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Dear Cottonelle Roll Poll,

We roll under here in the Henig household. In my experience, it makes it a little more difficult for toddlers to undo the entire roll when we eat dinner and forget to close the baby gate.

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Spam

Dear California Democratic Party,

I don’t know how you got my personal e-mail, which I never give out (that’s what yahoo accounts are for), but this needs to stop. If I get ONE more e-mail from an assembly person or other California legislator, I swear to Jehosepha that I will vote Republican whenever possible.

Please do not take this as an empty threat. When my Granny was in labor with my father, Grandad made her vote in the Republican Primary and as a result, my father was born in an elevator. Granny voted Democrat for the rest of her life.

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Monkey Brain

I never thought I’d say this, but after the 10,000 th viewing of Madagascar, I miss Kung Fu Panda. Why did I, erm, I mean, Santa, have to buy all the Madagascar beanie babies???

Spam

Dear VicodinPharma,

I’ve received several e-mails from you this week. Hmm, do you have some insight into my upcoming delivery? Please, tell me what is in your crystal ball!

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Spam

Dear Phisherman,

Do I “want to bigger down there”? Um, no. And trust me, everyone does NOT want “to bigger down there.” For example, I am carrying a big Valentine’s box of chocolates in my belly, and the bigger it gets, the less likely I’ll have a successful VBAC; yah feel me?

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Monkey Brain

Dear Tivo,

HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME? WHY DON'T YOU HAVE A MONKEY BRAIN SETTING? HOW COULD YOU ERASE THE LAST TWO EPISODES OF THE TONIGHT SHOW WITH CONAN O’BRIEN?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!!?!?? YOU ARE SO GOING INTO TIME OUT!!!!!!

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

38 Weeks: Fabulous Fetus

2 more weeks! 2 more weeks! 2 more weeks!

My pain is clearing up, which is a relief in many ways. I also had an ultrasound this morning, and Keiki the leek is measuring 8.2 lbs (+/- 1lb, but they estimated that the baby’s probably under 8 lbs), and the head is in proportion to the rest of the body (no big pumpkin head right now). I believe the radiologist’s words were, “Baby is looking fabulous.” And who doesn’t like to hear about her fabulous fetus? Overall, it looks like I’m measuring about a week ahead, so that’s pretty good.

For most of the afternoon, I felt so happy and really giddy. We are down to the last two weeks, and my VBAC chances are looking better and better.

This pregnancy has been so different from the first time around. With Jacob, we knew the sex, he was named at 20 weeks, and around this time, we scheduled the induction and family visits; so much was planned to a T. I think I felt so much anxiety under the surface, which drove my need for structure and planning to provide comfort.

In contrast, we don’t know the sex, we have ideas about names but no final choices, we don’t know how Keiki is coming out, and we have no immediate postpartum visits planned. I have said “I don’t know” so much during this pregnancy, and I’m finding that I kind of like it.

When I was a kid, I spent as much of my summer as possible in the Atlantic Ocean. On rough surf days, I would often find myself with a few bruises and a bathing suit (if I was lucky) or mouthful (if I was not) of sand as I fought the scary pull of the water that could tumble me around like a sock in a washing machine. On the few times that I could relax my body into the movement of the ocean, I would find myself safely ashore, and while the sand up the butt was not always avoidable, I could certainly avoid a few bumps and bruises.

Today I felt like I was relaxing into the tumbling undertow that pregnancy can be sometimes. As I imagined the increased possibility of VBAC, I’m looking forward to that journey and hope it works out. I can envision the pain of labor, but it is a good pain, a pain with a purpose, and as strange as it may sound, I can imagine enjoying it. Even now, as Keiki head butts my cervix, it is a sharp, stabbing feeling, but I think to myself, ‘Go, Keiki go!” as I know that it means that my body is preparing for something big. And even if that ends in surgery, that is okay. Right now, I am enjoying the feeling of sweet surrender to whatever the next two weeks bring.

And this is why I write, because tomorrow my abdomen pain may be back and that C-Section could be on like Donkey Kong.

Monkey Brain

Dear Biggest Loser Producers,

Despite my Monkey Brain, I am fully capable of remembering what happened during the first hour, so show me more sweat and less recap.

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

38 Week Checkup, Stats & Baby Mama Drama

BP: 134/74 (highest so far, but still in the normal range)
Fundal Height: 40 cm
Weight: No change
Cervix: 50% effaced, dilated .5 cm
Other: See Below
So last Friday, I woke up and couldn’t move without pain in my lower abdomen. I was mostly okay when sitting (working on the computer is most of what I do) so I got distracted by my work and felt okay except when getting up to eat, etc. I was a little worried, but figured I’d give it until Saturday before doing something about it since I wasn’t having contractions, just pain.

On Saturday, I was still in pain but thought I could go to Stroller Strides and walk it off (erm, denial much?). There were some rain showers, and it turns out SS was cancelled so we thought we would just take a walk. I could barely walk about 50 feet before I just stopped and started sobbing. Combine pregnancy hormones and scary pain that is not contractions (along with decreased fetal movement), and that’s what you get, I guess. So I hobbled back to the car and had Josh call my Dr, since I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to string two sentences together. A couple of hours later, we were on our way to the hospital for a nonstress test and an ad-hoc test run for Keiki’s delivery.

Since children under 16 are not allowed in labor & delivery (H1N1), we had to come up with an impromptu plan for Jacob. Luckily our neighbors were home and happy to take him, so he played with their four year old and watched some Lightning McQueen while Josh came back to the hospital to be with me. We have friends who will be with Jacob while I’m at the hospital, but they are about 30 min away, so we are lucky to have great neighbors to fill that gap if needed.

A nonstress test, despite its name, is more of a stress test. Basically, you lie in a hospital bed with a fetal monitor attached to your belly to track the baby’s heartbeat and contractions if any. They have a certain number of heartbeat accelerations that they want to see in an hour to demonstrate that the baby is healthy and active. Good ole Keiki gave them what they were looking four in 10 minutes, and during the hour I was monitored, she/he moved more than in the previous 36 hours! I felt sort of silly, but relieved and still glad that I got things checked out. Most likely Keiki has been moving down and is now putting more pressure on my scar and so my lower abdomen is not a happy camper. I was told to stay on bed rest and see my doc ASAP, which brings us back to this morning.

After hearing more about my weekend, Dr. B told me that if she checked me and I was still closed up, we could do the C-Section this week if the pain does not subside. And while I admit to waffling back and forth this pregnancy, my eyes bugged out like Joey Tribiani in that episode (“The One with the Kips”) of Friends when he realizes that Monica and Chandler are sleeping together. Dr. B’s thinking is that if I am in a lot of pain, she doesn’t want me to stay pregnant if I don’t want to, especially since I’m full term.

My visceral reaction to this option finally helped me realize what I think I've been unwilling to let myself see: that unless it’s medically necessary, I don’t want a C-Section. That may change if this pain does not go away this week, but right now I can deal with it. I have an ultrasound on Wednesday to check out the size of this kid, and if it shows that Keiki is looking like a 10 pounder that may change my tune, but as of now, I’m medically clear to still wait until my due date, and then I am willing to schedule a C-Section for Friday, February 12 (mark your calendars, Internet!).

