Thing to Do No.9: Make a Hospital List

Earlier this week, the Colonel and I started making our list of things to take to the hospital. I think the top items on each say a lot about us:

The Colonel:
1) Laptop and iphone. We are due the weekend of the UGA/FL game, although, I'm afraid its outcome is a foregone conclusion. Hopefully, we will have a baby that weekend, and the Colonel will have something to cheer him up.
2) Gatorade
3) Cookies

Holly:
1) Coordinating pre- and post-partum outfits. I bought a special labor skirt because, again, as I've told you, I am not wearing a hospital gown. No way.
2) Makeup. Just the bare necessities, but I still have nightmares about those women we've seen on the birthing videos, and I firmly believe a little lipstick is good for everyone.
3) A sharpie marker to write "DO NOT CUT HERE OR I WILL SUE YOU AND I AM A LAWYER" on my inner thigh. This, I think, will endear me to the doctor or midwife.

A few days later, it occurred to me we might need a few items for the baby. I think this is where all those outfits my mom and sister have been buying come in. I'm pretty sure the hospital will give us (read "charge us") for everything else. I've been advised to steal everything from the hospital we can get our hands on, so I suppose we'll also have to pack a collapsible "SWAG" duffle.

So far, I've got most of my toiletries together, but I just can't decide whether I will want my moisturizer with SPF or just regular moisturizer. Even if I'm not going outdoors, I just don't know that I'd feel right without wearing sunscreen.

Coffee Update: Some Days Are Like That

I finally succeeded in making a pot of coffee. I remembered all the critical steps. I poured a bit into my favorite mug and added cream.

Wait a minute! Why are there white specks in my coffee? Seriously God. Your sense of humor just tickles me to death.

My half and half went out of date August 27, but you can usually use it for a week or two afterwards. Three and half weeks is apparently the cut-off date.

Ignore these pictures. They are for the Colonel who called me concerned about the basement flooding.

Thing to Do No. 8: Make a Photo Essay to Show the World What an Idiot You Are

You guys are going to love this. I'm working from home today (yea yea, feet up, drinking water), and about mid-morning, I decided to make a pot of coffee. Let's see if you can figure out what went wrong.

So far, so good, right? These are all the things that I need for making coffee.


Yep, yep ... put the filter in the basket. Good.


Put the coffee in the filter in the basket. Wonderful.


Close the door. Excellent.


Just add water. Piece of cake.


Plug in the coffee maker. Works like magic.


All done. Prepare to Walk Away.





Have you spotted it yet?




How about now?

I walk away, answer some emails, and then think, "Wow, that coffee smells FANTASTIC!"








UH-OH.


Oh CRAP.


Geez Louise.


Sigh.

Thing to Do No. 7: Imagine the Things I SHOULD Have Said

Being pregnant apparently gives the the entire world license to make comments to me or about me. Where a normal stranger-to-stranger encounter might be met with polite restraint, a stranger-to-pregnant-person encounter is fraught with inane and invasive commentary. With six weeks to go, I am considering a campaign to change the world in this regard, and it's probably going to get ugly.

Scene 1: At the Hair Salon

Me: (To Eyebrow Stylist) Here's your check. Have a good day.

Eyebrow Stylist: (To me) Thank you. See you soon, and good luck.

Nosy Bystander Hairdresser: (Butting in) What are you having?

Me: (Curtly) It's a girl.

NBH: Have you picked out a name yet?

Me: (Brusquely) No. (Turning to leave)

NBH: (Pushily) Well, what are your top contenders?

Me: (Testily) We'll probably choose some sort of family name. (Jingling keys)

NBH: What are all the names you're considering?

*What I actually said:

Me: Oh let's see, Louisa, Shelby, Malynn, Truvy, and Annelle. We REALLY haven't decided.

**What I should have said:

Me: (With acid sarcasm) Actually we're really torn. What we've been thinking is that we would invite a bunch of hairdressers to the delivery room to help us decide. What are you doing at the end of October? We really need MORE people up in our business these days.


