tasty treat," but I don't take candy from strangers.

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Penance

When I was growing up in the Episcopal Church, the congregation spoke a general confession every Sunday from the Book of Common Prayer:

Most merciful God,
we confess that we have sinned against you
in thought, word, and deed,
by what we have done,
and by what we have left undone.
We have not loved you with our whole heart;
we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves.
We are truly sorry and we humbly repent.

I have to admit that this prayer never gave me much comfort. I secretly envied my Catholic friends, who had an opportunity to provide a list of their wrongdoings and get a specific punishment; I loved the concreteness of their ritual.

Now I am a grown up, and I attend a different kind of Church each week. This week, Stroller Strides was held on Thanksgiving, and I had not been in attendance since October 24. While there was no need for confession, my penance was as clear as any Hail Mary or Our Father: inability to move for three days.

Things that we never expect to say, until we became parents

"Boogers? Thank you."

Monkey Brain

Movies like Marley and Me should come with messages for pregnant women:

WARNING: may cause blubbering that might not be warranted by the sap in this movie.

Not that I would know; I'm just sayin'. . .sniff

Aftermath

Oh the food coma. . .

Grateful

Happy Thanksgiving! I am heading up to Josh’s brother’s home with Brussels sprouts, pecan pie and pumpkin muffins. Since my sister-in-law was in my shoes last year, she’s giving me a break this year on cooking and hostessing duties.

I have a lot to be grateful for. I have a sweetie-pie husband and a healthy, adorable 2 year old. I’m carrying a healthy baby, I can still lift my son and run after him, and I haven’t gotten any additional stretch marks (knocking wood as I type). I have a roof over my head. I have a job. I know where my next meal is coming from. Oh sure, I’ve got issues and problems; who doesn’t? But right now, I am grateful and happy with what I have.

We just got back from church (Stroller Strides), and soon the the eating will commence! The sad but good thing is that since I have a butternut squash in my belly already, there's not much room for food. This means that Thanksgiving will require a certain amount of strategery on my part to ensure that I have room for pecan pie, so I'll be project managing the crap out of this afternoon's eating. Hope you enjoy your holiday!

29 Weeks: Horton Hears a Butternut Squash

Here in the Henig household, we’ve been getting into the Dr. Seuss canon. My favorite right now is Horton Hears a Who.

I won’t give a summary, because if you are not familiar with this one, you need to get yourself to a library or Amazon and read this gem, and I’m not going to let you off the hook with the abridged version. Then come back to my blog, because if you haven’t read about Horton, the rest of this post won’t make much sense.

I’m realizing this week that Keiki is kind of like the Whos of Whoville, and I’m kind of like Horton (yes, I went there and willingly compared myself to an elephant). The analogy ends with the rest of the world, because unlike the Kangaroo, and dozens of Wickersham brothers and Wickersham cousins, nobody doubts that I am pregnant.

Keiki started out as this little tiny speck of a poppy seed. As soon as I saw the positive test at 4 am in my bathroom, I protected that speck by cutting out Ritalin, coffee, wine, and sushi. I couldn’t see him/her, but “A person’s a person, no matter how small,” and that’s just what we Mamas do.

As Keiki grew, I was the only one who could communicate with him/her, mainly in the form of Keiki making me wildly ill and tired.

Those first few kicks felt like the chanting Whos:
We are here!
We are here!
We are here!
We are here!

Finally, Keiki’s kicks are big and thundering, movement stretching across my belly as he/she practices some fetal yoga. Much like the one final Yopp! from Jojo of Apartment 12J, Josh can feel what I’ve been for months. Unlike the doubting masses of the Jungle of Nool, Josh has always believed and been metaphorically shading Keiki with an umbrella all along. We hear you Keiki, and you are loved, no matter how small (or abstract).

Spam

Dear Phisherman,

Thanks for thinking of me, but I'm really not interested in meeting other Christian singles. You see, I'm married to a lovely Israeli-born Jew, and while I admit that my son looks like an ad for the Aryan Nation, I have no interest in trading in for a single Christian, despite your promise of pics and the fact that they are local.

You guys are really missing out here, because my Monkey Brain is all about the impulse click.

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

The Wrath of Grapes (Napa! Napa! Napa!)

As mentioned, we went up to Sonoma this weekend to celebrate a birthday with Josh's family.

Josh's dad was the one who noticed that all the tourist maps of the wineries were either for Napa County or Sonoma County, but never both. What's the deal? Though geographically side by side, they might as well be different countries.

Our waitress at lunch said that word on the street is that there is a long-standing rivalry between the two. Evidently Sonoma is the second sister (think Jan Brady) to the more famous and celebrated Napa; grapes from Napa can even get up to twice as much as Sonoma grapes.

This wondering about the Napa-Sonoma rivalry wove its way through the afternoon and evening, culminating in a Google search and live readings from the results, until someone finally said, "Jeez, it's not like the Arab-Israeli conflict!"

