Whine fest
Ok, so a few different people lately have told me that I am a "glass half-full" kinda perky gal. Well today I am dumping the whole freakin' half full glass on the floor so I can cry over spilled milk. I'm sick and tired of being sick. Its depressing. I've found that the only cereal in the house that I can bring myeslf to eat right now - which is also the only thing I can imagine having for breakfast - is destined to remain in my stomach each day just long enough for me to place my bowl in the sink and run to the bathroom.

IF I don't eat I throw up saliva or water or stomach acid or I just hang over a toilet gagging and hacking. So I eat - which apparently is just so I have something to actually void. I have to eat four meals a day - one of which I call my "practice breakfast." Its the one that doesn't last 5 minutes and leaves me famished a few hours later.

Smells are making me sick now. I mean I've noticed stronger smells before and the smell of seafood would make me queasy from nearly the first positive line on the preggo test - but this is different. Yeserday I nearly threw up at my desk when someone in the office microwaved God knows what for lunch. It's not that it smelled bad - it just smelled strong and it made me incredibly ill. I think it was mircorwavable pizza or something. I sat at my desk planning the fastest route to the "guest" bathroom in our lobby - the only place without multiple stalls affording some privacy for my lunch removal.

I find that I want to search out the idiots that can't microwave popcorn without burning it and strangle them. Luckily the overwhelming urge to regurgitate keeps me from commenting such an attack. ITs horrible. Its making me cranky. Its making me weary. Its also hurting my throat. I find my throat is raw - and I'm not sure if its allergies (nice weather = high pollen) or if its the puking. I hate having to wonder.

I go to the doctor tomorrow and if my home scale is accurate he'll find that I've not gained an ounce over the last 15 weeks of this pregnancy. Not a single one. I'm not worried about this part because I know that I have weight to spare. I know that this isn't a bad thing at this point and infact after the "I gained too much and landed myself with pre-eclamsyia that said weight may have contributed to) this stalemate on the scale can be a good thing.

I'm wondering if I can talk my OB into more of those little Reglan pills - although truth be told I sometimes threw up those and the water i swallowed them with.



Commerical Ruin

My child has figured out how to turn on the small clock radio in his room by pressing the "Sleep" button. Its most likely something he could have done before if we ever actually showed him this clock thing played music. That, however, is neither here nor there. He now turns on music whenever he feels like hanging in his own room. We keep the radio set to 100.7 - the Oldies station located down-town. Its also the only local station truly "local" as in it resides in our town and not some where else along the coast. Again - neither here nor there.

Today my boy flips on his radio and what is playing? The California Raisin song. Of course that's not really the song's name, but everytime I here it all I can picture are shrivled up clay grapes dancing a modified conga. This is what commericals do to me.

For what its worth, my son has decided that Simon and Garfunkle - based only on the sound of them singing "I have a rock" or whatever that song is - must be the Wiggles. I will never listen to "Mrs Robinson" the same way again.
Simple things
Yesterday was a bad pregnant day - lots of queasy feelings and being sick. Lots of tired, I just want to find a hole and hibernate type moments. Today is a good day. Today is a day without Reglan (aka puke pills) and without puking. This is good. This is HUGE progress.

Today I am finding joy in little things:

The fact that my son is still asleep even though his 2 hours of normal nap time has expired. This child decided he only needed a half hour yesterday

The fact that a search to satisfy a sweet craving led me to a recipe for hot chocolate on the back of the powered cocoa box and its yummy!

The fact that its sunny, albeit cold and windy.

The fact that its Friday and because of my parents long weekend trip in honor of my mom's birthday I am not working until Thursday.

The fact that I actually am not falling asleep on my feet.

When I'm not rejoicing I'm being reflective. I'm wondering how it is I've landed in a friendship that I really could do without. I'm sure you say as you read this: walk away you fool why maintain it if its that bad? Well the truth is this person is annoying but not "bad" and she has a son my son's age -- meaning playdate. In truth she's not someone I'd be friends with if we didn't have same-aged children. We are completely different people and that is exactly what irks me most times about her. Not that she's not "me" - none of my friends are truly "me." Its just that she's so very different from me. The things we enjoy, the way we approach parenting - all those things differ between us.