Scene 2: At the CVS

(I've made a run to the store ih the pouring down rain for ice cream. I'm checking out with two Nestle Tollhouse Cookie Ice Cream Sandwiches.)

Checkout Guy: Oh! Look at you! I couldn't decide if you were pregnant, but now I see that you definitely are.

Me: (Anxious to get home with the ice cream) Yes. What gave it away?

CG: The two ice cream sandwiches and you look a little pregnant. But you're the "good kind" of pregnant, you know? When you walked in, I couldn't tell if you was or wasn't because you don't have that waddle and don't look all fat. Yessir, you got the good kind of pregnant.

*What I Actually Said:

Me: Hmm. Have a good night.

**What I Should Have Said:

Me: Let me 'splain something to you Checkout Guy. There is no "good kind" of pregnant. Not where I'm standing. Ring up those ice cream sandwiches before I start shooting. (Need gun here for demonstrative effect)


Scene 3: At the Mexican Restaurant

Host with All Silver Teeth: How many?

Me: Three, please.

HWAST: (Cutely) Three?? Or three and a half or three and two-quarters?

Me: (Presuming he meant three-quarters) Three and three-quarters. (Sighing)

HWAST: (Showing us to our table) How much longer? Short or long?

Me: Short, I suppose.

HWAST: Oh, babies are ... (unintelligible Mexican-speak)

*What I Actually Said:

Me: Hmmm.

**What I Should Have Said:

Me: I hate you. Shut the hell up, and bring me a diet coke and some queso.

"No, thank you, I will NOT have a good day."

Something about being awake in the middle of the night when I most want to be asleep makes me mad as hell, which makes me even more awake, which makes me even angrier.

I'm thinking of changing the name of this blog to "101 Things to Do in the Middle of the Night ... Except That." If I were to do so, killing the next living creature to cross my path might make the top of my list.

No, I am not mad at anyone in particular, but the vague direction of my emotion only serves to make it more akin to a hurricane than a tornado.

Up to now, I've tried to manage my insomnia by listening to my ipod in bed, and eventually, some book on tape I've heard a hundred times will lull me to sleep. But you know what? I am TIRED of listening to my ipod. I'm tired of checking my email under the sheets at night. I'm tired of getting up to go to the bathroom and returning to bed to stare at the ceiling.

And I'm pissed as hell about it. I am not interested in being a good sport any longer. Watch out world; I'm about to go off.

Posted by Popular Demand: Why We Are Ignoring the Doorbell

Our neighbors have two children, a girl about 10 and a boy about 7. The boy loves to come over and "help" Knox while he works in the yard. The girl, we'll call her Sally, I have dubbed "our little capitalist."

During last year's election campaign, she made John McCain signs from cardboard and asked to put one in our yard. It read: "Obama wants to take away our nuclear weapons; John McCain will help keep us safe." I'm certain she was well-researched on all points and not just spouting her parents' rhetoric. Admiring her spirit and preferring McCain to Obama, we let her post the sign, which, sadly, became a pile of cardboard mush shortly after the first rain ... I think around the time of Major Bailout #1. Thanks a lot W, btw.

Sally also loves to earn money, or perhaps her parents pimp her out onto the unsuspecting neighbors. Last fall, we let her help rake leaves, and while she asked for only $3 for about 4 hours work, I made a bad business and personal decision and paid her $10. Nurturing a budding capitalist and entrepreneur, in hindsight I should have emphasized that one not only deserves to be paid what one's worth but also what one asks for and given her only the $3. She hurts no one but herself when she undervalues her product. Instead, I took the protectionist sympathetic approach and overpaid her. Having sniffed out a gravy train and a chronic dependency enabler, she is now forever knocking on our door to sell us muffins from a box or a Country Time Lemonade, all lukewarm and appetizing like a urine specimen.

Ever the diverse businesswoman, a couple of weeks ago, she tried to have a yard sale and was disappointed that no one came. Soon, I am going to have to clue her in on marketing as a major aspect of entrepreneurship. Her latest scheme is to start a dogwalking business. Her business plan, unfortunately, is fraught with potholes.

