The Not-So-Divine Secrets of -Motherhood-

I'm beautiful

Yeah, I know by the title that I'm also egotistical. But today, TODAY for the first time when I looked in the mirror I saw the true beauty of being pregnant. In the last three weeks my tummy has really taken on an identity of it's own.

Today I came home from work, put on a wifebeater tank top (Old Navy makes them super duper long and they work great as maternity tops) and when I looked in the mirror I saw the loving bulge of my almost six month old pregnancy blossoming.

I was in awe. I stood there for about ten minutes and looked at it from every angle. This is real. There is a baby growing in there that I can feel moving and kicking almost all the time. The books say that the baby probably weighs close to a pound at this stage. Just for the fun of it I took a pound of frozen butter out and passed it back and forth to my husband. I think he was just as awestruck as I was.

I finally feel like a beautiful pregnant person. This is definitely worth the wait. I am just excited to see what life will be like in a little over three more months. WOW.

Random Ranting

You know, I should be a bigger person than this. I have now let this one stupid issue consume me since Friday night. It is now Tuesday. Way too much time and energy on something so minor. Apparently it isn't all that minor. At least not to me. I've already posted about this once on my venting board that I have been posting on for almost two years. You would think it would work it's way out of my system but since it hasn't I'm going to vent again. Although in much greater detail this time.

My husband is from Canada. His whole family with the exception of one brother still lives there. That brother lives here in the US with his American wife and his two children. We don't see them very often even though we live in the US also, for obvious reasons. It is hard to find time and money to travel, harder for them to find time and money to come to us. So we accept that we will see them once in a blue moon, but we talk to them on the phone all the time.

When I married my husband I knew that the sensitive side of him was going to miss his family terribly. His brother moved to the US and got married and has only been home maybe a handful of times in the fifteen years since. So I made a commitment (to myself but more to him) that we would never let visiting his family become our last priority. And so far, I must say, in the last eight years we have not skipped a visit even once. We go every single summer and every other Christmas. I am pretty proud of that.

I'm kind of selfish too, I really love his family. They make me feel welcome, even in the midst of all their organized chaos, so I also tend to get a little "homesick" if you will. I have silently given myself pats on the back for being so good about making sure that we always have a budget to go visit his family, especially because it is so hard on them to not see his other brother all that often.

Well, all the stars and planets aligned and his brother was able to book a vacation to take his wife and kids to visit the extended family in Canada. You better believe that we booked our vacation to coincide with theirs, I mean after all, the last time the entire family was together in Canada was at our wedding six years ago. I tried to be smart about the trip though, knowing that they were going to be there for two and a half weeks I booked our trip to start before theirs and just overlap by about four or five days. That way we could still visit with them and everyone else but we could leave before everyone really starts to get on each other's nerves.

At least, I thought I was being smart. My husband's parents have lived in the same house for over thirty years. It is a fair sized home, they had five children and six bedrooms. I think in my last rant I miscounted and said five bedrooms. But the truth is that there are six bedrooms and three bathrooms in this home. It worked for their family at the time. And most of the time, it works for when we go to visit. Not all of the bedrooms have beds in them though, some of the bedrooms have turned into collection rooms. There is the room I call the "wrapping paper room". It is where I go to wrap presents for birthdays and Christmases. I can't remember the doo-dads in the room but I know that is where my mother in law keeps the tape, paper and scissors. There is the "kids play room", where the grandkids toys are kept. There is a small tv in there that we usually put a video on for the younger crew. There is an ancient fold out couch in that room but I don't really know any other purpose for that room.

Then there are the furnished guest rooms. My husband's old room is still like a shrine to him. Everything is exactly as he left it when he came to the US. His rolltop desk with his old college notes and books, his twin bed (still don't know how a grown adult could sleep in a twin bed but that's for another day), his nightstand with his alarm clock. The room is small but comfy. For a ten year old.

