American Girl

She waits another week to fall apart...

If there must be trouble, let it be in my day, that my child may have peace. ~ Thomas Paine

I'm waiting for the lights to go out.  So far they've flickered three times, which does nothing but get me excited and roboot my computer.  (Which is quite annoying, I might add)  All around me, thousands of customers are without power.  Why not me?  I need a nap.  A nice nap in a dark quiet house with the rain and wind pounding outside.  Doesn't that sound better than dealing with whiny clients all day?  Doesn't it? 

 

Hopefully you won't be reading this, because the power will go out before I finish writing it.

 

Gooooooo WIND! 

 

A few weeks ago, in a moment of pregnancy stupor, I wrote a check to pay my power bill.  But I must have been distracted, as I so often am these days, and I wrote the check not for the amount of my bill, but for the amount that was the balance in my checkbook.  In other words, I sent them all my money.  Would you believe those suckers actually cashed the check - no questions asked?  And it took a whole month and many phone calls to get them to send the money back.  (Minus the bill I meant to pay, AND the next months payment too)  Thank God for direct deposit, or we would have been bouncing checks all over town before I'd even realized my mistake.

 

My point is that now they obviously think I'm their best customer, and they wouldn't dare let my lights go out, right?

 

Rats.

 

I'm tired.

 

I'm also stalling, hoping I won't have to finish this post, because I'm just going to lose it anyway, right?

 

I can't believe none of you people (except one, and you know who you are) asked about my Motime sex dream.  It's safe to say that now, because the power is going to go out as soon as I hit the "Post and publish" button.  Really people, I'm surprised.  How could you not be even the smallest bit curious?

 

My brother isn't going to fight fires anymore, because his lungs can't handle it.  There aren't words, because the depth of emotion on matters such as this are too much for the heart to bear at times.  Terrorism is the gift that keeps....on....giving.

 

What else can I say?

 

I'm sad, and when I get sad about matters such as the above paragraph I force myself to read sad and related things.  It's a weird sickness, I know.  It helps because it makes me cry, and who doesn't feel better after a good cry?  The sad books are my Viagra.  The mind is willing to have a little mini breakdown, but the body is weak and all cried out and tired of it all.  Stupid body.

 

Soooo, I'm reading "102 Minutes" by Jim Dwyer and Kevin Flynn, and here's a paragraph:  (If this doesn't make the power go out, what will?)

 

And so it went, from the 101st floor and every other in the complex.  Life simmered at 14,154 different temperatures, in the log-on ritual for email, as men and women lined up the day's tasks, or as they unloaded some fraction of life at home that had been carried into the world of work.  One woman called her husband to report that she stopped at a drugstore to pick up a second home pregnancy test, still not quite able to accept the results of the one she had taken earlier that morning.  A window washer, bucket dangling on his arm, waited on the 44th floor of the north tower, having just grabbed a bite of breakfast at the Port Authority cafeteria on 43.  In the health club atop the Marriot Hotel, a Roman Catholic priest with clogged arteries had just climbed down from the stationary bicycle, and was weighing a decision to complete his workout with a few laps in the pool.  In the north tower lobby, Judith Martin, a secretary with Marsh and McLennan, had just hopped on an express elevator after finishing a final cigarette outside before work.  On the 27th floor of the north tower, Ed Beyea rolled his wheelchair to his desk in the office of Empire Blue Cross and Blue Shield, his aide having set him up with the head pointer that he used to operate his computer.  At the top of it all, Christine Oldender called home from Windows on the World, the restaurant on the 106th and 107th floors of the north tower, where she worked as the assistant general manager.  She had lived in New York City for twenty years, but still checked in most mornings with her mom and dad back in Chicago.  Christine and her mother were organzing a visit by her parents to the city, no doubt one that would include a stop at Windows.  Still, she had a busy morning ahead of her - besides the regulars having breakfast in the dining area called Wild Blue, a conference was about to begin in the ballroom, sponsered by Risk Waters, a big financial publishing firm.  Mother and daughter agreed to talk again later.