Its so hard to put into words. Its just that I find myself rolling my eyes often when I speak with her or sharing humorous retellings of her latest statements to others. Its catty I know, but its true. What gets me most about her is that I don't think she really enjoys parenting as much as she enjoys having an extension of herself that she can brag about. The child is perfect (he is not.) The child is destined to be a baby model (he was not.) The child is a genius (who can tell how smart a 1 year old us...but I think its fairly safe to assume based on parentage that the chances that he's a genius are not in his favor.) The child is incredibly outgoing and friendly and will NEVER be afraid of strangers (the child is currently in the midst fo wicked separation anxiety which seems to really aggravate his mother.) In truth, the child is your typical, cute 17 month old who is fun-loving and can be outgoing. But he is your typical 17 month old and so he's also moody and needy and that part seems to bug her more than it bugs most parents. I mean hey, there are days I want to run and hide on my child - when the whining makes me want to scream "GROW UP!" But most of the time I remember that this is normal and I really am not ready for him to grow up. With this friend of mine, I sometimes think that what bugs her most about the 'real' parts of a toddler are that they are not bragworthy. She can't impress her friends with the fact that this child is screeching if she leaves a room or that his favorite thing to do is throw food. Those aren't perfect stories. And that's sad.

What's prompted this latest reflection on her is the simple statements she made about having a second child - she wants a second someday and the reason she attached to it was simply that she didn't want her son to be alone. I find that so sad. Sure, part of the pursuit of this second child was because we did want to try to avoid the whole "only" child thing. We knew that our first would benefit from a sibling - but that's not why we choose to have one. It just felt right. We had a second child in our life story - we knew it. We had the love and the resources to support a 2nd. We felt our family was missing someone very important. This little turnip is loved for him/herself. This little being is wanted simply for being the individual that (s)he already is. The fact that our son will reap rewards from having him/her in his life is merely a side benefit. It saddens me to think of this friend's 2nd child - at least the way she words her desire for one now.

By the way - for those still counting my little one's nap is now at 2 hours and 45 minutes. I'm amazed. I've also not been productive unless you count gossiping and blogging. ;)


The important things in life.

I want Peeps. There I said it. Which isn't saying much since I've been bitching about wanting Peeps since yesterday afternoon when I saw chocolate covered Peeps in the Boscov's at the mall near the office. Yes, delicate little marshmallow and sugar chicks dipped up to their necks in milk chocolate. This is what I've been craving since 1pm Monday afternoon. Freakin' Peeps.

The entire 13 weeks of this pregnancy I've craved two things:

1. Strawberries, which in light of a "Don't want to eat for five" resolution this time around was a good thing.

2. Chocolate covered Peeps.

Of course, one of my favorite people did tell me that 'regular' old Peeps are only two Weight Watchers points for three little chickees. I wonder what the dipped variety would be?

On to real important things - I'm excited today. Floating really and not just because someone improved Peeps. I'm excited because one of my oldest and dearest friends (or after 30 do we need to start saying "one of my longest friendships") just told me that she's expecting her third child in November. This means that little Turnip will have a built-in buddy. A same aged playmate she/he can be forced into friendship with at an early age. This is even more fun, however, because this friend has a 5 year-old that my little man is in love with AND a 2 year old boy that has become my guy's best bud. I'm just so giddy with the thought that such a good friend and I will have two sets of kidlets the same age. It seems almost unreal. It was fun going through pregnant together for a while last time (her now two-year-old is 4 months older than my getting-closer-to-2-year-old.) So this time around we get to switch roles and do it all over again. It was so nice of her to accommodate me like this. HA! Just kidding.

And finally, that brother of mine may actually have a real honest to goodness job. That is mean. He's actually a very hard worker that has been working hard to find good work. He had a few hiccups at first - a really pathetic "taking advantage of your longer for a job" type offer - but we're not going to go there. Anyway, a few weeks ago he had what he thought had been a great interview at a dining services company. The 'boss' told him that should he get the job he'd be an Executive Sous Chef. Bro would have to call and make an appointment to take a hands-on test and a 2nd interview. Then there was nothing - no word. No call.