I couldn't stop thinking, what would that look like? Sonoma residents vintners walking into Robert Mondavi vineyards with a backpack of Sonoma grapes rigged to explode, tainting the precious Napa crops? Injecting the soil with chemicals? Drive by cheese and french baguette bombs? Oh the possibilities!

Spam

Dear Phisherman,

Sucker! If you really knew anything about me, it's that I'm a word freak. So when you send me grammatically indeciferable emails, I'm soooo not interested. "Make her in thousand and one way this night"?! What does that even mean?

Monkey Brain

We stayed at a Bed & Breakfast in Sonoma county last night, and they had a chicken coop near our room. It reminded Josh and me of our honeymoon in Kauai (less the toddler giving us the stink eye because we didn't want to get out of bed).

In Kauai, a hurricane in the early 90s destroyed some chicken coups, so now Kauai has free-roaming chickens and roosters like stray cats. The funny thing is that they are temporally challenged, so the roosters cock-a-doodle-doo at all hours. Like 2 am, or 10 am.

Anyhoo.

So this morning I took Jacob over to the chicken coop to say high before breakfast. I'm not sure how he learned this, but Jacob walked up to the fence, held out his palm, and said, "I come in peace." Once I stopped laughing, I grabbed his little fingers before the chicken, who clearly did not speak Jacob, could nip off some toddler fingertips.

I can't really blame the chicken. Jacob is delicious; I've nibbled on his fingers myself from time to time.

The Big O

When I was in elementary school, I got hooked on General Hospital; this is what happens when you have a sister who is 9 years older than you. Most days, I would make it a point to be at home by 3 pm to watch the dramas of the doctors and residents of Port Charles.

In the spring and summer of 1986, ABC started running promos for a new show. A woman sat in a large wing-back chair, wearing a satin blouse that tied at the neck and told potential viewers about her upcoming show. My memory is fuzzy on the specifics, but her message went something like this, "Hi! My name is Oprah Winfrey, and starting this fall, I'll be hosting a daytime talk show. I sure hope you'll tune in."

Oh my Oprah, did we tune in. I've watched sporadically over the years(although recently I'll admit to a near daily habit), read the books and read O Magazine (thanks Mom!). I've learned about how to live in the moment, and more than I ever wanted to know about poop (thanks Dr Oz). I laughed, I cried (it was better than Cats!) and wept some more on Friday when the queen of talk herself got teary as she told us that she would be finishing her show in 2011. It's the end of an era.

I know, I know, she'll still be here, doing other things. But internet, do you know what this means? I only have 18 months to get to Chicago!

Pregnancy Tired

You know it's bad when I can't even muster the energy for a post-dinner Special Treat.

Spam

Dear Phisherman,

Unless there is something that I've been in complete denial about for 34 years, I'm pretty certain that I don't have a "trouser serpent" that needs to be "empowered." And I'm pretty sure that whatever "male vigor" that I have needs no "boost". Thanks all the same, though.

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Little Napoleon

For the most part, Jacob is a dream, happy and sweet. Lately however, he's had some moments when he puts the terrible in two.

Let's take tonight. Jacob's actually sitting in a chair, eating some dinner (whohoo!) and when I get up for a moment, Josh sits in my chair. Somehow this small act turns happy eating Jacob into Mr. Hyde.

"No Josh, no! Go ober dere! Go in the chicken! Go in the chicken and cry!"

Go in the kitchen and cry? Where does he come up with this stuff?

Monkey Brain

So I've been reading about how Martha Stewart is dissing Rachael Ray, and with all due respect to her empire (love Body & Soul, btw), Martha needs to get her stick out of her butt. She dismisses RR as an entertainer who doesn't teach, can't bake and repeats her recipes.

I have a special place in my heart for RR, who got me through some dark nights in late 2007. While my newborn slept, well, like a baby, I'd be up in the middle of the night, in pain and unable to sleep. As a result, I ended up with TWO sets of The Magic Bullet and a Food Network addiction.

RR taught me how to be a better cook. I learned how to salt the pasta cooking water, what the hell a roux and mirepoix are, and many basic cooking skills. I like that she tells me the same information over and over again because sometimes it takes a few tries for something to sink into this Monkey Brain of mine. I like that she tweaks recipes, which gives me license to be creative. She has a million recipes for Buffalo Chicken Insert Dish Here, and that's okay with me. If you like something, why not play around with it and find a new dish you like?

RR makes me feel like a good cook, and sometimes Martha sounds like a school marm and I feel a bit inadequate. Guess what Martha? Some people don't have time to garden and make marshmallows from scratch! But I still love you too, and I'm happy that such an arrogant asshole woman is successful; that's what I call feminist progress.

Craving

Everything I'm not supposed to have: seared tuna, Brie cheese, turkey that has not been heated to steaming. That's our little daredevil Keiki, wanting to risk listeria at every turn.