 

Regular people doing regular things on a regular Tuesday morning.  Just like today.  Don't you just want to scream through the hallways and warn them of the horror that is to come?  Don't you?

 

Promise me you won't take your regular Tuesdays for granted.  I'll be off napping.  As soon as the lights go out.  As soon as I put my mouse over the "Post and publish" button.

 

Here goes nothing...

posted by: AmericanGirl at 12:55 | link | comments (15) |

Can you say "OUCH!"??

 

 

He's fine!  Went back to work the very next day.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 23:00 | link | comments (6) |

Guess what?

 

My ex-sister-in-law is trying to kill me.

 

And I have proof.

 

Exhibit A - A gift:

 

Seems inoocent enough, right?  I know not everyone is a fan, but it's a well known fact around these parts that as far as I'm concerned, the one and only good thing about the entire month of September is the re-introduction of candy corn.  She's clever, that evil girl.  She knows the way to my heart.

 

Exhibit B - The underside:

 

Do you just love how ominous looking that capital "M" is in the word "May"?  May poison food.  Are you willing to take your chances? 

 

I know what you're thinking.  She couldn't have known that she was delivering Halloween goodies in the bowl of death.  But what you don't see in this picture is the remnants of some other sticker - most likely a price tag of some sort.  So she turned the bowl over, looked at it long enough to remove that sticker, and then filled it with food that it May or may not poison me.   Why didn't she remove the incriminating sticker, you ask?  Guilty conscience, obviously. 

 

Or, quite possibly, she's just not smart enough to be a murderer.

 

Thank goodness.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 10:37 | link | comments (11) |

I'm a birthing school dropout. 

 

Tonight is lamaze and I'm not going, I don't care how many nice snacks they have.  It was fun when I thought I had a reason to be there, but now that there's a 95% chance that I'm having a c-section, it seems a lot less fun.  Plus, Ryan has to work tonight, so it seems like even less fun. 

 

Even if the baby does decide to flip over, I'm willing to take my chances that I might breathe the wrong way, resulting in a painful labor and delivery.  I'm a gambler.  Living on the edge.

 

There's one week coming up that they dedicate to c-sections, so maybe we'll go to that.  Maybe not, because maybe it's better to not know and just do.  I'm bitter and I don't want to sit there with all those couples and learn about the birth experience that they get to have and I don't.  Bleah.  Up yours, Universe.

 

I'm going to bake my own cookies and decide whether to watch Alias or Survivor.  And The Apprentice.  Don't you just love to hate Donald Trump?

posted by: AmericanGirl at 12:35 | link | comments (15) |

Who's willing to admit to how much time they really spend reading blogs?  I honestly couldn't get through a conference call without Motime.  I sit in on a LOT of conference calls.

 

There's blogs out there that make me thankful for my sanity and well adjusted-ness.  (Yes, I'm making up words now, it's my blog, shut up.)  When I get a hint of how dysfunctional some other relationships are, I feel extra blessed to have my husband.  And (this is bad, I know, but honest) sometimes when I read about people who are dating, or just starting a new relationship and in that place where they can't eat and they can't talk about the object of their affection without breaking into a big goofy smile I feel a little green with envy.  Not because I am unhappy in my life or relationship at ALL, but because I was there, not so long ago, and I remember it fondly.

 

There are some bloggers I feel affection for because they are feeling so lost or bewildered or lonely or something that I connect with because I have been there too.  I feel for them because while I know that those feelings pass and do indeed make you stronger, but I know that at that stage I wouldn't have believed it if someone told me.

 

Some of them just plain old crack me up because they're funny.  One in particular cracks me up because the woman tells these outrageous stories that are so obviously fabricated, yet she passes them off as her life, and her audience just gobbles it all up and asks for more.  I want to scream "How can you seemingly intelligent people actually believe this load of crap?" but heck, it's their blog circle.  Who am I to disrupt things, you know?  (In case you're wondering, it's not anyone on Motime)

 

I often wonder what people look like.  Almost every time someone posts a picture of themselves, I pictured them differently.  There's actually one exception - one person who looked just like I imagined her.

