I'm dilated to a three

That's where most people get to have an epidural.

For me, it means I've got like two more weeks.

[insert lots of swearing here.]

Anyone have a trampoline?

We just got maternity coverage so I can go in to labor any time I want! Except, if that were entirely true, I would have had this baby last week because I seriously WANT to get her the heck out of me. She wants to get out, too. Every day she tries to claw her way out with her bare hands. Guess she's about as fed up and cranky as I am.

With my last pregnancy now was about the time when I started to get seriously crazy. I kept trying to run away to Wendover and having to turn back because I'd start having contractions in the middle of nowhere. Of course, by the time I got back to Salt Lake the contractions would have stopped and I'd just go to Barnes and Noble. I'd drink hot chocolate, read books, and ignore any and all frantic calls from my husband and/or mother in law. I had a lot of rage.

I'm not nearly as interesting this time, though. I just yell at people. I did throw up last Tuesday. But that's just gross, not interesting.

I got a hemorrhoid

And that's all I need to say about that tragic subject.

Turns out they *can* hurt you

I asked my doctor if a fetus could do any real damage. He paused and then said, "Well, yeah." Then he sort of mubmled, like he didn't want to tell us the rest. But he finally said, "They can break ribs, bruise your internal organs, cause internal bleeding . . ."

I said, "Um . . . is there anything you can do?"

He said, "No, not really. But if you think she's broken one of your ribs, let us know."

I told him he was a wicked, wicked, man.

Do crazy fetuses mean bad babies?

I read somewhere that they do. It makes me really depressed because my toddler was a dang hard baby. And this new baby is bruising my guts. She writhes and turns and does flips. She pokes her little butt out so hard and so far that I'm afraid she's going to burst through one of these days. My stomach literally aches. All day. All night. Can a baby kick so hard that you start to bleed internally? This is a question becomming painfully urgent.

Maybe I should have seen it coming. At one of the first ultrasounds my doctor started laughing almost uncontrollably. "I've never seen a baby so young so active," he said. And neither had we. I watched in disturbed awe as she shook her hips and threw her hands over her head like she was doing the Macarena.

One of my friends once was prescribed a half a cup of beer every night to calm down her crazy fetus.

I've never wanted to get drunk so badly in my entire life.

My one year old is two now

I guess I have to change my profile. He's still crazy, though. Right now he's riding his tricycle around the living room while watching "The Incredibles" on his personal DVD player and "Baby Einstein" on the big DVD player. He's also singing to himself. And not a song from either DVD. I don't think he's normal.

When is a hint a hint?

I've had a lunch scheduled with a friend every Thursday for the last five weeks. Every Thursday I show up and she doesn't. She usually then calls with frantic excuses and reschedules. This has happened five times in a row. Is she trying to tell me something? Or is she just a flake? How can you tell?

I know I said I wasn't going to talk about my toilet

but I can't stop myself. I cleaned it the other day. As I was panting, leaning over the thing, getting dizzy because my belly is so huge, and gagging a few times, it occurred to me that I hadn't cleaned the toilet since before I was pregnant. Seven or Eight MONTHS ago. (Toilets make me throw up when I'm pregnant.) You may think that my husband might have cleaned it in that time. But he didn't. He thinks it's 1952 and men don't have to clean toilets. After I finished scraping scum from the floor around the toilet I yelld at him. A lot. He still won't clean the toilet, though. I've already had to clean it again myself.

My stretch marks have stretch marks

I was looking at my belly the other day and noticed that the tips of my faded old stretch marks from last pregnancy are growing bright pink edges.

How sad is that?

Nesting much?

Here's a list of stuff I've done in the last week:

1) filed my taxes early in case I give birth too close to April 15
2) cleaned out my two cars
3) sent my crib out to be re-painted
4) spent $600 at Baby's R Us on diapers, formula, and baby Ibuprofin
5) became obsessed with sconces and spent an hour at Pier 1 agonizing over which sconce should be hung in my living room
6) actually cooked a meal. twice.
7) did 17 loads of laundry
8) moved the baby's dresser across my bedroom
9) arranged the baby's changing table
10) packed two diaper bags full of newborn diapers and wipes.
11) went on a scavenger hunt for nightgowns, which are, apparetnly, gauche these days.
12) flew to CA for said nightgowns. finally found two at the Carter's Outlet in Vacaville, CA.
13) was then slightly mortified when my mother in law showed up with 6 nightgowns that she found right here at TJ Max, SLC
14) set Roomba out three times to vacuum and re-vacuum my carpet
15) cleaned up my baby boy's room
16) started cleaning out the garage
17) couldn't sit still at church because I desperately wanted to finish cleaning out the garage
18) then had an emotional breakdown because when I finally got home from church I was too tired to clean out the garage
19) became obsessed with finding the right pot/plant combination to go over my fireplace
20) designed and then sewed a new bedspread for my bed
21) laid out the fabric to sew matching pillows

And, oh, I could go on.

I need a colonoscopy

That's what my husband told me on my birthday. "You're practically THIRTY!" he said. (I turned 27.) "It's REALLY IMPORTANT!"

He was totally serious, too.

But I haven't made any appointments yet.

Hey I won a writing contest!