28 Weeks: This belly isn’t the only thing that’s growing around here

So this week, Keiki is the size of a Chinese cabbage. But don’t you think that Keiki should be a Napa cabbage? I mean, we like to keep our produce local in the Henig household. Just last Sunday, I rejected blueberries from Argentina, even though they are Jacob’s favorite. . .

Focus, Monkey Brain, focus!

So. Here we are, the third trimester. The hoooome stretch. The final act. The downhill slope. Should I keep going here, or have I made my point?

In 12 weeks or so, there’s going to be a person here. Did you HEAR ME INTERNET?? A real, live, crying, eating, burping, spewing, pooping person. Holy Bela Karolyi!! While this working through Jacob’s birth means that I am feeling a lot more, I’d like a smidge of denial back.

It’s funny because I started writing the above portion of this post on Monday, but after my OB appointment, I don’t feel as freaked out. Oh, I’m sure it will come back. My freshman year of college, I would have a moment every few months when I’d think, Holy Shit! I’m at HARVARD, completely freak out, and then it would pass. This is kind of like that. I know intellectually that caring for a newborn is a lot of work, but it’s not rocket science. Yes, there are potential sleep issues, reflux, breast-feeding, but I feel pretty confident about my basic baby care skills. The whole parenting two kids thing is a whole different animal, but I feel like I will be able to tend to Keiki and Jakey’s basic needs, even in a zombie state.

What makes me feel so good right now is that I feel surer that I will not repeat the same experience that I had with Jacob’s birth. That is not to say that there won’t be possible complications or even a similar outcome in terms of the facts of the birth. I may have another child in distress; I may have other complications or physical trauma. But the pain of Jacob’s birth is not just what happened, but my own reaction to it, my shutting down and letting everything happen to me because I was too scared to do anything else.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve felt a lot of emotional pain, I’ve cried a lot, and talked and written a lot about my experience with Jacob’s birth. And the weird thing is that it’s been amazing. It is scary to relive some of those moments from a couple of years ago, to bring myself to experience memories that I’d rather put in a box, tie up with string and label “I’m fine.” But those little boxes add up, weighing me down like a pair of cement shoes.

As I visit the memories of Jacob’s birth and aftermath, feelings come rushing in like the undertow of the Atlantic that I swam in as a kid. What I learned physically so long ago is what I’m trying to learn emotionally now: for the most part, if I can lean into the undertow, if I do not fight it, it will wash over me and bring me safely to shore.

And so I’m letting a lot wash through me, and it’s painful, but it hurts so good. It is the soreness after a good workout, the tired relaxation that follows any act of expression. It is growth.

Spam

Dear "Viagra&Cialis",

I do not want to "enter" ANYTHING "rock hard." Guess what? I'm a pregnant WOMAN you JACKNUTS!!!

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Indie Rock Snob - NOT!

When we watch SNL--Tivo of course, who stays up after 9 pm these days? Oh? Everyone but me? Well carry on then. . .--I always blip-blip through the musical guests. I love music, but something about watching it on TV makes me feel all antsy and Monkey Brain, so I just skip it.

Tonight, I sat through both sets of Taylor Swift.

My name is Caitlin, and I love Taylor Swift.

I'm sure that if there's a Hell for Indie Rock Snobs, it would be sitting with me watching Taylor Swift perform on infinite repeat.

Homework

On Monday, I had my 28 week check up. I’ll go every two weeks until 36 weeks, at which point I’ll go weekly for a “measure and listen,” which is usually a 5 min check to hear Keiki’s heartbeat and measure my belly, check weight and blood pressure. These appointments have been quick since everything is on track, but this week I had some homework to do as I try to make a decision about Keiki’s delivery.

On my last visit, I told my OB that I had been feeling down lately, and today, I started crying as I tried to express ambivalence over choosing VBAC or scheduled C-section. And here's why I like my OB and am glad that she will be delivering Keiki as well. She handed me a box of tissues and guided me through my written questions without a glance at her watch or telling me what I should do.

There are lots of pros and cons, and I'll be writing about them in the coming months, but basically, it’s still wait and see. To have a VBAC, a certain number of stars need to align, but the main ones are there, like the fact that both my hospital and OB perform VBACs.

Then come the "Ifs." If I have a smaller baby that’s low and I’m dilating well. If I don’t go past my due date. If I don't develop high blood pressure. These are a lot of ifs, but I find it all somewhat calming. It’s like I can create a matrix (oh how my chaotic Monkey Brain loves her a good matrix!) for all this, a structure to help me make the best decision, both for right now, and when Keiki’s ready to come out. It’s empowering.

I think back at the Me who was in labor with Jacob, and I can see now how much anxiety was there, and I just shut down in some ways. Sometimes I wish that I could pick her up, like when Jacob is having a meltdown, and rock her and make her feel safe. This level of awareness makes me feel closer to accepting the choices that I made, closer to letting go of wanting the past to be any different.