 

I had a sex dream about a certain blogger.   LOL

 

I'm convinced that some people just blog so that they can flaunt their own feelings of superiority, and boost their own egos by cutting other people down with mean, unwarranted comments.  Those people pretty much suck.

 

There's the trolls.  Oh, the trolls!  There's a special place in Hell reserved for the trolls.

 

Sometimes I connect with bloggers and think that they're totally my kind of people.  People I would invite to my house and go out with and have actual real life interaction with.  That's a nice, cozy, community like feeling and I love it.  There's quite a few people around here that I feel that way about.  I hope they feel the same way about me.

 

Once in a while though, someone does something totally surprising and I find out that while I thought I "knew" them, I really didn't know the types of things they were capable of.  I think "This is how they treat people they supposedly care about?" and it's mildly shocking and hugely disappointing.  It makes me understand why my brother doesn't let his sixteen year old daughter use the internet unsupervised.  Some of you are downright nutty.  I like to think I've sorted the nuts, picked the weeds, or what have you, but there's always room for error. 

 

I guess it's no different than real life because sometimes people I love do things that are surprising and unexpected.  I'm sure I've shocked a couple of people in my day.   I don't know why it's so surprising in the blog world.

 

Even when someone goes kablooey, I can't stop reading their blog.  I just drop it into a new category.  "Oh, so you're going to be crazy?  Great, I'll file you over here with the women who spins the fabricated tales."  I love them all.  Even the crazies. 

posted by: AmericanGirl at 23:20 | link | comments (18) |

The Status Blog is suddenly the most entertaining blog on Motime.

 

 

posted by: AmericanGirl at 18:07 | link | comments (5) |

I just wasted way more time than I'm willing to admit to on this:

 

Lite Brite!

posted by: AmericanGirl at 13:01 | link | comments (10) |

So I found out that my baby is breech.  Upside down, for you "non-technical when it comes to matters of pregnancy" types.  Head up, bottom down.  According to my research, 95% of babies are head down at this stage.  And by week 37, which is fast approaching, 98% of babies are head down.  So, you do the math.  There's hope, but I'm not very hopeful.

 

There are ways around it.  I could attempt to deliver a breech baby.  Of course, I'd have to change doctors, because my doctor doesn't do that.  And it's risky.  Way more risky than I'm comfortable with.  I'm not going to risk my baby's life just so I can have the birth experience I want, you know?  There's also a procedure where they check you into the hospital and attempt to turn the baby from the outside - all prepared for an emergency c-section, should the need arise.  It has a success rate of about 65%.  (But sometimes, the baby flips back.)  I would be willing to try it, but I've been told that I'm not a candidate.  Of all the things in the world - my stomach muscles are too tight.  Who would've thought I'd ever have to pay the price for THAT?

 

So that leaves some unproven ways to attempt to get the baby to turn on his/her own.  These range from the rather mild scrubbing the floor on your hands and knees, to the somewhat mean placing a bag of frozen peas on the top of your belly, near the baby's head, so that he/she turns away.

 

Like I said before, I'm not very hopeful.

 

So that leaves me with the last option, which we worked on last night.  All of the pros to having a c-section.  (Not for the squeamish) 

 

1 - Pain free delivery.  I mean, you just can't beat that, right?

2 - Ease of scheduling.  I'll actually have an appointment to have our baby.

3 - I get to be pregnant for one week less

       3a - We get to meet baby one week earlier

4 - No fears of going into labor when Ryan is in the middle of a 24 hour shift

5 - Two extra weeks of maternity leave

6 - An extra day in the hospital (I'm iffy on whether this is a pro or a con)

7 - No stitches...um, down there

8 - Let's just have #8 be the catchall for all things related to NOT having a baby come out of your vagina

9 - All the ice cream I can eat

       9a - Ryan made that one up

 

I would like to round this list up with a nice #10, but that's all we came up with.  Have I missed anything?

 

I'm not listing the cons of having your baby surgically removed from your body a week before he/she is ready to be born.  It's just too depressing.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 13:40 | link | comments (16) |

I'm just having a really bad day and I need to take it out on somone.  Anyone will do.