You have two more rooms with furniture, the "waterbed room"- apparently my husband's oldest brother's room. Also somewhat of a shrine to him. Still has all his old trophies for golf and curling and has a few random pictures of him trapped in 1982. The other room is his sister's old room, with a double bed and rose patterned wallpaper. This is the room we have stayed in for every single visit since the one after we announced our engagement. Before we announced our engagement I slept in the room downstairs and my husband was supposed to sleep upstairs in his twin bed.

I like the rose room. It is familiar. It is in the basement so I can sneak off when I'm tired and catch a nap, or read a book. It is right across the hall from the basement bathroom so after we have sneaky sex I can run and use the ladies room without the floorboards squeaking. The bed is decent- even better since we bought a new boxspring for that bed for his parents Christmas present two years ago. It's one downfall is that it is only a double bed and we are used to sleeping in a queen size but the beauty of Canada is that the nights still get cool there even in the summer so snuggling is definitely an option. And forget it, in the winter time snuggling is a method for survival, especially in the basement. So I really don't mind this room. Besides, I kind of think of it as "ours". I mean, aside from his other brother that lives in the US, all of his other brothers and sisters actually live in the same city as his parents. And since his US brother doesn't ever get home I've never had to worry about my territory.

Until now. About a month ago when I spoke with my mother in law I asked her if she had enough room to accommodate all of us for that few days of overlap. (I expected the answer to be yes, keep in mind six bedrooms, three bathrooms) There will be myself and my husband, his brother and his wife with their two kids, ages eleven and six. Shouldn't be a problem, right? I mean, kids can sleep on air mattresses, the couch, the floor, whatever. There are still two beds, my beloved double bed and the waterbed. No biggie. She assured me that there was room.

Then my husband talked to her on Friday night and that is when it all went downhill. So she tells him that she has plans for us to use the rose bedroom until everyone gets there and then she wants to move us to the fold out couch upstairs. What? You want to move us to the kids play room?  Why should we move to the fold out couch? There are two beds, two couples. The kids can fight over the one remaining twin bed and the loser can sleep on the fold out couch. How did we get relegated to the fold out couch? Whose shit list are we on anyway?

So in case you can't tell, I've been absolutely fuming about this for at least four days now. I don't get it. So you are telling me that their family will get both of the adult beds in that house and we can sleep on a twenty year old pull out couch? Do you think they know that I'm pregnant? How about CRANKY and pregnant? I'm already not getting enough sleep and you want me to sleep on a wire frame with a bar running through it on a mattress with the thickness and quality of an eggcrate?

I guess my husband didn't even have to think of me, he knew in his own mind that he wasn't going to sleep on the fold out couch and he told her so. He told her that we would just go stay at his sister's house a few doors down then once everyone got there. Ok, that is a suggestion I am still coming to terms with. I'm not happy about it but it's better than the fold out couch option. So somehow then it turned into, "Well, if you're going to do that you should go stay at your brother's house when you move, they have a guest room."

Yeah, and they live five minutes away, not three houses down. Exactly how are we going to get back and forth? I'm not going to be able to hoof it back and forth every time I need a nap. And I will tell you, there is no way I can handle spending five days at his brother's house with the sister in law and kids. Besides, it totally defeats the purpose of us being there at the same time- you know- to visit with everyone? So then the next thing is we would have to rent a car. Fine, fine, I can rent one on Hotwire for about twenty bucks a day. But then this is how it is going to go- instead of getting up and having a leisurely breakfast with everyone we will get up and have breakfast at his brothers house. We will have to get in the shower, get ready, and then go to visit everyone. I assume we will eat lunch there as we always do, but then in the afternoon when I usually like to sneak away for a nap I will have to either get my husband to drive me back or I will have to take the rental car back to the other house for a nap. Then I will have to get back over to the main house for dinner. Unfortunately, I always enjoy going to bed a little earlier, it offers me an opportunity to read and relax and gives my husband the chance to visit with his dad. In this case, we are going to have to find a way to get one of us back to the other house while making sure that the other still has transportation.