So my actually quite shy and not high on the self-esteem-o-meter called and left a message about scheduling the test. Someone called back. He went today. 7am. My brother that sleeps till noon (at the earliest) when he's not working or in classes, was up at 4:15 am to be dressed and in the car for the hour+ commute to this test. It was apparently a long test because no one heard from him for a long time. He showed up at my Dad's office (about 15 minutes or so from the test site) close to 2 pm. Dad knows the results - they won't share with the rest of us though because Bro wants to tell himself and he wants to tell in person...which sucks because I won't see him today at all. I won't see him till tomorrow at the earliest and so I sit and twist in the wind. I hate surprises.

Here's what I do know - I said to Dad "Its mean to tease the pregnant lady. I'm just going to assume it went well." And he said in return "It did, but let him tell you." SO I'm going to take that to mean that my little brother is now a chef somewhere with real people hours (as opposed to restaurant 6 day a week, what the hell is a social life long night hours) with real benefits and the chance to meet women. This is a good thing. . .something of which a sister can be proud and post a blog note about. So I did.


So here I am writing the obligatory "day after the Oscars" entry. Truth be told, in the three category's of Oscar people I am not in the one that goes to Oscar themed parties and bets on the outcome. Nor am I someone that shuns the "big event" entirely. No. I am a closet Oscar watcher. I watch pieces of it - an hour here or there. I wake up the next day and I lunge for a TV set to find out what I missed. . .I just don't like to admit it.

This year, although I can count on less than all 10 fingers the number of movies I've seen in the last 20 months, I actually saw four of the films nominated for an award. Of those four - one of them "swept" the show. (Although the sweep concept is tough to wrap my brain around. I mean I know it won each thing it was up for - but to me a 'clean' sweep would be winning every stinkin' Oscar offered up last night. But I digress.) Anyway, yes, one of the movies I saw was Lord of the Rings.

I've never rooted for a movie to win before, but I did want this one to win Best Picture. Not because I thought it was the best movie in the running - I mean I didn't honestly have an opinion on that. No, I wanted it to win because it was a sentimental favorite, at least for me. I should admit before I go any further that I have never read the trilogy. I saw them often sitting on the book shelf amongst the rest of my father's collection - but I never read them. My father, however, loved them.

I was an early reader. I was reading to myself by the age of 3 - full stories out of picture books. My parents would take me to the library and sit me with a stack of books while they browsed for their own. I never budged. I'd get a slew to take home with us and have them read on the way home in the car. It drove my mother nuts.

Even though I read early, my father did not stop reading to me each night. We just expand the level of book we read. For Christmas each year I'd get a novel - something with an age appropriate story although the degree of difficulty in terms of reading to oneself was beyond me. Each night I'd settle into bed, pull up the covers and listen. My father sat next to me reading a chapter a night of classic books like Wind in the Willows. . .and the Hobbit.

Some of you '70s children may recall a cartoon edition of the Hobbit. Bilbo Baggins as a short bright red-headed little Hobbit with big fat hairy feet. Animation pleasing to my child eye. I saw the film - although I can't recall if I saw it in a theatre or not. My copy of the book was actually a very thick picture book. It took frames from this animated movie and incorporated the actual book text below it. With this book my father read me the Hobbit - a prelude to one of his favorite authors.

My attraction to the Lord of Rings movies is not that I loved the Hobbit with an unquenchable passion. I was drawn to those films because it reminded me of that girl I was sitting in her pink frilly room sharing a special moment with her father. My dad loves books. He's passionate about reading and through these nightly rituals he passed on the legacy to me. I learned to see vivid pictures in my mind's eye from nothing more than black print on white paper. I learned the intricacy of the English language. I learned how simple words become complex phrases which become full sentence thoughts which become stories you can't bear to put down.

And from reading I learned to write. I think you'd be hard pressed to find a 'real' writer that didn't love to read. Writers learn at the knee of those that have penned before them and so a good writer must study hard by reading. When you think of it like that, my father gave me not just my love of reading words, but also my calling to write them.

When the Lord of the Rings movies came out I wanted to see them for so many reasons, but I wanted to see them with my father because of the memories I had of the Hobbit. When the Oscar nods came out I wanted it to win because in some way it was almost like a validation that these books were indeed special because they birthed a golden trophy worthy movie. I know, however, that as good as some think these stories are it wasn't the book itself that was so incredibly life changing - it was the way my father read to me.