Sometimes I question all this focus on the labor/delivery choice. Presumably, I’m only going to have one more child, so why all the fuss, all this work? But I know that Jacob’s birth brought up aspects of me with which I struggle, that will continue to show up in other ways and other parts of my life until I am willing to deal with them. Why now? Why not?

Baby Boom!

When I was pregnant with Jacob, many of my friends were still riding the “Getting Married” wave, and not quite ready to start popping out babies. My imagination spun to the future, to a world in which 18-year-old Jacob was introducing all my college friends’ tweeners to cursing, cigarettes and booze. This is what my Monkey Brain likes to do.

When we started thinking about Number Two this spring, I hoped that some of my friends would join the party. And then I found out my friend S was pregnant (due in December). And then I got pregnant (February). And then, the dominoes started to fall. My friends A, M, Rufus and Dr. L are due in April and May, and I hope the trend continues!

While we don’t live in the same city, and in some cases not even the same state, I feel glad to be going through this with some of my favorite ladies. So friends, I raise a glass of sparkling apple juice in your honor, and wish you healthy ultrasounds and a poop-free delivery!

XO Monkey Brain

Monkey Brain

Dear Rachael Ray,

I've been taking your advice and salting the water before putting in the pasta, since it's "the only chance to season the pasta," but I keep getting salt under my fingernails and it feels like I'm dragging my hands through sand. It's seriously hampering my cooking pleasure. You always seem so happy; do you have someone who comes during the commercial break to dig the salt out of your fingernails?

Sincerely,

Monkey Cook

The Recap

I think that in another life, Josh would be a sports announcer or reality competition host, because that man loves a recap like nobody's business. When we were dating, one of his favorite things to do was to provide a recap of our dates. Sometimes he couldn't even wait until the end of the night, so I'd get an in-progress recap.

And while the Shaws own most of Jacob's physical real estate, when it comes to personality, he's all Henig. When Josh returned with our take-out dinner this evening, Jacob ran up to him, hugged his legs, and burst out, "Take a bath! Wash hands!," making sure that Daddy got the full scoop on what he missed. Oh those Henig boys; two peas in a pod.

Take a seat!

So Jacob and I are hanging out tonight after work playing the ottoman game. Basically, he would climb over my legs (draped on said ottoman) and shimmy over the side of the ottoman until he fell into a heap on a floor. Toddlers are such cheap dates!

Anywhoo, at one point he wanted me to move my legs so he could have better ottoman access. Instead of saying "Move, Mama!", he says, "Stop it. Try this. Take a seat!", his voice rising each time knowing that it wasn't the right phrase. It was like watching C3PO having a meltdown.

Monkey Brain

Why am I such a sucker for tv/movies filmed in San Francisco? I watch Trauma every week, and it's just not very good (this coming from someone who lists Weekend at Bernie's as one of her favorite movies).

While part of me is saying, I'm never going to get back these 40 minutes, another part is saying, Oh look! Potrero Hill!

Monkey Brain

I'm watching tivo'd Rachael Ray Show with Suzanne Somers, and is it me, or does she kind of look like Janice from The Muppet Show? A quick Google image search tells me that I'm not the only one.

27 Weeks: The debate goes on

As I begin the last week of my second trimester (Keiki the Cauliflower!), I'm thinking more and more about the whole scheduled C-section vs. Vaginal Birth After Cesaerean (VBAC) debate that rages on in my mind.

At this time, there is no medical or logistical reason why I can't have a VBAC. This may change if I have another big head baby at 8 months, my Obstetrician (OB) may dictate a C-section, but for now, it's my decision. This is hard for me, because I kind of want someone else to tell me what to do.

Whatever I decide, I have some work to do in accepting the circumstances of Jacob's birth. While it might have been helpful for me to deal with this BEFORE GETTING PREGNANT AGAIN, I tend to work well under a deadline, and so this is just the way it's going to be.

I remember the feeling of relief when Jacob came out safely. When my OB said, "Oh yeah, there was no way that he was coming out any other way," I felt like we made the right decision to go forward with the C-Section instead of waiting a few more hours, putting him in more potential danger in an effort to keep to the birth plan (no c-sections unless it's an emergency).

I also remember feeling scared and alone, flat on my back, body still open, nauseated from the anesthesia. I couldn't stop shaking, and while I wanted to pull my arms in close, I wasn't allowed to remove them from the crucifix position that I was in. The fever began almost immediately, and I passed in and out of consciousness in the recovery room while the nurses tried to lower my temperature. I felt woozy and out of it, from no sleep, from 25 hours of labor, from 12 hours of medical interventions.