Petty? I know. I haven't even scratched the surface with how petty I am. I have just been mad and then even more mad about the way this has worked out. I guess it's because I'm bummed. I feel like we got the shaft. Heck, I shouldn't have even planned for us to go at the same time, it sounds too inconvenient as it is. And the worst part is that because I am pregnant I bought plane tickets instead of us driving the cross country trip like we normally do. So it isn't even like we can just cut the trip short or reschedule it.

Bummed doesn't even describe it. I'm a raving lunatic.

And we have a nursery theme

I have to laugh about this. Prior to my actual pregnancy I knew that I was one of the most anal, over-organized, stress cases that I knew. I had to have every single plan include a backup plan, and a backup to the backup plan. For me life was all about lists and spreadsheets and timelines.

And then I got pregnant. The world as I knew it came to an end. I stopped planning for everything. I became a real "live in the moment" kind of person, more afraid that if I planned ahead I would just be planning for my own demise. I didn't make any lists (well, except maybe of all the things that could go wrong), I had no timelines (except those that I wished to reach without experiencing any problems) and the spreadsheets were completely out.

I am finally at 21 weeks some-odd days just now getting back to the planning that I was so used to. Although I must admit, I'm quite rusty at it and I don't feel like I am truly getting the job done. I have mentioned how I have gone out and bought a few small sleepers and they are now hanging in the baby's closet. Add to that the ceiling fan that we need to install in the baby's room (sitting in the box still in the garage)

Today I got the baby's crib bedding via UPS. Oh wait, we haven't even looked at cribs. Don't worry baby, if I procrastinate too long or am too fearful to pick out and buy a crib in a timely manner we can definitely locate a sturdy box and I will wrap the cribsheet and bumper very carefully around the box for you. Who am I kidding? I bought a crib set but haven't even looked at a crib. Heck, the baby's room still has a guest bed in it with some random odds & ends that got tossed into the closet when we moved into this house almost a year ago.

Ok, I'm turning over a new leaf with this pregnancy. Here is my list:

1. Step foot into an actual baby store. There are two within close proximity. Go to both this weekend.

2. Pick a couple of obscenely pricey cribs and bring my husband back to look at them. Then once he has true sticker shock bring him home and buy one off the internet at a much lower price. Show him how we are really saving ourselves money by having this baby. (Creative math, I'm good at it)

3. Clean out the baby's room. It is no longer a crash pad for our drunk friends. Sorry guys, you can sleep on the futon in my craft room. Maybe it will encourage them to drink less and go home earlier.

4. Paint and get the border up on the wall. Since I love the picture of the room that came with the bedding I am going to copy it. There is no room for creativity when you are pregnant, tired, and potentially already running out of time. I am going to paint the bottom half of the wall a nice sage green color, put the border in the middle, and leave the top half that great neutral beige color that they painted the whole house in.

5. Pray that the crib and other nursery furniture comes quickly because I do not have patience. Once I have made up my mind and made a purchase I want it to get here NOW.

6. Somewhere along this time (August? Early September?) I really should be figuring out the baby shower deal. Wait, I forgot to register for anything. Ok, make this item register for essentials.

7. Now think about a baby shower.

8. Tour the hospital. Preregister.

9. Sit and wait?

How this is really going to work out:

1. Procrastinate.

2. Wait until the last minute and then hurry around. Do everything half-assed and complain about it later.

3. Have the baby and forget about all the fear of not making it to the finish line. Then berate myself for not having had the confidence to get things done like I normally would have planned.

Well that about sums it up. I'll keep you posted.

Status Quo

I went in today for my twenty week follow up. The one that couldn't be scheduled last week at the same time as my twenty week ultrasound. Consequently my twenty week follow up shows that at twenty one weeks I am still healthy. Therefore I must have been healthy at twenty weeks.

I finally remembered that I had been meaning to ask my doctor which hospital he prefers to deliver at. See, I can be considerate. Apparently he prefers to deliver at one of the oldest hospitals in town, which is fine with me. Truthfully I don't really care if the rooms are top of the line. I know that I'm not going for a day in the spa. Besides, it makes for a much more realistic labor and delivery photo shoot if you get the true sterile background, not some updated hospital room that looks more like a hotel suite.

