Monday, July 31, 2006

Holy Crap

I’m pregnant.

Apparently, the best way for me get pregnant (besides the obvious) is to totally deny that “this month” is the month it’s going to happen. It’s to deny every single feeling or twinge as potential pregnancy signs and to be shocked! Shocked!! when the test comes back positive.

And I’m honestly not exaggerating about both my denial that I was going to get pg this month or the shock at seeing the clearly positive test. The good news is that this time I shouted out “Holy Crap” instead of “Holy F*cking Sh!t.” See what motherhood has done for my potty mouth?

So, um, yeah! Signs started cropping up about 8 days past ovulation (dpo) which as you know is entirely too early. Hence, I kept saying “this could not possibly be a sign of pregnancy, I’m simply cranky/hot/eating too much.” Dave would argue that it was 7 dpo when the signs started because I would alternate between loving and adoring wife to crazed psycho beeyatch. His exact words once we arrived in Asheville were “I think you’re pregnant ‘cause you are really a little snappy.” Fortunately, he said that when I was in loving/adoring wife mode or I would have snapped his face off.

8 dpo is when my temp went up again, although only .2 degrees not .3 to be the “classic” triphasic shift, but it has not decreased since then. Also, 8 dpo is when the indigestion started. That’s too early, folks!! I was convinced it was because we were eating “vacation meals”—lots more than normal and a lot heavier and greasier. And besides, it’s way too early to be a sign. Nonetheless, the indigestion hasn’t stopped and if I take one bite over what my body deems the limit (or if I just think about it like right now), it feel the acid and bile rising up in my throat.

I was so convinced I wasn’t pregnant, I didn’t even take a test (and I wasn't going to take a test) until Dave encouraged me! Dave never has to encourage me to take a test, but I was absolutely convinced I was not pg this month. I think what finally set Dave over the line was on 10 dpo, when I was IMing him from work that my boobs were tingly. My boobs never get tingly on their own, say like for PMS. They are not tinglers. They are plain vanilla saggers: they just hang out there minding their own business. So the tingly aspect sort of caught my attention. But still, no implantation cramps, my waking temperature was not 98.6 which has usually indicated I’ve been pg, and all I had was nausea and indigestion for which it was way too early of a sign!

So I took the test at 11 dpo, and Holy Crap, it was a bright pink unmistakable second pink line positive on the First Response Early Result test. That test alone put us beyond the chemical pg tests in May and it was earlier than the positive test line we received for the m/c pg. When I saw the line almost immediately forming, I thought—You’re making that up. That’s not really a line. You’re just wishing that it is. And then when it got darker and clearer, I relented that it was positive with an out-loud exclamation of "Holy Crap."

I’ve then been taking the Dollar Tree Store tests ($1 each!) every morning since and they are getting darker nicely. I’ve got a call in to my doctor’s office and I expect that I’ll be going in today for a beta test. I also took an OPK on 14 dpo, and who knew you could use those for pregnancy tests, too!? That’s apparently the only test you should worry about the test line being as dark as the control line. For the others, the control lines are way, way darker than the amount of HCG that the test line can pick up.

So that is it. According to my calculations, I’m due April 7th or so. We’re excited and nervous. I cannot stop comparing this pregnancy to the m/c pg. So far, all indications are that this one is a stronger pregnancy. But I am a very positive person, so I can’t necessarily trust myself. I feel like there are hurdles we must pass before I calm down: good betas at appropriately increasing rates, a good early ultrasound, and passing that 12 week mark.

I feel positive, but nervous.

Friday, July 28, 2006

A Squash of Unknown Origins

There are a mishmash of things on my mind.

1) The garden is going crazy. There are tomatoes that are taunting me. Weeds openly mock me as I walk by. I just now realized that the green peppers I've been harvesting are really red; I have just been picking them too soon. But my lazy ass gardening self has left them on the vine long enough to turn red. Dave has also discovered a Squash of Unknown Origin (Squo) near the compost pile. ((The image of this squash developing amuses me: The squash seed starts to sprout and says to itself "I have no idea where I am, but this is Good Stuff!!")) I actually think it's a cucumber, but we'll have to see what it produces before we can be sure.