 

Any takers?

posted by: AmericanGirl at 13:47 | link | comments (9) |

Evil ex-sister in law is cranky.  I don't know what her problem is, but it's and endless source of amusement.  Yesterday she kept pestering me about something via email.  When my amusement started to wane, I sent her kind of a snarky note, hoping to put an end to that particular conversation.  The more clever of you will see the humor in her reply:

 

"So you've resorted to sarcasm.  That's very mature!"

 

HA!  Priceless. 

 

In other news, this morning as I stood at my front door saying good-bye to Ryan, we watched a plastic swimming pool float down the street.  This is ridiculous!

 

In even more news, I have a doctor appointment this afternoon.  I don't know why I get so excited to pee in a cup and find out I gained a mess of weight - but I do I do!   I guess I get excited because I get to hear the little horse-galloping sound of American Baby's heartbeat again.  It's always nice to be reasurred.

 

And finally, I need some good suggestions for a costume for a very pregnant person to wear on Halloween.  My mom turned her nose up at my "pregnant nun" idea.  I was thinking about Padme Amidala, because after all, she was pregnant with twins.  But...

Yeah...um....no.  Not going to work out.  LOL!   Ideas?

posted by: AmericanGirl at 12:24 | link | comments (11) |

There's an interesting phenomenon going on around here lately.  Strangers want to talk to me all the time.  I guess that's ok, it just feels abnormal.  I live in New York.  We don't even talk to our next door neighbors unless we absolutely have to.  You know, like "Get your garbage pails out of my driveway!" or "I'll kill you and those loud ass barking dogs of yours..."  Ok, I've never really said that last one, but I've definitely thought it.

 

Now where ever I go, I'm faced with repetitive set of questions from strangers.  Mostly women.  Men, unless they're perverts with an odd fetish for pregnant women (and they're out there, for sure) tend to ignore the belly, once they get over the initial shock.  The conversation with the typical woman goes like this:

 

Typical Woman:  When are you due?

Me: December 3rd

Typical Woman: Is it a boy or a girl?

Me: We decided not to find out

Typical Woman:  Oh!  It's a boy.  I know it is, because I/my sister/my friend carried just like that, and I/she had a boy.

 

A)  I JUST said that we decided NOT to find out.  How does that translate into "We were hoping some yahoo on the street would tell us so we wouldn't have to waste our time having a doctor determine the sex for us?"

 

B) Seriously, it's a shame that doctors waste all that money on ultrasound machinery when they could just look at the size of your ass and say "Yep, it's a boy."

 

And about the men - the non-fetish ones...Last week I had a meeting, and attending said meeting was a vendor that I haven't seen in a number of months.  He knew I was pregnant, but I guess he's never seen a pregnant person before, because when I walked into the room he literally jumped.  He jumped as if I had swung open the door and screamed "BOO!".  Then he exclaimed "WOW...whew..." and shook his head and nervously started adjusting his tie and doing that man fidget where they raise up a little bit from their chair and plop down again.  (What is UP with that, by the way?)  I'm really your typical pregnant person.  There's no need to jump unless you actually see the baby fighting "his" way out "Alien" style. 

 

I guess I should just be happy that he didn't tell me if it was a boy or a girl, right?  Still, I'm losing my patience with mankind.

 

And while I'm complaing, could our seven day forcast be any more dismal?  Rain, Rain, Rain, Rain, Rain, Rain, and Rain.  I have a theory, and it's that Mother Nature must be about seven months pregnant.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 10:53 | link | comments (18) |

Let's see if I've got everything:

 

Tickets to Game Four?  Check.

Yummy dinner plans?  Check.

Rain gear?  Check.

Yankee hat?  Check.

Limited Edition Derek Jeter sunflower seeds?  Check.

Rain in the forcast?  Check.

Sore throat?  Check.

 

I'm really, really going to pay for this, I think.  They better win!!

posted by: AmericanGirl at 14:21 | link | comments (9) |

Last night we had our first Lamaze class.   You're familiar with Lamaze, right?  That's where you learn how to breathe in such a way that pushing a small human out of you hoo-haw doesn't hurt.  Yeah.  No pain.  Uh-huh.