In the days and weeks that followed, I Monday Morning Quarterbacked myself to death, questioning every choice that I had made throughout my labor, and feeling like the C-section was my fault and representative of some sort of personal defect. And then I stopped thinking about it and life painted over the trauma of those couple of months. As the weeks roll by, I'm determined to chip away that paint and let out whatever feelings may come so that I can let go of the fears and anxiety that I have about childbirth, and truly move forward.

At the end of the day, I don't really have a strong preference to do VBAC or C-section. Right now, the only Birth Plan that's been written for Keiki is to get that little cauliflower out in the safest way possible (for both of us). I think that the next item on the list is to figure out what is going to help me make a decision that feels good for me. Part of that is making peace with September (failed induction)- November (removal of retained placenta) 2007.

But it's not all empty tissue boxes and sadness. When I dress Jacob, it is a constant wrestling match between Jacob's head and any top that doesn't have snaps at the neck. Many times, I curse the toddler t-shirt makers who make cute clothes that squeeze my little pumpkin head going on, and pull his face back like he's had a freaky face-lift when coming off. Today, I thought to myself, How could I have ever expected that head to make it through my hoo hoo? Let the healing begin.

Surf's Up!

Whooo boy, are we in trouble.

On Monday morning before they left for the day, Josh was getting ready and Jacob was banging away on the laptop.

Our computer was up and downloading the season finale of Mad Men (have you seen it? A.Maz.Ing.) and Josh hears Jacob call out, "Dosh, Surf's Up!" Although the way Jacob says it comes out like, "Suhhff's Up. " Turns out I gave birth to Tony Soprano.

Annnywhoo.

So Jacob figured out how to get Surf's Up to start playing on the computer. Did he do it on purpose? Was it a fluke? Was it live, or Memorex?

Jacob needs to slow down on this whole learning how to do things stuff; we are so not prepared. Is there an equivalent of a plastic outlet cover for computers?

New Windows

Today we replaced our old, ugly and drafty aluminum windows with new, energy efficient ones that will lower our heating bills and increase our curb appeal. This is the type of thing that makes me feel like a real “grown-up.”

While marriage and parenting make me feel pretty grown-up, home ownership is just a different animal. There was a time in my life that I couldn’t really do the basic functions of the over 18 set. When my peers were doing things like paying their credit card bills, attending classes, finding summer jobs, I was tanking my credit and hiding under the covers of anxiety and depression. Over the last 10 years or so, I’ve slowly taken on the various tasks of growing up, and each new milestone kind of makes me feel like Jacob when he first figured out a Melissa & Doug puzzle, hands raised in the air with a big grin: “I did it!”

For some, things like home improvement may seem like a simple thing. For a Monkey Brain it can be somewhat excruciating to corral the millions of different directions that a MB wants to go. The non-MB may look at it like this:

1. Research contractors
2. Obtain bids
3. Review and select bid
4. Schedule installation
5. Have windows installed
6. Pay contractor
7. Claim tax credit

Here’s the typical Monkey Brain version:
1. Research contractors
(Go to Yelp.com and proceed to get distracted by shiny objects such as restaurant reviews, other home improvement projects, oh, let me check out Ikea’s curtain selection. . .)
2. Obtain Bids
(Receive bid, add to mail “pile” for review, ignore mail pile until it starts to fall over like a tower of Jenga, review and sort mail pile, return bid to mail pile. Repeat until husband says something to the effect of “Don’t we need that tax credit in 2009?”)
3. Review and select bid
4. Schedule Installation
5. Pay Contractor
6. Claim tax credit

Items 3-5 are pretty much driven by the contractor, and item 6 is the responsibility of my financial advisor/husband, so once 1&2 were done, it was easy peasy.

And while in my professional life I can project manage the shit out of anything, much of that energy is saved for work so my Monkey Brain freak flag can fly when I’m at home. But when you add other people (husband, kids) and stuff (mortgage, car payments, home maintenance) to the mix, there’s not much room for Monkey Brain.

It’s a simple thing, but a task that I never thought I’d be able to complete, what with all the follow through and methodical planning involved. But I did it. It took longer than the average Josephine, but I did it all the same.

Caitlin: 1, Monkey Brain: 0.

26 Weeks: English Cucumber who plays for Manchester United

Dear Keiki, my little English Cucumber,

Please stop kicking my cervix. Your big brother waited until the last few weeks before doing this, so I think you are taking the whole second child thing of trying to catch up a little too seriously.

I mean it, kid. It makes me feel like any second your little foot, fully booted up in a soccer cleat, is going to poke through, and that would be a VERY bad scene and grounds for a red card and some serious time outs.

Love,

Mama

25 Months

Dear Jacob,

I can't believe that you are 25 months! Your development is pretty amazing to watch, and I'm glad that I'm starting to document this now so my Monkey Brain doesn't forget.