My bug-eyed response was both a confirmation of what I want in my heart, but also excitement and temptation. If I have a C-Section this week, I get to meet Keiki, and I’m so ready to meet him/her. That temptation is huge, not only because I get to meet this child I’ve been dreaming about, but there is also the fact that my decision will be made. No more waffling, no more VBAC/C-Section debate, and as helpful as this process has been, I’m sure ready for it to be over. I had a flash of relief, as if I move forward with a scheduled C-Section will tie up loose ends and I’ll know what’s going to happen and can plan for it, and that sounds so comforting right now.

And yet.

I’ve spent the last 5 months or so blogging my way through my fears and anxieties about things that I can’t control, and so I want to see it through. I want to continue to sit with the ambivalence as long as I can without being a risk to myself or Keiki. And again, what I love about Dr. B is that she gives it to me straight. Today I told her, “I want a VBAC, but I don’t want that to cloud my judgment and make decisions that may put myself at risk.” Her response was that medically speaking, I’m still in the green for VBAC. I have an ultrasound on Wednesday, which will give us both more information, and we agreed on some more parameters about what would be okay if I do go into labor, but I’m not locked into surgery just yet.

This may all change by the end of this week if the current pain/discomfort doesn’t improve, but so far, it has. Saturday morning’s walk was about 7-8 on the pain scale, and today I’m getting down to a 5 or so, and it feels less like pain, and more like soreness, so that’s good. I’ll keep you posted!

It's the little things, part 2

Dear Animal Planet,

Please stick to your day job of providing interesting animal programming. While it's good to try new things, trust me when i state that your foray into puzzle making is an UNMITIGATED disaster.

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

It's the little things

Dear Melissa & Doug, makers of puzzles for tots,

I am so sorry, and will never do it again. Your puzzles are so great, especially the oversize jigsaw puzzles. Not only do ALL the pieces come in each box, they are sturdy enough for almost 28 month old boy genius' to stomp on and put together all by themselves! The interlocked pieces also don't fall apart when moved, causing certain bed-resting (more on that later) preggos to want to set them on fire. I love your puzzles and we will never stray again.

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Spam

Dear Phisherman,

Why yes, I AM looking to be a top chef. Finally, you guys are listening!!

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Monkey Brain

I feel bad about how this whole NBC latenight fiasco turned out, especially since I love me some Conan (and not just because he went to Harvard). He didn’t get totally fired, but he kind of got passive aggressively fired.

This is just like what happened to Lynette? On Desperate Housewives? When she hid her pregnancy from Carlos, and then when he found out he knew he couldn’t fire her, so he gave her a “promotion” which required that she leave Fairfield and move to Florida (FLORIDA!) and so she said no and he said she was out of a job because she said no to the promotion and that he wasn’t firing her, and it was SO! DAMN! SNEAKY! So, yeah, I think it’s totally like that.

Good gravy, I need a life. . .

Postpartum Story (Jacob)

Warning for all you squeamish folk out there: there will be blood. .

When Jacob was about 2 weeks old, I woke up with unexplained pain in my left hip and groin to the point that I couldn’t walk without help. After two days of on and off pain, it got so bad that I ended up in the ER at 4 in the morning and called my Mom in NY to see if she could come out and help with Jacob because I couldn’t take care of him.

Over the next 3 weeks my mom (props to Jojo!) did most of the day to day caretaking of Jacob while I tried to rest and visited the chiropractor and tried to figure out the mystery of this random pain, which kept me up most nights while Jacob slept. During this time I bought not one, but TWO Magic Bullets (Buy One Get One Free if you act NOW!) and became addicted to the Food Network and Rachael Ray. When Jacob was almost six weeks, I found an orthopedist who ordered an MRI which would later show a bulging disc. The good news was that I was starting to feel better, and my mom went home.

I started passing large clots the day that my mom left, literally passing the first one in the half hour before she left for the airport. Since the postpartum bleeding had slowed down and was now increasing, I was scared and called my OB. The office wasn’t too concerned, so I felt kind of foolish. As the evening wore on, I continued to pass golf ball sized clots, which steadily increased in size. Finally, we drove to ER at about 2 am, the third such trip in six weeks.

As soon as I stepped out of the car in the ER parking lot (what a polite uterus I have--NOT ON THE JETTA!!), I felt a whoosh of blood pour down my legs, like someone had pulled a string on a bucket in my uterus. Not one to give up appearances, my first thought was, good thing I’m wearing black pants. I walked into the ER, my slippers leaving Rorschachs on the cream colored linoleum and had a flash of guilt over the mess I was making. After I got on the examining table, I continued to pass more clots and it felt like I was part of a horror movie. I can only imagine how Josh felt, sitting next to our sleeping 6-week old while witnessing clot after clot coming out of his wife’s body.

The ultrasound technician did a scan and found nothing, so they sent me home and told me to see my OB. Since my OB was on vacation, I saw Dr. G, who was the same backup when my Dr was on vacation after my C-Section the next day. When I got to her office at 11 am the next morning, she saw a huge clot blocking my cervix, and sent me back to the hospital next door for surgery to remove it.

I went into surgery at about 1:30 pm, where they did a D&C (dilation & curettage), which is where they dilate your cervix and scrape your uterus clean. I was already dilated about 3-4 cm (much faster than with Jacob!), my body had gone back into labor because there was something still there.

When they removed the clot, 800 ccs of blood came out, a little under 2 pints, which I’m told is about 25% of my blood volume, a factoid I was very glad not to know at the time. They ultimately found that a piece of placenta had been left behind after my C-Section, and that was what had been causing so much havoc on my body.

 Dr. G was very apologetic and Monday Morning Quarterbacking her choice to not give me a postpartum scan when I had the uterine infection. I have to say I have no ill will towards either doctor that treated me. They made the best choices that they could, I received good care, and a heartfelt apology goes a long way.

I hated being back in the hospital. I hadn't been apart from Jacob, and after Josh and he left for the night, I cried myself to sleep. I was so afraid and alone, but in shock at what had just happened. That night was probably the lowest point for me, watching my family leave. Now that I was on the mend and feeling safe, my mind finally let me image their life without me.

After that night in the hospital, things improved dramatically. Luckily I didn't need a transfusion and got to go home Saturday morning. That Saturday and Sunday I was tired as my body rebuilt its iron stores, but most of my physical ailments were gone (except for the bulging disc, but even that felt better), and the nice part is that I was so happy to be physically able to take care of my son that I didn’t care about being up in the middle of the night. If I was up, it was because of him, not me, and that was an unexpected joy. I also stopped thinking about what happened to me and put it away in a box, one that I am now trying to slowly unwrap as I gear up for Keiki.

