A Baby Story

You know what I hate about TLC A Baby Story? It all about the drama. Perhaps it's the fact that they put me on a table, cut me open and called it a party that I didn't experience this sort of dramatic birth... I don't know.

One other thing to note (and I can't really take credit for this, my BIL's brother pointed it out) every other kid is named Mia or Ava.

Dear Lord, tell me why this woman has her newborn in a pink tutu? My child hasn't worn anything but footie PJs for the last 2 weeks. Does it make a difference that they're nice PJs?

Husband Quote of the Day

Upon seeing me sitting on the couch breastfeeding for the 300 millionth time today..."I'll bet you never thought you would have a job that was entirely about your boobs..."

Happy Birthday to Me

Tomorrow is my 33rd birthday. I celebrated today by doing several weather appropriate, yet exciting things...

1. I assembled a vibrating chair.

2. I ordered 3 nursing bras and another highly attractive nursing top.

3. I called Target, got lost in their phone system and then finally figured out that their website had cancelled my order because it has problems with accepting multiple gift cards on a single order that ends up shipping at different times.  

4.  I went through a pile of crap on the kitchen table.

5.  I let my kid's butt air dry to avoid diaper rash and she peed all over the changing pad when I wasn't looking.

At least tomorrow is Saturday and we all get to sleep in.  Happy Birthday to me!

Done and Done

It's funny how things never happen the way you would like them to happen. Or maybe they happen how they should and we're just all idiots who don't want what's good for us. Either way, I've spent the last 6 days jacked on Percocet so perhaps this is just one giant drug induced Ginsberg crazy moment.

Despite my crusade for a non-medical birth I had the most medical birth possible. It all started with my bionic uterus and the fact that the cervix was doing nothing. And then nothing. And then more of nothing. For 10 days past my due date it was on strike. On day 10 they decided to try to smoke her out. Introducing....the super tampon. So super was this tampon that it did...you guessed it - nothing. We decided to try one other drug and as predicted, it did absolutely nothing.

It was at this point that my OB noted that people who are most disappointed in their birth experiences are those that try every drug in the book, spend 2 days in pain and then end up exhausted and have a section anyhow. I consider myself a logical person. If you tell me that most people respond to a drug and those that do not respond likely end up with a C Section, well then statistically speaking I will probably be one of those people.

So I cut my losses and we were off to what Dr. Dave refers to as "the party". I guess if you have to be sliced open you want the guy who thinks it's a party to be doing the cutting. Of course husband used the new little Flip to film her arrival. His exact quote was, "I didn't film them cutting you open, just the part where there was a head sticking out of your stomach.". Awesome. I have not watched it yet. When you've been stitched up like a Thanksgiving turkey it's nice to remain blissfully unaware of what actually caused all the pain.

In case you were wondering, the party kind of sucked. The spinal made me feel like someone was sitting on my chest. There was no blissful moment when I looked at my child. I only wanted air in my lungs. I was assured by the nice man who made me feel like a paraplegic that this was totally normal. I don't recall those people on TLC having breathing problems.... They gave me some serious pain meds. I suspect it was morphine. I apparently sent a delusional email to my friend the next morning while totally high out of my mind.

The hospital was everything I thought it was going to be - hell. Scary roommate #1 who was eventually replaced with the "Jesus loves me" roommate. I felt somehow robbed that a bunch of evangelicals weren't praying over my child and for the speedy recovery of my hoo ha. The nurses were generally a mixed bag. I had two that were ok, one that was the devil and my girl Sherrie who saved my from self destruction. Sherrie found me the morning after the devil took care of me. I was off my pain meds (the devil forgot to ask me if I wanted any) and out of my mind. Think hysterical woman with hysterical child and neither has had any sleep. Sherrie introduced me to two Percocet every four hours. Sherrie is my friend.

I'm now home and managing. My mother is staying with us for a little over a week. She has convinced me that I need to be walking around air drying my nipples between feedings. I feel like a strange modern version of National Geographic in nursing pyjamas. I am now a slave to a crazed 8 lb 14 oz milk drinker. I think she might be mean. I wonder where she gets it....