On Saturday, Daddy & I took you Trick or Treating with your closest thing to a bff, Tyler from across the street. I didn't think a 2 year old would be into the whole thing, but you picked it up quickly and were happily babbling "Trick or treating, trick or treating" while we made the rounds of a few houses. You were nice and polite with your "Thank yous" and fascinated by candy.

Speaking of tricks and candy, you are now starting to articulate your opinions pretty well. When on Sunday I was eating your Jujubes, you asked for some candy.

I said, "Oh, you won't like it, it's chewy," you responded, "I yike chewy!" And just last week, you were sitting on the couch reading your dinosaur book, and I tried to get you to come with me on some errands, you refused:
"No want to, wan read dinosaur book."
"You can read the dinosaur book in the car."
"Wanna read on the couch."

This is very troubling, young man. I was pretty sure that I could trick you into doing things that are good for you for a few more years, and you are already speaking your own mind. I am both excited and proud of your independence and confidence, and scared because this means that I have to get better at parenting you, not tricking you. Sigh.

Love,

Mama

Parenting is a contact sport

Today, I've been head butted, kicked in the face, belly, and shins, and had my nose picked without my consent. And that was just during pre-night night cuddle time. I kept thinking about what a friend once said in reference to a mom of boys, "She had three boys, and always kind of looked like she had been hit in the head with a frying pan."

This is the first time in this pregnancy that I've had a twinge of regret about not knowing the sex. I mean, if I knew we were having another boy, I would have time to order some custom-made body armor.

Spam

Dear Phisherman,

Birth Control?! Are you kidding me? Wouldn’t my visiting sites like Babycenter.com and Fitpregnancy.com be a slight clue? Erm, let me get this kid out before I think about birth control, okay?

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

The Church of the Holy Endorphins, Northern CA Parish

When I was growing up, our Sunday ritual revolved around the morning Eucharist at St. John’s Episcopal Church, two blocks from our house. I wore my red leather Mary Janes on special occasions, and counted the big hats on Easter Sunday, but most of my time was spent sitting at my parents’ feet, drawing on the weekly program with one of the many pens that my father always carried in his suit, perhaps for this specific purpose. After church there was coffee hour in the Parish Hall, which was only memorable to me in that when I was three, I walked into a stray cigarette that was about toddler cheek height. I actually don’t remember the event, just the cigarette shaped slight crater in my cheek today that always reminds me of church.

Aaaannnyyyywhoo.

We had a core social group of a few other couples and their kids: The Cordes’, the Stewarts, and the Bradleys. We spent many holidays together over the years; in addition to the religious connection, we found a social network for our family.

I think about church a lot now that I’m a parent, as well as ritual, especially now that the holiday season is beginning. While Josh is Jewish, from what I gather he did not have similar formal traditions and rituals to what I experienced growing up. That was one thing that was so appealing about him, that holidays were not so dependent on having a specific ritual. Sometimes rituals can be tiring, and for a while, I wanted a break.

Parenting has brought out some of the ritual in me. At this time, we’ve decided to forgo formal religious institutions, but we do have a weekend tradition. Every Saturday morning (barring illness, morning sickness, or pre-relative cleaning frenzies), we load up the car and drive to a local park, where we attend Stroller Strides, our “mom & baby” (and dads) fitness class.

We don’t wear the big hats and Mary Janes of my childhood, but I do make sure to have my trusty visor to shield against the sun, and a solid pair of running shoes.

We don’t have hymns, but we do sing songs to help us through the prayer of resistance bands: “Row, Row, Row Your Boat,” “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.”

We don’t have the blood or body of Christ, but we do have sweat pouring down our bodies, and G2 and granola bars to re-fuel after class.

We don’t have the coffee hour in the parish hall, but we do have abs and stretching by the playground as our kids get their own workout after spending an hour in their strollers.

We don’t have the Christmas Pageant, or Palm Sunday, or an Easter Egg Hunt, but we do have holiday themed circuit training (tomorrow is the Halloween class, so we'll be doing pumpkin squats or something like that)

Stroller Strides, much like church, has gotten me through some big fears. Fear of exercising in front of people (SS is at a park that is usually filled with our future fellow parishioners, “Temple of the Saturday morning Soccer Match,”), fear of running, pushing through the nausea to find that exercise can help.

Last Saturday, we hosted a small pumpkin carving party, and as some of my fellow Stroller Striders and I chatted while our kids raced around our yard, covered in washable marker from decorating pumpkins and piling on top of one another into the hammock, I felt so happy and realized that for now, our quirky kind of church will do just fine.

Monkey Brain

So I'm watching Survivor and this woman is trash-talking Shambo the mullet lady by saying that she's drunk with power like a white trash woman who "married a rich guy and now drives a Jaguar." Only Miss Smartypants pronounced Jaguar "Jag-wire." Actually? It's Zsaaa-goo-waahhhhr.