The phrase that goes in and out of my head is this: I could have died. Every time this phrase comes up, it wraps around me like a boa constrictor until I push it down and back into the box. Don’t be silly. You’re such a drama queen. People have been through worse. Whether or not these things are valid, the fact is that when I walked into the ER that last time with blood streaming down my legs, it’s very likely that I was a few bad decisions away from death, and facing that truth is what drives my current fear and indecision regarding Keiki’s birth.

I'm sharing this to try and loosen the power that this has over me. What happened to me was scary and potentially life-threatening, but I made it. I made it to my Dr.’s office before passing that large clot and losing all that blood at home, in my sleep or someplace else where I couldn’t have gotten immediate help. I recovered and was able to care for my son. I am able to carry another healthy baby, and I am willing to work through all this shit, no matter how scary it is. I am so grateful that I am here with my lovely family about to be expanded, which makes it feel all the more selfish to keep up this loop in my head. And yet, I feel that if I can express it, however crazy or self-indulgent that feels, I can let go of it. I can stop thinking about how I could have died, and remember that I didn’t.

God Bless You and the United States of America

For some reason, I have such a fondness for the sayings and mixed up idioms of those for whom English is a second language. I think this is because I often mix up syllables in words (there's even a word for it: Spoonerism), or like to make up new words (epinerdis anyone?). Oh how I love the poetry of a new phrase or the images that come to mind when a mixed up phrase is used. Like the time my friend A (daughter of immigrants, she kind of inherited this trait) said, “She is one cool glass of water,” and instead of thinking of a tall thin girl, I imagined a glass filled with ice water with a head on top and some arms poking out the sides.

This may be one of the reasons why I married a man with foreign born parents, so I can bask in the beauty of words lost in translation. I would share some here, but my in-laws may someday find this site. Despite the fact that I write about the state of my cervix, I do have some boundaries, people!

My first real experience with this was when I worked in the undergraduate science library during my final year of college. One of the daytime supervisors was a Polish woman we’ll call L. She was a character, and to look at her, she really had no place in a science library.

5 feet (if that) and all cleavage, she favored tight clothes and high heels, despite being somewhere in her mid to late fifties, although she would never admit her age. In fact, she liked to put people on the spot by asking them how old they thought she was; any year in the 40s brought a big smile. Her husband was a Stanford professor and they had a long distance “open” relationship. She smoked like a chimney, as did I, she liked to talk, I liked to listen, so we got along famously.

My favorite thing about L was that despite living here for over 30 years, she had a very thick accent. I think this was a point of pride for her, as her brother, who was only a couple of years younger than she and emigrated at the same time, spoke perfect accentless English.

Anyhoo, L mixed up words all the time, like saying “I give you an inch, and you take my leg!” to the man with the 6 month overdue textbook who wanted to wave his fines. My favorite was when someone said something sweet to her, and she said, “God Bless You and the United States of America!” I thought it was a one time deal, but she said it frequently and something about it sent me into fits of laughter. So now, every time I think “God Bless Blank” I silently, and sometimes not so silently, add “. . .and the United States of America!" And every time I say, think or write this phrase, I make sure to do a thick Polish accent in my head.

37 Weeks: Not so neutral swiss chard

37 Weeks = Full Term = Let the jumping jacks commence!!

In all seriousness, it feels so good to be full term. Despite mind-boggling nausea for half of this pregnancy, overall things have gone pretty well. I'm starting to learn energy moderation and have been able to still enjoy things like making dinner and stroller striding without feeling like I'm going to collapse. Unfortunately I am down with a head cold that is making me a fusspot and giving Jacob a run for his money right now, but I’m trying to be patient since I can’t take lots of decongestants and whatnot, but god bless Benadryl and the United States of America! (I will give some context to that in a post someday, I promise)

Unlike my little chard within, I am not feeling so Swiss (neutral – I know, lame wordplay, but Babycenter is not giving me much!). I’m leaning more into the VBAC camp, but not ready to fully get on board with either decision. I will have an ultrasound next week that I may allow to decide my fate for me if Keiki is looking like another almost 10 pounder.

While part of me doesn’t want to make a decision before my due date, there is another part of me that just wants to decide already and be done with this. It is really hard work to slog through my labor, delivery and aftermath with Jacob and the emotional scars it left; all the fears that I have about my impending birth experience with Keiki. There is part of me that knows that it’s not just about this birth experience, and that if I don’t sit with my ambivalence and fear, it will manifest itself somewhere else in my life. Whoah, is that too Oprah for a blogger that responds to her junk mail? Well, let’s face it people, I’m kind of Oprah. Let’s just say that feeling my feelings are kind of hard for me, and all this feeling stuff and growing can be really draining.

I’m trying to see the up side. If I keep up this work,  then I’ll have something to hold over Keiki when he/she is 15: “Do you know how many feelings I had to feel, how many tissues I used and how much therapy I went through to be a good mother to you?! Now just pick up your damn room!” Not as good as the guilt I can hold over Jacob, what with the “I went through surgery so you could come out with a nice round head, fella!” Oh well, it’s a start.

Monkey Brain

7 am, working from home, a conversation in my head:

Self, while logging onto VPN and code changes: Dang it!
Monkey Brain: What’s that?
Self: I HATE it when my RSA code changes in the middle of logging onto VPN!
MB: You know what?
Self: What?
MB: Your epinerdis is showing! (wild hoots of monkey laughter)
Self: My wha?
MB: Your epiNERDis! Like Epidermis, but NERD? Get it? Get it? (more cackles)

Between the ages of 6 and 10, my brother Ben (now that he’s on the Internet, I’m using his full name) told me, “Hey, your epidermis is showing,” about 999 times, and EVERY time I fell for it! And to think, it only took 13 more years to get a diagnosis of ADD. Oh look, a shiny object!

Spam

Dear Marriage-minded People,

Marriage minded? But of course! That’s kind of why I got married. Duh!

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Spam

Dear Gmail inbox sorters,

E-mails from Oprah to NOT go into the junk mailbox. You were doing so well, but minus 10 points for you!

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

37 Week Checkup Stats

BP: 99/77
Fundal Height: 40 cm
Weight: +1 lb
Cervix: No change
Other: Strep B was negative

Looks like Keiki really jumped in size this week, but I had the backup OB, who noted that measurements can depend from caregiver to caregiver, so we’ll see. No major changes, BP still looking good, no swelling yet. I’m tired, but I also have a cold (got the go ahead for Benadryl, thank God!)

On Wednesday, I’ll be full term, and I can’t wait. Unfortunately we are having major rain this week, so potentially no Stroller Strides, which I was kind of hoping would help put me into labor. I also read Your Best Birth this weekend. I’ve been procrastinating on reading it because I’ve been afraid that it would make me feel more pressure to pursue VBAC, but I think they did a very good job of advocating the concept that your best birth is one in which you are making informed decisions and doing what is best for you.

I was pretty impressed with the OB today. I go to a all-female practice with three doctors, and they make sure you get to meet everyone before your delivery just in case your usual OB is not there. I've met the third doctor, but this one is new, replacing the OB who happened to back up my OB when Jacob was born and when I hemorraghed six weeks postpartum.  My OB was there for the birth, but out of town during my uterine infection and the six week disaster, so I was grateful that I knew and liked the backup.
 