2) Duncan has a urinary tract infection and we have to give him antibiotics. I'm sure you know the directions for giving a cat a pill, so you can imagine how thrilled we are. However, the doc has given us liquid antibiotics, which Oh My Word is so much easier. It's a quick grab-and-squirt and the cat is left licking his whiskers in confusion. That's the way we like it.

3) I neglected to discuss the Toddler Dance of Joy before. I shall describe this interpretive dance in situ. Dave arrived home from DC and we picked him up in the airport. We were walking one way, when I looked behind and saw Dave. I leaned down to Conor's level and told him I saw Daddy behind us. Conor turned around, saw Dave and started running towards him. But his excitement, his thrill, his joy at seeing his Daddy so overwhelmed him that he stopped and began to stamp his feet and rapidly flap his hands up and down. When one is the recipient of the Toddler Dance of Joy, one's heart nearly explodes.

Now back to my creating my syllabus.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Jump Up and Down

Our little guy has turned into a singer. Not so much the lounge singer as the punk rock singer. His favorite song that is hot in his toddler room "Conor, Conor, Jump Up and Down."

It's so popular that even other kids (well, one other kid) starts singing it as soon as he sees Conor. And, honestly, it's not really "Conor, Conor, Jump Up and Down" because every child gets a verse, but it's more attractive to write "Conor, Conor, Jump Up and Down" than "X, X, Jump Up and Down" or "Name that Kid, Name that Kid, Jump Up and Down".

The verse:

Conor, Conor
Jump up and down
Jump up and down
Jump up and down
Conor, Conor
Jump up and down
And sit right down

At the same time, the child in question jumps up and down (or flops around or just bends his/her knees depending on his/her developmental stage!) and then sits right down (flops on the ground).

Conor gets so excited that he sings this song when we come home from work. He sings it in the morning when we're getting ready for school. He's even just bust out a chorus during an especially happy time.

And then he adds the next verse "Daddy, Daddy, Jump Up and Down" followed by "Mommy, Mommy, Jump up and Down" ending with once occassionally with "Patches, Patchs, Jump up and Down."

I have to admit for all you SAHMs that you have an advantage over us. You know all the songs your children sing. We don't know them. We have to ask our care givers who are more than willing to tell us, but I don't think they know how important it is. Conor nearly freaks out when we sing one of the songs they sing at school (We had them teach us the Jump Up and Down song). He nearly levitated when we sang The Wheels on the Bus the other night after dinner.

It's worth it. It's probably some of the most precious things I've seen.

Tuesday, July 25, 2006


The very definition of ironical is surfing the web looking up personal questions on google while working on a paper on cyberl0afing.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Asheville: I Like It!

The last time I went to Asheville, I was in high school, in the previous century. Then I really don't remember it being cool at all. So our trip over the weekend shocked me. I'd heard Asheville was "cool" and "hip" but this being North Carolina, those terms are relative.

So imagine my surprise when I found Asheville to be cool and hip and much more like urban California than Charlotte will ever be. There were great stores and galleries and really yummy restaurants. And I realized as we were driving around town that I really, really miss the powerful vistas of Los Angeles. I realize most folks would not immediately think of natural beauty when they think of Los Angeles (ask me one day about attending the Playmate of the Year party at the Skybar in LA and I will agree), but the mountains and the ocean in LA were always stunningly beautiful. We have great trees here in Charlotte, but not the mountain ranges that were always visible in LA. I miss it.

But back to Asheville. Loved it! Want to go back! And could even fit in with my freaky self.

Oh, no. I did not feel so freaky when we first arrived. I felt quite mainstream and geeky in my Target skirt and sensible shoes. We were surrounded by the urban hip with all their piercings and ink and dreadlocks and clever sexy clothes. But I jumped to the head of the freaky line during our dinner Friday night at the upscale vegeterian restaurant. Conor seriously bumped his legs on the table and engaged in the silent screaming that lets me know that a little kiss on his knee is not going to cut it. So yes, in the middle of that restaurant, I gave a boo boo boob to my giant two-year-old-who-looks-three son. And I could feel the people around me thinking "that skirt belies the hippie contained within."