Holy Sanjay Gupta

For as long as my husband has been in this country, he has had a man crush on Sanjay Gupta. He jokingly said we should name our first born Sanjay Gupta...which goes well with our last name. I had to laugh when my friend Kajal wrote about her husband's obsession with him as well.

So this brings us to present and this is why our boy Obama is a little slice of genius. Sanjay Gupta as the Surgeon General. Sounds a little crazy doesn't it? Let's consider the recent past - look at these people to your right. Does the average person have any frickin clue who they are? Those are the last 5 appointed Surgeon Generals of the United States. Honestly my first thought was "isn't that one dude Colonel Sanders from KFC?". Yes I'll admit I'm being an ignorant ass.

Now let's think about our boy Sanjay. Good looking Indian doctor who already has rock star status, he's accomplished and apparently most men have a crush* on him. I'm having visions of him and Obama jogging together. They're not like our boy Bill who was known to enjoy a cheese burger, or 10. This is certainly more interesting than the Caroline Kennedy debate. Know what I mean?

*Obviously this is based on my extensive research and significant sample size of my husband and Kajal's husband.

I am Slug

One week overdue and counting. I have assumed the role of house slug. Rolling myself off the couch for water seems far too laborious so I've just begun asking husband to do it. I've constructed myself a pillow nest on the couch and decided that wearing pants it overrated. I have seen every bad movie that cable has to offer. I also watched part of Stars on Ice. Who thought it was a good idea to put a bunch of male figure skaters in what appears to be assless leather chaps and let six of them do modified partner dancing? Maybe this would be ok if they were hot, sadly they were not.

I try to make it out of the house once a day. That doesn't always work. Saturday we made it to The Belgian Cafe for dinner and then onto the Ritz to see Rachel Getting Married. Husband and I were divided on our enjoyment of the movie. He said he sees enough narcissists and doesn't need to watch them when he goes to the movies. I like Anne Hathaway because she's awkward and weird. She was exceedingly awkward and weird in this movie so I was happy. Sunday night we watched The Diving Bell and The Butterfly. Worth an evening of depression.

I have attempted all manner of child eviction. Ginger, eggplant, oregano, acupuncture, etc. For those of you who suggested I have a spicy curry, you can kiss my ass. I would rather be 11 months pregnant than have stomach acid shoot out of my throat and into my lungs. That is a pain I will not miss. Nor will I miss the unnatural relationship I have with the economy size bottle of Tums I carry with me.

Sadly this child has an eviction date of Wednesday night. Today's belly lube and nether region violation resulted in the decision to smoke her out later this week. Apparently we'll start the festivities Wednesday evening with something called Cervidil. Think: Tampon with special sauce. If I'm lucky this might put me in labor. If I'm not lucky I get a nice helping of Pitocin in the morning. Despite my desire for a non-medical birth, I'm not insane and I don't plan to try Pitocin without an epidural.

Keep your fingers crossed that our little friend decides to wise up and make an exit on her own over the next two days.

Late like her Father

Well we're at 40 weeks & 3 days.  Today I had high hopes for my doctor's appointment that something was going on down there.  Apparently nothing.  Not only is nothing going on, but they saw fit to put me in a room and forget about me.  After about 30 minutes of waiting for the nurse to come back and take my blood pressure I went looking for someone and it became clear that the nurse had gone to lunch, forgotten about me and not told the doctor I was there.  At least I wasn't naked yet.

I spent three hours between two doctors offices. In this time I had my blood pressure checked twice, had my stomach lubed up three times and got naked once.  I lead an exciting life these days. All is well although they expressed some concern when they couldn't get our friend to move. I explained that she really doesn't do much of anything until after 2PM.  That's roughly the time Kung Fu Sally wakes up and starts her daily assault.  Despite this fact, she failed the test.   Great way to start things off... late and already failing tests.

Tonight we will make dinner with some friends and husband will get to see the ball drop for the very first time (and by default he will also get to see an almost dead Dick Clark).  It's an exciting life we lead. Try to mask your jealousy so I don't feel badly about my spectacular existence.