Anyhoo.
 
I must be a cheap date because she had me at hello. Since today was a holiday, both my fellas came with, and her opening comment was, "Is this the little guy that was 9 lbs, 14 oz?" At the end, she asked twice if we had additional questions. These two gestures may not seem like much, but as a patient, it's the little things that earn my trust. When I read about OB experiences where the doctor has a one eye on the clock, I'm grateful for my OB practice and that this woman took some time to learn about me and my past experience, and wasn't running out of there once she got a feel of the ole cervix.

Monkey Brain

While I have made good use of psychotropic drugs in my lifetime, when the side affects take up four (FOUR) pages of my People magazine, we’ve gone too far. Do NOT mess with the People, people. It makes me think about that Chris Rock bit: “Do you get up in the morning? And go to sleep at night? You need blahbedy blah drug.” Check your Spam for 80% off!!

Feedback to the producers of the Golden Globes

I may get some bad Karma for saying this (and will deny all and blame it on late-pregnancy bitchiness), but I think that the speech time for the Golden Globes should be determined by how famous you are. For example, Meryl Streep gets 2 minutes because we know who she is and she has something great to say. The producer of Grey Gardens, however, would only get 15-20 seconds because no one knows who the heckadeedoodle she is. In the meantime, thank god for Tivo. Okay, bring on the handbasket!

Could this day get any better?

We started the day with a Vikings playoff win, Daddy & Jacob got some shots (of the H1N1 variety) and had a Borders Books date, they are bringing home Pluto's (the best salads ever!!) and the Golden Globes are starting in 15 min. Also? I haven't changed out of my PJs or done anything besides blow my nose all day. Loverly, just loverly.

Semantics

Dear E-Surance,

Given the fact that you seem to have the budget for daily radio ads on KCBS, I bet you have the budget for a $50/hour fact checker. If you had decided to spend the big bucks, you would have learned that “-itis” is a Greek suffix that among other things, means “inflammation.” So your new ad campaign about “Walletitis” is about inflammation of the wallet, not shrinking you silly geese. Fortunately for you, I’m probably the only one out there who thinks about these things.

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Monkey Brain

I've been watching you, little stretch mark on my side. Don’t think you’re getting away with something just because I have to crane my neck to get a glimpse. I mean, really? What happened? After 35 weeks you had a meeting and decided, hey guys, we need to get started?! Didn’t you have enough fun with my first pregnancy? I really thought I was finished with your cartography, you sneaky little devil.

Spam

Dear Google,

I have to tell you guys that your Spam is way more interesting than Yahoo! With all your medical discounts and creative euphemisms for male genitalia, you are kicking Yahoo!’s Christian Ministry Course’s butts.

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Birth Story, Part II (Men read at your own risk. . .)

As written about here, I went into labor five days after Jacob’s due date, on the afternoon of Monday, October 1, 2007. I labored through the night at home, and from what I can remember, there was a fair amount of timing, showering and pooping (sorry guys, but isn’t it better to do it in the toilet than on the birthing table?) At around 5 am, after 12-13 hours, we headed to the hospital.

As soon as we got to the hospital and I was in the bed, I was hooked up to the fetal monitor and given IV pain medication and Pitocin. I was so exhausted at this point that I didn’t even think about whether or not I wanted pain relief or the ability to walk around. I dozed in and out, and continued to contract without much progress. At about noon, my OB came in and physically made my water break (also called “breaking the bag”). I think that I was around 4 cm dilated (you need to get up to 10) and had received an epidural, so I felt nothing. There was meconium (fetus poo) in my waters, which wasn’t such a huge deal, but we wanted things to move forward, that’s for sure. Then Jacob’s heart started dropping on every contraction, so they gave me medicine to stop the contractions, and then to start them up again.

On and on we went through the afternoon, and during some of that time I needed to wear an oxygen mask, which I hated. I felt tied to the bed, scared, and somewhat claustrophobic with the mask, but too foggy to even think about what was happening.

At around 5:30 pm, my OB came back and gave me two options. She would let me labor until about 11pm, during which they would try to use a vacuum extractor to get Jacob out, and if that didn’t work I’d have to have a C-Section, or we could move forward with C-Section now. In thinking through what my body and my baby had been through, his heart going up and down all day, I couldn’t bear putting him through more of the same, and so we chose C-Section. At the time, I felt good about the decision, thinking that while it would be harder for me, it would hopefully be easier for Jacob, and ensure a safe delivery.

We rolled into the operating room at about 6pm, and I was laid out with my arms in the crucifix position as the anesthesiologist got to work. I remember my doctor chatting with the other surgeon about her upcoming high school reunion, her telling me that my abs looked great, and that “they won’t look as good the next time around!” and I was comforted by the chitchat which made me feel like what was happening was not such a huge deal.

I remember starting to shiver, and the feeling that I was going to throw up, and the fear that I would vomit on my face or into my mouth because I couldn’t sit up. Josh was on my left, and when Jacob came out, he was dazed at first, until the anesthesiologist nudged him into action: “Go on, take some pictures!” Then Josh was dancing (if not physically, his voice was) and saying how much Jacob looked like his dad. He brought him back to me so I could see him, and as I’ve written here before, I felt nothing. I still couldn’t stop shivering, and what I didn’t know at the time was that my body was beginning to fight a uterine infection that was only the beginning of things to come.

They brought me into recovery and I passed out as my fever spiked. I was in and out for about an hour, and then I was awake enough to sit up and have Jacob come in and try to nurse, without much luck. We rolled back to the room and I think that our family was still there: my mom, Josh’s dad and stepmom, Josh’s brother.

My fever spiked twice more. I remember one of the labor and delivery nurses telling me that one of the spikes (104 point something) was the highest temperature she’d taken in her 30 year career, and I had a little sick pride over that. I remember that the on-call OB decided to only do a uterine scan if I spiked a third time, which I didn’t, and six weeks later, we’d both wish that she had ordered the scan. Hindsight is 20/20 and all that.

I remember the removal of the catheter, and subsequent pain and re-insertion after my bladder got so full and I couldn’t physically pee. I remember the kindness of the labor and delivery nurses, the best nurses of all. One braided my stinky hair and got the knots out when I couldn’t shower for two days. She was the same one who got as giddy as a schoolgirl when I finally passed gas, which meant that I could eat food, and ran to get me a menu so I wouldn’t have to wait until dinner time after nearly three days of watered down apple-cranberry juice and ice chips. I can’t say enough about labor and delivery nurses, who certainly don’t chose this specialty for the pay. Overall, Josh, Jacob and I got a lot of tender loving care during our stay.

We stayed 5 days in the hospital so I could recover, and went home on Saturday morning, and while the real-world journey of parenthood began, the labor and delivery part was not yet over.

After the C-Section, I felt like I had failed at something so fundamentally female, the experience of childbirth, and I second guessed all of my choices. What if I had created a more specific birth plan? What if I had held out when they started hooking me up to machines and medicines from the moment I walked into the hospital? What if I had waited until the last possible moment, and given the vacuum extractor a shot?