One Shining Moment

Thursday, October 29, 2:30 pm:
I want to document this moment right now because it may not last. For the last couple of days of my pregnancy, the sun has risen in the West, because I feel soooo good, people. This morning I actually felt light on my feet. I felt a spring in my step, like my pregnant belly was an air-filled beach ball instead of a heavy mixture of baby, baby protection goo, and blood.

The main thing is that I don’t feel nauseated. AT ALL. I’ve found a way to eat enough, but if I eat a little too much, I’m okay. If I get a little hungry, I’m still okay. I can even tolerate a little reading on the BART, although I’m not pushing my luck. My head doesn’t hurt. I feel totally average right now, and that is the best feeling in the world!

I think this may be linked to the fact that I’ve taken a 30-40 min walk every day this week. My belly hurts about 20 min into it, but if I slow down, I feel okay and the pain goes away when the walk is done. I know that in the coming weeks as my belly grows, it will be harder to maneuver around, harder to do day to day things, and harder to exercise. But I want to post this so that I can remember this feeling right now.

Thursday, October 29, 6:30 pm:
After an hour long windy drive home from the BART station due to major traffic because the Bay Bridge is closed, I feel nauseated and woozy. Oh well, it was nice while it lasted.

Oh good gravy, and chocolate, and noodles, and did I mention the salt?

I’ve been trying to be mindful of my food groups for this pregnancy, using the USDA pyramid for moms to gauge and my nutritional needs. Overall, it’s been going pretty well, getting my DHA, veggies and whatnot. However, this last week has been all out of whack:

Thursday: The Great Salt Lick Fiasco of 2009
Friday: Veggie Madness, featuring roasted Brussels sprouts
Sunday: Sugarpalooza, sponsored by marshmallow crisp rice bars
Monday: No Carb Left Behind Tour 2009, with a salt lick chaser
Tuesday: Brought to you by the letters M. . .&M (peanut)

I read somewhere that when studied, toddlers get their overall food needs over the course of a few days, so if they miss out on a given food group in one day, they’ll make up for it later. This is what I tell myself when I have thoughts like, well, if the Dead Sea runs out, they can always drain my pregnant body, which is now carrying enough sodium to float an elephant in spring water.

25 Weeks: Lessons In Moderation

While I am abstaining from Ritalin and coffee for the sake of Keiki the rutabaga, I do have chocolate and 2nd trimester energy. One of the side effects of this "regimen" is daily lessons in the benefits of moderation.

Last Friday, I worked from home. Working from home is one of the best ways to deal with my Monkey Brain, as I can unleash the beast of my MB to serve good. I had to send an e-mail to about 4,000 people, and include my contact information, so you can imagine the response that I got. While on the phone, I could pace my house (MB loovvvves pacing, or any activity, really) while on the phone, picking up toys, making the bed, folding laundry, physically occupying myself so that my brain could focus on the conversation at hand.

When not on the phone, I was going back and forth from my computer to other household tasks: changing the laundry, roasting veggies for lunch, preparing dinner. While to a normal person with a normal brain, this may seem somewhat chaotic, the chaos actually focuses me and I get more done than I would in the typical office environment.

Usually after a day like this, I’m a little tired, but I forgot about PREGNANCY TIRED. After I picked up Jacob, took him to the park and returned home, I was hit by a tsunami of tiredness; I actually understood the phrase “bone tired,” since my bones were saying, “What did you do to me, today?” and the rest of my organs was saying, “Don’t we have enough to do, what with all the baby growing we’re doing in here?!”

And I keep doing it. I feel energetic and burn through it all so that by the end of the day it’s all I can do not to hang my sleepy head and drool through the BART ride home. But it feels so good to move, to get stuff done, to cook, that I forget that my body is kind of doing a second job as it is. I’m learning, though. For a jumpy Monkey Brain, I can be a bit slow sometimes.

Don't yike it, and other feelings

Jacob gets more communicative each day, and is getting pretty good at expressing himself. He points out happy and sad when we read books, and he’s even starting to talk about his own feelings.

On Sunday, we went to a small circus that was in town for a couple of weeks. While Jacob liked the pre-show hot dog, that was about it. The crush of the crowd waiting to get into the venue prompted full on Jacob red alert: wide eyes, left thumb squarely in his mouth, right hand anxiously fiddling his right ear.

“Wanna go home,” he said as we waited to get in. We appeased him with promises of fun, horseys and doggies galore.

We got into our seats, and the thumb-sucking/ear fiddling went into overdrive.

“Don’t yike it.”
“What sweetie?”
“Don’t yike circus.”

And there you have it folks. We probably should have gone home then, but we’d paid $34 for our tickets, and pushed onward in the hope that the live animals would make up for the masses of strangers. I held him tight and he seemed to enjoy the horse, the dogs, and the trapeze artist way up high. We made it to intermission, at which point it was useless to put our kid through the torture that is a small circus.