If you can't see it, don't try to shave it.

Today is technically my due date however I can say with some amount of certainty that there is nothing going on down there.  I grow increasingly immobile but I don't seem to be any closer to getting this child out.

I've also begun to think about how many people will be looking at my nether regions.  When you think about how many people have actually seen the nether regions it's a small number.  One could argue that there have been a few men, but quite honestly it was dark and I don't think they were really checking out the goods.  Certainly a few doctors over the years (literally a few - as in three).  That's it, or at least it was until recently.  This brings us to the last 8-9 months where four new doctors have scoped out the area.  This is intended to make me feel more comfortable in the event that one of these folks actually has to remove this child from said area.  

This natural thought progression eventually led to me wondering exactly how many people I would be adding to this list.  Nurses, a midwife, residents, random hospital people.... dear god.  It is right about this time that I realized that much like my feet, I can no longer see the hoo ha region.  If I were smart I would have taken myself to one of those sadistic Russian women and let her have her way with some hot wax.  I never claimed to be smart.

In my head I reasoned that I have shaved this area for years so I should be able to handle this.  And so I shaved.  Blind.  It wasn't until I got out of the shower to admire my handiwork that I realized this wasn't a wise choice.  If I hadn't been present for the incident myself I might have thought a drunk blind person snuck in the shower with me and wielded that razor.  

It was at this point that I decided I would go get a pedicure....from a professional.

  

Someone Bring me a Wheel of Camembert

I am very large. Something has happened in the last two weeks that has made me very very large.  Of course I've spent the last few days trying to finish all the stuff I haven't done - like my holiday shopping and cleaning.  This excess activity resulted in the entire day today being spent in bed.  Exhausted. 

Last night a friend of mine who has been living in Paris for the past 6 months came over and I ate all sorts of bad cheese.  I bought it under the guise of it not being for me, but the cheese lady and me....we knew the truth.  So much so that when my husband went back to the Whole Foods today she told him the cheese I was asking about had come in and she comped us a very large chunk.  (Go find La Tur at your local cheese shop and eat it by the truck load...it's stinky Italian cheese all wrapped up in gooey goodness.  Sheep, goat and cow all rolled into one spreadable moment of joy.)

When people ask what I miss most or what I have cravings for, it's cheese. I want soft, smelly, unpasteurized cheese. I want it on baguettes, I want it on crackers, I want to lick it off my fingers and then lick the knife and plate once it's all gone.  Now you know.  It's not a pretty visual, but at least I'm not stuffing donuts in my mouth.  

If you come to visit me, you better bring some cheese or I may not let you in the door.

Sadly I do not feel any closer to cheese eating than I did three weeks ago.  Clearly our friend on the interior has not chosen to start her trip downward.  She's still floating up there, squishing my stomach and causing massive heartburn.  I'm starting to resent her procrastination.  I know, I know...the doctor says some children don't drop until you go into labor and that the fact that NOTHING AT ALL is going on down there doesn't mean anything.  

Everyone is very kind and has been texting and emailing to ask what's going on.  I feel like a loser having to tell them, sadly...nothing.  We made dinner plans for Friday and Saturday because we like to tempt fate.  Plus you really can't expect me to pass up grilled octopus and hummus at Dimitri's. 

We did manage to go to Pub & Kitchen a few nights ago.  It was the one place I haven't been that I really wanted to go before I become chained to a small person.  I had a french onion soup that was really tasty.  They puree their onions making it sort of stew like and thick.  Then I had a gnocchi appetizer that was yummy as well.  The gnocchi seemed to be flash fried which left the interiors so buttery soft they melted in my mouth, no chewing required.  The hostess was a joke.  We went in around 9:30 on a Monday to ask if they had a table.  She told my husband she had one table but couldn't hold it for him while he parked the car.  Sort of ridiculous because in the first ten minutes we were there the entire place with the exception of three tables all got up and left.  Way to know your dining room there sweetheart.   

Thankfully the surly hostess in the over played Tori Burch flats wasn't any indication of the rest of the staff.  