I find it easier to question myself than to give myself credit for making a choice that may have saved both me and Jacob from further trauma. I find it easier to listen to the voices that speak of interventions and criticize C-sections and hospital births instead of trying to accept that my birth story is my own, and I could have had a much worse outcome than I did. As it stands, I had a healthy baby who was a good eater, a good sleeper, with a calm and mellow personality.

I think that the scariest part of a C-section is my fear of a repeat experience. And while everything I’ve learned has taught me that an operation without labor can be easier to deal with, I’m still scared. I’m sharing this to try to let go of that fear, because I want to make the best choice for me and Keiki, and I don’t want it to be a choice that comes out of fear. As I write, I’m learning that it may not be the C-section itself that is scary. To use a California metaphor, if my C-Section was an earthquake, it set in motion a series of more dangerous aftershocks, and for me, everything that happened in the weeks after Jacob was born emotionally leads me back to the C-Section and clouds my ability to make a choice now. And all that is another story. Stay tuned.

Near Miss

There several times that I’ve almost killed my son, but I’ll just share a few:

• The time I flipped over his car seat when he was a few weeks old and I barely caught it before it rolled into oncoming traffic.
• The time I let him crawl up the two steps leading from our house to the concrete patio and he thunked his way down to the concrete.
• The time I had the oven door open and a knife in my hand and Jacob ran towards me and I reflexively went to him, knife still in hand, hot oven still open.
• The time that Jacob crawled halfway up my sister’s big staircase while Josh and I each thought the other was watching him.
• The time I left the big chopping knife on the edge of the counter, thinking it was out of reach until Josh demonstrated with a rock that it was very much within reach.

Clearly, I didn’t really almost kill him, but at the time it felt something like that. With my imagination, a near miss is just enough for me to picture the potential (and often very bloody) outcome.

I’m thinking of this because today I made my first call to 911. My neighbor was pounding on my door this morning and I opened it up to find her distraught, her four year old in her arms with a bloody towel covering his face. A door mirror had fallen on his him while she was in the bathroom. The paramedics came and took him to the hospital, and while he’ll have a good scar to tell the ladies about, he still has all his teeth, the shards just missed his eye, and he should be okay. Still, that doesn’t do much to alleviate a mother’s guilt because something bad happened under her care.

We make so many mistakes as parents, and it seems so hard to acknowledge it, like we should always be watching, as if all the baby proofing and safety gear out there should mean that there won’t be any boo boos or trips to the ER. And while so far Jacob’s mishaps have only needed a little ice or band-aid here and there, I know that there will be a day when there’s a big one, and it may be on my watch. I hope that I can give that future me the same empathy that I gave my friend this morning.

Anyway, I better sign off. Jacob's been alone in the bath for a while and it's been quiet; too quiet. . .

Monkey Brain

Dear Mrs. Crocker (and the makers of Fiber One muffin mix, since you don’t really exist),

If I had the spacial intelligence (or any brain cells that aren’t eaten up by motherhood) to figure out what a 2/3 full muffin cup should look like, would I be making muffins from a box? If I had that superpower, wouldn’t I be grinding my own wheat and baking muffins from scratch? Help a girl out, wouldja? Like, “add ¼ c batter,” or something like that.

(This is what I get for entering Costco while pregnant, nesting, and not on Ritalin.)

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

36 Weeks: The Home Stretch?

Since Keiki is the size of a Crenshaw melon, I’ve wracked my brain for some sort of Crenshaw Boulevard reference, but let’s face it; I’m just not that cool. In case you even think about rejecting that notion, let me tell you a story, and then I’ll get back to pregnancy.

The summer I turned six, we took a family trip to England. First, we were in London, where we saw Evita, which I loved, loved, loved. We made our way south to the beach town of Sidmouth, where some friends of friends owned a news shop. While in the bathroom of the news shop, I decided to entertain myself by singing “Don’t Cry For Me Argentina.” AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS. Still in that childhood stage where you think you are invisible if you can't see anyone, oblivious to the fact that a closed door does not mean SOUNDPROOF, I finished my business, walked back out to the store to a standing ovation from my family and the shop patrons, turned red and melted into a nearly six-year-old puddle of embarrassment in the floor.

Back to the present.

In the final weeks of pregnancy, people often tell you that you’re on the home stretch, the final mile, almost there, Tiger. Although according to the Semantics Police, Keiki will be an Ox, not a Tiger, because the Chinese New Year won’t come until after his/her arrival. Stupid semantics, guess Daddy wants a little organizer not a charming, charismatic leader. . .reel it in Monkey Brain, REEL. IT. IN.

This week I’m realizing that these comments, while true in some sense, are also completely misleading. I know from experience that taking care of a baby in my belly is NOTHING compared to when they get out into the world.

While I’m on the final lap of the pregnancy, this is just a warm up. I’m finishing a marathon, only to begin a lifetime version of the Iron Man Triathlon. I want to savor this time, because so much will go into a vortex over the coming months. Part of my motivation to blog is to have something to share with my friends and family, most of whom are far, far away. It’s my way of saying, “I may not return your call or call you, ever. I may take months to respond to e-mails, but I still love you, and here’s what’s going on in my life that, along with my general Monkey Braininess, prevents me from being good about keeping in touch.” I wish I could tell my friends that if I don’t call you for the next five years, please don’t write me off, and try to remember when I was a good and caring friend because I still care, I’ve just got my head up my arse and that may not change for a few years.

I know that there are people who maintain social lives and ties with their best friend from third grade despite having jobs and kids. I’m not one of those people. I am not a good phone person, which makes me a bad long distance friend. I like e-mail, but completely flake out, which gets worse with parenthood. I’ve definitely lost friends due to my crappy correspondence skills, and I can only hope that the friends that remain either accept that part of me, or are so busy themselves that they don’t notice. Either one suits me. So those of you reading, wondering why I am such a shit, know this: I do think about you, and sometimes I’ll even set about calling or e-mailing, but 9 times out of 10, I will get distracted by a shiny object or poopy diaper. I’m sorry.

The Big One

As a resident of the Bay Area and living miles from the Hayward Fault, which is set to go at any time, the fear of a big, scary earthquake is always rattling somewhere in my consciousness, and so my heart breaks for the people of Haiti. The thing is that I work in a building that is on rollers which will move with an earthquake and live in an area that is better prepared than most for when the big one strikes. I can't imagine the devastation and shock that Haitians are dealing with tonight, as well as their relatives here who are hoping and praying to hear some good news. My thoughts and prayers are with them, and I will hold my own family a little closer tonight.

The playground is to toddlers as the Marina Safeway is to grown ups

Just in case the above reference has too many San Francisco values, here is a link to a brief background.

Jacob: Hi! Whatchu eating?
Girl at the Playground: Cheerios
Jacob: No, dat’s cookies!
GATP: Blank Stare
Jacob: Whatchu doing?
GATP: Blank Stare
Jacob: Whatchu doing?
GATP: Blank Stare

She did approach him later in the sandbox and they took laps around the playground for a bit. Look out ladies!