First, and most disappointingly, she is striking out with an undeveloped skillset. She has a dog, but she doesn't walk it. On the rare occasions she has tried, she makes the rookie mistake of using a harness, which all dogwalkers know does nothing but encourage detrimental pulling on the leash.

Second, she has not structured her business plan to meet a need which she can fulfill. She apparently knows only one family in the neighborhood that walks their dog, and that would be the Withers' household. While we definitely have a "need" to walk the dog, we do not have a demand for a dogwalker, being, as it were, that Knox and I very much enjoy our evening strolls together.

Third, she is not able to perform her business service without significant overhead costs. In an upstart business, one wants to control overhead and keep costs to a minimum by handling as many aspects of the business alone or, at least, on a scale befitting the business size and revenue stream. Sally, regrettably, is not allowed to walk around the neighborhood alone; and this parental restriction severely handicaps her business opportunities. It means she can only get a dog to walk from one of her immediate neighbors and can't ambulate in the range needed to render a sellable service.

The net result of Sally's fatal business plan is that, staring failure in the face, she insists on coming to our home every evening when I get home, interrupting my post-work nap (a dangerous endeavor on its own), and ringing the doorbell in an ill-fated attempt to solicit a dogwalking opportunity. Wednesday evening, I answered the door after several rings and allowed her to walk Molly, who, by the way, hates her. Given her parents' restrictions, she then had to ask me to accompany her on the walk. I consented and endured two blocks of art camp, summer required reading, and Bible school prattle, hoping that would toll the death knell on the upstart.

Last evening, however, she again rang the doorbell for several minutes. This time, I left it unanswered and waited for Knox to get home. Thinking we had dodged a bullet, we struck out around 8pm, cocktail and mocktail in hand, for our stroll. We made it about 10 yards, and Sally was there, lying in wait for us. She asked to accompany us and to take the leash.

While we are enabling her shoddy business, we, at least, are not contributing to its success and have refused to pay her for ruining our evening excursions.

Thing to Do No. 6: Telegate

I still don't have a functional computer, so don't be too critical of this post. Right now, I'm typing on one of those horrible netbooks with a 6 inch screen and microscopic keyboard. My apologies!

I learned a new word on facebook this week, courtesy of the most obnoxious person I know. "Telegate" means generally to tailgate from a distance; think cybermeetings and telecommuting.

Yesterday, while the Colonel and a friend of his (using MY TICKET) traveled to God's Country for the UGA v. SC game, I ... you guessed it ... sat at home and laid on the couch. Shocker!

Actually, my sister invited me over for what we now call Telegate Soup, a delicious vegetable chowder. I laid on her couch while we watched a real nailbiter. Molly amused herself by playing with all the dog toys, which, because they are merely different, are apparently infinitely better than the dog toys she has at her own house.

During halftime, we went out for ice cream at Cold Stone Creamery. We nearly left when the employees broke out into an obnoxious ice cream song to the theme from Gilligan's Island. It was horrible. I hate places that do that.

Here's the recipe for Telegate Soup. Good find, Caro!

Computer Problems

Just one actually. It doesn't work ... at all. More later.

Cause and Effect

I'm not sure what happened here. One minute, I was just having a quick fun size Milky Way, and the next minute there were candy wrappers all over the sofa.



I tried to blame it on Molly, but she is adamantly watching her figure. Her expression seems to insinuate that I might look more a little closer to home.















I see what she means.

Thing to Do No. 5: Find Religion

I once heard a defense attorney say: "Jesus can always be found lying beneath jail cell cots; the problem is that most inmates leave Him where they found Him." I'm not really sure how that relates to the intent of this post, but I like the quote anyway.

Yesterday, while I was having my pity party, I also got to do some mildly serious thinking. This was between episodes 1 and 2 of "True Blood" Season 1 on DVD, which I have borrowed from my sister. I think I used to have a blogname for her, but I can't remember it. The thought that continually crossed my mind was how irritated I was that my body was (drama-queen term coming up) "betraying" me. I kept thinking: I am healthy as a horse; I eat well(ish); and I exercise. My baby, according to all the evidence, is also perfectly healthy. So why am I sitting at home confined to the sofa? It doesn't seem fair, and it doesn't make sense.