Yes, well. That is true. But now I'm back here in Charlotte, my hometown which I do love. But I think we'll be up exploring more of our mountains in the future. It really was a great weekend.

Thursday, July 20, 2006

Weird Kinda, Weird Wanna, Weird Just to Be Me

Oh, good heavens. I've waited so long to write that entry on "weird" that I've missed the opportunity and now, instead of looking weirdly cool, which was my goal, I just look damn lazy.


Things are going on around here, people. And I can talk about some things, but I can't talk about others. In fact, I wish I could tell you about going through some really dark times in my life like Finslippy's heart wrenching (yet humorous!) reveal, but I can't. Does that make me weird(er) that I would rather talk about something like that than the things-that-cannot-be-named? Yes, my real name is Hermione and I am dealing with Voldemort, and if I mention it in my blog, I will die.


It's not like I don't think about updating more often. God knows that nearly every night when I go to bed, I spend HOURS thinking of the witty entries I will write the next day, but then I actually have to work (my ass off) and the best I can do is skim Dooce and check out the pix of Go Fug Yourself and then it's night time and I'm writing entries in my head in the hours before I go to sleep. So why not get my fat ass out of bed and write, you ask? Good question.

BUT despite the gloom and doom, there are things going on around our tiny house. We bought Grown Up Furniture. Real furniture! Two chairs for our living room!! From a fancy furniture store!! Oh, my gosh, it's exciting.

And we're seriously thinking of doing some minor remodeling around the house. Although I only use the term minor because we're not doing to Big Remodeling We Can Never Afford. Just the little remodel to improve the Butt Ugly Bathroom (BUB). We painted the BUB so it's not really BUB any more. But it's easier to call it that. Our current plan is to take out the tub in BUB, add in a tiled shower and switch the direction of the toilet so that people can actually sit on the toilet without having their knees run into the shower curtain.

We can then rescue some closet space from the BUB and add it to the unusable "master" walk in closet, which in reality is the width of the desk I'm typing on right now and is without a doubt, useless. BUT we're going to contact one of them there fancy closet places and make them make this thing WORK!

The fact is that yes, our house is small. But it's not! The solution is NOT more space. The solution is making better use of the space we have. We need a few more pieces of furniture, a few more built-ins and a better reorganization of the space we already have, and I think we'd be just fine for a long time in that house.

I'd really like for people to look at our house and think Clever and Cute even if they don't ever look at it and think Big.

FINALLY, the blog entry that has kept me up more than it ever should have involves my husband. And my Son. And the Birthday Book Dave bought Conor. Emergency. (In searching for this, I suppose I can be grateful he didn't buy Fire! Fire!) No, Emergency is bad enough with its opening scene of how someone is robbing a house and the police have to capture the burglar to rescuing the hikers on the mountain top with a helicopter to the coast guard rescuing a sinking ship.

IT'S A CHILDREN'S BOOK FOR PETE'S SAKE!!! Conor loves it! It drives me NUTTY. And it's British. For some reason, it seems unfathomable that the Brits would have no problem scaring the beejsus out of their children just so children could see drawings of firetrucks and ambulances! Maybe that helps explain the British culture of being nonplussed. They scare the crap out of their children with their early reading.

OK. Whatever. I'm probably the only Mom who freaks out about such things. Conor certainly likes it.

I think I've caught up for now. We're going away this weekend. I cannot wait!!!

Monday, July 17, 2006

Not So Weird

Ok, so I lied. THis is supposed to be my "weird" post, but I don't have time to work on that post and be as clever as I'd like. What the h*ll. I may never got to that post, so don't hold your breath.

Today was Conor's two-year check up. He is 36 1/4" which puts him at the 90th percentile in height and at 31.5 lbs, 80th percentile in weight. In case you're wondering, our son is Big. Big, big, big with blond curly hair. I could (still) eat him up.