Monkey Cook: Penne Carbonara

This is my take on the classic comfort food that is spaghetti carbonara. I’ve made some switcheroonies to make it a little healthier, but you may want to have a light lunch if you are serving this for dinner. Serves 2-3

Ingredients:
6-8 slices turkey bacon (feel free to use less if you are not a meat-craving preggo)
2 eggs at room temperature
6 T shredded parmesan cheese, divided
3 oz whole wheat penne
3 oz penne
Black pepper (to taste)
Directions:
1. Preheat your oven to 400°, and bake turkey bacon in the oven for about 7-10 minutes on each side, until brown.

2. Place a large pot of water to boil for the pasta and cook the pasta to al dente (~10 min); be sure to salt the water before you drop in the pasta. .

3. While the pasta is cooking, chop the turkey into bite size pieces, and beat the eggs with ¼ c parmesan and a few sprinkles of black pepper.

4. Drain the pasta, reserving about 1c of the starchy cooking water.

5. Return the pasta to the pot, and stir in the egg mixture and the chopped bacon. The heat of the pasta should cook the egg. Add spoonfuls of the cooking water to help the egg mixture and bacon stick to the pasta (if you don't use the whole cup, that is okay). If the egg is not cooking, feel free to put the burner on low so you don’t get salmonella, which would totally suck.

6. Stir in the remaining parmesan an add black pepper to taste (I say bring it on!!)

7. Enjoy with a green salad and a nice glass of wine (optional of course)

36 Week Checkup

BP: 103/86
Fundal Height: 37 cm
Weight: +1.5
Cervix: 30% effaced; closed

What this all means: Things are looking very good. In terms of belly size, growth has slowed down to the point where I don’t really need a last ultrasound to determine the size, but I’m still going to have one to help me make the VBAC/C-Section determination in a few weeks. While I’ve agreed to schedule a C-Section if we are looking at another 9 pounder, I still have a resistance to that idea, despite the fact that it may be in my best interest. Clearly there’s some more work to do, so stay tuned for more birth stories (sorry fellas!)

The cervix stuff up there means that my cervix is starting to thin out, but still closed. This is okay given that I’m not at 36 weeks, but good news that things are starting to happen down below. We still want to keep this kiddo in the hot tub for at least another 9 days, but then all bets are off!

Spam

Really Viagra? Seriously? Hmm, how do I make myself clear? I have no pee pee to speak of.  Do you think I'm like that pregnant man from Oregon?

BARKING.
UP.
THE.
WRONG.
TREE.

Monkey Mama

I’m so glad that I wrote that lovey dovey post yesterday, because today was not so good. Jacob woke up a hungry little fusspot. And when I’m on my game, I have lots of patience to get my little hungry fusspot fed so that my shiny happy toddler returns. But Internet, I was NOT on my game today. I’ve been spending a lot of time with Jacob to give Josh some grading time, and our outings have left me overtired and under-patient. Listen, you try explaining to a 2 year old that you can’t pick him up because of your big ole belly and you’ll see what I mean.

Anyhoo. Jacob refused all offers of food and only wanted to play with Play-Doh. And I know that he’ll be MUCH happier if he can eat something, but he’s too hungry and cranky to eat, but I can’t let it go. So I refuse the Play-Doh and it’s meltdown city. Why am I entering into a battle of wills with a two year old? Because I’m a tired, very pregnant 34 year old who also needs a nap. I can even see this happening and comment on it in my head, but I can’t change gears.
Finally he has some yogurt probiotic drink and starts to perk up, until I offer some cereal (he said YES!) but after I give it to him, he begins meltdown #2. And so I call for backup and make Daddy come and peel some clementines because “I am at the end of my rope.” Meaning that while I’m confident that I am a good enough mother to not do this, there is a part of me that isn’t sure that I might just pelt my kid with clementine sections, all for acting like a two year old, GOD FORBID. Lucky for me, the clementines returned Jacob to a normal enough state that he could handle a slice of toast, and I was able to make some barnyard pals out of Play Doh, and balance was restored.

This is the dark side of parenting, the embarrassing moments when your kid is driving you nuts, but really you are just in need of a time out. This is why I like writing. The good, the bad, it keeps me aware and humble. It also reminds me that the bad is like a storm and will always pass.

T Minus 1 Month

Well, I'm officially 1 month away from my due date. I feel pretty good, up and down still, but that's part of the deal with these final weeks. I can't believe that D-day is so close! We're pretty much set up over here, and we have plans for Jacob, who will be giving our friends A&P (due in April) a practice run at parenting a toddler. Still don't know how little Keiki's going to make his/her way out, but that's just fine.

I'm eager to meet Keiki and excited for the next challenge to begin. I'm sure the next month will go by very quickly, but just in case, once I get to 37 weeks, I'll be jumping jacking all over the place!

Spam

Dear person in charge of Barbara Boxer’s e-mail list,
Um, first of all? Remove me from your list. Second of all? E-mails that come into my mailbox with the subject line, “Don’t Delete This,” go straight in the trash. I may be a Monkey Brain, but this isn’t 1994 when e-mail was new for me and I opened and forwarded everything, including dirty e-mails about Smurfette.

Sincerely,
Monkey Brain

A Lovely Day

After the changing routine of holidays and baby prep, today we're back to a perfectly average, ordinary Saturday, and I love it. We went to Stroller Strides this morning, my first workout of 2010 and our first class since early December. We came home and had a little snack/lunch, put Jacob down for a nap, and I took a nice Epsom Salt bath to stave off soreness. I took a few moments to clean up, and I finally can see my living room floor, as well as most of my kitchen countertop and enough of my sink to not make me too overwhelmed.

I'm working from home starting on Monday (whohoo!) which means that while my Monkey Brain is saying laundry! trader joes! target!!!!, I know that life errands can wait for the week because I don't have a commute, and multitasking helps me focus. When I'm at home, I can fold laundry and talk on the phone at the same time, flit from task to task so that by the time Josh gets home with Jacob, the house is usually clean, my email/voicemails are clear, and dinner is on its way. Luckily, I have a boss who gets that and trusts me, and I am lucky that as long as the work gets done, everyone's happy, even if that means returning puzzles to their boxes during a conference call.

We'll see how things go with my current physical state, which doesn't allow me to motor through housework as well, but for now, I'm enjoying the moment. Josh and Jacob are both asleep, we're having visitors soon, and the sweet spell of being alone and writing will be broken. That will be okay, because writing about it now makes it seem less like a dream when I am negotiating dinner with my toddler who only wants yogurt & cereal.

Spam

Dear Phisherman,
Pay my house off in 5-7 years? HAH!!! Have you BEEN to the Bay Area lately? We’ve got a solid 28 years on this sucker!

Sincerely,
Monkey Brain

Monkey Brain

With all this talk about Yemen, am I the only one who keeps flashing back to that episode of Friends (“The One with All the Rugby”) when Chandler couldn’t break up with Janice and so he told her that he was moving to Yemen, and I was all, Wha-men? Here’s some sample dialogue:

Chandler: That's right, yes. I'm being transferred to Yemen.
Janice: When?
Chandler: I don't know exactly.
Janice: Well, I will just have to soak up every ounce of Chandler Bing until that moment comes!
Chandler: But I do know it's sometime tomorrow!