I also asked how the ultrasound turned out. Of course, the tech told me as she was doing it that everything was ok, but hey, she's just a tech. The good doctor confirmed it so now I can rest easy. Not that I'm getting any rest lately. That's another story in itself. Anyway, I was a little concerned that they were going to find my cervix was degrading into nothing and threatening to just pop open at any moment. Apparently not, or not at least according to the ultrasound.

However, I was pacified by the information that if I were to go to the old dingy hospital in the oldest part of town that the nurses there are much more well versed in what to do with premature labor. There is some test (wish I thought to write the name down while at the doctor's appointment) that they can perform- it's like a swab of your vagina before any physical observation takes place- that actually can determine if you will go into labor within the next two weeks.

That was reassuring. That means that if I do indeed feel like I have begun premature labor that I can go to this hospital and they can determine if I am crying wolf or if I am the real deal. I guess what I am wondering now is, can I buy these tests for home use? I mean, you know how obsessive I was about peeing on a stick, I would absolutely love to have my hands on a giant box of these tests so that I can begin swabbing a month before I'm due. You know, just to keep track of things and to see if I will be having my baby within that two weeks or if I would have to keep waiting.

One day I think they should release these to the general public. I can tell you right now there would be a huge market for them with the infertile blessed with pregnancy crowd. Mark my words. In the mean time, everything is just status quo for me. Finally.

What's in a name?

So we finally started kicking around names today. We were spending a lazy Sunday afternoon in the pool, just floating around enjoying the peace and quiet. I figured I would give him the first crack, so I asked what names he had been thinking of.

If you could have seen his face. I think it was similar to the deer in the headlights look he gave me when I first asked two years ago if he was ready to start a family. I guess actually talking about the names makes this more real for him whereas I have had a chance to gradually integrate it into my life with the baby's constant movement and all of the changes my body has gone through.

I will say this, it's probably a good thing we started thinking about the names now instead of waiting any longer like I originally planned. I'm thinking we may have a hard time agreeing on them. One thing we did agree on, we aren't going to tell anyone what our choices are. I learned that lesson the hard way, twice. I always loved the name Caitlyn Nicole.  When my sister in law was pregnant a few years ago and had a girl she asked everyone what their favorite name was, then she named her Katie. So Caitlyn is out for me. Then I changed to Taylor Nicole. A guy at work said they were having a hard time choosing names and I told him my favorite name was Taylor Nicole. They copied it down to the middle name. So I'm done sharing my opinion about names. Apparently they are the popular ones anyway so people would probably choose them regardless but at least if I don't share then I don't have to feel like someone is stealing it from me.

We had no trouble at all coming up with about ten girls names right off the bat. When it came to a boy name we were scratching our heads. Since we had never in our lives discussed this before now (shocker, that is usually one of those lovey-dovey things new couples do when they think about their future) I found out that my husband has always liked the name Rhett for a boy. I'm really struggling with that one. I can't even think of a middle name to go with it.

Like I said, good thing we still have plenty of time to chew these over. Looks like we are going to need it.

All is well in Babyland

I forgot to mention yesterday that my twenty week ultrasound on Monday was reassuring. We got to see the four chamber heart, the brain, the intestines have tucked themselves inside the tummy as they should, the umbilical cord has the appropriate number of veins, and the kidneys appear to be functioning.

It was fascinating to watch all of it, although I'm a little spoiled. At the thirteen week mark when I was given an ultrasound to check out my appendix the ultrasound machine was of a much higher caliber than the one in my doctor's office. Consequently I felt like I was able to see much more detail in my thirteen week old fetus than in my twenty week old fetus.

I will hand it to the ultrasound tech, we told her that we weren't interested in knowing the baby's gender. I did tell her that if she happened to see it that would be fine, just not to tell us. I was somewhat hoping that she would hover over it and I would be able to recognize it even if it was a brief encounter. If I saw it I swore I wouldn't tell my husband (or anyone else for that matter) but she was pretty skilled. I don't even know if she personally saw it, although I have to assume she did.