$100 for best personal essay. Woo hoo! You can find it online here and they're going to publish the essay this spring. Steve's friend from high school just won a freaking Newbury for her book, which kind of makes my little prize look like doggie crap in comparison. But, really, there wouldn't even have been cause for comparison had the two prizes not been given out at roughly the same time. It *does* bother me that she won a Newbury, though. Not because she doesn't deserve it; she does. She's a fabulous writer. It's just that . . . well . . . I think that part of success is believing that something is *possible.* Steve's friend always made me think that it was *possible* that I'd publish a book someday. I mean, she's about my age. She has a baby boy about my son's age. We live in the same part of Utah. We both have a Master's degree. We write the same kind of fiction. She's just like me--only successful. And I always thought the fact that she'd published a book meant that I might publish a book someday, too. But then when she went and won the freaking Newbury, it occurred to me that, no, maybe she's just an anomaly. Because the Newbury . . . that's HUGE. It's more than even really, really, great writer's can aspire to. (It's the YA equivalent of a Pulitzer or something.) But, anyway. Enough about her and her now-fabulous-career. I won a little writing contest and it made me feel really good.

Things of the world

I've been obsessing today about what it means when it says, "seek not after the things of the world." I'm fairly sure it does not mean go out and become a homeless person since the "world" looks upon such things as bad. But if you try to succeed at your job does that mean that you're worldly? It can't. Because otherwise we're a whole church of hypocrites, for one. And for two, all we have to work with on this planet is 24 hours a day and a lot of that goes into your job. If you can't find a way to work a job that is of some service to humankind, then you've kind of wasted a huge opportunity to do the whole heavenly work thing. But then, where does the world end and the heaven bit begin? If I'm doing a good job at my job, presumably I'm more servicable. But then, if I'm doing a good job, don't I get a raise, usually? Don't I usually get more respect from peers? And aren't those "worldly?" Is it possible to do the one without doing the other? They say you can't serve both God and Mammon. But don't you kind of *have* to? Unless I'm wrong about becomming one of those homeless people, that is? Any thoughts?

I peed my pants

really, really bad. I was in the car and I had to stop and open the door to puke. But every time I heaved, I peed. And I'm not talking about little tiny squirts, either. I'm talking huge, humiliating, gushes of pee. After about 7 heaves I was done puking, but was completely soaked from the waist down. I hate being pregnant.

I hate babies

This is a particularly disturbing thing for a pregnant woman to realize about herself. I could live my entire life and not look at a baby. People hold out their new babies for me to hold and my gut reaction is, "Do I *have* to?" I hear that hating babies is ranked up there with hating puppies and might put me on the same level as Hitler. But you know what? I also hate puppies. They pee all over the place. They smell. They jump on me and slobber. Blech.

Turns out I'm a horrible person

This entire pregnancy I've been filled with an alarming amount of rage. Rage and bitterness that some alien creature usurped my body for its own evil purposes. Then I found out that I was having a little girl. Suddenly, I realized that I was only bitter because I was imagining a *boy* baby in there sucking the life out of me. Ever since I found out it was a girl I've been all peaceful and smiley. Truly I disgust myself.

Ever thought you'd be *worse* than your mother?

Everyone always talks all the time about how they think they'll be a better mother than their mother. And, I confess, I was probably one of those self-righteous judgers. But it has recently occurred to me that not only will I not be *better* than my mother, there's a good chance I'm WAY WORSE than she is.

A scenario that may illustrate this:

I've been so busy puking lately that I can't drag myself out of bed except to puke. My baby has grown tired of watching 8 hours a day of Thomas the Tank Engine in my bedroom, so he's started to just wander around the rest of the house and play by himself. Part of me always thinks that if I were a good mother, I'd be able to at least drag my puking butt out to the couch so I can kind of watch him. (I've heard that leaving 1 year old's unattended for 8 hours at a time is generally frowned upon.) But apparently, I'm not that good because I can't get out of my bed. So, periodically I just yell out, "Hey! Are you OK?" And being the smart-alec that my baby is, he yells out, "yeah," in a "please stop harassing me you crazy woman," tone of voice.

Well, one time I called out, "Are you OK?" And there was no response. I found this troubling, so I did manage to get myself into the living room where I saw the following: My one year old baby had gotten himself a Pepsi, arranged pillows on the couch, and was sitting there, all lounging, with his feet up. He had managed to start himself a DVD of cartoons and had the remote in one hand and his open can of Pepsi in the other. When he saw me he just raised his eyebrows and was like, "Yeah? What do you want?"

I just shook my head and got back into bed.

What's the fundamental question?

On the radio this morning this songwriter (David Grey, I think) was talking about how he writes about mortality because, "well, that's what it all comes down to, isn't it?"

For me, the fundamental question has always been, "what makes life meaningful?" But, listening to Mr. British songwriter guy, I thought that maybe not everyone agrees.

What's your "fundamental question?" That we all die? That our lives should mean something? Whether or not the universe hates us? (I'm pretty sure it *does* hate me, but that's fodder for another post another time.)

God and/or the universe hates women

I think that Albert Einstein once said that the most important question about the universe was whether or not it was friendly.

Well, Albie, chew on this:

If you're a woman and you get pregnant and you're normal, you can expect a semi-constant urge to vomit to accompany you for, oh, four months.

If you're me and you get pregnant you vomit your brains out for, oh, nine months.

Friendly my *$%.

In case the full meaning of that last post was lost on you

I am pregnant.

They told us that there was a 0% chance of us ever conceiving a baby naturally.

My other baby is only 18 months old.

Curses on fertility specialists everywhere.

If your doctor tells you you're inferitle

DON'T BELIEVE HIM!!!!!! That is how you FREAKING end up pregnant when you already have a crazy one year old! ARRRRRRRRRRRGGHHHHHHH!!!!

The most disgusting thing that can possibly happen with a baby

just happened to me.

He was holding out his fingers and I thought he wanted me to kiss them. So, since sometimes I actually like my kid, I started gobbling up the fingers and kissing him.

But . . .

He wasn't holding them out to be kissed.

He was holding them out to show me the poop he had just scooped out from his diaper.

It was green.

I didn't see it because it was dark and I didn't have my glasses on.

But I tasted it . . .