And God bless Twinkle, Twinkle. It's the song I sing when it's time to stop nursing and it is one of the most amazing things I've learned in the last month or so. One time through and Conor is ready to get off the boob and go to bed. Nothing has ever been that effective before. Oh JOY! The next time, we're going to start singing Twinkle, Twinkle much earlier so that we'll have that trick down ASAP. (No news on the "next one", in case you're wondering)

And although I love blogspot, I do hate that folks can post here and I can't reply to you. If you have opted to not get emails from your comments, I can't respond any more or ask questions, etc. Just thought I'd throw that out there because I've wanted to talk to some of you all off line a little bit.

Quickie garden update: this is the time when I love and hate the garden at about the same rate. The weeds are crazy but the veggies are coming in. It's too hot to go out and do much, but if I don't, it gets out of control. Did I tell you about the 12' sunflower? No, really. Twelve FEET. It was humongous. I'll get the picture up alongside the giant radish and then absolutely swear to you that we're using organic fertilizer!

It's hot as hell here. I hope you're staying cool.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Two Years Ago Today

At abount this time, I was being sent back from the hospital after being told I wasn't in labor. I went home and promptly defied them by having my water break and dilating from 0 to 9 cm in 20 minutes! HA! That'll show you to tell me I don't know what's going on in my own body.

Nonetheless, today is Conor's official birthday. We had the birthday party this weekend which was about as fun as I could have wished for. (Despite the fact that I had a melt-down a few days before trying to figure out when the "right" time was for a toddler's party and what order one is supposed to "do" things---I mean you don't have an hour long cocktail hour with toddlers to let everyone get warmed up!) We had two of Conor's friends over from the New Parent's Club, the families who we met in childbirth class and who had our children all together.

There were two incredibly cute moments (ok, there were three) involving all of the children. The first is when they all set around the kiddie table eating their cake and ice cream. It was childish and grown-up at the same time and I thought my heart would explode. And then, when Conor got his new tricycle, all three of the children boarded the various cars and trikes we have and rode around the deck like a muted pastel adorned toddler biker gang. Again, heart bursting with love. Then we re-enacted last year's pose with all three children on the hammock, which is adorable not because they lie there and look cute but because they think it's weird and they squirm around and they look goofy and THAT is beyond the most adorable thing I've ever seen.

And even with all that excitement and all the toys and all the sugar and all the rolling around and going flop in the grass with his friends, Conor did not melt down. (He saved that for the next day) Instead, he was a fine host and birthday boy. We were able to even go through our entire bedtime routine in just over 30 minutes, which only 10 days ago took 1.5 hours, but for the last 9 days has taken approximately 30 minutes, maybe a little more with a bath, and has been accomplished entirely TEAR FREE and involves simply, truthfully, and honestly, a LIST of what we're going to do when we go to bed that we wrote on a notecard and taped on the wall and point out to him regularly throughout the bedtime routine. 30 minutes!!!! 3o MINUTES!!!!! And then I put him down fully smiling and tuck him in and put his blankie on him and put Bearie and Monkie and Dora (the cow) by him, along with his new favorite truck book and the CHILD GOES STRAIGHT TO SLEEP WITH A SMILE ON HIS FACE!!!!!

Happy Birthday to ME!

OK, back to Conor's birthday party.

The night's adventures did not end with the sleeping of the birthday boy. No, apparently some Owls were attracted to our shennanigans (or perhaps the tasty morsels they had seen earlier riding their bikes) and came to check us out. Closer. Closer still. Close to the point that they were in a tree limb just above our heads staring down at us, picking out which ones they were going to swoop down and get. Even with us shining a high powered flashlight at them, the owls stood their limb and stared at us. This is the guy, a barred owl.

There were two of our heads he was deciding between: me, with my large, fluffy pony tail closely resembling a giant squirrel, and my father, with his already bared head, skinned of fur and ripe for the pecking. I would like to say that eventually, Mr. Woodsie Owl went away. But he didn't. He hopped up to more distant branches hidden behind leaves and screeched and peered at us.

