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

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?