When Jacob was a baby, it was pretty easy. Crying meant there was a need: for food, changing, comfort. And while he’s been a talker for a while, this was the first time that he really verbalized a specific feeling about something. As a WASP who has spent much time, effort and money on therapy to learn what a feeling is and how to express it, I was so proud of my boy. But there is another part that’s like, what now?

Having a baby is tiring, but fairly straightforward. Raising a child is some scary shit. The more they verbalize, the better it is because you know what they need or want, but you also have to guide them and help them and not let yourself get in the way.

Do I pull Jacob out of every scenario that scares him? Do I tell him to suck it up because we paid good money for these seats and you are going to have a good time, dammit?! Yesterday, I wanted to leave as soon as the self-soothing body language kicked in. But he did enjoy some of it, and I want him to be able to feel fear as much as he can feel joy because unfortunately, you can’t decide to only feel the good feelings. Hopefully I’m doing the right thing. At least when he starts going to therapy for his fear of clowns, I’ll have a record of where it all began.

Monkey Cook: Brussels Sprouts

I was not a fan of veggies as a kid, and Brussels sprouts were the worst. Limp and bitter after their long trip from wherever to a box in our freezer and steaming or boiling, they were gross. Dis.Gus.Ting. My brothers and I devised several ways to get out of ingesting them, from slipping some to the dog (who soon wised up and refused to eat them), folding them into a napkin, or sneaking off to the powder room to flush them down the toilet.

I didn’t eat brussels sprouts once I was able to be vocal enough about my food choices and planned on never eating one for the rest of my life.

And then, I moved to California.

In 2004, my brother Ben came to visit and we went to Firefly restaurant in San Francisco. A typical SF venue, Firefly served yummy veggies off a seasonal menu, and since it was the fall, roasted BS was one of the choices. To my surprise, Ben suggested it and I was like, “Um, did you block out our childhood?”

“Trust me,” he said, “They’re actually good when fresh.” So I did, and OH MY GOD.

Crispy and caramelized, the bitterness tempered by a touch of oil and some nutty parmesan, I was experiencing a come-to-Jesus (if JC were a cruciferous vegetable) moment. Since then I’ve roasted them, sautéed them with nuts and maple syrup, even simply steamed them with some butter & parmesan.

I want to start a Church of the Roasted Vegetable and target market to well-intentioned mothers steaming the crap out of vegetables in the name of health and vitamins. And so I present to you:

Brussels sprouts, another way
Brussels sprouts
Olive oil, enough to coat the veggies
Maple syrup (1t or so)
Salt & pepper (I like By the Sea herb blend)

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Mix all ingredients in a cast iron skillet. Place in the oven and roast for about 30 min, until the sprouts are blackened and yummy.

Note: There are two keys to this recipe (and in my opinion, all veggie recipes, especially for fickle little eaters)
1. Cast iron skillet. Add some oil, salt & pepper and the pan will do everything else.
2. Roast the crap out of them. You don’t need much oil and with the heat of the pan they get all yummy & caramelized. Dee-li-cious!

Spam

Dear Phisherman,
Seriously? Please tell me what it is about me Googling recipes for spaghetti squash, VBAC, and car seats screams out “Penis Enhancement”?! Oh wait, was it my research on Asparagus Pee?

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Monkey Brain

When I was a kid, my family was teased me about an alleged obsession with bathrooms. Whenever we’d go out to dinner, I’d inevitably spend some time in the ladies room, and apparently too much time, according to the fam.

No one asked me why I spent so much time in the bathroom, and I assure you that it wasn’t some obsessive-compulsiveritual of washing my hands 20 times before eating. I was the youngest of four, and a Monkey Brain to boot; sitting around a table with a bunch of older people was bo-ring. The main thing that got me through these dinners was the distraction of food, or going through my dad’s wallet. However, once I learned to read, and found some of my mom’s credit cards that were “accidently” in my Dad’s wallet, my snooping days were over and it was all about food.

So I checked out the bathrooms of every restaurant we visited. My favorite by far was the “ladies lounge” at our yacht club, which was a suite that included full doors on each stall and a separate room with big mirrors, and cute settees for ladies to re-apply their makeup or just take a break from being fascinating by sitting on one of the ornate settees. I also liked walking through the attached coat closet, feeling the softness of the furs in winter before I realized that fur is murder. By the time I returned to the table, my food would be waiting for me, and I’d be on the downhill slope of having to sit still and listening to the boring adult talk.

Yesterday, it took 10 minutes for my computer to start up, so I defragmented my very fragmented hard drive. After returning voicemail and reading through everything work related that I could, my Monkey Brain was about to explode at my computer, which said “24% complete” after an hour.

So, I took a page from my younger days and decided to head to the adult equivalent of my childhood ladies lounge trips: Walgreens. 30 minutes, 1 bottle of nail polish, the latest copy of Allure and several salty snacks later, I returned to a fully defragmented computer.

Works every time.