She moved that little ultrasound thingamajiggy pretty quick and identified pieces and parts to us that I couldn't even make out on the screen. Just about the only thing I could recognize pretty quickly was the heart, and I think I only recognized it because of the flicker that I have come to know and love so well.

We appear to be right on track. She did a quick tour of my cervix via ultrasound and said that it also appeared to be in good shape. That was a relief, as I was mildly concerned about the contractions that I have been experiencing for about the last month. Also the placenta is properly located, another relief as I regularly read horror stories about placentia previa.

The baby's head is in the down position, or at least it was when I was in for the scan. I haven't yet had an opportunity to google everything she said but you can rest assured that I will get to it this weekend.

So with all that in mind, at least I can feel good that all is well in Babyland.

The Business Trip from Hell- a Short Story

You know, we all have one of these stories. I'm not deluding myself into thinking that mine was the worst or that no one else out there has ever experienced the exact same frustration, but nonetheless it seems more glorified if it actually gets committed to words in my blog so here goes.

I get to take random business trips with my job, usually to attend conferences or management training classes. I don't have to go very often so it is always fun and exciting for me when I do get to take a trip. This year the trip was to Denver for a two day management training class.

Now, I like Denver. I got to go there for a management training class last year and I thoroughly enjoyed the city. It was relatively easy for me to navigate and in no time at all I was able to locate two malls within reasonable distance of my hotel. I was excited about going back.

The one thing I didn't count on was a heat wave there. So while I was leaving 100 degree weather I was flying into 95 degree weather, plus humidity. Great. I was retaining water like nothing and tried to avoid anything with sodium in it. I had worn these super cute thong style sandals when I flew out and while they were easy to slip off and run through the security bin they left my feet worn raw from the extra walking that I had to do to get from one gate to another.

So, smart me, I bought a comfortable pair of running shoes in Denver. I changed out of my business attire the moment the class ended, strapped on those running shoes, and hit the door with my bags in tow trying to make it to the airport to catch an earlier flight home. My original flight was direct and it wasn't scheduled to leave Denver until 9:30 pm. It would put me home and in my bed around 11:30 pm with the time change.

Considering how terrible I had slept in the hotel for two nights I realized the earlier I could make it to the safety and comfort of having a terrible sleep in my own bed the better. So I called ahead to the airport and confirmed that there was a 4:40 flight leaving Denver, although had to stop in Phoenix for an hour. Even with that stop I figured it would put me in my own airport at 7:30 and a recalculation meant I could be home to my own bed by about 8:45.

I whipped out the Amex faster than a gun-slinger and paid the twenty five dollar "bump-up" fee. Incidentally, America West never used to charge that fee until they merged with US Airways. I feel a little ripped off.

I walked as rapidly as I could without overexerting myself through the airport to the security checkpoint. Now this is where it all starts to go wrong. I should have recognized the signs, it felt like "Final Destination". I realized at the security checkpoint that I had stuffed my feet into the snug walking shoes before the sodium took hold of my body. Therefore my feet were definitely wedged in and taking off those shoes would be like opening Pandora's Box.

I thought taking off the shoes were optional? Some airports have told me that I can leave them on but if the buzzer goes off I will need to take them off and go back through. So this time the young kid with everything to prove manning the checkpoint tells me to remove my shoes.

I ask "Would it be ok if I just go through with them on? I don't think the buzzer will go off and I would rather not take them off."  Apparently in security language I said to him "Please, please make my life a living hell. Force me to go through a pat down because I am an insolent traveler and I deserve the negative attention."

His actual response was "You want to be wanded?" Well, no, I am not asking to be "wanded", and when you say it that way it sounds a little dirty. I responded that I would prefer not to be wanded, all I did want was to keep my shoes on my feet.