Chandler: I'm only pretend-moving to Yemen, okay? It's the only way I can get rid of her
Joey: Oh, good one! And "Yemen," that actually sounds like a real country!

Oh Friends, I miss you.

Spam

Dear Smoke Shack,

Dude! Did you not read my new year’s post? No smoky trees for me!

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

35 Weeks: Honeydew List

Happy Epiphany everyone! For those of you not in the know, January 6 is the feast of the Epiphany, marking the visit of the Magi (Wise Men) to baby Jesus, when he was 12 days old (no catered birth for Mary!). I think this is probably where we get 12 days of Christmas, but I was probably spacing out or faking sick when they covered that in Sunday School. Tonight we'll be feasting on some slow cooked beef with veggies and couscous. I'm breaking in my new Crock Pot from Santa (Yes, Mom, this is the same appliance you've been trying to get for me for the last 5 years, and once I was finally ready, Josh beat you to the punch!)

This is also the week that Keiki is supposed to be like a honeydew, and what better way to celebrate than with a recap of the “Honey Do” list, although in this case, most of the Honey doing is your friend Monkey Brain.
Moses Basket
Car Seat & Extra Base
Put together Ikea Hemnes dresser
Buy Dreft
Put clothes in dresser
Buy Pampers Swaddlers, Size 1
Buy linens for Jakey’s toddler bed (Thanks Jojo!)
Get credit for double-charged Hemes dresser
Wash 0-3 month clothes
Draft Birth Plan
Pre-register at hospital
Wash Jolly Jumper (to hold the Moses Basket like a cradle), which has been in the garage and needs some bleaching in case any rats rubbed against it.
Unearth Breast Pump
Make Josh check the baby tub in the garage for rats. If no rats, fully scrub the tub in case rats touched it.
Pack hospital bag .
As you can see, old MB has made some progress in the last week. Oh I’m sure I’ll be able to add to the list as I check things off, but so far, I’m feeling pretty good.

Retraction

Dear Mr Phisherman,

I apologize for my snobbery. My husband reminded me tonight that we shopped at Wal-Mart in Maui two years ago. Oops. I'm not totally counting it because we used a gift card and we weren't on the continental US, but nonetheless, I lied, and I'm sorry. (Josh/A, are you happy now?)

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Chester the Molester (of the belly variety)

Throughout each of my pregnancies, strangers have been pretty respectful of the old belly. My friend C tells me of many stories of grabby hands on the Muni to rub her belly like Aladdin’s lamp, and I considered myself pretty lucky. And then my belly got molested this week. .

When I got to my BART station, the escalator was broken, which meant that I had to take the elevator and by the time I hit the parking structure, most of my fellow commuters had already reached their cars and the place was pretty empty. There was a man walking in front of me, and I had this weird feeling so I slowed down to let him get further ahead of me. Then he turned around.

“Can you tell me how to get to Union Square?”

“In San Francisco?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Well, you have to go back to the trains.” What are you doing walking around a parking lot if you are looking to go to San Francisco??

So I lead him back to the breezeway that leads to the trains, point out the BART train, and tell him he has to go back inside and take the BART to Powell Street station. Good deed done for the day, goodbye Charlie, right?

Instead of walking back into the station, he reaches out and puts his hand on my belly. AND DOESN’T REMOVE IT. And so begins the most awkward 5 minutes of 2010.

How’s the pregnancy going? Fine. Do you know what you’re having? Nope. Is this your first? Nope. How far along? 8 months? My ex is 8 months pregnant with twins. Do you know the position of the baby? Um, NO. Does the baby kick? Of course! Can you make it kick? NO (getthefuckawayfrommeyoufreak)

I’m answering for the most part, but increasingly freaking out, trying to figure out how to extract myself from this situation without antagonizing this stranger with crazy eyes.

And then he puts his other hand on my belly. THIS STRANGE MAN IS CUPPING MY BELLY. I flinch backward, and this seems to break the moment, THANK GOD.

“Oh! I’m sorry, is that. . .”

“Um, yeah, it’s kind of weird.”

He takes the one hand off, but the other hand remains. I have to say I can’t really remember how it ended, but I think he got the message and walked away. I picked up my cell phone like I just remembered I need to call something. I waited until he looked far enough out of sight, and booked it to my car. And by “booked it,” I mean waddled as quickly as possible while trying to get a hold of Josh so he could talk to me until I got safely to the car.

The upshot is that I was tired and in a crappy mood while on BART, but the adrenaline and relief coursing through my body turned my whole outlook around. However, if I had my druthers, I’d take a nice glass of Zinfandel over a belly molester any day.

Spam

Dear Mr. Phisherman,
Thanks for the offer to shop Wal-Mart with “this gift card,” but I haven’t shopped Wal-Mart since I read Nickel & Dimed in 2002. I do shop Target though!

Sincerely,
Monkey Brain

The show that Just! Won't! End!

I have been watching The Bachelor since Season 3 in 2002. Actually, it was The Bachelorette, the first one with Trista (Rehn) Sutter and Fireman Ryan. Josh and I got hooked, and continued to watch, despite the downhill slide over the years. I watched the boring Italian (but really American who didn’t even speak Italian) “Prince,” Brad who chose no one, and that guy who ended up dating Marla Maples. The last few haven’t been too bad (Melissa! No, Molly! I mean it this time!), but I am not looking forward to watching Jake the pilot, who looks and acts like a real live Ken Doll and whines, “Everyone thinks I’m too perfect. . .”

This is a terrible show, and I know it, but I can’t stop getting a Tivo season pass each year and clipping much better programming. I just keep sticking it out until cancellation. It’s kind of like that guy you date, and you want to break up, but then it’s his birthday. And then the holidays come up, so you stay, telling yourself, “I’ll do it by New Year’s, I promise!” And then his dog dies. And then his mom gets sick, so you stay to support him through that terrible time. And then he gets terminal cancer, and how can you break his heart? You’ll just stick it out until the end, right? But after a long, long, long battle, he miraculously goes into remission, and by that time you are married and schtupping the pool boy, but still don’t have the heart to get a divorce because because of the kids.

Yeah, it’s kind of like that.

Muffy, Dahling, we MUST make a date for tennis

Note: The above title should be read with extreme lockjaw

In researching linens for Jacob, I thought I would end up with some cute animal print, a nod to his love of animals and Madagascar. And yet, I found myself having a WASP attack in Target, which resulted in something that you might see in the Maine cabin of a Boston Brahmin. And by cabin, I mean mansion made out of logs. You can take the girl out of the yacht club, but you can't take the yacht club out of the girl. Excuse me while I go polish my pearls. . .

Seen/Heard

"Jacob, do you smell the popcorn? Doesn't it smell good?"
" I can't smell it! I can't smell it! My booger, my booger!"