That highly self-centered train of thought had an eventual destination, however. I segued from thinking about how agitated I was about sitting at home in a perfectly healthy body with a perfectly healthy baby to thinking about some others in my life. I have friends who are struggling to conceive and friends who have dealt with failed pregnancies. I have friends whose parents are facing illnesses that seem to have come out of nowhere. How must they feel? If I could be as upset as I am about my body not quite doing what I want it to do, how about those whose bodies truly are betraying them?

It's baffling and unsettling to realize that the bodies that so often serve us so well also often fail us without explanation or justification. Having had only a very mild taste, I can appreciate somewhat better how groundshaking "real" bad news must be. Of the friends I've watched struggle with these far more pressing and stressful health issues, I am always amazed at the fortitude with which they respond and at the ripple effects that extend to those around them.

Perhaps the gist of this post is that perhaps (and that's a big perhaps) we have to experience a real loss of control to realign our priorities and get our heads on straight.

On the other hand, perhaps the gist of this post is that sometimes, Shit Happens.

Either way, I'm grateful for the undeserved support from the Colonel and my family and friends over the past several days. Take it from me: I can be a real pain in the ass.

The Colonel Is Funny

"I swear! It doesn't matter what I do to this mobile, but that bird's ass is always facing out. We want to see the front or the side!"

Thing to Do No. 4: Have a Pity Party

Everyone hates a whiner, and I suspect my own whining is causing my family no small amount of annoyance, particularly the Colonel. Let me begin with saying that the Colonel is perhaps the most accommodating and capable individual I’ve ever known in my entire life. I am not joking when I say that I married him because he knows how to hang things on walls. He also cares about a lot of the things that I care about. Just the other night, we had a ten-minute conversation on which way the Ws should face on our monogrammed dinner napkins (out, we decided, with the bottom of the W pointed toward the corner of the placemat).

A reason I cannot give for marrying him, however, is his attitude toward food. The Colonel does not mind if he goes 17 hours without eating, and I am more like a foraging wild dog, constantly worrying over the quality, quantity, and timeliness of my next meal. I think about my breakfast when I go to bed at night, start thinking about lunch while the coffee is brewing, and plan dinner before afternoon soaps get started. In between meals, I have a carefully planned maze of snacks available to me wherever I might be. I hate people who say things like, “Oh, I just forgot to eat.” To me, that’s like saying, “Oh I forgot to breathe” or “I forgot to use lotion after getting out of the shower.” Who does that?

Since becoming bedridden, at about 4:00 everyday, I start worrying myself silly over what we’ll do for supper. My hands get a little sweaty, my stomach starts growling, and I have to find one of my emergency snacks. Finally, the Colonel comes home around 7 (he works every day from 6am to 7pm, can you believe that?), and my anxiety increases.

On top of this is the fact that I am starved for company and conversation by this point. During the times of day when I am not fretting my next meal, I work myself into a frenzy over my job. All I can think is that the business I’ve built up during the last four years is headed down the toilet, and no, I don’t feel better knowing that my precious clients and cases are in the hands of four men. I had at least six trials planned between now and my maternity leave, and that doesn’t even factor in the vast amount of trial preparation work I intended to accomplish in between trials.

When it comes to food and work, I like to be in charge. IN CHARGE. No, I don’t want you in my kitchen, and no, I definitely don’t want you mucking around in my cases. You may not do it the way I want it done. That knife doesn’t go there. It’s very humbling to sit around and ask your family and colleagues to do something that just days ago, you were perfectly capable of doing on your own. And it’s troubling to have to ask because I know they are all busy. And it’s humbling to realize I have to just keep my mouth shut about it also.

Here’s Molly, looking beautiful.

A Change of Scenery

I'm doing something radically different today. Instead of sitting on the living room sofa all day, today I am hanging out in the bedroom.



Molly and I are both enjoying the view of the front yard. She is alerting me to squirrel and pedestrian passersby.


Maybe tomorrow, we'll go to the sunroom. Unfortunately, the internet reception isn't very good there.