It was like a bullhorn came out of nowhere. "THIS LADY NEEDS TO BE WANDED. WE NEED A WAND OVER HERE. LADY NEEDS TO BE WANDED". Then they had me step into this clear plexiglass cattle pen with walls, a ceiling, and a door. I started to hyperventilate I think, it was about a hundred and twenty degrees in the plastic Houdini box.

They graciously opened the pen and let me out on the other side. Which I could have walked to without going through the box but I think they have to get some sort of use out of the thing or else it would have to be returned to the magic store or cattle supply store that it was purchased from.

The lady with the wand walked me through the process before beginning it. She explained that they needed to scan my entire body with the wand and that whenever it went off they would have to pat down the area generating the noise. Then she asked if I would like it done in private.

"Umm, exactly how intimate IS this process?" For heavens sake I should have just taken off the damn sneakers. She assured me that they didn't do full body cavity searches but that they liked to offer the privacy of a detaining area for your physical pleasure. Well, she didn't say it exactly like that but since there was already miscommunication in abundance I interpreted it liberally.

She ran the wand over me, it buzzed in all the spots we knew it would (mainly the rivets on my jeans and my jewelry). Then she gets down to the damned shoes. They didn't buzz when I went through the scanner but of course with the super sensitive handheld device the stupid rivets for the shoelaces buzzed. So you can imagine what is coming next, right?

We need you to take off your shoes so that we can put them through the x-ray machine. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? If I had any flippin' idea that this was going to be such an ordeal I probably wouldn't have even worn shoes to the airport! Except then I'm sure I would have gotten a ticket for public health or something stupid.

After all was said and done, I had to sit down and take off my stupid shoes. I will say this, at least the lady with the wand was sympathetic to the cause. She actually bent down and untied my shoelaces for me and took my shoes off my feet. Then after they ran through the x-ray she bent down and put them back on my feet and tied them back up. The problem was that they weren't comfortable when I put them back on, they felt like I had stuffed my feet into a shoe two sizes too small. Now try power walking through the airport. Oh yeah, add in that walking at anything other than a snails pace will take your breath away. Don't forget, you are lugging  a heavy rolling carry-on full of loot from the mall that you didn't come out with as well as an expandable soft-sided briefcase also full to the brim. It wasn't a pretty sight. There really should have been warning bells going off in my head. Well, you would think.

Just wait, the story gets better. Consider this my first short story effort because I'm not seeing the end in the next few paragraphs.

So I get to the gate, we board the plane and I discover that "bump-up" passenger really means "downgrade". I originally had seat 9C on my direct flight home. It was a large plane, with six seats across, three on each side. (a little fuzzy on what kind of plane that would be). On my new flight I had been downgraded to the second to last row of the plane. You know, the one where all the parents try to hide with their screaming children. And of course, said children were seated in the row behind me as well as the row across and behind me.

I prayed as I sat down that these would be Stepford Children and that I would enjoy a quiet, peaceful flight to Phoenix. First of all, they rushed us to get on the plane so that we could leave on time. Then we sat on the plane for twenty five minutes while they fiddled with something and lied that they had to load the luggage. I mean, there were only about fifty people on this plane, you aren't fooling me.

The kid sitting in the seat directly behind me was lucky I let him live through the flight. I don't know how old he was, three, maybe four? Two minutes after I sit down it begins. First he wanted to play with the tray table. Down, then UP, SLAM. As my seat is jerking from the motion of his tray table exercising I'm wondering how long the father is going to allow this. Apparently he has decided that if the child isn't screaming then he can be a little terror to someone else and it will be ok.

Next he starts crying that he wants off the plane. When that isn't going his way he takes to pinching or hitting his father. I wasn't sure what he was doing, all I could focus on was the wimpy "Owww, that hurt". This is coming from the grown man, mind you. After about ten minutes of hearing the father tell the son that the son was hurting him I about unbuckled my seat belt and towered over the two to tell them I was going to knock their heads together. Someone forgot to tell the dad that he was in charge.