Despite leaving us alone, Mr. Woodsie has risen to the top of the list of suspects for the Opossum killing of Summer 2006. The alleged murder took place late last week and we were alerted to it by the incessant barking of dogs in the neighborhood. SO WHAT if one of those dogs was Patches. It makes us sound less responsible when it's "dogs in the neighborhood" as opposed to our own ceaselessly barking collie.

Last night was it, though. We are tired of hearing Patches barking at 2 am at every cat who crosses the street. Dave gave him strict orders: If you bark out the front door again before the sun comes up, there had better be somebody standing on the porch . Conor is sleeping well through the night. But we're getting regular adrenaline rushes shooting out of bed to quiet our over alert, cat tracking collie.

OK. That's it. Next blog entry --something weird.

Thursday, July 06, 2006


"Yes! Pat the bunny."

"Can you put your finger through Mummy's ring?"

"Can you put your finger through Daddy's ring?"

"How about your other finger?"

"How about your thumb?"

"No! Not your tongue! Your thumb!!"

You Make Me Laugh

and you show up in my dreams.....

First, I'm so impressed with the people who can switch sides (even it involves rearranging the room!). I tend to rearrange things, but not so much the sleeping position. And in our tiny, tiny bedroom, the option to rearrange is not possible. I tried to just move the bed-side table the other day and it was too tightly wedged between the bed and the wall to do anything but scrape the paint off the walls. Hence, I stopped.

But on to the dreams.....

Yes, Carolina Karen showed up in my dreams last night. She and Mensa Boy were sleeping in chairs in our house waiting for us to arrive (we were late). They were staying at our house that night because their sons were having a party and they were giving them some space. (!) They were just hanging out and at one point I think we gave them one of our extra 10 washing machines to take home with them, while they provided us with some decorating ideas.



In cuter news, Conor's 2nd birthday party is this weekend. And when I ask him where his booty is, he grabs said booty and wiggles. Can you top that? I cannot.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

The Cold Side of the Bed

Dave and I have on-going disputes about exactly how cold/hot it is at night and who has more/less of the blankets. I tend to sleep hot and can’t stand to have too many covers on me. In fact, I’ll often sleep with one leg stuck out from under the covers even in the dead of winter to help regulate my temperature.

Dave claims to sleep cold and has to have lots of covers on him. I dispute this claim because the man is usually sweating every time I try to scoot over for a snuggle. It drives me absolutely crazy for him to be sweating and to still have the covers on him. It doesn’t bother him in the least (so he claims), but it absolutely makes me nutty. (Sounds fun, eh!? Don’t you want to be married to me, too!?)

In the midst of one of my tirades about sweating while one is sleeping, Dave finally admitted that yes (!), he does get hot. But he also gets very, very cold because the air conditioning vent is right below his side of the bed. A-HA! I thought. The solution will be for us to switch sides: me sleeping hot by the cold vent and him sleeping cold by the non-ventilated portion of the room.

Oh. My. God.

First, it is cold on his side of the bed. I’ve actually taken to sleeping more in the middle of the bed because it’s frigid if one gets too close to the edge.

Second, what kind of sleeper are you? Do you have a side of the bed that you prefer to sleep on? Or are you one of those people who can sleep any where and on any side?

I am, apparently, a one-side-of-the-bed sleeper. And this is not my side. The main problem is that I can’t get into my favorite sleep position (on my belly, right arm under my face, left hand under the pillow and left knee at a 90 degree angle to my body with my left foot crossed over my right knee) without butting knees with Dave. (And being 6’ 4”, he takes up a fair portion of the bed). When I was on “my” side of the bed, my knee could hang over the edge and be happy. Now it’s got to fight for a spot in the middle of the bed.

I don’t like fighting in bed. I like lying and sleeping with plenty of comfortable tepid space.

However, I like less having a sweaty husband when I want a snuggle; so we’re staying as is for now. I am hoping that by the time winter gets here, we can switch back over and assume our proper sleep positions. I also think it’s pretty radical though to “switch sides” of the bed. I’ve only known one couple who does that. This ability to switch didn’t seem to translate to any other thing—they seemed a pretty normal couple most of the time.

But it’s pretty crazy for us.