Hey. I'm like 6 million months pregnant, I'm allowed to be bitchy.

Well, I'm off.  Keep your fingers crossed that this kid decides to make an appearance sooner rather than later.  I would really like my bladder back.  Happy Holidays!!

A Rose by Any Other Name is NOT an F'in Rose

People...we are in the home stretch. Yesterday I started having Braxton Hicks contractions. They are annoying and distract me from the things I am doing. They also remind me of the things I still need to do. So what's on the ever important list? The usual...rearrange furniture, clean, make a casserole... Thankfully we have ceased discussion on names as we have agreed to a name a few weeks ago. It's a good feeling to have that out of the way.

If you know my husband, you would probably describe him as easy going. This is probably true unless it's something that involves tradition. Tradition is a very seriously business and naming your child is a very, very serious activity. Many generations of his family have managed to name their children the same thing over and over again for centuries. Boring perhaps, but that's tradition. There are rules that must be followed.

To understand the painful hours I spent with him deciding on a name, I will provide you with a brief outline of the rules. I firmly believe that most people wouldn't be able to figure out a name for their hamster given all these restrictions, but I persevered.

Rule 1: The kid has to have a real name, not a shortened form of a name. Sounds reasonable right? Is Gretchen a real name? Not according to my husband. Gretchen is “little Greta” in German which is short for Margaret. So if I wanted to call my daughter Gretchen I would have to name her Margaret. No offense to all the Margarets out there, but no thanks - Peg, Peggy, Marge - all awful.

Husband also maintains that naming a child Gretchen is similar to naming a child Mikey (instead of Michael). I told him he was being dramatic, he told me I just didn't know what I was talking about.

Rule 2: It has to be something that sounds nice in English and German. This one I understand. He thinks Gretchen sounds offensive out of my mouth. Apparently if I had mastered the art of the German phlegm/choking noise, my pronunciation would be acceptable. I have not and therefore all names that I pronounce like crap are off the table. He also doesn’t like when Germans name their children things they can not pronounce – like Nathanial which usually comes out sounding like Na-san-yal since many of them can’t pronounce the English “th”.

He also steadfastly refuses to believe a name can be pronounced differently in different countries. I respond to a whole host of pronunciations of my name. I guess husband never noticed that I don’t pronounce his name the same way his mother does….shhhh, don’t tell him.

Rule 3: It has to be a name, it can’t be made up. Ok, in all fairness this is actually a German rule, not my husbands. In the good ‘ole USA you can name your kid whatever you want – Tree, Apple, River, Asshat…the sky is the limit. In Germany they have laws to protect their children. They've loosened up a little in recent years – they’ll accept names of other nationalities but you still can’t make up some shit and call it a name. So you won’t find any Versace’s or Shithead’s in Deutschland. You probably also wouldn’t find idiots like these people. Be sure to check out the link to the pictures at the bottom of the article. I can’t decide which I like better, the car decal or the skull.

Rule 4: It can’t be French. I have no explanation for this one. Apparently the PWT in Germany name their kids French names. I can only draw on my own distaste for stripper names as a close comparison. Destiny, Chastity, Candy, Angel, etc… Nothing like setting the bar very low early in your child’s life.

Rule 5: None of this new fangled name construction. This rule actually covers a host of sub-rules
5a. My maiden name is not a suitable middle name. Really any family name is unacceptable as a first or middle name. They are last names and that's it.
5b. You can’t give a girl a boy’s name, even if it’s a commonly accepted unisex name these days.
5c. Only traditional spellings are acceptable. You can’t swap out an “i” for a “y” or some other ridiculous nonsense.

Rule 6: It can’t be any kind of name that reminds him of someone he doesn’t like, a fictional character that has a distasteful/negative connotation or anything he considers “icky”. I liked the name Otto. He said that’s always the name of the fat kid in children’s stories that bullies all the other children. Then there was some discussion about how "Otto" always carries sandwiches in his pockets. I didn't understand but it's best not to argue.

Anyway, stay tuned for more details on little Destinee Duvet Cristal...