We are still sitting on the plane, waiting for the "luggage". During that twenty five minutes there were approximately five temper tantrums, complete with whining and crying from the boy behind me. His sister, sitting with the mother on the other side of the aisle was about twelve months old. Hers was just one continuous tantrum, complete with the high pitched squeal. I about got up and walked off the plane. Thinking back now, I should have.

Finally we are airborne and it is always a little turbulent coming out of Denver. I keep a close eye on my watch because I have started calculating exactly how many minutes and seconds it will take for us to touch down in Phoenix. The tantrums continued and I couldn't even concentrate enough to re-read the words on the same page in my book ten times. I had to put it away.

Just when I am expecting the pilot to come on the speaker and tell us we are beginning our final descent he comes on and tells us we have been directed into a holding pattern over Phoenix due to inclement weather there. Fifteen or twenty minutes, he assures us.

But by this time we are supposed to remain in our seats. I have to go to the restroom but I figure fifteen or twenty minutes, plus ten more minutes to land and ten more to get off the plane, I should be able to make it.

We spent close to an hour circling over no-man's land. Now my bladder is so full that the contractions have been coming and I can't stop them. I was fearful that if I left my seat and went to the bathroom during the moment that we received our clearance to land I would hold up the landing and we would be forced to circle again. I didn't want the wrath of the other frustrated passengers coming down on me.

Besides, concentrating on not wetting my pants and not contracting into oblivion was something that I could do instead of listening to the whiny child or feeling every single kick to my chair.

They told us that because the weather was inclemental and we were unable to land that our connecting flights were also unable to leave so we should be ok when we got there. We landed and BING! The stewardess comes on. "For those of you that have missed your connecting flights please see the attendant at the gate".

Ahh, yes. You knew that was coming, didn't you? So I get off the plane, get to the gate, and find out that they have booked me on another connecting flight. I guess I should have considered myself lucky, half the people in front of me were told that the flights were full and they would have to see the customer service booth to work out overnight arrangements. I looked at my new boarding pass, gate C25. I am currently at gate A21. And my plane is boarding as I stand there receiving the boarding pass.

Hustle, hustle, hustle. I put every single ounce of energy I had into just pushing one foot in front of the other as fast as I could. My calves were burning, my lungs were collapsing, and my should was numb from the weight of my briefcase. Whose bright idea was it to book me on a flight that is two terminals away? I kept looking around for one of those golf carts that they drive the old people to the gate in but of course I couldn't find one. So I walked as quickly as I could to the new gate.

I got there and the flight that was supposed to leave at 7:35 was delayed until 8:00. Well shit, the lady at the other gate could have told me that. So with that spare few minutes I decided I would go to the bathroom. Finally. I think my body was revolting because even going to the bathroom didn't lessen the contractions.

I walked back to the gate and the delay went from 8 to 8:45. Fantastic. That means that I can go get something to eat. Except that I am so frustrated and physically exhausted I don't know if I can eat anything and keep it down. I grabbed a chinese chicken salad from the California Pizza Kitchen which turned out to be surprisingly tasty. I went back to the gate and the delay went from 8:45 to 9:00. I decided not to leave the gate again for fear that the flight would be canceled.

I called my husband, complained unabashedly, and then hung up. I tried to focus on my Soduko book but found myself checking my watch every four minutes. Finally, FINALLY they boarded our plane. I hadn't really checked my boarding pass before but I took a peek at it while standing in line.

Seat 26? Please tell me there are like forty seats on this plane. I got on the plane, the stewardess helped me stow my luggage, and what do you know, I am sitting in the very last row on the plane. You know, the one that doesn't recline. How's that for life?

I'm bitter. Bitter enough to turn my cell phone back on while waiting for all of the other passengers to get on and get comfy in their seats that can recline. I called my husband to tell him the icing on the cake. Bless his heart for agreeing with me and completely sympathizing, not that he had a choice.

But no, that wasn't even the real icing on the cake. Do you want to know the REAL icing? My plane from Phoenix got into my airport just five minutes earlier than the direct flight I had forsaken. So yeah, I guess that does make me the guy that weaves in and out of traffic to get to the same red light as everyone else.