 

Moving on...

 

What I didn't expect to find is that lamaze class is the greatest time ever!  For one thing, there's snacks.  Cookies and juice and fruit.  I had no idea!  I adore snacks!  Really, I might volunteer to spend a night in prison if snacks were provided.  So right off the bat, I was a happy camper.

 

Then I find out that it's all about comfort.  MY comfort.  The lamaze instructor, let's call her Mrs. Wonderful, taught us how to sit on our chairs backwards.  You know, like Fonzie did.  You have no idea how comfortable that is when you're lugging around a bowling ball in your mid-section.  And better still, she taught our husbands just how to rub our backs as we sit on our chairs backwards.

 

Life is good when you get to be the pregnant one at lamaze class.

 

Not everyone was happy.  There was one girl who was bitching, loudly, because there wasn't any soy milk.  Cow's milk, she said, was a fine drink for baby cows, not baby humans.  She made a big stink and then went to the cafeteria for soy milk.  Then we got started, and the first order of business, after getting very comfortable, was to go around the room and say what you thought was the most fantastic thing about being pregnant.  When it was that couple's turn, her husband said "Well, the best thing about pregnancy would be her sunny dispostion." 

 

Thank God he has a sense of humor, because I think he got a beating when they got home.

 

Seriously, the most fantastic thing about being pregnant just might be lamaze class.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 18:13 | link | comments (7) |

The return of Thursday poetry. 

 

Because...well, why not?

 

This is a Wonderful Poem
by David Wagoner

Come at it carefully, don't trust it, that isn't its right name,
It's wearing stolen rags, it's never been washed, its breath
Would look moss-green if it were really breathing,
It won't get out of the way, it stares at you
Out of eyes burnt gray as the sidewalk,
Its skin is overcast with colorless dirt,
It has no distinguishing marks, no I.D. cards,
It wants something of yours but hasn't decided
Whether to ask for it or just take it,
There are no policemen, no friendly neighbors,
No peacekeeping busybodies to yell for, only this
Thing standing between you and the place you were headed,
You have about thirty seconds to get past it, around it,
Or simply to back away and try to forget it,
It won't take no for an answer: try hitting it first
And you'll learn what's trembling in its torn pocket.
Now, what do you want to do about it?

posted by: AmericanGirl at 15:41 | link | comments (3) |

My husband is changing firehouses.  This is a source of major stress.  Not for him...he's fine with it all.  He's adaptable.  Excited, even.  It's a source of major stress for me.  (Because it's ALL about me, right?)  (I'm selfish like that.)

 

I really like the guys he works with now.  I've known some of them for years and years.  There's only a handful of people, outside of my immediate family, who have seen me at my absolute worst and not gone running for the hills.  Even smaller is the number that actually stuck with me through it all.  Smaller still is the few who would stand right there with me as I was throwing punches in the air over the injustice of it all, without even flinching.  They welcomed it, because they understood like no one else understood.  They understood what I was going through better than I understood what I was going through.

 

When I wanted to close my eyes and ears to all of the ugliness, they understood.  When I suddenly decided that no, I needed every single detail, please...tell me everything, they did.  These are the details that you cling to when you have nothing left, and they knew how precious they were.

 

When I cut off contact for almost two years because it was just too painful, or because I thought I could handle it all on my own, or both, they stood by.  Then, when I finally realized that I wasn't handling it on my own, they were there again.  They took care of my family when we thought that we could never be fixed.

 

It's silly to think that because Ryan is going to be working somewhere else that they'll be out of our lives.  Just typing this out made me realize that they are a huge part of our lives.  Because really, were Ryan not a factor at all, they would still be who they are, and I would still be who I am, and it shouldn't matter.  Right?  But it feels like I'm losing a tie.  I'm losing the excuse to go and visit.   I don't need an excuse, they say.  But still, it's nice to have one, because I haven't fully appreciated them and who they are and all they did, until now.

 

And all that aside, when your husband's life is in the hands of other people, you kind of like to check them out first.  What if I don't like these new people?  This new house is bigger and busier.  What if they're sloppy and disregard the rules?  What if they hate kids?  What if they're all just a bunch of idiots who don't even like the Yankees or something? 