Spam

In Re: Resolve to bed more chicks in 2010
Dear Phisherman,

Whoa, whoa, whoa, fella. Just because we got a compost bin doesn’t mean we are going to start a chicken farm down here!

Sincerely,
Monkey Brain

27 Months

Dear Jacob,

You are 27 months today and Holy Crap! The toddler has landed and is unprotected. Repeat, the toddler has landed. In the bed. With no bars. After freaking out at the prospect of not just "playing" night night in your new bed (Without! Bars! Crib! Now! Mama!), you went down in your new bed tonight. And as of now, 8:51 pm, PST, there is silence, which I'm only going to assume means sleeping, since I'm not going to even THINK about checking and potentially waking that little dragon. Jacob, I've been terrible with your lovely Pooh Bear Baby Book, but I hope that this will make up for it somehow. Tonight, you took one more step into the big boy pool.

Sigh.

What next? Pooping in the potty? Tying your own shoes? College? Luckily, there's another one coming soon and it starts all over again. Just kidding. Keiki will never replace you in my heart. Hearts are like balloons, real ones, not the cardboard ones they have on the walls at Trader Joe's that you like so much. Hearts (the abstract love kind, not the ventricular kind) expand and expand, and they never explode, although sometimes with you, it sure feels that my heart may do just that.

I love your new expressiveness, the expansion of your sentences. I love that you say things like, "My mommy, my mommy" when you want me, and when I sing, "I love Ja-cob," you ape me right back: "I luff Mo-mmy!". I love that you lift up my shirt when I read you stories so you can get really close to Keiki, and sometimes your figeting feels like you just can't get close enough, as if you are trying to crawl into my belly. By the way, that's how I felt when I first fell in love with Daddy, like there was no level of physical closeness that could be enough, that I wanted crawl inside him and curl up like a baby, so I totally know how you feel.

This week, we've spent more time on projects, like Play Dough, building with Duplos, and coloring in your coloring book. I've noticed that while you are pretty good at independent play, you always prefer Daddy or me to create for you while you watch. It seems like you are frustrated by your lack of skill and are somewhat of a perfectionist. Dude, you are only two! I only learned how to color in the lines in the last year or so.

I worry about this early sign of self-consciousness. How can I teach you that your scribbles are beautiful, that your lopsided towers are amazing? Luckily, you still eat food off the floor before I can catch you, so I don't have to worry about you too much.

All in all, you are a fabulous kid. Although, any thought to expanding your palate from yogurt, clementines, hot dogs, blueberries and pancakes? I dunno, a green veggie here or there? I'm just sayin'. . .

Love,

Mama

Boot & Rally

When I was in college, or the peak of my binge drinking days (or is a phrase that includes "binge drinking" and "college" kind of redundant?), my friend from high school, D, introduced me to the term "Boot & Rally". Basically this is a macho term made up by binge drinkers who drink to the point of vomiting. After they pray to the porcelain gods, call up the dinosaurs, yell cabbage, technicolor yawn . . .do I need to explain further? After said vomiting, they rally by drinking even more like the jacknuts, erm, sexy beasts, that they are. I never had the distinction of being a rallier, I was always kind of a cheap date and passed out if I threw up, which in retrospect is probably a good thing.

Back to the present, where I am a somewhat respectable GROWN UP.

Looking over the last two weeks of holidays, it's kind of been one long boot & rally session, only there is no Natty Light involved, or puking, or hangovers of the alcoholic kind.

It started with Christmas, which was a marathon day of cooking, table setting and present sharing. I was very happy (as a binge drinker is in the early stages of the night) to host for the first time my favorite holiday in my home.

I loved sharing some of my favorite childhood traditions (Spode Christmas plates! Yorkshire Pudding! Santa! Stockings! English Christmas Crackers!!) and making some new ones (Those Spode plates were paper, the advent calendar is in the shape of a penguin, no Christmas goose and NO highly flamable FIGGY PUDDING!!)

Boot (12/26): Boxing Day brought with it the feeling that I'd gone ten rounds with old St. Nick himself. My back and belly ached, and I had visions of premature labor dancing in my head.

Rally (12/27): Despite starting the day with much nausea and tiredness, flaking out on family plans to rest, I rallied Sunday afternoon and found myself and my brother in Ikea, where we bought Jacob's new bed and a dresser for Jacob & Keiki to share. Internet, have you been to Ikea? When I was overdue with Jacob, I went to Ikea for bed linens and i swear it put me into labor. You walk 10,000 miles whether or not you buy a bed or a spoon!

Boot (12/27): Home from Ikea on Sunday night, we had a nice simple dinner and the vow of rest in my head started to sound like, "I'm NEVER drinking again!"

Rally (1/1): Yesterday, I put together an entire dresser, rearranged Jacob's room, went to Ikea to reconcile the $300 dresser that I double-charged myself on Sunday's outing (pregnant Monkey Brains should be banned from self-checkout, especially after walking 10,000 miles), returned items at two other stores and bought linens for Jacob's bed.

MAJOR BOOT (1/2): This morning I woke up nauseated and Braxton Hicksing with a headache reminiscent of bad champagne. I stumbled into the kitchen to make Jacob breakfast and promptly dropped an entire box of cereal on the floor, after which I made Josh make breakfast and I went back to bed for two hours.

Rally: I took Jacob on a date this afternoon to Jamba Juice and Barnes & Noble. Then we went food shopping, but I'm learning, I swear. I got a few items to get us through, came home, made a simple dinner and I'm not doing anything else for the rest of the night.

I'm writing this post to remind myself that this roller coaster is not the best way to ride out my pregnancy, or at least until 37 weeks, when the onset of labor will be much welcomed!

Spam

Dear Match.com,

Thanks for your concern, but I won’t be alone for the holidays. I am never alone, because my 34 week fetus is always with me. I am surrounded and could actually use a little alone time, so move along now.

Sincerely,

Monkey Brain

Scary Pregnancy Dream

I go to sleep feeling nauseated on a Monday night, and when I next awake on Thursday, I'm still in my bed, but I've been to the hospital and back and our baby girl was born via C-Section. Josh hadn't really taken pictures, and I am so disoriented and confused.

I interrogate Josh: Was I coherent? Was I passed out the whole time? How did you know I was in labor? They released me from the hospital after only one day?

From what I can piece together, the baby was born that Tuesday, February 6 (which I think would make the year 2011). I accept the fact that it was a C-Section since I wasn't even lucid, but can't tell if I was passed out the whole time or just blocked everything out.

This scared the crap out of me this morning when I woke up, and physically I don't feel too much better than my dream. Once again I overtaxed myself yesterday, so my belly hurts, my back hurts and my head hurts. A fog of disorientation remains, and I plan on doing nothing today so that my body and mind can recover. Begone creepy dream and your side effects!!

Spam

In Re: “I sent a mini girl to you”

Dear Phisherman,

A girl you say? Have you been reading my ultrasounds? I mean I have this feeling that Keiki is a girl but. . . Ohhhhhhhh. You sick, sick Phisherman.

Sincerely,
Monkey Brain