The End.

The truth about pregnancy

I'm sure I haven't mentioned it before, probably due to a concerted effort to avoid anything particularly crass on my blog but let me just get into the truth about pregnancy today.

Nothing, NOTHING about this pregnancy has been as I imagined it. In my head I dreamed up this healthy, glowing state in which my body and mind would spend forty weeks of bliss. I would plump up, look and feel great, and breeze right through like a supermodel.

We all know that the first three and a half months were one shade above hell for me. My skin was completely broken out, all the time and in all the weirdest places. On days that I wasn't overcome by nausea I could accomplish maybe a third of the things I used to do pre-pregnancy. Fatigue was a new word in my vocabulary and it definitely hit me hard. My thin body frame promptly expanded into a rectangular shape- just enough to grow out of my clothes but not enough to make me feel even the slightest bit pregnant. (side note- I will never again downplay when someone says they feel fat and terrible and want to go on a diet)

The next little bit so far has been better. I mean, at least now I have a round little potbelly so I look (and feel) pregnant. I can feel my little miracle moving inside of me on a daily basis and it is one of the most exciting feelings ever. The acne has cleared for the most part (thank heaven). I now fit into my maternity clothes and have even gone out for more.

But even still, there are things about this stage that I never expected either. For example, the fact that my tailbone hurts every day from sitting in my chair at work. I have adjusted it every which way and there is nothing I can do about it. I will probably need to bring in a pillow to sit on before too long. I can't shop for longer than a two hour stretch because my feet and legs threaten to give out. What? Me? The marathon shopper? This can't be!

I can't sleep at night because I can't get comfortable. Holy cow, what am I going to do when I get really big? I'm only five months and already I can't get comfortable? Wah! Where is the worlds smallest violin to play the worlds saddest song for me?

But the whole reason for today's rant is my digestive system. This isn't something that any of my other friends have readily admitted to me, and probably if you are reading this you know you wouldn't be admitting it to your friends either. But the truth is, my digestive system is so out of whack I wonder if I will ever be "regular" again.

Everyone has heard of the constipation. Fine, fine. So far I haven't had as many problems with it as I thought I would. In the beginning however I did find that I had minor problems with hemorrhoids. Beautiful word. I solved that problem by using those medicated wipes as well as putting away all those cute little thongs I used to wear and switching to the good old cotton granny panties. One issue down.

About six or seven weeks ago I developed the nastiest case of diarrhea and along with it came poops in the brightest shade of green. The diarrhea coincided with the massive pain on my right side so the doctor investigated my appendix. We discovered that wasn't the problem and we wrote off the diarrhea to whatever bug was going around.

Problem is, neither the trots or the kelly green poops ever really went away. The diarrhea would pop up every third or fourth day and I have been treating it with spot doses of Imodium. (approved by my doctor of course). My last visit three weeks ago yielded absolutely no medical answers. Of course, it did leave my doctor scratching his head. So we decided to try a few different things. I was going to stop taking those nasty DHA supplements and I was going to stop drinking milk.

I did both of those things and voila- the green poops stopped and the diarrhea ceased. Of course, I was starving with every meal because milk used to be my filler and I can't stand the thought of drinking soy milk so I introduced the milk back into my diet. At least knowing what is causing the diarrhea can help me control it, I just don't drink as much milk as I used to and so far so good.

But really, the whole question was then, how come those DHA supplements were causing green poops? And here is the answer, they weren't. I was so bent on finding some medical explanation that I overlooked the obvious.

The green poops went away when I stopped drinking milk. When I stopped drinking milk I stopped eating cold cereal for breakfast. That meant no more Captain Crunch Berries. Yep, those darn Crunch Berries were the culprit of the green poops. They apparently have enough dye in them to wreak havoc on your system and shoot everything out all haywire. I'm just so proud of myself for finding the real problem, and it was absolutely nothing medically related!

So there you have it. The truth about being pregnant.