 

I'm sure they won't be as bad as all that.  I'm sure they're perfectly nice and safe and of course they're great at what they do.  But still.  I don't adapt to change well, I suppose.  Even when it's not my change.  And I'm hypersensitive, nostalgic and way too tempermental these days, and no one consulted me first.  Damnit.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 23:14 | link | comments (4) |

Here are the results of our newest bit of redecorating:

 

 

 

 

 

 

So, if you were a baby,  you'd want to sleep in there, right?

 

We still have some work to do.  The lighting for one thing; that black floor lamp is a death trap of a fire hazard according to Ryan and we're putting in overhead lighting and taking it out.  We also need curtains.  (Don't even get me started on the dangers of wood blinds...)   And obviously we need to get the bedding figured out.  I'm looking for some cute drawer knobs.  And we need about a gazillion more toys.   And of course, a baby.  Other than those details, we're almost ready.  Wheeeee!  (Am I the Queen of Mood Swings, or what?)

posted by: AmericanGirl at 22:54 | link | comments (18) |

I can't not support this cause...

 

Go and visit the Boobie-Thon page.  (It IS safe for work, but if you follow the links to the photos, they are NOT safe for work) There you can view pictures of boobies!  No, really!  They're all submitted by regular people like you and me.  As they say, "We share to make you care."

 

If you donate $50 or more, you get the super secret password for uncovered pictures, but really any amount is awesome because the money raised goes to Breast Cancer research - and October is Breast Cancer Awareness month.  So do it! 

 

(P.S. - It's also fire safety month - change the batteries in your smoke alarms.  You DO have smoke alarms, don't you?)

 

Yes, my boobs have been submitted to the site.  No, I'm not posting which ones are mine.  However, if you donate more than $50 to the boobiethon, I'll tell you.  How's that for incentive?

posted by: AmericanGirl at 14:28 | link | comments (3) |

While I won't go as far as deleting my last post, (because that would take all of that great advice right with it) I can say that I'm totally over it.  Whew.

 

A big shout out to Rustymadgal  for talking me out of fleeing till 2:00 AM.   Thank you to all of your for your wise advice.  And... poodle skirts - LOL!

 

I told Ryan that I was fighting the urge to run away from home.  A lesser man might feel threatened by such a statement, but not him.  He just says "Alright, where are we going?"  I don't doubt for a second that he would follow me anywhere.

 

Yesterday, on babysitting duty, we took the kids to Friendly's for lunch.  Ryan and my nephew had this game going on, where my nephew would reach across the table and steal a fry from Ryan's plate, and Ryan would pretend not to notice.  But then the inevitable for a four year old happened, he's clumsy and he slipped as he reached over Ryan's plate, and his hand splatted right into the ketchup.  So Ryan said "Aha!  I caught you red handed!"  And those kids laughed at that corny little joke for a good solid thirty minutes.  Of course, it was impossible not to laugh at their laughter, and that was it - the cure.  Why on earth wouldn't I love every single minute of parenting?  Baby miracles is what they are.  I know I've mentioned this before, but how awe inspiring is it that you have the power to create a person?  I mean, seriously?

 

Have I mentioned lately how CUTE American Baby is going to be?  So cute.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 10:43 | link | comments (4) |

So...

 

So I'm sitting here alone, in a house that has a room fit for a baby prince or princess.  We worked on it all day, and honestly, it looks fantastic.  It might just be the cutest little baby room that I've ever seen. 

 

I thought it would have a different effect.  Different that this - this urge to flee. 

 

I don't know what's wrong with me, but I just want to take off.  I'm not running from anything.  Everything here is about as perfect as perfect gets.  I'm running to something.  I don't know what.  I guess that's the point.  In two months everything is going to have to be well planned out.  I want to throw together an overnight(s) bag and jump in my car and go.  It doesn't matter where.  West.  West has the most room. 

 

I need to get out of here.  I need to be alone.  Only I'm not. 

 

This isn't my proudest moment, but it's totally freaking me out.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 22:45 | link | comments (9) |

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